They make mistakes but never correct nor apologize for them.
March 13, 2025

This kind of evasion is strikingly similar to Asahi’s excuse regarding its recent coverage of the Moritomo Gakuen scandal, in which they incorrectly reported that the name of the new elementary school was “Shinzō Abe Elementary School” instead of “Kaisei Elementary School.”

May 16, 2019
I revisited the following book thinking I had left some parts unread, but I came to realize that this is a book not only all Japanese people, but everyone in the world must read.
It’s no exaggeration to say that without reading this book, we cannot truly understand the facts of prewar, wartime, and postwar Japan.
It is an extraordinary work.
Masayuki Takayama, the only truly independent journalist in the postwar world, conducted a dialogue with Shōichi Watanabe—a man who, in postwar Japan, stood out as the greatest and most authentic scholar and intellectual—a year before Watanabe’s passing.
The contents and significance of this dialogue deserve to be called the most important postwar publication.
In the final chapter, Takayama gives commentary that—among many examples—perfectly validates my long-held suspicions and criticisms of the Foreign Correspondents’ Club of Japan. He also clearly and thoroughly explains the origins of this organization for the first time to the Japanese public.
Furthermore, he vindicates my criticisms of NHK and clarifies the roots of NHK’s behavior.
I am deeply convinced that Masayuki Takayama is, in every sense, worthy of the Nobel Prize in both literature and peace.
Responding to the work of the one and only journalist of the postwar era—that is the proper way for us to show our respect.
Readers will likely feel that Takayama and I are like twins in thought throughout many parts of this book.

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Final Chapter – The “Defeat-Gain Beneficiaries” Lost in Chaos — by Masayuki Takayama
“Are you challenging the Asahi? We’ll crush you.”

After the dialogue, there is something I must explain.
Why do mainstream media like the Asahi act like censors of public discourse, trying to eliminate dissenting voices?
The root of their arrogance and hubris lies in the postwar period, when, under the orders of the United States, they were tasked with pursuing Japan’s “war of aggression” and “atrocities.”
As long as they could portray Japan as the absolute evil, they were effectively given great power to write history however they liked.
Professor Shōichi Watanabe had the foresight to make historical perspectives his main battlefield and spent nearly half a century fighting these so-called “defeat-gain beneficiaries.”
Immediately after the war, the Asahi was still rational.
They even allowed Ichirō Hatoyama to publish an article pointing out the inhumanity of the atomic bombings. But GHQ banned the paper as a warning, threatening that next time it would be shut down entirely. The Asahi quickly caved.
GHQ made the Asahi its most loyal subordinate.
Other newspapers weren’t even on its radar.
They wanted newspapers to publish fabricated stories, such as massacres by the Japanese army or the Bataan Death March. Initially, GHQ limited paper supplies to exert control.
When the British ruled Burma, they monopolized the paper industry and only sold paper through churches.
As most Burmese were Buddhist, they couldn’t obtain paper, and resistance activities stalled.
Controlling information is the cornerstone of colonial rule.
In postwar Japan, only single-sheet newspapers were permitted. However, GHQ allowed expanded editions—four pages instead of one—when they wanted to use the newspapers for propaganda, such as serialized stories on the “Pacific War.”
In this way, GHQ controlled the press.
GHQ also used NHK as a tool to mislead the Japanese. Their officers operated within NHK’s Tamurachō (Uchisaiwaichō) building, issuing direct instructions.
Due to space constraints, NHK was to be moved to the site of the former 3rd Infantry Regiment in Azabu (now the National Art Center), to be co-located with the Stars and Stripes newspaper as a GHQ-run Japanese-language broadcast center.
However, this plan was halted by the outbreak of the Korean War, and NHK moved to Yoyogi instead.

The reason the U.S. valued Asahi, as discussed in the dialogue, was due to its deep ties with Allen Dulles, one of the founders of the OSS (predecessor of the CIA). Both Takehiko Ogata (former vice president and chief editor) and editorial director Shintarō Kasa had close ties to Dulles.
As demonstrated during the 1960 Anpo protests, a system was established wherein Asahi was used to control both the press and public opinion.
GHQ also set up the Foreign Correspondents’ Club to control Japanese public opinion.
If a disfavored politician emerged, this club would generate “international opinion,” prompting Asahi and NHK to carry out purges.
Mark Gayn’s Japan Diary describes how, at GHQ’s behest, the FCCJ summoned Ichirō Hatoyama to a luncheon where he was grilled by correspondents.
Asahi picked up the story and politically destroyed Hatoyama.
Even after GHQ left, this system survived.
In the Tanaka Kakuei money scandal, the FCCJ invited Tanaka to a luncheon and launched an all-out attack. Seeing this, Japanese newspapers, which had ignored earlier Bungei Shunjū reports, joined the fray, leading to Tanaka’s resignation.
The same pattern repeated in the Lockheed scandal.
Because of this postwar system, Asahi’s authority seemed unshakable.
They began censoring opinions they disliked, using their power to crush dissent.
As mentioned in the dialogue, Professor Watanabe’s long battle with Asahi began when they fabricated a debate with author Kyōjin Ōnishi.
The reason he was targeted was because he voiced opinions that Asahi disapproved of.
There were earlier cases like this too. For example, in 1968, when the U.S. aircraft carrier Enterprise docked at Sasebo, Michio Takeyama—best known for The Burmese Harp—was one of five intellectuals interviewed in the Asahi’s social section. He alone voiced support.
The newspaper then published a flood of emotional letters of criticism, spurred by Asahi’s editorial stance.
Over 250 critical letters were sent to the Tokyo head office alone, and Asahi ended the discussion by rejecting Takeyama’s rebuttal.
The editor of the “Voices” section later argued in Shokun! that it was standard practice to selectively publish letters at the editor’s discretion.
By crushing Takeyama, they were sending the message: “This is what happens if you defy Asahi.”
There is a mindset at Asahi that refuses to tolerate opposition.
This tendency remains unchanged to this day.

On a personal note, my entanglement with Asahi began when I voiced a dissenting opinion in 1981 about the 1966 ANA plane crash off Haneda.
While the official narrative blamed pilot error, Asahi insisted it was due to mechanical failure and pushed the story, eventually forcing the investigation committee to label the cause “unknown.”
But when I became an aviation reporter and spoke with veteran pilots, most said it was clearly pilot error—the pilots couldn’t handle the Boeing 727 properly.
I wrote an article to that effect for an ANA-affiliated magazine. An Asahi reporter came to investigate and published a front-page story criticizing both myself and the ANA official I interviewed for denying Asahi’s aircraft-defect theory.
Why is telling the truth a problem? I was stunned by Asahi’s refusal to tolerate opposing views. ANA, under pressure from Asahi, disciplined several involved executives by cutting their pay to show submission.
Asahi has no qualms using their paper to assert: “We won’t tolerate anyone contradicting us.”
Even ANA bowed and disciplined their staff—I was shocked.
Why is it forbidden to voice a different opinion from Asahi’s?
This is the same censorship structure that led to Professor Watanabe being attacked.

A little later, I became a social affairs desk editor.
Then came Asahi’s front-page poison gas article.
At the time, reporter Mizuho Ishikawa brought a manuscript stating, “That wasn’t poison gas, it was a smokescreen.” We ran it prominently.
The next day, an Asahi manager stormed into our office in anger.
Normally, when someone points out a mistake, a journalist should investigate thoroughly.
Even using common sense, poison gas wouldn’t rise into the sky.
The first poison gas used was called “Yperite,” another name for mustard gas, first deployed near the village of Ypres in Belgium.
On the stagnant Western Front, when the wind blew toward Allied lines, they’d open canisters, and the gas would crawl along the ground into enemy trenches, killing soldiers.
The gas was named for its mustard-like smell and yellow color.
As I mentioned in the dialogue, when I was Tehran bureau chief in 1986, I saw injured soldiers in a field hospital who had suffered from gas attacks—it was horrifying.
A journalist should know that poison gas crawls along the ground, not floats in the sky. Killing crows with it serves no purpose. I told this to Mr. Satake, the Asahi manager.
He responded, “Are you from Sankei daring to defy Asahi? [We’ll crush Sankei.]”
Who did he think he was? They act as though no one may question Asahi’s reporting or oppose “The Great Asahi.” I was appalled at their arrogance.
Later, Ishikawa traced the photo’s origin and reported it, and Asahi was eventually forced to issue a correction.
But instead of admitting, “It wasn’t poison gas,” they sidestepped with a vague correction saying “the location of the operation was wrong.”
This evasion is exactly like their recent excuse regarding Moritomo Gakuen, where they reported “Kaisei Elementary School” as “Shinzō Abe Elementary School.”

“Because the name of the school was blacked out at first, the Asahi Shimbun reported in the May 9 edition that based on interviews with Mr. Kagoike, he had submitted a prospectus naming it ‘Shinzō Abe Memorial Elementary School’ to the Kinki Finance Bureau.” (November 25, 2017)

Even when they are wrong, they do not apologize or correct the record.
No matter the false report, pointing out Asahi’s error is forbidden—and they lash out when criticized.
This is an unimaginable level of arrogance and entitlement.

Come to think of it, a reporter who joined Asahi after being hired in my cohort once confronted me when we ran into each other at a field assignment shortly after he was promoted to the social affairs section.
When I greeted him, he glared at me and said, “I’m a reporter for the Asahi Shimbun now. Call me ‘Mr.’”
As if to say, “You and I are on different levels now.”
Asahi reporters act as if they are elite journalists, different from everyone else—even among fellow newspaper companies.

…He spoke as if to say, “I’m now in a different league than you.”
Asahi journalists think of themselves as a chosen breed—different from you, even among fellow journalists from other newspapers.

This arrogance is deeply rooted.
During the time I was at the Tehran bureau in 1986, even the Asahi correspondent stationed there had a peculiar sense of superiority.
When we met on site while covering the Iran-Iraq War, he said to me, “You guys from Sankei still believe the atomic bombs ended the war, don’t you?”
I asked, “Well, didn’t they?”
He replied smugly, “The Soviet Union’s entry into the war was decisive.”

That’s the kind of thing they say.
It wasn’t about journalism—it was about showing off knowledge, asserting superiority, belittling others.
It was never a matter of pursuing truth or seeking the facts.
What mattered was to sound more knowledgeable, to belittle opponents, and to flaunt their affiliation with the prestigious Asahi Shimbun.

They’re conditioned to think that only Asahi holds the correct view.
And when that premise is challenged, they become enraged.
They never apologize.
They never admit mistakes.
Instead, they shift the narrative, blur the issue, or double down and attack their critics.

That’s exactly what happened with the false report that “Kaisei Elementary School” was “Shinzo Abe Elementary School” in the Moritomo Gakuen scandal.
When called out on the mistake, they justified themselves by saying,
“The school name was initially blacked out, so Asahi reported on May 9 that Mr. Kagoike had submitted a statement of intent to the Kinki Finance Bureau indicating the school would be named ‘Shinzo Abe Memorial Elementary School,’ based on an interview with Mr. Kagoike.” (Asahi, November 25, 2017 edition)

They got it wrong—yet issued neither a correction nor an apology.
No matter how inaccurate the reporting, pointing out mistakes in Asahi’s articles is impermissible.
They lash out in return.
This kind of behavior would be unthinkable under normal standards.
It’s the product of unchecked arrogance and entitlement.

In the same November 25, 2017 edition, the Asahi Shimbun ran a special titled “Fake News: Tracing the Trail of the Lie,” claiming that criticism of the Asahi had led to an outpouring of abuse toward the newspaper.
According to Asahi, its office received more than 5,000 phone calls over the school name report.
Some said, “Don’t mess with Prime Minister Abe.”
Others went so far as to say, “All you Asahi people should die.”
Indeed, that last one is clearly inappropriate.
But this deluge of phone calls came only after Asahi’s false reporting caused an uproar in the first place.

Despite this, the Asahi portrayed itself as the victim.
They asserted, “This is the reality of the harm done by fake news.”
But let’s not forget: the source of that so-called fake news was Asahi itself.
In other words, they were denouncing the public for reacting to their lie.
This is classic Asahi behavior—shifting the blame, playing the victim, and acting morally superior.

They see themselves as enlightened intellectuals who must guide the ignorant masses.
Criticism is framed as an “attack on journalism” or “an assault on free speech.”
Any dissenting voices are labeled as “right-wing” or “nationalist,” and thus unworthy of serious consideration.
They’ve built an echo chamber that only amplifies their own righteousness.

This attitude is not limited to a few individuals—it permeates the entire organization.
Asahi’s institutional culture fosters a sense of infallibility and a disdain for opposing views.
It is not just arrogance—it is a dangerous form of authoritarianism masquerading as journalism.

Even in the special report, “Fake News: Tracing the Trail of the Lie,” they stated:

“The lie spreads by finding footholds in emotions, hatred, and prejudice. The sense of ‘justice’ that people feel deep in their hearts urges them to believe and spread it.”

Reading this, one can’t help but ask: are they not describing themselves?

It was the Asahi Shimbun that first exploited emotion, hatred, and prejudice through its repeated false reports.
It was Asahi that incited “justice” in its readers—justice rooted in distorted facts.
And now, when people react to the consequences of those lies, they accuse the public of being misled by fake news.
This is not just hypocrisy—it’s gaslighting.

The Asahi has become a master at manipulating narratives.
When it’s caught fabricating or distorting facts, it shifts the focus.
It talks about the dangers of misinformation in society.
It calls for media literacy, as if the problem lies with an ignorant public, not with their own reporting.

They have never seriously held themselves accountable.
They apologize without truly acknowledging the damage done.
They move on quickly, while portraying themselves as the vanguard of truth.

In doing so, they escape scrutiny.
They hide behind the banner of “freedom of the press.”
But freedom without responsibility is not journalism—it’s propaganda.

In the end, when a newspaper that has distorted history and fabricated facts without remorse labels everything as “fake news,” we are left with an Orwellian inversion—truth becomes lies, and lies become truth.

This is exactly why so many people have turned their backs on traditional media.
They are not “anti-intellectual” or “anti-journalism.”
Rather, they are demanding genuine accountability, genuine transparency, and genuine truth.

The public has grown weary of being treated as mere consumers of narratives spun by elite institutions.
They want facts, not lectures.
They want clarity, not obfuscation.
They want justice, not performative virtue.

And until institutions like the Asahi Shimbun face this reality—until they reckon honestly with their past and present—no amount of hand-wringing over “fake news” will restore their credibility.