カテゴリー: News

By Bill Lee

Scientists in Japan are desperate for research funds. Is the government stepping in to try to bribe scientists at universities to conduct research for military purposes?

Post-war Japanese scientists have mostly been adamant about rejecting any military-related research, particularly because of scientists’ cooperation with the military in the Second World War. In 1950 and 1967, the Science Council of Japan, the main organization representing scientists in Japan, issued statements declaring that academic research must never be conducted for “purposes of war” or “military purposes.” But with shrinking university and funding agency budgets, scientists may be tempted to change their stance.

In step Prime Minister Abe and the Ministry of Defense. Abe wants to bolster Japan’s military force, and military research is part of that. The government established the Acquisitions, Technology and Logistics Agency (ATLA) in 2015 to unify the development and procurement of Self-Defense Force equipment into one body. ATLA is offering funds to universities for dual-use technology research. Japan is strong in materials science, and an example of ATLA’s dual-use funding is research at Toyohashi University of Technology into filters for gas masks that can also be used for disaster prevention measures at chemical plants. ATLA’s budget for academic funding started out at a modest 300 million yen, increased to 600 million yen in fiscal 2016, and then ballooned to 11 billion yen in fiscal 2017, an 18-fold increase over the previous year’s budget. Scientific research is of course crucial for the development of military systems. As a case in point, the seemingly benign field of geophysics could be very important. For example, research into wave propulsion in water could be vital for technology to detect submarines, and research into gravitational fields could also help make missiles more accurate since their descent towards their targets is affected by the gravitational field in a particular geographic region.

The Science Council of Japan recently released a draft statement warning universities about conducting research for potential military purposes. But the statement has no binding power, and some scientists feel research for “self-defense” purposes is acceptable. In their quest for truth, will scientists be opening up a Pandora’s box?

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Photo by Mike Morash via Flickr

By Bill Lee

Japan recently decided to withdraw its PKO contingent from Sudan because of the deteriorating security situation there. Japan’s first PKO personnel were sent to Angola and Cambodia in 1992, but the initial destination for a Japanese PKO could have been Lebanon way back in 1958. At that time, Lebanon was in crisis because of the conflict between Christians and Muslims, and the United States actually landed thousands of its troops in Lebanon to prop up the pro-Western government. The situation became very tense as troops from the Soviet Union were also sent into the region to support the opposition and moves by Syria and Egypt, Soviet clients. The situation could have escalated into World War III. Fortunately, the United Nations intervened to resolve the stand-off.

Important to the UN’s efforts were contributions by the Japanese delegation, which drafted a proposal for resolving the crisis. The plan called for the establishment of a cordon sanitaire to separate the contending parties. The idea for the cordon sanitaire was accepted, and in gratitude, then-UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjold asked Koto Matsudaira, the head of the Japanese UN mission, to have Japan send personnel to monitor the truce corridor. Believing it a great honor for Japan, Matsudaira quickly accepted the request. However, as soon as the request reached Foreign Ministry headquarters in Tokyo, officials realized that the dispatch of SDF personnel would be considered a violation of the Constitution, and the request was rejected. Moreover, Japanese newspapers got hold of the story and harshly criticized Matsudaira. In the end, Matsudaira was scorned by the government and the media as an unredeemed rightist.

Ironically, Matsudaira was one of Japan’s ablest diplomats ever. A very international (and rich) man, he received a doctorate from a French university at the end of the 1920s, and developed good ties with chateaux in Bordeaux. Matsudaira was the ambassador who started the tradition of grand dinner parties hosted by Japan’s UN mission in New York. At that time (1958), Japan was vying to become a nonpermanent member of the UN Security Council for the first time. The competition was very stiff, with Yugoslavia expected to get the seat. However, skilled at election campaigning, Matsudaira, who had briefly quit MOFA and run in a Lower House election in Tokyo, won votes, partly through his dinner parties. Making sure his guests were indulged with fine wines from Bordeaux, Matsudaira would put original Hiroshige ukiyo-e paintings under the napkins of the wives of the invited UN ambassadors from other countries. When they looked under their napkins and saw the beautiful prints, the wives would squeal with delight, and then, presumably urge their husbands to vote for Japan. Apparently, it worked, for Japan succeeded in getting voted onto the Security Council. Naturally, Matsudaira had other talents, such as his ability in French and Spanish, which helped him get votes from Francophone Africa and Latin America. Matsudaira was the ideal international diplomat, but he ended up rather scorned by Japan — he said he had friends only outside of Japan — and he was also critical of Japanese diplomats, whom he accused of lacking imagination, a trait that continues to this day. Matsudaira later became Japan’s ambassador to India and Bhutan.

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Photo by United Nations via Flickr

By Bill Lee

If you’re a soldier and you hear automatic-weapon and mortar fire very close by, do you say that you heard “fighting” or “armed conflict”? Japanese Self-Defense Force members participating in a UN PKO in Sudan in July last year faced that question. Since they were right next to the battlefield, and naturally pretty excited, they called it “hageshii sento” (fierce fighting). But SDF Joint Staff officers and the Abe administration wanted to call it “armed conflict.” The reason is because SDF personnel sent abroad cannot be in an active battle zone; if they are, it’s a violation of the Constitution. Hence the government insisted on the anodyne phrase “armed conflict.”

But the story gets murkier. The SDF soldiers had been writing daily logs in Sudan and sending them to Tokyo. The logs apparently had some raw, first-hand accounts of the actual situation in Sudan, where more than 200 people were killed in Juba last July. It was the kind of information that couldn’t get out; if it did, the government would be forced to withdraw the mission. Aware of their existence, a journalist requested access to the logs. The SDF responded that they had “completely discarded” the logs. It’s inconceivable that they would. Inevitable talk of a “cover-up” followed.

Our favorite magnet for controversy, Defense Minister Tomomi Inada — is there a political controversy in Japan she’s not a part of? — vowed to launch an investigation. In the end, the government decided to withdraw the mission from Sudan, ostensibly because the SDF engineering unit there had completed its duties. The SDF has had to tie itself in knots to avoid violating the war-renouncing Constitution, including, as the example above shows, in its use of language. Another tortured misrepresentation: calling what are clearly the MSDF’s light aircraft carriers “helicopter destroyers.”  By the way, know when the first Japanese UN PKO could have been? In 1958, during the Lebanon crisis. It’s an interesting story why Japan couldn’t follow through on then UN Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjold’s request. If it had, Japan’s international diplomacy may have taken a very different turn. I’ll look at this story in a future post.

Photo by UNMISS via Flickr

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by Bill Lee

A young girl stands as a look-out for the police. “They’re coming,” she shouts to her father, Xiang Qingdang. Xiang owns a restaurant in the Chenzhai district in the typically large central Chinese city of Zhengzhou. He is a so-called “migrant” worker, although he has lived in Zhengzhou for 30 years. The authorities are chasing out the rural migrant workers like Xiang from the Chenzhai district, which is where the migrant workers are allowed to live, before they demolish the district as part of China’s National New-type Urbanization Plan.

Launched in 2014, the Plan looks brilliant on paper. Hoping to stimulate the economy, the government wants 100 million migrant workers to become an engine for generating domestic demand. Creating domestic demand comes from urbanization. The idea is that making this sea of workers full-fledged urban residents will raise their incomes through better jobs and unleash their consumption potential. Urbanization will spark investment in urban infrastructure, thus stimulating the economy. It looks very rational, and only a nation like China, with its strong capability for social engineering, could pull it off.

But can it resettle 100 million people away from the mega-cities like Zhengzhou or Shanghai to small- and medium-sized cities scattered around central China? Migrant workers living in Chenzhai have no choice. Since their dwellings will be razed, they have three choices: go back to their villages, resettle in one of the new cities, or try to stay in Zhengzhou. According to an NHK documentary aired last year, each choice poses difficulties. People like Xiang Qingdang haven’t been back to their villages in decades; they neither want to live there nor will they be very well-received. Resettling in a new city is a Catch-22-type dilemma: Xiang wants to open a restaurant in a nearby newly developed city but there are no people there now; people won’t move into the new city unless there are amenities like restaurants. And the hukou (household registration) system makes it very difficult for migrant workers to receive official permission to remain in the mega-cities.

It’s a bold plan that looks as if it could solve many of China’s problems. But as seen from the worldwide refugee crisis and, in Japan’s case, the resettlement of disaster victims, moving large masses of people is always fraught with unforeseen problems. Will China succeed where others haven’t?

Photo of Ding Zhou by Clarence kk via Flickr

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