Atomic bomb and life

 traveled to Hiroshima.

    Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park was overflowing with foreign tourists and groups of elementary, junior high, and high school students. Despite being a park bustling with so many people coming and going, it was wrapped in an atmosphere of “silence.”     Especially around the cenotaph, familiar from television screens, it felt almost like an altar. People lined up at this site where the words of a vow, an eternal flame, and the remains of the Atomic Bomb Dome could be seen. Some held cameras, some bowed their heads, some pressed their hands together in prayer.I was overwhelmed by the　atmosphere of the place, and tears welled up as I instinctively joined my hands in prayer. The number of victims from the atomic bombing is said to be about 140,000. The fact that lives and daily routines were taken in an instant is heartbreaking.

 By viewing the materials and exhibits at the Peace Memorial Museum, I could vividly imagine the scenes from 80 years ago, and it became unbearable. I wonder what kind of feelings people take home with them after visiting this place. Even now, the image of the Atomic Bomb Dome, still exposing its skeletal structure under the clear sky, scorched and melted clothing torn from burned skin, melted bridge girders, human figures burned into the stone pavement—these scenes flash through my mind.I find myself asking, “Why did this have to happen?” “What about the children? The parents?” “What if it were me?” It left a stronger impression than any documentary film or war novel ever could.

　Now, in Gaza, Palestine, Syria, Ukraine, Myanmar… all over the world, ordinary people are becoming victims of wars sparked by those in power. I pray that the silent presence of the Atomic Bomb Dome, which still stands strong despite the overwhelming destructive power of the bomb, and the quiet square filled with the remains of victims and the cries of those who mourned, may bring hope to the people of Gaza, Kyiv, and elsewhere　tomorrow.

　Japanese people tend not to speak much or express themselves outwardly in English. Our flat expressions make it hard for emotions to be conveyed, and we often humble ourselves naturally before people from other countries. Even toward an enemy, we smile and greet them. Even if we are not in the wrong, we say “sorry.”　We quietly endure hardships, suppress resentment and bitterness, and go on living our daily lives.
　Silent resistance. Non-violence. On the riverside looking up at the Atomic Bomb Dome, there was a statue of Gandhi.       

140,000 in an instant.　Even after such a sacrifice, what is the nature of the desires of great powers that still create the roots of invasion, exclusion, and attack?　Rather than becoming a slave to such desires, I wanted to stand with those who have become victims.
It was hard to walk away from that place.

Power Balance : Entertainment Japanese Yakuza Films of the 1970s

 Hibotan Bakuto Oryu Sanjyo 

                            By TOEI movie Company 1970

Was It Really an Hour and 40 minitues?

The time flew by—an hour and ４０minitues. If it passed so quickly, then it must have been interesting. The film didn’t allow the audience the luxury of hesitation or doubt.The setting is the early Meiji era. Oryu, the protagonist, finds herself caught in a territorial dispute among entertainment bosses in Asakusa’s Rokku district. Ninkyō (chivalry) is often associated with loyalty and compassion, but in this story, the hero and heroine emerge from betrayal and ruthlessness. Despite this, both uphold their obligations and display deep humanity—though they remain, at their core, part of an anti-social underworld.

At the time, yakuza characters in films still carried a sense of guilt, sorrow, and loneliness from being outcasts. At the very least, the filmmakers of that era could empathize with such sentiments. By 1970, as Japan was entering a period of rapid economic growth, "corporate warriors" may have found inspiration in the lone drifters who stood up to their bosses.

As the ninkyō film genre evolved across the Shōwa, Heisei, and Reiwa eras, its themes changed accordingly. The perception of ninkyō shifted, with yakuza now labeled as organized crime and anti-social forces. In modern yakuza films, violence has been amplified, with its catalyst shifting from loyalty and emotions to territorial disputes. Human portrayals have become more stereotypical, reducing violence to a raw, unquestioned force.

Though released in 1970, the film was produced in the late 1960s—a period marked by student movements and political unrest surrounding the 1960 and 1970 Anpo (Japan-U.S. Security Treaty) protests. Japan was on the cusp of high economic growth, and society was brimming with energy and vitality. Films at the time represented the forefront of entertainment, serving as a balancing force for this societal energy.

Why did ninkyō films become such a hit? Perhaps because they offered an escape from the ordinary—a contrast between individuals and collectives, the underworld and mainstream society, morality and ruthlessness, non-violence and violence, male-dominated worlds and the presence of women. If audiences sought such escapism, it suggests that their everyday reality was one of being consumed by organizations, distant from violence, disconnected from the underworld, and lacking warmth in human relationships.

Shōwa-era society might have operated on such a power balance. In these films, yakuza settle matters before the police can intervene—not through negotiation, but brute force. A small group of gamblers is attacked by a larger gang, yet the outnumbered side is given a dramatic, memorable death scene. Here, the collective is always the villain. Despite relying on group strength, their evil is exaggerated and relentlessly depicted on screen.

Weapons of choice: Japanese swords and pistols. Unlike samurai films, the combat here features reckless, unrefined swordplay—yet the heroes and heroines move with a samurai-like grace. In large battle scenes, the collective force is mocked, offering a cathartic sense of justice to the audience.

While the yakuza organization values hierarchy, everything ultimately depends on the boss’s leadership. Both bosses and low-ranking members understand the importance of loyalty. This hidden underworld sustained Asakusa’s entertainment industry, where competent bosses took care of their customers. Defending one’s territory also meant protecting the audience. Actor Arashi Kanjūrō embodied the presence of a capable boss, leaving a strong impression. His dying words, “Don’t fight,” seemed to signal the end of the conflict—only for the story to take another turn.

Oryu, the guest of honor, repays her debt of loyalty by single-handedly confronting the villainous boss. She is aided by Bunta, a fellow drifter, who protects her and engages in a fierce battle. In the final scene, Oryu cradles Bunta, her expression showing a rare moment of feminine vulnerability. She survives, while Bunta, taking responsibility for the fight, meets his end—but the details remain ambiguous. His final words, “Let me settle this myself,” leave one wondering how he intended to do so despite his fatal wounds.

The script must have been exciting to write. Partway through, actor Tomisaburō Wakayama appears in a narrator-like role, heroically aiding Oryu—a moment of levity before the tension escalates. The film’s pacing is superb.

Two particularly remarkable scenes stand out: the tense standoff between Junko Fuji and Bunta across a gambling den, and their silent, unspoken exchange on a snowy drum bridge. These moments reflect the dedication and craftsmanship of the filmmakers of the time. Japan’s aesthetic of restrained tension remains exceptional.

”Bakuto" is a Japanese term referring to people who make a living from gambling.

In Japanese culture, gambling and games of chance have played a significant role. The phrase "Kamogawa ni sugoroku nagasu nanishini zo" (Throwing a sugoroku board into the Kamo River—what is the purpose of such an act?), found in Ryojin Hisho, a collection of popular songs from the late Heian period, reflects this sentiment. By that time, sugoroku (a traditional board game) had already become a common pastime not only among the nobility but also among ordinary people. Emperor Go-Shirakawa (1127～1192）saw in the uncertainty of sugoroku dice rolls a reflection of life's ups and downs, as well as a sense of resignation to fate.

Beyond sugoroku, various games of chance developed into gambling, giving rise to individuals who made a living from betting. It was not until the Edo period that professional gambling groups became socially recognized. There were two main types: toseinin (wandering gamblers with no fixed territory) and kyokaku (chivalrous gamblers who protected local　communities). Kyokaku operated within designated territories and took on the role of defending their local areas.

Popular figures among the common people included Jirocho of Shimizu (Shizuoka), Takegaki Goro (Edo, Asakusa), Omaeda Eigoro (Saitama/Gunma), Kurokoma Katsuzo (Yamanashi), Aizu Kotetsu (Kyoto), Sasagawa Shigezo (Chiba, the model for Tenpo Suikoden), and Kunisada Chuji (Gunma). Until the end of the Edo period, they were admired by the people for their principle of "helping the weak and resisting the strong," and many became models for dramatic works. Some of these figures had connections with historical leaders such as Saigo Takamori, Katsu Kaishu, and the Shinsengumi, leveraging their group strength to contribute to societal changes during times of structural transformation.

However, when the Meiji government enforced strict anti-gambling laws as part of its modernization efforts, professional gamblers were forced underground to continue their trade. As these groups became more organized, they expanded beyond gambling, collecting mikajime-ryo (protection money) and engaging in various illicit activities. Over time, they came to be recognized as boryokudan (organized crime syndicates) and hanshakaiteki seiryoku (anti-social forces), relegated to the underworld of society.