The American Misunderstanding of Masculinity in the “Yakuza” Series

How many protagonists can you name that embody these following attributes: a physically and mentally strong man of few words. You may think of Din Djarin from The Mandalorian, or Geralt of Rivia from The Witcher, or even Batman from the DC Universe. All of these men seem to contribute to this Western concept of masculinity and machismo, standing as an image of strength, stoicism, and sometimes, vengeance. Overseas, the Japanese Yakuza (or Ryu Ga Gotoku) series paints a different image, following a similar trope, but executed completely differently. Although the protagonist of the series, Kazuma Kiryu, appears to embody these attributes, his character represents the complete opposite, providing a character with vulnerability shown through his little concern over embarrassment or showing emotion as he desperately works to help others. The Yakuza series sheds light on a different kind of masculinity that centers on empathy and unconditional selflessness. American audiences often mistranslate this, seeing only Kiryu’s strength as his character, resulting in a promotion of toxic masculinity rather than a criticism of it.

In contrast to the seemingly limitless freedom to make social change in the United States, Japan has a much more constrained government and structural confinement of the country. These societal contexts likely provide additional reasoning as to why the characterization of Kiryu and this perception of masculinity are lost in translation. In an interview titled “Translating the humor and tone of Yakuza games for the West,” Yakuza localization producer Scott Strichart discusses these discrepancies between nations, since “In Japan, part of what Kiryu’s arc represents to a Japanese player is the ability to change things. The ability to make an impact,” meanwhile for Westerners, “Maybe they just see Kiryu as this strong, honorable man,” (Wawro 2018). The United States, despite what some may say, represents an ideal of freedom of choice and action. American culture says that a person has the freedom to do whatever they want and be whatever they choose to be. The entire ideal of the “American Dream” is that one has the opportunity to create something out of nothing in their lives, and if the system acts as a roadblock, they have a right to break it. It is a stark difference to many world governments and cultures, and Japan is no exception. The idea of being able to strive on this path of rightness and to be a positive influence towards others is revolutionary, and Kiryu is the hero that represents such beliefs. He ultimately speaks greater to Japanese audiences while Americans are simply fed messages they may be already used to. In doing so, it also contributes to the different perceptions of masculinity in these cultures. Since the United States is so commonly exposed to these concepts, then they simply choose not to portray it as a significant element of Kiryu’s character, and what is left is his physical attributes. Meanwhile, Japanese players may see this as completely countercultural, and an ideal of hope that one can indeed use strength and masculinity as a force for good rather than a force for power, as most real-life yakuza groups attempt to promote.

In fact, Yakuza was likely received positively among Japanese audiences likely because of toxic masculinity in Japan, a notion of which real yakuza culture seems to be the poster child. The Japanese public has held a strong fascination with the underworld long before the Yakuza games were created, and part of that is because of how yakuza members are portrayed with the ideals of honor and pride. Writer Hon-Lee Poon expands on this in his essay “Ijippari and Fantaji: Identifying perfected masculinity in the Yakuza film,” referencing the Japanese term “ijippari,” or stubborn pride. He discusses the film Japan Organized Crime Boss, referencing how in a sequence where a character is sent to rescue a clanmate, “his ijippari in upholding the yakuza code of jingi (mortality) fuels him to endure physical pain,” (Poon n.d.). The traditional perception of yakuza has members place honor and pride above everything, even one’s physical body. While Kiryu endures his fair share of injuries, they are all done not for personal status, but done in the name of others. In Yakuza 3, Kiryu finds himself shanked when trying to extend a hand of friendship to a former enemy. In Yakuza 6, Kiryu takes a beating while his daughter is held at gunpoint. This sense of selflessness is a radical departure from common perceptions of yakuza, and that recognition of toxicity embedded in culture has allowed Japanese players to digest this commentary more openly.

Despite the game’s title, Kazuma Kiryu, for most of the games, is only half yakuza. In fact, he finds himself constantly having to explain the fact that he is not a member of the game’s Tojo Clan (after getting expelled twice and retiring to civilian life). Even so, his yakuza past gives him a fascinating perspective that grounds him with one leg in the hyper-masculinity of crime, but another in ordinary, mundane civilian life. This is seen throughout all 7 games in the “Kiryu Saga,” where he begins as this ruthless debt collector with a heart of compassion in Yakuza 0, to a man who simply wants to live an ordinary life with his daughter and orphanage by Yakuza 6. He was trained in hypermasculinity by the yakuza, yet it is stated that his surrogate father felt that he couldn’t make it as one simply because his heart is too pure in contrast to the brutality needed to be a mobster.

A captivating aspect of Kazuma Kiryu is his willingness to show his personal vulnerability. For one, Kiryu’s emotional range is not limited to a single, serious facial expression, as there are several moments where Kiryu breaks out of that stone-cold intimidation and exposes his true emotions. In fact, with a serious crime drama, it is inevitable that loss should occur. Without spoiling the games, Kiryu loses many loved ones throughout his life, and as Greszes discusses, “Kiryu is one of the few protagonists in gaming who actually cries when tragic events occur,” (Greszes 2020). It is not portrayed as the quiet hero silently crying, as oftentimes, Kiryu screams his pain, tears flowing down his eyes, and voice cracking at every word (as brilliantly performed by voice actor Takaya Kuroda). Kiryu is a man who feels, and he is unashamed of these emotions. Kiryu’s vulnerability is cathartic, and that strongman’s exterior is broken. To take this a step further, the game refuses to make this the limit of his emotional personality, as players discover, through the often comical side content. Even though he is portrayed as the “cool hero,” “that doesn’t stop him from making a fool out of himself on the dance floor. It doesn’t prevent him from belting out a karaoke classic while tearfully reminiscing about his childhood at an orphanage, or about the good times shared with his former best friend-turned bitter enemy. It certainly doesn’t stop him from getting peed on while taking care of a baby,” (Greszes 2020). The emotions of embarrassment or shame never seem to stop Kiryu from expressing himself. Even if it seems goofy or childish, Kiryu is always willing to show this side of himself to others.

In fact, there are many of these “embarrassing” cases that Kiryu chooses to participate in because he is being considerate of other individuals’ problems. Writer Alan Wen comments on this in his article “Yakuza and Masculinity: A Mighty Heart Underneath the Muscle,” saying that, “Perhaps what’s most endearing in the activities that happen away from the story is seeing our usual tough guys in fish-out-of-water scenarios but still having to carry it out with all earnestness,” (Wen 2018). More than a few times, Kiryu finds himself in awkward situations trying to help another person, whether it be voice acting in a “boys-love” game, playing producer for a flamboyant director, becoming a small-town mascot, or becoming the manager of a cabaret club after being mistaken for another person. The point is that Kiryu is not worried about his public face, he doesn’t care if he looks like a complete idiot in these situations, because what is important to him is the happiness of others, and if he needs to get his hands dirty, he absolutely will. This is the image of masculinity that Yakuza attempts to portray, that a man is not concerned about saving face or heroic arrogance, but a true man would stoop down to the level of idiocy if it means that others can succeed.

Through his assistance of others in these side quests, audiences are given a glimpse into Kiryu’s personal perspective in that his sympathy evoked in seeing others as real human beings. Writer Sam Greszes, in his article “Yakuza examines masculinity with care, but leaves women behind,” describes Kiryu as a hero, “helping people with their problems, and taking responsibility for keeping the city safe, even though he’s involved with organized crime,” (Greszes 2020). Kiryu getting wrapped up in the bizarre activities is often by chance, but he stays because of his genuine concern for these individuals’ lives. The Yakuza series is one of the few games that allow players to feel genuine love and emotion for non-playable characters (NPCs) because it is all shown through Kiryu’s empathetic eyes. Perhaps the best representation of this is through the cabaret club games, where Kiryu goes to a club to date hostesses, but rather than being interested in vulgarity or sexual satisfaction, he chooses to listen to their stories and struggles about “being surrounded by sexism, about feeling forced into a stereotypical hostess job, or about the unique pressures of being a woman in Japan,” (Greszes 2020). While there can be debate as to whether these female characters lack agency in that regard, what is interesting is that the game specifically chooses to spotlight those issues, and gives players the opportunity to have a genuine, human conversation through Kiryu. As a result, this stoicism is actually an eggshell exterior that continuously cracks to reveal a more tender interior. His actions and his perceptions on these other characters, especially women, are reflective of this more sympathetic and empathetic outlook this game intends to pursue with this protagonist.

This can be viewed in contrast to American video games such as the popular Grand Theft Auto series, in which players find themselves in a similar underworld environment. Some have argued that Yakuza was just the Japanese equivalent to GTA given their settings and the blending of serious storytelling and absurd side content. However, the games in reality are like water and oil, and this is best seen in the treatment of characters outside of the protagonist. In fact, it stems from the psychological perception of certain characters not as living beings, but as mere dolls in a sandbox to play with. A 2016 research study on “Violent-Sexist” video games discussed that “People feel empathy for other individuals, not for objects. In some video games, such as the very popular Grand Theft Auto (GTA) games, female characters are treated as sex objects rather than as individuals worthy of respect,” (Gabbiadini et. al. 2016). Here, there exists this stark difference between how NPCs, and even more importantly, women are viewed in these games. On one hand, GTA sees women as mere pieces of entertainment because, from the male protagonist’s perspective, that is what they are. It is easy for Yakuza to fall into the same trap, but it chooses to develop every hostess individually because players stand in for a character who genuinely cares about these women as human beings with lives and emotion. Despite this, such messages fly over the heads of American players. By seeing it as another game similar to GTA, they might see these hostesses as mere objects of entertainment, ultimately stripping all meaning and complexity away from Kiryu’s purpose as a protagonist who counters traditional views of masculinity. It makes an attempt at placing Kiryu into the mold that Americans have defined for male pop culture icons by ignoring any and all empathy he has. Still, Kiryu’s character remains constant, and other aspects of the game make a case against toxicity.

However, with the current state of American culture, a large portion of people still do not recognize toxic masculinity as an issue, leading to this fundamental misunderstanding of the Yakuza series and Kazuma Kiryu as a protagonist. Even so, this commentary has been able to reach several ears overseas, as while the series is mainly marketed towards adult men according to creator Toshihiro Nagoshi, statistics have shown that the percentage of female players have risen to 20% by 2016 (SATO 2016). The growing appeal of the series among female audiences seems to indicate that the comments on masculinity are beginning to break through to a larger audience not only in Japan, but abroad as well. Furthermore, as the series continues, RGG Studios has become more overt in their portrayal of protagonists, with the new Yakuza lead protagonist, Ichiban Kasuga, who seems to embody pure empathy, unashamed goofiness, and, to put it simply, friendship. As opposed to Kiryu’s stoic exterior, Ichiban radiates with a sense of compassion, placing sympathy and human relationships to the forefront of the series. Meanwhile, in the newest entry to the Judgment spinoff series, detective Takayuki Yagami finds himself as a school club advisor, having to mentor teenagers and having conversations about bullying. These recent games have been received incredibly well by American critics and players alike, and part of that success likely stems from these changes in the series.

Yakuza finds itself in an interesting spot on how certain cultures view the ideals of masculinity, and while the Kiryu Saga, with all that it did to give a different perspective on what a “true” man should be, it left a large portion of Western audiences with a mere impression of its messaging. Moving forward, it seems that RGG Studios hopes to continue with their messages on vulnerability and compassion as a key component to their stories. The significance of this is that a broader audience beyond just Japan can find themselves inspired and reassured that an apathetic vision of masculinity is not definitive. It urges that the strongman’s stoicism is not what a person should strive to represent, but it is selflessness that defines what a man and human being should pursue, and with the success of the newest games, it seems that there is hope for a shift in mindset involving these games and a change in the view of masculinity in American society. As this work of entertainment grows in popularity abroad, and as Americans become more aware of the issues surrounding masculinity in their country, the Yakuza series works as a part of an ongoing effort to reaffirm these newer interpretations of masculinity outside of toxicity in both Japan and the United States.