脱藩という日本変動のキーワードShifting Loyalties in Japan's Dappan Revolution

The possibility of significant social upheaval in Japan has been increasing year by year, and considering the notion that history often repeats itself, we can broadly predict what kind of movements may emerge during the next major social shift. With this in mind, today we’ll explore potential future social changes by referencing events around the late Edo period, when Japan dramatically transitioned from the old order to a new system. The key term to understand Japan’s transformation is dappan (脱藩, leaving one’s domain without permission). By examining its contemporary significance, we can already discern early signs of change currently underway. Probably in 20 years, these early sprouts will profoundly change Japan.

During the Edo period, the Tokugawa family established a shogunate in Edo (modern-day Tokyo). However, this governance structure was hardly a centralized authority; instead, power was distributed among regional domains (han, 藩), which supported the shogunate’s rule. As we’ve examined previously in Shitsurae, due to the Japanese transformation of Neo-Confucianism, adopted as the governing philosophy of the Edo period, samurai had essentially no choice but to remain loyal and serve their daimyo (feudal lord) throughout their lives.

Throughout the Edo period, leaving one’s domain without official permission, known as dappan, was considered a serious offense punishable by death. However, as the period progressed towards its later stages, young people’s determination to break free from the old system and create a new era grew stronger. These acts of dappan eventually led to the collapse of the shogunate and the Meiji Restoration of 1868. This collapse of the rigid old order and the simultaneous rise of young individuals possessing new ideals became factors that could again influence Japan’s future.

Despite its severe consequences, during the turbulent late Edo period, many young individuals chose to commit dappan, driven by their unwavering determination to pursue their ideals. They stepped beyond traditional societal boundaries, adhering to the belief of choosing “a greater cause over the domain itself.” Amid social turmoil, lower-ranking samurai increasingly felt that simply serving the daimyo or the shogunate was insufficient for confronting the looming national crisis. Consequently, they gradually became wandering samurai (dappan roshi, 脱藩浪士), actively traveling across the country. Notably, the main driving force behind these movements was the lower-ranking samurai class.

A notable trend at that time was the rise of anti-shogunate forces led by the Choshu domain (present-day Yamaguchi Prefecture). Many samurai with anti-establishment ideals converged around the Kyoto-Osaka region. In response, the shogunate began intensifying its vigilance, labeling these individuals as “wandering samurai” (roshi, 浪士) or “vagabonds” (furonin, 浮浪人). However, by then, the shogunate was effectively dysfunctional and lacked realistic measures to handle these threats. Upper-ranking samurai clinging desperately to the old system found themselves powerless. Meanwhile, the young samurai who committed dappan energetically established decentralized networks, evading government surveillance to ignite a dynamic movement. These networks became powerful mechanisms for spreading specific ideologies and played a crucial role in connecting domains that had previously stood in opposition to each other.

After all, these individuals remained lower-ranking samurai, incapable of directly confronting the powerful shogunate, even as their numbers grew. Hence, some dappan members conceived the strategy of forging alliances between geographically distant regions and powerful domains harboring anti-shogunate ideologies, thereby swiftly overthrowing the shogunate. The central figure behind this strategy was Ryoma Sakamoto (1836–1867).

Among the samurai who committed dappan during the late Edo period, the most symbolic and popular figure today remains Ryoma Sakamoto, a lower-ranking samurai from the Tosa domain (present-day Kochi Prefecture). In 1862, he left Tosa, driven by his encounter with Genzui Kusaka (1840–1864) from the Choshu domain. Ryoma was strongly influenced by Kusaka’s philosophy, known as somo kukki (草莽崛起), meaning “Neither lords nor imperial court nobles can be relied upon; only grassroots people of strong resolve coming together can change the world.” Deeply inspired by Kusaka, Ryoma became convinced of the limitations inherent in domain-dependent anti-shogunate movements and decided to commit dappan to unite with others who shared his vision for Japan’s future.

Following his dappan, Ryoma collaborated extensively with key figures from other domains, including Takamori Saigo (1828–1877) from Satsuma and Takayoshi Kido (1833–1877) from Choshu. His tireless efforts facilitated the Satsuma-Choshu Alliance and the conceptualization of a new government. Even today, Ryoma is celebrated as a “superhero who freely traversed between domains, achieving the Meiji Restoration.” Indeed, he can be seen as a visionary who opened the door to a new era through his intuition and future-oriented vision. Unfortunately, Ryoma was assassinated in Kyoto in December 1867, just before the Meiji Restoration succeeded, and never witnessed the future Japan he had envisioned.

It is known that many other heroes of the Meiji Restoration were also dappan members; however, the exact scale of individuals committing dappan remains unclear. Recent research even suggests that dappan may have already become commonplace by the late Edo period, highlighting the difficulty in precisely grasping its full extent.

The famous samurai Ryoma Sakamoto from Tosa and his ally Shintaro Nakaoka (1838–1867) are well-known for leveraging their positions as wandering samurai who had left their domains, facilitating crucial negotiations between the powerful domains of Satsuma and Choshu, which culminated in the historically pivotal Satsuma-Choshu Alliance of 1866. They can essentially be described as “samurai without affiliations.” Under the Neo-Confucian education system of the Edo period, even samurai with exceptionally progressive visions for the future found it virtually impossible to abandon absolute loyalty to their daimyo and the shogunate, often forcing them to give up on their ideals. Violating such loyalty was considered to tarnish the ideal image of the samurai. However, while this ideal might have still held appeal for higher-ranking samurai, for the impoverished lower-ranking samurai, it symbolized an ideology ripe for collapse.

Thus, these samurai discarded their affiliations and began acting freely as independent individuals—an act that, viewed from another perspective, represented a decisive break from a rigid social structure and its associated codes. In choosing such an independent path, the only thing truly necessary became an unwavering belief in a new, future vision for Japan. From my viewpoint, the real enemy wasn’t the shogunate or their domains, but always themselves—whether they could maintain their belief without wavering until the very end. While I deeply admire those individuals from the Edo period who fully upheld this determination, it’s obvious that such commitment wasn’t universally shared. Indeed, the machinery of the new regime, centered on Choshu, seems in many respects to have merely used the dappan movement to take the place of Tokugawa authority. Consequently, real questions remain about how truly “new” this new regime actually was.

Because the governing structure that took shape after the Meiji Restoration has held its authority for so long, the Restoration itself has been idealized. Thus, the true reality remains uncertain. However, if a similar upheaval to the late Edo period occurs again, the next thing to collapse will be precisely that structure. How then should we understand the equivalent of Edo-era dappan in contemporary Japan?

The first keyword is “unaffiliated,” mobile Japanese individuals. Yet, the differences between now and then are numerous. Japan has entered the world’s first super-aged society, where the elderly constitute an overwhelming majority, thereby maintaining a conservative rigidity resistant to new ideologies. Given Japan’s environment that inherently resists change, the next 20 years will likely remain a period of waiting and preparation.

The second keyword is “a vision for future Japan and Japanese.” Merely being unaffiliated and mobile is meaningless if it only involves migrating abroad. Leaving the country is not in itself a source of power. Without people who know Japan deeply and are genuinely devoted to the future of Japan and its people, no meaningful societal change can occur. Those who can serve as modern-day equivalents of dappan are people who deeply understand Japan’s context and carry ideals and a vision for its future.

Thus, the number of people involved naturally becomes limited, but there’s no need for pessimism—after all, even in the Edo period, great changes started with just a few individuals. Particularly, Japanese societal change likely won’t happen unless triggered by major urban earthquakes, effectively pushing significant change at least 20 years into the future. In other words, around 2045, another transformative era-defining event will likely occur. At that time, I’ll be in my mid-50s, and I am currently exploring various possibilities while taking this into account.

Therefore, I am now engaging only with a select few individuals who fulfill all these requirements and hold strong ideals for Japan’s future and its people. These individuals either exist outside of, or partially connected to, the rigid Japanese society comparable to the Edo shogunate, enabling them to act without facing social pressure. Consequently, the broader Japanese public remains unaware of their existence. Yet, I believe these individuals will become the driving force behind substantial future movements, and thus I am currently sharing all my insights about Japan with them, occasionally traveling together to reinforce our shared ideals.

To renew the current system, taking a fresh look at three mechanisms rooted in the social structure of post-war Japan is unavoidable: the yakuza, new religious movements, and the security framework built around U.S. forces stationed in Japan. I will detail this tangled set of relationships separately. The yakuza and new religious movements have already largely begun to waver, which leaves the security framework as the last one remaining.

Can Japan, within the next 20 years, by around 2045, rebuild the shape of its own security with its own hands? This question will decide the next Japan, and it will profoundly influence future generations.