Read The Enigma of Japanese Power Online
Authors: Karel van Wolferen
Tags: #Japan - Economic Policy - 1945-1989, #Japan - Politics and Government - 1945, #Japan, #Political Culture - Japan, #Political Culture, #Business & Economics, #International, #General, #Political Science, #International Relations, #Public Policy, #Economic Policy, #Social Science, #Anthropology, #Cultural, #Political culture—Japan, #Japan—Politics and government—1945–, #Japan—Economic policy—1945–
One case where the System has waged a feeble campaign against one of its own extra-legal components involves the
sokaiya
(‘general meeting fixer’), a businessman type of extortionist gangster who emerged in the 1970s. He is less popular than the tattooed heroes of the cinema. His victims are the large and respected corporations.
The emergence of these extortionists was possible because of the wide and permanent gap between the formal reality and the substantial reality in the business world. Since Japanese firms officially have shareholders, shareholder meetings are necessary so as not to disturb this formal reality. In actual reality, the joint stock companies have never had any intention of giving shareholders outside the directorates of their own corporate groups a voice of any kind whatsoever. The
sokaiya
’s purpose was to ensure that this situation could be maintained.
It all began when gangsters were called in to beat up victims of industrial poisoning who, by buying shares and demanding to be heard at shareholders’ meetings, had found a means of penetrating the armour of indifference of the polluting corporations. This drew the attention of other
yakuza
to the vulnerability of other Japanese businesses, and within a decade an extremely well-organised extortion system, against which no large firm was safe, had come into being. In 1982 there were roughly 6,300
sokaiya
– one-fifth of them operating on their own, a quarter allied to the large crime syndicates and the rest belonging to newly specialised extortionist gangs.
By the late 1970s the
sokaiya
had developed a refined style, pretending to run ‘research institutes’ and publishing periodicals on economic subjects. Many large firms created a specialised staff for ‘
sokaiya
affairs’ and almost always ended by paying up. If they failed to pay enough, elderly presidents were, for the first time in their lives, grilled for hours on end at their annual stockholders’ meetings. If adequately paid, however, the gangsters would enforce the unwritten rule of ‘no questions’ at these ritual meetings. A 1982 amendment to the commercial code made
sokaiya
practices illegal in theory, but this was no consolation for the majority of victims. The directorates which co-operated with the police continued to suffer ordeals in their meetings. By then the
sokaiya
had become a necessary evil in many corporate eyes. They protected companies that were hiding scandals. Quite apart from that, how could directors break their relations with ‘friendly’
sokaiya
and expect to be protected against ‘hostile’ ones? Thus ever more subtle tactics were devised to keep the institution going. Some
sokaiya
receive money for the anniversaries of their ‘consultation bureaux’ or to mark the establishment of new offices or new publications. Others sell ‘membership cards’ at incredible rates for ‘administrative consultation’. Though much reviled, this parasitic phenomenon is not without benefit to the System. The
sokaiya
refrain from exploiting the more vulnerable segments of society, and the corporations try to reduce the amount of ‘dirt’ that the
sokaiya
dig up by keeping their practices more honest.
The gangster who meets the representatives of large firms, and publishes something he pretends is an economic magazine, is more sophisticated than in the days when he wore a double-breasted blue suit, white tie and sunglasses. Similar signs of increasing ‘respectability’ can be discerned in some other segments of the
yakuza
world as they slowly move into new businesses, such as the above-mentioned
sarakin
, that are not necessarily illegal.
In the late 1980s yet another new breed of gangster, the
jiageya
(‘land-turners’ or ‘land-sharks’), has put in an appearance. Like the
sokaiya
and
sarakin
before them, they are the result of economic developments conducive to racketeering. During 1986–7 extraordinary increases in land prices that were already the highest in the world, the result of an insatiable demand for real estate among corporations awash with cash, accelerated the concentration of wealth in still fewer hands. Sometimes, though, the grand plans of the real-estate investors are thwarted by individuals who refuse to sell their plots or to move out of apartments earmarked for demolition. The
jiageya
are used here, first to ‘persuade’ such reluctant tenants and owners to change their minds, then, if simple words do not work, to intimidate them with noise, prank calls and dump-trucks crashing through walls. Several cases of arson have been traced to
jiageya
. An example of the lukewarm press reaction this kind of thing elicits is the
Yomiuri Shinbun
editorial that said that ‘the [real-estate] industry in its entirety is urged to strongly reflect upon its business practices in order to regain public trust, the key to successful business’.
39
In the 1980s the relationship between police and
yakuza
became somewhat uncomfortable. Weapon smuggling increased considerably, while in some prefectures mobsters were mowing each other down, as if, as an inspector of the national police said in dismay, ‘they thought they were making a film’. The police have also grown unhappy with the internationalisation of the
yakuza
.
40
The increased use of meta-amphetamines (stimulant drugs) smuggled by the
yakuza
has undermined their general reputation still further.
41
On top of all this, leadership problems in the Yamaguchi-gumi following the death of Taoka led to an all-out gang war in the mid-1980s, which only gradually died down before peace was ceremonially restored in February 1987.
The details of the affair throw light on much more than the internal business of the
yakuza
themselves. The real trouble began in July 1984 when, after three years of power struggle, the widow of the great boss handed a dagger to Takenaka Masahisa, ceremonially sealing his succession to the leadership of the biggest gang. But a rival, an advocate of more moderate policies, had by then founded an alternative Yamaguchi-gumi, which became known as the Ichiwakai.
Although a majority had joined the breakaway syndicate, the Yamaguchi-gumi regained most of its forces a month later, and a period of bloody encounters began during which it became clear that the rebel
yakuza
would lose. The emblem of the Yamaguchi-gumi had proven too strong a symbol to be ignored. Furthermore, ‘not everyone’, as the police put it, ‘has gangster qualifications’, and the hasty recruiting with which the Ichiwakai tried to stop its decline merely accelerated it.
The emergency ‘solution’ resorted to by the Ichiwakai syndicate was to assassinate the new Yamaguchi-gumi boss, Takenaka, together with his two highest lieutenants. As viewers all over Japan watched on no less than three television channels, 1,500 gangsters in black accompanied Takenaka’s coffin, borne on the shoulders of eight bosses of subordinate gangs, with 400 riot police in attendance; and the nation understood that a turbulent period in the world of the
yakuza
had begun. Even so, half a year and 174 armed clashes, 16 dead and 47 wounded later, the
yakuza
showed themselves sufficiently public spirited to agree to an armistice so as not to damage the reputation of Kobe, situated in the hottest war zone, since the city was about to host an international sporting event, the Universiad.
On a small scale and in the exaggerating context of traditional
yakuza
group rituals, what happened between the Yamaguchi-gumi and the Ichiwakai is what happens between components and dissidents at the lower levels of the System. In this case, the absence of an
éminence grise
in the gangster world who could have effected a compromise solution acceptable to the warring parties – a service that
éminences grises
are constantly expected to perform in the System – led to the use of naked force, resulting in bloodshed. But the power dynamics it entailed, with the larger body gradually absorbing the sources of strength of the smaller one and eventually rendering it ineffectual, are illustrative of those of the System at large.
Japan has a clearly discernible ruling class. Its members – mainly bureaucrats, top businessmen and one section of the LDP – are all basically administrators; there is no room among them for the aspiring statesman. It is not, strictly speaking, a hereditary class. It is fairly open, though less so today than during the first decade after the Second World War. Sons of administrators have a great advantage in the process of joining it; and it is exclusively a male preserve; either way, most boys, regardless of birth, know their chances by the time they reach their teens. Ruling elites everywhere seek to perpetuate themselves. They are distinguished from each other by size and exclusiveness; by the degree of internal unity; and by attitudes towards the mass of the governed. Entry into Japan’s relatively large administrator class is strictly via a very narrow ladder up the school hierarchy. It is riven with internal conflict, yet to the rest of society it presents an amazingly united front. And since its survival depends on that of the System, its highest shared goal is to preserve the System.
The essential condition for the survival of the Japanese System is continued protection of the administrator class by keeping the criteria for membership, and the rules governing transactions among the administrators themselves, informal. The System is what it is by virtue of informal relations that have no basis in the constitution, in any other laws or in any
formal
rules of the ministries, the LDP, the corporations or any other of the administrator institutions.
‘Connections’ are crucial to life in Japan at all levels of society. Success depends almost entirely on who one knows.
Kone
(a Japanised abbreviation of the English word ‘connections’) often provide the key to admission to desirable schools, and to finding good jobs. If one wants the best medical treatment, a special introduction to busy doctors is almost indispensable. Most Japanese are thoroughly indebted in this sense to numerous other Japanese, and others in turn are indebted to them; one of the main characteristics of Japanese life is an unremitting trade in favours.
In the upper levels of society, the hone multiply to form whole networks of special relationships. These may derive from one-time favours, school ties or shared experiences, or may involve intricate mutual back-scratching deals. They are referred to as
jinmyaku
-
jin
meaning ‘personal’ and
myaku
a ‘vein’ such as is found in mineral deposits, so that
jinmyaku
means a vein, or web, of personal connections running through the fabric of society.
Jinmyaku
are much more widespread, and of incomparably greater importance, than old-boy networks in the West.
Among top bureaucrats, politicians and businessmen, marriage facilitates the building up of informal contacts with the élite. LDP politicians reinforce their positions by marrying the daughters of older, influential politicians, then match their own sons and daughters with the children of prosperous and influential businessmen. The resulting networks are known as
keibatsu
(family groupings through marriage). There are matchmakers who specialise in consolidating administrator ties. One is a group of women graduates from Gakushuin, the former peer school.
1
Another is a club of Diet members’ wives, established by the wife of Prime Minister Ikeda, who constantly exchange information on candidates for arranged marriages. The Takanawa-kai, a group consisting of some one thousand women graduates from famous universities as well as élite officials from MITI, the Ministry of Finance and the Foreign Ministry, meets some six times a year at parties and has produced hundreds of highly placed couples.
2
Probably the most exclusive group of all, the Karuizawa-kai, established in 1942, attracted widespread attention when one of its members, Shoda Michiko, married the crown prince. It brings representatives of Japan’s most eminent industrialist and political families together, as well as those connected with the
keibatsu
of the imperial family. The sons and daughters of members meet at private parties given at the summer retreats of the rich in Karuizawa.
3
There are also private individuals whose full-time personal hobby is to find marriage partners for top politicians and bureaucrats, and who work closely with the secretariats of the élite ministries.
Without informal contacts the top administrators cannot fulfil what they are expected to accomplish. The actual power of a highly placed Japanese depends on his
jinmyaku
. A bureaucrat without a good
jinmyaku
cannot climb to great heights. A minister without an elaborate
jinmyaku
is worthless to his ministry and his clique within the LDP. The power of Japan’s top politicians is derived from a large complex of intermeshing
jinmyaku
forged with favours, money, marriage ties and political acumen. At the middle social levels, building a
jinmyaku
requires time, energy, charm, flattery and a liver strong enough to cope with large volumes of alcohol. The value of an employee to his company is largely determined by his
jinmyaku
. The effective pursuit of corporate aims depends to a great extent on who the managers can get hold of on the telephone to fix what needs to be fixed. For these lesser administrators, a good
jinmyaku
means a good income, many people in one’s debt and security after one’s retirement.
Graduating from the University of Tokyo (Todai), especially its law department, means being automatically hooked up to a huge network of connections that is easily activated at any time. It is not the academic qualities of the Todai law department that make it the undisputed summit of the Japanese education system, but the fact that traditionally its graduates have entered the highest administrative ranks, which means that new graduates can readily plug into the established alumni network. Of all the section chiefs and bureaucrats of higher rank in the Ministry of Finance, 88.6 per cent are from Todai. For the Foreign Ministry the figure is 76 per cent, for the National Land Agency 73.5 per cent and for the Ministry of Transportation 68.5 per cent.
4
Between 80 and 90 per cent of the annual twenty to thirty recruits to the Ministry of Finance are from the Todai law department.
5
Nearly all post-war Japanese prime ministers who exercised any influence at all have been graduates of Todai – with the conspicuous exceptions of Tanaka Kakuei and Takeshita Noboru.
6
In most post-war cabinets the crucial portfolios have been held by Todai graduates. Even in the cabinet of Tanaka Kakuei, seven ministers had passed through its law department. Over a quarter of all parliamentarians and more than one-third of all LDP members are Todai graduates. In the mid-1970s the number of Todai graduate executives exceeded the number of non-Todai executives in 43 of the 50 top business firms.
7
In 1985 the presidents of 401 out of the 1,454 largest firms were Todai graduates, with another 140 and 72 from the virtually equivalent Kyoto and Hitotsubashi universities.
8
When it became clear in the prime ministerial contest of 1972 that Tanaka Kakuei would be the main rival to Fukuda Takeo, a prominent Todai graduate who had reached the apex of the Finance Ministry, the then
éminence grise
of the business world, Ishizaka Taizo, strongly objected. ‘We cannot’, he declared, ‘give the position to a man who is an ignorant labourer.’ Even though Tanaka was one of the most successful self-made businessmen in Japanese history, Ishizaka – as Keidanren chief, ostensibly representing a world of entrepreneurs – felt not the remotest affinity with him. Ishizaka himself had graduated from the Todai law department and had been a Communications Ministry bureaucrat before climbing to the presidency of Japan’s first insurance firm. His case is typical. Inayama Yoshihiro, the weightiest influence in Keidanren in the 1980s (until a year before his death in 1987), Nagano Shigeo, whose name was practically synonymous with Japan’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry from the late 1960s on, and Uemura Kogoro, a pivotal figure in Keidanren before becoming its president in 1968, were all Tokyo University graduates and government bureaucrats in an earlier phase of their careers. The cream of Japan’s industrialists and almost all bank presidents have reached the top via the Todai route.
The world of the Todai law department graduates (to which one should add graduates of the law department of the University of Kyoto) is highly exclusive. Outsiders, even those from tributary ‘élite courses’, often feel that they never truly ‘belong’ to the ministry they serve. Hatano Akira, justice minister in one of the Nakasone cabinets but a graduate of the humble night-school of Nihon University, was pointedly ostracised by Justice Ministry and procuracy bureaucrats – and made no secret of hating them in return. Naito Yosaburo was one of the few non-Todai graduates to reach the post of vice-minister (in the Education Ministry). Earlier in his career, finding himself up for promotion from section chief to bureau chief, he urgently pleaded with his superior to pass him over, for fear of the jealousies it would create among his senior colleagues, all graduates from Todai law department.
9
Con-artists and other swindlers in Japan habitually pass themselves off as Todai graduates. And real ones are extremely valuable on the
omiai
(arranged marriage) market. It should also be said that many prominent anti-establishment figures and vocal critics of the political system – of whom Maruyama Masao is the most famous example – are also graduates of the Todai law department. Although they can hardly be grouped with the administrators, their Todai backgrounds help them greatly by, as one Japanese student of the phenomenon puts it, allowing them to work in a ‘safety zone’.
10
The System protects the administrator class. As a whole the élite is insulated from the vagaries of ideologically inspired politics. Individually, its members enjoy a significantly greater protection from the consequences of their actions than do ordinary Japanese.
How far such protection can go was illustrated by the case of the Sanko Steamship Company, most of which was owned by Komoto Toshio – leader of an LDP
habatsu
(clique), several times a minister and at one point a leading prime ministerial candidate. In the summer of 1985 Sanko, in seeking judicial protection, presented Japan with its biggest post-war bankruptcy case. The company maintained the largest tanker fleet in the world (264 ships with a capacity of 21 million tons at the time of its demise), 110 offices in Japan and abroad and several daughter companies. Its bankruptcy resulted from an irresponsibly speculative policy of expansion over many years whereby it went on ordering more ships in the midst of heavy debts and long-term difficulties that cried out for major adjustments. Without the shield of Komoto’s position it could never have done this. Large Japanese companies are almost bankruptcy-proof because of the extent to which their ‘main banks’ will continue to supply them with credit. Komoto’s company had long passed the stage where it could have been rescued. Yet it was only after the two subsidiary banks learned that the prime minister (Nakasone) and finance minister (Takeshita) would not help their fellow
habatsu
boss that they prevailed on Sanko’s main bank to limit the inevitable heavy losses they would all suffer.
Some administrators are better protected than others. The bureaucrats are without doubt the most shielded category of all. Article 15 of the constitution, which gives the people the right to choose and dismiss civil servants, could not be further removed from reality. To all intents and purposes, Japan’s bureaucrats are situated above their own formal administrative laws. They are also usually let off the hook in money scandals involving politicians.
The extent of the protection they enjoy can be surmised from the circumstances surrounding the sale of equipment to the Soviet Union by a Toshiba subsidiary in violation of COCOM (the international organisation that supervises certain types of Western trade with communist countries) rules – an incident of great significance to the US–Japan relationship because it linked the trade problem with defence concerns in the minds of many American law-makers. The administrators responded to agitation over this issue with the ritual resignation of the president of Toshiba and highly publicised personnel changes. Yet no one pointed a finger at the MITI bureaucrats, who had refused assistance from the Foreign Ministry and the Self-Defence Agency in monitoring violations of the Japanese COCOM law, and who could not possibly have been unaware that companies such as Toshiba were not taking the law seriously.
LDP parliamentarians who are former bureaucrats are another fairly safe category. Without a bureaucratic background, they tend to be more vulnerable; though political position undoubtedly makes a great difference here.
The case of the Sanko Steamship Company, together with three or four other post-war bankruptcies involving large firms, demonstrates that not all large Japanese corporations are perfectly secure. Although Japan’s top businessmen and business federation leaders are well protected, their protection is less automatic than it is for the bureaucrats and politicians. Businessmen, of course, are ‘administrators’ only at the top of their category, which gradually shades off into the category of the genuine entrepreneur.
An essential factor in Japanese politics is the never-ending strife among the administrators, especially those in government agencies and LDP cliques. This strife limits domestic policy and determines the national attitude towards the world. But it is not strife between a public and a private realm. Now and then an issue may occur on which one or more of the four business federations makes a point of opposing the stance of a segment of the bureaucracy, but government officials almost always get on better with the companies they watch over than with their colleagues in other ministries. And politicians by and large enjoy a symbiotic relationship with both bureaucrats and businessmen.
The predictable patterns of mobility within the administrator class reflect these relations. Career bureaucrats constantly move from bureau to bureau within their ministry but never to another ministry, unless it be on temporary loan for some special purpose or to a new government agency that several ministries are trying to control. The standard leap is from the bureaucracy into business or the LDP; the reverse is unheard of. A situation like that in the United States, with a continuous traffic of political appointees and outside experts into and out of ministries, would be abhorrent to Japanese bureaucrats, who find the cabinet ministers sent to them by the LDP bothersome enough.
As reward for a quarter-century of patiently fulfilling their duties, career bureaucrats may expect a second career as LDP Diet members, as executive of a government or semi-governmental corporation, or, most commonly, as executive of a large firm or bank. Their delayed rewards as
amakudari
(‘descent from heaven’) bureaucrats usually include at least a doubling of income and sometimes much influence and handsome fringe benefits.
Businessmen too may run for an LDP seat, but they do so less often than bureaucrats. Although neither businessmen nor LDP politicians can join the civil service, leaders of the business world do head bureaucratic committees and can be put in charge of long-term policy projects.
The most important unwritten rule among the administrators is that each category must help keep the others in business. They do so in ways that are nowhere formally specified; indeed, some of the ways in which they lend each other assistance are distinctly against the letter or the spirit of the formal rules. The bureaucrats keep the LDP in business by buying off the public with subsidies and public works. The LDP parliamentarians keep the bureaucrats in business by not rocking the boat and not making the slightest attempt to change the policies of industrial expansion that emerged in the immediate post-war period. The LDP and the bureaucrats keep the businessmen in business by protecting their businesses against foreign competition and underwriting their expansionist programmes.