Repression for the Children?
How Censorship and Moral Panic left a blow in Japanese otakudom.
Disclaimer: Due to the subject matter, reader’s discretion is advised.
The familiar adage, “Think of the children!”, has been invoked as a means to spur moral panic and censorship for the longest time. While much has been said about how variations of this phrase have been exploited, there’s been less focus in English regarding similar assaults on freedom of expression in Japan.
The public outcry and uncertainty as the 1999 “Act on Regulation and Punishment of Acts Relating to Child Prostitution and Child Pornography, and the Protection of Children” was being ratified served as convenient opportunity for stifling creative freedoms. It dealt a blow in Japanese otakudom that would sound familiar to anyone who’s seen similar attacks on video games and other pop culture in the Anglophone West. For outsiders, this may seem surprising, given Japan’s reputation for irreverent if not transgressive anime, manga, and video games. Yet even the Land of the Rising Sun’s is no stranger to those trying to rationalize ever-encroaching repression under the guise of protecting kids or the betterment of society.
There’s no denying the need to combat the exploitation of children, and bringing those involved in actual abuses and crimes to justice. Yet there’s been mounting pressure in recent years to not simply move the goalposts on what those entail, to the point of including fiction without any practical bearing on reality. Whether from foreign sources, or from both traditionalist and “woke” circles domestically, the stakes have only grown higher as artistic freedoms come under threat. Unlike the ’90s, however, the Japanese aren’t taking this idly.
A Shady, Yet Unsung History
It’s worth turning the clock back to the 1990s and glimpse one of the earliest victims of such moralistic attacks: the once-vibrant hentai game, or H-game, scene in arcades and consoles.
Much like in the West, as noted by SUPERJUMP Magazine in 2021, explicit titles had popped up in Japan around the early ‘80s. Ranging from strip mahjong and explicit-themed puzzles to what’s nowadays called eroge, H-games soon found a lucrative niche that seemed untouchable.
Among the most notable to come out during those murky yet laisser-faire times, as touched upon by J-List, was the Super Real Mahjong series, introducing a distinct anime style – featuring the work of industry veteran Ryo Tanaka of the popular YuYu Hakusho series – in a landscape where pixelated pictures and blocky sprites were the norm, alongside voiced heroines, cutscenes, and unique personalities. The relative lack of restraints over what could be done at that period had paradoxically opened the floodgates when it came to innovation, which also had a trickle effect on the rest of Japan’s video game industry.
This is not to say that there wasn’t any opposition. Over the late ‘80s and ‘90s, the trend among console makers, and the Japan Amusement Machine and Marketing Association (JAMMA), was towards stricter decency standards. These were in response to Japanese moral guardians and law enforcement concerns over how accessible such H-games and arcade titles were, despite them not being marketed towards younger demographics. Otaku were also seen by more traditional Japanese at the time as representing a degenerate youth culture. That this period likewise witnessed the exploits of serial killer Tsutomu “Otaku Murderer” Miyazaki in 1989 meant as well that it was easier to stigmatize anything deemed obscene. These circumstances, however, weren’t enough to deter developers from flouting such censorious attempts, especially when lip service or plain profit were often sufficient. Little did they know that they were on borrowed time.
As noted by SUPERJUMP, the impetus came not from Tokyo, but Stockholm. At the inaugural UNICEF-sponsored World Congress Against Sexual Exploitation of Children and Adolescents (WCSECA) in Sweden back in 1996, Japan was put on the spotlight as a “major producer for child pornography”. While the country being uncomfortably lax in that regard was true at that point in time, it was neither exceptional nor the worst offender, especially when provocative “teen” content alone remained widespread globally. The condemnations, however, went beyond legitimate criticism of under-aged gravure (provocative glamour modeling) or under-the-counter distribution of material showing live children. These instead painted a broad swathe that included “lolicon art, the status of school uniforms as a sexual object, their representation in video games”, whether or not the characters are depicted as under 18.
While little discussed at the time, these accusations before the international community had a chilling effect. Be it out of genuine commitment or saving face, a movement emerged within the Japanese Diet towards addressing those issues, which led to the drafting and ratification of the 1999 law meeting little resistance. While admirable, for all its good intentions, this served to vindicate, if not embolden Japanese moral guardians and censors. Granted, the law’s original text made “special mention to the need to protect artistic freedom” and had initially light enforcement; possession of explicit content showing children would be formally declared illegal in 2014. Nonetheless, it gave associations like JAMMA an air of legitimacy, enacting much tighter regulatory restrictions to eliminate whatever’s deemed sexual content outright.
Whether due to fears of attracting moral outrage on themselves, or wanting to keep their reputations intact, regardless if their titles actually fell afoul of the law, it seemed more prudent at the time for developers and publishers to comply. While some eventually found sanctuary on PCs, mobile apps, and online platforms, others were unable to adapt, with Super Real Mahjong creators SETA Corporation shutting its doors in 2009 due to financial troubles. Within a few years, the very notion of such works in consoles and arcades was dead in the water. It’s also partly for this reason that the “Bleached Underpants” trope exists, in which certain creators and studios would release non-explicit versions of their work on censor-compliant platforms so as to avoid potential violations.
Irrespective of morality or any personal misgivings, hardly anyone defended them on the grounds of freedom of expression at the time. After all, not too unlike the infamous Hot Coffee controversy in 2004, involving an unfinished sex minigame in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, few would publicly make their stand defending obscene material, especially when it could be spun as apologia for sexual abuses and violence. Moreover, anime and manga in general were still largely unaffected in part due to the aforementioned lax implementation of the law. In hindsight, however, this wouldn’t stop with explicit content.
History Repeating
Since then, more assaults on creative freedoms had been made with varying degrees of intensity. In 2001, the Second WCSECA broached the question of “whether cartoon-types of child pornography not actually involving real children (the 'Manga' cartoons) should be criminalized”. While the discussion maintained pretenses towards debate, UNICEF’s appeal in 2008 was more flagrant, openly decrying “child pornography in manga comics, animated films, and computer games, as well as individual possession”. In 2016, the United Nations’ Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women had jumped on the bandwagon by not calling for the ban on “the sale of video games or cartoons involving sexual violence against women” as deemed by said committee, as part of its critique of alleged Japanese sexism and misogyny.
By the time the “Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child” was published in 2019, this had devolved into farcical fearmongering against “drawings and virtual representations, depicting non-existing children or persons appearing to be children involved in sexually explicit conduct, and about the serious effect that such material can have on children’s right to dignity and protection”. Though nominally non-binding and voluntary, the fact it both rehashed many of the same talking points invoked over two decades earlier, and conflated wholly fictional creations, including anime, with real abuses betrays a trend towards globalizing such censorious rhetoric, further reinforced by foreign mainstream media outlets like the BBC.
Similar attacks on freedom of expression have come domestically from across the political spectrum, and which go beyond H-games. In 2010, the late Shintaro Ishihara, then-Governor of Tokyo and ardent traditionalist firebrand, succeeded at pushing Bill 156 into the books. As discussed by J-List in 2022, it sought through “direct government action and industry self-regulation”, to restrict any anime, manga, and games that “unjustifiably glorify or emphasize” whatever was seen as detrimental to the youth. Over a decade later, members of the Japanese Communist Party attempted to censor Onsen Musume, a fairly popular “Cool Japan” initiative promoting the country’s hot springs, for supposedly promoting “sexual crimes” against women, echoing Western cancel culture. This was also pushed over the project allegedly being deemed exploitative by the “standards” of the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, in the eyes of said activists.
By 2022, as highlighted by long-time mangaka and activist Ken Akamatsu, calls had emerged pushing amendments to the 1999 law, which include recommendations by the UN Special Rapporteur on the sale of children, child prostitution and child pornography. Though well-meaning on the surface level, these significantly expand what constitutes child abuse and pornography to include non-existent persons, and criminalizing whatever could be so much as perceived as promoting them. These would not only negate artistic freedom by erasing the distinction between fiction and reality. Beyond emboldening opportunists and ideologues seeking to push their own arbitrary standards, these would also put entire industries at their mercy, potentially crippling them beyond recognition.
The ramifications were made even more blatant during a hearing that same year that brought up those appeals to the Japanese Diet. A certain Councilor Rintaro Ogata, a vocal advocate for said amendments, rationalized the need for these on the grounds of prosecuting international cybercrime. It didn’t take long, however, for him to conflate “anime, manga, and computer graphics” with such crimes, brushing aside concerns over freedom of expression in the name of law enforcement. He further added (translated):
This issue is very important, and I think this is probably one of the reasons why Japan is sometimes described as an ungrateful, child pornography powerhouse or some other unfavorable term.
Regardless of whether it’s in the name of saving Japanese culture from itself, joining the right side of history, or stopping what moral guardians like Kazuna Kanajiri, as quoted in a 2021 VICE hitpiece, decry as children “being sacrificed right now”, it’s come full circle. The repressive power of “Think of the children!” remains as potent as ever, and unlike the H-games of yesteryear, nothing is out of reach. Yet even in the face of seeming doom-and-gloom at face value, such repression is far from inevitable.
Learning the Right Lessons
As much of a threat as current attacks on artistic freedom are, there are crucial differences from the moral panics of old. While consistently enshrined in Japan’s constitution, with some legal precedent regarding “obscene” content, freedom of expression for the longest time seemed taken for granted. Even with the fears around otaku and the perceived degeneracy of younger Japanese back in the day, there was no significant mirror to Satanic scares, the UK’s “video nasties”, or America’s “war on porn”, among other moral panics in the West. It’s little surprise that, outside of theoretical foundations, critics weren’t quite prepared for what had been pushed in Stockholm in the 1990s.
Since then, however, creators and otaku alike have been learning. As Dan Kanemitsu noted in a 2010 editorial, not only was there opposition from within the government (including then-Prime Minister Naoto Kan) in the leadup to and over Bill 156 in Tokyo, but substantial resistance was seen from creators and fans, including veteran mangaka such as Machiko Satonaka, Go Nagai, and Keiko Takemiya. Despite Ishihara seemingly having the last laugh, opposition continued to stymy efforts to enforce what was already seen by 2012 as problematic legislation, further helped by online platforms falling outside its jurisdiction.
This has only grown more pronounced with time. In a 2016 rebuttal by Kimiko Yamada and several other mangaka against the UN’s Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, critics not only distinguished fiction from real “violence”, but also upheld both artistic freedom and its liberating impact on women themselves. Meanwhile, the attempts to cancel Onsen Musume backfired, as fans and even Japanese feminists sided with the project. This was also seen recently in how the Tokyo’s draft for its “Comprehensive Plan for the Promotion of Gender Equality”, which was initially shown to have had broad provisions for censoring fiction to eliminate “all forms of violence between men and women”, was revised considerably to remove said points altogether, after significant outcry.
The Japanese have not just come to appreciate freedom of expression more tangibly, especially among the younger generations, but have grown more vocal in defending it. As Dan Kanemitsu remarked in a 2023 blog post regarding the significance of doing so:
The desire to redress certain groups can extend beyond encouraging certain the participation of certain groups and their narratives, but seek to discourage certain groups from stealing the spot light and limit the creation of narratives that perpetuate socially undesirable attitudes and values.
But from the vantage point of the pure fiction school, projecting real life social issues upon fiction including anime, manga and video games comes across as unwarranted interference, moral imperialism or even blatant authoritarianism.
Beyond fostering alternative platforms for creators (which, coincidentally have allowed Super Real Mahjong as an IP to survive), or works like Shimoneta: A Boring World Where the Concept of Dirty Jokes Doesn't Exist satirizing the sort of rhetoric that brought down arcade and console H-games after the ‘90s, this has also manifested into direct political involvement. While Ken Akamatsu is among the most vocal signs of this trend among creators, given his plans on entering Japan’s House of Councilors, nonpartisan support explicitly for such liberties has emerged from within the Diet, led by free speech advocates such as Taro Yamada and Kenzo Fujisue.
It’s in part through such efforts that the government and elements of Japanese civil society have soundly rejected the UN’s proposals. Moreover, recent attempts towards amending the 1999 law have met much more scrutiny than the atmosphere surrounding the original legislation ever had, while other efforts from UN-affiliated agencies to push for curtailing creative liberties have met pushback from both within the Diet and Japanese women.
Just as Japan has faced such challenges in the past, many more are certain to be put forward in the future. Certainly, it could be argued that the experience and context, wouldn’t be fully applicable in the West or elsewhere. Nonetheless, with similar encroachments of censorship and moralistic appeals happening in other parts of the globe, there are lessons to be found here. Whether these are the right lessons or more excuses to justify repression under “Think of the children!” is up to us.