The information available on Japanese animation before 1950, at least in English, is limited at best and conflicting at worst. The actual animated films themselves as well as records of who created what and when has mostly been destroyed. This is due to 1923’s Great Kanto Earthquake and later the American invasion of the islands. Aside from that, animation was treated as disposable entertainment, as was most animation in the rest of the world at that time. Thus, little has survived.

Thankfully, most of the animated work that remains has been preserved digitally and is available online! It should be mentioned that most of the silent animation presented in this article is “incomplete” in that it lacks benshi narration. When film began to spread throughout Japan, rather than accepting it as an evolution of photography as the west did, it was viewed as an extension of theater. Since kabuki, noh, and bunraku theater traditions all had narrators, naturally film needed one as well. Enter the benshi, a narrator who not only read the aloud the onscreen intertitles, but also described the film’s events in real time and gave voice to each and every character. Two of the films embedded in this article benefit from recorded benshi narration. The rest are “incomplete”.

While I will be sprinkling bits of information I’ve uncovered regarding the roots of anime, make sure to give special attention to the cartoons themselves. What awaits you is a moving history of initially simplistic paper cut-outs giving way to experimental art, funny animal cartoons, sing along-songs, chalk animation, traditional folktales, and full-length feature films. And this is all before Tezuka. Welcome to an often overlooked world. Enjoy yourself.

The Three Fathers (1907-1923)

Film first hit Japan in 1896 and had flourished into burgeoning culture by the 1910s, complete with film criticism. Along with the initial wave of films from the west came Western animation. It was only a matter of time before Japan, with its rich visual culture, began experimenting with its own animated creations.

The earliest example (speculated to be the oldest surviving anime) is Katsudo Shashin (Moving Picture, 1907?-1918?).

The boy is writing the kanji for katsudo shashin which translates to “moving picture” in English. It seems that in these early years, both Japan and the west were amused enough with the novelty of an image in motion.

In the early 1900s, animators experimented with inexpensive ways to bring their visions to life. Katsudo Shashin and many others were drawn directly onto the strips of film from which they were projected, making these animations one of a kind. This and other early animation techniques were pioneered by Oten Shimokawa, a political cartoonist for Tokyo Puck magazine. His first animated work, Imokawa Mukuzo Genkanban no Maki (The Story of the Concierge Mukuzo Imokawa, 1917) was long believed to be the first animated short made in Japan, though it is likely still the first short ever screened for a wide audience.

After creating only five shorts, chronic health problems forced Shimokawa into early retirement. His contribution, however, gives him the honor as one of the three fathers of early anime.

The second of the three fathers is Junichi Kouichi, who holds the honor of the oldest confirmed anime in existence (Katsudo Shashin could have been made as early as 1907, but there is no real proof as to its age). Namakura Gatana (Dull Sword, 1917) is a two minute short about a samurai attempting to test his newly purchased katana on innocent townspeople and failing miserably.

This film was thought to be lost until a copy was found in an Osaka antique shop in 2008. Kouichi animated this short using paper cut-outs laid out on a table which he moved and changed to create the characters’ movements. This was a technique that would later be taken to a level of artistic excellence by the Japanese animation directors of the 1930s.

Junichi Kouichi began creating political propaganda in 1924 and retired from animation in 1930.

The third father of this generation had arguably the most impact on the generation that followed him, mostly because he had the largest body of work and many animators of the 1930s were his students. Seitarou Kitayama created shorts focusing on Japanese folktales like Sarukani Gassen (Monkey-Crab Battle), Urashima Taro, and Momotarou. Aside from creating anime’s first commercials and documentary, Kitayama stood apart from his contemporaries as the only animator to found his own studio.

Kitayama Eiga Seisakujo opened in 1921 and gave jobs to a slew of talented individuals including Sanae Yamamoto. Sadly after only two years, most of Kitayama’s studio was destroyed in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. He left Tokyo for a fresh start in Osaka the next year, but eventually abandoned animation completely for a career shooting newsreels.

Experimental Artists (1923-1939)

With the destruction of Kitayama’s studio, his team of animators struck out on their own to seek prosperity in personal ventures. But success did not come easily. Throughout the 20s, animation directors faced stiff foreign competition from larger, richer, and more impressive studios overseas. The imported cartoons had already made money in their home countries, so they were sold cheaply to theaters in Japan. Animation artists could not implement the expensive techniques used by Disney and still sell their cartoons at a competitive price. This made the paper cut-out methods introduced by Junichi Kouichi an absolute must. This limitation, however, led to some extremely innovative cut-out films by two men, Yasuji Murata and Noburo Ofuji.

Yasuji Murata began working at the Yokohama Cinema Shokai in 1923 creating the Japanese intertitle cards for imported western films. After seeing various western cartoons, he was inspired to create his own in 1927. He worked almost exclusively for the Yokohama Cinema Shokai throughout his career. His first work to get attention was Doubutsu Orimupikku Taikai (Animal Olympics, 1928) a cartoon about funny animals playing sports. However, one of the best examples of his range and artistic skill is Kobu Tori (The Stolen Lump, 1929).

Kobu Tori

Consider that Disney made Skeleton Dance this same year, and, though technically impressive, it is horrendously boring compared to Kobu Tori. In Kobu Tori, the contrast is moody, the characters are vibrant, the attention to detail more than makes up for the slightly limited movements, and most importantly it’s a story well told! Kobu Tori is a perfect example of what wonders Japanese animators could produce despite their lack of funding and resources.

Because foreign cartoons dominated movie theaters of the time, Japanese animation had difficulty finding a venue in which to be screened. A lot of anime from this period was screened in public shopping areas to generate interest. The Ministry of Education also encouraged Japanese animators to produce films that were educational or socially uplifting, thus allowing them to be screened in schools. This was the case with Yasuji Murata’s Taro-san no Kisha (Taro’s Train, 1929).

Taro’s Train

Taro-san no Kisha (Taro’s Train) is an interesting mix of live action and animation as well as a neat peek into the fashion and homes in 1920s Japan. Also, it teaches kids to not act like insane animals in public, which is a good lesson for children all over the world.

Murata’s film, Oira No Yakyu (Our Baseball, 1930) is a return to the sports setting he first utilized in Animal Olympics. This cartoon mixes the Western funny animal cartoon with Japanese elements, in this case the folktale Kachi Kachi Yama, a story of a fight between a tanuki and a rabbit. This particular YouTube video is a restoration of Oira no Yakyu by Digital Meme which includes benshi narration.

Oira no Yakyu

Oira no Sukii (Our Skiing Trip, 1930) is either a sequel or prequel to Oira no Yakyu, as they were both produced in 1930 and we don’t have exact dates for either. This film has a distinct advantage over its counterpart due to extensive magical transformations utilized by the tanuki and rabbits. Or at least, that’s what I think. This video also benefits from benshi narration.

Oira no Sukii

Murata was a master of cut-out animation with strengths in skill, quality, and consistency. Murata’s opposite was cut-out master, Noburo Ofuji, whose strengths were in innovation and the willingness to take creative risks.

Ofuji became the apprentice of Junichi Kouichi at age 18 and made his first film at age 24. His films are characterized by the use of chiyogami paper. Though this gives his films a distinct Japanese look, the choice to use chiyogami was more practical than artistic. Chiyogami was cheaper by far than drawing on expensive celluloid and made inexpensive paper cut-out animation even more affordable. Even after gaining success and resources, Ofuji continued to use chiyogami as his medium of choice.

Ofuji’s achievements went beyond his aesthetic superiority. He was also an innovator. Though films with synchronous soundtracks had been introduced in the United States and Europe in 1927, they had not yet reached Japan by 1929. This was largely due to opposition from benshi narrators who wanted to hold onto their star status. Though he lacked the resources to create a true “talkie”, Ofuji created the first “record talkie”, in which he put to film an animation that synced up perfectly with an existing jazz record. The venue simply had start the film and the record at the same time and the audience would see Japan’s first sound cartoon, Kuro Nyago (Black Cat, 1929).

Kuro Nyago

One of Ofuji’s most famous shorts is a prime example of the fun-loving spirit his chiyogami animations could create. Mura Matsuri (Village Festival, 1930) is a real treat. It takes the “follow the bouncing ball” sing-along motif and spins it in new directions. This idea was relatively new at the time, having only been introduced five years earlier by Fleischer studios. Ofuji makes his bouncing ball interact with the scenery, transform words into objects, and transform itself into character heads. The song in this film is one I gladly get stuck in my head on a regular basis.

Mura Matsuri

The following year, Ofuji released another sing-along, this time tinted pink and intended to teach children the importance of national symbols, namely sakura. It’s interesting to note that though Haru no Uta (Song of Spring, 1931) is very nationally-focused, the music is undeniably Western. The singer, Kikuko Inoue, was a singer from the Asakusa Opera, which was one of the major channels through which western music was introduced to Japan.

Song of Spring

Noburo Ofuji begins to stray a bit from happy sing-alongs and into more serious territory with Kokka Kimigayo (The National Anthem: Kimigayo, 1931). Made to play along with a record of the national anthem, this film begins to more closely mimic silhouette animation of German animator Lotte Reiniger. The silhouettes in Kokka Kimigayo are cut with amazing detail and the backgrounds are beautifully complex.

Kokka Kimigayo

HOORAY! Now we get into Ofuji’s cartoony stuff! Tengu Taiji (Tengu Extermination, 1934) is a great example of Noburo Ofuji’s foray into cel animation. It’s fascinating to see such familiar cartoon imagery repurposed for Japanese storytelling. This one is similar to a lot of 1930s cartoons, but has samurai, geisha, a cute doggy, and TENGU! I could say more, but you’re better off just watching it.

Tengu Extermination

Our final look at the work of Noburo Ofuji is the film that cemented him as a master of animation in the art world. Kujira (Whale, 1952) is a remake of his 1927 silent black-and-white film, Kujira (Whale, 1927). The 1952 version features cut-outs of colored cellophane arranged on a backlit multi-plane animation table. This allowed him to create intricate backgrounds and transitions. The story explores themes of greed, female suffering, forces of nature, and transformation. It’s a truly beautiful experience.

NOTE: The only upload of this film to the web at the time of writing is by a composer named Ufjar who has replaced the original soundtrack with his own score.

Kujira

Kujira was shown at Cannes in 1953 and gained significant praise from jury president Jean Cocteau and a certain member of the audience named Pablo Picasso. This began Ofuji’s wide acceptance in the international art world.

After Noburo Ofuji passed away in 1961, the Mainichi Film Awards named their prize for animation excellence the “Ofuji Noburo Award” in 1962. The first winner of the Ofuji Noburo Award was none other than Osamu Tezuka.

More From The Thirties!

The 30s produced a wide array of Japanese animation ranging from impressive works of art to weird crumminess. This section presents samples from all parts of that spectrum. In 1931, the first war cartoon Sora no Momotarou (Aerial Momotarou, 1931) was released, marking the beginning of a steady increase in war propaganda until it was serious propaganda time in 1939.

Chameko no Ichinichi (A Day in the Life of Chameko, 1931) was a record-talkie intended to play simultaneously with a phonograph of the same name. Chameko no Ichinichi was a popular song a year before it was animated. The animation is stiffer than Murata’s and much less charming than Ofuji’s, but it does feature the earliest example of product placement in anime. Watch for Chameko’s endorsement of Lion Toothpaste in the tooth brushing scene.

Chameko no Ichinichi

Kori no Tatehiki (Raccoon and Fox Trick Each Other, 1933) is another fun little romp. Certainly one of the best looking Japanese cartoons of the time, it borrows heavily from the style of Fleischer cartoons. It’s a tad more polished than Tengu Taiji and offers some fun gags as the tanuki and fox one-up each other with magic tricks and transformation.

Kori no Tatehiki

Yasuji Murata offers up another folktale in the same style as Kobu Tori with his film, Umi no Mizu wa Naze Karai (Why is Sea Water Salty?, 1935). Though this film hasn’t been preserved as well as Kobu Tori, you can clearly see how much more skillful Murata became in just a few years. The animation is incredibly refined and it’s nearly impossible to tell that it’s made using paper cut-outs. The entire film shines as a story clearly told by someone who has mastered the elements of visual storytelling.

Umi no Mizu wa Naze Karai

One of the first manga characters to gain widespread popularity was Norakuro. Created by Suihou Tagawa in 1931, the manga focused on a stray dog who joined the dog army, clearly an allusion to the Imperial Japanese Army. He began his army career as a bumbling private and eventually rose through the ranks to become a less-interesting sergeant. The manga, and the cartoons it spawned, did not start out as propaganda, but as the the war began and escalated, Norakuro became an obvious choice for propaganda-tainment. This particular anime adaptation, Norakuro Nitohei (Norakuro, Private Second Class, 1935) was directed by Mitsuyo Seo.

Norakuro Nitohei

Hecks yeah! Ninjustu Hinotama Kozo: Edo no Maki (Ninja Fireball Boy: An Episode in Edo, 1935) is a one minute adventure of ninja silliness. One source claims that it is a longer cartoon truncated for personal viewing, but we’ll never know for sure because this is the only copy in existence. Everything happens so fast, it’s hard to tell what’s taking place. It definitely involves a lot of ninja magic. Please leave your idea of what the heck is going on in the comments below.

Ninjutsu Hinotama Kozo: Edo no Maki

Obake no Taiji (Monster Hunt, 1936) is another dose of serious fun. It’s a tad crummier than Kori no Tatehiki, but what it lacks in technical presentation it makes up for in creativity. It’s rather reminiscent of Fleischer Studios’ 1930 Bimbo cartoon Swing You Sinners! in that it shows a lot of imagination in its setups, character transformations, and villains.

Obake no Taiji

Forgotten Artists

Toward the end of the 1930s, most cartoons began to lean in the direction of war propaganda. That, in itself, is an interesting study, especially since the quality of Japanese animation began to approach that of Disney. Furthermore, most all the anime from this period was directed by one man, Mitsuyo Seo. He directed the first feature-length anime, Momotarou Umi no Shimpei (Momotarou: Divine Sea Warriors, 1945), which was financed by the Japanese Navy.

In 1948, the Toei Animation studio was founded and began situating itself to become the Disney of the east. It produced a good number of interesting shorts and features which had a predominant Disney aesthetic. The 1950s were an interesting decade for Japanese animation because several creative forces were taking anime in different directions, and it’s fun to imagine what anime would look like today if something other than Tezuka had succeeded in capturing Japan’s collective consciousness. However, destiny chose Osamu Tezuka as the god of manga (and by extension, anime) and no one can say he doesn’t deserve that title. Anime’s characteristic big eyes came from Tezuka’s fascination with Disney’s Bambi, and its signature character movements came from Tezuka’s plan to temporarily limit animation to cut costs, a plan that eventually became permanent and was adopted by the entire industry.

There is a good reason that most retellings of anime’s history begin with Tezuka. What we know today as “anime” started with him. However, a history of Japanese animation is not complete without Kouichi, Kitayama, Murata, Ofuji, and many others. These artists are seldom remembered though they worked exceptionally hard to compete with well-funded foreign animation. All of them succeeded in creating Japanese art in an imported foreign medium, and a few of them succeeded in turning their practical limitations into artistic assets. These artists are mostly forgotten because the influence they have on our present is much less than the ongoing influence of Osamu Tezuka. But when you watch these early anime, try to imagine the affect it had on the people in the time it was made and how important it was for them to see samurai and tengu in the same medium as Mickey Mouse. Most entertainment and art we consume today will not be remembered in a hundred years, because people in that future time won’t understand our context. But that doesn’t make our art any less important. Nothing can devalue it for us. And nothing can change how important any piece of art was for people who saw it in days gone by.

Bonus Wallpapers!

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Sources:

• The Anime Encyclopedia by Jonathan Clements & Helen McCarthy
• Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics by Frederik L. Schodt
• A Hundred Years of Japanese Film by Donald Richie
• Nishikata Film Review by Cathy Munroe Hotes
• AnimeVice.com Encyclopedia
• Antti Alanen: Film Diary
• Pioneer of Japanese Animation at PIFan by Jasper Sharp [Part 1] and [Part 2]
• Japanese Animation Filmography Project by Cathy Munroe Hotes

Of course, it helped that Sayuri’s saga was made up. There may not be enough information out there to write a book about Yuki without filling in the cracks with fiction, but there can be no doubt that she led an interesting life. Morgan Oyuki created scandal and captured the headlines throughout her life and, incredibly, her presence alone may have saved Kyoto from the atomic bomb.

The Cure for a Broken Heart: 40,000 Yen

It was 1902, and George Morgan had just had his heart broken. His fiancee had split, so he took a trip to Japan to get over his feelings. George’s father was a rich man named George Morgan, and his mother was the sister of a considerably richer man, the famous banker J.P. Morgan. Yes, you may find it a bit creepy that both of his parents were born with the last name Morgan, but they were apparently unrelated. I’m skeptical.

Anyway, George was looking for something to cure his broken heart, and he found it: A Gion district geisha named Yuki Kato. He courted her for years, seeing her and asking her to marry him and visiting Kyoto as often as he could. She constantly refused, and something of a love triangle developed between her, George, and Yuki’s young lover Kawamura. The newspapers picked up on the story, and the scandal began.

Eventually, Kawamura moved away (maybe to avoid being drawn further into a scandalous story) and Yuki agreed to marry George Morgan. At this point, 40,000 yen, a tremendous amount of money back then, changed hands, and different stories give different reasons. Some say Yuki asked for the money in return for marriage, an old-school bride price situation, and others say the money was spent to release Yuki from her geisha contract. Whatever it was, George paid 40,000 yen or more to marry Yuki Kato, and this scandalous piece of news kept the Japanese newspapers talking for decades. January 20th, the anniversary of George Morgan and Yuki Kato’s marriage, is “Marry Into Money Day” to this day in Japan. It’s not a public holiday or anything, but it’s real.

With this marriage, the “Japanese Cinderella” story was born, and Yuki Kato became Morgan Oyuki. She left Japan with George, and visited America with him for a while. They found that the United States wasn’t quite ready to accept George’s young, recently geisha wife, so they left for France, where they would stay for the next decade.

In 1915, George Morgan was trying to return to France from America, as he’d done dozens of times. Due to the onset of World War I, this was no longer a simple process. To stay safe from German submarines, he took a ship to Gibraltar at the south tip of Spain, then had to travel overland the rest of the way to France. He would never make it. He died of a heart attack, and Morgan Oyuki was now a widow.

Mixed Narratives

At this point, the narratives split. Some accounts say that Oyuki left for New York, where three decades of Madame Butterfly performances had apparently now made the upper class more amenable to having a former geisha around. Wikipedia even claims that it was the Morgans who brought her there, but it cites a book that’s talking about something entirely different.

What’s wrong with that story? Oyuki hadn’t been welcome in New York about ten years earlier, and she probably knew English about as well as I know Tagalog. She learned French and spoke French so often that she was only an awkward Japanese speaker when she returned to Kyoto decades later.

Using Yuki’s letters and journals, Japanese writer Sumi Kosakai discovered what is probably the real story: Yuki stayed in France, living with a French ex-legionnaire who had been sending her love letters for some time. He would die a few decades later, and she would finally decide to return home.

Regardless of which story you believe, Oyuki returned to Kyoto in 1938, where she’d remain until her death in 1963. The Japanese media still wasn’t tired of talking about her, and every couple of years another novel or play based on her life would start the whole conversation over again. A 1947 issue of TIME Magazine details a particularly successful book about Oyuki which had been serialized over 260 installments in three different newspapers. Mademoiselle Yuki had never spoken with the author and refused to see him. The author had simply decided to fill in the cracks with fiction.

Box Office, Bombs

A movie director by the name of Masahiro Makino had a theory about Yuki. He said that it was his father, Shouzou Makino, who originally advised Yuki Kato to ask for an enormous amount of money to be wed. Makino says his father also met Yuki in France later on and tried to arrange a meeting between her and her former lover Kawamura, only to have Kawamura die along the way.

Masahiro Makino theorized that the Morgan family knew that Yuki had returned to Kyoto, and so they had the city stricken from the shortlist of potential atomic bomb targets (yes, this list definitely existed, and yes, Kyoto was originally on it).

It’s not by any means impossible that the Morgan family called off the dogs on Kyoto. If Lieutenant General Leslie Groves’ book about his experience leading the Manhattan Project is to be believed, it was Secretary of War Henry Stimson who adamantly took Kyoto off the bombing targets list. There have been a number of rumors as to why Stimson did this: Some say he thought it would be against the rules of war to bomb such a historic city. Some sources say Stimson rejected Kyoto because he had honeymooned there (embarrassingly, this may be the most well-supported story out there in historical sources).

But, if you’re willing to delve a little further into conspiracy theory, Stimson had also been a partner and close friend of J.P. Morgan’s personal attorney Elihu Root, and he was certainly well-acquainted with the surviving Morgan family. If the Morgans were aware that Oyuki was in Kyoto, which they probably were, and the Morgans still had the ear of Stimson, which they probably did, then Makino’s atomic bomb theory isn’t the wildest theory you’ll ever hear. But, to my knowledge, there’s no documentation or proof of this justification for saving Kyoto, and there’s been plenty written on the subject, even if it is a little inconclusive.

Finally, An Eyewitness Account

Despite all the scandal, the hoopla, and the “Japanese Cinderella” name tag, there is at least one source which claims Morgan Oyuki lived her last few decades simply, without the money and the drama associated with her earlier years. In a letter to TIME Magazine, a man who’d met Oyuki wrote in to protest at their typically scandal-filled report of her life:

Sir:

Your article about Mrs. George Morgan [TIME, Dec. 22] and the accompanying cut is both conceived and written in extraordinarily poor taste. Your willingness to accept the evidence of a cheap Japanese novelist is right in keeping with the tradition of yellow journalism.

At the request of her niece, Mrs. Sarah Morgan Gardner of Princeton, I located Mrs. Morgan in Kyoto in May of 1946 while serving in Japan with the Marine Corps. I found her through the St. Francis Xavier Church missionaries in that city, men who willingly testified to her devotion to the church and to the hardships she had suffered in Japan as the widow of an American. Mrs. Morgan herself, a charming elderly lady, who seemed more Occidental than Japanese, was overjoyed to hear news of her American relations, who are all devoted to her and have made every effort to see that she is taken care of. Far from being a rich woman, as intimated in your article, all her income is frozen in the United States.

Articles such as yours can do little else than make life more uncomfortable for people who are unable to answer them.

ROBERT W. LOCKE Princeton, N.J.

The TIME editor shrugged off the complaint with a bit of snark:

TIME trusts that its other readers were not equally offended by this story of Madame-Butterfly-with-a-difference. — ED.

To be fair, with the exception of suggesting that Yuki was still rich, TIME didn’t say much that wasn’t true.

Yuki Kato’s story has continued to inspire talk and rumors and novels and plays. Just last year, a new play called “Morgan O-Yuki: The Geisha of the Gilded Age” was put on at Ventfort Hall in Massachusetts, a mansion built by George Morgan’s parents. Fictionalized or not, her “Japanese Cinderella” story keeps echoing on through the decades, and who’s to say it ever has to stop?

Bonus Wallpapers!

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Sources:

• TIME Magazine, the 12/22/1947, 1/19/1948, and 5/31/1963 issues.
• Women of the Pleasure Quarters by Lesley Downer, pp. 186-192.
• The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls, and Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient by Sheridan Prasso, pp. 48-9.
• Now It Can Be Told: The Story of the Manhattan Project by Leslie Groves, pp. 275-6.
• History of Money and Banking in the United States: The Colonial Era to World War II by Murray N. Rothbard, p. 422.
• “What Future For Japan?”: U.S. Wartime Planning for the Postwar Era, 1942-1945 by Rudolf V.A. Janssens, p. 317.
• http://blog.goo.ne.jp/amachan_001/e/7f27c0a4e762b5f8416f1b77310fa70d
• http://www.joho-kyoto.or.jp/~wazaden/english/hito/morgan_e.html
• http://www.yorozubp.com/2011/2011/07/post-9.html
• http://uncoveringjapan.com/2013/09/25/good-eats-gogyo-kyoto/
• http://boardingarea.com/pointsmilesandmartinis/2013/09/how-a-ho…
• http://www.kyozei.or.jp/news/93/93-3.html
• http://www.nnh.to/01/20.html

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90,000 commuters affected as WWII shell disposed of in Tokyo

An unexploded bomb from WWII being discovered in one of the biggest cities in the world might seem unusual, but at this point in history it’s almost a routine; so routine, in fact, that the Japanese Self-Defense Force disposed of the device in three hours flat. I can’t think of anything more badass than getting rid of a bomb in as much time as it takes to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. [via Reddit]

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Gangsters busted for extorting deaf Tokyo man with sign language : On some level, I guess it’s good that the yakuza don’t discriminate; they extort everybody even disabled people. But this story of two deaf yakuza henchmen extorting a 75-year-old deaf man is tragically comic and downright despicable.

Yen Strengthens Again, in Challenge for Abe: It seems as if the yen giveth, and the yen taketh away. After months of phenomenal market performances and a cheaper yen, it seems as if the economy is bouncing back from the early, incredible effects of Abenomics. You mean to tell me that the economy is complex, unpredictable entity? I’m shocked, shocked I say!

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Japan tests 310mph bullet train : As I plod along on my commuter train into Tofugu World Headquarters every day, I wonder what it would be like to have the kind of train technology they have in Japan. By 2027, Japan will see the deployment of high-speed maglev trains that are capable of speeds of up to 300 mph (about 500 kph). [via Reddit]

TV icon Hard Gay thrusts into the world of professional modeling: Everybody knows about Hard Gay, Japan’s leather-clad, air-humping former pro-wrestler and TV talent; but for better or worse, Hard Gay’s alter ego Masaki Sumitani is looking to shed that image. Instead, Sumitani is trying to break into the modeling world, showing off his, some would say, hard physique. フォ〜！

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English Teacher Shows Porn DVD To Students By Accident

Being a teacher must be hard enough worrying about things like lesson plans and schedules and all of the mundane parts of getting kids to sit still and learn every day. So I’m a little sympathetic that one English teacher in Japan mixed up a DVD of The Sound of Music that he wanted to show his class with a more adult film. At the very least, I’m sure that the kids learned something that day.

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So when I found out that Dr. Seuss made anti-Japanese propaganda, I was a pretty shocked. How could the author of Cat in the Hat and One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish have created such ugly caricatures?

As we saw in How To Spot a Jap, WWII was a time for American artists to use their talents to make racist propaganda for the war effort.

And given the size of WWII, everybody who could contribute something did, including Theodor Seuss Geisel AKA Dr. Seuss.

While Dr. Seuss created propaganda against every enemy of the US (including a lot of quality Hitler caricatures), his propaganda against the Japanese really stands out.

Unlike his propaganda against Nazi Germany, Dr. Seuss’s anti-Japanese propaganda had a racist element behind it. All of the nasty racist stereotypes you’ve ever seen- buck teeth, slanty eyes, replacing Rs with Ls – Dr. Seuss included in his drawings.

You can also see Dr. Seuss’s distinct artstyle. Check out some of the propaganda for yourself:

Dr. Seuss dutifully cranked out drawing after drawing for his country, trying to turn his fellow citizens against the enemy. But eventually the war ended, and things changed.

Seuss Apologizes

After the war, Dr. Seuss began to question his beliefs about the Japanese. He’d created anti-Japanese propaganda for the US and had supported Japanese internment, but was it all justified?

Not one Japanese-American had been convicted for any sort of sabotage or treason, and the evil monsters that Dr. Seuss had drawn in his wartime propaganda turned out to be much different that he’d imagined.

So how did Dr. Seuss apologize to the Japanese? By writing a children’s book, of course.

Dr. Seuss wrote Horton Hears a Who!, in part, as an apology to the Japanese that he’d demonized during the war with his propaganda.

Published in 1954, Horton Hears a Who! was dedicated to a Japanese friend of Dr. Seuss, and the story itself is meant to be a metaphor for American postwar occupation of Japan.

While I don’t think that people will ever forget Dr. Seuss’s propaganda, I think that it’s fitting that his apology is much better remembered. It’s a great children’s book that really stands the test of time, and has a heartfelt core message.

Although if Dr. Seuss had known that Horton Hears a Who! was going to be turned into that awful movie, I’m sure he would have found another way to apologize.

It starts with a nice little intro page (lots of wasted black ink!). Then there’s some Mandarin in there to help you out. “nee EE YAH!oo SHEHM-muh? waw UH yoh OH S YAHNG YEHN!”

It starts with a couple of Asians getting picked up by a patrol. They look similar… or do they? Let’s check out their faces.

C’mon. Buck teeth? Also, maybe they “shuffle” because they’ve learned how to walk properly.

Okay, I could maybe see the geta thing, at least back then… The S-hissing thing is also kind of true, though not to the extent this makes it out to be. Still, something interesting I never thought about, I suppose.

I would say most prisoners shouldn’t be trusted. Also, is this the origin of the fanny pack? Do all Japanese tourists have a “Guardian of Honor” on them? I better watch out for those camera toting, high-socks fanny pack wearing Japanese seniors. Also, what are “comic strip gadgets?” Go-go-gadget pistol!

A nice little s-s-sss-sumary, and a reminder that the Japanese have tricked the Chinese even (omg). Be careful out there, soldier!

This comic was drawn up by Milton Caniff who is known for doing “Terry and the Pirates.” While it’s not particularly the type of thing you’d want associated to your name nowadays, these were definitely different times.

I’m hesitant to say that this book is “horrible” or “wrong” (it was), but it was probably a necessity of the times. Everyone stereotyped and got all racist because that’s the kind of war it had become. Almost nothing about WWII was good, but it’s also hard to get upset at something like this, I think. If anything, it’s a nice reminder of how far we’ve really come. For one thing, most people don’t use the word “Jap” anymore. I know people say “oh that’s racist” or “don’t stereotype” all the time these days still but wow, just think about how things were only 70 years ago. The US was putting people in camps for being Japanese, Japanese were forcing Koreans and Chinese into labor camps, and Nazis were being Nazis. It was pretty bad to say the least. Also, segregation only officially ended in 1964. That was like… not that long ago. At this rate in another 50 years the people of earth will be one big happy rainbow.

So, there’s your entertainment for the day. Be sure to share this information with your friends and family. You never know when you’ll need to know this information. They could still be out there, sneaking, pretending to be one of us… fanny packs, man. Fanny packs.

Japanese diplomat Chiune Sugihara showed what he was made of during World War II when he saved thousands of Jews from the horror of the Holocaust at great risk to himself.

In the early war years Sugihara, a diplomat working for the Foreign Ministry of Japan, was stationed in Lithuania to be Japan’s eyes and ears in northern Europe as worldwide conflict was brewing. At first, his job went pretty normally, but he was soon thrown into an incredible situation.

As it became more and more evident what was happening in Europe, people (especially Jews) wanted to escape to other parts of the world. These refugees went to different embassies and consulates, looking for different ways out. Some of them came to Sugihara.

For a while, Sugihara played by the book, repeatedly asking permission from the Japanese government to write these refugees visas. After being turned down three times, Sugihara decided to take matters into his own hands.

Sugihara began writing visas for Lithuanians looking to escape the war. These refugees would travel through Japan, using it as a jumping off point to other parts of the world.

The Japanese government soon caught on to what Sugihara was doing and began tightening the noose, telling him to stop issuing visas, but Sugihara persisted.

Eventually, Sugihara was recalled from Lithuania. Legend has it that even as Sugihara was at the train station leaving Lithuania, he was still frantically writing visas, trying to save as many people as he possibly could.

After the War

After the war when Sugihara finally returned to Japan, he was asked to resign from his post from the Foreign Ministry for unrelated reasons. The remainder of Sugihara’s life in Japan was much quieter than you would expect of a hero. He worked odd jobs and even worked in Russia, away from his family for the better part of twenty years. Virtually nobody in Japan knew what he had done during the war.

The rest of the world, on the other hand, was very much aware of Sugihara’s bravery. In the late 60s, he visited Israel and was treated as a visiting dignitary.

Years later, Israel deemed Sugihara Righteous Among the Nations, an honor given from Israel to non-Jews who risked their lives to save people from the Holocaust. He and all of his descendents were also all granted Israeli citizenship, and Sugihara remains to this day the only Japanese person who is Righteous Among the Nations.

It’s not just Israel who’s recognized Sugihara’s deeds. There are been tributes to Sugihara all over the world. There are statues, memorials, painting, films — one astronomer even named an asteroid after Sugihara. Governments have awarded him their highest honors, including Poland and Lithuania.

Legacy

When Sugihara died in ‘86, delegates visited from around the world to pay their respects. Sugihara’s friends and neighbors were astonished that Sugihara’s death attracted so many people from so many places, considering that they hadn’t known about his time in Lithuania.

WWII was especially bad for Lithuania; over 10% of its population was wiped out during the war. That makes it more astonishing that by some measures, there is something like 40,000 people alive today because of Sugihara, including refugees and descendents. Many survivors have made sure that their children and grandchildren know about the man who risked his own life for them.

There isn’t a whole lot for the Japanese to be proud of during the wartime years. The awful things that happened during Japan’s quest for an Asian empire still resonate to this day.

But even though that part of Japan’s history is so tragic, it’s inspiring that Sugihara acted against his official orders, against what was supposed to be his country’s ally, at the risk of his own life to save so many. And it’s fitting that we remember him to this day.

Header photo by markandrew