Japanese Cuisine and German Beer: The Harmony of the Japanese National Anthem

 A little while ago, I wrote a blog post about the miyakobushi scale, one of the scales used in Japanese music. While I was at it, I thought I’d also write a little about Japan’s national anthem, Kimigayo.

First, please listen to Kimigayo.

Piano by Umineko

As you can see, it’s a piece with a D tonic, it begins on D and ends on D. And yet it has a C major accompaniment. How on earth did that happen?

Franz Eckert, a German military band musician best remembered for writing "The Anthem of the Korean Empire," was commissioned by the Meiji administration to provide the accompaniment for Kimigayo.  The melody had no key signature and was based on a traditional Japanese scale with D as the tonic. He used Western diatonic chords to harmonize it in the manner of a Western military band. Consequently, the notes utilized were identical to those of the C major scale. 

But as I mentioned earlier, the tonic of Kimigayo is clearly D, not C.

I started studying classical piano at age four and grew up in the world of Western music. To me, Kimigayo sounds like a rather unusual piece. Even when it’s over, it doesn’t quite feel over.

That uneasy feeling probably comes from the fact that music written in the 壱越調(ichikotsucho) mode of 雅楽(gagaku), with D as the tonic, is being accompanied by C major harmony. In Western music, the sense of closure comes from the pull of the dominant (G7) toward the tonic (C). But in Kimigayo, although the accompaniment is in C major, the melody ends on D, so a perfect landing on the tonic chord never quite arrives.

Strictly speaking, ichikotsucho is based on 呂音階(ryo scale) (D–E–F#–G–A–B–C). But composers of Kimigayo, while taking ichikotsu (D) as the tonic, used a melody line based on the 律音階(ritsu scale) (D–E–G–A–C). This scale lacks the third degree, F or F#, which in Western music determines whether a key is major or minor, and it also lacks a leading tone with the pull needed to resolve to the tonic (D).

I like Kimigayo. Still, I can’t deny that it feels a bit like eating Japanese food while drinking German beer. Since the lyrics mean, “May your reign last forever,” you could argue that the lack of a strong sense of closure is fitting. That said, I personally think that since it’s originally gagaku, it might be better even now to have a gagaku specialist provide the accompaniment.

The Sound of Japan : The Miyakobushi Scale

 You have likely heard music that sounds unmistakably Japanese. More often than not, this distinct sound is born from a traditional pentatonic scale known as the In scale(陰音階), or the Miyakobushi scale(都節音階).

First, take a listen to the Miyakobushi scale for yourself.

As you can hear, it is a five-note scale consisting of Mi, Fa, La, Ti, and Do.

If you play using only these five notes, anything you play will instantly take on a Japanese flavor. If you happen to have an instrument handy, why not give it a try?

When it comes to iconic songs utilizing this scale, “Toryanse” immediately comes to mind. 

(Lyrics) 

通りゃんせ　通りゃんせ

ここはどこの　細道じゃ

天神さまの　細道じゃ

ちっと通して　下しゃんせ

御用のないもの　通しゃせぬ

この子の七つの　お祝いに

お札を納めに　まいります

行きはよいよい　帰りはこわい

こわいながらも

通りゃんせ　通りゃんせ 

Come through, come through,  

Where does this narrow pathway lead? 

It is the narrow pathway of the Tenjin Shrine. 

Would you kindly let us pass?

Those with no business here shall never pass through. 

We have come to offer a talisman for this child’s 7th year.

The road going there is pleasant, but the road coming home is arduous. Arduous though it may be, come through, come through.

 

Now, I will play the accompaniment,

so let's sing along with the recorder♪

Piano and Recorder by Umineko

This traditional nursery rhyme is believed to have originated in the Edo period. It is famously sung during a children's playground game similar to "London Bridge is Falling Down," where two children form an arch for others to pass under. Because of its slightly eerie tone, the song has sparked numerous urban legends over the centuries, ranging from tales of hidden treasure to spirited-away children. Interestingly, this melody was also historically used for pedestrian crossing signals across Japan to assist the visually impaired, though it is slowly being replaced by bird calls today.

Goodbye, Mai-chan

 "I’m thinking of finally getting rid of your old study desk. Could you come home and sort out what you want to keep?"

It was just the other day that I got that call from my mother. My parents are in their seventies now, and they want to start decluttering the house to tie up loose ends for their twilight years. My old bedroom at my parents' house was eerily quiet, looking exactly as it did the day I moved out, as if time had simply stopped in that one specific square of the world. The afternoon sun spilling through the gap in the curtains hasn't changed a bit. My bookshelf and the CDs crammed into it are completely untouched. Seeing them brings a rush of teenage memories; oh right, I used to listen to that stuff.

My wooden study desk sat quietly in the corner of the room. I sat in the chair I hadn't used in decades and ran my hand over the slightly dusty desktop. I pressed the large red, green, and blue buttons for the desk lamp, but it didn't turn on. It was unplugged, of course, but I didn't want to plug it in and see if it still actually worked. Faded prize stickers from old snacks were still clinging to the edge of the desk, no doubt slapped on there by a much younger me. When I pulled open the drawers, a haphazard assortment of relics peeked out from the back: an old purikura photo-sticker book, worn-down pencil stubs, and a tiny glass bottle of those scented beads that were all the rage in elementary school. Feeling like I was unearthing a time capsule, I took them out one by one. The black pencil smudges staining the bottom of the drawer and the smell of aged wood instantly transported me back to the air of my childhood.

Among that pile of junk was a single old postcard. Dog-eared and slightly smudged with pencil, it was from "Mai-chan," a friend who had moved away to a distant prefecture when we were in elementary school. The address on the front and the writing on the back were both penned in that distinctly round, childish handwriting. On the reverse side was a horse drawn painstakingly in colored pencil, accompanied by a brief message: "Take care." This year is the Year of the Horse. This postcard was from exactly three zodiac cycles ago. This slightly faded piece of paper had been sitting here for thirty-six whole years.

Mai-chan was a petite girl, but so active she could easily hold her own against the boys. When the lunch bell rang, she was always the first one sprinting out, her fine, short hair bouncing. We used to play together on the playground equipment in the schoolyard and collapse into fits of laughter over the silliest things. Yet, regardless of the season, those small hands of hers were always clad in white cotton gloves. Perhaps it was hand eczema. A few times while we were playing, I caught a glimpse of raw, red skin painfully peeking out from the cuffs of her gloves. Even so, I never once asked her what was wrong. In my child's mind, I think I sensed it was an unspoken boundary. I was too young to truly understand the pain she carried, and more than anything, I was terrified of stepping into whatever shadows might have lurked behind her bright smile.

She lived in the company housing complex that spread out at the foot of the mountain. Alongside the road leading to the complex ran the tracks of the old copper mine railway. It was a landscape steeped in the atmosphere of the Showa era, with uniform rows of identical wooden terraced houses. I visited her home there a few times. Stepping up over the raised wooden threshold from the entryway, we would spend hours chattering endlessly in her room, a small but incredibly cozy, south-facing space soaked in sunlight.

Taking detours on the way home from school was another of our great joys. Still wearing our yellow school hats and carrying our red backpacks, the two of us often frequented a tiny candy shop everyone called "Okiya." It was a decrepit wooden building that looked like it might tilt over at any moment. By late afternoon, blocked by the mountain's shadow, the rather dim interior was crammed wall-to-wall with cheap sweets. It was run entirely by a quiet old woman who lived alone, always sitting in the tatami room at the back of the store. I remember one time we played the bouncy ball lottery there. You'd pull a paper slip out of a plastic container, and depending on your number, you'd win a bouncy ball of a certain color and size. We used to play with those bright lumps of rubber all the time, dropping them onto the gritty 80’s asphalt and watching them ricochet wildly into the air. That day, I drew a dud, a completely ordinary, tiny, solid-colored ball. While I was sulking, Mai-chan managed to hit the jackpot: a beautiful, marble-patterned bouncy ball as big as a child’s fist.

"Here, you can have it!" 

Her eyes crinkling with joy, she didn't hesitate for a second before pressing that massive ball into my hands. I can still vaguely remember the slightly stiff texture of her white cotton glove, the feel of her small but strong fingers, and the proud, triumphant look on her face.

By the time I left for university, my hometown had undergone massive redevelopment. The company housing where she lived began to be demolished shortly after the year 2000, and today it’s been entirely paved over by new scenery, leaving not a single trace behind. The townscape has changed so drastically that I couldn't even tell you where "Okiya" used to stand. Much later, well into adulthood, I learned that the word okiya historically referred to a geisha or courtesan boarding house. That dark, old building where the old woman quietly minded the store alone... Could it be that she herself was involved in that line of work in her youth, and the name of that little candy shop was a lingering echo of her past? The truth is lost to time now. Only the dimness of that shop at dusk remains etched in my memory.

Mai-chan moved away to a distant prefecture at the end of the second term, on a bitterly cold, windy day in December. It was the kind of freezing day where the sky was a heavy, leaden gray and your breath bloomed white in the air. Not long after that, this New Year's card arrived in my mailbox in January. That slightly clumsy, colored-pencil horse, and the words "Take care." The New Year's cards we exchanged that year were the very last things that connected us.

I lifted my eyes from the postcard and looked around my childhood room once more. Under some sky, somewhere in Japan, what kind of adult has Mai-chan become? What kind of life is she living? Has she finally been able to take off those white cotton gloves? I have no idea where she is or what she's doing. But those memories from back then still remain at the very bottom of my heart, glowing with an undeniable warmth.

I stared quietly at the old postcard for a little while longer. The faded drawing of the horse seemed to be staring right back at me from the past. 

"Take care," 

I murmured softly, returning her own words to her across a gap of thirty-six years. And then, I gently dropped the card into the trash can.

Goodbye, Mai-chan.

Reflections on Constitutionalism on August 15

 On August 15, the 81st anniversary of the end of World War II, a spokesperson for the Chinese Foreign Ministry issued a statement of fierce protest and condemnation regarding Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi's ritual offering (玉串料 tamagushi-ryo) and her cabinet members' visits to Yasukuni Shrine, labeling it a “challenge to the post-war international order.”

the sunflower that’s taller than me

In considering this issue, I would first like to look back at its historical background. When Japan and China normalized diplomatic relations in 1972, China waived its demand for massive war reparations. This decision was grounded in the logic of separating the military from civilians, the idea that a handful of militarists who planned and led the war were the culprits, while the general Japanese public were victims. However, Class-A war criminals were secretly enshrined at Yasukuni in 1978—a fact that became widely known to the public through news reports in 1979. Consequently, Emperor Showa ceased his visits to the shrine. The situation escalated further in 1985 when Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone made an official visit, prompting explicit condemnation from China for the very first time.

Next, we need to understand the real nature of this problem. It is not a matter of diplomatic consideration for neighboring countries, but rather Japan’s legal constraints, such as the principle of separation of church and state. This is because, in order to ensure that constitutionalism functions properly and to maintain long-term social stability, those in power must also strictly adhere to these principles. 

Wise politicians will be cautious about fettering the governments with restrictions that cannot be observed, because they know that every breach of the fundamental laws, though dictated by necessity, impairs that sacred reverence which ought to be maintained in the breast of rulers towards the constitution of a country, and forms a precedent for other breaches where the same plea of necessity does not exist at all, or is less urgent and palpable.

(Quoted from “Federalist No. 25”)

Put another way, there is a good chance that public leaders' formal visits to Yasukuni Shrine are against the Japanese Constitution. Since the Religious Corporations Law was passed in 1951, Yasukuni Shrine has been formally recognized as a "religious corporation." Additionally, the Constitution's Article 20, Paragraph 3 clearly requires a rigorous separation of church and state,

Article 20. Freedom of religion is guaranteed to all. No religious organization shall receive any privileges from the State, nor exercise any political authority.

2. No person shall be compelled to take part in any religious act, celebration, rite or practice.

3. The State and its organs shall refrain from religious education or any other religious activity.

In contrast, pre-war Imperial Japan relied on the sophistry known as the "Shrine Non-Religion Theory." The Meiji government positioned Shinto as the pillar of state governance, effectively On the other hand, pre-war Imperial Japan depended on a sophisticated theory called the "Shrine Non-Religion Theory(神社非宗教論)." State Shinto was essentially established by the Meiji government, which made Shinto the cornerstone of state rule. They said that “Shinto is not a religion, but a public teaching of the state (治教) based on reverence for the Emperor." They established shrines as public institutions by prohibiting Shinto priests from participating in obviously religious activities. As a result, the government was able to actively promote State Shinto while pretending that they were "not violating the separation of religion and state." Such perverted reasoning is obviously untenable in the present day.

Now, the principle of the separation of religion and state does not, in itself, directly guarantee individual rights. The prevailing constitutional interpretation is that while the first half of Article 20, Paragraph 1 directly guarantees the fundamental human right to "freedom of religion," the latter half of Paragraph 1, as well as Paragraph 3, serve as an "institutional guarantee." By legally securing the institutional separation of state and religion, they indirectly ensure freedom of religion.

The vulnerability of protecting rights indirectly through an institutional guarantee lies in the fact that the impending crisis remains largely invisible until an individual's rights are directly violated. A politician's visit to Yasukuni will not immediately take away our freedom of religion any time soon. But ignoring the deterioration of the institutional barrier between the state and religion may eventually allow the state to meddle in our deepest personal beliefs. As the sovereign people, we must hold our leaders responsible for ensuring that the Constitution is strictly adhered to and that no departure is allowed in order to safely safeguard the universal value of fundamental human rights.

The Cult of Overwork

 Prime Minister Takaichi’s recent social media posts flaunting her "zero to three hours of sleep" and busy domestic chores have drawn cold stares both domestically and internationally. The UK's Independent cynically reported, "Japan PM’s latest attempt to emulate Margaret Thatcher triggers cross-party backlash." Thatcher, whom Takaichi idolizes, was famously known for sleeping only four hours a night. Biographies note that even during her premiership, she cooked for Downing Street staff, prepared her husband's breakfast, and did the ironing. It has been pointed out that Takaichi's sudden tweet was a calculated performance with exactly this in mind.

Looking back to October 2025, during her inaugural speech as LDP president, Takaichi declared: "I will have everyone work like draft horses. I myself am throwing away the term 'work-life balance.' I will work, work, work, work, and work." This statement created a huge media wave, even won the grand prize for the 2025 Buzzword of the Year, but it didn’t end as mere rhetoric. This slogan turned the direction of the nation’s labor policy 180 degrees.” The Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare had originally planned to revise the Labor Standards Act at the 2026 regular Diet session to address long working hours. This includes a ban on 14 or more consecutive days of work and a “working interval system” that requires at least 11 hours of rest between shifts. However, after her appointment, the submission of these bills was shelved and effectively put on ice.

While demanding that the public discard work-life balance and work like draft horses, what about the Prime Minister's own work ethic? Her attendance at the budget committees of both houses during the extraordinary Diet session was strikingly low. While the average attendance time for prime ministers in intensive deliberations over the past five years was 68 hours, Takaichi clocked in at a mere 33 hours, exactly half. Fleeing from the Diet, the most crucial arena for democratic accountability, only to brag about "not sleeping" due to household chores and reading documents at home, is nothing short of farcical.

I am not criticizing the Prime Minister by demanding she "work more." Quite the opposite. I am adamantly against this outdated "guts over brains" mentality that requires everyone to throw their work-life balance out the window and work like a beast of burden. Japan has a long-standing, toxic habit of valuing the sheer amount of hardship endured in a process over objective results. Often the suffering itself is the goal and is romanticized.

Masao Maruyama (丸山眞男), the leading political scientist and intellectual historian, in his analysis of the philosophy of Yukichi Fukuzawa (福沢諭吉), referred to wakudeki (惑obsession/溺fixation) as a state in which certain customs or patterns of behavior become divorced from human agency, fixate themselves, and dominate the people. This is due to a mistrust of logical rational systems and a dependence on subjective spiritualism such as “raw feelings” or “pain”. When this wakudeki takes deep root in society, objective accountability for results vanishes, allowing irrational spiritualism and the absurdities of the status quo to persist. This forms what Maruyama called the "system of irresponsibility (無責任の体系)*1." Emotional appeals like, "Look how much I'm suffering without sleep," are nothing more than self-indulgent get-out-of-jail-free cards designed to deflect responsibility for policy failures.

*1: A concept proposed by Masao Maruyama. It refers to a structural flaw in the decision-making of organizations or nations where the true locus of responsibility and decision-making authority becomes ambiguous, allowing things to proceed without anyone taking accountability. 

Under this "system of irresponsibility," the real-world hardships of the people are brushed aside. Right now, what voters expect most from the Prime Minister are measures to combat inflation. Yet, what she enthusiastically pushed through this Diet session was the creation of a new penal code establishing imprisonment for damaging the Japanese flag, along with a profoundly misogynistic revision to the Imperial House Law--granting succession rights to a male heir 38 degrees of consanguinity away via adoption, blatantly ignoring the Emperor's own first-degree daughter. Meanwhile, the yen, which stood at 140 to the dollar when she took office, has plummeted to 163. Naturally, in a country that relies on imports for everything from food to energy, prices have skyrocketed. Furthermore, Japan's GDP per capita by purchasing power parity, which ranked 6th globally in the 1990s, 39th in 2025, and is projected to plunge to 43rd in 2026.

Prime Minister Takaichi and her fanatical supporters might genuinely believe that if we just sacrifice our sleep and work recklessly, the nation will become rich again. However, the biggest reason Japan climbed to become the world's second-largest economy was not because of "モーレツ社員(corporate warriors)*2," nor because people chugged Regain energy drinks to "24時間戦えますか(fight for 24 hours)*3." It was a geopolitical bonus, during the Cold War, the United States heavily favored Japan as a staunch bulwark against communism. The foundational global context is entirely different now. Imitating only the superficial aspects of that era's success story–namely, the sweat and suffering–and forcing the Japanese people to work like draft horses will yield zero reproducible economic growth. The only thing with any reproducibility is the triggering of karoshi(過労死)*4, a tragic phenomenon from the late 1980s that notoriously made its way into the English dictionary.

*2: Moretsu shain: A term for the fiercely dedicated corporate salarymen symbolizing Japan's period of rapid economic growth, who prioritized company work over their families and private lives, willingly enduring long hours and self-sacrifice. 

*3: A social phenomenon sparked by a 1988 TV commercial for an energy drink with the catchy slogan "Yellow and black are the signs of courage, can you fight for 24 hours?♪" 

*4: Karoshi is a Japanese word meaning death from overwork.

It is a rock-solid, medically proven fact, backed by countless experiments and large-scale studies, that sleep deprivation leads to impaired concentration, a weakened immune system, and an increased risk of lifestyle-related diseases. If so, what the Prime Minister of a nation should be recommending to her people is not some insomniac spiritualism, but rather "logical, efficient systems" and "getting plenty of rest."

Patriotism Without Legislative Facts

 I voiced my concerns about the "Japanese Flag Damage Crime" bill on this blog last year, and it has finally passed the House of Representatives Cabinet Committee.

"Anyone who publicly damages, removes, or defiles the flag in a manner that causes significant discomfort or disgust to others shall be punished by imprisonment for up to two years or a fine of up to 200,000 yen."

「人に著しく不快、嫌悪の情を催させる方法で公然と損壊、除去、汚損した者は2年以下の拘禁刑または20万円以下の罰金に処する」

When I saw the news, I practically got a headache, despairing at the intellectual decline of Japan as a nation supposedly governed by the rule of law. To begin with, this bill completely lacks both the "legislative facts" and the "protected legal interests" that are fundamental prerequisites for enacting criminal law. If someone destroys a flag belonging to someone else, they can already be adequately punished under existing property damage laws.

In other words, what this new law specifically targets is the act of publicly tearing up your own Japanese flag. How you handle your own property infringes on exactly zero people's rights, and there is no real-world crisis where society is suffering because current laws can't address this. To invent a new criminal penalty under these circumstances just to stroke "patriotic" egos is nothing short of sheer lunacy.

What’s even more terrifying is the sheer fragility of its constituent elements. It seeks to punish those who act "in a manner that causes significant discomfort or disgust to others." But how exactly does one objectively prove abstract, internal emotions like "discomfort" or "disgust" to establish a crime? If you ask me, xenophobes violently waving the national flag while spewing hate speech is the very definition of a highly uncomfortable and disgusting "defilement of the flag." Yet, let's be real, this law, championed by authoritarian politicians, will never be applied to their own base. The inevitable outcome is glaringly obvious, it will be weaponized through arbitrary judgments by those in power to exclusively target anti-government critics and freedom of expression.

Proponents loudly claim that "other countries have flag desecration laws too," but no modern developed nation is pushing for this kind of archaic legislation today. In the US, the Supreme Court has already ruled (in Texas v. Johnson) that burning the flag is protected under the First Amendment as freedom of speech, rendering such bans unconstitutional.

There is also an argument claiming that it’s a "structural imbalance" in our legal system to have Article 92 of the Penal Code (Damage to Foreign National Emblems) without a corresponding law for the Japanese flag. However, Article 92 was specifically designed as a crime concerning diplomatic relations. Its protected legal interest is to prevent diplomatic friction or international conflicts that could threaten Japan's security and the interests of its citizens. That’s precisely why it is a crime subject to prosecution only upon complaint by a foreign government.

The Penal Code of 1907, including Article 92, was heavily influenced by the Otsu Incident of 1891. That led to the historic incident at Otsu, when a Japanese policeman named Tsuda tried to assassinate the Russian Crown Prince during his visit. The Meiji government feared a Russian retaliation, and pressured the judiciary to sentence Tsuda to death under the crime of high treason, a charge strictly reserved for acts against the Japanese Imperial Family. The Chief Justice famously declined, arguing that high treason could not apply to a foreign royal, maintaining separation of powers and judicial independence. "we need a Japanese flag law just to balance things out" is total nonsense when you take into account the specific historical context in which the law protecting foreign emblems was born.

Furthermore, those who hold historical grievances against Japan and target flags in protest typically go after the Rising Sun Flag (旭日旗), not the legally designated Hinomaru (日章旗). However, applying this new law to the Rising Sun Flag, which isn't specified in the criminal code, would be a clear violation of the principle of legality (specifically, the prohibition of analogical interpretation). Ultimately, this law risks being unconstitutional by infringing on the "freedom of expression" guaranteed by Article 21, all while offering practically zero real-world utility.

At the end of the day, this bill is a toothless, purely performative piece of legislation designed to flaunt a twisted ideology that elevates the "authority of the state" and the "national polity" above individual rights. The spirit of Article 13 of the Constitution, which champions constitutionalism and respect for individuals, is being trampled on, leaving only a rampant, excessive identification with state power. I suppose a bill like this passes because an increasing number of people have surrendered their own independence, suffering from the illusion that they become strong by merging their own identity with the will of the state. It’s truly a shame.

By the way, we currently have two typhoons approaching simultaneously. Here in my area, the rain is heavy but the wind is relatively mild. However, it looks like Tokyo is going to take a direct hit. Please stay safe, everyone.

Sacrifice Should Not Be Romanticized

 Prime Minister Takaichi, attending the Okinawa Memorial Service for War Victims, delivered the following speech,

「今日私たちが享受している平和と繁栄は、この地で命を落とされた方々の尊い犠牲と、沖縄の歩んだ筆舌に尽くし難い苦難の歴史の上に築かれたものです。そのことを改めて深く胸に刻みながら、静かに頭を垂れたいと思います」 

"The peace and prosperity we enjoy today are built upon the noble sacrifices of those who lost their lives on this land, and the indescribable history of hardship that Okinawa has endured. Engraving this deeply in my heart once more, I wish to quietly bow my head."

 I simply cannot stomach the phrase "noble sacrifice."

Modifying the word "sacrifice" with "noble" attaches a nuance of voluntary devotion, a willing surrender of one's life for a sublime cause. The reality of the Battle of Okinawa was that it was merely a stalling tactic to buy time for the defense of the mainland. To slap the label of "noble sacrifice" on deaths forced upon people stripped of any avenue of escape by the military and the state—on gruesome deaths they were simply dragged into—is nothing short of a desecration to those who died in profound despair.

Human sacrifice should never be romanticized. And this glorification of sacrifice is by no means confined to the realms of politics or history.

There are many anime series I love, but there are also those I simply cannot accept, specifically, the tropes common in shōnen manga, "With enough willpower, you can overcome anything," or "Sacrificing oneself for the sake of one's comrades." While many extol these narratives as "touching" or "passionate friendship," to me, they look like nothing more than totalitarian propaganda.

The ethos that "strong willpower can overcome any hardship" easily flips into a cruel, illogical fallacy: "If you couldn't overcome it, it's because you were weak-willed." It reeks of wartime Japan, where citizens practiced thrusting bamboo spears to shoot down B-29 bombers, somehow believing that sheer spirit would somehow get the job done.

The glorification of "self-sacrifice, the casting aside of one's own life and happiness for a cause or for one's companions" is nothing less than a barbaric set of values that stands in direct opposition to the spirit of Article 13 of the Japanese Constitution, which guarantees supreme respect for the individual. Is there any entertainment more unsettling than consuming the sacrifice of others as an inspiring story?

What is truly noble is ensuring no one has to be sacrificed in the first place. The belief that sacrifice itself is noble is profoundly dangerous.

The Beauty of Decay

 According to the preliminary figures from the latest five-year national census released late last month, Japan's population has shrunk by 3.09 million compared to the previous count. It's the largest drop on record. Here in my home prefecture of Ehime, we've lost about 75,000 people (a 5.6% decline).

Take a look at the graph below. It shows the long-term population projections for Japan released by the government back in 2011.

「国土の長期展望」中間とりまとめ 概要 平成23年2月21日 国土審議会政策部会長期展望委員会

("Long-Term Vision of National Land" Interim Report Summary)

Year	Population	Aging Rate
2004	127.84 million	19.6%
2030	115.22 million	31.8%
2050	95.15 million	39.6%
2100	47.71 million	40.6%

Since government demographic forecasts practically make a sport out of being overly optimistic, the reality will likely be even sparser.

While it's generally best to separate the macro, the national economy, from the micro, individual living standards, considering the yen's relentless depreciation and the continuous drop in real wages, the financial reality for most Japanese people is going to be incredibly grim.

I could write endlessly about the myriad social issues destined to arise from a rapidly shrinking population in a domestic-demand-driven economy. But I’ve beaten that drum plenty of times before. So today, I'll step away from the soapbox and lean into my personal, perhaps overly sentimental, feelings about Japan.

Ehime's rural landscape

I love the Japanese countryside. For me, nothing beats the rural scenery of my home here in Ehime.

In late April, the rice paddies are flooded. Planting happens in May, and as the temperatures rise, the stalks shoot up. By midsummer the paddies, once a reflection of the sky, become a green carpet of rustling leaves. But the best time, I think, is in late September, just before the harvest, when the heavy, golden ears of rice bend low. The contrasts are just breathtaking: the vivid red of the spider lilies growing by the paths, the bright gold of the rice and the rich green of the foliage all around.

Spider lilies blooming in late September

My husband's hometown of San Francisco is postcard-perfect from virtually any angle. Yet, as a country girl at heart, I have a deep affection for the unpolished, rustic landscapes of Japan. It’s not the curated, look-at-me beauty of a theme park, it’s an unapologetic, frugal lived-in-ness. You can feel the traces of human lives, a raw, breathing humidity of the place. I can even find genuine beauty in the rusted signboard of a roadside shop that probably went out of business twenty or thirty years ago.

Japan will undoubtedly continue to fade alongside its rapidly shrinking population. A few years ago, the local 24-hour convenience store started closing its doors at 9 PM. As someone who clearly remembers the glittering, neon-drenched streets of the 90s, it's undeniably lonely watching the nights grow steadily darker. But the decay of regional cities didn't just start yesterday. In hindsight, the rot had clearly set in thirty years ago, right in the middle of all that glitter.

For me, the charm of the Japanese countryside isn't tethered to economic indicators. While our modern conveniences will drastically plummet year by year, the unpolished, decaying beauty that I hold so dear will likely only multiply.

Now, having waxed poetic about my love for rural Japan, let me offer a massive caveat: I do not recommend moving to the middle of nowhere. When I sing the praises of the countryside, I’m talking about the suburbs of mid-sized regional cities. I am absolutely not talking about "marginal settlements" (限界集落) deep in the mountains.

In those dying hamlets with only a handful of households left, everyone is essentially "family." Because of that, they can be brutally exclusive to outsiders, even to fellow Japanese. Since everyone views each other as kin, the boundaries of personal space are wildly different from the norm. An acquaintance of mine who married into one of these extreme rural areas told me that a neighbor once waltzed into her house uninvited, rummaged through her drawers, and casually helped themselves to groceries from her fridge.

And honestly, she was one of the lucky ones because she was at least accepted as "family." I’ve lost count of the stories I've heard about families moving from the city to the deep country, only to be completely ostracized and driven out by the village.

At the end of the day, people leave places for a reason.

Robbing Peter to Pay Paul

 It made front-page news, the government is apparently leaning toward slashing the consumption tax on food and beverages to a mere 1% as a countermeasure against inflation. The official excuse? Doing so will shorten the time needed to update retail cash registers, allowing for a speedier rollout.

Food & Beverage Tax Cut: 1% Plan the Leading Contender

At first glance, it sounds like a godsend—a policy that eases the daily burden of grocery bills. But when you hold this up against the harsh light of our current macroeconomic reality, this isn't an inflation remedy. It's a highly volatile concoction that threatens to accelerate the very inflation it claims to fight.

Now, the consumption tax applies the same rate regardless of income, meaning it takes a disproportionately larger bite out of lower-income households. Because it's inherently regressive, I’m not opposed to the idea of a tax cut in principle. What I am deeply allergic to is framing this as an "anti-inflation measure."

Prices are inextricably tied to the credibility—and therefore the value—of the Japanese Yen. Claiming that simply slashing taxes will lower prices is nothing more than political sleight of hand. It brings to mind the old idiom 朝三暮四 Chosan-boshi (see footnote), a pure illusion of benefit.

If the government forces through a multi-trillion-yen tax cut without securing a revenue source, what happens to Japan's macroeconomy? It doesn't take a psychic to predict the following vicious cycle:

• Fiscal deterioration triggered by unfunded tax cuts

• A spike in Japan's sovereign risk, sparking a massive sell-off of government bonds (JGBs)

• A collapse in the credibility of the Yen itself, plunging the currency even lower

• Skyrocketing import prices driven by the weakened Yen

Japan's 10-year government bond yields have already breached the 2.7% mark. Around this time last year, they were hovering near 1.5%. The market is casting a ruthless eye on Japan's fiscal discipline. If we issue more bonds—meaning, if we pile on more national debt—to fund this tax cut, trust in Japan's finances will crumble further. It is as clear as day that this will invite an even weaker yen.

Herein lies the fatal flaw: the Japanese way of life is intensely reliant on imports. We aren't just talking about raw ingredients like meat, fish, wheat, and soybeans. The livestock feed for domestic farming, the gasoline to transport our goods, the electricity to power our infrastructure, every single facet is fully exposed to the crosshairs of a weak yen.

The true value of the Japanese Yen (its Real Effective Exchange Rate) has plummeted to a third of its peak.

Real Effective Exchange Rate graph

If unfunded tax cuts drag the yen down even further, the resulting import inflation will cause supermarket prices to skyrocket. That little 7% tax break at the register? It will be obliterated in the blink of an eye. Worse still, overall inflation across all daily necessities means our total household expenses will actually increase.

The government’s official reasoning—that "we're prioritizing early implementation by going with 1% because updating cash registers takes too long"—is absurd on its face. Risking the very foundation of the nation and devaluing our currency for a stopgap, crowd-pleasing stunt is populism at its absolute worst. What we desperately need right now isn't a sweet-sounding handout; it is the fiscal discipline required to restore the world's faith in the Yen.

(Note on 朝三暮四 Chosan-boshi:

This idiom refers to being fooled by superficial differences when the end result is exactly the same. It stems from the classic Chinese text Zhuangzi.

A monkey trainer told his macaques,

"I will give you three acorns in the morning and four in the evening."

The monkeys were furious. So, the trainer rephrased,

"Okay, how about four in the morning and three in the evening?"

The monkeys were delighted.

I always find it fascinating how many Japanese four-character idioms are rooted in ancient Chinese fables!)