The political world of Japan over the past two weeks has witnessed the latest in the continuing saga that is the political fortunes of Ozawa Ichiro and his relationship with his own party, the DPJ. On Tuesday a bill put forward by PM Noda Yoshihiko to increase the consumption tax rate from 5 to 8% by 2014 and then to 10% by 2015 passed the lower house (despite the opposition of 57 members of the DPJ, who voted against the bill) and has  been handed over to the upper house, which it is again expected to pass (given the control the LDP and Komeito alliance holds over the upper house and their support for an increase in consumption tax).

The passage of the bill has led to some serious soul searching for members of the Ozawa faction in the DPJ, which has consistently voiced its dissent to any move to force tax increases onto the population given that the DPJ's own manifesto pledged not to do this if it came to power.  As PM Noda effectively aligned himself with LDP's policy position  in order to have the bill passed (thereby giving him a political victory over his internal opponents),  those DPJ members who owe their political fortunes to their association with Ozawa (such as former PM Hatoyama Yukio) have voiced their concerns that the rifts within the party are too great to heal and that the DPJ is destined to disintegrate.

This sentiment was tempered somewhat earlier in the week, with Ozawa allies stating that their opposition to the Consumption Tax bill did not necessarily mean they were considering leaving the party. All such comments did was fuel speculation that this is precisely what they have in mind. What the past week has also done is thrust Ozawa back into the limelight, which is a position that Ozawa himself is happy to occupy. The question now is whether Ozawa will indeed jump ship and forge yet another party based around his personal influence. While he may do so, such a move would not improve his own political standing with the public (who, after decades of negative press coverage of Ozawa and his 'reformist' mindset are loathe to allow Ozawa to extend his political career any further than it has already gone) and would merely add to the already overcrowded theatre of political parties within the Diet (not to mention the absence of any likelihood that the new party would have any greater success in opposition given the relatively small number of members it would attract).
 
One strategy that he seems to have decided to concentrate on is to ramp up debate within the DPJ on what the party actually stands for, convening a 'New Policy Discussion Group' based on an idea that all politics revolves around the policies pursued by parties. Leaving aside the obvious nature of this statement, Ozawa appears to have anointed himself the leader of disaffected politicians seeking to extracate themselves from  the DPJ executive. Not only this, Ozawa has hinted that only a general election will reveal whether the DPJ still has the support of the people, and may use his newly formed group to pursue those ideas likely to resonate well with most Japanese - namely an end to the use of nuclear power, a reduction in the presence of US forces in Japan, the removal of consumption taxes, and a reduction in the size and influence of the bureaucracy. 

On another note, the lower house of the Diet, after consultation with the Supreme Court of Japan, has decided to go ahead with the adoption of an amended Copyright Law bill that criminalises various forms of on-line activity (mainly file sharing) that (according to the bill) violates the rights of copyright holders. As the legislation is so open ended that leaves it liable to misinterpretation, it has been rejected by the EU and by the Australian government as unworkable, however the DPJ, together with the coalition LDP and Komeito, have given it the green light.   

Anonymous, in its somewhat misguided wisdom, has taken exception to this decision, and so has launched DDoS attacks on those websites of institutes it believes were responsible for the legislation being adopted, such as the Ministry of Finance, the Supreme Court of Japan, and the DPJ. As a side note, Anonymous does appear to have missed its mark when it targeted the offices of the Kasumigaura branch of the Ministry of Transport in Ibaraki prefecture, rather than the Ministry itself in Kasumigaseki, Tokyo. Nevertheless, the fact that lawyers for media production and other copyright holders have leant on the Japanese government to approve harsher penalties for copyright infringement cannot be a positive development for intellectual property rights in Japan, no matter what benefits might flow to political parties as a result of such a deal.

The arbitrary nature of the legislation, and the fact that it can be applied to any form of file sharing (or whatever corporation concerned defines as file sharing) will merely impose penalties on end users without addressing the problem of intellectual theft in the first place.  If, as a result of this legislation, there is a spike in the number of youths being hauled before courts on charges of intellectual theft and given suspended sentences or harsher penalties, then the public backlash may be greater than any benefit accured by  either the companies or political parties concerned. Bad legislation only perpetuates public contempt for political process, hence the only redemption available for the government would be to send the legislation to a review committee for further consideration before  committing itself to a law whose limits may beyond the ability of the government to curtail. 

Sumo – The love life of popular sumo wrestlers provides material for scoops by t.v reporters, magazines, and newspapers. This situation was no different during the Edo era. Romance between famous wrestlers and women of the `world of willows and flowers` (ie, Yoshiwara) caught the attention of the masses. Such trysts were often depicted in print and sold well.

Sumo wrestlers, hired swords, and the heads of fire fighting brigades were known as the `three men of Edo`, and were much swooned over by women. Unfortunately, however, women were not allowed to watch sumo wrestling matches. It was only after the Meiji Restoration that women were permitted to attend sumo tournaments. The fact that women are still not permitted to step up onto the dōhyō is a legacy of this proscription.

When a wrestler rose to the rank of Ozeki, he would be removed from his room in his former stable and would come under the protection of a daimyo, whereupon he would be given the rank of samurai and awarded a stipend. He would be allowed to wear two swords, and could come and go as he pleased. When a wrestler was supported by a daimyo, he would be seen as upholding the honor of the daimyo, therefore when he wrestled on the dōhyō he had to give it his all.  

There were edoites who were fairly fired up by sumo matches, declaring that `those blokes who go to see a sumo match and who don`t come away with at least one bruise aren`t real men`. Fights broke out at matches and sometimes people were killed, thus resulting in numerous bans over the years.

At matches where the dōhyō was enclosed within 4 wooden pillars (which supported the roof over the dōhyō), a number of swords would be tied to each pillar. If a fight broke out, each stable master would grab a sword and go and defend their students.

There were also referees who drew swords on occasion. This was the `standing official` who played a particularly important role in matches, and who would have to draw his sword and commit seppuku as a means to apologize if he made a wrong decision in a match (remembering that each wrestler fought for the honor of their daimyo and thus could not be humiliated). Being an official meant putting your life on the line.

Sumo was performed outdoors. Stands known as the `Yoshizukake` would be erected for the audience (similar in style to those stands available for spectators at the Rio Carnivale), which would be dismantled once the tournament ended.

Matches could not be held if it rained, hence there may have been a long waiting time during particularly wet seasons when rain could continue for months.

There is an expression that speaks of `men who are happy living for just 20 days during the year`, for there were tournaments that would last for 20 days. Those sumo wrestlers known as `ten ryō` would receive that amount over the course of a year. It was, in a sense, their annual wage.

There were smaller wrestlers who used particular techniques, and there were large wrestlers. There is no reliable data available on wrestlers themselves, however some wrestlers were said to be 2 meters, 35 centimeters tall. When the Black Ships arrived from the U.S, some sumo wrestlers lined up on the shore to watch them. Some of them were shipped over to be viewed by the American representatives. These representatives were surprised to see them, and remarked `that there are also such large Japanese`. (80-84)

Soba – The popularity of soba, a commonly eaten form of noodle, began in the Edo era. At first, soba was boiled in a similar manner to `zatsutaki` (a popular form of winter food, consisting of a wide variety of boiled foods`). Afterwards the soba would be scraped into a bowl and then eaten like rice gruel. Sobagaki (scraped soba) meant putting soba flour into hot water, mixing it, and then making it into a form of rice cake. It would be made into a ball, and then baked all over, thus making `O-yaki`.

In Edo, when someone mentioned `soba`, the image that came to mind was almost overwhelmingly that of boiled `sobagaki`. Hence unless one specifically asked for `cut soba`, no-one would understand if you were ask for `soba noodles` (men). In fact, this type of cuisine was derived from the `mugikiri` (or `cut flour`) (in other words, udon) favoured by the upper classes. However, it was the soba makers of Edo that made `sobakiri` famous.

The first of these soba makers to gain popularity was the `Kendon Sobaya`. Originally there was a store called `Kendon Udon`, so Kendon Sobaya was an imitation of this name. `Kendon` itself referred to `tsukkendon`, meaning `gruff, or surly`. Bowls would be piled high, with cheap seconds available for those who wanted them. `Bukkake Soba`, in which cold soba would be piled up on a dish and then covered in warm soup would become a staple dish. A relish (yakuaji 薬味) could be added for an extra fee. Daikon oroshi (finely grated Japanese giant radish), and dried flakes of mandarin rind were popular as condiments.

`Seven spice` chili powder is considered to be a `service` for customers, whereas from the point of view of the owners it brings in the money. Shallots only began to be used as a common condiment from the Meiji era onwards. If shallots were used during the Edo era, the dish would be described as `namban` (literally `southern barbarian`, meaning `foreign`). Thus it would have been difficult for `Kendon Sobaya` to offer cut shallots together with its dishes.

Kendon Sobaya was also known as `ni hachi soba` (28 soba). In an Ukiyoe picture by a third generation of Utagawa painters, Utagawa Toyokuni, there is a large signboard for Kendon Sobaya depicted in the background. There are two theories as to why Kendon Sobaya came to be called `ni hachi`. One theory goes `ni hachi refers to 16, which was the cost of a bowl of soba`. Another theory states that `the division of udon flour to soba flour was 2:8`. If you consider that there were other soba establishments with sign boards that mentioned `eighteen soba`, `twenty six soba`, and `thirty eight soba`, then `ni hachi` was probably referring to its price.

 There were various kinds of soba offered at a sobaya by the close of the Edo period. The `Gozen Ōsero`, seeded dishes (which meant soba served with condiments) mentioned `ankake udon` (adzuki udon), `arare` (rice crackers square in shape), `tempura`, `shippoku` and `tamago toji` (boiled eggs). Incidently, green willow leaves that had dried seaweed sprinkled on top was called `arare`. Roughly cut dried seaweed that had been sprinkled over soba was called `hana maki` (sprinkled flowers). A black lacquered lid would be placed over the bowl. When it was lifted off, the aroma of the sea would waft upwards. This was a particular popular dish.

Dishes that included fried egg, fish paste sausage, shiitake, or `arrowhead` root were referred to as `shippoku`. They resemble the modern dish of `Okame`, yet in the case of Okame, fish paste sausage is laid over matsutake mushrooms. Before the Edo era, `tempura soba` did not consist of two large prawns placed over the soba as is the practice today, but was made up of small prawns mixed into a flour paste and fried. `Zaru soba` only came to resemble the modern practice of placing pieces of dried seaweed over the soba from the 10th year of Meiji onwards (1877). Until this time, soba placed on a bamboo frame was referred to as `zaru soba`, whereas soba served on a plate was called `sara mori`, which was abbreviated to `mori soba`. Steamed bamboo soba (known as Ōseiro) really was steamed in a bamboo basket, a practice that continues today. Placing heaps of cold soba on a bamboo frame was a trend that came much later.

When one speaks of soba, one also thinks of the pleasant slurping sound made when eating it, yet the high pitched sound made when eating soba only came to be commonly heard after performances of rakugo started to be played over the radio. In Edo, a soft `suck, suck` sound was permissible, but a `slurp slurp` sound was regarded as uncouth. Soba, before the Edo era, only consisted of a base of 1/3 soup. If the amount of soup was too great, it would be too hot and thus people would have to pucker their lips up more in order to eat it thus resulting in a `slurp slurp` sound. If there was only a bit of soup in the bowl, then a `suck suck` sound would result.

Looking at a recipe of the early Edo era, soba was made by `combing a cup of mirin with a cup of soy sauce, mixing them together, steaming the mixture and then adding daikon, finally placing this mixture in a bowl`. The soup at the time was very spicy. If only a bit was added to soup, this would be fine, but if a lot was added, your throat would burn.

Even now there are soba makers that offer `soba manju` for people to eat. The reason for this was because soba was first produced by confectionary shops. Manju is still made using steam bamboo baskets. At some distinguished old soba maker stores, `soba manju`, `soba bōro`, and `soba yōkan` are still available.(87-91)

As was reported in one of my earlier posts, the fallout from news received from the United States on Thursday, the 14th of June that a MV22 Osprey aircraft, the same sort of aircraft scheduled to be deployed to the Futenma Marine Base in Okinawa, had crashed injuring its crew of five continues to capture the attention of security watchers in Japan, possibly more so than the joint exercise planned between Japan, the US, and South Korea on Thursday and Friday this week.

At a media conference held on Friday last week, Defence Minister Morimoto said that Japan had requested from the United States a full briefing on the circumstances that led to the crash, given the degree of public interest in Japan in relation to the Osprey and its somewhat less-than-stellar safety record (an issue of particular concern to the Okinawans given the crash of a US Marine helicopter into a building on the campus of Okinawa International University in Ginowan City in 2004). During the course of questioning from journalists, it became increasingly clear that Japan had not received any additional detail on the crash other than what was already available via open source materials. Given the relatively short time frame following the crash itself and Japan's request for information, such a situation is entirely understandable, although it does raise a pertinent point.

Given expectations that the Osprey might warrant additional attention by the militaries of both countries in response to any mishaps, the fact that the only information available to the government of Japan was sourced from newspapers and other media reports is surprising.  In contrast to the crash of a F/A-18 Super Hornet in Virginia two months ago that prompted an request for information from the Australian Department of Defence (given the fact that the aircraft concerned was not of the same class used by the RAAF), the crash of an Osprey would presumably elicit a rapid response by the US government given the sensitivity of the entire question of deployments of Osprey aircraft to Okinawa.   

Such is the level of mistrust between the federal government and the citizens of Okinawa regarding the Osprey that the issue could provoke the prefectural government into halting all discussions with Tokyo on base relocation and refusing to acquiesce with US demands that the deployment of the Osprey go ahead as planned (i.e, August 2012). As Professor Gavan McCormarck so vividly illustrated, the question of bases in Okinawa has reached a point in which neither side appears willing nor able to agree to the demands of the other, no matter how many calls for "understanding" are made. The Osprey question has merely exacerbated what was a complex issue, and that cannot be a positive development given the amount of debate already expended on the issue of base relocation.

Sugiura Hinako, O Edo de gozaru, Shinkōbunko, Tokyo, 2003

Kawaraban – A very popular form of entertainment throughout the Edo era, and a precursor of the modern newspaper. Carried information related to fires or natural disasters. However a great majority of those kawaraban sold within Edo specialized in gossip and scandals. The name kawaraban itself was not so commonly used, with people preferring the terms `yomiuri`, `tsujiuri`, and `ichimai zuri`.

The kawaraban themselves were divided into two distinct sorts. The first involved kawaraban sellers who, in the evening, would tie a cloth band around their heads and walk about the streets selling kawaraban whilst lightly tapping the ground with a bamboo stalk. They would be accompanied by around 2 to 3 `entertainers`, who would sing out the most juicy pieces of gossip whilst playing the shamisen. Whenever anyone wanted to liven things up in the izakaya during the evening, they would buy one of these kawaraban.

Of course, the kawaraban could include fairly outrageous stories such as “a mermaid with three eyes emerges in Echigo bay”..." With eyes under each armpit and the third in her forehead, this `mermaid` had a total of 5 eyes. With a body 10 meters long, this mermaid was more akin to a whale." Such kawaraban, printed in two colours, had a good sales reputation, and even though people knew that when they bought such news they were being fooled, they bought it nonetheless. “Heh heh, what about this?” – it was a characteristic of Edoites to delight in being fooled by sensationalist news. A popular saying went... “3 parts (or 30%) of the daily news come from kawaraban”, which prompted most people to think “Doesn`t that mean the remaining 7 parts consist of mere nonsense? ”. The kawaraban sellers would draw in people`s attention by shouting out the headlines, yet sometimes the headlines and the content of the kawaraban were substantially different.

The people who made the kawaraban were those who didn`t want fixed, regular employment. Those who were good at writing and those with a gift for conversation would gather together and create the kawaraban for the day. They may on occasion receive a request from a store to badmouth the store`s competition, hence they might write that `although the perfume says that it will lighten the skin, in reality it makes it darker”. In order for someone to break off relations, the writers would expose a scandal. As such stories carried an element of danger (in that they could invite anger and retribution), those who sold them, once they ran out of copies, would quickly switch to a new location. 

The other sort of kawaraban involved a group of sellers who would walk around in an unobtrusive manner selling their wares. The content usually involved current affairs, and as the sellers did not resort to advertising themselves through calling out or song, they were considered to be more reliable, and therefore sold well. In order to get an idea on what was being featured, when asked `whatta ya sellin`?`, the seller would reply “oh, such and such a story”.

As kawaraban were not an officially sanctioned form of print media, the authorities could be severe in the punishments metered out against them. This strictness encouraged sellers to walk around in a nonchalant manner, for `surely there couldn`t be anything particularly interesting (being sold) by such a low-key and unobtrusive salesman?` Whenever a story criticized an official in a particularly harsh manner, this could not be printed on a printing block for fear of reparations should the writers be discovered. Hence an original would be written out by hand and then copied by other writers. Once all copies had been sold, the writers` group would disband.

Things were equally dangerous for the buyers, for if they were caught in possession of such materials, they too would be punished. To offset this, once the kawaraban had been read, it was burnt. Such kawaraban were sold on the understanding that the reader would dispose of them once they had finished reading them. As usual, only the most scandalous of stories would be written out by hand.

The kawaraban that sold more than any other form of news were the “corner news” articles regarding fires (Hōgakubashozuke). These would be printed and sold on the day of the fire, and would show where the fire had occurred. The reason this could be done on the day of a fire was because kawaraban sellers possessed `section maps` of the city which were all ready for printing once such information was received. All they would need to do is fill in the section that had been burned in red. The competition for such kawaraban was very fierce, as Edoites could see for themselves the burnt out areas in question. They wanted to know how any famous stores had fared, or whether their relatives were safe.

If the kawaraban sellers were slow in getting this information out, they would be scolded with comments like “that lot are too cruel and lacking any sense of compassion.” As the situation changed, sellers would issue a second version, and a third, piling one version upon the other as circumstances dictated.

When information on fires or earthquakes was reported, this would be printed in a colour version of the paper. In the case of earthquakes, the title page could bear the headline “numazu (the catfish) shakes his tail”. Using a popular tune at the time known as “shake (your) tail”,  sellers would walk about singing out the details of the earthquake while accompanied by the tune. This would elicit laughs, and people would put the disaster behind them.

The price of the kawaraban varied according to the news within it. From a relatively cheap 3 to 4 mon, the price could rise to the fairly expensive 30 to 40 mon. This would put it in about the same league as modern newspapers and weekly magazines. (16-19)

The next series of posts are taken from a book from Sugiura Hinako titled `O Edo de gozaru`. The purpose of this work was to introduce to modern day Japanese the peculiarities and characteristics that made up everyday life during the Edo era (1620-1868). Each section deals with a specific topic to do with cultural habits, dress, culinary habits, work styles, and so forth. Although each chapter is comparatively short, they make particularly informative pieces and illuminate aspects of life in the de facto capital before the advent of industrialisation and modernisation. The first of these posts deals with the phenomenon of Ukiyoe.

Sugiura Hinako, O Edo de gozaru, Shinkōbunko, Tokyo, 2003

Ukiyoe – The word Ukiyoe first made its appearance around the eighth year of Enpō (1680). Those who drew such pictures were known as “artisans, or eshi”, however they were quite different to modern artists. Up until this time, artisans of such styles as the “kanōha” or “yamatoe” were responsible for depicting castle scenes on folding screens and the like. These artists did not sell their works to bidders, but were paid a wage. Ukiyoe were “works for sale”. They weren`t art per se, but rather a form of entertainment.

The beginnings of Ukiyoe were found in the depiction of the actors and prostitutes of Yūri and Shibaichō. They were the `star pictures` of Edo. As they incorporated a meaning of `playful`, `delightful`, and `wordly`, the word `ukiyo` (floating world) came to be used in relation to them. Although Ukiyoe would later earn fame for their depiction of scenery and animal/plant life, there was no change in the basic challenge of whether the painting would `sell well or not`.

Meiwa, which were popular for their use of many colours, would come to be called “Edo nishikie”, and would develop as a special characteristic of Edo.

Ukiyoe themselves were made by a `project team`. The artist himself was responsible for the block copy or framepiece. Gradually the name `artist` began to be replaced by the title of `picture technician` (gakō). First there was the `printer ` (or publisher known as the hanmoto), then came the advisor (anjiyaku) who would produce the picture, then followed the picture technicians, who would be divided into carvers and painters. This combined effort would then result in a Ukiyoe.

A decision first had to be made on what would be used for a subject and what colours would be used.

For artists such as Hokusai, Sharaku, and Utamaro, though they might lead a team, they were not confined to using just one name. For artists, they were often called by their real name, hence Hokusai was usually called “Tetsuzo Sanyai”. There was hardly anyone who would call him `Hokusai Sensei`. Ukiyoe artists, in contrast to picture painters, were closer in essence to set makers for T.V and film.

Reading certainly became a popular pastime for commoners during the Genroku era of the 5th Shōgun Tsunayoshi, hence publishing took off during this time. Up until this time, although sutras may have been published for consumption, there were no books printed purely for entertainment purposes.

There were various measures needed in order to sell a book. Works which were brought to the printers would first be taken to a publishing cooperative group that functioned as an officiary, who would then check to ensure that no plagiarism or potentially scandalous materials were present. For example, any book with a title that included the word `sympathy` was not given permission for printing. The reason for this was `Sympathy itself is unforgivable. It is the inverse (in kanji) of the character `chū` (loyal) from the word loyalty. Hence a book cannot use the title `sympathy` - or so the 8th Shōgun, Yoshimune, is supposed to have said. Afterwards, `sympathy` came to be expressed through the word “aitaiji ni” or (literally) `mutual annihilation/death`.

Once permission had been received, the work would go back to the printers. From there, a copyist known as a `hikkō` would produce a clean version, the printer (or “hangiya”) would produce a print, the finished product would be piled up, mimeographed, and then distributed. It would take around 1 to 2 months before the prints were sold.

Amidst the many printed materials, the number 1 seller was known as the “bukan, or military record”. Much like a modern gentleman`s record, it would note the names of daimyo councilors, what their family crest was, what their lineage was, and how much they earned. As the type of spear head used by each family was illustrated in the book, when a daimyo procession passed, one could tell at a glance which daimyo from what province was passing by if one remembered the illustration. It also noted what positions were found within Edo castle. For tailors, it included marks indicating which residence would be best to visit when the time came to sell their wares. Hence it was a must-have item for merchants.

Maps and guidebooks for travel were also popular. There was a `outline of famous places` which, rather than being used for travel, was more aimed at educating the reader on local history and folklore. It noted famous ruins, temples and shrines, the naming origins of scenic spots and the like. It also included a large amount of information on stories and folk arts related to famous places. The `Map of Famous Places in the Capital (Miyako)` dealt with Kyoto and ran to a length of 6 scrolls and 11 volumes. The `Map of Famous Places in Edo` ran to a length of 7 scrolls.

Particularly expensive works would be bought up by prosperous merchants and samurai of repute to be used as status symbols of their wealth. It was the same type of activity as the modern practice of decorating a waiting room with encyclopedia volumes.

The literacy rate of Edo was, if compared to that of other countries, particularly high. If one includes just the ability to read hiragana, then literacy was almost 100%, which far surpassed that of contemporary London and Paris. Even within picture books, furigana would be included next to kanji so they could be read. However, silent reading wouldn`t be possible in such circumstances, hence if one didn`t read out loud then one wouldn`t remember the content of the book. When an official notice regarding punishment or execution was put up, everyone who gathered to read the sentence would mouth out the words, hence the assembled people would resemble a chorus. As for borrowed books, when one was reading alone, when a woman`s part came up in the story the head of the household might say `Sorry dear, but could you read this part?` whereupon the wife would take up the story. In this way 4 to 5 people could enjoy the same story at once. (pp.20-24)  

This week the Japanese Diet will continue the prolonged (and somewhat tortuous) negotiating process aimed at securing the passage of Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda's consumption tax rate increase legislation through the lower house. This particular legislation has been debated between the DPJ and the LDP/Komeito opposition for nearly five months (or if one considers former PM Kan's advocacy of a consumption tax hike, two years), and has seen PM Noda modify his initial position to one that virtually echoes the LDP's own stance - i.e, that the tax rate would be increased from its current level of 5% to 8% in April 2014, and then up to 10% the following year. In order to get to this point, Noda has dismissed members of his own cabinet at the behest of the opposition, spent hours in negotiations on details, and now faces the possibility of having to make further compromises on pension funds and other social security payments (not to mention the full revocation of the DPJ political manifesto) so that the legislation passes both houses by the end of the parliamentary session on June 21. 

As has been pointed out elsewhere, this entire process is typical of the type of political impasse that had plagued the Japanese Diet for the best part of a decade. Internal factional disputes, so typical of the LDP, have permeated the DPJ to the extent that the two parties have become mirror images of one another. Three years ago, hopes were that the arrival of the DPJ and the implementation of their manifesto would bring about the seachange in the Japanese political landscape, overturning years of LDP leadership stagnation and a blunt refusal to tackle the economic problems that were hampering Japanese competitiveness abroad and contributing to the stagnation of the domestic market. Such hopes have long since faded, not helped of course by the loss of a majority of upper house seats  by the DPJ in the July 2010 Senate election, resulting in what is referred to as a "twisted parliament' (ねじれ国会), where the DPJ controls the lower but not the upper house, leading to an inability to pass legislation without prolonged negotiation with opposition parties.

Such is the level of discord within the DPJ that at the same time as facing off against the opposition, Noda also has to face his own internal rivals in the form of Ozawa Ichiro and his factional supporters. Ozawa is opposed to any form of consumption tax increase, and has made it clear in previous policy outlines and books that he sees a need for a fundamental re-structuring of the bureaucratic apparatus in Japan and a revision of budget priorities instead of single-mindedly pursuing tax increases. At this point, while Ozawa may oppose Noda's stance, he is not in a position to change it, having only just been readmitted to the DPJ after having his membership suspended following allegations of violations of party financing law by members of his office. While Ozawa supporters (who outnumber Noda's faction) might attempt to work against Noda's legislative proposals to the opposition, which in turn undermines confidence in the legislation both within and outside the party,  Noda holds the trump card of being able to call an election and is using this threat in negotiations with the opposition to keep disgruntled members of his own party in check.

Given this state of affairs, the possibility that Noda's tax reform legislation will pass before June 21 is growing progressively more remote, although its defeat is not yet a fait accompli. As to what level Noda will be forced to make compromises is not yet clear, but the opposition is taking every advantage of the situation to force Noda into making more complex decisions (in terms of their compatibility with DPJ policies). If a general election results from either the passage or rejection of the legislation, this does not automatically guarantee political realingment (although a loss in a general election by the DPJ may result in the party splintering into pro and anti tax and bureaucratic reform factions and the formation of new political entities), neither does it mean that the economic reform process that is so necessary for Japan's future will be pursued with vigour in the Diet. However, as Jared Diamond has pointed out, at various points in Japan's history, when things have seemed dire, there has been an overwhelming societal push for reform and revitalisation. The question is; how dire do things have to get before Japan seizes the opportunity for reform? Given recent history, one has the sinking feeling that the process of political atrophy has not yet reached crisis point, and that there is still some way to go before circumstances force a tangible change to occur in either Kasumigaseki or Nagatacho.    

On Monday this week the main talking point in the Japanese media was the appointment of a new series of ministers to the Noda Cabinet, in a move interpreted as a conciliation to demands from the LDP for the removal of Tanaka Naoki as Defence Minister (on the grounds of his inability to grasp the fundamental aspects of his portfolio) and Maeda Takeshi as Transport Minister (for his alleged violation of the Public Offices Election Act) in exchange for LDP and Komeito support for the passage of bills to raise the consumer tax rate. One consequence of this Cabinet re-shuffle was the appointment of Morimoto Satoshi to the position of Defence Minister. As has been detailed at length on other blogs, this appointment was greeted with a combination of optimism and reservation by both politicians and media commentators, not least of which was in relation to the fact that Morimoto was appointed from the private sector, is factionally unaligned, and most importantly, is not a career politician. 

Given that this was the first instance of a minister being appointed from outside of politics to the head of the Ministry of Defense, it was only to be expected that it would generate a large amount of interest in the public arena (although whether this interest was a true reflection of public concern is a matter for debate). It is certainly true to say that Morimoto's appointment has raised hopes that Japan will finally have a Defence minister that is both thoroughly familiar with his brief and prepared to defend his decisions against criticisms from both the opposition and the media. Morimoto, as a former professor at Takushoku University, has made a reputation as a commentator on Japanese defence policy for both the Yomiuri Shimbun and the Sankei Shimbun, along with the television stations affiliated with this two major news outlets. As has been pointed out by Michael Cucek, this gives Morimoto some defence against attacks launched by the particulary anti-DPJ editorial stance of both newspapers, and is evidence of PM Noda's sharp political instincts.

The fact that Morimoto has also served in the armed forces (as a Second Lieutenant in the Air Self Defense Force after graduating from the National Defense Academy of Japan), and is familiar with Japan's intelligence framework following his service as section head of the National Security Policy Division in the Ministry of Foreign Affair's Foreign Policy Bureau, has reinforced his image as "the right man for the job", with the Sankei Shimbun reporting that 60.5% of respondents to a poll on Morimoto's appointment regarded him as suitable for the position. The fact that the US Department of Defense has also welcomed Morimoto's appointment at a time when the US and Japan have been trying to find a solution to the impasse regarding the relocation of the Futenma Marine Corps Air Defense Station is also interesting, especially given the fact that Morimoto has expressed a desire in the past for Japan to move beyond the restrictions on the use of armed forces  imposed by Article 9 of the Constitution and become more pro-active in its own defence and involvement in regional operations.

This is, of course, exactly what the US DoD (among others) wants to hear,  and it strikes a chord with those who see Japan as a fundamental part of any regionally based security apparatus (especially within the context of the US-Japan-Australia Tripartite Dialogue), yet there are potential complications ahead. The fact that Morimoto strongly advocates a more robust defence cooperation with the US means that his view on Futenma is more likely to preserve the status quo. If Morimoto wanted to break with tradition and recommend the relocation of Marine assets to the mainland, he would have to be prepared to face the barrage of criticism this would produce in the area scheduled to receive the new base. To offset such a risk, he could unilateraly declare that a relocation must go ahead without prior consultation with local governments, but such a decision, in addition to raising questions on constitutional legality, would rebound onto other members of the DPJ who depend on regional votes and who do not enjoy the "protection" afforded to Morimoto by PM Noda.   As such, Futenma will probably remain where it is, with further calls for Okinawan understanding to follow*.

Yet given the circumstances now at play within the Asia Pacific region, and the increase in tension within the South China Sea and Yellow Sea (along with the Sea of Japan, although that is a separate issue in itself), the apppointment of a defence "hawk" to oversee the realignment of defence assets to the south of the country, closer cooperation with the US, the acquisition of further submarine and surface capabilities, not to mention an enhancement to BMD systems and the purchase of F-35 aircraft, is to be expected. Although some might state that having a private citizen assume the responsibilities of a politician is inappropriate, a charge also laid against Morimoto as a result of his defence background (which apparently makes him too "close" to his portfolio and compromises the defence/civilian divide, an allegation that mirrors those recently made against Australian Department of Defence Secretary Duncan Lewis), in an atmosphere of mistrust born from concerns over the military intentions of China, all those nations of the Asia Pacific that are not directly aligned with China will seek reassurance in strong defence rhetoric backed by promises of mutual aid. 'Et pluribus unum' has become the new catchcry of a region that has not historically acted in unison against a perceived threat, hence the following decades will be instrumental in deciding whether the combined interests of the region will spark or extinguish the flames of war. 

In the meantime Morimoto will need to embark on a tour of the region in order to build the type of personal relations that will help facilitate greater cooperation on security matters, and that does not only include with the United States. If Morimoto is successful in expanding Japan's regional security role and brings broad international recognition of Japan's contribution to stability, then he will be a rarity among politicians in more ways than one. We will have to wait and see how he handles  the cards he has been dealt.

* As of today (June 7), members of the Naha City Council have already called for Morimoto to resign as a result of his comments that US MV22 Osprey aircraft may be moved to Futenma base.  One can expect more of these "disagreements" to follow.

Grave News in the Capital

Historians dealing with the period in question, that of the Muromachi era, would be very familiar with two indispensable resources that detail life at the time; the Kanmon Nikki (看聞日記) and the Mansai Jūgō Nikki (満済准后日記). It goes without saying that without these resources at hand, it would be nigh on impossible to describe what happened next with regard to events on Tsushima. The scene now shifts from Tsushima to the capital of Kyoto. The description of events that took place during the attack on Tsushima were compiled using a Korean source, the “True Record of the Kingdom of Chôsen” (朝鮮王朝実録), however in order to appreciate how news of the clash on Tsushima was received in the capital, we shall now rely on the descriptions provided by the above diaries. (17)

To begin with, we shall take a look at the Mansai Jūgō Nikki. This diary was written by the monk Mansai (満済) of the Sanbōin of Daigoji temple (醍醐寺) (1378 – 1435), located just to the south of the capital. At the time Mansai was 42 years old. He served as a guardian and tutor to three generations of shogun to the Muromachi Bakufu, namely Yoshimitsu, Yoshimochi, and Yoshinori. In his later years he would assume responsibility for resolving matters of state, and would become known as the “Chancellor in Black” (黒衣の宰相). His diary, when compared to the Kanmon Nikki, is more curt and restrained in length and tone, yet without it we would have no way of knowing the type of secret information available to the Bakufu or possess such information in abundance. Hence the historical value of this diary is second to none in contributing to our understanding of the political history of the Muromachi Bakufu. (18)

On the 7th day of the 8th month, roughly one month after the events in Tsushima, a letter arrived at the Bakufu Gosho (御所) addressed to Mansai from Shoni Mitsusada (少弐満貞) of Kyushu detailing the incident. Mansai’s diary contains some rather surprising quotes taken from Mitsusada’s letter, the content of which deserves to be relayed in full; (18)

“A Mongol vanguard fleet of more than 500 ships made their way into the bays of Tsushima island. My vassal on the island, Sō Saemon, together with over 700 mounted warriors, rode out to meet them and engaged them in a number of battles. On the 26th day of the 6th month the fighting continued until sundown, whereupon the foreign soldiers were defeated. It is said that almost all of them were either killed or taken prisoner. Two of the foreign generals were captured, and from them we obtained a range of important information. According to the captured generals, the 500 or so vessels all belonged to the Kingdom of Korei. Some 20,000 or more Chinese vessels were meant to make landfall on Japanese soil on the 6th of the 6th month, but as a result of strong winds that appeared that day, the Chinese vessels were forced to retreat, whereupon they sank into the ocean. It appears that a number of unusual events took place during the conflict. The spirit of Sugawara no Michizane appeared, and I have heard that a number of miracles took place.” (18-19)

It is fairly obvious that by exaggerating the number of vessels sighted off the island, and referring to Saemon as being a “vassal”, Shōni Mitsusada was using this incident as a means to promote his own prowess. Furthermore, the fact that the army of Koreans was merely a vanguard, and that there was an armada of over 20,000 Chinese vessels behind them, all pointed towards this being a plan conceived by the “Mongols” to suppress Japan, despite the complete lack of evidence to reinforce such a view. The fact that the invasion fleet had been defeated by a combination of “strong winds” and the ghost of Sugawara no Michizane was little more than an exaggeration to reinforce the Kamakura era image of these “foreign pirates”. (19)

Memories of the Mongol Invasions

Nearly 150 years had passed since the Mongol Empire had twice attempted to invade Japan. What is more, the Yuan dynasty that had spurred the invasion had disappeared a half century before the events at Tsushima. Nonetheless, the news that arrived at the heart of the Muromachi Bakufu a month after the invasion had referred to it as an attack by the “Mongols”. For Mansai, who had received the news, he appeared to have been inclined to believe it in full. In his diary he recorded his thoughts, which were quite innocent in their praise…”Though much is unknown this cannot be ignored. I have heard that in shrines across the country, various miracles preceded these events. Is this not indeed wonderful?” (20)

It would not have been impossible for someone like Mansai to accept the content of the letter from the Shōni as the truth. At the time, reports were that a number of unusual “sightings” had been made at shrines throughout the capital.  Mansai’s diary notes that on the 6th of the 6th month, “irregularities” had taken place at the Great Shrine at Izumo (出雲大社) and Kamo shrine (賀茂神社) in the capital. “Shaking” had been felt at the Nangū shrine in Mino province, while there had been landslides at Kibune shrine (貴船神社) in Kyoto, among other odd events. On the 2nd day of the 7th month, Mansai himself had prayed for the “defeat of the foreigners” (異国調伏). On the 19th day of the same month, Mansai heard of a young girl at the Atsuda shrine in Owari province becoming an oracle of the gods, all of whom had assembled from Ise and Hachiman shrines in front of Atsuda shrine in order to give notice on how to defend against the “coming of the foreigners”. (20)

Even since the attempted invasion by the Mongols during the Kamakura era, medieval society, when confronted with the possibility of war with foreign powers, restored lands that had previously belonged to shrines and rebuilt shrine buildings in order to encourage the gods to recover their divine power. The shrines at the time would insist on their “divinity” and “irregular occurrences” in order to win further concessions from both the Bakufu and the court, so much so that across the nation suddenly shrines were sending reports of “strange events” that had taken place within their grounds. For shrines, which had access to this information far earlier than any other entity, such events provided an opportunity for them to expand their authority. Hence by the time the letter from the Shōni arrived in Mansai’s hands, the streets of the capital were rife with unsettling news that the religious institutions were doing their best to either exaggerate or encourage. (21)   

The very abruptness of the use of the name “Mongol” may seem somewhat out of place to us, however to the people at the time it was very much a relevant term. Nowadays we can easily refer to a timeline which will tell us that the Mongols attempted two invasions of Japan, one in Bunei 11 (文永十一年,  or 1274) and another in Kōan 4 (弘安四年, or 1281), yet Kublai Khan was believed to have never abandoned plans for a third attempt at conquering Japan. In order to meet this potential threat, the Kamakura Bakufu embarked on a program to strengthen the coastal defences and maintained a strict vigilance with regard to foreign threats, a stance that lasted until the downfall of the Bakufu.   Even after the disappearance of the Bakufu, rumours circulated within Japan from time to time of a Mongol attack on Japan. (21)

The establishment of the Muromachi Bakufu did not put an end to such rumours, for in the 5th month of the 1st year of Ōan (応安元年, or 1368), the Goku Maiki (後愚昧記) records just such a story. In the 3rd month of the 4th year of Bunan (文安四年, or 1447), the Kennai Ki (建内記) confirms yet another rumour of a Mongol attack. Even the Kamakura Kubō, located in the east of the country, feared a return of the Mongols. On the 3rd day of the 3rd month of every year, at Yuigahama in the town of Kamakura, a dog hunting festival was held in order to pray for an expulsion of the Mongols (蒙古退治の御祈禱). What this shows is that even for the people of the Muromachi era, the memory of the Mongols was still fresh. Even without the benefit of a timeline, the image of the Mongols had not vanished, and that there still existed a fear among the Japanese that the Mongols were merely waiting for an opportunity to launch another attack on Japan.  (22)

Even now, the phrase “mukori kokuri – ムコリコクリ, which is derived from the Japanese words for Mongol, ‘Mōko’ (蒙古) and Korean, ‘Kokurei’ (高句麗)” refers to something whose true nature is unknown. This phrase, which originated in western Japan, is now used across the nation. In the novel “Black Rain” written by Ibuse Masuji, the people of Hiroshima, upon seeing the unusual mushroom cloud created by an atomic bomb, refer to it as the “mukori kokuri cloud”. Such was the trauma created by the Mongol invasions during the Kamakura era that its legacy echoed on down the ages in language that reflected such fear. (22)

As promised in my last post, I have translated part of Chapter One of Shimizu Katsuyuki's eye-opening book on medieval Japanese attitudes towards the "other" and those mechanisms that were employed to try to cope with natural disaster. At present, I'm only planning to cover the first part of the chapter, which I will divide into two parts (otherwise this will be an extremely long post!).  Incidentally, the numbers in parenthesis refers to page numbers. Enjoy at your leisure.

Chapter One:  The Mongols are coming!

An island on a volatile border

This particular tale occurred one year before the outbreak of the great famine of Ōei. At the time, the island of Tsushima (対馬, now Tsushima City, part of Nagasaki Prefecture) functioned as a sort of ‘gateway to the west’, linking together both northern Kyushu with the Korean peninsula. Its total surface area amounted to 710 square kilometres. When one looks at a map of this large island, which unfolds gradually in both a northerly and southernly direction, one notices that it is fairly broken up in the central section, effectively dividing the island into two.  In the middle of this area, on a peninsula known as Ozaki located in Asō bay, lay a fishing village known as Tsuchiyori (土寄).  On the 20th day of the 6th month of the 26th year of Ōei (or 1419), around 10 or so ships appeared in the waters off the coast located near the village. (12)

Upon seeing the silhouette of the ships on the horizon, the villagers thought that they were friendly vessels returning to port, and so collecting up both sake wine and victuals, took these to the coast and waited for the vessels to arrive. However, it soon became clear that these vessels weren’t those of a friendly neighbour. The ten or so ships that the villagers had first seen soon grew in number, so much so that they eventually constituted an armada of 227 vessels. The vessels were heading straight towards the village, where it was obvious that they planned to make landfall. Yet who on earth did they belong to? In a panic, the villagers threw away the food they had brought with them and their belongings and scattered in the direction of the mountains behind the village. (13-14)

Fifty or so villagers decided to test their mettle and so took to their boats and headed out in the direction of the armada. Their vessels were soon reduced to matchwood by the mysterious armada, which then laid anchor off the coast and despatched smaller vessels. These vessels disgorged troops one after another, who quickly dispersed into the island’s interior. These troops seized 129 vessels belonging to the villagers, and after judging that 20 or so vessels were still suitable for use, burned the remaining boats. They also set fire to 1,939 houses belonging to the villagers, and destroyed their crops.  During the course of their attack, the invading army killed 114 villagers and took 21 hostages, and managed to occupy one section of the island. (14)

The invading army then spent the next few days crossing from Asō bay to attack the village of Kofunakoshi (小船越) which it eventually seized. In a short space of time, the invading army had become an army of occupation, managing to divide both the southern and northern parts of the island with a majority of their strength focused in Asō bay. On the 26th day of the 6th month (or the 27th day of the 7th month according to the Gregorian calendar), the invading army concentrated in troops in the Nii gun region not far from Asō bay. These troops were divided into three separate armies, with the largest heading off in the direction of the north of the island. At the time, the rulers of Tsushima island, the Sō (宗) family, were based in the north at Sakaura (佐賀浦) bay, which functioned as a de facto capital. Quite possibly the largest section of the invading army planned to march north to force Sakaura to capitulate, and consolidate their control over the island. (14)

Yet it was at this point that the native forces on Tsushima island began to resist the army of invasion. The corps of troops that constituted the left wing of the invading army was surprised by an ambush laid by the Tsushima forces, which resulted in around 110 deaths among the invasion force. This initial success has been relayed by islanders to their descendants in florid terms under the title of “the Battle of Nukadake” (糠嶽合戦). This victory became a catalyst for islander resistance to the invading army, who then set about creating a more organised defence from the interior of the island. (15) Meanwhile, the right wing of the invading army also encountered fierce resistance from islanders, so much so that the central part of the army had to forego landing at Nii gun in order to deal with the threat to its right flank. (15)

There were no further major battles between the native islanders and the invading army, who then settled into a series of small tit for tat skirmishes while moving from one part of the island to another. Eventually the Sō were able to broker a truce with the invasion force, which withdrew from Tsushima at the beginning of the 7th month. (15)

The details of the events above are an overview of an attack carried out against a border island by the vessels belonging to a foreign nation. Those who are particularly knowledgeable about history will have already correctly surmised that the incident referred to here is the “Foreign Piracy of the Ōei Period” (応永の外冦), which is an example of the type of internecine warfare that occurred in the border islands during the medieval era. The “mysterious armada” that attacked the island was no gang of lawless seafarers, but was a legitimate army organised and despatched from the Kingdom of Li on the Korean peninsula. (15)

At the time, the Korean monarchy had suffered no end of strife at the hands of gangs of pirates known as “Wakō” (倭寇) that plied the East China Sea. As such, the Li dynasty had taken it upon itself to launch an attack against what was regarded as the heart of the Wakō territories, the island of Tsushima (in Korea, the incident is known as the “Suppression of the Eastern Barbarians” or 己亥東征). The Korean army that landed on Tsushima did not simply burn down the villages on the island, but also freed 31 Chinese men and women who had been abducted by the villagers.  The viewpoint of the Korean monarchy that regarded Tsushima as a hotbed of piracy was correct, as it is difficult to argue with the fact that a lack of arable land on the island forced the islanders to conduct raids on the continent in order to steal both property and people. The leader of these pirate gangs, who controlled the straits and who was the first to suffer his house being burnt down, was the head of Tsuchiyori village, Sōda Saemon Tarō (早田左衛門太郎). (16)

Sōda, together with other prominent pirate leaders, hid their fleets in the bays and inlets in the centre of the island, and from their base at Tsuchiyori and Kofunakoshi embarked out across the East China Sea, striking terror into the hearts of the inhabitants of the mainland and the Korean peninsula.  One year before the invasion took place, the head of Tsushima island Sō Sadashige (宗貞茂) died of illness, so that at the time of the invasion the head of the island forces was the infant Tsutsu Kumamaru (later Sō Sadamori, or 宗貞盛). Given that the previous lord of Tsushima was dead and his successor not yet ready to rule, Sōda Saemon and other kokujin on the island moved to separate themselves from the control of the Sō family, and so began to engage in piracy on an hereto unforseen level. (16)

Although this invasion saw deaths in battle in the hundreds, fortunately the conflict itself lasted no more than a week, and was predominantly confined to the area around Asō bay.   As such, though it was certainty a problem to those involved, it was no different to the many other forms of regional strife that occurred across the country during the medieval period. However, to those living far away in the capital that got wind of the incident, it certainly couldn’t be treated so lightly. (17)