Light Between Sky and Sea “Winter Fantasy” at Sanuki Manno Park

 At Sanuki Manno National Government Park in Kagawa Prefecture, the annual illumination event Winter Fantasy is held from November 29, 2025, to January 12, 2026. Now in its 20th year, this season’s theme is “Light Connecting the Sky and the Sea.” Using approximately 650,000 LED bulbs and spotlights, the park is transformed into a luminous landscape inspired by the sky, the ocean, and the creatures that inhabit them.

I visited on Sunday the 28th. With the year-end and New Year holidays already underway, many people had likely returned to Kagawa from other prefectures. Admission requires payment at either the North or West gate for both entry and parking, but the roads leading to the gates were backed up for nearly two kilometers. It took over an hour just to get inside the park.

Sunset comes around 5:00 p.m. at this time of year, so I had hoped to enter shortly after 4:00 p.m. and enjoy a walk through the park while there was still some daylight. In reality, the crowds were far heavier than expected, and by the time I finally entered, it was already past 5:30 p.m., with dusk settling in.

I have always loved that brief moment after sunset when the sky deepens into a rich indigo, while a faint band of orange still lingers along the western horizon.

The temperature was around 2°C (36°F), so cold that my fingertips went numb while holding my smartphone. I regretted not disabling fingerprint authentication beforehand and bringing gloves with me.

Even so, it was a wonderful experience, almost as if I were spending time beneath a sky filled with countless stars. Next year, I plan to visit again, but this time I’ll be sure to avoid the busy year-end holiday period.

Japan’s Inflation Trap: The Hidden Tax of Inflation in Japan

 When I think about Japan’s economy as a Japanese citizen, I cannot help but feel disheartened. The problem is not a single failure, but a structure in which monetary policy, fiscal policy, and exchange rates are entangled all at once, leaving very little room to escape. To begin with, Japan is already clearly in an inflationary phase. Consumer prices, both headline and core, have been rising at around 3% year-on-year, a level that can no longer be dismissed as temporary or blamed solely on imported inflation. Under normal circumstances, a central bank would respond by raising policy rates, supporting the currency, and anchoring inflation expectations. Yet the Bank of Japan, burdened by years of ultra-low interest rates and massive holdings of government bonds, finds it extremely difficult to make that obvious choice.

In the latest move, the policy rate was raised from 0.5% to 0.75%. What followed, however, was not a stronger yen, but a weaker one. This is a highly symbolic outcome. The fact that the yen was sold even after a rate hike indicates that markets have concluded this level of tightening is insufficient to control either inflation or fiscal risks. With inflation hovering around 3%, a policy rate of 0.75% still implies deeply negative real interest rates, offering little incentive to hold yen. Moreover, investors appear convinced that the Bank of Japan, constrained by political and fiscal considerations, will remain reluctant to normalize policy decisively. As a result, the perception has taken hold that rate hikes will remain small, cautious, and perpetually delayed, and the yen continues to be sold accordingly.

On December 19, immediately after the BOJ announced a rate hike, the yen weakened sharply

This monetary instability is being exacerbated by the government’s fiscal stance. The Takaichi administration’s slogan of “responsible proactive fiscal policy” is presented as a strategy to balance growth and national security, but in practice it deepens reliance on deficit-financed government bonds. Most of the supplementary budget is funded through new bond issuance, and even defense spending, long protected by the postwar taboo against deficit financing, has now crossed that line. Expanding defense expenditures to more than 3% of GDP without a clearly secured and sustainable tax base represents, from the market’s perspective, a clear retreat from fiscal discipline.

That judgment is already visible in the government bond market. Yields on 10-year Japanese government bonds have risen at a pace rarely seen before, reaching the 2% range. For decades, JGBs were regarded as immovable safe assets. What we are witnessing now is the beginning of a repricing driven by doubts about fiscal sustainability itself. Rising yields mean higher debt-servicing costs, translating into trillions of yen in additional fiscal burden. If those interest payments are then financed through yet more bond issuance, confidence in the yen will deteriorate further, setting the stage for renewed currency depreciation and accelerating inflation.

Sharp rise in 10-year JGB yields.

What makes Japan’s inflation problem particularly serious is that the country is drifting toward what economists call fiscal dominance. Japan’s total government debt stands at roughly 250% of GDP, an extraordinary level even among advanced economies. For a country carrying debt of this magnitude, rising interest rates are no longer merely a tool of macroeconomic adjustment; they are a direct threat to fiscal stability itself. Raise rates decisively, and debt-servicing costs explode. Suppress rates, and the currency weakens while inflation accelerates. When a central bank is effectively forced to prioritize government solvency over price stability, fiscal dominance has already set in, and markets are increasingly viewing Japan through that lens.

The people most directly affected by this situation are those whose assets and incomes are almost entirely denominated in yen. Banknotes issued by the Bank of Japan are, at their core, pieces of paper sustained by trust in the state and society, a human-based monetary system. When that trust erodes, the real value of savings is quietly shaved away. Unless wages consistently keep pace with prices, living standards will inevitably decline. Inflation is a process in which wealth erodes even without anyone explicitly taking it, and the burden falls disproportionately on those who hold only cash and yen deposits.

And yet, public sentiment is buoyed by the symbolism of Japan’s first female prime minister, with some people enthusiastically engaging in what they call “サナ活(Sana-katsu)”, a form of political fandom. Many of these supporters are ordinary citizens whose entire livelihoods depend on the credibility of the yen, and who have no way to escape shifts in currency or bond markets. A weaker yen raises the cost of imports, pushing food, energy, and daily necessities ever higher. Rising interest rates increase the burden of mortgages and loans, while a slowing economy places downward pressure on employment and wages. To hold only yen-denominated assets is to bear the full force of these structural changes.

This morning’s newspaper front page, approval ratings for the Takaichi cabinet remain strikingly high

Around the Takaichi administration, reflationists often repeat the claim that “because Japan issues debt in its own currency, fiscal collapse is impossible.” On an accounting level, this may sound persuasive. Japan issues government bonds in yen, and the BOJ can supply yen without limit. In that narrow sense, a formal default, an inability to repay principal and interest in nominal terms, is indeed unlikely. What this argument fatally overlooks, however, is that the central bank can create currency symbols, not economic value.

The yen functions as money only because it is supported by social trust, the belief that this piece of paper will continue to purchase goods and services in the future. As long as that trust holds, unlimited issuance may appear harmless. But trust is not unconditional. When money creation becomes excessive, inflation accelerates, and everyday life becomes unsustainable, people begin to avoid holding that currency altogether. A situation in which prices keep rising, wages fail to catch up, savings lose real value, and even basic necessities become difficult to afford constitutes a very real collapse from the perspective of ordinary people, even without any formal declaration of default.

Ultimately, the phrase “there will be no fiscal collapse” protects the state’s appearance, not the lives of its citizens. An economy in which ordinary people can no longer sustain their livelihoods cannot be called healthy, no matter how carefully its books are balanced. Currency is nothing more, and nothing less, than a network of human trust. When that trust breaks, collapse has already occurred.

Japan’s economy now stands at a critical juncture. This is not a question of right versus left, nor an ideological debate. It is a concrete and unavoidable issue for everyone whose life is denominated in yen. The Takaichi cabinet enjoys approval ratings near 70%, and many people hope its economic policies will succeed. But markets are relentlessly honest.

Why Christmas in Japan Is Nothing Like the West

 Christmas in Japan looks quite different from the way it is celebrated in the West.

In Europe and the United States, Christmas is a solemn family holiday. Most shops close, people return home, and the cities grow quiet. Japan, on the other hand, treats Christmas as a day for couples, a peak season for shopping malls, restaurants, and romantic marketing campaigns.

Being single on Christmas even has its own nickname: “クリぼっち(Kuri-bocchi)” (literally, “Christmas alone”). Some single people jokingly sing Jingle Bells as “Single Bell,” turning self-deprecation into seasonal humor.

シングルベル、シングルベル、鈴がなる♪
(♪ Single bell, single bell, single all the way)

Christmas tree in a shopping mall

The Day Christmas Arrived in Japan

Christmas first reached Japan in the 16th century.
In 1549, Francis Xavier arrived as a missionary, and Christianity began spreading across Japan. In 1552, a Christmas Mass was held in Yamaguchi—considered the very first Christmas celebration on Japanese soil.

Christianity later disappeared from public life due to the Tokugawa shogunate’s ban. But when the ban was lifted in 1873, Christmas returned to Japan as part of the Westernization boom of the Meiji era.

By 1886, Japan saw its first decorated Christmas tree at Meidi-ya in Yokohama. December 7 is still known as “Christmas Tree Day” because of this event.

When Christmas Became a Visible Part of Japanese Life

On December 25, 1926, Emperor Taisho passed away.
Starting the following year, December 25 became a national holiday known as the Taisho Emperor Festival.

For roughly twenty years (1927–1947), Christmas coincided with a public holiday. This accidental overlap quietly planted the idea that December 25 is a special day.

Although Christmas faded during World War II due to its Western origins, it resurfaced powerfully after the war. American movies, music, and magazines introduced a glamorous, “Hollywood-style” Christmas that captivated the Japanese imagination.

From the 1950s onward, department stores and shopping streets launched full-scale Christmas promotions—complete with trees, gifts, cakes, and the tradition of giving presents to children.
This is when Christmas finally became a firmly established part of everyday Japanese life.

The Curious Birth of Japan’s “Kentucky Christmas”

When Japanese people think of Christmas dinner, many imagine Kentucky Fried Chicken.
This unique custom began with the wildly successful 1974 marketing campaign, “Kentucky for Christmas!” After that, eating fried chicken on Christmas became a nationwide tradition.

 Here are five commemorative KFC plates from my home.
KFC Party Barrel typically includes a bucket of chicken, a cake, salad, sometimes lasagna in recent years, and used to have a decorative plate. I haven’t eaten one in ages, I’ve been on a ketogenic diet for about ten years, but the nostalgia remains.

How Christmas Became “A Night for Lovers”

By the 1980s, women’s magazines were running annual Christmas features with predictable themes:
“A Night with Your Boyfriend,” “Romantic Date Spots,” “Perfect Christmas Gifts.”
This was when the idea of “Christmas = a romantic couple’s holiday” firmly took root among young people.

In 1980, Yumi Matsutoya’s hit song “恋人がサンタクロース(Koibito ga Santa Claus)” (“My Lover Is Santa Claus”) amplified the image of Christmas as a night filled with romance and anticipation.

(Lyrics: Yumi Matsutoya, English translation by Umineko)

♪Long ago, the stylish woman next door said to me on Christmas Day
"Tonight, when eight o'clock comes around, Santa will come to my house."
"That's not true, that's only in picture books."
She winked at me when I said that, and added,
"When you grow up, you’ll understand too, someday.”

My bf is Santa Claus, he's really Santa Claus, racing past the whirlwind.
My bf is Santa Claus, a tall Santa Claus, who came from the snowy town♪

 

Times Change: “Kuri-bocchi” Becomes Normal

But the landscape has changed dramatically in recent years.
A 2024 survey found that 42% of single men and women aged 25–34 spend Christmas alone, while only 21% spend it with a romantic partner.

When I was around twenty, this would have been unthinkable.
Back then, many young women rushed to “find a boyfriend before Christmas,” and as the days grew colder in late October and November, group dating events 合コン(goukon) multiplied.
There was a palpable sense of “I refuse to spend Christmas alone!”

Today’s young adults, however, seem much more relaxed.
You cannot will a romantic partner into existence by a deadline, and perhaps the modern attitude is far healthier.

Light and Reflection at Ritsurin Garden

 Last weekend, we visited Ritsurin Garden for its 2025 Autumn Evening Lighting event (令和７年栗林公園秋ライトアップ).

Ritsurin Garden is a strolling-style feudal garden built in the early Edo period, with a history that spans nearly 400 years. Set against the backdrop of Mt. Shiun, the garden features six ponds and thirteen artificial hills arranged with remarkable precision. It is the largest among Japan’s designated cultural landscape gardens and was recognized as a 特別名勝 (Special Place of Scenic Beauty) in 1953.

商工奨励館 a symmetrical building constructed in 1899, originally used as a museum.

The garden hosts nighttime illumination events twice a year—once during the autumn foliage season and once in spring when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. This year marks the 25th autumn edition. The 2025 event runs for ten days, from November 21st to 30th, with extended opening hours until 9 p.m.

A boatman takes visitors around the South Pond in a 30-minute ride, up to six passengers.

We went on Sunday, the 23rd. Since the following day was a substitute holiday for Labor Thanksgiving Day, it fell right in the middle of a three-day weekend, and the garden was extremely crowded.

The reflections on the water are beautiful.

Amid the crowd, I happened to overhear a heartwarming little exchange between a mother and her young daughter—one I couldn’t resist sharing here.

A girl of about six asked,

「ライトアップって何？ “What does light-up mean?”」
Her mother replied,
「ライトをアップすることよ “It means.. to up the lights”」

Technically correct, and completely unhelpful. It took all my effort not to burst out laughing. It makes sense grammatically, but it explains absolutely nothing, and that’s exactly why it’s funny.

This kind of humor is surprisingly difficult to explain to English speakers. In Japanese, nighttime illumination of buildings, gardens, or landscapes is commonly referred to as a "light-up." Ritsurin Garden’s event is literally called that in Japanese, 秋のライトアップ (Autumn Light-Up).

It’s one of those charming moments where the flavor of a language appears in the gap between literal meaning and actual usage.

A Crisis Made at Home

 On November 7th, during a session of Japan’s Lower House Budget Committee, Prime Minister Takaichi made a remark that immediately stirred controversy. She was asked whether a Chinese maritime blockade of Taiwan would constitute a “situation threatening Japan’s survival,” which would legally enable Japan to exercise collective self-defense. Her answer was blunt: “If battleships are deployed and the use of force is involved, then yes, it could fall under that category.”

In effect, the prime minister had suggested that a Taiwan contingency might trigger Japanese military involvement, a statement of enormous weight in East Asian security.

Today's morning edition front page

The reaction was swift. The Chinese Consul General in Osaka posted on X in Japanese,

“If that filthy head of yours sticks itself in where it doesn’t belong, we’ll cut it off without hesitation.”

Japanese social media erupted with outrage, “Stand firm against China!” “Don’t tolerate insults to the prime minister!”—an explosion of pure emotion, detached from context or strategy.

The diplomat’s comment was, of course, wildly inappropriate and unbecoming of his position. But what troubles me far more is why the prime minister chose to recklessly abandon the strategic ambiguity that Japan, and the United States, have spent decades maintaining in order to prevent precisely this sort of escalation.

Former Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba criticized her remarks succinctly,

“No previous administration has ever defined specific cases regarding Taiwan. That is something governments have deliberately avoided.”

Indeed. And not only in Japan. Even the United States officially upholds the “One China” policy and refrains from stating clearly what Taiwan’s legal status should be. Donald Trump—often caricatured as impulsive—never overturned the Republican Party’s long-standing strategic ambiguity. President Biden, on the other hand, has repeatedly hinted that the U.S. would defend Taiwan militarily, only for the White House to rush out statements afterward insisting that “U.S. policy has not changed.”

The danger of Takaichi’s remark lies in the opposite response, there was no clarification, no correction, only a doubling down. On November 10th, when pressed to retract her statement, she refused, saying only that her remarks “did not alter the government’s traditional stance.”

To even discuss this issue responsibly, one needs at least a minimal grasp of modern history. Many of those shouting patriotic slogans online seem unaware of how we arrived at the current delicate balance. At the very least, one must understand the chain of events from Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist government in the 1920s to the 1979 normalization of U.S.–China relations. Without that, any opinion offered is little more than noise.

The story, in brief, is this,
In 1928 the Nationalist government established itself in Nanjing. Japan’s 1931 Manchurian Incident and the 1937 Marco Polo Bridge Incident pushed China into full-scale war, during which the Nationalists and Communists formed a temporary united front. After Japan’s defeat in 1945, the Soviets entered Manchuria and handed vast quantities of captured Japanese weapons to the Chinese Communist Party, allowing the Chinese Civil War to reignite in 1946.
By 1949, the Communists had won. Mao Zedong declared the founding of the People’s Republic of China in Beijing, while Chiang Kai-shek retreated to Taiwan, continuing the Republic of China there. Both governments claimed to be the sole legitimate regime of all China. For two decades, the world largely recognized Taiwan as “China.” But in 1971 the UN transferred China’s seat from Taipei to Beijing. Japan normalized relations with the PRC in 1972, and the United States followed in 1979. Yet Washington could not simply abandon Taiwan; it was politically impossible. So Congress created the Taiwan Relations Act—neither an alliance nor formal recognition, but a legal mechanism allowing the U.S. to support Taiwan indefinitely.

And so a diplomatic “sacred zone” was born. Since 1979, U.S. policy has rested on three pillars,

• Taiwan is not recognized as a sovereign state, but neither is it accepted as part of China.
  
  

• The U.S. opposes any attempt by China to take Taiwan by force.
  
  

• Whether the U.S. would intervene militarily is left deliberately undefined.
  

The entire architecture of peace in the Taiwan Strait relies on this studied vagueness. Takaichi’s remarks stomped directly onto this diplomatic landmine.

For more than seventy years, Beijing has told its domestic audience, “Japan still believes Taiwan belongs to them.” It was propaganda—but now, thanks to the prime minister’s comment, China can say, “See? We were right.” Japan has handed them a perfect narrative weapon. Diplomatically, it is difficult to imagine a worse move.

Article 3 of the Joint Communique of the Government of Japan and the Government of the People's Republic of China states, “The Government of the People's Republic of China reiterates that Taiwan is an inalienable part of the territory of the People's Republic of China. The Government of Japan fully understands and respects this stand of the Government of the People's Republic of China, and it firmly maintains its stand under Article 8 of the Postsdam Proclamation.”

A brief aside: the prime minister used the word “battleship.” There are no battleships in active service anywhere in the world today. A battleship is a specific type of capital ship, long obsolete, its last combat deployment was in the 1991 Gulf War. For a sitting prime minister to use that word in the context of modern security policy betrays a rather worrying lack of basic military literacy.

And while the Chinese diplomat’s language was outrageous, the so-called Japanese “patriots” raging on social media may be even more dangerous to Japan’s future. They know no history, no international norms, no diplomatic logic. They shout “Be firm!” and “Don’t lose to China!” without the faintest idea of why the prime minister’s remark is destabilizing. Ignorance is not harmless, it is often the most destructive weapon a nation can wield against itself.

If I were to describe the odd discomfort I felt watching this unfold, it would be something like this, imagine a married couple having an argument. Out of nowhere, the wife’s ex-boyfriend from decades ago barges in, uninvited, and snarls at the husband, “Lay a hand on her and I’ll take you down myself.” That is the level of absurdity we are dealing with. And the unsettling part is that there are people who look at this behavior and call it “brave.” Where this situation will drift from here, I can’t help but worry.

When Patriotism Becomes a Pretext

 Recently, a new proposal has been stirring debate in Japan: a plan to revise the Penal Code and create a brand-new offense called the “Japanese Flag Desecration Crime,” which would punish anyone who tears or burns the national flag with the intent to insult the nation. I stand firmly against this proposal.

Japan already has Article 92 of the Penal Code, which punishes the desecration of foreign flags or national emblems. If someone damages another country’s flag to insult that nation, they can face up to two years of imprisonment or a fine of up to 200,000 yen. Supporters of the new law argue that it is only “balanced” to protect the Japanese flag in the same way.

A well-known public figure added fuel to the fire by saying, “Just make it a crime to burn the flag. Only bad people will be troubled,” and “Every advanced country punishes flag desecration.” These remarks received enthusiastic applause.

But I reject this line of thinking, both philosophically and democratically.

To begin with, who decides who the “bad people” are? That power always rests with the authorities. Law is not a tool for those in power to silence people they find inconvenient. If anything, a democratic society must constantly revisit the foundational question: Why do we protect even speech that offends us?

As for the claim that “all advanced countries punish flag desecration.” This is simply false.

In the United States, the landmark cases Texas v. Johnson and United States v. Eichman clearly established that punishing flag burning violates the First Amendment. In other words, Americans who burn the American flag on American soil cannot be prosecuted—because political expression is protected at the highest constitutional level.

In Europe, countries such as Germany, France, Spain, and Italy technically have laws against desecrating national symbols, but enforcement is extremely cautious and narrow, precisely because political expression is so highly valued. Meanwhile, the United Kingdom and the Nordic countries have no such laws at all.

I am particularly resistant to adding criminal provisions when there is no legitimate legislative basis for them. Does the act of damaging the Japanese flag cause any serious social harm? Are the majority of citizens actually affected by it? Is there any factual necessity that would justify creating such a law? If the answer to these questions is no, then the only function of the law would be to restrict people’s freedom, nothing more.

The supporters of this bill must understand that those who oppose it are not doing so because they want to burn the Japanese flag. I love Japan—the country where I was born. Nothing gives me more peace than the familiar landscape of my hometown. Needless to say, I find the act of desecrating the Japanese flag deeply offensive and difficult to witness. Nevertheless, whether such a law should exist is a question that must be approached with great caution.

If this law passes, the next step may be a “Refusal to Sing the National Anthem Crime.” After that, perhaps a revival of “Lèse-majesté.” Then, one day, “Criminal Criticism of the Government.”

Freedom is rarely taken away in one dramatic sweep. Fascism does not arrive with marching boots. It seeps in quietly, one harmless-sounding restriction at a time.

Those who say “I don’t care—punish the bad guys” fail to see how this story unfolds. You assume you will never be classified as one of the “bad guys.” But history shows that once freedom is trimmed at the edges, the definition expands, and the liberties of ordinary, harmless people shrink.

That is what I fear. And that is why I cannot support this law.

Before closing this piece, I want to share a photo I took at Ritsurin Garden. We must resist the urge to react emotionally or impulsively, and instead let our thoughts settle, like a reflection on an undisturbed pond.