“I sometimes think I could have done more,” remarks Sachio Katagiri, reflecting on the experiences outlined in his recently published Idyllic Days of Banishment: A Year at the Shikoku Branch of the Japan Highway Public Corporation (Shakai Hyoron-sha, Tokyo; April, 2015).

　　　　　“But didn’t you do your very best?” I asked the economist during our interview. “Why do you say that?”

　　　　　Katagiri was obviously unwilling to answer this question directly.

　　　　　JH, split into three private enterprises in 2005 after years of mismanagement and burgeoning debt, was a public entity founded by the government in 1956 to construct and manage highway networks in Japan. In 2002, Katagiri was appointed by JH as the deputy secretary-general of a committee aimed at promoting privatization of four related highway public corporations. The committee came into the limelight under the administration of Junichiro Koizumi, a prime minister then viewed as a strong advocate of reforms across the board. In the end, the JH reform scheme was a devastating failure, the likes of which have not been seen in any other reform efforts in Japan. The committee had split into two factions and lost two of its seven members by the time it prepared its final report. Its recommendations were completely ignored by the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport, and Tourism, which had been tasked by Koizumi to draft legislation. The bills submitted by the ministry in fact only called for nominal privatization, and were fundamentally contrary to the committee’s recommendations. Despite this, Naoki Inoki—a committee member and well-known journalist—touted the legislation as representing significant change and became a darling of the media as a standard bearer of reform.

　　　　　Amid a fierce internal debate over whether the legislation indeed represented true reform or not, Katagiri incurred the anger of JH president Haruho Fujii because of a fundamental difference of perception concerning whom highways belong to. In short, while Fujii and his supporters regarded highways as “belonging to the state,” Katagiri firmly believed they “belong to the private sector and must naturally be privatized.”

　　　　　It was precisely because of this mindset that Katagiri was appointed to the privatization committee which had been set up through the good offices of Koizumi. The purpose of the varied reform plans Koizumi was advocating at the time, including JH, was supposed to be a transformation of the debt-ridden public corporations into lucrative private enterprises capable of generating profits and repaying loans without having to turn to future generations for repayment. That was the case with the former Japan National Railways when it was divided in 1987 into seven private railway companies. It was only to be expected that Katagiri would make every effort to perform his duties as a responsible new member of the committee, vowing to succeed in solidly establishing the foundation of JH’s privatization. As mentioned before, however, his ideas ran counter to the real intentions of Fujii and JH itself. The misfortune for the reform faction, including Katagiri, was that Koizumi—very skilled at chanting pro-reform slogans and striking the pose of a reform-minded leader—turned his back on reforms in the end.

“The Grace of God”

　　　　　Katagiri and several mid-level JH staff suspected of being his sympathizers were ostracized; in June 2003 Katagiri himself was demoted to vice president of JH’s Shikoku branch in Takamatsu City, Kagawa Prefecture. The Asahi Shimbun in its June 1, 2003 edition reported on his transfer with this heading: “Crackdown on Reformist Faction at JH with Sudden Reassignment of Key Official.”

　　　　　On top of that, Katagiri was sued for defamation by Fujii and JH for exposing scandals within JH in a major monthly magazine. He was forced to appear before JH’s “rewards and punishment” committee on charges of “whistle-blowing” before being sent to Takamatsu, where he was to stay a year and a half. In Idyllic Days of Banishment, he vividly depicts his magnanimous life in scenic Takamatsu City.

　　　　　Katagiri repeatedly states that he and his wife thoroughly enjoyed their life in Takamatsu, not viewing his banishment to this backwater post in a negative light, regardless of how his situation might have been viewed by others. Written in a matter-of-fact fashion, the life with his wife in Takamatsu depicted by Katagiri makes the reader happy for the couple, as they enjoy the taste of prized local delicacies and the warm-heartedness of local residents. One even feels a little sorry for Fujii, the villain in the story who banished Katagiri to Shikoku in the first place.

　　　　　Katagiri’s book leaves one with the impression that he is fundamentally an academic type. I myself felt so as I read his other works—such as Problems of Matters Involving International Currency (Hihyo-sha, Tokyo; 1996) and Let’s Enjoy the Mystery of Piero Sraffa (Shakai Hyoron-sha, Tokyo; 2007). With a man of Katagiri’s personality, his reassignment, which would ordinarily have been very depressing, was transformed into an idyllic time in which he thoroughly enjoyed being regularly paid by his firm while absorbing himself in reading his favorite books day in and day out.

　　　　　I especially empathize with him for his discovery of the merits of taking notes by hand. While in Takamatsu, he made sure to stay away from a computer and instead devoted himself to reading actual books and reference materials, using a pen to scribble his thoughts on filing cards. Through such efforts, he came to realize that “paper is much superior” to digital equipment, writing: “I must express my sincere thanks to God for his grace.” Katagiri filled in the cards as he read books and reference materials, and as he wrote he continued to ponder. The various notes he scribbled here and there made him think more deeply. Through this manual operation, new ideas took shape. Suddenly, dispersed information and knowledge came together in synergy, creating a priceless moment that led him to truths in the deep sense of the word. This is a moment of supreme joy for those who love reading. Katagiri describes as “God’s blessing” the fact that he was able to spend those blissful days in Takamatsu. To him, life away from Tokyo in a local city rich in history was a truly precious experience—completely alien to “the pain and isolation of banishiment,” which society in general tends to regard as inevitable.

　　　　　What books did Katagiri actually read while in Takamatsu? Atsuko Suga’s translated works often appear in his depiction of his life at this time. Incidentally, I too am fond of reciting her translated poems, improvising rhythms.

Next Mission

　　　　　The very first book Katagiri read in Takamatsu was a collection of poems by Italian poet Umberto Saba (1883-1957) translated by Suga. Unperturbed by mocking attacks from Inoki and others that he had been reassigned because of a failed power struggle with Fujii, Katagiri immediately immersed himself in reading Saba.

　　　　　As I read Katagiri’s book, I wondered if he perhaps recited Saba’s poems aloud as he faced the beautiful Pacific Ocean there in Takamatsu. With time hanging heavy on his hands, he daily read newspapers inside out. Katagiri notes he made a point of “underscoring newspaper articles with red and blue pencils, reading everything with a critical mind without missing a word, and taking notes incessantly.” In doing so, he says he was emulating Hotsumi Ozaki (1901-1944), an able journalist who served as an advisor to wartime Japanese prime minister Fumimaro Konoe (1891-1944). Ozaki was executed in 1944 as a collaborator of Richard Sorge, a Soviet military intelligence officer Moscow had posted to Japan in the guise of a German newspaper correspondent. Sorge was also executed as a Soviet spy.

　　　　　Katagiri relates that Ozaki created his note-taking system as recommended by the late liberal historian Goro Hani (1901-1983), his classmate at the First Higher School in Tokyo in the 1920s. That explains his own liberal streak. I agree with Katagiri when he declares Japanese newspapers “went half dead” after they established the exclusive “reporters’ club” system. Too often we see all of the major newspapers mindlessly moving lockstep in the same direction on an issue. This was certainly the case when they all took measures to praise Inoki profusely in their pages, building him up as the standard bearer of reforms in Japan.

　　　　　This herd mentality has long existed in the media in Japan. But there have also been journalists in Japan who have refused to budge an inch—such as Yuyu Kiryu (1873-1941), editor-in-chief of the Shinano Mainichi Shimbun, who was a true liberalist. The renowned literary critic Tsuneari Fukuda (1912-1994) also comes to mind; Fukuda stuck to his principles when faced with pressure from the military before and during the last world war. I think it would be quite interesting if some of the works of these literary giants could be added to Katagiri’s list of books to read.

　　　　　In October 2003, Fujii was discharged as president of JH. The defamation case he had filed against Katagiri went all the way to the Supreme Court, where all of the plaintiff’s claims were dismissed.

　　　　　Eight months later, in June of 2004, Katagiri returned to JH’s Tokyo headquarters. In October the following year, JH ceased to exist as a government-financed corporation, its operations taken over by a nominally private corporation. Inoki was elected Tokyo governor in 2012, only to be forced to resign the following year amid a scandal involving fraudulent election campaign funds to the tune of more than \500 million (US$ 5 million). Recently, photos showing Inoki dating a young female companion livened up gravure gossip pages of weekly magazines.

　　　　　In the meantime, Katagiri has finished sorting out his elaborate notes into 4,000 pages, detailing what took place at JH in terms of its privatization scheme. Assuming that he still thinks he “could have done more at the time,” I would think his next mission is to publish the “whole story” of this rare drama of trickery that unfolded at JH.

(Translated from “Renaissance Japan” column no. 655 in the May 21, 2017 issue of The Weekly Shincho)