This particularly topic is one that has been occupying a fair degree of public attention in Japan across a broad spectrum of media outlets, and so it is to be expected that I myself would turn my attention to questions regarding the future of nuclear power in Japan and complicity in the events that led to the meltdown of the core of Reactor No.3 at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant in March of last year. I will admit that my understanding of the events surrounding the aftermath of the disaster and the manner in which both the Tokyo Electric Power Company (referred to here as Toden, 東電, for the sake of clarity) and the executive levels of the Japanese government sought to deal with the ramifications of a potential meltdown have been aided by the commentary provided by independent journalists within Japan such as Uesugi Takashi.  In the immediate wake of the both the tsunami and reports of an unfolding crisis within the Fukushima nuclear power plant, Uesugi, together with other members of the Free Press Association of Japan, sought to obtain unambiguous answers from Toden representatives on the scale of the crisis and its implications for the people of both Fukushima prefecture and the entire Kanto region.

What has become increasingly clear to me in the course of reading Mr Uesugi's correspondence from that time and his subsequent interviews with both nuclear energy experts and other freelance journalists is the degree of collusion between Toden and representatives sent from major newspapers to cover press conferences conducted by Toden, a major sponsor of media outlets in the Kanto region. Uesugi writes of journalists from the so-called "Kisha Club" (a conglomerate of major newspaper, television, radio and internet organisations, whose influence results in their being granted exclusive access to government briefings and ministers, to the exclusion of independent and foreign journalists) occupying a majority of seats within the press conference venue, and asking questions that merely reaffirmed both Toden's and the then-Cabinet's explanations for what was occuring at the Fukushima plant (explanations that have subsequently been found to have been based on misleading information provided by Toden).

Given the confusion that existed at the time between the explanations coming from Toden, and those coming from then Chief Cabinet Secretary Edano and Prime Minister Naoto Kan,  I found the deposition made by Mr Kan at the hearing being conducted into the Fukushima disaster last week to be both extraordinarily candid and refreshingly honest as he explained his reaction to news that following the failure of the coolant facility at the Fukushima Daiichi plant and the spike in core temperatures in the No.1, No.2, and No.3 reactors, Toden had planned to evacuate all staff and leave the reactors to melt down. On Monday of last week, current Toden Chairman Katsumata declared that Toden had never ordered a complete evacuation of its employees from the Fukushima Daiichi plant. In response to this, former PM Kan said that around 3 a.m on the 15th of March 2011, former Industry Minister Kaeida had contacted him and told him that Toden was asking whether they could withdraw from the Fukushima plant. About an hour later, Kan had former Toden Chairman Shimizu in his office, where he told him that any plan to evacuate the plant was completely out of the question. This prompted Shimizu to meekly reply with "I understand". 

At no time did Chairman Shimizu deny that Toden had given an order to evacuate, and while Toden might insist that it issued no general order of evacuation, neither did it have any contingency plan in place for part of its workforce to remain at the Fukushima Daiichi plant while the others evacuated. In short, any order for evacuation would, by proxy, be a general evacuation. 

Since the events of March last year, Japan has gone through a prolonged period of self-reflection on questions of nuclear power and the suitability of such an unstable source of energy production in a country that it prone to large scale earthquakes. Leaving aside questions of whether the Ministry of Industry or Toden had exercised adequate supervision of both the construction of such facilities or conducted appropriate safety inspections during the 40 years since the introduction of nuclear energy production to Japan, it is clear that in relation to the adequate supervision of the nuclear power industry, independence is paramount. As has been reported in newspapers in recent days, the proposal by the Noda government to have a duplicate nuclear inspection agency and regulatory authority placed under the auspices of METI (Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry) has garnered a fair degree of opposition, given the absence of any adequate oversight of the nuclear industry in the former agency and the degree of collusion between industry itself and the ministry.

As such, the proposal by both the LDP and Komeito to have a nuclear regulation agency separate to METI and exercising independent authority over the nuclear energy industry is a welcome one, although whether this actually eventuates is an entirely different question (former PM Kan's view that it would be a suitable penance for having supported the establishment of a nuclear regulatory board under METI's oversight can be found here). It would be in the interests of most citizens in Japan to ensure that any nuclear regulatory body was separate to corporate concerns, and in the current climate of deep suspicion regarding the nuclear industry there might be enough political impetus to support such a plan. However any policy that incorporates an independent regulatory body will still have to wait until the parliamentary committee on nuclear energy produces its blueprint for the nuclear industry and the pros and cons of this is debated in the Diet. In the meantime, Japan's nuclear power plants will remain idle as the nation wrestles with questions of how to cope with its self-imposed faustian bargain.

I wanted to use this particular post to explore an area that I have been relatively close to over the past few months, and consider the implications of an enhancement of security relations between Japan and Australia. This very topic has occupied the thoughts of IR and security experts in Australia for a number of years, not least because of the growing influence of China in both the defence and economic concerns of both nations. The consensus reached by Australian observers, albeit with reservations, is that any increase in security relations between both nations would benefit Australia in helping to forge closer ties to a major trade partner in the North Pacific while also reinforcing the alliance that both nations share with the United States.

While it may appear that both nations have much to gain from an enhanced level of security cooperation, the process of forging closer ties is a far more complex matter. The signing of an Acquisitions and Cross Servicing Agreement (or ACSA) in May 2010, and the signing in May this year (2012) of an Information Security Agreement are the nascent steps in a growing strategic relationship between Australia and Japan, and it is possible to expect further agreements in the coming years, particularly those related to joint exercises involving disaster response and humanitarian missions, along with a possible dispatch of the SDF to join the ADF in inter-regional exercises with the US (as evidenced by the participation of the RAAF in Exercise COPE NORTH) and ASEAN nations.

For Australia, one of the particularly intriguing parts of a potential expansion in security ties with Japan is that of increased access to Japanese conventional submarine technology and the expertise that accompanies this. Restrictions to the export of military technology from Japan had hampered any attempt in the past to realise this ambition, however recent developments in Japan, not least of which concerned the decision to allow joint development in defence projects with the United Kingdom, has given renewed interest in furthering ties with Japanese heavy industry to take advantage of the level of technological know-how such industries possess. While any negotiations on furthering technological exchanges are yet to occur, the very fact that Australia is giving more than a passing thought to Japanese military prowess in submersible vehicles bodes well for the future of joint development projects between both nations.

If such projects do go ahead, then one might expect that they would expand to cover not only maritime technologies, but those related to signals intelligence, in particular access to Japanese satellite technology that might provide the foundation for an expansion of Australia's own signals network. Not only this, Japanese experimental work in robotics and machinery might also provide avenues for joint work on bomb and IED disposal, in additional to mine clearance and drone based technologies. 

While both sides are aware of the potential advantages of an increase in security relations, they are also conscious of the restrictions that currently prevent such relations from reaching their full potential. As has often been debated by IR scholars in relation to Japan, questions of constitutional revision and political reluctance to modify Japan's fundamental stance on military cooperation with third party states have undermined attempts to further Japan's security relations in the region, and to that extent Australia is no exception. Throughout the Cold War period, apart from occasional visits by SDF vessels, aircraft and the dispatch of SDF officers to ADF staff colleges,  security dialogue between both nations was relatively limited, with far greater priority being given to negotiations with the United States (in the case of both Japan and Australia), along with the Five Powers Nations (in the case of Australia). 

The removal of the Soviet Union as a figurative (and occasionally real) adversary and the gradual emergence of China as a regional power forced a rethink among defence policy makers in both countries on how they might secure ties with like-minded states, although on the surface there does not appear to be any significant gains to be made from enhanced security relations between Australia and Japan. For Australia, while Japan is an important trading partner, its reluctance to become involved in any missions bar UN sanctioned humanitarian operations (and this only became a option from 1992 onwards without unanimous domestic Japanese support), together with the strength of the US Pacific Command's ties to the SDF, an increase in Japanese defence spending in the 1980s which boosted Japanese defensive capabilities beyond those that could be provided by the ADF, and the existence in the East Asian region of other manufacturing nations that could supply goods of equal quality to those produced in Japan could all serve as arguments against furthering security ties.

In the case of Japan, while Australia provides a stable supply of minerals, food stuffs, and other raw materials (as well as being a potential tourist destination), the relatively small presence of the ADF in the Asia Pacific, Australia's dependence on the US for its security needs (making it similar to Japan rather than an independent power in itself), and a history of limited interaction between the SDF and ADF have all contributed to a degree of complacency with regard to bilateral strategic relations with the land down under. Given the degree of distance between Japan and Australia, and the complexity involved in attempting to negotiate with other regional partners to allow ADF vessels and aircraft to contribute to the defence of Japan should this prove necessary, there is not a great degree of incentive for Japan to pursue closer security ties with Australia either, particularly when it faces more pressing concerns in securing safe trade routes to ASEAN nations (where Japanese corporations maintain off-shore manufacturing plants) together with attempting to improve defensive ties with South Korea.

The increase in military spending by China, and the possibility of inter-regional conflict sparked by an attempt by China to exert its territorial claims against those of neighbouring countries has changed the security dynamic that used to exist between Australia and Japan, which in itself could be an unintended consequence of Chinese military planning (which, if true, would have seriously miscalculated concerns within both nations). Nonetheless, as Shiro Armstrong has pointed out, both Australia and Japan are dependent upon China's burgeoning economy in order to fuel their own growth, and friction between either nation and China would ultimately prove counter-productive to their economic interests. Yet the existence of any enhanced security relationship between Australia and Japan would have to consider the circumstances under which mutual assistance would be granted. Under current arrangements, the involvement of the US in a conflict between Japan and China could potentially invoke the ANZUS treaty. However if a similar agreement existed with Japan, then there would be no doubt as to Australia's responsibility to assist both of its allies no matter what the potential damage this would wreak on its economic interests (of course, any outbreak of conflict with China would render such concerns moot as trade routes through the western Pacific would be interrupted by one side or the other during the course of the conflict). 

If such an argument had to be made, one could state that it would be far better for Australia to forge closer ties with a likeminded state that shares similar (but not identical) interests and which is far less prone to domestic upheavel and capricious foreign policy judgments in response to the threat of such upheavel.  In an ideal situation, such a decision would not have to be made as Australia would maintain its neutrality, or would at least seek to remove the threat of conflict through mediation as a 'middle power'. Yet given the potential uncertainties of attempting to preserve the status quo against the belligerency of competing major powers and the nationalism invokved by territorial disputes,  it would be far better for Australia to be aligned with a state such as Japan rather than trying to negotiate a multilateral cease fire between states, not all of whom may agree to adhere to the terms of that cease fire.

At any rate, Australia's strategic relationship with Japan might benefit for the foreseeable future in having a much broader degree of cooperation in intelligence sharing. The decision for forge an agreement related to information sharing has provided a solid basis on which to further such ties. In recent years, the revelation that the US had been pushing for Japan to increase its espionage capacities was greeted with optimism among the Australian security community, with one observer stating that having Japan as a potential intelligence partner would prove particularly useful given Japan's ability to manouvre within East Asian societies without raising undue attention. While questions still remain as to whether Japan would be willing or able to expand its intelligence functions,  given the amount of domestic backlash that could be expected from such a move and how it would impact upon Japan's purely defensive based security policy, it is an avenue that warrants further scrutiny. To have Japan function as an affiliate of the Five Eyes arrangement, together with South Korea, would create a more solid security apparatus within the Asia Pacific region, although US reservations concerning the degree of reliability of such an framework would need to be placated first.

Recently I have been pouring through Akechi Kensaburo`s Honnoji no Hen, and found many of its arguments to be particularly intriguing. Although I must admit to being no expert (in any sense of the word) on the incident itself, this particular book caught my attention, not least because the author is a descendant of the same Akechi house that Mitsuhide belonged to. The author explains this in the preface to the book, and states that because of his lineage, for many years both he and members of his family were subject to abuse and scorn from a community that had been led to believe that Akechi Mitsuhide acted out of pure malice and an aggrieved sense of honour when he decided to attack Oda Nobunaga at Honnoji temple (1582).

As a descendant of Mitsuhide, Kensaburo believes that he, of all people, should seek to uncover some of the motives behind Mitsuhide`s decision and why he forsake Nobunaga at a time when Nobunaga was in the process of pacifying a nation at war with itself. Using a variety of historical records, both Japanese and Portuguese, Kensaburo looks at the common reasons given for Mitsuhide`s decision and dissects them one by one (warning: major spoiler up ahead).

One of the reasons that I found fascinating was that involving the ties between the Toki (土岐) Akechi family of Mino province and the Toki Ishigai (石谷) family. According to Kensaburo, the Toki, who were originally part of the shugo apparatus in Mino province, sent the Ishigai to Shikoku in service of the Kamakura Bakufu. Following the suppression of the Miyoshi family, the Ishigai came into the service of the Chosokabe (specifically Chosokabe Motochika). As is commonly known, the Chosokabe had played a significant role in Oda Nobunaga`s campaign against the Miyoshi, and had been granted a sizeable amount of Shikoku in return. The Chosokabe also held close relations to the Ashikaga shogunate, particularly Ashikaga Yoshiaki, and Akechi Mitsuhide, as a member of the ashigaru in service of the shogun, had been an intermediary between the Chosokabe and the shogunate.

Kensaburo`s states that one of the prime reasons for Mitsuhide`s act of betrayal had to do with the relationship between the two families of the Toki and Nobunaga`s pending campaign in Shikoku. Given that Chosokabe Motochika had firm ties to the shogunate, a position that put him at odds with Nobunaga, it was only a matter of time before Nobunaga chose to turn his attention towards suppressing the Chosokabe and other families within the Shikoku region. This would, of course, mean that the existence of the Ishigai would be put at risk. At the same time, Mitsuhide was apparently afraid that Nobunaga, once he had completed the conquest of Shikoku and Kyushu, would then launch an attack against the Ming court in China (as Nobunaga himself had expressed a desire to take his campaign to the mainland.)

Kensaburo`s also looks at one of the more famous incidents in the relationship between Mitsuhide and Nobunaga, that in which Nobunaga, in a fit of rage at Mitsuhide`s refusal to acquiesce to his demands, kicked Mitsuhide a number of times and humiliated him. As Kensaburo points out, this apparent incident was not directly witnessed by any of Nobunaga`s retainers, and was based on heresay. As for why Nobunaga would choose to physically attack one of his most senior retainers (as by this stage Mitsuhide had entered into Nobunaga`s service and proven his worth in campaigns against the Ikko sect and Enryakuji), Kensaburo says that it was Nobunaga`s plan to eliminate Matsudaira Ieyasu (later Tokugawa Ieyasu) in the wake of the destruction of the Takeda family of Kai province that pushed Mitsuhide to disagree with Nobunaga and attempt to reason with him.

Kensaburo then goes on to state that Ieyasu`s visit to the Kinki region in 1582, ostensibly to the port city of Sakai and later to Kyoto itself, was part of a plan hatched by Nobunaga to entrap Ieyasu and eliminate him as a potential rival. Only, Mitsuhide, who was privy to this plan, and who knew that if Nobunaga was successful, that he would launch his campaign in Shikoku, a campaign that might ultimately result in the elimination of a close relative to the Akechi and untold horror for many years to come. Hence this also points to the reason why Nobunaga was comparatively unarmed when he entered Kyoto to take up his residency at Honnoji temple. He expected that Mitsuhide would announce that he would travel to the Chugoku region to join Hashiba Hideyoshi (later Toyotomi Hideyoshi), then lead his troops back to Kyoto, surround Ieyasu as he approached the capital, and remove him as a threat to Nobunaga.

However Mitsuhide, driven by his concerns, decided to betray Nobunaga in the hope that this would produce a more favourable outcome for both him and others who had grown alarmed at Nobunaga`s level of ambition and refusal to heed the advice of his senior retainers.

The book itself is clearly written for the novice historian and general reader, and so does not concern itself greatly with masses of contemporary text (in part because evidence of Mitsuhide`s motives is few and far between), and any premodern text that is quoted is given a modern translation with analysis in order to clarify what the original author had intended to say. While Kensaburo does try to reach a justification for each of his conclusions, there is a sense that his study has not yet explored all of the possible sources available in relation to the incident, and so the book cannot be called a `definitive` account of the Honnoji incident.

That being said, it is still a very vivid, simply yet provocatively written work, and one that would serve as a good introduction to any reader interested in exploring the background to the Honnoji incident further. No English translation yet exists for its text, however should I find time I shall endeavour to bring this book to the attention of a wider audience. Two thumbs up.

This post stems from my recent reading of an article related to the Genyosha. Many years ago, while I was studying for my Master of Asian Studies degree, I spent some time looking at articles related to the rise of right-wing organizations in Japan during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Part of the research led me to discover a thesis related to the Genyosha, a group of `Pan-Asiatics` who were, according to the information I read, devoted to spreading Japan`s empire whilst trumpeting the call for the liberation of Asia from European colonial domination. As such, the society itself was regarded as `nationalist` and devoted to militarism.

Having read an article by an obvious Genyosha sympathizer, it seems that the picture is not so clear cut. While it is true that the Genyosha were nationalists, they were at the same time `ultra-nationalists` (in that their ideas incorporated a framework greater than their own nation) and that their ideology was often in conflict with and a direct contrast to that of the government. The Genyosha itself was centered in Fukuoka, as Kyushu had proven to be the most vocal in opposition to the imposition of reforms by the Meiji government (not exclusively limited to the abolition of the province system and the establishment of prefectures). The society itself was a by-product of the mass movements for liberal and independent rights that emerged during the 1870s, and some of its members had previously been imprisoned for their anti-government activities. The society was, however, devoted to strengthening Japan against what it saw as the encroaching power of European nations in the Asia Pacific. It actively supported liberation movements and their leaders across Asia (particularly after Toyama Mitsuru took over as head of the organization).

Yet one of the curious things that the author of the article stated was that the Genyosha exercised a lot of influence on government, the economy, and the military. If the Genyosha had originally begun in defiance of the government, how did it manage to acquiesce with and persuade members of the government to listen to its rhetoric? Another curious piece of evidence to emerge from the article was that concerning the attitude of the Genyosha towards Japan`s Korean colony. The head of the organization at the time expressed his disappointment with policies enacted towards the Koreans by the Japanese government and military, believing that they had squandered an opportunity to improve relations between the two nations as a result of heavy-handed tactics by the two latter institutions. If so, then how did the Genyosha come to influence the government in the manner that the author says they did, and what exactly did they advocate?

One further question to ask is how did the Genyosha come to exercise such influence when compared to the many other right-wing organizations in Japan at the time? The Genyosha were one of many, however they became the best known, and many of their members would go on to play prominent roles in government after the Genyosha was disbanded by the GHQ in 1946. There must have been something about them that differentiated them from other societies at the time and gave them added exposure. A final question that is related to those above is what Chinese organizations (particularly right-wing organizations) existed in China during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and was there any contact between these and the Genyosha? Did the Genyosha actively advocate the invasion of China in 1931?

The reason I am asking all of these questions stems from an interest in nationalism and how the right-wing elements of political parties (and right wing parties themselves) attempt to influence national policy. Nationalism in Japan and China are two subjects that have been extensively studied over the past few decades, however I wish to go back and look at the earlier manifestations of nationalism (in two states that had only recently come to perceive themselves as `nations`) and how this was transformed into political action.

 Another question of some relevance would be to ask how the Genyosha are perceived by historians in Japan of today. Having read an article by a lecturer who sympathizes with the Genyosha and their history, is this indicative of the majority of post-war studies on the Genyosha in Japan, or is there a definite split between critics and supporters of the Genyosha`s activities and legacy? In addition, what distinguishes the Genyosha from right-wing organizations of today – do they share similarities, or are they fundamentally different? Given the passage of time and the change of government in Japan from an autocracy to (at least in outward form) parliamentary democracy, one would imagine that there are substantial differences between pre and post war nationalism, yet the only way to resolve this question is to investigate it.

One of the chapters in this particular work deals with the question of `freedom` as it would have meant to commoners (defined as either the peasantry, and thus members of a joint organization, ie the village, or artisans and craftsmen). Within the medieval period, the nation was essentially divided into two halves, with the Court presiding over the west, while the Bakufu (based in Kamakura) ruled over the east. Those commoners who existed in either part of the country understood that they had certain rights to protection from either the Court or Bakufunate. However `protection` could be construed as a form of `rule`. Commoners who believed that their rights to a degree of freedom were being infringed by those higher on the social scale could choose to abscond or resist (in the form of ikki).

One interesting thing said about ikki on pg.55 is that the process itself depended on formulaic rituals (the drinking in Shinsui, for example), and those persons who put their name to a kishōmon and then participated in the ceremony of Ichimi Shinsui were essentially cutting off those ties that bound them to other organizations within society, ie master and servant, parent and child. Each member now stood as an individual, but decisions would be made according to the majority within the group. This in itself was a form of liberation for the commoner, for the ikki organization was born from a group of individuals who had become aware of their liberation from the `collective` (which in this sense meant societal ties. They chose to break their obligations by appealing to a higher power).

Amino also makes mention of artisans and craftsmen, who in the case of those living in and around the capital were protected by the authority of the court. They were originally thought of as being `without ties (muen) or masterless (mushu)` yet did organize themselves into collectives such as the `za` or `ya`. This was their equivalent of the joint organization that existed in rural areas. Also, on pg 53 he mentions that within Kyoto there were certain areas (ie, the riverbanks) that were under the control of the court affiliated `non levy` (検非違使庁) office, which meant that together with those areas directly administered by temples and shrines, both the poor and destitute could reside there without fear of prosecution for tithes. In both cases, these people would be considered to be in direct servitude to the temple or court, and were thus exempt from the burdens that applied to other commoners. It should be said, though, that this clemency was applied to those with some form of craft and who could exercise it for the benefit of the temple or court (such as `jinnin`). These people also lost their `freedom`, as they were tied to service either a temple or shrine as either `jinu` (寺奴) or `shinnu` (神奴), positions that Amino ascribes to the social class of `shokujin` (職人).

In terms of rural areas, Amino states that in the medieval period, the village would be represented by heads who were responsible for the collection and payment of tithes – this system evaporated by the early modern era, when the entire village would be liable for payment of tithes and would be taxed accordingly. He also points out (again on pg.53) that in the early medieval period, although the Court and Bakufu exercised completed rule over the east and west, this did not mean that they collected income from administration of cities, ports, or lodgings, or from tolls. Instead they managed a system in which the right of passage (通行許可証, or 過所 かしょ) would guarantee free license to operate a business and to pass along the roads. In time, the right to establish a toll gate (関所設定権) would appear in order to allow the collection of tolls. As artisans depended on upon free movement in order to practice their trade (which would then be used as profit for the court, shogunate, and temples/shrines), they demanded that they be given a special right of free access and be exempt from the taxes of other commoners, which was approved.

One further point made by Amino is on the meaning of ōyake (公). In its original context, it referred to a large meeting area or hall, yet was gradually expanded to cover a range of `public duties`, a point that was not lost on local landowners, who (as explained on pgs.47 and 48) saw the idea of `public obligations` as a means to solidify their control over commoner communities.

One of the fascinating parts to this particular book is the way in which it describes how the mindset of the lower classes of samurai and retainers worked during the period beginning during the Onin War and continuing on until the end of the Sengoku era (around the time of the Osaka Summer Campaign of 1615). It states that most of the lower ranks went to war with the expressed hope of gaining some form of wealth from the capture of slaves or robbing corpses of their armour. Slaves were particularly useful, however if there were too many, like all commodities the price will fall and their sale would become less profitable. Fujimoto gives a specific example of this practice in the campaign launched by the Shimazu during the late 1580s in a bid to wrest control from the Otomo before the arrival of Hideyoshi. In the march from Satsuma, the lower classes of samurai ransacked the villages along the route, capturing many hundreds of men, women, and children, who were then forced into servitude. The practice began in Higo province and continued on into Bungo, hence by the time the Shimazu had called for a retreat in the wake of defeat at the hands of Hideyoshi, they had acquired a considerable number of captives. Many of these ended up in the hands of the Portuguese, who were only to willing to trade in slaves in order to send them to Portuguese settlements in Macao, Ceylon, and Cambodia.

This practice of Japanese selling other Japanese into slavery came to the attention of Hideyoshi, who placed a ban on the trade, ordering all slaves that were captured in the campaign of the Shimazu to be returned to their original dwellings. The Portuguese, who were particularly targeted by Hideyoshi`s edict against slavery, complained that they had lawfully acquired their property and that if the Japanese themselves wanted to stamp out the practice then they should cease selling their countrymen for profit. The only dilemma for Hideyoshi came later after he had pacified most of northern Kyushu, for in the wake of disturbances the peasantry began to revolt against the rule of his subordinates. As a remedy, Hideyoshi thus ordered these revolts to be suppressed, which they were with great suffering. What it also meant was that the subordinates of Hideyoshi took more slaves from the rebelling villages and sold them to traders, pirates, and allies. Neither did this practice halt with the Kyushu campaign. When Hideyoshi`s forces invaded Korea, they carried their tradition of slavery with them. Fujimoto records an example of a Satsuma retainer who, after writing to his family, tells them that he has acquired some slaves from among the Koreans, and is sending them to his household to be held as `a gift`, in much the same manner as a modern businessman might send a souvenir from places he has visited. Slaves could be used for any purpose and could be sent anywhere. Another example cited by Fujiki tells of a retainer who was entertained by some young women during the Osaka Campaign. After enquiring about their origins, they inform him that they were captured by the Shimazu army in Bungo and subsequently shipped to Kawachi where they had spent most of their lives.

Fujiki also explains that in the battlefields of the Sengoku era, the main task of capturing enemies for ransom fell upon the lower class of samurai, who had more to gain from trading a captive for gold than following the upper class practice of killing anyone he managed to capture. Most of the nobility and high levels of samurai did not expect to be captured alive on the battlefield, and indeed such a fate would be deemed utterly humiliating, thus the high incidences of ritual suicide among the upper class. If an upper class samurai captured an opponent of the same status, he would put him to death and then have his head shipped (or carried) to his commander as proof of his prowess. It did not suit upper class samurai to kill those of lower rank (if they captured them), for their heads would not make as significant an impact. Indeed, it was not uncommon for upper class samurai who had failed to take any heads during a battle to pay their lower class colleagues to go out and fetch a head from among the corpses and claim it had been taken during the fighting (although this practice was severely frowned upon). Severed heads were the most common form of proof that samurai had performed their duties, and thus during the Korean campaign ships crammed with the heads of slain Korean soldiers were shipped back to Nagoya (in northern Kyushu) for inspection and verification.

Wholesale slaughter of captives by lower class samurai did not occur so frequently, for samurai of similar status to themselves could simply be sold off as slaves for which money would be given. That in itself proved a great incentive to keep captives alive and use them for one`s own purposes until they either died or were sold off. The only problem here, of course, was that lower class samurai would not merely satisfy themselves with slaves taken on the battlefield, but would take them wherever they found them, including from villages in their lord`s territory if it suited them. Kato Kiyomasa had to issue orders to his own troops warning of punishments should they dare to take slaves from country that he had pacified (and Fujiki provides plenty of other examples of such edicts against taking slaves from allied territories). The basic rule was that anything within the lands controlled by one`s own lord and allied generals were off-limits to slavery, but once the border was crossed into enemy territory anything was fair game (as evidenced from the activities of Uesugi Kenshin`s armies, who in their frequent forays into Shimotsuma, Hitatchi, Musashi, Mutsu, and Shinano ravaged the territory of the Hojo. These jaunts were usually timed to co-incide with the coming of winter, when the Uesugi knew that their opponents were stocked up on winter provisions. Thus they would sweep down from Echigo, take what they wanted, and then leave in the spring. These incidents in themselves would strain the relationship between a lord and his servants, as they expected protection from such threats and when that didn`t happen they would search about for a better candidate) (this information is also in the book titled “Mura kara mita Sengoku daimyo”). Indeed this very act was the spark that led Hojo Ujimasu to relinquish his title to head of the household and retire after he realized that he did not possess the means nor skill to be able to defeat the Uesugi or properly protect Hojo territory. The relationship between lord and village was reciprocal, hence any failure on the part of one would lead to repercussions for the other.

It appears, from the documents that Fujiki quotes, that the Uesugi specifically planned their attacks to coincide with winter not merely because they would be assured of capturing wealth in the Kanto, but it allowed the army to sustain itself over the winter months on the property and goods of the rulers of the east. This would become a particularly acute need in spring, when food was most scarce and starvation threatened to devastate the population. Indeed the records taken from a myriad of venues throughout Japan show that early spring through to early summer were the worst times for finding foodstuff, and that many died from want of food brought on by successive droughts and floods (particularly during the mid to late 16th Century). The villagers of Echigo, and subsequently their rulers, realized that a means to reduce the number of mouths to feed was to embark on campaign – not a bad strategy in itself when one considers that the villages would solve the problem of supply and population at the same time.

The `Akutō`, Pirates, and Traders of the Battlefield:

There is probably a need to once again take a look at the figure of the `miscellaneous` soldier, for it wasn`t just soldiers from villages looking to gain wealth who caused the mayhem that ensued when battle got underway. Part of this can be discerned from the household laws (Article 27) of the Ketsujō (Musubishiro) family. Strategy that called for a surprise attack on an enemy camp at night in secret (known as `kusa` or grass, and yagyō, or evening work) relied upon the experience and expertise of the `akutō`. However at this stage, amongst those close to the daimyo, an `akutō` would be designated as an assistant, although their real work would only occur in the evening which often called for the use of young women. Essentially, this `akutō` was a young person of considerable courage. If they were to be killed in the course of carrying out their duties, they would forfeit any reward and their property. In the territory of the Ketsujō, for `kusa` and evening work, usually this meant that they would employ…” akutō among others, who could run, and were of upstanding character”. In short this meant the hiring of professional groups of akutō and shinobi, whose skills included capturing and securing individuals in enemy territory. The articles of duty for a certain daimyo included a clause for `taking an individual female` from enemy territory, an example that is repeated nowhere else in openly acknowledging the taking of captives in this manner.(130)

Thus when the Ketsujō family drew up pacts of friendship with villages which bordered upon hostile territory, they included a clause within their list of promises stating that any person from those villages who until now had come into the possession of the Ketsujō would be returned, and that in future the Ketsujō would not engage in `night theft, `asagake`, or infiltration (norikomi). Any who would break this promise would be severely punished. These `night thefts, asagake, and infiltration` were the same type of work as that introduced before via the `kusa` and `night work`, that being stealth strategy using during the night. Each time this was used, the `akutō` would steal someone away from their village, thus as a show of goodwill, all captives were to be returned. The capture of prisoners was one method of payment for `theft, asagake, and infiltration`, and was silently acknowledged as such among themselves. Article ninety-eight of the Ketsujō laws states that `those persons who remove genin (the lower classes – the poor), samurai, or peasants from their homes, for the purposes of theft, asagake (conflict), kusa (night espionage), storage (ie, banditry), or encounters (ie, spying) and do not disclose such activities, are to be dealt with swiftly”. What we see from this document is that many forms of work existed for those who could infiltrate enemy positions at night, and that the Ketsujō weren`t adverse to using either bandits or spies. Mercenaries could thus act as they wished – as samurai (young `gangs` or ashigaru), genin (messengers or allies), or villagers.(131)

The laws of the Imagawa household (仮名目緑三一条) also state…” We shall cease relying upon the cooperation of those who would fight on behalf of the enemy”, in sum, every effort will be made to prevent acts that would mean employing mercenaries from among the enemy, from which we can surmise that mercenaries were free to choose whomever they wished to fight on behalf of, whether they were enemies or allies.(132)

Prof Fujiki also makes mention (from pages 153 to 160) of the phenomena of peasants seeking refuge within castles or fleeing into the depths of the mountains (practices that were known as `shiro agari` (城あがり) and `yama agari` (山あがり) alike ). A majority of the examples are taken from the latter part of the Sengoku era (from 1580 onwards) yet they do illustrate how castles functioned as a refuge point from invading armies (although seeking refuge within a castle did have its drawbacks, namely the lack of provisions which were exacerbated by prolonged sieges). Another point that Prof Fujiki makes concerns Tachibana castle in Chikuzen province, a castle that was ruled over by Betsugi Akitsura (later known as Tachibana Dōsetsu). What the evidence shows is that villages that were within eight to ten kilometers of the castle sought refuge within the castle, whilst those villages that lay further afield would flee to the mountains at the approach of an army (which in this case was the army of the Akizuki). The evidence also states that those who flocked to the castle were the `ashiyowai` (足弱), in other words, the old, women, and children. Prof Fujiki then goes on to give further examples of `shiro agari` from the Kantō region, thus demonstrating that castles did indeed function as refuge points and were not entirely devoted to military purposes. They were a safe haven (of sorts) in an environment of internecine strife.

Mikael Adolphson`s The Teeth and Claws of the Buddha:Monastic Warriors and Sōhei in Japanese History, University of Hawaii Press, Hawaii, 2007.

One of the most interesting points that Adolphson makes in the introductory chapter is to reveal the nature of the debate over the use of the term sōhei. He quotes the work of many Japanese scholars on the subject, and notes that the use of the word sōhei emerged during the Tokugawa era (around 1715), and that before such times the armed members of temple complexes were known by a variety of names but never as sōhei. Despite this, Adolphson also shows that the term sōhei is so deeply ingrained in popular consciousness that it is unwittingly used by specialists in medieval studies without question, despite the fact that such usage is anachronistic (according to Adolphson, the term sōhei came by way of Korea where it was first used to describe temple monks fighting against invasions by the Jurchen).  

Another point that Adolphson illuminates has to do with the actual construction of the idea of monastic warriors. Debate on what constituted a monastic warrior has carried on for over a century, yet there have been few close studies related to searching sources for clear illustrations of armed monks. Some authors have stated that monastic warriors were retainers of aristocrats who entered the temples after taking the tonsure, others have stated that they were drawn from the lower ranks of the temple hierarchy (from the myriad of lay workers that performed various tasks around the temples), to more Marxist interpretations of conflict between the lower and upper ranks of the temple. While all of these theories might have merit, if someone is to be defined as a monk, it implies that they practiced religion. If they didn`t, they should merely be called armed retainers of major temples. Adolphson also outlines what must be something of a problem in passive reading of sources – the acceptance of terms verbatim despite their absence from primary sources, a problem evident in the work of many Japanese scholars.

The cowls worn by monks during the period in question (900 to 1400) were primarily used as a means to preserve anonymity. If a person wished to listen in on a sermon in secret, they would don a cowl. The same would go for those persons wishing to participate in ceremonies from outside the temple organization. Hence they were not, at first, overwhelmingly associated with armed monks.　Moreover, it was Ryōgen who proscribed the carrying of armaments within the confines of Mt Hiei, despite the fact that he was instrumental in creation the schism between the Ennin and Enshin branches of Tendai, and expanding the authority of Enryakuji over surrounding regions.

The essential premise of Claws of the Buddha is to illustrate that there is no exclusive image of sōhei and their motives. He brings up the subject of dōshu, or commoners employed by temples for the purposes of maintenance and administration. Often these people were from a military background and certainly had familiarity with weapons (as evident in the growing militarization of society during the Kamakura era). As the records of the time speak of `evil monks` (as these records were by and large kept by imperial authorities or else by military families affiliated with the imperial system) in regard to any or all temple affiliates, Adolphson believes that many of such commoners may have acted out their frustrations with the government system at the time by using the protection of a powerful institution like the temples of Enryakuji and Kōfukuji. In this sense they would have been no different from commoners who allied themselves to military families. Therefore the figure of the sōhei may not have been one confined to the priesthood, but may rather have been a lay person acting on behalf of the temple. This idea extends to the image of sōhei in cowls with naginata at their sides – Adolphson believes that this picture is misleading as most dōshu would probably have been indistinguishable from secular warriors.

Adolphson also devotes some time to the figure of jinnin, or shrine servants. These were people who devoted themselves to the affairs of great shrines. By and large they were artisans and craftsman who made their livelihood selling items for the shrine. As they worked for a religious institution, they were exempt from taxation and could remain outside the law, which made jinnin status particularly attractive for those with a grudge against the imperial government. He provides a number of examples of jinnin inspired protests and vandalism to prove his point. Adolphson then concludes by saying that jinnin were not passive traders yet could be ambitious with some standing in society. Affiliation with a shrine could give them prestige which they could use in disputes against their foes. As Adolphson says, the jinnin were a `crucial element in the larger shrines throughout the Kamakura period`. He goes on to say that…”If the jinnin comprised a diverse group ranging from workers and administrators to local warriors, their special privileges and status made them a group with common interests primarily outside the precincts and purposes of the monastery. They not only performed their trades under a shrine`s protection, they also might and did act aggressively, and often violently, on the pretext of patron sanctions”.(from p.78)

Interesting fact in relation to the introduction of Buddhism to Japan was the fact that the Soga family, who were the principal advocates of Buddhist beliefs in Japan in the sixth century, became embroiled in conflict with other families who wanted to continue adherence to the Shintoist gods. Adolphson goes on to state that the Buddhism brought to Japan had been influenced by both Chinese and Korean traditions. As such, it inherited from those nations (particularly the Tang) a set of codes and stipulations, in essence twenty seven articles detailing the behaviour expected of clerics and codified in the Sōni ryō of 718. It forbade monks and nuns from killing, stealing, keeping and reading military manuscripts, forming criminal gangs, or receiving donations of serfs, oxen, horses, or weapons. Adolphson also makes the good point that Buddhism in Japan, like elsewhere, was never separate from the social and political reality that surrounded it. Some references can be drawn from the Nihon shoki of monks using violence against others, however as this is a didactic work its purpose was merely to give examples of persons behaving out of order. However, given the upheavals wrought by reforms during the seventh and eighth centuries, then there probably were monks prepared to act in their own interests. During the eighth century, mandatory military service was expected of all prosperous farming families, which left them in dire straits as all of their able-bodied men would be sequestered. Yet as religions were exempt from this service, many individuals took the tonsure for no other reason that to escape serving their time, which meant that monasteries did have many acolytes within them who weren`t particularly motivated by a desire for religious instruction. Yet scholars mostly admit that the use of arms by monasteries to resolve conflicts did not appear in great numbers until the Heian period. This is not helped by the fact that the evidence is scant – it is hard to say what violence was institutional and what was merely a result of circumstance. Those incidents of violence from the early Heian era are `highly localized, rarely involving more than a few clerics`.(24-25)

Another poignant note made by Adolphson is to show that Mid-Heian Japan was a society that was undergoing a transition to recognition of military forms of power both locally and centrally. Local violence made it harder for the central authorities to control the provinces, which led them to issue a continuous series of edicts and promulgations to try to co-opt the warriors of the countryside in their service, and thus keep the warriors within the system rather than casting them outside it. A relaxation of central rule came about through necessity – the court could not risk aggravating provincial strongmen lest they come to challenge the rule of the elites in Kyoto. In the centre, factionalism began to play a greater part in both the political and social spectrum, particularly seeing that the bureaucratic framework was ceasing to be as effective. Thus adjustments were made for direct and effective ties between local powers and noble houses, however this led to an upsurge in violence.

In this way, nobles and temples began to rely more on their own networks of resources and supporters among a much more diversified political and social landscape in central Japan. No real opposition was made to having armed monasteries, indeed some may have indeed favoured it. A main ideological concept of the court from the tenth century held that Imperial Law and Buddhism were intertwined, that they were mutually dependent – the idea of ōbō buppō sōi. It justified the usage of violence by religion on the grounds that Buddhism was the defender of the imperial state. By the end of the tenth and eleventh centuries, the `idea of Buddhism`s decline (mappō, the end of the law) had spread among the noble elites, thus leading to the upsurge in monastic violence`. The common feeling was that it was something that could not be helped, or was the last line of defence against a more complete collapse.(29)

Establishment of the Ashikaga Bakufu – signaled the rise of the warrior class, and the most important event of the entire fourteenth century. Continued war between the Southern and Northern Courts meant that the bakufu could not ensure stability until near the end of the century. However, it was clear by the 1350s that the warriors and not the imperial court were in control of government. This new shift in power seen in Ashikaga Takauji`s removal of Prince Moriyoshi as shōgun, and the emperor`s visit to the villa of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358-1408) for the coming-of-age ceremony of Yoshimitsu`s son in 1394. Bakufu took control of economic jurisdiction that allowed Kyoto elites to collect considerable income, although estate revenues were in decline.

In the late fourteen century, the Ashikaga start taxing guilds, which had been off-limits until then under protection of temples and shrines, and severely cut back the number of toll gates in the capital (these were mostly under the control of various temples).

In religion, the Ashikaga moved away from traditional religions and turned towards newer faiths like Zen, whilst populist ideas spread, challenging the authority of the traditional faiths. Temples such as Enryakuji, Onjōji, and Kōfukuji find themselves on the defensive in the second half of the fourteenth century, still staging demonstrations as they always had, but they found these had virtually no effect on the warriors. When Kōfukuji clergy carried their mikoshi and other artifacts to the capital in the twelfth month of 1371 in relation to a land dispute, no one expected that these artifacts would remain in Kyoto for three years before a resolution was reached.(52)

The fourteenth century signifies the era of gekokujō – an era in which military might came to replace social status as a means to power. Use of arms becomes more widespread from the fourteenth century onwards as people of various classes, farmers, merchants, and `evil bands` (akutō) made up of rogue warriors took to violence as a means to resolve their disputes and expand influence. Established monasteries still had armies, but these were not tied to monasteries as tightly as before, and leaders became known as daimyo, who had no religious training or administrative responsibilities in monasteries. Number of figures took part in military conflict on behalf of Enryakuji in the early fourteenth century, from customary burning of Onjōji to wars of the 1330s. Names of some of these monks were those of Jōrinbō Sagami Gōyō (1310s), Dōjōbō no suke Yūkaku and Myōkan`in Inaba Zenson (1330s), all identified as `members of the warrior class for generations` (daidai buke gokenin no yoshi).(52-53)

As shown by Thomas Conlan, domestic wars of the Nambokuchō era (1336-1392) had a significant impact on society in general, where social status now dependent on military proficiency rather than title or pedigree.(53)

Thoughts discerned from Karl Friday, The First Samurai:The life and legend of the warrior rebel Taira Masakado, John Wiley & Sons Inc, 2008.

(Rebellion of Taira Masakado – took place in the eastern provinces of Hitachi, Kosuke, Shimotsuna, and Musashino. Attempt to establish a rival government to the court).

The first point about this book which makes it particularly worthwhile is the fact that it outlines the lordship system and system of land distribution as practiced during the Heian era. What it particularly emphasizes is that in Heian Japan, the transfer of property occurred exclusively within the family concerned, and that familial ties counted for very little. For example, siblings might remain loyal to one another while their father was alive, but upon his death the property would be divided up among the children, with both sons and daughters entitled to their share. Each son would then form his own branch of the family apart from that of his siblings, and would in fact compete with them for posts etc. Thus the ties between brothers (and sisters) were tentative at best, and those between cousins even thinner. Essentially blood relations played a very small role in the political decision making process of most estate owners – their main motivation was what would it do for their own household. Thus the concept of Taira and Minamoto `clans` is mostly a convenient historical tool, for in reality these two entities did not exist – they were a conglomerate of different houses, each with their own agenda.

Another good point brought up by Friday is the removal of the illusion that warfare as practiced in the Heian era was anything but as civilized as the war tales of the time, particularly the Heike Monogatari, might suggest. The classic description of battle at the time states that after a mostly desultory exchange of arrows, each side would have a champion that would ride out, announce his lineage and title, and challenge another on the other side to combat. Each would then duel, with mercy declared for the loser if requested, and care taken for onlookers so that they might not get in harm`s way. The reality, derived from records of the time, paints a completely different picture. The object of battle in the Heian era was to resolve the problem as straight-forwardly as possible, which meant no exchange of lineage and rather more emphasis on the use of arrows. Each side would then attack the other, with scant attention paid to whoever might inadvertently get in the way. The Heian era also saw the introduction of new forms of armor giving the horseback rider much greater movement in the shoulders, and the more widespread use of what became the classic samurai sword, or the tachi (straighter swords were still in use at the time as well). Another point emphasized by Friday is that the use of violence could only occur within a certain context, for ultimately it was the court that could decide if war should be announced or punitive measures taken. The provincial warriors knew this as well, as thus acted within the confines of the law as far as possible, however they did exceed their authority on occasion which could bring retribution from the court. It was his plea to the court that allowed Masakado to be elevated in status after his feuds with his cousins, for without it they would not have recognized the legitimacy of the actions that he took against Taira Yoshitake, Yoshimasa and so forth.

Friday also shows in good detail what constituted the Japanese warhorse. It was mostly a breed derived from Mongolian steppe horses and other Chinese bred horses that had existed in Asia for millennia. These horses were shorter than their Arabian or European cousins, much stockier, hairier, with shorter noses, and much less stamina. A Japanese horse could only carry a mounted warrior at full speed for a very short distance, afterwards it would slow to a trot (about 9 kilometers an hour), compared to a European horse that would travel at 16 kilometers an hour without a rider (and thus slower if carrying a load). Such horses could be exhausted if forced to carry a 50 kilogram rider with 45 kilograms of armor for more than 10 kilometers at a quick pace (which probably brings back the argument about the use of arrows and archers in medieval Japanese armies, armies which, at the most, might consist of 400 men. It would be much easier to stand off at a distance and shoot arrows at an opponent then attempt to ride him down on a horse that couldn`t maintain much pace for very long. Or the samurai could use the horse mainly for transport to the battlefield, although once he dismounted he would effectively be forced to fight on foot for the rest of the conflict, as his horse would wander off – there were no servants attending the samurai in the Heian era).