Johnna Slaby is an abstract painter, from Osaka, Japan who’s work is gaining attention nationwide. Her paintings are evocative of some of the best artists of the genre, with a Nippon twist. She is also the twin sister of photographer, Reylia Slaby,
Join her at Look Close Look Far, an exhibit of works on paper and canvas that incorporate text, gestural marks and imagery from a day in the life.
Johnna works to mirror her own experiences and the elements she finds in her surroundings through the current series. Through the work there is an emphasis on how stories can be unfolded by both stepping back and taking a closer look; whether that be observing how morning light that enters the room, glancing up at the commuters on the train, or examining serendipitous moments in an everyday setting.
If you missed last year’s Cannes Palme D’Or winner Shoplifters here’s another opportunity to see filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda in action. Kore-eda’s latest is Shinjitsu (international title: The Truth),which marks a celebratory first foray into working with an international cast and staff. And what a cast: the leads are French femme fatale extraordinaire(s) Catherine Deneuve and Juliette Binoche, joined by American indies icon Ethan Hawke.
Don’t let the Kanji character title fool you – nothing about “Shinjitsu is even remotely Japanese. To my relief and Kore-eda’s credit, he’s not pandering to western ideas of ‘Japanese-ness’ here, Not even a mention of a sushi restaurant. And he never shows signs that he’s a bit awed by the exalted figures walking around on his set. He simply goes about doing what he does best, which is portraying women in the family circle. (He does that with men too, but with women his gaze is warmer and far less analytical.) The filmmaker is especially adept at observing the emotional tug-of-war that inevitably erupts between older mothers and middle-aged daughters, the gentle power-mongering between husbands and wives, or the family matriarch quietly exerting her influence on the rest of her family. In Shoplifters, Kore-eda paid special attention and tribute to Kirin Kiki who starred as a sly, feisty old woman on the brink of destitution, surrounded by a family that subsisted on theft and shoplifting. Kiki died last year at the age of 75, – the same age that Catherine Deneuve is now. Kore-eda has said in interviews that he finds older women fascinating, not just because of the lifetime of stories they harbor but because they don’t capitulate easily to his directions, and has their own opinions.
With Catherine Deneuve in Shinjitsu, Kore-eda’s gaze lingers long and lovingly over the stunningly smooth contours of her face. When she speaks, everyone else falls silent, as Kore-eda makes sure she commands the kind of attention usually reserved for royalty. But then, pourquoi pas? Deneuve is probably the closest presence to royalty in France anyway. If Marie Antoinette were around to see Deneuve, she would probably be a fan.
In this, Deneuve plays Fabienne, a veteran French actress who has been estranged from her daughter Lumir (Juliette Binoche) for years. But now her daughter, son-in-law Hank (Ethan Hawke) and granddaughter Charlotte (Clementine Grenier) has arrived in Paris from New York where they live, ostensibly to celebrate the publishing of Fabienne’s autobiography. From the beginning scenes when Lumir, Hank and Charlotte are rolling their suitcases across Fabienne’s large garden to get to her house, everyone’s nerves are on edge. Lumir is worried about what her mother may have wrote about her, and pissed off that Fabienne hadn’t sent her the galleys, even though she had promised. Hank – a TV actor, is uneasy about the fact that his wife pays most of the bills (Lumir is a screenwriter) and he doesn’t speak French. Even 7-year old Charlotte is apprehensive about meeting “grandmere,” as she understands that Fabienne isn’t your typical doting grandma. Indeed, Fabienne’s reception to the trio is cool and matter of fact, devoid of frilly dramatics that can accompany family reunions.
Lumir and her family is set to stay for a week, and Kore-eda traces each day with meticulous attention to detail. Fabienne is working on a movie – a sci-fi film about a mother who never grows old, but can only see her daughter once every 7 years. Lumir ponders over the wealth of meaning in that premise, while Fabienne just wants to get into the role and be good at it. Everyday, mother, daughter and granddaughter drive together to the film set and Lumir learns to put her initial animosity aside to look after her mom and enjoy her time there. Back at home, Fabienne’s current live-in boyfriend makes all the meals and her long-time secretary Luc arranges all her business affairs. Clearly, Fabienne hasn’t lost her allure to men; they flock around her like bugs to an incandescent light bulb. Even Lumir’s vagabond dad Pierre puts in an appearance. And one night when Fabienne kisses Hank good night, he becomes giddy enough to tell his wife all about it.
In the midst of it all, Lumir’s old resentments toward her mother come tumbling out of her emotional closet, but mother and daughter have both reached a point when they know that arguments won’t change anything – least of all, Fabienne. “I was never a good mother, but I am a splendid actress which is far more important,” says Fabienne at one point. Deneuve wears that line like a queen draping a long fur coat, and damn what the animal activists might say. (In the film, Fabienne walks her dog in leopard skin, the irony of which goes right over her head.) And Lumir turns her face away, and you can see she’s trying to hide a smile as if to say, “that is SO my mother.” It’s odd, eclectic moments like these that Kore-eda loves to depict; and no doubt it wouldn’t have gone over so lightly had the cast been Japanese. Family relations on the archipelago tend to be weighty, accelerated by decades of sameness and continuity. Kore-eda frequently punches a hole in that schematic, and he proceeded to tear that wide open in Shoplifters.
However, in Shinjitsu, and in Paris, Kore-eda seems to breathe easier, untethered by conventions, with a lot less to rebel against or prove. Apparently, the man doesn’t speak French beyond a few mundane phrases and the screenplay (written by him) was adapted into French by Lea Le Dimna. He made the whole thing mostly on gut-feeling and intuition and in many ways, Shinjitsu is his best work. Will he leave Japan to become a full-fledged international director? After Shinjitsu, that seems a likely scenario, which means the Japanese film industry will just have to carry on without him. What a devastating loss.
Competitive insult comedy takes a huge step forward as Tokyo Roast Battle squares off against the Shanghai League in Asia’s first ever international Roast Battle competition, the winning city taking home the inaugural Chalice of Malice trophy.
Shanghai will be represented by three comedians flying in for the show. The card is headlined by Fukuoka TV personality and Japanese Champion Bobby Judo (USA), who faces stand-up comic and Shanghai tournament winner Eric Alexander (Canada) to determine who will become the first East Asia Champion.
Note: To really get into the spirit of Chinese comedy, facial recognition technology will be employed at the venue to see who laughs at the Red China jokes, so they can be rehabilitated at at a later date. Visitors from Hong Kong can get masks at the front desks but are not allowed to vote. Any jokes pertaining to Japan’s Conspiracy Laws should be reported to the Abe Cabinet Intelligence office after the show.
Roast battle is a 7 year old comedy format that originated at the World Famous Comedy Store and is now being performed all over the world. Comedians go head to head in hilarious insult battles reminiscent of rap battles, only much funnier & meaner. Roast Battle has had 3 successful seasons on Comedy Central and has spawned spinoffs in the UK & Canada.
Tokyo Roast Battle (TRB) was founded by Canadian comedian JJ Wakrat in 2017. Although there had been a handful of one night tournaments and events in Asia. TRB was the first league of its kind. It has been very well received in straight-laced Japan, selling out every single show to date.
According to JJ, what makes this show so special is how it embraces diversity without pulling any punches. “This show is super intense. It’s just about the least polite thing you can witness in Japan. But what makes it work is the love and affection the comedians have for their opponents”.
Regular shows and tournaments have since been promoted in cities like Shanghai, Bangkok, Saigon, & Singapore. With the growing popularity of Roast Battle, it was inevitable that some form of International competition would develop. Tokyo Roast Battle: Shanghai vs Tokyo is the first Intercity friendly match, but certainly not the last. An All-Asia Invitational tournament is planned for the spring with Roast Battle on Comedy Central Season 2 Champion Frank Castillo set to judge.
Tokyo Roast Battle: Shanghai vs Tokyo takes place October 18th at Good Heavens in Shimokitazawa. Reserving tickets ahead of time is strongly recommended: www.tokyoroastbattle8.peatix.com
Full Fight Card
Main Event: (3 rounds)
TV Host Bobby Judovs Eric Alexanderfor the East Asian Roast Battle Championship.
Co Main Event: #1 Contender bout (3 rounds)
2 Time Tokyo ChampionBill Millervs Shanghai Roast Battle finalist Gene George.
Tokyo comedy legend Vinay Murthymarks his Roast Battle return against Shanghai show-runner Dan R. in a tit-for tat shootout.
Tokyo Closet Ball founder Tatiana faces off against Vietnam’s Stefani St. Sl*t in Asia’s first ever Drag Queen battle.
Good Heavens British Bar Tokyo (SHIMOKITAZAWA)
Address:５丁目-32-5 Daizawa, Setagaya, Tokyo 155-0032
The Japanese government’s lip service towards gender equality is just that, a falsity. In 2015 Abe revised his goal of raising women’s participation from 30% to just 7% in government and 5% in the private sector (Kano, 2018, pg. 8). His own cabinet saw the reduction of 5 female ministers to only 1 after a 2018 cabinet reshuffle (The Asahi Shimbun, 2018). Furthermore, four years on from Prime Minister Abe’s famous Davos speech and Japan’s current ranking has slipped to 117th on the World Economic Forum’s Global Gender Index (World Economic Forum, 2018, pg. 11)
A note from Japan Subculture Research Center–The following is an academic essay contributed to the website. As much as possible, we have kept to the original form and structure of the essay, although this may make for stiff reading, it is nonetheless illuminating and we felt it was worthy of being shared.
Gender inequality is amongst the most significant issues facing Japanese society. The stunted participation of Japanese women in the economy is one manifestation of this inequality. Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has sought to correct this deficiency through his womenomics policy which seeks to encourage Japanese women’s economic participation. This dissertation asserts that ultimately womenomics will not succeed. The failure of Abe’s policy is a result of three interrelated social and historical factors. Firstly, the discursive construction of motherhood as hegemonic feminity emphasises women’s familial responsibilities and limits their options outside of the home. Secondly, based on the notion that women are naturalized as mothers and by extension caretakers, the role of welfare is integral to determining their engagement in the economy. Historically speaking, Japanese welfare practices have not served to encourage women’s participation, rather they have sought to maintain traditional gender divides which relegate women to the home. Finally, Japanese employment patterns which dictate that employees must prioritize the company over the family impedes upon women’s ability to engage in work. The interaction of these three factors renders women’s participation in the Japanese economy highly gendered and unequal. In order for womenomics to succeed it must address and seek to dismantle the structures which inhibit Japanese women’s equal economic participation.
Introduction: 3 0.1 Structure 3 0.2 Methodology 4 Chapter 1: Theorizing Women in the Home and at Work 4 1.1 Gendered Division of Labour 5 1.2 Feminism and the State 7 Chapter 2: The Construction of Motherhood 7 2.1 The Protection of Motherhood Debate 9 Chapter 3: Welfare Politics 12 Chapter 5: Womenomics & Neoliberal Feminism 25 5.1 The Origins of Womenomics 26
2 Lip Service 28
5.3 Neoliberal Feminism 31
Gender inequality remains deeply entrenched in Japan. Despite being one of the most economically developed countries in the world with the 3rd largest GDP, women are continually marginalized in society. Inequality in Japan is manifested in various spheres of life, and in particular is evident in women’s economic participation. In 2014, the Japanese government adopted its womenomics policy which encourages the economic participation of women. This dissertation argues that womenomics will ultimately fail to empower Japanese women because it is a purely economic solution to a cultural, historical, and social problem which is manifesting itself in the economic sphere. This will be demonstrated by analysing 3 factors: firstly, the construction of motherhood, secondly, welfare politics, and finally, employment patterns. The structure of the dissertation is presented below.
The first chapter focuses on the theories of feminism in order to place the Japanese case study within the wider literature of gender inequality. The focus is on theorizing the gendered division of labour and its effects on women’s economic participation. This chapter will also explore the role of the state in producing, sustaining, and reinforcing gender inequality. Overall this section will provide a basis for understanding the broad forces which affect women’s equal economic participation in Japan.
The second chapter explores how the formation of identity in Japan is linked to the gendered division of labour. This section will be engaging with the construction of motherhood as hegemonic feminity. Furthermore, it will demonstrate how motherhood has been discursively constructed as the ideal form of “womanhood” and how this in effect obstructs women’s economic participation.
The third chapter builds upon the construction of motherhood by analysing welfare politics. This chapter will demonstrate how Japanese welfare politics limit women’s access to social services which inhibits their ability to engage more equally in the workforce.
The fourth chapter explores employment patterns in Japan. In particular, it analyses how women’s employment has been deeply affected by their identity as mothers and their ability to access welfare. The chapter will demonstrate that gender inequality in Japan persists despite the economic participation of women.
The final chapter will focus on examining the origins of womenomics and its intended outcomes. This section will demonstrate the failure of womenomics to adapt to the outlined barriers and address the basis of true inequality, ultimately rendering it a failure.
This dissertation presents a unique application of feminist scholarship to a non-western country, as such, there are limitations regarding the accessibility of primary sources in English. In order to overcome this barrier, the research focuses heavily on qualitative research and secondary sources conducted by contemporary Japanese scholars writing in English. By focusing on Japanese scholars the dissertation limits western bias while also presenting culturally relevant information. Furthermore, this dissertation uses quantitative data, obtained from global indexes and Japanese government bodies such as the Gender Equality Bureau, to articulate with measurable accuracy the historical experience of Japanese women. In addition to focusing on Japanese scholars writing about the Japanese case, the dissertation also employs broader feminist literature and applies it, where relevant, to demonstrate the universality of gender inequality.
Chapter 1: Theorizing Women in the Home and at Work
In order to understand the roots of Japanese women’s inequality in the labour force, it is vital to examine feminist scholarship which theorizes gender inequality more broadly. The following chapter theorizes the role of women within the family and in the private sphere by engaging with feminist scholars and their perspectives. Firstly, this chapter will begin by engaging with literature on the gendered division of labour to demonstrate how inequalities between men and women are reproduced. Following, it will assess the different characterizations of the state based on feminist international relations theory to determine the role of states in marginalizing women. Overall, this chapter will set the tone for assessing the construction of motherhood, welfare practices, and employment in Japan.
Inequality amongst the sexes can be regarded by assessing the distribution of political power, material goods, economic opportunities, educational advantages, in addition to countless other variables (Chafetz, 1991, pg. 3). Simply put, the degree of stratification based on the aforementioned variables reflects the extent to which women are disadvantaged within society. This is evidenced in Japan where women’s access to economic opportunity is particularly low.
1.1 Gendered Division of Labour
Amongst the structures which contribute to gender stratification, Claudia Geist argues that the gendered division of labour is the primary producer of inequality (2005, pg. 23). Furthermore, the division of labour can be regarded as the principal feature which restricts women’s active participation in the labour force. The gendered division of labour refers to the unequal distribution of paid and unpaid labour conducted by men and women. In particular, it notes the relegation of women to the private sphere to conduct household labour, while men are consigned to the corporate sphere to conduct paid labour (ibid, pg. 24).
Household labour can be understood as the variety of processes associated with maintaining the home (Bianchi et al. 2000, pg. 192). This includes everything from cooking and cleaning, to childcare and eldercare. Household labour is a necessary component of social reproduction which in turn is necessary for capitalism (Elias & Roberts, 2018, pg. 37-39). The term social reproduction refers to child-rearing processes which contribute to the production of healthy and valuable citizens. Social reproduction literature shifts the focus from the production of goods for capitalism to the production of labour for capitalist exploitation (ibid). Furthermore, social reproduction has been naturalized as women’s work (ibid). Feminist scholars are critical of the term “natural” because it is used to dismiss subordination as something that is beyond change (Mies and Federici, 2012, pg. 45).
Across all socially, culturally, and historically different societies men have never been the primary caregivers (Chafetz, 1991, pg. 4). Cross-societal research has indicated a variable degree of male involvement in domestic duties; however, across the board, women have always constituted the primary caregiver in society (ibid). This gendered division of labour is particularly evident in Japan where men are mainly active in the workforce and women are mainly present in the household (Nagase & Brinton, 2017, pg. 445).
Three main approaches have been utilized to understand the determinants of the division of labour: the rational process approach, the relative resource approach, and the gender ideology approach. The rational process approach is founded on the notion that the division of labour is not gendered (Geist, 2005, pg. 25). Actors are motivated by economic maximization (ibid). As such, men and women negotiate a rational division of labour based on which partner earns more and is, therefore, more valuable in the labour market (Kamo, 1994, pg. 350). The second approach is based on the relative resources of partners. The partner with greater resource accessibility is able to negotiate for less involvement in domestic affairs by exchanging resources for reduced responsibility in the domestic realm (ibid). The final approach for understanding the origins of the division of labour focuses on the importance of gender ideology. Feminist scholars contend that the division of labour is not a rational arrangement, rather it is a performance of deeply ingrained gender norms (Geist, 2005, pg. 25). The feminist approach focuses on how gender roles are socialized from a young age and serve to inform men and women about their respective societal roles (Bianchi et al. 2000, pg. 194). Feminists critique the rational process and relative resource approaches for failing to recognize the role gendered ideologies play in inhibiting women’s access to both labour market equality and resource accumulation. This dissertation and the focus on Japanese women’s economic emancipation will demonstrate the validity of the feminist argument. More specifically, the dissertation will highlight the significance of gender norms, specifically motherhood, for attaining both labour market equality and resources.
1.2 Feminism and the State
In order to understand more deeply the role that gender ideology plays in perpetuating the division of household labour it is necessary to examine the role of the state in feminist theory. Feminist international relations (IR) scholars have theorized that the nature of the state has implications for women’s liberation. Liberal feminists characterize the state as a neutral entity which believes strongly in the principles of equality. Under a liberal regime, states which display gender inequality can combat these grievances by incorporating women into the existing institutions and structures of government and economy (Tickner & Sjoberg, 2010, pg. 199). In a critique to liberal feminists, the critical school of feminism finds that the institutions and structures of states are inherently patriarchal. Therefore, separating “male” power from “state” power is impossible (ibid). As such, critical feminist scholars find that the state is unable to liberate women by increasing their visibility because the state itself is the oppressor. An extension of the critical feminist perspective is promoted by the socialist feminist school. Socialist feminist’s regards the state as a patriarchal and capitalist structure predicated on exploiting women’s social reproduction labour to bolster capitalist productivity (Elias and Roberts, 2018, pg. 73). Thus, for socialist feminists, the emancipation of women comes from challenging the structures of both male dominance and market capitalism.
This dissertation demonstrates that Japan is a capitalist patriarchal state. Japanese welfare practices illustrate the inherently male-dominated institutions which reinforce women’s marginalization while the Japanese employment system is predicated on exploiting women’s part-time work. Based on this characterization of the Japanese state this dissertation will demonstrate that womenomics as a policy, which is fueled by liberal feminist principles, is ultimately doomed for failure because the Japanese state is not neutral. In fact, the state can be regarded as reinforcing the gendered division of labour.
Chapter 2: The Construction of Motherhood
This chapter will focus on the construction of motherhood as the dominant identity for Japanese women. The discursive use of motherhood as hegemonic feminity constricts women’s participation in the labour force by placing them in the realm of the home. Hegemonic feminity is based on Gramsci’s definition of hegemony which regards the ideological subordination of one category in light of a different, hegemonic, category (Bates, 1975, pg. 351). This definition is used to describe how variants of gender are constructed and hierarchized (Howson, 2005, pg. 57). In Japan motherhood is the privileged feminity, and therefore the hegemonic feminity. This chapter demonstrates how hegemonic feminity, i.e. motherhood in Japanese society presents one of the largest hurdles for the success of womenomics.
Since the 1900’s women in Japan have been visible in the public sphere primarily as a result of their reproductive capabilities. Factory reforms from the 20th century illustrate the significance of characterizing women through the lens of motherhood. In 1911 the Japanese government ushered in its first-ever labour protection law entitled the “Factory Act of 1911”; the Act was aimed at protecting working women and children (Vera, 1998, pg. 72). These laws provided basic safeguards against overnight work and protection from hazardous industries in addition to maternity leave and nursing breaks for mothers (ibid. pg. 91). Despite resistance from the industry, the Factory Act was passed because it was believed to be serving the national interest (ibid. pg. 76). The government’s justification was that by protecting working women, the state was ensuring the health of mothers and by extension children, or in capitalist terms, the future productive labour force. This characterization is reinforced by the description of working women as the ‘women who are the mothers of the nation’ (kokumin no haha) (ibid). In reality, however, working women tended to be young, unmarried, and childless (Uno, 1999, pg. 14). This distinction was unimportant to the Japanese state. The actuality of motherhood was not as imperative as the potentiality.
In a paradoxical sense, it is worth noting that it is only through the construction of motherhood that Japanese women are afforded labour rights (Vera, 1998, pg. 77). These rights, however, are not granted as rights owed to workers, but, are rather constructed as forms of protection provided by the “paternalistic” state to mothers in need of protection (ibid. pg. 71). This narrative paints Japanese women as passive, dependent, and reliant on the state rather than as individuals with agency and equal dignity to that of a man. The promulgation of the Factory Act provides a glimpse into the significance of motherhood for attaining visibility in Japan’s public sphere. Furthermore, the importance placed on motherhood demonstrates what the Japanese government values. Without the state’s pre-emptive desire to safeguard future labour, working women’s rights would have been wholly dismissed. The primacy of motherhood in Japan is further exemplified by one of the country’s most significant feminist debates.
2.1 The Protection of Motherhood Debate
The Protection of Motherhood Debate (Bosei Hogo Ronsō) unfolded between 1916 and 1919 (Vera, 1998, pg.86). However, the arguments and ideas underpinning the debate transcend these dates. The Protection of Motherhood Debate is significant because it demonstrates the importance of motherhood as an identity and establishes the value of economic independence for Japanese women. The exchange was inspired by feminist trends in Europe. Fukushima Shiro, an editor at the women’s newspaper Fujo Shinbun, was analysing two key feminist developments overseas: the women’s civil rights movement and the mother’s rights movement (ibid). In Europe, these two strands often collided with individual women’s class and race backgrounds causing what Boxer (1982, pg. 552) terms a “mosaic” feminist movement rather than a homogenous movement amongst all European feminists. In Britain, the feminism of the early 20th century was characterized primarily by the growing suffragette movement (British Library Learning, 2018). To contrast, in France, the right to vote, although important, was not the primary concern of French feminists in this same period (Boxer, 1982, pg. 552). French feminists were concerned with improving the conditions related to women’s natural vocation as mothers and carers (ibid). Shiro argued in line with French feminists stating that the more pressing of the two concerns in Japan was the latter question of mother’s rights (Vera, 1998, pg. 86). Fukushima Shiro’s argument reflects the significance of motherhood as an identity in Japanese society and was heavily supported by Hiratsuka Raichō.
Hiratsuka Raichō was a key contributor to the Motherhood Protection Debate. In 1911 Raichō, inspired by the Bluestocking Society in England, founded Japan’s first all-women’s literary magazine entitled Sieto (literally translating to Bluestocking) (Tomida, 2005, pg. 50). In Seito, Hiratsuka advances her idea of ‘the new woman” when she elaborates by saying:
“Fundamentally mothers are the precious source of life. Before women produce children, they are regarded as nothing but mere individual beings, but through their worthwhile act of giving birth to children, their status as trivial individual beings is raised to the point where they are considered to be socially and nationally important beings.”
(Hiratsuka in Tomida, 2004, pg. 255).
Hiratsuka Raichō’s idea of what constitutes “the new woman” furthers the notion that women in Japan were visible only as an extension of their maternal capabilities. Raichō’s ideas were dismissed in 1916 by Yosano Akiko, the second significant contributor to the Motherhood Protection Debate. In the article entitled “I Refuse to Over-Emphasise the Significance of Motherhood” Akiko drew on her own experiences as a mother, poet, and wife to argue that women are defined by more than just their roles as mothers (Tomida, pg.252, 2004). Akiko went on to criticize the notion that child-rearing was a solely female responsibility, citing the importance of fatherly love in children’s lives (ibid). This first phase of the debate reflects the construction of motherhood as hegemonic feminity. While Raichō emphasises the importance of childbearing and rearing, Akiko explores the multitude of identities held by women which are marginalized in light of the category of mother. The debate can be read as a uniquely Japanese attempt at problematizing and dismantling gender norms which dictate care and motherhood as naturally feminine.
The Protection of Motherhood Debate reached new heights when Raichō advocated for a stronger state role in protecting motherhood. In 1918 Hiratsuka Raichō published an article outlining the significance of children to society, as future forces of labour, soldiers, and the bearers of national identity (Tomida, pg. 255, 2004). Inspired heavily by the Swedish feminist Ellen Key, Raichō argued that the state should protect mothers through financial support and award their contribution to society. The argument built upon her assumption that women’s value to society is defined in relation to their reproduction and social reproduction activities. Thus, she argues it is through the lens of motherhood, not womanhood that Japanese women should be granted state protection.
The primacy of motherhood over alternate categories, as outlined previously, was troublesome for Akiko, who wrote a counter article arguing for women’s emancipation. Yosano Akiko criticized Raichō’s calls for protection, contending that such practices encourage dependence mentality and likened women to state dependents akin to the elderly and disabled (Vera, pg. 86, 1998). Akiko further recognized that women in this situation would be presented with two equally demeaning options: women’s choice was between dependence on an individual male (father, husband), or, dependence on the patriarchal state (ibid). Both options would continue to constrict women, thus, Akiko argued that economic independence was the only form of true freedom for women. In a critique to both Akiko and Raichō, Yamada Waka, the final significant contributor, promoted the notion of a “family wage” similar to French feminists ideas (ibid, pg. 87) (Boxer, pg. 555, 1982). Waka argued that if men received a family wage the notion of “motherhood protection” would be obsolete (Vere, pg. 87, 1998). Yamada Waka’s proposal sought to maintain the integrity of women’s role in the domestic sphere and, similar to Raichō, she proposed a solution targeted at mothers financial security rather than women’s.
The Protection of Motherhood Debate is particularly significant because it marks one of the first major debates of the Japanese feminist movement, even predating calls for women’s political inclusion. The debate emphasises two significant points. Firstly, the identity of women is largely shaped by their role as mothers in the Japanese context. Secondly, the debate outlines the importance of economic independence for women. Despite varying opinions, each of the contributors is ultimately proposing a vision which seeks to protect women’s economic security. Thus, it is evident that for one to determine the effectiveness of womenomics and understand the economic emancipation of Japanese women in contemporary times it is necessary to examine the influence of motherhood and the constraints it places on realizing true economic empowerment. Motherhood is at the primacy of women’s economic independence because it represents a gender norm which naturalizes the division of labour. Consequently, it is necessary to analyse Japanese welfare practices which could alleviate the burden of motherhood to allow for greater economic participation.
Chapter 3: Welfare Politics
Based on the notion that Japanese women have been, and continue to be, constructed as mothers, this dissertation argues that welfare politics play an essential role in dictating women’s economic empowerment and will determine the overall success of womenomics. The relationship between gender norms and welfare is cyclical and reinforcing. The welfare state, through its redistribution of resources and institutionalization of ideologies is able to shape the distribution of domestic responsibilities (Geist, 2005, pg. 26). The provision of childcare in addition to the overall structure of welfare has significant influences on women’s ability to participate equally in the labour force and thus merits greater attention. I argue that two key features of Japan’s welfare system demand attention for their impact on womenomics. Firstly, this chapter examines the evolution of Japan’s welfare society and the implications this has for reinforcing motherhood. Secondly, it will examine how childcare provisions have been structured as a result of the welfare society and the impact this generates on women’s economic participation. Together, these two elements serve to highlight conditions which are actively constraining women to the domestic realm.
3.1 The Welfare Society
The welfare society is amongst the most powerful mechanisms which reproduces gender hierarchies, institutionalises traditional gender norms, and reinforces the identity of motherhood. The features of this institutionalized society contribute to the failure of womenomics. Following the end of the Second World War, Japan endeavoured on a course to establish welfare provisions. Originally, Japan moved towards welfare expansion (Miura, 2012, pg. 58). However, in the 1970s the country quickly retracted welfare policies after conservative backlash (ibid, pg. 59). Critiques of welfare expansion highlighted the British economic struggles of the period as a “disease” brought on by extensive welfare provisions (ibid). Thus, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) government turned toward a different solution, one that was not regarded as impeding upon the economic success of the nation but would influence greatly the level of equality between Japanese men and women.
This new model was epitomised by the slogan of the 1970’s LDP government, which read “towards a Japanese style welfare society” (Watanuki, 1986, pg. 259). The principle of the welfare society was to transfer the responsibility of welfare from governments to families, the community, and society (ibid, pg. 263). Prime Minister Masayoshi Ōhira emphasised the family as the foundation of the welfare society and in 1980 commissioned a 204-page report on “How to Strengthen the Basis of Families (ibid, pg. 264). In practice, the importance placed on the family ensured welfare responsibilities were primarily attributed to the women in households. By conflating family values with state welfare, the Japanese government effectively institutionalized the gendered norms which kept women in the home and therefore out of the labour market (Geist, 2005, pg. 26).
The policy direction towards a welfare society over a welfare state can be read through two lenses: neoliberal, and, feminist. The neoliberal lens articulates an economic justification for the government’s pursuit of this track while the feminist lens seeks to demonstrate how Japan’s welfare society has actively constrained women’s equal participation in the workforce by reinforcing the identity of motherhood.
The welfare society plays a significant role in attributing care based tasks to women through its emphasis on family obligation. This is most evident in the importance placed on a woman’s social reproduction responsibilities. In Japan, the mother is the primary provider of welfare. This notion is reflected in the Family Charter of 1970, which highlights the role of the mother in social reproduction as follows:
“A woman should recognize herself as the best educator of her child. An excellent race is born from excellent mothers…only women can bear children and raise them. Therefore, mothers should be proud and…employment opportunities should be given to those women who have finished raising their children and who still wish to resume working outside the home.”
(Quoted in Mariko 1989, pg. 73)
The ideals presented in the Family Charter can be further evidenced in the stereotype of the ‘Education Mother’ (Kyoiku Mama), whose main responsibility is to ensure her children’s scholastic success and to secure their productive capabilities for the nation’s future exploitation (Uno, pg. 2). Uno describes the ideal Kyoiku Mama as follows:
“She studies, she packs lunches, she waits for hours in lines to register her child for exams and waits again in the hallways while he takes them. She denies herself TV so her child can study in the quiet and she stirs noodles at 11 P.M for the scholars snack”
The Kyoiku Mama is a reflection of the ideal mother in Japanese society because she facilitates the education of an “excellent race”. Furthermore, in keeping with the ideals outlined in the Family Charter, the ideal mother cannot take up employment outside the home since it would distract from her ability to ensure her child’s success. A good mother and a good citizen are conflated under the welfare society model.
Overall, it is evident that Japanese welfare practices naturalize the division of labour by transferring welfare responsibility to mothers. This contributes to the failure of womenomics by inhibiting women’s equal economic participation. On the macro level, the welfare society advocates for a greater sense of family responsibility, while on the micro level, this responsibility falls strictly on women. The welfare society norms have a direct effect on Japanese women’s relegation to the domestic realm and on their access to child care provisions which could allow them to work.
3.2 Childcare Provisions
The welfare society and the gendered norms it institutionalizes reflect the nature of childcare provisions available. In order for womenomics to succeed it must seek to alleviate the childcare burdens which constrict women to the home. Due to the emphasis placed on mothers as primary caregivers and welfare providers, the Japanese government historically limited its involvement in childcare provisions. Early provisions which did exist for childcare can be understood through a strategy of “poverty relief” (Peng, 2000, pg.100). Childcare centres under the purview of the Ministry of Health, Labour, and Welfare (MHLW) existed primarily as safety nets for lone-mothers in the early post-war period (Lambert, 2007, pg. 8). Day-care facilities held strict eligibility criteria which in effect only admitted children of single mothers or sickly fathers who were unable to work and therefore unable to support the family (ibid). These centres existed for the sole purpose of alleviating child-rearing responsibilities for single mothers so that they could pursue jobs beyond the home to maintain economic stability and refrain from falling below the poverty line. The development of day-care institutions was therefore a means of encouraging the poor to work, rather than relying on the state for security (Uno, 1999, pg. 13).
Married women were not entitled to access the early childcare provisions because it would serve to fracture the orthodox gendered division of labour and challenge the role of women in the home. Women’s access to child care services was limited as a consequence of societal norms and formalised application processes which only admitted children of single mothers (Lambert, 2007, pg. 9). Furthermore it was expected that married women gained their financial stability from their husband’s family wage (Peng, 2000, pg. 109). This expectation was codified beyond rhetoric, and the importance of the family in welfare provision was even translated to legal enforcement. Ito Peng identifies the post-war Family Law, which holds family members responsible for one another’s welfare by extending vertically three generations and horizontally amongst spouses, as a site of inequality reproduction (ibid, pg. 91). Family Law, and by extension the obligation of familial care contributes to generous company welfare packages which are calculated based on a male employees dependents such as wives, children and parents (ibid). Welfare packages for male workers are intended to support the gendered division of labour so married women can stay at home. Thus the existence of a family wage along with the lack of childcare accessibility for married women demonstrates how the welfare society’s notion of family obligation is actualized. Furthermore, the lack of childcare accessibility actively enforced women’s position as caregivers and reinforced the primacy of motherhood over all other identities, including workers in the labour market.
Child-care provisions since the early post-war period have marginally expanded as a result of women’s increasing economic participation; however, the ideals of the welfare society continue to plague the reach and accessibility of these services. The distinctions between Yōchien (kindergarten) and Hoikuen (day-care) serve to reinforce the values of the welfare society and the division of labour which relegates the “ideal” women to the private sphere. Yōchien are widely regarded as a place of learning and early socialization, as such, they fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education (Soma and Yamashita, 2011, pg. 136). Contrastingly, Hoikuen, which can offer education, but are primarily care facilities are managed by the MHLW (ibid). In addition, Yōchien holds classes primarily in the morning between 9:00 am and 11:00 am whereas Hoikuen hours mirror the working day (Mariko, 1989, pg. 77). As such, these institutions exist to serve two distinctly different groups. Yōchien are accessible to housewives who are not working and able to mind their children after classes’ end, while Hoikuen exists to serve working mothers. In 1982 only 29.7% of students attended Hoikuen before their elementary education while 64% had attended Yōchien (ibid). The attendance disparity can be attributed to the limited availability of Hoikuen as a result of the perceived social value of the institution. Yōchien conformed to the ideals of the welfare society model by maintaining the primacy of the mother in social reproduction and thus garnered higher prestige (Imoto, 2007 pg. 93). Over time, however, demand for childcare provisions which would permit more women to work has emerged, thus the line between Yōchien and Hoikuen has blurred slightly in recent decades (ibid, pg. 96).
Margarita Abe and Yeong-Soon Kim demonstrate that it is only during the 1990s that a change in childcare provisions, which would permit more women to engage in the labour market, can be regarded (2014, pg. 666-685). The LDP had limited incentive to change childcare provisions from “poverty relief” to “universal accessibility” before the 1990s because it would disrupt the traditional gender arrangements (Abe & Kim, 2014, pg. 676). However, labour shortages since the late 1980s contributed to the rise in female workers, which in turn has spurred a rise in demand for childcare (Lambert, 2007, pg. 2). Traditional middle-class housewives, who were previously relegated to the home, drastically increased their economic participation. In 1955 roughly 10% of married wives engaged in the labour force, yet in 1996 the proportion of middle-class married women in employment reached 50.5% (Peng, 2000, 103). As a result, the demand for childcare services has skyrocketed. In 1995 there were 28,481 children on waiting lists for childcare services (Zhou & Oishi, 2005, pg. 104). To accommodate the rising demand for childcare the LDP government initiated the Angel Plan in 1994 which was intended to expand the access of day-care services beyond just single-mothers (ibid, pg. 101). However, Ito Peng notes that the changes have been insignificant due to a lack of funding (ibid). Based on statistics from the MHLW the demand for childcare services rose to 42,800 in 2003, demonstrating the ineffectiveness of the 1994 Angel Plan in providing childcare (Zhou and Oishi, 2005, pg. 104). This failure is further evidenced by the series of government policies which rolled out following the original Angel Plan.
A mere 5 years later the government introduced the “New Angel Plan” in 1999 which was followed by the “Zero Waiting List Plan” in 2001 (Abe & Kim, 2014, pg. 676) and a “New Zero Waiting List Plan” in 2008 (Kawabata, 2015, pg. 42). As an element of womenomics, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe announced his plan to eliminate waiting lists completely by 2017 (Matsui, 2014, pg. 9). Since then Abe has pushed his deadline forward to 2020 (Nikkei Asian Review, 2017). Broadly speaking the aims of each new plan has been relatively identical: to increase the availability of childcare for Japanese children. Each plan has failed to meet this goal (Abe & Kim, 2014, pg. 676).
In 2017 Yuka Ogata, a politician of Kumamoto municipality brought her 7-month old baby to a chamber debate to highlight the lack of childcare services available for working mothers (Demetriou, November 30th 2017). Ogata was met with intense backlash from her colleagues but widespread support from mothers on social media who faced the same challenges (ibid). The politician’s stunt was an effort to highlight that without childcare provisions, mothers are unable to enter the workforce and move beyond the realm of the home.
Despite nearly two decades of increased government involvement in childcare provisions the demand for day-care services is drastically surpassing the supply (Zhou & Oishi, 2005, pg. 103). Thus, while the government has seemingly made some effort to improve access to childcare, as evidenced by the continuous updating of childcare provision policies, ultimately Japan has not succeeded in alleviating the burden of care off of women, making it increasingly difficult for mothers to work. The overall failure of the expansion of Japanese childcare can be attributed to the continued influence of the welfare society in perpetuating gender norms, the nature of Japanese employment and ultimately the failure of womenomics as a policy.
Chapter 4: Employment Patterns
The structure of Japanese employment is influenced by the emphasis placed on motherhood and the ideals of the welfare society. What is critically understood about female employment is the type of work women engage in, primarily part-time work in order to balance their welfare responsibilities. Part-time employment inescapably contributes to inequality between men and women which is reflected in pay gaps along with different career progression tracks. This chapter will first address the construction of the salaryman as a form of hegemonic masculinity which bars women’s access to equal employment. Following, the chapter will analyse why women are saturated in part-time work and how this reinforces the ideals of the welfare society. Overall the chapter serves to demonstrate how the government and corporations maintain traditional family structures which restrict women’s equal participation in the labour market and must be dismantled in order for womenomics to succeed.
Labour in Japan is divided into two distinct categories: regular worker (Seiki) and non-regular worker (Hi-Seiki) (Kano, 2018. Pg.7). It is the balance of these categories that continues to reinforce the gendered division of labour and sustains the ideals of the welfare society. The difference between the two is not simply related to working hours but is greatly influenced by gendered constructs.
4.1 The Construction of Salaryman Masculinity
The conditions of a regular employee effectively disqualify women from being both good citizens, under the terms of the welfare society, and good employees. The construction of the salaryman as a form of hegemonic masculinity and the glorification of the salaryman as the ideal employee has barred women from achieving equal economic opportunity, despite female participation in the labour force, and therefore requires greater analysis to understand why womenomics will fail.
The archetypes of the salaryman (Sararriiman) and corporate warrior (Kigyô Senshi) have been regarded as the foundation of Japan’s economic growth and the success of Japanese corporations. The hyper-visible men ranging between their mid-20s to late 60s in almost uniform-like black suits, white button downs, matching “seven-three” haircuts, and leather briefcases can be spotted crammed together on Tokyo’s subways during morning rush hour and drunkenly stumbling home on the last train in the evening (fig. 1). On the surface, the term salaryman defines a white collar worker (Seiki) in the private sector (Dasgupta, 2003, pg. 120). This definition, however, is overly simplified. More accurately a salaryman represents the ideal Japanese worker, which, as the moniker indicates, is a man.
As Dasgupta identifies, the salaryman is a figure of Japanese hegemonic masculinity which stands in direct opposition to the hegemonic femininity of the mother (2003, pg. 118). Following the end of WWII, formerly revered masculinities such as the farmer and soldier were subdued in favour of the corporate warrior/ salaryman (ibid, pg. 122). That is not to say that the values which underpinned the former masculinities have been erased. In fact, the opposite is true. The attributes which underpin the core values of Japan’s Samurai (warrior) class come to also colour the character of the salaryman. Loyalty, self-sacrifice, duty, and endurance are integral features of the salaryman and they are reflected through the salaryman’s commitment to the corporation (ibid, pg. 120). Part of the contract between the salaryman and his employer stipulates the understanding that it is the employee’s duty to prioritize the needs of the corporation before his own (Miura, 2012, pg. 23).
Japanese salarymen are stereotypically known for working long egregious hours as part of their commitment to the company. The typical salaryman works well past the average 8-hour day, with over 60% reporting a minimum 10-hour working day (Nemoto, 2013, pg. 515). The burden of overwork is so deeply embedded in Japanese salaryman culture that death by overwork and suicide from overwork are common phenomena (Kyodo, 2002). The normalization of overwork has significant impacts on the gendered division of labour. Claudia Geist’s empirical study demonstrates that men’s participation in the household is highly dependent on the amount of time they spend working (Geist, 2005, pg. 26). Similarly, a case study conducted by Nobuko Nagase and Mary C. Brinton concludes that Japan’s overwork employment practices inhibits male participation in domestic duties and actualizes the role of women as primary caretakers (2017, pg. 362). These studies indicate that individual beliefs about gender equality influence the division of labour less than systemic employment conditions which prioritize loyalty to corporations over family.
Salarymen’s unwavering commitment to the company, and by extension their invisibility in the domestic realm, is not accidental as it is taught through media and therefore is a gendered construct (Dasgupta, 2003, pg. 124). Keniichi Suzuki’s “What Men Need to Do in Their 20’s” instructs incoming salarymen that economic success comes from dedication. Specifically, Suzuki states that the word “no” should not exist in the vocabulary of an entry-level salaryman (Dasgupta, 2003, pg. 124). Keniichi Suzuki’s instructional manual demonstrates how long working hours are not simply a product of the Japanese work environment, rather, they are an integral feature of the identity of the salaryman. Overwork and the sacrifice of a personal life are constructed as a heroic display of commitment to the company, akin to the sacrifices made by warriors for the nation (Nemoto, 2013, pg. 514). Since sacrifice of the personal life is a glorified aspect of the salaryman identity, working women are required to mirror this hegemonic masculinity, or, opt out of full-time employment. Women who attempt to juggle welfare society expectations with employer expectations are unable to commit to the same extent as their male counterparts and are thus characterized as “weak” (ibid).
Kumiko Nemoto highlights that promotion for women is synonymous with childlessness (2013, pg. 514). Prejudice against Japanese women in the Seiki working track is rampant. As recently as 2018, Tokyo Medical University, one of the country’s most prestigious medical institutions came under fire for altering female applicants test scores to lower the number of women entering the university from 40% to less than 30% (BBC, 2018). When questioned, the university officials claimed that their “silent understanding” for lowering women’s test scores was driven by the assumption that “female students who graduate [would] end up leaving the actual medical practice to give birth and raise children” (ibid). Tokyo Medical University argued that women’s child-rearing responsibilities led to staff shortages and added strain to an already overburdened healthcare system (Todd and Reese, 2018). A similar case of test score tampering was uncovered at Jutendo University and Kitasato University (ibid). The example of these universities illustrates how presumptions about a women’s welfare responsibilities have actively lead to a compromise in women’s economic opportunity and must therefore be addressed by womenomics. This type of prejudice against female professionals is not rare in Japan; in fact, while the Tokyo Medical University scandal received scrutiny and overseas coverage, it is a mere reflection of the society-wide problem.
The division of women as workers and mothers in Japanese corporate life is significant for understanding why womenomics will fail. Sayaka Osakabe, the founder of Matahara, an organization dedicated to opposing the rampant maternity harassment of Japanese corporations, advocates for the fair treatment of pregnant women in the workforce. Osakabe notes that maternity harassment is a widespread form of power abuse which forces women out of employment as a result of pregnancy (Hall, 2017). In 2015, the Japanese Trade Union Confederation released a report which indicated 20.9% of women experienced such harassment (ibid). This is particularly telling since, women are severely underrepresented in Japanese unions and thus it can lead us to believe that these figures are much higher when addressing not only unionized female employees but all female employees.
Maternity harassment is a widespread practice because Japanese companies believe that child-rearing will take away from an employee’s efficiency. This belief is termed “the motherhood penalty” and greatly impacts a women’s career progression; the same is obviously not true for men since men’s status as fathers has no influence on their progression as employees (Nemoto, 2013, pg. 514). This juxtaposing treatment of female and male parents in the workforce is a direct result of the ideologies reinforced by the welfare society. Due to welfare responsibilities, regular working women are often pushed out of full-time employment at the cusp of motherhood. As a result of the demands of the regular working track, Japanese women are more often relegated directly into the part-time category to ensure they can balance welfare and work responsibilities.
4.2 Part-Time Work
As a result of the impossible to emulate salaryman characteristics and the lack of accessible childcare, Japanese women are saturated in the part-time career track. The relegation of women to part-time work further solidifies the gendered division of labour, fails to encourage women’s equal economic participation, and presents a hurdle for womenomics.
Women’s part-time work can be regarded as the product of the tension between governments and corporations. The patriarchal state promotes women’s role as mothers and caretakers under its welfare society model and as such requires women to be relegated to the home, but, Japanese corporations, who look to maximize profit through additional labour exploitation, seek to encourage women’s participation in the labour force. Part-time work is regarded as the compromise between these two spheres as it allows for women’s labour to be exploited while their continued primacy remains within the home (Broadbent, 2002, pg. 60).
Pato (part-timer) is a highly gendered term used to define female part-time workers, traditionally working housewives (Miura, 2012, pg. 25). This is evidenced by the fact that 90% of pato in 2005 were women (ibid). The saturation of women in the pato category is a result of women’s restricted access to childcare. Mizuki Kawabata’s research in Tokyo demonstrates that 72% of women with children under the age of 5 want to work, but only 37% of those women are actually in employment (2014, pg. 42). Similarly, figure 2 from the MHLW demonstrates that the majority of Japanese mothers are unemployed before their children reach school age, and when they do enter employment it is primarily on a part time basis.
Percent Distribution of Mothers Occupation Status by Childs Age Group
Source: Ministry of Health Labour and Welfare
The volume of part-time workers is significant for women’s economic emancipation because pato earn marginally more than minimum-wage (Miura, 2012, pg. 25). This contributes to high levels of wage-inequality between Japanese men and women, as evidenced by figure 3.
Gender Pay Gap Comparison of OECD Countries
Wage inequality also ensures that it is increasingly difficult for Japanese women to enjoy economic security without marriage. Furthermore, as a result of the competitive nature of the salaryman, Japanese men are discouraged from taking a more active role in care giving responsibilities. Part-time employment is therefore a supplement to the pre-existing single-male breadwinner model and contributes to the failure of womenomics (Broadbent, 2002, pg. 57).
4.3 The “M” Curve
When graphed, the employment patterns of Japanese women follow an “M” curve (fig 4.).
Women’s Labour Force Participation by Age Group
Source: Gender Equality Bureau of Japan
The employment rate peaks around the age of 20 when women began graduating from university and continues to rise steadily till women reach child-bearing age, and then the level of female employment drops drastically. The valley in the “M” curve exists until children have reached school age, at which point mothers re-enter the workforce and a second peak in women’s employment is regarded and sustained until retirement. As demonstrated by figure 4, the labour force participation of women from others countries is less impacted by motherhood. The “M” curve and Japanese women’s employment pattern is therefore particularly unique. The steep valley in the “M” curve reflects the lost labour potential of Japanese women. Furthermore, the existence of this off-ramping reduces women’s skills progression and negatively influences their ability to move up the corporate ladder into managerial and senior positions. As a result of the off-ramping, the only option for women re-entering the workforce is part-time employment. Overall, the “M” curve is a consequence of the welfare responsibilities women must undertake when they become mothers and the lack of childcare provisions which would enable them to continue working and raise children.
Based on the salaryman model and the structure of part-time employment it is evident that even when Japanese women are participating in the labour market their work is not equal. The disparity between men and women’s economic participation is the result of welfare responsibilities and the construction of motherhood. Japanese women cannot access regular worker tracks without sacrificing personal aspirations. Women who choose to engage in work and family life must compromise by entering the part-time workforce which provides limited career opportunities. Thus, the fair and equal treatment of Japanese working women should be the main priority of the government’s womenomics policy.
Chapter 5: Womenomics & Neoliberal Feminism
Previous chapters have effectively sought to analyse the construction of motherhood, the ideologies of the welfare society, and employment patterns in the evolution of women’s economic participation in Japan. Together these sections have demonstrated the barriers which restrict women’s full participation in the labour market and by extension their economic emancipation. The emergence of womenomics as a policy is the culmination of this evolution and a proposed solution to bolster women’s economic participation. I argue that womenomics is ultimately doomed to fail because it is an economic solution to what is principally an economic problem caused by cultural, societal, and historical barriers. Government policy seeking to promote women’s economic participation must, therefore, fully address the barriers I have identified throughout this dissertation to enact genuine change. This chapter will illustrate that womenomics as an economic policy appropriates liberal feminist branding, while ultimately failing to drive women’s overall economic emancipation because it disregards the historical roots of women’s oppression. The chapter will first analyse the emergence of womenomics as an economic solution for declining growth. Then it will demonstrate how womenomics has transcended into the realm of policy as a tool for boosting Japan’s public image. Finally, it will demonstrate the neoliberal roots of the policy.
5.1 The Origins of Womenomics
As evidenced by its name, the emergence of womenomics as a policy is driven by economic need, rather than the principles of equality. Womenomics has been posited as the solution to Japan’s economic stagnation; this is particularly evident when tracing the emergence of the policy. Kathy Matsui, Vice Chair and Chief Japan strategist for Goldman Sachs, has been advocating a women-centric solution to Japan’s economic crisis since 1999. The Goldman Sachs report penned by Matsui et. al “Women-omics: Buy the Female Economy” proposes that by increasing female labour participation the Japanese economy can continue to grow. Matsui predicts that by closing the gender gap Japan’s GDP could increase by 13% (Matsui et al, 2014, pg. 1). The argument identifies that male employment rates in Japan are essentially at capacity (Matsui et al, 1999, pg. 1). Therefore growth, for the Japanese economy depends on an additional, novel source of labour. Three potential solutions are presented by Matsui for policy consideration: Firstly, the government should focus on increasing the birth rate, secondly, greater support for emigration to Japan should be provided to drive new labour sources, finally, the government can capitalise on women and the role they can play in the labour market. When assessing these options the report states that the government’s attempts to increase the birth rate have been met with overwhelming failure (Matsui et al, 1999, pg. 8). The second option proposed by the report is to increase immigration to Japan. However, as noted by Matsui, this remains largely taboo in society and among politicians (ibid). This leads the authors to conclude that women’s increased participation in the labour force is among the most feasible of the recommendations for a revitalized Japanese economy. The chronology and structure of the report begins by problematizing a solution for Japan’s economic situation, where women only enter the dialogue as a tool for economic growth. Thus, the emergence of womenomics is derived not from an interest to empower women, rather a desire to fuel the economy.
Four volumes of Goldman Sachs Womenomics report have been published since Matsui’s original proposal in 1999. In the 2014 edition entitled “Womenomics 4.0: It’s Time to Walk the Talk” Matsui indicates that:
“Japan has more to gain than most countries from raising female labour participation” (Matsui et al. 2014, pg. 2)
More than 15 years after the original report, and the language used by Kathy Matsui to promote womenomics has remained almost identical. It articulates what the nation has to gain from female labour participation and not what women themselves have to gain and hence illustrates the values which drive the policy of womenomics.
Furthermore, Matsui assumes participation is equivalent to empowerment. However, as noted in previous chapters, women are already actively participating in the Japanese economy and will continue to do so. However, participation itself is fundamentally unequal due to the pressures of motherhood and the structure of regular and non-regular working tracks. Matsui’s proposal to raise women’s participation rates in the labour market makes no consideration of the welfare society ideologies which constrict women to the domestic realm. In essence, the report argues an overall increase in women’s burden by promoting further labour participation with no outline for balancing welfare responsibilities. Despite the lack of depth and consideration in Matsui’s womenomics proposal, the ideas have transcended into the realm of policy. The appropriation of womenomics into the realm of policy is fundamentally the result of economic necessity and a need to improve Japan’s international standing. Womenomics first appeared in Japanese politician’s vernacular in 2014. At the annual 2014 Davos summit, Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe gave a speech which for the first time alluded to Matsui’s ideas of achieving economic success through increased female labour participation. Abe, taking note of Japan’s “super ageing population” inquired to the audience about where Japan may seek to find the human capital it desperately desired for growth (2014). His answer mimicked the now 15-year-old report by Matsui. Abe declared “the female labour force in Japan [as] the most under-utilized resource” (ibid). The immediate comment made by Prime Minister Abe upon announcing womenomics as a policy course mirrored Matsui’s notion that womenomics could serve the economy. From the onset, Abe did not frame womenomics as a policy to increase women’s equality or bolster the position of women in society. Instead, he sought to alleviate the burden on the Japanese economy by referring to women as “resources”.
In addition to the economic factors which motivated the adoption of womenomics by Abe, there is a clear desire to utilize womenomics to bolster the image of Japan in the eyes of the international community. In the 2014 Global Gender Index Japan ranked 104th out of 142 countries (World Economic Forum, 2014). The World Economic Forum’s index is calculated based on four factors: Economic Participation & Opportunity, Educational Attainment, Health & Survival, and Political Empowerment (ibid). Japan’s low score overall is a result of its poor showing in economic participation & opportunity and in political empowerment (ibid). Data for the Global Gender Index is derived from the visibility of women in political positions and managerial positions in the workforce. Thus, in order for Japan to raise its overall standing the government needed to focus on improving these two factors (Kano, 2018, pg. 4). Womenomics, with its central focus on encouraging women’s participation, increases the visibility of Japanese women and consequently should lift Japan’s international standing. In 2014, Abe announced that 30% of leadership positions would be occupied by women in 2020 (Kano, 2018, pg. 2). In an effort to move towards his target, the Prime Minister appointed 5 women to his cabinet (ibid, pg. 4). One year later Japan’s place on the Global Gender Index jumped to 101 (World Economic Forum, 2015) and its ranking for political empowerment improved from 125th to 104th. Therefore as Ayako Kano notes, the Abe administration’s goal of increasing women’s representation by 30% can be viewed as a performative nod to progressive liberal ideologies without actualizing significant socio-cultural change (2018, pg. 4). The Japanese government’s lip service towards gender equality is just that, a falsity. In 2015 Abe revised his goal of raising women’s participation from 30% to just 7% in government and 5% in the private sector (Kano, 2018, pg. 8). His own cabinet saw the reduction of 5 female ministers to only 1 after a 2018 cabinet reshuffle (The Asahi Shimbun, 2018). Furthermore, four years on from Prime Minister Abe’s famous Davos speech and Japan’s current ranking has slipped to 117th on the World Economic Forum’s Global Gender Index (World Economic Forum, 2018, pg. 11). These changes are drastic and they allude to the Abe’s inability to genuinely understand how the interaction of welfare, motherhood, and employment intersect to limit women’s equal economic participation. The administration is not completely blind to the social challenges women face. The LDP, has a vested interested in maintaining the status quo and upholding traditional gender norms (Kano, 2018, pg. 2). However, the government is aware that a degree of social change is necessary for propelling women into the workforce. Without a shift in domestic responsibilities, the womenomics project which aims to contribute to the growth of Japan’s economy will remain idle. Thus, a few nods, as a part of womenomics, have been made in the direction of altering societal norms. Firstly, Abe has acknowledged that access to childcare is a significant hurdle for women’s employment (Abe, 2014). Therefore, the Prime Minister declared his governments support for childcare expansion by building upon existing actions like the Angel Plan and Zero Waitlist Plan with a new promise to eliminate waitlists by 2017 (Matsui et al, 2014, pg. 9). As previously established, the government has failed to attain this goal with over 55,333 children reportedly on waitlists as of 2018 (Jiji, 2018). Abe was not merely unsuccessful in eliminating the childcare burden, but the argument stands that the government was hardly invested in the issue to start with. Rather than increasing government spending to support the provision of childcare, Abe has sought a solution based on outsourcing Japan’s care needs.
In his Davos speech, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe stated that “support from foreign workers will also be needed for help with housework, care for the elderly and the like” (Abe, 2014). The statement indicates that the Japanese government is aware of the welfare barriers currently weighing on Japanese women and impacting their economic participation. Abe’s response to these hurdles is the mere transferal of domestic responsibilities to foreign workers. In the 1970s the government transferred welfare to women, and in 2014 it seems the next transfer will be to migrant workers. Japan will thus become incorporated into the transnational care economy which is predicated on the basis of creating a care deficit in one country (almost always a developing one) in order to absorb the care demands of another (Lutz, 2011, pg. 22). Although Abe’s use of “workers” is gender neutral, the reality is that transnational care economies are highly gendered. Domestic work has become the largest sector fuelling women’s migration and is characterized by unfair pay, restrictions on freedom, and poor social security (ibid. pg. 19). Womenomics, therefore, encourages the exploitation of foreign women. The ease with which the Prime Minister encourages migration to alleviate Japanese women’s welfare responsibilities reflects his government’s willingness to exploit both migrant women and Japanese women. Thus, it is evident that womenomics is motivated by economic principles rather than egalitarian ones. Helma Lutz inquires:
“Why despite the waning significance of the housewife marriage … has there been no redistribution of family or care work between gender groups? Why is it preferable to pass on this work to another woman from another country?”
Abe privileges migrant women over domestic men as caretakers because transnational care economies fundamentally maintain the gendered hierarchies of society. The invisibility of Japanese men in Abe’s Davos speech is stark and their place in womenomics is, if anything, purely ceremonial.
In an effort to pander at the most basic level to international critiques and domestic opponents, the Abe government has targeted male participation in domestic duties as a way of promoting women’s employment. A new government-backed trend ikumen (handsome men who partake in domestic duties) has been advertised as the changing force in Japan’s domestic division of labour (The Japan Times, 2016). The government has even launched awards for companies which encourage their male employees to take paternity leave (Fleming, 2018). The glossy media coverage ikumen has received is far from the reality it is attempting to portray. Kumiko Nemoto’s research at two major Japanese companies found that male attitudes towards child leave, despite employer encouragement, remained negative. Only one man, from both companies took child care leave (2013, pg. 522). Furthermore, the same employee revealed his decision to take leave was not based on a desire to conform to the ikumen standard but rather was, in the ideal salaryman way, an act of loyalty to his company. The employee stated that:
“If one man takes childcare leave in a firm, the Japanese government approves the firm as being family-friendly and adds it to the list of family-friendly companies. The company needed one man. I had to sacrifice myself. It was just for the image of the firm. It might be better for the profits of the firm…. Nobody wants to take such leave. When you take childcare leave, you get a 3.3 per cent reduction in your salary.”
(Nemoto, 2013, 522).
The salaryman’s reservations about child leave are not completely unfounded. Stefanie Anne Aronsson argues that it is actually “economically rational” for Japanese women to take child care over men, because from the onset the perception of women as mothers has limited their ability to earn as highly as their male counterparts (2016, pg.35). Thus, the ikumen project, more than anything, is simply a discursive marketing strategy being employed by the government to improve the image of Japanese gender divisions without addressing the true employment inequality women face.
5.3 Neoliberal Feminism
Abe’s womenomics represents a new wave of feminism: neoliberal feminism. Hester Eisenstein explains that Neoliberal feminism, also labelled “transnational business feminism”, is based on the notion that women are untapped resources who represent the solution to capitalisms downfalls (2017, pg. 38). This is evidenced by the way both Kathy Matsui and Prime Minister Shinzo Abe have spoken about women as the solution to Japan’s economic stagnation. The main focus of neoliberal feminism is to incorporate women into the structures of capitalism (ibid, pg. 45). McRobbie has dubbed neoliberal feminism a “faux-feminism” (2009, pg. 119) because the “revolutionary demands of feminism have been reduced by capitalism” to reflect that paid work and political visibility are equal to liberation (Eisenstein, 2017, pg. 37). The emerging notion that economic participation can be equated to women’s liberation focuses primarily on the individual with little concern for the wider political and social systems which have historically been responsible for women’s oppression (ibid, pg. 42). Eisenstein’s point is clearly reflected in the reality of Abe’s womenomics policy, which has failed to challenge the existing social structures of welfare, employment, and motherhood to empower women. Thus, when characterising Abe’s womenomics as a new neoliberal form of feminism it is necessary to inquire about who wins and who loses as a result of this pseudo-feminist policy (Kano, 2018, pg. 8).
It is undeniable that womenomics will produce “winners”, most obviously the Japanese economy and corporations, but also some women’s economic independence will be improved as a result of the policy. Part of the womenomics agenda has been to encourage the promotion of women to managerial positions. The International Labour Organization released a report to commemorate International Women’s Day this year, which details that only 12% of management positions in Japan are occupied by women (2019, pg. 30). This is only a 3.6% increase in representation of women in management since 1991 (Tanaka, 2019).
In 2015 the administration passed legislation that requires businesses with over 300 employees to set quotas and targets for women to achieve leadership positions (Business and Human Rights Resource Centre). However, there is no enforcement to ensure companies comply with their self-set targets, as well as no penalties for failing to advance women (BBC News, 2018). Furthermore, as previously indicated corporations and the government have made marginal progress with regards to childcare accessibility this in effect disqualifies mothers from attaining management positions. Evidently, womenomics is not succeeding in bolstering women’s rise to leadership. Women who are advancing to management are those who are willing and able to mirror the salaryman lifestyle, i.e. do not have welfare and childcare responsibilities (Nemoto, 2013, pg.513) (Aronsson, 2012, pg. 47). Ultimately no changes have been made by the administration to challenge the status-quo employment practices which privilege total commitment to the employer over a work-life balance, which could drastically improve the prospects of women who seek to enter senior positions. Women who seek to pursue a family life and career will be faced with a “struggle and juggle” dilemma as a result of the welfare responsibilities and unfair employment practices which will continue to persist under womenomics (Kano, 2018, pg. 7). With regards to certain women’s progression as a result of womenomics, Ayako Kano poses an important question:
“Rather than all women being treated as second-class citizens because of their gender, if some women would be treated as first class… would this be a step forward or back?”
(2018, pg. 10)
In response to Ayako’s question, I argue that this division of elite and non-elite women is, in fact, a step back for the women’s liberation project because it fails to dismantle the social structures which are constricting Japanese women. The creation of “elite” women would distract from addressing the lived inequality faced by most women in society. Furthermore, while Aronsson (2012, pg. 9) argues that elite women may act as role models, the fact remains that until socio-cultural inequalities are address by womenomics there will be little improvement.
Thus it can be understood that womenomics will privilege a certain type of women but will fail to emancipate women as a whole. In the words of Ayako Kano womenomics presents “an uncomfortable marriage between feminism and neoliberalism” (2018, pg. 1). It isn’t genuine concern for women’s empowerment which is driving Japan’s turn to womenomics but rather a desire to grow the economy at the expense of women. As such, feminists should be dubious about womenomics and the promises it seeks to make.
“The roots of gender inequality are not found in women’s exclusion from production per se, but rather in the material and ideological separation of production from social reproduction”
(Roberts, 2015, pg. 219).
Adrienne Robert’s remarks are particularly valuable for understanding the failure of womenomics as a policy. Women’s marginalization in Japan will not be reversed as a result of their increased visibility in the labour force. In fact, for most women, inequality will only be furthered as they are forced into a double work-shift to try and manage welfare and workfare responsibilities. Womenomics will undoubtedly increase the number of working women. However, these workers will largely be relegated to part-time employment because womenomics does not challenge the ideological foundations which continue to construct women as primary caretakers and welfare providers. In order to genuinely challenge gender inequality a serious attempt at dismantling gender norms such as motherhood and reformulating welfare and employment practices is necessary.
This dissertation has demonstrated how identity formation, and the primacy of motherhood, has influenced the accessibility of welfare for Japanese women and further characterized their role as employees. Without fully addressing the social, cultural and historical roots of women’s oppression, Japan’s search for growing women’s participation is doomed for failure.
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Fahreen Budhwani is currently completing her Masters in Gender, Policies and Inequalities at the London School of Economics. Her passion for gender intersects with her love of Japan and fasciation with Japanese politics and institutions. Alongside her studies, Fahreen is the co-host of a Feminist Podcast titled “Super Smash Hoes”. Along with her co-host Erika, the two girls explore society, gender and culture in Japan.
Eating vegan (a diet containing no animal products whatsoever) in Japan can be frustrating, given that most Japanese don’t seem to have even have the word “vegetarian,” let alone “vegan,” in their vocabulary. Even in Tokyo, one of the world’s most cosmopolitan cities, dashi (bonito fish flake stock/seasoning) seems to be in almost everything– from miso soup to potato chips. The “Impossible Burger” hasn’t quite made it to Japan.
Oftentimes, even the menus at veggie-forward restaurants (often with names that include the words “farmer” or “yasai,” meaning vegetable) are mostly meat-centric dishes with some organic veggies on the side. While culturally, eating vegan hasn’t hit the mainstream in Japan quite yet due to various reasons, the vegan restaurants that do exist here are high quality and often very cozy and inviting.
Below are four 100% vegan restaurants in or near Tokyo that I encourage you to try, or would encourage anyone to try. They are all quite different in terms of location and type of food, but the one thing that they all have in common is value — and the safety of knowing you are eating in a place that knows what it means to be vegan.
Located in Jiyugaoka, one of my favorite neighborhoods, is known for its trendy vibes and romantic streets, Saido (meaning vegetable street) is truly a hidden gem. After walking through a lush garden, expect to be greeted by a very cheerful and friendly Japanese woman. She will explain the menu to you in detail, giving suggestions (osusume) along the way. At lunch time, for about 2,000 yen you will receive a three-course meal that comes with soup, a gastronomic wonder of a salad that emits smoke when opened, and then the main course. Choose from one of the many noodle dishes (e.g. yakisoba, abura soba, ramen, tsukemen), unagi-don, katsu-don, or curry.
2 Chome-15-10 Jiyugaoka, Meguro City, Tokyo 152-0035
Closest Station: Jiyugaoka
Olu Olu Cafe A somewhat cluttered, homey Hawaii-inspired 100% vegan restaurant in the Sangenjaya neighborhood near Shibuya. Their menu is quite varied, with choices from hot fried (soy-based) chicken to ramen.
The jambalaya there is one to write home about– or write an article about. Flavorful, subtly spicy, quality mock meat, and not too oily. All main course meals are from 900-1,200 yen, and portions are fairly large.
Once you’re done eating, head outside and walk around the area. There are plenty of parks, coffee shops, and clothing stores to be explored.
1 Chome-11-1 Ikejiri, Setagaya City, Tokyo 154-0001
Closest Station: Sangenjaya
Kousaiken Gu Since this restaurant is actually in Kamakura, it’s technically outside of Tokyo. Get on a train and go to the beach when you’re done. Even if you don’t go to the beach, it’s worth the trip thanks to its charm and quality.
It is almost hidden, located just up the street from the crowded beaches of Kamakura in a very quiet and residential neighborhood.
The restaurant has a mix of Japanese and Indian food with very limited seating– one inside and two outside seating area (with covering). The family who owns it originally operated the restaurant out of Nerima-ku in Tokyo, but moved it to Kamakura in 2017 where they have been running it ever since. They are very friendly and love to chat in English, so it’s a great place for tourists looking to take a break from kanji-riddled menus and staff with limited English abilities. For 2,000 JPY, one can get soup, a large vegetable plate, curry, rice + puri, dessert, and tea. I was blown away by the value. My favorite was the vegetable plate, which came with about 10 different types of vegetables, all cooked in different ways.
Conveniently located in Shibuya, it’s a tiny place with only two staff members including the chef.
This is meant to be a traditional Japanese restaurant vegan-ized. They serve up karaage, seasonal veggie dishes, curry, miso soup, and more. If going for dinner, I recommend the couple deli plate for two. It includes a sampling of all of their different dishes for just 4,200 yen.
Julie Yukiko (雪子) Buisson aka Ukico has much in common with Snow-White, other than just her name, which literally means “child of the snow”—she is charming, peaceful, a beautiful woman with alabaster skin and blessed with an ethereal singing voice that calms the spirits of men and animals; she is enchanting. Her first song, Denial, and the surreal mystical music video for it were released on September 11.
She was born to a Japanese mother and French father and grew up in Paris. You could say she has made the best of her bicultural heritage, touching upon her roots to become a successful model and now a songwriter and singer. Her French-Japanese visage and sense of style helped her have a successful international modeling career.However, she has much more depth than her surface appearances, and that is part of her appeal.
Ukico (pronounced You-Key-Koh) was studying at the University La Sorbonne while pursuing her modeling career after high school. What sparked her interest in singing and songwriting was the death of her grandmother.
When she passed away, Ukico, wrote a poem as a eulogy, which she showed to her father—and to her surprise, he wept.
“It moved my father to cry and it showed me how to paint a picture with words. He still reads the poem, sometimes.” She felt the power of words come to life.
She had often thought about becoming a singer/songwriter but lacked confidence in her ability to compose or to voice her emotions musically. But seeing her father’s response stirred something inside of her.
“It was a wake-up call. I had always dreamed of studying and living in New York and pursuing music. I love so many different genres and singers. Everything from Massive Attack, to Little Dragon, to Lana Del Rey.”
The song writing of Fiona Apple was particularly inspirational to her.
To pursue her musical career more seriously she entered a music engineering school in NYC, The Institute of Audio Research. After graduating salutatorian, she interned at the recording studio Strange Weather based in Brooklyn.
She was given an opportunity to work on the production of 36 Seasons by Ghosface Killah. She also put in time at the world famous jazz club Birdland, live mixing for the Grammy Award winning band The Afro Latin Jazz orchestra, and other jazz acts.
While in New York, she experienced the loneliness, alienation and emotional struggles that come with life in the Big Apple.
She sought refuge in spiritual disciplines, yoga and meditation, eventually becoming adept enough to guide others.. Meditation and yoga are still a huge part of her life, and perhaps what gives her an aura of warm serenity—not the chilly vibe you’d expect from a snow woman.
During her time in New York, she was also taken under the wing of Justyn Pilbrow, a respected music producer who has handled major acts such as Halsey and The Neighbourhood.
After leaving New York and coming back to Japan she also became more interested in her own Japanese background and traditional music. It provided her with some solace as
She continued to work with Justyn Pilbrow and was also able to collaborate on musical pieces with Japanese virtuosos of Koto (Japanese lute), Shamisen, Shakuhachi (windpipes) and the Taiko (Japanese drum).
Her first single, Denial, has instrumentation featuring the shakuhachi and taiko. “The shakuhachi is such a beautiful instrument—it can express so much pain and tension.”
The video of the song is based on the story of Japan’s creation, as told in the Kojiki, a classic of ancient Japanese literature. The creation of the world starts with the first two existing Gods Izanagi (male God) and Izanami (female God). After forming Japan’s islands they gave birth to other gods—the god of the wind, seas, and more. But Izanami, after giving birth to the God of Fire dies from the trauma and fatal wounds. Her spirit goes down to the underworld. Izanagi who misses her terribly, decides to descend to the underworld to bring her back—like Japan’s own Orpheus.
The video, using Butoh dancers, brings to life the myth of creation, death and renewal. But what is the song about on a personal level? Fasting? Living without material goods? Denial of French culture, or Japanese culture?
Ukico answers, “It is a song about breaking up and the end of love. But it is a bit more than that. I was protecting my heart, not to fall in love again. I was in denial of closing my heart when I started to write it. But also there was underlying denial that I am mad at somebody.
But the real denial in the song is that I am angry at myself. It is because of myself, because of how I am choosing how to deal with things that the suffering comes. And there is some wisdom and transmutative power in understanding that.”
Japan Subculture Research Center asked Elizaveta to explain why she wrote the song and for the lyrics to the song. Here is what she had to say.
I wrote “Meet Again” not long after finding out about the tragic fire at Kyoto Animation. I had met some people from KyoAni, although just very casually, through a network of animators and visual artists I am occasionally part of, when in Tokyo.…
I was hoping to be able to tour the studio and visit their shop, when visiting Kyoto next. I was also aware of their positive reputation, as they were known for being an employee-friendly company in an industry, which often overworks and underpays animators. They had a lot of women working for them, too, which was unusual, and a breath of fresh air.
In the hours and days following the tragedy, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, and following the news, which just got more and more grim.
The contrast between the beautiful, hopeful art produced by KyoAni and what happened to them, was very hard to reconcile with. I am not a starry-eyed optimist,
but I do prefer to believe that good things happen to those who put out good things into the world. While I know it’s a naive worldview, it’s better than the alternative. This event, though, was not an accident, but an act of deliberate evil. All circumstances aligned for it to be as awful as could be. It was incredibly hard for me to accept it as reality. There had been no magic hero to save the day, and nothing to soften the blow. Kyoto is a peaceful, mystical city of a few thousand temples. But no deity stepped in to offer protection.
Once you accept that something terrible like this happened and there’s no way to explain it, you must allow for healing to start, or at least attempt to get on the path towards it. I can’t even start to imagine the pain and trauma of those who had gone through this experience and survived are now having to deal, and probably for years to come. My heart also goes out to those who got the call that day to find out their loved ones were no longer with them. Furthermore, the trauma to KyoAni fans around the world may not have been as direct, but it’s real nonetheless. When you make art, those who love and consume it, become believers of the things your art brings into the world. For KyoAni fans, it would have been beauty, hope and harmony. A tragedy such as this one kills faith that the world is in any way fair and a worthwhile place to be part of.
I wrote “Meet Again” the day I went to the recording studio, and the song practically wrote itself. I heard it in my head, and the lyrics came to be just minutes before I walked out to catch the train. This recording is the first take, which we recorded and filmed. It wasn’t quite perfect in a couple of places, and so I did another take, but I had a hard time singing then, because I was too close to tears. And so I made the decision to keep the first take, as it was, and record no more.
I wrote this song as a way to heal myself, even though I was just a bystander of this tragedy. I hope it may serve as a source of healing to others affected by it. I still have hope and faith. There are so many things we do not know, and so much happens every day, which makes it hard to take heart and carry on. But carry on we must, and help those around us do so, too.
I don’t remember when I got the call that day They said you were no more And then the ground gave way
I sat and cried all night Still hoping they’d been wrong A part of me had died How could I carry on
As sunrise painted red Inside my sleepless eyes Still lying on my bed I thought I heard a voice
It sounded like my love A distant precious sound But there was not a soul That I could see around
I know you’re still with me In other shape or form Our union has survived A deadly firestorm
And when I look above I can transcend the pain Soar high with me, my love I know we’ll meet again.
何時のことか 覚えてない もういないと 立ち尽くした
泣き明かした まちがいだと 身を裂かれて 歩みようも
夜明けの赤 腫れ目を染め 伏せたままで 聞こえたのは
君のような 遠くの音 影ひとつも 見えないのに
今も そばに 形を変え つながりだけ 焼け残った
仰ぎ見ては 痛みを超え 君を連れて また会うまで あの高みへ また会うまで
Born in USA, Russian-raised Elizaveta made her debut on Universal Records (US) in 2012. Since then she became the voice of the Tavern Bard in Dragon Age, has toured USA, Russia and Europe, was a repeat guest performer at the main TED stage, and released a number of multi-lingual recordings, heard in multiple films and TV series. She produced and released an all-Japanese language duet album Mezameru Riyuu earlier this year, followed by a 16-city tour of Japan.
Japanese theatres offer a wide variety of performances, but Youth Theatre Japan (YTJ) offers the younger generations a chance to perform on the same stages as the pros that they admire. And, don’t think for a minute that they are simply just kids on stage, these young musically inclined talents spend countless hours honing their skills at YTJ auditioning for a role. Then only best out of hundreds of hopefuls are chosen, and from there they go into intensive dance, acting, and vocal training to be ready for the stage.
YTJ believes that through performing arts youth are able to grow and develop into stronger individuals who are able to clearly communicate their thoughts and emotions in a healthy way. Thus, Members at YTJ are constantly learning new skills, practicing their English during lessons, and getting ready for showcases. By use of Partnership, Project, and Performance YTJ-staff remind members to focus on the whys behind each new skill and task that they are required to learn.
YTJ staff help members understand the importance of setting goals, learning a new skill, trying their best, and moving forward with passion. All while helping members learn to communicate and express themselves through song, dance, and interpersonal skills. As Youth Theatre Japan`s mission to provide innovative, creative and positive youth development through a fusion of “Entertainment” and “Education”. YTJ staff treat each child as an equal partner to help them develop a deeper sense of pride in their roles at YTJ and build up their self-esteem.
Over the past 10 years YTJ has successfully blended “Education” and “Entertainment” into their company and now has 35 studios and over 8,000 members in the Kanto, Kansai and Chubu areas. In addition to producing musicals they also host the Japan Youth Dance Festival.
Their next production will be the YTJ Alice in Wonderland Jukebox Musical! Please check the dates below for a show near you!
YTJ’s talented performers will be performing each song in English. This event is family friendly and please be sure to come dressed in your best Wonderland attire. There will be a special prize for a lucky guest who reads the Queen’s Decrees on the Alice Official Site or English Facebook Page and comes wearing the special item she requested! Tickets are 6,000 per person, be sure to reserve your seat at the tea party of the year.
Then later on this summer come follow Kaito and his friends! Jump and sing along as they embark on an adventure that helps bridge cultural gaps through music. During the journey they will learn more about themselves and the world around them they build up new interest in other cultures and diversity. This musical features popular songs from around the world performed in English. Tickets are on sale now and only cost 6,000 per person. Please follow the link for more information and to see showtimes and location https://show.ytj.gr.jp/info/worldmusic.
I am at the reception counter of Muji Hotel – the much touted and long awaited hotel produced by Muji, Japan’s popular minimalist clothing and household products brand. Muji, as you may know, stands for Mujirushi (無印) which literally means “no seal or stamp”; it’s a brand who’s trademark is no (visible) brand. Which is very Zen-like unless you look at the label inside.
When the hotel first opened in early April, rumor had it that every room was booked solid for the next 2 years. In late May, procuring a room (on a weekday) proved easy. Muji (rhymes with Fuji) has grown into a global label touting Japan-style simplicity and aesthetics but to the average non-minimalist Japanese, it remains inscrutable, even unfathomable. Many see the pared down surfaces and uniform designs of Muji products as a tad too aggressively simple to fit into their own lives.
Aggressive maybe, but never offensive. There’s not the tiniest fragment of offensiveness anywhere in the Muji Hotel, including the young woman who checks me in. She’s an epitome of serenity and calm, her hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck and wearing what is clearly a Muji outfit (white shirt and loose black cardigan plus black pants) the uniform of the hotel staff. She speaks almost flawless Japanese along with English and Urdu which she says is her native language. Before handing me the card key to my room, the young woman gives me an ‘omamori’ or talisman, compliments of Muji – and explains that inside the tiny cloth satchel there’s an emergency whistle (“in case of a natural disaster and other unforeseen events”) and a tiny leaflet containing instructions on getting through emergencies great and small. I open this leaflet and on the last page there is this advice: “If you should feel lonely, look up at the stars in the night sky.”
My room which is a single, feels spacious thanks to the high ceiling measuring over 3.5 meters. In Tokyo, high ceilings are a luxury and when it comes to hotel rooms, they’re the exclusive domain of high-end imported brands like the Peninsula, the Park Hyatt and the Ritz Carlton. Muji is distinctive in that it’s a genuine Japanese hotel, located in one of the choicest pieces of real estate in Tokyo, but only charges a fixed rate of 140 USD per single room, per night. Most importantly, it doesn’t suck or resemble a prison cell.
On the other hand, you can’t imagine anyone having a tryst here– it’s far too pristine and devoid of emotion. And a hotel without a tryst is like a cupcake without icing. Or am I being offensive? (Editor’s note: Not offensive. ‘A donut without a hole’ might have been an offensive metaphor but then again they eat donut holes in Australia, so who’s to say?)
Back in my room, a faint scent of linen combined with lavender lingers in the air, piped out from a portable aroma diffuser, one of Muji’s most popular items. Actually, everything in the room is made by Muji, from the bed to the packets of shampoo and conditioner precisely laid out in an oak chest (also Muji), to the little bag of complimentary snacks and the bottled water in the mini-fridge (also Muji). The idea is to let the guests get a taste of what it’s like to live a life defined by Muji, by spending some time in a space designed and totally controlled by Muji. And afterwards, we can take the escalator down to any of the five floors of Muji’s flagship store that’s located right below the hotel. The hotel and the shop are in the same building, and some of the tourists check in with empty suitcases, to stock up on Muji products during their stay. It’s a pretty nifty arrangement for Muji and The Minimalists–which could be a great ambient music band name.
The brand has always opted for discretion, restraint, understatement with a whiff of snobbishness. To admit to a love of Muji is to tell the world that as a consumer, you’re very woke. Muji covers all the bases that would gladden the heart of a discerning shopper: recyclable materials, ethical off-shore manufacturing, diversity among the staff, organic cotton in the clothing line and energy efficient appliances. Add to that the flat, unobtrusive, utterly desexualized designs and it all totals up to something that is for many minimalists, a guilty pleasure. Indeed, many Japanese minimalists admit on their blogs that if they have to shop at all, they shop at Muji. Others have taken it several levels higher by buying Muji houses (yes, they will make an entire house from the ground up) and outfitting it with Muji kitchens and bathrooms, after which they proceed to fill it up with Muji furniture and Muji food.
Muji was launched in 1980 by retail giant Seibu Conglomerates, as an alternative brand to what (then) Seibu CEO Seiji Tsutsumi saw as the nation’s misguided and excessive consumerism. Japanese consumers were hurling themselves into the go-go economy, believing that shopping nirvana was the closest thing to paradise. All of a sudden, the cramped living spaces of the average Japanese were overflowing with stuff. Few of it matched or made sense, and perhaps for the first time in Japanese history, people found themselves in possession of with more STUFF than they ever thought possible.
Muji offered an escape hatch from the clueless clutter of it all, with uniform, collapsible shelves and drawers designed to hold the simplest, most non-intrusive products. Now, forty years later, any discussion of Japanese minimalism almost always precludes a discussion of Muji. Konmari may be riding on her big wave at the moment, but Muji had been on the beach long before she was decluttering the ocean.
But as the hotel room shows, Muji has perhaps, gone a bit overboard. They had always walked the fine line between selling their ideals and selling their products but with the opening of the hotel, it seems that boundary has been obliterated. Muji has merged the product with the ideal, and the whole package comes with a price tag.
Consequently, the last thing you’d want to do in this space is to indulge in carnal pleasures, though to be fair, the hotel does encourage it. (Muji Prophylactics are sold on the third floor.) But since I was alone, what else was there to do but open my laptop to work at the Muji desk, lit by a Muji lamp, wearing Muji slippers after taking a shower in the Muji bathroom? Maybe I’ll even follow Muji’s suggestion and look up at the night sky for a few twinkling stars–and then fall into a dreamless Muji sleep.
Note: In a homage to Muji style, none of the photos in this article have been captioned.
Editor’s note: Japan’s most beloved pederast (a male who sexually assaults young men) , Johnny Kitagawa, died last week. He was an idol maker, the brains behind such super male idol bands as SMAP, Kinki Kids, and an entertainment legend. He was also so powerful that the seedy and dark side of his life was swept under the table even after his death.
There were some in the media that dared challenge the sleazy smooth Svengali. Weekly magazine, Shukan Bunshun ran a series of well-researched articles in 1999 describing how Kitagawa systematically abused young boys. Kitagawa then sued the publisher for libel but despite the testimony of alleged rape victims interviewed for the piece, the Tokyo District Court ruled in his favor. They ordered the publisher to pay 8.8 million yen in damages to Kitagawa and his company in 2002.
However, The Tokyo High Court overturned this decision in July 2003. They concluded that the allegations were true. “The agency failed to discredit the allegations in the detailed testimony of his young victims,” ruled the presiding Judge Hidekazu Yazaki. The case stood. The story was barely a blip in the Japanese media horizon. In an entertainment world where Johny’s stable of young boys was a prerequisite to ratings success, his ‘indulgences’ weren’t deemed worthy of reporting.
Johny granted few interviews–here is the story of one of them:
My interview with Johnny
By Steve McClure
It was only after I’d interviewed Johnny Kitagawa that I realized I’d scored a bit of a scoop.
“You interviewed Johnny? That’s amazing – he never does interviews,” my Japanese media and music-biz colleagues said. “How on earth did you manage to do that?”
It was 1996 and I was Billboard magazine’s Japan bureau chief. I was hanging out with an American producer/songwriter who had written several hit tunes for acts managed by Kitagawa’s agency, Johnny’s Jimusho.
“Want to hear a funny story about Johnny?” Bob (not his real name) asked me.
“Sure,” I said.
“Well, the other day, Johnny told me he’d discovered a promising male vocal duo. I asked him what they were called.
“‘I’m going to call them the Kinki Kids,’ Johnny told me.
“I told him that ‘kinky’ means sexually abnormal in English slang.
“‘Oh, that’s great!,’ Johnny said.
Bob and I laughed.
“Say, Steve, would you like me to set up an interview with Johnny for you?” Bob asked.
I told him that would be swell.
Some days later I was informed that Kitagawa would grant me an audience at his private residence. I was enjoined not to reveal where the great man lived (it was Ark Hills in Akasaka, for the record).
I showed up at the appointed day and hour, and rang the doorbell of the condo high up in one of the Ark Hills towers. A browbeaten middle-aged woman answered the door. Evidently a domestic of some kind, she said I was expected and asked me to come in. She led me into a garishly decorated living room full of Greek statuary, Louis XV-style furniture and sundry examples of rococo frippery. There were no Ganymedean cup-bearers offering libations or any other signs of sybaritic excess.
I was ushered into the presence of the pop panjandrum. Johnny was sitting in an armchair beside a window with a stunning view of Tokyo. He was small, bespectacled and unprepossessing. If you saw him in the street, you’d never imagine he was the notorious and feared Svengali who had a stranglehold on the geinokai (芸能界/Japan’s entertainment world).
After we exchanged pleasantries, I got down to business. I asked Johnny about his early life in Los Angeles. “My dad ran the local church,” he told me without elaboration in a quiet, rather high-pitched voice. I later found out that Kitagawa père had been the head of a Japanese American Buddhist congregation in L.A.
Johnny was equally vague about when he first came to Japan. He reportedly arrived while serving as an interpreter for the U.S. military during the Korean War.
This set the tone for the rest of the interview – it was hard to get a straight answer out of Johnny, at least when it came to his personal history. He was more interested in talking about all the boy bands he’d groomed and propelled to stardom during his long and extraordinarily successful career.
Johnny told me how he got his start in showbiz when he saw some boys playing baseball in a Tokyo park, and later molded them into a pop group called The Johnnies. That set the template for the rest of his career – scouting for boys and using them as raw material as his pop production line churned out an endless succession of unthreatening quasi-androgynous male idol groups.
A classic showman, Johnny said he was more interested in live performances than records. He made his mark with coups de theatre like having ’80s male idol act Hikaru Genji do choreographed routines on roller skates.
“Once you release a record, you have to sell that record,” Johnny said. “You have to push one song only. You can’t think of anything else. It’s not good for the artist.” The Johnny’s stable of acts has nonetheless racked up dozens of No.1 hits over the years.
Johnny’s English, like that of many longterm expats, was quaintly fossilized. I could hear echoes of ’40s and ’50s America when he said things like “gee,” or “gosh” when answering my questions.
Soon after the interview began, the browbeaten obasan put a steaming dish of katsu-curry in front of me. I begged off, explaining that I’d just eaten lunch. This didn’t prevent the arrival of another dish soon after: spaghetti and “hamburg” steak, as I recall. Hearty fare for starving young idol wannabes was my take on the menu chez Johnny.
Having decided that “Are you or have you ever been a pederast?” might be somewhat too direct a question to put to the dear old chap, I lobbed a series of softball queries with the aim of establishing a friendly rapport. But even the most gently tossed questions elicited amiable but frustratingly vague answers from Johnny.
In the silences between his frequent hems and haws, the wind whined like a sotto voce banshee through the slightly opened window.
Johnny did tell me that he received 300 letters a day from guys wanting to sign up with his agency. I wasn’t sure if he was boasting or bored.
The time came to leave, and Johnny accompanied me to the door. “Come back anytime,” he said with a friendly smile as he waved me goodbye.
As I made my way down the hall to the elevators, I saw the finely chiseled profile of a young man peeking from around a corner, looking in my direction. He caught a glimpse of me and retreated. I resisted the temptation to tell him the katsu-curry was getting cold.
Sadly, I didn’t take up Johnny on his kind offer to come up and see him sometime.