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 October-December 2001 |
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Yamafuji has the magazine's whole last page for himself. And, since many readers turn to his page first, he has become known as "the man who makes people open the magazine back to front." Many competing weeklies have copied the format, but no other cartoonist or cartoon could ever emulate Yamafuji and his style. Yamafuji is also known as "Heisei no Zare-eshi"-literally, "the comic artist of the Heisei era." In the Showa era (1926-1989) that preceded it, he was called "Showa no Zare-eshi" (the comic artist of the Showa era). Indeed, he is arguably the most prominent cartoonist in contemporary Japan. "Zare-eshi" is a dated expression that calls to mind ukiyo-e artists of the Edo period (1603-1867). Yamafuji's style is not entirely without some trace of ukiyo-e influence. But it is his basic creative stance, not only his art per se, that most clearly suggests his affinity with the great ukiyo-e masters of the past. Newspaper cartoons have become utterly dull "because cartoonists today don't have to live with any political tension," Yamafuji claims. "We are free to draw whatever we want. We don't have to fear punishment or pressure from the authorities. Because we are able to criticize anything openly, we don't have to resort to satire to save our own skins." During the Edo period, ukiyo-e artists were often targets of government crackdowns on public indecency and extravagance, enforced whenever the government encountered economic difficulties. They were arrested and dragged around town in disgrace for "corrupting" the public with their "decadent" drawings. But the fear of such an eventuality is completely alien to cartoonists today, and they are not even expected to live in fear and tension, says Yamafuji, the latter-day embodiment of the Edo ukiyo-e spirit. Ukiyo-e master Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849) is said to be one of the most frequently mentioned Japanese in academic papers authored by foreign scholars. I understand that Hokusai is the subject of more than 5,000 scholarly works published abroad. I have no idea who compiled such data and how, but the information has been circulated broadly enough to reach even me-a newspaper reporter whose specialty is not Japanese art. I did a little Internet database search myself. With "Hokusai" as the keyword, I got a return of more than 22,000 references. Granted, these may include apparel makers who sell Hokusai brand items. But even so, there is no question about the prominence of Hokusai's place in history. Even Murasaki Shikibu (Lady Murasaki), author of Genji Monogatari (The Tale of Genji), is cited only 4,300 times or so on Websites not in Japanese. Utagawa Hiroshige (1797-1858), another ukiyo-e master who was Hokusai's junior by 37 years, is also a big name abroad. My Internet database search yielded more than 21,000 references. It is well known that Hokusai, Hiroshige and other prominent Edo ukiyo-e artists influenced such European impressionists as Edouard Manet, Vincent van Gogh and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in what is called the Japonism movement in the history of European art. The Japanese people are naturally proud that their nation was the origin of a major artistic trend in Europe. On the other hand, most Japanese have little if any notion of how the works of Hokusai and Hiroshige found their way to the West. In many cases, their drawings were literally treated like waste paper-as packing material for ceramic ware and other breakable exports being shipped overseas. In other instances, the pictures were collecting dust in private homes when they were discovered by Western art dealers, who bought them for peanuts. In other words, Japanese by and large enjoyed ukiyo-e as a form of mass entertainment, but failed to appreciate their artistic value and regarded them as nothing more than scraps of nice, colored paper. Illustration as an Early Social Commentary Aside from their artistic value, ukiyo-e works were also very journalistic by nature. Talk-of-the-town beautiful women and popular tourist spots were frequent ukiyo-e subjects, and coupled with the artists' distinctive penchant for social satire and "news reporting," the pictures served a "mass media" function. The combination of journalism and drawing is hardly new. Indeed, it dates as far back as 800 years. From the 12th century, e-maki, or horizontal picture scrolls, became a favored form of artistic expression. And they were ideal for illustrating stories or incidents that unfolded over time. Many old picture scrolls bear the government's "national treasure" designation, but four sets of works from around the 12th century, called the "Four Great Picture Scrolls," are highly rated for their artistic merit. One is Genji Monogatari Emaki (Picture Scroll of The Tale of Genji), based on Murasaki Shikibu's tour de force of that title. The scrolls are owned by the Tokugawa Art Museum in Nagoya, Aichi Prefecture, and by the Gotoh Museum in Tokyo. Another is Shigisan Engi Emaki (Scrolls of the Legends of Mount Shigi), which depicts the miracles worked by an illustrious Buddhist priest (owned by Chogosonshiji Temple in Nara). The third, Chohjuh Giga (Scrolls of Frolicking Animals), is a 12-century comic anthropomorphication of frogs, rabbits and other animals (owned by Kohzanji Temple in Kyoto). The fourth scroll is Ban Dainagon Emaki (Illustrated Stories on the Courtier Ban Dainagon), owned by the Idemitsu Museum of Arts in Tokyo. This work tells the story of an actual arson that destroyed a famous gate in Kyoto, then the nation's capital. This was a politically motivated crime, planned by a court noble who became entangled in a court power struggle. The incident developed into a historic case of false accusations, but none of this was ever revealed in the official chronicles of the time. Had it not been for this picture scroll, there would have been no record of what is regarded as the true history of the incident for posterity. The work was an outstanding example of journalism. Wars were also a favorite theme of picture scrolls. Mohko Shuhrai Ekotoba (Mongol Invasions Painting Scrolls), done in the late 13th century and owned by the Museum of the Imperial Collections (Sannomaru Shohzohkan) of the Imperial Household Agency, is unique in that it was commissioned by a warrior who fought in the war against the Mongols and wanted to make sure the government acknowledged his valor. But that aside, this work is a superb example of journalistic reporting on the buildup of the Mongol empire and the Mongol war of invasion as witnessed by a contemporary. Ukiyo-e artists of the Edo period inherited from their earlier counterparts the journalistic spirit of curiosity and the desire to report what they saw. Seen in this light, it was only natural that many became involved in newspaper publishing after the Meiji Restoration of 1868. Mainichi Shimbun, Japan's oldest mass-circulation newspaper, had ukiyo-e artists among its founding members when it started out as the Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbun. Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839-1892), highly acclaimed abroad as the "last ukiyo-e master" and mentioned more than 11,000 times on Websites around the world, was also involved in the publication of a newspaper illustrated with ukiyo-e pictures in garish colors. The rapid growth in popularity of newspapers in Japan owed much to those with ukiyo-e illustrations. Even though most of today's general-circulation newspapers are the descendants of those papers, however, journalism and cartoons do not necessarily coexist in mutual bliss, as the comment from Yamafuji above suggests. Just when did Japanese journalism begin to downplay the use of cartoons-or any graphic elements, for that matter? In November 1987, Hitotsuyanagi Tohichiro, then president of The Asahi Shimbun, held a party for about 20 cartoonists who regularly contributed to various Asahi publications. It was the newspaper's first such party, and, as it happened, also turned out to be the last, as Hitotsuyanagi stepped down a year and a half later. Hitotsuyanagi's party plans startled his secretaries, but no one was more surprised than the cartoonists he had invited. Yamafuji was among them. He recalls thinking at the time that Hitotsuyanagi was "a real oddball of a president." Hitotsuyanagi recalls, "I always believed it was the duty of every newspaper to groom talented cartoonists. As you can see from newspapers abroad, a good cartoon can bring out the essence of an incident or a social trend much more effectively than a badly written story." He says his thoughts about cartoons and cartoonists were shaped during his years as a political reporter in the 1950s and 1960s. At the time, The Asahi Shimbun had a cartoon-illustrated political column called 8-miri Seikyoku, which may be translated loosely as "watching politics through an 8-millimeter movie camera." As the column's editor, Hitotsuyanagi often went out drinking with the column's young cartoonist in the Ginza area, and sometimes brought the cartoonist back to the editorial office so they could work together all night on an idea. That young cartoonist was Kojima Kou, now a 73-year-old veteran who heads the Japan Cartoonists Association. Kojima originally specialized in erotic cartoons of buxom young nudes. "My real talent still lies there," Kojima says. "Before I was given this column, the only newspaper people I dealt with were arts, lifestyle and culture writers. At first I had no idea how to draw punchy political cartoons, and Mr. Hitotsuyanagi had to teach me a lot of things." "Back then, people at Asahi used to joke that the paper owed its sharp circulation growth to a cartoon," Hitotsuyanagi reminisces. That was the four-panel cartoon Sazae-san by Hasegawa Machiko (1920-1992). A phenomenal post-World War II hit that portrayed the daily lives of an "ordinary" Japanese homemaker called Sazae-san and her family, the cartoon originally ran in a local Kyushu newspaper. But Ohgiya Shohzo, the legendary Asahi editor who also did a stint as the editor in chief of the weekly Shukan Asahi magazine, recognized Hasegawa's extraordinary talent and scouted her for The Asahi Shimbun. The cartoon's popularity soared along with the rapid expansion of Japanese consumerism, contributing to the paper's rise in circulation. Before long, Sazae-san was a national icon. The comic has since been published in book form with strong sales exceeding 10 million copies. The animated version is still shown on commercial television. Even Hasegawa's death in 1992 has not diminished Sazae-san's popularity. In February 1974, some months after Hitotsuyanagi became managing editor of The Asahi Shimbun, Hasegawa discontinued Sazae-san. But together with then-President Hirooka Tomoo, a confirmed Hasegawa fan, Hitotsuyanagi often visited her at her home to negotiate the revival of her cartoon in the paper. Meanwhile, Hitotsuyanagi was also deeply involved in the introduction of a new four-frame cartoon. "I was proud of the fact that our paper was outcompeting everyone in the four-frame cartoon genre," he notes. "In fact, our paper had grown so influential that even the prime minister complained about what we ran. It wasn't that I tried to lure readers with cartoons. I believed we needed to invest heavily in newspaper cartoons. At the time, television did not have the influence it now has." That was the context in which Hitotsuyanagi held the party for the 20 or so cartoonists in 1987. Kojima is still drawing political cartoons for The Asahi Shimbun today, taking turns with three other cartoonists. But the situation has changed greatly from before. Nowadays he rarely gets together with his editor for dinner or drinks. The only editor he has ever gone out with in recent years was Yakushiji Katsuyuki, now an editorial writer. But even Yakushiji observes, "What is expected of political cartoonists today is completely different from what was expected in the past, when all they had to do was concentrate on domestic subjects, such as intraparty factional power dynamics and human relations. But today, they have to be knowledgeable about global politics as well. Many cartoonists do make the effort to keep their files on the world's political leaders up to date, but there are obviously limits." Aoki Yasuyuki, who succeeded Yakushiji as a deputy editor of the political department, worries about the future of political cartoons. "I sometimes even wonder if they are really necessary," he says. Aoki's feelings are best echoed in a commentary contributed to The Yomiuri Shimbun by critic Kure Tomofusa in the paper's evening edition on January 26, 1991, under the title of "A New Framework That Is Needed for a Resurgence of Political Cartoons." Kure, too, finds recent newspaper cartoons "only rarely interesting." He says: "I often sigh in dismay at the thought that some people find even such mediocre works entertaining." He argues that the proliferation of such visual elements as photos and information graphics in newspapers and magazines, not to mention the influence of television, has "diminished the need for political cartoons as a means to satisfy readers' desire for visually derived information." Kure goes on to assert, "In this day and age, there is no longer any place for the optimistic spirit of enlightenment-the thinking that if politics are presented to the masses in a caricaturized form, the masses will better understand politics, which in turn will raise their consciousness and help make society a better place." Kure concludes his commentary with the warning, "Perhaps 20 years from now, political cartoonists could become extinct." Ten years have passed already since Kure sounded the alarm. If his prophesy is to be believed, political cartoons are just 10 years away from extinction. Journalistic cartoons, in other words, are now halfway to becoming entries in the Red Book of endangered species. The same sense of crisis is being addressed by cartoonists themselves. Says Yamafuji, "As a mass communication medium, Japanese newspapers offer a pretty comprehensive package to the audience, but the only thing that is lacking is humor." He charges that media companies lack understanding for, or interest in, cartoons. "The people who write and edit newspaper stories still seem to believe they are the enlightened elites who have to educate the readers. They don't see any need for humor." However, Yamafuji believes political cartoons will surely survive, albeit just barely, "like rakugo, the traditional entertainment art of comic storytelling." Yamanoi Norio is a unique cartoonist who lives in the small, northeastern city of Hirosaki, in Aomori Prefecture. His specialty is international politics. A licensed Buddhist priest, he worked until recently for a temple run by his wife's family. The sacerdotal duties he dispensed there did not earn him cash. His parishioners paid him only in kind-rice, vegetables and mostly apples, the main local produce. From his 20s into his 40s, Yamanoi lived abroad for 15 years, and most of that time was spent in France. This background shaped his career as an international political cartoonist. Upon his return to Japan in the late 1980s, he began contributing to the weekly AERA magazine published by The Asahi Shimbun. His other current outlets include The Nikkei Weekly, the English language weekly newspaper published by the Nihon Keizai Shimbun, and the French weekly magazine Le Courrier International. He also does a weekly animation cartoon for Asahi Internet Caster, a Web-based column I produce for The Asahi Shimbun's Internet site (URL: http://www.asahi.com/column/aic/index.html). Yamanoi has received a number of international awards, including the grand prize at the International Editorial Cartoon Festival held in Rouen, France, in October 2000. He is in close touch with cartoonists in Eastern Europe, the Mideast and Southeast Asia, and is active in organizing reciprocal exhibitions. In Japan, however, he is not widely appreciated. About 10 years ago, The Asahi Shimbun brought him in for the daily four-fame for the evening edition. His works, which reflected his interest in international politics, won accolades from Shiba Ryotaro (1923-1996), arguably the most widely read novelist in contemporary Japan. Shiba told him once, "It's about time Japanese cartoonists outgrew the same old slapstick pattern-the 'someone slips on a banana skin' kind of humor. But I can see you have the potential to rise beyond that." But readers did not show strong support for or interest in Yamanoi's cartoons, and the paper let him go. Shiba, incidentally, was a tank corps officer during World War II. When the war ended, he is said to have "considered becoming a cartoonist for a moment." "I must say Japanese are truly apathetic about international relations and foreign affairs," laments Yamanoi. "The economy is bad now, and this is turning people's interest even further away from issues of diplomacy. There is a total lack of interest in international news, and this is not limited to the cartoon world alone." In contrast, he says, a newspaper like Le Monde always devotes pages to Asia and Latin America coverage. "It is as if the paper has an invisible world globe to remind itself and its readers to pay attention to the whole world," he says. But he never senses this mentality in Japanese newspapers. Yamanoi adds that Japanese cartoonists can probably handle the United States, Britain, Germany and France, but that's about the extent. "As for other countries, their imagination must be as poor as that of foreign cartoonists who can only draw Fujiyama and geisha when it comes to Japan, or the pyramids if it's Egypt." Recently, he recalls, an Israeli cartoonist was planning an exhibition to show how the 1976 Entebbe hostage crisis was depicted in political cartoons around the world, and Yamanoi was asked to look for an appropriate exhibit from Japan. But he could find none, so he drew one himself and sent it to the Israeli cartoonist. "I draw international political cartoons because I believe the world needs them," he says. "But probably the Japanese people have no need for such cartoons. Therefore, I am not in demand here, and I don't get assignments from the local media." Cartoonists With a Purpose He confesses he really envies Jean Plantu, whose works in Le Monde have earned him the respect and warm support of innumerable readers, wherever his works appear. But he has also come across many cartoonists who were risking their lives for their political conviction. "Paris is full of refugee cartoonists who refuse to be silenced politically." He has met those from Iran and Algeria who were being hunted by terrorists as well as agents of their governments. A refugee from Bosnia told him the only way he could keep his sanity was to keep drawing cartoons. "Their determination to stick to their professional conviction may have to do with the low literacy rates in their countries, which renders cartoons a powerful and also necessary tool for the communication of ideas," he conceded. "But you just have to wonder how many Japanese cartoonists can even relate to their determination and sense of mission to change politics with their works. I don't think Japan had any such cartoonists even during World War II. In fact, I doubt that we have had any since the Edo ukiyo-e artists." Perhaps Yamanoi is being too harsh on cartoonists in laying all the blame upon them for having failed to fulfill their moral responsibility. After all, many journalists copped out, too. The present relationship of journalism and cartoons-or the present reality of Japanese cartoons as a form of journalism, if you will-appears to be a very far cry from what it used to be for centuries. But this is not to say that the traditional Japanese talent for visual expression has been dulled. Consider, for example, that the Japanese word anime-actually a corruption of the English "animation"-has been re-exported to the world to become part of the global vocabulary. And this would not have happened without the powerful presence and the infectious appeal of such movie, TV or video game cartoon characters as Doraemon and Pokemon. My database search of the world's Websites yielded a whopping 2.02 million for Pokemon and more than 34,300 for Doraemon. Hokusai and Hiroshige are well behind. The Japanese have definitely not fallen out of love with cartoons. On the contrary, comic magazines still form a massive pillar of the domestic publishing industry, even though their circulation has already peaked. While the publication of a nationalistic history textbook stirred considerable controversy this year, Japanese youngsters get much of what they know of history from comic book presentations. Three publishing houses have each published a series of more than 20 volumes, and their combined sales to date far exceed 10 million copies. These comic book versions of Japanese history are a great deal more "readable" than regular school history textbooks. Pictures are not necessarily inferior to writing as a tool for conveying information. "Writing allows you to be vague," says a historian who supervised a series. "But when you explain history in drawing, you have to be sure about every little detail that goes into your picture, such as how a particular town looked or what sort of clothes people wore. To get everything right, our cartoonists expended far greater time and energy on research than required for writing." As I understand it, quite a few history teachers use these comic books to teach Japanese history to their pupils. And many Japanese study economics and even Albert Einstein's theory of relativity in comic books. Perhaps this trend toward more graphic presentations could lead to a "reconciliation" of journalism and cartoons.
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