Is Japanese cinema sinking into a self-censorship swamp?

One great thing about living in Japan is the consideration, or omoiyari, people here commonly show for others. My newspaper delivery guy climbs the 25 steps to my front door and deposits a copy of The Japan Times in my mailbox every morning, rain or shine. His colleagues in the U.S. my home country might toss the paper from a moving vehicle in the general direction of a customers front yard. Both are just doing their jobs, but my guy considerately spares me effort (and exercise), at no profit to himself.

Jishuku, often translated as self-restraint, can also be framed as an expression of consideration. When Emperor Hirohito was dying of terminal cancer in 1988, many journalists knew the truth, but the story did not run on the front pages of Japans major newspapers. It could be argued that the purpose of this media jishuku was to spare not only the Emperor himself, but the Imperial Family and the Japanese people in general from shock and distress.

But jishuku has come to have another, more troubling meaning: self-censorship. Following the Emperor Hirohitos death on Jan. 7, 1989, normal TV programming was suspended for days in favor of eulogistic documentaries and reverential news shows, while businesses closed and events were canceled by the thousands. I thought at the time it was uncanny as though the postwar period, with its Occupation-supported freedom of expression, never happened.

Jishuku is not limited to Japans Imperial system, however. Instead, the media, including the supposedly free-spirited talents it hosts, has long practiced a type of self-censorship that is less an expression of consideration than a knuckling under to corporate and governmental power and, now, the angry voices on the Internet.

After iconic actor Ken Takakura died on Nov. 10, 2014, the Tokyo Shimbun noted that the theme song of Abashiri Bangaichi (Abashiri Prison), the 1965 movie that became his breakout hit, had been subject to media jishuku since the 1970s. Recorded by Takakura himself and based on a folk song, the tune became a hit, but radio stations and TV broadcasters kept it off the air for decades because its lyrics were deemed to be supportive of criminal acts. This was done under the cover of a voluntary ban by the National Association of Commercial Broadcasters in Japan (Minporen) on songs with problematic lyrics. Minporen has long since dropped the lyrics-restricting rule, but as film director Tatsuya Mori told the Tokyo Shimbun, The tendency of the media to self-regulate (free expression) hasnt changed at all.

Examples of similar jishuku have multiplied since the end of 2014, beginning with popular comedy duo Bakusho Mondai and veteran lead singer for the Southern All Stars, Keisuke Kuwata, making abject public apologies after venturing some mild criticisms of authority.

Bakusho Mondais Yuji Tanaka had complained to a TBS radio audience on Jan. 7 that public broadcaster NHK had nixed the duos proposed political gags for a New Years show. Earlier, at a Dec. 28 concert with Prime Minister Shinzo Abe in attendance, Kuwata had mocked Abes decision to call a snap election last fall. Also, in a performance on NHKs New Years Eve show Kohaku Utagassen (Red and White Song Contest), Kuwata sung other lyrics some interpreted as critical of Abes conservative-leaning administration.

Amid the ensuing controversy, both Kuwata and Tanaka apologized and recanted.

These are mainstream talents working in a media environment that is hypersensitive to anything resembling controversy. Its hardly surprising that, following their slip-ups, they would quickly toe the agency or broadcaster line. Nonetheless, given the political nature of their mini-scandals, with much of the online outrage coming from the far-right side of the political spectrum, it was hard not to hear free-speech alarm bells ringing.

Those bells have gotten louder with the local media reaction to the capture of two Japanese hostages by the Islamic State group, climaxing with the death of freelance video journalist Kenji Goto on Feb. 1. In response, The Fuji TV network pushed back the broadcast of an episode of the anime Ansatsu Kyoshitsu (Assassination Classroom) that featured a knife. A Jan. 31 broadcast of the Tantei Kageki Milky Holmes TD (Detective Opera Milky Holmes TD) animation series about the adventures of girl detectives was also postponed for its ransom-themed story.

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Is Japanese cinema sinking into a self-censorship swamp?

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