History is a curious thing. The history we learn in school is a parade of wars, political conflicts, and economic crises. We are often told to “learn from history,” yet these events rarely feel directly connected to our daily lives. While I understand how history informs political decisions like voting, our lives—though deeply affected by political acts—do not consist entirely of them. Even if we attempt to learn from the human drama within history, such secondhand narratives are inherently unreliable. We live through approximately three generations, spanning 100 to 150 years, yet we know that in a simple game of “telephone,” a message rarely survives intact even across ten people in immediate succession. Furthermore, the mundane acts of daily life are often omitted from historical records. Even when diaries or personal accounts remain, they are merely fragments of individual lives, not the “continuous history” we are taught to study. Paradoxically, our daily existence is far more relevant to these records of everyday actions than to the grand historical narrative.
History is a description of the past, and it is inevitable that the more power is involved, the more the record is influenced. Yet, we continue to trace the marks left by those in power. Certainly, by comparing and referencing various documents, facts can be verified to some extent. However, a doubt remains. In today’s international politics, for instance, confirming what is “fact” is an immense challenge. If this is true today, I cannot help but remain skeptical of textbook discourses that seem to reach easy conclusions about the past, simply because the power structures of that time are distant from the present. Perhaps what we truly learn from history is how those currently in power perceive the facts of the past.
Human perception seeks clear boundaries. When accepting things as they are is seen as affirmation and failing to do so as negation, the latter is always the easier path for drawing a line. This remains true regardless of how history is manipulated. Much of what we call history is a trail of conflict, defined by winners and losers. Winners use history to serve their interests, but the memory of the defeated resonates deeply with human perception. Therefore, the memory of defeat carries its own utility. In this regard, Japan once held a very advantageous position. Yet, neither the modern right nor the left seems to grasp this. That said, this is easier said than done. Showa-era Japan understood this to some degree, and one could say their methodology functioned quite effectively. However, during the Heisei era, it seems we forgot these lessons as if they were a dream—or perhaps we never truly understood them at all. I believe the Heisei era merely exposed the fact that these methodologies had become hollow shells.
It makes little sense to imitate the methodologies of the Showa era. The memory of defeat belongs to those who dared to challenge, fought, and lost; no matter how much we pass it down through narrative, it remains hearsay. We pass these stories on to honor those who fought, not to replicate their methods. History should not be exploited for political gain—a warning that applies to both the right and the left. Nevertheless, history is a continuous thread, and politics is inseparable from it. Simply put, Japan in the Heisei era did not fail to shift its view of history; rather, it failed to transition its methodology. What did we lose, and what did we gain during the Heisei period? We must begin by reflecting on this. If we characterize this “narrative of stagnation” as a “long hibernation,” then we must scrutinize that period.
The metaphor of the cuckoo might be applied to “the beast that refuses to molt.” If it won’t molt, shall we wait until it does? Shall we force it to molt? Or, if it won’t molt, shall we kill it? We must choose one.
I believe Japan should be “a beast that grows again and constantly seeks to molt.” Until now, Japan has wavered between victory and defeat in conflict, or growth and stagnation as a nation—the narrow space between affirmation and negation. The challenge lies in how we accept negation, turn it into affirmation, and then accept the subsequent negation that inevitably follows. To face this, we need a “beastly spirit” and the flexibility and resolve to shed our scarred skins while maintaining our core essence.
