| Original Full Text | MACARTHUR’S FORGOTTEN CHILDREN: THE ALLIED OCCUPATION OF JAPAN AND THE BURAKUMIN By TIMOTHY BRADFORD VARNEY A thesis submitted in in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS IN HISTORY WASHINGTON STATE UNIVERSITY Department of History MAY 2024 © Copyright by TIMOTHY BRADFORD VARNEY, 2024 All Rights Reserved © Copyright by TIMOTHY BRADFORD VARNEY, 2024 All Rights Reserved ii To the Faculty of Washington State University: The members of the Committee appointed to examine the thesis of TIMOTHY BRADFORD VARNEY find it satisfactory and recommend that it be accepted. W. Puck Brecher, Ph.D., Chair. Noriko Kawamura, PhD. Xiuyu Wang, Ph.D. iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Naturally, I would like to extend my gratitude to the members of my committee who have had to read through and comprehend a thought process that I imagine most would find unbearable in small bouts, let alone something of this scale. I would like to specifically thank Dr. Brecher for guiding me in the process of topic selection and discouraging other more half-baked ideas. Additionally, without documents received from him sourced from the National Diet Library this thesis would be tragically lacking in primary sources. I would also like to acknowledge the companionship and support of my graduate school cohort of Camilla Nisco and Thomas Ernst who are both more knowledgeable of Japanese language and culture than I am and have been good friends through the process of thesis writing and graduate school as a whole. For example, the autobiography of Carmen Johnson was something I knew nothing about until it so happened that Camilla, through her own research, uncovered it and noticed its potential application for my work here, a contribution I found most helpful and am proportionally grateful for. This is not even to speak of the countless instances where I found myself learning something new from either Tom or Camilla. I should also thank Kyley Canion Brewer who carried me through the formatting and paperwork surrounding this thesis. I would also like to thank my family and girlfriend, who put up with me through all the stress and turmoil of graduate school. I would also like to thank the former for tolerating my relative absence during the Christmas season of 2023 when I sequestered myself away in my room back home to produce a draft of passable quality. iv MACARTHUR’S FORGOTTEN CHILDREN: THE ALLIED OCCUPATION OF JAPAN AND THE BURAKUMIN Abstract By Timothy Bradford Varney, M.A. Washington State University May 2024 Chair: W. Puck Brecher The Allied Occupation of Japan was a largely American endeavor aimed at rebuilding Japan into what Americans viewed as a better state, one devoid of perceived evils like feudalism. Many have gone as far as to suggest that the constitution written with American oversight represented a more liberal mindset towards many issues than was common in the United States domestically. The occupation is lauded for its success, a fair assessment seeing as it achieved many goals, if only to lesser degrees than initially anticipated. One place that it fell woefully short, however, was in addressing the so called buraku issue. Burakumin, Japan’s largest minority group, were largely ignored or undercut by the occupation in any direct interaction, a testament to American shortcomings. Even so, the occupation presented opportunities to all of the Japanese public, as a result even this often-shunned minority found a moment in the sun, though perhaps they only got a sliver compared to much of the Japanese population. For burakumin a perpetual state of the oppressed other was the norm from the creation of their class. Even though the occupation rarely positively engaged the group directly the great democratizing tidal wave caught them too. On top of this story being missed in both praising and criticizing v narratives on the occupation, this period has gone woefully underexplored in burakumin historical narratives. I find that this moment is a pivotal moment in which transwar trends culminate into the creation of a new golden age of burakumin activism which continues to define the people until this day. It is a story often missed that is worth telling. vi TABLE OF CONTENTS Page ACKNOWLEDGMENT................................................................................................................iii ABSTRACT...................................................................................................................................iv CHAPTERS CHAPTER ONE: JAPAN’S FORGOTTEN “RACE” .......................................................1 CHAPTER TWO: BURAKUMIN IN THE OCCUPATION............................................27 CHAPTER THREE: AMERICAN ACTION....................................................................42 CHAPTER FOUR: CONTEXTUALIZING THE LEFT..................................................55 CHAPTER FIVE: THE SILVER LINING OF DEMOCRATIZATIONAND BURAKUMIN UPLIFTING...............................................................................................95 EPILOGUE: PROMISES KEPT AND PROMISES BROKEN......................................108 BIBLIOGRAPHY .......................................................................................................................111 vii CHAPTER ONE: JAPAN’S FORGOTTEN “RACE” Famously, General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers and head of the allied occupation made what appears to be a rather demeaning remark. In terms of societal development, the general considered the Anglo-Saxon nations to be at an age of roughly 45, but the Japanese to be a boy of 12. MacArthur proved that if the Japanese were comparable to children and he was there to oversee them he could be a neglectful father. The burakumin, (部落民, “village” or “hamlet people”) are a group no ethnically different from the rest of the Japanese population. Yet “Japan’s invisible race,” as editors George DeVos and Hiroshi Wagatsuma termed them in their seminal work by the same title, are the largest minority in Japan and have historically faced virulent discrimination, including being treated as a race distinct from the Japanese.1 When the question of what makes somebody a burakumin is posed the technical answer is being from a buraku community, or at least having the family register there. The question then becomes what makes a buraku different from any other place of residence. Debates on this topic continue to rage in both the historiography and the contemporary political sphere of Japan. Regardless of specifics, it is a fact that the burakumin were, and to a more limited extent still are, a minority group within Japan that is perpetually discriminated against. Research on burakumin from the group's roots through the Pacific War exists as well as records of burakumin 1 The source mentioned is George DeVos and Hiroshi Wagatsuma, Japan’s Invisible Race: Caste in Culture and Personality (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967). 2 affiliated activities in the sixties and later.2 As a minority group and a victim of what many perceived as Japan’s feudal structure, this group should have been a natural target for American occupation officials and their democratizing mission. GHQ and SCAP failed to affect any direct change on burakumin through several decisions by top officials and their willingness to cooperate with Japanese parties who displayed a clear bias against the minority. This American complicity in anti-burakumin sentiment was exacerbated during the reverse course, due to the prominence of left-wing ideology within burakumin organization. Even so, through the decay of Japanese authoritarianism and the rise of democratic politics the burakumin experienced a revival of activism which culminated in what many have termed their successful liberation. This is a poorly explored period of burakumin history in the historiography which constitutes a blind spot in Japanese history. Explaining how Japanese bias against burakumin, SCAP and Japanese antipathy to leftism in the reverse course, and tenacity of burakumin activists illustrates how the group was repressed and undermined, but ultimately managed to come out of the occupation with more power than it had prewar, or even during the occupation. Understanding Burakumin: Addressing Complexities in the Narrative The exact nature of burakumin is heavily debated and is often defined in terms that are somewhat politically charged. For example, this outcaste is viewed by many to be “feudal remnants” of Edo-period Japan. By no account is this unjustified terminology, after all Tokugawa society which solidified outcaste status was feudal, at least by Western definitions, and there are ties between those feudal outcastes and the post-1871 burakumin, but there is not always a direct connection. The Marxism which penetrated early burakumin political movements 2 I opt to use the term Pacific War here, as when I talk about the war, I am referring to Japan and its actions in the Pacific, and it is more expedient to use this term than “The Second World War in Asia and the Pacific.” 3 provided the impetus for this term’s proliferation. In short burakumin were largely in tune with Marxist ideology as it developed and spread to those who faced discrimination around the same time Wilsonian rhetoric was spreading.3 This is not to say that burakumin history must be divorced from Marxist concepts, but merely an acknowledgement of the complexities which color the way in which burakumin are written about and discussed. Overreliance on the Marxist framework can often lead to the neglecting of other factors of burakumin identity formation.4 Thus, when one asks, “who are the burakumin” they must also ask “when?” Additionally, these questions must be asked more than once. What the Suiheisha say, versus what the Japanese public says, versus the government stance are all different. I seek therefore to explore the development of burakumin identity on multiple fronts and how it evolved over time ranging from the moment of their nominal emancipation with the emphasis placed on the occupation period as one of transition between the radicalism of the early twentieth century burakumin liberation movement into the post-war period where protests, campaigns, and government aid became the norm. Through analyzing this, I seek to understand the place that burakumin occupied within the planning and execution of the occupation and how they were advantaged or disadvantaged by it. 3 For more on this see Ian Neary, “’Burakumin at the End of History,’ Social Research 70, no. 1 (2003): 269-94. Timothy D. Amos, “Binding Burakumin: Marxist Historiography and the Narration of Difference in Japan,” Japanese Studies 27, No. 2 (September 2007): 155-171. The former covers Okiura Kazuteru (b. 1921) Hatanaka Toshiyuki (b. 1952) and the later covers Inoue Kiyoshi (1913-2001) who all contributed to the historiography and had left-leaning influences ranging from the Buraku Liberation League line which was close to the line of the Japan Socialist Party to the Japanese Communist Party. The western decision to understand Japanese society as feudal is not justified in the same political terms, for information on this consider David L. Howell, “Territoriality and Collective Identity in Tokugawa Japan,” Daedalus 127, no.3 (Summer, 1998): 116-119 4 Jeffrey Paul Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire: Buraku and Korean Identity in Prewar and Wartime Japan (Cambridge, Harvard University Asia Center, 2013), 4. Bayliss argues that Japanese historians were often involved in the political debate of their time and therefore clung to the ideologically rooted view of burakumin as a result. 4 In understanding burakumin there are many angles to consider, but three attitudes stand out as general groups: those of the burakumin themselves, those of the government, and those of the public. For the purpose of this project, being focused on the Allied occupation, the second group will be covered most in-depth, largely through the attitudes of occupation officials. Burakumin attitudes are largely explored through analysis of organizations which agitate for burakumin liberation. Among those people who defined burakumin attitudes in the public sphere, few can be viewed as more important than Matsumoto Ji’ichiro (1887-1966), an activist who factors prominently into this narrative. The attitudes of the general public are largely inferred through stories of discrimination and popular culture. The public discourse on burakumin is largely absent during the occupation, so these inferences are drawn from periods around it. To understand both the contemporary and historical issues as well as public discourse within Japanese society and the persistence of such issues and debates over time, it is important to understand how burakumin were perceived by different parties. Navigating these perspectives and defining their own is something that defined burakumin activism and their attempts to struggle for equality which they labeled “liberation.” Returning to the groups which are covered here, ideally, the first two attitudes of burakumin and government can be divided into smaller groups.5 The burakumin themselves, should not be understood as holding a homogenous identity. The version of identity laid out by one organization for example can be seen as a burakumin identity held by a minority at one point but might be adopted by more burakumin at another time. Other groups, and indeed those not 5 The third as well would ideally be easily divisible, but most attitudes reported in literature has largely written about a public as uniformly hostile. Obviously, exceptions exist, but the dearth of sources emphasizing these cases make a concrete distinction difficult. 5 involved with politics at all, must also be included. Similarly, “the government” should not simply be viewed as the central government. Attitudes towards the burakumin in Tokyo were vastly different to those in Osaka or some other city. Therefore, discussion on this topic will also require the nuance afforded to the burakumin themselves. Historiography In terms of scholarship on the topic of burakumin in the occupation, little exists. Scholarship in general has been relatively bare on the topic, let alone anything as specific as that. The main root of research in the west is George A. DeVos and Hiroshi Wagatsuma’s book Japan’s Invisible Race: Caste in Culture and Personality. If the label of “invisible” is appropriate in Japan, it is much more so outside of it. As far as English-language literature is concerned, this book is the first major work on the topic, originally published in 1966. Historiography has experienced a multitude of drastic shifts between the 1960s and the modern day, yet the historiography on burakumin was virtually stagnant until the last decade. There are minor shifts, but as will become obvious these changes are often somewhat underwhelming in comparison to the field at large. Japan’s Invisible Race was not written as a historical work. Indeed, the other, more contemporarily minded social sciences took center stage early in the development of research on burakumin. Just a year after the first major work in this tradition, the 1967 Aspects of Social Change in Modern Japan edited by Ronald Dore was published. This book only has a section on the outcaste and, like its predecessor, primarily by anthropologists, but also, sociologists, and political scientists. Additionally, there is a notable overlap of contributors between the two books, many of whom served in the occupation. This leaves limited room for early innovation. 6 The trend of the burakumin being treated as a small part of a greater story continued into the eighties. The topic this time is written on in Mikiso Hane’s 1982 book Peasant’s, Rebels, and Outcastes: The Underside of Modern Japan. Even with the relatively minor focus, Hane does provide some insight into how the group is written on. From Hane’s publication there is a large gap in literature on the topic. Indeed, the next moderately relevant source that can be found, with some effort, is a 1999 translation of a Japanese source titled An Introduction to the Buraku Issue: Questions and Answers by Suehiro Kitaguchi. The source itself is barely historical, largely debating contemporary issues, which reflects a general lull in historiography on burakumin. In the 2000s there was a slight uptick in English-language literature on the topic, but largely relegated to journals. One article is from 2003, Ian Neary’s “‘Burakumin’ at the end of history” and another from four years later is Timothy Amos’s “Binding Burakumin: Marxist Historiography and the Narration of Difference in Japan.” The article by Neary is steeped in political debates and contemporary issues within Japan, but ultimately proves a useful history in many ways. The latter of these introduces a new force in the field. Timothy D. Amos, as evidenced by his use of “narration,” draws many of his ideas from Hayden White and postmodernist thinking, the most drastic change in the historiography for decades. Both of these were focused on burakumin historiography and analyzing communist rhetoric within it The 2010s are the most promising era for change in the historiography through two rather unique monographs. The first is Timothy D. Amos’s Embodying Difference: The Making of Burakumin in Modern Japan published in 2011. This book is partially a continuation of Amos’s earlier article, operating as an analysis, or more accurately a challenge, to historiography around burakumin. Rooted in fifteen years of research and postmodernist theory the work is incredibly unique in the field. The second book from this decade, published two years later in 2013, is 7 Jeffrey Paul Bayliss’s on the Margins of Empire: Buraku and Korean Identity in Prewar and Wartime Japan. This book, which stemmed from Bayliss’s PhD dissertation, places burakumin in a larger story, but as opposed to the earlier works dedicates nearly half of the book to them and their similarities and differences with the Korean minority in Japan. Generally speaking, scholarship has been of higher quality if not explicitly innovative recently. In 2019 Ian Neary translated a Japanese book titled A History of Discriminated Buraku Communities by scholars Midori Kurokawa and Nobuaki Teraki. The occupation is only briefly covered here, but the general history of outcastes as a whole and burakumin in particular is rather well covered. Much of the content is stale at this point, but the information is valuable and well proven. If even the more revolutionary sources and most recent scholarship neglect the occupation, then it is clear that it continues to be overlooked. The story of burakumin history is thus often incomplete in traditional narratives. From Slaves to Ragpickers and Leatherworkers to “New Commoners” Before discussing their place in the occupation, it is important to understand the nature of burakumin as a people. Connections between outcaste groups are often tenuous which can complicate matters. Ultimately, there is a limited amount of connection between the groups within the monolithic term “outcaste,” so the earlier iterations are mentioned here primarily as a means of understanding the deep-rooted nature of the label and the prejudice it carries. The earliest delineation that might be considered between outcaste and majority society is from the Japanese adoption of ritsuryō from Tang Dynasty China. This system shows these roots as early as 645 A.D. with the line drawn between ryomin (良民, “good people”) and senmin (賤民, “lowly people”) the average person and legal slaves respectively. Traditionally senmim were 8 connected to burakumin, something now recognized as erroneous due to the dissolution of the former in the ninth-century.6 This separates them by roughly a millennia, casting doubt on any perceived ties. Burakumin are, however, naturally not without roots. The more factual, but overemphasized heritage for the burakumin, is in the joint eta-hinin grouping. Eta (穢多,“much filth”) and hinin (非人, “non-human”) are mentioned as early as the medieval period, though they are best known as falling below the lowest ranks of the Edo-period mibunsei. Of the two, it is eta who are most often described as the ancestors of burakumin in traditional narratives as well as those of some burakumin. With caution to not overstate the “uniqueness” of Japanese culture, the topic of burakumin and the outcaste is tied to the historically prominent concern with purity in Japanese culture. This term can have the same connotations in the west.7 Though this is not the definition applied here. Purity, as it pertains to this topic, is something more spiritual. For the most part the direct line from eta to burakumin is built upon the issue of their “defilement” (穢れ, kegare). This is a term typically affiliated with the Japanese practice of Shinto. In Japan, purity is both a religious and cultural concern. In the case of eta this Shinto term was extended into Buddhist ideas on the nature of life. Eta, being engaged in practices viewed as impure by Buddhist theology, were labeled as such using indigenous terminology. Virtually everything about discrimination against burakumin is tied to the idea of their inferiority based upon impurity, most other justifications being retroactive. The assumption by many who actively participated in discrimination was that 6James Miura, “Not Even Human: The Birth of the Outcaste in Tokugawa Japan.” Hohonu 17 (2019): 28. 7 Artem Vorobiev Shibata Renzaburō and the Reinvention of Modernism in Postwar Japanese Popular Literature (Cham: Palgrave MacMillan, 2022), 12 9 anything “impure” was foreign. Burakumin have been predominantly present in southwestern Japan around the Inland Sea region, yet some argued they were descended from the northern Ainu. An even more improbable explanation is that they are descended from Korean prisoners brought back by Japanese forces sometime between the fourth and sixth centuries.8 Little evidence backs any of this national or racial delineation. As such this serves as little more than evidence of imagined differences being utilized to perpetuate discrimination. One major issue with connecting the burakumin with eta is that in the former caste status is inherited, much like that of the senmin once was, whereas the latter was geographically assigned. James Miura proposes to consider the outcaste in four distinct groups, the last of which, covered here, is the burakumin of “modern Japan,” distinguished from earlier groups.9 For the purposes of this project, “modern Japan” started for burakumin in 1871. Traditionally modern Japan is traced to the Meiji Restoration, most often in 1868. For burakumin, the ascension of the emperor changed little in their communities, until several years into his rule with the promulgation of the kaihō rei (解放令, “emancipation edict”). In a short decree the new imperial government undid centuries of precedent, just as it had abolished the mibunsei to bring all people, at least nominally, to the level of heimin (平民, “commoner”) it sought to abolish the class below it and elevate them to the status as well. Without the label of eta-hinin the outcaste no longer legally existed, as such what continues should be known by a different label. This label would be solidified in later history as burakumin. 8 Hane, Peasants, Rebels, and Outcastes, 139. 9 Ibid. Issues of periodization aside, it is worth remembering that the outcaste is, to an extent, a manufactured group, and the term itself is manufactured and individuals or groups are then put within its confines, dividing the groups up this way emphasizes this, if imperfectly. 10 The term is quite simple but warrants a little explaining. The buraku (部落) is a social unit of measurement, often translated as “village” or “hamlet.” What people mean when they speak about burakumin is, however, something different. In some cases, the term that distinguishes a hamlet from the hamlet of a burakumin is tokushu (特殊, Roughly meaning “special”) In full, the terminology for their homes is tokushu buraku (特殊部落,“special hamlet”). Accordingly, the burakumin are occasionally called the tokushu burakumin, “people of the special hamlet.”10 For the sake of simplicity, burakumin will be employed here, but it should be noted that this is an imperfect term due to several nuances. It will be of little surprise to most that the pen or brush stroke of a state official decreeing that discrimination shall end does little to affect reality. In the immediate aftermath of the kaihō rei little seemed to change, and what did was not for the better. Like many governmental attempts to end discrimination, the public reaction was not positive. In the years immediately following emancipation government officials played a minor role in the lives of burakumin. Where they were present, their activities were often as supportive of emancipation as they were discriminatory. This is evident in one government announcement from October of 1871. In Fukuyama the prefectural government posted a public notice which went so far as to remark that there was “no distinction” between nobles, commoners, or these outcastes. This nominally egalitarian view quickly is eclipsed by a warning which declares that these former eta should not become “self-important or impudent” simply because they were now commoners. Such behavior would lead to needless complications, so they were better off 10 It should be noted that this language is particularly prevalent in the language of Suiheisha which is a burakumin political organization from the 1920s discussed later. Thus, it is occasionally politically charged. 11 keeping their heads down, expressing gratitude for their emancipation, and acting with courtesy so as to gradually win the favor of the common people.11 Such wording is indicative of the reality, legally, they may be commoners, but in practice they were still outcastes. Hence, they were often distinguished as shin-heimin (新平民, new commoners). This indicates from the outset of their emancipation, that burakumin were not viewed as equal members of society. This was a long-lasting attitude as is evidenced by a 1916 declaration from a village in Gifu prefecture which made it clear villages and burakumin were not to interact on equal footing.12 So it could be said that from emancipation very little changed and what occurred was a simple continuation of previous discrimination with new language in only some cases. These two incidents occurred forty-five years apart which displays continuity in discriminatory views of the burakumin held by many. These are, however, tame compared to the immediate backlash. A few years prior to emancipation a rather shocking scene unfolded at a Shinto shrine in Asakusa when a youth of the eta was beaten to death for attempting to enter. Upon hearing a plea for justice from a “chief” of the community, a magistrate remarked “The life of an eta is worth about one-seventh of the life of a townsman. Unless seven eta have been killed, we cannot punish a single townsman.”13 This attitude, so near to the emancipation, persisted through this nominally momentous occasion. In May 1875, 26,000 peasants of Okayama prefecture rioted demanding burakumin be returned to their status, communities which refused were burned or destroyed, eighteen burakumin were killed and eleven injured. This recurred in June the same year in Fukuoka prefecture where 2,200 houses were destroyed, largely within burakumin 11 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire,32-34 12 Mikiso Hane, Peasants, Rebels, and Outcastes: The Underside of Modern Japan (New York: Pantheon Books, 1982), 144-145. 13 Ibid, 142. 12 districts. Even when not being attacked, the attitude of superiority over burakumin persisted. This is evident in Nagano prefecture, when burakumin sought loans for damage done in a fire. When they failed to repay it a decade later they agreed to a pledge which read: “For many years we have worked hard to repay our debt but, being poor, we have failed to do so. Before the [Meiji] restoration, we were known as eta and were able to survive solely due to the kindness of the villagers. We have talked matters over and have agreed that we must revert to our former status and be guided by the village in all things and endeavor never to step out of line”14 With the abolition of the outcastes legally, one step towards emancipation was made. Though the project of “uplifting” outcastes was not supported by the general public, the government made some attempts which shaped burakumin experiences drastically. The opinions of majority society therefore agreed that the burakumin were not on par with them. The pre-existing rift between outcastes and the rest of society appeared to only grow after the emancipation edict and came to be known as the “buraku issue.” Assimilation, making burakumin into “good Japanese people,” was the means through which government officials attempted to close this gap. When this was not the goal, often the Japanese government and population attempted to deal with the issue by ignoring it, standing on law saying the problem was solved with the emancipation edict, or supporting the pre-emancipation status quo.15 Going into the occupation this reality persisted strongly. The view of burakumin as lesser is something that was deeply ingrained into general society, so much so that violence against 14 Ibid, 144. 15 Amos, Embodying Difference, 92. This is largely through a philosophy of “don’t wake a sleeping child,” the Japanese equivalent to “let sleeping dogs lie.” George DeVos and Hiroshi Wagatsuma, Japan’s Invisible Race: Caste in Culture and Personality (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 10. 13 them was normalized and apparently tolerated by authorities. The fact that a loan was used as a means of forcing the group to accept its perceived rightful place makes it clear that the Japanese public had little love for the outcastes and leveraged whatever opportunity they could to keep them down, or push them back to where they thought they should be. This narrative is only half the story, as the Japanese government, while sometimes participating in the discrimination, also attempted to solve the issue in their own ineffectual manner. The means through which the state sought to solve the issue is termed “assimilation.” The policy has undergone several evolutions from initiatives of self-help in the years following emancipation to the designation of buraku districts as dōwa chiku (同和地区, "assimilation districts”) in the years after the Pacific War. This evolution is part of a greater history of attempts to solve the buraku issue as well as issues with minorities at large.16 This is indicative of the angle the Japanese government typically took with those who did not fit in neatly. The illusion of homogeneity was to be preserved. The nails which stuck out were hammered down. The main obstruction to assimilation historically was perceived as being economic in nature. This issue was visible in high levels of unemployment and low standards of living within buraku. As a result, the Japanese officials took action as early as the first decades of Meiji. Their efforts were to “raise the minority to the general Japanese level,” to be accomplished through self-help values that were prominent through the turn of the century. In this case they were 16 Here I primarily refer to the attempts to assimilate Koreans which is visible in Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire 14 promoted in buraku in the name of kaizen, “social improvement,” though often “improvement” alone.17 This was the first attempt at assimilation, simply “fix” the burakumin. In the end burakumin were frozen out of the liberation felt by all Japanese classes. While the government nominally acknowledged their equality the public did not, leaving them as new commoners. For decades the group largely accepted its status simply existing in oppression with sporadic government interference, but this changed with the tide of Japanese society. From Assimilation to Liberation: Burakumin Attitudes in the 1920s and 1930s Even with efforts at assimilation matters were not improving too greatly. Economic improvements did not make burakumin members of majority society. Indeed, many burakumin acknowledged their ill treatment as a reality and sought to escape it by pretending to not be burakumin. Often these efforts, known as “passing,” resulted in their roots being uncovered and a collapse of their life. This makes it obvious that assimilation thus far was not effective at bridging the gap. This could be attributed to the fact that the groups that were working towards improving their situation often looked at it from a governmental viewpoint of the burakumin being deficient in some way and needing to change. This changed in the 1920s. For a few years the reign of Taishō brought new hope in the form of Taishō democracy. Burakumin, like many other minorities and downtrodden members of Japanese society, joined the fray, forming organizations to represent their interests. The foundations of modern burakumin activism lie in this moment. The rhetoric and ideologies which defined it struck 17John B Cornell, “Individual Mobility and Group Membership: The Case of the Burakumin,” in Aspects of Social Change in Modern Japan, ed. R. P. Dore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967), 341. 15 minorities in a particular way. They found new ways to define themselves in relation to the majority which led to the birth of new organizations, new identities, and new conflicts.18 The background for this change is the instability of the late 1910s and the rice riots. The burakumin were prevalent enough in these riots for the majority population to notice. In contrast to most Japanese, the burakumin were considered violent and prone to anti-social action which led to an exaggeration of their role in the riots, with the cabinet of Prime Minister Terauchi (1852-1919), Foreign Minister Gotō Shinpei (1857-1929), and high-ranking officials within the home ministry placing blame for the riots on the minority. The feelings of mutual distrust were exacerbated by this, and many burakumin became cynical of the majority’s attempt to “improve” them.19 The 1910s thus became a breaking point in burakumin-majority relations. The situation eventually deteriorated to a point that all current assimilation efforts were under scrutiny by members of the minority. The kaizen efforts had largely called on the communities to adopt “proper behaviors and values” to achieve harmony with majority society.20 In face of direct government and public slander many burakumin did not feel as though they were the ones who needed to change, kaizen efforts and assimilation as a whole was collapsing. These first two decades thus closed out in a troublesome way as far as the fate of the outcastes was concerned. There were two primary answers to this developing issue in the early 1920s. These answers were somewhat contradictory, but are both important to the narrative. Struggles on how to agitate for liberation are crucial as the “victors” in the debate are the direct antecedents to some of those who were politically active in the occupation while the 18 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire, 166. 19 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire, 135-136. 20 Ibid, 152. 16 “losers” faded into obscurity, but left behind a crucial idea which came to shape modern policy following the occupation. I opt to simplify the groups as “conciliators,” who are not the victors, those who followed the ideology of yūwa (融和, “conciliation”) and “levelers,” who were at least nominally victors, for reasons that will shortly become clear. While both responses to discrimination, the messages could hardly be more distinct. The first response was a less radical one, ultimately falling somewhat in line with previous efforts. This began with the founding of the Dōaikai, “Mutual Love Society” in May 1921. The face of this group was the noble intellectual Arima Yoriyasu (1884-1957). His organization was representative of one of the yūwa line. Organizations on this side of the issue were those who sought a reconciliation, often summarized with flowery, romantic language such as Dōaikai’s slogan in which it was proclaimed “the crucible of love.”21 Groups like this were often soft enough in their rhetoric and measured enough to come off as direct successors to kaizen efforts, perhaps not an unfair comparison. Indeed, researchers Teraki Nobuaki and Kurokawa Midori refer to the “Yūwa Association” in the 1930s having a platform calling for the completion of the “Yūwa Project” which they remarked “although the name is conciliation, in fact it is about making the Buraku normal and even the very elimination of buraku communities themselves.”22 This was perhaps always the final step of assimilation. In one philosophy assimilation must be total and therefore erase the former distinction, a philosophy that both “self-improvement” and “conciliation” pushed for. This ideology is therefore not “less radical” in its goals, but in the sense proponents called for a more peaceful means of ending discrimination. 21 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire, 135-136. 22 Teraki Nobuaki and Kurokawa Midori, A History of Discriminated Buraku Communities in Japan, trans. Ian Neary(Chippenham: Renaissance Books, 2019), 209. 17 The reason why Dōaikai is different from earlier efforts and merits mention is that it was not as toothless as kaizen efforts, nor as antagonistic to the existence of burakumin. Rather than simply calling for self-improvement, Dōaikai called for government intervention to better the conditions within buraku. It also engaged in public calls for equality for the burakumin and an enlightenment of the Japanese public on the issue of discrimination.23 As such this indicates a transition in the meaning of assimilation in which even the less radical groups took a less conciliatory stance which emphasized the role of majority society in perpetuating discrimination. The second development which led to sustained challenge of the status quo came on March 3, 1922 with the founding declaration of Suiheisha, the Levelers’ Society.24 Arima of the Dōaikai supported this movement, but this group was far more antagonistic to majority society. In contrast to a call for “mutual love” what the levelers sought was nothing short of a reorganization of society, to see it leveled, thus inspiring the name. The members made it clear in their founding declaration that they were victims of discrimination and that they would no longer tolerate their treatment. While Dōaikai pushed more gently, but no less importantly, for government assistance, the Suiheisha boldly declared “We Tokushu Burakumin will attain complete emancipation by our own action.”25 Thus, in the 1920s the burakumin began to see movements which no longer laid the blame for their conditions on them, but instead sought government assistance or went beyond the pale and sought to change society to make it fair to them rather than changing to fit in. It is worth noting that one of the leading figures, and a rather aggressive activist in his own right, 23 Ibid, 155. 24 Ibid, 169-170. The group operated for two decades before dissolution during the war in 1942. 25 DeVos and Wagatsuma, Japan’s Invisible Race, 43. 18 Matsumoto Ji’ichiro, came to a degree of national importance as a result of his work with Suiheisha. Indeed, many of the names that would come to define burakumin activism through the occupation were those who found their roots in this organization. The rise of organizations and dynamic figures like Matsumoto was the first step in swinging the pendulum towards the more contemporary assimilation attempts. These more contemporary attempts, represented by organizations which began their activities in the occupation, fall more in line with the Dōaikai goals. This should, however, by no means be taken as evidence of impotence on the part of the Suiheisha. Indeed, this group may have suffered internal struggles and lost some relevance, but it was a key force in bringing burakumin issues to the public through the occupation and after. Naturally the mid-1920s until 1945 was a time of great struggle for burakumin activists. As with all social movements in Japan which appeared as a threat to state security, the state had its eyes on Suiheisha. For some time in this period, the yūwa alternatives to the Suiheisha, such as the Buraku Keizai Kōsei Undō, eroded away at the group’s support internal debates about dissolution raged.26 At this moment it appeared that the yūwa line would carry the day. The pendulum swung in favor of the levelers, and thus away from the old style of assimilation, unexpectedly in 1933. In this year a pair of burakumin were charged with abduction of a woman who agreed to marry one of them while he concealed his buraku heritage. While this was discriminatory in its own right, what really struck the Suiheisha was that the prosecution focused on the fact that the defendants had concealed their burakumin identities. The 26 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire, 266-267 19 organization jumped on this issue and began public campaigns in favor of the defendants. In the end they won great political support, new members, and the release of the defendants.27 Even as the levelers reclaimed initiative their pseudo-ethnonationalism appeared to be contradictory to their political ideology. Socialism, or at the very least, communism, is traditionally an international ideology. This conflict was prominent in the internal struggle in burakumin activism. In what one scholar calls “National Suiheisha dissolution theory” burakumin, namely those of the “Bolshevik faction,” proposed the dissolution of Suiheisha in favor of joining the international struggle of the proletariat in 1931. This was a stance strongly supported by the Japan Communist Party (JCP) who preferred to toe the Comintern line, dissolution only occurred during the war, but this was an important step in that direction.28 While Suiheisha survived this effort it marks a watershed moment. Prior to this it looked as though Suiheisha could survive the contradiction relatively unchanged. Indeed for a few years they continued to operate in a relatively normal manner. This changed with a resolution at the organization's thirteenth conference in 1935. This mentioned “an important moment for people’s reconciliation [Kokuminteki Yūwa] and to protect the livelihoods of the oppressed Buraku masses,” a radical departure from the inflammatory stance Suiheisha often held against the yūwa line.29 This is ultimately a very important change, if one not entirely isolated from the repression of imperial Japanese society. The Peace Preservation Law of 1925 was a real threat for many agitators, and this applied especially to the political left. As a result, Suiheisha leadership were frequent victims to political 27 Ibid, 270-274 28 Teraki Nobuaki and Kurokawa Midori, A History of Discriminated Buraku Communities in Japan, trans. Ian Neary(Chippenham: Renaissance Books, 2019), 206-207 29 Ibid, 209. 20 imprisonment. While some men no doubt held firm to their beliefs many more apparently did not. Tenkō (転向, lit. “changing direction”) referred to the convenient conversion of communist and socialist political prisoners from their radical ideology to support for an emperor-centered state. These pressures no doubt played a role in tempering burakumin of Suiheisha. Communists and socialists alike were pressured toward “state socialism, particularly in the thirties. 30 The left both in minority activism and in general, was thus shifting right. Socialism was apparently somewhat neutered, while communism was virtually eradicated. This change permanently watered down the radicalism inherent to Suiheisha in the lead up to the Pacific War. Furthering their presence in this wartime period, Suiheisha adopted the slogans of national unity and threw in with the Japanese empire.31 This limited their ability to be as radical as they were in the twenties, adding to the already intense pressures of the thirties, but it helped to insure the survival of the organization until 1942. In this moment the inflammatory goal of leveling appears to have lost virtually all ground to a more peaceful assimilation, which continued into the postwar period. Suiheisha is largely the ideological antecedent to even contemporary burakumin liberation activists, but how they differ from the yūwa line which was once obviously softer in rhetoric becomes difficult to tell. In the end, going into the occupation burakumin, when painted with a broad brush, were a few things. First, they were largely a group that was defined by their perpetual discrimination. Second, they were a group that is almost entirely made up of lower-income, less educated sectors of Japanese society. Lastly, they were largely politically left leaning. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid, 286. This was more the official stance of Suiheisha rather than that of the burakumin at large. 21 On Public Attitudes To say that the entire Japanese public felt one way toward burakumin would be a gross overgeneralization, but to say that society, for the most part, perpetuated a certain attitude is quite fair. One way of understanding Japanese attitudes may be to reflect on one piece of literature from the sixties and seventies. Starting in 1959 Japanese author Sue Sumii began working on her multi-volume work Hashi no nai kawa translated decades later as The River with No Bridge. The book follows a burakumin family from the village of Komori, a community that the author, while not an outcaste herself, grew up next to. Contrary to many Japanese who took a rather blasé attitude towards the outcastes or actively discriminated against them, Sumii found herself “Outraged by the discrimination she witnessed… [and] came to challenge the widely accepted belief that those who are disadvantaged are destined to remain so.”32 While Sumii does have a strong conviction towards justice for outcastes, her story does speak to general public attitudes, as well as reflecting those within burakumin communities. One example of this is seen through the two brothers Koji, who serves as the main character in many ways, and his older brother Seitaro. The latter of these serves as something of a stand-in for Suiheisha in his youth, full of righteous anger getting into fights and expressing radical opinions. While debating the saying “three years even on a stone” and its true meaning, Seitaro and Koji’s mother, Fude, suggests that it means that “just as even a cold stone’ll grow warm if you sit on it three years, things are bound to get better, no matter how hard they are, if you stick it out long enough.” As the discussion continues the family’s grandmother, Nui, thinks of the saying discussed, but also “adversity polishes a gem” coming to the conclusion that such proverbs and 32 Book jacket, back cover, designed by Point & Line Co., Sué Sumii, The River With No Bridge, trans. Susan Wilkinson (Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Co., Inc. of Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan, 1989). 22 maxims apply to their own Komori wondering why the village must suffer as it has for centuries. Seitaro boldly declared “Let's get up from the stone. Rise up and kick it away!”33 Earlier in the book another burakumin, the only middle-school student of Komori, Hidéaki tells Seitaro and Koji about a book, The Broken Commandment, which follows a burakumin who successfully hid his status to become a teacher only to have his roots discovered year later. When Seitaro hears that the man apologized to his students for hiding his identity The boy remarks “He should’ve punched all the ones that called him an eta. That’s what I would’ve done.” Hidéaki turns to Koji asking if he would do the same. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d show them by studying hard.” The remark earns him a scornful remark and thump on the head from his older brother.34 Though these could be easily explained as youthful aggression and naivety respectively, Seitaro and Koji both represent burakumin attitudes in the twentieth century, leveling and conciliation, or even self-improvement, respectively The book is packed with examples of discrimination but one stands out in particular. In a traumatic moment in their lives Seitaro and Koji return from visiting family in a village some distance away to find Komori ablaze. As they watch on in dread from a neighboring village, they hear the chatter of locals. “Where’s the fire?” asked a man. “Komori,” replied a woman. “Might have guessed.” “Yes it’s an eta fire.” 33 Sué Sumii, The River With No Bridge, trans. Susan Wilkinson (Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Co., Inc. of Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan, 1989), 86-88. 34 Ibid, 73-74. 23 The people go even further saying it would not be so bad if the whole village “And all those eta with it” burned away. Then as a hand pump is pulled across the bridge the comments continue, “Ugh, there’s a horrible smell,” said a woman’s voice. “Disgusting,” agreed an old man. “That's the eta for you. Even their fire stinks.” When they hear a child started the blaze they comment that this should be expected from an “eta brat” who has no sense of right or wrong, before concluding “All the parents’ fault, of course.”35 At the risk of taking a novel too seriously it is worth keeping in mind such instances. Earlier historical examples have made it clear such a description is far from unrealistic. A tragic theme of the book is children coming to terms with their “nature.” Fudé lashes out at Seitaro for offering to help make shoes explaining why she does it, but he should not. “Because I'm too stupid to do anything else. But there's nothing to stop you and Koji doing well for yourselves if you study hard at school.” Seitaro falls uncharacteristically quiet, coming to the realization that “no amount of studying would alter the fact that they were eta.”36 Later the worst fears of Fudé and Nui are realized. Seitaro acts up at school to protest his teacher and remarks that he may fail his last year of compulsory education. He resolves to work instead, which prompts his grandmother to ask what kind of work. He remarks “Oh, anything. Farming, or making shoes, it doesn’t matter.” Nui suppresses a sigh and Fudé chokes back her tears, both realizing “that Seitaro now knew clearly what he was.”37 35 Ibid, 108-109. 36 Ibid, 167. 37 Ibid, 181. 24 To an outsider like Sumii, righteously indignant to the forces of discrimination, this is what society meant to burakumin. They were to be kept in their small communities, demeaned for their labor, and kept at their low status. The Japanese majority were indifferent to the consistent abuse that permeated interactions with burakumin or complicit in perpetuating it. An often used term for burakumin, including in Sumii’s book, is yotsu which can be defined differently, but typically carries the connotation of something like “four-fingered” or “four-legged” to imply that outcastes were less than human, being somehow animalistic. Considering this novel in concert with earlier public reactions to the kaiho rei it becomes abundantly clear that the Japanese public had a relatively consistent view of burakumin in the lead up to the occupation. They were pungent, violent, and animalistic, too improper and unclean to be considered commoners. The very notion that the Japanese majority was tied to them in some deeper way was unfathomable, they were best kept out of sight and out of mind. The fact that Sumii began the work after the occupation suggests that such discrimination did not end with American presence, nor in the years after its retreat, a topic that will be returned to later. Where and How Many: Geographical Information and Population Figures Before considering the occupation itself, it would be good to know a few things about burakumin demography. Komori was in Nara prefecture, but is just one of hundreds, if not thousands, of buraku dotting Japan. Drawing upon one relatively comprehensive survey which features a list of forty-six prefectures, some things to be aware of become clear. Virtually every prefecture and region of Japan had a burakumin presence as late as 1948. The only “region” without any is the single-prefecture region of Hokkaido. Despite the population of 3,483,013 at the time of survey nobody identified by government sources or burakumin activists was an outcaste on that island. Tohoku is also listed virtually without any members of the group either, 25 Fukushima was the only prefecture with a population, a mere 998 among the 1,918,746 of the general population. Iwate also is listed as having 0.05 percent of town and village assemblymen as burakumin. This is appears contradictory at first viewing as the report says there is no outcaste population in the prefecture, this quirk is explained in a footnote as there having been no burakumin within the prefecture but that their presence was “revealed in the present survey” of a burakumin organization.38 This explanation ultimately does little to explain anything, but it is what is available. Regardless, the data is rather clear outside this. Northern Japan is a place virtually devoid of burakumin communities. This also correlates with a general understanding of the group as being a more southern one. Outliers in this are Nagasaki and Miyazaki in Kyushu which are .08 and .11 percent burakumin. The next lowest percentage is Tokyo at .15 percent and every other prefecture appears to have burakumin as .25 percent or more of the general population. In terms of statistical significance, from the “regional” level employed in the study, the group is above one percent of the population in Chubu only in Nagano prefecture. In Kansai burakumin were 2.07 percent of Osaka’s population and over three percent in Mie and Kyoto, over four percent of Shiga and Hyogo, and over five percent of Nara and Wakayama. In Chugoku they were .93 percent in Shimae, 1.21 in Yamaguchi and over 3 percent of Hiroshima and Okayama, and over four and a half percent of Tottori. In Shikoku the outcastes were .98 percent of Kagawa, 4.6 of Tokushima, 4.73 of Kochi, and 5.89 of Ehime. The group is more poorly represented in Kyushu, being under one percent in all prefectures except Fukuoka in which they were 2.61 percent. This prefecture is perhaps the most important in the occupation period for burakumin so it is worth 38 Public Opinion and Sociological Research Unit, “Eta in Public Office: Part III, Municipal Assemblies,” in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan 占領期の部落問題, ed. 部落解放研究所 編 (Osaka: 部落解放研究所, 1993). Retrived from the National Diet Library, call number EF96-G76), 399-401 26 noting that it is not the most significant for them statistically. Overall, the statistics here assert that Japan had a total population of 73,112,995 with burakumin accounting for 1,004,523, 1.37 percent of the total. Again this is a statistic from the report dated 1948.39 These numbers are not perfect but this will be discussed at a later point alongside the other content of the report. For now they simply serve as a base for understanding a general rundown on the presence of burakumin. 39 Ibid, 399-401. 27 CHAPTER TWO: BURAKUMIN IN THE OCCUPATION Exact details on the outcaste experience during the occupation are sparse, particularly in English-language literature. For the most part it can be concluded that they found themselves in much the same place as Japanese majority society, the destruction that fell upon Japan during the war not discriminate. What few stories are available that explicitly mention the outcaste experience ultimately serve to say little about their place in the occupation, instead one must make inferences based on available material. In the interests of justifying this approach, it is worth noting that an American who participated in the occupation received a request from Toshio Watanabe of the Buraku Kaiho Kenkyusho (Buraku Liberation Research Institution) in the 1980s requesting any information she might have on the topic. In 1989, after asking friends for more, she received a 10 page report on “eta” in Shikoku, which she sent to Watanabe, she wrote of the exchange: “Mr. Watanabe was thrilled to receive this paper, because members of his institute were eager for any material related to the burakumin during the occupation.”40 If the research institute dedicated to burakumin liberation itself was poorly stocked with information on the topic as late as nearly 1990, then inferences are a logical path forward. It is important to make these inferences because it is the occupation which becomes the bridge between prewar organizations to their successful postwar counterparts. In large part, it is the democratization of Japan by American forces that allowed for burakumin to agitate for their liberation. Two things become clear through a variety of disjointed sources. First, burakumin were known to only a select few in GHQ and were ultimately abandoned by them. Second, the outcaste group took to the democratizing wave, becoming an active supporter of the Japanese 40 Carmen Johnson, Wave-Rings in the Water: My Years with the Women of Postwar Japan (Alexandria, Virginia: Charles River Press, 1996), 160. 28 left. These two facts are inherently interconnected and explain the place, and to a large extent, the absence of burakumin in this crucial moment in Japanese history. To understand this one must understand the nature and leadership of GHQ and the same of the Japanese left. Letters to GHQ What the occupation represented for the Japanese public varied from person to person but was commonly held to be a major chance for change, good or bad. For many people this meant a hope to effect a change in Japan that had not been seen since the days of Meiji when the public drafted their own ideas of a national constitution. There are few places where this drive to effect change is more visible than the half a million-letter written to GHQ. Letters from the public were first invited by Prime Minister Higashikuni to be written to his government, but upon its collapse they took to a new direction. Pouring into GHQ unbidden, the occupation officials quickly realized the PR implications and began reading and recording these letters, with Mainichi Shimbun running a story on what officials found to be common themes of 100 letters on October 15, 1945.41 With this, reading and translation of the letters received by GHQ began and continued throughout the occupation. Naturally with the political implications of American occupation, many of these letters focused on the topic of political reform. There is one war visible in these letters in which burakumin found themselves involved, the common struggle between left and right. Their role becomes clear later, but it is important to understand how the Japanese public perceived this battle excepting any mention of burakumin. For most Japanese people, and virtually everyone who wrote to GHQ and MacArthur, 41 Rinjirō Sodei, Dear General MacArthur: Letters from the Japanese during the American Occupation trans. John Junkerman (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield publishers, 2001), 5-7 29 democracy was a noble goal, but there were several notable divisions which ultimately factor into this story. For the most part, two are particularly important, the role of the emperor system and the formation of a communist/socialist state or a more conservative democracy. In his analysis of letters written to GHQ, Dear General MacArthur: Letters from the Japanese during the American Occupation, author Sodei Rinjirō, dedicates a chapter each to calls for preservation of the emperor and calls for him to be deposed . This exemplifies a clash between traditional Japan and more radical forces. This is an easily visible manifestation of the right-left political dichotomy of occupation era Japan. The latter being in the firm minority, were also the side which most attracted burakumin. Understanding the dichotomy as it concerns the emperor is exceptionally important for understanding burakumin activism in this period. In a particularly interesting example one man wrote a letter which promoted fanatical loyalty to the emperor. Nara prefecture’s Takemoto Rihei wrote on December 16, 1945: “The Honorable General MacArthur Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers: The emperor is our life. We cannot live without the emperor. Please do not make His Majesty suffer. This is the ultimate and most earnest request of the Japanese people. Please accept our request.”42 This is certainly an above average amount of fervor than was expressed by the larger Japanese public. Even so, several Japanese newspapers conducted surveys which displayed a 42 Ibid, 63. 30 large amount of support for the imperial system, if not the emperor himself.43 In contrast to between 100-200 instances of pro-emperor letters, Sodei found only nine calling for the emperor to take responsibility for the war and asking MacArthur to do away with the imperial system.44 There is one common theme among most of these letters that indicates this to be a clearly political issue, the terminology of the authors. One letter, written by “a country farmer in the northeast,” who is clearly well-educated, remarks that the emperor must be tried for war crimes, but so too must many officials and bureaucrats “Especially the rich with more than a half million yen, members of the diet, field-grade military officers, [and] bureaucrats above the Higher Third Rank….” He says some will have to be executed to avoid another war. He continues “Farmers are sick and tired of war. All we want is to be able to live happily.” This sentiment is quickly abandoned for a more violent request: “seize the young military officers, the Diet members, and the aristocrats” to root out militarism.45 The terminology here is important, but the political aspect of the issue is reinforced by other letters. Another anonymous author spends a good deal of his twelve-page paper decrying his countrymen before he remarks “We have been made to suffer for him [the emperor] for two thousand years. Remarking that, he sits at the top of the privileged classes,” before mentioning the specific grievances of how the imperial family and other elites avoided the rationing system. This is an understandable concern at the time, but also reflects an anti-elite sentiment shared by 43 Ibid, 66-67. In this latter case the December 9, 1945, issue of Yomiuri hōchi reported 95% support for the imperial system, where Asahi Shimbun’s January 23, 1946 issue featured a headline “92% to 8% Overwhelming Majority Supports Imperial System” which matched MacArthur’s own “secret poll” on the issue. 44 Ibid, 67,85 45 Ibid, 85-86. 31 the last author.46 This attitude is very reminiscent of burakumin attitudes. They, being among the least privileged classes, often spoke about the most privileged with disdain.47 Another letter calls the imperial system an obstruction to democratization and remarks “The imperial family and aristocracy should also be abolished. For a long time, the privileged class has enslaved and exploited the people.” It is worth noting that this author may be a bit extreme even compared to other authors of these letters. He goes so far as to write “Japan should be occupied forever. If possible, please make Japan a colony” and asserts that everybody from prefectural governors down to heads of hamlets and policemen forced the population into war and “should be indicted as war criminals.”48 Wrapping up this analysis with one final letter, a proposal for the establishing of a Japanese republic further reinforces the commonalities in all these letters. The author writes in favor of abolishing the imperial system for fear that, upon America’s withdrawal: “the feudal powers and reactionary powers, e.g., the militarists, the bureaucrats, the capitalists, the landowners, the aristocrats, who recklessly and stupidly led Japan to a war against the United States will restore their control over the Japanese people, democracy will collapse, and the resurgence of militarist Japan will be inevitable”49 To say that these authors were all communists would be both unverifiable and dishonest. There is, however, much to be made of the consistent mentions of the “ruling class” and the 46 Ibid, 88-89. 47 Sué Sumii’s The River With No Bridge, which is discussed later, features this theme very frequently with characters debating the nature of privilege between outcastes and the imperial family. Being set in the early twentieth century, this debate is accented by questions about the emperor’s divinity as a kami. 48 Rinjirō, Dear General MacArthur, 90 49 Ibid, 92-94. 32 fourth author’s reference on several occasions to capitalists and landowners as proponents of the war. Regardless of the validity of such beliefs, the Japanese public, including those who supported the emperor system frequently began and ended war blame with “militarists” with the authors of these letters extending blame to more elites. The uncommon nature of these anti-imperial letters and their sometimes overt, but often more subtle, ties to left-wing ideologies need to be kept in mind when it comes to burakumin in the occupation. In the early years of occupation, at the height of leftist political influence, both communists and socialists wrote to MacArthur to extol the virtues of their political thought. Conversely many conservatives wrote to MacArthur, though their efforts were less self-aggrandizing and more fearful calls for MacArthur to strengthen his measures against communists, a term which was often extended to anything “too far” left for these letter writers given the major “threat” came from the JSP. MacArthur was, of course, a staunch opponent of communism, so the letters' impacts are of less importance when compared to what they can tell a reader about the Japanese political climate at the time, which was primarily switching hands between leftists, namely those of the JSP and old liberals like Yoshida Shigeru. Keeping in line with the theme already established in these letters, Kumaō Takeo wrote “I am a member of the Japan Communist Party and also the secretary of our village farmers union…. No one but we Communist Party members can crush the obstinate believers in the emperor system, the imperialists, and the thieving war-lovers, and truly lead Japan to democratic nationhood.” A similar sentiment was expressed by seventy-four-year-old Iwabuchi Daitsō who wrote to MacArthur “I beseech you to completely eliminate the former militarists… [and] to 33 eradicate the conservative and obstinate Progressive and Liberal parties.” The last line before the signature reads plainly “I am definitely not a member of the Communist Party.”50 While some of these letters are obviously representative of extreme opinions that did not represent the majority of Japan, a significant concern for the Japanese public was the direction of the country. This is manifested in fears of communism and leftism at large as a threat to traditional Japanese culture and politics. The strife found in these letters shows that both the future of Japan as a whole, and the fate of the imperial system more specifically, were often considered within a right-left dichotomy. Of all the things that determined the future of burakumin during the occupation it was these grand tides that determined the most. Though as is evidenced by their absence in these letters it is ultimately as a minor force that they are present. It is, however, worth noting what the representatives of the primary burakumin organization of the occupation period had to say at this moment. Against American Interests: Burakumin Reorganization Occupation was a major opportunity for all leftist political agitators. Being released as political prisoners early in the occupation, many burakumin activists wasted little time in reorganizing themselves. On February 18, 1946, buraku communities sent representatives to found the Buraku Zenkoku Kaihō Iinkai (Buraku National Liberation Committee). The first chair was Matsumoto Ji’ichiro, who was beginning to take the reins of occupation burakumin organizing, and four notable men of the Bolshevik wing were present alongside three people who were notable participants in the yūwa movement.51 This completes the blending of the burakumin 50 Ibid, 201,207. 51 Teraki and Kurokawa, A History of Discriminated Buraku Communities in Japan, 221-222. 34 liberation into a singular entity. Certainly, this direction was not favored by all, but it forms the basis of every major development for burakumin moving forward. American interests were a bit complex in this moment. Ultimately, the logic was simple, but the means were sometimes less clear. The notion of utilizing the emperor as a puppet for democratization was something favored by much of Washington. MacArthur himself was quite fond of the emperor in this role and was key in protecting him. With this in mind, as well as the general support for the emperor shown in letters to GHQ, one of the worst stances for a Japanese activist or agitator to have was anti-imperial. It is unfortunate then, that the Buraku Zenkoku Kaihō Iinkai wasted little time throwing their lot in with letter-writers who expressed this exact opinion to MacArthur. On February 19, 1946, the day after its foundation, the group held the Buraku Liberation People’s Conference in Kyoto. Here, a Fukuoka representative said that the “oppressed Buraku masses” were perfectly poised to resist the emperor system. Another man concurred perhaps ahistorically that “he detected, ‘distant ancestors of the oppressed Burakumin in the samurai who were subjected by the imperial family” going on to blame oppression upon an incomplete revolution which saw a rise in the power of the zaibatsu under imperial control, and collaborated with by the military and “bureaucratic landlords.” Matsumoto threw in his lot calling for the elimination of the people of “highest status” to complete the democratic revolution.52 That this rhetoric aligns virtually perfectly with the letters to GHQ calling for the end of the emperor system, ranging from the self-avowed communist to Iwabuchi who was “definitely not a member of the communist party,” is very telling. This was a serious minority opinion, held by at most something of a ratio of 1:10 52 Ibid, 223. 35 to 1:20 based upon the letters to GHQ. Furthermore, the notion of liberation as an economic uplifting of burakumin was not particularly controversial. As such, this anti-imperial stance is one of the only very clear political stances of liberation organizations. A serious issue, if not miscalculation, by burakumin activists in any attempts to leverage occupation power to their ends. Ironically, perhaps the greatest loss for burakumin was simply the result of leftist ideology, but the consequence of a former instance of GHQ mercy and the political tides within Japan shifting in a manner which allowed it to be exploited. Matsumoto Ji’ichiro: A First-rate Agitator One key thing to note here is that there is something of a conflation of burakumin and one figure of the occupation, Matsumoto Ji’ichiro. As such it is important to understand his political activity before and during the occupation as he is a central figure in the narrative. Matsumoto had a typical youth. Born in the buraku of Kanehira east of Fukuoka City, he grew up experiencing the same discrimination common in most burakumin stories. He led a good life in his youth graduating from an upper primary school and furthering his education beyond that in Kyoto and Tokyo. He joined a group of young fortune seekers in 1907 when he crossed the East China Sea into newly acquired Japanese territory following the treaty of Portsmouth. He made his living in rather uninspiring manners selling cigarettes to sailors or pretending to be a medical specialist. His experience was virtually non-existent, beginning and ending with the fact that he read, or at least carried, a copy of “First Aid—until the doctor arrives.” He eked out a living for three years like this, selling medicine and pretending to be a medical officer, making periodic returns to Port Arthur. This chapter of his story closed in mid-1910 when he opted to sail home of his own volition, or was expelled by authorities for selling medicine without 36 qualifications. He made it home “three years to the day after his departure.”53 While discrimination defined a good deal of Matsumoto’s life, he certainly did not engage very much in fighting it in the early years of his adulthood. He lived a rather unflattering three years on the other side of the pond. Perhaps he crossed to the mainland to avoid discrimination, but he found his way home of his own volition or otherwise. From his return home he collaborated with family as the chief executive of Matsumoto-gumi, a construction company, an endeavor which consumed much of his time from 1910 into the 1920s.54 Matsumoto spent the first two decades of the century making his living with little concern for activism, something that changed as the third decade began. Perhaps swept up in the fervor of imperial democracy, Matsumoto joined the earliest generation of activists of this new age of Japanese popular politics. He started with the rather inglorious harassment of a landlord for eating with a cat, but not letting burakumin workers on his land sit with other workmen. In 1921 he went further, galvanizing youth groups to campaign against the mayor of Fukuoka City who sought to impose a special tax to celebrate the 300 year anniversary of Kuroda family rule in the old Chikuzen province. Matsumoto and his Chikuzen Kyokakudan (Chikuzen calling for revolution group) argued the people should not be grateful to the aristocracy which created and perpetuated discrimination against their people in the Tokugawa period. The governor of Fukuoka refused to meet with Matsumoto, but unfortunately ran into him on the street where the activist effectively bullied the official into abandoning the tax. Contributions came voluntarily, but only to one-fifth the amount that was to be taxed.55 53Ian Neary, “Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and Fukuoka,” in Hakata: The Cultural Worlds of Northern Kyushu, ed. Andrew Cobbing (Boston: Brill, 2013), 170-173 54 Ibid, 174. 55 Ibid, 176-177. 37 Matsumoto was nothing if not bold, publicly harassing government officials is certainly not conducive with “proper” conduct. He developed quite the reputation which served him in the following years. In the early days he stuck to Fukuoka, but this quickly changed as Japan witnessed the rise of national organizations. Matsumoto lived outside the center of activism on Honshu. The creation of Suiheisha was discussed and made reality through 1921 and 1922 in Nara, and he did not participate. Some burakumin from Chikuho, however, came to him in 1923 to propose he aid in the creation of a Kyushu branch, which he did promptly and with enthusiasm, organizing a venue for a founding conference where he was elected leader. He was, however, absent from this meeting.56 In the lead up to this conference Matsumoto was called to the central police station on April 24 and asked to postpone the conference. As per his general character, he refused. He was promptly imprisoned until June 25th, seven weeks after the conference had convened. There are two events which explain his imprisonment. First, Fukuoka police did not want a local Suiheisha branch, which would be another radical group to survey. Furthermore, where they appeared, the organization engaged in anti-discrimination campaigns, known as kyūdan, which often led to violence.57 This would be a rather logical conclusion given the arrest followed his refusal to postpone the conference. There was, however, a much more seedy explanation. Matsumoto-gumi was in a gang war with another construction company and the leader of a rival company had been murdered by men of Matsumoto’s organization.58 This dispute arose construction of a railway by Matsumoto-gumi which was opposed by the local Matsuo-gumi. 56 Ibid, 177-178. 57 Ian Neary, The Buraku Issue and Modern Japan: The career of Matsumoto Jiichirō (New York: Routledge, 2010), 35. 58 Neary, “Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and Fukuoka,” 177-178. 38 The night of the dispute fifty of Matsumoto’s employees appeared at the lodging of Matsuo brandishing swords and attacked him inflicting fatal wounds. Matsumoto was not directly involved, but, allegedly, was arrested as the result of the judge at the preliminary trial, Nogami, being drunk and mistakenly writing his name on the arrest warrant.59 He also spent additional months in jail in the 1920s when he was suspected of plotting to assassinate the head of the Tokugawa family, making his way out in July 1927.60 This all began with Suiheisha attempts to penalize the speaker of the House of Peers, Tokugawa Iesato for his existence as a wealthy feudal remnant. Ever the forward man, Matsumoto took it upon himself to champion the cause of calling for his resignation by consistently attempting to call upon “Prince Tokugawa” directly to demand it. He was rebuffed one too many times, sent a man, Satō Saburō, to keep a watch on Tokugawa, and Satō was caught on July 9th with a knife and gun, and was subsequently accused of planning an assassination, a charge that was levied against Matsumoto the same day. Over a year later on October 19th, 1925, the trial of Matsumoto and Satō began. Matsumoto had admitted to giving the alleged would-be assassin a gun and knife with the justification that he had left them at his home and asked that they be returned. Such explanation was deemed insufficient by the court which found him guilty sentencing him to a mere four months, starting his sentence on March 9th, 1927.61 Despite a lack of direct involvement, Matsumoto was surrounded by men to whom violence was not unacceptable. Indeed, while 59 Neary, The Buraku Issue, 36. 60 Neary, “Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and Fukuoka,” 177-178. The source cited here uses the term “gang war,” I do not mean to imply that this is a justification for the stereotype, but merely to clarify that the terminology is used and I am unable to find a reason to dispute the conclusion that such wording is objectionable, particularly given the credentials of Dr. Neary as a scholar of burakumin history, and Matsumoto in particular. 61Neary, The Buraku Issue, 41-42 39 Suiheisha members developed a reputation for violence, Matsumoto himself was known to some extent for the murder which his men perpetrated. Some claim that Matsumoto remarked to police during his imprisonment “If you are going to torture me, you’d better kill me. Because if you don't, remember when I get out….”62 Additionally, even supposing he was honest at his trial, the situation is still far from flattering for him. Thus, for a better part of the twenties, Matsumoto was an activist leader, but perhaps perceived authorities as a thug. Certainly police might have been aware of his political affiliations, but largely were concerned with violence, not some grander loyalty to the emperor nor antipathy to leftist politics. As such, at least during the twenties through 1925, Matsumoto’s arrests were apparently not explicitly political in nature, whether or not they were justified. As the tides of Japan drifted away from Taishō democracy towards Shōwa imperialism so too does Matsumoto’s story change in context. He faced much of the struggle felt by left-wing political activists. In terms of fighting discrimination, his priority was the end of marriage discrimination as, he believed, marriage across the status line would naturally end all discrimination over time. Outside this, however, Matsumoto was perhaps a generic Japanese leftist in this time. He was antagonistic to the aristocracy, against militarism, and discussed minority activism. He and organizations from the three buraku east of Fukuoka opposed the tide of militarism, namely the militarization of education. They also complained of instances of discrimination within the military. Matsumoto attempted to negotiate with ministers in Tokyo to address concerns of burakumin, but he failed. On November 12th, 1926 his home and outbuildings were raided by police while he was away in a coordinated action which saw 62 Ibid, 43. 40 Suiheisha headquarters in Osaka raided as well. Upon returning home he was met with a warrant for his arrest, for planning to bomb Fukuoka Regiment HQ. Guns from the inglorious Siberian Expedition had turned up in Suiheisha headquarters and a letter apparently indicated that somebody in the Matsumoto household had been attempting to secure guns and explosives. These charges have been considered somewhat dubious, for several reasons.63 Either way, Matsumoto was locked up from May 1929 to December 1931.”64 Despite the major setback, Matsumoto proved ever more tenacious. He made his way out of jail once more on December 26. After much strife, Suiheisha headquarters in Osaka closed down and the 1933 conference was held in Fukuoka, where Matsumoto not only footed the majority of the bill but had his home serve as a temporary headquarters. Matsumoto became the leader of the movement, if not officially. He then found his way into the Imperial Diet in 1937 when thirty-six representatives were added to the body.65 With this story in mind, it is fair to say that in the 1930s Matsumoto is three things: A businessman, a leftist activist and agitator, and a large portion of the backbone of burakumin liberation. For burakumin, Matsumoto is beyond his political beliefs or his life story. He was elevated as a symbol. He was a leader of the highest caliber, a father of the liberation movement, a constant of Suiheisha, part and parcel with burakumin regardless of whether that is a justified 63 Neary, Matsumoto, The Buraku Issue, 53-64, through his analysis Neary points out issues with the accusations and the plot as a whole and the appeals process. As such one might label this more of a political prosecution than the previous ones, but once again there were valid concerns outside of politics. 64 Neary, “Matsumoto Jiichirō and Fukuoka,” 178. This letter was “The crucial piece of evidence” being addressed to Iwao Iesada, who Matsumoto had been employing as a secretary at his home and was sent by the “sister of a friend at Kumamoto Station” according to Neary, The Buraku Issue, 55-56. 65 Ibid, 179. 41 reputation.66 As far as the Japanese government officials and policemen were concerned he was a radical who rubbed shoulders with would-be terrorists, they never locked him up for long, but their attitude remains clear. For now his story will be left in the lead-up to the Pacific War, but he returns in a big way during the occupation and his actions in wartime Japan are heavily scrutinized there. 66 Ibid, 173. I do not mean to disparage the legacy of Matsumoto, but rather point out here an argument that will be returned to later, in terms of activism, Matsumoto was more of a socialist than he was a burakumin. His concern was rarely with liberation itself, but rather an end to discrimination en masse and the realization of socialist ideology. 42 CHAPTER THREE: AMERICAN ACTION Naturally, one of the most crucial aspects of this period is the presence of radical reform by occupation officials. For this topic, land reform and constitutional revision are among the most important to consider. The former offered the opportunity to liberate the many burakumin tenant farmers from their restrictive situation. The latter was the more important opportunity which could protect burakumin from discrimination in a legal context. Understanding the place of burakumin in debates around these momentous changes reveals much of their place in this period. A Case Study of American Oversight: Land Reform . Land reform was a key aspect of economic democratization for the occupation. The topic itself was also very important for burakumin who were disproportionately poorer farmers in need of legislative action to “liberate” them from the economic confines which defined the lives of poor Japanese farmers. This made it one of the most poignant projects for both the Americans working towards the goal of economic democratization, as well as for burakumin who now saw a path out of the repressive tenancy that had defined Japanese agriculture for centuries. A particularly telling example of how the Japanese system of tenancy was viewed is the first in a series of journal articles which began publishing in December of 1945. In this article the author, Seiyei Wakuwaka, writes of the farm tenancy system: “Because of its universality and deep social implications, tenancy has offered the most knotty agrarian problem to confront every incoming Japanese cabinet for the past twenty-five years. As the chief source of rural unrest the land question has become increasingly 43 acute with the years. Much of the continued dominance of feudal remnants that permeate every aspect of Japanese life finds an economic basis in the semi-feudal tenancy system.”67 The same feudal roots that burakumin decried were the very same roots that grew into this equally thorny issue. For the Japanese, this issue held connotations that Americans did not see. In the 1910s and 1920s many of the wealthiest landlords moved to the cities to live off the rents of their tenants, where they engaged in industrial pursuits, and replaced themselves with overseers who treated the tenants in a manner that did not align with traditional structures of benevolence. On top of violating traditional social structures landlords had upset the rural population by becoming what one “leftist writer” labeled “a strange breed of fish---like mermen. The upper part is a landlord, but the lower part is a capitalist, and the lower part is rapidly taking over the torso.” The ultimate result of the shifting situation in the countryside was extreme rural unrest, partially exemplified in riots and partially in the presence of sometimes less violent tenant unions.68 The Japanese government and landlords had been dealing with this issue for decades, this is what Wakuwaka was referring to. This all indicates that this was, from the Japanese perspective, an issue of social order, not democracy. From the American perspective the issue was very different. Feudalism was an opponent to democracy, cultural concerns that the Japanese had about social order were not a major 67 Seiyei Wakuwaka, “Japanese Farm Tenancy,” Far Eastern Survey 14, no. 25 (Dec 19, 1945): 365. 68 For information on developing issues in the early twentieth century see Andrew Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present, 3rd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014) 144-146. For information on tenant union and response see Ann Waswo, “In Search of Equity Japanese Tenant Unions in the 1920s” in Farmers and Village Life in Twentieth-Century Japan, eds. Ann Waswo and Nishida Yoshiaki (New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), 79-118. There is a great deal of information not covered here, but it is important to simply acknowledge that the tenant system was failing in Japan and hated by tenants more than anyone else, and they were actively resisting it. 44 concern. On December 9, 1945, MacArthur put forward no concrete methods, but rather strict demands of the Japanese government and his people to “remove obstacles to development of democracy in rural areas and to destroy economic bondage in those areas.”69 Bondage here clearly refers to tenancy. The solution to the rural problem, in the minds of occupation officials, was quite a simple one and focused less on the people being emancipated and more on insuring that the amount of land removed from tenancy was as high as possible. The “freer” the farmers were, the more democratized the countryside. This rather simple mantra was the driving motive for occupation land reform. The process of land reform, just like most aspects of the American project of economic democratization, was focused on, and limited by, statistical fixation, with little concern for social issues beyond the emancipation of most tenant farmers. Indeed, while it might be said that land reform was a great victory for the Japanese tenant farmers, the same was not true of minority farmers. Burakumin were patently small farmers with 30% of tenants from the group working on land less than 0.3 hectares, which disqualified them from land reform. As a result, seven percent of farmers nationwide who remained in tenancy arrangements were burakumin.70 To attribute this to oversight would be a misunderstanding of the strenuous process of land reform. On the other side of this discussion, the Japanese had their own ideas of land reform, which MacArthur patently rejected, and negotiating the local government with the Supreme Commander’s orders took years which delayed land reform. The long process of push 69 Laurence I. Hewes Jr, Japanese Land Reform Program (General Headquarters Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers Natural Resource Section, March 15, 1950), 16 70 Ibid. According to sources from GHQ around 5 ½ million to 6 million cho of Japanese land was arable. Within that slim amount of land, there were about 5 ½ million farms which averaged 1 cho or less in size. Seeing as one cho converts to be roughly .99 hectares this indicates that a not insignificant amount of farmers were excluded from land reform. Laurence I. Hewes Jr, Japanese Land Reform Program, 11 45 and pull between SCAP and Japanese liaisons ultimately culminated in the successful land reform which many Americans were, or still are, proud of. Several nuances were argued, and the process of land reform required surveys, which occasionally revealed the struggle of burakumin. Though this ultimately affected little change for their communities, as will be explored later, it would be overzealous to presume that it changed nothing for at least some of them. Seeing as no evidence exists which specifically cites a reason to ignore minority concerns around land reform, it is appropriate to consider if the top occupation officials thought about this at all. Based upon primary sources produced by SCAP, it is clear that the occupation largely dismissed minority issues when considering land reform. This is not to imply that there was malicious intent, but rather that practicality and cohesive reform was of greater importance. In secondary sources there are few explicit mentions of burakumin which furthers this conclusion.71 The aforementioned primary source refers to the debate around land reform instead being focused on the establishment of “retention rates.” These rates, set in the Japanese measurement of cho, roughly a hectare, were set between 10 and 1 cho at different times in different proposals, for any farm above the retention rate, the land in excess would have to be sold so that owners instead of tenants might work it. The main concern of occupation authorities was maximizing the amount of land released to tenants while the Japanese often sought to argue for higher rates. In the attempts of occupation officials to reform Japanese rural society through the minimizing of land under tenancy, inequality experienced by minorities became a non-issue.72 71 I refer here to the situation from Takemae Eiji, Inside GHQ: The Allied Occupation of Japan and its Legacy (London: Continuum, 2002), 446. This will be explored more shortly. 72 Ibid, 18-21 46 It is worth considering what land reform’s success meant. First, it should be noted that no evidence exists to suggest that burakumin were entirely left behind. Retention rates were somewhat low, but it was not only burakumin who fell below that limit. Similarly, it is untrue that every burakumin farmer held only land below that limit, though the majority did. Even so, with the quantifiable information in mind, it is clear that some burakumin benefited from reform. According to the Natural Resources Section of SCAP, prior to Japanese surrender farmland was owned at an owner to tenant operated ratio of 54:46, after January 1, 1949 this had developed to a ratio of 88:12. According to the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry, in terms of “classes” owners were 36.5 percent of cultivators as of August 1, 1947, reaching 70 percent by the end of 1948, with part-owners growing by 2.5 percent to 22.5 percent of the population over the same period.73 In full, this means that 92.5 percent of Japanese farmland was at least a majority owned by the cultivator. The remaining 7.5 percent of cultivators were still in tenancy. Burakumin, accounting for no more than two percent of the Japanese population to be generous, but make up seven percent of those left behind.74 Seeing as not all burakumin would have been farmers only further exacerbates the statistical significance of the percentage of farmers left behind that were part of the group. It is unclear how many burakumin escaped tenancy, but they are certainly overrepresented as those who continued in the tenant relationship. The occupation officials, acting on behalf of MacArthur, did free many from “economic bondage” but failed several smaller tenants including those burakumin who made up seven percent of those who remained in tenancy. 73 Ibid, 93. Owners here are defined as those “who own at least 90 percent of the land they cultivate” and part owners own between 50-90 percent. 74 Eiji, Inside GHQ 437. Takamae Eiji estimates that burakumin numbered around one million. The estimate of “no more than 2 percent” is built upon this estimate and the fact that around 1945 the Japanese population was over 70 million as a whole. 47 GHQ and American Bureaucracy: Constitutional Revision From the American perspective, particularly in the first years, a key focus for occupation policy was to create a more equal society on all levels though primarily economic and political. Laws and even the constitution itself were written in the name of protecting and enfranchising hitherto neglected and repressed populations. Despite the impressive progress made in these efforts, burakumin did not see change on the scale implied by the grand promises of the occupiers. Aside from land reform, another major “win” for the democratization was legal protections for minorities, namely through the constitution, yet burakumin were left behind again here. One cause of the neglect experienced by burakumin was ignorance, but there is evidence that this is far from the complete story. The Government Section (GS), for example, was aware of burakumin and the issues they faced. Canadian Diplomat E. H. Norman informed Charles L. Kades, deputy chief of that section, of what he called “the Suiheisha issue.”75 This knowledge was further compounded by mass appeals from burakumin to sections including Kades’ own. Part of what makes this acknowledgment of Kades’ cognizance so crucial is both his personal connection to MacArthur as well as his role in constitutional revision. Kades was part of MacArthur's Military Government Section (MGS). When MacArthur began handing out important positions in the occupation’s administration, he often first turned to men from MGS which indicates his high level of trust in them. As such, it should not be ignored that Kades certainly had MacArthur's ear and therefore influence on how important “the Suiheisha issue” 75 In the pre-war period Zenkoku Suiheisha (The National Leveler’s Association) was the foremost group of burakumin activists. As such, it appears that Norman conflated the now-defunct organization with the minority group as a whole. 48 was for GHQ at large.76 With his move to GS, he began to head the department’s constitutional revision team, this was where he had the most potential impact.77 In many ways, Kades was at the forefront of burakumin issues, and accordingly the failure of the occupation to protect them. In one of the greater failures of the Government Section, Japanese lawmakers were allowed to modify Article 13 of the constitution and weaken minority protections. Often this simply meant the Japanese side exchanged words to make the guarantee of equality apply differently than the American drafters had originally intended. For burakumin, this meant the removal of the term “caste,” to be replaced with the vague term “family origin,” which ultimately denied explicit protections to the group.78 After further modifications, the article which nominally protected minorities was now numbered 14. The relevant portion, still the law to this day, reads: “All of the people are equal under the law and there shall be no discrimination in political, economic or social relations because of race, creed, sex, social status or family origin. Peers and peerage shall not be recognized….”79 Kades remarked that the final draft of Article 14 sufficiently protected minorities. Sometime later he and General MacArthur ignored the Far Eastern Commission in Washington when it sent “a query” about the failure of the new constitution to protect minorities. While the general and 76 Kades certainly did have other concerns, but it becomes clear in his activity throughout the occupation that he displayed a callous disregard for burakumin and minorities at large. This is not to imply that he was inherently bigoted, but rather that he considered minority rights a lesser issue. 77 Eiji, Inside GHQ, 49. 78 Ibid, 437. There is no reason to contest the conclusion that Takamae Eiji is making here, but it is worth noting that wording being “meaningless,” as Eiji terms it, might be a step too far in explaining the wording. Burakumin have traditionally been identified as a result of them being from a buraku. As such, they were often identified by the honsekichi (place of permanent residence) in their family registry. As such, even if watered down, the wording does imply protection from discrimination. 79 This translation comes from the Prime Minister’s Office of Japan here: https://japan.kantei.go.jp/constitution_and_government_of_japan/constitution_e.html#:~:text=Article%2014.,peerage%20shall%20not%20be%20recognized. 49 his clique were not obligated to respond, their choice not to is still worth noting. One scholar goes so far as to tie this with the fact that leftist Koreans were a target of crack-down at the moment the query was received. This sets a certain standard; minority rights are secondary to political concerns. On the topic of Article 14, Kades made what could easily be perceived as an objectionable remark, particularly as it concerns burakumin. Contrary to his argument previously that the wording was sufficient, he stated in another interview “that in the United States at the time, ‘aliens were not 100 per cent equal to American citizens. So I felt how can we insist that it is a basic principle to put [aliens in Japan] on the same level with Japanese People?’”80 Setting aside moral concerns, this is troublesome for two reasons. First, it plainly proves that even the man who oversaw constitutional revision recognized that the article lacked sufficient protection for minorities. Secondly, it shows a degree of ignorance. Burakumin were not aliens, yet Kades summed up the insufficiency in protection as acceptable due to minorities’ alien status. It is doubtful that he did this as a dig at burakumin, after all there is only evidence that suggests he knew of the issue, not that he knew nuances. Either way, it implies that Kades was ill-informed on the burakumin and indeed minority issues at large.81 The failure of the occupiers to secure constitutional protection for burakumin might be considered strike one for the occupation. Contrary to what appears to be the case in the constitutional revision process, the initial response from GS to burakumin was one of support. This is most clear in the support from GS for Matsumoto Ji’ichiro, largely then known as a politician elected to the Japanese Diet in 1938 as a member of the Social Masses Party, a “moderate left-wing political formation,” and again in 80 Eiji, Inside GHQ, 438. 81 Indeed, Eiji asserts at several points in his section on minorities that people on the ground noted issues which the higher administration often did little to change or ultimately caused more issues, with the Ainu being a particularly poignant example. 50 the occupation period as a member of the Japan Socialist Party.82 In this latter period, he served as the premier left-wing politician between 1946 and 1948 in which Kades’ Government Section repeatedly protected him from purges, even though, after April 1947 he ran as a socialist who took the position of Vice President of the Upper House in an election which saw the first, and only, cabinet in Japanese history formed by a socialist party.83 In 1948 support for burakumin tapered when Kades’ section “took a hands-off attitude towards such issues.” This break became clear with the arrival of the occupation’s reverse course and the strife between the burakumin and GHQ in the political arena beginning in early 1949.84 After the Government Section failed to affect the change they had the opportunity to with constitutional revision, they also ended up turning on the burakumin as political actors. This is the second major strike for occupation reform as far as burakumin were concerned. This reflects a continuous failure in the upper echelons to make a difference for burakumin, but analysis would be incomplete without considering those lower in the ranks of GHQ. Boots on the Ground: American Administrators and Burakumin While officials at the highest level had perhaps a fuzzy idea of burakumin and their struggles, the same might also be said for most people “on the ground.” Those who interacted with the Japanese public, including the rural and urban poor, were more likely to encounter the outcaste. As such, their stories provide a view into occupation policy in a way that the grander narratives fail to. Stories of occupation officials range from reporting on the topic, to ignoring it, to only learning of it after the fact, with each telling a surprising story in their own ways. 82 Ibid, 447. 83 It is worth noting that, while the cabinet did fall apart, the socialist party continued as a member of a ruling coalition in the next election, so socialism as a political philosophy had swept large parts of Japan. 84 Eiji, Inside GHQ, 446. 51 In one account of the occupation an author refers to “A rare SCAP official who advocated counter-measures” for burakumin discrimination. This official was Herbert Passin, a member of the Civil Information and Education system (CI&E) who surveyed and reported on thirteen villages for the purpose of land reform in 1947 and 1948.85 Of the thirteen villages that Passin surveyed, six were buraku which resulted in three reports on the topic of burakumin which encouraged action that was “quietly abandoned” by Section Chief Donald Nugent.86 To call this a letdown for burakumin would be an understatement. This was, with no exaggeration, the chance of a lifetime. It took over a decade for burakumin to make any notable progress. Indeed, as Eiji notes, it was not until 1965 that a survey of buraku communities was completed, well-beyond the direct influence of SCAP and GHQ. This means that American efforts once again fell short during the process of land reform. There is much to be learned from the individual experience of SCAP officials. What is perhaps most telling about Herbert Passin is that his own autobiography never once mentions the burakumin. This is most striking in his brief reference to land reform where he is known to have encountered the topic. “[Land reform] was one of the greatest achievements of the Occupation, although, alas very few Americans seem to know about it or to care.” This quote is followed by a few more sentences extolling the virtue of land reform.87 Notably absent here is any reference to his surveys or the burakumin which he chose to write three separate reports on.88 It is possible that the dismissal of his reports on the topic led him to feel as though he failed and therefore, he 85 Eiji, Inside GHQ, 446. 86 Ibid. There will be a return to some of the reports from CI&E later, but at this point it is worth noting that they never really affected much change as far as burakumin are concerned. The reports utilized later are not entirely the same, but rather similar in nature, being surveys, but unrelated to land reform. 87 Herbert Passin, Encounter with Japan (San Francisco: Kodansha International LTD, 1982), 143. 88 Eiji, Insider GHQ, 446. 52 chose to not include mention of the group. Alternatively, it is possible he did not wish to muddy the legacy of the occupation, American officials, or himself. Such reasoning is plausible, particularly when taken with the fact that he includes a whole chapter on the better-known minority of the Ainu, to which he lacked the professional ties he had with the burakumin through his own surveys. Though in that case, the chapter feels more like a traveler’s log, so it is quite possible Passin simply did not wish to bore the reader with the tales of bureaucracy. Even those on the ground who knew of the buraku issue often did little to address it or otherwise had a poor grasp of the specifics. One story that serves as a testament to this is that of Carmen Johnson who, in the epilogue of her autobiography remarked: “Long after my departure from Japan, I finally was able to learn more about another problem of discrimination that I had heard of during the occupation but about which I could do little at the time. In ancient days, the people who formed the lowest social class in Japan were called eta, ‘people of filth.’ They are now known as burakumin… a word that I never heard or read until I saw it in a book published in 1978.”89 This is not particularly surprising as a lot of research on this topic in English came about in the 1960s and 1970s. Still, that Johnson did not even know of the proper word and only had a vague idea is telling. The silence in Japanese society on this topic was as pervasive as ever and it appears that figures like Johnson only heard whispers breaking through it, and often understood little, or were otherwise powerless to change much. Indeed, Johnson was requested for an August 1950 meeting with the burakumin organization “Dowakai (Harmony Association)” while she was on a “field trip” in Tokushima. She wrote of this, “That meeting turned out to be informative 89 Johnson, Wave-Rings in the Water, 158. 53 but very frustrating for me, because there was little I could do except listen to their story and express my sympathy for their efforts.”90 Given a general lack of direct communications on the topic within GHQ or subsidiary branches, it is difficult to ascertain precisely what these stories can tell researchers. Johnson is a rather simple case as she writes things quite plainly. She saw the squalor of burakumin communities and noted their “rudeness” when she encountered a buraku in Takamatsu.91 This indicates that even for somebody with, at most, passing knowledge on the topic, the group was not so invisible in the field. The fact that she was requested for a meeting with Dowakai in Tokushima reinforces the knowledge of the occupation figures on this topic. Burakumin were visible and active, going so far as to reach out to specific figures. At the level of “middle-management” for lack of a better term, much can be inferred from the case of Passin and Nugent in the Civil Information and Education Section. To some extent this also extends back to the upper-echelons with Kades and his Government Section. Using these stories as reference points, it is possible to infer that the issue of burakumin discrimination came up but was ultimately deemed unimportant, or at least secondary to other concerns. This is particularly evident in the later years of the occupation when economic and military growth took precedence over the lofty goals of democratization. This left a brief window, 1945 through 1949 to be generous, through which burakumin could leverage the occupation to their benefit.92 To say that the constitutional revision, opening of the political sphere, and land reform were ineffective would be disingenuous. While there is little doubt that many parties have over 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid. 92 Given the general reverse course beginning around 1946-47 it would be perhaps more reasonable to end the hypothetical timeframe there, but there are some things which make this a bit overzealous. 54 or understated the successes of these measures, they were all significant to Japan. As noted above, for example, land reform affected significant, real change for Japanese farmers at large. In that case, it appears that burakumin were simply not statistically significant enough to derail reform plans for. Though even when they were secondary, it appears some did prosper under economic and political reform. In the other instances, the rights of burakumin, alongside other overlooked groups, were simply among the many casualties that occurred when SCAP changed direction from the fight for freedom and democracy to the fight against communists. The land reform which Passin participated in failed to affect great change in some burakumin communities. While to say all would almost certainly be hyperbole, the majority of burakumin farmers were small-scale tenant farmers who fell below the retention limit. At the very least Passin was aware of this fact and reported it to his section. There is, therefore, little doubt that when Section Chief Donald Nugent made his decision to dismiss the reports of his subordinate on the topic, he was not doing so out of ignorance, though there is unfortunately little information on what logic caused him to ignore the topic. What can be concluded is that Passin and Johnson lacked the power to make any concrete changes to the benefit of burakumin and that section chiefs like Nugent and key leaders like Kades swept aside their concerns cementing the American inactivity on this issue as a historical fact. 55 CHAPTER FOUR: CONTEXTUALIZING THE LEFT To understand the place of burakumin in the occupation, one must understand the political line they typically followed and how it was treated in Japanese society at large. As was made clear in the section on burakumin history, the majority of burakumin fall very nearly directly in with the political left in a majority of cases. What this label meant to the Japanese government and GHQ is therefore important for burakumin interests. While the Cold War came with occupation, the Japanese left was not initially too repressed. The fervor on that side of the spectrum could be utilized in pursuit of GHQ goals. Democratization including the left was not yet antithetical to American interests. As time went on the view shifted. Alongside the American change in direction via the reverse course the Japanese government had their own ideological concerns. For context, the Japanese Special Police Force placed Suiheisha, still the premier burakumin organization, “under the supervision of the First Group (in charge of leftists movements)” of Osaka Prefecture up until the end of the Pacific War.93 Despite the early socialist electoral victory in 1947 and their ability to stay in power to some extent with the Ashida government, matters quickly took a turn after the resignation of Prime Minister Ashida. The ascension of Yoshida was, without doubt, a major aspect in finalizing the crippling of the political left. Japanese Labor 93 Minoru Matsumoto to Skunkichi Ueda, “Affidavit on Relation Between the Greater Harmoney National Service Movement and Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto,” April 3, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan 92. 56 American forces in Japan utilized the nation's left-wing to what many contemporary observers, including Prime Minister Yoshida, considered drastic consequences. MacArthur played a key role in legitimizing the political left through his rather supportive maneuvers regarding unions. Eventually the greatest force of the political left, or at least the most visible, would be these labor organizations. Via the freeing of political prisoners, many left-leaning, GHQ revived dormant political activism, though this was thought of as a necessary measure. After all, democracies do not put people in jail for political dissention. Labor unions were problematic in wartime Japan and were as prosecuted as most other groups viewed to be in opposition to the imperial state’s needs. On top of the freeing of leftist leadership and agitators, MacArthur took direct action to liberalize labor laws. The general, as he so often did, simply decreed that matters were to be democratized and the specifics followed. As a result of his demands in this regard, a trade union law was passed in December 1945 which exacerbated a developing situation. In the aftermath of the war, before this law passed, 509 unions representing 380,677 workers were formed, by late 1946 these numbers increased over thirtyfold and tenfold respectively to 17,266 unions with nearly five million members.94 This rapid rise of unions and the behavior about them was quite shocking in the Cold War, especially in a society like Japan under the control of a man like MacArthur, at least in a quick examination. Japan had, at least since the twenties, had a decent, and steadily increasing, union presence with the Pacific War becoming an interruption in this trend and it returning stronger 94 Richard Rice, “Japanese Labor in World War II,” International Labor and Working-Class History No. 38 (Fall 1990): 35 57 with American aid. As such it is not abnormal. Furthermore Japanese labor during the Pacific War was treated in a manner that virtually any American set on democratization would see as antithetical to their goals. Treatment of labor was blatantly totalitarian. With this in mind it is worth considering what the Japanese side thought of such developments. In the eyes of Yoshida, prime minister of Japan for a majority of the occupation, this topic was particularly important. In his own autobiography, The Yoshida Memoirs, when he is not speaking well of American officials he got along with or his own compatriots, he is complaining of subversive elements in Japanese society and, occasionally, within SCAP itself. What Yoshida considered subversive is not particularly explicit in his own book, but it is clear that he used the term liberally with a particular eye towards leftists. In the occupation he saw two parties, the rational army men whom he could rely on and the youthful ignorant idealists, often lamented by conservative sectors of Japanese society as “New Dealers.” Yoshida lays a lot of issues at the feet of those idealists. He remarks that there were two “sorts of Japanese who were particularly obnoxious,” those who were kowtowing for their own benefit and those “called ‘progressives’ or radicals.” The latter of these, Yoshida asserts, took advantage of the “good deal of the Leftist element within G H Q itself” to create a partnership and work toward “the greater glory of their peculiar ideals.”95 In this way, Yoshida was always somewhat in line with the idea of the reverse course, even more so than some people in the occupation, or so he would have readers believe. In lieu of this, while it may be obvious, it is worth stating that Yoshida was a conservative of the Japanese political scene. Those who were particularly fixated 95Shigeru Yoshida, The Yoshida Memoirs, trans. Ken’ichi Yoshida (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1962), 43, 59-60, 80. Yoshida notes that during his first cabinet, shortly after a somewhat controversial New Year’s speech in 1947, he warned GHQ about the labor agitators where he was once again stresses that he believes progressive or radical elements within GHQ were in league with subversive Japanese elements, but that good “professional soldiers” were seeking to discourage “labour agitation that had little to do with the economic needs of the workers.” . 58 on democratic reform were, by his logic, leftists in league with socialists, communists, and anything not “practical” like those professional military men he was so fond of. Yoshida appeared a bit of an idealogue given the broad strokes he used to paint subversive elements. This being said, he did, for a moment, attempt to form a coalition with socialist elements, an aborted attempt he attributes to “traditional trends and characteristics” within each party. Even with this in mind, those socialists he sought cause with were along the right-wing of the movement. Accordingly, this placed Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and the general burakumin political trends firmly on the outside of what Yoshida considered acceptable, or at the very least people that he could work with.96 With the coming of the reverse course the view of unions and leftists as an active threat and in need of suppression came to be one shared increasingly by Japanese conservatives and occupation officials. The real tragedy for burakumin is that they were largely affiliated with these organizations tangentially. There main interests were in protecting their outcaste and agitating for their own rights, the left-wing was just the side of the debate that was willing to do anything for them directly.97 They did often make common cause with other organizations on the political left which aided in strengthening this connection, perhaps to their own detriment. Compounded by their leadership often expressing radical ideas as well as their political allies and related demagogues falling under increased scrutiny, burakumin were often forced into an unfavorable position alongside groups like the JSP and JCP. 96Ibid, 79. The men he spoke to were Nishio Suehiro, leader of the right wing of the JSP and secretary general of the party as of the JSP victory in 1947 and Hirano Rikazo who was a member of the Japan Farmers Party from 1926-1928. Even so, any historian of Japan would not be doing their due diligence if they failed to mention that Yoshida yielded to the JSP in the 1947 general election. 97 Those who aligned more with the JCP line, as discussed earlier, did often oppose individual burakumin activism and organization due to an ideological obsession with waging the class war, meaning there was no room for petty divisions like “worker” and “burakumin.” In this way, the burakumin could have been tied to the labor unions. 59 Just as the early months of the occupation were defined by a liberal application of the label “militarist” in the hopes of catching all who supported or involved themselves in Imperial Japan’s crimes and aggression, the reverse course had similar themes. While those labeled militarists earlier were reinstated to the government, the Japanese left were painted, with a very broad brush, as communists and in need of suppression. This was largely a reaction to unions and the strategic needs of the “first world” to combat the second in the Cold War. Quite importantly this broad brush meant that most socialists or those leaning that way lost political influence. The Radical Face of Japanese Socialism: The Purge of Matsumoto For burakumin, the reverse course was a death knell for the potential of the occupation as a “liberating” factor in several ways. This warrants a return to Matsumoto Ji’ichiro. Once considered for purge as a militarist but protected by GHQ, Matsumoto fell under scrutiny from the Yoshida Cabinet. The charge of militarism was revived by Yoshida, using the evidence that GHQ had previously seen. Two factors defined the prewar Suiheisha political line, a borderline ethnonationalist understanding of burakumin identity, and leaning hard to the left. This is not to say that they were communist in nature, but rather that one typically had to be on the left fringe of Japanese politics to openly criticize militarization as late as men like Matsumoto did. He rarely agitated as a member of a unique “race” as others did, so it is safe to label him as subscribing to the more consistent left-wing ideology present in the Suiheisha platform. This placed him firmly in the political left, as a hardliner in the left-right dichotomy. He stood in staunch opposition to the conservatives like Yoshida, a crucial factor in causing his purge. 60 The war being waged in the Pacific changed the political landscape drastically for all people, but the shift was particularly shocking for burakumin. The formerly communist/socialist affiliated Suiheisha saw many among its leadership make an about face in favor of imperialism. With this in mind it is important to consider Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and his political philosophy. In many ways he was perhaps more of a die-hard socialist than a burakumin, insofar as the latter term may be applied as a political philosophy. Indeed, to the Japanese public he was best remembered for this and his place in the international peace movement, as such he may be understood as something more in line with an international socialist before and after the Pacific War rather than an international activist for burakumin.98 Matsumoto, like many Japanese public figures, “betrayed” his stance in the midst of the Pacific War. His role in liberation was, however, always key. As such, a purge of him from the government would have been perceived as a direct threat to the prospects of burakumin. Many burakumin fervently believed that his place in government was integral to liberation. Matsumoto was considered for purging via a rather logical connection, at least on the surface. On August 14, 1948, the Japanese government designated the Taiwa Hokoku Undo Honbu (Greater Harmony National Service Movement Headquarters) as being affiliated with the Asia Development League, an affiliation which placed Matsumoto under suspicion. Despite this, on September 16, it was decided by the Special Screening Section that Matsumoto would not be purged. A sudden about face came on November 25 with the decision to put the man and nine 98 Ian Neary, “Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and Fukuoka,” in Hakata: The Cultural Worlds of Northern Kyushu, ed. Andrew Cobbing (Boston: Brill, 2013), 169, 173. Dr. Neary makes a solid argument throughout this chapter that Matsumoto was more ambivalent to his buraku heritage. As such his activism to liberate his own group should be understood as a part of his larger political philosophy. This makes it clear that even if Matsumoto was an international actor, Suiheisha was not and should not be misconstrued as such. This perspective is emphasized here due to its contradiction with the belief espoused by Tsutsui as seen in footnote number 3. Dr. Neary is a foremost researcher on the topic of burakumin and his written much on Matsumoto making this the more reasonable interpretation. 61 others on the purge list. This followed the November 7 ascension of the Yoshida Cabinet and the installation of Shunkichi Ueda as attorney general. Just as Takiuchi had resigned with the Ashida Cabinet, so too did the attorney general who had opted to not purge Matsumoto.99 Within the context of the left-right dichotomy, this means that the right was now virtually in total control of the Japanese government. On top of this, the American officials were on the reverse course by this point. This put the left on the back foot. In this case, the left being targeted was the heart of burakumin liberation, it was the father of the liberation movement, the chairman of the premier activist organization, as far as many were concerned this could be the end of liberation. An affidavit, dated March 18, 1949, about the operations of Daiwa Hokoku Honbu and its differences from the Daiwa Hokoku Kai (Greater Harmony National Service Meeting), with the deponent, Takeo Okamura, being “In charge of the business affairs of both” shines some light on the situation. Suiheisha was encouraged to join the latter of these two groups in January 1941. Matsumoto patently rejected this plan as he believed the two groups operated on different principles and he would have “nothing whatsoever to do with the Greater Harmony National Service Movement.” This group then opted to shift from a focus on the domestic movement for the outcastes’ emancipation to focus on creating harmony “among the East Asian peoples.” This warranted a change in “the first part of august” in which the Daiwa Hokoku Undo was transformed into the Daiwa Hokoku Kai. The deponent then asserts that it was the latter that was affiliated with the “Greater Japan Asia Development League,” rather than the former. Undo instead of Kai (“movement” instead of “meeting” according to GHQ translation) was allegedly incorrectly used for some time. The organization was, regardless, dissolved in the spring of 1942 99 “Petition Re. Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto’s Release from Purge List,” February 1, 1950 in Documents on the Burakumin Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 109-111. 62 “by the recommendation of the Police Bureau of the Home Ministry….” The deponent believes that the standing director at that time, Yamamoto Masao, became an official of the Asia Development League, or the successor “The General Headquarters of Asia Development.”100 This makes the whole situation far more confusing than before. The Daiwa Hokoku Honbu did not only cease to exist, sans publisher error, but appears to have been patently rejected by Matsumoto. Furthermore, this organization or, more accurately, its new iteration, was dissolved by the hand of Yamamoto Masao in his capacity as a government official in 1942. If the deponent was remembering correctly what former Director Yamamoto went on to do, then this only opened more holes in the justification for the purge of Matsumoto. The questionable nature of the purge quickly drew attention from others. Politics of the Purge and Ueda’s Contradictions “Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto was designated more than a year ago as falling under the provisions of the purge directive. It has become clear, however, that his purge from public office was based upon groundless and mistaken reports.”101 This is from a petition dated April 10, 1950, which came from the Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai. On the same date a document was delivered to request a meeting with General Whitney on behalf of three men of that burakumin organization “To submit to General Whitney a ‘Resolution on the Illegal Purge of MATSUMOTO Jiichiro” which the organization adopted on April 7.102 There can be little doubt 100 Takeo Okamura, Affidavit, March 18th, 1949, in Documents on the Burakumin Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 88-90 101 Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai to General Douglas MacArthur, “Rescission of Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto’s purge from public office” in Documents on the Burakumin Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 120. 102 Ibid, 122. The exact details on this document are exceedingly sparse. The letter starts simply with “Frank:” and ends with a signature of HL. Who these men are, where they were writing from, and who they represent are not made clear. 63 as to just how important Matsumoto’s removal was to his people, in an undated letter “Received ATIS: 9 Jan 50” Sijirio Hirako of Wakayama prefecture pleads to MacArthur for the reinstatement of Matsumoto as the vice-president of the House of Councilors. He feared without this step “liberation of his people and realization of equality for all Japanese will be impossible.” There is a note on this letter which reads “NOTE: Translation directed by Commander-in-Chief.103 In this context Commander-in-Chief refers to MacArthur. As such, MacArthur saw this letter and knew the importance of Matsumoto to “Eta,” as the letter writer referred to the group. The purpose of opening with these letters and petitions is to emphasize the desperation felt by activists at the removal of Matsumoto. Notably, he had previously avoided the purge. His case was “the only exception made to the general purge measures” due to the stance of MacArthur, GS Chief General Whitney, Major Napier, and Mr. [Marcum]. The petition which notes this attributes it to “his democratic past being recognized.”104 Judgment of his politics aside, this naturally leads to questions about the nature of Matsumoto’s later purge. The petition from the Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai continues: We have been in contact with the Japanese Government as regards Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto’s release from purge list for the past one full year during which the most credible counter-evidence regarding this issue had been submitted to the Japanese Government. Despite our sincere and systematic effort in submitting necessary documents to the competent authority of the Japanese government in proving Mr. Matsumoto to be out of category of purge designations, the attitude of the Japanese Government has been quite faithless and irresponsible toward the problem.105 103 General Headquarters Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers Military Intelligence Section. General Staff Allied Translation and Interpreter Section, Digest of Letter to GHQ from Kirako, Sejiro, undated in Documents On the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 108. 104 “Petition Re. Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto’s Release from Purge List,” February 1, 1950 in Documents on the Burakumin Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 119. I put “Marcum” in brackets, because this appears to be the name but the print is a bit faded. To my knowledge this would be C.P. Marcum. 105 Ibid, 109, emphasis is my own. 64 This is the introduction to the petition. What follows is a detailed recounting of the process undergone by the petitioners. The accusations of “faithless” and “irresponsible” behavior are particularly telling. On first glance this appears to be very much in the same vein as petitions and letters noted before. This one, however, is from February 1, 1950. Beyond this, the source for this information is an individual who may warrant more consideration as an unbiased party. Towards the end of the petition “The contributor of this article” is identified as Mr. Reisaku Takiuchi, “former chief of the Special Screening Section of the Attorney General's Office of the former Cabinet” who investigated Matsumoto’s purge starting in August 1948, his resignation came on October 15, 1948 with the resignation of the Ashida Cabinet.106 The complaints of a former government official regarding the irresponsible conduct of the current government may be somewhat biased, but the story he tells at least warrants some degree of consideration. Thus far, the story appears rather clear cut, the reasoning noted above is logical, but also applied rather selectively. Prime Minister Ashida headed a joint Democratic-Socialist cabinet with Socialist Attorney General Suzuki Yoshio. This government opted to remove Matsumoto from the purge list. The next cabinet was headed by the virulently anti-left wing Prime Minister Yoshida Shigeru, accordingly with far less leftist influence, let alone anyone affiliated with the socialists directly. While this makes this appear to be a political prosecution on the part of the Japanese government. Ueda himself spends a lot of time across different interviews emphasizing that this was not a purely Japanese decision, or so he would like those speaking to him to believe. On February 11, 1949, Ueda met with “Miss Masako Fukuda, Diet Member and two others” for an interview during which he made a few surprising remarks. First, he claimed that 106 Ibid, 118. 65 Matsumoto would naturally be cleared at the meeting to discuss his purging. He then goes on to place the matter at the feet of GHQ. In the document it is written that Ueda told his interviewers that around November 6 the previous year, the day before he became attorney general, he met with Major Napier who “said to him that Mr. Matsumoto would fall under the purge designation,” and that on December 11, Napier called Ueda to GHQ “and gave him an order that Mr. Matsumoto would be purged.” A few things occur over the following days, but the most notable is on January 2, 1949, when Ueda was called from GHQ. He found himself in a room with General Whitney, Napier and “Mr. Rizzo” where he was again “given an order” regarding Matsumoto’s purge. He asked about when this announcement should be made and it was decided it should be after the general election, as it “might be violating the election if it was done during it. Ueda closes this section with two final points that warrant direct quotation: “8. They added, ‘Though we are sorry for those who will be purged to spend their money and labor in their election campaign it cannot be helped as it is an order.’ 9. The announcement thereof, therefore, was made after the election so it was not a political plot.”107 This initially appears rather contradictory. After all, the contributor to this petition says that Whitney and Napier both played a role in defending Matsumoto through their actions in the Government Section. In this moment, however, Ueda lays the blame for Matsumoto’s purging at their feet, or perhaps more accurately at MacArthur’s. If one takes Ueda at his word and believes that Takiuchi is accurately recounting them in this document, then the only person who could logically have caused this was MacArthur. While “They” is vague” if the men that Ueda met on 107 Ibid, 111-112 66 January 2, are all relevant to the quote, then the only figure who could order Whitney to do anything would be MacArthur himself. Ueda doubled down on this telling on February 16, 1949, at a meeting with Diet Member Orinoshin Tanaka and one other. He focused on the January 2 conference stressing some points. Notably he partially focused on asserting that GHQ authority made the decision to purge and “They told him that that was an order but added not to make it public that it was an order.” He also claims it was recognized that Matsumoto “was a democratic person” and that there was a draft excluding him from the purge designation made by the former attorney general that remained unsigned noting “Perhaps negotiation had been carried on orally.”108 The ball is thus in the other court. Rather than Ueda being an anti-leftist political actor of the Yoshida Cabinet he becomes a puppet of the Reverse Course. This telling absolves him of responsibility. The story does, however, get more muddled. On February 24, Matsumoto applied “for one month postponement of his term of office on the ground that he could not be replaced.” The same day two members of the House of Councillors, Sasaki Ryosaku and Hori Makoto, as well as the Standing Director of the Civil Liberties Union, Kashiwa Masao, met with Ueda. At this meeting a rather important comment was made and Takiuchi points out an immediate contradiction: Mr. Ueda asserted ‘Mr. Matsumoto can be released after discussion of the Appeals Committee on the next day, Feb. 25. Therefore even if the effect of the purge postponement is nullified on the 24th and if it is decided on 25th that he does not fall under the purge designation, he will not be purged actually. Therefore, there is no need for a repostponement.’ But he was actually purged on 25th without any government 108 Ibid 112-113. 67 interpretation and procedures considering who was to designate ‘the substitute for Mr. Matsumoto.109 On the day of his purge at the first conference of the Appeals Committee Meeting Mr. Ueda gave “an explanation concerning Mr. Matsumoto” but the case was not examined again at the time of the petition.110 The exact nature of Japanese politics at this moment is muddy. Why Ueda met with the Sasaki and Hori alongside the Director of the Civil Liberties Union is not clear. That he opted to tell them what appears to be a lie is clear, but similarly, the logic is not. On May 26, at the preliminary session of the House of Councillors Uchimura Seiji, and on April 9 at the preliminary session of the House of Representatives, Tanaka Orinoshin, both “made an urgent interrogation regarding Mr. Matsumoto’s purge issue” to which Ueda responded in a contradictory manner. This culminated in a June 25 interview with Hori, and Director Kashiwa, alongside “two others” and Ueda. He offered the rather simple explanation that the answer he read at the Diet “was made by an official of the Special Screening Section” and that, in the course of reading it, he found it “rather odd, though [he] could not help but to read it.” Regarding the answer he remarked “I feel very sorry for Mr. Matsumoto. I wish to settle this problem according to proper course of the matter.” He then remarks on his explanation at the first conference on February 25, noting “at present it is not at the stage where they can examine such a big case like this at the Appeals Committee meeting.” He then refers again to GHQ and the need to negotiate with them.111 Once again, it is hard to analyze this with any certainty. Initially it appears as though Ueda is being duplicitous. The excuse of just reading an answer because he had to raises some eyebrows. The subsequent argument that the Appeals Committee 109 Ibid, 113. 110 Ibid, 113. 111 Ibid, 114-115 68 meant to address a case like this could not address a case of that size, however, is more suspect. This leads to consistent stories and new contradictions in subsequent interviews. This becomes particularly apparent in some other documents. Another affidavit came from Masumoto Minoru, presumably of no relation, formerly a member of Osaka Prefecture’s Special Police Section. Dated April 3rd, 1949, he writes to “The Hon. Shunkichi Ueda, Director of the Board of Legislature.”112 This document can thus be considered a major source of information for Ueda and his decisions regarding Matsumoto. It is this officer who provided the information earlier that Suiheisha was being observed as a leftist movement by his branch’s “First Group.” Matsumoto Minoru (I will include given names where necessary for clarity) worked for the First Group from February 1933 until October 1945 when he was purged. He remarks that from March 1941 to September 1942 he was a police sergeant of the Ashibara Police Station where he oversaw “blocs where the out-casts were concentrated and the Headquarters for their emancipation movement was located.” Appropriately his duty at this station “was investigation and research on the emancipation movement of that district.” What follows raises some eyebrows in lieu of the former affidavit, though does appear to form a more cohesive narrative in the end then it might appear at this moment. Matsumoto Minoru remarks that authorities believed the “Emancipation Movement” was planning a left-wing revolution with other leftist organizations. 113 This once again connects burakumin activists to leftist revolutionaries, furthering their place in the left-right dichotomy 112 Matsumoto Minoru, Affidavit on Relation Between the Greater Harmony National Service Movement and Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 92. 113Ibid. 69 As the war deteriorated the “situation became so serious that the movement could not be permitted to have any linking with radical thought.” Before that, he asserts, Imoto Rinshi, “then Secretary of the Movement,” had been charting the course for Suiheisha and was “endeavoring for the participation of the Emancipation Movement as well as other Harmony Organizations in the Greater Harmony National Service Movement which was sponsored by Mr. Masao Yamamoto.”114 Contradictions between this and the last affidavit should be addressed. The two authors obviously have vastly different stories. The first deponent, Okamura, asserts that Yamamoto Masao dissolved the Daiwa Hokoku Kai, but Matsumoto Minoru asserts that he sponsored the preceding movement. What makes this worth note is that Matsumoto Minoru was involved in this case through Spring 1942 when Daiwa Hokoku Kai was dissolved by who he claims to be the sponsor of Daiwa Hokoku Honbu, at least so far as Okamura testifies. Returning to the affidavit Matsumoto Minoru asserts that Matsumoto Ji’ichiro had believed that if the Japanese people were intent on emancipating the oppressed people of East Asia they should start with and focus on outcastes, then he remarks “and so, though he had the intention of joining the Greater Harmony National Service Movement he would not forget the discrimination.” The next paragraph notes the speech to which Okamura referred in which Matsumoto Ji’ichiro expressed the exact opposite opinion, claiming he would never abandon emancipation, Matsumoto Minoru, present as “an observer” recalled that “the entire audience joined in loud applause.” The officer then attests that he had one “Mr Hideshi Ishida” provide him with a confidential report from a dinner with Matsumoto Ji’ichiro and his followers in which 114Ibid. 70 he was told “Mr. Matsumoto does not seem satisfied with the Greater Harmony National Service Movement.” Shortly after Matsumoto Minoru received an order for the dissolution of Suiheisha which he claims to have taken to Imoto Rinshi, who told him his people would resist to the last if forced to dissolve, and pushed for a “voluntary” dissolution, which was allowed.115 Coming back to comparison, the difference in assertions is particularly important to note. The contradiction on the role of Yamamoto Masao is quite notable. So too is the remark that Matsumoto Ji’ichiro intended to join the organization he publicly panned in his speech. Still this appears to have been a simple change of heart. Regardless, this strongly implies that Matsumoto had little, if anything, to do with Daiwa Hokoku Undo or Daiwa Hokoku Kai. It cannot be overlooked that the second affidavit was for Secretary General Ueda himself and prepared in April, 1949. As such, this report must be considered when looking at what Ueda says later. Returning to the constant interviews, Kashiwa, alongside two others, took the matter to Mr. Oyama, Chief of the Screening Section for another interview on August 24. He noted that he “never asked GHQ as to yes or no concerning Mr. Matsumoto’s examination,” that examination of the case for appeal was ongoing, and that he expected “a suggestion from GHQ concerning purge issue in the month of September. Unsurprisingly, another interview occurred on November 26, now between Oyama and “Mr. Eiichi Matsumoto and one other” at which Oyama made the remark that it could not be put on the agenda “without making clear the attitude of GHQ toward Mr. Matsumoto’s case. Two days later Matsumoto Eiichi met with Mr Yoshinashi Section Chief of the Attorney General's Office” who made two remarks that Attorney General Ueda had designated Matsumoto as a purge and that this designation “was not done by SCAP directive, but 115 Ibid, 93-94. 71 by the responsibility of the Japanese Government.” Another two days passed and Uchimura and Hori joined Kashiwa again to meet with Ueda for yet another interview. The attorney general doubled down that the Appeals Committee Meeting examines cases in the order filed but that “Committees seem not able to take up Mr. Matsumoto’s case because his was too grave an issue.” He then remarked that if the committee had already reviewed a case it was submitted to GHQ though “no suggestion is attained” meaning they might be screened “altogether at the time of Peace Conference.” Then he claimed again that in November 1948 GHQ asked for documents regarding the purge of Matsumoto and approved them. He reiterates his announcement as delayed by GHQ demands and claims that the Appeals Committee Meeting “does not take up cases of prominent figures because of suggestions from GHQ.” Blame deflection is clearly the name of the game. Ueda continues this rather expertly. He accepts that Matsumoto has sufficient “counter evidence” but remarks that his case “should not be decided on the basis of judicial theory, but on the broad view of each committee. So the problem is how every committee would attain such a broad view.” He then rather audaciously remarks “The decision of the Appeals Committee Meeting is final.”116 This is a rather interesting situation with contradictory remarks and blame shifting. Many moving parts are all attempting to determine what exactly is happening. As the situation continues to develop the picture muddies. The most important new development is the information that Ueda ordered the purge without SCAP interference. In a tragic continuation of the plodding story, Tanaka and Kashiwa opt again to interview Ueda on February 3. There he claims that he sent a junior official to get the opinion of GHQ remarking “it seemed quite difficult and impossible with regards [to] Mr. Matsumoto’s case.” He 116“Petition Re. Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto’s Release from Purgee List,” February 1, 1950. In Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 115-117. 72 indicates that that officials at GHQ often have “very favorable opinions” when visitors go there, but “when those who are responsible like us go there… They always say that the responsibility rests with the Japanese Government.”117 This is a rather peculiar remark. Ueda constantly remarks that GHQ, particularly Whitney and Napier, ordered him to purge Matsumoto. Yet somewhere between asserting that again on November 28 and the meeting on February 3 he sent a junior official and could get no response as to their attitude. Furthermore, his remark that “those who are responsible” are “always” told matters are their responsibility contradicts his earlier claims. This appears to be a capstone in the argument that this was a Japanese decision. Through his own knowledge, some of which is presented here, Taikiuchi came to a clear conclusion. In the December 1949 issue of Nippon Hyoron he remarked that “it can be concluded that in spite of the candid and unbiased attitude of the GHQ authorities, the present cabinet had decided the opposite” in regards to the purge of Matsumoto, which he claims is a unique case of “political exploitation….”118 The petition is a tedious document. What is important here, however, is not only the conclusion that the Japanese government opted to purge Matsumoto, but the way in which they utilized the occupation administration to do it. Thus, the purge is, in large part, a political maneuver. It is a clear example of burakumin being adversely impacted by the dominance of Japanese conservatives in the left-right dichotomy of later occupation-era Japan. Even so, it would not be fair to say that GHQ did not play some role in this. Based upon the petition alone it is not possible to prove that Attorney General Ueda was a liar. This is a valid conclusion judging from his above conduct but is at least not certain. In a letter from an unknown sender to a “Mr. Baldwin” dated March 21, 1949, somebody clearly 117 Ibid, 117. 118 Ibid, 118. 73 familiar with the case makes several remarks which point toward Ueda having lied about the role of GHQ, though not entirely. The author notes that “this Headquarters did intervene” to save Matsumoto earlier according to him appearing “to be a person of democratic principles” just as the petition claimed, and a fact that it appears everybody to this case was aware of. The author then acknowledged that SCAP did eventually provide information that may have implicated him as a militarist. They then refer to a remark Matsumoto made in March 1940, before the Diet. The letter continues that, in lieu of this and the purging of members of organizations in which Matsumoto held a greater role, “it logically followed that he, too, should be excluded from further public service.” At first this appears to support Ueda. This author knows the case and supports the initial conclusion. Crucially the author does say that “this headquarters” encouraged a delay in the purge until after the election to avoid it being viewed as a political move, but also remarks that this occurred only “When the Japanese Government reached its decision to purge Mr. Matsumoto… and so announced to this headquarters….”119 With this in mind, Ueda was apparently truthful in asserting that the timing, and logic for it, was determined by GHQ, though no names are given in this letter. Even so, the author remarks that the decision to purge came straight from the Japanese side rather than his. This aligns well with the testimony of Mr Yoshinashi concerning the role of Ueda in initiating the purge. The author partially supports another statement of the attorney general by remarking that “Findings of the Japanese Appeals Body in this case, as in all other cases, will be reviewed by SCAP to assure that Justice is done.” Even so, in the last paragraph of his letter he refers to the recipient: I know you will agree that for SCAP to intervene further in such case would be not only improper but would do much to undermine the independent and responsible attitude 119 Letter to Mr. Baldwin, March 21, 1949 in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 84. Emphasis is my own. 74 which, in furtherance of the democratic ideal, is being inculcated in Japanese juridical bodies under the occupation.120 Lest this be considered an untrustworthy source, the same opinion made its way to the top of the Government Section. Captain Robert W. Borman, Chief of the Statistics & Review Branch, sent a memorandum for the Chief of the Government Section (this would be General Whitney) with the subject “Purge Case of MATSUMOTO Jiichiro.” He makes remarks practically indistinguishable from the last author in this more formal format. He provided much of the same information and evidence against Matsumoto and remarked “The Japanese Government informed this headquarters of its logical intention” to purge officials of the organization for which Matsumoto had been the leading figure and also remarks on the proposed delay.121 This point proves that GHQ was complicit in this purge and hid behind a pretense of not wanting to interfere in Japanese legal systems, even though they already had previously. There are a few concurring things which are factual, so much as that is possible to discern. First, Attorney General Ueda utilized GHQ as a shield in his decision to purge Matsumoto by overstating the degree to which American officials intervened. He made a political decision to purge Matsumoto and then attempted to deflect blame to those figures, namely Napier and Whitney, through the fact that they delayed the purge. His general argument appears to fall apart due to his contradictions and admissions throughout interviews. Still, it is a testament to a manner in which politically motivated Japanese officials may manipulate the GHQ as a smokescreen. Second, GHQ was aware of the decision to purge Matsumoto, and was tolerant of the logic. Though they opted to defend the politician before, they now recognized that 120 Ibid, 84-85. 121 Robert W. Borman, “Memorandum for the Chief, Government Section. Subject: Purge Case of Matsumoto Jiichiro, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan 86-87. 75 the logic was sound enough and only intervened to prevent the maneuver from being seen as political. In retrospect this only makes it appear moreso. It is entirely possible that GHQ officials okayed this maneuver, or at least stayed out of the way, due to the change of heart covered in the section on constitutional revision. Third and lastly, this was a political decision, everything around this purge after the fact proves that Matsumoto was not only the face of burakumin but the political left as well, matters coincide exceptionally well with political changes and efforts to prove the opposite fall far short of being convincing. The Purge of Matsumoto as Political Rallying Point for the Left As early as August 13, 1948, GHQ was aware of Matsumoto as a threat, though not in the traditional militarist definition.122 A confidential release from the Civil Censorship Detachment on a letter from Matsumoto where he was identified as both “Vice-speaker of the House of Councillors and leader of the Zenkoku Buraku Kaiho Renmei (National Outcasts’ Village Liberation League)” makes it clear that GHQ had knowledge of his leanings in the political sphere. In the letter he lays war responsibility at the feet of the emperor. He remarks that the “tenno-system” needs to be abolished and boldly declares “For this end, I’m continuing my struggle ceaselessly….”123 This document confirms that Matsumoto was recorded by GHQ not as a burakumin activist, but an anti-imperial one. To what extent this influenced the American response to Attorney General Ueda’s decision to purge Matsumoto is unclear, but GHQ was 122 Going forward the documents are presented based upon Civil Censorship Detachment’s “Prep Date” visible on most documents. This means when they got around to translating and presenting them The point here is not to track the development as it unfolded. Indeed many of these documents share a theme, but perhaps were not written by people in direct contact with one another. As such the goal here is to track American knowledge of this topic. The exception to this comes when burakumin identity is discussed with the letter from burakumin activist Mita and prisoner Kondo, which are placed out of this order due to value as a transitional source and the unique nature of the content respectively. 123Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, prepared August 13, 1948, Letter from Matsumoto Jiichiro to Kiyozumi Wateru, dated August 11, 1948, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 160. 76 tracking him before the purge. For reference, one of the documents which was given to GHQ on the topic of his purging is dated in the midst of the several aforementioned interviews. Director Yoshikawa of the Special Examining Bureau of the Attorney General’s Office wrote on the topic to Major Napier in a document dated March 17, 1949. The document is a collection of “evidence” which is just a series of interviews with Matsumoto and men who knew him.124 As underwhelming as this defense is on Matsumoto’s part, it at least shows that GHQ was aware of his plea to innocence on the charge of being a militarist following his purge. The Civil Censorship Detachment was particularly dogged in collecting information on Matsumoto. What they recorded is a tidal wave of documentary evidence that burakumin were virtually inseparable from the political left as far as the Americans could see. In the first of many documents, Representative Tanaka sent a telegram to Matsumoto on September 9, 1948. It refers to an anticipated meeting of the “pariah class.” Tanaka wanted to know if Matsumoto could make it to the September 23 meeting of the Wakayama-Ken Rengokai Taikai (General Meeting of Wakayama-ken league). The examiner preparing this a report on this correspondence for GHQ found it worthwhile to note that Tanaka and Matsumoto were both members of the JSP and that the Buraku Zenkoku Kaihō Iinkai, was “an organization established by the Eta class.”125 Once again burakumin are affiliated, in a manner that is inextricable, with the political left. GHQ was watching communication about Matsumoto but focused more on political issues than burakumin ones. 124 Mitsusada Yoshikawa to Jack P. Napier, “Concerning Jiichiro Matsumomto, an officer of Daiwa Hokoku Undo Honbu.” March 17, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 52-67. 125 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, prepared September 13, 1948, Telegram from Tanaka Orinoshin to Matsummoto Jiichiro, dated September 9, 1948, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 161 77 For several months the Civil Censorship Detachment went quiet on this issue. Then on January 26 a postcard was taken in. Then throughout February and March a postcard, telephone calls, telegrams, and letters crop up in great quantities. Matsumoto was on the lips of many, but it was clear that the pushback on his purging was more than just a matter of justice, it was a political battle. At the very least, GHQ recorded the events unfolding purely on a political level, with each recorded correspondence featuring something of a subject line, most often featuring some political remark. The contents of what is recorded are similarly political in nature. The first postcard of 1949 on the topic, prepared for GHQ on February 4, was from Shimabara Akira to Matsumoto. The subject line is “Saga-Ken Socialist Launches an Anti-Purge Movement of Matsumoto Jiichiro.” The author writes rather eloquently that “The reactionary YOSHIDA Cabinet, in attempting to stem the tidal wave of revolution, has finally revealed its poisoned fangs.” He gives Matsumoto an update on the anti-purge movement and the related campaign. He also opts to inform Matsumoto on the financial and managerial side of this campaign. “As an emergency measure, all these activities are sponsored under the name of the SHAKAI SHUGI SEIJI KEIZAI KEN KYUKAI (Socialism-Political Economics Research Society) of which I am the head….”126 Within the context of the reverse course this is a rather important connection. The term “anti-purge movement” no doubt turned heads. Though nothing could be more notable than the whole thing being funded by an organization with “Socialism-Political Economics” in the name. Additionally, Shimabara opts to open his letter complaining of the reactionary government attempting to stem the revolution. In the Cold War the rhetoric could be 126 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, prepared February 4, 1949, Postcard from Shimabara Akira to Matsumoto Jiichiro, January 26, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 162. 78 seen as little more or less than communist agitation in the works. Left-wing Japanese politicians recognized this issue in a similar matter across the board. Perhaps Shimabara Akira was not a figure worth too much note in the grand scheme of Japanese politics. Yonekubo Mitsusuke is, perhaps just as well-known as Shimabara by most, but far more important. During the pinnacle of socialist influence in the Kitayama Cabinet he served as “labor Minister.” At the moment he sent his February 1 postcard to Matsumoto, however, the subject of the document identified him as “Social Democratic Party Leader.” He remarks that Matsumoto’s being purged “in addition to our Party’s… crushing defeat in the last general election, has been a serious blow to us.” Alongside Matsumoto he notes the purging of another party member on the same charges, remarking that these charges were “attributable to the conspiracy of the members of the reactionary conservative Yoshida… Cabinet” before closing that he and Suzuki Mosaburo, “will exert every effort to clear you of the purge charge.”127 This story is increasingly clear cut. The singular most important figure for burakumin was not really being understood for his status as such. Tanaka Orinoshin was burakumin and so his communication with Matsumoto was more liable to spark up the connection between the man and his roots, but this is the vast minority of documents. On February 21 a telephone call from “Yoshimura” to an unknown party took place, with the Civil Censorship Detachment preparing the document on it a week later. Yoshimura refers to “Further developments…. in the campaign against the purge of MATSUMOTO Jiichiro.” He mentions “The second consultation conference” on this topic and parties which made joint proposals. Those mentioned were Jiyu Jinken Kyokai (Free People’s Rights Association), Rono 127Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, prepared February 8, 1949, Postcard from Yonekubo Mitsusuke to Matsumoto Jiichiro, dated February 1, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 163. 79 Undo Yuen Kai (Aid Society for Farmer Labor Movement), and Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai. Outside those, he lists several other parties participating in the anti-purge movement and this conference, the communist party, Minshu Shugi Yogo Dōmei (League for Protection of Democracy), Sanbetsu (National Congress of Industrial Unions), Sōdōmei (General Federation of Trade Unions), and Nippon Nomin Kumiai (Japan Farmers’ Union). The record of this telephone call ends with a tone which would raise concerns. Yoshimura remarked: The purge of Matsumoto will become final on February 24, after which date his right to appeal his case will be lost. The Anti-Purge Movement Headquarters, however, is determined to continue its opposition even after the expiration of the period of appeal, and has issued a public statement to that effect today.128 This situation was developing quickly. If GHQ had truly thought, simply delaying the purge would prevent its identification as a political move they were gravely mistaken. Yonekubo as a political leader of Matsumoto’s party may have been expected to oppose his purge, but this situation rapidly escaped that narrow view. Socialists and communists were united in opposing the political maneuver by the Yoshida Cabinet. Thus, the soon-to-be fragmented and weakened political left found a ground upon which to stake their influence. Furthermore, as noted earlier, labor was a rising political force in Japan and they were putting this to use in a battle which had little to do directly with labor. This leftist coalition was certainly of great concern for both Yoshida and MacArthur and their regimes. This is one of the greatest battlefields of the left-right dichotomy in this period, a massive campaign to save Matsumoto. For left-wing politicians they were fighting for the survival of their political power, for burakumin this was a fight against a society intent on crushing their liberation efforts. The latter made this clear. 128 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, prepared February 28, 1949, phone call from Yoshimura to unknown party, dated February 21, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 164. 80 Some groups opted for a rather ineffectual and direct route. “We demand that you rescind immediately the order of purge of Mr. Matsumoto Jiichiro, who is a leader of the emancipation movement.” Thus read the February 23 telegram from the Zenkoku Zaimo Rodo Kumiai (National Finance Officer Workers’ Union). Worth noting is that this organization’s telegram came from Osaka.129 Given the prominence of the city as a burakumin center it is possible that this letter came from burakumin. This inference can be made due to geography, but also the language referring to Matsumoto as a leader of the emancipation movement, a term most often applied to burakumin contexts. This purge was more than just a political move, but a threat to their liberty. It carried a special connotation which appears to have threatened liberation. A letter from February 18, only prepared on March 1, comes from the Rono Undo Kyuen Kai mentioned earlier and was written to the Nikkyōso (Japan Teachers’ Union). The document provides counter-evidence to the government logic for Matsumoto’s purge and ends with a call to action. “Let us stand up for the sake of freedom, justice, and human rights with absolute opposition against the irrational purge and demand the reversal of purge decision of Mr. Matsumoto.” Accusations against the “reactionary” Yoshida are included.130 A call to action levied upon the teachers’ union by the “Aid Society for Labor-Farmer Movement” is certainly an intriguing development. In a way this just reinforces the view of unions and laborer or farmer political organizations as little more than leftist agitators. After all, the rhetoric about a reactionary cabinet is textbook left-wing terminology as seen in the documents by known socialists to Matsumoto himself. In a leftist staple, the story went international. 129 Ibid, 165. 130 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, Prepared March 1, 1949, Letter from Rono Undo Kyuen Kai to Nikkyoso, dated February 18,1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 166-167. 81 On February 23, clearly a very important day for organization, a letter was written by Kaneshima Taro of the Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai Hombu to Inoue Yasumasu. Kaneshima informed the recipient of the organizational developments making the important statement that many of those groups listed before were “working more concretely than the Kaiho Hombu… as the main bodies of the [anti-purge] movement.” He notes that one such organization, the Jinken Kyokai had “written the truth of the purge in English” and sent it off to the International Civil Rights Association in England. Additionally a TIME magazine reporter had arrived “here at the headquarters” and was studying the “real conditions of villages and making a survey.” Lastly, the burakumin organization is reported to have decided on participating in the upcoming rally set for March 15.131 After this date, it appears that the coalition only expanded. On March 28 the Hiroshima-Shi Shokuin Rodo Kumiai (Hiroshima-shi Municipal Office Workers’ Labor Union) wrote to Densan Kokui (Electric Industry Workers’ Union) to discuss formation of a “joint committee to protect livelihood rights,” with protesting the purge of Matsumoto as a supplementary issue. What is most crucial here is that the Jikko Iinkai (Action Committee) was to consist of two representatives from the Kokutetsu (Government Railway Workers’ Union) and one from each of the following: Zentei (All-Japan Communications Workers’ Union), Dai Kinzoku (Greater Metal Workers’ Union, Jichi Ro (Federation of Autonomous Labor Unions, Densan, Dentetsu (Electric Railway Workers’ Union, Nittsu (Japan Express Co., Workers’ Union), Chugoku Tokyo (Chugoku Paint Co., Workers’ Union), League of Koreans Residing in Japan, Outcasts’ Village Liberation Committee, Livelihood Protection League and the Communist Party. 131 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, Prepared March 7, 1949, Letter from Kaneshima Taro to Inoue Yasumasa dated February 23, 1949 in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 173. 82 Though missing the socialist party, this is a pretty comprehensive list of the who’s-who of the Japanese left. Notably both Koreans and burakumin, the most numerous of minorities, had solidified their place as players, if minor ones, within the Japanese left. Combining this with the previous letter of Kaneshima it becomes clear that burakumin were largely along for the ride falling into something of an ideological line as a follower rather than working “concretely.” Even so, it appears that burakumin played a minor role in the movement utilizing their own typical rhetoric which helps to distinguish them. Mita Toshimitsu of the Buraku Kaiho Zenkoku Iinkai wrote to Yamawaki Kazuo on February 23 to discuss the success of youth movements, the growth of their “desire for liberation” and their success in “carrying out struggles, giving lectures, or engaging in cultural work.” In an interesting remark Mita pivots to talk about 1949 claiming it “will be a year of great significance in the Japanese history, and the democratic revolution.” The author then returns to the topic covered here: More than three hundred (300) Diet members from the Democratic-Liberal and Democratic Parties on one hand and the purge of our father, Matsumoto Jiichiro… on the other if we rural youths do nothing, how can we accomplish our historical mission? Recalling the faces of the youth comrades in the east, I am biding my time with the belief that what I await will come.132 Mita attaches a few documents as to the organization's plans. They amount to minor things. The intent to inform “a struggle committee to demand the cancellation of the unreasonable purge of Mr. Matsumoto,” expansion of the organization via new chapters and 132 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, Prepared March 3, 1949, Letter from Mita Toshimitsu to Yamawaki Kazuo, dated February 23,1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 168-169. 83 regional councils, “the formation of special squads,” and “an extensive struggle campaign” set on obtaining ten million signatures and just as many yen.133 The brief aside about the inevitable democratic revolution of 1949 was pretty par for the course as far as leftist political rhetoric goes. Burakumin do, however, appear to maintain some ideological similarity from pre-war organizations outside of left-wing affiliation. The prominence of the word “struggle” is one such instance. Liberation is also typically applied liberally within burakumin rhetoric. Both could be argued to have leftist roots, but remain a staple of burakumin talking points to such an extent that they take on a unique nature in those contexts. For example, while leftists employ the former term commonly, burakumin utilize it more through the organization of “struggle campaigns” and committees set up purely for the sake of struggling. Liberation also refers to freedom from a specific form of oppression which many activists correctly identified as distinct from the general oppression of the proletariat as recognized by communist theory. Generally, the efforts mentioned by Mita sound very similar to past efforts by the outcaste groups, but now organized with the goal of opposing the purge of Matsumoto. This separates burakumin activism from the general left to a limited extent. The tie is still prominent in many burakumin writings. In one example Kondo Hiakaru wrote to Matsumoto from a solitary confinement cell in Fukuoka city. To call this man eclectic is perhaps an understatement, but at the very least what he says raised enough eyebrows in the Civil Censorship Detachment to warrant its recording. In what may be the most confusing piece of context for this topic, consider the following fact: In 1924, Suiheisha held its third national conference where there was a debate about whether or not their organization should recognize 133 Ibid. 84 the Soviet Union. One speaker, eighteen-year-old Yamada Konojirō, representing Nara Prefecture remarked: “Just as Marx said that the proletariat have no homeland, so the eta have no homeland. We must recall the perfection of humanity and recognize the Jewish State.” In this remark Yamada is supporting the Russian Revolution as a revolt of long suppressed Jews. This was an argument in favor of recognizing the Soviet Union which also supported the idea of Judeo-Bolshevism.134 The recorded portion of the prisoner’s letter from February 26 taken down by the Civil Censorship Detachment, opens with the remark “...The Eta is of the Jewish race, the basic line of the human race.” He then pivots to his support for the communist party as their victory is a “victory of the Marx and Lenin theory and establishes the Eta race as the ruler of the world.” The stakes now sufficiently raised to global control; he deigns to bestow upon Matsumoto his thoughts. “What is the emancipation of the Eta caste? I believe the Eta to be divine. I have a religious belief that the Eta caste, Jehovah’s elected people, is destined to rule the world. I firmly believe that both the Communist Party and the [Socialist Party] will yield to our victory. Stalin, Mao Tse-tung and Tokuda… are our tools.” Clearly quite self-important Kondo asserts that his purge is a problem for “the entire thirty million (30,000,000) of our caste” claiming to be imprisoned based upon prejudice. He states he began a hunger strike six days prior and will “gladly give [his] life for this sacred struggle” and that “Death in prison can also be glorious.” In what was no doubt among the peculiar calls to action ever received by Matsumoto, Kondo states “You must fight to the end. For the sake of our race, you must not yield. You must not think of fame or position. Just remember your dignity as a child of God. The Eta caste was the first 134 Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire, 175. 85 laborers of the world and the first hunters from whom originated the human civilization….”135 There is something worth drawing out of this letter. Though burakumin have been categorized here as generally leftist, efforts have been made to complicate this narrative. Ironically, the “logic” of Kondo cements the less than cohesive nature of burakumin activism in its early years. Aside from the propensity of radicals to switch rhetoric in the Pacific War, the outcaste organizations had a rather peculiar tendency to adopt a hybrid leftist-ethnonationalist-theological position, a contradictory mix, one that changes drastically during the occupation creating a new, more cohesive platform. The first of these has been well demonstrated by Matsumoto and burakumin activities around the 1920s to 1950s with the interlude of the war. Similarly, the exploration of Suiheisha, largely drawn from Bayliss, as discussed earlier proves the second point. The third one is a bit more peculiar due to a general leftist aversion to relying on religious narratives for legitimation of their causes. At the third Suiheisha conference at least one representative found it necessary to compare burakumin to Jews, something Kondo pushes beyond reason to claim eta were chosen people of God. Even so, burakumin had a certain propensity for adapting religious imagery. A solid case in point for this claim would be the Suiheisha flag known as the “Crown of Thorns Flag.” The symbolism appears to have nothing to do with Christian belief rather being a simple equivalence, “Christ suffered, epitomized by the crown of thorns, hence it would fit us burakumin who suffer.” There is also a belief that both burakumin and Christ were martyred which follows roughly the same logic, though, in this case, assigns a bit more importance to the deaths suffered from incidents of anti-outcaste violence. 135 Civil Censorship Detachment Intercept, Prepared March 7, 1949, Letter from Kondo Hikaru to Matsumoto Jiichiro dated February 26, 1949 in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 172. 86 By analyzing Kondo one can learn about changes occurring through the past decades. He initially appears to be rambling with no logic, but if one analyzes him, or perhaps overthinks, there are a few points to draw about the development of burakumin identity and how activists operated after the war. The affiliation between Japanese left-wing politics and the Soviet Union and Communist China were still somewhat present and the political alignment of burakumin stayed consistently on the socialist line. The racial angle, however, appeared to be dropped, even burakumin who referred to Matsumoto as “our father,” referred to his purge as a political maneuver, forgoing that the discrimination was racial as Suiheisha might have done earlier. Beyond this, there are a few cases where burakumin take up the Jewish comparison in a religious context. As such Kondo represented a partially out-of-date ideology, insofar as one can rationalize his remarks, which emphasizes the occupation as a period in which burakumin activists solidified their basis for organization as one rooted in leftist political theory, forgoing aspects of what had once defined Suiheisha. Indeed, it would appear that this is what GHQ ultimately reduced the topic to. May 2, 1949 the Civil Censorship Detachment produced a confidential special report with the subject line “Purge of Matsumoto.” There are several numbered points, the first, “General” and second, “Extent of Support” refer to the OCD intercepts on leftists supporting the topic and give information on who was supporting the anti-purge movement and their goals. Under point three, something important is stated. Titled “Blow to Democratization” the author remarks that: Public support is largely derived from the purgee’s fight for abolition of discrimination against the pariahs, his sympathy toward labor and other liberal policies, which allegedly did not waver even under the stress of war. His political dispossession is therefore 87 considered a serious blow to the advancement and democratization of Japan since few political leaders are endowed with his qualities.136 This is quite the claim, and one stated elsewhere. Matsumoto Ji’ichiro was a man of integrity, at least in the eyes of many. As stated earlier, he appears to have betrayed his morals, but that is merely from one perspective. Generally speaking this was not the case, though there are notable exceptions. His defense here was noted as being advanced by the Japan’s Teacher Union. They charged that he was targeted for his social equality movement and, as evidence of his commitment, referred to his refusal to join the executive board of the Imperial Rule Assistance Association, on top of denying his membership in “the Yamato Daiwa National Service Movement,” which had factually not occurred, claiming his connection was only from “his name [being] officially used without [his] consent” on their materials.” Mentions of the purge being attributed to politics make up the fifth point. The author remarks that the purge was seen as “evidence that the government is plotting against liberalism and its leaders.”137 The use of the term “liberal” alongside mentions about the concerns for democratization are interesting, but are perhaps not too deep in their meaning. Still, that the author referred to his support for liberal policies, while they applied leftist elsewhere, may speak to a more favorable view of Matsumoto. Finishing out this topic, there is one more document to consider. Tying Together the Purge On May 19, 1949, Major Napier received a memorandum from “M. Uchiyama” with the subject line “Matsumoto Jiichiro and the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu.” Uchiyama reveals some 136 Civil Censorship Detachment Special Report, “Subject: Purge of Matsumoto,” May 2, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 98. 137 Ibid, 99. On his status as an IRAA sponsored candidate, Neary claims “as a leading public figure it already had been impossible for Matsumoto to avoid becoming part of the new national movement” before referring to the conclusion of another scholar of burakumin, Totten, who believed he received endorsement due to assumed-to-be inevitable victory and a desire to abolish party politics by Tōjō, according to Neary, The Buraku Issue, 121-122. 88 previously uncovered information. Firstly, when Matsumoto “filed a questionnaire” to run for office in the House of Representatives in 1946 he was rejected due to being recommended for the 1942 Diet election by the Imperial Rule Assistance Association. This was the initial removal that GHQ reversed, with Uchiyama remarking that “this office reversed the decision of the Japanese Government to disqualify Matsumoto from public office” for his role in Suiheisha and “other information then available concerning his past activities.”138 This clarifies the story quite a bit. Initially, Matsumoto was protected by GHQ for his “democratic conduct” as seen earlier, but the charge was not that he himself did anything. Rather than being under scrutiny for his actions, he was under scrutiny for being recommended by an organization which existed for the purpose of imperial collaboration. Seeing as previous sources claimed he snubbed the organization this makes this like a logical connection that can be logically overlooked. Second, the author notes that Matsumoto was indicated by the Japanese government of being a founder and national director “of a militaristic and ultra-nationalistic society, the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu, which was affiliated with the Koa Domei.”139 Given Matsumoto’s conduct relating to the organization this appears to be a rather confusing conclusion, but this does ultimately all make sense when the pieces are put together. Though he defended himself by saying, not that he was not affiliated with Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu, but that it was rather the Daiwa Hokoku Kai that was affiliated with the Dai Nippon Koa Domei.140 What becomes clear across these documents is that different parties had vastly different views. Through synthesis it is possible to draw this conclusion logically. 138 M. Uchiyama, “Matsumoto Jiichiro and the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu,” May 19, 1949, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 100 139 Ibid 140 Ibid. 89 Matsumoto, at some point, supported the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu, but fell out with the group before its change from the Daiwa Hokoku Kai. Uchiyama describes the “explanation” for this as being that the former was formed November 3, 1940 by “amalgamation” of the Welfare Ministry sponsored Chuo Yuwa Jigyo Kyokai (Central Harmony Work Association) and Suiheisha. It was on May 5, 1941 at a meeting of the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Honbu at Makoshima Public Hall in Osaka where Matsumoto and his Suiheisha seceded or at least expressed formal and public dissatisfaction with the platform.141 Once again, drawing conclusions here, one thing becomes clear. What the two affidavits identified as a rejection of cooperation by Matsumoto is what Uchiyama refers to here as a secession. As such Matsumoto was affiliated with the organization but stopped being so following his speech dated here as being May 5, 1941. This is evidenced by the fact that Matsumoto Minoru referred to the “First convention for the Greater Harmony National Service Movement” taking place in the spring of 1941 at Nakoshima’s central public hall.142 His wording that Matsumoto had intended to join the movement now begins to make more sense. Uchiyama continues that the “Chuo Yuwa Jigyo Kyokai faction” of the group then changed the name to Daiwa Hokoku Kai sometime in August 1941 and it was then “consolidated and operated after the pattern of the Imperial Rule Assistance Association and joined the Dai Nippon Koa Domei.”143 There it would appear the case rested, Uchiyama goes through and lists a summary of “the contention” held by Matsumoto and Suiheisha before abruptly remarking “Careful examination of the evidence fails to support any of the above contentions, but clearly 141 Ibid. 142 Matsumoto Minoru, Affidavit on Relation Between the Greater Harmony National Service Movement and Mr. Jiichiro Matsumoto in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 93. 143 M. Uchiyama, “Matsumoto Jiichiro and the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu, 101. 90 indicates to the contrary.” Uchiyama opens that this is evidenced by the fact that the September 1941 to May 1942 issues “of the organ ‘Koa’ of the Koa Domei” listed Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu as an affiliated organization. The author then asserts that even outside the affiliation the organization was justifiably dissolved by Imperial Ordinance No.1. Here he refers to Imoto Rinshi as “an ardent follower of Matsumoto” and told GHQ that Suiheisha joined the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu under “the so-called Konoye New Structure movement, symbolized by the slogan ‘One Hundred Million People with One Mind…. It cannot be denied that this slogan… represents the Japanese policy of aggression.”144 There are some important counters to this. First, the presence of the organization’s name on the lists may not be the nail in the coffin that Uchiyama paints it. If Takeo Okamura was correct and the printed pamphlets just failed to change the name, then it means nothing. Furthermore, if Matsumoto severed his relations, then this would be a moot point. Additionally, joining what appears to have been a yūwa organization during government efforts to consolidate groups with a specific slogan is not the best justification. Moving forward, however, there does appear to be some better arguments with serious substance. A Commonplace Change of Heart? The “organ” of the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu published on November 3, 1940 has some very imperialist content which Uchiyama asserts shows that the organization “supported Japanese aggression policy….” The statement refers to the “auspicious occasion” of the 2000 year anniversary of the accession of Jimmu and speaks of the organizations support for “the construction of the New Order in the Eastern Asia based on the great spirit of the Universal 144 Ibid, 101-102 91 Harmony” and the intent to “offer ourselves for the great practice of this movement aiming at the great harmony of our nation and Union of the races of Eastern Asia.” Furthermore, the platform refers to the desire to create this new order, and for Japan to “proceed to be the forerunner for the establishment of the New Order of the World.” As if they hadn’t said enough the platform’s second point was that “We aim to contribute to the completion of the defended National system by promoting the true meaning of our national structure and offering ourselves to the practice of the patriotic service through the our great harmony with ten million peoples to be one heart.” The third point then firmly nails the coffin by asserting that they are “subject of the Imperial Rule Assistance….”145 Matsumoto was evidently still affiliated with this organization around the publishing of such ideas which raises several questions. While Uchiyama questions the secession on the basis that Matsumoto Ji’ichirō’s name continues to appear on organization documents, the Civil Censorship Detachment document on the purge, Matsumoto Minoru’s affidavit, and the other affidavit, make this debatable. Still Matsumoto appears to have tacitly approved of the organization’s ideology at a January 27, 1941 meeting where he gave an opening address. This all ultimately pales in comparison to a speech made at a plenary session of the House of Representatives “on or about 14 Mar 40.” He speaks on the anniversary of Meiji “graciously” taking the charter oath and expresses his gratitude for the opportunity to ask “a question concerning the harmony of the nation on this memorial day.” From here he goes into a rather long statement: “As to the question of harmony, it is its relation with the present Chinese Incident that we must first of all take into consideration. In other words, this country is now proceeding 145 Ibid, 102. 92 with might and pain to attain the greatest work we have ever had since the dawn of history which we call the construction of the New Order in Eastern Asia based on the ideal of universal harmony which has been the great spirit since the founding of this country. I need hardly say the true meaning of the New Order in Eastern Asia is the concrete practical activity to reveal our great ideal of universal harmony, and is the reconstruction of Eastern Asia made with the great spirit of one family under the Heavens and the brotherhood of mankind, and also is the construction of the New Eastern Asia which is not a colony of the powers of Europe and America.” Elsewhere his name appears on a leaflet calling for “us Japanese to stir up our intrepid sport for the bloody battle of a hundred million.…” The document appears to refer to the duty of those within the Imperial Diet, specifics are of less importance in this case. In the end Uchiyama has a few thoughts. First, Matsumoto clearly supported militarism and ultra-nationalism. Second, he should not be reinstated. Thirdly, with perhaps the most damning judgment of his character, Uchiyama writes of Matsumoto that he “is an opportunist and a very astute politician; that he foresaw Greater East Asia and National Defense would necessarily require the unification of minority groups” and that he thought he could strengthen his political position so he “initiated the formation of the Daiwa Hokoku Undo Hombu to accomplish these ends.”146 Even so, these facts are perhaps weighed against him unfairly. His election slogans in 1942 were notably similar to those of Nishio Suehiro, a known social democrat, and softer than rhetoric from rightists. Yes Matsumoto did speak of “the radiant Greater East Asian War” and supported the creation of a “powerful defensive state,” but couched this latter desire with the idea 146 Ibid, 105-107 93 that it should come about through “the creation of a ‘worker state structure.’” His time in the Diet following his 1942 election may best be described as lukewarm. He participated in debate and lawmaking as expected, but did little in the form of burakumin activism. He, at most, engaged in minor acts of defiance, ultimately doing little in this moment.147 Matsumoto, in the end, remains a man of some mystery. As early as the 1910s his character came into some question. In his early life he appears to have been a scam artist in China, which may raise eyebrows. More importantly, if one ignores the accusations of terrorism or assassination plots, then the gang war between his construction company and its rival is still suspect. That he was pragmatic during the war period is something that can be said of virtually all Japanese opposition figures. As such calling him a militarist for falling in line is hasty. To deny that he is a pragmatist in lieu of his wartime activities is difficult, but juxtaposed against his actions in the 1920s it is hard to say that he simply did what was convenient to his political career. Despite the conclusions here, it would appear all of this synthesis was unimportant, or at least not considered, by GHQ and the Japanese government. GHQ appears to have been convinced that Matsumoto Ji’ichiro was a militaristic ultranationalist to such an extent that they allowed the purge to go through. The Yoshida cabinet, on the other hand, found sufficient justification to purge him on these charges, but appear to have been primarily concerned with political affiliations. Attorney General Ueda appears to have been too willing to shift blame to GHQ to have been truly sure of his convictions. While it is not possible to be certain, in the midst of the reverse course where militarists were allowed to reenter the government it is exceptionally convenient that the anti-leftist Yoshida cabinet happened to 147 Neary, The Buraku Issue, 122-125. 94 purge the highest profile socialists, alongside several lesser figures, with evidence that GHQ had previously not used. The general confusion between all of these documents makes it hard to believe that anybody was truly certain of the conviction on February 25, 1949 when Matsumoto was purged. This call appears to have been made by Ueda, partially with the assistance of the affidavit of Matsumoto Minoru which was ultimately not a strong argument in favor. The most damning cases came from Uchiyama, but was only compiled for Major Napier nearly three months later. In lieu of all this, it can be reasonably concluded that Yoshida’s Attorney General Ueda purged Matsumoto as a political play against the left and that GHQ accepted this, believing the evidence of Matsumoto being a militarist was enough and wishing to support, or at least appear to support, the Japanese government’s authority in judicial matters. Whether one reads the measured efforts of Mita, the ramblings of Kondo, the organizational correspondences between several left-wing organizations attempting to form a united front in defense of Matsumoto, or the critical analysis of M. Uchiyama delivered to Major Napier, it is clear that Matsumoto was something special in occupied Japan. For leftists his removal was a crushing blow. This, however, could only pale in comparison to what it meant for those who shared his outcaste status. Upon his removal the highest profile burakumin in Japan, in the outcaste’s history, was gone. He did little for his community in terms of legislation, but he was a symbol of great importance. 95 CHAPTER FIVE: THE SILVER LINING OF DEMOCRATIZATION AND BURAKUMIN UPLIFTING To say the story of the occupation is one of disappointment for burakumin is fair. Nothing had been directly done for their benefit. At most they benefited from large-scale reforms that happened to them, even if many were left behind. Regardless of the general oversight of this group, the nominal ultimate goal of GHQ was quite impactful for burakumin. Enfranchisement, activism, and egalitarianism are all tenets considered central to liberal democracy. While the efforts to create this last condition in Japan was not an abject failure, it was certainly not totally successful. The other two, however, had a marked effect on burakumin. Little in this moment was revolutionary for burakumin, even when it came to that which benefited them most. Even so change during the occupation an integral bedrock upon which generations of burakumin liberation activism were constructed. In an electoral sense burakumin had an uncharacteristically high amount of success, partially being related to their left-wing affiliation and the personal dynamism of Matsumoto Ji’ichiro himself. On the national level, Herbert Passin reenters the scene, not on the topic of land reform, but with unrelated sociological surveys. He notes in an August 11, 1947 memorandum on behalf of the OIC, Public Opinion & Sociological Research Unit, several things about burakumin in public office. In the document Passin remarks that the 1947 election gave “Eta or Tokushu Buraku” the opportunity for more representation than ever before. Noting that the people had appeared to make “systematic efforts” to elect their people and that “Political activity seems to run high, and group consciousness is also very strong. As a consequence a fairly sizeable number of person of 96 Eta derivation was elected to public office.” The slight caveat to their success as burakumin was that Passin notes that, while locals new of their status as members of the community, “in some instances their origin seems to have been concealed from other people.”148 The obvious misleading on this front is to be expected as some people would no doubt balk at voting for somebody treated as untouchable. Regardless, their enfranchisement clearly played out in a major way for burakumin in the early period of the occupation. While they had not achieved proportional representation it was a step in that direction. Though to attribute this solely to burakumin politics is a misstep. Certainly burakumin wanted to have their own people in office, but to convince the Japanese majority there had to be a greater platform. This goes doubly for those who sought to conceal their heritage. This then naturally raises the question as to what these would-be politicians stood for. The answer as to what the platform was is quite obvious at this point, but the numbers are telling in a new way. It is entirely possible that Passin missed certain figures as some political candidates may have concealed their identities from even him and the watchful eyes of CI&E, but it is noted on the document itself, that the Buraku Kaiho Iinkai (Buraku Emancipation Committee) provided the data he has used.149As far as he could tell, however, two burakumin made it into the House of Councillors, seven into the National Diet, twenty-seven into prefectural assemblies, and sixteen 148 OIC, Public Opinion & Sociological Research Unit, “Eta in Public Office, August 11, 1947, in Documents on the Buraku Problem During the Occupation of Japan, 388. I omit from this recounting a line where Passin asserts that the electoral success, “is itself a testimonial to the decline of hostile prejudiced feelings among the general population.” I identify this as a rather naive or at least overly optimistic view in hindsight and with knowledge Passin did not have. The very fact that several candidates obfuscated buraku heritage in their campaigns appears to be evidence of the fact that there was still strong prejudice, particularly seeing as it appears that burakumin were partially elected by burakumin interests. 149 Ibid, 389. 97 into prefectural land commissions.150 Naturally the general platform of these politicians is leftist, but the specifics reveal a slightly more complex story. The first figure in this list that Passin listed is, unsurprisingly, Matsumoto himself. What is telling, however, is the depth of his electoral success. Achieving the position of Vice President of the House of Councillors was no minor feat, and one he achieved with “the fourth highest national vote in the country.” Joined in this body by Senju Shimada, burakumin representation was entirely from the Social Democrat Party (SDP) from Fukuoka.151 The sheer electoral weight behind Matsumoto is surprising. This powerful showing displays the power of burakumin within leftist politics, particularly in southern Japan and the Seto Inland Sea region. Within the Diet’s House of Representatives, six of seven representatives were from the SDP and the other was simply “a Democrat,” referring to the Japan Democratic Party. Passin notes that four were from Fukuoka, with the remainder being one each from Chiba, Gunma, Shizuoka, Wakayama, and Kumamoto.152 Avid mathematicians may note that this adds up to 9. I am unable to ascertain the reason behind the discrepancy, but the initial seven appears to be the correct calculation.153 Returning from this digression, this reveals the trend noted above continues into the lower house. At the regional level the representation is par for the course. In terms of the prefecture, many names recur. Of the 27 elected, five were from Fukuoka, Wakayama, and Nara each, four from Saitama, two from Okaya and Ehime each, and the remaining were one from Mie, Hyogo, 150 Ibid, 389. 151 Ibid, 390. 152 Ibid, 389-390. 153 Ibid, 389, 391. In Appendix I on the latter page here seven figures are listed, in the western name order, as Kanemitsu Yoshikawa, Toyokichi Matsui, Shizuo Kato, Orinoshin Tanaka, Shogetsu Tanaka, Hayashi Eto, and Matahachi Miyamura. They are listed as being of Chiba, Gunma, Shizuoka, Wakayama, Fukuoka, Fukoka, and Kumamoto respectively. As such, two figures supposedly from Fukuoka are not present on the list. I can only speculate as to whether this was a mistake of Passin or the information from the Buraku Kaiho Iinkai, but it is a discrepancy of little importance, though perhaps worth noting nonetheless. 98 Kochi, and Tokushima each. This means that burakumin politicians were excluded from several prefectures from Kyushu, Kagawa in Shikoku, and many in southern Honshu. Regardless, it is quite clear that they had electoral presence in a decent portion of the Seto Inland Sea Region locally. The political affiliation is less extreme on this level as politics on the national level required more conviction. Nearly half of these figures, 12, were Independents, 11 were SDP, 2 were Democrats, one was Liberal and another was from the Peoples’ Cooperative.154 This is the representation that Passin and the team he worked with appeared to value in this moment. They did, however, have more to say about local representation In this first report Passin notes that in terms of elections it is more important that for “the assimilation of the Eta and problems of local discrimination and community relations, the lower level political phenomena are perhaps even more important than what occur on the national or prefectural level.”155 He backs up his belief on this end by producing a rather specific and detailed report. This “research memorandum” features both a title and a subject. The former indicates this as a sequel to the first memorandum as it is “Eta in Public Offices: Part III.” Part II is an abrupt research memorandum from January 26, 1948 and appears to do little but notes that “Harrowith appended in a second memo on Eta in Public Offices” with information on land commissions. It notes what parties in GHQ would be interested in the data, but says little else.156 Returning to the more poignant document, Part III covers research that occurred over a half year from January 9 1949 to July 15 the same year. Passin’s first report being from August of 1947, a 154 Ibid, 389 In the interests of transparency it is worth mentioning that I do not have the subsequent two pages on which appear to have featured two tables on the specifics of prefectural representation and land commission members. The other two tables for Diet members simply list a name and party affiliation so the information may be extraneous as the affiliation of prefectural representatives is listed earlier. 155 Ibid, 388 156 Ibid, 394, 395. 99 minor memorandum the start of the next year, and the last part of substance being from 1949 indicates that the topic was not very well followed but at least in the mind of Passin himself. Rather interesting in this report is the data source. The burakumin organization from the first report recurs as one provider, but on top of this, statistics were provided by the Welfare Ministry and the Domestic Affairs Bureau of the Japanese Government.157 This document is very numbers and statistics heavy so exploring these is quite important. Though there is no acknowledgment of the fact that burakumin organizations rarely, if ever, agree with governmental organizations as to the number of their people, though Passin notably chooses here to rely on the former. In a footnote he writes that “These figures are based on reports received from Eta persons and communities throughout the country and must be regarded as minimum because of the probability of omissions.” He notes in a previous footnote that the community numbers one to three million, drawing on both the Zenkoku Buraku Kaiho Iinkai and the Local Autonomy Section of the Domestic Affairs Bureau. These are estimates based on many factors, but he asserts that one to one and a half million is the “likely” minimum, and refers to numbers from the Welfare ministry as being retrieved based upon “communities receiving government relief” which he again says should be regarded as minimum.158 At the risk of assigning a moral prerogative to Passin’s analysis, these footnotes are somewhat telling. Passin certainly appears to have done his work to get unbiased numbers, but he perhaps unwittingly was playing into a major debate. On the topic of gathering burakumin population figures the liberation activists almost always complain of government figures as being too small. With this in mind he stands on a burakumin line in this debate, though it is possible this is simply the factual stance. 157 Ibid, 395. 158 Ibid, 397. 100 As for what is done with these numbers, Passin was concerned with proportional representation. He concludes that in just over ten percent of Japanese villages there are 2,200 burakumin assemblymen. He claims that burakumin are somewhere between 1.4 to 2.5 percent of the Japanese population and that burakumin “town and village assemblymen constitute about 1.3 percent of the total number of assemblymen.” Beyond this, in 15 percent of prefectures, the percentage of burakumin assemblymen actually exceeded the “known ratio in the general population.” There are specifics for the numbers of assemblymen and percentage of burakumin assembly men in three categories: “National,” “Prefectures with Eta population,” and “prefectures with Eta assemblymen.” Given my own confusion on what these numbers are, particularly the difference between the latter two, and that the document itself has a brace pointing to this section with a question mark it is perhaps not best to cite the specific numbers.159 The representation now being proportional, with their being potentially even overrepresentation for burakumin, this indicates either a change from the first report, or new information which implies the outcastes were seizing more political influence. Passin makes some attempt to aggrandize even more minor numbers. For example, within twenty-five prefectures burakumin were only mayors of fifty-five towns or villages. Passin wrote, however, “the election to mayoralities of this number must be regarded as significant in view of the fact that in the past, town and village mayoralties traditionally were held by members of families of high status and prestige in the local communities.” In other municipal positions, burakumin were slightly overrepresented with one hundred forty-five people in sixty-three of two hundred seventeen cities’ municipal assemblies which was nearly two percent of all city 159 Ibid. 101 assemblymen nationwide.160 Passin provides a detailed rundown of percentages of populations and representation in town and city elected positions but little stands out. Regardless, even if Passin is a bit over enthusiastic at points, the reports speak to the success of democratization for burakumin, something that almost pales in comparison to the consequences of the occupation on activism. Little really needs to be said on burakumin activism during the occupation. What is said above, primarily the participation in leftist activism, defines most of it. As such the occupation was important as it allowed burakumin to demonstrate along with the left-wing allies that benefited the same. The reverse course naturally did a lot to change that, but the roots in this moment were strong for burakumin. One of the defining moments in post-war burakumin history is the “All Romance Incident.” The name came from the pulp fiction “All Romance” magazine which included the headline “Explosive Novel – Special Buraku!” in its October 1951 issue. This novel was set in a buraku community of Kyoto which was described in a very seedy manner. The Buraku Zenkoku Kaiho Iinkai jumped on the opportunity to expose the suffering of their people with this, but also assign blame to the City of Kyoto as the author was an employee of the city council. They campaigned against the government to demand better rights using this as a focal point. In October still, 271 members of a JCP affiliated union staged a sit-in demanding full employment, 200 were, “It is said,” burakumin aiming at pointing out the issue of their low employment rate.” In February the next year the “Councillor Nishiyama Discrimination Campaign” took place in Wakayama in response to the prefectural councilor making a “discriminatory remark….”161 Ultimately, this is a bit disappointing it comparison to 160 Ibid, 397-398 161 Nobuaki and Midori, A History of the Discriminated Buraku Communities in Japan, 228-230. 102 the grandiose pan-leftist campaign to liberate Matsumoto from his purging, but it is something uniquely burakumin. The occupation, through the removal of restrictive Japanese law, started up a new snowball. Suiheisha was gone, but the leaders were back, and they were starting slow. The story of this snowball goes beyond the occupation, but it is worth noting due to its roots here. Without recognizing what happens after the occupation it may be difficult to understand why it mattered to burakumin. The Buraku Zenkoku Kaiho Iinkai is of unparalleled importance in burakumin activism after the war. On July 31, 1953 the organization formally declared that discrimination “was attributable to the poverty created by local and central governments so they submitted a ‘Request for Buraku Liberation Administration’ and in doing so moved toward placing their main emphasis on ‘administrative campaigns.’” It was in August 1955, after the occupation ended, that they adopted the name Buraku Kaiho Domei (Buraku Liberation League) and adopted their core aims.162 These roots eventually blossomed into a large tree, which appears to have rivaled Suiheisha in influence before surpassing it. While burakumin liberation is a lesser topic still today, virtually all progress made can be traced to the relentless activism of the Buraku Kaiho Domei.163 Bearing Liberation Forward - Liberation After the Occupation and Matsumoto 162 Ibid, 227-232. 163 In the interest of not dragging this out any further I opted to cap things off with this remark. The aforementioned book Japan’s Invisible Race makes references to this reality, alongside most sources produced on the topics of liberation and discrimination since the 1960s. This is partially the result of changes in the 1960s which saw the establishment of “assimilation districts” mentioned earlier and the rise of financial aid to buraku across Japan. The Buraku Kaiho Domei has been at constant odds with the government accusing them of underestimating the number of buraku or levying that the laws being passed, i.e. the 2016 “Act on the Promotion of the Elimination of Buraku Discrimination,” were not strong enough. 103 The Buraku Kaiho Domei was quite effective in its agitation and pushed forward under the guidance of Matsumoto Ji’ichiro as a principal leader for about a decade and a half after the end of the occupation. It is largely in the early- to mid-1960s that change began to come most rapidly at the agitation of the Buraku Kaiho Domei. The necessity of this was made clear when the organization expressed their view on the state of burakumin in January 1961 via their “Campaign Demanding a National Policy for Buraku Liberation.” As one source paraphrases the central committee’s view: The Buraku problem has not been solved. On the contrary discrimination is getting worse.’ It expressed its view that there was an increase in the number of suicides connected to problems involving marriage, moreover that Buraku farmers who had not benefitted from the land reform were being separated from their land by the Basic Law on Agriculture and had no alternative but to joining the lumpen proletariat.164 The validity of this belief depends largely upon statistical analysis. The number of suicides, particularly their cause, may be hard to ascertain in post-war Japan. The issue of farmers is, however, a bit more concretely true and quantifiable to some extent as shown earlier. Regardless of the argument, this was a key moment in the history of burakumin liberation. Just months earlier in August 1960 the government passed a law to create the Dowa Taisaku Shingikai (Dowa Policy Advisory Council, abbreviated as Dotaishin) which coincided with the creation of a new welfare system’s development and introduction. The Kishi cabinet was focused on uplifting burakumin so that they may join the workforce of growing companies and improvising housing conditions. A survey on buraku was produced in 1962 by the Dotaishin but it was later in August 1965, half a decade after its establishment, that it produced a report that remarked that “[The Dowa problem’s] rapid resolution is the responsibility of the state and at the 164 Nobuaki and Midori, A History of Discriminated Buraku Communities in Japan, trans. Neary, 237-238. 104 same time a task for the people as a whole.”165 The degree to which the occupation is responsible for this development may be debatable to some, but it is, at the very least, clear on paper. The report refers to the issue as one “that concerns human freedom and equality, which are universal principles and these are basic human rights which are protected by the constitution of Japan.”166 This language and the invocation of the constitution is evidence that American ideological influences exemplified through the occupation were playing a part. This is a factor, but the Buraku Kaiho Domei also had a key role. In 1961, coinciding with the launching of the campaign for national policy, burakumin began a march to demonstrate, with a procession starting at Fukuoka city hall heading for Tokyo in September.167 This does raise a question about the nature of liberation at this moment. Seeing as the government had already established a committee by this point it might appear pointless, to agitate in this manner. The reality is that burakumin agitation was once again being undercut for political reasons. The proposal to create the Dotaishin was brought about in March 1960, a mere 2 months later the Zen Nippon Dōwakai was formed as a Buraku Kaiho Domei challenger with overt ties to the LDP. Accordingly, this organization was more optimistic and rejected any links to discrimination relating to arguments about feudal remnants or capitalism. They were thus viewed by the socialist-affiliated organization as an LDP puppet to divide burakumin from the class struggle. The committee formation was only completed in November 1961 with two of the nineteen members being affiliated with these organizations, one for each, though the Buraku Kaiho Domei affiliate, Kitahara Daisaku, was not technically representing the organization.168 In 165 Ibid, 238-239 166 Ibid, 239. 167 Ibid, 240. 168 Neary, The Buraku Issue and Modern Japan, 227-228. 105 short this was another limited attempt at liberation. The state was again attempting to blunt activism. Even so, in many ways the produced report was sufficient, but the JCP was displeased, as was Matsumoto, who welcomed the progress, but lamented that liberation might not be achieved by “our own efforts.”169 He appears to have been a true leveler through it all. The story changes quite drastically in 1966, twenty years after the founding of the organization's predecessor. In the penultimate month of the year Matsumoto finally ceased his activism when he passed away on November 22nd. His career was admirable and his commitment to continuing to the end was equally, if not moreso. Perhaps quite ironically, his death triggered a purge with his wishes serving as the catalyst. In perhaps a final slight, the JCP-affiliated members of the Buraku Kaiho Domei in Kyoto snubbed Matsumoto and his JSP allies by not attending his memorial service, but went beyond the pale, according to the Kaihō Shimbun, an organ of the organization, by preventing others from attending.170 This was a major breaking point for this political division, but the moment of its completion was yet to come. Beyond his death, Matsumoto’s desire for burakumin to agitate for liberation was realized. Ever on bad footing with the state, the Buraku Kaiho Domei and Dotaishin had some similar ideas, but could not see eye-to-eye. The former supported the latter and all of the recommendations produced in the early- to mid-1960s, but agitated for the implementation of the Dowa Policy Special Measures Law (1969) alongside this.171 Their political agitation here presaged the peak of the movement, though the road there was not easy. 169 Ibid, 229. 170 Ibid, 237. 171 Ibid, 243-244 106 While it is common to divide leftism from burakumin activism, the prominence of the connection in the occupation proves it as a moment of continuity through the twentieth century, though the solidarity of leftists seen in opposing Matsumoto’s purge appears to have dissipated after the end of the occupation. In one example of this, in 1975 the “left-oriented” governor of Tokyo Ryokichi Minobe withdrew his candidacy for reelection. One reason for this appears to have been the internal struggle within burakumin rights organizational leadership which saw communists and socialists vying for power. One key feature of burakumin activism is that the Buraku Kaiho Domei became the socialist line, and a splinter group formed the communist affiliated movement. This split was finalized by the 1976 revival of the Buraku Liberation League Rectification Coordinating Committee and the publishing of the Kokumin Yūgōron (“National Unification Theory”).172 In the lead up to this formal split and during it, the Buraku Kaiho Domei managed to successfully agitate for the Dowa Policy Projects implementation and successfully set up new branches. This timeline also coincided nicely with the November 1975 discovery of the Buraku Chimei Sōkan (Buraku Address List). This collection of buraku addresses were sold to companies so they could avoid hiring burakumin, this instance of economic discrimination proved a boon as far as amplification of the message was concerned. Following this Dowa projects proved increasingly successful in the late 1970s in improving the living conditions of burakumin and assimilation appeared to be progressing.173 Though they lost some members with 172 Thomas P. Rohlen, “Violence at Yoka High School: The Implications for Japanese Coalition Politics of the Confrontation between the Communist Party and the Buraku Liberation League,” Asian Survey 16, no. 7 (July 1976): 682-683. Neary, The Buraku Issue and Modern Japan, 237, 245. It is worth noting here that where Rohlen asserts the split was finalized in 1976, Neary states that the “formal split occurred in the summer of 1970.” 173 Neary, The Buraku Issue and Modern Japan, 245-246. 107 the communist split and continued to push the state harder, the Buraku Kaiho Domei had seen real, tangible changes brought about. The story does not end there, but for the purposes of investigating the occupation, this moment serves as a nice capstone to emphasize the importance of the Buraku Kaiho Domei and the occupation in facilitating liberation after the end of formal American control. The Japanese state and American GHQ can both claim a minor amount of responsibility for the success of Dowa. The former through the implementation of Dowa policies and the latter through the release of political prisoners and the protection of leftists, albeit it only in the early months of the occupation, and Matsumoto Ji’ichiro specifically. In the end, it was because of men like Matsumoto and the organization to which he is affectionately known as father, that enough of a fuss was made to pressure the state to make changes. 108 EPILOGUE: PROMISES KEPT AND PROMISES BROKEN MacArthur was about as powerless as Meiji, or his genrō, to fix discrimination. Even into the modern day it continues to some extent. The stroke of a brush or a stamp on an edict or the ratification of a new constitution are theoretically moments of great progress, but law can only do so much. The most high-profile case of this in recent memory was when Hashimoto Tōru was the focus of a hit piece by Asashi Shimbun’s subsidiary Shukan Asahi on October 16, 2012. Here it was claimed that Hashimoto’s father was burakumin, a member of the yakuza, and that he had committed suicide. Not letting up the paper then compared Hashimoto to Adolf Hitler and hinted that his policies may be a consequence of his father’s background.174 While the Asahi group did apologize, the prejudice of some people within contemporary Japan was still made visible. With this in mind, it is worth stating in no uncertain terms that the occupation was not and indeed cannot be held responsible for the continuation of soft discrimination. What it can be held responsible for are its duties in handling the issue responsibly, a mission shared by the Japanese government under the occupation. What is revealed in sources on the topic and from the time is that burakumin were rarely if ever given weight in American decision making. Passin and Johnson noted the issue of buraku discrimination but ultimately lacked the power to change anything of note. Beyond this it is clear that middle and upper echelons of GHQ did not seriously consider their concerns, or found them unnecessary as emphasized by men like Nugent and Kades. With the group not acknowledged in land reform, presumably ignored for practical purposes, many fell behind the general 174 For context, Hashimoto is a co-founder and principal leader of the current “Japan Innovation Party” or “Japan Restoration Association” (日本維新の会, Nippon Ishin no Kai). I have seen the party described as extremely right wing populist, but also as moderate. As such the party is a bit broad in ideological scope, though a few things said by Hashimoto himself indicate he falls further to the right of the spectrum or is at least radical in his own right. His relative extremism may be the root of the discrimination, but this is speculation on my part. 109 emancipation of Japanese tenant farmers. The further issues, such as constitutional reform, however, lie very much at the feet of Japan as well as America. The Japanese side of constitutional revisions exercised their might in an effort to exclude burakumin from total constitutional protection. They succeeded, not purely through their own merits, but also the arguably callous attitude of Kades. Once the pendulum had firmly swung against the political left into the hands of Yoshida, his cabinet undertook a political persecution against a leading burakumin figure who represented the leftist-lean of his people. Matsumoto, once saved by GHQ, was given up due to his past actions being utilized by the Japanese state and an American apathy, perhaps even antipathy, towards the now left-wing golden boy. Burakumin ultimately played a minor role in the occupation and left-wing politics as a result of being largely sidelined by other organizations and Matsumoto’s purge taking center-stage. Even so, the occupation is a critical moment of burakumin history. It catapulted the outcaste to new levels of representation with new enfranchisement allowing them to participate in a new, more democratic Japan. Unfortunately for them, their favored parties fell out of style quite quickly making this largely a flash-in-the-pan moment. Still, the new changes allowed for new levels of activism which revitalized and expanded burakumin organizations in the postwar period. Ultimately Matsumoto and his Buraku Kaiho Domei went on to define burakumin activism in every decade since its founding. This story reveals the shortcomings of American efforts in creating equality through the allied occupation. It reveals the bureaucratic nature of GHQ and how it interacted with the Japanese government. In this capacity it shows that the Japanese state was rarely as helpless as many may have believed, truly deciding the destiny of their own nation in several ways, mostly 110 to the detriment of burakumin in any case where they were involved. It also speaks to the diversity of the left-wing political platform in the early years of post-war Japan. Most crucially it shows that this platform spoke to burakumin, was partially led by a member of their outcaste group, and ultimately defined their ideology in this crucial moment. Burakumin identity is not something so simple as “discriminated against” or “leftist,” but these two labels strongly resonated with the general burakumin population. As such, the American efforts to democratize, which resulted in a surge of leftist influence, cemented the burakumin platform for activism. While few battles were successfully fought during the occupation, it was the roots built here which set the stage for the activism of the fifties, sixties, and seventies which researchers prefer to discuss. GHQ and SCAP succeeded in opening the political sphere, before helping to close it again, thus making emancipation difficult. Even so, the glimmer of hope was just bright enough. Activists returned with passion, while a minor part of the general left-wing platform, they found their feet again in the occupation and began once again to work toward emancipation by their own action in the decades to come. 111 Bibliography Amos, Timothy. D. “Binding Burakumin: Marxist Historiography and the Narration of Difference in Japan.” Japanese Studies 27, no. 2 (2007): 155-171 Amos, Timothy D. Embodying Difference: The Making of the Burakumin in Modern Japan. 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