Don’t Say “Japanese”
—from the July 31, 2025 issue of Shukan Shincho, Column by Masayuki Takayama
Some time ago, an elderly female professor from the Royal Ballet School of Monaco—who is held in the highest esteem by prima ballerinas around the world—visited Japan.
During her visit, she spoke about the purpose of artists:
“The reason artists are so important is that they are the only ones who can shine a light on hidden, obscured truths and express them.”
No one would object to her words.
Masayuki Takayama is not only a one-of-a-kind journalist in the postwar world; it is no exaggeration to call him a one-of-a-kind artist of this era.
What follows is an excerpt from his latest column published in Shukan Shincho.
This piece once again affirms the truth of what I have repeatedly said:
In today’s world, no one is more deserving of the Nobel Prize in Literature than Masayuki Takayama.
This column is a must-read not only for the Japanese people but for readers around the globe.
Don’t Say “Japanese”
As soon as MacArthur took command of the GHQ, he ordered his aide, Fabian Bowers, to “identify the 39 war criminals who should be hanged.”
In a past war against Native Americans, the United States had once hanged 38 Dakota chiefs all at once.
It is said that MacArthur wanted to break that record with his own hands.
He also hated that the Japanese smiled—even at U.S. soldiers.
A smile, he believed, was the refined manner of a cultured white man; it was never something the “barbaric Japanese” should display.
At the time, I believe I was a first grader at Azabu Elementary School.
Our teacher taught us that we must never give “meaningless, empty smiles.”
Thus, the Japanese began to wear expressions like they were chewing bitter bugs whenever they went out in public.
MacArthur said another absurd thing:
“Some believe the Japanese are a homogeneous people with a highly uniform society, but there’s nothing special about the Japanese.”
He, by contrast, was a firm believer in American Exceptionalism—the notion that Americans are uniquely blessed by God.
Given the history of slaughtering Native peoples and exploiting African slaves, one might wonder what gave him the right—but let’s leave that aside for now.
From that moment on, the Japanese were indoctrinated:
Never again say “homogeneous people”—that phrase breeds nationalism.
Or worse, the word might contain ill will by excluding Ainu or Koreans living in Japan.
That would be discriminatory and arrogant.
GHQ drilled this mindset thoroughly into the Japanese.
That's why obedient journalists like Ushimura Kei wrote:
“We must not say ‘we Japanese’.”
He claimed that behind the phrase “we Japanese” lurks the belief that the Japanese are a superior homogeneous people.
The term “Japanese” itself was nearly treated like a banned word.
Then came the political party Sanseitō, which suddenly declared, “Japanese First.”
Television and newspapers reacted instantly and violently.
GHQ’s brainwashing still seems to be alive and well.
On TBS’s Hōdō Tokushū (News Special), anchor Yamamoto Erika sniffed out the “stench of xenophobia,” and a guest commentator was prompted to call it “hate speech.”
It was a blatant, shameless display of biased reporting, as if journalistic neutrality meant nothing.
Yamamoto will probably lose her job.
Asahi Shimbun ran a “fact-check” article questioning whether “foreigners find it easier to receive welfare benefits.”
They had the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare deny any such preferential treatment and then tried to paint Sanseitō as guilty of anti-Korean discrimination.
But that fact-check was itself dubious.
Postwar Japan was full of people with nothing—bomb victims, repatriates from former colonies.
The welfare ministry decided to provide public assistance to struggling Japanese citizens.
Then, illegal Korean immigrants began demanding:
“Give it to us, too!”
They were known for their violent behavior.
They built pachinko parlors by capping rivers, squatted illegally in places like Shimbashi and Shinjuku, and turned those spaces into bar districts.
The final act of that lawless streak was this:
“We want welfare money.”
Naturally, it became intense.
Their first target was the Nagata Ward Office in Kobe.
Hundreds of Koreans repeatedly stormed the building, assaulted staff, and even held the ward chief hostage.
They even attacked the Prime Minister’s residence.
If left unchecked, someone would’ve died.
Eventually, the welfare ministry gave in and issued a bureau director’s notice, authorizing welfare payments to Koreans.
It was a clear case of the law being bent by threats.
Even the Supreme Court has since acknowledged this.
In a case concerning a Chinese national’s application for welfare, the Court ruled:
“There is no legal basis to provide public assistance to foreigners.”
In short, Sanseitō is correct.
But Koichiro Ishida, the reporter who did the Asahi fact-check, ignored that ruling.
Why?
Because the editors’ likely instruction was:
“Crush Sanseitō. They said the forbidden word—‘Japanese’.”
If he had reported the actual facts, it would have backfired spectacularly.
Yet no matter how many lies the Asahi Shimbun piles on, voters were stirred—not by such sophistry, but by the power of a word they hadn’t heard in ages:
“Japanese.”
It may be a sign that GHQ’s postwar brainwashing is finally beginning to fade.
