再軍備する日本 Japan Rearmed: The Politics of Military Power
Like MacArthur, Japan’s drafters referenced the larger global effort to avoid indiscriminate use of force, yet they argued that the use of force for self-defense was legitimate under the charter of the newly created United Nations, which endowed all nations with the right to defend themselves. Japanese leaders ever since have interpreted Article Nine as allowing for military power sufficient to defend their nation. But they have done so cautiously and often in the face of deep domestic criticism.
Japan’s early debates in the Diet focused largely on this interpretation over the purpose of military power. In 1954, the SDF was established alongside the Defense Agency—a civilian bureaucracy that would manage military planning. Rather than debating Japan’s external security challenges, Diet debates focused on how to limit the growth of the SDF and curtail the political influence of the military over policy. Periodically, Japanese cabinets would be weakened by controversies over the behavior of the SDF, with opposition critics charging the ruling party with failing to exercise sufficient control over the military institution.9 From 1955, the LDP dominated Japanese politics and governed Japan as the majority party or in coalition, however, giving the conservatives the ability to define their country’s postwar defense choices. Nonetheless, tension between progressives and conservatives over the legitimacy of the SDF continued for decades.
再軍備する日本 Japan Rearmed: The Politics of Military Power
The language of Article Nine mattered in these legislative tangles. While few argued that Japan should be able to use force to settle its international disputes, the ambiguous second paragraph invited contention. For opposition critics, Article Nine banned armed force of any kind. They blamed Washington for urging Japan to rearm and accused government officials of concluding “secret agreements” with the United States that violated the spirit of the constitution and, even worse, would draw Japan into war. Japan’s conservatives continued to interpret it as Ashida had intended. Yet more recently, even conservatives take issue with the ambiguity, suggesting it is disingenuous and misleading. In 2017, a new approach was put forward by Prime Minister Abe: to add a third paragraph to Article Nine stating that Japan’s SDF is constitutional.10 Rather than addressing the core proscription on the use of force, Abe argues for ending domestic squabbling over the legitimacy of Japan’s military.
再軍備する日本 Japan Rearmed: The Politics of Military Power
In practice, Japanese government interpretation of Article Nine has always been elastic. The most consequential debates about the constitution’s influence over how to arm Japan and how to use force to defend it took place decades ago. At that time, questions such as whether it would be legitimate for Japan to maintain nuclear weapons or launch a preemptive strike if its security were threatened were directly addressed. Indeed, early postwar political leaders were unabashed in their concern with how to defend their country in the nuclear era. Hence the Japanese government has never argued that Article Nine would prevent the nuclear option or the acquisition of the ability to strike offensively with armed force should Japan’s security be threatened.
再軍備する日本 Japan Rearmed: The Politics of Military Power
Japan has been surrounded by countries with considerable military forces. The former Soviet Union, while not identified as a direct threat to Japan, had considerable military might positioned close by and maintained a substantial nuclear arsenal. The successful acquisition of nuclear weapons by China in the mid-1960s also raised a new source of concern for Japan. But it has really been in the wake of the Cold War that Tokyo has felt that it is increasingly facing adversaries who might use force against Japan. Thus, it remains difficult to know if the normative constraints of Article Nine defeated the impulse to respond to threat of the use of force by others. In theory, at least, Japan’s leaders have not excluded any type of military capability. Instead, they have wielded Article Nine as a statement of Japanese intentions.
日中の対立は不可避なのか。靖国問題、東シナ海の海洋権益の問題、中国製冷凍餃子中毒事件などの食の安全の問題、尖閣問題などをめぐって緊張が高まる日中関係について、米国知日派の研究者が日本側の動向を中心に冷静に分析し提言する。Sheila A. Smith, Intimate Rivals: Japanese Domestic Politics and a Rising China (Columbia UP, 2015) を全訳する。
I began to consider the idea of writing a book on Japan’s relations with China in the early 2000s while at the East-West Center in Hawaii. Tensions between Japan and China had erupted over the visits by Prime Minister Koizumi Jun’ichirō to the controversial war memorial, Yasukuni Shrine, and policymakers in Washington were becoming increasingly concerned about the inability of Tokyo and Beijing to put their history behind them. An East-West Center alumnus, Otsuka Takao, president of the Hotel Grand Palace in Kudanshita, offered me the perfect setting for my frequent research trips to Tokyo with my boisterous young son. The hotel was located next to the Yasukuni Shrine, and we often walked among the beautiful gingko trees and towering torii gates in the early hours of the morning when jetlag made sleep impossible. Aged Shinto priests rustled in their robes from building to building, and I could not help but wonder how this rather anachronistic site had become a focal point in the diplomacy of Asia’s two largest nations.
Differences over twentieth-century history were not the only cause of Sino-Japanese tensions. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, new difficulties arose. Trade tensions over the import of shiitake mushrooms and tatami mats began to complicate economic relations. Violence against Japanese at the Asian Cup games in Beijing in 2004 shocked many in Japan. When demonstrators in cities around China protested the revision of Japanese textbooks in March 2005, Japanese businesses also were damaged, further souring public opinion about China. In the corridors of Asian summit meetings, Chinese and Japanese leaders exchanged chilly stares and refused to speak. In 2006, in the midst of this “deep freeze” in diplomatic relations, Prime Minister Koizumi, dressed in full formal wear, paid an official visit to the Yasukuni Shrine on August 15, the day of the Japanese commemoration of the end of the war. A few weeks later, he resigned after five years as Japan’s prime minister.
For a while, Koizumi was blamed for the downturn in Tokyo’s relations with Beijing, and his successors seemed to make progress in changing the tenor of the relationship. Other factors continued to plague diplomatic ties, however. Public attitudes toward China were hardening. China’s economy grew, and the economic interdependence that had anchored Japan’s relationship with China created unforeseen frictions. The new UN Convention on the Law of the Sea raised questions about maritime claims, and the East China Sea became more and more populated with survey ships and new, more modern, naval vessels. Even regarding the deeply sensitive issue of historical memory, the Koizumi era was not the first entanglement of China policy with Japanese domestic politics and popular sentiment, and it would not be the last. In Japan, this intimate contact with a changing China was unnerving to many and called into question the premises of Japan’s postwar identity.
I am an old man now. I was born in 1935 in a small village in northeastern Tibet. For reasons beyond my control, I have lived most of my adult life as a stateless refugee in India, which has been my second home for over fifty years. I often joke that I am India’s longest-staying guest. In common with other people of my age, I have witnessed many of the dramatic events that have shaped the world we live in. Since the late 1960s, I have also traveled a great deal, and had the honor to meet people from many different backgrounds: not just presidents and prime ministers, kings and queens, and leaders from all the world’s great religious traditions, but also a great number of ordinary people from all walks of life.
Looking back over the past decades, I find many reasons to rejoice. Through advances in medical science, deadly diseases have been eradicated. Millions of people have been lifted from poverty and have gained access to modern education and health care. We have a universal declaration of human rights, and awareness of the importance of such rights has grown tremendously. As a result, the ideals of freedom and democracy have spread around the world, and there is increasing recognition of the oneness of humanity. There is also growing awareness of the importance of a healthy environment. In very many ways, the last half-century or so has been one of progress and positive change.
At the same time, despite tremendous advances in so many fields, there is still great suffering, and humanity continues to face enormous difficulties and problems. While in the more affluent parts of the world people enjoy lifestyles of high consumption, there remain countless millions whose basic needs are not met. With the end of the Cold War, the threat of global nuclear destruction has receded, but many continue to endure the sufferings and tragedy of armed conflict. In many areas, too, people are having to deal with environmental problems and, with these, threats to their livelihood and worse. At the same time, many others are struggling to get by in the face of inequality, corruption, and injustice.
These problems are not limited to the developing world. In the richer countries, too, there are many difficulties, including widespread social problems: alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence, family breakdown. People are worried about their children, about their education and what the world holds in store for them. Now, too, we have to recognize the possibility that human activity is damaging our planet beyond a point of no return, a threat which creates further fear. And all the pressures of modern life bring with them stress, anxiety, depression, and, increasingly, loneliness. As a result, everywhere I go, people are complaining. Even I find myself complaining from time to time!
It is clear that something is seriously lacking in the way we humans are going about things. But what is it that we lack? The fundamental problem, I believe, is that at every level we are giving too much attention to the external, material aspects of life while neglecting moral ethics and inner values.
By inner values I mean the qualities that we all appreciate in others, and toward which we all have a natural instinct, bequeathed by our biological nature as animals that survive and thrive only in an environment of concern, affection, and warmheartedness — or in a single word, compassion. The essence of compassion is a desire to alleviate the suffering of others and to promote their well-being. This is the spiritual principle from which all other positive inner values emerge. We all appreciate in others the inner qualities of kindness, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, and generosity, and in the same way we are all averse to displays of greed, malice, hatred, and bigotry. So actively promoting the positive inner qualities of the human heart that arise from our core disposition toward compassion, and learning to combat our more destructive propensities, will be appreciated by all. And the first beneficiaries of such a strengthening of our inner values will, no doubt, be ourselves. Our inner lives are something we ignore at our own peril, and many of the greatest problems we face in today’s world are the result of such neglect.
Not long ago I visited Orissa, a region in eastern India. The poverty in this part of the country, especially among tribal people, has recently led to growing conflict and insurgency. I met with a member of parliament from the region and discussed these issues. From him I gathered that there are a number of legal mechanisms and well-funded government projects already in place aimed at protecting the rights of tribal people and even giving them material assistance. The problem, he said, was that because of corruption these programs were not benefiting those they were intended to help. When such projects are subverted by dishonesty, inefficiency, and irresponsibility on the part of those charged with implementing them, they become worthless.
This example shows very clearly that even when a system is sound, its effectiveness depends on the way it is used. Ultimately, any system, any set of laws or procedures, can only be as effective as the individuals responsible for its implementation. If, owing to failures of personal integrity, a good system is misused, it can easily become a source of harm rather than a source of benefit. This is a general truth which applies to all fields of human activity, even religion. Though religion certainly has the potential to help people lead meaningful and happy lives, it too, when misused, can become a source of conflict and division. Similarly, in the fields of commerce and finance, the systems themselves may be sound, but if the people using them are unscrupulous and driven by self-serving greed, the benefits of those systems will be undermined. Unfortunately, we see this happening in many kinds of human activities: even in international sports, where corruption threatens the very notion of fair play.
The first characteristic of Aum was totalized guruism,
which became paranoid guruism and megalomanic guruism.
Instead of awakening the potential of his disciples,
Shoko Asahara himself became his cult's only source of
"energy" or infinite life-power and its only source of
the new self that each Aum disciple was expected to
acquire ( as epitomized by the religious name every
disciple took as a renunciant ).
For disciples there was no deity beyond the guru, no
ethicalcode beyond his demands and imposed ordeals, or
mahamudras. When the guru invoked a higher deity it was
only in order to incorporate the god's omnipotence into
his own. Guru and disciples were both energized and
entrapped by their claim to ultimate existential truth
and virtue.
This megalomanic guruism, the claim to possess and control
immediate and distant reality, was not only wild fantasy
but a form of desymbolization--a loss, that is, of the
symbolizing function that characterizes the healthy human
mind.
The guru took on a stance beyond metaphor. He could no
longer, in the words of Martin Buber,"imagine the real."
The Hindu scholar Wendy Doniger points out that most
mythology consists of concrete narration in the service
of metaphor, of descriptions of behavior meant to suggest,
rather than express, primal human emotions and dilemmas.
In reading mytholgical stories, we seek to reconnect
their concrete details to the symbolized, metaphorical
world in which we exist psychologically. A megalomanic
guru like Asahara does the reverse: he embraces the very
concreteness of mythic narratrves so as to circumvent
the metaphor and symbolization so crucial to the functioning
human imagination.
The first characteristic of Aum was totalized guruism,
which became paranoid guruism and megalomanic guruism.
Instead of awakening the
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This megalomanic guruism, the claim to possess and control
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In reading mytholgical stories, we seek to reconnect
their concrete details to the symbolized, metaphorical
world in which we exist psychologically. A megalomanic
guru like Asahara does th
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