第三の敗戦Third Defeat

When I briefly stepped outside during the day today, I realized there was no sound at all from the countless cicadas that usually chirp around me every summer. Although they still chirp early in the morning before sunrise, once the sun rises, complete silence envelopes the area. This vividly reminds me that something fundamentally different is occurring compared to previous summers. Moreover, it’s not just cicadas. Even walking along streets lined with parks and apartment complexes, I saw not a single child enjoying their summer vacation—in fact, no one was outside at all. It felt as if I was walking through the deserted landscapes from Evangelion, an anime I saw years ago.

Today, temperatures reached a historic high of 41.8°C in Isesaki, Gunma Prefecture, marking the highest temperature ever recorded in Japan. Numerous locations nationwide also recorded temperatures over 40°C, setting an unprecedented record. As a result, people have been avoiding unnecessary outings more than ever before this summer. Even when they do go outside, it’s only briefly before quickly returning home, significantly increasing the amount of time spent indoors. In a sense, this situation feels even more severe than during the pandemic, when Japan never officially imposed lockdowns. It’s as though the entire nation has collectively become “hikikomori” (socially withdrawn).

Normally at this time of year, many children would be out playing during the day, catching cicadas and enjoying their summer vacation. Now, with nobody venturing outside and an absence of both cicada sounds and children’s laughter, all that remains is an oppressive silence beneath the harsh sunlight scorching the concrete pavements. Personally, this scene strikes me as deeply unsettling. Who could have imagined five years ago that climate change would disrupt human relationships more profoundly than even the pandemic?

Even though Japan’s social digitalization has lagged behind other developed nations, urban areas now have sufficient infrastructure for people to complete daily life without leaving home. Furthermore, with a sharp rise in single individuals, a significant drop in marriage rates, and a record low birth rate and fertility rate in 2024, many people’s living situations have become dire. Consequently, an increasing number of individuals appear to be voluntarily cutting off interaction with others, gradually sliding into isolation. While these various issues must be considered, fundamentally, this indicates that the structures of society have become unable to keep pace with the rapid changes of the times. Strangely, this is the reality I have felt most keenly this summer.

Arriving at this undesirable future is the result of numerous complex factors, but reflecting on the aspects I’ve partially discussed previously in Shitsurae, there are three major historical turning points: the Meiji Restoration, defeat in World War II, and the bursting of the bubble economy. These events are symbolic, yet I believe the real problem lies not in the events themselves but rather in the attitude and decisions made at those pivotal moments. For instance, the Meiji Restoration was essentially a military coup led by lower-ranking samurai, merely transferring power from the Tokugawa shogunate to the domains of Choshu and Satsuma. The rulers at that time couldn’t afford for the public to understand this truth, so they actively promoted themselves as an entirely new administration, distinct from the Edo period, under the banner of the Meiji government. However, fundamentally speaking, the bureaucratic system devised during that period by Choshu samurai Aritomo Yamagata is precisely the core reason behind Japan’s ongoing stagnation today. Unless we eliminate this system, we will remain trapped within the same Meiji regime.

Japan’s bureaucratic system, particularly post-Meiji, has been deeply rooted in the governance philosophy of Zhu Xi Confucianism, a legacy from the Edo period. This philosophical foundation has repeatedly caused various societal issues and triggered dangerous runaway dynamics. The most catastrophic instance was Japan’s plunge into World War II, resulting in a devastating defeat. Yet, even at that juncture, just like during the Meiji Restoration, political leaders cunningly devised strategies to evade responsibility. They continuously layered falsehood upon falsehood to prevent the populace from knowing the truth, as that would have directly implicated them. Thus, the fundamental principles of the Meiji regime survived intact through this era.

In a sense, this principle of absolute obedience to the ruling elite functioned effectively during Japan’s post-war economic recovery, serving as the basis for the nation’s unified growth throughout the high economic growth period, lifting the population from poverty to prosperity. However, simultaneously, excessive regulations emerged based on the idea of avoiding unprecedented actions, leading the entire nation into a typical misconception that economic wealth alone equates to happiness. Still, things remained manageable during the sustained period of high economic growth, as people still retained hope and belief in future possibilities. Yet relying on such a misguided concept of happiness, though effective in the short term, inevitably leads to exhaustion and eventually flips into extreme unhappiness over the long run.

Thus, once the era of rapid economic growth stabilized and the Japanese population as a whole had attained considerable wealth, people began to realize that the future was not as they had envisioned. This realization coincided with the rise and eventual collapse of Japan’s bubble economy. The United States, viewing Japan’s burgeoning economic power as a threat, orchestrated the Plaza Accord in 1985, deliberately triggering a bubble economy within Japan under U.S. influence. However, most Japanese people at the time, having lived through the period of high economic growth that transformed the post-war burned-out landscape into a forest of modern buildings, mistakenly believed the bubble was due to their own strength, not recognizing it as the product of outside pressure. As a result, buoyed by overconfidence during the bubble economy, people stopped looking to the future and entered a cycle of excessive consumption. Approximately six years after the Plaza Accord, signs of collapse emerged, culminating dramatically in the bankruptcy of Yamaichi Securities in late 1997, which finally marked the end of the bubble economy.

Yet the problem rooted in the Meiji regime continued even then, as the true causes behind the bubble economy were all concealed. During this critical period, significant global shifts began to shape the international landscape until the pre-pandemic era, including the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the spread of the internet and personal computers. Nevertheless, Japan in the 1980s and 1990s, having stopped considering its own future, chose to ignore these global trends. Simply put, the entire nation chose collective ignorance, assuming the problem would vanish if nobody acknowledged it. Naturally, this did not mean individual citizens consciously wanted to ignore reality; instead, this tendency was driven by the mass media, which is essentially the source of Japan’s modern societal illness.

In reality, the period from the Plaza Accord to the bubble economy collapse represented Japan’s “second defeat,” yet this fact too was ignored and treated as if it never happened. Consequently, most people, accustomed to passively accepting grand narratives provided from above rather than individually contemplating essential matters such as the future or genuine happiness, descended with the country into a severe decline. This marked the beginning of what became known as the “lost three decades.”

Recently, there have been multiple signs indicating that Japan’s decline will dramatically worsen within the next few years. One particularly telling sign was the starkly conflicting narratives from the Japanese government and the Trump administration following the announcement of the recent Japan-U.S. tariff agreement. This agreement was made as a verbal commitment without formal documentation or treaties. To put it bluntly, the political leadership in Japan, deeply reliant on bureaucratic systems, proved utterly incapable of countering President Trump, who is aggressively dismantling U.S. bureaucratic structures. Personally, I regard this Japan-U.S. tariff agreement as Japan’s “third defeat,” because when the agreement inevitably moves toward formal documentation, Japan’s bureaucratically dependent politicians will have no choice but to concede repeatedly to the Trump administration’s demands.

Most notably, it has been reported that Japan committed to a massive investment of approximately $55 billion into the United States. While the Japanese government portrays this as mutually beneficial, the reality is succinctly captured in President Trump’s statement: “the US would receive 90% of profits from these investments, calling it a “signing bonus” linked to tariff reductions.” Furthermore, Trump has implied threats of imposing tariffs of 25% or more if Japan fails to comply with these conditions. Of course, this shocking reality remains entirely unknown to the Japanese public, primarily due to the systematic information control exercised by both politicians and the mass media. Once again, they operate on the principle of hiding inconvenient truths to maintain political control and existing privileges.

With the Japanese government paralyzed by its bureaucratic dependency, it is almost certain to accept President Trump’s conditions. Even Prime Minister Ishiba’s current reassurance—claiming the investment will be “private sector-led”—will likely be broken. Practically speaking, this means a significant portion of the approximately ¥246 trillion managed by GPIF, the world’s largest pension fund, will effectively be “offered” to the United States. Should Trump’s own statement—that over 90% of profits will go to the U.S.—come to pass, it would openly reveal Japan’s shockingly subordinate status. Nevertheless, this reality too will inevitably be concealed from the Japanese public. After all, the situation would essentially amount to Japan freely gifting the U.S. more than 90% of the profits from the widely publicized $55 billion investment. Such astounding politics is actually unfolding. Additionally, Japan’s financial tribute to sustain the American system extends far beyond this, including substantial weapons purchases, all of which, naturally, will be paid for by Japanese citizens.

As a result, the Japanese government and its political elites (including bureaucrats), finding themselves unable to sustain their existing structures without offering massive sums of money to the United States, will inevitably proceed to impose new taxes under various pretexts. For most citizens, already struggling under harsh taxation, this would effectively amount to a death sentence. From another angle, this demonstrates that the Japanese government does not care about the interests of its citizens at all, instead solely focusing on pleasing the United States and maintaining their own power structures. If this scenario becomes a reality, significant increases in the consumption tax will inevitably follow, making opposition parties’ promises from recent upper-house elections—such as significant reductions or even the complete abolition of consumption tax—mere fantasies. This means that the opposition parties will no longer be able to rally support around consumption-tax-related promises as a political strategy, further exacerbating the already critical deterioration of citizens’ daily lives.

When Japanese society reaches this breaking point, the public safety long taken for granted in Japan will begin to waver at an accelerating pace. Troubling news reports are already becoming commonplace: people murdered for mere sums of ¥10,000, or strangers gathered through social media committing robberies. Behind this lie the pressures of poverty and isolation, and a growing number of people who have lost any means of securing work and housing. These are failures of social structure.

In regions already showing signs of worsening conditions, places where public safety and everyday stability begin to waver will likely multiply over the coming years. Conversely, people will seek out areas with better safety and infrastructure, accelerating the flow from rural areas into the cities and changing the population map dramatically. Where the systems that support work and housing are not in place, hardship can spread to everyone who lives there.

Surprisingly, the turnover of residents is under way in Tokyo as well. In Shinjuku Ward, more than 45% of the young adults celebrating Coming of Age Day are now people with roots abroad. Toshima Ward follows closely at about 42%, with Nakano Ward at around 27%, and the face of these districts is changing rapidly. By 2050, projections indicate that foreign residents in Shinjuku and Toshima Wards will constitute around 38.45% and 38.40%, respectively. Against this background, Toshima Ward was uniquely labeled as a “city at risk of extinction” among Tokyo’s 23 wards in 2014. That forecast assumed a 50% reduction in young women aged 20–39 between 2010 and 2040, which in essence asks whether the city has the structures that let a younger generation stay and live there over the long term.

Conversely, Setagaya Ward has the lowest current and projected share of foreign residents among Tokyo’s 23 wards. Although invisible to tourists who briefly visit Tokyo, the city is heading toward wards in which people gather in very different ways, and differences in the choices open to people for daily life show up as differences in where they live.

The same change is under way elsewhere. In Osaka City, where I also reside, Ikuno Ward currently has a high foreign population of 22.2%, having risen by 2.7% in just one year between 2022 and 2023, and is projected to reach 51% by 2050. Higher still are Nishinari Ward (60.7%) and Naniwa Ward (59.8%), meaning more than half the residents in these three wards will likely have roots abroad within 25 years. Indeed, when I was investigating Nishinari Ward daily to understand this unfolding future, I felt it had already arrived. Many lives do not appear in the numbers, and I sense that the published projections do not fully capture reality. What matters is the structure by which newcomers and longtime residents come to share ordinary days in the same place.

In ski resorts, capital and people are flowing in from overseas at a rapid pace. In Niseko, Rusutsu, Akaigawa, and Shimukappu in Hokkaido, the foreign population has skyrocketed, exemplified by Shimukappu Village’s foreign residents increasing from 172 in 2022 to 388 the following year, a jump of 216 people in just twelve months. Foreign populations in Hakuba and Nozawa Onsen villages in Nagano Prefecture also exceed 50%, and by 2050, some areas may well see their foreign population approaching 100%. The question is by what structure local life and resort development can coexist.

While this situation certainly demands further multifaceted analysis, it broadly indicates that the “third defeat” of Japan, symbolized by the recent Japan-U.S. tariff agreement, will again be hidden from public view, yet its impact on daily life will surpass all previous shocks, plunging Japan into a severe crisis throughout the 2030s.

Having long passed the critical point for correcting these issues, nobody can realistically lead Japan toward solutions. In other words, whether the Prime Minister changes, the administration shifts, or even a powerful dictator emerges, these problems inevitably must be confronted, meaning a collapse is all but certain. This stems from the fundamental nature of the Meiji regime, rooted in systematic concealment of critical information from citizens and maintained by entrenched bureaucratic structures—a truth no one dares to address openly. Resolving this would necessitate radical media reform, which unfortunately is unlikely to happen within the coming years.

Recently, a disturbing uniformity has emerged: not just government and bureaucrats, but corporations, citizens, workers, students, and even children collectively and thoroughly ignore these accumulating crises. Personally, I believe this attitude—previously typical among politicians, bureaucrats, and corporate executives—has spread nationwide due to citizens’ prolonged exposure to mass media. The primary figure behind this shift is former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, who planted the roots of Japan’s current decay. His repeated and blatant attempts to conceal various crimes were broadcast daily by the media, leading to what I personally view as a nationwide “Abe-fication” of Japanese citizens over the past decade.

The deeply entrenched habit of not looking at the three decisive moments, within less than a century, when Japan was caught on its back foot, thus collectively pretending such events never happened, persists strongly even now in the structures of society. This habit, more than anything else, seems to me the root cause of Japan’s profound decline.

Yet, objectively examining reality, human interaction is already declining sharply, daily life is becoming desperately difficult, and the faces of our neighborhoods are changing. Japan’s “third defeat,” symbolically occurring amidst the scorching heat of summer 2025—how many years must pass before it is openly discussed? Perhaps by then, the shape of life in this place will itself have become something different from today.