The Vulnerability of Vision: Why Japan Struggles to Read Between the Lines
On December 14, NHK’s Taiga drama, Berabou, reached its conclusion. While its ratings reportedly slumped to the second-lowest in history, I found myself—much like with the record-low Idaten in 2019—deeply enamored with it. The lead, Ryusei Yokohama, deserves nothing but praise for his performance, likely filmed alongside the movie Kokuhou. As is customary when a Taiga cycle ends, the digital sphere has erupted with a cacophony of opinions on what should come next.
Interestingly, there is a vocal yearning for the "ancient" eras—the Asuka and Nara periods. Between 2001 and 2010, NHK produced ambitious dramas like Prince Shotoku and The Taika Reforms, investing resources on par with Taiga productions. However, the hurdle for these periods is primarily financial: the "drama art"—sets, costumes, and even the hairstyles of the era—demands a complete overhaul.
The cultural aesthetics of ancient Japan differ fundamentally from the later Heian period. While ancient dwellings were enclosed and lacked partitions, the post-Heian era shifted toward the open, matted aesthetics we now recognize as "Japanese". Clothing, too, transitioned from continental, two-piece styles shared with the Korean peninsula to the quintessential Wafuku. This "Hellenistic" Buddhist culture of the ancient world was a cosmopolitan tapestry, weaving together influences from Tang China, Korea, and even Persia or Greece. Once official ties with the Tang dynasty frayed, Japan turned inward, refining these imported styles into the "Kokufu" culture. Because these sets are so specialized, they lack the "reuse" value of the ubiquitous Sengoku (Warring States) period, making them an expensive gamble with low potential demand.
Critics often argue that "reality hasn't caught up to human imagination" in science fiction. They point to Back to the Future II’s self-adjusting clothes or hoverboards, which remain fantasies in 2025. Conversely, some mocked NHK’s futuristic Queen of Mars, set in the 2100s, because characters still wore modern clothes or used the iconic Kokuyo "Surveyor’s Notebook". But the truth is simpler: things endure because they work. Do we truly need self-adjusting clothes? Is a hoverboard safer than the controversial e-scooters on our streets today?.
This brings me to a deeper concern: I suspect Japan has become a nation of the "information-vulnerable" (jojaku). The term, a internet slang for those unable to navigate the flood of digital information, is often used derisively, yet it captures our current predicament. While the government implements the "Smartphone Act" to curb the dominance of Apple and Google—ostensibly to lower fees and increase choice—the reality is grimmer. Statistics from early 2025 show that over 80% of the world’s new email-based cyberattacks target Japan. Generative AI has stripped away the protection once offered by the "difficulty" of the Japanese language, making us a lucrative, soft target for intellectual property theft and fraud.
We focus on legislation for "cheaper" apps while our citizenry falls prey to digital traps, lured by keywords like "savings" or "profit". This lack of literacy extends to how we consume media. NHK’s recent documentary on the Japanese Red Army, featuring the former leader Fusako Shigenobu, sparked outrage from those claiming the network had been "hijacked" by leftist propaganda. They fear "brainwashing" the youth.
But cameras are cold observers. In the unedited lingering of an interview, one does not see sympathy from the creators; instead, one sees Shigenobu’s thin, nostalgic smile—a chilling lack of genuine remorse. It reminded me of Shutaro Mendo, the wealthy rival in Rumiko Takahashi’s Urusei Yatsura, who would bellow "My apologies!" while standing in a posture of utter arrogance.
The footage speaks for itself. Words and gestures reveal more than any script, yet "preconception" and "blind faith" cloud the viewer's eyes. It is a pity that while we have laws for smartphones, we have no such mandate to cultivate and maintain our "visual literacy".
