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Mint
15 hours ago
- Business
- Mint
How a year of tremor and terror transformed Japan
WHO COULD have known that on an ordinary Monday morning in 1995 a commute in Tokyo would turn into a scene from hell? On March 20th five members of Aum Shinrikyo, a doomsday cult, boarded separate trains on the capital's subway carrying bags filled with sarin, a deadly nerve gas. The poison spread through the packed carriages; 14 people died and thousands were injured. 'I still wonder: am I dreaming? Did the attack really happen?" says Sakahara Atsushi, a film-maker caught in the attack who still has symptoms today. For a country as safe and orderly as Japan, the terrorist attack was an unimaginable shock. It came just two months after the Great Hanshin earthquake, a 6.9-magnitude disaster that killed more than 6,000 and left 45,000 homeless. The scale of the Kobe quake caught both residents and authorities off guard. It was the largest tremor to hit a big Japanese city since 1923. Today, Kobe has been completely rebuilt, and the Aum leaders were executed in 2018. But the trauma of these two disasters remains etched in the Japanese psyche. The disasters struck a Japan already reeling economically. After decades as a powerhouse, it suffered a terrific crash of stock and property prices in 1991-92 as its asset bubble burst. Many believed that the downturn would be short-lived—but 1995 shattered even that remaining confidence. The Kobe earthquake exposed a government that was suffocating in red tape. Swiss rescue dogs sent to find survivors were stuck in quarantine, and the Self-Defence Forces (SDF) arrived too late. The once-vaunted 'iron triangle" of bureaucrats, politicians and business that powered Japan's growth 'began to look rusty", says Jeff Kingston of Temple University in Japan. 'There was a marked change in the Japanese consciousness 'before' and 'after' these events," wrote Murakami Haruki, a renowned novelist, in 1997. These two 'nightmarish eruptions", he observed, triggered a 'critical inquiry into the very roots of the Japanese state". Just a couple of years earlier, foreign observers still feared Japanese dominance; 'Rising Sun", a 1993 Hollywood thriller, revolved around sinister Japanese businessmen. But Japan's mood turned gloomy after 1995. The media fixated on how Aum's recruits included elite-university graduates. Thirty years on, Japan still lives in the shadow of 1995. Roam around Tokyo, and you may notice something amiss: public bins are scarce, removed following the sarin attack. Even those born after the attack recoil at the name 'Aum". Recently, Banyan nervously attended a study session run by Hikari no Wa—a group that splintered from Aum Shinrikyo. The session seemed innocuous (to your correspondent's relief), focusing on breathing techniques, meditation and Buddhist teachings. But outside the building hung angry banners that read: 'We will never forget the sarin incident!!" 'Your group must be dissolved!" A policeman stood watch, too. Suspicion of marginal religious sects resurfaced in 2022 after Yamagami Tetsuya assassinated a former prime minister, Abe Shinzo, citing grievances against the Unification Church (also known as 'the Moonies"), a group with ties to the ruling party. The government has since moved to dissolve the group, and a court ordered it to do so this week—a rare step, taken in only a handful of cases, most notably against Aum Shinrikyo. Though the two groups are not remotely comparable, the backlash against the Moonies, including their dodgy recruitment tactics, carried echoes of the 1995 trauma. Political leaders now struggle to lift Japan out of its malaise that began with the bubble's collapse—what started as a 'lost decade" has stretched to over three decades of stagnation. When Ishiba Shigeru, the current prime minister, recently said he wanted to build a 'fun Japan", critics slammed him as tone-deaf, arguing he should focus on solving economic hardships instead. But 1995 also left a positive legacy. The earthquake inspired what came to be known as 'Year one of volunteering"—with over a million helpers flocking to the disaster zone. Civil society flourished. When the Tohoku earthquake struck in 2011, the SDF mobilised immediately. Since 1995, 'Japan has come to realise it needs to prepare for risk," says Fukuda Mitsuru at Nihon University in Tokyo. What emerged from that terrible year was a Japan that no longer believes it is invincible, but can face its vulnerabilities. Subscribers to The Economist can sign up to our Opinion newsletter, which brings together the best of our leaders, columns, guest essays and reader correspondence.
The Mainichi
21-05-2025
- The Mainichi
Crying brought no mercy: Rescuing the children of the Aum cult in Japan
TOKYO (Kyodo) -- Almost a month after the Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult unleashed a devastating nerve gas attack on Tokyo's subway system on March 20, 1995, dozens of abused, famished children were rescued from its compound in Yamanashi Prefecture. The deadliest terrorist attack in Japan's history left 14 people dead and thousands injured. In its long aftermath, national attention mostly focused on the perpetrators. But Aum cultists had children who were separated from them and ruthlessly indoctrinated, innocent victims who have largely been forgotten. Two weeks after the attack, Mitsuo Hosaka, now 78, was working at a child welfare center in Yamanashi when police told him he would have to take charge of some of the children rescued from the Aum compound known as Satyam. Over 100 in total were saved, some taken in by relatives. When the 53 children arrived by bus on April 14, they were hungry and dirty, some so weak they could not stand. Hosaka was astounded by their expressionless faces. Some wore strange "enlightenment" headgear designed by cult founder Shoko Asahara and his team of engineers. In a recent interview with Kyodo News, Hosaka explained how he and his colleagues were determined to provide the children with a space that would make them feel safe. There were 27 boys and 26 girls, aged 4 to 14. A doctor decided eight needed to be hospitalized. The remainder had to be fed right away. "They had poor manners, and almost all of them scooped the food up with their bare hands," Hosaka said. "They wanted seconds and thirds. They licked their bowls clean." Aside from nourishment, the children needed help with bathing. From the day after their arrival, they played like mad and became filthy. They had been restricted from going out and were told poison gas attacks were happening. But even while playing, the children seemed to have no sense of camaraderie and would not play together. As victims of brainwashing, their mental health was the more difficult task. They were hostile and demanded to be returned to Aum. Some even tried to escape. But none said they missed their parents -- Asahara had forbidden that. "In the Aum teachings, the parent-child relationship is denied as an example of the desire for worldly things," Hosaka said. "They said they'd rather die than say they wanted to see their parents." Abuse was the norm at Satyam. An Aum "Minister of Education" would instruct the children for an hour every day. Their time was devoted to ascetic practices, singing Aum songs and sitting crossed-legged in the "zazen" lotus position. Those deemed to lack sincerity had their hands and feet bound. Some were held in this "bound lotus position" for 24 hours and could not even go to the bathroom. Tears were met with silence. The children were very afraid to talk about what they endured. But Hosaka began to see a change about a week after their arrival. Instead of playing by themselves, they began to play baseball, soccer and other team sports. They no longer spoke to staff in harsh tones. Gradually, smiles appeared. "I was happy to hear them call me 'sensei' for the first time after about a month," said Hosaka, whom the children had referred to using his surname without the honorific suffix "-san." Meanwhile, in the outside world, aftershocks of the subway attack continued. For weeks, staff restricted news about Aum. When the children were allowed access to TV, newspapers and radio to get them integrated into society, the arrest of Asahara struck a nerve. The children at first protested that the charges were lies. Yet they seemed to be going through the motions. The next day, they softened their tone. While playing, they viewed the news with disinterest. They were beginning to regain their childlike selves. Some began acting like toddlers. They became spoiled, selfish and clingy. "I guess they had been suppressing their desire to be spoiled by someone for a long time," Hosaka said. "They followed the nursing staff at the center around, demanding to be held and given piggyback rides." This, according to Hosaka, is a type of "re-pampering." Being able to trust and be spoiled by others was important for their integration. Three sets of parents and children were allowed meetings. The parents had left the cult and were judged to have no negative impact on the children. Hosaka recalled a visit by the mother of a 9-year-old girl, who at first refused a reunion. On the second attempt, the girl repeatedly asked, "Why is it only me?" Finally, the staff half-dragged her out to a garden where her mother was waiting. The mother slowly approached her, and they both stood frozen, facing each other. The mother then burst into tears. Her daughter's tears followed. "Before we knew it, they were hugging each other and crying silently. The staff cried along with them," said Hosaka, adding, "A boy who was watching said, 'Hey, can you get my mother to come and visit tomorrow?'" Hosaka vividly remembers the girl's pictures. Before their reunion, she drew her mother with a blank facial expression and lines drawn over it. Afterward, she drew her mom with a smiling face. Asahara's grip was slowly breaking. From April 25, the children began transfers to national child guidance centers. Children who were initially indifferent to their peers leaving began to wish them well. The last person to depart was a boy who was recognized by Asahara as the "youngest enlightened person." He was intelligent and, initially, very defiant. "He once stared me down when I asked him to do something, using tough words. He said, 'Is this optional or an order?'" Still, after about two months, even he began to smile. "In the end, he acted like a normal kid. He said, 'Come to my place and play some day,' waved good-bye and left." By July 12, after about three months at the center, all 53 children had left, ending their relationship with Hosaka. He never saw them again. "What type of adults did they become? Were they able to adapt to society? Are they happy today? Even now, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about those children." Hosaka believes that denying the parent-child relationship was one of the cult's gravest offenses. "Children develop a sense of self-esteem and trust in the world when they are loved by someone. If they are not properly cared for, they may continue to have difficulty living later." Being raised amid extreme views of parenting rooted in religion creates a harsh parent-child relationship, he adds. Asahara, whose real name was Chizuo Matsumoto, and 12 former Aum members were executed on July 6 and 26, 2018. The cult splintered into groups including Hikari no Wa, which continues to be under government surveillance. (By Manami Misono)
Japan Times
18-05-2025
- Japan Times
1,400 photos donated to remember horrors of Aum Shinrikyo cult
A 97-year-old man from central Japan has donated about 1,400 photos taken during his years of confronting the now-defunct Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult. The former village of Kamikuishiki, currently the town of Fujikawaguchiko in Yamanashi Prefecture, was once home to the largest Aum Shinrikyo base in Japan. Kamikuishiki resident Seiichi Takeuchi waged a battle against the group from the time the cult set up the base in the village's Fujigane district in 1989. At the base, the group put up many facilities, called "satyam," some of which were used to manufacture sarin nerve gas. Aum Shinrikyo used the nerve gas in an attack on Tokyo's subway system in 1995, which left 14 people dead and over 6,000 others injured. The cult finally left the village in 1996, after the arrest of its leader Chizuo Matsumoto, who went by the name of Shoko Asahara, in 1995. Matsumoto was executed in 2018. According to Takeuchi, one of the first things the cult did after moving into the village was to build a 3-meter-high wall around a plot of grassland and start constructing facilities within it. Takeuchi, who was a key member of a group of local residents, lodged protests each time there was an issue involving the cult. Every time, the cult asked for evidence, prompting Takeuchi to carry around a camera and snap photos. Takeuchi said that the infamous guru directly told him that he was fueling anti-Aum Shinrikyo sentiment among local residents. He also found that his phone had been bugged. Despite the frightening situation, Takeuchi continued to take pictures on his camera until the cult's Kamikuishiki facilities were demolished in 1998. Some 1,400 photos include ones capturing the strange-smelling white smoke escaping from a window of a facility used to manufacture sarin gas and of discolored plants near the cult's base. Seiichi Takeuchi, who has donated about 1,400 photos he took during his years of confronting the now-defunct Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult, speaks in an interview last month. | Jiji After a request from police, Takeuchi provided a photo of a car crash that occurred at the village. A truck that was in the background of the photo was the same vehicle later used in a sarin gas attack in the city of Matsumoto in Nagano Prefecture in 1994, which left eight people dead and over 140 others injured. Takeuchi has provided police and the Public Security Intelligence Agency with his photos over the years. Nearly 30 years after the cult left the village, Takeuchi donated his photos to the town of Fujikawaguchiko in March this year. "I hope people don't forget what happened," Takeuchi said, adding that he hopes many people will see his photos. The town government currently has about 130 photos, mainly those of the Aum Shinrikyo facilities, on display at a local educational center.
Kyodo News
17-05-2025
- Kyodo News
FEATURE: Crying brought no mercy: Rescuing the children of the Aum cult
By Manami Misono, KYODO NEWS - 3 hours ago - 12:40 | Feature, All, Japan Almost a month after the Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult unleashed a devastating nerve gas attack on Tokyo's subway system on March 20, 1995, dozens of abused, famished children were rescued from its compound in Yamanashi Prefecture. The deadliest terrorist attack in Japan's history left 14 people dead and thousands injured. In its long aftermath, national attention mostly focused on the perpetrators. But Aum cultists had children who were separated from them and ruthlessly indoctrinated, innocent victims who have largely been forgotten. Two weeks after the attack, Mitsuo Hosaka, now 78, was working at a child welfare center in Yamanashi when police told him he would have to take charge of some of the children rescued from the Aum compound known as Satyam. Over 100 in total were saved, some taken in by relatives. When the 53 children arrived by bus on April 14, they were hungry and dirty, some so weak they could not stand. Hosaka was astounded by their expressionless faces. Some wore strange "enlightenment" headgear designed by cult founder Shoko Asahara and his team of engineers. In a recent interview with Kyodo News, Hosaka explained how he and his colleagues were determined to provide the children with a space that would make them feel safe. There were 27 boys and 26 girls, aged 4 to 14. A doctor decided eight needed to be hospitalized. The remainder had to be fed right away. "They had poor manners, and almost all of them scooped the food up with their bare hands," Hosaka said. "They wanted seconds and thirds. They licked their bowls clean." Aside from nourishment, the children needed help with bathing. From the day after their arrival, they played like mad and became filthy. They had been restricted from going out and were told poison gas attacks were happening. But even while playing, the children seemed to have no sense of camaraderie and would not play together. As victims of brainwashing, their mental health was the more difficult task. They were hostile and demanded to be returned to Aum. Some even tried to escape. But none said they missed their parents -- Asahara had forbidden that. "In the Aum teachings, the parent-child relationship is denied as an example of the desire for worldly things," Hosaka said. "They said they'd rather die than say they wanted to see their parents." Abuse was the norm at Satyam. An Aum "Minister of Education" would instruct the children for an hour every day. Their time was devoted to ascetic practices, singing Aum songs and sitting crossed-legged in the "zazen" lotus position. Those deemed to lack sincerity had their hands and feet bound. Some were held in this "bound lotus position" for 24 hours and could not even go to the bathroom. Tears were met with silence. The children were very afraid to talk about what they endured. But Hosaka began to see a change about a week after their arrival. Instead of playing by themselves, they began to play baseball, soccer and other team sports. They no longer spoke to staff in harsh tones. Gradually, smiles appeared. "I was happy to hear them call me 'sensei' for the first time after about a month," said Hosaka, whom the children had referred to using his surname without the honorific suffix "-san." Meanwhile, in the outside world, aftershocks of the subway attack continued. For weeks, staff restricted news about Aum. When the children were allowed access to TV, newspapers and radio to get them integrated into society, the arrest of Asahara struck a nerve. The children at first protested that the charges were lies. Yet they seemed to be going through the motions. The next day, they softened their tone. While playing, they viewed the news with disinterest. They were beginning to regain their childlike selves. Some began acting like toddlers. They became spoiled, selfish and clingy. "I guess they had been suppressing their desire to be spoiled by someone for a long time," Hosaka said. "They followed the nursing staff at the center around, demanding to be held and given piggyback rides." This, according to Hosaka, is a type of "re-pampering." Being able to trust and be spoiled by others was important for their integration. Three sets of parents and children were allowed meetings. The parents had left the cult and were judged to have no negative impact on the children. Hosaka recalled a visit by the mother of a 9-year-old girl, who at first refused a reunion. On the second attempt, the girl repeatedly asked, "Why is it only me?" Finally, the staff half-dragged her out to a garden where her mother was waiting. The mother slowly approached her, and they both stood frozen, facing each other. The mother then burst into tears. Her daughter's tears followed. "Before we knew it, they were hugging each other and crying silently. The staff cried along with them," said Hosaka, adding, "A boy who was watching said, 'Hey, can you get my mother to come and visit tomorrow?'" Hosaka vividly remembers the girl's pictures. Before their reunion, she drew her mother with a blank facial expression and lines drawn over it. Afterward, she drew her mom with a smiling face. Asahara's grip was slowly breaking. From April 25, the children began transfers to national child guidance centers. Children who were initially indifferent to their peers leaving began to wish them well. The last person to depart was a boy who was recognized by Asahara as the "youngest enlightened person." He was intelligent and, initially, very defiant. "He once stared me down when I asked him to do something, using tough words. He said, 'Is this optional or an order?'" Still, after about two months, even he began to smile. "In the end, he acted like a normal kid. He said, 'Come to my place and play some day,' waved good-bye and left." By July 12, after about three months at the center, all 53 children had left, ending their relationship with Hosaka. He never saw them again. "What type of adults did they become? Were they able to adapt to society? Are they happy today? Even now, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about those children." Hosaka believes that denying the parent-child relationship was one of the cult's gravest offenses. "Children develop a sense of self-esteem and trust in the world when they are loved by someone. If they are not properly cared for, they may continue to have difficulty living later." Being raised amid extreme views of parenting rooted in religion creates a harsh parent-child relationship, he adds. Asahara, whose real name was Chizuo Matsumoto, and 12 former Aum members were executed on July 6 and 26, 2018. The cult splintered into groups including Hikari no Wa, which continues to be under government surveillance. Related coverage: Victims of 1995 AUM sarin attack struggling with PTSD, survey shows Japan AUM cult web archive opens ahead of sarin attack's 30th anniv. FOCUS: Tokyo sarin attack survivors still struggling with health 30 yrs on
Kyodo News
17-05-2025
- Kyodo News
FEATURE: Crying brought no mercy: Rescuing the children of the Aum cult
By Manami Misono, KYODO NEWS - 4 minutes ago - 12:40 | Feature, All, Japan Almost a month after the Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult unleashed a devastating nerve gas attack on Tokyo's subway system on March 20, 1995, dozens of abused, famished children were rescued from its compound in Yamanashi Prefecture. The deadliest terrorist attack in Japan's history left 14 people dead and thousands injured. In its long aftermath, national attention mostly focused on the perpetrators. But Aum cultists had children who were separated from them and ruthlessly indoctrinated, innocent victims who have largely been forgotten. Two weeks after the attack, Mitsuo Hosaka, now 78, was working at a child welfare center in Yamanashi when police told him he would have to take charge of some of the children rescued from the Aum compound known as Satyam. Over 100 in total were saved, some taken in by relatives. When the 53 children arrived by bus on April 14, they were hungry and dirty, some so weak they could not stand. Hosaka was astounded by their expressionless faces. Some wore strange "enlightenment" headgear designed by cult founder Shoko Asahara and his team of engineers. In a recent interview with Kyodo News, Hosaka explained how he and his colleagues were determined to provide the children with a space that would make them feel safe. There were 27 boys and 26 girls, aged 4 to 14. A doctor decided eight needed to be hospitalized. The remainder had to be fed right away. "They had poor manners, and almost all of them scooped the food up with their bare hands," Hosaka said. "They wanted seconds and thirds. They licked their bowls clean." Aside from nourishment, the children needed help with bathing. From the day after their arrival, they played like mad and became filthy. They had been restricted from going out and were told poison gas attacks were happening. But even while playing, the children seemed to have no sense of camaraderie and would not play together. As victims of brainwashing, their mental health was the more difficult task. They were hostile and demanded to be returned to Aum. Some even tried to escape. But none said they missed their parents -- Asahara had forbidden that. "In the Aum teachings, the parent-child relationship is denied as an example of the desire for worldly things," Hosaka said. "They said they'd rather die than say they wanted to see their parents." Abuse was the norm at Satyam. An Aum "Minister of Education" would instruct the children for an hour every day. Their time was devoted to ascetic practices, singing Aum songs and sitting crossed-legged in the "zazen" lotus position. Those deemed to lack sincerity had their hands and feet bound. Some were held in this "bound lotus position" for 24 hours and could not even go to the bathroom. Tears were met with silence. The children were very afraid to talk about what they endured. But Hosaka began to see a change about a week after their arrival. Instead of playing by themselves, they began to play baseball, soccer and other team sports. They no longer spoke to staff in harsh tones. Gradually, smiles appeared. "I was happy to hear them call me 'sensei' for the first time after about a month," said Hosaka, whom the children had referred to using his surname without the honorific suffix "-san." Meanwhile, in the outside world, aftershocks of the subway attack continued. For weeks, staff restricted news about Aum. When the children were allowed access to TV, newspapers and radio to get them integrated into society, the arrest of Asahara struck a nerve. The children at first protested that the charges were lies. Yet they seemed to be going through the motions. The next day, they softened their tone. While playing, they viewed the news with disinterest. They were beginning to regain their childlike selves. Some began acting like toddlers. They became spoiled, selfish and clingy. "I guess they had been suppressing their desire to be spoiled by someone for a long time," Hosaka said. "They followed the nursing staff at the center around, demanding to be held and given piggyback rides." This, according to Hosaka, is a type of "re-pampering." Being able to trust and be spoiled by others was important for their integration. Three sets of parents and children were allowed meetings. The parents had left the cult and were judged to have no negative impact on the children. Hosaka recalled a visit by the mother of a 9-year-old girl, who at first refused a reunion. On the second attempt, the girl repeatedly asked, "Why is it only me?" Finally, the staff half-dragged her out to a garden where her mother was waiting. The mother slowly approached her, and they both stood frozen, facing each other. The mother then burst into tears. Her daughter's tears followed. "Before we knew it, they were hugging each other and crying silently. The staff cried along with them," said Hosaka, adding, "A boy who was watching said, 'Hey, can you get my mother to come and visit tomorrow?'" Hosaka vividly remembers the girl's pictures. Before their reunion, she drew her mother with a blank facial expression and lines drawn over it. Afterward, she drew her mom with a smiling face. Asahara's grip was slowly breaking. From April 25, the children began transfers to national child guidance centers. Children who were initially indifferent to their peers leaving began to wish them well. The last person to depart was a boy who was recognized by Asahara as the "youngest enlightened person." He was intelligent and, initially, very defiant. "He once stared me down when I asked him to do something, using tough words. He said, 'Is this optional or an order?'" Still, after about two months, even he began to smile. "In the end, he acted like a normal kid. He said, 'Come to my place and play some day,' waved good-bye and left." By July 12, after about three months at the center, all 53 children had left, ending their relationship with Hosaka. He never saw them again. "What type of adults did they become? Were they able to adapt to society? Are they happy today? Even now, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about those children." Hosaka believes that denying the parent-child relationship was one of the cult's gravest offenses. "Children develop a sense of self-esteem and trust in the world when they are loved by someone. If they are not properly cared for, they may continue to have difficulty living later." Being raised amid extreme views of parenting rooted in religion creates a harsh parent-child relationship, he adds. Asahara, whose real name was Chizuo Matsumoto, and 12 former Aum members were executed on July 6 and 26, 2018. The cult splintered into groups including Hikari no Wa, which continues to be under government surveillance. Related coverage: Victims of 1995 AUM sarin attack struggling with PTSD, survey shows Japan AUM cult web archive opens ahead of sarin attack's 30th anniv. FOCUS: Tokyo sarin attack survivors still struggling with health 30 yrs on
