Japan’s Whales
In 2019, Japan left the IWC and resumed commercial whaling. A culture that has stood against international pressure for so long now stands on its own.
Why support whaling? To Western audiences, Japan’s investment in a slowing industry with lacking demand and rising international criticism may seem foolish or perhaps amoral. But whaling’s complex historical origins and constructed cultural value has cemented it as an important industry in Japan; one deemed patriotic and worthy of extensive protection. This piece will examine whaling’s origins and values and introduce narratives rarely mentioned in debates on whaling. Although rarely seen, these stories emphasize new perspectives in the whaling debate, revealing the hidden cultural cost of whaling in Japan.
Japan’s whaling industry has a complex historical background that includes merging colonial technologies with indigenous coastal cultures. Small scale, indigenous whaling can be traced back to the Joman Period in Japan (10,000 to 300 BCE). Large scale whaling likely began around the late 17th century as Japan adopted Norwegian style whaling: firing explosive harpoons from the bows of steam-powered ships. These modernization efforts included hiring sailors from Norway and Korea, buying ships and harpoons from Norway, and constructing whale processing plants in small, coastal villages. Along with these efforts, the whaling industry strove to connect itself with nationalism. Early protests, like the one in Same Village where local fishermen burned down a processing plant discharging oil and blood into their water, faced strict litigation. The fishermen were brought to court, tried, and found guilty of treason. And although they were pardoned after the emperor’s death, those in power (the village’s mayor and industry officials) used this death and the amnesty granted to push the fishermen towards lives as kokumin or loyal subjects with unconditional acceptance of the growing whaling industry next to their village. From early on, anti-whaling was characterized as anti-Japanese, and this stigma continues to influence the whaling debate today.
By 1976, Japan’s whaling industry had consolidated itself into one company: Nihon Kyodo Hogei Co., Ltd. The same year, Japan’s Minister of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries, Shintaro Abe, voiced full government support for the company. “We ask that the flame of the whaling industry will not be put out and that you do your best to secure Japan’s food supplies. The government will be doing all it can to actively support your efforts.” Many in Japan’s government still subscribe to this sentiment. Whale meat is seen as a fundamentally Japanese food. Its largely embedded role in Japan’s diet comes as a result of vociferous lobbying since the early 20th century and a concerted effort to create a monopolistic, entrenched enterprise. This enterprise also holds considerable cultural sway, impacting politicians, and crafting a specific narrative for whaling in Japan.
The consequences of deviating from this nationalistic narrative also remain today. The fishermen from Same village were only the first to face repercussions from challenging this cultural norm. Junichi Sato and Toru Suzuki, Japanese Greenpeace anti-whaling activists, were arrested after obtaining smuggled whale meat from a private warehouse. Their detention and interrogation by Japanese authorities breached several articles of the UN declaration of human rights. The strict punishment they faced demonstrates how this singular, culturally important narrative encourages the government to lash out at those standing against it. Even if they stand for ecological protection, the narrative and whaling debate have now linked any opposition to anti-nationalist ideals. “Their interrogators likened them to members of Aum Supreme Truth, the doomsday cult that carried out the fatal gas attacks on the Tokyo subway in 1995.”
To criticize whaling is to criticize Japanese culture, and this is one of the many reasons Japan seems so averse to international disapproval of their whaling practices. Anti-whaling efforts face further opposition because of the seemingly anti-patriotic values built into whaling protests. Efforts from industry, politicians, and academia have built a strong argument for the nationalistic foundations of whaling. Since whaling has become a national issue — instead of an ecological one — international pressure stokes the fires of nationalism, creating even greater support for whaling upon this cultural foundation.
In 2019, after decades of international negotiations ending in a constant stalemate, Japan decided to withdraw from the International Whaling Commission (IWC) and resume commercial whaling in its territorial waters and exclusive economic zone. This followed similar actions taken by other whaling countries, including Norway and Iceland. For some, this decision is seen as a face-saving alternative for Japan to cease whaling altogether. For others, this is a moment of celebration, ensuring that Japanese whaling “culture and way of life will be passed on to the next generation.” I would like to specify that this piece is not attempting to argue for either claim’s legitimacy. Instead, it is meant to call attention to the problematic, hegemonic narrative and the whaling issue’s hidden cost.
After all, there have always been moments of doubt, even for those most entrenched within the industry. A young harpoon gunner stood at the bow of the catcher boat. He watched as they followed two whales in the distance. At full speed, the boat approached until he realized what they had thought to be two whales were actually a pair with a suckling calf. The calf, shepherded between the two parent whales, was swimming as hard as it could and, to the harpoon gunner’s eyes, the parents, perhaps because they had sensed the danger, seemed to be moving in even closer to protect the calf. In his surprise, the harpooner forgot where he was, only returned to his senses by the angry voice of his captain. They had come right up to the whales. As he had always done before, the harpoon gunner fired a harpoon at the calf and scored a direct hit. A cheer went up from the boat. The harpooner was beside himself with excitement, but he suddenly saw the mother whale coming up to the side of the calf. She seemed to tap it on the head with her pectoral fin, and the next thing he knew, the calf was covered with something white. It was the mother’s milk. To the young harpooner, it seemed as if the mother was offering the calf her milk in a final gesture of love for her child. And as he was looking at that whale and its calf, the image of his beloved son and wife floated up in his mind. Again, the piercing scream of the captain woke him from his reverie. The harpooner “in his mind, once more bringing his hands together in prayer’ (Marukawa 1941: 179) then shot dead the mother too.”
This story comes from The Politics of Representing Culture in the Whaling Issue by Hiroyuki Watanabe. In his book, Watanabe paints a fuller picture of the whaling narrative in Japan. He questions the notion of an industry with a hegemonic and singular cultural value. And he offers anecdotes like these, as well as historical and cultural analysis, to posit a new idea: there is no one whaling culture, there is no one political industry. Instead, whaling in Japan is full of multiple, different relationships.
Plural Relationships
From his own cultural and historical analysis, Watanabe introduces a new concept for understanding the whaling debate in Japan: relationship plurality. Most understandings of the modern Japanese whaling debate depict it as a boxing match: two opponents with singular, polar views battling to establish complete authority. It seems like anti-whaling advocates want the complete removal of whaling and whale meat from Japan. And the prevailing pro-whaling sentiment stems from a singular, hegemonic notion upholding whaling’s cultural value. Watanabe pushes back against that notion, describing a multitude of relationships between whales and the Japanese people throughout his book.
Watanabe describes these relationships in great detail, dispelling the idea of one overriding narrative. He articulates the differences between active (killing the whale) and passive (utilizing found carcasses) whaling. He further introduces religious relationships, fishing relationships where fishermen follow finless porpoises to find schools of bonito, and environmental relationships where the whales are valued for their life and their contributions to the ocean ecosystems they live in. He explains how these relationships were silenced and mitigated in favor of a singular cultural argument to protect whaling. Although whale culture in Japan was remarkably diverse, outliers were silenced until whaling culture held only a singular, hegemonic cultural value. And this value proved nearly disastrous as Japan’s hegemonic whaling culture collided with the cold logic of overfishing.
Even today, blue and gray whale populations remain listed as Endangered by the IUCN — the result of laissez-faire regulations enacted in the 1960’s. Japan not only represented the strongest opposition to further regulation by the IWC, but they also disregarded limits placed on their whaling operations and exploited loopholes to continue whaling in protected waters. And the silencing of voices against these operations further limited the once plural relationships between Japan and whales. ‘Traditional’ arguments for whaling quieted varied cultures in Japan with different perspectives on whaling, creating a monolithic, political industry pursuing a misguided value and dream.
Beyond the ecological damage, the government, in upholding a singular, culturally “important” narrative, placed its citizens and the varied relationships they hold in danger. As the anecdotes above indicate, the government lashed out with disproportionate force against those it deemed unpatriotic. Not only does this rebuttal violate the trust and implicit agreement between a government and its citizens, but it also deepens already existing inequalities. Those fishermen in Same village fought to preserve the little economic and environmental freedom they had, and their government took it from them as punishment. This happens beyond whaling. Governments lashing out at those who do not comply with their narratives remain a significant and dangerous practice worldwide. One that emphasizes the importance of recognizing plural relationships.
Recognizing plural relationships allows an individual to be entitled to beliefs stemming from identity, surroundings, or something else. As the individual recognizes their plural relationships, they also must consider the wants and beliefs of others with the utmost sincerity. Plural relationships, in this context, dispel any notion of a hegemonic, cultural whaling majority and distribute cultural and political power evenly across multiple relationships and individuals. The dangerous effects of reducing whaling culture to a single point while silencing outliers are mitigated and there is a new opportunity for political action to empower multiple actors.
People engaged on the whaling issue, now a relatively exclusive debate within Japan, must adopt two political priorities that align with relationship plurality. One, whales should be protected not as a resource but as contributors to ecosystem and ocean health. Two, the natural, plural relationship between whales and humans must be protected as well. Taking action towards these political goals will not necessarily ban all whaling or free the industry from quotas and limits; instead, it will chart small steps towards a more fair and accurate representation of the relationships between Japan and its whales. A plural distribution of power could reform the whaling relationship and dispel the hegemonic, singular narrative conglomerating power and punishing outlying individuals.
The hegemony and accepted cultural value of whaling have silenced minorities and devastated the environment. Even today, some continue to wield this power while they mouth the words “multiculturalism” or “cultural diversity.” Instead of facing the plurality described in Watanabe’s book, they are simply repeating, in another form, the dangerous cultural practices of whaling. History may be doomed to repeat itself, but if we go about creating a new relationship with whales, we build the capacity and hope for new power — a power in plural relationships for all of us.
