Japan and Okinawa Structure and Subjectivity (Sheffield Centre For Japanesestudies Routledge) by Glenn D. Hook

Japan and Okinawa
Japan and Okinawa provides an up-to-date, coherent and theoretically informed

examination of Okinawa from the perspective of political economy and society. It
combines a focus on structure and subjectivity as a way to analyse Okinawa,
Okinawans and their relationship with global, regional and national structures. The
book draws on a range of disciplines to provide new insights into both the
contemporary and historical place of Okinawa and the Okinawans.
The first half of the book examines Okinawa as part of the global, regional and
national structures which impose constraints as well as offer opportunities to
Okinawa. Leading specialists examine in detail topics such as Okinawa as a frontier
region, Okinawa’s Free Trade Zones and response to globalization, and Okinawa
as part of the Japanese ‘construction state’, being particularly concerned with how
Okinawa can chart its own course. The second half focuses on questions of identity
and subjectivity, examining the multitude of vibrant cultural practices that breathe
life into the meaning of being Okinawan and inform Okinawans’ social and political
responses to structural constraints and opportunities.
The originality of this book can be found in its elucidation of how the structural
constraints of Okinawa’s precarious position in the world, the region and as part of
Japan, impact on subjectivity. Acceptance and rationalization of their dependency
has made many Okinawans complicit in their own subordination. At the same time,
however, others have actively contested this subordination and demonstrated a
capacity to give voice to a separate identity.
Glenn D. Hook is Professor of Japanese Studies and Director of the Graduate

School of East Asian Studies, University of Sheffield.
Richard Siddle is Lecturer in Japanese Studies at the School of East Asian Studies,
University of Sheffield.
Sheffield Centre for Japanese Studies/
RoutledgeCurzon series
Series editor: Glenn D. Hook
Professor of Japanese Studies, University of Sheffield
This series, published by RoutledgeCurzon in association with the Centre for

Japanese Studies at the University of Sheffield, both makes available original
research on a wide range of subjects dealing with Japan and provides introductory
overviews of key topics in Japanese studies.
The Internationalization of Japan and Asia Pacific

Japan Integration
Edited by Glenn D. Hook Pacific romances 1968–1996
and Michael Weiner Pekka Korhonen
Race and Migration in Imperial Japan’s Economic Power and
Japan Security
Michael Weiner Japan and North Korea
Christopher W. Hughes
Japan and the Pacific Free Trade
Area Japan’s International Relations
Pekka Korhonen Politics, economics and security
Glenn D. Hook, Julie Gilson, Christopher
Greater China and Japan
W. Hughes and Hugo Dobson
Prospects for an economic
partnership? Japan’s Contested Constitution
Robert Taylor Documents and analysis
Glenn D. Hook and Gavan McCormack
The Steel Industry in Japan
A comparison with the UK Japanese Education Reform
Hasegawa Harukiyo Nakasone’s legacy
Christopher P. Hood
Race, Resistance and the Ainu of
Japan The Political Economy of
Richard Siddle Japanese Globalization
Edited by Glenn D. Hook and Hasegawa
Japan’s Minorities
Harukiyo
The illusion of homogeneity
Edited by Michael Weiner Japan and Okinawa
Structure and subjectivity
Japanese Business Management
Edited by Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle
Restructuring for low growth and
globalization
Edited by Hasegawa Harukiyo
and Glenn D. Hook
Japan and Okinawa
Structure and subjectivity
Edited by Glenn D. Hook

and Richard Siddle
First published 2003
by RoutledgeCurzon
11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by RoutledgeCurzon
29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001
This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2003.
RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
© 2003 Editorial material and selection, the editors;
individual chapters, the contributors
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means,
now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording,
or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
A catalog record for this book has been requested
ISBN 0-203-22269-5 Master e-book ISBN
ISBN 0-203-27712-0 (Adobe eReader Format)

ISBN 0–415–29833–4 (Print Edition)
Contents
Notes on contributors vii

Acknowledgements ix
Note on the text x
List of abbreviations xi
1 Introduction: Japan? Structure and subjectivity in

Okinawa 1
G L E N N D . H O O K AND R I C H A R D S I D D L E
PART I
Structure 19
2 Considering Okinawa as a frontier 21

FURUKI TOSHIAKI
3 Responding to globalization: Okinawa’s Free Trade

Zone in microregional context 39
GLENN D. HOOK
4 It is high time to wake up: Japanese foreign policy in

the twenty-first century 55
GABE MASAAKI
5 Migration and the nation-state: structural explanations

for emigration from Okinawa 74
YOKO SELLEK
6 Okinawa and the structure of dependence 93

GAVAN MCCORMACK
vi Contents
7 Beyond hondo: devolution and Okinawa 114

Ō T A M A S A H I D E
PART II
Subjectivity 131
8 Return to Uchinā: the politics of identity in contemporary

Okinawa 133
RICHARD SIDDLE
9 ‘Mob rule’ or popular activism? The Koza riot of

December 1970 and the Okinawan search for citizenship 148
CHRISTOPHER ALDOUS
10 The dynamic trajectory of the post-reversion ‘Okinawa

Struggle’: constitution, environment and gender 167
MIYUME TANJI
11 Contested memories: struggles over war and peace in

contemporary Okinawa 188
JULIA YONETANI
12 Nuchi nu Sūji: comedy and everyday life in postwar

Okinawa 208
CHRISTOPHER T. NELSON
13 Arakawa Akira: the thought and poetry of an iconoclast 225

MICHAEL MOLASKY
14 Conclusion: both structure and subjectivity 240

G L E N N D . H O O K AND R I C H A R D S I D D L E
Index 250
Contributors
Christopher Aldous is senior lecturer in modern Japanese history at King Alfred’s

College of Higher Education, Winchester, UK. His publications include The Police
in Occupation Japan: Control, Corruption and Resistance to Reform, Routledge, 1997.
Furuki Toshiaki is Professor of Political Sociology, Faculty of Law, Chūō
University. His publications include Gendai Shakairon (co-editor), Yuikaku, 1993;
Sekai Shakai Imeji to Genjitsu (editor), Tokyo University Press, 1990; and Chiiki Shakai
to Seiji Bunka (co-editor), Yushindō Kōbunsha, 1984.
Gabe Masaaki is Professor of International Relations, Faculty of Law and Politics,
University of the Ryukyus. His publications include Okinawa Henkan nan datta no
ka, NHK Shuppan, 2000; and Nichibei Kankei no naka no Okinawa, Sanichi Shobō,
1996.
Glenn D. Hook is Professor of Japanese Studies and Director of the Graduate
School of East Asian Studies, University of Sheffield. His publications include
Militarization and Demilitarization in Contemporary Japan, Routledge, 1996; Japan’s
International Relations: Politics, Economics, and Security (co-author), Routledge 2001;
Japan’s Contested Constitution: Documents and Analysis (co-author), Routledge, 2001.
Gavan McCormack is Professor of East Asian History, Research School of Pacific
and Asian Studies, Australian National University. His publications include The
Emptiness of Japanese Affluence (revised edition), M. E. Sharpe, 2001; Multicultural
Japan: Palaeolithic to Postmodern (co-editor), Cambridge University Press, 2001;
Japan’s Contested Constitution: Documents and Analysis (co-author), Routledge, 2001.
Michael Molasky is Associate Professor of Japanese Literature at the University
of Minnesota/Twin Cities. He is the author of The American Occupation of Japan
and Okinawa: Literature and Memory, Routledge, 1999, and is co-editor of Southern
Exposure: Modern Japanese Literature from Okinawa, University of Hawaii Press, 2000.
He is currently writing a book about jazz in postwar Japanese literature, film
and journalism.
Christopher T. Nelson is Assistant Professor of Anthropology and International
Studies at the University of North Carolina. He is working on a critical study of
everyday life in Okinawa.
viii Contributors
Ōta Masahide is a member of the Upper House of the Japanese Diet and former
governor of Okinawa (1990–8). His publications include over sixty books, among
them The Battle of Okinawa: The Typhoon of Steel and Bombs, Kume Publishing, 1984.
Yoko Sellek is lecturer in Japanese studies, School of East Asian Studies, University
of Sheffield. Her publications include Migrant Labour in Japan, Palgrave, 2000.
Richard Siddle is lecturer in Japanese studies, School of East Asian Studies,
University of Sheffield. In 1996–7 he was a Japan Society for the Promotion of
Science Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of the Ryukyus. He is the author
of Race, Resistance and the Ainu of Japan, Routledge, 1996, and various articles on
Okinawa and the Ainu.
Miyume Tanji is a Ph.D. candidate at the Asia Research Centre, Murdoch
University, Perth. Her doctoral research examines social movements in
Okinawa. She has published (with Stephanie Lawson), ‘“Democratic peace” and
“Asian democracy”: a universalist–relativist tension’, in Alternatives 23 (1), 1997,
and articles on Okinawa in Arena Magazine and West Australian.
Julia Yonetani is a Ph.D. candidate at the Research School of Pacific and Asian
Studies at the Australian National University, and a Visiting Fellow at the
University of the Ryukyus. She has published articles on Okinawa in Critical Asian
Studies, East Asian History and Japanese Studies. The title of her dissertation is
‘Making history from Japan’s margins: Ōta Masahide and Okinawa’.
Acknowledgements
The idea for this volume began with a project at the School of East Asian Studies,
University of Sheffield, funded by the Japan Foundation and entitled ‘Regionalism
and identity in Okinawa’. The editors would like to thank Professor Ian Gow, a
partner in the original project, and all of the participants in the Workshop on
Okinawa, which was held at the University of Sheffield, 6–7 April 2001. For
financial support, we are grateful to the Japan Foundation, the Japan Foundation
Endowment Committee, and the Chubu Electric Power Company.
We are also grateful to Arakawa Akira for his permission to include Michael
Molasky’s partial translations of his poems ‘Minashigo no uta’ (An Orphan’s Song) and
‘Yūshoku jinshu – sono ichi’ (The Coloured Race) in Chapter 13.
Note on the text
Following Japanese convention, the family name precedes the given name unless
the author of a source publishes in English and does so using the reverse order.
Long vowels are indicated by a macron, except in the case of place and other
common names, such as Tokyo and Ryukyu.
Abbreviations
AIPR Association of Indigenous Peoples in Ryukyus

APEC Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation
CERD Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination
CLDRC Central-Local Dispute Resolution Committee
CPD Committee for the Promotion of Decentralization
CTS Central Terminal Station
DPL Decentralization Promotion Law
FTZ Free Trade Zones
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GRI Government of the Ryukyu Islands
ILO International Labour Organization
IT Information Technology
IUCN World Conservation Union
JICA Japan International Cooperation Agency
LDP Liberal Democratic Party
MITI Ministry of International Trade and Industry
MOF Ministry of Finance
MOFA Ministry of Foreign Affairs
MP Military Police
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NGO Non-Governmental Organization
NHK Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai, the national public broadcaster
NIEs Newly Industrializing Economies
NIRA National Institute of Research Advancement
OIJ Okinawa Kiritsu Johō (Bulletin for Independence of Okinawa)
OPEC Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries
OSFK Okinawa Prefecture Reversion to the Fatherland
PLEC Prefectural Land Expropriation Committee
QDR Quadrennial Defense Review (US)
SACO Special Action Committee on Okinawa
SCAP Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers
SDF Self-Defence Forces
xii Abbreviations
SMLEUL Special Measures Law for the Expropriation and Use of Land
SOFA Status of Forces Agreement
UN United Nations
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
USCAR United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyu Islands
1 Introduction
Japan? Structure and subjectivity
in Okinawa
Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle
Okinawa. Its subordinate integration into global, regional and national orders has
posed a challenge for the governments and peoples of Okinawa for centuries. While
this structural subordination of Okinawa and the wider Ryukyu islands during the
period of the Chinese world order was never complete (Fairbanks 1968), and was
ameliorated by the cultural and economic benefits it brought, Satsuma’s extension
of control over the islands from 1609 onwards created a triangular relationship with
both China and Japan. In the face of Western imperial expansion, the pace of
Okinawa’s asymmetrical incorporation into the Japanese empire quickened with the
annexation and dismantling of the island kingdom from 1879. This was followed
by its integration, albeit often belatedly, into the political and economic structures
of the rapidly developing Japanese state as ‘Okinawa Prefecture’. Until the empire’s
defeat in 1945, Okinawa was part of another, as yet little explored, triangular
relationship, sitting between the empire of Japan proper and the colony of Taiwan
(Formosa), acquired in 1895 as part of the Treaty of Shimonoseki. This policy of
subordinating the Ryukyus within Japanese political and economic, if not cultural,
space, was part of the historical development of Japan as a subimperial power in
East Asia (Takahashi 2001). The particular catch-up path of development pursued
by Japan led to military aggression and territorial aggrandizement throughout the
region. The legacy of the Second World War’s outcome has been twofold, one
international, one domestic. The first is Japan’s well-known colonial legacy in East
Asia, which continues to this day to constrain the government’s relations with
neighbouring states (Hook et al. 2001: 151–257). The second is the less well-known
‘colonial’ legacy within Japan’s own legal, territorial borders (as with the island and
native people of Hokkaido on the northern periphery of the ‘developmental state’).
This combination of geography and strategic significance has historically meant
that the ‘Okinawa problem’ becomes most acute precisely at key moments of
transition or crisis within the modern Japanese state; the early Meiji transition to
modernity; war, defeat and the occupation after 1945; and most recently the post-
Cold War realignment.
The latest manifestation of the ‘Okinawa problem’ cannot be understood outside
of this context. The historical memory of the nineteenth century, not to mention of
the mid-twentieth century, when Okinawa suffered enormously at the hands of
both American and Japanese troops, continues to cast a long shadow over relations
2 Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle
with the mainland (on the war, see Ōta 1984). Indeed, Okinawa’s precarious,
shifting position within the tri-dimensional space of politics, economics and culture
still generates a multiplicity of answers to the most fundamental of questions: What
is Okinawa? Who are the Okinawans? The recasting of these two questions as one
is provocatively encapsulated in the title of this chapter: ‘Japan? Structure and
subjectivity in Okinawa’. This title, and the chapters making up the book, have one
clear aim: to jettison any notion that the structural subordination of Okinawa
politically and economically within global, regional and national orders in any way
implies the suffocation of Okinawan agency. While ‘Okinawans’ are produced as
subjects within powerful structural and ideological formations, Okinawans have
historically understood, negotiated, accepted, and indeed occasionally subverted,
these structural constraints. They continue to do so to this day. By examining how
structure and subjectivity interact and intertwine in tri-dimensional space, this book
sets out to shatter the mirror that reflects Okinawa and its peoples as no more than
a peripheral appendage to the world and regional stages, or as a fully integrated
former colony of the Japanese empire. It is more than that, but is it Japan?
A definitive and satisfactory answer to these interrelated questions is a huge, and
probably impossible, undertaking. In attempting, though, to at least move research
in this direction, this volume seeks from the outset to avoid the pitfall of reifying
Okinawa or Okinawans, or Japan and the Japanese for that matter, by focusing
instead primarily on sets of relationships: Okinawa and Japan, of course, as the
overwhelming and determining relationship, but also on Okinawa and the US,
Okinawa and the region, and Okinawans with themselves, their past and their
Japanese ‘Others’. The chapters acknowledge, and attempt to illuminate, the
complex, interwoven and entangled nature of these relationships. They are divided
into two sections, which seek broadly to interpret Okinawa from ‘above’ and ‘below’,
or in another pair of oppositions, from external and internal perspectives. Some
authors place Okinawa in the centre of the frame of vision, while others see it
refracted through the prisms of powerful, constraining structures and forces. A
number of chapters take the political economy of Okinawa as the unit of analysis
while yet others delve into the complex subjectivity of a single individual. All,
nevertheless, by casting light on different facets of the kaleidoscope of Okinawa and
Okinawan experience, combine to push forward our overall understanding of the
historical and contemporary structures, forces and contradictions that are Okinawa
and its peoples.
The book sets out to answer the above questions from a variety of disciplinary
perspectives. By bringing together specialists in both the human and social sciences,
the aim is to tease out an understanding of Okinawa and the Okinawans in a way
that demonstrates the central role of both structure and subjectivity when grappling
with the central question: Japan? The iconoclastic question driving this research
partly arises due to the multifaceted nature of borders. From the late nineteenth
century onwards the legal boundaries inscribed in cartographic space have placed
Okinawa within the sovereign, territorial borders of Japan. Yet even this formalistic
understanding of the structural relationship between Japan and Okinawa needs to
be tempered by a recognition of the legal severance of Okinawa in the wake of
Introduction 3
Japan’s defeat in the Second World War. The US occupation of Okinawa from
1945–72 meant that a more tentative, but nevertheless legal, reinscription of borders
took place as a result of Okinawa, the Amami group, and the Ogasawara islands
being placed under US tutelage as a separate administrative authority – a military
colony in all but name. Although Japan retained ‘residual sovereignty’ over
Okinawa, the formalistic borders embracing Japan and Okinawa were over-
inscribed by a quarter-century long American space. The legacy of this Occupation
has meant that, even after the reversion of Okinawa to full Japanese sovereignty in
1972, structurally and subjectively Okinawa and the Okinawans remain part of a
triangle, with the other two angles being made up by the US and Japan. The
influence of the Japanese and American angles of the triangle on Okinawa has
differed over time, but has consistently constrained the independence of Okinawa
in political and economic space. Even after the formal end of the American
interlude, the structural position of Okinawa is determined within this dual relationship.
Structure: the good, the bad and the ugly
The role of US bases

Within this dual relationship, Okinawa has been incorporated into a tripartite
political economy, with military bases defining the quintessential nature of the
relationship with the US, on the one hand, and public works expenditures and
tourism defining it with Japan, on the other. This is the so-called ‘3K’ economy –
bases (kichi), public works (kōkyō kōji) and tourism (kankō ). The bases are a central
target for those focusing on the negative aspects of these relationships. To start with,
the structural constraints imposed on Okinawa and the Okinawans are plain to see
as a result of the US presence beyond the 1945–72 interlude. While the great
majority of Okinawans had fervently desired a return to Japan, thereby gaining the
benefits of the 1947 Constitution, with the protection of human rights, Article 9
and the other benefits of a ‘pacifist, democratic state’ (Hook and McCormack 2001:
23–6), withdrawal or at least a reduction of the US military was expected to be the
concrete manifestation of this structural change in the relationship between the US
and Japan. Yet any tourist visitor to the ‘tropical island paradise’ willing to abandon
the beach umbrella for a glimpse at the military infrastructure, hardware and
personnel holding up the US nuclear umbrella can even now still witness at first-
hand their continuing effect on the everyday life of Okinawans long after 1972. It
starts with the location of 74.8 per cent of US military facilities on only 0.6 per cent
of Japanese territory. It ends with a political economy deeply and structurally
distorted by the role the bases play in Okinawa.
An anti-base poster ‘No U.S. Bases in Nago, Okinawa or Anywhere in Japan!’
makes the impact of this overwhelming US presence evocatively clear: ‘look among
US military bases to find Okinawa’, it cries. As an illustration, the area used by US
forces, which with dependants total approximately 49,000 out of a prefectural
population of 1.3 million, takes up 82.9 per cent of Kadena Town, 59.6 per cent of
Kin Town, 56.4 per cent of Chatan Town and 51.4 per cent of Ginoza Town (based
on official figures, Okinawa Ken Sōmubu Kichi Kōshitsu 1998). Whether the focus
is on the bases as a hindrance to Okinawa’s economic development, a blight on
rational urban planning, an immoveable obstacle in building an effective and
efficient local transportation system, or as a continual hazard for the local population
– with military accidents, murder, rape, crime, noise and environmental pollution,
and a thriving sex industry as seeming ineluctable side-effects of their existence –
the pernicious effect of 39 military facilities concentrated in Okinawa island alone
and taking up fully 10.7 per cent of the prefectural land area cannot be denied. It
is for this reason that the pejorative reference to Okinawa as nothing more than
a dependent, ‘base economy’ at one time gained currency, suggesting how widely
the perception of the US bases as constraints on Okinawa’s political economy had
taken hold.
Yet this does not permit us to gainsay the contribution US bases have made and
continue to make to the local economy. In other words, for some, the bases are a
‘good’. For as with any number of subnational economies integrated asymmetrically
into a subordinate position within a national political economy, opportunities, not
only constraints, continue to exist. Those with a vested interest in the bases, in
particular, have willingly or with a heavy heart taken advantage of them. The point
is illustrated by groups of landowners who receive rent payments from the Tokyo
government for the military use of their land. While 3,000 continue to oppose the
occupation of their land and have refused to accept payments for its use by the US
military, many of these are outsiders who own tiny plots under the hitotsubo anti-war
landowners’ movement. On the other hand, 29,564 (March 1995) Okinawan
landowners received such payments without protest. The total amount transferred
in this way was 63 billion yen in 1996, with an additional 7.3 billion yen of payments
made to landowners whose land is used by the Self-Defence Forces (SDF). This
has increased almost annually from 1972, when the amount transferred was only
12 billion yen (Okinawa Ken Sōmubu 1998: 279, 284). Similarly, in the case of
workers on the bases, such employment opportunities on an island with the highest
unemployment rate in Japan remain attractive. Even though the number of local
workers has declined dramatically, falling from a peak of 18,118 in 1972, to 8,349
in 1996, up from a low point of 7,177 in 1979, the bases still provide opportunities
for work (Okinawa Ken Sōmubu 1998: 286). It should be noted, however, that
because of the introduction of ‘sympathy payments’ in 1978 – that is, euphemistic
host-nation support, the costs to the US forces of employing Japanese on the bases
has been reduced, with the Japanese government paying for a range of benefits over
the years, starting out with national insurance payments and going on to cover pay
differentials as well as pay allowances for language ability. Whatever the source
of the income, working for the US continues to remain popular, as can be seen from
the fact that far more Okinawans apply for jobs than can possibly be employed.
Finally, the bases more broadly contribute to the local Okinawan economy. Even
if the multiplier effect of GI money spent on pints and prostitutes is limited, especially
in times of a high yen, some activities do redound to the benefit of the economy, as
with the purchase of local products by military personnel and dependants. Still, it
is calculated that, whereas in 1970 the contribution US bases made to the local
Introduction 5
Gross Domestic Product (GDP) was 25.6 per cent of the total, by 1996 the
amount had fallen to only 5.7 per cent. Statistics, of course, can be calculated and
manipulated in many ways, and there are others who argue that the rate of
economic dependency remains high when indirect contributions, such as base-
related public works, are also taken into account (Maeshiro et al. 1998: 12). As
with much else in Okinawa, even economic data are politicized as part of the
ongoing struggle to challenge and transform the Okinawan political economy.
Nevertheless, the downward trend in US dependence is hard to deny. In short, the
US military presence is a double-edged sword, though on balance the negative
effects and constraints imposed by the bases are far greater than the positive effects
and opportunities created for the peoples of the prefecture.
Okinawa’s integration into the ‘construction state’

The mainland’s role in imposing this second structural constraint results from the
very nature of the Japanese political economy, rather than a need for military
deployments on the island as part of a global and regional strategy, as in the case of
the US. The nature of the ‘construction state’ has led to widespread criticism of the
collusive relationship between the construction industry, the prefectural government
and the state, eroding democratic accountability in Okinawa and leading to charges
of corruption and malpractice. Public works play a large role in the local economy;
50.3 per cent of construction business in Okinawa was generated by public works
in 1996, compared to 40.7 per cent nationally (Okinawa Ken Kikaku Kaihatsubu
Kikaku Chōsei Shitsu 1998: 43–4), while the construction business itself comprised
13.9 per cent of the Okinawan economy in 1995 in contrast to 10.3 per cent
nationally (Okinawa Ken Kikaku Kaihatsubu Kikaku Chōsei Shitsu 1998: 6). This
is viewed negatively by many commentators who see the tentacles of the Japanese
‘construction state’ or ‘public works state’ reaching into the inner sanctuaries of
this ‘tropical island paradise’. The central role of the ‘construction state’, via the
Okinawa Development Agency, in promoting Okinawan development has led to
an all-out transformation of the natural habitat, from ‘nature’ to a ‘nurtured’
environment, making the island more ugly in the process. Following on from the
degradation of the environment initiated by widespread base construction under US
rule, this human intervention has created a situation where riverways, beaches and
land have been bulldozed and concreted. What is worse, air and water pollution,
soil erosion and wider environmental degradation are ruining the coastline, eating
away at the coral and posing a danger to marine life. While many small Okinawan
construction firms act as subcontractors and thus provide a livelihood for local
people, the large projects and their profits remain largely in the hands of the giant
Japanese construction firms, some of which were helping the US authorities build
bases even before the 1972 reversion. Some projects, such as the Okinawa
International Ocean Exhibition, planned as a way to reinvigorate the local economy
soon after reversion, have been spectacular failures that have left a stream of local
bankruptcies in their wake (Arasaki 1996: 49). Even recent flagship projects such as
the Ginowan Conference Centre or the facilities constructed for the 2000 G8
summit in Nago are a mixed blessing since they also represent a drain on scarce
public funds for their upkeep.
As in the case of US bases, however, the role of the ‘construction state’ in
providing benefits for Okinawa and the Okinawans is also plain to see. Apart from
the large amount of employment generated by the construction industry, the work
carried out by these companies has undoubtedly improved the quality of life of the
population. Prior to reversion to Japan, the infrastructure was below the national
level, whereas now Okinawa has caught up in a number of key areas. The amount
of public housing is up, there are more public parks and modern sports and cultural
facilities, and Okinawa now boasts five universities in contrast to only one at the
time of reversion. The low level of Okinawan living standards before 1972, a
reflection of the low priority given by the US administration to civilian needs, has
thus been dramatically improved. But at what costs?
The structure of ‘exotica’

The number of tourists wanting to hold up Okinawan beach umbrellas has
increased dramatically over the years following reversion. This is the third wave of
post-reversion tourism after battlefield tours and organized shopping trips for cheap
goods, and is centred mainly on the young. Yet the results of this are often simply
short package holidays with many visitors catered for by hotels built with mainland
capital, staffed by mainlanders or other non-Okinawans and located in select areas
isolated from the ‘natives’. While no tourist would deny the potential of the azure
sky, the white sands and the turquoise sea to act as economic resources for the
Okinawans, the structural integration of these natural resources into the mainland
political economy has often transformed them into nothing more than commodities
for the ‘tourist industry’ and the ‘construction industry’. Within this subordinate
relationship, the role of the advertising and culture industries, driven by mainland
capital and interests, produces a particular identity for the Okinawans, deracinated
from the complex reality of Okinawan life. Indeed, the culture of Okinawa is
frequently treated as no more than a commodified object, rather than as the vital
expression of a living community. Put simply, Okinawans are inscribed as the non-
threatening, laid-back and relaxed ‘exotic’ islander, ever ready to burst into song
and dance, happily supportive of the status quo and the ‘warm’ relationship with
the mainland. A good case in point is ‘Churasan’, the recent (2001), highly popular
prime-time morning drama series aired on NHK national television. In this and
other ways, the danger is that islanders are being deprived of the power to define
what is the ‘authentic’ Okinawa and Okinawan, with media interests in Tokyo and
elsewhere, which lie outside the prefecture, generating, nurturing and spreading
their particular images. Mainlanders can thus enjoy the exoticism of the Other within
the geographically inscribed, sovereign space, Japan, without reflecting on the
question mark – ‘Japan?’
The demands of the tourist industry, moreover, place a heavy burden on the
environment. Alongside the bases, hastily planned tourist developments and their
infrastructure rank as major degraders of the very resource they depend upon. The
Introduction 7
long line of resort hotels that dominates the coastline of Onna village in northwest
Okinawa island has destroyed the local coral reefs, while the proposed airport
development in Ishigaki, at least partly driven by a desire for expanded tourist
capacity, is bitterly opposed for the destruction of yet more rare coral that its
construction would entail. Water resources are also being placed under extreme
pressure.
Despite these negative effects, tourism can also be viewed positively as having
moved the Okinawan economy away from a ‘base economy’ towards a service
economy. In 1975, for instance, at the time the government attempted to boost the
island economy and tourism through the Okinawa International Ocean Exhibition,
the number of tourists was approximately 400,000. In 1996, in contrast, 3,560,000
tourists visited Okinawa, 95.9 per cent from mainland Japan, and generated
374.3 billion yen (Okinawa Ken Kikaku Kaihatsubu Kikaku Chōsei Shitsu 1998:
45, 47). The exposure of many Japanese to Okinawan cultural forms while on
holiday, in particular music and cuisine, has helped to stimulate their widespread
current popularity in the main islands.
Yet there is clearly a limit to the ability of tourism, even if desirable, to become
the engine of the Okinawan economy and eliminate its dependency on the bases and
the construction state. As is patently clear from the reaction of main islanders in the
wake of the 11 September terrorist attacks on the United States, Okinawa cannot
be delinked from the bases, whatever efforts the government makes to separate the
beach umbrella from the nuclear umbrella. This can be seen, for instance, in the
huge number of cancelled package holidays to Okinawa, around 150,000 by
November (Okinawa Taimusu, 31 October 2001). As one of the core group of visitors
is high school students from Tokyo, Kanagawa and other parts of Japan, fear of
letting them visit Okinawa is widespread. Indeed, for many, ‘Okinawa is dangerous’
(Okinawa Taimusu, 27 September 2001). Whether this will have a long-term impact
will be crucial to the success or failure of the prefecture’s Fourth Basic Plan for
Promoting Okinawan tourism, which aims in the next decade to increase numbers
from 4,400,000 (short of the 2001 target of five million) to six million, and to extend
the stay from an average of 2.74 days by 0.5 days to 3.24 (Okinawa Taimusu, 8
November 2001). In the words of a local taxi driver, the time may have come for
Okinawans to choose between bases or tourism (Okinawa Taimusu, 31 October 2001).
Whatever the negative and positive effects of Okinawa’s tripartite subordinate
integration into the dual structure of US military strategy and the Japanese political
economy, the impact on the lives of the people can be seen from a number of key
statistics. While Okinawans clearly enjoy an average longevity and income above
even many in the developed world, the domestic structural disparity with the mainland
continues as a thorn in the side of local–national relations. Not only does Okinawa
still remain dependent, albeit with a move away from the bases and towards tourism,
but the trillions of yen invested by the government over the years have still not
managed to bridge the gap in per capita income between the mainland and
Okinawa. The central government’s policy has been explicitly aimed at eliminating
this gap, but the colossal sum of about six trillion yen, spent between 1972–99
by the Okinawa Development Agency, has still failed to more than simply make
it narrower. Thus, while income per capita has risen from US$1,500 in 1972 to
US$23,000 in 1998, as a percentage of the national average Okinawa has only
moved from a per capita income 62 per cent of the national average to 70 per cent
of the national average. In terms of 1998 figures in yen, whereas the per capita
annual income for first-ranked Tokyo was 4,230,000 yen, that for the last-ranked
Okinawa was 2,183,000 yen (tehttp://www.amy.hi-ho.ne.jp/umemura/konna/
kenzyuni.htm. Accessed 4 November 2001). As this is the lowest average in Japan,
a pronounced disparity clearly remains between Okinawa and the mainland.
Meanwhile, the economy has not kept pace with the expanding population’s
need for work. The service and construction industries are represented in the local
economy to a far higher degree than in the rest of Japan, and both are vulnerable
in times of recession. In the period April–September 2001, for instance, the largest
percentage of bankruptcies among companies with a capital base of over 10 million
yen was construction, 44.6 per cent (29 cases), followed by real estate, 18.5 per cent
(12 cases) and food retailers, 10.8 per cent (7 cases). As mentioned above, moreover,
Okinawa has the highest unemployment rate in Japan, 8.3 per cent in 1999, far
higher than the 3.0 per cent at the time of reversion, but this general problem is
compounded by the high rate of unemployment among youth (15–24 years old).
Youth unemployment on the mainland, too, is higher than the average, but those
in Okinawa are about twice as likely to be unemployed. For instance, in 1996,
27.3 per cent of school leavers (aged 15–19) could not find jobs (Okinawa Taimusu,
7 February 1997). These figures can be partially explained by the difficulty of moving
out of the prefecture to find work, but are also due to the structural constraints
outlined above.
Such, then, is the structural legacy of Okinawa’s modern history. Its unequal
integration into the Japanese state and subsequent involuntary incorporation into
a triangular relationship with Japan and the US clearly constrain the life chances,
economic choices and quality of life of Okinawa’s population. Its politics, too, have
thus often been shaped by the desire to tilt the balance of these relationships in
favour of local interests, often entangled in webs of patronage. At other times,
however, as in the land struggles of the 1950s and the anti-base movements in the
mid-1990s, Okinawans have fought to make their voices heard in an attempt to
fundamentally alter the nature of these constraining forces or to remove them
altogether.
Subjectivity: overlapping and contested identities

It is important, therefore, that these Okinawan voices are heard. In other words, the
structural integration of Okinawa within this US–Japan relationship should not be
understood to mean that the role of human agency – that is, Okinawans as volitional
actors – has no place. Even a brief glance back through the history of Ryukyu/
Okinawa provides a wealth of examples of how Okinawans, both elites and
commoners, have attempted to generate and then impose their own understandings
upon the structural realities encountered. From Sai On’s eighteenth-century ‘vision
of Ryukyu’ (Smits 1999) through to the impassioned resistance to Japanese
Introduction 9
annexation by Okinawans in self-imposed exile at the Chinese imperial court; from
the campaign for civil and political rights led by Jahana Noboru in the 1890s to
the island-wide movement against US appropriation of land in the 1950s; from the
movement for reversion to Japan to the current anti-base struggles; at various times,
in a multitude of forms and involving a wide and disparate range of individuals or
groups, Okinawans have refused to accept predetermined structural prescriptions
of who they are or how they should behave. This continues with contemporary
struggles not only against the US bases but, equally importantly, over the contested
terrain of Okinawan history and memory, and against the cultural industries of the
mainland and their attempts to inscribe their versions of ‘authentic’ Okinawan
identity and culture.
We need, therefore, to balance a consideration of Okinawa’s structural sub-
ordination with an investigation into Okinawan subjectivity – how Okinawan
identities are constructed and how these inform both the understandings and actions
of ordinary Okinawans themselves. The powerful structural constraints discussed
above have their symbolic counterparts in ideological and discursive formations
within which ‘Okinawans’ are produced as subjects, but which they can also
appropriate or contest. Attempts by outsiders to define an ‘authentic’ Okinawan
identity have already been mentioned. Other historic examples include not only
discourses of Okinawan inferiority and backwardness, but also the rhetoric of
assimilation to an idealized and homogeneous Japanese identity. These positions
have been articulated not only by mainlanders but even by elite Okinawans
themselves in their desire to share in the modernity and progress they identified
with Japan (Siddle 1998).
Recent discussions of the suppression of the anti-base movement in Okinawa, for
instance, have largely ignored the subjectivity and volition – i.e. agency, of ordinary
Okinawans. In total 1.3 million men and women live in Okinawa and care must
be taken not to simply ignore their role and to rush headlong into a strident
condemnation of the heavy-handed tactics employed by the Japanese and US
authorities, as if all would be well except for Okinawa’s structural subordination.
Of course, this is not meant to be taken as our support of such tactics. The point is
rather that an overemphasis on the subversion of the democratic process through
deception, coercion and economic blackmail, while undeniably a factor in the
structural wedding of Okinawa to Japan and the US, can nevertheless imply that
Okinawans are weak, passive and naive. It is far from unusual for them to be
regarded not as agents in charge of their own destiny, but as ciphers who seem
not to know what is best for themselves. Invidiously, outsiders sometimes seem to
feel better judges of what Okinawans need and deserve (an accusation that this
volume, too, cannot entirely avoid). Or, equally unhelpfully, Okinawans are
portrayed and even idealized, in an atavistic return to former days, as a peace-
loving, idyllic and harmonious community. Indeed, one recent best-seller on both
sides of the Atlantic presents Okinawa as ‘the real Shangri-la’ with Okinawans
as the healthiest and longest-lived population in the world, due primarily to their
happy and stress-free existence (Willcox et al. 2001). Such gross stereotypes disguise
real problems of home-grown yakuza and bosozoku violence, high divorce and
alcoholism rates, school bullying and other social ills that simply cannot be laid at
the door of the US barracks. It is therefore high time to shift the focus towards the
complex ways in which Okinawan perceptions of themselves and their relationships
intersect with the powerful economic and political structures within which their
lives are enmeshed. This is not simply ‘blaming the victim’. Many Okinawans may
indeed be complicit in their own subordination, but we need also to seek the causes
of that in their own understandings and choices, rather than merely in the naked
exercise of power.
This acknowledgement of a primacy of place for agency in any discussion of
Okinawa leads ineluctably to a further key question – can we even speak about
‘Okinawans’ at all? Is the term merely an empty categorical vessel for interring the
inhabitants of Okinawa prefecture, which would then include the numerous
Filipinos, Indians and even ex-US servicemen who have settled in Okinawa, and
exclude those born in ‘Okinawan’ communities in Kansai and elsewhere? Or, is it
freighted instead with the recognition of a collective identity, a sense of belonging
to a larger community of Okinawans defined by civic and/or ethnic bonds? And
are we to accept that, if indeed this identity does exist, it is in some way uncontested,
monolithic and capable of incorporating or disguising the diversity and complexity
within this over-determined space, Okinawa? Actors on the stage of Okinawan
politics, from former governor Ōta Masahide to local activists like Takara Ben,
argue just this, and shape the content of that identity or the narrative of its formation
in the service of their own, immediate agendas. It is precisely for this reason that
the politics of identity and its analysis that is core to these chapters is not a mere
pandering to the current academic fashions; it is rather a blunt recognition of how
central these questions are to an understanding of Okinawa today.
That the matter is complex is not to be denied. What makes it so is that boundaries
are not set in stone but are contested and remain in a constant state of flux. Put
another way, the dislocation between the formally inscribed legal boundaries of the
Japanese state, which identify cartographic Okinawa, and informally inscribed
cultural boundaries, which help mark Okinawans’ self-inscribed identity as
Okinawans, is one factor that fuels identity politics in the Ryukyus. The other major
factor is the discontent over Okinawa’s subordinate incorporation into Japan, which
has crystallized around the issue of the overwhelming US military presence. This
combination of ‘cultural stuff’ with present grievance produces a rich amalgam of
potential identities for Okinawa and the Okinawans that can be linked to political
positions. At one extreme, writers and activists such as Takara Ben or Kina Shōkichi
still hold to the political goal of complete independence from Japan. By excavating
the historical symbols of the old Ryukyu kingdom, which bespeak a vibrant
independent culture, wide-ranging trade relations throughout Southeast Asia and
a high degree of political independence, these modern-day freedom fighters use the
pen or guitar (or more usually the Okinawan stringed instrument, the sanshin), but
not the sword, to try to subvert or transform these structures. At the other extreme
are the all-out supporters of the status quo, who view the benefits accruing from
having returned to the ‘fatherland’ in 1972 and the employment opportunities
generated by the ‘construction state’, tourists and the bases, as ample reward for the
Introduction 11
irritant of crimes committed by US military personnel. As ‘Japanese’ they remain
content with their vested interests.
For a majority of Okinawans, however, gradual and incremental changes in these
structural constraints, leading to improvement in the status quo, rather than its abrupt
or radical transformation, seems to be the order of the day. This is particularly
the case in terms of popular support for a reduction in the number of bases on the
islands and their more equitable distribution around Japan. In a January 1995
prefectural survey, for instance, those polled were asked to rank the order of
preference as to the action the prefectural and central governments should take
about US bases, with the highest three choices favouring return (i.e. closure),
43.3 per cent, an end to military exercises, 15.6 per cent, and an end to noise
pollution by the US military (Okinawa Ken Sōmubu 1998: 256). This, of course,
was even before public anger was aroused to new heights by the rape of a 12-year-
old schoolgirl by three US military personnel. Despite the wide consensus on
reducing the bases, the strongest advocate for their reduction, progressive governor
Ōta Masahide (1990–8), lost a tightly fought election in 1998 to the conservative
challenger, Inamine Keiichi. This electoral change in the prefectural governor was
the result of a perception, accurate or otherwise, that the determined stand of Ōta
against the bases threatened the economic future of the prefecture. The complex
linkages and contradictions between economic realities and the US bases were
exposed once more, and many Okinawans voted for their livelihoods first.
Nevertheless, the new governor has also pushed for a reduction, albeit by different
means, but has proved more compliant in his negotiations with Tokyo than Ōta.
Politicization of the base issue has turned not just the present, but also the past,
into a site of contestation. For many, the bases are inextricably linked with a
historical narrative of victimization that stretches back to the days of the Ryukyu
Kingdom. This dominant narrative of Okinawan victimization begins with the
Satsuma invasion of 1609 and is punctuated with keywords like Ryūkyū shobun, sotetsu
jigoku (palm-tree hell – the starvation period of the 1920s), tetsu no arashi (the Typhoon
of Steel – Battle of Okinawa) and fukki (reversion). It culminates in the kichi mondai
(base issue) and Okinawa’s ‘unfair treatment’ at the hands of the central government.
The importance of this victim-centred narrative lies not so much in its validity or
otherwise as historical ‘truth’, but in its utility as an ideational resource for the
construction and articulation of a contemporary Okinawan identity politics. The
1995 rape of the schoolgirl, for instance, was such a powerful event precisely because
it resonated within this narrative, the victim representing yet another ‘sacrificed
daughter’ at the hands of a military occupation, as evocative a symbol as the pure
and innocent student nurses of the Himeyuri brigade killed in 1945. In the event,
the rape was appropriated as a metaphor for the violation of Okinawan territorial
and political autonomy, and thus both the gendered nature of the crime and the
pain of the victim were subsumed within a wider nationalist politics of protest
(Angst 2001).
While stories of the past serve to ground, routinize and make sense of the present
in a wide range of contexts, in Okinawa such activity has always been inescapably
political, given the context of Okinawa’s subordination. Activists and scholars
routinely characterize the incorporation of Okinawa into the Meiji state as ‘internal
colonialism’, despite the lack of consensus among Okinawans themselves on this
process, both then and now (Siddle 1998). Perhaps the most difficult issue of all is
over how the Battle of Okinawa should be remembered. It is impossible to capture
in an academic discussion any sense of the human cost of this tragedy and how
deeply it has traumatized the survivors. Popular memory focuses, on the one hand,
on the victims, epitomized by the Himeyuri student nurses, while, on the other
hand, it raises uncomfortable questions about the willingness of Tokyo to sacrifice
the island and Japanese military atrocities towards Okinawan civilians, including
forced mass suicides. Not a few ‘remember’ Japan as the oppressor and the US, not
as the enemy, but as a liberator. In this way, ‘memory’ balances the sides of the
triangle in different configurations to the structural subordination of Okinawa.
Today, however, while it remains the case that many Okinawans on the main
island feel united by their common opposition to the bases, there nevertheless
remain strong local and clan (munchu) loyalties that operate in other contexts and can
often be antagonistic. Some villages retain strong communal identities, while others
have undergone drastic demographic and cultural changes (Sered 1999: 17–19).
When ‘Okinawa’ is extended to include all the islands of the prefecture, moreover,
the picture becomes yet more complex and diverse. To mark the divide with main-
landers, Yamatonchu, Okinawans may invoke an ‘imagined community’ composed
of all the islands. Since the outer islands of the prefecture do not have any bases,
this is primarily seen as a broadly cultural community, despite significant linguistic
and cultural variations between the main island groups in the prefecture. In some
cases, this sense of cultural belonging extends to the Amami islands, detached
politically from the kingdom of Ryukyu by Satsuma after 1609. It can involve the
spread of main island cultural forms such as eisa dancing to the outer islands and
their adoption as a badge of ‘Okinawan’ identity. In other cases, cultural differences
are used to clearly mark local identities, as in the resurgence of folk music from the
Yaeyama islands. Moreover, main-island Okinawans may exclude the outlying
islanders of Miyako, for instance, as historically and culturally different, that is, as
‘outsiders’, or even regard them as inferior. As human agents, Okinawans are just
as capable of prejudicial attitudes and discriminatory behaviour as mainland
Japanese.
Similarly, in the case of power struggles over resources, conflicts emerge as
hitherto comfortable communal identities are called into doubt, reinterpreted and
renegotiated. This can be seen, for instance, in the on-going struggle in Henoko, the
site chosen for the location of a new, offshore US heliport planned in light of
the decision to close down Futenma airbase and relocate its functions. Once a village
with a strong communal identity, the base issue has split the community between
supporters and opponents of the heliport. Thus, the introduction of the heliport
into the structural relationship between Henoko and Tokyo, which enjoys the power
to deploy central resources as inducements to villagers to support the heliport, has
created new boundaries in political and economic space. Communities, of course,
are always sites of conflict, but in the case of cultural space the village as an imagined
cultural community provides an opportunity for divisions to be suspended, allowing
Introduction 13
priestess rituals, village festivals and other cultural activities to continue to take
place. In short, the subjectively inscribed boundaries can be flexible enough to
accommodate or temporarily suspend the conflicts inherent in the structural
distortions imposed by powerful external interests. In the case of Henoko, however,
the scale of the externally induced trauma to the community threatens the
maintenance of this cultural space.
Certainly, as a result of the structural location of Okinawa within the Japanese
political economy, Okinawan agency does remain constrained, but a range of
examples nevertheless illustrate how Okinawans are quite prepared to challenge and
attempt to transform these structures. To start with, in terms of political space, a
politically aware electorate, political praxis and popular participation in political
processes, whether parliamentary or extraparliamentary, are manifestations of the
potential for human agency to make a difference. At times a clear choice between
two political agendas does exist, as in the stand-off between Ōta and Inamine, where
the choice made confirmed the popular preference for the gradual improvement,
rather than radical transformation, of the status quo. At other times, anti-US bases
movements and popular demonstrations against US crimes, as in protests against
rapes carried out by US military personnel, have made a difference. The so-called
‘Koza riot’ of 1970 was graphic evidence of the willingness of at least a minority of
Okinawans to face the brute power of the American military authorities. And even
if part of the Futenma airbase is expected to be transferred to Henoko against the
wishes of a substantial proportion of the local population, the increase in citizens’
participation and successes elsewhere, such as over the New Ishigaki Airport, point
to the potential of human agency to transform political reality.
In economic space, moreover, Okinawans have put forward a range of creative
proposals aimed at increasing their economic autonomy. Even though the proposal
to establish Okinawa as a free-trade island was quashed by the central government
in Tokyo, the creative impulse to enhance autonomy is clearly evident in the vision
of microregional zones of cooperation reaching across the seas to embrace Taiwan
and parts of continental China. With the prefectural government as a central actor
in promoting greater economic autonomy through microregionalism, as seen during
the Ōta years, and the visual and lexical representation of trade routes and other
economic intercourse excavated from the history of the Ryukyu kingdom in order
to locate Okinawa’s identity in the wider East Asian regional, not narrower national,
space, the link between and among cultural, political and economic space and
practices is patently clear. In this way, Okinawans have challenged the existing
structures of constraint, and even though they may often have remained bound by
them, in certain instances they have been able to reinterpret, subvert and indeed
transform them. Vision alone, though, is not enough. Despite Okinawa’s limited
success in attracting call centres for large Japanese businesses, its attempts to
transform itself into a regional hub are severely curtailed by high relative labour costs
and lack of skills in comparison with established regional centres like Hong Kong
or Shanghai.
In terms of cultural space, Okinawans have frequently challenged the external
imposition of an Okinawan identity, whether by the mainland Japanese, the
Americans or others. Through their daily cultural practices, Okinawans have
challenged this imposition of ‘authenticity’ upon ‘Okinawa’ and ‘Okinawans’.
Indeed, a wide range of political and popular writings, literature, music, story-
telling, and so on, have inscribed an Okinawan Okinawa. The recently lavishly
reconstructed Shuri castle stands on the skyline above Naha as a concrete symbol
of the distinct history and culture of Ryukyu for Okinawans and outsiders alike.
These modes of cultural representation put Okinawans in charge of their own
identities, even at times appropriating the cultural symbols and practices of the
dominant mainland culture.
At the time of writing, it even appears that what could be termed a counter-
colonization of Japanese cultural space by Okinawan cultural forms is occurring.
Riding on the back of the popularity of ‘Churasan’, Japanese TV networks are
devoting hours to Okinawan cooking programmes, while Okinawan music remains
highly popular since the 1990s hit ‘Shima uta’ (ironically by a Japanese band, The
Boom). This new music, what Roberson calls ‘Uchinā pop’, represents ‘a set of
musical sites (both sounds and sights) through which contemporary Okinawan
identities are constructed, reflected, and set in contrast to – and sometimes in
resistance against – powerful national and international forces’ (Roberson 2001:
213). On the literary scene, Okinawan writers are currently prominent far out of
proportion to their numbers. The Akutagawa Prize, for instance, went to two
Okinawans in succession: Matayoshi Eiki in 1996 and Medoruma Shun in 1997.
Questions of identity and memories of war remain key themes in Okinawan writing
(Molasky and Rabson 2000). Nevertheless, while this is a recognition and celebration
of the vitality of Okinawan culture, it can also be regarded as its potential cooptation,
an embracing by mainstream Japan of the least threatening aspects of its trouble-
some prefecture; like the characters in ‘Churasan’, vaguely exotic, but in the end
comfortably ‘Japanese’. For millions of Japanese viewers, the structural inequities
and burdens still inherent in the relationship are conveniently masked by the
artificial smiles on morning TV.
Conclusion
The focus of this book on both structure and subjectivity in Okinawa serves to
elucidate the complex nature of both the Okinawan political economy and
Okinawan identity. Many of the issues touched on above are dealt with in rich detail
in the following chapters. This Introduction has briefly sketched the economic,
political and social terrain and outlined how Okinawa and the Okinawans have
been integrated in a subordinate position within global, regional and national
orders, both historically and in the contemporary period. It has highlighted
contemporary issues and controversies while tentatively proposing some conceptual
frameworks within which to try to make sense of them. This will become clear in
the two parts of the book.
Part I investigates the external and internal structural position of Okinawa in the
global, regional and national orders, with a particular focus on political economy
and security. In essence, this part of the book examines and seeks to explain the
Introduction 15
structural constraints imposed on Okinawa while remaining alert to the potential
opportunities these structures offer to Okinawan people. Chapter 2 by Furuki uses
a ‘world-system’ approach to place Okinawa in the context of the region’s and the
world’s historical development, paying particular attention to the idea of Okinawa
as a frontier region. The question of how Okinawa has emerged within the regional
and world orders provides the backcloth for many other contributions. Both
Furuki and Hook (Chapter 3) pay particular attention to the role of borders and
boundaries, with Hook examining Okinawa’s attempt to create a microregional
zone of economic cooperation by inscribing Okinawa as part of a wider, regional
space. The identities of regions, as well as people, are central to understanding the
current attempts being made to forge a greater degree of economic autonomy for
Okinawa as part of East Asia, not just Japan.
Yet US regional strategy constrains the role Okinawa can play, as Gabe (Chapter
4) makes clear. It is as part of this current triangle, with Japan and the US, that he
develops his argument on the importance of Okinawa to the US. Any change
in Okinawa’s structural position can only be carried out through the central
government, but little ground for optimism seems to exist, given Okinawa’s role in
US regional and global strategy. The US occupation, presence and role in Okinawa
has been one of the reasons for large numbers of Okinawans to abandon their homes
in search of a better life abroad, as Sellek shows in Chapter 5. Yet the existence of
this trend in earlier periods demonstrates how, placed within global, regional and
national structures, the people of Okinawa have not simply being ‘pushed’ out of
Okinawa, but have been agents in shaping their own destinies.
The last two chapters of Part I examine the structural position of Okinawa within
Japan. McCormack (Chapter 6) provides a detailed coverage of the costs borne by
the islands and the islanders as a result of the particular path of development
pursued. The role of the ‘construction state’ in remaking Okinawa with concrete,
some of this for the wider benefits of the people but with a devastating impact on
the natural environment, is testimony to the development model holding sway. The
previous governor of Okinawa knows at first hand the difficulty of trying to carry
out change within the domestic political economy, as he shows in Chapter 7. It is
not that ‘decentralization’ of political structures is not a clarion call in Japan as in
some other centralized states. It is rather that, in the case of Japan, the actual way
decentralization has been pursued has left prefectural governments with little
freedom to pursue an independent course. In this sense, Okinawa under Imamine
remains structurally in the same position as Okinawa under Ōta.
Part II is composed of chapters that attempt to understand Okinawa from the
inside out. Collectively, they emphasize Okinawan subjectivity, agency and
engagement with the structures of the larger political economy dealt with in Part I.
They give precedence to the voices and understandings of Okinawans themselves.
Many are concerned, in some way, with identity. The chapters by Siddle and Aldous,
for instance, look at the ways in which Okinawans, at different times and in pursuit
of contrasting political objectives, have articulated quite differing views of themselves.
In his discussion of the politics of indigenousness, Siddle (Chapter 8) demonstrates
how particular versions of Okinawan identity, informed by specific historical
narratives, not only drive the political agenda but can also be shaped by it. For
Aldous (Chapter 9), the anger and direct action displayed by ordinary people during
the Koza riots of 1970 was not just a symptom of their frustration against an unfair
US military administration, but also an indication of their particular understanding
of citizenship. Chapter 10 by Tanji digs below the surface of the ‘Okinawa struggle’
to focus on diversity between and among various movements, often lumped together
but motivated by not always compatible political, gender or environmental concerns.
Although they express their ‘Okinawan’ identities in different ways, she finds,
however, that ‘disunity is strength’.
The importance of the past, and its politicization, is a key theme in this section.
In Chapter 11 on the recent struggles over the commemoration of the Battle of
Okinawa, Yonetani highlights the complex and contested linkages between past
and present, and between academic history, social memory and politics. This is
contested terrain, indeed. Remembering the battle, in which over one-quarter of
the population died, arouses strong emotions among many Okinawans. These can
expose deeply ambivalent feelings, often suppressed in other contexts, about their
relationship with mainland Japan. Yonetani illustrates how different versions of the
‘truth’ of the battle, with their wider implications of Japan’s responsibility for
Okinawan suffering, have reached a flashpoint in the displays of the new prefectural
Peace (war) Museum. Nelson, too, in Chapter 12 on the comedian Fujiki Hayato,
discusses how Fujiki uses memories of the war (among other themes) in his
performances to both problematize and challenge the comfortable assumptions of
his local audiences.
Nelson, and Molasky, too, in his examination of the works of Arakawa Akira in
Chapter 13, are concerned with the ways in which meanings are appropriated and
contested within a symbolic world created by Okinawans, for Okinawans. Both
Fujiki and Arakawa, in their very different creative fields, have prompted a
generation of Okinawans to reflect upon their complicity in the maintenance of
structures of domination, both external and internal. Arakawa, in particular, was
one of the few intellectuals strongly to oppose reversion to Japan, and he remains
an important critic of the Okinawan establishment today. Molasky explores
Arakawa’s trenchant criticism and its poetic expression, linking its source to
Arakawa’s own troubled identity as an Okinawan.
What this book attempts, then, is a comprehensive approach to Okinawa and the
Okinawans taking account of both structure and subjectivity. It is by adopting this
dual approach that the answer to the question of this chapter – Japan? – can we hope
be found.
References
Angst, Linda (2001) ‘The sacrifice of a schoolgirl: the 1995 rape case, discourses of power,
and women’s lives in Okinawa’, Critical Asian Studies 33, 2: 243–66.
Arasaki, Moriteru (1996) Okinawa Gendaishi (A Contemporary History of Okinawa), Tokyo:
Iwanami Shoten.
Fairbanks, John F. (ed.) (1968) The Chinese World Order, Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Introduction 17
Hook, Glenn D., Gilson, Julie, Hughes, Christopher W. and Dobson, Hugo (2001) Japan’s
International Relations: Politics, Economics and Security, London: Routledge.
Hook, Glenn D. and McCormack, Gavan (2001) Japan’s Contested Constitution: Documents and
Analysis, London: Routledge.
Maeshiro, Morisada, Makino, Hirotaka and Takara, Kurayoshi (1998) Okinawa no Jiko
Kenshō: Teidan- Jōnen kara Ronri e (Self-examination of Okinawa: Discussions, from Sentiment to
Logic), Naha: Hirugisha.
Molasky, Michael and Rabson, Steve (2000) Southern Exposure: Modern Japanese Literature from
Okinawa, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Okinawa Ken Kikaku Kaihatsubu Kikaku Chōsei Shitsu (1998) Okinawa Keizai no Gaikyō
(An Outline of the Okinawan Economy), Naha: Okinawa Prefectural Office, Okinawa Ken
Kikaku Kaihatsubu Kikaku Chōsei Shitsu.
Okinawa Ken Sōmubu Kichi Kōshitsu Kichi Taisaku Shitsu (1998) Okinawa no Beigun Kichi
(US Bases in Okinawa), Naha: Okinawa Prefectural Office, Okinawa Ken Sōmubu Kichi
Kōshitsu.
Ōta, Masahide (1984) The Battle of Okinawa: The Typhoon of Steel and Bombs, Tokyo: Kume
Publishing.
Roberson, James (2001) ‘Uchinaa pop: place and identity in contemporary Okinawan
popular music’, Critical Asian Studies 33, 2: 211–42.
Sered, Susan (1999) Women of the Sacred Groves: Divine Priestesses of Okinawa, New York and
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Siddle, Richard (1998) ‘Colonialism and identity in Okinawa before 1945’, Japanese Studies
18, 2: 117–33.
Smits, Gregory (1999) Visions of Ryukyu: Identity and Ideology in Early-modern Thought and Politics,
Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Takahashi, Susumu (2001) ‘The global meaning of Japan: the state’s persistently precarious
position in the world order’, in Glenn D. Hook and Hasegawa Harukiyo (eds) The
Political Economy of Japanese Globalization, London: Routledge.
Willcox, Bradley, Willcox, Craig and Suzuki Makoto (2001) The Okinawa Way: How to
Improve your Health and Longevity Dramatically, London: Penguin.
Part I
Structure
2 Considering Okinawa as a
frontier1
Furuki Toshiaki
A range of viewpoints have been adopted in analyzing Okinawa’s historical position

and unique qualities. This chapter seeks to build on the extant literature by applying
the world-system perspective of Immanuel Wallerstein, which has exerted a
profound influence in the field of history and social sciences (1974, 1980, 1989,
2000). As is well known, his work treats the capitalist world economy dating from
sixteenth-century Europe onwards as a world-system, and analyzes the historical
development of this globalized system. However, his analysis falls short in several
respects. Among the more prominent concerns are the following two. First, his
analysis of the modern world-system is limited to dealing with the system up until
1840 or thereabouts, and mainly features the Western world, with little mention of
regions outside, especially Asia. Second, his theory of history has not been fully
developed.
Fortunately, recent developments arguing from the perspective of comparative
world-system theory help to compensate for these deficiencies. First, a range of
studies concerning the pre-modern world-system or the world-system in non-
European regions has now been completed, but further work still needs to be
conducted, especially in terms of pre-modern studies and the peripheral areas of
Asia. To comprehend the modern world-system as a historical system, Wallerstein
included a historical perspective in his analysis from the outset, but did not
incorporate the pre-modern era. Now, comparative world-system analysis extends
into the pre-modern era. Second, the spatial expansion of world-system analysis
has taken place as a result. Indeed, by extending research into pre-modern times,
the field now reaches outside of Europe into other regions of the world. Third,
analysis of the transition of the world-system has been carried out through the
works of Ilya Prigogine and Isabelle Stengers (1984). This theory, also known as
New Science, stems from Prigogine’s Brussels School. Wallerstein was originally
influenced by the members of this School, and once again, the spotlight focuses
upon them.
This chapter follows in this tradition. To date, no work has been carried out on
Okinawa from the above point of view. To draw out the importance of Okinawa
in the context of world-system theory, the concept of ‘frontier’ is introduced, as in
the work on comparative world-systems theory by Christopher Chase-Dunn and
Thomas D. Hall (1997).
22 Furuki Toshiaki
Frontiers and borders
Chase-Dunn and Hall initially introduced the concept of ‘frontier’ using the world-
system perspective. As they state: ‘Incorporation creates and transforms frontiers.
However, the frontier concept suffers from the same theoretical problems as the
concept of periphery. A frontier is a social relationship worked out in space. The
connection between the relationship and its spatial expression is problematic’
(Chase-Dunn and Hall 1997: 70). The meaning of ‘incorporation’ denotes that the
world-system core merges the outer world with its periphery. This is how a frontier
comes into existence. Their explanation of ‘a social relationship worked out in space’
is based upon Richard Slatta’s metaphor of the “frontier as membrane” which
suggests another way of viewing the relationship between world-systems and

frontiers. Frontiers are zones where incorporation takes place. The frontier-as-
membrane metaphor also helps to highlight a problem of scale. Viewed from
a global perspective, the frontier is relatively narrow and sharp. Viewed more
closely, it is a broad zone with considerable internal differentiation, both
spatially and temporally. At either level, different types of expanding systems
have different types of boundary membranes, each type varying in the types
and degrees of permeability to flow across or through them.
(Chase-Dunn and Hall 1997: 70)
The metaphor is a social relationship assuming differences within itself, and at

the same time indicates a fixed space – a zone. A frontier will change depending
upon different types of incorporations. Why it needs the metaphor ‘membrane’
seems to lie in the fact that it not only points to space but also describes the quality
of this space. It is here that ‘permeability’ comes into play. In other words, differences
between light and dark, strengths and weaknesses of ‘permeability’ are affected by
discord occurring between existing social relations and incorporations, and a frontier
acts as a space to defend existing structures against incorporation. The existing
social relationship also acts as a source for potentiality, a source spilling over with
rich resources (cf. Slatta 1990: 223–6).
The concept of ‘frontier’ can be clarified by comparing it to the concept of a
‘border’. Anthony Giddens explains:
‘Frontier’ refers to an area on the peripheral regions of a state (not necessarily

adjoining another state) in which the political authority of the centre is diffuse
or thinly spread. A ‘border’, on the other hand, is a known and geographically
drawn line separating and joining two or more states.
(Giddens 1985: 65)
His argument is not based upon the world-system perspective, but is a comparison
between frontiers and borders in relation to state theory. Gidden’s concept of
‘frontier’, however, overlaps with that of Chase-Dunn and Hall, in that a border is
viewed as a line rather than an area. ‘Borders’, in Giddens’ view, ‘are only found
Considering Okinawa as a frontier 23
with the emergence of the nation states’ (1985: 50). A border, therefore, is a line
drawn by the formation of the modern nation-state. ‘Modern state borders may
coincide with natural defensive boundaries, but while this may be important to the
fortunes of a state in war, it is irrelevant to the character of borders. Borders are
nothing other than lines drawn to demarcate state’s sovereignty’ (Giddens 1985: 51).
The concept of frontier, as clarified above, is a peripheral zone or area that
emerges when a region or state existing prior to the modern age becomes
incorporated into the nation-state or the interstate system. A border, on the other
hand, is a line drawn to indicate national sovereignty. With a frontier, therefore,
social relations exist, as mentioned earlier; however, with borders, there are none.
A border simply means a line by which a frontier is held within the nation-state,
although a frontier may often transgress this line. This is the case, for instance, in
regions where the principle of the nation-state has not been clearly established. East
Asia is one such region, as here the concept of ‘borders’ remains ambiguous.
Pax Sinica and Okinawa
What is Pax Sinica?

Pre-modern Okinawa was a part of the ‘China-centred regional world-system’ (Ikeda
1996: 57). According to Hamashita Takeshi, a certain state of peace prevailed under
the order of a larger region existing within the China-centred dynasty known as Pax
Sinica. For Hamashita, the order was a ranking system embracing both the regional
system itself and those of other regions (Hamashita 1993: 32). Foreign relations in
this system featured a tributary and ranking relationship based on the idea of ka–i
(the noble/refined–the barbarian/savage). In other words, the ka dispatches a
mission of approval duly acknowledging the throne of i, who is then able to receive
the benefits of ka, and the i, in turn, sends a delegate to the ka in order to express
gratitude, thereby the tributary-ranking system becomes a working system
(Hamashita 1997: 22). This system has a firm ideological structure. According to
Hamashita, the reason why such external ranking systems were developed and
continued to work was not because ‘of the nation building achievements of the Han
tribe, but rather, it was due to the formation of the tributary system as a negotiation-
coexistence type of relationship among the multi-ethnic and other regional
areas. Furthermore it was important to create the idea of ten (heaven) as a more
comprehensive idea in order to bring the heterogeneous peoples closer together’
(Hamashita 1997: 6). In this way, the tributary and ranking system was a negotiation-
coexistence relationship between the ka as a core and the i as a periphery and the ten
was an idea that China used to acknowledge all heterogeneous peoples. There are
two issues here. First, it is important to bear in mind that the i was not considered
to be the ‘Other’ (outsider) for the ka, but a people directly under the ka influence or
in the position to enjoy the benefits from ka. In other words, i was a frontier
incorporated by ka. Discord within the ka–i relationship did occur. However, by the
i accepting the ka’s rules of courtly ranks, heion (peacefulness) prevailed. Such
‘acceptance’ was duly noted in written form by both parties, a formality of letters, a
24 Furuki Toshiaki
recognition per se. Hence the permeability of the ‘frontier as membrane’ weakened
and weight was lifted, allowing heion between the ka–i to sustain itself by means of
negotiation and coexistence. This was the second issue.
Pax Sinica and Koryūkyū
Okinawa became incorporated into this regional world-system towards the end of the
fourteenth century. It was known as Koryūkyū (ancient Ryukyu), starting from around
the thirteenth century, and was part of a regional trading zone with China. Although
it is beyond the scope of this chapter, it should be noted that even earlier than this, ‘a
trade zone centred on China, in other words, a trade zone in the East Asia region’
had developed from the tenth century onwards and the Ryukyu island chain was
part of this zone (Nishizato 1986: 159). Pax Sinica was built upon such foundations.
It was during this stage that the state was formed and widespread trade emerged
under Pax Sinica. The state originated on the main island of Okinawa, where the
three small states of the Sanzan were formed: Chūzan, Sannan and Sanpoku.
Towards the end of the fourteenth century, of these three, Chūzan emerged as the
most powerful. At the time, East Asia was witnessing the decline of Mongolian rule
over China and the Korean peninsula. It was an unstable period. Amidst this
‘fluctuation’ – that is, an unstable element which is inherent in a system at the
moment of self-organizing into a new order (Straussfogel 1998, 2000) – the Han tribe
formed the Ming dynasty in 1368 and the China-centred regional world-system
was reorganized. While simultaneously excluding the wako (Japanese pirates)
through policies of tributary trade and kaikin (ban on free trade), the Ming dynasty
pressed its peripheries into paying tribute. Since the basic policy was to prohibit
private trade, periphery nations wishing to trade with China acquired entry solely
by means of participating in the tributary system. While Korea moved forward
quickly in this regard, the problem with the wako meant Japan found itself in
opposition. In these circumstances, in 1372 the crown head of Chūzan, the strongest
of the three states, ‘dispatched his brother Taiki and followers [to the Ming dynasty]
in order to pay distant reverence and precious tribute’ (Takara 1989: 49). In this
manner Chūzan became incorporated into the China-centred regional world-
system, emerging as its frontier. By 1380 Sannan and in 1383 Sanpoku were both
embraced in the system, paying tribute and establishing diplomatic relations. In
this way, ties between Sanzan and the Ming dynasty became firmly established. By
the fifteenth century Ryukyu power-holders began to unify the regime. In 1406, Shō
Hashi deposed Bunei (the king of Chūzan), crowning his father as the new king. The
kings of Sanpoku, in 1416 and then of Sannan in 1429, were similarly overthrown
by Shō Hashi. Following his father’s death in 1421, he became the first king of the
first unified regime of Ryukyu. Known as the First Shō dynasty, the monarchy
continued for six generations until, in 1470, the Second Shō dynasty was established.
This monarchical regime continued into the mid-seventeenth century.
The unification of the Ryukyu regime was important for the emergence of the
great trade era in East Asia. According to Takara Kurayoshi,
Ryukyu’s form of foreign trade featured the entrepot which was mainly conducted
by the state. The state maintained friendly relations with other states and traded
with the expectation of keeping such relationships. Herein existed a form of
diplomatic strategy. The most decisive element of this strategy was diplomacy
with China (tributary), and bearing this relationship in mind it formed diplomatic
relations with other states (international tributary system). Foreign trade for
Ryukyu was first and foremost peaceful and friendly, as stated in the archives of
the Ryukyu Dynasty (Rekidai Hōan). Friendly measures were the best means
possible for a small state with little resource to carry on relations with others.
(Takara 1989: 147)
This strategy is evident from the inscription on the ‘Bell Bridging All Countries
of the World’ (Bankoku Shinryō no Kane) cast by order of King Shō Taikyū (on the throne
1454–60), in which Ryukyu looked upon itself as an important part of the Chinese
world order and insisted on building a bridge to all countries as a trading nation.
Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Ryukyu and the ryōzoku

kankei
In the sixteenth century East Asia entered another period of uncertainty. The
turmoil stemmed from the weakening effects of the Ming dynasty. During this
period, Japan was unified under the political powers of the Oda-Toyotomi regime
and despatched troops to Korea in order to oppose the tributary and ranking order
of China. This opposition came to an end with the death of Hideyoshi in 1598. In
1609 the Shimazu clan of Satsuma succeeded in weakening the Ryukyu kingdom
following a military expedition, whereupon Ryukyu fell under the rule of Satsuma.
Takara analyses these two incidents as follows. ‘Within the East Asia world, from
the end of the sixteenth century to the beginning of the seventeenth century, both
incidents had the same basic character insofar as acts of foreign aggression were
concerned, initiated by the feudal state of Japan whose aims were to reorganize the
international society of East Asia’ (Takara 1989: 244).
From the world-system perspective it can be said that these incidents represent
resistance towards Pax Sinica by the use of archaic tributary methods. When the
kingdom collapsed, Ryukyu as a frontier was changed dramatically. After this event,
Ryukyu fell under both the jurisdiction of Japan as well as China. This became
known as the ryōzoku kankei (dual relationship).
‘Ryukyu, although by all appearance a sovereign kingdom, took on the role of a
political puppet under the strict control of the Satsuma clan/Tokugawa shogunate’
(Nishizato 1986: 166). What caused this condition? Kinjō Seitoku explains that
there was an understanding between Satsuma and Ryukyu insofar as the ruling
classes were concerned. In other words, so long as the Satsuma clan
duly received their annual land taxes from Ryukyu and merits reaped from
trade with China continued as expected, they had no qualms about the
‘autonomy’ of Ryukyu . . . on the other hand, for Ryukyu, as long as
26 Furuki Toshiaki
the tributary system with China was maintained and trade was able to be
continued, the needs of its ruling class were satisfied. Hence there appeared to
be a mutual consensus.
(Kinjō 1978: 193–4)
While the significance of this mutual consensus may differ, what is clear from the
perspective of world-system analysis is that the emergence of such a relationship
meant the deterioration of the frontier. The situation was a type of ‘membrane’ in
which the ceremonial rule of the China-centred world-system and authoritarian
control by Satsuma coexisted. Discord between the two was avoided through the
mutual consensus of both ruling classes. The cost of the burden lay with the ordinary
people of Ryukyu. In this way, although Okinawa’s potentiality could not be
realized, it did not mean the disappearance of Ryukyu as a frontier. Indeed, disputes
about the ryōzoku kankei took place between pro-Japanese and pro-Chinese groups,
yet crucially both acknowledged the uniqueness of Ryukyu. In other words, despite
Satsuma’s ability to permeate, the quality of the ‘membrane’ remained as a frontier
that protected existing social relations.
Ryukyu during the age of Qing and the centuries of seclusion

In 1644 the Manchu conquest took place with the Qing dynasty entering Beijing
and overthrowing the Ming dynasty. The Qing dynasty was established, although
the final conquest, that of Taiwan, did not take place until 1683. By this time Japan
had already entered its age of seclusion. The China-centred regional world-system
entered another age of uncertainty. Despite this ‘fluctuation’, Ryukyu maintained
a relationship with both the Japanese and Chinese powers. Insofar as relations with
the Qing dynasty were concerned, the tributary and ranking system remained intact
and conditions remained stable for a prolonged period of time. What this meant is
that no military powers in opposition to each other existed. The difference between
Ryukyu and the other adherents to the Chinese tributary-ranking system, namely
Korea, Vietnam and Myanmar, rested upon this style of coexistence (Ryu 1996: 89).
In regard to relations with Japan, ‘throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, especially after Satsuma’s conquest of Ryukyu, elimination of economic
and cultural differences was steadily promoted. As a result, the conditions necessary
to encourage ethnic homogeneity between Ryukyu and Yamato [Japan] developed
steadily’ (Nishizato 1986: 180).
During this same period, ‘it was also true that Ryukyu’s self awareness was further
strengthened’ (Nishizato 1986: 180). While the dual relationship appeared co-
dependent, quite clearly the greater power lay on the side of Japan. In other words,
Japan had more power to permeate the membrane ‘frontier’. Earlier mention of
relationships being ‘fundamentally’ sustained rested upon the fact that such a change
was inclusive. It is also important to understand that this situation, although
appearing to embrace Ryukyu’s sense of self-identity, also nurtured discord on a
subtle level. In 1859, for instance, interpreter Makishi Chōchū committed suicide
by jumping into the ocean. Makishi was caught amidst the dilemma between the
Satsuma clan and the anti-Satsuma power of Ryukyu. Space limits preclude us
going into the details, but the incident is a clear example of the discord between the
two opposing factions (Kinjō 1978: 217–31; Yamashita 1999: 104–23).
Responding to uncertainty: from the annexation of

Ryukyu to the Pacific War
The demise of Pax Sinica

In 1685, the Qing dynasty began trading with non-tributary states. Britain saw this
as an opportunity to secure trade with China, monopolizing the situation by the mid-
eighteenth century. From the beginning of the nineteenth century, imperial Britain
drove China to export massive amounts of opium and, in 1840, following the
imposition of restrictions by Qing, the Opium War broke out. By the mid-nineteenth
century, France, the United States and Russia followed suit as each intervened in
China, thereby incorporating China into the modern world-system. As the modern
world-system began embracing parts of China and its peripheral states, Pax Sinica
began to ‘fluctuate’ in noticeable ways. While this is commonly accepted as the end
of Pax Sinica, Hamashita counters:
Considering the fact that the history of East Asia’s international relations was
founded upon the principle of a tributary relationship sustainable for over a
thousand years, it is difficult to assume that its demise could be brought about
by a single event, such as the Opium War . . . rather, it is conceivably more
acceptable to view it as a demise that was caused by internal change in the
tributary system itself.
(Hamashita 1997: 8–9)
In other words, the tributary states or their alliances took it upon themselves to rebel
against China as ka (i.e. not as i). This caused trading profits to plummet, ultimately
bringing things to a halt, and motivating the archaic tributary states to take on
European ways. This created open rebellion against China. As a result, China
abandoned its tributary system and its ka–i state of order as it entered the twentieth
century (Hamashita 1997: 9). It is from this time that the ‘bifurcation point’ (the
point where a stable structure reaches its limits and spontaneous self-organization
occurs) of the China-centred world-system begins.
The annexation of Ryukyu

The position of Japan within Pax Sinica is interesting to note. Douglas R. Howland,
for instance, observes that
Within the extensive array of tributary domains offering obeisance to the

celestial Qing emperors, Japan was silent – physically absent from the imperial
court, yet persistently present within All-under-Heaven. This ongoing
28 Furuki Toshiaki
abstention from official communication with the Qing court was one major
consequence of Shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu’s policy of ‘locking up’ Japan in
the 1630s . . . To most Chinese, Japan endured as an inaccessible silence for
over two hundred years.
(Howland 1996: 11)
Japan existed, of course, but it was categorized as being outside of Pax Sinica.
Eventually the situation changed as contact began from the Japanese side. Thus, in
1870 the Meiji government concluded the Treaty of Mutual Amity and Trade with
the Qing dynasty. This created quite a stir among the Qing who decided to grant
a treaty with Japan and, in the following year, the 1871 Sino-Japanese Treaty was
ratified. This event is an especially important one to note as it symbolizes the final
demise of Pax Sinica. It is also one of the greater ‘fluctuations’ as observed from the
context of the China-centred world-system’s transition towards a bifurcation point.
In the same year, the Meiji government began to focus its attention on Ryukyu.
The problem of the shipwrecked Miyako islanders, one of the islands of
Ryukyu, galvanized public interest at the time. The shipwreck involved the murder
of 54 out of 66 Miyako islanders who drifted upon Taiwan’s shores. The Meiji
government used the incident as a way to lay claim to Ryukyu. In the following
year, 1872, ‘Shō Tai was given status as head of the clan kingdom of Ryukyu,
recognizing him as a member of the nobles. All diplomatic along with friendly
relations carried out between Ryukyu and all other nations . . . henceforth fell under
the auspices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ (Kinjō 1978: 5–6).
In 1875, the Meiji government started procedures to disband the Ryukyu clan and
fully integrate Ryukyu into the Japanese state. Thus, it prohibited the continuation
of the tributary state relationship between Ryukyu and the Qing dynasty,
and demanded that Ryukyu change its calendar to the Japanese-style of calendar,
based upon the era names of the Japanese emperor. In 1879, moreover, the Meiji
government used military reinforcements to oust the Ryukyu clan, thereby
establishing the prefecture of Okinawa (March 1879). Finally, in the same month,
the government demanded that Shuri Palace be surrendered within thirty-one days
(Kinjō 1978: 7). The Qing court insisted that the Sino-Japanese Treaty implied that
neither nation would invade each other’s territory, and demanded the return of
Ryukyu’s national polity and government back to its former state. Opposition moved
towards an unfolding of events encouraging negotiation between both governments.
As a new agreement was reached, the Qing court acquired Yaeyama and Miyako
islands as its territories and the Meiji government obtained the right of marketing
activities in China. The agreement, however, was aborted as Qing withdrew from
officially endorsing it. Hence the situation remained unchanged ( Kinjō 1978: 153–6).
As evidenced, the annexation of Ryukyu meant the embracing of it into the
Japanese state. In other words, this marked the incorporation of Ryukyu within
Japan’s borders. From this point on, Ryukyu as a frontier disintegrated. It is important
to note that this end of Ryukyu as a frontier is closely connected with the end of Pax
Sinica. As events moved towards a major bifurcation point, Ryukyu’s position can be
viewed as part of the greater China-centred world-system and its many ‘fluctuations’.
Okinawa and the nanshin policy
In this way, Japan incorporated Okinawa, turning it into a Japanese periphery.
As a result, Okinawa emerged as ‘waga nan mon’ (the Southern Gate of Japan), that
is, a strategic point of national defence along the borders of Japan. Despite the
spread of the Japanese empire, which was created without a long-term vision,
Okinawa remained as a strategic periphery. The reason for this lies in the
indeterminate structure of East Asia. It was necessary for Japan to put its borderline
point under constant surveillance in order to secure the Japanese empire for itself.
The Japanese government’s nanshin policy (to expand its territories towards
Southeast Asia) confirmed the strategic importance of Okinawa. The policy aimed
to ‘successfully carry through with the war by making full use of East Asia’s wealth’
through migration of people from Japan whose main aim was to develop and
acquire this wealth freely (Ōta 1972: 327). Okinawa became the ‘first combatant’
of this policy. According to Ōta Masahide, owing to memories of migration to East
Asia during the Ryukyu era and migration to Southeast Asia subsequent to the
modern age, Okinawans were psychologically prepared to work with such policies
(Ōta 1972: 326). From this perspective, the frontier as a memory served the cause
of an expansionary policy for the modern Japanese state. In this sense, Okinawa was
cleverly exploited to spur the nanshin policy of the empire of Japan.
Ironically, history brings down its own curtain. With the Pacific War and the
repeated defeat of the Japanese army, Okinawa inevitably became the ‘front-line
combatant’ of the border region. War on the Okinawa front became the only war
involving military personnel and civilians alike, creating its own demise by taking
the lives of more than 200,000 people. Among the war dead included 122,000
Okinawans – 28,000 were soldiers and civilians in the military, 94,000 were civilian
residents – representing 61 per cent of the total number of lives taken. The remainder
were 66,000 Japanese soldiers (including Korean and Taiwanese soldiers) who came
from outside Okinawa prefecture and 13,000 American soldiers (including some
British soldiers). The names of the war dead during this time are all engraved on the
Cornerstone of Peace, a memorial next to Mabuni Hill where the Battle of Okinawa
ended. This memory is still fresh in the archives of recent history.
Incorporation into the US-centric system
Okinawa under the rule of the US occupation forces

Oguma Eiji explains:
In August 1945, the Empire of Japan unconditionally surrendered and the war
came to an end. Sakhalin, Taiwan and Korea were henceforth no longer
considered territories of Japan and people of non-Japanese ancestry hitherto
considered ‘Japanese’ were no longer ‘Japanese’. After the war, however,
people existed who were on the borders of what was considered ‘Japanese’.
These were the Koreans, Ainu and the people of Okinawa.
(Oguma 1998: 460)
30 Furuki Toshiaki
For twenty-seven years thereafter, until reversion in 1972, Okinawa ‘remained as
a boundary’ (Oguma 1998: 461). What does the word ‘boundary’ refer to here?
There is a need to distinguish ‘frontier as a boundary’ and ‘border as a boundary’,
although under US occupation, Okinawa perhaps complies with neither.
In January 1946, a memorandum by General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme
Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP), designated Okinawa as ‘politically and
administratively separate from Japan’. Hence Okinawa became an entity existing
outside of Japan’s jurisdiction. This separation by MacArthur also stemmed from
the American view that the people of Okinawa were different from the Japanese
(Oguma 1998: 462–6; Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 14–16). As such, this appears to
be a form of accepting Okinawa as a frontier but, in reality, it was just a means
to separate Okinawa from Japan. What did the US plan to do with Okinawa?
Despite the complicated arguments between opting for a status for Okinawa as
US territory or as a US Trusteeship (Oguma 1998: 467–72), the US military, faced
with Cold War tensions, insisted upon the former. This also included extending
human rights to the people of Okinawa as ‘Americans’, a difficult issue (Oguma
1998: 469). On the other hand, the argument favouring US Trusteeship, which
was written into the San Francisco Peace Treaty, threatened to open the way for
Chinese and Soviet intervention in Okinawan affairs, and also tied the US’s hands
through the United Nations. As an interim step, therefore, the US government
continued to monopolize its administrative rights over Okinawa, although in the end
this continued right up until return to Japan in 1972 (Oguma 1998: 469). With the
1949 socialist revolution in China and the intensification of the Cold War, especially
in the wake of the 1950 outbreak of war on the Korean peninsula, the US forged
ahead in creating ‘permanent’ military bases as a ‘temporary’ occupation force. In
this way, Okinawa emerged as a border marked by a military line. Not only was the
position of ‘Okinawa as a frontier’ conditional under such circumstances, but
Japan’s border was also being negated. In the wake of the militarization of Okinawa,
conflict emerged between the people of Okinawa and the US military occupying
Okinawa.
An all-island struggle
Despite American criticism of Japan’s historic role in Okinawan affairs, the realities
of US occupation weighed heavily on the people of Okinawa, causing them to seek
‘return to Japan’ (Oguma 1998: 466). While the reversion issue cannot be dealt
with here in detail, one event does bear mention from the perspective of world-
system analysis: the 1956 all-island struggle. The struggle provides insight into the
complex nature of Okinawa as a ‘membrane’. It illustrates how, during times of
conflict, problems can be caused not only by the presence of the US military and
the role of the Japanese government, but by the people of Okinawa as well. The
catalyst for the struggle was the June 1956 Report of the Special Subcommittee of
the Armed Services Committee, House of Representatives, also known as the
Melvin Price Report (Oguma 1998: 515). What enraged the Okinawans was the fact
that the report included extremely low calculations for the value of Okinawan land
and low rental fees for the land taken over by US military forces. The report also
did not take up the question of claims for damage made by islanders. Despite calls
to address these grievances, nothing was done. As a result, the whole of Okinawa
came together as a suprapartisan movement, rising up as shimagurumi (one island,
one people).
There are three points to mention: first is the nature of Okinawa’s struggle under
US military rule. The struggle, as Nakano Yoshio and Arasaki Moriteru point out,
‘meant that the whole island rose up against rule by the US military which had
continued for ten years’ (1976: 85). Second, the movement sheds light on the nature
of ‘reversionist thought supported by the Japan Reversionist Movement’ (Nakano
and Arasaki 1976: 85). Although the Japanese government was asked to support
Okinawans in their struggle to return to Japan, it adopted a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude,
fearful of damaging the US–Japan relationship. Third, the struggle highlights the
issue of Okinawan identity; namely, ‘the spirit of Okinawa expressed as a single
ethnic group united in its identity’ (Oguma 1998: 57). In other words, memories of
Okinawa as a frontier remained. Okinawa existed in a state of extensive permeability
through its military border: the all-island struggle was in a sense a direct challenge
to this situation supported by memories of Okinawa as frontier. The US’s
uncompromising stance and Japan’s ‘wait-and-see’ attitude led to the suppression
of the struggle. At the same time, suprapartisan cooperation gave way to conflict
and competition among different groups. Despite these difficulties, however, the
struggle can be seen as the precursor of the Okinawa reversionist movement further
on down the road.
Reversionist nationalism
Even during the 1950s popular support for reversion to Japan existed, but this
strengthened in the 1960s, as seen in 1960 with the creation of Okinawa Ken Sokoku
Fukki Kyōgikai (OSFK – Okinawa Prefecture Reversion to the Fatherland Congress).
The members of this group ‘envisioned themselves as being an all-island supra-
partisan reversion movement’ (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 116). Despite this, the
Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), newly formed in 1959, would not
participate. This indicates the existence of two different forces moving towards
reversion by this time. Whereas the OSFK claimed to be suprapartisan, the
Okinawa LDP dismissed it as ‘anti-American’, itself preferring ‘a gradual step-by-
step process’ in order to pursue ‘substantial reunification with the fatherland’
(Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 116). Despite their opposing strategies the two different
groups occasionally overlapped with each other. This came from having a common
identification as Okinawans, which created ‘a fluctuation of the Okinawan identity
between the two others, Japan and the US, as well as the fluctuation between
continuing or discontinuing efforts to acquire rights as Japanese for the past century’
(Oguma 1998: 501). On the grounds of connecting two opposing groups, the
movement can be called reversionist nationalism. Of course the memory of being
a frontier had receded significantly. Later on, however, the concept surfaced again,
along with heated debates over independence and the growth of anti-reversionism.
32 Furuki Toshiaki
At the time of reversion in 1972, the demand grew for reversion without nuclear
weapons – that is hondonami, or on a parity with the mainland. The acceptance of
this demand on the part of both the US and Japanese governments was at heart
a strategy to absorb the reversionist nationalist movement. In this way, Okinawa
remained as a military border for the US armed forces, at the same time as it was
transferred to Japan as a border.
The US-centric system

Unlike the Sino-centric order, the US-centric system in East Asia is characterized
by American hegemony. Giovanni Arrighi explains the transformation in the East
Asian order as follows:
U.S. hegemony in East Asia was realized through the transformation of the
periphery of the former Sino-centric tribute-trade system into the periphery of
a U.S.-centric tribute-trade system. The U.S.-centric system, however, was far
more militaristic in structure and orientation than its Sino-centric predecessor.
Not only was it based on a military-industrial apparatus of incomparably
greater size and technological sophistication, more important, the US-centric
system also fostered a functional specialization between the imperial and the
vassal states that had no parallel in the old Sino-centric system.
(Arrighi et al. 1999: 266)
Japan clearly manifested this type of functional specialization under what Nakamura
Masanori calls the ‘1960 regime’ (Nakamura 1995: 3), a term that refers to a
prospering Japan under Pax Americana during the period of high economic growth,
stable politics and high mass consumption. Japan acted as the core of the US-centric
system during this time. And Okinawa, located on the outskirts of this core, was
incorporated as a border to the peripheries.
Independence and converging with the mainland

Aside from the military issue, after reversion to Japan Okinawa, amidst the
‘fluctuations’ of East Asia, was moving towards convergence with the mainland.
Chronologically speaking, this was post-reversion up to the end of the Cold War, a
period when East Asia saw the rapid growth of the Newly Industrializing Economies
(NIEs) followed by China as well as the growth of ‘Japan, Incorporated’ – a name
coined in the context of Japan as a super-industrialized society – acting as a
compensator for America’s receding hegemony within the US-centric system. What
did becoming a part of mainland Japan mean for Okinawa, and how was this related
to the state of ‘fluctuation’ during this period? For Okinawa, becoming a part of
mainland Japan actually meant becoming a part of Japan’s periphery. There are
three aspects to this condition.
The first is economic. In essence, Okinawa moved from reliance upon the
US military to dependence upon mainland investments and public works. As
Yamamoto states:
It is true that this transition provided much improvements in public services
including roads, harbours, airports, schools and other public as well as
industrially based facilities. The service industry also advanced and incomes
increased. Nevertheless, overall differences between that of Okinawa and
mainland Japan have not been redressed, economic independence has not been
achieved and, in essence, the situation remains the same.
(Yamamoto 1995: 4)
Moreover, despite hopes for developing ‘international relations enhanced by

Okinawa’s uniqueness’, as called for in the Second Promotional Development Plan
for Okinawa, nothing spectacular has taken place.
The second aspect is political. Political parties and mainstream pressure groups
all seemed to become immersed by the mainland. In terms of administration,
autonomy was incorporated under one central system and a national council for
the development of Okinawa was established. Investments in public works were
promoted. Nevertheless, problems in housing, traffic and transportation, welfare for
the aged, medical and insurance, as well as other issues relating to island isolation,
were left unsolved (Furuki 1995).
The third aspect is social. Until 1975 consumption standards were on the slide
and did not take an upward turn until after this. Long overdue, Okinawa from the
late 1970s onwards finally became a mass consumption society. Yet the island
remained peripheral (Tanaka 1988: 63).
In this way, Okinawa became mainland oriented, except that the military
situation in Okinawa remained markedly different from mainland Japan, as seen
by its hosting of 75 per cent of all US military bases located in Japan. This also
means bearing the costs of all the crimes and other damage brought about by such
a situation. Since the Japanese government supports the presence of the US military
in Okinawa, in essence it can be regarded as complicit in the maintenance of
this situation as well. While the economy of Okinawa has been heavily dependent
upon the US military, it is now less so, given the rise in importance of public works
and tourism.
What happened to the memories of Okinawa as a ‘frontier’ by becoming a part
of mainland Japan? As mentioned earlier, ideas for promoting Okinawan
independence and anti-reversionist tendencies repeatedly surfaced. Among them,
Arakawa Akira’s anti-reversionist debate, made against the reversionist nationalists
before reversion in 1972, highlights the issue of Okinawa’s separateness. As Oguma
points out: ‘it not only suggests an anti-reversionist debate but sees the “inherently
unique traits” of Okinawa as a separate ethnic group, this being an argument against
the nation state itself’ (Oguma 1998: 617). It can be argued that, at the basis of
this separate ethnic group, lies an enormous potentiality that is inherent to the
nature of the ‘frontier’ as well. Discussions on separation, independence and
sovereignty spread throughout Okinawa, reaching a peak some ten years after
reversion. The commemorative first issue of Okinawa Jiritsu Jihō ’ (OIJ or Bulletin
for Independence of Okinawa) published by the Okinawa Jiritsu Kōsō Kenkyūkai states
the following:
34 Furuki Toshiaki
It is nearly ten years since Okinawa returned to Japan . . . and the situation in
Okinawa has not changed, a fact that still remains today. If anything has
changed, it would be found in the assertions and movements of the people who
are demanding independence for Okinawa and are acquiring a depth of
awareness for their social origins. They are beginning to challenge the realities
of Okinawa.
(OIJ 1982: 1)
In this way, memories of a frontier awaken again and again.
Post-Cold War: ‘fluctuations’ in the world-system and

Okinawa
The ‘fluctuation’ of East Asia and Okinawa

A ‘fluctuation’ induced by the end of the Cold War created several changes linked
to a new ‘fluctuation’ in East Asia. One such ripple was the transformation in US
strategy. Although no drastic changes in the US-centric system occurred, the
methods used to sustain the system were subject to change. While the decision to
deploy one hundred thousand troops suggests maintenance of the status quo, the
US at the same time needed to sustain its role in the region by gaining support from
its East Asian allies, especially from Japan. This involved strengthening Japan’s
functional specialization, as in the ‘New Defence Guidelines’, which calls on Japan
to play a logistical role in support of US forces. Should a contingency develop in
‘areas surrounding Japan’, the Japanese Self-Defence Forces (SDF) as well as
Japanese local governments will be expected to cooperate with the US military.
Another change saw the rapid economic growth of socialist states outside of North
Korea, namely, China and Vietnam. Trade between these states and the US-centric
system was encouraged. However, these states were also focused on the Korean
peninsula, the Straits of Taiwan and the Spratley islands, exposing an ulterior motive
of political and military influence, causing tension to arise. In this way, the
relationship between the economic and military situation became increasingly
unstable.
Yet another change appeared as the position of Japan began to shift and grow
increasingly unstable. Japan was being required to weigh options against itself. Of
course, Japan held a major position as part of the core of the US-centric system.
Nevertheless, despite its position, Japan being a part of East Asia as well, was also
in the position to be greatly influenced by the complex US–China relationship of
‘opposition/competition/coexistence’. As of 2001, Japan’s position remains
indeterminate.
What has happened in Okinawa?

It is interesting to note what happened in Okinawa under these unstable conditions.
In brief, the main issues were as follows.
1 After reversion to Japan in 1972, for six years the prefectural government was
run by the left wing, then in 1978 it moved to the right. After a twelve-year wait,
it moved again to the left with the election of the Okinawa prefectural governor,
Ōta Masahide (1990–8).
2 Linking of US military bases in Okinawa with the Gulf War (1991). At that time,
the US military in Okinawa extended its activities to include the Middle East.
This signified the important function of US bases in maintaining the security
of Asia and the Middle East.
3 The Third Okinawa Promotion Plan encouraging the development of the
unique traits of Okinawa’s local industries (1992). After reversion to Japan,
the Okinawa Promotion Plan was promulgated every ten years in order to
enhance the economic and social development of Okinawa. In the third plan,
the uniqueness of Okinawan industries was heavily stressed.
4 The ‘Ryukyu Kingdom’ boom of 1993. The story of the ‘Ryukyu Kingdom’
was broadcast as a TV programme by the national broadcaster, Nippon Hōsō
Kyōkai (NHK). The programme stimulated the interest of mainland people in
understanding the independent story of Okinawa.
5 The gathering of 80,000 citizens to protest against the rape and violence of US
soldiers in Okinawa (1995). This incident was called the second all-island
struggle against the US military.
6 The US–Japan summit which agreed to move Futenma base (1996). Futenma,
the home base for the US Marine Corps Third Division, is located in the centre
of Ginowan City and poses a danger to the lives of its citizens. The summit did
not decide where this base should be moved.
7 The controversy among the government of Japan, Nago City and the prefec-
tural government of Okinawa, and the citizens of Nago City over the relocation
of Futenma as an offshore heliport near Nago City (1997). While the central
government wanted to move the function of Futenma base to Nago City, the
prefectural government and many of the local inhabitants demanded it be
moved outside Okinawa.
8 The victory of the right wing in the 1998 election for governor. In the election
campaign the right insisted on the plan for the sharing of a civilian/military
airport at Nago City and favoured transforming it into a civilian airport after
usage by the military for fifteen years.
9 The Japanese government officially finalized the transfer of Futenma base to
Nago City (1999). Although this has been finalized, it does not necessarily mean
the end of the controversy.
10 The year 2000 G8 summit was held in Okinawa. This led to international
attention being focused on Okinawa. Here memories of a frontier were
ironically exploited to strengthen the position of the Japanese government:
the hall where the summit leaders met was named Bankoku Shinryō Kan which
was derived from the name of the bell mentioned earlier (p. 25). However,
the same political, economic and security issues still continue to face the
prefecture.
36 Furuki Toshiaki
These various issues can be analyzed in three ways. First, some of these events relate
to changes in US strategy. The scheduled transfer of Futenma base to Nago City,
for instance, will further consolidate and strengthen the US’s position in Okinawa.
In other words, Okinawa will remain as a strategic point for the US-centric system.
Second is the ever-present yet implacable attitude of the Japanese government
towards Okinawa. By accepting the location of the majority of US bases in Okinawa,
the Japanese government compensates Okinawans through the provision of public
works and investments. Yet, despite the implementation of the Third Okinawa
Promotion Plan (fiscal years 1992–2001), nothing tangible is being done to develop
the unique traits of Okinawa’s local industries. Even so, most Okinawans seem
satisfied with the effects of these investments. Third, as seen in the case of the
residents of Nago City, a number of Okinawans resist any further military
penetration of their lives by openly protesting against the US bases. Without a doubt
this is related to independence and the anti-reversionist movement. Okinawa is
imbued with memories of the Ryukyu kingdom. Its spirit is inflamed by the presence
of the US soldiers stationed in Okinawa who continue to repeat violent and criminal
acts outside Okinawan jurisdiction, but who inflict damage on the people of
Okinawa. These three points clearly signify one thing: Okinawa remains in an
unstable situation.
Pacific coexistence-system and Okinawa

Both the US and Japanese governments are set on maintaining the status quo. In
contrast to this is the Okinawa citizens’ movement against the US-centric system,
which can be viewed from a world-system perspective as the seed for a new
‘fluctuation’ in itself. From the point of view of the whole system, it may be a minor
‘fluctuation’. It is, however, a ‘fluctuation’ occurring at the military crux of the
system. Therefore it is quite feasible for this ‘fluctuation’ to be linked directly to a
new bifurcation point.
What new system might be envisioned beyond this point? More than likely, the
system will deny the US its central position in the system. Let us call this the ‘Pacific
coexistence-system’ for the time being. With this system, not only is the centre
negated, but the high walls surrounding the nation-state might also be lowered, and
a multi-layered structure of various regions might well emerge. Military means will
more than likely diminish and the issue will be one of economics and independence.
Of course, this is not limited to Okinawa’s decision alone. The nation-state within
the system and the interdependent relationship between regions will be key factors.
Okinawa can contribute to this coexistence system by giving new life to the richness
and potential that is found in being a frontier in the future.
Note
1 English translation by M. K. Meyer Ohya, Chūō University, Tokyo, Japan.
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3 Responding to
globalization
Okinawa’s Free Trade Zone in
microregional context1
Glenn D. Hook
The dynamic intertwining of globalization and regionalization processes in the post-

Cold War world raises important questions about the ways in which changes in the
structure of the international system influence the international response of domestic
agents (actors). While these processes are weaving parts of the global political
economy together on different spatial scales, state and nonstate actors are at the
same time promoting projects that spur them. Thus, globalism and regionalism
as political projects, and globalization and regionalization as economic processes,
are combining to transform the structure of the international system in the
contemporary era. While the literature on the impact these two processes exert is
vast, one central point to emerge as far as this chapter is concerned is their role in
lowering barriers to interaction in different spatial domains. This leads to an erosion
of global, regional, national and local levels of activity and understanding as spatial
scales are redefined and reinscribed. Research on responses to these trends has
tended overwhelmingly to focus on the level of the national political economy, with
a range of work examining the role of the state at both the regional and subregional
levels (e.g. Gamble and Payne 1996; Hook and Kearns 1999). The microregional
level remains understudied (Breslin and Hook 2002). While these three levels of
regionalism are metaphorical and remain contested, such a tripartite division
nevertheless does serve an important heuristic purpose in directing attention to the
diverse ways in which both state and nonstate actors seek to realize identities
and interests on different levels of interaction in the context of the structural
transformation of the international system now taking place in the wake of the Cold
War’s ending.
International activity on these levels of regionalism is clearly evident in the three
core regions of the global political economy. The regional level is illustrated by
those regionalist projects advanced by the major industrial powers, such as members
of the European Union, the North American Free Trade Agreement, and the Asia
Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) forum. In contrast, the subregional level
refers to those projects forged in response to regionalist projects by the weaker states
in the international system, such as the Central European Free Trade Agreement,
the Association of Caribbean States, and the East Asia Economic Caucus. Whereas
these two levels of regionalism focus primarily on the state as the pivotal actor in
pursuing these regionalist and subregionalist projects, the microregional level focuses
40 Glenn D. Hook
on the substate level of international interaction represented by the incorporation
of subnational parts of national political economies into transborder, microregional
zones of cooperation. In certain instances, the microregional zone can embrace
states as well as businesses and other actors, as seen in the case of the so-called
growth triangle involving the mini-state, Singapore, and subnational parts of
Malaysia ( Johor) and Indonesia (Riau). However, the partial incorporation of a
national political economy and the role of subnational actors in the region-building
process remains a key feature of a microregional zone, as illustrated by the activity
of businesses and subnational political authorities, prefectures, cities, towns, and
so on, in promoting the Pan Yellow Sea Economic Zone (Hook 2002) and the Pan
Japan Sea Zone (Hook 1999). By opening up the national political economy in this
way, an examination of the subnational level serves to expose the disparate ways in
which globalization and regionalization processes impact on different parts of
the same sovereign, territorial space. In other words, the impact of globalization
at the national level, which is intricately enmeshed in the dynamic processes of
regionalization on different spatial scales, need not be duplicated in different
subnational parts of the same sovereign, territorial space.
These three levels of regionalism are forged and intertwined through a process
of objective interaction, as with the development of trade, investment and
transborder production systems, as well as through the subjective representation of
these interactions within a demarcated, albeit often amorphous, regional space.
The creation of regional identity thus involves the imputation of space with regional
meaning as part of subjective representation within historically contingent
conditions. Although the subnational level may have a shared local identity as well
as be integrated, to varying degrees, into a national identity, political, economic
and other domestic agents may at the same time seek to realize their interests by
creating an identity beyond these local and national boundaries. In this process,
geographical proximity, cultural similarity, trade and investment indices, and so
on, can give meaning to a shared identity across national boundaries, linking the
subnational part of one state with subnational parts of other states. In this way,
the process of transborder, region-building involves both a subjective process of
imputing different territorial space with meaning as a way to create a shared identity
as well as an objective process of building regional links. Of course, shared interests
through objective economic integration may be more easily realizable than shared
identity through subjective inscription of regional meaning in space. Nevertheless,
region-building should still be regarded as involving both of these objective and
subjective processes, with a range of actors often utilizing the latter as a means to
realize the former.
Within this broader context, the purpose of this chapter is to examine the way in
which Okinawa is responding to globalization as a part of the Japanese and wider
regional political economy. The first section of the chapter briefly outlines the
response of the Japanese state to globalization processes. The next introduces
the specific features of the Okinawan political economy. The third section goes on
to focus on the Okinawa Special Free Trade Zone in a microregional context. The
conclusion considers the implications of Okinawa’s response to globalization.
Responding to globalization 41
Overall, the chapter demonstrates the diverse ways in which globalization impacts
on Okinawa within the constraints imposed by its subordinate position within the
national political economy.
Japan and globalization

The pressures on the Japanese political economy and society arising from
globalization are manifest most saliently in international and domestic demands to
liberalize and deregulate the economy, on the one hand, and the flows of both legal
and illegal migrant workers, on the other. The impact of globalization can be
illustrated in the context of a tripartite division of the economy: the internationally
uncompetitive sector, the internationally competitive sector and the ‘new’ sector of
the economy (Cerny 2001). In the first place, while Prime Minister Hashimoto
Ryūtarō’s 1996 launching of the financial ‘big bang’ aimed to enhance the global
competitiveness of Japanese banks and other financial institutions (Malcolm 2001),
this sector of the economy, together with agriculture, construction and services,
remains inefficient, weak and uncompetitive in international terms. Thus strong
resistance to opening up the economy continues to be mounted by these sectors,
despite the prolonged economic downtown throughout the 1990s and into the early
twenty-first century. Their lack of competitiveness is in marked contrast to the
internationally competitive manufacturing sector, especially electronics and
transportation machinery, which no longer needs to rely on the state for its success,
whether in terms of government financing or support through industrial policy.
Indeed, the pressures of globalization, though calling for new strategies, have thrust
many of these manufacturing companies, such as Sony and Toyota, to the forefront
of competitiveness in international markets. The third sector is the dynamic new
sector now emerging in the information technology industries, as represented by
companies such as Softbank. These companies are taking advantage of globalization
to develop new markets and to establish a global position on a par with their overseas
competitors. In this way, different sectors of the Japanese economy face constraints
as well as opportunities in responding to the most salient features of globalization,
deregulation and liberalization.
This highlights how the structure of the international system impacts on Japan,
as implied by reference to Japan as a ‘reactive’ state (Calder 1988). The social side
of globalization, as seen in the flows of both skilled and unskilled migrant workers
into Japan, reinforces this sense of the Japanese state and society as reacting to
globalization. The state and societal reaction to inflows of legal and illegal migrant
workers brings into question the normative base of Japanese identity at both the
national and local levels. While the national government has sought to resist
the pressures of globalization implied by the inflows of unskilled workers from other
parts of Asia, as in the cases of hostesses from the Philippines and construction
workers from Bangladesh, the unwillingness of Japanese workers to carry out so-
called ‘3K’ jobs – i.e. those which are dirty (kitanai), hard work (kitsui) and dangerous
(kiken) – creates a need on the part of business to rely on foreign workers in at least
certain sectors of the economy. At the same time, the need for skilled workers in
42 Glenn D. Hook
information technology and other industries engenders additional pressures to open
up the economy to foreigners, as illustrated by the government’s decision to adopt
the Japan–India IT Cooperation Plan following then Prime Minister Mori Yoshirō’s
visit to India in August 2000. In responding to this dilemma the government has
placed priority on maintaining Japanese identity based on ‘ethnicity’, as in the case
of South Americans of Japanese descent (Nikkeijin) by offering them special working
status (Sellek 2000), and has only offered the Indian information technology
specialists three-year, multiple entry visas. Despite this focus on permitting ethnic
Japanese entry into Japan, both legal and illegal migrant workers from other parts
of the world, especially Asia, continue to exert additional pressure towards the
emergence of a multicultural Japanese identity. In this way, globalization is creating
challenges for the very nature of Japanese society and identity.
The impact of these trends in terms of both political economy and society has
been to engender above all else a sense of Japan as a victim of globalization, especially
among those sectors of the economy lacking international competitiveness. Pressure
to change both the nature of the Japanese political economy and society has in this
sense split domestic agents into supporters and opponents of globalization
(Takahashi 2001; Hatsuse 2001). In contrast, the outward manifestation of Japan
as an agent of globalization, as seen in the investments made by Japanese
multinational corporations in East Asia, North America, Europe, and further afield,
is hardly viewed from the perspective of those subject to it. For those outside Japan,
however, it is precisely the outward spread of the Japanese economy which is seen
as a manifestation of the way in which the world is globalizing. In this way, Japan
can be seen both as a victim of globalization and as a proactive supporter of that
process, although the impact is not uniform throughout the land.
Okinawan political economy

In the case of Okinawa, the impact of globalization is being felt most keenly in terms
of the pressure for change in the nature of the Okinawan political economy. Most
importantly, the prefecture has been forced to respond to pressures for liberalization
and deregulation, on the one hand, and has sought to take advantage of the
opportunities globalization offers to nurture economic self-reliance, on the other.
The dynamic interaction between these two has been negotiated in the context of
an economy that has been shaped profoundly by its peripheral, subordinate status
within the Japanese political economy. This means that businesses must face high
transportation costs in exporting goods to the main islands, other parts of East Asia
or further afield. As a result of the US occupation of Okinawa, moreover, the
constitutional provisions for local government and the range of local government
laws did not apply to the prefecture until after reversion, depriving it of financial
autonomy. Furthermore, even with the end of US administrative control over
Okinawa, the continuing presence of US military bases continues to distort the
prefecture’s political economy, despite the extension of the constitution to the islands.
Since administrative reversion, the national government has implemented three
Okinawa Development Promotion Plans, with the third plan running fiscal year
1992–2001. The aim of these plans has been to reduce the disparity between
Okinawa and other parts of Japan and provide equality under the law. Given
the twenty-five years of US administration, their focus has been on building up the
prefecture’s social and economic infrastructure through public works, strengthening
economic self-reliance, and enhancing personal well-being through job creation
and an increase in income. In the first twenty-five years following reversion, nearly
5 trillion yen of government funds, 90 per cent of which was used for public works,
have been funnelled into Okinawa (Yasuda 1998: 74). Overall, the plans have
succeeded in providing the prefecture with roads, sewerage systems, an international
airport, sea ports, and so forth. Despite the enormous sums spent, however, they
have failed to stimulate significant growth in the manufacturing sector, create self-
reliant development or provide Okinawans with equal economic opportunity. In this
situation, the prefecture remains highly dependent on three key sources of income:
national government subsidies – largely targeted at public works projects – tourism
and US bases.
With Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, the prefectural economy gradually moved
from dependence on US bases to dependence on government subsidies, with
tourism also playing an important role. Thus, whereas in 1972 27 per cent of
the prefecture’s total expenditure was made up of government finance, this had
risen to 38 per cent by 1980, and remained in the 30–33 per cent range in the 1990s.
In contrast, those funds received in connection with the location of US bases in
Okinawa dropped from 15 per cent at the time of reversion to around 5 per cent
by the 1990s (Shigemori 1999: 49–50). By the late 1990s tourism made up
approximately 10 per cent of the local economy. Certainly, as seen in the periodic
increase in government subsidies to the prefecture at times of popular protest against
US bases, it is difficult always to draw a line between funds as part of the
government’s policy of advancing equality among the prefectures and funds as
recompense for hosting the bases (Gabe 2000: 8). Nevertheless, the above figures
clearly indicate that, in terms of government finance, the Okinawan economy is
presently distorted as a result of national government funding for public works more
than for US bases, whatever the motivation for the latter funding.
Even today, a range of disparities still remains between Okinawa and the main
islands and the need to create new businesses is widely recognized (Taira 1999: 67).
In terms of the structure of the economy, for instance, the low percentage of
manufacturing industries, with only 6.5 per cent of prefectural GDP in 1995
generated by manufacturers, approximately one-quarter of the national average in
that year and less than the 7.3 per cent achieved in the late 1970s, limits the
prefectural potential for economic growth in a globalizing era (Okamoto and
Yamamoto 1998: 8). The weak manufacturing sector means transportation links to
the prefecture remain imbalanced, with goods mainly transported in one direction
only, as imports to the prefecture, rather than a balanced flow of inward and
outward trade. This makes the peripheral location of Okinawa even more costly and
illustrates the difficulty of self-reliant development. Apart from these structural
features, disparity in terms of employment can be seen in high unemployment rates,
especially among youth. Indeed, the prefecture remains blighted with the highest
44 Glenn D. Hook
unemployment rate in Japan, double the national average at 8.4 per cent (in
September 2000) (Okinawa Taimusu, 31 October 2000). It also has the lowest income
among all the prefectures, at approximately 70 per cent of the national average.
The downturn in the Japanese economy during the 1990s, which followed the
bursting of the ‘bubble’, has simply compounded the problems faced by Okinawa
in responding to the pressures of globalization. The economic downturn is part of
the reason for the national government’s move towards a more decentralized
political economy (Nishio and Tsujiyama 2000). It also helps to explain the
government’s decision to reconsider the third Okinawan Development Promotion
Plan. Its need to respond to the limitations of the plan in terms of strengthening
economic self-reliance took on particular urgency in the wake of the rape of an
Okinawan schoolgirl by US service personnel in September 1995. Although this
created a political environment enabling the prefecture to exert pressure on the
national government, it did not solve the fundamental problem of responding to the
combined pressures of globalization and the economic downturn in a prefecture
distorted by dependence on government subsidies, tourism and military bases.
No longer able to rely upon the national government to revitalize the local
economy on a long-term basis, prefectural and other subnational political authorities
throughout Japan are being forced to develop their own economic strategies. In
certain parts of Japan, the pressures of financial globalization, as seen in the
fluctuation of the yen exchange rate, mean that subnational political authorities
must respond to local industry moving production offshore as a result of the increase
in the value of the yen or to take advantage of cheap labour, markets, and so on. As
the base for manufacturing in Okinawa is so weak, however, industries are not
pushed offshore due to global pressures forcing up the value of the yen, but neither
is the prefecture able to benefit from a low valued yen, except for tourism. Thus,
the pressures of globalization, with the accompanying demands for deregulation and
liberalization, and the economic slump following the bursting of the bubble, have
created a situation where prefectural and other subnational authorities are taking
on an increasingly proactive role in order to stimulate economic growth on the local
level. In the case of Okinawa, the prefecture is seeking to enhance economic self-
reliance by developing industries with the potential to export their products to
mainland Japan as well as to other parts of East Asia, exploit the prefecture’s natural
resources to stimulate tourism, and attract mainland and other information
technology companies.
Okinawan Free Trade Zones and the Special Free

Trade Zone
In this context, Free Trade Zones (FTZ) provide an opportunity for Okinawa to
develop industries with the potential to export their finished products to Japan and
further afield. However, the structural weakness of the Okinawan economy in terms
of both manufacturing and finance is such that a transborder economy can only be
developed through the active role of both national and prefectural governments. In
particular, electrical machinery and transportation machinery, which are two of the
key manufacturing industries for Japan in terms of exports, are almost non-existent
in Okinawa. In this sense, moves to strengthen a transborder economy and other
activities are taking place ‘top down’, through the national and prefectural
governments, rather than ‘bottom up’, through business and industry, as a way to
improve Okinawa’s competitiveness in the face of globalization.
FTZs go back to the days of the US’s administrative control of Okinawa, although
none of them has come close to matching the ideal of a ‘free trade’ zone, akin to the
situation in say Hong Kong. The first FTZ was established in October 1959 and
centred on the port of Naha. In this case, pressure on the US administration exerted
by the Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI) hindered any
opportunity for the FTZ to emerge as a competitor to mainland industries. The
government’s policy staunchly resisted Okinawa playing any role similar to Hong
Kong (Howell 2000). With the return of Okinawa to Japan in 1972, the zone lost
any possibility of becoming a ‘free trade zone’ and was given legal status under
Japanese law through the enactment of the first Okinawa Development Promotion
Special Measures Law. Okinawa was put under full Japanese sovereignty on return,
including customs laws making ‘free trade’ little more than an empty slogan. Then,
following the 1982 revision and implementation of the law, the Okinawa Develop-
ment Agency designated a second, new Naha FTZ near the airport, Kagamizu,
which started operation in July 1988. Finally, the third revision of the law in March
1998 called for the strengthening of the existing FTZs and the establishment of a
third, 100 hectare Special FTZ, the Nakagusuku New Port Industrial Complex, in
Nakagusuku, on the east coast of the main island. The revised law also called for
the development of information technology industries and the further strengthening
of the tourist industry. In none of these cases, however, has Okinawa been given the
freedom to emerge as a ‘free trade zone’ – that is, a zone allowing for ‘free trade’
with the world – and has remained as a peripheral, dependent part of the Japanese
political economy.
Nevertheless, the national government’s inclusion of even incomplete FTZs
in these development plans suggests a recognition of the benefits they can bring
to Okinawa, although the first two have not flourished. The lack of attractive
tax incentives and other preferential treatment for companies, the small size of
the businesses setting up operations in the zones, together with the downturn in the
Japanese economy, led to their decline during the 1990s and even to the withdrawal
of some companies. In 1998, for instance, of the twenty-seven companies originally
attracted to the Kagamizu zone, only seven remained, leading even prefectural
officials to regard the FTZ as a failure (Shūkan Tōyō Keizai, 24 October 1998: 76). In
this sense, the newly proposed Special FTZ is the prefecture’s third attempt at
developing a zone, but this time a range of incentives, as discussed below, have been
introduced. This provides the Special FTZ with a greater potential for success as
part of an emerging microregional zone of cooperation, though the national
government remains resistant to Okinawa emerging as a fully fledged FTZ.
The creation of the Special FTZ emerged out of a process involving the regional
level development of the APEC, the national government, and the subnational
prefectural government and other domestic agents. The dynamic relationship
46 Glenn D. Hook
between regionalism and microregionalism is evident in the prefecture’s attempt to
exploit the opportunity provided by the agreement made by APEC states to liberalize
trade and investment for industrially developed countries by 2010. In the wider
regional context, therefore, Japan is already committed under APEC to reach
the target of ‘free and open trade and investment’ by 2010, as announced in the
November 1994 Bogor declaration of APEC economic leaders (APEC website.
http://www.apecsec.org.sg/virtualib/econlead/bogor.html. Accessed 22 November
2000). Given this commitment, the Okinawa proposal was to move forward first on
the subnational level of Okinawa before Japan as a whole carried out its commitments
under APEC.
At the same time, the national government was particularly sensitive to the
need to push forward with a new development strategy for Okinawa in the wake of
the rape incident. In September 1996, the cabinet set up the Okinawa Policy
Committee, which included among its members both the prime minister and the
prefectural governor. In April the following year, the prefecture sought to move
the process forward by establishing the Committee on Industrial/Economic
Development and Deregulation which, under the chairmanship of Tanaka Naoki,
the head of Keidanren’s think-tank, served as a conduit to garner business support
for Okinawa’s proposal (Kurima 1998: 177–214). At the committee’s June 1997
meeting in Tokyo, a call for the creation of an All-Okinawa FTZ by 2001 was
adopted (Hirayoshi 1998: 83). Despite the prefectural government’s role in
promoting the zone, the prefecture-wide FTZ was never implemented in the face
of strong opposition (Hirano 1998; Tomikawa 1998). In addition to the proposal
for the All-Okinawa FTZ, the committee’s final report included a call for the
elimination of customs duty, the removal of numerical restrictions on rice and other
deregulatory measures, the introduction of an open sky policy, and so on. Resistance
to the ‘free trade zone’ emerged at both the national and local levels.
With this as the basis, the prefectural government in August 1997 submitted to
the national government a request on Deregulation and other Special Measures to
Promote Industry. This included key items such as the expansion of the Okinawan
FTZ through the creation of a Special FTZ, the introduction of a ‘no-visa’ system
for tourists and the establishment of Naha airport as a regional hub. Then, in
November 1997, the prefecture published Okinawa’s grand design for the twenty-
first century, a ‘Blueprint for creating a cosmopolitan city’ (Miyagi 1998). This
report laid the foundation for the development of the Okinawan economy in the
future, taking account of globalization as well as pressures arising from the financial
difficulties faced by the national government in continuing to provide subsidies to
Okinawa. This, too, included a range of ideas in order to strengthen the FTZs, such
as abolishing tariffs for trade, liberalizing imports, tax-free shopping, facilitating
overseas entry into Okinawa, and so on. It was part of a plan to utilize the land now
occupied by US bases as part of the prefecture’s Base Reversion Action Programme,
which sought the closure of all US bases by 2015.
This is the background against which a limited, Special FTZ, was created in
Nakagusuku in March 1999. Although the Special FTZ is limited in scope, being
under customs regulations, with no opportunity to move any closer to a free trade
area like Hong Kong, it does create a partial ‘two systems within one state’ due to
the preferential tax treatment and other benefits offered to businesses locating in the
zone, far beyond those offered under the existing FTZs and elsewhere in Japan.
They include no consumer tax or customs duty on foreign goods held in bondage
and those imported into Okinawa and then re-exported to mainland Japan or other
overseas destinations. Tax breaks are also offered, whereby small and medium-
sized enterprises will pay taxes for the first five years at a rate of 26.3 per cent and
for the next ten years at 31.2 per cent instead of the general rate of 46.3 per cent.
As an alternative to the tax incentive, companies can choose a reduction in
investment tax, with a 15 per cent reduction in the purchase of equipment and a
reduction of 8 per cent in the case of buildings. Companies have a final choice of
opting for a special system of depreciation. In addition, they can receive financial
assistance from the prefecture for employing young workers.
The prefecture’s aim is to attract four types of businesses to the zone as part of a
strategy of strengthening economic self-reliance within a regional, not just national,
context: companies that (1) import natural resources, parts, semi-finished products
and carry out manufacturing production; (2) utilize the zone as a site to bond foreign
products on their way to market; (3) carry out the final inspection and testing of
foreign goods before they enter the Japanese market; and (4) use Okinawa as a site
to exhibit foreign products (Shūkan Tōyō Keizai, 24 October 1998: 76). The prefecture
has successfully attracted several Japanese companies to Nakagusuku, including
those in food processing, construction equipment and electronics, but the zone has
been far from successful in this regard. It is also seeking to exploit Okinawa’s regional
location as a way to attract industry from Taiwan, Singapore, Hong Kong and
elsewhere. In this respect, Taiwan has been targeted as a major potential investor.
According to Taiwanese officials, Okinawa is attractive owing to the size
of Japan’s economy and its political stability, but wage levels remain high in
comparison with other parts of East Asia, if not with mainland Japan. Taiwanese
interest in investing in the special FTZ is considerable, however, as illustrated by a
1998 survey of Taiwan businesses carried out by the prefecture’s project team set
up to attract business to the prefecture: 122 companies attended an investment
forum organized by the prefecture in Taiwan, with 32 companies expressing an
interest in investing in the zone (Okinawa Taimusu, 2 December 1998). The Okinawa
Economic Federation (Keizai Dōyūkai) has proposed to the prefecture a range
of measures to strengthen economic links with Taiwan, including the setting up of
currency exchange facilities in the prefecture, a no-visa system for short-term stays,
an increase in flights and the opening of new services between Okinawa and Taiwan,
and improved benefits for Taiwanese investors (Okinawa Taimusu, 2 May 1999). So
far, however, no Taiwanese or other foreign companies have invested in the zone
and the national government has resisted fully ‘opening up’ Okinawa.
Finally, in addition to the special FTZ, mayor Kishimoto Tateo of Nago City,
located in the northern part of Okinawa, is attempting to create a new international
financial centre. The proposed transfer of the Futenma US airbase to the district of
Henoko, Nago City is the background to his proposal, as the national government
has agreed to provide financing for the development of the northern part of
48 Glenn D. Hook
Okinawa. The mayor’s plan demonstrates how the US bases can be used as a means
to try to pressure the national government into adopting strategies developed at the
local level.
Opposition and compromise

As touched on above, the limited FTZ represented by the Nakagusuku Special FTZ
is the outcome of a political process whereby resistance was mounted at both the
national government and prefectural levels to the creation of an All-Okinawa FTZ.
At the national government level, bureaucrats remained steadfastly opposed to the
creation of a prefecture-wide zone as it would create ‘two systems in one state’
(Yasuda 1998: 81). In other words, the bureaucracy remained resistant to a ‘free
trade zone’ and was more concerned with national issues regarding the unity of the
Japanese state than in Okinawa’s response to globalization. The study of this
proposal by a quasi-government think-tank, the National Institute for Research
Advancement (NIRA), also came down in favour of a restricted zone, rather than
the All-Okinawa FTZ (Kurima 1998: 248–50). What should be noted in this regard
is that, despite Japanese commitments under APEC, owing to the agricultural and
forestry lobby, the national government is under pressure to maintain protective
measures in those weak sectors of the economy which are vulnerable in the face of
liberalization and deregulation, as in the case of construction. The fact that the
creation of a prefecture-wide FTZ would generate domestic political pressure
towards the realization of the Bogor goals also helps to explain the government’s
resistance to the prefecture-wide zone, as does the bureaucracy’s longstanding
opposition to a free trade zone.
Similarly, at the prefectural level, opposition was mounted by those weak sectors
of the economy vulnerable in the face of globalization. With little of the local
economy competitive on an international basis, opposition to the all-prefecture
zone was as salient in the case of business enterprises as it was in the case of the
agricultural, forestry and fishing industries. Indeed, the manufacturing association
opposed the proposal, and the employers’ association clearly came out in favour of
a limited FTZ. The fear was that, as a result of the absence of customs duties, local
industry would be damaged by the entry of more competitive goods from overseas.
In addition, the agricultural sector was opposed because Okinawan agriculture is
protected and benefits from a range of preferential measures. These would all be
called into question with the creation of a FTZ (Yasuda 1998: 84). This opposition
was given political force in the prefectural assembly, where support was garnered
for the limited zone. In the end, the assembly curtailed the scope and ambition of
the FTZ and proposed instead the establishment of a limited FTZ by 2005. In this
sense, although the location of Okinawa within the Japanese political economy is
an undeniable constraint on the opportunities to pursue an independent course, as
seen in the national government’s rejection of an all-prefectural FTZ, Okinawans
themselves also took a range of actions to protect their own vested interests. This
dual resistance is a cogent reminder of the need for a multidimensional explanation
for the failure of the all-prefecture FTZ.
Tourism and transportation
Within the bounds set by the limited FTZ, the prefecture has been seeking to attract
tourists as well as industry from within the microregion. Again, the pattern of
tourism closely ties Okinawa to Taiwan, which is the source for over 80 per cent
of foreign visitors. The number of overseas tourists has increased significantly during
the past decade and in 1999 more than 86,000 foreigners entered Okinawa, with
over 73,000 of them from Taiwan (Okinawa Taimusu, 16 September 2000). The
prefectural government and business have been attempting to increase the number
of Taiwanese tourists by reducing the barriers for their entry. This has been
facilitated by the national government’s decision to revise the Immigration and
Refugee Law and accept Taiwanese passports, effective June 1998, rather than
arrange for the issuance of special travel documents through the Japanese embassy
in Thailand as heretofore (Okinawa Taimusu, 23 May 1998).
Despite pressure from the business community, however, the revisions did not
include the elimination of the requirement for Taiwanese passport holders to obtain
a visa prior to entry into Japan (Okinawa Taimusu, 2 May 1999). The requirements
were relaxed in September 1999 with the elimination of a charge for the issuance
of a visa, but these and other measures did not lead to an increase in the numbers
of Taiwanese visitors during the following year; in fact there was a decrease on
an annual basis of 3.8 per cent (Okinawa Taimusu, 16 September 2000). Moreover,
as seen in the case of the decision to abandon a 40,000-ton passenger service
between Taiwan and Okinawa, the prefectural government still faces difficulty in
maintaining its competitive edge in attracting Taiwanese visitors (Okinawa Taimusu,
11 October 2000).
The demands to allow ‘no-visa’ entry into Japan met with resistance at the
national government level due to the social impact of globalization, as touched on
above: the flow of illegal migrant workers into Japan. In 1997, for instance, the
Naha immigration service reported the deportation of 173 aliens, of whom 51
overstayed and 37 were working illegally (Okinawa Taimusu, 18 August 1999). Despite
the small numbers, the possibility of illegal foreign workers from other parts of Asia
flooding into Japan continues to act as an obstacle to the complete abolition of visa
requirements for Taiwanese wishing to enter Japan through Okinawa. In this sense,
the demands of national sovereignty continue to inhibit the prefecture in any
attempt to carve out a fuller role in developing a microregional zone of cooperation.
Yet the recognition of the need to look outward to the microregion rather than
inward towards Tokyo is helping to create a transportation infrastructure linking
Okinawa to other parts of East Asia. This can be seen, for instance, in the creation
of docking facilities to handle large container ships up to 40,000 tons in the
Special FTZ. Airline services are also being improved. The latest addition was
made in August 2000 when a twice-weekly route between Naha and Shanghai
went into service by China North West Airlines. This is the fourth international
service into Naha, following Taiwan, Hong Kong and Seoul. In this way, the
Okinawan prefectural government is seeking to establish Naha as a hub airport,
particularly between mainland China and Taiwan, although fear remains that such
transportation links will also increase the possibility of illegal entries.
50 Glenn D. Hook
Regional identity
As clearly illustrated by the national opposition to creating ‘two systems within one
state’, Okinawa’s location within the Japanese political economy remains as a
peripheral administrative region integrated vertically within a highly centralized
state. Its role as a part of an East Asian microregion, however, calls for an identity
beyond Okinawa, a shared identity embracing others. As seen in the national
government’s Comprehensive National Development Plan (the fifth plan running
from 2010–15), issued in March 1998, Okinawa is regarded as having a different
identity from other parts of Japan in terms of ‘geographical and natural distinctive-
ness’, ‘the accumulation of history and culture’ and an ‘international sense receptive
to pluralism’ (http://www.nla.go.jp/keikei/zs310.html. Accessed 24 November
2000). These sentiments draw on a number of other government and prefectural
proposals which similarly appeal to the ‘distinctiveness’ or ‘uniqueness’ of Okinawa
as the basis for promoting a different development strategy to mainland Japan.
For instance, the prefecture’s proposal ‘Blueprint for creating a cosmopolitan
city’ draws attention to the geographical location of Okinawa as part of a range of
East Asian regional groupings. The prefecture thus appears not as the periphery
of the national space, Japan, but as the centre of a regional space embracing
the Greater South China Economic Zone, the Yellow Sea Economic Zone, and the
Newly Industrializing Economies. Even more broadly, Okinawa is portrayed as
part of the Asia Pacific region, the Greater Pacific Exchange Region. Not only
is geographical location used as the basis for attempting to forge an identity for the
prefecture in the wider region, so also is the shared tropical and subtropical climate.
It is within this context that the prefectural government proposes to play a pivotal
role in a new Pacific Tropical Belt Environmental Exchange Region, which would
bring together Micronesia and Melanesia in the Western Pacific, Southeast Asian
countries, the South China coastal region and Taiwan. As a crossroads in the region,
moreover, the prefecture aims to carry out a range of exchange activities within the
East Asian Economic Grouping and the Greater Pacific Exchange Region and
proposes to conduct technical cooperation with members of the Pacific Tropical Belt
Environmental Exchange Region. In this way, the prefecture plans to ‘contribute
to the peace and sustainable development in the Asia Pacific region’, although the
Inamine Keiichi administration has not placed a high priority on realizing these
aims, which were set under then Governor Ōta Masahide (http://www.pref.
okinawa.jp/96/kokusaitoshi/. Accessed 14 November 2000).
The attempt to forge an identity for Okinawa as part of an East Asian regional
space, not simply part of Japanese national space, was encouraged by then secretary
general of the Liberal Democratic Party, Kajiyama Seiroku. In a January 1997
statement at the budget committee meeting of the House of Representatives,
Kajiyama suggested the idea of Okinawa forming an economic zone with Taiwan
and China’s Fuken province, the Hōrai Economic Zone (http://kokkai.ndl.go.
jp/cgi-bin/KOKUMIN/www_login. Accessed 22 November 2000). In this way,
Okinawa is increasingly being portrayed at the core of regional space rather than
as the periphery of Japan’s national space.
The way that a shared microregional identity can serve the interests of Okinawa
can be seen in the case of competition with other prefectures for Taiwanese
investment. For not only can Okinawa appeal to the difference with other
prefectures and cities like Kitakyushu, Miyazaki and Osaka, in terms of Okinawa’s
competitive advantage through the location of a prefectural office in Taiwan, but
also to shared geographical and cultural space. At the first business forum organized
by the prefecture in Taipei, for instance, a key member of the Okinawan delegation
emphasized the ‘shinkinkan’ (feeling of affinity) arising from geographic and cultural
proximity (Okinawa Taimusu, 23 October 1998). Similarly, at a trade promotion
meeting organized by the prefectural government and the Taiwan–Japan Economic
Trade Development Association, the Okinawan vice-governor emphasized
Okinawa’s geographical proximity to Taiwan (Okinawa Taimusu, 23 October 1998).
Whereas emphasis on its proximity to Taiwan is one way Okinawa’s spatial
location is being reinscribed and interests promoted, the historical connection
between Okinawa and China is also being exploited in order to realize Okinawan
interests. This can be seen in the blueprint’s reference to the historical role the
prefecture has played as a trading nation and as a crossroads in East Asia. Similarly,
as Governor Inamine Keiichi declared at the launch of the air service between
Okinawa and Shanghai, ‘In the era of the Ryukyu Kingdom, Okinawa continued
flourishing exchange with China. [The new air service] will promote the exchange
of tourists and cultural exchange’ (Okinawa Taimusu, 11 August 2000). In the present
era, acting as a link between the mainland and Taiwan provides Okinawa with an
opportunity to realize its own interests in the context of the continued political
confrontation between the ‘two Chinas’.
Conclusion
The above discussion has drawn attention to the way that Okinawa has responded
to the pressures of globalization in the national political economy and the regional
context of emerging zones of cooperation. It shows how, in the face of these external
and internal pressures, the national government in the end put forward a policy
implying the lowering of the borders of the Japanese state, if only by inches, as seen
in the creation of the Special FTZ in Nakagusuku. As the tax rate applicable
to those companies locating in the FTZ is preferential, ‘two systems within one
state’ have been conceded, albeit on an extremely limited basis, suggesting the
prefecture achieved at least some minor success in trying to exploit the opportunities
created by globalization. In essence, Okinawa is seeking to revitalize the local
economy and strengthen economic self-reliance by attracting inward investment
and promoting trade with mainland Japan and East Asia. The question of whether
the prefecture can become internationally competitive, given the high transportation
costs and relatively high costs of labour, remains to be seen. If, as now, little progress
continues to be made towards microregional cooperation, then Okinawa may
well be destined to remain as a peripheral, subordinate and dependent outreach of
the Japanese political economy, reliant on public works, tourism and US bases for
its survival.
52 Glenn D. Hook
Yet the failure of the prefecture to implement the All-Okinawa FTZ highlights
how resistance to globalization was to be found at both the national and local levels.
In comparison with the national economy, which has internationally competitive
sectors such as electronics and transportation machinery, the local Okinawan
economy remains weak and vulnerable in the face of liberalization and deregulation.
As a result, the response to globalization clearly did not break down along
national–local lines, with the national bureaucracy mounting resistance to and local
actors offering support for the All-Okinawa FTZ. Rather, it involved a complex
amalgam of both resistance and support. Okinawans, too, seek to protect their own
interests. That resistance emerged not only in the agricultural sector but also in the
manufacturing sector illustrates the fragility and vulnerability of Okinawa in the face
of globalization. In this sense, not only does Okinawa suffer as a result of continuing
dependence on military bases and government subsidies: it also suffers under the
pressures of globalization as this dependence has distorted the structure of the local
political economy.
At the same time, the national government’s resistance to lowering the boundaries
of the Japanese state highlights its continuing concern over the social dimension of
globalization. As seen in the case of the maintenance of visas for Taiwanese visitors,
concern over the potential inflows of illegal migrant workers and other illegal
entrants is a powerful weapon for those seeking to resist globalization (Megumi
1997: 153). In this way, the pressures of globalization are advancing both the
potential for the creation of shared, transborder identities, with Okinawa becoming
part of an overlapping layer of identities at the local, national and regional levels,
at the same time as they are generating the potential for a backlash against the
lowering of national boundaries and the reinforcement of an ethnic national
identity. The case of Okinawa illustrates the difficulty of removing barriers to the
flows of people and the government’s continuing attachment to an ethnic identity,
though this remains under pressure from globalization.
The subjective dimension of regionalism, as seen in the attempts to create a
regional identity, highlights the contested nature of a region’s boundaries and the
role different actors can play in redefining Okinawa’s spatial location as part of
the region-building process. The prefecture’s emphasis on geographical proximity,
shared climate and cultural and historical links with Taiwan and China demon-
strates how subjective identities can be exploited by political actors as a means to
realize interests. The imputation of these spatial relations with geographical and
historical meaning is in marked contrast to the attempts being made to create an
Asia Pacific identity based on economic indices, such as the pattern of trade and
investment. In a sense, Okinawa is forced to rely on this specific form of identity
building precisely because of the weakness of economic links, whereas APEC has
to rely on economic indices precisely because of the weakness of geographic and
historical links.
Finally, changes in the structure of the international system can indeed be said
to exert a crucial influence on the way domestic agents play a role in the global
political economy. In the case of the Japan Sea Zone and the Yellow Sea Zone, for
instance, the ending of the Cold War and the pressures of globalization opened up
new space for subnational political authorities and other domestic actors to become
more active internationally. This is illustrated by Fukuoka, where businesses are
moving offshore and these and other local actors are playing a pivotal role in
developing the Pan Yellow Sea Zone through investment, trade and the creation
of a crossborder production system involving China and South Korea. In the case
of Okinawa, in contrast, it is rather the legacy of the Cold War, as seen in the
continuing location of US bases in the prefecture, together with the pressures of
globalization, that propelled the prefecture to play a more proactive international
role. Clearly, globalization is not affecting Japan in a uniform way. In this sense,
without the ending of the domestic Cold War in Okinawa, the prefecture will
continue to be constrained by globalization and be unable to exploit fully the
opportunities for economic revival it contains.
Note
1 The author gratefully acknowledges the support of Igarashi Akio and the Asian Studies
Frontier Research Project, Rikkyō University, which enabled him to make a research
trip to Okinawa.
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4 It is high time to wake up
Japanese foreign policy in the
twenty-first century
Gabe Masaaki
The end of the Cold War, which had enveloped the globe for the latter half of the
twentieth century, and the onset of globalization, have brought to the people of
the twenty-first century a mixture of hope, change and disorder. While the super-
power rivalry is a thing of the past, vacuums of power have brought a growing
recognition of the importance of avoiding disorder not only in terms of national
security, but also from the standpoint of human security that is defined as freedom
from fear and freedom from want in the framework of pursuing economic, food,
health, environmental, personal, community and political security (UNDEP 1994:
22–33). At the same time, leaders have come to realize that it will be impossible to
create peace so long as sound measures are not adopted to deal with the workings
of the various levels of domestic politics including economics and social and cultural
issues. Furthermore, notions of security seem wholly inadequate if they ignore
problems that are not contained by borders, such as the environment and human
rights.
Even the US–Japan alliance, always an unbalanced structure and perhaps best
seen as a holdover of the security arrangements between developed countries during
the Cold War era, has increasingly been influenced by the dynamics of each
country’s economy and social change and, hence, by the framework of its domestic
politics. For example, in Okinawa the regular incidents and accidents as well as the
environmental pollution created by the US military and military personnel can no
longer be overlooked, as often occurred previously (Kreiner 2001). Illustrative of this
trend, in January 2001 the Okinawa prefecture assembly unanimously passed a
resolution, the first of its kind, requesting the prevention of new incidents by US
military personnel and a reduction in the number of US marines (Okinawa Taimusu,
19 January 2001). Lt. General Earl B. Hailston of the US Marine Corps, who
was the highest ranking officer on Okinawa, called the governor and other local
conservative politicians ‘all nuts and a bunch of wimps’, in response to such
Okinawan attitudes to the US Marines on Okinawa (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 6 February
2001, and Pacific Stars and Stripes, 7 February 2001). This resolution is a symbol that
the people of Okinawa have developed increased sensitivities to human rights and
the environment and, in this respect, are perhaps becoming more in tune with
international developments at the dawn of the new millennium.
56 Gabe Masaaki
Pressure from the twenty-first century
The close of the twentieth century saw the Cold War in Europe come to an end with
the collapse of the socialist regimes in Eastern Europe and the dissolution of the
Soviet Union. Perhaps the denouement to this drama is now being played out on
the Korean peninsula. The North–South summit, which even as it was being
proposed was fraught with difficulties, has been realized and with it, one hopes, the
Cold War structures in East Asia that have spanned fifty years are beginning to be
dissolved. The Korean peninsula is starting to shift from a military standoff to
peaceful coexistence. Along with such encouraging developments, however, have
come serious conflicts over human rights and ethnic and religious strife in regions
where nation-states are fragile. The limits to problem-solving through military
means have become quite clear. Certainly, a large-scale forward deployment
strategy of the Cold War variety, such as that found in the US presence on Okinawa,
has proven increasingly difficult to legitimize in terms of the national security of
any country.
In the United States the beginning of the twenty-first century has also been
accompanied by the birth of a new political administration under President George
W. Bush. Signs that this new administration intends to change American foreign
policy towards Japan are already visible. Examples are evident in a non-partisan
report on policy vis-à-vis Japan entitled The United States and Japan: Advancing Toward
a Mature Partnership (INSS 2000: 1–7). Written under the supervision of Richard
L. Armitage, the newly appointed Deputy Secretary of State in the George W. Bush
administration (who was, incidentally, also the Assistant Secretary of Defense for
International Security under President Ronald Reagan), the report recommends
that the prohibition on Japan’s right to collective self-defence be removed. The
Japanese government has interpreted the meaning of Article 9 of the constitution
to mean that Japan is not allowed to join actions in the name of collective self-
defence, but could use the right of self-defence in case of homeland attack. This
interpretation reflects the Japanese desire not to become involved in armed conflicts
outside of Japanese territory, a lesson learned from the experience of the Asia–Pacific
War. If the Japanese government changes this interpretation in order to exercise the
right of collective self-defence, Japanese troops will be sent abroad to join military
campaigns in order to support US forces. According to the report, such a move
would allow for a maturing of the US–Japan security relationship, modelled on the
special alliance between the United States and Britain (INSS 2000: 2).
Proposed new US strategy towards Japan

The main points of the report The United States and Japan (INSS 2000) are as follows.
1 Criticisms of Japan as irresponsible are exacerbated by the Japanese practice

of deferring to the United States in all military matters. This attitude was
evident in the negotiations for the reversion of Okinawa in 1972 and in the
process for reaching an agreement on the relocation of the US Marine Corps
It is high time to wake up 57
Futenma airbase within Okinawa. To the extent that security matters are
largely left to the United States, the Japanese people will never willingly accept
the existence of US military bases in Japan.
2 The use of collective self-defence and a maturing of the US–Japan alliance
using the US–British relationship as a model ought to be promoted. Part of this
includes discussions on the allocation of defence responsibilities between Japan
and the United States.
3 This ‘re-redefinition’ of the US–Japan security relationship is due to recent
developments on the Korean peninsula and ought to be made part of a long-
term Pacific Basin strategy.
4 It would be worthwhile to ease the burden borne by the Okinawans from a
political, though not necessarily a military, perspective. This is designed to win
support from the Okinawan people for US military bases and is premised on
the argument that the bases continue to be necessary and thus efforts to facilitate
coexistence are required.
These points are consistent with those advanced by former Deputy Assistant
Secretary of Defense Kurt M. Campbell in his article ‘Energizing the US–Japan
security partnership’, which included commentary on the full implementation
of the new US–Japan Defence Guidelines to be operational in contingency or
humanitarian crises, the joint use of facilities with Japanese Self-Defence Forces
(SDF), the re-examination of agreements related to the roles and missions of the
respective armed forces, and the regulation of training exercises (Campbell 2000).
The broader context in which these points ought to be considered involves the
effort by the United States over the past decade or so to design a new diplomatic
and military strategy for the post-Cold War era. After replacing the administration
of President George Bush (Sr), one that had remained locked in a Cold War mindset
in many respects, the Clinton administration took the new framework of the
international political economy into careful consideration as it attempted to create
its post-Cold War vision. While the Clinton administration promoted globalization
and revived the American economy, its foreign policy lacked consistency and was
occasionally even indecisive. It was characterized by the separation of economic and
security issues and the tight specification of conditions for action. The former
succeeded in creating a framework in which domestic political concerns might be
given priority. Unfortunately, it failed to facilitate the integration of American
interests. These interests clarified American diplomatic action domestically and
internationally at the same time that they made flexible responses difficult.
The new Bush administration

The shape of the foreign policy from the new Bush administration has been outlined
by newly appointed National Security Advisor Condoleeza Rice in an article entitled
‘Promoting the national interest’ (Rice 2000). It has also been illuminated in
statements made by the new Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, before the
Senate Armed Service Committee (Rumsfeld 2001), and by the new Secretary of
58 Gabe Masaaki
State, Colin Powell, before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee (Powell 2001).
The first characteristic is a return to political realism and a definition of foreign
policy goals based on the pursuit of national interests. The second characteristic is
alliance diplomacy marked by a system of divided responsibilities. Bush’s missile
defence plan is a new strategy that makes the United States the guarantor of global
peace and stability as well as a ‘world policeman’ against international terrorism.
In many respects this signifies a return to a ‘normal’ superpower mentality, such as
that oriented toward balance of power thinking, which dominated American policy-
making in the years between the Second World War and the start of the Cold War.
With an eye toward tradition, the foreign policy of the Republican Party emphasizes
stability rather than action and caution rather than participation. The new security
team will thus be likely to break with Wilsonian thought that was based on moral
principles and on the benefits of promoting international accord. Under the Bush
administration the United States is attempting to shift back to using power as the
centerpiece of its realist approach. One might, then, expect that top US diplomats
would assert national interests in their dealings with allies and that the adminis-
tration would face the urgent and bedevilling issue of arriving at a well-defined set
of priorities that commands widespread respect, at least within the key foreign
policy-makers of the Bush administration. It should also be expected that diplomatic
transactions of many varieties would be coordinated within strict calculations of the
costs and benefits to the United States.
This approach is likely to bring about controversial and competing responses
within Japan. In the case of the negotiation for Okinawan reversion in 1972,
the Nixon administration requested economic contributions from Japan under the
Nixon Doctrine. Likewise, the new Bush administration will probably request more
substantial contributions on security issues (such as the recognition of the right of
collective self-defence). The return of a realist foreign policy undoubtedly will bring
about changes in the new administration’s policy towards Japan. Bilateral rather
than multilateral alliances will be stressed, and allies will be asked to bear the
costs of preserving American values and sharing the benefits of peace, prosperity
and freedom.
It is difficult to imagine that Japan, which is frequently viewed by American
policy-makers as an immature ally, will accept these requests docilely. It is also
highly unlikely that these requests will promote serious discussions between the two
countries in which the tradeoffs requested are shown to be clearly in Japan’s
interests, let alone that such talks will convince the Japanese people of this. This is
largely owing to the fact that the Cold War provided fertile ground for the
development of a Japanese foreign policy which did not accept military
responsibilities. For this reason, the realist diplomacy of the new administration is
likely to force Japan to re-examine its own diplomacy. In this regard it would be
useful if the Japanese government eliminated its de facto restrictions on the debate
of security issues and, instead, promoted lively discussions on a variety of levels.
With this in mind, it seems clear that changes in policy for the US military bases
in Okinawa, maintained under the name of US–Japan security, hinge on the
question of whether or not Japan will be able to overcome the inertia that has
spanned fifty years of postwar diplomacy. Stated in a different way, it depends upon
how Japan, in the twenty-first century, copes with the negative legacy of the Yoshida
Doctrine in the 1950s that single-mindedly stressed catching up to the United States
economically.
The triangular Okinawa problem: a view from

Japanese politics
What precisely is the Okinawa problem as seen from the perspective of the Japanese
government? Essentially, the Okinawan problem has been a problem of crisis
diplomacy. It has been a problem that has arisen whenever difficulties occurred in
the provision of the bases that Japan, under the US–Japan Security Treaty, agreed
to make available for US armed forces. The core of Tokyo’s policy for Okinawa has
consisted of long-term and stable base guarantees for the Americans. Indirectly,
the problem is one of transferring a massive volume of money to Okinawa, which
has a disproportionate share of the US forces stationed in Japan, in order to alleviate
the dissatisfaction of residents towards the bases and to compensate them for
economic opportunities they might have had were the bases not located in Okinawa.
The money sent Okinawa’s way is not, to be sure, officially called compensation or
reparation. The government speaks of it as part of its economic promotion policy.
The amount of funds that have been provided over the years since Okinawa’s
reversion in 1972 is nearly 5 trillion yen, and yet Okinawa is still a long way from
being able to stand on its own feet economically. Ironically, while saying that it
wants Okinawa to be independent of the central government’s largess, Tokyo shows
no signs of reflecting on why that has not happened to date. In fact, this is precisely
because Tokyo has traditionally viewed its economic promotion policy as the price
it has to pay to lighten Okinawa’s heavy burden of US bases. Not to be overlooked
in this regard are the moves within Okinawa towards the protection of vested
interests rather than autonomy. The interplay of the desire to be rid of the bases and
the wish for money from Tokyo has complicated efforts to reach any forward-
thinking decision on Okinawa’s future in the post-Cold War era.
The Japanese government has two counterparts in dealing with the Okinawa
problem. One, of course, is Okinawa itself, its government and its people. These
negotiations are a part of domestic politics. The other is the United States
government. Involved here is the US–Japan relationship, which is the centerpiece
of the country’s foreign policy and rests on the foundation of the US–Japan Security
Treaty. Although the two sides are on different levels, the Japanese government
must negotiate with each simultaneously. Thus, an important feature of the
Okinawa problem is that it is a domestic affair and, at the same time, a diplomatic
issue between Tokyo and Washington. Seen from Naha, Okinawa’s capital, the
same feature can be perceived. There are relations with the central government to
consider, on the one hand, and with the US government and military, on the other.
By the same token, Washington perceives it must deal with both Tokyo and
Okinawa to keep its bases and operations. Governor Inamine Keiichi, who defeated
O¯ ta Masahide in the 1998 election for governor, shares the same feeling as O ¯ ta
60 Gabe Masaaki
that the US military presence on Okinawa should be reduced and makes the same
demands on the Japanese government to negotiate the Status of Forces Agreement
(SOFA) that gives US military personnel and their families a privileged status. One
might also usefully observe that, although this is a triangular relationship, the legs
of the triangle differ. Not being a sovereign state, Okinawa cannot stand on an equal
footing with either Tokyo or Washington. Vertical relations prevail for the most part
between Tokyo and Naha, and this creates an inverted triangle with Tokyo and
Washington on top and Naha at the bottom. Furthermore, Naha’s ties with
Washington tend to be much more remote than its ties with Tokyo. Only on rare
occasions do the length of the triangle’s legs and the tension between the three
angles become close to equal. However, the pattern has changed somewhat. In
April 1997, when then Okinawan Prefecture Governor O ¯ ta Masahide visited
Washington for the first time since a highly inflammatory 1995 incident of the rape
of an Okinawan schoolgirl by three US servicemen, Okinawa’s ties with the then
US administration became closer than they ever had been before. This, one might
say, gave the triangle something of an isosceles form. And since then, the
Naha–Washington leg has remained shorter than before.
It is also interesting to note that, just when this isosceles triangle began to form,
the Okinawa problem surfaced in domestic politics and in US–Japan affairs. The
developments at the time were tending to maximize Naha’s voice in its negotiations
with Tokyo and Washington and made the relationship more like those of an
equilateral triangle. This trend was to increase Okinawa’s bargaining power in the
triangle. Tokyo responded with steps to lessen direct contacts between Okinawa and
the United States and to restore the old vertical ties. After all, these ties offered the
best conditions for assuring the stable provision of the required bases and Tokyo’s
economic promotion policy was what kept the vertical links intact. The promotion
measures involved are indispensable for the Okinawan economy, which has become
so addicted to central government funding that to cut off the money flows would
induce acute withdrawal pains. So long as this structure of dependence is preserved,
the attitudes of the people of Okinawa will remain heavily under the influence of
Tokyo’s policy measures, however outspoken Okinawan activists might become
about the US bases. From this perspective, while each of the three plans unveiled for
Okinawan promotion and development since reversion in 1972 has referred to the
goal of a self-reliant economy, it is doubtful whether the drafters of any of these plans
gave the matter any serious additional thought. To this day, the Okinawan economy
has been highly dependent on the central government’s economic assistance.
Generally, Tokyo’s economic promotion policy has had three aspects. The first
is a tendency towards increasing financial support, as symbolized by the regular
additions made to funds for development expenditure in Okinawa. The second is
the promise that more rewards of this sort could be expected. An example is Tokyo’s
readiness to implement new promotional measures in exchange for the relocation
of the US Marine Futenma airbase within Okinawa island. And the third is the
threat of taking back some of the rewards – a threat that has been used effectively
whenever the central government wants the prefectural authority to alter its policies.
The central government resorted to this option in February 1998 to rein in the
¯
administration of Governor Ota. In this context, the issue of Futenma relocation is
one example of the lopsided triangular relationship described above. An indication
of this is that the Special Action Committee on Okinawa (SACO), established under
the US–Japan Security Consultative Committee, the highest ministerial-level
channel, to recommend a US military base consolidation plan on Okinawa, decided
that a new site should be found within Okinawa, without much attention to other
conceivable alternatives.
The view from Washington

What, then, is the Okinawa problem as seen by the US? To rephrase this, what
problems might the US armed forces perceive in a situation where they are virtually
guaranteed freedom of use of the forward-deployment bases they have set up on
Okinawa, which lies in a strategically important position, and where they also
receive generous host-nation support for base expenditures in what is known as
Japan’s omoiyari-yosan or ‘sympathy payments’ (the US side refers to this as ‘Host-
Nation Support’). In a nutshell, they want the US troops on Okinawa and the
mainland to be seen as welcome guests and good neighbours. This is the view
expressed in an article by Major General Wallace C. Gregson and Lieutenant
Colonel Robin ‘Sak’ Sakoda, two staff members who worked at the office of the
Secretary of Defense under the Clinton administration (Gregson and Sakoda 1999).
Now that the Cold War is over, the overseas presence of the US military can be
maintained only if the forces do not have an adverse cultural and political impact.
If the residents in the vicinity of the overseas US bases do not appreciate and support
the forces deployed there, the United States will have to rethink its forward-
deployment policy, which has been a fundamental part of its military strategy ever
since the Second World War. This, the article suggests, means that there is a need
to create bases that can be more readily accepted by local residents. The concept
of a sea-based facility, which is recommended by SACO, with its inherently small
footprint ashore, would meet this need. Of course, any military facility must satisfy
the operational requirements expected of it, but Gregson and Sakoda (1999)
argue that political, technical and environmental issues must also be taken into
account. Be this as it may, the Japanese government will be required to pay between
$2.4 billion and $4.9 billion for the design and construction of the new facility that
is scheduled to be built at Henoko, and that implements environmental counter-
measures and seeks to keep local residents content (US General Accounting Office
1998: 37). The problems faced by the US military, Gregson and Sakoda (1999)
seem to feel, will be settled if Japan supplies a base that meets the military needs of
the Pentagon while it uses its economic promotion policy to secure local support.
The SACO agreement states plainly that the Futenma facility’s new site must
‘fully maintain the capabilities and readiness of US forces in Japan while addressing
security and force protection requirements’. Since the agreement, Washington has
consistently demanded that the new base satisfy its military needs. That is, matters
of scale, place and associated facilities all must be determined from the viewpoint
of sustaining the US military’s strategic capabilities.
62 Gabe Masaaki
The US–Japan Security Treaty obliges Japan to make bases available to
American troops, and thus far Tokyo has never said anything about how the bases
should be used. Indeed, it does not even have official opportunities for doing so.
Except in the event of a military contingency on the Korean peninsula (under a
secret understanding in 1960), prior consultation between the Japanese and US
governments is required in only three cases. One is if the United States wants to
launch an attack directly from its bases in Japan, except in a situation for the defence
of Japan. Another is if the US wishes to introduce nuclear weapons into Japan.
Under a secret understanding both governments interpret ‘introduction’ to mean
the emplacement or storage of nuclear weapons on Japanese soil, not their transit
through Japan or their presence on ships making port calls. And the third is if the
United States wants to deploy forces into Japan. The prior consultation agreement
is the only direct opportunity Japan has for influencing the actions of the US armed
forces; in all other cases, it has no explicit power to restrict them.
A ‘Black Ship’ for Japanese diplomacy

If the period from the Nye initiative of February 1995 (US Department of Defence
1995) to the reaching of the SACO agreement in December is taken as one cycle
of the US–Japan Okinawa problem, all recent events can be viewed as indications
that a new cycle has begun: the bipartisan report, the start of a new administration
in the United States, the 1995 rape incident involving a schoolgirl, the problem
created when Hailston slandered the governor of Okinawa and others by referring
to them as ‘all nuts and a bunch of wimps’, and the passage of a resolution by the
Okinawa prefecture assembly demanding a reduction in the number of the US
marines in Okinawa at present. It is my thesis that the potential explosiveness of the
Okinawa problem could be the ‘Black Ship’ that will push the Japanese government
towards a maturing of the US–Japan security alliance.
The SACO agreement, including the relocation of the Futenma airbase within
Okinawa, will not solve the problem of US military bases in Okinawa. This
agreement between the two governments will have the effect instead of only delaying
the development of unavoidable crises. One might say, it does little more than turn
back the timer on a bomb that has already been set to explode in the midst of
US–Japan relations.
The reoccurrence of incidents such as that in September 1995 might not only lead
to an even more destructive blow against the US military presence in Okinawa,
but, on a higher level, US–Japan relations might well lapse into crisis. In order to
avoid this, it is necessary to reconsider thoroughly the US military presence in
Okinawa, which has been constant now for more than half a century (Japanese
Association of International Relations 1997, 1999).
A ‘twist’ in the US–Japan security relations concerning

Okinawa
Douglas MacArthur, who directed the occupation of Japan during its most critical
period, once stated that maintaining military bases in Okinawa was an absolutely
essential component of efforts to demilitarize Japan. After having brought the
occupation to an end with the condition contained in the San Francisco Peace
Treaty – namely, that Okinawa would remain under US control – the Japanese
government successfully returned to the international community in the postwar
period. In the latter half of 1950 the US withdrew ground combat troops from the
Japanese mainland. However, the 3rd Marine Division, a part of the ground forces
stationed in Japan, was transferred to the newly constructed Camp Schwab in the
northern part of Okinawa. In 1972 the Japanese and Okinawans’ request resulted
in the return of certain administrative rights over Okinawa, but also expanded the
US military’s free use of its bases throughout Japan, including Okinawa. Rather than
transforming the US military presence, the new arrangement principally simply
returned to landowners or transferred to the SDF 15 per cent of the bases. Between
1996 and 1997, both the Japanese and American governments concluded the
‘return’ of the Futenma airbase in response to Okinawa’s demand and, at the same
time, agreed to revise the Defence Guidelines so that Japan approved the use of
civilian harbours and airports by the American military. Both governments viewed
the Okinawa problem as a part of the reassessment and expansion of the policies
of the US–Japan alliance that led to the creation of the new guidelines. The
return of Futenma is conditional upon the building of a new alternative facility that
meets the US’s military requirements within Okinawa. In this way, the relations
between Okinawa and the Japanese mainland were soon ‘twisted’ by the existence
of the US military bases, and that problem was exacerbated in the ensuing decades.
Within a sovereign country, even if there are some regional differences due to
special characteristics, if placing a specific region under an excessive burden is the
only way to achieve an important policy such as national security, then, as a matter
of course, that country is likely to have its arrangement with that region constantly
questioned. In this regard the people of Okinawa have been calling for a change
from the present situation where Okinawa is continuing to suffer the ‘negative assets’
of the US–Japan relationship, to one where it gets ‘positive assets’. At the same time,
we must recognize that, taking advantage of the call from Okinawa asking for this
change, the US consistently has made demands on the Japanese government
throughout the postwar era.
Even in the perception of security issues, there have been decisive differences
between Okinawa and the mainland in terms of the details of the military bases, and
the scale and character of US forces. This is linked to either having or not having
experienced the actual situation, and has brought about an ‘intellectual twist’
between the mainland and Okinawa over security issues and the Okinawa problem.
The characteristics of the US military bases on Okinawa and the mainland
fundamentally differ. With the exception of the US Air Force Fighter Wing
at Misawa (Aomori Prefecture) and the Marine Attack Squadrons at Iwakuni
(Yamaguchi Prefecture), the mainland bases are used for administration, communi-
cations, transportation, logistic support, repairs and recreation. This is true of
Yokota Air Force Base, Tokyo (Headquarters of US Forces Japan), the Yokosuka
Naval Base, Kanagawa Prefecture (home port of the Flagship of the 7th Fleet and
Aircraft Carrier Group), the Sasebo Naval Base, Nagasaki Prefecture (home port
64 Gabe Masaaki
of the Amphibious Ready Group) and Camp Zama, Kanagawa Prefecture (the
Army’s logistic depot).
In contrast, on the long, narrow island of Okinawa are Kadena Air Force Base,
which is the keystone base of the US Pacific Air Force, Camp Butler and six other
Marine bases where 15,000 marines are stationed, and an Army station where the
Special Forces are deployed. Because these forces are next to 1.3 million residences,
accidents and incidents are bound to occur. In addition, the Americans hold the
perception that the military bases on Okinawa are like having ‘too many eggs in one
basket’ (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 14 December 2000). Thus, despite its evident benefits, it is
not clear that American military strategists view the Okinawan setup as ideal.
In comparison to the American sense of discomfort with regard to the situation
on Okinawa, Japanese politicians and the Japanese government have tended to be
most insensitive. For example, the Japanese Foreign Minister expressed his regrets
over the 1995 rape incident, but only after President Bill Clinton apologized for the
marines’ ‘heinous crime’. Perhaps these political leaders find it difficult to change
their perception that, so long as they follow in the wake of decisions by the US
government, they need not have any purpose of their own in terms of diplomatic
and national security policies. In this sense, the Japanese government’s stance as a
‘dependent variable’ in negotiations with the United States remains unchanged. In
essence, the Japanese government, which uses the money it provides to the US in
the form of large ‘sympathy payments’ and uses the considerable resources it
provides Okinawa in the form of economic promotion policy as substitutes for an
independent security policy, and continues to do nothing new in the way of strategic
foreign policy formulation.
Along with the increase in US pressure on the Japanese government to promote
the maturation of the bilateral relationship, it is quite possible that a more flexible
force structure in Northeast Asia including Okinawa will bring about such measures
as reducing the number of marines, consolidating bases throughout Japan and force
a reassessment of the training and other fundamental functions of the bases. If
negotiations are conducted as a result of US initiatives, it is likely that the Japanese
economic and financial burden will simply increase. Such an outcome might
produce a ‘solution’ to the Okinawa problem that is devoid of any real substance
beyond a few minor cuts in the personnel stationed on the island. Plainly, such an
outcome would not translate into any meaningful change to the situation in which
residents are exposed to injuries inflicted by crimes involving military personnel
and to potential accidents associated with the operations and exercises of the
US military.
General James L. Jones, Commandant of the US Marine Corps, made the
comment that ‘part of the training of the Marines in Okinawa will be transferred
to Guam’ (Pacific Star and Stripes, 31 August 2000). But while the rationale is to reduce
the burden on Okinawa, it is possible that the travel expenses of the troops will be
borne by the Japanese government. In the past in operations involving the transfer
of live ammunition drills from northern Okinawa to numerous practice areas on the
mainland, the Japanese government has paid for the travel costs of the troops. It
is also conceivable that the Japanese government will be asked to bear the cost
of moving facilities, bases and practice areas to places such as Guam. With all
this in mind, it seems abundantly clear that Japan might be better served by
taking the initiative in bringing demands from Okinawa into negotiations with the
United States.
Withdrawal of the US marines from Okinawa

The most effective solution to the Okinawa ‘base problem’ would be to withdraw
the US marines from the island, though perhaps not the other troops and personnel.
The marines make up 63 per cent of the troops and utilize 75 per cent of the area
of the bases. The mission of the marines on Okinawa is part of US forward-
deployment strategy to meet aggression far from the US homeland. They are not
trained to play a role in the defence of Japan. Because many of the crimes committed
by US service personnel and injury from exercises have been linked to the marines,
their withdrawal would be the most effective way to create a feeling among the
residents that the situation has significantly improved.
Advances in what has been called the revolution in military affairs have included
matters ranging from the use of military reconnaissance satellites to the ability to
move a unit of troops, lightly equipped, from the continental US to far-flung sites,
speedily and effectively. In this regard, strategies have also been developed to hone
the ability to develop military operations offshore in any region where conflicts are
anticipated so that supplies of missiles, firepower, ammunition, fuel and water can
be readily secured. Thus, even if the marines have to be reassigned east of Guam,
the use of new strategies for combat troops makes it possible to move military
personnel into an area of conflict whenever signs of trouble appear. In this regard,
the US–Japan negotiations over the removal of nuclear weapons during the
Okinawa reversion provide a good reference point. The US military insisted to the
very end that nuclear weapons had to be stored on the island of Okinawa or US and
Japanese national security would be threatened. However, the nuclear weapons
stored in Okinawa were becoming outdated and, ultimately, President Richard
Nixon made a political decision to remove them in the hopes of improving
US–Japan relations.
The US Marines Corps, traditionally through lobbying, have strongly influenced
the US Senate and Congress, and it can be anticipated that any proposal to reduce
their numbers on Okinawa would be strongly resisted. Certainly, the possibility also
exists that even after the unification of the Korean peninsula, the marines will
remain as the last US ground combat troops in the region in order to compensate
for the lack of more imposing military forces elsewhere. However, if the Japanese
government made a political argument to the United States that removing the
marines to some site east of Guam would lead to a strengthening of future bilateral
relations, that might at least lead to the formation of a plan to reduce the size of the
marine forces in Okinawa on a large scale.
66 Gabe Masaaki
The deadlocked plan for relocation of the Futenma airbase
At the time of the September 1995 rape, the forced leasing of land for use by the
US bases had surfaced as an issue in Japanese domestic politics. The linking of these
two problems suddenly created an explosive situation that no-one had anticipated.
Bipartisan demands to reduce the excessive burden of the bases rapidly grew in
intensity. In addition, a demonstration, held in October 1995 and attended by over
85,000 people, was the largest since the reversion in 1972. As the protest activity of
the Okinawan residents grew daily, the US government became deeply concerned.
If this crisis were not handled appropriately, the US–Japan security relationship
itself was in danger of collapse. For the Japanese and US governments, redefining
the US–Japan security arrangement and dealing with the Okinawa problem were
two sides of the same coin.
In 1996 the Japanese and American governments concluded an agreement for
the relocation of the Futenma base with the condition that a new facility within
Okinawa be provided and that all the functions of the airfield be maintained. The
agreement for the relocation of Futenma was an ‘urgent response to a crisis’, so to
speak. In truth, it was a ‘crisis decision’. This was clearly evident from the fact that
the ‘return’ was announced publicly even at a stage when the site to which the
airfield would be transferred had not been formally decided. In fact, by the end of
1999 the mayor of Nago City, Kishimoto Tateo, and the prefectural governor,
Inamine Keiichi, reached an agreement, with a few conditions attached, to construct
a new facility in Nago City. The conditions for accepting the base included
such things as its joint use by the military and by commercial airlines, a fifteen-year
limit on the military’s use of the base, various environmental considerations and
a regional economic development strategy. Since autumn 2000, preparatory work
on a bureaucratic level for the transfer has steadily been progressing. However,
since the US government strongly opposes the fifteen-year limit that the prefecture
and Nago City have demanded, it cannot be said that a complete solution to the
problem has yet been found.
From the military perspective, the establishment of the fifteen-year limit on the
use of the base before it has been constructed is an unrealistic idea. Although fully
aware of this, the Japanese government decided at a cabinet-level meeting to
put the time-limit issue on the table for discussion with the United States anyway
because this was the easiest way to deal with the crisis at hand. This demonstrates
that even after the arrival of a conservative prefectural government in Okinawa,
the Japanese government continues to think along the lines of an ‘urgent response
to a crisis’.
Unfortunately, however, this approach creates strains, making the threads even
more tightly tangled. The opinions of the local people in Nago are split down the
middle. Even among people in groups supporting the plan, conflicts of interest over
the construction have arisen. Furthermore, the fifteen-year limit issue has become
hypothetical, making it difficult to see the entire problem clearly.
The fact that incidents caused by the marines have continued unabated should
promote a reassessment of the Futenma relocation plan. If the relocation to Nago
were rammed through, the situation could rapidly become unpredictable, and a
chain of crises and new political conflicts of a very serious nature might ensue. From
an Okinawan point of view, promoting the relocation of facilities within the
prefecture at a time when the reduction in the marines is being discussed, creates
the possibility that it will become a source of problems in the future. Thus, both the
Japanese and US governments should review the SACO agreement and look for
an alternative base reduction plan, a SACO II process. In other words, crisis
decision-making should be converted to non-crisis decision-making in order to
accommodate local demands.
After September 11: turning point in the forward-

deployment strategy
The response to the September 11 terrorist attacks on the US confirmed the
continuing importance of US force deployments in Japan. In essence, the purpose
of US forces, especially the US Marines in Okinawa, is to respond to aggression from
the West Pacific to the Indian Ocean. As events following September 11 have
testified, this includes Afghanistan. Out of the US service personnel stationed within
this region, the largest force is in Japan (40,000), followed by South Korea (36,000),
along with forces in Hawaii (33,000) and Guam (3,000). On top of this, the Seventh
Fleet (12,700) patrolling offshore, which has a homeport at both Yokosuka and
Sasebo naval bases in Japan, is a part of US forces in Japan. Out of all US military
bases overseas, Japan is the second largest host country after Germany, where
70,000 US military personnel are stationed.
The role of the US armed forces stationed in Japan in response to the terrorist
attack on September 11 has been especially salient. According to recent reports,
the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk, based in Yokosuka, left on 1 October 2001 for the
Arabian Sea with only 10 of a possible 80 aircraft on board, and was to become
a platform for Special Forces making incursions into Afghanistan by helicopter
(Pacific Stars and Stripes, 2 October 2001). A squadron of F/A 18 Hornets deployed
at the US Marine Iwakuni airbase also left on the 18 September 2001 for the
Middle East (Kyōdō News, 23 September 2001). Furthermore, a US Army Special
Forces unit, the Green Berets (250 soldiers) based at Tori Station in Yomitan,
Okinawa and a US Air Force Special Forces Operation Group based at Kadena
airbase in Okinawa have disappeared. As for the remaining bulk of the US forces
stationed in Japan, these have not been contributing directly to the military
actions in Afghanistan, except in terms of logistic support by air using bases such
as Kadena and Yokota. This not only highlights the threats and places that the
US forces in Japan can respond to, but also shows the state of the US–Japan
security relationship.
Postwar US military strategy has been based on a tripartite pillar of nuclear
deterrent through strategic nuclear weapons, participation with allies and the
deployment of military forces on the front line. As both the US and the former
Soviet Union have enough strategic nuclear weapons to blow the world up many
times over, this acted as a deterrent to nuclear war between these two antagonists.
68 Gabe Masaaki
This was referred to as stability due to mutually assured destruction (MAD). And
to control the spread of communism, the US sought to strengthen its links with its
allies – including, of course, Japan.
To implement its forward-deployment strategy, the US located bases in the
sovereign territorial space of its allies that were strategically positioned. While the US
military bases on the Japanese mainland were ascribed the role of surveying the
Korean peninsula and Far East Russia, the bases in Okinawa had the role of covering
a wider scope, from the Korean peninsula, the Chinese coast, Taiwan, through to
Southeast Asia as a central pivot in the central Pacific along with Hawaii. In terms
of the deployment and storage of nuclear weapons, however, due to the strong
anti-nuclear feelings of Japanese people on the mainland, nuclear weapons in the Far
East were concentrated in Okinawa. With the ending of confrontation between the
US and the Soviet Union, even though the emphasis on nuclear weapons as
deterrents has shifted to maintenance of nuclear weapons per se, the key point to bear
in mind is that, in terms of front line forces in allied countries, nothing much has
changed even today: the US seeks to preserve these forces. In short, the US military
strategy, more than a decade after the end of the Cold War, is slowly beginning to
show signs of change.
A new strategy: Quadrennial Defence Review

The first of President George W. Bush administration’s Quadrennial Defence
Reviews (QDR) was released on 1 October 2001 (US Department of Defense 2001).
Congress had requested that the Defence Department submit the review by the
30 September. The Quadrennial Defence Review is a report which, in order to
adumbrate the US’s military strategy for the twenty-first century, inclusively
examines topics such as defence strategy, the structure of the armed forces, plans
for modernization, maintenance of military infrastructure and budgeting plans.
The National Defence Authorization Act of 1996 provides the legal basis for defence
policy (National Defence 1997). Congress, in turn, requires the Defence Department
to draw up the report, submit concrete items for inclusion, evaluate threats and
propose the date for submission. In May 1997 the first QDR (US Department of
Defence 1997) was drawn up by the Clinton administration, which at the time was
in its second term, and the QDR announced in 2001 was the second, following the
National Defence Authorization Act of 2000.
The QDR was drawn up in order to reconstruct the post-Cold War US military
strategy. In 1989, Congress had requested Bush senior’s administration to reduce
the armed forces in line with the end of the Cold War, and had requested the
implementation of this to the Clinton administration as well. But, misgivings over
the nuclear weapons potential of North Korea in 1993 meant that cuts in the armed
forces stationed in the Asia Pacific region were not taken forward. Instead, the
Clinton administration committed itself to maintain 100,000 US forces in the Asia-
Pacific region. This commitment of a ‘100,000’ deployment was the starting point
and the framework for dealing with the Okinawa problem from 1995 onwards. Its
continuation can be seen, even now, in the response to calls from Okinawa to reduce
US bases, where the governments of Japan and the US sought to placate the
Okinawans by moving Futenma to Henoko.
At the same time, calls are being made for guidelines for the reorganization of
the US’s armed forces themselves. Notions of ‘Basic Forces’, as brought forth by the
Bush administration and the ‘Bottom Review’, as implemented by the Clinton
administration, came forth one after the other. Clinton, a self-acknowledged ‘post-
Cold War president’, had advocated a reconsideration of the number of personnel
to be maintained in the armed forces and, in addition, had called for the size of the
budget to be brought into line with the two-war strategy, adopted until the end of
the 1980s, whereby the US would be able to respond simultaneously to large-scale
conflicts (i.e. major regional conflicts) both in the Middle East and on the Korean
peninsula. The results of this were published in the 1997 QDR.
The move to establish a post-Cold War military strategy, influenced by the
terrorist acts of September 11, included the vision of using all military means against
terrorism and regional conflicts. As is now clear, the biggest problem in the QDR
was the total exclusion of budgetary measures. In essence, the possibility for the
materialization of this request depends on the level of support and understanding
of Congress towards the Bush administration.
From the first stage of the Bush administration’s reassessment, the jettisoning of
the strategy employed by the Clinton administration was the key element, and this
was actually written into the QDR. But in other parts of the QDR the need to
maintain the ability to respond to two regional conflicts simultaneously raises its
head. Clearly, however, this does not mean nothing new exists.
The drawing up of the QDR in the new Bush administration was advanced under
the direct control of Donald Rumsfeld, the conservative-leaning Secretary of
Defence. The investigations were confined to Rumsfeld and a few trusted advisors,
albeit separate from the uniformed military, and the main emphasis was to shift
strategy to the Missile Defence System, which would involve large increases in the
military budget. Of course, the strong resistance of the military led to there being little
mention of the Missile Defence System in the QDR, and instead emphasis was given
to increasing the fighting capability and reaction speed of the regular armed forces.
The basic thinking at the heart of the QDR involved, in essence, a shift from a
threat-based strategy reacting to threats, which was employed up until the advent
of the new Bush administration, to a capability-based strategy-stressing perfor-
mance. If troops are blessed with suitable equipment, training and responsiveness,
then the US is in a position to deal with any enemy, anywhere, anytime. Heretofore
the enemy was assumed to include regular forces. Now, in contrast, a terrorist attack
from neither a country nor a military force was regarded as an ‘asymmetrical threat’,
and the transformation of military forces to beat the terrorist threat has become a
point of contention.
Anticipated changes of the forward-deployment strategy

The September 11 terrorist attacks can be seen to have exerted a direct influence
on the contents of the QDR. In the QDR, an attack by so-called ‘invisible forces’,
70 Gabe Masaaki
terrorists that are neither a country nor boast a military, was defined as ‘an
asymmetrical threat’, and the battle with terrorism was highlighted as a point of
utmost concern for the US military. The terrorist attacks on the US mainland,
which the American people have no experience of in their two-hundred year history,
brought home the fact that what should be protected is the lives and property of
Americans. And, quintessentially, the basis of national defence is, literally, the
protection of the American homeland. Previously it was expected that the enemy
would emerge from a place far from the American continent and, to expel the
enemy, a strategy was developed to place forces on the front line overseas. Okinawa,
which was close to the regional conflicts, was set as the key forward-deployment
base in the Asia Pacific region. In most cases, Okinawa was never considered a
conflict zone.
The basis of the US national defence strategy is the protection of America and
the promotion of American interests. In the former strategy, military forces were
deployed to the forward bases in places other than the American homeland, and
this was based on the cooperation of the US’s allies. This was because it was not seen
to be possible that the enemy could reach the American homeland. In the terrorist
acts of September 11, the American people on the mainland became the target of
the ‘war’, and directly felt the damage involved. Because of this, while maintaining
a forward-deployment strategy, in the QDR homeland defence is given the first
priority in national security interests. The goal is the improvement of the fighting
capability and responsiveness of active, reserve personnel and state troopers,
equipping the nation with a reconnaissance and tracking information technology
system and the establishment of arrangements for effective actions based on
enhanced alliances. In order to back up this transformation of the military there is
an urgent necessity to reform the way of thinking and the structural organization
of the Pentagon itself.
In respect of the maintenance or reduction of current levels of US armed forces,
the QDR balks at giving a clear answer. However, in terms of the deployment of
US forces on a world scale, some clearly defined points for discussion emerge. From
the point of view of Asia, in addition to the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk based at
Yokosuka, calls have been heard for another aircraft carrier for the West Pacific.
Also, there is a recognized need for a training base in the West Pacific for the
strengthening of the US’s amphibious capabilities, particularly the US Marines,
and for the guarantee of bases which are equipped to function as hubs for the rapid
deployment of US armed forces. In the future, in respect of these points, it can be
said that, whatever popular perceptions may be, expectations are surging on behalf
of US forces to exert pressure on the Japanese government to dispatch the Self-
Defence Forces as far as the Indian Ocean to support US military action.
In the QDR, which seeks to achieve security cooperation with US allies and the
restructuring of the US military, US bases in Okinawa appear to be declining in
importance. This is because the improved responsiveness of American forces,
including those on the homeland, will mean that the front-line forces deployed
overseas, whose main advantage heretofore has been their ability to commit quickly
to regional conflicts, are less important in the future. If claims over the budget are
prioritized, then those forces that did not take part in the response to the terrorist
attacks will be the target of cuts. At this point in time, if the marines in Okinawa carry
on as usual, then it should be difficult for them to survive at their present level.
Since September 11 the US seems resigned to the fact that the American
homeland, as well as military bases and embassies overseas, may become the target
of terrorist attack. At present, US servicemen and women are pointing their guns
from the inside of the fence to the outside, and they fear an attack from an enemy
which they do not know where and when it will strike. As the definition of a terrorist
is not easy, these guns are also being pointed at the people of Japan, an ally nation.
This is because we have entered an era where US bases themselves are being
targeted.
In response to terrorism, a demand has emerged from the American homeland
for a change of roles for American forces stationed in Japan. Essentially, US forces
in Japan serve to fly the flag in Northeast Asia, and they can only respond to threats
in the region. When military action takes place, even if the forces in Japan can
act quicker than the forces in continental US, the reduction in the time difference
of the deployment of troops has been shown clearly in the Gulf War and in the
military action in Afghanistan. In the near future, there will be a gradual reduction
of the reasoning behind stationing US marines in Okinawa. Looking from the
perspective of the new turnaround in US military strategy, no use seems to exist for
the planned relocation of Futenma within Okinawa. More than that, it has become
time to reconsider the role of the American forces stationed in Japan and the defence
of Japan.
Towards a credible Japanese diplomacy

The Okinawa problem is inherently a part of a larger problem concerning Japanese
foreign policy, which is even clearer in the wake of September 11 and the subsequent
changes in US security policy. We must overcome obstacles in asking for a change
in Japanese diplomacy, which has long evaded its own security responsibilities.
Should we have expectations for politicians who do not consider foreign policy or
security issues as translating into votes? Certainly, we cannot expect much from
bureaucrats who entrust themselves to following precedent. Neither can we expect
much from the commentators or academics in Tokyo who are not much troubled
by the Okinawa bases and who in any event tend to fall back on the timeworn
national security theories long on their desks.
Without regard to potential future changes in Japanese foreign policy that might
or might not come to pass, the Okinawa problem is serious since it might catch fire
at any moment. The incidents, accidents and problems that could spark such a
blaze continue to occur. For example, if a situation were to occur in which a large
number of lives or property in Okinawa were threatened in an instant or in which
the US troops who have been the assailants become the assaulted, the domestic
political ramifications in each country would most certainly be considerable. The
reaction to this situation could be so strong, that it could spread beyond the control
of either government. It would not only cause serious disorder in Okinawan society,
72 Gabe Masaaki
but might even prove to be fatally damaging to US–Japan relations. Okinawa, with
this close proximity to the base problem, is likely to be at the forefront of key national
security issues for Japan. It is thus essential to the national security of Japan that the
viewpoint of Okinawans is taken into account when problems are clarified.
In 2001 it was fifty years since the signing of the Security Treaty in 1951 (Iriye
and Wampler 2001; Hosoya 2001). In this time, except for the 1960 revision of the
treaty, national security issues have not been a point of great concern for most
Japanese. In spite of the arrival of a new US administration that promises to develop
a post-Cold War, realist diplomacy, can we identify any forward-thinking, all-
encompassing calculation in Japan in terms of Japanese national interests? Is the
US–Japan alliance the only valid measure to ensure the national security of Japan?
Are there no other choices? Has there been any promotion of a dialogue on this
critically important matter?
These questions lead to the conclusion that it is now necessary to move toward
an independent Japanese foreign policy. First, it is necessary to have Japan
awakened from its continuous diplomatic slumber to establish international
credibility. If Japan cannot free itself from the present deadlock and a foreign policy
subordinate to the US, then other nations will simply not find it credible. For too
long Japan has been oblivious to the Asian ‘history problem’, not taking full
responsibility for its conduct in the Second World War, and as such has been
isolated. It must now face this problem head on and make maximum efforts to
restore friendly ties in the Asian region. A backward-looking Japan may even fail
to gain respect from an American ally that is shifting to a realist foreign policy.
Consequently, a credible Japanese foreign policy must be supported by a logic of
its own that has the consent of its own people.
To continue further, it is time to set about experimenting in order to create a
multi-layered international system in Asia. As it is an experiment, there will naturally
be trial and error. Caution should be the byword so as not to bring about an
unwanted result. However, in this experimental period the goal would not be to
change the international situation by force or by fiat. Instead, it would be to utilize
better the changes in the international system that have already occurred and that
continue to occur. For example, the changes on the Korean peninsula are linked to
efforts toward the creation of a stable long-term peace in Northeast Asia. What
is required above all is flexibility of thought. Even in terms of the future of the
US–Japan security arrangements, it would be very useful to examine closely
the new order in this region. The absolutism of the past US–Japan alliance not only
has made Japanese foreign policy initiatives impossible, but it may become an
obstacle to the peace and stability of the region. It is clear that we must transform
the US–Japan alliance to support initiatives to construct a multilateral cooperative
security system in East Asia, to encourage a conflict-resolution culture to take root,
to lessen markedly the burden borne by the Okinawans and to maintain the
US–Japan friendship.
References
Campbell, Kurt M. (2000) ‘Energizing the US–Japan security partnership’, The Washington
Quarterly (Autumn): 125–34.
Gregson, Wallace C. and Sakoda, Robin (1999) ‘Overseas presence: maintaining the tip of
the spear’, Marine Corps Gazette 83, 4: 52–3.
Hosoya, Chihiro and A50 Editorial Committee (eds) (2001) Japan and the United States: Fifty
Years of Partnership, Tokyo: The Japan Times.
INSS (Institute for National Strategic Studies, National Defence University) (2000), The
United States and Japan: Advancing Toward a Mature Partnership, NSS Special Report, 11
October.
Iriye, Akira and Wampler, Robert A. (eds) (2001) Partnership: The United States and Japan,
1951–2001, Tokyo: Kodansha International.
Japanese Association of International Relations (ed.) (1997) ‘The US–Japan security
system: continuity and change’, International Relations 115 (May).
—— (ed.) (1999) ‘International relations in Okinawa’, International Relations 120 (February).
Kreiner, Josef (ed.) (2001) Ryukyu in World History, Bonn: Bier’sche Verlagsanstalt.
National Defence (1997) National Defence Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 1997, Subtitle
Military Force Structure Review Act of 1996 (http://www.fas.org/man/docs/qdr/
quad_leg.html).
Powell, Colin W. (2001). Confirmation Hearing, Testimony, Remarks at Confirmation
Hearing, January 17. Secretary of State-Designate Colin L. Powell at Senate Foreign
Relations Committee, Washington, DC (http://www.state.gov/s/index.cfm?
docid=443).
Rice, Condoleeza (2000) ‘Promoting the national interest’, Foreign Affairs (January/
February): 45–62.
Rumsfeld, Donald (2001) American Forces Press Service, ‘Rumsfeld Details DoD Goals,
Objectives in Testimony’, January 13 (http://www.defencelink.mil/news/Jan2001/
n01122001_200101125.html).
UNDEP (1994) Human Development Report 1994, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
US Department of Defence (1995) United States for the East Asia-Pacific Region, Washington:
US Department of Defence, February.
—— (1997) Report of the Quadrennial Defense Review, May (http://www.defencelink.mil/
pubs/qdr/).
—— (2001) Quadrennial Defense Review Report, 30 September (http://www.defencelink.mil/
pubs/qdr2001.pdf).
US General Accounting Office (1998) Overseas Presence: Issues Involved in Reducing the Impact of
the US Military Presence on Okinawa (GAO/NSIAD 98–66), March.
5 Migration and the
nation-state
Structural explanations for
emigration from Okinawa
Yoko Sellek
Migration often illustrates paradoxes inherent in the nation-state. Although a

nation-state represents the integration of all its inhabitants into the political
community and the recognition of their equality as citizens, in reality it embodies
a hierarchy of social and economic power relations. In order to create the imagined
national community of people who believe that they have a common heritage and
a common destiny within this hierarchy, the state determines which people, among
those who live within its boundaries, are able to share an identity as ‘citizen’ by
deploying senses of differences. Differences based on ethnic background and culture,
for example, are used to justify the exclusion of ‘Others’; and other differences, such
as being ‘advanced’ or ‘backward’, may be used to justify inequalities in social status
and to provide a logic in order to assimilate colonized or conquered peoples (Morris-
Suzuki 1998: 186). Various ethnic groups in a territory are to be moulded into one
nation in the process of obliterating differences by means of, for example, forcible
imposition of the culture of the dominant group. Accepting the Other into the
nation-state by providing citizenship is a problem posed for those seeking to
inculcate a national identity, particularly when the Other comes from a location
where their ‘Otherness’ (expressed through both phenotypical and cultural
differences) has been constructed in terms of inferiority.
Once identified as ‘citizens’, these new additions to the national community are
supposed to be equal; they exist within a specific national community and they
become members of a nation (national) and are legally granted the nationality of
that nation-state. However, exclusion still occurs when, for example, groups in a
territory which have been accepted as ‘citizens’ have been incorporated into certain
areas of society, such as the labour market, but still denied access to other areas
through legal mechanisms and/or through informal practices such as racism and
discrimination. These people often become minorities, which are usually socio-
economically disadvantaged, reflecting their ethnic background and class. This
exclusion is often found in countries where belonging to the nation is based on
membership of a specific ethnic group. This model is typical of highly homogeneous
countries like Japan. The move to a modern nation-state by Japan went hand in
hand with a notion of the ethno-cultural community, thus making it hard to
accommodate new groups of people.
Migration and the nation-state 75
Then what happens when these new groups of people move out of the country
as emigrants? Are there any structural causes of migration particularly predisposing
a certain population to migrate? Their citizenship, i.e. nationality, which is defined
by the state, legally guarantees their protection by the state. How, in reality, does
the state treat and protect these nationals when they migrate to a third country?
This chapter focuses on emigration from Okinawa. Its purpose is to offer a
structural explanation of Okinawan emigration as a way to elucidate the nature of
the Japanese state. Okinawa was the first territory to be subsumed in the expansion
of modern Japan. The Ryukyu kingdom, which had been invaded by the Satsuma
domain in 1609, was annexed to Japan in the wake of the Meiji government’s
military invasion, then subjugated and Japanized yet, as not a part of Japan proper
(naichi), it was expendable. Okinawans, who were often regarded with contempt as
the ‘natives’ by the mainlanders, remained in the boundary area between ‘the
Japanese’ and the ‘Others’ (Oguma 1998; Tomiyama 1996).
Okinawa is known for producing a very large number of emigrants. The number
of emigrants from Okinawa between 1899 and 1941 was 72,227, 11 per cent of the
total number of emigrants from Japan, placing it in second place after Hiroshima
prefecture (with 14.8 per cent) (Ishikawa 1998: 24). Although the initial emigration
from Okinawa lagged behind other prefectures, an extremely large number of
people emigrated in a short period of time. The ratio of emigrants overseas per the
population of each prefecture in 1940 indicates that an astounding 9.97 per cent of
the population of Okinawa prefecture were living overseas as emigrants: ‘This figure
was 9.68 times more than the average figure of 1.03 per cent in the country’
(Ishikawa 1994: 7).
Why, then, has such a large number of emigrants been produced in Okinawa in
particular? What kind of political, economic, demographic and social factors have
‘pushed’ Okinawans out of their place of origin, or ‘pulled’ them to a new life
overseas? There are various factors which trigger migration such as individual
motivation, household strategies, disparities between places of origin and destination,
development of migrant networks and the migration regime within the macro-
political economy. A migration stream is forcefully shaped by these factors, although
it is not clear how each coheres – how, for example, changes at the level of the macro-
political economy influence the individual motivation or household strategy (Van
Hear 1998: 16–17). This chapter focuses on the structure of the migration stream
and mainly examines the macro-political economy surrounding Okinawa in relation
to emigration from the Okinawan islands.
The chapter first gives an overview of emigration from Japan in order to analyse
the emigration from Okinawa within a wider context. Second, it moves on to discuss
some structural changes in the prewar and the postwar periods in the emigration
arena. Third, it offers case studies of emigration to Bolivia, Micronesia and
Cambodia and investigates the relationship among Okinawa, the United States
and Japan. The chapter finally touches upon the nature of the Japanese state in
relation to its immigration policies.
76 Yoko Sellek
An overview of emigration from Japan
Emigration from Okinawa first needs to be seen in the wider context of international
migration. Emigration, which stems from the development of European coloniza-
tion in the rest of the world, was significant among various streams of migration in
the latter half of the nineteenth century. While emerging as global empires, the
Western powers constructed a world market dominated by merchant capital and
this created a demand for labour.
At that time, Japan was faced with the threat of Western imperialism and the
country was economically backward and a century behind the West in its level of
modernization. To stand up to the imperial powers, while maintaining the country’s
independence, the Meiji government put tremendous effort into launching capitalist
industrialization and imperial expansion.1 At that time, a demand by the Western
colonial powers for Asian workers in the world labour market was growing, as
the African slave trade was abolished, while the price of sugar was surging and the
colonial powers continued to develop and cultivate the New Land. Eventually,
indentured labour replaced slavery in the second half of the nineteenth century and
became the main source of plantation labour. Japan was considered as a country
for supplying this type of labour and, since the first group of indentured workers were
sent to Hawaii to work as plantation labourers following their recruitment by an
American agent in 1866, official and private invitations were made by various
Western governments and agents to recruit Japanese migrants as indentured
workers. However, until 1885 the Meiji government balked at giving any official
permission to emigrate,2 on the grounds that it did not enjoy the political power to
ensure the welfare of the Japanese migrants, who would be most likely to receive
semi-slave-like treatment, as experienced by the first group of migrants to Hawaii.
Significantly, the government feared that sending their people as migrant workers
treated like slaves would stand in the way of achieving the revision of the unequal
treaties with the West (Kimura 1990: 135). However, in 1885 Japanese indentured
labourers were sent to Hawaii based on an agreement between the Japanese
and the Hawaiian governments. This change in government policy stems from
the people’s need to escape from economic distress which was triggered by the
government’s seven-year nation-wide land taxation reforms of 1873. These reforms
were essential in order to build the financial basis for the industrialization of the
country, and were followed by drastic deflationary measures during the depression
years of 1882 and 1885, together with the impact of natural disasters. A number of
farming families sought jobs in expanding urban industries in the traditional form
of dekasegi rōdō, i.e. temporary work away from home. As Moriyama phrases it, the
dekasegi rōdō ‘made the transition to overseas emigration easier by attaching a sense
of legitimacy to the idea of acquiring temporary work abroad’ (1985: 6).
Since then, indentured migration from Japan, first taking the form of the
government-approved contract labour and then as private contract labour under
the aegis of recruiting agents, joined the international migration scene. Together
with small-scale, free emigration, emigration from Japan has been directed to the
higher income, European offshoot nations of the Western hemisphere, including
Hawaii and North and South America, depending on the demand for labour at
the time. The primary goal of the emigrants was to earn money overseas based
on the huge disparity in economic development between Japan and the Western
powers. There was a North–South gap identified between the Western colonial
powers and Japan, and the majority of Japanese emigrants were employed as low-
wage agricultural labourers or farmers, structured into the plantations which
exported agricultural products to the internationally integrated markets governed
by the Western colonial powers. In sum, indentured workers from Japan as well as
from elsewhere were bound by strict labour contracts for several years with poor
labour conditions, but some of them remained as free settlers once they finished their
contract and eventually sought permanent residency (Castles and Miller 1998: 54).
If this is one stream of emigration from Japan, another stream flowed into
Japanese colonial areas such as Korea, Manchuria and Formosa in East Asia, as well
as Southeast Asia and Micronesia (the South Sea Islands) until the country lost its
imperium in 1945. This type of emigration was carried out in order to bolster the
country’s aim of expanding its imperial power and territory as a late-starter,
imperialist power. It was this type of emigration which formed the majority of
emigration just before the Second World War.3 Compared to the emigrants in the
first type of emigration, who initially worked as plantation workers in the destination
countries, a large number of emigrants in this second type included not only
plantation workers but also factory workers, miners and merchants. These emigrants
played a leading role in restructuring these colonial areas into the subordinate
markets for Japanese capitalism, as well as those who took on administrative roles
in governing the colonies (Onoichi 1979: 60–1).
Emigration from Okinawa in the prewar period

The structure of emigration from Okinawa in the prewar period indicates the
North–South–South relationships between the Western hegemonic powers and
mainland Japan as a late-starter imperialist, and between mainland Japan and its
periphery Okinawa.
The initial emigration from Okinawa lagged behind other prefectures. It was in
1899, fourteen years after the first group of emigrants was sent from the mainland,
that the first group of twenty-six Okinawan emigrants left for Hawaii as indentured
migrant workers. This delay was mainly caused by the slow modernization
programme set in motion for Okinawa by the Japanese government. Thus, for
example, the land reforms undertaken in mainland Japan in 1871 as a part of the
government’s industrialization programme were delayed in Okinawa. This is just
one example of the government’s policy of gradually incorporating Okinawa into
the political structure of the modern Japanese state carried out at that time. The old
communal land-ownership system continued in effect until 1903 and when, in 1899,
the first group of Okinawan emigrants headed to Hawaii, this was the same year
that the land reform project started in Okinawa. The land reform of 1903
established private ownership of land, which made it possible for peasants to
mortgage their land titles in order to raise funds to go overseas. After the land reform,
78 Yoko Sellek
tax payment by cash (instead of the traditional rice) was also carried out, and the
monetary economy started to penetrate into the agricultural areas of the islands,
boosting Okinawa’s speed of traversing the path of modernization. The more people
needed cash income, the more migration was carried out, by either emigrating
abroad or going to the mainland as migrant workers (Ishikawa 1989: 20–23).
Initial emigration from Okinawa is closely related to the worsening human rights
environment generated by power struggles and repression in Okinawa. It is symbolic
that the first group of emigrants from Okinawa to Hawaii was on the initiative of
Tōyama Kyūzō (1868–1910), who worked for the People’s Rights movement
(1893–1901) led by Jahana Noboru (1912), as a countermeasure against the govern-
ment’s repressive policy towards Okinawa. When Jahana’s attempts to improve the
status of Okinawa through the People’s Rights movement were suppressed and
collapsed, Jahana’s right-hand man, Tōyama, turned to overseas emigration to
improve the situation of the Okinawans. Although Tōyama’s plan was initially
rejected by Governor Narahara, who believed that it was far too early to send abroad
Okinawans who could not even speak the Japanese language, Narahara eventually
agreed to the plan with the aim of providing a vent for the suppressed energy of the
People’s Rights movement (Hamashita 2000: 168; Sakihara 1981: 105–8).
The most significant factor triggering migration from Okinawa was economic.
Owing to poor natural resources and frequent typhoons, which often destroyed
crops, the problem of food production for the population was perpetual. Overseas
emigration was believed to be the only effective solution to the problem of
overpopulation, although it merely served as a psychological safety valve for the
problem of overpopulation in the poorest prefecture in the country.4 For this reason,
Okinawans also headed to mainland Japan as migrant workers. In particular, in the
1920s and 1930s the local economy, which was largely dependent on the export-
oriented sugar and other crops, collapsed due to a sudden drop in the price of sugar.
The resulting economic hardship led to a drastic ‘hollowing out’ in Okinawa and a
large number of Okinawans migrated to the urban and industrial areas of the
mainland, such as Osaka, Hyogo, Kanagawa and Tokyo, where a huge demand for
industrial labourers existed at that time. The number of Okinawans migrating to
Osaka increased from 1,051 in 1920 to 42,252 in 1940 (Tomiyama 1996: 137).
Initially, they were typical low-waged migrant workers, employed as day labourers
or factory workers, structured into the bottom layer of the labour market.
At the same time, a large number of emigrants headed overseas. The geographical
distance from Naha in Okinawa to Tokyo is around 1,500 km, which is roughly the
same distance from Naha to Manila in the Philippines. For Okinawans not much
difference existed between going to mainland Japan and going abroad (Hamashita
2000: 164). By 1938, 72,789 had emigrated from Okinawa to a range of overseas
destinations, which was around 12 per cent of the population of Okinawa at that time.
This number includes 20,118 to Hawaii, 14,830 to Brazil, 11,311 to Peru and 16,426
to the Philippines (Ryūkyū Seifu 1967: 12). Okinawans also emigrated to support the
colonial administration in Japan’s overseas colonies. It is estimated that, before
the empire’s defeat in the Second World War, around 50,000 Okinawans resided
in the South Sea Islands, comprising around 80 per cent of the Japanese residents
on the Islands, followed by 16,426 in the Philippines (around 70 per cent of the
Japanese residents in the Philippines). A large number of Okinawans resided in
Taiwan, Manchuria, China, the Korean peninsula, Singapore and Kainan Island
as part of Japanese colonization (Ishikawa 1985: 19–20). It is estimated that the total
number of emigrants from Okinawa overseas was within the range of 150,000 to
200,000 just before the end of the war (Ryūkyū Seifu Shakaikyoku Iminka 1958:
1–2). The type of employment taken up by them depends on the demand for
labour at their destination. Those who migrated to mainland Japan tended to be
employed as factory workers and odd-jobbers, while those who emigrated to places
such as Hawaii, Brazil, the Philippines and Micronesia (the South Sea Islands) tended
to be employed as plantation workers and those in Micronesia, Singapore and
the Philippines worked as fishermen (Ishikawa 1975: 469–70). The amount of
remittances sent by the emigrants abroad was estimated to be around 250 million
yen annually and, in addition, remittances of around 150 million yen were made by
Okinawan migrants to the mainland and a substantial amount of remittances from
those residing in the Japanese colonies. Not only did emigration function as a valve
to release the pressures caused by overpopulation, the remittances made a great
contribution to the economy, which was heavily dependent on the importation of
goods, and the overall welfare of the prefecture. Table 5.1 indicates the number
of travellers from Okinawa to overseas destinations, most of whom are considered
to be emigrants, in the prewar period.
At least initially, the situation of emigrants from Okinawa in relation to that of
those from mainland Japan (naichi) resembled that of a minority, although both
groups were integrated into the labour market in the host society as low-wage
labourers. The overwhelmingly negative feeling held by the emigrants from naichi
towards the Okinawan emigrants was due to a combination of racial discrimination
and the belated modernization of Okinawa. For example, in the case of Hawaii,
emigrants from naichi had arrived earlier and had established the prevailing
standards of life in the Japanese community. Fifteen years later, Okinawan
emigrants joined them but, as they had very different dialects and customs and little
knowledge of the mainstream of life in Japan, Okinawans were looked down upon
as a strange, backward and inferior group of people and treated as if they were
foreigners or outcasts by the emigrants from naichi (Miyasaki 1981: 164). A variety
of cultural practices by the Okinawans, including the Okinawan custom of eating
pork, made for prejudicial behaviour on the part of the naichi emigrants. The
emigrants from naichi were principally from western Japan where a rigid, strict and
strongly nationalistic sect of Buddhism prevailed. ‘Buddhism, which was weak in
Okinawa, prohibited the eating of meat. To these Naichi with their strong beliefs,
the pork-eating Okinawans were similar to the eta, or outcasts of Japan, because they
butchered and consumed animals’ (Miyasaki 1981: 164).
The rise of Japanese nationalism during the Meiji era worked against the
Okinawans as well. It was as late as 1879 before Okinawa became a prefecture of
Japan. The naichi emigrants born during this nationalistic era shared the view that
Okinawans were not of the Japanese race and refused to recognize them as equals
(Office of Strategic Services 1994, quoted in Miyasaki 1981: 165). Owing to shared
80 Yoko Sellek
Table 5.1 The number of overseas travellers from Okinawa in the prewar period
(until 1938), by their destination
Destination Period (from) Number of travellers
Hawaii 1899 20,118

USA (excluding Hawaii) 1903 803
Canada 1907 403
Mexico 1904 764
Cuba 1917 113
Peru 1906 11,311
Brazil 1908 14,830
Argentine 1913 2,754
Bolivia 1919 37
Chile 1921 1
The Philippines 1904 16,426
Singapore 1912 2,751
Penang 1926 15
Celebes (Sulawesi, Indonesia) 1921 334
Sumatra (Indonesia) 1915 81
Borneo (Indonesia) 1922 435
Java (Indonesia) 1913 270
Taiyo island 1909 322
New Caledonia 1905 921
Thursday island 1923 33
New Guinea 1914 5
Fiji island 1916 20
Others 32
Total 72,789
Source: Ryūkyū Seifu (1967).
cultural traits among Okinawans, strong in-group feelings and the naichi emigrants’
prejudice, Okinawan emigrants had a strong sense of esprit de corps and established
the Okinawan community, segregating themselves from the naichi emigrant
community (Ishikawa 1981: 103).
Many Okinawan emigrants conceded that there was a vast difference between
the naichi emigrants and themselves in economic and cultural terms and tried to
respond to the prejudice by the promotion of ‘standard’ Japanese language and
customs. This assimilation policy was considered to be the only way towards a
civilized and equal participation in the Japanese state (Siddle 1998: 130). The
incident in which a group of Okinawan emigrants in the Philippines forcefully
deported three tattooed Okinawan woman back to Okinawa in 1916 is just another
example of their determination to have their customs standardized. Okinawan
emigrants already residing in the Philippines decided to establish their own Kenjinkai
(Association of Emigrants originating from Okinawa) in the Philippines to discuss
the measures to avoid further prejudice caused by the presence of these tattooed
women (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 28 November 1999).
Okinawans in Japan’s colonies were regarded ambiguously both by locals and by
Japanese from naichi. There was a distinctive difference in terms of labour conditions
between the imperial self ‘Japanese’ and Okinawans who were integrated into
Japan’s colonial policy as subordinate labour, although they were placed higher
than the local indigenous workers, as seen among the emigrants from Okinawa in
the Japanese mandate of Micronesia in the 1930s who worked as sugar plantation
workers (Tomiyama 1996: 146–7).
Emigration from Okinawa under the US–Japan

Security Treaty system
The birth of the People’s Republic of China on 1 October 1949 and the outbreak
of the Korean War on 25 June 1950 transformed Okinawa into the keystone of the
American defence line in the western Pacific. Okinawa was converted into a military
bastion and in the middle of the Korean War the San Francisco Peace Treaty was
signed to separate Okinawa from Japan. Okinawa changed its name to the Ryukyu
Islands, and came under US occupation. Article 3 of the San Francisco Peace Treaty
granted the US the right to exercise all powers of administration, legislation and
jurisdiction over the Ryukyu Islands and in 1950 the US Civil Administration of the
Ryukyu Islands (USCAR), which had the characteristics of a military government,
was established to implement American policies and programmes. The indigenous
Government of the Ryukyu Islands (GRI), which had limited authority, was
established in 1952. The Ryukyuans were defined as those who were registered
in the family register (koseki) of the Ryukyus, which separated individuals into
groups defined by place of origin. The residents of the Ryukyuans, who came under
the direct governance of USCAR, were defined as those who were registered in the
family registration of the Ryukyus and currently resided in the Ryukyus. The
entry of non-resident Ryukyuans to the Ryukyus was allowed only for official or
compassionate reasons. More to the point, they were required to carry Japanese
passports or identification documents issued by the Japanese government on entry.
Those who had been residing in the Ryukyus since the prewar period, but not
registered in the family register, were required to register as non-residents of the
Ryukyus. When the Ryukyuan residents wished to go abroad or to mainland Japan
they had to carry certificates of identity issued by the US authorities. However, with
regard to the nationality of the residents of the Ryukyus, they remained as Japanese
nationals, since the Ryukyus still remained under the sovereignty of Japan (Foreign
Ministry: 19 August 1955).
Emigration from Okinawa in the postwar era differs from that in the prewar
because there is an additional agent involved, i.e. the United States of America.
However, it is very similar with that in the prewar in its basic structure. In the prewar
period emigration from Okinawa was carried out under late-starter, imperialist
power Japan, in the context of the Western imperialist powers, but in the postwar
period it was carried out under imperialist America within the context of Cold War
imperialism. The following analysis of emigration plans to Bolivia, Micronesia and
Cambodia is used to examine the structural relationship between Okinawa and the
US government in relation to the government of Japan.
82 Yoko Sellek
Emigration from Okinawa after the end of the Second World War started in
1948 taking the form of ‘free emigrants’ and ‘yobiyose emigrants’ (invited emigrants)
to Argentina and Peru. These emigrants were invited by their relatives who were
already settled at the destination. Emigrant networks comprising relationships that
linked current and potential emigrants were established both in Okinawa and in the
destination countries through kinship, neighbourhood, friendship and other types
of affinity. The cumulative impact was the creation of an emigration ‘chain’.
However, from 1954 until 1966 ‘planned’ emigration was carried out with travel
funds loaned by the Ryukyu government, while the Japanese government also
encouraged emigration from the mainland as well as from Okinawa by lending the
travel funds to those intending to emigrate overseas. Between 1948 and 1958, a
total of 7,653 emigrated from Okinawa. Among them, 1,185 Okinawans emigrated
abroad using the loan provided by the Ryukyu government (956 to Bolivia, 210 to
Brazil and 19 to Argentina), while 1,127 emigrated to Brazil using the loan provided
by the Japanese government. In addition to this, a total of 5,341 Okinawans
emigrated either on a self-financed basis or sponsored by their relatives already
abroad (2,629 to Brazil, 2,416 to Argentina, 69 to Bolivia, 222 to Peru, 5 to other
places) (Ryūkyū Seifu Shakaikyoku Iminka 1958: 2–3). The main reason behind the
policy of ‘planned’ emigration was the extensive postwar increase in population in
Okinawa and the simultaneous decrease in the area of land cultivated on the islands.
The population of Okinawa was very stable between 1920 and 1944, helped by
the large out-migration to the mainland and overseas. However, after the Second
World War such migration became precluded and postwar repatriations added a
substantial number to the total population in Okinawa. Around 56,900 civilian
emigrants from Okinawa residing in Japan mandated Micronesian and the
Philippines were repatriated. These postwar repatriations added to the existing
labour force and disturbed the balance between human and natural resources in
Okinawa.
Another factor which added to the overpopulation problem stemmed from the
confiscation of land by the US military to construct bases in Okinawa. It was
estimated that around 240,000 in about 50,000 households were affected and had
their land – much of it arable – appropriated by the US military (Nihon Keizai Shimbun,
29 May 2000). The construction of US military bases started in 1950, which created
a big ‘construction boom’. Although Okinawans were paid much less than other
workers, being placed at the bottom of the pay scale (Americans were at the top,
followed by Filipinos, the Japanese from the mainland, and Okinawans), the
construction attracted a large number of workers due to the much higher wages than
other jobs available at that time. When the construction boom faded, a large number
of the workers were made redundant and became unemployed.
The following letter dated 13 February 1950 from Major General J. R. Sheetz,
the Military Governor of the Ryukyu Islands, to the Supreme Commander for the
Allied Powers, General Headquarters of USCAR, indicates the serious problem of
the large increase in population resulting from both natural increase and the
repatriation of Okinawans, and the simultaneous decrease in the acreage of land
cultivated because of the need for land for military installations:
Serious problems have been created in the Ryukyu Islands by the extensive
postwar increase in population and the simultaneous decrease in the area of
land cultivated on the islands. In view of these facts, it is felt that emigration
of Ryukyuans to other areas of the world would be advantageous. From
the beginning of the Ryukyuan occupation to the end of 1949, it is estimated
that the total native population of the islands under the jurisdiction of this
Headquarters has increased by as much as 40 per cent. This growth represents
the combined effect of a natural increase, and of repatriation of Ryukyuans
from Japan and other areas of the Pacific. In this period, a total of 172,688
persons have entered the islands, and only 9,196 persons have left the Ryukyus
to go to other countries. Coincident with this growth of population has been
decrease in acreage of land cultivated, primarily as a result of the taking over
of 21,500 acres of arable land for the use of military installations of the
occupation. This represents a loss of 10 per cent of the farm lands formerly
under cultivation . . . Coupled with the damages inflicted to farm buildings,
livestock, and other facilities during the war, these conditions have brought
about a food shortage which, at the present time, must be relieved primarily
through American aid. The most practical means of alleviating the effects of
population pressure in the Ryukyus would be through large-scale emigration
of Ryukyuans to other countries. Up to the present time, only a very small
number of people have been able to leave the islands, and of those who have
left, the great majority have gone to Japan. A few have been able to move to
other countries, but only in those cases when they were able to establish proof
of citizenship or former residence in such areas. From such records as are
presently available in this Headquarters, it would appear that Argentina is the
only country that has expressed any desire to accept non-citizen immigrants
from the Ryukyus, but with requirements that are, in effect, almost a bar. It is
not known in this Headquarters whether the Department of State of the United
States has canvassed the possibility of obtaining permission for emigration, as
distinguished from repatriation of citizens or former residents, of Ryukyuans
to other countries willing to receive them. If such a canvass has not already
been made, and if it is considered appropriate that it be made, it is requested
that there be explored with other countries the possible facilitation of such
emigration by establishment of large quotas, minimum prerequisites, and
perhaps even financial assistance.
(Sheetz 1950)
The main concern of the US government behind this overpopulation problem was
to maintain political stability in Okinawa. The fear was that, due to labour unrest
and discontent building up among Okinawans, particularly susceptible youth,
Okinawans may become communists and rise up in revolt against the US (Amemiya
1999: 59). It was precisely for this reason that James L. Tigner of Stanford
University, commissioned by USCAR, investigated the possibilities of sending
Okinawan emigrants to Latin America. Bolivia was chosen by Tigner as a place for
resettlement, since the Bolivian government was also interested in receiving a larger
84 Yoko Sellek
number of Okinawans so as to carry out a social revolution in order to achieve self-
sufficiency in food with some financial aid provided by the US. Supporting the
social revolution was also beneficial for the US government in order to hold
communism at bay (Amemiya 1999: 59). For this reason, USCAR set up a budget
of US$160,000 for supporting the transportation costs of emigrants, and in 1953
the Ryukyu government passed legislation in order to provide loans to emigrants.
The qualification for emigration to Bolivia was to be either a farming family or an
unaccompanied male farmer aged between 16 and 40. In the case of a family, they
must have more than two people who were capable of working in the family and
the head of the household should be a male aged between 20 and 50. They were
expected to settle in Bolivia on a permanent basis and remain in the designated
area of settlement for at least five years. Those who were unable to pay the expenses
necessary to emigrate were able to take out a loan from the Ryukyu emigration
fund. Fifty hectares of land was guaranteed to each household by the Bolivian
government. The actual breakdown of those who emigrated to Bolivia in 1954 was:
70 unaccompanied male emigrants and 184 male and 145 female family emigrants.
The number of applicants for the first planned emigration to Bolivia was nearly
nine times more than the number of emigrants who were selected to emigrate in
1954 (Ishikawa 1995: 28–31).
As a result, ‘emigration fever’ broke out in Okinawa and, under the agreement
between the Uruma emigration union and the Bolivian government, the first group
of 399 Okinawans was sent to the Uruma site in Bolivia. However, the lives of the
Okinawan emigrants were not as bright as they had expected due to poor living
conditions with no potable water nearby, a mysterious disease and serious floods.
Those who decided to remain in Bolivia as farmers eventually moved to a different
site, Colonia Okinawa, which remains to this day.
Between 1951 and 1964, 3,238 people emigrated to Colonia Okinawa as
‘planned’ emigrants despatched by the Ryukyu government, while the Japanese
government carried out a separate scheme for emigration to San Juan in Bolivia
based on an agreement with the Bolivian government signed in 1956 (Ishikawa
1995: 22). The status of Okinawans in such a third country was highly ambiguous.
Those who departed for a designated country directly from Okinawa carried
certificates of identity issued by the United States authorities which stated, ‘The
High Commissioner of the Ryukyu Islands hereby requests all whom it may concern
to permit safely and freely to pass, and in case of need to give lawful aid and
protection to: — a resident of the Ryukyus’ (Foreign Ministry, 19 August 1962). On
the other hand, Okinawans residing in Okinawa were able to obtain Japanese
passports issued in Japan proper, if they travelled via Japan proper to their country
of destination. It was also possible for those who had already emigrated to a third
country using the certificates of identity issued by the United States authorities to
have their Japanese passports issued on the exchange of these certificates of identity.
The Japanese government assumed that it should exercise its protective authority
over the emigrants from Okinawa residing in a third country, including those who
emigrated to Bolivia under the financial support of the US government. According
to a letter written by the Foreign Ministry dated 19 August 1955 addressed to
Japanese embassies abroad, ‘as Okinawan emigrants are Japanese nationals, it is
necessary to protect them in collaboration with the U.S. Embassies in the designated
areas’ (Foreign Ministry, 19 August 1962).
However, although Okinawans were Japanese nationals, their rights as Japanese
nationals as guaranteed by the constitution were not applied, if their application
contravened Article 3 of the Peace Treaty. The Japanese government ‘was unable
to be involved with any administrative issues, such as the selection and the training
of emigrants, and the provision of any responsible measures in relation to the
acceptance of those emigrants by their host countries’ (Foreign Ministry, 1 April
1958). For example, according to official correspondence from the Japanese
embassy in Bolivia, the Bolivian government made the following complaints in
relation to the Okinawan emigrants:
1 since the Ryukyu government was not a government of an independent state,

the certificate of identity issued by the United States authorities would not be
considered as a proper passport;
2 also, the continuing acceptance of a large number of emigrants from Okinawa
wishing to enter Bolivia with the certificate of identity may have to be treated
as an exceptional case which would not be covered by the emigration treaty
established between the Japanese and the Bolivian governments;
3 the selection of emigrants from Okinawa was not properly carried out;
4 in the case where the emigrants of Okinawa were to be deported from Bolivia,
the Bolivian government would not be able to denounce the Japanese
government for their deportation back to Okinawa, as those emigrants came
to Bolivia on the emigration scheme set up by the US government.
The Bolivian government further suggested to the Japanese government to take

some appropriate measures, such as the involvement of the Japanese government
with the planning and the selection of the emigrants from Okinawa and the
obligation to enter Bolivia with a proper Japanese passport, but these suggestions
were not taken up by the Japanese government, since they would contravene the
US’s authority of administration over the Ryukyu Islands. The view of the US
government on the Okinawan emigrants in a third country was that it would take
responsibility for their protection but if the Japanese government would like to
protect them as well, it would be beneficial for the emigrants, as it would mean that
they would be able to receive double protection from both governments (Foreign
Ministry, 1 April 1958).
It appears, however, that neither the US nor the Japanese governments was
particularly interested in protecting the Okinawan emigrants in a third country. In
Bolivia there were cases where, among the first group of emigrants from Okinawa,
some of the emigrants had no previous experiences of farming and some fled to
the nearby city, Santa Cruz, and stirred fears among the locals that they might
steal the jobs of Bolivians. There were also some cases where Okinawans who
carried the certificates of identity were refused entry into Bolivia on the grounds that
the certificates were different from passports and, therefore, their nationalities
86 Yoko Sellek
were not clear. The Japanese government responded that they would not be able
to take the responsibility of deporting them back to Okinawa, since they originally
emigrated based on the emigration scheme set up by the US government (Foreign
Ministry, 28 July 1958). Whenever complicated problems arose in relation to the
Okinawan emigrants, the Japanese government showed some reluctance in
providing measures to protect them, taking the stance that the diplomatic protection
of the emigrants would interfere in the domestic affairs of the US. The US, as well,
took the stance that, as they were not American citizens, they would not be the
subject of US protection (Oguma 1998: 480). It was more beneficial for America to
use Okinawans as low-wage migrant labourers in places such as Bolivia than to be
overly concerned about issues of nationality.
Eventually, the Japanese government felt the necessity of adjusting the emigration
scheme from Okinawa to that from mainland Japan and started negotiations with
the US in order to transfer responsibility for the coordination of emigration
programmes with respect to Okinawan emigrants (Foreign Ministry, 28 July1958).
In 1966, the US government accepted the proposal by the Japanese government to
have Japanese passports issued in Okinawa. In turn, the Japanese government
started formulating and carrying out emigration programmes in cooperation with
the Japan Immigration Service. At the same time, the Japanese government
provided to the GRI an aid fund of 2,134,500 yen ($5,929) (Talking Paper,
30 November 1966). In the case of Bolivia, by 1966 the US government had no plan
for further assistance to the colonies except as a part of its overall assistance
programme in Bolivia, and welcomed any contribution the Japanese government
might wish to make to augment the assistance for Okinawan emigrants. However,
it was clearly stated in the Talking Paper ‘Government of Japan assistance for the
promotion of emigration from Okinawa’ that ‘the Japanese government and
the Ryukyu government on matters of Ryukyuan emigration will in no way
entail administrative direction or control of the Government of the Ryukyu Islands
officials or functions by the Government of Japan or its agencies’ (Talking Paper,
13 February 1967). Thus, since 1968, Colonia Okinawa has received Japanese
government aid through the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). This
change of policy needs to be investigated further in the context of the 1972 reversion
of Okinawa to Japan and the US’s participation in the Vietnam War.
Micronesia, formerly mandated by Japan, was another possible destination for
Okinawans to emigrate in the postwar period. Straight after the Second World
War, the Japanese government attempted to exclude these Okinawan and Korean
residents from the postwar repatriation scheme and let them remain in the former
mandated Micronesian islands and the Philippines – areas suitable for growing
sweet potatoes and where they could be self-sufficient in food (Foreign Ministry,
October 1970). Although all the remaining Okinawans were repatriated under the
supervision of the allied forces, the majority of those repatriated from the area
eagerly wished to re-emigrate to the Micronesian islands. On nine separate
occasions between 1948 and 1956 the request to return to the area was made to
USCAR by the representative of the group of Okinawan repatriates as well as the
Ryukyu governor. However, this request was rejected by USCAR, mainly because
of security reasons. If the United States allowed Okinawans who were Japanese
nationals to emigrate to the area, as the area was under the United Nations
trusteeship, it would have to allow other nationals, such as those from the Soviet
Union, to emigrate to the area (Foreign Ministry, 1 April 1958).
An attempt to set up a scheme for emigration to Cambodia was made around the
same time. In 1956, based on Prince Sihanouk’s interest in Japanese immigration,
Cambodia was looking for a large number of agricultural and fishery experts, single
farmers in particular, in order to contribute to land development and enrichment
of the economy. A total of 2,000 had been suggested by Cambodia, with financial
support to be provided by the Japanese government to cover transportation costs,
initial subsistence for a year and the cost of housing. Ambassador McClintock of
the American Embassy in Phnom Penh suggested the possibility of sending the
Okinawans to Cambodia to the government of the Ryukyus. The government of
the Ryukyus was keenly interested in the suggestion and believed that Cambodia
would be most suitable for settlement of Okinawans. In 1956 the GRI requested
USCAR to exert its utmost efforts to realize this goal. The reasons put to USCAR
were the proximity of Okinawa and Cambodia and, therefore, the low trans-
portation cost, the similar natural environment and lifestyle, the historical
connection through trading and the previous experiences of emigration to Southeast
Asia (Higa 1956). Based on this proposal, the following is a letter, entitled
‘Emigration to Cambodia’ sent by USCAR to the Department of the Army in
Washington, DC to consider the provision for emigration of Ryukyuans to the
Kingdom of Cambodia with US financial support:
Although emigration is initially expensive, it solves each individual case once

and for all. Once the emigrant reaches the soil of his adopted country, his
problems, especially reproduction and the resultant population increase, are no
longer the problems of the Ryukyu Islands. In comparison, resettlement in
other areas of the Ryukyu Islands, although it has many other points in its favor
and must be continued as an integral part of our program, does not reduce the
population but distributes it. The resettler can still be expected to produce
about three children, thus increasing rather than reducing the population. He
can also, with comparative ease, perhaps even by hiring a canoe, return to
the overpopulated areas at any time he becomes discouraged in his new
location . . . The policy of the United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyu
Islands is that we will continue to encourage programs of foreign emigration
providing that the funding thereof is accomplished from sources that do not
detract from the internal Ryukyuan resettlement program now in progress.
Proposals for emigration on any scale are not realistic unless feasible financing
plans are developed concurrently. Such an emigration program would be
of benefit to both Cambodia and the Ryukyu Islands. Cambodia indicates
a need for farmers while the Ryukyu Islands with the displacement of
farmers from their land and a general population increase have a surplus
of these skills.
(Tanner 1956)
88 Yoko Sellek
This proposal was not taken up by the US government immediately. Between 1959
and 1963, correspondence took place between the US government and the Office
of the High Commissioner of the Ryukyu Islands with regard to possible emigration
to Laos and Cambodia, involving an emigration agent called John Jiro Ajimine.
Ajimine, who claimed himself to be the Commissioner of the GRI and Ryukyu
Overseas Emigration Corporation, approached USCAR with a plan to establish an
Overseas Development Company capitalized at US$277,000 with the proviso that
subsidies from the US and Ryunkyu governments were to make up any shortfalls.
However, Ajimine appeared as if he desired to become a broker in Ryukyuan
labour. His plan suggests he intended to export to Japan goods, such as sugar, coffee
and pineapples, produced by the Okinawan emigrants. This, it seems, was viewed
as a way for the Japanese government to use the Ryukyuans as a wedge to move
into Laos for trade purposes. The project envisaged dispatching the Okinawan
emigrants to Cambodia and Laos as sugar-cane workers. The sugar would be sold
first in the local economy, but any surplus would be exported to Japan and would
thus stimulate trade between Japan and Cambodia and Laos. Also, the US
government was concerned about security issues in Cambodia and Laos and an
investigation was carried out to find out whether Ajimine had any experience of
serving in the Japanese armed forces, or had been associated with Japanese naval
intelligence. Although no evidence seems to have come to light, the US government
did not take up this proposal in the end. A letter dated 11 December1962 sent to
the High Commissioner by the US government stated that the project upon which
Ajimine was engaged was ‘not one of great interest to the GRI’ since ‘the Ryukyuans
are not in a position to provide capital and must, to secure AID or Development
Loan fund capital, work through the Office of the High Commissioner’. It further
considered Ajimine ‘as a potential individual Japanese capitalist and other capital
sources in Japan in a position to invest Japanese capital in potentially lucrative
enterprises in Bolivia, utilizing Ryukyuan labour without over-all benefits to the
individual Ryukyuan emigrant’ and ordered the termination of Ajimine’s
connection with the GRI (Wansboro 1962).
Conclusion
When people decide to migrate it is quite possible that ‘individuals act to maximize
income while families minimize risk, and that the context within which both
decisions are made is shaped by structural forces operating at the national and
international levels’ (Massey et al. 1993: 433). The majority of the emigrants from
Okinawa emigrated abroad based on cost-benefit judgements made in economic
terms, hoping that they would be ‘better off’ being abroad. Some structural forces
were inevitably operating in relation to the emigration from Okinawa throughout
the prewar and the postwar periods. The political economy, the global and regional
distribution of power and resources, have certainly been reflected in the structure
of emigration from Okinawa. The Okinawan emigrants have been utilized within
a number of different contexts: first, they served the Western colonial powers and
then Japan as a late imperialist, and later America under Cold War imperialism. In
the prewar period, emigration was carried out as a ‘thinning policy’ by the Japanese
government in order to improve the economic situation of Okinawa. In the postwar
period, while ‘chain migration’ was continuing based on the migration network, the
new destinations were carefully selected within the context of Cold War imperialism.
The postwar emigration from Okinawa to Bolivia and the attempted emigration to
Micronesia and Cambodia indicate that the primary interest of the governments of
Japan and the US was the US’s continued military possession of the Ryukyu Islands
for security reasons in the context of the Cold War. America had absolutely no
intention of providing protection for Okinawans as American citizens by annexing
Okinawa as a part of the US. The best solution for the US was to keep emigrants
from Okinawa as cheap labour.
Although Okinawans held Japanese nationality, which legally guaranteed their
protection by the state, the status of emigrants from Okinawa in a third country was
somewhat ‘fuzzy’. They were sometimes treated as Japanese nationals but on other
occasions were treated as non-Japanese, all depending on the view of each country
of their destination and on each specific situation. The whole picture of emigration
from Okinawa in the postwar period illustrates one fact more than any other:
namely, that the Japanese government had to compromise its own sovereignty as a
nation-state in light of concerns over security and the bilateral relationship with the
US. In this sense, the importance of the Japanese ‘state’ surpassed the significance
of the ‘nationals’ symbolized by the emigrants from Okinawa.
This structure of emigration surely indicates another story of the victimization of
Okinawans and the emigration from Okinawa may be understood as part of a
collective trauma, a banishment from the islands, where dispersed minorities in
their overseas destinations are longing to return home. Okinawans had to create an
extremely strong esprit de corps among themselves, compared to the emigrants from
other prefectures. To improve their status in their overseas destinations Okinawans
established Kenjinkai everywhere they emigrated, set up their own loan system and
helped one another among themselves. They have maintained strong group ties
and solidarity deriving from a relationship with the homeland, Okinawa, sustained
over an extended period and have established significant networks around the world.
Although their initial migratory chains have been triggered by external factors,
once a movement is established, networks based on their relatives and common
place of origin provide safer paths for the next migrants. Migratory movements,
once started, become self-sustaining social processes and emigrants originating from
Okinawa have scattered all over the world, shaping the political economy in the era
of globalization.
The Okinawan emigrants or Okinawan diaspora nowadays imply a very positive
and ongoing relationship between their homeland, Okinawa, and their places of
settlement. ‘Sekai no Uchinānchu’ (The World Uchinanchu Congress) has been
going on since 1990, and recent years have seen thousands of people of Okinawan
descent from all over the world come back to Okinawa to participate. As typical of
migration movements, this network of the Okinawan diaspora will no doubt prove
to be advantageous for Okinawans in fitting into a globalized society where the
meaning of the nation-state boundary is becoming less significant.
90 Yoko Sellek
Notes
1 It was in 1866 when the Tokugawa shogunate gave official permission, upon
application, to those who had to study or carry out commercial activities abroad. In
1867, 103 passports were issued, 90 of them to domestic servants employed by foreigners
in Japan who were to leave the country with their employers. See Tsuchida (1998: 80).
2 The recruitment proposals rejected by the Meiji government included those by
the Southern Australian government (1877), a five-year contract plan offered by the
Hawaiian government (1879), an immigration treaty to migrate to Cuba by the Spanish
government (1880), a proposal to work as sugar and coffee plantation workers by
the Dutch West Indies (1833) and recruitment of 250 tracklayers in America, 200
construction workers in Russia, 500 colony soldiers assigned to Indonesia by the
Netherlands, coal miners in California (no number given) and 2,000 tracklayers in
Oregon. See Suzuki (1992: 26).
3 Between 1924 and 1934 only 2 per cent of Japanese emigrants went to Manchuria,
whereas between 1935 and 1945, 85 per cent of all Japanese emigrants went to
Manchuria (Suzuki 1969: 14, quoted from Sowell 1996: 106).
4 The ‘income of Okinawa in 1909 was half that of the next poorest prefecture and in
1911 the average annual earnings in Japan stood at 46 yen, 37 after tax; in Okinawa the
figure were 14.3 and 8.4 yen, respectively’ (Ōta 1995: 191, quoted in Siddle 1998: 122).
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6 Okinawa and the structure
of dependence
Gavan McCormack
The economy of Okinawa prefecture is marked by four forms of dependence: as a

prefecture within the highly centralized Japanese nation-state; as a ‘base zone’ in
which the US military presence is heavily concentrated; as a ‘public works’-centred,
regional political economy; and as Japan’s premier ‘resort zone’. Despite its
geographical location at the centre of the region expected to be most dynamic in
the world in the twenty-first century, under both progressive and conservative
administrations Okinawa has struggled to find an appropriate formula for managing
its economy. Strategies for ‘development’ all call for more ‘autonomy’, but display
a contradictory reluctance to forgo the special ‘benefits’ that accrue from its special,
albeit dependent, status.
Since it reverted from the US to Japan in 1972, for a generation and a half
of Okinawans the achievement of ‘parity with the mainland’ (hondo nami) has been
the driving force of politics. It had two aspects: liquidation of the bases and the
achievement of mainland levels of economic development. After three decades,
neither has been accomplished.1
As to liquidation of the bases, the US–Japan relationship has been acidly
described as the same satellite or semi-colonial relationship as that which existed
between Moscow and its East European satellites during the Cold War, with the
difference that Tokyo chooses this relationship rather than having it imposed (Johnson
1999: 128). Within the satellite Japanese state, Okinawa is ‘Japan’s virtual colony’,
a dual colony in effect to the US and Japan, a status unchanged in thirty years
since reversion. Japan’s Prime Minister in December 1997 told Okinawa’s governor
that the national government could not even consider asking the US to reduce the
bases (Asahi Shimbun, 27 December 1997). So much for hondo nami as the goal of
demilitarizing Okinawa.
Before reversion, prefectural revenues depended heavily on the bases. Without
them, as said the US High Commissioner in 1968, Okinawa would ‘revert
immediately to a barefoot economy, dependent on sweet potatoes and fish’(Howell
2000: 246). In the three decades since reversion, however, base-related revenue
came down from around 16 to 5 per cent of prefectural revenue, while the number
of people employed went from 40,000 to just over 8,000 (Ōta 2000: 271, Ōta 2001).
Now the bases generate more income than primary and secondary industry
combined (Makino 1996: 256), but at a total of about 200 billion yen, less than half
94 Gavan McCormack
of the earnings from tourism (Ōta 2000: 293). They therefore remain significant,
but of much diminished significance.
Furthermore, calculations of the economic gains derived from rental, salaries
and ancillary base-related income commonly ignore two negative, ‘cost’ factors:
first, appropriation of land for base purposes blocks it from other, potentially
much higher value-added (non-agricultural) purposes, including residential and
commercial (Okinawa Taimusu, 3 April 2001), and second, it also fosters a passive
culture of rental dependence, which blocks locally generated initiatives towards self-
reliant, non-military dependent development. The effect combines loss and ‘drag’.
The achievement of mainland levels of economic development, the other wing
of the hondo nami aspiration, has proved equally elusive. On the main island 20 per
cent of the land, including the best of it, remains outside of Japanese sovereignty and
coordinated economic planning is impossible. True, Okinawans have attained a
kind of affluence. Although a poor prefecture by Japanese standards, in fact per
capita national income level is higher than that of Italy or of anywhere in Asia
but Singapore (Arasaki 2000: 85). But development can only be evaluated by
reference to the crucial comparator, the rest of Japan, and the Okinawan statistics
of unemployment, income and subsidy dependence are markedly worse than
elsewhere. Furthermore, the development has taken a severe toll of the natural
environment (as discussed below). Overall, the achievement has been at a high
price, and remains unstable and vulnerable (McCormack 1996, 2001).
What kind of a Japan was it with which Okinawa has been pursuing parity? At
the time of reversion there was certainly little understanding of the construction
state, the doken kokka; then only in an immature form, unnamed, its pathology not
yet explicit. It was that very time when the confidence born of successful and
sustained high growth was beginning to turn to hubris, when the ever-rightward-
rising graphs of productivity and profit held the nation spellbound, when Prime
Minister Tanaka Kakuei was offering his fantastic dreams of ‘reconstructing the
Japanese archipelago’ and when increasing numbers of people came to share those
dreams (Tanaka 1973).
Not for nothing was the bulldozer Kakuei’s symbol. Growth was indeed
accomplished, but the legacy of these years is ambiguous because it is precisely the
political economy of public works, entrenched in the 1970s, that came to be seen
in the 1990s as the root of the chronic fiscal and environmental crises, and the
‘Kakuei’ confidence in engineering and the ability to create a human-controlled and
planned environment as a deeply flawed undertaking. Out of the system that was
perfected during these years came both the triumph of Japan’s seemingly ever-
victorious 1980s, and the debacle of the collapsing 1990s.
Reversion: incorporation and development

On the eve of reversion, Okinawa’s economic future was vigorously contested.
Okinawan leaders and some mainland politicians saw a potential future as a Free
Trade Zone, of the kind then being set up in Taiwan and South Korea, or as a
substitute or even replacement Hong Kong (should the turmoil of China’s Cultural
Okinawa and the structure of dependence 95
Revolution cause a flight of capital). Various plans were brought forward by
major US multinationals to establish oil or aluminum refining, semi-conductor
manufacturing, or banking and insurance business in Okinawa, obviously with a
view to obtaining a foothold in the booming Japanese market. However, such plans
were resolutely opposed and eventually defeated by Japanese bureaucrats
determined to ‘protect’ the Japanese national market from any ‘Trojan Horse’.
Nearly thirty years later, Okinawan politicians struggled to formulate and persuade
Tokyo of plans for an updated version of an Okinawan Free Trade Zone, with a
vision of turning Okinawa into a Hong Kong, Singapore or Ireland, or of facilitating
large Taiwanese investment plans, but still the bureaucratic vision of the national
interest remains hostile to any project for Okinawa that savours of ‘one country two
systems’ special status (Howell 2000 passim).
The series of decisions by which Okinawa’s course was set were adopted within
the general framework of the ‘Okinawa shinkō kaihatsu tokubetsu sochihō ’ (Special
Measures Law for Okinawan Development, 1971), which in turn was part of the
grand design set out in the Comprehensive National Development Plan (zensō ),
especially the Second or ‘New’ Zensō of 1969–77. The islands were divided into
various development ‘zones’, in which mainland business was encouraged to invest
in order to bring them up to the industrialization levels of the rest of Japan.
Infrastructural development projects approved under the Plan were funded to
between 70 and 80 per cent from Tokyo. A similar proportion of the prefectural
budget derived from central government subsidy. The extraordinary level of public
works dependence was thus structurally determined by the terms of reversion, and
the public works political economy quickly became entrenched alongside the base
economy. In the twenty-five years after reversion, 54 per cent of all disbursements
by the provincial government – just under 5 trillion yen – came under the head of
‘Okinawa Development Works’ (Shigemori 2000: 91). Foreign investment having
been blocked and Okinawan resources being minimal, fiscal dependence on Tokyo
was inescapable.
The immediate post-reversion government of Yara Chōbyō dreamed great
dreams of development, but the dreams were fed by Kakuei fantasies. The grand
industrial bases with which Kakuei would dot the country, with especially huge
ones in Hokkaido, Kyushu and Western Honshu (none of which, in the event, was
ever built) would have their Okinawan counterpart: a vast industrial complex to
be built on a 33,000 hectare site of reclaimed land at Kin Bay (on the east side
of Okinawa’s main island), comprising crude oil storage facilities, a refinery,
petrochemical plant, steel works, shipyards, nuclear power plant and aluminium
refining plant. By the time of the first ‘oil shock’ of 1973, already the oil storage and
refinery was operating, and a road had been built across Kin Bay, irrevocably
altering its ecology and, in Makishi’s words, ‘killing the coral, driving away the fish,
altering the tide flows, eroding the beaches’ (Makishi 1997: 215; Ui 1996: 10). The
‘gain’ was balanced by severe loss, and the rest of the grand plan was pure fancy.
The Okinawa Marine Expo of 1975 was the other project characteristic of the
early post-reversion period. No sooner had the site, in the north of the main island
of Okinawa, been announced than a web of speculation began to be spun around
96 Gavan McCormack
it. Though local government was positive in favouring it as development, a few
critical voices were raised to say that it amounted to no more than an extension to
Okinawa of the decadent mainland concept of development by way of cheap
exploitation of the sea, a far cry from any agenda for symbiosis between human and
natural orders. The boom that ensued as around 250 billion yen in development
funds was poured into the project created a brief surge of inflation and profit,
followed by a post-Expo recession. The centre-piece, known as the Aquapolis, a
kind of Marine Future City, was built by joint public and private sector interests at
a cost of 13 billion yen, and after the Expo it became part of Expo Memorial Park
(Matsushima 2001). Late in 2000, however, after a long period of uneconomic,
heavily subsidized and massively debt-accumulating management, submerged
under the weight of its accumulated debt, too unwieldy and expensive to scrap, it
was sold at a knock-down price of 14 million yen and towed off as scrap to Shanghai
(Sandē Nikkei, 22 October 2000).
With Kin Bay and the Marine Expo as characteristic, if ultimately false,
foundations of the Okinawan economy, nearly 5 trillion yen was invested in public
works construction over the twenty-five years to 1996 and the social infrastructure
of roads and ports, schools and hospitals, sewerage and town water was transformed
(McCormack and Shikita 2000: 234). Living standards were steadily raised. But at
the same time, Okinawa was incorporated within the collusive, dependent, public
works circuits that were spun throughout Japan, and ‘development’, pushed to
excess, became mal-development (ran-kaihatsu). Okinawa came to rank as number
one among Japanese prefectures in terms of the public works weight in its economy
(Sasaki 1997a, 1997b). The bulldozer riding roughshod over the landscape and the
concrete which was poured in abundance over land and sea were the central
symbols of the public works transformation. Red soil runoff polluted the seas, coral
died, rivers became concreted and polluted, the forest shrank and was opened up
and degraded by projects for ‘land improvement’ and road construction.
Development: public works and seibi

So, in the sense in which it was hoped for – demilitarization and economic parity
with the rest of Japan – hondo nami did not come to Okinawa, but in an unexpected
sense it did: Okinawa was subject to seibi, the political economy of mainland Japan
in its peculiar distorted form as the construction state, or doken kokka. Seibi – the
‘regulating’, ‘straightening out’, or ‘fixing up’ of land and river and sea, in a word
the subjection of the natural environment to human convenience – is the function
by which the complex circuits of dependence that make up the public works system
are reproduced. Though the doken kokka was, on the whole, not imposed but
embraced with enthusiasm by local authorities, it was, nevertheless, of a decisively
dependent character. As Okinawan governments and business circles both
embraced public works, Okinawa made its choices within the palm of the great
Buddha of the maturing Japanese doken kokka.
Fixing the forest
Okinawa’s forests had suffered severe depradations in the prewar period and worse
in the wartime catastrophe, but in the northern part of Okinawa main island, the
Yanbaru, and in some of the outlying islands, especially Iriomote, significant forests
were preserved, sustaining a delicate and complex bio-diversity. The decades since
reversion have been characterized by much activity by small-scale public works
contractors paid for under the subsidy finance system from Tokyo, and as a result
the timber resource has been depleted and the bio-diversity, particularly in the
thinly populated and relatively thickly forested Yanbaru, threatened. Parts of
the natural forest were converted to plantation, and the income of northern villages
came to derive substantially from forest works and a chip plant (Urashima 1996: 15).
Yet the economic value of plantation forest is likely to be short lived and far
outweighed by the long-term costs as the subtropical forest’s thin layer of nutrient
topsoil tends to wash away quickly once clearance occurs, the mountains, especially
those subject to clear-felling and re-forestation, lose their capacity to retain water,
soil drains off clogging river and coast, rivers and sea degenerate and species are lost.
Increased accessibility to the forest is assumed to be key to its development. The
forestry industry depends on the construction of a network of access roads to facilitate
extraction of existing timber, the planting of new trees and flood control works. One
typical project is the Okuni Forest Road, which was constructed between 1977 and
1994 for 35.5 kilometres through the heart of the Yanbaru. Costing over 4.5 billion
yen (80 per cent from national and 20 per cent from prefectural funds) (Taira and
Itō 1997: 74, 84), this 5-metre wide, concrete-based, bitumin road did indeed open
the forest, but to hitherto unknown feral animals – dogs, cats and mongoose – as well
as to 4-wheel drive vehicles which brought poachers, thieves and tourists (Taira and
Itō 1997: 96–8). Pollution and garbage proliferated, and the forest’s wild inhabitants,
including especially the Okinawa Rail (Yanbaru kuina) and the Pryer’s Woodpecker
(Noguchigera) as well as a multitude of bats, bugs, beetles, butterflies, mice, rats, and
so on, have come under increased pressure.2
The bureaucratic term to describe forestry practices ranging from clear-felling to
‘undergrowth removal’ and the substitution of fast-growing varieties of pine for old
growth forest, is ‘cultivated natural forest regulation works’ (sic: ikusei tennen-rin seibi
jigyō ) (Taira and Itō 1997: 115, 121). It is a term which nicely illustrates the pre-
conceptions of seibi-ism: a semantic bridge may readily be thrown across the
contradiction between the natural and the artificial, but in practice seibi means
the encroachment of the construction state upon nature, virtually without limit. GDP
is briefly, but unsustainably, expanded, but real social wealth is depleted and the
web of collusive political, bureaucratic and local elite interests that characterized
Japan as a whole spread throughout the Okinawan archipelago.
Improving the land

Like ‘forest cultivation’, ‘land improvement’ is a crucial construction state
phenomenon. It involves the clearing, straightening, draining and often irrigation
98 Gavan McCormack
of lands, nominally in Okinawa’s case designed to help farmers plunged into crisis
by the shocks accompanying reversion and the opening up to the mainland
agricultural market. Okinawans undoubtedly welcomed the promise of ‘improve-
ment’ of their lands as part of what they believed to be the attainment of ‘parity with
the mainland’, particularly when the initial costs at least were met by Tokyo.
However, during the 1970s and 1980s Tokyo was steadily running down agriculture
nationally, paying farmers to take their fields out of production and opening sector
after sector to the global market. If farmers elsewhere found that difficult, it was so
much the more so in Okinawa.
Every year, according to a 1993–4 study, 320,000 tonnes of topsoil is washed
from Okinawa’s fields and forests into the rivers and sea, with ‘land improvement’
the major cause (57 per cent), followed by agriculture (33 per cent) and US military
activities (9 per cent) (Okija 1997: 173). From 1975 Ishigaki Island was host to
the largest ‘land improvement’ project in all of Okinawa, the ‘Miyaura Land
Improvement Scheme’, which covered 16 per cent of that entire island and 60 per
cent of its agricultural land, especially in the Todoroki River valley. As the
developers and land ‘improvers’ with their bulldozers straightened, rationalized
and organized the rivers and fields, and installed a complex irrigation system, a
steady flow of acidic soil effluent leached out into the river and the adjacent reef.
By 1994, most of the forest along the river was gone, the former swamplands were
inundated with silt, the neatly squared fields had lost much of their thin layer of
topsoil and required regular, and expensive, loads of carted soil and agricultural
chemicals to replace the lost natural nutrients. The nicely concreted river poured
its load of effluent quickly, efficiently and devastatingly into the sea after each storm,
while the farmers, for whose supposed benefit the works had been launched, were
reported to be sliding towards bankruptcy (Noike, 1994, 1996 passim).
Having reorganized the agricultural sector to meet the requirements of
bureaucratic Tokyo conceptions of it as an industry, Okinawan farmers are still
hard-put to compete in the globally open agricultural commodity market. Cash
crops – sugar, pineapple, pork, even flowers – prove either marginal or increasingly
exact so heavy a toll on the environment as to be unsustainable in the long term,
while being responsible for significant soil runoff pollution (Okija 1997: 175;
Tsuchishita 2000: 136ff.). Taking the pork industry as one example, Okinawa boasts
a pig population of 300,000, about one pig to every three people, an inflated stock
made possible by the adoption of lax effluent emission standards designed to
encourage the development of the industry (Ui 1996: 12). The BOD (biochemical
oxygen demand) 2,800 to 3,600 p.p.m. standards allowed the industry’s wastes to
be dumped into the environment (Terada 1996: 163). With each pig producing
effluent equivalent to between six and ten humans, it means the wastes of equivalent
to between two and three million people were being poured virtually untreated into
the rivers and sea. As Ui notes, it is highly ironic that this should be the case, in the
name of ‘protection of industry’, even while vast sums are expended on works for
the processing of human wastes (Ui 1997: 156–8). The competitive advantage that
Okinawan produce once enjoyed – being healthy, organic and sustainable – was
sacrificed to market rationalization, economies of scale and maximization of growth.
Fixing the water
The seibi of the water environment of the islands had perhaps even more profound
effects. Traditionally, the Okinawan population was concentrated in the centre and
south of the island where the richest sources of water were to be found, while the
forested north was left more or less untouched. A complex system of kā, springs or
wells, was fed by rain waters as they percolated and circulated underground and was
carefully tended so that high levels of purity were maintained. The gods of these
springs were revered.
In the decades since reversion, the traditional system of reliance on rivers and
springs was replaced by a ‘modern’, mainland system based on centralized, piped
water and sewerage systems (Amano 1997: 177–8). Cost was prodigious but the
subsidy system functioned to make cost virtually irrelevant (Ui 1996: 13). In this time
the Yanbaru rivers were comprehensively dammed. On the eastern side of the
Yanbaru the chain of dams form a cascade of mountain water tumbling south from
Benoki, via Fungawa, Aha, Shinkawa and Fukuji dams and a set of pipes and
tunnels, to the more densely populated central and southern parts of the island. On
the western side, the waters are channelled via a chain of nine pumping stations
which sit astride the mostly small rivers, siphoning off their water into the same
complex of pipes and pumping stations leading to the central and southern parts of
the island (Hokubu Damu 1997: 020). The water which constitutes the life-blood
of the Yanbaru has thus been appropriated almost exclusively for the centre and
south of the island, for town water, resort water, and agricultural and industrial
water. The rivers were transformed from free-flowing natural phenomenon to
a highly engineered and controlled ‘facility’, upon which mainland levels of
convenience, ‘modern’ life-style, and a huge and growing tourist industry came
to depend. Okinawa’s integration within the mainland political economy of public
works and tourism meant that the link between mountain and sea was broken, the
flow of nutrient to the coral and marine life cut off, the mouths of the depleted rivers
gradually have become blocked and the mangrove and coral estuarine environment
enfeebled (Terada 1996: 163).
As the populated sections of Okinawa were, from 1972, transformed along the
lines of ‘mainland’ water practice, water consumption grew steadily, the traditional
springs began to dry up, and the natural water systems of central and southern
Okinawa became polluted by a combination of agricultural chemicals and ‘red soil
runoff’ from road and agricultural ‘modernization’ works. Okinawa’s rivers, once
renowned for their purity, came to be often three-coloured – red, white or black,
depending on the chemical composition of the different soils which, eroded and
dislodged by ‘public works’ or agricultural development, flow with the rains into the
river and sea ecosystems (Amano 1997: 178–9). Overall, and especially in the north
of Okinawa island, red (or red-yellow), the colour of the highly acidic palaeozoic
phyllite, is the most common; after rain, the rivers and bays look as if nature itself
were convulsively haemorrhaging. White is the colour of the slightly alkaline
limestone rock of the south of the island. Although less conspicuous, when it runs
off into the sea it causes the same effects, reducing the sea transparency and stifling
100 Gavan McCormack
the coral. Black is the colour of the untreated wastes of the pig industry, especially
in the centre and south of the island.
Fixing the coast

The damming and appropriation of river flow has fed a process of deterioration and
erosion in coastal estuaries, for which the bureaucratic response has been: more
seibi. Since reversion, the extent of the prefecture’s coastline in a natural state has
declined overall from 90 to 70 per cent, but in the most populated island of Okinawa
the figure is 49 per cent (58 per cent on its west coast). The wall of concrete continues
to creep up around all the islands, including even the shores of remote island marine
parks. This process is known for budgetary purposes as ‘coastal preservation’ (gogan
seibi). Large budgetary allocations are now devoted to the process of artificially
constructing beaches on reclaimed coastline in an effort to restore something like
the natural beaches that used to be there (McCormack and Shikita 2000: 233–6).
Coral reefs nourish a complex, bio-diverse ecology, comparable to rainforest:
they absorb around 2 per cent of human emissions of CO2 (500 million tons per
year), as well as sustaining fisheries and helping to reduce global warming. But, like
rainforests, they are vulnerable. By now, about 10 per cent of the world’s coral
is gone, and 30 per cent more is expected to go in the coming twenty years,
even without taking possible global warming into consideration (Asahi Shimbun,
4 December 1997). Over 90 per cent of Japan’s coral is in Okinawa prefecture. The
fertility of the coral reefs and the lagoons was a major source of prosperity and
cultural distinctiveness of pre-modern Okinawa. Okinawan fishermen traditionally
earned their living within the reef, taking an abundance of sea grasses, shellfish,
crab, shrimp, octopus and various kinds of fish. In many parts of Okinawa people
could simply walk out to the reef at low tide to fish (Yoshimine 1996: 36–49). Such
was the bounty of the sea that Okinawan people rarely lacked protein.
Since reversion, however, the reef resource built over thousands of years has been
drastically depleted. According to an official study published in 1996, the proportion
of live coral around Okinawa island is mostly less than 5 per cent, and although
healthy colonies are still to be found on other islands, they too are mostly shrinking
(Kankyōchō 1996; Yoshimine 1991). In the seas around Yanbaru, the tell-tale blood-
red soil blocks river mouths, stems the flow of nutrient and river and marine life
between land and sea, and stifles the coral, either directly by asphyxiation or by a
process of chemical reaction whereby the acidity of water gradually rises under the
load of aluminium ion, which is both highly toxic and highly soluble, reaching
pH4.5 at the point of entry to the sea (Kawamiya 1996: 166). As it proliferates
in Okinawan waters, the coral weakens and dies, native fish disappear and are
replaced by imports such as black bass, and the parasitical Crown of Thorns thrives
(Ui 1997a: 12–13; Amano 1997: 182; Tokuyama 1997).
Degeneration of the reef environment has caused a steady decline in the
traditional fishing industry, driving many to adopt the mainland-style, capital-
intensive mode requiring powerful boats capable of venturing far beyond the reef
to specially constructed floating artificial reefs a number of hours’ journey away
(Amano 1997: 183). In this, as in other respects, Okinawa has indeed become
‘mainland-ized’. Unlike the rest of Japan, however, the coral-protected islands of
Okinawa are directly threatened by global warming and the anticipated rise in the
level of the oceans, since the former may well kill the coral and the latter inundate
it, either way confronting the culture and society of Okinawa in ways more
fundamental than elsewhere. As various grand schemes are drawn up, the
environment of the rivers and mountains, the mangrove and coral, the dugong,
turtle, woodpecker and rail faces an uncertain future.
Tourism
Tourism is a major Okinawan industry. Since the Marine Expo of the 1970s growth
has been spectacular, from 400,000 visitors in the year of reversion to 1.5 million
in 1975 and 4.1 million in 1998, with a target of expansion to 5 million per year by
the year 2002 as Okinawa aims to join Hawaii and the Australian Gold Coast as a
‘super mega-resort’ and part of the ‘Golden Triangle’ of tourism (McCormack and
Shikita 2000: 237).3
Yet this industry is also heavily dependent: over 80 per cent of the major resort
hotels are owned by mainland interests, and even at the construction stage, local
firms are involved only as sub- or sub-sub-contractors (Okinawa Rōdō Keizai, 1992).
Even in areas of high concentration of tourist facilities, such as Onna Village which
can accommodate 10,000 visitors, only 12 per cent of employees in the hotels are
local people (McCormack and Shikita 2000: 239). In some hotels not only are the
staff but the food and even the nicknacks for the omiyage souvenir trade are imported
(Matsushima 2001: 57). Waste and water are particularly vexing problems. The
high-consumption and high-waste lifestyle of the tourists is cited as justification for
the construction of high-tech incineration facilities, while 1,000 litres of water is
required per tourist each day (as against the average for the residents of the islands,
even including the US service personnel, of 370 litres) (Ui 1996: 14–15).4 With the
traditional kā now neglected and often unusable, and with the northern rivers
already largely harnessed and underground water reserves being rapidly drawn
down and threatened by chemical pollution, the plan to double current numbers
of tourists seems questionable. The installation of desalinization plants might be
thought to offer one possible solution, but the trial plant which now operates in
Okinawa’s main island is small-scale (20,000 tons per day), dependent on fossil fuel
and expensive (Ui 1996: 14).
The ‘Resort Law’ of 1987 encouraged not only Okinawa Island and its outlying
islands, but much of the rural, mountain and coastal Japan that was suffering from
depopulation and economic decline, to think that resort development might offer
a solution to their problems. The whole of Okinawa, including the outlying islands,
became caught up in a frenzy of resort development schemes. On Okinawa Island
itself, some thirty-odd resort hotels and golf courses were built, some involving the
privatization of beaches and the creation of tourist ‘enclosures’ for the pleasure of
mainland visitors able to enjoy a resort lifestyle of conspicuous consumption.
Eventually the whole prefecture was declared a resort, eligible for various special
102 Gavan McCormack
concessions and breaks to give official support to accompanying development,
mostly of hotels, golf courses and marinas.
On the outlying islands, too, various plans were drawn up under the ‘Resort
Okinawa Masterplan’. On Miyako Island, between 1987 and 1996, the village of
Ueno (19 square km, 1997 population: 3,186) constructed its remarkable resort,
‘German Culture Village’ (Ueno Village 1997). It featured a faithful reproduction
of a medieval German castle (Marksburg), the ‘Fraternity Palace Resort Hotel’, a
golf course and other facilities including a fine fishing port, though it had no fishing
industry. There was no attempt to produce anything recognizably German, neither
bread, nor beer, nor wine nor cheese, nor (apart from some advice on medieval
thatching techniques) was there any significant German involvement in the planning
and building of the village. Built at the height of the ‘bubble’, 90 per cent of the costs
of the Culture Village were met by local ‘bonds’, i.e. advanced from the government
in Tokyo. The Culture Village now sits, grandly if rather incongruously, in its remote
rural surrounds, the local village authorities struggling to contain their losses on
operating expenses, hoping the capital costs will never be charged to them, and
waiting for the mass tourism that might one day make it economically viable.
Bases plus public works

From 1996, the structures by which Okinawa was locked into dual dependence –
fiscal and economic within the subsidy public works system on the one hand and
militarily in the base system on the other – have been increasingly contested. The
post-Cold War regional order was re-designed in Washington in 1994–5 to retain
the same level of US military presence in East Asia, including Okinawa, despite the
changed strategic environment of the post-Cold War. In Okinawa itself the system
was rocked by the explosion of anger that followed the rape of a 12-year-old
Okinawan girl by three US servicemen in September 1995. With Okinawans
insisting in unprecedentedly determined way on demilitarization and return of the
bases, much greater attention was therefore deemed necessary in Tokyo to resolving
what was perceived there as the ‘Okinawa problem’. A new structure of policy and
strategy coordination was therefore created. In November 1995 the Special Action
Committee on Okinawa (SACO) was set up to coordinate US–Japan governmental
contacts, followed in 1996 by the Okinawa Policy Council (Okinawa Seisaku Kyōgikai),
a ‘private’ advisory organ under the Prime Minister’s Secretariat with the task of
coordinating official links between Tokyo and Okinawa. At a sub-policy, think-tank
level, a special advisory group directly under the Prime Minister, headed by Keio
University Professor Shimada Haruo and therefore known as the Shimada-Kon or
‘Shimada Discussion Group’, served to advise on policy and in particular to direct
the channelling of funds to local Okinawan government and business groups. Its
deputy chairman, Inamine Keiichi, in December 1998 became Okinawan governor
(Yonetani 2001: 58).
The bottom line of the post-Cold War US–Japan security relationship was that
there would be no cut-back of bases and forces in Okinawa. At the centre of the
design was the plan for a major new US Marine airbase to be built on an offshore
site in the remote Yanbaru village of Henoko to replace the existing, crowded and
obsolescent facilities at Futenma, which sits incongruously in the middle of the
bustling township of Ginowan. Construction of just such a base had been part of
US design since the 1960s (Makishi et al. 2000: 100–11). The plan as it emerged in
1996 at first referred to a ‘heliport’ (as if to suggest a trivial construction akin to a
rooftop landing pad), but actually meant a gigantic structure with a runway 1,500
metres long and 600 metres wide, plus extensive ancillary facilities, costing up to 1
trillion yen, which would rival in scale Kansai Airport just offshore from Osaka
(Ōta 2000a: 60–3).
Sections of the business community of Nago City, the larger administrative unit
which includes Henoko, supported the plan, adopting the slogan ‘vitalizing the
Northern District’ and anticipating large infrastructural seibi funds; it was for them
‘a centennial chance for development’ (Asahi Shimbun, 16 Janaury 1997). But
community opposition was sharp. No sooner did it learn of the plan than the local
Nago City assembly, in November 1996, declared unanimously that it did not want
any such base.5
To gain local consent to the base plan, Tokyo brought into play the arsenal of
techniques of persuasion, cooption, bribery and division developed and deployed
countless times in the process of foisting dams, nuclear power stations and other
‘national projects’ on reluctant communities. In economically depressed Okinawa,
financial incentives on the scale that was adopted have an almost irresistible force.
An initial financial package made up of some ‘2 to 3 billion yen’ for local
development was offered as a ‘sweetener’, and by April 1997 conditional approval
to the plan had been extracted from the local government authorities (Inoue, Purves
and Selden 1997).
However, local democracy intervened. In the span of one month in July–August
1997, a grassroots movement of opposition mobilized to force a local Nago City
(population: 54,000) plebiscite on the issue. The leaders of the opposition movement
opposed any move to have the village embrace a military identity and pleaded for
priority to be given to the local colony of coral, perhaps the sole remaining healthy
colony on the east coast of the island, and to the turtles and dugong, the latter a
Henoko visitor of large proportions but sensitive character, a giant, sea grass-
grazing, internationally protected sea mammal (Dugong Network Okinawa 2001).
In short, they put local above national interest, nature above profit, and the ideals
of the (pacifist) national constitution above the real-politik of the US–Japan alliance.
The government in Tokyo became more and more anxious, and its interventions,
both financial ‘inducements’ for ‘Northern District development’ and appeals to
the ‘national interest’, more blatant. By 13 December, just over a week before the
plebiscite, the initial offer of 2 to 3 billion yen in ‘sweetener’ funds had blown out
to 150 billion yen.6 The list of promises ranged from roads, harbours, bridges,
irrigation, a multimedia centre, a technical college, a training centre for Japanese
volunteers, swimming pools and gymnasiums for schools, welfare facilities for
women, the aged, and local communities, to a ‘Yanbaru Wildlife Protection Centre’
(Asahi Shimbun, 6 December 1997). Pressure was applied in a succession of visits by
top Tokyo officials, including the Prime Minister, the Chief Cabinet Secretary, the
104 Gavan McCormack
Director-Generals of the Defence Agency and of the Okinawa Development
Agency, while Okinawan-born staff of the Defence Procurement Agency were
mobilized to support the government cause (Asahi Shimbun, 27 December1997).
Major national construction companies put their resources behind the ‘yes’
campaign, vigorously inscribing ‘absentee’ voters for the cause.
The combination of pork barrel on the grandest scale with intimidation, designed
to subvert the expression of local will, was still not enough to sway the plebiscite
result. By a margin of 52.86 per cent to 45.33 per cent (16,639 to 14,267), the heliport
was rejected (Ōta 2000a: 75–8). Furthermore, most (11,705) of the ‘supporters’ only
did so in the conditional form, because of the rider ‘measures to protect the
environment and boost the economy can be expected’. In other words, they did not
want a heliport as such but were swayed by the promise of massive development
funding attached to it.
Despite the unambiguous referendum outcome, Higa Tetsuya, mayor of Nago,
immediately flew to Tokyo, pledged his city’s support for the heliport, and then
promptly resigned. The conservative Japan Times described the outcome as ‘a
mockery of Japanese democracy’ (Japan Times, 26 December 1997).
Two months later, however, Governor Ōta endorsed the plebiscite, overruled
Higa and declared there would be no heliport. Relations between his administration
and Tokyo promptly plummeted. Prime Minister Hashimoto refused to see him
again, and the Tokyo ‘cold shoulder’ was a key factor in his electoral defeat in the
gubernatorial elections of December 1998 (Ōta 2000a: 78ff., Yonetani 2001 passim).
The year that passed between the December 1997 Nago plebiscite and the December
1998 gubernatorial election that saw Ōta’s defeat was a momentous one in Okinawan
history. Historians are likely to argue long over the detail and significance of what
happened, but in the short term at least the ‘Ōta rebellion’ was crushed, and the
customary, dependent relationship between Naha and Tokyo restored.
With the installation from December 1998 of a governor thought to be compliant
and amenable to the heliport plan, efforts were resumed to subvert Okinawan
sentiment. Once the spigot of Tokyo money was reopened after the election of
Inamine in December 1998, there was no stemming the flow. In December 1999
a bold package of 100 billion yen in development funds over ten years for Okinawa’s
northern districts was announced, and the prefectural government made clear it was
going to ask for much more in future (Kamo 2000: 269). These sums would in turn
pale into relative insignificance beside the anticipated bonanza (of up to 1 trillion
yen) in reclamation and construction costs if or when the heliport construction
began. As Miyagi Yasuhiro, Nago City assemblyman and prominent figure in the
opposition movement, points out, funds administered by the Shimada Group come
from central government coffers through the Defence Agency’s Shisetsukyoku (the
Regional Defence Facilities Administration Bureau). They are completely
discretionary and subject to no parliamentary or other scrutiny. Between 1997 and
2000 the proportion of base-related revenue in the city budget jumped from 6.5 per
cent to 21 per cent (Miyagi 2000). It was a clear case of built-in dependence, the
‘embedding of subordinate relations’ as Yonetani (2001: 61) calls it, creating almost
certainly the seeds of future scandal.
Paralleling the commitment of lavish public works funds, the decision to hold the
July 2000 G8 summit in Nago was also designed to sway Okinawan thinking.
Summit fever swept across the island in a wave of self-congratulatory revelry
spearheaded by a coalition of central government agencies, big business and
elements within the Okinawan elite. Tokyo announced a new 2,000 yen note
featuring the Shurei Gate (Shureimon) of Okinawa’s rebuilt Shuri castle, and
constructed a multi-million dollar Convention Centre in Nago. Opposition to the
bases was wrong-footed by the series of events, and the protest movement faltered.
The final, and in a sense deepest attempt to transform the Okinawan political
landscape, was launched in 1999 by a group of academics closely connected with
Inamine and Shimada. Its central figure was the Okinawan historian Kurayoshi
Takara. He and his colleagues argued that the historic sentiments of the Okinawan
people regarding the Battle of Okinawa and the subsequent military incorporation
of the islands into the US’s Asian strategy amount to a form of ‘victim consciousness’
that impeded their positive engagement with the rest of Japan and the outside world.
They believed it was time that the Okinawans got over the past and accepted the
bases as a necessity for Japan’s relationship with the US. It was time, they argued,
to recognize that the bases contribute not only to the peace and security of the
region but also to the livelihood of the Okinawan people (Prime Minister’s
Commission 1999; Asahi Shimbun, 15 May 2000; Okinawa Taimusu, 24 and 25 May
2000). Within those parameters, Okinawa could adopt a positive regional and world
outlook and play a significant regional role mediating and linking the rest of Japan
with the Asia-Pacific region.
The ‘Okinawa Initiative’ aroused fierce criticism from other Okinawan
intellectuals because of its implicit negation of the Okinawan experience, the
assumption that a new Japan–Asia relationship could and should be predicated on
indefinite Japanese hosting of US military bases, and that the twenty-first century
regional order, like the twentieth, would be built on the use of force. It has been well
described as the attempted ‘internal colonization of . . . Okinawa’s “kokoro”, its heart
and spirit’ (Yonetani 2001: 66).
Local governments around Okinawa, excited by the thought of enjoying
beneficence on the Nago level, then began an unseemly rush to volunteer their
localities as sites for the relocation of various US military facilities, something
unimaginable at any previous time.7 In December 1999, both Governor Inamine
and the mayor of Nago, together with their respective representative bodies,
formally endorsed the Henoko base proposal (subject to certain conditions). In
elections in June 2000 for the prefectural assembly, candidates supporting Governor
Inamine won thirty of the forty-eight seats, even though voter turnout was the lowest
since Okinawa’s reversion to Japan from the US in 1972. Since then conservative
candidates have won local assembly elections in both Nago and Urasoe. However,
while local governments were fickle, there was nothing to suggest any fundamental
change in the general Okinawan heart and mind. An opinion poll of December
1999 showed that opposition to a new base was running at 59 per cent in Nago city
(23 per cent support) and 45 per cent against (32 per cent support) in Okinawa as
a whole.8 In May 2001 another opinion survey found for the first time ever a very
106 Gavan McCormack
slightly larger number of Okinawans favouring than opposing the base presence
(Daily Yomiuri, 20 May 2001). After nearly five years of bitter and intense contest over
the base relocation issue, the final outcome remains uncertain, but as of mid-2001
all that can be said with certainty is that the community remains deeply divided.
The vulnerability of Okinawan local governments and other representative
figures to Tokyo’s blandishments stems first from the simple imbalance of power
between them, but it also owes to the Okinawan ‘original sin’ of the dependent
mentality, the rarely criticized assumption that Okinawa is ‘backward’ and massive
infusions of developmental infrastructure funds are the right prescription to help it.
Only a very few were bold enough to take the position that bases and ‘development’
were two sides of a single coin, both weighing heavily and destructively on the society
and environment. Ui Jun, father of Japanese environmentalism and for the past
decade a professor at Okinawa University, spoke for this minority view in declaring
that developmental ‘aid’ should be cut rather than expanded. It would constitute
urgently needed shock therapy, forcing people to reflect on what sort of development
they really wanted (Ui 1998: 9–12).
Okinawa as ‘cosmopolitan city’

Ōta’s governorship had two objectives: demilitarization and development. On the
development front, in place of the heavy and chemical industry plans of the 1970s
and the resort tourism development of the 1980s, his post-base vision was articulated
in a series of schemes woven around the ideas of internationalism, culture,
environmentalism and leisure, with special projects – plans for a ‘cosmopolitan city’,
a ‘free trade zone’ and a ‘revitalized’ northern district – plus a special tax status and
perhaps visa-free status reminiscent of the ‘special industrial zone’ promotion of
1972 (Sasaki 1999: 249–52; Kurima 1998: 162–271). The essentials of this design
were maintained, although in slightly modified form, by Governor Inamine.
Ōta’s ‘cosmopolitan city’ was more dream than plan or strategy. It resembled
nothing so much as the ‘multifunctionpolis’, the bizarre and ephemeral ‘future city’
or ‘world city’ proposed by the Japanese government to the government of Australia
in the late 1980s (McCormack 1991, McCormack et al. 1993). Both were the
products of the fertile imagination of the same bureaucrats and consultants who
dreamed up the main schemes out of which Japan’s 1980s bubble was inflated.
While the goal of becoming a ‘world city’ in some way or another has been adopted
by at least fifty cities in China as well as various others in Japan, truly world cities,
like Tokyo, move away from it and search instead for ways to become a ‘livelihood
city’ (Okinawa Jizokuteki Hatten Kenkyūkai 1997: 64–70). As for the idea of
Okinawa as some sort of ‘go-between’ facilitating the Japan–Southeast Asia or the
Japan–China connection, this had been part of the reversion deal in 1972, but it
came to nothing, and the need for such a ‘middleman’ is no more compelling now
than it was then (Makino 1996: 213–14).
If this ‘middleman’ role were to be interpreted as involving a drastic loosening of
bureaucratic and fiscal control from Tokyo, however, that might be a different
matter. Freed of Tokyo constraints, Okinawa might indeed engage the region in
creative, interesting and economically advantageous ways. Standing on its own feet
Okinawa once flourished, as the Ryukyu kingdom, renowned for its culture and
speciality trade. There is no reason why it should not flourish again, save that Tokyo
has always firmly ruled out any major steps towards a ‘one nation, two systems’
solution under which it could begin to take real initiatives in trade and diplomacy.9
Under both governors the plan has depended upon two contradictory conditions:
financial, administrative and political backing from Tokyo, on the one hand, and
autonomy from Tokyo, on the other.
Why Okinawa has not been able to mobilize the will to pursue such a ‘one state,
two systems’ course is not easy to say. Ōta Masahide refers to ‘the fragile mixture
of submissiveness, resignation, and pessimism leaked into the formation of modern
Okinawa’ by its historical experience (Ōta 2000: 129). Such a dependent mind-set
is not easily broken. Force has not been necessary to impose the Tokyo design
because persuasion – blandishments and manipulation – plus financial incentives,
seems to work.
Glimpses of an alternative future are to be seen here and there in Okinawa. The
village of Yomitan stands out for its pioneering of a form of non-dependent local
development.10 Despite the cluster of military facilities to which it is reluctant host,
Yomitan has stuck stubbornly to its own priorities of development. While working
steadily to recover village lands still under American occupation, it resisted the
blandishments of the apparent easy-money growth – of golf courses and resorts –
in the 1980s, keeping subsidy as a proportion of its budget to below 10 per cent and
avoiding external dependence, concentrating instead on the nurturing of local
industries such as pottery and weaving, the processing of the local beni-imo vegetable,
fostering local culture and dance, and establishing in local schools a compulsory
subject called ‘Education about the Village’ (furusato kyōiku) (Yamauchi 1996).
Resolutely anti-base on the one hand, it has at the same time been imaginatively
concerned to articulate an Okinawan subjectivity and an Okinawan political
economy appropriate to the coming century. Its strategy is determinedly ‘bottom-
up’ and village morale is high. A ‘cosmopolitan city’ Okinawa already exists at
Yomitan
Conclusion
The economy of post-reversion Okinawa rests on a tripod of kichi (bases), kōkyō jigyō
(public works) and kankō (tourism), ‘3 Ks’, each of which denotes an external
dependence. Okinawa’s budget is massively subsidized, and the strings attached
serve to deprive Okinawa of real choices about its future. As with drugs of
dependence so with the economy of dependence: the more the subject is hooked,
the more difficult it becomes to break free of the addiction, which in turn requires
higher and higher doses to maintain.
More than a decade after the end of the Cold War the prospect of Okinawa
achieving mainland-like status by demilitarizing is as remote as ever. Henoko village
becomes the very fraught and unstable centre of the US–Japan alliance. For the
Japanese state, caught between the desire to give full support to the American
108 Gavan McCormack
strategic design, on the one hand, and the inescapable consequence of having to ride
rough-shod over its Okinawan citizens, on the other, a quiet disposition of the
problem is as necessary as it proves difficult to accomplish. Governor Inamine, who
came to power in December 1998 promising to end the ‘recession due to prefectural
politics’ (namely, Ōta’s stubbornness) to revitalize the economy and offer hope to
Okinawa’s youth, presides in 2001 over an economy whose unemployment rate is
almost exactly the same as when he took office (8.7 per cent as of December 2000
under Inamine as against 9.2 per cent in August 1998 under Ōta).
It was Inamine who in 1998 first enunciated the two conditions – joint
civil–military use and a fifteen-year time limit – on the Henoko marine base which
provided the formula to get it accepted by Okinawan governments. Now, since
both conditions are plainly unacceptable to the Pentagon, and therefore to the
government in Tokyo, like Ōta in 1996–8 he faces escalating and contradictory
pressures.11 His references to Okinawa as a ‘magma’ continually threatening to
erupt bespeak deep anxiety.12 When Tokyo in due course publishes details of its
Henoko base plan, Inamine, torn between the pressures of Tokyo and Washington,
on the one hand, and his commitment to his constituents, on the other, will find
himself impaled on the horns of precisely the same dilemma that destroyed his
predecessor: to serve Tokyo or to serve Okinawa?
As Medoruma Shun, the novelist and passionate and prophetic Okinawan voice
from Nago, insists, it may be that things now seem to be going the way Tokyo wishes.
The ‘Okinawa Initiative’ may not have been successful, but SACO and the Okinawa
Policy Council and the Shimada Group in concert have pushed Okinawa a long
way. However, it would only take some new incident for the consensus to collapse
in disturbances of a scale not seen in Okinawa since the Koza ‘riots’ of 1970: ‘The
magma continues to build up’, he says (Medoruma 2000: 52–3). Since he wrote
that, it has been stretched further by fresh incidents of arson and indecent assault
by US troops, and by their commander General Earl Hailston’s angry and
contemptuous email reference to Okinawan leaders as ‘all nuts and a bunch of
wimps’ (Asahi Evening News, 9 February 2001). Early in 2001, prefectural, city, town
and village assemblies all adopted resolutions calling for US forces to be more tightly
controlled and their number slashed, and in February Governor Inamine told
Foreign Minister Kōno (Yōhei) that Okinawa ‘can no longer bear’ the burden of
hosting so much of the US military presence (Japan Times, 26 February 2001).
Whether in the end the magma can be contained by platitudes, promises, dollops
of money and insistence on the prerogatives of state power, is an open question.
However, reflecting the relatively short history of ‘Japanese-style’ economic
development in Okinawa, an uncritical faith in economic growth remains strong.
The ‘Okinawan problem’ is widely seen as exclusively one of bases, which must be
cut back and eventually eliminated, while ‘development’ is seen as something to be
welcomed, boosted and maximized. It is this faith that provides the leverage Tokyo
needs to manipulate and perhaps to achieve its will. After a much longer experience
of the doken kokka elsewhere in Japan, for instance at Isahaya in Kyushu, on the
Yoshino River in Tokushima and in entire prefectures such as Nagano whose
Governor Tanaka Yasuo has issued a frontal challenge to the system, the tide begins
to turn against it; but in Okinawa its fundamentally pathological character is grasped
only dimly.
The twentieth century has not been kind to Okinawa. In many ways its geography
determined its fate. Its importance to the rising nation-state of Japan in the first half
of the century, and to both Japan and the United States jointly in the second half,
was such that interventions to crush or diminish its subjectivity were constant. As
the twenty-first century opens, the pressures are no less and the urgency and the
stakes are, if anything, greater. By its history and its geography, as well as by its
distinctive marine, botanical and zoological endowment, Okinawa is central to the
large issues of our times: the accomplishment of a post-Cold War and post nation-
state-centred regional and global order, on the one hand, and the achievement of
an ecological modus vivendi between humanity and its natural environment, on the
other. Since reversion in 1972 Okinawa has made little progress in getting rid of
the bases, while from the industrial development projects of the 1970s and the resort
vision of the 1980s to the ‘cosmopolitan city’ formula of the 1990s, dependence has
been continually reproduced.
The pursuit of a ‘local’ Okinawa-centred development path and an Okinawan-
centred identity in the region would depend on the cultivation of Okinawan values
and identity. It was precisely such a shared sense of membership in Okinawa as a
moral community which informed the spontaneous, province-wide outbursts of
anger and grief over the 1995 child-rape incident, and likewise the Henoko anti-
heliport movement that erupted in 1996–7. If there is any lesson to be learned from
such experiences, it is likely to be that Okinawa’s ‘victimhood’ and its entrenched
dependence will be resolved and transcended only to the extent that a new
subjectivity is articulated, based on a consensus about the kind of society and the
kind of values Okinawan people wish to construct.
Notes
1 This chapter recapitulates some points from earlier papers, here brought up to date
and more sharply focused on the question of development and dependency. See earlier
works listed in the References (e.g. 1999, 1999a, 1999b).
2 For excellent photographs, see Kudaka in Nihon Yachō no Kai Yanbaru Shibu 1994,
also Taira and Itō (1997: 16–17) and Okinawa Kyōiku Bunka Sentā (1996: 18–20).
3 Note that the whole of Okinawa prefecture, all its islands, amounts to only one-seventh
the area of Hawaii.
4 For comparison, the average per capita daily consumption is 900 litres in the US and
30 litres in Africa (Larbi-Bouguerra 1997: 24–5).
5 Ōta (2000a) offers an authoritative account of these events. See also discussion in
Yonetani (2001).
6 Speech by Kyūma Fumio, Director-General of the Defence Agency, in Nago City,
13 December 1997.
7 Higashi Village, Okinawa City and Katsuren town (on Tsuten Island) vied with
Henoko for the right to house the relocated Futenma marine airbase; Kin City asked
for the Sobe Communications Facility when its present site is returned to Yomitan
village; Iemura volunteered to host parachute training exercises; and Urasoe Chamber
of Commerce and Industry called for the military port facilities to be moved there from
Naha (various media reports, 1999–2000).
110 Gavan McCormack
8 See the results of the Asahi Shimbun and Okinawa Taimusu survey of opinion, published in
the Okinawa Taimusu, 19 December, 1999.
9 Kamo (2000: 274–80) has called for a ‘Fundamental Law on Okinawan Autonomy’
(Okinawa Jichi Kihonhō).
10 On Yomitan, see Sasaki (2000) and Sasaki (1999).
11 Inamine did make one significant concession early in 2001, when he announced,
counter to his commitments of 1998, that the new airport could be built on an offshore
structure, not necessarily on land (Asahi Online. Asahi Shimbun, 9 March 2001).
12 In English, see Inamine (2000). And in February 2001: ‘Okinawa exists on magma. If
someone makes even a small hole, what is underneath will come out’ (Asahi Evening
News, 9 February 2001).
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112 Gavan McCormack
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—— (2001) Personal communication.
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7 Beyond hondo
Devolution and Okinawa
Ōta Masahide
With the passage of the Chihō Bunken Suishin Hō or the Decentralization Promotion
Law (DPL) in 1995, decentralization has gone forward to different degrees
throughout Japan, thereby moving from the debate stage to the implementation
stage. The central government has since then entrusted some measure of authority
to local governments in an attempt to respond to increasing demands for local
autonomy in the changing times of a globalized world. Yet decentralization in
Japan is still in its nascent stage, with a strong bureaucratic inclination on the
part of the national government to inhibit the process of decentralization. The
people, so long used to a highly centralized state and its efficient, yet arrogant,
bureaucrats, are now groping for ways to make their government work for their
own benefits.
On 20 December 1996, the Committee for the Promotion of Decentralization
(CPD) submitted its first report to then Prime Minister Hashimoto Ryūtaro,
followed by the second (8 July 1997), third (2 September 1997) and fourth (9 October
1997) reports. Thereafter, the government worked out a comprehensive plan,
incorporating a range of opinions concerning decentralization, and submitted it to
the regular session of the Diet in 1998. As stated by Barrett:
On 8 July 1999, the Japanese Diet passed amendments to 475 existing laws in
order to implement a set of measures designed to promote the decentralization
of power from central to local government. Decentralization (chihō bunken) is
viewed as a prescription for the ills facing contemporary Japanese governance.
The degree of decentralization that actually takes place will be a key indicator
by which to measure the relative success of the 1990s reform agenda.
(2000: 33)
The Ministry of Home Affairs (from January 2001 part of the Ministry of Public
Management, Home Affairs, Posts and Telecommunications) issued a statement
explaining the reasons why decentralization was needed:
1 Over-concentration of power, money, people and information in the central

government has stripped local regions of resources and vitality.
Beyond hondo 115
2 Overemphasis on nationwide uniformity and fairness ignores local conditions
and diversity.
3 Therefore, promotion of decentralization is needed in order to respond to the
circumstances and challenges of a new age.
With regard to the challenges of a new age, Prime Minister Hashimoto said in
his policy speech to the 140th Diet on 20 January 1995: ‘We are now in an era
when the world is rapidly becoming integrated and when people, products, capital
and information flow freely and it is clear that the current framework is an obstacle
to the vigorous development of our country. Therefore, we must immediately create
an economic and social system that can lead the global trend.’ His successor, Obuchi
Keizō, in his policy speech to the 143rd Diet, also said that current administrative
reforms would result in a reduction in the number and size of central government
ministries and agencies (thus, 23 ministries and agencies were reduced to one
Cabinet Office and 12 ministries and agencies in January 2001), and would further
promote decentralization, deregulation, freedom of information, political reform
and improved ethics for the civil service.
The DPL set out three key aims for the implementation of decentralization:
First, the roles of central and local government need to be better clarified and
responsibilities divided accordingly. Second, measures should be developed to
promote revitalization of regional communities throughout Japan. Third,
effective measures should be developed to increase the independence and self-
reliance of local authorities. Under the DPL, central government was given
responsibility to comprehensively review the institutional changes required to
promote decentralization.
(Barrett 2000: 33–4)
In the meantime, local governments have been required to improve their

operational efficiency and make preparations to deal effectively with the new respon-
sibilities that they are supposed to shoulder in the course of the decentralization
process (Barrett 2000: 34).
This chapter seeks to analyse what has been taking place under the guise of
decentralization in Okinawa. Drawing on my experience in dealing with the
national government during eight years as governor of Okinawa, I would like to
follow the process of devolution in Japan, a unitary state where the highly efficient
bureaucracy fortifies itself against change, and to analyse the historical relationship
between Tokyo and Okinawa. In addition, the chapter examines the specific ways
in which the central government limits the independent role of the Okinawa
prefectural government and how the new law will affect the prefecture’s future role.
The problems faced in attempting to gain autonomy in Okinawa are a useful
touchstone by which to measure the present state of decentralization in Japan.
116 Ōta Masahide
1 Definition of decentralization
2
According to Barrett, decentralization has two basic features:
3
4
1 administrative decentralization – responsibility is transferred from central to
5
lower levels of government, thereby giving them more managerial
6
discretion, but not necessarily financial independence. Local government
7
remains subordinate to central authority; and
8
2 political decentralization – authority transferred to democratically elected
9
lower levels of government. Local government is placed on an equal
0
footing with central government and financial autonomy is increased.
11
Devolution and localization: local government is given the power to independently
12
develop projects and programmes. Local control over revenue and capital
13
expenditure is increased. Restrictive rules governing organizational
14
structures, staffing, budget utilization, revenue raising and contracting-
15
out are removed.
16
Deconcentration/delegation: transfer of responsibilities from central ministries to
17
field offices and autonomous agencies. Consequently, service provision is
18
brought closer to citizens while remaining part of central government. The
19
heads of these field offices/agencies are generally unelected and are given
20
a certain amount of discretionary power.
21
(Barrett 2000: 35)
22
23
24
25 Delegated functions
26 Authority Mandatory regulations
27
Central government
National government participation

28
Local government
29 Judicial review of local ordinances
30
31 Subsidy system
32
33
Financial Local reallocation tax
34 resources Regulation of bond issuance

35 Taxation regulation
36
37
38
39 Descent from Heaven (amakudan)
40
Human
41 resources Transfer/dispatch of central officials
42
43 Figure 7.1 Main forms of control exercised by central government over local government
44 Source: Diagram made by Barrett (2000: 37) based on Zukai Gyōsei Kaikaku no Shikumi by Namikawa
45 Shino.
Beyond hondo 117
Figure 7.1 shows the main forms of control exercised by the central government
over local government. Barrett presents examples of increased central government
control as follows:
delegated functions (or more specifically ‘agency-assigned functions’ – kikan

inin jimu) are particularly controversial since central government can assign
them to local government, which then acts as an agent of central government.
The local assembly has limited influence over the implementation of these
functions. A total of 128 assigned functions were originally set out in the Local
Autonomy Act. This had risen to 327 by 1980 and 561 by 1995.
Local government can enact ordinances within the limits of national law.
However, each time a local authority attempts to enact an innovative policy,
the concerned ministry can argue that the ordinance conflicts with national
law and is therefore illegal. It has been common practice for local government
to confirm with the relevant ministry that any ordinance enacted is intra vires.
In cases where central and local government are in dispute regarding the
legal ramifications of an ordinance the affair is normally settled through
the courts. The dominant legal interpretation in these cases has been to allow
ordinances in areas not covered by national law when (a) they regulate the
same activity covered by the law but for different purposes and (b) when they
regulate different activities for similar purposes.
In the face of these centralizing tendencies, it is easy to understand why
administrative reform, including the decentralization of greater powers to local
government, has been high on the Japanese political agenda for decades.
(2000: 37–8)
No one doubts that the central government maintains considerable influence in

a wide range of ‘disputed’ areas, such as social security and environmental conser-
vation. According to Barrett,
[The] CPD’s interim Report recommended abolition of agency-assigned functions.

However, resistance from central ministries and agencies resulted in CPD
stepping back in the Second Recommendation Report to a more conservative
proposal that involved abolition of around 60 per cent of assigned functions. The
remainder of these functions would be retained under the condition that the
rules underpinning central control are clearly specified in national legislation.
(Barrett 2000: 42, original emphasis)
In the meantime, the ‘legislative advantage of central government has been

maintained. If local governments do not act in accordance with ministerial decisions,
then they are in effect acting illegally. In cases of conflict between the two tiers, the
central ministries have decided that they will not refer to the newly established
“Central–Local Dispute Resolution Committee” ’ (CLDRC) (Barrett 2000: 42).
‘[F]or some ministries, the reform process is a battle for survival likely to be
characterized by inter-ministerial fighting with losers and winners. Consequently,
118 Ōta Masahide
this central resistance to decentralization essentially redirected the implementation
of the reform proposals to an anti-local-autonomy (han chihō jichi teki) stance’ (Barrett
2000: 44).
‘[I]t is particularly significant’, according to Barrett, that ‘central government
relinquished the right of referral to the Committee [CLDRC], while at the same
time reserving its right to take legal action against local government and, in extreme
cases, to take over an administrative function should local government fail in its
duties’ (Barrett 2000: 46). Accordingly, ‘[a]t face value, the current decentralization
reforms appear to do little to change the power relationship between central and
local government. While some administrative powers have been transferred, the
political decision-making structures remain untouched’ (Barrett 2000: 47).
For instance, public works projects, social security and environmental conser-
vation, to name a few, have been areas where central and local government disputes
have arisen, but central control has always been maintained in those areas.
Moreover, ‘public works projects play a significant role in both local politics and
economic development’ in Japan, making it an effective tool for central control of
local affairs through subsidies (Barrett 2000: 47). ‘The decentralization reforms to
date leave the public sector financial system virtually untouched, with the First DPP
only proposing a 0.7 per cent cut in the national subsidies to local government’
(Barrett 2000: 47).
Another example concerns the expropriation and the use of land owned by anti-
US military base landowners. The central government agencies, Defence Agency
and the Prime Minister’s Office (from January 2001 part of the Cabinet Office), have
been accorded exclusive powers through recent amendment to the Special Measures
Law for the Expropriation and Use of Land used by the US military in Japan
(SMLEUL), that enabled them to expedite the deliberation of the Prefectural Land
Expropriation Committee (PLEC) if it ‘threatens to impede the expropriation and
use of the land in question’. This made it possible for the government to continue
to use the land in question even after leases expired, foregoing the judgement by the
PLEC. In this way, the power of the national government has in fact been increased,
rather than decreased, under the banner of promoting decentralization.
This is the real situation vis-à-vis decentralization in Japan. However, Barrett
is right in pointing out that ‘[i]t is all too easy to argue that decentralization is
meaningless without the transfer of financial autonomy and that the ongoing
administrative reforms in Japan could actually result in the creation of stronger
central government ministries as well as the continuation of special interest politics
closely tied to the subsidy system’ (Barrett 2000: 48).
Role of the national government

Let us consider the role of the national government. Zaimushō or the Ministry of
Finance (MOF) speaks of the role of the national government as follows:
Historically, the role of government was viewed at the dawn of capitalism

in the late seventeenth century as being a ‘night-watchman state’, that is,
Beyond hondo 119
government should operate on the smallest scale possible, providing such
minimal services as national defense, and domestic law and order. Later,
however, as the government, economy, and society matured, the needs of
the people expanded and became more varied, and the role expected of the
government also expanded.
(Zaimushō 1998: 8)
The central government of today provides, in addition to defence, diplomacy,

judiciary, police, fire-fighting services, and so on. It also plays the central role in
the collection of taxes. According to MOF, taxation has an extremely long history,
with a system set up by the Taika Reforms of AD 645, which was later refined in the
eighth century by the Taihō Ritsuryō edict to establish the ‘So-Yō-Chō system’ of levies
in the form of crop, labour and textiles. More than a millennium later, the basis for
the present tax system was laid out in the postwar recommendations of the 1949
mission to Japan of US tax specialists led by Professor Carl S. Shoup of Columbia
University (Zaimushō 1998: 8).
The Shoup report gave detailed recommendations necessary for the decentral-
ization and democratization of Japan. With regard to the problems that local
government are subject to in Japan, the recommendations noted that ‘the division
of tax sources among the three levels of government is in some respects inappro-
priate, and the control of local tax sources by the central government is excessive’
(The Shoup Mission 1949: A1). The subsidies and grants from the national
government ‘are often determined arbitrarily; they are unpredictable in amount;
they are set without due regard for differences among local areas in need of
money; they sometimes place a strain on local resources by requiring that national
payments be matched locally; and taken together, they involve excessive control in
detail by central government over local authorities’ (The Shoup Mission 1949: A1).
The Shoup recommendations further stated, ‘because the national government
participates in so many activities of municipal government, local autonomy
is impaired’ (The Shoup Mission 1949: A2). For instance, primary education,
police and fire protection, and elections have been transferred as independent
functions of local government, yet the attitude prevails that these are national
functions being carried on by local government and therefore requiring direct
subsidy and national control. The Shoup group recommended finally: ‘Local
government must be strengthened because of its potential contributions to the
democratic ways of life. With strong, independent and effective local governing
bodies, political power is diffused and placed close to the people rather than
centralized in a distant and impersonal national government’ (The Shoup Mission
1949: A2).
Role of local government

Now let us address the role of local government. As a means of strengthening local
government finances in order to promote the local share of authority and improve
local welfare, a system of local consumption taxes was instituted in 1997. In the
120 Ōta Masahide
past, the issuance of local government bonds was subject to various limitations
imposed by the central government, including the need for formal permission to be
granted by the Minister of Home Affairs. Under the DPL, however, this system was
revised in favour of a ‘consultation system’.
Generally speaking, local governments in Japan possess provisions for the exercise
of direct democracy, which are not seen at the national level. For instance, after
collecting signatures from 2 per cent of the registered voters in a given locality,
residents may request the governor, mayor or other head of the local government
to establish, change or abolish ordinances. By collecting the signatures of one-
third or more of the voters, moreover, petitions can be made to local election
administration commissions to dissolve local assemblies or to dismiss the head or
key local officials (Zaimushō 1998: 4). As a result of changes in the political awareness
of the citizens, a growing number of local governments have begun to establish
voting ordinances which allow citizens to vote on important local issues. It must be
pointed out that this trend is not based on the Local Autonomy Law, but on the
constitutional right to establish local ordinances (Article 94).
At present, local ordinances have been used in this way with respect to such issues
as the building of nuclear power plants, reclamation of seaside marsh areas, the
continued presence of US military bases and the building of waste disposal facilities.
In the case of Okinawa, reflecting the need to respond to complaints about local
government functions and activities raised by prefectural residents, the Okinawa
prefectural government in 1994 established a local ombudsman system. This was
the first time for such a system to be established at the prefectural level in Japan.
The ombudsman was charged with investigating various aspects of local administra-
tion. In cases where it is judged that the reason for complaints results from
shortcomings on the part of the prefectural government, the ombudsman is required
to make his or her views public and advise the local government to resolve the
problem in question. In this way, the ombudsman system can serve to remedy and
improve the operation of local government.
Okinawa, devolution and US military bases

Having discussed the roles of both central and local governments, next let us proceed
to examine the Okinawa prefectural government in relation to devolution. The
unhappy relationship between the national and the Okinawan local government
during the 1950s was pointed out by George H. Kerr, author of Okinawa: The History
of an Island People:
Fundamental ‘Japanese polity’ does not hold Okinawa to be a vital part of

the nation’s body; it is expendable, under duress, if thereby the interests of the
home islands can be served advantageously. The mystical Japanese sense of
national identity centers in the home provinces, imperial domain (in theory, at
least) since the dawn of history.
(Kerr 1958: 10)
Beyond hondo 121
Kerr also states that Okinawa has shared:
the fate of many frontier territories too small and too poor to attract attention
in times of peace but doomed to rise to international prominence during crises
among the world powers . . . It cannot escape the consequences of wars and
revolutions in larger states nearby; the postwar ‘Okinawa Problem’ was
produced by events set in train long ago by accidents of geography and history.
(Kerr 1958: 3)
While such sentiments are understandable, it would not be correct to attribute the
Okinawa problem entirely to geography and history. For, after all, in many cases
problems arose due to human mistakes, political or otherwise. Former president of
Waseda University, Ōhama Nobumoto, who hails from Okinawa, made similar
remarks saying, the ‘Okinawa problem’ was partly due to political errors. Chalmers
Johnson, Chairman, Japan Policy Research Institute, claims that the Okinawan
situation is a result of bunichi, or a contempt for Japan ( Johnson 1997: 2). Likewise,
George Feifer, author of Tennozan, mounts the criticism that the Meiji government
seized Okinawa and offered to divide its archipelago and give half to China. He goes
on to say that ‘[t]he motive in 1945 remained the same: benefit to the Japanese
mainland’ (Feifer 2000).
Referring to the issue stemming from the American occupation of Okinawa since
1945 and the postwar development of the ‘Okinawa problem’ in international
affairs, Kerr points out:
At the very heart of these two subjects [the American occupation and the
postwar development of the ‘Okinawa Problem’ in international affairs] lies
the story of Okinawa’s traditional relationship with Japan, for it is difficult to
believe that the Japanese government would have signed a treaty of peace
which permitted unlimited, exclusive alien military occupation of any other
prefecture in the country. Why, then, Okinawa province?
(Kerr 1958: 10)
One partial answer is related to Article 3 of the Peace Treaty signed in 1951, which
states, ‘Japan will concur in any proposal of the United States to the United Nations
to place under its trusteeship system, with the United Sates as the sole administering
authority, Nansei Shoto south of 29 north latitude (including the Ryukyu Islands
and the Daito Islands) . . . Pending the making of such a proposal and affirmative
action thereon the United States will have the right to exercise all and any powers
of administration, legislation and jurisdiction over the territory and inhabitants of
these islands, including their territorial waters’. But as Kerr further states:
Neither the formal documentation which underlies the postwar occupation

nor the treaty anywhere recognizes and defines precisely the traditional or legal
relationship of the Ryukyus to Japan. Left thus in a diplomatic twilight zone,
122 Ōta Masahide
uncommitted by the victors or the vanquished, this frontier territory became
the diplomat’s delight and essential tool, the quid pro quo.
(Kerr 1958:10)
Okinawa was often described as the ‘tail of the lizard’ (expendable) or the pawn of
the Pacific, and it is a well-known fact that Okinawa’s reversion to Japan was
accomplished as a quid pro quo for the virtual free use of Okinawan bases by the
US military. Feifer comments on the fact that ‘[i]t is supported by the historical
evidence that foreign planning for Okinawa has always been for foreign interest, at
the island’s certain expense’ (Feifer 1992: 562). Okinawans sought to accomplish
three objectives by reversion: first, to restore national identity under the Japanese
constitution; second, to close the economic and social gaps between Okinawa and
the mainland; and third, to reduce in size and number the US military bases. The
first objective was achieved upon reversion (1972); the second has been achieved to
a considerable extent so far, but the third one remains unsolved. Even today, 75 per
cent of all the US military ‘facilities and areas’ in Japan are concentrated in the
limited land area of Okinawa. Besides, during the twenty-five years since reversion,
the US military facilities in mainland Japan were reduced by 60 per cent, whereas
the reduction rate in Okinawa during the same period amounted only to 16 per cent,
although the Diet passed a resolution at the time of reversion to continue to review
the base situation on Okinawa with the aim of gradual reduction. This situation has
not been much rectified to date, but it has been complicated by ‘other issues that
are poisoning Japan–American relations and that constitute particular grievances
for the Okinawans’ ( Johnson 2001: 27).
To prevent Okinawan resentment from boiling over, the Japanese government
has been using a ‘carrot-and-stick’ policy toward Okinawa, by promising economic
development projects, on the one hand, and by forcing Okinawans, on the other
hand, to accept the government’s plan to relocate, not reduce, military bases within
Okinawa and by expropriating private land for military use through stop-gap
legislative measures, which threatened to infringe upon private land ownership.
The property rights and the principles of local self-government were my main points
of contention at the hearings of the Japanese Supreme Court in 1996 against the
Japanese government’s charge that I had neglected my duties when I refused to
sign authorizations to allow it to expropriate private land for military use.
During the years of American occupation, Okinawans were subject to a number
of measures established by US military government authorities that were
questionable if judged by the standard of the human and civil rights guaranteed
under the Japanese constitution. Prominent among those injustices were cases of
forceful expropriation of privately-owned land by the US military in total disregard
of the property rights of Okinawans. The situation, in essence, has not changed
today, some thirty years after reversion, except that the Japanese government now
takes land under the façade of legality.
The revision to the SMLEUL was passed by an overwhelming majority (Lower
House by about 90 per cent, Upper House by about 80 per cent) in April 1997. The
bill was to revise the existing laws so that even if the leases expired before the PLEC
Beyond hondo 123
had finished surveying procedures, the US military could legally occupy the
land under Japanese law. This near unanimous vote by the Diet surprised and
angered many Okinawans, who interpreted it as a serious assault by the Japanese
government on the property rights of Okinawans. Moreover, the law transferred to
the national government the final authority to decide on the use of land for military
bases as a national government function, almost reducing the deliberative procedures
of the PLEC to a mere formality, and stripped the governor of his power to refuse
to sign the documents necessary to authorize the land use. And the law, it has been
pointed out, is intended to apply only to Okinawa, in violation of Article 14 of the
constitution – equality under the law. Article 29 of the Japanese constitution
guarantees private ownership of property, but this right is denied to those landowners
whose land was confiscated forcibly by the American authorities during the
occupation days and who therefore want their land returned to use it for their own
purposes. Aside from the land issue, another major point of concern is the relocation
of military bases and subsidies for economic development from the national
government. An article in the Mainichi Daily News on 7 September 1997 stated: ‘The
central government officially denies a direct connection between the transfer of
Futenma Air Station and the G-8 summit but there is no doubt that the government
hopes to use the summit as a lever to facilitate a solution to the Futenma problem.’
But the link between ‘the base problem’ and economic development is obvious. The
political role played by the governing party in Tokyo in exploiting Okinawa’s
dependence on central government funding can be illustrated concretely by the
economic benefits Okinawa received following the November 1998 prefectural
election. Shortly after the conservative candidate Inamine Keiichi defeated me in
the election, the Tokyo government immediately decided to appropriate a special
fund of 10 billion yen for the new governor to explore possibilities for further
development. This grant, a one-time payment, was double the amount made
available to my administration. At the same time, the government resumed its
Okinawa Development Programme, which had been suspended since I declared my
opposition to the construction of the marine air facility in the Henoko area of Nago
City, northern Okinawa, in February 1998. The programme was designed to help
Okinawa stand on its own feet through economic and social development. The
government also ear-marked a special appropriation of 100 billion yen to be used
in ten years for public works and non-public works projects in twelve municipalities
in northern Okinawa. Out of this fund, some 2.4 billion yen covering twenty-six
projects has already been requested for the fiscal year 2001.
In addition, the government by Cabinet decision has established four councils to
deliberate on Okinawa’s military base-related problems. The council members
include ministers, the governor of Okinawa, the mayor of Nago and the heads of
the municipalities where the military bases are already located. The establishment
of the councils, all set up to facilitate the solution of problems faced by these
municipalities of the use of land when or if the facilities are relocated, set in motion
preparations for the plan to construct the marine facility. Also, the Special Action
Committee on Okinawa (SACO), which announced in December 1996 the reloca-
tion of eleven US ‘facilities and areas’ (most of them, including Futenma airbase and
124 Ōta Masahide
Naha military port, are to be relocated within Okinawa), doles out special subsidies
to the municipalities which have agreed to accept the SACO accord. Likewise, the
Round Table for Consultation on the (problems of) the Municipalities with Military
Bases (also called the ‘Shimada Discussion Group’ after the Chairman, Professor
Shimada Haruo of Keio University) which was established as a private advisory
organ of the Chief Cabinet Secretary, makes recommendations for grants on social
and economic revitalization projects for those municipalities.
SACO, whose members include high-ranking US and Japanese military and
civilian officials, was established on 19 November 1995 to study the feasibility of the
withdrawal and relocation of military facilities in Okinawa after the huge 21 October
1995 protest rally over the rape of a 12-year-old school girl by three Marines
(4 September). The committee issued its final report on 2 December 1996, proposing
the relocation and withdrawal of eleven facilities and areas. Seven of them were to
be relocated within Okinawa, and the others, just unnecessary parts of existing
bases, were to be returned. The trouble is that while the Okinawan side demanded
the unconditional return of these facilities, the SACO report recommended
‘relocation within Okinawa’. This poses serious problems for land-scarce Okinawa,
where the majority of all US installations are already concentrated. This, together
with fifteen air spaces and twenty-nine sea zones exclusively used by the US forces,
‘hampers the expansion of transportation networks, the systematic development of
cities, reclamation of sea areas and the procurement of land for industrial use; in
effect, the overall industrial promotion of Okinawa is affected’ (Okinawa Prefectural
Government 1994: 1)
On 8 June 2001, the government proposed three construction methods and eight
possible sites for an alternate facility for Futenma in Henoko presenting the proposed
cost for each method depending on whether the facility would be built inside, outside
or on top of the coral reef off Henoko. Estimated costs for the 2,600-metre long air
station vary from 140 billion yen to 1 trillion yen, depending on the location, and it
would take six to eighteen and a-half years to build. The Ryūkyū Shimpō, an Okinawan
daily with a prefecture-wide circulation, stated in its 4 June 2001 editorial that the
crux of the military base problem lies in the fact that relocation plans are progressing
concurrently with economic development projects. It further argues that people
in northern Okinawa, especially Nago citizens, feel that the situation has reached
the point of no return and it seems no longer a choice between relocation and
development. In other words, residents think that although the base relocation
and economic development are separate issues as the government has repeatedly
emphasized, the two issues have been actually linked before they knew it, because
the government is proceeding with its plan for relocation as if it were a quid pro quo
for economic development. People object to the link because it is tantamount to
imposing the central government’s will (plans) on the prefectural people under the
pretext of economic development, and is detrimental to local autonomy.
Beyond hondo 125
Economic dependence
Okinawa, struggling to build a viable, self-sustainable economy, which is essential
for the autonomy of the prefecture, is handicapped by the obstacles mentioned
above. But to make the matter worse, there are those in Okinawa as well as in Japan
who welcome as much subsidy as possible for public works projects being carried
out or planned for Okinawa. In her working paper, Aurelia George Mulgan severely
criticizes the government for seeking to manipulate the economic self-interest of
local businesses hoping for greater patronage, but particularly local construction
contractors dependent on government-subsidized public works for a living. ‘The
decision to host the G-8 summit in Nago in July 2000 is yet another gesture to shore
up the prefectural economy and to appease Okinawan sentiment over the Futenma
relocation issue,’ wrote Mulgan (Mulgan 2000: 21).
The issue has sharply divided public opinion in Okinawa because it means the
construction of a new military base in a sea area which is abundant in marine life
and is an important feeding ground for an endangered species of dugongs. Yet there
is no denying the fact that, as many observers point out, subsidies and other material
incentives are a very blunt instrument for dealing with local protest over base issues,
and such subsidy politics exploits the economic weakness and dependence of
Okinawa on the central government because government subsidies and handouts
have become such a necessary prop to the prefectural economy. This economic
dependence works as a strong and effective tool by which to force Okinawa to accede
to the policy of the central government. According to the home page of the Finance
Section of the Okinawa prefectural government, the ratio of the prefectural tax
revenue in the fiscal year 2000 budget amounts to only 13.0 per cent, compared with
the average of 19.5 per cent for the seven prefectures of the Kyushu area (Okinawa
included), whereas the tax allocated to Okinawa prefecture (from the central
government) plus the national treasury disbursements add up to 67.9 per cent of
the budget in contrast to the 50.3 per cent average for the seven prefectures
(http://www.pref.okinawa.jp/bubetu.html).
Emerging movements for independence

Given the current situation in Okinawa, it is no surprise to find a number of
observers who link the resentment in the prefecture regarding the bases to the
government’s attempt to appease Okinawans with money. During talks with high-
ranking Japanese government officials, Governor Inamine Keiichi often points to
‘the magma underground’, referring to the pent-up feeling of prefectural people
ready to erupt whenever serious crimes or incidents involving Americans occur.
The officials, feeling guilty about consigning so many military bases to Okinawa,
usually refrain from responding to the governor’s comment, but the governor’s
message seems to get through. ‘In the past five years, the method has become
increasingly conspicuous to use this “military base card” to make the government
set up various economic development projects for Okinawa’, stated the Okinawa
Taimusu, the other leading paper in the prefecture, in its 21 October 2000 editorial,
126 Ōta Masahide
and continued, ‘not that it is totally a bad idea, but the method has extremely
dangerous aspects’. The editorial warned that benefits so earned are like camphor
injections or temporary stimulants and eventually develop over-dependence on
national government subsidies at the expense of self-reliance.
Chikushi Tetsuya, a well-known Japanese TV newscaster and commentator, said
in his newspaper column in November 2000 that while the abnormal situation in
which a vast alien military presence continues to remain unchanged over the past
five years, the prefectural government and its supporters have shown an increasing
tendency to yield to the central government’s coaxing in what is termed as a
‘pragmatic approach’ to the situation. ‘The iron principle the government employs
here is divide and rule,’ Chikushi states, ‘the leaders who sat side by side on the
podium at the 1995 protest rally are now politically divided’ (Okinawa Taimusu,
5 November 2000). The national government, by promising various economic
development projects for the underdeveloped northern areas of Okinawa, on the
one hand, indirectly forces Okinawans, on the other hand, to accept government
proposals for constructing or relocating military bases. This puts Okinawans in an
inextricable bind and the only way out may be independence. Similarly, Kōji Taira
states: ‘Okinawans’ desire for independence seems always to be latent in their minds,
becoming visible from time to time in various forms, and asserts in the end that
instead of accepting external decisions, Okinawans might consider taking the matter
in to their own hands and settle their international status once and for all on their
own initiative’ (Taira 1999: 172).
The year 1997 saw a significant rise in debates over independence. In Naha, small
groups of intellectuals were involved in heated discussions on the subject in informal
gatherings, at extempore symposiums, and so on. In February of that year, a member
of the House of Representatives from Okinawa asked the government what it would
do if Okinawa wanted independence. It was a question too moot to elicit an answer.
In March, Ōyama Chōjō, former mayor of Koza City (now Okinawa City) and a
fervent reversionist, published an instant bestseller entitled Okinawa Dokuritsu Sengen
(A Declaration of Okinawan Independence). Ōyama stirred passions when he stated ‘Japan
is not the fatherland of Okinawans’ (Ōyama 1997: 6).
In the meantime, the Okinawa Jichirō or Municipal Workers Union, with support
from the All-Japan Prefectural and Municipal Workers Union, prepared an
‘Okinawa Project Report’ concerning Okinawa’s measures for self-government.
The report states:
Autonomy (jiritsu) is to break away from the cycle of dependence. There must
be a consensus which recognizes the difficulties faced along the hard road
towards this ‘autonomy’. [It continues to argue, that] while the legislation of
decentralization did include some devolution measures through the
abolishment of the ‘legally entrusted functions’ system, the amendments did not
include the transferal of financial or diplomatic powers exclusively held by the
national government. We see the necessity to enact further devolutionary
measures in order to establish a system wherein local regions can play a decisive
role in forming their own future. While much time and debate has been
Beyond hondo 127
expended on conceptualizing a system of devolution for the case of Okinawa,
we must look at the political, social, and conceptual conditions which have
impeded these plans from being implemented at the ground level.
( Jichirō 1998: 75)
In essence, this proposal for a ‘Special System of Autonomy within the Ryukyu
Islands’ calls for legislation in order to implement a system aimed at solving the
problems faced by Okinawa, both economically and in terms of the issue of US
military bases, and to foster respect for historical, cultural and social pluralism
( Jichirō 1998: 3). In other words, the proposal posits ‘one country, two systems’ for
the benefit of Okinawa. Certainly, observers such as Taira are no doubt right in
saying that Okinawa’s independence from Japan in the context of its continuing
dependence on the national government may sound utopian (Taira 1999). Never-
theless, it remains a reasonable topic for discussion, at least on a hypothetical level.
Conclusion
After the above examination of devolution in Japan through the case of Okinawa,
the conclusion must surely be that, while 475 pieces of legislation were enacted in
support of ‘devolution’, the end result does not live up to such a term. This is especially
so in the case of Okinawa, for the US–Japan Security Treaty poses a serious problem
for the island. The Japanese government has always claimed that the security treaty
is a mainstay in the US–Japan relationship because it guarantees the peace and
security of the nation and justifies the presence of the US forces in Japan.
If such is the case, then the government should divide the responsibility and
burden stemming from the security treaty as evenly as possible among the
prefectures and municipalities throughout all of Japan. But the government has
failed in this respect, placing an excessive burden on Okinawa alone, as evidenced
by the location of three-quarters of all US installations in Okinawa. This situation
clearly belies the nature of devolution because the peace and security of the
Okinawan people in their daily lives is imperiled as a result. In particular, the act
of imposing a ‘carrot-and-stick’ policy toward Okinawa, with the maintenance of
the US–Japan security system prioritized above all else, constitutes the exact
opposite of devolution. It is this point, above all others, that needs to be taken
cognizance of in examining the meaning of decentralization in Japan.
If the government continues to sacrifice the daily safety of about 1.32 million
inhabitants of Okinawa prefecture on the pretext of protecting the peace and
livelihood of all its people, then Okinawa remains a political pawn to be used in
trade-offs with the United States. Under such circumstances, local government and
national government cannot stand on an equal footing in the face of the DPL. Far
from enjoying the benefits of self-government based on the DPL, the existence of
local government itself is being threatened. As a result, local government amounts
to no more than a servant of the national government.
The nature of devolution in Japan thus poses many problems. Various reasons
may be cited for this, but of particular importance is the fact that the bureaucratic
128 Ōta Masahide
mentality prevalent in the centralized government of prewar Japan has not
significantly changed. This bureaucratic attitude is more or less the norm in
mainland Japan, but Okinawans take it as a great affront. Okinawan people, whose
human relationship is traditionally more horizontal than vertical (bureaucratic),
and who came into daily contact with Japanese bureaucrats only after reversion in
1972, find it difficult to understand the overbearing attitudes displayed by lower-
level bureaucrats, who condescend to listen to their petitions and have been known
to throw their legs over the table and ask what they had come such a long way for.
Those directors and deputy-directors of the branch officers of the national
government in Okinawa or those bureaucrats who visit Okinawa on duty continue
to wear their bureaucratic suits even after dark – in bars and cabarets where the
bureaucratic hierarchy is strictly maintained. This mentality, formed in more than
a century of governing a people subservient to authority, shows itself in the arrogant
attitude of central government officials toward prefectural and municipal officials
who go to Tokyo with petitions and requests. This is borne out by complaints local
officials divulge privately. As an illustration of this pervasive attitude, one bureaucrat
of ministerial rank who was posted to Okinawa as a special envoy of the national
government recently flared up in anger before a group of municipal officials who
came to his office in order to request him to convey their complaints to the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) about the US air force training over their town. ‘I don’t
have to listen to complaints like this’, he reportedly burst out when the head of the
group mentioned that Japan hardly merits the name of a sovereign state if it lets the
US air force conduct its training anywhere it likes without government consent. A
few days later he issued an official apology for his outburst.
No matter what great laws are enacted, if the mentality of those who apply these
laws does not change, not only will these laws not function, but the intention in
enacting the laws in the first place may come under question. According to the
DPL, the relationship between central and local governments is not hierarchical
but equal and cooperative in nature. Yet, among bureaucrats within the national
government, some act as if the heads of local authorities were in fact their
subordinates. Furthermore, when the head of a local authority requests something
of the national government, these bureaucrats do not respond in the spirit of
devolution, but merely display their own power and arrogant disdain.
One reason legal guarantees have failed to ensure decentralization in Japan is the
lack of democratization in Japan’s administrative and political system. Democratic
systems tend to lose their substance in a country such as Japan, which has been
completely centralized under the ‘Emperor System’ for a long period of time, and
which claims cultural, linguistic and ethnic homogeneity disregarding the fact that
Okinawans, Ainu and Japanese Koreans clearly have cultural differences from
the mainstream culture of Japan. So while the claim of such homogeneity is
unwarranted, the idea of mythical uniformity is still maintained in Japan by
excluding or ignoring these differences as if they did not actually exist. Democracy
is supposed to protect the rights and liberties of minority groups, but minorities
in Japan are structurally discriminated against, and Okinawa is merely one
such example. The over-concentration of military bases in Okinawa is a case in
Beyond hondo 129
point; the expropriation and use of land for the US military is another. This goes
against the spirit of devolution.
Taira fears that Okinawa may emerge from the current process of decen-
tralization with less power to govern itself. ‘Chihō jichi no honshi, or the principles of
local self-government, referred to in the constitution and paid lip service to in the
DPL, should empower local governments by disemboweling the central govern-
ment, whose power is excessively concentrated today’ (Taira 1999:180). At present,
he writes, ‘Japan’s national regulations reach down to the most minute aspects of
everyday life. The example popularized by former Prime Minister Hosokawa
Morihiro is that a town remote from Tokyo has to apply and secure approval from
the Ministry of Transportation before it can move a bus stop even one yard
from the previously approved spot’ (Taira 1999: 180).
On the other hand, many exist within local governments who not only contribute
to the central government’s mistaken policies, but derive benefits for themselves.
Such ‘structural corruption’ contradicts the principles of devolution. Consequently,
the conclusion must be that decentralization in Japan has no substance. The call for
autonomy and independence in Okinawa is but a reaction to this state of affairs. In
this situation it is essential that the principles laid down in the constitution be taken
to heart by each and every person before devolution can sink firm roots. In spite of
this, the current state of affairs seems to be moving in the opposite direction.
Needless to say, this is due to the increasingly vociferous calls for constitutional
revision among not only bureaucrats and politicians but also financial and media
circles. If this is any indication of the future, the realization of devolution will reflect
the situation in an ancient Chinese proverb, ‘waiting one hundred years for the
waters of the Yellow River to clear’.
References
Barrett, Brendan F. D. (2000) ‘Decentralization in Japan: negotiating the transfer of
authority’, Japanese Studies 20, 1: 33–48.
Feifer, George (1992) Tennozan: The Battle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb, New York: Ticknor
and Fields.
—— (2000) ‘The rape of Okinawa’, World Policy Journal (http://www.worldpolicy.org/
journal/feifer.html), New York: World Policy Institute.
Jichirō [Zen-Nihon Jichidantai Rōdō Kumiai] Okinawa Project (ed.) (1998) Nijūisseiki ni
Muketa Okinawa Seisaku Teigen Pashiffiku Kurosurōdo (Okinawa as a Pacific Crossroads: A Policy
Proposal for the Twenty-first Century), Tokyo: Jichirō.
Johnson, Chalmers (1997) ‘Justice For Okinawa’, a copy of a speech made at The Japan
National Press Club.
—— (2001) Okinawa Between the United States and Japan, Cardiff, CA: Japan Policy Research
Institute.
Kerr, George H. (1958) Okinawa: The History of an Island People, New York: Tuttle.
Mulgan, Aurelia George (2000) ‘Managing the US base issue in Okinawa: a test for
Japanese democracy’, Working Paper 2000, 1, Canberra: Australian National University.
Okinawan Prefectural Government, Chiji Kōshitsu Kōhō Ka (1994) A Message from
Okinawa, Naha: Ōkinawan Prefectural Government.
130 Ōta Masahide
Ōyama, Chōjō (1997) Okinawa Dokuritsu Sengen (A Declaration of Okinawan Independence),
Okinawa: Gendai Shoin.
Taira, Kōji (1999) ‘Okinawa’s choice: independence or subordination’, in Chalmers
Johnson (ed.) Okinawa: Cold War Island, Cardiff, CA: Japan Policy Research Institute.
The Shoup Mission (1949) Report on Japanese Taxation Volume III, Tokyo: General
Headquarters.
Zaimushō [Ministry of Finance, Japan] (1998) Fiscal Investment and Loan Program Report,
Tokyo: Ōkurashō Insatsukyoku.
Part II
Subjectivity
8 Return to Uchinā
The politics of identity in
contemporary Okinawa1
Richard Siddle
No observer of contemporary Okinawa would deny that uchinānchu, the self-

designation that Okinawans use to distinguish themselves from outsiders, is a term
invested with considerable significance. It is most often used to contrast the
inhabitants of Okinawa prefecture with ‘mainland Japanese’ or yamatonchu. Many
Okinawans assert that this usage is a recognition of an objective ethnic difference,
a view accepted in some English-language scholarship on minorities in Japan (e.g.
Taira 1997). Uchinānchu are therefore a separate ‘people’ or ‘nation’ (minzoku), or, at
the very least, an ethnic minority. Others, on the other hand, maintain that the
evident pride of uchinānchu in their cultural and historic legacy is articulated instead
within a sense of belonging to a larger Japanese community. In a recent NHK
national survey into prefectural differences, 72 per cent of Okinawans considered
their ‘way of thinking’ to be different from that of other prefectures, the highest
figure. But the same survey revealed that 44 per cent of Japanese nationwide also
proclaimed such a local identity (Ryūkyū Shimpō,10 January 1997). Within the
admittedly limited framework of such a survey into ‘regional’ difference it is difficult
to see Okinawan assertions of local identity as anything more than a difference of
degree in a Japanese pattern. Are uchinānchu and yamatonchu merely regional variants
of an overarching identity as Nihonjin? Or do they indeed reflect fundamental ethnic
differences? Or is the reality of being uchinānchu in contemporary Okinawa in fact
too fluid and complex to be captured by these crude binary oppositions?
On the premise that ethnicity is not something people ‘have’ but something that
they ‘do’ ( Jenkins 1997: 14) – in other words they learn, articulate, negotiate and
reinforce their cultural identities through participation in complex webs of social
interaction – this chapter will sketch the contours of debates over identity in the
postwar period and then explore one specific manifestation of identity politics in
contemporary Okinawa. These debates matter because deeply felt beliefs over who
the Okinawans essentially ‘are’ have both fuelled and legitimized action across the
political spectrum since before the incorporation of Okinawa into the Japanese state
in 1879. Okinawan cultural identity is ‘“always already” politicized’ (Hein 2001:
32). In a recent variation on this theme, a small group of Okinawans have begun to
assert that uchinānchu are not only a separate minzoku but also an ‘indigenous people’
(senjū minzoku), and they are taking their political struggle to human rights bodies
within the United Nations. This activity offers a fascinating insight into the
134 Richard Siddle
constructed nature of some ethnic categories, and the intricate and dialectical
relationship between notions of identity and political strategies. It should not be
assumed, however, that this identity is somehow ‘false’. All identities, even the most
apparently ‘natural’, are socially constructed, and this process should not be
confused with the meaning invested in them by people for whom they constitute one
of the bases for social action. Articulating an Okinawan identity – being Okinawan
– can also occur in a variety of social contexts other than the explicitly political. In
the end, therefore, this case study can do no more than merely cast light on just one
of the multiple, overlapping and contested interpretations of uchinānchu identity that
characterizes Okinawa in the early twenty-first century.
Ambiguous identities in postwar Okinawa

Although they have achieved salience in the heightened anti-base mood since 1995,
these questions of identity are not new but are part of an ongoing process of
definition that stretches back to the first stages of the incorporation of Okinawa, then
the kingdom of Ryukyu, into the Japanese state (Siddle 1998). A small body of
scholarship has accumulated on the issues of identity in the Ryukyu Islands from
the kingdom of Ryukyu and the period of ‘dual subordination’ to China and Japan
after 1609, through to the annexation and incorporation of the kingdom into the
modern Japanese state between 1879 and 1945. During most of this earlier period,
Ryukyuan/Okinawan identity was negotiated within the dual constraints of the
Chinese world order, to which Ryukyu had belonged since 1372, and Japanese
interests concerned with maintaining Ryukyuan ‘foreignness’ to enhance the
prestige of the Shimazu rulers of Satsuma (to which the kingdom was ‘attached’) and
ensure continued economic benefits from Ryukyu’s investiture and trading
relationship with China. Nevertheless, as one recent study shows, within these
constraints elite Ryukyuans attempted to articulate their own ‘visions of Ryukyu’
(Smits 1999). This period saw the consolidation of specific Ryukyuan social and
political structures, and the flowering of many distinctly Okinawan art forms. After
annexation and incorporation as Okinawa prefecture in 1879, despite their efforts
to assimilate, Okinawans were treated as second-class citizens within a context of
political and economic inequality (Christy 1993; Siddle 1998; Rabson 1999). Elite
Okinawans were divided over the meaning of being Okinawan and their place in
the Japanese nation, although even those, like scholar Iha Fuyū, who championed
a unique Okinawan identity tended to do so within a Japanese context. At no time
were such contested perceptions to be played out with more tragic effect than in the
Battle of Okinawa in 1945.
With defeat and occupation, discourses of Okinawan nationhood enjoyed a brief
revival. Rather than simply accepting these as being expressions of a suppressed
‘national consciousness’, however, it is necessary to examine the political and
economic contexts within which they were articulated. As is well known, the US had
decided early on to retain the Ryukyu Islands. To bolster this position and reduce
the legitimacy of Japan’s objections, US officials constructed the Ryukyuans as a
colonized and subordinate population of the Japanese empire. Studies referred to
Return to Uchinā 135
them as a Japanese minority group and asserted that ‘political capital might be
made’ out of such ‘potential seeds of dissension’ (Okinawa Kenritsu Toshokan
Shiryō Henshū Shitsu 1995: 61–2). As ‘Ryukyuans’ more often than ‘Okinawans’,
they were classified as ‘non-Japanese’ and treated differently as prisoners of war
and during repatriation from Japan’s former colonies. The Americans were aided
in this redefinition by Emperor Hirohito himself, who attempted to trade a clearly
expendable Okinawa for an early end to the occupation in a vain effort to reassert
his prewar influence on politics (Dower 1996: 171).
Not all Okinawans were convinced. In the chaos of defeat, most Okinawans
working in ‘mainland’ Japan (naichi, hondo) were unable to return. In November
1945, leading Okinawans in Kansai formed the Okinawajin Renmei (Okinawan
League), ostensibly to alleviate the refugee problem, and petitioned government
headquarters for assistance since ‘of the entire Japanese racial stock it was the people
of Okinawa who were victimed [sic] most’ in the war (Tomiyama 1990: 258). Within
the Okinawajin Renmei and on Okinawa itself differences emerged between
conservatives oriented towards assimilation and younger Okinawans influenced
by the declaration of the Japanese Communist Party (Akahata, 6 March 1946) that
‘Okinawans are a nation (minzoku) who have been oppressed as a minority nation’.
In the early occupation period, the US was seen by many on the left as the liberator
of the Japanese people from militarism, and some Okinawans argued for the islands
to be placed permanently under a form of US trusteeship like Panama (Oguma
1998: 483–9). On the other hand, conservative Okinawans like Nakayoshi Ryōkō
pressed for reversion on the basis that Okinawans were members of the ‘Japanese
race’ and ‘blood is thicker than water’ (Oguma 1998: 489).
In Okinawa itself, now known as ‘The Ryukyu Islands’, the US military
government established a weak civilian administration. Political parties were
permitted from 1947. From 1948 the US began to build up its military presence due
to regional tensions, and considered permanent annexation of the archipelago.
Okinawans began to consider their future. During the events leading up to the San
Francisco Peace Treaty in 1951 different views emerged – immediate reversion to
Japan, supported by the Okinawan Socialist Masses Party and the Okinawan
People’s Party; a US trusteeship system favoured by the Socialist Party; and an
independent nation advocated by the Republican Party. Okinawan public opinion
itself favoured return to Japan; in a campaign between May and August 1951,
199,000 people (71.1 per cent of eligible voters) signed an appeal for early reversion
(Nakachi 1989: 52). Despite this, US–Japan political bargaining resulted in Article
Three of the Treaty placing Okinawa under US rule, though Japan maintained
‘residual sovereignty’. Anger among Okinawans led to the election of pro-reversion
politicians to the civilian government. The reversion movement had begun.
The Amami Islands returned to Japan on Christmas Day, 1953. On Okinawa,
the military were busy bulldozing local inhabitants out of their homes to expand the
bases. USCAR (US Civil Administration of the Ryukyu Islands) proposed a lump-
sum payment to settle all land problems, sparking off what in 1956 became a major
political protest movement throughout Okinawa. Some 200,000 people participated
in mass rallies opposing the plan, half of them at one rally in Naha on 20 June.
136 Richard Siddle
Interest was also aroused in Japan. Invigorated by eventual success, the reversion
movement reorganized and pressed for the end of US ‘colonial’ rule and the removal
of nuclear weapons from Okinawa. With the importance of Okinawa heightened
by the Vietnam War, the US began to look for a way to settle the issue. In 1969
President Nixon and Prime Minister Satō reached agreement on terms for reversion,
which took place on 15 May 1972.
The rhetoric and symbols of nationality were prominent in the reversion
movement. While a small minority opposed reversion, including journalist Arakawa
Akira (see Chapter 13 by Molasky in this volume) and those worried about
maintaining vested interests in the base economy, for most Okinawans the minzoku
identity that was being proclaimed was not Ryukyuan, but Japanese. When
participants in the land struggle talked about defending their land on the basis of
‘ethnic consciousness’ (minzoku ishiki), for instance, it was as members of the Japanese
minzoku that they spoke. Iminzoku shihai, rule by a different nation (with connotations
also of ‘race’), referred to US domination, and ‘military colonialism’ was an epithet
now applied to USCAR (Hiyane 1996: 82). Japan was the sokoku or ‘ancestral land’.
The Japanese people had been ‘partitioned’ on the ‘27th parallel’ by US military
rule and ‘ethnic unity’ (minzoku tōitsu) was the just solution (Oguma 1998: 541). After
initial indifference in Japan proper, concern was raised for the 800,000 ‘compatriots’
under US rule and commentators like Yanaihara Tadao referred to the issue as a
Japanese ‘ethnic question’ (Hiyane 1996: 54–7, 87).
In the three decades since reversion, however, it would appear that the people of
Okinawa have now drastically redefined themselves, rejecting this larger ‘Japanese’
identity in favour of a separate ethnic identity as uchinānchu – Okinawans, or as some
prefer, Ryukyuans. Identities, though, are never articulated in a vacuum. Not only
are they relational, defined against some Other, they are also articulated within
specific configurations of material and power relations. From this perspective, this
redefinition does not have to be understood either in terms of a substantive or
essential change in identity over time, or as a contradiction inherent in Okinawan
powerlessness and quasi-colonial subordination. Defined against an unambiguously
‘foreign’ and unjust US military rule, Okinawans perceived themselves as sharing
a broadly common cultural and historical continuity with mainland Japan, bolstered
by the wish to share in Japan’s growing prosperity and enjoy the democracy
guaranteed by Japan’s 1947 ‘peace constitution’. Differences (objective or imagined)
between hondo and Okinawa were subsumed within the far greater cultural and
historical discontinuity between Japan and the US. Since reversion, these same
differences have been reinterpreted within a more localized context of inequality.
The Rising Sun flag, the hinomaru, provides a good example of the complexity
of symbolic manipulation. In the years leading up to reversion its display was
such a powerful symbol of Okinawan aspirations as Japanese that it was banned on
most occasions by the US military authorities. To show their resistance and defiance
of US rule, Okinawans flew it anyway. In more recent years, however, for
many Okinawans the hinomaru has come instead to symbolize Japanese colonial
domination and aggression, and in 1987 Chibana Shōichi staged a highly public
display of defiance by burning it at a sports meeting. In a parallel development,
historian and activist Arasaki Moriteru has pointed out that the articulation and
politicization of memories relating to the atrocities of the Imperial Japanese Army
during the Battle of Okinawa, a key element in contemporary anti-base activism,
is a post-reversion development triggered mainly by the stationing of Japanese SDF
personnel in Okinawa (Arasaki 1996: 43).
In contemporary Okinawa, local politics is divided over issues of economic
dependency and the huge US military presence under the Japan–US Security
Treaty. While these have had varying degrees of salience since reversion, after the
rape of a schoolgirl by US servicemen in September 1995 the political atmosphere
became highly charged and the relationship with Tokyo turned increasingly
confrontational. The underlying contradictions of being Okinawan were once more
laid bare by this period of unrest and have stimulated a new generation to question
their identity. Within this context some actors have mobilized the symbols of
Okinawan difference in the service of their political agenda. The remainder of this
chapter will focus on a small group of Okinawans who are attempting a dynamic,
and radical, redefinition of Okinawan identity within the ongoing political struggle.
Influenced by the political strategies of the Ainu people and utilizing international
law and the human rights forums of the United Nations, these activists are asserting
the rights of uchinānchu to self-determination as an ‘indigenous people’ (senjū minzoku).
Uchinānchu, Ainu and indigenous people

This linking of Okinawans to Ainu is, of course, nothing new. In both academic and
popular discourse notions of the common origins of Ainu and Ryukyuans and their
unequal incorporation into the state have been variously contested or affirmed since
the early Meiji period. Early inquiries into the origins of the peoples of the Japanese
islands posited both populations as remnants of the original neolithic inhabitants
who produced variants of the Jōmon culture throughout the archipelago. In its latest
version, this theory has incorporated research on genetic markers to keep the debate
alive (Hudson 1998). Certain superficial physical characteristics (body hair, build)
are often cited alongside cultural elements (tattoos, legends) as ‘evidence’ of common
ancestry and contemporary affinity by other commentators, including Okinawans
and Ainu themselves. Ōyama Chōjō, for instance, in his 1997 bestseller calling for
Okinawan independence, asserts that for these reasons the Ainu people are ‘our
brothers and sisters’ (Ōyama 1997: 184). On a recent cultural exchange visit to
Amami, an Ainu participant commented on a sense of familiarity since ‘there were
many people who looked just like our relatives’ (Takeuchi 2001: 50).
Many claim that Ainu and Okinawans share not just origins, but history. Activists
and academics such as Uemura Hideaki (2001) explicitly link the two regions in a
colonial framework, or employ the concept of ‘internal colonialism’ to characterize
the processes by which the peripheral regions of Okinawa and Hokkaido were
incorporated into the Japanese state, placing emphasis upon quasi-colonial struc-
tures of political and economic domination, assimilation policies, and stereotyped
and derogatory images of ‘natives’. Some (Tomiyama 1990; Siddle 1998) have
criticized the tendency within this approach to overlook important historical
138 Richard Siddle
differences regarding the perceptions of Okinawans and Ainu held by mainland
Japanese, and the state policies directed towards the two populations. But for many
Okinawans before 1945 this association was real enough to call forth expressions
of outrage whenever they were linked in the popular imagination to the ‘dying race’
(horobiyuku minzoku) of the Ainu. One of the complex responses of progressive
Okinawans to their unequal incorporation was their identification of Japan with the
values of modernity and progress, leading to a desperate desire to ‘catch-up’ and a
consequent hypersensitivity to any perceived backwardness (Siddle 1998). The best
known incident of this kind concerns the angry protests by Okinawans over the
display of Okinawan and other ‘natives’ within the Jinruikan (Hall of Mankind)
during the 1903 Osaka Exposition.
More recently, perceptions of a common history of internal colonialism have
prompted some Ainu and Okinawan activists to forge political and cultural links.
During the 1970s and 1980s, Ainu activists were involved in a reinvigorated political
movement against the state, during the course of which they began to redefine
Ainu identity from that of a marginal and deprived social group, remnants of a
‘dying race’ (horobiyuku minzoku), to a proud self-awareness as an ‘indigenous people’
(senjū minzoku) (Siddle 1996: 171–89). At the same time, some activists in Okinawa
were reacting against the reversion period celebration of ‘Japanese’ identity
and were redefining uchinānchu as a separate people, the Ryūkyū minzoku. Kina
Shōkichi, for instance, a well-known popular musician and activist prominent in the
movement for Okinawan independence, regards Okinawans as a minzoku sharing
a common history, culture, language – and blood – that differs from mainland Japan
(interview 25 April 1997). In 1984, Takara Ben, poet and advocate of Ryukyuan
independence, encountered Ainu activist Chikap Mieko at the first Conference for
Minority Peoples Suffering from Discrimination held in Kyoto, and she and other
Ainu activists have since visited Okinawa on numerous occasions (Gekironkai 1997:
86). In a parallel development, groups of Ainu from the Utari Kyōkai (The Ainu
Association of Hokkaido) have been visiting Okinawa since 1981 to perform icharpa
memorial rituals for the souls of thirty-nine Ainu soldiers killed in the Battle of
Okinawa (Senkusha no Tsudoi, 1 January 1996). In recent years, Ainu activists have
visited Okinawa to lecture on Ainu rights and culture in public meetings and schools,
conduct ‘cultural exchange’ and perform ceremonies in support of the anti-base
struggle (for instance, see Okinawa Taimusu, 9, 11 December 1996; Ryūkyū Shimpō,
2 April 1996; Takeuchi 2001). According to Chikap, approaches towards Ainu by
Okinawans have increased in the latest period of political turmoil since the 1995
rape, with the Sapporo branch of the Okinawan Prefectural Association (Okinawa
Kenjinkai) becoming involved for the first time (Gekironkai 1997: 87–8).
With these increased contacts certain Okinawans have now come to perceive the
population of Okinawa prefecture, the Okinawa kenmin or uchinānchu, as not just an
ethnic minority, but as an indigenous people that share with Ainu a history of
colonization, oppression and marginalization at the hands of the Japanese state.
Takara Ben agrees wholeheartedly ‘with the theory that the Ainu people and the
Ryukyuan people (Ryūkyū minzoku) are the indigenous peoples (senjū minzoku) of Japan’
(Gekironkai 1997: 178). For Kina, indigenous peoples share not just a common
history but also a mission, so uchinānchu are part of the global movement of peace-
loving indigenous peoples to liberate ‘Mother Earth’ (haha naru daichi) from the
destructive forces of global capitalism and consumerism (Gekironkai 1997: 6,
141–2). They admit, however, that they represent a minority view within Okinawa.
Chikap expresses her disappointment that most Okinawans still lack a sense of
solidarity with the Ainu and other Japanese minorities, an attitude linked back
to the days of the Jinruikan (Gekironkai 1997: 88–9). Many prominent anti-base
activists in Okinawa either downplay or explicitly deny an ethnic dimension, seeing
the struggle as one of constitutional and human rights (see Chapter 10 by Tanji in
this volume). Chibana Shōichi, for instance, has stated that for one hundred years
Okinawans have desired or have been forced to become Japanese, and it would
take another one hundred years to reverse this process (interview 22 April 1997).
While it may lack popular support, this conception of Okinawan identity as
indigenous is important for its explicitly political dimension. The category of
‘indigenous peoples’ itself is essentially a political rather than anthropological
concept, and has its roots in the wave of decolonization that spread around the
world in the postwar period. Originally applied to aboriginal populations like
American Indians in the settler colony states of the West, in recent years the
definition has been expanded through activism by other disenfranchised and
disadvantaged ‘native’ or ‘tribal’ groups from Asian regions. Indigenous peoples
are now estimated to number ‘well over 200 million people’ (Stavenhagen 1990:
100) from the polar regions to the equator. Within international law the term has
gained special significance in the context of developing concepts of the protection
and rights of minorities. Discussion over many years of drafts for a UN Declaration
on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples has delineated many rights that apply to people
in this legal category, including ethnic self-determination as ‘peoples’ (not applicable
to minority populations), rights to land and resources, language, education and
culture, and economic development. Member states of the UN, on the other hand,
are understandably reluctant to discuss issues related to sovereignty and territorial
integrity. This includes Japan, which has yet to officially recognize the Ainu as an
‘indigenous people’, arguing that definition of the term in international law is still
unresolved. Nevertheless, clear definitions already exist in some international
instruments. The International Labour Organization Convention 169, Concerning
Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries, applies to:
Peoples in independent countries who are regarded as indigenous on account

of their descent from the populations which inhabited the country, or a
geographical region to which the country belongs, at the time of conquest or
colonization or the establishment of present state boundaries and who,
irrespective of their legal status, retain some or all of their own social, economic,
cultural and political institutions.
(Article 1, paragraph 1(b))
It goes on to state that ‘self-identification as indigenous or tribal shall be regarded

as a fundamental criterion’ (Article 1, paragraph 2) when determining the groups
140 Richard Siddle
to which the Convention applies. It is this right to self-identification as indigenous
that some Okinawans are now asserting in order to pursue their political objectives
at the United Nations.
The main forum within the UN for indigenous political activity is the Working
Group on Indigenous Populations, which since 1983 has convened annually (with
one exception) in Geneva. This body produced the draft Declaration on the Rights
of Indigenous Peoples and now hears annual reports from representatives of
indigenous peoples and non-governmental organizations (NGOs), while pursuing
its own studies of relevant issues, such as treaties or the protection of the cultural
and intellectual property rights of indigenous peoples. Representatives of the Ainu
people have been attending the Working Group since 1987, and the political skills
and international recognition they have gained there have made an important
contribution to the advancement of the Ainu movement (Siddle 1996; Dietz 1999).
In August 1996, with the encouragement of a Japanese NGO that has worked with
the Ainu in Geneva for many years (the Shimin Gaikou Centre), an Okinawan,
Matsushima Yasukatsu, attended the 14th Session of the Working Group and
presented the first report on the situation of his ‘people’.
Okinawans as indigenous people
The political agenda

Indigenous peoples are among the most disadvantaged populations in the world,
facing issues of cultural and even physical survival in the face of ethnocide (forced
cultural assimilation) and, in some regions like Central and South America,
massacre and genocide. Within this diverse range of peoples and issues, Okinawan
activists focus on the US military presence, within the framework of the US–Japan
Security Treaty, as the immediate source of violations of their rights as an indigenous
people. Militarization, in particular, has been identified ‘as a fundamental problem
affecting indigenous peoples throughout Asia’ (Gray 1995: 46).
After greeting the participants in the Okinawan language, Matsushima read his
statement to the Working Group on 1 August 1996. Since indigenous peoples are
defined not just by the extent of their relative deprivation, but primarily by their
history, he began by outlining how Okinawa ‘has been subordinated to Japan’
through ‘invalid’ annexation, forced assimilation, wartime victimization and US
military rule until ‘in 1972, the colonial administration of Okinawa was re-transferred
from the United States to Japan’. He then outlined the state of the military presence
in Okinawa and the suffering it has caused, culminating in the 1995 rape as a
‘dreadful crime against a person in the weakest position – an indigenous female child’
(Matsushima 1996: 62–3). Matsushima ended by specifically linking the issue of
military bases to indigenous peoples, calling for this to be formally addressed by a
workshop during the UN International Decade of Indigenous Peoples, stressing that:
It is natural and proper that the Okinawans should exercise their right of self-
determination to eliminate discrimination and protect and promote their
human rights as an equal member of international society, according to Article
1 of the two International Covenants on human rights, the Declaration on
Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-
operation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations,
and Part 1, paragraph 2 of the Vienna Declaration on Human Rights.
According to Principle 22 of the Rio Declaration, Chapter 26 of the Agenda
21, and Part 1, paragraph 20 of the Vienna Declaration which prescribe the
right of indigenous peoples to participate in negotiations, the Okinawans should
be represented in the negotiation over the removal of the military bases as one
of the parties concerned on an equal footing with the Japanese and US
governments.
(Matsushima 1996: 63)
Matsushima also distributed a position paper that fleshed out some of these
demands, beginning with the assertion that Okinawans retain sovereignty since the
annexation of Ryukyu was invalid, conflicting ‘with the spirit of Article 51 of
the Vienna convention on the Law of Treaties’. Other alleged infringements
of international law were then spelled out, ranging from discrimination against
Okinawan migrant workers in mainland Japan (‘violation of Article 8 of ILO
Convention No.50, which guarantees the right of indigenous workers to live and
work under ethnically comfortable conditions’); forced conscription during the
Battle of Okinawa (‘violated Articles 1, 11, and 25 of ILO Convention No.29 which
prohibited forced labour’); the lack of Okinawan participation in the reversion
process (‘violation of the right of self-determination which is guaranteed in Article
2, paragraph 2 of the United Nations Charter’); to the impact of the US bases
on human rights and the environment (variously violations of the Charter of
the Economic Rights and Duties of States, the Constitution of UNESCO, the
Declaration of the UN Conference of the Human Environment, and the Rio
Declaration). The 1995 rape against ‘an indigenous female child’ went against
‘Article 55, para c of the Charter of the United Nations, Article 2 of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights, Article 26 of the International Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights, Article 5 of the International Covenant on the Elimination of All
forms of Racial Discrimination, Article 2 of the Convention on the Elimination of
All forms of Discrimination against Women, and Articles 2 and 3 of the Convention
on the Rights of the Child’ (Shimin Gaikou Centre 1996). In a newspaper article
after his return (Okinawa Taimusu, 26 August 1996), Matsushima stated that he had
received positive responses and encouragement from other indigenous groups
opposed to NATO and US military bases in Canada and Hawaii. Response from
the representatives of the governments of Japan and the US was less forthcoming.
This remains the basic position of the Okinawan representatives who have been
attending the Working Group in subsequent years, though it has been elaborated
on with respect to the different themes addressed in different sessions. In 1997, for
instance, the statement by Uema Kyōko was presented under agenda item eight on
research into treaties, eliciting a response from Special Rapporteur Miguel Alphonso
Martinez of Cuba that the Okinawan case would be thereafter included in his
142 Richard Siddle
research (Okinawa Taimusu, 6 September 1997). In 1998, Izena Kasumi and Chinen
Hidenori presented a position paper to the 16th Session on ‘The rights of Okinawans
to Education and Languages’ (Shimin Gaikou Centre 1998). At the 17th Session in
1999, health was on the agenda, and that year’s statement by one of the four
Okinawan representatives (now attending as members of the Association of
Indigenous Peoples in the Ryukyus, AIPR) brought up base-related pollution
incidents, including high levels of PCB contamination at Kadena airbase (Izena, in
AIPR 1999). Recently, activity has widened to encompass other human rights bodies
within the UN. Information was presented as an NGO submission to the 58th
Session (March 2001) of the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination
(CERD) ‘Concerning the initial and second periodic report of the Japanese
government submitted to CERD’ (AIPR/OCIC/SGC 2000). The Okinawan
submission reiterated many of the claims of the Working Group sessions, this
time in relation to nine articles or paragraphs of the Convention. The Japanese
government’s response has been muted, although in the fourth of the periodic
reports to the Human Rights Committee that Japan is obliged to make having
ratified the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights in 1979, Okinawans
were discussed in the context of Article 27 on the rights of minorities, and the
‘government did not deny that Okinawans had rights as an ethnic minority’
(AIPR/OCIC/SGC 2000: 10, emphasis in original).
The ethnic question

Media exposure is a vital part of the activists’ strategy. The Okinawa Taimusu ran
pieces by both Matsushima (26 August 1996) and Uema (8 September 1997) after
they returned from Geneva. In October 2000 the Ryūkyū Shimpō ran a series of
interviews with some of the young activists who have attended the Working Group:
Ōshiro Shōko and Chinen Hidenori (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 16 October 2000), Ōnaka Chika
(Ryūkyū Shimpō, 17 October 2000), Kikuzato Yasuko (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 18 October
2000) and Ōyama Kazuto (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 19 October 2000 – unless otherwise cited
all quotes from individuals in the following section are taken from these sources).
These interviews are extremely revealing of the self-conceptions and motives of these
men and women, and their understanding of ‘ethnopolitics’. Within the particular
context of indigenous activism they cast light on the fluidity (and internal tension) of
ethnic categories, the processes of their construction and their deployment as a
resource for political action.
Common to all is a clear conception of Okinawans as an ethnic group, or people,
though different designations are used to express this identity. Matsushima attended
as one of the ‘Okinawan people’ (Okinawa minzoku) and did not use the term
uchinānchu in either his statement or position paper (Matsushima 1996; Shimin
Gaikou Centre 1996). By 1999, AIPR delegates were referring to themselves as
uchinānchu in their statements (AIPR 1999). This identity is seen not as monolithic,
but as a ‘Ryukyuan people’ (Ryūkyū minzoku) that embraces the regional diversity of
the outer islands of the prefecture. In 2000, Ōyama attended the Working Group
as an Amamijin (person from Amami, now part of Kagoshima prefecture) and argued
that ‘Amamijin are of the Ryukyuan people, and this people has been politically
divided’. Some regard this ethnic identity as not always consciously recognized or
articulated; for Ōnaka, who holds an MA in Anthropology from Oxford University,
the term Okinawa kenmin (inhabitant[s] of Okinawa prefecture) has a completely
different nuance from similar terms used in other Japanese prefectures. Through
the use of this term ‘actually, Okinawans are unconsciously self-designating
themselves as a minzoku, an ethnic group (esunikku shūdan)’. Ōshiro admits that among
her fellow university students ‘are some kids without a consciousness of being
“Okinawan” ’.
As individuals, the activists have come to this understanding of their identity in
different ways. Kikuzato recalls becoming aware of Okinawans as a minority
through reading the 1932 story by Kushi Fusako, Horobiyuku Ryūkyū Onna no Shūki
(Notes of a Declining Ryukyu Woman). For some their sense of being uchinānchu has
been recognized or reinforced by experiences outside the prefecture. Ōnaka, for
instance, was born and brought up in Tokyo of Okinawan parents and began a
search for her roots, including visits to Okinawa and the study of Ryukyuan dance,
after the 1995 rape incident. While being nisei or second generation has not always
led to full acceptance, she asserts that ‘there are things I can see [just] because I am
nisei’. And this has not stopped her from stating at the Working Group ‘I come from
Okinawa . . . to speak about my homeland’ (Ōnaka in AIPR 1999). At home in the
Amami islands, Ōyama was aware of both Japanese and Ryukyuan influences, but
it was as a student in Tokyo that he and a friend confronted discrimination against
Amami. Such experiences have been common to Okinawans working or studying
on the mainland since the days of the great scholar Iha Fuyū, who discovered a
similar identity while suffering hardship as a student in Kyoto (Siddle 1998). The
next steps to becoming an activist involved anger over the military presence and
human rights abuses, participation in local activist networks (or, for Kikuzato, anger
at their ineffectiveness) and then responding to an advert placed in the local papers
by the Shimin Gaikou Centre calling for Okinawan participants (Ryūkyū Shimpō,
17 July 1999).
Okinawan identity as an indigenous people (senjū minzoku) is less straightforward. For
some it was not an obvious categorization, but became clearer with their
participation in the Working Group. ‘Whether you can say that Okinawans are an
indigenous people or not, I don’t know. However, I was surprised that the situation
of the various peoples I met at the conference was extremely similar to Okinawa’s’
(Uema). Chinen asserts that elderly Okinawans may not agree that they are senjū
minzoku but would respond if asked that they are uchinānchu rather than yamatonchu
(‘Japanese’). Ōshiro admits that ‘Actually, I still feel a little resistance to this term.
When I tell my friends too they respond with puzzled expressions [laughs]. I think
that uchinānchu are different from Japanese though . . .’. She then explains that a
popular stereotype exists of indigenous peoples ‘as “tribes” (buzoku) of Aborigines or
Indians’. Chinen admits that he also held this stereotype before attending the
Working Group but found other delegates to be living modern lives in contemporary
society. For Ōyama, too, ‘the term “indigenous” is linked to images of “barbarian”
and “backward”, but the other young people from the indigenous peoples
144 Richard Siddle
participating in the Working Group were gathering information from the internet,
keeping in touch by mobile phone, and carrying designer bags. They were students,
lawyers, journalists and ordinary salarymen’. He wishes to appeal to young
uchinānchu with an image of ‘cool’ (kakko ii) indigenous people.
What defines indigenous peoples, first and foremost, is their history. Laying claim
to a particular interpretation of the historical narrative is essential in legitimizing a
group’s existence as an indigenous people, and therefore legitimizing the political
agenda. The activists are clearly conscious of the ‘politics of memory’, and their
convictions are underpinned by a specific version of Okinawan history that finds
expression in their statements to the Working Group. The history of the Ryukyu
Kingdom as an ‘independent nation’, the conquest by Satsuma in 1609, annexation
in the Ryūkyū shobun of 1879, forced assimilation and discrimination under colonial
rule, and human rights abuses under both Japanese and US military rule are key
elements of this narrative. ‘Colonization’, ‘assimilation’, ‘discrimination’ become
keywords through which the Okinawans recognize similar structural elements in the
histories of other indigenous participants. As Chinen observes, ‘if you read the
history of the Ryūkyū shobun, it fits the definition recognized in international society
that “indigenous peoples are people forcibly incorporated into the state and forced
to assimilate” ’. Uchinānchu are characterized, like other indigenous peoples, as a
people with a strong ‘value of non-violence’ and a ‘peace-oriented philosophy’
(Matsushima Kiyomi in AIPR 1999).
The Working Group is a political forum, and ethnicity is a weapon (buki) in the
struggle. ‘Being different can also become a weapon’, is how Ōyama phrases it. The
cultural symbols of identity are mobilized to make this point. Ōshiro read her
statement while wearing Ryukyuan dress, as ‘clothing is one kind of weapon’. One
aim of this activity, in Chinen’s words, is to gain publicity for their contention that
‘the situation with the bases and other problems is an “ethnic problem” (minzoku
mondai)’, and their intention to lead ‘young Okinawans . . . to know Okinawan
history and culture, and search for their own identity’. The ultimate goal is the
acquisition of ethnic self-determination, which is seen as ‘the key to the bases issue’
(Ōyama). For Amami, which has no base problem, the issue is rather one of ‘a
colonial situation of rule by a foreign people (iminzoku shihai)’ but the answer still lies
in self-determination and an autonomous region (jichishū).
Self-perceptions are one thing, but external recognition of this identity is another.
Irrespective of popular stereotypes of eco-friendly hunter gatherers, uchinānchu do
not fit neatly either into academic definitions of an indigenous people, in which
‘aboriginal peoples are not necessarily “first-comers” . . . indigenous groups are
defined as non-state people and they are always linked with a non-industrial mode
of production’ (Eriksen 1993: 125). Judged by ‘objective’ markers of socio-economic
status and political participation, Okinawans have little in common with many of
their fellow delegates to the Working Group, including their Ainu ‘brothers and
sisters’. Compared to extreme levels of poverty, deprivation and oppression suffered
by many indigenous groups around the world, Okinawans enjoy a higher income
per capita than the citizens of many European states and the highest official life-
expectancy in the world. They form a clear majority in their homeland, and
participate in a democratic system that allows them to elect their own representatives
to govern them in a local assembly (albeit within a regional rather than ‘ethnic’
framework) and guarantees seats for their representatives in the national parliament.
If Okinawans are accepted as an indigenous people, what about Tibetans? Or the
Welsh? Is there a danger of expanding the concept so far that it loses its power to
help the most disadvantaged? Some academics and activists do not see this as a
problem, since from their perspective:
It is possible to see the indigenous movement as a cumulative sweep of resistance

against the oppression that has encircled the world. We are witnessing the
raising of the consciousness of people who decide that they are indigenous or
that they want to align themselves with the indigenous movement. It is this
aspect of the indigenous movement that makes any universal definition of
indigenous difficult. The meaning is constantly changing to accommodate new
alliances – it is not just a semantic construct but a political strategy for attaining
collective rights to territories and cultural respect.
(Gray 1995: 45)
Given that history, rather than relative deprivation, is the primary factor in the self-
definition that indigenous peoples now have the right to articulate, the politicization
of the past is likely to remain a key strategy for Okinawans to gain access to
contemporary currents in international law and human rights legislation.
Conclusion
It is clear that the concept of uchinānchu as an indigenous people has yet to take root
in Okinawan society. It remains at present at the level of a political tool, one of a
number of interpretations of Okinawan identity that can be mobilized as a resource
in a particular political context. Rather than pre-existing notions of Okinawanness
shaping political action, it is participation in the political struggle itself that is creating
new categories of identity. It is unclear at this stage whether it will turn out to be a
successful strategy. Many Okinawans feel resistance to the notion of themselves as
‘non-Japanese’ even if they have some sympathy with the activists’ historical
narrative of oppression. Appeals to an indigenous identity will have to overcome a
deep-rooted historical antipathy among Okinawans to any linking with ‘backward’
peoples, typified by the Jinruikan incident, while appeals to newer stereotypes – a
‘cool’ reworking of the noble native as inherently peace-loving and the guardian of
mother earth – are likely to find little resonance with ordinary Okinawans concerned
with their livelihoods and the abuses of their military neighbours. Unlike many of
the indigenous representatives at the Working Group, the Okinawan activists are
not respected elders who command authority in their home communities, indeed,
it is unclear how many Okinawans even know about their campaign. This places
them in a clearly different position from the Ainu activists, who receive broad
(though by no means unanimous) support from a population who now clearly
perceive themselves in ethnic terms as the indigenous ‘Ainu people’. Ainu delegates
146 Richard Siddle
are usually also representatives of the Hokkaidō Utari Kyōkai (Ainu Association of
Hokkaido), the largest Ainu organization with a membership of some two-thirds
of Hokkaido Ainu. Without the legitimacy provided by broad support in their
communities, it is unlikely that the Okinawan activists will be able to accomplish
more than embarrassing the Japanese government in Geneva.
Finally, I would like to return to the caution made at the start of this chapter.
While this case study supports theories of ethnicity that stress the instrumental nature
of cultural identity as a resource for political action, it is important to stress that it
is only a small strand in a much larger reworking of identity that is occurring in
contemporary Okinawa. Just because some Okinawans practise identity politics
does not mean that ethnicity is only political in nature, in Okinawa or anywhere else.
Not only is the meaning of uchinānchu contested and multivalent, it is learned,
articulated and negotiated in a myriad of social and political contexts that render
it far too complex to be neatly captured in any reductionist social scientific analysis.
Note
1 The author would like to thank Uemura Hideaki for help with materials and the Japan
Foundation for supporting my research in Okinawa in 1999.
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Heibonsha.
9 ‘Mob rule’ or popular
activism?
The Koza riot of December 1970
and the Okinawan search for
citizenship
Christopher Aldous
For those responsible for governing the Ryukyu Islands – or Okinawa prefecture as
the reversion lobby preferred to call them – the riot that broke out in Koza during
the early hours of 20 December 1970 marked a dangerous escalation of the conflict
between occupier and occupied. Commentators agreed that the quarter-century of
American rule in Okinawa from 1945 to 1970 had not produced any explosion of
anger and frustration of the order or magnitude exhibited on this occasion. While
this outburst of anti-Americanism was unsurprising after so many years of foreign
occupation, it was puzzling that it came after Prime Minister Satō’s diplomatic
success of November 1969 when President Nixon had agreed to work towards
reversion of Okinawa to Japan during 1972. This sequence of events has indicated
to some that the Koza riot was motivated by opposition to reversion, testifying to a
deep sense of anxiety among Okinawans that their treatment by postwar Japanese
governments might be no less discriminatory than that handed out by their
prewar/wartime counterparts. Indeed, a study of the American occupation of
Okinawa by Nicholas Sarantakes claims that the riot exemplified ‘discontent with
reversion’ (2000: 176). This chapter challenges this assumption, arguing that the
Koza riot represented not the rejection of imminent reversion but rather its
affirmation in the sense that it expressed an aspiration for citizenship, for the rights,
liberties and guarantees of due process enshrined in the constitutions of Japan and
the US. So great was the head of steam that had built up against the abuses attending
American military rule that it was no longer capable of being contained. It burst
forth, not only destroying any pretence of amicable relations between the US and
Okinawa, but also serving as a warning to mainland Japan that Okinawans would
settle for nothing less than full citizenship – and all that came with it – when
reunification was finally accomplished.
This chapter will begin by examining the notion of citizenship, explaining why
this provides a useful analytical framework within which to view pre-reversion
Okinawa. It will then demonstrate how American military rule – even when poorly
disguised as a ‘civil administration’ – afforded Okinawans the lowly status of
‘subjects’ rather than ‘citizens’, denying them basic human rights and civil liberties
from the very outset, and ensuring that arguments in favour of reversion to Japan
‘Mob rule’ or popular activism? 149
were enthusiastically acknowledged while counter arguments highlighting the
economic benefits flowing from US occupation generally fell on deaf ears. Perhaps
the greatest abuse arising from American control, and the one that caused most
offence, was ‘extraterritoriality’, a jurisdictional set-up whereby American citizens
and their dependants were tried in courts operated by the US civil administration
or courts martial, so denying Okinawan victims of their crimes access to due process.
Regardless of the severity of the crime – it might be something as trivial as an
American soldier running off before he paid his taxi fare or something as serious as
a murder – the inability to see that justice was done infuriated Okinawans of all
political persuasions. Indeed, the principal cause of the Koza riot was the acquittal
of an American serviceman whose careless driving caused the death of an Okinawan
woman in Itoman on 18 September 1970.
Just as opposition to extraterritoriality or ‘consular jurisdiction’, so central to the
‘unequal treaties’, provided the ‘driving force . . . of Japan’s metamorphosis’ during
the second half of the nineteenth century (Perez 1997: 320), so too did anger at its
military counterpart in Okinawa a century later serve as a catalyst, speeding up
reactions that mobilized Okinawans against the occupation regime. Indeed, the
American academic Edwin Reischauer hinted at this parallel when he remarked in
1957 that ‘in time the nineteenth-century status of Okinawa will prove to be quite
untenable in the twentieth-century world’ (1957: 335).
American rule and the denial of citizenship

In his seminal work Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays, published in 1950,
T. H. Marshall defined citizenship as composed of civil, political and social elements.
He elaborated on the ‘civil’ dimension as follows:
The civil element is composed of the rights necessary for individual freedom –
liberty of the person, freedom of speech, thought and faith, the right to own
property and to conclude vital contracts, and the right to justice. The last is of
a different order from the others, because it is the right to defend and assert all
one’s rights on terms of equality with others and by due process of law.
(Marshall 1950: 10)
What he meant by the ‘political’ and ‘social’ elements was ‘the right to participate
in the exercise of power . . .’ and ‘the right to a modicum of economic welfare and
security . . .’ respectively (1950: 10–11). While the civil and political facets of
citizenship in relation to occupied Okinawa represent the chief focus of this chapter,
the socio-economic dimension falls largely outside its purview. In any case, the fact
that Marshall’s ideas forged a consensus that held sway until around 1980 (van
Gunsteren 1998: 13), suggests that they provide an appropriate and dependable
analytical framework within which to place Okinawans’ struggle for freedom,
democracy and citizenship between 1952 and 1972. Indeed, if we focus on the issue
of civil rights we find that American efforts to present military rule in Okinawa as
hedged in by democratic safeguards produced official statements and rhetoric that
150 Christopher Aldous
resonated with some of Marshall’s principal concerns. Section 12 of President
Eisenhower’s Executive Order 10713 ‘Providing for Administration of the Ryukyu
Islands’ (5 June 1957), the only policy statement that even approximated a
constitution for Okinawa, stated that the High Commissioner (the supreme
governing authority) ‘shall preserve to persons in the Ryukyu Islands the basic
liberties enjoyed by people in democratic countries, including freedom of speech,
assembly, petition, religion and press, and security from unreasonable searches
and seizures, and from deprivation of life, liberty or property without due process
of law’. Likewise, Section 2 of the Executive Order claimed that the Secretary of
Defence, to whom the High Commissioner reported via the Department of the
Army, ‘shall encourage the development of an effective and responsible Ryukyuan
Government, based on democratic principles . . .’. Interestingly, however, these
confident assurances of benevolent rule did not sit easily with the actual institutional
arrangements in place.
In terms of the political framework, there was a US Civil Administration of
the Ryukyu Islands (USCAR), the head of which was the High Commissioner, a
serving lieutenant general of the US Army. Directly beneath him was the Civil
Administrator, who was likewise a serving officer of the US armed forces until
President Kennedy amended Executive Order 10713 on 19 March 1962 and
designated him a ‘civilian official’. These two individuals, both responsible to the
US Department of the Army, were the key representatives of American rule,
the High Commissioner concerned above all with Okinawa’s pivotal role in the
defence of the ‘free world’, the Civil Administrator – particularly after 1962 –
symbolizing a concern with the welfare of the subject population. Coexisting with
the American civil administration was the Government of the Ryukyu Islands (GRI),
composed of a Chief Executive, a legislature and a system of courts. Established on
1 April 1952, the GRI was effectively a creature of USCAR – at least until the late
1960s. Nobody had any illusions about where power actually resided, given that
Article III of the San Francisco Peace Treaty between Japan and the US (effective
from 28 April 1952) stated that ‘the United States will have the right to exercise any
and all powers of administration, legislation and jurisdiction over the territory and
inhabitants of these islands’ (this was reiterated in the preamble of Executive Order
10713). Thus, the Chief Executive was appointed by the High Commissioner, the
only indication of even a semblance of democracy being the legislature, consisting
of a single house of 29 representatives (rising by 3 to 32 in November 1965) directly
elected by the people. However, as Higa Mikio explains, USCAR’s tight control
of the office of Chief Executive meant that ‘the party system in Okinawa [wa]s not
so much a reflection of the will of the people as an indirect creation of American
authority’ (Higa 1963: 34).
As for the judicial arrangements, these were set out in Section 10 of Executive
Order 10713, which distinguished between courts maintained by the GRI and those
operated by the civil administration. Whereas the former followed civil and criminal
procedures obtaining in Japan, operated without juries and conducted proceedings
in Japanese, the latter followed the US federal system, using English and providing
defendants with the right to trial by jury. These discrepancies might not have
mattered so much had the jurisdictions of the two court systems been more equally
and fairly apportioned. As well as making exceptions of members of US forces or
their civilian associates, employees of the US government who were US nationals
and the dependants of these groups, Section 10 of the Executive Order granted the
High Commissioner the power to move any case from a GRI court to its USCAR
counterpart when he deemed it to affect ‘the security, property, or interests of
the United States’ – an open-ended provision that effectively gave the High
Commissioner carte blanche to do as he wished with any legal case originating in an
Okinawan court. Apart from USCAR courts, however, there was another, more
controversial, legal system in operation, that of courts-martial. These received only
a passing mention in the Executive Order, confirming that military jurisdiction
under the Uniform Code of Military Justice could be waived only by the military
commander concerned.
‘Extraterritoriality’ as a rallying cry for opposition to American rule referred
above all to a closed military system of justice, which lacked transparency and
seemed to protect its own. In a number of cases where frustrations boiled over into
disturbances or even riots, it was not just the seeming lightness of sentences handed
down after closed trials that exercised onlookers but also the events leading up to
the arrest and detention of the defendant. This was an issue of policing, of
investigation and proper regard for the rights of the victim, and just as there was a
dual system of justice so too was there a binary structure of policing. According to
Civil Administration Ordinance Number 87 (Power of Apprehension of Ryukyuan
Civil Police, dated 23 October 1952), a member of the Department of Police of the
GRI could apprehend American soldiers or civilians committing crimes off-base,
but – and here was the rub – ‘immediately upon such apprehension [the policeman
shall] deliver the offender in person to the nearest Military or Air Police or Shore
Patrol of the US Armed Forces, together with complete statements of the facts and
circumstances surrounding the apprehension’. The perpetrator of the crime, which
most commonly involved assaults on taxi drivers, would then be returned to his
base, where his superiors would deal with the matter without reference to the
Okinawan authorities. It was very difficult for the latter to find out whether or not
the serviceman had been properly punished for his misconduct, and the victim of
the crime was effectively left without resort to legal redress. In short, it was not so
much the crimes and misdemeanours that caused such resentment and anger, but
rather the palpable sense that a crime committed against an Okinawan went
unpunished, that military justice meant no justice for Okinawans.
‘Alien rule’ and ‘extraterritoriality’

When serious accidents or breaches of discipline involving the military occurred, it
was incumbent on the US authorities to handle what were often highly sensitive
cases with due regard for the feelings of the victims and their families and also the
great majority of Okinawans who, exposed to the same dangers, closely identified
with those hurt or killed in these incidents. Unfortunately, however, the two-tier legal
system in existence positively encouraged those occupying the top tier to accord
privileges to their own and to treat those associated with the lower, lesser tier as
somehow unworthy of proper legal redress – in that sense injustice was literally
institutionalized. US military misconduct blemished the occupation from the very
beginning and continued to be a running sore right up to the eve of reversion.
Undoubtedly it was the popular election of Yara Chōbyō as Chief Executive in
1968 that brought the issue of extraterritoriality truly to the fore and forced the US
authorities to take action to improve the off-duty conduct of their military personnel.
The decision to permit the popular election of the Chief Executive was taken with
a heavy heart. High Commissioner Unger rationalized it as a ‘palliative [that] might
momentarily satisfy Okinawan aspirations and thereby give us more time in putting
off the day when our freedom of military operations would be circumscribed’
(Rabson 1989: 26). Moreover, he firmly believed that political tensions, arising in
particular from increased military activities in Okinawa due to the Vietnam War,
had reached such a point where failure to relieve them could result in serious
confrontation. Obviously, the hope and expectation among Japanese and American
officials was that the conservative candidate, Nishime Junji, would win the election.
However, the reformists’ call for ‘immediate, unconditional and complete reversion’
proved more attractive than the conservatives’ policy of ittaika (gradual integration),
its appeal attributable to what Yara referred to in his victory speech as the ‘pent-up
inner voice of the entire people of Okinawa prefecture, which cries for escape from
twenty-three years of rule by an alien people’. He went on to declare that ‘As a
Japanese national, I will make every effort to see that the basic rights, recognised by
the Constitution of Japan, are also guaranteed to the people of Okinawa prefecture’
(Trends and Topics 1969: 8–10). Here was the new Chief Executive skilfully invoking
that strongly-held aspiration for citizenship – for proper political representation, for
constitutional guarantees of civil liberties and human rights – that perhaps more
than anything else united Okinawans in their opposition to American rule.
Those who voted for Yara elected him on the basis of his track record of fighting
for Okinawan interests – above all, what they wanted was an advocate, a political
representative who could effectively present their grievances during regular meetings
with the Civil Administrator and the High Commissioner. Equally important, of
course, was the Chief Executive’s access to and influence with the Japanese govern-
ment – he was the only person ‘who could formally appeal to the Government of
Japan . . . on the key issues of reversion, economic assistance, and friction with the
Civil Administration and the US military establishment’ (Klein 1972: 16). For these
reasons Yara’s election signalled stormy times ahead – the US authorities were now
dealing with a seasoned opponent of their policies, and to make matters worse he
was the first Chief Executive to boast a popular mandate. In that sense his election
seemed to bring reversion nearer, not least because it demonstrated that democracy
and self-government in Okinawa could not be reconciled with US fulfilment of their
military mission.
The implications of that military mission for Okinawans’ security were brought
home in July 1969 when the Wall Street Journal reported that nerve gas weapons
were being stored on the island. Concern and anger among Okinawans were
compounded by delays in removing the weapons, caused by strong opposition
within the US to their repatriation. This forced the Department of Defence to opt
for Johnston Island in the Pacific, where proper facilities had to be built before the
transfer could take place (Trends and Topics 1970: 366–9). While these military
mishaps certainly undermined and embarrassed the High Commissioner (James
Lampert, 18 January 1969–14 May 1972), they were easier to handle than cases of
military misconduct affecting Okinawans, when the crime itself was problematic
enough without the complications arising from native expectations of what should
be done with the perpetrator.
This was exemplified by the so-called ‘Gushikawa case’, arising from an incident
on 30 May 1970 during which an American serviceman, Herman Smith, tried to
rape an Okinawan high school student, stabbing her repeatedly in the abdomen.
Although the GRI police participated in Smith’s arrest, they were not allowed to
question him (OPA U84000745K: 6 June 1970), a situation that inflamed public
anger rather than defusing it. Furthermore, there were press reports that Smith had
been detained, released despite his being identified as the perpetrator of the crime
and then later arrested in Koza. When pressed on this by Yara, Robert Fearey, the
Civil Administrator (21 August 1969–14 May 1972), claimed that despite his being
‘restricted to company area’ with a number of others, Smith had ‘subsequently,
before identification as a probable suspect, breached restriction and been
apprehended in Koza’. It seems, however, that it was ‘people power’ in the form of
demonstrations outside Smith’s base and USCAR headquarters that forced his
arrest and prevented, the press claimed, his transfer from Okinawa (Makise 1971:
185–95). Of course, press accounts have to be treated with great care, particularly
at times when emotions are running high, but the lack of any detailed rebuttal of
these stories by USCAR would seem to lend them credibility. Indeed, American
officials seem to have been thrown onto the defensive in the face of a ‘strong adverse
public reaction’, attributable above all to the nature of the crime: ‘[The] Okinawa
public [was] able [to] accept with relative equanimity incidents in bar areas after
dark but [could] not tolerate [an] attack on [a] girl returning from school at noon’.
Moreover, the incident, dramatizing as it did the dangers of a concentrated military
presence, further strengthened the hand of ‘leftists’, who were already making much
of the chemical weapons problem. It was also clear to the High Commissioner and
others that ‘public opinion will turn increasingly toward the “extraterritoriality”
question’ in the wake of the Gushikawa case (OPA U84000745K: 8 June 1970).
Yara certainly highlighted this problem in official meetings, claiming – on the
basis of press reports – that the arrest rate of American military police was only
about half that of the civil police (OPA U84000745K: 13 June 1970), the implication
being that military misconduct could best be deterred by transferring criminal
jurisdiction over apprehension, detention and trial to the relevant Okinawan
agencies. In response, the Civil Administrator and High Commissioner cast doubt
on press reports and somewhat naively complained that American crimes were
sensationalized while native ones attracted very little attention or comment.
Presumably surprised at their failure to understand why this was so, Yara made the
rather obvious point that while the crime rate of US servicemen might be lower than
that of Okinawans themselves ‘the ruler–ruled relationship should always be
considered when dealing with a local populace’ (OPA U84000745K: 6 June 1970).
At the heart of that relationship was the denial of basic human rights to Okinawans,
justified by the need to protect the American military mission on Okinawa. That
was why military personnel were accorded the rights of US citizens and Okinawans
were denied them – equal treatment of both groups would have threatened the
dominance of the military, and highlighted the two sides’ irreconcilable differences.
The military’s sensitivity to any changes that might undermine its position on
Okinawa was matched by what was referred to as Okinawans’ ‘hypersensitivity’
on the ‘extraterritoriality’ issue (OPA U84005671K: 29 July 1970). Certainly, the
adverse reaction to what was perceived as Smith’s ‘light’ punishment seemed to
attest to deep-seated misgivings about the integrity of the court martial and the
likelihood of his actually serving his sentence in the US (in this connection, one
conservative legislator, Nakayama Kenjun, ‘stressed [the] need to watch how [the]
US military disposes of [the] Smith case’). The court martial handed down its verdict
on 12 August, sentencing Smith to ‘dishonourable discharge, 3 years confinement
at hard labour, demotion to the lowest enlisted grade, and forfeiture of all pay and
allowances’. Okinawan legal experts estimated that Smith would have received a
custodial sentence of 5 years if he had been tried in a Japanese court and the press
claimed that his punishment was the same as that of a soldier court martialled on
19 May 1970 for possession of marijuana (OPA U84000745K: 14 August 1970).
Whether or not this comparison was a valid one (it has not been possible to verify
the story), USCAR was reduced to persuading a conservative newspaper, Okinawa
Keizai Shimbun, with a readership of just 5,000, to present the official view that the
sentence of dishonourable discharge sentence was in fact a severe one. Given that
the Okinawa Taimusu and the Ryūkyū Shimpō, both of which were highly critical of
US handling of military crimes, had circulations of 131,000 and 85,000 respectively,
the impact of what were referred to as ‘hard-hitting, conservative-oriented
commentaries on the Smith Trial’ in the Okinawa Keizai Shimbun can only have been
negligible (OPA U84000745K: 12 September 1970). For the great majority of
Okinawans, ‘extraterritoriality’ continued to symbolize the injustice and inequity
of ‘alien rule’, highlighting their own impotence in the face of American military
power. From June 1970 onwards, increasing impatience and frustration with the
existing system of criminal justice manifested itself in Okinawans taking the law
into their own hands, in vigilante activities and in major outbreaks of civil disorder.
The High Commissioner was absolutely right in August 1970 when he observed that
‘we will feel effects of Gushikawa case for some time to come’ (OPA U84000745K:
14 August 1970).
Provoking a riot
On 29 July 1970 High Commissioner Lampert reported a worrying development
to the Department of the Army, namely ‘unprecedented incidents . . . in which
Okinawans, sometimes in considerable number, gathered at the scene of vehicle
accidents involving US personnel with local nationals, preventing the police and
military authorities from doing their job and providing scenes of confrontation
between American personnel and Okinawans’ (OPA U84005671K: 29 July 1970).
This behaviour reflected a widespread concern among Okinawans that native and
American police agencies were not sufficiently diligent in their investigation of
accident and crime scenes, making it necessary for the public at large to register
a protest directly with the American drivers of vehicles involved in incidents. In the
face of ‘alleged GRI police impotence in handling US–Ryukyuan incidents’,
ordinary Okinawans felt strongly that they themselves must take charge of the
situation to guard against indulgent treatment of American offenders by US military
police. Only in this way, the argument went, could Okinawans’ rights be properly
protected.
Faced with this collapse of confidence in the effectiveness of law enforcement, the
US authorities set out to strengthen the powers of the Okinawan police, so sending
out the message that there was no need for the public to interfere in incidents
involving American vehicles, because they could rely on their police to protect their
interests. By promoting the Okinawan police in this way USCAR hoped to reduce
tension over the ‘crime issue’. Alternatively, it was acknowledged, this problem could
be tackled from another angle – educating US military police (MPs) to respect native
customs and attitudes might well bring about greater sensitivity on their part in their
dealings with Okinawans. Such an approach was favoured by Ambassador Takase
in a meeting with the High Commissioner on 21 August 1970, the ambassador
recalling ‘his personal experience in Manchuria/China where he had observed that
there had been minimal problems when military commanders gave their personal
attention to relations between troops and local inhabitants’. This direct comparison
between Japanese rule in Manchuria during the 1930s and US control of Okinawa
in 1970 presumably caused the High Commissioner some discomfort.
Returning to the specific issue of the status of the Okinawan police, Lampert
thanked Takase for unofficial suggestions that came indirectly from the government
of Japan (via the Kishi–Kaya paper presented to USCAR on 26 June), remarking
that they provided a good foundation ‘for discussions we were carrying on
with GRI on possible ways to improve US–GRI police co-operation’ (OPA
U84005671K: 21 August 1970). The changes recommended by Kishi (Director of
Obonta) and Kaya (a Japanese government member of the preparatory committee)
were as follows: (a) better ‘troop orientation to reduce friction’; (b) joint patrols
concerned with crime prevention as well as traffic problems; greater powers for
GRI police to enter US bases (c) to pursue and (d) apprehend American offenders
taking refuge in US installations; (e) facility for transfer of custody from GRI police
to US military authorities to take place at the GRI police box or station; (f) provision
of interim and final reports on cases involving Okinawan victims; (g) proper advance
notice of trials; (h) arrangements for simultaneous translation of trial proceedings
(from English to Japanese); (i) avoidance of ‘premature departure’ of US offenders
from Okinawa, creating the impression that they were escaping justice; and
(j) expeditious settlement of compensation claims made by Okinawan victims of US
crimes (OPA U84005671K: 27 June 1970).
The Kishi–Kaya paper is a very revealing document, encompassing as it does the
various problems and irritants subsumed under the term ‘extraterritoriality’. The
subtext of the paper was that US–Okinawan relations would improve or deteriorate
in direct proportion to USCAR’s willingness to correct these deficiences in the
existing system of criminal justice. The US response to the paper was at first sight
constructive, even enthusiastic – proposals (a), (b), (f) and (g) were positively
welcomed, and rapid action on these points promised. Moreover, assurances were
made that defendants would not be allowed to return to the US until their cases had
been properly settled (i) and in relation to claims (j) attention was drawn to the
relevant legislation, the Foreign Claims Act. In all these cases – except in the last
where it was evasive – USCAR was happy to go along with Japanese requests.
Where the Kishi–Kaya paper called for substantive rather than cosmetic changes,
however, there was some resistance. Regarding the conduct of trial proceedings (h),
the US refused to provide simultaneous translation for the benefit of Okinawan
observers, recommending instead that bilingual reporters should attend trials and
interested parties should employ private interpreters. As far as removing American
suspects from crime scenes to local police boxes or stations was concerned (e),
USCAR officials saw no problem in permitting a more formal transfer of custody
in this way providing that there was no unnecessary delay in handing the suspect
over to the US authorities. On the really crucial issue of police powers vis-à-vis
American offenders, namely (c) and (d), the American response was to deny that
there was any need for Okinawan police to enter a base in pursuit of an offender,
because the relevant US authorities would deal with the matter (if necessary GRI
police ‘observers’ could be invited to observe the arrest). So the impression remained
that American servicemen who broke the law could escape justice by taking refuge
in their bases – it was little consolation to know that they might be punished by the
military authorities because in most cases this would be difficult to establish one
way or the other.
Despite its limitations the new policy on expanded cooperation between
Okinawan and American police agencies was proclaimed amidst much fanfare at
a news conference on 20 August (OPA U84004612K), the American side confident
that it had managed to ‘enhance GRI police image without compromising US
military authority’ (OPA U84005671K: 27 June 1970). In this way, it was hoped,
the sting had been removed from the issue of extraterritoriality and USCAR could
now look forward to a period of relative calm. Unfortunately, however, its hopes
were dashed when Petty Officer Tommy Ward knocked down and killed an
Okinawan woman, Kinjō Toyo, in a traffic accident in Itoman on 18 September
1970. The immediate repercussions of the accident evidenced the failure
of USCAR’s attempts to enlarge the profile of the native police with a view to
discouraging Okinawans from taking the law into their own hands. Ward was
speeding and may also have been under the influence of alcohol (Arasaki and
Nakano 1976: 211) and his vehicle veered across the road before it hit Mrs Kinjō
who was ‘well to the side of the road within the area normally reserved for pedestrian
traffic’ (OPA U84000745K: 4 January 1971).
Following the accident, a large, unruly crowd quickly gathered at the scene
and ‘held the accident vehicle by force for several days [until 24 September],
interfering with normal after-accident investigation’, their actions motivated by real
suspicions that the removal of the car would amount to loss of key evidence (OPA
U84000745K: 29 September 1970). When the Civil Administrator expressed his
concern at such behaviour to Yara, the latter remarked that the people’s anger was
understandable, given that this was the second accident that had occurred in the
Itoman area that day. He might also have added that onlookers were angered by
the manner in which ‘MPs at [the] accident scene had taken custody of [the] accused
before [an] adequate police investigation could be made’, so raising doubts about
the much-publicized close working relations between MPs and GRI police – a point
later made to the High Commissioner by Chibana Hideo, vice-chairman of the
legislature’s military relations committee (OPA U84005694K: 19 December 1970).
As one of the demands of the crowd was that the driver of the vehicle make a
‘condolence call’ on Mrs Kinjō’s family, it was decided that Ward’s wife and
Lieutenant David Rogers, Ward’s immediate supervisor, would go in his stead.
What then transpired revealed the raw emotions of those touched by the tragedy.
On leaving the Kinjō residence, Ward and Rogers found ‘the street . . . now jammed
with people’. As they drove away, taxis blocked their path at the scene of the
accident, the crowd engulfed the car, ‘beat[ing] on the windows with their hands
and pull[ing] on the doors’. As a result of this ordeal, Mrs Ward broke down
completely – ‘her sobbing seemed to calm those immediately about the car’ (OPA
U84000745K: 20 September 1970). The protests and demonstrations that followed
closely on the heels of this fatal accident were just the first act in a drama that would
continue for some months. The American authorities – as always in these cases –
waited for these initial disturbances to abate before bracing themselves for the court
martial and its aftermath.
On 4 December 1970 the press were informed that the court martial of Tommy
Ward, charged with involuntary manslaughter, would open on 7 December. In a
telling indicator of the meaning of an ‘open trial’, the press was advised that the
Naha airbase courtroom, where the court martial would take place, had a maximum
capacity of fifteen spectators. The trial ended in Ward’s acquittal on 11 December,
a verdict that seems to have surprised virtually everybody and one that represented
the very worst outcome for the health of US–Okinawan relations. Even within
USCAR circles it was admitted that the trial was seriously flawed, a report by
Richard McNealy, Director of the Legal Affairs Department, concluding that there
had been ‘a miscarriage of justice’. McNealy remarked on the incomprehension of
the US navy prosecutor at the court’s failure ‘to return at least a verdict of guilty
to negligent homicide, i.e. Ward’s failure to exercise ordinary due care’ (OPA
U84000745K: 4 January 1971). In short, the acquittal verdict was a disaster for all
concerned – with the exception of Ward, of course – because it seemed to confirm
the view of sceptics and critics that there could be no justice for Okinawans under
the present set-up, that USCAR’s assurances about the integrity of its judicial
arrangements were empty and that the only option now open to Okinawans was to
confront the American authorities on this issue.
Confrontation of an intensity not seen before was what duly followed. The spark
was two accidents involving American vehicles that occurred in the early hours of
20 December, these seemingly minor incidents (no one was seriously hurt) causing
an explosion of dissent that rocked the very foundations of US military rule in
Okinawa. At 1.10 a.m. an Okinawan was slightly hurt when he was struck by an
American car in Koza, the military police being the first to arrive on the scene (OPA
U84005694K: 21 December 1970). The Washington Post reported on 21 December
that the ‘military policeman who showed up at the scene paid no attention to the
injured islander’. When the GRI police arrived they ‘took charge of the pedestrian
who was apparently intoxicated’ while the MPs interviewed the driver of the vehicle,
during which time a hostile crowd of around 100 strong gathered at the scene.
Alarmed at this turn of events the military police decided to retreat to Koza police
station, one of their number driving the accident vehicle away. ‘This act greatly
angered the . . . growing crowd’, presumably because it underlined the subordi-
nation of the native police – here again was evidence of US military police
apparently protecting their own. Although checkpoints were then set up to prevent
other American vehicles from entering the area, one in fact got through and collided
with an Okinawan car close to the scene of the original accident. By this time the
crowd had swelled to around 700, its mood now openly aggressive – attempts
were made to turn the accident vehicle over and bottles, rocks and other objects were
thrown at the military police. Following assurances from the Okinawan police that
‘they could handle the security of the occupants of the [accident] vehicle’, the
military police retreated in a hail of projectiles, at which time one of the MP vehicles
was turned over and set on fire. The military police then reformed and ‘moved into
the crowd on line’, only to be forced back again. Only when they fired shots into
the air did the crowd disperse, permitting the MPs to free the occupants of the
accident vehicle and attend to the driver who had been ‘pulled from the auto and
had been slightly injured’.
Shouting ‘no more acquittals’, ‘Yankee go home’ and ‘don’t insult Okinawans’,
the crowd, now numbering more than a thousand, split into two groups, one moving
south towards Moromi, overturning and setting fire to American vehicles in its path.
When it neared the Plaza US Military Housing Area it met a phalanx of GRI riot
police and American MPs, the latter resorting to the use of eight tear gas grenades,
authorized by the High Commissioner himself, ‘to prevent the crowd from breaking
through these lines and advancing on the . . . housing area’. The other group headed
for Gate 2 of Kadena airbase, likewise setting fire to American cars along the way,
and targeting the Ryukyuan Pass and Identification Office and an office of the Stars
and Stripes, both just outside Gate 2. A number of demonstrators forced their way
into the airbase, ‘igniting and destroying more vehicles and five classrooms of an
American children’s school’ (Okinawa Taimusu 2000: 305–10; OPA U84005694K:
20 December 1970).
Six hours of public disorder resulted in a scene of devastation, marked above all
by countless burnt-out American vehicles, a striking indicator of the chief cause of
the disturbance. The issue that seems to have been uppermost in rioters’ minds was
the acquittal of Ward nine days earlier, a travesty of justice which caused Okinawans
to be extraordinarily sensitive to the manner in which US military police handled
traffic accidents involving Americans. The act of setting fire to American vehicles
represented a serious escalation of the direct action taken by protesters in Itoman
in September, when they took possession of the accident vehicle to prevent its being
removed for investigation – in both cases participants signalled their determination
to take control of the situation, to dictate the outcome of the incident(s). The
principle was the same, the key difference between Itoman on 18 September and
Koza on 20 December being one of degree. Clearly the violence of the Koza rioters
was channelled in a particular direction – their chief purpose was to vent their anger
on the private vehicles of American servicemen, now so closely associated with
extraterritorial rights, rather than to lynch their drivers. In that sense they had
exercised some restraint, a point made by the Japan Times on 22 December: ‘Before
people start building the violence . . . into something more than it is, we should
consider what would have happened under the same circumstances, with the same
background of frustration and resentment, if the incident had occurred in the slums
of New York, or Chicago’.
Not surprisingly the American authorities did not see it in these terms. There
was great anger at the wilful destruction of seventy-three cars owned by American
servicemen, not to mention the fire damage attending the incursion into Kadena
airbase. Recriminations came thick and fast. In a statement broadcast on radio and
television stations High Commissioner Lampert stated that ‘public resentment over
the recent acquittal . . . of a US Navy Petty Officer’ (Ward) was no excuse for ‘rioting
in the streets, endangering of peaceful citizens and destruction of property. This is
the law of the jungle. It has no place in Okinawa nor in any civilized society’. Then,
in remarks that were considered by many to be ill-judged, he warned Okinawans
that the riot and its implications could delay removal of chemical weapons stored
in Okinawa and also hinder the process of reversion: ‘Public disturbances such as
occurred last night . . . are destructive, pure and simple, and, most of all, for the
Okinawan people themselves’ (OPA U84005694K: 20 December 1970).
Meeting with Yara on 21 December, Lampert disclosed that the ‘Koza
disturbance had shocked him deeply’, remarking that ‘although he understood some
of [the] reasons for [the] disturbances, mob violence [was] not the way to resolve
these problems’. Warning that ‘mob action could arouse strong resentment among
US servicemen’ and calling for the GRI to compensate those whose cars had been
destroyed, he affirmed his continuing commitment to improve relations between the
US military and the Okinawan community (OPA U84005694K: 22 December
1970). With reference to the immediate causes of the disturbance, he criticized the
Okinawan police for not reacting more quickly to the initial incident, pointing
out that the ‘U.S. Military Police arrived on [the] scene much more rapidly’, so
reinforcing the impression that GRI police were often left behind in accident cases
involving American personnel. Part of the reason for this hanging back or deference
on the part of the Okinawan police was their understandable reluctance to serve as
a buffer between Okinawans and Americans.
In a typically forthright response to Lampert’s comments, Yara identified
USCAR’s exercise of ‘extraterritoral rights’ as the chief cause of the riot, stating that
unless something was done ‘to allay anxieties over [the] poison gas removal issue
and make some form of compensation in [the] Itoman [Ward] case current attitudes
and situation on Okinawa will not improve’. Obviously alluding to widespread
concerns about the integrity of courts martial, he added that ‘When no other
recourse [is] available, disturbances such as those occurring in Koza are [the] only
way [the] weak can express their feelings’. As for the strong, Yara cautioned that
they should act responsibly, accusing the High Commissioner of inflaming the
situation by the ‘high posture’ he adopted in his statement broadcast on television
and radio. In what was a robust exchange of views, Yara demonstrated on this
occasion – as on others – his determination to defend and advance the interests of
Okinawans and his unyielding approach to US military authority in this connection.
His bold leadership and open criticism of the High Commissioner can also be seen
as reflecting a shift of power away from USCAR towards the GRI (OPA
U84005694K: 22 December 1970).
While Yara viewed the riot as a ‘spontaneous outbreak of pent-up emotions . . .
without leaders and composed mostly of Koza residents’, others contended that it
was organized and orchestrated by anti-US agitators. American military sources
identified an initial stage when ‘violence began as a spontaneous emotional outburst’
followed by an anti-American riot ‘professionally agitated by members of leftist
elements and stimulated by individuals who were employed, either directly or
indirectly, with Koza businesses, especially those catering to the nightlife of US
servicemen’ (OPA U84005694K: 2 February 1971). Whereas these employees
clearly had scores to settle, their employers for the most part depended on American
custom and were quick to distance themselves from those who condoned the
riot. In a meeting with the High Commissioner on 22 December, two influential
business leaders from Koza – Sueyoshi Narinobu (President of Koza Chamber of
Commerce) and Fukuyama Toshio (President of Koza Livelihood Association) –
argued that the riot was ‘internally controlled and guided’ and that a high proportion
of participants were ‘outsiders’. Furthermore, many of the people drinking in bars
in Koza that night had attended a rally held earlier that day at Misato, a village lying
on the route along which chemical weapons would have to be moved prior to their
removal by ship. Although these observations suggested that the riot had been
orchestrated by political activists from outside Koza, no firm evidence to support
this case was advanced other than the claim that ‘rioters [were] observed
telephoning outside supporters to come into [the] area’ (OPA U84005694K:
23 December 1970). While this would at least help account for the rapidly swelling
crowd, there is in fact another, infinitely more convincing explanation. Journalists
of the Asahi Shimbun contended that ‘Taxis and their obliging drivers were the secret
behind the riot’ – they ‘relayed word of the trouble to surrounding residents’,
then ‘ferried men into Koza from neighboring towns in quick, efficent relays, and
charged them nothing for the ride’. Apparently the taxi drivers were motivated
by strong feelings of ‘distrust and animosity’ towards American servicemen, who
for years had been ‘stealing free rides or robbing them of their fares’ (Asahi
Shimbun 1972: 40–1). According to figures provided by the Asahi Shimbun, 9 out of
10 crimes committed by Americans against Okinawans victimized taxi drivers.
Seldom was justice seen to be done in these cases, the great majority of which
remained unsolved.
Reactions and aftermath
If the main aim of those who rioted in the early hours of 20 December was to draw
attention to the iniquities of American rule, then they succeeded beyond their wildest
expectations. Press coverage in Japan was universally sympathetic, the English-
language Daily Yomiuri stating on 22 December that ‘dissatisfaction and even anger
. . . accumulating for twenty-five years had reached boiling point’, the explosion
occurring as a result of ‘the abuse of human rights . . . spotlighted by the leniency
accorded US servicemen who have committed crimes against Okinawans’. Specific
reference was made to the Ward case, the article contending that ‘it is natural for
the people of Okinawa to be angered when their lives are treated of no account’.
Likewise, the conservative Tokyo Shimbun – regarded by the American embassy in
Tokyo as ‘unabashedly friendly to [the] US’ – maintained that the riot was the result
of ‘distrust and frustration by Okinawans at [the] US administration engendered
by [the] latter’s alleged disregard for basic human rights’ and claimed that
‘occupation psychology’ was still very much in evidence (by which was presumably
meant an arrogant, superior, sometimes racist attitude towards Okinawans). The
US embassy in Tokyo reported that overall the reaction in Japan indicated a ‘fairly
universal belief here that [the] Koza riot [is] explicable and perhaps even justifiable
because of alleged lack of attention to legitimate grievances of Okinawans’. It added
that ‘Racial overtones are particularly disturbing because grievances are explicitly
linked to [the] belief [that] Okinawans are treated like “animals” ’ (OPA
U84005694K: undated). To cap it all, Selig Harrison of the Washington Post charged
that ‘The GI who struck an Okinawan with his car and left the victim sprawling in
the street offered the crowning symbol of an arrogant “occupation mentality” to the
people of the pleasure city of Koza’.
On 9 January 1971 the High Commissioner reported ‘mixed’ reactions to the riot
in Okinawa, but admitted that generally attitudes corresponded to those in Japan.
Most Okinawans saw the disturbance as ‘the “natural” culmination of a series of
events all tending to demonstrate American “occupation mentality” and disregard
of Ryukyuan “human rights” ’ (OPA U84005694K: 9 January 1971). Echoing the
demands of the press in Okinawa and Japan, the Okinawan legislature, dominated
by conservatives (holding 18 of 32 seats), unanimously passed a resolution at an
extraordinary session on 25 December 1970 calling for the ‘transfer of power of
investigation and court jurisdiction’ vis-à-vis offences by US military and civilian
personnel to the Okinawan government. It also drew attention to lax military
discipline, and the need to punish offenders rigorously, to provide public access to
trial and court records and to compensate victims properly. The response of the US
military on Okinawa to these demands was essentially to play for time, to make
some tokenistic gestures that would hopefully avert any more major disturbances
in the short period that was left before reversion. In a meeting with Foreign Minister
Aichi Kiichi on 22 December, the American ambassador to Japan stressed the
‘extreme difficulty in [the] transfer of criminal jurisdiction to GRI courts’, adding
that the ‘US side [was] willing to look at any specific Japanese government non-
juridical [my italics] proposals for improving [the] situation’ in Okinawa. Given that
everyone acknowledged that the problem was extraterritorial rights, that is to
say of a judicial nature, the Americans were asking rather a lot of the Japanese
government on this occasion.
Not everyone, however, was thinking about judicial arrangements. Business
interests in Koza, for example, had more pressing concerns, namely the adverse
effect of measures taken by the military in the aftermath of the riot. In a meeting with
Lampert that took place on 5 February 1971, Inamine Ichirō, a member of the
House of Councillors, and Ōyama Chōjō, mayor of Koza, among others stressed
the ‘deteriorating economic condition of Koza business establishments which
depend heavily on American patronage’. For example, ‘Condition Green’ –
prohibiting Americans from stopping in certain areas except when required to do
so by traffic regulations – was still operating in Koza from midnight to 6 a.m.
(admittedly this was a great improvement on 6 p.m. to 6 a.m., which had operated
until the end of 1970). In response, Lampert insisted that these restrictions would be
lifted as soon as possible, and advocated ‘increased deployment of GRI police and
greater use of joint US–GRI patrols’ to deter criminal activities (OPA U84005694K:
5 February 1971). The latter proposal may have been motivated by a noticeable
trend towards vigilante activities in Koza. Fukuyama Toshio (President of Koza
Livelihood Association) informed Lampert on 22 December 1970 that citizen patrols
had been organized to prevent any recurrence of the riotous behaviour of two days
earlier. A few days later, on 28 December, a senior military official cautioned that
‘A-Sign people [those running bars approved by and so patronized by the US
military] should be warned not to attempt to take over the GRI police role through
vigilante activities’ (OPA U84005694K: 28 December 1970).
The degree to which Okinawans had given up on the police and were increasingly
relying on their own solidarity and organization to deal with the problem of crime
was particularly evident among taxi drivers – that long-suffering group – during the
summer of 1971. In a memorandum for the Acting Chief of Staff, dated 24 August
1971, it was admitted that ‘assaults, robberies, damage to property and failure to
pay taxi fares by US Forces personnel have long been a source of irritation and
resentment’ and that ‘failure to apprehend many of the culprits and to notify the
victims and the general public of disciplinary actions taken . . . has increased this
resentment and has resulted in taxi drivers working out systems of signalling other
taxi drivers that help is needed’ (OPA U84006006K: 24 August 1971). This
determination by taxi drivers to protect and assist each other produced explosive
situations when they gathered in large numbers at the scene of a crime or accident.
One such incident occurred in Naha on 11 August when a taxi driver, Okuhira
Keiji, was ‘struck in the face by a rock thrown by a US serviceman’ (one Thomas
Robinson, who apparently intended it for his girlfriend). Angered by a derogatory
remark, Robinson ‘hit Okuhira with his fists’, by which time about thirty taxis had
converged on the scene. Following the removal of Robinson and Okuhira to Naha
central police station, between 100 and 150 taxi drivers congregated there at about
1.40 a.m., ‘demanding that Robinson be released to them and not to the custody
of the Ryukyuan/Armed Services police’. Then at about 3.30 a.m. the drivers
headed for the Naminoue area of Naha, where they ‘began moving down the streets
of the night-club district with the apparent intention of assaulting any US Forces
personnel they found’. In the event ‘two to five US servicemen reportedly were
injured by the crowd, and two privately owned vehicles carrying US Forces
registration were overturned and set afire’ (OPA U84006006K: 12 August 1971).
In a message to the American embassy in Tokyo, dispatched on 9 January 1971,
High Commissioner Lampert had expressed his view that the ‘Koza incident . . .
inaugurates [a] new and less propitious era in Ryukyuan–American relations which
will last at least until major reversion and base-related issues are settled and quite
possibly until the Government of Japan assumes administrative authority and SOFA
(Status of Forces Agreement) is put into effect’ (OPA U84005694K: 9 January 1971).
The disorder that marked the remaining sixteen months of US occupation proved
him right in this assessment. An air of resignation descended over senior American
officials, only too aware that the key source of conflict was extraterritoriality
(Lampert’s reference to SOFA is revealing in this regard), but unwilling to do
anything about it in the months that remained. Although a ‘trial observer system’
was unveiled with much fanfare by USCAR – in the hope that the six Okinawan
lawyers selected by Yara ‘would overcome Ryukyuan lack of understanding of US
court-martial procedures’ – the Deputy Chief Executive was absolutely right
to warn his USCAR counterpart that this would do little to silence public demands
for the complete transfer of jurisdiction to GRI courts (OPA U84005999K:
7 January 1971). Nobody was convinced by this tokenistic gesture, the issue of extra-
territoriality continuing to sour relations to the very end. As late as 18 February 1972
Yara was clashing with Robert Fearey, the Civil Administrator, over yet another
traffic accident involving an American driver and an Okinawan fatality. In response
to Yara’s claim that the death of Shiroma Kama – like that of Kinjō Toyo – was
‘nothing else but a murder case . . . caused [by] the neglect of [the] lives of the
people of Okinawa Prefecture on the part of the members of the US armed forces
. . . an act of barbarity which is never permissible’, Robert Fearey refused to accept
the Chief Executive’s ‘intemperate and discriminatory language’ (OPA
U84006012K: 25 February 1972). It seemed that the two sides, now accusing each
other of discrimination, were further apart than ever.
Conclusion
This article contends that the Koza riot was first and foremost a powerful
repudiation of American rule, fuelled by pervasive anger at the abuses that attended
it, most notably extraterritoriality. In that sense it reflected the growing politicization
of large numbers of Okinawans, now willing to engage in direct action with the
express purpose of articulating their anger and exposing the limits of American rule.
Whether it is best described as an ‘incident’, a ‘disturbance’ or a ‘riot’, this explosion
of discontent affirmed the need for reversion to Japan rather than denying it. What
lay at its heart was a quest for citizenship, a yearning for the ‘right to justice’ that
had been denied Okinawans for more than twenty-five years. It was this issue more
than any other that united opposition to American occupation (the base issue evoked
a much more mixed response), not least because the US military refused to give
ground on it, insulating its servicemen from Okinawan justice right up to the date
of reversion. The violence of the last eighteen months of occupation testified to the
irreconcilable differences separating the two sides – on the one hand, the US
military’s determination not to compromise its military mission by giving up its
extraterritorial rights, on the other, the Okinawan government’s determination to
abolish this system of preferential justice that underlined the benefits of reunion
with Japan (ironically blessed with a progressive constitution largely written by
Americans). There was much truth in the claim made by Fukuchi Kōshō, an official
of the Okinawa Teachers’ Association, that after their long, uphill struggle to secure
constitutional rights and freedoms ‘Okinawans above all deserve to celebrate . . . the
[postwar Japanese] Constitution . . . on May 3 [Constitution Day]’ (Staff of Asahi
Shimbun 1970: 307).
References
Published works
Arasaki, M. and Nakano, Y. (1976) Okinawa Sengoshi (Postwar Okinawan History), Tokyo:
Iwanami Shoten.
Asahi Shimbun (1972) The Pacific Rivals: A Japanese View of Japanese–American Relations, Tokyo:
Weatherhill/Asahi.
Higa, M. (1963) Politics and Parties in Postwar Okinawa, Vancouver: British Colombia Press.
Klein, T. M. (1972) ‘The Ryukyus on the eve of reversion’, Pacific Affairs 45: 1–20.
Makise, T. (1971) Okinawa no rekishi 3 (The History of Okinawa, Vol. 3), Tokyo: Chōbunsha.
Marshall, T. H. (1950) Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Okinawa Taimusu (2000) Okinawa Sengo Seikatsushi (History of Ordinary Life in Postwar
Okinawa), Naha: Okinawa Taimusu Shaten.
Perez, L. G. (1997) ‘Revision of the unequal treaties and abolition of extraterritoriality’,
in H. Hardacre and A. L. Kern (eds) New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan, Leiden:
E. J. Brill Press.
Rabson, S. (1989) Okinawa: Two Postwar Novellas, Berkeley: University of California Press.
Reischauer, E. O. (1957) The United States and Japan, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press.
Sarantakes, N. E. (2000) Keystone: The American Occupation of Okinawa and US–Japanese
Relations, Austin: Texas A and M University Press.
Staff of Asahi Shimbun (1970) ‘Reports from Okinawa’, The Japan Interpreter 6: 294–308.
Trends and Topics (1969) ‘Okinawa’s reformist chief executive’, Japan Quarterly 16: 7–11.
—— (1970) ‘Nerve gas’, Japan Quarterly 17: 365–9.
Van Gunsteren, H. (1998) A Theory of Citizenship, Boulder, CO: Westview.
Documentary sources
OPA – Okinawa Prefectural Archives. The codes below refer to files on microfilm as
classified by the OPA. Unless stated otherwise messages/memoranda listed below were
sent by the High Commissioner (HICOM) to the Department of the Army (DA).
Code U84000745K
6 June 1970, subject: CA (Civil Administrator)/CE (Chief Executive) meeting of 5 June
1970.
8 June 1970, subject: political assessment of 30 May Gushikawa incident.
13 June 1970, subject: CA/CE meeting of 13 June 1970.
14 August 1970, subject: local reaction to Smith trial.
12 September 1970, disposition form from William Clark, liaison department, to HICOM,
subject: commentary on Smith trial by conservative newspaper.
20 September 1970, memo for the record, subject: visit to Itoman, Saturday 19 September
1970.
29 September 1970, subject: CA/CE meeting of 28 September 1970.
4 January 1971, memo thru Acting CA, to HICOM, subject: interview with US navy
prosecutor – Itoman fatal traffic accident case.
Code U84004612K
20 August 1970, joint announcement – US forces and GRI police announce strengthened
cooperation.
Code U84005671K
27 June 1970, State for Finn, subject: GRI police role.
29 July 1970, subject: allegations on US crimes on Okinawa.
21 August 1970, from HICOM to C-in-C, Pacific (CINCPAC), subject: GRI police role,
HICOM meeting with Ambassador Takase, 21 August.
Code U84005694K
19 December 1970, no subject specified.
20 December 1970, statement delivered by High Commissioner James B. Lampert over
radio and television stations on Okinawa.
21 December 1970, memo addressed to CA, subject: report of initial incidents in Koza riot,
20 December 1970.
22 December 1970, subject: CA/CE meeting 21 December 1970.
23 December 1970, subject: HICOM meeting with Koza business leaders 22 December
1970.
28 December 1970, minutes of meeting involving Deputy CA and representatives of
departments concerned with law and order.
9 January 1971, message from HICOM to US embassy, Tokyo, subject: significance of
Koza incident.
2 February 1971, summary of information, preparing office: Directorate for Intelligence,
HQ, US Army Ryukyu Islands, subject: Koza riot.
5 February 1971, subject: HICOM/Inamine meeting, 5 February 71.
Undated, communication from US embassy, Tokyo, to HICOM, subject: Okinawa
incident/Japanese press reaction.
Code U84005999K
7 January 1971, subject: ACA-DCE meeting on 5 Jan 71; GRI court observers and
chemical munitions removal.
Code U84006006K
12 August 1971, summary of information, preparing office: Directorate for Intelligence,
HQ US Army Ryukyu Islands, subject: anti-US violence by Ryukyuan taxi drivers.
24 August 1971, subject: input for meeting with HICOM, 24 August 1971 regarding cab
drivers.
Code U84006012K
25 February 1972, letter from CA to CE, 25 February 1972, no subject specified.
10 The dynamic trajectory of
the post-reversion
‘Okinawa Struggle’
Constitution, environment and
gender1
Miyume Tanji
Okinawa is often described as an exceptional region of Japan in that it has a strong

tradition of residents’ participation, in the form of mass protest, in deciding their
political fate. Johnson, for instance, comments that ‘Okinawa is the only Japanese
community whose residents have fought for the democracy they enjoy’ (2000: 52).
Since the beginning of direct US military rule after the Second World War, the
Okinawan people have engaged in numerous protests against the oppression,
injustice and humiliation imposed on them by the domineering presence of the US
military on Okinawa Island.
In the late 1960s, mainland Japanese anti-base activists employed the term
‘Okinawa Struggle’ (Okinawa tōsō )’ to indicate solidarity with their Okinawan
counterparts. In this context the term ‘Okinawa Struggle’ represented one specific
component of Japanese popular opposition against the renewal of the Japan–US
Mutual Security Treaty in 1970, especially among the radical New Left, the host
of leftist and student organizations loosely united by the aim of socialist revolution
based on individual action (Takazawa 1996: 10; Ikeda 1997: 98). In Okinawa,
however, local activists have used this term somewhat differently. Professor of
Okinawan history and anti-war landowner Arasaki Moriteru defines the expression
‘Okinawa Struggle’ as the lineage of ‘people’s movements’ (minshū undō) against the
marginalization of Okinawans’ interests and voices, from the end of the Second
World War to the present (Arasaki 1997: 166–80).
The concentration of a massive 75 per cent of the US military bases in Japan on
the best one-fifth of the landmass of Okinawa Island is the most obvious index of
the marginalization of Okinawa as a minority region in Japan. Not all Okinawans
are opposed to the military bases, and not all struggles in Okinawa are focused solely
on the bases. Nevertheless, if the Japanese government’s economic pay-off for the
bases did not make a significant and direct impact on people’s livelihoods, almost
all Okinawans would want to see the US bases leave the island. The Battle of
Okinawa, site of the bloodiest warfare in the Pacific and in which almost everyone
lost one or more immediate family members, is still a dominant motivation for the
local anti-base movements. In this sense, the current configuration of the Japanese–
US security alliance relies on the effective silencing of the collective local feelings
168 Miyume Tanji
against the military. Breaking this silence, that is, raising the voice of opposition
against the continuing military colonization of the island combined with the
structural economic dependency on the government’s subsidies, is the main theme
of today’s ‘Okinawa Struggle’.
However, the precise definition of what is really at stake in the protest has changed
over time, and varied among different actors. For example, in the 1950s and early
1960s, the dominant theme of the struggle of the Okinawans was the aspiration to
become part of ‘Japan’. Well before reversion in 1972, however, becoming part of
Japan clearly ceased to be the goal of absolute importance that could unite all
Okinawan anti-base political forces into a coalition. Today, the divisions among
actors are even more severe. Some see the problem of military bases in Okinawa in
terms of their adverse effects on city planning. Others see it as a dominant condition
for perpetuating the violation of women’s rights in Okinawa. Yet others see it in
terms of the destruction of the environment. But most activists in Okinawa assume
the existence of some overarching entity of struggle, referred to as a ‘struggle of the
Okinawans’ (Okinawa no tatakai), ‘Okinawa Struggle’, or ‘Okinawan movements’
(Okinawa no undō ). ‘Okinawa Struggle’ becomes an all-encompassing term which
adds a unifying fabric to individual struggles, the voluntary collective actions of
various citizens to change oppressive situations which one way or another hinge on
the dominant presence of the military.
Arasaki suggests there have been ‘three waves’ in the postwar ‘Okinawa Struggle’
(see also Johnson 2000: 52). The first wave was the mass protests against the US
military’s land confiscations that reached a peak in 1956 and are remembered as
the ‘all-island struggle’ (shimagurumi tōsō ). Under the restricted political freedom
given by the US military administration, landowners and farmers formed a coalition
with fledgling indigenous political organizations, workers’ unions and the school-
teachers’ association against the US land policy. In the second wave of the ‘Okinawa
Struggle’, the protesters demanded the return to Japanese administration. This is
generally called the ‘reversion struggle’ (fukki tōsō ). Major political parties, unions
and citizens’ organizations joined the umbrella organization, the Council for
Reversion (Sokoku Fukki Kyōgikai), which led the people’s collective action requesting
reversion (see Kano 1987; Nakachi 1996; Nakano 1969; Senaga 1959; Uehara
1982; and Yara 1985).
The third-wave mass protest took almost thirty years to emerge on an all-island
scale. Okinawans’ mass protest following the 1995 case of a 12-year-old girl raped
by three US soldiers contributed to an overdue public controversy worldwide on
the dangers visited upon local populations by the foreign deployment of US bases
in the post-Cold War world (Johnson 1999, 2000; Funabashi 1997; Mochizuki and
O’Hanlon 1996). In the following year, the US and Japanese governments decided
to relocate the Futenma airbase within Okinawa. Arasaki (1997: 181) calls this third
wave the ‘struggle for human rights and life’ (jinken/seimei o mamoru tatakai). Universal
social concerns (to do with human rights, the protection of natural resources and
gender relations) in specifically local contexts are the central dimension of the third-
wave ‘Okinawa Struggle’. These issues have connected Okinawan activists to the
global social movements of environmentalism and feminism.
The dynamic trajectory of the post-reversion ‘Okinawa Struggle’ 169
I understand the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ as a strategic concept which has the power
of galvanizing numerous forms of collective action against different problems into a
unified struggle against marginalization specific to Okinawa. Rather than deter-
mining what exactly it ‘is’, this chapter attempts to question how the ‘Okinawa
Struggle’ as an idea has been used by activists, and how its meanings have changed
since reversion. Historical and cultural attributes peculiar to ‘Okinawa’ are crucial
components of the discourses related to these activists and their protests. This chapter
provides a glimpse into how Okinawans themselves construct and articulate
competing versions of what it means to be ‘Okinawan’, in response to a major theme
of this book. First, then, it examines the post-reversion anti-war landowners’ struggle.
Second, it focuses on the struggle against yamato (mainland)-style industrialization
and the destruction of the ocean, through the anti-CTS (Central Terminal Station)
struggle and the Shiraho struggle. Third, the chapter explores the impact of the
Okinawan women’s struggle against gender violence and the military. In an expanded
variety of organizational forms, perspectives and strategies, increasingly I find growing
internal conflicts, disagreements and assertions of individuality. These create internal
divisions and internecine arguments, which is increasingly a characteristic of what
it means to be an ‘Okinawan’ for those who are engaged in protest.
The anti-war landowners’ struggle

Since Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, Okinawan anti-war landowners have constantly
engaged in collective action in the form of disobedience against the forcible use of
their property for military purposes. The main actors of the land struggle are
a minority of landowners who do not agree with leasing to the military even though
their land is still occupied. These landowners are called the ‘anti-war landowners’,
a unique Okinawan presence who ‘refuse to lease their land to military bases for
reasons of opposition to war and aspirations for peace’ (Arasaki 1992: 108).
In Okinawa, about 33 per cent of the land occupied by the US military is privately
owned, in contrast to the mainland where bases reside primarily on state-owned
land. The phrase ‘land appropriation by bulldozers and bayonets’ captures the
locals’ bitter memory of a series of armed confiscations by the US forces, which
started in the owners’ absence in the aftermath of the Battle of Okinawa. Only
after the 1956 island-wide protest (shimagurumi tōsō ) against the US military’s lump-
sum payment policy, did the military landowners obtain the right to receive annual
rent. Upon Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, the Japanese government became
the subcontractor of the collective leases to the US military. Then, some 3,000
Okinawan landowners refused to sign the contract. The Japanese government
increased the rent six-fold on average, and used underhand methods to discourage
objectors, even deliberately fostering conflicts among neighbours. As a result,
some objectors were ostracized in their communities, workplaces and by relatives.
Over time, the majority of landowners succumbed to signing a lease contract
(Arasaki 1998; Johnson 2000: 51–4).
In order to overcome isolation and discouragement, anti-war landowners formed
the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization (Hansen Jinushi Kai). At present in Okinawa
170 Miyume Tanji
the number of ‘non-contract landowners’ who refuse to lease their properties to the
military and receive compensation from the government, whether identifying
themselves publicly as an anti-war landowner or not, has decreased to just over one
hundred. In contrast, some 30,000 ‘contract landowners’ legally lease to the military,
receive rent from the government and form an influential interest group, the
Landowners’ Association of Military Properties (abbreviated in Japanese as Tochiren).
The Anti-War Landowners’ Organization is thus a minority among the entire local
population of ‘military landowners’; nevertheless, it has mobilized solid support
from other anti-base/anti-war organizations.
The local ‘progressive’ (kakushin) political forces cooperate with the anti-war
landowners as an anti-base coalition. Most were formerly part of the Council for
Reversion (Fukkikyō ) that dissolved in 1977. In February 1976, eighteen organiza-
tions, including three local political parties (the Okinawa Socialist Mass Party,
Okinawa branches of the Japan Communist Party and the Japan Socialist Party),
local trade unions (Kenrōkyō, Zen Oki Rōren, Jichirō Okinawa Branch) as well as
teachers’ unions (the Okinawa Teachers’ Association and the High School
Teachers’ Union), formed Solidarity against Unconstitutionality (Iken Kyōtō ) (Arasaki
1995: 82). The anti-war landowners and Solidarity against Unconstitutionality have
formed a solid anti-base bloc with a means to exert influence on the state through
seats held in municipal and national legislatures. According to Arasaki, the Council
for Reversion ‘bequeathed to the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization the position
of “orthodox successor” of the Okinawan anti-war movement’ (Arasaki 1995: 76).
Furthermore, the hitotsubo (1 tsubo = 3.3 square metres) Anti-Landowners’
Organization, established in June 1982, has provided an opportunity for concerned
citizens to support the anti-war landowners without being part of the progressive
political coalition. Arasaki and his colleagues initiated a campaign to buy 10,000
yen’s worth of land inside Kadena airbase from an anti-war landowner and register
jointly as landowners. The hitotsubo movement created an opportunity for individuals
who do not own substantial amounts of property to join the protest against
militarism as committed parties directly affected by the land issue. The hitotsubo
movement increased the number of anti-war landowners from just over 100 to
2,000 immediately, and currently it has approximately 3,000 members, which
has boosted the local anti-base pressure on the Japanese government. The sheer
increase in numbers has added a psychological edge to the anti-war landowners’
struggle.
The initiators of the hitotsubo movement were the people who had already engaged
in ‘various residents’ movements, union and citizens’ movements, and other kinds
of intellectual movements in local areas around Okinawa, Miyako and Yaeyama’
(Shin Okinawa Bungaku, 30 September 1982: 141). Close ideological and organizational
affiliation with formal parties and unions has limited the membership of the
movement. The membership also tends to be limited to those who already own land
within the US military bases, or those familiar with the local society who are willing
to go through the paperwork and registration process in order to become a hitotsubo
anti-war landowner. Leading members of hitotsubo movement, as well as Solidarity
against Unconstitutionality, mostly participated in the reversion movement and the
earlier protest against the military land policy. These actors adhered to the old ideo-
logical slogans, strategy and organization, and could not articulate the importance
of the current struggle distinguished from the past. The media has often depicted the
anti-war landowners as ‘radicals’. These factors alienated the wider, non-experienced
public from getting involved in political action to do with the land issue. Inevitably,
the anti-war landowners’ struggle and their supporters, including the hitotsubo
network, have formed an inward-looking sector of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’.
The most important activity of the anti-war landowners has been the legal
struggle against the compulsory use of non-contract landowners’ private properties
by the US military. The conservative Japanese government has time after time
changed national laws in order to legalize the compulsory use of military properties
even if a minority of landowners did not consent to the lease contract.2 The military
land dispute in Okinawa has demonstrated that the ‘public interest’ and the right
to private land ownership protected by the constitution are incompatible.
The Local Autonomy Law stipulates that the mayors of the municipal bodies
shall sign on behalf of objectors who refuse to lease; if the mayors disagree, governors
are required to sign. In November 1995, in the period of intense anger after the rape
of the schoolgirl, governor Ōta Masahide refused to sign on behalf of the landowners
who objected to the inspection and official documentation of their properties for the
purpose of the extension of the existing lease. The anti-war landowners’ resilience
seemed to have been finally rewarded. Consequently, however, the Japanese
government sued Ōta for neglecting public duty. First the High Court, then the
Supreme Court handed down verdicts against Ōta. Eventually, Ōta agreed to sign
the contracts in 1996. His decision disappointed many supporters of his hard-line
policy to press the US and the Japanese governments for a reduction in the military
presence in Okinawa.
In 1997, while the Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee was still in the
process of completing public hearings on the extension of the state’s five-year
mandatory lease of objecting landowners’ properties, the ongoing lease terminated.
In order to avoid unlawful occupation, the Diet passed the bill to amend the US
Military Special Measures Law, which legalized the use of the properties by the
US military until the Committee approved the extension of the lease without
the owners’ consent. Moreover, should the Committee reject the extension of
leases, the amendment made it legal for the US military to use the properties
until the Minister of Construction approves the extension. In July 1999, the subject
clause of the Local Autonomy Promotion Law further amended the US Military
Special Measures Law. It abolished the authority of the mayors and governor to sign
on behalf of the objecting landowners any documents related to expropriation of
properties for the US military use, and made it instead the Prime Minister’s
responsibility. These legal amendments have effectively insulated the state from
anti-base pressure through the machinery of local government.
The anti-war landowners’ struggle relies on links with formal opposition political
organizations, as well as the resort to legal institutions, in order to put direct pressure
on the state. However, this strategy has been susceptible to state cooption. In the
formal political realm – courts, committees and legislature – the state has constantly
172 Miyume Tanji
manipulated the system to maintain the current arrangement of US forces
comfortably stationed in Okinawa. The primary requirement of the US–Japan
Mutual Security Treaty, that US troops be stationed in Japan, has constantly taken
precedence over the constitutional rights of Okinawan citizens (Nakachi and
Mizushima 1998: 77).
The public hearings in front of the Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee
have provided an important forum for the anti-war landowners to voice their
arguments (see Okinawa Kōyōchi Iken Soshō Shien Kenmin Kyotō Kaigi
(Solidarity against Unconstitutionality) 1981, 1998). In the hearings, the anti-war
landowners have emphasized the importance of the ideals of peace and democracy,
as enshrined in the 1947 Constitution of Japan. They have presented their
particularly strong passion for the Constitution in relation to experiences in the
Battle of Okinawa and in their subsequent subjection to the US military
government. Article 9 of the constitution provides ideological justification for
refusing the land lease contract to be used by US military forces. In the second-
wave ‘Okinawa Struggle’, the Rising Sun (hinomaru) flag was a symbol both of
resistance against the US military rule and of Okinawan identity expressed by the
reversion activists. Later, people in Okinawa came to express their sense of
indignation towards yamato much more openly. After the reversion, the anti-war
landowners, too, discarded the Rising Sun, but held on to the constitution, which
still continues to provide them with an ideological base for collective action.
Experience in the Battle of Okinawa as victims is a particularly important
component of anti-war landowners’ identity, both as Okinawans and as anti-war
activists. Recollections of the battle often appear in the autobiographical accounts
of anti-war landowners and in public hearings. As survivors of war, or their
descendants, anti-war landowners give graphic descriptions of killing, forced mass
suicides and starvation in combat, as reasons for rejecting the land lease to the
military, which potentially may repeat a similar tragedy. Stories of aggression and
cruelty by mainland Japanese soldiers toward the Okinawan residents mark the
separation between Okinawa as victim and yamato as aggressor. Today, the anti-war
landowners represent Okinawa as the ‘war state’ in opposition to elsewhere in Japan
as the ‘peace state’ (Hook and McCormack 2001: 24). Revealing the atrocities of
the Japanese soldiers toward the local islanders during the 1945 Battle of Okinawa
is a political statement. It lays bare the specific nature of Japan’s marginalization
of its periphery, Okinawa, in the name of protecting Japan’s larger ‘national
interest’, which still continues today.
On one hand, the anti-war landowners’ struggle is distinctively an ‘Okinawan’
struggle. They associate their absolute aversion to war with the memory of the
Battle of Okinawa. The landowners and their supporters have articulated Okinawa’s
criticism against yamato, pronouncing Okinawans’ disappointment with the
remaining heavy military presence, unchanged by the reversion. On the other
hand, these traditional anti-base actors expound a passion for the democratic and
pacifist principles with something very ‘Japanese’: the Constitution. Yet this
strong attachment to the constitution also signifies a specifically ‘Okinawan’
identity for the anti-war landowners, inherited from the second-wave ‘Okinawa
Struggle’, reminiscent of what Arakawa Akira calls ‘reversionism’ (fukki shisō )
(Arakawa 2000: 59–150).
Ironically, then, as a ‘branch’ of postwar Japanese pacifism, the anti-war
landowners’ struggle blends in with the pacifism of Japanese ‘progressive’ political
forces. The dominant discourse of postwar Japanese pacifism has stressed the
Japanese war experience as victims, and underrepresented or silenced the hardships
caused to non-Japanese (Dower 1999: 198–9; see also, Yoneyama 1999; Orr 2001).
In this sense, the general lack of awareness found in mainland Japan about the
different kind of war that the Okinawans experienced is inscribed in this mainland
Japan-centred anti-militarism. Nevertheless, the Okinawan anti-war landowners’
share with the communists, socialists and other mainland Japanese left-wing peace
activists the attachment to the constitution, and especially Article 9, as a guard
against militarism. As Lummis (2000) argues, the ‘non-realistic’ non-belligerent
principle of the constitution has had an important ‘realistic’ pacifist effect, and no
Japanese have been killed in military conflict since 1945. But it is equally evident
that the ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) regimes have kept Article 9 only in
a paradoxical combination with the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty and the US
military presence in Japan, heavily stationed on Okinawa (Hook and McCormack
2001: 15–16). In unison with mainstream conservative Japanese security policy, the
US Military Special Measures Law indicates that stability of the US–Japan Mutual
Security Treaty is the ‘public interest’ that overwrites the minority landowners’
right to land ownership. The constitution has thus failed to defend the Okinawan
anti-war landowners’ rights.
Though they are just a fraction in number, the anti-war landowners’ movement
became the representative of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ against war and militarism.
For many people, the anti-war landowners are also a group of extremely stubborn
(mostly) men with determination beyond normal human capacity. Perhaps
paradoxically, however, their isolation and hardship in Okinawan society have
made the anti-war landowners into a symbol of rebellion against the injustice of the
state and militarism. They have protected ‘Okinawa’s good conscience’, perhaps
an important part of Okinawan identity that most Okinawans cherish but, for
economic and social reasons, cannot maintain in the form of political action. The
anti-war landowners and their supporting organizations have politically represented
the ‘Okinawan’ element of their struggle as a specifically strong attachment to the
Japanese constitution.
Kin Bay and Shiraho: the environmentalists

In September 1973, fishing people in the Kin Bay area, located in the southeast of
Okinawa Island, formed the Kin Bay Protection Group (Kinwan o Mamoru Kai)
against land reclamation for the construction of a large petroleum storage facility,
the Central Terminal Station (CTS). Since the late 1960s, foreign petroleum
corporations such as Gulf, Esso and Caltex had started building refineries, marine
roads and bridges in Kin Bay and Nakagusuku Bay. Close to marine transport
facilities, these bay areas were strategically advantageous for the oil and aluminum
174 Miyume Tanji
industries. However, the locals who caught fish and seaweed were the first to
feel the destructive effects of the effluent from these industries on the local waters.
With the advent of the OPEC oil crisis in 1973, the national and local governments
promoted Mitsubishi’s CTS construction in Kin Bay. Conservative village councils
and commercial organizations welcomed the construction of the CTS, which
required a major landfill project off Henza Island, offending the interests of the
locals dependent on the well-being of the ocean. The communities were divided into
pro- and anti-CTS groups.
The emergence of the anti-CTS movement in the Kin Bay area introduced
environmentalism as a significant component of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. All over
Okinawa and neighbouring islands in the Ryukyu region, ordinary residents
engaged in collective action against the pollution of the ocean in order to protect
their livelihood. These environmentalist movements are a variant of numerous
collective actions in mainland Japan such as the long-term citizens’ struggle of
Minamata (Ui 1968; for mainland anti-pollution movements see McKean 1981;
Broadbent 1998). In Okinawa, however, protection of local natural assets from
yamato-style industrialization had a political implication; the protection of a
distinctive ‘Okinawan’ identity against assimilation with yamato. The participation
of ordinary citizens, mostly not affiliated to political parties, trade unions or other
formal political organizations, offered styles and approaches to collective action
different from the past struggles, and also, a new level of confidence in their
traditional lifestyle as embraced in their natural environment.
Since the late 1960s, critical intellectuals have questioned whether reversion was
in fact a good idea. Arakawa Akira, Kawamitsu Shinichi, Takara Ben and Okamato
Keitoku advocated resistance towards the disappearance of unique ‘Okinawan’
spiritual characteristics that were starting to erode in the intense social transition
towards re-assimilation with Japan. These critical voices, nevertheless, remained
almost purely intellectual; they have seldom taken the form of direct political action
against militarism and the US bases, as illustrated by the anti-war landowners’
struggle. However, the political expression of identity, based on independent
attributes of being ‘Okinawan’, not on being part of Japan, is apparent in local
residents’ environmental movements in the post-reversion era.
After reversion, the Okinawan economy changed dramatically from the ‘base
economy’ to the ‘subsidy economy’ with a massive inflow of governmental subsidies
from Japan (Kurima 1998: 32–4). The Japanese government has showered ‘special
subsidies’ on Okinawa for development to compensate for the continuing burden
of the US military presence on the locals. The local population, who wished to
eliminate the relative sense of poverty in relation to the mainland, accepted this
policy. Conservative local business interests argued for the need to achieve a
standard of income and living equal to the mainland. The prefectural governments,
even when led by progressive governors, have been put under constant pressure to
promote industrialization, beginning with the Yara government which held office
from 1968 until 1976.
In September 1974, the Kin Bay Protection Group took the landfill project to
court and claimed the Okinawa prefectural government’s authorization of the project
was illegal. The defendant was the progressive prefectural government led by former
schoolteacher and leader of the reversion movement, Yara Chōbyō. Yara was elected
governor twice, supported by the ‘reformist’ anti-base population, but after reversion
those who regarded the promotion of polluting industries as a new form of the
colonization of Okinawa clashed with his government. The prefectural government
argued that it was impossible to undo the reclamation. The case ended with the Kin
Bay Protection Group’s defeat and the construction of the CTS proceeded.
The Kin Bay Protection Group was a residents’ movement (jūmin undō ), a new
type of collective action based on a local community. The Kin Bay struggle was an
environmentalist movement against pollution. Nevertheless, memberships and
communications criss-crossed with those of the former reversion activists and the
anti-war landowners and their supporters. The anti-CTS movement and anti-base
protest activities merged into the ‘Okinawa Struggle’.
The most important new aspect of the anti-CTS struggle was the value attached
to the distinctive lifestyle specific to the locality. In the case of the Kin Bay struggle,
the importance of local industry, such as farmed mozuku seaweed, was stressed as
a potentially lucrative source of income. Emphasis was placed on obtaining
‘independence’ through strengthening local-specific industries to acquire the means
of livelihood. This new emphasis repudiated the dependency on US military bases
and polluting industry in their locality as a way of obtaining income. This message
is an expression of a particular ethical position about the meaning of life, especially,
the meaning of ‘affluence’.
Asato Seishin, a former schoolteacher and resident of Yakena Village near Kin
Bay, was the founder of the Kin Bay Protection Society. However, in his oral record
of the Kin Bay struggle, Umi wa Hito no Haha de aru (The Ocean is our Mother), he stresses
that the Group does not have a leader. In his words, ‘each one of the residents is the
representative of the movement’ (Asato 1981: 42). This organizational principle
derives from the most important aim of the organization, to establish and transform
the ‘self’, that is, to be aware and proud of one’s own distinctive lifestyle rooted in
the local environment. Only in this way could one develop the ability to reject being
dependent on the government’s policy – a policy that destroys such a lifestyle (Asato
1981: 41–2).
Asato further stresses the need for the local residents to separate their struggle
from external organizations, by which he meant left-wing political parties and trade
unions, which participated in the Kin Bay struggle from the mainland and other
parts of Okinawa. He points out that the external supporters often try to be
‘movement instructors’ and take over the struggle, moving it away from the locals
(Asato 1981: 141).
We have seen Kakushin (‘progressive’) political figures that led opposition to the
bases and CTS construction in the end give in to the state and big companies.
Even ‘progressive’ governors Yara and Taira [1976–8] did not make any
difference. Being left-wing or right-wing is irrelevant. We local residents must
fight our own struggle to protect our ways of living.
(Asato 1981: 44)
176 Miyume Tanji
Sakihara Seishū, a local resident and former schoolteacher, was one of the most
active members of the Protection Group. He learned how important it was for the
local residents, in order to represent their own interests and ideas, to ‘organize and
do things themselves’ (interview, April 1999).
The anti-CTS movement foreshadowed the rise of community-based political
activism, which emphasizes the values of ‘traditional’ ways of daily living unique to
the community one lives in, rather than on achieving political or institutional goals
driven by a particular ideology. Still, the CTS project addressed an issue at the
heart of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ in the post-reversion era, namely, how to overcome
Okinawa’s dependence on state-endorsed pollution-ridden industries and US bases
that redirect profits towards mainland Japan, thus exhausting local natural
resources.
Another important new dimension of the anti-CTS residents’ movement was the
discovery of a new local identity, which discarded the image of Okinawa as a
marginalized part of Japan. The anti-CTS activists promoted the use of the term
Ryūkyūko to describe the islands of the Ryukyu region and demarcate a new sphere
of solidarity. The idea of Ryūkyūko is based on Shimao Toshio’s writings on
‘Yaponesia’, which presented a new way of looking at Amami, Okinawa and other
islands (Shimao 1969, 1977). The anti-CTS activists in the region aimed at
developing solidarity among residents’ movements scattered through the Ryūkyūko
region. Ryūkyūko is an entity with an independent cultural sphere, connecting the
Japanese archipelago with other South Pacific islands such as Polynesia, Micronesia,
Melanesia and Indonesia. Many Okinawan critics drew on the idea of Yaponesia
to emphasize the importance of the region as an independent entity for resisting the
post-1972 process of assimilation of Okinawa into a homogeneous entity, ‘Japan’
(Gabriel 1999: 214–17).
In a similar way, the main actors of the Shiraho anti-airport movement were
Shiraho residents but with a wide external network of sympathetic citizens. Shiraho
is a small hamlet on the east coast of Ishigaki Island. After 1979, when a plan to
construct an airport on a coastal area next to the hamlet became public, this small,
sleepy place surrounded by coral reefs, with a population of a mere 2,000, became
the centre of vibrant political activism. As the cause grew from a local to a wider
environmental issue it attracted international attention. Scientists and specialists
from mainland Japan and overseas came to Shiraho and conducted voluntary
research on the socio-economic benefits of the New Ishigaki Airport and the
destructive impact on the environment, especially the coral. The Shiraho struggle
prevented the direct landfill of the coral reef area of Shiraho, demonstrating the
power of an informal network of citizens’ collective action when extended overseas.
The Shiraho struggle had many common features and overlapping memberships
with the anti-CTS movement. In the first several years, the Shiraho Community
Centre was the only organization that represented the residents’ protest against the
airport. The local Shiraho residents communicated with the Kin Bay Protection
Group, the Expand Anti-CTS Struggle Network and other members of the
residents’ and citizens’ movements in the Ryūkyūko region. Members of the Kin Bay
Protection Group visited Shiraho to encourage the local airport opponents not
to repeat the fate of Kin Bay. Shiraho-born philosophy professor at Okinawa
University, Yonemori Yūji, who was the leading activist in the anti-airport move-
ment, recalls, ‘we deliberately distanced our activities from any political parties and
unions’ (interview, April 1999). Lawyer Ikemiyagi Toshio considers that the Shiraho
struggle was successful partly because ‘the political parties were not welcome
because they bring in their own egos, policies and strategies. There was a clear
consensus that the center of the movement was the Shiraho District Opposition
Committee of the Community Center and the Okinawan citizens’ supporting group
based in Naha’ (interview, May 1999). Yonemori pointed out that the organizational
structure independent from political parties and unions was a tradition passed on
from the Kin Bay struggle.
The Shiraho struggle also inherited from the Kin Bay struggle the confidence in
local identity based on the alternative conception of affluence. Journalists in various
media reported on the unique lifestyle of Shiraho, on how closely attached it is to
the natural environment, together with colourful photographs of the reef and marine
life. Gradually many locals came to express pride in their surroundings and way of
life. In a concrete way, the lifestyle in Shiraho embodied a different kind of
‘affluence’ from that defined by the mainland’s advanced infrastructure and cash.
The key strategy of the Shiraho struggle was the focus on the need for protection
of Shiraho’s valuable coral reefs as the common heritage of humanity, not just for
the locals. Yonemori explains that it was not easy for most Shiraho residents to see
the special value of the ocean that they saw everyday. Some local residents viewed
the ocean as nothing special; they were, after all, used to being in daily contact with
it. Initially, the main strategy for opposition to the airport was to protest against the
airplane noise. But Yonemori understood the potential of the Shiraho coral reefs
as a rare natural resource that the wildlife protectionists in big cities would value.
To the villagers he suggested ‘we won’t win by noise. We really need to focus on the
coral’ (interview, April 1999). In 1983, Yonemori and his colleagues launched an
advertisement in a local newspaper, Ryūkyū Shimpō, to appeal against the construc-
tion of the New Ishigaki Airport, using a vivid photograph of the colourful Shiraho
reef taken by a professional photographer. They produced posters with this picture
and an anti-airport message which were distributed throughout Okinawa. The
posters and the advertisement moved people in other parts of Okinawa and in
mainland Japan. Numerous people told the group how incredible it was that such
a beautiful ocean and coral reef existed (Yonemori, interview, April 1999).
This strategy encouraged other concerned citizens living outside Shiraho, in other
parts of Okinawa and in mainland Japan, to become involved in this environmental
struggle. In 1983, the members of Kin Bay Protection Group and others who had
been involved in various residents’ movements in the Ryūkyūko region established a
new organization, the Okinawa, Yaeyama and Shiraho’s Ocean and Life Protection
Group (Okinawa, Yaeyama, Shiraho no Umi to Kurashi o Mamoru Kai). In July 1983, several
opponents who lived in the Yaeyama region formed the Concerned Citizens’ Group
against the Airport (Kūkō Mondai o Kangaeru Shimin no Kai). In Tokyo, some fifty people
who had a strong attachment to the ocean in Shiraho formed the Yaeyama and
Shiraho Ocean Protection Group (Yaeyama Shiraho no Umi o Mamoru Kai). They
178 Miyume Tanji
included a prominent member of the Upper House, Minobe Ryōkichi, which
attracted publicity. In Osaka, sympathizers formed an anti-airport group (Ishigaki,
Shiraho no Umi ni Kūkō o Tsukurasenai Osaka no Kai). In Kobe and Kyoto, similar groups
sprang up. These groups jointly held rallies, handed out flyers and petitioned the
governor and the prefectural government in Okinawa, and the Ministry of Transport
and other government departments in Tokyo. The Minister of Transport, Ishihara
Shintarō, presently governor of Tokyo, was one of the sympathizers.
An American marine biologist Katherine Muzik joined with the local opposition
groups and played a crucial role in raising concerns to the outside world. Muzik was
living in northern Okinawa, researching the coral reefs all over Okinawa. As a
conscientious scientist her research in Okinawa was motivated by her personal grief
for the dying corals around the region, caused by post-reversion industrialization
projects since the 1975 Marine Exposition (Japan Times, 2 March 1983). She made
a speech at the first meeting of the Ishigaki’s Concerned Citizens’ Group against the
Airport, stressing the rare value of the Shiraho coral reefs from a scientist’s
perspective and the potential destructive effect of the airport project (Yaeyama Nippō,
11 July 1983). In April 1984 the Okinawa, Yaeyama and Shiraho’s Ocean and Life
Protection Group, Muzik, and Richard Murphy from the Jacques Cousteau Society
reported that the coral in Shiraho was exceptionally healthy compared to other
areas. This appealed to the public while the international prestige attached to the
Jacques Cousteau Society enhanced the credibility of the opposition (Yaeyama
Mainichi Shinbun, 21, 24 April 1984). In 1985, Muzik introduced the airport situation
in Shiraho and the rare value of the coral reefs at the 5th International Coral Reefs
Conference held in Tahiti. Later, in 1992, as president of the WWF (formerly the
World Wildlife Fund) the Duke of Edinburgh visited Shiraho as part of the campaign
to protect the coral.
Such support from intellectuals and famous figures from abroad exerted pressure
on the prefectural government to produce the official Environmental Impact
Assessment, which was attacked by scientists for its inaccuracy. In November 1987,
the World Conservation Union (IUCN) sent a delegation to investigate. Based on this,
the 17th General Meeting of the IUCN in San Jose, Costa Rica, passed in February
1988 a resolution on the Shiraho coral reefs. The resolution urged the Japanese
government to reconsider the airport construction project and to form a policy to
protect the coral in Shiraho, which the Union regarded as a world heritage site. The
IUCN resolution in Costa Rica damaged the legitimacy of the Japanese govern-
ment’s airport construction plan. Okinawan governor Ōta decided to move the plan
from Shiraho to Miyara Makinaka, further inland in Ishigaki Island, in 1991.
In the process of obtaining global support for the environmental struggle in such
a small community, the participants of the opposition movement strengthened a
sense of collective identity that was generated from pride in the unique living
environment of Shiraho, which was different from mainstream Japanese society.
This internally generated confidence independent of affiliation to Japanese national
identity appealed to external supporters, and to other critical citizens in Okinawa.
The experience and legacy of Shiraho were passed down to other struggles that
followed.
Nevertheless, in March 2001, the Inamine prefectural government returned the
construction site of the New Ishigaki Airport to the Kara Mountain area, next to
Shiraho. Environmentalists are concerned by the effect on the Shiraho reefs if the
construction of a new airport goes ahead in this area. This may be an indication of
weakness in the Shiraho-style international campaigns dependent on informal
support of outsiders. While successful in the 1980s, such a strategy is temporary and
hard to reproduce. However, the Shiraho struggle would have appeared to close off
permanently the possibility of an airport being constructed directly on coral reefs.
From the experience of the Kin Bay struggle, local residents gained confidence
in creating their own political action, separate from that of left-wing political
organizations, parties and unions. The Shiraho struggle, particularly, opened doors
for the activists to obtain wider support in the regional, national and global
community of protest. Environmentalism added another dimension to the lineage
of citizens’ voluntary collective action, however, breaking free from the idea of the
‘Okinawa Struggle’ attached to the constitution. In the process of addressing their
identity to the outside world, the actors of the residents’ movements in Kin Bay and
Shiraho identified with the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ based on a traditional lifestyle
embedded in a particular natural environment which was also a source of pride.
Okinawan women act against the military and

violence
Throughout the postwar era in Okinawa, women and women’s organizations have
been constantly present as social beings. As in many other countries, Okinawan
women have taken up responsible roles in conducting volunteer communal activities
to do with education, health and the environment. Today, there are some thirty-
two local ‘women’s groups’ (fujinkai) in communities in Okinawa. Part of their
activities, though not all, pertain to an ‘Okinawan’ version of the ‘feminist’
movement, in a sense that they particularly ‘highlight women’s specific oppression
in relation to men, preventing this from being submerged, amid all the other unequal
relationships existing in society’ (Rowbotham 1992: 6).
Okinawan feminists such as Takazato Suzuyo and Carolyn Francis, an American
Christian missionary who had moved to Naha to work against violence and sexism,
brought the Okinawan women’s movement into the international forum by
attending a number of international conferences on women and gender. Okinawan
delegates attended the 1985 Women’s Conference in Nairobi separately from
mainland Japanese delegates. International conferences provided opportunities to
establish networks and tell other concerned citizens overseas about the situation
in the militarized environment in Okinawa, and its impact on women, particularly
the rape of local women by US military personnel and the local economy’s
dependence on the sex industry catering to the bases. Takazato and Francis also
made a series of visits to Olongapo City, near Subic naval base in the Philippines.
These visits provided opportunities to deepen mutual discussion between women
living in different places who share similar problems related to the US military, the
sex industry and violence. The Okinawan–Philippine connection resulted in a
180 Miyume Tanji
conference on the military and violence in Naha in 1987, with women participants
from mainland Japan, Korea and the US (see, for example, Kirk and Okazawa-Rey
1998). The Okinawan women also developed contacts with participants from the
Greenham Common campaign in Britain, and prominent feminist academics
around the world. These contacts provided them with resources, such as cam-
paigning techniques, and perspectives from which to argue against the priority
placed on national security through armed forces, which threatens the local
residents’ security. Through these overseas contacts, Okinawan first-hand experi-
ences that used to be silenced in the private realm of the small community were put
into the language of a global gender issue. Conferences provided opportunities
to learn from others about similar gender issues and to obtain new ways of
understanding and expressing gender problems. All this reduced the isolation
of Okinawan women.
At the local level, Okinawan feminists made efforts to create a space to publicly
discuss gender issues. Takazato worked as a counsellor on women’s affairs for Naha
City, a position set up in response to the 1985 World Women’s Conference. For
many years, Takazato talked with numerous women suffering from physical pain,
illness, psychological trauma, shame and guilt, and violence. Many of them were
involved in the sex industry, were victims of rape, or suffered from the contempt and
shame associated with ‘women with a past’ in Okinawan society. She wrote in
newsletters, newspapers and gave talks in the community about how women’s living
conditions are a product of militarism combined with patriarchy. She raised
community consciousness of the fact that the problem was not just the existence of
the US military bases but a society that tolerates and silences distortion and violence
in sexual relationships between men and women (Takazato 1996).
In 1985, radio director Minamoto Hiromi was asked by her boss to report on
Okinawan women’s attendance at the Nairobi Conference. Instead, Minamoto asked
him to give her a 12-hour broadcasting slot and the budget to make a special
programme on women produced by female-only staff. They named the event the
Unai Festival after a Ryukyuan word that stands for the ‘sister god’ who, according
to a local belief, protects male siblings from misfortunes and accidents and embodies
the traditional position given to Okinawan women in patriarchal family and society.
Radio Okinawa has given 12 hours to the Unai Festival each year from 1985 to 1994,
in which Minamoto’s colleagues and friends, including Takazato and women from
all sectors in the community, produced forums on ‘women’s issues’ (Production Yui
1986). The issues they discussed were concrete life matters related to the political
conditions of Okinawa; namely, food safety, pollution, clothing, health, childbirth,
child care, education and discrimination. Okinawan men joined and contributed to
these events; however, women were intentionally placed in a privileged position
to organize them. This is a strategy recognized among the local feminists as the ‘Unai
method’, to intentionally reverse normal gender relations, revealing unbalanced
gender relationships in every aspect of life and society, in ‘normal’ patriarchal social
settings (Minamoto, interview, May 1999).
In order to prepare for the 1995 United Nations Women’s Conference, Takazato,
Minamoto, Carolyn Francis and more than seventy other members formed the NGO
Beijing 95 Forum Okinawa Action Committee. They held eleven workshops on
social issues in Okinawa, in particular the environment, continuing discrimination
and oppression against women in the patrilineal society, and the Japanese ‘comfort
stations’ (brothels for Japanese soldiers and officers staffed by women enslaved from
Japanese occupied territories for forced prostitution) set up in Okinawa during the
Second World War. Upon returning from Beijing, the Okinawan delegates were
told at the airport about the rape of a 12-year-old schoolgirl by three US soldiers,
which had occurred several days before. The incident had been reported only in
small, local newspaper articles. The Beijing team swiftly held a press conference,
inviting the international media – among others ABC, BBC and CNN – which led
to worldwide coverage of the incident. As a result, that year, Okinawa received
attention from all over the world to a degree the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ had never
experienced. The Okinawan citizens’ political momentum in this period led to the
mass rally in October 1995 where more than 80,000 people protested against the US
bases and militarism (Washington Post, 22 October 1995). In response to the pressure,
in April 1996, Prime Minister Hashimoto Ryūtarō and US Ambassador to Japan
Walter Mondale announced their decision to close the Futenma airbase (Okinawa
Taimusu, 28 November 1997).
Since the rape case, the local women’s movement against sexual violence and
militarism has gained the political opportunity to integrate into the public anti-base
forum in Okinawa. Since 1995, women’s political activism has joined the lineage
of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. Greater participation of women in the anti-base struggle
not only widened the support base, but also transformed the nature of the ‘Okinawa
Struggle’ significantly. Human rights are now clearly the central agenda. Locals
who had been formerly uninvolved started to take political action against the bases
and militarism, directly motivated by personal experiences in the private sphere.
The focus on gender and violence was a catalyst for transformation in the patterns
of participation, strategy and support networks of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. The
contribution of women’s activities in the process of realizing the plebiscite in Nago
on the new construction of the military airport demonstrates the transformation
(see, for example, Okinawa Taimusu Sha 1998; Urashima 1999; Ishikawa 1998).
In this sense, mainstream anti-base movements in Okinawa benefited from the
input of feminist perspectives, and feminist anti-base activists have managed to build
a loose anti-base solidarity with other actors. However, Angst (2001) points out that
the 1995 rape incident and the surge of political opposition against the US bases on
the island that followed had an extremely limited effect towards enhancing women’s
lives in Okinawa. Enloe also observes:
Okinawan nationalists . . . did what some Philippine and South Korean anti-
bases nonfeminist nationalist activists had done: they perceived the sexual
exploitation of local women by foreign soldiers as one more reason to reject the
idea that military bases were the currency of development and diplomacy.
These nationalists thought about colonialism and neocolonialism. They
thought about militarism. Most of these nonfeminist anti-bases nationalists,
however, did not think about misogyny. They did not think about masculinity.
182 Miyume Tanji
They did not think about prostitution. They did not think about violence
against women in general.
(Enloe 2000: 114)
The ‘Okinawa Struggle’ is not, and never has been, a women’s struggle. On the
contrary, the tradition of protest and fight against the military and the state, since
the end of the Second World War has been predominantly a man’s world; the
community of protest is as patriarchal as the general community.
The ‘Okinawa Struggle’ itself is gendered. In the past, some male anti-base activists
criticized women activists for ‘trivializing’ the security issue as a women’s issue.
Today, women are welcomed and accepted into the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ with an
emphasis on their role as mothers and for their supposedly closer relationship to
nature. In 1999 in Okinawa I often heard comments from male activists that women
were the most ‘energetic’ forces of today’s Okinawan anti-base movement. The
Okinawan women activists and predominantly male actors maintain ‘Okinawan’
solidarity against the US military and the Japanese government, as long as the
underlying sphere of conflict, that is, patriarchy in Okinawan society, lies hidden
under the surface. This is perhaps why the women activists in Okinawa, even
feminists, often rely on the strategic use of the essentialist notions attached to
‘Okinawan women’. In many local communities in the Ryukyu Islands, women have
been traditionally entrusted with a role as masters of important religious rituals, for
their abilities to make contact with spiritual beings. As shamans at the local level, these
women have often functioned as guardians of the traditional patriarchal social order,
which is oppressive to women. For example, local shamans contributed to the survival
of totome, a Confucian-infused local tradition that prohibited female inheritance of
ancestry cards and entire family assets including land, laying the groundwork for the
local custom of privileging male children. The term ‘unai’, as used by contemporary
Okinawan feminists, embodies the power of goddesses that the ancient women in the
Ryukyus were believed to possess to protect the well-being of male siblings, and, by
extension, the entire local community (Shinzato 1994). The application of terms that
signify ‘Okinawan women’ entails the risk of supporting gender stereotypes in
a patriarchal community of protest in Okinawa. However, the intentional use of
the concept of ‘unai’ establishes solidarity among the Okinawan sisters through an
empowering irony; it also creates a healthy distance from the mainstream actors in
the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, which is not a women’s movement as such.
The gender division of labour within the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ is a tinderbox.
Enhanced participation of women and focus on gender in the ‘Okinawa Struggle’
is a source of greater diversity in perspectives, and of greater internal conflict
between activist groups. Bringing gender and human rights into the ‘Okinawa
Struggle’ as a major point of reference to be used against the US and Japan can
intensify conflicts inherent in the private realm of Okinawan society, bringing them
into the public realm. However, lively and open debate on gender issues, as well as
the awareness and capacity to negotiate with each other acquired in the process of
protests against militarism, is strengthening a new kind of definition of what it means
to be an Okinawan, and why to protest against militarism.
Conclusion
This chapter has outlined selective features of three protest movements in the period
between the second- and third-wave of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, in order to examine
one of the main questions of this book: how do Okinawans themselves actually
construct and articulate competing versions of Okinawanness?
The anti-war landowners established the basic structure for direct and open
opposition to the Japanese government over Okinawa’s marginalization within
Japan. The anti-war landowners and their supporting coalition kept a narrow focus
on the Okinawa-specific issue to do with land, while identifying with the pacifist
principle of the constitution. In postwar Japan, however, the constitution has been
unable to prevent the marginalization of Okinawa for national security policy, which
has been placed above basic human rights in importance.
Local residents’ environmentalist movements challenged the values attached to
the idea of affluence driven by yamato-style industrialization in Okinawa. In the
process, they developed self-confidence in the sense of an indigenous lifestyle tied
closely with nature. At the same time, community-based environmentalism found
more possibilities for obtaining support from activists engaged in similar movements.
This strategy has been a crucial addition to the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. Learning from
the Shiraho experience, the anti-heliport group in northeast Okinawa sent delegates
to the 2001 IUCN conference in Jordan in order to attract attention to the
plight of the dugongs, whose survival is threatened by the planned new heliport
construction off Nago City. The environmentalists express their ‘Okinawan’ identity
with confidence in their locality, endowed as it is with unique natural assets. This
confidence in their locality has had strong appeal to global supporters.
Okinawan women’s integration with the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ brought out the
gendered dimensions inherent in the structure of militarism. The focus on gender
and violence has turned the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ from a struggle to protect specific
local interests into a struggle to protect human rights. The campaign of Okinawan
women against war and violence coincides with recently emergent concerns over
gendered dimensions of violence in the military worldwide. The new level of
awareness of gender issues promises increased divisions and controversies, which is
characteristic of a society where people are capable of taking voluntary political
action. The Okinawan anti-base women activists have expressed their version
of ‘Okinawanness’ in terms of their energy and creativity, in order to open up a
space in their society for discussing political issues manifested in the private
realm.
Anti-base actors, then, present their ‘Okinawan’ subjectivity in differing ways.
The anti-war landowners and ‘progressive’ supporters demonstrated their definition
of ‘Okinawanness’ in terms of adherence to the image of an ideal, democratic and
constitutional nation-state, conceived during the reversion movement. In this sense,
‘Okinawa’ is defined in terms of its relation to the Japanese nation. The environ-
mentalists and anti-militarist women’s movements have detached their versions of
‘Okinawan’ identity from the preoccupations of the reversion movement by directly
communicating with the global civil society with new-found confidence in their
184 Miyume Tanji
locality’s importance and affluence. With this version of ‘Okinawan’ identity defined
as an independent ability to articulate their opinions globally outside the nation-
state, the anti-base movements are more powerful in their resilience against the
government’s measures to promote military buildup advertised in the name of
protecting ‘peace’.
The diversity in anti-base protest in Okinawa could be, for the conservative
Japanese elite, a dangerous seed of instability threatening postwar Japanese
democracy through the demonstration of a more self-confident identity. Self-
confident citizens who are able to articulate political requests embody the emerging
collective identity of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. The confidence in taking collective
action to change society derives from strengthening strategy, arguments and beliefs
through constant discussions (and disagreements) with each other.
The coexistence of many forms of protest is also, however, a source of disagree-
ments and disunity within the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. Sympathizers of the anti-base
protest often wish to see a greater coherence in vision and action of the current anti-
base movement sector in Okinawa in cooperation with wider global civil society
(Hein 2001: 36). This chapter suggests that the lack of a coherent movement aimed
at one goal, which has generated a fragmentation of perspectives, has brought
a certain facility to the Okinawans’ collective action. Disunity is strength. By
contesting and refining arguments about what is really at stake for Okinawa and
what being Okinawan means, the anti-base activists have come increasingly not to
identify ‘Okinawans’ as a unity against yamato. ‘Okinawans’ in struggle live, in Vera
Mackie’s (2000) term, in a ‘community of protest’; they are capable of internal
debates, self-reflection, trial and failure.
Notes
1 I would like to thank David Brown, Garry Rodan, Fay Davidson, Sandra Wilson and
Patrick West for their support.
2 The Public Property Law (Kōyōchihō), passed on 31 December 1971, legalized the
continued use of all privately owned properties by the US military, for five years from
1972. Subsequently in 1977, the Japanese Cabinet enacted the Land Registration
Identification Law (Chiseki Meikakukahō), to identify land registrations within the military
bases in Okinawa. In response to the strong request from the landowners and the local
government, this law obligated the government to redraw the boundaries of those
properties now behind the fences whose ownership registrations were lost during the war
evacuation and subsequent military occupation. However, a subject clause of the Land
Registration Identification Law extended the period of the 1972 Public Property Law for
another five years until 1982 (Ahagon 1995: 97). In 1982, the government justified
further compulsory use of private properties by the US military, by resurrecting the US
Military Special Measures Law (Beigun Tokubetsu Sochihō), first enacted in 1952 to
legitimize the extension of the Tachikawa base near Tokyo but then left dormant. The
US Military Special Measures Law simplified the legal procedures required for the
government to restrict private ownership of land to enhance ‘public interest’, when
applied to the needs of the US military. The Land Expropriation Law (Tochi Shūyōhō)
enables the state’s restriction of private property ownership, with appropriate compen-
sation, when deemed necessary for the public interest. For the legal expropriation of
land for the use of the US military, the state (Naha Defense Facilities Bureau) makes a
case for legal land expropriation to the Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee,
which is a semi-judicial body attached to each prefectural government. This Committee
has the authority to judge whether or not the compulsory use of the non-contract
landowners’ property by the US military is necessary for the ‘public interest’. The US
Military Special Measures Law makes no provision for regulating this Committee, and
its selection processes are unclear (Arasaki 1995: 158–9). Following Public Hearings in
1981, 1986 and 1997, the Committee approved the state’s right to sublet the military
land without the non-contract landowners’ consent.
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(The Will of the People and the Decision: The Offshore Heliport Problem and the Nago Referendum),
Naha: Okinawa Taimusu Sha.
Orr, J. (2001) The Victim as Hero: Ideologies of Peace and National Identity in Postwar Japan,
Packard, G. (1966) Protest in Tokyo: The Security Treaty Crisis of 1960, Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
Production Yui (1986) Unai: Unai Festibaru ’85 Hōkokusho (Report on the 1985 Unai Festival),
Naha: Unai Festibaru Jikko Iinkai.
Rowbotham, S. (1992) Women in Movement: Feminism and Social Action, New York and
London: Routledge.
Senaga, K. (1959) Okinawa kara no Hōkoku (Report from Okinawa), Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Shimao, T. (1969) Ryūkyūko no Shiten kara (From the Ryukyuko Perspective), Tokyo: Kōdansha.
—— (1977) Yaponesia Josetsu (Introduction to Yaponesia), Tokyo: Sojusha.
Shin Ishigaki Kūkō Kensetsu o Kangaeru Kai (ed.) (1986) Shin Ishigaki Kūkō Kensetsu Keikaku
no Mondaiten (Problems of the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Plan), Naha: Shin Ishigaki
Kūkō Kensetsu o Kangaeru Kai.
Shinzato, M. (1994). ‘Okinawa no joseishi: tochi seiri to totome kankō no seiritsu’ (History
of Okinawan women: land re-organization and the establishment of the totome custom),
Rekishi Hyōron 530: 93–104.
Takazato, S. (1996) Okinawa no Onnatachi (The Women of Okinawa), Tokyo: Akashi Shoten.
Takazawa, K. (1996) Rekishi to shite no Shinsayoku (The New Left as History), Tokyo: Shinsensha.
Uehara, K. (1982) Kichi Okinawa no Kutō – Zengunrō tōsōshi (Bitter Struggle of Fortress Okinawa –
History of the Zengunrō Struggle), Tokyo: Sōkō.
Ui, J. (1968) Kōgai no Seijigaku (Politics of Pollution), Tokyo: Sanseidō.
Urashima, E. (1999) ‘After Governor Ota’s defeat: women’s initiative for base-free
Okinawa’, AMPO: Japan Asia Quarterly Review 29, 1: 19–22.
Yara, C. (1985) Gekidō Hachinen: Yara Chōbyō Kaisoroku (Dynamic Eight Years: Memoirs of Yara
Chōbyō), Naha: Okinawa Taimusu Sha.
Yoneyama, L. (1999) Hiroshima Traces: Time, Space and the Dialectics of Memory, Berkeley:
University of California Press.
11 Contested memories
Struggles over war and peace in
contemporary Okinawa1
Julia Yonetani
It was a struggle over history in multiple ways, with heated passions, with fever-
ish polemics . . . to all history clearly mattered. The question was, who would
shape it?
Barton J. Bernstein, Afterword, Judgment at the Smithsonian (Nobile 1995: 240)
As I stand in the sun, the voices locked in my skull from the dark museum room
burst out and release their agony into the air. In Mabuni, the wind over the
dazzling sea is heavy with the shrieks of the dying.
Norma Field, In the Realm of a Dying Emperor (1993: 86)
Like the blistering summer sun, the official day for consoling the spirits of the war
dead comes early to the archipelago of Okinawa, Japan’s southernmost prefecture.
On 23 June 1999, while the rest of Japan (except for Hokkaido) was still ensconced
in a particularly relentless rainy season, the recently elected governor of Okinawa
prefecture, Inamine Keiichi, attended ceremonies for the fifty-fourth anniversary
of the Battle of Okinawa. On this day each year – a prefectural public holiday known
as Irei no Hi, or the Day for Consoling the Spirits – commemorations are held at the
National Peace Memorial Park in Mabuni. Located at the southern tip of Okinawa’s
main island, Mabuni Hill was the scene of the last organized ground resistance by
Japanese forces during the Second World War.
On this day in 1999, in a ceremonial speech commemorating the war, Governor
Inamine issued a ‘Declaration of Peace for the Twenty-First Century’ in which he
reaffirmed Okinawa’s commitment to peace, and declared that the last G8 summit
of the millennium would be of ‘profound historical significance’. In April 1999, late
Japanese Prime Minister Obuchi Keizō had announced his decision to select Nago
City, Okinawa prefecture, jointly with Miyazaki Prefecture in Kyushu, as the
winning sites to host the summit in July 2000. The summit, Inamine emphasized,
would provide an opportunity to convey to the world ‘Okinawa’s spirit’ and the
Okinawan commitment to achieve ‘step by step . . . everlasting world peace’
(Okinawa Taimusu, evening edition, 23 June 1999).
As Laura Hein notes, ‘Okinawan encounters with both Japan and America have
never been framed as economic and military issues alone: explanations of Okinawa’s
Contested memories 189
“proper” place within both the Japanese and international orders have always been
couched in terms of the special characteristics of Okinawan culture and identity,
particularly in contrast to national Japanese identity’ (Hein 2001: 32). Following the
integration of Ryukyu as Okinawa prefecture within the Meiji state in 1879,
Okinawans were gradually mobilized for service throughout Japan’s expanding
empire (Yonetani 2000). Ever since, the contradictions within Japanese policy and
rhetoric – which forcefully assimilated Okinawans while concurrently discriminating
against them – have never been resolved (Christy 1999). Following the Second
World War, multiple and contradictory meanings of ‘Okinawa and ‘Japan’ have
been contested within, and against, US Cold War military policy and its claims to
legitimacy. As Hein observes,
[T]he distinctiveness of Okinawan customs and identity has been for over a
century – and remains – a highly politicized and contested issue. One of the
consequences of that history is that all expressions of culture are ‘always already’
politicized and all claims of Okinawan distinctiveness become part of this larger
debate over contemporary political identity.
(Hein 2001: 32)
Within this politics of identity the reverse also holds true; that is, not only are claims
to an Okinawan culture and history ‘always already’ politicized, but struggles over
Okinawa’s position in relation to Japan and against US military control and
presence on the islands have necessarily been historical and cultural struggles.
This is no more apparent than in issues over war and peace – as visions of a
collective past and an imagined future. Within apparently transparent references to
‘peace’ lie highly divergent memories, and motivations for remembrance (Yoneyama
1999). Contested ideologies of war and peace – as dialogues with the past and as
visions of the future – have haunted postwar Japan. In Okinawa, where close to one-
third of the local population were killed in the only ground war between US and
Japanese forces involving civilians fought on Japanese soil in 1945, the wounds of war
remain engraved on the landscape. They also take the form of a continued large-scale
US military presence on the islands, with close to 20 per cent of the main island
occupied by US bases (amounting to over 70 per cent of the existing US military
facilities in Japan). The promulgation of peace, as a ‘lesson of history’ learnt through
the horrors of war, is an essential creed of the Okinawan anti-base movement.
Nowhere are the tensions caused by Japan’s dependence on and complicity with
US-driven global military strategies and market forces as conspicuous, nor are the
contradictions within the Japanese nationalist historical narrative as acute, as in this
small southern archipelago. It is highly poignant that, two months after Inamine’s
commemorative speech at Mabuni and barely six months since he took office, his
administration found itself embroiled in controversy over how Okinawa’s martial past
should be represented in museum exhibits, as part of a fierce debate over what his
declared ‘desire for peace’ for the future in fact entailed.
Four years earlier, in 1995, then governor Ōta Masahide became the first
prefectural governor in Japan’s history to be the subject of a lawsuit filed by the
190 Julia Yonetani
Japanese Prime Minister after he refused to act as proxy in the signing of leases of
land utilized by the US military. More than any previous Okinawan governor, Ōta
drew connections between the base issue – or what he has repeatedly termed the
‘Okinawan Problem’ – and struggles over identity, autonomy and cultural diversity.
His stance and the swell of anti-base protest in Okinawa posed a direct challenge
to US and Japanese government attempts to reaffirm the US–Japan Security Treaty
and a global security ‘partnership’ between the two countries.
At the end of 1998 the anti-base pro-local autonomy administration of Ōta was
replaced by Liberal Democratic Party-aligned Governor Inamine (see Johnson 2001
for an analysis of Ōta’s defeat and the central government’s ‘power-of-money’
politics). After Inamine’s election victory, the central government pledged to renew
negotiations over large-scale economic stimulus packages for Japan’s poorest
prefecture. In return, Inamine was put under intense pressure to secure a site for
the building of a controversial new US military base in Nago (also site of the G8
summit) to take over the functions of the US Marine Corps air station at Futenma
(Ōta had officially declared his opposition to these plans in February 1998). The
museum controversy unfolded just as Inamine’s administration stepped up its
campaign to ostracize anti-base activists and secure Henoko village in the northeast
of Nago as the proposed site for the base.
The controversy arose over two different ‘peace memorial museums’ recently
constructed in Okinawa: the Yaeyama Peace Memorial Museum, which opened
in May 1999 on the southern island of Ishigaki, and the New Prefectural Peace
Memorial Museum, which finally opened one month later than scheduled on
1 April 2000 in the Peace Memorial Park, Mabuni. From August to October 1999,
a fierce political dispute arose over displays in the two museums. The prefectural
government’s alterations to displays at Yaeyama without the approval of the
committee overseeing the project served to highlight surreptitious attempts to
change the content of exhibits at Mabuni. The extent of attempted changes
gradually became known through extensive reporting in the local press.2
Earlier disputes in both Japan and the US over museum exhibits planned to
commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War
demonstrated the difficulties involved in reflecting on the historical implications
of war in a public setting. Ultimately, absences from the exhibit displaying the
shiny revamped body of the Enola Gay at the Smithsonian National Air and
Space Museum (NASM) in Washington, and within the polished glass showcases
of Tokyo’s Showa Museum bore testimony to missing historical complexities
(Nobile 1995; Yui 1995; Linenthal and Engelhardt 1996; Hein and Selden 1997).
Since 1995, peace museums have increasingly become the target of criticism and
at times outright intimidation from a growing ‘historical revisionist’ movement
in Japan.3 It was within this climate, and in the midst of the Futenma relocation
issue, that attempted changes to the new Yaeyama and Mabuni museum exhibits
took place. The attempts hinted at a concerted attempt on the part of Inamine’s
administration to rearticulate an Okinawan historical and political position more
in concert with US–Japan security strategy and Japanese national government
policy.
In the summer of 1999, the political stakes involved in representations of peace
and the past seemed only to increase with the heat, as a battle of a different kind
began to rage over the cliffs of Mabuni. Journalists, intellectuals, war survivors, anti-
base peace groups and museum committee members mobilized in opposition to
the prefectural administration, and struggles over history, the war, memory and
the US bases became increasingly interfused. This chapter traces contests over the
representation of Okinawa’s past and notions of peace focusing on the museum
issue. As historical and political struggles intertwined, the ensuing dispute had
serious implications for the democratic process in Japan and for Okinawa’s search
for local political, historical, cultural and economic autonomy. It also raised
pertinent questions concerning the commemoration and memorialization of the
past. History was in the making. Who would shape it?
Constructing peace and recollecting war in Okinawa

Museums and memorials, as Laura Hein and Mark Selden (1997) remind us, are
major organs of the state ‘dedicated to the instruction and edification of the public’
that have served as a means to control the act of commemoration. Yet as public
spaces involved in the reproduction of memory, they remain inherently contentious.
This is nowhere more true than in Okinawa. On the main island, the site of the most
protracted fighting during the Battle of Okinawa, it is perhaps least of all the dead
who are at rest – and in the National Peace Memorial Park at Mabuni competing
narratives speak in their name.
Mabuni is a rugged coral ridge rising some 300 feet above the water’s edge on
one side, boasting extensive views over hills to the west and the sea below (Ōta
1981). The memorial park spreads across the ridge, and contains over forty separate
monuments. The Battle of Okinawa War Dead National Cemetery, where remains
from various local tombs have been gathered since reversion, lies at the top of the
park above the Mabuni Hill of Peace. Across both sides of the cemetery’s Sacred
Path, elaborate stone memorials commemorate the war dead of each prefecture.
Above, at the summit of the hill, stands the memorial Reimei no Tō, or Break of Dawn
Monument, built in honour of Lieut-Gen Ushijima and his Chief of Staff Lieut-Gen
Chō, who committed suicide in a cave nearby on 23 June 1945. It is said that the
monument’s shape was envisaged to evoke harakiri (seppuku), the traditional Japanese
form of suicide, and its name, ‘Break of Dawn’, was designated by the late Prime
Minister Yoshida Shigeru (Ōta 2000).
Ernest Renan remarked in 1882 that national memories and a sense of history,
of ‘sharing, in the past, a glorious heritage and regrets, and of having, in the future,
[a shared] programme to put into effect’, are ‘essential conditions for being a people’
(Renan 1990). Yet, complicit with the formation of the idea of nation though it is,
history may also provide materials through which those on the margins of a nation
seek to organize a ‘counternarrative of mobilization’ (Duara 1996). Ensuing contests
over history reveal, as Duara points out, the multiple sources of identity creation,
and the process of construction and repression through which historical narratives
– which often posture as eternal, essential or evolutionary history – are imposed
192 Julia Yonetani
and contested. As simultaneously Japanese ‘margin’ and focal ‘centre’ of US–Japan
military relations, Okinawa has recurrently provided a pertinent set of materials to
lay a challenge against Japan’s nationalist narrative as well as the US–Japan postwar
system of relations and its legacies.
The cemetery at Mabuni Hill has been severely criticized in Okinawa for
glorifying war and adulating Japanese militarism, and it was as a reaction against
this trend that Okinawa’s former governor, Ōta Masahide, vowed to build a
monument ‘unlike any previous one’ within the park’s grounds (Ōta 2000). The
massive Heiwa no Ishiji, or Cornerstone of Peace, was constructed for the occasion
of the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Battle of Okinawa in 1995. The
Cornerstone, entitled ‘Everlasting Waves of Peace’ in the original winning design,
is composed of concentric arcs of wave-like black granite walls on which are
engraved the names of the war dead. The concept was in part inspired by the
Vietnam Veterans Memorial at Washington Mall (for an analysis of this memorial
see Marita Sturken 1997). Yet while the Vietnam Veterans Memorial includes the
names of only US military war dead, a unique characteristic of the Cornerstone of
Peace is its gesture towards memorializing all war casualties, regardless of nationality
or status as combatant or civilian.
Narratives of Japanese homogeneity are contended on various levels. The title
of the project, Heiwa no Ishiji, draws attention to a unique Okinawan culture by the
use of the distinct Okinawan pronunciation of the Chinese character for
‘cornerstone’ (literally ‘foundation’ – that is, ‘ishiji’ instead of the Japanese ‘ishizue’).
The Okinawan war dead are placed separately from ‘Foreign War Dead’ and the
‘War Dead from Other Prefectures’, and the list includes Okinawans who died in
war-related contexts outside the Battle of Okinawa (Figal 2001: 43). The decision
not to employ the Japanese imperial calendar nor play the anthem Kimigayo at the
official opening ceremony indicates a refusal to sanction symbols of Japanese
imperialism. The commemoration date inscribed on the monument is 23 June 1995,
yet the names engraved on the Cornerstone’s walls also extend to all those who died
of war-related afflictions within a year of 7 September 1945 – in tacit recognition
of the fact that for many the Battle of Okinawa did not end with the suicide of Lieut-
Gen Ushijima. On a more literal though perhaps unintended level, the Cornerstone
also provided a competing dialogue to the ‘Japan–US security partnership’. The
latter was described by the then Prime Minister Hashimoto Ryūtarō and President
Bill Clinton in their April 1996 joint security declaration as providing the
‘cornerstone of achieving common security objectives . . . for the Asia-Pacific Region
as we enter the 21st Century’ (Japan Times, 18 April 1996).
At the opening ceremony on the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Battle of
Okinawa, Ōta associated the Cornerstone of Peace with a tradition of an inclusive
sense of ‘coexistence’ and ‘love’ and ‘desire’ for peace within Okinawan historical
tradition. Ōta himself was enlisted at the age of 19 as a military messenger in the
local Okinawan Imperial Infantry of Blood and Iron student army, one day before
the US military landed on the shores of Yomitan village in central Okinawa on
1 April 1945. After the 32nd Army was forced to withdraw from its headquarters
at Shuri, he too headed south towards the caves of Mabuni. Following the defeat
of the last organized Japanese resistance, Ōta recounts how he was almost killed by
an armed Japanese soldier who initially suspected him of being a ‘local spy’. Injured
and near-starving, Ōta spent close to three months hiding in the cliffs of Mabuni,
dodging snipers and the US military onslaught while scavenging leftover supplies
from US soldiers. Of his experience Ōta asserts, ‘on the battlefield of Mabuni, what
I saw around me was in every respect completely incongruous with such righteous
causes [of the war], a scene of nothing but carnage of the worst kind, where people
literally became less than human’ (Ōta 1996).
Envisioning a new Prefectural Peace Memorial

Museum
Yet, while it undoubtedly challenges a militaristic state-centric version of history,
the Cornerstone of Peace also reveals many of the tensions associated with the
display of war and peace in Okinawa. In spite of the immense effort involved in
gathering a total of 234,183 names of war dead by the time of the official opening,
absences from the monument spoke of the difficulties involved in trans-nationalizing
the act of commemoration (Figal 1997). Many Korean names were hard to trace,
and some families resisted inclusion of their bereaved. At the time of unveiling in
1995, only 133 Korean (51 South and 82 North) soldiers’ names had been included
of what are estimated to be from between 10,000 to 17,000 casualties. None of the
names of the inestimable number of so called ‘comfort women’ brought from Korea
and used as sex slaves by mainland Japanese, and no doubt Okinawan, soldiers
were marked down in stone. While all-inclusive, the indiscriminate inscription
of all the names of the war dead was criticized as obscuring the question of
responsibility for the war. From the perspective of some Okinawans, the inclusion
of the names of Japanese combatants alongside those of civilians was inappropriate
for a war in which the Imperial Army not only failed to provide protection, but
committed atrocities against the local population (Muratsubaki 1996). Takazato
Suzuyo, anti-base activist and core member of the Okinawan group Women Act
Against Military Violence, similarly saw the monument’s all-inclusiveness as
problematic from a gender perspective (Takazato 1996). Still others suggested that
not only the names of victims, but information on their cause of death, age, sex and
place of origin should be included.
Many of these criticisms were placed before the Cornerstone planning committee
in the process of gathering names for the memorial. In response, the committee
claimed that the Cornerstone should be viewed in conjunction with exhibit plans
for the new adjacent Prefectural Peace Museum at Mabuni. This museum, like the
Cornerstone, was a major component of the Ōta administration’s ‘peace promotion’
policy, to progress hand-in-hand with the prefectural ‘action programme’ for the
return of military-base land and for the curtailing of the US military presence in
Okinawa. The new museum, projected to be a massive nine times the size of the
original, was to be erected on a more prominent site than the original building, on
the northern side of the Peace Memorial Park facing the Cornerstone. In the words
of Ōshiro Masayasu, a member of the museum planning committee, while the
194 Julia Yonetani
Cornerstone was ‘a place of prayer’ and a ‘symbol’ of peace, the museum was to be
‘a site of learning’ wherein ‘the irrationality and brutality of war must be displayed’
(Ōshiro 1999).
The original Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum was officially opened
in 1975 – also ironically directly prior to a highly publicized international event (the
Okinawan International Ocean Exposition) and in a wave of controversy. In
anticipation of the arrival of Prince Akihito and his wife for the Ocean Exposition in
1975, plans for the Prefectural Museum progressed with little or no public debate or
input from professional historians and researchers. Management was entrusted to the
Okinawa Prefectural War Dead Memorial Committee. The entrance to the resulting
exhibit featured a large Rising Sun flag suspended from the museum’s wall, complete
with a photo of Lieut-Gen Ushijima and a poem dedicated to his memory. Outraged,
various peace groups and research committees protested to the prefectural assembly
and relevant authorities. In this case the prefectural government was quick to
respond. Over two years later, a completely revamped peace memorial was reopened
to the public. The modified museum featured military documents, propaganda
posters including a poster campaigning against ‘espionage activities’ on Okinawa,
photographs depicting the US military onslaught, and a large darkened room
devoted to the display of vivid oral testimonies of the war. Here, reading page after
page of oral history records, one could learn, as Norma Field observes (1993), that
‘even Japanese soldiers didn’t die shouting banzai to the emperor’.
Yet, even revamped, the original museum structure had serious limitations in
storage facilities and availability of space. Governor Ōta released an outline for the
relocation of the Prefectural Museum in 1995 in which it was ensured that in
the construction of the new facilities, the spirit of the (revamped) original museum’s
‘Founding Principles’ would be respected, and the ‘realities of the Battle of Okinawa’
would be depicted ‘without omissions’. The new museum’s exhibits were also to
include an account of ‘the historical process leading to war, including the histories
of the countries of the Asia-Pacific, taking into account (Japan’s) responsibility for
inflicting suffering on the countries of Asia’ (Okinawa Taimusu, 10 November 1997).
While the original museum concentrated on the battle for the main island of
Okinawa, new displays would encompass the entire war in Asia and the Pacific,
from the period of the ‘fifteen-years war’ starting with the Manchurian Incident, and
including material on the postwar US occupation. A supervisory planning
committee comprised of thirteen historians was formed in September 1996, and the
committee visited many war museums in Japan and abroad in devising plans for
the new museum. An extension of the oral history component of the displays was
to constitute a vital part of the museum and, by May 1998, over 210 testimonies of
the war had been recorded on video as part of the permanent exhibit.
The official ceremony that initiated the construction of the new complex took
place on 7 November 1997. This endorsement of the site, however, revealed the
conjunction of competing claims to public space and a collective past. Before work
on the four-storey building, complete with an Okinawa-style red-tiled roof, had
begun, the question of how ‘peace’ should be construed had emerged as a contested
issue. In a revealing editorial contribution to the Okinawa Taimusu, a schoolteacher
from mainland Japan criticized the inclusion of a Shinto purification ceremony
for being a manifestation of ‘State Shinto’ (kokka shintō ), which should be a target for
criticism in a site that purportedly sought to document the ‘imperialization’ (kōminka)
of education in prewar Japan. Such a ceremony, the schoolteacher wrote, sits
uneasily in the context of Ryukyuan culture, which has a unique set of rituals
and beliefs, and contradicts the constitutional principles of separation of state and
religion (Okinawa Taimusu, 17 November 1997).
Disclosure of alterations and the ensuing controversy

The prominent Okinawan scholar and anti-base activist Arasaki Moriteru describes
the months following the gubernatorial elections in November 1998 as a kind of
honeymoon period. On the Japanese mainland, the question of the ‘base issue’
versus ‘economic stimulus policies’ was largely perceived as a specifically ‘Okinawan’
problem. In Okinawa, though the new Governor Inamine Keiichi was backed by
the LDP, the Pentagon and Okinawan business interests, his pre-election pledge
against a US heliport and a ‘fifteen-year lease limit’ for any new joint-use civilian/
military airport seemed to ensure that his position would not sit comfortably with
the agendas of either the Japanese or US government. The policy taken by the
central government in Tokyo was, interprets Arasaki, hesitant, and concentrated
on ensuring a socially and economically conducive environment before seriously
tackling the relocation issue. On 29 April, to the surprise of virtually everyone, the
late Japanese prime minister Obuchi Keizō announced Okinawa Prefecture as joint
winning site to host the G8 summit meeting of the world’s leading industrialized
nations in the year 2000. This was despite the fact it reportedly ranked last in terms
of both existing facilities and security capacity levels. The heads of state meeting was
to take place in Nago, the district which includes the east coast village of Henoko,
proposed site for the new military airfield to replace Futenma.
With the summit announcement Inamine’s honeymoon came to an end. Tokyo’s
attempts to secure a relocation site swiftly while denying that there was any connection
between holding the summit in Nago and securing a military base relocation site
there were apparently uncoordinated with the United States. The Clinton admin-
istration promptly declared that it wanted the Futenma relocation issue to be solved
well before Clinton arrived in Okinawa. The intentions and machinations of the LDP
were then met with further suspicion after it was revealed that the Inamine
administration had been tampering with the contents of the Prefectural Peace
Museum. In early August, newspaper reports revealed that the prefectural
government had secretly attempted to alter the displays within the New Prefectural
Peace Museum without the knowledge or approval of the supervisory planning
committee entrusted with devising the exhibits. By the end of the month, local
newspapers had obtained evidence which clearly implicated the government in
attempts to alter the substance of displays. The integrity of the Inamine administration
was seriously challenged.
The alteration issue was compounded by two other events. In late June 1999,
it was reported that Inamine had indefinitely delayed plans to construct an
196 Julia Yonetani
International Peace Research Institute in Okinawa, purportedly due to a lack of
funds. This institute had been designed to manage the Cornerstone of Peace and
the new Peace Museum, as well as conduct research on ‘war and history in the Asia-
Pacific, with an emphasis on the Battle of Okinawa’. Moreover, by June 1999 it
became clearly evident that the prefectural administration had tampered with the
contents of another exhibit at the new Yaeyama Peace Memorial Museum, located
on the southern island of Ishigaki. The museum had been constructed to
commemorate victims of ‘war malaria’, namely local inhabitants of the southern
Yaeyama islands who had contracted the fatal virus after being expelled to malaria-
infested areas by the Japanese army.4
The Yaeyama museum opened on 28 May 1999 in the midst of fierce wrangling
between committee members entrusted with planning the exhibit and the staff from
the Department of Peace Promotion. On the public opening of the exhibit, it
became apparent that eleven captions out of a total of twenty-seven for photos and
diagrams in the exhibit had been significantly altered without the knowledge of
Ryukyu University professor Hosaka Hiroshi, supervisor of the original exhibit
plans. Alterations included replacing the phrase ‘forced expulsion’ (kyōsei taikyo) with
‘ordered to take refuge’ (hinan meirei). The caption underneath a photograph panel
thought to depict a scene of suicide was altered from ‘purported death by collective
suicide’ to ‘victims of the Battle of Okinawa’. A 5 by 3 metre panel outlining
the chronology of the Battle of Okinawa and ‘war malaria’ was also omitted,
purportedly due to a ‘risk of fire’ (Okinawa Taimusu, 31 August 1999).
The revoking of plans for a peace research centre and alterations to the Yaeyama
museum exhibit hinted at a change in direction in prefectural ‘peace promotion’
policies and suggested a concerted attempt on the part of the prefectural government
to alter the way in which the Battle of Okinawa was presented to the public. They
also cast serious doubt on the reliability of the government’s assurances that
alterations were only at a ‘deliberating’ stage, and that the committee members’
opinions would be ‘strictly adhered to’ in the Mabuni museum.
The prefectural administration continued to deny that a coordinated plan to
change the exhibits existed, or that such a plan had been instigated by the governor
or at the governor’s behest. Yet throughout the summer of 1999 local newspapers
reported other changes that were unauthorized by the supervisory planning
committee and revealed documents that implicated Inamine and his two deputies
(Ishikawa Hideo and Makino Hirotaka) in a plan to make comprehensive
alterations. As the issue exploded into a political fireball, the administration’s earlier
stance became untenable. On 4 October, opposition parties refused to participate
in parliamentary proceedings on the grounds that the government had failed to
answer parliamentary questions with integrity after local newspapers reported that
further documents had been obtained that implicated the governor. The following
day, the leading coalition parties agreed to disclose all administrative documents
relating to the museum, and proceedings were normalized.
On the morning of 7 October, a large number of relevant internal papers were
handed out at a parliamentary committee hearing, and deliberation on the issue
continued for almost ten hours. For the first time since the surfacing of alleged
changes, Deputy Governor Ishikawa conceded that prefectural heads had played
a decisive role in the process and apologized for inciting the distrust of the people
and the parliament (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 8 October 1999).
The documents submitted to the parliamentary hearing and published in the
press the following day revealed that prefectural heads had referred to fundamental
differences in ‘perceptions of the state (kokka)’ between themselves and members
of the museum’s supervisory planning committee. The minutes of the meetings of
prefectural heads and bureaucrats were in note form and lacked full details. Yet they
still revealed that as early as March 1999, Governor Inamine had stated that the
exhibits ‘should not be too anti-Japanese’, and that as Okinawa ‘only amounts to
one prefecture within Japan’, commentaries on the war should take into account
‘museum displays elsewhere in the country’. At a subsequent meeting on 23 July,
Inamine chided the bureaucrats for not changing the exhibit content enough,
commenting that the plans still hardly varied from the originals ‘in spite of the
change in government’. He further pointed out that ‘various people’ throughout
Japan, who presumably may take offence at explicit historical museum displays,
were to visit Okinawa in conjunction with the G8 summit. In the same meeting,
Deputy Governor Makino Hirotaka had even suggested that a totally new planning
committee should be set up in order to devise the necessary changes.
From the barrel of a gun: shaping and reshaping the

tenets of history
The attempted changes in content fell into three broad categories: those relating to
the Battle of Okinawa, those depicting the Second World War in general, and those
depicting the postwar US occupation of the islands (outlined in Ryūkyū Shimpō,
7 October 1999). The most blatant censorship occurred with respect to displays of
Japan’s military role in Asia during the Second World War. The prefectural officials
ordered that the entire section entitled ‘Japan’s aggression as depicted on film’ be
eliminated, including pictures of Japanese forces ‘closing in on Nanking’, a scene
showing Unit 731 (the Kwantung Army’s euphemistically-entitled ‘Epidemic
Prevention and Water Supply Unit’) experimenting with and producing
biochemical weapons, and photographs of the excavation of victims in Singapore.
Historical documents and materials concerning popular opposition to Japanese
rule, and a stamp in commemoration of Korean resistance were to be withdrawn.
Material on the ‘comfort women’ issue, and territorial disputes such as the Kurile
and Senkaku Islands, were also marked for removal.
Lisa Yoneyama (1999) observes that the complicitous relationship between Japan
and the United States during the Cold War affected the ruling Liberal Democratic
Party’s stance on the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the case of Okinawa,
conservative forces in Japan continue to maintain a direct interest in legitimizing
the US military presence on the islands. Prefectural administration documents
explicitly stated that the museum should include material on the ‘role that the
US–Japan treaty has played in maintaining security’ in the Asia–Pacific region, and
that an ‘anti-Security Treaty’ (han anpo) stance should be avoided. On the sensitive
198 Julia Yonetani
question of accidents and crimes involving the US troops and Okinawans, it was
suggested that ‘the fact that there are more accidents/incidents in Okinawa not
involving the US military than base-related occurrences must be taken into account
within the displays’. On 7 August, just prior to the disclosure of attempted alterations
in the local press and less than three weeks after being chided by Governor Inamine
for not changing the exhibits enough, prefectural bureaucrats ordered that a
timeline depicting all US military-related incidents since reversion in May 1972
should be integrated into a general display on the history of post-reversion Okinawa.
It was decided that documents on controversial issues relating to the presence of the
bases – such as manuscripts of the 1997 Tokusohō legislative amendment that
empowered the central government to forcibly lease land for the US military, an
outline of the controversial final report of SACO (the Special Action Committee on
Okinawa set up after the rape incident of September 1995 which had recommended
relocation of Futenma within the eastern coast of Okinawa), and former Governor
Ōta’s testimony before the Supreme Court in 1996 following his refusal to act as a
proxy in signing leases for base land – should be replaced by a display on the peace-
making role of the United Nations. In relation to displays on the US occupation
period, prefectural heads suggested replacing a sample of a hypothetical ‘Ryukyuan
National Flag’, a picture of the controversial document addressed to the US State
Department known as the ‘Emperor’s Message’ and documents depicting the
suppression of political groups under US military administration with the ‘positive’
consequences of the US occupation, such as infrastructure development and the
establishment of the Ryukyu Bank.
The theme was to be, in other words, that of a ‘natural’ peace. In the entrance
to the museum plans for a map illustrating the US military advance in the Battle of
Okinawa were scrapped in favour of a design displaying the sea and mountains.
Since reversion, and particularly in the last two decades, Okinawa’s lush and fragile
natural environment has been overrun by a peculiar mix of uncontrolled public
works projects and massive tourist resort developments (McCormack 2000, see also
his Chapter 6 in this volume). With the prefecture’s transformation into a ‘resort
island’ of hotels and golf courses, Okinawa’s geo-historical landscape also holds
the danger of being overwhelmed by the tourist industry’s insatiable appetite for
self-gratification and exotica. The Inamine administration sought to promote a self-
image more conducive to mainland tastes and a collective national amnesia, and
one that is in harmony with the islands’ status as a popular tourist spot for money-
spending leisure-seekers. ‘It is natural’, LDP representative Ajitomi Osamu claimed,
‘that alterations and compromises should be made given the fact that many people
will visit the exhibition, including people from mainland Japan.’ Such a reinvented
image of Okinawa does not dwell on the ‘lessons of history’ but emphasizes the
island’s iridescent future: ‘rather than lamenting over the past, it is better to firmly
grasp the future’ (Okinawa Taimusu, 5 October 1999).
The aspect of war most irreconcilable with such an image are depictions of the
gama, the dark and cavernous caves that dot the Okinawan landscape and that were
used as air-raid and battle shelters during the war. Revered in Ryukyuan legends
as the home of spirits, these caves were the scenes of some of the most horrific
occurrences in the Battle of Okinawa. By far the most widely-reported incident in
the controversy over the Mabuni museum concerned alterations to a life-sized
diorama depicting enforced or so called ‘collective’ suicide within a recreated scene
of the gama.5 The diorama was to portray a Japanese soldier pointing his rifle at an
Okinawan mother and ordering her to kill her baby because the baby’s cries might
be heard by the invading US military. Another scene showed a medical officer
forcing cups of condensed milk laced with potassium cyanide onto injured soldiers.
However, when Hoshi Masahiko, a member of the supervisory committee, visited
the workshop on the eve of the outbreak of the revelations over the attempted
changes, he found that the soldier no longer had a rifle but was merely staring at
the family hiding in the cave. The soldier with cyanide had disappeared.
Museum planning committee member Ōshiro reflected on the meaning of the
Japanese soldier diorama in the reconstructed gama stating:
The gun on the footsoldier at the entrance to the cave is not pointed towards
any one person in particular, but towards all the civilian refugees. The gun
symbolizes the rationale of the military, which holds the power of life or death
over the civilians. At any moment, the civilians may be murdered, they may
commit mass suicide, or they may be blasted by flame throwers from the US
army’s indiscriminate onslaught. An extreme situation, where you have no idea
what is going to happen next – this is what we reenacted in the gama display.
(Ōshiro 1999: 35)
Work on the diorama ceased after the alterations became publicly known. Following
Deputy Ishikawa’s apology, the museum planning committee ordered that the gun
be restored but agreed to slightly lower its position so that it did not point directly
at the mother. A month later, the Bereaved Families Association, trustees of the
Break of Dawn Monument, met Inamine to submit a formal complaint about the
soldier display and its potential to ‘discourage national sentiment’ (Ryūkyū Shimpō,
11 November 1999).
In the name of peace: memory and protest in

Okinawa
In his epic work, Embracing Defeat, John Dower (1999: 521) traces the process through
which Japan as a defeated nation came to remember and atone for its dead. The
emergence of a rhetoric of democracy and peace was, he observes, in many respects
a ‘nationalistic plea to forgive the dishonored dead’; a ‘smoke screen’ which
obscured the horrendous realities of Japanese war atrocities, and inevitably worked
upon a sense of victim consciousness. Yet though the ideology of the peace
movement in Japan was from the outset tied to a nationalist narrative, its critical
stream of thought should not be underestimated nor discounted. This is especially
pertinent in the case of Okinawa. Based on firsthand knowledge of the horrors of
war and the imperial forces as well as the uninterrupted US military presence in the
postwar period, the Okinawan peace movement has accommodated a complex
200 Julia Yonetani
conjunction of at times contradictory elements – including both a sense of
victimization and a radical critique of Japanese nationalism.
Critics spoke out against the Inamine administration’s alteration plans for the
Mabuni museum as soon as they were made public. The protests focused on four
related issues: the secrecy surrounding the attempted alterations, the lack of
consultation with the respective oversight committees, the government’s continual
denials that alterations had been made and the attempts to alter the ‘truth’ of the
Battle of Okinawa. In reality the decisive feature viewed as encompassing the ‘truth’
of the Battle of Okinawa, expressed by the phrase ‘Okinawa-sen no jissō’, was not
always the same. A shared collective memory and sense of critical thought, however,
did exist, working to ensure solidarity between the disparate groups which make up
the ‘peace movement’ in Okinawa. The urgency and importance of displaying the
‘realities’ of war in the context of the museum was also repeatedly expressed in
association with the dwindling numbers of war survivors, and the sense of a
prevailing crisis of memory of the war.
Shimabukuro Muneyasu, committee director of the Socialist Popular Party,
stated that the inescapable historical truth of the Battle of Okinawa lay in the fact
that ‘the Japanese army had directed their guns towards the people of Okinawa
prefecture, and that the atrocities of collective suicide occurred’ (Okinawa Taimusu,
1 September 1999). In an emotional meeting with high-level prefectural bureaucrats
who had monitored the alteration process, the Director of the Okinawa Prefectural
Teachers’ Association, Aragaki Hitohide, condemned their actions as ‘a serious
betrayal of the people of Okinawa’ (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 2 September 1999). On
18 September, a symposium was organized by peace groups in protest at the
attempted alterations, entitled ‘How Should the Realities of the Battle of Okinawa
be Portrayed? Urgent Symposium on the New Prefectural Peace Memorial
Museum Issue’.
In another well-reported act of protest, Kudeken Kentoshi, a local historian and
collector of war memorabilia, visited the original Mabuni museum and retrieved
the first portion of the 150 items that he had donated to it, including an iron canteen
dented with bullet holes, army documents containing regulations for the
administration of ‘comfort women’ stations in Okinawa and a wedding dress
made from a parachute. Asked why he was withdrawing the items, Kudeken stated:
‘I have heard that the Governor is prohibiting any displays which may conflict
with the central government. As all my material conflicts with the government, it
has become at odds with the exhibit content advocated (by the prefectural
administration)’ (Ryūkyū Shimpō, 11 September 1999).
Local newspapers were flooded with letters on the controversy. A poem entitled
‘The Battle of Okinawa and Consoling the Spirits’ contributed to Ryūkyū Shimpō by
Shimabukuro Tetsu (5 October 1999), is a highly critical rendering of war,
expressing the necessity of remembrance through anger and remorse. It begins:
The 32nd Division was the ‘sacrifice’ offered

by Imperial headquarters and the Emperor.
It was just as in Saipan and Iojima.
They were the ‘sacrifices’ placed into the hands of the US military
as a means of biding time, in the face of imminent defeat.
Soldiers who killed the defenseless in China
now, in Okinawa, were themselves killed by overwhelming forces,
Embroiling Okinawan civilians into the battle, even more defenseless.
It was just as in the Philippines.
[The last four lines read:]
The irresponsibility, recklessness, terrorism, stupidity, debauchery,
amorality, and cruelty of the Imperial Army had no confines.
Do not tell lies to those fallen.
If you want to console the spirits,
Speak to them of the true rationale for their deaths.
Of the readers’ contributions on the peace memorial issue, the one which most
succinctly avoided a ‘traffic accident’ version of war (that which made out that no
one wanted it and that everyone was a victim)6 was a letter to the Okinawa Taimusu
(‘Opinion’, 29 September 1999) submitted by a construction worker from Urasoe
City, Okinawa. The letter directly associated the obscuring of responsibility for
the war in Japan, the object of criticism by other countries in Asia, with the
institutionalization of unaccountability in domestic politics – a system to which
the people of Japan seem oblivious. The contributor concluded that the prefectural
government should take responsibility for having attempted changes to museum
exhibits, as a step towards breaking free of this system.
Much of the protest centred on the Inamine administration’s attempts to curry
favour with the Japanese government. For many this was the most alarming aspect
of a dispute – the symbol of a historical and political Rubicon which Okinawa
seemed on the brink of crossing. At the end of December 1999, under pressure from
Inamine and the national government and after a nineteen-hour marathon debate,
the Nago City Assembly and Mayor Kishimoto Tateo agreed to accept relocation
of Futenma base to Camp Schwab, adjacent to Henoko village on the northeast
coast of Okinawa. For the first time in the history of Okinawa, the prefecture’s head
and local elected representatives had actually requested the construction of a new
base on the island.
Picking up the pieces: a new peace for the twenty-first

century?
Ironically, the most tangible position taken by Inamine throughout the museum
controversy (apart from denying he had anything to do with the alterations) was a
relativist one. There are, he suggested at the end of August, ‘various choices available
in conveying the realities of the Battle of Okinawa’, because there are ‘various
“truths” of the war’ (sensō no jissō wa iroiro aru). While the truth was always to be
conveyed, the issue of which opinion was ‘the best’ was ‘a matter of choice’ (sentaku
no mondai). However, Inamine never clarified the substance of these different ‘truths’.
Far from encouraging historical debate on the issue, the process of alteration was
202 Julia Yonetani
conducted behind closed doors and, until public outrage made it untenable, in the
utmost secrecy. The most alarming aspect of the unfolding events was the secrecy
that surrounded the entire alteration process and the undemocratic means by which
policy was determined and implemented. As James E. Young observes in relation
to Holocaust memorials in Europe, in planning a memorial, debate and the
disclosure of information are both essential to ensure that the act of remembrance
does not belie the unshouldering of memorial burdens – and the end of memory itself
(Young 2000).
Inamine’s privately expressed aversion towards anything ‘anti-Japanese’ in the
exhibits and the arbitrary imposition of Okinawa as ‘just another prefecture’ was,
in promoting a policy intolerant to any form of opposition or historical and cultural
diversity, itself only too reminiscent of drives against ‘anti-nationalist’ elements in
Okinawa prior to and during the war (as observed by Hiyane Teruo, writing in the
Okinawa Taimusu, 15 October 1999). In employing a logic of ‘relativism’ in order to
obfuscate Japanese responsibility for the past, Inamine’s stance also paralleled
mainland neo-nationalist movements such as the Society for the Making of New
School Textbooks in History.7
It is unknown whether the governor’s actions were solely ‘self-induced’ or
instigated from within centralized LDP policy-making institutions. Undeniably, the
Okinawa Peace Museum controversy occurred within a nationwide climate of
increasing intolerance that was clothed in a rhetoric of compromise and liberalism
(discussed in McCormack 2000). The Peace Museum at Mabuni seems to be a rare
case where opposition to this nationalist tide has had at least some effect, and the
intentions of the original planning committee, and its ‘sense of history’ were
honoured to an extent. The greatest triumph was the insurmountable interest and
support which people of Okinawa displayed, in numerous contributions to local
newspapers and with their feet. Within the first two weeks of opening, the new
Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum had already clocked up twice the average
annual number of visitors the earlier museum had enjoyed.
Yet a myriad of problems still faced the museum at Mabuni, such as a lack of
measures to ensure the accountability of management of the museum in the future,
dissatisfaction with compromises over the Japanese soldier diorama, inaccuracies
and omissions in numerous English translations (Okinawa Taimusu, 19 April 2000), and
an accompanying sense that the exhibit still fails to capture fully the horrors of
the caves. Peace activist Makishi Kōichi reflects that, ironically, with the efforts
of the peace movement centred on the museum issue, the prefectural and central
governments were able to proceed with their endeavours to galvanize support for the
Futenma relocation site without facing a comparable challenge (interview, 22 March
2001). After the Nago mayor’s conditional acceptance of the base and following the
museum’s opening, there also remained a broad consensus among intellectuals,
activists, journalists and all those fragmented elements that relate in some form or
other to the ‘peace movement’ in Okinawa, that their struggle was far from over.
In fact, less than a year after the museum dispute erupted, Okinawa became
embroiled in yet another fierce debate over its identity, history and the base issue
in what was known as the ‘Okinawa Initiative’ dispute. The ‘Okinawa Initiative’ was
actually two different but interrelated papers. The first was a presentation made by
Inamine’s ‘brain trust’, professors Takara Kurayoshi, Ōshiro Tsuneo and Maeshiro
Morisada at the Asia Pacific Agenda Project forum held in Okinawa at the end of
March 2000. The other was an earlier and more detailed report entitled ‘Okinawa
Initiative: Okinawa, Japan, and the world’ compiled by a committee of four
members including Takara and chaired by Shimada Haruo, a professor at Keio
University. The Initiatives disavowed the importance of Okinawa’s history and
called for a re-evaluation of the role played by the US–Japan security alliance, as
well as Okinawa’s ‘contribution’ to this role.8
Directly prior to the Okinawa G8 summit, the pace was also stepped up to
integrate the Cornerstone of Peace within both a Japanese nationalist narrative and
a pro-US–Japan security treaty stance. On the Day for Consoling the Spirits
in June 2000, Inamine invited the Commander of US Forces in Okinawa to
commemorations at Mabuni for the first time. There, under the sweltering sun,
Inamine and Prime Minister Mori Yoshirō presented flowers in front of a large
rising sun motif. In a contribution to the local newspaper Ryūkyū Shimpō, novelist
Medoruma Shun denounced the ‘Yasukuni-fication’ of the Cornerstone of Peace,
and the presence of the US military commander, stating: ‘it is necessary to be aware
that this is, following on from the alteration of the new peace museums’ exhibits, a
modification of the contents of “the Day for Consoling the Spirits” and . . . the
historical perception of the Battle of Okinawa’ (22 June 2000).
The climactic soliloquy to reassert and confirm the US military’s peace-making
role in Okinawa was given by then US President Bill Clinton who, in a whirlwind
3-day trip to attend the G8 heads of state meeting became the first US president to
visit Okinawa in forty years. The day before Clinton’s momentous visit, on the eve
of the G8 summit, former Okinawan governor Ōta Masahide denounced the
Japanese and US governments’ intentions to perform a ceremonial confirmation of
‘peace’ and US–Japan security relations at Mabuni in an article in the Japan Times.
He condemned the attempt to ‘reaffirm the importance’ of the US military presence
in Okinawa in front of the Cornerstone of Peace as a ‘desecration’ of the dead, and
contrary to ‘the spirit of the monument’. The Cornerstone of Peace, he reiterated,
was built ‘so that we could admonish ourselves, be sure to lend an ear to the voices
of the dead and look squarely at the stark fact that war leaves bereaved family and
friends with irreparable scars and unfathomable sorrow for as long as they live, no
matter whether they are victor or loser’ (Japan Times, 20 July 2000).
Yet in spite of Ōta’s objections, on 21 July 2000, US President Bill Clinton made
a historic speech in front of the Cornerstone. In a bold attempt to appropriate the
tenets of Okinawa’s peace movement, Clinton cited a famous poem said to have
been read out by the last Ryukyuan king, Shō Tai, before he was banished to Tokyo
in 1879: ‘The time for wars is ending, and the time for peace is not far away. Do
not despair. Life is a treasure.’ ‘May Shō Tai’s words’, concluded Clinton, sweltering
under the Okinawan sun, ‘be our prayer as well as our goal here today.’ Okinawa’s
desire for peace was translated as the maintenance of the US presence in East Asia
and the US–Japan military alliance, and it was in the name of this ‘peace’ that
Okinawa’s modern history was rewritten.
204 Julia Yonetani
On 23 June 2001, a blazing sun once again greeted Okinawa’s Day for Consoling
the Spirits. In June 2000, the remembrance day had been a prelude to the upcoming
G8 summit. A year later, for the newly appointed Japanese Prime Minister Koizumi
Junichirō it was clearly a rehearsal for his planned homage to Yasukuni Shrine in
the coming August. With an entourage of prefectural and central government
officials and accompanying bodyguards, Koizumi paid his respects to the defeated
Japanese military command during the Battle of Okinawa. At the Cornerstone of
Peace, he paused with interest at the rows of names of war dead from the US and
allied forces, and slightly nodded his head at a group of weeping Korean women as
he headed towards the site of the official ceremony some hundred metres away.
Many of the thirty or so Korean bereaved family members attending a small
ceremony in front of the Cornerstone were seeing their family and loved ones’
names on the imposing granite walls for the first time. Director of the Myongji
University Institute for Okinawa, Hong Jong-Pil, who had spent the last four years
confirming and seeking approval for new Korean names to be added to the
Cornerstone, looked on at Koizumi’s retreating figure in contempt. Affronted by
the prefectural government’s change in manner and a deterioration in Japanese–
Korean relations, the Cornerstone of Peace Korean Bereaved Families Association
had decided for the first time in the history of the monument not to take part in
official prefectural commemorations.
In many ways the process of ‘Yasukuni-fication’ of Mabuni to which Medoruma
referred has taken place. The so called ‘coarsening’ effect of commemorative acts
(Figal 1997), as well as the ambiguity of the Cornerstone of Peace as a symbol, no
doubt served its appropriation well. Despite many efforts to the contrary, by sealing
the past into a concrete form the Cornerstone has assisted, at least in a sense, in the
very displacement of this past.9 Yet the Cornerstone’s ambiguity and principle of
inclusiveness has also ensured that this process of closure is not complete. The
Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum and the Cornerstone of Peace remain
contested sites, just as the cacophony of competing narratives within the park itself
may be still be heard. While struggles for autonomy, difference and democracy
invariably intertwine with fierce contention over militarization, nationalism,
imperialism and the meanings of war, peace and the past, the restless ghosts
of Mabuni look set to haunt Okinawa’s volatile political landscape for some time
to come.
Chaperoning a group of mainland Japanese tourists around Mabuni Peace Park
on the Day for Consoling the Spirits, an Okinawan tour guide paused in front of
the names of Korean war dead. Pointing to the expanse of largely blank granite
wall before her, she explained: ‘I feel these walls of yet-to-be-filled names represent
more than anything the complexity of Okinawa’s tragic past and its remembrance.’
The group looked on, as did I, contemplating the gravity of her words. As has
been pointed out, the authenticating power of remembered tradition and history
has a double edge, as ‘a cultural means for propagating hegemonic powers of
the state and/or dominant groups on the one hand, and a strategic device for
recuperating the voice of marginalized groups on the other’ (Fujitani et al. 2001: 17).
The blank walls of irretrievable names and un-memorialized tragedies of the
Cornerstone of Peace testify to the difficulties involved in this process of recuper-
ation, and in the trans-nationalization of the act of remembrance. They also serve
as a vivid reminder of the violent historical and political erasures which often
accompany dominant commemorative narratives of war, and corresponding
hegemonic security claims in the present.
Notes
1 An earlier lengthier version of this chapter appeared as ‘On the battlefield of Mabuni:
struggles over peace and the past in contemporary Okinawa’, East Asian History 20
(December 2000): 145–168.
2 From August to October 1999, over 400 news articles and numerous editorials
concerning the museum displays appeared in Okinawa Taimusu and Ryūkyū Shimpō.
3 In 1996, plans to include exhibits on Japanese military aggression in Asia within the
Nagasaki Atom Bomb Museum were denounced by the Nagasaki City branch of
the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) and other right-wing and nationalist groups.
As a result, several hundred revisions of content were made following the museum’s
reopening. Similar campaigns have been launched against the Sakai City Peace and
Human Rights Museum, and the Osaka International Peace Center. In October 1996,
an LDP Parliamentary Committee report on the exhibit content of local peace
museums, ordered by the then Prime Minister Hashimoto Ryūtarō, criticized the Sakai
and Osaka sites, the original Okinawa Prefectural Peace Museum at Mabuni, and
various other local museums as promoting a ‘biased ideology’ (Ueyama 1999; Nakakita
2000; Okinawa Ken Rekishi Kyōikusha Kyōgikai 1999).
4 The Okinawa Relief Committee for Forcefully Expelled Malaria Victims was founded
in 1988 to seek compensation from the central government for the bereaved families of
malaria victims. Eight years later, while unsuccessful in their claim, the committee
agreed to accept a concession that the government allocate 300 million yen to the
construction of a monument and a museum in remembrance of the victims.
5 On the collective suicide issue, see for example Aniya (1989); Koji Taira (1999). Norma
Field (1993: 67) suggests instead the phrase ‘compulsory suicide’ as reflecting the ‘dark
inmixing of coercion and consent, of aggression and victimization at work in the story of
the caves’.
6 Brian Ladd citing a comment made by historian Reinhart Koselleck in relation to
controversies over the building of the Neue Wache memorial in Berlin (Ladd 1999: 221).
7 See Aaron Gerow (2000) on how Japanese nationalist discourse has been reconstructed
in a form conducive to the desires of postmodern consumption.
8 The connection between central government compensation policies and the Okinawa
Initiative are detailed in Yonetani (forthcoming).
9 See Young (2000) for an analysis of similar issues in relation to war memorials in
Germany.
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‘memory’ of the Battle of Okinawa and a new ‘island-wide struggle’), Impaction 95: 33.
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attack on peace museums be countered?), Sekai 674 (May): 231–5.
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York: Marlow.
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wa naranai’ (Historical truths cannot be twisted), Rekishi to Jissen 20.
Ōshiro, M. (1999) ‘Kenjū wa dare ni mukerareta ka’ (At whom was the barrel of the gun
aimed?), in Okinawa Ken Rekishi Kyōikusha Kyōgikai (ed.) ‘Rekishi no shinjitsu wa
yugamete wa naranai’ (Historical truths cannot be twisted), Rekishi to Jissen 20: 34–5.
Ōta, M. (1981) This was the Battle of Okinawa, Naha: Naha Publishing.
—— (2000) Okinawa no Ketsudan (Okinawa’s Decision), Tokyo: Asahi Shimbunsha.
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and New York: Routledge.
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Bunkō.
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Remembering, Berkeley: University of California Press.
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Okinawa: Cold War Island, Cardiff, CA: Japan Policy Research Institute.
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The Rights of Women and the Military/Bases), Tokyo: Meiseki Shoten.
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kogeki no ugoki’ (The Peace Museum controversy and recent attacks against critical
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—— (forthcoming) ‘Future “assets”, but at what price? The Okinawa Initiative debate’, in
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Japan), Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
12 Nuchi nu Sūji
Comedy and everyday life in
postwar Okinawa1
Christopher T. Nelson
Our campaign slogan must be: reform of consciousness, not through dogma, but
through the analysis of that mystical consciousness which has not yet become clear
to itself. It will then turn out that the world has long dreamt of that which it had
only to form a clear idea of in order to really possess it. It will turn out that it is
not a question of any conceptual rupture with between past and future, but rather
the completion of the thoughts of the past.
Marx, Letter to Ruge
It was the autumn of 1945. The Battle of Okinawa had ended. Their villages
destroyed, their farms confiscated, thousands of Okinawans remained confined in
resettlement camps. During the day, people gathered in the muddy streets between
the ramshackle tents and shacks in which they were forced to live. Shocked,
saddened, bored, they struggled to piece together the fragments of their everyday
lives. One day the dentist and comedian Onaha Buten joined them, laughing
impishly.
I know that things have been terrible for you, but you can’t go on this way.
Here’s what I’ll do. All of you gather around and I’ll tell some stories, and
maybe we can sing a few songs. Now I know that times are tough, but I need
to survive too. So, I’ll just put my hat down in the middle here. Everyone will
close their eyes and pitch in whatever they can afford. That way, someone
without much money won’t be embarrassed. Once everyone has put some
money in, I’ll give a signal. Open your eyes and I’ll go on with the show.
They all agreed that this was a good idea. Buten put down his hat and told his
audience to close their eyes. Everyone dug into their pockets and threw money into
his hat. After a few minutes, Buten shouted, ‘Open your eyes!’ When they looked
around, Buten had taken the hat and gone. Laughing, he waved to them from his
bike as he raced away down the street. ‘Don’t you ever learn?’2
In the spring of 1997, the Japanese Diet acted with extraordinary – almost
unprecedented – dispatch, passing a special law compelling landowners in Okinawa
to once again lease their land for use by the American military. With this decision,
Nuchi nu Sūji 209
the exuberance and determination of the preceding months came to an abrupt and
shocking halt. This unsatisfying resolution followed months of seething activity
throughout the island. Nearly two years before, in 1995, the prefecture erupted in
anger over the rape of an Okinawan child by American soldiers – the latest in a series
of attacks visited upon young women by American servicemen. Since that incident,
there had been a prefectural referendum on the future of the bases, a series of public
hearings on the renewal of leases and several massive demonstrations. A tremendous
amount of critical effort had been directed at reconsidering the Okinawan past,
and not merely the history of American military occupation. Essays in newspapers
and journals, public discussions and private conversations debated Okinawa’s
history of Japanese colonialism, wartime genocide, modernization and incor-
poration into the Japanese nation-state. Questions of Okinawa’s subjection to
nativist analysis and cultural commodification were aired in the mass media. Angry
commentators and politicians revisited Okinawa’s history of discrimination at the
hands of both the American and Japanese states. Calls were heard for greater
regional autonomy, for recognition of Okinawa’s unique status in the Japanese
nation, even for independence. Commentators on both the right and the left urged
Okinawans to seize this opportunity to determine their future; of course, the choices
that these commentators enjoined their fellow Okinawans to make were radically
different. In the midst of all of this, complex negotiations with the Japanese national
government and American authorities continued. Ultimately, Governor Ōta
Masahide refused to compel landowners to renew the leases held by the Japanese
government, leases that allowed the American military to continue to occupy the
bases that they had held since the Pacific War. When the Diet enacted special
legislation overriding Ōta’s deference to the base landowners, Okinawans were
amazed to find once again their claims so summarily dismissed.
An editorial in the journal Keeshi Kaji explored the deep emotions that swept
through Okinawa following the Diet’s stunning actions. The author described how
a feeling of chirudai, a kind of dreamy state of disappointment and loss, pervaded
everyday life (Miyazato 1997: 18–24). Politicians, activists and critics were soon to
reorganize, faced with the announcement of plans to build a new US helicopter
base in Nago (Inoue 2000). However, the humorist and essayist Fujiki Hayato had
already organised a different sort of response. In a series of performances throughout
Okinawa – at the Terurinkan in Okinawa City, at Ryubo Hall in Naha and at
the Nakamurake in Kitanakagusuku – Fujiki sought to transform the state of
despondency noted in the Keeshi Kaji essay. Through performances that evoked the
work of Teruya Rinsuke and the aforementioned Onaha Buten, two seminal
musicians and humorists in postwar Okinawa, Fujiki attempted to both transform
the state of chirudai and provide a critique of everyday life in contemporary
Okinawa.3
‘One does not have to be a resentful reactionary to be horrified by the fact that
the desire for the new represses duration.’ Theodor Adorno wrote these words in a
critique of modern art; however, at this historical conjuncture it would be impossible
to separate the cultural from the economic, the aesthetic from the quotidian (Adorno
1984: 41). The modern era has been characterized by a kind of ceaseless impulse
210 Christopher T. Nelson
towards change. In the case of Japan, postwar economic growth was driven by a
relentless mobilization of resources directed towards domestic development.
During the period of rapid GNP growth Japanese cities and industrial areas
were virtual war zones. ‘Scrap and build’ was the phrase the Japanese
themselves used to describe the situation. The particular development strategy
of government and business was reminiscent of the wartime strategy of resource
mobilisation . . . During the war the Japanese were made to work selflessly in
the attempt to win. After the war similar sacrifices were evidently expected in
the interest of GNP growth.
(Taira 1993: 171)
Okinawan space is inscribed with the signs of these catastrophic transformations.

In the name of parity with mainland Japan – hondonami – tremendous levels of capital
have been committed and natural resources sacrificed to develop the Okinawan
economy. Successive municipal governments and prefectural administrations
routinely develop and deploy complex and ambitious plans for modernization and
development: ‘International Cities’ and ‘Free Trade Zones’ are conceived and
attempted, if never completed. Enormous construction projects – dams, highways,
oil storage facilities, municipal buildings, conference centres – compete with the
network of American bases for domination of the countryside.
This ceaseless orientation towards the future has also required Okinawans to
defer the satisfaction of their desires until the constantly receding horizon of parity
– with the mainland, with the West – has been reached (McCormack 1999).
Although much of this remains within the discourses of postwar modernization
theory (Harootunian 2000: 33–5), it also resonates uncannily with the prewar
Okinawan experiences of seikatsu kaizen or lifestyle reform. In the aftermath of the
colonial era, Okinawans were urged to renounce their backward culture and
commit themselves to an ideology of shusse, of self-improvement. In this chapter,
I will consider the disturbing parallels between these discourses. However, for now,
I want to focus on the experience of living in a present, a ‘now’, where the experience
of duration is constrained by the relentless practical orientation towards the future.
And yet, this orientation is constantly brought up against the unfulfilled promises
of the past that continue to manifest themselves in Okinawan social space and the
practices of everyday life.
Hitori Yuntaku Shibai 4

Central Okinawa, dominated by the sprawl of Kadena airbase, is haunted by this
complex and unresolved dialectic between past and present. The base itself is a
massive complex of runways, hangars and magazines, hardened against nuclear
attack. It is ringed by neighbourhoods of suburban bungalows, apartment
complexes, shopping and entertainment centres, all surrounded by miles of chain
link fence and razor tape, pierced here and there by guarded gates. And yet,
fragmentary remains of other orders belie the monolithic permanence of the base.
Nuchi nu Sūji 211
Here, a monument to the Japanese troops who died during the defence of the
Japanese airfield that occupied the same space during the Pacific War; there, signs
that mark the mouth of a cave where Okinawan civilians took refuge during
the Battle for Okinawa. Family tombs and village shrines continue to stand on the
carefully groomed lawns of the base, fresh offerings of incense and flowers linking
them to communities dispersed or destroyed.
Koza – Okinawa City – clings to the perimeter of the base, its narrow streets and
riot of construction a stark contrast to the spaciousness of Kadena. As I drove
through the city, I felt like a swimmer moving across an enormous reef, its vibrant,
expanding fringes counterbalanced by vast expanses of rigid, lifeless coral. Okinawa
City radiates out in the same way, the debris of the modernization projects of past
generations embedded in its concrete body. Tightly packed buildings lined the wide,
asphalt highways linking the island’s military training and storage complexes
with the airfields at Kadena and the military harbour in Naha. Many buildings
were vacant, their faded signs continuing to advertise bars, discos, restaurants
and souvenir shops long since closed. Narrow, side roads led through crowded
Okinawan neighbourhoods where wooden houses with red-tiled roofs stood side by
side with modern homes of polished concrete and glass. The crests of hills and slopes
overlooking the sea were crowded with tombs, neighbourhoods of massive stone and
concrete crypts inhabited by ancestral spirits.
The road continued to rise as I drove south. To my right, an American golf course
occupied a ridge where Okinawan tombs once stood; to my left, the road winding
down to the eastern coast was lined with flamboyantly designed Love hotels.5 Every
draw, every open field in the lowlands was planted with sugar-cane, a legacy of the
Japanese colonial administration still supported by modern state subsidies. I passed
through a hilltop neighbourhood of elaborate California-style ranches, home to the
US Consul, the Commanding General of US Forces and a number of wealthy
businessmen. Towering above them, a closed Sheraton Hotel and several shuttered
restaurants testified to the mistaken conviction that Okinawa City would become the
centre of Okinawan tourism and industry after reversion in 1972. The road descended
through a jumble of construction sites and concrete houses, rose through a second
public golf course and an evergreen forest before turning into a small parking lot.
I parked my car in front of the compound of a rural Okinawan villa. Fujiki
Hayato’s wife met me at the main gate and we exchanged greetings. An attendant
led me through the gate and to the right of the hinpun, the massive masonry barrier
defending the household from the direct assaults of intruders and malevolent spirits.
Skirting a paved courtyard (the nā ), we stepped up onto the veranda of a semi-
detached guesthouse. I slipped off my sandals and followed my guide through the
guesthouse and into the public rooms of the main villa. Connecting doors had all
been removed for the evening and an open expanse of tatami stretched from the
eastern side of the house to the kitchen on the west. With a smile, the attendant
motioned for me to sit in an open spot before the ancestral altar. I nodded to the
guests already present and joined them in facing the courtyard.
The sliding exterior doors had also been removed, affording guests an unob-
structed view of the nā. Behind me, the doors of the ancestral altar had been opened
as well, the interior shelves laden with flowers, fresh fruit and water, providing a
comfortable space from which the spirits could observe the guests as well as the
courtyard beyond. Smoke from newly lit mosquito coils mingled with the scent of
tropical flowers and the lingering fragrance of incense from the altar.
A low murmur of conversation and laughter filled the rooms as guests continued
to arrive. By now, the rooms of the main house were filled and latecomers were
forced to sit along the veranda of the guesthouse as well as the edges of the courtyard
itself. Neighbours shared fans and passed cans of chilled Orion beer back and forth.
The audience was diverse, most coming from the neighbouring communities of
Okinawa City and Nakagusuku, as well as some from Chatan on the west coast
of the island and Urasoe and Naha to the south. They were socially and economically
diverse as well: office workers and bureaucrats, university students, schoolteachers,
construction workers and electricians – a few still in their mint green sagyōfuku or
working uniforms. There was also a smattering of tourists from mainland Japan –
cognoscenti of Okinawan pop culture, as well as the odd anthropologist. Entire
families attended, toddlers sitting on grandparents’ laps. Groups of friends and co-
workers sat next to young couples on dates.
The lights of the house were extinguished and conversation faded. The red-tiled
roof of the storehouse and the paving stones on the western side of the compound
were illuminated by the rising edge of the full moon. A recording began to play
from speakers under the eaves of the house, a synthesized melody combining
elements of Okinawan folksongs and Indonesian gamelan in a pop instrumental. As
the full face of the moon finally broke out above the rooftop, a spotlight flashed on,
illuminating our host as he stood silently in the centre of the courtyard.
Okinawan households frequently host celebrations and feasts. However, this
gathering differed in important ways. Although we had been greeted by our host,
this was not actually his house. In fact, save for the ancestral spirits whose names
were inscribed on tablets on the altar and the various household deities, no
one dwelled in the compound at all. The villa – the Nakamurake – was one of the few
structures in central Okinawa to have survived the Pacific War. The original house
had been build to house a retainer of the legendary Gosamaru,6 whose castle lay in
ruins on a neighbouring hilltop (Kerr 1958: 98–9). The compound had been rebuilt
according to a geometry that integrated it into the kingdom of Ryukyu and, beyond
that, the spatiotemporality of the Chinese court. However, since the destruction of
the kingdom in 1879 by the Japanese state, courtiers no longer stopped at the
guesthouse. The fields had been partitioned and sold and the estate was now
surrounded by a parking lot, a hospital and the ruins of a nightmarish hotel built
during the American occupation to accommodate tourists who had never come. No
pigs rooted about in the empty sties, the servants’ quarters and kitchen were vacant,
the storehouse depleted. In a valley to the north, the famous stream Chunjun Nagare
still wound its way to the sea,7 but dancers no longer greeted the spirits of the dead
in the courtyard during Obon. The villa that had once housed the jitoshoku or village
headman of Nakagusuku had been made into a museum, a desultory stream of
tourists its only occupants.
Nuchi nu Sūji 213
Fujiki’s choice of the Nakamurake for his Hitori Yuntaku Shibai was not simply an
exercise in nostalgia. This is a space that represents the historical integration of the
Okinawan household into a certain set of practices, a certain mode of being that was
of course both social and economic.8 It is a site saturated with daily life, a place that
invokes for those present a complex texture of childhood memories and media
representations. In the sense developed by Henri Lefebvre, it is a profoundly
representational space where Fujiki’s guests experience an uneasy recognition of the
symbolic character of the everyday (Lefebvre1991: 1–67). Their comfortable
experience of their surroundings is juxtaposed with their real unfamiliarity with
the disposition of residential space and the use of the agricultural implements ready
at hand.
Here, in the ‘now’ of the Nakamurake, the audience confronts the contradictory
spatiotemporalities of Ryukyu and modern Japanese Okinawa. On the one hand,
they cannot forget the quotidian calendrical cycle of daily labour, of salaries to be
drawn, taxes to be paid and loans to be repaid. Their lives are constrained and
defined by the rhythms of the fiscal and academic years, by tourist and construction
seasons; they await the punctuality of high school baseball championships and
American military exercises. On the other hand, they are confronted by signs of
Ryukyuan spacetime. The full moon shining above the courtyard is a reminder
of the continuing importance of the lunar cycle and kyūreki, the archaic calendar.
And as Fujiki begins his performance in the nā, they are made to recall the nenjū
kuduchi, the rituals that punctuate and give form to the year (Higa 1982: 27–103).
In his essay on Chinese civilization, Marcel Granet observed that these rituals did
not simply commemorate the passing of the year; they produced it, they anchored
it in human praxis (Granet 1960: 165–70). But what is produced by the practices
of Fujiki’s audience? What relationship do the nenjū kuduchi have to their everyday
lives? What does a harvest festival mean to a construction worker who has never
tilled a field, never cut cane? How can residents of complex, diasporic settlements
summon ancestors whose graves are scattered across the Pacific, their native villages
destroyed?
For the rural agrarian everyday evoked by the Nakamurake is no more – certainly
not in central Okinawa with its American airbases, cramped urban sprawl, golf
courses and massive petrochemical storage facilities. Here, where the everyday has
become unsettled, Fujiki has found the possibility of establishing transformative,
dialogic communication with his guests.
The possibilities of this practice are manifold. On one hand, he seeks a substantive
engagement with the crises of everyday life, to stimulate his audience’s sense of
contradiction and to foreground the possibilities ready to hand. At another level,
his appropriation of the celebratory form of the iwai is done in complete seriousness.
His performances by night offer the possibility of a transformative practice within
the everyday world.9 He quite literally undertakes the production of a kind of value
– karî10 – that can be imparted to his audience. Here, Fujiki draws heavily on the
itinerant artistry of the nā ashibi11 – the eisā and chondarā 12 performances that took
place in the same courtyards (Ikemiya 1990: 13–20). Particularly in the case of eisā
– the Okinawan bon odori13 – these performances would mediate the community’s
collective offerings of gratitude to the ancestral spirits; conversely, they also mediated
the distribution of the karî received from the ancestral spirits to the households that
composed the community. The karî imparted to these households would give them
the strength to endure the vicissitudes of life in the agrarian villages.
More specifically, Fujiki was inspired by Onaha Buten and Teruya Rinsuke’s
postwar transformation of these practices. In the aftermath of the war, these
two musicians and comedians carried their sanshin (a three-stringed instrument
resembling the Japanese shamisen) and a bottle of awamori (distilled rice liquor) from
tent to tent in the internment camps and from house to house in the newly resettled
neighbourhoods of Koza. Entering each house, they announced their Nuchi nu Sūji.14
They offered to dance and sing in celebration on behalf of the households that they
visited, transferring karî to the residents. Shocked and angered, their neighbours
asked how it was possible to celebrate while they were still grieving for their dead.
Buten laughed and replied:
It’s precisely because it is a time like this! Of course it’s true that many people
died during this war. Unless those of us left alive celebrate and get on with our
lives, the spirits of the dead will never be raised. It may be true that one in four
have died, but doesn’t that also mean that three are left alive? Come on now,
let’s celebrate our lives with passion. Those left alive have an obligation to the
dead to live joyously.
(Teruya 1998: 13–16)
Buten uses the shock of everyday practices redeployed at a time when daily life has
been thrown into chaos in order to forge a new continuity. Walter Benjamin
observed that ‘to become part of the community of the story, we must be able to
reproduce the story’ (Benjamin 1988). Buten’s insight is that reproducing the story
is perhaps a step towards recreating the community. In the aftermath of the war,
the sequence of events to which traditions such as the iwai belong has been shattered.
Reassembling these practices could not recreate the prewar form of Okinawan
society; however it could begin the process of reintegrating survivors into
relationships with their ancestral spirits, and re-establishing a productive sense of
community in what had become a mere contiguous collection of households and
individuals. Following Terurin and Buten’s innovative practices, Fujiki appropriates
these forms to produce a spiritual transformation adequate to addressing the
problems of everyday life in contemporary Okinawa.
Fujiki is a recognizable figure in Okinawan popular culture. He hosts several
weekly programmes on at least two local radio stations, appears regularly in local
television shows and theatrical performances, publishes his own weekly newspaper,
occasionally records and releases music CDs, and is an almost ubiquitous presence
in Okinawan advertising. In addition, he has appeared in a number of Japanese
films, performed comedy routines in mainland Japanese venues and appeared in the
2001 NHK television series, Churasan (Beautiful).
Although Fujiki has published an anthology of his earlier sketches, he presents
only live performances of his Hitori Yuntaku Shibai. Given the intensity of his
Nuchi nu Sūji 215
participation in radio, television and recording, it cannot be that he has a general
aversion to these media. Instead, he seems to have made an effort to bracket these
performances from the rest of his work. As I noted above, the Hitori Yuntaku Shibai
evokes the forms of certain practices coded as traditional. It also triggers associations
with the popular theatre, in particular the uchinā shibai (Okinawan theatre) and
kominkan (community centre), parties that had been – and remain – popular
throughout central Okinawa. Of course, they also call forth associations with a host
of televised comedy reviews, not the least of which would be Fujiki’s own roles in
Tamaki Mitsuru’s productions (Ota 1997: 145–70).
Fujiki draws on his own experiences of growing up in Nakanomachi – the bar
district of Koza during the American occupation. His mother was born on the tiny,
outlying island of Ihei, the birthplace of the founder of the final Okinawan dynasty.
Fujiki’s father immigrated to Okinawa from Amami Ōshima, opening a cabaret
catering to American GIs. After a stint as a mailman, Fujiki began apprenticeship
to his craft in earnest as a member of both Teruya Rinken’s eponymous band and
Tamaki Mitsuru’s comedy troupe.
Many Okinawans fondly recall Fujiki’s wildly improvisational manzai-style
routines with Gakiya Yoshimitsu. However, by his own account, he was neither a
gifted comedian nor a talented musician; he began as a roadie with the Rinken
Band and jokes that he had been a singer for some time before his microphone
was even turned on. Still, Tamaki Mitsuru described him as a tremendously
focused student, and he spent long hours studying Okinawan history, folklore
and conversational patterns as well as honing his skills as a singer, drummer and
comedian. His studies were eclectic; his teachers Tamaki, the seminal humorist
and musician Teruya Rinsuke, the distinguished Okinawan historian Takara
Kurayoshi and the famous rakugoka and television personality Tachikawa
Shinnosuke. By the time he began his solo career in 1993, he had appeared on
several Rinken Band albums, completed a world tour with an omnibus of ‘world
music’ artists and starred in Owarai Pō Pō,15 a successful television series featuring
Tamaki’s troupe in an improvised review.
Once the guests were seated at the Nakamurake, Fujiki shifted positions once again
– from considerate host to performer. At the same time, the guests were invited to
assume the role of his hosts seated in the villa – and also as interlocutors in his
conversations. Fujiki spoke casually, touching on current events and his recent
experiences travelling around Japan; songs, jokes and brief anecdotes – sometimes
the kernel of as-yet undeveloped stories. Then, the lights were dimmed for a
moment. When the lights rose, Fujiki was again standing stock-still in the centre of
the courtyard. This time, he had assumed the role of an old man. His hair silvered,
his face lined. He wore a sort of short-sleeved white jacket, khaki trousers. He
appeared stiff and weary, his hands clasping and reclasping absently as he struggled
with some kind of inner conflict. At last, he began speaking to an unseen companion:
‘Kazubō! Your grandfather has seen ghosts. And I’ve seen our ancestral spirits
too . . . Anybody who’s tried as hard to die as I did during the war can’t help
but see them.’
An old man was standing on a beach with his grandson on one of the Kerama
islands, just off the coast of Naha. He began to tell the boy a story about his
experiences during the war, when he was the same age as his grandson. As the
American forces approached Okinawa, regular soldiers and conscripted
civilians struggled to prepare for the inevitable invasion. As a young man he
was filled with admiration for the brave Japanese soldiers, and begged the
commander of the local garrison to allow him to become a cadet. His wish was
granted and he joined the daily routine of constructing field fortifications and
training for combat.
During the course of preparations, he was praised by the garrison
commander for proclaiming his willingness to die in defence of Japan – to kill
ten American soldiers before sacrificing his own life for the emperor. This
willingness to die was a constant part of their everyday lives and every soldier
and cadet carried a manual to study in their spare moments: the numbers one
and ten were even the challenge and password for night patrols. Yet his
satisfaction at this accomplishment was short lived: when he returned to his
quarters, Lieutenant Someya (his immediate superior) furiously upbraided him
for his ridiculous response, for regurgitating a stock answer without even
considering its implications:
‘Death is not what you think it is. Keep going for as long as you can – don’t
throw away this precious life that you received from your father.’
The lieutenant gave him a second book – a pocket dictionary – telling him
to make sure that he was clear on the meaning of all orders, to take nothing for
granted. This was a disorienting experience for the young man who admired
the dedicated Japanese soldiers and desired the approbation of both the
garrison commander and Lieutenant Someya.
The invasion began and the young cadet begged Lieutenant Someya to allow
him to join in the attack against the Americans coming ashore. But his unit was
pinned down by a savage bombardment and arrived on the battlefield after the
skirmish had ended. Here, in his familiar village, he confronted the horror of
war. The bodies of villagers and soldiers were scattered everywhere.
‘The carnage was horrific – I got sick and vomited. Pigs wandered about,
rooting in the rotted decomposing bodies of the dead, their entrails strewn
everywhere.’
Renewed bombardment scattered the soldiers and they fled to the mountains.
The Lieutenant was lost.
There was a pause in the assault and an unnerving calm settled on the island.
Each morning an American patrol boat passed the shore, urging the villagers
to surrender. Before returning to the American position on Zamami, the boat
landed, leaving supplies for the starving villagers. Still, the Japanese garrison
was relentless in its defence. An elderly couple from the village was found with
American supplies and executed as spies. American efforts to force a surrender
continued, and his mentor, Lieutenant Someya appeared in the company of
the Americans, urging the garrison to give up its futile resistance. American
Nuchi nu Sūji 217
reconnaissance patrols landed openly on the beach and Japanese sentries,
terrified of reprisals, ignored their presence.
Finally, the American patrol boat returned, this time carrying the
commander of another garrison in the Keramas. He called out to the young
cadet’s garrison commander, and the American ship landed a small party on
the shore. The boat withdrew and the soldiers were assembled by their
commanding officer. Convinced that they were about to receive orders to
commit suicide, the young cadet made his final preparations. However, the
soldiers were simply told to gather on the beach. The American patrol boat
returned, this time carrying a meal for the islanders. Everyone – Japanese and
American soldiers, Okinawan villagers, sat together and voraciously consumed
the feast of sliced pork and canned rations. With gestures and a few halting
words, the soldiers tried to speak to each other as they ate.
The meal ended and the soldiers stood. Before anything could happen, an
American chaplain offered up a prayer for peace, a prayer that was translated
by a Nisei interpreter. Then, the Americans returned to their boat and the
Japanese soldiers to their fortifications.
Fujiki’s narrative ends as the battle resumed.
The philosopher and the storyteller

I would like to contrast Fujiki’s narrative with the argument that Tomiyama Ichirō
(1995) presents in his incisive essay Senjo no Kioku (Memories of the Battlefield – or perhaps
The Battlefield of Memory). Tomiyama’s argument is deployed to counteract the
stultifying effect of the discourses that I have noted above, and to attack the ideological
conflation of Japanese victimization with the victims of Japanese aggression.
Tomiyama’s objective is to develop an adequate account of the complicity of
individual subjects – individual Okinawan subjects – in their own oppression. In an
analysis that resonates with both Althusser and Foucault, Tomiyama sketches out the
colonization of the everyday by disciplinary practices that produce Okinawan
subjects willing to sacrifice their lives on the battlefield for the emperor and the fascist
state. He is particularly concerned with the perduring nature of these practices,
echoing Tsurumi Shunsuke’s observation that an individual’s history is inscribed on
the body like a tattoo that cannot simply be washed away and forgotten. Tomiyama
explores the ongoing effect of this subjectification, particularly in the unfortunate
synergy between the continual impulse for improvement and the recognition that
Okinawans cannot fully become Japanese subjects.
Fujiki’s performance could be seen as a perfect complement to Tomiyama’s essay.
Like Tomiyama he explores the role of the individual subject in the war and its
aftermath. Tomiyama carefully explicates the metonymic link between the desire
for self-improvement (shusse) inculcated in the individual and the modernizing
dynamic of the imperial Japanese state. Through this argument, he exposes the
seeming contradictions of preparation for war within the everyday, preparations that
subjects hope will lead to a future peaceful existence as Japanese citizens. ‘In the
event that we win this East Asian War, we Okinawans will be treated on the same
level as Japanese. So, if we win this war, we’ll be able to go to Japan and live happily
ever after with our families.’16
In performance after performance, Fujiki portrays Okinawans who have made
these sacrifices – in the Japanese colonial period, in the Pacific War, in the Koza
riots, in the base land crises – and, years later, are driven to re-examine the
consequences of their actions. He is particularly concerned with their determination
to communicate their critical reflections to successive generations.
Like Tomiyama, he is also fascinated by the persistence of the effects of the
creation of imperial subjects:
The effect of the education in tennōsei [the imperial system] that I had in those
days was profound. What was tennōsei? It seemed like whenever the least thing
happened, we’d all shout, ‘Tennō Heika, Banzai! Ten thousand years life to the
emperor!’
[Caught up in his recollections, the old man tries to throw up his arms as he shouts. He stops
abruptly, grimacing in pain.]
Ah! I can’t raise my arm any higher than my shoulder! When I go to the doctor,
he tells me that it’s just old age. Kind of strange, don’t you think? If it’s just age,
my left and right arms are both the same, aren’t they? Then why is it that my
left arm is fine? These days, it’s getting to be that you can’t even believe doctors!
Ouch!
[When the pain subsides, he returns to his reminiscences.]
As he reminisces about the war years, the old man cannot simply explain the
imperial system to his grandson. Even after the passage of so many years, his account
becomes more immediate and he cannot help but give physical expression to the
cry of ‘Tennō Heika Banzai!’ The interlude becomes an opportunity for a manzai-
style joke about ageing – an interlude that actually serves to highlight the gravity of
the moment. Yet, for Fujiki, this continued physical embodiment of commitment
to the emperor is also accompanied by persistent pain. Fujiki’s concern with the
moments of inscription is also interesting and complex. Though he shares
Tomiyama’s interest in the ongoing effects of discipline, Fujiki also wants to direct
attention to the already existing subject onto whom these technologies were
inscribed and to the irresolvable tensions that this inscription produces.
Unlike many commentators, Fujiki avoids a facile reduction of Okinawan culture
to some functional principle by which practices are structured – for example, by
Okinawan yasashisa or gentleness. In fact, he goes to great lengths to show that his
character embraces militarization, that he is driven by his own desire to become a
soldier. An existent Okinawan subject is not simply overwritten by Japanese military
discipline; instead, there is a profoundly important element of enjoyment to the
process of transformation. In the person of the young Okinawan cadet, Fujiki recalls
Nuchi nu Sūji 219
the earnest admiration and longing that characterized prewar songs like Tsuyoi
Nihonjin (The Strong Japanese) and Hadashi Kinshi (No Going Barefoot), a feeling for
affect that is missing from their ironic performances today.
At the same time, Fujiki points to the impossibility of finalizing these networks of
practices of producing a totalized imperial subject. Tomiyama draws a similar
conclusion, with the exception that this imperfect transformation continues to
motivate subjects’ commitment to the imperial project. For Fujiki, Okinawan
culture – the same culture that somehow articulated with Japanese militarization
– also empowers the recognition of the peril of becoming Japanese. Neither
Lieutenant Someya’s rational argumentation nor physical intimidation could
convince the cadet of the profound flaws in the imperial project. It was the cadet’s
participation in the counterattack against the American landing force that
foregrounded these contradictions. The Okinawan cadet was not simply brought
around by the horrors of war – he had, after all, already seen his own neighbours
executed for accepting food from an American patrol. Rather, it was the specificity
of the carnage in his village that shocked him. There, among the wreckage of his
neighbours’ houses, he saw pigs tearing at the bodies of the dead. In a rural
Okinawan community, this would have been the ultimate inversion of the accepted
life cycle. It is man who eats the entrails of pigs on festive occasions, not pigs who
are to feast on the entrails of man (Sakima 1982: 475–84).
In one expertly constructed image, the contradictions of the entire project of
Japanification are revealed. The prohibition of quartering pigs in outdoor privies,
an important tenet of Okinawan seikatsu kaizen (lifestyle reforms), was more than an
attempt to subject Okinawans to Japanese hygienic regimes. It was an intervention
that interrupted the recovery of that portion of residents’ mabui – spirit – that was
traditionally thought to be discharged along with excrement. If not recovered by
the household’s pigs, this spirit could not be returned to the household through the
periodic consumption of the pigs’ flesh. Over time, this spirit would be lost. In
Fujiki’s narrative, these practices lead not so much to the production of a Japanese
subject but to the destruction of an Okinawan one. Tomiyama argued that many
Japanese soldiers believed that the sacrifice of their own lives could lead to the
becoming Japanese of subsequent generations; in Fujiki’s narrative, becoming
Japanese requires this sacrifice. It is a process that yields the extinction of the
Okinawan way of life, not its transformation.
Insofar as Fujiki’s performance presents a critique of the destruction of a
traditional way of life, it does so through a narrative that is profoundly influenced
by traditional forms. In Okinawa, there are a host of myths that deal with the human
mediation of the relationship between the autochthonous deities of sea and land.
This mediation often involves the efforts of the islanders to eke out a living in an
environment where neither the land nor the sea can, by itself, sustain life. Perhaps
the most often cited of these myths was recorded on Kudaka Island, several
kilometres off the coast of the Okinawan mainland.
A young islander on the Eastern Shore of Kudaka sees a ceramic urn carried
along by the waves just beyond the surf zone. Frustrated in his attempts to catch it
in his fishing net, he walks to one of the sacred groves. His prayers to the deity of
the grove are answered and he is given detailed instructions that must be followed
exactly if he is to catch the floating object. He returns to the beach and hurries
through the prayers before again trying to catch the urn. But he has been careless
in his recitation and fails once again. A second time he returns to the grove, a second
time he fails to correctly perform the ritual, a second time he fails to catch the urn.
Finally, he returns to the grove for a third time, pays careful attention to the
instructions of the deity, correctly performs the required prayers and succeeds in
catching the crock. He drags it up on the beach and cracks it open. Inside are the
grains – barley, millet and wild rice – that will allow him to begin to cultivate
the sandy soil of Kudaka. In this myth and in most of the others, the act of mediation
is complex, difficult and fraught with dangers. If the required tasks are not
performed, the mediation can only fail. And if the mediation succeeds, it does so
only on a contingent basis – it only provides the possibility of survival for now.17
Fujiki’s narrative unfolds in precisely these terms. The young cadet’s survival
depends on the successful mediation of the relationship between the Japanese
entrenched in their inland fortifications and the American patrols arriving from the
sea to the east. Again and again, the islanders try to successfully negotiate these two
poles. In this case, the failure to correctly mediate the relationship produces
catastrophe; when the food that the Americans unload on the beach is eaten, the
villagers are executed by the Japanese soldiers. Even the commensal meeting of
the Japanese (who come down from their fortifications) and the Americans (who
come up from the sea) yields only a temporary respite; shortly thereafter, the battle
resumes. It is at this point that the difference between Fujiki’s narrative and the
mythic narrative begins to emerge. In the case of the Kudaka myth, the young man
learns that correct performance of the necessary rituals earns the beneficence of the
deities of land and sea. In Fujiki’s narrative, the young man learns that it is
impossible to mediate the relationship between the Americans and the Japanese
with absolute success; and yet, to fail to attempt this mediation will lead to more
immediate destruction. What Fujiki’s performance does is to shift emphasis from
the correct performance of mediation to the absolute necessity for subjects to
undertake action.
The structural identification in Fujiki’s narrative of the Americans and the
Japanese with deities of sea and land, of east and west, also serves to highlight their
mutual incommensurability. This is the work of Fujiki’s performance – to recover
the content once signified by Okinawa deities and to contrast it with that signified
by the Japanese state. Rather than implying their authenticity, the equation of
Japanese and American forces with these autochthonous deities immediately
foregrounds the constructedness of their status. In the case of the Japanese state, it
also emphasizes the role of the Okinawan people in its construction. Here, Fujiki’s
image of Okinawan volunteers energetically excavating Japanese fortifications is
particularly poignant; it is Okinawan labour, Okinawan practice that has
constructed the Japanese state in Okinawan social space. While Fujiki’s narrative
shows the possibility of an everyday in which one can mediate the relationship
between humans and deities, it also shows an everyday in which the objectified
structures of society are turned against the very labourers who produced them. The
Nuchi nu Sūji 221
Japanese garrison, entrenched in Okinawa by Okinawan labour, proceeds to
mobilize these same Okinawan volunteers and lead them to their destruction.
At the same time, Fujiki’s work is not simply a nostalgic meditation. In many
of his performances we are shown a relationship between the destruction of a
traditional way of life and the production of the idea of tradition, a tradition that
becomes suffused with a sense of longing and loss. Yet we also see that the Okinawan
past has not yet been resolved to the totalizing practices of the modern Japanese
state. At the same time, Okinawa is not shown as an authentic, utopian alternative
to Japanese social organization. For Fujiki’s Okinawa is not only at odds with the
modern Japanese present, but is itself marked by inherent contradictions and
conflicts that can no longer be resolved, that have had their future progress
obstructed. The disquieting experience of these differing temporalities enabled the
cadet to recognize the contradictions in his everyday life.
And yet, the ambiguities of this recognition made it difficult to resolve his choices
to one form or another. He aspires to be a brave Japanese soldier, but he stops short
of sacrificing his own life. He admires the ambiguous militarized generosity of
the Americans, but he does not follow Lieutenant Someya’s defection. He sees the
possibility of a resolution of conflict through traditional commensal practices, but
he returns to military discipline. It is this emphasis on choice – even in the form of
failed choices or the failure to choose – that is essential to understanding Fujiki’s
project. This is what the grandfather tries to impart to his grandson on the beach
in Kerama. Individuals do not simply instantiate cultural forms, they are not merely
interpellated into social structures. It is the action of individuals that reproduces
these forms, and Fujiki’s performance demonstrates that there are points at which
the action of individuals have the capacity to transform them.
Fujiki’s careful explication of the cadet’s narrative resonates with his listeners’
understandings of their own history, their memories, their experiences of the
everyday. It opens a space to engage the contradictions that have been enacted, to
work through them in a critical manner, completing rather than sublating the
possibilities of the past. In this critical space, the possibility remains that their
potential of everyday practices can still be recovered. Fujiki’s own argument remains
open. His guests are encouraged to explore for themselves the possibilities of
traditional practices; they are not provided with traditional answers to modern
problems. Still, he is clear in the nature of his own choices. His performances are,
as I have discussed above, critical interventions. They are also, in their own right,
productive acts that transfer value – karî – to the audience, attempting to reconfigure
traditional praxis in a manner adequate to the crises of the everyday. Where once
karî enabled farmers and fishermen to persevere through the hardships of their daily
lives, it is now imparted to Fujiki’s audience so that they can struggle through life
in the modern world. In this sense, Fujiki’s performances are profoundly political,
articulating an ethical practice configured around a politics of hope, hope in the
transformative powers of the past.
Notes
1 An earlier version of this essay appeared in Postcolonial Studies as Nelson (2001). The
editors are grateful for permission to reprint it here.
2 My thanks to Gakiya Yoshimitsu for this anecdote.
3 My analysis of these performances is based on recordings and transcriptions that I
made during my fieldwork in Okinawa from 1996 to 1998, and again in 1999. Versions
of some of Fujiki’s performances also appear in print (Fujiki 1996).
4 One-man Dialogue would be an apt translation.
5 Hotels that provide discreet space for short-term assignations. Love hotels are often
architecturally fanciful, evoking riverboats, rocket ships or Aladdin’s palace. Also
known as Fashion hotels.
6 The Lord of Nakagusuku castle during the fifteenth century. When unjustly accused of
treason, he committed suicide rather than take up arms against the king. Gosamaru is
often depicted as a paragon of loyalty and virtue in Okinawan drama and song.
7 This stream gives its name to the most popular of the melodies performed during Obon,
the Festival of the Dead (Smith 1974: 15–22), and is a metaphor for the ceaseless flow
of good fortune to the faithful (Okinawa Zentō Eisā Matsuri Jikkō Iinkai 1998: 334–5).
8 A general introduction to the spatial organization of the Okinawan household is
provided in Mabuchi (1980: 1–19). Further consideration of the situation of household
deities can be found in Akamine (1998). For a critique of Mabuchi’s work, see Ota
(1987). An interesting study of the postwar reconstruction of household space can be
found in Ogura (1995). An analysis of the symbolic construction of urban space can
be found in Teruya (1990) and Yoshikawa (1989).
9 The intellectual historian Gregory Smits discusses the work of the eighteenth-century
Ryukyuan writer Heshikiya Chō bin who viewed the night as the authentic site of
counterhegemonic practices: ‘Heshikiya . . . stress[es] the oppressive nature of the
day’s dawning. At night, out of society’s gaze, the aji [feudal lord] and the prostitute
enjoy themselves as nature intended. In the oppressive light of day, however, the aji
must sneak back to his residence’ (Smits 1999: 121).
10 Karî could be defined as happiness or good fortune.
11 A genre of performances enacted in the nā or courtyard of the Okinawan house.
12 Chondarā is the Okinawan reading of the term Kyōtarō, which refers to a young man
from the capital. In practice, Chondarā indicates a number of different kinds of
performers and performances, including itinerant practitioners who use hand-held
puppets to perform household purification rituals, local groups whose dances depict
mounted noblemen from the capital and the clowns dressed in peasant garb that
accompany eisā dancers (Ikemiya 1990: 13–20).
13 Community dances during Obon to welcome, entertain and send off the spirits of the
dead (Hori 1983: 83–139).
14 This phrase is given as Inochi no Oiwai in standard Japanese, and translated as
‘Celebration of Life’.
15 A pō pō is an Okinawan crêpe. The title could be translated as ‘A Confection of Laughter’.
16 Tomiyama quotes this excerpt (1995: 8) from a letter written by an Okinawan soldier
in the Japanese army at Bougainville to his son, originally published in Kinjō (1975:
116–17).
17 I recorded a detailed version of this myth during a visit to Kudaka in March 1997.
Slightly differing versions have also been noted (Higa 1971: 15).
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Nelson, C. (2001) ‘Huziki Hayato, the storyteller: comedy, culture and practice in postwar
Okinawa’, Postcolonial Studies 4, 2: 189–209.
Ogura, N. (1995) ‘Gaijin jūtaku no kensetu to sono naiyō’ (The construction of foreigners’
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Okinawa Zentō Eisā Matsuri Jikkō Iinkai (1998) Eisā – 360°: Rekishi to Genzai (Eisa – 360
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13 Arakawa Akira
The thought and poetry of an
iconoclast1
Michael Molasky
Among the enduring stereotypes of Okinawans found in English-language

publications is that touting ‘their gentleness of spirit and manner, their yielding and
submissive disposition, their hospitality and kindness, their aversion to violence
and crime’. These are the words of Basil Hall Chamberlain, cited in George Kerr’s
influential 1958 book, Okinawa: The History of an Island People (Kerr 1984 [1958]: 4).
Kerr himself appears to have shared this impression:
They are of a pliable and easygoing nature, eager to please, responsive to

friendly consideration, but with quick recourse to stubborn inaction and
evasion, the weapons of the weak who wish to resist unwanted change. The
most noteworthy feature of their social history has been subservience to, and
willing acceptance of, two quite different alien standards.
(Kerr 1984: 15)
Kerr’s influence, in turn, can be detected in a more recent book, George Feifer’s
Tennozan: The Battle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb, which claims that ‘the majority
[of Okinawans] remain largely as they were before the battle, easygoing and
amiable’ (Feifer 1992: xiv).
If one had to choose a single public figure who most defies this stereotype of the
gentle and compliant Okinawan – in other words, of the ideal colonial subject
– Arakawa Akira would be a safe bet.2 Arakawa (b. 1931) is an original, even
iconoclastic thinker and a combative critic who relishes unbridled debate. Although
he may seem atypical to readers conditioned by English-language accounts of
Okinawans such as those above, Arakawa has been at the centre of many of the
region’s most significant cultural and intellectual developments during the past half-
century. This chapter begins with a brief introduction to Arakawa’s life and thought,
followed by a discussion of two of his early poems, both written in the mid-1950s.
This was a time of particular turmoil in Okinawa, as protests mounted against the
land seizures by American occupation authorities in their effort to expand US
military bases on the islands. Arakawa was still unknown at the time except to a small
group of Okinawan writers and intellectuals, but by the late 1960s and early 1970s
he was publishing provocative essays in leading magazines from mainland Japan,
through which he gained more widespread attention for his outspoken opposition
226 Michael Molasky
to Okinawa’s impending ‘reversion’ to Japanese prefectural status. As we will see
below, despite his iconoclastic, uncompromising and often recondite intellectual
positions, Arakawa went on to become one of the most influential voices in postwar
Okinawan thought, not only through his published social criticism but through his
institutional clout at the magazine Shin Okinawa Bungaku (New Okinawan Literature)
and especially at the Okinawa Taimusu newspaper. Arakawa’s early poetry has
received comparatively little attention from scholars, but this chapter attempts to
show how both his poetry and personal experiences inform the ‘anti-reversionist’
position for which he later became known.
Life and thought

Arakawa Akira was born to an Okinawan father and Japanese mother in 1931, but
his father died before Akira entered elementary school. Arakawa spent most of his
childhood in Ishigaki Island, which is geographically closer to Taiwan than to the
main island of Okinawa, to the Philippines than to Tokyo. Growing up on a remote
Okinawan island with a mother from mainland Japan clearly contributed to
Arakawa’s lifelong concern with questions of ethnic/national identity and of how
the nation-state defines (and dominates) Okinawan subjectivity. One can also
assume that Arakawa’s upbringing in the Yaeyamas helps account for his sensitivity
to the ways in which centre–periphery relations (such as those between mainland
Japan and Okinawa) are often replicated within the periphery itself (i.e. between
Okinawa Island and the Yaeyama Islands). In recounting his childhood, Arakawa
describes himself as having been a ‘militaristic youth’, a typical product of Japan’s
wartime educational system. At the end of the war he was still living in the
Yaeyamas, which had largely been spared the violence that devastated the main
island of Okinawa, but the following year he moved to Okinawa Island and entered
Koza High School. Arakawa remembers being distraught at Japan’s defeat and
burning for revenge against the Americans. Suddenly, in Koza he found himself
living in a base town dominated by the American troops. He could hardly have
chosen an environment more removed from the leisurely (if destitute) life of the
Yaeyamas, and the ensuing years spent in Koza only added fuel to his fiery spirit.3
As a student at the University of the Ryukyus during the early 1950s, Arakawa
started the radical student magazine, Ryūdai Bungaku (University of the Ryukyus
Literature). Originally intended as a literary magazine for publishing student poetry
and fiction, Ryūdai Bungaku soon emerged as a contentious critical forum sparking
debates about the ‘proper’ role of writers and intellectuals in a society under foreign
occupation. Arakawa not only co-edited the student magazine for several years, but
also published his own incendiary protest poems denouncing American occupation
rule.4 Ryūdai Bungaku was published on and off for roughly twenty-five years. Twice
during that time, individual issues of the magazine were recalled by US occupation
authorities for ‘anti-American’ sentiment; in both cases, a poem by Arakawa appears
to have been at the centre of the controversy (‘An Orphan’s Song’ in 1955 and ‘The
Coloured Race’ in 1956). As we will see in the discussion of Arakawa’s poetry below,
the early and mid-1950s were a time of great political turbulence in Okinawa, and
Arakawa Akira 227
Ryūdai Bungaku staked out the position that literature should be unabashedly engaged
with events of the day.
‘An Orphan’s Song’ appeared in the last issue of Ryūdai Bungaku that Arakawa
helped edit. By the time ‘The Coloured Race’ was published (and the magazine
recalled by occupation authorities), he had begun working for the Okinawa Taimusu
newspaper and was therefore not subject to the punishment meted out by the
university against the student editors at that time (see the following section on Ryūdai
Bungaku). But Arakawa was never one to shy away from controversy, and it was not
long before he incurred the disapproval of company management by trying to
unionize the newspaper’s employees. In retribution he was (according to his own
sardonic account of the incident) ‘banished from my homeland, Okinawa, and sent
to Kagoshima’ in 1958 (Arakawa 2000: 80). For roughly one year, Arakawa ‘did
time’ in the Kagoshima Bureau. In fact, he appears to have been the bureau’s only
employee and was paid so poorly that he was forced to put his reporter’s camera
into hock in order to support himself and his wife. Perhaps the most formative
intellectual experience from his year in Kagoshima was Arakawa’s encounter with
the writer Shimao Toshio, whom he interviewed at Shimao’s adopted home on the
island of Amami Oshima. Arakawa later remarked that while he failed at the time
to appreciate the full impact of Shimao’s emerging ideas about the Ryukyus’
relationship with Japan, Shimao would eventually exert an enormous influence on
his own thought, especially about the cultural implications of reversion and about
Okinawa’s historical relationship with Japan (Arakawa 2000: 83–6).
In March 1959 Arakawa was transferred to the Osaka Bureau. It was here that
he experienced the 1960 protests against the US–Japan Security Treaty and grew
disillusioned with what he saw as the betrayal of loyal Okinawan ‘progressives’ by
the leftist parties such as the Okinawan People’s Party (Okinawa Jinmintō ) and the
Japan Communist Party. In particular, he recalls being shocked by the Okinawan
People’s Party’s expulsion of one of its leaders, Kokuba Kōtarō, who seems to have
been a personal hero of Arakawa. Osaka was also the site, Arakawa notes, where
he first fully realized the implications of Shimao Toshio’s thought. Although
Arakawa was a fervent advocate of reversion when he arrived in Osaka, he claims
that his experiences there (including his immersion in Shimao’s thought) formed the
kernel of what would a decade later emerge as his ‘anti-reversion theory’ (Arakawa
2000: 84–6, 99).
After four years in Osaka, Arakawa was allowed to return to the newspaper’s
head offices in Naha, but within less than a year, in 1964, he was transferred to the
Yaeyama Bureau, where he remained until 1969. At first it seemed to Arakawa that
he had again been sentenced to journalistic oblivion in the provinces, and he grew
depressed. But he soon learned to make the most of his stay in the Yaeyamas, reading
voraciously about regional history and culture, and meeting a wide range of
intellectuals, artists and musicians from Yaeyama as well as from elsewhere –
including prominent Japanese intellectuals visiting from the mainland, such as
Tanigawa Kenichi. It was in Yaeyama that Arakawa developed his ideas about the
centrality of ‘culture’ (bunka) in Okinawa’s political discourse about reversion. In
other words, while ‘in exile’ he established a more nuanced, comprehensive and
228 Michael Molasky
historically grounded understanding of Okinawa’s relationship to mainland Japan
(Arakawa 2000: 96–115).
By the time Arakawa returned to Naha, the Vietnam War had escalated, revealing
the full extent of its tragic potential, both in Southeast Asia and in Okinawa, where
countless US military ‘accidents’ and ‘incidents’ (crimes) fanned the flames of local
opposition to the American forces.5 In April 1968, Okinawa’s largest labour union,
Zengunrō (the union for workers on US military bases), embarked on a massive strike.
Meanwhile, the movement calling for Okinawa’s ‘reversion’ had heated up, both on
the islands and in mainland Japan. While the vast majority of Okinawans were eager
advocates of reversion, Arakawa, together with Kawamitsu Shinichi, Okamoto
Keitoku, and a few other long-time cohorts from Ryūdai Bungaku, staked out a position
that came to be known as ‘anti-reversion theory’ (han-fukki ron).6 Decrying Okinawa’s
historical subjugation to the Japanese state and to the emperor system, Arakawa
warned that reversion at this point would only perpetuate Okinawans’ lack of
subjectivity and cultural autonomy. Arakawa’s 1970 essay, ‘The thought and logic
of a traitor’, is perhaps the most forceful articulation of the anti-reversion stance. First
published in Tanigawa Kenichi’s edited volume, Okinawa no shisō (Okinawan Thought),
this essay is typical of Arakawa’s fiery, take-no-enemies prose. ‘The thought and
logic of a traitor’ is a long, repetitive and highly abstruse theoretical disquisition
punctuated by violent metaphors, including repeated calls for a radical affirmation
of ‘Okinawan difference’ in order to ‘strike at Japan as a nation’ (Arakawa 1990: 61)
and to serve as the ‘explosive powder to dismantle the nation’, or to ‘grab Japan by
the throat’ (Arakawa 1990: 75).
Arakawa finds all variations on the reversionist position to be fatally flawed by their
adherence to Japanese nationalism and to the illusory promise of the nation-state
itself. He has little patience for the flag-waving contingent of the reversion movement,
which he refers to as ‘deluded’ and ‘beyond logic in its rosy utopianism’ (Arakawa
1990: 65). These Okinawans view Japan as the solution to all of their problems,
Arakawa claims, and he goes on to criticize the movement for its ‘unabashed
nationalism’ on the one hand and its ‘egotistical utilitarianism’ on the other.
Arakawa also takes aim at the reversion movement’s more thoughtful proponents,
such as Ōshiro Tatsuhiro. Ōshiro, postwar Okinawa’s best-known writer of fiction,
had famously remarked: ‘It is not that Okinawa should revert to the mainland;
rather, Okinawa and the mainland must at the same time revert to “the Japan that
should be”.’7 This often-quoted statement served both as a rallying cry for
reversionists and as a flashpoint for their opponents. Arakawa does give Ōshiro
credit for ‘overcoming the emotionalism and loss of subjectivity that plagues the
simplistic notion of “Japan as the Motherland” ’, but he criticizes Ōshiro’s
circumspect approach to reversion as nonetheless representing a mere variation
on, rather than a genuine departure from, Japanese nationalism:
In short, no matter how much they advocate ‘the Japan that should be’, as long
as the reversionists fail to philosophically overcome their Japan-oriented
nationalism, they will simply be running in circles because ‘reversion’ is rooted
in the desire to assimilate to Japan and is nothing more than the dissolving of
Arakawa Akira 229
Okinawa and Japan into an undifferentiated nation. It is nothing other than
the earnest hope on the part of Okinawans to be granted a citizenship that is
equal to, and indistinguishable from, that of the Japanese.8
(Arakawa 1990: 64–5)
Ōshiro and other thoughtful supporters of reversion, such as Komesu Okifumi,

propose to overcome the past history of Japanese domination and to establish
Okinawan subjectivity through a mutual recognition of cultural differences within
a tolerant and accommodating Japanese nation-state. Arakawa, in contrast, views
Japanese nationalism – and indeed the nation-state itself – as the primary
impediment to Okinawan subjectivity. In Arakawa’s view, his fellow Okinawans
should quit deluding themselves about full and fair inclusion in the Japanese state,
for this is only destined to perpetuate their subjugation. Instead he calls for
Okinawans to draw on their distinct historical and cultural heritage to destroy
and overcome the illusion of nationalism and its source, the nation-state. At
the same time, he has repeatedly and vehemently denied accusations that his
position entails an inevitable trajectory toward political independence and thus, in
the end, is itself destined to replicate Japanese nationalism, albeit on a smaller scale.
Arakawa insisted that his ‘anti-reversion theory’ was not a political movement
advocating Okinawan independence but rather an intellectual position that stood
opposed to the nation-state, and he asked Okinawans to reflect on the fundamental
meaning ‘Okinawa’, ‘Japan’ and ‘the nation’ (Arakawa 1990: 63; Arakawa 2000:
72, 76, 128).
Arakawa’s anti-reversion writings are long and complex, and their intellectual
origins are varied. He admits to having been especially influenced by the ideas of
Shimao Toshio and the anarchist, Ōzawa Masamichi. In contrast, he notably
downplays the role of Yoshimoto Takaaki, whose 1969 essay, ‘Izoku no ronri’ (The
logic of ethnic difference), caused a stir among Okinawan intellectuals when it first
appeared in the December 1969 issue of Bungei.9 Ōshiro Tatsuhiro and others have
accused Arakawa of simply rehashing ideas first articulated by Yoshimoto and other
mainland intellectuals.10 Ōshiro needles Arakawa on this point, claiming that despite
all of his anti-reversionist rhetoric, Arakawa’s eager adoption of ideas first voiced
by mainland Japanese intellectuals bespeaks precisely the lack of subjectivity he
decries among reversion advocates. Arakawa is merciless in his rebuttal (Arakawa
2000: 196–9).
Arakawa went on to lead a distinguished career as a journalist and social critic.
He eventually became chief editor of the quarterly journal, Shin Okinawa Bungaku,
which was published by the Okinawa Taimusu and which served as the region’s
leading literary and critical journal from its inception in 1966 to its demise in 1993.
In addition to his editorial work at the journal, Arakawa wrote countless essays and
several books, one of which was awarded the Mainichi Newspaper’s Culture Prize
in 1978 (Arakawa 1978). And despite his distinctly inauspicious start at the Okinawa
Taimusu, Arakawa eventually rose through the organization’s ranks to assume the
role of president and chairman until retiring in 1995. In June 2000, he published a
collection of critical essays best characterized as an ‘intellectual memoir’. In this
230 Michael Molasky
book, Okinawa: Tōgō to Hangyaku (Okinawa: Unification and Treason), he reflects on his
career and traces the sources of his most important critical theories, especially his
anti-reversion position. Among the most striking facets of the new essays appearing
in this work is their testimony to Arakawa’s unabated intellectual and ideological
rivalry with novelist Ōshiro Tatsuhiro. Arakawa and Ōshiro have engaged in public
disagreements in the past – most notably over their respective positions on reversion
– but this current ‘debate’ between Arakawa and Ōshiro appears to be part of a
longstanding feud that dates back as far as their first critical exchanges in the pages
of Ryūdai Bungaku nearly a half century ago.
Ryūdai Bungaku and Arakawa’s early poetry

Whatever one may think about the quality of the literary works published in its
pages, there can be little doubt that Ryūdai Bungaku brought together many aspiring
writers who would later emerge as central figures in Okinawan cultural and
intellectual life: Arakawa Akira, Kawamitsu Shin’ichi, Okamoto Keitoku, Irei
Takashi, to name only a few. A complete list would be disproportionately long, given
that the circulation of the student magazine rarely exceeded 500 copies. The first
issue of Ryūdai Bungaku appeared on 23 July 1953, the last on 30 June 1976, although
the student magazine’s main impact waned after the mid-1950s. Arakawa’s two
most noteworthy and notorious poems in Ryūdai Bungaku, ‘An Orphan’s Song’
(Minashigo no Uta, 1954–5 [1991]) and ‘The Coloured Race’ (Yūshoku Jinshu-shō,
1956), seem to have touched the nerves of American occupation censors, prompting
them to recall the issues of the magazine in which these poems appeared.11 Both
poems are too long to reprint here in their entirety, but the translated portions below
should convey a sense of what Arakawa and his cohorts viewed as a ‘poetry of
resistance’. There can be little doubt that this poetry is written to challenge, even
provoke, the American occupation authorities. Yet these poems also reveal two
facets of Arakawa’s thought that are rarely evident in his later prose essays: first, an
ambivalence toward, rather than the outright rejection of, Japan as a nation; second,
an attraction to lyricism as a mode of representation.
‘An Orphan’s Song’

‘An Orphan’s Song’ is narrated through several alternating voices denoted in the
text by brackets and bold print. The poem opens with what appears to be a quasi-
omniscient narrative voice, and is then followed by the ‘young man’s soliloquy’,
‘voice from the shadows’, ‘chorus’ and ‘woman’s voice’, which (with the exception
of the woman’s voice) each appear several times, alternating as if conversing with
one another. Interspersed between these voices are brief passages that describe the
scene. These descriptive passages appear in a smaller typeface and are set off from
the rest of the text through indentation (preserved in the translation below). At times
these passages describe images, sounds, or otherwise provide objective information
about the scene than that offered by the various ‘speakers’. Below is the poem’s
opening passage.
Arakawa Akira 231
‘An Orphan’s Song’
For months on end,
Destruction was all that lived here.
With great precision the weapons set their sights on Death.
With great precision the projectiles carved out a path of Death.
Each and every moment existed solely for Death.
Ten years have passed since that cursed season,
Wisps of smoke from explosions float through the air.
[Young man’s soliloquy]

From somewhere I smell the wind,
wind that carries your ugliness.
Look:
at the color of the wind blowing across this island!
at the smell of this wind the color of red ochre!
It used to be that
the sky of this island was fathomless,
and the sea, too, was deep.
Yet, come to think of it . . .
Depth was not limited to the sea or sky:
the forests were deep green,
and people’s hearts ran deep with feeling.
But now,
have even the beautiful words of this island
vanished, nowhere to be found?
The sound of the waves grows loud, blending with the explosions.
The morning mist drifts by, intermingling with the smoke.
(Arakawa 1991: 56–7)
The passage appearing in small print at the beginning of the poem situates the
ensuing events, thoughts and dialogues in time. It identifies the present (1955)
through reference to the battle that destroyed the island a decade earlier, explicitly
stating that ‘ten years have passed’. In addition, the perfective tense in the passage
(koko ni wa hakai dake ga ikite ita/kotogotoku no shunkan wa ‘shi’ no tame ni nomi atta) relegates
this realm of ‘death’ to the past. (The word ‘shi’ – ‘death’ – repeatedly appears in
quotation marks, perhaps in an attempt to distance it from the present.) After
relegating the world of death and destruction to the past, however, this introductory
descriptive passage concludes with an ambiguous tense marker: ‘Wisps of smoke
from explosions float through the air’ (ussura to shōen ga nagareru). Note that in contrast
to the perfective tense in the preceding lines, here a simple present tense (nagareru)
is used, which can be construed as bringing the past (embodied in the Battle of
Okinawa) into the present (where smoke from the occupation forces’ weapons
continues to float through the air).
232 Michael Molasky
In the ensuing soliloquy ‘the young man’ articulates his sense of loss, bemoaning
the absence of ‘depth’ from both the social and physical landscape. Arakawa
would later try to eliminate from his writing all traces of sentimentality or nostalgia,
but they are evident here as well as in his best-known poem, ‘I See Japan’ (Nihon ga
mieru), published in 1960.12 The standard, allegorical reading of ‘An Orphan’s
Song’ identifies Okinawa itself as the eponymous ‘orphan’, abandoned at the war’s
end by the motherland, Japan. Yet Arakawa’s attempt to articulate the young man’s
sense of loss through a language of lyricism – one that occasionally borders on
romanticism – hints at private, personal emotions as well and calls for a more
probing interpretation worthy of the poem’s heterogeneity.
Indeed it is the coexistence of seemingly contradictory modes of expression that
should make ‘An Orphan’s Song’ of special interest to students of Arakawa’s later
essays on reversion, nationalism and the emperor system. While Arakawa would
eventually become one of Okinawa’s best known and most articulate opponents of
reversion, he was strongly committed to the cause during the mid-1950s, partly as
a way to resist the American occupation. Clearly, this poem exudes a longing for
‘the motherland’. But longing is always a complex emotion, not least of all for
Arakawa, who was raised on a remote Okinawan island by a Japanese mother and
by an Okinawan father who died when Akira was still a young boy. Given his
personal background, the very notion of ‘motherland’ (bokoku) or ‘ancestral land’
(sokoku) invariably assumes a contradictory meaning for Arakawa, and it is no
surprise that these conflicts find their way into the language of his poetry. These two
Japanese terms are usually understood as being synonymous. Yet for Arakawa bokoku
would, literally speaking, signify ‘Japan’ (since ‘bo’ is written with the character for
‘mother’) while sokoku (understood in the conventional patriarchal sense of ‘ancestral
land’) would signify ‘Okinawa’ or ‘the Ryukyus’.
In the poetic text, the resulting ambivalence is manifested through the different,
sometimes conflicting modes of representation. First, there are the different voices
and typefaces that make for the multi-layered structure of ‘An Orphan’s Song’.
Less apparent are the different poetic ‘languages’ that vie with one another in the
poem. For many readers, these conflicting elements may detract from the poem’s
aesthetic cohesiveness, but the resulting stylistic heterogeneity offers a glimpse of the
poet’s own intense, unresolved conflicts. This results, I wish to argue, in poetry that
is tempting to read as simple ‘national allegory’ (in the sense proposed by Frederic
Jameson) but that, on closer scrutiny, comprises not a facile conflation of the public
and private, the poetic and political, nor a subordination of the former to the latter,
but rather an uneasy, unresolved coexistence between the two.13
‘An Orphan’s Song’ ends with the passage below, in which the young man’s voice
joins that of the chorus, followed (as in the opening passage) by a separate stanza,
set off by indentation and a semi-omniscient voice:
Why is our land disappearing?

Why are our minds crammed with lies?
To these <?> (questions) we must answer:
Arakawa Akira 233
‘No’ – to all forms of oppression!
‘No’ – to all sources of power!
We must sing in harmony with
the people’s message, which surges forth,
threatening to cover the entire land.
Even today, the explosions reverberate
Even today, smoke floats through the air.
The sky is heavy, the ocean dark.
The sound of waves grows loud, the evening mist drifts past.
The few published discussions of ‘An Orphan’s Song’ have focused on the poem’s
spirit of resistance as manifested in the couplet that appears in bold print toward
the poem’s end:
‘No’ – to all forms of oppression! [non – issai no appaku ni tai suru kotae]
‘No’ – to all sources of power! [non – issai no kenryoku ni tai suru kyoji]14
In their comments on the poem, Kano Masanao and Takara Ben focus on the above
couplet, for it seems to embody the blunt and direct nature of Arakawa’s poetry.
Takara also quotes the preceding lines, ‘Why is our land disappearing?’ (which
clearly refers to the land seizures of the mid-1950s), and ‘Why are our minds
crammed with lies?’ (which presumably refers to propaganda systematically aimed
at Okinawans by the American occupation government). Given the sheer force and
bludgeoning directness of these political facets of Arakawa’s early poetry, Kano,
Takara, and others can be forgiven for treating ‘An Orphan’s Song’ as little more
than an allegorical example of the ‘resistance literature’ or ‘socialist realism’ to
which the student writers at Ryūdai Bungaku aspired.
Yet ‘An Orphan’s Song’ is not merely a political statement but a poem. The
results may appear amateurish (in part, no doubt, because of this translator’s own
limitations), but the work also contains formalistic elements that are clearly intended
to seem ‘poetic’ (in the neo-modernist mould of contemporary Japanese free verse).
The poetic character of ‘An Orphan’s Song’ begins with the intricate and varied
visual arrangement of the lines on the page: the careful and unconventional use of
indentation, of several different typefaces, and the relative eschewal of punctuation
typical of contemporary Japanese poetry. Arakawa employs parallelism and
repetition, especially in the semi-omniscient descriptive passages, while avoiding
the strict prosodic constraints of traditional Japanese or Ryukyuan poetic forms. He
attempts, albeit with limited success, to ‘defamiliarize’ language and to devise fresh
expressions that challenge the imagination (i.e. to ‘look at the smell’ of the wind).
Finally, and perhaps most striking because of its very incongruity with those passages
frequently cited by scholars, is the poem’s lyricism – beginning with the title itself.
Lyricism is especially evident in those descriptive passages interspersed in small
print throughout the poem. Significantly, these passages are rarely discussed by
commentators on Arakawa’s poetry. But as the saying goes, one must ‘read the
fine print’. After all, the opening and final lines of ‘An Orphan’s Song’ appear in
234 Michael Molasky
fine print and thereby frame the poem as a whole. They not only provide structural
symmetry and closure but infuse the poem with a sense of rhythm, which is further
maintained through the abovementioned use of parallelism and repetition, espe-
cially in the descriptive passages. Perhaps most unusual in this poem is Arakawa’s
attempt to incorporate elements of dramatic forms into a free-verse poem. The use
of ‘The Chorus’, for example, is evocative of Noh drama or a Greek chorus (although
it is unclear whether Arakawa intended this), and the placement in bold print of each
speaker’s name before his or her ‘spoken lines’ recalls the format conventionally used
in dramatic texts.
By drawing attention to these formalistic elements, I do not wish to imply that
Arakawa is necessarily a subtle or accomplished poet (a difficult argument to make);
I simply wish to emphasize that ‘An Orphan’s Song’ is more than an unabashed
critique of the American occupiers or a naive attempt to ‘reflect’ contemporary
social issues through literature. It is also an ambitious, if flawed, experiment with
the language(s) of poetic form. It further reveals an ambivalence toward Japan that
Arakawa strove to expunge from his subsequent thought and published criticism.
A similar ambivalence can be detected in a poem Arakawa published in Ryūdai
Bungaku the following year, ‘The Coloured Race’. Of course, the US occupation
censors were less interested in Arakawa’s poetic aspirations or personal ambivalence
than in the ‘content’ of his message, based on a facile reading of his work. In the case
of ‘An Orphan’s Song’, the message appears to have threatened the Americans
enough to prompt them to recall that particular issue of Ryūdai Bungaku. ‘The
Coloured Race’ evoked an even stronger response, perhaps because it was published
just as a protest movement against the American occupation forces was gaining
steam. The movement, known as the shimagurumi tōsō (the struggle linking the
islands), involved a broad coalition of Okinawans opposed to the seizure of private
land by the occupation forces. Not surprisingly, Arakawa, his cohorts and many of
their successors who edited Ryūdai Bungaku were actively involved.15
‘The Coloured Race’

When Arakawa submitted ‘The Coloured Race’ to the editors of Ryūdai Bungaku,
they knew that it was likely to upset the occupation censors, so the editors decided
to ignore the requisite pre-publication approval by the American authorities and
to release it without permission (Kano 1987: 116–18; Ōe 1981: 32–3). The issue in
question (vol. 2, no. 1) contained at least one other incendiary work that, together
with ‘The Coloured Race’, alarmed the occupation censors, who cracked down on
Ryūdai Bungaku through the university administration. This time, American
authorities not only recalled copies already distributed, but banned publication of
the magazine for six months. The university administration cooperated by expelling
four of the editors, which stopped production of Ryūdai Bungaku for a full year (Kano
1987: 118, 152; Okamoto 1981a: 116; Ōe 1981: 32; Takara 1991: 374–6).
Although its structure is not as elaborate as that of ‘An Orphan’s Song’, Arakawa’s
1956 work is also divided into discrete sections, in this case consisting of five separate
but thematically linked poems: ‘Our Skin’; ‘The Yellow Race, Part I’; ‘Black and
Arakawa Akira 235
Yellow, Part 1 (A Poem for the Black Troops)’; ‘The Yellow Race, Part II’; and
‘Black Soldiers in a Foreign Land, or A Lament for Black People (A Poem for the
Black Troops, Part 2)’. Below are the first poem, translated in its entirety, and
portions of the second and third poems.16
‘The Coloured Race’

Our Skin
Our skin is not white.
Not white,
with baby flab and fluff.
Scorched by the sun,
Battered by typhoons,
Exposed to the salty ocean winds
of tropical lands,
Our skin, full of luster,
is the colour of wheat.
Yet the white race,
with their baby flab and fluff,
The white race
brought to this island of ours
Honest John.17
They stride about the island
As if they were our masters,
The white race
They call us ‘Yellow’.
They call us ‘Yellow’.
The Yellow Race (Part I)

We are the Yellow Race –
The Yellow Fellow.
In your eyes
We are weak, sickly
‘Yellow bastards’.
In your eyes,
To you
Who are as white as Louis XVI,
As white as Hitler and Mussolini,
We are weak.
Black and Yellow, Part 1

(A Poem for the Black Troops)
Your skin, like ours, is not white.
A rugged dark brown, it is
236 Michael Molasky
The colour of iron.
Covering ineradicable welts
from the whip,
Your brown skin is
Strong, like stone.
.....................................
You who are Black
and we who are Yellow,
Together, we are the Coloured Race.
(Adapted from translation in Molasky 1999: 96–101)
Elsewhere I have discussed this poem’s ambiguity with respect to Okinawa’s

relationship to Japan:
When the opening lines describe ‘our skin’ as the rugged product of a distinctly
tropical landscape, it seems to assert a difference not only from the racial
appellation ‘yellow’, but also from the Japanese to the north. Are we to interpret
the call for unity between black and yellow as including the Japanese? If so, what
does this imply about Okinawa’s wartime relationship to Japan? The Japanese,
after all, were allies of Hitler and Mussolini, who are singled out in the poem
to mock white presumptions of racial superiority. If Okinawans are seen as not
having contributed to Japan’s war effort, does the poem then imply that the
relationship between Japanese and Okinawans mirrors that between white and
black Americans – in other words, as peoples subjugated within their own
society and conscripted to fight for the forces that oppress them? Finally, ‘The
Colored Race’ describes the skin of both Okinawans and African-Americans
in shades of brown. Does this imply that Okinawans can claim a greater affinity
with blacks than can Japanese? Are there, in other words, different shades
of yellow?
(Molasky 1999: 98–9)
Considered together with ‘An Orphan’s Song’, these questions hint at Arakawa’s
ambivalence during the 1950s about Okinawa’s proper relationship to Japan.
‘The Coloured Race’ is a spirited protest poem that clearly disturbed the
American authorities, and it was the sharp response of occupation censors that
confirmed the claims of Arakawa and his cohorts that ‘political literature’ can indeed
exert an impact on contemporary society. This poem is also significant for being
among the first public attempts to discuss the occupation in terms of racism,
explicitly linking racial discrimination within American society to that directed at
Okinawa’s occupied populace. As noted earlier, Arakawa was a strong advocate of
reversion during the 1950s. In fact, to many Okinawans at the time, reversion
seemed the most natural and desirable alternative to American occupation. Yet this
poem’s call for a coalition based on skin colour that overrides national affiliations
anticipates Arakawa’s vehement opposition to nationalism – and to the nation-state
itself – which would later form the core of his most important ideas. Arakawa would
Arakawa Akira 237
not fully develop these ideas until the 1970s, but the seeds of his later thought can
be detected in the ambivalence that permeates his early poetry.
Whether assuming the role of poet, social critic or journalist, Arakawa has
remained an iconoclast throughout his career. Uncompromising when asserting
his ideas, tenacious when defending his ideals, Arakawa Akira stands as the antithesis
of the stereotypical ‘gentle and compliant’ Okinawan. Although Arakawa’s poetry
has been largely forgotten (and even when discussed, its lyricism is typically
overlooked), his incisive and outspoken opposition to reversion in the early 1970s
continues to inform contemporary debates about Okinawan autonomy. Today,
several years into his ‘retirement’, Arakawa continues to write with the searing
intensity that first brought him to the attention of both American censors and fellow
poets nearly a half-century ago.
Notes
1 Research for this chapter was made possible through the generosity of a Fulbright
Senior Scholar Research Grant.
2 I do not wish to suggest that Arakawa is an unpleasant or mean-spirited person; on the
contrary, my own limited contact with him indicates that he is perfectly friendly. Some
have hinted that he has mellowed in his later years, but a quick perusal of his recent
essays (contained in his latest book, Okinawa: Tōgō to Hangyaku, Arakawa 2000) attests
that, at least when it comes to writing, Arakawa still wields the fiery rhetoric that first
brought him to the attention of his contemporaries.
3 In his many publications, Arakawa rarely mentions his childhood, but he does touch
on it briefly in a 1985 published dialogue with historian and social activist, Arasaki
Moriteru (Arakawa and Arasaki 1985), especially pp. 48–9.
4 Among his co-editors at the magazine were Kawamitsu Shinichi and Okamoto
Keitoku, both of whom would become lifelong cohorts as well as distinguished thinkers
and writers. Kawamitsu worked closely with Arakawa throughout his career. He, too,
published poetry (and in fact is, arguably, the more talented poet), wrote social
criticism that garnered respect of influential mainland Japanese intellectuals and rose
through the ranks of the Okinawa Taimusu together with Arakawa. Okamoto went on to
become a leading scholar and critic of modern Okinawan literature and a professor at
the University of the Ryukyus until retiring in the late 1990s, when he moved to
Okinawa University.
5 The most dramatic accident occurred on 5 February 1968 when a US airforce B-52
bomber exploded shortly after take-off from Kadena airbase in Koza. Arakawa
provides a succinct summary of the turbulent years of 1968–71 in Arakawa (2000:
120–2). For a more thorough historical overview of key events in postwar Okinawan
history through the early aftermath of reversion, see Nakano and Arasaki (1990
[1976]); and Arasaki (1976). On the Koza riots, see Chapter 9 by Christopher Aldous
in the present volume.
6 Several of Arakawa’s key anti-reversion essays are collected in his book, Han Kokka no
Kyōku, which was reissued in an expanded version in 1996. The best guides to his
critical writings are his recent memoir (Arakawa 2000), Oguma Eiji (1998), Kano
Masanao (1987) and Natomi Kaori (1997).
7 In the original text the quotation reads, ‘Okinawa ga hondo e fukki suru no dewa naku,
Okinawa to hondo ga dōji ni “arubeki Nihon” e fukki suru no de nakerebanaranai’. Quoted in
Arakawa (1990: 64).
8 All translations in this chapter are my own.
9 Although Arakawa has insisted that it was Kawamitsu and not himself who was
238 Michael Molasky
particularly engrossed in Yoshimoto’s ideas around the time of reversion, Arakawa
does appear to be indebted to the rhetoric as well as the ideas contained in ‘The logic
of ethnic difference’. Yoshimoto stresses the value of Okinawa/Ryukyu as the preserve
of a pre-Yamato culture. He claims that Ryukyuan culture dates back to the Jomon
period or even earlier, and he seeks to overturn the primacy of ‘the Japanese imperial
state’ which, he argues, emerged with the rice cultivating society of the Yayoi period.
At this time, according to Yoshimoto, the Yamato conquered the surrounding peoples
and unified them into a tribal, agrarian state with an emperor at the head. His central
point and one that Arakawa invokes throughout his own essay is that the Ryukyu
Islands contain, by virtue of their very existence and history, the potential to ‘relativize’
(sōtaika suru) Japan’s dominant historical narrative, a narrative that locates the Yamato
kingship at the centre of the emergent tribal state. See Yoshimoto (1969).
10 Arakawa does, it should be noted, criticize Yoshimoto for his disparaging assessment of
the Omoro sōshi, the collection of classical Ryukyuan poetry that Okinawans are fond of
comparing to Japan’s Manyōshū. See Arakawa (1974: 23–4).
11 The most thorough study of Ryūdai Bungaku, chapter 2 of Kano Masanao’s book, Sengo
Okinawa no Shisō-zō (A Portrait of Postwar Okinawan Thought), reprints part of these
poems and offers a critical history of the magazine (Kano 1987: 113–60). Regarding
the censorship of Arakawa’s work, there is no hard evidence that Arakawa’s poems
alone prompted occupation authorities to single out those issues of the magazine, but
it seems a safe assumption. See Arakawa (2000: 161–2). On Ryūdai Bungaku see Ōe
(1981: 29–33), Takara (1991: 374–7), Okamoto (1981a: 113–26), Okamoto (1981b:
57–61).
12 Although the complete text of ‘The Coloured Race’ has never, to my knowledge, been
reprinted after first appearing in Ryūdai Bungaku, both ‘An Orphan’s Song’ and ‘I See
Japan’ appear in Volume 2 of Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū.
13 I have discussed Jameson’s theory of national allegory in specific reference to occupied
Okinawa in Molasky (1999: 43–4).
14 The term ‘non’ is Arakawa’s katakana gloss for the character ‘hi’ (as in ‘hitei suru’ – ‘to
reject’ or ‘to refute’). Kano Masanao takes this word for the title of his chapter on
Ryūdai Bungaku in his study of postwar Okinawan thought. He uses the above couplet as
an epigraph to that chapter and cites it again in his brief discussion of the poem later in
the chapter (Kano 1987: 113, 145). Poet Takara Ben, in his commentary on the poem
in Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū 2 (Complete Works of Okinawan Literature, Vol. 2), also cites this
final passage, although his citation continues through the line, ‘Covering the entire
surface of this land’ (Takara 1991: 374).
15 For a discussion of the shimagurumi tōsō in English and its relation to Ryūdai Bungaku, see
Molasky (1999: 93–4). In Japanese, see Arakawa’s own account (Arakawa 2000:
158–62).
16 A complete translation of the first poem and fuller translations of the others, together
with a more detailed analysis and footnotes, can be found in Molasky (1999: 96–101).
17 ‘Honest John’ was a mobile surface-to-surface artillery rocket capable of carrying both
chemical and nuclear warheads.
References
Arakawa, A. (1956) ‘Yūshoku jinshu-shō: sono ichi’ (The coloured race), Ryūdai Bungaku 2,
1: 39–43.
—— (1974) ‘Zadankai: sengo Okinawa no shisō o tadoru’ (Symposium: tracing postwar
Okinawan thought), Aoi Umi (November): 23–24.
—— (1978) Shin Nantō Fūdōki (A New Account of the Southern Islands), Tokyo: Daiwa Shobō.
[Awarded the Mainichi Culture Prize.]
Arakawa Akira 239
—— (1990, 1970) ‘Hikokumin no shisō to ronri’ (The thought and logic of a traitor),
Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū 18 (The Complete Works of Okinawan Literature, vol. 18), Tokyo:
Kokusho Kankōkai.
—— (1991, 1955) ‘Minashigo no uta’ (An orphan’s song), Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū 2 (The
Complete Works of Okinawan Literature, vol. 2), Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōkai.
—— (1991, 1960) ‘Nihon ga mieru’ (I see Japan), Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū 2 (The Complete
Works of Okinawan Literature, vol. 2), Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōkai.
—— (1996) Han Kokka no Kyōku: Okinawa jiritsu e no shiten (The Anti-state Zone: Perspectives toward
Okinawan Autonomy), Tokyo: Shakai Hyōronsha.
—— (2000) Okinawa: Tōgō to Hangyaku (Okinawa: Unification and Treason), Tokyo: Chikuma
Shobō.
Arakawa, A. and Arasaki, M. (1985) ‘Okinawa ni totte ‘fukki’ to wa nan datta ka’ (What did
‘reversion’ mean for Okinawa?), Sekai (June): 48–63.
Arasaki, M. (1976) Sengo Okinawashi (Postwar Okinawan History), Tokyo: Nihon Hyōronsha.
Feifer, G. (1992) Tennozan: The Battle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb, New York: Ticknor and
Fields.
Kano, M. (1987) Sengo Okinawa no Shisō-zō (A Portrait of Postwar Okinawan Thought), Tokyo:
Asahi Shimbunsha.
Kerr, G. (1984, 1958) Okinawa: The History of an Island People, Rutland, VT: Tuttle.
Molasky, M. (1999) The American Occupation of Japan and Okinawa: Literature and Memory,
London: Routledge.
Nakano, Y. and Arasaki, M. (1990, 1976) Okinawa Sengoshi (Okinawan Postwar History),
Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho.
Natomi, K. (1997) ‘Okinawa dokuritsuron no keifu to sono haikei: han-fukkiron o chūshin
ni’ (Background and genealogy of Okinawan independence theories: with a focus on
anti-reversion theory), unpublished M.A. thesis, University of the Ryukyus.
Ōe, K. (1981), Okinawa Keiken: Ōe Kenzaburō dō jidai ronshū (Okinawa Experience: Collection of Ōe
Kenzaburō’s Essays on the Times), vol. 4, Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Oguma, E. (1998) ‘Nihonjin’ no kyōkai: The Boundaries of the Japanese, Tokyo: Shinyōsha.
Okamoto, K. (1981a) Gendai Okinawa no Bungaku to Shisō (Contemporary Okinawan Literature and
Thought), Naha: Okinawa Taimususha.
—— (1981b) Okinawa Bungaku no Chihei (The Horizon of Okinawan Literature), Tokyo: Sanichi
Shobō.
Ōshiro, T. (1972) Dōka to Ika no Hazama de (In the Interstices between Assimilation and Alterity),
Tokyo: Shiode Shuppan.
—— (1997) Kōgen o Motomete: Sengo go-jūnen to watakushi (In Search of the Source of Light: Fifty Years
of the Postwar Era and Myself), Naha: Okinawa Taimususha.
Takara, B. (1991), ‘Kaisetsu’ (Analysis), Okinawa Bungaku Zenshū 2 (The Complete Works of
Okinawan Literature, vol. 2), Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōkai: 371–82.
Tanigawa, K. (ed.) (1970) Okinawa no Shisō (Okinawan Thought), Tokyo: Mokujisha.
Yoshimoto, T. (1969) ‘Izoku no ronri’ (The logic of ethnic difference), Bungei (December):
242–50.
14 Conclusion
Both structure and subjectivity
Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle
What, after all, does a combined focus on structure and subjectivity tell us about
Okinawa, not evident in an approach limited to just one or the other? While
integrating the two parts of this book into one is not the purpose of this Conclusion,
we do wish to draw attention to how the complex relationship between the two
continues to be forged in global, regional and national structures where Okinawan
subjectivity remains contested. So even though the structures of constraint and the
opportunities of agency are historically contingent, one consistent message these
pages convey is of a modern Okinawa whose people have been tossed, buffeted and
turned by the stormy winds of global, regional and national transformations, making
the charting of their own course and the creation of their own identity fraught with
difficulty. Okinawa was stamped with the chrysanthemum emblem during the
prewar period, girded with steel by the men and machines of the US military in
the early postwar period, and concreted with the largesse of the ‘construction state’
ever since reversion in 1972. Only brief economic respite has been provided for
Okinawa in recent years by flocks of Japanese tourists heading for the ‘tropical
island paradise’.
Political and economic subordination have historically been paralleled by
powerful ideological and discursive formations within which ‘Okinawans’ were
produced as subjects; discourses, for instance, of modernity, progress and building
the nation ‘Japan’. For many Okinawans, in the past as now, acceptance and
rationalization of their dependency has made them collaborators in their own
subordination. This is one side of the coin, not to be denied, that underlines the
importance of dealing with both structure and subjectivity in the same volume. It
is not the total picture, however. For the people of these islands have sustained and,
indeed, developed a multitude of vibrant cultural practices that breathe continuing
life into the meaning of being Okinawan and inform their social and political
responses to these constraints. Okinawans retain the capacity as agents to carve out
a life and inscribe their cultural practices, despite bearing the costs as well as reaping
the benefits of their precarious place in the structure and consciousness of the
Japanese state, the region and the world.
The intertwining of structure and subjectivity raises uncomfortable issues of cost
and benefit, complicity and struggle. Not to consider them is to fail to do justice to
the complexity of Okinawa, in both the modern and contemporary eras. While
Conclusion 241
nobody can gainsay the indelible imprint left by the US military bases on the islands,
as if the land has been scarred by the gigantic boots of America’s military might,
rents and other material benefits feed Okinawan families. The ‘construction state’
subordinates Okinawa within a structure of public works dependency, but this
structure offers life chances to the many Okinawans who rely on employment in the
small, medium and occasionally large firms contracted to cement over land and
waterways. These external and internal forms of dependency not only undergird
the life of the people, enabling them to sustain a material life much better than in
other parts of East Asia, if not in mainland Japan, but also generate many of the
impulses at the core of their cultural identity, whether manifest in popular protest
or in the pursuit of a range of cultural activities. It is the complex interplay between
these external and internal forces which calls for the use of a wide range of analytical
tools to deepen our understanding of both structure and subjectivity in Okinawa.
Thus, many of these chapters provide deep insight into the complex, overlapping
and entangled ways in which Okinawans have refused and resisted these impositions,
or accepted and complied with them on their own terms. They highlight in particular
the diverse ways in which Okinawans, as subjective agents, participate in making their
own reality and in charting their own destiny, taking advantage of the contradictory
opportunities inherent in the structural constraints upon their lives. From the
hardened campaigners of the anti-war landowners through to the ordinary
Okinawans who vented their anger or voiced their concern through the protests and
plebiscites of the late 1990s, from the intellectual guardians of Okinawa’s conscience
to the local performers making and shaping popular culture, the vitality of Okinawan
men and women in the face of injustice and adversity shines through the structures
encrusting them at the specific historical juncture of their actions. To understand
contemporary Okinawa these voices must be heard.
For those viewing Okinawa from the outside, this subjectivity is often hidden,
buried beneath the structure of subordination within the Japanese state. It surfaces
most saliently as a ‘problem’, when agency is given voice in a process of contestation
within the structure of the Japanese state. Yet history reveals that Okinawa becomes
a ‘problem’ precisely when the Japanese state itself is undergoing a period of
transition, as at the moment. Faced with the end of the certainties of Cold War
international politics, reproduced on the domestic political landscape in the long
stand-off between the conservative and progressive forces, the leaders of Japan are
struggling to find an answer to the question Okinawans themselves repeatedly
ask – what is our destiny? The latest manifestation of the ‘Okinawa problem’ for the
mainland’s policy-making elite is a symptom of the contradictions inherent in
the continuation of Cold War politics in a post-Cold War world; Okinawa remains
divided, between the bases and itself, between the Japanese state and the Okinawan
people, and between the past and the future. In the contemporary era, the US
military presence on the islands remains as the clearest manifestation of the
continuity of Cold War structures in Okinawa, despite the changes in the world
the term ‘post-Cold War’ signifies. For those political forces in favour of their
continued presence, this calls for renewed efforts to make the bases an acceptable
part of Okinawan life.
All of the chapters touch, in one way or another, on the presence of the US
military bases as a ‘problem’ for Okinawa and the Okinawans, not as a ‘problem’
for those seeking to legitimize their continued existence, even if downsized, located
on coral reefs off the coast, or filled with soldiers other than the marines. The
existence of the bases is clearly the central political problem facing Okinawans
today, or at least those of the main island, and the issue that has sparked the recent
boom in the study of Okinawa, including this volume. But it is important not to let
this focus obscure other aspects of Okinawa that deserve scholarly attention.
Okinawa is more than just a base issue; through the case studies collected here we
are able to gain insights into the interplay between politics and identity, the nature
of the Japanese state, the dynamics of regionalism and globalization, and, not least,
the analytical tools we deploy to understand them. Thus, while focused on the
geographically inscribed space ‘Okinawa’, the chapters in this volume are much
more than just case studies of marginal relevance to the study of Japan, or, more
widely, the social sciences in general. They resonate with wider concerns that look
likely to shape the new century in fundamental ways.
September 11
The end of the global Cold War removed the pillars of legitimacy built at the time
of the signing of the US–Japan Security Treaty in 1951 and used ever since to
support the US–Japan security alliance. In the wake of the Cold War’s ending the
Okinawan bases appeared as an explosive legacy, a soon-to-emerge ‘problem’, not
as an essential bastion for the protection of the Japanese people from the Soviet
threat and wider communist forces. The tension erupted in 1995 in the wave of
protests following the rape of a schoolgirl. The Taepodong missile crisis was used
to prop up the wobbly edifice in 1998, but the threat of a North Korean attack on
Japan seemed a long way away given the combined military strength of the US and
South Korea. Other threats, as with the intrusion into Japanese waters of ‘mysterious
spy ships’, presumably from North Korea, continued to heighten the popular sense
of Japanese vulnerability at the beginning of the new century, but the difficulty
North Korea faces in maintaining a ready military as it struggles to feed its own
population did not seem to offer the same prop of legitimacy to the Okinawan bases
as the presence of Soviet forces in the seas around Japan provided during the Cold
War. In a fundamental way, the normative framework of understanding deployed
to legitimize the US–Japan alliance was for a time tottering, if not entirely in danger
of collapse.
The events of 11 September 2001 have profoundly altered the way the military
bases in Okinawa are now seen. While the US use of Okinawan bases in the ‘war
against terror’ illustrates the global reach of what, in the perspective of conventional
Western academic work, often appear as obscure, marginal islands in the far-flung
corners of East Asia, the need to combat terror in its manifest forms offers new
ammunition for those fighting to keep the bases. As elsewhere in the world in the
wake of this catastrophe, the ‘war against terror’ serves as a means to legitimize
the ongoing US military presence and to impose restrictions on the actions of
Conclusion 243
citizenry opposed to a military solution to human problems. In Okinawa, more
than anywhere else in Japan, the attachment to Article 9 of the 1947 constitution
and the appeal of Japan as a peace state remain strong. This is precisely because ever
since the US occupied, and the central government supported, the separation of
Okinawa from the mainland as part of the postwar settlement, Okinawa has been
the ‘war prefecture’ in Japan as Japan has been the ‘peace state’ in the world. Its
people, as fervent supporters of the constitution, are at times quite prepared to
mount a challenge to the means for war-making in the prefecture, as the develop-
ment of the anti-base and wider peace movements illustrate, but they are also
committed to building the defences of peace ‘in the minds of men’, as seen in the
preservation of memory through the peace museum exhibits. The gap between a
focus on peace and the constitution in Okinawa and interpreting the constitution
in a way to support the US militarily on the mainland was starkly revealed after the
September 11 terrorist attacks.
Thus, in order to support the US in the war against terror, the Koizumi
government has come closer than any previous government in moving the SDF
towards participating in collective self-defence, despite Article 9 of the constitution
being interpreted as prohibiting anything but self-defence. The Anti-Terrorism
Special Measures Bill, which passed the Diet in November 2001, permits the SDF
to take part in military operations, so long as these are restricted to non-combat
zones; conduct fuel and supply operations; transport by sea, but not over land,
supplies of weapons and ammunition; offer medical help to wounded combatants;
and, finally, help refugees of the conflict. The decision to provide logistical support
for the US war in Afghanistan following the bill’s passage marked the first time the
SDF have been despatched overseas during hostilities. The government views this
action as part of Japan’s ‘international contribution’. However, given that the US
has legitimized its military actions based on the general right of self-defence, rather
than on any specific UN security council resolution, Japan’s support can be seen in
essence as backing US unilateral, not international, action; as President George W.
Bush said in his September 2001 address to Congress ‘either you are with us, or you
are with the terrorists’. In this sense, the Koizumi government is clearly with the
Americans, but this support of the US’s action can be seen more pertinently as part
of a longer term trend of Japan fulfilling greater military obligations under the
US–Japan alliance system.
The implications for Okinawa are still hard to identify. While many in Okinawa
support the US’s response to the terrorist attacks, many others see the closer military
links now developing between Japan and the US as symbolic of the continuing
vulnerability of Okinawa in the face of decisions made by Washington and Tokyo.
Although in theory the Japanese government could refuse the US use of Okinawan
bases, the Okinawans have no control whatsoever over how they are used. With
Japan’s closer identification with US military goals as seen in the war against
terrorism, not only are US bases in Okinawa playing a crucial role in the fighting
in Afghanistan, but they may also be called upon to play a wider role over the
coming years. Thus, with North Korea seen as part of President Bush’s ‘axis of evil’,
the possibility for US bases in Okinawa being put to use in an expanded war against
terrorism, whether in North Korea, Iraq or further afield, cannot be ruled out. If
the bases are to function in this way, then the tension between Japan as a peace state
and Okinawa as a war prefecture is bound to mount, with popular demands for the
costs of the bases located in Okinawa to be shared more equally throughout Japan,
if not for the bases to be completely removed. It seems likely, given the ongoing
threat from terrorism, that Okinawa will re-emerge as a ‘problem’ for both the
Japanese and US governments at some point in the future.
The terrorist attacks have also laid bare the continuing dependency, fragility and
underlying vulnerability of the Okinawan economy. Ironically, Okinawa is perhaps
now even more dependent on the US and the largesse of the state since tourism has
collapsed in the wake of fears that, in the present climate, these very military bases
may become the target of terrorist attacks. Whether this is only a temporary
phenomenon or not, the unwilling incorporation of Okinawa into a larger world
order continues to provide a bleak outlook for the aspirations of ordinary Okinawans
for peaceful and prosperous lives. Whatever the hopes for the future, the terrorist
attacks have starkly revealed that, despite the costs to the environment, tourism
offered a modicum of hope to reduce the economy’s dependency on the central
government, but even this is clearly subject to the existence of the bases being viewed
as an income-generating benefit, or at worst an environmental and human hazard,
not the potential target for terrorists. In this way, while the need for specific types
of deployments in Okinawa may change, with perhaps a reduced role for the
marines, the military cooperation offered by Japan, the build up in the US defence
budget and the possible extension of the war against terrorism beyond Afghanistan
points to the continuing vulnerability of Okinawa in the post-September 11 world.
It is such vulnerability, more than anything else, that highlights the way the world,
the region and Japan impinge on the peace and security of Okinawa and its people.
Okinawa and Japan: transcending the nation-state?

To consider Okinawa is to consider Japan. Okinawa, as one of the contributors to
this volume, Gavan McCormack, is fond of pointing out, is a showcase of everything
that is wrong with contemporary Japan. It is the crisis in the Japanese state in
microcosm. Cold War politics and their legacy, the injustices of the US–Japanese
alliance, the overblown excesses of the ‘construction state’, the subversion of
Japanese democracy; all of these intersect with a unique and blinding intensity in
Japan’s troubled and troublesome island prefecture, Okinawa. The way in which
Tokyo deals with Okinawa is revealing of how political and economic forces operate
in contemporary Japan. For the state, the ‘Okinawa problem’ is one to be solved
through economic blackmail or heavy-handed political tactics. Despite near national
insolvency, with a public debt of over 130 per cent of GDP, the highest of any G7
country (Financial Times, 25 February 2002), the continued use by the Japanese state
of economic carrot-and-stick methods to placate Okinawans over the bases points
to a profound lack of imagination among Japan’s political leadership and an
unwillingness to let localities practise any meaningful form of autonomy. As former
governor Ōta Masahide points out, the movement towards decentralization has
Conclusion 245
not provided Okinawa with the means to chart its own course. Instead, despite the
improvements made, the system between the central government in Tokyo and the
prefectures throughout Japan continues to be reinforced by the repression of
political dissent, not necessarily by physical force, but through the ‘violence’
of special legal measures and informal political pressure. Witness, in Chapter 7 by
Ōta, the lament of a governor unable to provide his constituency with even
the same basic property rights as the residents of other prefectures, despite the
stipulations of the constitution.
On a different level, the politicization of Okinawan identity points to how the
overarching discourse of Japanese homogeneity breaks down at the local level.
Instead of the uniformity and oneness of Nihonjinron depictions of the nation as linked
together with an umbilical cord of ethnicity stretching back for generations, the
attachment of Okinawans to an Okinawan identity, as well as if not instead of an
overlapping Japanese identity, exposes the tendentious and artificial nature of the
construction of ‘Japaneseness’. The ambivalent attitude of Okinawans towards their
relationship with the mainland illustrates not only that the modern project of
constructing the ‘Japanese’ was never completed; more importantly it suggests that,
for many, the ‘ethnic’ core of Japanese identity may now itself be starting to unravel.
The evidence from Okinawa is starting to mount.
Indeed, as different groups involved in protest movements in the islands articulate
their ‘Okinawanness’, they draw on symbolic resources and meanings far removed
from the ideas and practices of the nation-state, in its Japanese or any other version.
For instance, the young activists of Okinawa and Amami who are asserting a
separate ethnicity for ‘Ryukyuans’ and making links with indigenous peoples in
Japan and elsewhere in the world, are challenging the very notion of the nation-
state, Japan, by calling through their political agenda for autonomy. Artists and
intellectuals as diverse as Kina Shōkichi and Arakawa Akira are promoting visions
of human community beyond the framework of the nation-state. The environ-
mentalists of Kin and Shiraho, on the other hand, stress the local, specific aspects
of community and nature as they appeal against the forces of the ‘construction
state’, but then link this to a global, not national, conservation movement. Women’s
movements have forged international alliances against military violence in an
attempt, only partially successful, to gender the struggle and reframe it away from
the ‘nationalist’, us–them, Okinawa–yamato dichotomy, into a call to combat the
rape and degradation of all women. Ironically, it is the ‘guardians of Okinawa’s
conscience’, the anti-war landlords with their attachment to the 1947 constitution,
who are bound most closely to conventional notions of citizenship. Even these
opponents of the bases, though, are promoting a particular version of the ‘peace
state’ at odds with the ruling LDP’s acceptance of the US–Japan security arrange-
ments as part of the Japanese ‘peace state’. The early attempts the government has
made to strengthen Japan’s military role evident since September 11 clearly
highlights the uncomfortable compromise the government has been forced to make
between Article 9 of the constitution, the security treaty and the SDF. In one sense,
then, the meaning of what it is to be Okinawan has become more diverse since the
overwhelming affirmation of the ideals of nation and citizenship during the struggle
for reversion, as expressed in the Koza riot and subsequent civil disobedience against
the US military regime.
But this book would not achieve its purpose were we not at this point to remind
the reader of the constraints continually placed on Okinawan agency. Crucial here
is the limits of Okinawa’s challenge to the Japanese state. As the chapters in Part I
on the structural subordination of the prefecture elucidate, in terms of the economic
dependence of Okinawa on the central government as well as the psychological
dependence of many Okinawans on mainland Japan, the prospects for a breakup
of the Japanese body politic is still no more than a speck on the horizon. Okinawa’s
attempts at civil disobedience have been effectively countered – at the official level
by legal manipulation, and at the level of citizens’ protests by economic inducements
and political chicanery. The Nago election of February 2002, which pitted the
opponents of the relocation of the Futenma airbase to Henoko against the incum-
bent mayor, Kishimoto Tateo, who supports the transfer, illustrates the power of
the central political and bureaucratic elites to gain the ultimate objective of a popular
mandate behind the relocation. Given the stakes, the electoral battle can be viewed
as a mismatch on the scale of the biblical struggle between David and Goliath
(McCormack 2002). While the victory of David symbolizes the power of the weak
to overcome the strong, the combined political, economic and financial pressure
brought to bear on Nago from the political and bureaucratic centre of power in
Tokyo, with backing from supporters in other parts of Okinawa, meant the local
David, opposition candidate Miyagi Hiroyasu, could do no more than maintain his
credibility as a political opponent, but one with little chance of staving the flow of
votes to the incumbent. While the heliport will take many years to complete, with
the potential for David to rise again, the result of this recent election has consolidated
and legitimized the hands of Tokyo and Washington in pressing ahead with the
construction of the new base, thereby dashing the hopes of many Okinawans to
reduce the American presence on their islands.
Okinawa in the world: the world in Okinawa

On yet another level, the study of Okinawa enriches our understanding of wider
relationships within the region, and between the region and the larger forces of
geopolitics and economic globalization. The forces of change that have swept over
East Asia since the end of the Cold War have imposed a range of constraints as well
as provided a number of opportunities to Okinawa and its people. The specific ways
in which these forces have been refracted through the prism of Okinawa offer
insights into economic and security relationships of regional and global reach and
the attempt to reinscribe borders, resituating Okinawa as part of a regional, not
just national, space. The role of Okinawa as a frontier – not fully part of the Chinese
world order, not really fully integrated into the Japanese empire, not now an equal
part of Japan proper – is the historical and contemporary context in which efforts
are now being made to renegotiate Okinawa’s place in the region and the world.
The division among the prefecture’s political, bureaucratic and business elite in
responding to the pressures of globalization highlights the difficulty of moving the
Conclusion 247
debate on Okinawa’s future outside of the context of national dependence and the
call to reduce the US bases. Structurally, the continuing division between those
political and economic forces seeking to preserve their vested interests and those
willing to try to reconstitute Okinawa’s place in Japan, the region and the world
should also be seen as an impediment in charting a new destiny for Okinawa. The
goal is for Okinawa to develop links across the sea, building on historical economic
ties with Taiwan and coastal China, reinscribing an identity for Okinawa as a part
of East Asia. Yet it is difficult for a small, structurally dependent prefecture like
Okinawa to take advantage of the opportunities provided by globalization, without
the acquiescence if not full support of the central government. Notwithstanding
hyperbolic claims of a move to a ‘borderless world’ (Ohmae 1990), the state
continues even in an era of globalization to maintain and exert a high degree of
control on the flow of goods and people into Japan’s sovereign territorial space.
The continuing resistance of the central government to ‘two systems, one state’
suggests how tightly the government is holding on to the trappings of sovereignty,
despite the pressures for change generated by globalization.
Similarly, as mentioned above, the security relationship links Japan into the
regional and global strategy of the United States, with Okinawa’s role in the world
being to provide the bases at the heart of the projection of American military power.
At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the type of role Okinawa could play in
the future was hinted at in the so-called Armitage report, which saw ‘the special
relationship between the United States and Great Britain as a model for the alliance’
(INSS 2000: 11). As was clear at the time of the 1986 bombing of Libya, Prime
Minister Margaret Thatcher was quite prepared to allow US bases in the UK to be
used for the attacks. A similar kind of ‘special relationship’ with Japan would again
bring the spotlight on Okinawa. As Gabe (Chapter 4) makes clear, Okinawa is part
of a triangle with mainland Japan and the US at the other two tips, exerting dual
pressures on the prefecture to act in consonant with the needs of the alliance. This
demonstrates the continuing importance of taking account of the US as well as the
mainland in seeking to promote a deeper understanding of Okinawa.
Understanding Okinawa: what next?

The above discussion of the way a focus on structure and subjectivity in combination
helps to promote a deeper understanding of Okinawa can be seen as a modest
attempt to move the study of Okinawa forward. Okinawa challenges the paradigms
of the social scientists attempting to understand it, forcing us to sharpen and develop
our analytical tools and concepts. In this sense, it does more than merely provide
empirical case studies that reinforce established perspectives or theoretical traditions
in political economy and identity politics, or, more broadly, the study of Japan.
Okinawa invites us to discard any of the current fads found at different times in the
study of Japan, whether this be ‘Japan-bashing’, or, for that matter, the castigating
of ‘US imperialism’, and to explore instead the obscure and complex links between
structure and agency, and the ambivalent boundaries of discourse and identity.
This volume was conceived partly as an attempt and hopefully the realization of a
wish to break out of simplistic and established ways of perceiving and explaining
Okinawa. In their own ways, the contributors to this volume, implicitly or explicitly,
albeit perhaps not always successfully, have deployed a variety of theoretical
perspectives in their attempts to avoid reifying either ‘Okinawa’ or ‘Okinawans’. In
this way, the aim has been to cut a little deeper into the meaning of Okinawa, and
in the process to listen to the voices of the Okinawans themselves as well as to analyse
and delineate the structures of their lives.
There will obviously never be any single paradigm for ‘understanding Okinawa’.
All the chapters in this volume, nevertheless, by focusing on the key question posed
provocatively in the Introduction as a single word – Japan? – illustrate how differing
specialisms and theoretical approaches in collaboration can inform and illuminate
each other beyond the possibilities within a single disciplinary tradition. The
resulting volume peels away Okinawa like an onion, from external structural
constraints to the individual subjectivity of Okinawan agents, offering a ‘bottom
up’ as well as ‘top down’ view of Okinawa and the Okinawans. The interaction
between structure and subjectivity, in particular, is fruitful. It enables us to see, for
instance, how the inner worlds of Fujiki, Arakawa or the young activists at the UN
have been shaped by the material and structural contexts of military occupation and
economic dependency, but also how they are attempting, through their perfor-
mances, writing, activism and daily practices, to challenge, modify and transform
those structures. Conversely, by refracting these abstract and impersonal structures
through the prism of the individual, whether man or woman, we find that
Okinawans are not passive or naive putty in the hands of global and regional forces
or the overwhelming power of the US, or, for that matter, an all-powerful Japanese
state, but are instead agents, albeit constrained, in the creation of identities that
inform their social actions and struggles to control their own destinies.
There are many more themes that this book could have addressed. While the
purpose here is not to end with a list of research topics for future graduate students,
the following issues are worth highlighting in terms of the need for further empirical
work. First, what is the relationship between the budgetary allocation made by the
central government and the presence of the US military bases? Clearly, as former
governor Ōta Masahide suggests in Chapter 7, the new governor was provided with
a range of resources that he himself did not receive and could not have expected,
given his opposition to the relocation of the Futenma airbase. But how do the
demands for promoting equality throughout the archipelago square with such kind
of ‘special treatment’ for a prefecture hosting an overwhelmingly disproportionate
number of US military bases? The answer may not be as straightforward as simply
offering a carrot every time the base issue flares up. Second, what are the specific
mechanisms of governance between the central government and Okinawa, and are
these different from other prefectures? Given the government’s belief in the need
for US bases for the security of Japan and as part of its obligations under the
US–Japan security treaty, the position of Okinawa within the Japanese body politic
is bound to be different to a prefecture hosting no more than agriculture or industry.
The security treaty is ‘[f]or the purpose of contributing to the security of Japan and
the maintenance of international peace and security in the Far East’ (Article 6), but
Conclusion 249
its concrete operation in the case of Okinawa raises questions about the competency,
authority and legitimacy of the central and prefectural governments in dealing with
issues related to US military bases – key issues of governance. Investigating the roles
of the central and prefectural governments as issues of governance will help to shed
light on the complex relationship between and among the US, Japan and Okinawa.
Then there remains identity. Not to be dismissed as merely current academic
fashion, the study of social identities and their links to social action is a vital part
of understanding Okinawa. But while it is clear that being Okinawan – uchinānchu
– is meaningful for virtually all the population of the prefecture, the notion of a
unitary and fixed, essential ‘Okinawanness’ eludes those who try to define it. Such
a phenomenon, of course, does not exist. The meaning of being Okinawan, even
the supposedly objective ‘cultural stuff’ that marks the boundaries between
themselves and yamatonchu ‘Japanese’, is fluid, contested and creative in the sense that
it is continually being renegotiated in everyday life. Recent scholarship has begun
to explore Okinawan identity in the realms of politics, gender, popular culture and
memory, and the chapters in Part II of this book contribute to these debates. Since
work on identity in general tends at present to be weighted more towards theory than
empirically grounded studies, the chapters here and forthcoming work on Okinawa
can be expected to provide more insight into the complex processes of the
assumption and articulation of identity and the ways in which it links to social action.
Are these processes universal in (post)modern societies under the influence of
globalization or are there significant differences in the formation and opera-
tionalization of identity in local contexts?
The further study of identity in Okinawa should prove fruitful. But as this book
has tried to show, a focus on subjectivity in itself is one-sided without consideration
of the structural constraints within which it operates. Understanding Okinawa
requires further research into both. If the efforts of all the contributors of this book
have gone some small way towards stimulating such interest and research, then we
will consider our work to have achieved one of its goals.
References
INSS (Institute for National Strategic Studies, National Defense University) (2000) The
United States and Japan: Advancing Toward a Mature Partnership, NSS Special Report, 11 October.
Ohmae, K. (1990) The Borderless World, London: Collins.
McCormack, G. (2002) ‘To the people of Nago’, unpublished manuscript.
Index
agriculture 48, 97–8 Asia Pacific Agenda Project 203

Aichi Kiichi 161 Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation
Ainu Association of Hokkaido 138, 146 (APEC) 39, 45–6, 48, 52
Ainu people 137–40, 145–6 Association of Caribbean States 39
Ajimine, John Jiro 88 Association of Indigenous Peoples in the
Ajitomi Osamu 198 Ryukyus (AIPR) 142
Akihito, Prince 194
Akutagawa Prize 14 Base Reversion Action programme 46
All-Japan Prefectural and Municipal Battle of Okinawa 12, 16, 105, 137, 138,
Workers Union 126 141, 167, 169, 172, 188, 191, 192,
All-Okinawa Free Trade Zone 46, 48, 52 196, 197, 199, 200, 204, 208
Amami islands 3, 12 Battle of Okinawa War Dead National
anti-Central Terminal Station (CTS) Cemetery 191, 192
struggle 173–6 Bereaved Families Association 199
Anti-Terrorism Special Measures Bill 243 Bogor Declaration (1994) 46
Anti-War Landowners’ Organization 169, borders, concept of 22–3
170 Break of Dawn Memorial 191
anti-war landowner’s struggle 169–73 Bunei, King of Chūzan 24
Aquapolis 96 Bush, President George 57
Aragaki Hitohide 200 Bush, President George W. 56, 68, 243
Arakawa Akira 33, 136, 174, 225–37, 245, administration 57–9, 69
248
‘Black and Yellow’, Part I 234–5 Caltex 173
‘Black Soldiers in a Foreign Land, or Camp Butler 64
A Lament for Black People’ 235 Camp Zama 64
‘Coloured Race, The’ 226, 227, 234–7 Campbell, Kurt M. 57
‘I See Japan’ 232 Central European Free Trade Agreement
life and thought 226–30 39
Okinawa: Tōgō to Hangyaku 230 Central–Local Dispute Resolution
‘Orphan’s Song, An’ 226, 227, 230–4, Committee (CLDRC) 117, 118
236 Chibana Hideo 157
‘Our Skin; 234 Chibana Shōichi 136, 139
‘Yellow Race, The, Part I’ 234 Chikap Mieko 138, 139
‘Yellow Race, The, Part II’ 235 Chikushi Tetsuya 126
Arasaki Moriteru 137, 167, 168, 170, 195 China North West Airlines 49
Armitage, Richard L. 56 Chinen Hidenori 142, 143, 144
Armitage report 56, 247 Chō, Lieutenant-General 191
art 14 Chūzan 24
Asato Seishin 175 citizenship 148, 149–51
Index 251
Clinton, President Bill 64, 192, 195, 203 environmental degradation 5, 6, 95–6, 97,
administration 57, 61, 68, 69, 195 98, 100–1, 178
coastal degeneration 100–1 Esso 173
Committee for the Promotion of ethnicity 142–5
Decentralization (CPD) 114, 117 European Union 39
Committee on Industrial/Economic Expand Anti-CTS Struggle Network 176
Development and Deregulation 46 Expo Memorial Park 96
Committee on the Elimination of Racial extraterritoriality 151–4
Discrimination (CERD) 142
Comprehensive National Development Fearey, Robert 153, 163
Plan 50 Feifer, George 121, 122, 225
Concerned Citizens’ Group against the Forum Okinawa Action Committee 180–1
Airport 177, 178 Foreign Claims Act 156
Conference for Minority Peoples Suffering forests 97
from Discrimination 138 Francis, Carolyn 179, 180
Constitution of Japan (1947) 3, 172, 243 Free Trade Zones (FTZ) 44–51
‘construction state’ (doken kokka) 5–6, 10, 15, opposition and compromise 48
96, 108, 241, 244 regional identity 50–1
coral reefs, destruction of 5, 99–101, 178 tourism and transportation 49
Cornerstone of Peace 192, 193–4, 196, frontiers, concept of 22–3
203, 204–5 Fujiki Hayato 209, 211, 212–17, 217–21,
Cornerstone of Peace Korean Bereaved 248
Families Association 204 Fukuchi Kosho 164
‘cosmopolitan city’, Okinawa as 106–7, 109 Fukuyama Toshio 160, 162
Council for Reversion 168, 170 Futenma airbase, relocation of 13, 35, 36,
60–1, 62, 63, 71, 123, 168
decentralization 114–29 opposition to 66–7, 103–6, 246, 248
administrative 116
definition 116–18 G8 summit (2000) 5–6, 35, 105, 123, 195,
political 116 203, 204
Decentralization Promotion Law (DPL) Gakiya Yoshimitsu 215
114, 115, 127, 128 German Culture Village (Ueno) 102
deconcentration/delegation 116 Ginowan Conference Centre 5
Defence Agency 118 globalization 39–53
dekasegi rōdō 76 government control
Department of Peace Promotion 196 central 116–17, 118–19
development 94–106 local 119– 20
devolution Government of the Ryukyu Islands (GRI)
definition 116 81, 86, 87, 150, 151, 159, 160
military bases and 120–4 Greater Pacific Exchange Region 50
doken kokka see ‘construction state’ Greater South China Economic Zone 50
Gregson, Major General Wallace C. 61
East Asia Economic Caucus 39 Gross Domestic Production
economic dependence 125 contribution of US bases to 5
Edinburgh, Duke of 178 manufacturing as % of 43
emigration 74–90 Gushikawa case see rape, child
to Bolivia 83–6, 89 Gulf 173
to Cambodia 87–8, 89
indentured 76–7 Hailston, Lt. General Earl B. 55, 62, 108
to Micronesia 86–7, 89 Harrison, Selig 161
naichi 79–80 Hashimoto Ryūtarō, Prime Minister 41,
in prewar period 77–81, 89 104, 114, 115, 181, 192
under the US–Japan Security treaty Henoko heliport 12–13, 107, 108, 109
system 81–8, 89 Hideyoshi 25
252 Index
Higa Tetsuya 104 kari 213–14
High School Teachers Union 170 Kawamitsu Shinichi 174, 228, 230
Himeyuri nurses, massacre of 11, 12 Kaya 155
Hirohito, Emperor 135 Kennedy, President John 150
Hitori Yuntaku Shibai 210–17 Kerr, George H. 120, 121, 225
Hokkaidō Utari Kyōkai 138, 146 Kikuzato Yasuko 142, 143
Hon Jong-Pil 204 Kin Bay 96, 173–9
Hōrai Economic Zone 50 Kin Bay Protection Group 173, 174–5,
Hosaka Hiroshi 196 176, 177
Hoshi Masahiko 199 Kina Shōkichi 10, 245
Hosokawa,Morihiro, Prime Minister 129 Kinjō Toyo 156, 163
host-nation support 61 Kishi, Director of Obonta 155
Kishi–Kaya paper 155–6
identity 9–10, 12, 31, 133–46, 176, 183–4, Kishimoto Tateo 47, 66, 201, 246
245, 249 Koizumi government 243
ambiguous, postwar 134–7 Koizumi Junichirō 204
regional 50–1 Kokuba Kōtarō 227
Iha Fuyū 134, 143 Komesu Okifumi 229
Ikemiyagi Toshio 177 Kōno, Foreign Minister 108
Immigration and Refugee Law 49 Korean War 81
Inamine Ichirō 162 Koza riot (1970) 13, 16, 108, 148–64, 246
Inamine Keiichi 11, 13, 15, 50, 51, 59, 66, provoking 154–60
102, 104–6, 108, 123, 125, 188, 190, reactions and aftermath 161–3
195, 197, 198, 201–3 Kudeken Kentoshi 200
income per-capita 8 Kurayoshi Takara 105
independence, emerging movements for
125–7 Lampert, High Commissioner 154, 159,
indigenous peoples 162, 163
Ainu 137–40, 145–6 land improvement 97–8
Okinawans as 140–5 Landowners’ Association of Military
International Covenant on Civil and Properties 170
Political Rights 142 literature 14
International Labour Organization Local Autonomy Promotion Law 171
Convention 169 139–40 local government 119–20
International Peace Research Institute 196 localization, definition 116
Irei Takashi 230
Ishikawa Hideo 195, 196, 199 Mabuni Hill of Peace 191
Izena Kasumi 142 Mabuni Peace Park 204
MacArthur, General Douglas 30, 62
Jacques Cousteau Society 178 Maeshiro Morisada 203
Jahana Noboru 9, 78 mainland Japan, convergence with 32–3
Japan Communist Party 135, 170, 227 Makino Hirotaka 196, 197
Japan Immigration Service 86 Makishi Chōchū 26–7
Japan Reversionist Movement 31 Makishi Kōichi 202
Japan Sea Zone 52 Marine Exposition (1975) 96–7, 101,
Japan Socialist Party 170 178
Japan–India IT Cooperation Plan 42 Martinez, Miguel Alphonso 141
Johnson, Chalmers 121 Matayoshi Eiki 14
Jones, General James L. 64 Matsushima Yasukatsu 140, 141, 142
McClintock, Ambassador 87
Kadena Air Force Base 64, 210–11 McNealy, Richard 157
Kajiyama Seiroku 50 Medoruma Shun 14, 108, 203, 204
Kano Masanao 233 Meiji government 27, 28, 75, 76, 79
Kansai Airport 103 Melvin Price Report 30
Index 253
migrant workers 41–2 North American Free Trade Agreement 39
illegal 41, 49, 52 Nye initiative 62
Minamoto Hiromi 180
Ming dynasty 24 Obuchi Keizō, Prime Minister 115, 188,
Ministry of Finance (MOF) 118–19 195
Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) Ocean and Life Protection Group 177, 178
128 Oda-Toyotomi regime 25
Ministry of International Trade and Ogasawara islands 3
Industry (MITI) 45 Ohama Nōbumoto 121
Minobe Ryōkichi 178 Okamato Keitoku 174, 228, 230
Missile Defence System 69 Okinawa Rail 97
Miyagi Hiroyasu 246 Okinawa Development Agency 5, 7, 45
Miyagi Yasuhiro 104 Okinawa Development Programme 123
Miyako 12, 28, 102 Okinawa Development Promotion Special
Miyaura Land Improvement Scheme 98 Measures Law 45
Mondale, Walter 181 Okinawa Economic Federation 47
Mori Yoshirō, Prime Minister 42, 203 Okinawa Initiative 202–3
Mulgan, Aurelia George 125 Okinawa International Ocean Exhibition
Municipal Workers Union 126 5, 7
Murphy, Richard 178 Okinawa Ken Sokoku Fukki Kyōgikai (OSFK) 31
music 14 Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party (LDP)
Muzik, Katherine 178 31
Okinawa Policy Committee 46
nā 213 Okinawa Policy Council 102, 108
Nago City 35, 36, 66, 103, 190 Okinawa Prefectural War Dead Memorial
Naha airport 46 Committee 193
Nakagusuku New Port Industrial Complex Okinawa Prefecture 1
45, 46 ‘Okinawa Project Report ‘ 126–7
Nakayama Kenjun 154 Okinawa Socialist Mass Party 170
Nakayoshi Ryōkō 135 ‘Okinawa Struggle’ 167–85
nanshin policy 29 anti-war landowner’s struggle 169–73,
Narahara, Governor 78 183
National Defence Authoritization Act environmentalist 173–9, 183
(1996) 68 stages of 168–9
(2000) 68 women against military and violence
national government, role of 118–19 179–82, 183
National Institute for Research Okinawa Teachers’ Association 170
Advancement (NIRA) 48 Okinawajin Renmei 135
National Peace Memorial Park, Mabuni Okinawan International Ocean Exposition
188, 190, 191 194
nation-state 74–90, 244–6 Okinawan People’s Party 135, 227
nenjū kuduchi 213 Okinawan Prefectural Association 138
‘New Defence Guidelines’ 34 Okinawan Socialist Masses Party 135
New Ishigaki Airport 13, 176, 177, 179 Okuhira Keiji 162
New Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum Okuni Forest Road 97
190 Onaha Buten 208, 209, 214
New Science 21 Ōnaka Chika 142, 143
Newly Industrializing Economies (NIEs) Onna Village 101
32, 50 Opium War 27
NGO Beijing 95 Osaka Exposition (1903) 138
Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai (NHK) 35 Ōshiro Masayasu 193, 199
Nishime Junji 152 Ōshiro Shōko 142, 143
Nixon, President Richard 65, 136, 148 Ōshiro Tatsuhiro 228, 229, 230
administration 58 Ōshiro Tsuneo, Professor 203
254 Index
Ōta Masahide 10, 11, 13, 15, 29, 35, 50, Round Table for Consultation on the
59, 60, 61, 104, 171, 178, 189, 190, (problems of) the Municipalities with
192–3, 194, 198, 203, 209, 244, 248 Military Bases 124
overpopulation 83 Rumsfeld, Donald 57, 69
Ōyama Chōjō 126, 137, 162 ryōzoku kankei 25–6
Ōyama Kazuto 142, 143 Ryūdai Bungaku 226–7, 228, 230–7
Ōzawa Masamichi 229 Ryukyu
16th and 17th-century 25–6
Pacific Tropical Belt Environmental annexation of 27–8
Exchange Region 50 Ryukyu Bank 198
pacifism 173 Ryukyu Dynasty 25
Pan Japan Sea Zone 40 Ryukyu Kingdom 35, 75
Pan Yellow Sea Economic Zone 40, 53
Pax Americana 32 Sakihara Seishū 176
Pax Sinica Sakoda, Lieutenant Colonel Robin ‘Sak’ 61
16th and 17th-century Ryukyu and San Francisco Peace Treaty 30, 63, 81,
ryōzoku kankei 25–6 135, 150
definition 23–4 Sannan 24
demise of 27, 28 Sanpoku 24
Koryūkyū and 24–5 Sasebo Naval base 63
Qing dynasty and 26–7 Satō, Prime Minister 136, 148
peace movement, Okinawan 199–201 Satsuma clan 11, 12, 25–6, 26–7, 75, 134,
peace museums and memorials 190, 191–3 144
Peace Treaty 85, 121 seibi 96, 99
People’s Rights movement 78 Self-Defence Forces (SDF) (Japanese) 4, 34,
political economy 42–4 57, 243
pollution 5, 96, , 98, 99, 100–1, 174 Sheetz, Major General J.R. 82–3
Powell, Colin 58 Shimabukuro Muneyasu 200
Prefectural Land Expropriation Committee Shimada Discussion Group 102, 108, 124
(PLEC) 118, 122–3, 171, 172 Shimada Haruo, Professor 102, 124, 203
Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum, Shimada-Kon 102
Mabuni 193–5, 197–9, 200, 202, 204 Shimao Toshio 227, 229
Prigogine, Ilya 21 Shimbukuro Tetsu: ‘Battle of Okinawa and
Promotion Development Plans 42–3 Consoling the Spirits, The’ 200–1
Second 33 Shimin Gaikou Centre 143
Third 35, 36, 42–3, 44 Shiraho anti-airport movement 176–9
Shiroma Kama 163
Qing dynasty 26–7, 27–8 Shō Hashi 24
Quadrennial Defense Review (QDR) 68–9 Shō Tai 203
Shoup, Professor Carl S. 119
rape, child, by US military (1995) 44, Shuri castle 14
46, 60, 62, 64, 102, 109, 124, 137, Sihanouk, Prince 87
138, 141, 153, 168, 181, 198, 209, Sino-Japanese Treaty 28
242 Smith, Herman 153, 154
Reagan, President Ronald 56 Society for the Making of New School
regionalism 39–40, 52 Textbooks in History 202
Resort Law (1987) 101 Softbank 41
Resort Okinawa Masterplan 102 Solidarity against Unconstitutionality 170
reversion 58, 94–6, 135–6 Someya, Lieutenant 219, 221
reversionist nationalism 31–2 Sony 41
Rice, Condoleeza 57 South Americans, of Japanese descent 42
Rinken Band 215 Special Action Committee on Okinawa
Rising Sun flag (hinomaru) 136 (SACO) 61, 62, 67, 102, 108, 123,
Robinson, Thomas 162 124, 198
Rogers, Lieutenant David 157 Special Free Trade Zone 44–51
Index 255
Special Measures Law for Okinawan US-centric system 32
Development 95 US–China relationship 34
Special Measures Law for the US Civil Administration of the Ryukyu
Expropriation and Use of Land used Islands (USCAR) 81–4, 87, 88, 135,
by the US military in Japan 150, 151, 153–7, 160, 163
(SMLEUL) 118, 122 US–Japan alliance 55–72, 93
Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) 60, 163 US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty (1951)
Stengers, Isabelle 21 59, 62, 72, 127, 137, 140, 167, 172,
subsidies 43 173, 190, 242
Sueyoshi Narinobu 160 emigration under 81–8, 89
US marines, withdrawal from Okinawa 65
Tachikawa Shinnosuke 215 US military bases 3, 29–30, 64, 93, 102–6
Taiwan–Japan Economic Trade devolution and 120–4
Development Association 51 economic gain from 93–4
Takara Ben 10, 138, 174, 233 economic loss from 94
Takara Kurayoshi, Professor 203, 215 opposition to 3, 9, 11, 30–1, 135–6
Takase, Ambassador 155 role of US bases 3–5
Takazato Suzuyo 179, 180, 193 after September 11 67–71, 242–4
Tamaki Mitsuru 215 US Military Special Measures Law 171, 173
Tanaka Kakuei, Prime Minister 94 Ushijima, Lieut-Gen 191, 192, 194
Tanaka Naoki 46
Tanaka Yasuo, Governor 108 victimization, narrative of 11
Tanigawa Kenichi 227, 228 Vietnam Veterans Memorial 192
television 6, 14 Vietnam War 136, 152
Teruya Rinken 215
Teruya Rinsuke 214, 215 Wallerstein, Immanuel 21
Thatcher, Margaret 247 Ward, Mrs Tommy 157
‘3K’ economy 3, 41 Ward, Petty Officer Tommy 156, 157, 159,
Tigner, James L. 83 161
Tokugawa Iemitsu, Shogun 28 water environment 99–100
Tomiyama Ichirō: Senjo no Kioku 217–19 water reserves 99, 101
tourism 6–7, 43, 45, 49, 101–2 women against military and violence
Tōyama Kyūzō 78 179–82, 183
Toyota 41 World Conservation Union (IUCN) 178
transportation 49 World Women’s Conference (1985)
Treaty of Mutual Amity and Trade 28 (Nairobi) 180
Treaty of Shimonoseki 1 world-system theory 21
uchinānchu identity 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, Yaeyama and Shiraho Ocean Protection
142–6 Group 177
Uema Kyōko 141 Yaeyama islands 12, 28
Uemura Hideaki 137 Yaeyama Peace Memorial Museum 190,
Ui Jun 106 196
UN Declaration on the Rights of Yanaihara Tadao 136
Indigenous Peoples 139, 140 Yara Chōbyō 95, 152, 157, 159, 160, 175
UN International Decade of Indigenous Yellow Sea Economic Zone 50, 52
Peoples 140 yen exchange rate 44
UN Women’s Conference, (1995) Yokosuka Naval base 63
(Takazato) 180 Yokota Air Force Base, Tokyo 63
UN Working Group on Indigenous Yomitan village 107
Populations 140, 144 Yonemori Yūji 177
Unai Festival 180 Yoshida Doctrine 59
unemployment rate 4, 8, 43–5 Yoshida Shigeru, Prime Minister 191
Unger, High Commissioner 152 Yoshimoro Takaaki: ‘Izoku no ronri’ 229
United States and Japan, The 56–7 youth unemployment 8, 43

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Japan and Okinawa

Japan and Okinawa provides an up-to-date, coherent and theoretically informed

Glenn D. Hook is Professor of Japanese Studies and Director of the Graduate

This series, published by RoutledgeCurzon in association with the Centre for

The Internationalization of Japan and Asia Pacific

Edited by Glenn D. Hook

ISBN 0-203-27712-0 (Adobe eReader Format)

Notes on contributors vii

1 Introduction: Japan? Structure and subjectivity in

2 Considering Okinawa as a frontier 21

3 Responding to globalization: Okinawa’s Free Trade

4 It is high time to wake up: Japanese foreign policy in

5 Migration and the nation-state: structural explanations

6 Okinawa and the structure of dependence 93

7 Beyond hondo: devolution and Okinawa 114

8 Return to Uchinā: the politics of identity in contemporary

9 ‘Mob rule’ or popular activism? The Koza riot of

10 The dynamic trajectory of the post-reversion ‘Okinawa

11 Contested memories: struggles over war and peace in

12 Nuchi nu Sūji: comedy and everyday life in postwar

13 Arakawa Akira: the thought and poetry of an iconoclast 225

14 Conclusion: both structure and subjectivity 240

Christopher Aldous is senior lecturer in modern Japanese history at King Alfred’s

AIPR Association of Indigenous Peoples in Ryukyus

Structure: the good, the bad and the ugly

The role of US bases

Okinawa’s integration into the ‘construction state’

The structure of ‘exotica’

Subjectivity: overlapping and contested identities

A range of viewpoints have been adopted in analyzing Okinawa’s historical position

suggests another way of viewing the relationship between world-systems and

The metaphor is a social relationship assuming differences within itself, and at

‘Frontier’ refers to an area on the peripheral regions of a state (not necessarily

Pax Sinica and Okinawa

What is Pax Sinica?

Pax Sinica and Koryūkyū

Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Ryukyu and the ryōzoku

Ryukyu during the age of Qing and the centuries of seclusion

Responding to uncertainty: from the annexation of

The demise of Pax Sinica

The annexation of Ryukyu

Within the extensive array of tributary domains offering obeisance to the

Incorporation into the US-centric system

Okinawa under the rule of the US occupation forces

The US-centric system

Independence and converging with the mainland

Moreover, despite hopes for developing ‘international relations enhanced by

In this way, memories of a frontier awaken again and again.

Post-Cold War: ‘fluctuations’ in the world-system and

The ‘fluctuation’ of East Asia and Okinawa

What has happened in Okinawa?

Pacific coexistence-system and Okinawa

The dynamic intertwining of globalization and regionalization processes in the post-

Japan and globalization

Okinawan political economy

Okinawan Free Trade Zones and the Special Free

Opposition and compromise

Proposed new US strategy towards Japan

1 Criticisms of Japan as irresponsible are exacerbated by the Japanese practice

The new Bush administration

The triangular Okinawa problem: a view from

The view from Washington

A ‘Black Ship’ for Japanese diplomacy