The revolt that reshaped Tokugawa foreign policy

In the autumn of 1637, peasants on the Shimabara Peninsula in western Kyushu rose in rebellion, sparking what would become the largest uprising of the Edo era (1603-1867). At the time, much of the population was Christian, the area having been ruled by devout daimyō who promoted the religion during the last decades of the 16th century. The Tokugawa shogunate, realizing that Christians could place their loyalty to the Church and fellow believers above their loyalty to the shogun, had banned Christianity in 1614. Shimabara’s daimyō, Matsukura Katsuie, zealously enforced this ban in his domain, executing believers and destroying churches.

Adding to the persecution, the peasantry struggled under the heavy taxation imposed by Matsukura Katsuie and his counterpart in Amakusa, Terazawa Katataka. Seeking funds to maintain Shimabara Castle and win shogunate favor through military contributions, Matsukura raised taxes despite poor harvests, ignoring the famines and droughts that ravaged much of Kyushu. Those unable to pay were punished and tortured. Starvation became widespread, and many families were reduced to eating grass and tree bark. As discontent grew, the region’s many rōnin—masterless samurai whose former lords had been dispossessed—began meeting secretly with local peasants to plan a revolt.

Although desperation to relieve the harsh taxation seemed to be the main cause of the uprising, one unfortunate overreach is rumored to have set it off. On October 25, 1637, Matsukura’s officials seized a peasant’s daughter as payment for overdue taxes, which provoked local villagers to attack the officials. This revolt grew and spread, eventually uniting thousands of peasants and rōnin.

Leading the rebels was Amakusa Shirō, a 16-year-old whose charisma and claims of divine visions inspired hopes of victory. Carrying crosses and banners bearing Christian prayers, the rebels attacked Tomioka Castle in Amakusa and then Shimabara Castle but failed to capture either. They withdrew to the abandoned Hara Castle on the southern tip of the Shimabara Peninsula, where they repaired its walls, strengthened its defenses, and began rationing what little food they had.

To quash the rebellion, the shogunate called upon daimyō from across Kyushu to provide troops, assembling an army of more than 125,000 men to besiege Hara Castle. It also enlisted the assistance of the Dutch, who sent the ship De Ryp from Hirado to bombard the fortress in January 1638. The shelling caused little damage, and according to contemporary accounts, the rebels mocked the besieging army, sending them a message asking, “Are there no longer courageous soldiers in the realm to fight us? Are you not ashamed to call upon foreigners against so small a force?” 

The siege went on for three months. The rebel forces succeeded in a few brave attacks, but their lack of supplies gradually weakened their defenses. On April 12, 1638, shogunate forces launched their final assault. Three days later, Hara Castle fell. An estimated 37,000 rebels and sympathizers were slaughtered, their bodies buried among the ruins. The few survivors, mostly women and children, were executed or enslaved.

Amakusa Shirō was captured, interrogated by shogunate officials, and beheaded. His severed head was displayed in Nagasaki as a grisly deterrent to Christians and would-be rebels.

The rebellion also claimed the lives of some 4,000 shogunate troops. The Tokugawa government held Matsukura Katsuie responsible for the unrest that had led to the uprising. Later that year, he was executed in Edo, the only daimyō put to death by the shogunate during the Edo period. Terazawa Katataka’s Amakusa domain was confiscated, and he lived in disgrace in Edo until taking his own life in 1647.

Because of the slaughter, the Shimabara Peninsula was severely depopulated. People were brought in from other domains to resettle. All were required to register with Buddhist temples as part of the shogunate’s policies to identify and suppress Christianity. They were also subjected to periodic fumie, a practice introduced in 1629 in which people were required to step on Christian images to prove they were not Christians. Refusing to was punishable by torture and death.

Soon after the Shimabara Rebellion, the Tokugawa shogunate moved further toward national seclusion by expelling the Portuguese, confining the Dutch to the man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki Harbor, and tightening its control over foreign trade.

The post The Shimabara Rebellion—The Last Stand of Japan’s Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Bribery, forgery, and betrayal

Background

Christianity reached Japan in 1549, when the Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier landed on the southern island of Kyushu. With the permission of the local daimyō, or feudal lord, he began to preach. The new faith spread rapidly throughout Kyushu, aided by the conversion of influential daimyō, including Ōmura Sumitada of Ōmura and Arima Harunobu of Hinoe (both in present-day Nagasaki Prefecture). In their zeal, these lords compelled their subjects to become Catholics and ordered the destruction of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. By the late sixteenth century, an estimated 300,000 Japanese were Christians.

Along with Christianity came overseas commerce. Portuguese merchants introduced Japan to the lucrative trading networks of Southeast Asia. To regulate this trade, Toyotomi Hideyoshi established the red-seal licensing system, under which mostly hybrid Japanese and foreign vessels known as shuinsen, red-seal ships, carried official licenses, shuinjō, authorizing them to trade at ports throughout Southeast Asia. The system marked the ships as legitimate merchants, differentiating them from the wakō pirates who menaced the trade routes.

After establishing the Tokugawa shogunate in 1603, Tokugawa Ieyasu expanded the red-seal system. It was within this commercial and political environment that the Okamoto Daihachi Affair began.

Trouble with the Portuguese

In 1609, a shuinsen belonging to Arima Harunobu, devout Catholic daimyō of Hinoe Domain, wintered at the Portuguese colony of Macau on their return from Cambodia. During its stay, a brawl broke out between Arima’s crew and some Portuguese. The altercation escalated into a full-blown riot that was finally suppressed by the Captain-Major of Macau, André Pessoa, but not before fifty of Arima’s sailors lay dead. Pessoa forced the Japanese to sign a declaration that they alone were to blame, but when they returned to Japan, they told a different story.

The following year, Pessoa sailed to Nagasaki with a dozen Jesuits and a cargo worth more than a million crowns, and submitted an official report of the incident in Macau to the Nagasaki magistrate, Hasegawa Fujihiro. Pessoa wanted to personally present his case to Tokugawa Ieyasu, who, although retired as shogun, still held the reins of power from his home in Sunpu (in present-day Shizuoka Prefecture). Fearing that the incident might jeopardize Nagasaki’s lucrative Portuguese trade, Hasegawa refused the request, concealed the affair from Ieyasu, and instead sent his own representative to report on the matter.

Pessoa was incensed. His frustration was compounded by longstanding complaints from Portuguese merchants about the shogunate’s ito-wappu system, which fixed the price of imported Chinese raw silk, the merchants’ most profitable commodity. Determined to present his grievances in person, Pessoa began making plans to go to Sunpu despite Hasegawa’s refusal to grant permission. Although Jesuit missionaries were able to persuade him not to go, news of his plan offended Hasegawa, who viewed it as a challenge to his authority.

Meanwhile, Arima Harunobu was intent on avenging the deaths of his men in Macau. Seeing an opportunity to settle accounts with Pessoa for his own affront, Hasegawa agreed to send Arima to petition Ieyasu for permission to seize Pessoa and his merchant vessel. At the same time, Arima requested authorization to dispatch a shuinsen to obtain kyara, the highest grade of aloeswood, used in incense and perfumes. Because Ieyasu had already asked Hasegawa to procure kyara for him, the men felt their bundled request would not be refused.

For Ieyasu to permit Arima to attack a Portuguese vessel would risk damaging relations with Portugal. But by this time, trade with Spain and the Dutch Republic was expanding, reducing Portugal’s relative importance. This, together with Ieyasu’s fondness for kyara, may have been behind his approval of Arima’s requests.

To monitor the attack, Ieyasu sent Okamoto Daihachi to Nagasaki. Formerly a retainer of Hasegawa, he was then serving Honda Masazumi, one of Ieyasu’s closest advisers. Meanwhile, Pessoa was presented with a shuinjō red-seal decree prohibiting Japanese ships from calling at Macau, and he was ordered to appear before Ieyasu. Fearing for his life, Pessoa attempted to leave Japan. Just then, Arima entered Nagasaki at the head of a fleet of red-seal ships.

With Hasegawa and Okamoto Daihachi looking on, Arima attacked Pessoa’s flagship, the Madre de Dios, outside Nagasaki Harbor at the end of 1610. The battle continued for four days and four nights. With his ship engulfed in flames, Pessoa ignited the powder magazine, sinking his crew, the priests, and valuable cargo. The Japanese killed any swimmers who survived the explosion. The engagement became known as the Madre de Dios Incident. Okamoto carried word of the successful attack back to Ieyasu.

The consequences were immediate. Portuguese ships stopped sailing to Japan, interrupting the import of Chinese raw silk. That same year, the Jesuit priest João Rodrigues—who had long served as interpreter and trusted adviser to Tokugawa—was exiled to Macau after Hasegawa and others leveled accusations against him. Rodrigues had long been instrumental to Portuguese-Japanese relations, and his exile further weakened the ties between Portugal and Japan.

In 1611, Portugal sought to mend those ties and restore trade. With help from the Satsuma Domain (present-day Kagoshima), it dispatched a diplomatic mission to seek audiences with Tokugawa Ieyasu at Sunpu and his son, the current shogun Tokugawa Hidetada, in Edo. This representative explained the Macau incident, requested the dismissal of Nagasaki magistrate Hasegawa Fujihiro, and sought compensation for the loss of the Portuguese vessel. The shogunate, however, held André Pessoa solely responsible for the affair and rejected both requests, agreeing only to resume trade.

Bribery and Fraud

Arima Harunobu was rewarded for the sinking of the Madre de Dios with a prized sword and the honor of Ieyasu’s granddaughter, Kunihime, given to his son as wife, causing him to leave his Catholic wife and marry Kunihime. But Arima Harunobu wanted more. He desired the return of territories lost to the Ryūzōji clan over the preceding decades. Having avenged the deaths of his retainers and delivered the kyara requested by Ieyasu, Arima believed the time had come to petition for their return.

At the same time, relations between Arima and Hasegawa were deteriorating. Hasegawa was a sworn enemy of Christians and not fond of the pious Arima. It didn’t help that Arima was the one to procure the kyara that Ieyasu wanted. Then Hasegawa insulted Arima by claiming his four-day assault on the Madre de Dios as “too half-hearted.” When he heard that, a furious Arima exclaimed, “Next time, I’ll sink Hasegawa instead!”

Okamoto Daihachi, a fellow Catholic whom Arima regarded as a brother in faith, saw an opportunity in Arima’s hope of recovering his lost lands. After returning from Sunpu, Okamoto visited Arima, who welcomed him with a feast. While discussing Arima’s desires, Okamoto claimed that Ieyasu would surely reward him with his former territories. He said he could secure the grant through the influence of his lord, Honda Masazumi, who oversaw the redistribution of fiefs. But this could be accomplished only if Arima provided money to facilitate the arrangement.

Believing Okamoto and confident that Honda’s backing would secure the restoration of his lands, Arima agreed. He handed over 6,000 ryō to Okamoto to expedite the process. Okamoto soon presented Arima with forged shuinjō, official red-seal documents, promising his territories’ return. Before long, Okamoto said the transfer had been thwarted by Hasegawa..

Months passed without any confirmation from the shogunate. When Arima Harunobu encountered Honda Masazumi during his obligatory visit to Edo, he discovered that Honda knew nothing of the arrangement.

Discovery and Punishment

Honda interrogated Okamoto at Sunpu, but he denied all wrongdoing, and the inquiry reached a deadlock. Although Arima had committed an offense by paying the bribe, because his eldest son, Naozumi, was married to Ieyasu’s granddaughter, Honda left Arima’s judgment to Ieyasu.

Ieyasu ordered the Sunpu town magistrate to conduct a formal investigation. In the second month of 1612, Okamoto was arrested. Under severe torture, he confessed to forging the shuinjō. He accused Arima of plotting to assassinate Hasegawa, citing his earlier threat to “sink” the Nagasaki magistrate.

After Okamoto’s confession, Honda summoned Arima. He admitted that he had indeed threatened to kill Hasegawa.

Okamoto was paraded through the streets of Sunpu for forging shuinjō and eliciting bribes before being burned alive on the banks of the Abe River. The next day, Arima was exiled for bribery and for conspiring to murder Hasegawa. His heir, Naozumi, was permitted to succeed as head of the Arima family.

Arima was soon ordered to commit seppuku. As a Christian, however, he refused to take his own life. Instead, in the fifth month of 1612, he placed a crucifix before him, knelt, and ordered one of his retainers to behead him. He was forty-six years old.

Effect on Christians

Had the affair not involved two prominent Catholics, most likely their punishments would have been the end of the matter. Instead, the Okamoto Daihachi Affair reinforced Ieyasu’s suspicion that Christians could hold loyalties to fellow believers and their church above their loyalty to the shogun.

On the same day that Okamoto was executed, the shogunate formally prohibited Christianity within its directly administered territories and ordered all daimyō to renounce the faith. Christian lords who refused faced severe penalties, including exile and confiscation of their domains. Ieyasu dismissed all Christians in his service, stripped them of their stipends, and forbade any daimyō from giving them refuge.

In the second month of 1613, the prohibition of Christianity was extended throughout Japan. Ieyasu also ordered the drafting of the Bateren Tsuihō no Bun, Edict Expelling the Padres, which was promulgated in the name of Tokugawa Hidetada. Although the shogunate officially treated the Okamoto Daihachi Affair as an isolated case of fraud rather than a religious conspiracy, it catalyzed the systematic suppression of Christianity in Japan.

Hasegawa was made Arima Naozumi’s guardian. Having long regarded Christianity as a threat to Japan’s religious order, Hasegawa promoted the persecution of Christians in Arima’s territory. Naozumi himself renounced Christianity and enforced the shogunate’s anti-Christian policies, expelling missionaries, demolishing churches, and even executing Christian relatives.

Persecution intensified in the following years, culminating in the Shimabara Rebellion of 1637–1638. For more than two centuries, Christianity was a capital crime. Yet despite the ban and the threat of execution, thousands of Japanese believers preserved their faith in secret as Hidden Christians.

The characters:

• Arima Harunobu—Lord of Hinoe, part of present-day Nagasaki Prefecture.
• André Pessoa—Captain-Major of the Portuguese colony of Macau
• Hasegawa Fujihiro—Nagasaki magistrate, under direct Tokugawa control
• Tokugawa Ieyasu—the first shogun of the Edo era (1603-1867)
• Tokugawa Hidetaka—Ieyasu’s son, and the 2nd shogun of the Edo era
• Honda Masazume—shogunate advisor and daimyō of the Oyama Domain, north of Edo
• Okamoto Daihachi—Christian vassal of Honda Masazume

The post The Okamoto Daihachi Affair—The Scandal That Turned the Tide Against Christianity in Japan first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Loyalty, Vengeance, and the Akō Incident of 1703

The story of the 47 rōnin begins in 1701, when two daimyō, feudal lords, were tasked with organizing a reception at Edo Castle for Emperor Higashiyama’s envoys. These men, Asano Takumi-no-Kami Naganori, the youthful ruler of the Akō Domain in western Honshū, and Kamei Korechika, lord of the even more westerly Tsuwano Domain, were to be instructed in court etiquette by Kira Kozuke-no-Suke Yoshinaka, one of Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s hatamoto samurai.

The incident

Asano and Kemei were meeting with Kira in a luxurious hall within the honmaru, the inner citadel of Edo Castle. Kira, hereditary Master of Court Ceremony, was a fiefless samurai of lower ranking than a daimyō. His job was to ensure proper protocol was observed during the envoys’ visit and to instruct these countryside lords in the finer points of court etiquette.

In the course of this instruction, Kira treated the lords with open contempt. Perhaps he felt his students were too boorish to learn the refined manners of the elite. Or maybe he resented their failure to provide the gifts and bribes he felt he deserved. Or perhaps Kira was simply impolite, arrogant, and corrupt.

Both Asano and Kamei were getting fed up with Kira and his high-and-mighty ways, and Kamei was ready to attack him. Fortunately for Kamei, his retainers intervened and discreetly gave Kira a substantial bribe. Kira’s attitude towards Kamei suddenly improved.

But Kira continued to abuse Asano, whose retainers had given no bribe. When Kira called him a mannerless country boor, Asano could endure the insults no longer. In the grand Matsu no Ōrōka hallway within the Honmaru Goten castle residence, he unsheathed his short sword and slashed Kira across the face. Guards swiftly restrained Asano.

Although Kira was not badly injured, attacking a shogunate official within the castle grounds was a serious offense. Even drawing a blade was forbidden. Asano was ordered to commit seppuku, the samurai’s honorable suicide. His punishment did not end there. His fief was to be confiscated, and his vassals would become rōnin, masterless samurai.

When news of the incident and Asano’s sentence reached Akō, Asano’s chief retainer, Ōishi Kuranosuke Yoshio, moved Asano’s family to safety before surrendering Akō Castle to the shogunate’s representatives. Then he quietly set to plotting revenge.

The rōnin’s plot

The attack

Nearly two years after Asano’s death, Ōishi quietly left Kyoto and joined his fellow rōnin in Edo. They agreed that no innocents should be hurt. Their target was Kira and Kira alone. They were to restrain the guards and warn the neighbors that they were there only to avenge their master, Asano. No harm would come to them.

In the early hours of January 30, 1703, the 47 rōnin carried out their plan. The guards were overpowered and bound, the neighbors were informed of their revenge raid, archers took up positions to prevent anyone from escaping, and a drumbeat signaled the start of the attack.

Ōishi led half the rōnin against the front gate, while his son led the attack at the rear. Kira’s samurai held off the attack at the front, but Ōishi’s son and his men broke through the back and entered the residence.

Kira, awakening in terror, hid in a closet with his wife and female servants. Although his vassals tried to defend their lord, they were no match for the determined and well-prepared rōnin. Those who attempted to escape and summon help were cut down by arrows from the rooftop archers.

By the time the fighting subsided, sixteen of Kira’s men lay dead, and twenty-two more were wounded. But Kira was nowhere to be found. Searching the mansion room by room, Ōishi entered Kira’s bedchamber and placed a hand on the bedding. The futons were warm. Kira was in the house.

At this point, the story begins to blur into legend, and later retellings offer a far more dramatic account of what happened next.

According to the popular version, one of Ōishi’s men found a hidden door concealed behind a hanging scroll. It led to a secret courtyard and a small storage room. After dispatching the two guards stationed outside, the rōnin opened the door to find a man clutching a dagger. He would not tell them who he was.

Who else could it be?

They sounded a whistle—the signal that Kira had been found—and Ōishi rushed to the doorway. Lifting his lantern, he easily recognized Kira by the scar on his face left by Asano’s attack.

Ōishi knelt and, in deference to Kira’s higher rank, politely informed Kira that they were Asano’s former retainers and had come to avenge their lord. He then offered Kira the chance to die with honor. Presenting Asano’s own short sword, Ōishi invited him to commit seppuku and promised to serve as his kaishakunin, the second who would sever his head to spare him a lingering death.

No words escaped Kira’s mouth as he crouched and cowered before these honorable samurai. At last, Ōishi himself freed Kira of his head.

The historical account, however, is considerably less dramatic.

Several rōnin discovered Kira cowering in the closet. When he refused to identify himself, Takebayashi Takashige struck him through, and Hazama Mitsuoki severed his head.

Both accounts continue:

Their task complete, the rōnin extinguished all lanterns and fires and left the house. Carrying Kira’s head, they set out for Sengaku-ji to report their success to their fallen lord.

After Kira was killed, Ōishi ordered the Terasaka Kichiemon to bring word back to Akō that their lord had finally been avenged. The remaining 46 rōnin brought Kira’s head to Sengaku-ji, where Asano was interred. There, they washed it in a well and laid it, together with their lord’s short sword, before Asano’s grave. Then, the men gave all their money to the temple priest, asking him to see to their burials. Having fulfilled their duty, they surrendered themselves to the authorities and awaited judgment.

News of the raid quickly spread throughout Edo. Kira had few admirers, and crowds gathered to praise the rōnin for their loyalty and devotion to their fallen lord.

Legacy

The shogunate now faced a dilemma. The rōnin were being publicly celebrated for upholding the warrior code. In the eyes of many, they had behaved exactly as faithful samurai should. Yet they had taken the law into their own hands, carried out a deadly raid, and killed a shogunate official.

After considerable debate, Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, most remembered for his laws against animal cruelty, rendered his decision. The rōnin would not be executed as common criminals. Instead, they would be permitted to die as samurai.

From Ōishi’s sixteen-year-old son to the oldest among them, the men were ordered to commit seppuku. At the residences where they were being held, they knelt before witnesses and ritualistically cut open their stomachs.

Their remains were laid to rest beside their lord at Sengaku-ji, where visitors continue to offer incense and prayers at the graves of Asano, his family, and the loyal rōnin who avenged him. The temple’s small museum preserves statues of the forty-seven men as well as relics connected with the raid that made them famous.

The story of the forty-seven rōnin has become one of Japan’s most enduring and influential historical tales. Often known by the title of its most well-known retelling, Chūshingura —The Treasury of Loyal Retainers—it has inspired countless books, kabuki plays, films, television dramas, and other adaptations over the past three centuries.

To read another tale of samurai loyalty, albeit tragically misguided, see my article on the Byakkotai.

The post The 47 Ronin—Disgrace, Revenge, and Death first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A tragic woman and her cat, now Shinto deities

Down a narrow road beside the Naka River in rural Tokushima Prefecture, a two-meter-tall Maneki Neko cat statue beckons all passersby to visit the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine, お松大権現.

I was one of those beckoned.

I followed cat footprints up the steps through the torii entrance gate and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of cat statues.

Cats were everywhere. Instead of traditional komainu lion-dogs guarding the shrine, there were cats. Instead of shachihoko fish-tigers guarding the roof against fire, there were cats.

Why all the cats?

To answer that question, we turn to a story that takes place during the iron rule of the Tokugawa shoguns during the Edo era (1603-1867).

The tragic tale of Omatsu

In the late 17th century, the village of Kamo in what is now Tokushima Prefecture was struggling. Years of bad harvests had taken their toll on the people, and their tax burden had become unbearable.

The village headman, a kind-hearted man named Sobee, wanted to help his people. He borrowed money from a wealthy neighbor, Nogami. As collateral, Nogami was granted use of several of Sobee’s rice paddies.

All seemed well. The money helped the struggling villagers, and Sobee was recouping what he needed to repay his debt.

As the agreed-upon date to repay the loan drew near, Sobee noticed Nogami along the road by his fields. He grabbed the cash and brought it out to Nogami, who assured him he would send him a receipt when he got home.

Unfortunately, within days, Sobee fell ill and passed away. His lovely wife, Omatsu, was left to tend the fields alone.

Omatsu visited Nogami and asked him for a certificate of repayment for the loan. Nogami insisted Sobee had not paid. Omatsu knew her husband had, and she repeatedly asked Nogami for the receipt.

Nogami, angered by her persistence, shouted that he had never received the money. He sent his men to collect on the collateral by taking Omatsu’s remaining rice fields.

Now desperate, Omatsu appealed to the local magistrate. He agreed to help her — that is, as long as she would be his lover.

Omatsu had no idea that the magistrate was receiving money on the sly from Nogami. When she turned down his advances, he dismissed her, refusing to honor her claim.

Desperation

Then Omatsu did something very few in the Edo era dared do. She risked her life to appeal to higher authority.

On a cold winter day in 1686, Tsunanori, the lord of Awa Domain, was passing through Omatsu’s town. His procession of samurai vassals was long and intimidating. In the center was Tsunanori’s palanquin.

Omatsu held in her hand a petition. Suddenly, the vassals saw what seemed to be a white shadow break through their ranks near the palanquin. Confusion broke out with yells and cries. Samurai unsheathed their swords.

Then a quiet voice stilled them, “Stop.”

It was the voice of Tsunanori as he peeked out of his palanquin. He saw the lovely Omatsu, dressed all in white, bowed to the ground in humility.

Tsunanori allowed Omatsu to approach. She handed him the letter she had written, her heartfelt, desperate appeal for truth and justice. The daimyo gazed upon her face, pitiful, yet full of such mysterious beauty that he couldn’t help but lose his breath.

When he regained his composure, Tsunanori read her appeal.

He announced, “I will consider this,” and Omatsu’s beautiful eyes filled with tears.

The procession continued on. Omatsu’s appeal had taken but an instant.

The Tokugawa shogunate maintained absolute control. Nearly all crimes were punishable by death. One such capital offense was appealing directly to any daimyo or the shogun.

No matter how worthy the cause, simply appealing to a daimyo was punishable by death.

Thus, Omatsu was taken to the jail behind Tokushima castle to await her execution.

The execution was to be carried out three months hence. Forlorn and alone, the lovely Omatsu had only her beloved cat to comfort her. The sympathetic cat never left her side, patiently listening to her troubles and tears. Only this calico cat knew the true depth of the tragedy that befell her beloved Omatsu.

On the day appointed, Omatsu was taken to a dry riverbed. She was dressed in white, her long hair hanging free. A sudden breeze blew Omatsu’s robes and lifted her hair, causing it to reflect like an eerie halo in the evening light. The men preparing her execution cried, “She is a Bodhisattva!” How could they dare to kill such a one?

But if they did not do their job, they themselves would be killed.

As the executioner raised his sword, all present joined the weeping Omatsu in praying to Amida Nyorai for salvation, Namu Amida Butsu, “I take refuge in Amida Buddha.” From their hiding places in the woods, villagers joined in, bidding a sad farewell to the tragic Omatsu.

In mercy, the executioner’s sword also fell upon the neck of Omatsu’s calico cat, allowing her to remain together with her beloved owner in the afterlife.

Soon, the villagers began to quietly honor Omatsu as a deity for those seeking justice. They told the story of her courage to their children and grandchildren, keeping her memory alive yet secret from the authorities who would punish them for honoring one who was a criminal in their eyes.

The vengeful cat

Not long after Omatsu’s execution, in the pitch black of night, the corrupt magistrate who had refused Omatsu was awakened by what sounded like a cat. Looking all around, he saw nothing and heard only the faint sound of running water. Yet he was sure he had heard the scream of an angry cat.

Then, another cry reached his ears. This one seemed to be a woman’s voice. He turned to see what he thought was a maidservant lighting a lantern. When the light fell upon her face, he saw it was that of a terrible cat.

He ran to fetch his guards, but when they inspected his room, only a lantern quietly burned.

That fateful night marked the end of the magistrate. He soon lost his job, fell ill, and died.

Next, the ghostly cat sought out Nogami, and mysterious deaths followed. His family line was soon extinguished.

The locals saw these deaths as the result of a curse put on those men by Omatsu and her feline friend. To appease the kaibyō, 怪猫, “monster cat,” they built a shrine to honor Omatsu and her loyal companion.

Omatsu was deified as the god of victorious triumph and her cat, her avenger. The Omatsu Daigongen shrine became a mecca for those praying for the tenacity to triumph, be it in business, competitions, or in passing entrance examinations.

A custom developed where people who visited the shrine to pray for success would bring a cat statue back home with them. When their prayer was answered, they returned the cat and donated another.

After decades of this, there are more than 10,000 cat statues on the grounds of the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine. There are fanciful statues of Buddhist deities merged into cat bodies, beckoning Maneki Neko statues, and several traditional Buddhist statues.

Sasuri Neko for healing

In front of the main shrine building is a special cat statue called the Sasuri Neko. Visitors with ailments rub the cat’s body to receive healing. For sore knees, they rub the cat’s tiny knees. For headaches, the cat’s head.

Beside the shrine, a trail leads through another torii gate, between ancient, sacred inumaki yew plum pine trees, past a small pool and waterfall, and further up stone steps. All around this path and the entire shrine grounds are mind-boggling numbers of cat statues. A separate building dedicated solely to Maneki Neko statues is filled with thousands of beckoning cats.

After about 50 minutes of wandering through this wonderland, I was ready to continue my hike along the Henro, the 88 Temple Pilgrimage of Shikoku.

No matter how you feel about cats, I’m sure you will agree that this is an extraordinary place. If you ever visit Tokushima, please allow yourself to be beckoned into the shrine of Omasu and her beloved Neko Kami-San, 猫神さん, Cat God.

References:

Japanese Lucky Charms, Omatsu Daigongen Shrine

The post Omatsu Daigongen—The Amazing Cat Temple of Shikoku first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Bringing green tea to the tables of the West

Born in 1828 into a Nagasaki family whose rapeseed oil business stretched back to the 17th century, Oura Kei entered a world where women rarely ventured from traditional roles. Yet, throughout her storied life, she moved among Japanese and foreign traders and dignitaries, experiencing both grand successes and heartbreaking losses. Today, she is remembered as one of Nagasaki’s Three Heroic Women for her pioneering role in the tea export trade.

Kei grew up in a lively household filled with the comings and goings of men involved in her father’s trade. While she was still a child, her father adopted the second son of a fellow merchant and betrothed him to Kei, intending for him to take over the family business. Sadly, the young man died when Kei was just nine years old. Not long after, Kei’s mother also died, and then the family’s fortunes declined. As if that wasn’t enough, in 1843, a fire swept through their neighborhood, destroying their home and plunging them deeper into hardship.

The following year, her father tried again to secure an heir through marriage to Kei. He adopted another promising lad, this one a student of rangaku, Dutch learning, who had come to Nagasaki to study Western sciences. He arranged a second engagement for Kei. But the day after their wedding, a disappointed Kei turned the young man out of the house. She remained single for the rest of her life.

By her early thirties, Oura Kei had taken over the family business. Years earlier, she collaborated with the interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro to arrange her first tea export deal with Carl Julius Textor, a German merchant at Dejima. Together, they arranged for Ureshino tea to be shipped to Britain, America, and Arabia. This was a bold venture at a time when Japan’s trade with the outside world was limited and heavily regulated, and it laid the foundation for what would become a profitable chapter in her trading career.

In 1859, just as Japan began opening to foreign commerce, a 19-year-old British merchant named William John Alt arrived in Dejima. After inspecting samples of Ureshino tea, he placed a massive order with Kei and Fujijuro for 6,000 kilograms (13,227 pounds). Ureshino alone could not supply such a volume, so Kei traveled across Kyushu, visiting tea farms and buying as much as she could from each. Through her determination and perseverance, she succeeded in gathering the full six tons. The huge shipment was a success. With the profits, Kei rebuilt her family home in Nagasaki’s trading district and expanded her operations. 

The momentum of this prosperity came to an abrupt halt in 1861 with the outbreak of the American Civil War, which froze trans-Pacific trade. When peace returned in 1865, exports resumed, and by the following year, Nagasaki’s tea trade reached its peak, as did Kei’s career.

This boom, however, was short-lived. Yokohama was fast overtaking Nagasaki’s position in overseas trade, and with competition from the rich tea fields of Shizuoka, both the port’s importance and Kei’s tea trade dwindled.

Betrayal

In June 1871, a Kumamoto samurai named Toyama approached Oura Kei with a proposal to supply 90 tons of tobacco to Alt & Company, with her serving as guarantor. He presented documents that seemed official, complete with a seal and a co-signer, but were in fact clever forgeries. Kei’s former partner, interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro, urged her to accept the deal. Kei signed the contract.

Alt & Company advanced Toyama 3,000 ryo (about USD 2.5 million today), but the tobacco never arrived. Toyama had absconded after using the funds to settle personal debts. Kei and Alt’s Nagasaki representative spent months searching for him. She was relentless, petitioning Kumamoto officials and even appealing to the head of Toyama’s clan, actions that drew criticism from one samurai for being “well outside appropriate boundaries.” Such boldness was hardly in line with the expectations for women of that era.

In January 1872, Alt & Company filed a lawsuit against Kei, Fujijuro, and Toyama. Kei brought her own case against Toyama. Ten months before the court issued its final verdict, the English Consul Marcus Flowers wrote, “I understand Miss Oura Kei has sufficient means, and as it was solely and entirely upon her guarantee that the money was advanced upon this contract, I must beg you will kindly press her for immediate payment.”

Although the court acknowledged Kei’s lack of direct wrongdoing, in keeping with Consul Flowers’s comment, it held her responsible for the 3,000 ryo advance, along with costs and damages. Toyama was sentenced to ten years in prison, while Fujijuro, shielded by his samurai status, repaid only a portion. Kei’s reputation was shattered. The Oura family business collapsed, and debt collectors seized her possessions.

Working till the end

Although her fortune was lost, Oura Kei retained her dignity. In June 1879, when former US President Ulysses S. Grant visited Nagasaki during his world tour, Kei boarded his ship as an official guest of state. Among the assembled dignitaries, which included prefectural governors, she was the only woman.

In January of the following year, Kei partnered with another Nagasaki merchant, Sano, to purchase the decommissioned navy warship Takao-maru. After being refitted for commercial use, it became their private trading ship, allowing Kei to expand her business. At that time, Nagasaki’s export market had become dominated by Frederick Ringer’s Holme, Ringer & Co., whose company exported not just tea, but coal, munitions, wax, and seafood. Kei faced formidable competition.

Nevertheless, the Takao-maru allowed her to maintain a presence in the export trade, and through unflagging perseverance and savvy negotiations, she succeeded in repaying all her debts. But this victory came at a price. By 1884, her health had begun to fail.

Meanwhile, Nagasaki Prefectural Governor Ishida Eikichi, a former member of the Kaientai, petitioned the Meiji government to honor Kei for her contributions. Ishida had belonged to the same reformist circle as Sakamoto Ryoma, who had founded the Kaientai in 1865 as a trading company and private naval militia. Kei had been personally acquainted with both of these influential men. On April 5, the governor received a telegram announcing that the award had been granted. A messenger brought the news to the Oura household the following day.

In recognition of her pioneering role in Japan’s tea export trade, the Meiji government awarded Oura Kei an official commendation for meritorious service and a monetary prize of 20 yen (USD 350). She passed away just days later at the age of 56.

We cannot help but admire Kei, who in her short life broke barriers, overcame terrible setbacks, and left her mark on history as a trailblazer for women in Japanese commerce.

The post Oura Kei—Unstoppable Pioneering Tea Merchant first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Kagoshima’s Unique Cat Shrine

Decades before Europeans started using pocket watches, Shimadzu Yoshihiro relied on a different, more cuddly timepiece. This valorous samurai was the 17th head of the Shimadzu family, feudal lords of all of southern Kyushu since 1185.

By Yoshihiro’s time in the late 16th century, Toyotomi Hideyoshi had succeeded in unifying Japan, but his ambitions did not stop there. Flushed with success, he set his sights on China and, in 1592, sent Japanese armies across the sea to Korea to clear the way.

At the behest of Hideyoshi, Shimadzu Yoshihiro set off to battle in Korea, bringing along his treasured katana, tanegashima machlock gun, kemari ball—and seven cats to help him keep track of the time, and one would suppose, to keep him company.

Fighting on the Korean peninsula was fierce. Japanese forces faced off against the armies of the Joseon Kingdom, reinforced by the vast and seemingly inexhaustible troops of Ming China. The samurai fought valiantly, and none moreso than Yoshihiro, who distinguished himself to such a degree that Ming soldiers nicknamed him “The Demon Shimadzu.”

Nevertheless, Hideyoshi’s dream of becoming emperor of China ended in tremendous losses. After his death at his lavish Kyoto residence, the weary samurai finally retreated, bringing with them slaves, apothecaries, master potters—and, in Yoshihiro’s case, his two surviving cats, Yachi and Take.

On his return to Kagoshima, Yoshihiro had a shrine built on the grounds of Kagoshima Castle next to the toki no kane, the bell used to mark the hours for the town. There, his loyal cats were enshrined as Shinto deities and christened the Kami (Shinto god) of Time.

After the Meiji Restoration in 1868 ended the feudal system in Japan, the Shimadzu family left the castle grounds and moved to their seaside villa, Senganen, bringing the Cat Shrine with them. Today, it remains on a quiet hill behind the Shimadzu estate, one of the very few cat shrines in Japan—and the only one dedicated to the keeping of time.

Memorial Services

Each year on “Cat Day,” February 22, the shrine holds the Aibyō Chōju Kigan-sai, a ceremony to pray for the health and longevity of beloved cats.

Another ceremony is held on the little-known Toki no Hi, or “Time Day,” which commemorates the day in 671 AD when Emperor Tenji installed Japan’s first water clock in his capital at Otsu, in what is now Shiga Prefecture. Because Yoshihiro’s cats were instrumental in timekeeping—so much so that Yachi and Take came to be revered as Kami of Time—the shrine holds a Memorial Service for Cats, Aibyo Kuyo-sai, on that day. Clockmakers and cat-lovers alike flock to the shrine to honor Yoshihiro’s trusted “time cats” and the military precision he achieved during the Korean campaigns, thanks to their help.

The shrine’s ema depict Yoshihiro’s two cats. Visitors write their prayers and wishes on these wooden votive tablets and hang them at the shrine. Some ask for the return of a missing cat, others for healing, but most simply pray for long, healthy lives for their furry friends.

How to tell time with a cat

In the mid-17th century, the scholar Tanigawa Shisei penned this catchy poem to explain how to tell time by observing a cat’s eyes. As is typical of Japanese, the subject is understood.

Translated from the Edo-era time terminology, the poem reads:

At sunrise and sunset, they are round.

At 8 am and 4 pm, they are egg-shaped.

At 10 am and 2 pm, they are melon-seed shaped*

At noon, like a needle.

*Melon-seed was a common descriptive shape back in the day, probably more familiar to us as the shape of a persimmon seed.

Anyone who has spent time around cats will have noticed this. Their pupils widen into dark circles at night and narrow to thin slits in bright daylight. By learning these changes and keeping a cooperative cat handy, it’s possible to make a rough, but practical, estimate of the time.

If you ever find yourself in Kagoshima, consider visiting Senganen and seeking out the Cat Shrine dedicated to the Kami of Time—the only one of its kind in Japan.

I don’t think I’ll ever look at a cat the same way again.

The post Cats—From Battlefield Timekeepers to Unexpected Shinto Deities first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

After surviving centuries of persecution, the Hidden Christians are quietly disappearing

Traveling around Japan, I’ve come upon some unusual statues, testaments to the years Christianity was deemed a crime punishable by death. From the Maria Jizo of Narai in Nagano, to the Maria Kannon’s of Nagasaki, Christians made do with what they could contrive to keep their faith fresh.

A Little History of Christianity in Japan

Christianity reached Japan in 1549, when the Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier stepped ashore on southern Kyushu. The religion spread rapidly through Kyushu, accelerated by the conversion of daimyō such as Ōtomo Sōrin of Bungo (present-day Ōita), Ōmura Sumitada of the Ōmura domain, and Arima Harunobu of the Shimabara domain (both part of present-day Nagasaki). Their embrace of Christianity gave the religion a measure of protection and prestige, but their zealousness and eagerness to please the missionaries resulted in the destruction of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines in their domains, as well as the forced conversion of their subjects. 

Nevertheless, sincere Christian communities sprang up throughout Kyushu, centered in Nagasaki. Under Jesuit influence, the port developed into both a haven for believers and a thriving hub of Portuguese trade.

The Jesuits were followed by Spanish Franciscans, Dominicans, and Augustinians, whose missionary work further expanded the Christian community. By the end of the 16th century, an estimated 300,000 Japanese had converted to Christianity, out of a nationwide population of roughly 15-22 million.

This period of tolerance did not last. In 1587, Toyotomi Hideyoshi issued the Bateren Edict ordering missionaries to leave Japan, although it was only loosely enforced. A decade later, the crucifixion of 26 Christians in Nagasaki set a grim precedent.
The Tokugawa shogunate banned Christianity outright in 1614, and by the 1620s most missionaries had been expelled, and believers faced torture, execution, or pressure to renounce their faith.

The 1637–1638 Shimabara Rebellion of mostly Christian peasants, desperate from heavy taxation and famine, culminated in the expulsion of the Portuguese, as well as the 1641 confinement of the Dutch to Dejima, severing any possible Christian ties to the outside world. Christianity became punishable by death, with believers either killed or driven underground. Many became Kakure Kirishitan, Hidden Christians.

Life in Hiding (1640s–1850s)

The Hidden Christians developed ingenious ways to preserve their religion. Statues of the Virgin Mary were disguised as Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy, and crosses and rosaries were hidden inside Buddhist icons.

Central to the continuation of their faith were prayers called orasho, in a mix of Latin and 16th-century Portuguese and Japanese, chanted in rhythms resembling Buddhist sutras. Passed down from generation to generation, reciting the orasho eventually became more of a ritual in itself rather than fully understood words.

Remote islands such as Goto and Ikitsuki became Christian refuges. There, believers organized into kumi, groups of ten to twenty families that doubled as fishing cooperatives and covert congregations. They disguised baptisms as blessings for new boats and orasho as chants for good fortune at sea. Crosses were hidden in nets and gear, and stones arranged into a cross on ancestors’ graves offered a secret moment of prayer before being scattered.

With few priests, lay leaders arose. The mizukata performed baptisms, and the chōkata kept the calendar of holy days to continue the community’s liturgical traditions. The most important of these traditions was Otaiya, a type of Christmas mass held on December 23. The bread and wine of the Eucharist were replaced with rice, dried fish, and sake. The officiant placed a bit of the sanctified fish and rice on his upturned palms before eating, reflecting the Catholic sacrament.

Yet even with such careful adaptations and secrecy, persecution never ceased. Under the Tokugawa-mandated terauke seido system, every household was required to register with a Buddhist temple, and annual fumie tests forced suspected Christians to trample images of Christ or the Virgin Mary. Refusal meant torture and execution.

Still, hidden enclaves endured. By the 1790s, the rugged coastline of Sotome and the isolated Goto Islands are said to have sheltered as many as 3,000 Hidden Christians, who lived as farmers and fishermen while gathering in caves or homes to pray.

Rediscovery in the Meiji Era (1868-1912)

In 1863, French priest Bernard Petitjean of the Paris Foreign Missions Society arrived in Nagasaki and oversaw the construction of Oura Cathedral, which was completed the following year for foreign residents.

On March 17, 1865, Petitjean was astonished when 15 timid visitors from nearby Urakami quietly entered his church. They asked to see the statue of the Virgin Mary and to be assured of his ties to the Pope, explaining that they had preserved the sacraments and liturgy in secret for 250 years. Petitjean’s report to Rome stunned the Christian world, and Pope Pius IX hailed the moment as the “Miracle of the Orient.”

This “Discovery of the Hidden Christians” encouraged secret believers in Nagasaki, Sotome, and the Goto Islands to reveal themselves, though some paid a heavy price. On Hisaka Island, newly emboldened Christians openly declared their faith, only to face arrest in what became known as the Goto Kuzure, the Goto Collapse. About 200 Christians were imprisoned in a 20-square-meter cell (215 square feet), where 43 of the weakest, mostly children and the elderly, perished. When Father Petitjean learned of their confinement, he publicized their plight, which led to international calls for Japan to end the persecution.

Legacy of Resilience

Freedom for Christians came in 1873, when the Meiji government, under foreign pressure, lifted the ban on Christianity. Roughly 30,000 Hidden Christians emerged, many rejoining the Catholic Church. Others, particularly in the Goto Islands and on Ikitsuki, chose to continue the syncretic traditions of their ancestors. These communities hold the few Hidden Christians who survive today.

Through their generations, the prayers and rituals of the Hidden Christians evolved into customs unlike any other Christians in the world. No longer Japanese, Portuguese, or Latin, their prayers have been passed down written in the phonetic syllabary of katakana, their meaning all but lost. Even so, the faith carried on through the heartfelt sincerity of the believers.

The Hidden Christians’ survival across two and a half centuries of persecution, from Nagasaki’s hillsides to Goto’s remote caves, is nothing short of extraordinary. Yet in recent decades, as younger generations leave rural villages for the cities, few remain to carry on the traditions. The faith that once survived in secrecy under harsh persecution is now quietly disappearing.

Those Hidden Christians who rejoined the Catholics went on to build churches, such as Sakitsu Church in Amakusa in 1888, and Egami Church in Goto in 1918. In 2018, these and other related locations were recognized collectively as UNESCO World Heritage: Hidden Christian Sites in the Nagasaki Region.

The post Japan’s Hidden Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Low-calorie and high-fiber—konnyaku has been a health food in Japan for centuries

You’re seated before the first course of what is to be a masterpiece of kaiseki, Japanese multi-course cuisine. Along with your exquisite appetizers, you have a piece of something, well, rubbery. You poke it with your chopsticks, and it bounces back. What is this strange gray food? Someone tells you it is made from yams. But that’s not quite accurate.

Allow me to introduce you to konnyaku, perhaps the most misunderstood and mysterious of Japan’s popular foods. Konnyaku is made from the corm of the konjac plant (Amorphophallus konjac), sometimes called devil’s tongue. But what exactly does that mean?

What is a corm?

Corms are similar to bulbs and tubers, but with an important difference.

Bulbs grow in layers, like an onion. Roots grow from the bottom, and what will become the plant’s stems and leaves are inside the bulb. Tubers, like potatoes, form on the plant’s roots. Buds, the potatoes’ eyes, sprout from them. Pieces of potatoes with their eyes can be planted and will produce new potato plants.

These type of plants are called geophytes. They all store nutrients in their swollen underground stems. Another geophyte is rhizomes. Thick and root-like, they grow horizontally underground. Roots grow from the bottom and buds sprout from the top. Think ginger.

Finally, the corm. They kind of look like bulbs, but their interior is solid. Crocuses, taro, and, as you know, konjac, grow from corms.

In Japanese, the konjac plant is commonly called コンニャクイモ, konnyaku imo, literally “konnyaku potato.” Thus, the confusion with yams.

How Konnyaku Is Made

First of all, we need a konjac plant. After three years of growth, farmers harvest the corm. Traditionally, they clean, peel, and chop it, sometimes leaving bits of peel to add color to the finished konnyaku. The pieces are blended with water into a thick paste, which is then stirred in a pot over a low flame. When the texture becomes gluey, the cook adds a coagulant, like calcium hydroxide dissolved in water, and briskly stirs it in.

When it thickens, the gooey paste is poured into a tray, and the cook spreads a little more of the coagulant on top to give it a shiny surface. Just a little, as too much would make the finished product bitter. After 20 minutes, the konnyaku is firm enough to cut into blocks. These blocks are then simmered for 30-40 minutes to remove the bitterness and develop konnyaku’s soft, rubbery texture.

Konnyaku-making was revolutionized in the 18th century by a farmer named Nakajima Toemon. Instead of using the fresh corms, he sliced, dried, and ground them into flour. This flour had a long shelf life and could be mixed with water and coagulant to make konnyaku, greatly simplifying its production. For his contribution to society, he was made a Shinto deity and enshrined at the aptly named Konnyaku Shrine in Ibaraki Prefecture.

Today, konnyaku comes in many forms: blocks, chunks, thin round noodles called shirataki (white waterfall), and slices for konnyaku sashimi. Konnyaku made straight from the corm is grayish. Konnyaku made from konjac corm flour is white. Adding seaweed powder produces gray or speckled varieties, a discovery made in the early 20th century.

Konnyaku is essentially tasteless and retains its shape in hot liquids, so it’s a popular ingredient in oden, soups, and hot pots. Curiously, it softens when cooled. Its texture has long been compared to fugu sashimi (raw blowfish), which once made it a popular substitute for those living far from the coast. Aside from sashimi, cold konnyaku is also used to make a delicious sweet, konnyaku jelly.

Perhaps the most unusual use of konnyaku came towards the end of World War II. It was gathered from across the nation to be used as glue to hold together layers of washi paper in the production of balloon bombs. Fortunately, when the war ended, konnyaku returned to its peaceful role in the Japanese diet.

Or maybe that isn’t its most unusual use. Recently, a medical company in Saitama Prefecture started producing replica organs for medical students made from konnyaku. For a fraction of the price of other organs, students can practice delicate operations and suturing on lifelike organs made of konnyaku.

A Little History

Edible konjac is thought to have been brought to Japan from China around the 6th century, likely by Buddhist monks who consumed it as a medicine and a fasting food. Konnyaku eventually became an important part of shōjin-ryōri, the vegetarian cuisine of Buddhist temples.

From the temples, by and by, konnyaku moved into the kitchens of the elite. By the 16th century, it was familiar enough that Oda Nobunaga, Japan’s first great unifier, could reinvent it as he wished. Legend tells us that Nobunaga, known for his love of spectacle, had konnyaku dyed a vivid red to impress guests at his banquets. Whether this is true or not, red konnyaku remains a specialty of Omihachiman City in Shiga Prefecture, once home to Nobunaga’s magnificent Azuchi castle.

During the Edo period (1603–1867), konnyaku spread from the kitchens of the elites and monks to those of the common people. Producers standardized its production and built distribution networks, making konnyaku a staple of the masses. It appeared in street stalls and food shops, in simmered dishes like oden and on skewers as tama-konnyaku.

The Broom of the Stomach

Japanese food culture has unique aspects, such as its emphasis on eating a wide variety of foods each day and including foods rich in dietary fiber specifically for cleansing, of which konnyaku is prime.

Known for centuries as the “broom for the stomach,” konnyaku sweeps waste and toxins from the body and supports digestion. Its main component, glucomannan, a soluble fiber similar to what is found in oats and psyllium, binds to impurities, restores gut balance, and stimulates intestinal activity. Glucomannan absorbs water, expanding in the stomach to create a lasting feeling of fullness, making konnyaku a favorite of dieters.

Gut bacteria break down konnyaku’s dietary fiber, glucomannan, into oligosaccharides that act as prebiotics, supporting a healthy microbiome, stimulating mucus production, and strengthening the intestinal lining. Consumption of konnyaku has been shown to reduce blood lipids and improve immune function. Research is ongoing into the use of konnyaku as a treatment for obesity.

Nutrition

Beyond konnyaku’s digestive benefits, its fiber blocks cholesterol absorption in the small intestine and slows glucose uptake, helping regulate blood sugar levels. Regular consumption has also been shown to reduce LDL cholesterol.

Nutrition facts: One hundred grams of konnyaku contains 6 calories, 43 mg of calcium, 33 mg of potassium, 0.1 gram of protein, 0.1 gram of fat, and 2.6 grams of carbohydrates, most of which is pure fiber. It contains no sugar, cholesterol, or gluten. It’s 97% water.

From simmering hot pots in winter to chilled sashimi-style slices in summer, konnyaku’s versatility makes it suitable for countless dishes—a worthy staple of the Japanese diet. Next time you encounter konnyaku, I hope you will look past its oddity and appreciate it for the dietary marvel it is.

Illustration ©Diane Tincher

The post What is Konnyaku? Japanese Cuisine’s Best Kept Secret first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Why it’s not just another bowl of carbs

Known as soba in Japan, buckwheat, despite its name, is not related to wheat at all. It is a pseudocereal—a non-grass plant whose seeds are used like grains. You are probably familiar with other pseudocereals, such as quinoa, amaranth, and chia. Unlike true cereal grains like wheat and rice, which come from grasses (monocots), pseudocereals are broadleaf flowering plants (dicots). They resemble grains in appearance and are used in similar ways—in noodles, porridge, baked goods, and more.

Soba, a term used for both the buckwheat grain and the noodle dish, is low in calories but rich in nutrients. It’s one of the highest-protein pseudocereals, containing between 8 and 14 grams of protein per 100 grams, depending on how it’s prepared. Noodles made from 100% buckwheat flour are higher in protein than those blended with wheat flour, which is often added to improve texture and elasticity. Buckwheat protein also contains all nine essential amino acids that the body cannot produce on its own, very rare among plant-based foods.

History

One of the oldest domesticated crops in Asia, buckwheat was introduced to Japan as an agricultural crop from the Korean peninsula during the mid to late Yayoi period (300 BC–250 AD). At first, it was raised for its edible leaves, but by the Nara period (710–794), its seeds had become a vital staple. Considered peasant food, soba was cultivated in mountainous regions where rice and wheat were difficult to grow, such as today’s Nagano and Yamanashi Prefectures.

Legend tells us that En no Gyōja, the founder of Shugendō, mountain asceticism, brought soba seeds from Nara to these remote areas. His followers are said to have helped spread buckwheat cultivation to the foothills of sacred mountains throughout Japan.

The cool climate, steep terrain, and poor, rocky soil of Nagano were not suitable for rice cultivation but were ideal for buckwheat. Hardy and fast-growing, buckwheat matures in 70 to 90 days and thrives where other crops fail. Farmers could plant it after the last spring frost and harvest before autumn’s cold set in, making it a natural fit for the region’s short growing season.

The earliest known reference to soba noodles comes from a small town in Nagano, Suhara-juku, a post town along the Kisoji section of the old Nakasendō Highway. A 1574 document describing repairs to the Buddha Hall of Jōshō-ji Temple notes that a man named Kanei served the workers soba-kiri, literally “cut buckwheat,” the early term for soba noodles—to celebrate the completion of the repair work.

Health benefits of soba

One serving of soba noodles, 170 grams (6 ounces), contains:

• 151 calories
• 7 grams of protein
• 0.7 grams of fat
• 1.76 grams of dietary fiber, about half soluble and half insoluble
• 27 grams of carbohydrates (slow-digesting, complex carbs)

It’s also particularly rich in vitamins A, B1, B2, niacin, vitamin B6, and folic acid, as well as a wide range of minerals including iron, magnesium, manganese, potassium, and zinc. With a glycemic index of 54, soba is considered a low GI food, meaning it leads to a slower and more gradual rise in blood glucose levels after eating.

Oh, and did I mention? When made without the addition of wheat flour, soba noodles are completely gluten-free.

Back to history

Soba noodles are made by mixing buckwheat flour with a small amount of wheat flour, then slowly and carefully adding water little by little. The dough is mixed by hand, kneaded, rolled with a long rolling pin, folded, then cut. Soba prepared this way is called te-uchi, hand hit, noodles. Although soba noodles can be made by machines, te-uchi noodles are by far the best, as they can withstand a lower ratio of wheat flour and, therefore, taste more like soba.

Originally, soba noodles were served separately and dipped in a small bowl of tsuyu broth. But as yatai, street food stalls, proliferated during the Edo era (1603-1867), it became more common and convenient to serve the noodles with the tsuyu poured directly over them in a single bowl. Yatai soba sellers would preboil the noodles, then, when an order was placed, quickly blanch them, drain them, and pour soup on top. This dish was called kakesoba, poured-on soba. Easy to prepare, easy to eat, and inexpensive, kakesoba soon became a popular fast food throughout Edo (modern-day Tokyo).

During this period, nearly every neighborhood in Edo had one or two yatai selling soba, many of which also served sake. The city’s residents—generally wealthier than those in rural areas—were prone to beriberi, a disease caused by a deficiency of thiamine (vitamin B1). Their refined diets, centered on polished white rice—costly but nutritionally poor—lacked sufficient thiamine. By and by, it was discovered that regularly eating thiamine-rich soba could help prevent the illness.

Edo food delivery, called demae, began in the 1700s as a service to wealthy daimyō, feudal lords. Until the late Showa period (1926-1989), it was common to see bicycle couriers balancing stacks of soba in boxes and bowls on their shoulders, weaving through the crowded streets of Tokyo. However, the practice was curtailed in March 1961, when officials of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department warned, “To ride on a bicycle with piles of soba bowls on your shoulder is dangerous.” Although getting rarer by the day, I still occasionally see people delivering bowls of noodles piled on motorcycles or scooters in my area.

Soba pillows

In keeping with the Japanese motainai philosophy of avoiding all waste, buckwheat hulls have been used for centuries as a filling for pillows. Because of the airflow created by the loose hulls, soba pillows naturally resist pests, mold, and dust mites. They conform to the shape of the head and are much cooler in the hot, humid Japanese summers compared to modern feather or synthetic alternatives.

For more about Japanese food, see Washoku—Wonderful and Beautiful Japanese Cuisine.

The post Soba—Japan’s Most Misunderstood & Most Healthy Noodle first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A Brief History of (Nearly) Forgotten Island Nation

I wrote a detailed history of the Ryukyu Kingdom here; this article offers a shorter version.

For 450 years, Okinawa was the seat of the refined Ryukyu Kingdom, a Chinese tributary, and a pivotal hub of East Asian trade. Strategically positioned at the crossroads of Japan, China, and Southeast Asia, the Ryukyu Islands became a major entrepôt, attracting trading ships from Japan, Korea, and as far south as Java. Renowned for their diplomacy, hospitality, and peaceful nature, the Ryukyu people developed a rich, cosmopolitan culture, turning their island paradise into a repository of treasures and ideas from foreign lands.

Today, Okinawa Prefecture consists of 160 islands, 49 inhabited, stretching 400 kilometers (250 miles) from north to south and 1,000 km (620 miles) from east to west. The prefecture is divided into two main island chains: the central Okinawa Islands and the southern Sakishima Islands. The Sakishima Islands are further subdivided into smaller archipelagos: the Miyako Islands and the Yaeyama Islands. 

Agricultural Development and the Aji

The organization of the kingdom began in the 11th century, when the cultivation of rice and foxtail millet spread to the central Ryukyus, giving rise to an agricultural society. Local chieftains, or aji, emerged to rule farming communities from gusuku, fortified hilltop castles. Over time, the more powerful aji expanded their territories, accumulated wealth, and
led bands of armed retainers.

These regional leaders eventually formed loose confederations that divided Okinawa Island into three polities: Hokuzan in the north, Chuzan in the center, and Nanzan in the south. While Hokuzan had fertile farmland, Chuzan and Nanzan grew more prosperous through international trade, importing ceramics and exporting goods such as sulfur and green turban shells, valued for their use in mother-of-pearl inlay. This early trade cast only a faint shadow of the flourishing cosmopolitan kingdom Ryukyu would later become.

The Rise of Satto, King of Chuzan (reigned 1345-1395)—Official Trade with China Begins

In 1349, a young local governor named Satto seized control of the central region of Chuzan and proclaimed himself king. His rise coincided with major upheavals in East Asia: the Mongol Empire was collapsing, Japanese pirates roamed the seas attacking trading ships and coastal ports, and a former beggar, Zhu Yuanzhang, was on his way to conquering China. After capturing Nanjing in 1356, Zhu went on to declare himself the first emperor of the Ming dynasty in 1368.

To the Chinese, all foreign peoples were considered “barbarians” who must submit to the divinely mandated Chinese emperor. As such, in 1372, Chinese emissaries arrived in Okinawa to establish a tributary relationship. King Satto responded by sending envoys to China, who returned with a royal seal and documents recognizing him as the legitimate ruler of Chuzan. This began formal trade relations with China—a relationship that would last for 500 years and have a profound impact on Okinawan culture.

Trade with China brought prosperity and cultural exchange. Okinawa sent goods such as sulfur and textiles, while the Chinese sent ceramics, ironware, and books. Young Okinawan nobles traveled to Nanjing to study, as it was understood that “barbarian” nations had much to learn from China—and learn they did. The students mastered the Chinese language, Confucian philosophy, ethics, history, and poetry. 

Both the tribute envoys and these students’ mastery of Chinese court etiquette earned them such distinction that, in later years, one emperor honored the king with a tablet inscribed with “The Land of Propriety,” acknowledging the refinement and decorum of the Ryukyuan people.

The First King of Ryukyu, Sho Hashi (Reigned 1422-1439)

King Satto died in 1395, leaving the throne to his son, Bunei. However, in 1407, a young aji named Hashi led a rebellion, ousted Bunei, and took the throne. Taking the name Sho Hashi, he unified Okinawa’s three polities—Hokuzan, Nanzan, and Chuzan—founding the Ryukyu Kingdom. He remodeled Shuri Castle, originally built in the 13th century, after China’s Forbidden City. For the next 450 years, the castle stood as the kingdom’s political center and a symbol of its strength and connection with China.

Chinese-educated officials guided the kingdom’s administration, strengthening diplomatic and trade ties with China. The capital, Shuri, prospered as luxury goods from Southeast Asia were funneled through the port of Naha and traded with China, Korea, and Japan. The savvy Ryukyuans, avoiding conflict and lacking military power, relied on diplomacy and cultural refinement to secure their place in regional networks.

Naha grew into a bustling port. Ceramics, lacquerware, textiles, spices, medicinal herbs, Chinese brocade, coins, books, and even exotic animals, like parrots and peacocks, flowed through its docks. While the Shuri elites flourished, much of the population remained poor. Inspired by imported luxuries they could not afford, Okinawan peasants created bashofu, a fine gauze woven from the fibers of banana plants, well-suited to the island’s tropical climate. Kasuri, an intricate dyed textile technique from the Indies, was adopted and refined, as well as tie-dyeing methods. Musical instruments and dance forms from abroad also took root, shaping Ryukyuan culture. 

Despite the growing prosperity of the capital, life for the average islander was hard. To cope, communities developed a tradition of mutual aid and cooperation, helping one another in any way they could. Known as yuimaru, this deep community spirit remains a cornerstone of Okinawan culture.

Through the reigns of Sho Hashi and his successors, the Ryukyu Kingdom evolved from a fragmented island society into a powerful and culturally rich trading nation, with the magnificent Shuri Castle as its heart.

New Agricultural Products

In 1606, an Okinawan sailor brought sweet potatoes back from China and planted them in his yard, unwittingly altering the course of the islands’ economy. Within 15 years, this hardy, high-yield crop became a staple across the Ryukyu Islands.

A second major crop arrived in 1623 when an envoy to China returned with sugarcane slips. The introduction of sugar—a prized luxury in Japan—led to profitable trade with the Satsuma domain in southern Kyushu. Together, sweet potatoes and sugarcane transformed the kingdom’s agricultural economy, strengthening food security and driving trade.

The Rise of the “Lords of the Southern Islands”—Shimadzu Rule (1609-1872)

In the late 12th century, Japan’s first shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, appointed Shimadzu Tadahisa as ruler of southern Kyushu, granting him the title “Lord of Satsuma” and the honorary title “Lord of the Southern Islands.” Though the latter title faded into obscurity, it would resurface with weighty consequences centuries later.

When Tokugawa Ieyasu unified Japan and became shogun in 1603, he recognized Ryukyu’s strategic value—both as a buffer against European powers like Spain, which had seized the Philippines in 1571, and as a covert channel for trade with the Ming. In 1609, Ieyasu’s son ordered the Shimadzu clan of Satsuma to conquer the Ryukyu Kingdom. 

The peace-loving islanders were no match for the battle-hardened Shimadzu samurai, armed with Western matchlock muskets. Shuri Castle fell within two months, and the Ryukyuan king was taken in chains to Satsuma, present-day Kagoshima.

Though Ryukyu was now under Satsuma’s control, the Shimadzu preserved the appearance of independence to protect access to Chinese trade. The king was reinstated, tribute missions to the Ming court continued, and outwardly, little seemed changed. But Ryukyu’s autonomy was lost, and the bulk of its wealth now flowed into Satsuma’s coffers.

Subjugated Ryukyu

To keep Ryukyu’s puppet status hidden from China, the Shimadzu clan enforced strict secrecy. Japanese writing was concealed, and if a Satsuma man was addressed in Japanese by a Chinese official, he had to feign ignorance. Okinawans were banned from adopting Japanese names, dress, or customs—a policy that, ironically, helped preserve Ryukyuan culture from assimilation.

Under Shimadzu rule, Chinese cultural influence continued to shape Okinawa. New traditions emerged, such as ishigantō stones placed at T-junctions to ward off evil spirits, kamekō-baka turtleback family crypts, and shīsā lions guarding the sides of residential entrances. From the Meiji Era (1868-1912), shīsā also began appearing on rooftops.

While profiting from Ryukyu’s trade with China, the Shimadzu placed heavy burdens on the kingdom. In addition to demanding frequent diplomatic missions to Edo, they imposed steep taxes. The Ryukyu government, in turn, passed these costs onto the Sakishima Islands through a poll tax.

Instituted in 1638 and lasting until 1903, the tax required all adults between the ages of 15 and 50 to pay in rice and cloth, regardless of their ability to produce. Quotas were based on the population of each village, placing a disproportionate strain on farmers. To prevent organized resistance, the kingdom forbade the migration of islanders.

The Shimadzu also outlawed weapons—a policy some historians link to the development of Okinawan martial arts. Locals adapted Chinese ti into a system of self-defense that became karate, meaning “empty hand.” Originally practiced in secret, karate emphasized respect, self-discipline, self-control, and the principle of avoiding conflict, qualities easily understood within the context of Ryukyu’s history and culture.

The Assimilation of the Ryukyu Kingdom and the Meiji Era (1868-1912)

In 1864, the Ryukyuan king received investiture from China for the last time, marking the end of a 500-year tradition. Meanwhile, Japan stood on the cusp of radical change. In 1867, the Meiji Emperor ascended the throne, ending 750 years of feudalism and ushering in an era of rapid modernization and territorial consolidation. 

Japan quickly adopted Western models for industry, military organization, and education. Feudal domains were replaced by prefectures, and lords gave way to governors. In 1871, the Meiji government declared the Ryukyu Kingdom a Japanese domain. Eight years later, it was annexed and renamed Okinawa Prefecture. Japanese was made the official language, local dialects were banned, and schools adopted the standard national curriculum. Students caught speaking the Ryukyu language were publicly shamed.

Many Okinawans who moved to mainland Japan concealed their origins to avoid prejudice. They were often stereotyped as unsophisticated country folk, while Okinawans, in turn, looked upon the inhabitants of the Sakishima Islands as even more “backward.” The Sakishima Islanders were treated as lesser subjects; they still carried the burden of the poll tax, and their islands were now being used as penal colonies for Okinawan convicts.

The Militarization of Okinawa

From the perspective of the Meiji Imperial Army, the Ryukyu Islands were a critical link between Formosa (the Japanese colony of Taiwan) and mainland Japan. Yet, Okinawans were considered unfit for military service as most adult men fell below the minimum height and weight requirements. The older generation vehemently opposed militarization, fearing it would invite attacks. Unlike the samurai of the mainland, Okinawans had no history of combat; they were peace-loving traders and diplomats, not warriors.

However, after Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese War of 1905, Okinawans were drafted into the military, and fitness programs were introduced across the islands. The towns that produced the most recruits were honored. Military leaders sought to instill a fanatic spirit in the islanders to compensate for their small stature. 

WWII—The Battle of Okinawa

By February 1944, with Allied forces advancing toward Japan, Okinawa stood directly in their path, a final buffer to delay an attack on the main islands. In anticipation of invasion, civilians were conscripted to build defenses, soldiers seized homes, and centuries-old pines lining Okinawa’s highways were stripped away. 

On April 1, 1945, American forces landed near Kadena, about a third of the way up Okinawa Island. To their surprise, they encountered little resistance and quickly advanced to the eastern coast, splitting the island. Civilians fled north, unprotected and terrified by Imperial propaganda warning of American atrocities. By May 5, the northern half of the island fell under American control. 

Meanwhile, General Ushijima, the top Imperial commander, had made his headquarters beneath Shuri Castle. His strategy was to draw the American forces under Shuri’s craggy heights, unleash a powerful crossfire, and hold them off until reinforcements could arrive from the mainland.

As American troops advanced, the fighting intensified into one of the fiercest artillery battles of the war. Though they reached the castle, its 500-year-old walls held firm. Offshore, kamikaze pilots from Kyushu attacked the American fleet, causing damage but failing to disrupt operations. On May 24, the battleship USS Mississippi opened fire on Shuri. For three days, it shelled the fortress until the once-magnificent ancient castle was reduced to ruins, its formidable walls crumbled into rubble.

On May 31, General Ushijima abandoned his headquarters beneath Shuri and relocated to a cave on the southern coast. Although the retreating Japanese fought with unparalleled ferocity from cave to cave, organization and discipline had disintegrated. The Imperial forces chose death over surrender, but with utter disregard for the civilians trapped among them.

Terrified locals, including the wounded and sick, sought refuge in caves, but these sanctuaries offered little safety. Japanese troops often took over the caves, forcing civilians out or using them as sniper positions, drawing American fire.

Naha fell on June 13. In the early hours of June 21, General Ushijima and his chief of staff, facing the humiliation of defeat, went to the ledges overlooking the southern sea, saluted the emperor in distant Tokyo, and took their own lives.

War’s Tragic Toll

The Battle of Okinawa inflicted immense suffering on civilians, who accounted for the majority of the casualties, more than those of both American and Japanese troops combined. Indoctrinated by the Imperial Army, Okinawans were taught that it was more honorable to die than face the “shame” of capture. Civilians were often issued two grenades—one to kill the enemy and the other to take their own lives.

Strict military control and relentless propaganda fostered an atmosphere of fear. Anyone caught speaking English or their local dialect was executed for suspected espionage. Those urging surrender were killed. Civilians were warned of torture, rape, and death if captured. As American troops advanced, these warnings triggered mass suicides. Soldiers instructed families to avoid capture at all costs, with mothers urged to kill their children and then themselves rather than fall into enemy hands.

Survivor accounts reveal the horror. In one case, Mr. Komine recalled his family forming a circle as his father prepared to execute them. He watched in horror as his father bludgeoned his mother and siblings before he was struck. After the killings, his father hanged himself from a tree. Against all odds, Mr. Komine was rescued by American troops and survived. 

Despite the widespread fear, many civilians hiding in caves were eventually driven out by hunger or desperation. Bracing for poison or brutal treatment, they were astonished to be given water, food, and medical care by American soldiers. Okinawa remained under US occupation after the war until it was returned to Japan in 1972. 

Okinawa’s Ongoing Struggles

Government policies have long prioritized the welfare and economic growth of mainland Japan over Okinawa, leaving the prefecture with a legacy of occupation, repression, and militarization. Today, critics argue that Okinawa continues to bear a disproportionate burden for the mainland’s interests, particularly through the continued presence of US military bases.

Okinawa’s poverty rate stands at approximately 35%, double the national average, with per capita income about 20% lower. The prefecture also records Japan’s highest rates of unemployment, irregular employment, and single-parent households, along with the second-highest divorce rate.

Educational outcomes remain troubling. Okinawa consistently ranks lowest on national academic achievement tests for students in grades six through nine and has the country’s lowest rate of university enrollment.

The elderly face acute financial hardship. Roughly 6.2% of residents aged 65 and older receive no pension—about twice the national average. Among those who do, the average monthly benefit is just ¥51,864, the lowest in Japan.

A Beacon of Resilience

Despite, or perhaps because of, a history of economic hardship and adversity, Okinawans are renowned for their kindness, resilience, and longevity. Women, in particular, enjoy an average life expectancy of 87.44 years, evoking the ancient image of the Ryukyu Islands as a mythical “land of the immortals.”

Designated a Blue Zone—one of several regions in the world known for exceptional longevity—Okinawa exemplifies the benefits of a balanced, traditional lifestyle. Residents maintain low stress levels, strong family and community ties, and active lives well into their 80s and beyond. Their diet, rich in locally sourced and nutrient-dense foods like sweet potatoes and other plant-based staples, is said to help reduce the risks of cancer, heart disease, and dementia, diseases common in Western populations.

The Okinawan way of life is rooted in a deep sense of community, or yuimaru, and the concept of ikigai, a profound sense of purpose. These cultural pillars, combined with physical activity and a healthy diet, have been praised as key factors in their well-being.

Though Okinawa has faced myriad challenges, its people continue to inspire with their warmth, deep-rooted mutual care, and positive outlook. Their enduring vitality and joie de vivre stand as a testament to the strength of their culture.

The post The Ryukyu Kingdom’s Rise and Ruin first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.