The Japanese Community in Brazil, 1908-1940: Between Samurai and Carnival

Contents Acknowledgements vii Maps ix Introduction 1 1 Leaving: Japan’s Entry into a World of Migration, 1885–19...

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Contents

Acknowledgements

vii

Maps

ix

Introduction

1

1 Leaving: Japan’s Entry into a World of Migration, 1885–1905

11

2 Arriving: the Early Japanese in Brazil, 1908–19 Life on the fazenda Settlement: Japanese landowning Urban life

27 33 42 46

3 Settling: Migration as National Policy in the 1920s Emigration as national policy A new Brazil: changes in industry and identity The expansion of Japanese settlement City life Organising the community Images of home

57 57 61 70 79 83 92

4 Expanding: the Japanese Community, 1930–36 Responses to the Great Depression Race fears and constitutional restrictions A settled community

97 97 107 114

5 In Transit: a World of New Orders, 1937–40 The language of nationalism Order and progress: the expatriate community, technology and medicine ‘Ex-patriotism’: migrants and the Sino-Japanese war Religion: nationalism and internationalism Closing images: Japanese and Brazilians circa 1940

133 137

v

144 149 154 159

vi

Contents

6 Conclusion

165

Notes

173

Bibliography

199

Index

205

Acknowledgements

This study was assisted by generous grants from University College, University of New South Wales, and the Japan Foundation. The former of these made possible a visit to Sao Paulo where Mr Nakayama Yasumi and his staff at the Museu Historico da Imigracao Japonesa no Brasil (Historical Museum of Japanese Migration to Brazil) were most helpful and kind. The latter allowed me a period as visiting fellow at Sophia University, Tokyo, an arrangement facilitated through the good offices of Professor Takahashi Hisashi. In Japan, I have received gracious assistance from librarians at Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto; Meiji Shimbun Zasshi Bunko, Tokyo University; the Japan International Co-operation Agency (JICA), Tokyo, at which special thanks go to Ms Matsuura Rieko; Wakayama Prefectural Library, Migration Records Section, especially Mr Mikami Noboru; and Mr Kinjo Naoki at the Latin America Society, Tokyo. I am also indebted to friends and associates who have made so many trips to Japan as pleasant as possible: these include Professor Tanaka Hiromi at Kamakura; Dr Saga Jun’ichi at Tsuchiura; Mr Ito Katsushi of Gifu; Ms Shi Kinkun in Tokyo; Ms Takei Noriko at Matsuyama; and, in Kyoto, Professor Nagai Kazu, his wife Mari and daughter Ryoko, plus Ms Goto Mikako. Colleagues who have provided encouragement for this and other projects include Dr John Caiger in Canberra; Dr Sandra Wilson at Perth; Dr Charles Schencking in Melbourne; Dr Janet Hunter and Professor Ian Nish both at London University; Maria del Alisal at the Institute of Japanology, Madrid; Professor Jeremy Black, University of Exeter; Professor Karen Wigen at Duke University; Professor Ted Cook in New York; Professor Sheldon Garon at Princeton University; and Dr Dani Botsman at Harvard. A special mention to Ms Wen Wen Huang, the hill station Sambista. Ms Helen Boxall, as always, offered invaluable research assistance. The maps were crafted by Ian McCredie, cartographer at University College, UNSW. Garry and Michiko Evans have continued to revive my energies on each visit to Tokyo so I am happy to repeat my thanks to them as vii

viii

Acknowledgements

well as to their children, Anna and Maya, for their entirely reasonable and refreshing disinterest in anything but receiving presents, hearing stories, and playing games. At Palgrave (formerly Macmillan Press), I am indebted to Tim Farmiloe and Annabelle Buckley for supporting this project when it was no more than the proverbial sketch on the back of a matchbox. For steering the manuscript through the treacherous shallows to open sea, I am grateful to Sally Daniell. This one is dedicated to my exceptional parents and to my successful migrant wife, Dr Mo Yimei.

Maps

ix

x

Maps

Introduction

One of the longest running and least conclusive debates in modern Japan centres on the question of to what degree the Japanese people can or should engage with the outside world. In the background to this debate is the historical fact that, between the 1630s and 1850s, Japan’s diplomatic policy was one of near-complete isolation; the only foreigners allowed into the country were Dutch merchants on a trading post at the very southern tip of the islands, some private Chinese traders, and an occasional Korean emissary. Japanese were forbidden on pain of death from travelling overseas. Under overt intimidation from the Western imperial powers, however, this policy was abandoned from the 1860s in favour of importing foreign models of politics, industry, education, law, and military organisation amongst other things: Japanese students and study groups began to roam the globe in search of what was then called ‘civilisation and enlightenment’. Over the next century, this revolution in contact with the outside led to extreme fluctuations within Japan between cultural nationalism and internationalism. In general, the staccato rhythm of these fluctuations was dictated by Japan’s own military or economic strength. In the 1980s, for example, the apparent ‘economic miracle’ of the previous twenty years resulted in a flood of books and articles ascribing Japan’s success to its village-style social structure and values in which homogeneity of language, custom and thought produced what in an earlier age would have been praised as voluntary organic solidarity but which, in the mind of Japan’s critics, looked far more like mechanical regimentation. In response to accusations of a kind of tribalism and refusal to deal equitably with foreigners, the Japanese 1

2

The Japanese Community in Brazil, 1908–40

government at that time promoted a campaign of ‘internationalisation’ (kokusai-ka). The aim here was to improve levels of understanding between Japanese and other people. In practice, however, the campaign resulted merely in greater numbers of foreign students going to live in Japan (including the present author) and more Japanese sojourning overseas. The latter’s purpose was routinely seen as tourism rather than travel, in which the distinction again was one of engagement; the tourist goes to observe sites and consume goods or services, the traveller goes to meet people. In this way, greater and more direct personal contact between Japanese and others was still counterbalanced by a sense of cultural distance. As the debate on engagement and isolation continued late into the 1980s, Japan found itself for the first time playing host to a large number of foreign migrant workers (there had been a wave of Korean immigrants before 1945 but at a time when Korea was part of the wider Japanese empire). They came to do the menial jobs dismissed by contemporary Japanese as the 3K, that is, kitsui, kitanai, kiken (difficult, dirty and dangerous); to this, one might also add employment for young women in the seedier entertainments of Japanese cities. Prominent among these new labour migrants were some whose very existence challenged the arguments of cultural uniqueness then being espoused by Japanese chauvinists. The descendants of people who had chosen a very real internationalisation nearly a century earlier, they were, depending on one’s emphasis, either BrazilianJapanese or Japanese-Brazilians. The first organised group of Japanese migrants to Brazil had sailed in 1908 as contract labour for the coffee plantations of the southeastern state of Sao Paulo. Between 1908 and 1940, they were followed by approximately 190 000 men, women and children and came to form the largest expatriate community of Japanese outside of East Asia. After 1941, the flow was halted by the start of the Pacific war and, with it, the ending of official relations between Japan and Brazil. It recommenced following the peace treaty of 1952 which formally closed the war and led to restored treaty relations between Tokyo and Rio de Janeiro. The reversal of this migrant flow in the 1980s, however, saw the geographical distribution of ‘Japanese’ and ‘Brazilians’ become far more complex. Official figures from the mid-1990s showed that in Japan there were just under 202 000 Brazilian citizens, many of them ethnic Japanese. As a foreign community, they were

Introduction

3

exceeded in size only by the long-established Koreans (657 000) and Chinese (234 000), and were nearly five times larger than the resident US population of 44 000. At the same time, the second largest group of Japanese nationals overseas was to be found in Brazil while, at more than 1.3 million, that country’s own ethnic Japanese population was the biggest of its kind in the world (even if a significant percentage of that community was then actually in Japan). In sharp contrast to the menial jobs offered to immigrants to Japan, the ethnic Japanese in Brazil largely identified themselves as middle or upper class, and occupied a prominent role in Brazil’s engineering, medical and legal professions; they also constituted about ten per cent of all teaching staff at the elite University of Sao Paulo. 1 With an even greater increase in the late twentieth century of interchanges between Japanese and other peoples, one might have expected considerable scholarly interest in Japan about its history of emigration. In fact, even as the composition of Japanese society was changing in the 1980s, some scholars believed that migration studies were outside the realm of accepted academic enquiry and that the terms ‘migrant’, ‘Brazil’, or ‘Nikkeijin’ (ethnic Japanese) only bored the Japanese public for whom the only external source of concern was diplomatic relations with the global powers.2 Despite such claims, the late 1970s through to the 1980s did witness some development in Japanese studies of ethnic identity and of Japanese expatriates. The latter, however, was mainly at the level of local history with a growing number of prefectures publishing chapter-length or, on occasion, book-length histories of emigration from their region. At the upper level of scholarly research, interest tended to be narrowly focused on emigration to the US and specifically to the period from the 1880s to 1910s.3 Although some English-language works tried to bring Japan more fully into the wider debate on ethnicity, these generally dealt with issues of identity and minorities within Japan, or with the problems of former expatriates as they reassimilated into Japanese society. As for the early Japanese community in Brazil, readers in English long had to rely almost entirely on a work published in 1943 (but still in print in 2000).4 Among Japanese-language academic and popular histories of the migrant community in Brazil, two points are generally accepted almost as talismans of discourse, there to be chanted and not challenged. First, there is the belief that the story of emigration to Brazil is one

4


dominated by hardship and misery. This begins with the shock of leaving Japan, continues through the trials of harsh and exploitative conditions on Brazilian coffee plantations, is exacerbated by disease and an unfamiliar diet, and increasingly is made yet more painful by the rise of anti-Japanese racism in the 1920s–30s. This interpretation runs through the two popular histories of the subject published in Japan in the 1990s: both dwell at great length on the difficulties of migrants in Brazil, relentlessly conveying the impression of Japanese as victims. In this, the implicit goal appears to be something not so remote from the moral instruction of fairy tales (that is, stay out of the woods and avoid strangers). It has been noted by one scholar that the migrants themselves preferred to relate stories of hardship as these made their success, or merely endurance, seem all the more heroic, and that this heroism through endurance dovetailed perfectly with the common self-image of people in Japan.5 In this sense, however, the story of emigration to Brazil is distorted in order to merge it with existing beliefs about the travails of early Japanese migrants in other societies, most notably those in North America. The result is that history is itself exploited in order to reinforce cultural nationalist assumptions about the inevitability of antipathy between Japanese and non-Japanese. A second point on which there is general historiographical agreement in Japan is that all, or virtually all, migrants up to 1940 went to Brazil solely in order to accumulate wealth and then return home. Only from the mid-1930s is it accepted that some of them were forced by circumstances to think of long-term settlement. This was in response to the increasingly nationalistic policies of the Brazilian government which made it more difficult for short-term migrants to prosper and retain their wealth. The assumption here appears to be that Japanese educated in the school system and raised in the society of the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries could not, except in extremis, consider estranging themselves permanently from the land and institutions of Japan. As an argument, this is extremely fanciful and seems also to derive from cultural nationalist assumptions commonplace in Japan in the 1970s–90s. It is certainly not an argument grounded in the writings and actions of pre-1940 Japanese migrants once they reached Brazil. A corollary of this assumption, however, is that the Japanese-language histories of migrants in Brazil deal almost exclusively with the Japanese people and show a remarkable lack of

Introduction

5

interest in anything to do with Brazil itself. The result is that the expatriate community appears artificially divorced from its host society, a self-contained enclave in which Brazilians are only acknowledged when they appear either as racist critics or, less frequently, as defenders of or apologists for Japanese migrants. This perspective is obvious even in what initially appears to be an innovative and provocative study from 1995 by Hosokawa Shuhei. Having identified samba and enka music as markers respectively of Brazilian and Japanese culture, Hosokawa actually pays no attention whatsoever to the samba or any form of Brazilian music from the 1920s–30s, the very period of its greatest development. In other words, Japanese scholarship in this respect has consciously chosen to ignore major events happening around expatriate Japanese in Brazil and to avoid asking important questions about the extent to which migrants were observers of or participants in Brazilian society. As indicated in this book’s subtitle, the goal of the present study is to find a middle ground between two powerful stereotypes and, in so doing, to situate the lives of expatriate Japanese more firmly in relation to Brazilian society. As migrants, they were confronted with both the positive and negative aspects of the Japanese stereotype; they were often praised for their industriousness and organisation but feared because of the prevailing rhetoric of the Japanese as a warrior people and the idea that all Japanese were uniquely nationalistic and faithful to the will of the emperor in Tokyo. The hope here is rather to show something of the ordinariness of the expatriates but also something of the dynamism both of their community and of Brazil itself at this time. In so doing, I am arguing that the Japanese in Brazil were remarkably successful in finding a place for themselves in an unfamiliar society within a very short space of time. Equally important, however, is that Brazil, even in the nationalistic 1930s, continued to accommodate Japanese and other ethnic groups, and to view the mixing of races as a particular virtue of modern Brazilian culture. Consequently, my aim is to present a range of perspectives on the expatriate Japanese community in Brazil and to demonstrate a far greater level of interaction between Japanese and other peoples than has previously been acknowledged. In Brazil, they were helped by the fact there was far less evidence of the relentless paranoia which marked North American, or for that matter Australasian, attitudes towards Asian migrants. Also, they did not have to contend, as in the

6


US from the 1890s, with a society which was telling itself that the frontier had been reached and that further migration was a danger to national security. Instead, Brazil’s economy throughout this period continued to demand fresh migrant labour even as the federal government sought ways more tightly to control existing immigrant communities. Thus, I hope also to present a more nuanced perspective on Brazil than is generally offered in the Japanese-language histories. A further argument presented here concerns the timing and level of expatriate desires to settle long-term in Brazil. One of the leading Japanese scholars of the expatriate community in Brazil is Maeyama Takashi. He has long insisted that emigrants from Japan to Brazil were ‘dekasegi imin’, that is, short-term economic migrants, and that they only reluctantly became what he calls ‘long-term “dekasegi imin”’ in response to the changed political and economic environment of the late 1930s; specifically, he sees Brazilian nationalistic policies late in the decade preventing Japanese migrants from accruing wealth as quickly as they hoped, and the onset of the Pacific war constraining their freedom of mobility. This is a view which has influenced others writing in Japanese. However, my reading of the evidence suggests that the desire to remain in Brazil pre-dates the 1930s, and that this was a natural response to the varied opportunities in Brazil contrasted with the poverty and limitations in Japan. In this, I also differ with Maeyama and others in stressing less the shock of migration and the sense of loss or alienation, and emphasising far more the adaptability of many Japanese and their success in availing themselves of the opportunities they encountered upon arrival. In short, the Japanese in Brazil between 1908 and 1940 were in a real sense sophisticated and cosmopolitan people, if only because they had to be in order to survive; they were concerned about the situation in Japan, and they hoped to maintain among themselves the best of Japanese traditions, language and customs, but they were also interested in Brazil, its society, economy and culture, and they recognised both the value of learning Portuguese and the widespread tolerance of the Brazilian people. Consequently, the story I am telling is not one of the migrants’ estrangement from Japan and racial discrimination at the hands of Brazilians but, rather, of their internationalism and of the cultural accommodation shown by both communities. The materials for this study fall broadly into three categories. Most important are the weekly, and later daily, newspapers published in

Introduction

7

the Japanese language by the expatriate community. These include the Burajiru Jiho (Brazil Times, established 1917), its arch-rival, the Nippaku Shimbun (Japan–Brazil News, dating in its earliest form from 1916), plus the Seishu Shimpo (Sao Paulo State News, established 1921) and Nambei Shimpo (South American News, appearing under that name from 1928). The existence of several newspapers in the Japanese language should immediately alert us to several points about the migrant community. First, it was adequately literate and welleducated to support a very competitive commercial press. Second, it was sufficiently well-organised from an early point to gather and disseminate news both about its own movements and those societies to which it was related, that is, Brazil and Japan. We might further suggest that, notwithstanding the annual on-migration of plantation workers in search of other jobs, it was also a relatively stable community; rapid fluctuations in the location of migrants would have made newspaper publishing very risky. The newspapers have been used here mainly to understand the world as it was understood by the Japanese migrants: facts were not always precise (in a case to delight Mark Twain, one migrant newspaper reported the death of Japan’s most famous elder statesman, Field-Marshal Yamagata Aritomo, a full three years ahead of time), and editorial opinions may not always have been representative. However, the nature of events and the topics of importance to the migrant community are most clearly illustrated in their pages and any study must begin with them as its first point of reference. The second major body of materials is the corpus of eyewitness accounts of expatriate life published in Japan in the 1920s–30s. The value of these works lies in the manner in which they present an overview at a particular moment of a community in development. They also reveal the level of interest and curiosity about Brazil shown by visitors from Japan. This interest ranges from the exceptional, for example, the nature of the carnival, to the perfectly commonplace in such things as diet, social customs, and the opening hours of small businesses. Two of the most useful and detailed of these accounts are by Tsuji Kotaro (1930) and Kodo Hisaichi (1928). One of the best places to find information on Japanese migrants is in the various local histories published, in the main, from the 1960s. These appeared either in Brazil or in Japan, and focused on migrant communities from a particular prefecture such as Toyama, Fukui, or

8


Kagoshima. The particular value of these histories is the manner in which they collect life stories of individuals rather than dwell on national or international politics. A point to make here, however, is that these many histories are exclusive: their interest is firmly in the migrants of their locality rather than those from Japan as a whole. This should alert us to the danger of speaking too confidently about a Japanese community: both in Japan itself and certainly among the pre-1940 migrants to Brazil, there was a real sensitivity to differences in native-place, dialect, and customs. Finally, there are the histories written in Japanese from the 1970s. Some of these are intended for a broad audience, others are of a more academic nature. Of the former, the most minutely detailed, if somewhat repetitious and poorly organised, is by Handa Tomoo from 1970. This explains the day-to-day existence of Japanese in Brazil but reinforces the idea that, in social and economic terms, the expatriate community was a world unto itself and one always more concerned with events in Japan than in Brazil. The most prolific scholar of the Japanese in Brazil is Maeyama Takashi. He has been writing on this topic since he first went to Brazil as a graduate student in 1961. As a cultural anthropologist, his particular interest is in the role of religion in producing ethnic self-awareness. His writings also view the migrant Japanese as a self-contained community and minimise the level of cultural exchange between Japanese and Brazilians. In addition to describing migrant Japanese as short-term and reluctant self-imposed exiles from Japan, however, Maeyama also has insisted on numerous occasions that it was only upon contact with an alien culture in Brazil that the migrants first came to understand their identity as Japanese.6 In other words, the primary form of address being used for them was, for the first time, ‘Japanese’ instead of their occupational status or regional origin. I refer back to Maeyama’s various arguments in the text but, suffice to say here, this particular proposition seems rather tenuous. After all, the majority of Japanese citizens never migrated outside of the home islands. Using Maeyama’s logic, the majority could not therefore be said to understand what it was to be Japanese; in so far as they were the majority, however, they might well argue that they should be the ones to define ‘Japanese’ identity. I have not attempted a broadly comparative approach in this study for several reasons. First, the story of the Japanese in Brazil is of intrinsic value and demands our full attention. Second, as this book was being

Introduction

9

prepared, the publication of a separate work on the wider Japanese presence in Latin America was announced (a project that seems ultimately to have been abandoned). Furthermore, the history of the Japanese in Brazil is quite different either in time or scope from any other geographically proximate case: they began arriving just as their freedom of entry to the US was being brought to a close, and they outnumbered by many times their contemporaries who went to Peru, Argentina, Mexico or elsewhere in Central and South America. I have also chosen to end with 1940 rather than 1941 and the start of war between Japan and the West; the reason for this is that all the trends among the expatriate Japanese community and between itself and the Brazilian people were already in place by this time. A word also on terminology. I have used the terms ‘expatriate’ and ‘migrant’ interchangeably. This is in contrast to Maeyama who, given his concern with ethnic identity, habitually refers to all Japanese in Brazil from 1908 as ‘Nikkei’ i.e. ethnic Japanese. My understanding of ethnicity is that it generally denotes a sense of inherited identity, that is, it refers to someone who is usually regarded as a minority within the larger national community and whose identity is linked to the migration of an earlier generation. The overwhelming majority of those identifying themselves in whole or in part as Japanese up to 1940, however, had been born in Japan and had migrated to Brazil. Consequently, they were literal expatriates in that they were outside the land of their birth. As for the term ‘migrant’, this was perfectly appropriate for the many thousands arriving relatively late in the period under discussion but may be said to have lost some descriptive force for those who, by 1940, had already lived longer in Brazil than they had in Japan. However, any mention in the text of migrants or expatriates should be interpreted to mean the overall community of those born in Japan or Brazil. In the following pages, Japanese names are usually given in Japanese order, that is, the family name appears first. Names and dates have been checked wherever possible with the invaluable and highly detailed Japanese-language chronology of the migrants in Brazil compiled by the San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo, Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo (Akita 1997). Also, it may be helpful to remember that the standard unit of currency in Brazil during this period was the milreis, and that 1000 milreis equalled one contos. In 1919, one Japanese yen was equal in value to one and a half milreis but, in

10


1927, it had risen to four milreis. Thus, on the eve of the Great Depression, one contos was worth approximately 250 yen and this favourable exchange rate was another factor in attracting Japanese emigrants to Brazil. For a broader comparison of currency values, one milreis in the 1890s is said to have been worth about fifty cents US and to have fallen by the 1940s to just five or six cents.7

1 Leaving: Japan’s Entry into a World of Migration, 1885–1905

The modern era of migration in unprecedented numbers and over unprecedented distances is directly linked to the spread of industrial capitalism. This was fuelled in part by the wealth generated by discoveries from the mid-nineteenth century of precious metals and gemstones in North America, South Africa and Australia. The resulting explosion of international trade was further accelerated by the diffusion of technological innovation such as railways and steamships. This, plus the gradual abolition of slavery as a form of cheap labour, provided incentive and opportunity for peoples especially from Europe but also from East Asia to seek work and wealth on what earlier had seemed impossibly remote continents. Until the 1850s, Japan was a self-imposed bystander to these developments in the world-wide movement of men and materials. Such was the centrifugal force of industrial capitalism, however, that it was also in the mid-nineteenth century that North American and European powers compelled Japan to sign diplomatic agreements and open its ports to their vessels. Having been forced to accept what were called the ‘unequal treaties’, and with them a subordinate position in the new system of international relations, Japan seemed ill-placed to improve its global status; it remains a truism of Japanese discourse that the country is virtually bereft of natural resources. Its one asset was and is its people. What amazed contemporary observers was the speed with which the Meiji government in Japan, having obtained power through a brief civil war in 1868, committed itself to a radical policy of developing export-centred industries and of educating its people in the methods 11

12


and manners of the industrialising West. Equally amazing to foreign observers was the rapid creation in Japan of a highly organised mass military and its acquisition of a colonial empire in East Asia, first in Taiwan (1895) and later in Korea (1910). The internal contradiction of Japanese colonialism, however, was that while this territorial expansion borrowed some of the rhetoric from the West about obtaining living space for one’s excess population, in practice, the vast majority of Japanese emigrants headed in entirely the opposite direction, east across the Pacific. This had two consequences. First, the Japanese colonial empire was left to the military, with Japanese business and migrants providing only a weak base of civil support; this meant that Japanese colonialism in the early stages was highly repressive, leading to colonies which were unsettled and, quite naturally therefore, even less inviting to Japanese agrarian settlers. The second consequence was that Japanese emigrants across the Pacific placed themselves outside the direct authority and protection of the Japanese government. In one sense, this was to expose themselves to possible mistreatment as an alien minority. At the same time, however, it offered these emigrants the opportunity to control their own affairs and assume responsibility for their own safety. Whether emigration was to prove a case of freedom or persecution ultimately depended on the reaction to Japanese of their various host societies; where there was fear of Japanese as an aggressive warrior people, the migrant’s position was insecure; where this fear either did not exist or was a minority view (even if it did occasionally fill the press headlines), the migrant had a better chance to prosper. The first large-scale appearance of Japanese outside their four main islands dates from the 1880s. This was not counterbalanced at the time by any equivalent rise in the number of foreigners within Japan; in 1896, the foreign population of Tokyo was estimated at just 628 and direct contact within Japan between Japanese and non-Japanese was rare. 1 Emigrants heading overseas, however, went initially to island societies with an agrarian economy. In this, they were following the lead of a small number of pioneers from 1868 who had sought jobs in Hawaii and Guam. In this early case, abuse from employers in Hawaii and friction in Guam had forced the Japanese government to repatriate the migrants within a matter of months. This unsatisfactory (and technically illegal) first experience of labour emigration militated

Leaving: 1885–1905

13

against further dispatches of Japanese workers overseas. However, by the mid-1880s the majority rural population was suffering greatly from the impact of a new and rigid land tax system plus deflationary monetary policies which set the price of rice back to the level of a decade earlier. Japan’s still infant urban industries were concentrated mainly in the central regions and were as yet incapable of providing alternative jobs for a mass of impoverished farmers. The government, having only recently quashed a series of rebellions by ex-samurai, had good reason to fear rural violence. Emigration, therefore, was viewed essentially as a safety valve in a society undergoing rapid political, economic and cultural change. Japan at this time had only limited treaty relations with foreign states. The concern of the authorities was that emigration might result in further diplomatic problems; the level of racism and abuse inflicted on Chinese migrant workers to North America and Australia was well understood in Japan. Consequently, the government opted to retain strict control over the new migrant business between 1883 and 1894; this was not only to regulate the number and character of Japanese being sent overseas but also to minimise the risk of exploitation of workers either by foreign employers or by Japanese entrepreneurs at home. State control of new ventures, however, was commonplace under the early Meiji government and the understanding, as with other ventures, was to bring in private enterprise once the business was properly established. The first official dispatch of Japanese overseas contract labourers came in 1885. They were hired to work on the sugar plantations of Hawaii and, indicative of the good reputation, or merely high expectation of Japanese labour, the initial demand from Hawaii was for a huge group of up to 28 000.2 Those who responded to the recruiting pamphlets were promised, as they were later to be promised in Brazil, a veritable paradise, with gentle hosts, a pleasant climate, and opportunities quickly to accumulate great wealth. They were also tempted by what they were told was the easy availability of rice and other familiar foods; this was a very important point for many Japanese migrants then and later (indeed, as it seems to remain up to the present). One exaggerated promise not to be repeated was that in Hawaii the Japanese language could be used freely. 3 It would seem entirely reasonable, however, to believe that even uninformed migrants were sceptical about this particular claim.

14


Recruiters in Japan targeted the villages of the southwest; the Hawaiian authorities made it clear they did not want urbanites but rather young rural men ready and able to work on the land. Also, leading government advocates of emigration originated from Japan’s southwest and, at least in the first three decades of emigration, this connection was to remain an important influence on the geographical makeup of Japanese expatriate communities. Consequently, those which came to be known as ‘the migrating prefectures’, especially Hiroshima, Yamaguchi, Kumamoto and Fukuoka, were all in the south and west. One major distinction, however, between this early migration and the community in Brazil from 1908 was to be the prominence in the latter of migrants from Okinawa, modern Japan’s newest and most southerly territory. A point to make here is that the dominance of certain regions, and the importance of what is called chain migration (in which migrants from one locality attracted further migrants from the same area), meant that the organising principle of Japanese overseas was frequently by regional origin rather than nationality. That is, the migrants in North and later South America often arranged themselves and formed associations according to the ties of native place. This brings into question the scholarly assertion of Maeyama Takashi that it was only through leaving Japan that the emigrants first understood what it was to be Japanese. Rather, it is equally plausible that an emigrant whose environment was dominated by people from the same region of Japan, or who, as in rural Brazil from the 1920s, resided on a settlement populated mainly by Japanese from various regions, actually obtained through emigration a reinforced understanding of his or her localised identity. A further characteristic of this early emigration, and another contrast with the situation later in Brazil, was a marked gender imbalance. In 1890, for example, the Japanese population of Hawaii was 12 360 but, of these, 10 079 were male, and this disparity was to be even more pronounced in Canada during the 1900s. In Hawaii, the imbalance was dictated from the outset by the local authorities. They insisted that no more than one in four migrants be female; the result was the development subsequently of the practice of ‘picture brides’, that is, men who ultimately chose to remain overseas made arrangements for brides to be sent out from Japan. The importance of marriage in general in shifting migrants from short-term labourers to long-term settlers is widely understood. The recruitment of ‘picture brides’,

Leaving: 1885–1905

15

however, caused offence and suspicion first in Hawaii and then later on the North American continent. It was interpreted as demonstrating a refusal by Japanese to assimilate through marriage to local women (even though existing racism in North America against all Asian peoples would have made such marriages extremely difficult). Local peoples also decided from a very early point that Japanese female migrants were mainly prostitutes so that ‘picture brides’ were assumed to be merely sex workers in disguise. This was a claim later used to attack Japanese expatriate communities in North America and to support calls for their tighter control or exclusion. Emigrant farm labourers left Japan between the 1880s and 1930s because the country offered them limited hope of improving their lives. Taxes remained high, food prices were depressed, and military conscription fell mainly on the rural population. Farmers had no reason to feel an unquestioning loyalty to any amorphous concept of Japan or to the person of the emperor. As far as they were concerned, Japan, or at least what they knew of it, was a poor nation and this was to remain the case until the 1940s. The first men emigrated with the dream of earning four hundred yen within three years and, as the popular saying had it, returning to their birthplace ‘clad in brocade’; this was the equivalent of the Italian migrant’s promise to return ‘arrayed like a signore’. 4 By the 1900s, when Japanese began arriving in Brazil, this dream had risen to 10 000 yen, suggesting that emigration had either been extraordinarily successful or that stories told about it had become so fanciful that ambitions reached dizzy new heights. In fact, a recurring feature of all Japanese agricultural emigration from the 1880s to the 1920s at least was to be dissatisfaction with the pay, hours and conditions encountered upon arrival at each new ‘paradise’. From the outset, Japanese emigrants to Hawaii found themselves at odds with their employers and there were disputes, walkouts, and claims of sick migrants being compelled to work. In Hawaii, as later in Brazil, a system of arbitration was quickly established. This, after all, was equally in the interests of the employers who wanted productive workers, not labour violence. Despite some ongoing problems and disappointments, the initial experience of short-term migrant labour on Hawaiian plantations was regarded in Japan as a success; in 1893–94, just as the system of emigration was about to change, there were nearly 9000 Japanese departing annually from Yokohama on the two-week voyage halfway across the Pacific. 5

16


The emigration system in Japan remained in government hands until 1894. At that point, guidelines were issued allowing for private commercial recruiting but with clearly defined mechanisms for the protection of overseas workers. Under these guidelines, no emigrant could be sent to or head for any country with which Japan did not have a treaty relationship. Emigration companies were required to obtain a licence from the Home Ministry, and to leave with the provincial government a bond in excess of 10 000 yen; this was to cover the costs of repatriating migrants in the event of serious difficulties (from 1907, the licensed Japanese shipping companies transporting emigrants had to post their own bond of up to 30 000 yen).6 Notwithstanding the immensity of this sum, the potential profits from those who wished to leave Japan were so considerable that some 60 emigration companies were in existence by 1900. With this freer more competitive market, the scale and distribution of labour emigration increased sharply. According to figures in the Japan Times of 21 October 1897, there was in 1896 a total of 21 299 Japanese workers overseas (rising from 12 016 the year before). Of these, just over 9000 were in Hawaii, roughly 7600 in Russian territories, 2000 in Korea, about 1100 in the US, nearly 800 in Australia, and just under 500 in Canada. The only other expatriate communities reaching triple figures were to be found in China and Hong Kong. The sole listing for South or Central America was Mexico with just two male labourers. As this shows, there was soon to be a major change in the direction of Japanese emigration and, for that matter, in Japan’s foreign relations. The nature of this change was shaped by diplomatic problems arising from Japanese emigration to North America. Although the initial destination for most overseas Japanese in the period of commercial emigration remained Hawaii, some had already begun to shift further east in search of even better pay and conditions; in the peak years between 1900 and 1907, the continental United States is said to have received some 80 000 Japanese, nearly half that number crossing over from Hawaii. In America, they worked on the land and in such jobs as the construction of railways but also became prominent in the cities of the Pacific coast where their societies included a relatively large body of literate young men. These young men swiftly developed civic institutions and associations. According to historian Yuji Ichioka, student-labourers were numerous among the 2000 Japanese in San Francisco from the late 1880s, and it was they who were the driving

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force behind the first migrant newspapers. They were also active in setting up a Japanese YMCA in San Francisco in 1886. Despite this early evidence of ‘civilisation and enlightenment’ on their part, Japanese emigrants to North America were unable to escape racist stereotyping. In particular, the unbalanced gender make-up of the Japanese community was used to spread accusations of Japanese decadence and the fact that perhaps a majority of the tiny number of Japanese women were in fact prostitutes provided ammunition for opponents of Japanese immigration.7 However, along with immorality, the recurring and unfounded accusation levelled against Japanese here and in other countries was that they were warriors in disguise. This idea that all Japanese emigrants were potentially fifth-columnists, merely awaiting the order from their emperor to rise up and seize control of complacent nations, was apparent even before the 1900s; a US senator sent to investigate conditions in Hawaii in 1897, just prior to its annexation by the US, warned against Japanese on the islands precisely in these terms.8 In this, he was reflecting a view triggered by Japan’s success in its war of 1894–95 with China: foreigners who understood nothing about the conflict itself nevertheless concluded that victorious Japan, with less than one-tenth the population of its neighbour, must belong to what was popularly termed the martial races. The characteristic of such races, it was assumed, was that they were bound by an intense, even mechanical, solidarity and were motivated by the desire for further conquest. Such reductionist and destructive ideas about races and civilisations were, of course, to persist in the US and elsewhere at least until the end of the twentieth century. The fantasies of conspiracy and subversion from the 1890s, however, were to determine henceforth the direction both of Japanese migration and of relations between Japan and the US. As early as 1900, the Japanese government attempted to reduce diplomatic friction by forbidding its labourers sailing from Japan to North America. Outside of Japan, however, the government’s authority was tenuous. The Japanese consul in San Francisco travelled to Hawaii to persuade migrants that, no matter what rumours they had heard, wages on the continent were not in fact higher; the migrants trusted in their own sources of information and knew this to be a lie. Consequently, they acted according to their own interests and this independence of mind was later to be evident also among the expatriates in Brazil. 9

18


Just as the Sino-Japanese war prompted fears over the intentions and loyalties of Japanese immigrants, not only in North America but also in the South Pacific and Australasia, so a new level of hysteria accompanied Japan’s victory in war over Russia in 1905. In 1906, there were violent protests against Japanese migrants along the Pacific northwest and, in 1907, President Theodore Roosevelt took executive action to prevent any further backdoor immigration by Japanese from Hawaii. The response from Tokyo appeared in the eyes of migrants merely to be supine and this led them to consider how to assume greater responsibility for their own security. A similar wariness towards the Japanese authorities was also to arise among expatriates in Brazil in the 1920s–30s. It was this sense of looming confrontation between the US and Japan, however, resulting in large part from a loosely controlled emigration, which led in 1908 to a new focus on South America, and more especially on Brazil. Yet, prior to this time, there had already been several plans to initiate large-scale Japanese migration to the southern half of the Americas. At the outset, it was Peru and, to a lesser extent, Mexico which loomed largest in Japanese migration schemes. The first commercial treaty between Japan and any South American state had been signed with Peru in 1873; this was followed after a considerable interval by a treaty with Mexico in 1888, then Brazil, Chile and Argentina in 1895, 1897, and 1898 respectively. This flurry of diplomatic activity prompted Japanese businessmen to take a greater interest in commercial prospects and, in 1897, the Morioka Trading Company sent a representative, Tanaka Teikichi, to investigate South American labour conditions. Tanaka’s conclusion, summarised in the Japan Times of 10 February 1898, was clear. In his view, Brazil was simply unsuited to receiving Japanese workers. As the newspaper interpreted his comments, ‘In the first place, almost all the Brazilian plantations are crowded with Italian labourers, who are given to all sorts of disreputable habits, while the plantation owners are not unfrequently unpunctual in the payment of wages, preferring to settle accounts after the harvest has been gathered in.’ This suggested there was neither a market for Japanese migrants nor would they be treated well if they were despatched to Brazil. Tanaka, however, presented a quite different picture of Peru. There, it was said, the president was a thorough Japanophile; he even wanted to bring over craftsmen to build for him a model Japanese

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house. The republican assembly had voted unanimously in support of contracting Japanese workers, and a law banning the marriage of Peruvians with foreigners was said to have been repealed directly to encourage Japanese men to migrate and assimilate. Continuing its report, the Japan Times declared, ‘the partiality of the Peruvian people for the Japanese seems to be almost without parallel’. In response, the Morioka Company began arranging to recruit 1000 migrants in May 1898, with a contract in hand for a further 29 000. The type preferred by Peruvian employers was a young man between twenty and twentyfive with agricultural experience. The first 790 Japanese (nearly half of them from Niigata prefecture and many of the rest from Yamaguchi and Hiroshima) were duly sent in February 1899. Their contracts stipulated four years work on Peruvian sugar plantations and in sugar mills. However, language difficulties and fears already about Japanese labourers as military subversives led to early setbacks. The first strike of Japanese labour occured in April 1899 when the Peruvian managers of a sugar plantation attempted to prevent migrants from buying their supplies anywhere but at the plantation store with its inflated prices. Two-thirds of the 150 Yamaguchi migrants were subsequently fired in June 1899. There were also incidences of violence against Japanese migrants and a high level of death from disease. Many of those who remained wanted to head directly back to Japan but no vessel was available. By default, therefore, they were forced to endure harsh and unsatisfactory labour conditions and an environment of racial antagonism. This was to continue into the 1900s; a crowd of 250 Peruvians was said to have stoned Japanese lodgings in 1900, and anti-Asian sentiment remained high in Peru thereafter. Ongoing labour problems resulted in contracts negotiated by the Morioka Emigration Company being reduced to just six months from 1906. Despite all of this, there were successive waves of Japanese contract workers to Peru and greater stability did emerge as a number of wives began to accompany them from the early 1900s. The belief also lingered in Japan that Peruvians were unusually welcoming to Japanese; in 1908, a provincial newspaper commented once again on the level of goodwill from the Peruvian president on down.10 By this point, however, there was a new ‘paradise’ further on the horizon. Brazil was not entirely terra incognita for Japanese at the end of the nineteenth century. However, the contacts to date had been sporadic

20


and marked by the confused, the curious, and the tragic. The very first Japanese to set foot on Brazilian soil date from about 1803. A crew of Japanese sailors was blown far off their coast and were rescued by a Russian ship; four of them were later repatriated via Kronstadt but found the vessel carrying them also blown way off course, ending up on the Brazilian island of Santa Catarina. They finally made their way back to Nagasaki in 1805. The history of misadventure, however, continued in 1869 when, following a change of regime and a reversal of diplomatic policy, one of two Japanese sent as students of military science to Britain became so homesick that he committed suicide while docking at a Brazilian port. 11 Other Japanese appeared in Brazil before the start of formal treaty relations. One of these was Takezawa Banji, described as a nobleman from the island of Shikoku. He left Japan as some kind of theatrical performer but, in Brazil, became the teacher of judo to the imperial guard of Dom Pedro II; after Brazil’s republican revolution of the 1880s, Takezawa and a Japanese companion became part of the Circus Imperial Japanese, touring Brazil and other countries in South America. A final example worth noting is Harley Kunishige; about him there is only a snippet in one of the Tokyo newspapers to report that he was leading a rebellion in 1890s Brazil. 12 It would seem probable that he was originally a migrant to North America but his sudden and mysterious ascension to Latin American revolutionary, although outside of our immediate concern, none the less indicates the range of possibilities for adventurous Japanese even before the migrant community came into being. In later Japanese historiography, it is argued that migration from Japan to Brazil commenced primarily for negative reasons; Brazil was encountering difficulties in recruiting labour from its preferred sources in Europe, and Japanese were being closed out of their preferred destinations in North America.13 This is somewhat misleading. Early in the nineteenth century, the Brazilian court had already experimented in bringing over several hundred Chinese to develop tea cultivation but the resulting crop was poor and relations between workers and employers were hampered by difficulties of language and custom. This did not end Brazilian interest in labour from Asia and a further attempt to recruit Chinese was made at mid-century. This provoked a debate, however, about the social and racial impact of Asian immigration, and some of the views and images from the time were later to be applied to Japanese. Those Brazilians in favour of Chinese

Leaving: 1885–1905

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labour stressed their positive role in economic development; opponents attacked Chinese culture and warned of the danger of ‘social pollution’. As a medical student in Rio de Janeiro put it in the 1870s, the result would be a Brazil awash with ‘tattered Chinese, broken by their sickness, begging in our streets’. 14 It was this fear of disease and contamination, often expressed by practitioners of medicine, which was to recur in later years. However, when Brazil entered formal treaty relations with China in 1879, it was Beijing, not Rio de Janeiro, which resisted further attempts to recruit Chinese migrants on the grounds that the security of its people could not fully be guaranteed. In consequence, Brazilian employers began looking more seriously at Japan as a pool of labour. The background to Brazil’s desire for migrant labour was the extraordinary boom in coffee production from the 1850s. From that point at least until the end of the 1930s, there was to be a constant need for yet more workers to open fresh land and harvest the coffee crop centred on Sao Paulo state. In 1894, the powerful Prado Company of Sao Paulo city began discussions with the Kissa Emigration Company in Japan and, in 1895, the state authorities of Para in Brazil’s north sought to conclude an agreement for 3000 Japanese workers with the Toyo Emigration and Trading Company. Thus, serious approaches from Brazil for Japanese migrants pre-date by several years Japan’s troubles in North America and Brazil’s difficulties in obtaining European labour. The stumbling block remained, however, the lack of a formal treaty. 1897 is the turning point in Japanese-Brazilian relations. In August of that year, a Japanese consulate was established at Petropolis, just outside Rio, and Chinda Sutemi was appointed Japan’s first minister to Brazil; the following month, Enrique Carlos Lisboa was dispatched to Tokyo to represent the Brazilian republic. One of his first speeches was to the Japan Foreign Trade Society in which he advocated emigration from Japan as the basis for a new level of mutual trade and prosperity. In describing Brazil, he explained:15 The great abundance of water, the mildness of the climate in such an elevated territory, and the nature of the soil afford to this extensive plateau a fertility unparalleled which, however, has not been duly explored to the present moment on account of the scarcity of population. It is to this field of virgin and sumptuous

22


richness that we now call the intelligent and industrious Japanese labourer. Having as it were written the script for Japanese emigration manuals over the next four decades (and more), Lisboa also waved before his hosts the carrot of greater Japanese exports to a booming economy once their migrants became established, and of Japanese re-establishing Brazil’s cotton production which then could supply one of Japan’s own primary industries. On this latter point, he was to be proved remarkably prescient by events in the 1930s. The rosy image of Japanese migrant prosperity in Brazil was never to fade. The problems closer to the ground, however, were apparent in 1897. Following the establishment of treaty relations, a Japanese agent for both the Kissa and Toyo concerns was posted to Rio. An agreement was also signed with the Prado Company for 1500 Japanese as coffee plantation workers. However, the sudden fall in international coffee prices led to the contract abruptly being cancelled from Sao Paulo only four days before the migrants sailed.16 This stop–start rhythm in Brazilian recruitment of Japanese workers was to persist into the 1920s as the coffee economy itself rose and fell, and as Brazilian attitudes continued to fluctuate about the racial composition of its own rapidly growing population. In understanding the society into which Japanese migrants were to arrive and create a new life for themselves, one must first emphasise the very unsettled nature of that society following the shift from a monarchy to a republic in 1889. The motto of the new republic was ‘order and progress’. Certainly the progress of republican Brazil’s economy, driven by the coffee exports of Sao Paulo state and, briefly, by the rubber boom of the Amazon region, was breathtaking. Equally so was the pace of immigration: estimates suggest that the population of Brazil from 1890 to 1920 nearly doubled from 14.3 to 27 million and, in this, immigration played an important role. The destination for most migrants was Brazil’s centre and south and, especially the state of Sao Paulo; this took almost 65 per cent of the more than one million new arrivals in 1891–1900. Many chose to live in the cities so that, by the 1890s, the industrial workforce and the major urban populations contained an unusually large number of non-Brazilians. Rio de Janeiro in 1890 had approximately 550 000 inhabitants, of whom 30 per cent were born outside Brazil, and Sao Paulo, with about

Leaving: 1885–1905

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half of its population in the 1890s born overseas, was commonly described as an Italian city.17 The concern among some Brazilian elites was not so much to restrict this massive influx of foreigners but to use it to create a new racial order. In 1890, the Brazilian people were mainly ‘non-white’ and with a third described as mulatto, that is, mixed African and nonAfrican. The 1891 federal constitution restricted further African or Asian migration (although Chinese and Japanese immigration subsequently was permitted subject to congressional approval). Instead, there was a conscious attempt to promote European migration through government assistance with travel costs. This was intended in part to achieve a ‘branqueamento’ or ‘whitening’ of Brazilian society. Consequently, the overwhelming majority of migrants to 1914 were from Europe. Among these, the largest number between the 1870s and 1890s, and the greatest hope of those advocating a racial ‘whitening’, was the Italians. What made them so attractive is explained by Brazil’s most eminent cultural historian, Gilberto Freyre:18 Of all the new immigrants, they were the most wanted, the most imitated, and received the highest praise. They were not rude like the Germans, nor were they the country bumpkins who furnished so much material for Portuguese, Galician, or Spanish jokes. They were intelligent, adaptable, friendly, likeable, and they worked very hard. They were not clannish, but rather mixed happily with Brazilians at religious festivals and during Carnival. They quickly learned to sing Brazilian songs along with their traditional operatic tunes. Thus, the virtues of the ideal migrant, excepting racial origins, were intelligence, industriousness, affability, and adaptability in such matters as popular music and public celebration. It remained to be seen how many of these virtues could be ascribed to the Japanese migrants. The importance to Japan of emigration, and the appeal in some societies of Japanese as immigrants, was reinforced by war. This was particularly the case with the war against Russia in 1904–05. Japan was militarily victorious in a conflict over hegemony in Northeast Asia but the Japanese army and navy enjoyed the luxury of fighting in their own backyard while the Russians had to contend, ultimately without success, with supply lines stretching over 6000 miles from

24


St Petersburg. Again, the predominant image of foreign observers was the ability of the Japanese people to defeat what, on paper, was an enemy vastly superior in numbers and resources. As before, it was the quality of the Japanese spirit which they identified as the decisive factor. In short, the Japanese were respected, and feared, as a nation of samurai. The reality of the samurai in traditional Japan is that they had been a closed elite of warrior-bureaucrats who produced nothing and, instead, fed off the taxes of the farm community. The concern of Japanese authorities in 1905 was that the several hundred thousand demobilised troops would only add to the burdens of a fragile economy still in the early stages of industrialisation. This fragility was compounded by the fact that Japan was now heavily indebted to the West for loans to defray its war expenses, and was confronting the prospect of rising unemployment and organised labour unrest. During the war, the government had made the decision to support Japanese colonists (shokumin) rather than merely emigrants (imin); the distinction here was that colonists were to establish long-term roots overseas and contribute to Japan’s national power, while migrants were regarded as short-term economic expatriates likely to return within three to four years. 19 The war had nominally been fought over Korea and, in 1905, Japan took de facto control over the peninsula. The expectation was that Japanese farmers could establish a new life for themselves in land neglected by Koreans. There were pamphlets encouraging the move to Korea: these stressed the lack of diplomatic friction such as dominated relations with North America, or, putting aside rival claims, what was now seen as the unpleasant climate of South America. They said rather less about the actual skill of Korean farmers, which in fact made it near impossible for Japanese to compete, or about the chance of being attacked by Korean guerrillas during the insurgency of 1907–10. Consequently, Japanese arriving in Korea after 1905 tended to be carpetbaggers rather than farm colonists. One point to make here, however, is the level of desire in Japan to migrate immediately after the war. In 1906, there was continuing emigration from central Japan to the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido, while the number of Japanese heading for Hawaii reached an all-time high of 25 752. 20 Japan’s victory over Russia recaptured the attention of Brazilian employers. For example, the press in Manaus, capital of the northern

Leaving: 1885–1905

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state of Amazonas, carried articles about the battles, profiled the Japanese commanders, and encouraged Japanese immigration. In Sao Paulo at this time, the demand for new sources of labour was especially urgent. This followed the Italian government ban from 1902, responding to the complaints of unpaid migrant workers, which prohibited further contract labour being sent to Brazil. This left a major vacuum of labour on the state’s coffee plantations. In filling this with Japanese workers and in opening a new stage in Japanese-Brazilian relations, the individual given most credit is Sugimura Fukashi, Japan’s third minister to Brazil. He took up his new post in April 1905, just after the massive land battle between Japanese and Russian forces at Mukden in Manchuria. Sugimura had initially opposed immigration to Brazil but the goodwill he was shown upon arrival convinced him to reverse his position. In reports to his government which then were summarised in the Japanese press, he described the Brazilian people thronging the streets around him, singing the Japanese national anthem, and making speech after speech in his honour, all because of their new-found respect and friendship towards Japan. These feelings, he explained, were due to Japan’s victory over a European power and the belief among Brazilians that they, as much as the Japanese, were treated by Europeans with racist contempt. 21 In other words, it was a shared sense of being victims of racism which helped bring together the Brazilian and Japanese peoples. With some poignancy, Sugimura was to find himself a longer-term guest of Brazil than expected; in May 1906 he died suddenly and was buried in Rio de Janeiro. However, in his short tenure, he was influential in promoting the first commercial sailing from Japan to the west coast of South America in December 1905. On board was Mizuno Ryo, head of the Kokoku Colonisation Company, with a mission to study emigration possibilities in Peru, Chile, Argentina, and Brazil. In his later account, Nambei Toko Annai, he supported the idea that ex-soldiers could become the pioneers of Japanese migration to South America.22 This might well have proven counterproductive for Japan’s image in the region given the baseless fears already being expressed in North America about a Japanese armed invasion. However, it was Mizuno who was to lead the first sailing of Japanese contract migrants to Brazil in 1908. Also influenced by Sugimura’s reports was a group of Japanese businessmen, led by Fujisaki Saburosuke, son of a Sendai cloth merchant. From September 1906, they established the

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Fujisaki Trading Store in Sao Paulo city. This signalled the start of Japanese trade in Brazil and the goods it retailed were Japanese wares such as fans, pottery, silk handkerchiefs, and teas, all of which proved popular with Brazilians. However, the store’s long-term customer base was to be the Japanese migrants yet to arrive. In future years, Fujisaki Trading was to play an important role, giving the poorer migrants financial assistance, as well as mediating on their behalf with the Brazilian authorities, and earning for itself the sobriquet, ‘the people’s consulate’. 23 In contrast to the historiographical argument which stresses the negative reasons for the start of migration to Brazil, the mood at the time was definitely positive. This is apparent in an advertisement from the Japanese regional press early in 1908. In this, a Kyoto concern titling itself the Nambei Toko Shokenkai (Society for Promoting Travel to South America) announced that the first migrant ship to Brazil would depart in April and that no one knew when the next would follow. For those who made the journey, however, Brazil was ideal, its climate pleasant, rice common as a diet, and both the government and people welcoming ‘our militarily victorious Japanese’. Upon arrival, a working man might earn up to eight yen daily, a woman perhaps five yen, that is, ten times the wage in Japan. In addition travel, food and lodgings were either subsidised or free. Readers were advised merely to send 50 sen to an address in Kyoto and they too could obtain all the information they needed to make the trip.24 Whether or not the advertisement was genuine, or just a means to relieve the gullible of 50 sen, the opportunity of a new life in a rich and welcoming land was enormously tempting. This was to remain the case both in the years immediately after the Russo-Japanese war and for several decades thereafter.

2 Arriving: the Early Japanese in Brazil, 1908–19

The first period of Japanese emigration to Brazil runs from 1908 to 1919. In these years, arriving Japanese endured the process of cultural acclimatisation common to other migrant groups in the country and familiar to Japanese emigrants in other societies. This process involved moving from a near complete ignorance of the basic mechanisms of daily life, including simple phrases of language, common foods, and social customs, to a level of understanding which allowed them at least to function within certain sectors of Brazilian society, especially agricultural production and petty retailing. The next level of familiarity leading on to greater prosperity was to be reached in the 1920s. What became evident from the early years is that Japanese migrants had a very clear sense of their own minds and were perfectly capable either of enduring hardship, adapting to adversity, or protesting against mistreatment. In this, they were far more than the victims of circumstance they often appear in Japanese-language histories. This independence of mind was obvious as the first migrant vessel, the Kasato-maru, prepared late in April 1908 to leave Kobe in central Japan and commence its two-month voyage across the Indian and Atlantic Oceans for the Brazilian port of Santos. At Kobe, a government politician gave the migrants a patriotic address, calling on them to remember, ‘As you go overseas, each one of you carries Japan with you. Each one of you must avoid any stain to Japan’s reputation. You should go with the resolution not to return, even in the face of death, unless you are successful’.1 There is a scholarly view that the dominant theme in the ideology of Japanese emigration just after the Russo-Japanese war was that of ‘expanding the race’ (minzoku bocho-ron). 2 This was 27

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a theme to recur in government and intellectual interpretations of emigration into the 1930s, and it obviously underlies this early address. The migrants, however, were swayed neither by patriotism nor rhetoric. Instead, each had his own monetary calculation of success, ranging from about 3000 up to 10 000 yen. Moreover, the reason for migrating was the fact that Japan provided so few options: in the region around Hiroshima, known as the ‘king of migrating prefectures’, and where the availability of land to population was roughly half the national average, there was a saying according to a 1920s work, ‘If you don’t go in the military, go to America’.3 Thus, while scholars such as Maeyama Takashi emphasise the shock of leaving Japan, the migrants themselves journeyed with genuine optimism about the future in Brazil and the chances of using the ‘tree of gold’, as they termed the coffee bush, to attain a new level of personal, not national, wealth. Despite early setbacks, this sense of optimism was to persist at least into the 1930s. 4 Returning to Maeyama’s argument that the act of emigration brought about a first self-awareness of national identity, one might suggest that the initial experience before arrival in Brazil indicated a very different sense of ‘Japaneseness’ than that which stresses group harmony and commonality of purpose. Rather, the sailing of the Kasato was an episode in disunity and conflict. Indeed, the original name of the vessel, a Russian hospital ship until its capture during the recent war, had been Kazan, a word also appearing in Japanese where it means ‘volcano’ and this would be an apt description of the first voyage. Relations between the Kokoku Colonisation Company and contract migrants were strained from the outset. The first bone of contention was the meals served on board; migrants were dismayed not only at receiving tinned food but doing so in tiny quantities. In addition, the restrictions on movement caused simmering anger; migrants were prohibited from stepping ashore at Hong Kong and had to wait until Capetown before they could briefly escape the ship’s confines. On board, the lack of goodwill between Japanese crew and passengers was such that women were not allowed on deck at night for fear of being attacked. Relations were further soured as Mizuno, head of the Kokoku Company, was unable to pay the crew the customary tips. In addition, he persuaded the migrants to entrust him with several thousand yen of their cash but subsequently delayed repayment, in many cases for over a year. Matters came to a head shortly before

Arriving: 1908–19

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arrival at Santos, when a drunken stoker attempted to stab Mizuno, wounding by accident a fellow crew member who attempted to intervene and who subsequently died in a Brazilian hospital.5 From this, one would have to conclude that reaching Brazil was a cause for celebration not lamentation. Disputes and even violence among Japanese in Brazil, however, were to recur in future years. The geographical and gender makeup of these first emigrants was to influence the development of a Japanese expatriate community in later years. The migrant body consisted of twelve independent persons entirely paying their own way, and 781 migrants contracted by the Kokoku Company as part of its deal over time to supply 3000 workers for the Sao Paulo state government. Those Japanese with contracts had paid 65 yen of their own money, with the remainder of the 165 yen passage defrayed by the authorities in Sao Paulo (although 40 yen of this was a bond to be repaid by the migrant). Of those under contract, there are slightly differing estimates but the most recent history states that 593 were male and 188 female; notably, 532 persons were recorded as literate. All agree, however, that there were 165 families. Eight infants under 12 constituted the youngest members. The crucial distinction between Japanese migrants to Brazil and those to Hawaii and North America was that the Sao Paulo government insisted on family recruitment, with at least three members fit for work (i.e. those over the age of 12). This meant that Brazilian subsidies were paid only to units comprising at least one male and one female. The intention here was to guarantee some level of family stability among the new arrivals. The Sao Paulo authorities also insisted that migrants come from an agricultural background, and that they have no history of radical politics. Both of these preconditions were rather harder to monitor than family groupings. In order to meet this latter condition, however, there were many cases of migrants, especially from Okinawa, forming ersatz families of convenience (including the pretence of marriage and adoption of a local boy or girl) which soon dissolved after arrival.6 Despite this, the presence of a relatively high percentage of women did contribute to social cohesion amongst the first generation of Japanese in Brazil. This cohesion was further strengthened, but also limited, by the provincial origins of the migrant body. The smallest regional affiliations were the single male migrants from both Yamagata and Nagano prefectures, followed by a family of three from Tokyo. Far and away

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the largest regional concentration was the 276 men and 49 women from Okinawa. This was well ahead of the next largest group of 123 men and 49 women from Kagoshima. 7 As Okinawa was to become (along with Fukuoka, Kumamoto, and Hiroshima) one of the four main regional sources of overseas migrants to 1940, it is worth considering its position within Japan. First, Okinawa had been annexed to Japan in 1879; the full incorporation of the prefecture into the Japanese system was to be completed only in 1921. The initial wave of overseas migrants, however, commenced in 1899, that is just one year after the introduction of Japanese military conscription to the prefecture. As male migrants were required to bond themselves to return for military service, it may be an exaggeration to emphasise the precise link between this change in law and the appeal of migration. However, it seems equally feasible that migrants who found themselves in Brazil with new possibilities for work and profit envisaged some form of eluding military service. A further and related point is that Okinawans were not ethnic Japanese and they endured discriminatory treatment at the hands of ‘other’ Japanese up to 1940 and beyond. For example, many actually migrated from the 1920s to the Kansai region of mainland Japan and to the South Pacific where, according to one Okinawan official in 1940, their inability even then to speak standard Japanese led to them receiving harsh treatment. Discrimination by migrants from mainland Japan towards those from Okinawa was also to be apparent in both the Brazilian and Peruvian expatriate communities. 8 The predominance of migrants from Japan’s south and west in Brazil may be linked to the continuing influence in the central government at Tokyo of men from those regions. Political connections appear less a motivating factor in migration from east Japan, where Fukushima followed by Niigata supplied the bulk of migrants, and where natural catastrophe and harvest failure tended to be the direct stimulus for emigration. What seems to have occurred across Japan, however, is that migrants originated from a cluster of localities within prefectures. In this, the role of chain migration based on ties between relatives and friends from one’s own locality, plus the flow of information from one migrating body to the next, was clearly a shaping influence.9 While Japanese emigrants moved beyond the direct control of their government, and thus potentially had more authority over their own

Arriving: 1908–19

31

actions and ideas, they were never able to elude the dominant images of ‘the Japanese’ which originated in the policies of their home government. In their persons, however, they had the chance to modify, or appropriate for their own benefit, some of these images. The clutch of ideas about Japan and the Japanese current in Brazil circa 1908 may be seen in the press coverage of those arriving on the Kasato. On 25 June 1908, a major Sao Paulo newspaper, the Correio Paulista, offered its assessment. Overall, the impression was very positive. In particular, the article stressed the discipline and order of the Japanese, including their care over hygiene: it noted in detail that any crumb of food on the floor of the holding centre for migrants could only have been left by one of the local Brazilian staff, so careful were the Japanese not to spoil their surroundings. Given the rise in twentieth-century ideas, and anxieties, about medical and cultural hygiene, this was a crucial point in terms of the reception accorded any immigrant group. Speaking at the beginning of the century, Brazil’s federal president, Rodrigues Alves, had directly linked immigration with the ‘cleansing’ of the capital, Rio de Janeiro. The capital was being infused with light and space through a massive reconstruction plan based on Haussman’s model for Paris; when this was completed in 1904, it was described by one journalist as ‘the victory of hygiene, good taste, and art’. 10 Immigrants were often the ones to provide the energy and human capital to illuminate the new broad avenues, grand buildings, and urban parks of Brazilian cities as the country sprinted towards ‘progress’. However, the fear in industrialising societies was that urbanisation itself led to physical and moral pollution. Consequently, immigrants who failed to display a concern for order, hygiene and progress were viewed as a source of racial contagion. This was a view perfectly explicit in some of the imagery of peoples from Asia common among North Americans and Europeans up to the 1940s, and exhibited also by some Brazilians. One image from this first press appraisal of the Japanese was of the presence of at least one ex-soldier among the migrants; he was identified by his campaign medals. This also could serve to impress Brazilian readers, reminding them of the disciplined and effective Japanese armed forces in the war against Russia. An equally significant symbol, however, was the double-sided flags sported by the migrants, showing on one side the national flag of Brazil and, on the other, that of Japan. The desire to show respect for Brazil won praise for the migrants’

32


good intentions. In a similar vein, they were credited with being keen also to learn Portuguese. The physical difference of the Japanese caught the journalist’s attention; he described them as very short in the trunk, smaller even than the average small Brazilian, but he insisted in this, ‘The Japanese are very different from Brazilians but not at all inferior’. Some of these images had an extended shelf life: virtually the sole comment on the Japanese in Brazil by the prolific and respected American travel writer Frank Carpenter, following his visit in the 1920s, was that the first arrivals were extremely careful of hygiene, some wore medals, and many arrived waving Japanese and Brazilian flags. With a maturity and objectivity increasingly absent in the English-language alarmist literature about Japan, however, the Correio Paulista in 1908 concluded by noting that its good impressions had yet to be confirmed by the migrants’ conduct once they actually set to work.11 The migrants’ understanding of Brazil to this point was derived solely from the literature published by the Japanese emigration company. In a format to be repeated by others in later years, this set out the basic facts of Brazil: its longitude, latitude, the fertility and lie of the land, the temperature in summer and winter (as pleasant as the Mediterranean, readers were now told), the vast space available compared with Japan, and the friendliness and racial tolerance of the Brazilian people. As the company pamphlet explained: 12 In Sao Paulo state, those with white skins, yellow, or the descendants of black slaves not only have the absolute right of equality, in social and human terms also all are viewed in the same way and there is no violent feeling of contempt or hatred. In particular as a consequence of the Russo-Japanese war, there is a tendency to treat we Japanese with respect . . . This was slightly exaggerated. In Brazil, there was a widespread sense of racial tolerance and, long before the abolition of slavery in 1888, there had been increasing criticism of racial exploitation; the emperor of Brazil had taken the lead by freeing his own slaves in 1840. In practice, however, open discrimination on race grounds continued to be suffered into the 1930s by ethnic Africans in Brazil, and northern hemisphere ideas of ‘scientific racism’, which also denigrated peoples from Asia, had been adopted by some of the Brazilian elite late in the

Arriving: 1908–19

33

nineteenth century.13 Having said that, the most impressive thing about Brazil for arriving Japanese was the vast space and, in this, recruiting adverts and pamphlets were guilty of no deception. The belief in Brazil that the frontier was yet alive, and that immigration continued to be a national asset, allowed for a more generous and tolerant attitude towards new peoples. This was in stark contrast with the United States which, in the 1890s, had already come to believe that its frontier had been reached and that further immigration was a threat to existing socio-economic opportunities and community order.

Life on the fazenda The Japanese contract workers were employed on the coffee plantations, or fazendas, spread across Sao Paulo state. Coffee was paramount in Sao Paulo’s economy and society; this was obvious in the rail system which in real terms was a network for coffee production and distribution. It was along these railways that the migrants were dispatched to their various plantations between late June and early July 1908. One of the features of the early Japanese in Brazil is their regionalism. This was explicit in the groups allotted to different plantations. Twenty-four Okinawan families (152 persons) were sent to Canaa fazenda; 23 Okinawan families (173 persons) went to Floresta; and 27 Kagoshima families (101 persons) travelled to Sao Martinho. This meant that over half the entire migrant body had been distributed according to native place origin. The remainder was composed of smaller groupings. Thus, for example, 24 families (88 persons) from Kagoshima, Kochi, and Niigata went to the Guatapara plantation, while 52 families (210 persons) from Fukushima, Kumamoto, Hiroshima, Miyagi, and Tokyo were sent to the enormous Dumont fazenda. This clustering according to region had occurred earlier in Hawaii and in North America. The assumption behind it was that people from the same region would work better together and have fewer problems with differences in dialect; this again reminds us of the variety, even in language, within Japan’s nominally homogeneous community.14 On the fazendas, there was reason to expect the Japanese could settle quickly. After the abolition of slavery, it was quite rare for Brazilians to work as plantation labour, especially in the booming new territories

34


of west Sao Paulo. Consequently, the plantation workforce was a polyglot community of differing nationalities, with a rapid turnover in arrivals and departees both in Sao Paulo in general and at each fazenda. All groups of migrants were quick to move on, either to other plantations, to a life as independent farmers, or to new jobs in the towns and cities. 15 This meant that there was a constant need for fresh labour but also that the social order of each fazenda was fluid. The coffee harvest typically began in late April, was at its peak in the coldest month of August, and ended early in September. Arriving on the coffee plantations, contract labourers, or colonos, found themselves accommodated free of charge, usually two families together, and in rare cases three, to a brick dwelling lined along with many others of the same type. Boards of various sizes were adapted to serve either as a sleeping mat or back-rest, and empty boxes doubled as storage for pots and pans. These spartan housing conditions remained current at least to the end of the 1920s. 16 The greatest culture shock for the Japanese, however, was over food and drink. These were the most fundamental and persistent of dissatisfactions, and a display from the 1990s at the Sao Paulo Historical Museum of Japanese Migration to Brazil, dealing with the early years of migrant life, spoke of little else. Brazilian foods were alien to the migrants’ vocabulary and digestion. The things they wanted, especially miso soup, soy sauce, and pickles to flavour their rice, were beyond their abilities of expression. Tea was also unavailable and it took several months for new arrivals to puzzle out the complexities of grinding and brewing coffee. The result was that migrants felt alienated in the one ritual, collective dining, which normally reinforced the individual’s sense of family, community and stability. Japanese invested enormous time and energy in growing their own crops in the spaces around their dwellings or in unused stretches of earth between young coffee trees. However, of necessity, they learned also to adapt. They found that rice cooked in lard in the Brazilian style actually gave them greater energy while working in the fields. This did not ease the transition for later arrivals. One memoir from the 1920s tells of migrants throwing away the oily rice and sausage they were given upon arrival at Sao Paulo. Food, plus the manner in which it was cooked and eaten, was to remain one of the most important ways in which Japanese in Brazil (as it was and is for those within Japan) chose to define their identity, and a list of cultural differences between Japanese and ‘Westerners’ in the

Arriving: 1908–19

35

migrant press in 1932 was still dominated by food, drink, and the manner of their consumption. 17 According to the writings of Kato Junnosuke, translator to the 210 Japanese at the Dumont plantation, the first arrivals were a motley crew with no more than about 15 per cent actually experienced at farming. This raises doubts about the typical comment in Japaneselanguage studies that migrants over the years were overwhelmingly from the superfluous farm population. The history of Fukui prefectural migrants in Brazil insists that most were failed middle-level farmers or entrepreneurs, not impoverished peasants, and Kato’s list from 1908 included (singular or plural being unclear), ex-policemen, village heads, petty officials, those who had failed in small business, mining, fishing, and teaching; also students, rural actors, prostitutes, and gamblers. 18 This suggests that the migration companies sought quick profits by taking whomever they could find rather than filter those unsuited to the work ahead. The Kokoku Company may have been particularly guilty of this offhand practice in 1908 but criticism of emigration companies in general both had been, and was to remain, commonplace in Japan. The actual job of harvesting the coffee required endurance but no great farming expertise. Handa Tomoo describes the Japanese at Dumont, near the town of Ribeirao Preto and roughly 300 miles inland from Sao Paulo city. This was the world’s largest coffee fazenda with 13 000 acres of coffee fields and a labour force in 1900 of about 5000: 19 The first day, everyone rose at 3 a.m. and got ready. Then, men carrying ladders, women carrying infants, and children carrying lunch boxes, all set off for the coffee groves, kicking through the dew and battling their way ahead. Upon reaching their allotted section, the migrants had to pluck the coffee beans from the tree, sometimes as high as three metres, and then, using a cloth on the ground, to separate the seed from leaves and dust. Men stripped the higher branches, women the lower. According to the promises of the migration companies, a family of three should have been able to pick enough in one day to earn a total of five yen 40 sen. In practice, the first Japanese found themselves able to pick only about one-third the quantity of Italian migrants, resulting in

36


a meagre wage of 60 sen, or just 20 sen per person. Having worked from dusk to dawn, and being housed in what seemed little more than stables, the shattering of migrants’ dreams of sudden riches led to widespread recrimination and accusation in particular among the ‘constructed families’.20 The pay difficulties of the first migrants were in large part the result of circumstances. The price of Brazilian coffee was in decline following massive over-production; in 1906, it was already less than half its level of 1894, and the Brazilian authorities had forbidden the planting of new trees so as to reduce output. Consequently, the harvest of 1908 was one of the smallest in a decade. Crucially for these Japanese, the problems experienced by the Kokoku Company in raising an unusually large bond for the government in Tokyo (doubled from 50 000 to 100 000 yen) had led to the Kasato’s departure being delayed. The result was that the migrants arrived about three months into the harvest when there was less coffee to be picked and many beans had begun to darken and lose weight. Despite this, they clearly had reason to complain that they had been misled about wages and conditions. This complaint of false promises had been evident in earlier migrations from Japan; in 1904, about 90 per cent of the 500 Japanese sent to a mine in Mexico had been so infuriated about the discrepancy between advertising rhetoric and harsh reality that they refused to work and virtually the entire group had been shipped back to Japan.21 The Japanese migrants to Brazil were also prepared to stand up for themselves. They organised protests at Dumont and on other fazendas. At the Sao Martinho plantation in September 1908, there was a major dispute involving nearly a hundred Japanese, that is, 25 of the 27 Kagoshima families working there. Their demands included monthly payment instead of the agreed quarterly terms, and that Japanese be allowed to pick in areas where beans were plentiful. The plantation manager, however, was afraid of the Japanese reputation for militarism and, believing there might be violence, he called in the police and had the ringleaders ejected. In the end, 12 Japanese families were forced to leave Sao Martinho. Others remained and worked successfully over a period of years but an image of Japanese militancy and unreliability was now fixed in the minds of some Brazilians. This was strengthened by the fact that, of all the six plantations taking Japanese labour in 1908, only Guatapara which, along with Sobrado, enjoyed considerably higher rates of pay and a relatively small Japanese

Arriving: 1908–19

37

population, remained generally peaceful. For our purposes, however, it is worth noting that many Japanese both voiced their protest and took alternative measures. In many cases, this meant relocating to a different fazenda and starting again. Japanese consular records show that after just six months, 430 Japanese, or more than half the original total, had left the plantation to which they had originally been contracted. At Dumont, all of the original 201 Japanese workers had left by January 1909; among these was a group of nine families who went further into the interior of Sao Paulo to the Sao Joaquin farm and thus became the pioneers of what in the 1920s–30s was to be the base of the region with the greatest number of Japanese.22 Protest on the fazendas neither started nor ended with the Japanese. In fact, there were to be major strikes by organised labourers in the Ribeirao Preto area in April–May 1913 (the start of the harvest and thus the time when workers could best exert pressure in contrast to the late-arriving Japanese in 1908). According to historian Thomas Holloway, many of these strikers were Italians and it was newlyarrived Japanese migrants, among others, who were trucked in by the plantation owners as strike-breakers; this is an incident usually omitted in the Japanese-language histories.23 In response to existing labour dissatisfaction, the Sao Paulo government had already in 1912 established the Patronato Agricola as a mediation body. Thus, Japanese migrants arriving after this point could expect better conditions and a fairer hearing for their grievances. Moreover, as Holloway notes, Brazilian plantation-owners were intelligent businessmen who wished to avoid the cost of recruiting a new workforce each year. Consequently, they attempted to retain migrant workers either by raising wages or making extra land available for the planting of individual food crops. Indeed, in contrast to the monochrome impression of exploitation and hardship which dominates Japanese historiography of this subject, the traveller Tsuji Kotaro was told by Japanese workers during his visit to the Ribeirao Preto area in the late 1920s that they were very happy, that the job was easier than expected, and that they had real optimism about their ability to generate savings. From this, Tsuji concluded that Brazil was ‘truly a paradise for those who work’, and this view was echoed by others into the 1930s. 24 The second group of Japanese contract labour for Brazil was organised by the Takemura Colonisation Company and sailed on the Ryojun-maru, departing Kobe on 4 May 1910. The total was 909 men, women and

38


children, divided into 247 families. Under the terms of their contract, strikes were forbidden and any protest was to be channelled through the company. As earlier, the Ryojun-maru reached Santos only at the end of June and, shortly thereafter, the workers were dispatched to 17 plantations across Sao Paulo state. With the benefit of experience, however, labour relations and expectations were generally better and, according to a survey in 1911, well over two-thirds of all migrants were still at their original workplace. This was regarded as a major improvement over 1908. There was at least one instance of trouble over food. This arose when a plantation store-holder, as was common, attempted to protect his profits; typically food and goods sold on site were expensive and migrants awaiting seasonal wages were forced to buy on credit from store-holders at high rates of interest. One means to protect this near monopoly was by limiting the migrants’ ability to grow their own crops. At one plantation, strong-arm tactics, including the release of livestock to trample their seedlings, were used against the Japanese. They were also accused of planning to desert their contracts and were threatened with having the police called in. This financial and emotional pressure led virtually the entire Japanese labour force to request a posting to another fazenda.25 In this instance, the dispute was resolved in an orderly manner. However, the very fact of being a wage labourer beholden to the vicissitudes of the harvest and the whims of plantation managers and store-holders meant that Japanese migrants lacked control over their own fortunes and, inevitably, looked for alternatives. As in Hawaii, a considerable number of Japanese migrants in Brazil moved quickly in search of better jobs. The result was that, from 1908, individuals or small groups began fanning out across Sao Paulo and beyond. Among those quickest to leave the fazendas were young unmarried Okinawan men. In this, the suggestion is that they intended from the outset to be itinerant workers, ever moving in search of the best wage. As the group most commonly employing ‘constructed families’, they were also the ones least bound by genuine family ties. The Okinawans, as with the Japanese in general, were adaptable. A group of six Okinawan men, outwitting the armed plantation guards, fled the Canaa fazenda in the fall of 1908 and made their way to Santos. There, with some financial assistance from the Kokoku Company, they reinvented themselves as building labourers on the port’s modernisation and reconstruction. They also established the base for what

Arriving: 1908–19

39

was soon to be a major Japanese community, albeit one dominated by Okinawan migrants.26 Some ex-contract workers laboured as railway navvies in the interior of Sao Paulo. Others started their own ventures but with mixed success. About ten Japanese families began an important and profitable business in vegetable farming on the outskirts of Sao Paulo city in 1913–14; by contrast, in 1915, seven Japanese entered the neighbouring state of Parana and attempted to grow rice but half of them were killed by malaria and the rest headed back to Sao Paulo city; a handful of others moved to the Parana state capital, Curitiba, and thus began a Japanese presence in Brazil’s deeper south.27 The Japanese government had reached a so-called ‘gentlemen’s agreement’ with the United States late in 1908. This was an attempt to halt the flow of Japanese labour to North America and thereby reduce the trans-Pacific tensions which endangered Japan’s security and economic interests. One consequence of this agreement was that South America became even more important as a recipient of Japanese emigrants. For this reason, the authorities in Tokyo naturally wished to avoid complications between Brazilian employers and Japanese workers, or the impression gaining ground in Brazil that Japanese migrants were shiftless and unreliable. As a result, the Japanese foreign ministry demanded a much stricter approach to the business of emigration. Specifically, this meant that emigration companies were to recruit only those with experience in farming, avoid making exaggerated claims in their advertising, oversee more closely the constructed families to prevent them collapsing upon arrival, and avoid recruitment from Okinawa or Kagoshima prefectures. On the other side of the ledger, there were to be improved contacts between emigration companies and fazenda owners, with the provision of better facilities such as toilets, beds, and tables, as well as medical access for the sick. Tokyo also called on the companies to have their clients at Santos port by May so as to be ready for the start of harvesting.28 There was a general tendency among Japanese migrants to Brazil in 1908–40 to be self-critical. More precisely, the tendency was for Japanese to blame other Japanese. The first to assume greater responsibility for their own conduct were migrants from Kagoshima. In their region, emigration was vital to local prosperity and the success of emigrants a source of pride. Thus, the government prohibition on local recruitment had repercussions in terms of status and the home economy. The aim of those already in Brazil was to ensure Kagoshima

40


labourers finished their contracts and to punish those who absconded. The vehicle to this end was the Kagoshima Prefectural Residents Association, founded in 1912 at the Sao Paulo city memorial hall to Emperor Dom Pedro I. This was the first native-place association among Japanese in Brazil. The founding ceremony was marked by a display of sumo and a very great deal of drinking but, thereafter, its duties became rather more sober; along with imposing contractual discipline on Kagoshima workers, the association helped those from its region who were ill or suffered a death in the family. This move towards self-regulation and self-help obviously impressed the authorities in Japan and, in 1917, emigration companies were again allowed to recruit in Kagoshima. However, the association suffered a chequered fate: the economic downturn of 1918 caused by the Great War in Europe and a devastating frost in the Sao Paulo coffee crop led many migrants to scatter in search of other jobs. This undermined any form of regulatory system. In addition, there was generational conflict between the older association officials, many of whom had arrived on the Kasato, and younger migrants. As a result, this first association collapsed soon after the war and it was only in 1938, following the start of hostilities between Japan and China, that Kagoshima residents in Sao Paulo city began even to think of reviving it. 29 The other region whose reputation and economic fortunes suffered from migrants abandoning their contracts was, of course, Okinawa. Between 1913 and 1917, the Japanese foreign ministry prevented Okinawan emigration to Brazil. Again, those in Brazil responded with self-regulation. Initially, the very fact that Okinawans had already spread so far afield led to the appearance of three separate branches of Okinawan prefectural association. Late in 1917, however, these were merged under the leadership of a man called Onaga Sukenari and a central headquarters established in Sao Paulo city. Onaga used the newly-emerging migrant press both to encourage and threaten his fellow Okinawans. Anyone breaking a work contract was warned he would be abandoned by the association and his address, if this became known, would be conveyed to the Japanese consulate-general and to the emigration company. 30 Onaga also used emotional blackmail. Reminding his fellows of the distressed conditions at home, he described the tens of thousands of young Okinawans still hoping to use emigration as a means of escape; if those already in Brazil continued to offend both employers and local

Arriving: 1908–19

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standards of decorum, he argued, then Okinawan emigration could be forbidden entirely, with dire consequences for those still on the islands. The reference to standards of behaviour was directed at Okinawan women who quickly came to dominate the street trade in vegetables at Santos. In part, the very idea of street-trading was becoming associated in urban Brazil with a despised past; one of the targets of Rio’s modernisation and ‘sanitisation’ had been the elimination of street stalls. In addition, the work-wear of Okinawans, even more than that of other Japanese, was seen in Brazil as exposing far too much of the body; this was a period and a place in Brazilian society quite separate from 1950s Rio with its beach culture leading ultimately to the minimalist bikini known colloquially as ‘dental floss’. As Onaga admitted, however, those migrants causing problems were unlikely to read the Japanese-language newspapers. In 1919, a second, albeit informal, ban was placed on Okinawan emigration to Brazil. The reasoning of the Japanese government was that Okinawans were too quick to abandon their contracted place of work, too ready to argue over their lodgings, too dirty in their persons, and too deceitful in ‘constructing’ families. This informal ban was to remain in place until 1925. Despite its problems, however, the Okinawan Association persisted and grew both in size and effectiveness through the 1920s.31 There is a view, expressed by historians in English and Japanese, that migrant associations in Brazil were tools of control for the Japanese authorities. In other words, the consulates and later the monopoly emigration concern in Brazil dominated the expatriate community through its civic groups. This is open to debate. The initial Kagoshima Association, after all, survived only a few years. The Okinawan Association was successful but Onaga also made very public statements suggesting that Okinawan migrants felt they were being treated unfairly by other Japanese; a migrant newspaper in the mid-1920s went even further, implying that Okinawans were not regarded as compatriots by other Japanese who, instead, treated them virtually as ‘untouchables’.32 In this case, the success of a native-place association may have depended on actually being independent of, and even estranged from, the rest of the expatriate Japanese community including its officials. The Japanese presence within the overall immigrant community in Brazil remained tiny until late in the 1910s. Of the 192 683 migrants from all countries entering Brazil in 1913, there were

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Table 2.1

Japanese migrants to Brazil 1908–19

1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 1918 1919

830 31 948 28 2909 7122 3675 65 165 3899 5599 3022

Source: Shiroma Zenkichi, Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin: 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, p. 160. Shiroma was one of the leaders of the Okinawan community in Brazil from the 1920s. His figures on occasion differ very slightly from those of other sources. In this, he is no doubt making allowance for those Japanese who immigrated independently from other regions of North or South America. All sources, however, illustrate clearly the same ebb and flow of Japanese immigration to Brazil.

7122 Japanese. Although this was significantly more than the combined total of all Japanese arrivals for the previous five years, it still barely registered in real terms and did not come close to being repeated for another five years. In 1916, the 165 Japanese arrivals were lost among the 34 000 new foreign migrants. Relatively speaking, the turnaround came in 1917–19: in 1917, Japanese numbered roughly ten per cent of the total 31 000 entrants, and in 1918, they were more than one-quarter of the total 20 501 arrivals (and 50 per cent of all the 11 447 migrants entering Sao Paulo state); see Table 2.1. 33 These figures, however, were severely distorted by the sudden and temporary drop in immigration from wartime Europe.

Settlement: Japanese landowning Japanese emigrants to Brazil in the first years could either honour their contracts as plantation labour or risk fleeing the plantation to find jobs in the towns and cities in such things as domestic service,

Arriving: 1908–19

43

construction work, or stevedoring at Santos. In the mid-1910s, there appeared a third option. This was the creation of Japanese-owned settlements or what were known as ‘colonies’ (shokuminchi). In this, migrants were the beneficiaries of Brazil’s liberal law on foreign ownership of land. This liberalism, so markedly absent in North America in the 1910s, was based on the fact that Brazil still had great undeveloped territories. In earlier years, the Brazilian imperial government had created semi-autonomous settlements for migrants in the country’s south and this had been highly successful in attracting German and Italian colonists. Sao Paulo state from the 1890s had also been providing land to migrants as a means of keeping them close to fazendas; the idea here was that smallholders would supplement their incomes by harvesting coffee and, thereby, guarantee fazenda owners a ready reserve of experienced labour. 34 Thus, Japanese who purchased land in Brazil were following an established and approved route. Two of the major Japanese settlements in the 1910s were at Iguape (this actually came to be the collective name for the three settlements of Katsura, Registro and Sete Barras) and at Presidente Penna. The initial purchase at Iguape was made by a Tokyo-based syndicate which, in 1913, became the Brazilian Development Company (Burajiru Takushoku KK). This had the backing of major political and financial figures including former prime minister and army general Katsura Taro, in memory of whose death late in 1913 the settlement was formally named. In addition, there was former cabinet minister Oura Kanetake (who offered to mortgage his own house to guarantee the land purchase), and Shibusawa Eiichi, Japan’s most famous and influential financier at the time. As prime minister in 1908, Katsura had been a major force in redirecting Japanese emigration in order to ease relations with North America; others such as Oura were motivated by the fear of political radicalism in Japan following the war with Russia and the consequent need to maintain emigration as a safety valve for domestic unrest. On the ground, the Brazilian Development Company’s representative was Aoyagi Ikutaro, a man highly experienced in South American conditions. In 1912, it was Aoyagi who arranged to buy 50 000 hectares of land from the government of Sao Paulo. The site chosen was roughly 200 kilometres southwest of the state capital. 35 The immediate problem with this settlement venture was that no Japanese migrant on the fazendas responded to the company’s advertisements. This suggests either an ongoing suspicion on the part of

44


migrants about corporate Japan, or that migrants were becoming increasingly comfortable with life on the fazendas. This response, or rather lack of response, certainly forces us to reconsider the impression given by later writers such as Takahashi Yukiharu about the ‘slave-like’ conditions on Brazilian plantations. Having failed to recruit among the agrarian Japanese, however, Aoyagi and the company turned to those in the cities and here, where a hand-to-mouth existence remained common, it found some 30 families willing to become pioneer settlers. They entered the Iguape colony in November 1913 and were soon joined by others. By late 1917, the company was able to celebrate Iguape’s established fame as a producer of rice. At that point, it had 341 Japanese settlers. Enticements to these and others included the existence of the Katsura Primary School (from 1916), the promise of on-site medical and veterinary professionals, as well as agricultural and surveying technicians, plus assistance from the company for those lacking the capital to become independent cultivators. 36 The idea for a settlement to be developed by migrants themselves first came in 1915. It originated from Japan’s consul-general, Matsumura Sadao. His logic was that a migrant-owned settlement would help further to reduce problems on the fazendas and also provide yet more opportunities for immigrant Japanese. The man to whom Matsumura’s comments were addressed was Hirano Shuhei, a translator with the initial migrants on the Kasato. Hirano was an early example of Japanese success; although only thirty in 1915, he had already worked for several years as deputy manager of the fazenda at Guatapara with its 500 migrant families (300 of them Japanese) and two million coffee trees. Hirano’s approach was first to obtain the support of Japanese families and then look for suitable land. With the backing of about two-thirds of the Japanese at Guatapara, Hirano toured the Noroeste region. This was the great new frontier of Sao Paulo coffee production, akin to the American west of the mid-nineteenth century; maps in the 1900s showed the territory west of the major regional town of Bauru either as terra incognita or simply as ‘the land of Indians’. Its remoteness at least meant that the price of land was closer to what the Japanese could afford. Initially using his own capital, Hirano negotiated purchase of a site about four kilometres from north to south adjacent to a rail station called Presidente Penna and close to a tributary of the great Tiete river.

Arriving: 1908–19

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An advance party of about 20 Japanese settlers was introduced to the site from August 1915. They were chosen quite deliberately as a mixture of young people from various Japanese prefectures. This was in contrast to some later settlements which were dominated by migrants from a single area of Japan. The principal job of the advance party was to clear the site and plant rice for those who came later. The emphasis on rice cultivation dictated a preference for low-lying land close to a river supply; this was to have fatal consequences. Within a short time of others joining the colony, they were hit by a wave of illness and death. At first, the settlers did not understand the origin of this illness and it was only over time that they realised the river on which they depended was a source of malaria. Supplies of quinine bought locally were exorbitantly priced and, although they appealed to the Japanese consulate for help, the colonists continued to be ravaged by disease until mid-1916; approximately 80 people died and about half the surviving families departed. The rice harvest had to be done by paid Brazilians while the remaining 30 or so families moved to higher ground. Further catastrophe ensued, however, when the settlement’s first coffee crop in 1917 was eaten by locusts and, the following year, it was blighted by frost. In 1919, Hirano himself became a victim of the deadly Spanish influenza. In the Japanese-language histories of the 1990s, these successive tragedies at Presidente Penna are detailed at great length to show the torments of being a Japanese settler in Brazil. They add to the impression of Japanese battling against insuperable odds, and being exploited by non-Japanese (over the state of the land and the cost of medicines). Yet, there is little or no admission of the Japanese being at fault in their choice of site; it is difficult to believe that Hirano and the others after nearly a decade in Brazil were unaware of the dangers of malaria. Moreover, Japanese historians show relatively less interest in the aftermath of tragedy. The Hirano Colony, as it came to be known, did not collapse in the late 1910s and, in 1930, it claimed to have over one million coffee trees as well as crops of rice, beans, and cotton. It was also the centre of a nearby community boasting its own primary school and a variety of Japanese-run businesses in what was now called Cafelandia. 37 Consequently, it would be just as historically accurate, if less dramatically compelling, to emphasise the success rather than the pathos of this first migrant-owned settlement.

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Urban life The casual assumption is that Japanese and Latin American societies were, and are, culturally poles apart; this is reflected in the popular imagery of samurai and carnival. In Japanese-language writings, this sense of difference remains commonplace. However, one of the things frequently ignored in such writings is any acknowledgement of the overlap in Japanese and Brazilian values. For example, the slogan stamped on the national flag by the army which created the Brazilian republic in 1889 was ‘order and progress’; this was a slogan which had many counterparts in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Japan. In addition, the structure of families in both societies was a rigid patriarchy in which the eldest male typically assumed responsibility for the affairs of all other family members. The Brazilian extended family or parentela, involving not only direct kin but also ritually adopted friends and retainers, plus servants and slaves, all held together by a complex system of duties and loyalties, similarly echoed Japanese custom. Equally similar were Brazilian attitudes towards the home itself; within the house, as cultural anthropologist Roberto Da Matta explains, space is rigidly demarcated and an absolute division between house and street is enforced with the house representing calm and order, the street disorder. To regulate both areas, a strict body of social rules polices all individual activity so that, in Da Matta’s words, Brazil was and is ‘the kingdom of conformity’ in which ‘the intention of the Brazilian social order is to make the individual dissolve and disappear’.38 These values were obviously most apparent in Brazilian cities where, already from 1908, there was a small but growing number of Japanese. The urban areas to which Japanese moved illustrated another point of cultural community between Japan and Brazil in the 1900s. This was the pace and direction of change in city life. In particular, there was the shared sense of haste in order to catch up with the already industrialised or industrialising West, and a rising ambivalence towards the extent of cultural borrowing from what were regarded as the more advanced civilisations such as Britain and France. This rapid modernisation and its ambivalent borrowings were most visible in Sao Paulo city. In the twentieth century, this became Brazil’s commercial and industrial centre. However, its economic and demographic growth were of very recent origin as the first Japanese appeared.

Arriving: 1908–19

47

The site had been founded by Jesuit priests on 25 January 1554 (the anniversary of the conversion of St Paul, hence the name chosen), roughly 20 years after the first Portuguese settlement in Brazil. In essence, it remained a village over the next three centuries: the cultural gloom of Sao Paulo is finely evoked by historian Richard Morse in describing the development of street lighting, a major aspect of policing and social order: ‘The twenty-four swaying fish-oil lamps in use in 1829 emitted, at distant intervals, a mortuary glimmer that cast mobile tongues of shadow on the walls’. Morse further explains that the city streets even in the 1870s contained ‘more nanny goats than people’. Sao Paulo’s prosperity, however, was triggered by the 1850s coffee boom. First introduced to Brazil in the 1720s, coffee took off in the second half of the nineteenth century and, between 1900 and 1918, the interior plateau of Sao Paulo state supplied, on average, half the entire world’s supply of coffee. The wealth which duly poured into Sao Paulo was used to construct railways from the 1860s (only a few years before the start of railway-building in Japan), to finance grand municipal works in the city, and to subsidise the passage to Brazil of great waves of foreign coffee labourers. Between 1890 and 1934, the city population leaped from 65 000 to 1.07 million, and that of the state from about 1.4 million to more than 6.4 million. 39 In the process, urban Sao Paulo moved from its earlier character of a two-tier society of white merchants and black slaves to a multicoloured and multi-cultural metropolis. The dominant mood was of a city positively embracing change, aiming at rapid economic growth, and celebrating the Paulista spirit of risk-taking and aggressive entrepreneurship. Consequently, Sao Paulo was ready to welcome those with skills, labour and determination to contribute to the region’s wealth. The Japanese in Sao Paulo city in 1910 numbered something between 100 and 250 persons. Some went to the city only briefly and then left for jobs in the provinces; those who remained inevitably needed time to establish themselves. Most were small artisans, such as carpenters, or worked as domestic servants. They often lived in cheap, below-ground lodgings previously used either as store-rooms or, in earlier years, as accommodation for slaves. Handa Tomoo quotes a migrant letter from April 1909 describing how, ‘In a corner of a poor ward, in a pauper’s house from which you would hold your nose and flee, live six men making so-called Japanese toys’. These included

48


such things as model ships and the like made out of foraged rubbish. The subterranean residence of Japanese migrants in Sao Paulo city continued through the 1910s. In October 1917, the newly-emerging Japanese-language press took up the issue. In an article titled, ‘The worrisome underground lifestyle’, a doctor of medicine explained that light and air were essential to mental and physical health, especially that of migrant women and children. He also implied a warning against this kind of dark, unhygienic existence which might arouse contempt and fear from middle-class Brazilians. In this, he made explicit mention of the fact that so many urban Japanese migrants and only a minority of black Brazilians were to be found in such impoverished housing. To ameliorate the situation, migrants from Kagoshima and Fukushima set up lodging houses for people from their respective provinces, while others gave general assistance to new arrivals in finding work and places to stay. 40 By 1917, the Japanese commercial presence in metropolitan Sao Paulo had become considerably more visible. A random issue from 1917 of the new Japanese-language newspaper Burajiru Jiho listed among its advertisers: the Tsukimi-tei, a Japanese inn (ryokan) and restaurant; a photographer ready to travel at no extra cost within the city limits; various stores (including the original Fujisaki Store on the Rua de Sao Bento), carrying everything from food and drink to Japanese screens and Western umbrellas; and the Saito Watch Repair shop promising ‘a service kind, polite, punctual and cheap’. Other advertisers included Japanese general goods stores from as far away as Bauru, deep in the Noroeste region of the state, and even from Rio de Janeiro. These were soon joined by a newer form of business, Nakamura Matsukuma’s rental car company at the Placa de Republica, Sao Paulo city, offering a special 20 per cent discount on its rates to fellow Japanese; automobiles and taxi-driving were to be a major source of employment for urban Japanese in the 1920s. The Japanese inns were popular with young migrants coming from the fazendas in search of jobs; they provided a point of reference, a place to talk, and a place to eat. This latter pleasure was enhanced from about 1914 when a Japanese migrant at Santos began to manufacture soy sauce. However, there were many instances of adapting to local custom; in some Japanese-run inns, breakfast was coffee and bread rather than the rice, pickles and soup familiar in Japan. Some inns were also to make a feature of their advertising in the migrant press the availability

Arriving: 1908–19

49

of both Japanese and Brazilian cuisine, or the fact that Japanese and Brazilian menus were rotated daily. 41 This deliberate sales pitch suggests that expatriate Japanese in the towns and cities quickly overcame the dietary problems of those just arriving on the fazendas. Along with small business, there appeared in the mid-1910s the first institutions for the Japanese expatriate community. These included schools and leisure groups. An early and enduring example was the Taisho Primary School, opened in the Conde area of Sao Paulo city in October 1915. Its founder was Miyazaki Shinzo, a man whose life in Brazil started in 1907 as cook to the Japanese consul, and who later worked as a translator and trader. The Taisho School began with only three pupils but, by late 1917, when it was visited by a local Japanese reporter, the total had risen to about 20 (the imprecise figure suggests that attendance was irregular). By this point, there was also a school at 87 Conde St. offering three hours instruction per week in Portuguese. This was run by Kato Junnosuke whom we may safely assume was the same man who worked as translator on the Dumont fazenda in 1908. The student body no doubt was made up of adult migrants looking to improve their communication skills. However, no details of student numbers were given so, again, one must conclude that attendance was sporadic. The Taisho School also offered instruction in Portuguese, employing a Brazilian female teacher of language from December 1919. One school ignored in the general histories is the Santos Japanese Primary School. This was also established in 1915 and had over 20 pupils by 1917. Its major source of funding was the prefectural associations in Santos and, in these, the Okinawans were the most active. Among the school’s councillors was Kanda Eitaro, the man who had brought joy to Japanese migrants by setting up the local manufacture of soy sauce.42 The creation of leisure facilities from the 1910s showed that the Japanese migrants were rising in wealth, ambition and the desire to remain in Brazil. Early in 1919, young males in Sao Paulo city established the Japan Club. This was intended as a place for the better off to meet and socialise. On this point, a comment from the Burajiru Jiho in January 1919 is worth noting, not least because the manager of the newspaper was also president of the club. In a view to be repeated in its pages and by others in later years, the paper began by describing the Japanese people in general as strong on private virtue but lacking in civic virtue. This deficiency, allied to a weak ability to

50


socialise, resulted in constant misunderstandings between Japanese and non-Japanese. Consequently, the modern, internationally-minded Japanese, it argued, had to cultivate these social skills in order to be successful. In its view, the underlying purpose of the Japan Club was precisely to train Japanese gentlemen capable of mixing confidently with Brazilians and other nationalities. 43 In this sense, the Burajiru Jiho was overturning the common assumption of a club based on nationality, for example, British clubs across East and South Asia as well as in Africa, as a cultural refuge from an alien environment. Instead, it clearly viewed the Japan Club as a school for aspiring internationalists. One of the characteristics of Japanese expatriates in Brazil was their youth, a characteristic reinforced by successive waves of young immigrants into the 1930s. One consequence of this was a passion for sport and a prominent role for sports clubs in the overall organisation of migrant life. The more gentle activities with a longer tradition in Japan such as the board or table-top games of ‘go’ and ‘shogi’ were to become popular after 1941 as the start of the Pacific war restricted Japanese public movement (although in the 1920s at least one Japanese hotel in Sao Paulo, the Joban, offered ‘go’ and ‘shogi’ as well as other similar leisure facilities as a way to attract customers). Instead, the great game in Japan itself at the time and certainly among Japanese in Brazil was baseball. Thus, in 1916, the first sports group to emerge was the Sao Paulo Baseball Club. One of the motives behind the organisation of any modern sports club, in Brazil, Japan or elsewhere, was to control youth morality. In the case of the migrant Japanese, the enemy was gambling; baseball, therefore, was used as a means to promote youth discipline. It also offered the expatriate community a reason to gather and socialise in a leisure setting. In 1918, the Mikado Sports Club was also established in Sao Paulo. Its founder was a former student of Keio University in Tokyo, one of the major centres of Japanese baseball, and this in time led quite naturally to a Mikado baseball team.44 Baseball never gained roots among Brazilians, already captivated by soccer, so the first challenge issued by the Sao Paulo Baseball Club was to a team organised by a local American company (the US team won 13–4). The creation within the Japanese community of a competitive league, with new layers of migrant allegiance to town or region in Brazil, was to emerge in the 1920s. From that time, however, baseball became identified in Brazil as a specifically Japanese

Arriving: 1908–19

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sport; this was an ironic form of reverse cultural imperialism in which the quintessential North American game, introduced to Japan only in the 1870s, was appropriated by expatriate Japanese. Further to the point of activity and cultural identity, we might briefly note the gathering of the Sao Paulo city Japanese in November 1917 to celebrate Tenchosetsu, the birthday of the Japanese emperor. More than 350 Japanese were brought together by the consulategeneral with the details of the festivities arranged by a committee headed by the manager of Fujisaki Trading. The venue was a city park. The formal celebration began with the Japanese national anthem (sung twice), a few words by the dignitaries, then the Brazilian national anthem. Thereafter, the fun commenced with a variety of competitions such as a three-legged race, a bean bag race for participating ladies, a boat race, a competition to capture flags involving pupils of the Taisho Primary school, and a baseball match. It is one of the scholarly arguments of Maeyama Takashi that emperor-worship was the principal ideology binding the migrant Japanese and, by extension, affirming their emotional link to Japan rather than to Brazil. However, as this early example shows, those in Sao Paulo paid respect both to Japan and to Brazil. One may also suggest that they used the emperor’s birthday as an opportunity for their own enjoyment. Thus, we should be wary of any interpretation which focuses too heavily on ideology and the form, rather than the content, of imperial ceremonies.45 The sense of actual community among Japanese in Brazil was greatly strengthened by the appearance of the first migrant newspapers. Literacy in Japan itself had expanded with the introduction of universal education from the 1870s and newspapers published by and for overseas Japanese were a common feature of migrant groups. In Brazil, the first plan for a local newspaper originated in 1914 with a plantation translator named Kaneko Hosaburo and a Japanese friend recently arrived from North America. Matters were delayed by the vicissitudes of the Great War but, from August 1916, they managed to publish the four-page weekly, Nippaku Shimbun. This was circulated in Sao Paulo city and its environs. However, it had just been pipped at the post for the distinction of being the first Japaneselanguage publication in Brazil. Early in 1916, the illustrated weekly journal, Shukan Nambei (Weekly South America), had made its debut. Its founder was Hoshina Kenichiro, an acquaintance of Kaneko, and

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a man with wide overseas experience, including a stint as a newspaper publisher in Honolulu, farming in Texas, and a period in Argentina, before moving first to Rio and then, in 1915, to Sao Paulo. Hoshina’s real ambition, however, lay in the creation of Japanese settlements and, after his journal folded, he was to move into this field of endeavour.46 A greater level of commercial organisation, technical sophistication, and journalistic skill in the migrant press arose in 1917. The first step was taken in July that year with the appearance of the Burajiru Jiho. This was a vehicle of the recently-created alliance of Japanese emigration companies and was clearly intended to serve its interests. With financial backing from this alliance, the newspaper began grandly; it was the first to be properly typeset and was printed in lots of 1500. The manager recruited from among the North American Japanese was Kuroishi Seisaku. He and the other managers or editors of the migrant newspapers were to fulfil over the next two decades the role of what has been called new or secondary intellectuals. A better term would be public intellectuals. What this refers to is the opinion leader who speaks directly to the public, either through the popular press or, in later times, through the electronic media. In Brazil at this time, the absence of Japanese universities, large-scale Japanese book publishing, or an extensive body of government officials, granted exceptional freedom to newspaper men and common migrants both to discuss issues for themselves and to reach their own conclusions. In this sense, the idea of being a kind of frontier community, even in a metropolitan setting, greatly enhanced the democractic nature of discourse. This discursive freedom, however, depended in part on the existence of competition. The Shukan Nambei was unable to match the Burajiru Jiho and collapsed in 1918. Kaneko, the editor of Nippaku Shimbun, became ill and returned to Japan in 1919. From that point until 1939, however, the great rival of Kuroishi and the Burajiru Jiho was to be the new owner of Nippaku, Miura Saku (or Sack Miura as he styled himself in Portuguese). Miura had made his way to Brazil in unusual circumstances: in 1908, a Brazilian navy training ship had rescued him from a shipwreck off Japan and, with that as catalyst, he asked permission to continue on to Brazil. In Japan, he had taught English and spoke some German but, upon arrival in Rio, he apparently instructed cadets in judo at the Navy School before joining the Shukan Nambei as a reporter. In his long ensuing career at Nippaku Shimbun,

Arriving: 1908–19

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he was to evoke the middle years of Meiji Japan and the so-called popular rights movement; his views were blunt and abrasive, and he treated Japanese officials in Brazil with no respect, instead taking pleasure in publicising their failures and follies. Miura and Kuroishi were regarded as diametrical opposites; Miura the radical and critic (even being accused by his enemies of communist sympathies), Kuroishi the moralist and defender of authority. The two opposed each other in print as a matter of course and this was to lead to violent rivalry in the late 1920s. 47 What is worth noting, however, is this diversity of opinion within the migrant community, the central role of the popular press as a vehicle for discussion, and the strength of personality of the major newspapermen. Two points on which the Burajiru Jiho and Nippaku Shimbun did agree from the outset was the value of long-term settlement in Brazil and the desirability for migrants of Portuguese language skills. Required in both of these was patience. As the Burajiru Jiho advised the 1700 Japanese migrants arriving in January 1918, there were five steps to achieving one’s goal. These were: fulfil one’s contract; learn through experience about Brazilian agriculture; study Brazilian customs; study Brazilian conditions; learn Portuguese. The minimum period for success was now estimated at seven years and any who lacked patience were warned they would ‘fall like a monkey from a tree’. 48 The path to success in Brazil was signposted in Portuguese. In contrast, confusion over the simplest of words led to some wrong turnings for Japanese migrants. According to Handa Tomoo, some non-Japanese co-workers on the fazendas may have assumed a Japanese was happy to sell his pigs or marry off his daughter simply because he replied ‘sim, sim’ (yes, yes) when in fact he did not even begin to understand the question; there was to be ongoing confusion over Japanese women’s ambiguous use of ‘sim’ well into the 1930s. In an early effort to improve understanding, the first Portuguese–Japanese dictionary was compiled in 1918 by Otake Wasaburo, then an interpreter at Brazil’s consulate in Tokyo (Otake was one of the first Japanese in Brazil, having been a student in the 1890s at Brazil’s Naval School). From October 1917, the Burajiru Jiho introduced a half-page Portuguese language column, asserting, ‘The great global stage is a competition of ability; those weak in ability can only fail. The main path to cultivate ability is to learn the language of your host country’.49 This recognised that expatriate Japanese could only prosper

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through effective contact with Brazilian traders, suppliers and consumers, and that to remain purely within a kind of ghettoised Japanese-language community was to deprive oneself of enormous opportunities. The Burajiru Jiho devoted a full half-page to instruction in basic Portuguese and the Nippaku Shimbun followed with its own column for teaching oneself conversation. Many of the practice sentences were directed at agrarian migrants and dealt with aspects of the weather, volumes of coffee beans, and the quality of cattle (for example, ‘Rosada has a beautiful calf’). Others such as ‘Maria is holding a book and a doll’ were of a more academic and less immediately practical value. One thing to emerge from these practice texts, however, is a sense of self-deprecating humour. As one model dialogue had it: ‘Do you like to learn Portuguese?/I love it and I do not think Portuguese is so difficult. What did you study when you were in Japan?/Everything I learned, I have completely forgotten!’50 An element of selfmockery was to persist throughout the period to 1940. Looking back from 1933, the Burajiru Jiho described 1917 as the turning point for the Japanese in Brazil. In that year, it noted, the first group of 1342 sent by the newly-formed Brazil Migrant Co-operative arrived on board the Wakasa-maru and enjoyed an excellent reputation among Brazilians. This reputation, it argued, signalled the start of the ‘golden age’ of Japanese immigration which, it believed, was continuing even as the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Kasato was being celebrated. In Japan, the attraction of Brazil remained strong around the time of the Great War; on the eve of hostilities, Japanese press reports continued to stress the goodwill and economic opportunities in Brazil. Money was believed to be so plentiful it fell from the skies. Not surprisingly, the press described a ‘fever’ for passport applications to South America.51 In contrast to this optimistic assessment of the years just before and towards the end of the war, there is a view that friction between Brazilian employers and Japanese migrants was increasing from this time. To 1914, about 12 000 Japanese had entered the country. Early that year, however, the Sao Paulo authorities announced the end of further subsidies; the reason for this was partly discontent with the number of Japanese who had broken their contracts (a discontent shared, as we have seen, by Japanese community leaders in Brazil), and partly a premature belief in the imminent return of large-scale

Arriving: 1908–19

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European immigration. The outbreak of war overturned this expectation. It also brought Brazil into the war from 1917 following German attacks on Brazilian shipping; one result of this was a far greater and enduring suspicion in Brazil about the German community residing in its southern states. The war also damaged Brazilian food exports, leading many fazenda workers to shift to urban factories as industrial production doubled during the war. This acceleration of industrialisation was to have benefits for Japanese migrants in the 1920s. A more immediate benefit was that it forced the Sao Paulo authorities, already confronted with a reduction of about 85 per cent in its overall immigrant total in 1913–15, to find an alternative agrarian workforce. In 1916, a Brazilian company was given the right to bring in 10 000 migrants annually, regardless of their country of origin. Consequently, after two years of virtual inactivity in 1915–16, the start of a second wave of Japanese labour migration from 1917 was indeed a turning point. These Japanese were not alone, however. Between 1911 and 1920, about 18 000 immigrants arrived from Syria and Lebanon and they were to be joined by many more of their compatriots in the 1920s, further broadening the racial makeup of Brazil’s major cities. 52 The difficulties of the emigration business and the enforced lull in labour migration to Brazil led to structural changes in Japan. In 1916, three emigration companies (the Nambei, Toyo and Morioka) united to form the Brazil Migrant Co-operative (Burajiru Imin Kumiai). In December 1917, at the urging of the central government in Tokyo, they were merged into a new entity, the Overseas Development Company (Kaigai Kogyo KK), popularly known as Kaiko. From 1921, this was to handle all contract labour from Japan to Brazil. Thus, the emigration business moved from government monopoly through free-market competition back to monopoly. Clearly, the government’s aim in this was to promote what might be called orderly progress and to maintain for its emigrants continued access to Brazil.53 Similar desires for order, progress, and access were shared by those Japanese already in Brazil. To the end of the 1910s, migrant Japanese in Brazil could not and did not complain of mistreatment by their host society. If there was some criticism of Japanese labourers as unreliable, this was only fair given the number of workers who had broken their contracts. Some Japanese had endured abuse, misfortune, or tragedy but this was the result of individual circumstances, not the consequence

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simply of their nationality or ethnic identity. Overall, Japanese migrants were welcomed in Brazil while they were clearly no longer welcomed in North America or Australasia. In Sao Paulo especially, they had opportunities to buy land, to establish businesses, and to find a place for themselves within Brazilian society. During and immediately after World War I, whatever freedom of activity they had in other overseas societies was to become much more limited as anti-Japanese racism increased. In passing, an interpretation of this racism from the expatriates in Brazil is worth noting. In September 1917, the Burajiru Jiho praised Japanese migrants for becoming ‘global people’ (sekai-teki no hito). In contrast, it accused Westerners of being proud of their logic but, in their racism, being overruled by emotion. A major part of this racism, it argued, was the work of Western women, especially those who demanded equal social and political rights. They were described as violently emotional in character and the culprits in fostering prejudice about Japanese. 54 In this way, the cosmopolitanism of the Japanese expatriate was contrasted with the narrowmindedness and hysteria of the Western racist. Whether or not this criticism of Westerners was just, the ideal of modern Japanese as internationalists was to be repeated consistently over the next two decades.

3 Settling: Migration as National Policy in the 1920s

In the 1920s, overseas emigration became of even greater importance to Japan as a nation. This was the result of a worsening domestic economy, allied to rising urban and agrarian unrest. At the same time, the prominence of Brazil as a destination was enhanced by moves in North America to exclude all Asian immigrants. In response, the Japanese government re-established direct control over the emigration business and, expanding on its moves from the end of the 1910s, attempted to create a more effective system for dispatching Japanese overseas. As a consequence, larger numbers of migrants than ever before made their way to Brazil, especially in the second half of the decade. Although it was to be the 1930s when a significant reaction was to emerge in Brazil against the Japanese presence, the sudden leap in numbers in the 1920s did cause a backlash among some Brazilians. In general, however, the Japanese expatriate community, as it expanded numerically and geographically, continued to enjoy both socio-economic opportunities and racial respect.

Emigration as national policy The major domestic factors behind Japan’s greater focus on emigration in the 1920s were the twin problems of population growth and economic instability. The agricultural sector had been hard hit by the rice riots of 1918 in which urban consumers revolted against inflated prices of their most basic food. This led to imports of rice from Japan’s colonies in subsequent years and severe losses in income for Japanese farmers. Also, following a rash of speculative business 57

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ventures during the world war, there was a shakeout in the Japanese industrial and commercial economy after 1918 as US and European enterprises returned to East Asia. This shakeout led to widespread unemployment and a pervasive sense of uncertainty in Japan which, in turn, boosted support for radical political ideologies. Since the 1900s, there had been persistent fears among the Japanese elite about the rise of socialism, and the creation of a Japan Communist Party in 1922 seemed in their eyes directly to threaten the existing sociopolitical system; this threat was heightened by the belief that Japanese communism was being orchestrated by the recently formed Soviet Union. The appearance of a communist neighbour and new levels of social disharmony within Japan made emigration more obviously than at any previous time a matter of national security. In this, the idea was not so much that emigration was the projection overseas of Japanese influence (the minzoku bocho ideology observed by some scholars after 1905); Japan in economic terms in the 1920s was too weak to make such an argument convincing. Rather, the aim was to paper over cracks within Japan. This point is worth remembering when one considers the attitudes of expatriate Japanese towards the homeland both at this time and in the 1930s as conditions deteriorated even further. The link between emigration to Brazil and domestic security was obvious in a Japanese article from 1922. The author was an army captain, Harumi Kyohei, and it appeared in the army ministry’s official study journal, Kaikosha Kiji. The simple fact that the military felt the need to discuss this link indicates how serious Japan’s situation had already become by the early 1920s. Harumi began by explaining that Japan’s population of about 56 million was then increasing by an extra 600 000 people each year but that the total of all Japanese then overseas was just 580 000 (this made the October 1920 figure of 34 258 Japanese in Brazil roughly six per cent of all expatriates). In short, emigration from Japan to that point was nowhere near sufficient to alleviate the social pressure of population growth. In what was undoubtedly a widely held view, Captain Harumi asserted that Japanese society was already divided between the better off who were consumed by materialism and self-indulgence, and the poor who were turning to labour and tenant militancy in the face of economic stagnation and urban inflation. The obvious implication in 1922, therefore, was that Japan needed to send many more people overseas if it were to ease its problems at home.1

Settling: 1920s 59

The Japanese government clearly shared this belief. Its response was to resume control over emigration and to provide subsidies both to companies involved in recruiting and carrying migrants as well as to individual migrants themselves. In effect, this was a continuation of government action in the late 1910s towards rationalisation of the emigration system. It is in the 1920s, however, that emigration became official state policy and that one sees the term ‘kokusaku imin’ (national policy migrants). The first step in this policy came in 1921. In that year, the Home Ministry in Tokyo created a Social Office (Shakai-kyoku). Its mission was to encourage emigration to South America and especially to Brazil. By the time of the 1924–25 budget, Home Ministry funds for the promotion of emigration had risen to 850 000 yen (130 000 above the previous fiscal year). The number of public lectures on emigration, often sponsored by local Japanese authorities, increased nearly ten-fold between 1923 and 1930: it is worth noting that, in addition to showing the prosperity of migrants, a point emphasised in these presentations was the similarity between the Japanese and Brazilian peoples. The foreign ministry in 1924–25 also had 130 000 yen (albeit down from 181 000 the previous year) to compile statistics relating to emigration and to publish information of benefit to migrants. In this, it was assisted by the creation at Kobe of a Japan–Brazil Association (Nippaku Kyokai) from May 1926. The most direct form of official assistance, however, came in 1925. From that point, the Japanese government began providing a subsidy of 35 yen per head to the Overseas Development Company (Kaiko) which now was granted a monopoly on emigration; it also approved the Osaka Shipping Company as the sole carrier of migrants on the South American route and paid the company all costs in transporting Japanese to Brazil. In contrast to the vessels used by earlier migrants, all of which had distinctly Japanese-language names such as Kasato and Ryojun, those used by Osaka Shipping on this route all bore the names of international ports such as Santos, Rio de Janeiro, La Plata, and Montevideo.2 In this way, one might see a deliberate attempt to promote an image of internationalism on the part of Japanese involved in emigration. In view of the rising human contact between the two countries, Japan’s diplomatic representative in Brazil was elevated from May 1923 to the rank of ambassador. Thus, a new level of engagement between Japan and Brazil was apparent by the early years of the decade.

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The greater interest in Brazil in 1921–22 was set against the background of increased difficulties for Japanese emigrants in the land of the free. The turning point in Japanese–US relations, and by extension across North America and Australasia, was World War I. By the conclusion of hostilities, there was a new level of fear about the intentions of the Japanese state and the identity of Japanese migrants. Put simply, the view had grown in strength since the Russo-Japanese war that Japan was an aggressive and militarily powerful nation with its people thoroughly educated in the values of the samurai and utterly subservient to the emperor in Tokyo. Thus, the escalating rhetoric in America of a Japanese invasion reached new heights (or lows) after 1918 with articles and books warning, for example, that behind its mask Japan was in reality ‘The Germany of Asia’. These fears translated rapidly into moves to contain the Japanese presence. This was especially true in Hawaii and California. In Hawaii, there were legal challenges from 1920 against Japanese-run schools and attempts to impose English as the language of instruction (these attempts pre-date anything comparable in Brazil by nearly two decades). In California, the battleground was land. From 1920, the state of California tightened its law on land ownership and banned the leasing of agricultural land to any alien ineligible for naturalisation; this was widely seen as targeting immigrant Japanese. In California, the opponents of Japanese immigration after 1918 included representatives of labour, who accused the Japanese of undermining wages and of refusing to conduct business with anyone but other Japanese, moralists who attacked the Japanese as propagators of gambling and prostitution, and politicians who insisted that Japan itself was imperialistic and an enemy of the US. 3 This new virulence in public anti-Japanese feeling contributed directly to the 1924 US exclusion act. The background and terms of this act have been extensively discussed in other works such as those of Ichioka Yuji. All we need to note is that, under its provisions, no further immigration from Asia to the US was allowed. This was at least the second major rebuff to Japan on race grounds since World War I (in 1919, the Japanese request for a clause on racial equality in the charter of the new League of Nations had been rejected by the Western powers). The immediate result of the 1924 act was that Brazil became even more central to Japan’s national policy of emigration. A further consequence was that Japanese both valued the far greater legal and cultural equality they found

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in Brazil but also grew anxious at the prospect of a change in Brazilian attitudes along the lines of the North American example.

A new Brazil: changes in industry and identity One point about Brazil in the 1920s is that major changes were occurring within the country, and especially in the state of Sao Paulo. Broadly speaking, these changes were two-fold. First, there was a shift in the economy from a near complete reliance on agriculture and raw materials towards greater industrialisation. This was evident in the boom sectors including metallurgy, chemicals and tobacco products. The late 1910s and 1920s also witnessed the start of manufacturing in Brazil by major international corporations such as the Dutch electronics company Philips and US enterprises including Ford, General Motors and General Electric. This industrialisation opened new commercial and employment opportunities in the cities. At the level of small business, there was rapid growth, for example, in electrical and motor repair shops, as well as taxi driving. Many of these opportunities were to be seized by migrants, among them Japanese, and the most powerful industrialist in 1930s Brazil was to be an Italian migrant, Francisco Matarazzo, who began in the 1880s selling goods from a pushcart in the interior of Sao Paulo. As for the coffee economy which had been the principal employer of Japanese and other migrants up to that point, it was kept artificially buoyant throughout the 1920s with official subsidies. A growing world-wide demand for coffee in the 1920s also contributed to the belief in good long-term profits in this sector. This meant there was a continuing demand among Brazilian growers for yet more imported workers, a demand further maintained by the ongoing drift of new and existing migrants from agriculture into urban industry and commerce. 4 The high prices still paid for coffee also offered Japanese growers a place in the market as they expanded their activities in Brazilian agriculture. In other words, changes in the overall Brazilian economy broadened the range of possibilities for Japanese migrants both in the provinces and in the urban areas. The second major change in 1920s Brazil with consequences for the Japanese community was the rise of nationalism. Until the 1914–18 war, it is generally true to say that Brazil’s elite had affected European norms of thought and behaviour; French culture in particular was

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highly regarded and the preferred language of high society was French; Brazilian literature, music and custom was dismissed as primitive. In the 1920s, this tendency was denounced by Paulo Prado, a leading historian, as the national ‘vice of imitation’ and the reason why, in his view, Brazilian history could be summarised as a narrative of greed and misery. One should note here the willingness of Brazilian nationalists to blame themselves rather than to search for foreign scapegoats. After 1918, however, a reassessment of Brazilian identity had commenced in Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo. The most prominent event in this was the so-called Modern Art Week held in Sao Paulo city in mid-February 1922. Its goal was what one participant called the ‘Brazilianisation of Brazil’. This was to be achieved through a new pride in indigenous and folk culture in art, literature, and perhaps especially music in which Brazil was seen as particularly rich. As part of this process of self-discovery, there emerged a new ethnographic study which came together in the first Brazilian Congress of Regionalism in 1926, and the opening in Sao Paulo of a Museum of Folklore. At the very centre of this new nationalism was a celebration of Brazil’s racial diversity; within this, there was both a greater awareness of, and respect for, the cultural contribution to Brazil of the ethnic African population. 5 The significance of this inclusive nationalism for Japanese migrants was that it also offered them a position within the broad-based mainstream of Brazilian identity. This was something completely denied them in North America and Australasia where a racially exclusive nationalism made them at best second-class residents and always alien. It would be misleading to suggest that the 1920s was a decade solely of positive change for the Japanese in Brazil. Amid the shift to industrialisation and the formulation of new ideas on national identity, there was criticism of rising immigrant numbers. However, while Japanese historians naturally tend to focus on Brazilian anti-Japanese sentiment, these concerns actually were much more general. Indeed, there had earlier been complaints in the late nineteenth century about various groups of European migrants, be it Italians or Portuguese, with much of Sao Paulo’s small business already in the hands of non-Brazilians. In the 1920s, criticism of immigrants tended still to focus on the much larger communities from Europe. This was generally on the grounds that they were monopolising business and labour openings or that they were importing extremist ideologies.

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Italian migrants, for example, were seen as highly active among radical movements in Sao Paulo labour and politics. On occasion, the absence of migration could also stir a reaction: nationalists felt slighted by the decision of Mussolini to ban emigration from Italy to Brazil and a Japanese visitor arriving in 1928 noted that the office of an Italian newspaper in Sao Paulo city was burned just as he landed and that some Italian-run schools were being closed for contravening Brazilian laws on the teaching of language, history and geography. Also arousing concern in the 1920s were the Germans in southern Brazil who resisted assimilation from their own distinct and separate farm communities. Anxiety about these settlements was to grow markedly in the 1930s as expatriate Germans embraced ideas of Nazism and racial hygiene directly in conflict with the prevailing view of the Brazilian people.6 While there was long-standing resentment among some Brazilians about Italians, Germans, or other immigrant groups, the first serious opposition to the Japanese presence appeared in the 1920s. According to one scholar, the anti-Japanese movement in Brazil arose in direct response to the increasing visibility of Japanese in the country.7 This is slightly misleading. The first bill in the Brazilian parliament designed to curtail Japanese immigration was sponsored in 1923; this was at a time when the annual total of new arrivals from Japan averaged less than 1000 and the overall Japanese presence in relative terms was minute. What the bill actually targeted was more the spectre of Japanese influence and, in this, the rhetoric of anti-Japanese racism was to remain consistent from this time to the end of the 1930s. Its twin themes, as in other countries, were disease and invasion. The fear of military invasion actually was a kind of inverse compliment to Japan; some Brazilians felt their own nationalism was pitifully weak and their own society irreparably divided. In the Japanese, by contrast, they saw a people for whom nationalism appeared to be intrinsic, a matter of birth as much as education, and thus quite strong enough literally to seize Brazil once they established a foothold. This mix of respect and fear was evident in the leading opponent of Japanese immigration from the 1920s to the early 1930s, Dr Miguel Couto. While praising the unity, strength and success of Japan, he could still write in the mid-1920s that the Japanese were ‘cunning, ambitious, warlike and mystical’, and that they were plotting to destroy Brazil. A federal representative from the state of Parana,

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immediately south of Sao Paulo, went even further when he suggested about the same time that Japan had plans to send 20 million migrants and take over the country.8 At the cost of 200 yen per migrant, this would have presented the government in Tokyo with a bill of some four billion yen to transplant approximately one-third of its entire population to the other side of the world. To say the accusation was fantastic is to be overly charitable. Dr Couto was the president of Brazil’s National Academy of Medicine and had established his reputation in the 1890s in the fight against yellow fever in urban Brazil. This was at a time when cities like Rio and especially the port of Santos were regarded as virtual death traps from disease. Around the same time, the wealthy families of Sao Paulo city had built for themselves a new and isolated neighbourhood which they intended as a kind of cordon sanitaire to keep away the urban poor, many of whom were new immigrants; with disarming frankness, they named this Higienopolis, that is, Hygiene City.9 The global paranoia of elites concerning the link between urban crowding and hygiene, however, arguably reached its peak in the 1920s–30s. The connection of disease to Japanese immigration was openly asserted by the sponsor of the 1923 bill, Lower House representative Fidelis Reis. Although there had been up to 60 deaths from illness on a Japanese migrant ship to Brazil in 1918, the motivation of those like Reis, an agronomer and professor at the University of Minas Gerais, seemed to lie deeper. He had previously campaigned against black migration to Brazil. In defending his bill, he insisted that the unrestricted flow of Japanese immigrants meant that, ‘the yellow cyst will remain on the national organism, unassimilable by blood, by language, by customs, by religion’. 10 While some Brazilians promoted the imagery of Japanese infection and invasion in the 1920s and more especially in the 1930s, it should be emphasised that anti-Japanese statements were never allowed to pass unchallenged by other Brazilians. This was certainly the case in 1923. Moreover, while Japanese historians tend to see the Reis bill as evidence of an underlying hatred of Japanese, in fact it was prompted by news of a US government plan to resettle something like 200 000 African-Americans in the Amazon region. In response, Reis proposed that Brazil institute a complete ban on so-called black migration. As for ‘yellow’, that is, Asian migration, he stopped short of calling for outright exclusion and instead advocated a quota system, reducing

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the level of new arrivals to five per cent of the total for each ethnic community already in Brazil. The bill, however, was denounced by federal representatives from Sao Paulo state, those best placed to judge the value of Japanese labour, and it was defeated in a committee headed by Francisco Chavez de Oliveira Botelho. In November 1924, Botelho personally toured Japanese settlements and spoke to migrant workers on coffee plantations. In particular, he put a straightforward question to the emerging second-generation Japanese-Brazilians; ‘Are you Japanese or Brazilian?’ The answer he received convinced him to reject the Reis bill which, in turn, leads us to believe that a sufficient number of respondents, either because they were sincere or simply politically astute, persuaded Botelho they considered themselves at least partly Brazilian. One of Botelho’s arguments against Reis was that the difficulties encountered by Japanese in North America had been the result of unyielding American attitudes which made it difficult for them to assimilate. He refuted the idea that they were an economic or cultural threat and, in this, he seemed to have the support of the Brazilian public; in January 1925, a government survey of opinion on Asian immigration indicated greater backing for Botelho over Reis. Late in 1926, the new federal administration of Washington Luis Pereira de Sousa appointed Botelho finance minister and the Reis bill was shelved.11 The defeat of the Reis bill was a triumph for the culture of tolerance and diversity which were emerging as the platforms of modern Brazilian nationalism, and it reinforced the position of those who believed that Japanese immigrants had a positive role to play in Brazil’s economic development. However, it did not assuage the minority who were blinded to Japanese weakness or poverty, and saw only its power, aggression and a determination to expand its territory. While the largest expatriate community of Japanese resided in Brazil, there were equally strident warnings from elsewhere in South America about Japanese plots and stratagems. In February 1925, the New York journal, Current History, carried a piece by a Peruvian journalist, Genaro Arbaiza. This was entitled, ‘Acute Japanese Problem in South America’ and was subsequently translated into Japanese. On closer inspection, however, the author actually warned merely that a problem might arise one day. The basis for his contention was the known desire of Japanese to emigrate to the continent and his own supposition that, with their strong sense of race identity, they would naturally

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come to dominate local societies. As he explained, ‘Should the Japanese come by the hundreds of thousands to a country like Peru there could hardly be assimilation by the native elements, but the reverse process may take place’. An intriguing aspect of this fear was the idea that the Japanese were among the original inhabitants of ancient America; this was popularised in the 1926 book by Peruvian writer Francisco A. Loayza, A Manco Capac, el fundador del imperio del los inkas fu japons (‘Manco Capac, Founder of the Empire of the Incas, was a Japanese’). In that sense, Hispanic Peruvians had grounds to fear a union of Japanese and Indian peoples against their authority. While this specific fear may have been less compelling in Brazil, the general tenor of Arbaiza’s argument was shared by local opponents of Japanese immigration. An internal report by the British foreign office might describe the Arbaiza article as ‘excited and sensational’, as well as being quite wrong in its facts and statistics. 12 However, the appearance in print of such views, and the scare of the Reis bill, reinforced the need for Japanese migrants to protect themselves as far as possible by showing their readiness to co-exist with Brazilians. Both before and after the Reis bill, the consistent position of Japanese observers and of the Japanese-language press in Brazil was to stress the benefit for migrants of engaging with Brazilian society. In his 1922 article, Captain Harumi listed the overall attractions for Japanese migrants in much the same order and using the same terminology as writers in the 1900s: Brazil was an immense country, roughly 22 times the size of Japan, rich in resources, fair of climate, and at just 30 million, with a population density about one-fortieth that of Japan. Equally important, Brazilians enjoyed real equality, black and white comingling as equals on ships and trains, in the theatres, cinemas, and, perhaps of special significance to the family migrants from Japan, in the schools. In Harumi’s view, this meant that, ‘black, white, yellow, all races breathe the same freedom, all are one band with no master . . . merely free and equal citizens’. He also emphasised the fact that non-Brazilians had the right to own land and that Japanese settlements were already in existence in Sao Paulo state.13 Various writers throughout the decade took an optimistic view concerning the future of Brazilian racism. In a major work from 1925, Professor Takaoka Kumao of Hokkaido Imperial University, argued that Brazil would never emulate North America. His reasoning here was that the Brazilian people were already of such mixed blood that for the nom-

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inally ‘white’ community to promote race hatred would, in effect, be the same as promoting hatred of themselves; this, he felt, was as illogical ‘as suspending oneself towards heaven’. A similar point was to be made by Brazilian cultural nationalists in the 1930s. Takaoka also felt that US influence in Brazil was purely economic rather than cultural and, therefore, would not affect existing attitudes on race. 14 As for relations between Japanese and Brazilians, an editorial in one of the Japanese-language newspapers in Sao Paulo late in the decade suggested there was a special bond between them based on their tolerance and internationalism as opposed to the racism and selfishness of the ‘Anglo-Saxons’.15 The idea that Brazil in the 1920s was a uniquely tolerant community was also accepted by other observers. A British diplomatic report from Rio de Janeiro in January 1925 asserted that, ‘There is at present no race or colour problem in Brazil’, but, it cautioned, ‘it is felt by many that Japanese immigration on a large and organised scale would introduce such a problem, for Japanese settlers do not assimilate nor intermarry with Brazilians’.16 Throughout the 1920s, however, Japanese writers continued to encourage assimilation, in particular through the adoption of Brazilian nationality. Both Captain Harumi in his article and Professor Takaoka in his extended study explained the ease with which migrants could apply for Brazilian citizenship. As they understood it, anyone resident in the country for two years and with a clean criminal record was eligible. Harumi also noted that Brazilian law actively encouraged naturalisation and that one could offer oneself for election to the Lower House of parliament only four years after gaining citizenship. He foresaw a time when Japanese-Brazilians would occupy local and federal government offices and thus be in a position to shape Brazilian law (in fact, the first ethnic Japanese cabinet minister in Brazil was to be in the 1970s).17 The value of Brazilian citizenship was also emphasised in the migrant newspapers. Early in the 1920s, the Burajiru Jiho offered advice on the procedures involved and, from early 1923, set up a desk within its own organisation to handle all aspects of the application process (for a fee of 200 milreis). To this, it claimed to have received a flood of enquiries. There were some Japanese, however, who argued that naturalisation would not magically transform them into Brazilians and that, to relinquish their Japanese citizenship, might actually deprive them of any protection they currently enjoyed from the government in Tokyo. In the end,

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it appears that few Japanese actually obtained Brazilian nationality in the 1920s but, in this, as historian Thomas Holloway explains, they were no different to any other immigrant group in Brazil. That migrants kept their Japanese nationality might be used by historians as evidence for the strength of nationalism among the expatriate community. It could equally be argued, however, that it showed how safe they felt from any direct threat of racism in Brazil at this time and how little coercion there was against them to assimilate to this level.18 As the British diplomatic report had noted, marriage was another area in which critics believed they could attack the racial exclusiveness of Japanese migrants. According to figures from one Japanese study, about one-fifth of all Brazilian marriages in the 1920s involved a non-Brazilian partner. This would appear to be a relatively high ratio and may be explained by the high levels of immigration over the preceding decades. One reason for any difference in the level of ethnic inter-marriage in Brazil, however, may be the question of timing. The Brazilian authorities had insisted on recruiting young migrants brought over in family units. Consequently, the marital status of the initial wave of immigrants from each country was largely settled upon arrival; even where some marriages were artificial, as in the case of the Japanese, they still resulted in an equal number of adult males and females among the overseas community. This helped to overcome the difficulties seen earlier in North America over ‘picture brides’. Where any problem arose was in the maturing second generation. The relatively late arrival of the Japanese compared with the Italians, Germans, and Portuguese, meant that unattached males were reaching the age of marriage late in the 1920s. In 1928, Kodo Hisaichi suggested in his Burajiru no Jisseikatsu (The Real Life in Brazil) that the family migrant system, and the number of young men subsequently invited to Brazil by relatives, meant there were now approximately 6000 single Japanese males of marriageable age to only about 1500 equivalent females. Kodo and others warned of the dangers of young men remaining unattached: it was said that an all-male community of Japanese in Bolivia squandered its time and money in gambling and, with no wives or children, was clearly fated to disappear. In Brazil, by contrast, the aim was long-term settlement, not simply wage labour, and thus marriage was seen as vital to overall stability and prosperity. This gave Japanese

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women in Brazil a value, sometimes quite literally, well above that of women in Japan; there was a saying among the expatriates that ‘a daughter is worth three contos’, and parents with several daughters could expect to live comfortably off the dowries. However, Brazil in the late 1920s was described, in an ominous phrase, as ‘a marriage market in a great depression’. In the area of Promissao in the Noroeste region in 1927, for example, there were nine Japanese villages with 120 young males, most of whom had been raised in Brazil and about half of whom were ready to marry. The response of village leaders was to organise the males in tour groups. These were then temporarily shipped back to Japan specifically to find appropriate wives.19 The number of Japanese marrying Brazilians was to increase in the 1930s and these were to figure heavily in migrant arguments supporting the level of Japanese assimilation in Brazil. However, the initial preference for Japanese wives in the 1920s requires further comment. It has been suggested that, in North America, the strength of ‘white’ legal and moral prohibitions to defend racial purity legitimised similarly racist and exclusionist ideas among resident Japanese. 20 Given the racial tolerance of Brazil, this is clearly not an argument applicable to its Japanese community. As to marriage choices, we should note first that the tendency among expatriate Japanese, and especially among Okinawans, was to seek marriage partners from their own region rather than simply opt for anyone bearing Japanese nationality. This also was commonplace among other migrant groups such as the Italians. In that sense, the question of marriage went deeper than race and was decided, where possible, by shared culture in such things as dialect, a localised sense of place, familiar foods and so on. The idea that culture rather than race was the issue for Japanese males was also explained by Kodo. He cautioned his Japanese readers that Brazilian society treated women in a completely different manner from that in Japan: whereas in Japan, they were expected to be subservient and reticent, in Brazil they were given prominence and paid courtly respect, for example, in being served first at restaurants and in receiving a seat on a crowded train. This, Kodo argued, led to all kinds of cultural confusion for expatriate Japanese men, and his advice to prospective migrants was to marry prior to leaving Japan. 21 Maeyama Takashi in one of his writings quotes a comment from an expatriate Japanese in Brazil that, ‘To marry with another race is

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ethnosuicide for we Japanese’. However, in the 1920s, neither Kodo nor other Japanese writers sought to condemn marriage to nonJapanese: Burajiru no Jisseikatsu included a photograph of young Brazilian women with the caption, ‘What a group of lovely senhoras! The beauties of Sao Paulo state hope for marriage with young Japanese’. Virtually all Japanese writers on Brazil were men and they made no secret of the fact that they were charmed by Brazilian women. The beauty contests to elect a new Miss Brazil were reported at length in the migrant press and, as technology advanced, so photographs of the winners were included; in 1939, when antagonism towards Japanese in Brazil was allegedly at its height, a Japanese journalist from the Asahi Shimbun was invited by the authorities in Rio to be a judge in the finals of that year’s contest. The charm was not simply physical but also cultural. A journalist for one of the expatriate newspapers found himself in the 1930s seated in a Sao Paulo cinema beside a young woman who looked Japanese but who, when he spoke to her, proved to have been born in Brazil and to know no language but Portuguese. The journalist’s conclusion, however, was that her ‘Brazilian’ friendliness and ease of manner was a refreshing contrast with the timidity and nervousness of women born and raised in Japan. In a memoir of 30 years’ residence in the Amazon region, one Japanese author in the 1950s wrote on ‘Brazil, the Land of Beautiful People’; in this, he described the Indo-Portuguese mestizo women of the region as the spitting image in face and figure of women from the north of Japan (the prefectures of Aomori, Yamagata, Akita). 22 In this sense, Japanese males seem never to have been racially repulsed by women in Brazil but rather to have taken a natural delight in their appearance and manner.

The expansion of Japanese settlement In 1920s Brazil, the Japanese had freedoms denied them in other parts of the world. They could enter the country, live and work without the fear of overt racism, even apply for citizenship. For immigrants from a still largely agrarian society, however, the most important freedom was the right to own land. This was the principal magnet drawing over 66 000 Japanese to Brazil between 1925 and 1930. The Japanese migrant press was filled with adverts for rich, virgin, frostfree land in Sao Paulo’s frontier regions. Moreover, land was relatively

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Table 3.1 1920 1921 1922 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930

Annual total of Japanese migrants entering Brazil 1 013 840 1 225 895 2 673 6 330 8 407 9 804 11 169 16 648 14 076

Sources: Shiroma Zenkichi (ed.), Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, p. 160. BJ, 3 December 1938, generally concurs but gives figures of 3672 for 1924, and 9084 for 1927.

cheap, with the exchange rate also favouring the yen over the Brazilian milreis. Consequently, the dominant feature of the late 1920s was the growth of Japanese landownership and especially of agrarian settlements or ‘colonies’, many of these in the Noroeste or northwest of Sao Paulo. In 1926–7, however, the state government in Sao Paulo ended its subsidies to all overseas immigrant labour. Whereas some might see this in part as another step in the cooling of attitudes towards Japanese, in fact, the expatriate press took a much more positive approach. Looking back from the perspective of seven years, the Burajiru Jiho identified this as a key moment in the history of Japan’s national policy of emigration. In its view, Japanese officials had earlier been overly passive, relying on Sao Paulo to maintain the influx of migrant workers. From this time, however, Tokyo was forced to assume a more active role. Prior to 1926, Japanese emigration to Brazil had peaked in 1913 at 7122 and, in the early 1920s, there had even been fears that the number permanently leaving Brazil would outnumber those arriving. 23 With the US exclusion act and this new commitment from Tokyo, however, the expatriate community grew rapidly with the figure for arrivals regularly exceeding 10 000 (see Table 3.1). As the migrant community grew in number, so the official Japanese presence also expanded for its protection. In 1921, a consulate was

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opened at Bauru city for the benefit of regional Japanese; this was in addition to the existing consulates at Rio (elevated to embassy status from May 1923) and Sao Paulo city (opened July 1915), plus the Ribeirao Preto office of the Sao Paulo consulate opened in 1918. In mid-1927, an office of the Sao Paulo consulate-general was established at Santos. An honorary consul was appointed at Manaus, capital of the state of Amazonas in 1925 and, as Japanese moved further into north Brazil, a consulate was to be opened in 1934 for those in the states of Para and Amazonas.24 One of the most significant changes in Japanese government policy was the March 1927 law on the Overseas Migrant Co-operative (Kaigai Iju Kumiai). This provided within Japan an umbrella organisation, the Union of Migrant Co-operatives, to oversee bodies recruiting migrants at the prefectural level; by 1937, there were to be such co-operatives in 44 prefectures. The overriding intention was to facilitate a larger and geographically more broad-based movement of people overseas and to arrange for land to be made available to them upon arrival. To this end, the Union established in Sao Paulo the Burajiru Takushoku Kumiai (Brazilian Development Co-operative), popularly known as Burataku. Henceforth, it was Burataku which took the lead in purchasing land in the states of Sao Paulo and Parana and opening the way for greater Japanese settlement.25 One of the major Burataku settlements was at Bastos, deep in the interior of the Sorocabana region of northwestern Sao Paulo. There, the company purchased about 32 000 hectares of land. The pace of development was breathless. In 1928, the Japanese traveller, Tsuji Kotaro, visited the site. He observed the groups of black Brazilian workers clearing the forest and laying miles of road; with no hint of racism, he wrote of their industriousness and described their tasks as ‘really manly work’. With no more than a few huts and the settlement office, Bastos impressed him as ‘truly life deep in the mountains’. Only ten months later, however, the settlement was ready, it had its office, retail stall, temporary lodgings, and a working community of 200 families. Its primary purpose was coffee production and, in this, it was clearly successful. By the time it celebrated its tenth aniversary in 1938, it boasted a total population of over 9000, of whom 4180 were Japanese residents (zaiju hojin), 887 were described as ‘foreign settlers’, and the rest were identified only by their occupations: of these, about 1600 were contract farm labourers but there were others

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to make life in the mountains more tolerable, including seven doctors and dentists, 16 barbers, 11 bakers and confectioners, and one maker of ice creams. There were, in addition, nine schools with over 600 pupils and the Bastos song celebrated both the autonomy of the ‘village’ and the goodwill existing between Japanese and Brazilians. 26 Burataku was not alone in developing land for Japanese settlers. One of the other major congregations of Japanese in the Noroeste was at the Alianca settlement near the Sao Paulo state border with Mato Grosso and close to the Burataku site of Tiete. Here, a series of land purchases was made by regional groups from Japan in 1924–7. Taking the lead was the Shinano Overseas Association of Nagano prefecture in central Japan; this bought over 5000 hectares of land in 1924. It was followed by overseas associations from the prefectures of Tottori, Toyama, and Kumamoto (with a strong Japanese presence already at Alianca, Burataku also subsequently purchased some 2500 hectares). The result was a grouping of three settlements with some level of co-operation between the various purchasing bodies. There is a demographic map of the third Alianca settlement in 1939 showing the regional origin of plot-holders: this also shows that, while there might be a dominant regional identity to a given settlement (in this case, Toyama prefecture), there still remained considerable variation as to the overall geographical background of its settlers. At the second Alianca Settlement in 1931, this diversity was to result in an open split between the two principal groups, fom Nagano and Tottori, with Tottori residents briefly establishing their own independent association. As with the Burataku development at Bastos, expansion at Alianca was rapid. Farming commenced at the first settlement in 1924 with just three families of eight people. By the following year, this had grown to 16 families but, in 1926, leaped to 96 and, in 1929, to 190. The same rate of increase was evident at the second and third Alianca settlements between 1927 and 1929 so that, at the end of the decade, the total population of all three had grown from eight to 2302 of whom just over 400 were described proudly as Nikkei Hakujin, that is, ethnic Japanese Brazilians. 27 While the greatest land development by Japanese was in the remote interior of Sao Paulo state, there were still opportunities closer to the established towns and cities. The settlement at Itaquera, later to become known as Colonia Nipponica, began admitting

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Japanese from 1923 and, in its Japanese-language advertising in the 1920s–30s, made much of its location at the centre of a triangle formed by the cities of Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and Santos, with their combined populations in the early 1930s of nearly four and a half million potential consumers of fruit and vegetables. 28 New openings away from the Noroeste were not always successful, however. In 1928, a small group of Japanese were tempted to try their hands at farming in the coastal state of Espirito Santo, north of Rio. By early 1929, they had fled back to Sao Paulo claiming the land they had just left was poor, the climate insufferably hot, and all agreeing, as the press phrased it, ‘that the worst corner of Sao Paulo is still better than Espirito Santo’. 29 One part of Brazil in which the terrain and climate would seem most challenging to immigrant farmers was the Amazon. However, this was a region in the 1920s ready for a new infusion of producers and activity. At the turn of the century, its economy had soared on the back of rubber exports. This had led to the kind of giddy wealth usually restricted to children’s fairy tales; the Amazonas state capital of Manaus had an Italian-style opera house to rival in magnificence anything in the great metropolis of Rio but, on a more vulgar plane, the local nouveau riche were said to light their cigars with banknotes and to run champagne through their patio fountains. The boom had attracted an influx of adventurers from elsewhere in Brazil and overseas, especially from France, Spain, and the US, but this particular bubble had burst by 1918 with the rise of Southeast Asian rubber (originally planted with seeds stolen from Brazil). This left Manaus and Belem, the city at the mouth of the Amazon, as shadows of their recent selves.30 In the late 1920s, however, a Japanese settlement was established at Tome-Acu, about half a day down river from Belem. The driving force behind this venture was an individual, Fukuhara Hachiro. He was director of the Kanegafuchi Cotton Spinning Company in Japan, part of the wider Mitsui conglomerate. After first visiting Brazil in 1927 to explore local production of cotton, he set up a land development company and, with a grant of one million hectares from the state government of Para, began the immigration of Japanese from 1929; as with earlier immigration, the basic unit was a three-person family in order to promote stable residence. Fukuhara’s goal was long-term settlement and he provided modern buildings, storehouses, and a radio station. The roughly 1500 Japanese colonists

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there in the mid-1930s were engaged, like Japanese settlers elsewhere, in cultivating rice, corn, sweet potatoes, and vegetables which were then shipped to Belem for wider distribution. At a cultural level, Fukuhara worked to overcome the charge that Japanese deliberately isolated themselves from Brazilians. He insisted that Brazilians and Japanese work together and, to promote integration, he made available free medical services to all residents of the area, regardless of race.31 The Japanese investment of men and money in the Amazon was initially welcomed by Brazilians. This led the migrant press to speculate on a bright new future for Japanese settlers in the region. As the Nambei Shimpo newspaper reported around this time, ‘To hear of the Amazon region, you would think of hell; to see it is to view paradise’. In 1930, a second major survey of the area was conducted by a party overseen by Uetsuka Tsukasa, a native of Kumamoto prefecture in Japan’s south and formerly a ministerial secretary as well as member of Japan’s lower house of parliament. He was committed to the expansion of resources both for and by Japan and, late in 1930, he agreed a contract with the Amazonas state government for a major tract of land; here he also established the Instituto Amazonia (Amazonia Sangyo Kenkyujo) to study and develop the Amazon’s economic potential. Immediately thereafter, he began sending graduates from the Higher Development School (Koto Takushoku Gakko) in Tokyo as settlers to the site. However, the contract was later rejected by the federal parliament of Brazil following constititional changes in 1934. This rejection was based on the grounds that the amount of land ceded to Uetsuka was too great and the conditions of the contract too generous. Consequently, his plans for further expansion of a Japanese presence in northern Brazil were curtailed.32 The spread of Japanese settlements during the 1920s in Brazil elicited a mix of reactions. On the one hand, there had earlier been criticism of Japanese labourers who sent much of their wages back to Japan; they were seen as short-term migrants offering no lasting benefit to Brazil. Now, settlers and landowners were praised for investing so heavily in Brazil’s rural economy and either opening up new markets for produce or re-invigorating the old. There was also praise for the model introduced by Japanese farmers of co-operatives. The first of these was created, with help from the Japanese consul-general, late in 1927 (among its founders was a man called

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Shimomoto Kenkichi and it seems likely he was father to a leading figure among Japanese-Brazilian university students in the 1930s). It was called the Cotia Co-operative and was based at Pinheiros in the western corner of Sao Paulo city. By 1940, it claimed the status of Brazil’s largest co-operative, with 1500 members and funds of well over 7000 contos. It also dominated the nation-wide market in potatoes. Another major co-operative was at the initially ill-fated Hirano settlement; this was founded in 1930 with funds from both a Japanese and a Brazilian company and its success was seen as helping to revive the prosperity of the neighbouring town of Cafelandia.33 There was also, however, a negative reaction to the expansion of Japanese settlements and their success in taking a large or monopoly market share in some areas of food supply. This was noted by an article in the 1 August 1930 issue of Seishu Shimpo, the major provincial Japanese-language newspaper at Bauru, the gateway to the Noroeste region. According to the article, Brazilian disquiet about Japanese settlement was strongest in Sao Paulo state rather than in neighbouring Parana, where there were relatively few settlers, or in the Amazon, despite the latter’s importance in the evolving sense of a modern, native Brazilian identity. The problem, it argued, was that any selfimposed isolation of Japanese settlers, despite their proximity in Sao Paulo to the economic heartland of the country, could seem like a deliberate insult to Brazilians. Moreover, the Japanese-language schools on rural settlements threatened to aggravate this impression of racial disdain. The newspaper called on its readers to learn from the errors of their predecessors in the United States and recognise that purely ‘Japanese settlements should be developed [only] in lands under the Japanese flag’, that is, only within the existing Japanese empire or its mandated territories. In Brazil, it argued, ‘if settlements like those of Burataku at Bastos and Tiete can not be opened up to mixed Brazilian and Japanese residence, then they should be abandoned now’. The warning may well have been effective; as we have already seen, Bastos early in 1938 was a mix of Japanese and non-Japanese. However, even earlier, there were cases of large-scale Japanese settlement amidst other peoples. In 1932 at the town of Birigui in the Noroeste, for example, there were said to be 3000 families, of whom Italians were in the majority but Japanese, at 1200 families, came second in number. Despite this, it is the conviction of scholars such as Maeyama Takashi that Japanese and rural Brazilians did not mix; in his view,

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Japanese settlers regarded Brazilians as ‘socially invisible’. 34 This is a point to which we will return. A further criticism of Japanese settlements was that they were directly undermining the coffee plantation economy. This was the position taken at a meeting of the important Brazilian Rural Society in 1928 by coffee planter Antonio de Queiroz Teles. He spoke against Japanese contract workers, insisting that their different language and customs made them unreliable and that, after breaking their contracts, they retreated to Japanese settlements founded with the help of major Japanese capitalists.35 The underlying assertion of his speech seemed to be that Japanese capitalism and labour was working in tandem against Brazilian interests. Indeed, it may be that some of his more impressionable listeners came away with the idea that Japanese settlements were part of a grand conspiracy, such as that outlined by Genaro Arbaiza in his article on South America from 1925. This fear of a Japanese conspiracy in rural Brazil was to reappear in the 1930s. Criticism of the new settlements or the process behind them was not restricted to a few Brazilians. There were always Japanese in Brazil ready and willing to voice forthright opinions on any topic. This was particularly true of the Nippaku Shimbun. In 1928, in typically acerbic style, it described the relationship between the Japanese government and the expatriate community in Brazil as like that between a stubborn old man and a bright, go-ahead youth, while the government-run Overseas Migrant Co-operative was derided as a ‘refuse tip’ for aged officials. It also argued against what it saw as the Japanese government’s mistaken approach to emigration, that is, as a form of colonisation through the creation of a ‘new Japan’ overseas. Those in Brazil did not see themselves as comparable to migrants in Japan’s formal or informal colonies, and the inference of this article was that Tokyo’s attitude only served to endanger their position and prosperity. 36 However, the spread of settlements in the 1920s also raised concerns about the internal make-up of the expatriate community. A report on one settlement in 1928 stated that 90 per cent of residents had arrived direct from Japan and had experience neither of Brazil nor of agricultural work; they were said to single out other settlers from an agrarian background and refer to them pointedly as ‘farmers’. Further, there was a belief that there were now two divergent streams of Japanese immigrants; those recruited for Japanese settlements and those contracted for Brazilian coffee plantations.

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The assertion of Japanese-language commentators on Brazil was that life on a fazenda was crucial for understanding both the country and its agriculture; as one author put it, this was like going to school and, only after graduation, could one confidently go on to work as an independent farmer. Consequently, the development of direct immigration to settlement was seen as incautious, unlikely to guarantee good profits for inexperienced migrants, and potentially damaging to any wider sense of community among the expatriate Japanese.37 While later scholars have tended to speak in rather casual generalisations about Japanese settlements, their success and cohesion, or their role as a safety valve for Japanese to avoid Brazilian racism, Japanese observers at the time were often as not dismayed by their failings. Moreover, they tended to blame these failings on Japanese themselves. One criticism was of the misplaced enthusiasm for form over substance. Enormous effort was put into prestige structures such as a settlement school or hospital but less to the needs of food production and, even in prestige buildings, it was said that important matters, such as a lavatory for hospital patients, were sometimes overlooked. The Nippaku Shimbun, albeit without checking for itself, confidently asserted this state of affairs was true even of the major Burataku settlements at Bastos and Tiete: in the paper’s words, ‘when you play go with an amateur, you know where he has moved his pieces even without looking’.38 One of the major problems, of course, was rural health. In 1927, Professor Toda Seizo from Kyoto Medical University toured the Noroeste and, in contrast to the image held by others of Japanese social and economic efficiency, his conclusion was pessimistic. He described the life of settlers as ‘extremely un-cultured’ (hi-bunka-teki), with many appearing sickly because they had failed to control malaria. He condemned their housing as thoroughly inappropriate, having been built in the Japanese rural style but importing only the negative aspects of Japanese housing (precisely what these were, he did not explain). His damning comment was that, ‘the structure of our settlers’ houses and their standard of living is exactly that of Japanese farmers of a thousand years ago and lower even than that of the indigenous Ainu people of Hokkaido’. He also warned that the second generation would simply abandon the settlements if improvements were not made. One historian of Brazilian immigration, Jeffrey Lesser, sees this as a warning to

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Japanese on the dangers of long-term residence in Brazil; in short, the longer one lived in Brazil, the more one regressed in culture. This is overstated: the life-styles of urban Japanese migrants, the ones with the most intimate contact with Brazil and Brazilians, had moved beyond the earlier level of subterranean existence and did not concern Toda. Instead, his warning was intended to maintain the viability of a major policy of emigration supported by the Japanese government. Moreover, his specific criticisms of rural health, housing and diet, were to be echoed by Brazilian medical commentators speaking on the general situation of Brazilian agriculture well into the 1930s.39 The attention given by scholars such as Maeyama Takashi to the rural expatriate Japanese may be understandable given the relatively greater numbers involved. However, it also skews the argument about relations between Japanese immigrants and Brazilians. Japanese settlers in the Noroeste, for example, had limited contact with Brazilians because their work tied them to the land and they were often physically remote from the nearest town. Also, with many of them being the newest members of the expatriate community, they naturally had the least command of Portuguese and the least understanding of Brazilian norms. In other words, to focus on recently arrived Japanese immigrants in rural Brazil is inevitably to conclude that they were not urbane enough to engage effectively with non-Japanese. Alternatively, one can turn this around and insist that the strength of their Japanese nationalism made them unwilling to seek engagement outside of their own closed communities. What is omitted from this argument is precisely the urban and urbane Japanese of the towns and cities. Too often they are the missing figures in the historiographical landscape of Japanese in Brazil during the 1920s and 1930s. Consequently, it is to them that we now turn.

City life Sao Paulo state in the 1920s had all the appearance of a booming commercial and industrial economy. This was most visible, of course, in the state capital. A general feeling, repeated in the Japanese migrant press, was that Sao Paulo city was the future Chicago or New York of Latin America, a metropolis bursting with energy, wealth and opportunity. Foreign visitors concurred. The prolific and respected

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American travel writer, Frank G. Carpenter, offered this description in the mid-1920s:40 [I]n going about the city I have been almost astounded by the palatial character of the buildings and the air of prosperity that prevails here. The sidewalks in the business section are crowded with people, while the pavements are a maze of taxis, automobiles, and trucks, and street cars that serve all parts of the city. The English novelist, Rudyard Kipling, arrived a few years later and recorded his amazement at the physical expanse of Sao Paulo, its frenzy of commerce, and the vast hydroelectric plants generating its power. He also remarked on the waves of traffic: ‘Cars and lorries move everywhere, like electrons in the physics primers, across grids of trams; every train decorated on each side with a frieze of agglutinated passengers’. By 1929, Sao Paulo city had a population of approximately one million and about 18 000 motor vehicles (some 4000 behind Tokyo at the same time).41 Now thriving within this metropolis, however, was a successful and increasingly diverse Japanese community. According to figures for 1924, there were 3037 Japanese then resident in Sao Paulo city and its environs (an even larger urban population of 5796 was to be found in Santos and its region). As with the overall expatriate body, this was reasonably well balanced between males (1688) and females (1349). A series of articles in the Nippaku Shimbun in the same year provided an overview of their occupations. These included successful craftsmen, such as carpenters, and an increasing number of Japanese-run hotels, bars and restaurants. Featured in the articles, however, was the rise of Japanese in new areas of small business. Notable among these were the taxi or car hire companies; in Sao Paulo city, there were enterprises such as Tsuji Cars with from one to three vehicles of their own. There were also independent drivers who contracted a vehicle from another concern. Wages for a good driver were said to be well above the average for company employees or those in trade and, in one perhaps exaggerated account, there were several hundred Japanese drivers in the capital by the end of the decade.42 Of particular interest to the Nippaku Shimbun, however, were the seven Japanese-run furniture stores of Sao Paulo city. The strength of

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Japanese enterprise in this area is somewhat ironic in that the traditional Japanese house was largely devoid of furniture; floor cushions replaced chairs, beds were rolled mattresses without a fixed base, and tables were virtually at ground level. Thus, Japanese migrants not only entered new markets but produced and retailed products which were regarded in Japan itself as ‘Western’ and, in Brazil, were made of unfamiliar woods. Of the Sao Paulo stores, the largest was Casa Tokyo. This had an imposing main shop, two branches, a factory stocked with machinery, and several tens of workers; its advertising net also expanded as far as the Noroeste with regular notices in the Seishu Shimpo at Bauru. In its later adverts, it was to claim that, among the expatriate Japanese furniture stores, it was ‘the oldest, the biggest, the best, and the cheapest’. The owner of Casa Tokyo was a man called Sugimoto Honosuke. He had some experience of business prior to leaving Japan. However, the Nippaku Shimbun stressed the importance of the wife in dealing with customers at each of the Japanese furniture stores. Success in this field depended on Brazilian custom and the second-largest Japanese store, Casa Nihon, enjoyed a particularly good reputation among non-Japanese. In contrast to Sugimoto, the owner of Casa Nihon had started from scratch, having never been in business before emigrating. Other smaller furniture stores were run by Japanese in partnership with non-Japanese and, targeting Brazilian custom, sited themselves in the city centre rather than in the major Japanese neighbourhood. One of the most prosperous businesses was a specialist wholesale furniture-maker. Originally a graduate of Okinawa’s prefectural agricultural school, he had repeatedly failed at farming in Brazil. Undeterred, he was said in the early 1920s to be making vast sums in business and one of his contracts was for the supply of seating in the luxury carriages of the Central and Paulista railways. These examples suggest that, rather than relying heavily on custom from fellow Japanese, there were small businesses which already in the 1920s had ventured effectively into the wider Brazilian market. Indeed, by the mid-1930s the number of Japanese-run furniture stores in Sao Paulo city is said to have doubled.43 The possibilities for affluence were also evident well beyond the metropolis. At Bauru city in the late 1920s, there was a thriving small community of about 70 Japanese households, two Japanese-style inns, a Japanese doctor, and, it would appear in the early 1920s at

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least, a well-known Japanese prostitute named Tomi; there was also the Seishu Shimpo newspaper to promote advertising and commerce between Japanese and non-Japanese in the region. A further five hours by train beyond Bauru, passing through endless coffee plantations, was the town of Lins. The Japanese community here had originated with the Barbosa settlement; this had been established by a migrant from Kumamoto prefecture named Fujinaga Rikizo. Fujinaga had since become a man of wealth and status in the Noroeste region and Barbosa had also changed as some settlers sold off their land to non-Japanese: by the time it was visited by Tsuji Kotaro in 1928, it was roughly half-owned by what he termed without malice ‘foreigners’. Tsuji calculated the urban population of Lins at about 8000 of whom 400 were Japanese. In the vicinity, however, he counted over 40 000 people and, of these, around 6000 were Japanese. Certainly as far as he was concerned, there was no evidence of them being racially separate or in hiding. As he explained, ‘if you walk the streets of Lins, it seems as if half the people are Japanese’. He noted a large number of Japanese stores in the middle of a lively, bustling town: press advertisements from Lins at this time included the Ebisuya General Store, the Tsuchiya restaurant serving Japanese and Western cuisine, the Nagata Inn, and Antonio Tanaka’s car repair shop. There was also an office for the Burajiru Jiho newspaper of Sao Paulo city, a Japanese school, and a youth association. In addition to being highly visible, indeed prominent, the local Japanese appeared to enjoy wealth, success, and comfort both in themselves and in their relations with others around them. Tsuji estimated there were about ten Japanese immigrants in Lins who had already become Brazilian citizens and, as with earlier writers, he held out the prospect of Japanese becoming involved in national politics. Many Japanese owned one of the horde of cars which, in the space of only a few years, had replaced horse traffic and now filled the townscape to the extent that traffic police had to be introduced in 1927. A side point raised by Tsuji was that the space and speed of life in Brazil compared with that in Japan (where the bicycle remained king and car ownership was still the preserve of the elite) had given the Japanese immigrants a completely novel sense of time and distance. In this, they had very different attitudes and approaches to key aspects of modernity, and the implication was that they would have difficulty reassimilating into Japan. The prosperity and freedom they enjoyed in Brazil, how-

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ever, made the prospect of returning permanently to Japan seem unlikely at this time.44

Organising the community The very fact of emigration to a growing economy and an open society allowed Japanese or others to reinvent themselves. Unfettered by the immediate demands of an extended family or by the constraints of village or neighbourhood precedent, they were economically and psychologically mobile. Thus, someone without farming experience might find work on the land, a farmer might become a furnituremaker, and a man might, as with Antonio Tanaka at Lins, adopt an entirely new identity. They could also choose more easily to do what they wanted with the money they earned. As one Japanese migrant explained in 1924, saving and being miserable might be the lot of married couples but ‘the life of the bachelor is easy. The money you get, you spend the same day. No need to worry about tomorrow. When things are difficult, just take some work as a day labourer on the land’.45 Japanese in Brazil were also freed from the direct control of their home institutions such as the centralised education and home ministries, the police, and the military (though, as noted earlier, male migrants were required to bond themselves to perform military service when required). Although Maeyama and others have insisted in their writings that the Japanese consulate-general in Brazil and the officials of Burataku acted as a surrogate government, dominating the expatriate community and linking it back to the emperor and authorities in Japan, this is highly unconvincing.46 There were simply too few Japanese officials in Brazil and, without their own police or legal system, they had no means effectively to impose their authority on an expatriate body spread across regions in some cases only then being joined by road and rail. One area in which the expatriates were free to shape themselves was in their collective consciousness. An historian of Japan in the 1920s and 1930s, Kevin Doak, has written eloquently on the failed attempt of intellectuals in Japan to construct what he calls an ethnic nationalism, that is, a sense of being Japanese which emerges out of the wider community rather than as something manufactured and handed down by the state. In his view, the state in Japan was so powerful that it managed to hijack any competing definition of nationalism.47

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In Brazil, however, the Japanese government was remote and there was no Japanese intelligentsia to dictate public opinion from its base in universities and research institutes. Consequently, the job of creating any sense of community identity and recording its collective history fell primarily to the Japanese-language newspapers of Sao Paulo city and Bauru. As the number of Japanese in Brazil increased, so the newspapers also grew in number and influence. The Seishu Shimpo was established in September 1921. The following year, the Burajiru Jiho broke with its emigration company sponsor and became solely the business of its manager, Kuroishi Seisaku; in the late 1920s, it was printing 5000 copies for each weekly issue, double that of its closest rival, the Nippaku Shimbun. In 1923, a monthly journal appeared and, from 1928, took the name Nambei Shimpo (at which point it appeared weekly); its selling point was its magazine style. By December 1928, the Nippaku Shimbun had introduced a full page of Portuguese-language news from Japan, Brazil, and elsewhere. This is a point worth emphasising. One of the few works in English on Japanese nationalism in Brazil insists that the pre-1941 Japaneselanguage media in Brazil was almost exclusively devoted to news of the migrant community itself and reports from Japan, and that the first page of Portuguese-language news dates only from 1947.48 This is simply mistaken. These four newspapers were to be at the centre of expatriate arguments and ideas in the 1930s, most of them moving up to daily publication during that decade. In the 1920s, however, their existence illustrates two things: first, that publishing was becoming an increasingly important business, not least in its role as carrier for advertising; and, second, that there was a range of views welcomed by the Japanese in Brazil. The independence of the press from any form of officialdom was undoubtedly most obvious with the Nippaku Shimbun where the owner, Miura Saku, continued to pour scorn on Japanese authorities, including a succession of consul-generals. For this, he was aggressively to be opposed by a group of Japanese who were believed to be linked to the Burajiru Jiho. In April 1929, they formed the Nihonjin Doshikai. This was an association whose sole purpose over the following five months was selectively to translate Miura’s writings into Portuguese and then deliver these to the Sao Paulo police. The idea was to present Miura as an aggressive critic of Brazil and potentially a disruptive influence on society; the hope was

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that the Brazilian government would then expel him from the country. In fact, Miura was only questioned by the Sao Paulo police at this time and, reacting against this attack on the freedom of the press, he renewed his criticism of his Japanese enemies with even greater passion thereafter. In March 1931, he was briefly to be exiled following a request to the Brazilian law minister by Japan’s consul-general, Nakajima Seiichiro, someone whom Miura had publicly pilloried in his editorials. However, a petition in support of Miura was raised among the expatriate Japanese (suggesting further that they were not under the control of the consul-general) and, with President Vargas himself repealing the expulsion order, Miura was allowed to re-enter the country.49 In this sense, the press in an expatriate community had the capacity to stand as an equal to the representatives of the ‘home’ state; it could act as a censorate of official behaviour without necessarily fearing repression. In short, it had more potential to play a role in fostering democracy. The evidence of Japanese newspapers in Brazil is that they took this role seriously and sought a community in which individuals and civic groups took responsibility for themselves rather than permitting the absent state or its local representatives a monopoly over discourse. In the 1920s, Japanese expatriates began to develop a greater sense of themselves as a community. An early example of this was the discussion in 1923 towards compiling a history of the Japanese presence in Brazil. The use of history as a means of self-definition was to recur in the period immediately before the Pacific war when a 2000 page two-volume history of the Japanese in Brazil was organised by Japan’s foreign and development ministries (as they tried to impose tighter control over expatriate Japanese). This was intended as part of the celebrations of Japan’s 2600th anniversary and the first volume was to appear in 1941 but the second volume was to be curtailed by the onset of war. 50 The 1920s development of community, however, was further evident in the spread of Japanese civic associations. These have been identified by Maeyama as mechanisms of control by the Japanese government. In his view, their activities were directed by the consular authorities, and order within Japanese local communities was maintained by the threat of exclusion from the association; this exclusion could take the form of a kind of communal ‘exile’ in which the migrant’s name was listed or, to put it more bluntly, blacklisted in the Japanese-language press. 51

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Maeyama’s argument depends on two fragile assumptions. First, it requires one to accept that Japanese were quite separate from Brazilians; otherwise, the more one transcended the immediate Japanese community, the weaker became the threat of ‘exile’. Yet, as we have already seen, there were Japanese at the level of city, town, and settlement living comfortably among non-Japanese. Second, it assumes that Japanese associations were both subservient to the consular authorities and effective in regulating their members. One of the most obvious features of Japanese associations in Brazil during the 1920s and 1930s, however, is their ongoing internal disputes and rivalries. This led the Nippaku Shimbun to dismiss associations on Japanese settlements in general as patently valueless, serving only to give status to the lazy or ambitious, and to promote nineteenthcentury ideas of power-holding and patronage (Miura instead proposed an urban consumer union as the most modern form of civic association in which everyone would have a vested interest). According to the Nambei Shimpo newspaper in mid-1931, the parallel was actually closer to the first stumbling years of the Meiji polity in Japan, and it reported that settlements hard hit by the impact of the great depression were still tearing themselves apart as factions competed to have their members elected to positions in the local Japan association.52 Rivalries and open conflict among or between Japanese civic associations were not restricted to rural Brazil. A Japanese health and welfare group, Dojinkai, was established at Sao Paulo city in the early 1920s, but the provincial Seishu Shimpo attacked this as a smokescreen to deflect legitimate migrant anger at the Japanese emigration authorities; it also questioned whether provincial migrants would end up paying for the Dojinkai’s planned metropolitan hospital when they would be the ones least able to benefit from its services. In Sao Paulo city, there was such a division between the wealthier Japanese of the Japan Club and their poorer compatriots in the so-called Doshikai that, in 1927, the consul-general felt compelled to intervene. As a result, an ostensibly united Japan Society was created. When an attempt was made by the consul-general in 1937, however, to create a Brazilian Central Japan Society to unify and control what then amounted to over 450 separate such groups across Brazil, the head of the Sao Paulo Japan Society unilaterally issued a denunciation of the project, and was in turn publicly abandoned by his members. The

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level of disunity or incompetence shown by Japanese associations in the 1920s and 1930s was such that some observers now looked to the Okinawans as a model. Following its earlier difficulties, the Okinawan community in Brazil had established in mid-1926 its own general association, the Kyuyokai. This was under the presidency of Onaga Sukenari and with men such as Shiroma Zenkichi, later historian of the Okinawans in Brazil, among its directors. Its stated aims included the promotion of social contact between Japanese and Brazilians as well as other foreign communities in Brazil, and to encourage spoken ability among its members both in Japanese and Portuguese. By the start of the 1930s, it was the largest of all Japanese associations with over 30 branches and, as of mid-1934, a total membership of 2325. In a marked turnaround in attitudes, it was also highly respected by other Japanese for its efficiency.53 Having said that, the poor relations earlier between Japanese and Okinawans in Brazil made it arguably the association least likely to seek or take direction from the consulate-general. An understanding of the sometimes troubled link between the consular authorities and the expatriate community becomes clearer if we look at education. In the late 1930s, this was to be something of an ideological battleground between the Japanese authorities, who wanted to mobilise expatriate assistance for the war effort in China, and some of the migrants who insisted on a more diverse and liberal schooling for their children. It is a commonplace of writings on the Japanese overseas in general that one of their first acts was to establish a school. There is no reason to argue with this. However, the first attempt to set a policy for Japanese schools in Brazil came only in March 1927. At the prompting of Consul-General Akamatsu, a meeting of more than 60 persons involved with Japanese schools was scheduled over two days at the Sao Paulo city consulate. These people were drawn from across the state. The aim of the meeting was to decide a united policy for all expatriate Japanese primary schools and to consider the process of compiling textbooks more relevant to children growing up in Brazil (schools to that point were reliant on texts imported from Japan). In the event, severe disagreement among delegates and oratorical grandstanding from some speakers meant that the meeting had to be extended to a third day. The Nippaku Shimbun described the gathering overall as little more than a tea party (if a very unsatisfactory and discontented one) and noted that

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its original sponsor, the consul-general, failed to make an appearance on the third day. The only tangible outcome of the discussions was the creation of ten branches of the Brazilian Japanese Educational Society.54 Thus, the system and content of education for Japanese in Brazil remained unsettled and was to spark controversy among migrants until the end of the 1930s. One of the most forcefully expressed arguments on expatriate education from the mid-1920s came in Professor Takaoka’s influential book. Takaoka reminded Japanese migrants that, under a Brazilian law of 1921, primary schools run in a language other than Portuguese were technically illegal and were allowed to exist only because of Brazilian tolerance. He noted the case of German immigrants to Brazil: in his view, they had arrived in the late nineteenth century with a condescending attitude towards Brazilian culture and, as a consequence, had built their own German-language schools. Takaoka interpreted this as a kind of imperialistic arrogance and believed this had led Brazilians both to fear and dislike the German community. He called on Japanese migrants to avoid the same error. He described a purely Japanese-language education in Brazil as appropriate solely to those whose intention was short-term residence followed by a return to Japan; to those intending to remain in Brazil in the longterm, it was, he argued, simply illogical. In line with other writers at the time, Takaoka encouraged migrants to become good citizens of Brazil and to be satisfied with teaching their children only enough of the Japanese script as was necessary to communicate with relatives back in Japan. 55 A similar view of expatriate schooling was advocated in mid-1925 by the Nippaku Shimbun. In its editorial of 31 July, it noted that most migrants, whatever their plans upon arrival, ultimately stayed on in Brazil. Consequently, to insist on a purely Japanesestyle education, as if Brazil did not exist, was counter-productive. As the editor expressed it, ‘My honest opinion is that Japanese primary schools in Brazil should give first priority to Brazilian education and rank Japanese after this as just one foreign language’. In a point of major consequence for the discussion of Japanese nationalism, the editorial went on to argue that Japanese values could be taught through the Portuguese language. In other words, language was not symmetrical with culture and a native speaker of Portuguese was not, by definition, a non-Japanese. In a related view, Arima Tetsunosuke, the owner of a new Japanese-language monthly, Nogyo no Burajiru

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(Agricultural Brazil), stated his intention to minimise and ultimately eliminate from his publication the complex Chinese characters imported centuries earlier as the basis of the Japanese written form. Instead, he proposed to rely on the simpler kana script but to set this in the Western-style, that is, running from left to right and placed in horizontal rather than vertical lines. His reasoning here was that the script as it stood required too much time to learn and was an obstacle to becoming what he described as a ‘global Japanese’. 56 From the Japanese-language newspapers in Brazil over the entire period from the 1910s to the end of the 1930s, the indication is that the ritual of sport, far more than that of emperor worship, was the real socio-cultural glue bonding a largely young expatriate community. News of competitions among migrant Japanese and in Japan itself filled the pages of the various newspapers. This was particularly to be the case in the 1930s as the Olympics managed through radio and film to reach an ever larger audience. One of the most insistent ideas behind the modern Olympics, of course, was international engagement. This link between sport and internationalism was already being expressed by Japanese in Brazil in the 1920s. As the Nippaku Shimbun stated in an editorial in 1927, sport in the modern world went beyond leisure to form an integral part of a society and a marker of its cultural development. The sporting progress of Japan was evident in the success of its athletes already challenging for world records in swimming and running; this success was to receive global recogniton at the Los Angeles Olympics in 1932 and in Berlin in 1936. By contrast, the editorial argued, Brazil seemed as yet to be lagging behind in the sporting field. The one exception was soccer which, in part as a means to keep young men out of trouble, had been promoted from the turn of the century and had reached such a fever pitch of popular enthusiasm by the 1920s that Tsuji Kotaro in his book repeatedly encouraged Japanese migrants to establish a soccer team. However, the view of the Nippaku was that Japanese migrants could play an active role in promoting the culture of sport and its values in Brazil, thereby gaining respect for their own modernity and sporting skills. The end result would be a harmonising of the host and expatriate communities through physical activity. One obstacle yet to be hurdled, however, was a lack of facilities and organisation. The Mikado Club of Sao Paulo city in the mid-1920s had neither a training ground nor much in the way of equipment

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while the Japan Club was more a social than a sports group; it possessed a splendid tennis court as much for reasons of middle-class prestige as strenuous activity and, when this was opened in mid-1926 in a country location 40 minutes by train from the city, the organisers held an opening ceremony and arranged for crowds of Japanese to be driven to attend. 57 The consequence of these limitations, however, was that Japanese sport in Brazil, and competition between Japanese and Brazilians, tended to grow only late in the 1920s. There were two areas of sport which dominated the Japanese community; baseball and athletics. The craze for baseball in Japan itself, and the predominance of young male migrants, perhaps made it inevitable that this became arguably the major form of expatriate communal leisure, to the extent that some Brazilians referred to it as ‘the Japanese game’. The development of a baseball network among Japanese in Brazil began in the years 1923–25 when the Mikado Club formed a team and was joined in a rudimentary form of competition by two other teams created among Japanese. Also in 1923, a team of Japanese from Rio invited its Sao Paulo compatriots to a three-way tournament with a local American club; this proved to be a rare example of Japanese playing non-Japanese in so far as baseball was never able to compete with soccer among Brazilians. A new level of organisation was reached in 1925 with the creation of a Brazilian– Japanese Baseball Association. This was made possible by financial support from Japanese hoteliers and traders in Sao Paulo such as the Hiroshimaya Inn, Nakaya Traders, and Sugimoto Honosuke of the Casa Tokyo furniture store. The indications are that this remained a small association despite its grand name; in November 1925, it reneged on a payment owed to the Mikado Club for six new balls on the grounds that funds had already been exhausted. From October 1926, however, a three-team league of Mikado, Registro and Alianca fought for the title of Brazilian–Japanese champion, with Mikado defeating Alianca in the final. The resulting popularity of this league system was in part fuelled by rivalries between ‘town’ and ‘country’ and teams were soon established across the Japanese migrant community, notably at Lins in the Noroeste and Bastos in the Sorocabana regions. A local Noroeste competition was initiated from 1932–33 involving such teams as Alianca, Tiete and Lins. These years were described at the time as the golden age of provincial baseball. With this urban and regional growth, an All-Brazil Competition was

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started from 1936 in which, up to 1941 and the subsequent interruption of war, Tiete and Sao Paulo city were the great rivals (Tiete winning in 1936 and 1939, Sao Paulo in 1937, 1940 and 1941).58 Baseball quickly became the most popular sport among expatriate Japanese in Brazil but the lack of Brazilian teams made it a poor forum for mutual understanding; at best, Brazilians in the provinces may have gone along to watch a game between Japanese clubs. Other sports enjoyed varying levels of interest both among Japanese and Brazilians. Tennis, for example, was popular as a marker of middleclass leisure and the first formal match was in 1930 between two Japanese clubs from Rio and Sao Paulo city. Perhaps inspired by the success of a Japanese player in reaching the Wimbledon semi-finals both in 1932 and 1933, tennis was to enjoy a boom among the regional expatriate community across the Noroeste region; in 1938, Japanese settlers at Bastos were to issue a challenge to a regional Brazilian team at the town of Marilia and it may be that only distance in the vast interior prevented more matches of this sort. In swimming, the achievements of Japanese competitors at the Los Angeles Olympics inspired the Brazilian navy team in 1934 to invite a coach from Japan; this was Saito Kiyo and, based at Rio de Janeiro, he was soon to assist Brazilian swimmers in setting new national and South American records. 59 The most frequent contact between Japanese and Brazilians, however, came through athletics. In an early example, six members of the Mikado Club had participated in the 1921 Sao Paulo marathon, the best coming a very creditable twelfth. As with baseball, the consolidation of an athletics organisation was to be achieved in the 1930s with All-Brazil tournaments for Japanese migrants being held throughout the decade. The Burajiru Jiho in 1931 took up the idea that sporting success brought respect for Japanese from Brazilians. This respect extended both across generations and other ethnic groups: for example, the third so-called ‘Children’s Olympics’ was organised in 1934 by the long-established Germania Sports Club and it made a point of inviting Japanese athletes between the ages of 12 and 16. The achievements of these children, 11 collecting medals and one setting a record in the javelin event, was proudly recorded in the Japanese-language press.60 Competition between Japanese and Brazilian athletics clubs also increased in the 1930s. The first athletics meeting of Brazilians and Japanese was held in Sao Paulo city

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in November 1933, with Japanese triumphant in five of the 13 events. In 1937, a challenge was issued to the Japanese migrant athletics federation by the equivalent student body at the University of Sao Paulo. Similar meetings were held between Brazilian clubs and those of Japanese migrants in the Noroeste. Observing such a meeting at Aracatuba in the deepest part of the Noroeste in 1936, the Nambei Shimpo newspaper claimed, ‘How peaceful are the eyes of those who compete and those who watch them competing. Here there is no inequality of the races nor difference of class. Instead, there is the reality of universalism’. Attacking those who wanted stronger Japanese migrant associations as representative of an ‘island mentality’, the editorial made it clear that real success for the Japanese expatriate community was indivisible from that of the Brazilian people. 61

Images of home In concluding this chapter on the 1920s, it may be useful to ask what were some of the images of Japan and Brazil appearing among the expatriate community before the shock to both countries of the Great Depression and, with it, the rise in Brazil of more restrictive labour and immigration policies. The first thing to say here is that the dominant image of Japan was unchanging from the late 1920s well into the 1930s. Above everything, it was of crippling unemployment and hardship. On 28 October 1927, the Nippaku Shimbun catalogued the troubles back in Japan: an annual population increase reaching one million even as the figure for the jobless hit the same mark, thus undermining wages at the very moment that textiles, Japan’s principal export industry, were being severely damaged by competition from cheaper Chinese and Indian wares. In the months before the Wall Street collapse, the impression grew only bleaker. The Burajiru Jiho on 11 July 1929 quoted a home ministry official in Japan confessing openly that government attempts to help find work for the unemployed and to promote construction projects were simply inadequate; the report asked the question, if things continued like this, where would Japan be heading? There were explicit fears of social disarray with some migrant papers suggesting a link between unemployment and a rise in the murder rate. Petty crime was also spreading. In the same issue of the Burajiru Jiho from July 1929, it was reported that a Japanese insurance company had become the first to insure

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bicycles (at a cost of two yen each); the reason for this was that, of the 400 000 bicycles in Tokyo, about 20 000 were the target of thieves and the impact was perhaps comparable in seriousness to the theft of cars in a later age. By 1935, the Nippaku Shimbun was to ask whether this was not truly the age of crime in Japan.62 Thus, in the peak years of emigration to Brazil, any desire on the part of migrants to return to Japan was being eroded by the adverse social and economic situation they were leaving behind. Of course, this also made their new home in Brazil seem relatively more attractive. It is generally believed that Japanese migrants arrived in Brazil with the intention of making money and then leaving. As a Nippaku Shimbun editorial explained late in 1924, the common hope was to become rich in Brazil and live in idleness back in Japan. The editorial condemned this as making oneself no more than a slave to money. Rather, it insisted, Japanese must ‘see the world as a home and not as something to be feared so that we can enjoy a better life no matter where we are and raise the prestige of our people; if we do not do this, we cannot be a country which dispatches emigrants’. The persistence of this ‘dekasegi’ mentality, however, was noted by Tsuji Kotaro during his visit late in the 1920s. Yet Tsuji and other writers such as Takaoka Kumao joined with the migrant press in promoting a more sophisticated world view; as Tsuji phrased it, ‘the Japan of the far east, the Japan of Asia, must become the Japan of the world’. To this end, he worked to persuade migrants on his ship from Japan to think of Brazil as their second home (dai-ni no kokyo), not merely a workplace. Using those on board with experience of Brazil and then heading back to Santos, Tsuji roused the company to practise the Brazilian national anthem (which they performed for their hosts upon arrival) and, while at sea, they also celebrated Brazilian Independence Day on 7 September. 63 Once in Brazil, Japanese immigrants were exposed to the vastness of the land, the beauty and wealth of the major cities, and the tolerance of the people. They were freed from the direct control of the Japanese government and also the bonds of family and neighbours; Maeyama Takashi has described the shock for Japanese of emigration without recognising the possibilities for liberation. The fact that they were not Brazilian citizens also removed from them any political responsibility. This is not to say that Japanese migrants were indifferent to Brazilian politics. In contrast to the claim of Handa Tomoo that the

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expatriate press was dominated by news from Japan, in fact, there were detailed reports of political trends with biographies of major Brazilian politicians and analysis especially of any incoming federal government. In late 1926, for example, the Nippaku Shimbun described the incoming president, Dr Washington Luis, as someone both known to Japanese migrants and, rather exceptional in Brazilian politics, knowledgeable about and sympathetic towards them from his time as Sao Paulo state premier. This suggested that the Japanese community could enjoy stability under his regime but, as the article warned, ‘at the moment our migrants are free to enter the country in droves (doshi doshi) but to assume this will continue for ever more is a grave mistake: it is in times of quiet rather that caution is needed’. 64 The majority of Brazilians themselves lacked the right to vote or even to influence the so-called ‘coffee and milk alliance’, that is, the economic and political oligarchy of the coffee-growers of Sao Paulo state and the cattlemen of Minas Gerais. In Brazil’s first constitution of 1891, the franchise had been restricted to literate adult Brazilian males and, by 1936, there were to be 485 000 voters in Sao Paulo but that was just seven per cent of the state population at the time. On three occasions between 1922 and 1926, there were to be violent challenges to this oligarchy by army rebels. Amid the 1922 disorder, it was said that some Japanese were among the mobs that looted shops and destroyed vehicles. However, the view of the wider Japanese community in this period may have been typified by the comment of the Nambei Shimpo during the revolt of 1930, ‘as foreigners, we do not wish to enter into the political disputes of this country and, moreover, the reality is that we cannot do so’. 65 Having said that, the adult male population in Japan, newly enfranchised as of 1925, also had relatively little say in the decisions of Tokyo. Instead, cabinets during the 1920s were routinely described as the mouthpiece of one or other of the two great economic combines, Mitsui and Mitsubishi. Moreover, the violent involvement of the Brazilian army in politics was to have parallels in Japan during the 1930s. Japanese observers of Brazilian society in the 1920s generally liked what they saw. Tsuji, for example, echoed the praise of American and British travellers for Sao Paulo city. He was impressed by its independence memorial, its museum and parks, and felt in its streets the presence both of history and prosperity (his only major criticism was reserved for the discomfort of second-class seats, or more accurately

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benches, on state trains). The migrant press also commented favourably and at length on major ceremonial events in Brazil: the Burajiru Jiho in September 1929 gave a detailed account of the 107th national independence day celebration, involving the state governor and a military review of troops and patriotic militia, and considered this an illustration of the enormous leaps being made each year by the country. There was further respect for Brazilian achievements in urban organisation and in dealing with a rapidly expanding population in the major cities. There was interest in Brazilian customs such as ways of doing business or the Sunday promenade. There was also an ongoing concern among the expatriates to understand Brazilian manners. Thus, the Nippaku Shimbun in 1937 was to run a series of articles explaining norms of politeness in such matters as the handshake.66 One aspect of Brazilian society which attracted migrant attention in the 1920s was education. It may be an unquestioned truism of discourse in Japan that, wherever migrants went, they immediately established schools, and that Brazilians were more interested in religion or amusement. This distinction in attitudes towards schooling was to emerge in a rather brutally cynical saying in Brazil in the 1950s–60s: at a time when ethnic Japanese students occupied about ten per cent of university places in Sao Paulo city, some Brazilians were alleged to say, ‘If you want to go to a good university, don’t knock yourself out studying, just kill one Japanese’.67 The progressiveness of Brazilian urban education in the 1920s, however, has been ignored in the Japanese-language histories. This was not entirely the case with the migrant press. Instead, the Burajiru Jiho in 1929 gave front-page prominence to the work of a new school, the Escola de Debeis, founded by the Sao Paulo state government in co-operation with the local Rotary Club. The feature of this school was that it stressed physical development, using half of the eight-hour school-day for physical activities, conducting lessons outside whenever possible, while also carefully monitoring the diet of pupils and increasing their daily meals from two to three. This image of scientific, modern approaches to urban education in 1920s Brazil was reinforced by the travel writer Frank Carpenter when he noted that plans for new schools in Sao Paulo city had to be approved by physicians who tested their appropriateness for light and the shape and spacing of desks and chairs.68 In this sense once again, the worlds of Brazil and Japan were not so far apart as some may have believed.

4 Expanding: the Japanese Community, 1930–36

Both for Japan and Brazil, the history of the 1930s can be split into the period before and after 1937. In that year, Japan commenced an undeclared but all-out war in China while Brazil, for its part, witnessed a coup in office by President Vargas and the start of a more assertively nationalistic regime which was to continue into the mid-1940s. These two events inevitably led to increased pressure on the loyalties and self-definition of the expatriate Japanese community in Brazil. Consequently, the years between 1937 and 1940 deserve fuller attention in a separate chapter. Even before 1937, however, Japan and Brazil were embarking on similar paths. In both societies, there was a new level of violence and unrest in the political system, and the economic impact of the Great Depression exacerbated public desires for strong action to restore a feeling of stability and security. In the case of Japan, this led to armed expansion on the Asian continent; in Brazil, it resulted in a marked tightening of immigration policy. Each of these changes had wide-ranging implications for the Japanese in Brazil. Despite the unsettled political and economic environment of the years 1930–36, however, the expatriate community was numerically to reach new heights, in Brazil’s economy to achieve a new and broader prominence, and culturally to become more organised and diverse.

Responses to the Great Depression Within Brazil, the trends of rising political violence and centralisation of government in the 1930s may be seen as a product of the 97

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Great Depression. This struck directly at the country’s primary export, coffee; prices in 1929–31 are said to have fallen by nearly 300 per cent. Even as overseas sales contracted and those to the US virtually disappeared, Brazil faced competition from other producers, notably Colombia and Africa, as they muscled their way into what remained of the global coffee trade. Vast stockpiles of Brazilian coffee were destroyed in an attempt to maintain prices and, in 1932, the Sao Paulo state government, as in previous years of low returns, banned the planting of new coffee trees. According to a leading historian of modern Brazil, E. Bradford Burns, these events signalled the end of the so-called coffee civilisation, that is, a society whose progress, prosperity, and political arrangements were largely directed by the coffee crop. 1 Although coffee plantations remained important, especially in the economy of Sao Paulo, the imperative from this time was for agrarian producers to diversify. In this, they were to be supported by the new federal government which seized power in 1930 and which was to promote new policies of economic and cultural nationalism over the ensuing decade. The decline in coffee’s status helped to bring about rapid change in Brazil’s political system. The ‘coffee and milk’ oligarchy of Sao Paulo and Minas Gerais was based on its domination of Brazil’s national wealth. In the 1920s, there had been armed but unsuccessful challenges to this oligarchy. In 1930, however, the states thus far excluded from power came together in alliance and, late in 1930, managed through force of arms to install as president, Getulio Vargas, the former governor of Brazil’s southernmost state, Rio Grande do Sul. During the revolt, Japanese migrants could only wait to observe the outcome; hostilities blocked the communications network and left some of the interior settlements such as Alianca effectively cut off from the outside world so the hope no doubt was simply for an early resolution. There were probably few Japanese who knew much of Vargas by direct experience but his victory was widely acclaimed in Brazil. This was true even in Sao Paulo city despite the fact that Sao Paulo and Minas Gerais appeared to be the major losers in the revolt. The reason for his popularity was that he promised a fresh start and perhaps a new response to the economic hardships caused by the depression. Vargas was to be the most powerful president in modern Brazil and to hold that office, in the first instance, until 1945. Little or nothing is said of him as a person in Japanese-language histories from the 1970s–90s

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except that he became either a dictator or semi-dictator (how one can be a semi-dictator is not explained) and that he oversaw policies of repression which compelled Japanese migrants rapidly to assimilate into Brazilian society. We will return to this latter issue in the following chapter. For the moment, however, it might be useful to know something about the president of a country receiving a flood of Japanese immigrants in the early years of his rule. The principal historian of the Vargas regime, Robert Levine, offers a lively description of what, on the surface, was a curiously undynamic leader:2 A pedestrian figure unmarked by personal eloquence, Vargas worked late over administrative matters and avoided public exposure. His five-foot-four-inch rotund figure clothed in baggy white linen suits and his fondness for small jokes and black cigars invited newsmen to parody his personal appearance . . . Taking up golf in the mid-1930s, he laughed at his helplessness – but he used the fairways for private negotiations. He frequently sounded out his aides on political issues during midnight poker sessions. He attended only one opera in his life, a Wagnerian performance at the Municipal Theatre which he left after the first curtain . . . As president, he proved himself neither liberal nor inflexibly conservative. He supervised innovation, but he did not become known as an innovator; rather, he exploited existing trends, and rarely created new ones. While the federal government under Vargas was indeed to tighten restrictions on immigration, and thus to exert a major influence on the Japanese community, the personality of the president was perhaps not so difficult for Japanese to comprehend: in his lack of public charisma, his lack of pretension, his preference for discussions in secluded arenas ( Japanese politicians usually preferred the closed-off rooms of a restaurant), and his practice of riding change rather than generating it, he was of a political type very common in Japan. To that extent, then, the Japanese in Brazil perhaps felt relatively optimistic about the chance of working with the Vargas regime and avoiding any extremism such as a blanket ban on all immigration or attacks on migrant freedoms to own land and engage in business. One of the further consequences of the Great Depression and of the increasing violence of Brazilian politics, however, was the rise of

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militant xenophobia. Its most obvious manifestation was the Integralist party, founded in Sao Paulo city in 1932 by the noted modernist author, Plinio Salgado. In the background to this fascist-inspired group was the increasing disenchantment of Brazil’s middle class in general with immigration and Europeanisation. The Integralist motto was ‘God, country, family’, and it listed as Brazil’s principal enemies democrats, communists, masons and Jews.3 In 1920, the proportion of the Brazilian population born overseas was less than five per cent and the figure declined thereafter so, in the 1930s, the issue for the xenophobes was less about immigrant numbers and more about the intangible, and therefore infinitely more frightening, realm of culture and values; as with all fascist societies and parties, the goal was cultural strength through unity. While the Integralists neither targeted immigrant Japanese specifically, nor enjoyed real political power, their activities and the influence in Brazil of European extremist ideologies may have made it easier for the minority of anti-Japanese advocates to influence decision-making in the 1930s. As in the 1920s, however, there was to be as much tolerance as intolerance. The dominant idea on race in 1930s Brazil was to be defined by the young intellectual from Pernambuco in Brazil’s northeast, Gilberto Freyre, in his 1933 study The Masters and the Slaves. In this, Brazilians as a whole were encouraged to recognise the African contribution to their culture, to take pride in having a true multi-racial society far ahead in terms of ethnic tolerance compared with the United States or Europe, and to see themselves as inhabiting a ‘new world in the tropics’. This was the view officially supported by the Vargas government.4 For Japan, the economic and social damage caused by the Great Depression gave only added urgency to the national policy of emigration. Brazil remained a favoured destination because of the existing Japanese presence, the ongoing tolerance of the people at large, and the continued availability of land and work. Indeed, there was a view in the migrant press that Brazil, relative to the US or industrial Europe, had been protected from the worst of the depression because its economy was as yet largely agrarian. Thus, notwithstanding the fall in coffee prices, the country at the start of 1934 could still be described by the Burajiru Jiho as a ‘paradise for workers’. By this time, the Japanese government had already taken further action and, from 1932, increased its subsidies to emigrants, providing an extra 50 yen


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as preparation monies for all those over 12 years of age.5 With this further incentive, and the comparison being made in print and on film between Brazil as a land of opportunity and Japan as an overcrowded society hit hard by recession, the numbers sailing in the early 1930s from Kobe to Santos and other Brazilian ports reached unprecedented levels (see Table 4.1). One thing to note in passing is that the bare statistics for those departing Japan do not tell the entire story of emigration to Brazil at this time. A report in the migrant press explained that some 38 000 applicants had been medically examined by the authorities at Kobe in 1932–33 and, of these, about ten per cent had been rejected, many of them suffering from trachoma. While the question of health was obviously vital in maintaining free access for Japanese migrants to Brazil, there was an unintended consequence for Kobe itself of this medical stringency. Of those passed unfit, an estimated 2500 remained in the city at the end of 1933: many had either already sold all their possessions in the expectation of emigrating or hoped to overcome their ailment and apply again. It would seem reasonable to suggest, however, that an accumulating population of impoverished and sickly would-be migrants in Kobe left a bleak final impression of Japan on those who did sail for Brazil and may have coloured any desire they might have to return.6 Despite the more active role of the Japanese government in promoting emigration, and the larger financial incentives it offered, Table 4.1 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941

Japanese migrants to Brazil 1930–41 14 076 5 632 11 678 24 494 21 930 9 611 3 306 4 457 2 524 1 414 1 268 1 458

Source: Shiroma Zenkichi, Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, p. 160.

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there remained a well-pool of migrant discontent towards the authorities. Officials were accused of failing to provide adequate information on the situation in Brazil, and also of being lax in policing those in Japan responsible for recruiting migrants. One criticism was of local emigration agents who sought quick and easy profits, and tried to exploit the fears of potential migrants by warning them that they might miss out on the next sailing if they did not sign up immediately. The lack of humanity of such agents was described by one complainant who wrote, ‘they think of dispatching migrants in just the same way as one would dispatch live goods’. In the same vein, there was a view that the sole reason for sending one overseer per migrant vessel was solely to ensure that the ‘livestock’ survived the journey and, upon arrival, was ready for work.7 This resentment towards officials or entrepreneurs was a recurring feature of the Japanese emigration business, whether it involved Brazil or other destinations. One outcome of this uneasy relationship was that some Japanese migrants came to think of themselves as ‘discarded people’ (kimin). This term has been interpreted to mean that they were mainly the unwanted members of Japanese society, especially the younger sons of farm families for whom there was nothing in the way of land or capital to inherit. However, as much as anything else, the term indicates the sense of migrants that they had to survive through their own efforts, and that the Japanese government could not be relied upon to assist them beyond the payment of travel and start-up costs in Brazil. Two things at least worked in favour of the Japanese once they arrived in Brazil. First, according to one contemporary observer, they were so remote from Japan that they felt compelled to be patient and work through hardships until finally they achieved success. Second, they became reasonably well-informed on the markets and conditions of Brazil (in this, the migrant press was undoubtedly a major resource) and they proved themselves adaptable. In the 1920s, Japanese settlers had moved into the coffee economy, attracted by the good returns still on offer and utilising the skills some of them had gained as contract labour on coffee plantations. At this time, there were concerns that Japanese growers in general concentrated on volume over quality, and had been over-hasty in trying to extend their lands without adequate capital. In correcting this, the rise of agricultural co-operatives in the 1930s helped to stabilise the financial base of


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expatriate farmers. Moreover, Japanese were quick to see the value of diversifying their crops. By the mid-1930s, many had begun shifting to cotton production and gained a lead in what was being called ‘the white gold rush’. In 1935, half of all the cotton produced in the state of Sao Paulo came from Japanese cultivators, a figure to be repeated in 1939.8 Cotton was to become one of Brazil’s major exports in the 1930s. It also rose to prominence in trade between Brazil and Japan. Figures for 1934 show Latin America as a whole occupied a relatively minor place in Japan’s overall economy: it took just under five per cent of Japanese exports but provided only one per cent of Japan’s imports. The bilateral trade, however, was already rising rapidly compared with levels before the Great Depression. Part of the reason for this was the first shipment of Sao Paulo cotton to Japan in mid-1934. From about this time, Japan purchased raw cotton, wool, petrol, minerals and meat, plus sizable volumes of coffee, and largely sold varieties of textiles in return. In 1936, however, there was to be a massive increase in its purchase of Brazilian cotton. As a result, Japan actually superseded Germany and Britain in the first half of 1937 to become Brazil’s primary market for cotton exports. In this regard, it would seem entirely reasonable to assume that expatriate Japanese growers demonstrated their value to observant Brazilians.9 The human exchange between Japan and Brazil in the 1930s was influenced both by politics within Brazil and by geo-politics across East Asia. In the latter case, it was violence by the Japanese army stationed in the Manchurian province of northeast China which proved decisive. Since the Russo-Japanese war, Japan had enjoyed the lease of territory in southern Manchuria plus local rail and commercial rights which it protected with its own forces. What it singularly proved unable to do, however, was to attract large numbers of Japanese to settle in the region. The resurrection in China in the late 1920s of a relatively stable central government after years of civil war seemed to threaten Japan’s position on the continent. Consequently, members of the Japanese army in Manchuria chose to fabricate a pretext for armed action which allowed them to seize control over the whole of Manchuria. A client state named Manchukuo was established and the last emperor of the earlier Qing dynasty of China was installed by the Japanese army as nominal ruler. This military aggression was condemned by the League of Nations, an

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early form of the UN, and, in response, Japan quit the organisation in 1933 (Brazil had already withdrawn in 1926 on the grounds that the League was dominated by European governments). The Manchurian incident and its aftermath had two immediate consequences for the Japanese in Brazil. First, it increased the existing fears of a coming war: within the expatriate community, the prospect of a war between Japan and one of the great Western powers was constantly being revisited in the early to mid-1930s. The assumption was that Japan would be confronted by one of the US, Russia or Britain (the idea of war with China was relatively less alarming). Thus, there were books imported to Brazil by Japanese traders with titles about the glories of the Japanese armed forces but also the likelihood of war with the US or of an invasion of Japan by the Soviet Union. In general, the greatest fear in the migrant press was of the US; as the Nambei Shimpo had already suggested on New Year’s day 1930, the US was ‘a deeply avaricious country’ and might well go to war with Japan over affairs in China. The attitude of Japanese newspapers in Brazil in these years, however, was to avoid conflict with any of the major powers. At the same time, there was a move to help strengthen Japan’s defences; a campaign to send donations for Japanese aircraft manufacture, for example, produced over 10 contos by its deadline in July 1933.10 Second, in the wake of the Manchurian incident, the authorities in Japan, and especially the Japanese army, began energetically promoting agricultural settlement to the regions of Manchuria now more firmly under their control. The goal here was to boost Japan’s physical presence in the area and to use agrarian settlers as a kind of supplementary defence force. As a result, Manchuria in the early 1930s became, at least in the eyes of officialdom, the ‘new paradise’ of Japanese migration. A less sanguine view was expressed by at least one migrant to Brazil who noted that Japanese farmers or farm workers could never hope to compete with the low wages accepted by Chinese in Manchuria. This did not deter one of the leading publicists of emigration in Japan, Nagata Cho, who argued in 1933 that the twin national goals for Japan were the creation of a new state in Manchuria and, in South America, a new model for world civilisation under Japanese leadership. Perhaps unknowingly echoing the theme of the Peruvian journalist’s 1925 article, Nagata insisted that the ‘mild character’ and lack of a strong national identity among Brazilians


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would allow Japanese peacefully to assume control over the country’s cultural direction. 11 If heard by Brazilians, however, such statements could only harm the interests of the expatriate Japanese and were less likely to be repeated by the migrant press. The Manchurian incident alone served to remind some foreigners of the link between Japan and imperialism. According to a major reference work on the Japanese in Brazil, this was evident in the Portuguese-language press, at least in the case of the Jornal do Comercio; previously a supporter of Japanese immigration, it apparently shifted overnight to support the anti-Japanese lobby.12 In 1932, any wider Brazilian fear of Japanese aggression may have been strengthened by the first overt involvement by Japanese migrants in Brazilian local unrest. This came in the armed uprising by Sao Paulo state forces against the Vargas regime. One of the leading centres for the organisation of the Sao Paulo army was the Law School and among its students were a number of second-generation Japanese migrants who aided the revolt. According to one report at the time, 80 Japanese youths banded together and joined the Sao Paulo army. Japanese residents also formed Red Cross units and collected donations for the rebel cause. Although federal troops regained control of the state by the end of the year, there seem to have been few if any reprisals. There was, however, what appears to have been the first Japanese death in Brazil as a result of political violence: in what may have been an accident, a Dr Yamada Ryuji was shot amid a clash between police and a mob in Sao Paulo city in October 1932. As for the rural expatriate community, the general impact was that settlements were cut off by the disruption to communications (although this apparently brought excellent business to hoteliers, for example in Bauru, when trains were halted) and some Japanese trucks were requisitioned by state forces. However, for those who wished to find evidence of a new militancy either in Japan or among Japanese migrants, the period 1931–32 was potentially very useful.13 1933 was a year of reflection for the Japanese community in Brazil, marking as it did the twenty-fifth anniversary of the first arrivals on the Kasato. In an editorial of 18 June 1933, the Burajiru Jiho offered its thoughts on the intervening years and concluded that the Japanese community overall had been a considerable success. It ascribed this success not to luck or circumstances but to hard work and a spirit of endurance. In the major celebration of expatriates held that same

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day, however, it was clear that the Japanese also recognised the advantage specifically of living in Brazil. A gathering was held in Sao Paulo city of 300 Japanese and Brazilians, including representatives of the state government, military and police, the deputy head of the Brazil Republican Party, and all metropolitan newspapers. Matters began with the singing of both Japanese and Brazilian national anthems followed by speeches from the assembled dignitaries: Kuroishi Seisaku of the Burajiru Jiho represented the expatriate community as a whole, and Shimomoto Kenro (also known as Cassio Kenro Shimomoto), a student at the Law School, spoke in Portuguese on behalf of the second generation. The gathering took place on the site of the planned Japan Hospital and the laying of the building’s foundation stone (accompanied by a Catholic blessing) was also performed that day.14 In that sense, the celebration demonstrated not only the mutual respect enjoyed in 1933 by influential Brazilians and Japanese migrants, it also showed the readiness and ability of Japanese quite literally to cement a place for themselves in Brazil. Beyond this major gathering, Japanese celebrations of their quarter century in Brazil generally revolved around music and sports. A night devoted to Japanese performance was arranged at a Sao Paulo city theatre by migrants in the Music Appreciation Society (Ongaku Dokokai). At the Bastos settlement, coincidentally celebrating its own fifth year, the festivities included an evening of varied music. This commenced with an orchestral version of a Japanese piece commemorating troops killed in the aftermath of the Manchurian incident, Nikudan Sanyushi. This was followed by other works for the traditional Japanese instruments of koto, samisen, and shakuhachi. It also included, however, music for violin and an orchestral performance of something with a local theme, ‘The Great Fields of Brazil’ (Burajiru Õno). At Lins, the migrant youth group put on an even more diverse programme including musicals, comedies such as ‘Coffee Humour’ (Kafee Yumoa), as well as what may be tragedies such as ‘The Policeman’s Tears’ (Keikan no Namida) and ‘The Gallant Cyrano’ (Kyoyu Shirano). Worth noting also is the first judo tournament in Brazil held as part of the anniversary celebrations by the Judo and Kendo League. Among the total of 28 competitors, there were two Brazilians and, in reporting the first round of contests, the Japanesemigrant press noted with real pleasure what it called the ‘marvellous victory’ achieved by one of these.15


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Race fears and constitutional restrictions Amid the political and economic uncertainty of Brazil in the depression years, the surface appearance of expatriate Japanese success, acceptance, and prosperity could be misleading. In 1933–34, there was renewed and increasingly strident debate among Brazilian parliamentarians about the value of immigration and the benefit or danger to Brazilian society of certain ethnic groups. The rapid rise in the number of Japanese immigrants since the late 1920s was further highlighted by the relative decline over the same years in arrivals from Italy and Spain. This was particularly the case in the period 1931–34 when Japanese made up half the total of all migrants entering Brazil. Whatever dissatisfaction may have been felt by the Brazilian middle class about immigration in general, there was still a need to import labour for Brazil’s economic growth and any shift in the balance of races contributed to fears that the demographic process known as ‘whitening’ was in danger of being reversed. This was despite the fact that the longer-term figure for European immigration as a whole continued to outstrip by far that for Japanese or Asians. In the immigration debate, the leading voice in the anti-Japanese lobby was Dr Miguel Couto. Despite his advanced years (he was to die not long after), he and his supporters among men of similar position and attitude campaigned energetically to bring about new legal restrictions on the influx of Japanese migrants. Couto used his status as a doctor of medicine to assert as scientifically proven his arguments against the presence of Japanese and other non-European migrants. In these, he showed that his beliefs had already been fixed a decade earlier; he either ignored or refused to accept as genuine any of the

Table 4.2

Major sources of immigration to Brazil 1906–35 1906–15

Japanese Italian Portuguese Spanish Source:

15 608 187 625 390 226 214 137

Burajiru Jiho, 18 November 1936.

1916–25 25 661 88 689 202 974 87 740

1926–35 132 729 51 121 206 934 37 740

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moves by the Japanese community in the interim to find a place for itself within Brazilian culture. Instead, he and his followers focused on the rural majority of Japanese settlers, denouncing them as clannish, devoted to the emperor in Tokyo, and reluctant to adopt Brazilian ways. As president, Vargas appears to have let the debate run its lengthy course and accepted the agreed tightening of immigration policy. The result was a new constitution in July 1934 in which immigration was to be fixed under a quota system. According to this, the annual migrant intake per ethnic group was not to exceed two per cent of the total over the previous 50 years of those who had arrived and remained in Brazil. Using this calculation, the number of Japanese permitted annually after 1934 was just 2711 new migrants. This amounted approximately to an 80 per cent reduction on the level for the years 1924–34. However, once the constitution was in place and tempers had cooled, the figures were reassessed and, in mid-1935, the formal quota for Japanese immigrants was revised to 2849, then further increased in 1936.16 The 1934 constitution and the arguments of those such as Couto seem, in the view of some Japanese historians, to show that migrants were the victims of Brazilian racism and repression. In contrast, contemporary Japanese observers of the 1933–34 debate generally took a more balanced and understanding position. One author, Inoue Miyaji, published a thoughtful article in Gaiko Jiho, a leading foreign relations journal in Japan. This appeared in January 1935 following his discussions the previous year with various Brazilian politicians, businessmen and other members of the elite. He began by noting judiciously that no country in the world had unrestricted immigration and, therefore, Brazil’s concern about the make-up of its society was perfectly understandable. He also noted that many European migrants to Brazil headed straight for the cities where they threatened to exacerbate the ongoing problem of urban unemployment. In his analysis of how the constitution had come to be passed, Inoue pointed to the fact that roughly one-quarter of all federal parliamentarians were from the medical profession and they, lacking contact with the lives of ordinary Brazilians, had simply been swayed by the passion and energy of Couto. Inoue was also led to believe that some politicians had in part been moved by sympathy for a respected man whom they knew to be approaching the end of his life. As a result, they had failed to consider the issue in any depth. One


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point which Inoue stressed at length, however, was the continuing welcome and respect for Japanese immigrants being shown by many Brazilian politicians and businessmen. For example, a land company in the state of Parana was even then pinning its hopes for success on Japanese arrivals. Among those who spoke to Inoue, some insisted with reason that the constitutional change only restricted and did not end Japanese migration; others in Sao Paulo were already predicting that the restrictions were unworkable and certain to be changed. In this way, Inoue was given to understand that a distinction ultimately would be made in Brazil between the form and substance of the law, a distinction perfectly familiar to his Japaneselanguage readers. 17 The response of the Japanese community in Brazil to the 1934 constitution was mixed. There was a sense of grievance at the accusations made by Couto and others. There were also some who felt that reality no longer justified the rhetoric of Brazilian racial tolerance. Others, however, took the view that it was up to the expatriate community itself to work even harder to win over its Brazilian critics. In this, the migrant press pointed to examples of Japanese assimilation or integration, notably the mixed population of settlements such as Bastos, Tiete, and Registro. The press also argued at length that Japanese settlers posed no danger to anyone, were attached to the land and laws of whatever society they found themselves in, and that, consequently, the restrictions were superfluous. 18 One result of the 1934 constitution, however, was that some Japanese in Brazil began to see parallels with the experience of their compatriots in North America in the 1910s to early 1920s; they feared that here was merely the start of a more serious anti-Japanese movement to which Tokyo would have no response. Indeed, as derogatory remarks about Japanese were expressed in the Brazilian parliament, and laws were passed discriminating against their movement, some migrants turned their anger towards the government in Tokyo. This built on dissatisfaction from the earlier immigration debate of the 1920s. At that time, the Nippaku Shimbun had written that Japanese samurai in the mid-nineteenth century regularly took up arms against insults to the nation: by contrast, it asserted, the ‘samurai’ of the twentieth century appeared only to be dozing.19 In the early 1930s, there was even more reason to fear that the authorities in Japan were not effectively to be roused to defend their expatriates.

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Later historians in Japan naturally stress the anti-Japanese aspect of the revision of Brazil’s constitution. However, in order to understand more fully the context of racism in 1930s Brazil, one needs to acknowledge that there were other targets of the xenophobic minority. For example, one of the principal group of victims of the new quota system was European Jews. Consistent with anti-Semitic beliefs elsewhere, they were painted by some intellectual Brazilians, as well as by the fascist Integralist movement, as agents of a Marxist global economic conspiracy. This made them potentially the most dangerous of immigrants: the Vargas regime throughout the 1930s was at its most aggressive in pursuing communism and protecting Brazil’s nascent industrial capitalism. The paranoia about communism, equally strong in Japan in the same decade, reached a peak in 1935 when the so-called National Liberation Alliance, a group organised by communist party members, reacted to government repression by mounting several bloody uprisings across Brazil. Vargas was to exploit this fear of Jews and communists in 1937: claiming to have discovered a socalled Cohen plan for communist terrorism, the government was to suspend the scheduled presidential election and mount what in effect was a political coup in office. 20 Along with European Jews, immigrants from the Middle East were also subjected to racist vilification and, in 1934, there were press attacks on the immigrant Assyrian community. The terminology used in these attacks was similar to that employed against the Japanese. In particular, it was claimed that they refused to assimilate and posed a racial threat to Brazilian culture. Perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the leading critics of the Assyrian community was Miguel Couto. Among some Brazilians, the outcome of this vilification was also similar: as Jeffrey Lesser puts it, by May 1934, ‘the Assyrians had been transformed from peaceful Christian immigrant farmers into a warlike refugee group that would bring social and economic danger to Brazil’. 21 In the years immediately after the new constitution, the broader attitude of influential Brazilians towards immigrant Japanese remained basically favourable. There were a few who spoke darkly of a Japanese ‘imperalistic’ conspiracy: one Sao Paulo newspaper in 1935 insisted that Japanese settlers (in this case in the Noroeste area) were, ‘exactly like feudal samurai, camped in our lands, the town of Lins already in their hands’, that Japanese migrant children were being trained as warriors, and that Japanese capitalists were buying


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up land and fixing deals such as the current New Orient bridge at Tiete, all with the ‘terrifying spirit of establishing a new Japan’.22 In opposition to this image of samurai, or perhaps of ninja warriors, there were other Brazilian statesmen and intellectuals who stated the obvious: that the Japanese as a community had never challenged the Brazilian state nor was there any Japanese migrant advocating subversion. Moreover, at the very time that Couto and others were calling in parliament for restrictions on Asian entry to Brazil, the state agriculture minister of Minas Gerais was publicly inviting Japanese migrants to his capital, Belo Horizonte, a modern town of about 140 000 in desperate need of its own food supplies. The government of Minas Gerais was so impressed by the Japanese agricultural contribution to Sao Paulo city that it offered free land and other means of assistance to entice Japanese settlers across the border.23 Praise was also offered in federal parliament in 1936 by a Senator Martins, representative from the large central western state of Mato Grosso do Sul. He noted the labours of Japanese first in building the railway to the state capital, Campo Grande, and then in shifting into local agriculture; as a direct result, he argued, Campo Grande enjoyed productive land and, escaping its earlier dependence on food imports from Sao Paulo, had become instead an exporter of rice and vegetables to other states. Martins also credited Japanese migrants with the modernisation of local business practice through the creation of a producers’ co-operative.24 Thus, to suggest that the Japanese expatriate community was in any way under cultural or political siege after 1934 would be inaccurate. The major impact of the Brazilian change of policy, of course, was on those in Japan who hoped to emigrate. As for those already in Brazil, they had reason for disquiet about the future but they also continued to prosper and receive plaudits for their activities. Whatever disquiet they felt, morever, was shared by other immigrant communities. While Japanese-language scholarship on the migrant community makes much of the 1934 restrictions, it does not consider the question of whether the inflammatory speeches and press articles which surrounded the legislation had any direct impact in promoting racist attacks on Japanese at ground level. We have already noted the competing views on national identity among the Brazilian elite: those attempting to maintain the position of the ‘white’ community and those arguing for fluidity and heterogeneity. However, what of the

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daily contact between Brazilian and Japanese settlers, labourers and others? The overriding impression from the contemporary migrant press is that actual violence against Japanese citizens in Brazil was rare. In explaining this, one must first note that, notwithstanding the sudden increase in Japanese arrivals, there were in real terms only a small number in Brazil at any given time. Moreover, they were concentrated for the most part in rural areas where jobs and land remained freely available. This minimised the risk of any form of rural, or urban, ‘turf war’. Also, while the community as a whole may have been increasing in prosperity, the majority of families remained either farm labourers or settlers working to pay off their debt on small leaseholds. This makes it unlikely that Japanese were popularly resented as somehow exploiting Brazilians. Instead, the incidents of violence reported in the migrant papers generally fell into three categories: petty theft, personal disputes, and sexual assault. The nature of violence between Brazilians and Japanese in the 1930s may become clearer by listing several events. First, there was an incident at the Tiete settlement in April 1934. In this, a Japanese man and woman were murdered by a Brazilian casual farm labourer. No reason was given for the assault and further investigation was made impossible when the assailant was killed in an attempt to capture him. In the Burajiru Jiho report, the labourer’s colour was not identified and the implication was that this was not a racist attack. The incident did attract wider attention, however, as exaggerated reports were sent back to Japan by what one official at the settlement described as irresponsible troublemakers among the expatriate Japanese. At the same time, he did acknowledge that there had been instances of violence at the settlements of Tiete, Bastos and Alianca. Among these was the case of a teenage Brazilian who attempted to rape a Japanese woman in her home at Bastos; according to the press, he had witnessed her alone in her kitchen and had been ‘unable to control his hormones’. The woman was rescued by the intervention of other Japanese settlers and the youth was turned over to the local police.25 A more common reason for violence was robbery. In 1936, a Japanese settlement near the rail station of Marilia in the Alta Paulista region was the victim of frequent burglaries. In response, the settlers formed security patrols and purchased their own firearms. On one occasion, a weapon was stolen by a Brazilian male employed as a


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butcher; when challenged to return it, a stand-off resulted between the butcher with his Brazilian friends and a group of settlers. Most of the Japanese withdrew rather than fight but one young man held his ground and was shot to death. The incident appears to have ended there and, in its essentials, to have been a matter of property rather than race. In a similar fashion, a gang of robbers terrorised a Japanese settlement near Birigui in the fall of 1936. On one occasion, an elderly Japanese couple were beaten and killed, while a friend staying with them was grievously injured. In response, the state police investigated and, although arresting thirteen suspects and killing two, two officers also died in the pursuit. It is worth mentioning that the Burajiru Jiho report expressed equal sympathy for the two dead policemen as for the two dead settlers, and a campaign for donations to the police widows was set up by the Japanese at Birigui. 26 These and similar incidents suggest that violence against Japanese was more common on the settlements because of the relative isolation either of individuals or of the settlements themselves. As far as the migrant press was concerned, however, there was no sense that Japanese were being targeted on grounds of race. Moreover, Japanese settlers were either ready and able in most cases to defend themselves, or to seek protection from the Brazilian authorities. Further to the question of relations between Japanese and Brazilians, we might also borrow from Richard Morse’s evocative history of Sao Paulo city; he quotes the 1929 memoir of a Brazilian poet, Guilherme de Almeida, in which Almeida recounts entering a Japanese restaurant in the city only to be told by the waitress, ‘No meals for whites!’. 27 Whether she was trying to save him from the kind of gastronomic misery endured by Japanese upon first tasting Brazilian food, or was merely being offensive, is unclear. It does reinforce the impression, however, that Japanese migrants were neither passive nor victims. Violence, including terrorism and assassination, was actually to reach its height after 1945. This was to be within the expatriate community as rival factions fought for dominance in the wake of Japan’s military defeat. Prior to this, however, there were sporadic cases of aggression by migrant Japanese against other Japanese. For example, several murders among the settlers at Birigui were reported in 1923. Later, in 1929, a Japanese plantation manager at Lins was shot to death by a Japanese former employee; the Burajiru Jiho commented at the time that such murders among the Japanese community were

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occurring ‘one after the other’. There was also violence as a result of migrant criminal activity. In 1933, a group of Japanese were involved in smuggling at the port of Santos; they fell out over the distribution of profits and, after a drunken fight at a local Japanese restaurant, one of them was ambushed by the others and knifed to death.28 In addition to violence between Japanese, one should also note that isolation, illness or despair could quite easily lead to violence against the self. In May 1934, there were reports of two separate suicides in the vicinity of Lins; one was a 39-year-old mother who killed herself for no apparent reason, the other a 22-year-old male in ill health who shot himself. 29 Spread over two decades, such incidents of murder or suicide within the Japanese community need not be taken as peculiarly significant. Rather, they are useful simply in reminding us that the Japanese in Brazil were a group of ordinary people, subject to the same tensions and difficulties as those from any other cultural background.

A settled community Notwithstanding the upward revision of the Japanese quota in 1935 and 1936, the new restrictions signalled a rapid downturn in the number of migrants being added to the expatriate community. In mid-1935, there was a momentary ‘sensation’, as the press described it, when about 70 Japanese migrants were prevented from landing at Rio (they had just arrived on the Osaka Shipping vessel appropriately named Rio de Janeiro). This was because that year’s quota had already been filled.30 By the end of 1935, however, the overall Japanese presence in Brazil had risen to a total of just over 171 000; this was in contrast to the 1932 figure of approximately 132 700. The Japanese consulates around Brazil collected statistics on the distribution of these expatriates. According to their surveys, initial results showed there were 82 000 in the Noroeste region, a further 56 000 in and around the district of Sao Paulo city, 21 000 in the area of Ribeirao Preto of north Sao Paulo state, and 12 000 in the vicinity of Santos. Rio de Janeiro also had a small Japanese population of just 768. One feature of the migrant Japanese was that in all areas, whether rural or urban, there was a remarkably balanced and even distribution of men to women with women accounting for about 46 per cent of each localised community. 31


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A separate feature of the migrant Japanese in the 1930s was the expansion of their landowning. This was most apparent in the Noroeste region where the Japanese presence increased rapidly from its figure of 53 000 in 1933. In rural Brazil, the Japanese were actually the beneficiaries of reforms brought about by the Vargas regime. These helped to reduce the authority of traditional powerbrokers such as the ‘coroneis’ or ‘colonels’ who dominated the movement of labour and goods in the rural markets. As a consequence, Sao Paulo state enjoyed a further boom in the opening of new land, especially by migrant landowners: between 1920 and 1934, the amount of land owned by Brazilians and by Portuguese both doubled but, for the Italian and Spanish communities, it expanded three and five-fold respectively. The most remarkable case was the Japanese for whom ownership of land in Sao Paulo jumped from 37 912 hectares to 1 014 206 hectares, a thirty-fold increase. Thus, by the mid-1930s Japanese were the fourth-largest owners of land in the state. This remained well behind the Brazilian figure of 17.5 million hectares and the Italian of 3.5 million but not so remote from the Spanish at 1.09 million. However, the comment of at least one Brazilian newspaper was that land was still there to be developed and that the figures merely showed how committed and valuable were migrants of different nationalities to Brazilian agriculture. 32 If the greatest change among the Japanese community was occurring in the rural Noroeste, there were also shifts in the geography and society of urban residents. These changes were less well recorded and rely more on impressionistic accounts. According to the recollections of Handa Tomoo, the Japanese of Sao Paulo city early in the 1930s were shifting in two senses. First, there was a physical expansion with some moving out from the earlier cluster in the Conde neighbourhood towards Pinheiros in the city’s northwest. There was also a new level of wealth and prosperity at least in relative terms. Although the urban Japanese tended to rent better housing than in earlier years, Handa is most insistent that none was yet a homeowner. However, this was far from unusual in Sao Paulo city where more than 80 per cent of the city’s dwellings had been rented at the start of the century and where the government only began promoting home ownership as a mechanism for social stability in the 1930s. 33 Handa also explains that urban Japanese such as journalists and educators were generally paid much lower wages than their Brazilian

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counterparts. This inevitably limited their ability to progress up the Brazilian ladder in terms of economic status. There was a widening in the range of jobs taken by Japanese in Sao Paulo city and, by the early 1930s, they were engaged in about 60 different occupations. Many of these were related to the food, clothing and housing industries. For example, Handa counts ten Japanese inns (many of these working together in the Sao Paulo City Ryokan Union), 13 food and drink stores, 12 people involved in the making or selling of sweets, and five whose business was real estate. Eighty-four Japanese, the largest overall group, were employed in commerce in such things as the import and retailing of general goods. Of the higher professions, there was one certified accountant, eight pharmacists, seven dentists, and three doctors (although only one of these was properly certified). In 1936, Cassio Kenro Shimomoto also became the first man from the second generation of Japanese in Brazil to graduate locally as a lawyer. On the issue of Japanese success in Brazilian society, we should also note that in 1937, just prior to the introduction of the New State, there was the first case of a Japanese-born immigrant being appointed to the position of deputy county head; this was Kitajima Hirotake, a 37-year-old graduate of a Brazilian school of pharmacy whose work at Registro had won him widespread acclaim among all peoples of the region. 34 The growth in the urban and rural migrant population gave a new breadth and energy to Japanese cultural activities in Brazil. These indicated that neither economic nor social pressures were particularly constraining the expatriate community in and around the time of the revised policy on immigration. One area in which there was marked expansion and change was in the Japanese-language press. As noted earlier, it was in the 1930s that all of the major newspapers appeared on a more frequent basis, leading both the Burajiru Jiho and Nippaku Shimbun (no doubt also responding to the outbreak of war between Japan and China) to move to daily publication from August 1937. The largest of the regional newspapers, Seishu Shimpo, transferred its base in 1934 from Bauru to Sao Paulo city; having already risen from weekly to twice-weekly status in 1930, it added a third issue per week in 1935 and, from May 1938, joined its metropolitan rivals as a daily. The press world also became more diverse. From April 1930, the Alianca settlement had its own paper, Alianca Jiho. In January 1932, the weekly Nihon Shimbun also made its debut. Its distinguish-


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ing feature was that its widely respected owner, Onaga Sukenari, was one of the leaders of the expatriate Okinawan community. Under his direction, the paper was seen as appealing not only to Okinawans in Brazil but equally to the second-generation Japanese from all backgrounds. Furthermore, it was seen as the fairest of all the Japanese newspapers in its judgements. For the children of the expatriate community, there was a new monthly periodical, Kodomo no Sono, published by the Burajiru Jiho in lots of 4000 from August 1934. For boys and girls, there was also a monthly entertainment journal, Popuraaru, printed by a company at Lins. In addition, there was a magazine devoted to sports, and several periodicals focusing on agricultural and commercial topics. 35 On top of these came the many and varied journals imported from Japan. The list of one migrant trader in Sao Paulo city for July–August 1932 included a few journals for a male audience such as King, Asahi, Kodan Kurabu and Detective Stories, but the majority were aimed at women and youths with popular titles such as Shufu no Tomo (The Housewife’s Friend), Fujin Kurabu (Women’s Club), Fujin Sekai (Women’s World), Shonen Sekai (Youth World), Shojo no Tomo (Girl’s Friend), and Shojo Kurabu (Girl’s Club). 36 In this way, the expatriate community in the 1930s had access to a wide range of information and stimulation both from Brazil and Japan. In the 1930s, migrant Japanese also began venturing into the modern media of radio and cinema. The start of radio broadcasting in Japan itself dated from the mid-1920s; at that time, the state had assumed a monopoly over radio in view of its potential to inform, or misinform, a mass audience. In Brazil, the first radio broadcast occurred slightly earlier, in 1922. A station for high culture, that is, classical music and educational lectures, appeared soon after but was followed by two more populist rivals in 1926–27. Commercial broadcasting was solidly based in Rio de Janeiro, also the heart in the late 1920s of a booming and varied record industry. An even wider national audience, however, was developed in the 1930s as the Vargas government embraced radio for its political value.37 At this same time, transmission commenced from Japan to Latin America; from June 1935, the Japanese station NHK announced the start of world-wide broadcast of news and culture. Listeners in Brazil had to struggle to obtain a clear reception until at least the end of the decade. However, by 1940, the JLSZ programme was transmitting nightly between the

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hours of 6.30 and 7.30 p.m. Sao Paulo time. The mix of programmes is evident in the playlist for the week beginning 15 September 1940. This included music from the Tokyo Broadcasting Orchestra as well as the Miyata Harmonica Band, children’s songs, Japanese national news, and news from the regions of Tokai and Kyushu. In addition, there was a Japanese-language course conducted in Spanish, a lecture in Japanese on migrant associations, one in Spanish on Japanese haiku poetry, plus one in Portuguese on the excellence of Japanese goods. 38 Whatever the sound quality, this was a direct link between Japan and Brazil and enabled migrants to hear almost immediately of events within Japan. Thus, even as Japanese troops held key buildings in Tokyo during the military coup d’état of February 1936, those in Sao Paulo could follow events as they unravelled. Whether this radio contact either strengthened or undermined their emotional allegiance to Japan, however, no doubt depended on the actual situation in Japan. Until the mid-1930s this remained bleak in economic and social terms and, from 1937, of course, was overtaken by the war in China. The migrant Japanese also found a place for themselves on Brazilian radio. From mid-1932, a doctor began a programme on Sao Paulo city radio called ‘A Japanese Evening’ (Nihon no Yube). For 50 minutes from 9.10 p.m., he and pupils from the Taisho Primary School offered a mix of talk (in Portuguese and Japanese) with songs and traditional music from Japan. The aim clearly was to promote both understanding and goodwill towards the Japanese community. In mid-1934, there was a further programme on an educational station in the city; this was titled ‘Japanese Hour’ (Hora Japonesa) and one may safely assume the content was broadly similar.39 This suggests that there was interest among Brazilians in Japanese culture and that Japanese migrants had access, however limited, to the most modern of Brazil’s urban media. In reaching a wider audience, informing, entertaining, and shaping attitudes, the most powerful of the 1930s media was film. In Brazil, as elsewhere around the world, this was the age in which North American production companies came to dominate: in Sao Paulo city early in the 1930s, there were about 50 movie theatres and, in his memoir of the time, Handa Tomoo remembers best the cowboy movies of William S. Hart and Tom Mix. This North American influence was not universally welcomed and, in an illustration of how


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arguments recur over the years, there was a report in the migrant press in the mid-1930s that US gangster films were responsible for some Brazilian youths taking to violent crime. For those with different tastes, however, the Japanese-language press carried adverts for the Recrelo Theatre, at which one could enjoy, or endure, such fare as Trader in Human Flesh (minors and the unmarried not admitted), or, with similar restrictions on admission at the Cine Tabaris, movies apparently from France in which the principal attraction was copious female nudity. 40 In terms of the cinema’s impact on migrant identity, the key was either to exhibit film from Japan or develop a base for production in Brazil. Initially, of course, the simplest recourse was to import movies from Japan; the first example was in 1925 when the the Overseas Association of Kumamoto prefecture arranged for film to be sent over solely with the aim of cheering migrants from its region. A more organised and ambitious system, however, was developed in 1929 with the unveiling of the Nippaku Cinema Company at Bauru city by a staff member of the Seishu Shimpo newspaper. This was a natural link between media at the time and Nippaku Cinema began by importing footage from the Osaka Asahi Shimbun, one of the major newspaper and newsreel companies in Japan; the footage was then exhibited around the Noroeste region. In view of its geographical base, Nippaku Cinema clearly felt its best (and certainly largest) audience was in the provinces where film was the principal form of entertainment. In its handbills, Nippaku Cinema claimed to be involved in distribution and production but, in practice, it focused on its travelling programme, often of half a dozen items including newsreels, comedy shorts, and features. Among its playlist for January 1930, however, was its own first production and the first film to be made by Japanese in Brazil. This was Noroeste-sen Isshu (A Week Along the Noroeste Line).41 This may have been a turning point in the capacity of the expatriate Japanese to visualise themselves but a contemporary Japanese reviewer was less than sympathetic; criticising the content as largely a travelogue of local businesses amounting to little more than advertising, he declared, ‘To be honest, it is a film made by amateurs to be shown to amateurs’. None the less, in 1931, Nippaku Cinema arranged to exchange it with a documentary, Shimbun Jidai (The Newspaper Era), from another of Japan’s leading newspaper companies, the Osaka Mainichi. 42

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The early supply of films from Japan was small and irregular. However, as the migrant community itself grew in size, so too did the paying audience. In 1933, Nippaku Cinema made a huge profit from its showings of productions from the Shochiku Company in Japan and, by 1936, was said to be importing at least one new film every month for exhibition in Sao Paulo city and elsewhere. Over the course of the decade, six distribution companies were established by migrant Japanese (a figure to multiply nearly eight-fold in the decade after the Pacific war). These included the Japan Cinema Company, the Kansai Cinema Company, and the Brazil Hoga (Native-Picture) Company. There were also more limited ventures; in 1932, a settler at the Burataku colony of Bastos began showing films on the weekend and the arrival there of the silver screen ‘amid the mountains’ merited a note in the migrant press, even if one of the first features appears from its title, Sekai Bijin Tohyo, to have been an early variant of the Miss World contest. Talking pictures came relatively late to Japan itself so most of what was shown at this time was silent. Consequently, each company had its own narrator or ‘benshi’ travelling with the film to provide a soundtrack. Nippaku Cinema, however, quickly recognised the possibility of tapping into the non-Japanese audience and, from at least 1930, began adding title cards in Portuguese. This made more accessible the general interest items such as Kyoto Festivals and Pilgrimage to Nikko, as well as the slapstick comedies and tragic dramas. Following the Manchurian incident of 1931, the Japanese foreign ministry felt it was losing the propaganda war to China and also began distributing newsreel with subtitles in various languages; these included Portuguese and, from 1934, attempts were made to use Sao Paulo as a distribution point from which to spread official Japanese footage to a Portuguese-speaking audience.43 The most popular genre with what remained a relatively young expatriate audience was the ‘chambara’ or period piece focusing on samurai and swordsmanship. The attraction here may have been, not so much that it reinforced traditional ideas of cultural identity, but rather that it centred on action; this no doubt also helped to entice non-Japanese viewers (the first all-talking ‘chambara’ was to be imported only in 1939). The migrant community was kept informed by its press of developments in the film world in Japan and the US; in addition, there were regular reviews of new movies. The


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extraordinary popularity of cinema can be seen from 2nd Film Night arranged by the Burajiru Jiho and held at the Taisho Primary School in 1935: despite torrential rain, 500 were squeezed into the hall and another 100 locked out (an extra showing was later arranged for their benefit). On the programme that night was newsreel of the 1928 Japanese imperial review of troops and the fleet, a period film, Kokyo no Sora (The Sky of Home), a family drama set in rural Japan, and Saikun Kaizo (Reconstructed Wives), seemingly a comedy about the rising status of women. 44 The audience for patriotic film was boosted following the Manchurian incident. For example, a showing was arranged at Sao Paulo city in 1933 of several films from the Japanese army, navy and foreign ministries; these illustrated troop conditions in Manchuria and documented the rise of the Manchukuo state. As more films were made in Japan with war-related themes, so these became more common among the offerings for the expatriate Japanese. However, throughout the 1930s there remained as much desire for entertainment as patriotism and the two major offerings of Nippaku Cinema early in 1934 were Manshu Koshin-kyoku (Song of the March into Manchuria) and Kafe no Onna (Woman of the Cafe). Through playful advertising, Japanese exhibitors were also able to merge the two ideas: a further movie listed in the 1934 migrant press was an American musical, Broadway to Hollywood, appearing under its Japanese title as Hariuddo Koshinkyoku, that is, ‘Song of the March into Hollywood’.45 Later in the 1930s, there was increased interest on the part of distributors in Japan itself to reach an overseas audience. This was partly with a view to promoting sympathy for Japan in its conflict with China and partly in response to the raised profile of Japanese cinema following the international critical success of such war films as the 1938 production Gonin no Sekkohei (The Five Scouts). Theatres specifically to show Japanese movies were established in the US and Peru. In 1939, a representative of the Toho Film Company in Japan, accompanied by the manager of the Japanese cinema in Peru, was to visit Brazil with a similar project in mind. By this point, however, a new series of cultural restrictions introduced by the Vargas government was sufficient to deter Toho from moving ahead; this left the exhibition of Japanese film in the hands of migrant distributors. 46 As for Japan’s commercial producers, they did not respond greatly to their expatriate audience in Latin America. In 1930, the Osaka

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Mainichi newspaper made four films of the Noroeste community for showing in Japan, and, in 1939, the Nikkatsu Company announced it would send two cameramen to Brazil and Argentina to obtain background shots; these were for a drama on migrant life to be made back in Japan. Production by migrants in Brazil appears to have gone no further than Noroeste-sen no Isshu. In this, finance and organisation were the major problems. This was to remain the case in 1952 when the first attempt was made at a dramatic film production by the newly-established Talkie Brazil Film Company. Although it imported a quintet of stars from Japan, the venture was bound to fail: as local historian Ikeda Shigeji noted at the time, the company had no capital, no script, no experience, and no place to film. 47 If the expatriate Japanese were stymied in visualising their own stories on film, they did have at their disposal a more accessible form of cultural self-representation. This was in the advertising of consumer products. One reason for raising this point is that it figures heavily in the arguments of Handa Tomoo, and of Hosokawa Shuhei in his 1990s study of music and Japanese emigration to Brazil. Handa insists that the overwhelming majority of expatriate businesses sought customers among the Japanese community and that this is evident from their press adverts. Hosokawa also uses adverts from the migrant press to conclude that there was a direct connection between products retailed as ‘made in Japan’ and ideas of identity among expatriates in Brazil. In other words, migrants reinforced their sense of being Japanese by buying and using goods they knew to be imported from Japan. In this, Hosokawa’s particular interest is in records and record-players. The argument is rather tenuous, however, in so far as two of the dominant manufacturers of both items in Japan were branches of the US companies Columbia and Victor. Moreover, records imported from Japan or featuring Japanese performers were not always straightforward vehicles for nationalism. Many of the popular songs in Japan in the 1920s were laced with melancholy and despair while those of the 1930s included, among other styles, Western popular music, jazz influences, and those with a sense of nostalgia for a particular region of Japan. One Victor Records advert in the migrant press suggests the potential mix of cultural influences on offer: this was for renditions from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly by Miura Tamaki, a leading Japanese opera singer


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and member of an Italian company which had performed the piece at Rio and Sao Paulo city in 1921. 48 In reviewing consumer images and advertising from the 1930s, a place to start is the standing display at the Sao Paulo Historical Museum of Japanese Migration to Brazil. In the 1990s, this included an exhibition of migrant cigarette packets. Among these were: the ‘Gensui’ brand which, to commemorate the death of one of the heroes of the Russo-Japanese war, carried a portrait of Admiral Togo; a separate ‘Togo’ brand with side panels showing the Japanese and Brazilian flags; and ‘Sanyushi’ (Three Heroes), depicting Japanese soldiers who became national heroes during the fighting in China following on from the Manchurian incident. In addition, there was the ‘Yolanda’ brand with its image of a beautiful Latin American woman, and ‘Colomy’, enticing buyers with an equally charming drawing of a Native American girl. This mixing of images reaffirms the point that migrant Japanese were both exposed to, and comfortable with, a range of images and symbols. If one looks more generally at the migrant press in the 1930s, a level of commercial interplay between the Japanese and non-Japanese communities is obvious. For example, the increase in numbers and prosperity of Japanese in Brazil brought them to the attention of major corporations; both Ford and General Motors (through its Chevrolet division) placed adverts in the migrant press. On a smaller scale, the Casa Allema, a quality menswear shop owned by German immigrants in Sao Paulo city, was a regular advertiser and easily recognised by its stylish art deco graphics; at the time of the 1936 Berlin Olympics, the major sports goods store in metropolitan Sao Paulo, Casa Casoy, bought space to attract customers by granting them the convenience of shopping in the Japanese language. Moving further down the ladder, an Italian migrant photographer in Sao Paulo city also offered to deal with Japanese customers in their own language; while Professor Alfredo Monteiro announced in the Burajiru Jiho in January 1938 that his Academia Paulista de Dancas offered daily instruction from 8 a.m. till 12 p.m. in what would now be called ballroom dancing. 49 In the Seishu Shimpo, at least until its move to Sao Paulo city, it was also common to find notices from non-Japanese doctors, dentists and lawyers at Bauru and Lins. What is clear from all this is that the migrant Japanese community was never a commercial or cultural fortress.

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Mention of Professor Monteiro and his Academia de Dancas brings us to a final realm of culture either ignored or misrepresented in the works of Hosokawa and other Japanese scholars. This is music and dance. Hosokawa does note the role of elite migrant women in presenting traditional Japanese music to a Brazilian audience. For example, the wife of the consul-general arranged the first Japan Evening of music and dance one Sunday in November 1936; the performers were Japanese city women and girls, the instruments included the samisen, koto and shakuhachi, and a commentary in Portuguese was provided by a non-Japanese female scholar of the subject. Similar evenings of traditional Japanese music and dance continued to be held to full houses in Sao Paulo city at least until the end of 1940. 50 To assume, however, that Japanese tradition was rigidly conservative would be a mistake. In March 1931, with support from a member of the aristocratic Tokugawa family, a former technician of the Japanese communications ministry introduced an electric samisen at a performance in Tokyo; this was said to have many times the amplification of the original although how the audience responded to this quasi-rock version of a traditional instrument is unrecorded.51 None the less, this is an example of how music in Japan itself was responding to the age of new recording and performing technologies. There are two major omissions in the work of Hosokawa. First, he entirely ignores the vibrant and developing musical culture of Brazil itself in the 1920s–30s. Second, he overlooks any sense of contact between Brazilian music and expatriate Japanese. This allows him instead to focus narrowly on music and instruments from Japan, lyrics created by migrants in Japanese, and the performance of Japanese music and song at almost exclusively Japanese gatherings such as at migrant sports clubs and migrant restaurants. Perhaps inevitably his conclusions mirror those of Maeyama Takashi in seeing Japanese as inhabiting a cultural sphere quite separate from and alien to that of Brazilians. As he puts it, ‘Within Brazilian society, Japanese song virtually never stepped outside of the migrant community . . . In short, Japanese song defined an ethnic border’.52 Hosokawa’s indifference to Brazilian music is striking because it is precisely in the 1920s–30s that music rose to become one of the defining characteristics of national identity. In this, the growth of records and radio broadcasting were obviously crucial. So too, however, were the twin guiding and shaping hands of the cultural and


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political elite: the young intellectuals who collected songs from around the country and saw in their variety and energy the essence of modern Brazil; and the Vargas government which sponsored radio and music in the 1930s directly to promote a sense of shared culture and purpose. As a result, the national rhythm of Brazil came to be the samba and the musical celebration of the Brazilian nation was a sanitised form of the carnival. Just prior to its appropriation by the federal government, the novelist Rudyard Kipling observed the Rio carnival in February 1927:53 The forty-foot floats that cruised high above the raging sea [of humanity] dealt raw-handedly with matters that the press might have been too shy to discuss – such as a certain State railway, which is said to be casual in its traffic . . . To all appearance, the populace was utterly in charge of everything. But at no time, and in no place, was there anything approaching disorder, nor any smell of liquor. At two o’clock of the last night I saw a forty-foot avenue masked from kerb to kerb with serpentines and confetti. At five that same morning they were utterly gone. Originally, the music and rituals of carnival had been identified with Brazil’s northeast and its ethnic African community. The cultural figure at the centre of popular carnival was the ‘malandro’, a goodfor-nothing if amiable rogue, often nattily dressed in emulation of the Brazilian elite but whose concerns were sensual and anything but bourgeois. By the 1920s, the music of carnival was a polyglot mix of waltzes, polkas, the tango, and even the Charleston, but this began to change with the emergence in 1928 of the first samba schools in Rio de Janeiro. The music of samba in Rio developed in the hillside shanty towns under the name ‘samba de morro’. From the Vargas regime, however, samba received government encouragement, for example, with higher salaries for composers from radio stations, so long as its lyrics shifted to praise hard work and the glories of Brazil. The samba schools also became centres of discipline and civic commitment; they had to be registered with the authorities in Rio and, from 1935, to portray only Brazilian themes in their carnival parade. Indeed, whereas popular carnival, according to one writer, and in line with the observation of Kipling, is as much about speaking your mind as showing off your body (and female nudity only grew along

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with television coverage from the 1980s), in the late 1930s the carnival of Rio was used by the federal government as a nationalist festival and as the model for carnival nation-wide. 54 One question which arises from this is: to what extent, if at all, did the expatriate Japanese either observe or participate in the Brazilian carnival? Before answering this, we should note that the Japanese migrant press had at an early point identified music with culture. In editorials of 25 July 1919 and 4 May 1923, the Burajiru Jiho had argued that music and dance reflected the core values of any society. In this, it contrasted Japan and the West. Japanese music, it suggested, had a special beauty and power to evoke deep emotions. However, Western music was characterised by the harmonising of contrasting instruments to produce symphony. The same might be said of dance in which a man and a woman were united by rhythm whereas Japanese dance was performed in isolation. The thrust of these early editorials was that Japanese migrants should learn about their host society, and improve their social skills, by playing Brazilian music and by dancing with Brazilians. The cultural attraction of samba and the carnival was recognised by Japanese visitors in the 1930s. Tsuji Kotaro described carnival for his readers in Japan as a mix of music, the parade of floats, people in fancy dress, and young men and women continuing the long tradition of delightedly squirting each other with perfumes with the result that, ‘as one walks around, one gets this baptism of perfume again and again, and, in the sidestreets, the plazas, or beneath the trees of the parks, a shower of perfume falls’. From the Brazilian cultural historian, Hermano Vianna, we also learn about the famous Japanese artist, Fujita Tsuguharu (who, after converting later in life to Catholicism, became Leonard Fujita). Holding a private exhibition of his works in Brazil early in 1932, he was so impressed with the music of samba that he established his own samba band upon returning to Japan. 55 As for Japanese migrants, there was some participation in carnival celebrations at least from the mid-1920s and this grew over time as both the expatriate community itself increased in number and so did the importance of carnival to the Brazilian nation. Thus, in 1924, the Nippaku Shimbun gave a detailed report of the three days of carnival activity in Sao Paulo city, emphasising the crush of cars and people but, with reference to the Japanese, listing more the profits of migrant


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drivers or of migrant traders selling carnival supplies. Later in the decade, Tsuji observed many local Japanese in the carnival parade at the interior town of Lins but also remarked that their costumes were rather dour. This, he implied, showed a difference in attitude between Brazilians who invested much of their annual savings in an event of real cultural significance and migrant Japanese for whom participation was still a novelty. As a scholar of carnival, Roberto Da Matta, has noted, its essence is ‘craziness’ and, for Japanese to participate fully, they may first have had to learn the logic of this ‘unreason’.56 By the early 1930s, economic recession and political instability had defused some of the exuberance of Brazilian carnival. The Japanese migrant press continued to report annually on each year’s event but the general conclusion was that festivities were receding from the street and moving into clubs and theatres; by 1937, one Japanese paper suggested that only the ‘Kuro-chan’ (African-Brazilians) still took to the street at carnival. As it became a more orderly and organised celebration, Japanese residents all over Brazil held dance parties or ‘baile’ (an obvious relation to the term ‘ballet’), for example, at the Japan Club in Sao Paulo city, to which Japanese and non-Japanese were invited. These parties often involved fancy dress and the first adverts for carnival costume in the Japanese-language press seem to date from 1937; the advertisers were Ao Preco Fixo, a Sao Paulo concern offering discount rates on sailor suits for male and female plus dinner jackets for men, and Casa Allema which claimed to have available a ‘fantasia’ of fancy dress (this included Chinese costume which may not have been so popular with expatriate Japanese at the time). In both the 1920s and 1930s, however, Japanese did not celebrate carnival in exclusion. Instead, there were notices of Japanese being involved at street level, either parading in cars or trucks or merging with the crowds. In 1935, the Burajiru Jiho greeted carnival time as bringing music and happiness to all and, in that year, a float carried the waitresses of a popular Japanese restaurant in Sao Paulo; many Japanese women dressed in kimono were seen celebrating in the street; but the masterpiece of migrant fancy dress was adjudged to be ‘the masked samurai’.57 With this, Japanese migrants took the most respected but also feared symbol of Japan and merged it with the multi-cultural Brazilian mass at play. By the end of the 1930s, some Japanese had worked out a satisfying logic of carnival for themselves. In February 1940, the Seishu

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Shimpo claimed that the Japanese people historically had suffered racist treatment at the hands of the Western powers; the specific example it had in mind was the Western refusal at the end of World War I to accept Japan’s proposal for a clause on racial equality in the charter of the new League of Nations. By contrast, however, the Brazilian carnival, it argued, was a day of real equality in which race was set aside. For this reason, it insisted that carnival belonged as much to the Japanese as to any other ethnic group in the country. In this, the Seishu Shimpo seemed to be thinking along similar lines to the Vargas government, that is, moving beyond the particularistic origins or religious meaning of carnival and seeing it more as a vehicle for incorporating diverse elements into a new, if multi-layered, whole. 58 There was another area of Brazilian music and dance in which some Japanese migrants were involved, if only as spectators. This was in what might be called the demi-monde. In the mid-1930s, the Nippaku Shimbun carried a series of guides to the various entertainments of the metropolis: this included a collection of pieces forming the ‘Sao Paulo Erotic Guide’ which explained in detail the areas of the city where the estimated 6–800 houses of prostitution could be found, plus the prices charged for alcohol and for staying overnight. In pursuit of similarly detailed knowledge, a journalist for the Nippaku visited Sao Paulo’s music halls and, on one occasion in 1934, described the recently popular German style of nude revue. In terms a world away from the misery and pathos of later histories of the expatriate Japanese, he exclaimed to his readers, ‘Oh, what enchanting breasts! Accompanying a solemn gentleman from Japan on his daily visits to the theatre, your correspondent had a complete nervous collapse!’ It is worth remembering that this ability to laugh at oneself came at the very time that Dr Couto and others were railing against migrant Japanese.59 While there were Japanese migrants who took up the early challenge of the Burajiru Jiho to use music and dance as a way of learning about and living with Brazilians, there were other visitors connected to Japan who showed an even greater level of cosmopolitanism. Among these were four performers of music or dance, three female and one male. Although their visits came late in the 1930s, they may usefully be considered here in so far as they reinforce the point that Japanese in Brazil did not simply use music as a cage by which to separate


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themselves from others. The one whose fame was greatest and has proved most lasting is Fujiwara Yoshie, an internationally renowned tenor of the 1930s. He visited Brazil on two occasions, first in 1937 and then in 1939. On his first trip, he toured Japanese communities in the interior of Sao Paulo state and, being known as a lover of baseball, he was repeatedly welcomed with a match in his honour. The migrant press asserted that his fame and his performances served to raise both the spirits of expatriate Japanese and the understanding of Japan within Brazil. 60 Even more than Fujiwara, the three female performers are interesting in the way they embody a range of ‘Japanese’ identities in the 1930s. First, there was a dancer from Japan named Kawakami Suzuko. As was evident from her publicity photographs, showing her in flamenco dress and, somewhat androgynously, as an Argentinian gaucho, her speciality was Spanish dance. She arrived in Brazil in 1937 and was described in the migrant press as equal to the great Isadora Duncan in her version of ‘Salome’, seen as an exceptionally difficult piece. Her fame was also said to have reached Europe and the US, and she was accordingly treated very well by the expatriate community. She returned to Brazil in mid-1938 with a two-hour programme of dances from Spain, the Middle East and elsewhere and, at her opening performance in Sao Paulo city, there was an audience of about 800. At that time, she also promised to fulfil the expectations of her Japanese fans by touring the interior of Sao Paulo state. 61 A second performer was a young soprano, Hasegawa Toshiko. She visited Sao Paulo in November 1936 as part of an Italian opera company engaged to play Madame Butterfly and La Bohème. Hasegawa had been born of Japanese parents in California. After vocal training in New York, she had made her debut earlier that year in Bologna. Arriving in Sao Paulo, she was interviewed at length by the Burajiru Jiho. She explained that she was happy to be in Brazil because, as she put it, ‘there are many Japanese here and so at least I can speak Japanese’. In fact, she had actually returned to Japan only briefly as a child, could read nothing of the Japanese script, and mixed her Japanese conversation with English words. Yet, in the press reports of her visit, these problems of language seemed irrelevant. Rather, what was praised was her character and her talent. In a comment sure to touch a chord with some readers, she claimed her most fervent wish in Brazil was to enjoy Japanese food, and her wider ambition

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she declared was to do something for Japan, a country she believed which had the greatness to be one of the ‘creators of the next global culture’. In mid-1940, Hasegawa returned to Sao Paulo and repeated her role as Madame Butterfly. Enjoying sell-out performances and excellent reviews, she was described by the migrant press affectionately, if somewhat misleadingly, as ‘our dancing princess’ (warera no maihime). In response to appeals from Japanese in the provinces, she also agreed later in 1940 to tour the interior of the state.62 The third female performer was described as ‘the dancing princess of the peninsula’ (hanto no maihime). The term was revealing for this was Ch’oe Songhi, a young woman of striking beauty and physique, born not in Japan but in Korea which was then part of the Japanese colonial empire. However, the text in the expatriate press and in her advertising insisted that she was ‘a universal dancing talent to which Japan had given birth’ (Nihon no unda sekai-teki budoka). In other words, her Korean identity was acknowledged, as was the link with Japan, but the result was seen as something overriding these geographical boundaries. Ch’oe had studied dance in New York, achieving sufficient renown to be invited to visit Argentina early in 1938; a trip to South America was also announced for mid-1939. However, it was mid-1940 when she actually appeared on stage in Brazil. After performing in Rio de Janeiro, she gave a programme at the grandiose Municipal Theatre in Sao Paulo city, at which she received an overwhelming reception from an audience of 1500; among those sending her bouquets were the Japanese consul-general and Kuroishi Seisaku, editor of the Burajiru Jiho.63 Thus, these three women, each with a different relation to Japan itself, were celebrated in the migrant press and welcomed by the expatriate Japanese. They, and Fujiwara, were identified with a Japanese culture that was international in outlook and which in a quite literal way showed the capacity of Japanese to harmonise with peoples of diverse origins. Overall, therefore, the early- to mid-1930s was a period of rapid growth for the Japanese in Brazil. Their numbers increased greatly, in part as a consequence of the Great Depression. There was a manifold leap in the quantity of land owned by Japanese, while their value to the economy of Brazil, and especially to that of Sao Paulo, grew as exports of coffee declined and those of cotton rose. Migrant Japanese were targeted for criticism by some in the parliamentary and press debates of 1933–34 and the number of arrivals permitted after 1934


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was drastically curtailed. However, these restrictions were not specific to the Japanese; racist slurs were applied more generally, for example, to Jews and Syrians. Despite the setback of 1934, however, anti-Japanese racism in Brazil continued to be the preserve of the minority and the stronger discourse was centred on heterogeneity and fluidity. Japanese migrants had as many supporters as detractors and they managed to live without undue fear of violence. Rather, as the Japanese community grew in size, complexity and prosperity, its channels of information and its areas of activity likewise expanded. It had new access to film and radio from Japan, there were new and more frequent newspapers and journals, and a greater range of commercial and cultural associations. After a quarter-century in Brazil, the expatriate Japanese appeared to have achieved a better understanding of Brazilian society and their place within it. To that extent, therefore, we may view the first half of the 1930s as an era in which the expatriate Japanese became more settled. In 1937, however, they were to confront two deeply disturbing changes.

5 In Transit: a World of New Orders, 1937–40

The annual total of Japanese immigrants to Brazil in the latter half of the 1930s was erratic; in 1936, there were approximately 3300, in 1937, 4400, and, in 1938, about 2500. After 1938, however, the figure dropped below 1500. It was to stay there until diplomatic relations between Japan and Brazil were cut at the start of 1942 following the outbreak of the Pacific war. Despite these fluctuations, the largest expatriate community of Japanese outside of East Asia at the end of the 1930s was to be found in Brazil. In the last years of the decade, there were to be increased restrictions on its freedom of expression and, as a consequence, some migrants began to re-evaluate their future prospects in the country. Overall, however, the community continued to establish itself in Brazilian commerce, to enjoy both the support and respect of leading Brazilian figures, and to have access to such things as Japanese-language newspapers, books and film. Migrant Japanese, therefore, had reason to believe that a place remained for them in modernising Brazil and that they had the organisation, adaptability and strength of endurance to navigate any short-term difficulties. The reason for the new low in arrivals from Japan late in the 1930s was two-fold. First, Japan itself was engaged in an all-out war in China from mid-1937. Despite the usual pronouncements from Japanese generals on the imminence of absolute victory, and the claim that Japan was creating a New Order in East Asia, hostilities were to continue until 1945 and, in 1938–39, to involve the Soviet Union also in large-scale border clashes. The result was that, from 1937, Japanese men began to die in large numbers on the Asian mainland while shortages 133

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within Japan of food and goods became commonplace. In response, the Japanese government introduced programmes to achieve national mobilisation for the war effort, to conscript more young men for military service, and to increase the number of Japanese settlers in Manchuria. A second reason for slowing immigration was to be found within Brazil. At the end of 1937, the government of Getulio Vargas used the pretext of a national emergency to suspend the existing political system and unilaterally introduce a new constitution. This heralded what was termed the Estado Novo or New State. The basic principle of the New State may be described as strength through unity. This was to be achieved by the federal government accruing more political power to itself, centralising authority over the economy and promoting industrialisation in such things as mining, steel, electricity and chemicals, and by curtailing dissent through a ban on political parties and new curbs on the domestic press. The twin fears behind the New State were of communist subversion and foreign economic domination. Consequently, the goal of the Vargas regime, especially after 1937, was to strengthen a popular sense of Brazilian nationalism and to impose greater cohesion on society; as part of this, the federal government moved more firmly from 1938 to accelerate the assimilation of immigrant communities. Thus, both in Japan and Brazil from this time, the authorities began a concerted push to obtain the allegiance of the Japanese people, leaving those resident in Brazil caught precariously in the middle. The expatriate Japanese were not overly disturbed by the general aim of the New State. Rather, it was to be welcomed if it brought about a greater level of political and social stability after the years of periodic unrest and violence. Indeed, the last armed uprising against Vargas came in May 1938 from the radical right-wing Greenshirts of the Integralist party. The revolt lasted only a matter of hours and was easily crushed. 1 However, there was a rumour that local German interests had been active in supporting the Greenshirts. This reinforced the idea that ethnic minorities were potentially a danger to the nation. From at least the early 1920s, Japanese had been telling themselves to be careful in their own actions so as not to promote suspicion or resentment among Brazilians. Although they realised the New State was not intended directly to exclude or destroy them, under its precepts, this caution was to be even more urgent.

In Transit: 1937–40

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In October 1938, a survey was completed showing the totals of all Japanese living overseas. According to this, Manchukuo (Manchuria) had leaped to become home to the largest number of expatriates at 233 699. In second place was Brazil with a Japanese population of 197 747. This was followed by Hawaii at 151 850 and the continental US with 114 685. Figures thereafter fell below 85 000. In Latin America, the second largest Japanese community at 22 150 was in Peru; there were also 6267 Japanese in Argentina, 4671 in Mexico, and about 700 in each of Bolivia, Cuba and Chile. In global terms, the smallest expatriate body was in Algeria where, the survey declared, there was just a single Japanese resident.2 In comparing the two biggest expatriate communities of Manchukuo and Brazil, a clear distinction was made in 1939 by a reporter for Japan’s major news service, Domei Tsushinsha. In his view, Japanese migrants to Manchukuo were political whereas those to Brazil remained economic. 3 What he meant by this was that the flow of Japanese to Manchukuo both served the Japanese government’s propaganda purposes and assisted the Japanese military in its efforts to control the region. In contrast, migrants heading to or residing in Brazil were primarily concerned with their own safety and prosperity. By the late 1930s, this prosperity was being sought far and wide across Sao Paulo and neighbouring states. In Sao Paulo city, the Japanese community had risen in 1938 to 4563 but, in relative terms, this was submerged in a metropolitan mix which included over 13 000 ethnic Germans, a Spanish presence nearly three times as large again, plus Portuguese and Italian communities of approximately 80 000. At this time, a further survey was conducted into the commitment of Japanese to long-term residence in Brazil. This concluded that only 10 000 out of 183 000 immigrants between 1908 and 1937 had actually returned to Japan; of these, 5000 had left between 1908 and 1930 and another 5000 between 1931 and 1937. Statistics from the Brazilian government indicated that, in this respect, Japanese were at least twice as likely to remain in Brazil as immigrants from Portugal, Germany and Italy. This was a marked difference to the early Japanese experience in Hawaii, for example, where, in 1900–1904 alone, there had been over 23 000 returnees.4 The conclusion, therefore, was quite simple: whatever their original intentions, the vast majority of Japanese migrants committed themselves to life in Brazil for an extended period and, in this, they had been consistent from the

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outset. This conflicts directly with Japanese scholars such as Maeyama Takashi and Mita Chiyoko who insist that migrants were always short-term sojourners until after 1945. As for the relatively greater frequency of returnees for the period 1931–37, this may be explained by some disillusionment with the 1934 quota system, uncertainty about the Brazilian economy in the wake of falling coffee prices, and the opening of what appeared to be new opportunities for settlement in Manchukuo. The radical slowing of Japanese arrivals to Brazil in the late 1930s was common to all immigrant groups. The Seishu Shimpo in 1939 reported that, in the previous two years, the total of all nationalities of migrants entering Brazil had fallen from 34 600 to 19 300. This was only partly due to the quota system and partly the consequence of political changes in Europe. Within the figure for 1938, there were just five countries supplying in excess of 1000 persons. These were: Portugal (7435), Japan (2524), Germany (2348), Italy (1882), and Argentina (1199). 5 While Japanese migrants may have stood out as second only to those from Portugal, the actual total was too small to cause the kind of alarm shown by some Brazilians early in the 1930s. To this extent, therefore, conditions for the existing Japanese community may actually have eased at this point. Moreover, in terms of building Brazilian nationalism, the Vargas government had more potent domestic weapons in the alleged union of Jewish migrants and communism, and the presence of fascist sympathies among the German and Italian communities; the number and strength of German cultural nationalist or Volksdeutsche groups was a particular concern to Vargas. Far closer than Japan, there was also the neighbouring threat of Argentina with whom Brazil in the 1930s was engaged in an arms race. The decline in foreign immigration to Brazil meant that Sao Paulo’s agricultural economy continued to suffer from its chronic problem of labour shortages. The situation was exacerbated by the onset of war in Europe from late 1939; this effectively halted all arrivals from East and West Europe. One response in Brazil was to consider allowing in a greater number of Japanese immigrants to make up the shortfall. However, there were some who opposed this, not on grounds of race, but from the view that Japanese contract labour worked only a short time on plantations and quickly moved into landholding; this undermined their real value to Brazilian


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producers.6 The ongoing need for immigrant labour, however, helped to defuse any criticism of Japanese for stealing jobs from Brazilians. In addition, the price for Brazilian cotton in 1938 was calculated to have fallen by 16 per cent over the previous year: with the start of war in Europe, Brazil lost its key export market of Germany. This made Japan even more important as an overseas customer, not least to expatriate Japanese who, by 1938, produced over half of Sao Paulo’s ginned cotton. In the view of one Brazilian newspaper in September 1939, ‘as long as the European conflict continues, Japan’s purchases are the only lifeline for Brazilian cotton and essential hereafter both to the Brazilian-Japanese trade relationship and to the two peoples’.7 In this way, the start of war in Europe reinforced the value of Japan and the Japanese in the eyes of some of the more influential Brazilians.

The language of nationalism The turning point in Brazilian regulations on immigrant communities was 1938. In that year, a series of laws was introduced to minimise the capacity of ethnic communities to erect social and cultural barriers between themselves and Brazilians. This included legislation requiring agrarian settlements to have a population which was at least 30 per cent Brazilian and banning any single non-Brazilian ethnic group from exceeding a quarter of the total. The use of foreign names for settlements was also forbidden. The special target of the assimilation campaign, however, was education. In this, Vargas had already made clear his intentions upon first coming to power in 1930. Soon after taking office, he had created Brazil’s first ever ministry of education, a move welcomed at the time by the Japanese community. However, by 1937, Vargas was declaring that education was now ‘a matter of life and death’. Thus, the general school curriculum came to emphasise far more heavily the study of Brazilian history and geography, and the primacy of learning Portuguese. The guiding principle of education under the New State was nationalism through physical and moral discipline. As Vargas explained, the New State ‘does not recognise the rights of the individual against the collective. Individuals do not have rights; they have duties’. Along with other authoritarian regimes of the decade, sport was used as a means to promote individual health and community identity, and a colossal

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sports stadium seating up to 100 000 was opened in April 1940 by the government of Sao Paulo with Vargas in attendance. 8 One reason why education may have been so important to the New State is that the existing system was demonstrably inadequate. Figures for 1937 show that two-thirds of all Brazilian primary school teachers lacked even basic training, that enrolment for the 7–11 age group was below 50 per cent and for those 11–17 well under five per cent. Historian Robert Levine’s description of education in civil and military schools alike is that it ‘stressed memorisation and suppressed creativity’.9 It may be that neither Vargas nor the Japanese community actually opposed this type of instruction, one common in twentieth-century Japan itself; rather the president’s wish was to see more of the youth in Brazil being exposed to a specifically Brazilian system of schooling. The impact of the New State education programme for the Japanese community was felt most obviously by the youngest of the emerging second generation. The Vargas educational rules prescribed, among other things, that all administrators and teachers of rural primary schools should have been born in Brazil, that classes and textbooks be in Portuguese, that children under 14 years of age be taught no foreign language, and, as of September 1939, that foreign-language teaching for older children be restricted to no more than two hours per day. An article in the Burajiru Jiho of 28 October 1938 declared, ‘Our Language Schooling Verging on Destruction’. As a result of these changes, all primary schools being run in a foreign language were nominally closed at the end of 1938; of these, there were about 300 run by Japanese in Sao Paulo state alone and, among other migrant groups, about 900 run by Germans in Brazil’s south.10 The most aggressive reaction to these steps occurred in the state of Parana where, it was reported, Polish migrants burned their school rather than see it made to conform with the new rules. As for the Japanese community, according to later writers such as Handa Tomoo, Maeyama Takashi and Mita Chiyoko, the changes to schooling were a crushing blow. In Handa’s view, the New State was an assault on the spiritual freedom of the migrant Japanese, leaving them bereft of hope for the future and sunk in despair. In Maeyama’s reading (heavily borrowed by Mita), the schools were the essence of Japanese identity in Brazil; the buildings were, in his opinion, literal shrines of Japanese emperor-worship and, in so far as migrants were always


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intent on returning to Japan, language was their guarantee of a safe return to the motherland. In other words, by depriving children of access to the Japanese language, the Vargas reforms in a sense were condemning ethnic Japanese youth to permanent cultural exile. 11 Several points need to be made in order to escape this misrepresentation. First, the existence in Brazil of primary schools run in a language other than Portuguese had been technically illegal since the early 1920s. This had been acknowledged in Japanese-language writings such as that of Professor Takaoka Kumao; it was only Brazilian tolerance which allowed them to persist so long. Second, the schools run by Japanese in rural Brazil were of varying standards and, in some cases, little more than places to keep children gainfully occupied while their parents were at work. This may have been true even of the larger and better organised settlements. According to the official Burataku guide for new arrivals at Tiete in 1934, there were five schools in and around the vast settlement but, of these, one was accredited with the Brazilian government and had two Brazilian teachers with all classes in Portuguese, while three of the remainder had only one or two teachers for school populations ranging from 75 to 89 pupils. A third point is that the Japanese language was not being hounded out of existence: the prestigious Rio de Janeiro Law School, following the example of the Sao Paulo Law School two years earlier, was reported to have added a Japanese-language course to its curriculum in 1939 and was permitting medical students also to attend classes. In addition, a Rio Japanese-Language Student Society was founded at this time, as was, from January 1939, the Sao Paulo Society for the Study of Japanese Culture.12 Thus, there continued to be interest in and respect for the Japanese language among the very elite of Brazilian society. A further point about the restrictions of 1938 is that they did not result in a blanket destruction of Japanese-run primary schools. This much is admitted by Handa and Maeyama when they note that some schools continued quietly to function in defiance of the new laws. It is quite evident, however, that their ‘underground’ existence was poorly concealed. Early in 1940, Brazilian officials visited the schools of the Burataku settlement at Bastos to discover that there were only two Portuguese-language books in one of the libraries, and the sole Portuguese-language newspaper in the settlement was, as Jeffrey Lesser explains, ‘used to keep dust off a chessboard’. This showed

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there had been no great change since a visit paid to the same schools in 1936 by then Sao Paulo state Secretary of Education Almeida. At one school, he had found no books in Portuguese (although there was an image of the great Brazilian liberal statesman, Rui Barbosa), and no children able to speak the language; at the second school, he was relieved to see that some Portuguese texts were used but found the pupils utterly incapable of conversation. What did impress him, however, was the enthusiasm of both schools in singing the Brazilian national anthem. Perhaps this helped to persuade him that Japanese migrants could still be accommodated in the New State: in 1939, after retiring from his post, he was to write an 800 page book on the migrant Japanese. This was interpreted by the Burajiru Jiho, heading its report ‘we too have friends’, as an argument in support of the progress made by the second and third generations in assimilation and a major retort to any critics of the Japanese community. 13 An equally important point about the 1938–39 reforms and the question of language is that Japanese educators and opinion-leaders had long been pressing for more instruction in Portuguese. We have already heard the arguments from Japanese books and newspapers from the 1920s. In 1933, in response to tighter Brazilian rules, the Japanese educational association of Sao Paulo state had, among other things, issued an extensive series of publications on how to study Portuguese and, in 1934, held a 50-day intensive course of instruction in Portuguese for 35 teachers from provincial Japanese-language schools. At a meeting of Japanese educators from across Sao Paulo state early in 1937, language was again central to the discussion. In passing, this took another swipe at the Japanese consulates, which were dismissed as utterly unreliable on the question of education; it also acknowledged yet again that Brazilian law banning the teaching of a foreign language to children under ten was not presently being enforced. On the attitude of the Japanese community to language, however, one educator asserted, ‘Those who have been in Brazil a long time generally emphasise the value of Portuguese-language schooling’. To this, another added, ‘In general, the rural schools should put more effort into Portuguese language and the urban schools more effort into Japanese language’. On this point, there was broad agreement. 14 The thrust of these Japanese educators’ comments was that there were problems of balance in language learning both in the rural and urban migrant communities. In some of the rural settlements, there was so


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little contact for children with Brazilians (although there may well have been contact with other non-Brazilian migrants) that the opportunity or incentive to learn Portuguese was absent. Moreover, we should recall that the great wave of Japanese immigration had occurred between 1925 and 1935. Consequently, many of the Japanese adults and children in rural Brazil in the mid-1930s were relatively recent arrivals. In the towns and cities, however, the situation was reversed. Urban migrants tended to be the longest and best-established and there were indications even before 1938 that some were opting to use only Portuguese. In 1936, a journalist for the Burajiru Jiho recorded a conversation with a British visitor: the Briton asked why some Japanese migrants had taken to speaking Portuguese even in the home when the very idea was unthinkable for Britons. The view endorsed by the journalist was rather that a true ‘global’ person should learn the values of his ethnic community through the language used at home and the values of his host community through the language learned at school. This was seen as the logical response of a migrant from any country. The wisdom of this position was repeatedly supported by the Japanese-language press and by the migrant journal for children, Kodomo no Sono; in the late 1930s, it advertised its value in promoting both the Japanese spirit (Yamato tamashii) and the values of Brazil, and its usefulness as a home guide to the Japanese language. What was envisaged here was a linguistic division of labour. The result, it was hoped, would be ethnic Japanese youth who were more confident, cosmopolitan, and comfortable in at least two worlds. 15 By the mid-1930s, there was already a small body of young adults among the Japanese community with this mix of abilities. They also voiced their opinion on the role of language and values in the creation of youth identity. Their most prominent representative was the Japanese-Brazilian Student League, established at Sao Paulo city in October 1934 with 105 members. One historian of Brazil, Jeffrey Lesser makes much of the fact that the group adopted a hyphenated name – Nipo-Brazilian (in Japanese, Nippaku). This, however, is where his lack of Japanese-language ability leads him astray; Nippaku was already a common term, for example in the Nippaku Shimbun, the Nippaku Cinema Company, and the Kobe-based Nippaku Association. The original goal of the league was to foster educational, cultural and sports activities for the children of migrants. More generally, it aimed to promote a self-awareness of the second generation as ethnic

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Japanese within the multi-ethnic Brazilian community. The students took pride in their capacity to understand two cultures and this was demonstrated in their publication both of a Japanese-language journal, Gakuyu, and one in which the content was Portuguese even if the title, Gakusei, remained Japanese.16 Among the founders of the Student League, and chairman in 1936, was Cassio Kenro Shimomoto. As a student at the Sao Paulo Law School, he had become well known in 1932 for his participation with the state forces in revolt against President Vargas. As mentioned earlier, he was also the first Japanese migrant to qualify as a lawyer in Brazil. Shimomoto was unusually well placed to comment on issues of identity having been born aboard a migrant ship in the Indian Ocean. In October 1935, he wrote an article in Portuguese for Gakusei in which he explained:17 We are the children of Japanese but we are Brazilian and our responsibility is to the nation of Brazil. The accusation of Brazilians that ethnic Japanese do not assimilate is wrong. We have assimilated. Though our blood is that of Japanese, our hearts are Brazilian. We can respect Japan as the country of our fathers but we cannot love it. Our homeland is Brazil. A related view was expressed by the editor-in-chief of Gakusei, Jose Yamashiro. He was the son of Okinawan immigrants and, in so far as the Japanese language was still alien to many Okinawans, his support for the greater use by migrants of Portuguese is even more understandable. In 1936, he reinterpreted the concept of the quintessential Japanese spirit, the Yamato tamashii. With some basis in historical fact, he concluded that the essence of this spirit was absolute loyalty, but that such loyalty was not exclusively towards the Japanese emperor. Rather, for Yamashiro and those in Brazil, the ‘Japanese’ spirit could and should mean absolute fealty to the Brazilian flag. Federal restrictions on publications by foreigners or in a foreign language saw both student journals cease in the fall of 1938. However, with Yamashiro once again as editor, a new journal, Transicao (Transition), made its debut in mid-1939. In its first editorial, this argued: 18 We, Brazilian children of Japanese, are a transition . . . The harmonisation of two civilisations, apparently antagonistic. The fusion, in


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an ideal of mutual comprehension, of the qualities inherent in each. Instead of choosing one exclusive identity over another, or relativising the two, now the claim was to have achieved an advanced level of sophistication. Indeed, the impression here is that a doublelayered identity did not leave one suspended in a void but rather, in the way that a double-barrelled name in Britain was and is seen as a mark of status, so the second-generation Japanese in Brazil had reason to think of themselves as a new and nobler version both of Japanese and of Brazilians. The important point about this, however, is that the position of these second-generation students was not necessarily in conflict with or estranged from that of the first generation of migrants. To the extent that the claims of Transicao were accurate, they appeared to be the realisation of that hope expressed by earlier Japanese migrants and observers for a new ‘global’ Japanese. The value of transcending a single national identity was even supported by Japan’s military attaché in Brazil, Colonel Nakanishi Ryosuke. Late in the 1930s, he wrote frequent articles in the press and gave speeches on the question of nationalism and identity. In one of these, he urged young migrants to contribute to the progress of Brazil and be ‘pure Brazilians’ for, as he put it, ‘true Japanese can only be created in an environment like that of Japan and it is an error to believe they can be produced in the different environment of Brazil’. In his view, Japan should be seen as ‘the main house’ and Brazil a related house into which Japanese migrants had been adopted. 19 Notwithstanding his comments on what was pure and true, he did allow that a relationship persisted and that ‘adopted’ Japanese-Brazilians had not entirely forfeited their identity as Japanese. Irrespective of the comments or actions of migrant Japanese or of the Brazilian-born second generation, there were always some Brazilians who failed to shake off the dark fantasies of all Japanese as samurai in sheep’s clothing. Late in 1938, a Sao Paulo-based newspaper claimed that Japanese-run schools taught migrant children the values of a culture which ‘praised the hero’s death through harakiri’ and which stood to threaten the very survival of Brazil with its own quite different and more modern values of ‘order and progress’. 20 However, Brazilian public concerns on dangerous minorities were of

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far longer standing and much more acute about the German settlements of southern Brazil. In the 1930s, there were about 2000 Volksdeutsche groups in Brazil, ten German-language daily newspapers, and, in 1938, some 900 German primary schools. This was combined with the aggressive protection of German culture by local migrants, a refusal to marry Brazilian partners, and a view, expressed in their newspapers even before 1914, that Brazilian race-mixing had produced ‘ethnic chaos’. In 1938, President Vargas moved deliberately to suppress the Volksdeutsche movement on the grounds of national security. 21 The actual regulations of the New State were not always as draconian as they appeared on paper. Laws on migrant registration, for example, were introduced in 1938 but lay dormant for a year. Only from April 1939 were they finally enforced. They required all resident foreigners to report their names to the police and to carry an alien registration card, without which it was henceforth impossible to obtain urban employment. Although heavy punishments awaited those who ignored this regulation, those already in Brazil were given another full year in which to comply.22 In addition, where laws against non-Brazilian culture were applied, there was still room either to manoeuver or appeal. The Nihon Kinema Company intended to show a Japanese-language film at a settlement in Parana state early in 1939. This was forbidden by the police on the grounds that the advertising posters were solely in Japanese as was the synopsis of the film itself. Parana was regarded as one of the strictest of the states in suppressing the Japanese language and one might see this ban as merely another blow against expatriate Japanese culture. However, the fact that the company felt it had a chance to exhibit the film suggests equally that the laws could be made flexible or circumvented, depending either on the wit of those involved or on the caprice of the authorities.23

Order and progress: the expatriate community, technology and medicine The opponents of expatriate Japanese argued that, even in a multiethnic society like Brazil, they were racially and culturally exclusive. Underlying this argument was a belief that Japanese ideas of blood and loyalty were deeply rooted in tradition and immovable; the


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result was simultaneously a basis for Japanese communal strength, whether at home or overseas, and a barrier to internationalism. The same belief, of course, was to be repeated both by Japanese and foreign observers throughout the twentieth century. One way in which expatriate Japanese in late-1930s Brazil sought to overcome this barrier, and demonstrate their freedom from an excessively heavy burden of tradition, was by pointing to aspects either of Japan’s or their own modernity. This could best be shown through science, medicine and technology. Innovation in science and technology was seen in the 1930s as the marker of a progressive civilisation. Consequently, the migrant press reported at length on advances being made by scientists and technicians in Japan. One example was of the great emerging technology of the period: television. It was between 1930 and 1933 that the first steps towards television broadcasting and production of receivers were taken in Japan. In Brazil, the new medium commenced in an experimental form in Rio de Janeiro from June 1939. As the Burajiru Jiho carefully noted, however, Tokyo had already conducted a successful trial broadcast the month before.24 This was in preparation for coverage of the 1940 Olympics which were scheduled (though ultimately cancelled) to be run in Tokyo. As a source of great pride for all Japanese, this was to be the first time that they were to be held in Asia. While television was technology of the near future, the 1930s were still part of the pioneering era of flight. In this, Japanese migrants could share in the feats of aviators from Japan. Their best opportunity to do so occurred in September 1939 with the arrival in Brazil of a Japanese aeroplane engaged on a 56 000 kilometre round-the-world trip. The craft was the Nippon (Japan), built by Mitsubishi and sponsored on its journey by two of Japan’s major newspapers, the Osaka Mainichi and Tokyo Nichi Nichi. In Brazil, the Nippon touched down at Rio de Janeiro, Santos and Sao Paulo. In Rio, despite the reputation of the local media as aggressively anti-Japanese, the aviators were feted by Brazilian journalists and greeted by crowds of wellwishers. In a speech of welcome, the Japanese ambassador acclaimed the Nippon as the embodiment of ‘science Japan’ (kagaku Nihon). This was a sentiment echoed by the Brazilian federal minister of communications who declared to the assembled press that the aeroplane was indeed a symbol of the technological progress and scientific achievement being made in Japan. A speech was also made

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by a group of Brazilian scholars of Japanese culture: this brought the Nippon and the expatriate community together when it insisted that this visit offered the Brazilian people an opportunity to reappraise Japan, its society, values and intentions.25 There was a reason why the arrival of an aircraft might exert a special significance for Brazilian observers and work to the benefit of expatriate Japanese. Brazil’s fascination with aviation had been apparent in 1930 with the visit to Recife, in the country’s north, of a German airship; a military honour guard of about 500 cavalry and soldiers plus thousands of ordinary people had gathered at the landing site. The particular ideological connection of flight and Brazil, however, resulted from the exploits of the great national hero, engineer and pioneer aviator of the 1900s, Alberto Santos-Dumont. In 1906, he had achieved world fame with his biplane flight in Paris and, as Brazil’s pre-eminent cultural historian, Gilberto Freyre, explains, ‘The myth of Santos-Dumont became part of an even greater myth; that of Brazilian progress through science’. Freyre’s description of the man himself suggests a further reason why the visit of the Nippon may have profited the Japanese in Brazil: ‘Santos-Dumont represented the idealisation, par excellence, of the little man of yellowed countenance’ who was ‘capable of performing great deeds of valor against blond, pink-cheeked giants, the Brazilian David against the Nordic Goliath’. A figure cited in the 1920s stated that the height of the average Brazilian man was just five feet two inches, and an Argentinian term for Brazilians was ‘macaquitos’ (little monkeys). In this sense, Japanese migrants could point to the Nippon as symbolising parallels between themselves and Brazilians both in terms of scientific endeavour, and in their physical or cultural relationship to the ruling peoples of Europe and North America. 26 A more personal area in which Japanese migrants could display order and progress was in medicine. After all, the critics of Japanese immigration from the 1920s had consistently been exploiting the imagery of disease and infection in their rhetoric. At the insistence of the Japanese government, improvements in hygiene had been made in the 1930s on the vessels carrying migrants to Brazil. In the interior of Sao Paulo, however, conditions were often poor: among communities in the Noroeste region, the town of Lins was unusually well off in having both a Japanese doctor and, from 1934, an ophthalmologist recruited directly from Japan. At the settlement of Bastos from 1930,


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a young medical graduate of the prestigious Keio University was also recruited from Japan (and was not to return there for another 32 years). This was Dr Hosoe Shizuo. He received patients from within a 400-kilometre radius and, though able to perform surgery only at night owing to the daytime presence of troublesome insects, he treated roughly a thousand cases of appendicitis before moving to Sao Paulo city in 1935. In light of the racist linking between immigration and infection, however, any progress made by expatriate Japanese in the realm of health care potentially had significant benefits. For this reason, special pride was taken in the first Japanese students to enter the Sao Paulo Medical School in 1933. 27 The association principally responsible for Japanese migrant health in Brazil was the Dojinkai. With a subsidy of 30 000 yen from the Japanese government, this had been established at a ceremony held in the Japan Club, Sao Paulo city, in February 1924. One of the prime movers behind its creation was Aoyagi Ikutaro, still deeply involved with the entire migrant venture following his work in 1912–13 on behalf of the Tokyo-based Brazilian Development Company. In unusual partnership on the Dojinkai board of directors were the habitually opposed newspapermen, Kuroishi Seisaku of the Burajiru Jiho and Miura Saku of the Nippaku Shimbun. In 1928, the Dojinkai was formally licensed as a corporate body with the Brazilian government. One of its earliest acts in 1924, however, was to sponsor Japanese males aged between 16 and 25 with Portuguese language skills to study pharmacology. The aim here was to develop a base of excellence within the migrant community rather than rely on attracting graduates from Japan. The stipulation on Portuguese language, however, indicates an early desire to promote links between young Japanese and the Brazilian medical world. In 1929, the Dojinkai also staged a competition for the best slogan to raise support among Japanese migrants in the fight against trachoma. The winning entry, receiving a prize of 100 milreis, was, ‘trachoma destroys the eyes, destroys wealth, destroys leisure’. The theme here perhaps opens our own eyes to the real values of the migrant community. 28 From the outset, the goal of the Dojinkai was the creation of a hospital. In 1926, the first move was made when, again with monies from the Japanese government, a site of 14 000 square metres was purchased in Sao Paulo city. In the early 1930s, there were further donations, including 50 000 yen from the Japanese emperor and

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300 000 yen more from the government in Tokyo. Campaign drives were also held among the migrants from mid-1935. Construction of what became known as the Japan Hospital began in August 1936 with many of the materials, including cement, steel girders, and linoleum flooring, being imported free of duty from Japan. The expectation at the time was that it would be complete within two years. In fact, it was beaten to the honour of being the first medical facility of the migrant Japanese to begin operation. This was taken by the Sanitorium Sao Francisco Xavier which opened in February 1937. It was a specialist centre for the treatment of tuberculosis. Set amid the hills of Campos do Jordao, Sao Paulo state, it boasted modern x-ray and infra-red technology from Japan. The Dojinkai had rented a house at the site in mid-1935. However, an outbreak of the disease among expatriate Japanese in 1936 was used by some Brazilians to call for a ban on health grounds of all further immigration from Japan; this prompted the group to act more forcefully. In this, however, it was already the grateful recipient from November 1935 of about 20 hectares of land at Campos do Jordao personally donated by the Brazilian foreign minister, Soares. The local mayor also assisted the Japanese in establishing their own sanitorium which, borrowing the name of the summer mountain resort for residents of Tokyo, subsequently became known among the expatriates as ‘the Karuizawa of Brazil’.29 Construction of the Japan Hospital in Sao Paulo city was actually completed on the emperor’s birthday, 29 April, in 1939. With its streamlined, rounded corners and its five storey structure, it was a bold and imposing assertion of Japanese modernity and health. It had 76 rooms for patients with a total of 200 beds. The opening of its doors, however, led to organisational changes in the Dojinkai. In view of the running costs now to fall on its shoulders, the society began campaigning across Brazil for new members. It aimed initially to attract 5000 Japanese in the interior and one of the carrots it offered was a discount on hospital costs so that membership dues became a form of medical insurance (at least for those who could make their way to the metropolis). A further change, however, was a consequence of the New State restrictions on non-Brazilian associations. These meant that the Dojinkai regulations were completely rewritten in mid-1939 so that it became in legal terms purely a Brazilian group, welcoming membership from Brazilian citizens. 30


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The completion of the Japan Hospital was a major achievement for the efforts of the Japanese community in Brazil, with the assistance of the government in Tokyo. The fact that it was finished on the emperor’s birthday was no doubt open acknowledgement of the financial support received from the throne. However, despite its imperial connections and its importance as a prestige institution, it was quickly embroiled in controversy. In this, it showed that the troubles of the migrant community could be as much their own creation as the result of any pressure from Brazilians. The problem arose in less than a year after its opening. At the centre of an acrimonious dispute were members of the female nursing staff who were at odds with their male superiors. The two initial supervisors of nurses, Kato Setsu and her deputy Yamamoto Sue, had been recruited from Japan. Early in 1940, however, they refused to work any longer with a man called Hosoe brought in from Rio de Janeiro to supersede them. Sixteen of the trainee nurses subsequently walked off the job in sympathy with the two women. The dispute became very public and one of the trainee nurses wrote an open letter to the Japaneselanguage press. In this, she described Hosoe saying that wages in Rio were low but opportunities to get tips from patients were plentiful. This mercenary attitude had been perfectly common, and frequently criticised, in Japan itself in the 1900s. In Sao Paulo at the end of the 1930s, however, it offended the sense of dedication of Kato and Yamamoto, and of the nurses originally in their charge. The turmoil was further increased when a Dr Takahashi in the women’s health section, a graduate of the Rio de Janeiro Medical School and a longstanding member of the Dojinkai, was removed by the hospital’s deputy director for allegedly ‘disturbing the internal order of the institution’. The press interpreted this to mean that he was in fact in sympathy with the nurses. In the end, the bitterness barely had time to settle: shortly after the start of the Pacific war and the cessation in January 1942 of diplomatic relations between Japan and Brazil, the hospital was seized by the Brazilian government as an enemy asset and a Brazilian administrator took complete control of its running. 31

’Ex-patriotism’: migrants and the Sino-Japanese war Japan’s undeclared war in China began in mid-1937. By the end of that year, Japanese forces occupied much of the eastern regions of the

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China mainland but were not able then, or later, to eliminate the Chinese nationalist or communist armies. Instead, the nationalists used distance as their ally and retreated into the hinterland; this fulfilled a prediction made by Japanese army intelligence nearly three decades earlier. In addition, the guerrilla forces of the Chinese communists found it easy to harass Japanese units as the latter were forced by lack of supplies and local knowledge to keep to the exposed main lines of communication. The result was a costly war of attrition for Japan with few set-piece battles or clear-cut victories after the early engagements. The expatriate community in Brazil was quickly brought into the war in two respects. At a general level, there was a call from Japan for assistance in the international propaganda effort. The idea behind this was explained in an appeal from the Japan–Brazil Association at Kobe. This appeared in the migrant press at the start of 1938. In what it described already as a total war, the association challenged the Japanese in Brazil to combat overseas misinterpretations of the war. In particular, it claimed that the international media was dominated by American, British and French companies which not only opposed Japan but, being largely capitalist enterprises, distorted the truth in search of the commercial and sensational. In response, it argued, ‘all our people who have the chance of contact with foreign states or peoples must think of themselves as a kind of diplomat’. In their own understanding of the war, migrants were generally and quite naturally receptive to the view from Tokyo, and war news from Japan dominated the front pages of their press. In addition, more films were made in Japan with patriotic themes, such as the 1939 war drama, Shanghai Rikusentai (Shanghai Landing Party), and so inevitably these were more common among the movies exhibited in Brazil. The authorities in Japan also exported newsreels of the war, plus more general films to win over international sympathy; in 1940, for example, these included Spanish-language documentaries giving an overview of Japan, an introduction to Japanese sports, and a view of wartime Japan behind the lines.32 A further and more direct form of migrant involvement in the war was through donations. In these, migrant women’s and youth groups especially were encouraged to be active: in 1937, the Patriotic Women’s Association in Japan (Aikoku Fujinkai) wrote an open letter to expatriate women in Brazil asking for their help in raising


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money for military families; at the same time, the Nambei Shimpo newspaper arranged for migrant children to draw or paint postcards to be sent to cheer up troops at the front. To maintain support for the war, women’s and youth groups also arranged frequent social and cultural gatherings, including the showing of patriotic films or newsreel, or made small items for sale in place of donations. Migrant traders also emphasised the connection between women and the war effort, even if their intentions were not simply patriotic. In one case, the migrant company, Kunii Trading of Sao Paulo city, announced a sale in December 1939 in part to celebrate an anniversary of its commercial operations and in part to rally behind the Japanese forces. The drawcard of the sale was the prizes offered to shoppers. Among the best were items named after a major Chinese city then under Japanese control: the ‘Nanjing prize’ was a Columbia record player with fifteen records; a larger number of runners-up prizes included ‘comfort bags’ (imon-bukuro) to be sent to Japanese troops. In a further bid to legitimise this linking of patriotism and materialism, the announcement of the sale showed an elegant young Japanese housewife at one end of a stream of consumer goods (a bicycle, clock, parasol, mirror and that enticing new record-player) which transformed imperceptibly into ‘comfort bags’ and extended, at the other end of the stream, to a rejoicing soldier.33 Donations by individual expatriates, according to an extensive list from late 1937, generally ranged between five and ten milreis (about two to three yen at the time). By the end of September that year, the Japanese community in Brazil had gathered 300 contos, the equivalent of 92 000 yen, and this was transmitted to the army and navy ministries in Tokyo.34 Thereafter, the migrant press reported numerous small examples of aid for the war effort; these included settlers at the appropriately named and recently developed colony of Heiwa (Peace) abstaining from beer or sake at the New Year celebrations in 1938 and, instead, donating their drinking money to the defence of Japan. Whether this level of self-sacrifice persisted, however, is open to question. Figures released by Tokyo in October 1939 showed that Japanese overseas collectively had sent nearly 3.7 million yen since the start of the war, most of this to the foreign ministry. Donors in Sao Paulo state were credited in one report with 222 600 yen, in another with 225 000. Whichever was accurate, it was obviously well above the 49 000 yen from the Japanese in Argentina, the 21 000 yen

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from the expatriates in Mexico, or the 11 000 yen from those in Britain. It was also well below, however, the 284 000 yen donated by the Japanese in Honolulu and only just above the 215 000 yen sent by those in Seattle. The largest sum of nearly 948 000 yen was sent by the Japanese community of San Francisco.35 In 1938–39, there were a number of migrant associations either created or resurrected to collect donations for the war. In general, the stated aim of these associations was to provide monetary assistance to the families of troops at the front. However, in practice, there were differing levels of enthusiasm and varying agendas. It is common wisdom that Japanese nationalism traditionally has been powerful in the southwest in such regions as Kagoshima. The history of the Kagoshima community in Brazil, published in 1941, offers an alternative view. It notes that there were impassioned proposals at the start of war on reforming the long dormant prefectural association of Sao Paulo city in order to gather war monies. It also confesses, however, that these proposals quickly subsided into inaction. 36 Other migrants originally from Kagoshima, now resident in and around Lins in the interior of the state, did establish a new association in December 1939 and one of its first acts was indeed to collect donations for military families in Japan. Yet, its wider aims were to promote universal peace and ‘Japanese-Brazilian culture’ (Nippaku bunka), and to employ Japanese values in the building of modern Brazil. In other words, it was as much a reaction to the New State as to Japan’s war emergency. Elsewhere, natives of Kagoshima at the Bastos settlement resurrected their native-place association in 1938; this was after several years of silence following a bitter dispute between leaders of the group and the settlement director. However, the new association was principally involved in buying real estate, and using the profit from rents to subsidise its own members in times of personal hardship.37 One further aspect of the migrant community and its response to the war in China was the incidence of young men volunteering for service with the Japanese military. According to a press report of June 1938, however, that is, one year after the start of hostilities, there had been just three volunteers since the previous January. Of these, the third to depart Brazil was a man of 22 who had arrived from Yokohama just three years earlier and, since that time, had been engaged in cotton farming. His attachment to Brazil, therefore, was clearly weaker than the majority of expatriate Japanese while his


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decision to volunteer was sufficiently rare as to be newsworthy. 38 There were, however, cases of young men born in Brazil who also offered themselves for military service. Among these was a man named Kayama and a letter he wrote home to Brazil was printed in the Seishu Shimpo in June 1939. In this, he recounted at length his training on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu and, in one comment, hinted at his motives for volunteering. As he explained, ‘Mine is a heavy mission. It is to fulfil my roles both as a true Japanese and as one of the second generation born in Brazil who deserves not to be treated with contempt’.39 Since the 1920s, there had been a belief that some new arrivals from Japan viewed those already in Brazil with disdain. Consequently, Kayama’s decision at least was motivated as much by the desire for respect as a Brazilian-Japanese as by patriotism for Japan. After the start of Japan’s war with China, there was a marked increase in the number of expatriates leaving Brazil. As an article from the Seishu Shimpo put it in mid-1939, the two problems dominating the minds of community leaders were the education of the second generation and the departures of the first generation. The article quoted a figure of 917 returnees for the whole of 1938 and 935 for the first six months of 1939. The relationship between this increase and Japanese nationalism, however, can be overstated. For example, in works by Mita Chiyoko and Jeffrey Lesser, the impression given is that migrants were either reacting against the New State and its constraints on Japanese identity or that they wished to serve Japan in a time of crisis; in both writings, the emphasis is on a return actually to Japan. Yet, reports in the migrant press in 1939 claimed that Japanese leaving Brazil were mostly from the cotton belt of northeastern Sao Paulo, followed in descending order by those from the Sorocabana and then Noroeste regions of the state’s northwest. In explaining the trend, a sharp contrast was drawn between migrant families who had returned to Japan in earlier years for the education of their children or to show off their prosperity to relatives and friends. Now, it was argued, the ones who left were impoverished and motivated by anxiety over the future both of politics and the economy of Brazil; this unease was partly caused by the New State restrictions on education (although those in the remote interior were best placed to avoid government restrictions) but also, and perhaps more importantly, by the downward spiral in prices for cotton. In

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addition, the reports stressed the fact that Japan’s hold on Manchuria and North China seemed now to offer better farming prospects. In other words, many of those leaving Brazil were reacting to economic forces and, instead of returning to Japan’s main islands, were migrating a second time to what they hoped was a more certain future under Japanese protection in Northeast Asia.40

Religion: nationalism and internationalism One of the features common to both Japanese and Brazilian societies has been religious tolerance. The popular saying in Japan is, ‘born Shinto, die Buddhist’. Similarly, an estimate for Brazil in the 1990s suggested about 90 per cent of the population was Catholic but at least half the people also followed Afro-Brazilian religions. In later Japanese-language histories of the expatriate community, however, there is a casual insistence that religious organisations, with the exception of Catholic groups, were not active among Japanese migrants until the 1950s; in support of this, Maeyama Takashi quotes a saying among migrants, ‘we left politics and religion behind in Japan’. Instead, his fervent conviction, if one may so describe it, is that emperor worship was the dominant belief system of pre-1940 Japanese in Brazil. In his words: 41 Emperor worship was almost the only ritual, except for funeral rites, observed by the Japanese in prewar Brazil. The local community provided the arena, and emperor worship, the content for the ethnic identity required for defining themselves and identification for organizing their everyday actions in an alien situational context. By this, he means in effect that emperor worship was synonomous with being Japanese and that the rituals and beliefs of emperor worship were at the very core of the expatriates’ daily existence. His view, as noted earlier, is that emperor worship was centred on the Japaneserun school and evident in activities held at the school such as the celebration of Japanese festivals and accompanying sports meetings. In taking place in what Maeyama terms ‘the playground of the “sacred” Japanese school, as if in the presence of the Emperor himself’, this means logically that such activities as running, jumping, playing


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baseball, or engaging in a bean bag race, also became sacred. He also states that the Japanese government from 1918 imposed a ban on travel to Brazil for religious purposes by any missionaries, other than those of the Christian church. This, he argues, was in response to the anti-Japanese sentiment of Brazilians. 42 This would seem to present a dilemma. As Japan became bogged down in war, one would expect to see more evidence of emperor worship. Yet, at this same moment, the Japanese-language schools in Brazil were being closed. The dilemma is reduced, however, if we re-examine Maeyama’s assertion. First, the idea that funeral rites and emperor worship were the only rituals observed by the migrant community is somewhat startling in that it clearly ignores the other points of consequence in the life cycle: birth and marriage. Also, his sombre view of sports would seem, from the tone of contemporary reports in the migrant press, to minimise the basic pleasure of youthful migrants in activity and competition; the delight of those from the interior in defeating a team from the city was surely less to do with ‘serving’ the emperor and more to do with local rivalries. Moreover, it is highly questionable whether the ideology of emperor worship was as powerful even in Japan as Maeyama seems to think it was in Brazil. Within the expatriate community, there was no network of Shinto shrines, and schools had no clear, centralised curriculum; this was evident in the ongoing debates on education into the 1930s. Some migrant teachers were themselves critical of textbooks imported from Japan in so far as the people and places described therein were so remote from the experience of their pupils; in this, the emperor would seem to be a prime example.43 This is not to say that the rituals of showing respect for the Japanese emperor were mere empty vessels. Rather, they functioned as one easily discernible element of Japanese ‘tradition’ (even if some elements of that tradition had only recently been invented or reinvented) and, as with traditions among any largely young community, they were either supported, endured, or ignored. The dominance of emperor worship is also undermined if we accept that religion among the Japanese in Brazil was more diverse than Maeyama and others would have us believe. According to a migrant Japanese historian writing in Sao Paulo in the 1950s, the early arrivals were virtually all in their twenties and thought exclusively of money. Only after finding themselves staying long-term in Brazil did they turn to the question of religion. The answer for a significant number

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was Buddhism. This had been a problem in North America: migrants who maintained their Buddhist faith had been used by critics to show that Japanese in general refused to assimilate with local ways. Consequently, there was some initial reluctance on the part of Japanese in Brazil to establish Buddhist institutions. However, a survey of one settlement by the Japanese consulate in 1930 showed that, of 177 migrants questioned, 89 identified themselves as Buddhist, 72 as New Testament Christian, 13 Old Testament Christian, and two as Shinto (one either chose not to respond, had no faith, or was lost in the counting). A slightly later estimate by the Burajiru Jiho in 1934 suggested that about 70 per cent of all Japanese in Brazil adhered to the Buddhist faith.44 Whatever restrictions may have been imposed by the Japanese government, Buddhist sects did in fact send representatives to Brazil. On his travels in the late 1920s, Tsuji Kotaro observed that the Buddhist Honganji sect, as well as Japanese New Religions and Shinto groups, had just begun sending men over to promote their beliefs among both Japanese and non-Japanese. This, he felt, could be counter-productive in so far as the anti-Japanese lobby had been quiet for several years and might now be provoked by the appearance of religious emissaries from Japan. What had presumably come to his attention was the first visit to Brazil by a priest from the Nishi Honganji in 1928; this led to the creation of a Buddhist group at the Iguape settlement, south of Sao Paulo city. Two years earlier, however, a member of the Jodo Shinshu sect had arrived and begun working with settlers at Cafelandia to promote Buddhism across the state; from 1932, they published a monthly journal, Seido (Achieving Oneness), and, in the same year, a Jodo Shinshu temple was established at the Hirano settlement. A priest from the Tenrikyo school of Buddhism arrived at the Tiete settlement in 1929 but moved to the more centrally-located town of Bauru in 1931. His efforts were assisted in 1936 when an adviser to Tenrikyo visited Brazil as part of an economic delegation. Given that one of the primary roles of Buddhism was praying for the dead, the faith was no doubt boosted by the onset of the Sino-Japanese war: it is recorded that there were Buddhist services for Japan’s war dead at least in the town of Marilia (just northwest of Bauru). Around this time, there was further evidence that Brazilians were tolerant of religious difference: in 1939, a priest of the Shingon sect obtained approval from the federal government in Rio to build a temple. 45


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As for the New Religions of Japan, one of the most recently formed in the 1930s was Seicho no Ie. Created at the start of the decade, it claimed to represent a synthesis of all the major religions. It was also intent on being active internationally and, by late 1940, there was a branch in Brazil. This much is clear from a letter written by the branch to rebut a migrant press report which seemed to infer that Seicho no Ie was no more than a seller of snake oils. In its rebuttal, the Brazilian branch claimed that Seicho no Ie had been approved as a recognised religion by the Japanese government earlier that year, and that it had already applied to the Brazilian government for permission to conduct religious activities locally. Up to December 1940, however, this permission had been withheld, apparently on the grounds that the branch’s Portuguese-language application was as yet inadequate.46 Among the few things that migrants were told about Brazil before they left Japan was that it was largely a Catholic country. While the federal constitution guaranteed freedom of religion (and banned religious instruction in the state school curriculum), some migrants were encouraged at Kobe to think of converting to Christianity in order to ease their lives in Brazil. Clearly there were some who took this advice. The first baptisms of Japanese in Brazil occurred initially in the rural areas in 1921 and then in Sao Paulo city in 1926. This spurred others to follow suit. A report in the Nippaku Shimbun of December 1927 noted that the number of Catholic conversions had suddenly become very numerous (dai-tasu) over the previous one to two years, with mass christenings being performed. The report explained this trend in part as a result of the spiritual unease felt by migrants as foreigners, but also welcomed it as a further step towards assimilation into Brazilian life. In passing, the report did raise the possibility that Catholic priests might simply be collecting converts in order to inflate their own success. However, one of the Brazilian priests most active in Sao Paulo city was Father Guido del Torro: at a single ceremony in November 1927, at which a state police band and major dignitaries were in attendance, he christened 142 Japanese. He further expanded his flock to the outskirts of the metropolis at the start of the 1930s. Father del Torro also worked closely with a Japanese priest of relatively advanced years (he was 59 when he first set foot in Brazil in 1924); this was Nakamura Choroku, a graduate of a Christian seminary in Nagasaki. These two set up the Sao Francisco School for Japanese children in Sao Paulo city in 1928. It began with 14 pupils and, over

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the next quarter of a century, is credited with educating several thousand, only increasing in size and importance in the 1950s.47 The Burajiru Jiho in December 1940 estimated about 7000 Japanese in Brazil had been baptised as Catholics. However, this was not seen merely as a device to placate the anti-Japanese lobby. Rather, Japanese Catholics were credited with a deep faith and, in this, Christian missionaries from Japan were highly influential. Father Nakamura, for example, was to remain in Brazil until his death in 1940. A Sao Paulo Holiness Church was also established in Sao Paulo city in the mid-1920s by a Japanese named Monobe; its activities included a Sunday school as well as bible-reading classes. Of a similar character in 1925 was the Japanese Episcopal Church of Father Ito Yasoji, formerly a missionary in North America. This held Sunday mass and conducted its own Sunday school. In a separate venture in 1929, there was a campaign to raise money for a Christian Youth Center in Sao Paulo city; among the donors was the Japanese consul-general, the Burataku Company, the Sao Paulo City Japanese Hotels Association, Kuroishi Seisaku of the Burajiru Jiho, and Sugimoto Honosuke of the Casa Tokyo furniture company. Perhaps the most famous (or infamous) Japanese Christian missionary at the time, however, was Kobayashi Midori. According to one migrant newspaper: ‘along with an “amen”, he has the assassin’s skills of an expert swordsman. Behind his shopboard of education, he quite cleverly rakes in the money’. Kobayashi established a Japanese Mission in Brazil in 1922 and, in the same year, conducted the first Sunday School (actually held at the Taisho Primary School) with a mix of Japanese children plus Japanese and Brazilian adults. In the mid-1920s, he also set up a Christian school in the metropolis and a Church of Sao Paulo city which, from 1934, was renamed the Church of South America.48 The presence of Christian churches among Japanese migrants was not confined to Sao Paulo city. At the Alianca settlement, a Catholic chapel was established early in 1935. A decade earlier, there had been a drive by migrants on the Registro settlement to build their own church. This was a major plan, costed overall at 50 contos. The rationale behind it, as this was explained in the advertisement for donations, was that Japanese in Brazil had the primary responsibility to fit in with local custom, for example, by modifying their dress and abandoning Japanese clogs (geta) for shoes, and by altering their beliefs through a conversion to Christianity. In this spirit, the Registro


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church was intended to serve both Japanese and Brazilians, and the committee overseeing the project was also a co-operative enterprise with a Brazilian as chair.49 The activities of Buddhist sects and Christian churches among expatriate Japanese obviously did not obstruct them from supporting Japan in its war effort. However, they do imply that emperor worship was not as central to migrant life as has been suggested. Moreover, the manner in which Brazilian and Japanese Christians worked together indicates a desire on the part of migrants to live within, and not apart from, Brazilian society. The tolerance of the federal government for Japanese Buddhist institutions late in the 1930s also suggests that religion was not a crucial issue in relations between the Brazilian authorities and the resident Japanese.

Closing images: Japanese and Brazilians circa 1940 The onset of the Sino-Japanese war contributed to a greater interest among Brazilians about Japan and the Japanese late in the 1930s. This interest had been growing over the decade, albeit commencing from a point of virtual ignorance: an article in the Burajiru Jiho in 1934 claimed that Brazilians in the interior were likely to ask how long it took by train from Sao Paulo to Japan, and in which part of Europe was Japan to be found. It also reproduced an image from a Brazilian school text in which a typical Japanese boy was pictured in Chinese dress and given the Chinese name, Pei-ho. With the start of war, some Brazilians expressed a desire to learn more about Japan’s martial arts; this followed a high-profile goodwill visit by two judo experts from Japan in 1939. One consequence was the creation late in 1940 of a new judo school at Birigui city with a mix of Japanese and Brazilian students: the headline in the migrant press was ‘Japanese and Brazilian bonded by judo’, and this seemed to perpetuate the earlier ideal of sports as a meeting-point of cultures.50 Another concept to be revived by the war was that of understanding culture through music. After 1937, there was more demand in Brazil and other countries for recorded music from Japan. For example, the Sao Paulo Radio Station Orchestra was reported in 1938 to be planning a performance of Japanese music such as the national anthem (Kimi ga Yo), military marches, and other works. The metropolitan station Radio 22P early in 1938 was also broadcasting a quarter-hourly selection of

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Japanese songs each week in response to the growing public interest since the start of the China war. The titles listed, however, mixed the prevailing image of aestheticism and militarism identified with Japan, including as they did songs from the war with those such as ‘The Cherry Blossom Dance’ (‘Sakura Odori’) and ‘The Flower-Viewing Dance’ (‘Hanami Odori’).51 The onset of war in Asia, and the rise of tensions in Europe, heightened South American fears about immigrants in general and the threat of subversion. In May 1940, the Japanese-language press in Brazil reported violent attacks in Peru; these were directed at Japanese businesses, schools, farms and houses, and followed rumours, perhaps spread by US intelligence officers, of arms having been discovered at various sites to be used by Japanese fifth columnists. In the violence, several hundred Japanese concerns were attacked and ten Japanese killed. In so far as some of the major businesses of Japanese in Peru were barber shops, bakers, chicken farmers and florists, the story gained currency only from the imagery of all Japanese as samurai. This violence, however, came at a time when the Peruvian government was considering laws to ban all further immigration from Japan and deprive Japanese of the right to own land. In Brazil, by contrast, the lives and property of migrant Japanese remained safe. There were some Brazilians who warned of conspiracy and a map was produced by a parliamentary member of the anti-Japanese lobby to show Japanese intent on taking over Sao Paulo state: this was publicly refuted by State Secretary of Education Almeida who dismissed the map as an obvious fabrication. At this time also, Brazilian officials such as the mayor of Jundiai were happy to attend local celebrations of resident Japanese. There was some disquiet early in 1939 when leaflets were pasted about the city of Lins defaming the Japanese presence. The Burajiru Jiho speculated it might have been the work of Brazilian communist party members, either to distract pressure from their own organisation or in support of the Chinese communists. The Japanese at Lins, however, chose merely to press the Brazilian authorities for a thorough investigation and then to let the matter drop.52 Indeed, one of the principal acts of destruction to the Japanese community came at its own hands: in July 1939, Miura Saku of the Nippaku Shimbun was finally expelled from Brazil and forced to make Japan his home for the first time in over 30 years. This came after an article of his had been reported, no doubt by one of his Japanese


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enemies, to the authorities as demeaning the military. On this occasion, there was no reprieve: the Nippaku Shimbun was banned for a year, and Miura, soon after returning to Japan, was to spend the entire war years in Sugamo Prison, Tokyo, after further, albeit privately, criticising the military.53 While expatriates were involved in supporting Japan’s war effort, they also demonstrated their commitment to Brazil. In 1938, Japanese pupils at the Taisho Primary School in Sao Paulo city celebrated the anniversary of the Brazilian republic with a programme of songs and poetry, much of it in Portuguese. In 1939, Burataku made arrangements for about 400 children of Japanese descent to march in an independence day parade for second-generation Brazilians; this was held on 7 September in Rio de Janeiro and practice for the parade was overseen by the Brazilian teacher of physical education at the Bastos primary school. Even under the New State, there was widespread support among Brazilians for the ideas of Freyre and others on the value of ‘indefinite homogeneity’. Indeed, the conclusion of Robert Levine, historian of the Vargas regime, would seem apposite: ‘racism did not haunt the Estado Novo save for faint reminders of xenophobia and survivals of anti-Japanese and anti-Semitic attitudes among a small minority’. 54 On the question of racism, one should note that the expatriate Japanese press continued in the late 1930s to view Western societies with general goodwill and equanimity. The Seishu Shimpo, for example, in February 1940 could still use a caricature of Charlie Chaplin to head its column on ‘News from Home’ (i.e. Japan) without apparent contradiction. Indeed, less flattering caricatures of Western leaders more commonly mocked the political demagogues, Hitler or Mussolini, rather than Roosevelt or Churchill; the cartoons of Mussolini in particular finely captured his mix of brutality and bombast. Migrants were obviously unsettled by the statement early in 1939 of the Brazilian foreign minister while visiting Washington that, in the event of a world war, Brazil would co-operate with the United States. However, they do not seem to have engaged in open displays of antiAmericanism and tended more often to blame diplomatic friction between Tokyo and Washington on the propaganda failures of their own officials. 55 It may be that the prospect of an expanded war, or simply the economic vicissitudes of Brazil, contributed to a growing number of

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migrants either repatriating to Japan or returning for a visit after an extended period away. This led to a greater frequency of letters and reports in the expatriate press describing the land and society of Japan in the 1930s. One of the consistent features here, as it was with Japanese migrants elsewhere in the Americas, was to comment on the smallness and cramped condition of life in Japan. Thus, a farmer from the Noroeste revisited Japan in 1935 after an absence of 25 years. As he put it, ‘Going from Brazil, I felt that agriculture in Japan was just like playing with plants in a box: also the struggle to survive is aggressive so virtues like responsibility and humanity have weakened’. Another return visitor in 1939 gave his impressions after two decades in Brazil. In particular, he was surprised at seeing Mount Fuji again; it appeared so small, he wrote, that it seemed almost like a toy and quite failed to move him. He passed it several times during his visit and gradually began to appreciate its beauty but it was not until he was sailing back to Brazil, and heard of the first snow on Fuji’s peak, that he felt any real renewed sense of attachment to this quintessential icon of Japan. 56 In writings on Japanese emigration, there is a tendency to emphasise the traumatic experience and the heroic endurance. What this overlooks is both the ordinariness and the humour of migrant life. The ordinariness is evident in a list of book titles imported by a Japanese trader in Sao Paulo in September 1940. Hardly surprising given the wars in Europe and China, this included a translation of Hitler’s Mein Kampf, the autobiography of T.E. Lawrence, and The Pocket Navy Yearbook (Japan). However, there was also a reader in Japanese literature and works with such non-martial subjects as Growing Tomatoes, How to Drive and Teach Yourself Harmonica.57 As for humour, there was in Japan and among the expatriate Japanese a constant audience for jokes and satire, notwithstanding the events of the late 1930s. For example, the 1938 New Year’s Day edition of the Burajiru Jiho, usually seen as the most moralistic and self-important of the migrant newspapers, contained a story titled ‘The Fascist Wife’ (Nyobo Fassho): accompanying this was a cartoon of a typical 1930s Japanese salaryman literally being booted end-over-end by his amazonian wife (the term here is adjectival rather than geographical), resplendent in her swastika-motif kimono and holding aloft a broom as if it were a halberd. Whether this reflected Brazil’s greater equality for women (female labourers having enjoyed the right to vote since 1932) or was


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merely a satire on right-wing extremism, is open to question. Other cartoons in the same edition revolved around drink; one had a stylish young Japanese in blazer, fedora and cane, passing a notice for a meeting on the military crisis and saying with an irrepressible smile, ‘I know it’s an emergency but, at the New Year, come on, let’s drink’. Indeed, in contrast to the contemporary images of Japanese militarism, or the later scholarship on emperor worship, it may be that the 1990s novel Brazil-Maru by American-Japanese writer Karen Tei Yamashita is closer to the truth. In this, she describes young settlers in Brazil referring irreverently to the Japanese emperor as ‘Ten-chan’ (a sobriquet adopted by youth in Japan for the same emperor in his last years), and has a newspaper publisher at a game of migrant baseball arrange for the visiting team unknowingly to bow to a covered erotic painting rather than to a portrait of the emperor. Further to the point of ordinariness, we may permit ourselves to note a tiny moment of history. Towards the end of 1940, the Burajiru Jiho chose to report a visit from the state’s interior to Sao Paulo city by a Japanese woman of about 50. She spoke no Portuguese and was dumbfounded upon arrival at the great metropolitan railway station by the size of the city and the crowds of people and cars. Seeing this, a Brazilian policeman approached her, halted the traffic, and guided her across the street. He then attempted to ask her for her destination. A Japanese resident came to the assistance of them both. This officer’s simple act of courtesy, however, earned the newspaper heading, ‘Sao Paulo city policemen – truly kind!’58 Human generosity was perhaps always able to resist the tirades of racists. The Seishu Shimpo of 1 January 1940 summarised the progress of the expatriate community to date. In the late 1920s, it argued, migrants had been embarrassed to be Japanese and they had shied away either from explaining their identity or from contact with other Japanese in the street. This sensitivity had been overturned by the Manchurian incident and Tokyo’s defiance of the League of Nations. This assertiveness had left migrants with a renewed pride in being Japanese; they had also been moved by the stories of losses suffered by Japanese troops in China at the time, especially the so-called ‘three heroes’ (san yushi) repeatedly commemorated in film, print, and on consumer items such as cigarette boxes. However, with the coming of the SinoJapanese war, the paper suggested, most migrants were physically and emotionally exhausted. They recognised that the Brazilianisation

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programme of the New State viewed the German community as the principal threat but they felt they were second in line and thus subject also to repression. As a consequence of war in Asia and legal changes in Brazil, there was natural unease about the future. However, in closing, the comment of Tanaka Jo, a Japanese resident at Bastos, may be appropriate. Writing on 1 January 1939, shortly after the first wave of reforms under the New State and the closure of Japanese-language schools, he reminded his fellow migrants that the Japanese people had a history of endurance and that the present turmoil was only like winter snow on a willow tree, bending but never breaking it, and certain to ease with time. 59

6 Conclusion

The simplest way to conclude is by working through the major stages in the process of emigration from Japan and settlement in Brazil. At each stage, we can compare the existing interpretation of Japaneselanguage scholarship with the approach taken here. What should quickly become obvious is the extent to which these perspectives are at variance. On the one hand, the dominant theme of later Japanese writers is the misery and suffering of emigration, and the alienation of Japanese migrants from other peoples. In this work, the emphasis has been on the freedoms and opportunities presented by emigration, the adaptability, pragmatism and humour of migrants, and the level of interaction between Japanese and Brazilians. The first stage comes before departure from Japan. A term commonly used to describe Japanese migrants is ‘kimin’. Where this is used to mean the discarded or disposable, and in particular the second or third sons of agricultural families, it is misleading. Most obviously, it addresses male emigrants and overlooks the existence of women. As we have seen, however, the situation in Brazil was unusual in that Japanese women constituted nearly half the expatriate population from the outset. They helped to stabilise the migrant community overall. They also worked alongside their husbands on the coffee plantations; in time, others were active in urban commerce, for example, in dealing with customers at the furniture stores of Sao Paulo city. There were women’s civic and cultural groups. They joined in the games at festival times. Women were also among the major consumers of journals imported from Japan and, in the migrant newspapers, they came to have pages directed solely to their 165

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interests. Indeed, the life of Japanese women in Brazil is a topic in its own right and one that awaits special attention. In terms of geography, the emigrants to Brazil, as with those to Hawaii and North America in the early years, were influenced by two factors. One was the ratio in Japan of land to population. This meant that many migrants were drawn from the poorer agrarian regions of the south and west. A second and related factor is that this regional concentration led to a network of contacts and information in the same areas which, in turn, contributed to forms of chain migration. However, in the Brazilian case, one distinctive feature is the large number of Okinawans, at least in the years before formal and informal Japanese government restrictions were applied against them. Emigration in general from Okinawa began late and overlapped both with a decline in access to North America and the start of new openings in Brazil. One consequence of this was that Okinawans constituted an important element among the Japanese community in Brazil, particularly in the port of Santos, and claimed the largest native-place association in the early 1930s. On geographical background, however, one should also add that the desperate situation of Japanese agriculture and industry from the 1920s meant that people from all parts of the country were looking to emigrate as a means to find work and income. Thus, for example, the Alianca settlement of the 1920s was originally the creation of prefectures from central Japan. This resulted in a more geographically diverse community in later years compared to the first generation of migrants from the 1900s. The next stage in the process was the migrant’s departure from Japan. According to Maeyama Takashi, this was a traumatic experience in which Japanese sailing from Kobe felt as nervous as if they were soldiers heading for war.1 Yet, everything the migrants had been told about Brazil had been positive; the land, people, prospects for wealth, all were seemingly in their favour. The land they were leaving behind, by contrast, had been unable to support them and, in particular from the 1920s, appeared to be locked in a downward spiral of unemployment and unrest. As they left Kobe in the 1930s, there was the evidence of the failed applicants to remind them how fortunate they were, and much of what they were to hear in the migrant newspapers only reinforced impressions of the harshness of life in Japan. Thus, instead of shock, it may equally be true to think of Japanese migrants embarking for Brazil with relief and optimism.

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If this had not been the case, one would have to ask why there was a constant flow of Japanese to Brazil until the restrictions of the Vargas government began to bite late in the 1930s. Upon arriving in Brazil, Japanese migrants did indeed suffer initially. Ignorance of the language, food and customs either of Brazil or of the polyglot workforce of coffee plantations made life difficult. Migrants also found that they had been misled by entrepreneurs or officials in Japan. Inevitably, there was some sense of alienation. Again in Maeyama’s view, this alienation and the manner in which all migrants were addressed as ‘Japanese’ made them think of themselves for the first time in terms of a Japanese identity. There are two caveats here, however. First, the large number of Okinawans may simply have felt further alienated at being called Japanese if they were uncomfortable with the language of Japan and felt they were treated with disdain by ‘other’ Japanese. Second, the allocation of labour migrants to plantations according to regional background was specifically designed to make life easier for them in being among people with the same dialect, sense of place, and customs. In this, it may also have reinforced a localised identity in conflict with that of Japanese nationality. The establishment of native-place associations (and disputes between such groups) suggests this tension persisted throughout the period. The consensus of Japanese writers in the 1970s–90s was that life for Japanese migrants on the plantations of Sao Paulo was harsh. They were accommodated in spartan dwellings and were exploited over wages, conditions, and in such things as the cost of supplies bought from the plantation store. This was partly true in the first period of immigration; there were problems between Japanese and their employers as there had been in other countries at other times. However, the situation was quickly improved. This was in the interests both of Brazilian employers and Japanese migrants. Consequently, one can find Japanese plantation workers in the 1920s well satisfied with their lot. Certainly Japanese observers at that time argued for the wider benefits of working on a plantation; this, they believed, was essential training for success later as an independent farmer in Brazil, and they criticised those who immigrated from Japan directly to a Japanese-owned settlement. The idea that Japanese immigrants were the victims of exploitation leads us to our next point: racism. One of the overriding beliefs of

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later Japanese-language writings is that migrants from Japan were viewed with fear or distaste, and suffered restrictions both on their access to Brazil and their freedoms within the country, as a result of racism. As evidence for this, there are quotes from individual Brazilians through the 1900s to 1930s, and discussion of the attempt to limit Japanese immigrants in 1923 and the actual quota system from 1934. While there were racist comments made against Japanese by such as Dr Miguel Couto, and there were restrictions on Japanese immigration and cultural freedoms in the 1930s (as there were on all other non-Brazilian minorities), this is not the whole story. Contemporary Japanese observers were much more likely to stress the tolerance of Brazilian laws and society, even in the later period. They pointed to the situation of Japanese migrants in North America, especially after the exclusion act of 1924, and felt that Brazil remained far more a home than a prison. They also insisted that racial respect in general was of a far higher order in the multicultural society of Brazil than in any other major destination for Japanese emigrants outside of East Asia. In Brazil, throughout the period 1908–40, expatriate Japanese were able to live and work in safety. The violent rhetoric of some in the anti-Japanese minority was not matched by physical violence from the mob, as had been the case in North America as early as 1906 and was the case in Peru in 1940. Where there was conflict, it originated usually in personal clashes or for economic reasons. Indeed, aggressive conflict, albeit usually stopping short of actual violence, was a recurring feature within the Japanese community in Brazil; this was most obvious in the long-running antagonism between the two major newspapermen, Kuroishi and Miura, but also in areas such as Japan societies, the Japan Hospital, and among differing groups fighting for power on the provincial settlements. As the migrant community grew in the 1920s, there is a view among Japanese writers that it was directed by the local representatives of the Japanese government and business. To be more specific, these were what was known as the ‘go-sanke’, that is, the ‘three great houses’: the Japanese consulates, the Burataku company, and the Kaiko emigration monopoly.2 From this, one might assume that individual migrants conformed to the stereotype of Japanese as docile and subservient. However, we have seen that satire and criticism of those in authority was one of the engaging features of Japanese migrants.

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Moreover, the most powerful vehicle for informing and guiding the expatriate Japanese community as it grew and changed constantly over the period was the Japanese-language press. In an offhand comment, Maeyama insists that no civic leaders beyond the local level emerged from among the migrants except for those in the press.3 This undervalues the role of Japanese teachers, practitioners of medicine, leaders of agrarian co-operatives or commercial unions, plus heads of women’s and youth groups. However, on the press alone, one should note that its ability to encourage and lead debate was enhanced by the absence of a formal Japanese government, an established intellectual community, or, for that matter, a monopoly cabal of Japanese big business. The migrant press in Brazil reflected the diversity of its community: the Burajiru Jiho and Nippaku Shimbun were as oil to water, while the Seishu Shimpo originally defended the viewpoint of provincial migrants, and the Nihon Shimbun under its owner Onaga Sukenari had a special concern with the people from Okinawa. The Japanese-language press was not simply the tool of the ‘go-sanke’. Miura in particular criticised and lampooned those in authority. All of the newspapers, however, were advocates of individual improvement and self-reliance; it could hardly be otherwise for those who had chosen to live in a foreign land. In this sense, one could argue that the idea of the frontier as a cradle for democracy can be applied even to a metropolitan setting where the metropolis in question lies beyond the political, legal and even intellectual power of the ‘home’ state. The most significant point of difference between this work and those of later Japanese writers concerns the question of engagement. Once a Japanese community had evolved, it remained, in the view of Handa, Maeyama and others, culturally and socially distant from its Brazilian surroundings. Thus, we are told, for example, that the migrants’ bodies may have been in Brazil but their minds were in Japan, that Japanese businesses relied primarily on Japanese custom, or that Japanese migrant farmers viewed Brazilians as socially invisible. In Japanese writings from the 1900s to the 1930s, however, one is constantly being told of the friendliness and generosity of the Brazilian people and of the benefit to migrants themselves of seeking interaction. Migrants were encouraged to learn Portuguese long before the restrictions on Japanese-language schools were finally enforced in the late 1930s. They were also encouraged to learn Brazilian music

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and dance. They were told, moreover, of the ease with which they might apply for Brazilian citizenship. As expatriate Japanese prospered and moved into larger-scale farming or urban retailing, it was clearly in their interest to understand the language and customs of Brazil. Migrant co-operatives could not grow solely by selling to other Japanese and this was true also of small business such as hotels, taxi companies, furniture stores, film distribution or any other concern. Deliberately to isolate themselves in a kind of Japanese social, cultural and economic ghetto would have been a form of self-imposed incarceration justifiable only if they feared for their lives and property. This was not the case in Brazil. On the question of engagement, one needs to remember that there were always influential Brazilians ready to speak on behalf of the migrant Japanese. The Reis bill of 1923 was killed because it was opposed by Brazilian politicians, apparently with the support of the Brazilian public. At the time of the 1934 constitutional reform, there were again leading statesmen openly praising the Japanese contribution to Brazilian development. Even at the end of the 1930s, a former Sao Paulo state secretary of education could write at great length in support of Japanese immigrants. Behind all this was the view, most fully expressed by Gilberto Freyre early in the 1930s, that fluidity and diversity were the special distinctions of Brazilian culture and ideally the model for other societies. This embrace of difference, and a rejection of racism, was symbolised for many by the Brazilian carnival and, in this, there were Japanese migrants who both appreciated its symbolism and participated, either at dances, on floats, or as ‘masked samurai’, in its annual reveries. This leads us back to the question of Japanese identity and to the argument of Maeyama. He has suggested that migrants always viewed themselves as sojourners in Brazil and that emperor-worship was the ritual framework for maintaining an exclusively ‘Japanese’ identity. Doubts about the strength of this argument have already been raised. Suffice to repeat here that Japanese migrants did participate in Brazilian festivals, including the carnival and other feast days. On Japanese holidays, moreover, there was generally some inclusion of Brazil (for example, by singing the Brazilian anthem), while the programme of activities centred as much on ordinary human enjoyment as on worship of the divine. Underlying Maeyama’s argument appears to be a view that anyone educated in

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the school system of Japan before 1940, or in the local version of that system through the Japanese-language school in Brazil, could only have accepted the tenets of emperor worship. However, we have seen that Japanese migrants were often more concerned with their own ambitions, wealth and leisure. Perhaps the most powerful body of rituals actually centred on sport. While Maeyama has linked sport to the school and, thereby, to emperor worship, in fact the dominant principle of athletics and the modern Olympics was and is internationalism. Where possible, there was friendly sporting competition between Japanese migrants and Brazilians, and sport was seen by at least some Japanese observers as a vehicle for increased engagement between peoples. The prime minister of Japan at the start of the 1920s was Hara Kei. On one occasion, he suggested that a strong sense of nationalism was a precondition for a strong sense of internationalism. While there were recurring arguments among the expatriate Japanese in support of internationalism, they did not abandon Japan. They sought information on social and political events in Japan; they consumed books, journals, movies, music, foods and goods from Japan. They sent money either to assist their own relatives or, later, the families of troops at war in China. They believed in the value of teaching their children an understanding of the Japanese language. The reality of their situation, however, convinced the overwhelming majority of them to remain in Brazil and, in so doing, to learn something of the language and manners of another society. This understanding was obviously keenest among the children born or raised in Brazil. As the student leader, Kenro Shimomoto explained, they could feel respect for Japan but affection for Brazil; one was familiar by direct experience, the other was geographically remote even if its language and values were familiar through the example of parents and of newly arrived immigrants from Japan. However, the second-generation students, and leading Japanese commentators, were not bound by what might be called the iron cage of nationalism in which one had to choose either to be Japanese or Brazilian. Rather, the way to become a ‘global’ person was through a soft nationalism whereby one took pride in the achievement of any society, or individual of that society, with which one had a cultural link. Thus, for leaders of the expatriate community, as for pre-1940 advocates of emigration, to be Japanese or Brazilian was not to be tied to a rigid and immovable

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identity locked in by tradition. Instead, there was a belief in the value of moving and evolving, learning and adapting: to paraphrase one of the most famous lines of classical Japanese poetry, naturally the flow of the river is ever-moving and ever-changing. In the same way, a Japanese soprano, for example, might be born in the United States, perform with an Italian company, and have but a limited command of the Japanese language, but that did not prevent her from being welcomed by the expatriate community in Brazil. It was this inclusiveness, on the part both of migrant Japanese and Brazilians alike, which is a feature of this period. To insist only that Japanese were the victims of Brazilian repression or racism, or that they removed themselves from Brazilian society, is ultimately to feed mythologies of Japanese uniqueness and of the insuperable borders between mutual understanding. The lives of Japanese in Brazil between 1908 and 1940, however, quite clearly show that regressive ideas on the distance between cultures could be overcome, and that those born in Japan or within a Japanese family could successfully inhabit at least two worlds.

Notes

Introduction 1 Foreign population figures, Asahi Shimbun, Japan Almanac 1998, Tokyo 1997, p. 63. In his 1979 article ‘The Ethnic Japanese in Brazil’, Journal of Japanese Studies, vol. 5-1, winter 1979, p. 53, Robert J. Smith gave the entire ethnic Japanese population of Brazil as 750 000. However, 1990s figures showed a total of 1.3 million, with 326 000 ethnic Japanese in Sao Paulo city alone, another 170 000 in its immediate environs, and a further 391 000 elsewhere in Sao Paulo state, Kaigai Iju, 571, September 1996, pp. 24–5; see also p. 25 also for the status of ethnic Japanese in 1990s Brazil. 2 Alan Takeo Moriyama, Imingaisha: Japanese Emigration Companies and Hawaii, 1894–1908, Honolulu 1985, p. xv; Maeyama Takashi, Esunishiti to Burajiru Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1996, p. 490, reproducing his essay of 1988, ‘Burajiru, Nihon, Nikkeijin’. 3 Prefectures publishing book and chapter-length studies of local emigrants at this time are listed in Imin Kenkyukai (ed.), Nihon no Imin Kenkyu: Doko to Mokuroku, Tokyo 1994, p. 18. See Mita Chiyoko, p. 35, in the same work for the focus of Japanese scholarship on emigration to the US, 1880s– 1910s. 4 Leading examples of English-language studies of ethnic and cultural diversity within Japan include: David Howell, ‘Ethnicity and culture in contemporary Japan’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 31, 1996, pp. 171–90, one of the best introductions to the subject; and the essays in Michael Weiner (ed.), Japan’s Minorities: The Illusion of Homogeneity, London 1997. The enduring study of the Japanese in Brazil (although, as its title indicates, this was only a secondary concern) is J.F. Normano and Antonello Gerbi, The Japanese in South America: An Introductory Survey with Special Reference to Peru, NY 1943. Given the time and circumstances in which it was written, it is a remarkably accurate, informative and objective account. 5 Hosokawa Shuhei, Sanba no Kuni ni Enka wa Nagareru: Ongaku ni Miru Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1995, p. 4. 6 For example, Maeyama 1996, p. 11 (original article from 1987: ‘Ibunka sesshoku to bunka hendo’ ), and ‘Ethnicity, secret societies, and associations: the Japanese in Brazil’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 21, 1979, p. 607. 7 Yen exchange rates, Kodo Hisaichi, Burajiru no Jisseikatsu, Tokyo 1928, pp. 22–3; US rates, Richard Morse, From Community to Metropolis: A Biography of Sao Paulo, Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1974, p. vii. 173

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1

Notes

Leaving: Japan’s Entry into a World of Migration, 1885–1905

1 Foreign population of Tokyo, Alan Takeo Moriyama, Imingaisha: Japanese Emigration Companies and Hawaii, 1894–1908, Honolulu 1985, p. xviii. 2 Takahashi Yukiharu, Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1993, p. 10. 3 Hawaiian migration promises, Moriyama 1985, p. 20. 4 Thomas Sowell, Migrations and Cultures: A World View, NY 1996, p. 22. 5 On Hawaiian migrant ambitions and experiences, Moriyama 1985, pp. xix, 16–18, 26–31; Ichioka, Yuji, The Issei: The World of the First Generation Japanese Immigrants 1885–1924, NY 1988, p. 40. 6 1894 regulations, Konno Toshihiko and Fujisaki Yasuo, Iminshi 1: Nambeihen, Tokyo 1994, pp. 19–20; Moriyama 1985, pp. 33–7; Ichioka 1988, p. 47. 7 Ichioka 1988, pp. 7–9, 16–22, 29, 36–9. 8 John Morgan, senator for Alabama, open letter to the Independent, 16 October 1897, contained in Gaimusho (ed.), Nihon Gaiko Bunsho, vol. 30, pp. 1050–2. 9 Migrants from Hawaii, Ichioka 1988, pp. 51–65, and on rejection of Japanese consul’s claim, pp. 67–8. 10 Early migrants to Peru, Irie, Toraji, ‘History of Japanese migration to Peru’ (parts 1 and 2), The Hispanic American Historical Review, vol. 31, August 1951, pp. 443–8, November 1951, pp. 648–53; C. Harvey Gardiner, The Japanese and Peru 1873–1973, Albuquerque 1975, pp. 23–7. The Japanese regional newspaper, Gifu Nichi Nichi Shimbun, 1 March 1908, contained a report that the Peruvian government was about to impose an extra heavy tax on Chinese immigration but not on Japanese migrants. 11 1803 sailors, also 1869 suicide, Tsunoda Yoshizumi, Burajiru Hiroshimakenjin Hattenshi Narabi-ni Kenjin Meibo, Sao Paulo 1967, p. 27. 12 Japanese circus, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo (ed.), Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo, Akita 1997, p. 14. 13 Mita Chiyoko, ‘Burajiru no imin seisaku to Nihon imin: Beikoku hai-Nichi Undo no hankyo no ichi jirei to shite’, Miwa Kimitada (ed.), Nichi-Bei Kiki no Kigen to Hai-Nichi Iminho, Tokyo 1997, p. 435. 14 Jeffrey Lesser, Negotiating National Identity: Immigrants, Minorities, and the Struggle for Ethnicity in Brazil, Durham 1999, pp. 15–35, quotation on p. 19. Some went even further. Lesser, p. 28, adds a quote from one member of the Bahian state legislative assembly in the 1870s describing the Chinese as ‘deformed both physically and morally; [who] use opium, kill their children, are disloyal, egotistical and are given to begging; their only virtue is patience’. 15 Lisboa speech, the Japan Times, 21 December 1897. 16 Tsunoda 1967, p. 28. 17 Population and migrant figures, Boris Fausto, ‘Brazil: the social and political structures of the First Republic, 1889–1930’, Leslie Bethell (ed.), Cambridge History of Latin America, vol. 5, c. 1870 to 1930, Cambridge 1986, pp. 779, 786; E. Bradford Burns, A History of Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1980,

Notes 175

18 19 20 21

22

23 24

2

pp. 242, 264–5; ‘whitening’ and European migrants, George Reid Andrews, ‘Brazilian racial democracy, 1900–90: an American counterpoint’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 31, 3, 1996, pp. 485–6; also Mita 1997, p. 436. Gilberto Freyre, Order and Progress: Brazil from Monarchy to Republic, NY 1970, pp. 256–7. Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea, 1895–1910, Berkeley 1995, pp. 295–6. Migrants to Hokkaido, Gifu Nichi Nichi Shimbun, 6 June 1907; to Hawaii, Moriyama 1985, p. 52. Sugimura and Brazil, Takahashi 1993, pp. 17–18; Konno/Fujisaki 1994, p. 28; Tsunoda 1967, p. 28. Amazonas press and Russo-Japanese war, Tsuji Kotaro, Burajiru no Doho o Tazunete, Tokyo 1930, p. 279. On Mizuno’s views of Brazil and the assistance given by Minister Sugimura, see also Mizuno Ryo, ‘Waga imin no dai hattenchi Nambei Burajiru ni okeru Nihon rodosha no kangei’, Jitsugyo Kurabu, no. 2, April 1908, pp. 44–7. On Mizuno and ex-soldiers as emigrants, Takahashi 1993, pp. 20–1; Handa Tomoo, Imin no Seikatsu no Rekishi: Burajiru Nikkeijin no Ayunda Michi, Sao Paulo, 1970, p. 82. On the decline of Italian labour conditions circa 1899–1900, Takahashi 1993, p. 15; Konno/Fujisaki 1994, p. 22. On the Fujisaki Trading Store, see Konno/Fujisaki 1994, pp. 33–4; Tsunoda 1967, p. 28. On Mizuno, see Takahashi 1993, p. 20. Nambei Toko Shoken Kaisha advert, Gifu Nichi Nichi Shimbun, 23 April 1908.

Arriving: the Early Japanese in Brazil, 1908–19

1 Takahashi Yukiharu, Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1993, p. 25, quoting from Asahi Shimbun (Osaka), 29 April 1908. 2 Mita Chiyoko, citing works of Ono Kazuichiro, in Imin Kenkyukai (ed.), Nihon no Imin Kenkyu: Doko to Mokuroku, Tokyo 1994, p. 37. 3 Takahashi 1993, p. 29. 4 Tsuji Kotaro, Burajiru no Doho o Tazunete, Tokyo 1930, p. 3. 5 Details of the 1908 voyage, Takahashi 1993, pp. 31–9; Aoyagi Ikutaro, Burajiru ni okeru Nihonjin Hattenshi, Tokyo 1941, p. 271. 6 Takahashi 1993, p. 43 for details of migrant age and literacy levels. Migrant statistics also in Aoyagi 1941, p. 269; Handa Tomoo, Imin no Seikatsu no Rekishi: Burajiru Nikkeijin no Ayunda Michi, Sao Paulo 1970, p. 53. On the Sao Paulo government system of subsidised migration from the 1890s, Thomas H. Holloway, Immigrants on the Land: Coffee and Society in Sao Paulo, 1886–1934, Chapel Hill 1980, pp. 45–9. 7 A complete list of the regional breakdown of the 1908 migrants is in Takahashi 1993, pp. 24–5. 8 Toyama Ichiro, ‘“Kominka” to imin: kindai Okinawa no kuno’, Sasaki Takashi and Yamada Akira (eds), Shin-shiten Nihon no Rekishi, vol. 6, Tokyo 1993, p. 247. Peruvian case, John K. Emmerson, The Japanese Thread: A Life in the U.S. Foreign Service, NY 1978, p. 131.

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Notes

9 Differing causes in west and east Japanese migration, Imin Kenkyukai 1994, pp. 22–30; Yoshida Keiko, ‘Higashi Nihon ni okeru Meiji-ki dekasegi imin no jittai: Meiji 31-nen-45-nen no Fukushima-ken dekasegi imin ryoken deeta kara’, Iju Kenkyu, 29, March 1992, pp. 75–81. On the role of precedent in influencing clusters of migration even in a largely nonagrarian region, see Burajiru Fukui Kenjinkai Kaiho Henshubu, ed., Burajiru to Fukui Kenjin, Sao Paulo 1961, p. 269. 10 Rodrigues Alves speech 1901, plus journalist’s quote, Jeffrey D. Needell, ‘Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires: public space and public consciousness in fin-de-siècle Latin America’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 37-3, July 1995, pp. 532–3. On the reconstruction and hygienic improvement of Rio, see also Frank G. Carpenter, Along the Parana and the Amazon, NY 1925, pp. 211–13; E. Bradford Burns, A History of Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1980, pp. 314–5. 11 Correio Paulista, 25 June 1908, quoted in Konno Toshihiko/Fujisaki Yasuo, Iminshi I: Nambei-hen, Tokyo 1994, pp. 43–4; also Takahashi 1993, pp. 43–7; Aoyagi 1941, pp. 271–4. Carpenter 1925, p. 186. 12 Konno/Fujisaki 1994, pp. 35–42, excerpt at great length from the pamphlet. Quote on racial equality, p. 37. 13 George Reid Andrews, ‘Brazilian racial democracy, 1900–90: an American counterpoint’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 31, 3, 1996, p. 485. 14 Takahashi 1993, p. 48; Aoyagi 1941, p. 274. Hawaiian co-regional groups and dialect, Alan Takeo Moriyama, Imingaisha: Japanese Emigration Companies and Hawaii, 1894–1908, Honolulu 1985, p. 23; North American example, Roger Daniels, Asian America: Chinese and Japanese in the United States since 1850, Seattle 1988, p. 166. 15 The movement of arriving and departing migrants through Santos is noted in Holloway 1980, p. 91; Burajiru Jiho (BJ), 28 September 1917, shows that in 1916 there were 20 357 arrivals and 12 776 departees. Fazenda reliance on overseas immigrants, Holloway 1980, p. 63. 16 1920s housing conditions, Tsuji 1930, pp. 55–6. 17 Migrant diet, Takahashi 1993, pp. 75–6; Handa 1970, pp. 91–107. 1920s food problems, Seko Yoshinobu, Burajiru Kaisoki, Gifu 1979, pp. 4–6, 10–11. List of cultural differences between Japanese and Westerners, Seishu Shimpo (SS), 29 April 1932. 18 Handa 1970, p. 45. A list of the Japanese translators in 1908 and the numbers of Japanese they served is in Aoyagi 1941, p. 277. On Fukui migrants, Burajiru Fukui Kenjinkai Kaiho Henshubu 1961, p. 269. 19 Handa 1970, p. 43. Takahashi 1993, pp. 49–50 (which uses the same terms without accreditation). Burns 1980, pp. 303–4, quotes a description of the Dumont plantation in 1900; Carpenter 1925, pp. 161–7, recounts his visit there in the early 1920s. 20 Handa 1970, pp. 44–5. 21 Wakayama-kenshi Hensan Iinkai (ed.), Wakayama-kenshi: Kin-gendai 1, Wakayama 1989, pp. 1008–9. 22 Handa 1970, p. 62 on figures for migrants leaving their original plantation, pp. 64–6 on the causes of migrant unrest in 1908, and pp. 53–6 for

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23 24

25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32

33

34

the protest at Sao Martinho. Takahashi 1993, pp. 49–53, on Dumont trouble, pp. 58–60, on Sao Martinho; Aoyagi 1941, p. 276 on varying rates of pay per fazenda, pp. 279–83 on disputes and departures. Holloway 1980, pp. 106–7. Tsuji 1930, pp. 55–6, 64. Holloway 1980, pp. 73–88, 99–101. Oshima Kiichi, Hojin no Hattenchi Burajiru Saikin Jijo, Tokyo 1928, pp. 63–8, insisted at great length that farm life in Brazil, in direct contrast to the situation in Japan, meant good food to eat and money to be earned. As he put it, ‘Whoever you are, no-one ever struggles to eat . . . [and] I can guarantee that there is absolutely no difficulty in life in Brazil’. An article on Brazil as ‘a paradise for workers’ also appeared in BJ, 1 January 1932. Contrast this with Mita Chiyoko, ‘Nihon to Burajiru o musubu Nikkeijin’, Gaiko Jiho, no. 1265, February 1990, p. 43, which describes plantation conditions simply as ‘generally cruel’. Fazenda dispute, Takahashi 1993, pp. 65–9. On generally more stable conditions of fazenda life for Japanese after 1908, Handa 1970, pp. 117–28. Okinawan migrants, Handa 1970, pp. 49–52. San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo, Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo, Akita 1997, pp. 32–6. Handa 1970, pp. 66–7. Ikeda Shigeji, Kagoshima-kenjin Burajiru Ishokumin-shi, Sao Paulo 1941, pp. 36–8. Okinawa Prefectural Associations merger and warning to contract breakers, BJ, 28 September 1917. Rio modernisation and street traders, Gilberto Freyre, Order and Progress: Brazil From Monarchy to Republic, NY 1970, p. 275. Onaga on problems with fellow Okinawan migrants, BJ, 17 January 1919, 16 May 1919. Bans on Okinawan emigration, Shiroma Zenkichi, Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, pp. 259–60. Compare this with the offhand comment of Toake Endoh, ‘Shedding the unwanted: Japan’s emigration policy’, Japan Policy Research Institute, Working Paper no. 72, October 2000, p. 6, which insists that the Japanese government felt no need to push Okinawans to emigrate because, unlike the migrants from south and western Japan, they were not a militant political threat to Japan’s domestic order. In BJ, 14 March 1919, Onaga noted that other Japanese received loans from the emigration company directly in Brazil and were able to make direct repayments. Okinawans, however, received their loans through a bank in Okinawa and so incurred the cost and trouble of sending loan repayments back to Okinawa. Nippaku Shimbun (NS), 21 August 1925, insisted that other Japanese ‘have no sense of improving the Okinawans as one part of the Japanese community here. Rather, they look on them as something dirty and, as far as possible, not to be touched’. Figures from Mita Chiyoko, ‘Burajiru no imin seisaku to Nihon imin: Beikoku hai-Nichi undo no hankyo no ichi jirei to shite’, p. 443, in Miwa Kimitada (ed.), Nichi-Bei Kiki no Kigen to Hai-Nichi Iminho, Tokyo 1997. Landholding system, Holloway 1980, pp. 123–6.

178

Notes

35 Development company and its backers, BJ, 1 January 1919; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 32. From 1919, the company was merged with others in the grouping known as Kaiko. On Katsura and emigration, Stewart Lone, Army, Empire and Politics in Meiji Japan, London 2000. 36 On the Iguape colony, and on ‘slave-like’ plantations, Takahashi 1993, pp. 81–2; Iguape recruiting advertisement, BJ, 12 October 1917. 37 Hirano Colony, Takahashi 1993, pp. 82–95; Konno/Fujisaki 1994, pp. 116–34; Handa 1970, pp. 262–6; Tsuji 1930, pp. 67–8. An overview of Cafelandia and its commerce later in the period is in BJ, 1 January 1939. Description of 1900s Noroeste region, Holloway 1980, pp. 21–2. On the other major settlement of this period at Birigui, see Handa 1970, pp. 273–83. 38 Brazilian social norms, Darrell E. Levi, The Prados of Sao Paulo, Brazil: An Elite Family and Social Change, 1840–1930, Athens GA. 1987, pp. 5–7; Roberto Da Matta, ‘Carnival in multiple planes’, p. 225, in John J. MacAloon (ed.), Rite, Drama, Festival, Spectacle: Rehearsals Toward a Theory of Cultural Performance, Philadelphia 1984. See also Rudyard Kipling, Brazilian Sketches, Bromley 1989, p. 58, for the comment made to him on a visit in 1927 that, in Brazil, ‘face’ was all-important and that ‘mutual accommodation from highest to humblest was the rule’. 39 Development of Sao Paulo city, Richard M. Morse, From Community to Metropolis: A Biography of Sao Paulo, Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1974, pp. 8–32, quote on street lighting, p. 72, livestock in city streets, p. 126. 40 Japanese accommodation in Sao Paulo city, Handa 1970, pp. 171–6; article on underground life, BJ, 31 October 1917. 41 Small business advertisers, BJ, 7 September 1917; Nakamura advertisement, BJ, 21 December 1917. Handa 1970, pp. 187–9 for city lifestyles. Japanese inns and dual cuisine, BJ, adverts, 18 December 1925. 42 Sao Paulo schools, BJ, 12 October and 21 December 1917; Handa 1970, pp. 192–3; standing exhibition at the Historical Museum of Japanese Migration in Brazil; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 36. Santos school, BJ, 26 October 1917. 43 Japan Club, BJ, 24 January 1919; promotion of civic virtue, BJ, 1 January 1919. 44 Sports clubs, Shiroma 1959, p. 171; Handa 1970, p. 195; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 45. 45 1917 Tenchosetsu program, Sao Paulo city, BJ, 26 October and 9 November 1917. The emphasis on Japanese emperor-worship as central to the identity of expatriates in Brazil, albeit especially those outside of the cities, is most clear in Maeyama Takashi, ‘Ancestor, emperor, and immigrant: religion and group identification of the Japanese in rural Brazil (1908–1950)’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, vol. 14-2, 1972. Maeyama’s influence in this respect is also obvious in Mita Chiyoko, ‘Nihon to Burajiru o musubu Nikkeijin ijusha no 80-nen’, Gaiko Jiho, no. 1265, February 1990, p. 55. 46 Migrant newspapers, Konno/Fujisaki 1994, pp. 148–50.

Notes 179

47 On newspapers, Kuroishi and Miura, see Handa 1970, pp. 594–602; Takahashi 1993, pp. 131–4; Konno/Fujisaki 1994, pp. 151–4; Shiroma 1959, pp. 174–5. 48 Steps to success, BJ, 1 January 1918. The warning was not always heeded as is indicated by the ongoing criticism of migrants’ impatience, BJ, 2 July 1939. 49 Language study, BJ, 14 September and 5 October 1917. Otake biography, BJ, 10 January 1919. 50 Examples of Portuguese conversation, BJ, 19, 26, 31 October, 14, 21 December 1917. Ongoing confusion caused by the vagueness of Japanese women’s speech is noted in BJ, 3 March 1937. 51 On 1917 and the golden age of immigration, BJ, 18 June 1933. On Brazilian welcome and fever for passports to South America (also for the South Pacific), Asahi Shimbun (Tokyo), 11 and 17 August, 28 December 1913. 52 Syrio-Lebanese arrivals, Holloway 1980, p. 43. Brazil and WW1, Burns 1980, pp. 352–6. 53 End of subsidies, Mita 1997, pp. 440–2. Emigration company restructuring, Wakayama Kenshi Hensan Iinkai 1989, p. 1025; BJ, 14 September 1917. 54 BJ, 7 and 14 September 1917.

3

Settling: Migration as National Policy in the 1920s

1 Captain Harumi Kyohei, ‘Burajiru to sono ishokumin no kenkyu’, Kaikosha Kiji, 579, November 1922, supplement, pp. 2–26, quotation, p. 7. SS, 22 June 1923, gives a figure for overseas Japanese in 1920 as approximately 650 000. 1920 Japanese population in Brazil, Takaoka Kumao, Burajiru Imin Kenkyu, Tokyo 1925, p. 212. 2 Japanese government funds, British Foreign Office records, FO371/ 10960, Sir Charles Eliot, Tokyo, to Foreign Secretary Austen Chamberlain, 27 March 1925. According to J.F. Normano and Antonello Gerbi, The Japanese in South America: An Introductory Survey with Special Reference to Peru, NY 1943, pp. 28–9, government-sponsored public lectures in Japan in 1923–30 rose from 27 per annum to 267 per annum. See also Jeffrey Lesser, Negotiating National Identity: Immigrants, Minorities, and the Struggle for Ethnicity in Brazil, Durham 1999, p. 96. Osaka Shipping advert and timetables, BJ, 12 March 1929, 4 April 1934. 3 California opposition, Hasegawa Yuichi, ‘Hai-Nichi iminho to Manshu – Burajiru: Chiba Toyoharu to Nagata Cho no imin-ron o chushin ni’, pp. 48–51, in Miwa Kimitada (ed.), Nichi-Bei Kiki no Kigen to Hai-Nichi Imin-ho, Tokyo 1997. On Hawaiian education, Eleanor Tupper and George McReynolds, Japan in American Public Opinion, NY 1937, pp. 133–4, on post-1919 US articles predicting war with Japan, pp. 154–5, 170, and on 1920 California land law, pp. 170–5. 4 Flavio Rabelo Versiani, ‘Before the Depression: Brazilian industry in the 1920s’, pp. 163–87, in Rosemary Thorp (ed.), Latin America in the 1930s:

180

5

6

7 8

9

10 11

12

Notes

The Role of the Periphery in World Crisis, London 1984. Immigrant entrepreneurs, Darrell Levi, The Prados of Sao Paulo, Brazil: An Elite Family and Social Change, 1840–1930, Athens GA 1987, pp. 154–6. Levi suggests one advantage of the immigrant entrepreneur in his development of industry was in not being tied to the land for wealth and status. Success of Matarazzo, Richard Morse, From Community to Metropolis: A Biography of Sao Paulo, Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1974, pp. 228–9. On global coffee consumption, 1920s–30s, E. Bradford Burns, A History of Brazil, 2nd edn NY 1980, p. 301. Levi 1987, p. 123, and pp. 133–6 for a discussion of Paulo Prado’s landmark 1928 history, Retrato do Brasil. On the Modern Art Week, Morse 1974, pp. 261–3, and on Sao Paulo modernism, Burns 1980, pp. 377–9; also Jeffrey D. Needell, ‘Identity, race, gender and modernity in the origins of Gilberto Freyre’s oeuvre’, American Historical Review, 100-1, February 1995, pp. 59–60. On the Brazilian elite’s fascination for French and British culture, see Jeffrey Needell, A Tropical Belle Epoque: Elite Culture and Society in Turn-of-the-Century Rio de Janeiro, Cambridge 1987, pp. 156–77. Brazilian criticism of European migrants, George Reid Andrews, ‘Brazilian racial democracy, 1900–90: an American counterpoint’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 31, 3, 1996, p. 486. Anger towards Italian migrants, Tsuji Kotaro, Burajiru no Doho o Tazunete, Tokyo 1930, pp. 74–5. Lesser 1999, p. 100. Couto’s respect for Japan, Maeyama Takashi, Esunishiti to Burajiru Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1996, p. 493; Couto quoted on Japanese cunning and aggression, Lesser 1999, p. 100. Parana representative warning, Mita Chiyoko, ‘Burajiru no imin seisaku to Nihon imin: Beikoku hai-Nichi undo no hankyo no ichi jirei to shite’, pp. 450–1, in Miwa Kimitada (ed.), Nichi-Bei Kiki no Kigen to Hai-Nichi Iminho, Tokyo 1997. Teresa P.R. Caldeira, ‘Building up walls: the new pattern of spatial segregation in Sao Paulo’, International Social Science Journal, no. 147, March 1996, p. 56. Caldeira also notes the debate from the late 1920s on following the lead of Rio in remodelling the city through widespread urban clearance and the creation of a network of broad avenues. On Higienopolis in the 1890s, see Morse 1974, p. 273. For Couto’s background, Gilberto Freyre, Order and Progress: Brazil from Monarchy to Republic, NY 1970, p. 343. Quotation, Lesser 1999, p. 100. Emigrant deaths, Takahashi Yukiharu, Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1993, p. 98. On the Reis bill, Konno Toshihiko and Fujisaki Yasuo, Iminshi 1: Nambeihen, Tokyo 1994, pp. 56–7; Takahashi 1993, pp. 138–9. On Botelho’s continuing opposition to restrictions on Japanese migration, BJ, 17 July 1925. During debate on the Reis bill, the Brazilian government applied a temporary ban on visas to Japanese migrants, FO371/10960, enclosure in Sir Charles Eliot, Tokyo, to Foreign Secretary Austen Chamberlain, 27 March 1925. Genaro Arbaiza, ‘Acute Japanese Problem in South America’, Current History, vol. 21-5, February 1925, p. 736. A view linking Brazilian Amer-

Notes 181

13 14 15

16 17 18

19

20

21

22

23

indians with peoples of Asia was also apparent, see Dr Antonio G. Gonzaga speech, Rio de Janeiro, 10 May 1940, translated by Kaigai Kogyo K.K. Hakukoku Shiten, Hakukoku Ishokumin Mondai, Sao Paulo 1940, p. 14; also Lesser 1999, p. 104. British comment on Arbaiza article, FO371/ 10960, enclosure in Sir Charles Eliot, Tokyo, to Foreign Secretary Austen Chamberlain, 27 March 1925. Harumi 1922, p. 7. Takaoka 1925, pp. 89–90. Brazilian and Japanese cosmopolitanism, BJ, 15 August 1929. The reasoning of the editorial was somewhat unusual. It claimed that the Muslim invaders of Portugal a millenium earlier had been Asian and that, as a consequence of their intermarriage and cultural influence, the attitudes of Portuguese in Brazil were naturally similar to those of the Japanese. In this, the editorial seems to have used ‘Asian’ in the far looser sense of ‘Oriental’. A further example of the claim that no racism existed in Brazil, Kodo Hisaichi, Burajiru no Jisseikatsu, Tokyo 1928, pp. 23–4. FO371/10960, Sir John Tilley, Rio de Janeiro, to Foreign Secretary Austen Chamberlain, 3 January 1925. Harumi 1922, pp. 12–13. On benefits of naturalisation, BJ, 16 and 23 February, 3 March, 20 April 1923; Kodo 1928, pp. 26–7. BJ office for citizenship applications, BJ, 5 May 1925; SS, 16 March 1923. Naturalisation and other immigrant groups, Thomas H. Holloway, Immigrants on the Land: Coffee and Society in Sao Paulo, 1886–1934, Chapel Hill 1980, p. 162. Percentages of Brazilian marriage with non-Brazilians, Takaoka 1925, p. 88. Kodo 1928, pp. 114–18. Bolivian all-male community, and value of Japanese daughters in Brazil, Tsuji 1930, pp. 197–9; Noroeste marriage problem, NS, 1 July 1927. Eiichiro Azuma, ‘Racial struggle, immigrant nationalism, and ethnic identity: Japanese and Filipinos in the California delta’, Pacific Historical Review, vol. 67-4, November 1998, p. 174. Kodo 1928, pp. 114–18. Preference for native prefecture marriage partners, Handa Tomoo, Imin no Seikatsu no Rekishi: Burajiru Nikkeijin no Ayunda Michi, Sao Paulo 1970, p. 315; Suzuki Teiiti, The Japanese Immigrant in Brazil, 2 vols., Tokyo 1964–9, vol. 2, p. 109. An official Brazilian study from 1941 showed that first-generation Jewish migrants rarely married Brazilians but that this was more common for the second generation, Morse 1974, p. 254. Maeyama Takashi, ‘Ethnicity, secret societies, and associations: the Japanese in Brazil’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 21, 1979, p. 596. Kodo 1928, pp. 117–8. Japanese judge of Miss Brazil finals, SS, 25 January 1939. Japanese-Brazilian woman’s friendliness, BJ, 7 October 1936. Beauty of mestizo women, Yamada Yoshio, Amazon Kurashi Sanjunen, Tokyo 1958, pp. 176–7. End of Sao Paulo subsidies, BJ, 18 June 1933. Fear concerning number of migrants leaving Brazil, NS, 10 October 1924.

182

Notes

24 Shiroma Zenkichi (ed.), Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, pp. 156–9 lists all the consular offices and office-holders through to the 1950s. 25 Law on migrant co-operatives and creation of Burataku, Mie-ken Kaigai Kyokai (ed.), Mie-kenjin Nambei Hattenshi, Tsu 1977, pp. 16–19; Normano and Gerbi 1943, pp. 29–30. A list of prefectural emigration co-operatives as of 1932 appears in Takumusho Takumukyoku, Burajiru Iju Annai, Tokyo 1932, pp. 19–20. 26 Origins of Bastos settlement, Tsuji 1930, pp. 98–9; see also Takumusho Takumukyoku 1932, p. 16. Bastos as of February 1938, BJ, 28 June 1938. The school song also claimed that, ‘the day is spent at school, the evening in judo and kendo, the second-generation founded on letters and the martial arts’ (bun to bu). The three other major land ventures of Burataku were at Tiete, Alianca, and Torres Barras in Parana state. 27 Alianca settlements, Toyama-ken Nambei Kyokai (ed.), Toyama-ken Nambei Ijushi, Toyama 1989, pp. 44–6, plus demographic map from 1939 as an enclosure; Ariansa Ijuchi-shi Hensan Iinkai (ed.), Sosetsu Nijugonen, Nagano 1952, pp. 1–5; Kodo 1928, pp. 219–29; Takumusho Takumukyoku 1932, p. 16. Alianca population growth and Nikkei Brazilians, SS, 10 May 1932. On the question of regional Japanese make-up of settler populations, the Burataku settlement at Tiete in 1929 had over 300 families drawn from 41 prefectures in Japan and with no single region approaching anything like a numerical dominance, Burajiru Takushoku Kumiai, Chiete Ijuchi Nyushoku Annai, Sao Paulo 1934, pp. 11–12. Robert J. Smith, ‘The Ethnic Japanese in Brazil’, Journal of Japanese Studies, vol. 5-1, winter 1979, p. 57, asserts that much of the land bought by Japanese was so poor in quality that no one else wanted it. This seems to be exaggerated. 28 Itaquera settlement advertising and maps, BJ, 10 July 1925, 22 June 1933. The advertising also stressed the point that the settlement would not admit Japanese families who were self-centred and refused to live alongside others or those who were only interested in land price speculation. Itacoromi as ‘New Japan’, advert, BJ, 22 October 1920. 29 Espirito Santo, NS, 28 February 1929. 30 Lesser 1999, p. 101. Early twentieth century Manaus and rubber economy, Freyre 1970, pp. 232–7; Burns 1980, pp. 330–9. 31 Amazon settlement, Konno and Fujisaki 1994, pp. 136–8; Mie-ken Kaigai Kyokai 1977, pp. 20–1; Takumusho Takumukyoku 1932, pp. 25–30; Normano and Gerbi 1943, pp. 40–1; Lesser 1999, p. 99. Fukuhara’s initial observations may be seen in his report to the Japanese government, Fukuhara Hachiro, Hakukoku Amazon-gawa Ryuiki Shokuminchi Keikaku ni kan suru Chosa Hokokusho, Tokyo 1927. 32 Amazon survey and Brazilian welcome, Nambei Shimpo, 25 September and 1 December 1930, quotation from 3 February 1931. Uetsuka and Instituto Amazonia, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo, Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo, Akita 1997, p. 67; Konno and Fujisaki 1994, pp. 137–8. On Japanese expectations for development in the Amazon, see BJ, 6 January 1934.

Notes 183

33 Respect for Japanese investment, Kodo 1928, p. 24. History of Cotia Cooperative, SS, 25 January 1940. Hirano co-operative and local prosperity, BJ, 1 January 1939; SS, 25 February 1940. 34 Birigui settlers, Takahashi 1993, p. 107. Brazilians as ‘socially invisible’, Maeyama 1979, p. 594. 35 Queiroz Teles on Japanese settlements, NS, 18 October 1928. For an earlier example of similar ideas, BJ, 16 November 1923. 36 Attack on Japanese government view of emigration, NS, 16 March 1928. 37 Value of plantation experience, NS, 13 July 1928; also Oshima Kiichi, Hojin no Hattenchi Burajiru Saikin Jijo, Tokyo 1928, p. 62. 90 per cent of settlers direct from Japan, NS, 27 June 1928, reporting on the Bunka Settlement. 38 Amateurism at settlements, NS, 13 August 1931. 39 Toda on Noroeste standard of living, NS, 27 June 1928. Lesser 1999, p. 110, which also errs in giving the professor’s affiliation as Tokyo Imperial University Medical School. More extensive reports by Toda on migrant health include BJ, 17 and 31 January, 14 and 21 February 1929. Viewing Japanese houses in rural Brazil in 1928, Tsuji 1930, p. 107, described most of them as poor and ugly, ‘without a trace of any cultural sense’, and lacking even a single flower or blade of grass. 40 Quote, Frank G. Carpenter, Along the Parana and the Amazon, NY 1925, p. 143. The future Chicago or New York, NS, 21 December 1928. 41 Rudyard Kipling, Brazilian Sketches, Bromley 1989, p. 40; Levi 1987, p. 124. 1929 figures for Sao Paulo city and Tokyo vehicles, BJ, 25 July 1929. By August 1925, Sao Paulo state already had 23 569 passenger vehicles and 7913 trucks, the most of any Brazilian state, NS, 23 October 1925. 42 Survey of Japanese occupations, NS, 18, 25 April 1924, 3 May 1924. Urban population figures, Takaoka 1925, p. 211. Number of Japanese drivers, Tsuji 1930, p. 370. A brief comment on Japanese taxi and car hire companies also appears in Handa 1970, p. 192; see also Suzuki 1969, p. 74. 43 Japanese furniture stores, NS, 18, 25 April 1924, 3 May 1924. A photograph of the Casa Tokyo (or Casa Tokio) factory accompanies a half-page advertisement in Nambei Shimpo, 3 February 1931. In this, the text explains that the store had repeatedly won awards for its products. BJ, 1 January 1937, counts approximately 15 furniture stores in the city at that time, successfully competing with non-Japanese retailers. 44 Japanese at Lins, Tsuji 1930, pp. 32–7, 64–5; Lins advertisements, BJ, 31 January and 21 February 1929; history of Lins traffic increase, BJ, 18 June 1933. An earlier snapshot of the Japanese at Bauru is in SS, 23 February 1923; this shows that there were about 70 Japanese resident in the city, from 14 different prefectures (Fukuoka claiming the greatest number) and engaged in at least 11 different occupations. Mention of Japanese prostitution comes in a SS 4 May 1923 note that ‘Bauru’s famous Tomi is to return to Japan and the town officials and head of the brothel as well as the fruiterer Joao are sad at the parting’.

184

Notes

45 NS, 3 October 1924. 46 Maeyama 1979, p. 595. 47 Kevin M. Doak, ‘What is a nation and who belongs? National narratives and the ethnic imagination in twentieth-century Japan’, American Historical Review, vol. 102-2, April 1997, pp. 283–309. 48 James Tigner, ‘Shindo Renmei: Japanese nationalism in Brazil’, The Hispanic American Historical Review, vol. 41-4, 1961, pp. 530–1. NS, 21 December 1928, appears to be one of the earliest examples of the Portuguese-language news page. Genesis of press, Konno and Fujisaki 1994, pp. 154–7. Print runs for BJ and NS, Kodo 1928, pp. 120–1. 49 Aspects of the anti-Miura campaign are evident in NS, 10 May 1929, 17 October 1929, 2 April 1931; BJ, 5 September 1929, 1 January 1930, 23 July 1931; Takahashi 1993, pp. 157–69. 50 History compilation, BJ, 12 October 1923; two-volume publication, BJ, 15 March 1940. 51 Maeyama 1979, pp. 594–5. Tigner 1961, p. 527, writes, ‘the association became a socio-cultural agency to preserve the culture of the homeland and the concept of loyalty to the emperor’. 52 NS, 14 October 1927. Nambei Shimpo, 13 August 1931. The criticism that many associations were just for show is repeated in Burajiru Fukui Kenjin-kai Kaiho Henshubu, (ed.), Burajiru to Fukui Kenjin, Sao Paulo 1961, p. 230. 53 Criticism of Dojinkai, SS, 11 April 1924. Brazilian Central Japan Society controversy, BJ, 22 September 1937; Burajiru Fukui Kenjin-kai Kaiho Henshubu 1961, pp. 230–1. Kyuyokai origins, NS, 15 July 1927; Shiroma 1959, pp. 260–1; effectiveness, Nambei Shimpo, 27 August 1931; membership, BJ, 9 May 1934. At that point in 1934, there were 222 Japanese associations with a total membership of 22 322. The vast majority of these groups were along the Noroeste and Sorocabana railway lines but the concentration of members was greatest in Santos, the home of many Okinawans. Thus, the Noroeste region, with 60, had the largest number of associations but the membership of these groups totalled 9509 while Santos, with just 14 associations, claimed the second largest membership total at 4063, that is, 1600 more than Sao Paulo city and its environs. The fact that there were as many as 14 separate associations in Santos alone, however, further calls into question the idea that such groups were manipulated by the Japanese authorities to control the expatriate community. 54 Education forum, NS, 18 March 1927; Konno and Fujisaki 1994, pp. 63–4. 55 Education, imperialism and assimilation, Takaoka 1925, pp. 280–2, 323–5. On the 1921 language law, see also Tsuji 1930, pp. 73–4. The view that just some Japanese-language teaching was desirable in order to maintain communication between the first and second generations in Brazil was advocated in a BJ editorial, 30 January 1925. 56 Elimination of Chinese characters, Arima Tetsunosuke in Tsuji 1930, pp. 371–2.

Notes 185

57 Japanese sports and clubs, NS, 30 September 1927; Japan Club tennis court opening ceremony, NS, 2 April 1926. It was claimed that the tennis court was so fine that local Brazilians were also keen to join the Japan Club. This was perhaps part of the organisers’ intention. A detailed description of the club and some of its members, including consular staff, is in NS, 1 January 1929. On soccer, Tsuji 1930, p. 214. 58 Ikeda Shigeji, San Pauro-shi oyobi Kinko Hojin Hattenshi, Sao Paulo 1954, p. 104; also the summary history of migrant baseball in SS, 18 May 1940. Rio de Janeiro challenge, notice in BJ, 16 March 1923. Finances of Brazilian– Japanese Baseball Association, BJ, 2 October, 13 November 1925. 59 Japanese tennis in Brazil, Ikeda 1954, p. 112; Noroeste popularity, NS, 13 March 1938; Bastos challenge, BJ, 3 December 1938. Rio swimming coach, NS, 6 March 1935; Shiroma 1959, p. 172. 60 On migrant athletics, Shiroma 1959, p. 171; Sao Paulo marathon, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 47; respect from Brazilian sporting world, BJ, 16 April 1931; Child Olympics, BJ, 21 March, 29 April 1934. 61 Aracatuba meeting, Nambei Shimpo, 24 September 1936; University of Sao Paulo challenge, BJ, 22 September 1937. First Brazilian and Japanese athletics meeting, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 75. 62 ‘Age of crime’, NS, 17 July 1935. Just a few other examples of reports stressing the decline of employment and social stability include Nambei Shimpo, 8 January 1930, 10 September, 19 November 1931; BJ, 2 July, 24 November 1931. 63 Tsuji 1930, pp. 1–13 and, on persistence of ‘dekasegi’ mentality, p. 202. NS editorial, 10 October 1924. See also NS, 17 September 1924, which insisted that the misery of Japan’s agricultural sector resulted from too many landlords and people living off bank interest, and that migrants wishing to return and join their ranks would only exacerbate the situation. 64 NS, 12 November 1926, in Konno and Fujisaki 1994, pp. 60–1. See also the summary biographies of new Sao Paulo state ministers in Nambei Shimpo, for example, 20, 27 August 1931. Domination of news from Japan, Handa 1970, p. 602. In this, Handa is referring mainly to the 1930s but, even at this time, his claim is unconvincing. 65 Japanese rioters 1922, BJ, 9 October 1930; Takahashi 1993, p. 156. Quotation, Nambei Shimpo, 28 October 1930. 66 On Sao Paulo city, Tsuji 1930, pp. 28–9, and on Brazilian social and commercial culture, pp. 69–71. Brazilian Independence Day, BJ, 12 September 1929. Example on forms of politeness, NS, 16 January 1937. 67 Maeyama 1996, p. 21. The belief that Japanese and Brazilian attitudes on education were quite separate was also expressed by Tsuji 1930, p. 200, when he writes, ‘The South American spirit is easy going . . . even if the children cannot recognise a single letter, they are happy if they can dance and know love’. 68 BJ, 12 September 1929. Carpenter 1925, p. 145.

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4

Notes

Expanding: the Japanese Community, 1930–36

1 E. Bradford Burns, A History of Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1980, p. 402. Figures showing the rise of rival coffee producers are in BJ, 28 January 1938. 2 Robert M. Levine, The Vargas Regime: The Critical Years, 1934–1938, NY 1970, pp. 36–8. Burns 1980, p. 399, adds, ‘Moderation and affability tempered his administration. Absent were the pomp, terror, and inflexibility so often characteristic of Spanish American dictatorships’. The idea that Vargas was a semi-dictator or dictator is offered by Mita Chiyoko, ‘Nashonarizumu to minzoku shudan: Burajiru no kokka togo to Nihonjin ijusha’, Gaiko Jiho, 1251, September 1988, p. 57. The view that his policies were intended rapidly to Brazilianise the Japanese community is expressed in Handa Tomoo, Imin no Seikatsu no Rekishi: Burajiru Nikkeijin no Ayunda Michi, Sao Paulo 1970, p. 587; also Maeyama Takashi, ‘Nikkeijin no Wakon Hakusai-ron: bunka henyo ni tsuite no ichi-minzoku gainen’, Esunishiti to Burajiru Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1996, p. 178. 3 George Reid Andrews, ‘Brazilian racial democracy, 1900–90: an American counterpoint’, Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 31, 3, 1996, p. 486. Integralist’s enemies, Burns 1980, p. 406. 4 On xenophobia and Integralists, Andrews 1996, pp. 487–8. Foreign-born population, Burns, 1980, p. 362. On Freyre and Afro-Brazilian culture, Hermano Vianna, The Mystery of Samba: Popular Music and National Identity in Brazil, Chapel Hill 1999, especially chapter 6. The migrant Japanese press was not indifferent to instances of racism towards ethnic Africans in Brazil. For example, in December 1931, it was reported that black Brazilians in Sao Paulo were being denied access to some of the ice skating rinks then enjoying a boom in popularity. However, some of those experiencing discrimination were able to appeal to the police and have the rink in question closed. In this way, discrimination on racial grounds clearly existed but so did institutional means of redress, BJ, 18 December 1931. 5 Government subsidies, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo, Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo, Akita 1997, p. 70. Brazil as ‘paradise for workers’, BJ, 1 January 1934; protected from the Great Depression, BJ, 18 June 1933. By contrast, BJ, 3 October 1932, described the situation in rural Japan and asserted, ‘you work and you work and still you cannot eat’. 6 Kobe failed applicants, BJ, 24 January 1934. 7 Konno Toshihiko/Fujisaki Yasuo, Iminshi 1: Nambei-hen, Tokyo 1994, pp. 69–71. For comments on the earlier exploitation of migrants to Hawaii, Alan Takeo Moriyama, Imingaisha: Japanese Emigration Companies and Hawaii 1894–1908, Honolulu 1985, pp. 80–1. 8 On Japanese cotton production San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 78. Japanese coffee producers’ over-extension and volume over quality, Nambei Shimpo, 8 January 1930. Beneficial impact of distance from Japan, BJ, 3 November 1931. 9 1934 trade figures, Yoshinori Ohara, Japan and Latin America, Santa Monica 1967, p. 28. Content and increasing importance of bilateral trade,

Notes 187

10

11

12 13

14 15 16

17

18

19

BJ, 14 April 1934. Volumes and values for Brazilian exports to Japan in 1935–37 are given in BJ, 1 January 1938. For cotton, the volumes were listed in thousands of kilos (the value in thousands of contos is in brackets – one contos was worth about US$82 in 1935): 1935 = 2515 (2318), 1936 = 42 452 (44 764), first half of 1937 = 1634 (1958). Equivalent figures for coffee volumes were: 1935 = 1025 (542), 1936 = 2538 (1372), first half of 1937 = 1254 (858). Japan as the primary outlet early in 1937 for Brazilian cotton, BJ, 8 January 1938. Military donations and books on US–Japan war, BJ, 17 July 1933. Just a few examples of the Japanese migrant press speculation on war between Japan and one of the powers throughout the 1930s include: Nambei Shimpo, 17 January, 10 and 20 February 1930; SS, 1 January 1932; NS, 10 January 1934; BJ, 19 September 1932, 29 April 1934; Nambei Shimpo, 20 June 1936. On Nagata, Manchuria and Brazil, see Sandra Wilson, ‘The “New Paradise”: Japanese emigration to Manchuria in the 1930s and 1940s’, International History Review, vol. 17-2, May 1995, pp. 258–60. Migrant view of Manchurian wages, BJ, 1 January 1934. San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 71. 1932 revolt and Japanese migrants, SS, 2 September 1932; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 71. Death of Yamada, BJ, 13 October 1932. 1933 ceremonies, BJ, 22 June 1933. Regional celebrations, BJ, 3 July 1933; Bastos, BJ, 29 June 1933. Judo competition, BJ, 22 June 1933. 1933–34 Constituent Assembly debate and racism, Levine 1970, pp. 21–6; examples of views for and against Japanese immigration, BJ, 28 March 1934, also NS, 14 and 21 February, 29 April 1934; Lesser 1999, pp. 116–20. Constitutional article on immigration, Takahashi 1993, p. 140; also San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 77 (which gives the initial Japanese quota as 2489). 1935 revised Japanese migrant quota, BJ, 1 June 1935. Brazilian political and business attitudes to 1934 constitution, Inoue Miyaji, ‘Burajiru iju seigen mondai ni tsuite’, Gaiko Jiho, 722, January 1935, pp. 316–21. That the quota was casually applied to Japanese migrants immediately after 1934 was perfectly apparent to contemporary observers, see J.F. Normano and Antonello Gerbi, The Japanese in South America: An Introductory Survey with Special Reference to Peru, NY 1943, p. 22. A selection of Japanese migrant views, ranging from shock to a selfconfidence that Brazilian critics could be won over, appears in BJ, 26 May 1934. Press comment on migrant Japanese, racism, and assimilation, BJ, 8 and 22 January 1936, 5 February 1936. For a contemporary summary of the history of anti-Japanese racism in Brazil, see BJ, 29 April 1934. Criticism of Japanese authorities, NS, 7 March 1924; BJ, 21 March 1934; Lesser 1999, p. 121. Parallel with 1910s North America, BJ, 1 July 1936.

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Notes

20 For a contemporary Japanese view of Couto’s arguments, BJ, 3, 14, 17, 21 March 1934. On Brazilian anti-communism and revolts, Burns, 1980, pp. 405–7. 21 Anti-Assyrian campaign, Lesser 1999, pp. 68–75, quotation, p. 73. 22 BJ, 5 October 1935. Lesser 1999, p. 118, cites a Rio newspaper of December 1933 which had raised similar fears by linking Japanese imperialism in Manchuria with the Japanese presence in the Amazon. 23 Minas Gerais invitation, BJ, 3 and 14 March 1934. 24 Martins speech, BJ, 8 July 1936. 25 Tiete murders, BJ, 29 April and 12 May 1934; Bastos attack, NS, 9 May 1934 and BJ, 16 May 1934. 26 Murder at Mesquita settlement, Alta Paulista region, BJ, 6 July 1936; Birigui deaths and Japanese donations, BJ, 21 October and 18 November 1936. Other instances of violence against Japanese include SS, 25 April 1930, plus BJ, 15 September 1937, 9 October 1940. 27 Richard M. Morse, From Community to Metropolis: A Biography of Sao Paulo, Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1974, p. 253. An example of actual violence by a Japanese migrant towards a Brazilian was reported early in 1939. Two plantation workers, one Japanese, one Brazilian, argued over the rights to use a parcel of land. The Japanese, a kendo and judo practitioner, decided to resolve the dispute by taking his Japanese sword and trying to kill his rival during the carnival, BJ, 1 March 1939. 28 Post-1945 murder and terrorism within the Japanese community, James Lawrence Tigner, ‘Shindo Renmei: Japanese nationalism in Brazil’, The Hispanic American Historical Review, vol. 41-4, 1961, pp. 521–4. Birigui murders, SS, 24 August 1923. Lins shooting, BJ, 5 September 1929. Santos dispute, BJ, 30 March 1933. BJ, 23 July 1931, shows that these were not the only Japanese engaged in smuggling. 29 Migrant suicides, BJ, 2 May 1934. 30 Rio migrants prevented from landing, BJ, 1 June 1935. 31 NS, 5 February 1936, gives the precise total of migrant Japanese as 171 608. This excluded the region of Belem in the north of Brazil from which there was a delay in obtaining results. Figures from the various consulates included: Bauru area (Noroeste), 81 972 (43 370 male, 38 602 female); Sao Paulo area, 55 638 (30 340 male, 25 298 female); Ribeirao Preto area, 21 100 (11 386 male, 9714 female); Santos area, 12 130 (6503 male, 5627 female); Rio de Janeiro, 768 (438 male, 330 female). 32 Migrant land ownership figures and Brazilian press, BJ, 7 September 1936; also BJ, 1 January 1934. For a different scale on land values which shows Japanese as fifth behind Brazilians, Italians, Portuguese and Spanish, see BJ, 5 May 1934. In a 1933 table of landowners by headcount, the Japanese moved even further up the ladder to third place behind Brazilians and Italians, NS, 1 January 1935. On the Japanese population of Noroeste, BJ, 18 June 1933. Additional figures for Brazilian and foreign ownership of coffee fazendas and coffee trees in Sao Paulo in 1934 are given in Herbert S. Klein, ‘European and Asian migration to Brazil’, p. 221, in Robin Cohen (ed.), The Cambridge Survey of World Migration,

Notes 189

33

34

35

36 37

38

39 40

41 42 43

Cambridge 1995. These show a similar pattern to general landownership albeit with Japan trailing the Italians by a great distance, and both the Spaniards and Portuguese by relatively small margins. On the general question of Sao Paulo city home ownership, Teresa P.R. Caldeira, ‘Building up walls: the new pattern of spatial segregation in Sao Paulo’, International Social Science Journal, no. 147, March 1996, pp. 56–7. Urban Japanese conditions and occupations, Handa 1970, pp. 573–9. Sao Paulo City Ryokan Union, listing in Nambei Shimpo, 20 June 1930. Shimomoto graduation, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 83. Kitajima appointment, NS, 3 October 1937. Japanese-language press, Konno/Fujisaki, 1994, pp. 149–62; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 76; Onaga and Nihon Shimbun, Handa 1970, p. 608. The growth of the Japanese migrant press, however, should be placed in context. According to figures released for 1930, the four Japanese-language newspapers then in existence constituted a mere drop in the total of 2959 types of newspaper in Brazil, the vast majority of them published in and south of Rio de Janeiro. Of this total, 2778 were in the Portuguese language, another 69 in German, 24 in Italian, 12 in English, seven in Arabic, and six each in Polish and Spanish, NS, 30 July 1931. Journals subscription list for Nakaya Traders, BJ, 12 September 1932. Brazilian radio and record industries, Hermano Vianna, The Mystery of Samba: Popular Music and National Identity in Brazil, Chapel Hill 1999, pp. 77–8. Five record labels appeared in Rio between 1928–29. These included Columbia and RCA. JLSZ radio playlist, BJ, 16 September 1940. See also playlists in BJ, 23 September 1938 and 7 September 1940 showing a broad consistency in programming. NHK global broadcast, NS, 29 May 1935. ‘A Japanese Evening’, BJ, 11 July 1932; ‘Japanese Hour’, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 78. Example of adult cinema adverts, NS, 8 May 1935; popularity of US movies, Handa 1970, pp. 203–6; criticism of US crime films, Nambei Shimpo, 8 July 1937. For a contemporary guide to Sao Paulo city cinemas, prices and comforts, NS, 14 February 1934. The range and variety of adult-oriented cinema in Sao Paulo as early as 1917 is noted in Morse 1974, p. 203. Ikeda Shigeji, Sao Pauro-shi oyobi Kinko Hojin Hattenshi, Sao Paulo 1954, p. 82. Nippaku Cinema playbill, BJ, 1 January 1930. Review of Noroeste-sen Isshu, Nambei Shimpo, 10 February 1930; exchange with Osaka Mainichi, BJ, 4 December 1931. Nippaku Cinema and monthly imports, NS, 1 January 1936; Bastos weekend cinema, SS, 19 April 1932; growth of exhibitors, Ikeda 1954, pp. 82–3. An advertisement in BJ, 1 January 1938, shows that six distributors, including Nippaku Cinema, Nihon Cinema, and Shochiku, had by then formed the Alliance of Japanese Film in Brazil. Nippaku Cinema and Portuguese titles, BJ, 25 December 1930; Foreign Ministry and Portuguese-language newsreel, BJ, 5 December 1934.

190

Notes

44 Japan Film Night, BJ, 3 April 1935. Popularity among the migrants of samurai movies, SS, 11 March 1932. The first imported ‘all-talking’ samurai film was the Nikkatsu production, Hyaku-man Ryo no Tsubo, BJ, 14 July 1939. 45 Patriotic films, BJ, 6 December 1933, 1 January 1934; Broadway to Hollywood, advert, BJ, 21 February 1934. 46 Toho representative, Sakagami Toshio, interviewed in SS, 5 August 1939. 47 Nikkatsu announcement, SS, 14 July 1939. 1952 production, Ikeda 1954, p. 85. 48 Handa 1970, p. 579. Hosokawa Shuhei, Sanba no Kuni ni Enka wa Nagareru: Ongaku ni Miru Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1995, pp. 24–5. Miura recording, advert in Nambei Shimpo, 28 October 1930. On Japan Victor and Japan Columbia plus musical trends in Japan in the 1920s–30s, see Harris I. Martin, ‘Popular music and social change in prewar Japan’, Japan Interpreter, vol. 7, nos. 3–4, summer–autumn 1972, pp. 343–7. It is only fair to mention that Hosokawa 1995, p. 16, sees all records from Japan, irrespective of their style or their regional flavour, as being welcomed by migrants as reminders of the homeland and, therefore, broadened in their cultural meaning. 49 Examples of Casa Allema adverts, BJ, 24 March 1932, 10 April 1936, 22 November 1936; Ford ads, NS, 20 June 1929, 22 August 1929; Chevrolet ad, BJ, 22 November 1936; Casa Casoy, BJ, 12 August 1936; Italian photographer, BJ, 15 December 1932; Academia Paulista de Dancas, BJ, 28 January 1938. 50 Japan Evening, BJ, 18 November 1936; Sao Paulo Japan Music Study Society, 2nd. ‘Japan Music Night’ success, BJ, 18 October 1940. Hosokawa focuses on the elite women’s group Suiyokai at Sao Paulo city and its use of music and dance to explain Japanese culture to Brazilians, Hosokawa 1995, pp. 44–7. Migrants in the interior also identified culture with music. A Brazilian diplomat visited Lins prior to taking up his post in Japan and his expatriate hosts offered him an introduction to Japanese culture through dance and sukiyaki, BJ, 12 February 1939. 51 Electric samisen, Nambei Shimpo, 17 April 1931. 52 Hosokawa 1995, p. 10. 53 Rudyard Kipling, Brazilian Sketches, Bromley 1989, pp. 58–9. 54 On the origins of carnival and the rise of a national carnival centred on Rio, Vianna 1999, pp. 8–12, 78, 88, 90–2; William Rowe and Vivian Schelling, Memory and Modernity: Popular Culture in Latin America, London 1991, pp. 128–35. Rio authorities and 1935 ban on non-Brazilian themes, Alma Guillermoprieto, Samba, NY 1990, p. 31. Carnival and expression of opinions, James Woodall, A Simple Brazilian Song: Journeys Through the Rio Sound, London 1997, p. 224. Centrality of music in Brazilian society, Freyre 1970, p. 70. Claus Schreiner, Musica Brasileira: A History of Popular Music and the People of Brazil, London/NY 1993, p. 22, notes the collection of folk songs by Brazilian intellectuals as early as the 1890s.

Notes 191

55 Vianna 1999, p. 91. Tsuji 1930, pp. 139–40. Morse 1974, p. 37, shows that the tradition of squirting perfumes at carnival goes back at least to the early nineteenth century. 56 NS, 7 March 1924; see also NS, 14 February 1929. Tsuji 1930, p. 141. Roberto Da Matta, ‘Carnival in multiple planes’, in John J. MacAloon (ed.), Rite, Drama, Festival, Spectacle: Rehearsals Toward a Theory of Cultural Performance, Philadelphia 1984, p. 224, writes, ‘It is crazy because all space is inverted, dislocated, and everything is called into question’. 57 1930s carnivals, NS, 12 February 1931, 14 February 1934, 4 and 11 February 1937; BJ, 13 February 1933 and 6 March 1935 (the latter edition noting that dance parties were held ‘kakusho’, that is ‘all over’, by Japanese migrants). Casa Allema advert, NS, 6 February 1937; Ao Preco Fixo advert, BJ, 27 January 1937. In 1932, the carnival at Rio included a float illustrating the Sino-Japanese hostilities over Manchuria, SS, 16 February 1932. 58 Carnival as racial equality, SS, 8 February 1940. 59 ’Sao Paulo Erotic Guide’, NS, 5, 12, 19, 25 June, 10 July 1935. Sao Paulo nude revue, NS, 14 February 1934. Compare this with Handa 1970, pp. 210–11, which describes Japanese migrants going to the brothel quarters of Sao Paulo ‘in search of fun (asobi) where fun was not to be found’, and being repulsed by the babel of prostitute voices. 60 On Fujiwara’s first visit, NS, 19 August, 6 November, 9 December 1937. 61 Kawakami Suzuko, BJ, 7 January 1938, also 28, 29 June 1938; Sao Paulo city audience, NS, 8 July 1938. 62 Hasegawa Toshiko visits, BJ, 4 November and 9 December 1936, plus 19 June, 17 September, 7 and 12 November 1940. 63 Korean dancing queen, BJ, 25, 31 May, 7 June 1940; Sao Paulo performance, BJ, 5 June 1940. Ch’oe had earlier been invited to Argentina according to NS, 26 March 1938; scheduled 1939 visit, SS, 3 February 1939. Ch’oe showed both a nice sensitivity and a deft touch in public relations while in Sao Paulo, sending all her bouquets to patients at the Japan Hospital whom she had earlier visited. Her image is included in Japan Photographers’ Association, A Century of Japanese Photography, London 1981, p. 212, albeit without identifying her by name. Instead, it is given the title, ‘Dance of Delight on Red Hill’.

5

In Transit: a World of New Orders, 1937–40

1 Robert Levine, The Vargas Regime: The Critical Years, 1934–1938, NY 1970, pp. 162–5. 2 Survey of Japanese resident overseas, SS, 12 February 1939. The precise figures for Bolivia, Cuba and Chile were 764, 714, and 682 respectively. 3 Journalist Shiino Yutaka, cited in BJ, 10 November 1939. 4 Survey of returnees, BJ, 3 December 1938. This shows in addition that there had been about 35 000 deaths among the migrants over these years. Ethnic populations of Sao Paulo city, 1938, and rates of long-term

192

5

6 7

8

9

10

11

12

Notes

migrant residence in Brazil, Egoshi Nobutane, Ashita no Burajiru, Tokyo 1939, pp. 21–4. The percentage rates for those staying on by ethnic group were: Lithuanian 94.7, Japanese 93.2, Portuguese 41.9, German 20.5, Italian 12.8. Returnees from Hawaii, Alan Takeo Moriyama, Imingaisha: Japanese Emigration Companies and Hawaii 1894–1908, Honolulu 1985, p. 132. A Japanese consular survey from the start of the 1930s had revealed that, at that time, 37 per cent of those immigrants questioned had already decided to remain permanently in Brazil while only four per cent were resolved to return to Japan; all others were as yet undecided, BJ, 1 January 1934. Migrant figures, SS, 5 August 1939. BJ, 4 February 1940, shows that foreign migrants to Sao Paulo state in 1939 numbered just 12 200, that is, ten per cent of the total immigration figure of 112 000. In other words, the majority of those arriving in Sao Paulo came from other regions of Brazil. SS, 19 September 1939. O Estado editorial, translated in SS, 19 September 1939. 1938 fall in cotton price, SS, 26 February 1939. Percentage of Japanese migrant production in ginned cotton, Egoshi 1939, pp. 48–9. By this point, Japanese migrants also contributed about half the state’s potato produce as well as ten per cent of its corn and rice plus about 80 per cent of its tea crop. 1930 Vargas speech on national reform and education, BJ, 13 November 1930. Values in New State education, Levine 1970, p. 167; Vargas quotation in E. Bradford Burns, A History of Brazil, 2nd edn, NY 1980, p. 410; 1938 laws, Mita Chiyoko, ‘Nashonarizumu to minzoku shudan’, Gaiko Jiho, 1251, September 1988, p. 62; Sao Paulo Municipal Sports Stadium, SS, 27 April 1940. Levine 1970, pp. 16–17. See also Antonio G. Gonzaga speech, 10 May 1940, for figures on low school enrolment and literacy in Sao Paulo state in 1938. The speech appears in Kaigai Kogyo K.K. Hakukoku Shiten, trans., Hakukoku Ishokumin Mondai, Sao Paulo 1940, p. 8. Details of the 1938–39 restrictions on education, Handa Tomoo, Imin no Seikatsu no Rekishi: Burajiru Nikkeijin no Ayunda Michi, Sao Paulo 1970, p. 588; Mita 1988, p. 62; Jeffrey Lesser, Negotiating National Identity: Immigrants, Minorities, and the Struggle for Ethnicity in Brazil, Durham NC 1999, p. 130. Handa 1970, p. 589; Mita Chiyoko, ‘Nihon to Burajiru o musubu Nikkeijin ijusha no hachiju-nen’, Gaiko Jiho, no. 1265, February 1990, pp. 45–6, 55; Maeyama Takashi, ‘Ancestor, emperor, and immigrant: religion and group identity of the Japanese in rural Brazil (1908–1950)’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, vol. 14-2, 1972, p. 170, and his Esunishiti to Burajiru Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1996, p. 178; see also Takahashi Yukiharu, Nikkei Burajiru Iminshi, Tokyo 1993, pp. 142–3. Destruction of Polish migrant school, BJ, 23 September 1938. Tiete schools, Burajiru Takushoku Kumiai, Chiete Ijuchi Nyushoku Annai, Sao Paulo 1934, pp. 10–12. That similar conditions prevailed earlier and elsewhere is suggested in Tsuji Kotaro, Burajiru no Doho o Tazunete, Tokyo 1930, p. 110. Rio and Sao Paulo Law Schools, SS, 5 April 1939; Rio Japan-

Notes 193

13

14

15

16

17 18 19 20 21

22 23 24 25

ese Language Student Society and Sao Paulo Society for the Study of Japanese Culture, SS, 12 March 1939. A Japanese-born student at the Sao Paulo Medical School had already noted in 1935 a desire among his fellow Brazilian students to learn Japanese, Kawahara Kiyoshi comments in BJ, 29 April 1935. Illicit Japanese schools, Handa 1970, p. 588; Maeyama Takashi, ‘Ethnicity, secret societies, and associations: the Japanese in Brazil’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 21, 1979, p. 598. 1940 Bastos visit, Lesser 1999, pp. 132–3. Almeida report on schools, BJ, 5 October 1936, and his book on Japanese assimilation, BJ, 1 February 1939. Activities of Japanese educational association of Sao Paulo state, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo, Burajiru Nihon Iminshi Nempyo, Akita 1997, p. 76. 1937 gathering of educators, NS, 26 January 1937. Conversation with British visitor, BJ, 4 November 1936; examples of the argument on learning Japanese at home, BJ, 14 and 21 October 1936, SS, 22 November 1939. Kodomo no Sono adverts, BJ, 23 September 1936, 18 August 1938. On the Student League, the main work is Maeyama 1996, especially pp. 339–53 (comprising the main section of a reprint of his article ‘1930nendai San Pauro-shi ni okeru Nikkei gakusei kessha: kokka – hito – esunishiti’, originally in Yanagida Toshio (ed.), Amerika no Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1995). On the origin of the group, see also Lesser 1999, p. 123 (which errs in giving 1935 as the date of its founding), and Takahashi 1993, p. 149 (which throws in 1933 as a founding date). Quoted from Maeyama 1996, p. 354. See also Takahashi 1993, p. 149. Lesser 1999, pp. 130–1. On the Student League’s attempt to promote understanding with the Brazilian authorities, see SS, 17 September 1939. Nakanishi quotation, BJ, 1 January 1939. See also Takahashi 1993, p. 144. BJ, 9 December 1938. Volksdeutsche movement, Levine 1970, pp. 26–7; criticism of ‘ethnic chaos’, Hermano Vianna, The Mystery of Samba: Popular Music and National Identity in Brazil, Chapel Hill 1999, p. 51. Frank G. Carpenter, Along The Parana and the Amazon, NY 1925, p. 187, noted after his latest visit to Brazil that the mid-nineteenth century German colony of Blumenau in Santa Catharina ‘is now a city of thirty thousand or more, yet it is still almost as thoroughly German as a town of the Fatherland. German is the language heard everywhere, and is used in official documents by the local authorities. In some towns the mayor, the counsellors, and the police are all of teutonic origin, and in some of the schools there are teachers who cannot speak Portuguese’. Alien registration regulations, SS, 16 April 1939. SS, 15 March 1939. Notes on Japanese television development, Nambei Shimpo, 28 February 1930, BJ, 8 November 1933. Nippon flight, SS, 26 August 1939, 3 October 1939; BJ, 29 August, 3 October 1939; Brazilian ministerial speech, SS, 20 October 1939. The importance

194

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

Notes

of aviation and modernity was further emphasised by the creation in Japan from 1940 of 28 September as ‘aviation day’, a new holiday during which events, talks, and memorials were held all over the country, BJ, 29 September 1940. Santos-Dumont myth and appearance, Gilberto Freyre, Order and Progress: Brazil From Monarchy to Republic, NY 1970, pp. 277–8, and p. 201 on ‘macaquitos’. Average height of Brazilian men, Carpenter 1925, p. 227. Visit of German airship, Nambei Shimpo, 30 May 1930. Japanese medicine at Lins and Bastos, Furusato Rekishi Kinenkan, Imin no Tame Jonetsu no Shogai o Oeta Hosoe Shizuo Ishi, Gero 1996, pp. 6–7. After moving to Sao Paulo city, Hosoe also entered the Medical School, graduating in 1940. He became a Brazilian citizen in 1941 and his first return visit to Japan was in 1962. First Japanese students at Sao Paulo Medical School, BJ, 30 March 1933. Origin of Dojinkai, NS, 14 March 1924. On the grants for pharmacology students, see the recruitment advert in NS, 3 October 1924. Antitrachoma competition, BJ, 31 January and 9 May 1929. Sanitorium Sao Francisco Xavier and Japan Hospital, NS, 5 February 1936; BJ, 4, 13 and 18 November 1936; Furusato Rekishi Kinenkan 1996, pp. 10–13; Burajiru Fukui Kenjin-kai Kaiho Henshubu (ed.), Burajiru to Fukui Kenjin, Sao Paulo 1960, p. 231. Local Japan Hospital donations, BJ, 14 August 1935. Soares land donation, BJ, 27 November 1935. Opening of Japan Hospital and reform of Dojinkai, SS, 22 July 1939. Photographs of the Japan Hospital were prominently and repeatedly printed in the migrant press, for example, BJ, 14 September 1940. Japan Hospital dispute, BJ, 2 March 1940, SS, 23 March 1940, 6 April 1940. Seizure by Brazilian government, Burajiru Fukui Kenjin-kai Kaiho Henshubu 1960, p. 231. Japan–Brazil Association article, BJ, 10 and 11 January 1938. Spanishlanguage documentaries, BJ, 11 January 1940. A prominent advert for Shanghai Rikusentai appears in BJ, 20 January 1940. The Cinema Yearbook of Japan 1939, p. 34, explains: ‘This film deals with the gallant and determined defense put up by Japanese marines against overwhelming odds at Shanghai at the beginning of the present Sino-Japanese conflict in 1937 . . . showing the [expatriate] Japanese civilians grouped at the Hongkew primary school, the work of the Japanese forces in sheltering Chinese refugees behind the firing line in temple compounds and buildings, the bombing of the International Settlement by Chinese planes . . . ’ This would seem to beg the question of what Japanese marines were doing in Shanghai in the first place. Letter from Aikoku Fujinkai and campaign for children’s postcards, Nambei Shimpo, 18 November 1937. Patriotic group activities, NS, 26 July 1938; San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, p. 86; examples of patriotic movie screenings, Nambei Shimpo, 14 October 1937, BJ, 21 August 1938, 26 November 1940. Kunii Trading sale, BJ, 12 December 1939.

Notes 195

34 List of individual and group donors, Nambei Shimpo, 2 December 1937. Total donations to end of September 1937 and equivalent in yen, NS, 30 September 1937. 35 Heiwa Colony, BJ, 26 January 1938. Overseas Japanese donations by country and city, SS, 26 October 1939, BJ, 27 October 1939. While differing on the amount credited to Sao Paulo, both newspapers agreed on the figures for other places. 36 Sao Paulo city association, Ikeda Shigeji, Kagoshima-kenjin Burajiru Ishokuminshi, Sao Paulo 1941, p. 38; also BJ, 28 October 1938. 37 Lins and Bastos associations, Ikeda 1941, pp. 38–9. 38 Military volunteers, BJ, 10 June 1938. 39 Kayama Fuyo letter, SS, 8 June 1939. 40 On ‘returnees’ and nationalism, Mita 1990, p. 46; Lesser 1999, p. 130. Lesser suggests that many more migrants wanted to return to Japan but were prevented by a lack of funds and by pressure from Burataku to stay. Figures for migrants quitting Brazil, SS, 18 July 1939; collapse of German cotton sales, SS, 5 May 1939; motivations and goal of re-emigration to North China, SS, 9 February 1939 (which does emphasise the impact of language restrictions in persuading migrants to quit Brazil) and 13 May 1939. 41 Quotation on emperor worship, Maeyama 1979, p. 594; migrant saying, Maeyama 1996, p. 15. On lack of migrant religious activity until the 1950s, see also Mita Chiyoko in Imin Kenkyukai (ed.), Nihon no Imin Kenkyu: Doko to Mokuroku, Tokyo 1994, p. 108. On religious syncretism in Brazil, William Rowe and Vivian Schelling, Memory and Modernity: Popular Culture in Latin America, London 1991, pp. 124–6. The 1990s estimate on religions is noted in Chris McGowan and Ricardo Pessanha, The Brazilian Sound: Samba, Bossa Nova, and the Popular Music of Brazil, Philadelphia 1998, p. 16. 42 Maeyama Takashi, ‘Ancestor, emperor, and immigrant: religion and group identification of the Japanese in rural Brazil (1908–1950)’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, vol. 14-2, 1972, pp. 162, 171–3. The idea that the Japanese government prevented travel to Brazil by Buddhist clergy, and actively encouraged that by Catholic priests, is expressed in J.F. Normano and Antonello Gerbi, The Japanese in South America: An Introductory Survey with Special Reference to Peru, NY 1943, p. 31. 43 Criticism of imported textbooks, NS, 26 January 1937. One of the points of confusion arising from imported texts was actually the role of trucks; in Japan, these were seen as the carriers of produce, in the Brazilian interior, they were equally important in carrying groups of people! 44 Young migrant concern with money, Ikeda Shigeji, San Pauro-shi oyobi Kinko Hojin Hattenshi, Sao Paulo 1954, p. 87. Consular survey, BJ, 30 November 1930; general estimate, BJ, 1 January 1934. 45 Summary histories of all religious group activities in the expatriate community appear in Ikeda 1954, pp. 87–93; Shiroma Zenkichi, Zai-Haku Okinawa Kenjin 50-nen no Ayumi, Sao Paulo 1959, pp. 164–6. Priests from

196

46 47

48

49 50 51

52

53 54

55

56 57

Notes

the Nishi Honganji sect were not always welcomed: a report in the NS, 10 April 1925, showed that one priest had arrived in January of that year and, after becoming involved in gambling and other dubious activities, had been arrested on charges of stealing from other migrants. Seicho no Ie letter, BJ, 4 December 1940. Kobe migrant lecture on Brazilian Catholicism, NS, 4 September 1935. Conversions to Christianity, NS, 9 December 1927. Father del Torro and baptisms, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, pp. 51, 59; NS, 25 November 1927; Nambei Shimpo, 8 January 1930. Fathers del Torro, Nakamura, and Sao Francisco School, Ikeda 1954, p. 87; Shiroma 1959, p. 165. For a general comment on the link between religion and assimilation among Japanese migrants to the US, see Roger Daniels, Asian America: Chinese and Japanese in the United States Since 1850, Seattle 1988, pp. 169–70. Estimate of baptised Japanese, BJ, 5 December 1940. Sao Paulo Holiness Church, NS, 14 October 1927. Japanese Episcopal Church, BJ, 13 March 1925. Christian Youth Center, BJ, 17 October 1929. On Kobayashi’s activities, San Pauro Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo 1997, pp. 48, 53, 55. On Kobayashi’s character, SS, 1 January 1930. A further uncomplimentary view of Kobayashi is evident in Nambei Shimpo, 1 January 1930. This takes reports from migrants just arrived from Japan on the same ship as Kobayashi and accuses him of intolerable arrogance towards ordinary Japanese. Alianca chapel, Ariansa Ijuchi-shi Hensan Iinkai (ed.), Sosetsu Nijugonenshi, Nagano 1952, p. 9. Registro Church project, BJ, 14 August 1925. Birigui judo school, BJ, 8 November 1940. Sao Paulo orchestra, BJ, 10 March 1938, which also notes that Polish radio stations had ordered about 200 records from Japan to accompany lectures on Japanese culture; Radio 22P and Japanese music, BJ, 16 March 1938. 22P is my interpretation of the Japanese term ‘Tsutsupii’. Peruvian violence, C. Harvey Gardiner, The Japanese and Peru 1873–1973, Albuquerque 1975, p. 53; Lima rumours and US intelligence, John K. Emmerson, The Japanese Thread: A Life in the U.S. Foreign Service, NY 1978, p. 134. Almeida and Japanese ‘conspiracy’, BJ, 20 January 1938; Jundiai mayor and local Japan Day celebrations, BJ, 29 January 1938. Lins incident, BJ, 14 and 16 April 1939. Miura expulsion, Takahashi 1993, p. 172. 1938 republic celebrations, BJ, 15 November 1938; Rio parade, BJ, 29 July 1940. The interpretation of Freyre’s ideas as ‘indefinite homogeneity’ is taken from Vianna 1999, pp. 63, 108–10. New State and racism, Levine 1970, p. 173. For one example of a caricature of Mussolini, NS, 16 October 1935. Brazilian foreign minister on wartime co-operation with US, BJ, 12 February 1939. Impression of Japanese agriculture, BJ, 27 November 1935; view of Mount Fuji, SS, 1 January 1940. List of new books from Japan, BJ, 5 September 1940.

Notes 197

58 Karen Tei Yamashita, Brazil-Maru, Minneapolis 1992, pp. 42–3, 74. Sao Paulo police, BJ, 8 November 1940. 59 Bastos resident on endurance, BJ, 1 January 1939.

6

Conclusion

1 Maeyama Takashi, Esunishiti to Burajiru Nikkeijin, Tokyo 1996, p. 10. 2 Maeyama 1996, pp. 127 and 269. See also his, ‘Ethnicity, secret societies, and associations: the Japanese in Brazil’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 21, 1979, p. 595. 3 Maeyama 1996, p. 128; Maeyama 1979, p. 596.

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Index

advertising, Japanese migrant, 48, 84, 122–3, 144 Africans, ethnic members of Brazil, 62, 64, 66, 100, 125, 127, 186 agriculture, Japanese migrants in, 39, 41, 44–5, 72, 75–8, 83, 102–3, 111, 115, 167, 192; co-operatives, 75–6, 102, 111 Alianca settlement, 73, 90, 98, 112, 116, 158 alienation, 6, 34, 85–6, 167, 169, 191 Amazon region, 22, 24–5, 72, 74–6, 188 Aoyagi Ikutaro, 43–4, 147 Arbaiza, Genaro, 65–6 Argentina, 18, 25, 135, 136, 151 Arima, Tetsunosuke, 88 assimilation, 23, 27, 34, 48–9, 53–4, 64–5, 66–70, 73, 75–9, 81, 82, 86, 88–9, 93, 95, 102, 106, 108–9, 118, 126–8, 131, 133, 140–4, 147, 152, 156–9, 161–2, 169–72 Assyrian, migrants to Brazil, 110 athletics, 90–2 Australia, 5, 13, 16 automobiles, 48, 61, 80, 82, 123, 126–7, 183, 195 aviation, 145–6, 194 baseball, 50–1, 90–1, 129 Bastos settlement, 72–3, 76, 90–1, 106, 109, 112, 120, 139–40, 146, 152, 161, 164 Bauru, Japanese at, 81–2, 119, 123, 156, 183 Birigui, Japanese at, 76, 113, 159 Bolivia, 68, 135, 191 Botelho, Francisco Chavez de Oliveira, 65

Brazil, Japanese views of, 25–6, 32–3, 54, 93–5, 99–101, 104–5, 109, 131, 166, 169–71 Brazil Development Company (Burajiru Takushoku K.K.), 43 Brazil Migrant Co-operative (Burajiru Imin Kumiai), 52, 54–5 buddhism, 156–7 Burajiru Jiho, 48, 49, 52–4, 67, 71, 82, 84, 91, 100, 105, 116–17, 121, 126, 140, 162, 169 Burataku (Burajiru Takushoku Kumiai, Brazilian Development Co-operative), 72, 76, 83, 139, 158, 161, 168, 195 California, and Japanese migrants, 16–17, 60 Canada, 14, 16 carnival, 23, 125–8, 170, 191 Carpenter, Frank, 32, 80, 95 Casa Allema (clothiers, Sao Paulo), 123, 127 Casa Nihon (furniture store, Sao Paulo), 81 Casa Tokyo (furniture store, Sao Paulo), 81, 90, 158, 183 chain migration, 30, 166 Chaplin, Charles, image of, 161 Children’s Olympics (Brazil), 91 Chile, 18, 25, 134, 191 Chinda, Sutemi, 21 Chinese migrants, to Latin America, 13, 20–1, 23 Ch’oe, Songhi, 130, 191 cinema, 118–22, 144, 150–1, 189, 190, 194; adult film, 119 civic groups, Japanese migrant, 16, 40–1, 49–50, 85–6, 147–9, 150–1, 169, 184 205

206

Index

civil society, 52–3, 83–5, 93–4, 169 coffee economy, Brazilian, 21–2, 34–6, 47, 61, 77, 98, 102, 187 coffee plantations, 33–8, 44, 77, 167 colonialism, Japanese, 12, 77, 103–5 commercial ventures, Japanese migrant, 80–2, 90, 116, 119–21, 151, 170, 183 consular officers, Japanese in Brazil, 71–2, 83–5, 86–7, 130, 140, 158, 168 cotton production, migrant, 22, 74, 103, 137, 153, 187 Couto, Dr Miguel, 63–4, 107–11, 168 Cuba, 134, 191 cultural similarities, Brazilian–Japanese, 46, 59, 67, 70, 95, 99, 138, 146, 178, 181 currency, exchange rates, 9–10, 71 del Torro, Father Guido, 157 disease, 19, 21, 39, 45, 63–4, 78, 101, 146–8 disputes, migrant worker, 15, 19, 36–8; internal migrant, 84, 86–8, 113–14, 149, 152, 160–1, 168 donations, migrant patriotic (1937–45), 150–2 Dojinkai, 86, 147–9 Doshikai, 86 economy, Japanese domestic, 13, 15, 24, 57–8, 100–1, 133, 185, 186; Brazilian, 18, 21–2, 47, 54–5, 61, 79–80, 97–8, 134, 136–7, 153 education, 44, 49, 60, 76, 87–8, 95, 118, 137–41, 153, 154–5, 157–8, 161, 171 emigration, Brazilian law on, 64–5, 107–10; Japanese business of, 13, 16, 18–19, 21, 26, 54–5, 102; Japanese government policy, 12–13, 16, 17–18, 24, 39–41, 57–9, 71–2, 77, 100–2, 104, 109, 134, 146, 155; Japanese to Bolivia, 68, 135, 191;

Japanese to Brazil, 2–6, 18–22, 23, 25–6, 27–35, 37–8, 55, 57, 63–5, 67–8, 71–2, 74–7, 79, 94, 100–2, 107–8, 114, 133, 135–6, 141, 192; Japanese to Hawaii, 12–18, 24, 29, 135, Japanese to Manchuria, 103–4, 134–5, 154; Japanese to Mexico, 18, 135; Japanese to Peru, 18–19, 66, 135 emigration, studies of, 3, 26, 27, 45, 110–11, 128, 154, 162, 165, 167–70 emperor, Japanese, 51, 138, 147–9, 154–5, 163, 170–1 Exclusion Act (US 1924), 60, 168 festivals, 51, 154, 170 food, 13, 28, 34–5, 38, 48–9, 113, 116, 129, 134 Freyre, Gilberto, 23, 100, 146, 170 Fujinaga, Rikizo, 82 Fujisaki Trading Store (Sao Paulo), 26, 48 Fujita, Leonard Tsuguharu, 126 Fujiwara, Yoshie, 129–30 Fukuhara, Hachiro, 74–5 furniture business, Japanese migrant, 80–1, 183 Gakusei (Student), 142 Gakuyu (Student’s Friend), 142 German, migrants in Brazil, 23, 43, 55, 63, 88, 91, 134–8, 144, 164, 189, 192, 193 Handa, Tomoo, 8, 93, 115, 118, 122, 138–9, 169 Hasegawa, Toshiko, 129–30 Hawaii, and Japanese migrants, 12–17, 60, 135, 152 health, and hygiene, 31, 48, 64, 86, 95, 101, 106, 116, 123, 146–9 Hirano settlement, 44–5, 76, 156 Hirano, Shuhei, 44–5 Hiroshima, migrants, 14, 19, 28, 33 Hosoe, Shizuo, 147, 194 Hosokawa, Shuhei, 122–4

Index

housing, Japanese migrant, 34, 47–8, 115, 183 humour, migrant, 54, 106, 128, 161–3, 168 identity, Japanese views, 8–9, 14, 28, 34–5, 65, 73, 83, 85, 91, 102, 105–6, 119–22, 120–3, 127–30, 138–9, 141–3, 153, 154–5, 158, 162–3, 167, 169–72, 190 Iguape settlement, 43–4, 156 Incas, and Japanese, 66 Inoue, Miyaji, 108–9 Integralist party, 100, 110, 134 internationalism, 1–2, 11–12, 31–2, 50, 56, 59, 88–9, 91–2, 93, 106, 128–30, 141–3, 161, 171–2 Italian, migrants in Brazil, 18, 23, 25, 37, 61–3, 115, 135–6, 189, 192 Ito, Father Yasoji, 158 Japan, migrant views of, 58, 82, 92–3, 101, 118, 121, 130, 162, 166, 171, 185, 186 Japan–Brazil Association (Nippaku Kyokai), 59, 150 Japan Club (Sao Paulo), 49–50, 86, 90, 185 Japan Hospital (Sao Paulo), 106, 147–9, 194 Japan Society (Sao Paulo), 86 Japanese-Brazilian Student League, 141–2 judo, 20, 52, 106, 159, 182 Kagoshima migrants, 30, 33, 36, 39–40, 48, 152 Kaiko (Kaigai Kogyo KK or Overseas Development Company), 55, 59, 168 Kanegafuchi Cotton Spinning Company, 74 Kato, Setsu, 149 Katsura, Taro, 43 Kawakami, Suzuko, 129 Kipling, Rudyard, 80, 125 Kissa Emigration Company, 21–2

207

Kitajima, Hirotake, 116 Kobayashi, Midori, 158, 196 Kodomo no Sono, 117, 141 Kokoku Colonization Company, 25, 28, 35–6, 38 Korea, 12, 16, 24, 130 Kumamoto, migrants, 14, 33, 73, 82, 119 Kunishige, Harley, 20 Kuroishi, Seisaku, 52, 84, 106, 130, 147, 158 Kyuyokai, 87 landowning, migrant, 43–5, 60, 66, 70–5, 115, 182, 188 language, Japanese, 30, 33, 60, 87–9, 118, 129, 138–44, 171–2, 193; Portuguese, 19, 32, 49, 53–4, 84, 87–9, 118, 120, 137–43, 147, 161, 169, 171, 193 leisure, and Japanese migrants, 49–51, 89–92, 117–22, 127, 129–30, 147, 170–1 Lins, Japanese at, 82, 90, 106, 113–14, 123, 127, 146, 152, 160, 190 Maeyama, Takashi, 6, 8, 14, 28, 51, 69, 76, 79, 83, 85–6, 93, 137–9, 154–5, 166–7, 169, 170–1 Manchuria, 103–4, 121, 134–5, 154, 188 marriage and marriage laws, 19, 68–70, 144, 181 Matarazzo, Francisco, 61 Mexico, Japanese migrants to, 16, 18, 36, 135, 152 Mikado Sports Club (Sao Paulo), 50, 89–91 military, Japanese and emigration, 58, 63, 103–4, 135, 143, 152–3 Minas Gerais, Japanese in, 111 Miura, Saku, 52, 84–5, 147, 160–1, 169 Miura, Tamaki, 122 Miyazaki, Shinzo, 49 Mizuno, Ryo, 25, 28 Modern Art Week (Sao Paulo 1922), 62

208

Index

Morioka Trading Company, 18–19, 55 music, 5, 23, 62, 93, 106, 118, 122–30, 151, 159–60, 169, 190, 196 Mussolini, Benito, caricature of, 161

Otake, Wasaburo, 53 Oura, Kanetake, 43 Overseas Migrant Co-operative (Kaigai Iju Kumiai), 72, 77

Nagata, Cho, 104 Nakajima, Seiichiro, 85 Nakamura, Father Choroku, 157 Nakanishi, Colonel Ryosuke, 143 nationalism, Brazilian, 4–6, 61–5, 95, 100, 110–11, 124–6, 134, 137–8, 142–3, 146; Japanese, 1, 4, 27, 28, 51, 83–4, 88, 104, 121–3, 138, 142–3, 144–6, 150–4, 163, 171–2 native-place groups, 14, 30, 33, 40, 49, 69, 73, 87, 152, 167, 184 naturalisation, 67–8, 82, 194 Nazism, 63 New Religions, Japanese, 157 New State (Estado Novo, Brazil 1937), 134, 137, 148, 153, 161, 164 newspapers, Japanese migrant, 7, 17, 40, 48, 51–4, 82, 84, 88, 89, 102, 105, 116–17, 119, 145, 150, 160–1, 165, 169, 189; and journals, 88, 117, 142, 156; and newsreel, 119–21, 150–1 Nihonjin Doshikai, 84 Nippaku Cinema Company (Bauru), 119–20, 189 Nippaku Shimbun, 51–4, 77, 78, 80–1, 84, 86, 88–9, 92–3, 95, 109, 116, 128, 160–1, 169 Nippon, flight to Brazil, 145–6 Nogyo no Burajiru, 88 Noroeste region, Japanese in, 71, 90–2, 110, 114–15, 119, 146, 153, 184, 188 Noroeste-sen Isshu, 119

performers, Japanese in Brazil, 20, 122–3, 129–30 Peru, and Japanese migrants, 18–19, 25, 66, 135, 160 ‘picture brides’, 14–15, 68 political involvement, migrant Japanese, 94, 105, 154 population change, Brazil, 22–3, 41, 47, 55, 100 Portugal, migrants to Brazil, 136 Prado Company, 21–2 Prado, Paulo, 62 prostitution, 128, 183, 191

occupational change, migrant, 116 Okinawa, migrants from, 14, 30, 33, 38–41, 49, 81, 87, 117, 142, 166–7, 184 Onaga, Sukenari, 40–1, 87, 117, 169 opera, 122, 129–30 Osaka Shipping Company, 59, 114

racial tolerance, 32–3, 55–6, 57, 62, 65–7, 73, 76–7, 88, 93, 100, 109–11, 131, 139, 163, 168, 170 racism, 32, 100, 186; anti-Chinese, 21; anti-Japanese, 4, 19, 25, 56, 60, 63, 108, 110–11, 112–13, 128, 131, 160–1, 167–8; anti-Okinawan, 30, 41; anti-Semitic, 100, 110, 131, 136, 161 radio broadcasts, 117–18, 159–60 Registro, Japanese at, 43, 90, 109, 116, 158 Reis, Fidelis, 64 religion, 154–9, 196 Rio Japanese Language Student Society, 139 Roosevelt, Theodore, 18 Russo-Japanese war (1904–5), 18, 23–5, 32 Saito, Kiyo, 91 Salgado, Plinio, 100 samba, 125–6 samisen, electrification, 124 San Francisco, Japanese in, 16–17, 152 Sanitorium Sao Francisco Xavier, 148 Santos-Dumont, Alberto, 146 ‘Sao Paulo Erotic Guide’, 128

Index

Sao Paulo Society for the Study of Japanese Culture, 139 second generation, migrant Japanese, 105, 106, 138–43, 153, 171, 182 Seishu Shimpo, 76, 84, 116, 119, 123, 127–8, 161, 163, 169 settlements (colonies), Japanese migrant, 43–5, 70–9, 86, 112–13, 151, 182 Shibusawa, Eiichi, 43 Shimomoto, Cassio Kenro, 106, 116, 142, 171 Shimomoto, Kenkichi, 76 Shiroma, Zenkichi, 42, 87 Sino-Japanese war (1894–95), 17–18 Sino-Japanese war (1937–45), 116, 133–4, 149–54, 159–63, 194 social conditions, Japan, 13, 15, 24, 30, 39–40, 57, 92–3, 133–4 Spain, migrants from, 115, 136 sport, 50–1, 89–92, 106, 123, 137–8, 145, 150, 154–5, 159, 171, 185 stereotypes, 17, 19, 24, 31–2, 36, 60, 63, 65–6, 77, 104, 108, 110–11, 127, 143, 146, 159–60, 168, 185 students, migrant Japanese, 105, 141–3, 147, 194 Sugimoto, Honosuke, 81, 90, 158 Sugimura, Fukashi, 25 Takaoka, Kumao, 66–7, 88, 93 Takezawa, Banji, 20 Tanaka, Teikichi, 18 Taiwan, 12

209

television, 145 Tiete settlement, 73, 76, 90–1, 109, 112, 139, 156, 182 Toda, Seizo, 78 Toho Film Company ( Japan), 121 Tome-Acu settlement, 74–5 Tottori migrants, 73 Toyama migrants, 73 Transicao (Transition), 142 Tsuji, Kotaro, 37, 72, 93–4, 126, 185 Uetsuka, Tsukasa, 75 United States, and Japan, 104, immigration, 3, 5–6, 13, 15–18, 33, 39, 57, 60, 65, 66, 69, 168 urban conditions (Brazil), 38, 42–3, 46–9, 115–16 Vargas, Getulio, 98–9, 108, 110, 134, 137–8, 186 violence, 92, 98, 105, 110, 114, 119, 188; racial, 19, 63, 111–13, 160, 168 wages, migrant labour, 35–7, 115 ‘whitening’, racial programme of, 23, 107 women, Japanese migrant, 14–15, 17, 19, 28, 29, 35, 41, 53, 68–70, 80, 81, 114, 124, 127, 149, 150–1, 162, 163, 165–6, 188; Brazilian, 70, 162 Yamaguchi migrants, 14, 19 Yamamoto, Sue, 149 Yamashiro, Jose, 142

The Japanese Community in Brazil, 1908-1940: Between Samurai and Carnival

The Japanese Community in Brazil, 1908-1940: Between Samurai and Carnival

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Brazil

Brazil

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The Japanese Community in Brazil, 1908-1940: Between Samurai and Carnival