Written on May 7, 2019, this essay draws on Fukio Ikehara’s book to examine the Asahi Shimbun’s lineage-based favoritism, its promotion structure unrelated to journalistic ability, and its resemblance in temperament to the Zenkyōtō student movement.
Through examples such as Shigehiko Tōgō, Wakamiya Yoshibumi, and Sadayoshi Tsubaki, it sharply criticizes the affinity between postwar Japanese media and leftist activism, the continuity with the University of Tokyo unrest, and the ideological background of biased reporting.

2019-05-07
Even after becoming the Tokyo correspondent for a foreign newspaper, Shigehiko’s habit of sexual harassment did not end, and after repeated offenses he received an actual prison sentence of eight months (the prosecution had sought one year), and also left The Washington Post.

This is the chapter I published on 2017-11-09 under the title, “He was no more than the sort of reporter who was said to have declared that Asahi’s corporate creed was ‘We will hold Abe’s funeral ourselves,’ and he only deepened Asahi’s decline.”
The following is from Fukio Ikehara’s excellent book, Does Emperor Shōwa Dislike the Asahi? Giant Media—The History of Its Fabrications (KK Best Book, 1,200 yen).
Asahi, fond of “family-lineage networks,” unrelated to a reporter’s actual ability.
Foreign Minister Tōgō Shigenori, who worked with Prime Minister Suzuki Kantarō toward the end of the war.
The twin Tōgō brothers, whose grandfather was that great former foreign minister, both entered Hibiya High School.
The younger brother, Kazuhiko, went from the University of Tokyo to the Foreign Ministry, while the elder brother, Shigehiko, entered the Asahi Shimbun after Waseda.
Shigehiko, who became an Asahi reporter in 1968 (Shōwa 43), was regarded within the company as a promising hope because of his pedigree, but while working as a reporter in 1976 (Shōwa 51), it was discovered that he had committed molestation by touching the buttocks of a girl who had come to tour the National Diet building, and he resigned at his own request.
After that, Shigehiko moved on to become a reporter for The Washington Post, and only once did he land a scoop.
It was the 1993 exclusive on the decision of “Masako Owada as Crown Princess.”
However, rumors never ceased that this scoop had been sourced through the Foreign Ministry line of his younger brother Kazuhiko and Owada Hisashi.
Even after becoming the Tokyo correspondent for a foreign newspaper, Shigehiko’s habit of sexual harassment did not end, and after repeated offenses he received an actual prison sentence of eight months (the prosecution had sought one year), and also left The Washington Post.
The father of Wakamiya Yoshibumi was Wakamiya Kotarō, who moved from being a political reporter at the Asahi Shimbun to becoming secretary to Prime Minister Hatoyama Ichirō.
They were two generations, father and son, of Asahi reporters.
Yoshibumi followed Asahi’s elite course from political reporter to editor-in-chief, but in both his articles and his political views there was almost nothing of substance worth speaking of.
He was no more than the sort of reporter who was said to have declared that Asahi’s corporate creed was “We will hold Abe’s funeral ourselves,” and he only deepened Asahi’s decline.
Asahi and “Zenkyōtō,” a similar disposition.
At the time of the University of Tokyo unrest, the Zenkyōtō, resonating with the Cultural Revolution, loudly proclaimed that “rebellion is justified.”
The University of Tokyo Zenkyōtō carried out a “university-wide strike” from around the summer of 1968 (Shōwa 43), and barricaded all classrooms.
At the time, I was one of the leaders of the so-called ordinary students, and that same year, in a roundtable by volunteer University of Tokyo students in the October issue of the magazine Jiyū, I argued in print for “lifting the indefinite strike” and “introducing the riot police.”
The day after Jiyū was published, I was astonished to see the words “Crush Fukio Ikehara” dancing on a signboard in front of the main gate of the University of Tokyo.
It was like a wall poster straight out of the Red Guards.
At the Faculty of Medicine, where the conflict was deepest, there was such tension that even the roundtable participants were treated anonymously.
I was full of spirit through high school and university as a member of the judo club, and often confronted the Zenkyōtō, but at that time there had not yet been any major injury cases.
Or rather, even when there were violent incidents, no one was “arrested.”
The university was a “lawless zone” into which police power could not be introduced.
At the time, when one looked at the staves the Zenkyōtō people carried, there were even vicious ones with large nails fastened inside them.
Perhaps as punishment for leaving that state untouched, it later led to sinister extremist “inner struggle” incidents such as the Asama-Sansō Incident.
In November 1968 (Shōwa 43), there was the one-week canned-up negotiation incident involving Dean of Letters Kentarō Hayashi.
I remember taking supplies to my teacher, Professor Hayashi, and going to the classroom where he was being confined.
They “detained” the professors, made them stand on the platform, and Zenkyōtō activists fiercely interrogated them over the microphone, saying, “The university’s authoritarian structure is your fault.”
The Zenkyōtō-sympathizing students present there chanted, “That’s right, that’s right.”
It was exactly Red Guard style.
They would not even let them go home until they performed “self-criticism.”
There even appeared teachers who said, “I’m sorry, I was wrong,” performed self-criticism, and withdrew.
But Kentarō Hayashi firmly rejected the demands and held to his convictions.
He was “rescued” a week later under doctor’s orders.
One could clearly see which professors, usually called progressive intellectuals, did or did not truly have convictions.
Some yielded to the Zenkyōtō, but Professor Maruyama Masao of the Faculty of Law was admirable.
Professor Maruyama’s lectures were popular, and I too attended them in my third year.
They were far more interesting to hear in person than to read in the text.
The lecture topic was “The History of American Political Thought,” and the large humanities and social sciences lecture hall was filled with hundreds of listeners.
After the “indefinite strike” began, I saw Professor Maruyama surrounded by Zenkyōtō sympathizers, arguing heatedly on campus and on the sidewalks.
He did not yield even one step, saying, “You are mistaken.”
The University of Tokyo authorities, having endured and endured, made the decision to introduce the riot police into Yasuda Auditorium and remove the students occupying it illegally.
From January 18 to 19, 1969 (Shōwa 44), for the first time since the unrest began, the riot police were introduced into the campus.
I too was “at the scene.”
On the 18th, the first day of the operation, the battle over “Yasuda Castle” between Molotov cocktails and tear-gas shells was fierce, and the riot police temporarily withdrew on that first day.
That evening, even after the riot police withdrew, the avenue of ginkgo trees remained in turmoil.
Since a full-scale “assault on Yasuda Castle” by the riot police was expected the next day, there were even University of Tokyo students who fled.
On the following day, the 19th, the blockade of Yasuda Auditorium was lifted for the first time in about half a year.
All students carrying staves were arrested, but few were University of Tokyo students and many were from other universities.
The behavioral pattern of the University of Tokyo Zenkyōtō sympathizers, for whom in the end their own selves mattered most, resembles the disposition of the Asahi Shimbun.
Asahi dislikes the JCP youth league, but welcomes the Zenkyōtō type.
Many Asahi reporters sympathize with the Zenkyōtō, to which they are temperamentally similar.
Sadayoshi Tsubaki of the Tsubaki Incident (TV Asahi News Bureau Chief) is one such example.
Tsubaki said, “At the time of the University of Tokyo Yasuda Auditorium Incident, I sympathized with the students.”
Watanabe Tsuneo, editor-in-chief of the Yomiuri Shimbun, pointed to Tsubaki as “a deliberate offender in biased reporting,” and said, “Tsubaki left a stain on the history of Japanese television.”