Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa

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Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa

Okinawan people have developed a unique tradition of protest in their long history of oppression and marginalization. Beginning with the Ryu¯ kyu¯ Kingdom’s annexation to Japan in the late ninteenth century, this book charts the devastation caused by World War II, followed by the direct occupation of postwar Okinawa and continued presence of the US military forces in the wake of reversion to Japan in 1972. Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa challenges the unitary representation of Okinawan protest, by focusing on diversity and change in the postwar community of protest. It closely examines different protest groups and organizations that contributed to three conspicuous ‘waves’ of mass protest in the 1950s, late 1960s, and mid-1990s. As in many other parts of the world, the centre of gravity in Okinawan radical political activism has shifted from the organized labour movement led by political parties and trade unions, to informally organized, smaller and more individual-based ‘new social movements’. With ever more fragmented organizations, identities and strategies, Tanji explores how the unity of the Okinawan community of protest has come to rest increasingly on the politics of myth and the imagination. Drawing on original interview material with Okinawan protestors and in-depth analysis of protest history, Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa will appeal to scholars of Japanese history and politics, and those working on social movements and protest. Miyume Tanji is a research fellow at the Asia Research Centre, Murdoch University, Australia. Her main research interests are in protest and social movements in Okinawa and Japan, as well as international relations.

Sheffield Centre for Japanese Studies/Routledge Series Series Editor: Glenn D. Hook Professor of Japanese Studies, University of Sheffield

This series, published by Routledge 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 Edited by Glenn D. Hook and Michael Weiner Race and Migration in Imperial Japan Michael Weiner Japan and the Pacific Free Trade Area Pekka Korhonen Greater China and Japan Prospects for an economic partnership? Robert Taylor The Steel Industry in Japan A comparison with the UK Hasegawa Harukiyo Race, Resistance and the Ainu of Japan Richard Siddle Japan’s Minorities The illusion of homogeneity Edited by Michael Weiner Japanese Business Management Restructuring for low growth and globalization Edited by Hasegawa Harukiyo and Glenn D. Hook Japan and Asia Pacific Integration Pacific romances 1968–1996 Pekka Korhonen

Japan’s Economic Power and Security Japan and North Korea Christopher W. Hughes Japan’s Contested Constitution Documents and analysis Glenn D. Hook and Gavan McCormack Japan’s International Relations Politics, economics and security Glenn D. Hook, Julie Gilson, Christopher Hughes and Hugo Dobson Japanese Education Reform Nakasone’s legacy Christopher P. Hood The Political Economy of Japanese Globalisation Glenn D. Hook and Hasegawa Harukiyo Japan and Okinawa Structure and subjectivity Edited by Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle Japan and Britain in the Contemporary World Responses to common issues Edited by Hugo Dobson and Glenn D. Hook Japan and United Nations Peacekeeping New pressures, new responses Hugo Dobson Japanese Capitalism and Modernity in a Global Era Re-fabricating lifetime employment relations Peter C. D. Matanle Nikkeiren and Japanese Capitalism John Crump Production Networks in Asia and Europe Skill formation and technology transfer in the automobile industry Edited by Rogier Busser and Yuri Sadoi Japan and the G7/8 1975 – 2002 Hugo Dobson The Political Economy of Reproduction in Japan Between nation-state and everyday life Takeda Hiroko

Grassroots Pacifism in Post-War Japan The rebirth of a nation Mari Yamamoto Interfirm Networks in the Japanese Electronics Industry Ralph Paprzycki Globalisation and Women in the Japanese Workforce Beverley Bishop Contested Governance in Japan Sites and issues Edited by Glenn D. Hook Japan’s International Relations Politics, economics and security Second edition Glenn D. Hook, Julie Gilson, Christopher Hughes and Hugo Dobson Japan’s Changing Role in Humanitarian Crises Yukiko Nishikawa Japan’s Subnational Governments in International Affairs Purnendra Jain Japan and East Asian Monetary Regionalism Towards a proactive leadership role? Shigeko Hayashi Japan’s Relations with China Facing a rising power Lam Peng-Er Representing the Other in Modern Japanese Literature A Critical Approach Edited by Rachael Hutchinson and Mark Williams Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa Miyume Tanji Nationalisms in Japan Edited by Naoko Shimazu

Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa

Miyume Tanji

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 6RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2006 Miyume Tanji 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 Tanji, Miyume. Myth, struggle and protest in okinawa/Tanji Miyume.– 1st ed. p. cm. – (Sheffield Centre for Japanese Studies/Routledge series) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0–415–36500–7 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Okinawa-ken (Japan)–History. I. Title. II. Series. DS894.99.O3785T36 2006 952'.29–dc22 2005033076 ISBN 0-203-01612-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0–415–36500–7 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–203–01612–2 (ebk) ISBN13: 9–78–0–415–36500–0 (hbk) ISBN13: 9–78–0–203–01612–1 (ebk)

For Peter Makiko and Jun Tanji

Contents

List of maps and figures Acknowledgements Abbreviations Glossary

x xi xiii xiv

1

Introduction: a community of protest in Okinawa

1

2

Diversity and unity in the community of protest

11

3

Annexation and assimilation: ambiguous origins

21

4

The Battle of Okinawa and ‘Okinawan pacifism’

36

5

The first wave: opposition to US military land acquisition

53

6

The second wave: towards reversion

77

7

The anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition: the constitutional framing of protest

106

Kin Bay and Shiraho: emergence of new social movements

127

The third wave and beyond: the power of Unai and the dugongs

150

Conclusion

177

Notes Bibliography Index

181 208 227

8

9

Maps and figures

Maps A B C D E

Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands, Japan and the Pacific Amami and Okinawa Island Groups (Gunto¯) Yaeyama and Miyako groups (Gunto¯) US Bases in Okinawa Main Island Okinawa Main Island, Kerama, Ie, Kin Bay Area, Nago City, Naha, Futenma, and Henoko 5.1 Maja hamlet 8.1 Kin Bay Area 8.2 Ishigaki Island and Shiraho

xv xvi xvii xviii xix 67 128 129

Figures 5.1 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1 7.2 8.1 9.1

Beggars’ march in Naha – Heiwa Do¯ri Boat rally, 28 April 1968 Okinawan citizens’ rally, 28 April 1965 Demonstrators stop the Two Laws on Education, 24 February 1967 One-tsubo anti-war landowners protesting against the relocation of Naha Port in Naha central district, May 1999 At a 28 April function, 1999 ¯ shiro Fumi and Sakihara Seishu¯ O Koe, Koe, Koe

69 87 89 92 118 120 139 171

Acknowledgements

I feel extremely privileged and fortunate to have the opportunity of publishing this work. This book’s journey was only made possible by many people’s encouragement and help. First of all, I would like to express my greatest thanks to all the people who talked to me in Okinawa for their time and patience, especially Arasaki Moriteru, Arime Masao, Asato Eiko, Asato Hideo, Chibana Sho¯ichi, Chibana Yo¯ko, Ginoza Eiko, Carolyn Francis, Goto¯ Tetsushi, Iha Yo¯ichi, Kawamitsu Shin’ichi, Koshi’ishi Masashi, Kunimasa Mie, Makishi Yoshikazu, Matayoshi Kyo¯ko, Miyagi ¯ nishi Masayuki, Sakihara Seishu¯, Sakiyama Masami, Kimiko, Miyagi Yasuhiro, O Shiroma Masaru, Sunagawa Kaori, Takaesu Asao, Takaesu Ayano, Takazato Suzuyo, Terada Reiko, Uehara Seishin, Ui Jun, and Yamazato Setsuko. I have tried to do justice to their generosity, yet any imperfections in the work are mine. I also thank Egami Takayoshi, Goto¯ Satoshi, Shinjo¯ Kyo¯ko and Akihisa who assisted me during my field trip in Okinawa. Kinjo¯ Chikashi helped me with transport. I have to thank him but also apologize for my driving skills, which were acquired in Western Australia and proved inadequate to the intricate roads in Okinawa Main Island. I am enormously indebted to the encouragement of Glenn Hook, the series editor, who has given me the necessary encouragement for publication and vital comments to improve the work. The book began life as a doctoral project at Murdoch University in Perth, Western Australia. The Asia Research Centre and the School of Politics have provided me with a home base and financial support. The Murdoch University Graduate Centre’s Writing Fellowship was also of great assistance. I would like to express my special thanks to Garry Rodan, Director of the Asia Research Centre. His support during and beyond the doctoral research has been the most constant feature of this journey and he encouraged me to be both disciplined and adventurous. I would like to thank all of my colleagues amongst others, long-term office Toby Carroll and administrative support of Tamara Dent at the Asia Research Centre for their understanding and support as well as a communal atmosphere, which helped me immensely. Also at Murdoch, I am grateful especially to Sandra Wilson and David Brown for helpful suggestions on my chapters. Since I first came to Perth in 1997, not knowing a single person, I have been supported personally by friends, especially Sid Adams, Fay Davidson, Peter McMahon, Patrick West, David Bourchier, and Elke Keiser. During my stay as a National Visiting Scholar in 1999, I received help from scholars at the Division of Pacific

xii Acknowledgements and Asian History at the Australian National University, especially Gavan McCormack and Julia Yonetani. More recently, this project has benefited from John Clammer and Tessa Morris-Suzuki’s detailed feedback and encouragement. I am grateful for the generous support and skills of Vivian Forbes in the preparation of maps. Valuable as was the help of all of those I have named, however, the responsibility for the final project is solely mine. I would like to express my deepest thanks to my parents, Makiko Tanji and Jun Tanji for their patience and various kinds of support. Finally, this book is dedicated to Peter Vintila who gracefully suffered the painful process of the book’s completion while, at the same time, offering generous intellectual, editorial, and emotional support. I would like to thank Kunimasa Mie for the permission to include a leaflet (Figure 9.1) in this book. Parts of this book have been previously published in Japan and Okinawa: Structure and Subjectivity edited by Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle (RoutledgeCurzon, London: 2003) and Intersections: Gender, History & Culture in the Asian Context in no. 13 (2006). Japanese names are presented surname first and given name second, following the conventional Japanese fashion, except for the English-language quotations or otherwise ordered bibliographical references. Macrons are placed to indicate all long vowels, except in the case of well-known geographical names.

Abbreviations

ICFTU GRI JCP JSP LDP OLDP OPP OSMP OSP OTA SACO SDF SCAP SOFA USCAR WWI, II

International Confederation of Free Trade Union Government of Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands Japanese Communist Party Japan Socialist Party Liberal Democratic Party Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party Okinawa People’s Party Okinawa Socialist Masses Party Okinawa Socialist Party Okinawa Teachers’ Association Special Action Committee on Okinawa Self-Defence Forces Supreme Command for Allied Powers Status of Forces Agreement United States Civil Administration of the Ryu¯kyu¯s World War I, II

Glossary

US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty Federation of Citizens for Peace in Vietnam Reversion The design for a de facto national flag, until the Diet passed the law that stipulated its official position in 1999 Fukki-kyo¯ Council for the Return of Okinawa to the Home Country Iken Kyo¯to¯ Okinawa Supporting Council for the Legal Actions against Unconstitutionality Jichiro¯ All Japan Prefectural and Municipal Workers’ Union Kanko¯ro¯ Okinawa Public Office Workers’ Unions Council Kenro¯kyo¯ Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee Minsei Democratic Youth League Okifuren League of Okinawan Women’s Groups Rengo¯ Japanese Trade Union Confederation So¯hyo¯ General Council of Japanese Trade Unions Tochiren Okinawa Federation of Landowners of Land Used for Military Purposes yamato Mainland Japan Zenchuro¯ All Garrison Forces Labor Union Okinawa Division Zengakuren All-Japan Federation of Student Self-Government Association Zengunro¯ All Okinawan Military Workers’ Union Zenkyo¯to¯ All-Japan Joint Struggle Committee Zen-Oki Ro¯ren All Okinawan Labour Unions’ Association Ampo Beheiren fukki hinomaru

Kurile Islands

45°

Hokkaido

Honshu EAST

CHINA

CHINA SEA Kyushu 30° Ryu-kyu- Islands

Taiwan

PACIFIC

OCEAN

15°

Philippine Islands

N

0 120°

135°

200

400

Statute Miles

600 150°

Map A Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands, Japan and the Pacific (Source: Pearson 1969: 2, courtesy of Richard Pearson)

Kyushu

32°

EAST CHINA SEA

Osumi GuntoTane

Kuchinoerabu Yaku

30°

Kuchi Suwanose

ra

Gu

nto-

Akuseki

To

ka

Takara Kaminone Yokoate

Kikai

un to

Amami Oshima

iG am m

Tokunoshima

28°

A

Okinoerabu Iheya

Yoron

Okinawa GuntoIe

Okinawa

Kume

PACIFIC

OCEAN N

Kerama

26° 0

Oblique Mercator Projection

50 Statute Miles

128°

130°

Map B Amami and Okinawa Island groups (Gunto¯) (Source: Pearson 1969: 15, courtesy of Richard Pearson). The dotted line indicates the northern border of Okinawa Prefecture

CHINA

26° Hu

ian

EAST CHINA SEA

24°

TAIWAN

Minna Tarama

Yonaguni

Iriomote

Irabu

Miyako

Miyako Gunto Ishigaki

Yaeyama Gunto

Hateruma

22°

TROPIC OF CANCER

Lü Tao

PA C I F I C O C E A N N

20°

Lan Yü 0 Oblique Mercator Projection

50 Statute Miles

Map C Yaeyama and Miyako groups (Gunto¯ ) (Source: Pearson 1969: 14, courtesy of Richard Pearson)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Northern Training Area Okuma Rest Center le-jima Auxiliary Airfield Yaedake Communication Site Gesaji Communication Site Camp Schwab Henoko Ordnance Ammunition Depot Camp Hansen Ginbaru Training Area

Kin Blue Beach Training Area Kin Red Beach Training Area Kadena Ammunition Storage Area Senaha Communication Site Tengan Pier Camp Courtney Camp Mctureous Camp Shields Yomitan Auxiliary Airfield

1

2

3 4

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

5

Tsuken-jima Training Area Army POL (Petrol, Oil, Lubricants) Depots Tori-shima Firing and Bombing Field Kume-jima Firing and Bombing Field Kobi Firing and Bombing Field Akao Firing and Bombing Field Desa-jima Firing and Bombing Field Okidaito-jima Firing and Bombing Field

19 Sobe Communication Site 20 Torii Communication Station 21 Camp Kuwae 22 White Beach Area 23 Kadena Air Base 24 Awase Communication Station 25 Camp Zukeran 26 Futenma Air Station 27 Makiminato Service Area 28 Naha Port 29 (Ukibaru-jima Training Area)

7

6

8

9

13

14

12

19

31

10

11

16

18

15

17

20

23 21

24

22

( 29 )

25 30

26

27

32

28 34

35

36

33

37

Map D US Bases in Okinawa Main Island. Modified by the author from Asagumo Shimbunsha (2006) Bo¯ ei Handobukku (Defence Handbook), Tokyo: Asagumo Shimbunsha: 438

Kume

0

0

127°E

N

Aguni

20 Km

Kerama Archipelago

20 M

Naha

Futenma Base

Ie Island

128°

Kin Bay

OCEAN

OKINAWA

Yoron Island

PACIFIC

Henoko

Nago City

Izena

Iheya Island

Map E Okinawa Main Island, Kerama, Ie, Kin Bay Area, Nago City, Naha, Futenma, and Henoko (Courtesy of Vivian Forbes)

28°N

27°

1

Introduction A community of protest in Okinawa

In September 1995 three US Marines kidnapped and gang-raped a young Okinawan girl. Okinawa, a marginal Japanese prefecture located in a chain of islands linking Kyushu and Taiwan (Map A), briefly came into the international spotlight. The anachronistic colonial presence of the US forces in Okinawa from WWII was exposed to worldwide media coverage. It revealed the extraterritorial privilege given to the US military staff and families that excluded them from local jurisdictions. It also revealed the disproportionate concentration of US military bases on Okinawa – Okinawa Prefecture hosts 75 per cent of the US forces deployed in Japan, though it accounts for just 0.6 per cent of Japan’s land mass. A population of approximately 1.4 million live in 2,266 square kilometres (589 per square kilometre). The US military bases and facilities occupy approximately 10.4 per cent of Okinawa Prefecture, and 18.8 per cent of Okinawa Main Island (226 out of 1,204 square kilometres) (Okinawa Ken So¯mubu Chiji Ko¯shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2005: 5) (Map D). In October 1995, 85,000 Okinawans expressed their unwillingness to endure any more of the abuse, outrage, insecurity, nuisance, or inconvenience imposed by this foreign military presence. The story of Okinawan suffering does not begin with US postwar military presence. Since the late nineteenth century, the inhabitants of the islands – once known as the small but separate entity of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom – have constantly been the victims of oppression, domination, dispossession, discrimination, and episodic violence. They were deprived of their independence, were economically impoverished, lost their language, and were colonized twice over – by Japan and by the US. During the Battle of Okinawa in 1945, the US forces’ ‘typhoon of steel’ devastated lives and landscapes. The locals were abused and murdered by the Japanese military and died of starvation and forced suicides. The Battle resulted in the death of almost one-third of the local population. It was briefly hoped that US victory over Japan would remedy war destruction. But the US had other plans, and abuse of the Okinwans has proceeded apace in the postwar period. After the war, the islanders were put under direct US military rule, and by force of bulldozers and armed soldiers were deprived of privately owned land needed to build military bases for US Cold War geopolitics. For 27 years after the war, Okinawans lived with an administration that stole their land, displaced and interned populations, disrupted and distorted economic development, and showed scant regard for civil,

2 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa political, and labour rights and for the rule of law. To be sure, war has given way to peace – but it was and still is a peculiar kind of peace. It is not a civilian peace, not the peace one breathes on the streets or towns of busy cities or a productive countryside. It is the peace of intense preparedness for war in the nuclear age. It is the peace to be found in a colossal fortress or garrison ready to project power globally and at short notice. Okinawa has become a US garrison and is living, if not in its belly, then within its shadow. Contemporary garrisons of this kind and on this scale are hungry beasts – the biggest in the world – and the US military wanted unlimited access to land, water, coast, and sky. It also wanted cheap compliant human labour in bulk to support military personnel and prostitution on industrial scales to satisfy their lust. Needless to say, Okinawa’s damaged civil society frequently protested but civilian demands were things that got in the way of US forces’ concentration on war. In 1972, the administration of Okinawa was ‘returned’ to Japan, but the bases remained; so did their privileges, perpetuating the threat of rape and crime, accidents, nuisances, continuing occupation of land, environmental degradation, and a wide range of health hazards including explosive noise. Having said this, Okinawa has been the beneficiary of the Japanese government’s special industrialization plans that brought in enormous funding and subsidized public works projects and these have served as a form of compensation for accommodating the garrison. However, most of the benefits of these ‘developments’ have been channelled back to mainland Japanese construction and tourism industries. The bureaucratic controls imposed by these projects and programmes have also frequently damaged the natural resources and undermined the economic self-reliance of local populations. Okinawa has borne the heaviest physical and moral brunt of the US-Japan security alliance – simultaneously the victim of US military presence and Japan’s discriminatory treatment of a minority group. Okinawans, are, as a consequence, amongst the most and longest abused peoples of the twentieth century. The stories of suffering and discrimination, however, are accompanied by stories of protest and resistance. This book is about the Okinawans’ political responses to their abuse and marginalization. One of its larger intentions is to demonstrate that this response is more complex than is often appreciated, if not seamlessly continuous, stable, or constant in focus. And nor is the protest community a unified, homogeneous and single-minded collective subject. Indeed it is many-minded; it is fragmented, it is fractious, and it is diverse. To be sure, the community protest (as I, for all its fractiousness, still call it) is uniquely and distinctively Okinawan. But this identity arises as much from a history of protest which has evolved, adapted, refocused, and flexibly strategized over the half century or more of its existence as it does from harmony, continuity, and stability. It arises as much from debates within the community and from growing diversity as it does from consensus and unity. In recognition of this diversity, the Okinawan anti-base protesters have attracted external support from a wide range of international peace, environmental and feminist activists, scientists, journalists, and academics. My book is about the story of this complexity and it attempts to show, amongst other things, that collective identities, fraught and unstable though they become, can survive and encompass

Introduction 3 change, disagreement, and diversity. Indeed, though I venture this as speculation, there is likely to be strength and resilience in surviving such challenges. The main forces that drive anti-base protest in Okinawa have been much more than NIMBY (not in my backyard) politics,1 or demand for political and economic concessions. The most basic, the most potent and most enduring concern of Okinwan protesters has, not surprisingly, been war itself. This concern was originally from the collective and near-genocidal traumas of the Battle of Okinawa. At the same time, however, this concern about war has continually been reactivated by visible presence of the huge and hungry war machine gradually assembled by the US in the postwar decades. Anti-militarism was fed by three sources: memories of the Battle of Okinawa, the disruptiveness of the bases and a deep antipathy towards them arising from the ultimate purpose they would serve: war-making. Yet the main motivations for local protest against the US military bases have further expanded to environmental concerns, connections between militarism and structural violence against women that are globally relevant. This book emphasizes that many Okinawan anti-base activists are consciously taking up the task of addressing humanistic concerns aroused by global US strategies involving their bases on Okinawa. It understands the Okinawans’ protest – particularly after the reversion – as a constellation of multiple ‘social movements’, similar to other protest movements in the world that are studied more extensively (e.g. the civil rights movement, anti-nuclear movements, and the anti-base women at Greenham Common). In the long history of protest in Okinawa, the defining character has been internal diversity and differences. ‘Okinawa’ encompasses a socio-economically diverse multilingual and multicultural islands and regions. There are many different ways of defining Okinawa’s predicament today; protesters’ occupations, assets, place of residence, gender, age, and past experiences as activists being among those that influence this diversity. Today, for example, the US military bases affect regions and municipalities considerably differently in terms of noise, crimes, and importantly, economic benefits to the local economy. This includes variations of perception about what ‘Okinawa’ means, vis-à-vis mainland Japan: how separate an entity is ‘Okinawa’ from yamato? Inevitably, these differences are reflected in the varying priorities and modus operandi of protest. Moreover, particularly after Okinawa reverted to Japanese administration in 1972, protest groups have become smaller and less affiliated to established political parties or workers’ unions. Their number has also been increasing, addressing increasingly different areas of social concern that are not exclusively related to the marginalization of Okinawa vis-àvis Japan, but also concerning environmentalism and feminism. Okinawan protest actors are becoming more and more like ‘new social movements’ prevalent in post-industrial societies. Vibrant centres of protest in Okinawa are moving away from established leftist political parties and workers’ unions, and the means of protest are becoming more individually based and concentrated on informal political activities. Traditional actors, namely political parties and union activists, remain a routine protest sector, so that we see a deepening of the divisions within the community of protest rather than a smooth replacement of old for new.

4 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Reading protest in Okinawa: focus on diversity On my first visit to Okinawa, I could not find an umbrella organization encompassing the whole of the locals’ anti-US military protest. As Matthew Allen first found on his field trip, it was also difficult to trace evidence of an ‘Okinawans’ movement’ committed to political action to demand secession from Japan (Allen 2002: 3).2 Rather, my impression was that the local activists tended to accept, and even appeared proud of, the chaotic complexion of organizations engaged in protest. Allen Nelson, a former US Marine and now a peace activist, frequently visits Okinawa, meets local anti-base and peace groups, and gives talks about his experiences in the military, of the Vietnam War, and about the actual war practices of the US military, in the bases located on Okinawa.3 On his trip in 2002, I met Nelson at a private function where he gave a talk on ‘what the US forces really do in the training grounds in Okinawa’. He was physically exhausted and had been lying down until immediately before the talk. Nelson explained: When I come to Okinawa, I have an extremely busy schedule, because I give talks for so many different groups. I am asked to give a talk by this group and that organization and I don’t want to say no. The Okinawan peace groups are so splintered. Why can’t they all be together? Personally I don’t think they will have a substantial voice strong enough to move the US military unless all those small different groups are able to come together in one united front. (Personal communication, February 2002) A substantial body of research shows how, through an historical micro-focus on particular issues, periods, regions, and individuals in Okinawa, valuable insights into the complexity of today’s protest action can be gained in English-language literature.4 The voices of Okinawan activists (O¯ ta Masahide, Carolyn Francis, Miyagi Yasuhiro, Arasaki Moriteru, and Medoruma Shun) have demonstrated the diverse backgrounds and perspectives of the activists (JPRI Staff 1998b). Work of this kind is especially useful for revealing the diversity which comprises ‘Okinawa’ and the dramatic social and political changes in postwar history contributing to this. It also helps to correct the mistaken perception that the local populace is uniformly opposed to the US military presence, as simpler accounts sometimes suggest.5 The protest actors today include anti-base labour unions, local socialist and communist parties who compose a local anti-base coalition, anti-war landowners who refuse to contract with the US military, women’s organizations, and locally based groups against the relocation of the Futenma Air Base to the eastern region in Nago.

The ‘Okinawa struggle’: persistent representations of unity All of that said, in the context of national and international politics and analysis of the US, Japan and Okinawa relationships, internal differences within Okinawan

Introduction 5 protest community tend to be underrepresented. When the discussion of Okinawa’s marginalization by Japan or the US (or both) is set within these larger frames, there is a tendency to represent the ‘Okinawan’ protesters, again, as a unified collective subject responding continuously and uniformly to externally imposed oppression. Even the JPRI literature that represents ‘Okinawan protest’ on US–Japan relations in the post-Cold-War era exhibits this tendency.6 For example, when the Okinawan economy’s dependence on the Japanese government’s special subsidies are tied to the US military presence, ‘Okinawan protesters’ usually appear in JPRI analyses as a singular, homogeneous subject (Johnson 1999a, 2002, JPRI Staff 1998a, 1998c, McCormack 1998, McCormack and Yonetani 2000, Smith 1998). Barrel and Tanaka refer to the Okinawans not just as a singular subject but as a subject bound by a unifying consensus ‘the consensus is that as far as the military presence is concerned – either US or Japanese – Okinawans have decided ‘enough is enough’ (Barrel and Tanaka 1997: 5). As a macro and outsider’s perspective this is understandable: detail becomes less visible as distance increases. But distance is not the whole story and, what is more significant, Okinawan protesters often represent themselves as a unified actor in relation to the Japanese government and the US military. For example, in 1995, a veteran anti-base activist, Uehara Ko¯suke (see Chapters 4 and 5), noted that ‘a new battle is beginning, in order to clear the suffering of the “Okinawans” in the last 50 years’ (Okinawa Mondai Henshu Iinkai 1995: 41). From an academic perspective, Allen suggests that the insider appeal to unity is ‘legitimate’ and ‘relevant’ in strategic terms: ‘in opposing the bilateral exploitation of the prefecture, quite understandably, protesters have placed the concept of Okinawa at the forefront of resistance movements’ (Allen 2002: 4). At the same time, however, Allen is cautious of ‘the focus on the ‘base problem’ (kichi mondai) because it ‘elides much of the complexity that underscores the production and reinvention of identity within Okinawa today’ (Allen 2002: 4–5). In any analysis of the ‘Okinawan base issue’, the unified representation of ‘Okinawans’ is inevitable; there is a danger of neglecting the internal differences and complex dynamics within Okinawa, even among different protesters. This danger makes one shy away from this subject for fear of doing violence to the immense complexity of the subject. This is part of the reason why the unity– diversity problem must be tackled first, for the further study of the ‘Okinawan base issue’. The idea of a unified and coherent, even if not continuous, ‘movement’ is registered most forcefully in the work of Okinawan activist historian Arasaki Moriteru – specifically in his concept of three waves of ‘Okinawan Struggle’ (Okinawa to¯so¯) in the post-WWII period. The first wave refers to the series of Okinawans’ protest activities against draconian US land policy in the 1950s. The second wave of protest occurred at the end of 1960s, with a series of mass protests against the US military administration, mainly demanding reversion to Japanese administration. Then, after an interval of 25 years, came the period of mass protests following the rape case of September 1995. This was ‘the third wave of the Okinawa Struggle’ (Arasaki 2000). By using the expression ‘Okinawa Struggle’, Arasaki

6 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa describes and reaffirms the reality of ‘a comprehensive people’s movement (minshu¯ undo¯) against the current marginalization of Okinawans’ voices – an experience resulting simultaneously from US military bases, the Japan–US security alliance, and the US global military strategy’ (Arasaki, Interview, February 2002). Most significantly, perhaps, Arasaki’s use of the term gives shape and a name to numerous and diverse events, and renders them as a struggle of a single group of people that, as noted above, has peaked three times. The idea of ‘three waves’ certainly captures periods of more intense political conflict, often now also called ‘the island-wide struggles’ (shima-gurumi to¯so¯) in Okinawa. These have been exceptional periods when the population put aside its differences and collectively expressed widely shared demands. Importantly, temporary unification in these periods briefly enhanced the ‘Okinawan’ bargaining power vis-à-vis the state authorities (US and Japan) in securing their demands. These periods were also unquestionably threshold events and Arasaki’s ‘three waves’ provide important chronological markers – a temporal framework – extremely useful for analytical purposes. This book makes use of Arasaki’s waves in this way. It is also important to note that Arasaki’s unity has been a relatively rare and episodic phenomenon occurring only three times in more than 50 years. And this immediately prompts some pressing questions: Why has unity been so rare? And what about the very large stretches of time falling outside or between the waves? Does something bind the waves together and establish a larger coherence over time – and not just at (separate) peak times, so to speak? Can we speak of latent or hidden unity existing beneath the turbulent surface of the fragmented and multivocal movement between the waves? And conversely what happens to difference and diversity when they are overtaken or swamped by waves of unity? Is something lost as well as gained? Arasaki does not adequately answer these questions; he does not adequately reconcile the diversity of protest groups – of which he is aware – with the overarching concept of a wavelike ‘Okinawa Struggle’. Indeed the idea of three waves of ‘Okinawa Struggle’ in the post-WWII period is meant to explain the rises and falls of protest momentum in the tripartite US–Japan–Okinawa relations, and therefore cannot do full justice to the complexity, the diversity, or the turbulence of the community of protest. It sustains a conception of unity which often works to conceal differences – differences which are at play between Arasaki’s three waves and more significantly, perhaps, while they are peaking.

Community of protest and myth Here, by way of prelude, it must suffice to say that the many voices of Okinawan protest are bound informally by common values, shared experiences, and collective memories that lend themselves to the ideas of continuous struggle and one people. At the same time, however, the meaning of these values, experiences, and memories is constantly in contention, constantly undergoing revision and reinterpretation. Among the protesters who share these common, invisible elements constitute what I call the ‘community of protest’ in Okinawa. Likewise and accordingly, these

Introduction 7 common, invisible elements are sometimes more encompassing and cohesive and sometime less so, sometimes more able to outbid competing claims on loyalty and sometimes less so, sometimes more single-minded and sometimes less so. The ‘community of protest’, however, is always there, always a virtual presence; always, as Arasaki’s image suggests, able to become real and visible in the form of a wave. But this image is not so much an explanation as it is a way of restating the problem: How is this complex and shifting social constellation possible? And more specifically, what sustains the sense of a unified Okinawan community of protest and what sustains the idea of its invisible presence? As will be more fully explained in Chapter 2, this book bases much of its inquiry on constructivist currents in social theory – particularly new social movement theory – in anthropology and, to a more limited extent, contemporary history. The often interwoven ideas of collective identity, myth, and the political imaginary are central to these answers. Briefly, I will explain that Okinawa’s community of protest (conceived of as a unified entity) has important mythic qualities. The meaning of this perhaps provocative claim will be more fully explored in Chapter 2 but here I want to briefly emphasize what it does not mean. It does not mean that expressions such as the ‘Okinawan movement’ (Okinawa no undo¯) or the ‘Struggle of Okinawa’ (Okinawa no tatakai), frequently used by protesters, are empty. It is not the movement’s existence but its mode of existence that is in question here and the single most important characteristic of the movement’s life is its informality: undocumented experiences and memories, shared stories transmitted orally, and unwritten histories. It is these which give the movement its mythic character. It is important to note that my appeal to the notion of ‘myth’ is predicated on the suspension of questions of truth or falsehood. Thus, I certainly do not mean that the abuses or experiences of marginalization experienced by the Okinawans were fictional as opposed to factual. The myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’ does not refer to the series of actual events that took place, but to the ways in which they are described and told, and redescribed and retold. In myth are expressed the thought patterns by which a group formulates selfcognition and self-realization, attains self-knowledge and self-confidence, explains its own source and being and that of its surroundings, and sometimes tries to chart its destinies. By myth man has lived, died and – all too often – killed. (Puhvel 1987: 2) Myth in this book means a story or a narrative that resonates in the community of protest. It connects present action to the collective remembrance of the past of a group of people, in this case, the ‘Okinawans’. Historical experiences of marginalization and discrimination, in particular of the Battle of Okinawa, and of the experiences and legacy of protests such as the all-island struggles against the US military regime, shared by different generations, locations, and sectors within Okinawa, again, are important strands in this myth. ‘Myth’ is to be taken seriously

8 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa for its powerful political effect in summarizing the long and complicated string of historical events into a collective memory. It makes the past manageable and useful for it orients and motivates individuals in ways which both permit and legitimize collective action. Chalmers Johnson describes Okinawa as an exceptional region in Japan in that it has a strong tradition of residents’ participation in deciding their political fate: ‘Okinawa is the only Japanese community whose residents have fought for the democracy they enjoy’ (Johnson 2000: 52). This recognition of a tradition of popular struggle specific to Okinawa is central to what I refer to as a ‘myth’. But it is the accumulation of many and varied struggles of the Okinawan people against marginalization in many forms that constitute the larger reservoir of memory from which the myth draws. Drawing on this reservoir, the myth generates stories, and in ongoing iterations and interpretations these give shifting definition to the community of protest. The myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ refers not to events but, as Roland Barthes might have put it, to their successive telling and retelling.7 Following the task of establishing theoretical frameworks in understanding social movements and their diversity and unity in Chapter 2, Chapter 3 moves on to engage with more empirical issues. That is to say, it examines key events in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that have contributed to and reinforced the making of the history of Okinawa’s mistreatment and marginalization. These events include forced annexation to mainland Japan; delayed reforms and subsequent economic hardship; and involvement in WWII and the Battle of Okinawa. This exercise is important for understanding the historical narrative of marginalization as a significant – albeit not the only – component of the myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’. These historical events give foundation to the idea of a continuous struggle of Okinawans as a united ‘movement’. The ‘myth’ has its origins here. However, in this period, internal division, regarding how to define who ‘Okinawans’ are, is already visible. The emerging ‘Okinawan’ identity entails affinity with mainland Japan and even stronger sense of distinctiveness from it. Jahana Noboru’s ‘People’s Rights Movement’, and the debate on how to understand it, characterizes this ambiguity. Chapter 4 discusses residents’ experiences in the Battle of Okinawa, which generated an Okinawan-specific ideology of ‘absolute pacifism’. The memory of the Battle provides an important solid ground to the myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ that can be shared by potentially all Okinawans. However, internal differences and disagreements still exist, on how the war experiences should be remembered. Importantly, some Okinawans reject the application of the historical narrative of victimization as a basis for Okinawa’s struggle. The next two chapters examine the first two ‘waves’ of the island-wide struggle. Initially they emerged with the people’s protest against the US military’s land policy, and then developed into a popular movement towards reversion to Japan. Chapter 5 examines the 1956 Okinawans’ mass uprising against the US military’s forced acquisition of privately owned land. This ‘all-island’ uprising is popularly understood as the first of the three ‘waves’ of postwar, island-wide struggle. Also remembered as the ‘land struggle’, the images and episodes from the popular

Introduction 9 protests and uprisings from the early to mid-1950s have been, ever since, represented as important evidence of the Okinawans’ ability to organize and act against the US authorities to demand changes. As such, the all-island land struggle is one of the most important components of the myth of a unified ‘movement’ of the Okinawan people. This chapter examines the diversity and unity in a wide range of protest actors including the landowners, local political parties, teachers’ unions, students, and others within the community of protest. Amongst others, the farmers’ disobedience in Ie-jima is especially important for the legacy of a uniquely ‘Okinawan’ non-violent pacifism immediately following the Battle of Okinawa experience. Chapter 6 then examines the ‘second wave’ of the postwar island-wide mass protest. Vis-à-vis US military’s direct administration, a relatively powerful islandwide coalition was formed and a sense of unified ‘movement’ emerged, referred to as ‘the Okinawa Struggle’ (Okinawa to¯so¯). However, although the scale and power of the island-wide coalition was exceptional, this unity was also a fragile one. I will examine how a temporary unity betrayed the internal diversity and tension, and why it eventually crumbled. Importantly, the unified coalition, although it led to the repatriation to Japanese administration, failed to express the locals’ opposition to the US military presence regardless of whose administration they are subjected to. The subsequent two chapters examine the ‘low’ cycle of protest after the reversion and the rise and fall of the ‘third wave’ island-wide struggle. Following Okinawa’s ‘return’ to Japan, the myth of an ‘Okinawa Struggle’ – once a strong basis for coalition during the reversion movement – had to be significantly redefined. The politically active Okinawans questioned the old ways of their own protest in terms of collective identity, repertoires of collective action, and what the ‘struggle’ was ultimately about. However, self-reflection and redefinition of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ were done in so many different ways, and the community of protest was ever more diverse and divided. Chapter 7 mainly focuses on the struggle of the anti-war landowners and their supporting organizations, comprised of the One-tsubo anti-war landowners, Okinawan anti-base political parties, and workers’ unions. These actors managed to re-establish an anti-base coalition, albeit a much weaker one than previously. The central claim of the anti-war landowners is that the violation of individual property rights, justified by the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty, is unconstitutional. The anti-base coalition redefined the myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’ by reinforcing the strong attachment to the democratic and pacifist principles of the postwar Japanese Constitution. This special attachment to the non-belligerent clause of the Japanese Constitution is connected to the ‘Okinawan’ experiences, in particular the Battle of Okinawa, and experiences of oppression under direct US military administration. Chapter 8 examines the major transformation in the community of protest that marks the emergence of ‘new social movements’. It focuses on the rise of residents’ movements, as an alternative to the previously dominant workers’ and socialist movements. It undertakes two case studies of residents’ protest against the oil

10 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa refinery industry development in Kin Bay and the construction of the New Ishigaki Airport in Shiraho that emerged after reversion in 1972. These two struggles paved the way for the ‘local’ framing of protest, which attaches great significance to the conservation of local marine resources that have supported residents’ traditional lifestyle and ‘Okinawan’ identity in unique localities within Okinawa. What directly gave meaning to the act of protest in these case studies were specific life experiences in local contexts within Okinawa. The emphasis on the ‘Okinawanness’ of the environment seriously questions preoccupation of the ‘Okinawan struggle’ with integration to Japan. Furthermore, expressions of regionally diverse forms of life within ‘Okinawa’ also put the idea of a single ‘Okinawan struggle’ under critical reconsideration by the activists. Chapter 9 focuses on the rise and fall of the third-wave ‘Okinawan Struggle’. The third ‘wave’ of postwar mass uprising of the Okinawans in 1995 was a historical event that contributed to the US and Japanese governments’ official announcement to return the Futenma Air Station. This ‘wave’, however, is characterized by the always ephemeral moment of unity of the anti-base groups and organizations. That is to say, the anti-base coalition quickly dissipated into regional strife at regional levels, represented by the Nago plebiscite in 1997. The anti-base protest actors became splintered regionally and organizationally. Now protesters against the US military bases included anti-war landowners and their supporters, country and urban activists concerned with protecting local ‘Okinawan’ lifestyle, and women’s groups. This chapter examines how unity was temporarily possible after a rape incident in September 1995 by focusing on the role of the ‘myth’. It particularly focuses on the role played by women’s groups. These signified diversification in the community of protest, which now included plural, qualitatively different social movements. Finally, it examines the trajectory of the campaign against the proposed heliport in Nago (and for a ‘no’ vote in the 1997 Nago plebiscite). The anti-base coalition dissipated. Three lines of enquiry are pursued in this book – often simultaneously. The first explores the internal diversity and differences in the trajectory of postwar Okinawan protest. Why are there so many different protest groups in Okinawa? What explains their differences? The second explores the ways in which a coherent ‘movement’ emerges, develops, and is sustained out of a collection of diverse protest groups. In large measure this becomes the question of how the myth of a unified ‘Okinawan anti-base movement’ referred to immediately above has developed. The third line of enquiry centres on the implications and continuing relevance of the idea of an Okinawan struggle to contemporary protests. Has the myth helped protesters in achieving their goals? Alternatively, has the intense diversification of the community of protest weakened the power and appeal of the myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ – or even rendered it obsolete and counter-productive?

2

Diversity and unity in the community of protest

Introduction One of the broad aims of this book, again, is to shed light on the paradoxical quality of Okinwan protest as outlined in Chapter 1: its simultaneous unity and diversity. How can a movement or protesting community be both unified and diverse? Building on the earlier argument, Chapter 2 attempts to establish more complete theoretical foundation for the argument that follows in the remainder of the book. It begins by reflecting briefly on arguments which provide insight into the question of social movement development and collective identity formation. These arguments and the theories they embody have emerged in response to the proliferation of social movement activism across the industrial world since the 1960s. Okinawa has shared in these global social trends, and two bodies of argument, in particular, may be helpful in illuminating the Okinawan experience: new social movement theory and resource mobilization theory. Theories on social movements tend to shed more light on protest diversity than they do on the understanding of more distinctive features of the Okinawan protest, most notably its persistent experience of unity as this is implied by the idea of an inclusive Okinawan struggle. Even though it is difficult to pin down the existence of a single organization, expressions such as the ‘Okinawan movement’ (Okinawa no undo¯) or the ‘Struggle of Okinawa’ (Okinawa no tatakai), used by the protesters interchangeably, are not empty references. Common experiences and shared memories, stories, and histories do bind a diverse collection of different protesters together into a community of protest of some kind. Understanding this phenomenon, this unity is more challenging – and more challenging still given the manner in which it survives an ongoing process of diversification. A number of different arguments are called upon to meet these challenges. Notwithstanding the caveats noted above, social movement theory addressing itself to the problem of collective identity formation is of some use. But perhaps more important is theoretical work on the role of myth and imagination in the context of protest. The application of this work to the case of Okinawa seems worth attempting.

12 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Understanding diversity: social movement theory For the past four or so decades industrial countries the world over have become home to proliferating protest organizations known collectively as ‘new social movements’. Moreover, a vast and conflicting literature now seeks to explain this new social phenomenon. This chapter seeks to review and highlight contributions to this ongoing debate most useful and relevant to the discussion of protest life in Okinawa, particularly after its reversion to Japan in 1972. One feature common to many explanations relates to growing disenchantment with and cynicism towards traditional political parties as vehicles of authentic political participation. Sometimes the result of this cynicism has been political apathy – but not always. Sometimes the declining credibility of party politics and formal democratic representation has generated new levels of interest in neglected issues and alternative forms of political activity. Thus, the rise of student revolts, civil right movements, and feminist and peace movements as well as environmentalist and other movements increasingly provided alternative modes of political participation within civil society in the 1960s and 1970s. The term ‘new social movements’ came into regular use to capture the momentum and the prominence of these actors whose distinguishable features included informality, a conscious avoidance of hierarchy and bureaucracy in organizational structures and decision-making, a focus on culture, lifestyle, and value-oriented issues, and the expression of identity. The theatre of political activity also changed: greater use was made of the mass media and consciousness-raising strategies in the social sphere, and less of formal state institutions (Crook et al. 1992: 148, Nash 2000: 102–3, Scott 1990).1 The concept of a ‘new social movement’ provides a useful platform for explaining many of the recent changes in Okinawa’s community of protest. In Okinawa, as in many other places, new social movements sought particularly to distinguish themselves from the ‘old’ labour movement of the industrial working class. The local trade unions and leftist political parties that once provided a more solid basis for a coalition2 became less effective for an Okinawan struggle against the state. As elsewhere in the world, the Okinawan labour movement cultivated connections and cut deals with the state institutions such as political parties, local governments, and the judicial system – and thereby compromised itself. After the reversion, traditional labour movement organizations had difficulty in defining the next stage of their ‘Okinawa Struggle’. New social movements are said to be ‘new’ because they are ‘manifestations of some qualitative shift in the nature of capitalist or, more generally, industrial, society’ (Scott 1990: 7). They are markers of change in social and economic conditions in late capitalist society. Claus Offe (1985), for example, connects the emergence of the ‘new middle classes’ and new social movements, linking the former with the rise of educational levels and the increase in service-sector employment in late capitalist economies. The characteristic of these new classes is their critique of the malaise inherent in late capitalist societies, particularly manifested in the environmental, anti-war and anti-nuclear movements. In post-

Diversity and unity 13 industrial societies, an ‘increasing sense of political obligation’ and a preference for expressive participation among the ‘young, educated white-collar categories’ is observable (Crook et al. 1992). While Okinawa may have undergone its industrial development under exceptional conditions induced by the US military presence, the same general observations apply. Habermas (1981, 1987) has also provided accounts for the significance and democratic possibilities of new social movements in post-industrial society. According to his typical account of new social movements, new conflicts no longer arise in the areas of material reproduction, they are no longer channelled through parties and organizations, and they can no longer be alleviated by compensations that conform to the system. Rather, the new conflicts arise in areas of cultural reproduction, social integration and socialization. They are manifested in sub-institutional, extra-parliamentary forms of protest . . . In short, the new conflicts are not sparked by problems of distribution, but concern the grammar of forms of life. (Habermas 1981: 33) Though with some qualifications, these observations, I will argue in the course of this book, hold good for Okinawa – particularly since reversion. In Okinawa, during the first – and second – ‘wave’ of postwar mass protest, major concerns driving collective action were directly connected to ‘materialist’ demands, such as land repatriation and base workers’ working conditions. American rule was easily identified as the source of Okinawa’s impoverishment. However, reversion to Japan changed this. Since reversion, the Japanese government has provided material benefits to supporters of US military presence in Okinawa. Short-term material advantages of acceptance were obvious: rent for the use of private property by the US military, employment opportunities on bases, goods, and services catering for the military, and construction projects that the Japanese government-subsidized public works generated. On the other hand, the focus of protest against structural economic dependence today relates to fears of pollution, hazards such as noise and militarism that lower the quality of life, and grievances towards the insufficient protection of local rights against crimes and other hazards caused by the US military under the current Status of Forces Agreement. The presence of ‘post-materialist’ values in much of the protest against the US bases today is significantly greater than in previous decades. This question will be dealt with in more detail in Chapters 8 and 9. In a Japanese context, Kurihara (1999) explains the emergence of new types of social movements in relation to the decline of the organizing power of the labour unions and political parties in the Japanese people’s opposition to the dominant conservative sector. According to Kurihara, new social movements in Japan are heterogeneous and amorphous, yet can be understood in terms of three generic types – ‘citizens’ movements, residents’ movements and people’s movements’ – although many are also hybrid in form. Kurihara understands the anti-military base movements in Okinawa as an example of a ‘people’s movement’, characterized

14 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa by marginal social positions, vernacular communication modes, and challenging visions to the dominant social system (1999: 17–19). This understanding poses one of the key questions with which this book is concerned: What holds Okinawa’s disparate protest actors together as one ‘people’s movement’? The ‘constructivist’ view of collective action, and the concept of ‘collective identity’ developed by Melucci, provide useful point of departure in seeking an answer to this question. Collective identity formation is the process in which a collective actor – ‘we’ – is formed. This process takes places in the context of developing ‘an interactive and shared definition’ (Melucci 1989: 34) of ‘the ends of the actions’, ‘the means’, and ‘relationships with the environment’ (Melucci 1995: 44). Melucci (1995) has emphasized that invisible and shared definitions of ‘we’ that gives a sense of unity among multiple actors do not exist from the start in a fixed and visible form. It is, rather, the end result of mutual interactions among protest actors in the process of collective action: ‘what was formerly considered a datum (the existence of the movement) is precisely that which needs to be explained’ (Melucci 1996: 70).3 Focusing on collective identity draws attention to the ideas shared collectively among the subject (‘we’) of social movements, to the purpose of their activities, and to what is at stake, by what means, and in what external (political, social, and cultural) context.4 The concept of collective identity helps to illuminate the fact that ‘Okinawa’ as a subject of protest is constantly constructed, redefined, changed, and sustained. Constructing collective identity for the Okinawan protesters is about defining who ‘Okinawans’ are and what their ‘struggle’ is about. But new social movement theories remain incomplete. Generally speaking, concepts of collective identity help in the understanding of why one protests. However, as Scott points out, the ‘new social movement’ approach is limited in analysing the actual effectiveness of social movement organizations in representing themselves, especially in the formal political sphere. And this also, obviously, has critical implication for their survival and growth. Here resource mobilization theory (RMT) helps in providing tools for understanding how a protest is conducted: the organization and strategy of protest involved in bringing political pressure to bear effectively. To be sure, RMTs often understand behaviour in abstraction from the specific historical, geographical, social, and cultural context in which ‘a movement’ was born and maintained but, used cautiously, it can be useful nevertheless. RMT has also challenged the classical sociological approach to ‘collective behaviour’,5 with emphasis on the rational capabilities of social movements, such as the calculation involved in action, goal-setting, dealing with information, strategy, and the ability to learn from past experiences. A number of RMT scholars advanced the study of rational aspects of social movements particularly in participation,6 organization, and processes of mobilization. Zald and McCarthy (1977), for example, have established the significance of professional organizations capable of attracting staff and raising funds by establishing connections with private and government sectors (Zald and McCarthy 1987). This focus on organization focuses on understanding how organizations are made and work, including differential access to resources such as funding, staff, experience, and connections with influential institutions within the orbit of the state.

Diversity and unity 15 RMT can arguably complement the sociological and cultural focus of ‘new social movement’ theory. As Scott points out (1990: 109), an ‘adequate theory of social movements would have to recognize the problematic and effortful nature of mobilization and the consequent organizational constraints’. RMT addresses these issues and the following discussion briefly considers some RMT concepts useful for the central questions of this book. Because protest against the US military presence in Okinawa seriously challenges the existing security policy the state elites wish to maintain, the difficulty in mobilizing resources multiplies. Tilly (1978) has explained the importance of social movements’ organizations and their relations with the state. According to Tilly, success in achieving social movements’ goals depended on political opportunity structures, that is changes in the cost of collective action linked with external situations, especially when ‘the government suddenly becomes vulnerable’ against the mobilization of collective action that challenges the state (Tilly 1978: 100–1). Understanding social movements requires taking into account both internal factors, such as resources of organizations, and external factors, that is the environment in which collective action is generated and unfolds. Tarrow also stresses the importance of political opportunity structure: ‘dimensions of the political environment that provide incentives for people to undertake collective action by affecting their expectations for success or failure’ (Tarrow 1994: 85). Not only in terms of increase and decrease in participation, political opportunity structure explains why collective action sometimes produces unusually effective results in influencing the state, but at other times does not (Tarrow 1994: 85). Closely related to political opportunities are ‘cycles of protest’ as conceptualized by Tarrow (see also Swidler 1986, Brand 1990). When political opportunities are favourable for the protesters to challenge authorities, the frequency and intensity of collective action rise. Furthermore, innovative forms of protest increase quickly, and participant actors with differential resources and organizational structures interact more vigorously. Cycles of protest are ‘sequences of intensified interaction between challengers and authorities’ (Tarrow 1994: 153). Tarrow stresses interactions among protest organizations as an important factor that affects the fluctuation of a cycle. Protest actions stimulate other actions by spreading new types of strategies, organizational structures, and knowledge. These can be imitated by other actors, change popularly accepted ideas, and increase the momentum of protest (see also Oliver 1989). Formation and dissolution of alliances among organizations and external support are also key factors that affect the dynamics of protest during a cycle, ‘which can end in reform, repression and sometimes revolution’ (Tarrow 1994: 153), or simply decline. Okinawan activist historian Arasaki has identified three ‘waves’ in the history of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ that are discussed in more detail later in this chapter. These can perhaps be better understood as three cycles of protest in the sense noted above. Mutual learning and the sharing of strategies and knowledge can play a crucial role in generating a sense of unity among different organizations. The eminent

16 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa social historian Charles Tilly has coined the term ‘repertoire of collective action’ to refer to the accumulation of experience resulting from collective actions shared by different organizations, through mutual interactions and learning. Shared learning and understanding have in the past included such matters as forms of collective action, the conduct of demonstrations, how to organize and what to do in a mass rally, how to use and learn from the media, ‘several varieties of strikes, petitioning, the organization of pressure groups, and a few other ways of articulating grievances and demands’ (Tilly 1978: 152). The ‘Okinawan struggle’ as a ‘movement’ is often constructed through establishing distinctive ‘repertoires of collective action’. These repertoires have become incorporated within popular accounts – stories told and retold – of major Okinawan struggles, including the ‘all-island’ struggle against the US land policy, the struggle against the US military ‘bulldozers and bayonets’ that forcefully dislocated the farmers from their own land, the base workers’ struggle against the discriminatory working environment, and more. Equally, however, ‘repertoires of collective action’ can point to differences among protest actors. Depending on the activists’ experiences and definitions of who ‘we’ are, preferred strategies and codes of conduct in protest can vary. Thus, there is not one ‘movement’, but many ‘movements’. This book uses the term ‘framings of protest’ – a term indebted to the concept of ‘framings of collective action’ (Snow and Benford 1992). Framings of protest assist in identifying different but recognizably generic sets of characteristic meanings that various social movement organizations attach to collective action. ‘Frames’, like collective identity, highlight how collective actors look at their own activities and interpret them to establish ‘meanings’ of collective action ‘by selectively punctuating and encoding objects, situations, events, experiences, and sequences of actions within one’s present or past environment’ (Snow and Benford 1992: 137).7 The concept of ‘collective action frames’ or ‘frames’ arise from the RMT school of social movements noted above. As such, it rests upon the foundations of a rational individualism, which tends to view mental dimensions of meaning production as ‘resources’ for successful mobilization and participation of a social movement. Though ‘frames’ give certain solidity to the set of meanings attached to collective action after they are produced, they also allow room for examination of the ways in which frames of protest, once produced, are reassessed and renegotiated by the actors (Snow et al. 1986). Where the process of constructing collective identity addresses the question of who ‘we’ are (Okinawans, in this case), different protest framings address the question of how we see the world (Okinawa and its ‘predicament’ in this case). As previously indicated, this book takes the view that representations of the ‘Okinawan anti-base movement’ often fail to capture the diversity of its many protest actors. New social movement theories offer potential correctives to this unbalanced view but so, too, can resource mobilization theories – as they highlight varying reform agendas, motivations, priorities and definitions of what is at stake, framings, and so on.

Diversity and unity 17 But how, if we reverse the perspective, can we account for the sense and experience of unity? How can we account for the belief in a single Okinawan movement (Okinawa no undo¯) and a coherent Okinawan struggle (Okinawa no tatakai) that remains real for many Okinawan protesters even while they are living with and negotiating their sometimes radical differences on a daily basis? More curiously still, the same people will often hold both views. How is this possible and how are the tensions between these opposed perceptions of the protest world resolved? A part of the answer is provided by the logic of constructivist social theory briefly described above. Collective identity formation (Melucci 1996), the shared learning involved in developing ‘repertoires of collective action’ (Tilly 1978) and the development of ‘frames to establish agreed upon meanings of collective action’ (Snow and Benford 1992) all, in various ways, lend support to the idea of a world in which meaning – whether of the future, present or even the past – is permanently contestable and open to negotiation. It is as much made as it is given. This constructed world can much more easily accommodate contradictions. Thus, unity is not to be understood as an abstract category or even objective state of affairs. It is not a social condition that happens somehow to come and go, peak and trough in accordance with its own rhythms. Rather, ‘unity’ figures in this book, as a more or less fragile political accomplishment, a negotiated outcome, or a social construction. Crucially, however, it stands permanently in need of the ongoing organized collective labour of cultural reproduction – in need, as indicated above, of the work which creates and sustains what Melucci calls ‘collective identity’. The unity or identity in question shifts on a larger – and looser – scale. But, having said this, scale is a very important issue. It means, for example, that the Okinawan community of protest can, unlike many of the smaller social movement organizations of which it is composed, take only limited advantage of face-to-face human contacts in forging unity and identity. This, although important in itself, is also an indicator of the absolute centrality communication issues in the present context. It is a truism, but one easily overlooked, that the work of community building rests fundamentally on effective means and media of communication – ideas, values, and beliefs must become shared and before they can be shared they must first be successfully transmitted and received. This point is made with force by Benedict Anderson in his global study of nationalist movements covering three centuries. We see how nationalist movements succeed – or fail – in dealing with these challenges, first in the new world of the Americas, then in the old world of metropolitan Europe, and, finally, in the colonial worlds of Afro-Asia. The success of Anderson’s new nationalist movements rests on the development of synergistic links between vernacular language, print technology, and print-based media – newspapers linking remote places in the case of the pioneering eighteenth-century nationalisms of the new world. Later in successive waves of nationalism, new media and institutions of literacy – such as colonial school systems working to establish common languages, imposing common curricula (and incidentally creating personal networks that would otherwise not have been possible) would work to the same effect. But shared languages

18 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa and effective means of communication provide basic platforms for collective identity formation and unity building everywhere. A second fundamental point registered by Anderson relates to the extraordinary power of these instruments. They can build unity that is as tough and tenacious as that forged by ties of blood (Anderson repeatedly points to the willingness of citizens not just to die but to mass kill for their countries). Their range, however, is so much greater. The whole process is testimony not just to the power of language and print but also to the power of the human imagination in which language, literature, and the institutions of literacy are rooted. Hence the title of his book – Imagined Communities (1991). To be sure, this analysis cannot simply be applied to the experience of the Okinawan community of protest. To begin with, that community is just that of a protest and not a nation. The fact that protests in Okinawa lack the overt political struggle for national independence has always entailed more limited political horizons. And this, in turn, has meant restricted access to resources – including the resources to communicate. Protest movements are also self-limiting in another crucial respect. Unlike nationalist movements, they aim typically to influence government, not to become an alternative government. The implications of this point, of course, are profound and go ultimately to questions of forceful and violent means of struggle. The Okinawan community of protest does not have a military to protect its sovereignty; rather, it challenges the legitimacy of the state’s military. Yet the two very different kinds of communities have something important in common. In both cases, language and means of communication – energized by human imaginative faculties – provide basic platforms for collective identity formation. (Indeed, unable or unwilling to use violent means, this often applies with greater force to protest movements.) But that issue to one side, in both cases these platforms are used to construct worlds of shared origins, beliefs, and aspirations. And it is impossible to overestimate the importance of this common ground – the basic platform. That is why it has been emphasized so heavily here. The work of campaigning, of winning hearts and minds, rests more heavily on informal and episodic modes of communication, on brief opportunities to ‘broadcast’ which are improvised or seized opportunistically. This is how shared experiences, memories and visions are created and, if I may adapt Charles Tilly’s term, the Okinawan community of protest does this with ‘repertoires of storytelling’ that are limited. An incomplete list of ‘items’ in that ‘repertoire’ would include (1) face-to-face conversation, anecdotal exchange, and joking, (2) rallies, demonstrations, sit-ins, blockades, chants, and speeches (3) public lectures; (4) discussions and workshops, (5) ephemeral publishing, press-releases, posters, and limited circulations newsletters; (6) the performing arts – music, song, theatre, street theatre, poetry reading; film and television; (7) the purely visual arts – graffiti, posters photography painting, etc; and (8) now, also, the exploding new multimedia world of the internet and telecommunications more generally. The most striking feature of this list of communicative media (a repertoire of storytelling) relates to its limited reliance on the printed word. Language is almost

Diversity and unity 19 everywhere but most often it ‘presents’ orally, a spoken medium Only item (5) covers forms of expression which are print-based in the first instance. It is certain that we come from a past less dependent on the written or printed word. Indeed, stories were or have been told – or sung or acted – long before the invention of handwriting. At some point in these poorly lit recesses of our past humans also began to reflect on the past, the future and meaning of life generally. As they did so they created myths – and it is important to appreciate what this means to the protest community in Okinawa in a little more detail.

Storytelling, myth-making, and unity Thus it is worth turning briefly to anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss and his 1978 lectures on the meaning of mythology (1979: 34–43). Myth, according to LéviStrauss, is to the preliterate world what history is to its literate counterpart. Myths construct a common past – and origin – and, often, a common future or fate as well. In meeting these ends, myths also serve as repositories for memory, embody beliefs and values, provide vehicles for their transmission, and are vital to the formation of stable collective identities. Put simply, they assign individuals places in a microcosm and group a place in the larger world or cosmos. Although often less colourfully, history also serves these purposes. Lévi-Stauss notes that the most fundamental difference between them is not that the former deals in facts and latter in fiction or fantasy. Indeed, the most significant difference between them relates to the media of their expression. The major media of myth are spoken words. History, by contrast, rests overwhelmingly, even if not exclusively, on written words – and records. (The conventional distinction between ‘history’ and ‘prehistory’ tells us this – and the human prehistoric is, by definition, the mythic.) However, another point made by Lévi-Strauss is equally important: the need, partly practical and partly methodological, to suspend questions relating to the truth or falsity of myth or history. Practically truth questions must often be suspended because sufficient facts are not available to the investigator. Methodologically truth questions can interfere with ethnographic procedures and deflect inquiry. Here one simply needs to appreciate that the effectiveness of stories in forging collective identity often has little to do with its truth or falsity. Anderson registers this point in pointing out the numerous occasions on which successful nationalist movements invented fictional but compelling ‘histories’ for their ancient lives. This book makes use of the term myth, both in its title and in its working argument because of the significance of oral communication (often less formal) in the Okinawan community of protest. Of course, and as previously indicated, the Okinawan community of protest is not preliterate. But two observations – one of a more general nature and one more specific to Okinawa – are worth making here. First, myth-making survives the advent of literacy and print and even telecommunications. Whether the truth as we know has been unmasked or not, the printed word has not replaced the spoken word and, in this sense, myth and history co-exist. At this level of argumentation it is reasonable to propose that the Okinawan

20 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa community of protest sustains its collective identity by mythic means – or that this could be the case. This brings us then to the second and more specific point. As a matter of fact, the Okinawan community of protest lacks the formality of many larger organizations. Its life as a unified entity is therefore largely informal. This expresses itself in many ways but most strikingly in its reliance on the oral, episodic, and ephemeral forms of communication. Thus the Okinawan community of protest lacks an overarching organization with a written constitution, rules or bylaws and exclusive membership, bank accounts, reliable meeting calendars, or minute proceedings, and so on. Like the myths to which Lévi-Strauss refers, the Okinawan community of protest lives much of its life in the creative but imprecise world. Human memory and imagination and its interpersonal sinews, again, are formed by informal and unrecorded forms of communication – which now include the telephone but also, increasingly, the ephemeral text media of email and SMS. All of this explains why it can be difficult to find ‘hard’ evidence of a coherent movement. And all of this points, even if only suggestively, to the appropriateness of the language of myth in the present context. By using the word ‘myth’ in this context, I do not intend to convey any sense of falsehood or fiction. On the contrary, myths embody and express powerful social and cultural forces and the process of constructing myths can itself be empowering. Applied as I am attempting to apply it, the idea can shed useful light on the character of grassroots political activism – and social movement life – in Okinawa, and perhaps beyond Okinawa as well. More specifically, the idea of the myth of a united struggle helps understand how a movement can simultaneously become more diverse and plural and yet also retain both an (external) image of and an (internal) sense of unity. It can shed some light on this paradox. When the experience of unity is understood as mythic, that experience makes itself felt on a different plane, in a different theatre. The shared objects (memories) in this theatre or world are often pliable – hence the perpetual telling and retelling, interpretation, and reinterpretation of stories. So understood the world of unity can avoid collision with the experience of diversity. At the very least, tension between these opposite yet defining experiences is reduced. In the creation of the ‘myth’ of an ‘Okinawan struggle’, interpretation and understanding of one’s own past are, again, particularly important: the myth connects the contemporary activists to past struggles. For example, the residents’ direct participation in mass collective action that brought the end to the US military dictatorship, repatriation to Japanese administration, and the formal entitlement to the postwar Japanese Constitution and democracy – despite the fact that the US military presence remained – stand out as a proud achievement of locals’ own political activism. The past achievements such as those of the reversion movement are a particularly crucial component of the myth of an Okinawan people’s struggle.8 For this reason, it is necessary to value the ways the past struggles are understood by the protesters, in the context of ongoing, contemporary protests. The next chapter starts this task, dating back to the end of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom in the late nineteenth century.

3

Annexation and assimilation Ambiguous origins

Introduction What is the historical background against which we should understand the meaning of the US military presence on Okinawa Main Island and the local protests it provoked? This background has been most usefully illuminated by the idea of a ‘historical narrative of victimization’, which focuses not on a single event or period but on a succession of marginalizing events1 that stretches back to the days of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Kingdom. This dominant narrative . . . is punctuated with keywords like Ryu¯kyu¯ Shobun, sotetsu jigoku (palmtree hell – the starvation period of the 1920s), tetsu no arashi (the Typhoon of Steel: Battle of Okinawa) and fukki (reversion). This historical narrative of victimization culminates in the kichi mondai (base issue) and Okinawa’s unfair treatment at the hands of the central government. (Hook and Siddle 2003: 11) In the postwar Okinawan community of protest, this narrative provides an important ‘ideational resource’ for Okinawa’s political struggle as a minority group (Hook and Siddle 2003: 11). The Ryu¯kyu¯ dynasty ended and was annexed to Japan as a prefecture, under the new name ‘Okinawa’. In the postwar period, the narrative becomes an extremely important asset inherited by the Okinawans, imposing unity and accessibility on complex series of struggles. The ‘Okinawans’ and the ‘struggles’ are of course not one; nevertheless, the historical narrative of marginalization provides a common interpretive framework. The ‘myth’ has its origin here. This chapter examines the birth of the idea of a continuous struggle of the Okinawans as one people following the annexation to Japan,2 which was still on its way to being consolidated as a modern sovereign nation-state. However, it first reviews the key events in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. The chapter highlights Okinawan people’s experiences, in particular loss of the Ryu¯kyu¯ an sovereignty, the Japanese government’s discriminatory policy that delayed political and social reforms, and the ensuing impoverishment described as ‘palm-tree hell’. In this period, a distinctive ‘Okinawan’ identity gradually formed. However, this

22 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa collective identity has also been a site of contention. Okinawan intellectuals ¯ ta Cho¯fu, made the conscious choice to emphaand elites, such as Iha Fuyu¯ and O size ‘Okinawa’ as part of Japan, that is, the sameness rather than distinctiveness. The campaign for Okinawans’ political rights led by Jahana Noboru exemplifies the Okinawans’ strategic assimilation to Japan for political reasons. At the same time, however, this assimilationist position did not sit comfortably with Okinawa’s ‘uniqueness’ or ‘distinctiveness’ from Japan. This indicates the origin of an important source of tension among concerning the most fundamental of questions: who we are and why we protest?

The ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ disposal’ Until the late nineteenth century, Ryu¯kyu¯ (Okinawa) was under the authority of the Satsuma domain (han) in southwest Kyu¯shu¯. This state of affairs had persisted since Satsuma soldiers, mainly from the Shimazu family, invaded and took over the Ryu¯ kyu¯ Kingdom in 1609. Ryu¯ kyu¯ was, at the same time, one of China’s tributary states, since a formal tributary relationship was established with Ming China at the end of the fourteenth century.3 Under Satsuma’s rule, Ryu¯kyu¯ was a direct part of neither Japan nor of China; however, the independent status of the kingdom was only notional.4 Satsuma’s control over Ryu¯kyu¯ was much harsher than that of China, which hardly interfered with Ryu¯kyu¯’s domestic affairs. The Ryu¯kyu¯ kings had to pay onerous taxes to Satsuma, but these were confiscated by local authorities who were dominated by the Shuri court, the royal court of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom. Thus, people in Ryu¯kyu¯ were doubly subjugated by Shuri and Shimazu.5 Tax burdens on the residents in remote islands were even greater than on Okinawa Main Island. In East Asia, the tributary system formed a different kind of international order from that of the sovereign states first established earliest in Europe. The centre of the East Asian order was hegemonic China.6 It is also important to note in this context that Ryu¯kyu¯’s tributary relations with China were direct, and separate from those between China and mainland Japan; the special ties in the form of distinguishable Chinese cultural influence and customs have been a source of contemporary Okinawan identity that mark differences from mainland Japan. Japan imitated China and assumed a morally and culturally central position in relation to the Ryu¯kyu¯ans, the Ainus, and the Ogasawara islands (Morris-Suzuki 1996: 50). Until the late nineteenth century, the boundary of ‘Japan’ was commonly thought to be ‘a series of frontiers marking gradually increasing degrees of difference’ rather than ‘the frontier as a single, unequivocal line marking the boundary between one nation and another’ (Morris-Suzuki 1996: 54). The status of Ryu¯kyu¯ (current Okinawa) in relation to ‘Japan’ was not quite domestic or foreign but ambiguous. This was the case at least until the Meiji government constructed the sovereign body under ‘Japan’ in 1868. However, this view ceased to be dominant among the Meiji elites who came to see that the world order was transforming into one composed of capitalist economies and sovereign nation-states with clear geographical boundaries. By the late

Annexation and assimilation 23 nineteenth century, Japan was positioned at the periphery of this new international order. By leaving its ‘domestic’ border undecided, it was under a grave threat of territorial loss – as rival colonial powers expanded. In order to face a new international relations paradigm with a clearly defined territorial border backed by substantial military power, Japan started to expand its territory overseas, whilst protecting itself from being colonized by Western imperial powers. The future status of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom became a serious subject of deliberation among the Meiji leaders. Owing to drastic reforms, the financial condition of the Meiji government was not able to provide the remote islands with public services such as police, military, and education. Also, completely incorporating Ryu¯ kyu¯ into Japanese territory involved the risk of producing a diplomatic conflict with China. Moreover, the opposition to accepting the Ryu¯ku¯ans as Japanese was made by quite a few leaders, who mentioned that the Ryu¯kyu¯ people were ethnically different from the Japanese (Oguma 1998: 20–1).7 By the 1870s, however, the Meiji government became aware of Ryu¯kyu¯ as a strategic fortress in East Asia because of its proximity to China, Korea, Southeast Asia, and other islands in the Pacific. In 1871, a fishing vessel drifted from Miyako Island, a southwestern island of Ryu¯kyu¯. It landed on the Taiwanese shore, and 54 of the 66 crew members were slaughtered by the indigenous Taiwanese. The Japanese government seized this opportunity to send troops and a punitive expedition to Taiwan in 1874.8 While settling this incident, in October 1872, Japan’s foreign minister gave the Ryu¯kyu¯an envoys an emperor’s order to create the domain of Ryu¯kyu¯ (Ryu¯kyu¯ han) and to make King Sho¯ Tai domain king (han-o¯). In 1879, a dispatch from the Meiji government brought in 400 soldiers and 160 police officers to formally abolish the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom. King Sho¯ Tai was captured and forced to live in Tokyo. This action was called the ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ disposal’ (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shobun), which ended the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom: Ryu¯kyu¯ was now formally annexed to Japan and turned into Okinawa Prefecture (Okinawa ken).9 During negotiation with China over the status of Okinawa after the ‘Ryu¯ kyu¯ disposal’, the Japanese government offered to cut off Miyako and Yaeyama islands from Okinawa Prefecture, and to give them to China in exchange for the most favoured nation status in trade, equivalent to that enjoyed by European and ¯ ta stresses that the Japanese authority took advantage of the American powers.10 O marginalized positions of Miyako and Yaeyama within Okinawa, where people were oppressed with the onerous poll tax by the central Ryu¯kyu¯ authorities (Miyako and Yaeyama’s position in relation to the central Ryu¯ kyu¯ court paralleled the position of Okinawa vis-à-vis mainland Japan). This plan to divide Okinawa, O¯ta Masahide argues, encapsulates the marginalized position of Okinawa as a result of the Ryu¯kyu¯ disposal: to mainland Japan, Okinawa was now a pawn that could ¯ ta 1972: 115). The be ‘moved’ wherever necessary for the survival of the state (O Ryu¯ kyu¯ disposal marks the opening of Okinawa’s history of humiliation and marginalization by the modern Japanese nation-state. To the present, it has left a scar on the sovereignty, autonomy, and pride of the Okinawans as the descendants of the Ryu¯kyu¯ans. It is in this historical context that the idea of a continuous struggle of Okinawans is embedded.

24 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Preserving old customs Between the Ryu¯ kyu¯ disposal and WWII, the Meiji government sent mainland Japanese administrative officers to Okinawa. All prewar governors of Okinawa were from outside the prefecture and appointed by the central government. Senior positions were closed to Okinawans in public administration, the police force, schools, and local businesses. The members of the former ruling class in Ryu¯kyu¯ society feared that their privileges and social power were being eroded. Hundreds of Ryu¯kyu¯ aristocrats and former samurai fled to China. These people formed a group called the ko¯do¯kai, headed by a former Ryu¯ kyu¯ prince, and engaged in petition activities in order to bring about the restoration of the old order of the Ryu¯ kyu¯ kingdom. The group ‘garnered 72,767 signatures, and a delegation of nine went to Tokyo to present their proposal to Interior Minister Matsukata, who rejected it immediately’ (Smits 1999: 149). The Japanese state attempted to appease the former Ryu¯ kyu¯ ruling class by preserving an old institutional and legal framework (called the ‘preserving old customs’ policy), which deliberately delayed the introduction of new political institutions and reforms.11 This policy of ‘preserving old customs’ had a significant impact on the local economy. The non-aristocrat Okinawans benefited little from the reform that was introduced after much delay. Land tax reform enabled farmers to own land and pay tax in cash, not in kind. However, as a result, sugar farming, which the farmers quickly became dependent on, was widely introduced to meet the tax demands. After the turn of the century, many farmers converted rice paddies and sweet-potato fields into cane fields, obtaining immediate cash to buy food and household products. However, most of the goods were made in mainland Japan, brought in by the old aristocrat merchants – including the royal Sho¯ family – who preserved exclusive commercial trading rights with mainland Japan and dominated the Okinawan market. This hindered the growth of a local commercial and industry sector and promoted an over-dependence on small-scale sugar farming.12 Before WWI, the Okinawan economy had developed its structural vulnerability (Tomiyama 1997: 77–8). Then the price of sugar fell on a worldwide scale to devastating levels, following WWI. Many farmers were forced to sell their lands, or their children as future servants, to a handful of wealthy landowners. In the 1920s, Okinawan peasants faced a severe famine described as a ‘palm-tree hell’ (sotetsu jigoku) because many died eating the starch taken from wild-grown cycad (sotetsu) palms, which is fatally poisonous if not processed extremely carefully. As Tomiyama explains, it was obvious that the vulnerability of the Okinawan sugar farmers to the price fall was due to the ‘preserving old customs’ policy: the persistence of oligarchic domination of the local market by a small expatriate commercial class limited the locals’ commercial development. Manufacturing activities had not benefited from the boost in the sugar price before the crisis either. Moreover, the government put in place no protective policy – with tariffs and subsidies as were common in the European countries – for Okinawa against the low sugar price in the global

Annexation and assimilation 25 economy. Indeed, Japan turned on its own dependent territory by doubling the imports of cheaper sugar from Java (Tomiyama 1997: 76–82). The ‘palm-tree hell’ and the ‘preserving old customs’ policy symbolize the Japanese government’s mistreatment of the Okinawans. Finally, the impoverishment of the Okinawan population was regarded as a problem in parliamentary discussions in 1932. The Diet passed a 15-year Okinawan Industrial Promotion Plan (Okinawa Keizai Shinko¯ Keikaku), a specifically designed programme to rescue the Okinawan economy.13 The Plan allocated special governmental budgets for improving roads, ports, hospitals, and other public infrastructure. This scheme of 15-year special governmental subsidies and aids has been repeated four times over since 1972 when Okinawa reverted to Japan from the post-WWII US military occupation, and continues today. ¯ ta argues that the main purpose of this special promotion plan Interestingly, O ¯ ta 1972: 276). was to entrench Okinawan co-operation for Japan’s militarization (O The governmental economic aids created the Okinawan economy’s dependency by exercising multiple controls over the use of assistance, which in many ways made sustainable indigenous development difficult. In Tomiyama’s view, ‘palmtree hell’ marks the birth of an Okinawan status as a constant ‘applicant’ for the government’s economic rescue. He emphasizes, however, that this status represents a choice made at gunpoint, or ‘at the edge of the threat of violence’, that is, under the enormous pressure to accept military occupation and dominance. Rescue, industrial promotion, and developmental subsidies by the government have come at the inevitable ‘cost’ of the military bases. This is why it is misleading to understand the US military presence as the outcome of a fair economic transaction, as balanced by economic benefits paid by the government (Tomiyama 2002: 272–82). ‘Palm-tree hell’ marks the origin of this structural violence inherent in the relationship between the Japanese government and the Okinawans, and is a significant part of the historical narrative of marginalization.

Assimilation policy The delay of political and social reform compared to elsewhere in Japan was allegedly based on the ‘low level of civil maturity’ of the Okinawan public (MorrisSuzuki 1998: 27–8). The logic the government used was that modern institutions and civil rights would be introduced when the Okinawans were considered sufficiently assimilated. Morris-Suzuki points out that Japan’s dealings with the Ryu¯kyu¯ans (and the Ainu and Ogasawarans) were framed by a view that equated the spatial distance of these places from the mainland (naichi) to lower stages of civilization (bunmei):14 So the vision of a world made up of concentric circles, where foreignness increased the farther one moved from the centre, came to be replaced by a vision of a single nation where ‘development’ and ‘modernity’ diminished the farther one moved from the capital toward the geographic extremities. (Morris-Suzuki 1998: 29)

26 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa That is, geographically isolated Okinawa was considered to be in a stage of civilization lower than central Japan.15 The affinities and differences between the Okinawans vis-à-vis Japanese became a point of debate among anthropologists, archaeologists, and other scholars (Siddle 1998, Yonetani 2000, Tomiyama 2002). However, Siddle notes that in contrast with the Ainu inhabitants, who ‘remained completely outside history’, contemporary scholars tended to see that Ryu¯kyu¯ans were on their way to becoming Japanese (Siddle 1998: 125, Tomiyama 1998). The assimilation policy in Okinawa was underpinned by the view that Okinawaspecific cultural artefacts embodied backwardness. This extended through a range of traditional Ryu¯ kyu¯ an manners of dress and lifestyle matters such as young people’s beach parties (moashibi), male hairstyle (kata-kashira), and female hand tattoos (hajichi). In contrast to the much-delayed political and social reform, military conscription was introduced in 1898, preceding other reforms. At the same time, a new education system with the greatest emphasis on nationalism was introduced to Okinawa.16 Meiji was the period, particularly in the 1880s, when nationalism based on collective worship of the emperor as a divine being was steadily being formed. Education was one of the most effective vehicles, together with newly introduced rituals, the construction of shrines, increased publications, and community events, to introduce this cult. The ‘emperor-centred moral education (ko¯minka)’ was introduced across the newly acquired Japanese territories and colonies such as Taiwan and Korea (Christy 1993: 608). The government campaigned for the use of the Japanese language – the Tokyo dialect was adopted as the official ‘national standard’ – instead of the distinct Okinawan language and dialect. During this period, the government opened ‘Japanese conversation schools’ all over Okinawa, just as there are ‘English conversation schools’ everywhere in Japan today (Oguma 1998: 35). The most important signifier of assimilation was how much Okinawans adjusted to the notion of becoming ‘the emperor’s people’. The new educational system placed most value on the importance of turning ‘Japanese’ and ‘the emperor’s people’ over any other practical kinds of knowledge. The greatest effort was put into raising primary education enrolments. When standard Japanese was introduced in Okinawa initially, for the majority of Okinawans speaking Japanese was not considered a particularly useful social skill because most people spoke the local dialect in the late nineteenth century. However, it took only a generation for the new educational policies to take effect in Okinawa. In 1907, 93 per cent of Okinawan children were enrolled in Japanese language-speaking primary schools (Oguma 1998: 39).

Early development of ‘Okinawan’ identity Despite formal annexation in 1879, most Okinawans lived as members of smaller communities in the villages and hamlets where they were born, worked, and died, without seeing the world beyond it. The idea of a separate Okinawa or Ryu¯kyu¯ as a larger nation based on common distinguishable attributes such as geographical coherence, history, culture, and language developed much later (Siddle 1998b:

Annexation and assimilation 27 124). But this delayed nationalism was also due to geographical diffusion and linguistic differences extending across islands remote from Okinawa Main Island as well as class divisions within the population as a whole. However, by 1895 when Japan ended its war with China in victory, most members of the Okinawan community – especially the elite – supported the urgent need to adjust to the new Japanese rule, in order to maximize Okinawans’ interests through assimilation with mainland Japan. Included in this voice for assimilation were former aristocratic members who initially opposed the Ryu¯kyu¯ disposal and the new order, but who were later mollified by the ‘preserve old customs’ policy. ¯ ta Cho¯fu, for example, a Ryu¯kyu¯ aristocratic descendant, eagerly promoted the O benefit of becoming like the Japanese, and even preached to imitate their sneezing ¯ ta 1972: 122).17 (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 24 September 1917 quoted in O The ‘House of the Peoples’ incident at the Fifth Industrial Exhibition in Osaka in 1903 reveals how an increasing number of Okinawans were eager to see themselves as ‘proper Japanese’, distinguishing themselves from ‘other Asians’. Thus: a man with a whip presided over a display of Koreans, Ainu, Taiwanese aborigines, and two Okinawan women . . . Okinawan newspapers reacted to the display with rage, claiming that lining up Okinawans with primitives and inferior ethnic groups was a slur against the Okinawans, who were ‘real Japanese’. (Christy 1993: 608) The strong reaction from the Okinawan public to this ‘incident’ suggests the possibility that Okinawan identity as ‘Japanese’ was constructed not only by authoritative enforcement from above, but also voluntarily from ‘below’ by those favouring identification with the modern and powerful Japanese state. Socially influential local figures such as schoolteachers and a local newspaper Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ emphasized the importance of the Okinawans’ participation in the Japanese military;18 they saw it necessary to entitle Okinawans to equal political rights and reforms within Japan (Yoshiwara 1973: 196–7). On the other hand, many Okinawans refused or escaped conscription by fleeing to remote islands or to China,19 migrating overseas, or pretending to be ill or disabled. Young Japanese men, especially in rural communities also avoided military service in these ways. An additional reason for the Okinawans to refuse conscription was that most Okinawans could not speak fluent standard Japanese and were still attached to Qing China (Yoshiwara 1973: 201). Even though Okinawan soldiers had been educated with an overwhelming emphasis on loyalty to the emperor and in the standard Japanese language, they faced discrimination within the military. Many Okinawan soldiers tried to prove they were ‘Japanese’ by dedicating themselves to combat activities, often at the expense of their own lives (Arakawa 1973: 190, Arashiro 1997: 172).20 The local elite severely attacked conscription avoidance, especially ¯ ta in the Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ columns and articles (Yoshiwara 1973: 196–7, also see O 1995). The conscription issue shows how Okinawans’ attitudes were divided

28 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa between supporting assimilation to mainland Japan (referred to as yamato or naichi) and resisting it. As a major consequence of the devastating poverty and famine caused by falling sugar prices, thousands of Okinawans went to mainland Japan and emigrated overseas, to places such as the South Pacific Islands, Hawaii, and South America in search of jobs and cash incomes. This was promoted by government policy as a solution to the economic crisis. Thousands of Okinawans moved to mainland Japan as factory workers in the chemical and other manufacturing and textile industries (Tomiyama 1997: 94–8). In mainland Japan, Okinawans were called ‘Ryu¯kyu¯-jin’ and similar names. They also faced discrimination, for example in employment and housing. These temporary workers usually settled and lived in certain residential areas with other Okinawans. The experience of migration and discrimination in yamato following the ‘palm-tree hell’ has been passed down in an Okinawan history textbook used by local high schools (Arashiro 1997: 179). Okinawan migrants to Osaka following the sugar price fall in the 1920s established the Kansai Okinawans’ Organization (Kansai Okinawa Kenjin-kai) (Tomiyama 1997). Tomiyama explains that the organization provided general pastoral care for, and facilitated mutual communications among, the Okinawans who came to live in the area. This included facilitating communication between Okinawans finding accommodation and work. In this movement, the organization was engaged in ‘a social movement’. It also functioned as a labour union by promoting the interests of workers from Okinawa, focusing especially on their working conditions and labour rights. Initially, the Kansai Okinawans’ Organization encouraged self-expression of members as ‘uchinanchu’ (Okinawans), and the pride in being ‘Okinawan’. However, as Okinawan labourers’ difficulties were explained in terms of discrimination – being from Okinawa determined where they would live and work, their standard of living and working conditions (group employment for Okinawans, segregated dormitory rooms, different meals and schedules for Okinawans etc.). This meant that the main mission of the Kansai Okinawans’ Organization shifted towards improving the treatment of Okinawans, by encouraging them to become ‘competent workers’ and rewarding those who did. Tomiyama points out that the yardstick of ‘competent workers’ was the extent to which they shed their ‘Okinawan’ characters and became more ‘Japanese’. For these Okinawans in yamato, what did it mean to ‘become more Japanese’? According to Tomiyama, it meant ‘correcting’ physical and behavioural aspects of lifestyle that are associated with being ‘Okinawan’. These included, among other things, clothing, hygienic practices, tendency to stay up late, enjoying Okinawan music, dramas, and dancing, and speaking in Okinawan dialect. But there were also positive ‘Okinawan’ characteristics including obedience. Obedience facilitated ‘Japanization’. It promoted ‘Japanization’, which was also understood as a process of ‘awakening into a class consciousness’ (Tomiyama 1997: 167). ‘Becoming Japanese’ for Okinawans in this period involved physical and emotional selfdiscipline. In the 1930s, the self-correcting effort of the assimilation-oriented

Annexation and assimilation 29 Okinawans developed into a so-called ‘life improvement movement’ (Seikatsu Kaizen Undo¯) among the emigrants in Japan in general. But attitudes were not uniform. Tomiyama stresses the gap between the elite Okinawans who eagerly advocated Japanization and other non-elite Okinawans who were more reticent. Many Okinawans hid their feelings about the destination of Okinawan culture, but these were nevertheless expressed occasionally. Thus, in one incident among many, an episode of a group of female Okinawan workers at a spinning mill annoyed factory managers by singing an Okinawan folk song, calling it ‘the Okinawan kimigayo’ (Japan’s national anthem) (Tomiyama 1997: 150–1).21 This incident clearly reflects important divisions in the Okinawan community. In academia, scholars, by contrast, tended to emphasize common cultural origins with Japan. ‘Okinawan studies’ (Okinawa gaku) played an important role in exploring differences and commonalities between Japan and Ryu¯kyu¯ in ancient local literature and culture. Meiji Japanese scholars, in particular anthropologists such as Tashiro Antei, Torii Ryu¯zo¯, and Tsuboi Sho¯goro¯ (see Yonetani 2000a), and later Iha Fuyu¯ argued that there was evidence to support the view that Ryu¯kyu¯ans were ethnically an integral part of Japan (Siddle 1998: 124–5, also see Tomiyama 1998). From the early twentieth century, Okinawan intellectuals including Iha, Higashionna Kanjun, and Nakahara Zenchu¯ published their work on Okinawan indigenous cultural history and literature, represented most notably by Iha’s study of the Omoro so¯shi, a collection of local folk verses written during the early Ryu¯ kyu¯ period.22 Iha, often referred to as the ‘father of Okinawan studies’,23 emphasized the common heritage of the Okinawan and Japanese languages.24 But the political standpoint of Iha was often contradictory. Iha’s work basically supported the Okinawans’ evolutionary path of ‘becoming Japanese’. In his study of Ryu¯kyu¯’s linguistic, historical and cultural ancestry, Iha had an ulterior motive: to promote the interest of Okinawans in general, by stressing the ‘same’ elements between Ryu¯kyu¯ and Japan. Yonetani (2000a: 17) explains that the expression of Ryu¯ kyu¯ an identity in terms of homogeneity with Japan was infused with what she calls a ‘politics of sameness’, since the underlying intent was to minimize discrimination of Okinawa based on distinctiveness from mainland Japan; interpreted as rationalization for further discrimination. Difference was a double-edged sword: from one perspective it provided a platform for the assertion of an independent Okinawan identity; for the Japanese, however, it could provide a rationale for discrimination. Iha, on the other hand, developed a strong commitment to establishing a clear sense of ‘Okinawa’ being one entity on its own right, which had yet to be developed at the end of the nineteenth century. In this sense, the ‘politics of sameness’ allowed Iha to take arbitrary positions. Iha contributed to what Oguma calls the emergence of ‘Okinawan nationalism’, transcending internal regional differences within the Ryu¯kyu¯ archipelago (Oguma 1998: 293). Tomiyama (1998: 170) emphasizes that Iha was on ‘the quest for “a common ancestor” as a third category that is neither “Japanese” nor “Ryu¯kyu¯an”’. This common ancestor was neither ‘Japanese’ nor

30 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa ‘Ryu¯kyu¯an’, and permitted dissimilarity to live alongside commonality. Importantly, an Okinawan identity could be established here.25 Iha attempted to establish ‘Okinawa’ as a unique entity within ‘the pluralist vision of the Japanese state’, which consisted of many nations and peoples in Asia (Siddle 1998: 126). Through his work, Iha attempted to provide ‘evidence of Ryu¯kyu¯an cultural achievements upon which a sense of local pride could be based’ (Christy 1993: 624). His wish was to establish a strong sense of a ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ an’ subject, to be reproduced by generations to come in modern Okinawa. This subject, importantly, is a flexible one, in the sense that, once again, it allows for flexibility in stressing ‘sameness’ with Japan and unique ‘distinctiveness’ of Okinawa. Influential as Iha’s work and his arguments were in Okinawan studies, his version of ‘Ryu¯kyu¯an’ identity has had its critics. Shimabukuro Zenpatsu (1888–1953), an Okinawan intellectual who came after Iha, called attention to the ‘ethnic selfperception’ of the people themselves. Ordinary Ryu¯kyu¯ans call mainland Japanese people ‘yamatonchu’ (yamato people) and differentiate them from ‘uchinanchu’ (Ryu¯kyu¯ans). This sense of distinction has existed since early Meiji. Isn’t it sensible to think Ryu¯kyu¯ans are quite intimately connected to the yamato people, but nevertheless belong to a different ethnicity? (Shimabukuro quoted in Yakabi 1998: 121) Giving credit to Iha and others’ ‘objective’ findings from wide-ranging ‘scientific’ research in anthropology, linguistics, ethnology, religion, and history, Shimabukuro stressed the importance of the ‘subjective’ element, that is, what ordinary locals normally felt and perceived about who they were (Yakabi 1998: 122). Shimabukuro’s view highlights the difficulty in forming a consensus among critical local intellectuals and activists, even today, regarding the self-definition of ‘Okinawans’: despite the rhetoric of many anti-base activists and the emotional power of their message, Okinawans are not themselves united in their understanding of the past and have not succeeded in forging a ‘nation’ in Okinawa . . . [T]hese divisions are a continuation of an older discourse on colonialism and modernization, identity and history, that stretches back to the early days of Okinawa Prefecture. (Siddle 1998b: 133) Iha defined ‘Ryu¯kyu¯’ as a nation, to build a sense of an historical ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ an’ subject that is equal to that as yamato. However, the emergence of an ‘Okinawan’ identity was such that it perpetuated ambiguity and internal contention: how can Okinawa be different from yamato, but, at the same time, be treated as an integral part of Japan?

Annexation and assimilation 31

Jahana Noboru’s People’s Rights Movement and the myth of an Okinawan struggle Following the formal annexation of Okinawa, more people slowly started to realize the existence of more powerful political authorities than the Ryu¯kyu¯an royal court or the local Okinawan government. This became a trigger for voluntary political activism (Arakawa 1973: 105). In 1893, the farmers in the Miyako Islands protested against the Japanese government’s policy to preserve the old customs in Okinawa in order to appease the pro-Chinese former ruling class. This included the preservation of the three-hundred-year-old poll tax system in the remote islands of Miyako and Yaeyama. Therefore, even after the end of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom, the poll tax required each person to pay punishing duties each year in order to provide rice, traditional hand-woven fabric and other products as well as labour service for the local officials. The leaders of the farmers’ protest were Gusukuma Seian from Naha and Nakamura Jissaku, two Japanese mainlanders who had moved to Miyako Island. The slave-like lives of the Miyako farmers shocked these two outsiders, who organized the farmers into directly appealing to the Japanese government. A delegation from Miyako was sent to Tokyo, to lobby Members of Parliament and the newspapers, appealing to end the poll tax and introduce a land tax system in remote islands (for details see Arakawa 1973: 119–58). In the end, even though the new land tax system continued to burden the farmers, the movement was successful and the poll tax was abolished (Arakawa 1973: 158, Yoshiwara 1973: 113). The People’s Rights Movement led by an agronomist, Jahana Noboru, also lobbied the central government against the ‘preserve old customs’ policy. In comparison to the Miyako protest, Jahana’s movement has been given greater credit for initiating the tradition of indigenous political activism in Okinawa. Jahana came from a farmer’s family in Kochinda village in the southern part of Okinawa Island. In 1865 he was selected to be one of five government-funded university students to study in Tokyo. He was the only one from a non-aristocratic background. In Tokyo he majored in agriculture, in particular fertilizing in sugar farming. Returning to Okinawa, he became a high-rank officer in charge of agricultural issues in the local government. This was, again, an unprecedented achievement for someone with a non-aristocratic background. ¯ sato Ko¯ei’s influential biography, Gijin Jahana Noboru Den (Jahana Noboru, O a righteous man), first published in 1938, depicts a heroic image of Jahana as a representative of the peasant class. Jahana is famous as an Okinawan activist who worked hard and died for the political rights of the Okinawan people, battling against the aristocratic oligarchy in the local government and Narahara Shigeru, an infamous mainland Japanese governor (1892–1908) of Okinawa Prefecture. Narahara had strong connections with the central government, and ‘ruled with such a firm hand that he earned the nickname “King of Ryu¯kyu¯”’ (Smits 2002: 103). Jahana resigned his position in the local government in 1898 after serious disagreements with Narahara’s plan to privatize traditional communal forests (called somayama) in northern Okinawa. The plan was to distribute the land to unemployed

32 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa former lower officials of the Ryu¯kyu¯ court who were struggling economically. Yoshiwara (1973: 41–66) explains that the somoyama development allowed Narahara and his aristocratic acolytes to gain more wealth, while depriving the peasants of essential resources such as timber and water. Jahana was opposed to impoverishing the farmers and advocated peasant ownership of somayama. This image of Jahana as representative of peasants’ interest has, however, been disputed by Arakawa Akira (1996: 204–6). Arakawa argues that the historical records strongly suggest that Jahana was initially the promoter of the somayama cultivation with Narahara, and the land issue was not his main concern. In Arakawa’s view (1996: 207), Jahana was no longer acting as a ‘peasant’s son’ by this time, and his primary concern was overcoming the class-oriented old regime with extremely limited room for promoting someone like him up the social ladder. This was the reason why he resigned from his post, and his ultimate goal was winning his battle, not only with Narahara, but also with a group of other con¯ ta Cho¯fu, servative local bureaucrats of Ryu¯kyu¯an aristocratic descent, including O who had once been sent to Tokyo with Jahana to study, and leader of Ko¯do¯kai (Smits 2002: 106). Arakawa’s critique was directed at the romanticized interpretation of Jahana’s persona as a political activist. It is also directed at the contemporary Okinawans’ political views that find ancestry in Jahana, which needs further explanation. Following the annexation, the conservative former aristocratic elite group attempted bringing back the last Ryu¯kyu¯ an king (Sho¯ Tai) as Governor by unsuccessfully petitioning the Parliament in Tokyo. Consequently, the members concentrated on enhancing their power in local politics by forming an alliance with the Narahara administration. Jahana opposed the Ko¯do¯kai from the vantage point of the non-aristocratic local elite, then opposed the conservative alliance between Narahara and the former Ko¯ do¯ kai members and, eventually, became isolated in the local government and resigned in December 1898. However, in November 1898, Jahana was elected one of the directors of the Okinawa Agricultural Bank, a public bank set up in each prefecture. At the same time, Jahana and his colleagues made trips to Tokyo to appeal to Diet members for Narahara’s resignation and land reform in Okinawa. They succeeded in gaining the sympathy of Home Minister Itagaki Taisuke (Isa 1998: 192). In January 1899, Jahana also formed Okinawa Kurabu in Tokyo with several young colleagues from peasant families, and published a journal, Okinawa Jiron. The journal criticized the domination of social privilege in Okinawan society by Narahara and his local aristocratic allies, and their protection by the central government’s ‘preserve old ¯ ta Cho¯ fu, who worked as an editor of Ryu¯ kyu¯ customs’ policy. In response, O Shimpo¯, also constantly attacked Jahana’s movement in his newspaper. In Feburary 1899, Jahana and another Okinawa Kurabu member, Uema Ko¯suke, submitted a petition to the Lower House to introduce suffrage to allow Okinawans to elect representatives to the Diet. Delayed introduction of suffrage, like delayed land reform, represented another of the central government’s attempts to preserve the interests of the former Ryu¯kyu¯an aristocrats. The members of the former ruling class were opposed to suffrage. Okinawan delegates in the Diet would lead to

Annexation and assimilation 33 fundamental political and social change that favoured merit-based promotion to powerful positions. This would in turn result in the former ruling class members’ losing inherited positions of influence. By the same token, Jahana and his colleagues realized that participation in national politics and having access to power in the central government were important, in order to remove Narahara and the old conservatives’ domination in Okinawa.26 However, their political campaign yielded disappointing results for the Okinawa Kurabu members. The Lower House decided to introduce the election of two Diet members from Okinawa by issuing an Imperial Edict ‘when the time arrives’. However, ‘the time’ was slow in coming. Even though Okinawa’s political participation had been agreed upon in the Lower House in 1899, Parliamentary elections did not commence formally in Okinawa until 1912. And only two members, as opposed to five from other prefectures, were to be elected from Okinawa. Furthermore, the Miyako and Yaeyama regions were excluded from national elections until 1919.27 In March 1900, Jahana proposed an increase in rural representatives to counter the domination of Narahara and his allies in the Bank and, as a result, was removed from the director’s position at the Okinawa Agricultural Bank. Some of his Okinawa ¯ sato 1969: Kurabu members switched sides to co-operate with the conservatives (O 225–6). This development isolated Jahana. Unable to find employment because of Narahara’s influence, he no longer had a place in Okinawa. Jahana died at the age of 43 in 1908. Smits provides an important analysis in English, which regards Jahana’s struggle as revealing Okinawa’s ambiguous relations with Japan, as well as the unsettled status of ‘Japan’ as a nation in the late nineteenth century. Importantly, Smits also points out that Jahana’s struggle was a struggle against class divisions within Okinawan society (2002: 112) – which was far from being an all-encompassing ‘Okinawan’ movement. His isolation was mainly due to his conflict with members of the former aristocratic elite, who preserved the old Ryu¯kyu¯ an social order and delayed the establishment of non-aristocratic elite. Furthermore, Jahana’s progressive movement was significantly detached from the rest of the society. The Okinawan People’s Rights Movement was basically an elite movement, which had knowledge of and access to the academic and political world of mainland Japan. In this sense, Arakawa argues, Jahana’s ‘Okinawa Struggle’ was isolated from the ordinary mass Okinawan population, in particular, the farmers in Okinawan villages where he had his roots (Arakawa 1973: 207). Arakawa himself (1973, 1996, 2000b) has most intensely opposed the political strategy of attaching Okinawa both institutionally and emotionally to the body politic of Japan – the strategy of Jahana and Okinawa Kurabu’s movement. It is important to note here that Arakawa’s criticism of Jahana’s movement was, at the same time, criticism of the political thought and strategy of the reversion movement that became dominant in the community of protest in Okinawa during the 1960s. At the time, Arakawa was a leader of a group of Okinawan intellectuals who opposed the strategy of demanding institutional integration with mainland Japan. He likewise opposed relying on the notion that further institutional and

34 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa mental assimilation with mainland Japan would alleviate Okinawan predicaments.28 To be sure, the predicament was different in the 1960s but the modus operandi was the same: demanding Okinawa’s inclusion in the political system of mainland Japan, as if the bigger power – yamato – were the way to escape the undesired rule of the US military administration. Jahana’s movement is a critical presence in the early tradition of political activism in Okinawa. Indeed it is a cornerstone of the myth of a unitary ‘Okinawan’ struggle. Some even regard Jahana as the ‘origin of the Okinawa Struggle’ – for example, Kohazu Eikou, editor of the Okinawa Minken newsletter (Kohazu 1971 cited ¯ e Kenzaburo, during his sojourn in Okinawa in in Arakawa 1996: 207). Also, O 1969–70, observed at the time that ‘the image of Jahana Noboru was revived, which in turn re-defined the outline and shades of the Okinawans’ reversion movement ¯ sato 1996: 623). to the Homeland’ (cited in O Isa comments that only a few articles on Jahana were published each year until 1968. However, the number increased to 16 in 1969, 20 in 1970, and 38 in 1971, reflecting the heightening public concern about reversion, the reversion movement, and what it meant to Okinawans. However, by the late 1990s, only low levels ¯ sato 1996). The rise of interest in Jahana were demonstrated (Isa 1998: 252–4, O of interest in Jahana during the reversion movement period during the 1960s indicated that the idea of the struggle of an Okinawan people as a singular entity was being reconsolidated. At the time, Jahana’s struggle to extend Okinawans’ political rights as ‘Japanese’ citizens was similar to the goal of the struggle for reversion to Japan. Arakawa and his ‘anti-reversionist’ colleagues, nevertheless, refused to identify the strategy of Jahana’s movement with the strategy of the entire ‘Okinawan Struggle’. Significantly, Arakawa’s iconoclastic (Molasky 2003) attack provides evidence of disagreements among ‘Okinawans’. Arakawa does not regard equal political rights with mainland Japan as an achievement. Most importantly for the theme of this book, the contentiousness of Jahana’s legacy illuminates the mythical character of the very point of its ambiguous origins.

Conclusion: the ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ Disposal’, the ‘palm-tree hell’ and the myth of a united Okinawan struggle This chapter has focused on the pre-WWII period since Okinawa’s annexation. Many Okinawans came to actively accept the need to overcome their ‘backwardness’ as perceived in the context of the new special and temporal imagining of the Japanese nation. The ‘assimilationist’ orientation of the Okinawans, which emerged in this period, was later expressed more aggressively by the reversion movement in the 1950s and 1960s (Tomiyama 1997: 270). Even after reversion to Japan, this orientation has influenced the content and strategy of protest, especially in seeking to share in the jurisdiction of the Japanese Constitution. Nevertheless, the idea of Okinawa as a separate entity from Japan with unique ‘Okinawan’ denominators was gradually emerging. To what extent Okinawans should assimilate into Japan remains a source of disagreement. Self-perception of ‘Okinawa’ as distinct from mainland Japan continues to provide an important

Annexation and assimilation 35 fissuring point amongst the actors of contemporary political struggle in Okinawa today. The contention over defining ‘Okinawa’ dates back to the historical development of the Okinawan subject, as evidenced by the views examined in this chapter. However, in so far as discrimination, disadvantages, and hardships in this period were explained as a result of being ‘Okinawan’ – different from Japanese – they contributed to the development of a historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization. These experiences are the basis of common narrative for different kinds of struggle within the community of protest. Jahana’s struggle for equal political rights, in particular, was important in forming the myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’.

4

The Battle of Okinawa and ‘Okinawan pacifism’

Introduction Along with the Ryu¯kyu¯ ‘Disposal’ and ‘palm-tree hell’, the Battle of Okinawa in 1945 is the most significant event in the history of Okinawans’ suffering. Recalled by the US military as the ‘bloodiest battle in the Pacific’, it killed at least one-quarter of the local population apart from the US and Japanese war participants. Most Okinawan survivors’ lives were severely interrupted in one way or another by losing members of family and houses, and having to relocate after the Battle. This chapter examines the Battle of Okinawa and ‘Okinawan pacifism’, and how both relate to the myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’. Grassroots groups such as the Okinawa Peace Network and the Okinawan Historical Film Society have engaged in the activity of preserving, representing and promoting the learning of the local civilians’ war experiences from ageing survivors, as well as from the remains of war. Such activities have generated a fundamental disbelief in the nation-state (especially Japan) as a protector of civilian population in war situations. They have also continued to form an Okinawa-specific brand of pacifism, distinguished from that of mainland Japan. In the community of protest, this Okinawa-specific ‘absolute pacifism’ – absolute rejection of war and war-related acts of the nation-state – has naturally expressed itself as an uncompromising protest against militarism and US bases in the contemporary context. In wider Okinawan society, however, collective mourning for the war casualties does not necessarily result in political opposition. Representation of the past has been particularly controversial in relation to the contemporary presence of the US bases on the island. Okinawans’ critical disbelief in the state, and animosity towards military bases, is not expressed – explicitly – by all Okinawan citizens. This was clearly demonstrated by the 1999 new Peace Memorial Museum debate. Governor Inamine and other conservatives censored or played down references to mainland Japanese aggression towards Okinawan civilians. Peace activists, academics, and anti-base politicians attacked this attempt to silence the atrocity committed by the state and military towards Okinawan residents. Therefore, the citizens’ groups’ unyielding criticism against the state’s attempt to smother its past aggression towards civilians in the Battle of Okinawa is also pitted against those within their own society who sanction this attempt.

The Battle of Okinawa 37 In relation to the wider theme of this book, the almost unquestioned connection – between the attempt to represent residents’ historical experience and the longterm struggle against the military presence – is important to stress. This chapter argues that the stories and narratives of the Battle of Okinawa (nurtured within the community of protest through the effort of diverse social movement organizations) have become a resource for those opposing the state, the military, and the bases. In particular, the Okinawa-specific pacifism has provided diverse and plural anti-base organizations with a source of unity. Representation of local residents’ experience in the Battle of Okinawa is also essential to maintaining a historical narrative of marginalization, that is, to establishing a common idea about what the Okinawan people have been struggling for. Okinawa-specific pacifism, in other words, is crucial to keeping the myth of a unified struggle of the Okinawan people alive. It does not, however, provide a basis for an organizational coalition that unifies diverse groups engaged in different agendas including local war history education, class struggle, environmental protection, opposition against gender violence, or opposition to the military use of privately owned land. The first section reviews the stories and narratives of the Battle of Okinawa, as told and understood in the community of protest. The second section examines specific examples of Okinawan peace movements: preserving and passing down residents’ experiences in the Battle of Okinawa; challenging the idea of ‘collective suicides’, and collecting and viewing audiovisual records on what the Battle of Okinawa was really like. In the third section, the recent debate on the alteration of the new Peace Memorial displays will be examined. The fourth section analyses the Okinawa-specific ‘absolute pacifism’, and how it provides an ideological basis of the myth of a unified struggle of ‘Okinawans’. The overarching aim of this chapter is to examine the locals’ past war experiences commonly embraced across the diverse protest groups in the community of protest.

Okinawan residents in the Battle of Okinawa If the Okinawans had not experienced the Battle of Okinawa (the only WWII land battle on Japanese soil), the meanings of the act of contemporary anti-base protest would be quite different. That is to say again, the stories and narratives inherited from the direct experiences in the Battle of Okinawa have been an ideological resource for postwar political opposition against the military bases. Former ¯ ta Masahide (1990–8) was conscripted as a student soldier and later Governor O ¯ ta has advanced a basically has become a historian of Okinawa. As Governor, O anti-base stance and, at the same time, a ‘peace promotion policy’, highlighted by the construction of a monument called the Cornerstone of Peace (Heiwa no Ishiji).1 So how, more generally, is the war represented in the community of protest? What specific stories and narratives explain the determined rejection of war and warrelated activities seen in the Okinawan community of protest? The timeline and key events of the Battle of Okinawa described below follow those of local historians, ¯ ta and other anti-base and peace activists. and especially O

38 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa The overseas settlers were among the first Okinawan war casualties in WWII.2 In 1942, the South Sea Islands came under severe attack by US forces, forcing Japanese retreat. In retreat the Japanese killed a considerable number of civilians, including many Okinawans. Alternatively, they were forced to commit suicide by the Japanese military authorities, before being captured by the enemy. More than twelve thousand Okinawans died in the South Sea Island colonies. In August 1943, Tsushima-maru, a ship with 1,700 people on board (including 800 schoolchildren), which had left Naha port to escape possible US air attacks, was sunk by a US submarine near Amami Island killing 1,500. This remains a particularly tragic event in the local history.3 In March 1944, the 32nd Okinawa Defence Troop was established to defend the Southwest Islands (Nansei Shoto) of Japan, including Okinawa. In July, combat soldiers were brought into this region from mainland Japan, and local houses, schools, and community centres were occupied by the military and turned into barracks. In October, US B-29 planes raided and burned down 90 per cent of Naha City.4 The safety of Okinawa was given low priority from the beginning.5 For the civilian political leaders in mainland Japan, the mission of the Okinawan Defence Troops was to delay the allied advance towards Japan. Consistently throughout the event, extremely little attention was paid to the defence of Okinawa, and there was no joint planning between the military and the civilian leaders in Tokyo to prepare an overall combat strategy in the case of a US landing. Japanese troops on Okinawa were composed of no more than about 86,400 soldiers and 10,000 sailors from the mainland, plus locally recruited Okinawan adults and middle-school children. The latter received only the briefest combat training and very primitive weapons. To put these figures in perspective, 548,000 US soldiers in 1,500 warships landed on the tiny Kerama Islands on 26 March 1945. The total population of Okinawa was 450,000 at that time. One of the most tragic aspects of the Battle of Okinawa emphasized in local stories of the Okinawan ‘peace guides’ and anti-base activists is the collective suicides. The Japanese military commanders and the imperial education had indoctrinated the non-combatant citizens to end their lives ‘bravely’, rather than be captured by the enemy. In the small islands of Kerama, the imperial education and assimilation policies had ensured that the virtue of self-sacrifice had prevailed. In Tokashiki Island and Zamami Island, in the Kerama archipelago, only a small fraction of Japanese forces were deployed. The local Japanese troop leaders ordered about seven hundred islanders to commit suicide ‘with determination, so that the combat activities of the troops would not be disturbed by the non-combatants’ ¯ ta 1996b: 92). The villagers accepted the order, and killed their own family and (O village members, and themselves, using household objects such as axes, razors, hoes, rat poison, and wooden rods. However, the leaders and core members of the Japanese troops survived and surrendered to the US soldiers after the villagers ¯ ta 1996b: 96). Most villagers believed dying for the emperor and the state died (O was the right thing to do. The residents also believed they would be raped and killed if caught by the US soldiers. A member of the Okinawan Women Act Against Military and Violence, Miyagi Harumi, writes that in Zamami Island soldiers had

The Battle of Okinawa 39 told the residents their ‘hero stories’ (buyu¯den) of raping and killing in the Chinese battlefields (Miyagi 2000: 146–7). Similar individual and group suicides took place in other parts of the islands of Okinawa. On 1 April, Americans landed on Okinawa Main Island. Central and southern regions of Okinawa Island turned into a combat zone, but only 30,000 people managed to flee to the northern region. Most of the 450,000 inhabitants were left behind and caught in the face-to-face combat zone where the American and Japanese soldiers were fighting. The residents, a majority of them females and adolescents, seriously engaged in combat training with bamboo sticks picked from the sur¯ ta 1996b: 83, 86). rounding islands immediately prior to the US landing (O The American raids intensified, and bullets destroyed almost everything, an experience remembered as the ‘typhoon of steel’. The residents took refuge inside family tombs,6 and in natural or emergency caves (gama) that they had dug in between their farming and construction obligations. Some accommodated more than a thousand people and were also used as hospitals. In May, the Japanese forces were reduced by 80 per cent, and the officers and soldiers desperately escaped into these caves and tombs. The officers usually occupied the least dangerous and most comfortable areas inside; scarce food was kept and cooked for them; many residents were assigned tiny areas next to the entrance, and were exposed to the explosives and fire attacks of the US soldiers. It was common for non-combatant residents to be refused entry into the emergency caves and left to die in the middle of US machinegun and bomb attacks. Concerned that the Americans would locate the caves, soldiers immediately killed crying children with their swords, or ordered the parents to stifle children under three. Many Okinawans believed that it would be safer to stay close to the soldiers, and remained on the central-southern Okinawa Island. They were wrong. ‘Okinawa Defence Troops’ looted, raped and killed ordinary people whom they were supposed to be defending. The residents soon came to see the Japanese soldiers as a much greater threat than the enemy US soldiers. ¯ shiro 1998: 479) (O Contrary to the image of US soldiers as brutal murderers and rapists spread by ¯ ta recalls the US forces’ well-planned rescue activities Japanese war propaganda, O to provide the local non-combatant residents with safety, materials for surviving, and equipment to maintain basic hygiene. US wartime policies towards noncombatants did save thousands of residents’ lives, even if only with long-term strategic interests in mind: in controlling the residents and in managing the islands ¯ ta 1996b: 106). congenially to their strategic advantage (O Because of the lack of agricultural land and rapid population growth, Okinawans had been dependent on imported foodstuff from other parts of Japan before the war. Since all the ships were taken by the military and used for military purposes, food was in desperately short supply.7 In this critical situation, when everyone was starving, the Japanese military staff had free access to food. They ordered the residents to provide what small amount they had, such as brown sugar saved for

40 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa emergencies. Thus, a significant number of the non-combatant population died of malnutrition and malaria. Deaths from eating poisonous sotetsu palm-tree extract ¯ ta 1997: 50–1). had become too common to shock anyone (O The military also justified the need to provide for the sexual needs of the soldiers. Some of the officers took ‘comfort women’ into the caves with them. The military set up as many as 130 official brothels (‘comfort stations’) all over the archipelago. Local Okinawan women were recruited, and approximately 1,000 Korean women were transported by sea, to be subjected to violence and sexual slavery (Takazato 1998). While encouraging and forcing residents to choose mass suicide for the sake of honour but also their loyalty to the emperor, the Japanese soldiers saw that Okinawans were essentially different and, hence, inclined to be disloyal. There were a considerable number of returnees from emigration to Hawaii, South America, and other places and this added to the perception that the Okinawan population contained ‘non-Japanese’ elements.8 After the US landing, the Japanese Defence Troops announced that the use of any language other than standard Japanese was banned and communication in Okinawan language would be regarded ¯ ta 1996b: 179). Mainland soldiers as spying, and would be punished accordingly (O and officers privately and officially executed many local civilians for ‘spying activities’ on essentially this contrived basis. After Japan surrendered on 15 August, the Japanese navy also executed several locally conscripted Okinawan soldiers as spies, because they had simply urged a cessation to futile attempts to fight on. In most cases, all the family members of the soldiers, including infants, were suddenly attacked and killed. The ‘spies’ in many cases were locals who were caught and released by US soldiers. The Japanese soldiers shot them from behind when they were found surrendering to US soldiers ¯ ta 1996b: 127–30). In one such incident on Kume Island in June 1945, a post (O office clerk was executed as a spy, for being captured by the US troops, and for carrying the American letter recommending capitulation to the Japanese navy troop ¯ ta 1996b: 133–46). These stories highlight how much hiding in the mountains (O was demanded of the Okinawans and how little trust or protection was given in return. Officially, the Battle of Okinawa commenced on 1 April 1945, when US troops landed on Okinawa Main Island, and ended on 23 June when the commanding officers of the Japanese defending army committed suicide. These dates exclude the important events that happened before and after the supposed beginning and end of the Battle. ‘Collective suicides’ of the residents in the Kerama Islands, and resident killing in Kume Island, instigated by Japanese military personnel, both happened after the US landings on 26 March and 26 June. Resistance against the US forces by the armed Japanese and local officers, soldiers and local non¯ ta 2000b: 13–15). According combatant citizens continued until 7 September (O to the record of Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum,9 between 8 September 1931 and 7 September 1946, more than 148,610 Okinawan residents died – nearly a third of the whole Okinawan population. The names of the dead are inscribed in the Cornerstone of Peace, completed and opened on 23 June 1995,

The Battle of Okinawa 41 a 17,900-square-metres space with 118 granite stone plates, forming the shape of concentric waves (Peace Promotion Division, Okinawa Prefecture 2005).10

‘Absolute pacifism’ as a framing of protest The collective memory of the locals’ wartime experiences is the spiritual basis of the Okinawan aversion to war. It is likewise the basis of contemporary protest action against the military bases. This pacifism also makes anti-base protest in Okinawa a social movement, rather than just NIMBY (not-in-my-backyard) opposition to facilities that nobody wants. Many local activist recollections of the Battle of Okinawa presented in local newspapers, in anti-war literature, and in the arts11 are simultaneously protest expressions against the US military bases on Okinawa. Miyagi Yasuhiro, a leading figure of the protest movement against the construction of a new sea-based US base on the east coast of Nago City, reflects as follows: My mother raised my brother and me running a small daily necessity shop and a tempura shop. Only in her 20s at the time, she had survived the Battle of Okinawa and the difficult days after the war, with my brother in her arms. Soon to turn 70, my mother has always avoided showing her political position to society to protect her small business. But she does not hesitate to express publicly her absolute opposition to the construction of another military base in Okinawa. Okinawan survivors like my mother all make fun of themselves as being the leftover of the warship bombardments in the Battle. After these people go, Okinawa is bound to change. I don’t know in a good way or otherwise. But as long as they are alive, I am determined to do what I can do with them, to stop the pathways to war [my emphasis]. (Miyagi 1999) The Battle of Okinawa punctuates and articulates meanings of protest against war and further war preparation, and against the existence of US military bases (or any military bases and war equipment, for that matter) on Okinawa. I call this response to the Battle of Okinawa ‘absolute pacifism’ and it is highlighted here because it forms a kind of framing experience,12 and a gathering point for different Okinawan protesters. The discourses of the Battle of Okinawa operate as a ‘frame’ of protest that gives meaning to the act of anti-war collective action. At the same time, residents’ past experience in the Battle of Okinawa serves as a marker of collective identity of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ as a movement.

‘Peace guides’ World War II memorials and old battle sites concentrated in the southern region are treated as important public historical and cultural assets in Okinawa. The Okinawan tourist industry, non-government organizations, and municipal governments provide special tours for groups and individuals travelling to Okinawa

42 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa from outside to learn about the only ground battle on Japanese territory in WWII. Often called the ‘peace study (heiwa gakushu¯ ) tours’, these educational tours involve taking participant groups on buses to selected sites of the Battle of Okinawa including bomb shelter remains, battlefields, war memorials, and survivors’ testimonies of lives under fire related to particular war sites. These tours are promoted by the Okinawan prefectural government, particularly after the construction of the new Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum (Heiwa Kinen Shiryo¯ kan) in 1999. They are organized by non-government organizations including the Okinawa Prefecture Tourist Volunteer Guides’ Society (Okinawa Ken Kanko¯ Borantia Gaido Tomo no Kai),13 and also by some government organizations such as the Okinawa Foundation (Okinawa Kyo¯kai) and the Naha City Council.14 The ‘peace guides’ are mostly volunteers or workers at the City Council. Targeted visitors on the other hand include secondary schools who choose Okinawa as a school excursion destination,15 workplace unions, and citizens’ groups with a strong interest in war and other social issues. War site tourism in Okinawa has gone through significant transformations in assuring its current shape. Itokazu Keiko is a respected anti-war figure in the Okinawan community of protest. Since 2004, she has been an Upper House member of parliament of the Japanese Diet, and a long-term OSMP member. She was a pioneer ‘peace guide’ before being elected as the only female member of the Prefectural Assembly in 1992. Since 1966, Itokazu had worked for a tourist bus company as a ‘bus guide’, working on buses wearing a uniform and holding a microphone, giving tourists explanations and stories related to the war remains. During this period, however, it was a standard practice of the bus companies in Okinawa that organized tours for Japanese tourists to provide stories emphasizing the heroic deaths of mainland Japanese soldiers in battle sites concentrated in southern Okinawa. Itokazu heard accounts of her mother’s experience in the Battle of Okinawa only after she died. When evacuating to the northern region to escape gunfire, Itokazu’s late mother lost her two small children from malnutrition, lost her sanity, and held her dead son’s body for days. Itokazu, born in 1947, remembered her mother only as a cheerful person who, like many other war survivors, never talked about war. It was at this point that she started to question the ways in which battle sites and war memorials were being presented at tourist destinations in Okinawa. Her feelings synchronized with emerging local critical voices in the late 1980s – voices protesting against the inadequate recognition given to the civilian Okinawans’ experiences in the Battle. In the early 1980s, Monbusho¯ (Ministry of Education, Science, and Culture) redrafted history textbooks leaving out accounts of Japanese atrocities directed at Okinawan residents.16 Such criticism was also directed at the local ‘bus guides’ for glorifying mainland Japanese soldiers and local residents’ deaths in the Battle, and for failing to address the responsibility of the state. At one of the local discussion groups, Itokazu gained support from Ishihara Masaie, history professor at the Okinawa International University, who had been working on establishing residentscentred history of the Battle. Itokazu and her colleagues started a study group on Okinawan residents’ experiences and the Japanese military’s behaviour. They also

The Battle of Okinawa 43 staged a campaign to change Okinawan war site tourism by introducing stories about Okinawan residents about the Koreans who engaged in forced labour and also about ‘comfort women’ in the Battle. The campaign included fighting resistance from the bus companies to such change.17 In 2004, Itokazu was elected an Upper House member of the Japanese Diet, after serving three terms as legislature member of the Okinawan Prefectural Assembly since 1992. She is also one of two representatives of the Okinawan Women Act against Military and Violence, a local women’s protest organization against the US bases (see Chapter 8). Her political platform centres on peace, environmental protection, and women’s rights (Barrel and Tanaka 1997: 10–15). Being a peace activist and an opponent to the military bases is accepted in the community of Okinawa as a natural combination – it does not require explanation. Many other volunteer ‘peace guides’ belong to the Okinawa Peace Network, a non-governmental association. Its approximately 180 members share a common interest in learning and promoting education on residents’ experiences in the Battle of Okinawa. The main activities of the members are operating as ‘peace guides’, holding talk sessions on war experiences given by survivors, and engaging in other activities related to preserving historical assets such as war remains (Okinawa Peace Network member, Interview, February 2002). According to a founding member, Kawamitsu Akihiro, the Network is a loose association. Its membership also cuts across differences of social status, age, gender, occupation, and political and ideological views.18 However, according to Kawamitsu, the minimal guideline of the Network is ‘not to glorify “voluntary” deaths for the victory of Japan as courageous or honourable. We do not endorse views that romanticize the aestheticism of civilians’ deaths, for example, those in the Himeyuri Troop,19 which we sometimes encounter’ (Interview, February 2002). The ‘peace guides’ are those who are committed to the task of learning and educating people about the Okinawan residents’ experiences in the Battle. They are dedicated to providing alternative historical accounts of war, which do not involve the glorification of the war dead referred to as ‘Yasukunification’ by the Okinawa Peace Network, inspired by the deification of former Japanese soldiers at the famous shrine in Tokyo (Figal 2003: 73). These initiatives have been helped by greater efforts made by local historians, war survivors, and their families to record stories that place emphasis on the Okinawan citizen experiences. A typical itinerary of a peace education tour designed for high-school students includes visiting major caves (gama), such as Itokazugo¯, Garabigo¯, and Chibichirigama, where civilians and soldiers were accommodated away from the US attacks. Other popular sites include the Cornerstone of Peace; the Okinawa Peace Memorial Museum; the Himeyuri Peace Memorial Museum; the Shuri Castle; Kakazu Hill (a major battle site); the Kadena Air Station and Torii Station (US bases). At these sites, war survivors and anti-war landowners talk to the participants about the experiences of the local residents being deprived of food and shelter by the Japanese (Okinawa Heiwa Network 1998: 153). It is not by accident that the destinations of ‘peace education tours’ organized by the Okinawa Peace Network include major US military bases, such as the Kadena Air Base (albeit viewed only

44 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa from outside the fences and guarded gates). The site of actively operating military bases with ongoing jet noises has both ironic and chilling effects after walking through the dark and narrow dungeon of gama, seeing the remains of broken crockery, the bloodstained shirt of a baby stabbed by a Japanese soldier, and the traces of people who suffered and died against diseases, fatal wounds, and ‘collective suicides’.

Challenging the idea of ‘collective suicide’ The ‘screening’ of Japanese school history textbooks by Monbusho¯ in the early 1980s caused considerable dispute in Okinawa. The ‘screening’ initially provoked protests from the Republic of Korea and the People’s Republic of China for deleting references to Japan’s aggression against civilians during WWII.20 Subsequently, however, the dispute shifted to Okinawa: because Monbusho¯ also ‘screened’ descriptions of Japanese behaviour during the Battle of Okinawa, significantly reducing the number of civilian deaths, and removing references to residents murdered by Japanese troops. Historian Ienaga Saburo¯ took Monbusho¯’s screening of his history textbook to court.21 Amongst other matters, he emphasized that the textbooks should have made clear that the collective suicides of the civilians were imposed by the Japanese military (Taira 1999: 39–40). The local newspaper Okinawa Taimusu featured this debate on the front page on 4 July 1982, and the Okinawan Teachers’ Union and other citizens’ groups, as well as the Village Assembly of Kitanakagusuku village in central Okinawa, made a protest statement against Monbusho¯ (Arasaki 1992a: 184). The ways in which ‘collective suicides’ were officially depicted were misleading, and perhaps the most frustrating and painful topic for the war survivors and families of war casualties in Okinawa. Taira explains that using the word jiketsu (suicide) for civilians’ collective suicides distorts the meaning of it: ‘To call someone’s suicide jiketsu is to honour and glorify the person who had the extraordinary courage to kill himself or herself in this manner’ (Taira 1999: 42). Descriptions endorsed by Monbusho¯ chose to separate the death by suicide from other forms of civilian deaths, particularly from murders committed by the military. Monbusho¯ insisted on collective jiketsu ‘being added to any description of the Battle of Okinawa’ (Taira 1999: 44). This way, the state’s culpability of imposing deaths is smoke-screened by the volunteer act of ‘nobility’ and bravery of jiketsu, making ‘civilian deaths comparable to military death’ (Field 1993: 63). Field emphasizes, ‘the civilian atrocities perpetrated by the Japanese army and the collective suicide committed by Okinawan civilians are inseparable’ (1993: 66).22 Thus, it has been common among Okinawan war survivors not to wish to talk about the suffering they experienced during the Battle. The survivors have experienced having their testimonials being distorted and misrepresented, which explains their reluctance to talk (Taira 1998: 2). However, the textbook dispute contributed to the rise in the early 1980s of citizens’ movements in Okinawan civil society to investigate and publicize residents’ experiences in the Battle in a manner more faithful to the residents’ perspectives.

The Battle of Okinawa 45 In 1983, Chibana Sho¯ichi, a villager of Yomitan, for the first time conducted in-depth research on the case of a collective ‘compulsory suicide’ that happened in Chibichiri gama in Yomitan village, based on the stories of the survivors. Villagers and families of the dead knew what happened in the gama, but the topic had been taboo in the village ‘because everyone knew that talking about it would hurt someone’ (Chibana 1988: 140–1).23 Chibana hosted more than five hundred visitors to the gama in one month in 1988, and re-enacted the event of ‘compulsory suicide’ that happened (Chibana 1988: 144). Chibana, at the time a supermarket owner, also burnt the hinomaru flag at the Annual Sports Event in 1987 held in Yomitan village, in protest against the pressure exerted on the villagers to use the flag for the event, ignoring the sentiment of the villagers (Field 1993). The villagers’ silence on the subject of ‘compulsory collective suicide’ was in the background of the 1987 flag-burning incident. Particularly, many in Asian regions invaded and occupied by the Japanese military have considered the hinomaru flag the symbol of war, invasion, and murder of the Japanese Empire. For Okinawans, too, Chibana explains, the flag represents the old Japanese Army and the Emperor’s (Hirohito’s) military, which forced the Battle of Okinawa on the people (Chibana 1988: 181). He was a student activist engaged in the campaign for reversion, and is an anti-war landowner, who has been demanding the return of an inherited private property inside a US communication facility in Yomitan. Chibana has engaged in multi-faceted protest: the ‘peace guide’ activity; the campaign against the hinomaru flag; and against the US military bases, which in his life naturally appear to converge into one struggle: the ‘Okinawan Struggle’.

The ‘one foot’ movement (Okinawa Historical Film Society) Nakamura Fumiko is another citizen activist who is committed to proselytizing opposition to war, by publicizing Okinawan war survivors’ experiences in the Battle of Okinawa. In 1983, even 11 years after reversion to Japan, Nakamura recalls, the survivors ‘firmly kept their silence about their own experience’ (Nakamura Fumiko, Interview, February 2002). As Secretary General of the Okinawa Historical Film Society, Nakamura has engaged in raising funds to purchase film images of Okinawan residents in the Battle stored in the National Archive in Washington, DC. The purchased footages have been made into movies and videos, and have contributed to reviving and maintaining the image of the Battle of Okinawa from an anti-war perspective. The Okinawa Historical Film Society has a small office on the fourth floor of a tiny building in a back street of the central district of Naha. This office is filled with films, books, and videotapes. A part-time receptionist answers the phone and fax inquiries, and deals with interview requests from the media. Nakamura, an eloquent and vibrant 88-year-old retired schoolteacher,24 says the movement started from a more general campaign to promote first-hand retelling and recording of Okinawan war survivor experiences in the Battle of Okinawa before they die out.

46 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa The group was formed on 8 December 1983. Nakamura says, ‘8 December is a very important day for our group. The Battle of Okinawa was the product of the war Japan started against the US with the attack on Pearl Harbor. But many Okinawan children do not know about this day’ (Interview, February 2002). Nakamura was vice-president of the Okinawan Women’s Association, affiliated to the Japanese Women’s Association, which held an Annual General Meeting in Naha in December 1983. At this meeting, the Japanese Women’s Association expressed official support for the Okinawan Historical Film Society and for the campaign promoting WWII survivors talking about their war experiences. Only 12 or 13 members are on the executive committee of the Film Society today; most of them are prominent members of the Okinawan community, including the president of the local newspaper, Okinawa Taimusu; university professors such as ¯ ta Masahide, Miyagi Etsujiro¯, Aniya Masaaki, and Ishihara Masaie, and Fukuchi O Hiroaki, who has been the leader of the Okinawa Human Rights Council (see this chapter), as well as other long-time members of the Society such as folk singer ¯ shiro Shinya. O The idea of purchasing US film footages originally came from former exchange students who returned from US universities as well as local academics who knew about the large collection of film records of the Battle stored in Washington. Through informal communication, the idea was shared by the younger members of the Naha City Workers’ Union and the Okinawa Teachers’ Union, who did the actual work involved in the establishment of the Okinawa Historical Film Society. Nakasone Seizen, a well-known survivor of the Battle who experienced being a chaperone of the Himeyuri Troops, became the first Secretary General. The Society ¯ ta Masahide and Miyagi Etsujiro¯ to the US National Archive in May 1984 sent O to choose the footage. The Japanese naming of the Society, ‘One-Foot Movement Organization’ (Ichi Feeto Undo¯ no Kai), was inspired by the ‘Ten-feet Movement Organization’ (Ju¯ Feeto Undo¯ no Kai) in Hiroshima that similarly purchased footage from the US. But in Okinawa, Nakamura says, ‘the film records were to become the asset of all Okinawans, so we named the movement after the image of every Okinawan – including a small child – purchasing one foot of film for ¥100’ (Interview, February 2002). In May 1984, the film arrived from the US. The Society showed the footage with no sound or narration at the Naha Citizens’ Hall immediately. Despite the heavy storm and rain, the room was full and the audience spilled out into the corridor. Many elderly people – who would have known the war, but normally never say anything on the topic – were riveted to the screen. Nakamura still remembers the silence in the room and the eerie atmosphere. Films arrived one after another from the US. In due course, more than ¥5 million was raised and, after the first narrated movie was made, there was no need to raise funds because videotapes sold explosively. Interest came even from the US military stationed on Okinawa (Interview, February 2002). The fact that Nakamura was a schoolteacher for forty years is important. Not only have schoolteachers been the leaders of ‘peace education’ (Heiwa Gakushu¯) in Okinawan schools; they also led the reversion movement as well as the

The Battle of Okinawa 47 anti-war and anti-base movements in postwar Okinawa (see this chapter). Most Okinawan schoolteachers, like their Japanese counterparts, supported Japan’s war, and taught pupils to be loyal and patriotic and to co-operate with the war effort. Nakamura herself recalls, ‘As a teacher I was responsible for instructing the children to respect and honour the country and the Emperor . . . I regret to this day that I had to say such things’ (Keyso 2000: 39). Nakamura says that, after she went back to teaching when the war was over, nobody looked after her children so she had to teach with her baby on her back, and on her way back home she had to find food in the field. Survival was difficult but, when she thought about the children who died in the war, the realization that they would never come back struck her like an arrow: she experienced intense remorse for encouraging them to die for the country. Many teachers throughout Japan share the same regret for encouraging dying for the state and victory, Nakamura believes. Then she explained the Japanese Teachers’ Union’s pacifist slogan, ‘We would never send another child to a battlefield’, and that the non-belligerent clause (Article 9) in the postwar Japanese Constitution was the most important element of her postwar anti-militarism (Interview, February 2002). The Okinawa Historical Film Society’s activities have been a major milestone for the peace movements in Okinawa, which is the ‘desire for peace, with action’ (Nakamura, Interview, Feburary 2002). The main strategy is telling the stories of atrocity and hardships caused by war, which is supposed to lead naturally to the idea that war must be avoided under all circumstances. The further corollary, of course, is that the US or any military bases cannot be accepted in Okinawa. Chibana (the Yomitan villager investigating compulsory suicides) also believes that resurrection of the gama stories and construction of the statue will help the Okinawans realize that, in the event of war, the first sufferers are the powerless, such as children and older people, and that war cannot be repeated ever again (Chibana 1988: 144). These peace activists’ practices are grounded in the assumption that most people naturally think this way. The Okinawa Historical Film Society’s role is not to oppose particular US military bases directly; however, the organization is very closely associated with the antibase community of protest in Okinawa. Some Historical Film Society members are simultaneously members of other anti-war and anti-base groups such as the Onetsubo Anti-War Landowners’ Organization (formed in the same year as the Society, see Chapter 6). Furthermore, the Society is one of 34 anti-war and anti-base citizens’ (non-party, non-union) organizations that joined the Citizens’ Council for Peace (Heiwa Shimin Renrakukai), formed in October 1999 in the lead-up to the 2000 G8 Summit, in opposition to the central government’s scheme to relocate Futenma airbase to Henoko (http://www.jca.apc.org/heiwa-sr/jp). Nakamura is one of the representatives of this coalition, together with other prominent and regular activists such as Arasaki Moriteru, Sakihara Seishu¯ and Taira Osamu (One-tsubo landowners). The participation of the Film Society in the group of anti-relocation organizations is mainly symbolic. Yet it continues to provide spiritual and historical background to the anti-base protest. The Battle of Okinawa is a connecting point in the community of social movements, bringing the past and the present together in the field of protest.

48 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Victim-consciousness A victim-centred perspective has dominated mainland Japanese narratives of war and peace, most directly inspired by the cataclysmic experiences of the atomic bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki (Dower 1999: 198–9, Orr 2001). At the same time, Japanese nationalism in the postwar period has enshrined commitment to principles of democracy and peace in the 1947 Japanese Constitution (Dower 1999). It is arguable that both the trauma and the recovery have served to cover up the state’s responsibility for causing war and conducting invasions. It also had the effect of suppressing the hardships Japan’s war inflicted on non-Japanese civilians. These, again, included the forced labour and ‘comfort women’ brought from Korea and other colonies, and Okinawan civilians effectively removed from the mainstream memory of Japan’s war (Hein and Selden 1997, McCormack, 2001, Yoneyama 1999). In some of its official expressions the Okinawan commitment to peace is built on the same uncertain foundations. In fact, the construction of the Cornerstone of Peace in 1995 elevated Naha into the league of Hiroshima and Nagasaki: one of a Japanese ‘triad of peace sites’ (Figal 2003: 71). With emphasis placed on the name inscription of the dead including those from the US and Britain as well as Koreans and Taiwanese, the Cornerstone of Peace is different from the commemorations that deify the dead as nationalist-patriotic heroes, as in the Yasukuni Shrine. Nevertheless, as Figal explains, the official commemoration of the Battle of Okinawa – exemplified by the opening ceremony of the Cornerstone of Peace – avoids articulating critical issues such as the ‘the role of the emperor system in the subjugation of Okinawa’; ‘the question of the emperor’s responsibility in the prosecution of the war’; ‘degrees of willing participation among Okinawans’ (1997: 753). In other words, collective mourning for the dead, even in Okinawa, is converted into a vague, universal message of peace with no mention to specific details about who is responsible, who got killed first, what led to war, why Okinawa became the battlefield in the first place, and, most saliently, perhaps, how likely it is that Okinawans might be involved in another war, given the presence of the US bases. Ongoing controversy over the meaning of Peace Memorial Museum highlights this point: no critical inferences – whether in relation to the US bases or Japanese foreign policy – can be drawn from the memorialization and commemoration themselves.

The ‘Peace Memorial Museum’ debate Several months into the new prefectural government’s inauguration, Okinawan Governor Inamine Keiichi and two Deputy Governors ordered the manufacturers to remove and change a significant number of historical materials prepared for display at the new opening of the Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum, ¯ ta administration. Originally, planned for March 2000, a project inherited from the O the local supervisory committee, responsible for the Museum display contents

The Battle of Okinawa 49 included dioramas of a Japanese soldier directing a rifle at an Okinawan family in a cave, and of a soldier forcing a wounded resident to drink poisoned milk to commit suicide. The rifle was removed from the soldier’s hands, and the soldier with milk entirely disappeared. Also, captions that specifically indicated the aggression of the Japanese military towards civilians were changed, for example, from ‘an old woman slaughtered by the Japanese military’ to ‘an old female casualty’ (Okinawa Taimusu, Evening Edition 3 October 1999). The Okinawan dispute over the 1999 Peace Museum issue is often discussed in the context of ongoing controversies in Japan. These include the justification of war through glorifying self-sacrifice and death, and the denial of Japanese aggression and atrocity directed at civilians (Angst 1997, Figal 2001, Hein and Selden 2000, Yonetani 2000b). Since 1996, some highly ranked Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) members have shown their commitment to the ‘revisionist history’ movement, which criticizes descriptions of the wrongs committed by the Japanese state and military, labelling them ‘prejudiced’ and ‘masochistic’ (See McCormack 2000).25 Nakakita refers to the ‘Peace Memorial Museum’ controversy in Okinawa in the context of a ‘national’ debate, to do with the ‘historical revisionist’ movement (Nakakita 2000: 234). Within the framework of a nationwide controversy, the Okinawan Peace Museum issue tends to be represented as a sideshow to the larger dramas of mainland Japan. In Okinawa, the background, not surprisingly, was quite different. That is to say, the Museum debate took place against the backdrop of the planned construction of a new US military base on the east coast of Nago. The protest against Inamine’s censoring of museum displays was, at the same time, a protest against his policy ¯ ta to ‘butter up’ the Japanese government and the LDP. Elected in place of O Masahide in November 1998, the priority of Governor Inamine and his administration, supported by the LDP, clearly had been to keep the economic link with the mainland Japanese intact. In April 1999, Prime Minister Obuchi Keizo, to everyone’s surprise, selected Okinawa and Kyushu as the host of the G8 Summit Meeting in 2000. Nago City was also chosen to host the Summit’s main venue. As had been announced by the US and Japan, Nago was the preferred relocation site of the Futenma air base governments decided to close. This selection was understood as a scheme of the Japanese government to humour the Okinawans and the prefectural government into accepting the relocation. It was suitably veneered with the rhetoric of Obuchi’s ‘passionate compassion’ towards Okinawa. Consequently in December 1999, Nago mayor Kishimoto officially accepted the heliport construction in Nago (see Chapter 8). Thus, Okinawa was expecting a rush of visitors from overseas and mainland Japan, before and after the Summit (Okinawa Taimusu 7 October 1999). Because of this timing, Governor Inamine admitted to have ‘communicated his concern’ with the exhibitions of cruelty and aggression on civilians that he thought could be interpreted as ‘anti-Japanese’. However, he denied having given direct orders to change the contents of the Museum display (Okinawa Taimusu 6 October 1999). Okamato comments that the Museum issue was a consequence of Okinawa’s long-term, continuous dependence for economic survival on public works provided

50 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa by the central government (dialogue with Yakabi in Okamato and Yakabi 2000: 20). The Governor and Deputies’ alleged alterations to the museum exhibits challenged the historical consciousness of Okinawans, who expect proper representation of residents’ experiences in the Battle. And this issue is fundamental, for Okinawan consciousness of the Japanese military’s past aggression and cruelty towards its own citizens underpins general opposition to war-related activities, and Okinawa’s unique ‘absolute pacifism’. The Museum issue significantly tested the Okinawan-specific historical consciousness. The Museum issue also revealed, however, that some Okinawans were willing to ‘adjust’ this ‘Okinawan spirit’ to render it inoffensive to the Japanese government and to protect material and economic interests. The Okinawan prefectural government’s secret alterations of the Museum displays demonstrated that ‘peace’ can be presented from a quite conservative political orientation (Ishihara 2000, Yonetani 2000b). Governor Inamine stressed that there were a number of valid ways in which the reality of war can be perceived, interpreted, or represented, including ways that do not offend the general Japanese public and the LDP. Those favouring a more flexible understanding of peace stressed the need to project an image of Okinawa as ‘positive and bright’ (Yonetani 2000b: 158, 163), that is, as a tourist and investment attraction. The ‘Okinawan spirit for peace’, originating in the ‘“Golden Age of Trade” (from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century) when men from the tiny Kingdom of Ryu¯kyu¯ travelled without weapons, armed only with words, consideration, and good nature’ (Figal 2001: 41–2), could be reduced to nothing more than a catch phrase to advertise Okinawa as an appealing destination. It could be reduced to a ‘spirit of muteness’ afraid to criticize the current state’s security policy. This internal dispute indicates the structural changes that have taken place in Okinawa since reversion in 1972, now that the population born after the reversion outnumbers the war survivors (Okamato and Yakabi 2000: 20). Living emotional connections to memories of the Battle count for a lot. It must be said, however, that the Museum issue caused a prolonged internal dispute to do with changing attitudes towards war among the Okinawan population. Yakabi points out that there were more than fifty articles on the Okinawan Peace Memorial Museum controversy in the two local newspapers in Okinawa. This indicates the significance with which the Okinawans regarded this issue. By contrast, there were only a few in the mainland Japanese media (Yakabi 1999: 18). Iha Yo¯ ichi, a member of the Okinawan Prefectural Assembly and mayor of Ginowan City since 2003, spearheaded the accusations against the Inamine administration by making critical statements in the Assembly. Iha was a member of Yui no Kai, made up of three Assembly members not affiliated to political parties. On the second day of the Assembly Meeting on 4 October, the opposition parties (the Japan Communist Party, the Japan Social Democratic Party, Ko¯meito¯, and the Okinawa Socialist Mass Party, Yui no Kai and other independent members) boycotted the meeting in protest against Inamine’s ‘false’ explanations concerning the alteration of the Museum displays made to the Assembly earlier. Inamine finally admitted, apologized for, and disclosed the content of the

The Battle of Okinawa 51 alterations and the way in which they were made (Okinawa Taimusu, 6 October 1999). Apart from the collective boycott at the Prefectural Assembly, local political parties (JCP, JSDP, Ko¯meito¯, OSMP), workers’ unions (such as Kenshokuro¯, the Okinawa Peace Centre), and other peace organizations (including the Historical Film Society and the Okinawa Peace Network) also engaged in protest activities. Importantly, these organizations acted separately, not in a prefecture-wide coalition. A member of the Okinawan Women Act against Military and Violence recalled: When the Museum opened in April, we held a protest rally in front of the Prefectural Hall. Other organizations (for example, the Okinawa Peace Centre) did the same, but on their own. Organizations in Okinawa, in general, do not mingle with each other. They protest on their own, separately, according to their own schedule. (Interview, March 2002) Even though the Museum issue was intertwined with the base issue, however, a unified protest was not staged by a unified coalition that formally addressed both issues. Nor did the Museum debate become a political opportunity to turn the base relocation issue around. The protest action at the Prefectural Assembly, and the controversy itself, demonstrated that the ‘Okinawan spirit for peace’ was at least shared among different groups and organizations in the community of protest against militarism in Okinawa. However, the unanimous opposition across the community of protest to Governor Inamine’s alteration of the Peace Museum displays did not translate into a united campaign against the Futenma relocation to Nago involving wider Okinawan society. Inamine was re-elected as Governor in 2002 despite the Museum blunder that upset the community.

Conclusion: ‘absolute pacifism’ and the myth of an Okinawan struggle This chapter has examined the Battle of Okinawa and the activities of citizen groups and organizations committed to representing the war experiences from the perspective of local residents’ experiences. Of particular importance is the connection between the acts of representing local residents’ war experiences on the one hand, and political opposition to the contemporary military presence in Okinawa on the other. The discussion has pointed out the problems inherent in this connection. Firstly, interpretations of Okinawans’ past experiences in the war are susceptible to censorship and adjustment, depending on the political climate. Part of the aim of the Okinawa Peace Network peace guides has been to oppose the glorification of death and sacrifice in wars. The debate over the Peace Memorial Museum in 1999 has demonstrated that the Okinawan-specific commitment to ‘peace’ can be articulated in ways which avoid critical reflection on the state and the US and Japanese military presence. Emphasis placed on commemorating victims as heroes

52 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa in the war can also work to obscure crucial historical issues, such as the emperor’s responsibility, colonial subjugation of Okinawa by Japan, Okinawa’s economic dependency, and the danger of the continuing presence of the US forces for Okinawan citizens. In order to oppose war seriously in the contemporary context, past responsibilities of the state and the military for causing unnecessary deaths need to be constantly acknowledged. They are often suppressed in public commemorations of the Battle of Okinawa. The other important question is this: can ‘absolute pacifism’ itself be an effective vehicle of protest against the bases? The person who most clearly articulates this point is, again, the activist and historian Arasaki Moriteru. He urges that Okinawans should revisit the Battle of Okinawa because it is a method of anti-base struggle, ‘though it may sound like a simplification and may create misunderstanding’ (Arasaki 1994: 17). However, Arasaki is still hesitant here about directly identifying the two struggles. This hesitation, perhaps shared in the community of protest, reflects the feeling that the activities of commemorating Okinawans’ loss in the Battle of Okinawa has not necessarily been successfully represented or understood publicly as opposition to the US military bases. This hesitation is in fact necessary for keeping the war experience at the heart of the historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization. The connection between the past experience and the present anti-war struggle is implicit in the activities of the citizens’ groups – and an important element of the myth of a unified struggle of the Okinawan people. Thus one commentator has observed: At least in Okinawan public discourse, to engage in the history and memorialization of the battle is – whether intended or not – to engage in (the politics of) peace promotion. These politics inevitably raise the issue of US bases regardless of one’s position on them . . . And this in turn has everything to do with past, present and future relations between Okinawa and the central Japanese government that has presided over a history of invasion, annexation, subordination, devastation and occupation of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands. (Figal 2001: 65) The link between the past and present is left to the audience of a peace tour to figure out, which is, perhaps, more effective than relying on didactic political slogans. Peace guides, citizens’ groups, and concerned individuals are doing what they can, using the informal and personal connections to keep the memory of this experience alive. As a result, the legacy of the Battle of Okinawa and the ideology of ‘absolute pacifism’ as a contemporary protest frame are widely shared in the community of protest, if not in the entire Okinawan society. The unique Okinawan brand of pacifism remains inseparable from the protest against the continuing presence of the military bases in the island.

5

The first wave Opposition to US military land acquisition

Introduction Barely ten years after the Battle of Okinawa, the US military threatened residents’ livelihoods yet again with bulldozers, tanks, and soldiers. Their forceful confiscation of privately owned properties for military base construction and training was added to the Okinawan historical narrative of marginalization. Local residents started to organize protest actions against the US military, and this gave rise to what Arasaki describes as the first-wave ‘Okinawa Struggle’. This cycle of protest is popularly known as the ‘all-island struggle’ (shimagurumi to¯so¯). It has been constantly recalled as the earliest, and perhaps the most powerful, evidence of the locals’ ability to wage collective action against the authorities. The ‘first-wave’ postwar Okinawa Struggle has been a source of inspiration and pride for the local tradition of grassroots political activism. In the immediate postwar period, workers, teachers, and landowners started to form political organizations, many of which are still active. Most local political parties were also born in this period. Of those involved, farmers were the most desperate protest actors but the goals of protest remained diverse. Initially this did not hinder the development of a wide sense of unity but the unity proved to be both temporary and fragile and the anti-US coalition soon collapsed. That said, the unity and power demonstrated by this island-wide mass protest against US land policy was, perhaps, most influential in helping to create what I have called the myth of a united struggle of the Okinawan people. This chapter responds to a number of questions: What were the main differences among the protest actors? What explained the fragility of the all-island coalition? What made the temporary unity possible? This chapter examines different protest actors, their social bases, strategies, priorities, and how they came to form a coalition for one struggle. As was often the case in Okinawa’s community of protest, multiple struggles occurred simultaneously in different geographical locations. One of the most famous of these is the farmers’ struggle in Ie Island (Ie-jima), a legendary struggle against forced US land acquisition, but it was one of many local struggles. The Ie-jima struggle, however, represents what is common to many Okinawan struggles – anti-militarism based on absolute pacifism and non-violent disobedience. The

54 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Ie-jima farmers demonstrated the Okinawans’ capacity for collective action and for making political demands. Their legend continues to nourish diverse protest actors in Okinawa. Many other local political organizations committed to opposing the authoritarian US military administration surfaced alongside Ie-jima. These included political parties, workers’ unions, landowners’ organization, and teachers’ organizations, and the growth of the campaign for reversion. All of this went into the making of the ‘first wave’ island-wide mass protest, and the building of a temporary coalition among protest organizations against the draconian US land policy. This chapter analyses the implications of the land struggle, for the idea of a ‘movement’ of a unified ‘Okinawans’.

Postwar US occupation Ie-jima is a small island (23 square kilometres) located only 9 kilometres northwest of Okinawa Island. Ahagon Sho¯ko¯, the most influential organizer of the Ie-jima struggle, died in May 2002 at 101 years of age having been born in 1901 in Motobu village on Okinawa Main Island. Ahagon was a farmer, but not by any means a typical peasant figure. He became a Christian at 17 but the life of a farmer did not appeal to him and he wanted an education. His family, however, did not have the money to send him to school. In the period when many Okinawans were encouraged by the government to migrate overseas after the ‘palm-tree hell’, Ahagon spent ten years in Cuba and Peru, still hoping to make money to study one day. He was finally able to return at the age of 32, moved to Ie-jima, started a small community shop, and bought a block of farmland in the Maja hamlet/district of Ie-jima – becoming a farmer after all. Ie-jima was among the most severely war-damaged areas in the Battle of Okinawa when the US Forces conducted some of the bloodiest raids. These raids killed about 1,500 villagers out of a population of 7,500, including Ahagon’s only son whom he dearly loved and looked forward to cultivating his family farm with. The hundred households in the Maja district were reduced to 75 and the Maja villagers were moved around many times by the US forces to other islands, not returning to their homes until March 1947. At that point, the residents tried to put the past behind and concentrate on farming (Ahagon 1973: 16–17). During the Battle of Okinawa, the US military evacuated local civilians in makeshift tents, away from their homes.1 In the aftermath of the Battle, confusion, chaos, and depravation ruled immediate postwar life in the islands across Okinawa, Amami, Yaeyama, and Miyako. Okinawa was outside the US trusteeship for Micronesia passed by the United Nations in 1947 and, as the result of Japan’s defeat, lacked clear definition in terms of international law. Negotiation for a peace treaty started early but it was a lengthy process.2 From July 1947, a division of the US Army which called itself RYCOM or the Ryu¯kyu¯ Command took over civil administration. The US military at this stage regarded Okinawans as ‘the enemy’ (Warner 1995: 47), and seized land was considered American property.3 The US

The first wave 55 military basically viewed land in Okinawa as justly acquired by the sacrifice and casualties of American youth in the Battle of Okinawa. While residents and those who returned from mainland Japan were accommodated in internment camps, the US military occupied 45,000 acres of land for base construction. The area chosen was mostly farmlands, for the military required flat, open land surfaces, which were relatively scarce on Okinawa Main Island. In the central region of Okinawa Island huge land tracts were enclosed by barbed wire fences and many residents never returned to their original homes (Arasaki 1995: 23). Ie-jima was out of this region but was one of the areas targeted by the US because of its relatively flat land surface – suitable for shooting ranges and airfields. In Ie-jima, Ahagon recalled that the farmers were so naive and ignorant that they believed that, if they co-operated with the US military, the Americans would help the villagers recover from the war. Maja farmers were first glad it was the Americans, not the Japanese, who won the war. The Japanese soldiers had treated Ie-jima residents with contempt, killed them, and subjected them to harsh labour during the war. ‘We thought of American democracy and Lincoln, and met with the US delegates in Ie-jima who seemed much more generous and civilised than what they had been told about the Americans before the war’ (Ahagon 1973: 21). In August 1948, RYCOM set up four locally elected legislatures and executive institutions and governors, representing each gunto¯ (groups of islands) of the Okinawa, Yaeyama, Amami, and Miyako region (see Maps B and C). This was a move to prevent the locals’ discontent and limit growing communist influence, which was already prevalent (Miyazato 2000: 32–5). At the same time, RYCOM acted to limit further the civil and political rights of the residents and restricted their activities. A draconian criminal law was introduced. This restricted freedom of publications, travel, and any organized political activities. Navy commander Watkins famously compared the Okinawan local autonomy to that of a mouse, free only to the extent that the cat (the US military government) allows (Kano 1987: 69).4 When the Army took over from the Navy, US control over Okinawa was further upgraded. The US authorities defended the legitimacy of the acquisition of land that belonged to the locals by stressing the strategic importance of Okinawa’s location for defending regional security against the communist bloc.5 By 1949, a consensus was reached within the US government on the vital importance of Okinawa as a US security outpost, should Cold War hostilities escalate (Eldridge 2001: 233). As the Cold War took clearer shape with the 1949 revolution and establishment of the People’s Republic of China, the US State Department and Congress approved the allocation of a $58 million US federal budget for base construction on Okinawa (Dower 1971: 193). From the newly constructed US bases in Okinawa, B-29s were already raiding North Korea, contributing to the Korean War that started in 1950 (Miyazato 2000: 49). Initially, no compensation was paid to Okinawan landowners for their extensive land losses. As of 15 December 1950, the military government changed its name to the US Civil Administration of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands (USCAR) and in April 1952 USCAR created a local executive administration,6 the Government of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands

56 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa – GRI (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Gyo¯ seifu) – with Chief Executives directly appointed by the USCAR. The elected Parliament (Rippo¯-in) and the Judicial Branch, and the GRI constituted the central government representing the Okinawan residents. Their power, however, was subject to USCAR veto. In fact, the local government’s function was limited to rubber-stamping US military directives, proclamations, and ordinances (Miyazato 2000: 63–5, Warner, 1995: 87). Centralization also brought with it the abolition of the elected gunto¯ governments.

Birth of new political organizations Political parties The creation of a civil administration and elective offices, no matter how hamstrung, created new opportunities for political engagement. The activity which this engendered is briefly surveyed in this section. Amidst ruin left by the war, evacuated Okinawans were living in tents in internment camps under US curfew, and surviving on rationed food distributed by the US forces. Stealing US military goods and prostitution provided common means of survival. Nevertheless, a handful of locals – mostly young males – started to form political parties. Their immediate concern was securing food and subsistence, but the basic motivation was a deep concern about the delay of broader postwar recovery, economic and social. This concern was sharpened by comparison with rapid recovery in Japan.7 These early organizers believed that the best way forward would involve obtaining autonomy and political representation under US control. The first of these political parties, the Yaeyama Labour Party, was formed in the Yaeyama region. On the Okinawan Main Island, the Okinawa Democratic League was formed in 1947, followed by the Okinawa People’s Party (OPP, Jinminto¯) and the Okinawa Socialist Party.8 The founding members of OPP were employees who worked for a local newspaper, Uruma Shimpo¯, which was initially funded by the US military. Ideological orientations within the OPP members varied significantly. It was only later that they became strongly influenced by Marxist– Leninist ideas and links with the Japan Communist Party (JCP), and would become the major target of US suppression. Its party members were mainly skilled and unskilled workers (many of them worked for the US administration and military), farmers, and business owners. It is important to note that, contrary to the later enthusiasm for reversion, the local political parties did not give priority to Okinawans’ return to Japan in the immediate postwar years. Indeed, initially the OPP welcomed the US military rule as an opportunity to free Okinawa from Japan.9 At the OPP commencement ceremony, the Party expressed its gratitude to the US military, and described it as a ‘liberating force’ (Nakano 1969: 64). Other local political parties, including the Okinawa Democratic League, the Okinawa Socialist Party, and the Miyako Socialist Party in Miyako Island, also supported Okinawa’s independence from Japan, favouring a future as a republic under the guardianship of the US or UN trusteeship (Oguma 1998: 483–9).

The first wave 57 Another major local political party, the Okinawa Socialist Mass Party (Okinawa Shakai Taishu¯to¯ OSMP), was established in October 1950. The Party’s chairman was Taira Tatsuo, who had also been elected the first Governor of Okinawa Gunto¯. The Party first started as an English study group consisting of elite Okinawan males who had graduated from Tokyo University. The members formed a new party, based on socialism but not class-based, to avoid hostility from the US military administration. The Okinawa Democratic League basically represented the conservative establishment of Okinawa, which gave priority to co-operating with the US administration and protecting its economic interests. The Democratic League was defeated severely by the OSMP in the election for Okinawa Gunto¯ Governor. It briefly changed its name to the Republican Party in 1950, under the leadership of Nakasone Genwa, who advocated for Okinawa’s independence. In 1952, US-appointed GRI Chief Executive Higa Shu¯hei defected from the OSMP, and established the Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party (Ryu¯kyu¯ Minshuto¯) in August 1952, which grew as a pro-US, conservative party. Schoolteachers’ union Okinawan schoolteachers also became politically active, forming teachers’ unions. Also, by the late 1940s, more than eighty local assembly members were teachers. The US military government placed extremely low priority on the education of Okinawan children (Warner 1995: 52). Destroyed in the Battle, there were almost no school buildings, books, and other essential materials such as paper and pencils. Teachers gathered children on the beaches and taught by writing on the sand, under the trees, and in the tents and barracks provided by the US military. Old textbooks were picked up from bomb shelters in the battlefields (Yara 1968: 16). The major difference between schoolteachers and the political parties related to the question of Japan. School teachers, in other words, formed the central force that led the campaign for reversion. From the first, the teachers continued the prewar nationalist educational emphasis on the development of Okinawan pupils as Japanese citizens. The teachers’ enthusiasm for reversion was also helped by their will to improve their working conditions to the level of mainland Japanese educators. As early as 1951, the Okinawan Principals’ Organization (Ko¯cho¯kai) resolved at one of its meetings to request Okinawa’s reversion to Japan. One of the principals present read a Ryu¯kyu¯an poem that received a standing ovation: ‘Mushika America, nuchikandon ariba, uchina mangatami / yamato watara’ (‘If America does not listen to our request, let’s carry Okinawa on our shoulders and move across to yamato’) (Yara 1968: 28). Significantly, too, the teachers were the main promoters of cultural integration with Japan, expressed in the form of cultural assimilation. Yara Cho¯byo¯, a former chemistry teacher, was a pioneer of the reconstruction of education in postwar Okinawa, and Chair of the Okinawa Teachers’ Association (OTA), formed in 1952. Yara, Kyan Shinei, and other members who travelled to the mainland for ‘educational field trips’ stressed how ‘rapidly the education system

58 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa was changing in mainland Japan, and that Okinawa is lagging behind’ (Yara 1968: 27). Local principals and the Okinawa Gunto¯ government Educational Section jointly requested USCAR to permit Okinawan teachers’ travel to participate in training programmes in the mainland (Yara 1968: 26–7). Yara and his OTA colleagues thus came to be regarded as the main instigators of the reversion movement on the education front. This allowed them to mobilize schoolchildren and parents for their reversion campaign. Workers As the US military accelerated construction of their bases in Okinawa, local unskilled workers started to organize political action. The construction companies, about half of which were from mainland Japan, employed local labour and workers from Amami Island, who migrated in search of jobs. Exploitation of local labour was essential to the speedy construction of US military bases and the conditions under which they worked were appalling. More than 250 workers at a time were accommodated in big buildings, which were described as ‘pigsties’ (butagoya) by the locals. The barracks were built directly on the ground without floorboards, and had leaky roofs and no basic facilities such as toilets (Nagumo 1996: 30, Senaga 1959: 244). Workers were nevertheless charged for accommodation, food, and maid services.10 They received extremely low wages after these deductions and these were often suspended arbitrarily. Indeed, their pay was frequently less than what was needed to sustain a living. Local Okinawan workers employed on bases also worked long hours and their workloads were extremely demanding. In 1948, local waterside workers organized strike action at the Naha Military Port, because of the demanding labour and low pay. In response, RYCOM closed the community grocery stores and threatened to stop the residents’ food rations, which worsened already serious material shortages. But the food ration incident had a predictably perverse effect: the demand for autonomy and protest activities against the US authorities dramatically increased. The OPP played a very active role here, organizing collective action, using speeches and small meetings in villages and towns across Okinawa to mobilize opposition to the food restrictions (Okinawa Henkan Do¯mei 1969: 67). In 1952 and 1953, road workers and construction workers went on a series of strikes, demanding improvement of basic conditions such as decent accommodation and payment of suspended wages. In June 1952 local road workers staged a strike against the Nihon Road Company (Nihon Doro Gaisha), a subsidiary company of the Shimizu Construction Company (Shimizu Kensetsu). They engaged in another strike for similar reason in1953 at a macadamization site in Motobu, a northwest village in Okinawa Island (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 65). As soon as the strikes were publicized in newspapers, the issue of labour exploitation attracted strong empathy from the Okinawan public. Thus, one journalist noted: In public places, such as public baths, barbershops and pubs, people discussed the conditions of the workers: ‘They are treated like domestic animals’, ‘How

The first wave 59 much money do they make, I wonder?’ ‘There are no toilets and at night they can’t sleep because of the mosquitoes’, ‘We must save the workers from the pigsty!’, ‘Let the workers breathe fresh air!’ (Senaga 1959: 246–7) The construction companies took advantage of Okinawan workers who were unprotected by labour laws. The Okinawan workers rightly attributed their predicament to the non-existence of legal means to protect themselves (Nakachi 1989: 68). On Okinawa’s first May Day celebration in 1952, the participants issued a statement requesting immediate reversion to Japan, as well as legislation to protect basic labour rights (Oguma 1998: 502–6). If they became ‘Japanese’ the Okinawan workers could receive more than twice as much pay than they did as Okinawans. The OPP and OSMP members of Parliament commenced the campaign for basic labour legislation. In November 1952, despite a USCAR warning, the Parliament passed bills to establish three labour-related laws, namely the Labour Union Law, the Labour Standard Law, and the Labour Relations Regulations Law. These laws, in mainland Japan, had been implemented by SCAP as part of postwar social reform during the occupation. The protagonists argued that the Okinawans deserved the same rights as the mainland Japanese to form labour unions and to bargain collectively.11 In response to the growing demand for labour rights, USCAR issued Ordinance No. 116, which stipulated that the three labour laws that were passed by Parliament would not apply to workers employed by the military bases. Moreover, Ordinance No. 145 made it an obligation to obtain permission from USCAR to form a union and obtain recognition for the union executives. The abolition of these ordinances became one of the most important goals of the workers, especially, of course, the Okinawan workers employed by the US bases. The labour movement grew to become the most active political sector in 1950s Okinawa, and the organizations that emerged from the workers’ struggle spread all over Okinawa.12 Landowners In central Okinawa, where the US land confiscation was most common, landowners who lost their land began to organize political action to demand rent. The first request to the US military to pay rent to landowners was made by newly formed local political parties, the Okinawa Democratic League and the Okinawa People’s Party (Uruma Shinpo¯, 11 May 1950). In November 1951, a landowner, Kuwae Cho¯ko¯ (who was also a founder of the Okinawa Democratic League), placed an advertisement in the Okinawa Taimusu to call for the establishment of a landowners’ organization for all Okinawan landowners (Okinawa Taimususha 1997: 206). A land committee was set up in each village on the Rippo¯-in’s (the Parliament’s) suggestion, to represent the interests of the landowners of properties taken by the US military. In June 1953, these land committees all over Okinawa integrated into one interest group, Tochiren (Tochi Rengokai, the Landowners’ Union). The aim of Tochiren was ‘an amicable settlement of the land dispute’ (Hiyane 1982: 267–8).

60 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa It represented the landowners’ interests, and became the central force of the islandwide coalition for the land struggle in the 1950s. It has continued to represent landowners to the present, from the perspective of securing existing landowners’ rent incomes. Unsurprisingly, Tochiren has been a conservative, economic-oriented organization. Despite this, any objections to US land policies were labelled ‘communist’ and provided the US administration with excuses for persecution. For this reason, the members of the Parliament and Tochiren limited their strategies to the refusal of lump sum payments and the protection of minimal land rights. Apart from the case made by the OPP, mainstream discourses of the land struggle in the early 1950s avoided criticizing the existence of US military bases in Okinawa or the US–Japan security alliance.

The San Francisco Treaty and emergence of the reversion campaign Okinawa’s uncertain status as a territory, part of neither Japan nor the US – and its future as a nation – gradually became a major topic of Okinawan public debate. It is important to note at the outset that local perspectives on desirable paths for Okinawa were deeply divided. For example, the conservative Okinawan Democratic League members, who advocated independence, expected US patronage for economic benefits. On the other hand, schoolteachers, as indicated above, were the strongest advocates for Okinawa’s return to Japan from early on. In February 1950, Senaga Kamejiro¯, Chair of the OPP, articulated his party’s aims for ‘racial self-determination’ and democracy, and argued that ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ans’13 were Japanese, and they should return to Japan (Okinawa Jinminto 1985 in Nakachi 1996: 34). However, it was the Okinawa Socialist Mass Party (OSMP) that most vocally appealed to the reversion supporters, in particular, to the schoolteachers (Nakano 1969: 36).14 From its foundation in 1950, the OSMP stressed Okinawa’s reversion to Japan as the most important goal. Hiyane points out that the US administration was inherently vulnerable to legitimacy crisis in ruling people who were culturally, economically, and socially foreign (Hiyane 1982: 281). The US administration applied a ‘cultural policy’ to discourage Okinawans’ attachment to Japan and revived the premodern title ‘Ryu¯kyu¯’ instead of ‘Okinawa’. It promoted traditional Ryu¯kyu¯an culture, such as local cloth-making, theatre arts, and pottery, through publication of community journals such as Konnichi no Ryu¯kyu¯ (Ryu¯kyu¯ Today) and Shurei no Hikari (Beam of Politeness) (Kano 1987: 176). The journals, however, reveal only the thinnest commitment to traditional ‘Ryu¯kyu¯an’ culture and are transparently vehicles for the dissemination of US propaganda.15 Although they were reasonably popular, they clearly failed from the point of view of discouraging and containing political demands for reversion to Japan.16 The US authorities were aware of the connection between the JCP and the OPP.17 The Okinawa Taimusu editorial noted that the impromptu speeches of the OPP members held all over the island in various local communities had been extremely popular: the audience responded with clapping and cheering the OPP

The first wave 61 members’ speech attacking the US military’s authoritarian rule, ‘saying what the people dare not express in words’ (Okinawa Taimusu date unspecified 1954 cited in American Consular Unit 1955: 1). However, public support for the OPP grew weaker as the US authorities made ‘abundantly clear that support of the OPP would entail the displeasure of the American authorities and consequent economic losses for the people or communities involved’ (American Consular Unit 1955: 1).18 The option of Okinawa’s independence came to be interpreted as a ‘mistake’ by those who were more critical of the US military administration, such as the OPP and OSMP, landowners, teachers, and workers (Arasaki 1976: 38). In February 1951, the Okinawa Gunto¯ Assembly held a meeting specifically on the Okinawans’ future. The pro-US conservative Republican Party spoke for independence, the Socialist Party for a US trusteeship, and the OPP and the OSMP argued for reversion to Japan. In March, the Assembly made a resolution by majority expressing agreement on the members’ collective will for reversion (Nakano 1969: 70). In April 1951, the OPP and OSMP formed a coalition for reversion, the Preparatory Council for Promoting Reversion (Nihon Fukki Sokushin Kiseikai) aiming specifically to collect signatures from adult Okinawans supporting reversion to Japan. Taira Tatsuo, the OSMP Chair and Okinawa Gunto¯ Governor, was the leader of this project. He depended on the younger OPP and OSMP members, public servants who worked for the Gunto¯ administration, and community youth groups (seinenkai) to collect signatures by door-knocking day and night. The collected signatures totalled 276,677, about 72.1 per cent of the Okinawan adult population (To¯yama 1987: 394–5). On September 1951, the Gunto¯ Assembly sent the list of signatures to the San Francisco Peace Conference, addressed to US Ambassador Dulles and Prime Minister Yoshida (Nakano 1969: 72). The petition did not affect the Treaty. However, it highlighted the massive popularity of reversion as a future option among the general population, over ‘independence’ and ‘trusteeship’ (To¯ yama 1987: 395). The labour-intensive work of collecting signatures was established as one of the most enduring strategies in the Okinawan repertoire of collective action. The 1951 San Francisco Conference did result in a Peace Treaty affirming the US ‘right to exercise all and any powers of administration, legislation and jurisdiction over the territory and inhabitants of these islands’, while recognizing Japan’s ‘residual sovereignty’. The Treaty came into effect on 28 April 1952. The US–Japan Security Treaty, signed simultaneously with the peace treaty, assured the rights of the US forces ‘to be stationed all the time in and about Japan’, ‘to contribute to the security of Japan against armed attack from without (Article 1, US–Japan Security Treaty)’.19 President Eisenhower proclaimed in his State of the Union Message, ‘The Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands will be held for an indefinite period’ (Warner 1995: 96). Thus, Okinawa was separated formally and indefinitely from Japan. Alongside the growth of the Okinawans’ campaign for reversion, US President Eisenhower issued Executive Order 10713, which introduced the post of High Commissioner in the Ryu¯kyu¯s, starting with Major General James Moore in July 1957 (Nakachi 1989: 93). Until 1972, six High Commissioners were successively

62 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa granted virtually unlimited rights over the administration of Okinawa. They were, for example, empowered to ‘force elected officials from office, block G.R.I. legislation, and overrule the judgments of its courts’ (Rabson 1989: 16). The aim of this order was to confine to one person the power to make decisions on any kind of military, legislative, judiciary system and administrative affairs.20 The severance of Okinawa from Japan on 28 April 1952 was another important episode in the historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization. The most important losses, as identified and stressed by the community of protest, included the exclusion of Okinawa from the entitlement to constitutional democracy, freedom of expression, local autonomy, gender equality, protection of basic human rights, and the renunciation of war, as stipulated in the new Japanese Constitution. Okinawans were placed outside the ‘peace clause’ of the new Constitution that renounced ‘war as a sovereign right of the nation’ for ever (Article 9).21 The Japanese public supported the peace clause of the Constitution as a result of their experience of hardship during and after the War, but the outcomes secured in San Francisco on 28 April reminded Okinawans (among the most devastatingly damaged and exhausted by the war) that they were excluded from enjoying a ‘positive’ postwar change. In addition, Okinawa Main Island was surrounded by military bases and military officers controlled every aspect of life. Just as in war, the islanders were still surrounded by US bombs, artillery, shooting ranges, military vehicles, warships, and aeroplanes, and manpower training for further killing. In January 1953, OTA formed the Okinawa Islands Reversion to the Okinawan Islands Home Country Preparatory Council (Okinawashoto¯ Sokoku Fukki Kiseikai), together with the Youth Group Council, the Parents’ Association, and the Women’s Association. The Council declined membership of the pro-reversion political parties, especially the OPP, in order to avoid being recognized as a political movement by the US authorities. The Association’s strategy was not to offend the US administration by avoiding ideological association with the OPP (Oguma 1998: 560–1). Indeed, the teachers involved in the reversion movement were mainly driven by educational concerns. The only vaguely ideological view expressed by the teachers was their frequent argument that the Okinawans were originally Japanese, and that they should have the right to be educated as Japanese. Even then, the Preparatory Council could not sustain their activities under the draconian US policies against any activities connected to the reversion movement. The US authorities rejected Yara’s passport application to travel to Japan in 1954, preventing him from going to the mainland to collect school reconstruction aid and paralysing the Preparatory Council.

The Ie-jima farmers’ struggle As of 1952, the USCAR realized the need to establish private land lease contracts when Okinawa ceased to be occupied territory, and after the US administration of Okinawa was formalized by the San Francisco Treaty (Arasaki 1995: 27). The amount to be offered to all the landowners together was $600,000 for the duration

The first wave 63 of twenty years. An individual landowner would receive less than ¥2 per year for 3.3 square metres of land or ¥200–300 per year for average-sized landholdings. At the time, a box of cigarettes cost ¥23 and a bottle of Coca-Cola cost ¥10. Not surprisingly, 98 per cent of the landowners refused to sign leases (To¯yama 1987: 360; Okinawaken 1996: 62). In response, the USCAR issued Ordinance 109 on land acquisition in April 1953. This provision legitimized the military acquisition of land within 30 days of notification and basically amounted to legalized theft. On the basis of this Ordinance, the US military conducted further land expropriation. The US military did not hesitate to use force against resistant landowners to obtain de facto land access. Within ten days of the issue of Ordinance 109, armed soldiers ‘invaded’and flattened farmlands and houses in Central Okinawan hamlets such as Aja, Mekaru, and Gushi, using tanks, bulldozers and tear gas. These villages had not yet completely recovered from the devastation of the Battle of Okinawa, and the local farmers were trying to reconstruct their livelihoods with what was left after the war. In the longer term and within the larger community of protest, images of US military bulldozers and soldiers armed with firearms and bayonets became durable memories burdened with enormous symbolic significance. ‘Bulldozers and bayonets’ became a protest slogan and the helpless farmers at their mercy became a potent symbol in the Okinawan’s historical narrative of marginalization. In Ie-jima, the US military took full advantage of the isolation and ignorance of the farmers. In July 1953, a US inspector first came to Ie-jima with documents he presented as survey forms. Later the farmers found that they had signed contract documents for evacuation. A US missile practice range was built, and the US Forces told them that the evacuees (of four households at the time) would receive plenty of compensation and could continue normal farming. However, the amount of compensation was startlingly low. As elsewhere in Okinawa, the amount paid by the US was only 2–3 per cent of the average revenue gained from growing crops (Arasaki 1995: 56). As soon as the missile practice started, the farmers’ crops and fields were damaged and farming became impossible. No compensation was paid for this collateral damage. In September 1954, a US inspector announced further land acquisition and a plan to evacuate 152 households and land within a 5,000-feet radius of the planned military site where Maja and Nishizaki Districts were located. The farmers realized they had been deceived (Ahagon 1973: 23). The villagers gathered to discuss their plight. They realized, of course, that part of the problem was they had no knowledge of the unilaterally issued USCAR ordinances and decrees related to land acquisition, such as Ordinance 109. More fundamentally, for many farmers, the choice was land or death. At the meeting, everyone agreed, ‘if we are taken away from our land, we will only die like fish taken out of the water’ (Ahagon 1973: 33). A Maja farmer, Namizato Seiji, lamented that his family could not drink tea or smoke any more because the military dug a hole in the middle of his field. He said when the winter came, ‘I will stand up against the bullets’. Another villager, Chinen Kokichi, declared that the farmers could not afford to be intimidated by bullets. Otherwise entire families would starve to death. This was the tough and uncompromising

64 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa reality of shared experiences etched indelibly into collective memory and memorialized in myth. Communication with other farmers who were going through similar ordeals of land acquisition, such as in Isahama and Oroku hamlets in Okinawa Main Island, encouraged the Ie-jima farmers. They gathered, talked, and read out poems to each other about their common experiences and exchanged knowledge on how to negotiate effectively, such as writing petition letters. ‘Interacting with other farmers made us confident and more determined to hang on to our land’ (Ahagon 1973: 81–2). The Ie-jima farmers continuously negotiated with the military, USCAR, GRI, the Rippo¯-in, and Tochiren staff in Naha. Such negotiations, however, did not lead to any agreement between the US security interest and the farmers’ refusal to let their land go. After a prolonged stalemate, in March 1954, USCAR announced a plan to obtain permanent leases of the properties needed by the US Forces with lump sum rent payments made to individual private landowners at a rate arbitrarily set by the US military,22 which virtually meant purchasing permanent land leases once and for all. This announcement deeply upset the Okinawan landowners and the general public. In October 1954, about eighty farmers, the mayor and Ie village council members travelled to Naha, and made direct petitions to the US authority not to evacuate the villagers. At the negotiation table, the USCAR officers responded to the mayor’s petition by indicating that they recognized the difficulties villagers were going through, and until further clarification villagers were allowed to work on their farms as usual. The mayor told other villagers ‘the USCAR and the Air Force basically allowed us to maintain our farms and houses. Perhaps the Air Force is searching for an alternative site.’ This sounded like a triumph to the villagers (Ahagon 1973: 35–40). However, they were deceived again. Within a month, military staff visited Ie-jima for a land survey. The statement of petition the farmers sent to the US Forces had been left to languish at the GRI office, not even translated into English. Ahagon recalls, ‘local staff hardly knew anything about the Ie-jima land acquisition: obviously they were worried that their jobs were at risk if they showed any sympathy to the farmers’ (Ahagon 1973: 26). However, the farmers continued to appeal to the local GRI staff, including US-appointed Chief Executive Higa Shuhei, and elite Tochiren members, about the situation. Initially farmers across the whole of Okinawa were isolated, without connections or co-operative relations with political parties or other organizations representing common interests. The farmers themselves felt different from other Okinawans, including city-dwelling landowners, and those who worked for the US administration. At one meeting, Ahagon observed: the office workers in Naha and Tochiren landowners were all dressed in suits and ties, just like the Americans, whereas we were mostly barefoot, wore old secondhand, over-sized clothes obtained from US soldiers, and women had their hair tied with old tea towels. (Ahagon 1973: 34)

The first wave 65 GRI Chief Executive Higa advised the Ie village mayor to trust the land dispute to GRI and not to consult with any political parties, because it would complicate the problem and delay the solution (Ahagon 1973: 40). Higa’s words highlighted the already evident division between the pro-US locals and the ‘progressive’ political parties such as the OPP and OSMP. There were also significant differences among the locals’ reasons for opposing US land acquisition. Arasaki implies that the conservative Democratic Party and the core members of Tochiren, which had formed a pro-US, conservative political grouping at the time, supported the opposition to land acquisition in order to gain bargaining power against the US to maximize the amount of rent (Arasaki 1976: 137). These landowners were inclined to accept the US lump sum payment offer and military land lease that eventually destroyed the all-island coalition against land acquisition. Their main concern was to extract maximum profit by negotiating effectively with the US forces. In contrast, the OPP and OSMP members opposed land acquisition in order to block ‘the entrenchment of US colonialism in Okinawa’ (Arasaki 1976: 135). The OPP and OSMP slogan that land rights should not be given up for money appealed to the interests and sentiments of the Okinawan farmers. Despite political division and despite different motives, opposition to land acquisition by the US military was agreeable to all sectors of the Okinawan polity, including the conservatives. In April, all the Members of Parliament expressed support for ‘the four principles for land protection’: (1) no lump sum rent payment, (2) adequate compensation for the land already confiscated, (3) indemnity payments for forced land acquisition, (4) no additional land acquisition. The ‘four principles’ became a slogan of the opposition to US land policy for all political sectors, and provided a clear guideline for the residents’ demands and opposition activities. USCAR, however, refused to change its policy of lump sum payment and permanent purchase. At that point, to appeal to the mainland Japanese population, the Maja farmers wrote a letter to Japan, which addressed the Japanese as ‘Bokoku no Minasama’ (‘People in the home country’), and which was published in Asahi Shimbun, Japan’s biggest national newspaper.23 The farmers emphasized their ‘blood connection’ with the Japanese in letters, speeches, and petitions. Leaflets and pamphlets contained sentences such as ‘there is no doubt that we are Japanese. We cannot put up with iminzoku shihai (foreign domination) any more, and wish to return to Japan as soon as possible . . . We ask for support from the Japanese government to make the Americans pay back the damage we suffered . . . We deserve the same right for a peaceful life and humane treatment as the Japanese’ (quoted in Arasaki 1969: 99–101). The land struggle in Ie-jima generated a greater degree of sympathy for Okinawans’ hardship among the mainland Japanese public, which was until then almost non-existent, except from Okinawa-jin Renmei (the Okinawans’ Association).24 In mainland Japan, very little was known about the realities of the US administration in Okinawa: the Japanese government distanced itself from the matter, just as the government and the people in the US knew little about the islanders (Miyazato 1966: 91).25 For the first time since the peace treaty, a major

66 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa mainland Japanese newspaper, Asahi Shimbun, covered the US land acquisition with titles including words such as ‘bulldozers and bayonets’, ‘exploitation of Okinawan labour’, and denial of Okinawans’ basic human rights under the US military administration in a series of articles from 13 January 1955. After Asahi Shimbun requested the government to take action to protect Okinawa, many Okinawans felt they ‘gained a million supporters’, and ‘a beam of light entered in the Dark Age’ (Arasaki 1976: 139–40). The Ie-jima farmers’ letters reveal general expectations many Okinawans had of the Japanese government and the people: if Okinawa returns to Japan, Okinawans will be free from US military domination. This expectation, however, was bitterly betrayed in the course of the development of the new US–Japan security alliance. Reflecting this change in perspective towards mainland Japan in 1969, Arasaki describes the letter-writing strategy as a ‘weakness’ of the Ie-jima struggle (Arasaki 1969: 90). A few years later, however, as he acknowledges (1976: 142), the farmers and Okinawans in general felt isolated from the rest of the world under the US military authoritarian rule, and sympathy from the mainland population was the only hope. In January 1955, 15 Maja households were ordered to evacuate. Prior negotiations with the US military had significantly reduced the number of houses to be evacuated, from the initial 152 households in Maja and Nishizaki. The military shifted half of the training range from land to water, which ‘was the result of our persistent negotiation and pleading, in retrospect’ (Ahagon 1973: 66). At around 8am on 11 March 1955, three large landing vessels suddenly appeared off the east coast of Ie-jima.26 On 14 March, the bulldozers entered Maja, crushing the sweet potatoes, peanuts, sugar cane and pine trees that we had carefully grown. Our houses, furniture and water tanks, which were so crucial for survival were covered by soil. Soldiers took helpless people outside, and set some houses on fire. Namizato Seiji, the owner of one of the 13 destroyed houses, pleaded to stop in front of the bulldozers, but the soldiers beat him up, arrested him and sent him to the military prison. Soldiers took sick children outside and picked up the owners of the houses, grabbed their arms and forced them to receive some cash. (Ahagon 1973: 89–91) The US missile practice range had been built next to Maja hamlet, and the farming areas were inside the military fence (Map 5.1). Maja villagers started suwarikomi (a sit-in ‘though we did not know such a word at the time’) at corridors of the GRI office, requesting the payment of living allowances (Ahagon 1973: 98). After the local police tried to remove them, the villagers all went to the police headquarters and blocked all paths to the building. As a concession, the military allowed the farmers to work on their farm outside training hours, that is, in the early mornings, evenings, and on Sundays, and the GRI agreed to pay minimal allowances, lower than those of prisoners. While the concessions were weak, they at least registered recognition.

The first wave 67 N

Barbed wire fence 0

1 km

Map 5.1 Maja hamlet (Source: Ahagon 1989: 1, courtesy of Christian Conference of Asia)

The land the US Forces offered as a substitute was mostly unarable. A total of 75 Maja villagers’ houses and farmland, including Ahagon’s houshold, were moved to 13 tents in an open field. In the tents, residents suffered from heat, lack of drinking water, and water seeping from the ground. Famine and poisonous snakes constantly threatened the people, and 87 per cent of them became ill (Ahagon 1973: 92, 1989: 22). The military government stopped paying living allowances because the farmers kept lobbying against the land acquisition in Naha by appealing to other military landowners. Maja farmers stressed they relied on non-violent negotiations, and that they were not associated with either communism or anti-Americanism. The farmers declared a ‘Code of Regulations for Petition Activities’ on 23 November 1954 at a Maja and Nishizaki District meeting with the basic principles of non-violence and politeness: Do not be anti-American, do not be angry or criticise, do not talk too much, never lie, always be truthful, sit down when having a meeting, do not bring farming tools when having a meeting, never put your hands above your ears,

68 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa do not shout, speak calmly, negotiate according to morality and humanitarian and religious values (these are beyond US decrees and orders), never be afraid of the military, we are superior to the military people, and we should be ready to guide them to the right way, and stick to these rules to the end. (Ahagon 1973: 50–1) The farmers employed non-violent forms of protest such as pleading and begging, because they knew that as long as they did not resort to violence the military could not hurt them.27 Also, because their struggle had no supporting organizations, newspapers, or witnesses in an isolated, tiny island, there was no other alternative to protect their livelihoods from the US forces (Ahagon 1973: 54). When negotiating, the farmers often sought to make it clear that they had no intention to obstruct the American military and its missions. They focused on demonstrating their need to cultivate land in order to survive, and stressed their intention to co-operate better with the Americans. Ahagon, as a Christian, often relied on quoting the Bible and referring to ‘God’, appealing to shared religious understanding with the Americans (Ahagon 1973: 59). When two Maja women died of starvation, leaving behind ten children, the farmers decided to become beggars at a district meeting in July 1956. Twenty to thirty villagers, including some children, who were fit enough to travel went on a ‘beggars’ march’ (kojiki ko¯shin) across Okinawa Main Island from Kunigami in the north to Itoman in the south. While they sought food and money, they were also publicizing the manner in which the US forces treated the Ie-jima people. The farmers carried a banner providing a chronicle of their predicament. They made speeches and read Ryu¯ka (Ryu¯kyu¯an poetry)28 to people in the street, obtaining food and money as they went. This was a remarkable event in the history of the Okinawan struggle. The march extended over a period of around five months and the twenty to thirty ‘beggars’ were, from time to time, joined by schoolchildren. The march and the campaigns of carefully considered passive resistance which preceded it drew attention to the often remarkable courage and creativity, resourcefulness, and resilience of the poor and powerless facing apparently all-powerful opponents. Okinawa’s dispossessed farmers, of course, confronted the most powerful adversary on the planet and yet were able to go on adding new strategies to their ‘repertoires of protest’ even when all options seemed exhausted and even when they were left with just their tired legs, undernourished bodies, and ragged clothes. This place of high protest, if we can call it that, was occupied by the Okinawan ‘beggars’ no less than by the grand architect of passive resistance, Mahatma Gandhi himself. Not surprisingly, the march effectively publicized the Ie-jima struggle and generated compassion in the Okinawan public (Ahagon 1973: 130–2). At the time, the US administration jailed many trade unionists and political activists (such as Senaga Kamejiro, the founder of the OPP), and all forms of publication were censored. Perhaps because the farmers did not attack the Americans and only described what happened, neither the military nor the police prohibited their activities. Children in the march attracted greater compassion, and often police

The first wave 69

Figure 5.1 Beggars’ march in Naha – Heiwa Do¯ri (Source: Ahagon 1989: 75, courtesy of Christian Conference of Asia)

officers and American soldiers secretly made contributions, asking bystanders to hand them to the farmers (Ahagon 1973: 130–2). The beggars’ march was a tactic that avoided being labelled and suppressed as ‘anti-Americanism’ and ‘communism’ at the time. It was also a tactic to inform a wider public about US land policy (Arasaki 1995: 54–5). Other communities in Okinawa, such as Isahama and Oroku hamlets, and later Konbu hamlet in Gushikawa village,29 experienced similar struggles for land against the US military. Many of these experienced desperate material conditions and/ or emigrated. The land struggle was primarily a struggle for survival, not about political principles or ideologies. Only in retrospect, in his later book, Inochikoso Takara: Okinawa Hansen no Kokoro (1992 [1998]), does Ahagon point out that ‘absolute pacifism’ (predicated on the experiences of the Battle of Okinawa) was at the heart of the Ie-jima version of Okinawan anti-militarism. The Ie-jima struggle exemplifies collective action at its most desperate and symbolically powerful.

70 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Additionally, Ahagon was an influential and charasmatic figure who significantly contributed to the legendary and myth-making status of the Ie-jima struggle in the community of protest.

The unbearable lightness of Okinawans’ rights – land acquisition and rape In July 1955, one of the US military’s most brutal land seizures happened in Isahama, in central Okinawa. According to a former resident, 85-year-old Tazato Tomoyasu, the Isahama hamlet in Ginowan village in central Okinawa provided abundant water and used to have good rice paddies (Okinawa Taimususha 1997: 230). Anticipating the forced acquisition of their hamlet, farmers had formed a landowners’ committee, and prepared for resistance (Okinawa Taimususha 1997: 230–1). When the local council told the farmers to evacuate the paddy fields because of the danger of infection from mosquito spawning, thousands of supporters from all over the Island came to ‘protect’ the farmers in Isahama from the US forces. Kokuba Ko¯taro, a former OPP member who was supporting the Isahama farmers’ struggle, recalls: At around 3am, when most supporters of the resistance had gone home, there were only 200–300 hamlet residents left. Slowly, one after another, bulldozers with their headlights off and military trucks filled with armed soldiers entered the hamlet. Off the coast, I could hear the sound of pipelines being connected to a military vessel to drain in the sand and water taken from the ocean. It was just like war. At dawn, all the supporters helplessly watched the paddy fields being destroyed by soldiers across barbed wires. Farmers were still inside the last 32 houses, but were finally dragged out at gunpoint. The bulldozers went over and flattened the houses, timbers and roof tiles of the houses were collected to be discarded in the ocean. Women were screaming at this sight, and I could not help my tears. (quoted in Arasaki 1995: 63–5) The Isahama farmers were relocated to the highland areas about ten kilometres away, where it was impossible to continue farming. Many of them moved to the Yaeyama region and, with some mediation of the US military, some emigrated to Latin America (Arasaki 1995: 65). These emigrants led difficult lives trying to make livelihoods out of often barren and uncultivated land in foreign countries, and many of them returned to Okinawa.30 Ahagon was one of these. Others who lost their land commonly found jobs in the US military bases (Nagumo 1996: 28). Isahama also symbolized what the US land acquisition did to Okinawa, and deeply shocked the entire Okinawan population. Victimization of Okinawans’ farmers and the forceful acquisition of their land was combined with the physical violence inflicted on the locals personally. In September 1955, the mutilated corpse of a six-year-old girl was found in bushland in Kadena village, near the major US Air Force Base (usually called ‘the Yumiko-

The first wave 71 chan incident’ after the name of the victim). The US soldier who kidnapped, raped, and murdered her was sentenced to death by a US court martial, but later returned to the US. The Okinawan public was not informed.31 Less than a week later, another US soldier raped another child. Violence directed towards the local populace by US military staff, especially rape, revealed the crudest and most brutal aspect of the power relations between the occupiers and the occupied.32 Isahama and Ie-jima land acquisitions, and the Yumiko-chan incident that followed, have a special significance in the history of violence perpetrated by the US military staff in Okinawa (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 82, Okinawa Taimususha 1997: 226). Molasky observes that, in the world of both Japanese and Okinawan literature describing the US occupation period, the humiliation and helplessness of the occupied was expressed most directly by the invasion of ‘the female body’. In this sense, ‘no single act, not even murder, surpasses rape in its ability to dramatise the fear and humiliation of life under foreign occupation’ (Molasky 1999: 51).33 Angst explains that ‘the violation of the girl’s virginal body’ ‘is equated with the violation of the Okinawan body politic’ (Angst 2001: 252). The brutality of the 1955 Yumiko-chan incident provided powerful symbols of the humiliation of all ‘Okinawans’ in postwar Okinawan history. Irei, who was a student activist campaigning for reversion, recalls the time of the Yumiko-chan incident: In tears, my university friends and I discussed that these incidents were evidence of racial insult. I was convinced that these crimes would never disappear unless we (the Okinawans) recover our human rights as Japanese guaranteed by the Constitution. (Irei 1983: 82) The mass protest against US crimes after the Yumiko-chan incident was staged at the earliest Okinawan Citizens’ Rally (kenmin taikai) (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 83). In the Okinawan community of protest, Citizens’ Rallies have recurred – and continue today – whenever major accidents and crimes were caused by the US military and its staff.

The first-wave Okinawan struggle US land acquisition in Isahama and Ie-jima, and the rape of a girl, resulted in the humiliation of all ‘Okinawans’, leading to what Arasaki calls the first wave of a postwar ‘Okinawa Struggle’. The direct cause of the mass uprising was, however, the ‘Price Report’, issued by the US House Armed Service Committee in June 1956, after only a two-day review of the land problem in Okinawa. The Price Report justified the permanent lease of military land, lump sum payment of rent, and additional land acquisition.34 The Report totally violated the ‘four principles’, disappointing and infuriating the Okinawan public. On 15 June, the GRI and the Members of Parliament and mayors quit their positions in protest (Miyazato 1966: 99). Within two weeks, an estimated 160,000 to 200,000 local residents joined residents’ rallies held in 56 cities, towns, and villages (the population of Okinawa

72 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa then was about 800,000). The rallies were an expression of the residents’ rejection of the Price Report and their intense commitment to the ‘four principles’. In Koza City, 50,000 residents joined the rallies and 100,000 in Naha. Students from the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s, and others enrolled in universities in mainland Japan who were in Okinawa for summer holidays, demonstrated, yelling slogans in chorus – ‘Yankees Go Home’ – with placards carrying anti-US messages (Arasaki 1969: 135–7). These rallies became models for mass demonstrations in the community of protest in the future.

The land struggle becomes the struggle for reversion The 19 June issue of Okinawa Taimusu reported, ‘Okinawa is burning, determined to defend the “four principles”. Okinawans’ decade-long perseverance finally exploded’ (quoted in Miyazato 1966: 100). The ‘Five Group Coalition’ for land struggle was formed by 16 political organizations, including the OTA, the Youth Group Association, the Women’s Association, the Parents’ Association, the OSMP, the OPP, the Okinawa Democratic Party, the Chamber of Commerce, the Mayors’ Union, and Tochiren. The OTA and Tochiren were particularly active in galvanizing people into joining demonstrations and rallies through their networks in schools and land committees located in each community (Arasaki 1976: 157, Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 83–4). The 1956 protest involved all political forces, even US-appointed Chief Executive Higa Shuhei. Gabe explains that ‘ethnic pride’ was emerging among Okinawans under the US military rule, which was a complex mixture of ‘aversion to war following the Battle of Okinawa, and consciousness towards their rights against the US draconian policies, especially on the locals’ rights to their land’ (Gabe 1969: 42–3). Okinawan ‘ethnic pride’ stood at the heart of the public debate; however, it did not take the form of an ambition for making Okinawa an independent political entity. Independence under the US protection ceased to appeal to most politically involved Okinawans as a feasible option. Instead, majority opinion was in favour of overcoming US military rule by returning to Japan: reversion to Japan came to appear as a hopeful option to turn the predicament around and improve the conditions of everyday life. ‘Okinawans’ defined as ‘Japanese’ – always a contentious element of Okinawan collective identity since the late nineteenth century – became much more prominent in the protest. The dominance of the new goal of reverting to Japan as the ‘home country’ was such that it overtook and silenced a debate on Okinawa’s self-determination.35 The more politically motivated actors in the community of protest, especially the OPP and schoolteachers, combined the land struggle with the campaign for reversion. Statements in residents’ rallies emphasized the importance of Okinawans’ land rights for defending integrity of ‘Japanese territory’ from US encroachment.36 Similarly, an Okinawan delegate, sent to Tokyo to discuss the land issue with Japanese government officials in June 1956, explained that the Okinawans’ land struggle was ‘for protecting our own land, but at the same time, for protecting Japanese territory’ (Hiyane 1982: 283). The statement produced at the Naha anti-

The first wave 73 Price-Report rally argued that reversion was necessary to solve the land dispute, and the protest against the US administration was conceptualized as a struggle for ethnic self-determination under Japanese administration (Nakano 1969: 191). The Japanese also favoured this position, and the islanders’ land struggle – framed in terms of Okinawans’/‘Japanese’ identity – received enthusiastic support from the mainland Japanese. During the year 1955, political parties, trade unions, and citizens’ organizations in mainland Japan almost unanimously supported Okinawa’s reversion to Japan (Watanabe 1970: 109–19).37 Although there were disagreements on the future status of the US military bases on the island, many mainland Japanese conservative politicians and business leaders supported Okinawa’s reversion. According to popular understanding Okinawa was part of national territory lost in WWII, together with other islands such as the Chishima and Ogasawara Islands, and should be recovered (Watanabe 1970: 111–16). Japanese government officials, such as Prime Minister Hatoyama and Foreign Minister Shigemitsu, however, expressed concern that the US–Japan relationship would suffer damage if the land dispute turned into an ‘anti-American movement’ (Hiyane 1982: 284). At this stage, consequently, the Japanese government carefully avoided connecting the land dispute to Okinawa’s reversion, or to the validity of Article 3 of the peace treaty. Rather, they simply conveyed to the US government the residents’ petition to respect their land rights (Nakano 1969: 194–5).38 Conservative Okinawans who joined the land-struggle coalition were likewise cautious. That is to say they were reluctant to politicize the land dispute beyond the demand for economic rights. This was the major reason why the land-struggle coalition was short-lived, and by July 1956 the coalition’s solidarity began to crumble. The point of division was the strategy of identifying land disputes with the campaign for reversion: whether to limit the land dispute to the protection of private property or to develop it into a greater demand for a political solution, that is, the demand for reversion. At this stage USCAR was completely hostile to reversion. It indicated that it was prepared to switch to direct rule, and to abolish any institutions run by locals if the local administrative staff resigned. The conservative Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party members expressed concern about losing US-appointed institutions that allowed limited local political representation, namely, the GRI and Rippo¯-in (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 86–7). Chief Executive Higa, who was the Democratic Party leader, reversed his earlier decision to resign and argued that the Five Group Coalition should not be anything more than a mediating institution between the US military and the residents. Other Democratic Party members, who formed the majority of the Parliament and the GRI, followed this decision. Additionally, Naha mayor To¯ma Ju¯go¯ commented, ‘Not all residents are opposed to the US lump sum payment policy’ in an interview with a US television station. He represented the interests of those landowners who were economically suffering and willing to receive rent all at once on the condition that they retained nominal property rights.39 As an additional measure to secure compliance, the US military prohibited soldiers and families from entering civil districts in central Okinawa where the economy was dependent on American clientele, such as bars and shops. Especially

74 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa in central Okinawa, this ‘off limits’ policy inflicted severe economic damage on the local business communities, including retail sales, entertainment, and the sex industry. As a result, the Koza City mayor resigned from the Five Group Coalition. It was a tactic on the part of the USCAR to divide the island-wide coalition (Miyazato 1966: 101-2). At the same time, the US administration announced the suspension of university funding to suppress the protest activities of the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s students. The USCAR proclaimed that the ‘off limits’ policy would be continued unless the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s took proper action to punish and control its ‘communist’ students, to which the University executives responded by expelling five students and suspending another.40 Pressure on the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s turned into an effective instrument to settle the land dispute for US authorities (Arasaki 1969: 136). The OTA, the OPP, and other central reversion protagonist organizations also retreated from the land dispute and concentrated on the campaign for reversion. The land struggle no longer included all social sectors. It was reduced to an economic dispute among individual landowners, a majority of them Tochiren members, local land committees, and the US military. In April 1958, the USCAR suspended the lump sum payment policy, which significantly improved circumstances for the landowners. However, accepting the lease contract meant that the landowners would accept their land being used by the US military indefinitely. In May, the surviving Coalition was invited by Washington to discuss land dispute settlement.41 Before their departure, Minren (a new political faction made up of the Naha divisions of the OSMP and OPP) members strongly opposed the signing of the land contract with the US – because it would legitimize US domination of Okinawa and national (Japanese) territory. Despite this, the delegates agreed to the new contract terms for land leases offered by Washington.42 As a matter of fact, landowners were allowed to request lump sum payment of ten years’ rent and many did, signalling a miserable defeat of the ‘four principles’ (Ahagon 1973: 160–1). In due course, most landowners accepted contracts with the US military, and many of them started receiving amounts of money they had never imagined – Iejima farmers included. But Ahagon and others, mainly from Maja, refused to sign leases because of the implied meaning of such dealing, turning theft or wrongful occupation into a legitimate transaction. At great cost to themselves, they lived on farming and compensation from the US military for land use (not based on legitimate contracts). These Maja farmers became the earliest non-contract landowners, later called ‘anti-war landowners’ (see Chapter 7). In the community of protest, the landowners of military properties became divided between a minority who rejected the land lease with the US for ideological and political reasons, and the majority who did not, or could not do this for economic reasons. In the following years in Ie-jima, US training activity frequently resulted in the death of residents who were collecting scrap metal around the bases for a living,43 and missile practice and air training injured and killed several villagers, at least, every year during the intensifying military operations for the Vietnam War. More than fifty Maja villagers out of the population of 380 were arrested and jailed after

The first wave 75 1955 (Ahagon 1998 [1992]: 32).44 The military tried to force farmers to carry permits, but the farmers rejected this, arguing they considered themselves owners of the areas. The US forces burned the farmers’ crops and forests within fenced areas (Arasaki 1995: 53–5). The military put signs on fences saying, ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ans Not Allowed’, the farmers took them off and put up their own signs that said, ‘Landowners Only’. Because of these endless daily scuffles the US made a policy of mokunin ko¯sakuchi (‘permitted farming area’), which allowed farmers to work, as long as they did not get in the way of military activities. Mokunin ko¯sakuchi is a scheme agreed between the military and the farmer landowners, common in many US military bases in Okinawa to the present.

Conclusion The first-wave Okinawan struggle against the US land acquisition, which led to an assurance of rent incomes for the landowners, was arguably the most powerful protest in Okinawan history that involved all social sectors. At the same time, the community of protest represented all social strata and classes and ideologies: communist, socialist, and conservative political parties, workers and teaching unions and locally organized farmers’ groups. Despite the diversity and differences among these political organizations, what made the temporary unity among ‘Okinawans’ possible? The land struggle is characterized by the pressing ‘material’ nature of the protesters’ motives: most of the locals were battling against starvation and struggling to recover from the loss in the Battle of Okinawa. The socio-economic inequality among the locals was less than in any other period that followed: they were all equally deprived by the US military control, and equally poor. Material concerns central to the struggle meant that the politically conservative Landowners’ Union and the Democratic Party temporarily made the coalition possible, and created the momentum for an ‘all-island’ struggle. It is also true that material interests expressed by the various political organizations differed from each other. The Ie-jima farmers wanted their land back to regain their means of livelihood; others, such as the city-dwellers who gave up farming and started working for the US military, wanted rent that was fair; for radical students, it was more important to fight against US colonial rule. For reversion activists such as the schoolteachers, the land struggle was important in terms of claiming integrity with Japanese territory. These sometimes subtle differences derived from differences in social class positions and origins. Rather than being a source of unity, material motives involved in the land struggle better explain the fragility of that unity and of the solidarity among Okinawans in their protest. Can the Okinawans’ ‘ethnic pride’ explain the temporary unity of the coalition against foreign domination? The land struggle did provide for the emerging claim for Okinawan ethnic self-determination. As demonstrated by the nascent OPP reference to the US military as a ‘liberation force’ from the Japanese colonial rule, reversion to Japan was not a mainstream political concern in the early postwar

76 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa period. Arasaki points out that there was even an alternative suggestion to seek autonomy, such as that made by the OPP before 1950 to request compensation from the Japanese government for war losses, and to draft a constitution just for the ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ans’.45 However, the option of independence, breaking free from the yoke of all external power, was never taken up. Too easily and regrettably, according to Arasaki, ‘self-determination’ was replaced by a question of choosing to be under the protection of either US military or Japan (Arasaki 1976: 40–2). Since the ‘day of humiliation’ – the San Francisco Peace Treaty (28 April 1952) – separated Okinawa from Japanese administration, the pendulum of Okinawans’ identity moved towards claiming ‘sameness’ with Japan rather than difference. However, the ‘all-island’ coalition soon collapsed, owing mainly to disagreements among the coalition on whether Okinawans should co-operate with the US military and extract maximum profit (rent) or, alternatively, demand reversion. Outward expression of desire for reversion was radical, for it invited punitive action from the US authorities. Not all protest actors, perhaps except for the OPP members, were willing to commit to this position. That is, the political campaign for reversion did not (yet) operate as a basis for a unified coalition either. Instead, it was the incredible indifference that the US military displayed to the rights of the Okinawans that inspired unified collective action in June 1956. This was the common experience underpinning many different kinds of grievance felt towards the US. In June 1956, Okinawan locals all agreed on the need to demand recognition of the dignity and rights of all ‘Okinawans’ abused by the arbitrary rule of a foreign military. This abuse took many forms: failure to pay rent, takeover of land inherited from ancestors, poor resources given to Okinawan children’s education, and humiliating working conditions, to name just some. However, it was the 1955 rape case, and the forceful eviction of the Isahama farmers by US bulldozers and bayonets, that finally woke Okinawans to the need to act to protect their own dignity and rights. The ‘first-wave’ Okinawa struggle established the foundations of a new postwar collective identity and movement against marginalization: as of that point, the land struggle, however fraught and divisive, provided the ‘Okinawans’ as a people with an understanding of themselves as capable of standing up for their own rights and organizing grassroots collective action. This may seem to be at odds with the argument above – that the land struggles involved multiple and conflicting interests and that unity of the land rights campaigns was fragile. However, in the longer term, the memory of these events and the symbolic meaning they have acquired over time counted for more. Seen from a distance, they became emblems of unity. The land struggle, the ‘all-island’ mass protests, and a political coalition encompassing the conservative and progressive organizations were achievements suggestive of a unified Okinawan community of protest and, as such, gave life to the enduring myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’.

6

The second wave Towards reversion

Introduction The island-wide mass protest against the US land policy discussed in the previous chapter as the ‘first wave’ laid the foundations for what would, in due course, become the tradition of an ‘Okinawan’ struggle in the postwar period. The ‘second wave’ of that struggle followed in the 1960s, in a series of mass demonstrations of political opposition against the US presence in Okinawa. The main theme of this wave of protest was Okinawa’s reversion to Japan. In this period, the ‘Okinawan people’ sought unity in a form of nationalist identity – Japanese nationalist identity. The dominant framing of protest was based on the self-definition of Okinawa as ‘Japanese’, described in this chapter as ‘reversion nationalism’. Normally a point of dispute in Okinawan history, this Japanese identity became dominant during the political campaign for reversion. However, the collective actions in the 1960s were about many things, not just reversion. In the 1960s, according to one observation, the three issues that were of particular concern to Okinawan residents were: (1) crimes and accidents attributable to the US military personnel and unfair extraterritoriality provisions against locals; (2) suspected deployment of nuclear weapons on the island including stopovers by nuclear submarines at Naha Military Port;1 and (3) the deployment of B-52s in Okinawa, flying over to attack Vietnam (Rabson 1989: 20). Until the mid-1960s, many believed – mistakenly as it turned out – that these problems would be solved by reversion. The first section reviews in more detail some of the most pressing social and political concerns arising as a result of US military rule that moved the locals to protest and to request reversion to Japan. These concerns were never straightforward. They reflected the complexity of the Okinawans as a people colonized by both the US and Japan. In the newly built US military bases, Okinawans became a potentially troublesome workforce servicing the demanding needs of the US military not just for land but for labour as well. It was during the Okinawans’ campaign for reversion that the idea of a ‘united Okinawan movement’ was developed. So were the basic organizational structures of that movement. Thus, it is of great significance that the major players in the community of protest were class-based, workers’ movement organizations such as unions and progressive political parties. Their concerns and the ways in which

78 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa they framed them were also immensely important not only in shaping the character of the reversion movement but also in defining its organization, strategy, and collective identity. The second section of this chapter examines anti-US protestors and the formation of a progressive coalition under the Okinawa Prefecture Council for Reversion to the Home Country (fukki-kyo¯). The third section examines the ideological basis of the coalition’s ‘reversion nationalism’. The progressive coalition on which the movement was built formed a basic professional, semi-permanent capability which was publicly associated with formal political opposition in Okinawa thereafter. The fourth section reflects on a series of mass demonstrations staged by the coalition members. These are of enormous significance because of their intensity and future symbolic contribution to the mythic life of the movement. Inevitably the Okinawans’ traumatic memories of suffering in the Battle of Okinawa, ethnic and racial discrimination, and class-based exploitation fused with the political demand for reversion to Japan. However, the framing of ‘reversion nationalism’ that focuses on Okinawan ‘sameness’ with Japan was too simple to address the complexity of the multiple issues at stake. The fifth section discusses how ‘reversion nationalism’ was exposed to various critiques within the community of protest. The Vietnam War also helped the Okinawans realize that they could not simply think of themselves as ‘victims’. The idea of ‘anti-reversionism’ presented an important exception and a critique of the dominant framework of the reversion campaign. The sixth and seventh sections address, respectively, the failure of the attempted general strike and the Koza riot. These sections demonstrate that the unity suggested by the idea of an ‘Okinawan movement’ can be misleading if it leads one to overlook the multiplicity of actors, framings and their priorities. The dominant framework during the reversion movement – ‘reversion nationalism’, as well as the strategy and organizations of political parties and trade unions – made it hard to represent the voices of marginal actors of protest outside the most organized and established parties and unions.

What made the Okinawans angry? Uehara Ko¯ suke, one of the oldest military base worker unionists, first started working for a US base in 1951. He recalls that racism and human rights abuses against Okinawans were routine in the workplaces in the military establishment: for example, racially segregated toilets, Okinawan workers banned from coffee shops, and no protection from unjustified dismissals for Okinawans (Uehara 1982: 41). Significantly lower wages for the same job were paid to the Okinawans. Thus, in 1956, US workers enjoyed minimum hourly rates of $1.20 and the Japanese $0.83; Okinawans received only 10 cents. The poor pay and working conditions of many Okinawans were combined with poverty, unemployment, and ‘overpopulation’ induced by massive confiscations of arable land by the US military. The case for reversion was born of these conditions and further fuelled by the contemporary mainland (Japan) experience of rapid economic recovery and

The second wave 79 improved material conditions, a welfare system, and labour legislation. The postwar Japanese Constitution and its principles of basic human rights protection also became a source of envy, not just for the social security it offered but more so for democracy ‘peace’ it promised. In the wake of the Korean War, on the threshold of the Vietnam War and embroiled in the Cold War, the US forces announced the deployment of Nike Hawks (a nuclear missile) in Okinawan bases in 1957. This raised fears among the public of horrific accidents if things went wrong and additional forced land acquisition by the military if they went well. Both fears were well-grounded. In 1959, for example, during a training flight, a US Air Force jet fighter crashed on the Miyanomori Primary School, at 10.20am when the schoolchildren were about to have a milk break. The school burned down quickly, killing 17 and injuring 121 people. The pilot, according to reports, escaped unharmed via a parachute. A surviving teacher witnessed children’s limbs burned off and skin peeled off by the fuel from the plane. Survivors suffered from various post-traumatic syndromes such as amnesia, miscarriage, and shock. Forty years later, families of the victims were still having difficulty coming to terms with the incident (Okinawa Gunyochi Iken Sosho Shien Kenmin Kyoto Kaigi 1998). In another bizarre incident in June of 1965, a military transport vehicle fell from a plane during a ‘drop’ exercise, crushing a girl to death in Yomitan village near Kadena Air Base. It is difficult to know how many such accidents may have taken place though one reputable source indicates 275 aircraft accidents between reversion in 1972 and 2003 – that is, nine per year or one every six weeks (Okinawa Ken So¯mubu Chiji Ko¯shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2004: 82). While the frequency of such accidents in the 25 years prior to reversion appears to be unknown, it is almost certain that there were more – both because aircraft technology has improved and because the US has, for political reasons, become more careful. Whether that is so or not, the frequency of accidents, together with the constant noise and the unknown nature of their payloads, were sufficient to induce a state of near-permanent anxiety in populations exposed to risk. The threat of nuclear accidents in or around Japan is likely to have been especially stressful for many individuals. For a number of years, too, Okinawa provided a base for mass B-52 bombing raids against the Viet Cong (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 7). The sight and thunderous noise of B-52s flying from Okinawa every day reminded the residents of the Battle of Okinawa they had very recently experienced. It hardly seems too much to say that the Okinawan public was still living in an active war zone. As always in situations of this kind, there would be moral and political fallout: the Okinawans would be made to understand that their lives and their rights as human beings had very little weight as far as the US was concerned (Fukuchi 1999: 77). In the 1960s, after the 1956 island-wide land struggle subsided, farmers’ struggles against the US military operations and further property acquisitions continued in places such as Ie-jima, Konbu, and Chibana.2 More than one-fifth of the farmland – much more in the densely populated central region – had been expropriated by the US military since the early 1950s and Okinawa became reliant on imported

80 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa American foodstuffs (Selden 1974: 121). The main alternative to starvation for the displaced farmers was employment in the US bases and the sex industry catering for the US military personnel. Selden writes: As of 1970, one-sixth of the Okinawan workforce was directly employed by the US military (40,000 workers) and the colonial government (34,000). And this was but a fraction of those forced to live off the American presence, including an estimated 15,000 to 25,000 prostitutes and bar girls, and more than 10,000 maids employed by servicemen (all officers and many enlisted men have servants, a luxury made possible by the depressed Okinawan wage scale). Tens of thousands of others work in the wide range of subsidiary industries and services which cater to American pleasures. (Selden 1974: 288) The bases not only provided employment for the farmers who had lost land to the military, they also provided the biggest market for locally manufactured products such as cement, steel, vegetables and fruit, clothes, and packing crates (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯ sha 1968: 120). They were also by far the biggest buyers of ‘rest and recreation’ service providing sex, alcohol, and food. Revenues from prostitution, bars, and other service industries for the US soldiers were of huge significance to the Okinawan economy until reversion. Indeed by 1970 prostitution replaced sugar as Okinawa’s largest industry with earning of some $50.4 million3 while sugar lagged behind in second place at $43.5 million (Sturdevant and Stoltzfus 1993: 251–2). The sex industry was also highly organized. Following the Korean War, when the sexual assault of women and girls by US soldiers and officers was common, ‘special catering districts’ (tokushu inshoku gai) designed for US military clientele were developed by community members to create a ‘sexual breakwater’, aimed at protecting ‘normal citizens’ from the potential danger of sexual violence (Tomiyama 1996: 27).4 The US authorities also took a keen interest and imposed rigorous health and hygiene regulations on the rest and recreation businesses – effectively licensing them. Bars, restaurants, and clubs that met US standards were required to display an ‘A’ (‘Approved’) sign. US military patronage made ‘special catering districts’ special for another reason as well: their exceptional almost total vulnerability to the US military’s ‘off limits’ sanctions. When seeking to dampen local political opposition, the US military could apply enormous pressure by banning their personnel from entering local businesses. The businesses that felt economic pain immediately and most intensely were those in the ‘special catering districts’ (see Chapter 5). Traffic accidents were another reminder of the low value attached by the US military to locals’ property rights and safety. A high-school history teacher, Arashiro Toshiaki, lost his father at the age of five in March 1956. His father was run over by a car driven by an American soldier, who was subsequently arrested by the US military police. Except in very limited cases, the local police and GRI courts did not have the authority to arrest or bring US military staff to trial. The US military courts handled the cases, and the ultimate say on all sentences of American citizens

The second wave 81 rested with the High Commissioner (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 137). The verdict in Arashiro’s father’s case was, as in many similar cases, ‘not guilty’ (Okinawa Mondai Henshu Iinkai 1995: 71–2).5 In the case of common crimes against local residents, such as vandalism, non-payment in restaurants, bars, and taxis, beating, and muggings, the local police and residents had no ability to follow up the cases (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 138). In February 1963, a speeding US marine’s truck drove into a pedestrian crossing, and ran over and killed a thirteen-year-old schoolboy. The marine and witnesses saw the boy crossing on a green light. However, the US court martial accepted the marine’s claim that it was impossible to see the traffic light because of the strong sunlight, and acquitted him. The verdict of this case deeply upset the schoolteachers and families in the communities around Naha. As after the Yumiko-chan incident (see Chapter 5), the case resulted in an Okinawan Citizens’ Rally (kenmin taikai), in which three thousand participated against the verdict (Nakano 1969: 487). This traffic accident is still remembered in Okinawan community, as the ‘Kokuba-kun incident’, after the boy’s name. The extraterritoriality ‘rights’ associated with the crimes of the US military members were the most humiliating aspect of the foreign military’s domination. Arashiro perceives that the US military looked down on the Okinawan residents, and it was natural that residents wanted reversion to Japan, the ‘shelter’ and security of ‘peace Constitution’, and a peaceful life without military bases (Okinawa Mondai Henshu¯ Iinkai 1995: 72).6 The stories above provide just some insight into the often humiliating conditions prevailing for some 27 years of US military administration and giving rise to the desire for reversion. They are the memories of which the Okinawan historical narrative of marginalization is made. But there is, of course, more to the narrative than this. There is also the story – or rather, stories – of how they responded to the oppression, suffering, and humiliation. Who were the actors? What did they choose to fight for and how? What did they argue about, how were they, despite differences, able to unite and forge a unified ‘Okinawan’ collective identity, and what kind of identity was this? Significant parts of the answers to this question can be found in the campaign for reversion.

Coalition for reversion: class-based organizations It was widely believed that the reversion of Okinawa to Japan would mean the removal of the American bases and this belief was shared by the US administration and the Okinawan activists until the mid-1960s. Control over the civil administration of Okinawa assured the US forces of their unfettered ‘right’ to use the island as a security depot (Gabe 2000: 50).7 Loss of that control would compromise that right. Local protesters shared this view but welcomed such an outcome. They assumed that the size of the foreign military presence – and the legal protection of locals’ rights – would be adjusted to the standard applied to mainland Japan. For the US, reversion campaigning undermined the security of the region, and was thus identified with ‘communism’.

82 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa This assessment was not entirely without foundation. As elsewhere, political activists in the 1950s and 1960s Okinawa often framed their protest in terms of class struggle. A student activist during the 1960s, Irei Takashi, and his colleagues referred to Okinawa’s reversion to Japan as a ‘revolution’: for them Okinawa’s oppression was based on class and ethnicity (cited in Arakawa and Arasaki 1985: 51). Political ideas to justify the reversion were drawn from the mainland Japanese left-wing activists, especially those of the JCP (Arakawa and Arasaki 1985: 52).8 The only communist party in Okinawa, the OPP, was also the most outwardly critical of the US administration and it was politically effective. The Okinawa Taimusu editorial noted that the OPP members’ impromptu speeches and lectures held in local communities across the island had been extremely popular: the audience responded enthusiastically with clapping and cheering to the OPP speakers for attacking the US military’s authoritarian rule, ‘saying what the people dare not express in words’ (Okinawa Taimusu date unspecified 1954 cited in American Consular Unit 1955: 1). The US authorities were aware of the connection between the JCP and the OPP, and regarded their political activities as harmful to their administration.9 The OPP leader Senaga Kamejiro¯ and Tomigusuku village mayor Matayoshi Ichiro¯ were arrested and jailed in October 1954 for harbouring blacklisted communist activists from Amami Island.10 After his term in jail, Senaga won the Naha mayoral election in 1956 and became the first ‘red mayor’. The USCAR threatened the Senaga administration by freezing Naha City’s finance from the Ryu¯kyu¯ Bank and subsidies from the US. This briefly threatened local industries, especially construction – but USCAR promptly took more decisive action. In 1957, it implemented a change of law so that a simple majority vote at a city assembly could dismiss a mayor from office. As a result, Senaga lost his office. On the basis of the ordinance that banned candidates with criminal records from public office, Senaga could not stand for re-election either. The high-handed US interference in politics aroused public criticism and temporary support for the opposition parties. The US also made every effort to marginalize anti-US parties such as the OPP and OSMP.11 Politics in Okinawa in this period was characterized by the intense partisan strife between the conservative Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party on one hand (conservative) and the OPP and OSMP on the other (progressive). Increasingly, this conservative–progressive battle became the central focus in the Okinawan community of protest. With USCAR sponsorship, the Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party replaced the OSMP as the main party in the Legislature. The Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party deleted reversion from its policy platform (Gabe 1969: 56). In this conservative party the US authorities had created a useful local pro-US political ally: since 1952, all the GRI Chief Executives have been appointed from the conservative party members. The OPP and OSMP briefly attempted to form a progressive coalition against the US–Democratic Party alliance. A group of Senaga supporters from the OPP, the Naha Division of the OSMP, and independent Naha City Assembly members formed Minren (the Protection of Democracy Communication Council). The public supported Minren with enthusiasm, for its ability to speak for the residents against

The second wave 83 the arbitrary US rule, in particular, against expanding US military facilities and additional land acquisition. Minren nevertheless fell apart when a group of members resigned, criticizing the dominance of the OPP ‘sectarianism’, and formed a new party, the Okinawa Socialist Party (Okinawa Shakaito¯, OSP), in affiliation with the Japan Socialist Party.12 Minren could not repay or respond to the public’s support. Their energies were excessively concentrated on winning elections. Minren nevertheless provided a practice run at coalition-building for reversion campaign (Tonaki 1969: 124). On the other hand, it also foreshadowed the characteristic and persistent susceptibility of Okinawa’s progressive forces to internal divisions. On 28 April 1960, the anniversary day of the San Francisco Treaty (‘the day of humiliation’), the most significant progressive coalition in Okinawan history was formed. Executive members of the labour unions and the Okinawa Teachers’ Association started the Okinawa Prefecture Council for Reversion to the Home Country (the Council, Okinawa-ken Sokoku Fukki Kyo¯gikai, Fukki-kyo¯). The three left-wing local political parties (OPP, OSMP, and OSP) shared the leadership, as well as the Okinawa Prefecture Youth Group Council (Okinawa-ken Seinen Kyo¯gikai), and the Council for the Okinawa Public Office Workers’ Unions Council (Okinawa Kanko¯cho¯ Ro¯ do¯ Kumiai Kyo¯gikai, kanko¯ro¯ ).13 The OTA chair Yara Cho¯byo¯ declined other executive union members’ request to take up the position of Chair,14 and the Council initially struggled financially.15 However, the number of member organizations increased each year and, by 1965, there were 52 member organizations (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982a: 1348–9). A longstanding political coalition of this size is rare in Okinawa. The Council for Reversion, bound by the goal of reversion, turned itself into an influential model of coalition-building in the community of protest. Building organizational solidarity and ‘unity’ on this model added further to the existing repertoire of protest. This date, 28 April, became an exceptionally significant date in 1960s (and for the reversion campaign) because it is the day of the signing of the San Francisco Treaty. The day this treaty became effective in 1952 has been remembered as the second Ryu¯kyu¯ ‘disposal’: it is the second time that Okinawans have been deprived of their sovereignty; this time, however, in the form of detachment from Japan. This date marks the start of a new period in the history of the collective struggle of the Okinawan people – the idea of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ – characterized by the residents’ efforts to realize Okinawa’s repatriation to Japan. On this day, every year, even after reversion, it has been a tradition to hold annual protest rallies and meetings (Arasaki 1995: 27–8). Despite numerous offers, the conservative Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party refused Council membership.16 The conservatives wanted reversion, too, but employed a ‘gradual method’ for reversion, placing priority on ‘practical’ unification with Japan, for example, in business areas, and rejected association with any political ‘struggle’ or ‘resistance’ against the US. An all-island coalition of both conservative and progressive political organizations in the land struggle never materialized, and the Council only ever came to represent the politically progressive coalition in Okinawa.

84 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Political parties tended to focus their energies on winning elections, and struggled to organize direct and effective political opposition to the US administration. In this respect, the Okinawan workers, especially military base workers, had a greater capacity to affect the US authorities directly not just as a result of their capacity to strike and act effectively but also because some, at least, worked effectively to secure international backing. A US military base employee Uehara Ko¯suke and his workmates at the engineering section in Zukeran (Camp Foster) – starting from an after-hours discussion group – announced the establishment of a union with 1,600 members in September 1960. Uehara’s union quickly gained the support of the conservative, Brussels-based International Confederation of Free Trade Unions (ICFTU),17 which was playing an advisory role for the USCAR, in order to help smooth state–labour relations in order to facilitate the US military administration in Okinawa. USCAR was more or less forced to give its blessings to the new union. Six unions of military base workers – including Uehara’s – merged in June 1961 to form a single union of 2,638 members, at least ten per cent of the entire base worker population.18 In July 1963, this league of unions developed into the All-Okinawan Military Workers’ Union (Zengunro¯) (Uehara 1982: 66–77). The immediate focus of the workers – especially employees of the US bases – was to protect workers’ rights against low wages, long working hours, and appalling working conditions. The most important goal was to abolish the USCAR’s ordinances – especially Ordinance No. 116 – that excluded the workers who worked for the US military bases from the protection of the three labour laws passed by the GRI Ordinance No. 145, which required applications to USCAR (including union executives’ names) for approval to establish unions, was also a source of considerable aggravation. The unionized military base workers considered reversion necessary to improve the conditions of workers. At the 1965 annual meeting, Zengunro¯ protested against Ordinance 116, and, at the same time, formally joined the Okinawa Prefecture Council for Reversion to the Home Country. Yet there was still some controversy among the workers about antagonizing the US forces (Uehara 1982: 94–5) and antiUS or anti-base action did endanger employment for the Zengunro¯ workers. In July 1961, Okinawan unions covering workers not employed in the military bases also formed a federation, the All-Okinawan Labour Unions’ Association (Zen Oki Ro¯ren). The association contained 30 labour unions and represented some 6,700 members. Also supported by the ICFTU, Zen Oki Ro¯ ren effectively organized strikes demanding pay rises and refused to comply with Ordinance 145. USCAR and the local business sector expected Zen Oki Ro¯ren to be a moderate, non-political organization (Nagumo 1996: 51–3) but, together with Zengunro¯, it participated in political campaigns for reversion and the public election of the GRI Chief Executive; in anti-nuclear base rallies; and in anti-Vietnam protest. Furthermore, Zen Oki Ro¯ ren grew closer to OPP. Moderate member unions who were more sympathetic to the ICFTU resigned in order to establish a new league of unions, the Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee (Okinawa Ken Ro¯do¯ Kumiai Kyo¯gikai, Kenro¯kyo¯), in 1964. Zengunro¯ joined and became a major member of

The second wave 85 Kenro¯kyo¯. The division among Okinawan unionized labour mirrored that between the socialists and communist party members in mainland Japan (To¯ yama 1987: 412). Although workers’ unions were internally divided, and also tended to place priority on their specific economic agendas, they nevertheless became leading actors in local political activism against the US. Early in the 1960s human rights activists also became part of the community of protest. Thus, in April 1961, together with more than three hundred citizens, Fukuchi Hiroaki established the Okinawa Human Rights Association (Okinawa Jinken Kyo¯kai). This organization is the oldest of its kind in Okinawa. It raises the awareness of Okinawan residents in relation to such issues as personal safety, freedom, and private property. Roger Baldwin, a US citizen and Executive Secretary of the International League for Human Rights21 was a key influence on Fukuchi and the Association followed Baldwin’s advice to establish an apolitical or politically neutral image (Watanabe 1970: 140). Yet its executive members included the most influential leader of the Council for Reversion, Yara Cho¯byo¯, and Fukuchi himself, was an active Okinawa Teachers’ Association member and executive member of the Council for Reversion. To the present, Fukuchi exemplifies many Okinawan political activists with overlapping organizational memberships among progressive political parties and unions. Far from being politically neutral, the Human Rights Association was closely related to the progressive coalition, and campaigned for reversion. The inauguration statement of the Okinawa Human Rights Association in February 1961 stated the Okinawans’ strong wish for reversion, and stressed the importance of the Japanese Constitution: After WWII the Japanese Constitution clearly stipulated the eternally inviolable nature of basic human rights. Unfortunately, because the political administration of Okinawa was taken over by the US Occupation forces, the Okinawan people have been unable to benefit from the Constitution. (Nakano 1969: 356) The statement also clearly recognized the lineage of the historical struggle of the ‘Okinawans’ as one people: ‘In Okinawa, pioneers’ efforts to protect human rights existed since Meiji as exemplified by Jahana Noboru’s People’s Rights Movement’ (Nakano 1969: 356).22 It is clear now that, in Okinawans’ collective actions for reversion, teachers’ and workers’ unions, and political parties played a central role, framing the struggle for reversion as a ‘class struggle’. The unions were able to do this for a number of related reasons. First, many of the primary grievances of the Okinawans were, as we have seen, related to work and to the conditions under which Okinawans sold their labour to the Americans. They were related to pay rates, to working hours, to conditions of work, to holiday entitlements, to free rights of association and organization, and so on. Second, unions could assume a leadership role because once organized, they could more easily assemble resources than other protest actors and they were, for related reasons, the most capable of organizing and mounting

86 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa protests. Unions were, so to speak, battle or protest ready. The other major issue around which generalized protest movements might have formed relates to land seizures but protesters here were fewer in number, not able to threaten damaging strikes, less capable of organizing, more divided, and more easily compensated, pacified, and disorganized. So did a number of struggles in Okiniwa fuse – or become confused. The struggle for identity became the struggle for reversion which, in turn, and for a while at least, became a class struggle. It was inevitable of course that class struggle in Okinawa would take on the colour of the struggle for reversion and a somewhat unusual struggle for identity: the Okinawans identifying as Japanese.

‘Reversion nationalism’: framing of the reversion movement The Okinawans’ reversion movement was framed basically as an anti-capitalist struggle and nationalist struggle. The influence of nationalism can be explained in two ways. First, the Council for Reversion’s campaign was linked to the ‘progressive nationalism’ of the mainland Japanese left, in particular its political opposition to the renewal of the US–Japan security treaty (Ampo), originally signed in 1952 in San Francisco. The anti-Ampo protest was a pivotal grassroots political movement in the postwar period that motivated several hundred thousand political party members, activists, unionists, workers, artists, students, housewives, and other citizens into political action all over Japan. Neither Japan nor Okinawa was unique here. Nationalism was at the basis of movements for self-determination and decolonization throughout the world of Asia and African colonies. The JCP, for example, called for liberation of the Japanese people from US economic and military domination. It saw Ampo as a tool of US and Japanese capital intended to entrench the colonization of Japan and the rule of the LDP politicians (including former war criminals) who were eager to remilitarize Japan. This nationalist sentiment underpinned the view that both Japan and Okinawa were colonized by the US, and that the reversion of Okinawa meant national reintegration with Japan (Oguma 1998: 524–5, Packard 1966). The direct US rule of Okinawa was understood as the most blatant expression of colonial dependence and the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ for reversion represented not just the ‘retrieval’ of Okinawa but a critical assertion of Japanese independence.23 Joint actions between the Okinawan anti-US parties and unions and their yamato counterparts increased. Each year after 28 April 1961, Okinawan reversion activists got on a boat, sailed off north towards Japan, and met with Japanese activists who departed from Yoron Island. They shook hands at sea.24 They met at the 27 degree latitudinal line that severed Okinawa from mainland Japan according to the San Francisco Treaty. One of the Okinawan participants (a schoolteacher) recalled, ‘my passport has been cancelled twelve times (by the US). I thought I could never go to the mainland. When I crossed the 27-degree line with no passport, I could not help my tears’ (To¯yama 1987: 411). In the annual ‘offshore boat rallies’, yamato and Okinawan participants built solidarity, in a tactile sense. A more potent

The second wave 87 affirmation of unity – touching, talking, and crying (and no doubt laughing as well) after a journey at sea – could hardly be imagined. Many protest strategies and styles travelled to Okinawa from mainland Japan. For in the early 1960s, Council for Reversion members chanted ‘Ganbaro¯!’ (Never give up!), raising their fists at the end of rallies (To¯yama 1987: 405). This chant was borrowed from Japanese labour unions and is still practised today in the community of protest, not only by parties and unions but also by communitybased organizations. The second strand of nationalism that influenced the reversion campaign was the historical and emotional kinship with Japan.25 Among the most eager to promote Okinawa’s reintegration with Japan were schoolteachers – many of them Okinawa Teacher’s Association (OTA) members who contributed significantly to proselytizing ‘reversion nationalism’. The OTA, the central member of the Council for Reversion, lobbied for the ‘right to educate students as Japanese nationals’, which offended the USCAR’s cultural policy to promote the pre-annexation ‘Ryu¯kyu¯an’ identity. Schoolteachers, however, encouraged the use of the hinomaru flag and the kimigayo song (see p. 29). Of course, this new pro-Japanese position was inconsistent with Okinawan teachers’ regrets about promoting imperial education before the Battle of Okinawa (see Chapter 4) but the postwar world was a new

Figure 6.1 Boat rally, 28 April 1968 (Source: Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982b: 125, courtesy of Okinawa Jiji Shuppan)

88 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa one. In the early 1960s, schools enhanced the standard Japanese speech training: teachers pursued the ‘correct use of the Japanese language’ to an extent that often involved corporal punishment for the use of the Okinawan dialect (Takara 1995: 157–8).26 It is worth noting that the Okinawan teachers’ reversion campaign appealed widely to the Okinawan public. These two forms of nationalism – one anti-capitalist and the other pro-Japanese – merged in ‘reversion nationalism’, which was then able to appeal to both progressive activists and the wider general public who did not identify with any particular political ideology. Under the direct rule of the US military officers who were ‘foreigners’ and spoke a different language, the Okinawans’ emotional closeness to yamato was amplified. ‘Reversion nationalism’ served as an ideological resource for the Council for Reversion, until later political developments gradually but seriously revealed its weaknesses.

The turbulent 1960s: demonstrations, strikes, and struggles During the 1960s, the Council for Reversion and its member organizations engaged in a number of collective actions in radical, intense, and, at times, violent ways and these have been remembered with pride in the community of protest. Reversion was the ultimate goal of – and source of unity among – the multiple actors involved and ‘reversion nationalism’ continued to be the dominant framing of protest under which collective action was conducted. The Chief Executive election struggle and Sato¯’s Okinawa visit The system of appointing the GRI Chief Executive by the US authorities highlighted the lack of Okinawans’ authority in political administration.27 The limited electoral system set up by the US administration favoured the pro-US parties in the Legislature and the GRI Chief Executive nomination.28 Protesting against the Chief Executive nomination system and requests for public elections were among the progressives’ and the Council’s main demands. On 29 October 1964, when Matsuoka Seiho was about to be nominated Chief Executive at the Ryu¯kyu¯ Legislature Special Meeting, some two thousand protesters destroyed the front door and entered the Legislature building. They were a ‘petition troop’ organized by the Council for Reversion, and eventually removed by the riot police. But the conservative Liberal Democratic Party and Liberal Party members had been forced to flee the building and the nomination was postponed (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 1010). Subsequently, the Council held three mass public rallies on 26 June, and 1 and 27 October, calling for autonomy and the pubic election of Chief Executives. The rally in June attracted over fifty thousand people.29 The Council also launched a massive door-to-door signature collection campaign (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 199–201). On 19 August 1965, Prime Minister Sato¯ visited Okinawa, raising hopes for reversion. Sato¯ had been an LDP nationalist protagonist for the reversion of Okinawa. Schoolteachers ‘mobilized’ local children to welcome the Prime Minister

Figure 6.2 Okinawan citizens’ rally, 28 April, 1965 (Source: Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982b: 87, courtesy of Okinawa Jiji Shuppan)

90 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa on the streets, holding the hinomaru flags to express their commitment to ‘reversion nationalism’. Many locals welcomed Sato¯ for promoting reversion and increasing governmental economic subsidies to Okinawa. Sato¯ was only the third Japanese Prime Minister ever to visit Okinawa (after Ito¯ Hirobumi and To¯ jo¯ Hideki). It was at this visit that he uttered the famous line at Naha Airport: ‘Japan’s postwar period never ends, unless Okinawa’s reversion is achieved’ (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 18). But not all welcomed him and there was also considerable hostility against Sato¯’s policy of supporting America’s war in Vietnam – heightened no doubt by the use of Okinawa as a launching pad for the war effort. As a consequence, the OTA and other Council members were able to organize a protest rally against the Prime Minister at Naha High School, which attracted 150,000 participants. They demanded the immediate cessation of raids against Vietnam from Okinawa, and reversion (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 22). The Council also staged a large-scale sit-in along Route 1, between kokusai do¯ri (a main street in Naha City) and the To¯kyu¯ hotel, where the Prime Minister was staying.30 The Council’s plan for a controlled collective action turned into a zig-zag demonstration of twenty thousand people, which stopped traffic completely. The local police force clashed with the demonstrators, resulting in unprecedented violence, and five demonstrators were arrested. The demonstrators failed to communicate directly with Sato¯, who escaped to another hotel arranged by the US military. At a result they were unable to directly convey a number of crucial petitions to him: petitions focusing on the abolition of Article 3 of the peace treaty, the removal of nuclear weapons from Okinawa, and warrant of Okinawans’ basic human rights and autonomy including a public election of the Chief Executive (Sokoku Fukki To¯ so¯ shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 236–7). Nevertheless, the executive committee of the Council for Reversion considered the mass demonstration a ‘success’. Even if unintentionally, they had disrupted the whole city, and they had conveyed to the Prime Minister the Okinawans’ ‘greatest wish’ for reversion (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 265).

Growing US incentives for reversion Eventually, in 1968, US President Johnson approved the public election of GRI Chief Executives. To¯yama writes that the direct petition to the USCAR by a group of five influential local figures in September 1965 was particularly effective: the USCAR public relations chief officer commented, ‘Receiving request from the influential local figures, the US would have to take some action’ (To¯yama 1987: 451–3).31 The appeal made a significant difference to the extent that it formalized the locals’ collective will for the Chief Executive election. Yet, in retrospect, it has become clear that this concession was most affected by the development of US–Japan diplomatic talks on security alliance. As a result of these developments, prospects for the reversion movement were significantly changing. By the mid-1960s, the US and Japanese governments had started negotiations for extending Ampo – the US Japan Security Treaty – which was expiring in 1970.

The second wave 91 The primary interest for the US was to maintain its right to freely deploy and use military forces in Okinawa, including nuclear weapons. The advantage that Okinawa offered lay not only in its strategic location but in the relative freedom it allowed the US to bring in and store nuclear weapons. This would not have been possible in mainland Japan. The National Security Council was deeply concerned about the Japanese public’s enthusiasm for Okinawa’s return, and about the potentially serious damage that a US refusal to compromise on this issue might cause to the LDP and Prime Minister Sato¯ Eisaku’s administration, which was most sympathetic to the US security interest. The stability of the pro-US Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) governance of Japan was imperative for the US. It was crucial therefore, for the US to enter into negotiations over the reversion question with Sato¯ and the LDP, not the opposition party, and extend Ampo on the condition of US free access to Okinawa, including the possibility to store nuclear weapons – even if this required the return of civil administration on Okinawa to Japan (Gabe 2000: 78–9).32 The logic of the situation was reasonably straightforward: the status quo in relation to Okinawa (i.e. direct US administration) was becoming untenable. So if Okinawa had to be returned to Japan, better that it be returned to a US-friendly Japan on the best possible of terms than to an unfriendly one on poor terms. So let’s use the politics of reversion to help our friends. By 1965, not surprisingly, the US state elites were seriously thinking about the possibility of giving up the direct military administration over Okinawa.33 The ‘two laws on education’ struggle Okinawan schoolteachers played a leading role in the progressive political campaign for reversion. Their political activities were restricted by firm USCAR controls, especially on their rights to travel to the mainland. Yet, because of Okinawa’s separation from Japan, Okinawan teachers had been free from the different kinds of political control Japan has imposed on mainland schoolteachers. This started to change, as the contribution to Okinawa’s treasury from Japan increased. In 1967, the Okinawa Democratic Party and the GRI Education Department attempted to introduce two education-related legislation bills. The aim of these bills was, first, to improve working conditions and rewards for schoolteachers in accordance with mainland Japanese standards. Second, however, the bills also restricted the Okinawan schoolteachers’ rights to engage in collective strikes and political actions – again to mainland Japanese levels. Third, they introduced teachers’ performance evaluation, as in mainland Japan.34 Of course, not only the teachers but also the Okinawan community of protest as a whole were infuriated at this legislation. On the day the Ryu¯kyu¯ Legislature was to pass these bills, about 15,000 protesters demonstrated in the Legislature building and stopped the session (see Figure 6.3). The protesters included all kinds of workers, union members, and representatives who came to the Legislature building to support 24 schoolteachers staging a hunger strike. All the OTA schoolteachers took voluntary annual leave from schools in

92 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa protest. As a result, the two education bills were formally discarded in April 1967, which upset the conservative Democratic Party members so much that the members and Legislature Chair were ‘trembling with anger’ (To¯yama 1987: 449). While the OTA was opposed to the mainland Japanese legislation, it aligned itself further with the mainland Japanese teachers’ union, Nikkyo¯so, a left-wing progressive opponent to the government control on teachers’ political rights.35 Furthermore, in the process of this struggle, the progressive party and unions’ energy was distracted from the protest against the military bases (Gabe 1969: 298). This ‘two laws on education (kyo¯ ko¯ niho¯ ) struggle’, led by the usually proreversion schoolteachers, was unusual in that it opposed a bill that aimed at

Figure 6.3 Demonstrators stop the Two Laws on Education, 24 February 1967 (Source: Sokoku Fukki To¯ so¯ shi Hensan Iinkai 1982b: 107, courtesy of Okinawa Jiji Shuppan)

The second wave 93 introducing the mainland Japanese education system. It was a struggle undertaken by a progressive coalition against conservative political interests in Okinawa, including the US administration. In Okinawa, the ‘two laws on education’ struggle, together with the violent ‘Legislature incident’ against the Chief Executive nomination and the mass demonstrations against Sato¯, provided evidence of an extensive, vibrant, and determined protest culture in Okinawa. This ‘two laws struggle’ in particular is recalled with pride among Okinawan activists, and an account was published in a book, Kyo¯ko¯ Niho¯ To¯so¯shi (History of the Two Laws on Education Struggle), by the Okinawa Teachers’ Union (Kyo¯ko¯ Niho¯ To¯so¯shi Henshu¯ Iinkai 1998).

‘Reversion nationalism’ in crisis Eldridge’s work (2001) demonstrates how prepared the Japanese and US leaders were to respond to the Okinawans’ sentimental affiliation to Japan, in order to make necessary legal and political arrangements for maintaining the US bases in the islands. Reversion in 1972 is the ultimate proof of this. As long as the hope for reversion was attractive to the Okinawans, there was room for negotiation for the Japanese and the US governments. On 15 November 1967, Sato¯ and US President Johnson officially announced in the US–Japan Joint Communiqué that Okinawa would be returned to Japan in a couple of years’ time, without affecting the US military forces crucial for maintaining regional security (Nakano 1969: 651–2). That is, the LDP leaders found a way to achieve Okinawa’s reversion, and keep the US forces in Okinawa intact (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 70–80, Nakano 1969: 597–602). Consequently, reversion as a goal, and ‘reversion nationalism’ as a frame of protest, began to attract criticism within the community of protest. Solidarity with mainland Japanese protest organizations? As the Okinawan activists deepened their affiliation with the mainland Japanese leftist organizations, a confusing issue arose. In Tokyo, despite the several hundred thousands of protesters surrounding the Diet as well as the nationwide opposition, Prime Minister Kishi Nobusuke and the LDP passed the renewal of Ampo in 1960. The new terms of the treaty increased ‘mutuality’ between the two states, that is, greater military responsibility on Japan’s part, defending the Asia-Pacific region.36 In the early 1960s, the anti-Ampo mainland Japan Socialist Party (JSP) activists expressed qualms about the inclusion of Okinawa and Ogasawara in Japan’s defence ‘responsibility’. These responsibilities, they feared, would drag Japan into warfare involving US forces in those regions. The Okinawans were immediately reminded of the peculiar mainland Japanese attitudes towards Okinawa: cutting the marginal islands adrift when their own security was endangered. The debate questioned the Okinawans’ reversion nationalist attachment to the ‘home country’, and the sense of solidarity with the Japanese protesters (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 115–17). Mainland attitudes diminished the credibility of ‘reversion nationalism’.37

94 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa In 1964, the OPP followed the JCP and conducted a joint long march scheduled to take place from 28 April to 15 August – the Japanese anniversary of the end of WWII. The participants departed from Okinawa on 28 April, and ended the event with an offshore boat rally. On 28 April, independently of the OPP, OSMP, and OSP members held a boat rally as usual, co-operating with the JSP-affiliated organizations (To¯yama 1987: 412–13). This split collective action reflected differences over whether to place emphasis on 28 April, Okinawa’s ‘day of humiliation’, or 15 August, which was a date that had little to do with the end of the Battle of Okinawa. So, was Okinawa’s reversion primarily part of Japan’s anti-Ampo struggle, or an indigenous struggle against Okinawa’s history of marginalization? Of course, it was both, but each side assigned different weights to the two dates and what they represented. A similar issue exists between Okinawa’s absolute pacifism and its synchronicity with the Japanese pacifism which has its spiritual bases in Hiroshima and Nagasaki (see Chapter 4). In so far as the Ampo movement and its solidarity with the Okinawan activists continues, there continues to be disagreement over strategy selection and organizational affiliation. The Vietnam War The Vietnam War forced many Okinawans to reconsider their ‘absolute pacifism’ (see Chapter 4) and a new form of consciousness surfaced. This stressed Okinawa’s position as an aggressor for contributing to America’s war – a war also supported by Japan. A 45-year-old male farmer in Koza City wrote to the Okinawa Taimusu in August 1965: It is understandable that we (Okinawans) have a big victim mentality considering the pressure from the US and Japan . . . [However,] Okinawa provides the United States the bases, and co-operates with the US forces. Does it not make Okinawa the oppressor of the Vietnamese people? . . . It is important that we should realize that we are not victims now, but are contributing to the sufferings of other Asians. Otherwise, I do not feel it is possible to find a true path to reversion and peace. (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 34) The self-perception of Okinawans as victims was tempered by a realization that, in a war situation, anyone, including Okinawans, could turn into aggressors. This realization strengthened their aversion to imposing the pain and killing they had experienced in the Battle of Okinawa on the Vietnamese people. The growing aversion towards self-victimization was shared with the mainland Japanese anti-war activists and intellectuals. It was also represented by the antiVietnam Beheiren movement, the influence of which had been growing throughout Japan.38 By the mid-1960s, Okinawan anti-militarism was increasingly inclined to stress opposition to generic war and military bases against the Japanese government’s support for America’s war. This redefined anti-militarism forced many Okinawans

The second wave 95 to reconsider reversion to a Japan which supported the war as a comprehensive solution to their problems. Thus, ‘reversion nationalism’ – and the Council’s strategy and collective action predicated on it – came under critical scrutiny. For example, members of the Ryu¯kyu¯ University Study Group on Marxism (Ryu¯kyu¯ Daigaku Marukusu Kenkyu¯-kai) focused on the problem of Okinawan reintegration into the Japanese capitalist order. The Group pointed out that the Japanese capitalist economy (and its expansion into Southeast Asia) was the main beneficiary of the new Ampo and the US military forces placed in Okinawa. The Group discontinued its affiliation with the OPP in 1960, and publicly criticized the nationalismoriented reversion movement. In May 1965, reacting to the intensification of the Vietnam War, these students formed the Anti-War Students’ Congress (Hansen Gakusei Kaigi). The 2 July 1965 statement of the Congress at a general meeting declared: Our struggle against the US imperialist invasion of Vietnam requires international solidarity with workers all over the world, including American workers who protest against militarism . . . Nationalist-inspired anti-Americanism in Okinawa, with the slogan ‘Go Home Yanks’, is not adequate to sustain our international anti-militarist struggle. (cited in Arasaki 1969: 210)39 The critical version of ‘absolute pacifism’ raised scepticism towards emotional attachment to nationalist symbols and slogans, and the latter were interpreted as pathways to inevitable future co-operation with the state and its war. It was becoming clear over time that opposition to the existence of US military bases, predicated on critical ‘absolute pacifism’ and anti-militarism sentiments, was diverging from the ‘reversion nationalism’ employed by the Council. In 1969, a young writer, Kishimoto Tateo, represented another form of selfcriticism against the ‘victim mentality’ originating in the tragic experience of the Battle of Okinawa. In his view, stories of aggression and cruelty of the mainland Japanese soldiers toward the Okinawan residents obscured the nature of war that could turn anyone, including Okinawans themselves, violent. According to Kishimoto, the Okinawans’ enthusiastic aversion to war, or ‘absolute pacifism’, derived from a victim mentality and was passive in character. Additionally, however, it could transform itself into an uncritical, emotional attachment to the ‘home country’, Japan (1969: 204). As suggested above, this criticism of ‘absolute pacifism’ highlighted the limitation of ‘reversion nationalism’. Kishimoto pointed out in 1969 that the campaign for reversion and opposition to the US military presence had to be separate. As suggested above, this criticism of ‘absolute pacifism’ highlighted the limitation of ‘reversion nationalism’. Thirty years later, Kishimoto found himself representing a conservative political force as mayor of Nago City. In this role, he has approved the construction of an alternative heliport to the US Marine Corps’ Futenma Air Station. How is this change of position to be explained? Perhaps, Kishimoto, while understanding the limitations of reversion nationalism, could find no effective alternative to it either.

96 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Others, however, have been more loyal to his bolder and more youthful arguments and they remain alive in the community of protest. Thus in 1999, when Kishimoto formally approved the heliport in Nago, an anti-base activist and a local editor of a community magazine in Naha in her thirties from Okinawa Main Island commented: When I was growing up, I heard about the horror of the Battle of Okinawa all the time, from adults around me, not only my parents and grandmother, but also schoolteachers, and women and men in our neighbourhood. Their vivid and raw descriptions of war were frightening, they made you think, war, at all costs, must be avoided. The general message of the Okinawans – and some thinking mainland Japanese people, too – would be that there is no just war and no war can be justified. But, here, we cannot avoid asking, ‘Okinawa, too, with Japan, went to war, to that terrifying, frightening war of invasion, didn’t it?’ (Personal communication, August 1999) The last point she made represents self-criticism that has repeatedly come out in the internal debates in Okinawan civil society in the last thirty years – particularly during the Vietnam War. It also echoes the concerns expressed not just by the younger Kishimoto but occasionally by others who remained reserved about reversion nationalism and the victim mentality it often entailed. ‘Anti-Reversionism’ As the Okinawans’ struggle went through different phases, the collective identity of the anti-base movement also underwent transformation. Its goals, strategies, and participating organizations were products of ‘an interactive and shared definition produced by several individuals who are concerned with the orientations of their action as well as the field of opportunities and constraints in which their action takes place’ (Melucci 1989: 34). Existential assumptions about Okinawa’s position vis-à-vis Japan – ‘who we are’ – were particularly important for the collective identity of the reversion movement. Up to the mid-1960s, the dominant definition of ‘Okinawa-jin’ (an Okinawan) within the community of protest emphasized the Okinawans’ sameness with the ‘Japanese’. Expressions of Okinawan distinctiveness from, and criticism of, the mainland Japanese (for example, Japan’s war responsibility) tended to be suppressed. At the same time, enthusiastic attachment to the hinomaru flag and promotion of standardized Japanese language were encouraged by the Council for Reversion by schoolteachers and by demonstrators (Takara 1995: 157–8). Following intensification of the Vietnam War, however, criticism of ‘reversion nationalism’ started to come from intellectuals, writers, students, and other nonaffiliated individuals. At the same time, these voices pointed out that there had not been enough self-critical reflection on the part of the reversionists during the reversion campaign regarding relations between the ‘Okinawan’ identity – what it

The second wave 97 meant to be ‘Okinawan’, not just ‘Japanese’ – and their political struggle (Oguma 1998: 597). These dissenting voices and actors were part of the broader community of protest, despite their often organizationally detached status. In the mid-1960s, as the possibility of Okinawa’s reversion became real, critics and writers challenged the idea of Okinawans as ‘Japanese’ more forcefully. For example, Shimao Toshio, in his ‘Yaponesia’ writings, captured the transformation of ‘the historical trend toward assimilation . . . giving way to a movement toward dissimilation’ (Gabriel 1999: 183). Shimao’s ‘Yaponesia’ writings suggested that islands such as Okinawa, Amami, Yaeyama, and Miyako did not primarily belong to yamato, but formed a separate cultural sphere that yamato was itself a part of.40 One of the most important critics of the ‘reversion nationalism’ was Arakawa Akira. He was a journalist, critic, poet, and philosopher who objected to reversionism on spiritual and philosphical grounds (Molasky 2003). His idea of antireversionism (han-fukki shiso¯) focused on the independence of Okinawan history and tradition. The assimilationist argument, dating back to the Japan–Ryu¯kyu¯ Common Ancestry Theory (Nichiryu¯ Do¯so Ron) of a seventeenth-century aristocrat, Haneji Cho¯ shu¯ (Sho¯ jo¯ ken), and extended to the Okinawan Studies pioneered by Iha Fuyu¯, had an important influence on orthodox Okinawan political thought (see Chapter 3). The pro-reversion intellectuals, who approved of Okinawa’s reintegration with Japan, tended to idealize Jahana’s movement (see Chapter 3) as a predecessor of the reversion movement.41 In particular, Arakawa criticized the tactic of relying on protection from Japan as illusionary; as in the same lineage of struggles originating from Nichiryu¯ Do¯ so Ron, succeeded by Jahana Noboru’s Liberty and Freedom struggle. Anti-reversionism not only rejected the Okinawan desire for assimilation with yamato, it also refused to accept the ‘logic of the nation-state’ that had dominated all political thinking on both the left and the right in Okinawa. Arakawa criticizes the mental character that tends to be drawn towards integration with a nation-state, and the emotional attraction of being a ‘good, complete Japanese’ (Arakawa 1996: 96). He advocates the positive acceptance of the inevitable character of ‘Okinawan’ as ‘alien’ in relation to the nation-state. The crux of his anti-reversionism is that the Okinawans’ struggle against the state could be sustained only by recognizing the ‘alien’ status within the nation-state (Arakawa 1996: 97). Arakawa’s thinking puzzled the reversion protagonists. First, it was identified with the politically conservative argument for the independence of the Ryu¯kyu¯s – an argument that preceded the formation of the reversion movement in the early 1950s (Chapter 3). The independence advocates in the 1950s argued for the separation of Okinawa from Japan, and for affiliation with the US in order to obtain better economic aid and assistance. This independence path was discarded as a ‘mistake’ as the oppressive methods of the US administration became apparent and, naturally, the main target of opposition. Yet ‘anti-reversionism’ in the 1960s did not endorse any political option for seeking patronage from another nationstate, and was qualitatively different from the earlier vision of Okinawa’s ¯ ta 1971: 118–19). This is what made Arakawa, in particular, independence (O puzzling.

98 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa In fact, Arakawa’s anti-reversionism appeared to negate almost any political action by denying concrete political diagnosis. Arakawa himself did not form any major anti-base organizations, nor was his thought specifically connected to opposition to the bases, which makes his ideas susceptible to being criticized as nihilistic. Even though he opposes the idea of seeking integration with the state, his anti-reversionism does not point towards independence or secession (Arakawa 2000b: 60–77). For this reason, anti-reversionism drew angry emotional reactions from some pro-OPP intellectuals, who interpreted it as approval of continuing US military administration. Politically, Arakawa simply recommends building the sense of self, as an Okinawan, by maintaining critical distance from the state system, at a spiritual level. With his colleagues such as Kawamitsu Shinichi and sympathetic student groups, Arakawa did attempt to organize a boycott of the first national election of Okinawan Diet members in 1970. But the support he attracted was very small: only some fifty people attended the initial meeting (Kawamitsu Shinichi, Interview, February 2002). Arakawa, now in his mid-seventies, maintains his ‘transcendental’ position, continues to write, and remains a respected even if iconoclastic voice within the community of protest. Kawamitsu, a Miyako-born poet, joined the Isahama farmers’ struggle against the US forced land acquisition as a student at the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s. He is a retired journalist of the Okinawa Taimusu, and has been equally influential as an iconoclastic critic of Okinawa’s reversion. Kawamitsu has constantly distanced himself from progressive political organizations. Now in his early seventies, he says that he has never voted in elections, and his ‘Okinawa Struggle’ is to engage in debates against other Okinawan activists who believe in the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ (Interview, February 2002). He expresses critical detachment from the ‘progressive’ parties and unions.42 Today, Kawamitsu concentrates on his artistic activities, apart from supporting the famous Okinawan musician Kina Sho¯ kichi’s international peace movement,43 which is also unaffiliated to political parties or unions. The anti-reversionist critique was a warning against what was seen to be the coalition’s detachment from what was really at stake for the Okinawans. Instead the coalition, including the government, the opposition parties, and the unions, were distracted by the desire to assimilate with mainland Japan, Arakawa may never have been entirely clear on what exactly was at stake in the argument. Despite this, anti-reversionism appealed to those whose main concern was the historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization and the need for ongoing struggle, especially pertaining to Okinawans’ rights to safety, security, and property. This is what was at stake.

From reversion to anti-militarism? On 24 April 1968, military base workers held a 24-hour strike. Some 23,000 employees participated and took annual leave, and these included more than the 18,000 Zengunro¯ members (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 177). The strike was motivated by the base workers’ rage against many forms of entrenched discrimination reaching back over the previous 23 years, and for the first time it became

The second wave 99 clear that Okinawa’s reversion was a certain event. As previously discussed, Zengunro¯ was an organization very capable of making effective demands on the US administration. It had been pressuring USCAR into abolishing Ordinance No. 116 that prohibited workers’ industrial actions on bases (Jinmin, 18 January 1969). Other unions such as Zen Oki Ro¯ren, Kanko¯ro¯, and Kenro¯kyo¯ also staged a number of rallies and demonstrations opposing B-52s and nuclear weapons (Jinmin, 11 January 1969, 25 January 1969). In the early morning of 19 November 1968, a B-52 crashed in the Kadena Air Base. The Zengunro¯ leader Uehara was living within two kilometres of the Kadena base. Though there were no casualties, the incident ‘sent the residents into an abyss of fear towards the B-52s operation in Okinawa’ (Uehara 1982: 269). This fear was amplified by the existence of a nuclear arsenal located 150 metres from the site of the accident (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 483). On 7 December, the Council for Reversion, Zengunro¯ , Kenro¯ kyo¯ , and other unions and organizations formed the Okinawan Citizens’ Life Protection Coalition (Inochi o Mamoru Kenmin Kyo¯to¯). The member organizations were almost identical to those in the Council for Reversion. The Life Protection Coalition was an attempt to redirect the focus of activists from reversion to anti-militarism and the use of the US armed forces on Okinawa to attack Vietnam. The Life Protection Coalition focused on protesting against B-52s, stopovers of US nuclear submarines, and all the nuclear weapons in Okinawan bases. On 14 December, the progressive coalition organized a major anti-B-52 rally and demonstration surrounding the Kadena Air Base (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 183–5). In order to request the removal of the B-52s, in January 1969, trade union members, students, and non-affiliated citizens advocated a general strike. The Council agreed to this proposal, and planned a ‘100,000 sit-in’ on the military roads within Kadena Air Base on 4 February. The general strike was planned to take place in February 1969 (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 183, Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 483). The participation of Zengunro¯ in the general strike plan was significant, in terms of the potential damage to US base operations. Further discussion of this event follows shortly. An association of businesses in Naha decided to participate in the February general strike, by closing businesses for 24 hours. Fishing people planned an offshore demonstration, and Chatan and Yomitan villages in central Okinawa prepared for the entire closure of the villages. The workers’ unions engaged in last-minute preparation for the prefectural rally, such as setting up medical facilities, transport to bring participants to Kadena, and mobile toilets. Although at this point everything seemed prepared, ‘politics’ intervened. In 1968, Yara Cho¯byo¯ was elected new Chief Executive of the GRI, winning over 230,000 votes. The election of the first Chief Executive in November 1968 was fought between the conservative Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party candidate, Nishime Junji44 (arguing for the economic-oriented co-existence policy with the US military) and Yara, the OTA chair and leader figure of the Council for Reversion. Yara was supported by the left-wing member parties, unions, and organizations who campaigned for the immediate and unconditional reversion of Okinawa to

100 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Japan. Yara attributes the election result to ‘the strength of the coalition’s unity’ (Yara 1985: 20–1). As recorded in the Council for Reversion’s official history (Sokoku Fukki To¯ so¯ shi Hensan Iinkai 1982a: 459–60), the Chief Executive’s election struggle was interpreted as a victory of the ‘democratic forces’: the 1968 election marked the apogee of the progressive coalition’s power. Having said this, the general strike planned for February of 1969 put greater pressure on the US and Japanese governments than the election of the progressive candidate Yara as Chief Executive. The Japanese government, which had earlier expressed its support for the US policy in Vietnam, persuaded the Okinawans to stop the general strike using fiscal leverage – by this time, the Japanese government was contributing more to the Okinawan budget than USCAR was. The Japanese government communicated directly to Chief Executive Yara, using two political weapons: first, economic aid and, second, the promise of early reversion. Chief Executive Yara had been building closer relationships with Tokyo in order to ask for an immediate completion of Okinawa’s reversion during the US and Japan negotiations summit, increased economic aid, and the removal of B-52s. Prime Minister Sato¯ and Yara had a number of informal meetings during which Sato¯ advised Yara to cancel the general strike in order not to slow the process of reversion (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 186).45 Yara agreed. The mainland Japanese umbrella organizations of trade unions, Sohyo¯ and Do¯mei, were also ambivalent towards the planned general strike in Okinawa. They had the Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee (kenro¯kyo¯) registered as their subsidiary organization, but were hesitant to involve Japanese trade unions in the anti-Ampo struggle, and opted for a moderate anti-militarist position. Almost no mainland trade unions participated in any activities in support of the Okinawan general strike (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 186). On 31 January, finally, Chief Executive Yara requested the Life Protection Coalition members to abandon the general strike. This was a painful decision for him, for he had not been able to secure a Japanese government commitment to remove B-52s in his negotiations. Kenro¯kyo¯, in which Zengunro¯ accounted for half of union memberships (about forty thousand), agreed to Yara’s request. They were keen to protect the new Yara GRI administration, elected by the progressive coalition. Angry workers and students surrounded the Kenro¯kyo¯ office. Among the Life Protection Coalition, the OPP, OSP, OTA, Zen Oki Ro¯ren, all the youth groups and student groups, and Kadena residents’ groups voted for proceeding with the general strike as planned. However, when Yara’s personal assistants hinted at his resignation, the Coalition reached an agreement: it would hold a citizens’ rally against B-52, but would cancel the general strike plan (To¯ yama, 1987: 491–2). Thus was the general strike aborted. On 4 February, a rainy day, when the general strike was originally planned to take place, forty thousand gathered to stage another anti-B-52 rally. Why did the coalition members in the end agree to cancel the general strike? They wished, as indicated above, to protect Yara’s progressive administration. Also, a general strike would have upset the US and the Japanese governments, and reversion might, as Yara had warned, have been cancelled or severely delayed.

The second wave 101 The choice the Okinawan protesters were forced to make was definitely unfair: reversion or the right to resist continuing militarization. Yara, in his compromise with the Japanese government, chose reversion and, while his intention was to preserve the ‘unity’ and effectiveness of the movement, it had precisely the opposite effect. It damaged the cohesion and the confidence of the community of protest. The failure to stage a general strike contributed to the protesters’ confusion and loss of direction. The leading progressive organizations such as the OPP and OSP tended to self-criticize the ‘weakness of the mass movement’ for not being able to correct ‘Yara’s mistake’, attributing responsibility to Yara.46 Criticism prevailed against the progressive coalition’s inability to resist the Japanese government, and many more started to disconnect themselves from the ‘Okinawan’ collective identity based on ‘reversion nationalism’ where it contradicted with anti-militarism (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 195). ‘Anti-reversionist’ thought also gained popularity by combining with the newly emerging ambition for Okinawan independence. But none of this was easy going and changes in perspective resulted in or involved a questioning of the integrity of the Council for Reversion. Again confusion reigned in the community of protest and it did so just as a new arsenal – suspected to be a nuclear arsenal – was to be built near Camp Schwab in Henoko, adding to the anti-military protest agenda. Furthermore, in July 1969, the existence of poison gas in Okinawa was revealed by a media report. This led to a violent break-in by students into USCAR headquarters, and another Okinawan Citizens’ Rally (Okinawa Daihyakka Jiten Kanko¯ Jimukyoku 1983: 184). The threat of the US and Japan intensifying Okinawa’s militarization – and of it becoming a permanent nuclear military base – was growing. And the hope that Okinawa’s repatriation might bring with it the removal of the US military presence was shattered. Nakano and Arasaki note: ‘the prevailing consensus was the denial of the Japanese government’s 1972 reversion policy. The Council demanded the complete removal of US bases that the people had wished’, which was, instead of reversion, defined as ‘Okinawa’s liberation’ (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 195–6). At this stage, it was clear that reversion to Japan was no longer the goal of the Okinawan protesters. After the Sato¯ –Nixon Joint Statement in November 1969, which confirmed Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, the Council for Reversion members attempted to combine the slogan of ‘reversion’, with ‘opposition to war’. It was around this time that the Council leaders started to use the term ‘Okinawa Struggle’ (Okinawa to¯so¯) to describe Okinawans’ own struggle against the generic marginalization of Okinawa (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 199), as opposed to mainland Japanese usage of the term – Japan’s retrieval of Okinawa. However, the combination of reversion and anti-militarism had become unconvincing to many, especially to students and younger activists. According to Nakasone Isamu, a local magistrate, who was in his twenties at the time: ‘It was like adding a bamboo to a tree. Anti-militarism was incompatible with the support of reversion to Japan’ (Takara 1995: 191): Japan was supporting America’s war at the time. The Council for Reversion announced its opposition to the second meeting between Sato¯ and US President Nixon, scheduled to confirm Okinawa’s reversion

102 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa in 1972. But the demonstrations against the meeting had very little impact – it caused Yara a headache and barely even background noise for Sato¯.

The Koza riot: outside the progressive coalition Following Sato¯ and Nixon’s announcement of Okinawa’s immanent reversion in their joint statement issued on 21 November 1969,47 the US announced the dismissal of 2,400 local military base workers. From 8 January 1970, Zengunro¯ engaged in another series of strikes against the military’s redundancy policy.48 This time, however, Zengunro¯’s collective action was not a demand for the US bases to provide stable employment. It was a protest against the US military presence in Okinawa after reversion, under new, streamlined management (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 202). With a slogan of ‘no jobs, no base’ (kubi o kirunara kichi mo kaese), the desperate struggle of the base workers was solid, well-organized, and full of energy, despite the workers’ lack of economic resources. Some schoolteachers, public servants, anti-war university students, and mainland Japanese supporters joined the picket lines at the military gates (Ishida 1993: 70–84).49 However, the Yara administration, though sympathetic, did not express support for fear of delaying the intended 1972 reversion. The US military responded to the Zengunro¯ strikes by declaring that the local business districts, including ‘special catering districts’, were ‘off limits’ to the US military personnel and their families. On 20 January 1970, the ‘A’ sign business owners who feared bankruptcy surrounded the Zengunro¯ headquarters’ office, protesting against the base workers’ strikes (Okinawa Daihyakka Jiten Kanko Jimukyoku 1983: 186). A mainland Japanese supporter witnessed a debt-stricken female bar owner verbally abusing the picketers in Koza, and in return being sexually harassed by the base workers ‘for interrupting the picket line’ (Ishida 1993: 85–7). Local gangsters, hired by the entertainment industry, also attacked the picket line (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 201). Unlike base workers who had the power to jeopardize US military operations by strikes and boycotts, bar workers and prostitutes remained politically unorganized and vulnerable. The ‘A’ sign businesses were particularly reluctant to support the campaign for reversion, or any political movements that offended the US authorities. Because of this vulnerability to the arbitrary ‘off limits’ sanctions of the US, uncertainty was rife about what would happen to the local economy if reversion was achieved and the military bases disappeared. A Koza restaurant owner also admitted that the people engaged in base-related industries shared with other islanders a basic wish to ‘return to the home country’. However, he confessed that with so many people relying for their livelihood on the bases, ‘I cannot agree with the view that reversion should be achieved immediately, at any cost’ (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 127). In the late 1960s, US soldiers in Okinawa were exhausted by the prolonged Vietnam War, and behaved much more violently off base: their crime rate increased dramatically in the local community (Takazato 1998).50 In some cases, soldiers assaulted Okinawan residents to invite arrest and to avoid being returned to the

The second wave 103 war zone (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯ sha 1968: 141). Murder and rape of the locals who worked in the ‘special districts’ and in US military bases were frequent, heinous, and insufficiently investigated or prosecuted by the authorities (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 140). In 1966, for example, no investigation result was reported by the US military police on the killing of a local barmaid in Kin village. Likewise in 1968, the result of an investigation into the case of a housemaid who was found dead, naked and stabbed repeatedly in a bathtub at a US soldier’s residency in a base in Urasoe village was never reported (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 140). However, the reversion activists and organizations tended not to protest against these cases as they did for the ‘innocent victims’ of the 1955 Yumiko-chan and 1962 Kokuba-kun incidents. This discrimination could be explained by the history of ‘special catering districts’ created by the necessity to control or at least contain the sexual violence of the US military soldiers. Yet it was more than that: the making of innocent victims as a resource for mobilizing collective action to demand reversion was predicated on the silence over violence and human rights abuses that occurred in ‘special districts’ like Koza. Tomiyama explains that the US military’s violence inflicted on the women in ‘base towns’ tended to be ignored by the protesters, in effect, to protect the symbolic effect of the victimization of normal ‘victims’ (Tomiyama 1996: 28). The prejudice was indicative of the priority placed on certain kinds of struggle, such as the campaign for reversion, or the class-based struggles led by the left-wing political parties, workers, and schoolteachers. This limitation of ‘reversion nationalism’ – once a powerful framing of protest that gave birth to the long-lasting progressive coalition – illustrates some of the difficulties of constructing a unitary and inclusive subject of protest, ‘Okinawa’. Reflecting these complications and conflicts of interest in the community of protest, young business owners, bartenders, and waiters in the ‘base town’ districts were critical of the progressive political organizations’ inability to fully address or stage collective action against what they perceived to be their treatment as second-class human beings. To these workers Arakawa’s anti-reversionist thought was particularly attractive. In 1969, these workers established the Koza Livelihood Protection Society (Koza no seikatsu o mamoru kai) (Tomiyama 1996: 28–9), which found supporters among young ‘base town’ male workers (Ishida 1993: 86).51 The position of the Livelihood Protection Society, needless to say, was seriously at odds with Zengunro¯, and other ‘progressive’ Okinawan activists at the scene of picketing. On 20 December 1970, just past midnight, a car driven by a US Army soldier hit a local man employed by the US military. The crowd at the scene of the accident started to scream and shout, demanding that the Military Police should hand over the driver to the local police. When the Military Police simply released the driver, the witnesses were infuriated. Just seven days prior to this incident, the military court had acquitted a US soldier, after he had killed a woman in Itoman in a car accident. The crowd set fire to vehicles with yellow licence plates, which indicated ownership by the US military. According to a ‘Department of Defence Intelligence Information Report’ of 28 December 1970, the riot involved more than two thousand locals, one or two hundred of whom were involved in burning 82 cars, a

104 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa military employment office, and American children’s schools within the Kanda Air Base (Okinawa Shiyakusho Kikakubu Heiwa Bunka Shinko-ka 1999: 96–101).52 This was the Koza riot, and it was the only spontaneous, outbreak of violence on this scale in Okinawa’s postwar history. Participants included union members, schoolteachers, base workers, and other ordinary citizens who were drinking in Koza.53 However, a public servants’ union member who joined the riot stresses that there was no union involvement: the main instigators were younger people who worked for the bars and restaurants in Koza catering to the US soldiers (Mainichi Shimbun (Seibu Honsha) 17 December 2000). Tomiyama explains that the explosive anger of these workers was directed at the discrimination and human rights abuses they experienced in their daily contact with the US military and its people. In the Koza riot, the ‘bar town’ workers who had been excluded from the definition of ‘citizens’ in the reversion movement themselves became the subject of a struggle, as ‘Okinawans’ (Tomiyama 1996: 29, Aldous 2003). The Koza riot gave voice to the ‘bar town’ workers, at least to young male workers who were capable of violence but who had been irrelevant to the organization or mobilization of the progressive coalition. The power of the Koza riot was ‘different from any rallies or protest “movements”’ according to a New Left mainland Japanese student (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 20 December 2000). The riot, completely outside of the organizational and ideological spectrum of the Council for Reversion, was an indication of internal divisions among the community of protest and, importantly, of the separation of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, led by the progressive parties and unions, from the day-to-day issues faced by many Okinawans in living with the US military presence.

Conclusion This chapter has examined the second ‘wave’ of protest in postwar Okinawan history. In the 27 years of direct US military’s occupation, the Okinawans suffered from loss of political autonomy, systemic racial discrimination, lack of protection from many forms of workplace abuse, unprosecuted lawlessness, and criminal behaviour on the part of US personnel (due to the extraterritoriality provisions), economic dependency, insecurity, and distorted development including the development of a huge sex industry, threats of continuing land expropriation, the noxious presence of huge quantities of weaponry including B-52s and nuclear and chemical weapons, and potential arms and weapons-related accidents. And this list could probably go on. More significantly here, reversion was for many during most of this 27-year period perceived to be the answer to these problems – following US withdrawal and access to the protections of the Japanese Constitution. During the reversion movement, leading political organizations and coalitions were formed on the basis of class struggle and nationalism. In the end, however, emotional attachment to Japan as a ‘home country’ became the dominant and most popular ‘framing’ – more popular than the idea of class struggle promoted by the OPP, trade unions, and student groups. This, as we have seen, suited the

Gendered bodies and physical identities 105 conservative mainland political agenda, especially that of the Japanese Prime Minister. To be sure, affiliation with mainland Japanese anti-Ampo parties and unions accelerated. Mass demonstrations that led to GRI Chief Executive election and the cancellation of Two Laws on Education are remembered as glorious and major achievements. ‘Reversion nationalism’ and the progressive coalition consolidated the idea of ‘the Okinawa Struggle’ as a comprehensive people’s movement against Okinawa’s marginalization. The organizational structure and repertoire of protest under the Council formed the basis of a still influential protest sector. However, the progressive coalition’s focus on reversion and the framing of ‘reversion nationalism’ failed to speak for the whole Okinawan community of protest, or to accommodate the locals’ strong rejection of involvement in another war, which stemmed directly from the residents’ experience in the Battle of Okinawa. ‘Reversion nationalism’ also lost credibility for many Okinawans who understood Okinawa’s role in bombing Vietnam: anti-militarism and the ‘reversion nationalism’ came into conflict. ‘Anti-reversion’ intellectuals rejected the Okinawan identity defined in terms of closeness to Japan, but sought an alternative identity – as ‘alien’ within a nation-state. The protests driven by the progressive coalition were silent in relation to many human rights abuses – including violence – which occurred daily. ‘Special districts’ like Koza were a case in point. The progressive coalition’s call for a general strike was defeated by the government’s intervention. These fissures and divisions reveal the always fragile, elusive, and ultimately mythic character of a unitary Okinawan struggle – threatening to fall apart, even falling apart, as it is being made; there but not there. Yet Okinawa became part of Japan in 1972, largely owing to the favourable political opportunity, namely the new security alliance arrangements between the US and Japan. The progressive coalition and its collective actions were rewarded by Okinawa’s repatriation to Japan. But, of course, the US bases were not withdrawn or even downscaled. Although it was hardly the ideal result, the reversion movement persisting for some 27 years of US direct military rule finally resulted in a major political change and, for that reason, the idea of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ survived. The influence of the reversion movement has remained strong; and so has the myth of a unified ‘Okinawan’ struggle. The reversion movement provided organizationally and strategically lasting influences for the ‘Okinawan’ struggle. However, its outcomes added another traumatic chapter to the historical narrative of marginalization.

7

The anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition The constitutional framing of protest

Introduction In 1972, Okinawa returned to Japan, and everything apart from the US military base presence changed. It marked the start of a long ‘low’ period in terms of mass protest that lasted until the third ‘wave’ of island-wide protest, triggered by the rape of a 12-year-old girl in 1995. During the first and second ‘waves’ of protest, the campaign for reversion was led by the Council for Reversion, which engaged in successive mass rallies and campaigns, and gave substance to the idea of a united Okinawans’ political movement, described in terms such as the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. Reversion as an overall goal was achieved and a goal that once held the coalition of protest organizations together no longer existed. The victory was, for many, more bitter than sweet. The US military bases were there to stay. Nor did the Okinawans’ history of marginalization come to an end with reversion. The ‘trough’ between the second and the third ‘waves’ was an important phase, a period when protest actors redefined agendas for protest, as well as finding new approaches and strategies. This process involved redefining ‘why we protest, what is at stake, and who “we” are’, across various struggles in different regions and communities. What stands out during this long ‘trough’ period is burgeoning diversity: differently defined struggles in Okinawa led to a splintering of protest groups and individual struggles. As indicated in previous chapters, this had been constantly the characteristic of the Okinawan community of protest. But in the post-reversion period, these differences became more explicit in terms of organizational structure and strategies. At the same time the island-wide – or even progressive – coalition towards one ‘Okinawan Struggle’ became much weakened. Having said that, the idea of an ‘Okinawan’ struggle as a continuous and united political ‘movement’ survived. The myth had momentum and survived despite the increased splintering of the organizations, priorities, and reform agendas. To understand the dynamics, changes, and tensions at work here I want to distinguish three ‘framings’ of protest in Okinawa: constitutional, environmentalist, and gender. This chapter focuses on the constitutional framing of protest, represented by the struggle of the anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition. It also reflects on the ‘low’ period of protest, following the reversion, before the rise of the ‘third

The anti-war landowners 107 wave’ of Okinawans’ island-wide protest in 1995. The anti-war landowners, together with the One-tsubo comrades and the supporting progressive coalition became an anchor for the idea and tradition of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. (One-tsubo land owners were not farmers; they were activists who acquired land in order to become protestors – see below for further discussion.) After the Council for Reversion ceased to function, the anti-war landowners provided the ‘glue’ needed to build an anti-base coalition – albeit a much smaller, divided, and loose one – among progressive, left-wing political parties, workers’ unions, teachers’ unions, and other citizens’ organizations. Through supporting the anti-war landowners, these progressive forces were able to continue their ‘Okinawa Struggle’. The constitutional framing of protest adopted by the anti-war landowners and their supporting organizations provided a vehicle to extend the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ from the 1950s and into the 1960s. By the end of the 1960s however, the momentum for mass protest was in decline and went into a sustained ‘low’ phase lasting almost a quarter of a century – until 1995. This chapter will consider some aspects of change and diversification in collective identity, strategy, and organizational structure of protest of the progressive coalition but, overall, continuity has been the predominant characteristic of its protest activity. Ironically, however, continuation of the old contributed to the emergence of new framings and strategies of protest. They were invented by those who went separate ways from the traditional parties, unions, and anti-war landowners. In effect, the limitations of the established protest groups provided the stimulus for the development of new approaches. A vacuum, waiting to be filled, had developed. Not surprisingly, and also importantly, this vacuum and the extended ‘trough’ created an opening for so-called new social movements to make their entry on to the Okinawan protest stage at precisely the right time. The environmentalist and gender framings referred to above were able to take their place in ‘Okinawa’s’ struggle’ – further enriching and diversifying it – but these are issues for Chapters 8 and 9 below. The present chapter first examines the reorganization of the anti-base progressive coalition inherited from the reversion movement. The successors were the anti-war landowners and their supporters. It then examines the repertoire of collective action of the anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition. The third section examines the ‘constitutionalist’ framing of protest. An important role played by the anti-war landowners’ long-term struggles has been, despite the Japanese government’s various schemes and economic subsidies to quell opposition, keeping the memories and practices of local disobedience alive. In so doing of course they were both drawing inspiration from and recharging the myth of a continuing, unified Okinawan people’s movement.

The organizations Who are the anti-war landowners? The ‘anti-war landowners’ are the owners of private properties occupied by the US and Japanese military in Okinawa, who ‘refuse to sign the lease contract, from

108 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa the perspective of opposing war and aspiring for peace’ (Arasaki 1992a: 108). Currently they represent about a hundred of about thirty thousand landowners. The overwhelming majority, thus, contract legally to lease their land to the state. They are ‘contract landowners’. Immediately after the Battle of Okinawa, the US forces occupied the land to build military bases in the landowners’ absence (as examined in Chapter 5). And some 33 per cent of the land they occupy is privately owned.1 Subsequent to the 1956 island-wide protest (Shimagurumi to¯so¯, see Chapter 5) against the US military’s lump-sum payment policy, the landowners earned the right to receive rent each year. Most of the landowners entered lease contracts with the US forces. Tochiren, the biggest and oldest interest group of landowners of military property and a central actor in the land struggle in the 1950s, represents the ‘contract landowners’.2 However, several hundred landowners, mostly farmers in villages such as Maja in Ie-jima, Oroku, Chatan, and Yomitan, refused to sign their leases, to express their opposition to militarism and war. This marked the birth of the anti-war landowners (‘non-contract landowners’ or ‘objectors’). Since the late 1950s, the contract landowners have received ‘rent’, and the non-contract landowners have received much lower rates of ‘compensation’ from the US and, after 1972, the Japanese government. The real difference between compliant and objecting landowners, however, is that the latter sign no lease documentation. This action – or inaction – signals their refusal to give their land over to supporting military activity or to engage in dealings with a government intent on such activities. Immediately after Okinawa’s reversion to Japan in 1972, the Japanese government became the subcontractor of the Okinawan landowners’ lease to the US military, under Article V of the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty, which states that it is Japan’s duty to provide facilities to US forces within Japan (Arasaki 1995: 75). In the late 1960s, reflecting the locals’ anti-militarist sentiment against B-52s and the Vietnam War, the number of non-contract landowners rose to three thousand. In 1971, the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization (Kenri to Zaisan o Mamoru Gunyo¯ Jinushi-kai, usually called Hansen Jinushi-kai) was formed, financially supported by the Council for Reversion to the Home Country (Council for Reversion). As a counter-measure, the Japanese government increased the rent 6.1 times, on average, higher than before reversion (Kurima 1998: 288). Thus, the rent from the military came to form a sizable part of the Okinawan economy. Together with greater Japanese subsidies to the Okinawa Prefecture, the Okinawan economy was transferred from a ‘base economy’ to a ‘subsidy economy’, dependent on the income granted by the government (Kurima 1998: 32–4), including the military property rent.3 The Japanese government used many methods – mostly underhand – to discourage objectors.4 Over time, a majority of landowners succumbed and signed their lease contract. Arasaki (cited in Zen’ei Staff 1996: 86) recalls the comment of an anti-war landowner, Uehara Taro, from Oroku village: ‘at least, the US military respected the landowners’ right to express their refusal and did not manipulate our psyche by inventing sources of conflict between contract landowners and the objectors, as Japan did’.

The anti-war landowners 109 Iken Kyo¯to¯: successor to the Council for Reversion? In June 1971, the US and Japan signed the ‘Okinawa Reversion Agreement’ (Agreement Between the United States of America and Japan Concerning the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands and the Daito¯ Islands, Okinawa Henkan Kyo¯tei). Unhappy with the Agreement, the Council for Reversion explained that the reversion achieved in 1972 was not what Okinawans expected: We, the citizens of the Okinawa Prefecture (Okinawa kenmin), are firmly opposed to any military bases. The majority of us wished for immediate, unconditional and total reversion under the pacifist Japanese Constitution, as demonstrated by the 1968 election of the Chief Executive. The ‘Return of Okinawa Pact’, however, made the reversion totally different from what the citizens of the Okinawa Prefecture have really hoped for. (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Henkan Iinkai 1982: 728–9) The Agreement stipulated that, apart from partial removal of nuclear warheads from the island, the existence of the base facilities of the US forces would remain unchanged. The expectation that the US military presence on Okinawa would be decreased to a level comparable with that of the mainland was betrayed.5 In particular, the Council protested against the loopholes that allowed for the additional deployment of US nuclear weapons and for the stationing of the Japanese Self-Defence Forces in Okinawa (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 635, 688).6 Prime Minister Sato¯’s repeated promise to make the US military bases in Okinawa ‘without nuke and mainland-standard’ (kaku-nuki, hondo-nami) had proved deceptive. Even though reversion was no longer a rallying ground for coalition, the ‘Okinawan Struggle’ had to continue. In its 1975 annual report, the Council for Reversion redefined the next stage of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ (Okinawa to¯so¯). It first reflected on the shortcomings of ‘reversion nationalism’, the dominant framing of protest in the 1960s: Under US military rule, when Okinawa was all but completely forgotten as part of a Japanese-speaking people, it was ‘necessary’ to appeal to Okinawans’ ethnic ties with Japan in order to turn Okinawa’s reversion into a national issue. [Moreover,] . . . [w]e engaged in the reversion campaign without any particular ideology, logic, or philosophy. The focus was on dealing with the emergency situations at the time, [yet], over time, the reversion movement evolved from its initial stage of a simple ethnic movement to its the present state: a ‘classoriented’, ‘anti-establishment’ struggle. (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 888–9) These statements are a self-critique of ‘reversion nationalism’ as a ‘simple sense of ethnic solidarity’ that, in retrospect, could not provide an adequate basis for resisting the US military presence in Okinawa. The ‘evolved’ movement, by contrast, was defined as a ‘class struggle’ (kaikyu¯ to¯so¯), in which ‘Okinawa’ was

110 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa an oppressed class, subjected to the domination of Japan, the US, or capitalism in general. The previous chapter distinguished between two different streams of ‘reversion nationalism’: the Okinawan version of ‘progressive nationalism’ derived from the (mainland) Japanese left’s class struggle against US colonialism, on one hand, and the emotional, ‘ethnic’ attachment to Japan, on the other. Rejection of the latter version of ‘reversion nationalism’ in 1975 is understandable, since reversion was interpreted as Japan’s betrayal of Okinawa. Yet the new phase of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ was redefined as a class struggle, that is, an extension of the first stream of ‘reversion nationalism’. In this sense, an element of the ‘reversion nationalism’ survived. At the same time, however, there were fundamental and somewhat perplexing changes. Continuity and changes were both obvious in the organizational structure of the Council members. Most local political parties and trade unions, which were previously independent ‘Okinawan’, ‘Yaeyama’, or ‘Miyako’ entities, all became incorporated into bigger mainland Japanese organizations. The OPP (Jinminto¯), a locally bred communist party that fought against the US military regime, became the Okinawan branch of the Japan Communist Party (JCP). The OSP became a branch of the Japan Socialist Party (JSP). The Okinawa Teachers’ Association became integrated with the Japan Teachers’ Union (Nikkyo¯-so). Not all of these changes were welcomed, however. The integration of Zengunro¯ with Zenchu¯ro¯ (All Foreign Military Workers’ Union, Zenchu¯ryu¯gun Ro¯do¯kumiai), a Japan-based union of workers employed by the US military bases in 1978, for example, caused some unhappiness: for many working Okinawans it meant the ‘disappearance of the flag representing the Okinawan union of base workers from the Okinawan mass workers’ movement’ (Uehara 1982: 450).7 Only the OSMP retained local headquarters and remained a purely ‘Okinawan’ political party. The Council denounced reversion publicly. Paradoxically, however, the protest organizations ‘reverted’ to Japan. This is what perplexes and what we perhaps see more clearly as perplexity today must have been a source of considerable tension in the early 1970s as the Council set about its self-reconstruction. We can infer this in part from documented difficulties in building consensus among the new organizations as their Japanese headquarters argued with Okinwan branch offices. One example involves larger policy against the LDP government and the US military forces (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 891). But what is perhaps most striking is that the Council disbands within two years of 1975 – in 1977. And this is one year after the establishment of a new umbrella organization in 1976, the Iken Kyo¯to¯ (Okinawa Gunyo¯chi Iken Sosho¯ Shien Kenmin Kyo¯ to¯ Kaigi, the Okinawa Supporting Council for the Legal Actions against Unconstitutionality). While it is true that Council members all agreed, in principle at least, on one agenda – support for the anti-war landowners’ struggle – it is not clear how this worked out in practice. It is not possible, however, to overstate the political importance of the anti-war landowners. Their numbers may have been small but their symbolic significance was huge. They maintained the lineage and historical continuity of the struggle, reaching back to the 1950s, and the early

The anti-war landowners 111 reversion movement. In short, the uniquely ‘Okinawan’ anti-war landowners’ disobedience was vital in two related ways. It stamped the Okinawan’s struggle as Okinawan; and it was a vital link in the historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization. It also, thereby maintained connections with the Battle of Okinawa experience, which will be further discussed below. The new body, Iken Kyo¯to¯, established in 1976, formed around the anti-war landowners. Following the cancellation of the general strike planned in 1969 and reversion in 1972, the community of protest was in confusion. The ‘Okinawan’ identity, which had constantly oscillated between sameness with yamato and distinctiveness of uchina (Okinawa), was swinging decisively towards distinctiveness at this point. While this was most apparent in anti-reversion sentiment of the late 1960s,8 after reversion it crystallized around the anti-war landowners’ struggle. Iken Kyo¯ to¯ became the primary organizational vehicle for this. In February 1976, 18 organizations – most of them former Council members – including three local political parties (the OSMP, Okinawa branches of the JCP and JSP) and local trade unions (Kenro¯ kyo¯ , Zen Oki Ro¯ ren, Jichiro¯ Okinawa Branch, Zenchuro¯ Okinawa Branch) as well as teachers’ unions including the Okinawa Teachers’ Union (OTU, formerly OTA), the High School Teachers’ Union, the two Okinawa Retired Teachers’ Organizations, The Okinawan Youth Groups’ Association, and the League of Okinawan Women’s Groups formed a new anti-base coalition. This was Iken Kyo¯to¯ or, in full, the Okinawa Supporting Council for the Legal Actions against Unconstitutionality. Iken Kyo¯to¯ offered an organizational framework for an anti-base coalition, holding together anti-base political institutions and citizens’ organizations. The Council for Reversion dissolved in 1977 and, according to Arasaki, the Council for Reversion ‘gave birth to a legitimate successor from its own womb’ (Arasaki 1995: 76). Thus the anti-war landowners were given a symbolic role as the embodiment of solidarity and coalition among the ‘progressive’, left-wing political parties, workers’ unions, teachers’ unions and other citizens’ organizations against the continuing US military presence. Apart from providing an organisational rallying point for an ‘Okinawan’ anti-base coalition, Iken Kyo¯to¯’s main function focused on supporting the anti-war landowners’ struggle against the US military’s compulsory acquisition of their land. Iken Kyo¯to¯ was an extensive organization that encompassed both JCPand JSP-affiliated parties and unions. All of this said, the ties it provided were much weaker and more nominal than those provided by the Council for Reversion. One-tsubo anti-war landowners The One-tsubo organization started as an opportunity for those Okinawans (and some in mainland Japan) who did not own substantial properties to become antiwar landowners. A group of initiators, including Arasaki Moriteru, advocated the One-tsubo (a tsubo is 3.3 square metres) movement, a collective land ownership of a property located inside the Kadena Air Station. A new organization, the OneTsubo Anti-Landowners’ Organization (Hitotsubo Hansen Jinushi-Kai) was established in December 1982. Each participant bought ¥10,000 worth (sometimes

112 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa less than one tsubo) of property, which jointly consisted of a property of 418 tsubo (786 square metres), originally owned by a non-contract landowner. According to the first issue of the organization’s newsletter, Hitotsubo Hansen, at the beginning, 833 One-tsubo landowners had registered as property owners, and refused to sign the lease contract (Hitotsubo Hansen May 1983: 3). ‘Return our land from the military to life and production!’ was chosen as the One-Tsubo Landowners’ Organization’s slogan. The One-tsubo membership provided avenues to directly participate in the anti-military resistance rather than indirectly supporting it. One-tsubo landowners increased the number of total anti-war landowners from just over a hundred to more than three thousand. The original participants in this One-tsubo movement were those who had already been engaged in various political and community activities such as members of the local parliaments, union activists, and intellectuals from all over the prefecture, including remote areas, such as the Miyako and Yaeyama island groups. Initially, members with diverse profiles were regarded as likely to contribute to a ‘proliferation of an unprecedented approach to anti-base protest, different from the traditional-style progressive political organizations’ (Shin Okinawa Bungaku 30 September 1982: 141). Some novel attempts were made to break free from the past style of protest during the reversion movement. For example, the organization avoided a top-down structure with a central headquarters. The One-Tsubo AntiWar Landowners’ Organization is a network of independent regional ‘blocs’ across Okinawa, including Naha, Itoman, Urasoe, Northern Okinawa, Yaeyama, and, later, Tokyo and Osaka. This organizational structure promoted the idea that individual blocs engaged in their own activities as independent entities (Hitotsubo Hansen May 1983: 4). The members were often affiliated with other organizations or community groups. For example, one veteran One-tsubo member is also involved with another antiwar movement, the Okinawa Historical Film Society (see Chapter 4), as well as the Ainu Moshiri and Uruma Society (Ainu Moshiri to uruma o musubu kai), which is a communication-promoting movement with another minority group in Japan, the Ainu people. A One-tsubo member explained that a majority of the members belonged to organized labour unions. As a non-union worker, ‘it would be difficult to actively participate in a regional bloc, without many friends or [anti-base] movement experience’ (Hitotsubo Hansen May 1983: 10). In fact, initially, an electronic industry workers’ union owned 180 tsubo (595 square metres) of the total size of the 418 tsubo (786 square metres), collectively owned by the One-tsubo landowners (Hitotsubo Hansen May 1983: 8). Furthermore, the media often depicted the antilandowners and supporters as ‘radicals’, which has distanced the wider Okinawan public from them (Arasaki 1992b: 88–9). Indeed, original One-tsubo members were, predominantly, those who already owned land within the US military bases,9 or locals who felt comfortable enough to go through the paperwork and the complicated registration process. According to one One-tsubo landowner, many of them do little more than deal with paperwork related to land registration and tax, subscribe to newsletters and attend annual rallies (Personal communication, April 1999). According to Arasaki

The anti-war landowners 113 – an original member of the One-tsubo Anti-war Landowners’ Organization – the most important and meaningful character of both anti-war landowners and Onetsubo anti-war landowners is essentially ‘their existence and not their action’ (Arasaki 1995: 129). This relatively small portion of One-tsubo members has engaged in protest activities, mainly as ‘supporters’.

Strategy and activities The main activity of the anti-war landowners has been long-term disobedience to the state’s request to sign a lease to the US military occupation of their properties. This has put a constant pressure on Japanese government officials. The anti-war landowners claimed the forceful occupation of their land was unconstitutional, because it breaches Article 29 (right of private ownership of assets) of the Constitution. The regular players in this struggle have been a small group of antiwar landowners, including One-tsubo landowners, members of Iken Kyo¯to¯, and expert attorneys, versus the officers at the Naha Defence Facilities Bureau. Japan is obligated to supply the US forces with facilities and land by the US– Japan Mutual Security Treaty. In order to keep the US occupation of properties owned by these non-contract landowners legal, the Japanese government has ‘reformed’ relevant legislation, time and time again. First, the Diet passed the Public Property Law (Koyo¯chi ho¯) on 31 December 1971, which legalized the use of all privately owned properties hitherto occupied by the US military in Okinawa for five years from 1972.10 Nevertheless, this law was only good for the five years, as a temporary measure necessary in the transition period. In 1976, the landowners and Iken Kyo¯to¯ filed their first legal case against the Public Property Law. In order to maintain the US military’s use of the non-contract landowners’ properties, the government came up with manipulative and convoluted legislation in 1977. The Japanese Cabinet enacted the Land Registration Identification Law (chiseki meikakuka ho¯), which obligated the government to identify land registration within the military bases in Okinawa.11 In a subject clause, the government extended the period of the Public Property Law for another five years (Arasaki 1995: 97). Before the passing of this bill, Uehara Ko¯suke, former Zengurno¯ leader and then a JSP member representing the Okinawan electorate in the Lower House, pressured the JSP executives to resist a little longer in their negotiations with the LDP. This stalled the bill for four days, making the military’s occupation of the anti-war landowners’ properties technically illegal for those days. The lawfulness of the Japan–US Mutual Security Treaty was endangered. As symbolic acts of protest, the members of Iken Kyo¯to¯ and anti-war landowners broke the gates into some of the bases, to return to their previous homes for the first time since WWII.12 During these four days, an anti-war landowner, Shimabukuro Zenyu¯, and his family, accompanied by a lawyer, took their tractor into his former property in Camp Shields. In front of the US military personnel, he released his ducks, ploughed the farmland and planted garlic (Shimabukuro and Miyazato 1997: 156–60). These four days created an embarrassing situation for the state, which was temporarily using private properties unlawfully.

114 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Consequently, the government reactivated the US Military Special Measures Law (beigun tokubetsu sochi ho¯) and the Land Expropriation Law (tochi shu¯yo¯ ho¯) which restricted the right of private property ownership when deemed necessary for protecting the ‘public interest’, with adequate compensation. In effect from 1982, this law considerably simplified the procedures for land expropriation. The process obligates, first, the Naha Defence Facilities Bureau, a subsidiary of the Japanese Defence Agency, to apply for legitimate use of the non-contract landowners’ properties by the US forces. The applications, secondly, are processed by the Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee, a semi-judicial body attached to the prefectural government. This Committee has the authority to decide whether or not the land expropriation was justified. The US Military Special Measures Law made no provision for regulating this Land Expropriation Committee, and its selection processes were unclear (Arasaki 1995: 158–9). The Land Expropriation Committee approved the Bureau’s applications made in 1981 and 1986. It extended the state’s right to sublet the non-contract landowners’ properties for another five years. Since the enactment of this legislation, the public legal hearings in front of the Land Expropriation Committee became the site of battle between the anti-war landowners and their supporting groups on the one hand and the Naha Defence Facility Bureau on the other. They have provided rare opportunities for the antiwar landowners to express their arguments about the government’s unconstitutional use of private property, together with their moral stance against leasing their land for military use, recorded in the proceedings of the public legal hearings by Iken Kyo¯to¯ (for example, Okinawa Gunyo¯chi Iken Sosho¯ Shien Kenmin Kyo¯to¯ Kaigi 1998, Okinawa Ko¯yo¯chi Ho¯ Iken Kyo¯to¯ Sosho¯ Shien Kenmin Kyo¯to¯ Kaigi 1982).13 In February 1982, the Land Expropriation Committee approved the first application for land expropriation of non-contract landowners under the US Military Special Measures Law. This decision demoralized the anti-base movement in Okinawa. A decade after Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, the ‘Okinawan’ judges on the Committee panel approved of the US military’s use of the anti-war landowners’ land. A local citizens’ critical journal, Shin Okinawa Bungaku, lamented that the Okinawans themselves ‘sold off’ the anti-war landowners’ land to the government, which expressed the sense of helplessness and despair of the anti-base Okinawans (Shin Okinawa Bungaku 30 September 1982: 141). This decision highlighted the ‘low’ phase of the anti-base protest. Between 1977 and 1982, the number of noncontract landowners (not One-tsubo landowners) shrank from about five hundred to 120–30. At the 1986 public legal hearings, the presence of several hundred One-tsubo anti-war landowners gave tremendous support to the anti-war landowners in court (Arasaki 1995: 172). The aforementioned anti-war landowner, Shimabukuro Zenyu¯, recalls that at the 1981 hearings there were only 20–30 anti-war landowners, looking miserable and weak in court, while the opponents, the officials from the Naha Defence Facilities Bureau, came in suits and ties, in a much larger number, on a chartered bus. Most importantly, Shimabukuro says, the encouragement from the One-tsubo landowners was immense, for the anti-war landowners who had long

The anti-war landowners 115 been engaged in their solitary and painful struggle against the Japanese government and unsympathetic family members, relatives, and other community members (Interview, April 1999). In February 1987, however, the Land Expropriation Committee approved the Bureau’s application for land expropriation for a period of ten years instead of twenty years. For the next period of compulsory lease from 1987, the Bureau applied for the occupation for another twenty years. Arasaki argues that this was a counter-measure against the increased non-contract landowners because of the One-tsubo movement, which had expanded its members to more than two thousand. The Anti-War Landowners’ Organization, the One-Tsubo Anti-War Landowners’ Organization, Iken Kyo¯to¯, and two attorney groups have been the main players of the anti-war landowners’ legal struggle. Over the years, the One-tsubo landowners supported the anti-war landowners by observing the public legal hearings, organizing rallies after the court cases, with funding, or simply by contributing to the numbers of anti-war landowners. In 1990, the number of anti-war landowners increased. Of those who originally leased land to the military from 1972 with consent, 70 landowners decided not to renew their contracts.14 An additional five hundred became One-tsubo anti-war landowners, buying a property in the Futenma Air Station, and there were three landowners who owned properties in the Naha Military Port.15 For their properties, the Bureau applied for an additional ten years’ compulsory use on 27 November.16 After only two public hearings, the Committee approved the compulsory use of the objectors’ properties, for a period of five years from May 1992 (Arasaki 1995: 197–9, 212). The anti-war landowners and One-tsubo anti-war landowners took the Committee’s decision to court. Anti-war landowners had also initiated several similar court cases against the US military’s use of properties without the landowners’ consent in 1985, 1990, 1992, and 1994. Furthermore, in October 1998, seven anti-war landowners filed a case against the US Military Special Measures Law, claiming it was unconstitutional (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 27 October 1998). Most of these court cases took more than a decade each to settle, exhausting the energy and resources for anti-base protest (Hitotsubo Hansen 1995: 7–10). On a daily basis, many anti-base movements and protests were routinely conducted by a specialist peace sector, formed by ideological like-minded and organizationally closely affiliated unions and organizations. The Okinawa Peace Movement Centre (Heiwa Undo¯ senta) is one such organization. It is the biggest coalition of any kind in Okinawa, specializing in peace movement activities specific to Okinawa, including opposition to the US military bases. It is a coalition of 35 Okinawan unions and parties, including the OSMP, the JSP (since January 1996, the Japan Social Democratic Party, JSDP) Okinawa Branch, the Zenchuro¯ Okinawa Branch and the Okinawa Teachers Union. After the reversion these unions had mostly become affiliated with the mainland Japanese coalition of workers’ unions, Rengo¯ (Japanese Trade Union Confederation).17 The Okinawa Peace Movement Centre is affiliated to the Peace Movement Centres that exist in other prefectures in mainland Japan. The Okinawa Peace Movement Centre members are linked with other Japanese Peace Movement Centre members, for example through ‘Okinawa

116 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa tours’, which involve visits to the Battle of Okinawa remains, major military bases, and the ongoing anti-base residents’ movement, such as the anti-’heliport’ struggle in Henoko (hence the need for ‘struggle huts’). There are smaller coalitions of peace organisations affiliated with the JCP, called the Okinawa Peace Committee (Okinawa Heiwa Iinkai) and the Okinawa Prefecture United Action Communication Conference (Okinawa Ken Toitsu Ko¯do¯ Renraku Kaigi, To¯itsuren). These JCP-affiliated organizations occasionally join together with the Peace Movement Centre in Prefectural Citizens’ Rallies (Kenmin Taikai);18 however, they usually engage separately in peace movement activities, such as supporting residents’ anti-base demonstrations, election campaigns for anti-base candidates, and organizing and mobilizing for the annual 15 May Peace Marches.19 Although similar internal division always existed before reversion, it also indicates the decreasing political influence of a progressive coalition – Iken Kyo¯to¯ – representing ‘Okinawa’. The anti-war landowners’ struggle is basically silent disobedience, that is, by definition, passive rather than active: by the steady continuation of long-term legal battles in the courts and through public hearings, the anti-war landowners have extended the tradition of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’. During the low ‘period’ that followed the reversion, the struggle of unified ‘Okinawa’ – symbolized by the anti-war landowners – was conducted mainly by a specialized group of activists. It also meant that the progressive coalition became increasingly detached from the rest of the society. Those who felt the urge to protest but were outside the circle of anti-war landowners and their supporters needed alternative avenues of protest. As will be explained in the next two chapters, this contributed to the development of what I call ‘new social movements’ in Okinawa. Direct actors of protest against the danger and inconveniences of military bases on Okinawa have always been the residents of cities, towns, and villages or smaller community units such as hamlets and districts, where particular base or facilities have been located or were planned to be constructed. These geographically scattered protest actors could not avoid being isolated from each other, which has become a significant vulnerability for the Okinawan protesters. Supporting is often an important collective action of those who do not live in the regional communities in struggle. Since the late 1980s, the Okinawa-based US forces and SDF kept growing in size and capacity, until the mid-1990s. In 1989, 45 US bases and 35 SDF bases were located in Okinawa Prefecture (95.7 per cent of the US forces are located on Okinawa Main Island), in more than 25 cities, towns, and villages (Kurima 1998: 279, Okinawa Ken So¯ mubu Chiji Ko¯ shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2000: 8, 24). The residents of Onna village protested against and stopped the construction of a US training facility designed for urban guerrilla fighting.20 The protest succeeded because of the involvement of the whole village population, young and old, conservative and progressive, in a range of collective actions including petitions to various US military and Japanese government authorities, direct blockage of construction work and confrontations with riot police, and around-the-clock surveillance by the villagers from a ‘surveillance hut’ (Tokushu

The anti-war landowners 117 Butai Kensetsu oyobi Jitsudan Shageki Enshu¯ Hantai Onna Son Jikko Iinkai 1990). In the early 1990s, residents of the Toyohara District of Motobu village also stopped the construction of an SDF communication facility and the deployment of P-3C anti-submarine aircraft.21 In Toyohara, too, the residents collected funds and built a ‘surveillance hut’ in front of the construction site, where the residents took turns being responsible not just for surveillance but also for hosting visitors and supporters from outside, and preparing meals. Supporters were mainly Okinawan activists from outside Toyohara, such as members of workers’ unions and peace groups, among others the Workers Unions’ Council, Northern Region Branch (Hokubu chikuro¯), the Okinawa Historical Film Society,22 and the One-tsubo antiwar landowners. In Naha, One-tsubo landowners conducted direct appeals and demonstrations at the Prefecture Hall and the Naha Defence Facilities Bureau, against the construction of the P-3C base in Toyohara in Motobu village, on behalf of the Toyohara residents. The One-Tsubo Anti-War Landowners Northern Bloc contributed to converting the traditional lavatory of the ‘surveillance hut’ of the Toyohara residents into a flush toilet (Hitotsubo Hansen April 1995: 16). They also conducted ‘study trips’ to communicate with the residents who protested against the military in places such as Ie-jima, Aha (in Kunigami), and Onna (Hitotsubo Hansen June 1990: 12). The One-tsubo movement was not limited to increasing the number of anti-war landowners, but it also provided an organizational platform from which to support regional protest against the US and SDF bases. The regional blocs have constantly supported the anti-base regional protests across Okinawa, with similar strategies.23 Attorneys also have been significant players. A group of local attorneys have regularly represented anti-war landowners in court. One of them, Ikemiyagi Toshio, has represented numerous residents’ and citizens’ movements in Okinawa after the reversion.24 He explains that lawsuits are an important part of collective action, under the democratic system, taking advantage of the legal rights entitled to the Japanese citizens. At the same time, Ikemiyagi severely criticizes Japan for being ‘anything but a democracy, or a law-abiding state’. From his perspective, the Japanese government would engage in whatever legal manipulation it took to protect the US–Japan security alliance. Moreover, the judicial system, especially the Supreme Court, has proved reluctant to judge against the state when residents take legal action against municipal and central government authorities as a form of protest.25 In Ikemiyagi’s view, the Japanese public is not aware of its role enough to ensure democratic rule under the law – thereby allowing the LDP government its constant dictatorship – or to ensure the independence of the judiciary from the executive. Nevertheless, Ikemiyagi has worked for Okinawan residents’ movements as a specialized, activist attorney, in the hope that the lawsuits may spread information about the issues through the media, and appeal to as great a part of the sympathetic population as possible (Interview, May 1999). Ikemiyagi’s comments reflect the transformation of Okinawans’ protest: from desperate, sometimes violent, mass uprising against an authoritarian dictatorship to long-term, demanding battles of attrition under a formally democratic system

118 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Figure 7.1 One-tsubo anti-war landowners protesting against the relocation of Naha Port in Naha central district, May 1999 (photographed by the author)

that require the regular commitment of a smaller number of specialized protesters. Long-term legal battles require participants with specialized skills, experience, and funds. They require activist attorneys and supporting organizations usually linked with political parties, workers’ unions, and other organized entities able to offer financial and staff support. Using legal rights guaranteed by the Constitution has a special meaning in Okinawa, namely, using the constitutional rights earned by the reversion movement. In this sense, something important was salvaged from the disappointment of reversion. Japan or Japan’s government may have betrayed the hopes of the Okinawan protest movement – but at the same time formal connection with Japan also provided new tools to protest against that betrayal – tools to be found in the Japanese Constitution.

The constitutional framing of protest This section examines the framing of the anti-war landowners’ collective identity: how they define and express who they are and why they protest, and how this is reflected in their strategy to make use of the Japanese Constitution as a tool of struggle. At the same time, it reflects on the declining momentum of public involvement and the onset of a ‘low’ phase of the Okinawan struggle. Arime Masao, Chair of the Iken Kyo¯to¯, had been a schoolteacher for nineteen years before he retired in 1994. Arime is the owner of a property inside the Kadena

The anti-war landowners 119 Air Base, where his family house used to be. He first became involved in the Okinawa Struggle in reversion campaigns during the US occupation, as a member of the Okinawa Youth Group Commission (Okinawa Seinendan Kyo¯gikai), which was a member organization of the Council for Reversion. After the reversion, he has protested against the military bases in Okinawa as a member of the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization and the Okinawa Teachers’ Union, and participated in ‘almost all anti-base protest occasions against the US bases that are concentrated in the central region’, where he has lived and worked (Interview, March 1999). Arime maintains that 28 April 1952 is still the most important anniversary for the Okinawans’ struggle. From 1952 until the reversion, the ‘4.28’ (28 April) anniversary was the most important date to hold big annual protests at which Okinawan reversionists and mainland Japanese left-wing activists could demonstrate solidarity. After reversion, the most important anniversary shifted to 15 May 1972, the day of formal repatriation, which has been interpreted as another historical marker of Okinawa’s humiliation. In 1971, the last rally on the ocean was held on 28 April. Since then, on 15 May (5.15) each year, the Okinawan activists join the peace march, which continues today as one of the biggest annual Okinawan events, organized by the Okinawa Peace Movement Centre. The majority of about three to five thousand participants, including more than a thousand from mainland Japan, are members of Okinawan and Japanese labour unions and citizens’ groups. They walk across Okinawa, about 60 km, carrying anti-Ampo and anti-base slogans in flags and placards, often in the rain or hot weather. This annual event demonstrates the continuing ties between Okinawan unions and the mainland anti-war Japanese unions, activists, and citizens’ organizations. The ‘Okinawa Struggle’ is still an important part of mainland Japanese popular opposition.26 Also, support from the mainland Japanese organizations is still an asset in the Okinawan community of protest after reversion. Before reversion, the Okinawans’ struggle was primarily defined as resistance against foreign military rule and pursuit of nationhood by way of reintegration with yamato. In the Okinawan community of protest 28 April signalled a strong emotional attachment to becoming ‘Japanese’. The 15 May anniversary marks the continuation of a struggle, but this time a struggle against Japanese and US militarism. This transition from ‘reversion nationalism’ to ‘anti-militarism’ is significant because it is at the same time a repudiation of ‘reversion nationalism’ – under which Okinawans achieved reversion that resulted in the imposition of continuing dominance of the US bases, against all of their hopes and expectations. This shift parallels the change in the meanings attached to the Japanese flag.27 In the post-reversion community of protest, the flag is associated with Japanese imperialism and the sufferings inflicted on locals during the Battle of Okinawa (see Chibana 1992, Field 1993). Nevertheless, Iken Kyo¯to¯ members – Arime and his colleagues – continue to define 28 April as the most important day for the Okinawan struggle: they hold meetings, memorial lectures, and speeches every year, though the events attract far fewer people than those of 15 May. Arime says that 28 April has provided an opportunity

120 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa to reflect on the humiliation of the day on which Okinawa was abandoned: it is a reminder that Okinawa was, and still is, the first cargo to be thrown overboard to save the imperial Japanese ship (Interview, March 1999). For some Okinawans, the pain of being separated from Japan remains an important part of Okinawa’s historical narrative of marginalization. Together with remaining ties to mainland Japanese leftist organizations, 28 April helps to maintain a living connection between ‘reversion nationalism’ and the present. Albeit fading, the framing of reversion struggle is still alive in some sections of the community of protest. Indeed, some older-generation Okinawan activists who know the reversion struggle often talk about the unfinished business of the ‘reflection and overhaul of the reversion movement’ (fukki undo¯ no so¯ katsu). This frequent self-criticism indicates a deep sense of regret that the strategy of the reversion movement was unable to deliver what the Okinawans’ struggle was really about. More importantly, however, it involves an ongoing dialogue with the past, and this, in turn, contributes to the continuous and unbroken narrative of an ‘Okinawan’ struggle – an essential element of its mythic character. It has already been noted that the disappointment of reversion brought some consolations – i.e. access to legal protections of the Japanese Constitution. This had, of course, been anticipated by the reversionists and, in the post-reversion period, two clauses of the Constitution would assume great importance: Article 29 (‘Property rights shall not be violated’) and Article 9, the ‘non-war’ or pacifist clause. While both have been important, the second has provided Okinawan antiwar activism with its most important support:28 higher-order justifications for the

Figure 7.2 At a 28 April function, 1999 (photographed by the author)

The anti-war landowners 121 refusal to enter into lease contracts with the US military. At the time of writing, the Japanese government is planning a nationwide referendum to seek authorization to repeal Article 9. If the Japanese public supported the government (and its amendment), the anti-war landowners would lose only the formal/legal basis of their case and not its moral basis. They would, in other words, lose Article 9 but they would not lose the ideals embodied in Article 9. Given the manner in which courts have ruled, it is arguable that they would not be losing a lot.29 The most important factor in the anti-war landowners’ anti-base protest – even more basic than the Constitution – is the experience of war in the Battle of Okinawa. Recollections of the Battle often appear in the autobiographical accounts of antiwar landowners. Graphic descriptions of killing, starvation, and the aggression and cruelty of mainland Japanese soldiers toward the local residents are recounted in the anti-war landowners’ statements given at the public hearings over and over again. Their impact has not weakened over time ant they never fail to inspire strong compassion in witnessing audiences. The existence of the anti-war landowners today proves that Okinawa continues to be a ‘war state’ – as opposed to the ‘peace state’ that the rest of Japan, for the time being, remains (Hook and McCormack 2001: 24). Protest in Okinawa is situated tenaciously within a moral and political universe defined more than half a century ago by the Battle of Okinawa. The war experience is also important for the landowners as a place from which to criticize the state’s structural marginalization of minorities – criticism that was difficult to express during the reversion campaigns (Takara 1995: 158). Revealing the atrocities of the Japanese soldiers toward the local islanders during the Battle of Okinawa is a political statement that has become possible only after the reversion. It still, however, calls for considerable courage, and the anti-war landowners found – and find – this courage in their passion for peace. This, too, is part of what it means to be ‘Okinawan’. Zukeran Cho¯ ho¯ is a former Chair of the OSMP and was a member of the Okinawan Prefectural Council for 12 years before he retired to become a farmer. He is also a One-tsubo landowner and one of the first members of the One-Tsubo Anti-War Landowners’ Organization. In an interview with the official JSP journal, Zen’ei, Zukeran explains that the reason for becoming a One-tsubo landowner was his commitment to peace, anti-militarism, and human rights in the Japanese Constitution. Zukeran argues that the history and memories of the war are something commonly shared by all Okinawans.30 This statement summarizes the OSMP emphasis on being a ‘party of the Okinawan citizens’ (kenmin-to¯), rather than being a regional branch of mainland Japanese parties, despite its strong connection with the JSP. The party’s strategy also involves appealing to the masses rather than placing too much emphasis on political ideologies.31 Zukeran followed this statement with his personal memoirs of the Battle of Okinawa. He was 13 years old in 1945. The highlight of his story was a description of the incident on Mabuni Hill, when he, his family, and other locals were caught in a cul-de-sac trying to avoid the US bullets. The American soldiers urged the locals to surrender. When several Okinawan residents attempted to do so, three Japanese soldiers beheaded them. He claims that the same kind of cruelty continued

122 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa after WWII, citing Article 3 of the Peace Treaty which separated Okinawa from Japan and subjected Okinawans to US military rule. He explains that the Okinawans, including himself, requested reversion to Japan, because they wanted peace and wished to be entitled to the peace constitution. However, the military bases are still there and the Okinawans can never be free of the danger of becoming involved in the war – and particularly war waged by others – again. He maintains that the Japanese government has ignored the Constitution as far as the Okinawans’ rights and security are concerned and cites the unequal Status of Forces Agreement that protects US soldiers from proper criminal prosecution when they offend seriously against the locals. The Japanese government’s machinations to legalize forceful military seizure of private property against landowners’ wishes further demonstrate the continuing marginalization of Okinawa. According to Zukeran, these land laws are contrary to the principles of the Constitution (Zukeran 1997: 194–201). Somewhat surprisingly, the overall position of the Okinawan anti-war landowners and their supporters fits comfortably with the postwar mainland Japanese left’s commitment to the pacifist constitution. The distinctiveness in most stories of the Battle of Okinawa is that the Japanese soldiers are represented as the oppressor of the Okinawan islanders. Yet the division between the ‘Japanese’ aggressor and the ‘Okinawan’ victims overlaps with that between evil, fanatic militarists and the innocent general mainland Japanese public who were deceived into a horrific war. According to the dominant postwar Japanese discourse on WWII, the mainland Japanese general public was also deceived into a horrific war by fanatic Japanese imperial militarists. Dower explains that, in the late 1940s, pacifism replaced militarism as a new form of nationalism in the immediate postwar Japanese society. In Japan, too, the memory of the suffering of WWII fuelled enthusiasm for transformation of the entire society into a new, democratic, pacifist, and wealthy one. The peaceful Constitution has been a milestone for this collective determination of the war-weary mainland Japanese public. The occupation period in mainland Japan converted the pressure for hard work and sacrifice of the prewar era, into a desire to build a ‘peaceful’ nation focused on economic growth. Pacifism from above is an important component of postwar Japanese nationalism. Moreover, the emphasis has been on the hardships endured by the Japanese themselves. Air raids, atomic massacres in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the material scarcity after the war, as well as the postwar humiliation of Japanese soldiers in the winners’ verdict of the Tokyo warcrimes trial, became the collective memory of the nation (Dower 1999, Orr 2001, Yoneyama 1999). The discourse of postwar nationalism has stressed the Japanese war experience as victims, and underemphasized the hardships caused by the Japanese to other nations, including Okinawa. Silence about the different kind of war that the Okinawans experienced, including forced mass suicides, is part and parcel of this nationalist version of pacifism. Mainland Japanese left-wing political activists, among others, have been very loyal to this nationalist version of postwar pacifism. Popular protest in postwar Japan saw its highpoint in the anti-Ampo protest of 1960. Packard observes that the left-wing leaders of the mass movement, ‘in spite of a strong attachment to

The anti-war landowners 123 Marxist principles and proletarian internationalism, showed unmistakable signs of the new nationalism’ in Japan at the start of the 1960s (Packard 1966: 335). The principal source of energy for the 1960 mass protest, led by the socialists, the So¯hyo¯ unionists, the communists and the Zengakuren (students’ organization) activists, was growing national pride based on economic progress following the WWII defeat. The progressive intellectuals, who contributed greatly to the mobilization of the mass protest, ‘explored new foundations upon which to legitimize nationalism, such as the shared experience of the atomic bombing and postwar economic privations’ (Packard 1966: 337). The Okinawan anti-war landowners have shared with the communists, socialists, and other mainland Japanese left-wing peace activists the use of the Constitution as a vehicle of anti-militarism. The older activists who opposed the US–Japan Security Treaty, as well as the official party lines of the Japanese Socialist Party, the Communist Party, and a substantial part of the Japanese public have constantly supported Article 9 of the Constitution. As Lummis argues, the ‘non-realistic’, non-belligerent principle of the Constitution has had an important ‘realistic’ pacifist effect. He argues that because of Article 9 of the Constitution, not a single Japanese person has been killed in actual warfare in the postwar era (Lummis 2000: 13). However, it is also evident that Article 9 has had to co-exist with the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty and the US military presence in Japan, heavily stationed on Okinawa Main Island. The Constitution has failed to defend the Okinawan anti-war landowners’ rights from the conservative Japanese national interest, which relies on the stability of the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty. The dispute on compulsory use of private property by the US military in Okinawa after the reversion has demonstrated that the Japanese ‘public interest’ and the right to private landownership protected by the Constitution are in conflict. The requirement of the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty, for US troops to be stationed in Japan, has constantly overruled the Constitutional right of Okinawan citizens (Nakachi and Mizushima 1998: 77). Belief in the postwar constitutional ideals, which supported the reversion struggle, has continued to be an important part of many progressive Okinawan antibase protesters’ definitions of who they are, and why they protest. As indicated in Chapter 5, Okinawan ‘absolute pacifism’, based on the experience of the Battle of Okinawa criticized the ‘reversion nationalism’ strategy of seeking assimilation with Japan, dominant during the reversion movement. The strategy relies on the democratic and pacifist postwar Constitution, consistent with the former reversionist Okinawans’ desire for a ‘true reversion to democratic Japan’. However, the demand that the Japanese government should ‘understand Okinawa’ and work towards achieving a ‘true reversion’ without the unequal burden of the US military presence exerted on Okinawa, reveals the basic trust attached to the state, to protect the minority’s interest. This is not consistent with the basic distrust of the state, which is an important aspect of the ‘absolute pacifism’ derived from the residents’ experience in the Battle of Okinawa. The resistance to being reduced to simply an Okinawan version of Japanese pacifism is revealed in the stories of an anti-war landowner, Shimabukuro

124 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Zenyu¯ . Born in 1936 in the central region of Okinawa Main Island, he and his family survived the Battle of Okinawa and after his father’s death he inherited several plots of land occupied by the US military in central Okinawa. Shimabukuro never signed the land lease agreements and he speaks as an Okinawan farmer. Although he is a member of the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization, he refuses to be affiliated to any political parties. His style of speech is direct, free of ambiguity, and loyal to his own feelings and experiences, rather than to any political parties or established ideologies. His accounts of the Battle of Okinawa centred on his father’s behaviour: My father was always critical of the Japanese soldiers and often outwitted them. He did not, for example, follow the Japanese orders to move south, when American attacks intensified. Those locals who went with the Japanese soldiers, thinking they would be protected, all died: they were forced into suicide for the Emperor, or they were evicted from bomb shelters to make room for soldiers. I believe my father’s ‘wit’ saved the whole family. I wish more Okinawans had been like him. However, not everyone in my family was like my father. My mother insisted on committing collective suicide, following what the soldiers, village leaders, and schoolteachers taught us was the right thing to do. My brother, who was more educated than my father, was a public servant, working for the US military government after the war, and was ready to surrender his land, because, after all, ‘we lost the war’. After my father died in the 1950s, I saw his spirit in the speeches of Senaga Kamejiro, founder of the Okinawa People’s Party. I was especially inspired by Senaga’s speech, before the all-island land dispute in 1956, in which he claimed that Okinawans had the right to charge the US military rent, for using the ports, land, and even for breathing Okinawan air. Everyone loved his speech and cheered loudly.32 Senaga taught us that refusing to give up our land was the best way to get rid of the US military presence. As a landowner who experienced the hell of the Battle of Okinawa, I never feel guilty for refusing the contract. The origin of the landowners’ antimilitarism is quite simple: land is meant to plough and produce food. If you lease land to the US military, you are assisting war and violence instead of growing food. (Interview, April 1999) Shimabukuro’s dissent is individual, and his speech is direct, unaffected, and free of the influence of specific political parties or organizations. Furthermore, he is publicly critical of the reversion movement. His hero, Senaga, was a leader of the reversion movement; however, interestingly, for Shimabukuro, anti-militarism and the reversion struggle seem to be clearly separate. He does not hesitate to criticize the ‘progressive’ party members, and emphatically stresses that, at pre-1972 reversion rallies, the reversion activists – presumably the Council members – held back from requesting the removal of all the military bases from Okinawa for

The anti-war landowners 125 fear of delaying Okinawa’s reversion (Interview, April 1999). Furthermore, Shimabukuro makes strong and straightforward remarks such as ‘Uchinanchu¯ (Okinawans) never say this, but we all hate yamatonchu¯ (the mainland Japanese) for starting that war and dumping the US military bases on Okinawa for 50 years to keep the Americans at bay’ (quoted in Aihara 1996: 79) and ‘The Japanese people are the most hated group of people in the world’ (Interview, April 1999). For Shimabukuro, ‘Okinawa’ is a separate political community. He is respected in the Okinawan community of protest because of his direct speaking. His personality expresses what many take to be the distinctively ‘Okinawan’ struggle. At this level, his statements resonate with the speeches and writing of organizationally unaffiliated anti-reversionist thinkers such as Arakawa Akira and other ‘independent advocates’ – and not with those of former reversion activists and today’s anti-base party and union leaders affiliated with the mainland Japanese organizations. At the same time, however, Shimabukuro’s radicalism places him at some distance from the Anti-War Landowners’ Organization and Iken Kyo¯to¯ that stress the formal democratic principles of the Japanese Constitution. The anti-war landowners and their supporting organisations have publicly, and strategically, identified ‘Okinawanness’ with a strong attachment to the Constitution, which is basically merged with the post-war mainstream Japanese pacifism. Yet, perhaps more than anyone else, the anti-war landowners’ stories at the public hearings reveal the hollowness of the Japanese Constitution and ‘really existing’ democracy in Japan.

Conclusion After reversion, the progressive coalition revived itself for the purpose of supporting the anti-war landowners’ struggle against the US military presence in Okinawa. This chapter stressed common elements of the past two ‘Okinawa Struggles’ that the anti-war landowners and Iken Kyo¯ to¯ have maintained. The anniversary of 28 April, the passion to protect constitutional principles, and the representation of Okinawan-specific anti-militarism through the experience of the Battle of Okinawa are important elements of the historical experience of marginalization. They continue to assist in constructing the ‘we’ of Okinawan protesters and in maintaining the mythic character of the ‘Okinawan’ struggle. Indeed, traditional solidarity among left-wing political parties and labour unions was maintained through shared sympathy and formal support for the anti-war landowners who symbolized the ‘Okinawan’ anti-militarist spirit. Iken Kyo¯to¯’s existence did not result in the mobilization of an all-island struggle and, after reversion, the Okinawan protest community became increasingly fragmented geographically and organizationally. The period between the late 1960s ‘second wave’ and the mid-1990s ‘third wave’ mass protest was a long ‘trough’ or low. Much certainly happened at local community levels but the voice of one ‘Okinawa’ became distinctively weaker. The presence of a unified protest actor against the US military bases represented by the anti-war landowners was exceptionally important in this period.

126 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa The anti-war landowners were strengthened by the birth of One-tsubo anti-war landowners, a movement led largely by politically well-connected or experienced activist, middle-class, urban-dwelling citizens. The One-tsubo landowners’ movement elevated the anti-war landowners’ struggle to the stature of a citizens’ pacifist and anti-militarist movement. The anti-war landowners’ strategy to directly influence, and negotiate with, the formal political organizations through legal and judicial battles has involved extremely slow processes. At the same time the struggle, often confined to courtrooms, became highly technical, limiting wider public participation. Attachment to the constitutional principles of democracy and pacifism, furthermore, made it harder to distinguish the Okinawan progressives from the mainland Japanese left. This contributed to the decline of the ‘Okinawan’ progressive coalition. In July 2002, Iken Kyo¯to¯ closed its office, because of the lack of funding and absence of major activities (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 3 July 2002). However, the decline of the old progressive movement did not result in the end of the idea or myth of a unified ‘Okinawan struggle’. New types of protest organizations and strategies were developing at the same time, and these ‘new social movements’ were no less ‘Okinawan’. And they, too, are now variously drawing from and extending the myth.

8

Kin Bay and Shiraho Emergence of new social movements

Introduction During the ‘low’ phase of protest in post-reversion Okinawa, the idea of a continuous, unified ‘Okinawan’ struggle was redefined as an anti-base coalition, symbolized by the refusal of a small number of landowners to comply with the US military. While the pre-reversion coalition was maintained in a much more routine and limited anti-base movement, different forms of protest were starting to take shape in the community of protest. These new breeds of collective action were community-based and distinct from party and union-based organizations. This chapter examines two cases of residents’ movements as key examples of such protest in Okinawa after reversion in 1972. These two cases of new social movements were environmentalist and not directly against the US forces. In the Okinawan community of protest, nevertheless, these two environmentalist struggles have influenced the strategies and philosophy of subsequent Okinawans’ protests against the US bases. As shown in this chapter and Chapter 9, environmentalism and anti-military protest have become part of a larger ‘Okinawan’ struggle. The first case focuses on the residents’ opposition to the construction of the Central Terminal Station (CTS) – a huge petroleum storage facility – in the Kin Bay area in central Okinawa (Map 8.1). The second case examines the residents’ campaign against the construction of the New Ishigaki Airport on Ishigaki Island (Map 8.2). Arasaki maintains that the Kin Bay struggle (Kinwan to¯ so¯ ) highlighted the emergence of a new type of residents’ movement, the first of its kind in Okinawa (Arasaki 1996: 50–2). This chapter examines the sense in which this particular movement – and perhaps even to a greater, extent, the Shiraho anti-airport movement – was a ‘new’ variant of protest, and contributed to the myth of an Okinawan struggle in the post-reversion period. The first two sections of this chapter provide brief outlines of the two residents’ movements. The third section elaborates on the characteristics of the Kin Bay and Shiraho struggles in terms of collective identity, organization, and strategy. The fourth section examines the implications of these struggles for the community of protest and the ‘Okinawan’ struggle.

128 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

OKINAWA ISLAND

Ikei Island

Kin Bay

Gushikawa City Miyagi Island Yakena

Henza Island

24˚20’

Nakagusuku Bay N

0

5 km

Tsuken Island 128˚

Map 8.1 Kin Bay Area (Courtesy of Vivian Forbes)

The CTS construction dispute: a brief outline After reversion, the Okinawan economy went through a fundamental change. The percentage of income generated directly from the US military in the prefecture’s gross direct income that was 15 per cent at the time of reversion (1972), gradually decreased to 5 per cent in 1987 and has remained stable since.1 The changes,

Kin Bay and Shiraho 129 124ºE 0

20 km

N

24º30’N

ISHIGAKI ISLAND

Shiraho Ishigaki City

Map 8.2 Ishigaki Island and Shiraho (Courtesy of Vivian Forbes)

however, were largely caused by the massively increased inflows of Japanese subsidies and inflation of the value of private properties occupied by the military bases. The Okinwan economy remains heavily dependent on the presence of military bases indirectly. The achievement of income levels and a standard of living equivalent to mainland Japan (‘hondo-nami’) became the slogan of the Okinawan and central government officials and the business sector. The Okinawa Development Agency (Okinawa kaihatsu cho¯) was set up within the Cabinet, and a Special Law for Okinawa’s Regeneration and Development (Okinawa shinko¯ kaihatsu tokubetsuho¯) was enacted in 1971. According to this Special Law, the Okinawa Development Agency developed the first Okinawa Regeneration and Development Plan (Okinawa shinko¯

130 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa kaihatsu keikaku),2 starting from the year of reversion, 1972, to be implemented by the prefecture government, under the guidance of the Okinawa Development Agency.3 This Plan was a revival of the Okinawan Industrial Promotion Plan (Okinawa Keizai Shinko¯ Keikaku), implemented in 1932 (see Chapter 3). After reversion, this scheme has helped secure Okinawa’s support for Japan’s security policy, mainly in the form, this time, of hosting US military bases.4 How was support entrenched? Essentially by using financial assistance to create economic dependence on subsidies and rent generated by the acceptance of hosting the bases.5 If the Okinawan Industrial Promotion Plan had created an independent economy that no longer required governmental subsidies, would Okinawa still accept the continuing heavy US military presence? The structural economic dependence has made it very difficult for the Okinawans, especially Okinawan governors, not to co-operate with the Japanese government’s security policy. Former GRI Chief Executive Yara Cho¯byo¯ was re-elected as Governor of Okinawa Prefecture in 1972. The Japanese government’s development policy, specifically claimed to be designed to incorporate Okinawa into Japan’s rapid economic growth during the 1960s, appealed to the local population. The new Okinawa Prefecture Government was under pressure to promote a ‘hondo-nami’ (modelled on mainland Japan) industrialization, the strongest emphasis of Yara’s post-reversion policy. Yara was nevertheless concerned about his lack of experience in economic matters.6 His administration declared the construction of Central Terminal Station (CTS) as strategically necessary for Okinawa’s industrialization (Yara 1985: 218–21) and there were a number of reasons for this. First and most obviously, CTS was intended to increase Okinwa’s crude oil storage capacity. Second, in 1971, the Okinawa Development Agency has designated energy intensive oil and aluminium refining as key future industries for Okinawa. In short, oil was essential. However, political factors were also involved in the choice of Okinawa for heavy industrial sites: the heightened and heightening awareness of mainland Japanese residents of pollution problems in local communities. There were about three thousand residents’ organizations in Japan in 1972 (Kurihara 1999: 12), and environmental pollution was their major concern. (Krauss and Simcock 1980: 187). Residents’ victories in major litigation against big companies and the state had gained publicity, increased public awareness of environmental problems, and demonstrated the capacity of residents for effective political action (Broadbent 1998, Krauss and Simcock 1980, McKean 1981).7 Despite this, building the CTS was considered essential – especially given the advent of the oil crisis in 1973. Okinawa – with its pristine natural environment unaffected yet by rapid industrialization – was thus targeted. In Yakena district, a municipality facing Kin Bay and directly connected to Henza Island by the ‘ocean road’, the mayor and commercial organizations were eager to attract petroleum industries. However, repeated oil leakage incidents from the tankers had already been causing damage to the ocean and local fishery to an extent that was visually obvious to the local residents. In October 1971, for example, at

Kin Bay and Shiraho 131 one of the Gulf facilities, more than 190 tons of crude oil leaked and polluted the entire Kin Bay area, killing white squid, shellfish, and other local fish, and threatening people who lived by fishing (Yoshida et al. 1975: 5). In the Kin Bay area, the pro-industry local political leaders clashed with the residents’ opposition groups, especially those who were reliant on fishing. In the same month, residents of Miyagi Island (Map 8.1) formed the Miyagi Island Land Protection Society (Miyagijima Tochi o Mamoru Kai), and successfully fended off Arabia Sekiyu’s (Arabia Oil) CTS construction, despite the approval of the Miyagi Island’s economic development committee.8 Subsequently, the nearby Yonagusuku Village Council supported the landfill plan of the CTS construction by Mitsubishi Kaihatsu. In September 1972, the Yara prefecture government authorized Mitsubishi’s land reclamation of 640,000 tsubo (2.1 million square metres) between Henza and Miyagi islands. The landfill work started the following month. In September 1973, the anti-CTS local residents of a mostly fishing population formed the Kin Bay Protection Society (Kinwan o Mamoru Kai). The Kin Bay Protection Society repeatedly visited the prefecture government and Mitsubishi, demanding a stop to the landfill work, and protesting against the CTS construction in the area. In September 1974, six fishing villagers in Teruma District and the Kin Bay Protection Society brought the case to the Naha District Court, claiming that the Okinawa prefecture government’s authorization of the land reclamation project was illegal. Ironically, the defendant in the case was the progressive Yara prefecture government whom the plaintiff had politically supported. The progressive political parties and unions constituted Governor Yara’s support base, his platform stressed ‘anti-militarism and peace in Okinawa’. However, after the reversion, those who regarded the introduction of polluting industries as a new form of colonization of Okinawa by mainland Japan grew critical of the Yara administration. The member organizations of the progressive parties and unions that supported the Yara government, such as the Prefecture Workers’ Union (Kenshokuro¯), Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee (Kenro¯kyo¯), and the High School Teachers’ Union (Ko¯kyo¯so) all expressed their opposition to the CTS construction (Yara 1985: 270). Yara took this seriously and announced on 19 January 1974 his intention not to authorize petroleum industries’ quotas for CTS construction (Yara 1985: 278), as well as requesting Mitsubishi to introduce industries other than CTS on the reclaimed land. In this ‘1.19 statement’, Yara emphasized the need for an accommodation of the popular feeling against environmental destruction (Yara 1985: 275). In May, Mitsubishi completed the land reclamation, and requested the local government to authorize the CTS construction. The Kin Bay Protection Group members, banding together in a group of 40–50, frequently demanded direct negotiation with Yara, pressuring him to refuse Mitsubishi’s application immediately. A group of attorneys, who associated themselves with the ‘progressive’ political camp and called themselves the Progressive Attorneys’ Organization (Kakushin Bengodan), submitted to Yara an opinion statement that demanded

132 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa rejecting Mitsubishi’s application. Otherwise, the attorneys warned, they would make it public knowledge that permission granted by the Yara administration for the landfill project was illegal in the first place, because the necessary procedures to compensate the locals for their fishing rights had not been taken. Yara, however, authorized Mitsubishi’s CTS construction, fearing litigation mounted by the company for ¥50 billion in damages. This would have far exceeded the prefecture’s annual budget of ¥20 billion (Yara 1985: 278–9).9 In court, the prefecture government argued that it was impossible to undo the land reclamation. The case ended in the plaintiff’s defeat. As a result, the construction of CTS tanks proceeded, making the Kin Bay area a major crude oil station. In terms of outcomes, the Kin Bay struggle was a defeat. The recourse to legal action, thus far a common strategy of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, failed again. However, the embryo of a ‘new social movement’ was growing among the Kin Bay residents.

The New Ishigaki Airport construction dispute: a brief outline Shiraho is a small hamlet on the east coast of Ishigaki Island (Map 8.2). In 1979, the prefecture government announced a plan to construct an airport on a coastal area next to the hamlet. In the following decade, this hamlet, with a population of a mere two thousand, became the centre of political activism that expanded into a well-known, exceptionally successful movement that attracted support from Okinawa Island, mainland Japan, and overseas (see Suzuki and Oiwa 1996: 295–307). In July 1979, Ishigaki City and Okinawa Prefecture governments announced a plan to construct a new airport on Ishigaki Island. In support of this plan, 88 unions and organizations, most of them based in Ishigaki City, formed the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Promotion Organization (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Kensetsu Sokushin-Kyo¯). On the next day, the organization designated the construction site on the coastal area next to Shiraho hamlet without any preliminary investigation of the area. The project for the new airport, which required a 2,500-metre runway and drastic landfill on the reef next to Shiraho, required the demolition of a mountain (locally called karadake) adjacent to Shiraho hamlet to obtain soil and sand. The Japanese government guaranteed a special subsidy of almost ¥30 billion for the project. The local residents in Shiraho had not been consulted prior to the selection of the construction site. Shocked by the news, residents held a general meeting at the Shiraho Community Centre (Shiraho Kouminkan) in December 1979. The Shiraho Community Centre was the place in which important decisions were made. With the agreement of every single villager present at the meeting, the Community Centre pledged to oppose the airport construction no matter what it took. In November 1980, the anti-airport villagers formed a local opposition group, the Shiraho District Opposition Committee against the Construction of New Ishigaki Airport (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Shiraho Chiku Kensetsu Soshi Iinkai).

Kin Bay and Shiraho 133 In Ishigaki Island, the Shiraho Community Centre was the only opposition force. The late Shiraho fisherman Maedomari Shoei recalled that the mayor of Ishigaki City said, ‘The small number of Shiraho residents should “close their eyes” and take the suffering for the benefit of the majority, forty thousand Ishigaki citizens’ (Noike 1990: 66). It seemed as if the airport construction would proceed despite a minority protesting voice on the little-known southwest tip of the Ryu¯kyu¯ archipelago. However, in the following decade, the anti-airport Shiraho activists and a wide network of external supporters turned the situation around. Even without the construction of the airport, red soil inflows from the Todoroki River had damaged the beautiful and unique coral around Ishigaki Island. Coral in Okinawa in general had been severely endangered, especially since the intensive development of harbours and roads at the time of the Okinawa Marine Exposition in 1975. In Ishigaki Island, a series of ‘land improvement schemes’ of the farmland, implemented by the Japanese Ministry of Farming and Forestry, caused the red soil to flow into the ocean, and to kill the coral (McCormack 1998, World Wide Fund Nature for Japan 2001, Noike 1990: 24–33). However, in the ocean adjacent to Shiraho hamlet there were still more than 120 species of coral, including the blue coral, one of the oldest and rarest kinds in the world. Public awareness of the importance of Shiraho’s coral reefs grew to a point that the politicians could no longer ignore it. In May 1988, then Minister of Transport Ishihara Shintaro¯ expressed his concern with the impact of the airport on the Shiraho marine environment (Mainichi Shimbun 28 June 1988). Influenced by criticisms from influential scientists in August 1987, the Environment Agency of the Japanese government commented that the blue coral colonies in Shiraho would not be able to survive the new airport construction on the Shiraho reef. Following this comment, Okinawan Governor Nishime (1978–90) announced a reduction of the length of the proposed runway from 2,500 to 2,000 metres (Sugioka 1989: 152–3). ¯ ta announced that the New Ishigaki Airport would not be In 1991, Governor O built on Shiraho reef, in consideration of the extensive concerns over coral conservation raised by the locals and abroad. The power of the Shiraho residents’ movement in conjunction with a nationwide and global network of citizens’ environmental movement prevailed and, to this point at least, the Shiraho struggle was a rare success. Although this ‘success’ was temporary and the New Ishigaki Airport dispute is yet to be resolved,10 Shiraho has already left an important legacy in the community of protest in Okinawa, and added substantially to its traditional repertoire of protest – networking globally. How has this been possible?

Kin Bay and Shiraho: emergence of ‘new social movements’? Organization and participants Both Kin Bay and Shiraho represented cases of residents’ movements (ju¯min undo¯) – people engaged in collective action focused much more closely on the living conditions of the communities in which they lived. The main actors of the Kin

134 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Bay and Shiraho struggles were residents and networks of sympathetic citizens living in other places. The central instigators of protest were the residents in the community, not the traditional leading figures of the anti-establishment political activitists in Okinawa, namely progressive political parties, workers’ unions, and teachers’ associations. It was not just in Okinawa that ‘residents’ were becoming grassroots protesters. In mainland Japan, in the aftermath of the Ampo protest in 1960, large-scale, centralized and established organizations affiliated with the JCP and JSP were increasingly susceptible to internal conflicts and fragmentation. As public disillusionment with the leftist organizations – preoccupied with organizational survival and sectarian struggles – increased, awareness of the importance of the participation of individual ‘citizens’ became increasingly prominent. Sasaki-Uemura explains that ‘the notion of the citizen subject’ was a reaction against the dominance of the ‘Marxist framework’ and ‘the proletarian working class as the agent of social transformation’. The Japanese word shimin (citizen) carried an expectation of enlightened individuals ‘as the agents of history’, and as the ‘heart and spirit of democracy’ (Sasaki-Uemura 2001: 31–2).11 The citizen subject emphasized the significance of the spiritual element in political activism of the individual. Emphasis on the independent individual’s direct political participation was the most significant feature of the residents’ movements as a ‘new avenue of citizen participation and as a new political force in Japan’ (McKean 1981: 5–6). For the supporters of Japan’s postwar democracy, the ‘residents’ movement’ was a realization of the principle of individual political participation, at the local level. Citizens’ movements and residents’ movements are terms that are used interchangeably.12 In the context of protest in Okinawa, the most important difference between the two manifests in the difference between the external ‘supporters’, who participate in collective action that concerns the community they do not live in, and the residents of that community. Mainland-Japan-based NGOs, for example, are often referred to as ‘citizens’ movement organizations’, as opposed to the locals who participate in protest as residents. Significant boundaries separate the activists who participate from outside, and the ‘residents’. The late Asato Seishin was a former schoolteacher and a resident of Yakena village near Kin Bay, a founder of the Kin Bay Life Protection Society and its most respected member. Sakihara Seishu¯ , a former schoolteacher and fellow member of the Kin Bay Life Protection Society, recalls that Asato was critical of the interventions of the left-wing political parties, trade unions, and the progressive coalition. In his opinion, in order to represent the interests of the local residents properly, local residents needed to ‘organize and do things themselves’ (Sakihara, Interview April 1999). Asato stresses the need for the local residents to separate their struggle from external organizations participating in the Kin Bay struggle from the mainland and other parts of Okinawa, through activities such as demonstrations and court cases. In his oral record of the Kin Bay struggle, Umi wa Hito no Haha de Aru (Ocean, Our Mother), he points out that the external supporters often tried to be ‘movement instructors’, telling the residents what to do, and taking the struggle away from the locals (Asato 1981: 141).

Kin Bay and Shiraho 135 We have seen Kakushin (progressive) political figures, who have expressed opposition to the military bases and CTS construction, in the end give in to the state and big companies. Even progressive governors Yara and Taira (in office 1976–8) did not make any difference. Being left-wing or right-wing is irrelevant. We, the locals, must fight our own struggle to protect our ways of living. (Asato 1981: 44) Asato stresses that the Kin Bay Life Protection Society does not have representatives or leaders. In his words, ‘each one of the residents is the representative of the movement’ (Asato 1981: 42). According to Asato, this organizational principle derives from the most important aim of the Kin Bay Life Protection Society: to establish and to transform jiko (self), that is, to enhance the autonomy predicated on the pride in one’s own distinctive way of life rooted in the particular local environment. Only in this way does one have the ability to challenge effectively government policies that destroy one’s way of life. (Asato 1981: 41–2). The decline of progressive parties and unions’ presence was an even more definitive characteristic in the Shiraho struggle than in the Kin Bay struggle. In the initial stage of the Shiraho anti-airport struggle, progressive parties and unions – the ‘usual suspects’ who normally participated in peace movements and anti-state movements – were mostly absent. Indeed, the Yaeyama District of the Workers Unions’ Council (Yaeyama Chikuro¯),13 which initially joined the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Promotion Organization, supported the construction of the new airport. Other progressive Yaeyama divisions of the Okinawa Teachers’ Union and Highschool Teachers’ Union, as well as the Yaeyama Public Workers’ Union (jichiro¯) followed suit. The anti-airport Shiraho residents’ organization, the Shiraho District Opposition Committee, was the airport’s only opponent. Ishigaki City’s mayor was a progressive OSMP member, and one of the most important supporters of the new airport. Taking a wider perspective, Ishigaki City’s public opinion generally supported the new airport. Since the reversion, local villages and cities were losing economic self-sufficiency and increasing their dependence on public works and projects funded by the government. In Ishigaki City, many people expected the new airport to generate a boom that would have created instant income and a large number of temporary jobs. Some farmers expected the new airport, with the capacity to accommodate bigger aeroplanes, to expand their markets in Japan for off-season agricultural products. In Shiraho, too, there were residents who supported the airport, mainly those engaged in local construction and sand mining companies. These people distanced themselves from the Shiraho Community Centre and formed a separate administrative body, the Shiraho First Community Centre. Thus, the airport plan even divided the small Shiraho community into two camps, building up antagonism among friends, families, and relatives (Yonemori Yu¯ji, Interview, 13 April 1999). Isolation made it extremely difficult for the Shiraho residents to sustain their opposition to the airport project within Ishigaki Island on their own account – both

136 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa financially and psychologically. External support of the environmentally concerned and nature-loving urban population, therefore, became a crucial issue. Mukaezato Kiyoshi, then leader of the Committee, flew to Naha and sought help from Yonemori Yu¯ ji, a Shiraho-born university philosophy professor. Yonemori organized the Volunteer Association of Shiraho-Born Residents against the New Ishigaki Airport (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ ni Hantai suru Okinawa Zaiju¯ Shiraho Kyoyu¯ Yu¯shikai) in 1981. Yonemori formed this group with other schoolteachers and university lecturers living in Okinawa but originally from Shiraho to support the local protest. In 1983, Yonemori and his colleagues used advertising space in a local newspaper to appeal against the construction of the New Ishigaki Airport in Shiraho, in a local newspaper, Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯. The ‘advertisement’ featured a vivid photograph of the colourful Shiraho reef taken by a professional photographer for a commercial purpose.14 Yonemori and his fellow members also made posters using the photograph and an anti-airport message and these were distributed everywhere in Okinawa. The posters and the advertisement raised a high level of interest from the people living in other parts of Okinawa and in mainland Japan. Many were overcome by the beauty of the ocean and its coral formations (Yonemori, Interview, April 1999). In July of 1983, opponents of the airport who lived in parts of the Yaeyama region (such as Ishigaki City) other than Shiraho formed the Concerned Citizens’ Group against the Airport (Ku¯ko¯ Mondai o Kangaeru Shimin no Kai). Yonemori formed a new group called the Okinawa, Yaeyama, and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group (Okinawa, Yaeyama, Shiraho no Umi to Kurashi o Mamoru Kai), based in Naha, with other concerned Okinawan citizens. In Tokyo, some fifty people who had visited the region and had strong attachments to the ocean in Shiraho formed the Yaeyama and Shiraho Ocean Protection Group (Yaeyama Shiraho no Umi o Mamoru Kai). The Protection Group in Tokyo included a member of the Upper House, Minobe Ryo¯kichi. This helped attract further publicity (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 17 May 1984). In Osaka, sympathizers formed an anti-airport group (Ishigaki, Shiraho no Umi ni Ku¯ko¯ o Tsukurasenai Osaka no Kai). In Kobe and Kyoto, similar groups were formed. Thus, the Shiraho coral conservation movement came to involve small groups usually not numbering more than 100–150 members. These small groups joined together to form expanded, though loose networks that not only transcended the local community but eventually extended worldwide. As a result, many different groups with different capabilities and characteristics became involved in the same struggle. While this brought many new advantages, from time to time, the engagement of many and varied actors and supporting activists would contradict those of the Shiraho residents or threaten their autonomy. In order to minimize inter-group conflicts, Yonemori explains, ‘We (Shiraho struggle supporters) deliberately distanced our activities from political parties and workers’ unions, which tended to allow the organizations’ interests and priorities to control the direction of the movement’ (Interview, April 1999). Activist lawyer Ikemiyagi considers that the Shiraho struggle was successful, partly because ‘Shiraho residents and non-resident participants made it clear that the political

Kin Bay and Shiraho 137 parties were not welcome because they brought in their own egos, policies, and strategies. There was a clear consensus that the centre of the movement was the Shiraho District Opposition Committee. External organizations and sympathizers, including the Okinawa, Yaeyama and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group, based in Naha, were “supporters” and no more than that’ (Ikemiyagi, Interview, May 1999). The main concern of the locals was that their supporters might deflect them from their original goals or wishes. Yonemori certainly believed this to be a real danger (Yonemori, Interview, April 1999). Collective identity and framing of protest As the agency of protest expanded from established political parties and unions to conscious citizens acting as individuals, collective identity – defining who ‘we’ are and why ‘we’ protest – also shifted significantly. In the course of acting collectively to protect the natural environment, resident participants in the protest came to realize and emphasize the value of a distinctive lifestyle specific to their localities. This was quite unlike protest against the US military administration, motivated by ‘reversion nationalism’. Indeed, instead of demanding Okinawa’s inclusion within Japan, residents who protested against CTS and the New Ishigaki Airport defined themselves in their own words – and not in the official language of political parties – positively relying on their ‘local’ characteristics in defining who they were. The meanings attached to acts of protest also derived from this novel emphasis on ‘localness’ as a source of collective identity. The emphasis was on autonomy, rather than assimilation to Japan. Autonomy was sought from dependence on environmentally hazardous industries and military bases for immediate incomes. Thus, the Kin Bay struggle sent messages that appealed to many Okinawans who were aware of the local economy’s increasing dependence to Japanese government subsidies. This message was an expression of a particular ethical position about the meaning of life, especially the meaning of ‘affluence’. One of the expressions of this collective identity based on local pride was an attempt to develop locally specific industries to acquire the means of living. In the case of the Kin Bay struggle, the importance of local industry, such as growing and selling mozuku seaweed, was stressed as a potentially lucrative alternative source of income to the CTS. During the anti-CTS struggle, ‘I would rather eat sweet potatoes under the blue sky, than steaks in a big house’ was a favourite saying among the local CTS opponents (Sakihara, Interview, April 1999). Similarly in Shiraho, it was the coral and the ocean that defined the residents’ collective identity in the anti-airport protest. In Shiraho, residents were mostly content with the old-fashioned, slow lifestyle based on part-time farming and fishing.15 However, Yonemori explains that it was not easy for most of the Shiraho residents to see the special value of the ocean that they saw every day. Some local residents did not regard the ocean and the coral reef as anything particularly special. Initially, noise and disruption of serenity were the locals’ main argument against the airport. Yonemori was frustrated that some locals did not immediately appreciate the value of the Shiraho coral reef, though that was stressed by the conservationists

138 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa who lived in big cities. His message to the Shiraho residents was as follows: ‘We can’t win by the anti-noise campaign. Let us request the coral conservation in order to stop the airport’ (Yonemori, Interview, April 1999). Journalists and divers came from outside, and reported in various media the unique lifestyle of Shiraho closely attached to the natural environment, with colourful photographs of the reef and marine life (for example Yoshimine 1991). Gradually, even the sceptical locals came to see the value of the ocean and to express pride in it. They started to see that the lifestyle in Shiraho epitomized a different kind of ‘affluence’ from that defined by advanced industrial infrastructure and abundant cash. Shiraho was an ideal place to live for someone who wanted a calm, relaxed life listening to the sound of the ocean, away from motor cars and karaoke noise. Many older Shiraho residents particularly enjoyed the lifestyle of going to the ocean collecting food during the day and watching the ocean waves lapping in and out in the evenings. An elderly anti-airport Shiraho resident asked the following rhetorical question: ‘If you don’t have lots of cash, does it mean you are poor?’ which appealed to many supporters (Yonemori, Interview, 13 April 1999). Seeing themselves as residents of a unique and wonderful place, rather than a small, impoverished region, enhanced the protesters’ confidence in themselves. Residents in Kin Bay lived in multiple villages and districts around Kin Bay, including Yakena, Yonagusuku, Gushikawa, Henza, and islands such as Tsuken and Miyagi (Map 8.1). Even though located closely to each other, each of the small villages and districts formed a distinctive community, with its own social and cultural traditions, as well as political problems and inter-community rivalries. For the residents, participation in community events was part of their daily lives. Participating in protest became a part of these events. During the six years of the Kin Bay struggle, traditional festivals and rituals specific to central and east-coast Okinawa – the annual dragon boat race, tug-of-war rope competitions, dancing festivals,16 and farming product shows – provided venues for enjoying and participating in the traditional lifestyle and culture of the community.17 These community events and this cultural revivalism became part of protest activity against the CTS construction.18 Asato Seishin considered it necessary for the residents’ movements to ‘clearly express who we are, in the process of opposition, in order to demonstrate why we would not live according to the state policy, and why we are right’ (Asato 1981: 41–2). For the anti-CTS Kin Bay residents, Ryu¯kyu¯ poetry provided a powerful forrm ¯ shiro Fumi, a 79-year-old female Yakena resident, participated of self-expression. O in rallies and demonstrations against CTS with her colleagues at her local seniors’ club (Interview, May 1999). She was also skilled in expressing the villagers’ feelings in her Ryu¯kyu¯ poetry. One day, she started reading out her poetry at a protest when the riot police stopped the villagers from demonstrating against Mitsubishi. The poem she read out, which ‘made fun of the arrogance of the police’, had the effect of intimidating the riot police mentally, and spurred her on. She started composing more protest poems and reading them aloud at rallies and demonstrations (cited in Asato 1981: 168–70).19 Her poems were capable of energizing the protest when the participants were intimidated by pressure from the state, police, and Mitsubishi.

Kin Bay and Shiraho 139

¯ shiro Fumi and Sakihara Seishu¯ (April, 1999 photographed by the author) Figure 8.1 O

¯ shiro was like a ‘goddess’ to the struggle (Interview, May Sakihara recalls that O 1999). Elderly women and housewives constituted the major participants in the protest and were also given special roles in the Kin Bay struggle. Sasaki-Uemura comments that the ‘numerical dominance’ of women came to be regarded as ‘a defining characteristic’ of residents’ movements in mainland Japan (Sasaki-Uemura 2001: 146). While men were increasingly detached from the communities they lived in,20 women were engaged in community activities especially those related to childrearing, home-making, and issues such as consumers’ rights, education, health, and protection of the environment. For example, women played a leading role in ¯ ita initiating the anti-cement-factory protest in Kazanashi hamlet in Usuki, O Prefecture, where men tended to be absent from home on long-distance fishing trips (Matsushita 1999). In Okinawa, too, female-specific features were emphasized in residents’ movements. This marked a decisive break with dominant labour movement organizations connected to established political parties and unions driven by men, Marxism, and ideology. Throughout Okinawan history, women have been associated with a spiritual role as shamans, connecting people to gods specific to local communities. A photographer, Higa Yasuo, from central Okinawa, summarizes those female characteristics that were emphasized: The centre of shima society was women.21 We can see the traces of that time in many of the rituals we still have on remote islands. The sacred places, called utaki, are still found all over the islands. To me these are what is left of the

140 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa sacred forests where women-gods lived. So today men are still forbidden to enter many of the utaki, and the gods who appear in the rituals are women. It is clear that in the ritualistic tradition the people have believed they are worshipping women and the matrilineal order. (Higa cited in Suzuki and Oiwa 1996: 95) Asato and his colleague from Amami went to speak to a local shaman (called yuta in the local language) about their protest against the CTS (Asato 1981: 59–60), not to a professional union or to party activists in Naha.22 Irei Takashi, a non-resident supporter who used to be an avid campaigner for reversion, observed in a protest camp in Yakena in October 1981 that central events were tasting local foods and enjoying traditional singing and dancing, which required the local elderly women’s contribution (CTS Soshi To¯ so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 234–7). ‘Women’ – and the characteristics associated with them – were clearly playing a vital role for constructing collective identity of the residents’ movement in Okinawa, defined in terms of attachment to the place they lived. The growing strength of women’s participation did not always mean that residents’ movements were less male-centric. Traditional ‘female’ roles, which enhanced the connection with the local-specific identity, were ‘rediscovered’ by the male organizers of the residents’ movement, and incorporated by them into their struggle. Women were often collectively referred to as ‘mothers’ (anma¯tachi), without names. The use of the ‘female’ was, therefore, strategic to some extent. The struggles in Kin Bay and Shiraho marked the importance of post-materialist views of ‘affluence’ that became part of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ after the reversion. Following the reversion, attachment to traditional lifestyles embedded in the locallyspecific natural environments, away from the mainland-style industrialization and development, continued to define who ‘we’ were, and gave meaning to locally oriented protest. I call this a ‘localist’ framing of protest. During the long ‘low’ period between the second and third island-wide postwar collective actions of the Okinawan people that followed the reversion, this ‘localist’ framing of protest emerged and developed. It continues to define much of what the Okinawans’ protest is about. Strategy and the repertoire of protest An important strategy for the residents’ movements in the Shiraho struggle was support from scientists, intellectuals, celebrities, and sympathetic outsiders extending to the international community of environmentalist and conservationist movements. Seeking and accepting support from specialists and activists from other parts of the world became, as noted above, an important part of the repertoire of the community of protest in Okinawa. The search for support from external experts has become a common new strategy for Okinawan’s ‘new social movements’. They act locally but they think globally. In March 1986, the Okinawa prefecture government appointed fourteen members to form the New Ishigaki Airport Discussion Committee (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Mondai

Kin Bay and Shiraho 141 Konwa-kai).23 As a result of recommendations made by the Discussion Committee, the prefectural government commissioned an Environmental Impact Assessment of the New Ishigaki Airport construction plan in July, and made it public.24 The Assessment basically confirmed the prefecture’s evaluation that Shiraho was the most suitable site for the new airport and found that the landfill was compatible with coral preservation. Ui Jun pointed out that the finding was based on inadequate data, and argued that the information related to the environmental effects of the airport had been largely kept confidential.25 About seventy researchers and professionals in Okinawa and mainland Japan, who similarly questioned the official data on the airport construction project, formed the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Examination Group (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Kensetsu o Kangaeru Kai).26 In their publications,27 the scholars in the Examination Group systematically reworked the government’s Environmental Impact Assessment on Shiraho and re-examined both environmental and socio-economic impacts of the new airport. However, the audience for their publications was mostly limited to already interested parties in Okinawa and mainland Japan. Their findings were directly opposed to those of the original report. The support of an American marine biologist, Katherine Muzik, played a key role in raising concerns overseas on the political issues threatening the coral reefs in Shiraho. Muzik was living in Okinawa, researching the coral around the islands. In Ishigaki City she made a speech at the first meeting of a citizens’ opposition group against the new airport based in the pro-airport Ishigaki City, stressing the value of the rare Shiraho coral reefs and the destructive effect the airport construction would have, from a scientist’s perspective (Yaeyama Nippo¯ 11 July 1983). Muzik’s research was motivated by her personal distress over the coral that used to decorate the islands of Okinawa in a necklace shape, of which about 95 per cent was killed by the government-funded post-reversion industrialization projects following the Okinawa Marine Exposition in 1975 in northeastern Okinawa (Japan Times 2 March 1983; Muzik 1992). In April 1984, the Naha-based Okinawa, Yaeyama, and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group asked Muzik and Richard Murphy from the Jacques Cousteau Society to investigate the coral reefs in Shiraho (Yaeyama Mainichi Shimbun 21 April 1984). The aim of the investigation was to disprove the officials’ statement that the coral in Shiraho was in worse shape than other areas around Ishigaki. After comparative investigation in Ishigaki waters, Muzik, Murphy, and Takaesu Asao, representative of the Okinawa, Yaeyama, and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group, reported that the coral in Shiraho was exceptionally lively and healthy, compared to other areas (Yaeyama Mainichi Shimbun 24 April 1984). In 1985, Muzik reported the rare value of the coral reefs in Shiraho at the Fifth International Coral Reefs Conference held in Tahiti, as well as the airport issue that potentially endangered them (Makishi 1997: 215). In November 1987, a delegation from the World Conservation Union (IUCN) came to Shiraho to investigate the coral reefs. On the basis of this investigation, the 17th General Meeting of the IUCN in San José, Costa Rica, in February 1988 passed a resolution on the Shiraho coral reefs. The IUCN urged the Japanese government to reconsider

142 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa the airport construction project and to develop a policy to protect coral in Shiraho, which the Union regarded as world heritage. The Environment Agency representatives joined the meeting, but abstained from the IUCN resolution on Shiraho. Muzik, Takaesu, and a Shiraho resident, Yamazato Setsuko, travelled to Costa Rica to attend the meeting. At the meeting, the three lobbied for the resolution by distributing pamphlets, titled The Heart Dyed in Ocean Colour (Chimu ni Umi Sumiri), to attenders from all over the world. Muzik translated the pamphlet text into English. The pamphlet included colourful photographs of the Shiraho coral and explained the airport construction project and the need to stop it. Makishi Yoshikazu, an architect and member of the Naha-based Okinawa, Yaeyama, and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group, and the author of the pamphlet, was told by the three Okinawa delegates that the conservation campaign targeting local delegates with hand-made pamphlets was a novel introduction to the IUCN meeting, with a potent visual appeal (Makishi, Interview, 20 April 1999). The IUCN resolution in Costa Rica had the decisive effect of undermining the legitimacy of the airport construction plan in Shiraho. The government moved the construction site 4 kilometres to the north of Shiraho, to the east of Karadake Mountain. However, the opponents in Shiraho and external supporting organizations continued the protest against the airport project. In August 1990, an IUCN delegation conducted another investigation on the coral reef ecosystem of the newly proposed airport construction site and visited the prefecture government to request another change of the construction site (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 30 August 1990). Consequently, another IUCN resolution on Shiraho coral was made at the Eighteenth General Assembly in Perth, Australia, in 1990. This resolution recommended the prefecture government ‘find an alternative solution to the problem, including extension of the present airport to ensure optimal conservation of the coral reef ecosystem at Shiraho’ (IUCN – The World Conservation Union 1990: 51). Later in 1992, the president of the World Wildlife Fund and the Duke of Edinburgh visited Shiraho, as part of the campaign to protect the Shiraho coral. The support from intellectuals and a British royal put pressure on the Okinawa prefecture government to prepare a second Environmental Impact Assessment and, finally, to give up the airport construction in Shiraho. Litigation was another common and more traditional strategy of protest of the Shiraho struggle.28 As activists rather than as lawyers, the attorneys specializing in residents’ protests against the government undertook these cases. One of the Naha-based lawyers who represented the Shiraho fishers was Ikemiyagi Toshio, also involved in court cases of the Kin Bay Life Protection Group, and for the Kadena residents against the US aircraft training noise. Court cases are part of the ‘anti-base movements, just like other protest activities such as demonstrations and handing out flyers. Struggles in courts and other protest activities against the bases and the Japanese government are like two wheels of a cart’ (Ikemiyagi, Interview, May 1999). Compared to other activities, however, the court cases did not result in revitalizing the momentum of protest, and the role of the local residents tended to be much smaller because of the highly technical and time-consuming specialization

Kin Bay and Shiraho 143 required in the court cases. Like the anti-war landowners’ lawsuits, the Attorneys’ Organization (bengo-dan), based in Naha, and a group of Osaka lawyers were amongst the supporting organizations of the Shiraho struggle.29 Furthermore, the chances of winning court cases against the state were extremely low.30

Kin Bay and Shiraho in the lineage of the ‘Okinawa Struggle’ Collective action based on regional communities (towns, villages, and hamlets) had previously existed in Okinawa. And the most famous example, of course, was the farmers’ non-violent resistance against the US military since the 1950s in Ie-jima. Arasaki explains the farmers’ anti-base resistance in the Ie-jima struggle, which led to the island-wide demonstrations in the mid-1950s, as a precursor of the later residents’ movements. The Expand the Anti-CTS Struggle Society (the Naha-based citizens’ ‘supporter’ organization of the Kin Bay struggle) likewise regarded the farmers’ anti-base struggle in Ie-jima as ‘the origin of residents’ movements’ (ju¯ min undo¯ no genten) in postwar Okinawa (CTS Soshi To¯ so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 20). However, the Kin Bay struggle demonstrated many characteristics that had not been seen in the 1950s Ie-jima struggle (or in similar land struggles in Isahama or Konbu). Some resident participants in the anti-CTS struggles and Naha-based intellectuals promoted the use of the term ‘Ryu¯kyu¯ko’ (Ryu¯kyu¯ arc) to describe islands of the Ryu¯kyu¯ region plus islands south of Amami demarcating the new sphere of solidarity. Writer Shimao Toshio originally developed the term Ryu¯kyu¯ko from his writings on ‘Yaponesia’. Yaponesia challenges the idea that the group of islands located to the south of Japan (nanto¯), including Amami and Okinawa and other remote islands, constituted a ‘peripheral’ region of Japan. Yaponesia is a refusal to see Japan as a monolithic cultural sphere, and provokes the image of the Japanese archipelago as a group of many islands, integrated with the South Pacific islands, sharing the common cultural diversity of the islands of Polynesia, Micronesia, Melanesia, and Indonesia (Gabriel 1999, Kawamitsu 1987, Okamoto 1990, Shimao 1970, 1977b, 1977c, 1981–3). The political utility of the concept of Yaponesia for Okinawans was used by anti-reversionists, who emphasized the importance of Okinawa as an independent entity – a place from which to resist the post-1972 assimilation process into a monolithic and homogenous entity, ‘Japan’. The concept of Ryu¯kyu¯ko allowed the Okinawan activists to cultivate solidarity with Amami activists. Projects of CTS construction were planned in locations across Ryu¯kyu¯ko, such as Yonaguni Island in the southwestern end of the Ryu¯kyu¯ archipelago, Tarama Island, and Edateku Island near Amami Island. Residents in communities near these areas engaged in protests similar to the Kin Bay Protection Group.31 Despite the geographical and historical closeness,32 there had been a general sense of distance between activists in the Amami islands and Okinawa. This was mainly because the former returned to Japan in 1954 from US military rule, and had been integrated into the Japanese socio-economic system to a much greater extent than the other islands in Okinawa (CTS Soshi To¯so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 12–14).

144 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Ryu¯kyu¯ko was a particularly important term in the construction of the myth of an ‘Okinawan’ movement. Seeing ‘Okinawa’ as part of Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko allowed the activists to recognize themselves as an autonomous equal entity vis-à-vis Japan with a distinctive identity, and the capacity to resist ‘reversion nationalism’. The term Ryu¯kyu¯ko was used by Shimao to signify the geographical region located in the southern margin of Yaponesia, together with To¯hoku (the northeastern region in mainland Japan), as an entity with independent cultural coherence, representing ‘Japan’ in its own ways. Ryu¯kyu¯ko was thus a strategically applied concept, which assisted in establishing a community of protest among the resident activists with similar local problems. Residents’ movements in Ryu¯kyu¯ko entailed much more than opposition to the CTS construction. Other issues of concern included opposition to the construction of nuclear waste disposal sites and campaigns to use soap, instead of chemically manufactured detergent, to protect local waters. These groups held joint meetings, lectures, camps, and field trips, and repeatedly held debates with other groups within the Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko region, which were recorded in a seasonal newsletter, Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko no Ju¯min Undo¯, published by the Expand the Anti-CTS Struggle Society (CTS Soshi To¯ so¯ o Hirogeru Kai). During its active years, the Society attracted new members such as Asato Eiko, Yamakado Kenichi, Morii Yoshikatsu, and Abe Ryoichi, who joined, organized, and reported on the joint activities of local groups in the region.33 The term Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko emerged as a concept from the anti-CTS struggles. It represented uniqueness and positive values, instead of marginality and backwardness. As the centres of protest in Okinawa became regionalized and fragmented, many activists were simultaneously involved in multiple protest activities concerning different issues and overlapping organizational memberships. Furthermore, supporters of the residents’ movements were often engaged in other protest activities in Okinawa. Before she was a Kin Bay activist Sakihara ‘witnessed the forced land acquisition of the US military in the early 1950s in Isahama’, and, as a student and schoolteacher, participated in campaigns for reversion to Japan. Sakihara is also a One-tsubo anti-war landowner (Interview, April 1999). Arasaki Moriteru, the main instigator of the network of One-tsubo anti-war landowners, advocated building solidarity between the anti-war military landowners and the anti-CTS activists. Arasaki organized the Expand the Anti-CTS Struggle Society (CTS Soshi To¯so¯ o Hirogeru Kai) in 1974, together with a veteran activist, Irei Takashi, Arakawa Akira, and an academic, Okamoto Keitoku. Both of the latter had been deeply involved in the discussion of Okinawa’s future after the demise of the reversion movement. The main purpose of the Society was ‘supporting the Kin Bay Protection Group’ (CTS Soshi To¯so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 20–1). It was an attempt to ‘establish the legitimacy of the residents’ movements in the Ryu¯kyu¯ko region in the traditional lineage of the Okinawa struggle since the land struggle in the 1950s (represented by the traditional progressive organizations such as Iken Kyo¯to¯)’.34 The aim was to reduce the distance between the residents’ movements and the progressive political organizations based in Naha. At the same time, the Society aimed to ‘set up the venues for flexible and loose solidarity based on

Kin Bay and Shiraho 145 communications between various residents’ and citizens’ movements in the region, which otherwise tended to confine themselves to their respective communities’ (CTS Soshi To¯so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 20–1). The Ryu¯kyu¯ko concept integrated many, independently unique island societies into one community of protest – whether called ‘Okinawa’ or not – through shared activities of protest. Importantly, the anti-CTS movement created an opportunity to reflect critically on the reversion movement, and the new direction of the ‘Okinawan’ protest. This activity was extremely important in creating a sense of continuity for the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, connecting past struggles to the present. In particular, the emotional attachment to yamato as ‘the home country’ was criticized as a leftover from the campaign for reversion. Sakihara recalls that his participation in the reversion movement was not motivated by any political awareness other than wishful thinking that a return to Japan would free Okinawans from US military oppression, particularly the forced US land acquisition of the 1950s. After this hope was betrayed, like many other reversion activists Sakihara ‘questioned the meaning and the outcomes of the reversion movement’ and quit the OTA in 1968. He was also influenced by Arakawa Akira’s anti-reversion thoughts and his anti-state perspective. For Sakihara, the introduction of a polluting industry by the CTS construction project was a clear indication of the ‘colonial subjugation of Okinawa to the mainland Japanese capital, contrary to the principle of self-determination’ that the reversionists aspired for (Interview, April 1999). Local protest in Shiraho had much in common with that of the residents in the Kin Bay area, against the CTS construction. Former anti-CTS activists had many insights to offer from their experiences, and to encourage the Shiraho resident opponents. Both cases involved major land reclamation projects over the ocean, and disputes with locals who lived on fishing. The Shiraho struggle went through the stages that the Kin Bay Protection Group had experienced. Some of the members of the Okinawa, Yaeyama, and Shiraho Ocean and Life Protection Group (based in Naha) were involved also in the anti-CTS protest activities (Yonemori, Interview, April 1999). In 1984, five members of the Kin Bay Protection Group visited Shiraho ‘to encourage the local airport opponents not to repeat the fate of Kin Bay’, during which visit they went diving and saw the coral reefs in Shiraho. They said Shiraho coral looked like what the colonies of coral around Ikei and Tsuken Islands near Kin Bay used to be, which had mostly been killed as a result of CTS construction under the state and prefecture government’s propaganda of promoting ‘development’ and ‘progress’ (Hanashiro 1984). A Kin Bay activist, Hanashiro Seihan, commented: ‘Compared to the reefs here (Shiraho), coral reefs in Kin Bay today look like a coral cemetery’ (Yaeyama Nippo¯ 4 May 1984). Apart from providing psychological encouragement, the inter-regional support network integrated the Shiraho struggle with the ‘Okinawan’ struggle. In August 1984, a Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko Residents’ Movements Communication Camp (Ryu¯ kyu¯ ko no Ju¯ min Undo¯ Ko¯ ryu¯ Gasshuku) was held in Shiraho. Originally, Arasaki Moriteru and Asato Seishin started this camp in 1979. About 160 participants were members of the Kin Bay Life Protection Society, the Expand the

146 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Anti-CTS Struggle Society, and other residents’ and citizens’ movements in the Ryu¯kyu¯ko region. Some mainland Japanese activists also attended the camp. The Shiraho camp was the fifth of the series of annual camps that started in 1979, held ¯ shima, Iriomote Island, Yakena in Kin Bay, and Miyako every year in Amami O Island. Some of the participants wrote articles describing the beauty of the ocean and the coral reefs, the abundance of fish and seafood, and the hospitality of the local Shiraho Community Centre members (for example, Miyagi 1983). This camp also contributed to establishing solidarity between the Shiraho anti-airport struggle and other residents’ movements in the Ryu¯kyu¯ko region. Another dimension of the Shiraho anti-airport campaign that similarly inspired the struggles in Okinawa was the locals’ war experience. Before the Battle of Okinawa in 1945, a Japanese Army airbase was built in Shiraho, and was used as the launching base of the tokko¯-tai (kamikaze) air fighters that flew to the battlefield. The local residents provided labour for the construction of the Japanese airbase, just as happened in Ie-jima, Yomitan, and other villages before the Battle of Okinawa. The Shiraho hamlet was raided regularly, and the residents had to evacuate to a nearby mountain without proper food and clothing. Many died of malaria, far more than in air raids and shipwrecks.35 In these crises, Shiraho elders often described the ocean as their ‘lifeline’ (Noike 1990: 14–15). That is, no matter how much the social situation changed, one could always rely on the ocean to sustain one’s life as long as the ocean was maintained in a healthy state. During the war, the ocean was the only thing they could rely on. They faced starvation because their potatoes and other crops in the farmlands were raided or taken by Japanese soldiers. But, as a 74-year-old Shiraho woman says, ‘Our family survived because we could eat fish and sea grasses. We lived on the stuff coming from the ocean. The ocean is life. I cannot stand it to be buried underground. That’s why I joined the protest against the plan to build an airport’ (quoted in Noike 1990: 22–3). Residents’ experiences during WWII, and their caution toward the possibility that the new airport might be used for military purposes, added further ground for protest. Anti-airport residents and supporters emphasized the danger of the possible military use of the New Ishigaki Airport. The 1979 airport construction plan was to extend the size of the runway to 2,500 metres long and 65 metres wide (from 1,500 metres and 45 metres). The group of Shiraho-born residents in Okinawa Island who protested against the New Ishigaki Airport construction issued a protest statement emphasizing the ‘danger of military use of the airport’ (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ ni Hantai suru Okinawa Zaiju¯ Shiraho Kyo¯yu¯ Yu¯shikai 1982: 17–19). Shiraho residents’ negative reaction to the fear of another airport construction was also linked to their collective memory of involvement in war (Noike 1990: 134). In the Shiraho struggle, the environmental concerns criss-crossed with the pacifist, anti-base concerns – which extends to the struggle against the US bases today. The anti-militarist motivation of the Shiraho struggle was based on the war experience specific to the locality and the idea of the ‘lifeline ocean’, which provided the residents with security that armaments and military bases could not provide. Yamazato Setsuko, a female Shiraho resident and a local opponent of the airport,

Kin Bay and Shiraho 147 thinks that the Shiraho struggle against the airport was also a campaign against militarism (Interview, May 1999).36 Only 0.2 per cent of the Yaeyama region is occupied by the US military, compared to about one-fifth of Okinawa Main Island (Okinawa Ken Soumubu Chiji Koushitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2000: 5). However, ‘absolute pacifism’, rooted in the residents’ experience in the Battle of Okinawa, existed in the Shiraho struggle too. Anti-militarism and the new concept of a Ryu¯kyu¯ko region as an amalgam of individually unique island societies constitute unifying themes, joining together many struggles in the community of protest in Okinawa. In this sense, the Shiraho struggle, like the Kin Bay struggle, extend the lineage of the Okinawa struggle in a new direction. As it expanded into a larger citizens’ movement from a regional conflict confined within Ishigaki Island, the Shiraho struggle drew sympathy from and participation by many left-wing, anti-militarist and progressive Okinawans. Workers’ unions were initially disengaged, but gradually started to show support for the Shiraho anti-airport residents and their struggle. External organizations were in a better position to state their views in support of the world heritage natural asset because, unlike the locals and unlike the progressive unions in Yaeyama, they could disregard the local economic benefits attached to the airport. However, in 1981, even the Yaeyama District Workers’ Union, which included the Yaeyama Teachers’ Union and High School Teachers’ Union, withdrew from the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Promotion Organization, after careful internal discussions (Yaeyama Mainichi Shimbun 26 August 1981). In 1984, public workers’ unions elsewhere in Okinawa, such as the Municipal Council Workers Unions of Yonabaru Town, Nago City and Naha City, publicly supported the Shiraho anti-airport struggle (Haemi 1984: 21). The Public Workers’ Union (jichiro¯) Okinawa Prefecture Headquarters directly negotiated with the Ishigaki mayor and requested respect for the Shiraho residents’ opposition (Yaeyama Nippo¯ 14 April 1984). Organizations and individuals based in other places participated in the anti-airport protest as supporters, as environmentalist and anti-militarist citizens. However, regardless of the influence outside supporters had, the local residents remained the ‘subjects’ of the struggle. Similar dynamics existed in the relationship between anti-war landowners and One-tsubo landowners and later, also, between residents and external supporters, in the anti-heliport struggle in Nago.

Conclusion The anti-CTS residents’ movements in the Kin Bay area and the Shiraho anti-airport struggle extended the horizons of collective action. Residents in individual communities, no matter how remote or small, became the central actors. The centre of gravity of protest tipped towards the residents and a loose network of non-resident supporters, away from the left-wing political parties and workers’ unions who became followers rather than leaders. As indicated in Chapter 6, the coalition of left-wing parties and unions made an effort to maintain the coherence of one ‘Okinawan’ protest. This chapter, however, highlights a different dynamic within the community of protest: fragmentation in both identity and organizational terms.

148 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Although government-led industrialization and the continued presence of US military bases in Okinawa were the common target of the community of protest, actual protest was motivated by many local identities with different experiences of everyday life, involving a wider range of people who lived primarily as residents in the localities of protest, rather than by subscribers to particular ideologies or established parties and unions. In the process of interaction and solidarity building, the residents intentionally stressed the autonomy and uniqueness of individual communities. External ‘supporters’ – in particular, political parties and unions in larger cities or mainland Japan – played an important role, but respecting the boundaries between outsiders (supporters) and insiders (residents) became an important feature of the ‘local’ framing of protest. It continues today. New awareness of the importance of the ‘local’ did not put an end to the idea of a single ‘Okinawan’ struggle. But it transformed it. A sense of solidarity within the community of protest was maintained through shared experiences and information and a shared repertoire of protest. As the centres of protest multiplied, communication and knowledge sharing among different actors across distant geographical regions increased, facilitated by the concept of residents’ movements of the Ryu¯kyu¯ko region. Having said that, the Battle of Okinawa also remained common history, a shared memory, an important motivation for the residents’ movements, and a link to the established narrative of ‘Okinawan’ marginalization. But ‘local’ framing resulted in another important and somewhat paradoxical change as well. Where struggles fought within the arenas of national political institutions (through unions, parties, politics, and municipal and national legislatures) tended to be absorbed within the nation, the same was much less true of ‘local’ political struggles. They were able to reach out beyond the boundaries of the nation and become international and/or global in scope. International recognition would nourish identity-building and myth-making in new ways. The emergence of ‘local’ framing in the Okinawan community of protest is most relevant to ‘new social movement’ theory and the increasing importance of post-materialist values, discussed in Chapter 2. At a time when the high-growth economy was coming to an end, and the horrifying environmental effects of blind enthusiasm for industrialization were a major social concern, the Kin Bay and Shiraho struggles convincingly suggested that the traditional lifestyle in rural Okinawa – even in a remote community in Ishigaki Island – offered an attractive, alternative ‘Okinawan’ collective identity. Activists redirected their preferences from assimilation to positively redefining ‘Okinawan’ distinctiveness by discovering values in rural community and traditional ways of life connected with nature. This stood in stark contrast to a hyper-industrialized Japan. The Kin Bay Life Protection Society’s protest and the Shiraho struggle both articulated the dominant issue that came to give meaning to Okinawan’ protest in the post-reversion era: Okinawa’s dependence on state-endorsed industrialization, which exhausts local natural resources. The Kin Bay and Shiraho struggles represent small-scale residents and social movements in the ‘low’ period of protest in Okinawa. Perhaps because of the political opportunity structure that favoured increasing flows of subsidies from

Kin Bay and Shiraho 149 mainland Japan through the promotion of industrialization, local residents’ movements did not result in the formation of a big wave of Okinawa-wide protest. Together with the ‘constitutionalist’ anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition, the ‘localist’ residents’ movements laid the foundations for a new collective identity for the ‘Okinawan’ movement – one involving many local identities and wider sectors of the population. ‘Okinawa’ was becoming internally splintered, divided, and chaotic, but still represented a unitary community of protest.

9

The third wave and beyond The power of Unai and the dugongs

Introduction This book will end its argument where it began: the 1995 rape case. As it has been told and retold in Okinawa, so can we retell it here. On 4 September 1995, in a base town near US Marine Division of Camp Hansen in northern Okinawa, a 12-year-old schoolgirl on her way home from shopping was abducted, raped, and beaten severely at a nearby beach by three American soldiers. This heinous crime ended the long ‘low’ cycle of protest in Okinawa. It was a small number of Okinawan women who first expressed the outrage of ‘Okinawans’ at the forefront, and created the momentum for the ‘third wave’. On 21 October an estimated 85,000 citizens gathered in Ginowan Marine Park to join the Okinawa Prefecture Citizens’ Mass Rally. A local newspaper Okinawa Times reported: ‘This is the biggest opportunity ever to speak up for ourselves’, said the body language of the participants at the 21 October Rally . . . Since the All-Island Struggle in 1955–6 and the reversion movement in the 1960s, we are standing at the third turning point of Okinawan postwar history. (22 October 1995) The groundswell of locals’ opposition to the US military presence resulted in a temporary crisis for the US–Japan security alliance, and led to both governments’ decision to close the US Marine Corps Air Station in Futenma. Thus a cruel incident initiated a series of anti-base protests for years to follow – the third ‘wave’ of allisland mass protest in postwar Okinawa. The third wave has now subsided as an island-wide protest but it is after a decade too soon to declare its end. This chapter examines two major dimensions of the third ‘wave’. First, it focuses on diversification, that is, the expanding scope of strategies and organizational structure in the community of protest. In particular, this chapter argues that the greater profile of, specifically, women has significantly contributed to the change in the internal dynamics in the community of protest. In terms of public debate on gender issues in Okinawan society, the sudden spotlight on these women made only limited difference. It nevertheless profoundly challenged certain organizational hierarchy and methodological rigidity in the community of protest, opening up spaces for

The third wave and beyond 151 different kinds of activity in political opposition that are more inclusive, with more ambitious global networking. The personal day-to-day issues, and ‘protection of human rights, peace and universal human values’ (Arasaki 1997: 166) came to be regarded as ever more important reasons for opposing the US military bases. The Okinawan women’s collective action was an important part of this change. However, second, we also see the continuing importance of the myth of a unified struggle of an Okinawan people. As discussed in previous chapters, the ‘Okinawan Struggle’ has been constantly internally divided, and in many ways the diversity has intensified and the scope of collective action expanded. Yet, in the course of cracking new doors open, the anniversaries and rituals reminiscent of the past struggles are remembered with respect, and the stories of legendary protests from the past are cherished. A lot of the new actions are developed from the experiences and lessons of the past. As hinted by Lévi-Strauss, history is stored in the verbal and informal stories and legacies, that is, the myth that defines today’s struggle. The recognition and respect paid to these stories and myth marks the boundary of the imaginary community of protest – who ‘we’ are. The overarching question addressed by this chapter is what are the implications of the detailed arguments for the idea of a unified ‘Okinawan Struggle’? While this takes a look at the evidence of recent and current events, the argument is necessarily more speculative about future directions than is the case with previous chapters.

The Unai method: Okinawan women’s movement As shown by studies on gender and militarism, the everyday functions of foreign military service rely on the abuse of women’s human rights through prostitution and the sex industry that specifically caters for military personnel, as well as on domestic violence and sexual harassment within the military (for example Enloe 1990, Moon 1997). Before the well-publicized rape in 1995, a small group of relatively well-educated, socially active women had been addressing the problem of military bases in Okinawa at the community level. What was unique about their method is to point out the problem of the bases and military in connection with the social order that degrades women’s safety and status, and also the patriarchal culture that is lenient regarding men’s involvement in prostitution but marginalizes women engaged in prostitution and their well-being. For these Okinawan women, protest against the violence specifically related to the US military bases is integral to a social movement that ‘highlight[s] 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). This perspective of the Okinawan women anti-base activists provides a ‘gender’ framing of protest, as important and powerful as the ‘Constitutionalist’ and ‘local’ framings discussed in previous chapters. In this framework, the problems of US military bases in Okinawa are understood and defined as part of a global gender issue. The activists, simultaneously, highlight the local-specific elements related to the historical marginalization of ‘Okinawa’ by Japan and the US.

152 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa The girl’s rape in 1995 could well be interpreted as one of the unfortunate but not uncommon incidents that the locals encountered in their daily lives. However, it was turned into a political opportunity for the protesters to bring international attention to the long-term imposition of military presence on Okinawan lives since reversion, and to request its reduction. The rape incident revealed the inherent instability of the US–Japan security alliance presence in the post-Cold War era. It was the women’s collective action that sparked this political opportunity, and spearheaded the third ‘wave’ of mass protests. Who were these women, how did they engage in protest, and what was the impact in the community of protest? The most prominent group of Okinawan women who created the momentum for the ‘third wave’ was the Okinawan Women Act against Military and Violence (OWAAMV). Its representative Takazato Suzuyo has been a pioneering figure who has addressed Okinawan military base issue from the feminist perspective.1 Through Girl Scouts connections she studied in the Philippines for two years from 1961. Here Takazato learned about the Japanese military aggression and killings experienced by the Philippine people during WWII, similar in many ways to what Okinawans experienced. After coming back from the Philippines, since the mid-1960s she has investigated the burgeoning prostitution industry around the US bases and its abusive effects on local women. In the war-torn island where everything was destroyed, prostitution was the only way to survive for many girls and women who had their husbands and parents killed in war. In fact, prostitution and the sex industry for the US military personnel in Okinawa was a core industrial sector in the local economy (see Chapter 5). At the same time, the society nurtured persistent contempt for women who sold sex to the foreign military for a living. Many Okinawan men – who could live and go to school because of the incomes earned by their families’ labour in the sex industry – associated the memory of local women flocking around American soldiers with the shame and misery of ‘Okinawa’ occupied by the US forces. Regardless of the social and economic change following the reversion, discrimination and contempt against women – considered to be ‘sexual breakwaters’ between the US soldiers and ‘normal’ society – had not changed.2 Takazato has 11 years professional experience as a women’s phone counsellor, during which she talked with countless women who suffered from ill health and economic hardship as well as mental disorders, guilt, shame, and low self-esteem caused by their experiences of rape, domestic violence, and prostitution. They were victimized as much by ‘a strange society intolerant to the prostitutes but tolerant to prostitution’ (Takazato 1996: 106–11). Takazato and her colleagues who shared similar concerns created opportunities to discuss the underlying social dynamics of patriarchy that perpetuates discrimination, sexual harassment, and violence against women in the family and workplace at the community level. As part of their standard activity, the Okinawan women were accustomed to integrating with global civil society. The strategy used during the Shiraho struggle to appeal for coral conservation to the global environmental movements has been taken by Okinawan women to an even greater extent, addressing the international feminist community. They have participated in international conferences on women, gender, war, and militarism since the 1985 International Women’s Conference in

The third wave and beyond 153 Nairobi. International conferences provided opportunities to tell other concerned citizens from overseas about the militarized environment in Okinawa and its impacts on women, particularly issues to do with rape of local women by US military staff, and prostitution and the sex industry catering for military personnel. International conferences expanded the network of anti-militarist and feminist activist colleagues in the countries with US military bases (among others, the Philippines, Korea and the US). In representing themselves to the international community of protest, Okinawan women activists have stressed their ‘Okinawanness’. Delegates to international conferences are separate from mainland Japanese women (although they do engage in joint actions). At these events the Okinawans explained the Okinawa-specific patriarchal family inheritance system called to¯ to¯ me that limits family asset inheritance to male offspring, not only disadvantaging women’s social and economic status but also discriminating against women who cannot produce sons (Takazato 1995b). At the 1995 NGO Conference in Beijing (NGO Forum Beijing 95 Okinawa Jikko¯ Iinkai 1996), the delegates held a workshop on more than 130 ‘comfort stations’ that existed in Okinawa during WWII, which accommodated the women recruited from former Japanese colonies who were enslaved for forced prostitution. Takazato explains that their slogan is ‘think locally, act globally’, not the other way around. In 1985, a female director of a local radio network was recommended by her boss to report on the Okinawan women’s attendance at the Nairobi Conference. She asked instead for a 12-hour slot of broadcasting and budget to make a special programme on women, produced by female-only staff. The radio network has since given a 12 hour-slot to a women’s festival, each year, in which the female director’s colleagues and friends, including Takazato, and women from all sectors of the community, have produced forums on ‘women’s issues’ (Prodakushon Yui 1986). The issues they discussed were concrete life matters and relevant political issues in Okinawa, for example pollution, family, health, childcare, education, and work. She named the event the ‘Unai Festival’ after the Ryu¯kyu¯an word, unai, meaning ‘female sibling gods’ who, according to folk belief, had the power to protect male siblings from misfortunes and accidents. The myth of unai embodies the traditional position given to Okinawan women in patriarchal family and society. Men joined and contributed to these events; however, women intentionally placed themselves in a privileged position in order to reverse and expose the ‘normal’ gender relations in which females are in underprivileged positions in every aspect of the social order. Over the years, the participants called this strategy the ‘unai method’ (Minamoto, Interview, April 1999). Traditionally – and still in communities in remote areas – society, even politics, revolved around religious ceremonies and festivals. Women, for their god-given mystic power, dominated these events, while men played only supportive roles (Asato 1999: 130). The role as protector of men and the community has been a traditional role assigned to women: for example, one often hears that women supported the community as primary breadwinners in the period following the Battle of Okinawa, when most men were dead, injured, or devastated. ‘Unai’ is indeed a significant identity marker that makes them ‘Okinawan’ no matter how

154 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa globally well-connected they are. The Unai Festivals, importantly, enabled Okinawan women to form solidarity with unai of different age, class, and regional or ethnic backgrounds within ‘Okinawa’. Similarly, they have linked with women outside Okinawa. The ability to connect the local-centred approach to international action has been the strength of the Okinawan women activists. Since the 1980s, Takazato, Carolyn Francis,3 and others developed a communication network with feminist activists, who were concerned with common problems related to gender and military bases (for example Kirk et al. 1997). This includes the ties with the Philippine women in the Buklod Centre in the Philippines,4 as well as My Sisters’ Place in Korea, a self-help institution for local women engaged in prostitution and service industries for American military personnel. As in Okinawa, many of these women’s children were fathered by US soldiers but denied US citizenship. Protest against disadvantages and discrimination suffered by the Amerasian children (of, usually, American fathers and Asian mothers) is a topic raised by the women in Okinawa, Korea, the Philippines, and the US,5 whenever they get together. The Okinawan women have exchanged information, ideas and developed ties with US feminist academics Gwen Kirk and Margo Okazawa-Rey, of the San Francisco Bay Area Okinawa Peace Network (Kirk et al. 1997: 17). In 1988, women from those four places held a small joint conference on local US bases and women. The members have repeatedly visited each other ever since for workshops and conferences.

The rise of the ‘third wave’ Okinawan struggle September 1995 was the year the Fourth World Conference on Women was held in Beijing. A team of 71 Okinawan women, who called themselves ‘NGO Beijing 95 Forum Okinawa Action Committee’, represented Okinawa. The team participated in 11 workshops, and gave presentations on Okinawan-specific topics, including ‘structural military violence against women’.6 While the delegates were attending the conference in Beijing, a girl was abducted and sexually assaulted near Camp Hansen. The local newspapers reported the rape, in a tiny article, only four days later, when the US military refused to hand over the soldiers to the local police. Takazato’s colleague Toguchi Sumiko, who was in Okinawa at the time, recalls, ‘even local political parties and anti-base organisations (who routinely make protest statements) were quiet, as if on a silent agreement not to speak about the rape in public, or not knowing what to do’. This hesitation was perhaps out of consideration of the strong sense of shame attached to the rape victim. However, she phoned the president of the Okifuren (the League of Okinawan Women’s Groups) and prepared a draft statement of protest, and took some local newspaper clippings to the local airport when she met the Okinawan delegates returning from Beijing on 10 September around 10pm. Takazato, who led the Beijing delegates, recalls: I got off the plane, feeling rejuvenated by the discussions and workshops with NGO women from Africa, Cambodia and many other places about military

The third wave and beyond 155 violence towards women. We talked about breaking silence, and speaking out that violence towards women should be treated as human rights abuse. The newspaper deeply shocked all of us. I thought ‘what was I doing in Beijing?’ (Interview, April 1999) The NGO Forum 95 Beijing Executive Committee and Okifuren held a press conference the next day at 10.30am.7 In contrast with the silence in Okinawa, major TV networks such as NHK, BBC, and about thirty other media companies already knew about the incident and the press conference was widely reported to the world. The women’s delegation to Beijing was the first among Okinawan anti-base organizations to take public action on this rape case. After they raised their voice, the floodgate opened for other Okinawan protesters’ collective action. ¯ ta demanded that the Japanese government should reform the Then Governor O Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA), originally made in 1960. On 20 September, ¯ ta went to Tokyo to negotiate directly with the Foreign Minister for the revision O of SOFA and a correction of the disproportionate military presence on Okinawan soil compared to the Japanese mainland. In particular, the focus was on Article 17, Section 5 (c) of the current SOFA, which prevented local police holding Marine soldiers in custody. This clause symbolized the power imbalance between the US military and the local residents, unchanged since the period of direct US military rule. It was this SOFA section that helped so many US military personnel charged with crimes to flee and discontinue the criminal cases. ¯ ta Masahide announced he would not sign On 28 September 1995, Governor O the land lease contract on behalf of the 35 landowners who had refused to consent to the compulsory use of their properties (35,200 square metres) by the US military. These compulsory leases had been authorized according to the US Military Special Measures Law (see Chapter 7), and were about to expire in May 1997 and March 1996.8 According to the Law, the mayors of the municipalities of the properties were responsible for signing on behalf of the landowners. As an expression of opposition to the US military occupation, politically progressive mayors of Naha City, Okinawa City, Ginowan City, Chatan town, and Yomitan village had rejected this procedure. Then the authority next rung up was the Governor.9 It was the first case in which a Governor had refused to authorize leases for the anti-war landowners’ land for ¯ ta became Governor in 1990, supported by the local anti-base military use.10 O political parties and workers’ unions, on the ground of his anti-military policy. Since the Cold War ceased, ‘realignment and reduction’ of the US bases in Okinawa had ¯ ta administration. O ¯ ta’s refusal to authorize the leases been a public request of the O was consistent with his anti-base and anti-war policy thus far.11 Funabashi (1997) explains that the post-Cold-War security alliance between the US and Japan had been far from a steady relationship: after the Soviet Union lowered its profile as an immediate military threat, the rationale for the security alliance had reduced to regional, remote, or hypothetical military threats, namely, China and North Korea. For the ‘drifting’ alliance that needed constant redefinition of its reason to exist, the 1995 rape case of a girl and the anti-base sentiment in Okinawa almost created a crisis (Funabashi 1997).

156 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa The Okinawan Prefecture Citizens’ Rally of 21 October attended by more than 85,000 locals and the governor’s refusal to sign the lease contracts were powerful reminders of the level of Okinawans’ antipathy against the US military’s crimes and accidents, which had been barely contained by the Japanese government’s generous financial compensation. At the ‘O21’ rally, the Okinawan people’s voices were crystallized into two demands: a review of the SOFA (Status of Forces Agreement) and a significant reduction of the bases. On this day, the citizens’ long-term grievances against humiliation, daily pressure, inconvenience, danger, and incursions caused by the US military presence was expressed as one ‘Okinawan’ voice: the third ‘big wave’ of the Okinawans’ united protest had come. ¯ ta’s refusal of land lease authorization and the 21 October rally, the ‘usual With O suspects’ of anti-base protest joined the protest with more vigour. The progressive politicians and political party and union members all demanded a major cutback of military presence in Okinawa and a revision of SOFA. For example, Rengo¯ Okinawa (a workers’ unions’ coalition with 48,000 members and affiliated to the Japan Social Democratic Party) conducted a hunger strike in front of the Okinawa Prefecture Hall for 31 hours (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 21 November 1995). One-tsubo antiwar landowners, the Peace Movement Centre, and other unions and citizens’ groups held protest rallies and street demonstrations, chanting ‘Get rid of the military bases!’ ‘Persecute Murayama!’ (he was the Prime Minister) and ‘Ganbaro¯’ (never give up!). The rally of 85,000 citizens was a political opportunity to make demands vis-à-vis the Japanese government. The protesters’ demands were consistent with what they had worked for since the reversion; so was their strategy to use the formal procedures of democracy justified by the ‘constitutional’ framing, supporting the anti-war landowners’ disobedience. Another important product of the ‘third wave’ was that the anti-war landowners finally gained wide recognition for their long-term battle, following the Governor’s refusal to authorize land leases. On 1 April 1996, the US military’s legal occupation of a plot of land in Yomitan village, owned by an anti-war landowner, expired. A supermarket owner and part-time peace guide, Chibana Sho¯ichi (see Chapter 3), who had been arrested and jailed for burning a hinomaru flag at a national sporting event (see Chibana 1992, Field 1993), was the anti-war landowner of property in a US military facility, the Sobe Communications Site.12 In May, Chibana and 30 family members and friends, including a famous Okinawan folk music star, Kina Sho¯ kichi, were allowed to enter their property for two hours in the Site where entrance had been forbidden since the end of the Battle of Okinawa. They had a picnic, and performed music and dance, and publicized the US military’s illegal use of properties. Arasaki observes: The landowners had been generally regarded as morally respectable, but exceptionally stubborn and strange, generally with a negative connotation. Since last year, however, I have strongly felt that the Okinawan general public’s attitude towards the anti-war landowners turned positive. I am convinced that the anti-war landowners themselves are feeling that way. Finally, they must

The third wave and beyond 157 have felt proud of being anti-war landowners. Their battles have been rewarded marginally, if not entirely. (quoted in Zen’ei Staff, 1996: 97) A long-time anti-war landowner, Shimabukuro critically describes the lack of integrity of the Okinawan general public: Many people shamelessly became sympathetic towards us, including those who had been receiving money from the government for co-operating with the US bases. Some apologised to me for not having been more understanding in the past, and said, ‘We have thought you (the anti-war landowners) were an intimidating bunch’. At the 21 October rally they might have thought they were protesting, but would quickly change their minds when the supermarkets cut their prices because of the US bases. (Interview, April 1999) Also coming to a head was the Japanese government’s illegal occupation of the 43.2 hectares, owned by 2,068 landowners, and 11.5 hectares owned by 575 anti-war and One-tsubo anti-war landowners. The Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee was unlikely to reach a final decision as to whether and how many years the lease would be granted before 15 May 1997, when the legal lease would expire. However, the government avoided this by reforming the US Military Special Measures Law.13 ¯ ta’s act of refusing In the aftermath of the rape case and the rally, Governor O proxy authorization of land leases obtained an enthusiastic support from Okinawan citizens. According to a Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ survey (7 October 1995), 74.5 per cent of Okinawan adults supported the Governor’s refusal of land lease proxy authorization, and 80.5 per cent thought that the SOFA should be revised. Rengo¯ Okinawa started a campaign in February 1996 for a prefecture-wide referendum on reduction of US military presence and SOFA,14 which was the first attempt in Japan at a prefecture-level referendum. In Japan, a referendum is a formal political exercise, but it does not have binding power on the state. It was the expression of an Okinawan-specific commitment to the Constitution that defined the aim of the referendum: ‘To reform the current conditions of the US military bases, which prevent Okinawan citizens from enjoying the rights guaranteed by the Constitution’ (Rengo¯ Okinawa 2001: 3). The referendum questions were, ‘Do you think the US military presence should be reduced?’ and ‘Do you think SOFA should be revised?’ Yet no concrete level of reduction was suggested. Furthermore, the referendum was not quite a unified, all-island campaign. The LDP members called for boycotting the referendum, for fear of damaging Okinawa’s relationships with Tokyo and its policy of favouring the Okinawan economy (Okinawa Times 27 August 1996). The referendum revealed the familiar internal opposition among conservative and progressive political forces.15 ¯ ta not budging from his refusal, Prime Minister Murayama In December, with O Tomi’ichi, leader of the Japan Social Democratic Party,16 decided to authorize the

158 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa ¯ ta for neglecting his professional land lease himself. Simultaneously, he sued O duty. In March 1996, the Fukuoka High Court ordered the Governor to authorize the non-contract landowners’ land lease. At the Supreme Court, the Governor asked for Okinawa’s predicament to be seen as Japan’s predicament, citing Okinawans’ ‘constitutionally guaranteed property rights, people’s rights to a life in peace, and ¯ ta 2000a: 213). [the prefecture’s] right to home rule’ (O if the Mutual Security Treaty is important for Japan . . . responsibility and burdens under the treaty should be assumed by all Japanese citizens. If not, many of my people point out that the outcome is discriminatory and goes counter to [the principle of] equality under the law. ¯ ta 2000a: 212) (O ¯ ta’s position has been underpinned by the ‘constitutional’ framing ‘although the O principles of the Constitution are not fully realized, they are the most important ¯ ta 1969: foundation not only for Okinawa and Japan but for humanity in general’ (O ¯ ta’s appeal on 28 August 1996. 100). The Supreme Court, however, dismissed O At the same time, the Japanese government set up a ‘special adjustment budget’ of ¥5 billion to reinvigorate the Okinawan economy. In early September 1996, ¯ ta finally agreed to authorize the leases. The event immediately followed the O Prefecture referendum of 8 September 1996. The voting rate (59.53 per cent) was unexpectedly low, even though 89 per cent of those who voted agreed with the ¯ ta’s decision disappointed many reduction of US forces and revision of SOFA. O anti-base activists and cooled many Okinawan citizens’ resurgent interest in the struggle against the bases. Arguably these two events induced a sudden plunge of the momentum of the ‘third wave’. Here, the ‘third wave’ seemed to have settled. Yet it had not. A much tougher and longer period of collective action against the plan to relocate the base in Futenma following the rape case was about to start. The wave has, however, been much less spectacular and called for more dogged commitment. This period will be discussed in the second half of this chapter.

The women’s movement and the myth of a unified ‘Okinawan Struggle’ In the context of racial, national, and ethnic conflict, rape has a political implication of dominance. Cockburn (1998: 223–4) explains: ‘“Rape” is used metaphorically to convey that feeling of abuse, as when someone or some group penetrates, invades and damages the space (the land, perhaps, or culture, or thoughts) in which another or others dwell.’ Angst (2001) points out that precisely because of this effect of rape that elevates the physical violation into the abstract, the main public concern to do with the rape case in September 1995 was sidetracked from the issue of women’s rights as human rights; quickly, the central issue switched to the US military’s violence against ‘Okinawa’. The 1995 rape awakened the myth of a united ‘Okinawan Struggle’ from a long hibernation. It is not accidental that, at the 21 October rally, the 1955 Yumiko-chan

The third wave and beyond 159 incident (see Chapter 5) – a brutal rape and murder of a six-year-old girl by a US serviceman – was repeatedly cited. At the Prefecture Citizens’ Rally following this incident, it was the unruly foreign military authoritarian regime that victimized the Okinawan women and children, which was relayed to the all-island uprising ¯ ta and other Okinawan against the US land policy in 1956. At the 1995 rally, O activists described their deep regret for not being able to protect the dignity of an ‘innocent girl’ from the semi-permanent US military presence. Both rape cases are told and retold in the historical narrative of Okinawa’s marginalization, given equivalent significance to the Ryu¯kyu¯ disposal, the typhoon of steel, separation from Japan on 28 April 1952, and so on. These rape cases are a necessary component of the myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’. This idea of rape of a girl as a violation of a body politic by foreign powers is explained by Angst (2001: 262) in terms of the patriotic ‘trope’ that requires virgin daughters under protection of a patriarchal family nation, which is problematic for feminists. The purified image of a girl victim is predicated on discrimination against other ‘not pure’ local women, engaged in prostitution. Takazato also addresses this discrimination revealed by the absence of any Prefecture Citizens’ Rally when ‘professional’ women are raped or even killed (Interview, March 1999). Yet Takazato herself has adapted a nationalist metaphor of Okinawa as ‘a daughter sold to the US by Japan, for its economic prosperity’ (1996: 28). Her metaphor agrees with the language of ‘sexual double standard in which raped girls are “ruined,” although it presents that loss in the name of the greater good’ (Angst 2001: 252). Angst (2001: 261) interprets Takazato’s puzzling use of the metaphor as a strategic criticism of the state ‘using the very language (of patriarchal nationalism)’. Another interpretation can be added here: the metaphor of rape as a marginalization of entire ‘Okinawa’ was too vital to be dismissed for the continuing importance of the myth of a unified ‘Okinawan Struggle’. It would be difficult for the Okinawan women to be part of the community of protest, without relating to the rape cases as part of the historical marginalization of ‘Okinawa’. Takazato and her colleagues are feminists but they must be – or appear to be – engaged in the struggle against marginalization of ‘Okinawans’, as well as ‘women’. The voice raised by the women did enhance the international profile of the ‘Okinawan’ problem. To the male-dominated community of protest, women’s participation was beneficial, to the extent that it contributed to keeping the myth of the ‘Okinawan Struggle’ alive. After all, the female activists call themselves ‘unai’ – a local-specific religious word traditionally believed to protect males in their fishing trips and, in today’s context, political struggle. By accepting ‘Okinawa’ as Japan’s daughter sold to the US and similar metaphors to this, the women strategically maintained a united front with other ‘Okinawan’ struggles. The development of a women’s movement, however, inevitably entailed confronting the male-oriented order in Okinawan society, and in the community of protest. Following the 1995 rape, former Okinawa Times editor Yui Akiko repeatedly heard male activists’ criticisms directed at the women’s protest: for ‘reducing everything into the problem of men’s violence’; ‘confusing the real issue of the US military, bases and Okinawa’ (Yui, 1999: 14, emphasis added). Takazato

160 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa was also yelled at by a male activist at a march in front of the Kadena Air Base: ‘Don’t try to trivialize things by making this all into a “violation of women’s human rights”; the important issue here is the Security Treaty!’ (Takazato 1995a: 3). Takazato reflects: In the past, Okinawan reversion activists used to say, ‘Okinawa is a pain in the little finger of a body of Japan’ to describe how the suffering of Okinawans was ignored by the Japanese. But I have always wondered, in that ‘pain in the little finger’, how much of the women’s pain has been represented? It is difficult for people to understand that women’s human rights are a political issue, because there are always ‘bigger’ ‘more important’ issues. Prostitution has always been a social issue, but not presented to the public in the same way as the compulsory military occupation of land, or US plane crashes. (Interview, March 1999) The above reflections highlight the fact that the idea of an Okinawan struggle itself has been male-centred, and also that a rather conservative culture exists in the community of protest that tends to resist newcomers and drastically novel ideas.17 Interestingly, however, the type of criticism Yui and Takazato heard on ‘reducing everything into women’s issues’ is hardly ever found today. Male activists in political parties, unions or informal protest groups praise the public presence and pro-activeness demonstrated by the Okinawan women after the rape incident, with a gratitude for ‘energizing’ the community of protest as well as advancing the international profile of the ‘Okinawan’ – though not women’s – problem. ‘Women’ have been normalized in the community of protest; they are now ‘usual suspects’ at protest scenes in Okinawa. An OWAAMV member Utsumi (1996) contends that (men’s) praise for women’s movement is often a cover-up of the still marginalized women’s position in society. Surprisingly low priority is given to women’s right to safety from sexual violence in Okinawan public policy today. In 2001, REIKO, the first rape crisis centre ever in Okinawa, and the product of the lobbying of the Beijing Delegate’s request, could operate only six hours a week owing to insufficient funding from the Prefecture.18 The OWAAMV members have continued protest activities against military violence and the patriarchal society that marginalizes gender issues. Because of the dishonour associated with ‘being the rape victim’, and the system’s lack of protection of victims’ rights and privacy, the official statistics on rape grossly underrepresent the actual rape cases in Okinawa. From her experience as a women’s counsellor, Takazato is convinced that at least 90 per cent of women do not press charges for fear of investigation and humiliation in court (Interview, March 1996). When asked by foreign journalists about the figure, the OWAAMV members were frustrated with the official figure (110 cases since 1972), which did not represent the reality. An important ongoing project of the OWAAMV has been to collect more correct statistics on US military-related sexual violence in postwar Okinawa, relying on oral history and biographical records kept at the community levels, such as town and village libraries.

The third wave and beyond 161 Earlier in September after the rape case, the OWAAMV members held a public rally with 250 participants, who held microphones and talked about their experiences to do with gendered violence and military bases. In this occasion there were women or families who came and spoke about their experience of rape that they never reported or talked to anyone about for years (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 24 September 1995). The OWAAMV created a similar forum of communication and informal discussion on gender, the military, and sexual violence in a twelveday sit-in protest in front of the Prefecture Hall, in which more than seven hundred joined. Takazato recalls the relaxed atmosphere of their tent, never short of food – with tempura and snacks made at locals’ homes and brought in for the participants – very unlike that of Rengo¯ Okinawa, conducting a serious hunger-strike right next to them (Interview, March 1999). In February 1996, 13 members of the OWAAMV made a two-week trip entitled ‘The Okinawan Women’s Peace Caravan in America’. The members visited 28 NGO groups and several universities in San Francisco, Washington, DC, New York, and Hawaii, where they gave talks, discussion sessions, and seminars. They took the work-in-progress rape statistics with them, and lobbied state and federal senators and representatives (San Francisco Chronicle 5 February 1996). They also met their feminist friends and academics Kirk, Okazawa-Rey, and Betty Reardon,19 who shared the Okinawan members’ intellectual ground from which they argued against the military: they questioned the priority placed on national security, above the security of individuals, including women, focusing on telling the Okinawan situation as widely as possible, by talking directly with as many US citizens as possible (Okinawan Women Act Against Military and Violence 1996: 1). In the second ‘peace caravan’ in October 1998, they visited San Diego, and saw the US navy and air force facilities, and met local environmental groups and Chalmers Johnson, the chief editor of the Japan Policy Research Institute and a keen supporter of the Okinawan women. These trips were made possible by the networks between Okinawan women and American NGOs expanded through long-term personal contacts, campaigning techniques, and information about the military bases in the US. Today, a highly developed division of labour exists in the community of protest. Those Okinawan activists who ‘do gender stuff’ in Okinawa and those who do not usually engage in separate activities. This also reflects the splintering and diversification within the community of protest. There is, however, more to the impact of women’s movement than the new division of labour and diversification. This needs to be explained further in the context of the anti-heliport struggle (which continues today), as well as the survival of the myth of a united ‘Okinawan Struggle’.

Unai and the dugong: new social movements and the surviving myth of the ‘Okinawan Struggle’ After the fever of the ‘third wave’ all-island struggle subsided with the referendum ¯ ta’s authorization of land leases, the community of protest entered a new and O marathon phase. The anti-heliport struggle is the most recent, ongoing phase of protest in Okinawa.

162 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Futenma, SACO and the heliport In April 1996, new Prime Minister Hashimoto announced that the US and Japanese governments had agreed to close the ageing Futenma US Marine Corps Air Base, used since the end of WWII, located in the middle of Ginowan City. The Special Action Committee on Okinawa (SACO), comprising US and Japanese diplomats and high-ranking officials, also announced the plans to close ten other US military sites. The plan included the relocation of the live fire training across Road 104 in Kin Town, and the ‘drop’ trainings using parachutes in Yomitan village and the Naha Military Port.20 Closure of the Futenma Air Station was regarded as the most ¯ ta.21 It epitomizes the unwanted urgent item by Hashimoto, the US official and O US military presence, located in the middle of crowded residential districts of Ginowan City where 84,000 people live. Combat helicopters train and fly over this city, where up to fifty aircraft crashes had been recorded since 1972. Fifteen other primary and secondary schools surround the bases, where the noise of helicopters and planes regularly interrupts classes (Fukuchi 1996: 21–2, 52–4). The SACO plan of reducing US military facilities including Futenma mark a significant consequence of the anti-base mass rally in October 1995 and the ‘third wave’ allisland struggle. For the anti-base activists and locals who wished for the reduction of US military bases, the news of Futenma’s return, however, was a small consolation considering its condition: the construction of a new base with equivalent facilities and functions of Futenma, with upgraded facilities somewhere in Okinawa. That is, Futenma would be relocated, not returned to Okinawa, to the disappointment and outrage of many Okinawans. The question was where to? In September 1996, Prime Minister Hashimoto announced a plan to construct a ‘sea-based heliport’, which had been suggested by the US state officials, as an alternative facility (Okinawa Taimususha 1998: 11). The word ‘heliport’ belied the scale of this alternative facility with a mile-long runway, which could accommodate accident-prone MV-22 Osprey helicopters (Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs 1997). On 2 December 1996, SACO released a final report on the ‘reorganization and reduction’ plan of 11 US military facilities (Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs 1997). The US military facilities were mainly to be relocated with upgrading within Okinawa. For the relocation of Futenma, the SACO final report designated the east coast of Nago, next to Camp Schwab, as the desirable location for a new sea-based air station.22 On this decision, Prime Minister Hashimoto commented, ‘the government would not force the issue, but try to solicit the consensus of local municipalities’ (Okinawa Times Weekly, Monday Evening Edition 9 December 1996, emphasis added). Since the SACO final report, the Japanese government has explicitly promised to bring quick and visible material benefits for the local economy where the US base facilities are planned to be relocated. As always, many Okinawan residents – although most wished to have no military bases in the island – saw that these benefits were crucial and necessary to sustain the local economy. Thus the central government managed to convert the united ‘Okinawan’ political opposition against the government into internal localized conflicts against pro-base and anti-base Okinawan residents.

The third wave and beyond 163 Consequently, the anti-base movements were organized in different towns and villages. Simultaneously with the struggle against the relocation of Futenma to Nago, anti-base collective action was organized against individual relocations, for instance of the Naha Military Port to Urasoe City. There is no single organization to control and manage all anti-base activities in Okinawa. In the post-SACO period, the protest actors inevitably splintered into smaller, multiple groups. Thereafter, anti-base protest became geographically scattered and regionalized. Among others, Nago became the major location of anti-base opposition in the phase after the SACO report. Organizing a ‘citizens’ movement’ for referendum Nago City (with a population of 57,434 in 2004) is a major city in Okinawa Island’s northern region, which covers a vast area from Kin Town and Onna village to Kunigami village, an area that Okinawans call ‘yanbaru’ (mountain and forest) (Map E). Yanbaru is a region distinguished from the big city in the south like Naha, for its abundant, distinctive natural environment. It is where the rare species of birds, animals, and plants are found in the subtropical forest with world heritage flora and fauna, including endangered species.23 Yanbaru has been a holiday destination for Okinawan residents living in the city. On the other hand, in terms of industrialization, the northern region in general has been considered to lag behind, and has not benefited from the state-funded industrial programmes and schemes which bring in employment, public works, and ensuing short-term economic returns. Yanbaru and the southern regions of Okinawa are quite distant from each other, and socio-economically and culturally carry distinct senses of locality.24 The planned site of the offshore base was adjacent to Camp Schwab, located in Henoko hamlet on the east side of Nago City (Map E).25 Henoko is a district in the Kushi region on the east coast of Nago (population 4,661). All the 13 districts in Kushi suffer from declining agriculture, and a shrinking, ageing population. Residents in these districts still abide by centuries-old traditional rules and customs, such as annual spiritual rituals, as well as those to do with production and consumption.26 All of these communities are dependent on special government funding, awarded to the municipalities located around military base facilities. Henoko, among others, has hosted Camp Schwab since 1956, a US Marine Corps base, and a major ammunition storage area. First the residents opposed the construction of the Camp Schwab. However, it introduced electricity, water, and a sewerage system, and provided job opportunities for the local economy in construction, restaurants and bars, and other businesses. During the Vietnam War, US dollars flowed into the Henoko commercial area (Okinawa Taimususha 1998: 49). Job seekers came from outside, which transformed the dynamics of traditional hamlet life, and Henoko has become, and still is, the biggest hamlet in the region, with 1,646 residents in April 2005.27 Today, the bars and restaurants in the once-thriving Henoko entertainment area are mostly closed. Importantly, Henoko obtains more than ¥100 million rent from the government for land used by Camp Schwab, as well as various other funds related to hosting military facilities.28 Jobs are scarce

164 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa for young people, who increasingly emigrate. Agriculture has declined, as there are fewer people under 60. Only the construction industry has grown steadily, and has provided jobs (mostly temporary or part-time) for the remaining working population. These socio-economic situations had reinforced dependence on the military. In Henoko, it has been extremely difficult for the residents to express opposition to the heliport construction.29 In January 1997, nevertheless, 27 residents who opposed the heliport construction formed a committee later known as the Henoko Life Protection Society (Henoko Inochi o Mamoru Kai). The Society is solely based on the identity of ‘Henoko residents’, and stresses its non-affiliation to any political organizations or ideologies. Distinguished from unions and party-affiliated opposition, the residents’ bodies against the ‘heliport’ construction are described as a ‘shimin undo¯’. Its ‘struggle ¯ ura Bay. hut’ stands on the beachside, right across the planned construction site in O The most dedicated and determined opponents in Henoko have been the elderly members in their eighties and nineties. Their motivation is their experience and survival in the Battle of Okinawa. It is realistic for them to anticipate another war following the construction of a new base: they have seen it before. An elderly Henoko woman recalls the painful memories of war, and cannot bear to think her grandchildren may suffer the same in the future (Higa et al. 2000: 40). Like the older activists of the Kin Bay and Shiraho struggles, elderly Nago people survived food shortages during and after the war by catching fish in the ocean.30 For those who know their lives have been protected by the endowments from nature in yanbaru, to build a major Marine Air Station in the ocean is equivalent to suffocating their source of life. One elderly woman comments, ‘I wonder why people in the south don’t oppose the construction. During the Battle of Okinawa, the southerners escaped to yanbaru and survived, because of the abundant natural resources. Their drinking water still comes from yanbaru too’ (Higa et al. 2000: 40). Their stories connect today’s struggle to the war experience, part of the Okinawan historical narrative of marginalization. Today, the elderly members in their eighties and nineties (though many have health problems) are still the cornerstone of the Henoko Life Protection Society and the 24-hour sit-in since April 2004. Mayor of Nago City Higa Tetsuya was initially opposed to the relocation.31 Yet in April 1997, Higa reversed his opposition and officially accepted the preliminary survey of the planned heliport construction site. Obviously, the reason was the prospect of increased special subsidies from the central government. After hearing ¯ ta – officially claiming he would not interfere with the decision this, Governor O to accept the heliport – promised Higa increased prefecture budgets for the northern region, indirectly approving the survey. The ‘stimulation of the local economy’ was a magic phrase that appealed to those in the construction industry and small businesses. Ignored was the will of the opposing residents. The opponents reacted, with a call for a Nago City referendum. The Okinawa Prefecture Labour Union Committee (Hokubu Chikuro¯) held a rally at the Workers’ Centre in Nago Central Business District, and proposed a

The third wave and beyond 165 referendum. Four labour unions based in Nago district formed the Five Party Coalition (Goshakyo¯ ) in February 1997.32 The Okinawa Peace Centre, a loose Okinawa-wide coalition of labour unions (see Chapter 7), joined the Coalition in order to bring in the support of other trade unions from Naha and other areas in Okinawa. The aim of the Coalition was ‘to form solidarity with the Henoko Life Protection Society and to obtain [external] support to stop the heliport construction, prefecture-wide and nationwide’ (Hokubuchiku Ro¯do¯ Kumiai Kyo¯gikai 1999: 87). The unions were skilled and experienced to mobilize union members’ presence at the scene of protest, and to use media reports to publicize their opposition in other parts of Okinawa. When the Naha Defence Facilities Bureau conducted a preliminary inspection of the planned offshore heliport construction site, the Coalition and the Henoko Life Protection Society members set up picket fences and a ‘surveillance tent’, and protest placards with anti-heliport messages such as ‘Do Not Disturb Our Sleep’ and ‘Nature, Life and Health: Our Treasure’ (Okinawa Times Evening Edition 7 May 1997).33 The workers’ unions played an important role in starting a local opposition, using their trademark mobilizing capacities. In late April, an informal discussion forum entitled ‘Absolutely No to Heliport’ was held at the Nago City Community Centre. At the forum, an anti-base union member from Ginowan City, where Futenma is located, reported the reality of living next to the Futenma Air Station. The forum did not take the standard style of meetings where a series of anti-base organizations’ representatives gave speeches. The attendants discussed the possibility of demanding the mayor’s resignation and the Nago residents’ referendum on relocation. One attender comments, ‘Ordinary people were talking about things freely as you would in everyday life. I felt, in this atmosphere, I could be part of it [the anti-heliport faction]’ (Ueyama et al. 2001: 37). Shortly after, the Society of Nago Citizens Opposed to the Heliport (Heliport Iranai Nago Shimin no Kai) was born. On 28 April 1997, another individual-based organization, the All-Nago Citizens’ Group against the Heliport (Heliport Kichi o Yurusanai Min-na no Kai), was formed. Its 115 members emphasized a commitment to the principle of citizencentred decision-making. Their slogan, ‘An important decision has to be made by everyone’ (Heliport Kichi o Yurusanai Min-na no Kai 1999: 85), was later applied by all the referendum supporters. This group emphasized that the call for referendum was a commitment to the principle of participatory democracy and local autonomy. Unlike in Henoko, residents of other districts in the sparsely populated Kushi region were predominantly opposed to the heliport. Henoko, and other two districts in the Kushi region, have received substantial incomes from being adjacent to Camp Schwab. The other ten districts, however, have benefited significantly less, although located close to Camp Schwab and other US military facilities. The planned site for the new offshore base in Henoko is only 5 kilometres from Sedake district (population 522). The new base would also affect Sedake residents’ lives significantly, with noise and effluent into the ocean. It took much longer for the residents in these districts to organize an anti-heliport group, partly because residents in these districts had never been involved in residents’ movements before.

166 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa On 12 October 1997, the first meeting of the Group of 10 Districts North of Futami against the Heliport (Heli Kichi Iranai Futami Ihoku Jukku no Kai, referred to as Jukkuno Kai) was attended by 500 people, a quarter of the population. As in Henoko, the elderly population were prominent opponents in these districts. However, as Spencer points out (2003: 129), it was the Jukkuno Kai members who were most committed to foregrounding the theme of environmental protection, amongst all the anti-heliport groups in Nago. Much younger than most of the Henoko Life Protection Society members, Jukkuno Kai members were also more pressingly confronted with the issues of how to make a living and developing an industry in a rural economy, without relying on the state-funded public works, rent from the military or special subsidies tied to military bases. The population was declining in this area, with shrinking agriculture and the younger population moving away. ‘Nature’ was the only special asset they had. Yet as in Shiraho, it was hard for the people who never lived outside yanbaru to see the special value in their natural environment. Migrants from urban Naha and yamato could often more clearly articulate the preciousness of the pristine mountains. This is why migrants, who moved to yanbaru in search of a better quality of life, have often been the most dedicated opponents in the anti-heliport struggle. In the process of rediscovering the value of the natural environment and lifestyle of eastern Nago, the Jukkuno Kai members held a symposium on ‘sustainable development in Okinawa’ with Ritsumeikan and Hiroshima University researchers. The idea of affluence was redefined. Self-reliance based on the pride in local-specific natural environment and lifestyle was placed above the government-funded industrialization destructive to nature.34 The Jukkuno Kai members started cultivating ecotourism by starting a company Eco-Net Chura, introducing visitors to yanbaru life – walking in the pristine mountains, forests, sleeping and gorges, under the adan (screwy pine) trees, watching sea turtle babies hatch, catching wild boars, learning yanbaru folk music, making their own tofu with stone tools and living without electricity. The idea of Kin Bay’s Asato Seishin continues to live in the development of collective identity of residents’ collective action in opposition to the heliport construction. The Nago anti-heliport struggle has been regionalized and splintered, yet connected to the tradition of a greater ‘Okinawan’ struggle. Since a dugong was witnessed off the coast of northeastern Okinawa during the state’s preliminary inspection of the planned ‘heliport’ construction site in May 1997,35 Jukkuno Kai’s Higashionna Takuma and colleagues have campaigned for dugong conservation as part of the protest against heliport construction. With about thirty other Jukkuno Kai members and environmentalists from Naha, including Takaesu Asao and Makishi Yoshikazu, who had campaigned in the Shiraho struggle, he started diving regularly to survey traces of dugongs’ sea grass grazing. More dugongs have been witnessed since then. Discovery of a world heritage species, Okinawan dugongs, has boosted the newfound pride in the local-specific natural asset of yanbaru. They seemed to be doing their share of work in a campaign to stop a huge military facility in their habitat. The whole Nago anti-heliport community embraced Okinawa dugongs. Ever since, they have been on the pamphlets, signboards, and T-shirts opposing the heliport.

The third wave and beyond 167 In June 1997, Nago-based anti-base groups and organizations formed a coalition of 21 organizations,36 the Nago Citizens Referendum Promotion Council (Nago Shimin Ju¯min To¯hyo¯ Suishin Kyo¯gikai). The Society of Nago Citizens Opposed to the Heliport played a central role in the coalition formation. The newly emerged citizens’ groups joined forces with progressive political parties, and workers’ unions. The Referendum Promotion Council became the official initiator of the Referendum Regulation (Shimin To¯hyo¯ Jorei), and started collecting signatures on 9 July. The minimum requirement was 757 signatures from Nago residents, according to the one-fiftieth of the population mark; however, the Council set a goal to collect 12,616 signatures, one-third of the population.37 In August, the Council submitted a request for a Referendum Regulation with 19,735 signatures. As a counter-measure, the LDP party members of the City Assembly submitted a modified draft for the Referendum Regulation: instead of choice between ‘approve’ or ‘object to’ the construction of the offshore heliport in Nago, the modified referendum question increased the options: (1) agree with the construction plan, (2) agree because environmental measures and economic improvement can be expected, (3) oppose, (4) oppose because environmental and economic improvements cannot be expected. Thus, with the modification agreed at the City Assembly, the Referendum Regulation was passed. The insertion of ‘environmental and economic improvements’ was instigated by the pro-base LDP members to make it easier for the Nago residents to vote ‘yes’ to the heliport construction. The campaign for ‘yes’ votes by the Nago Citizens’ Organization for Revitalization and Stimulation (Kasseika Sokushin Shimin no Kai) also started, with abundant government funding. The Society of Nago Citizens Opposed to the Heliport, the All-Nago Citizens’ Group against the Heliport, and also, the Henoko Life Protection Society, defined themselves as a ‘citizens’ movement body’ (shimin undo¯ tai) of free-willed individuals. They requested the trade unions and political parties to ‘step back and restrain themselves’ in consciously establishing a citizens’ movement (Heliport Iranai Nago Shimin no Kai 1999: 100). The tendency – earlier recognized in the Kin Bay and Shiraho struggle – of more experienced and established political organizations to dominate residents’ movements had been recognized as a problem, as it alienates other citizens. The Referendum Promotion Council emphasized the importance of solidarity among parties and unions and the three citizens’ movement organizations (Nago Shimin To¯hyo¯ Ho¯kokushu¯ Kanko¯ Iinkai 1999: 87). Shimin in this context signifies ordinariness, non-affiliation to any political organization, and a non-ideological position. The self-definition of an organization as a ‘citizens’ movement’ indicates the belief that opposition and protest of citizens’ organizations genuinely represent the locals, not being dominated by the interests of the established, professional organizations. This emphasis is reflected on the choice of Miyagi Yasuhiro – only 37 years old and politically non-affiliated – as representative of the Referendum Promotion Council. The progressive political parties and unions, too, regarded the depoliticized image attached to the ‘citizens’ as a desirable new actor of the anti-base movement.

168 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa Aragaki Shigeo, Secretariat of the Okinawan Socialist Masses’ Party, witnessed and endorsed the changing role of political parties and trade unions in the Okinawan community of protest: The role of progressive political organisations that have long led struggles of the Okinawan people since the 1950s land dispute and the 1960s reversion movement is changing. Political parties and trade unions should no longer be leaders of the movement. The main players are now individual citizens with their own motivations to participate in the process of decision-making about an important matter. We need to be careful not to dominate the movement, and should be focusing on a supporting role. (Interview, May 1999) The changing self-definition of veteran anti-base unions and political party actors of the ‘Okinawan struggle’ signifies a development of tolerance towards diversity in the community of protest. It also suggests the formation of a new definition of relationships between ‘citizens’ movements’ and party politics or organizational interests, which posits the latter in a ‘supportive’ position. As elsewhere in Okinawa, labour unions have been prominent anti-base actors in northern Okinawa. Along with collective bargaining for better working conditions and pay, it has been a central commitment of the Okinawan labour union movement to pursue ‘anti-base’ and ‘anti-war’ activities since the 1960s during the reversion movement. An active executive member of regional workers’ unions in Nago is one such veteran anti-heliport activist who was a helmet-wearing student activist in the 1960s and believed Okinawans could get rid of the bases by going back to Japan. He still sees the current ‘Okinawan struggle’ as a continuation of the reversion movement: We are still trying to come to senses with the question, ‘What was reversion all about?’ Daily struggles in Okinawa are struggles against the continuing marginalisation of Okinawa by the US–Japan Mutual Security Treaty, despite Okinawa’s reversion to Japan and entitlement to its Constitution. Today, in the anti-heliport struggle, the role of the workers’ unions and political parties should be ‘supporters’ of the residents in the community. On the other hand, the unions are still the main actor in the citizens’ movements (shimin undo¯) in Okinawa. (Interview, February 2002) With a central position given to the individual non-affiliated citizens, the whole anti-heliport struggle in Nago has been often described as a ‘citizens’ movement’. However, there are still differences between the experienced members and newcomers within a coalition against the heliport. The progressive unions and political parties still play important roles in terms of mobilizing human and other resources and experience. Rather than trying to pressure each other to accept a certain strategy and methodology to forge ‘unity’, there seems to be a

The third wave and beyond 169 greater range of specializations among divided actors within the community of protest. This inevitably requires a greater level of tolerance and respect for differences. Emergence of many women’s groups During the campaign for the referendum in Nago, a number of women-only groups emerged in protest against the ‘heliport’. It was primarily their sense of emergency against the construction of a new heliport that motivated this rush. It was also their expression of protest – albeit not an explicit or intentional one – against the dictatorial, unifying operating system of the ‘citizens’ movements’ or ‘anti-base organizations’ that flattened out individualities and differences under the influence of male-seniority rule. On the western side of Nago, during the summer of 1997, about twenty women who were campaigning for the referendum organized their own group. One of them says it was her first experience in joining any protest activity against the US military bases. When she started working with the Referendum Promotion Council members, she noticed that the campaign activities were conducted strictly under the instructions given by senior male members. In leaflets, posters, and speeches to the locals, the veteran activists who experienced the reversion movement in the 1960s and 1970s preferred to use certain internal language popular amongst leftwing activists – such as ‘solidarity’, ‘anti-war’, ‘our sacred struggle’ – that sounded intimidating and off-putting to younger or inexperienced citizens. She made a suggestion: Using this kind of language may scare youngsters who may be thinking about the implications of the heliport issue in their own way, and may join some kind of collective action. Why don’t we try using normal language in daily conversation, for example, ‘no-one will find out whether you voted for or against the heliport?’ The veterans reminded me that I was only a novice, and should listen to the instructions of the more experienced members. But I was not alone. About twenty female members were feeling suffocated in the same way. So we organized our own group, Nuchi du Takara Woman Powers Yarukies (Yaruki means energy or motivation) and decided to go our own way. Elite members of the Council welcomed the formation of a newly sprouted women’s group, positively evaluating it as a vibrant new move that could contribute to the momentum for the referendum. The Council even spared campaign funding for the new group, and encouraged us to do whatever we wanted for the campaign,38 such as making pamphlets with cartoon characters and daily conversational language that looked drastically different from the familiar, ‘progressive’ style that people were used to looking at. (Interview, February 2001) Residents in Ginowan City, where Futenma Air Station is located in central Okinawa (see Map E), see and hear the helicopters and combat aircraft training

170 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa daily. Kunimasa Mie has lived so close to the base that she could hear English conversations from the other side of the fence. The explosive engine noises, and neighbours’ physical and psychological problems, have been part of her life, and of those close to her. When I heard the news that the Futenma would eventually close and might be relocated off Henoko, I was really angry. I was also frightened to think about the possibility that the citizens’ referendum result might support the heliport construction, because of the local industrial sector’s commitment to it. I felt the need to inform the local people about what it was like to live next to the US Air Force. I looked around and suggested with the people around me to do something about it together. The ones who responded were all women, about ten of us, to start with. We had no representatives or rules. The name of the group was the Gathering of Kamadu (Kamadu-gua no Tsudoi), representing a traditional, common female name (literally meaning a big cooking pot). We did not want to use the word ‘kai’ (organization or group). We had never made pamphlets before but did our best and wrote our feelings and thoughts: we didn’t have time. (Kunimasa, Interview, May 1999) The 15 members of the Gathering of Kamadu were, unintentionally, all female. We did not know anyone in Nago, but we started by knocking on people’s doors and explained how noisy it was to live next to the air base. The people we talked to had no idea. It was my impression that men more often than not did not have time for us. Many of them did not take us seriously, or said, ‘Well, it’s our turn, isn’t it? In Ginowan, you have tolerated Futenma for more than fifty years. If the marine heliport is built, money will come in and the city will come to life. That’s how it works. There is nothing we can do about the new base,’ which was understandable because the boost in construction industry would affect their work. Women seemed to be ready to listen to us more carefully and to tell us they were worried, too. We had day jobs on weekdays so we travelled to Nago on Saturdays and Sundays with our pamphlets. One day we had a joint meeting with the Kushi residents living north of Futami (the Jukkuno Kai members). Again, attenders were all women. They said ‘we are embarrassed to see that Ginowan people were working so hard in our community, while we haven’t been doing anything’. So we started to hand out pamphlets and visited houses together at night after work and on weekends. In the process of hard work together, a bonding developed among us. (Kunimasa, Interview, May 1999) Subsequently, female members of Jukkuno Kai formed a small women-only group, Jannukai (Jan is a local word for ‘dugongs’). During the pre-referendum campaign, the women from Ginowan, Kushi, and Nago teamed up in pairs, and made door-

Figure 9.1 Koe, Koe, Koe (courtesy of Kunimasa Mie). Koe = Voice. The design and layout of the pamphlet suggest that it is handmade, not massproduced, conveying a sense of ordinariness and accessibility

172 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa to-door visits. Women’s participation in the campaign was recognized as the Referendum Promotion Council as ‘a decisive contribution to the result of the referendum’ (Nago Shimin To¯hyo¯ Ho¯kokushu¯ Kanko¯ Iinkai 1999: 59). A number of female individuals in Okinawa were concerned with the consequences of the construction of the heliport. In Onna village, about ten politically inexperienced women (in their thirties and forties) organized to discuss the heliport issue, and joined the referendum campaign. Many had never had anything to do with politics before the heliport issue came up, and did not know how to start a ‘protest movement’.39 The offices of established political parties and trade unions or any ‘anti-military’, ‘peace’, ‘anti-Ampo’, ‘anti-war’ organizations sounded unapproachable to them. Those who found ‘approachable’ groups close to where they lived, for example, the Society of Nago Citizens Opposed to the Heliport, helped collect signatures or distributed pamphlets. In the process of trying out new experiences in political activities, female locals separately formed female-only anti-base groups. Kunimasa explains that communications and building teamwork were easier in women-only groups because they had so much in common. For example, their schedule similarly centred on children, annual rituals, and family affairs. Their handmade pamphlets were casual and informal but, unlike the stereotypical anti-base pamphlets, expressed their feelings. Their style of collective action particularly appealed to those who silently felt fearful of the new heliport and its effects, but did not have access to traditional anti-base protest organizations, or did not know exactly how to express their concerns. The meaning of ‘ordinary, inexperienced women’ becoming the subject of collective action was significant. Women had always been present in the ‘Okinawan struggle’, during the 1950s land struggle and the reversion movement. In the Okinawan community of anti-base protest, however, a majority played supportive roles as wives and secretaries of male protesters. Typical women’s roles would be to make tea and prepare meals in the protest offices, for example, and the wives of male activists contributed to their husbands’ protest by undertaking housework, part-time work, and child-rearing so that their husbands could focus on their protest activities until late at night. Most women accepted such roles and did not consider otherwise.40 Kunimasa comments that Kamadus’ status as a small group of ‘ordinary’ women not accustomed to political action appealed to other protesters: the first step taken by obviously novice protesters sent a significant vibration to change the usual ways of collective action in the community of protest (Interview, May 1999). These new-found, female-only groups have not explicitly expressed a feminist message, apart from saying ‘we are concerned with the construction of a new base from a woman’s perspective, as mothers, for our children’, relying on a rather essentialist image of women. When they are given a public presence, Okinawan women activists are often represented as ‘mothers’, or romanticized carriers of a primordial religious aspect of life who are closer to nature, and antithetical to war and military bases. During the campaign against the bases, women’s messages as mothers against the new base construction were taken full advantage of by male members against the heliport, and were among the most oft-used expressions during

The third wave and beyond 173 the referendum campaign. One member, who also joined the referendum campaign as an ‘ordinary, inexperienced activist’ and a mother, says, ‘These days, when I hear the word “mother” in relation to the base issue, I feel instantly exhausted; I feel my ‘motherhood’ is being used’ (Interview, February 2002). The internal gendered power relations and the role of women in subordinate positions within anti-base organisations had not become a major, public issue. Nevertheless, during the anti-heliport struggle, the anti-base women stepped into a new realm of collective action, which is to change, or be aware of, the gender dynamics within the community of protest, often expressed in humorous, casual comments such as: ‘We cannot leave this to the men any more’. Forming femaleonly groups separately was an act of ‘saying sayonara’ to a male and senioritydominated anti-base organization, without explicitly engaging in confrontation with specific individuals, namely, experienced male activists in their forties and fifties who were sometimes perceived to be limiting the expansion and improvement of the protest movement. Organizing female-only collective action separately from male counterparts was itself a political statement. It questioned the subject of ‘citizens’ movements’, and the lack of recognition and tolerance towards diversity in the community of protest in Okinawa. Immediately before the referendum, women’s groups from all over Okinawa engaged in a joint activity. As the pro-base group’s campaign was becoming increasingly aggressive, the Kamadu, Jannukai, and the Jukkuno Kai members planned a rejuvenating demonstration called michi-junay, which looked like a traditional Okinawan eisah performance on the street. They were first worried how many people would turn up. However, to their deep encouragement, women’s groups including Yarukies, OWAAMV and groups from elsewhere, such as Onna village, came to join this michi-junay in Nago. This occasion was very special. This is when the ‘Reach to the Heart Women’s Voice (Kokoro ni Todoke Onna-tachi no Koe) Network’, an Okinawa-wide women’s network, was formed. Takaesu Ayano, a female coffee shop manager from southern Okinawa, says, ‘I could not just watch these women. They really sounded like they were personally addressing me, “Let’s do this together”‘ (Interview, May 1999). She contacted her female friends in Okinawa and in mainland Japan, and raised funds for a newspaper advertisement of women’s opposition to the heliport construction. The Network further engaged in humorous and inspiring collective action in Naha and Tokyo.41 The unai method of these women showed that it was all right to have no experience in political activism or not to belong to an established organization. As individuals with passion and ideas, it was also possible to bond and work together with people in different places, backgrounds, and opinions. It was the unai method that helped bind women from different locations within Okinawa. The referendum was held on 21 December 1997. The majority – 53.8 per cent – of Nago residents voted against the heliport construction.42 Nevertheless, Nago Mayor Higa officially approved the heliport construction in Henoko on the condition that the state provide special assistance for the local economy, and then resigned on 24 December. The referendum result, earned by hard work and democratic procedures, was squashed by the state power. This event was traumatic, to put it

174 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa mildly, for the opponents and, at the same time, for the history of the Okinawan anti-base struggle. Since then, the anti-heliport struggle in Nago has continued.43 A new Governor of Okinawa was elected, supported by the LDP, and has emphasized effective bargaining with the Japanese government and officially accepted the new heliport in Henoko in late 1999. New Nago mayor Kishimoto, whose support base is the construction industry, followed suit. Partly because of the inter-regional (physical and psychological) distance between the north and south in Okinawa, and partly because of the emphasis on the residents as subject of residents’ movements, participation in the anti-heliport in Nago has not always been easy for those who live in other parts of Okinawa. Women’s groups crossed these barriers and developed inter-regional bonding. This has further encouraged female and male individuals who wished to act in protest, using their original ideas and energy, rather than relying on organizations. The greatest advantage of the individual-based protest is the freedom from the need for lengthy consensus building (need to have proper organizational meetings, need to discuss with other members. etc.), which allows quick decision-making and timely actions. Subsequent protest actions of the Okinawans have become increasingly swift, individual action-oriented, supported by a loose network and NGOs, and globally influential. This was highlighted by the ‘human chain’ that surrounded the Kadena Air Base before the 2000 G8 summit in Nago (27,000 participants), joined by a number of international social movement organizations gathered in Okinawa to attend forums and workshops on the Third World’s debt release, the environment, people’s security, women and labour, among other things. However, in the community of protest, still influential is the repertoire of protest accumulated in the past struggles, and lessons and critique gained in the long-term reflections of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’. The campaign for protection of the Okinawa dugongs has opened doors to a network of global environmental and conservation movements. Nago anti-base residents such as Higashionna and Miyagi Yasuhiro, with the Dugong Network Okinawa, the World Wild Fund Japan and Save the Dugong Campaign Centre, have engaged in research on the dugongs surviving in the local Okinawan waters and requested the Japanese and Okinawan governments to set up specific protection policies for dugongs, among others, investigating the impacts of the planned heliport construction on the dugong habitats. They have also developed collegial relations with marine biologists specializing in dugongs in mainland Japan and overseas.44 Higashionna has started Save the Dugong Foundation, based in Sedake, to collect funding needed for research and conservation. He also built a ‘dugong home’ (dugong no sato) to host visitors, including many high-school students, to show them the local, abundant, natural resources on the east coast of Okinawa. Higashionna says: I thought simply repeating the anti-base mantra could not stop the heliport. Okinawans had been saying the same thing for decades, but the bases were never removed. We needed something different, more interesting and closer

The third wave and beyond 175 to life. That is why I think it’s important to stress the need to protect the local environment. Most people, even Nago citizens on the west side, have never seen what the ocean looks like and how beautiful it is. It is necessary to have everyone visit the east coast of Nago, and ask them, ‘What do you think? Are you going to let them build the new base here?’ It is important to start here [eastern Nago]. The Shiraho struggle has been very important because we were able to persuade the government to admit it would be wrong to build an airport on the world heritage coral reef. If we can make Nago home to lots of dugongs, the next struggle will be much easier. (Interview, February 2002) Just as Takaesu, Muzik, and Yamazato went to the 1988 session of IUCN in Costa Rica to publicize the need for Shiraho coral conservation to the international community, Higashionna, Takaesu Ayano, and other Okinawan delegates went to the World Conservation Union (IUCN) Conference held in Amman, Jordan, in October 2001. The delegates demonstrated traditional Okinawan eisah at the conference, prepared about five thousand leaflets written in English, T-shirts, and other dugong paraphernalia and lobbied for the support of resolution to protect Okinawa dugongs (Interview, February 2002). They also submitted a petition with fifty thousand supporting citizens’ signatures to the IUCN, and, with the support of other English-speaking environmental NGOs, successfully obtained an IUCN resolution, which recommended the US and Japanese governments to introduce steps to protect dugongs.45 The international publicity of Okinawan dugongs, following a process of lobbying,46 and international conferences on sea mammals and coral reef,47 has alarmed many US-based environmental NGOs. The Center for Biological Diversity, with a coalition of US and Japanese environmentalist NGOs, filed a lawsuit in San Francisco District Court and asked the US Department of Defense to comply with National Historic Preservation Act. In March 2005, the judge’s verdict ordered Rumsfeld to comply with the Act and investigate the possible effect the airbase construction would have on the Okinawa dugongs.48 This news was reported with enthusiasm at the protest encampment site in Henoko. Here, the elderly Henoko Life Protection Society members in their eighties and nineties and their supporters had been watching and obstructing the Japanese government’s geological survey that attempted to drill holes under water, which was a necessary procedure for the off-shore military airport construction. The sit-in and vigilance continued around the clock unbroken from April 2004 to September 2005. In violent clashes with the survey boat crew, several protesters were injured, and it was a miracle that no one was killed. Consequently, the US and Japanese governments gave in to the pressure of protesters locally and around the world. They, however, moved the planned construction site from the reef area in Henoko to Camp Schwab (to which the protesters cannot gain access).49 Nothing is built yet, and Futenma Air Base has not moved after almost a decade since its relocation was announced.

176 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa

Conclusion The 21 October protest in 1995 marked the third peak of the postwar mass protest in Okinawa, preceded by the 1956 all-island struggle, and mass rallies in the 1960s (Arasaki 2000). ‘New social movements’, developed in Okinawa since the Kin Bay struggle, have continued to play a key role in the ‘third wave’ and recent antiheliport struggle. Emphasis on the individual ‘citizen’ as the subject of action, and a greater number of female participants, have been seen in the Okinawan community of protest at least since the 1970s. However, the emergence of the ‘gender’ framing and the ‘unai’ method of the OWAAMV and the multiple, new women-only groups significantly changed the internal dynamics in the protest community. The traditional ways of doing protest have been challenged by the presence and performance of the women’s network. On the other hand, this chapter has observed important continuity in these ‘new social movements’, including the women’s group’s activities and the ‘local’ groups from the past ‘Okinawan Struggle’. The historical narrative of marginalization – past war experience and the victimized image of ‘Okinawa’ – are resurrected in today’s anti-base protest. In this sense, the myth of an ‘Okinawan struggle’ is as alive as ever. Today, however, different actors exploit it for different agendas using different techniques. It is an idea that is compatible with many definitions of who ‘we’ are and what is at stake for varying constituencies within the community of protest.

Conclusion

The expression ‘Okinawan Struggle’ (Okinawa to¯so¯) conjures up an image of neat homogeneity. Yet the reality of this ‘people’s movement’ is different: fragmented, untidy, diverse, and marked by conflicting ideas, definitions, and methods of protest. At the same time, interaction between different actors, their shared repertoires of protest, and often shared histories and memories have produced a ‘community of protest’ bonded by the enduring myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’. How do diversity and unity co-exist in the community of protest? What does the intensified fragmentation mean for the strength, orientation and prospects of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’? The most persistent and the most ‘unifying’ concern of the protesters has been war itself – war and the peculiar life of Okinawan Main Islanders unfolding within its shadow. The war machine assembled by the US in the postwar decades not only stands as a massively intrusive material presence in urban Okinawan daily life, it is also a profoundly monumental presence. In August 2005, in Igei District near Camp Hansen, angry residents were protesting against the US Army’s special rifle training using live rounds just 300 metres from the residential area.1 Despite the protest, the training commenced, filling the whole district with the sound of gunfire. Elderly residents stood cold and stiff, as the memories of the Battle of Okinawa and their contemptuous treatment by the US military rulers came back. Six decades after the ‘end’ of the Battle of Okinawa, these residents were experiencing war materially and as a (‘living’) monument. The huge military complex hosted by the Okinawans serves as constant reminder of the extraordinary trauma of war, of the Battle of Okinawa. This is what the foreign military bases, ‘security’ alliances, and global military strategies represent. But they also represent preparation for war, war on standby. For those living at some distance from the ‘bases’ – in mainland Japan, in particular – it can look as though very little is going on. Nothing could be further from the truth: Immanuel Kant (writing in the eighteenth century) observed that ‘tense and unremitting military preparations . . . even in the midst of peace’ can lead nations to the ‘complete exhaustion of their inner powers’. The Okinawans have been forced to travel daily on this wretched road to the ‘complete exhaustion [their] of inner powers’ for some six decades. The refusal to simply yield to these huge pressures is the common

178 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa commitment of all members of the community of protest, regardless of their specific difference in political, ideological, or practical orientation. Some Okinawans have attempted to accept their ‘fate’ realistically, even positively – focusing on business opportunities, Japanese special subsidies, and the rent that the bases in Okinawa generate. For example, in 2000, three Ryu¯kyu¯ University professors (academic advisers to Governor Inamine) advocated the ‘Okinawa Initiative’ in accepting ‘their role as host to the bases as the only economically viable option’ (Yonetani 2003b: 251).2 As Yonetani (2003b) carefully demonstrates, the ‘Okinawa Initiative’ reveals that the political economy of bases is intricately connected to the way Okinawans understand and interpret the past. The ‘Okinawa Initiative’s’ framing of the past – which also characterizes the local conservative political wing – dismisses ‘emotional’ focus on Okinawa’s victimization. Particularly controversial are representations of the Japanese state and military’s abuse and murder of local residents during the Battle of Okinawa.3 The ‘Okinawa Initiative’ protagonists recognize the validity of Okinawan history of marginalization – including forceful US land acquisition during the postwar occupation, the 1972 Okinawa reversion deal that permanently entrenched the US military presence, and the 1995 rape incident. Yet they argue that the anti-base Okinawans’ constant reference to it leads only to a futile and never-ending political opposition (Maeshiro et al. 1998: 24). Instead ‘Okinawa Initiative’ recommends that Okinawans see the bases as ‘assets’ that demonstrate Okinawa’s ‘greatest contribution’ to the US–Japan security alliance, and to the nation’s defence. The ‘Initiative’ ideologically resonates well with twenty-first century mainland Japanese neo-nationalism that glorifies Japan’s wartime past and rejects the ‘masochistic’ admission of its past atrocities (Yonetani 2003b: 254–55). Despite this, the military bases have come to be understood mainly as an economic issue and their association with war downplayed. The late Prime Minister Obuchi’s selection of Nago as the host city of the Kyushu– Okinawa G8 Summit in 2000 reinforced this perspective. So did the introduction of a new ¥2,000 bill decorated with the ancient Ryu¯kyu¯an court’s Shurei Gate.4 In this political climate, local anti-base protest momentum plummeted in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Regardless of their differences in framings and styles of collective action, the actors in the community of protest all reject the revisionist attempt to rewrite history. The abuse and marginalization of ‘Okinawa’ are events not of the past but of the present, in the form of an all-consuming monster of war machinery. The commitment to represent local experiences of human suffering is the bottom line of collective identity – a common definition of who ‘we’ are – that binds the community of protest. Yet a consensus at this level does not promise integration of protest – organizationally or strategically – into a unified ‘movement’. In 2003, Arasaki lamented the lack of prospect for another all-island Okinawan mass protest movement. According to Arasaki, this is because all the democratic avenues for protest – using legal actions and claiming legally protected rights – had been closed. In the late 1990s, the ‘third-wave’ struggle made its mark with ¯ ta’s refusal to authorize the US military’s legal contract to use the Governor O anti-war military landowners’ property. However, using the majority votes in the

Conclusion 179 Diet, the central government abolished this municipal authority guaranteed by the US Special Measures Law. Arasaki explained: Without that kind of viable and reliable legal means [i.e. the Governor’s authority assured by the US Special Measures Law], the prospect of mobilizing an all-encompassing mass movement is limited. Today, protest movements are conducted by smaller groups, making trips overseas (such as to Korea and Iraq) . . . However, they do not have general Okinawan public support. (Arasaki et al. 2003: 45–6) According to this argument, under the US military rule – when the Okinawans were deprived of basic civil rights – there was still faith in representative politics, rights, and legal processes. The mobilization of mass protest was possible on the basis of this faith in democratic processes. However, in the post-reversion period, trust in the Japanese democratic system has been seriously and progressively weakened. The constitutional rights of the Okinawans are eclipsed by the requirement and need to maintain the US–Japan security alliance. The Okinawans are made to feel powerless and are unlikely to turn to mass uprising against the military bases. In order to understand Arasaki’s pessimism fully, it is necessary to quickly revisit the conditions that made mass protest possible in the past and what has changed since then. In the 1950s and 1960s the anti-base movement was also a repatriation movement, aimed at securing rights to live under a pacifist Constitution free from military bases and war. In this period the community of protest experienced the most successful anti-base coalition under the Council for Reversion. ‘Reversion nationalism’ became a hegemonic ideology. Strong identification with mainland Japan involved a desire for institutional integration with the Japanese democratic system and attachment to the principles of the Japanese Constitution. The central actors – unionized workers, teachers, and communist/socialist party members – were capable of working together to achieve a common goal. On the other hand, the Council of Reversion was unable to represent the dayto-day humiliation and danger of those living in proximity to the US military bases. The Council’s campaign did not fully address the grievances of workers in and around the bases who wished for an anti-US base general strike: in order to achieve early reversion, the Council called off the planned general strike which would have seriously inconvenienced the US military and the Japanese government. Furthermore, the spontaneous Koza riot revealed that the voices of non-unionized base town workers and victims of crimes and accidents caused by the US military had been unrepresented by the reversion movement. Neither was the plight of many thousands of women involved in prostitution addressed. Furthermore, reversion – achieved without any major change in the US military presence – was far from what most Okinawans, including the Reversion Council, had wanted. After the reversion, coalition building became more difficult in the community of protest. Pluralization within the community of protest – in terms of protest organizations, strategies, and reform agendas – made it almost impossible to form

180 Myth, protest and struggle in Okinawa a united social movement, that is, an ‘Okinawan movement’. As a result, the effectiveness of the Okinawans’ opposition against the US military bases suffered, as indicated by the ‘low’ period between the second and the third waves of postwar Okinawans’ mass protests. In this period, however, new protest voices emerged in Okinawa. These included the previously excluded voices of women and local environmentalists who became significant new players in the community of protest. These protest actors have kept their distance from established unions and political parties, and are unlikely to develop into a centralized anti-base coalition. Yet this splintered organizational structure of the community of protest more genuinely represents the multiple concerns. Individual organizations are less likely to lose sight of their own objectives under the pressure of one, hegemonic organization and reform agenda. It is as if the post-reversion community of protest has developed a silent consensus to resist a centralized, binding organization that might threaten to suppress plurality for the sake of achieving one goal. But does this, as Arasaki fears, preclude all possible forms of coherent mass protest? Perhaps the Okinawan community of protest has slowly built a kind of solidarity not grounded on anything as well-defined as a single or overarching principle – whether ‘reversion nationalism’ or a faith in democratic processes. Today, as the no-war clause of the Constitution is about to take its last breath, the faith in Constitutional rights as a means for anti-base protest is rapidly dwindling. Nevertheless, as I have endeavoured to argue throughout this book, the community of protest is loosely but powerfully bound by a myth of an ‘Okinawan Struggle’, which survives in an informal repertoire of protest strategy and telling and retelling of shared common history of suffering and struggle. The climate for protest may be changing again – as the result of a startling Marine cargo helicopter crash into the Okinawa International University campus adjacent to the Futenma air base in August 2004.5 The crash provoked thirty thousand residents to participate in an anti-US base rally held at the University, requesting the immediate closure of the Futenma base. The Futenma base is already due for decommissioning – and relocation to Henoko. A poll conducted in the September following the crash showed that more than 81 per cent of the Okinawan citizens were against this relocation and rebuilding. Five years earlier this figure was just 45 per cent. The crash has been a reminder that a new base will not just bring new economic opportunity. The new base will perpetuate the threat of the war machine on local life and safety. Perhaps a ‘fourth wave’ is in the making.

Notes

1 Introduction: a community of protest in Okinawa 1 It is possible to view Okinawan anti-base protest as an example of compensation politics in regional Japan (see George-Mulgan 2000), as dynamics between local protest against unwanted ‘private and public projects, including industrial facilities and waste repositories’ and the state’s ‘extensive compensation schemes’ (Lesbirel 1998). NIMBY politics is certainly part of Okinawan protest. Indeed most conservative politicians in Okinawa initially participate in protest against the implementations of new military or industrial facilities, until obtaining satisfactory compensation or promise of compensation. 2 Nevertheless, at a theoretical level, a group of people has been committed to the ‘Okinawa independence theory’ (Okinawa dokuritsu ron), expressed in a local journal, Urumanesia. 3 Nelson also engages in helping African and Hispanic American children receive more education, and often gives talks at schools and group meetings in the US and Japan. As a soldier, he trained in a US base on Okinawa (see Nelson 1999). 4 See, though the list represents only a fraction, for example, Allen 2002, Amemiya 1999a, 1999b, Hook and Siddle 2003 and Hein and Selden 2003. Work focused on contemporary anti-base struggles of the Okinawans also makes clear that there are increasingly diverse angles from which to protest (Hein 2001, Inoue et al. 1998, JPRI Staff 1998b, McCormack and Yonetani 2000, Yonetani 2001). Local reactions to the state’s attempt to consolidate the island as a security outpost have also been reported (McCormack and Yonetani 2000). 5 After the rape of a 12-year-old schoolgirl in September 1995, in a typical newspaper report, ‘the incident has inflamed the 1 million residents of this subtropical island and sent their governor to Tokyo to call for closure of the massive US military bases here’ (Washington Post 20 September 1995). Hook and Siddle point out that ‘for some [Okinawans], the bases are a “good”’ (2003: 4), referring to the landowners who gain incomes from leasing their properties to the US military, albeit to a much less degree than the pre-reversion period, employment opportunities that the bases provide, and indirect benefits to the local economy created by goods purchased by, and construction projects for, the US forces. 6 JPRI is an electronically accessed journal edited by a group of scholars in the study of political economy and international relations of East Asia and Japan, headed by Professor Chalmers Johnson (see http://www.jpri.org). The JPRI forum has provided significant channels through which the battles against continuing discrimination and marginalization of Okinawa by mainland Japan are advanced by Okinawans, providing information and analyses for an academic and English-speaking readership on the anti-base movements in Okinawa. 7 See Barthes 1972 (1957).

182 Notes 2 Diversity and unity in the community of protest 1 In terms of ideology, forms of collective action and agendas, the features of so-called new social movements have existed at least since the early nineteenth century as in women’s movements and nationalist movements (Calhoun 1995). ‘New social movements’ are ‘new’ in terms of their late entry as legitimate areas of sociological research. The ‘new social movements’ theory, cultivated by mainly European researchers, and the resource mobilization theory (RMT) predominant in North America, have challenged the limitation of the classical tradition of the study of ‘collective behaviour’. Classical sociological studies have used the term ‘collective behaviour’ to describe non-institutional collective behaviour which tends to be treated as a marginal and transitional social phenomenon. ‘Collective behaviour’ stands for aberration from normal institutionalized procedures of politics, or ‘symptomatic of social malfunctions and/or pathology’ (Pakulski 1991: 13). Collective behaviour is understood in terms of its anomaly, as a reaction to social tension, crisis, grievance and deprivation, typically described as ‘non-institutional’ as opposed to legitimate and part of stable institutions. Collective behaviour is primarily an act outside these institutional contexts, and tends to be regarded as not a ‘proper object of analysis’ (Scott 1990). 2 Here I am referring to the pre-reversion period in Okinawa, that is, in the 1950s and 1960s when it was subjected to the direct US military administration. 3 Melucci contends: ‘To understand how a “social movement” succeeds or fails in becoming a collective actor is therefore a fundamental task’ of the researcher (Melucci 1996: 80). Melucci is sympathetic to the ‘new social movements’ school, and has focused on the greater significance and power of cultural, non-institutional dimensions of collective action in contemporary technology-oriented society, which still tend to be excluded from the formal arenas of ‘politics’. He emphasizes the importance of ‘the plurality of aspects present in the collective action’ and of explaining the processes in which social movement actors are ‘constructed’ and ‘how they are combined and sustained through time’ (Melucci 1996: 70). 4 According to Melucci, knowing and deciding who ‘we’ are requires interacting and negotiating among ‘different orientations’ of the protest actors (Melucci 1995: 43). A Japanese sociologist Yamanouchi writes that Melucci’s idea of new social movements is about seriously engaging with fluid and heterogeneous identities. However, he is critical of the tendency to simply celebrate diversity of multiple identities, as if the internal relations among such identities are non-problematic. Yamanouchi points out that Melucci’s work leaves out analyses on mutual relations among different identities with different characteristics (Yamanouchi 1996: 346). 5 See note 1. 6 Olson’s (1965) analysis of individuals’ decisions to join the collective activities focuses on rational aspects, such as calculating the costs and returns. According to this ‘rational actor’ model, social movements are constantly restricted by the problem of ‘free riders’, benefiting from the results without paying the cost of participation. Olson’s theory offers limited explanations as to why individuals take part in collective actions despite the costs of participation. 7 Snow et al. (1986) and Snow and Benford (1992) have adopted the concept of ‘frame’ from Goffman’s same idea, ‘to denote “schemata of interpretation” that enable individuals “to locate, perceive, identify and label occurrences within their life space and the world at large” (1974: 21 in Snow et al. 1986: 464). Snow and Benford’s (1992) conceptualization of the dimensions to do with perceptions and meanings in the realm of culture is meant to overcome RMT’s weakness to treat the ideas and meanings as given, dissociated from the interactive contexts in which they are produced. ‘Frames’ are also meant to bridge those dimensions related to the ideas, perceptions, and meanings that are socially constructed, with existing RMT research areas on political opportunity, participation, and movement mobilization.

Notes 183 8 Related to this point, in one of his lectures on ‘when myth becomes history’, Lévi-Strauss mentioned ‘the gap which exists in our mind to some extent between mythology and history can probably be breached by studying histories which are conceived as not at all separated from but as a continuation of mythology’ (Lévi-Strauss 1979: 43). 3 Annexation and assimilation: ambiguous origins 1 The word ‘marginalization’ is used here to include references not only to Okinawans as victims of aggression but to all kinds of marginal positions and denial of equal treatments. 2 This is not to say that the preceding historical events are irrelevant, yet this study defines the late nineteenth century as a starting point of the founding component of the myth of Okinawan struggle that is specifically addressed to the marginalized position of Okinawa as a minority. On earlier historical events in Ryu¯kyu¯ before the late nineteenth century and their significance on the formation of the Ryu¯ kyu¯ an identity see Smits (1999). 3 The Ryu¯ kyu¯ kings engaged in formal tributary trades with China, formed relations with Korea and mainland Japan, and engaged in trading activities with other regions in Asia ranging through the Philippines, Malacca, Java to Bengal (Kerr 1958: 126–9, also see Takara 1993). By the early fifteenth century, the Chu¯zan king (a city state in the central region) unified the Okinawa Main Island, and the Shuri court placed military and administrative outposts in other groups of islands in the Ryu¯ kyu¯ archipelago (Amami, Yaeyama, and Miyako regions) under its control, with similar tributary relations to China’s, although Shuri’s rule of those remote islands was far more oppressive. The kingdom as a trading outpost in the southern seas thrived during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Kerr 1958: 124). The poll tax continued to dominate islanders’ lives until the late nineteenth century in remote islands, even after it was abolished in the Main Island. 4 Satsuma promoted the impression that Ryu¯kyu¯ was an ‘ethnically different’ country from them, not only to exploit Ryu¯kyu¯’s trading rights with China but also to demonstrate their strength by colonizing a people of supposedly different ethnicity. 5 On this subject see Takara (1993, 1998). 6 Ryu¯ kyu¯ was one of the smaller and weaker states under China’s political sphere of influence, but it was allowed to keep its autonomy. In exchange, Ryu¯kyu¯ paid tribute to Chinese political sovereignty by adjusting to Chinese customs and culture, and by sending ships regularly to China with gifts. The Ryu¯kyu¯an kings were enthroned by the Chinese emperor’s missions, and obtained considerable wealth from trade with China, which was the basis of their political power. 7 The king of Ryu¯kyu¯ was added to the newly established Japanese aristocratic group, or ‘peerage’, together with other previous feudal lords in mainland Japan (Oguma 1998: 19, Taira 1997: 154). Some of the government elite, especially in the Parliament, were opposed to granting the Ryu¯kyu¯ans, who were ‘aliens’, an equal level of nobility with ¯ ta 1972: 87). other Japanese (O 8 At the time, nevertheless, Japan was still militarily much weaker than the European and North American states, and was not confident enough to provoke any further conflicts with China or any other powers through illegitimate military aggression. With British mediation, the incident was settled with a treaty between China and Japan. The most effective way for the Japanese government to justify the aggression to the Chinese representatives and the British mediators was to argue that the victims from Miyako Island were officially ‘Japanese people’, and that the Ryu¯kyu¯ islands were part of Japanese territory. Driven by strategic imperatives, the government inserted a sentence in the treaty document regarding the Ryu¯kyu¯ people as ‘Japanese’ (Oguma 1998: 25–6). China and Ryu¯kyu¯ initially judged that the incident had been already settled between them, following the ‘rules and procedures’ of their well-established amicable relations.

184 Notes

9

10 11

12 13

14

15

16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23

As far as they were concerned, Japan had no direct relevance to the matter (Taira 1997: 155). China made an official protest against Japan’s assault on Ryu¯kyu¯’s diplomatic rights, which the Japanese government practically ignored. Chinese rule over Ryu¯kyu¯ had for a long time been little more than nominal, and the ownership of Ryu¯ kyu¯, a group of small islands, was hardly vital for the Qing dynasty, itself deeply concerned about foreign aggression. Nevertheless, China’s biggest concern was that the annexation of Ryu¯kyu¯ would assist Japan’s military advance towards Korea and Taiwan. Therefore, China and Japan engaged in prolonged diplomatic negotiations over the takeover of Ryu¯kyu¯, with US President Grant as a mediator (Smits 1999: 146). China rejected this plan, because of its reluctance to award Japan equal privileges with the Western powers. Land tax reform was introduced in 1899–1903 (1873 in mainland Japan); a municipal system was introduced in 1908 (1879 in mainland Japan); military conscription of Okinawans started in 1898 (1872 in mainland Japan); election of prefecture assembly was introduced in 1909 (1890 in mainland Japan). Most notably, Okinawans were allowed to elect their own parliamentary delegates to the Diet only in 1912, 22 years later than in other prefectures in Japan. Unlike in Taiwan, cost-effective plantation-style sugar farming was not implemented in Okinawa (Tomiyama 1997: 80). The Okinawan Industrial Promotion Plan invested ¥1.6 billion, from 1932 to 1934, in economic restructuring of designated villages, and towards the cancellation of public debts. The source of funding was the governmental tax paid by the Okinawans, which ¯ ta 1972: 276–7). exceeded public expenditure in Okinawa during the previous year (O Morris-Suzuki refers to Fukuzawa Yukichi’s (famous theorist and educationist in the late nineteenth century) notion of civilization as involving ‘successive stages of development’ (Morris-Suzuki 1998: 24), starting from the state of closest affinity to nature, progressing to the achievement of freedom from natural restriction by way of technology and production (Fukuzawa 1997 [1875]). Smits refers to Anderson’s account of nationalism (Anderson 1991, Duara 1995) in explaining the development of nationalism in Japan in the Meiji period and the role played by the ‘spatial and temporary imagining’, that is, integration of distant communities beyond immediate human contacts into a Japanese nation. This placed Ryu¯ kyu¯ at the tail end of cultural progress in the scale of ‘linear and progressive’ advancement of the time (Smits 1999: 151). Portraits of the emperor were distributed in Okinawan schools first (Oguma 1998: 38). ¯ ta should not be understood as simply someone who sought Okinawans’ However, O ¯ ta was to assimilation to yamato. Hiyane (1996) points out that the greatest goal of O establish awareness for Okinawa’s independent history, and his advocacy for ¯ ta is also known as the assimilation was meant to be secondary to this greater role. O first editor of Okinawa’s oldest local newspaper, Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ (with Okinawa Taimusu one of the two widely read local papers today in Okinawa). Significantly, primary school teachers were recruited for six-week service in 1896, before other sectors of the population (Arashiro 1997: 1972). Between 1898 and 1915, 774 were prosecuted (including jail sentences) for avoiding conscription (Yoshiwara 1973: 198). Out of some two thousand Okinawan soldiers, 205 died in the Japan-Russia war. Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ appraised this as a proof of Okinawans’ loyalty and courage (Yoshiwara 1973: 197). Originally, this story appeared in Higa 1988 (cited in Tomiyama 1997: 150–1). Okinawan studies as a field is analysed in detail in, for example, Hiyane 1981, 1996, Hokama 2002, Kano 1993, Kinjo and Takara 1984, in English Siddle 1998, Tomiyama 1998, Yonetani 2000a. For example Iha 1942, 1974–6.

Notes 185 24 This locates his argument in line with Haneji and Ginowan’s Nichiryu¯ do¯ so ron. Ryu¯kyu¯an pro-Japanese politicians such as Haneji Cho¯shu¯ in 1673 and Giwan Cho¯ho¯ in the 1870s had insisted on the common ancestry of Ryu¯kyu¯ and mainland Japan (Nichiryu¯ do¯ so ron). Linguistic exploration made by a British scholar, Basil Hall Chamberlain, in the late nineteenth century backed this perspective (Siddle 1998: 125). 25 Iha was strongly influenced by Torii’s research regarding this emphasis. For relations between Torii and Iha’s works see Tomiyama (1998). In his later works, he positioned Ryu¯kyu¯ amongst other ‘southern islanders’ including indigenous Taiwanese, Malays, and the Ainu, and also pointed out the mainland Japanese ancestral connection with the ‘southern islanders’, emphasizing the ‘sameness’ there (Iha 1974–6: vol. 11). However, Iha distinguished Ryu¯kyu¯ans from the Ainu and the indigenous Taiwanese in that the latter two were described as ‘peoples’ whereas Ryu¯kyu¯ was a ‘nation’ (Tomiyama 1998: 171). 26 In January 1899, Jahana became a member of the Japanese political party, Kenseito (Constitutional Political Party) (Isa 1998: 336). 27 The reasons for excluding Okinawa from the self-government procedure that existed in other parts of Japan, and from national elections, are unclear. Parliamentary discussion on this topic was suppressed by other agendas that were considered more urgent, such ¯ ta argues that this case is an example of the traditional as diplomatic concerns. O discriminatory treatment against Okinawa, which has been a consistent feature in ¯ ta 1996a: 189–90). Japanese politics until today (O 28 This is called the idea of han-fukki (anti-reversionism). For further examination of antireversionism see Chapter 5. 4 The Battle of Okinawa and ‘Okinawan Pacifism’ 1 The monument, constructed at the major battle site Mabuni Hill in southern Okinawa, is an attempt to commemorate the names of casualties in the battles including those of all nationalities. See Figal 1997, 2001. 2 In the 1930s, Okinawans were encouraged to move to new Japanese colonies in Manchuria and the South Sea Islands (Mariana, Palau, Caroline, and Marshall). 3 Many other ships had been sunk before this particular incident, but the military kept those incidents secret from Okinawans (Arashiro 1997: 203). 4 This October air raid forced sixty thousand Okinawans to flee to Kyushu, and twenty thousand to Taiwan, before March 1945 (Arashiro 1997: 203). 5 ‘Tokyo gave little thought to the civil economy on distant Okinawa and did virtually nothing to prepare it for the crisis of invasion . . . Okinawa retained importance only as a potential field of battle, a distant border area in which the oncoming enemy could be ¯ ta 1996b: checked, pinned down, and ultimately destroyed’ (Kerr 1958: 466). Also, see O 77. 6 Similar to the Chinese style, Okinawan tombs are traditionally as big as a small house, accommodating generations of family members. 7 The local population was obliged to provide food both for the soldiers and for themselves. Foodstuffs or any living necessities were under strict military control, allowing the locals little free access to them. The residents worked at construction sites digging caves and building airfields from early in the morning, and in the fields, farming, until midnight. After the US attacks commenced in the islands, people who took refuge in northern Okinawa had no means to survive, other than stealing crops from the local farmers, ¯ ta 1997: 50–1). creating deadly tensions within the civilian population (O 8 Ishii Torao, a commander assigned to Okinawa, described the Okinawan general public in a 1934 military document addressed to a mainland army officer: ‘obedient and tame reflecting the tropical upbringing, but lacking in independent characters, therefore, not ¯ ta 1996: 60–1). to be expected to devote their lives to defend the state’ (O

186 Notes 9 See http://www.peace-museum.pref.okinawa.jp. This figure includes the number of Okinawans who died as a result of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima or Nagasaki, regardless of the time of death. 10 See Peace Promotion Division, Okinawa Prefecture 2005. Also engraved in the Cornerstone of Peace are the names of the 75,941 non-Okinawan Japanese, 14,008 Americans, 82 from North Korea, 341 from South Korea, 28 Taiwanese, and 82 British who died between 22 March 1944 (when the 32nd Okinawa Defence Troop started) and 7 September 1946, as a result of the Battle of Okinawa (as of 23 June 2004, see Peace Promotion Division, Okinawa Prefecture 2005). 11 In particular, the Sakima Museum in Futenma specializes in anti-war arts. The museum was built on private property which used to be inside the major US Marine Corps Air Station. The landowner Sakima Michio demanded the US return his property for the museum construction, which eventuated in November 1994 (Ikehara, Chibana, Sakima and Matayoshi 1996, Sakima 1997). 12 As discussed in Chapter 1, a ‘frame’ here refers to a set of ideas that locate, perceive, identify, and label ‘events within their life space or the world at large’ (Goffman 1974: 21, cited in Snow and Benford 1992: 137), thereby giving specific meaning to the act of protest. The protesters are also ‘actively engaged in the production and maintenance of meaning’ of collective action (Snow and Benford 1992: 136). 13 The Okinawa Prefecture Tourist Volunteer Guides’ Society (Okinawa Ken Kanko¯ Borantia Gaido Tomo no Kai) was founded by the Okinawa Convention and Visitors’ Bureau, an organization engaged in research activities related to marketing tourism in Okinawa. 14 The Okinawa Foundation (Okinawa Kyo¯ kai) is under the auspices of the Japanese government (the Cabinet Office). Until 1972, it was formally known as the Southern Brethren Support Society (Nanpo¯ Do¯ho¯ Engokai), formed in mainland Japan in support of Okinawa’s repatriation to Japan. 15 According to a local newspaper article, some 130,000 students on average visit Okinawa in a year (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 25 May 2001). 16 This accompanied censorship on Japan’s past aggression towards civilians in Asia, including the Nanking Massacre during WWII. Since criticism amplified towards the revisionist falsification of Japanese history books, Okinawan and mainland Japanese critics had publicly called for recognition of cruelties imposed on the Okinawan residents by the Japanese military (see Taira 1998). 17 This section is informed by Itokazu’s biographical accounts recorded in Itokazu Keiko Ko¯enkai (accessed 23 September 2005). 18 Kawamitsu says when the Network was formed in the early 1990s, most members were schoolteachers, but nowadays ‘mothers’ seem to constitute a conspicuous portion (Interview, February 2002). 19 Himeyuri (Princess Lily) Troops were one of the schoolgirl troops who worked during the Battle as ‘field nurses’, who died tragically in the Battle and are commemorated in a museum, Himeyuri Peace Memorial (Himeryuri Heiwa Kinenkan), specially dedicated to them. They are perhaps the most famous war victims in Japan, widely publicized by a film, the Tower of Himeyuri (Himeyuri no to¯) remade in 1982. On victimization of the Himeyuri Troop, and its replication in the rape case of a 12-year-old girl in 1995, see Angst (2001). 20 Monbusho¯ ordered, with regard to these countries: that agitation for Korean independence following the 1910 annexation by Japan be described as ‘rioting’; that the movement of the Japanese army into the Asian continent in the 1930s be described as an ‘advance’ rather than an ‘invasion’; and that in accounts of the 1937 episode known in the West as the Rape of Nanking, when Japanese forces entered that city and 200,000 to 300,000 Chinese women, children and POWs were left dead, the event being described as an effect of the ‘confusion’ of the times and the casualty figures being reduced (Field 1993: 62–3).

Notes 187 21 Since 1965, Ienaga has filed three lawsuits. The first suit was settled as late as 1993: the Supreme Court judged in favour of the constitutionality of the state’s textbook screening (Nozaki and Inokuchi 2000: 114–19). 22 Field heard the stories of the survivors: ‘Not only did Japanese soldiers drive Okinawans from their shelters into certain death, suffocate their crying babies, and kill those who had already surrendered and were then sent back by Americans to persuade their fellows to do the same; their presence both explicitly and tacitly prompted episodes of Okinawan collective suicide’ (Field 1993: 63). 23 Chibana, born after the war, a mainland Japanese writer Shimojima Tetsuro¯, and the representative of the Chibichirigama Bereaved Families’ Association, Higa Heishin, could break the silence among Yomitan survivors, because none of them lost direct members of their families in the event (Chibana 1988: 140–1). The villagers also had a project to build a Statue of Peace made of plaster by sculpture artist Kinjo¯ Minoru, in which a whole village was involved, completed in 1987 (Chibana 1988: 144–7). 24 For her biographical record in English see Keyso 2000. 25 In 1996, at other peace museums elsewhere in Japan, in particular in Osaka, Kanagawa, Nagasaki, and Hiroshima, there was pressure from the nationalist-revisionists – represented by right-wing organizations such as the Japan Conference (nihon kaigi) and conservative politicians including former Prime Minister Hashimoto – on exhibiting materials that show cruel Japanese military war conduct in the Asia-Pacific region, particularly related to the Nanking massacre and ‘comfort women’ (Nakakita 2000: 233–4). 5 The first wave: opposition to US military land acquisition 1 As of the Battle of Okinawa, the islands of Okinawa were placed under direct US military administration, based on US Military Directive No. 1, issued by Admiral Nimitz on the US landing on the Kerama Islands on 26 March 1945. As early as 1945, US President Roosevelt and surrounding government staff were in agreement that ‘the United States should preserve its “national security interests” by indefinitely controlling key islands in the Pacific’, and to take ‘the full power of arming them and using them to protect the peace and ourselves during any war that may come’, and ‘a definition of trusteeships or mandates’ of these islands would be necessary at a Peace Conference in San Francisco (Dower 1971: 155–6). 2 This was partly because of the disagreements between the US State Department and military officers, on how to formalize US rule over Okinawa to maximize US security interests, in consideration of the developing Cold War. The State Department recommended the international trusteeship of Okinawa under the United Nations charter rather than unilateral occupation (Miyazato 2000: 45), which would have been more agreeable to the Soviet Union and China. However, Douglas MacArthur, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers (SCAP), and George Kennan, who headed the Policy Planning Staff and an advocate of the ‘containment’ policy towards the Soviet Union, fiercely criticized this view. MacArthur defined Okinawa as crucial for US air and amphibious capabilities in the Pacific defence cordon (Miyazato 2000: 27), which included Hawaii, Guam, Micronesia, and the Philippines (Dower 1971: 161). Kennan also enthusiastically stressed the strategic importance of the US military force deployed on Okinawa for the Cold War security formula. Moreover, with frequent labour strikes and continuing economic crises and the potential major influence of communism in Japan, the US military presence was justified to deter political instability (Eldridge 1999: 165). 3 The legal justification was ‘the Hague Convention no. 4, of 18 October 1907’ (Section III, Article 52) (Watanabe 1970: 36). 4 However, under the US Navy administration, there was a degree of positive attitude on

188 Notes

5 6 7

8 9

10 11

12

13 14 15

16

the US side to respect the will of the Okinawan people in political representation, compared to under RYCOM (Kano 1987: 69–71). From 1952 on, nevertheless, when the US administration of Okinawa was formalized, USCAR regarded land acquisition as a legal activity that required private contracts (Arasaki 1995: 27). Previously, governorship was held by SCAP in mainland Japan, and Military Governors of RYCOM had assumed the highest authority as Deputy Governors. Initially when the US Navy was in charge of the civil administration, it summoned 128 Okinawans from 39 concentration camps all over Okinawa Main Island, to form the Okinawans’ Consultative Assembly (Okinawajin Shijunkai). This Assembly was a consultation body and locals’ autonomy was strictly limited; its role was no more than answering the US military’s queries on local affairs, communicating locals’ requests to the US military (Asato 2001: 74). In April 1946, the US set up the Okinawan People’s Government (Okinawa Minseifu) and the Okinawan Assembly (Okinawa Gikai) and appointed a local Governor. This was a pure formality. In December 1949, the OPP had two hundred members, whereas the Okinawa Democratic League had two thousand (Nakano 1969: 64). The Japanese Communist Party also issued a ‘Message to Celebrate the Independence of the Okinawan People’, published in Akahata, 20, 6 March 1946, defining the US occupation force as a ‘liberation force’, which put an end to Japan’s colonial domination over Okinawans, with a ‘democratic revolution’ (Arasaki 1969: 40–1). Maids, who were predominantly female and a common job in Okinawa at the time, in Senaga’s (1959) accounts, are invisible apart from in a passing association with the construction workers. In December 1952, Commanding General Lewis of USCAR pressured GRI Chief Executive Higa into rejecting the legislation. Nevertheless, waterside workers and GRI public servants formed their own labour unions in 1953. The second May Day rally in the same year turned into a major occasion, attracting more than a thousand workers, the OPP and OSMP members, and some Ryu¯ kyu¯ University students. Encouraged by these events, for the second time the Parliament passed the three labour laws and the Chief Executive signed for their enactment in October 1953 (Nakachi 1989: 69). Nevertheless, involvement in such organized labour movement was limited to certain professions such as waterside, base, transport, postal, construction, and other predominantly male workers. Female maids, for example, who worked for the construction workers were presumably under similar conditions, but had no organizational representation. In this period, ‘the Ryu¯kyu¯s’ and ‘Okinawa’ appeared to have been used interchangeably among the residents, perhaps mainly because the US military administration abolished ‘Okinawa’ during Japanese administration. In Amami and Yaeyama Gunto¯, residents also elected governors and Assembly members who were reversion advocates. Articles in Konnichi no Ryu¯ kyu¯ were dominated by material issues in order to divert Okinawans’ interests from political activism against US military rule and toward ‘pragmatic’ and ‘constructive’ issues related to reconstructing the local economy under the existing political framework. These official publications were an advertising vehicle, for the Okinawan audience, of the US efforts such as construction projects and economic aid, as well as American-inspired ‘democratization’ ideals (Kano 1987: 166–99). An interesting aside on Benedict Anderson’s study of nationalism is worth making – alongside an observation about the Okinawans’ independent nation-building prospects. Clearly the literacy and institutions of literacy identified by Anderson as crucial to the modern nation-building enterprise need to be indigenously or autonomously controlled and driven. A shared language, shared newspapers, and shared schools can be built on

Notes 189

17

18

19

20

21

22 23 24

a foreign – even imperial – language but, as instruments of communication, they need to be under the control of those bidding for independence (as with the French language in Vietnam to use a nearby example). At the same time, and as the Okinawan experience makes clear, languages, even native language appropriated and controlled by a colonizing power, is of little value to independent nation-building. In another world, one in which the US did not exist, ‘Ryu¯kyu¯an’ language and culture might have provided a route to independence and freedom, but when the Americans appropriated this culture (as they did the land) and used it for their own purposes they rendered it useless. In this imaginary world in which the US did not exist and in which the Okinawans would not so quickly have embraced the Japanese as possible saviours, ‘Ryu¯ kyu¯an’ language and culture might have done the trick. In the real world however, Okinawan independence faced other and greater obstacles: not just the theft of their culture but the apparently irreversible misfortune of being claimed as a spoil of war to serve as a superpower military base of the utmost strategic importance. And all of this, in a world in which that superpower claims to be utterly incontestable in geopolitical terms. Upon the US State Department’s request, the American Consular Unit obtained the translation of Heiwa to Dokuritsu no tame ni (For peace and independence) No. 349, 1 April 1954, which was ‘published by the Japanese Communist Party as a directive for Communist anti-American activities on Okinawa’ (American Consular Unit 1955: 3). An editorial of the Okinawa Taimusu wrote, ‘It is not wrong for the People’s Party to take active part in the activities directed for benefiting the property-less masses. But if that party should, with revolution by violence as its ultimate goal, agitate the proletariat masses with the view to bring them under its control in order to mobilize them for radical political or economic struggles, that party can only be called a communistic party that intends to make the proletariat masses into Communists, however tactfully that party may camouflage its colour.’ ‘It is only too evident that such communistic activities can not be permitted in the US, which is adamantly opposed to Communism, nor in Okinawa which is under her administration’ (Okinawa Taimusu 7 November 1954 cited in American Consular Unit 1955: 2). In 1953, US Secretary of State Dulles announced the return of the Amami Islands to Japan, and spoke of the necessity of continuing US power and the right to administer the ‘remaining’ Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands ‘so long as conditions of threat and tension exist in the Far East’ (US Department of State Bulletin 1954: 17 quoted in Nakachi 1989: 62). Until the position of High Commissioner was introduced, the Deputy Commander held the highest position of the military government in Ryu¯kyu¯. The Deputy Commander’s position was next to, and was designated by, the Commander-in-Chief of SCAP in Tokyo. The Deputy Commander’s range of authority was not as wide as that of the High Commissioner’s. For detailed study on the responsibilities and influence of the ¯ ta 1996a. High Commissioners on Okinawa see O Originally suggested by General Douglas MacArthur, this clause became a problem for Japanese conservatives and for the US regional security planners for it became an obstacle for Japan to contribute military forces in the Cold War regional security order. However, the peace clause survived, supported by the general public in Japan weary of war and militarism, and by the neighbourhood countries invaded by Japan during the Pacific War. The rent rate was set by the US military at 6 per cent of land value, for a duration of 16 years (Arasaki 1995: 31). Asahi Shimbun 3 February 1955. They also wrote to mainland citizens’ organizations such as Jiyu¯ Jinken Kyo¯ kai (Freedom and Human Rights Association) and Nihon Seinendan Kyo¯gikai (Japan Youth Group Association) (Ahagon 1973: 106). Okinawa-jin Renmei (Okinawans’ Association, later called Okinawa Kenjin-kai), a network of mainland residents of Okinawan origins, aimed to help Okinawans recover from war devastation and build democracy and reconstruction of Okinawa. Okinawa-

190 Notes

25

26

27

28 29

30 31 32

33 34

35 36 37

38

jin Renmei criticized the Japanese government for deserting Okinawa, and sent a request to General MacArthur for support (Arasaki 1969: 24). The Asahi report opened up discussion among the mainland Japanese: a famous writer, Ishikawa Tatsuzo¯, advocated ‘standing up for our brethren Okinawans’ (Asahi Shimbun 14 January 1955), which encouraged the isolated Okinawans and their land struggle and reversion campaign (see Chapter 4). In this climate, mainland Japanese residents originally from Okinawa formed an LDP-sponsored organization, Nampo¯ Do¯ho¯ Engokai (the Southern Brethren Support Society), established in November 1956 to facilitate economic aid to Okinawa. An estimated 300 armed soldiers with military vehicles, tear gas, and stretchers surrounded the area. Tents and telephone systems were set up. The residents thought WWIII had started. The military gave the mayor a notice, which ordered the evacuation of 15 households, and warned that individuals who attempted to get in the way would be arrested (Ahagon 1973: 87). The farmers surrounded the inspectors and disrupted the land surveys, shed tears and begged, ‘Please, stop. Please.’ Some gave inspectors eggs from the village as a gift, which successfully hindered the job. Newspapers described these actions as ‘farmers’ violence toward land survey’ (Arasaki 1995: 47). Ahagon tape-recorded the Ryu¯ka read by elderly Maja women in the tents, in order to play them to the people who might visit Ie-jima later from mainland Japan. In December 1965, 38 landowners in Konbu hamlet in Gushikawa village started their land struggle after the owners received notification of land acquisition from the US Forces. The Gushikawa Village Assembly made an opposition statement against the acquisition in February 1966, and the landowners formed the Konbu Land Protection Society (Konbu Tochi o Mamoru Kai), and built a ‘struggle hut’ (to¯so¯ goya), where the landowners and supporters guarded their properties (Gushikawa Shiyakusho 1970: 908–10). On Okinawan emigrants’ lives in Bolivia see Amemiya 1999a, 1999b. Eventually, the sentence of the US sergeant was reduced to 45 years’ imprisonment (Okinawa Taimususha 1996: 23). ¯ shiro Tatsuhiro (1967) depicts the process in which a A novel, Cocktail Party, by O rape incident broke the charade of a ‘good relationship’ between the US military and local residents, and brought the powerlessness of the local residents to the surface (see Molasky 1999, Rabson 1989). The Yumiko-chan incident was recalled again in September 1995, when the rape of a 12-year-old girl created momentum for the ‘third wave’ Okinawa struggle (Okinawa Taimususha 1996: 23). The Report justified the long-term necessity of securing the US bases on Okinawa for (1) allowing nuclear deployment (this was impossible in Japan because of its constitutional refusal to retain nuclear weapons), (2) for containing communism, and, (3) for preventing regional warfare across East and Southeast Asia. Tomiyama associates this point with his research on the self-censorship against asserting Okinawan-specific attributes among the Okinawan migrants in mainland Japan in the 1930s (Tomiyama 1997). For example, in the statement of the general meeting of Tochiren on 14 June 1956 (Arasaki 1969: 111–12). About ten thousand Japanese political party and trade union members came to a rally in Osaka and proclaimed their support for the four principles, Okinawa’s reversion, and protection of Okinawa as a part of Japanese territory. A similar rally was held in Tokyo. The participants of those rallies included more than forty political parties and unions, including the most powerful Liberal Democratic Party (Hiyane 1982: 286). Within the conservative ruling Liberal Democratic Party, there were opinions which stressed the strategic significance of maintaining US military capacity on Okinawa, and more moderate advocates for ‘scaling down’ the base facilities to the level comparable to bases on the mainland (Watanabe 1970: 133).

Notes 191 39 Subsequent to the defection of the Democratic Party members, the Land Council (tochikyo¯) replaced the Five Group Coalition. Yara Cho¯byo¯ from the Okinawa Teachers’ Association became the leader of this coalition and Ahagon Shoko¯, representing farmers of Ie-jima, became Deputy Chair. 40 The board of executives issued a statement: ‘The University Board and Chancellery rejects Communism based on Article 14 of the University clause of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Education Law, and follows the instructions of the US as the protector of the free world against the Communist threat in the Orient. We regret the behaviour of our students who conducted anti-US demonstrations and their offence inflicted on all the Americans and the US staff stationed in the Ryu¯kyu¯ s. The University is responsible for the demonstrations against the US, the founder and the financial source of the University . . . and hereby bans students from joining any activities on or off campus without permission’ (Okinawa Taimusu, 11 August 1956 quoted in Miyazato 1966: 103). 41 The delegates included the Chief Executive, Chair of the Democratic Party, Chair of the Parliament, the landowners’ representative, a local council representative, and a judiciary officer (Miyazato 1966: 130). 42 With twice as much rent, paid yearly, and renewed every five years (Arasaki 1995: 36, Miyazato 1966: 130–1). 43 Two male residents, aged 28 and 38, were killed when they were dismantling old US air force explosives to obtain scrap metal in 1959. The victims’ families relied on incomes from selling US scrap materials, after their land was taken (Kamei 1999). 44 This figure was included in the petition made in 1973 by the Ie Village Assembly, against the US use of defoliants. 45 These ideas were expressed in essays by the OPP founder, Senaga Kamejiro, in the local newspaper Uruma Shimpo¯ and journal Jinmin Bunka (Arasaki 1976: 39). 6 The second wave: towards reversion 1 A substantial amount of cobalt was found in locally produced seafood. 2 Residents in local communities fought their own struggles against the US military’s operations and further private property acquisitions in places such as Ie-jima (Ahagon 1998), Konbu (Okinawa Taimusu Sha 1997: 233–6) and Chibana (Jinmin, 11 January 1969). For example, the land struggle in Konbu is recorded in Gushikawa Shishi (Gushikawa Shiyakusho 1970: 908–10). 3 This figure was calculated from the supposition that each of the 7,362 full-time prostitutes made $20 per night. The number of the prostitutes was estimated by the GRI (Sturdevant and Stoltzfus 1993: 251–2), and is significantly lower than the figure estimated by Selden in the above quotation. 4 This information was obtained from the survey conducted in Koza, by Professor Ishihara Masaie’s research team at the Okinawa International University (Tomiyama 1996: 30, n14). 5 Arashiro became a teacher, following in the footsteps of his schoolteachers who were engaged in the reversion movement. In 1981, the Japanese government paid his grandmother compensation of ¥891,880 (approximately $7,432). Arashiro used this money to write a textbook on the history of Okinawa for high-school students, which was published in 1997 (see Arashiro 1997, Okinawa Mondai Henshu Iinkai 1995: 72). 6 Crimes committed by US citizens reported to the Legislature were 981 cases in 1961, 1,078 in 1962, 1,131 in 1963, 973 in 1964, 1,003 in 1965, 1,407 in 1966 (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯sha 1968: 138). 7 In May 1954 Deputy Governor General David Ogden commented that, if the Okinawans wished to return to Japanese administration, US forces would completely withdraw from the Far East, leaving Japan vulnerable to the communist threat. Therefore, Okinawans, as loyal Japanese citizens, could not want reversion (cited in Oguma 1998: 513).

192 Notes 8 The JCP, which had celebrated Okinawa’s independence from Japan immediately after Japan’s war defeat (see Chapter 4), drastically changed its position and defined Okinawa’s return to Japan as ‘the inseparable and highly important part of the liberation of the Japanese people from American imperialism’. It was the only mainland Japanese political party to demand that the US bases be withdrawn from the island (Watanabe 1970: 117). 9 Upon the US State Department’s request, the American Consular Unit obtained the translation of Heiwa to Dokuritsu no tame ni (For peace and independence) No. 349, 1 April 1954, which was ‘published by the Japanese Communist Party as a directive for Communist anti-American activities on Okinawa’ (American Consular Unit 1955: 3). 10 At the time, the US authorities monitored and tried to move back Amami people in Okinawa Main Island. For details see Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 70–2. 11 In March 1953, upon Democratic Party’s request, the USCAR even interfered with and cancelled the elected Legislature seat of an OSMP candidate, Tengan Choko¯, to replace him with a Democratic Party candidate. After this so-called ‘Tengan incident’, OPP members and some ex-OSMP members formed the ‘Committee for the Struggle against Colonialism’ in protest against US manipulation of party politics. The USCAR ordered it to be dissolved, ‘without any room for discussion or questions’, on the grounds that its name suggested hostile propaganda against the US military (Gabe 1969: 55). 12 Preceding the Naha mayoral election in 1958, Minren conflicted severely with the nonMinren OSMP members on candidate selection. The OPP and Minren chair Senaga demanded that the OSMP should agree with a Minren candidate, Kaneshi Saichi. In the end, Kaneshi was elected over the OSMP candidate, Taira Tatsuo, who was supported by the Liberal Party against Minren (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 98–9). 13 Other member organizations included the League of Okinawan Women’s Groups, (Okinawa Fujin Rengo¯kai, Okifuren), Jichiro¯ Okinawa Branch, Okinawa Children’s Protection Society (Okinawa Kodomo o Mamorukai), Okinawa Liberty Society (Okinawa Jiyu¯ Kyo¯kai), Okinawa Waterside Workers’ Union (Okinawa Ko¯wan Ro¯do¯ Kumiai), Okinawa Textile Workers’ Union (Okinawa Seni Ro¯ do¯ Kumiai), and the Okinawan Traffic Workers’ Union (Zen Okinawa Ko¯tsu¯ Ro¯do¯ Kumiai). 14 Yara refused this position because of the ‘damage he caused to the reversion movement’ earlier. In 1954 the USCAR cancelled the OTA leaders’ (Yara and Kyan Shinei’s) passports on their way to receive school reconstruction funding in Tokyo. This was part of the US military’s policy to monitor and suppress political activities for reversion (To¯yama 1987: 405). 15 The Secretary General of the Council worked for two years without getting paid. Only in 1966 was the Council able to employ a person as full-time staff (To¯yama 1987: 406). 16 In 1959, a new conservative party, the Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party (Okinawa Jiyu¯ Minshuto¯), was formed, as a result of the internal divisions and election defeat of the Ryu¯kyu¯ Democratic Party. In October 1964, a further division resulted in a new conservative party called the Liberal Party (Jiyu¯to¯). Shortly after this, in December 1964, the Liberal Democratic Party and Liberal Party were integrated into the Okinawa Democratic Party (Okinawa Minshuto¯.) 17 In mainland Japan, the ICFTU had a strong influence on labour unions after the US Occupation, especially on excluding the Communist Party’s (in Okinawa, the OPP’s) influence in the labour movement. The ICFTU membership constantly created a source of controversy among union members. In Okinawa, those who promoted ICFTU membership valued the lobbying power on the US authorities, and the opponents – often those affiliated to the Communist Party – criticized the ICFTU policy of drawing its members away from staging ‘class struggles’ autonomous of the state (Maehara 2000: 35–7). Zengunro¯ also joined the conservative ICFTU, after some internal controversy. 18 The small Union office in Urasoe village had only one full-time female worker, helped by union executives who had finished their main work. Uehara notes that as well as the

Notes 193

19 20

21 22 23

24 25 26 27

28 29 30

31

32

33

poor public transport and few affordable motor cars, the mental and physical work involved was enormous, which strained the members’ family life (Uehara 1982: 77). Officially, the Zengunro¯ strike did not request the removal of the bases. In fact, the organizer announced that the strike was totally unrelated to the anti-base movement (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 177). The US military threatened the base workers with severe counter-action against those who participated. The High Commissioner issued a ‘general labour ordinance’ as a substitute for Ordinance No. 116, which improved the wages and other working conditions, but added severe punitive clauses for strikes and picketing within military facilities (Uehara 1982: 272–3). Baldwin visited the victims of the 1959 Miyanomori Primary School plane crash incident. With missionary Harold Rickard, he also met Ahagon Sho¯ko¯ and other Ie-jima farmers (Ahagon 1989: 136). On Jahana see Chapter 3. This view, importantly, was consistent with the nationalist wish for Okinawa’s reintegration of the conservative politicians in mainland Japan. However, the Japanese conservative state elites considered maintaining the US military presence in Okinawa most crucial for the US-Japan security alliance. In the end, they found a way to get both. In the first rally, 45 Okinawan participants and 41 from the mainland met on the ocean (To¯yama 1987: 411). The diary of Prime Minister Sato¯ Eisaku contains descriptions of the patron-client relationships developed between Sato¯ and Yara. See Sato¯ 1997, vols 3 and 4. In the reversion campaign, the physical dimensions involved in diminishing ‘Okinawanness’ to become Japanese, which Tomiyama (1997) stressed, were resurrected. In 1962, the US President John F. Kennedy made the High Commissioner’s appointment of the GRI Chief Executives formal (Kyo¯ko¯ Niho¯ To¯so¯shi Henshu¯ Iinkai 1998: 158–9). Leaders of the main party were nominated. Until then, according to the US presidential order in June 1957, the Legislature Chair had nominated the Chief Executives. In principle, however, both conservative and progressive parties demanded the public election of Chief Executives in the short or long term (To¯yama 1987: 416). Similarly, the Council organized subsidiary rallies in five places (Itoman, Nago, Ishigaki, Taira, and Koza) before the October rally in Naha (Sokoku Fukki To¯so¯shi Hensan Iinkai 1982: 199–200). In the pre-reversion era, Route 1 was designed as a purely military road and was functioning as the most important pathway across the island with US military vehicles transporting goods and people en route to military operations and trainings for Vietnam. The traffic hazard created by the demonstration caused serious inconvenience and the authorities’ retalitation was severe. Today this road is called Route 58. The Okinawa Human Rights Association’s Fukuchi Hiroaki arranged the collective action of the group. The members included the Chief Executives of Okinawa Taimusu and Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯, the Chair of OTA, the University of Ryu¯kyu¯’s Dean of Science, and Chair of the mayors’ association. The group also directly appealed to Sato¯ in Tokyo (To¯yama 1987: 451). Deployment of the US forces on Japanese territory became part of Japan’s responsibility under new Ampo, which was positively undertaken by the LDP government. This sufficiently assured the US forces freedom to use Okinawa without controlling the civil administration of the island (Tanaka 1997). In July 1965, Edwin Reischauer, the US ambassador in Japan, advised the US State Department that the transferring administration of Okinawa to Japan was the decisive factor for a stable US–Japan relationship. Despite opposition from the military and the US Defense Department, which tended to regard the administration of Okinawa as crucial for maintaining US forces there, the US State Department took Reischauer’s advice seriously (Gabe 2000: 57–62).

194 Notes 34 It was Yara Chobyo, leader of the OTA, who advocated the legalization of Okinawan public educators’ status, but without the restriction of these political rights (To¯yama 1987: 432–33). 35 The Japan Teachers’ Union had already engaged in a similar struggle against the introduction of teachers’ evaluation system (Kyo¯ ko¯ Niho¯ To¯ so¯ shi Henshu¯ Iinkai 1998: 98). 36 The treaty’s new formal name was the ‘Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security between Japan and the United States of America’, still in effect today. This presumed ‘equality’ is controversial. Article VI of the treaty specifies Japan’s duty to provide for the US bases within its territory, although US responsibility to protect Japan’s security is not specified as a duty of the US in the treaty (Gabe 2000: 14–18). 37 Furthermore, mainland Japanese anti-Ampo organizations, such as the Stop Ampo National Committee (Ampo Soshi Kokumin Kaigi), did not suggest any joint collective action with the Okinawan anti-base activists when the US Congress passed the construction of a Mace B missile base in Okinawa in 1960. The Ryu¯kyu¯ Legislature made a protest statement (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 118). 38 Oda Makoto, a leading figure of Beheiren, wrote: ‘Realistically speaking, we are all guilty of complicity in the Vietnam War. We must recognise that each of us is among the perpetrators. In my opinion, this is why we must conduct our opposition movement all the more forcefully. But to put it less practically and more in terms of basic principles, if we don’t take a clear position against the war and seek peace here and now, perhaps the hand [holding the gun] will be ours one day. To the extent that we don’t firmly nail down our basic principles as individuals, perhaps we will have to fire the bullet on orders from the state’ (Oda 1967, cited in Havens 1987: 120). 39 In this meeting, the students expressed their support for a US Army soldier, Lieutenant Richard Stink, who was suspended by the military for his refusal to go to South Vietnam because the ‘Vietnam War is not worth losing one soldier’s life’ . . . A few days later, some students handed leaflets titled ‘Oppose Vietnam War: To Create a Movement for Peace’, written in English, to the US soldiers in Koza City (Arasaki 1969: 211). Most US soldiers tore up and threw away the leaflets. However, an anecdote tells that one or two African-American soldiers gave back a dollar note, which encouraged the students (Nakano and Arasaki 1970: 36–7). This anti-militarist Okinawan repertoire of protest, ‘not to alienate the foreigners with slogans like “Yankee go home” but instead to reach out to those who had doubts about the war’ (Havens 1987: 123) transferred to the mainland anti-war activists in Japan such as Beheiren members. Some Beheiren members ‘began distributing leaflets to American sailors outside the navy base at Yokosuka on Dec 1 1966’ (Havens 1987: 123). 40 Another term ‘Ryu¯kyu¯-Ko’ (the Ryu¯kyu¯ Arc) was also used, to describe the significance of the Ryukyu archipelago as an entity independent from mainland Japan. 41 For example, the quotation by the Okinawan Human Rights Association at its opening ceremony (see Chapter 5). 42 Among his colleagues who are similarly distanced from organizational opposition is Takara Ben, a high-school chemistry teacher and a poet, who publishes widely in local newspapers and books (Takara 1996). He promotes the idea of Okinawa’s independence more vocally in a journal, Urumanesia. He has also organized solidarity-building events with a group of Ainu activists. 43 Kina Sho¯kichi is a prominent Okinawan folk-pop musician. His 1997 album, ‘Change all the weapons into musical instruments’ (subete no buki o gakki ni), is also a slogan of his wide range of collective actions, including overseas activities, such as the ‘White Ship of Peace’ trip to the Native American community in 1998, and local activities such as the Nirai Kanai Festivals. In February 2002, Kawamitsu travelled to India with Kina and Takaesu Asao, who was also an activist who participated in the Shiraho struggle (see Chapter 6), representing a non-government organization, the Peacemakers’ Network, and met with the Indian Defence Minister, George Fernandes, who supported

Notes 195

44 45 46

47 48 49

50

51 52 53

his project of collecting all the weapons in the world and replacing them with musical instruments, by sending a weapon to Okinawa, in order to build a Peace Monument (Kina Sho¯kichi, Interview, February 2002). The Okinawa Democratic Party changed its name to the Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party in December 1967. The Japanese government hinted at the possible removal of B-52s from Okinawa, after the June or July completion of the new military airport in Thailand, which had been under construction (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 187). Nakasone Satoru, Secretary General of the Council for Reversion, commented in 1969, ‘The intervention of the Chief Executive in the organizational decisions ignores the rules and principles of mass movements. Such intervention breeds distrust amongst the rankand-file members. We need to have a candid discussion with Chief Executive Yara.’ Kishimoto Toshizane, Socialist Party Chair, stated, ‘The use of power and influence of the minority figures to interfere with the mass organizations’ decisions significantly contradicts the principle of democracy.’ Nakamatsu Yo¯zen, an OPP member, commented, ‘Protecting Chief Executive Yara should not mean condoning his mistake at the expense of weakening the mass movement. His failure should have been corrected in the course of developing the mass movement correctly. In this sense, political parties are also responsible for the Chief Executive’s misdeed and self-criticism is necessary’ (Kawamitsu 2000: 240–1). For full text of this joint statement see Database of Postwar Japanese Politics and International Relations, Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo, 2004. Zengunro¯ workers were on strike for 48 hours, 8–9 January, and for 120 hours from 19 January (Nakano and Arasaki 1976: 200). Various mainland Japanese individuals travelled to Okinawa to support the ‘Okinawa Struggle’, which had been isolated from mainland progressive political organizations. These sympathizers included radical New Left sectarian activists, intellectuals and ¯ e Kenzaburo¯, who questioned, ‘Is it possible to change myself famous writers such as O into a Japanese that is not the Japanese we are?’ during his sojourn in Okinawa (Oe 1970). A member of the Naha City Assembly, Takazato Suzuyo, recalls that the aggressive behaviour displayed by US soldiers in the local community was exceptional during the Vietnam War. Particularly in 1967, there was a series of robberies and murders of bar hostesses committed by returnee soldiers from Vietnam (The Okinawan Women Act Against Military Violence 1998: 56). The aforementioned female bar owner was clearly not associated with this Society (Ishida 1993: 85). In total, 476 police officers from all over Okinawa Main Island were mobilized, and 21 people were arrested (Okinawa Shiyakusho Kikakubu Heiwa Bunka Shinko-ka 1999: 68). According to the ‘Summary Police Report on the Koza Riot of 20 December’, the occupations of arrested suspects included a Koza City Hall staff member, four military employees, a car company employee, a glass manufacturer employee, a construction worker, a university student, a high-school student, a bartender, a taxi driver, a waterside worker, an electric retail owner, two unemployed, an upholsterer, a hotel worker, a milling company employee, a mechanic, and a company worker (Okinawa Shiyakusho Kikakubu Heiwa Bunka Shinko-ka 1999).

7 The anti-war landowners and the progressive coalition: the constitutional framing of protest 1 In other parts of Japan, the US forces and the Self-Defence Forces occupy properties mostly owned by the state. The state owns 34.1 per cent of the land used by the US

196 Notes

2

3

4

5 6

7

8

9 10

military bases on Okinawa, as opposed to 87.5.5 per cent in mainland Japan (Okinawa Ken So¯mubu Chiji Koo¯shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2005: 13). As a representative body of contract landowners, Tochiren has concentrated on negotiation with the state for better contract terms and higher rent on behalf of the landowners. In 1995, Tochiren officially declared its opposition to the termination of military land leases, that is, it opposed the withdrawal of the US military from Okinawa (Kurima 1998: 279). The transfer of money from the US and Japan to the GRI was ¥41.7 billion in 1969; in 1978, Okinawa Prefecture received ¥637.6 billion from Japan’s state budget (Kurima 1998: 5). An aggregate direct income from the US bases, which included US military personnel and their families’ spending, wages and salaries of the local base employers, and the rent paid for the land privately owned by the local landowners, declined drastically from 36.8 per cent of the entire incomes obtained from outside Okinawa Prefecture in 1970 to 14.6 per cent in 1974 (Kurima 1998: 32). The non-contract landowners’ properties were often returned to the objectors in small plots amidst the massive US bases – dreaded by the owners, for they could not be used for residence, farmland, or any economic activities. The government also returned contract landowners’ properties simply because they were located adjacent to non-contract properties. Because the return of undesired military properties reduced regular income, bitter conflicts arose between some non-contract and contract landowners. Some objectors were ostracized in their communities and workplaces; some were estranged from family members and relatives (Arasaki 1995: 78–82). The size of the land surface exclusively used by the US military bases on Okinawa, after reversion, was 24,000 ha, 15 per cent less than before reversion, and 23,519 ha in 2000 (Okinawa Ken So¯mubu Chiji Ko¯shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2000: 1). The Agreed Minute of the Joint Communiqué of Nixon and Sato¯ on 21 November 1969 states, ‘in time of great emergency the United States Government will require the reentry of nuclear weapons and transit rights in Okinawa with prior consultation with the Government of Japan. The United States Government would anticipate a favourable response. The United States Government also requires the standby retention and activation in time of great emergency of existing nuclear storage locations in Okinawa: Kadena, Naha, Henoko and Nike Hercules units’ (Purves 1995–2005). As a result of the massive employment reductions the US military conducted before reversion, local base workers had declined in number from 21,000 in 1970 to 7,980 in 1978. The zengunro¯ members declined to 5,000 from more than 18,000 (Uehara 1982: 454). As seen most prominently in the emergence of ‘anti-reversionism’ (han-fukki) in the late 1960s, explorations were made towards a uniquely ‘Okinawan’ identity, defined by a historical, cultural, and ethnic background separate from yamato. Arakawa Akira, Takara Ben, Kawamitsu Shinichi, and others contributed to the exploration of an independent Okinawa at the ‘mental’ level. The critical and politically active Okinawans’ desire to express Okinawa’s distinctiveness arose in reaction to the decline of ‘reversion nationalism’ and disappointment with the 1972 reversion of Okinawa as a means to turn Okinawa into a fortress of the US–Japan Security Alliance. Some One-tsubo members are contract landowners who receive substantial incomes from their other properties within the bases, but in principle share with the anti-war landowners the will to oppose the US bases (Arasaki 1995: 152). The GRI, led by Governor Yara, protested that this law was unconstitutional because it breached the right to private ownership (Article 29) and unjustly discriminated against Okinawa thereby breaching the principle of equality under the law (Article 14). The law, furthermore, ignored the process required by Article 95, that a majority of residents’ votes in a referendum is necessary for setting a special law applied in one municipality (Arasaki 1995: 77–8).

Notes 197 11 The new law responded to Governor Yara and the landowners’ demands to reidentify the land registrations lost in the processes of war evacuation and subsequent military occupation. 12 Forceful entries into the military facilities happened in Ie-jima, the Japanese SelfDefence Air Force Base, and other bases such as Kadena Air Base. 13 Each application requires about 11 public hearings until the Land Expropriation Committee’s final decision. The expropriation of non-contract landowners’ properties is a long process, which takes normally from six to twelve months. 14 The duration of the original land leases was twenty years, based on the longest lease regulated by Article 604 of the Civil Code. 15 Of the properties used by the US military, municipalities (cities, villages, and towns) own 29.2 per cent (Okinawa Ken So¯mubu Chiji Ko¯shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2000: 11). Until a conservative mayor was elected in November 2001, as an anti-war municipality, Naha City had refused to sign the lease of the 2.6 per cent (1.5 ha) of the Naha Military Port (Okinawa Taimusu 14 November 2000). See note 1. ¯ ta Masahide had been elected the new Governor, after the 16 On 17 November 1990, O conservative OLDP Governor, Nishime Junji (1978–90). One of the procedures required for the compulsory expropriation of non-contract landowners’ properties by the US Military Special Measures Law was the notification (ko¯koku) of, and making the case for, public inspection (ju¯ran) by the mayors of the municipalities where the properties in question were located. As an expression of opposition to the US military occupation, the mayors of Naha city, Okinawa City, Ginowan City, Chatan town, and Yomitan village had rejected this procedure. Then, the Governor had the responsibility to sign on behalf of the mayors, which was conducted by Governor Nishime of the OLDP ¯ ta was committed to the removal of the US regularly. As a progressive governor, O military bases, and was publicly opposed to the compulsory use of non-contract ¯ ta had an option to reject this responsibility. However, after much landowners’ land. O ¯ ta agreed with the procedure, on condition that the central government consideration, O increased its commitment to the necessary legalization and financial assistance for future returns of the private properties currently occupied by the US bases (Arasaki 1995: 197–9). 17 Rengo¯ is the largest organization in the Japanese labour movement. It was formally inaugurated in November 1989 with eight million members after So¯hyo¯ (General Council of Japanese Trade Unions) was dissolved. 18 For example, in April 2002, the Okinawa Peace Movement Centre and to¯itsuren held a joint rally called ‘Mamoro¯ Kenpo¯, Ko¯cho¯kai Ho¯koku Shu¯kai’ (Protect the Constitution, a public hearing report), against the legislation related to attacks by other countries against Japan, which legalizes the war preparation activities of the state, the US military, and the SDF (Okinawa Taimusu 23 April 2003). 19 Other major activities included making ‘human chains’ around the Futenma Marine Corps Air Station in 1995 and 1998 in protest against the US military presence and war. There were similar protests against the Kadena Air Base in 1987, 1990, and 2000. 20 Onna village is located in the northern region of Okinawa Main Island. Its 1989 population was 8,840, who mainly engaged in farming. In the late 1980s, tourism was the rising industry in this village. Camp Hansen (US Marine Corps) occupied 29.6 per cent of the village. The destruction of, and threat to, the natural and human environment caused by the US live fire training had been generating grievances, especially the destruction of Mount Onna (onna dake) (Tokushu Butai Kensetsu oyobi Jitsudan Shageki Enshu¯ Hantai Onna Son Jikko¯ Iinkai 1990: 33). 21 Only 159 people lived in Toyohara district in 1993. It is located within Motobu village in the northern region. 22 Leader Nakamura Fumiko was from Motobu village (Chapter 4). 23 Other examples include opposition to the live firing training across Prefecture Road 104 (which would be closed during the training), in Kin town (Okinawa Taimusu Sha

198 Notes

24

25

26 27

28

29

30

31

1997: 134–6). The SACO agreement in 1996 decided to stop the live firing training except for those using 155 mm bullets. These trainings were moved to Hiju¯dai Training ¯ ita Prefecture. Area in O Residents’ movements normally refer to the collective action taken up by people who reside in particular communities regarding the issues that affect the living conditions in those communities. Participants of citizens’ movements usually engage in collective action as citizens, without the emphasis on where they live. According to Ikemiyagi, in Okinawa the relationship between residents’ movements and citizens’ movements is often complementary. The former is usually the direct subject of collective action peculiar to their residential location, in which the latter plays a ‘supporting role’ (Ikemiyagi Interview, May 1999). Other cases Ikemiyagi has been involved in include the Kadena Air Base Noise Case (kadena bakuon sosho¯), initiated by about 906 residents who lived around the base, and who suffered from the explosive noise, demanding to stop the night flight training from 7pm to 7am. The case was first taken to court in February 1982, and closed in May 1998 with indemnity payment, but no flights stopped. One of the plaintiffs, Matsuda Kame, notes that she lost interest in the case because the noise was getting worse and worse (Hiramatsu 2001: 154–5). For example see Japan Revolutionary Communist League Marxist Faction 2005; Japan Revolutionary Communist League (JRCL) 2005; and New Anti-Ampo Action Committee 2005. During the second-wave Okinawa Struggle, the hinomaru flag was a symbol of resistance against US military rule, and the home country to which the reversionists wished to return. After reversion, the political meaning of the flag has significantly changed for the Okinawan community of protest. In 1987, Chibana Sho¯ichi, a ‘peace guide’ resident of Yomitan village, and later an anti-war landowner, burned the hinomaru flag in front of the crowd at a National Sport Meet event. The flag had created a political controversy before the Sport Meet, about whether or not raising the flag at the venue in Okinawa was appropriate, yet the flag burning was sensational enough to make Chibana a celebrity, attracting both sympathizers and violent threats from right-wing thugs. Chibana’s act represented the negative emotions of the Okinawans towards the flag (see Chibana 1992, Field 1993). Article 9 constitutes of two separate clauses: (1) ‘Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as a means of settling international disputes.’ (2) ‘In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized’ (translated in Parisi 2002). A recent public hearing statement made by an anti-war landowner of a property in Camp Zukeran criticized today’s social neglect of the peace Constitution and its principles, warned against the ongoing process of facilitating the state’s ability to conduct war, and gave a reminder of the 1925 Peace Preservation Law that removed the freedom of expression (Okinawa Hitotsubo Hansen Jinushikai Kanto¯ Burokku 27 April 2005). According to Zukeran, the conservatives, such as Liberal Democratic Party members, often criticize the One-tsubo anti-war landowners as ‘a group influenced by an extreme ideological belief’ (1997: 194). He rejects this criticism by explaining that ‘the respect [for the Constitution] is the collective feeling of all Okinawans, not an extreme ideological position’ (emphasis added, 1997: 194). Political scientist Professor Egami Yoshinori, who teaches at Ryu¯kyu¯ University, argues that the OSMP has been a local party supported by the population, who prefer not to identify themselves with either conservative or radical political ideas. Politically, it is ‘progressive’ and anti-base; however, its populist appeal mainly drives from being the only local party without any affiliation with the mainland Japanese parties (Interview, April 1999).

Notes 199 32 At the time, the US was trying to justify permanent use of Okinawan land in the Price Report, which recommended the purchase of the US land right for 99 years, which met the Okinawans’ 1956 all-island resistance. 8 Kin Bay and Shiraho: emergence of new social movements 1 Direct income generated from the US military consists of local consumption made by the US military personnel and families, salaries paid to locally employed military workers, and rent paid to the landowners of the properties occupied by the US military. (Kawase 2000: 56) 2 For this purpose, on the day of Okinawa’s reversion, 15 May 1972, the Okinawa Development Stimulation Committee (Okinawa Shinko¯ Kaihatsu Shingi-kai) was established within the Okinawa Development Agency. 3 However, the central government shielded Okinawa effectively from multinationals’ direct investments and placed Okinawa under its immediate control, which eliminated the opportunity for Okinawa to become a thriving autonomous economic zone, attractive to foreign investments and business opportunities (Howell 2000). 4 The basis of this ‘special treatment’ of Okinawa, according to one of the policy-makers who were involved in making the current Plan, is ‘the unusual various conditions under which Okinawa is located’, which refers to the military bases (Okinawa Taimusu 20 July 2003). 5 This mechanism of dependence of the local communities on the base-related subsidies is explained clearly in Kurima 1998: 219–319. Also, see Miyamoto 2000: 4–18. 6 He refers to the uneasiness he felt at the time of the 1968 Chief Executive election when asked by the conservative camp: ‘the LDP is planning to induce the oil multinational, Gulf, which will lead to the construction of a power station and other industries such as aluminium. What is your plan on industrial development?’ (Yara 1985: 266) 7 Typical examples include the anti-konbinaato¯ (industrial complex) movement in Mishima, Shizuoka, and the ‘Big Four’ pollution incidents, including mercury poisoning which killed and permanently crippled many residents in Minamata, and Niigata, an extremely painful degeneration of human bones caused by cadmium-contaminated rice in Toyama, and asthma caused by air pollution in Yokkaichi. 8 In November 1972, the representative of the committee requested the Yara Government to facilitate Arabia Sekiyu’s (Arabia Oil) operations (Yara 1985: 269). 9 The Kin Bay Protection Group tacitly obtained the opinion statement submitted to Yara from the attorneys, and sued the Yara government over the unconstitutional landfill authorization. However, the attorneys refused to fight against the progressive governor and did not participate in the court case (Kinwan o Mamoru Kai 1978: 3). 10 The construction site was moved to Miyara Makinaka, further inland from Shiraho (Map 8.2). The Miyara residents, mostly farmers, firmly opposed the airport construction. Even though the necessity for a new airport was generally agreed in Ishigaki Island and the greater Yaeyama region, the project came to a halt. In March 2000, a prefecture committee, specifically set up by the Inamine prefecture government to solve the protracted New Ishigaki Airport problem, selected a new construction site in the Kara Mountain area, again immediately next to Shiraho. If built, the wall of the new airport would be right in front of the Shiraho reef, where the world heritage coral is. The main opponents of this site, convinced of the destructive impact of the predicted red soil effluent on the coral reefs, have been non-governmental environmentalist organizations such as the World Wild Fund for Nature Japan (WWFJ) and the Japan Union for Nature Conservation (Zenkoku Shizen Hogo Rengo¯ ). However, this time, the residents’ opposition movement that expanded globally in the 1980s was not repeated. Residents’ movements, in general, are an extremely difficult and exhausting business, which involve emotional conflicts, especially with other local residents.

200 Notes 11 This expectation often results in disappointment with the ignorant and unenlightened ‘mass’, as witnessed in the lament of leading activists such as Ikemiyagi and Yonemori towards the immaturity of the Japanese masses when it comes to their apathy towards participating in collective action to enhance the public good as ‘citizens’ (Yonemori, Interview, April 1999; see Ikemiyagi’s interview in Chapter 6). 12 McKean notes, accurately, ‘The Japanese refer to any protest movement consisting of residents of a particular locality as “residents’ movements” (ju¯min undo¯), but sometimes reserve the term “citizens’ movements” (shimin undo¯) for the most experienced groups, those which use the most sophisticated political tools and which become principally concerned with the issue of citizen participation’ (McKean 1981: 6). The most often used example of a citizens’ movement, in this sense, is the Beheiren movement. 13 Yaeyama Chikuro¯ is affiliated with other District Union Councils in Okinawa and the Okinawa Peace Movement Centre. 14 The photograph was given to the local fisher folk who guided the photographer on a boat, and was passed on to Yonemori (Yonemori, Interview, 13 April 1999). 15 In Shiraho, one does not need to be a trained professional fisher to obtain fish, seashells and sea grasses. Farmers, housewives, old people, and children obtained their daily food supplies and pocket money by collecting fish and sea grasses (Aosa is one of the typical kinds). In 1979 a local newspaper reported a farming Shiraho woman who commented, ‘I can make ¥10,000–15,000 a day, by collecting aosa’ (Yaeyama Mainichi Shimbun 31 January 1979). 16 In particular, in this region, traditionally, female dance meetings (usudehku) and youth dancing festivals (eisah) are performed annually. 17 However, bringing in bipartisan political issues has created internal conflicts among ¯ shiro Fumi, Interview, May 1999). villagers in Yakena, for example (O ¯ shiro, and other villagers, for 18 Since the anti-CTS protest activities in the 1970s, O example, engage in researching classical songs and dances in usudeku. (Interview, May 1999). 19 Quoting the local newspapers’ report that a police officer had committed trespass, sexual ¯ shiro’s poetry read, ‘Junsa assault, and murder of a female university student, O gwa nukurenu, Kenri fuimawachi, Yuruya innai, Inagu sagute’ (An authoritative police ¯ shiro cited in Asato officer during the day is a dog at night going after women) (O 1981: 168). 20 Sasaki-Uemura explains a general factor that constrained participation in residents’ movements in the 1960s and 1970s, with regard to mainland Japanese men: ‘They generally had to commute farther to and from work, and they increasingly were expected to engage in after-hours activities with their co-workers. They were thus for the most part physically absent from the places they lived. Hence, few men felt free enough from work-related constraints to become involved in these movements’ (Sasaki-Uemura, 2001: 145–6). 21 The direct translation of shima society is ‘island society’, but ‘closed, small community’ is a more accurate meaning of the term. 22 They also discovered that one of the utaki was contained within the CTS site, which provided another incentive to fire up opposition (Asato 1981: 60). 23 The members included nine mostly senior professors of biology, marine biology, economics, transport engineering, and social policy from the University of the Ryu¯kyu¯s, which was the only state university in Okinawa, and the members were regarded as the most authoritative in their fields. This added weight to the influence of the Committee’s opinion on the legitimacy of the landfill project. 24 However, Ui witnessed the limited public access to the report: the report was put on a small table in the corner of a corridor of the Prefecture Hall, blocked by busy office workers passing by. The planners of the airport had a strict policy of secrecy, which gave the impression of dishonesty, and no respect was given to the citizens’ right to access information on public projects (Ui 1986).

Notes 201 25 Ui Jun is a scientist and environmental activist, specializing in pollution and environmental engineering. His study of the Minamata disease contributed greatly to the Minamata residents’ movement and raised public awareness on the political aspects of industrial pollution (Ui 1968). Ui has also contributed to the development of public education on pollution and environmental issues in Japan by conducting ‘pollution study’ lectures at Tokyo University after hours, which are open to the general public (Ui 1971 [1990]). When he was concerned with the airport construction in Shiraho, he had just moved to Okinawa from Tokyo University to concentrate on the devastating effects of the post-reversion industrialization policies on Okinawa’s environment (Interview, March 1999). 26 The Examination Group included 27 academic staff from Ryu¯ kyu¯ University and a substantial number of staff from Okinawa University joined the Examination Group (Sugioka 1989: 146). 27 The members of the Examination Group based in Naha – Ukai Teruki, Tabeta Masahiro, Fukunaka Ken, Ui Jun, and architect Makishi Yoshikazu – issued two booklets: Problems of the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Plan (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Kensetsu Keikaku no Mondaiten) and Problems of the New Ishigaki Airport Construction Plan Part II. The first booklet scrutinized the government’s environmental evaluation report of the airport construction (Shin Ishigaki Ku¯ko¯ Kensetsu o Kangaeru Kai 1986). 28 Legally, the airport construction required the local fishing population’s consensus to cancel their allocated fishing right in the area where the landfill was planned. In June 1980, the Yaeyama Fishing Co-operative agreed to sell the fishing right of the Shiraho marine district to the government, despite the opposition of the Shiraho Co-op members, who belonged to the Shiraho Community Centre. The Shiaraho fishers filed a court case against the state and the prefecture government. In March 1984, 33 Shirahoans (Fishing Co-op members) made a complaint against the Yaeyama Fishing Co-operative and the prefecture government, on the grounds that the decision was made in a meeting that was not attended by more than half of the union members, and was therefore invalid. The Shiraho residents were confident of victory. However, on 24 December 1985, the Naha Local Court found in favour of the prefecture government and the Co-operative’s argument. 29 The Attorney Group, based in Osaka with 372 members, after 1988 supported the Shiraho struggle by submitting petitions and providing legal support for the court cases (Shiraho o Kangaeru Osaka Bengoshi no Kai 1989). 30 The Shiraho court cases were mostly cancelled in the middle, in the course of development of the airport issue. 31 There were residents’ groups in each area, including CTS Hantai Yonaguni Ju¯min no Kai (Yonaguni CTS Opposition Residents’ Organization) and Uken Mura Edateku Jima Sekiyu Kigyo¯ Yu¯ chi Hantai Sonmin Kaigi (Uken Village Edateku Island Villagers’ Council against Oil Companies). 32 Amami and surrounding islands, administratively under the Kagoshima Prefecture, used to be part of the Ryu¯kyu¯ kingdom, until being separated early in the seventeenth century by Shimazu’s colonization. In this sense, islands of Amami and Okinawa have basic cultural and linguistic commonalities. 33 In total, 25 issues of this newsletter were published from July 1977 to September 1984. 34 Seven years later, the Society wrote, ‘The concept of the Ryu¯kyu¯ko region as a sphere of residents’ movements was now established amongst the movement activists across the region’ (CTS Soshi To¯so¯ o Hirogeru Kai 1981: 20–2). 35 Out of 34,936 people in Yaeyama region, 54 per cent had malaria and 10.5 per cent died (Noike 1990: 133). 36 Yamazato is originally from Ishigaki City. She used to be a member of the Concerned Citizens’ Group, based in Ishigaki City. As a teenager, she worked as a guide and as an assistant for an American scientist who was conducting a geological survey of Ishigaki Island. The survey was conducted under the US military government at the time, and

202 Notes was intended to provide detailed knowledge of the strategic environment of the island. Yamazato agreed to work for the scientist because she ‘wanted to learn the English language’. However, she has always felt guilty for collaborating with the US military, mainly because she lost her family members in the War. Her determination to prevent future war on the island motivated Yamazato to move to Shiraho in 1983, and to engage in the protest activities against the new airport plan (Interview, May 1999). 9 The third wave and beyond: The power of Unai and the dugongs 1 The group’s other representative is Itokazu Keiko, whose involvement in the anti-war movement is discussed in Chapter 4. 2 With Okinawa’s reversion to Japan, legislation against prostitution was introduced. Nevertheless, the sex industry around the bases continued with migrant workers predominantly from the Philippines, who were often trafficked into Okinawa illegally through underground crime syndicates (Sturdevant and Stoltzfus 1993). 3 Francis has lived in Japan since 1968, as a Christian missionary, and had worked for women’s rights in Japan. Since 1989, she has lived in Okinawa and engaged in activities for peace, writing about base issues and women’s issues in Okinawa (Francis, Interview, May 1999). 4 They visited after Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991, and saw the hardship of the residents in Olongapo City after the Subic US Navy Base was returned (Ginowan Seminar House 1995; Takazato 1996: 168–9). Subsequently the Okinawans sent sewing machines to the Buklod Centre in the Philippines, to help the women to find effective ways to obtain income and prospect for economic autonomy. Since then small groups of female and male Okinawans have frequently visited the Buklod Centre. 5 Amerasian children ‘live with severe prejudice and suffer discrimination in education and employment due to their physical appearance and their mothers’ low status. Those with African-American fathers face even worse treatment than those having white fathers’ (Kirk et al. 2000: 1). 6 Other topics were: ‘the environment and women’, ‘u¯ji zome’ (traditional dyeing as an example of sustainable local-oriented industry, using sugar cane), ‘structural violence against women’, ‘comfort women (during WWII) in Okinawa’, ‘action against nuclear weapons’, ‘war and malaria’ (during WWII, especially in the Yaeyama region), ‘women and peace panel exhibition’, ‘traditional culture and gender discrimination’, ‘ageing society and welfare’, ‘women and labour’, ‘the unai network’ (NGO Forum Beijing 95 Okinawa Jikko Iinkai 1996). 7 What motivated them to publicize this case quickly was the memory of a rape case two years earlier of a 19-year-old local woman, who was abducted, driven to the base and raped by a US soldier. It was only after the soldier left the country after being charged that the local newspaper reported the case. Four months later, the victim dropped the case, owing to the shame and isolation. As a result, the rape may not even remain on the criminal record of the discharged soldier. Because rape and sexual violence are recognized as a shame, rather than human rights violation, the journalists and police either hush up or scandalize the subject. The rape victims needed to obtain public support immediately, which required more than a request for enhanced discipline to the US Consulate and the Defense Facilities Bureau (Takazato 1996: 22–5). 8 As discussed in Chapter 7, over a third of the land occupied by the US military and the Japanese Self-Defence Force comprises privately owned properties. After Okinawa’s reversion, landowners of these properties received rent from the Japanese government on the basis of legal lease contracts. An estimated thirty thousand landowners received annual rents, whereas those who refused to contract received compensation. Under the US Military Special Measures Law, the US military continued to legally occupy these properties owned by the dissenting landowners.

Notes 203 9 Former Governor Nishime of the Okinawa Liberal Democratic Party regularly signed ¯ ta did too, on the condition that the central government increase accordingly. In 1990, O its commitment to the necessary legalization and financial assistance for promoting the return of US military-occupied properties to the owners. 10 The Governor had nevertheless been preparing for the refusal well before the September 1995 rape case. In fact, he was determined to do this especially since the ‘Nye Report’ in February announced the maintenance of status quo troop presence in East Asia, especially Okinawa. Joseph Nye, then Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security Affairs, instigated a Pentagon report – often referred to as the ‘Nye Report’ – in which he declared the necessity to keep the hundred thousand troops in Korea and Japan, including more than forty thousand in Okinawa. See Department of Defense, Office of International Security Affairs 1995. ¯ ta, historian and now a member of the Upper House, wrote more than sixty books on 11 O war and peace in Okinawa, Okinawan society and politics, and the history of JapanOkinawa relations. Also a survivor of the Battle of Okinawa, he eagerly supported the non-belligerent principle of the Japanese Constitution. He practised a ‘peace policy’, which involved the construction of the Cornerstone of Peace (see Chapter 4). During ¯ ta travelled to the US every year to negotiate directly with his term in office, O government officials, congress members, and state leaders to reduce the military presence on the island. As well as visiting Washington, DC, every year, the Governor invited members of the US lower house and the Security Committee, journalists, and military advisers in order to show them people’s lives in Okinawa, crowded amidst the US ¯ ta argued for the reduction of the US forces in Okinawa, military facilities. In particular, O ¯ ta and Ikezawa 1998: 53–5). On O ¯ ta see, for example, Humphry especially the Marines (O ¯ ta 2000a. 2002; Johnson 1995; O 12 After reversion, Chibana’s father owned the property in Yomitan and refused the contract as an anti-war landowner; however, in April 1976 he was pressured into signing the contract by the Japanese government’s strategy to return anti-war landowners’ properties together with those of other contract landowners in the community who were receiving rent. After 20 years, in 1992, Chibana senior decided to pass on the property to his son, who was an adamant and famous anti-war and anti-military Okinawan activist (Chibana 2000). 13 In April, the Lower House passed the US Military Special Measures Law reform bill, which allowed the US military to use privately owned land without landowners’ consent after the lease expires, until the Prefecture Land Expropriation Committee granted another lease (Okinawa Times 6 April 1997). Furthermore, if the Committee rejected or delayed lease authorization, the lease was still legal, with the matter being forwarded for the Construction Minister’s consideration. With another major reform of the Local Autonomy Law, which passed the Diet in July 1999, the authorization of land expropriation for the US military’s use shifted from the mayors and governors to the state. This made it impossible for a municipal authority to defend anti-war landowners’ dissent. 14 The main instigators of this referendum were Rengo¯ Okinawa and the progressive political parties and unions, including the OSDP (Okinawa Social Democratic Party) and the JCP members, who had won the majority of seats in the mid-1996 Prefecture Assembly election after 16 years in opposition, and members of Rengo¯, Kenro¯kyo¯, and a majority of Zenchu¯ro¯. The Okinawa Prefecture Government set up the Co-ordination Committee for the Promotion of the Prefecture Referendum (Kenmin Tohyo¯ Suishin Kyo¯gikai), and allocated a budget of approximately ¥480 million (Eldridge 1997). 15 A small faction which split from Zenchu¯ ro¯ , as well as restaurants, bars, and small business owners in ‘base towns’ especially Kin Town, the All-Okinawan Rental Housing Committee and Tochiren with an estimated 28,000 members, also opposed the referendum for their specific interests (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 18 August 1996, Okinawa Times 21 August 1996, Eldridge 1997).

204 Notes 16 In order to maintain coalition with the LDP and its position as a main party, the Socialist Democratic Party (formerly Japanese Socialist Party) had temporarily suspended its basic opposition to the US military bases, the SDF, and the security alliance with the US. Its anti-militarist position was regarded as ‘not an imminent agenda’ at the time (Arasaki 1996: 60–1). 17 This observation is based on my observation through informal personal communications during my fieldwork in 1999 and 2002. 18 The funding for REIKO shrank by ¥650,000 between 1996 and 1999 (Angst 2001: 259; Okinawa Times 4 June 1999; REIKO 2001: 16). 19 Professor Betty Reardon at Columbia University, who teaches peace education, visited Okinawa in September 1997, gave talks on militarism and women and studied the situation of US bases on the island (Yui: Okinawan Women Act Against Military and Violence Newsletter 10 January 1997). 20 These particularly hazardous facilities for the locals had been considered urgently in need of some kind of resolution. In April 1994, the director general of the Japanese Defence Agency demanded that the US Secretary of State should work for resolution. However, no progress had been made ‘until the Secretary of State Perry received a wakeup call by the 1995 rape incident’ (Funabashi 1997: 351). 21 The final report stresses that the US and Japan have responded to the Okinawans’ antiUS base feelings, by making dramatic change in the US military presence: ‘approximately 21 per cent of the total acreage of the US facilities and areas in Okinawa excluding joint use facilities and areas (approx. 5,002 ha/12,361 acres) will be returned’ (Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs 1997). 22 There were three major candidate locations. To the first possibility, the Kadena Ammunition Storage area, three local assemblies of Chatan town, Kadena town, and Okinawa City were jointly opposed (Ryu¯ kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 17 September 1996). Another candidate was Nakagusuku Bay, adjacent to a US navy port (known as the White Beach). Likewise, residents in Katsuren town and Tsuken Island next to White Beach expressed clear opposition to the plan, owing to anticipated effects of the ‘heliport’ on the local fishing industry (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ 25 September 1996). These two possibilities were scrapped for various reasons, including the staunch residents’ opposition. 23 See McCormack 1998. 24 The trip from Naha to Nago City is time-consuming and expensive. Driving between Nago and Naha using the freeway costs about ¥3,000 (just under US $30) both ways. The bus services charge about ¥4,200 for the round trip. Each way the bus journey takes at least two and a half hours. 25 The Nago District, a small area in the west side of today’s Nago City, used to be a town. In August 1970, Nago town and four nearby villages, Kushi, Yagaji, Haneji, and Yabe, merged into Nago City. 26 For example, in some communities, until a few decades ago, marrying outside the hamlet was banned, for fear of losing the labour force. Also, in some communities, villagers who violated the code of behaviour of the community had to pay a certain amount of money to the community, until someone else did the same. Inheritance of family estates and assets with to¯to¯me (a family ancestry card, a wooden plaque with ancestors’ names on it, passed down from generation to generation) to the eldest sons is still preferred (Takahashi 2000: 244–51). 27 Inoue explains that the friendliness and openness to outsiders (the US military) and visitors co-exists with tenacious traditional rigidity of kinship rule that excludes outside influence from the core power structure, which is believed to keep the community together. These contradictory elements make up a distinct Henoko identity different from any other ‘Okinawan’ identities (Inoue 1999: 298–314). 28 Nago municipalities received ¥261,869,000 in 1998 (Okinawa Ken So¯ mubu Chiji Ko¯ shitsu Kichi Taisakushitsu 2000: 46–7). Henoko also receives ¥120,000,000 in compensation for access to the forest area occupied by Camp Schwab (Okinawa

Notes 205

29 30

31

32

33

34

35

36

Taimususha 1998: 51). Thanks to the government subsidies, Henoko holds numerous community events, sometimes spending several million yen on one event (Okinawa Taimususha 1998: 50). Villagers rarely express anti-base opinions, given that many community members work for the base or live on rent (Okinawa Taimususha 1998: 37). Some Henoko residents still make a living out of fishing in the ocean next to Camp Schwab, watching the US amphibious tanks coming in and out of the ocean. In the reef area, because of the red soil contamination, fish have greatly decreased in numbers (Ishikawa 1998). In July and November 1996, the mayor organized citizens’ rallies opposing the relocation, with respectively 4,100 and 2,600 residents attending against the construction of an alternative sea-base facility. In January 1997, he criticized the Japanese government’s ‘base rotation’ (Kichi no tarai mawashi) policy, that is, ‘passing unwanted US military facilities around to the northern region, without obtaining consent from the ¯ ta local residents’ (Okinawa Times 22 January 1997). Higa also attacked Governor O for giving silent agreement on relocations to the northern region, in contrast to the Prefecture’s firm opposition to the relocation suggested in the Nakagusuku Bay area (Okinawa Taimususha 1998: 31). However, the mayor continued negotiating with the Government officials such as the Special Assistant to the Prime Minister, Okamoto Yukio, on boosting the Government’s economic revitalization scheme for Nago (Okinawa Times 11 April 1997). Participant organizations included the Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee (Hokubu chikuro¯), Japanese Trade Union Confederation Northern Regional Council (Rengo¯ Okinawa Hokubu Chiiki Kyo¯ gikai), All-Japan Prefectural and Municipal Workers’ Union Northern Branch (Jichiro¯ Hokubu Soshibu), Nago City Municipal Workers’ Union (Nago Shishokuro¯) and the Okinawa Peace Centre (Hokubuchiku Ro¯do¯ Kumiai Kyo¯gikai 1999: 87). The Coalition initiated locals’ ‘surveillance’ activities to stop the inspections by organizing a rally at the Henoko Fishing Port (Ryu¯kyu¯ Shimpo¯ Evening Edition 6 May 1997). Some of the locals and union members got on small boats and physically clashed with the Bureau’s inspection vessels. About 280 locals gathered, mainly from Henoko, which was reported by the local media. On the ‘sustainable development in Okinawa’ research see Miyamoto and Sasaki (eds) 2000. In the 1970s, the ‘inverted affluence theory’ (gyaku kakusa ron) was pursued with enthusiasm by the Nago City’s planners including Kishimoto Tateo – ironically, the current mayor who has committed himself to increasing subsidies from the Japanese government. Dugongs are large marine mammals, still occasionally found off the coasts of northern Okinawa. They are an endangered species, which used to live throughout the Okinawa region. ‘Disappeared from elsewhere in Okinawa, the current distribution of the dugongs is only along the northeastern coast of the main island of Okinawa, and the number is thought to be very small, possibly less than 50 animals’ (Save the Dugong Campaign Centre, 2003). Member organizations were the OSMP Nago Branch, OSDP Nago Branch, Japan Communist Party Northern Regional Committee, Komei Party Nago Branch, the Okinawa Prefectural Labour Union Committee Northern Branch, Rengo¯ Northern Cooperation, Jichiro¯ (All Japan Prefectural and Municipal Workers’ Union) Northern Headquarters, Jichiro¯ Nago City Hall Workers’ Union, All-Medical Doctors’ Union Okinawa Airakuen Branch, Okinawa Peace Movement Centre Northern Branch, and the One-tsubo Anti-War Landowners’ Organization Northern Bloc. Other members included the Nago City Peace Committee, a branch of a nationwide network and an offshoot of the Japan Communist Party, the New Japan Women’s Association Nago Shibu (NJWA), and 11 Nago City Assembly’s anti-base members representing progressive political parties (Nago Shimin To¯hyo¯ Ho¯kokushu¯ Kanko¯ Iinkai 1999: 75).

206 Notes 37 Signatures from one-third of the population were enough to request the mayor’s resignation: ‘this was a warning towards the mayor: it showed our capacity to collect signatures for his resignation’ (Nago Shimin To¯ hyo¯ Ho¯kokushu¯ Kanko¯ Iinkai 1999: 46). There were 18 ruling party members of Nago City Assembly who were against the referendum before the signature collection, as opposed to 11 who supported it. However, given the number of the signatures, both the mayor and the ruling party members were pressured to pass the regulation (Nago Shimin To¯hyo¯ Ho¯kokushu¯ Kanko¯ Iinkai 1999: 46–7). 38 However, the campaign for the Nago mayor election, subsequent to the referendum and Higa’s resignation, was a different story. Veteran party and union members excluded inexperienced ‘citizens’ from the selection process of an anti-heliport candidate. On this occasion, the progressive political parties and unions’ election expertise and organizational interests dominated the campaign (Kyoda 1998). A Jannukai member recalls not being able to conduct their original activities (Mashiki et al. 1999). ‘Unity’ of the anti-heliport coalition was achieved under the top-down, hierarchical (mostly male-seniority) order. 39 There were experienced female activists in Nago, such as members of women’s divisions of regional workers’ unions, local women’s associations or other older organizations such as Okifuren and NJWA. 40 Wives of anti-war landowners and anti-base activists discuss their experiences in Ikehara et al. 1996. ¯ ta at the lobby 41 In January 1998, the Reach to the Heart Women’s Voice Network met O of the Prefecture Hall, and asked him not to accept the new base. This was a spectacular event, with the lobby filled up with 300 women (Kunimasa, Interview, May 1999). ¯ ta had made difficult decisions to mend relationships with Tokyo, to save Governor O the local economy from subsidies drying up, by being more moderate on the base issues. ¯ ta readjusted his position on the heliport, and expressed his opposition Subsequently, O officially, even though the connection of the two events was unclear. Following this, the Network members did a michi junay in the streets of Ginza in Tokyo. They made it into a performance of a sale of the new base, with the premium of government’s special subsidies, in a tarai (washing basin), playing a pun on tarai mawashi (passing from one place to another) of Futenma Base. As of 2005 the Network is still active. In July they did another michi junay in Naha. 42 In total, 82.45 per cent (31,477 votes) of the eligible voters cast their votes. The breakdown of the votes was: (1) I agree with the construction plan . . . 8 per cent, (2) I agree because the environmental measures and economic improvement can be expected . . . 37 per cent, (3) I oppose the construction plan . . . 52 per cent, (4) I oppose because environmental measures and economic improvements cannot be expected . . . 1 per cent, (5) Invalid 1 per cent. 43 The Referendum Promotion Council renamed itself the Anti-Heliport Coalition (Heliport Hantai Kyo¯gikai). 44 Helen Marsh at James Cook University in Queensland, Australia, who has visited Okinawa and given seminars, is one of the regular supporters (Save the Dugong Campaign Centre 2002: 4). 45 See, for example, Save the Dugong Campaign Centre 2002, 2003; World Conservation Union (IUCN) 2001. ¯ nishi Masayuki, a 46 Following the IUCN meeting, Miyagi Yasuhiro of SDCC and O linguistics professor at Meio¯ University in Nago, developed a support network with the Natural Resource Defense Council (NRDC) and the Centre for Marine Conservation. ¯ nishi travelled to Washington to talk to the president and vice Also, Miyagi and O president of the Marine Mammal Commission who planned to investigate and write reports about the dugongs (Marine Mammal Commission March 2001: 129–30). The Commission is an independent administrative body that monitors US government

Notes 207 activities and advises Washington on the protection of ocean mammals such as manatees ¯ nishi, Interview, November 2000). (O 47 The Center for Biological Diversity (2 July 2004) reports ‘889 of the world’s leading coral reef experts from 83 countries participating in the 10th International Coral Reef Symposium in Okinawa, Japan, have signed a resolution calling on the governments of Japan and the United States to immediately abandon their joint plan to construct an offshore airbase atop a coral reef on the eastern coast of Okinawa’. 48 The National Historic Preservation Act ‘requires agencies of the US government to conduct a full public process before undertaking activities outside the United States that might impact the cultural and natural resources of other nations’. The lawsuit was represented by a non-profit public-interest law firm, Earthjustice (US Newswire 2 March 2005). 49 On this period of protest in Henoko against the Futenma base relocation, see McCormack 2005; McNeil 2005; Makishi 2006; Urashima 2006. Conclusion 1 In the postwar period the residents have experienced 15 stray shooting accidents caused by the US Marine training range, which hit houses and farms, and in 1964 hit a local girl in her leg. Because of the proximity to the residential area, the ‘Japanese government plans to build a replacement facility near Camp Hansen’s Range 16, about 1,000 yards from Igei. However, there is no timetable for that project’ (Stars & Stripes Pacific Edition 26 July 2005). 2 See Maeshiro et al. 1998; Takara et al. 2000 3 See the 1999 Peace Memorial Museum dispute in Yonetani 2003a and Chapter 4 of this book. 4 The Shurei Gate is named after the idea of politeness and courtesy, associated with the traditional Ryu¯kyu¯an character in interactions with the Chinese and other nations. It was destroyed in the Battle of Okinawa, and reconstructed in 1958. Arakawa locates the ¥2,000 bill as a significant event in the Okinawans’ history of marginalization. By claiming the image specifically from the Okinawan (Ryu¯kyu¯an) past, the bill marks consolidation of the assimilation of potentially alien Okinawa to Japan (Arakawa 2000b: 17–58). 5 On 13 August 2004, after 2 pm, a United States Marine Corps cargo helicopter lost a vital part in the air, and crashed into one of the buildings of Okinawa International University. The helicopter belonged to the Futenma US Marine Corps Air Base, located next to the University in the middle of a densely populated Ginowan City with the population of 90,000. Its rotor created a hole into a campus concrete wall, its body turned into a fireball, three US soldiers were injured, but no local was killed as the incident happened during a summer term break (The New York Times 13 September 2004).

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