Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One If the smoke ascending Mount Nasu had a heart—

Carry the people's anguish to the heavens— (1884) Shōzō

Chapter 1 I ask you to unfold the Land Survey Department’s 1:200,000 scale maps titled "Nikkō" and "Utsunomiya." On the southern face of the outer rim mountains surrounding Lake Chūzenji, one will notice a river flowing south through overlapping green folds—its source in Matsunokizawa. From where it takes the Akagi foothills as its right bank, the river turns sharply southeastward, pressing against the foothills cascading from the Nikkō range on its left bank as it passes through Ōmama, Kiryū, and Ashikaga to finally emerge into expansive terrain—winding and meandering until it converges with the Ōtone River just before Kurehashi.

This is none other than the Watarase River. Counting the tributaries that join it along the way, those flowing from the south amount to merely two rivers—Yaba and Yata—but from the north come numerous branches: Kiryū, Koata, Matsuda; slightly downstream, Fukuromi, Sai, Hata, and Akiyama; with the Omoi River finally converging near Furukawa. Its watershed spans four prefectures—Tochigi, Gunma, Saitama, and Ibaraki—covering an area of over 230 square ri. The main river’s course measures 27 ri, while the combined total length of all tributaries extends over 210 ri.

Now, that these downstream plains had yielded abundant harvests since antiquity became clear when consulting old local histories: from Prince Toyokiirihiko’s descent during Emperor Sujin’s reign to become progenitor of the Kenu clan, through Yamato Takeru’s eastern campaigns, Fujiwara no Uona’s subjugation of eastern barbarians, the Tengyō Rebellion, Zenkunen War, and Gosannen War—each time rebellion flared in the eastern provinces, the Sano region had served as both military headquarters and logistical base. This was because the region’s abundant supplies could withstand such requisitions, while the leisurely pace of life allowed many soldiers to settle and engage in farming—their descendants in turn answering military conscription. The fact that numerous ancient burial mounds were discovered in this region, and that villages abounded with castle and fortress ruins, served as evidence of these circumstances. Moreover, the local saying “In Anso, there are no nameless families” did not refer to shiftless individuals who shunned work, but rather signified households taking pride in their pedigrees and family lineages. Before the Tokugawa enforced their oppressive ban on official titles—a measure taken to eliminate administrative inconveniences—it was said that the Anso region alone had 250 to 260 households possessing court-appointed titles and rank certificates. This was just as if Kyoto and its outskirts had swarmed with court nobles, differing only in status distinction. These local lords, taking pride in their lineages, possessed strong self-esteem and, even under Tokugawa rule, stubbornly refused to bow to its authority in private. To a greater or lesser extent, they harbored imperial loyalist ideas, which fostered a particular ethos within their communities.

To speak of this land's fertility, there was no need to invoke such tales of old. Merely citing the abundance of rivers would suffice as half the proof. Where there are rivers, floods accompanying them are almost without exception anywhere. The downstream regions of the Watarase River had indeed been struck by floods every three to five years. Moreover, because the headwaters lay deep in the mountains—their ridges once blanketed by dense, primeval forests untouched by axe or blade—whenever heavy rains fell in the mountainous regions, the floodwaters would sweep away decayed matter accumulated at tree bases and valley floors: rotten branches, fallen leaves, nuts, all mingled with mud, carrying them downstream to coat the river’s lower banks. Therefore, after the floodwaters receded, areas would be blanketed with this silt—thin layers measuring two to three inches in some places, thick deposits reaching eight to nine inches in others. This was humus—a natural fertilizer. Floods would damage crops along the banks—but in return, there was no need to apply fertilizer the following year or the year after that. The farmers even had a tendency to welcome the floods. Moreover, they were able to compensate for the crop damage lost in the floods that year through their fishing catches. When floods occurred, fish would multiply abundantly in all surrounding rivers, marshes, swamps, ditches, and canals.

Floods occurred most frequently from summer through autumn. The farmers in this area, heeding nature’s teachings, cultivated early-ripening varieties of summer crops—soybeans, azuki beans, millet, upland rice, and potatoes—as much as possible to evade flood damage. However, for winter crops such as barley, wheat, rapeseed, and mustard greens, simply scattering the seeds was enough to yield a harvest without any fertilizer. Barley grew to a height of five feet, often toppling under its own weight. When attached to horses, the ears hung in heavy clusters, dragging on the ground. Rapeseed grew over six feet tall, and mustard greens flourished to eight or nine feet. When the rapeseed flowers were in full bloom, the entire riverside would emit such a dense golden radiance that it brightened the sky.

Moreover, forests and bamboo groves grew thickly along the banks. The bamboo groves in particular grew splendidly, with thick Shakumaru bamboos stretching skyward—stalks so large that each one was traded as an entire bundle. Around August and September, green bamboo stalks bound for shipment were assembled into rafts, countless numbers floating down the river. In addition to Moso bamboo, dwarf bamboo flourished everywhere, their trunks standing so densely packed that boats traveling up and down the river could only be detected by the sound of their oars, their forms remaining unseen. These, in turn, naturally served as embankment protection.

In areas where such dwarf bamboo, willows, and reeds grew thickly, structures projecting over the river surface could be seen—scaffoldings erected with square fishing nets set upon them. The cross-shaped green bamboo creaked as the net, dripping water with a splash, was pulled up. The caught fish leaped vigorously, their silver bodies glinting. Japanese dace, crucian carp, carp, mullet, and others were caught in quantities of thirty-seven and a half to seventy-five kilograms per night. When late summer turned to early autumn, figures casting nets from boats drifting through the morning mist could be seen. They would catch five or six sea bass and mullet in a single net. Others would drive stakes into branch streams to set salmon nets. After heavy rains, bag nets set in the turbid waters would yield anywhere from eighteen and three-quarters to thirty-seven and a half kilograms of eels.

Even if year after year, the joys and sorrows of life remained inescapable here as well, for the farmers it was truly a land where they could fully receive nature’s blessings—a place of peaceful living and fruitful labor.

However, it was the summer of Meiji 12 (1879). After the rains, the river water turned a bluish-white turbidity, fish floating downstream with their pale bellies upturned. Thousands upon thousands of them. Yet only those who witnessed this grew suspicious of what was happening, and so the year passed. Then in the following year's flood, once-vigorous eels came drifting downstream limp and lifeless. Children grabbed at them gleefully with bare hands, making clamorous sport.

“There have been strange things happening lately in the Watarase River.”

At last, voices of suspicion began to spread. "This is no ordinary matter," some muttered uneasily during fieldside chats, their brows furrowed with concern. Yet not a single soul knew the reason. No one took the initiative to investigate the cause. They likely attributed it to dyes used by textile manufacturers near Kiryū and Ashikaga—nodding along to such explanations from self-proclaimed experts as one might find anywhere, then leaving matters unresolved. Even Governor Fujikawa Tamechika of Tochigi Prefecture finally issued an official order: the fish in the Watarase River were harmful to public health and must not be caught. This warning continued from Meiji 13 (1880) through 15 (1882), but remained limited to restrictions on fishing. Moreover, Fujikawa himself was eventually relegated to Shimane Prefecture.

Those who made their living from fishing dwindled year by year, but most farmers still refused to heed these circumstances as warnings. They had come to accept floods as ordinary natural disasters, merely discussing how the skin between their toes would fester after inundations or marveling at how no grass grew in flood-deposited soil. Thus several more years passed. Yet these floods had been growing fiercer with each passing year. Along Tochigi Prefecture's northern bank, reverse currents from multiple tributaries intensified with every flood, drastically reducing crop yields across the fields. In Gunma Prefecture on the southern bank—spared reverse currents due to fewer tributaries—taro plants in mulberry fields beyond the embankments would barely sprout leaves the size of Tenpō coins before withering away. The upland rice planted afterward similarly died when reaching three or four sun tall. Even flood-resistant mulberry trees fell rootless, decaying one after another. Now the abnormalities became unmistakable. Reluctantly, people could no longer ignore the changes. Deep in the mountains upstream flowed the Ashio Copper Mine's poisons—recently intensified operations surely causing this calamity. Though none could name its origin, this realization spread through farmers' whispers, eyes widening with belated horror. Those who heard it cross-examined past and present until gripped by inexpressible dread. Finally understanding the cause yet paralyzed by uncertainty, they exchanged woeful glances over an ominous future. Some likely debated appealing to authorities for solutions, but these discussions never progressed beyond words.

As if raging at their folly or mocking their ignorance, on Meiji 23 (1890), August 23, yet another flood struck the region. Even for the Watarase River, this swelling of its waters was unprecedented in scale. In Tochigi Prefecture, the swollen tributaries surged backward, inundating surrounding farmland.

In Gunma Prefecture, the embankment at Ōaza Yokkawa, Aza Ōmaki in Nishiyata Village collapsed, turning eight or nine villages east of Tatebayashi into a sea of mud.

In Azuma Village, which suffered particularly severe damage among the affected areas, a provisional village council convened in December and submitted a written appeal to the Tochigi Prefecture Governor under Mayor Kameda Sahei’s name—a pioneering act of public protest that awakened people to the harm caused by mining pollution. Within the text was the following passage. “This harm extends not solely to our Azuma Village but affects equally all villages along the Watarase River. Within years, these lands will become barren wilderness, and every last villager shall be driven to disperse.” In the same month, the Tochigi Prefectural Assembly also submitted a proposal to Governor Orida regarding measures to eliminate the harm. However, both the prefectural office and district offices, as if fearing that widespread recognition of the mining pollution damage would stir unrest among coastal residents, merely conducted perfunctory investigations as a formality.

In early April of the following year, concerned citizens from Ashikaga and Yanada districts gathered in Ashikaga Town. After consulting with representatives from the affected areas, they agreed to conduct their own on-site investigations. Each group then returned to their respective villages to advance their plans. On May 1st, Kameda Sahei, Naitō Zōjirō, and Kawata Dōjirō from Azuma Village; Hayakawa Chūgo, Onuki Wakichi, and Kawashima Minokichi from Keno Village; along with Naga Sukeyuki, Nakayama Shōsaku, and Ogawa Sakutarō from Yanada Village gathered in Keno Village and resolved to take a concrete step forward in their investigation. The following day, Hayakawa departed for the capital carrying sediment samples from Oaza Hata in Azuma Village and Oaza Yanada in Yanada Village, while Naga set out for the Ashio Copper Mine.

Hayakawa Chūgo visited Murakami Seiji, a journalist from Sano, and requested an introduction to Shiga Shigetaka. Since Shiga was an agricultural scientist who also worked as a political reporter at the time, Hayakawa intended to have him select a suitable person for sediment analysis. Shiga provided a letter of introduction addressed to Ōuchi Ken at the Higher Normal School. When Hayakawa visited Ōuchi, he recommended Kozaï Yūdō of the Agricultural College, guaranteeing that this man’s integrity would ensure impartiality—never swayed by personal connections. Hayakawa, his resolve strengthened, promptly visited Professor Kozaï and stated his purpose,

“Engineer Sakano from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has indeed been dispatched to the site, but I must say the administrative offices’ actions run counter to our hopes as local residents and remain sluggish.” “Moreover, we fear that if they were to report the survey results truthfully—perhaps worrying farmers might riot—the full facts might never be disclosed. We suspect this may be an unnecessary anxiety.” “The reality is that the damage matches our worst fears.” “We implore you to conduct a thorough academic investigation grounded in the Agricultural College’s esteemed expertise.” “It was precisely to determine the cause through your college’s reliable analysis that we deliberately brought these soil samples to the capital.”

Professor Kozaï, who had been listening silently, responded: “Currently, Professor Nagaoka is on an inspection tour and is scheduled to bring back various types of soil from cultivated lands. As soon as he returns to the capital, we are also preparing to establish a test site and conduct trial cultivations with them. The university has been conducting its own investigations based on independent analysis. However, it is only natural that local residents would wish to place their trust in the Agricultural College’s analysis. Very well, I’ll analyze it for you immediately.”

Hayakawa edged closer on his knees,

“If we can receive that report, we must show it to concerned individuals in each region.” “Professor, you will bear responsibility for the report, but…” “Of course, if I undertake the analysis, I am prepared for that responsibility.” With that assurance, Hayakawa returned to his hometown immensely encouraged. And alongside his comrades, he waited for that report with each day feeling like a thousand autumns.

Meanwhile, Naga Sukeyuki passed through Kiryū and Ōmama, traveled upstream along the Watarase River for dozens of miles, and arrived in Ashio on the third day. When he reached the area around Hanawa in Kōzuke Province along the way, the color of the stream’s water had already changed. When he passed through Ashio’s town, reached the slightly upstream Watarase Village, and stood at the confluence, he involuntarily halted his steps and found himself staring at the water’s flow. The stream flowing from Hosoo Pass through Kannonai was clear and pure, yet the main current of Matsunokizawa was turbid, its color like clay mixed with lime. The distinction between the two was stark. He could not help but keenly realize that the presence or absence of mining pollution was evident in the water’s color. The following day, he followed that mountain stream to the Akakura Smelter, where he saw several smokestacks from roasting furnaces and blast furnaces billowing thick, ominous smoke that blotted out the sunlight. He saw noxious fumes drifting through the area, their stench striking his nose and irritating his throat. The mountains surrounding the valley had not a single tree; all that met the eye were wretched dead trees. The mountain slopes everywhere looked ready to collapse, reduced to chaotic accumulations of jagged rocks. Given this state of affairs, he could not help but nod in understanding—during summer downpours, soil and rocks would be swept away all at once, inevitably shallowing the Watarase River’s channel. Furthermore, he climbed up to the various mine entrances at Ariki, Takanosu, and Honkuchi in the main mining area and saw bluish-tinged wastewater flowing out from the mouths of the mines. This was indeed copper sulfate—here was mining pollution being ceaselessly poured into the Watarase River—and he shuddered in horror. The following day, he inspected the Kotaki Mine, where he was once again struck by the same profound realization.

Therefore, he visited the copper mine office on the sixth day, seeking to understand how those responsible for the mine perceived the mining pollution damage. Mr. Toda conducted the interview, exchanging various responses with Naga. When Naga explained that farmers along the Watarase River had remained unaware of mining pollution as the cause for ten years, yet recent devastation had reached such severity, Toda predictably shook his head—insisting it must be flood damage and that mining pollution couldn’t extend so far. When pressed to implement countermeasures against the harm, he dismissively declared it no urgent matter and refused further discussion.

Naga, having realized the futility of further discussion, fell silent. Deeply stirred by the conviction that he must return home and vigorously pursue the movement, he descended the mountain.

Thus during June, a printed document titled *Ashio Copper Mine Industry and Watarase River Coastal Damage Report* was distributed to riverside villages by the aforementioned concerned citizens from three villages. This document included reports by Hayakawa and Naga alongside Professor Kozaï’s analysis table, with an appended note stating: “The absence of plant growth in the aforementioned cultivated fields is likely attributable to the presence of copper compounds within the soil.” Additionally included was an analysis of water from Keno Village’s Oaza Kita Saruda ferry landing, which stated: “Based on the above results, this water contains nitrous acid, copper, ammonia, and other substances, and is therefore deemed unsuitable for drinking.” This was the result of an analysis Hayakawa had requested from Utsunomiya Hospital in October of the previous year, bearing the signature of Osawa Komanosuke, Director of the Dispensary Bureau.

Around this time, concerned citizens also requested Yokoi Tokiyoshi, who edited *Sangyō Jiron*, to conduct an inspection of the affected areas. Yokoi toured the affected areas, deeply sympathizing with the farmers, and held lectures in several locations to rouse their awareness. After returning to the capital, he attempted to stir public opinion from the perspectives of rural issues and social policy, but few lent an ear.

At this time, Tanaka Shōzō—a member of the House of Representatives elected from Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District (Anso, Yanada, and Ashikaga Counties)—had independently launched an investigation into the damage, with Sahe Hikojirō from Gunma Prefecture serving as his assistant. Although Sahe was still a student at Tokyo Senmon Gakkō (the predecessor of Waseda University) at the time, since the previous autumn he had been staying at Koyama Kōhachirō’s residence in Ōshima Village under Shōzō’s instructions to advance his investigation while simultaneously devising strategies with local activists regarding the petition.

Now, what kind of mine was the Ashio Copper Mine? Here, it becomes necessary to touch upon its historical development.

According to old records, it began in Keichō 15 [1610] when two farmers from Ashio Village named Jibu and Naizo first discovered an ore vein and, with permission from their feudal lord—the abbot of Nikkō Zazenin—conducted test drilling. Yet why did mining pollution damage emerge in the Meiji 10s [1877–1886]? There must have been a reason commensurate with that. When Jibu and Naizo conducted test drilling, they obtained a large quantity of copper ore in the following year, Keichō 16 [1611], and presented this as mabuki copper to the shogunate. As this coincided with Iemitsu’s hakama-wearing ceremony, it was deemed an auspicious event, and from then on the copper mine came under direct shogunate control. By Keichō 18–19 [1613–1614], offices had been established in Edo, Osaka, and Nagasaki, reaching the point where one-fifth of produced copper was exported to Holland. Subsequently, from Enpō 4 [1676] to Jōkyō 4 [1687], thirty-two smelting furnaces were established, thereafter producing between 350,000 to 400,000 kan of copper annually for approximately ten years.

However, in Hōei 1 [1704], a great flood struck this region, and due to overflowing waters from the surrounding mountains, all of the copper mine’s structures, dwellings, copper ore, slag, and waste rock were swept away. However, with construction funds provided by the shogunate, by the fifth year of the same era [1709], it had recovered sufficiently to produce over 1,206,400 copper plates for use as roofing tiles in Edo Castle’s reconstruction. In Kyōhō 3 [1718], a fire broke out, reducing over a thousand homes in Ashio to ashes.

After these numerous vicissitudes, from around the first year of Genbun (1736), their finances finally fell into deficit, and as operational difficulties deepened with each passing year, they petitioned to mint currency. It is said that these are the one-rin coins bearing the character for "Ashio" on their back.

In March 1868, the shogunate copper mine office was closed. Under the administration of Nikko Prefecture and later Tochigi Prefecture, it continued until Meiji 4 (1871), but in the fifth year of the era (1872), it was transferred to private hands for the first time, becoming the leased concession of Noda Sangoro, a native of Osaka Prefecture. In the seventh year [Meiji 7 (1874)], the leasehold rights were transferred to Fukuda Kin'ichi of Nagasaki Prefecture, and in the tenth year [Meiji 10 (1877)], to Shiga Naomichi of Fukushima Prefecture. Shiga Naomichi was a former retainer of the Soma family who had stepped forward under his personal name as a front for his lord’s house, but behind the scenes, an entirely different individual had initiated mining operations at Ashio. Who was this behind-the-scenes figure?

The Kyoto-based Ono-gumi financial consortium collapsed in Meiji 7 (1874). At that time, the Ono-gumi handled government funds and exchange services for various prefectures, and under the banner of industrial promotion, poured the interest-free, unsecured, and indefinite-term loans it had received into a wide range of ventures. However, the government’s policy abruptly changed, issuing a sudden strict directive requiring substantial collateral to be pledged against the government funds held on deposit. The Ono-gumi, having no means to prepare for this emergency, went bankrupt; at the same time, they ended up unable to repay the deposits entrusted to them by the Soma family. Thereupon, as compensation, the Kusakura Copper Mine in Echigo was transferred from Ono-gumi to the Soma family.

It was Furukawa Ichibei—who had advanced to a separate family status and managed the Tokyo branch—who originally prompted this Ono-gumi to establish its mining business. Having witnessed his main house's collapse, Ichibei came through personal experience to acutely understand that his painstakingly managed enterprise had been so easily reduced to ashes precisely because its foundation had depended on others. He devoted himself day and night to building an independent operation. As a result, he first began by taking over the subcontracted family business of Kusakura, which had been returned to the Soma family. This occurred in Meiji 8 (1875), and when later some former retainers of the Soma family raised objections to their lord's house engaging in such a volatile enterprise as mining, Ichibei purchased this Kusakura mine outright. In Meiji 9 (1876), he acquired the Kōsei Copper Mine in Uzen from the Matsudaira family of the former Takamatsu Domain, and in Meiji 10 (1877), he launched mining operations at Ashio through a joint venture with both the Soma family and Shibusawa Eiichi. However, the actual management of these ventures remained entirely within Ichibei's grasp. Consequently, he soon acquired the rights from the Soma family and Shibusawa, bringing Ashio completely under his sole control in both name and substance. This was achieved in Meiji 19 (1886).

After all, Ashio was a mine that had been continuously excavated since the Keichō era. It was said to have 8,800 entrances—a veritable beehive. Moreover, over the past several years, it had mostly been reduced to abandoned mines. Fellow mining entrepreneurs scoffed at Furukawa, questioning where he saw promise in such a rundown mine, while those around him frequently urged caution.

However, Ichibei entered the mountain solely on the grounds that it was a renowned peak with ancient lineage—and with unshakable conviction at that. The deserted mine interior was eerie enough as it stood. Worse still were the Edo-period pits gouged out by reckless excavation—their ceilings crumbling, their floors seeping water—where taking even one step inward revealed a scene so ghastly it seemed haunted. Even veteran miners recoiled from sorting through those ruins. Thus did Ichibei stride ahead into the shaft, driving his men forward through sheer force of will—and thus were Ashio’s mountainside pits resurrected from Meiji 10 onward.

Ichibei poured the profits from both the Kusakura and Kōsei mines into this venture, yet even around the thirteenth year [1880], he still found no clear prospects for the future. But he was not one to yield. In later years, he would espouse maxims like "fortune, perseverance, and tenacity"—axioms befitting an industrialist of merchant origins—as principles for both himself and others. Yet he too had undergone an apprenticeship period that forged such convictions. It was this tenacity that had sustained Ichibei as a man, and it was this same tenacity that had enabled his enterprise to achieve greatness. He fiercely struck Ashio’s bedrock with that tenacity. He changed mine managers three times, and finally appointed his nephew Kimura Chōbei as the fourth manager. Then, this Chōbei possessed an exceptionally vigorous spirit, to the extent that the morale of the entire mine was said to have been roused. Of course, this was not solely why, but in May of the 17th year [1884], they struck a major vein in a crosscut within the main shaft—which had been excavated since the 15th year [1882] under a policy of probing Bizen Ashio Mine’s lower depths. This marked the beginning of Ashio’s rise to prosperity, and in September of the following 18th year [1885], they commenced excavation of the Daitzudō tunnel. That is, the location selected for this shaft was 820 shaku below the main shaft, at Wadagafuchi on the northern bank of the Watarase River.

From this eighteenth year [1885], Ashio’s copper production volume also increased sharply. Starting from 220,000 kan in the fifteenth year [1882], it had progressively increased each year—reaching one million kan in the sixteenth year [1883], and three million eight hundred thousand kan in the seventeenth year [1884]—until production finally attained six million eight hundred thousand kan in the eighteenth year [1885]. Furthermore, by the end of the twenty-first year [1888], when Furukawa concluded a contract to supply nineteen thousand tons over three years in response to a global copper-buying syndicate that had emerged in France, Ashio’s operations leaped to a new stage. During this period, the Mato Power Plant was completed, yet there remained a risk that power shortages would arise before long. Namely, even through the figures of copper production—over eight million kan in year 22 [1889], over nine million seven hundred thousand kan in year 23 [1890], and over twelve million seven hundred thousand kan in year 24 [1891]—one could observe its rapid development.

Chapter Two

In November of Meiji 24 (1891), Tanaka Shōzō—who had come to Tokyo for the Second Imperial Diet session—suddenly received news of his father’s death at the Mitsuyoshi Inn on Yaesu Riverbank in Nihonbashi, on the 27th, the day after the opening ceremony. Thereupon, he hurriedly returned to his family home in Konaka, Hatagawa Village, Tochigi Prefecture, and completed the burial on the 29th. Father Shōzō had lived to seventy-seven years of age; Shōzō himself was fifty-one.

In a room of the hermitage built facing the village road, a new unvarnished wooden memorial tablet had been placed before the Buddhist altar, and yellow chrysanthemums offered as flowers emitted a strong scent. The candle flame illuminating it flickered unsteadily, as if proclaiming that the deceased’s lingering thoughts still remained in that space. On the soot-stained tatami mats of the adjacent room—where until two days prior his father Shōzō had lain with his illness-wasted emaciated body—that coffin had remained until just this afternoon.

The Himuro-oroshi winter wind roared through the trees with such a piercing howl that one might have thought the mountains were shrouded in snow; afterward, the roof timbers creaked incessantly for some time. When the wind finally subsided, the snores of relatives sleeping upstairs filtered down, deepening the heavy stillness of the advancing night. Soon, footsteps approached from the direction of the main house behind them—the sliding door rattled open, and Shōzō returned. The old tatami mats groaned under his weight—157 centimeters tall and 75 kilograms—as he entered. Shōzō lit incense sticks and sat formally before the memorial tablet, murmuring “Jōren’in Hōfu Daidokusei Koji” under his breath while bowing his head briefly. Then he shifted position beside the lamp, placed a bulky white cloth bundle on his hakama-clad knee, and began untying it.

“I’ve already gone to bed early.” From the adjacent room, his wife Katsuko called out. “Ah, ah—don’t mind me. You go on and rest.” Shōzō had begun with formal, distant phrasing but, perhaps catching himself midway, ended brusquely. “You must be worn out from working day and night. Just go to sleep.”

Shōzō moistened his fingertip with saliva, turned the documents, and traced through the text as if holding them up to the dim firelight.

“You must get some proper rest tonight too... You didn’t sleep a wink last night either...” “The Diet convenes tomorrow.” “...the day when the Prime Minister will deliver his administrative policy address.” “Therefore, I must rise early and return to Tokyo.”

Shōzō answered without taking his eyes off the documents, as if making an excuse. "In that case, all the more reason you must get some sleep tonight." “No, it doesn’t bother me if I don’t sleep for a night or two. That’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Once he set his mind to something, he was not one to retreat—such was his nature. Moreover, tonight it wasn’t merely obstinacy—there was something resolute in his demeanor—so Katsuko slipped out from under the futon and thrust her arms into the chill-stiffened kimono. She carried the brazier to Shōzō’s side, added charcoal, tilted her small chignon, and began stoking the fire. Shōzō finally set the documents on his knees and looked at her, but—

“Thanks to you, I was able to properly see my father off.” “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Those words resonated with such unguarded sincerity that Katsuko involuntarily raised her face and stared intently back at Shōzō. She had no memory of ever being addressed with such heartfelt gratitude—it was wholly unexpected. Day in and day out consumed by political endeavors, he likely gave no thought to family matters—but far from resenting this, she had resigned herself to it completely decades ago. But though he acted as though he noticed nothing and said nothing, he had indeed seen through all my hardships. Her eleven years of unseen toil in serving her ailing father-in-law had been repaid as if through those few words alone. As this realization came, a slackening of resolve sent tears she had never before shown her husband spilling unbidden onto her lap.

“To tell the truth—though this reveals my thoughtless lapse in judgment—I returned home tormented over how to handle the funeral expenses.” “Yet when I arrived, you had arranged everything perfectly.” “When you said, ‘We have about sixty-three yen, so it’s more than enough for now,’ I prayed silently in my heart.” “But where did you procure this money?” “I meant to ask yesterday and today, but there was never a moment to speak properly...” “Harada?”

Harada was Shōzō’s brother-in-law and had long been a hidden supporter. Katsuko, poking the ashes with fire tongs,

“Mr. Sadanosuke repeatedly urged me to request whatever amount I needed without hesitation, but I declined.” “Lady Orin also privately proposed providing additional funds, but since we had already imposed on her when your mother passed away years ago, this time I refused anything beyond the essential sum.” “Then where—?”

As Shōzō’s expression grew increasingly suspicious, Katsuko shot a quick glance back at him, “Ever since your father fell ill eleven years ago, I had been setting money aside in secret.” “Each year I deposited six *to* of rice with Mr. Eikichi at the waterwheel mill, and over ten years it accumulated to six *koku*.” “At an average of seven to eight yen per *koku*, that comes to roughly forty-five or forty-six yen.” “With the added interest, it became over sixty yen.” “Hmm.” “It’s not my place to say this, but with household finances growing tighter each year and your father’s condition being so uncertain, I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing shame upon us if something were to happen while you were away.” “That’s why I…”

Perhaps overwhelmed by the surge of emotions, Katsuko pinched out the sleeve of her underrobe and pressed it to her contorted face. Shōzō too made no attempt to wipe the plopping tears, merely hanging his head without a word. He gazed with blurred eyes at the blot-like stain spreading across a section of his black hakama.

After a while, “There’s no unfilial son worse than I. I myself am painfully aware of that. I could not be there at my mother’s death, and this time too, I failed to reach my father in time for his final moments...”

Having said that, he crossed his arms with a displeased expression. Seventeen years earlier, when Shōzō had served as a subordinate official in Ōshū Esashi Prefecture, he had been falsely accused of murdering a colleague and consequently spent nearly four years in prison from Meiji 4 to 7. Four years later when he was finally exonerated and released, his mother had already passed away on March 9th—thirty-three days prior to his release from prison. Shōzō had grieved so deeply that he even came to resent having been cleared under cloudless skies. To this day he never learned that the true culprit had been apprehended. This lingering disquiet would surge anew in his heart whenever he recalled his deceased mother.

“That’s…” Katsuko nodded as though overwhelmed by sympathy, “your circumstances are different.” “It cannot be said to be entirely a lack of filial piety.” “Father was already in a coma at the end… and he had long since come to terms with you being absent from home.” “In that regard, he was truly a remarkable man.” “Shōzō’s entire being has been dedicated to the welfare of the many.” “The villagers were often heard saying that as well.” “Furthermore, when they gathered by his bedside and shared stories of where they’d heard your speeches, he seemed happiest listening to those…”

That voice carried compassionate tones meant to soothe Shōzō’s anguish. But Shōzō appeared instead deeply moved, fixing his triangular eyes as he kept staring at the andon lamp’s glow. Exactly twelve years ago—when Father was sixty-five and I was thirty-nine. The time he had knelt before Father to present a written appeal—“Shōzō, I have a request…”—had likewise unfolded beneath this firelight. How Father had granted approval then—how he’d let Shōzō stride toward his calling without lingering doubts! Remembering this, Shōzō shook his knees with a pious expression as though prostrating before his father’s very presence.

Even then, while Father held the pledge up to the andon lamp and read through it, Shōzō had listened to this sizzle of burning oil, his heart racing.

The document contained the following articles:

1. Henceforth, I shall not expend mental effort on new enterprises aimed at personal profit. 2. Henceforth, I shall expend one hundred twenty yen each year for thirty-five years on public welfare campaigns.

1. Henceforth, I shall provide adequate education to the two adopted children and send them elsewhere.

My ability, being of singular disposition, makes it impossible to engage in profit-driven enterprises while devoting myself to political affairs. Rather, my duty lies in devoting myself entirely to political reform. I had resolved this from the bottom of my heart and believed that obtaining Father’s permission regarding the matter itself would present no difficulty. As for the matter of adopted children—since we had no biological children of our own, having taken in Katsuko’s nephew Bunzō and Harada’s sister Takeko—there should be little objection to this arrangement either. The second article was where he anticipated objections and even he himself felt daunted. Shōzō had previously, in his twenties during the Hakkan Incident involving the Rokkaku clan, not only exhausted the family estate through his political activism but also left behind debts amounting to hundreds of ryō. Since returning home from the Esashi scandal, he had devoted himself diligently to repaying those debts and had only just managed to restore the family estate to its former state. This was now a selfish wish to once again seek permission to sacrifice family assets without regard for their circumstances. Shōzō’s groundless anxiety had indeed centered on this very point.

However, his father had indeed begun reading aloud the text Shōzō had written. “Shōzō has forty million brethren—twenty million fathers and elders, twenty million children and youths. Heaven is my roof; earth is my bed.” As his father, with the paper resting on his knees, fixed his gaze upon Shōzō, even a look of joy stirred across his face. “For you, these phrases are too polished.” “Your resolve is most commendable.” “But…”

It carried a calm resonance, as though the patina of age had directly become gravitas in his words. Shōzō involuntarily swallowed hard and awaited the next words.

“The ancients also said it’s easier said than done.” “Do you truly possess the resolve to carry out your original intention to the very end?”

Shōzō leaned forward on his knees and answered.

“The three and a half years I spent in Esashi Prison gave me unprecedented time for study.” “Night and day, I contemplated matters like humanity’s reason for existence, our inherent value, and our purpose in life.” “Through this, I came to understand how presumptuous it was to consider my life as my own possession.” “When I grasped the preciousness and gratitude of being born human, I shuddered uncontrollably.” “My birth came through the grace of my parents, my nation, and heaven and earth.” “Human existence exists to repay this debt.” “Once I reached this understanding and recognized life’s absolute, infinite value, I could no longer endure remaining imprisoned.” “When freed,” I vowed inwardly, “I shall labor with every ounce of body and soul, guided by the principles of innate moral wisdom.” “Yet while incarcerated, I chanced upon Wellington’s biography—a passage where that great man trembled at the specter of debt pierced me deeply.” “Even were I to escape the prison of suspicion, my flesh would remain captive in a jail of obligation.” “While confined thus, I could never truly pursue my aspirations.” “This realization drove my efforts these past years to break free from obligation’s prison.” “Having at last achieved what I believed to be unshackled independence, this is why I make such a request.” “This decision took root far beyond yesterday or today.”

“But the human heart is a fragile thing.” “When one isn’t properly understood, resentment tends to arise in anyone.” “No matter how much one devotes oneself to society, if society not only coldly turns its back but even mocks them, resentment is bound to arise.” Shōzō felt as though a press were squeezing his chest—was Father truly entertaining such groundless anxiety on his behalf?

“All that I do is devoted to Heaven,” he said. “If I act with that conviction, I believe no discontent will ever arise.” When his father heard this, he pulled the inkstone box closer and bit the worn brush’s tip. Then he swept the brush fluidly across the hanshi paper: “Becoming a Buddha after death is pointless—become a good person while alive.” They said it was the work of a certain Zen master. Shōzō read it once, then again, finding it a supremely fitting maxim for himself. Through the visible traces of his father’s handwriting, he felt his father’s affection seeping steadily into his heart.

The emotions of that night twelve years ago surged back vividly in Shōzō’s chest. It remained as vivid as yesterday. Through the lamplight’s shadows, he could almost glimpse his father biting the brush tip and the ink-stained lips twisting into a grin.

"There is nothing as precious as parents…" Shōzō let out the words with a sigh and, after a pause, repeated them. At the same time, having spent these long years keeping his home at arm’s length and rushing about so frantically that he hadn’t even a moment to attend to his father now drew him into the shadow of remorse.

Katsuko, beside him, covered her face with her sleeve and coughed. In the dim firelight, her figure appeared poignantly forlorn. Shōzō shifted his gaze toward her with eyes that seemed to search for something vanished, "How many years has it been since then?" "I was twenty-four, you were sixteen—this was even before the Keiō era began…"

That was them speaking of the old days when they had formed their bond. Shōzō counted on his fingers, his expression that of someone gazing at his own moving fingers as though observing something wondrous. Katsuko, drawn in by this, also folded her fingers to count,

“Twenty-seven years…” she murmured, but then suddenly rubbed her hands together as if crushing old memories. “We really should be an old couple by now.” “So it’s been twenty-seven years… That we’ve stayed together this long is all thanks to you resigning yourself and enduring it… Truly, you must’ve been the last soul who saw anything worth believing in me.” “Back then, I brought you straight home from Kamishitsuka while you were headed to sewing lessons… Forced your blushing self into a carrying basket and hauled you on my back. When I crossed the bridge to this bank, I suddenly realized—I needed wedding preparations.” “So I set the basket down outside and rushed into that general store. Didn’t know what a wedding required, but demanded a full set anyway—urgently.” “Even when I told him, that shopkeeper wouldn’t take me seriously.” “Just kept smirking and prying—‘Who’s getting married? Where’s the bride from?’” “‘Nobody else—my wedding. The bride’s waiting in that basket.’ Even that old codger was flabbergasted then.” “Ha ha ha…”

“How vulgar! I thought it was going to be something... but it’s just nonsense... I really must retire for the night now.”

As Katsuko said this as if biting off her words and started to rise from her seat, Shōzō called out, “Wait a moment.” He made a show of pressing her down with his hand to keep her there. “Even if we say ‘again,’ who knows when we’ll next have a chance to speak properly? I want to hear what you plan to do from now on.”

I would remain perpetually occupied with rushing hither and thither. I simply had no time to tend to household matters. There had been an unspoken implication—that you, for your part, must manage to secure your livelihood. “Yes, I’ve already steeled myself for that.” “After all, I’ve always thought you’re even more restless than Amida Buddha himself.” Katsuko smiled, her cheek twisting with loneliness. Across the village road, amidst a grove of cedars and plum trees, stood a weather-beaten Amida Hall. As the principal Amida Buddha statue was destined to circulate through every household in the village throughout the year, the hall’s interior remained perpetually draped in spiderwebs. But even that Amida Buddha would unfailingly return to the hall and sit in serene meditation on the twenty-third of each month. Katsuko had used that very fact to mock Shōzō.

“Ha ha ha…” Shōzō masked his laughter and abruptly continued, “By the way, I’ve been thinking—eventually, I’d like to give that main house over there to Mr. Shinzaki.” The main house stood deep within, past the black gate beside the retirement residence and under the persimmon tree. A remnant from the time when his father Shōza served as village administrator and Shōzō as village headman, its structure was too simple for its former status, yet the blackened beams and pillars remained sturdily intact. It was in Meiji 8, the year after Shōzō returned from Iwate Prefecture, that he had Dr. Shinzaki reside in this main house—a time when, having been requested by an oil merchant from a neighboring village to become its manager, he specifically hired Shinzaki, a native of Shōnaka, and provided it free of charge, partly to entrust his sixty-year-old father to the doctor’s care. His father had now passed away, but Shōzō expressed his intention that he still wished to have Dr. Shinzaki reside there for his stepmother’s sake and for the village’s benefit.

“Absolutely,” Katsuko wholeheartedly agreed. “I am perfectly content with just this retirement residence.” “If I continue selling general goods to the villagers here as I always have, I can manage to make ends meet.”

Hearing her clear reply that there would be absolutely no lingering concerns, Shōzō blinked in satisfaction. Just as he tried to speak, a fit of loud sneezes erupted. The north wind that had been raging through Jōrenji Temple’s cedar grove behind the house now roared against the storm shutters, making both the lantern and the candles on the Buddhist altar flicker.

“It’s grown bitterly cold.” “Come now—let’s retire for the night. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“No, no,” Shōzō said, sniffling back his runny nose. “I still have some important research to do… regarding that Watarase River mining pollution.” “It sounds terrible—the damage this year. In places like the Funatsu riverside, they say the rice barely produced a single grain.” “That’s exactly right. Mining pollution has spread throughout the coastal area. According to Mr. Saheiji Hikojirō, who has been staying in Ōshima Village conducting investigations since last year’s flood, even that area has finally begun raising an uproar this year, racking their brains for more effective methods to eliminate the damage. However, this poison isn’t something that can be easily removed by the people’s own hands. The root source discharging poison must be stopped. Therefore at this juncture we must absolutely collect multitudes of signatures on a petition demanding mining cessation and have village heads submit it to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. I will also submit a formal inquiry to the Diet in response. That’s how the arrangements stand.”

“The day before yesterday, I heard there was a young zealot who caused a commotion at the gate of the House of Representatives, demanding to meet you.” Katsuko suddenly recalled that and furrowed her brow. But Shōzō did not answer that, as if he had forgotten his listener was his wife, “Last year, the prefectural assembly proposed a resolution, but among its members were local councilors profiting from the Ashio Copper Mine’s operations and others scheming to bury the issue in darkness—so it came to nothing.” “On the other hand, even when the victims petitioned the prefectural office, this too went nowhere.” “With things as they are, it remains truly uncertain when this urgently needed situation will be resolved.” “In truth, this is not merely a local issue confined to Tochigi Prefecture—we must absolutely bring this matter before the National Diet and appeal to society at large.” “And this—this is precisely my responsibility.”

“I don’t understand much about political matters, but when I think of the farmers, it’s truly pitiful.” “If that is your decision, then do as you please to your heart’s content.” “We saw off your father, and since you have no lingering concerns now… I will protect the memorial tablet as long as I draw breath.” “Hmm, I’m counting on you for that.”

Katsuko stood up, replaced the candles on the Buddhist altar, and then quietly got into bed. She lay listening to the bitter howl of the north wind, her legs drawn up as she slept. Shōzō stirred the lamp’s flame and took up his documents again, but his eyes merely stared vacantly—what filled his mind was the desolate landscapes of the disaster-stricken areas he had surveyed multiple times that autumn. What a horrific scene. When he closed his eyes, something akin to remorse tightened around his chest. He even felt as though his decade-long efforts had been completely in vain. While he had been running from village to village in Keno, shouting “Rise up for freedom, rise up for civil rights!” over and over, and while he had crossed the Watarase River time and again, today’s calamity had been gradually, steadily prepared. What Shōzō had thought was true. The decade he had devoted to the civil rights movement had, in its shadow, been secretly preparing the new battle he was destined to confront.

Chapter 3

On the afternoon of December 24th, Shōzō’s arrival at the Diet was slightly behind schedule. The moment he grasped the bill draft in one hand and pushed open the chamber’s front door, an oddly solemn atmosphere within struck his face.

Looking across the chamber, Minister of Communications Gotō Shōjirō sat imposingly on the podium directly opposite, his massive frame held with composure as he delivered word after word from beneath his frost-white beard that draped over the corners of his mouth—each phrase uttered in a thoroughly solemn voice. He was in the midst of his speech advocating maintaining the original proposal regarding the private railway acquisition costs. To Shōzō, it seemed as though all the assembled Diet members were obediently prostrating themselves at Gotō’s feet. Of course, that was merely a momentary illusion born from the scene before him, but Shōzō, his rounded shoulders baring palpable animosity, swiftly closed the distance confronting Gotō. All eyes converged at once upon the black haori bearing the large five-crest design of sword-shaped katabami. Shōzō arrived at seat number four in the front left row, cleared his throat loudly with an “ahem,” and took his seat. The assembly, which had been hushed until now, erupted into roaring laughter, followed by coughs imitating Shōzō breaking out here and there. People knew that even catching sight of Gotō in the corridors would provoke Shōzō to shout insults, and townsfolk irresponsibly cheered whenever their faces met—anticipating inevitable clashes as if watching a roadside quarrel—bestowing upon them the nicknames “Big Elephant and Little Elephant.” But even in such instances, Shōzō’s denunciations were never born of personal resentment. Few understood that it stemmed from his profound dissatisfaction with Gotō’s political maneuvers and abhorrence of his ideological betrayal.

After Gotō descended from the podium, Takagi Masatoshi of the Kaishintō Party pressed him with relentless questions, compelling Gotō to return to the floor repeatedly until their exchange spanned several hours. Nagata Sadauemon, unable to endure further, finally bellowed, “This chamber is no debating arena for Minister Gotō and Mr. Takagi!” Yet Takagi tenaciously persisted until at last he shouted, “No matter how I press, it proves futile—I shall cease my questioning!” and sat down, plunging the chamber into momentary silence. Next came Awaia Shinazo mounting the podium with his bald head shaking vigorously, whereupon the assembly hall brimmed with laughter as though greeting a circus clown. “Gentlemen!” he proclaimed—and at his booming voice, raucous guffaws erupted. “I stand among those supporting railway nationalization.” From beneath his words rose cries of “Hear! Hear!” Yaji leapt up. “I hold not a single railway share!” Another wave of laughter rolled through the chamber as he added, “Thus this argument diverts no streams to my own fields!” With every phrase he uttered, fresh uproar broke out—laughter crashing like waves between each clause. Amid this bedlam, Minister Gotō vanished from his seat. When the commotion finally ebbed, Chairman Nakajima Nobuyuki’s voice resounded: “Mr. Shimada Saburō.”

When called, Shimada abruptly stood from his seat but declared, “I waive my right to debate.” “I shall now state my reasons from this chamber.” “Yesterday I requested the attendance of the Prime Minister and three ministers.” “For ministers to attend this chamber is a responsibility they must fulfill toward the nation.” “I believed—nay, earnestly hoped—they would attend today, yet only Minister Gotō appeared to deliver his speech.” “I declare that even that speech was unworthy of being heard.” A tense murmur swept across the chamber. Shimada calmly waited for the assembly to quiet before continuing, “The only influential member supporting this bill is Mr. Awaia.” “And Minister Gotō, who had spoken representing the cabinet, has now departed from his seat.” “This shows the cabinet itself inclines toward abandoning this critical matter.” “One cannot loose arrows where no enemy remains.” “Since there remains no need to waste words in debate, I hereby waive my right to speak.”

It was precisely the final blow to the pro-government faction’s arguments. They immediately proceeded to a vote. The outcome became a newspaper extra proclaiming “Private Railway Acquisition Bill Rejected,” and the clang of bells raced through towns. Within the Diet chambers, proceedings moved to matters under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education, then shifted to those under the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce—but by then, the scheduled closing time of five o’clock had already passed, and even voices shouting “Today’s session is adjourned!” could be heard.

However, for Shōzō, this had become a moment demanding heightened tension. Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Mutsu Munemitsu advanced to the podium in a Western suit that clung to his emaciated frame like teeth sinking into flesh. “To reduce project expenditures would be nothing less than truncating planned undertakings—rather than merely obstructing national interests or diminishing treasury revenue, it constitutes a reduction of benefits for the entire citizenry.” “Should this reduction be implemented under the principle of allowing the people’s strength to recuperate, it would likely run counter to that very objective...”

Mutsu swept his blazing gaze across the seats to both sides as he proceeded to argue sharply, demonstrating his gravitas all the while. Nishimura, the government committee member who took up the argument next, merely parroted the minister’s assertions without vigor—his portly frame in traditional Japanese attire forming an odd contrast. Koma Shuku stood as a budget committee member to explain the amendments. When that concluded, Shōzō’s turn finally arrived. Shōzō pushed himself up from his seat with both hands and ascended the stairs, glaring up at Mutsu with each step he took.

“I submitted an inquiry to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce some days ago,” he began in a composed tone, reproaching their insincerity, “yet even now on the seventh day, there has been no official response regarding the Ashio Copper Mine.” “...The Diet Law stipulates that responses must be provided immediately; if immediate response is impossible, the reasons must be clearly stated.” “Before proceeding with the main expenses—and since Minister Mutsu is present—I believe it proper that you first address this matter.” “If you cannot provide an answer, then so be it.” “Furthermore, there remains an order in which I must humbly make further inquiries.”

As if having reached an inner resolution, Shōzō twisted his rounded shoulders and fixed Mutsu with a piercing glare. Then he deliberately turned around,

“At present, my stating my opinion amounts to nothing more than supporting this amendment. …Regarding the matter of travel expenses under Article 1, Clause 4—while Mr. Nishimura has delivered an elaborate argument about these being indispensable expenses for mine regulation—if there is any error in this, please do point it out.” "As for mine regulation, our Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has done absolutely nothing." “Where exactly are they enforcing mine regulation?” “Since a separate inquiry has already been submitted regarding this matter, discussing it here would be redundant; therefore, I shall make clear only this point.” “If there were a response to my earlier inquiry, I would have proceeded to demonstrate that there is no mine regulation.” “How can you justify allocating travel expenses for mine inspections when no mine regulation exists?” “To go so far as to say you would accept the entire original proposal—this is truly what one cannot help but call an impertinent argument.” “This is an utterly insolent argument.”

Laughter erupted repeatedly. Shōzō raised his voice even higher, “You claim you cannot reduce it by even a fraction—what exactly do you mean by ‘a fraction’?” “Are you referring to a fraction in monetary terms, or do you mean a single hour or minute in temporal terms?” “The government rushes to supervise mines—yet even as the people writhe in agony and face the loss of all their fields and paddies, why do you not apply the term ‘fraction’ to this?”

Shōzō cut off his words here and, “In your speech, Minister, you stated that while we should strive for frugality, administrative activities must not be hindered by budget reductions—that the expansion or contraction of these expenses impedes development.” “…What exactly does the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce consider ‘frugality’? As for these expenses for forest districts—if it were left to my own judgment, I would of course want to delete them all…” He pressed on, citing as an example the improper transfer of 3,700 *chōbu* of forested land in Tochigi Prefecture to Anjō Junshirō—who was then serving as district chief—under the pretext of designating it as “grassland,” and rebuked them. As Shōzō descended the podium amidst applause, Mutsu—who had been sitting with crossed arms and a bitter expression—rose from his gaunt frame.

“Mr. Tanaka’s inquiry begins with a reminder about the delayed response to his written questions submitted earlier.” “I have always been ready to respond at any time—in fact, I brought the documents today.” “I had intended to respond to the chair today in exactly this manner.” “I may even provide an answer by tomorrow.” Mutsu maintained an unflappably calm demeanor as he glanced down at Shōzō’s seat below, then resumed speaking to justify the forestland transfers. “With sixty thousand *chōbu* of forestland under our ministry’s jurisdiction, we cannot confirm specifics about Anjō’s transferred plots without reviewing the ledgers.” “Even among so-called wilderness areas, some contain trees.” “Just as there exist treeless tracts within classified forestlands,” he parried deftly before leaving the podium.

On the 25th as well, proceedings continued with Section 3 under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. Namely, the Mine Supervision Office expenses. Shōzō took the podium again this day. “A ‘grassland’ means a mountain where grass grows—and a ‘forested mountain’ means one with trees—distinctions even a three-year-old child ought to know.” “The thirty-seven hundred chōbu transferred to Anjō Junshirō have trees growing from end to end.” “That transfer cost five hundred yen—while eighteen thousand yen could be borrowed without much trouble.” “This eighteen thousand yen was repaid using money Furukawa Ichibei of the Ashio Copper Mine made by burning and selling charcoal—a monthly profit of two to three hundred yen.”

With that, he first scoffed at Mutsu’s response from the previous day, "The fact that there has still been no response to my written inquiry concerns the matter of the mine." "Why has there been no response today?" "Yesterday you said you would respond tomorrow—why is there no response today?" "If you cannot provide a response, then I already stated yesterday that it would suffice for you to say you cannot."

Shōzō shifted his footing and looked back toward the ministers’ seats, but even today he still could not find Mutsu’s figure. Government Committee Member Nishimura, perhaps still harboring resentment over having been severely rebuked by Shōzō the previous day, remained sullenly reserved.

“Depending on that response, we would still have much to discuss, but as this budget meeting proceeds with such urgency, I shall refrain from detailing every particular of this matter.” “There exist various statistics and analytical charts—to address them all would require several hours of speech.” “In any case, the Watarase River flowing between Gunma and Tochigi Prefectures has inflicted damage through mining pollution upon over twelve hundred *chō* of combined farmland along both banks.” “This invaluable cultivated land exceeding twelve hundred *chō* has produced no grain harvests for two—nay, three years.” “Particularly in last year’s Meiji 23, not a single grain took root.” “Not merely failing to sprout—nothing grows there at all.” “This constitutes an incident of utmost gravity.” “Yet they persist in complete ignorance of this critical matter.” “Examine the mine regulations!” “If you remain unacquainted with these regulations, I shall read them aloud myself.”

Laughter erupted in the assembly hall. Shōzō grabbed documents from his bulging pocket—swollen like a mendicant’s sack—but left them untouched on the desk as he pressed on in a sharper tone, his voice booming.

“What does Japan’s Mining Law state? Moreover, though the Mining Regulations explicitly authorize the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce to suspend operations, how can they feign blindness to this harm inflicted upon the people—those who bear tax burdens and settled here expecting safety—no matter how profitable Furukawa Ichibei’s enterprise proves for its owner?” “…When they tried selling fish they’d caught, the police would bark that poison-tainted fish couldn’t be sold.” “This began around Meiji 13.” “The people petition at prefectural offices—countless trips made by Gunma and Tochigi residents investigating this.” “Strangely, even the Home Minister’s office seems blind to it.” “I don’t know what collusion occurred with Agriculture and Commerce, but that mines under their jurisdiction harm people within his domain escapes even the Home Minister’s notice.” “Why does darkness cloud my vision?” Could such an inconceivable reality truly exist? “There are whispers among the people too delicate to voice.” “They say the Agriculture Minister became kin to Furukawa through adopting his son—though I refuse to believe a state minister would abuse office thus.” “Yet how can officials refute these public suspicions?” “I’ve no doubt prefectural assemblies and district chiefs beneath them injure the people and bar their petitions.” “You may splendidly strike Section Three of this mine’s budget.”

Shōzō, his face flushed crimson and arms flailing as he roared, cut off his words abruptly. Simultaneously, surging applause erupted. Shōzō shook the sleeves of his formal kimono and descended from the podium, his brows carrying a tinge of sorrowful grief. After taking his seat, he once again looked up at the ministers' seats, but ultimately could not find Mutsu's figure to the very end.

The allegations of a marital connection between Mutsu and Furukawa that Shōzō raised were by no means mere rumors. Ichibei came to know Mutsu through the relationship of his main house, Ono-gumi, which had been handling currency exchange duties for the government, when Mutsu newly assumed the position of Director-General of Taxation at the Ministry of Finance in Meiji 5 (1872). At the time, Mutsu was twenty-nine years old, and Ichibei was forty-one. One was a sharp blade; the other, a dull chisel—what common ground could these two men of seemingly opposite temperaments have found? By the following year (Meiji 6 [1873]), they had reached an agreement for Mutsu’s second son, Junkichi, to become Ichibei’s adopted heir. However, in Meiji 7 (1874), when Ono-gumi collapsed, Ichibei was reduced to destitution. Mutsu exhorted Ichibei at this time: “I trusted you and made a promise to give you my beloved child. Today, my trust in you remains unchanged from days past. A person’s rise and fall should not be measured by the day’s end. You must devise a plan for your resurgence,” he said.

After that, on June 10 of Meiji 11 (1878), Mutsu was suddenly arrested while serving as Secretary of the Genrōin. This was because it had been discovered that Ōe Taku, Kataoka Kenkichi, Hayashi Yūzō, Takeuchi Tsuna, and others of the Tosa faction had been colluding in their customary plot to overthrow the government. Though Mutsu had not appeared publicly involved, he was in fact the shadowy mastermind. The following year, Ichibei journeyed all the way to Yamagata to console Mutsu in prison, pressuring him to fulfill their prior agreement—thereby repaying their former bond of goodwill. As a result, in February of Meiji 13 (1880), Junkichi left his birth family and entered the Furukawa household. Junkichi was eleven years old at the time. The family registry entry was completed somewhat belatedly in May of Meiji 16 (1883), after Mutsu’s release from prison. Between these two men had indeed lain such karmic ties.

This occurred shortly after his release from prison. Mutsu traveled with cane in hand to Nikko during his regional tour. At that moment, while surveying the verdant mountains and glancing back at his surroundings, he remarked: "The mountains and rivers of Shimotsuke possess scenic beauty, but scenery holds no economic utility. A mountain’s height does not make it venerable." Upon hearing this from Shiokawa Michihiro and Komine Shinpachirō, both then members of the prefectural assembly, Shōzō committed it firmly to memory. With the amendment to Articles 4 and 5 of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce now enacted, the proceedings subsequently moved under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Communications.

When Minister Gotō’s speech concluded, a sound like a cracked bell immediately arose from beneath his feet. “Chairman! Chairman!” Shōzō stood abruptly, his stance openly challenging. Gotō, while casting a glance at it, pushed open the door and slipped away furtively.

Not a single minister appeared in those seats, but the members of the opposition party remained indifferent to their absence. With momentum like splitting bamboo in crushing the government bill, they passed all matters under the Ministry of Communications’ jurisdiction according to the assessment proposal. But why were the ministers’ seats utterly vacant at that moment? They would come to grasp this truth several hours later. The ministers’ absence stemmed from their collective deliberation at the Prime Minister’s official residence over a critical matter.

At 6:50 PM, when Parliament adjourned and opposition party members triumphantly returned to their lodgings, Prime Minister Matsukata—at that exact same moment—was leisurely driving his carriage down a gravel road toward the Imperial Palace.

How much past eight o'clock was it?

Hirayama, the Secretary-General, entered the lit proceedings office of the Diet building with a grave expression. He had come after searching through every room for the Chairman. When he spotted the Chairman, he strode briskly over and silently handed him a slip of paper. It was an imperial decree for the dissolution of the House of Representatives. The Chairman stared fixedly in silence for a considerable while, as if deeply moved,

“We must inform them immediately,” he burst into urgent motion. The clerks who had stayed behind were promptly summoned. Some immediately rolled up their sleeves and set to work printing notices using gelatin-based blocks, while others carefully inscribed addresses on envelopes... Attendants were hurriedly ordered around—“Fetch more paper! Bring pens!”—as they scrambled to keep up. Soon, three hundred gelatin-based blocks had been printed, and the clerks were mobilized for delivery. The rickshaws, each loaded with clerks, vanished into the evening darkness—their drivers’ shouts resolute as they raced toward lodgings scattered across the city.

Spurred by both the daily intensifying ferocity of parliamentary battles and rumors that the government was gaining ground in buying off legislators, local party members converged on Tokyo in droves. They stormed legislators' lodgings to flush out those attempting to evade through absence, and massed outside the Diet to exert pressure on positions within the assembly. Therefore, once word of dissolution spread, these people gathered in high spirits at each political party's office. Amid the chaotic turmoil, sham patriots roamed unchecked through night streets—some drunkenly bellowing impassioned laments, others harassing women they took for vulnerable targets.

When Shōzō received the dissolution notice and rushed to the Kaishintō office in Minami-nabechō, numerous party members had already gathered around braziers throughout the room, engaged in loud discussions. The morale of this party, which had fought at the forefront, rose through the gathering of comrades. Not a single face showed any sign of mourning the dissolution; rather, an eagerness that all but declared they saw in this evidence the might of their party drove them into a frenzy. Shōzō secured a seat behind the others and sat silently with his arms crossed and eyes closed. He had been sitting alone, deeply absorbed in thought, when suddenly he glared fiercely, lunged forward, and shouted.

“You utter fool! Spouting such nonsense among comrades!”

The people were startled by the loud voice and fell silent in unison. “Again with Mr. Tanaka’s idiocy…” Some glared back with stern faces. “Isn’t this about Kabayama’s infamous fist-pounding speech?” Takada Sanae interjected with a conciliatory look, half-rising from his seat. “There’s no reason for you to fly off the handle out of nowhere.” “If you take those insults as an affront, it’s infuriating, but in truth, it’s just bluster from them being intimidated by our party’s momentum.” “It’s the screams of distress from the Satsuma-Chōshū clique.” “That’s what they were saying while hurling abuse.” “Why on earth would that displease you?”

It was during the budget plenary session on the 22nd. When Navy Minister Kabayama slammed his desk and thundered, "The people revile us as the Satsuma-Chōshū clique, yet who has maintained national stability and social order until today!", the Diet erupted into tumultuous uproar, plunging into its most chaotic state since its inauguration. All opposition party members were indignant over what came to be known as Kabayama’s fist-pounding speech.

“No, that’s not it.” Shōzō shook his head, his face still contorted with rage. “I don’t know who they’re talking about, but someone was slandering a comrade—claiming they’d been taken to restaurants and meeting houses by Kabayama’s underlings.” “I’m not deaf!” “I heard it clearly!”

“That’s not correct, Mr. Tanaka,” an elderly man who appeared to be a local party member raised his hand and explained. “Navy Minister Kabayama resorted to underhanded tactics too shameful to mention openly in his efforts to push through this budget proposal. Within the Liberal Party, there were those who acted like dogs wagging their tails for scraps, but conversely, there were also those who grew resentful of those underhanded tactics and switched to attacking the government. I merely parroted such rumors circulating among the public here.”

“I see.” “I thought I’d slandered someone from the Kaishintō behind their back again.” “It infuriated me to think that those entrusted with the nation’s fate would resort to women’s gossip and children’s tantrums.” “You really are the type who’s deaf yet quick to hear things.” “If anyone hears such a thing, no one will stay silent and let it slide.”

Kato Masanosuke, who had been in front, turned around and laughed.

“This was my fault. I’ve no excuse.”

Shōzō, now looking satisfied with that, sat down. Crossing his arms, he then sank wordlessly into meditation, as though transformed into another person entirely.

The gathering shifted their conversation to speculations about the next general election, their voices growing lively. Home Minister Shinagawa Yajirō was the man who had previously advised behind the scenes during the Yamagata cabinet to dissolve the Diet decisively and create a pro-government party. From his perspective, he had merely carried out himself this time what Yamagata had been too cautious to accomplish in the First Diet. As a natural consequence, he would probably implement extreme electoral interference. Everyone’s predictions aligned with this expectation.

While listening to this, Shōzō’s heart ached with a separate fury and apprehension beyond what others could fathom. The first was that he had attempted to continue appealing about the mining pollution issue in the Diet but lost that opportunity. The second was that he had been unable to obtain a responsible response from the authorities. The third was that the disaster victims had been forced to needlessly endure continued hardship.

At that moment, Shimada Saburō entered with a shadowed expression, deep creases forming figure-eights on either side of his nose. When he recognized Shōzō, he came straight to his side, “I was deeply impressed by your mining pollution speech today. “It was most commendable.”

Shōzō opened his eyes without so much as a smile, but when he recognized the other man as Shimada, his eyes filled with warmth, “No, no, I myself still think it was far from adequate—insufficient.” “After all, there wasn’t enough time… Had it been dissolved, I would have done it more thoroughly.” “...No, no—you must give me your usual frank criticism.”

“My reporter was so impressed that he remarked he’d write about it in tomorrow’s Diet Proceedings Commentary.”

But Tanaka remained silent with an impassive expression. Shimada continued speaking further, “That must be what they mean when they say each word burst forth from the depths of your heart.” “If the speaker lacks sincerity, they could never strike people’s hearts like that.” “Could it be that you, Mr. Tanaka, have resolved to shoulder the mining pollution problem entirely by yourself?” “That’s how strongly I felt while listening to it.” When he heard those final words, Shōzō jerked back as if struck in the chest and fixed Shimada with a stare from eyes gleaming from their depths. Shimada diverted the conversation with an attitude that seemed either to notice or not notice that agitation,

“I haven’t seen the official gazette yet, but mark my words—the government will surely shift all blame onto us in their dissolution memorial,” Shimada Saburō said. “I’m sure you’re right,” Shōzō nodded deeply. “They probably intentionally delayed even the Nobi Earthquake relief resolution… But we weren’t squabbling over minor points in our political platform.”

“That is indeed the case.” “We fought with the intention of rectifying their misguided political doctrines.” “…An unprecedented polity has taken form, through which the people have vested their ardent hopes for a better age.” “Yet the previous Diet left those very blemishes intact, and its successor descended into this deplorable state. At the inception of constitutional governance, far from exemplifying sound administration, they have bequeathed us naught but pernicious precedents.”

With a voice heavy with what seemed like pain from the depths of his chest, Shimada quietly left Tanaka’s side.

The next morning, all newspapers uniformly reported the dissolution and carried updates on each political party’s activities. The Mainichi Shimbun’s “Diet Proceedings Commentary” column that Shimada had mentioned carried an article titled “The Iron Pillar of the Diet,” which described Shōzō as follows: “A million suffering souls find their present misery and exhaustion embodied in this man who attends the Diet clad in a cotton robe and tattered hat—himself the very specimen of their plight, and so forth.”

The dissolution memorials became visible to the public through all newspapers on the 27th, and indeed they censured the Diet for having delayed urgent resolutions without reason and condemned it for abusing its authority to hinder administrative agencies' operations.

On the 29th, a response document addressing the mining pollution issue was announced under the name of the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce via an appendix to the official gazette, which was then reprinted in all major newspapers. It stated: 1. While damage to farmland along the Watarase River’s banks was indeed factual, its cause had not yet been conclusively determined based on reliable test results. 2. Various experts were currently conducting tests and investigations. 3. Mining operators had implemented all possible preventive measures and made preparations to further prevent mineral runoff by purchasing and newly installing ore dust collectors from Germany and America.

In essence, it was such a formulaic response.

Chapter Four

At the entrance of Murayama Han’s residence in Sano, designated as the election headquarters, a large banner proclaiming “Long Live Mr. Tanaka Shōzō” flapped noisily, its ink bleeding into the fabric as it bent the bamboo pole. Shōzō passed beneath it, exchanging greetings with local supporters from nearby villages—all clad in straw sandals and carrying concealed staffs—as he made his way along the garden stones to the inner room. Amid the bustling crowd, the baskets of washed rice piled beneath the wooden-shingled roof by the well glared with an almost painful whiteness. The memory surfaced of withered rice stalks he had passed in the disaster-stricken areas—bent and unharvested, sheathed in thin ice—and he felt a pang of secret guilt.

While Shōzō was still in Tokyo attending political rallies across the city, an advertisement had already appeared in newspapers under the name of Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District Youth Association: “We hereby designate Mr. Tanaka Shōzō—valiant commander of the people’s army—as our Third District candidate for the House of Representatives.” This was the result of volunteers from Anso District gathering at the main hall of Sōshū-ji Temple in Kasugaoka, Sano Town, early in the New Year and reaching a unanimous decision. On that day, those who rushed to gather from nearby towns and villages—over a hundred individuals including Murayama Han, Tsukui Hikoshichi, Tatenuma Jōkichi, Wakui Tōshichi, Sekiguchi Chūtarō, Kawamata Kyūhei, Terauchi Seiji, Shimada Yūsaburō, Arai Yasutarō, Fujinuma Tomojirō, Itabashi Rokurō, Kawashima Jihei, Aoki Seizō, Yoshioka Kōsaku, Tenkai Hamakichi, Uchida Usaburō, Kurihara Kizō, and Iwashita Kiemon—were all comrades from Shōzō’s civil rights movement days, many of whom had been members of organizations he had founded like the Chūsetsusha and Kaishin Seikaitō.

Shōzō, who had been pressed by repeated urgent summons to return home, finally appeared. The dozen or so people gathered in the inner room erupted into commotion as they welcomed him. When they cleared seats near the tokonoma alcove, they gave Shōzō no chance for greetings and immediately began briefing him on local factional developments. According to the intelligence they had gathered, Kimura Hachibei’s candidacy was all but certain.

“Is that newspaper article false?” “...that the Reform Party and Liberal Party have agreed to re-elect incumbent representatives to avoid competition among fellow opposition members...” The master of this house, Murayama Han, pressed him for details about the central party’s activities. “Yes—since our initial efforts,* Mr. Shimada and others have pursued this vigorously, though negotiations remain ongoing.” “I too have urged Mr. Shimada with all my strength.” “If our fellow opposition members waste energy squabbling at each other’s gates, we’ll never topple the clan factions.” “In the end, only the people suffer...”

Shōzō cut off his somber voice midway, his face clouding over. “That’s like climbing a tree to catch fish.”

Prefectural assembly member Kawashima Jihei twitched his bushy eyebrows and declared, “Party discipline simply isn’t being enforced. Look—in District One, Hoshi Tōru’s running against Yokobori Mitsuko in a battle between supposed allies. Every district expects chaos now.” “Kimura may fly the Liberal Party banner,” came Tenkai Hamakichi’s voice, “but no true adherent of our principles would stand from this Third District.” “Precisely—the Masked Liberal Party!” he added. “We’ll treat them as government stooges and wipe them out.”

With Shōzō now joining their gathering, the people’s debate took on an increasingly fierce intensity.

“In fact, he’s purely a government faction man,” said someone leaning forward from the corner. “Who knows just how wealthy Kimura was before, but after the liquidation, everyone sees what he’s become now. Yet campaign funds flow from that Yasunari Jūnishirō involved in the forest sales scandal. Undeterred by his failure two years ago, he’s running again…”

“No, it’s not just that,” Murayama interjected. “Through Mutsu’s orchestration, funds are also coming from Furukawa as interference campaign expenses. Since Mr. Tanaka harshly pursued the mining pollution issue in the year-end Diet session, it would be troublesome for them if that were repeated in the Diet. It seems they’ve reached an agreement to ensure Tanaka’s defeat by any means necessary. The campaign managers are Arai Shōgo and Sakakibara Tsunetake, while the chief of staff is said to be Sano Tsunetami. In fact, they say the Utsunomiya Police are going door to door interrogating people about who they voted for in the last election—it’s only a matter of time before their sinister hand reaches our district as well.”

The room suddenly darkened, and the light in people’s eyes grew unnervingly fierce.

“After all, the governor openly instructed them to embody the government’s will—‘Show as much leeway as possible! If you can’t manage that aspect, you’ll be fired!’” “We must tighten our fundoshi and brace ourselves thoroughly.” Kawashima said this while sliding open the shoji screen, muttered “Ah—hail’s started falling,” then left for the toilet. At the sudden crescendo of hail pelting down, the assembly turned their gazes—faces struggling to contain their agitation—toward the garden being assailed by icy bombardment. Shōzō furrowed his brows again while staring at the black clouds massing beneath the eaves. “What justification could the police possibly have for such investigations? Why does Mr. Yokobori stay silent about this outrage?”

Shōzō’s indignation was, as usual, as forceful as a bucket of water being upended.

At that moment, four or five young men burst clamorously into the room from the garden, charged with vigor. Some wore narrow-sleeved kimonos with hakama trousers rolled up at the thighs, others loose work trousers with straw sandals—all thrusting long swords at their waists, their faces reddened from hail pelting their skin, eyes blazing with excitement. The man at the front approached near the veranda and assumed a rigid stance,

“The audience is already crowding into the venue in droves.” “They’re ready to begin the meeting, so they’re requesting that the speakers come over.” “It’s still too early for the meeting to start.” Murayama retorted, “But the audience is clamoring for us to hurry up.”

“Very well, let us depart early then,” declared Shōzō, rising first and stepping on the hem of his hakama as he stood—but from behind the retreating young men came the challenge: “Why have you made such dangerous preparations?” “Uh…”

“Since there’s a chance the enemy might come to disrupt us,” Murayama intervened placatingly from beside them, “we’ve been tolerating the young ones wanting to carry those for precaution.”

Nodding, Shōzō turned toward the garden and shouted loudly, “If it’s for defense, there’s no helping it—but even in the worst-case scenario, you must absolutely avoid using lethal weapons. Introducing such means into election campaigns runs counter to the spirit of constitutional government.” When Shōzō and the others stood at the entrance, the young men from earlier took up the large flags fluttering under the eaves and shouldered them. The hail had stopped, but thick, dark clouds moved across the gloomy sky, and the biting wind stung their skin like needles. The figures of the people, each grimacing, appeared like a group resolutely setting out—their path already foreshadowing some desperate struggle ahead. When they passed through Sōshūji Temple’s main gate, the people overflowing the main hall and packing the high veranda first welcomed them with applause. The meeting commenced immediately, and six or seven volunteers rose to discuss current affairs and politics, stirring up fervor. Finally, when Shōzō rose to speak, evening darkness was already closing in and the cold had grown even more biting, but the audience held their breath and listened intently to his words.

“Gentlemen, I heard you calling out ‘Tochin-Tochin’ earlier.” “I recognize this as an affectionate nickname for me, Shōzō.” “Nor do I regard speaking in this main hall as addressing strangers.” “When visiting your homes, I feel I’m speaking in your sitting rooms or by your hearths.” “My connection with this Sōshūji Temple runs truly deep.” “Many among you must have conversed with me here before.” “If not yourselves, then surely your grandfathers, fathers, or elder brothers.” “Over a decade ago, I predicted Saigō Nanshū would fall in battle and Ōkubo Kōtō meet violent death—both soon proven true.” “Thus swollen with pride from these accuracies, I resolved to sacrifice myself for political reform.” “Yet this Shōzō is no prophet nor heaven-gifted man.” “Neither scholar nor paragon of virtue.” “Through observing worldly currents with single-hearted sincerity alone did those predictions chance to strike true.” “Therefore I’ve not forgotten how vanity drove me to pursue reform.” “I know well my capabilities’ limits.” “Hence during the first general election, I deemed my participation unnecessary.” “Though I’ve raced east and west for years championing freedom and civil rights...” “...once our people’s longed-for Diet convened, I felt my duty done.” “No more need for this unlearned country elder.” “The Diet must be entrusted to youth possessing fresh vision.” “Thus I wished Tochigi’s Third District might produce someone like Mr. Shima Saburō—so fervently I conjured his image.” “Mr. Shima conducts politics without shadow—a man anchored in moral conviction.”

The people who had passionately advocated for Shōzō’s candidacy, needless to say, along with all others involved in the campaign, suspected that Shōzō might say something outlandish and end up dousing their fire. But the voice from the podium flowed on ceaselessly.

“However, regrettably, Mr. Shima has decided to run from Kanagawa Prefecture’s First District, where he has deep connections.” “Therefore, I next approached Mr. Nomura Honnosuke, whom I had envisioned in my mind.” “Many of you may already be familiar with this person.” “Just like Mr. Shima, he was a member of what’s called the Ōmeisha—a group under Numata Morikazu—and in Meiji 15, I became enamored with him as I had with Mr. Shima, and forcibly brought him in as president and editor-in-chief of the Tochigi Newspaper.” “At that time, he was a mere twenty-three years of age, yet possessed a truly upright and admirable character.” “At that time, Mr. Nomura endured hardships with me for about a year, but at the newspaper office, while everyone would sit cross-legged and speak casually in my presence, when Mr. Nomura came to work, they would straighten their collars properly—so much so that I was deeply impressed by the difference in dignity between Mr. Nomura and myself.”

Snickers and scornful laughter escaped from among the audience.

Shōzō, however, with the vigor of one finally arriving at the main subject, “Given Mr. Nomura’s character, he too firmly declined to accept.” “As the deadline drew near, it ultimately reached the point where there was no choice but for me to stand as a candidate.” “However, in this current election, my state of mind is entirely different from what it was then.” “At that time, under the sole pretense of protecting constitutional government, I believed we must have capable individuals endowed with new insights step forward.” “My resolve to protect constitutional government remains unchanged; however, this time, due to an urgent problem that has arisen here, it has become necessary for me myself to appear before the Diet and appeal to public opinion.” “That is none other than—as you gentlemen are well aware—the truly grave situation where 1,200 chōbu of farmland along this Watarase River have yielded no crops for two or even three years, ravaged by mining pollution, driving the people of this land to the brink of exile.” “This is of course not merely a local issue confined to the Watarase River watershed.” “It is a matter of national importance.” “Therefore, the people of this region who are suffering directly from the harm must appeal to society for the sake of their own brothers, relatives, and kin—and they also have an obligation to resolve this for the nation.” “Yet what are the people of this region themselves thinking today?”

Shōzō paused his speech, glared over the heads of the somber audience, then continued methodically expounding on the alarming signs of mining pollution damage and the people’s right to petition granted to them.

Thus, with this rally as the opening salvo, round-the-clock activities were initiated day after day and night after night.

Anso County among the Third District's three counties had long been Shōzō's stronghold. The groundwork had been solidified through a series of visits. Subsequently, as collective discussions determined Yanada County would be the election's decisive battleground, Shōzō relocated to the Yanada office after ten days. That very day, village chiefs from neighboring areas gathered and laid their appeals before Shōzō.

As the old year drew to a close, when summoned by Yanada County Office, the village chiefs went there together, where County Chief Kabaike Kiheiji stated there would be a discussion. While they waited suspiciously, wondering what was afoot, the County Chief appeared with a haughty attitude, announced he would mediate between the victims and the mining company, thrust forward a nine-article contract, and pressed them aggressively, declaring it was an order. Furukawa Ichibei would install powdered ore collectors by June of Meiji 26 (1893) to prevent powdered ore outflow. From Meiji 24 [1891] to 26 [1893], settlement funds would be provided as a moral obligation regardless of damage extent. In exchange, the contracting party could not raise any complaints during this period. The village chiefs silently read through these enumerated clauses but struggled to discern where the true intent lay. After consulting with Atsu, they replied they would respond later and withdrew.

On January 2nd, over two hundred concerned residents from each village gathered and held a council. Various objections arose, leading to a heated dispute, but in the end, hardline opinions prevailed. If methods to eliminate the harm were more clearly established and an equal contract concluded, they would agree to arbitration. Otherwise, even under the County Chief’s arbitration, they could not bring themselves to accept it. They reached a unanimous decision to respond in that manner.

As he listened to the village chiefs recount their grievances one after another, fury surged within Shōzō. Had Furukawa already extended his demonic hand? Terrified by the outcry over mining pollution, they not only refused to implement measures to eliminate the harm but schemed to bury the truth in darkness by concealing the facts. Moreover, their methods involved recklessly wielding governmental authority under the pretense of acting for his benefit. The governors and county officials too—submissively obeying before Furukawa, resigned to being his slaves... To Shōzō, the village chiefs’ deliberative expressions were unbearably frustrating. Why hadn’t they erupted in anger at these insulting terms? Why hadn’t they refused outright on the spot? The thought chafed unbearably. No—it roused suspicion. Yet Shōzō softened his expression,

“Responding that you would agree *if it were an equal contract* was a masterstroke.” “What kind of farce is this—they render our fields barren, then offer money as some *moral obligation*?” “Public morality isn’t such a self-serving thing… They’ll undoubtedly try to deceive us again with new tricks and ploys.” “To keep your eyes unclouded by petty gains, to prevent such opportunists from emerging—you gentlemen must stand united in crushing their schemes and conspiracies to the last!”

Instructing and admonishing the village chiefs at times, encouraging them at others, Shōzō seemed to have forgotten all about the election. Even after the village chiefs had left, this matter remained a knot in Shōzō’s chest throughout the election. Yet by consciously recognizing Furukawa Ichibei as his enemy rather than fixating on Kimura Hachibei, manifold courage welled up within him. When the northern sky cleared on days when the Maruiwa, Kumataka, and Himuro mountain ranges loomed ominously close before his eyes, there were times he would stand in the wind-swept barren fields, glaring at those remote peaks as the enemy’s stronghold.

As days passed, reports of fierce electoral battles across the prefecture arrived daily. Consequently, each prefectural assembly member found themselves forced into difficult positions regarding their allegiances. At every election office, criticism erupted whenever an assembly member’s movements became known. Mochida Wakusa and Tsukada Minezaburō—regarded as part of the Hoshi faction—were praised for selflessly rushing to support Yokobori’s camp in service of a greater cause. Conversely, Hirose Kosaku, Kawashima Chojuro, and Hayakawa Chūgo faced condemnation for resigning from the assembly to join Kimura’s staff, accused of abandoning public duty for private gain. In late November of the previous year, when tensions between the government and parliament had finally reached a breaking point, a document circulated: “Should crisis strike, we comrades vow to strive unwaveringly for your sake and see our aspirations through to the end.” All prefectural assembly members had jointly signed this missive urging elected representatives across the prefecture with the plea: “We earnestly implore your understanding.” Now this very endorsement ensnared them in their own contradictions, throwing their loyalties into disarray. Yet precisely because this episode had been hailed nationwide as a model for electoral districts, Shōzō found today’s outcome bitterly disappointing. He felt certain his faction’s decaying moral compass now lay exposed before the entire nation.

Around that time one day, Kurihara Hikosaburō—the son of Kurihara Kizō—arrived as a messenger from the Kitagō office overseeing northern mountain villages. Having run three *ri* of road (about 7.5 miles), he presented his father’s letter with shoulders hunched from exertion and breath ragged. When Shōzō broke the seal, inside lay printed materials that the Kimura faction had distributed to voters. Dated January 25th,

“Respected Sirs, the date of the general election has now drawn urgently near.” We humbly submit that Diet members who boast proudly of mere facts like braving harsh winters and scorching summers to rush about our county—or who unreasonably advocate for the restoration of people’s strength while rejecting government proposals without even cursory examination of their benefits and losses, blindly joining in their否决—are a detriment to the nation. We therefore earnestly implore you to exert every effort in electing composed individuals of keen acumen in practical enterprise for the sake of our nation’s service. Respectfully submitted. “Concerned Citizens of Ashikaga County” It was something that implicitly disparaged Shōzō. The sense that the Kimura faction had finally revealed the true nature of the government party grew profound. The boy, his eyes sparkling, reported again from the side.

“The enemy bastards are trying to get people to go on an Ise pilgrimage around the old New Year—they’ll even cover the travel expenses.” “They’re apparently going around trying to persuade villagers with that offer.”

Shōzō counted on his fingers, The voting day fell on seventeenth of old New Year. Their scheme was taking voters out of their home regions and making them abstain. A cleverly devised plan indeed. He looked around and laughed.

He glanced around and laughed. As January neared its end, the election battles intensified nationwide. Grim reports attesting to this came pouring into the region from all quarters. Among these, developments in Kochi Prefecture—the birthplace of the Liberal Party—were particularly fierce. Even a minor incident in Nagahama Village, where notices reading “Pilgrim beggars and Rikken Party campaigners are forbidden entry” were posted on every household, was sensationalized as a gratifying event. Meanwhile, in Sakawa Village of the same prefecture, a bloody clash erupted between Rikken Party and Liberal Party factions—swords drawn, shots fired—leaving several dead on the spot. This gruesome incident further intensified the agitation spreading across regions. As a result of this turbulent public sentiment, on the 28th, the Preventive Regulations were promulgated. Thus, as their implementation was left to local officials’ discretion, people received them with suspicion. While ostensibly cracking down on vagrants to control political activists’ rampages, it was rumored this was in truth a desperate measure to suppress the opposition party.

On February 2nd, three Tanaka faction prefectural assembly members—Kawashima Jihei, Yamaguchi Shinji, and Tamou Kashuhei—suddenly had their homes searched, and Yamaguchi was taken into custody on the spot for reasons unknown. The people raged like oil poured on flames at this evidence that county officials and police officers were covertly supporting the Kimura faction. On February 6th, having already secured control of western Yanada County, the Tanaka faction resolved to press their advantage and strike at the enemy’s stronghold. Moreover, they would invade Obata Village—where Kimura Hachibei resided—hold a political rally, and make the enemy’s heart tremble. On this day, as dark clouds froze solid overhead and the Watarase River’s wind stung their skin, over eighty people marched forward—their large “Long Live Mr. Tanaka” banner fluttering at the forefront, surrounding Tanaka Shōzō alongside prefectural assembly members Yokoo Teruyoshi, Kawashima Jihei, and Amami Hamakichi. All wore straw sandal-clad attire, forming ranks as they trampled through residual snow from two days prior.

The rally was also held at the village temple here, with the audience overflowing into the spacious courtyard and jostling together. When Yokoo, Kawashima, and several others took turns standing to assail the Kimura faction without mercy—after all, this being the enemy's stronghold— jeers of "Boo! Boo!" erupted incessantly; feet stamped, wooden doors were pounded, and angry bellows rose as disruptions grew increasingly violent, charged with lethal intent. Seeing this, the supervising police inspector finally shouted for them to disband. Yet having accomplished more than half their objective, the Tanaka faction formed ranks and withdrew triumphantly past the torrent of abuse.

It was when they came to the three-way fork approaching Yamamae Village on their return. Over three hundred members of the Kimura faction blocked the road with enraged toughs at their forefront, showering invectives, hurling stones, and even firing rifles from nearby trees—blasting warning shots into the air to intimidate. Their allies too inevitably stirred up, showing signs of counterattacking that seemed poised to erupt into chaos—but as Shōzō and others shouted themselves hoarse trying to restrain them, over a dozen police officers rushed in, finally bringing about a peaceful standoff without bloodshed. It was said that the Kimura faction had mobilized five or six hundred outsiders—miners from the Ashio Copper Mine and gamblers from Kamitsuga District—by hiring them with money.

Yet that night, in the deep hours as snow piled silently, violence finally erupted between the two factions. As Yamada and ten others from the Tanaka faction, returning to Sano after campaigning in Ashikaga District, struggled through a blizzard and trudged through accumulated snow in the dim twilight, an unseen voice suddenly called from behind: "Halt, Kaishintō stalwarts!" Instantly recognizing enemies, they shouted "You insolent bastards!" and held their ground. Peering through the thickly falling snow, they saw forty or fifty overlapping shadows—then snow pellets came flying. Stones followed. The Tanaka faction drew their concealed staves in unison and charged in a silent sprint brimming with lethal intent. Overwhelmed by their ferocity, the enemy fired pistols and fled in terror at their own echoes.

On February 8th, Kawashima Jihei and Masuda Daizaburō were returning from delivering a speech in Obata Village when, near Hansai Village, they found themselves surrounded by a mob of over two hundred ruffians. Outnumbered and overpowered, after being mercilessly beaten with wooden swords and clubs, Masuda was dragged by both legs and thrown into the river. On this day, on another front, the Kimura faction invaded Anso County and held a rally at Tanuma’s Kamekaku-za. The Tanaka faction, over seven hundred strong, stormed in and drowned out Hachibei’s speech with jeers of “Boo! Boo!” Moreover, Kawamata Kyūhei and his group stormed into the waiting room, claiming that Kimura had slandered Shōzō. This outcome further implicated the Kimura faction deeply, and the ordeal of Kawashima and Masuda was ultimately a ripple effect of that.

On the 9th, the Tanaka faction once again held a fellowship meeting in Yamashita Village, what could be called the enemy’s stronghold. Gathering about fifty committed villagers from across the village, as their supporters Yokoo Teruyoshi, Sahabe Hikojirō, and others were delivering speeches from their seats, members of the Kimura faction surged to the entrance. By evening, their numbers had reached seven to eight hundred, surrounding the walls and beginning to hurl abuse incessantly. When they slid open the shoji screens and looked down, they could see Kimura faction members in several spots prying off metal lids from sake barrels to bolster their fervor—but before long, stones began pelting down toward the venue. In the end, even the sound of firewood being thrown could be heard. The Tanaka faction inside the gate could no longer continue their speeches. Resigned that this was the end, they swiftly flung open the gate and leaped out, intent on cutting a path through. The Kimura faction too, relying on their superior numbers in a flash, surrounded them. With wooden swords clashing, bodies grappling, and countless stones—large and small—raining down upon them, the twilight road was instantly transformed into a merciless battleground.

At the same time, two thousand members of the Tanaka faction stormed into a Kimura faction rally held in Kuzuu, where the two groups clashed in a chaotic melee that escalated to blade violence. As the voting day drew near, the clashes between both factions grew increasingly murderous with each passing day. Around this time, Kurihara Kizō of Kanuma Village in the northern mountains sustained repeated injuries himself, while many of his subordinates were also wounded. Furthermore, the remote mountain village of Tobu shared the same polling station as Kanuma, requiring voters to cross over the mountains to cast their ballots; but the Kimura faction spread baseless rumors, claiming that those who didn’t vote for Kimura would be ambushed by hired thugs lying in wait along the mountain paths and beaten half to death, or that they would storm into Tanaka faction households—attempting intimidation through such threats. Kurihara Kizō, along with Kageyama Kensai of Tobu and others, devised countermeasures; to oppose this, they decided to bring Tobu’s voters to Kanuma Village the day before the election and have them stay with relatives or other contacts. For those who still hesitated, the concerned citizens of Kanuma rode horses to retrieve them one by one along the several-mile mountain path.

The fervor of these adults eventually spread to the children. Hikosaburō, the eldest son of Kurihara, had even written an essay titled “A Recommendation for Mr. Tanaka Shōzō” in his elementary school composition class, earning him a reprimand from the principal. Then, on the morning of February 15th—the day of the election—he climbed the back mountain in the predawn hours, having workers carry five-inch firework tubes. They tied them to a large pine tree, loaded them with double the gunpowder and scraps of cloth, and launched them. With an earth-shaking rumble, a tremendous explosion rent the predawn darkness with its roar. After all, he was still just a child.

Hikosaburō was unbearably delighted by the grandeur, like that of a cannon. He launched three more rounds in succession and returned home with lingering reluctance. He had intended it as a show of the village’s fighting spirit, but his grandfather and elders like Kageyama harshly scolded him for doing something dangerous. So he gathered the village boys, brought out rifles from the storehouse, set up targets along the roadside, and began shooting practice. In the morning, a horse-drawn wagon loaded with charcoal sacks and firewood passed by on its way down to Tanuma. “Hey, mister!” Hikosaburō called out to stop the wagon drivers.

“In Kanuma, they’re vigorously practicing with rifles. “When you get to Tanuma, go around saying that.” “And tell them even the children are waiting with rifles.” At the time, people dismissed it as nothing more than a child’s prank, but unbeknownst to them, this spreading of rumors would later prove to have an unexpected effect. The hired thugs of Arai Shōgo, who had conspired with the Kimura faction to come and intimidate the village, ultimately did not show themselves out of fear of these rumors.

Thus, Kanuma Village’s voting concluded without incident after all, but at polling stations in other villages, thugs ran rampant as if treating this day as their final opportunity, carrying out egregious acts of interference. Tanuma Minjirō, village chief of Mikuriya Village, sustained facial bruises after being attacked en route to oversee the polling station. Takagi Seizō of Kuno Village—suddenly slashed across the forehead and injured—raced one ri to the polling station, only to collapse on the spot after casting his vote. Yet they had to count it fortunate that they had avoided the disgrace seen in Kochi Prefecture’s Second District, where ballot boxes were stolen outright.

In addition to the above, the disasters wrought upon Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District throughout this election campaign were too numerous to mention: Sue Nagare’s death in prison; the injuries sustained by Ochi Shūkichi and Shimizu Masakichi; the destruction of Harada-kata’s residence; and arson incidents in Sano, Horimai towns, and Kuno Village. The vote count results showed Tanaka Shōzō with 733 votes and Kimura Hachibei with 643; the figures revealed how closely contested the race had been between the two factions. Eventually, the elected members nationwide were announced: ninety-four from the Liberal Party, thirty-eight from the Progressive Party, while the Government Party could only barely muster ninety-three members. Moreover, the election interference employed to secure these numbers incited public outrage, leaving an outrageous nationwide record of twenty-five deaths and three hundred eighty-eight injured.

Chapter 5

Before the corridor where the young maple near the eaves cast its blue shadow, Shōzō’s booming voice echoed from a room with its shoji screens thrown open. At his regular lodgings in Nihonbashi Yaesu-gashi—where the Third Diet session, convened on May 6th, had been ordered into weeklong recess from the 16th—this was one day during that adjournment.

The violent interference during February’s general election had caused bloodshed across the nation, and as accusations raged that this had distorted public will and defiled electoral freedom, the government—to deflect the sharp edge of public opinion—dismissed Shinagawa, the Home Minister responsible at the time in March, and replaced him with Soejima Taneomi, Vice President of the Privy Council. Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Mutsu, who had been decrying the interference within the cabinet, also submitted his resignation, and Kōno Togama succeeded him. However, the various factions of the opposition parties remained resolute in their stance that the government must be condemned, rallying their rebellious fervor against one another; as the Diet session drew near, political developments became charged with a murderous intensity. This momentum first manifested at the very outset of the Diet session as an imperial petition addressing election interference. On the 12th, in the Diet session, twenty-six members announced their support and nineteen their opposition regarding this matter. With Kōno Hirochika’s explanatory speech leading the charge, nearly every member known for eloquence rose to speak, resulting in a debate that spanned several hours. Amid a murderous atmosphere, the vote was held, and the motion was rejected by a narrow margin of 146 votes to 143. This outcome came as a surprise to each of the opposition parties, but it was also due to the psychological fear of another dissolution inclining some toward conciliatory arguments, coupled with the influence of behind-the-scenes deals and violent intimidation by Government Party stalwarts. However, enraged by this failure, the opposition parties revised the resolution into a different form and brought it before the Diet on the 14th, passing it in one stroke with a majority of forty-three votes. Thus, the government attempted to counter the unstable political situation by adjourning the Diet to address this chaos.

“This time’s affair may count as redemption for our previous failure, but to someone like me, it still feels too lenient and unsatisfactory.” “Hmm, that’s true—it’s not about formally challenging the enemy to an honorable showdown beforehand, but rather what you might call an unconventional tactic—a strategy of the Liberal Party.”

“Prime Minister Matsukata declared in his speech: ‘Japan’s cabinet ministers cannot lightly decide their course of action based on such reckless and unfounded claims. In truth, a resolution that merely cautions about the future causes the government neither pain nor discomfort.’” “I shared that view,” Tanaka responded, “but when drafting an imperial petition, I came to recognize disturbing implications. To startle His Majesty’s divine virtue with such an appeal would be profoundly presumptuous. Even without this, it is said His Majesty has been gravely attentive to each day’s parliamentary affairs since the session began—having nightly reports delivered by chamberlains on duty. The government’s culpability must be condemned utterly, but there exist constitutional means to achieve this.”

The stalwart-like man yielded to Shōzō’s words and fell silent. Shōzō pressed down on the knees of his hakama as he stood, brought the Japanese sword that had been lying in the tokonoma alcove out to the engawa veranda, and smoothly drew the blade from its scabbard. The emerald light reflected on the blade seemed to awaken his eyes.

“What do you think? Can you tell it’s a masterwork blade?” To the man who reached out brusquely asking, “Whose signature does it bear?” Shōzō merely angled the tip toward him while producing a tissue and quietly polishing the steel. “Even with sword appraisal alone—they say only after examining ten blades daily without fail for ten years can one finally discern a Masamune. Look at these elected officials—meddling in every budget line item. That’s how they grow irresponsible.”

As Shōzō clanged the tsuba and sheathed the sword, the guest rose from his seat. When Shōzō saw him off and returned to the room, the desk piled high with documents had been repositioned to face the garden, and Yamada Tomojirō and Kurihara Hikosaburō—who had been waiting in a corner earlier—were once again poised to assist. “Thanks to the Diet’s adjournment, I thought I could rest my mind and properly draft my interpellation speech, but with these constant interruptions, I’m making no progress.” “The adjournment’s down to its last day now—who knows when they’ll start up again?”

However, Shōzō did not immediately take up his brush, instead fixing his gaze on the fresh green leaves of the paulownia tree.

“If human beings reflect in their hearts and do not deceive, evil cannot arise.” He abruptly muttered, as if to himself. “The cause of evil lies entirely in the external world.” “Mencius said that when people’s hearts are drawn to this external world, they cast aside their conscience.” “In the outskirts of the capital city of Sai, there was a mountain called Ushiyama. Though this mountain once flourished with verdant trees, through relentless and repeated deforestation, it was reduced to an utterly barren bald peak.” “However, this barren state is by no means the mountain’s true nature.” “Mencius explains with such examples; the same can be said even if we take the bald mountains near Ashio as an instance.” “That jagged, rock-strewn state is not the mountain’s true nature.” “Even if humans commit beastly acts, it does not mean they lack a heart of benevolence and justice.” “To become akin to beasts stems from discarding one’s conscience and letting it be obliterated.” “As for Furukawa and the officials alike, having discarded their conscience and lost sight of it, they remain unaware of the magnitude of evil they commit.” “Thus, they sink ever deeper into the mire of evil.—In Jin Xin II, Mencius teaches that ‘there is no better way to nurture the heart than through reducing desires,’ offering a method to reclaim this lost conscience.”

The two boys listened with eyes wide in awe and trepidation, as though a lantern had been thrust into their hearts, but when Shōzō’s words ceased, Kurihara edged forward on his knees. “So Sensei, are you advocating the same theory of innate goodness as Mencius?” Shōzō’s eyes glinted sharply. “No—with the strength of an uneducated man like myself, it is utterly impossible to pass judgment on the theories of Confucian sages. Because Confucius himself disdained obscure discourse and therefore did not probe deeply into the nature of good and evil, China has seen three thousand years of conflicting theories without resolution. But to leave this theory of the good and evil of human nature—the most crucial matter in life—in ambiguity is something I cannot endure. Therefore, through my own contemplations, I have at last found the courage to assert that human nature is inherently good. The reason for this lies in my secondhand learning—through hearing Numata, Shimada, Takada, and others speak of the theory of evolution—which greatly astonished me and provided insights. Thanks to hearing about evolutionary theory, I was taught to turn my eyes to humanity’s consistent upward path from ancient times to the present day. To naturally advance toward goodness and beauty is both our inborn nature and instinct. Had China’s ancient Confucian scholars known of evolutionary theory, they would certainly have all advocated for innate goodness. I rejoice that, having gained this conviction, my resolve to uphold human dignity grows stronger with each passing day. When one considers that, those who commit injustice and immorality are destroyers of human nature itself. They are traitors to human progress. Such individuals must be thoroughly eradicated. Doing that is our duty…”

At that moment, along with the clamorous ringing of a bell beyond the fence, the voice of an extra edition seller could be heard. Yamada stood up and ran to purchase it. When they examined the delivered extra edition, it announced the enforcement of the Public Security Regulations: Chief Superintendent Sonoda’s order mandating evacuation beyond three *ri* from the Imperial Palace during the Third Imperial Diet session, alongside a list naming numerous activists. On May 23, immediately after the Diet’s adjournment concluded, Shōzō promptly submitted his “Inquiry Regarding the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Damage Incident,” then took the podium to deliver his interpellation speech the following day, May 24. First addressing the disposal of the Horonai-Ikushunbetsu railway and coal mines in Hokkaido, he cited concrete facts to denounce their corruption, economic waste, and immorality, declaring, “We must pursue this inquiry relentlessly for the sake of the nation.” “We take no pleasure in censure,” “We simply demand honest answers from the government.” “You cannot blindfold public awareness with evasive replies and makeshift explanations,” he pressed. As thirty minutes elapsed in this manner, Shōzō—perhaps sensing urgency—abruptly shifted to condemning the government’s lack of policy direction regarding disposals at the Kobe Shipyard, Kamaishi Iron Mine, and Kosaka Mine. He had meant to finally address his primary target—the mining pollution incident—but even Shōzō grew reluctant to monopolize the podium excessively. Changing his tone accordingly,

“If you gentlemen would kindly grant me the time, I wish to address the Ashio Copper Mine pollution incident—though I fear it may prove lengthy.” Cries of “Hear him! Hear him!” erupted throughout the chamber. Shōzō squared his shoulders like a man who had seized his moment, “Then I shall proceed.” He drained his water glass in one gulp. “I outlined this matter last year.” “The Ashio Copper Mine has recently achieved immense prosperity—and consequently, various toxic substances now flow unchecked from its slopes.” “That river bears the name Watarase.” “Its course runs between Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures before merging with the Tone River downstream.” “For centuries—nay, millennia—our ancestors have dwelled along these banks.” “Now these people find themselves unable to remain on their land due to the poisons unleashed by the mine’s expansion.” “Constitutionally speaking, citizens legally obligated to pay taxes can no longer fulfill even this duty.” “In such circumstances, the government must act decisively.” “Every day of delay compounds the suffering.” “Over sixteen hundred chōbu already lie barren, with contamination threatening far greater expanses.” “Neither wheat sown nor beans planted will take root.” “Prefectural authorities established test fields—their methods include digging two or three shaku deep to invert soil layers, burying firewood beneath earth to reburn vegetation, or mixing a hundred kan of lime per tanbu.” “Such measures might serve for tiny plots of one or two tsubo—but prove laughably inadequate across vast farmlands.” “Yet using these techniques, crops may sprout three or four sun tall—though never bear fruit.” “These testing facilities even extend invitations to you honorable members—lecturing earnestly on deep plowing methods as viable solutions—a preposterous farce!” “Moreover, Tochigi Prefecture initiated pollution testing long ago.” “Who conducted these tests? A pharmacist from the prefectural hospital’s dispensary—earning eight or ten yen monthly.”

“However, last year when they vociferously protested in the Diet and local people also raised an outcry—perhaps as an excuse for this—scholars were brought in or doctors came to conduct tests, but these individuals couldn’t figure it out.” “Therefore, in last year’s written response, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce stated that there was no definitive conclusion based on test results regarding the cause of the damage.” “Indeed, among today’s doctors there are all sorts—I hear some are even what you might call ‘a hundred mon a mountain’ doctors.”

A thunderous roar of laughter erupted, followed by applause. Shōzō took a breath in that moment and immediately continued. “Around Meiji 12 or 13 [1879–1880], fish in the Watarase River began dying—crops ceased to bear fruit. Yet nearby farmers, though knowing nothing of analytical science, understood mining pollution perfectly.” “Then analysis at the prefectural hospital confirmed it.” “But climb higher through official channels, and clarity gradually fades.” “Become Minister of Agriculture and Commerce? Then you’ll never understand at all.”

Someone burst into raucous laughter, and for a time, chuckles rippled through the chamber. “When I ask what excuses they offer,” he pressed, “they insist there must be some other cause.” “But even these ‘other causes’ stem from the same root.” “Take soot gathering in a chimney.” “Why does soot gather? Even an uneducated man knows it’s because someone burns wood or coal beneath.” “Yet they claim there must be some grander reason!” “It’s no different from saying pipe tar forms for reasons beyond tobacco smoke.” Another wave of laughter erupted, but Shōzō charged ahead without pause: “But once you become Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, suddenly there must be profound causes—tar in pipes? Mining poison in the Watarase? Always some hidden factor!” “Such deception has no place in our Meiji era.” “You may despise restraint, but we hold the right to impose it!” Shōzō’s voice lashed like a whip as he wheeled toward the ministers’ seats, eyes blazing. He went on to describe boatmen whose lips turned blue from river water, paupers whose skin cracked from burning polluted driftwood—evidence of toxicity seeping into bodies.

“To begin with, this poison settles at the riverbed during ordinary times. But when torrential rains cause sudden flooding, the water’s force churns up the settled mud with its waves, transforming it into toxic water that flows downstream.” “When this muddy water recedes and leaves sediment behind, that sediment becomes thoroughly saturated with poison.” “In former times, applying this mud to what we called water-drawing fields actually fertilized the soil—but now, wherever even an inch or a fifth of an inch of this mud settles, crops refuse to grow.” “They left such conditions—destructive to both plant life and public health—unaddressed until last year.” “When I raised this issue in the Diet chamber, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce deigned to respond.” “The essence of his reply boiled down to two points.” “First: that the test results remain inconclusive.” “‘We don’t fully understand the nature of the harm,’ he claims. ‘There may be other causes at play—we’re still investigating.’” “Second came this preposterous declaration: they had purchased twenty pollution control devices, installed them, and were now preparing to prevent further toxic discharge.” “A self-contradictory response through and through.” “But contradictions aside—in Mr. Tanba Keizō’s report presented at Gunma Prefecture’s Water Conservancy Association last December eighth by the Medical University, and later in the findings published this February in Tochigi by Agricultural College researchers Kozaï Yoshinao and Nagaoka Muneoki after exhaustive surveys—both clearly state that these poisons originate from the Ashio Copper Mine, confirming as fact that waters flowing into the Watarase River from Ashio’s Momoiwa contain toxic substances.” “Once we’ve established that such poison exists due to mining operations, we cannot delay action for even a single day.” “Article Ten of our current Mining Regulations explicitly states: ‘When harm to public welfare is recognized, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce may order cessation of operations.’” “This is plainly written in law.” “How then can they justify this hesitation—this refusal to act even now—while hundreds of thousands face ruinous circumstances, forced to abandon their homes and livelihoods?” “Where else exists a government that possesses laws yet refuses to enforce them?” “What preoccupies you gentlemen most urgently are foreign treaties.” “Why do those clamoring for treaty revision fear these foreign concessions above all else?” “Because though our nation has laws, they go unenforced.” “And yet—particularly in Shimotsuke Province and Gunma Prefecture—Furukawa Ichibei and his ilk run rampant, establishing new foreign enclaves where laws exist but remain unexecuted.”

“No matter how destitute the people become, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce turns a blind eye!” Shōzō’s voice grew fiercer as he mocked their occasional platitudes—“Furukawa Ichibei’s enterprise benefits the nation”—until he roared: “What splendid concern!” The words crashed against the ceiling like thunder as he pressed onward: “We bear the tax burden. This cannot compare to the reality that people who settled here before Furukawa—who have paid taxes—can no longer remain on their land or till their ancestral fields. With our constitution and laws in place, there can be no excuse for failing to enforce them. Any fool could manage this much! If they cannot, then naturally the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce has neglected his duties! Those who cannot fulfill their responsibilities must resign immediately! However—this is no debate, but a time for questions! What answer will you give? I demand clarity!”

Having driven home a stinging rebuke against the minister’s dereliction of duty to conclude his remarks, Shōzō returned to his seat amid applause, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the sweat from his face.

Yet despite having demanded a response with such fervent zeal and exhaustive reasoning, even after many days passed, no reply could be obtained from the government.

During this period, in parliament, questioning and debate spanning three days were conducted regarding the Railway Bond Bill and Acquisition Bill—carried over from the previous session—and when attempting to shift proceedings to the Copyright Bill, the chamber plunged into great disorder, resulting in six individuals being ordered to leave. Amid the disturbance, Shōzō too scolded and roared, making the name “Garrison Commander Tanaka” resound—though this had never been his true intent. June 7th—unable to endure any longer, Shōzō delivered a speech demanding an official response: “A government that neither provides answers nor clarifies its reasons for withholding them stands as a criminal before the law. “Even a criminal, if they reform their wrongful conduct and correct their misdeeds, should still be forgiven in terms of moral duty.” “However, if they neglect this and refuse to provide answers, they cannot maintain the nation’s peace.” “It is the government that deliberately stirs up turmoil in the Diet,” he pressed sharply.

Then, on the eleventh day, a response document under the name of Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Kōno Togama finally reached the Speaker’s hands. Shōzō could not contain his indignation after reading it through. Not only was it vague and ambiguous, but it also strained to avoid conflicting with mining regulations while deliberately distorting the facts. As a response that should bear the responsibility of a Cabinet Minister, it was far too cold. Shōzō immediately pulled an all-nighter starting that very evening to complete a rebuttal document and submitted it on the thirteenth. If there was to be no extension of the session, the 14th would mark the Diet’s final day. The thought that this too might be quietly swept away made his chest seethe with indignation and impatience. In the Diet chamber on the 14th, Shōzō hardly took in any of the other proceedings, staring fixedly at the Speaker as he waited to be called.

And rising from seat number thirty-one to ascend the podium, he began without preamble,

“The Minister of Agriculture and Commerce’s response amounts to a complete fraud against the facts!” he confronted sharply. “It is a response that alters names, falsifies names, or changes locations.” “I am from that region.” “You must not lie to those who know the land’s condition.” “The first major point is wrong.” “The response document is structured as if to dredge the entire Watarase River, but dredging the entire course of the Watarase River is truly no simple matter—this is fundamentally impossible.” “Admittedly, the notion of dredging the river is not entirely groundless.” “This refers to the settlement agreement reached through negotiations with the Matsuyaba Ryōzeki Water Conservancy Association to dredge mud from the narrow channel entering through the sluice gate, but this measure only addresses a minor section and does not affect other areas in the least.” “I can only assume they are utterly ignorant of the facts.” “Another point is that the document states they have not yet reached the stage of halting operations because they do not recognize any harm to public peace in the region.” “By what reasoning do they make this claim?” “The number of those already suffering harm reaches tens of thousands, with the affected farmland spanning over 1,700 *chōbu* across two districts and twenty-eight villages—this being the direct damage—and despite the vast extent of other affected areas, they do not recognize this grave harm as disrupting public peace.” “The discrepancy in facts is utterly egregious.” “Does the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce refuse to recognize this as harming public peace unless people resort to armed uprisings with bamboo spears and straw banners to petition government offices?” “Do they refuse to recognize this as harming public peace unless not a single soul remains living on the land—unless every last resident abandons their homes or some such?”

Shōzō’s tone once again took on a vehement edge. “This is because they are utterly unaware of the facts.” “Were it otherwise, they would never permit such an improper response to stand.” “If they knew this yet still issued such a response, then we must declare that even the entire Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has been contaminated by this mining pollution.” “Furukawa Ichibei is a man of extraordinary wealth.” “If we credit the rumors—that even cabinet ministers resort to flattery when dealing with Furukawa Ichibei—then indeed, it appears the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce too has been poisoned by the Ashio Copper Mine’s toxins.” “Thus has the entire Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce become corrupt, tainted by the Ashio Copper Mine’s pollution.” “The so-called stench of copper!” Laughter erupted. Shōzō, opening his mouth wide as though expelling filth, pressed on: “Having themselves inhaled this toxic stench of copper—being already steeped in its poison—they see nothing extraordinary in mining pollution!” “It is no different from sitting in a cesspool yet remaining oblivious to the stench…”

Once again, laughter erupted. How much anguish must Shōzō himself have felt at having to voice such painful truths to this extent? Many of the Diet members guffawed as if they couldn’t comprehend his anguish at all.

As Shōzō descended from the podium, Orita Kanesuke of seat number 258 abruptly stood up and shouted, “Emergency motion!” Conscious of the gazes that the entire assembly poured upon him—wondering what was happening—Orita... “Regarding Mr. Tanaka’s remarks about ‘sitting in a cesspool yet remaining oblivious to the stench’ and so forth—should such language ever come before His Majesty the Emperor’s eyes, it would be profoundly mortifying. I therefore move to have these words struck from the record.” Before the Speaker could even turn his eyes, Shōzō was already on his feet at seat number 418,

“Since Mr. Orita has such an excellent idea, I ask that he select suitable phrasing himself and make the revisions.” The chamber relaxed visibly, ripples of laughter breaking through. That day concluded as the Diet’s final session despite rumors of a late-night imperial rescript extending proceedings—no such decree materialized. Even after Shōzō’s repeated interrogations, this mining pollution issue too was swept into obscurity by the legislature, interred with nothing but that single response document as its shroud.

Yet government authorities could maintain such cold indifference precisely because there were ulterior motives at play. Who knows how many hands had copied it? When the response document was published, official gazettes and newspapers carrying its text were distributed free of charge to every village in the afflicted regions. Here lay the foundation for administrative officials’ confidence that they could suppress outcries over mining pollution damage. The truth was that the victims’ ignorance left them fundamentally unable to grasp what constituted real science. When word spread that ore dust collectors would be installed by June of Meiji 26 (1893), many readily believed these devices represented some miraculous solution for eliminating contamination.

Given that this was a rural area where the custom of revering officials and belittling civilians still lingered stubbornly, it was only natural that the majority, trusting the government’s words, had no choice but to reluctantly accept the situation with resigned expressions. Moreover, even before distributing these official gazettes and newspapers, meticulous preparations had been laid to bury the voices of mining pollution victims in darkness. Through the machinations of local officials, the Settlement Agreements were steadily taking concrete form. That is, already by May in Tochigi Prefecture, an arbitration committee had been established by nineteen prefectural assembly members including Nakayama Tanjirō, Yokoo Terukichi, and Hayakawa Chūgo—all operating entirely under Governor Orita Heinai’s command. It was bitterly ironic that just as Shōzō stood shouting about the mining pollution issue from the Diet podium, these officials had gathered over four hundred concerned citizens from Anso District—a place deeply intertwined with Shōzō’s history—in the county office’s upper room as their opening move in negotiations. As voices swelled among the crowd packed into the narrow venue—farmers exchanging stories of ruined wheat crops—Governor Orita appeared and personally expounded on the arbitration committee’s purpose. Next, Yokoo Terukichi ascended the podium on behalf of the arbitration committee with an imperious air.

“—The state of rural villages that have endured dwindling harvests year after year over these past several years, sinking into exhaustion and destitution, is truly unbearable to witness.” “We cannot help but feel profound sympathy for you farmers of the afflicted regions.” “That is precisely why we too have been toiling day and night to devise remedies for this crisis.” “How might we possibly deliver you from this dire predicament?” “Here we present three conceivable solutions.” “These are: first, administrative measures to halt mining operations; second, judicial action to compel compensation for damages; and third, arbitration to reach a settlement.” “Let us now examine which of these three approaches proves most suitable to the circumstances, practicable in execution, and certain in effect.” “What of the first method?” “This has already been touted by certain parties like a fool’s broken record, yet in truth it proves far from straightforward.” “Easily proposed, but arduous to implement.” “For consider—the Ashio Copper Mine stands as the Orient’s preeminent mining operation, its annual yield surpassing two million yen.” “What consequences would follow were this great enterprise suspended even briefly?” “The nation would incur catastrophic losses.” “Nay—beyond that, multitudes who subsist directly or indirectly through the mine would find themselves stripped of livelihood and cast into destitution.”

Someone shouted in a booming, coarse voice. “Forget about others’ problems—we can’t even feed ourselves right now!” “Indeed—if matters remain unresolved and are left neglected, you may well find yourselves in such circumstances.” Yokoo continued his remarks with unhurried composure. “However, you who are Japanese would not consider it acceptable for others to suffer terribly just so that you may be saved.” “This brings us to what I want you all to consider—this very point.” “If Ashio’s mining operations were halted, there’s no guarantee such a precedent wouldn’t spread one after another to mines across the nation.” “If that happens, Japan’s mining industry will plummet to utter ruin.” “The livelihoods of multitudes living in mining regions across the nation will be stripped away because of this.” “As the government, we cannot rashly implement measures that might spark such a major upheaval.” “Moreover, those involved in politics must consider the entire populace of Japan from a broad perspective; they cannot engage in such biased actions as aiding one side while neglecting the other.” “Moreover, even if mining operations were halted, the ore dust that has settled at the bottom of the Watarase River is already beyond remedy.” “Then, what of the second method?” “This, too, would be an exceedingly difficult endeavor.” “That is, regarding the tens of thousands of plots—fields, paddies, mountains, and forests—owned by several thousand people, one would have to calculate compensation amounts for each individual plot by applying differentials according to the damage ledger.” “Moreover, I believe that unless this is done, neither those making the payments nor those receiving them would find it at all convincing.” “If during this process the mine owner were to contest even minor details and take the matter to court, there’s simply no telling how many years might pass before a verdict is reached.” “Now, as for the third case—what we call arbitration is essentially a moral judgment. All manner of societal issues should follow the proper course: both parties must present their claims, yield where appropriate, and thereby steer matters toward an amicable resolution.” “Therefore, I firmly believe that if we resolve the mining pollution issue through this arbitration, we can achieve results most appropriately, expeditiously, and advantageously.” “Especially as Mr. Furukawa himself, with profound sympathy for you victims, previously proposed a moral mediation to Governor Orita, we ardently hope that you will now comprehend our Arbitration Committee’s intentions and enter into a satisfactory settlement agreement.”

“We will never hesitate to exert ourselves for you gentlemen……”

The applause was scattered and sparse. As they listened to this speech, most felt a sense of oppression, yet none had the energy to resist it. Though the arbitration seemed like something that might secure them special benefits, many wavered in their stance due to lingering suspicions that they couldn’t fully trust it. At last came a few questions, but all were foolish inquiries about whether the settlement money would actually be paid out reliably. Then a man from the front row stood up, expressed gratitude to the arbitration committee members, and turned to face the group.

“For me to speak like this may seem presumptuous, but I believe all of you must feel the same way.” “If every individual keeps voicing their own selfish demands, this will never end.” “At this juncture, why don’t we follow the kind words of the committee members and entrust them with arbitration?” After scattered applause, eventually the majority offered perfunctory clapping.

The following day, representatives of affected residents from both Ashikaga and Yanada Counties were summoned to the Ashikaga County Office as well. Governor Orita likewise traveled there, where Nakayama Tanjirō delivered persuasion efforts nearly identical to Yokoo’s. Moreover, on yet another day at the Shimotsuga County Office, arbitration committee members urged the victims’ representatives to accept a settlement in the presence of the county chief. In this way, the groundwork for settlements steadily progressed, soon taking concrete form in each affected area. The representatives of affected villagers from every village affixed their seals to contracts bearing Furukawa Ichibei’s name. The terms differed little from the draft previously presented by Yanada County’s former chief after gathering village heads—designating June 30, Meiji 29 (1896) as the trial period for testing ore dust collectors’ efficacy. During this span, no grievances could be voiced nor administrative/legal remedies sought—clauses amounting to utter subservience.

Shōzō learned of these developments in the affected areas ten days after parliament had adjourned and he had returned home. Shōzō, as was his custom, alighted from the Tōhoku Line at Koga Station and hired a rickshaw to Yanaka Village’s embankment. While gazing at the Watarase River’s meandering path through reed beds—its murky waters swollen with early summer rains—he arrived in Fujioka Town and lodged at the Kawachiya Inn. The next day, he again passed through Mikamo, Sakai, Ueno, and other affected villages before proceeding to Sano. In Sano, he first had the rickshaw stop at Murayama Han’s residence. Having been told the master was absent, he stripped naked at the wellside and was wiping his unpleasantly sweaty body when Murayama Han returned there. When they were both shown to the sitting room, the conversation immediately turned to developments in central political circles—

“I had the chance to read about your ardent efforts in the Diet through the newspapers.” “It appears the disposal of Hokkaido’s railways and coal mines also faced severe censure this time.” When addressed thus, Shōzō made a face as though chewing on bitter insects, then— “In truth, before parliament was convened, everyone regarded bribery and such matters as shameful.” “Nowadays, no one finds them remarkable anymore.” “The government’s corruption has become something the public’s ears have grown thoroughly accustomed to.”

“Has civilization made society more corrupt?” “It’s akin to an increase in illnesses.” “Whether medical advances are revealing more pathogens or pathogens themselves are multiplying—I cannot say—but we cannot abandon the sick simply because there are more varieties of disease now.”

Gazing at Shōzō’s face, Murayama nodded repeatedly, “In your Diet speech, you said Hokkaido had become a den of thieves. If they’re patients, doctors can heal them, but if thieves multiply, they become troublesome to deal with.” “My repeated questions about mining pollution are like beating a stick into a mud field.” “Just as beating a stick into a mud field leaves no trace, nothing becomes clear or definite.” “This is the real thief.” “Everywhere you look, it’s a world of thieves.”

His words resembled a joke, but his voice resounded with the poignant grief of heartfelt lament.

“Speaking of mining pollution, are you aware of Mr. Yokoo’s Arbitration Committee?” “I only learned of it after returning here this time.” Shōzō spat out the words, his face contorted with indignation. “I see—no consultation or notice whatsoever? Though given their shamelessness in betraying comrades of many years, perhaps discussion was beyond them.” “Let their very souls fester with mining poison—I care nothing for those reeking of copper’s stench. But abandoning these poisoned lands would doom their people. Their ignorance leaves them vulnerable to deception—no, they’ve already been thoroughly duped. When I visit acquaintances’ homes now, their manner toward me has turned cold. Their guilty faces betray attempts at concealment—they cannot meet my gaze. When pressed, they invent excuses and flee. Some even treat me as outright vermin.”

“Truly, the human heart is an unreliable thing.” “The Copper Mine faction’s bastards have cunningly plotted their conspiracy.” “However, this time their scheme might actually succeed.” “First they’ll muzzle the victims with hush money to stop them from speaking of the mining pollution, then make those very mouths spew slander against me—no doubt they’ll try to gag me next.”

Shōzō sat with his arms crossed in silent meditation, eyes closed, when suddenly he perked up at a clattering sound and turned his gaze toward the garden.

The green plum must have fallen of its own accord and struck the garden stone; he saw it roll over to the base of the dwarf bamboo. “They say Newton discovered gravity by watching an apple fall.” “If one pays heed to the people’s plight, one can discern the sentiments of the world.” Shōzō muttered abruptly, though the words were meant to convince himself. The following afternoon, Shōzō came to Shimosōda in Watarase Village through the drizzle without putting up the rickshaw’s hood. He alighted from the rickshaw, crossed the Watarase River’s boat bridge, stood for a while on the bank gazing at the river surface where small whirlpools ceaselessly swirled, then entered the moss-covered gate of Unryū Temple while muttering something to himself. As he stepped into the puddle and called out toward the priest’s quarters, Abbot Kurozaki Zen’ō—who seemed to have been writing a letter—emerged still holding his brush. Though the title “Zen’ō” suggested an elderly master, his brow—imbued with the passion of a man still in his twenties—seemed oddly mismatched with the white monastic robes. As they were old acquaintances, Shōzō unceremoniously stepped onto the damp tatami and threw open the eastern shoji of the inner room. Whenever he came, Mount Tsukuba—which he had always enjoyed viewing from afar—was nowhere to be seen; there was only the vast movement of clouds framed by the lintel and threshold.

Eventually, Kobayashi Zenkichi from within the village and Niwada Tsunekiyo from Azuma Village on the opposite bank—who had apparently arranged a meeting with Shōzō in advance—arrived accompanied by several young men. Once they had settled into a circle in the tatami room, discussion immediately turned to the Arbitration Committee’s activities. When the victims’ representatives had earlier been summoned to Ashikaga District Office and pressed into arbitration, the political clash between the Tanaka and Kimura factions inadvertently sparked controversy, leading three Kimura faction committee members—Hayakawa, Hirose, and Kageyama—to split from the Arbitration Committee and form a separate Mining Pollution Assessment Committee. According to Niwada’s reports, agents from this faction now roamed near Azuma Village, with Village Mayor Kameda Sahyō and his subordinates already tilting toward accepting a settlement. Both Hayakawa and Kameda had been pioneers in rising against mining pollution—figures Shōzō himself had once lauded for their leadership. All the more reason their subsequent betrayal struck him as profoundly lamentable even for their own sakes. Through Kobayashi’s account, it grew clear that in Gunma Prefecture too, members of both Arbitration and Assessment Committees competed fiercely to beguile the affected residents—the situation having reached a perilous state.

To Shōzō, the bureaucrats’ schemes and the local assembly members’ plots—the ugly underbellies of all their machinations—lay utterly transparent. The affected residents were likely deceived by propaganda into believing that ore dust collectors were devices to prevent mining pollution. The deadline for their installation was merely scheduled for the end of June next year. Yet the damage only continued to spread with each passing day. Moreover, even if they were installed, the mining pollution that had settled on the riverbed over many years would not easily disappear—no, with each annual flood, it would only compound its toxic effects. At this critical juncture, should they be swayed by the trivial immediate gains of such frivolous thinking—that they could obtain any amount of settlement money—they would leave behind a century of regret. Settlements were a conspiratorial means to suppress the voices of mining pollution victims along the Watarase River. They must be made to understand in terms that even children and elders alike can grasp—so that they will protect their ancestral lands. Shōzō, suppressing the indignation in his heart, earnestly explained countermeasures and urged them to rise up. Then, turning to face the youths, he rephrased his words: “Ignorant people immediately cry ‘natural disasters’ at every turn, blaming everything on them.” “Volcanic eruptions, storms, ice and snow—indeed, these harm plants and living creatures.” “However, from the perspective of the human heart, what merely appears harmful—for instance, when humans pluck wheat ears to eat—cannot be denied as harming the wheat. Yet this seeming harm does not violate the natural order of heaven and earth.” “Plants and animals alike all exist under heaven’s mandate.” “Therefore, there is no such thing as natural disasters.” “Without grasping this truth, my fellow victims resign themselves to both mining pollution and floods as natural disasters.” “Mining pollution is by no means a natural disaster—it is Furukawa Ichibei’s greed, in other words, a man-made harm.” “The floods are also the result of reckless deforestation since around the 18th and 19th years of Meiji.” “This is an analogy: Suppose there is a man of exceedingly weak will who has a wife that wets the bed.” “Because the wife has some education, she persuades her husband that her bed-wetting is innate and a natural disaster.” “The husband is a fool; he concludes that if it’s a natural disaster, there’s nothing to be done.” “Before long, the wife became pregnant with a child.” “The wife tells her young child, ‘Miraculously, I escaped the natural disaster, but somehow the child has inherited my exact affliction…’ Deceived once more by her words, the husband finally accepts bed-wetting as a natural disaster.”

At the bizarre analogy, the entire group burst into muffled laughter. Shōzō himself started to open his mouth wide in laughter, but—

“No—this is no laughing matter! Both floods and mining pollution are akin to this bed-wetting natural disaster. If we liken these officials and lawmakers to the cunning wife, then the coastal victims are this foolish husband. If they keep crying themselves to sleep by calling it a natural disaster, they would indeed be inferior even to this foolish husband. It is your duty to awaken this foolish husband from his delusions and save these base, servile hearts. It is the duty of youths with new minds and pure hearts. Originally, the people of this Kantō region had been corrupted by their acclimation to the Tokugawa’s moderate oppression, and through over two hundred years of hereditary influence, their humility and endurance had warped into awe and servility, leaving feudalistic tendencies stubbornly intact. Nor is that all. When the Tokugawa once wielded power to steer the nation, even mighty domains like Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, and Hizen swallowed their tears and submitted. But now that Satsuma and Chōshū have held national dominance for over twenty years, they strive to humiliate our Kantō and Tōhoku—all under the guise of avenging decades of past oppression. They particularly despise those affiliated with the Tokugawa and demean Kantō, regarding our Kantō as nothing more than livestock in a garden. Due to this, the feudal abuses of over two hundred years grew increasingly severe, and alas, we Kantō people have completely lost our autonomy and become listless and dispirited. They have even developed the habit of fawning over those in power as slaves without feeling shame themselves. To rescue Kantō from this corruption and restore its vitality can only be achieved by none other than the strength of us Kantō people ourselves...”

Evening mist crept into the tatami room, and the people’s faces became indistinguishable, only the glints of their eyes remaining floating in the air like scattered points. The rain outside seemed to have stopped, and in the cedar grove behind, three or four crows could be heard cawing as if hastening the dusk.

However, even Shōzō’s efforts were akin to trying to hold back a raging torrent with one hand. The inexorable tide of settlement agreements swept through village after village along the Watarase River. The Arbitration Committee members themselves raced back and forth between the affected villages and Furukawa throughout summer and autumn, driving matters forward until contracts were exchanged in succession.

In Asso District: Ueno and Sakai Villages and Inubushi Town; in Shimotsuga District: Fujioka Town, and the villages of Namitake, Beya, Nomizu, Mikamo, and Yanaka. The total affected area under the concluded contracts amounted to 2,956 *chō*, 5 *tan*, 7 *se*, and 28 *bu*, involving 4,978 individuals, with a total settlement amount of 48,987 yen, 32 *sen*, and 9 *rin* being disbursed. While this sum might appear substantial at first glance, calculated per *tan*, it averaged a mere 1 yen and 66 *sen*. Meanwhile, by March of the following year, the maneuvers of the Assessment Committee faction had gradually encroached upon Ashikaga Town and the villages of Azuma, Keno, Tomita, Komata, Sakanishi, Yanada, Tsukuba, and Yamabe, where self-styled representatives stamped their seals on contracts. The settlement terms followed essentially identical patterns. Furthermore, in Gunma Prefecture, while the four villages of Nishiyata, Ōshima, Watase, and Tatara in Ora District accepted settlements of 2 yen per *tan*, Yamada and Nitta Districts saw averages plunging to an inconceivable 8 *rin* per *tan*.

Earlier, Home Minister Soejima Taneomi had resigned indignantly when his ambitions were obstructed by undercurrents within the cabinet, but Matsukata personally assumed the role to steer through parliament and transferred Kōno Togama to head the Home Ministry on July 14th. In other words, Kōno methodically executed post-facto measures for election interference and resolutely dismissed several governors. This consequently became the catalyst for open friction among cabinet ministers, and on the twenty-eighth of that same month, the Matsukata cabinet brought about its own fate of collapse.

On August 8th, the second Itō cabinet was formed, but its composition amounted to nothing more than a rotation of domain-clique politicians. Only Watanabe Kunitake of the Ministry of Finance, being from Shinshu, was regarded by society as an anomaly—one deemed sufficient to signal a societal transformation.

On November 25th, the Fourth Diet was convened. Looking back, with the Diet now in session, our nation had entered an era of advancing its course through constitutional governance—yet this remained merely a continuation of that transitional period seeking that very path. Therefore, unavoidable transitional chaos persisted, and as Meiji 25 drew to a close, political circles remained shrouded in dark clouds. Yet these upheavals must ultimately be traced to that distant rupture over Korean expedition debates which had cast disaffected figures into political exile. Taking root in their home provinces, they nurtured anti-government fervor among discontented civilians until people's rights movements spread like wildfire across parched plains, their momentum reaching unprecedented intensity. Amidst this climate, though convened under such circumstances, the government still made no effort to rally public sentiment through political campaigns—obsessively fearing that half-measured achievements since Restoration might come to naught—and instead devoted itself wholly to preserving domain cliques. Here conflict became inevitable regardless of avoidance. The party men's goal was undeniably a party cabinet; yet as means toward gaining such influence they exploited popular anti-government sentiments indiscriminately—seizing any pretext for attack regardless of policy merits. Their actions even assumed aspects of attacks for attack's sake and conflict for conflict's sake. Moreover beneath this clash over power and achievement lay tangled contradictions between imported constitutional theories and Japanese political thought—rendering disputes increasingly grotesque. Upon entering this Fourth Diet's term, discord arose among Liberal and Progressive factions—the so-called people's parties—leading some to believe turmoil had shifted course; yet when budget review proposals emerged government and legislature indeed faced each other like opposing fortress walls. On January 16th of Meiji 26 [1893], parliament itself resolved upon five days' recess demanding governmental reflection; yet when submitting an imperial address soon after, ministers retaliated by petitioning fifteen days' suspension—thus carrying over murderous tensions until suspension's end unchanged. Thus on February 7th parliament resumed deliberating that address before passing it.

On February 10th, an imperial rescript titled "Edict Addressed to the Ministers in Attendance at Court" was issued. The rescript declared: “Behold how nations across the world advance with ever-increasing urgency each day. Should We at this juncture prolong disputes while neglecting grand designs—thereby missing opportunities to advance Our nation’s fortunes—this would neither honor Our ancestors’ august spirits nor follow the path to reaping constitutional governance’s splendid fruits.” It was also at this time that an imperial proclamation ordered six years of annual allocations—300,000 yen drawn from reductions in Imperial Court expenditures—as supplementary funds for naval vessel construction. This measure came in response to the people’s parties having savagely cut into the government’s budget proposal under the pretext of restoring public vitality and reducing administrative costs, thereby igniting the conflict. Thereupon, the House of Representatives convened from the 13th to pass a formal response address, while the government publicly pledged concessions—thus bringing the month-long conflict to a close—after which all subsequent bills passed without incident.

During this period, Shōzō repeatedly rose to request the floor, but he never gained an opportunity to address the mining pollution issue. The surrounding political situation did not afford that leeway. As for conditions in the affected areas, the schemes behind the earlier settlement agreements had steadily expanded their reach, and even among the afflicted residents, many now complied submissively with these terms—thereby allowing [the perpetrators] to fortify their positions. Thus, the words and deeds of the Arbitration Committee members were met with gratitude, while Shōzō’s warnings about the looming crisis and his tireless efforts gradually came to be neglected and despised. Just as Shōzō himself had once prophesied, by burying the voices of mining pollution victims from that region, he too came to feel as though a gag order had been imposed upon him.

Chapter Six

The Tonghak Party of Korea defeated the government troops and occupied Jeonju's capital. It was May 31, 1894. Yuan Shikai, the Qing minister, secretly deemed the time ripe and incited Min Yeongjun to propose borrowing troops from a neighboring country to suppress the rebels. The Treaty of Tientsin had stipulated that whenever either Japan or Qing China deployed troops to Korea, they must notify each other beforehand. But Yuan Shikai ignored this, having assessed Japan's domestic turmoil and calculated it lacked capacity for sudden overseas deployment. He concluded no better opportunity existed to quell the rebellion with Qing forces and subjugate Korea as a dependent territory.

In fact, when considering our national circumstances—where friction between the government and the people’s parties had persisted for years—Japan must have appeared from overseas to be mired in ceaseless political strife and extreme chaos. Particularly in the Fourth Diet, it had seemed the conflict was resolved through an imperial edict; however, when Foreign Minister Mutsu Munemitsu embarked on the arduous task of treaty revision, voices attacking the government boiled over once more. The revision of treaties had been attempted and thwarted multiple times by previous governments; this time, the administration aimed to achieve swift realization by permitting foreigners to reside in the interior. Yet coinciding with this, Ōishi Masami’s appointment as Minister Resident to Korea and his resolution of the long-standing Grain Export Prohibition Incident through forceful negotiations galvanized the hardline foreign policy faction, who now insisted diplomacy required such firmness—thereby swiftly uniting them in opposition to foreign residence in the interior.

Furthermore, on November 15, 1893, the Chishima Maru Incident resulted in Japan’s defeat at the British Consular Court in Yokohama. The incident originated when a warship that the government had commissioned from France was being transported into the Seto Inland Sea but collided with the British dispatch vessel *Ravenna* and was reduced to seaweed-like debris on the seabed. It was an event that had occurred at midnight on October 30, 1892. The government filed a lawsuit seeking damages for this incident, but opposition groups denounced the use of the Emperor’s august name as presumptuous and condemned the act of bringing the case before a foreign court as a national disgrace. They shifted from their previous stance against mixed residence to rally under the anti-government banner of strict treaty enforcement, and amid disputes over this proposal to uphold existing treaties, the Diet—already in recess—was dissolved on December 30th.

Subsequently, a general election was held on March 1, 1894. Shōzō defeated Kimura Hachibei in Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District and was elected for the third time. Through this general election, criticism and indignation—denouncing the previous Diet’s dissolution as unlawful and seeking to silence debates on hardline foreign policies—came to lead public opinion, creating a situation where, ahead of the impending parliament, the opposition parties were poised to charge into government attacks like warhorses champing at their bits. During this period, another incident suddenly erupted that shocked the advocates of hardline foreign policy. Specifically, on March 30th, all newspapers in the Eastern Capital simultaneously published reports that Kim Ok-gyun, a Korean patriot, had been assassinated at an inn in Shanghai. Kim Ok-gyun had fled to Japan alongside Park Yeonghyo following the Gapsin Coup of 1884, and for ten years thereafter lived a life of exile under the alias Iwata Shūsaku, protected by Japanese sympathizers. On the 23rd, he had departed for Shanghai in response to an invitation from Li Jingfang—son of Li Hongzhang—accompanied by Wu Jingxian (a Qing national), Hong Jong-u (a Korean), and Wada Nobutaro (a Japanese national). Upon arriving at a Shanghai inn on the 27th, he was shot dead that very night by Hong Jong-u. According to later reports, Wada had attempted to prepare the corpse for return to Japan but was thwarted by Qing authorities; moreover, it was revealed that the Qing warship *Weiyuan* had transported both the corpse and Jong-u to Incheon. Furthermore, the assassination had been carried out under a secret decree from the Korean court, and the corpse was dismembered into head and limbs before being displayed separately at Yōka Port. Rumors abounded that all these measures had been instigated by the Qing government. The public’s sentiment toward Qing China grew increasingly hostile.

On May 15th, the Sixth Diet was convened. At the very outset, an impeachment address proposal by the six-party coalition of hardline foreign policy factions, led by the Progressive Party, was presented, and the Liberal Party also separately submitted an impeachment address proposal. Debates raged, plunging the assembly into frequent chaos, but ultimately the Liberal Party’s proposal was amended and passed. On June 2nd, Speaker Kusumoto Masataka was summoned to attend at the Imperial Palace; upon returning to the Diet, as he was reporting that the address had not been adopted, the edict of dissolution was delivered to his desk.

It was several days later, on June 7th, that the Qing government mobilized approximately 1,600 troops toward Korea under Commander-in-Chief Ye Zhichao. Subsequently, two warships commanded by Admiral Ding Ruchang also headed for Incheon. At this juncture, our nation urgently reinstated Minister Ōshima Keisuke—who had been temporarily recalled—to his post in Korea. When Qing advance forces landed at Asan on the 9th, Ōshima came ashore at Incheon with a naval landing force. He simultaneously announced their purpose was to protect Japanese residents there. The mixed brigade led by Army Major General Ōshima Yoshimasa then arrived at Incheon and entered Keijō on the 13th. The Tonghak Party dissolved spontaneously upon sensing the shifting tides. However, new disputes over troop withdrawal arose between Japan and Qing China as July waned under gathering war clouds—until dawn broke on the 25th.

The First Mobile Squadron, commanded by Rear Admiral Tsuboi Kōzō, encountered the Qing warships *Jiyuan* and *Guangyi* off Pungdo, and it was the *Jiyuan*’s opening salvo that initiated the first exchange of fire. At last, hostilities between both nations had commenced.

On August 1st, the imperial edict declaring war was issued. On September 15th, the Imperial General Headquarters was relocated to Hiroshima. On land, Pyongyang was captured on the 16th; at sea, a great victory was secured in the Yellow Sea on the 17th. The Seventh Provisional Diet was convened in Hiroshima on October 15th, and on the 18th, all members of the House of Peers and House of Representatives gathered in Hiroshima to hold the opening ceremony. Prior to this, on September 1st, a general election was held, and Tanaka Shōzō was elected for the fourth time. Thus, Shōzō too attended the parliament in Hiroshima and returned to the capital immediately after concluding its opening ceremony on October 22nd.

One evening not long after returning to the capital, Shōzō appeared unceremoniously at the lodging of Toizumi—students from his home region in Waseda Tsurumakichō—while swinging the sleeves of his ever-present black-crested haori. The three young students, who had been gathered around an extra edition of the newspaper intently discussing the war situation, were startled by the sight of Shōzō standing on the veranda and exclaimed in unison. “Oh! You’ve already returned to the capital? You’re as swift as a courier!” “Truly, it was indeed that courier-like journey.” “After all, today is no ordinary situation—we must do our utmost in our own way.”

“Now that you mention it, it was in the newspapers too,” one student remarked. They said this Diet session had swept through all proceedings with unstoppable momentum in just two days—Yamada Tomojirou pulled out a thin floor cushion from beneath his knees and offered it, urging him to share stories from his travels. “Harmonious cooperation—it was indeed a solemn parliament,” Tanaka began. “Though around the opening, partisan sentiments among the members seemed murky.” “…But this is no domestic war—it’s truly an extraordinary conflict.” “Unless the entire nation unites in action, we cannot nobly achieve this war’s purpose.” “The Imperial Edict of Declaration of War itself speaks of swiftly and eternally restoring peace.” “This war aims to secure peace across the Orient.” “With the Orient’s climate gone awry, our military ventures into enemy lands as lightning and thunder to restore balance.” “We on the home front—administrators and citizens alike—must become the wind and rain that aid those lightning-strike forces.” “We bear the responsibility to transform into wind and rain, supporting this thunderous momentum.” “Thus, though I had many questions to raise, given these circumstances I held back and instead offered encouragement to the government in that spirit.” “But this doesn’t mean blind obedience suffices.” “Since even government officials cannot attend to every matter flawlessly, we must keep vigilant eyes and voice complaints or advice when things prove detrimental.” “The government ought to listen humbly and gratefully—if they demand obedience merely convenient to themselves while calling it ‘harmonious collaboration,’ that would spell disaster.” “Such preposterous notions of harmonious collaboration have no place under heaven.” “That would be compelling sycophancy toward authority.”

As Shōzō’s words ceased, deep rope-like furrows formed across his forehead, and his gaze took on an uncanny gleam. The abhorrent impressions he had witnessed and heard in Hiroshima resurfaced in vivid detail. Under the Imperial General Headquarters—even as His Majesty the Emperor agonized over matters of national survival—a certain minister had spread scandals involving womanizing and licentious conduct. However, keeping those matters buried deep in his heart, Shōzō changed his tone and, “I heard a truly heartening story in Hiroshima this time. A man named Munakata Kotarō, despite being a mere commoner, presented himself in the front garden of the Imperial General Headquarters and was granted a personal audience; afterward, through his close aides, His Majesty made detailed inquiries for two hours about the situation in China.”

“It was in the recent newspapers too.” “He worked as a spy in Chefoo and barely escaped with his life before returning…” Emori Yasukichi interjected. “It was His Majesty’s specific command that he wear Chinese clothing during his stay in China for the audience, so Munakata, deeply moved, presented himself in the guise of a Chinese person stained with the hues of hardship.” “What an august command!” Shōzō’s voice trembled as he cast his eyes toward the eaves. In the dusk, the yellow leaves of the paulownia tree rustled dryly. After a period of this silence, he turned back to look at the three who were sitting properly with their knees neatly folded,

“You gentlemen must be about to prepare dinner. My apologies, but I’ll impose myself on your hospitality.” “As per our usual state of penury, we’re as poor as ever—though I do at least have funds for sake.” “Would someone make a quick run to fetch a sake flask?”

Tamura Yoshijūrō stood up. “Shall I order the Yanagawa hotpot as usual?”

Yamada fed dried branches into the portable clay stove he’d placed on a garden stone, fanning it noisily with a tattered rag to stoke the flames, while Emori cleaned the lamp’s glass chimney and lit it. Before long, Tamura returned carrying the plain sake flask. Following close behind, the ordered Yanagawa hotpot arrived. Setting the desk beneath the lamp, they promptly began their modest feast. Shōzō poured sake alternately into the three youths’ cups while studying their faces intently, his expression radiating pure delight at sharing this drink with them.

“Professor, what’s wrong? You’re staring like a startled owl,” Yamada asked with a blunt expression that anticipated a jest. “No, I was simply gazing at your faces—though it may have been rude—because I find it so heartening to think that young people like yourselves will work earnestly to improve and advance Japan from here on.” “Professor, even if you flatter us like that, tonight’s feast ends here.” “No, this is no joke. The Japan of the future will differ from the era five or six years ago when pseudo-heroes and petty opportunists were stirring up society. Generally speaking, today’s older generation certainly has experience, but when it comes to operating the newly established political system—even in the political sphere since the Meiji government—they leave behind nothing but deeply problematic antiquated vestiges. Government officials are rife with these flaws, and our minds in the private sector are no exception.”

“But we’re mere students who still need to study before we can make our way in society.” “Therefore, regarding your studies as well, I want you not merely to absorb knowledge but to establish a firm resolve.” “As long as you firmly uphold this resolve, your specialized field may be in any discipline.” “Within humanity’s brief lifespan, one cannot master much specialized learning.” “Even those called scholars today haven’t truly mastered such vast arrays of disciplines.” “If you perfect even one thing with all your might, it will form the foundation for social reform and public morality.” “Yet Japan’s traditions deem one less than human unless versed in every skill and art.” “First, observe the Diet members.” “They meddle in every conceivable matter.” “Thus they grow irresponsible.” “They gravely lack public morality.” “Societal matters cannot be managed through armchair theorizing alone.” “You must thoroughly apply *kakubutsu-chichi*—investigating phenomena to attain knowledge—researching relentlessly until perfected.”

Shōzō poured sake into the three’s teacups using the flask’s mouth, slurped from his own cup with a noisy sip, and wiped his lips with his palm. “I believe it was around Meiji 20 when Mr. Ozaki Yukio—then serving as secretary of the Daidō Coalition—invited Tokyo-based politicians to San’entei in Shiba.” “Though I myself attended this invitation, my ignorance of Western dining etiquette left me thoroughly flustered.” “Fortunately, Mr. Takada Sanae happened to be present, so I took the seat beside him.” “Though today you see me dressed in these fine clothes—” As the three students began to giggle, Shōzō pressed his hand down to silence them,

“At that time, I was wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in ages, so they already reeked, and since Mr. Takada knew full well that I was crawling with lice, he turned away like this.” Shōzō made a pained face and shrugged his shoulders, causing the three to burst into laughter. “However, by imitating Mr. Takada’s actions, I somehow managed to finish eating, but I was startled when a bottle suddenly thrust out from around my shoulder to pour me sake.” “I was startled but managed not to make a fool of myself then. But just as I was leaving—thinking this white thing across my chest would make a good handkerchief—when I tried to tuck it into my waist and head home, that waiter grabbed me firmly. Ah hah hah!”

The three involuntarily clapped their hands and laughed. "In that way, while I know nothing of table etiquette or proper dining methods, I understand the true essence of cooking." "The flavor of food isn't something you comprehend just by eating what's served before you." "You must first go down to the kitchen yourself—pound bones, wash rice, prepare miso, split firewood and draw water—only by personally handling all these preparations can you truly grasp taste." "Take one step further—enter mountains to cut firewood, work fields to grow rice—only through enduring every grain of hardship do you comprehend true flavor." "The same applies to social reform. Today's so-called scholars are like mere cooks, while our task is to undertake the actual work of growing rice ourselves." "Modern scholars misunderstand cooking's fundamental nature." "Politicians are no different." "When speaking of two exceptional politicians today, we can only point to Prince Itō Hirobumi and Count Ōkuma Shigenobu." "Both men are undoubtedly skilled." "Yet if pressed, they're more adept at indulging in sweets at the table." "To be fair, that's not their sole quality." "They've both endured considerable hardships—personally washing rice in kitchens, pounding miso, even chopping firewood—setting them apart from typical groveling bureaucrats." "They're certainly different, yet neither has entered mountains to gather firewood themselves nor cultivated rice." "In contrast, Kido and Saigō of old personally entered mountains and worked fields." "But today's politicians and scholars lack understanding of this true essence—they've adopted policies of mindlessly dumping sugar to sweeten mouths, deeming it sufficient if people are pleased." "As a result, Japan has fallen into ideological disarray." "Fragmented and incoherent—it teeters on becoming a lawless dark society."

“But Professor,” Yamada, who had been listening in admiration, interjected. “Japan is now on a winning streak. If we press forward with this momentum, we could even force the enemy to sue for peace under our castle walls.” “I believe Japan’s future is boundless, but—” “As you say, the people are ecstatic with the victory reports from the battlefield.” “However, it is precisely for this reason that I worry about the dawn when victory’s triumphal songs will sound.” “At present, the people’s hearts may be united against external enemies, and on the surface, the nation may appear to be gaining strength—yet in terms of constitutional governance’s spiritual foundation, we remain ensnared by yesterday’s ideological chaos. I fear that if we raise triumphal songs without reflecting on this, both leaders and citizens will grow arrogant and insolent, rendering the nation’s preservation precarious indeed.” “The adverse effects of lacking public morality will manifest even amidst this war.” “In a frigid place like Manchuria, where the cold will only grow harsher and soldiers are on the verge of freezing to death as they endure their hardships—yet back home, some officers rot with corruption, government-contracted merchants fester with depravity, those scoundrels reek—who knows what evils fester in the shadows? I don’t wish to make dire predictions, but I can see it clear as day.”

Shōzō fixed his eyes on the stained wall, remained silent for a moment, then continued. “Therefore, I must have you young people with fresh minds carry this out resolutely.” “What I ask of you is to raise clean banners—righteous banners—in this world.” “Under those banners, you must have the gathered youths devote themselves to mutual spiritual refinement.” “Otherwise, even with military victories, Japan’s preservation will hang in doubt.”

Having said that far, Shōzō assumed a relieved expression,

“Ah, tonight has been truly delightful.” “Let’s recite another poem,” he rasped—then intoned Du Fu’s *Poor Relations* in a gravelly voice: *Turn your hand and conjure clouds, cover it to summon rain—why tally the fickle throng?* After finishing, “Well, shall we have dinner?” Shōzō rose himself and carried the earthen pot from the veranda. The three each served warm rice and began crunching on takuan pickles.

Shōzō looked between the three faces as he said, “What do you think? This is a proposal—won’t you let me join your group? Let’s live together and cook for ourselves. As I said earlier, I know exactly how to wash rice and prepare meals properly. Hahaha!” “But this is a student boardinghouse—it’s too crude for a politician like you, Professor,” came the reply. Yamada wore an expression caught between belief and doubt, uncertain how serious Shōzō truly was. Yet Shōzō kept shrugging his shoulders insistently as he argued back.

“What nonsense.” “Is there any law forbidding politicians from living in crude boarding houses?” “It’s precisely because politicians dwell in grand mansions—gorging on warm robes and lavish feasts—that the world plunges into darkness.” “That may suit you, Professor, but we’ll suffer for it.” Tamura interjected in objection. “Having a politician around will disrupt our studies.” “Especially when you get tipsy and start bellowing Tang poetry—it becomes intolerable.” “Ah, that cuts deep!” He laughed. “If my recitals vex you, I’ll abstain.” “I’ll neither hinder your studies nor cause any trouble.” “This is an earnest plea—don’t rebuff me so coldly. Give it genuine consideration.”

Shōzō now adopted an attitude of complete supplication. This later came to pass. Furthermore, in the autumn of the following year, the four of them set up a household at Waseda 36-banchi and named it the Heimin Club. However, Shōzō himself, perpetually occupied with pressing matters, never stayed long with the students; he would drift in unexpectedly and vanish just as suddenly. The purpose was twofold: to immerse himself in the youths’ invigorating atmosphere, and to establish a foundation for local young men’s studies.

That night, he squeezed into the students’ futons for a crude night’s sleep; the next morning, Shōzō wandered out aimlessly. He rushed straight to Ueno Station and boarded a train, soon arriving at the Harada residence in Ashikaga Town. By chance, Sadasuke had returned from an errand and was stepping into the bath; upon seeing Shōzō’s face, he first acknowledged his arduous journey. But Shōzō no sooner sat down than abruptly—

“It’s the usual imposition, but I need to borrow some money again.” “I’m completely penniless right now.” “Given your long journey, that’s only natural.” “But I’ll handle your affairs—let’s discuss that later. First, please take a bath.”

“I see,” Shōzō said calmly, standing up on the veranda and removing his hakama. “It seems I’m thought to be quite fond of baths.” “Wherever I go, I’m immediately urged to take one.” Sadasuke burst out laughing. “That’s because you leave behind those ‘souvenirs’ of yours everywhere you go, Uncle.” “Don’t be absurd—it’s not as if I’m always raising lice!” “Moreover, lice are a patriot’s medal—those who scorn them aren’t worth conversing with!”

With that retort, Shōzō—now completely naked and wearing *geta*—hopped across the stepping stones through the newly falling rain while humming a tune, disappearing toward the bathhouse.

Not even ten minutes later, Shōzō went up to the second floor, slid open the *shoji* screens, and gazed at the back mountain where autumn leaves streamed their colors amidst the rain and evening mist. But when Sadasuke came upstairs, he abruptly— “During this trip, I also pondered why Japanese soldiers are so strong—and I realized it’s by no means accidental.” “That is precisely the point—the power of the new education system, of elementary schooling.” “Since the promulgation of the Education Order in Meiji 7 [1874], this new education system was established—and thus its implementation remains recent.” “However, the current soldiers are precisely at the age where they have completed this elementary curriculum.” “In other words, in Japan, those above the age of majority and those below it have become almost like separate races inhabiting different nations, with ceaseless renewal constantly underway.” “Of course, this is not the only reason—there are other significant causes as well.” “The Japanese spirit passed down from antiquity—namely, national ideology, isolationist ideology, and loyalty to the Emperor—these deeply inspire morale.” “Since it is the small striking against the large, there is a decisive resolve—they are earnest.” “In contrast, the enemy, being large and striking small, harbors contempt in their hearts.” “Moreover, when you examine their nation, it lacks a cohesive national ideology and merely reveres its monarch in a feudal manner. Thus, when the monarch himself is wise, the nation remains strong; but once the ruler becomes mediocre, their morale fails to rise.” “In Japan’s case—where both good and evil alike revere and cherish the Emperor as one—the difference is as vast as heaven and earth.” “Moreover, today’s China finds itself in an era of profound moral decay among its people and great societal decline; consequently, its military preparedness remains woefully inadequate.” “Precisely at such a time, when we exploit their weaknesses with our strengths, the outcome is evident.”

“That’s absolutely true.” “There has never been a time like today when each and every person has contemplated the nation’s survival.” “Everyone is earnest.” “Because of that, their hostility is truly formidable.” “Even here in Ashikaga, the uneducated masses are so bluntly hostile toward China that they’re making a fuss about not even worshipping at the Confucius Temple anymore.” “The effects of war truly manifest in unexpected places.” “Politicians must pay attention to the sentiments of the people… China is in great moral decay; as a result, it will be defeated.” “But what would become of Japan if it were to descend into chaos upon triumphing?” “Moreover, there is ample reason for such apprehension.”

Shōzō, having said that once more, could not help voicing the sorrow deep in his heart. After letting out a loud sneeze and closing the *shoji* screen, he continued in a muttering tone:

“Even now, people both high and low are growing arrogant.” “They view others with a sense akin to climbing onto a rooftop and looking down upon dogs or horses in the yard.” “Those who view the nation with the heart of a beggar sleeping on a bed of grass under a bridge, gazing at the bright moon, grow ever fewer.” Sadasuke stared intently at Shōzō’s condition in the dim light: “How has your health been lately? Did the rheumatism act up during your trip?” “There was nothing particularly wrong.” “During this May’s parliamentary session, I was hospitalized at Juntendo while commuting to parliament—barely managed to lean against a chair for twelve hours; that was all I could manage.” “That’s where Dr. Shinozaki of Konaka used to work—because of that connection, the director and everyone there treat me well.” “Illness is a loss indeed, but I find there’s an aspect where I take pleasure in being sick.” “It’s all well and good to spend all three hundred sixty-five days of the year free from illness, but when the mind races outward alone, the heart’s capacity for self-reflection grows thin.” “An uneducated man like me especially suffers many such drawbacks.” “When I happen to fall ill and take to bed, I gain leisurely days and bright moons, and my heart greatly expands.” “Therefore, even when my physical ailments aren’t particularly severe, I sometimes get hospitalized to heal my mental afflictions.” “Moreover, there are times when hospitals are convenient.” “If I’m hospitalized, I can avoid meeting people I don’t want to see.” “During this May, farmers involved in the disturbance at the Koganehara Reclamation Area came to the hospital wearing tattered clothes and with pale faces to lodge their complaints.” “I gladly meet with these people.” “They said, ‘If you reclaim the land, we’ll give it to you,’ but then took everything that had been reclaimed since the beginning of Meiji and handed it all over to some company.” “When I heard their story, I truly couldn’t remain silent out of pity, so I raised this issue in parliament alongside the Hokkaido Coal Mine Railway matter.”

“At this Hiroshima Parliament session, was there something…” “No, no,” Shōzō shook his head. After recounting Hiroshima’s circumstances in full, he continued: “In such conditions—even from the standpoint of nurturing national strength—it was an issue we couldn’t neglect for a single day. Yet we lacked even the margin to touch upon the mining pollution incident.” “Dissolution after dissolution—and then this war.” “For those in the mining pollution areas, this is truly a great misfortune—yet unavoidable.”

When Shōzō spoke gravely, Sadasuke fixed him with a probing gaze, “Uncle, I think it would be best if you stepped away from the mining pollution incident for a while.” “You fool! Who do you think would back down?” Shōzō shouted angrily, “But now they’ve fallen into the copper mine faction’s trap with their settlement agreements—that’s why they can’t speak out!” “In areas where settlements have been reached, haven’t you heard that village heads and representatives even sent their gratitude to the arbitration committee members? Last summer and autumn as well, even though you traveled around the affected villages warning them, there was no one who would listen to your admonitions.”

“That’s right—the more I earnestly warned them that resigning to underhanded settlement agreements would lead to ruin, the more I was shunned and disliked.” Sadasuke lifted the lamp brought by the girl from below and, with a sympathetic gaze, looked at Shōzō, who appeared even more shadowed in its flickering light. “That’s only natural.” “The truth is, unspeakable slander is being spread.” “There are people who went out of their way to come and inform me.” “Tanaka is quite the old fox.” “While openly attacking Mutsu and Furukawa, behind the scenes he had local influential party members extract ¥100,000 from Ichibei and distributed it to the victims—but he also lined his own pockets.” “By doing so, he helped expand the local party and bought the favor of the electorate.” “Tanaka is truly an old fox…”

“I’ve heard about that matter too.” “That such rumors circulate speaks to my own failings—if Tanaka is that sort of man, so be it—but the slander against the victims cuts deeper.” “This clamor about ‘mining pollution damage’ amounts to little in truth.” “Their grandstanding comes down to farmers lining their own pockets.” “They call peasants honest? Nothing’s more cunning than a farmer.” “—That’s the way of it.” “These simple folk were tricked into taking coin, their ancestral fields poisoned—and now this shame stains them.”

Shozo assumed a grave expression and moved his gnarled hands like tree knots atop the folds of his hakama trousers. “What day was it this New Year... It must have been shortly after the dissolution on the thirtieth day of the year’s end.” “Even speaking of election preparations—there’s not a shred of campaign funding to be had; this wretched poverty leaves me unable to return home.” “As I sat knee-to-knee with Kawakami Botarō, tilting my head in thought over what to do, some scoundrel arrived claiming it was for me—delivering a pair of money envelopes.” “When Kawakami brought them from the entrance asking what to do, I resolutely ordered them returned.” “Later when Kawakami pressed me regretfully—‘Why refuse?’—I told him we couldn’t accept filthy money. ‘Visit Hiyama,’ I said, ‘and you’ll learn its source.’”

“Was it delivered from Hiyama Rokuzaburō?” “When Kawakami met Hiyama, he said Mr. Tanaka should have secured military funds.” “That’s how Furukawa’s schemes operate.” “Now I understand the basis for the slander.” “When their bribery failed, they spread malicious rumors instead—is that it?”

Shōzō did not answer that and silently directed his eyes to the tokonoma.

Destroying homes, injuring people, setting fires—how can the people’s smoke ever rise?

Two years prior, his own written work hung there, crudely mounted. The intense election interference of that time—when Sadasuke’s father had campaigned in straw sandals—and that Yamakawa came vividly back to him.

The next day, Shōzō came to Shimohata in Azuma Village via Keno Village and Tomita Village. From here, crossing the Watarase River would bring one a little over one ri to Tatebayashi.

When Shōzō got off the rickshaw beside Niwada Tsunekichi’s house, he passed through a wide bamboo grove and emerged at the riverbank. At the riverside bathed in the setting sun, gravel mixed with boulders had piled up in towering heaps. A large tree that must have been swept from somewhere—testament to the force of past floods—lay buried in the sediment, its withered leaves still clinging. The gravel’s appearance and its color were both desolate, giving a sense that the ferocity of the floods had somehow changed. The river water flowing through the distance appeared darkened, perhaps due to the overcast sky, and seemed to take on a color that held poison deep within its depths. Shōzō stood motionless, the cold river wind fluttering the hem of his hakama, seemingly oblivious to the clamorous noise of the bamboo grove.

“Oh! What are you doing here?” When called out to and turning around, he found Niwada’s father—a man of about his own age—standing right beside him, his ruddy face gleaming with one eye as he smirked, “The rickshaw driver said he’d brought you here, so I brewed some bitter tea thinking I’d hear about Hiroshima—but when I came out, here you are standing like Benkei in his final stance!” Shōzō, while looking back toward the riverbank once more, “Genpachi-san, the riverbed seems to have risen significantly—”

“That’s right—it just keeps getting higher with each year’s floods.” “The other day, when I dug into the ground in the front garden, it had formed multiple layers—each two or three *sun* thick.” “Each time there was a flood, that much sediment was left behind.” “Given how things work, the riverbed’s bound to rise five *sun* or even a full *shaku* with every flood.” “Hmm, hmm—that must be the case. "That bastard Furukawa—not only has he clear-cut 7,000 *chōbu* of mountain forest, but now under the cover of this wartime chaos, he’s been illegally logging the mountains around the copper mine." "On top of that, the smoke damage from the copper mine smelter has been withering the mountain forests throughout the neighboring areas." “If you climb up to those mountain slopes and look around, for several miles in every direction—east and west as far as the eye can see—there’s nothing but barren mountains.” "No matter how evil the deed, one cannot condemn people based on rumors alone—so I sent someone to investigate." "The report from those who have seen the site firsthand is exactly as described." “The smoke contains a particular ash that, upon contact, causes leaves to wither instantly.” “It’s not just the trees—the bamboo grass, the grass—even the moss has withered away.” “Then the mountain soil and rocks are certain to collapse.” “It’s precisely because the mountain forests grow so densely, with tree roots intertwined like palm fibers, that they firmly support even the soil and rocks that would otherwise collapse.”

“Moreover, with each flood, the riverbanks get buried and toxic water comes in, so for years now there hasn’t been a single fish to be seen.” “Of course, the fishermen are gone, and old folks like me have lost our pleasures,” Genpachi said with hollow laughter. “In the old days, from this time onward into winter, we’d often set bamboo fish traps.” “What was fascinating was this contraption called a tawara-zen—we’d make a large bamboo basket about three feet wide and twelve feet long, wrap it in sedge mats, then lay it flat with planks, bamboo leaves, straw, and buckwheat husks inside. We’d catch four or five bushels of crucian carp, catfish, large shrimp, and small fish.” “It’s a story from thirty years ago now. Ono Bunemon of Funatsugawa couldn’t haul it up alone, so he called three or four people to help pull it up—and when they did, three straw mats were filled to the brim with three *koku* of fish.” “Well, that there was a once-in-a-lifetime haul.” “Ha ha ha….” “Today’s youth—even if you tell them such stories, none of them will believe it.”

Shōzō stood as if he hadn't been listening at all,

“This will inevitably bring a massive landslide.” “This may sound like prophesying disaster, but if left unattended, a landslide is absolutely inevitable!”

Another fierce gust of wind blew in, stirring the entire bamboo grove behind them. Just then, Tsunekichi came to call them into the house. Shōzō asked about the harvest as they made their way through the bamboo grove together.

“It’s not worth discussing,” Tsunekichi said with a grim expression, shaking his head. “As you know, there are fifteen chō of fields around the main family’s new residence, but the only thing that yielded any harvest was the mulberry plants.” “Even when they painstakingly remove one or two shaku of topsoil to cultivate it—the moment the wind blows, toxic sand falls; when rain comes, toxic water flows—every bud that begins to sprout withers away.” “I see,” Shōzō said with a pained expression. “With so many toxic mounds around here now, they must be making some effort since there’s at least a meager harvest.” “That’s what I’ve thought all along from my observations—”

“Even if farmers know it’s futile, they can’t not plant crops.”

The main family residence was a two-story structure befitting a wealthy household. When shown to the sitting room, Shōzō heard an even more unexpected account from Tsunekichi. A certain county official named Aoki from Ashikaga District had recently been visiting nearby villages and—exploiting the affected residents’ destitution—was scheming to force them into permanent settlement agreements by offering three or four yen per *tan* of farmland while demanding they renounce all future rights to lodge complaints, no matter what misfortunes might occur. He was reportedly enforcing this through threatening coercion.

“This reeks of Furukawa’s clerks doing his dirty work.” “They must have been taking money from Furukawa—but how dare officials bearing government titles degrade themselves into being Furukawa Ichibei’s slaves! What do they imagine today’s situation demands?” “Outrageous scoundrels!” Shōzō’s face flushed crimson as he roared. Tsunekichi fell silent under this onslaught, but Genpachi interjected from beside him: “Mr. Tanaka, venting your anger at us serves no purpose.”

As Genpachi forced a bitter smile, Shōzō fixed him with a piercing glare from his triangular eyes, then finally seemed to regain his senses and slumped his shoulders.

“No, it’s just… I’m not angry at you all, but when I hear such stories, I can’t help but lose my temper… So tell me—are there villagers here who’ve stamped those contracts swearing never to complain?” “I believe one or two might have,” Tsunekichi replied, stealing a furtive glance at Shōzō before continuing. “Their deceptions vary—claiming the Ashio Copper Mine’s veins will dry up within a year, so taking two or three yen now is better than nothing. They whisper, ‘This is just between us,’ as they approach. When people still refuse the money and won’t stamp the seals, they turn to threats. They send drunk ruffians to do their dirty work. Just days ago—a man named Yokotsuka Kichigorō was lured outside at night and beaten. ‘Your refusal stops others from taking the money,’ they said. ‘Consider this punishment for your selfishness.’ They pummeled him senseless.”

The anger he had barely managed to suppress in his chest welled up once more.

“If there happens to be an honest soul among us, it’s beyond reprehensible that those duty-bound to protect them would resort to violence.” “Such creatures are parasites devouring Japan from within!” “Vermin!” “If we cannot compel these petty officials to mend their wicked ways, Japan will rot into decay—victorious in war yet defeated in spirit!” “What mockery! Who here truly ‘disregards others’ suffering’?” “Report those scoundrels to the police box at once—give full descriptions of their faces!” “Never let them reduce you to silent suffering!”

Shōzō shook his clenched fist against his hakama-clad knee as he kept raging and roaring. “It was a dark night—they couldn’t see their faces,” he said. “But a neighbor went to fetch a constable, and with him there, they properly documented the wound patterns.”

“In that case, you must keep a close watch to ensure the police don’t handle this vaguely. You all must not consider this someone else’s affair—think of it as your own brother’s matter and please help them. And if such violence does not cease, you should document the circumstances in detail and file a complaint with the prefectural office. If the prefectural office proves ineffective, you should send it directly to the Home Ministry.” Tsunekichi looked back at Shōzō with a sorrowful gaze,

“The officials come claiming to be proxies of the county magistrate,” said Tsunekichi. “Given how far things have gone, there’s no telling where these secret directives originate.” Shōzō could not help but speculate about such matters. He stared at Tsunekichi and nodded deeply in silence, “Even after being deceived by settlement agreements before, have their eyes still not opened?” “You must drill it into the villagers through your own words—they must never stamp their seals on such absurd documents that take two or three yen per *tan* and forbid complaints for eternity, even from their descendants.” “For us, there’s no path but to keep petitioning the government to halt the copper mine’s operations.” “Moreover, we’ve been properly granted that right.” “And yet, if they sell off those vital rights for pocket change permanently, it’s no different from suicide.” “Rights are foundational.” “Desire must stretch as vast as heaven and earth.” “Make sure you explain this until they truly understand.” “I’ll head to Watase Village now and stay at Unryūji Temple tonight.” “Also tell the village youths to gather.”

Before long, Shōzō announced his departure and hurriedly boarded a rickshaw.

The conspiracy of permanent settlement agreements that Shōzō had been made aware of at this time continued to extend its relentless machinations to villages across the region. County officials appeared repeatedly, exploiting the affected residents’ vulnerabilities through threats, sweet talk, and desperate coercion. In March of the twenty-eighth year [Meiji 28 / 1895], Niwada and his allies, unable to endure these abuses any longer, rallied concerned individuals from areas including Takahashi in their own village, Kawasaki in Keno Village, and Okudo in Tomita Village, ultimately submitting a written appeal to both the Home Ministry and the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. However, beginning with representatives from Shimotsuga County’s Heya Village and four other villages entering into permanent settlement agreements with the mining operators on March 16, similar contracts were subsequently concluded in each village. Despite conditions being humiliating and utterly deplorable, moreover, the settlement money handed to them amounted to far less than what had been offered previously.

Part II

Aged and worn, this body counts for nothing—

What shall become of these guileless people's progeny? (Meiji 31 [1898]) Shōzō

Chapter One

The twenty-eighth year [1895] ended amidst a succession of tumultuous events—the peace treaty followed by the Triple Intervention and retrocession of Liaodong—and the political world that ushered in the twenty-ninth year [1896] remained fraught with difficulties. On March 25, as the Ninth Diet session drew to a close, Tanaka Shōzō stood to deliver an explanatory speech after submitting twelve questions addressing accountability for the Liaodong retrocession, Foreign Minister Mutsu’s neglect of duty, military procurement fraud, the mining pollution crisis, and the Koganegahara Reclamation Incident. Though it seemed to unleash all the resentment pent up during wartime silence at once, he began by shouting vehemently: “In this complex and corrupt world, twelve measly questions cannot possibly settle matters!” Yet given the sprawling scope of these incidents, regarding the mining pollution issue, he could only denounce the immediate outrages—subordinate officials violently coercing permanent settlements.

In March, the Progressive Party was formed by six factions previously united under foreign policy hardliners; in June, Shōzō went on a campaign tour of Shikoku as a Progressive Party campaigner alongside Suzuki Shigetō, Taguchi Uryū, and Takahashi Hidetomi. What Shōzō gained from this journey was that he had deepened his understanding of the mining pollution issue while traveling with his companions.

From around July 19th, violent storms assailed various regions, and reports of flood damage came in rapid succession. From the Chūgoku region through Kinki, Chūbu, Hokuriku, Kantō, and Tōhoku—nearly all of mainland Japan suffered damage from river swelling and house flooding. Particularly in Gifu and Aichi prefectures, the embankments of the three rivers—the Kiso, Nagara, and Ibi—collapsed, and it was reported that merely 25,000 people escaped starvation.

Thus, while the nation’s attention seemed wholly captured by the catastrophic damage in Gifu and Aichi, Shōzō—remaining in Tokyo—found a brief telegram in a newspaper’s corner reading “Watarase River flooding at ten shaku and one shaku, still rising,” and hurried toward the mining pollution-affected areas. First, he took lodgings at Kawada Ryokan in Sano to gather information from various areas, and once the floodwaters receded, he went around inspecting the regions that had become passable. When compiling the information, it became clear that the embankments had breached at over ten locations, and along the Ashio-Ashikaga coast, all areas suffered flooding damage reaching unexpected directions due to backflow from tributaries. Even the fact that the flooded regions had spread beyond expectations this year led to anticipation of the situation’s grave progression, serving only to deepen their groundless fears and unease. When he met and spoke with concerned individuals in areas like Funatsukawa and Shimohata, he realized that among the villagers, a mood of concern for the future was beginning to stir. The trial period for the ore dust collectors under the Meiji 25 settlement agreement had already expired at the end of June, and they were gradually awakening to the fact that there had been no effect whatsoever over the past three years. Moreover, those deceived by the permanent settlement agreements still constituted only a small portion when considered regionally. They had long been silenced by Furukawa’s scheming plots, but this opportunity must be seized to awaken them. Deeply resolved in his heart, Shōzō set about persuading promising young men like Kurihara Saijirō of Funatsukawa and Niwada Tsunekichi of Shimohata to lead the villagers in launching a petition movement. The first to respond was Funatsukawa, where the United Youth Association was organized. Precisely because this flood had completely washed away all their rice paddies, the villagers’ sentiments swiftly aligned. That is, they drafted a written pledge stating that until their objective—to petition with utmost determination for the cessation of mining operations—was achieved, they would never engage in individual movements no matter what difficulties they encountered, and one hundred seventy-six individuals signed and sealed it to solidify their unity.

On August 30, yet another typhoon struck the mainland, causing wind and flood damage across various regions. On the thirty-first, the Watarase River also saw a rise of about three meters around Hayakawada. On this day, a major earthquake struck Senboku District, Akita Prefecture. Following the great Sanriku tsunami in June, this year seemed to suggest an ominous accumulation of natural calamities.

Prior to this, political movements had finally grown hectic, and the collapse of the Ito Cabinet had been regarded as a matter of time, but on this day, Prime Minister Ito finally submitted his resignation. Earlier, in May, Foreign Minister Mutsu had resigned, and Finance Minister Watanabe had also come to express his intent to resign. Therefore, Ito sought to revitalize foreign affairs and finance by bringing in Ōkuma Shigenobu and Matsukata Masayoshi. However, as the cabinet members failed to reach a consensus, days passed without progress until he was ultimately driven into a corner.

Shōzō, paying no heed to such political upheaval, returned to his hometown and surveyed the flooded areas. When he had grasped the general outline of the damage situation, he secluded himself in a room at Hōun-an Temple in Ueno Village—just a stone’s throw from Sano—and set about organizing his investigations and drafting petitions.

Then, the cloudy sky that had been looming since the morning of the 7th suddenly turned menacing in the afternoon, and a gloomy, incessant rain began to pour down. From midnight onward, it became a downpour so fierce it seemed to tear roof tiles away, and even after daybreak, there was not the slightest sign of it letting up. Shōzō had continued to have Itō Shōichi assist with transcribing documents since the previous day, but he ended up fetching buckets to catch the leaking rain and scrambling about while clutching desks. “If it keeps raining like this, there’s no doubt the water will rise again.”

Shōzō stood on the veranda countless times, peering into the dark eaves. It was past noon.

Shōzō entered the outhouse and watched the green persimmon branch being battered as if about to snap when he suddenly strained to listen through the rain. Beyond the grove on the Akiyama River embankment, curses could be heard amidst the commotion of people. Shōzō exited the outhouse and, "The embankment seems in danger," he declared abruptly before hurrying to the temple kitchen, descending to the earthen floor, and starting to put on his straw sandals. By the time Itō had finished organizing the documents and rushed over, Shōzō had already donned a straw raincoat and hat and dashed out into the rain.

Itō also immediately prepared himself and came to the embankment. The Akiyama River had swollen to its limits beneath the torrential rain and swirling spray of violently swept water. The surface of the turbid current seethed with countless whirlpools, an ominous undercurrent hinting at backflow encroaching from the Watarase's main stream. Itō stared blankly at the water's surface for some time, then regaining his senses, approached the crowd of straw-clad figures and began walking through them in search of Shōzō. Since they all wore identical straw raincoats and hats, he had to walk around peering under each hat. However, he could not find Shōzō in any of the groups. He wondered if Tanaka had gone into one of the nearby farmhouses and went down the embankment to check, but he was not there either. Itō could no longer help but harbor doubts. When he climbed back up the embankment and questioned a village office worker,

“Well… he was here until just a moment ago,” the village office worker said evasively, “but surely he wouldn’t have fallen into the river?”

A person nearby cast his gaze toward the river surface while, “If he fell in, it would be disastrous. Even a strapping young man might not survive in this current.” Itō involuntarily shifted his gaze—trembling with unease—to the eerie river surface. The river’s surface swelled relentlessly, deflecting the pounding rain as it rose. The people began calling out Tanaka’s name one after another, stirring into commotion. In the rain-laden mist, their voices calling out to one another echoed, sounding all the more sorrowful. By now, an illusion that Shōzō had drowned had begun to take hold of the people.

But at that very moment, Shōzō, unable to shake his concern over the swelling Watarase River, was hastening alone through the cultivated fields toward Funatsukawa on the northern bank.

When Shōzō stopped by Kurihara Saijirō’s house and invited him to come to the riverbank, the Watarase had swollen to several times its usual width and was surging with turbid water in ferocious force. Raindrops driven by the wind raced across the river’s surface, sending up spray as if lashed by a broom. Even amidst the clamorous rain, the entire river shuddered with a deep, resonant rumble from its depths. “How does the water level compare to July’s?” Shōzō leaned in close under his straw raincoat and asked Kurihara. “It’s already risen three meters.” “At this rate, it won’t stop there.” “I’ve been checking since noon—upstream near Ashikaga must be flooded bad. Debris keeps washing down.” “This’ll likely dwarf July’s flood.”

“Hmm,” Shōzō groaned, staring at the river’s surface once more. “The current’s ferocious—truly dreadful.” “The current has indeed quickened.” “In the past, they say that after heavy rains fell in the mountains like Ashio, Kōshin, and Kominega-hara, it took a full day and night for the floodwaters to reach this area. But these days, it seems to arrive in just six hours.” “I believe it’s because the vegetation in the source areas and along both banks has withered away, leaving nothing to impede the flow, combined with sediment filling in the riverbed.”

“I see—that’s why the embankment will breach.” “Downstream, before they can even prepare flood defenses, the water comes rushing all at once.” “It’s the same principle as choking—even a glass of water will make you gag if you gulp it down in one go.” Even as the two stood talking in the pouring rain, the rice paddies within the embankment behind them steadily filled with murky water. As the Watarase River swelled, its waters began flowing backward into the Kikuzawa River and overflowed. The flood’s advance resembled clock hands—seemingly slow-moving, yet the cumulative effect was staggering. The path Shōzō had taken earlier now lay submerged beneath the muddy current. To return, he would need to climb upstream slightly, trace the Saikawa River embankment, and detour through higher ground. And should that embankment give way, there might be no returning at all.

Shōzō finally reached Hōun-an in the evening dusk as the rain had let up slightly. Given that he still had not returned, they had concluded he must have drowned; at that very moment, Abbot Sumi—alongside Itō, several village office workers, and villagers—were gathered under the eaves of the temple kitchen, their heads bowed in discussion about organizing a search party. Among them, Itō’s concern had been particularly acute, so he made a gesture of relief by patting his chest, “Sir, you’ve truly taken years off my life.”

It was a resentful tone.

Shōzō explained the circumstances of having gone to Funatsukawa and being unable to return due to the floodwaters, then apologized for causing everyone's concern. Itō poured hot bancha tea for Shōzō while,

“Even so, going out alone is far too reckless,” said Itō, still sounding resentful as he rebuked Shōzō. “To begin with, sir, it’s fundamentally wrong for you to go out wearing straw rain gear.” “Matters like flood prevention are trivial matters for you, sir.” “You should just leave things like flood prevention to the villagers.” “That’s because even if I go out, the embankments that are going to break will break,” Shōzō answered with a laugh. “But trivial matters are different.” “You concern yourselves with national matters, and I concern myself with village matters.” “Could it be said that we are overstepping our bounds?” “That’s not true.” “No matter how trivial the matter, when faced with it, one must fulfill their duty as a human being—that is the truth.” “Just because I am a minister doesn’t mean I can overlook people drowning.”

“Now that you mention it, there’s no doubt about that—but…”

“When I perform my duties as a legislator, I am a Diet member, but staying here in the village makes me no different from any villager.” “You all should have absolutely no distinction from me whatsoever.”

Before long, taking the opportunity when Shōzō had washed his feet and entered the temple kitchen, the villagers donned their straw hats and departed.

The following afternoon, Shōzō set out again for Funatsukawa with Itō in tow, but the lowlands were entirely submerged by murky water, transformed into what seemed a vast swamp stretching across the plain. Straw-thatched roofs floated as if constructed across the water’s surface, with farm boats passing between them. When he gazed at the distant opposite bank, there too lay a brown expanse of water beneath the rain, stretching hazily into endless obscurity. Shōzō ultimately withdrew to Sano without being able to approach Funatsukawa.

On the tenth day, which coincided with the 220th day (a period notorious for storms), the rain still showed lingering intensity, falling and stopping intermittently. Shōzō was staying at a traveler’s lodge in Sano, and as reports of damage from various regions poured in day and night, he could only grow increasingly astonished at the immense scale of the devastation. The swelling of the Watarase River reached 2 jō and 5 shaku (approximately 7.58 meters). The three districts of Shimotsuga, Anso, and Ashikaga suffered flood damage across all areas except for approximately two-tenths of their northern highlands. The destruction of embankments and roads, and the collapse and washing away of bridges were beyond counting. The railway between Ashikaga and Kiryū, and between Tochigi and Oyama, had been impassable since the 8th.

The severity of the flood damage along the entire southern bank of the Watarase River was merciless to hear about. The moment the embankment at Shimmōnishi, Nishigaoka, Ōaza, Nishiyatamura Village, Ora District, Gunma Prefecture—located opposite Takayama in Sakai Village—was destroyed across its entire 180-*ken* span in an instant, the sheer terror of it was said to make even those who witnessed it shudder uncontrollably at the mere memory. At the deafening roar like a thunderclap, nearby villagers startled from their homes into the rain only to find a ferocious muddy torrent already forming Takizuse Rapids as it surged into the embanked area. The murky water churned and spread—rice plants submerged in the fields one moment, dry-field crops drowning the next. While people stood paralyzed by shock, the murky water was already lapping at their feet. Straw bales in gardens began bobbing on the surface. Mortars beneath eaves started floating away. Ladders propped against roofs, figures scrambling up storehouse lofts, boats lowered to salvage belongings, horses released from stables—every household, driven by curses and wails and desperate shouts, barely managed to evacuate elders and children.

Thus, it took less than an hour for most of Ōra District east of Tatebayashi to transform into a lake of mud.

Moreover, the floodwaters throughout the affected areas did not recede easily. Five days, ten days—in some places, even half a month had to pass before one could see paddies and fields that had at last turned into tidal flats. Particularly at every breach point in the embankments, the land transformed into vast sandy plains, while in places like Shinmeinishi, enormous mud swamps had formed nearby, their viscous water surfaces cradling the shadows of autumn clouds. According to later investigations, the damage in Nishiyata Village alone was of such sheer scale—four deaths; over 1,200 livestock lost; 150 houses collapsed; 350 damaged; 416 flooded; 21 chō of farmland washed away; 74 chō invaded by sediment; 795 chō submerged; five embankment breaches; twenty-four damaged sections; sixteen bridges swept off—that one could glimpse the magnitude of devastation along the entire riverbank.

On September 18, the imperial mandate was finally issued to Matsukata Masayoshi. During this period, an alliance among Matsukata, Ōkuma, and Gotō had already been formed; however, Gotō declined to join the cabinet due to heart disease, and on the 28th, all cabinet members were appointed under the Matsukata-Ōkuma coalition. Thus, Matsukata became Prime Minister while concurrently holding the post of Finance Minister, while Ōkuma served as Foreign Minister and de facto Deputy Prime Minister. The Home Ministry went to Kabayama Sukenori, and the Agriculture and Commerce Ministry to Enomoto Takeaki. By the time these political rumors were nearly substantiated, Shōzō had already returned to his hometown and was rushing about the region where the flood’s mud had yet to dry. First, he traveled to Yanada District to meet with local leaders in each village and resolved to collect signatures from all victims to submit a petition. On the 28th, he returned to Sano, and on October 2nd finalized the petition for the entire Anso District. On the 3rd, he went to Ueno Village to encourage the young activists there, examined their joint petition, and decided to have them take the lead in submitting it ahead of others. This became the pioneering Mining Cessation Petition from the affected coastal areas. On the 5th, he stayed overnight at Unryūji Temple in Hayakawada and negotiated to secure it as the mining pollution petition office.

On the afternoon of October 9th, an elderly man resembling a poor local farmer, wearing straw sandals, came to the entrance of Kawada Ryokan in Sano and requested an audience with Shōzō, claiming to be a messenger from Sayama Bunzui of Ōshima Village. Sayama was a comrade from the civil rights movement era, and whatever the matter might be, when Shōzō came out to investigate, the old man presented a letter from someone named Nagashima Yohachi along with Sayama’s letter of introduction. Having the old man sit on the step, Shōzō immediately broke the seal on the letter. Though unpolished, it was written in a hand that seemed to have been composed with formal posture,

“With utmost respect: Though I am but a humble and insignificant youth, I humbly beg Your Excellency—a distinguished member of the House of Representatives—to forgive the grave offense of presenting this letter to you with no regard for propriety.” The letter began with these words. I then described how, having witnessed the tragedies along the Watarase River’s banks, I could find no peace day or night, and stated my resolve to initiate a petition movement to implement fundamental measures for eliminating the harm. “To see this petition’s purpose through to the end, I have resolved to stake not only my property—foolish as it may be—but even my life upon this movement, and have obtained consent from my adoptive father as well.” “Having long been aware of Your Excellency’s tireless efforts regarding the mining pollution incident, I rejoice as one who has found a floating log in an endless sea. With this profound relief, I earnestly beseech you: if you would but graciously comprehend my humble resolve, allow me henceforth to follow in your wake and initiate this petition movement to save both the land and people along the Watarase River’s banks. This I implore you with utmost sincerity.”

As he nodded while finishing reading, Shōzō’s face radiated joy. “No, you’ve done well.”

Shōzō thanked the elderly messenger, borrowed writing tools from the front desk, and promptly drafted a reply. “In reply, learning that there exists a youth such as yourself along the banks of the Watarase River has brought me joy akin to unearthing a hidden treasure. The damage from mining pollution is indeed no simple matter. However, the corrupt and the blind have neglected this and are engaging in such foolish acts as settlements. We must fight this thoroughly, awaken them to awareness, and strive for an honorable and fundamental resolution. Therefore, first and foremost, you must initiate the movement from your village. The first step of the movement lies in holding a large speech meeting in your village and issuing a grave warning to the villagers. If you would prepare the speech meeting, I would gladly attend. The above concludes my humble reply. Sincerely,”

He placed it in an envelope, addressed it to “The Nation’s Youth, Mr. Nagashima Yohachi,” and had the messenger take it back.

Thus, a bond was forged.

Following this exchange of documents, arrangements were promptly finalized to hold a mining pollution speech meeting at Nankōin in Nishigaoka. Moreover, for Shōzō, there was not a single day of leisure. He would go to Unryūji Temple, stay at Watase Village Office, and on the thirteenth depart from Kuwano Village through Ashikaga Town in a hurried journey to Tokyo.

On the afternoon of the fifteenth, villagers young and old streamed in one after another to Nankōin Temple—not only from neighboring areas but also from the hamlets around Hazama, Hosoya, and Ōniba. The crowd overflowed not only the main hall and priest’s quarters but even the wide veranda, soon threatening to engulf the entire front garden. It was a crowd where each person seemed to carry their own shadows—a gathering that naturally exuded a gloomy atmosphere within and outside the hall—yet there was no doubt most had come half out of curiosity. There was even an old man muttering, “If I could just see this Mr. Tanaka’s face…it’d be something to take with me to the afterlife.”

Before long, two rickshaws arrived at the gate. Tanaka Shōzō arrived accompanied by Arakawa Takasaburō, a member of the Gunma Prefectural Assembly. The eagerly awaiting crowd welcomed the two with cheers and applause. Shōzō and his group were first shown to the waiting room, where they received greetings from Arai Kahei and other local leading figures. Among them was a slight-built young man who appeared to be about twenty-three or four; fidgeting, he introduced himself as Nagashima Yohachi and apologized for the impropriety of having sent an impudent letter some days prior. He seemed hesitant, as if mustering courage to speak, but his stiff hair hanging over thick brows and eyes shadowed with worry overflowed with the purity and sincerity unique to youth.

“Ah, so it’s you,” Shōzō exclaimed loudly, turning to look at Nagashima with an encouraging gaze. “No, I was truly delighted when I read that letter.” “If there are youths like you along the riverbanks, the movement will inevitably surge forth.” “To accomplish anything by mobilizing the masses, it is crucial first to secure one person willing to stake their life.” “That is why I cannot express how delighted I was to learn of your existence.”

Nagashima, addressed in such a manner, felt both happiness and embarrassment, and stiffened his knees even further. The emotion he had felt upon receiving the reply—his chest pounded as he tried to voice it—caught in his throat like tangled vines, leaving him speechless as he could only stare fixedly at Shōzō’s face.

“In that letter, you wrote that you obtained your father’s permission—did he consent willingly?” “Yes, at first he said, ‘What can a greenhorn like you possibly accomplish, no matter how much you stomp your feet?’ and wouldn’t listen… but I pleaded so earnestly that he finally relented, saying, ‘If you’re that determined, then give it a try.’” “I see, you have a good father.” “Then you can devote yourself to the movement without reservation.”

Shōzō turned his face toward the inner garden and gazed as if toward the distant sky. The scene had suddenly flashed through his mind—when he, at thirty-nine, had knelt before his father and pleaded for freedom to devote himself wholly to public service. Nagashima too, led by his own words, recalled a rainy day some ten days prior. That day in the dim barn, he and his silent adoptive father had sat buried in straw, weaving sandals. The rasp of straw against straw, the thud of a wooden mallet, the dreary unceasing drip of rain... He would sometimes halt his work to sigh, until at last steeling himself to call out "Father," confessing the thoughts that had kept him sleepless since the flood.

“If we sit idle with folded hands,” he pleaded, “we’ll surely perish from mining pollution before long.” “We’re already facing our death throes.” “Since this inheritance will come to me eventually—and since it’ll be destroyed anyway—please let me use it now for petition expenses.” At last Father opened his heavy mouth and spoke of his hardships—how he’d scraped together this wealth working fifty-mon days since youth: “Well... If I’m usin’ my own hard-earned money here, nobody’s got cause to complain.” His calloused hands kept braiding straw as he added: “Think of it like returnin’ to my beggar’s sack—makes lettin’ go easier.” “Some fathers get ruined by wastrel sons.” “What’s there to do?” “If you’re set on this,” he finally relented, “give it your all.” Then came his final prod: “But once started—you got grit enough to see it through? Whatever comes?” “Guts make the man.” Every word seeped into Nagashima’s bones until tears blurred his vision of their rainy barn. He trembled when vowing silently: Since Father stakes his wealth on this cause—I’ll stake my life. Now listening to crowd murmurs with bowed head and stinging eyes—was Father here among them? Watching this rally? What thoughts filled those weathered features? The thought made emotions surge like floodwaters against his ribs.

“Nagashima-kun, it’s time now.”

When he looked up with a start, Arai Kihira was standing beside him as if urging him on. “Yes, then…”

Nagashima suppressed his suddenly intensified pounding heart, bowed to Shōzō, and rose from his seat. Following the applause in the waiting room, a sudden burst of applause erupted all at once from the audience in the main hall and garden as well. Nagashima clenched his fist tightly and made his way to the podium, stepping over the heads and knees of the densely packed audience. He stood before the podium, first poured water into a cup and took a sip, “Gentlemen of this assembly!” He let out a loud shout, but in the dead silence, the overlapping, motionless faces seemed for an instant to surge forward toward him. He drank down another mouthful of water from the cup, cleared his throat, and—

“Gentlemen,” he repeated once more. Nevertheless, he managed to state his conviction that they must unite and launch a petition movement, introduced the enthusiasm with which Diet member Tanaka and Prefectural Assemblyman Arakawa had made the effort to come to their village, and stepped down from the podium. He returned to the speakers’ waiting room, sat in a corner while feeling the chill of sweat beneath his arms, and let out a sigh of relief. Then Shōzō leaned forward as if peering at him, “Is this your first time? No—it cannot be your first time.”

Nagashima, having been addressed, felt his cheeks—which had just begun to cool—flush with heat once more.

At the venue, youths from Azuma Village—who had come to lend support at Shōzō’s summons—took turns standing to deliver brief speeches. They were Nomura Chiyozō, Yokotsuka Jisankyū, and Umiwara Chūkichi.

Afterwards, Arakawa—his swarthy face bearing a stern beard—moved his tall frame with composure. He displayed a large sheet of paper depicting the topography of the Ashio Copper Mine and the Watarase River, explaining the relationship between the mountains and the river in terms accessible to common ears. Finally, Tanaka Shōzō took the podium and began his address by expounding on the relationship between the nation and its people. "The people are burdened with obligations to the nation while simultaneously being granted what are called rights. As one of these rights, when they fall into such an extremely tragic state, they are granted the right to petition the government for protection and relief. Yet the affected residents along the coast remain unaware of even the existence of this right." He proceeded in an earnest, admonishing tone: henceforth, they must become fully aware of this precious right granted to them, and without ever being deceived by those cunning villains’ treacherous schemes, they should unite their strength solely in pursuing petitions.

“...I will remain your ally to the very end.” “I wish to deliver you all—and your lands—from this calamitous mining pollution.” “I desire nothing but this, and with a resolve to break my bones and rend my flesh in pursuit of it, I ceaselessly rush east and west without distinction between day and night.” “Gentlemen, for your own sake and for your descendants’, you must safeguard this precious right and defend this land.” When he concluded his speech with these words, the main hall had grown dim. The western sun that had been slanting over the audience in the front garden faded, and evening mist began settling beneath the trees.

The audience scattered in all directions, and the youths from Azuma Village also returned home. Arai Kihira guided Shōzō and Arakawa to arrange lodging for the two of them.

Yohachi returned home with his chest swelling with excitement that felt like being made to bear layers upon layers of new burdens, even as he finally felt relieved of the day’s weight. Father had already returned home from the venue earlier.

“While returning together, Mr. Fukuda said, ‘Your son handled things quite well.’” Father had uttered only that single remark, but from his satisfied expression, Yohachi sensed his father’s words were imbued with sincere feelings—secretly rejoicing in how he had comported himself while striving to encourage him. Early the next morning, Yohachi visited Arai’s house where the two men were staying. Shōzō already wore formal hakama trousers and, with ceremonious words, acknowledged yesterday’s labors. When Yohachi sought guidance regarding future strategies for the movement, Shōzō leaned forward with earnest gravity,

“First and foremost, you must rouse young men like yourself throughout the villages in the affected coastal areas.” “This issue cannot be accomplished without the strength of young men.” “Elders like Mr. Arai—those not stuck in old ways—are valuable too, but…” When Yohachi instinctively glanced sideways, Arai leaked a thin smirk. Shōzō maintained his gravely earnest tone. “Youth inherently possess youthful vigor.” “We must now hold speech meetings in villages along both riverbanks and deliver forceful warnings.” “Though all still slumber, warnings will surely awaken those among the youth who’ll rise.”

Arakawa added from beside him, “From now on, everything belongs to the age of youth. Give it your all!” Hearing this, Nagashima began to feel that comrades were truly lying hidden somewhere along the coast. He envisioned himself walking through villages persuading each person individually—even picturing figures who would firmly grasp his hand. Soon two rickshaws arrived. Tanaka and Arakawa boarded them and departed westward along Tatebayashi Highway. Nagashima stood by the roadside, watching their dust-kicking shadows until they vanished from sight. Then, imagining his father’s face leaking a faint, knowing smile upon hearing his account, he hurried homeward.

Chapter Two

It was several days after the mining pollution speech meeting at Nankōin in Nishioka.

Yohachi visited the residence of Koyama Kōhachirō in the neighboring village of Ōshima. He had followed his father’s advice that Koyama was a figure of such stature—having served in the early prefectural assembly—that he stood as the most influential man in the district. The estate faced Tatebayashi Highway with an expansive area of over a thousand *tsubo*, featuring a *nagayamon* gate at the front and three massive keyaki trees in the rear that covered the main house’s roof like sheltering umbrellas. The sight of those keyaki trees shedding leaves incessantly beneath rain clouds carried an uncanny desolation. Kōhachirō was father to Koyama Rokunosuke (real name Toyotarō)—the man who had carried out the infamous shooting of Li Hongzhang, the Qing Dynasty’s peace envoy, at Shimonoseki. The incident had occurred on March 24th of the previous year, and Yohachi had privately imagined Kōhachirō must bear untold anguish as the parent of that nation-shaking assassin. Yet though not yet fifty, he appeared unexpectedly robust and welcomed Yohachi with expansive courtesy. During the previous generation’s tenure here, when Tanaka Shōzō—still going by Kanesaburō in those days—traveled the countryside purchasing indigo, there had been a connection: Shōzō often lodged at this house. Kōhachirō raised this matter and,

"My father was Kanesaburō—Kanesaburō, as he was called—and Mr. Tanaka had been quite fond of him."

He spoke of memories from his boyhood. He also recounted how six years prior, following the autumn floods of Meiji 23, Sahe Hikojirō—then still a student at Waseda—had stayed at this house for nearly a year under Shōzō’s instructions, diligently conducting surveys of mining pollution in nearby villages. Yohachi felt that his coming to know these matters was no shallow connection, and he sensed an implied encouragement.

“First, in this village—Ōide Kihei, Yamamoto Eishirō, and Aoki Kinjirō—these men here have the mettle and will surely rise as comrades.”

Kōhachirō counted them off on his fingers as he spoke, then declared with a proud lift of his eyebrows that even he still possessed the vigor to rush about alongside the youths should the need arise. Yohachi visited Aoki Kinjirō first, following the route. Aoki Kinjirō promptly agreed and accompanied Yohachi to Ōshima Village Office. At the village office, when Yohachi stiffened slightly and stated his purpose, Aoki also added from beside him,

“I intend to work tirelessly from now on, so please give me your full support, gentlemen of the office.” Neither Village Chief Aoyama Kaichirō nor the other officials had any objections, and the discussion grew lively as they touched on practical matters such as where to begin the movement. Just then, three unfamiliar men entered together, dressed in sharply creased haori jackets and straw sandals.

When they looked at the business cards, they were those of Kobayashi Zenkichi of Shimo-Hayakawada, Ōaza, Watase Village; Hara Kinjirō of the same Ōaza; and Niwada Tsuneyoshi of Shimo-Hata, Ōaza, Azuma Village. Kobayashi and Niwada were in their mid-thirties, while Hara was in his fifties. When they heard Niwada formally state his purpose in polite terms, it was indeed about the petition movement. Up until now, given how vast the affected area was with numerous victims holding disparate views, not a few villages had resigned themselves to accepting meager settlement compensation. However, they believed that even if temporary settlements had been reached, now that the ore dust collectors had proven ineffective, there would be no inconvenience whatsoever in revising their approach and agreeing to petition. Niwada said this and raised his voice even more encouragingly,

“Since this year’s great flood has caused extensive damage throughout the coastal area and plunged us into hardship, we believed that everyone’s views would naturally align, and thus we have come to seek your counsel.” The village chief naturally agreed immediately. Yohachi, who had been listening throughout, found that both their resolve and his own coincidental arrival that day were so perfectly aligned that he could not contain his joy. Thereupon, he stepped before the three men and announced his name.

“In truth, I too have only very recently begun some activities in this movement, and was just now here expressing similar opinions.” “In light of this, though I am deeply apologetic for asking you to travel such a long distance, might I humbly request that you also grace my village with your presence?” “I believe that having you all from other villages share your views would carry even greater significance.” “Even if it causes you inconvenience, I earnestly beseech you to go out of your way and grant my request.”

When Yohachi spoke in a manner that was almost entreating, Niwada nodded and, “I have been informed about you by Diet Member Tanaka Shōzō.” “I had been wanting to meet you for consultation at all costs, and this timing is most opportune.” “Then, I shall promptly accompany you now.”

When the four of them left Ōshima Village Office together, rain suddenly began to fall from the gray sky that had been holding back until now, and even the wind started to blow fiercely. Each of them had an umbrella, but in the wind and rain sweeping across the open field with nothing to block it, they proved of little use. For Niwada and the others, their journey home was only growing longer, and Yohachi secretly felt apologetic for having put them through such hardship. But when he glanced at the umbrellas beside him, they showed not the slightest concern for such matters and continued pressing forward without pause.

Before long, they came to a wasteland near the breached levee at Shinmei Nishi. The clouds hung oppressively low, and rain poured down as if leaking through a bamboo sieve, the desolation pressing against their very skin. Yohachi scanned the surroundings as he called out: “Everyone, this marks the edge of Nishioka Shinden in my village. This area once had such rich soil that both winter and summer crops thrived splendidly. The fields were so vast they couldn’t all be cultivated—most remained grassland. The grass grew over ten feet tall each year. Reed cutters passing through would make such a racket that people grumbled before midsummer: ‘Make your noise earlier if you must!’ In recent years, they’d cultivated the grassland thoroughly, deeming it wasteful otherwise. It became fine farmland yielding five or six bales of rice and wheat. Then this year’s great flood forced toxic sand through that breach over there”—he pointed—“turning everything to this wasteland.”

In the direction he pointed, beyond the long breached levee, the river’s surface emitted a faint glow. Yohachi slowed his pace while,

“And now, outside that levee has become a wasteland where not even grass grows due to mining pollution, but when I was a child, the soil was so rich that wheat sown without fertilizer would grow so thick it would topple over without yielding grain.” “That’s why we often grew rapeseed and mustard greens on the land beyond the levee.” “When those yellow flowers bloomed in full force, standing atop the embankment made the sky shine with a brightness that dazzled the eyes.” “The plants grew six or seven feet tall—so dense an adult could vanish within them. There was even a time when five or six thieves made their den in those rapeseed fields.” “The whole village turned out to hunt them down—I was about ten then—and my grandfather took me up to watch nervously from the levee.” “Then what appeared to be their leader came bursting through the rapeseed plants with his sword drawn.”

Kobayashi Zenkichi beside him shifted his grip on his umbrella and directed a pained gaze,

“That’s right. The land outside the levee in Shimo-Hayakawada was just the same—the wheat would grow so thick without fertilizer it became a problem. That’s why we mainly grew rapeseed and mustard greens.”

“My property lies right on the edge of the Watarase River,” Hara Kinjirō began speaking deliberately between phrases. “The soil being so rich meant our home stood amidst cedar groves and bamboo thickets – fallen leaves piled higher than we could ever burn.” “Every year we’d harvest bamboo worth nearly a hundred yen.” “Our homestead fields stretched over ten acres – yielding fifty-sixty bushels apiece of barley and wheat without needing fertilizer.” “Life flowed easy then.” “Now those very places that prospered most choke worst under mining poison – pitiful doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“Truly, it is as Mr. Hara says. My residence too lies near his by the river’s edge, and likewise, our bamboo grove yielded substantial income every year.” “Around my house were many rice fields and farms—the mulberry trees grew so thick that neither horse nor cart could pass through.” “We harvested so many potatoes and radishes that we didn’t know what to do with them all—we used to take them to relatives and acquaintances in town.” “But now we can’t harvest even a single potato or leaf of vegetable…”

Niwada also said this and, with a face as if enduring stomach pain, stopped moving. The four stood facing different directions and remained silent for a while. Only the sound of the wind and the rain lashing against their umbrellas mercilessly enveloped them. It was as if four survivors in a desolate world were left agonizing over life and death.

Before long, the four of them arrived at the gate of Arai Kabei’s house in Nishioka Village and closed their umbrellas. The master was absent, but when they went up to the sitting room and waited, before long, signs of someone returning home were heard along with a clearing of the throat. Once introductions were finished, the discussion immediately turned to the matter of the petition. The sound of rain on the eaves intensified, and as soon as the sitting room darkened, a lacquered tray reflecting lamplight—characteristic of an old-established household—was brought in. Even after eating, the conversation showed no signs of ending. The only concrete decision made was to campaign through riverside villages and strive for unity at the earliest opportunity, though even their mutual understanding alone counted as a significant achievement. Around past eleven o'clock, Niwada and the others declined offers of lodging and began their return journey. With only a single lantern to guide them through darkness battered by rain, they started making their way back along the nearly twelve-kilometer path.

When Yohachi saw them partway home and returned to his house, “Did you just get back now? You were out quite late.”

His father woke up and called out.

Yohachi came to his father’s bedside and sat down. Since beginning the movement, he had made it his nightly custom to report the day’s events without fail, however late. That night’s account carried Yohachi’s fervor, yet his father listened with closed eyes, murmuring “Hmm, hmm” in evident contentment. When his father’s resonant snores finally emerged, Yohachi withdrew from the bedside.

The next morning, Yohachi promptly visited Matsumoto Kichizō and Nonaka Hikoshirō and first related the events of the previous day. The two were the first sympathizers Yohachi had gained from his home village. Yohachi asked them to join him in campaigning through speeches across the riverside villages. That very day, the three began tramping through rain-soaked mud in their straw sandals.

Their stumping tour began in the neighboring Ōshima Village. Thanks to Koyama Kōhachirō’s efforts, they secured Zenjōin Temple in Okasato near the Watarase River as their venue, where Nagashima and his two companions naturally delivered impassioned speeches, as did their senior from the same village, Sayama Bunzui, and youths including Aoki Kinjirō and Ōide Kihei. From the audience emerged comrades such as Matsushima Kashichirō, Sekiguchi Yoshizō, Aida Sadakichi, Aoyama Kichijirō, and Naitō Seizō.

For about two weeks after that, they rushed about from one riverside village to another day and night without rest. They secured every available venue—regardless of whether they were temples, schools, or private homes—and held speech meetings. Their throats were ruined, and their comrades’ conversations became slurred like those of stroke sufferers. It was no longer unusual for them to walk back along eight to twelve kilometers of night roads after the speech meetings ended. Yohachi, exhausted and sleep-deprived, walked while half-asleep and once even tumbled into a muddy field. The late October river wind howled and raged, and as his numb limbs trembled from the cold, Yohachi shed tears without pride or pretense. But his mind afforded him no space for even a single day of quiet rest.

Before long, their efforts bore fruit as comrades emerged from each village, and public sentiment finally began leaning toward petitioning. As momentum built on the right bank of the Watarase River in this manner, around the same time on the left bank—starting with Niwada Tsuneyoshi’s Azuma Village—volunteers from Kenu Village upstream and Ueno Village, Sakai Village, and Inubushi Town downstream emerged one after another and began laboring earnestly on the petitions.

Thus arose the need for volunteers from affected villages on both banks to convene, solidify their unity, and coordinate their steps. Without any formal decision-maker, matters naturally progressed until they settled on gathering at Unryūji Temple in Shimohayakawada district of Watarase Village on November 2nd. This location stood within the most severely polluted area of the Watarase River's left bank, lay roughly at the geographical center of all afflicted villages, and had been designated by Shōzō as his operational base.

The day was cold and thinly overcast like early winter, gray clouds veiling the wasteland as a west wind howled through, whipping up grit and soil. When afternoon came, people gathering from every village all halted at this sight, struck by its desolate grandeur—not one among them failed to share the collective anguish or feel their bonds as comrades tighten. They passed through weathered temple gates into grounds framed by towering cedars and russet-hued trees, proceeding to the thatched main hall where Kobayashi Teishichirō—nearing seventy—and four local comrades already labored. Sliding open shoji screens to sit among early arrivals, they sensed at once the gathering's atmosphere—a camaraderie laced with tension among those sharing purpose yet nursing private resolves. Hearing Diet member Tanaka had come, their chests tightened further even as something bright pierced their hearts.

Yohachi, too, had hurried along the Watarase River embankment for three ri with three comrades from his village. Because they were heading straight into the fierce west wind, the cold pierced them as if they were being stripped bare and exposed to its full force. Upon arriving at Unryūji Temple, he was instructed by Niwada Tsuneyoshi and went from the main hall through a dark corridor to the kitchen to greet them. Shōzō was gripping his brush and writing a letter with a sharp gaze, but upon finishing listening to Yohachi’s words,

“Ah, with this, we can finally launch our full-scale movement.” “It’s been tremendously difficult to rally everyone’s momentum up to this point.” “It must have been quite a struggle for you.” “You’ve worked tirelessly. Truly, thank you.” With that, he relaxed his expression warmly. Yohachi heard those words, and his own two weeks of relentless efforts came flooding back to him. Of course, he was not unaware that during this time Shōzō had been rushing about the affected areas and, in his spare moments, encouraging the volunteers in each village through letters. Even so, he found his heart comforted by Shōzō’s words just now.

Before long, all the members had gathered. Of course, no one had appointed them as representatives; they were volunteers who had spontaneously gathered from the villages in each affected area. Namely, from Gunma Prefecture’s Ōra District: Kobayashi Teishichirō, Yoshikichi of the same [Watarase] Village, Ietomi Motokichi, Hara Kinjirō, Kimura Yūkichi, Yatsu Yasaburō; from neighboring Tatarami Village to the west—Tanahairi Rizaburō and Kamei Tomoharu; from Ōshima Village to the east—Koyama Kōhachirō, Sayama Bunzui, Ōide Kihei, and Aoki Kinjirō; from Nishiyata Village—Arai Kabei, Matsumoto Kichizō, Nonaka Hikoshirō, and Nagashima Yohachi; from Tochigi Prefecture: Niwada Tsuneyoshi, Seishirō of the same [Azuma] Village, Komagichi of the same [Azuma] Village, Sakai Yosōji, Abe Takisaburō, Nomura Chiyozō, Unahara Chūkichi, Yokozuka Jisankyū, Satoru Yasujirō, and Maruyama Namijirō from Azuma Village on Watarase Village’s opposite bank; from right-bank Kuno Village—Murota Chūshichi, Inamura Chūzō, Yoichi of the same [Kuno] Village, Inage Kyōjirō, Iso Naokichi, Jisai Shigekichi, and Dōichi of the same [Kuno] Village; from upstream Kenu Village—Iwasaki Sajū and Yahachi of the same [Kenu] Village, Aoyama Kazusuke; from Ueno Village east of Azuma—Sekiguchi Kōhachi, Ono Masakichi, Okada Takago, Tani Motohachi, and Kurihara Saijirō; from Sakai Village downstream across Ōshima Village—Itoi Tōjirō and Benkichi of the same [Sakai] Village, Moro Sōjirō and Heikichi of the same [Sakai] Village, Fukuchi Naohatsu, Noguchi Haruzō, and Yajima Kōsaku; and from Inubushi Town—Yamazaki Keijirō, Kobayashi Magobei, and Koseki Eikichi—over fifty individuals in total.

Now, the group had left the vicinity of the hearth, adjusted their knees, and reseated themselves—just as they were about to begin their discussions. The abbot of this temple, Kurosaki Zen'ō, came out holding a white hossu resembling a horse's tail. Though clad in a kesa robe with an air of detachment from worldly affairs, his countenance could not fully conceal the ambition burning in his twenty-seven-year-old heart. As people wondered what would happen next, he suddenly stepped before them and boomed in a voice thick with sutra-chanting resonance. While his provision of the venue showed understanding of the mining pollution issue, this abrupt speech took everyone by surprise. The crowd listened with expressions caught between curiosity and bewilderment, exchanging uncertain glances. When Kobayashi Teishichirō approached to whisper a warning, Kurosaki bowed curtly with a “Very well…” and withdrew toward the kitchen quarters with measured steps.

First, Kobayashi Teishichirō was urged to take the chairman’s seat. Shōzō stood to give his address and stated that witnessing tangible proof of unity among the riverside volunteers here today was truly as heartening as could be, “However, gentlemen,” he said, changing his tone. “When multitudes attempt to synchronize their steps and sustain a movement over time, it becomes an endeavor of utmost difficulty.” “Therefore, to achieve our purpose—while selecting representatives or committee members would not be ill-advised—we must ultimately rely upon the united cooperation of those ardent souls who voluntarily step forward to shoulder this task.” “I believe all of you gathered here today are precisely such people.”

Shōzō surveyed the assembly, paused as if engraving each face into his mind, and concluded as follows: “Therefore, I believe that for today’s council, we should dispense with all formalities and that it is most crucial for you gentlemen to form a spiritual covenant.” “And so, no matter what difficulties we may encounter in the future or whatever opponents may arise, we shall resolutely break through and repel them, absolutely never wavering from our resolve until we achieve our objective. It is with this fervent hope that I earnestly entreat you gentlemen to adopt such a resolution.”

The people nodded. When stated aloud, it might have seemed self-evident, but it was truly a warning from one who understood the fickle nature of human allegiance. From the chairman’s seat, Kobayashi cleared his throat and spoke. “I wholeheartedly concur with Mr. Tanaka’s words.” “Your steadfast resolve and unity form the very bedrock of our cause.” Scanning the room’s reactions, he continued, “This being a matter of such vast scope and gravity, we cannot expect swift resolution.” “Regarding this spiritual contract mentioned earlier—though spiritual in nature—I propose we manifest it physically.” “In former times, we might have called it a joint pledge with circular signatures.” “Though our resolve stands firm, by openly declaring it and forging our individual determinations into unbreakable solidarity before commencing our campaign—what say you to this approach?”

There was not a single person who opposed that proposal. They immediately resolved to create a spiritual contract, and a draft was promptly prepared by a few individuals and presented before Shōzō. Article 1: We shall undertake our movement with the spirit of fulfilling our duty as subjects of Japan, thoroughly striving for the fundamental resolution of the mining pollution issue. Article 2: In order to achieve a fundamental resolution to the mining pollution issue, we, the affected residents, shall consistently share the same movement policy throughout. Article 3: We shall absolutely never falter or betray our cause, no matter what difficulties we encounter in the course of this movement.

Article 4: We shall campaign widely wherever the mining pollution damage has spread, guiding and enlightening [the people], thereby prompting them to take unified action. Article 5: Should any among us affected residents cease the petition movement midway and take actions such as entering into settlements with the mining operator, we shall impose ethical sanctions upon them. Article 6: We shall strictly uphold the aforementioned articles to achieve our intended purpose, and do hereby forge this spiritual contract with our very lives.

Following these articles, led by Kobayashi Teishichirō, they each stood up one after another to sign and affix their seals. Those who had finished signing and those waiting their turn alike planted clenched fists on their knees and puffed out their shoulders, crossed their arms and formed their mouths into upside-down V shapes—all wore expressions of utmost tension. Few exchanged words, save for the sound of coughing, with only the occasional rustle of wind outside and the sound of fallen leaves tapping against the paper doors to be heard.

Thus, the people who had formed this pact returned to their respective villages with a clearer purpose and firmer resolve than when they had come. Immediately, public meetings were held and personal visits conducted through their efforts. Moreover, on the thick pillars of Unryūji Temple’s main gate facing the desolate wilderness, a large signboard boldly inscribed with "Ashio Copper Mine Cessation Petition Office" was erected. They decided to hold monthly meetings henceforth, and straw sandal-clad comrades were constantly passing through this temple gate, with small gatherings and consultations taking place day after day. In particular, Nagashima and several others carried out Shōzō’s instructions to the letter—hauling in bedding and stationing themselves at Unryūji Temple to handle communications and miscellaneous tasks.

Shōzō had since found himself increasingly embroiled in affairs. From every village in the affected coastal regions came notices of assemblies and discussion meetings. Wherever a summons reached him, he would attend without fail however distant the journey. Moreover, from each place his efforts took him, he sent near-daily letters to Unryūji Temple, never neglecting to bolster their resolve. The following missive stood as one such instance.

“Let each person never forsake their household’s virtues; let each person never err in failing to revere others’ merits. Henceforth: the Abbot of Unryūji Temple shall impart a word of Zen; Messrs. Hara, Niwada, and Sekiguchi shall each recite a passage from the Analects; Mr. Ōide shall expound on principles of the mind; the people shall speak of law. Deem it beneficial to announce these at every gathering to the assembly. (Alas, let not the secular world rob you of your conscience!)”

Now, as a result of the comrades’ efforts and fervor, the general momentum of the affected areas had finally begun to stir. At the office, the petition for mining cessation had been drafted, and finally, affected residents with shared resolve from two counties and nine towns and villages across Tochigi and Gunma prefectures were set to jointly sign and submit it. The petition was to be submitted to Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Enomoto Takeaki; however, by procedure, it had to be routed through the county offices and prefectural government. Therefore, they first brought it to the county office and requested an accompanying letter. However, at every county office, the county officials found fault and refused to provide the accompanying letter. Having no choice, they requested that they at least submit it and left, but when they went back four or five days later, it still had not been submitted. They retrieved it and this time took it directly to the prefectural office. However, even at the prefectural office, they were met with the same cold disdain; the officials would neither write the accompanying letter nor forward the petition.

But upon reflection, this was only natural. The petition described the horrific state of mining pollution damage, its lines saturated with anguished intensity that pierced through every word. For those immersed in calamity, such outcries were inevitable—yet in their overwhelming grief and indignation, their words inevitably turned to denouncing the governor and county officials. "The coastal disaster-affected towns had already sought to petition for mining cessation in Meiji 25 [1892], but at that time, the Tochigi Governor deceived coastal residents into settling with the mining operator. Moreover, they installed utterly ineffective ore dust collectors for pollution mitigation, fraudulently claiming these devices would completely eliminate contamination—thereby bringing about today's catastrophic damage. Is this not an unforgivable crime for those charged with protecting the people? And further—Ah! What manner of tyranny is this! Beside the Central Imperial Capital itself, they commit these atrocities in broad daylight without shame—can lands across thirteen coastal districts still be called part of our constitutional empire when governors act thus? That county officials under gubernatorial supervision dance to the mining operator's tune—is this not utterly beyond suspicion? Deceiving citizens into stamping blind seals on fraudulent documents, offering trifling coins before their eyes to swindle away perpetual rights—such malicious cunning defies description."

It had to be said that compelling petty officials to acknowledge past misdeeds of their own ilk was impossible. Moreover, even at this late stage—exploiting both the affected residents' destitution and political naivety—those permanent settlements were being finalized in villages beyond their comrades' reach.

At the gathering in Unryūji Temple, the comrades had to put their heads together to devise countermeasures against this. As a result, they unanimously resolved that there was no choice but to send commissioners to the capital to petition the government directly.

On November 27th, a resolution was submitted to the Gunma Prefectural Assembly under the names of Arakawa Kōsaburō, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, Arai Seibee, Kitayama Tsunekichi, and Orihara Itsutarō: "Should swift relief measures not be implemented, the entire Watarase River region will become a desolate wasteland—a fate we believe looms near. We therefore petition for mining cessation through measures under Article 19 of the Mining Regulations." Meanwhile, regarding land tax exemptions too, authorities met affected residents across every town and village with unexpectedly cold indifference and insincerity. When concerned citizens from Kenō Village, Tomita Village, and Azuma Village in Ashikaga County submitted a tax exemption appeal to Ashikaga Tax Office on October 20th, officials rejected it outright, declaring that inclusion of the term 'mining pollution' made it inadmissible under current land tax regulations. Even when resubmitted to Tochigi Prefectural Office, petitions met identical refusal for the same reason.

In Nishiyatada Village as well, their petition was rejected by the Tatebayashi Tax Office. However—perhaps deeming it difficult to collect taxes from plots that had effectively become wasteland—officials visited Nishiyatada Village Office and advised that deleting the two characters for “mining pollution” would be prudent. Swayed by this, the village office officials and villagers resubmitted their application as an ordinary barren land tax exemption petition. The only ones who refused to delete those two characters for “mining pollution,” stubbornly insisting on pressing their claim by treating facts as facts to the bitter end, were Nagashima Yohachi, his elder brother Nagashima Chūzaburō, and Fukuda Harukichi—just three men.

However, those who had revised their applications through ordinary wasteland procedures saw their tax exemptions proceed one after another, while Yohachi—refusing to bend his principles—found himself subjected to relentless backbiting and open mockery from the surrounding villagers. Having fallen into isolation with no support and exhausted all options, Yohachi resolved to at least convey his grievances to Shōzō and drafted an account of the entire ordeal to send to him. Then, a prompt reply arrived. I have received your letter. It brings me great joy to witness your indomitable spirit in persisting with your claims through this single-handed struggle. This matter is by no means limited to the mere issue of tax exemption; this truly serves as a powerful method to compel the authorities to acknowledge the reality of mining pollution damage. And thus, your solitary insistence shall soon become a significant and powerful reason in resolving the mining pollution incident; therefore, I earnestly hope you will maintain that stance thoroughly from beginning to end, and so forth.

Yohachi promptly showed it to his elder brother and Fukuda to boost their spirits.

Chapter 3

Since the concerned citizens of the coastal disaster areas formed their pact at Unryūji Temple, Shōzō too had been racing back and forth, literally without a moment to let his seat grow warm. The momentum of the mining cessation petition, which had finally begun to stir, needed to seize this opportunity to rally swiftly and coalesce into the collective voice of all affected residents. Shōzō charged forth toward that objective, frantically driving himself with unstoppable momentum. However, no matter how many hundreds of thousands of signatures they collected and petitions they submitted, he could not believe that the government would yield under ordinary circumstances. While amplifying the voices of the affected areas, he had also to appeal to informed individuals across the nation—starting with Tokyo—stir public sympathy, and leverage the power of public opinion. Shōzō had recognized this necessity; thus, he placed great hope in appealing to the entire nation through the upcoming Tenth Diet session and grew anxious that he must devote his efforts to gaining allies both within and outside the assembly.

December 22nd saw the convening of the Tenth Diet session. Snow had been falling ceaselessly since dawn that day. Once the speaker election at the Diet concluded, Shōzō rode through the snowfall in his rickshaw. Gazing at Hibiya Parade Ground's glistening white expanse—a sight that reminded him of the desolate wastelands in the affected regions—he made his way to Ginza. There he visited first the Mainichi Shimbun headquarters, then successively called upon the Yomiuri and Kokumin newspapers. The public's indifference stemmed from ignorance of reality. To convey the truth, nothing surpassed bringing people to witness the affected areas firsthand. For this purpose, Shōzō had determined that securing newspaper reporters' efforts and leveraging their pens must be the initial step.

On January 3, Meiji 30 (1897), Shōzō hurried toward Ueno Station from his lodgings in Kyōbashi Hakkamachi with Yamada Tomojirō, exposed to the predawn’s bitter winds. By the 7 AM departure time, reporters from the Mainichi, Yomiuri, and Kokumin newspapers—along with Amano Kinosuke, Kurosu Ryūtarō, Fukuda Mataichi, and their party of eight—had all gathered. Inside the train car, Shōzō immediately began recounting the mining pollution crisis while his shivering audience listened intently. After transferring at Oyama Station, the small box-like train crept westward with seats and windows creaking. As they finally passed Sano, Shōzō repeatedly stood and sat while gesturing earnestly to explain each village. The railway now traced the affected area’s edge, revealing distant vistas of devastation—a starkly desolate landscape beneath thin-clouded winter skies. Through drifting coal smoke, glimpses of the Watarase River’s silver surface carried an involuntary chill that made observers shudder. At Ashikaga Station stood eight or nine affected residents from Kenō Village—including Iwasaki Sajū—in creased haori over straw sandals. Among them waited Sunaga Kinzaburō, president of Jōmō Shimbun, ready to join the group.

After finishing lunch in front of the station, the group formed a line of rickshaws and first headed west through Ashikaga Town, arriving at Itsuwa in Mie Village. Though renowned as a sericulture region, the autumn floods had altered the Watarase River's bed, transforming the mulberry fields into a vast gravelly expanse. They turned the rickshaws eastward to enter Kenō Village and toured Kawasaki, Okudo, and other severely affected areas along the Watarase River. Shōzō stopped at key locations and explained with hand gestures resembling dance movements. People stood amidst the riverbed's center, awed by its boundless desolation while feeling compassion that farmers' bewilderment was only natural.

After crossing the river, they reached Kuno Village on the opposite bank. As they viewed the breach from Meiji 23 and approached the villages of Shimotanada and Kamitanada, the dense clouds overhead had taken on moisture, casting a gloomy pall over the surroundings. The large mounds that had been scattered here and there now loomed in staggering numbers. "What do you think of these toxic mounds?" Shōzō pointed. "Just like Matsushima in Oshū. The islands of Matsushima stay lush even in midwinter, but these mounds show no green even at midsummer's peak."

“Toxic mounds, ah! Toxic mounds everywhere!” Yamada parodied Bashō’s celebrated verse and shouted. “The prefectural office officials enthusiastically advocate their so-called deep plowing method, but all they’ve done is scrape together just the surface layer of toxic soil—and this is the result.” “Do they really think they can dig up this vast disaster area even two or three feet deep? Try swinging a hoe yourself and you’ll understand.” “Enough with these empty desk theories!” “Those bastards!” The final rebuke came as if he were confronting a sworn enemy. As they hunched their necks in the carriage, the people instinctively exchanged glances.

Crossing the Yabagawa tributary into Watase Village, they found it too piled high with toxic mounds. As the intensifying western wind whipped up sand and dust from every mound in a fearsome display, the people recoiled, covering their mouths, pulling their hats low, and holding their breath. Before long, as dusk approached and they drew near to Shimohayakawada,

“Ah, look at that cart!” Shōzō turned around in the rickshaw while pointing ahead. In the dimming twilight, they saw several figures gathered around a cart. The man pulling it appeared to be the husband, while his wife carried an infant on her back and held the hand of a child of five or six. Moreover, on top of the cart, along with some belongings, they were placing a sickly-looking white-haired old woman to take with them.

“What a pitiful sight—abandoning the land where their ancestors lie buried.” “No, no—they aren’t abandoning it; they’ve been driven out with neither food nor shelter left to sustain them.” “Do they even have anywhere to resettle?” “Yet even so, that they can still cling together as a family like this counts as fortunate.” “Brothers separated from fathers, deaths by sickness and poison—for whose benefit has this come to pass?” “Who did this?” “Who was it?” “Which bastard did this?!” On the rickshaw, Shōzō wiped his eyelids and screamed—his voice fractured by the evening wind that tore it into scattered fragments.

After crossing back over the eerie river surface that had melted into the night air, they were met by a jet-black cedar forest that loomed before them, the clamorous roar of the wintry wind striking their ears. The group’s lodging for the night was Unryūji Temple.

Hearing the commotion, two or three lanterns came darting out from the temple gate. In the main hall, lamps had been lit, and there was already a sense that forty or fifty affected residents had gathered. After the meal, they promptly engaged in an earnest discussion meeting with those affected residents. After introducing the newspaper reporters and other companions to the group, Shōzō added some remarks: “—As I also stated when opposing the evil law suspending newspaper publications during my speech at last year’s Ninth Diet session, newspapers have indeed played an indispensable role through both peacetime and crises for the nation, just as they have been called society’s moral compass.” “Indeed, even newspapers are not all good—they have their flaws as well.” “They can sometimes engage in reckless reporting.” “But take, for instance, a man here who’s fond of carnal pleasures.” “Suppose there was an idiot under the Imperial General Headquarters who, infatuated with a geisha, took out a woman named O-Kiku.” “Even someone like this would receive the Golden Kite Medal if they had military achievements.” “One cannot use that sin to negate their merits.” “How great have newspapers’ contributions been since the Korean issue, since the Sino-Japanese War?” “It was thanks to newspapers that the nation’s voice was unified and its strength solidified.” “Journalists went to Liaodong, Weihaiwei, Taiwan, and other places—you gentlemen reported what benefited the war effort but did nothing detrimental.” “If you opened canned food from the logistics department, it was rotten; if you bought tobacco, it was chopped leaves from Hokkaido; alcohol cost one yen and fifty sen a bottle—not a single war correspondent stationed at the front was unaware of these complaints from the logistics department.” “Even so, during the war, they refrained from publishing this because the harm would have outweighed the benefits.” “This too must rather be counted as a merit.” “Even during the Triple Intervention, newspaper companies were quicker to catch wind of developments than those in power.” “And when the Triple Intervention finally came, how did you journalists resolve yourselves?” “First, you outwardly demonstrated the people’s strong vitality.”

“They also performed the splendid task of making the country appear strong by striving to have plenipotentiary commissioners Itō and Mutsu fulfill their duties without losing public trust.” “Indeed, their merits are too numerous to enumerate.” “Moreover, journalists are not the sort who crave shiny baubles like peerages or medals even when rendering meritorious service.” “Newspapers wield such power—journalists are those who live by this sacred calling.” “Now that these individuals have journeyed all this way here, I want you to fully witness the damage firsthand, and you gentlemen must earnestly heed the actual voices of the afflicted people.”

And so, under the light of a single dim lamp, the people’s grievances and questions were exchanged back and forth until late into the night. When the voices suddenly ceased, the wintry wind's howl shook the cedar forest behind them and assailed the gathering. The people each hunched their shoulders as if hearing fate’s voice, or found themselves drawn into gazes that reflected on their own circumstances.

On the fourth day, they first headed to Niwada Tsunekichi’s house in Shimohayata near Unryūji Temple, where in a vast bamboo grove, they tested how bamboo three to four sun in diameter would slip out cleanly when pulled by two people. Genpachi, his father, also came out, “It was when this bamboo grove started withering that we first realized it was mining pollution,” Genpachi began recounting the past. As he spoke, the forty or fifty faces from last night’s gathering at Unryūji Temple assembled. No sooner had they heard the piercing neigh of a horse than Noguchi Haruzō came into view on horseback through the bamboo. He had come from Sakai Village to serve as today’s guide. The group tightened their straw sandals and came from Funatsu River in Ueno Village—a severely affected area—crossing the ferry to arrive at Ōshima Village in Gunma Prefecture.

Walking along embankments and winding through village paths—everywhere the same toxic mounds and sandy plains, villages crowded with visibly exhausted shacks that pained their hearts—they crossed the Watarase River once more and arrived at Bamon in Sakai Village, a severely affected area. Noguchi, around forty, explained in a crisp tone from horseback, as if declaring, "This here is my territory." To each villager who stood curiously under the eaves watching them pass by,

“Over there, the one wearing black hakama trousers and a crested haori coat is Diet member Mr. Tanaka,” Noguchi announced loudly. “Mr. Tanaka has guided the newspaper people here to investigate our mining pollution damage. As I’ve said before, there’s no path to our salvation other than having Furukawa’s mining operations stopped. They’ve come to help with that movement.”

The journalists could be heard whispering among themselves as they watched Noguchi’s demeanor. “What impressive momentum—if someone were to stir them up just a bit, they’d likely be hoisting rush-mat banners in no time!” “Right—with that heat and drive, even the masses would rise.”

After lunch, they gazed at Koshina Marsh amidst the withered reeds, proceeded to Mikamo Village to survey the affected areas, then crossed via the temporary bridge at Ichimon Ferry, passed through Ōshima Village, and finally arrived at Nishiyata Village. As they lingered at the site of last autumn’s great embankment breach in Shinmei Nishi, the winter day fell like a curtain descending until their faces became indistinguishable from one another.

That night, they were to lodge at Arai Kahei’s house in Nishinaka of the same village, but upon hearing of their arrival, over eighty people gathered from nearby villages, packing even the veranda of Arai’s large house. As was his custom, Shōzō introduced the members of the party and attempted a discourse. Within it were the following words. “Those who do not rage against the harm of mining pollution resemble in spirit those who meekly submitted to that Triple Intervention.” “I have heard that even among the influential people in your villages, there are still many who remain indifferent. But this indifference differs from that born of ignorance—it is a deficiency of moral conscience.” “Suppose someone here commits arson, many houses burn down, and just as I think my own house downwind is in danger, the wind suddenly shifts direction—allowing me to barely escape disaster. In my overwhelming relief, I might forget to despise the arsonist’s wickedness.” “This is self-interest.” “They must be condemned.” “This person does not realize that failing to show sympathy to the disaster victims is tantamount to sympathizing with the criminals themselves.” “Those who unconsciously stray from the right path and lose their way are of this kind.”

Perhaps provoked by this, when the discussion began, voices hurling abuse at a certain village mayor immediately erupted from the youths of each village. Rebuked for lacking fervor in the movement, the village mayor remained despondent throughout, hanging his head without managing a single word of rebuttal.

On the fifth day, guided by Arai, Nagashima, and several others, they toured along the river through Jokawa, Hosoya, and Hanare within the village before crossing to Fujioka on the opposite bank. From atop the embankment, they gazed upon the desolate expanse of the affected areas in Shimotsuga District, then crossed the river and entered the severely affected zone of Ebise Village. After observing the damage in Toshima and Kawabe Villages in Saitama Prefecture, they crossed the Watarase River once more to stop at Shimomiya in Yanaka Village, extended their journey to Nogi Village, parted ways with those returning to Tokyo at Koga, and lodged at Gonzaemon’s place.

On the sixth day, from early morning through a drizzling rain and hazy mist, the party of three headed toward Yamata Village in Ibaraki Prefecture. This was because village heads from this same village and two others had suddenly submitted written requests to join the petition movement last December, through which they first learned that mining pollution had reached this downstream area. That night, at Sekineya overlooking the Tone River in Sakai Town, they located Village Head Kamezo Sekine of Yamata Village and others and held a meeting. In the past, even when rice crops were submerged due to floods, the husks would germinate and become fodder for horses. But in recent years, they no longer germinated at all, and even the water-rotted straw had become inedible to horses. As he listened to accounts of hazel trees withering along field ridges, fish perishing in marshes, and even algae dying away, Shōzō found the paths he had recently walked through the severely affected areas overlapping vividly in his mind—not as distant tragedies but as immediate realities—compelling him to intensify the force of his words in urging action. Moreover, this downstream region had a particular circumstance where once it suffered flood damage, due to the water’s force, the waters would not recede for over a hundred days.

On the afternoon of the seventh day, Shōzō and his group boarded a ship from Sekiyado and went down the Edo River. Following the others’ example, Shōzō too lay down under a slightly soiled blanket, but before long he abruptly sat up, took out his writing set, and wrote several letters. He had not had the leisure to take up his brush since the start of the New Year. Yamada, who had been watching this,

“You truly never get a moment for your body to rest, do you?” “Dashing east and west—no, this time it’s south by boat and north by horse, I suppose?” Shōzō nodded slightly. “I’ve never eaten a meal seated on tatami since childhood. So all this rushing about has become second nature.” “When I hear of people deliberately cloistering in temples to spend time on Zen practice, I sometimes envy those with such leisure.” “But this isn’t false pride—my Zen meditation exists within this ceaseless motion.” “Forging one’s spirit isn’t confined to formal sitting.” “On horseback, in carriages, aboard ships—even while treading dangerous paths, there lie chances for awakening.” “That too is Zen meditation.” “Thus wherever I go, I transform every place I tread into Zen.”

Mid-sentence, Shōzō placed his hands on his hakama-clad knees and closed both eyes. Yamada, not wishing to disturb his meditation, kept silent watch. But finding his breathing too quiet, Yamada suspected he had fallen asleep—then noticed his lips moving faintly,

“I was asleep at the wheel from Meiji 19 to 23,” Shōzō said. “From Meiji 23 onward, I began to stir awake, and by Meiji 28, I finally came to recognize religious matters—allowing me to return to before Meiji 19 and become a true human being again.” With that, he sank back into silent contemplation. The boat’s interior darkened with evening shadows, though their position along the river remained unclear. The creak of oars echoed from passing vessels, their crews shouting boisterously across the water. When Shōzō finally opened his eyes, Yamada seized the moment to ask.

“You said you became aware of religion—is it Buddhism or Christianity?”

Shōzō shook his head. "No, no—it's not that I've taken refuge in any particular religion. I'm uneducated and know nothing of profound doctrines." "What little I know of Buddhism amounts to hearsay learning." "As for Christianity, I know nothing at all—so I haven't reached the point of converting to any of them." "But Shakyamuni stands alone—truly, there is none like him but himself." "Confucius too is great." "I think Christ too is great—these sages are people who attained divinity while remaining human." "People can become gods if they so will." "Even without learning, one can become a god." "If people become gods, the power of learning becomes worthless as dust." "Therefore, people must become gods." "Striving to become gods is humanity's duty." "My awakening to religious matters lies precisely there."

The boat boy entered, stepping over the sleeping people, and lit the hanging lamp. “When I return to Tokyo, I plan to seek out spiritualists and religious figures this time—to ask for their help and borrow their mental strength.” Under the lamplight, Shōzō shook his entire body and let out another fragmented utterance. Yamada smiled faintly, “You mean that Mr. Tsuda from Gakunōsha you mentioned before?” “They say he’s short-tempered—flies into a rage before hearing half what people have to say. Quite like you in that regard, Sensei.”

Speaking of Tsuda Sen, he was at that time regarded less as an agricultural scholar and more as a public-spirited reformer of unwavering integrity. The previous December, Kurihara Hikosaburō—then staying at Aoyama Gakuin’s dormitory—had visited Tsuda bearing a letter of introduction from Principal Honda Yōichi. This led Tsuda to have Kurihara guide him on a day-long tour of the disaster zones. Confronted with the harrowing devastation, Tsuda was deeply stirred. “My conviction that Tanaka Shōzō was merely an opportunist stemmed from my own error,” he later reflected, while vowing to devote his full efforts to the cause henceforth.

“I have yet to express my gratitude to Mr. Tsuda.” “I must meet him face-to-face and earnestly request his continued support for future matters.” “Matsumura Kessaku—I must also seek this gentleman’s devoted efforts.”

The fellow passengers around them woke up and began eating their boxed meals. The Mainichi reporter traveling with them let out a big yawn and got up, so Shōzō and his group also took out rice balls and began nibbling on them. That night, the ship arrived at Fukagawa’s Takabashi at nine o’clock, and after hiring a rickshaw waiting at the crossroads, they returned to Hachikancho past eleven. However, from the very next day, Shōzō immediately put his words into action and set out to recruit comrades and sympathizers. On days like the ninth, Tokyo was again blanketed in heavy snow, but thinking of the afflicted residents’ hardships, he could not bring himself to huddle by the brazier simply because it was cold.

On the night of the eleventh, the Empress Dowager passed away, halting all song and dance performances across Tokyo. The New Year's atmosphere that normally lingered until the pine decorations were removed vanished completely from the capital's streets. On the 26th, Tanaka Shōzō summoned Nakajima Yūhachi, Arai Keigorō, Kogure Budayū, Horikoshi Kansuke, Fujita Kichirō, and others to Isekanrō in Kyōbashi Ward to coordinate submitting the Mining Pollution Inquiry Document to Parliament. With the Tokyo movement finally materializing and requiring an operational base, Shōzō converted a detached guest room at his lodgings—26 Hachikanchō, Kyōbashi Ward, part of Miyashita Eisuke's residence—into a meeting hall for Diet members representing pollution-ravaged prefectures. Itō Sōichi, Katō Kenkichi (later adopting the Miyashita surname), and other young men assumed administrative responsibilities.

In each affected area as well, signatures for mining cessation petitions were gradually collected, and committee members traveling to the capital also finally became frequent. The committee members departing for Tokyo had all gathered relying on Shōzō and moved according to his instructions. By the end of January, the number of signatures submitted to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce reached several thousand people, and it was reported that signatures were still being added in succession, with expectations that the total would ultimately climb to tens of thousands. Moreover, during this period, the efforts of Tochigi Prefectural Assembly member Sekiguchi Chūtarō—who stayed in the capital for several dozen days and worked to mediate—alongside Gunma Prefectural Assembly members Arakawa Kōsaburō and Ōtsuka Genjūrō, were no less extraordinary.

On February 15, the day before the budget bill was to be presented to the 10th Diet session, the Progressive Party convened a general assembly of Diet members on the upper floor of their headquarters in Uchisaiwaichō and determined their stance on the budget proposal. As a result, despite fierce attacks from the Liberal Party, the budget bill concluded deliberations on the 18th. The fact that it passed so swiftly was unprecedented except for wartime parliamentary sessions, owing to the Progressive Party’s support of the government and alignment with other ruling parties. Yet precisely because the general populace had expected the new cabinet to renew all government affairs, their disappointment was all the greater. Moreover, the House of Representatives had no bills to place on its agenda, resulting in the farcical outcome of adjourning from the 19th.

The Four-Prefecture Alliance Ashio Copper Mine Cessation Union Office in Shibaguchi 3-chome dispatched summaries of mining damage to various parties on the 20th and 24th. On the 24th, following the recess, the "Inquiry Document Regarding the Failure to Cease Mining Operations Harmful to Public Welfare" was submitted to the House of Representatives, with Tanaka Shōzō and forty-six others as submitters and sixty-two as endorsers. On the 26th, when the plenary session convened at 1:00 PM and Chairman Hatoyama Kazuo’s customary reports concluded, a voice resounded through the chamber from a seat below the podium: “Number 35.” By the time people’s eyes turned toward the voice, the shoulders clad in the familiar five-crested haori had already stirred calmly and left the seat. What was wrapped inside? A bulky shirogane-cloth furoshiki bundle was being cradled with importance under his left arm. After being long deprived of opportunity through successive parliamentary dissolutions and the Sino-Japanese War, Shōzō finally took the floor to deliver his inquiry speech on the mining pollution issue, containing his pent-up fury.

Shōzō stood at the podium, took documents from his bundle, and declared, “I shall now read aloud the names of this proposal’s submitters from myself.” He continued reading: “The submitters are Tanaka Shōzō, Mr. Ōtō Gitetsu, Mr. Suzuki Shigetō, Mr. Haseba Juntaka, Mr. Kashiwada Morifumi…”—then drank water. “Today, with so many important matters at hand, I am aware that my lengthy inquiry speech may cause considerable inconvenience. However, this issue is pressing in the regions—district officials among local authorities are currently engaged in oppressing and deceiving the people—and we must bring this to light as soon as possible to relieve their suffering… Since Meiji 24, this marks my fourth inquiry, and now this fifth.” “The Minister of Agriculture and Commerce has occasionally provided responses to this, but every single one has been a lie.” “And thus, they have allowed this mining pollution to grow to catastrophic proportions.” “Regarding this mining pollution, Parliament does not trust the government, and the people have come to resent it.” “Under such circumstances, if viewed with impartial eyes, the very value of the state will come to be lost.” “Since they do not provide legal protection, the people have no obligation to obey the law.” “If there is no obligation to obey the law, they may resort to any manner of actions from now on.”

First, prefaced with a warning that this was not an issue to be dismissed lightly, he launched into a detailed explanation. Originally, the Kantō region’s flat terrain allowed toxic floodwaters to spread like water poured across floorboards once they flowed in. The fundamental error lay in having permitted operations in that region without even conducting a geographical survey. However, while this stemmed from carelessness, he denounced the reckless deforestation of ten thousand chōbu in deep mountains never before touched by axes as an act of malice; explaining how deforestation exacerbated mining pollution’s dangers, he warned that once forty-five years had passed and the roots of these felled trees rotted away, catastrophic landslides would inevitably occur. He emphatically stated that this differed from ordinary floods in other prefectures through its contamination by mining toxins, and declaring “The bamboo along these embankments has withered away—like this,” he produced bamboo roots cut to two shaku in length from his furoshiki and held them aloft.

After presenting a segment on embankment construction theory, he cited examples of how sediment pushed down from the mountains had raised the riverbed and accelerated floodwater flow. He then reasoned that if the full force of the water were to arrive all at once, the embankments would inevitably be destroyed, and thus explained, based on statistics, that the scope of damage had expanded to an astonishing degree. Moreover, this wasteland does not recover within five to ten years of cultivation like ordinary flood-damaged areas; since all toxic soil ranging from fifteen centimeters to three meters must be completely removed, the farmers’ hardships are far from ordinary. By now, 1,600 chōbu had already become desert, and if over 30,000 chōbu were left abandoned, they would all turn into desert before long. He had repeatedly argued that tax exemptions and reductions must be granted for this, and his questioning grew increasingly sharp: why had the Ministry of Finance, which oversees taxation, not taken notice of this sooner and pressed the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce?

He then read aloud fifty-four articles detailing the damages, ultimately arguing that mining pollution harms human lives: the people had abruptly lost their property, abruptly fallen into poverty, abruptly been deprived of clothing, food, and shelter, abruptly seen their nutritional strength diminish—and from this, the resulting harm to public health was all too evident. There were many who ate unpolished rice contaminated by poisoned water without knowing it was toxic, but among them were those who, aware of the poison, were compelled by poverty to consume it. When it comes to eating poison, it is a pitiful state of affairs. Shōzō fell silent for a moment, his face heavy with anguish.

Shōzō then took out from his furoshiki straw ash and mulberry leaves contaminated with mining pollution to present them, and as these along with twenty-one other reference materials—including affected unpolished rice, wheat, barley, soybeans, potatoes, sesame, upland rice, paddy rice, and more—would be available for viewing later in the conference room, he folded up the cloth bundle. He then addressed drinking water, stating that while the total number of wells remained undetermined, he humbly requested they note that the portion of households with contaminated water alone amounted to ninety-eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight, pausing his speech.

"In addition, I must state that mining pollution's harm now extends to infringing upon rights." Shōzō’s voice took on an even more anguished tone.

“Circumstances have emerged where we can no longer send our children to elementary school. This is no time for schooling—families torn apart, brothers and fathers scattered. With what words could one possibly convey this devastation? The worst cases see even marriages ruined.” The chamber fell silent as still water, broken only by muffled coughs. “To subject one side to such cruelty while letting mining magnates run rampant—what governance is this? This industrialist is Furukawa Ichibei. Though perhaps not solely his intent, such ventures inevitably attract profiteers who commit atrocities unknown to their masters. We attack not one man but a system. As the responsible party, I name him. Their rampage deforests mountains like thieves, ravages over 35,000 chōbu of land, strips rights from thousands, poisons a hundred thousand souls—all while wallowing in luxury! When locals petition against this, they enslave prefectural officials. District officers have become Furukawa’s chattel. I now present irrefutable proof of their bondage... Were Furukawa himself making these claims, that would be one matter—but when outsiders and bureaucrats hail this as profitable national policy? We might tolerate ignorance from laymen—but when responsible officials spout such lies? Detestable! They forget a nation’s true wealth lies in its people. Any official with sense would never claim mines alone sustain our coffers while ignoring their crimes. There are reasons for this. You need no elaboration. Profits gained thus are no true profits. True profit comes only through righteous means—that alone deserves the name.”

“True benefit refers to that which restrains oneself and benefits society—can money obtained through acts akin to banditry truly be called profit?” “Is this plunder? Is it stolen goods? I am tormented by how to name it.” “It cannot possibly be cloaked with the splendid, beautiful character of ‘benefit.’” “To thus place a single mining industrialist outside the law and allow them to run rampant as they please is nothing less than creating extraterritorial rights within our own country and granting them enforcement authority.” “The Foreign Minister and the Justice Minister must also personally exercise vigilance, I believe.” “Under such circumstances, when mixed residence is implemented, by what means can we compel foreigners to obey our nation’s laws?”

Shōzō’s voice grew increasingly sharp, his large face flushed deep red and glistening with sweat.

“Despite such extensive harm, why have the people of the affected regions not risen up in protest until today? Why has their outcry been so delayed? Even now, their voices remain subdued—one cannot help but harbor this doubt. Regarding this matter, I believe I must thoroughly explain the circumstances of the affected residents and offer a full defense. We must ensure those in power hear this well…The current circumstances of the affected areas downstream of the Watarase River have reached a point where they can no longer raise their voices.”

"Why are they unable to raise their voices?" Shōzō began explaining in a voice strained with suppressed indignation—how local farmers, conditioned to accept all calamities as natural disasters, possessed a temperament less acquainted with anger than those from other regions. "Because mining pollution had become intermingled with natural disasters," he continued, "they remained unaware for nearly ten years." Even when they came to understand this, he added, the problem proved too complex—requiring expertise across multiple fields—making it truly insurmountable for them.

The large clock on the wall already showed 2:25. The rear door clattered. Ōkuma Shigenobu, the Foreign Minister, leaned on a crutch with his right hand and entered while being assisted by attendants. Both the lower seats and the upper gallery seats suddenly showed signs of unrest. The shoulders and heads of the people packed tightly in the public seats, officials’ seats, foreign guests’ seats, and women’s seats swayed as if released from tension. Revived by fresh expectations, even hushed whispers broke out among them. In truth, most of them had come today with the main purpose of hearing the Foreign Minister’s response speech regarding the Japan-Russia Consultative Convention.

But Shōzō continued his speech, paying no heed to the surrounding commotion. Yoshimoto Eikichi stood up from his seat as if he could no longer endure it, hurried up to the podium, and whispered something. As he turned on his heel, Shōzō adopted a slightly altered tone: “As I have previously stated—though this must surely trouble you—if there exists your gracious intention to save these afflicted people, I humbly request your esteemed attention a while longer.” “In local government offices, they raise a huge commotion when smallpox breaks out.” “Let them raise a great commotion over that.” “When it comes to this mining pollution, they act as though they are unaware.” “In last year’s flood, over 100,000 people were poisoned, yet they have not uttered a single word about mining pollution.” “Even when we warn them, they do nothing.” “They say it must not be put into writing.” “If they put it in writing, people will realize—so they suppress this.” “Through such cruel means, the people of Tochigi and Gunma prefectures are subjected to inhumane treatment by district and prefectural officials.” “If one were to abandon everything without regard, on the other hand, district officials rush about everywhere devising various means of interference, committing nothing but outrageous misdeeds.” “Under such circumstances, can the people raise their voices?”

Perhaps because flowing sweat got into his eyes, he continued speaking—now squeezing his eyelids shut tightly, now snapping them open to cast an eerie gleam. “Even as I speak thus, were the poisoning truly severe, surely the people would have resorted to bamboo spears and straw-mat banners by now.” “You might imagine them donning straw raincloaks and hats to petition at official gates—but given various circumstances, they either subjugate district officials or suppress locally prominent figures to maintain their tyranny.” “This extends beyond just the afflicted people of Tochigi and Gunma.” “Even among groups of fifty or thirty upstanding citizens—if two or three leaders are bought off—the remainder grow docile. While such things do not occur within Parliament’s halls, beyond its gates these very practices prevail.”

Shōzō’s tone shifted to one of solemn gravity, growing increasingly acerbic. “Another point is that tangible things are readily noticed by people; however, those belonging to the intangible realm are noticed far too slowly. Disasters such as the Gifu and Aichi earthquakes, the Sanriku tsunami, and the Mount Azuma eruption—even the most foolish among us can comprehend these. Ministers and others all rush to the scene. Even natural disasters, the government would deign to address. This mining pollution incident combines natural disasters with human-caused harm. Man-made harm can definitively be cured by human agency. To abandon preventable man-made harm is beyond comprehension. It should be incomprehensible. Because harm inflicted through human agency can also be remedied through human agency. If speculators scatter money and operate, it is only natural that those unaware of the circumstances will find opposing arguments baseless. However, compared to the affected residents being submissive and not raising their voices until today, the fact that officials of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce do not raise theirs—is this hundreds of times more servile? More ignorant? It truly leaves one at a loss for words. They cannot be called maggots, nor can they be deemed fools. How should I describe them, I wonder? Gentlemen, look! The Kantō plain lies flat and vast—Japan’s fertile plains stretch unobstructed as far as the eye can see. Yet these bountiful fields spanning dozens of miles have been ravaged, and within this government there exists no means to save them—what say you to this?”

Shōzō thrust his arm from the sleeve of his crested formal kimono—swiping at empty air, striking downward, swinging wildly—as if physically wrestling with how to unleash his pent-up fury and articulate the afflicted people’s anguish. “The clique-dominated government you gentlemen so despise treats Tōhoku’s people with precisely this cruelty.” “Having rendered them utterly helpless—now that our inquiry has been submitted—perhaps they might deign to offer a proper response.” “What manner of response could they possibly give?” “Perhaps commissioning scholars henceforth? Purchasing machinery to stem the poison’s flow? Or keeping their tabletop debates within respectable bounds?” “They slaughter people first, then embark on medical research.” “Does such idiocy truly exist in this world?” “If that’s their intended reply, they’d best withhold it entirely.”

Shōzō roared and banged the table with a thunderous crack. He glared wide-eyed, remaining frozen in that posture momentarily before shrugging his massive shoulders and pivoting to expound on the nexus between politics and mining. Methodically, he unraveled the chain of events from the initial inquiry in the 24th year through to the present day. "The most unconscionable act occurred in November of the 27th year. During the Sino-Japanese War—amidst the Battle of Haicheng—soldiers perished from exposure in frozen trenches. At the very moment troops were decrying shortages of rations and winter uniforms, conscripts were being dragged from these poisoned lands!" He leaned forward, spittle flying. "And while those young men fought abroad, officials preyed on those left behind—intimidating elders, coercing women, tricking them into sealing fraudulent agreements! However greed might drive men—for those bearing official titles to become Furukawa Ichibei's lackeys? Unforgivable! That such vermin still hold posts as district officers today... If Japan lacks a government, so be it! But while one exists, these traitors must face exemplary punishment!"

When they came to appeal, both upper and lower floors fell utterly silent; every face in the crowd held its breath in stillness. Had emotion engulfed them all? Shōzō too sat wordless as if overcome by feeling, but after a moment suddenly adjusted his bearing and took on a grave countenance.

“In Gunma Prefecture’s Nitta District lies a place called Kanayama.” “In Tochigi Prefecture stands Karasawayama.” “Mushrooms grow plentifully on these mountains, so each autumn those of noble station would deign to visit for mushroom hunting.” “Yet at their foothills lies mining pollution.” “During His Majesty’s imperial tour of Hokuriku in Meiji 14 [1881], rewards were bestowed upon widowers and widows, orphans and childless elders—even loyal retainers and righteous servants.” “Though His Majesty’s virtuous reign has only brightened since then, now there are those who guide visitors to foothill villages blighted by this poison.” “What manner of men perform such guidance? Our Japanese subjects remain loyal—devoting themselves to road repairs and public works.” “Not one among them bears resentment toward the Imperial Court.” “Yet when these guides lead others to gaunt-faced villagers powerless against the poison at their feet—can any claim their retinues contain only honorable men?” “Gentlemen—I make this appeal for the Imperial Household’s sake.” “Let me further say—Cabinet Ministers must henceforth maintain utmost vigilance.” “You would do well to remember this clearly.”

Mid-sentence, Shōzō’s face twisted and his voice grew hoarse. And then, suddenly covering both eyes with his right hand and lowering his head, he began to sob. For a few minutes, he hung his head, shoulders trembling. After a moment, he took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face, and quietly resumed speaking. “When I first advised the government regarding the mining pollution—as I stated earlier, it was in the 24th year—the area affected by mining pollution at that time was over 1,600 chōbu.” “Yet they concocted various pretexts and evasions, lied three times over, and now the affected area has expanded to over thirty thousand chōbu.” “…Our inquiry does not take pleasure in exposing this.” “It is because the facts leave us no choice that we bring this appeal.” “Why have they not ceased it to this day?” “Do they actually intend to provide any kind of answer?” “Or do they think everything is settled just because they’ve relied on local thugs or district officials to coerce thumbprints?” “Even if they deceive every last affected resident, the state will not condone such actions.” “The state protects the rights of the people to the very end.” “If the government does not protect them, then we will protect them.”

After Shōzō raised his voice even further and finished rebuking them, he next cited articles from the Constitution and mining industry regulations, concluded his two-hour-long questioning, and finally—

“I sincerely apologize for having caused you all such prolonged inconvenience.”

Shōzō bowed his head reverently on the podium as if in silent prayer, hastily adjusted his furoshiki-wrapped bundle, carefully cradled it, and descended from the platform.

One day later, on February 28, the first public speech meeting on the mining pollution incident in the imperial capital was held at the Christian Youth Hall in Kanda Mita-chō. At that time, public speaking meetings were limited to political campaign rallies, and those addressing social issues were rare. However, in the affected areas, Shōzō had already frequently held mining pollution speech meetings, endeavoring to awaken the farmers’ consciousness. The proposal was to hold one such meeting in Tokyo to appeal for the sympathy of the entire capital. The venue was borrowed free of charge through the goodwill of Niwa Kiyojirō.

The Nihon, Mainichi, and Yomiuri newspapers each reserved space in a corner of their pages to run advertisements.

On the day before, rumors circulated that "Furukawa plans to send a large contingent of miners from the copper mine to storm the venue and disrupt the speech meeting." Some actively propagated these whispers.

Worried, Yamada Tomojirō hastily gathered over fifty concerned youths from the affected areas and made arrangements to counter [the threat].

On the day of the event, before the opening, the first to arrive were Kurihara’s school alumni and seniors—about forty to fifty individuals including Soejima Yasosuke and Yokoyama Keizō—who took up positions directly below the podium. Before long, men who appeared to be miners dispatched from Furukawa and stalwart-like men from the Furukawa faction entered in small groups with squared shoulders, and before anyone knew it, they had occupied the center of the venue. Then, Ichiki Saitarō, who supported Shōzō, arrived leading fifty or sixty of his stalwart disciples and discreetly surrounded them, while the youths from the affected areas further fortified the four corners of the outer perimeter. Of course, during that time, the general audience also gradually crowded in, filling whatever seats they could find on both floors. Police officers stood guard in groups of two or three, their hat visors gleaming and their swords clattering with authority. Thus, an hour before the scheduled time, even in the speakers’ waiting room, optimistic remarks such as “Seven hundred people have come in” were exchanged. When reporters from various newspapers came to the waiting room to exchange business cards, among those present were Masuda Yoshikazu, Enjōji Kiyoshi, Sakai Karegawa, and others.

A little past one o'clock in the afternoon, Kurihara Hikosaburō first stood amidst applause and delivered the opening address. At the tender age of nineteen, his speech bore the cadence of a seasoned orator, yet undaunted by the cacophony of his friends’ cheers and opponents’ jeers, he lit the fuse of condemnation against the government’s negligence. Next to take the podium was Takahashi Hidemi. First declaring that the Ashio mining operations must cease without delay, he appealed that the path to salvation lay in the awakening of youth imbued with social morality. During last summer’s campaign tour in Kansai, when Shōzō had requested of him, “Mr. Takahashi, as a young champion of justice, I ask you to lend your strength to the relief of mining pollution victims,” this speech had been a passionate fulfillment of that plea.

Next was Matsumura Kessaku. Citing the opium and slavery issues, he argued that mining pollution too constituted a humanitarian crisis. Interweaving wry humor with unvarnished truths, he delivered a deeply moving address urging those possessed of compassionate hearts to pour forth their fullest sympathies.

The fourth to take the podium was Tsuda Sen. With cold sarcasm, he ridiculed the officials’ incompetence and irresponsibility; though his tone remained calm, every word was scathing.

The fifth was Tanaka Shōzō. As he explained the mining pollution crisis that had grown increasingly severe with each passing year—beginning with the unaltered metaphor of “like a maiden”—Shōzō gradually began denouncing Furukawa with mounting grief and righteous anger. He pulled out the “Mining Pollution Damage Mediation Proposal”—purportedly distributed last autumn under the names Yokoo, Nakayama, and others—from his pocket. He had just begun reading the first two lines when he shouted, “This is deception!” “It’s trickery!” “You may deceive ignorant and foolish victims, but you cannot deceive the nation!” he roared, tearing it violently to shreds and slamming the pieces onto the floor at his feet. The audience involuntarily erupted in an uproar, but it was immediately followed by a sudden hail of applause.

The next speaker was Shimada Saburō. “This is not merely a local problem but indeed a grave national issue.” “Yet the fact that this has only now been introduced to the world through Mr. Tanaka Shōzō’s words is truly utterly deplorable.” With a grave expression, he began to speak with clear eloquence. After establishing as a premise that there were reasons for having long blocked the public’s eyes and ears, he elaborated in detail from the corruption at the lower echelons of administration to the government’s responsibility, concluding that “Ultimately, it is the crime of politics.” He asserted that “It is the moral decay of those who govern,” delivering a grand oration that flowed like a meandering river for over an hour. Thus, it was at the moment when the audience, deeply moved, began to rise from their seats. In a voice like a cracked bell,

“Gentlemen, wait a moment.” “There’s still something I need to say.”

As the audience, about to leave, turned around, Shōzō extended both hands from the podium as if beckoning them back. The audience applauded once more and returned to their seats. Shōzō further reiterated that the current circumstances of the affected areas were a tragic state where they could not even voice their suffering, and earnestly pleaded for them to spare a day to conduct an on-site inspection. Thus, having planted something in the audience’s hearts, they adjourned around five o’clock as the venue grew dim. The miners and stalwarts sent by Furukawa ultimately found themselves powerless to act and returned without achieving anything.

Chapter Four

In the predawn hours of March 3rd, the dark sky showed faint movement like peeling away thin paper, the cold biting into them with renewed intensity. At Hibiya Drill Ground (now a park), shadowy figures gathered in clusters from nowhere, collapsing exhaustedly onto withered grass with heavy thuds each time they arrived. The grass bore settled frost that chilled them from beneath. Yet they paid no heed—some lay motionless as corpses in sleep, others sat silent with backs pressed together. Among them were those trembling as they bit into frozen rice balls. Too dark to discern faces, they seemed to mutually accept this indifference as comrades while appearing drained of energy to care about neighbors. When dawn’s first light began tracing facial contours, their numbers had reached about seven hundred.

They were the victims who had boarded boats from Furukawa under cover of darkness the previous night, descending the Tone River and then the Edo River. At Furukawa, there had been over two thousand people, but more than half were forced to turn back after being blocked by security forces dispatched from the Tatebayashi, Sano, and Furukawa police stations. The remaining individuals mutually cautioned one another, agreed to assemble at Hibiya Drill Ground by this morning’s predawn hour, and evading watchful eyes, entered the capital in scattered groups. Their purpose went without saying. In response to Tanaka Shōzō’s questioning in the House of Representatives on the 26th of last month, they had firmly believed that the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce would surely provide a definitive answer. However, according to newspaper reports, the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce had established an investigation committee and stated that they would issue their response after reviewing its report. They could not help but be astonished at the unexpectedness of the matter. For a matter that had been an issue in Parliament for years, where could there possibly be any need for investigation now? They could no longer endure waiting for it. There was no longer any choice but to appear before the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce themselves and plead their dire circumstances. Their resolve had unwittingly aligned there.

When day broke, a group of police officers rushed to the scene, their sabers gleaming. Perhaps perceiving signs of unrest, they abruptly ordered the crowd to disperse without even hearing their explanations. It was a threat—that failure to comply with the order would result in punishment under the Public Assembly and Political Association Law. They simply selected several representatives as instructed by the police and withdrew from the scene with an almost eerie compliance.

The representatives divided into several groups and set out to petition at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of War, and the official residences of the Presidents of the House of Peers and House of Representatives. Panicked by Tanaka Shōzō’s parliamentary address, Furukawa—arguing that halting mining operations would disrupt copper exports to Britain—prevailed upon British Envoy Satow to pressure the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce. With such rumors already swirling, some went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs seeking verification. Meanwhile, from around ten o’clock that morning, figures wearing straw raincoats and hats, others wrapped in blue or red blankets, still more shouldering straw mats—all began trickling into the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce grounds with exhausted steps. The victims expelled from Hibiya Drill Ground found themselves utterly adrift. Having aimlessly roamed the city until drawn by some latent impulse, they gravitated toward the ministry as instinctively as homing pigeons. Key figures took turns presenting calling cards to request an audience with the minister. Even when informed of his absence, they stood immovable, showing no inclination to leave. When officers arrived again demanding dispersal, this time they neither resisted nor obeyed. Their silence—which that morning had seemed mere mulishness—now thrummed with unspoken resolve. If an officer grabbed an arm to haul someone away, they dropped like stones to the frozen earth. Shouted commands met only white-eyed glares. Every last one now stood rooted like transformed beings—unyielding as ancient oaks. Still more kept coming. By one o’clock their ranks swelled to three hundred fifty, spilling beyond ministry grounds to choke the street before its gates.

Prior to this, Enomoto had resolved to set a day to hear their statements after learning that delegates from the affected areas visiting the capital frequently sought meetings. Therefore, it was yesterday that he had ordered notification of a meeting to be held at his official residence at 10 AM on the 3rd. That morning, he had waited for them as promised. However, due to some miscommunication in the interim, not a single delegate ever appeared. Having waited in vain, Enomoto proceeded to the ministry, but upon seeing both the front gate and courtyard of the ministry building teeming with farmers, he perceived the gravity of the situation and summoned Secretary Hayakawa to instruct him to handle the matter.

Thereupon, the secretary appeared at the entrance and requested to speak with the representatives. Yamamoto Eijirō, Ōde Kihei, Mizushima Yohachi, Kobayashi Yūnosuke, Fukuyoshi Kazuzō, Ōta Jūjirō, Hara Kinjirō, Teshima Isematsu, Mugakura Iwajirō, Noguchi Haruzō, and others were escorted to the reception room still wearing their straw sandals. Eventually, they returned to their group, climbed onto the garden stone by the carriage turnaround, and each in turn reported the details of their negotiations. According to the secretary’s words, the Minister could not meet today due to official duties but had promised to meet without fail at ten o’clock in the morning two days hence. “So what should we do?” Having said this, they all deliberated on their next course of action.

“The Minister says he’s swamped with official duties, but haven’t we abandoned all our affairs to come here?” Someone from the crowd shouted out those words, and in response, various voices arose. “Are they saying we should camp out here until then?” “The wives and children we left behind will starve to death.” “How can we just sit around like this?” “Everyone’s starving.” “Have the authorities provide us lunch!” “Even if we return like this, we’ll starve to death anyway.” “It makes no difference where we starve to death.” “We won’t budge an inch from here until we meet the Minister!”

When the representatives reluctantly conveyed this, Secretary Hayakawa’s reply was as follows: “Four o’clock marks the ministry’s closing time. Until then, you may remain here as you wish. However, remaining on the premises after that hour will absolutely not be permitted. Should you still refuse to leave by then, we will have no choice but to exercise public force. The very notion of preparing lunch for you never crossed their minds.”

Because the representatives relayed this verbatim, the entire group flew into a rage and began causing an uproar. Even those who had been sitting cross-legged on the gravel with pipes in their mouths leapt to their feet and began cursing. Fatigue and hunger rendered their anger even more violent. A murderous aura swelled, one where a single misstep could plunge them into unfathomable chaos. The police gradually increased in number, and over a dozen reinforcements arrived from the Metropolitan Police Department, barely managing to hold the line at the brink of disaster.

The afternoon sunlight, which had been warm with a hint of spring earlier, was now fading, and the shadows of dead trees cast on people’s backs grew chillingly desolate. However, as time passed, not a single person showed any sign of leaving, and between the police and the representatives, a relentless back-and-forth of arguments continued. “What on earth do you people intend to do?” “The Minister will surely meet you on the fifth—there’s no need to dig in your heels like this.” “You can’t possibly camp out here.”

The police officers also looked utterly at a loss.

“No, we came out prepared to die.” “Of course we have no surplus travel funds, and even if we were to vacate this place, there’s no prospect of finding somewhere to stay.” “We have no choice but to resign ourselves to spending the night here like this.” “It must be quite a hardship for you all to have to deal with us camping out like this.”

When one person said this sarcastically, another chimed in: "You claim the Minister will definitely meet us the day after tomorrow and personally answer our questions—can you at least get us written proof of that? If we had such solid documentation, we might consider leaving depending on the circumstances." "That's impossible," the officer replied. "A low-ranking policeman like me can't obtain that sort of proof from the Minister." His face remained impassively earnest, radiating bureaucratic sanctimoniousness.

“So what? If there were another place for us to stay, would you have us leave?” “If you insist to that extent, there is nothing to be done.” The representatives also nodded in silent agreement. “We wouldn’t mind staying anywhere if it means enduring just the night dew.” “But even so, we have absolutely no intention of withdrawing from here.” “Our resolve remains unshakably here.” “We are merely securing a place to stay elsewhere for one night.” “Please do not misunderstand that point.”

Compelled to go to the main police station for consultation, the representatives left the group behind and accompanied the police to Kyobashi Police Station. Before long, as night mist began gathering in the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce’s garden and the group grew restless waiting for their representatives’ return, a police officer came before them and announced: “We’ve arranged to borrow Tsukiji Honganji Temple for one night’s lodging. You should go there immediately.” “Of course, this was decided after consulting with your representatives.” “No, no!” “Don’t be fooled by such talk!” “We absolutely will not move from here until the representatives return!”

Some shouted in protest. In the end, roughly a hundred people stubbornly remained behind, but with the cold, hunger, and the anxiety of their reduced numbers exacerbating their plight, they too finally left the gates of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.

Now, when the group arrived at Tsukiji Honganji Temple, they found the temple's stance markedly different. While temporary gatherings under police supervision were permissible, accommodating overnight stays for large groups was something they had to decline. The police officers retracted their earlier statement and ordered, "Given unavoidable circumstances, you must disperse." "Did you deceive us?" "If it would come to this, we shouldn't have withdrawn from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce." Amid these shouts, others on one side raised desperate cries in loud voices—"Ah, I'm starving!"

Tochigi Prefectural Assembly Member Sekiguchi Chūtarō arrived. Gunma Prefectural Assembly Member Arakawa Kōsaburō and Ōtsuka Genjūrō, who had gone to petition the Ministry of Finance with representatives, also returned. In addition, several village mayors who had previously left Tokyo rushed to the scene. After repeated negotiations with the temple, they were finally permitted to remove all the tatami mats from the main hall and sleep directly on the floorboards in their straw sandals. It was later learned that this had been arranged through the efforts of Shimaji Mokurai.

The sight of hundreds filling the spacious main hall, lying in neat rows with heads aligned and legs not overlapping, was reminiscent of tuna arrayed at a fish market. Beneath the faint flicker of dim lamplight, it evoked a storm-battered ship's hold, unfolding a scene of utter misery. Perhaps it was the fatigue from their relief at no longer facing dispersal—few spoke, and scattered snores began escaping from here and there.

At that moment, violent bootsteps and the clattering of swords resounded once more as rough intruders roused the sleeping group. As they rubbed their eyes, sneezed, and reluctantly rose to their feet, a bearded man of even greater imposing dignity began to lecture them. It was Kyobashi Police Station Chief Fujisaki. Moreover, to them, it was nothing more than the same litany they had been subjected to since morning—words they had heard until they were sick of them. Harahara Yatarō, Yamada Tomojirō, and Nagashima Yohachi—the three of them—could no longer endure it and stood up, seething with anger.

“We are well aware—without needing to hear your explanation—that our actions are unconstitutional.” “As you say, we have submitted petitions in writing countless times.” “This issue is not some trifling matter you can casually dismiss without knowing anything about it.” “The ones acting unconstitutionally are the county offices.” “The prefectural government.” “The Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.”

“A large group can’t meet the Minister all at once.” “We’re well aware of that.” “We’ll likely choose representatives to handle the meeting.” “But until we see the outcome ourselves, not one of us is going home.”

The three raised their voices in unison and began to protest. Then, for reasons unclear, Fujisaki ordered his subordinates to arrest them and withdrew from the scene. At the police station, they were subjected to a lecture filled with harsh words but devoid of substance. Yet these were not men who would sit reverently with hands on knees forever. With grave expressions, they relentlessly conveyed the harsh realities of the contaminated regions. The station chief who should have been lecturing instead found himself forced into listening. Fujisaki had no choice but to release them unchanged. When the three returned to Honganji Temple, most villagers had kept vigil unsleeping. They had gathered their resolve and unanimously agreed to storm the police station should their comrades remain detained. Immediately they began deliberating their next day's course, but with opinions clashing endlessly and discussions dragging on, it stretched past midnight.

The following morning, the nursery in Uchisaiwaicho—where the prefectural assembly members were lodging—became choked with affected residents coming and going. By afternoon, having finally incorporated Shōzō and others' input, they decided to appoint representatives from each village while resolving that the remainder would temporarily begin their return journeys. Fifty-one representatives were selected, with five additional members joining them: Gunma Prefectural Assembly Members Arakawa Kōsaburō, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, and Iizuka Harutarō, alongside Tochigi Prefectural Assembly Members Sekiguchi Chūtarō and Fujisawa Tomojirō. With a gathering of mining pollution inquiry submitters and supporters scheduled that evening at Kyōbashi's Kaika-tei, Shōzō hurried there by rickshaw from the nursery.

On the fifth, they gathered at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce a little before ten o'clock, and once all representatives were assembled, each presented their name cards. On this day as well, officers from Kyobashi Police Station had come to stand guard with imposing formality, and as the group entered through the gate, each of them had their pockets searched one by one. They frowned in displeasure or forced bitter smiles as they had no choice but to endure the inspections being conducted on them. They were led to the upstairs conference room and seated in five rows on the arranged chairs. When the sounds of footsteps and scraping chairs subsided, an eerie hush fell over them, and even their exchanges of words naturally turned into whispers. Outside, perhaps the wind had picked up, for the window frames rattled intermittently. They could see the swaying branches of a dark chinquapin-like tree. In the distant view, they occasionally caught sight of gull-like bird figures bending their wings to hover mid-air—a sight that struck them as novel. After being kept waiting for nearly thirty minutes, footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the Minister, unmistakable at first glance, entered accompanied by his entourage. The group stood up to greet them. Among the representatives, some gazed intently at his sharp eyes beneath a broad forehead and the peculiar tufts of beard growing on both cheeks, all while wondering if this was the valiant commander who had barricaded himself in Hakodate’s Goryōkaku fortress during the early Meiji era.

Enomoto took his seat in the armchair set up on a raised platform. Seated in the lower-tier chairs were Secretary Hayakawa, Mining Bureau Chief Yamauchi, Engineer Hosoi from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, and others. First, the Mining Bureau Chief delivered his greetings, then cautioned that since the Minister had specially made time to meet them despite his busy schedule, they should limit themselves to having as few people as possible present only the key points. At that moment, one of the representatives rose smoothly to his feet, “It is true that fifty-six people may seem like a large number, but the scope of mining pollution is exceedingly vast, and the nature of the damage differs from village to village.” “We absolutely must be allowed to petition individually; otherwise, we cannot expect you to fully grasp the actual conditions prevailing in the affected areas.”

“Well, in any case, let us try to proceed by having those at the front present their statements in order.” The Mining Bureau Chief answered with evident reluctance on his face. Then, the Minister slowly opened his mouth, “Today, instead of gathering reports from many people, I shall listen to your accounts. Speak frankly and thoroughly,” he added with unexpected understanding.

First, Arakawa and Sekiguchi outlined the general situation. Then, one by one, they stood up and began to plead their villages’ dire circumstances. At first, they appeared stiff and spoke haltingly with reluctance, but driven by desperation to resolve their plight in this critical moment, their fervent appeals transformed each of them into unexpectedly eloquent speakers. “In the past, crops grew so well that the locals were skeptical about planting things like mulberry trees. But in recent years, having lost even the vigor to apply fertilizer, the rice fields have naturally been neglected, and they’ve turned to sericulture, which provides at least some income.” “Even those mulberry fields require maintenance four or five times a year, and because the mulberry trees lack vitality, the cocoons’ oil adhesion is poor, yielding only half as much as before.” When one person explained the agricultural state of a village like that, another would say, “Even though we know fertilizer is useless because of the mining pollution, it’s the tragedy of us farmers—year after year, we strain our resources to apply it anyway.” “In my village, the majority have seen their houses, storehouses, forests, and fields gradually pass into others’ hands—all that increases are debts.” “Since last year’s great flood, the number of households in the village has been halved. Here, in the shade of the woods, houses with crumbled walls remain; there, in the open fields, only wells linger as traces of former dwellings,” he went on to illustrate the village’s devastation.

Matsumoto Eiichi of Ebisemura Village, an area of particularly severe damage, recounted in detail the villagers’ destitution: “In my village, there’s a man named Sugimoto Katsuzō who used to own over two *chō* of rice fields. But four years ago, driven mad by having nothing to eat, he started roaming the area day after day, muttering, ‘Nothin’s growin’... nothin’s growin’.’” “What is even more heartbreaking is that due to malnutrition and inability to produce breast milk, all the infants in our village have become emaciated.” “That’s why more and more people have been abandoning their children.” “Even at my own home, we’ve found three children abandoned by our gate over these past two years and taken them in to raise, but…”

Matsumoto covered his face mid-sentence and sat down. Next, Moro Heikichi of Sakai Village stood up and described the dire conditions within his village. Noguchi Haruzō supplemented this, his voice choked as he said, “Ebisemura and my own Sakai Village are like patients in critical condition—we could perish at any moment.” He continued, “The number of deaths in our village has doubled compared to several years ago.” “Infant deaths are three times what they were before.” “What chills us most is that stillbirths have increased fivefold.” “Whose sin is this?” “Every able-bodied adult suffers stomach ailments.” “They fall ill without even eating properly.” “Eye diseases have surged since the flood ten years ago.” “In Takayama district—where Mr. Moro spoke of—those with sound eyesight can be counted on one hand.” “Step into our village, and everywhere you look, people’s vision fails them.” “At Kuroda Sandozō’s house, a seventy-year-old grandmother weaves lime bags through clouded eyes.” “Ten bales woven earn four sen—four and a half if we’re lucky. Our own straw’s useless, so we buy more elsewhere.” “After straw costs, it barely covers anything.” “Still, we move our old limbs, hoping it’ll stretch our meager living.” “Every elder left alive becomes another burden on their children.” “Better we die—but death won’t take us.” “When I see tears spill from those sightless eyes...”

Noguchi’s voice suddenly choked with tears, and for a time, he could not speak. From the seats of the representatives on either side, sniffling sounds leaked out. "The damage encompasses the entire village—the entire Watarase River basin." "The smaller their means, the more they suffer harm; conversely, the greater their assets, the more harm they incur." "My friend’s household shares the same plight, and the fate of abandoned houses multiplying in our village is by no means another’s concern." "Tomorrow will inevitably bring it upon us too—all affected residents bound together, sinking step by step into an inescapable mire." "If we were Tokyo beggars, we could cling to sleeves and beg mercy. But we who remember pre-pollution times and never left our land have none to turn to in ruin." "We have no choice but to pronounce upon ourselves either starvation’s death or freezing’s end—such is our state." "Is this truly the fate we must accept…?"

Noguchi kept wiping his tears with rough hands as he continued his appeal. In the seats to the left and right, everyone was either pulling at their kimono sleeves or taking out handkerchiefs to press against their eyes. There were also those who, sobbing, could not raise their faces. When one looked at the podium, tears were glistening in Enomoto’s eyes as well. Perhaps the sun had dimmed; the pale, bleak light from the windows cast shadowy outlines on the varied figures of the people, all of them appearing equally cheerless, like figures beyond salvation. Once the statements, petitions, and such had all run their course, Enomoto looked over the group with a gaze that seemed unable to bear compassion,

“By listening to your accounts, I have come to understand the disaster area’s conditions in detail.” “To you gentlemen enduring such hardships, and to your brethren, I find myself utterly unable to contain my profound sympathy.” “However, regarding this matter of mining cessation you speak of—as a minister bearing responsibility—I cannot make an immediate decision simply because I have heard your petition.” “Even were mining halted, the contaminated lands would not recover at once. Moreover, the government has resolved to implement methods for eliminating mining pollution and is currently devoting all efforts to researching them.” “Furthermore, petitions against cessation have been submitted from another quarter, arguing that halting mining would deprive people of their livelihoods from that very day.” “We must also consider that this is a major mine in the Orient—circumstances which make it impossible to rashly implement a suspension order.” “Nevertheless, I do acknowledge the immense scale of the damage.” “Precisely because we acknowledge this, we are diligently researching countermeasures. Should we determine there is no path to eliminating the harm, we will have no choice but to ultimately resort to cessation.” “This is something I have already steeled myself to do.” “However, I cannot make an explicit statement to that effect here today.”

When they heard this, the representatives realized they had been immersed in the tragic gravity of pleading their own dire circumstances. They felt as though they had received a sincere response from the minister, yet simultaneously sensed that the man who had wept with them moments earlier had transformed into someone wholly unrecognizable. The people fell silent as if extinct, only the ticking of the wall clock audible, until Nagashima Yohachi—coming to his senses—abruptly lifted his head.

“If that is Your Excellency’s opinion, then I humbly request that you issue an honorable measure to suspend mining operations at least until the harm-elimination methods are fully implemented.”

Then, Enomoto also immediately responded to this, “In any case, as I mentioned earlier, we are currently researching methods to eliminate the harm, so I cannot provide an immediate answer regarding the suspension measure. However, now that I have heard the current situation firsthand through this inquiry, I will by no means treat it lightly. I will implement appropriate measures as quickly as possible. I ask that you place your trust in the government. Moreover, you may come to this ministry as many times as needed in the future to press your demands. That presents no problem whatsoever. I too intend to meet with you as many times as possible.”

“Your Excellency stated earlier that you acknowledge the vastness of the damage, but I believe—with all due respect—that your inability to reach a decision on halting mining operations stems from not having personally surveyed the affected areas.” “When 100,000 people endure such dire misery yet the Minister conducts no inspection tour, this can only be seen as utter heartlessness.”

Noguchi declared resolutely. Enomoto cast a grave look, “I fully understand. “As for conducting an inspection, it’s not that I haven’t been considering it. “Well then, that will be all for today—”

After cutting off his words, Enomoto gave a slight bow, stepped down from the podium, and began walking toward the door. The secretary hurriedly rushed over and opened the door, and the Mining Bureau Chief, followed by others, disappeared down the corridor. The representatives left behind also came to their senses and rose from their chairs in silence.

The clock on the wall showed 1:40. A faint sense of dissatisfaction lingered in every heart. Yet their faces bore expressions of those straining to pin a thread of hope on the minister having heard their pleas.

When they filed out in a straggling line through the gate of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, a large crowd had settled themselves on the street before the gate, their bluish-black emaciated faces exposed to the pale sunlight. They were those who, worried about the outcome of today’s talks, had delayed their return to their villages and rushed here. Surrounded by them on the spot, the representatives reported the details of the talks. A faint sign of worried brows relaxing began to stir on the listeners' faces.

Chapter Five

The full account of how numerous affected residents had traveled to the capital in early March to petition was reported over several days by various newspapers in the capital, so public attention was somewhat directed toward this issue. It was a golden opportunity to reveal the truth and win the sympathy of the educated public. Wanting to hold a second rally while these reports still lingered in public memory, Tsuda and Matsumura mobilized young activists through their efforts, which led to securing the Hongō Central Public Hall for an event realized on March 6th.

The speakers were scheduled in the order of Takahashi Hidetomi, Fukuda Mataichi, Sudō Kōsaku, Matsumura Kesseki, Tsuda Sen, and Garustu—an American advocate of the single tax theory—with Shōzō set to deliver the concluding address. The audience filled the hall to capacity, and each speaker delivered impassioned speeches in their signature styles until it came to the final turn—but in the waiting room, there was no sign of Shōzō. The audience, unable to wait any longer, grew restless. When the anxious staff member called the inn, they were told: “I meant to rest my mind for today’s crucial speech by taking a nap, but ended up oversleeping.” “I will rush there immediately,” came the reply. Everyone in the waiting room was taken aback. But when they considered Shōzō’s usual eccentricities, they found themselves moved by compassion to attribute this minor lapse to overwork. But in any case, they had to keep the audience from leaving.

Yamada stood up and said, “Gentlemen, Mr. Tanaka will be unavoidably delayed but should arrive shortly.” “Until then, I have a brief report for you all,” he began reading aloud from the damage investigation document. The audience grew bored and started rising from their seats one after another. It was just as the crowd burst through the doors and surged out to fill the streets beneath threatening skies, about to disperse, when— a two-man rickshaw came racing in from the distance, its passenger spreading the sleeves of his black-crested kimono like a kite’s wings,

“Gentlemen, wait! I beg you to wait! There is something you must hear!”

The crowd in the street, recognizing Shōzō, turned on their heels like a receding tide and were drawn back into the public hall. Perhaps owing to these preceding events, Shōzō launched into a fiery oration from the very start, dissecting the issues with sweeping authority. The audience’s emotion was exceptionally profound, and here and there could be seen figures wiping away tears. On March 7th, representatives of affected residents from Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, and Saitama prefectures conspired together to establish the Ashio Copper Mine Mining Cessation Petition Alliance Office at Shinano Inn in Shibaguchi 3-chome, agreeing to unify their efforts moving forward.

Around this time, the people around Tsuda and Matsumura who had finally begun to take action formed an organization to actively support Shōzō as an auxiliary force for the movement, and the first consultative meeting was held in the discussion room of the Christian Youth Hall. The attendees were Tsuda Sen, Matsumura Kesseki, Ichiki Saitarō, Yamaguchi Danjō, Tarui Tōkichi, Inagaki Shimesu, Takahashi Hidetomi, and Tanaka Shōzō.

At the meeting, Ichiki first proposed that organizing a socially influential organization to resolve the mining pollution incident was an urgent necessity. Naturally, no one objected to this, but as various opinions were exchanged during the discussion, Matsumura put forth an argument: that their movement should not limit itself solely to the mining pollution incident but adopt the stance of resolving it and subsequently extending its efforts to other social issues—to which Tsuda was the first to agree. As a result, they resolved to embark on their efforts under the dual ideals of preventing instability in the nation’s foundations and safeguarding and enhancing the welfare of the majority of its citizens. With this, they settled on the name “Cooperative Harmony Association” for their organization, appointed preparatory committee members, and largely concluded the day’s essential discussions.

Before long, a new pot of coarse tea was brought in, and they drifted into casual conversation. But with Shōzō present before them, his usual conduct became a topic of discussion. Since the underlying philosophy was a unique one differing from any of ours, someone proposed that they assign a name to it here and now. Shōzō himself, with a perplexed expression, cut this short, “Well now, as you all know, I’m uneducated—I don’t have any ideas forged through scholarship or anything like that. There’s no need to give it a name.” “Mine is, so to speak, simply the customs and sentiments naturally forged by over a thousand years of my local community’s history—it’s nothing so dignified as to be called an ‘ideology.’”

“Putting aside the question of value, it serves as the standard for your words and actions while also exerting a significant influence on others as a personal expression.” “If that is the case, then even if you yourself have no use for it, it would still not be useless to give it a name.”

As Matsumura tried to convince him, Shōzō answered with feigned ignorance. "But even what I believe today might change tomorrow should I hear a better argument." "Then even if you name it, that name would quickly become ill-fitting..." This wasn't because he lacked confidence in his convictions. With genuine humility, Shōzō always listened attentively to others' views; he simply disliked being bound by any "-ism" or doctrine.

“I greatly admire Mr. Tanaka in that regard.” “That attitude of constantly cultivating oneself, researching, and striving to progress is noble,” Tsuda interjected. “Of course, human ideologies should change—with each shift comes progress and development—but fundamental character or the innate spirit flowing in one’s blood remains unaltered.” “Exactly.” “Exactly.” “Even in my case, my concept of the state has not wavered a hair’s breadth from youth until today.” “…In that case, I shall leave it to you gentlemen to assign a name as you see fit.”

Thereupon, the people present each scratched their heads and proposed names they deemed appropriate. Matsumura advocated for Imperial Loyalist Socialism as fitting, while Tsuda contended Patriotic Populism was suitable. Takahashi insisted it should be termed the Patriotic Populist Doctrine. Each proposed name seemed to reflect its proposer’s particular slant of understanding. Yet Shōzō felt only a ticklish sensation, as if being groped by blindfolded hands—none of these labels struck squarely at the core. Tarui cobbled them together into a cumbersome title: Patriotic Imperial Loyalist Social Populism. Shōzō remained silent, his dissatisfaction palpable. Then Ichiki, as if plumbing Shōzō’s innermost thoughts,

“We must not include the term ‘society’.” “There’s a risk it might be mistaken for a form of socialism.” “No, ‘society’ isn’t exclusively used for socialism.” “Socialism and social policy are fundamentally distinct—and given we’re invoking Imperial Loyalism, no one would confuse this with dangerous ideologies.”

Matsumura adhered to his own argument, and Ichiki, for his part, "In any case, a socialist-sounding name is ill-advised." "I believe the National Subject Doctrine would be best." “This is what I believe.”

Shōzō parted his lips as if he could no longer contain himself. “My core belief is singular, but as I often emphasize different aspects depending on time and circumstance, it may appear somewhat varied in your eyes. But fundamentally, I believe this: At its foundation, our country came into being simultaneously through this land, the Imperial Family, and the people—the land forms Japan’s bones, while the people are its flesh and blood. The Imperial Family serves as both brain and heart. These three cannot be separated. Thus, while our nation’s social organization takes the family as its basic unit, we live as one great family under the shared parenthood of the Imperial Family. Just as our hearts return to our families when stirred by events, they ever return to the great parental embrace of the Imperial Family. The Imperial Family is the center of a vast circle—those who stray from it are lost children. Anyone incapable of grasping our nation’s social structure is a damned fool!”

“In other words, we should express that spirit in its very name—but ‘Imperial-centered doctrine’ is a phrase even those who distort scholarship to suit the times routinely use…” Matsumura tilted his head in thought. Shōzō still wore a dissatisfied expression. “When the Emperor faces the imperial ancestral deities, he occupies the same human position as we do.” “This point holds profound significance, for I believe it manifests the national faith of our people, who have long believed in the fusion and unity of gods and humans.” “I believe that the foundation of our nation’s morality lies in this belief and in ancestor worship.” “When we speak of discarding ourselves completely, it is not merely abandoning our bodies—it is repaying with heart and soul the parents who gave us life.” “We return ourselves, and we return to them.” “The entities that gave birth to me are my biological parents, the land, and the gods.” “That is precisely why my unwavering resolve to engage in self-sacrificing service constitutes the fundamental qualification of being a nation’s people.” “No matter how much education or assets one may possess, those who disregard the nation’s interests and even harm the happiness of their compatriots to pursue personal gain are pitiable animals unworthy of being called citizens of the nation.”

Matsumura, who had been staring out the window until then, suddenly struck the table with a clenched fist.

“Imperial-centered ancestral national populism—this should satisfy you.” “It contains the bones, flesh, and heart of Japan that you speak of.”

Shōzō groaned—"Hmm"—and,

He kept muttering "Imperial-centered ancestral national populism," but "This... This works." "No—this truly resonates." "I find myself embracing this..."

With his eyes shining, he expressed his joy with innocent delight. However, this was merely a matter of circumstances in the moment; Shōzō, who fundamentally disliked being bound himself, had no intention of imposing his own principles on others. Shōzō had always expounded that our nation’s populist thought had been conceived long ago in the era of its founding. In ancient times, the most heinous crimes were those of agricultural sabotage, and the Nihon Shoki records what are called the eight heavenly sins. The “Ama-no-Iwato” myth—the retreat into the Heavenly Rock Cave—was divine will to chastise Susanoo-no-Mikoto for committing these sins; thus, the council of eight million gods at Amano Yasunohara demonstrated how the people’s collective will could manifest itself. This served as evidence that even then, both impoverished deities and affluent deities alike held equal rights to speak. The basis for Shōzō’s populist thought—grounded in the founding spirit of the nation—appeared to lie precisely there.

Shōzō had once read a translation of Rousseau’s *The Social Contract* in Esashi’s Takachu. He had also been imbued with civil rights ideology through Numata Shouichi and the Ōmeisha faction, with which he deeply resonated. But he had entered the civil rights movement armed with his own interpretations and convictions. That is to say—just as the translated notions of freedom and equality that formed the era’s intellectual currents were gradually growing more moderate in society at large—within Shōzō himself, an assimilation was being forged between these concepts and Japan’s indigenous populist thought that had existed since the nation’s founding. From his awareness of the “individual,” Shōzō derived a “sense of responsibility”; through thoroughly pursuing the concept of “freedom,” he arrived at “self-restraint.” “Equality” transformed into “fraternity,” while “rights” became “respect for personhood.” To this synthesis was added Shinto’s innocence and purity, imbuing his populist thought with a profoundly ethical character.

On February 11, Meiji 22 (1889), a snowy morning when Shōzō attended the Constitution Promulgation Ceremony as Chairman of the Tochigi Prefectural Assembly, there exists a poem he wrote and sent to his comrades in his hometown: “How grateful, oh how grateful—the Emperor bestows boundless treasures upon the people.” Shōzō believed that through the establishment of the Constitution and opening of the Parliament following the Restoration, the founding spirit of joint rule by sovereign and subjects would be fully manifested in the political system. Therefore, against the Satchō clique who, hiding behind the embroidered dragon robes of imperial authority, indulged their pursuit of power and fame, ignored the Constitution, and trampled on the people’s rights, he rose up fiercely.

On March 13th, a meeting of Progressive Party Diet members was held. Beginning at four o'clock in the afternoon at Yanagiya near Kofukabashi Bridge, attendees included House of Peers member Kogure Eizaburō; House of Representatives members Nakajima Yūhachi, Arai Keigorō, and Komatsu Budayū; Tanaka Shōzō; Tochigi Prefectural Assembly member Sekiguchi Chūtarō; Gunma Prefectural Assembly member Arakawa Otozaburō; six other individuals; lawyers representing pollution victims; and over fifty journalists. Until now, party members from the disaster-stricken regions who had treated this largely as Shōzō's personal crusade found themselves unable to maintain their detached stance as public sentiment began shifting. At this gathering, the Ashio Copper Mine Operations Suspension Promotion Alliance was formally established.

It was around this time that Itō Akira and others circulated a lengthy manifesto titled "Appealing to All Virtuous Patriots Under Heaven." Within its text lay these words: "The impoverished commoners—bereft of any avenue to voice their misfortunes—weep bitter tears, choking back sobs as they wail to heaven and earth, their sleeves perpetually drenched day and night." The Cooperative Harmony Association likewise dispatched a document titled "Appealing to All Patriots Under Heaven" to various quarters. "Does Meiji's realm lack a Sakura Sōgorō? Does Meiji's world want for an Ōshio Heihachirō? Why does none step forward to shoulder this burden?"—its tone grew ever more anguished with righteous fury.

Thus, as the external movement had gained concrete momentum—both appealing to public opinion and building pressure to lash politicians and government authorities—Shōzō resolved to redouble his desperate efforts within the Diet. On March 15th, Shōzō pressed the government to respond to the questions he had submitted on the 26th of the previous month.

It was a day of drizzling spring rain, the dim assembly hall hazy like smoke with sparsely seated members. Yet the moment the chairperson concluded proceedings, Shōzō fixed his gaze on Vice Minister Kaneko of Agriculture and Commerce and demanded to speak. “To this day, we still have no response.” “No doubt after seeing our inquiry, they panicked—scrambling to investigate this and that. That must be their excuse.” “Officials who idle away their workdays are all cut from that cloth.” “There’s not a chance they can furnish a satisfactory reply.” “If they can’t manage a proper answer regardless, then let them deliver it swiftly.” “We must press our questions again and again.”

Shōzō struck the desk with his seat marker, glared, and shouted as if unable to contain his indignation. In every corner of the assembly hall—steeped in a gloom so oppressive it sapped the spirit—his voice summoned only hollow echoes. Before the echoes could faded, the Vice Minister vanished in a flurry. On this day, the Mainichi Shimbun reported that Tani Tateki would inspect the affected area in the near future. Shōzō knew that under Tsuda Sen’s direction, members of the Cooperative Harmony Association had been lobbying various peers in the House of Lords. But moving Tani Tateki to action was an arduous task he had half given up expecting. Tani commanded respect not only through his military reputation dating to the Kumamoto Siege and his integrity in public service, but also wielded influence in the House of Peers as an inflexible debater. Tani’s position was expected to significantly impact resolving the mining pollution crisis. For this reason, Shōzō had earlier sought a private meeting but met predictable refusal. Another attempt through Taguchi Urakichi’s introduction ended in shouted arguments and futile parting. Tani had been misled by Furukawa’s propaganda into viewing Shōzō as a charlatan, while Shōzō concluded Tani was unexpectedly rigid.

“Anyway, I’m grateful General Tani will go inspect.” “The General’s a man of integrity with both blood and tears—a true noble soul.” “He’d never stay silent after seeing it.” That night at his lodgings, when shown the newspaper article, Shōzō slapped his knee in triumph. A day later on the 17th, as deliberations on the Customs Tariff Bill concluded in the House of Representatives, Shōzō abruptly shouted “Inquiry Thirty-Five!” and shot upright from his seat. “When I pressed the Vice Minister last time about their delayed response, he withdrew without answering.” “Given this pattern, they’ll likely resort to underhanded tactics—disclosing their reply when Thirty-Five’s absent from parliament. Mark my words! Proper procedure requires setting response dates in advance. They must observe ethical conduct by answering when the petitioner’s present!”

Vice Minister Kaneko of Agriculture and Commerce responded to this, “After reading the stenographic record of your inquiry speech on the 26th, I too was deeply moved by its passion.” “We are by no means neglecting this matter.” “As we are currently negotiating with the Home Ministry, I believe we will likely be able to respond around tomorrow.” “You must not keep delaying with ‘tomorrow’ or ‘the day after tomorrow’!” “If it’s tomorrow, then let it be tomorrow; if the day after, then the day after—I demand a definite commitment!” “When that time comes, the Minister himself should properly attend as well.” “This isn’t merely about consulting the stenographic record.” “The stenographic record can’t be reviewed until the following day.” “Given how they seem intent on exploiting Number Thirty-Five’s absence, I’m pinning this down here.”

On the following 18th, the House of Representatives had already concluded its important agenda items, resulting in many absent members.

Shōzō was also absent and remained at his lodgings. However, as dusk approached, with no government commissioners present and assembly members few in number, the government’s reply document was submitted to that sparsely attended hall. Despite the Vice Minister of Agriculture and Commerce having so emphatically declared in the assembly hall just the day before, their approach seemed deliberately timed to exploit Shōzō’s absence.

The content of the reply document amounted to nothing more than evasive answers dodging the questions, showing no trace of sincerity whatsoever. They declared they had "concluded an agreement with mining operators to refrain entirely from administrative or judicial measures," asserted that "future matters would require ad hoc consultations or civil law remedies if available"—thereby shirking governmental responsibility—and claimed that "whether the damage severity meets Article 19 of the Mining Regulations cannot be hastily determined without first observing preventive measures' efficacy over time." It amounted to nothing but an interminable string of elaborate phrases. On March 19th, Sekiguchi Tadarō, Yamaguchi Zenbeijutsu, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, Yamada Tomojirō, and others—acting on Shōzō's behalf—visited Tani Tateki at the House of Peers to confirm arrangements for inspecting the disaster zone.

“I’ll be going first thing tomorrow—guide me without fail. Rain or snow won’t deter me.”

Having secured this commitment, the group joyfully returned to their office, whereupon Sekiguchi, Yamada, and others departed for the disaster zone to prepare for the welcoming party.

On March 20th, when Tani Tateki, a certain household official of his family, Tsuda Sen, and Takahashi Hidemi’s party departed Ueno at 5 a.m. and alighted at Tomita Station, waiting at the station’s entrance were local figures such as Sekiguchi Tadarō, Murayama Han, Tatenuma Jōkichi, and Tsukui Hikoshichi, along with approximately three thousand affected residents led by Yamada Tomojirō, Iwasaki Jū, and Noguchi Haruzō. The party formed a procession of rickshaws and headed toward Kawasaki in Keno Village.

When they passed Onagawa and arrived near the area overlooking Okuto hamlet, the severity of the damage finally became strikingly evident before their eyes. Tani got down from the rickshaw and listened attentively to the explanations. "This Okuto area is where last year's flood caused the embankments to collapse like saw teeth," said Noguchi. Niwada pointed at the toxic sand mounds and sighed: "Even if we painstakingly cultivate these fields, this is what happens—when the wind blows, poisonous sand scatters down; when rain falls, toxic water flows." Then, from beside them, Iwasaki showed withered rice plants he had pulled from the field's surface and crumbled the rotten husks with his fingernails to demonstrate their condition.

When they reached the vicinity of the Watarase River from there, everything that met their eyes bore witness to the devastation. The trunks of mulberry trees had developed black spots with cracked and split bark. When a hand was placed on a branch, it snapped off with a dry crack. Even deutzia and willow branches along the ridges showed no signs of budding. Before long, they came upon a vast thicket of moso bamboo near the embankment that had turned ashen and begun to wither. Tani got down from his rickshaw again. Two or three young men including Sakurai—right before Tani’s eyes—each placed their hands on bamboo trunks, shook them two or three times, and with a collective heave pulled out stalks three inches thick as if plucking weeds.

“These have barely any roots left.” “These bamboos sprouted last year.” “The shoots can grow through their husks even in poisoned soil.” “But once they break through the husks and start spreading lateral roots, the toxins outside make them stay shriveled like this—still wrapped in their husks.” “I’m from Azuma Village downstream, and our bamboo groves look just the same.” As Niwada thrust forward the bamboo roots to demonstrate, Iwasaki added from beside him,

“Because there are no lateral roots spreading out, even a moderately strong wind will knock them over completely—just like you see there.” In the direction they pointed, part of the bamboo thicket lay felled as if mercilessly cut down. “This area originally had bamboo planted along the embankments for reinforcement. But year after year of the groves withering like this weakens the embankment roots—that’s why last year’s floods caused collapses in multiple places too.” Tani listened with a grim expression, his eyes occasionally glinting sharply as he fixed his gaze on the speakers during their explanation.

When he next moved his feet to stand atop the embankment, the sight of toxic mound clusters scattered near and far across the fields stretching under a hazy sky—their ruthless forms—evoked the image of a foreign graveyard. “Not a blade of green grass in sight…” Tani uttered those words with genuine emotion for the first time. “This is truly beyond what I imagined.” Turning to Takahashi beside him, he said, “I’ve been deceived by those officials.” He muttered in a low, anguished voice and kept twisting his white mustache as if to distract from his remorse,

“It’s entirely justified for Tanaka to be outraged.” “I must apologize for having thought of him as some kind of schemer.” “Mr. Tanaka is truly the god who saves the people.” Takahashi had been comparing it to his own experience from last December—how even those with hearts of iron would inevitably feel outrage if brought to the disaster zone—but seeing General Tani’s demeanor firsthand constricted his chest. When he realized Shōzō’s sincere devotion had finally pierced through, emotion surged within him as though it were his own triumph.

On the sandy wasteland beyond the embankment, tens of thousands of affected residents had gathered in a dense throng, but upon catching sight of the party atop the levee, they abruptly erupted into commotion. Those tugging at neighbors' sleeves, those rising from the sand, those removing face coverings, those wiping straw hats and rain cloaks—the agitation rippled outward in waves. Tani watched the tumult awhile before being urged down to the wasteland, where he stood before the crowd now fallen into solemn silence. When their representative concluded his formal greeting in altered tones, all bowed deeply as one in heartfelt supplication. The moment Tani returned their salutation, a voice pierced sharply from the masses: "Your Excellency, deliver these tens of thousands of victims!" As though this cry had broken some invisible seal, the people burst forth—"Save us!" they wailed. "We implore you!" Countless faces twisted with desperation, their pleas rising like some unearthly chorus under the ashen sky.

The sight of countless bluish-black faces, their eyes twitching as they all shouted and pleaded, seemed unlike anything of this world. The dim light pouring from the cloudy sky and the river wind whipping up sand added an even more ghastly atmosphere to the scene.

Eventually, the commotion subsided under the restraint of prominent figures when a man who appeared to be forty-five or six pushed through the crowd and stepped forward. Suddenly throwing himself at Tani’s feet and pressing his forehead into the sand, he declared, “I am Inamura Yoichi from Kubota, Kuno Village.” Clutching at Tani’s downward gaze that seemed to ask what was happening while displaying a simple yet desperate intensity, “...The harm from mining pollution is something all of us gathered here suffer from uniformly. Both landlords and tenant farmers have now been reduced to such dire straits that they cannot even afford food, sunk in despair. The fields yield nothing—even if we offer them for free, not a soul will take them. There are those who once owned fields of one or two chō but now work as day laborers, domestic servants, or rickshaw pullers. Some had ancestral homes seized for debt, sold every last belonging, and left clutching only mortuary tablets. Others include a blind old widow who lost her son—with no kin left, she clings to life in a stranger’s barn rather than die in an unknown land. There was even one deemed the village’s most filial soul who hanged himself in despair over failing to feed his parents.”

He paused for a moment, then began recounting in detail the lives of the impoverished. Even the vast crowd, drawn in by the narrative’s mournful tone, began reflecting on their own dire circumstances. Choked sobs began emerging here and there. “...No, this is by no means confined to the worst-affected areas.” “If mining continues unchecked and the toxic flow remains unstopped, this fate will inevitably befall every one of us.” “Please tour these villages now and hear the pitiful cries of nursing infants.” “The mothers cannot eat enough food, so there’s no milk.” “Without enough milk, the infants lack even the strength to cry properly.” “Their lips swell from sucking dry nipples.” “Parents might endure their own hunger for days, but they end up clutching their weeping children and sobbing together.” “Like pheasants in burnt fields shielding their young, or cranes crying through the night...”

Inamura choked up with sobs and could no longer continue his words. Before him stood Tani, silent and motionless, tears overflowing from his eyes. As if knowing no end, they streamed down his cheeks one after another. Yet Tani made no move to wipe them away, remaining immobile with hands hanging at his sides, fingertips trembling faintly. Above this uncanny scene, the dark clouds veiling the sky began shifting quietly like a revolving stage.

After bidding farewell to the multitude of affected residents there, the party crossed the Watarase River to the opposite bank accompanied by a small number of volunteers. Having passed through Yanada Village and entered Kuno Village, villagers who had heard of Tani’s inspection trailed along behind them with half-curious gazes. There were men muttering deliriously to themselves like they were reciting fever dreams, and women clad in nothing but tattered rags carrying infants pressed bare against their skin on their backs. While periodically stopping to visit collapsing houses with fallen walls and sagging roofs where elderly lay ill alone, the group entered a farmhouse that looked historic in the shade of Noda’s woods and rested.

They soon sat down on the veranda and began eating their packed lunches, but even during this time, nearby villagers had crowded into the garden and were watching them with faces that pleaded for even a single word about their hardships to be heard.

Suddenly, Yamada Tomojirō strode up to the villagers with a youthful, determined air. “Everyone, first listen to this,” he said, taking out a scrap of paper from his pocket and beginning to read aloud. This was the reply document from the Ministers of Home Affairs and Agriculture-Commerce that had been sent to the Diet on the eighteenth of last month. Yamada then raised his voice even higher and began his speech. Then, the policeman who had been following the group since Kawasaki pushed through the crowd and came running up, his sword clattering.

“Hey! You can’t be giving political speeches in a place like this!” “Why can’t we hold them in a place like this?” “You haven’t filed a notification, have you?” “Don’t spout such nonsense—calling this a political speech is just your far-fetched excuse!”

A heated argument erupted between the two men. Tani set down his bowl of bitter tea and abruptly stood up, then strode forward resolutely. He moved with such ferocity that he seemed to whip up a gust of wind around himself. His face radiated crimson anger. But Tani silenced the policeman with a single glare before turning his gaze toward the villagers who had been watching the exchange with bated breath, “Everyone, I am Tani. “Today, guided by concerned citizens, I came to witness firsthand the devastation caused by mining pollution—yet its sheer severity leaves me utterly astounded. “Though officials deceived me into remaining unaware until now that your ancestral lands lie barren and you struggle to feed yourselves, I offer my deepest apologies. “But henceforth, take heart. “Having learned these truths, I will not remain idle. “I pledge to devote myself fully so you may farm your lands in peace and realize your aspirations. “Should this aged body prove useful to you, my fellow victims, I am prepared to sacrifice even my life without hesitation…”

From within the crowd came a choked sob overcome with emotion. It spread from neighbor to neighbor until the entire garden became a scene of collective grief. Tani turned away and quietly returned beneath the eaves while wiping his eyes.

The group crossed the tributary Yabagawa River, made their way around Watase Village where poison mounds stood in heaps wherever they went, then crossed the boat bridge over the Watarase River to stop by Unryūji Temple.

Despite Abbot Kurosaki’s urging, Tani did not enter the temple’s living quarters, instead sitting on the veranda and merely sipping a cup of tea. Then a young man approached him, knelt down, and produced a sealed letter. When Tani casually opened it, he found a blood-written petition demanding mining cessation—apparently penned the previous night—bearing Sakurai Yosōji’s name from Azuma Village. Tani silently gazed at the young man but, borrowing a brush and inkstone from the abbot, wrote an impromptu poem and handed it to him. The river that once bore the famed name of Kenu Province now flows with tears soaking its sleeves.

Sakurai accepted the offered paper into his hands and read it silently, then wiped his eyes sideways with the sleeve of his simple kimono before placing his hands on the ground and withdrawing.

A wind arose in the cedar grove of the temple grounds, a sound that gloomily welcomed the night.

That night, volunteers from Asō District gathered at Manseirō in Sano and held a welcoming banquet for Tani. At that gathering, Tani was compelled to give a speech: "I had come intending to conduct a strictly private inspection and return home. Appearing before such a large assembly of attendees was never my true purpose." "If I may venture a word for you all—having multitudes march to the capital to campaign as was done recently constitutes feudal-era behavior. This is an approach I absolutely cannot endorse." "Under constitutional governance, the people must surely have constitutional means to achieve their objectives." "I too acknowledge that the government’s reply document remains gravely inadequate." "This situation, I surmise, stems from some misalignment between the government and its people." "As I maintain many acquaintances among ministerial circles, I shall offer them thorough counsel." "I intend to shoulder this calamity and strive to the utmost limit," he declared with forthright resolve.

The banquet had finally reached its height. A certain Ogasawara, a member of the House of Peers, came to an antechamber and requested an audience with Tani. Tani excused himself temporarily and returned minutes later wearing an expression of perfect composure. Yet when word spread that someone passing through the antechamber’s corridor had overheard Tani’s thunderous roar, hushed whispers rippled through the gathering. It was rumored that Furukawa—fearing Tani’s deepening sympathy for the victims—had already moved to appease him.

The group boarded the last train for their return journey, but another minor incident occurred in the train car. It was when they approached the iron bridge over the Tone River, and a roaring sound overwhelmed the train car. From the neighboring car, a man resembling a political activist suddenly burst into the second-class compartment. All those accompanying him were asleep, and none of them had noticed it. Soon, amidst that roaring noise, an unusual sound occurred, startling the entire group awake—but by then, they could only catch sight of the retreating figure of the man resembling a political activist staggering away. The political activist tried to harm Tani, attacking with a concealed cane without uttering a word, but Tani had not been sound asleep. Sensing the presence, he dodged in an instant and struck the shoulder of his opponent—who had lunged forward—with a sharp blow from his iron fan. Tani said little more; restraining the retainer—a hero from the Kumamoto Siege—who tried to apprehend the activist, he quietly closed his eyes as though falling asleep.

Takahashi and his group parted ways with Tsuda along the way, sent Tani to his residence in Ichigaya, and immediately had the rickshaw return from the gate. Having safely accomplished their great task, they heaved a sigh of relief atop the rickshaw, whereupon the moon—like thin paper draped over the pine trees along the outer moat’s embankment—was beautiful. At the Kyōbashi office, Shōzō, unable to wait any longer for Takahashi’s return, had been sipping sake lightly with Ochi Shūkichi, but upon seeing Takahashi’s figure, he pushed the meal tray aside. Shōzō closed his eyes and nodded with “Mm-hmm” as if vivid scenes of the affected areas were rising before him from fragments of Takahashi’s account,

"If the General lends us such wholehearted support, it would be akin to gaining three armies as allies." "I offer my thanks to Elder Tsuda and all you gentlemen." The uncharacteristically formal cadence of his words left everyone present involuntarily studying Shōzō’s face anew.

On the morning of the 21st, Tsuda Sen showed no signs of fatigue from the previous day and arrived by rickshaw with Takahashi at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce Minister’s Official Residence. Tsuda too had been a former shogunate retainer; during the Restoration era, he had shared every advance and retreat with Enomoto amidst the clash of arms—in short, they were sworn friends who had faced life and death together. Having recently thrown himself into addressing the mining pollution issue, Tsuda could not help feeling profound regret upon learning that Enomoto, as the current authority in charge, had become a target of criticism between experts and affected residents. This was ultimately because those in charge remained ignorant of the actual situation despite their positions. He had wanted to meet face-to-face once, unofficially, for a thorough discussion. However, after having guided Tani Kanjō to the affected area the previous day and recalling how Tani had indeed been shocked by the appalling conditions while lamenting having been deceived by officials, Tsuda found himself driven by an urgent compulsion to make Enomoto glimpse the disaster zone—a resolve that led to this outcome.

Despite the abruptness of their visit, they fortuitously managed to meet with Enomoto immediately. When the three were left alone in the reception room after taking seats, Enomoto spoke first: “I hear you took Mr. Tani to the disaster zone.” With that, he smiled at Tsuda. “That was remarkably swift.” “You’ve already received such a report?” “According to a report from Gunma Prefecture, it states that Tsuda Sen and others brought an imposter of Tani Kanjō to incite the affected residents, thereby causing them to exhibit signs of unrest.” “Through years of friendship, I know Mr. Tsuda’s character well.” “I thought this report was undoubtedly some kind of mistake, but…”

“This isn’t merely some mistake,” Tsuda sneered. “They deliberately sought to bury the facts. That’s precisely how corrupt local officials operate.” His voice dripped with contempt as he added, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘incitement,’ but General Tani heard the victims’ pleas with tears in his eyes before departing.” Enomoto nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “Well, if it’s Mr. Tani, I suppose that would be so.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I fully recognize Mr. Tanaka’s passion, and yours as well.” The minister’s tone grew formal, weighted with bureaucratic resolve. “However, I cannot disregard reports from local officials appointed under His Majesty’s authority. Should we cease trusting all local administrators entirely, governance itself becomes impossible.” His fingers tapped the desk as he concluded, “The daily reports from these officials stand in complete opposition to your claims today. Your assertions and theirs are as incompatible as snow against ink, fire against ice.”

Enomoto’s tone took on the quality of a creaking door closing, his previously open demeanor receding into shadow. "If the local officials are mistaken, then first have someone persuade them to enlighten them." As things reached that point, Tsuda's face visibly flooded with blood. As if kicking the chair aside, he stood up and then strode briskly up to Enomoto’s table. With a force that made one wonder where such strength resided in his arm with bulging veins, he slammed the table resoundingly. The teacup overturned.

“You should resign as Minister.” “You’re completely unqualified to remain Minister!”

That voice, too, quivered with anger. A gaze that seemed ready to leap into a physical brawl was fixed intently, its outcome hinging entirely on the response.

Takahashi had come prepared to resort to physical force if necessary, but even before the conversation had properly begun, he found himself in the perplexing position of having to calm the older man instead. He stood blocking Tsuda’s path and finally managed to make him settle into the chair. Tsuda’s anger in this situation had stemmed from a sincere desire to make Enomoto handle matters appropriately and prevent errors in his ministerial duties; thus, when Tsuda saw that Enomoto had become despondent after being shouted down by him, he quietly resumed the discussion and strove to persuade him—at all costs—to conduct an inspection of the affected areas. Enomoto remained silent, seemingly absorbed in separate calculations, his expression of anguish growing ever more pronounced upon his brow—

“I want to meet Mr. Tani,” he let slip, as if driven to desperation. “Mr. Tani is a meritorious subject acknowledged by all.” “And he is His Majesty’s trusted retainer.” “It is no wonder that his words are regarded as more weighty than those of local officials.” Tsuda nodded deeply with a convinced expression. “I see, so that’s the reason.” “With that, I understand completely.” Enomoto’s gaze was uncertain, as if questioning how deeply the other had interpreted the subtleties beyond his words. Tsuda, paying no heed to that, continued his words with his characteristic impatience,

“Tomorrow morning, I will meet Mr. Tani at the House of Peers, and then we will come to see you together.” “Then I will be waiting at 9:00 AM in the House of Peers’ ministerial office.” “I believe it would be preferable before the other ministers arrive.”

Hearing this, Tsuda promptly stood up with a look that said everything was within his grasp. Enomoto saw him off with an air of lingering unease, but suddenly rose to his feet himself,

“There’s one thing I must say. “But you must absolutely not disclose this to anyone else!” he said with a grave expression. “To tell the truth, I am not unaware of the actual conditions in the affected areas.” “No, I am well aware.” “Though Takeaki may be foolish, his mind’s eye remains open.” “There are grave circumstances that compel me to feign foolishness through distorted truths.” “It’s not merely local officials who are suspect.” “Even within the government, those you may trust are only Ōkuma and myself.” “Among lower officials, only friends of Mr. Tanaka from the Progressive Party.” “……But I have made a great resolution—rest assured.”

Enomoto gazed into Tsuda’s eyes as if trying to ascertain how much of his words had been understood. Then he pulled his inkstone closer from his desk, cut a sheet of gansen paper—likely left by someone requesting calligraphy—and with his brush, wrote "Reading intention is like reading a book,"

“Please show this to Mr. Tanaka,” he said, handing it to Takahashi.

Takahashi stopped by Shōzō’s lodgings in Hachikanchō, showed him Enomoto’s letter, and conveyed Enomoto’s words. As he listened with his hands on his hakama-clad knees, Shōzō’s eyes began to take on an unusual gleam.

“Is that so? It was exactly as I had imagined.”

He pursed his lips tightly and stared at the shoji screen's frame, “It’s possible Enomoto may resign. It’s truly a great loss.” Shōzō let out those words like a sigh and sank back into thought. Takahashi too gazed at Shōzō’s brow, recalled the countenances of Enomoto and Tsuda, and savored the sense of an imperceptible flow circulating among their three hearts.

The following early morning, Tsuda and Takahashi arrived at the House of Peers' waiting room twenty minutes before nine o'clock. As previously arranged, Tani appeared within five minutes. When they visited the minister's office together there, Enomoto had already arrived at the ministry and was waiting. Tani gave a detailed account of his inspection of the affected area from two days earlier, which Tsuda supplemented from the sidelines. Enomoto listened with an uncharacteristically composed demeanor compared to the previous day, but—

Enomoto nodded in a manner that affirmed everything, as if to say, “It must be as you say.” “As a Minister of State holding this office, I have not forgotten for a moment my responsibility to relieve the hardships of His Majesty’s beloved people as swiftly as possible.” “Moreover, from a human perspective, every time I hear of the victims’ dire circumstances, tears well up…”

Enomoto suddenly drew in his chest as if stifling his voice. Then he turned his gaze toward Tsuda and Takahashi, “I had long intended to conduct an inspection, but due to opposition within the government to my doing so, I was unable to act as I wished—procrastinating until today. …However, last night I met with Ōkuma, explained my thoughts, and after discussing everything, found he shared my view.” “In any case, I have decided to inspect the affected areas tomorrow—I request your guidance.” “As for matters after my return, I had already discussed most of it with Ōkuma last night. You may rest assured on that point.” His tone concealed a deep resolve.

Chapter Six

On the morning of March 23rd, Enomoto alighted at Koga Station accompanied by Engineer Sakano and guided by Tsuda. It was a discreet visit to avoid public attention.

When they crossed the boat bridge at Sangoku Bridge and reached the outskirts of Ebise Village, a crowd of affected residents was waiting there. No sooner had their representative finished his greeting than one man, unable to contain his long-held grievances, began recounting the contents of the reply document from the 18th. Then others behind him started hurling reproaches, surrounding Enomoto in a clamorous uproar. Tsuda, precisely because he understood Enomoto’s predicament, felt sympathy for his position. Yet recognizing the legitimacy of the residents’ grievances left him unable to intervene—trapped in helpless conflict.

The representatives finally managed to calm the entire group and promptly decided to guide them through the affected areas. Having discerned that Enomoto’s inspection was meant to be discreet, they limited the guides to a bare minimum. From Ebise Village’s most devastated area along the riverbank into Nishiyata Village, they reached the breached embankment at Shinmei Nishi. The vicinity around the rupture had turned into a monochrome expanse of gray wasteland, swamps formed during the flooding still retaining their eerily stagnant waters. People of all ages with bluish-black faces carried baskets back and forth, dumping soil into those waters. It was embankment repair work. Witnessing further ruin—mulberry fields withered without a trace of new shoots, farmlands reduced to desolation where only sparse weeds showed green, abandoned houses in every settlement, and the wretched state of the sick—Enomoto moved wordlessly through relentless harshness at every turn. Crossing Watase Village’s boat bridge past Unryūji Temple, through Azuma Village’s Shimohata and Ueno Village’s Funatsugawa—by the time they entered Sakai Village along this route, their shadows stretched long in a strangely alien crimson-tinged light.

When he turned around, at the edge of the desolate wilderness hung a crimson-festering sunset. Fatigue had begun to show in Enomoto’s gait. When they reached Sasarabashi Bridge at Mikamo Village’s border, Tsuda suggested inviting Enomoto into a roadside teahouse. The base of his hand holding the bitter tea bowl darkened as cold pierced his bones. One of the guides stepped forward before Enomoto, “We are deeply grateful,” he said with a reverent bow, “for your gracious inspection today—accompanying us on this long journey to examine the damage in detail.” “Having witnessed this devastation firsthand... what are your thoughts?” “If we might receive even a few words from you... I know our fellow victims would weep with gratitude.” “Hmm. You’ve all endured considerable hardship, gentlemen.” Enomoto averted his eyes to the rustling withered reeds, yet sensing the guide’s imploring gaze,

“I am not unfeeling. I have indeed felt many things, but as today is a discreet visit, I cannot share my impressions here and now.”

After uttering that in a solemn tone, he fell silent once more. The man could only stare at his own feet with a desolate gaze, as if he had been cast aside.

From there, they had to walk approximately two *ri* further to Fujioka Town. From Fujioka, three *ri* away through the night road, they were jolted in a carriage and arrived at Koga.

Upon arriving at Ueno Station, a carriage awaited him. Enomoto promptly boarded it and made for Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda.

Prior to this, the affected residents had begun gathering one after another at Unryūji Temple under cover of night on the 22nd. They had learned of the government’s reply document and were at first stunned by its contents, but as they gathered in twos and threes to discuss it, the smoldering grievances in their hearts gradually took shape, igniting into fury—until their feet turned unbidden toward Unryūji Temple. Since all who gathered shared the same anguish, it was only natural that the atmosphere became shrouded in tragic indignation.

“The authorities have not a shred of sincerity to relieve our hardships.” “There’s nothing left for us but to hang ourselves in the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce’s courtyard and end this suffering at once…”

Such cries of grief and indignation found resonance. They swore a pact, resolved to die, to march to the capital. In the temple’s main hall, they exchanged water cups in a solemn vow. One group set out by boat down the Watarase River to rally more participants, while another stormed in to confront and interrogate those who had long served as Furukawa’s minions in deception, ensuring they could no longer set foot in the villages again. This news swiftly reached the police stations in Sano, Ashikaga, and Tatebayashi, and dozens of officers were urgently dispatched to the riverbanks. They rushed to each bonfire they could find, using them as markers, and endeavored to persuade the affected residents to disperse. Yet the resolve of the affected residents proved unexpectedly firm. As they continued their heated exchanges, the night began to pale into dawn. Eventually, whether having resolved to postpone their efforts to another day and temporarily given up, the affected residents dispersed as night fell.

Thus, on the night of the 23rd, following Enomoto’s secret inspection that same day, villagers of all ages—organized into groups of twenty or thirty from various villages—once again converged upon Unryūji Temple. As the night deepened, their numbers gradually increased, reaching a count of three thousand seven or eight hundred. After deliberation, they agreed that each person would carry four or five days’ worth of provisions and, prepared to camp outdoors, set out for the capital.

At that moment, several Tokyo-based committee members, having heard reports of unrest, rushed to the scene after hastily departing from Ueno on the last train. They tried their utmost to persuade them to abandon their march to the capital, but the crowd showed no sign of heeding their words. “Even if a large number of you hastily go to the capital, it will require much effort but yield little result,” they argued, only to be met with a collective retort: “It’s because the Tokyo Committee lacks resolve that our petition still hasn’t been delivered.” “We can no longer leave this in your hands!” the crowd retorted in unison.

“Just the other day, Viscount Tani conducted an inspection, and today, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce himself made a secret visit to survey the area,” they argued. “Given these circumstances, it wouldn’t be too late to wait and see how things develop a while longer.” To this, the crowd retorted: “The Minister’s inspection was just a formality.” “Even when pressed for his thoughts, he gave that cold reply about being unable to comment.” “Our resolve no longer depends on the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce or such institutions!” Their rebuttal came fierce and swift. In truth, some had already steeled themselves in secret: “There remains nothing for us but to go directly to the Imperial Household Ministry and plead our true circumstances.” They had privately resolved to go that far.

Finally rejecting the Tokyo Committee members’ words, the group immediately resolved to depart from Unryūji Temple. Of course, police officers were dispatched from the nearby stations in Sano and Tatebayashi. The police squad waved red lanterns in their hands, striving to dissuade and stop them, but the crowd advanced with quiet determination, utterly ignoring their efforts. Against this silent, steady force pushing ever forward, the police found themselves powerless to act. They tried to block them at the boat bridge, but upon seeing this, the crowd charged forward en masse, and in the moment the officers faltered, some two thousand three to four hundred people poured across the bridge.

Before long, the group split into two: half headed toward Kurihashi, and by the time the remaining half approached Kawamata along the Tone River, dawn had broken. At that boat bridge, over a dozen police officers had spread out a large fishing net and were blocking the way. They were being told to turn back because the boat bridge was damaged. “Whether it’s broken or not—just show us!” No sooner had several people shouted this than they ducked under the net and ran. “Hey! It’s not broken at all!” “It’s just that they’ve removed the mechanical ship!”

Hearing that voice, the group surged past the police officers and began to cross. Beneath their feet, the current—swollen with meltwater from the mountains—roared with churning foam and whirlpools. Noguchi Haruzō and Arai Kigorō first stripped naked and jumped into the water. As the hot-blooded ones were about to strip naked, the ferrymen Fujino Jūrō and Hosomura Sadahachi, unable to bear watching any longer, brought out a boat. Following their example, members of the crowd also began untying mooring ropes and launching boats. Several boats, densely packed with people, crossed the swift currents of the Tone River.

The group split their path once more on the southern bank of the Tone River, heading west toward Gyōda and east toward Hanyū, but both routes were blocked by over a hundred police officers. They watched for openings, attempting to escape in groups of five or ten as they pressed ever southward.

On this very day, the 24th, at that very hour, Shōzō was shouting from the podium of the House of Representatives. The damage survey he had long commissioned from volunteer affected residents was finally completed, and he had drafted a written inquiry refuting the government’s earlier reply. However, with the Diet session now reaching its final day, he hurriedly submitted the inquiry still in draft form and took to the podium with a sense of urgency.

“I will not give a long speech today.” With this preface, he first stated that in his previous inquiry he had reported the mining pollution-affected areas as 33,000 *chō*, but that subsequent investigations revealed the damage now extended to over 43,700 *chō* across one metropolitan district and five prefectures. “Noguchi Haruzō’s investigation has revealed that mining pollution has reached Higashi-Katsushika District in Chiba Prefecture, Kita-Katsushika District in Saitama Prefecture, and Minami-Katsushika District in Tokyo Prefecture,” he explained. “This has resulted in 135,000 people suffering from toxic water contamination today. Furthermore,” he asserted, “the Watarase’s poison is being channeled through the Tone Canal to these unexpected regions due to Tone River water management practices.” He then began refuting the government’s reply document, his words growing increasingly heated as his scathing critique of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce showed no signs of concluding. At this point, Okada Ryūichirō gripped his desk and leaned halfway forward,

“Mr. Tanaka, you’ve said enough.” “I also have something to say—grant me some time.”

It was an irritated voice, as if he could no longer endure it. Instantly, voices rose in support of Shōzō: “Let him speak! Let him speak!” “I have gravely broken our agreement and incurred censure for it,” Shōzō said, surveying the assembly as if regaining his composure, “but please allow me to speak a little longer.” Shōzō began denouncing the negligence of the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Ministry of Finance. After that, he shifted his focus back to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce: “If I may speak plainly, every last official in Agriculture and Commerce ought to be expelled. Dismiss them all and scatter disinfectant inside. And then they must dig out and replace the soil below to a depth of one or two feet. Replacing just one minister’s head or one vice-minister won’t do a bit of good amidst this rot. My words may seem harsh, but you must carry out a splendid reform—replacing everything from top to bottom, down to the front desk staff. If you don’t do it, we’ll take matters into our own hands. We are a people who receive no protection under the law. What have they done to protect against mining pollution? If we do not receive legal protection, we have no obligation to uphold the law. However, it is not that the people are neglecting their obligations from their side. Today, they do not allow us to uphold them. Has there ever been such outrageous acts in any politics or government since ancient times? There is nothing as corrupt as today’s Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. If you find this galling, then go ahead and try debating us. I never make baseless claims. The people painstakingly conducted investigations through their grassroots campaigns with rice balls and straw sandals, submitted [the findings] to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, and also presented them to this parliament.”

“What exactly has the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce investigated?” Shōzō pounded the desk and continued to shout. “Are you determined to create over forty thousand *chō* of new desert land in the heart of Kantō and leave this as the *hanbatsu*’s final legacy?” "This is utterly unconscionable!" “If you’re going to do it, then go ahead and try.” “Since you’ve started with such reckless actions, then by all means, carry them through to the end.” “You may go ahead and massacre all the people of Kantō as you please.” “We have our own means as well.” “…Though the debate is not yet concluded, as it has grown excessively long and I must show consideration, I shall stop here.” “Over 100,000 people will be poisoned…”

At those words, sneers escaped from various parts of the assembly seats. Then, in an instant, Shōzō’s countenance changed. “Because there are those among you who find this amusing, I have been compelled to take another step forward and speak.” “What would you do if not a single vegetable could be grown at the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce’s villa in Mukōjima?” “They would immediately feel it strike their own heads.” “If that beautiful garden at Mr. Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda were to lose every blade of grass and flower, what would you do, gentlemen?” “If the sand before Mr. Itō’s Sōrōkaku villa in Odawara and his Ōiso retreat were mining-polluted sand—what would you do then?” “People would understand if it happened to them personally, but as long as it doesn’t affect them directly, they simply won’t give it any thought.” “If I continue to trouble you with all these various matters, then let us draw mining-polluted water and have the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce drink it.”

Here and there, laughter broke out.

“It is quite impossible to convey the true state of affairs through words alone.” “Gentlemen—if you possess any compassion—gentlemen—you could make the journey there and back in a single day.” “A thorough inspection would require fifteen days, but even visiting just one location could be done within a day. Therefore, gentlemen—whether I am lying or exaggerating about these disaster areas—you would understand if you saw them with your own eyes.” “I recognize that this government will never personally inspect the situation and act compassionately.” “Given the contents of this reply document, I’ve concluded this government defies description—and thus resolved to place no faith in it.” “I implore you, gentlemen.” “I humbly beseech you to kindly inspect this afflicted land.” “I earnestly beg this of you.”

With a face overcome with emotion, Shōzō cried out his final words. They resonated with such piercing intensity that they seemed to declare there remained no one left to rely on but those in this very assembly hall. The people, each feeling as though Shōzō had personally come before them and bowed his head, were struck with such urgent solemnity that they fell utterly silent; only when Shōzō began descending from the podium did they awaken as if from a trance and burst into applause.

As Shōzō was shouting from the podium, outside the Diet, the bells of extra editions announcing the Cabinet’s establishment of the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Investigation Committee were already ringing out through the streets. The government held an extraordinary cabinet meeting that morning, made this decision, and appointed the chairman and other members. They appointed Tomotsune Jinbuchi, Director of the Legislative Bureau, as chairman, with the following members: Kōi Furuichi, Director of Civil Engineering at the Ministry of Home Affairs and Doctor of Engineering; Shinpei Gotō, Director of the Sanitation Bureau at the Ministry of Home Affairs; Tanetarō Megata, Director of the Tax Bureau at the Ministry of Finance; Tetsuji Hayakawa, Secretary to the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce; Hatsutarō Sakano, Technician at the Agricultural Experiment Station; Iwaya Hosoi, Kunijirō Wada, and Kaerijirō Kotera, Technicians at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. Furthermore, on the 26th, they added as additional committee members: Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce Councillor Kazu Oda; Mining Bureau Director Ryū Hizuka; Science College Professor and Doctor of Science Bunjiro Koto; Doctor of Engineering Wataru Watanabe; Medical University Professor and Doctor of Medicine Jirō Tsuboi; Agricultural College Associate Professor Munezane Nagaoka; Medical College Associate Professor Tatsuyoshi Irisawa; and many other scholars beyond Furukawa’s influence.

Meanwhile, the affected residents who had left the capital split into four or five groups by the afternoon of the 24th and gradually made their way south, each hurrying toward Senju, Itabashi, and Ōji respectively. As urgent reports poured in one after another from local police stations across the region, the Metropolitan Police Department issued an alert directive to all stations within the prefecture. From both the Shitaya and Asakusa stations, dozens were urgently dispatched toward Senju, and from both the Koishikawa and Hongō stations, dozens were sent toward Itabashi. Particularly as a large number of affected residents were heading toward Itabashi-guchi, Military Police Captain Kageyama hurried to the military police station there with two non-commissioned officers, thirteen superior privates, and eight horses.

However, despite such stringent security measures, by the 25th many had begun breaking through one after another to enter the capital, their exhausted figures gathering at the Shinano-ya office in Shibaguchi 3-chōme. Others wandered through Ueno Park and around Atagoyama clad in straw sandals and red blankets, prompting the Shitaya and Shiba police stations to summon off-duty officers for vigilance. On the night of the 24th, Yamada Tomojirō and Tanoiri Rizaburō—dispatched by Shōzō to pacify victims in Saitama Prefecture—found themselves overwhelmed by the residents’ fervor just like those who had gone to Unryūji Temple, achieving nothing. They returned empty-handed to Tokyo the next day only to be galvanized by Shōzō into departing again that same afternoon toward the victims’ intended destination.

The 25th was the day of Parliament’s closing ceremony, and four or five committee members involved in the capital appeal campaign stood before the House of Representatives’ gate distributing flyers titled “Petition to Witness the Tragic State of the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Disaster Area.” “Though officials and village officials may guide you,” it declared, “we victims must humbly insist on serving as your guides to prevent any negligence.” Scattered across nearby roads were paper fragments bearing desperate pleas: “O noble souls who shed even one tear for this world—save us! If you cannot save us, grant us death!”—left abandoned to be trampled underfoot by unfeeling passersby.

That morning, when a group of over a thousand people descending Nakasendō reached Hasuda in Minami-Saitama District, they were halted by dozens of police officers—unintentionally sparking a commotion that left four injured. The previous day, when they had forced their way from Hanyū to Hasuda’s vicinity, dusk had already fallen. The elderly dragged their feet like starving ghosts from exhaustion. They entered the woods near Hasuda and spent the night camping on scattered leaves. At dawn, they awoke shivering and exchanged glances at the thick frost coating their blankets and straw mats. Now confronting their pitiable circumstances anew, some contorted their faces as if on the verge of tears. Still urging one another that they would reach Tokyo today, they were gnawing frozen rice balls when dozens of officers stormed in. The strict order came: not one step further would be permitted. But the affected residents had long grown deaf to such warnings. After gathering themselves, they met every command with cold stares before ducking under officers’ arms and darting forward. Their nonresistance seemed only to enrage the police, who grew unnervingly aggressive—triggering the chaos. Mugikura Tōzō, who had been blankly watching from a rise, was suddenly dragged down and kicked in the head, sustaining gashes on his forehead and left brow. Nagashima Yohachi took saber blows to the skull merely for shouting “Abuse of authority!”, while Yamazaki Tomosaburō collapsed after being struck in the chest. Into this turmoil rushed the Urawa Police Station chief and others. Flustered by the injuries, the chief promptly summoned Dr. Taguchi Kōzō from the same village for emergency treatment.

Thus, the group pushed through forcibly and made their way to Iwatsuki regardless. There, over a hundred police officers had been lying in wait, and both sides continued their standoff for several hours—blocking the road and glaring at one another. Then Saitama Prefectural Police Chief Yoshimura Yoshiyuki and Security Division Chief Narasaki Jirōhachi arrived, requesting a meeting to consult with prominent representatives among the affected residents.

“Since evening has fallen and everyone appears exhausted, I suggest we all spend the night at Hōrinji Temple. Afterward, we shall hear your circumstances in full.”

Yoshimura’s words were sympathetic, “That’s awfully kind of you.” “This is suspicious.” “If we fall for their sweet talk, we’ll be in for a world of hurt!” Whispers of overt wariness and suspicion arose. “We are poor and have no travel funds to begin with.” “Our food has mostly run out.” “If we stay overnight and waste time idly, that will only make things harder for us.” There were also those among them who raised voices of opposition. But Yoshimura maintained his conciliatory attitude to the end, saying that regarding meals, he would consult with local volunteers to ensure they were provided for without fail, and finally convinced them. While en route to Hōrinji Temple, one group suddenly changed direction toward Kawagoe, and in the end, roughly 350 people remained behind. Thanks to the sympathy of Shimazaki County Governor, Uemura Town Mayor, Murata Kakunosuke along with several town council members, and philanthropists such as Tomioka Toyokichi and Suzuki Iwakichi, dinner was immediately prepared within the temple grounds.

The affected residents were utterly exhausted indeed. They hadn’t slept a wink the night before last, and last night’s open-air lodging offered no chance for dreams to form. Since leaving Unryūji Temple, tonight was the first time they slept under a roof. When their stomachs were filled with warm rice balls, all anyone could think about was getting a good night’s sleep. Yet just as they were each settling into their sleeping spots and about to lie down, the police chief, security division chief, and branch station chiefs from Okegawa, Ōmiya, and Iwatsuki came one after another, delivering the same monotonous admonitions: “Return to your hometowns tomorrow.” Prefectural Assembly members Arakiwa and Ōtsuka rushed from Tokyo to persuade them. However, when it came to that matter, the affected residents were stubborn as if they had made a pact. They protested that they would depart for the capital as soon as day broke and showed no sign of faltering.

In any case, the night deepened, and the morning of the 26th arrived. When they looked, they found the temple gates shut tight, with numerous police officers arrayed before them in an intimidating show of force. Officers summoned from nearby substations, combined with reinforcements from Tokyo, numbered over three hundred. The affected residents were like fish caught in a weir. Their mood had shifted entirely.

“We have remained calm and obedient all this time, yet the police resort to intimidation to manipulate the situation,” they indignantly declared,

“We even exchanged cups of water before coming here! Would we return even if we died?” They encouraged one another, each voicing their resolve. However, they suppressed their inner fury and remained utterly calm. In accordance with their leaders’ instructions, both their gathering and dispersal were carried out quietly. Police Chief Yoshimura and others were deeply moved by their docility—not even carrying a single cane—yet appeared perplexed by their unyielding resolve. They remained packed like canned goods within the temple grounds until noon arrived. As the old calendar’s Yayoi festival approached, people gathering at the Hina doll market peered curiously while passing the temple gate. Some came specially after hearing rumors to observe the commotion. Before long, everyone inside felt stirrings of frustration: “This stalemate leads nowhere.” “Let’s unite and break through their barricade!” Without any ringleader, they signaled mutual agreement through glances. When they noticed half the police had left for meals, they seized the chance to push open the gate from within. Outside officers panicked and formed human chains to block them while meal-bound policemen rushed back from all directions. The victims nearly broke free but were forced back inside once more. Hatakeyama, Tochigi Prefecture’s Security Division Chief, arrived to lecture them but was met with sneers: “Have you ever once devised relief for us?” He fell silent, speechless. Police Chief Yoshimura conceived a desperate plan: He enlisted local volunteers who had provided meals since the previous night. Ōkōchi Gorōbei, Tomioka Toyokichi, and Satō Hanjirō then entered the temple to persuade key figures among the protesters.

“We fully comprehend your determination to overcome all obstacles and reach the capital, and we deeply sympathize with your plight.” “However, as the police appear resolved to prevent your journey at any cost, conflict will prove unavoidable.” “Should injuries occur—even accidentally—it would leave enduring remorse.” “For today’s circumstances, there being no alternative, we believe selecting delegates to proceed while others temporarily return home constitutes the wisest strategy.”

Their unfeigned sympathy showed plainly on their faces, and when coupled with the kindness they had shown since the day before, even the leaders found themselves at a loss for words. Therefore, they gathered everyone in the main hall to discuss. Given the circumstances, the generous treatment they had received since the previous night had deeply affected everyone. To flatly reject the words of those who had shown them kindness, even if only for a single night, would be an act of ingratitude. In each person’s breast, such deliberations took root.

In the end, following the three men’s advice, the affected residents decided to select representatives. Their initial demand for 150 delegates was halved, resulting in seventy-five being sent to the capital. The representatives had already been chosen and were about to depart immediately, but persuaded by local volunteers, they spent that night lodging once more in the temple’s main hall.

Those who had slipped through the security cordon from other directions used lodgings such as Tōjiya in Asakusa, Umezawa in Bakurochō, Maruya in Shibaguchi, and the Shinanoya Petition Office. On this day, Tsuda Sen had Ichiji Jirō carry a camera and toured the affected areas. They had captured the actual conditions on camera, set them up as lantern slides, and were prepared to project these at future speech meetings to appeal to the audience’s emotions. The people who had parted ways with the group returning home at Iwatsuki and departed the capital joined forces with the existing Tokyo-based committee members and visited the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce on the morning of the 27th. Enomoto listened earnestly to their petition with tears in his eyes, but

“I had already heard the actual conditions from Viscount Tani, Tsuda Sen, and Takahashi Hidemi, and just the other day, I inspected the affected areas with Mr. Tsuda and returned shocked by the devastation far worse than I had heard.” “Since I believed this matter should not be neglected, I consulted with both the Ministers of Home Affairs and Finance, brought it to the cabinet meeting, and set in motion the appointment of an investigation committee.” “Before long, measures will surely be taken, so I ask that you all kindly understand this...”

Enomoto's words were straightforward, making no attempt to conceal his acute sense of responsibility. That evening, when Tsuda visited the official residence of the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, he found a carriage waiting at the entrance with Enomoto about to board it. Tsuda's sharp eyes caught sight of scrolls inside the carriage, and he turned back in surprise to meet Enomoto's gaze. Two mornings prior during their meeting, Enomoto had abruptly grown solemn mid-conversation and lowered his voice to reveal his resignation plans. Tsuda had urgently pressed him to reconsider, insisting he must remain until the mining pollution crisis was resolved. Enomoto's expression darkened further as he responded: "The Ministry has not only become a target of censure in the Diet but has troubled His Majesty’s august concerns." "It is truly unbearable." "And regarding the pollution issue - there remains our responsibility toward the neglected victims and necessary measures against local officials," he concluded with uncharacteristic resolve.

“Aren’t you being hasty?” Tsuda positioned himself blocking the carriage door and gazed intently at Enomoto once more. "Yeah, I'm already moving." “Next time, do come visit Mukōjima.” Enomoto brushed it off with practiced ease and stepped into the carriage. From within, he leaned out and added: “Starting tomorrow, I’ll be paying Ōkuma a visit and give him a proper thrashing.” Around 10 a.m. on the 28th, the bells of newsboys selling extra editions rang through the streets. They announced Agriculture-Commerce Minister Enomoto’s resignation and Foreign Minister Ōkuma’s concurrent assumption of the Agriculture-Commerce portfolio.

Thereupon, Tsuda, Takahashi, and over ten other volunteers joined forces to visit Ōkuma and present two proposals: expediting the disposition of mining pollution relief measures and having the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce conduct an inspection tour of the affected areas. “I am in complete agreement with the essence of your words.” “However, being told to inspect the affected areas constitutes words devoid of sympathy toward me. Given my current physical state, as you are well aware, that would prove difficult.” “However, regarding this issue, I have heard repeatedly from Tanaka as well, and as Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, I intend to exhaust all necessary measures.” “I ask that you kindly wait a little longer.”

The group continued to voice their opinions one after another and, after being made to listen to Ōkuma’s lengthy oration for several hours, withdrew.

Chapter Seven

On March 30th starting at five o'clock in the afternoon, a mining pollution speech meeting was held at the Christian Youth Hall in Mitoshiro-chō. This was the third speech meeting organized by the Cooperative Harmony Association faction. Though a fine mist-like rain had been falling since morning, the audience trudged through the mud to pack the venue. Each speaker stirred the depths of listeners' hearts in turn until finally Tani Kanjō ascended the podium. Shōzō had come with Tsuda to observe from the sparsely occupied dim second-floor seating. Tani recounted how seeing devastation far beyond what he'd heard during his earlier inspection had filled him with heart-rending anguish. He confessed shame for having dismissed Tanaka Shōzō's warnings as exaggerated falsehoods until now. The halting words rising from his core resonated with mournful clarity in every listener's heart.

“While some in society call Mr. Tanaka Shōzō a swindler or a madman, I believe Mr. Tanaka is truly the god who will save society.” When he heard this, the emotions from that day when he had guided Tani surged back vividly in Tsuda’s chest. The lament that Tani Kanjō first let slip while standing on the desolate embankment was now recalled as having been words of that very meaning. Tani Kanjō continued: “In the face of resolving this issue, anyone who holds even a shred of sincere concern for the nation and sheds a tear for their compatriots must not stand idly by.” “I too have pledged before you, the affected residents, my resolve to lay down my life for your relief.” As he listened to this, Tsuda recalled Tani on that day when he had shed tears before the crowd.

On the podium, Tani aligned his feet, straightened his posture, and abruptly changed his tone, “It is most presumptuous of me to speak of this here, but I wish to make one report…”

He cut off his words and lowered his gaze, “His Majesty the Emperor, in His august wisdom, will soon dispatch a chamberlain to inspect the affected areas.”

When Tani's voice permeated the hushed assembly hall, an abnormal sound reached Tsuda's vicinity. Looking over, they saw Shōzō sliding down from his chair and collapsing backward onto the aisle floor with a thud. Suspecting he might have fallen ill, they leaned closer to find large teardrops streaming from both his eyes. There lay Shōzō, facing toward the Imperial Palace in devout prostration. Not a shred of pretense colored this display—every motion flowed with raw spontaneity from his heart's impulses. Through the witnesses' perceptions alone did this act accrue boundless significance. Tsuda kept gazing at Shōzō's rounded shoulders through tear-filled aged eyes.

On the following day, the 31st, Chamberlain Hirohata indeed set out to inspect the affected areas, accompanied by an Imperial Household Agency secretary.

Around this time, government officials and civilians finally began visiting the affected areas in increasing numbers. On the 29th of last month, Vice-Minister of Home Affairs Nakamoto Motoo, Vice-Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Kaneshiro Kentarō, Chairman of the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee Jinben Tomotsune, Committee Member Hizuka Ryū, and others conducted inspections. On April 2, Progressive Party Diet members Shudo Rikuzo and Matsushima Rensaku went to conduct inspections, followed by Shimada Saburo, Taguchi Urakichi, Omura Wakijiro, Kawai Shigezo, and Kogegawa Toyojiro who also inspected and returned. The Cooperative Harmony Association held an emergency convention spanning April 2 and 3 at Matsumoto-tei in Kanda Nishikichō, resolving to pressure authorities and ministers to act. On the 9th, four association representatives—Inagaki Akira, Takahashi Hidemi, Nakamura Tateo, and Yamaguchi Danjo—visited Minister Ōkuma of Agriculture and Commerce to demand three measures: immediate mining cessation, prompt implementation of tax exemptions for affected areas, and a ministerial inspection tour—insisting on swift action before departing.

On the same ninth day, Minister of Home Affairs Kabayama conducted an inspection tour of the affected areas accompanied by the governor of Misaki Prefecture. Along the way, Inamura Yoichi of Kuno Village pleaded tearfully and at length, each word filled with utmost sorrow, which moved Kabayama to meticulously console him. A certain Engineer Tōjō among the accompanying technicians provoked outrage due to his careless remarks, while a certain Diet member elected from the affected areas was surrounded by hundreds of people who condemned his habitual indifference and forced him to vow future efforts.

On the 10th, starting at 1:00 PM, a mining pollution speech meeting organized by the Cooperative Harmony Association was held at Kawakamiza in Kanda Misakichō. On this day, Kurihara was arrested from the venue and taken to Kanda Police Station.

The reasons were that the speaker had falsely registered the American Gastle under the Japanese-sounding pseudonym Tanzō Tarō and that during his speech there had been statements inciting riots, which contravened prohibitions. At that time, Shōzō was not present at the venue, but when Miyashita Kanekichi informed him of the emergency, he rushed to intervene.

Around this very time in the affected areas, Nagashima Yohachi was thrown into the detention center for unconvicted prisoners. That day, as he attempted to go to Unryūji Temple’s office—crossing Hayakawada’s boat bridge and walking toward the temple gate with Aoki Kinjirō—it happened. Suddenly from behind came a man around forty—unfamiliar, wearing a workman’s jacket—trotting after them. “Take a look at this,” he said, pulling a scrap of paper from his indigo apron. When Nagashima casually accepted it, the document proved to be an arrest warrant stating: “In relation to the Household Intrusion Victim Incident, as there exists a matter requiring interrogation, the individual is hereby ordered to be detained and brought before this court.” Though Nagashima could not claim complete ignorance of the arrest’s reason, he eyed the man’s appearance suspiciously.

“Are you a police officer, dressed like that?” The man briefly glanced down at his chest, then, with a vigilant gaze, pressed further: “You won’t run away, will you, Nagashima-san?” as he fumbled out a hemp rope from his apron. “No, I will absolutely not flee or hide. I will submit to arrest right here and now.” “There’s no need to bind you since you claim you won’t flee, but this is also mandated by regulations, so it can’t be helped.”

The man murmured such excuses while letting slip a smile ill-suited to the occasion. Then, perhaps out of consideration to make the rope marks less conspicuous, he entwined the rope end under his *heko obi*. However, this might have been out of fear that along the way, his fellow victims would catch sight of them and attempt to seize him back. When Yohachi started walking past Unryūji Temple’s gate with a sideways glance, Aoki—who until then had been standing blankly beside him—snapped back to his senses with an expression of resolve and,

“I’ll immediately inform the office, then go notify your home as well.” With that, he shouted from behind and dashed into the gate. Yohachi came to Tomita Station with the policeman in workman’s jacket and was provided lunch at the station-front eatery there. “This’ll be my first time eating a meal on the government’s dime,” Yohachi declared with a bluff bordering on sore-loser bravado, feigning composure—yet his smile remained strained. At Ashikaga Police Station, there was a brief interrogation by the chief, but it was rather a formality—as if prearranged—and he was promptly sent to the prosecutor’s office of Utsunomiya District Court’s Tochigi Branch in Tochigi Town. There, he underwent interrogation by the prosecutor until evening.

On the night of March 23, the victims who had departed Unryūji Temple—though obstructed at every turn along the way—barely managed to leave the capital, and on the 28th, they dragged their exhausted feet back along the twenty-ri journey. Along the way, Nagashima and his group heard something unexpected. It was said that from among the comrades who had formed a spiritual contract at Unryūji Temple last November, two turncoats had emerged and, having already gathered five allies, were now vigorously advocating settlement proposals. Some, recalling the solemn scenes of that day, felt indignant as if their sacredness had been desecrated, while others frowned, thinking defensive measures must be taken before opposition movements could arise. In the end, they unanimously resolved to visit these five individuals in person and demand an explanation for why they had betrayed the petition movement. It was the culmination of all these emotions combined—their pride in having endured various oppressions, their frustration at having achieved no substantial results despite this, their exhaustion from consecutive days of struggle, their hunger, and the oppressive gloom of being battered by heavy rain—that had driven them to fury.

They did not stop at Unryūji Temple either, changing their path through the driving rain as they headed toward Keno Village. In villages along the way, comrades who had returned home earlier welcomed them and inquired about their efforts in Tokyo, while spreading rumors that Mayor Hayakawa [surname] and others from Keno Village—serving as prefectural assembly members—had submitted a petition asserting that mining must not be stopped. Together, they surged forth in collective rage. Thus, by the time they arrived before the house of Ono-dera [surname], their numbers had swelled to over five hundred. It was twilight, and though a dim light still lingered in the rainfall outside, the interior of the house was pitch black. Had they already fled somewhere in fear? Not a single shadow of the household members could be seen.

“Don’t try to hide!” “You traitor, come out!” The villagers began shouting in unison. “No, we have absolutely not come here to cause trouble.” “We only came to hear the reasons for your opposition.” No matter how loudly they shouted, their voices only echoed hollowly through the room, as vacant as an abandoned house. Then, one of them— “He must be hiding somewhere.” “Alright, we’ll find you!”

With those words, they jumped onto the veranda with their muddy shoes still on and, one after another, stomped inside, marching through the entire house. They dripped rainwater from their kimonos and straw raincoats, churning through the mud with their soiled footwear, yet ultimately found nothing. Eventually someone called out, “If he’s not here, there’s nothing we can do.” With that, they all clattered back down into the garden. Not a single shoji screen slat snapped, not one lamp shattered. But after they withdrew, when family members crawled out from hiding and lit a lantern to look around, the tatami room lay churned beyond recognition—its mat weave obliterated into mire no different from the muddy ground beneath the eaves.

They next stormed into the house of a certain Hayakawa. They once again entered with their muddy feet under the pretext of conducting a search, but here too found nothing and had no choice but to withdraw empty-handed. Next, redirecting their spearhead toward Kuno Village, they proceeded with determined vigor to visit in succession the houses of a certain Iso, a certain Nojima, and a certain Inage. Every house was empty as if by prior arrangement, and they could not apprehend a single person. By the time they withdrew from the fifth house, everyone’s footsteps showed clear signs of exhaustion mingled with disappointment. In silent agreement, all had resigned themselves to abandoning their efforts and heading home; each time they reached a fork in the road, groups of them vanished into the darkness. Those from distant areas reached their homes as night began fading into dawn; after changing out of their soaked clothes, they fell into a death-like slumber.

The arrest warrant had already been officially labeled as a household intrusion incident, but Nagashima could only recall the aforementioned events.

Once the prosecutor’s interrogation concluded, Nagashima was placed in a solitary cell with five-inch square bars that looked forbiddingly harsh. In the faint evening light, his first sight of the wafer-thin futon, wooden pillow, and toilet in the corner made a bleak thought surface—was this truly the world meant to hold him? Yet when he considered the abject poverty of those in the poisoned lands, life here might still be immeasurably better by comparison. More than the physical constraints of prison itself, what struck deepest was the psychological blow of being severed from the petition movement.

In addition to Nagashima, those similarly detained under the household intrusion charge before trial were Ono Masakichi of Ueno Village and Ishikawa Hyōzō of Kuno Village. Unwittingly having become sacrifices of the movement while incarcerated, they ended up garnering sympathy not only from the affected victims but also from the general populace. The morning after Nagashima spent his first night in prison, a lunchbox had been delivered by an unknown person—one manifestation of this growing sympathy. The jailer brought the lunchbox and, “Do you know a man named Takase Ninonosuke?”

“I do not know.” “Would a stranger send you provisions? Think carefully!” Even after the jailer left, Yohachi combed through every recess of his mind but still could not recall. There truly are kind souls in this world, he thought. Though troubled by the possibility that he might have forgotten such a person—which would make him inexcusably remiss—he ate the meal gratefully nonetheless. Then the next morning came a letter from this Takase, bearing the court’s official seal.

“Dear Sir, I have learned through this morning’s newspaper of your honorable incarceration, and though it is said to be for the sake of society and the people, I truly cannot help but feel profound sympathy. Though I, who have yet to make your acquaintance, humbly wish to offer some solace for your hardships, I have arranged for meals to be delivered starting this morning for the coming week; I earnestly request your kind acceptance of this entreaty. Furthermore, I would be delighted to fulfill any request within my power; please do not hesitate to command me. While incarcerated, devote yourself entirely to taking care of your health; I humbly await the day of your safe release. Sincerely, Takase Ninonosuke, Tochigi Town, Muromachi”

Although they had suffered casualties, the united actions of the affected residents were sufficient to instill fear in local assembly members with guilty consciences and settlement contractors still clouded by indecision. Trembling in fear, some sought police protection, while others resorted to slandering fellow victims to defend themselves. Moreover, among them were even those who packed up their household belongings and absconded to Tokyo, receiving protection from mining industrialist Furukawa. Meanwhile, Shōzō, recognizing the necessity of conducting an accurate survey to proactively provide materials to the Mining Investigation Committee, urged both the Shibaguchi and Unryūji offices to undertake this task.

In any case, the situation was unfolding favorably. At the very least, the conditions necessary for a favorable development had been put in place. Ōkuma Shigenobu, who concurrently served as Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, had been an acquaintance of Shōzō since the People's Rights Movement era; Shōzō, for his part, acknowledged Ōkuma as a great man of their time, while Ōkuma possessed the magnanimity to embrace Shōzō's unyielding integrity and untamed spirit. Furthermore, there was a reshuffling of local officials: Eguchi Chishi, reputed for his integrity, became governor of Tochigi Prefecture, while Kosho Kado assumed the governorship of Gunma Prefecture. Jinbuchi Tomotsune, chairman of the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee, was a man of character praised for his principled stance since the Foreign Policy Hardliner movement; together with Cabinet Secretary-General Takahashi Kenzō, they were regarded as the twin pillars of integrity untainted by worldly corruption within the current cabinet. Koizuka Ryū, another committee member, though a man of small stature, had a connection dating back to the Ōmeisha days. Among the other committee members were many scholars beyond Furukawa’s reach. Chief among them was Nagaoka Munezane, an associate professor at the Agricultural College—a scholar who had conducted soil analysis in the affected areas alongside the upright Koza Yoshinao as early as Meiji 23 (1890), forthrightly announcing that Ashio’s mining pollution was flowing into the Watarase River.

Those committee members earnestly surveyed the affected areas. Meanwhile，the unity of the affected residents had finally grown stronger，and public opinion had begun to shift. Thus，it seemed that the time for the mining cessation petition to achieve its desire was drawing near. Shōzō，too，felt a measure of relief that he had dragged（引きずって来た）the situation this far.

However, as April drew to a close and they assessed the mood of the Investigation Committee, it became clear that mining cessation would not occur. It also came to light that among the committee members, there were those who deliberately attempted to distort the facts by claiming the damage was caused not by mining pollution but merely by flooding. Shōzō became indignant, his face livid. However, he could not settle for mere indignation. To further solidify the unity of the affected residents and demonstrate their resolve and demands to the authorities, he conceived the idea of organizing a speaking tour.

Shōzō returned to his hometown to stand on the front lines himself and attended speech meetings at various locations, beginning with Unryūji Temple on the thirtieth. On May first, a gathering was held in Mōrida Village of Yamada County, where Shōzō delivered an exhaustive three-hour lecture that reduced the audience to sobs. Afterward, Nakajima Yasutarō recounted the history of the mining pollution incident in place of closing remarks. But when he began stating, “In Meiji twenty-seven [1894], a certain prefectural assemblyman named Kubota accepted settlement money from Furukawa and used it to line his own pockets…”, a man suddenly rushed up from behind the podium and shoved Nakajima’s shoulder from behind. It was Kubota himself—the very man being denounced. The audience rose en masse. “Beat that bastard senseless!” they roared in unison, surging toward the podium. Over thirty supervising officers attempted to block them, resulting in a chaotic scuffle that lasted two full hours. They ultimately pacified the assembly by selecting committee members to issue reprimands and escorted Kubota to the village office. Then the crowd surged toward the office once more, surrounding its gates and stubbornly refusing to disperse.

After this incident, each police department was thrown into great panic. Perceiving that the affected residents might be planning another large-scale petition, they began strictly guarding the routes leading to Utsunomiya and Tokyo. On the night of the third, over a thousand police officers stood guard through the stormy night. Shōzō frequently moved around the villages in the affected areas for speech meetings during this period, often sleeping sandwiched among young volunteers at the Unryūji Temple office. That night, after the nearby affected residents had dispersed, Shōzō stayed up late into the night discussing matters with a few young men and Abbot Kurosaki, listening to the rain that fell so heavily it seemed to rot the eaves. The wind that occasionally shook the cedar grove crashed against the storm shutters with a violent roar, its sound equally ferocious. As drafts stirred the dampened shoji paper with desolate whispers, the andon lamp let out a faint, uneasy sigh each time.

“I heard that Venerable Kaishū Katsu composed a poem for us the other day.” Kurosaki asked this as if recalling it. “Hmm, have I not yet shared that one? When I went to report the subsequent progress of the petition movement the other day, he said, ‘This came into being,’ and kindly wrote it.”

Shōzō said this as he took a brush from his inkstone box and began writing while humming. ――Who stirs the muddy waters of Furukawa into pure streams, wearing innocence like a mask?

“Truly a master’s poem.” “It flows smoothly yet is caustic.” “And yet it lacks any vulgarity.” “Together with General Tani’s poem from his inspection, this would form one of the twin masterpieces of mining pollution poetry.” “Even when I occasionally try to compose a poem myself, it’s no good—my waka just turns into a mad verse.” “It was around last October, I think—something like ‘Furukawa and the clinking coins of beggars…’ That sort of thing. Hahaha…” When Shōzō burst into loud laughter, the whole group began laughing too—but Kurosaki shook his knees and,

“No, when it comes to causticness, yours certainly don’t fall short… But there’s one of your poems that I deeply admire.” “If you become a god—you said something along those lines, didn’t you?”

“I may be bad at poetry, but this is what I think,” he said. “Generally speaking, it’s a mistake to regard poetry reciters or poets as some separate breed of people. True poems come from those who aren’t professional poets. That the way of verse never reached us common folk in modern times—that’s the crime of generations of rulers, the sin of the warrior class! For centuries they forbade farmers and merchants from composing poetry. This is why our nation’s language has become corrupted—why Japanese today don’t know the beauty of their own tongue, why their speech turns disjointed, why so few grasp even the meaning of the words they use.” Shōzō broke off, as if embarrassed by his uncharacteristic lecture on poetics, then murmured like one speaking to himself: “But poetry... poetry is a good thing.”

When they suddenly noticed the rain had ceased, they could hear the cedar branches shaking off copious droplets.

After a gust of wind passed, the profound darkness outside seemed to press relentlessly against the tightly closed storm shutters.

“It’s gotten strangely quiet, hasn’t it?” “It’s almost eerie.” Kobayashi Zenkichi whispered.

“I wonder what Mr. Nagashima is thinking in his prison cell on a night like this.” “On a night like this—” Ōide Kihei whispered back. Shōzō took note of those words and looked back at Ōide, then shifted his gaze to the halo of the lamp on the tatami and crossed his arms. “All under heaven—I love this. “Yet none come with me. “I turn no one away. “People shun me.—When one’s heart fully becomes this state, that mind grows noble and profound—a realm where all matters under heaven fall into view. “Why then criticize or hate others? “Only those who violate the Great Law and oppose the Grand Path—these we must thoroughly subjugate. This is the mindset I strive to attain. “I shall endeavor thus. “I ask you all to act with this same resolve.”

At that moment, a bird's cry suddenly pierced through as it crossed over the roof ridge. Four or five desperate calls rang out as if wringing its whole body dry—Kobayashi and the others instinctively strained their ears. "A cuckoo?" Kurosaki muttered briefly with a contemplative look, but—

“Ah, I remember now. ‘When one becomes a god, the sound of one hand may be heard—yet who heeds the voice of two hands?’ That poem of yours.” “It was two years past when you stopped here from Takasaki—that’s when I heard it.” “About this season, no—was it June?” “If the heart’s ears are clouded by clinging thoughts, even a single hand’s sound goes unheard.” “One hand signifies the root; two hands mere branches.” “We must return to nature’s way.” “So long as bound by ropes of life-death and flourishing-withering, mankind cannot save itself.” “Only through transcending humanity may we redeem both world and people.” “Thus I, though ordained monk, found myself shown enlightenment’s path through your words.” “This truth remains with me still.”

Shōzō remained silent as ever, arms crossed, neither replying nor moving a muscle. What initially seemed like Shōzō’s self-styled zazen took on an extraordinary quality—his fossilized stillness defied ordinary meditation. Kurosaki abandoned his intention to refresh the tea and sat motionless like the others, knees aligned with ceremonial precision on the tatami. But when the silence stretched beyond endurance and someone finally peered closer, they found Shōzō staring fixedly at a point in the night’s darkness, tears pooling in both eyes.

Kurosaki startled and drew back, but he could not fathom what those tears meant. He understood these were not mere tears of worldly sorrow or personal remorse. He thought they must be tears of compassion, earnestly wishing to save people and the world. No—what seemed more certain was that the very source of his strength to endure hardships lay within those tears. After a moment, words escaped Shōzō’s lips.

“People claim the cuckoo cries as if driven by jealousy or resentment within its own avian heart, but this is merely lost souls projecting their own confused minds onto another creature.” “When ignoble hearts presume to fathom nature’s profundity, error becomes inevitable.”

Speech meetings continued to be held in various locations. On the 8th, one was held in Yanada Village, but after it closed, about two hundred members of the audience followed along under the pretext of seeing off the speakers. When the procession—one carriage, sixty riders, and the rest on foot—approached the Gunma Prefecture border, thirty to forty police officers who had been lying in wait blocked their path. The officers protested that their horseback riding was improper and their marching in formation unacceptable. The group retorted by asking why organized marching was wrong and how it differed from Ise pilgrimages. It became an absurd exchange of arguments.

The next day’s venue in Ōta Town was Masago-za. The hall, which could hold three thousand people, was instantly filled to capacity and its doors were closed, but outside, a crowd of nearly ten thousand still pressed forward. Even after realizing they couldn’t enter, they refused to leave, and every time applause or uproar leaked from inside the venue, they stirred restlessly. At this point inside the venue, six speakers were called to halt their speeches, and the audience finally erupted in fury and began to riot. The police chief conducting the inspection finally declared the assembly dissolved, and Arakawa and Shōzō ended up not taking the podium.

From this day onward, nearly every speech meeting came to encounter the misfortune of either having its speakers halted or the assembly dissolved.

Moreover, the affected residents’ morale was falsely reported as harboring unrest—whether due to scheming and slander by the Furukawa faction that had earlier fled their hometowns or not—when suddenly, on May 11, Military Police Captain Kageyama arrived from Tokyo with thirty subordinates and began securing key points along the sixteen-ri stretch from Kiryu Town in Gunma Prefecture to Sakai Town in Ibaraki Prefecture, fortifying surveillance along both banks of the Watarase and Tone Rivers.

Shōzō learned of this while in Tokyo, his heart aching at the thought that coastal activists might shrink back in fear. When he came across toy guns in Asakusa, he bought five on some impulse and had Yamaguchi Zenbee deliver them to Unryūji Temple. May 11 also marked the conclusion of Nagashima and others' preliminary inquiry—left unresolved for a month and a half—and became the day their public trial finally opened in Tochigi. Residents from remote areas departed their homes as early as midnight, crowds from across the coastal region streaming toward the courthouse. Along the road where three defendants were escorted from Kangaku Prison to court in deep-brimmed hats, over two thousand affected villagers stood lining the path, each offering words of comfort. The verdict sentenced Nagashima and Ono to six months of heavy imprisonment and Ishikawa Hyōzō to four months—Nagashima and Ono accepted their sentences while Ishikawa appealed.

A few days later, Shōzō returned to his hometown, went to Unryūji Temple, summoned his elderly wife from Kōnakamura, and together with Ōide Kihei and Kurosaki Zen'ō, the four of them walked along inspecting the state of vigilance along the coast. The military police, upon learning of Shōzō’s inspection, for some reason immediately lifted their vigilance and departed.

A few days later on the 20th, eleven individuals—Kamei Tomoji, Hara Daijirō, Hara Seizō, Nomura Kazujirō, Sakurai Nihei, Naganuma Masayoshi, Tanairi Rissaburō, Kamei Toranojō, Abe Eitarō, Kubota Yūkichi, and Kura Toyozō—were arrested on charges of household intrusion. The charges alleged they had intruded into certain homes in Tsukuba Village and assaulted residents, but this ultimately stemmed from a plot by the Furukawa faction to crush the morale of youths advancing their movement; consequently, by June 15th—after less than a month of detention without trial—the case was dismissed in preliminary inquiry.

Chapter Eight

On May 19, dozens of representatives from four towns and villages in Yamada District traveled to Tokyo to petition the Chairman of the Investigation Committee.

Shōzō also departed for the capital together. Whether mining cessation would be achieved or not—its fate now hung on these two weeks of effort. Shōzō encouraged the representatives with those words. Rather than allowing twenty-four years and seven months of hardship to go to waste—if mining cessation was not pushed through here and now by the momentum they had built up—what would become of the lives of 100,000 victims? When he recalled that, he himself felt so restless he could neither sit still nor stand still. The sight of his agitation was so pitiful it pained even those watching.

Thereupon, Tsuda, Matsumura, Takahashi, and others took the initiative and held a consultation meeting of concerned individuals at Shibaura-tei in Shibaura on the 20th. Shōzō, along with Diet members Nakajima Yūhachi and Arai Keigorō, and over ten others, gathered. The government’s attitude was something that could not be let down one’s guard against until the very end. In response to movements within the Diet, they determined that efforts outside its chambers needed to be redoubled, and so thoroughly deliberated their campaign strategy. As a result, Tsuda, Matsumura, Nakajima, and Takahashi resolved to visit Minister Ōkuma of Agriculture and Commerce, Chairman Kamibuchi, and others; Ikki, Inagaki, Yamaguchi, Nakamura, Kurihara, and their group resolved to visit Prime Minister Matsukata and Interior Minister Kabayama; and Arai, Kojima, and their group resolved to visit members of the Investigation Committee—each pressing their demands with unyielding resolve.

The next morning at seven o'clock, Ikki's group assembled at his house. With the addition of Ikki's followers, a rather rowdy group of over a dozen men was formed. Ikki Saitaro's name resounded among the political activists of the time. It was also a fact that many reckless warriors from Kumamoto numbered among his subordinates.

Ikki was a tall man standing nearly six feet, with long hair cascading down his shoulders, yet his bearing carried an air of scholarly refinement. His education—knowledge of Chinese classics and the ability to compose poetry—naturally lent a depth of character to his presence. But the true nature of the political activist emerged resolutely whenever the occasion demanded. Once, he said to Matsumura Kaiseki: "Professor, shall we assassinate Furukawa?" Matsumura, who practiced Christianity, also possessed a forthright temperament. "You mustn't do such a terrible thing," he replied. "Instead of that, why don't you smear their faces with shit and harass them?" With that, he laughed.

Now, their group of over ten members came to the side of Sannō Shrine in Akasaka and halted beneath young chinquapin leaves. Climbing the narrow slope shaded by those low-hanging branches would bring one to the Prime Minister’s Official Residence. They waited in the stone wall’s shadow at the slope’s base, first dispatching one of Ikki’s underlings to scout ahead. Soon the underling came sprinting down to report Matsukata was preparing to depart by carriage. At once they rushed to the residence gate, where Matsukata stood poised to board his vehicle. Over a dozen men fanned out beneath a great tree encircling the carriage. True to form, Matsukata betrayed no panic—only swiveled his stubby neck while darting wide eyes about the compartment. When Ikki’s man seized both horses’ bits and blocked their path, the coachman gaped slack-jawed, his whip hanging limp. Two policemen came running with shouts of “We won’t tolerate violence!” but cowered before the group’s fervor, maintaining only a trembling semblance of authority. Ikki bellowed as he gripped the carriage door.

“Is one mining industrialist worth more than twenty leagues of fertile land and a hundred thousand souls? We’ve come for your answer!” Inside the carriage, Matsukata shifted his white beard—its ends brushing his lips—and responded: “Concerning that matter...I shall arrange an audience with you gentlemen later.” “At present—preparing to depart—I cannot properly discuss this.”

When they heard this, Yamaguchi and Kurihara pressed in from both sides of the carriage: “We won’t accept this evasive maneuvering! We demand an answer—now!” “If you can respond later, you can damn well respond right here!” Ikki spoke again in that clarion voice of his: “We’ve no wish to trade lives with a minister. But if you mean to keep shielding those mining barons alone...” “...know we’re prepared to see this through.”

Then, the people pressed their faces to the carriage windows once more and spoke out one after another, “This is no time to look composed! A hundred thousand people are on the brink of starvation!” “The path to resolution is simple. Even if you refuse mining cessation, there’s no other way!” At that moment, one of them who had been keeping watch outside the gate came running, “Gentlemen, twenty or thirty police officers are coming here!”

“Good. Having said this much, you must have taken it to heart somewhat.” At Ikki’s voice, the man who had been holding the horses’ bits let go. The wheels bit into the gravel and creaked. Immediately after, Inagaki snapped as if delivering a final blow. “If you value your life, stop being Furukawa’s lackey.”

As the carriage exited the gate, a large contingent of police officers came rushing in from the opposite direction, their swords clattering against their belts. This time, the entire group found themselves encircled by officers. A mustachioed man who seemed to be an inspector declared they were under investigation and ordered them to accompany him to headquarters. Then Ikki, eyes blazing with anger, stepped forward,

“We don’t have time for that. We have an appointment with Foreign Minister Ōkuma, so we’re heading to the Foreign Ministry now. There’s absolutely no way we can accompany you now. If you insist on accompanying us, we’ll have you do so after meeting with Foreign Minister Ōkuma.” His tone roared with ferocity. The police inspector, inwardly exasperated, snorted contemptuously, “There’s no reason His Excellency Ōkuma would meet with the likes of you.” “No debate. You’ll come with us to the Foreign Ministry now.”

Having said that, Ikki pushed through the ring of police officers. In an instant, his subordinates squared their shoulders and flanked him on either side. The police officers, though half-doubting, found themselves overwhelmed by their imperious demeanor and let them pass as they pleased. As the group approached the Foreign Ministry's distinctive namako wall, they encountered Ōkuma's carriage just as he was arriving for work. Ōkuma, noticing the imposing police contingent and Ikki's men, halted his carriage. The officers, apparently intending to form a protective cordon, surrounded the vehicle.

“What’s all this commotion?”

A voice rang out from inside the carriage.

“No, when we came to request an audience with Your Excellency, these officers are unreasonably trying to detain us. We would like Your Excellency to give them a good scolding.”

Ikki seized the initiative by saying this and, taking the lead, approached the carriage window. Given the gravity of his words, even the police officers yielded their positions.

Ōkuma addressed them, “These are all like my students; they’re not suspicious individuals. Don’t detain them recklessly.”

The police officers looked deflated and soon saluted each of them before leaving.

Ōkuma’s statement had not been false. He had taken Ikki under his wing as a man of promise, routinely permitting him to come and go like a leader of political agitators. Meeting Ōkuma had formed no part of that day’s plans, but Ikki had instantly conceived a stratagem to leverage their established connection and repel the police. It was quick thinking befitting the moment.

Next, they departed for the Home Minister’s official residence. Since Kawayama also knew Ikki and Inagaki and had already met with them several times regarding the mining pollution issue, they were able to secure a meeting without difficulty that day as well. “You should rest assured, as there ought to be some measure of resolution within a day or two.” Kawayama nearly let slip part of the contents but clamped his mouth shut. They took strength from his reassuring tone and left the official residence.

Both Tsuda’s group and Arai’s group visited other ministers and investigation committee members in turn, each following the arrangements made the previous day. And so each group pooled their information and continued their daily activities with even greater intensity based on that foundation. During this time, the victim representatives in the capital also persisted in their round-the-clock efforts—submitting petitions to various authorities while maintaining contact with the affected areas. On the 23rd, reports emerged that Vice-Minister Ōishi of Agriculture and Commerce had summoned three governors—Egi of Tochigi, Koshiō of Gunma, and Onoda of Ibaraki—to the minister’s official residence for several hours of discussions on mining pollution disposal. By the 27th, these deliberations culminated in a decisive blow against Furukawa, the mining operator. This took form as the Mining Pollution Prevention Order issued under the name of Minami Teisō, Director of the Tokyo Mining Bureau.

The issuance of such a prevention order to large mines was a rare occurrence for the nation, and its directives were notably stringent. The order consisted of thirty-seven articles mandating pollution control facilities and embankment erosion works related to: mixing quicklime into mine water and wastewater; constructing sedimentation ponds; preventing rainwater inflow; establishing slag and dross stockyards while preventing their collapse; condensing and settling arsenous acid fumes; desulfurizing sulfurous acid gas; and other measures. Particularly significant were its stipulations requiring work commencement within seven days, with completion deadlines ranging from thirty to one hundred fifty days, coupled with a final clause declaring, “Should any provisions of this order be violated, mining operations shall cease immediately”—all appearing to demonstrate the government’s unyielding stance that tolerated no exceptions. For Furukawa, this undoubtedly struck like a thunderbolt from clear skies—a stern decree impossible to evade through his customary methods of bribing officials. Full compliance would likely inflict severe operational and financial damage.

Simultaneously, directives were issued to the Forest District Office regarding afforestation and other management guidelines for the Ashio National Forest, and to the Tochigi and Gunma prefectural governments concerning privately owned forests upstream of the Watarase River. Moreover, the Ministry of Finance’s issuance of directives to tax officials regarding land tax exemptions due to mining pollution damage and its order for inspections had to be acknowledged as an unprecedented level of thoroughness. That day, a summons came from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce to the petition office at Shinano-ya, requesting a meeting with the representatives. For the authorities to proactively request a meeting was something that had never happened before. While wondering at this unusual occurrence, Noguchi, Niwada, and several other Tokyo-based committee members appeared, whereupon they were shown to the reception room to meet Vice-Minister Ōishi. They grew increasingly suspicious, tilting their heads as if scrutinizing the situation and whispering to one another in hushed tones as they waited. Before long, Ōishi entered and politely expressed gratitude for their efforts, then announced that the prevention order had been issued this time. After earnestly explaining the government’s intentions behind each article of the order,

“We would like you to thoroughly explain this to your fellow affected residents and have them understand they may now settle down and return to their work.” It was a meticulously crafted statement. But Noguchi and the others openly displayed their displeasure, “We have been submitting petitions for mining cessation up until today—not for prevention orders.” “By saying this, I may appear to be finding fault with your well-meant measures through petty excuses, but that is not my intention.” “Because we’ve heard these promises of prevention and damage control countless times before—promises we once trusted wholeheartedly.” “Yet when we examine the results? No reduction in harm whatsoever.” “We were deceived time and again—deceived until we found ourselves thrust into ever-deepening misery.”

Then, from beside them, Inamura excitedly continued. "That’s right. No matter how much we’re told now that these damage control methods are effective, we can no longer believe them today. We’ve been made unable to believe it. Whose fault is this? If I may be so bold, do you truly think your office can achieve a satisfactory resolution with lukewarm measures like this Prevention Order? We can’t remain complacent when the outcome is so transparent. Until mining cessation is ordered, we have no choice but to continue our petition movement. This isn’t merely the opinion of us representatives—I believe all affected residents share this view."

Ōishi stared back at them with a look of exasperation at their stubbornness, but perhaps having resigned himself to the impossibility of controlling these foolish country folk, he offered no response to this.

After a while, “Actually, I wish to explain the situation to Mr. Tanaka myself, but hearing he is currently in the affected area, I would like your office to send him a telegram urging his return to Tokyo.”

His words remained impeccably courteous throughout. The representatives exchanged glances for a moment,

“No, that’s problematic,” said Noguchi, making his chair creak as he thrust his chest forward. “For us to do something so directive—even temporarily—and have Mr. Tanaka think we’ve accepted this current measure goes against our intentions. If this is your affair, then it’s only proper you handle sending telegrams or whatnot as you see fit.” “Well, if that’s how you feel…”

Ōishi trailed off, his face sullen, and stood up. The representatives also abruptly clattered their chairs as they stood up.

Two days later, over thirty people centered on the Kyōdō Shinwakai held a meeting at Shibaura-tei. Of course, thorough deliberations were conducted regarding the government’s recent measures. From his travels, Tani Kanjō sent letters to Tsuda and others expressing his opinions on countermeasures.

As a result of that meeting, in the early morning of June 1st, Tsuda, Matsumura, Narai, Ichigi, Nakajima, Arai, Takahashi, and others visited Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda. They were shown into a large reception room, where they sat in chairs as they pleased and gazed out the window at the spacious garden. The young trees that densely covered near the window displayed verdant foliage so vivid it seemed to stain one’s vision—a sight pulsating with the vitality of new life. “I heard that once, when someone criticized Count Ōkuma for his lack of enthusiasm regarding the mining pollution, Mr. Tanaka wrapped mining-polluted soil in newspaper and dumped it on the bonsai in his garden—even Count Ōkuma was apparently at a loss over that.”

"That's right—I hear that bonsai ended up withering away after all." As Narai and Nakajima were having this conversation, Ōkuma—wearing a plain iron-gray single-layer haori—entered, supported by his steward. He settled comfortably into an armchair and, with a faint smile, received the greetings from all present. “What do you think? This Prevention Order is quite stringent, wouldn’t you say?” "It was no small feat bringing it to that point." “Hahaha...” Ōkuma, convinced that the entire group had come together to express their gratitude, was in high spirits. In response, they took turns explaining how they had examined the government’s measures at the Shibaura-tei meeting on the 29th of last month. The government had traditionally been negligent regarding the mining pollution incident and had moreover engaged in numerous unjust acts. For instance, while claiming to have taken measures to eliminate harm through methods such as powder ore collectors, they had already had a history of deceiving the people for many years. Therefore, whether this current order would actually prove effective and whether the measures were truly appropriate. After investigating this, they intended to formulate their own opinion and make it public to society. Taken together, this was the essence of their position.

“Therefore, as we continue our movement going forward, we have come to inquire whether your fundamental policy absolutely deems mining cessation impermissible—we seek your opinion on this matter.” When Tsuda pressed him thus, Ōkuma opened his mouth, which had been tightly closed like a toad’s.

"I fully recognize the facts of mining pollution damage. "I do not consider Tanaka's argument unreasonable. "But having gathered the nation’s foremost scholars and experts in the field to conduct research—through which we obtained the conclusion that mining pollution can indeed be reliably prevented in the future—we cannot abruptly cease mining operations without observing those results. "This Prevention Order exists precisely for this purpose. "We will have them implement prevention works, and should these measures prove ineffective after a year or two, our firm intention is naturally to decisively prohibit [mining operations]..."

Seeing that remaining silent would let Ōkuma launch into another interminable lecture, Takahashi leaned forward from his chair,

“Is that opinion Your Excellency’s personal view, or is it the view of the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce?” Ōkuma leaned back in his chair and shifted his gaze sharply,

“It is the opinion of the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce.”

Takahashi immediately looked around to both sides. “Everyone, please ensure you commit the Minister’s current words firmly to memory.”

Matsumura sharply cut in following that. "As I stated earlier, how is it that the order makes no mention whatsoever of compensation for the affected residents? Regarding the method for that, we are considering offering our own recommendations as well." "That is a judicial matter; therefore, compensation must be handled in accordance with the Civil Code and other regulations. The government cannot possibly issue orders concerning compensation payments." "Then, regarding protecting the health of the affected residents—what measures do you intend to take?"

“As for that matter, I believe the Home Ministry and local government offices will handle it sufficiently, so there’s no need for concern.” “Of course, pressing the authorities remains your right—proceed without hesitation.”

Ōkuma deflected the thrust while maintaining a tone that still left room for the other party to cling to hope. The dialogue ended here.

Seeing that visitors were crowding in one after the next, the group urgently made their requests about future measures and took their leave.

Shōzō learned of the Prevention Order at Unryūji Temple in the affected area. When he returned along the night road after conducting damage surveys in the Kuno area, the main hall's paper screens glowed brightly with lamplight, and a shadow moved in the corridor leading to the kitchen quarters. Hearing a cough, Ōide came out to greet him and thrust two telegrams forward, announcing, "The Prevention Order has finally been issued." Shōzō stepped beneath the hanging lamp and stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the telegrams. Both messages from the Shibaguchi Mining Pollution Office and Hachikanchō notified him of the Prevention Order's enactment, but their terse wording left the specifics unclear.

“Hmm.” Shōzō groaned and remained standing rigidly, staring at the lamp flame for a while before muttering “I see... So it’s come to this after all,” then sinking down to sit cross-armed on the spot. “To what extent will these prevention works be implemented?” Ōide brought tea from the kitchen quarters and peered at him inquiringly while offering the cup.

"That's unclear," Shōzō replied. "Judging by the circumstances, the prevention measures are likely quite stringent. But however stringent they may be, they remain worlds apart from our demand for complete mining cessation." Yet in his heart alone, Shōzō had long anticipated this outcome. Even without knowing the specifics, he could only view it as settling into the worst-case scenario he'd predicted. "What a grievous miscalculation," he thought, arms folded tightly. "Overturning this established decision to push for mining cessation would prove harder now than forcing it through decisively... Our efforts fell short after all."

Shoulders slumped, Shōzō let out a deep sigh. Even while anticipating this outcome, Shōzō had mobilized the masses with his entire being, shouting for mining cessation. And until he had glanced at those telegrams moments earlier, he had clung to a glimmer of hope. All the more reason his disappointment was profound. However, he did not allow that disappointment to show to those around him. “Even with this new order… will it still be useless?” “Will the mining pollution keep flowing? Will we still not be saved?” When Yokozuka said this and leaned forward, his young face twisted in earnest dread,

“The government has deceived the affected residents twice now.” “We have learned this truth through our very flesh.” “If that be so, we must hold fast to this conviction henceforth.” “Should we abandon our movement over such half-measures, the entire Watarase River basin will meet its ruin.” As was his habitual refrain. “We cannot silence our cries for mining cessation until we achieve our purpose.”

Shōzō persisted in a sharp tone, as if possessed. Under the lamplight, his eyes shone, and greasy sweat formed on his forehead. Shōzō smoothly stroked his face with his large palm,

“Saying this may make me seem stubborn and narrow-minded, but that isn’t so.” “The human spirit isn’t some vast thing—spread it thin, and it grows diluted, losing its strength.” “Only through narrowness can it stay firm.” “Call us narrow-minded or stubborn if you will, but we must press on with unyielding resolve—there’s no path but to see this through to the end.”

As Shōzō was passionately arguing like this, volunteers from nearby villages began streaming in one after another, until the main hall’s spacious room took on the appearance of a discussion meeting. Telegrams from Tokyo-based committee members had reached each village, and thinking that going to the office would clarify the details, they found themselves heading to Unryūji Temple without prior intent. Two days later, Shōzō left the capital and checked into Shinano-ya in Shibaguchi, where he heard from Tokyo-based committee members about their meeting with Vice Minister Ōishi. While surveying their faces as he listened, he remarked, “Hmm, well done.” “Though Vice Minister Ōishi must have been stubbornly dismayed, this demonstrates the affected residents’ resolve—it’s most commendable,” he praised their efforts, then proceeded to tirelessly expound on the necessity of continuing their movement.

On the morning when the members of the Kyōdō Shinwakai visited Ōkuma’s residence, Shōzō came to Hachikanchō—where rows of trees stood lushly verdant beneath the tower of Egi Photography Studio—and alighted from his carriage at Miyashitagata. When he waited in the detached room, Takahashi soon stopped by to report. Just the day before, Takahashi had heard Shōzō vehemently argue his direct dissatisfaction with the government’s latest measures and insist on continuing the mining cessation movement, so when conveying Minister Ōkuma’s opinion, he had feared how intensely Shōzō might react—yet to his surprise, Shōzō remained composed and brushed it off,

“I see… As the Minister’s words go, I suppose that’s to be expected,” he said, as if he had anticipated this outcome.

“On my way back, I also stopped by the Ichigaya residence, and General Tani was largely in agreement with Count Ōkuma.” Shōzō seemed slightly struck by this unexpected revelation; his eyes widened sharply as he stared back at Takahashi. After Takahashi left, Shōzō returned to his seat and sat wordlessly. There was something strangely forlorn about how he followed with his eyes a ground wasp that had strayed into the room, buzzing persistently about the space. When the insect finally flew off toward the garden where young leaves glimmered, Shōzō abruptly turned to address Kato Kenkichi beside him.

"If we charge ahead with mining cessation now and the prevention orders prove effective, we will undoubtedly be seen as lacking foresight—as those who relish causing disturbances." "Therefore, endure for a while and observe the results of the prevention orders." "There is no doubt that such arguments will arise." "No, they’ve already arisen—but those are nothing but vulgar opinions." He stared into Kato’s eyes as if asking whether he understood, then immediately continued:

“Because if, even during our movement, the effectiveness of the prevention works becomes apparent and the harm from mining pollution ceases, there would naturally be nothing better than this. Since that has been our objective from the beginning, we can simply end our movement with integrity when that time comes. Conversely, what if we were to abandon this movement here? Even if the prevention works prove ineffective, a movement that has gained such widespread public resonance today cannot be restarted again. Strike while the iron is hot. Once it cools down, there’s nothing to be done. Even if they protest loudly by that point, the affected residents will have no choice but to perish in bitter death alongside their poisoned homeland. Therefore, we must continue to burn as we are now. We must continue this movement to the very end, and should the prevention works fortunately prove effective, I will resign myself to being slandered by the world as an ambitious schemer who relishes disturbances—a fool lacking foresight. Let them say what they will.”

“Haa…”

“I am not one who works for fame. “The path forward lies solely in this single course. “You must work with that same resolve.” “However,” Shōzō cut off his words and gazed intently into the other man’s eyes once more,

“This matter must not be disclosed to anyone else.”

Kato simply nodded deeply in silence. Moved as though he had been subjected to a naked confession, he found himself at a loss for words.

Chapter Nine

On June 7, several Tokyo-based committee members appeared at the Ministry of Finance and petitioned Vice Minister Tajiri and the Director of the Tax Bureau regarding the tax exemption measure. Until now, petitions containing the term “mining pollution” had been rejected on the grounds that “the Land Tax Ordinance contains no explicit provision” for such cases, but through their appeals, the term could now be openly used for the first time. Thereupon, the Shinano-ya office notified all affected residents of the document format while urgently advising them to prepare detailed responses for whenever tax officials dispatched from Tokyo might question them during the forthcoming investigation.

The Kyōdō Shinwakai had been scheduled to submit their opinions to the government regarding measures for damage compensation and health protection; after holding frequent meetings to refine their proposal, they submitted a memorial on June 10. Furthermore, the association frequently held mining pollution lectures and, through photographs that Tsuda had taken during his multiple trips to the affected areas, had now completed preparations for lantern slides, leading them to organize mining pollution damage reality lantern slide meetings in various locations. The devastating scenes—the wheat fields of Nishioka Shinden, the residence of Fukuchi Hachirō in the same village, the lake formed by the breached embankment in the same village—left a deep impression on the attendees, and some even came to the anteroom to declare, “I will join the movement and work from tomorrow onward.”

Even Shōzō was shocked by the photographs depicting the actual conditions of destitute households and sent the following letter dated June 21 to the Unryūji Temple office.

“Respectfully addressed: Concerning this unfortunate incident, those engaged in our righteous movement must truly imprint its reality upon their minds. Should we grow negligent in this matter, I fear we shall swiftly descend into decadence and our sacred purpose into dissipation—breeding words and deeds divorced from the cause at hand. Though I have long labored here with dedication, it was only last year that I succeeded in securing Unryūji Temple’s ravaged sanctuary as our headquarters. Despite our prolonged collaboration through your mediation, you have never permitted Shōzō to lodge among the villages’ most grievously afflicted paupers—thus even I remained ignorant of these destitute households’ true conditions until beholding their stark reality through Mr. Tsuda’s photographs. Moreover, when Tokyo’s carnivorous gentry deign to conduct their sporadic inspections, your guides’ chronic negligence has only now come to light. Henceforth, to witness firsthand the utter extremity of foodstuffs, garments, and livelihoods among these impoverished families, I humbly request permission to visit both rest houses and surrounding areas—that I might truly hear their circumstances.”

At the Shibaguchi Mining Pollution Office, they prepared a petition for the restoration of mining pollution-affected areas and submitted it to the ministers of each ministry and the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee on June 27. During last September's floods, there had been an instance where a vast number of dead fish drifted into Honjo. Shōzō determined that this was due to mining pollution from the Watarase River, studied the water flow of various rivers, and arrived at roughly the following conclusion. The Tone River, compared to the Watarase River, has a more distant source and longer basin, resulting in a difference in the time it takes for their floods to reach the confluence. In other words, the Watarase River’s flood arrives one day or half a day earlier, and before the Tone River’s flood reaches [the confluence], it flows into the Edo River via the Gongen River and Sekiyado. Furthermore, the waters that flowed into the Tone River and turned eastward collided with the Kinu River’s flood at the eastern edge of Sashima District, flowed south through the Tone Canal, and here clashed violently with the Edo River’s current. This afflicts Saitama Prefecture and reaches Tokyo Prefecture. The damage in these neighboring prefectures has not yet drawn public attention, but this is precisely akin to how the people of Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures around Meiji 12-13 (1879-1880) remained indifferent to already evident signs. If they are not quickly awakened, they will soon follow in the same footsteps as the Watarase River coastal area. Shōzō had continued to voice such concerns with growing anxiety, but upon learning that the damage to villages near Sekiyado had at last become visible to the naked eye, and hearing reports of the recent drastic decline in clams, freshwater clams, and other shellfish near the mouths of the Edo and Nakagawa Rivers, he abruptly ordered Kato Kenkichi and Noguchi Haruzō to conduct an on-site survey.

The two departed on July 2 and trekked across dozens of ri from Ashikaga and Ora counties in the west to Chōshi in the east and the mouth of Gyōtoku in the south, returning to the capital on the 19th. The damage was unmistakable.

However, on the afternoon of the 22nd, before even recovering from that fatigue, Kato had to set out once again for the affected areas following Shōzō. This was because alarming information had reached the Shibaguchi Office. Tax officials and local municipal bureaucrats—who had long mistreated affected residents—were openly declaring, "Submitting tax exemption petitions is useless, so stop," thus deceiving honest farmers, with the submission deadline fast approaching at month's end. When Shōzō and his group came to Furukawa to verify the facts, they learned Shimotsuga and Sashima counties suffered most severely from those ill effects. Though night had already deepened into late hours, Shōzō—demonstrating the single-mindedness of a man possessed as he declared there was not a moment to spare—immediately set out for the site.

Shōzō would enter and exit government offices to investigate the status of submissions, or have motivated youths urge villagers to submit petitions, spending several days circulating through villages in that area.

During that time as well, while conducting on-site surveys of the damage and witnessing the hardships of the impoverished villagers, Shōzō could not help but feel his heart ache. Standing on the Taninaka Embankment, he found himself stunned once more by the vast expanse of reed beds stretching endlessly before him. The only traces reminding them that these lands had once been fields were the remnants of irrigation ridges and withered mulberry trees hidden beneath the swaying reeds. These very reeds—sold as roofing and screen materials—had become the last means of sustenance keeping the destitute from starvation, yet even these now showed signs of withering this year. He learned this was due to floodwaters rising seven shaku in early July. Shōzō persuaded the village’s committed citizens to file a damage inspection petition stating plainly: “The reed shoots grow poorly, leaving the destitute unable to shelter from rain or dew.” In every hamlet of the worst-hit areas, rice plants floated rootless in paddies. Patches of verdigris stained the paddies’ green expanses, drawing uneasy glances. The feet of field workers ulcerated between the toes, boils swelling where skin met toxic water. Women picking mulberry leaves bore hands crisscrossed with deep cracks that bled raw.

When Shōzō returned to the capital, reports from every affected area reaching the office were urgently signaling their dire straits. Thereupon, he urged the understaffed Tokyo-based committee members to organize the materials, revised each draft with meticulous annotations, categorized the damages caused by mining pollution—both material and psychological—into three types (individual, municipal, and public), compiled them into over forty items, and had them submit a voluminous petition to the incumbent ministers. In late July, several inspectors from the Ministry of Finance were dispatched to investigate the affected areas and conduct soil analyses, but the affected residents’ actual circumstances left them with no capacity to await the results of these tests. Thereupon, on September 7, they submitted "Tax Payment Deferral Petitions" from each affected town and village, then took a step further by submitting "Indefinite Tax Reduction and Exemption Petitions" in succession.

Around this time, the Tokyo-based committee members also prepared petitions regarding the cessation of deforestation in the mountains near the copper mine, the damage caused by mining pollution to mulberry leaves and silk production, the harm to pasture fertilizers, the impact on embankments, and other related matters. Thus Shōzō and those around him would spend entire days and nights wielding their brushes at their desks, only to run themselves ragged the very next day—day after day, they persisted in their mental and physical labors with unwavering diligence. The movement's direction became concentrated primarily on the pressing matters of tax reduction/exemption and health protection. Shōzō had originally intended to persist indefinitely with the movement for mining cessation; however, the surrounding circumstances no longer permitted supporting the cause single-mindedly through direct confrontation as before. This was due to two factors: first, they had been persistently occupied day and night by immediate problems; second, with preventive construction at the Ashio Copper Mine having commenced—evidenced by the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce dispatching four supervisory officials—a growing sentiment had taken root among their comrades to acknowledge the severity of the government’s prevention order and tentatively place expectations in its outcomes. Even among the Kyōdō Shinwakai members, there had initially been those who—moved by Shōzō’s arguments—forcefully negotiated with Minister Ōkuma of Agriculture and Commerce and Vice Minister Ōishi, insisting that the government’s measures remained half-hearted. Yet setting aside moral principles, the opinion that demanding immediate mining cessation as a practical solution was unrealistic gradually gained traction. Our future work should rather focus on securing appropriate compensation from Furukawa as a provisional measure during the testing of the prevention order, in order to alleviate the immediate destitution of the affected residents. Such a view was deemed reasonable. Tani Kanjō, Tsuda Sen, and Matsumura Kessai all shared that opinion.

One day in July, when Shōzō visited Matsumura’s house in Sanbanchō, Matsumura conveyed it as his own idea. Shōzō’s face visibly flushed. Throwing aside his fan, he abruptly rolled up his sleeves and hiked up the knees of his hakama, “You reek of it too—you took it!”

he looked ready to lunge at him. However, Matsumura was also a man of resourcefulness. showing no sign of surprise, “I’ve heard you struck Shimada Saburō’s head, but I won’t be hit in silence.” “Fine then—if you’re going to hit me, go ahead and try.”

He glared back without moving a muscle. The matter concerning Shimada was an incident that had occurred at the Progressive Party office in November of last year. When Shimada advised, “Given the major issues we face today, you too should not be preoccupied with a localized problem like the mining pollution incident,” Shōzō responded indignantly. “The Soga brothers devoted their entire lives to avenging their father.” “Sakura Sōgorō died for the villagers.” “How much more so when the mining pollution issue concerns 300,000 people and 40,000 chō of affected land!” “In your eyes, gentlemen who were pointlessly engrossed in office-seeking, there must be no time to discern the scale of issues.” After such exchanges, Shōzō became so enraged that he involuntarily resorted to violence. The reason matters had escalated to this point was Shimada’s assertion that “Ashio is a national treasure house.” This situation had arisen partly because Shōzō had long been displeased with the opinion that “mining cessation should only be implemented when it has been conclusively determined that absolutely no preventive measures exist.” Since then, he had been estranged from Shimada, but Shōzō himself did not feel at all justified in having resorted to violence against a longtime close friend.

Now that Matsumura had mentioned it, Shōzō snapped back to his senses. Shōzō abruptly softened his expression and apologized for his brusqueness. "No—I had already surmised this plan wouldn't sit well with you, determined as you are to push through mining cessation," Matsumura nodded, shoulders slumping. "But my principal aim lies in rescuing the farmers of the afflicted regions." "If achieving this goal requires incurring your wrath under certain circumstances, then that too must be endured." "That's why I chose to speak of it."

“If we accept even a single sen or rin in compensation, we’ll ultimately have to submit to Furukawa’s tyranny.” “It would mean repeating last year’s disastrous settlement agreement in the affected areas.” “Taking money would be plunging headfirst into hell’s deepest abyss!” “And dragging our people down into that very hell with us!” “I’m fully aware of that.” “But compensation alone can never truly save us.” “Of course the government’s new tax relief measures are necessary.” “But anyone who thinks that’ll restore our land is deluding themselves.” “As I keep saying—land flooded with ordinary silt can become forests or fields.” “Even sudden lakes can nurture fish if the water’s clean.” “But soil laced with poison? Unless every grain’s removed, recovery’s impossible.” “Our people are living in that poison.” “Forced to drink tainted water, eat contaminated rice—their bodies are breaking down.” “That’s why our latest petition demands both land restoration and health protections.” “But what good’s removing toxic soil if more keeps pouring from the mines?” “We’ve been lied to at every turn.” “These ‘preventive measures’ they boast about? Their effectiveness remains unproven.” “If they truly worked, I’d abandon this cause today.” “But right now? Stopping the mines is our only salvation.”

It was because of this attitude that Shōzō also clashed with Tani Kanjō. He also clashed with Tsuda Sen. In the case with Tsuda, the two met at Matsumura’s house, which turned into a heated debate. In the end, the two reached an understanding and burst into laughter, though there was a moment when the elderly men, worked up, suddenly leapt to their feet as if to duel. In this way, the issue of compensation naturally fizzled out. It was around this time that Shōzō visited Ōkuma Shigenobu at his villa in Ōiso, where discussions about mining pollution swiftly escalated into his usual shouting, leading to him being seized by the arm and expelled by those present. Ōkuma, who had initially listened with a magnanimous attitude, murmuring “Hmm, hmm,” finally flushed with anger and rebuked Tanaka’s insolence when his own prevention order was denounced. This only served to pour oil on the flames of Shōzō’s inner fire.

Shōzō's conviction remained unyielding to the end. When matters turned to mining pollution, Shōzō—innately honest, single-minded, and hot-blooded—insisted on his beliefs without compromise. Naturally, he came to be seen as obstinate by those around him. Even among longtime friends and acquaintances, some began keeping their distance. Most of the three to four thousand sympathizers painstakingly gathered since February that year had drifted away after the prevention order as if the matter were resolved, and now even comrades had dwindled like missing teeth, leaving only three or four truly united in purpose. Yet amid this isolation, Shōzō continued his petition movement, steadfastly encouraging determined victims while clinging to the singular path of mining cessation.

From the dawn of September 9th, the entire Kantō region was struck by a violent storm. In Tokyo as well, starting with Kii-no-kuni-zaka, rows of trees were knocked down like dominoes in various locations, houses collapsed, and several people were crushed to death.

In the vicinity of Hayakawada, a ten-shaku rise in water levels was observed as early as the morning. On the 10th, the embankment at Yanaka Village’s lateral section collapsed, and the muddy torrent inundated the entire area of Ebise Village. Moreover, what the affected residents became consumed by groundless fears about due to this storm was whether the rumors of mountain collapses in the Ashio region were true. Finally, Niwada Genpachi, Tanoiri Rizaburō, and several others decided to ascend to Ashio to inspect the prevention works.

Over the 12th and 13th, they conducted field surveys and returned with various findings: that the Otaki sedimentation pond was cracked; that approximately twenty ken (about 36 meters) of the Tsutsudo flume had been washed away; that the Mukaimato sedimentation pond was overflowing; that the tailings dump was in a dangerous state; and that there was rampant deforestation in the mountain forests. Subsequently, they left the capital, explained the actual conditions to Mine Bureau Superintendent Hizoika, and on October 7th submitted a report based on their investigation.

On the same eighth day, a "Petition Concerning Damage Inflicted by Mining Pollution on Public Health and Other Areas" was submitted by committee members in the capital. Additionally, within the same month, documents prepared at the Unryūji Temple office included the "Petition for Reconstruction of Watarase River Banks," "Petition for Disposition of Mining Pollution Damages," and "Request for Official Inspection of Rice Crop Yields in Mining Pollution-Affected Areas," among others. In late October, a research group on mining pollution issues formed among concerned members of the House of Peers, who came to request a statement from Shōzō. Shōzō naturally attended willingly, spending considerable time detailing the entire course of events before concluding with an appeal for their dedicated efforts toward relief.

November 17th was the day when Nagashima and Kobayashi, who had been in Utsunomiya Prison, completed their six-month sentences and were released.

At ten o'clock in the morning, when the two exited the prison gate, numerous village representatives had gathered to greet them. They were immediately escorted to Inaya Ryokan and served a light midday meal. Soon afterward, they arrived at Sano Station by train with the representatives. The welcoming crowd filled the eaves along both sides of the road from the station entrance, numbering some fifteen to sixteen hundred people. For Nagashima stood a white horse—specially chosen and sent by Komure Yohachi of their home village. For Kobayashi emerged a chestnut mount. The crowd helped both men onto their horses and set out toward Unryūji Temple, a great banner proclaiming "Welcome the Released Patriots" flapping vigorously in the late-autumn wind.

From horseback, Nagashima looked down upon this overwhelming display with gratitude, but gradually it turned into pain. Reflecting on the traces of hardship etched into the people's haggard faces, he couldn't help feeling that he himself had been living through comparatively easier days. As they neared the coast and he surveyed the afflicted fields spreading to either side, an even greater sense of self-reproach swelled in his chest. The two men stood on the sandy plain before Unryūji Temple, received yet another awkward welcome, then parted ways to be escorted back to their respective home villages. Nagashima gazed at the bitter Watarase River to his right and the affected lands where even harvest traces grew scarce to his left as he swayed along the embankment on horseback. How many times had he traveled this path? As he wondered this, various bitter memories resurged. Then he steeled himself - starting tomorrow, he would have to return to the movement. The solemn promise made with his father now reemerged in his mind. Soon his thoughts whirled through countless rotations until the faces of his father, mother, wife and children floated before him...

Meanwhile, at the Ashio Copper Mine, the construction of the desulfurization tower—considered the most challenging part of the prevention works—was completed on October 22. Subsequently, the other construction works were finally completed within the mandated period, and on November 22, they received completion approval from the Mining Supervision Office. When this prevention order had been issued last May, those around Furukawa Ichibei had argued, “It’s impossible to complete such massive construction in such a short timeframe." “Even if it’s a government order, being forced to do the impossible leaves us no choice but to resolutely refuse.” There had been no shortage of those urging him thus. Yet Ichibei turned a deaf ear to this counsel. Rejecting the conflicting opinions from both sides, construction was begun. But he too soon found himself facing a shortage of funds. This stemmed from his economic policy of perpetually devoting all capabilities to developing each mine. In a section of a letter he addressed to the director of Ashio on July 14th,

"Regarding financial affairs as well, we most humbly and gratefully acknowledge your esteemed consideration." "As for the remaining deficit, while we may achieve sufficient security through anticipated advance payments from next year's forward copper sales in Yokohama, we shall nevertheless devise whatever means necessary and make subsequent payments without fail."

In this manner, they found themselves in dire straits halfway through the construction, but what compounded these difficulties even more rapidly were the labor shortage and scarcity of construction materials. Due to the surge in industrial ventures following the Sino-Japanese War, workers were already in short supply; recruiting over five thousand laborers in a mountainous region like Ashio left no room for quibbling over wage levels. Furthermore, domestic production capacity for materials like cement had no surplus, and market prices had surged drastically due to Furukawa’s bulk purchasing. Amidst these circumstances, Junkichi—acting as Ichibei’s proxy—met with Eiichi Shibusawa of Dai-Ichi Bank and successfully secured a loan that had already exceeded lending limits—a feat even Ichibei himself had failed to achieve—thereby staving off the crisis.

Junkichi had lost his biological father, Mutsu Munemitsu, on August 24 of that year. Mutsu had resigned from his position in May of the previous year to devote himself entirely to treating his chronic lung ailment, but at the start of this year his condition abruptly worsened, and he finally passed away at his Nishigahara residence at fifty-four years of age. Junkichi was twenty-eight that year, Ichibei sixty-six.

As November began, the political world was consumed by increasingly turbulent developments. On October 8th, Cabinet Secretary-General Takahashi Kenzō submitted a resignation letter that clearly denounced the Satsuma clique with the statement, “I cannot expect to achieve reformist politics alongside these fellows,” and stepped down from office. Then, on the 28th, Legislation Bureau Director-General Kannuchi Tomotsune resigned. Subsequently, on November 2nd, those from the Progressive Party resigned en masse, and on the 6th, Ōkuma himself resigned. The direct cause of Ōkuma’s resignation was that his vehement opposition to the upcoming land tax increase proposal—which he had argued would impose an unbearable burden on the people’s capacity—was ultimately rejected; this resulted from his recognition that the cabinet’s life had already run its course.

With Ōkuma thus departing the halls of power and Shōzō’s allies from the Progressive Party—men with whom he had deep connections—all resigning from their official posts, the authorities’ stance toward Shōzō’s anti-mining pollution movement and the affected residents underwent a complete transformation. The oppression against the movement grew increasingly overt at every turn.

At this time, taking advantage of the Progressive Party’s rejection of Matsukata, some within the Liberal Party were already scheming to ally with the Satsuma clique. However, both the Liberal Party and the Progressive Party had already formed alliances with clique politicians and each had tasted bitter experiences. Among the informed members of both parties, a growing momentum emerged as they mutually came to realize that their previous strategies had not been wise, leading them to unite and confront the government.

Shōzō, compelled by circumstances and operating under the principle that the current government was no longer worth relying on—and that creating a major opposition force was imperative—threw himself into building such a coalition during this period. Not only did he himself devote his efforts, but he mobilized youths connected to the mining pollution issue to mediate. Shōzō had always secured submitters and supporters from various factions when presenting mining pollution inquiry documents, and because activists around him had constantly visited these factions to gain sympathy and understanding, these connections played a role in uniting three opposition groups: the Progressive Party, Liberal Party, and National Association. In a sense, this served as the wedge.

The opposition coalition had already been formed, and the opening ceremony of the 11th Diet was held on December 24. Thus, on the following 25th, as a first step, a no-confidence motion was brought before the chamber with a two-thirds majority opinion of the entire house, and at the very moment when the chamber was in uproar and about to commence deliberations, the imperial decree of dissolution was issued. However, by that evening, the cabinet also had to resign en masse. Prior to this, the "Petition for the Protection of Affected Residents in Accordance with the Constitution"—prepared through coordination by both mining pollution offices—was submitted on December 14 to all ministers and the Speakers of both Houses of the Diet, having secured endorsement from dozens of mayors across five prefectures and eight districts. This was accompanied by a thick booklet explaining the contents of the twenty-four-chapter petition summary, and its explanations were the most detailed and substantial among all those submitted to date.

However, this too was buried in the tumult of political strife, and the year came to a close.

**Part Three**

If I grasp the arm of my aged body, the bones jut high

Even my voice assumes the dreadful aspect of withered fields (Meiji 34) — Shōzō

Chapter 1

In Meiji 31 (1898), Shōzō turned fifty-eight years old. That year, having been continuously active in the disaster-stricken regions since January, Shōzō finally traveled to Tokyo on March 25 and took lodgings at Shinanoya for the first time in months. His vitality seemed utterly depleted—his mental faculties had deteriorated to the point where even trivial matters overwhelmed his capacity for thought. What he recalled then were the Shibaura Salt Hot Springs, where he had sought treatment the previous year. Neither materially nor mentally did Shōzō have any capacity for tranquil convalescence. His condition could most aptly be described as destitution. Though his obese frame and keen gaze from triangular eyelids made him appear healthy at first glance, the sallow complexion and sagging lower eyelids shadowed with darkness revealed something gnawing at him from within. Yet while Shōzō himself—conscious of his fading memory and dulled judgment—had become convinced of suffering brain disease and spoke of it to others, this proved needless anxiety; his symptoms truly arose from physical and mental exhaustion. The accumulated strain from decades of overexertion had finally surfaced in his advancing years, with the relentless efforts since January taking direct toll.

In mid-January, as days of severe cold continued, Shōzō was already coming down with a cold, but on the 19th, in the frigid main hall of Unryūji Temple, he dispatched the Mining Pollution Victims’ Guidelines to five prefectures and seven districts with several young men’s assistance. This stemmed from concern that mining pollution victims might lose their primary purpose amidst election distractions. He took to his bed from that night onward, yet continued directing the youths from under his blankets to handle dispatches the next day. “There’s not a single yen to spare—not at Shibaguchi office nor here.” “But even we uneducated paupers have uncovered vast sums through these guidelines—thirty-five million yen in damages through Year 30, three hundred thousand annually in tax exemptions.” “Society’s matters don’t hinge on coin.” “In essence—spirit!” He drove the youths with this blazing fervor until his body rebelled against the strain.

Moreover, unable to wait for his condition to abate, he went to Tatebayashi on the 23rd, and the next day, trembling on a rickshaw in a blizzard, returned to Unryūji Temple. He paid no heed to those around him trying to stop him, dashing about day after day while fortifying his spirit with alcohol. He certainly attended political rallies, but more often than not, he went from village to village in the affected areas, holding one mining pollution discussion meeting after another. During his stay of approximately two months, his footsteps spanned twenty-five locations across six districts in Ryōmō. The primary aim of this movement was to prevent the loss of public rights through special tax exemptions—a matter that, despite its urgency, had been treated with indifference due to the affected residents’ lack of awareness.

Shōzō was particularly wary of using the Unryūji Temple office for election campaigns. At committee meetings, he warned about this matter and sternly declared that even discussions about election expenses were strictly prohibited. Nevertheless, on March 8th—while he was attending the Mining Pollution Discussion Meeting in Nishiyata Village, Nitta District—the Unryūji Temple office was subjected to a search that confiscated all documents and took Ōide Kihei into custody. Next came Tani Genhachi's arrest. This resulted from opposition factions' slander—a deeply plotted scheme to both undermine Shōzō's election prospects and crush coastal mining activists' momentum.

Despite direct interference and Tanaka Shōzō himself hardly engaging in the election campaign, the March 15th voting results were an overwhelming victory: Tanaka Shōzō with 1,076 votes and Kimura Hanbee with 78 votes. The election expenses, as usual, were covered by approximately 1,000 yen raised by volunteers from Ansō District, with an additional 200-odd yen in donations from outside the constituency such as Shimotsuga, Gunma, and Saitama. However, Shōzō merely listened to the reports; he never laid eyes on the money itself, nor was he informed of who had spent it where or how the funds had flowed.

Under such circumstances, even at Shio no Yu, Shōzō’s funds were scarce. He had no money for postage to send letters to various people in the affected areas, so he borrowed one yen from a maid to finally manage it; while out and about, he found himself unable to pay for lunch and had to ask a rickshaw puller to cover the cost.

March 31st. A dreary, overcast day beneath the cherry blossoms. When he slid open the shoji screens, beyond the handrail lay a leaden-hued sea where seagulls—like scraps of paper tossed about—could be seen intermittently taking flight. The dull glare felt oppressively heavy on his mind. A maid nearing thirty came and chattered about blossoms, which he listened to absently in his listlessness; muttering "Though spring arrives, I find no spring within," he took scroll paper and scrawled an impromptu verse. "Because they refuse to scatter—how absurdly foolish—these flowers of mine." "And though they did not scatter when they should have, now they wither."

The maid peered at it, perhaps thinking she was being mocked, "Oh, Mr. Tanaka, you're being quite unreasonable!" "No, no—it's about me. If I let myself be defeated by a minor illness, I'd be completely like a withered flower."

After several days of rest, his illness seemed somewhat alleviated.

April 2nd. No one came to visit.

When he secluded himself alone in his room, images of the affected areas naturally flitted through his mind. The Itō Cabinet had only just been formed on January 12th with many new appointees, while the House of Representatives—dissolved in the old year—had recently completed its general election, resulting in numerous newly elected Diet members. Moreover, as domestic political strife—mockingly called “a married couple’s fart in a paper mosquito net”—consumed the nation during the New Year period, Germany seized Jiaozhou Bay and Russia occupied Port Arthur, concluding lease treaties with Qing China in January and March respectively. The minds of politicians and public attention were consumed by these foreign affairs; the mining pollution problem would likely go unaddressed. When he thought about it, there was not a single thing that wasn’t an obstacle to resolving the pollution crisis. Moreover, the affected residents’ own movement was plodding along and struggling. First, Ōide and Tani had been imprisoned due to false accusations by opposition factions, and now rumors claimed landlords in parts of Ansō District had raised tenant fees on polluted lands. This too must have resulted from schemers’ traps and greed. If true, the opposition would twist this to slander the victims: “They raised fees precisely because there was a harvest. This proves everything those victims say is lies. All their noise about pollution? Just greed for money.” Such claims would surely spread far and wide—the thought tightened Shōzō’s chest until he released a deep sigh, pounded his knee with a fist, and shouted: “Alas, Kantō is cursed!”

A maid passing through the corridor turned around in surprise.

Shōzō took out a diary notebook bound with Japanese paper and wrote. “Raise your voices—alas, Kantō is cursed!” “The people must not become slaves to legal professionals.” "The affected residents point to the polluted lands and declare: 'We must not forget that we are the rightful owners of this land.'"

April 3rd. It was a misty spring rain. Upon the rain-drenched water surface, a nori-gathering boat laden with bundles of bamboo branches traced the water's course. This strangely poignant scenery evoked memories of flood-season skies and waters. When he closed the shoji, the sound of dripping eaves filled the room. Shōzō sat alone in silent meditation until tears began tracing paths down his cheeks unbidden. Shōzō recorded these events in his diary that day.

“People feel shame in their private moments; I shed copious tears in mine.” “Ah, people’s words and deeds—only when weeping alone in a room is there truth.” “The world’s great matters lie within a single room.” “A single tear shall drench the realm.”

Although his suffering from illness had diminished, it was not yet fully gone. He himself knew that if only he could rest for ten more days, but that luxury was not permitted him. On the 15th, he returned home, spent that night in Koga, and the next day met with committee members from Fujioka Town and eight other villages, devoting the entire day to discussions about mining pollution. On the 18th, when he checked into the Kawada Inn in Sano, prefectural assembly members and local supporters swarmed in. On the 19th, he attended the opening ceremony of the Progressive Party branch in Tochigi Town.

That night there was a social gathering for a certain faction. Urged to speak, Shōzō stood to address the gathering from his seat, but finding himself unable to endure these wine-sacks-and-rice-bags' foolishness, he denounced discussing political matters over drinks. Then from among the crowd came an angry shout: "Ragtag garrison!" He turned toward the voice with the startled air of one caught off-guard, yet found himself unable to rebuke the discourtesy. He remembered words he'd written in his diary days before: "To slander others drives away virtue." Nodding inwardly at this ragtag garrison assessment, he curtly concluded his speech and resumed his seat.

He returned to the capital on the night of the 20th, but at Shinano-ya, there was a constant stream of visitors demanding his attention. Though the Twelfth Diet was set to convene on May 14th, under these circumstances, it proved completely impossible to organize the damage investigations or draft any questions. Therefore, from the 23rd, he secluded himself at Kōyōkan in Kobikichō to avoid distractions. After completing a thirty-one-article inquiry titled "Questions Regarding the Failure to Implement Punitive Measures Against Mining Pollution on Lands with a Population Comparable to a Province Within Our Nation," Shōzō rushed around among sympathizers from various factions, securing thirteen sponsors and seventy-eight endorsers.

On June 6th, he finally submitted the inquiry and took the floor that same day to deliver an explanatory speech.

“In truth, I have never once visited the residences of any ministers or vice-ministers since the 23rd year. However, regarding this mining pollution issue—given that it concerns the survival of 300,000 victims and land equivalent to an entire province—I have indeed frequently visited the Minister’s office since last year, bowing my head to humbly discuss various matters. The result was that all I received was a refusal from Count Ōkuma—whom I have respected as my senior for sixteen years—stating his opposition. Therefore, there is no longer any need for us to enter Count Ōkuma’s residence… When we set foot in government offices, it is not for matters like requesting the transfer of forest lands or going to ask for handouts. …and I must inform the members of the Cabinet as well that they should kindly listen to the essence of our inquiry with fairness.”

First, he outlined the historical progression: beginning with the affected residents’ initial petitions for mining pollution eradication in Year 24, followed by successive appeals for mining cessation from Year 29 onward. As he touched upon the contents of these varied petitions—issuing warnings about the authorities’ measures and condemning their negligence—his words gradually grew sharper and more vehement in tone. “Hasn’t the recovery of the poisoned lands made any progress at all?” “If you don’t do something to prevent the poison accumulated in the fields along the riverbank from scattering, it will steadily flow downstream.” “The river channel has been smashed apart.” “What about the levee reconstruction?” “What about water source conservation? As for the harm to public health—when you’ve ignored our warnings for seven, even eight years—every cabinet has shown there is truly no government here.” “The people remained unaware for ten years, and when combined with your eighteen years of feigned ignorance, non-polluted lands have turned into mining-polluted areas year after year through such negligence—fertile lands equivalent in population and households to the entire province of Noto have now become disaster zones.” Shōzō, his face a mask of bitter indignation, continued his lengthy oration for two hours, expounding back and forth relentlessly.

"The total damages amount to roughly four million yen. What does the government intend to do about compensating the people's losses? The previous cabinet had no plan to address this. Their argument was that this should be pursued through legal proceedings. This case is unprecedented in Japan's history. There exists no law in Japan that applies to a matter of national survival—to land and people facing annihilation. If we take this to court as individual claims and lose—what then? If we lose, these farmlands will become Furukawa Ichibei's property. Ownership rights will transform into territories he can freely control. Even now, the sedimentation ponds built at the copper mine are mere prototypes—the real sedimentation ponds span forty to fifty thousand chō of natural land. If defeated in court, they'll openly release mining pollutants as they please. The people will be driven from their homes. What was once land equivalent to Noto Province will become a desert. The Liaodong retrocession was seized because we lacked standing—but through intellectual advancement and connections, recovery might yet be possible. However, once mining-poisoned lands are lost, they'll become the greatest desert this world has ever seen. We must take precautions now. Could such cruelty—entrusting this to people who've suffered for years while saying 'settle it in court'—truly come from human beings? From Japanese mouths?" Shōzō clung to the podium, face contorted as if enduring pain, yet pressed on with his words.

“Politicians must thoroughly examine facts. If facts don’t align with laws, then amend the laws. Merely reciting existing statutes isn’t enough—any legalist who lacks compassion for the people, shows no pity for victims, and operates without mercy is worthless.”

Shōzō then addressed tax exemptions: “On this matter, I must first deeply acknowledge the previous cabinet’s efforts. “Yet how regrettable—these measures came too late. “When a man loses one finger, it becomes as irrecoverable as life itself extinguished. “It’s akin to finally freeing those whom past administrations—in their cruelty—had hung upside down despite their innocence,” he continued with anguish. “But to strip public rights over these tax exemptions defies reason. “Our towns and villages have lost their vitality. “They’ve been robbed of their voting rights,” he declared before returning to damages: “Should any politician dare say ‘Abandon all and do as you please,’ I would brand such a man public enemy—vowing to strike him down even at mutual peril. “How does this cabinet answer?” With this, he concluded his two-and-a-half-hour address.

On the following 7th, the controversial land tax increase bill was submitted. Prime Minister Itō took the floor to explain it and declared, "If you gentlemen reject this as unjust, we will have no choice but to take other measures."

Shōzō could not remain silent at this; striking the podium, he shouted twice in a voice like a temple bell, “You must not intimidate! You must not intimidate!” The entire assembly erupted into uproar in response. Eventually, opposition speeches proceeded in accordance with the order of notification, but during their progression, a three-day recess was suddenly declared by imperial edict. On the 8th, Ōide Kihei and Tani Motoyachi were released from prison and came to Tokyo, so they were taken to Shio no Yu in Shibaura for conversation and laughter. “Squeezing more taxes is sucking the lifeblood of the people. For example, like mosquitoes or bees, they will sting the people’s sentiments—so the people will grow enraged and strike them dead. In comparison to this, the vice of being a people-pleaser—though it too sucks blood—is more akin to tuberculosis. Even if others advise him, he remains unperturbed.” He said this satirizing Itō, and afterward, Shōzō clearly prophesied, “On the coming tenth, the Diet will likely dissolve over the tax increase bill.” Sure enough, on the tenth, the assembly hall erupted into uproar from the outset. As the Liberal Party determined their course of action and aligned their stance with the Progressive Party, the tax increase bill was rejected by an absolute majority. However, that very night, an imperial edict dissolving the Diet was issued.

The momentum for rapprochement between the Liberal and Progressive parties had already reached full maturity. However, both parties each bore longstanding traditions and harbored deeply entrenched mutual animosities that proved difficult to overcome, presenting numerous obstacles to bringing this movement into public action. Yet circumstances shifted abruptly when on the sixteenth day, a gathering of both factions and allied comrades was convened at Nakamura-rō, attended by Ōkuma and Itagaki. The formation of such a major political coalition had long been Shōzō’s cherished ambition. “Overthrow of Domain Cliques” and “Defense of Constitutional Government” had served as their rallying cries for years; moreover, there arose hope that through a grand coalition’s emergence—one capable of forming a cabinet truly aligned with their principles—the mining pollution crisis, unresolved for decades, might at last find resolution. Shōzō directed youths like Saha among his circle to drive this movement from behind the scenes while he himself vigorously mediated affairs during this period.

On June 9, Shōzō attended a national newspaper reporters’ meeting held at Momiji Hall as a Progressive Party publicist and urged, "Honest youths and those outside the Diet must take the first step in unification." "You must not make only the close associates of Count Ōkuma and Count Itagaki the founders." “To overthrow the domain cliques, one must first eliminate the entrenched evils of both parties, and only then can we truly renew and cleanse the government!” he declared decisively, receiving thunderous applause.

At the comrades’ gathering held at Kin’kikan on the 11th, he warned, “What we must guard against is vying for credit." "In merging both parties, there may be sages like Zhang Liang." “Yet ancient wisdom achieved success through concealment, while modern wisdom tends toward self-display,” he cautioned. On June 22, they held a founding ceremony at Shintomi-za theater, finally realizing the union of both parties through naming themselves the Constitutional Party. Opposition newspapers mocked them as a “dog-and-monkey marriage,” but the Itō cabinet hastily resigned as if cowed by this development. Thus on the 25th came the mass resignation, with Ōkuma and Itagaki being summoned to the official residence that same day to receive Itō’s consultation regarding transferring governance.

Upon hearing this, Shōzō voiced concern that "this is not proper procedure," his face betraying barely contained indignation. Yet the following day, on the 26th, when meeting with Kamibuchi, Abeii, Yamada (Kinosuke), and others at Ōtake Kan’ichi’s residence, he went so far as to insist that "the two counts must be disciplined." This stemmed from his profound regret that even the birth of the new party cabinet could not escape being tainted by shadows.

On the 27th, an imperial mandate was issued to Ōkuma and Itagaki, and on the 30th, the imperial appointment ceremony was conducted. From the former Progressive Party came Ōkuma Shigenobu as Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, Ozaki Yukio as Education Minister, and Ōtori Keisuke as Justice Minister; from the former Liberal Party came Itagaki Taisuke as Interior Minister, Matsuda Masahisa as Finance Minister, and Hayashi Yūzō as Communications Minister; additionally, Ōishi Masami from the neutrals assumed Agriculture and Commerce Minister—these comprised the lineup. On July 1, Ōkuma, Itagaki, and other ministers came to the Constitutional Party headquarters and expressed their gratitude. After Kusumoto delivered a response to this, Shōzō also rose to give a greeting and offered a word of caution.

"If there exists another national party holding a majority, political power should be transferred smoothly." "But should a domain-clique military party ever gain majority control, it must be defended even at the cost of death." Shōzō returned home on the 2nd, attended the Shimotsuke Branch's inaugural meeting in Utsunomiya on the 3rd, and from the next day resumed touring every town and village in the afflicted regions. This was less an election campaign than a desperate struggle against mining pollution.

August 10 was the voting day, and Shōzō was elected for the sixth time. When the nationwide vote-counting results became clear, the Constitutional Party held an absolute majority of 260 seats, while those considered opposition were merely twenty members from the National Association, with the rest being independents. Even after this, Shōzō continued staying in the affected areas—consulting with young men from each village, attending mining pollution research meetings—without a moment’s rest. Their base was, as usual, Unryūji Temple, but on one day, seizing a rare moment of respite, they spent time chatting with two or three young men. The discussion naturally shifted from election events to the new cabinet, but Shōzō, fanning his soiled beard area with a plain fan,

“Since the cabinet’s formation, I haven’t accomplished even a hair’s breadth of good.” “The political world grows ever more benighted—plunged into utter darkness now.” “I just haunt these poor villages along riverbanks and reed beds like some duck or goose.” “All I get is poorly nourishing food.” “How could I ever grasp the workings of grand government halls with their golden chambers and jade towers?” With that, he assumed a bitterly resigned expression. As Yamada studied his face—

“But lately, while haunting these poor villages, I have made a discovery,” he said, his eyes sharpening. “It means that political movements are such frivolous affairs.” “Compared to the mining pollution issue, politics is nothing but superficial matters.” “Upon realizing how trivial today’s politics are, I was both astonished and truly terrified.” “A chill settled in the depths of my heart.”

Yamada's own pent-up feelings regarding the mining pollution issue were well understood. But considering how much hope Shōzō had placed in the emergence of the party cabinet, his distrustful words felt somewhat incomprehensible. "But this time, it's entirely our party's cabinet..." “No,” Shōzō interrupted, shaking his head. "There are no formidable enemies outside, but this cabinet will inevitably collapse from within." "From the very formation of the cabinet, there were already squabbles over positions." "Then came a motley crowd of office-seekers scrambling for appointments." "The nation exists for the seats; it is not that the seats exist for the nation." "No one realizes this." "Moreover, having secured an absolute majority, as ministers and representatives grow increasingly arrogant, this cabinet will undoubtedly collapse before long." “Therefore, we must resolve as many mining pollution-related cases as possible now.” “You all must follow this approach and redouble your efforts.”

Black clouds hung low beneath the eaves of the open main hall, shifting uneasily, when suddenly the rain began pouring down in torrents. Everyone remained silent for a while, listening to the sound of the rain, “I recently came across this maxim,” Shōzō continued. “Even the wisest of men, if they engage in a hundred matters, will rarely achieve their aims." “Yet even ordinary fools, if they devote themselves single-mindedly, will surely accomplish their purpose… so it says.” Shōzō murmured the maxim repeatedly amidst the fierce sound of rain.

Chapter 2

On September 3rd, heavy rain poured down incessantly, and by around 8 p.m., a fifteen-foot rise in water levels had already been observed near Hayakawada. Though this flood did not escalate into a major disaster, before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, another fierce storm struck from the night of the sixth. Even when the seventh day arrived, the rain still showed no sign of stopping, and people spent their days gazing resentfully from beneath their eaves. The year had generally seen favorable weather conditions, and in the arable lands along the Watarase River, they had anticipated doubling the previous year's harvest. Even lands teetering on the brink of barrenness had been expected to yield modest increases. Then came two days of violent storms that left both rice paddies and fields completely submerged under surging floodwaters from breached embankments.

Shōzō hurried to Tokyo to meet with Interior Minister Itagaki and petitioned him: "Due to the flooding of the Watarase River, rice harvests along the banks appear to be completely nonexistent. I urgently request that you conduct an inspection—the circumstances permit no delay." On the 10th, he returned to the affected areas and toured various locations.

News arrived that the sedimentation pond at Ashio Otaki Pit had collapsed due to flooding, and at Unryūji Temple's office, discussions arose about dispatching delegates to inspect the site.

Upon completing his rounds and returning to the capital, on the 24th, he met with Minister Ōishi of Agriculture and Commerce and stated, "This year’s damage presents devastation no less than that of Meiji 29, with mining pollution nearly doubled in quantity." "The mining pollution incident isn’t some problem that will end next year if we make noise about it this year—the toxic flow will persist long into the future." "If not dealt with promptly, the damage will only spread further." "Do you have any intention of taking decisive measures or not?" he pressed. He also visited the Ministry of Home Affairs and the official residences of the Ministers of Finance and Education to request on-site inspections by various ministers.

On September 25, as Shōzō lay recuperating from a cold in the annex of Shinano-ya, Arai Junjirō of Funatsugawa happened to visit and mentioned the large assembly scheduled that day at Unryūji Temple. As Arai departed, he drew the white fan from his waist and instructed, "Soil this." Shōzō sank into meditation for a time—then took up a worn brush to commit his daily reflections to paper: "Detesting worldly affairs and abhorring haste—what course remains? Only through self-abandonment shall joy be found."

Then, around 2:40 PM the following day, Sahe Hikojirō rushed into the annex where Shōzō was resting, his face pallid and footsteps hurried. “A telegram has arrived,” he said, thrusting it forward. “Sent from Tatebayashi.” “AFFECTED RESIDENTS HAVE NOW DEPARTED.” “THE NUMBER EXCEEDS TEN THOUSAND PEOPLE.”

Shōzō let out a small cry of “Oh!” as a powerful shock gripped his chest. It was something he had never anticipated. Yet when multitudes gathered, it seemed only natural matters would reach this momentum. What folly—what shortsightedness—to have failed to foresee this until the final moment! His face twisted in anguish before hardening into fierce resolve. Compassion, foreboding, and outrage churned ceaselessly within him. “Inevitable… inevitable,” murmured an inner voice. Simultaneously another countered: “Inevitable indeed—but did we not steer them toward constitutional petitions precisely to prevent such desperation?”

Although he was ill, he decided to wait for further information. By the following morning, seven urgent telegrams had arrived. The reports varied in both the numbers of people and originating offices, leaving Shōzō still hesitating over which to trust. Then at 9:50 AM, a telegram from Sakedo reported, "Over ten thousand people have arrived here," followed by a 1:54 PM dispatch from Sugito stating, "The entire group is advancing." The image of them pushing relentlessly southward along the highway finally grew tangible. Meanwhile, the telephone rang incessantly with reports of military police and regular officers being deployed in force to prevent unrest—each passing moment making it increasingly evident that the situation was dire.

Shōzō could no longer remain still. He had his rickshaw rushed to the Ministry of Home Affairs first, and without allowing any objections, met with the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau.

“They are coming to the capital solely to petition—this is by no means an act of disturbance. “This was evident even during last spring’s incident. “Therefore, I implore you not to obstruct their progress without due cause. “Otherwise, though they are peaceful people, their current agitation means even a minor provocation could spark needless conflict,” he pleaded, seeking comprehension. The Director and his staff, moved by Shōzō’s sincerity, acquiesced while revealing, “The Interior Ministry’s telegrams report their numbers at one thousand.” He then visited the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce to meet its vice-minister and secretary, cautioning them about the fundamental grievances that had driven the victims to such fury.

By the time he had finished his frantic efforts, night had already fallen, but Shōzō visited Minister of Education Ozaki at his official residence on his return journey, returning to Shinano-ya several hours later. While he had been away, a telegram from Koshigaya had arrived at the office at seven o'clock.

After reading aloud the telegram—"The group is exhausted and camping in the grasslands..."—Shōzō shifted his gaze to the dark garden. A large teardrop traced its way down his cheek. Memories now filled his mind—of an elderly man who had died of illness after returning home from last spring's mass march to the capital, his body broken by sleepless nights and starvation. He had not slept well the previous night either, and today's exertions while ill had left his body utterly spent. But Shōzō, as if brushing away the sorrow etched on his face, resolutely declared he would now go to Koshigaya. Leaving Sunaga Kinzaburō and Yamada Tomojirō—who had been present—in charge of the office, he departed with only Sahe Hikojirō. It was 1:00 AM.

When they reached Senju, there were already two policemen standing guard at the bridge in the darkness. When they arrived at Fukue Village on the Saitama border, they heard a rooster crow. The rickshaw puller suddenly complained of hunger and declared he could walk no further. This was hardly surprising—one particular puller had been running almost nonstop since yesterday afternoon with Shōzō aboard. He pounded on Takezuka's Kameya Inn to have them cook rice and let the men rest awhile. Shōzō too used this brief respite to lay down his feverish body and close his eyes.

When he awoke drowsily, the sky was faintly brightening. They immediately lined up the rickshaws and hurried northward. As they approached the Hokima district of Fukue Village, a group of horsemen passed by, leaving behind the clatter of hooves and labored breathing of horses. They were five military policemen. They seemed to have withdrawn to Senju to block the procession.

Before long, through the morning mist ahead, a group of affected residents wearing straw rain hats came into view. A policeman stood at the head of the group, which numbered over a hundred people. Among them could also be seen the figure of an elderly man over seventy years old. Shōzō stopped his rickshaw and shouted loudly, “Everyone, please wait a moment!” “I am Tanaka Shōzō. Upon seeing last night’s telegram, I rushed here through the night in alarm. Everyone, it must have been so hard for you. You must be utterly exhausted.”

Shōzō choked on his words and alighted from the rickshaw while wiping his eyes. “It’s the Councilor!” When a voice spread through the crowd saying, “It’s Mr. Tanaka,” they came to a halt one after another and stood by the roadside. The mayor of Fukue Village came before Shōzō and presented his business card. He was a man named Sakata Shōsuke—dark-skinned, with a determined air about him. Another group of affected residents arrived afterward and joined the crowd. Shōzō requested the village mayor to borrow a nearby farmhouse’s yard and had them enter there. However, group after group kept arriving, and in no time, the yards of four or five nearby farmhouses were filled to capacity, spilling over to block both sides of the highway.

Through the mediation of the village mayor and council members, they borrowed the precincts of the village’s Hikawa Shrine and decided to accommodate everyone there. Their number reached about 2,400, and from the temple buildings' surroundings to the cedar grove, the area was filled with a sea of dark figures.

As Shōzō seized the village mayor and was making arrangements for food distribution, Noguchi Haruzō—who had been directing the crowd—suddenly approached his side and tugged at his sleeve, “Please listen—this is how it happened.”

With a pained expression, he began to plead. “When we departed from Hayakawada, our group numbered over eleven thousand people.” “But half were forced back by police threats along the way or found ferries hidden—only half managed to cross the Tone River.” “Even from that half, many had to return to their villages, unable to endure the abuse along the way. Those of us who remained changed our route and camped near Koshigaya last night.”

“No, you’ve truly endured such hardships.” When he looked, everyone seemed utterly exhausted. “How terribly they must have suffered!”

Shōzō furrowed his brow and gazed at the crowd under the autumn sun.

“We were exhausted, and there were also sick people.” “The inns were full of police officers and wouldn’t let us stay, so we had no choice but to enter Kannon hall’s precincts, where we spread out the straw raincoats we were wearing on the shaded ground and grassy areas and slept right there.” “Then, what do you think happened?” “In the dead of night, the military police came and, with outrageous violence, rode their horses right into where we were sleeping.” “They tried to trample us under their horses’ hooves.” “It was pitch darkness, and as we tumbled about fleeing, some people collided with tree trunks or fell into ditches and got injured… It’s regrettable—had it not been for the interference of the police and military police, over ten thousand of us should have made it here.”

Noguchi cut off his words and clenched his teeth in bitter frustration. Then, before anyone knew it, the people who had densely crowded around began to plead with young voices, hoarse voices, raging voices, crying voices, shouting voices—a chaotic uproar. Before long, sobs spread one after another, and there were those who began to cry out unrestrainedly. Eventually, the commotion finally subsided, and those spreading out their straw raincoats to sit down increased in number. They must have been utterly exhausted. Once they sat down, they hugged their knees, crouched, and remained dazed without speaking. All were old and young from twenty severely affected villages, the region spanning some sixty to sixty-seven kilometers east to west, so they were largely strangers to one another; yet though unacquainted, the shared awareness of enduring hardships together moved them to treat each other with reverence and compassion—a sight both pitiful and touching.

When their appeals were compiled, they amounted to the following. ――

On the day of the large gathering on the 25th, from dawn onward, over eight thousand affected residents crowded into the grounds of Unryūji Temple. First came a report from committee members who had inspected the destroyed sedimentation ponds at Ashio Copper Mine. Various opinions emerged about future petition methods when, during discussions, committee members from nine villages abruptly declared their resignations. “We’ve rushed to submit petitions in the capital time and again since the year before last.” “Yet mining remains unhalted, and even these harm prevention works still seem incomplete.” “The embankments stay collapsed—still unrepaired.” “That’s why this year’s floods brought even worse devastation.” “In the end... I believe it’s because we’re powerless...”

Then, from within the crowd, “It’s not the committee members’ fault!” “It’s because the government is indifferent.” “That’s right! The government’s attitude amounts to telling us to die along with these mining-poisoned lands!” “If we’re going to die anyway, it makes no difference where we die.” “Let us once again pressure the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce and die at its gates!”

In response to that voice, the crowd all began shouting at once.

“That’s right.” “That’s right.” “Let’s not burden just the committee members—everyone, regardless of who they are, let’s all go to the capital together.” Without prior planning, the petition to march to the capital was unanimously resolved by general consensus. Thereupon, they agreed to gather again at Unryūji Temple on the night of the 26th and depart upon hearing the toll of its great bell.

However, when morning came on the 26th, people kept streaming into Unryūji Temple until over ten thousand had gathered by midday. There were those who had left wives and children in ramshackle houses where the flood's poison waters had not yet reached beneath the floors, and those who had entrusted their homes to blind mothers left alone—their circumstances varied, but their death-resolve showed uniformly in earth-colored faces. Yet though their tragic hearts beat as one, they remained a mere rabble. The preparations and mustering took such time that they departed Unryūji Temple at 1 PM, passing through Tatebayashi around 2:30. As they pressed toward Kawamata, they sang Ōide Kihei's "Mining Pollution Ballad" along the way.

“Ah, let us all steel our resolve together! Mountains and rivers bear no guilt. The foe are greedy industrialists. By constitutional law ordained, we must press our petitions for redress. Our path forward is clear. Trials and tribulations mean naught to us! We must pierce even through stone!……” As their own singing voices suddenly filled them with sorrow, and even the blazing western sun deepened their despondency, they reached Kawamata’s pontoon bridge. They found security measures had extended here too—the bridge had been entirely dismantled. Having learned from last time when victims plunged into the water to haul boats, authorities had likely hidden the motorized vessels elsewhere. Only twilight-glazed water stretched uselessly before them. With no alternative, the group sought a downstream crossing, trudging eastward along Tone River’s northern embankment. Yet at Chizu Village, Toaita, and Iino, police had systematically arrived first to conceal every ferry. They finally reached Koshino’s ferry after two ri through embankment grasses thick with darkness. Nearby lay a section of breached levee from prior floods under repair, where five or six large Japanese-style workboats lay moored.

“That’s it—we’ll explain our situation to the construction workers and have them ferry us across on this boat.” “There must be someone in that hut.” “I’ll go ask them.”

Katayama Kahee of Rishima Village said this and descended the embankment, followed by several people including Ida Heikichi of Kawabe Village. Soon six or seven men emerged from the hut, “Alright, they’re here! We’ll get every last one of you across!” they shouted as they leapt aboard the boats. Among them, a man who appeared to be their leader stood at the prow wearing nothing but an underrobe and a front-tied headband, “What’s one or two cops? No need to panic.” “If they try anything, I’ll knock ’em into the Tone River with this pole and give ’em a bath!” “Come on now! Everyone aboard—quickly now!”

The affected residents, swept up by the momentum, piled into the boats all at once. Police officers arrived one after another, desperately trying to stop them. In their frenzy, a couple of officers drew their swords. Noguchi Haruzō, who happened to be there, became enraged and shouted: “Come on then—cut us down if you dare! We don’t even have sticks, but we’ve been ready to die from the start!” He spread his arms wide and blocked their path. The sword-wielding officers faltered and slipped back into the shadows. Meanwhile, every boat became packed with people until they looked pitch-black against the water. The vessels slid forward with oars creaking—crossing the dark river surface, returning empty, making trip after trip across. On the southern bank too, officers had massed by then; each landing attempt sparked scuffles that sent lantern lights swaying wildly through the chaos. From the northern bank came roaring cheers with every crossing attempt. Some among them had crossed from the downstream Hosoma ferry point, while many others were forcibly turned back—but when dawn finally broke, five or six thousand souls had managed to cross the Tone River.

When Shōzō finished listening to the people’s appeals, he soon ascended to the shrine hall accompanied by the village mayor and a police officer. Shōzō had intended to stand there and deliver a speech to pacify the crowd, but when he surveyed everyone resting quietly, a renewed pang of compassion tightened in his chest. At that moment, Security Section Chief Hasegawa Morimitsu from the Metropolitan Police Department arrived. Military Police Captain Yasuda Shigetomo arrived next, followed by Second Lieutenant Kiryu Sadamasa and others. The chief of Senju Police Station—his name unrecorded—hurried to the scene with an inspector in tow. Then, perhaps provoked by this intimidating show of force, one affected resident threw himself down at the base of Shōzō’s stairs, sobbing convulsively as he—

“We haven’t slept a wink since the night before last.” “Chased by military police horses, we had no choice but to sleep by roadsides or secretly shelter under barn eaves.” “Then—maybe out of pity—someone at a nearby inn laid out mats in their backyard and let us rest.” “Just when we felt grateful for that mercy, we heard the military police come again, demanding ‘Hand them over! Hand them over! If there are victims here, surrender them!’…” When the man’s voice faltered, his neighbor continued.

“We walked here without even being able to eat.” “Even those who had brought crushed barley had no pot to cook it in.” “Last night, even if we tried to borrow pots and pans in Sakurai Village, no one would lend them to us anywhere.” “The village mayor says it’s no good because they’ve been strictly ordered by the police.” “What kind of world is this?” “Are we not even allowed to cook and eat our own food?” “Are they telling us to die without even eating?”

The tearful voice gradually transformed into a cry of outrage. Voices rose in response from here on the rocks, there under the trees, and all directions, creating a commotion like poking a beehive. Even as Shōzō tried to pacify them, he himself became overwhelmed with emotion, and tears flowed endlessly. Meanwhile, behind the shrine office under Village Mayor Sakata’s direction, five bales of rice had been polished, and beneath a large pot, thick firewood was burning fiercely. Soon, steaming rice from the large pot was transferred to rice tubs, carried by the village women, and rice balls were made on about eight wooden boards. When the village mayor and assembly members joined in to help make rice balls, the shrine priest also descended into the garden and went around distributing them.

Around two in the afternoon, those who had lagged behind arrived one after another, utterly exhausted. There still seemed no end to their numbers, but Shōzō, growing impatient with the delayed timing, rose to his feet on the shrine's steps. He beckoned and gathered all the military police, police officers, village mayor, and village assembly members, ordered them to witness his impending address to the crowd, and further,

“In your presence, I want you to listen carefully to what kind of speech I will give.” After clearly emphasizing his point, he swept his gaze across the assembly.

“Everyone, I am Tanaka Shōzō.” “Though it seems most here do not know me, perhaps one in ten might still recognize this name.” “The reason you’ve come to the capital in such numbers—Shōzō understands it well.” “This month’s great flood carried less water than the Meiji 29 deluge, yet collapsing mountains and silt-choked riverbeds raised the waters higher still. The torrent’s swiftness breached embankments in moments, letting mining pollution invade your villages.” “Houses and possessions submerged then surfaced only to be swept off by poisoned waves—such devastation defies imagination.” “Thus you had no choice but to stake your lives journeying here.” “Since two years past, town and village heads have twice petitioned central authorities—ministers and parliament alike—seeking constitutional and legal protections.” “Countless other appeals followed in succession.” “Yet parliament dissolves repeatedly while the government does nothing. So you resolved—even at risk of starvation—to camp at ministry gates until receiving answers.” “Your plight moves me beyond words.”

“Everyone, why must we victims of the Ashio Copper Mine pollution alone endure years without constitutional protections—our property rights violated, education ignored, health endangered, fields ravaged, every livelihood damaged and suspended? All this stems from human-inflicted harm that current laws cannot redress. You victims well know how regular flood exemptions erase civil rights. Yet even when mining pollution grants tax relief, no law preserves those rights. There exists no justification for seizing property and rights through human-made disasters. Meanwhile, local officials persist in collecting taxes from dying villages while concealing mining damage. Thus every matter defies legal remedy. Even with effective mining regulations, the government’s failure to enforce protection ensures constant conflict with your demands. Your righteous fury is utterly justified.”

"However, for the sake of maintaining social order, Shōzō must make a request of you all. That is to say, having such a large number of people entering the capital must not be allowed." "As I too have sincerely considered this matter, I must ask you to stop. Regarding such national issues as this, not only must the responsible authorities bear their duty, but the patriots and benevolent persons of the nation must also take up that responsibility ahead of the affected residents." "Above all, it is the fundamental duty of politicians to anticipate the nation's troubles and worry about them beforehand." "As for the responsibility of those in authority, it is even heavier than this." "Ultimately, the very fact that they wait for petitions to be submitted before making pronouncements constitutes negligence in itself."

Shōzō cut off his words and, as if deeply reproaching himself, remained silent for a moment. The crowd fell silent; some kept their eyes fixed on Shōzō, while others hung their heads and sobbed. “Looking back, last spring when several thousand of you attempted to come to the capital for the mining cessation petition, they had removed the Tone River bridge. In that bitter cold—with winds cutting through your skin—you plunged into water so frigid it felt like needles stabbing your flesh, painstakingly building a bridge to cross. Then at Iwatsuki, you were scattered and wounded by a charge from dozens of police officers. In the end, only six to seven hundred of you reached Matsuhashi-shuku.” “Moreover, during this period, due to the unfamiliar journey and lack of sleep and food, those who returned home fell ill and died—in Takayama, Kaimura hamlet of Anso County in Shimotsuke Province alone, there were two.” “The deceased were all elderly.” “If there were two in Takayama alone, I believe that in total there must have been at least twenty to thirty who died of illness.” “This time as well, we cannot say that none will fall ill or perish by repeating this same mistake.” “If you could die at the gates of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce or the Ministry of Home Affairs, then perhaps you might close your eyes in peace—but should you instead fall ill and perish after returning home, it would truly be a matter of utmost regret.”

Sobs and sniffles continued incessantly. Shōzō resumed speaking, “If the state becomes aware that there are such unfortunate citizens, then officials and legislators must take the lead—they have the responsibility to rescue them with a resolve to risk their lives.” "They must recall the First Sino-Japanese War." "How many soldiers braved the freezing snow, charged the enemy, and died at the front!" "However, dying for the nation is not solely the duty of soldiers." “Officials and members of the legislative assembly must also do the same.” "To think that only soldiers die for the country is a grave mistake." "First and foremost, this Shōzō is a Japanese Diet member and one who knows the full account of the harm inflicted and suffered; it is my natural duty to exert myself ahead of the masses." "I see that among you all, some have already fallen gravely; Shōzō must resolve to die before your deaths."

Shōzō choked back his voice. A profound shadow, as if renewing his resolve, covered his countenance.

“However, there are still few within the new government who know of this tragic situation.” “We must explain to the members of the new government and make them understand the true extent of this disaster.” “For in receiving you all—exhausted from two days and nights without food or sleep—they have blocked roads, dismantled bridges, and seized ferries, as if preparing for an invasion by northern barbarians.” “This cruelty stems from their failure to comprehend the situation—a complete misunderstanding.” “There is nothing in this world more terrifying than ignorance.” “First, we must make them understand both the tragic scale of this damage and the true reality of the people’s suffering.” “To realize your demands, Shōzō will make desperate efforts toward the new cabinet.” “Fortunately, the current government has somewhat taken the form of a party cabinet—your regions surely have many from the old Liberal and Progressive parties.” “That is your government.” “It is our government.” “Since it is our government, we must trust it and support where it falls short.” “Therefore, I ask you to choose ten representatives from among yourselves.” “Together with them, I will strive to explain the facts to the government on your behalf.” “As for the rest of you—please heed Shōzō’s plea and return home from here.” “Upon returning home, you must fully explain these facts to newly appointed governors, local assembly members, district chiefs, and village mayors.” “Since most side with Furukawa due to certain circumstances, you must labor tirelessly to inform them of the truth and shatter their delusions!” “You must also seek many sympathizers beyond our cause and request their cooperation.” “If—even after learning the facts—the government still neglects its duty, Shōzō and others will resolutely condemn their responsibility in parliament and denounce the authorities’ unlawful conduct to society until the end.” “We’ll have no choice then.” “When that time comes, you may all come to the capital as you see fit.”

“Shōzō will never again attempt to dissuade you.” “No, no—not only will I refrain from stopping you, but when that time comes, this Shōzō shall stand at your forefront and share your every advance and retreat.” “Until then, I ask that you all preserve for a while longer the lives you have resolved to risk today.” “Shōzō swears this to you all.” “I implore you all—heed my words on this occasion, abandon your plans to enter the capital in large numbers, and return home at once.” “Shōzō will never tell a lie.” “Shōzō will carry it out exactly as he has stated.”

It seemed they had been struggling to contain their emotions while listening, and when Shōzō's voice abruptly ceased, a sharp wail suddenly erupted. When he looked out at them, most of the crowd were weeping—covering their faces, trembling shoulders hunched, bodies folded over in grief. Shōzō felt his chest constrict anew at the sight, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. As he turned to resume his seat and glanced around, even the eyes of the military police and officers glistened with held-back tears. At that moment, Noguchi Haruzō came stomping up the shrine's stone steps.

“We appreciate your kind admonition, but we have already resolved ourselves to come this far.” “If entry to the capital is denied us, we shall remain here and await the government’s reply.” “Until we receive their answer, we cannot move from this spot even an inch.”

Then, triggered by that, a large crowd surged toward Shōzō. They pounded the stairs and stamped the edge of the veranda, voicing their grievances from the previous night once more. Particularly, Sekiguchi Shibazō of Ōshima Village pressed his face against Shōzō’s feet, tears streaming down his face. The others—many who recognized faces but not names—all wore expressions of those desperately clinging to Shōzō. Meanwhile, Kamei Tomoji of Tatara Village confronted the military police, demanding, “What was that violence last night? What’s the reason for this?”

“Everyone, please listen for a moment.” “It seems Captain Yasuda of the Military Police has something to say to us.”

Sabe shouted, urging everyone’s attention. As the commotion subsided somewhat, Captain Yasuda stepped forward and straightened his long boots. “If the matters you are asserting are indeed facts, then this must be thoroughly investigated.” “All injured persons must accompany us to Senju Garrison.”

From beneath those words, Noguchi answered with fervor. “Let’s go.” “Let’s all go together.” “The group’s stakes are the group’s responsibility.”

In response, the people once again cried out in unison. “That’s right! We’re reporting the violence precisely because it’s the truth!” “Who would make up something that never happened!”

Seeing this, the Senju Police Station Chief suddenly gripped the hilt of his sword. He gathered his subordinates and left the scene in a flurry. Perceiving their march to the capital as inevitable, it was inferred they intended to rush back to Senju to secure the bridge. However, before long, prominent members from the villages gathered behind the shrine hall and held a meeting to discuss their course of action. As a result, they finally heeded Shōzō’s dissuasion, though due to strong insistence from many, increased the number of representatives to fifty. Ōide Kihē and Tani Motoyasu reported this to Shōzō.

Chapter Three

Parting ways with three thousand comrades setting off on their return journey from Fuchiemura Village, the fifty representatives proceeded to the capital with solemn resolve in their hearts. On the following day, the 29th, they split into two groups, with one proceeding to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce and the other to the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, Secretary Tsushima granted them an audience and scheduled a meeting with the minister for noon on the 30th, but at the Ministry of Home Affairs, a subordinate official from the Police Bureau,

“The Minister absolutely will not meet with you,” came the curt and dismissive reply. Prior to this, upon receiving reports of the Affected Residents’ large-scale march to the capital, each police station in the city had panicked and immediately stationed officers at key positions. In addition to securing Senju, Itabashi, Mukōjima, Hikifune, Kanamachi, Nakagawa Bridge, Ichikawa Crossing, and other locations, the water police implemented strict measures for vessels along the Onagi River. Despite this, the number of those who had slipped through these security cordons and entered the capital by the 29th reached five to six hundred people. All were either individuals who had taken separate routes from the main group in Fuchiemura Village or those who had departed after its formation; they had initially sought shelter in various cheap lodgings, but upon learning that the main group had returned home following Tanaka Shōzō’s admonitions, they each began their journey back on the 30th.

On the 30th, the representatives appeared at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce as promised. Then, Secretary Tsushima made a troubled face and stated that the minister would not attend the ministry today due to a cabinet meeting. The representatives became indignant and insisted they would wait until the minister attended. Some lamented the authorities' heartlessness and wailed bitterly. The already dreary reception room seemed as though a fragment of his Fuchiemura Village's landscape had been transplanted there. Shōzō heard the details from the representatives and immediately rushed by rickshaw to headquarters. “The affected residents have come all this way to petition—why won’t the ministers meet them?” he pressed Ebara Soroku of the General Affairs Committee. “Call it cowardice or spinelessness—this disgrace must end! Arrange an audience at once,” he declared before returning home after issuing a behind-the-scenes warning.

That night, when they sat facing each other alone in a private room at Shinanoya, Sabe furrowed his brows worriedly and began to speak. “Teacher, if you make one wrong step, you’ll have your head taken by the victims.”

“No, I won’t make a mistake.”

Shōzō immediately answered in a voice that resonated from the depths of his belly.

“But if you were to fail…” “No, I won’t fail.”

Within his lusterless, winter melon-like face—marked by illness and exhaustion—his large eyes gleamed fiercely. For Sabe, the Fuchiemura speech clung stubbornly to his mind—Shōzō had given an irrevocable statement that seemed to corner even himself. But realizing that Shōzō’s resolve far surpassed such groundless fears, he fell silent. Somehow, the Shōzō before his eyes began to seem like an immense boulder firmly rooted in place.

The representatives proceeded from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce to the Minister’s Residence at 11:00 AM on October 1st and finally met with Vice Minister Ōishi. Ōishi listened quietly to their petition and responded, “Even if you speak casually of restoring the affected areas, it would require exorbitant funds and remains utterly unfeasible. “Rather than submitting such vague petitions, you must present appeals grounded in concrete evidence. “When you do so,” he continued earnestly, “I shall stake my official position to fulfill your demands through diligent efforts.”

“Moreover, your coming to the capital in such numbers constitutes a procedural error,” he said. “Were you to follow proper channels when submitting petitions, even the Home Minister would surely grant an audience.” After withdrawing to their office, they visited Constitutional Party headquarters that afternoon to meet Secretary Takeichi. On the 3rd, they presented themselves at the Forestry Bureau, Mining Bureau, Fisheries Bureau, and related offices. Since straining himself during the Fuchiemura affair, Shōzō’s condition had worsened alarmingly. Still refusing to delegate full responsibility to the representatives, he met with the Vice Minister of Agriculture and Commerce on the 2nd, the Minister himself on the 4th, and Finance Minister Matsuda on the 5th. “Wouldn’t it be best,” Matsuda suggested, “to send these representatives home promptly?” Shōzō retorted fiercely: “We need more delegates, not fewer! With fifty men spread across so many ministries, we’re stretched thinner than rice paste over cracked earth.”

However, since the representatives had left their wives and children behind amid the flood's lingering poison and come to the capital, they could not afford to waste days idly. There were even many receiving letters from their families pleading of starvation. That day, Shōzō returned to the office and advised that all but a few should gradually return home. As a result, Ōide Kihē, Inamura Yoichi, and Noguchi Haruzō became the three who remained. Noguchi had fallen ill from overwork and was recuperating at Shibaura's salt baths.

On the 8th, Shōzō finally succumbed and took to bed at Shinanoya. People worried and called doctors, but the patient was unexpectedly energetic. Perhaps lulled by this apparent recovery, Yamada at his bedside let slip some unfavorable rumors circulating about Shōzō. “Tanaka is an ambitious man.” “He claims to have persuaded three thousand victims to return home, but in truth, he’s been using that as his ticket to curry favor with ministers, exhausting himself in his relentless pursuit of political office.” “He puts on a façade of calm indifference, but beneath it rages a feverish lust for political office.” “They’re spreading such terrible rumors.”

Shōzō’s haggard face was shrouded in a shadow of palpable discomfort. The room fell utterly silent. With looks that accused him of having uttered something unforgivable, they glared at the one who had misspoken, trembling as if expecting angry shouts to erupt at any moment. Yet Shōzō remained motionless, not even twitching an eyebrow as he kept his eyes closed. Perhaps misinterpreting this as shock, Ōide attempted to mediate the situation,

“It’s precisely those who say such things who can only judge others by measuring them against their own base hearts.”

Then, Inamura, intending to change the subject from beside them, “I’ve heard that fake representatives have been appearing around Tokyo lately.” “Claiming to be representatives of the affected residents, they have been spreading statements contrary to our petitions and apparently taking money from certain channels.” “What was just said must also be part of their slanderous lies.”

“I can’t let that stand.” Shōzō raised his head from the pillow. “I don’t care what they say about me, but these fake representatives will hinder our movement going forward.” “We must track those bastards down to the ends of the earth and punish them so they can’t prowl around the affected areas or Tokyo anymore.” “That’s right.” “That’s right.” “Let’s take it upon ourselves to investigate.” “In truth, such matters should be handled by the government, but we’ve no choice but to do it ourselves.” “As I mentioned the other day at Elder Katsu Anbō’s place—in the old days, it was the government that regulated the people.” “But now it’s the people who regulate the government.” “That’s why politics these days is such a carefree business.” “They let the people handle regulation while they lounge about idly.”

“At this rate, sir, you might as well be the Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police.”

When Sabe interjected, Yamada again spoke up: “No, there actually was an approach about you becoming Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police. Professor Takaeda Sanae came to negotiate with our Commoners’ Club at Waseda.” Ōide laughed as he remarked, “If Mr. Tanaka had been Superintendent-General, we wouldn’t have been blocked on our way to the capital or had our petitions interfered with.” Shōzō flicked away the notion like filth. “Lately they’ve been telling me to become governor. Of course I refused. I’ll always remain a farmer representative—farmers staying true to being farmers is what matters most. ‘If you have three *gō* of rice bran, don’t take a son-in-law; if you have three *gō* of rice bran, don’t become a government official.’”

The people laughed out loud. “When you think about it, it’s pitiful,” “A cabinet on its deathbed teeming with nothing but office-seekers.” “Back when transportation was poor, those Satsuma and Chōshū men came from the farthest hinterlands—society didn’t know their true characters.” “Because people didn’t know them, even complete nobodies could pass as virtuous men. Once they became vice-ministers or governors, folks would look up to them in awe.” “But today’s office-hunters are laid bare on the shelf.” “Since everyone knows them now, they get no respect.” “And what exactly are these people doing lately?” “Both the Old Liberals and Old Progressives—nothing but pathetic squabbles between incompetent fools, boiling feuds, wretched ambitions, bungled lobbying, half-baked talents, and idiotic campaigns!”

As if the pent-up frustration in his chest had finally found an outlet, Shōzō’s words were spat out one by one, each charged with inner vehemence—but when he thudded his head back onto the pillow, "Fame and profit, selfish desires, personal corruption, vice, narrow-mindedness—nothing but these fill our view, without a shred of national consciousness to be found." "Even their coalition’s founding principles—they must have scrubbed them clean from memory by now."

After that, he suddenly let out a deep sigh. The inner resentment and disappointment rested on those final words. No—the resentment and disappointment ran far too deep to be measured by mere words. Precisely because he had placed such great expectations on the coalition of political parties and the achievements of party cabinets, the current state he witnessed was all the more unbearable in its vexation.

At that time, the infighting within the Constitutional Party was growing increasingly severe. They had already clashed over cabinet positions during the government's formation. During the general election campaign, they had set out from party headquarters in lockstep only to return having quarreled bitterly in the regions. Next came disputes over executive appointments. Yet these conflicts had not yet reached the point of making them forget how disadvantageous it would be to disrupt their harmony.

What finally amplified the discord was the issue of appointing a dedicated Foreign Minister. Ōkuma had earlier given a verbal pledge to appease the Liberal Party, promising to relinquish his concurrent post later and select a successor from their ranks. The former Liberal Party members seized this pledge and, championing the doctrine of balance, eagerly sought to recommend successors. During this period, Hoshi Tōru—the U.S. Minister who had just returned from America in August—actively fomented discontent among former Liberal Party members from behind the scenes. The Constitutional Party coalition had formed during his absence abroad, making his lack of influence within the new party inevitable given his non-participation in its creation. Recognizing his cabinet ambitions would go unrealized, Hoshi conspired with a faction to launch destructive maneuvers. Coincidentally, Education Minister Ozaki's speech at the Great Japan Educational Tea Meeting on August 20 had inadvertently sparked controversy; former Liberal Party members seized this opportunity to falsely brand it a republican address, denouncing him with demands that "those responsible for education should properly beg pardon before the throne." Liberal-aligned newspapers rallied in unison. Ultimately, this constituted a plot to oust Ozaki from the cabinet and achieve their longstanding goal of political equilibrium.

It was October 15th. A tea meeting was held at the Finance Minister’s official residence, and Shōzō was invited to attend. When the conversation happened to touch upon the matter of three thousand affected residents coming to the capital, Saigō Jūdō, seated nearby, remarked with a faint smile, “The way you handled that matter recently was a bit too clever.” “You flattered them and then lectured them into going home, didn’t you?”

When he heard this, Shōzō turned sharply around and stared at the man for a while, but— “Now, Mr. Saigō—that’s an utterly incomprehensible thing to say. You must look beyond mere appearances and see the truth of matters. To be sure, there may well be instances in this world where someone incites others only to then persuade them otherwise—but such things can only be done by those belonging to organizations like the Liberal Party or Progressive Party, or by people united under a single banner. The victims who recently came to the capital are solely from the most severely affected areas—yet even so, their villages span eighteen ri along the Watarase River. First of all, no one knows me. They might at least know my name, but those who actually know me are very few. There’s no set rule about how many people come from that village, who the committee members are here, or who serves as representatives—nor is there anyone’s orders dictating their actions. When faced with what you might call a motley crowd of scattered individuals, I’d like you to seriously consider whether anyone could perform the kind of clever maneuvering you’re suggesting.”

Shōzō pressed on, his eyes blazing. Exasperated by the stinging protest, Saigō furrowed his thick brow and cut in. “Alright, I get it. I get it.” “It’s troublesome how everything gets misinterpreted this way. Ultimately, it’s because you don’t truly know the actual circumstances. Just how devastating the mining pollution damage is, how dire the affected residents’ suffering has become—I want you to witness it firsthand. It’s not some distant land fifty or seven hundred ri away. You could visit and return within a day. What baffles me utterly is how you ministers frequently make trips south—to Kamakura, Ōiso, Odawara—yet not a single one of you even turns your steps toward the people’s suffering.”

As Shōzō passionately continued his tirade, Saigō stood up with an air of purpose and vacated his chair. But Shōzō paid no heed and now turned to Itagaki, “Mr. Itagaki, among all the ministers, you’re likely the only one who doesn’t own land in Nasunogahara.” “Every minister knows how to cultivate Nasunogahara.” “Knowing how to develop barren land, how can they remain blind to the ruin of the Watarase River’s poisoned basin—once Kanto’s most fertile soil?” “Why don’t you build a villa in the mining-polluted area too?” “Then they might finally start valuing the afflicted lands…”

The attendees fled one by one, two by two, until those who remained listening intently until the end were but a few—the host Matsuda Masahisa, Kojima Korekata, Hoshi Tōru, and several others. The following day, on the 16th, Shōzō recorded in his diary: "Those who sit upon silk cloth and make it their habit to translate histories of revolution are not worthy of trust." And so, from October 22nd, he began drafting the third Constitution Protection Petition. That day, he composed an impromptu verse: If death comes, let me die; if life remains, let me live—for having been born into this world is joy itself.

On the 25th, upon hearing that the chrysanthemums at Ōkuma’s residence were in full bloom, he sent a letter addressed to Ōkuma Hidemaro. “Accompanied by several youths from the mining pollution-affected areas, we shall visit to view the chrysanthemum flowers in the coming days and break off a few branches, large and small, upon our return. Do not rebuke this as vandalism. I hereby give prior notice.”

Ozaki finally decided his course of action on October 24th. The covert struggles over the successor’s seat had grown increasingly akin to child’s play. The former Liberal Party cabinet ministers recommended Hoshi Tōru and Ebara Soroku, but Ōkuma recommended Inukai Tsuyoshi of the former Progressive Party, and his official inauguration ceremony was held on the 27th. Having failed to achieve their objective here, the former Liberal Party confronted the general affairs committee member from the former Progressive Party on the following 28th and publicly demanded that he dissolve the party. When their demand was flatly rejected, they preemptively convened a general meeting consisting solely of the former Liberal Party on the 29th and passed a resolution to dissolve. They reorganized under the same name as the Constitutional Party, and Hoshi led his stalwarts to occupy the party headquarters in Shibasannai. On the same day, Itagaki, Matsuda, and Hayashi resigned, and on the 31st, Ōkuma, Ōtō, and Inukai submitted their resignations. The former Progressive Party reorganized under the name Constitutional Origin Party. Thus, the split within the Constitutional Party became the precursor to the cabinet’s collapse.

Shōzō’s prophecy had come true all too quickly. His grand political party, established with soaring ambitions and aspirations to achieve governance rooted in the spirit of the Constitution, became consumed by futile internal strife, ultimately meeting a disgraceful end without even convening a single parliamentary session.

On November 8, the Yamagata Cabinet was formed. On December 3rd, the opening ceremony of the Thirteenth Diet was held. On the seventh of the same month, Shōzō mailed the Constitution Protection Petition and a petition detailing deficiencies in the Ashio reforestation and prevention works, as well as supervisory malpractice, to the ministers of each ministry. From the following day, the 8th, he began writing inquiry documents to submit to the Diet, and on the 9th, he stayed up all night for this task. The two inquiry documents that Shōzō submitted to the Diet on the 10th were as follows: one concerning the protection of constitutional government, and the other titled *Inquiry Regarding the Clarification of Responsibilities of Bureaucrats in Each Ministry*. That day, Shōzō arranged two booklets before him and delivered an explanatory speech lasting approximately forty minutes.

First, he briefly recounted the history of the mining pollution incident, then warned that while it was a Japanese tendency to grow weary of old matters and neglect them, political issues must not be treated with such frivolity, “The affected residents came to Tokyo twice in the 29th year [1896] to petition, and this year they have marched out once again.” “Even a government as obtuse as this must burn this into their minds—these frequent occurrences.” “Yet time and again, the Diet gets dissolved.” “The government collapses.” “Throughout all this time, the affected residents have had nowhere to turn.” “Regrettably, this period has been akin to anarchy.” “This is not a government that manages the people’s affairs—it’s a government preoccupied with other matters entirely.” “In the thirtieth year [of Meiji], the cabinet established what was called the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Investigation Committee and fully implemented its orders—yet how bitterly disappointing that this proved ineffective.” “For if we were to liken it to a human body—when struck by grave illness or when flesh rots away—it would be like applying nothing but a single plaster.”

Shōzō’s face, once flushed crimson, now turned pallid with grief and indignation, his eyes alone blazing fiercely.

“Throughout Japan, there are far too many politicians who have sunk to the depths of depravity.” “How utterly pitiful.” “It is truly intolerable.” “Were people silent, that might be excusable—but year after year they have pleaded this much.” “Officials who neither hear these cries nor see the anguish of our afflicted people are nothing less than unpardonable traitors to the nation!” When Shōzō constricted his throat and slammed the podium, muffled laughter escaped from the assembly seats. He fixed a glare upon those who had laughed, “Perhaps my words have grown too vehement, leading some among you gentlemen to find amusement. Yet this vehemence concerns not the incident itself. Regarding the matter at hand—though it grieves me to say—I must entreat you, as fellow human beings, to shed tears.”

Shōzō then remarked on the absence of constitutional protections: "Under such circumstances," he said, his voice faltering with regret, "were I to have the strength and time, I would wish to elaborate in detail." Indeed, clear signs of fatigue showed in Shōzō as he stood at the podium. With an expression of irrepressible resolve, he continued: "The Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce must be abolished!"—then abruptly shifted to condemning the interference with victims' appeals to the capital.

“When it comes to these matters, they seem scarcely human—no, not even Japanese.” “No true Japanese would commit such foolishness.” “This is utterly beyond insolence!” “When it comes to kicking away the pillows of affected residents sleeping outdoors like this, these people must be called national traitors!” Shōzō’s voice, more a clarion call than an attack, enveloped the assembly hall, where only coughs could now be heard.

“The imperial edict for the Diet’s opening ceremony declares that the foundation of public finance must be strengthened.” “What constitutes this foundation of public finance?” “It means fortifying the very root of taxation.” “And that root lies in the land.” “The land and its people form that foundation.” “In a governance that treats this land and people with contempt, I believe—and fear—that honoring this imperial decree would prove impossible.”

Regarding the attacking portions of the speech, Vice President Motoda, seated at the chairperson’s podium, cautioned: “You are provoking fierce indignation among military personnel. How about retracting part of it?” However, Shōzō refused. He wrote on a scrap of paper and showed it to Nakayama seated to his left. ――If they are to die, let them die; if they are to kill, let them kill. In this dead world, being slaughtered holds no sorrow.

The eleventh was a Sunday. The following day, on the twelfth, in the House of Representatives, Army Vice Minister Nakamura issued a rebuttal to Shōzō's speech, denying as baseless the claims about dispersing affected residents and related matters. At that precise moment, Shōzō was absent from his seat, but he later returned and waited for a lull in the question-and-response session regarding the Military Secrets Protection Bill before calling out from seat number 116— "Mr. Speaker!" he shouted. "I was briefly absent earlier, but concerning my inquiry from two days ago—"

When he got that far, Speaker Katō cut him off. "If this concerns matters from two days ago, I cannot permit you to speak now, as we are currently addressing questions regarding today's agenda."

Shōzō remained standing abruptly, tilting his head slightly, but— “Is that so? I suppose you previously permitted the government committee members to speak.” “Compare whether Tanaka Shōzō is lying or the ministers are lying!” he roared, making his seat creak. At the same time, the assembly hall erupted into chaos.

“I will not permit you to speak.” “The Speaker permits the government committee members.” “Which one of us is lying? I will pose questions regarding the stenographic record.” “Talking nonsense when someone isn’t in their seat—this is an act of violent lawlessness!” “I hereby order Mr. Tanaka Shōzō to leave the chamber.” “I hereby order Mr. Tanaka to leave the chamber.” “Leaving the chamber? Very well.” “Most splendid indeed.” “I shall take my leave.” Shōzō, his face filled with rage, shrugged his shoulders and pushed open the door as he made his way through the seats.

A few days later, from 8:00 AM on the 15th, the grand meeting of the anti-tax-increase faction was held at Momijikan in Shiba. The attendees included Ōkuma Shigenobu, Tani Kanjō, Miura Gorō, and Tomita Tetsunosuke, along with over two thousand like-minded individuals; of course, they could not all fit inside the building and instead filled the withered garden. However, this gathering was ordered to disband due to official monitoring during Tani’s speech shortly after being convened.

The reorganization of public finances and tax increases were issues that had inevitably arisen following the expansion of national expenditures after the Sino-Japanese War; however, they had remained an insurmountable challenge that successive cabinets had attempted but failed to overcome. Particularly, the Land Tax Increase Bill faced extreme difficulty in passing through the House of Representatives; the Matsukata Cabinet sustained wounds over this issue, and the Itō Cabinet collapsed because of it. If one considered this historical background, one had to conclude there was almost no prospect of this problem being enacted. However, the financial strain was a pressing concern even for the government. Thus, the Yamagata Cabinet, with Matsukata as Finance Minister, also faced the Diet with determined efforts to enact this bill. That is, the Land Tax Increase Bill had already been submitted to the House of Representatives on December 8. However, the government itself did not have confidence to push this through. For this reason, sufficient groundwork had been laid before the Diet session opened, and only after forming an alliance with the Constitutional Party did they lift the lid on the Diet. Needless to say, it was Constitutional Party Secretary-General Hoshi Toru who had labored over these schemes during this period.

On this day, the 15th, in the House of Representatives, Kudō Yukimiki stood up at the very outset to question and criticize the unlawful dissolution of that morning’s Grand Meeting of the Anti-Tax-Increase Faction. When Kudō descended from the podium, Monma Hisatsune immediately shouted, “There’s an emergency motion!” Motoda, seated in the chair, pretended not to hear and announced, “We will now proceed to the first agenda item.” Monma continued shouting, “Emergency motion! Emergency motion!” until the assembly hall erupted into chaos. The turmoil became uncontrollable. Motoda ordered Monma to leave the chamber and finally called for the “Chief Guard.” Amid this commotion, Shōzō remained in his seat, silently observing the tumultuous surroundings. His was a figure of serene stillness akin to wall-facing Zen meditation. Except on days of mining pollution inquiries, Shōzō in the assembly hall during this period often had moments like this.

In the House of Representatives the following day, Speaker Katō first expressed regret over yesterday’s disturbances and stated that he wished for everyone to maintain decorum going forward. Then Fujisawa Ikunosuke stood up and condemned the Vice Speaker’s blunder of adjourning the session without consulting the assembly. In response, when Katō defended this as not improper, voices demanding to speak arose from all directions, and once again, the assembly hall descended into chaos. Fujisawa further declared this to be a violation of parliamentary rights, and Hoshi retorted that there was a precedent from when Hatoyama had been Speaker.

“I have a point of order for the Speaker!” Shōzō bellowed at the top of his voice and sprang to his feet. “I had intended to remain silent, but when a legal scholar like Mr. Hoshi Toru makes such erroneous statements, I cannot keep quiet.” “To cite precedent for something that violates the law—what kind of reasoning is that?” “Since they were unaware during Mr. Hatoyama’s time, it is only natural that upon discovering it today, we correct it today.” “As for the errors committed by the person you appointed as proxy, Mr. Speaker, I believe it would be proper for you to correct them fairly and impartially yourself.” “Moreover, Mr. Motoda—as a legal scholar—should not resort to cowardly and half-hearted interpretations but first fairly and impartially correct your own errors before restoring order to this assembly… To order the Disciplinary Committee to act and then flee—though I doubt you would—the manner of retreat was akin to a timid judge declaring a death sentence and scurrying away.”

A round of fervent applause broke out. Then Ōoka Ikuzō stood up and began defending Motoda’s actions. Once again, clamorous voices arose from all directions. The situation deteriorated to the point where even jeers of “Liar!” and “Bastard!” could be heard. “Gentlemen, I have an announcement,” declared the Speaker, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Just now, in the Diet’s reception room, Mr. Shigeno Kenjiro was attacked by an assailant and has sustained injuries.” It was reported that he had sustained a contusion on the right side of his head measuring eight sun (approximately 9.6 inches) in length and reaching the depth of the periosteum.

“That is a grave incident. Has the culprit been apprehended? No doubt it was those opposition party bastards.”

It was Hoshi’s voice.

At the same time, Shōzō stood up indignantly. "What was that statement from Mr. Hoshi Toru just now?" "What do you mean by 'opposition party'?" "This must be properly heard out." "What is the meaning of this—that the opposition party carried out the assault?" "You must suspend the order of proceedings!" "What do you mean by 'opposition party'?" "What do you mean by 'opposition party'?" "Answer plainly!"

"Hear, hears" and "No, nos" clashed in a cacophony. Shōzō leaped from his seat and dashed toward the Speaker’s podium. "They liken us representatives to villains. Why does the Speaker not censure such insolence?"

“Please return to your seat.”

“Why do you not censure this insolence? Why do you not censure this insolence? Why do you not…”

The Speaker leaned back and declared, “I order you to leave the chamber.” “I order Mr. Tanaka to leave the chamber.”

Several guards rushed over and tried to pull Shōzō back. Seeing Shōzō shake off their arms, Katō blurted out.

“Drag him out quickly!” “What is the meaning of ordering representatives to be dragged out?”

Shōzō, filled with murderous intent, reached out his simian arm to seize the Speaker's sleeve, but the guards blocked him and forcibly ejected him from the chamber. Afterward, Inoue Gorō submitted an emergency motion, resulting in Shōzō finally being referred to the disciplinary committee. Shōzō remained in the Diet's waiting room when he learned that Kōno Hironaka and fellow party members were maneuvering behind the scenes to mitigate his punishment. He felt profound shame at these underhanded efforts made on his behalf. Intercepting Kōno, he rejected this unnecessary solicitude and departed.

But even so, unease still lingered in Shōzō’s heart. He acknowledged that his words and actions had been somewhat extreme, but he did not believe there had been any error in his indignation. He absolutely did not believe it was something deserving of punishment. Precisely because of that, he did not want to evade punishment through underhanded methods. The next morning, he went to the headquarters and, before the people present, vehemently insisted they should not engage in underhanded schemes on his behalf. Afterward, he submitted his party resignation notice to the Prime Minister’s office, but through appeasement, it did not result in actual withdrawal from the party.

On this day in the House of Representatives, a one-week suspension from attendance was handed down against Shōzō, while Monma received a three-day suspension. The disciplinary committee had originally decided on two weeks for Shōzō and one week for Monma—their punishments had been reduced accordingly. With the land tax increase bill scheduled for imminent submission to the House, the presence of these two members held critical importance for securing a majority headcount; this consideration had been secretly factored into the decision. On December 20, while Shōzō remained suspended from attendance, the House of Representatives managed to pass the land tax increase bill with only minor revisions. Specifically, the land tax rate—previously fixed at 2.5% of assessed land value—was revised to 3.5%, though limited to a five-year provisional period. Upon learning this, Shōzō remarked that many must have been deceived by the five-year provisional agreement. Such cases indeed existed. However, between the government and the Constitutional Party, another kind of unspoken pact had been exchanged.

Chapter 4

The land tax increase bill passed safely through the House of Representatives, but its impact on local sentiment far exceeded anything the central authorities could have imagined. In the mining pollution-affected areas especially, condemnation grew fierce against representatives who had betrayed public opinion by supporting it—Kanai Mitsugu, elected from Gunma’s Second District, received resignation recommendations from victim representatives including Nagashima Yohachi and Tanobairi Rizaburō.

The beginning of Meiji 32, mid-January. The devastation from mining pollution only grew more severe with each passing day. In Shimohata, Azuma Village, the cedar forests surrounding Niwada Tsuneyoshi's property—indeed all nearby groves that had shown lush green foliage until the previous summer—now stood stained a uniform rusty red. The roots of moso bamboo had rotted through; even a gentle western breeze sent eight- to nine-inch-thick stalks crashing down in rapid succession. In Okudo, Tomita Village, nine of sixty households had abandoned their homes over the past year, leaving vacant houses either demolished or surrendering to winter winds that tore through crumbling walls. At Funatsugawa in Ueno Village, every one of thirteen infants born that year succumbed to identical symptoms.

Around noon on February 1st, affected residents crowded before Anso County Office demanding an audience with the governor. When he refused to meet them, some two hundred people spilled onto the road and remained immovable until around eight that night—a fragmentary testament to their dire plight. At Unryūji Temple’s office, they resolved early in the new year to dispatch delegates to Tokyo. Hasegawa Sadajirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Kimura Yūkichi, Jisai Moshichi, Sakurai Yosōji, Yokotsuka Jisankyū, Noguchi Haruzō, Taniguchi Fusakichi, Noguchi Genzō, Koshinami Ushijirō, Ida Heikichi, and others hastened to the capital and labored tirelessly in petitioning efforts.

Eventually, on February 24th, the “Petition to Receive Constitutional Protection” passed in the House of Representatives and subsequently cleared the House of Peers as well. Though it was the culmination of years of petitioning, their joy at having their appeal pass both houses for the first time defied all comparison. The delegates wept openly as they cheered at the Shibaguchi Office. To swiftly share this triumph with their hometowns, some dispatched telegrams while others rushed detailed reports chronicling the entire outcome.

On the 28th, the Diet was extended until March 9th by imperial edict.

Since the very beginning of the year, it had been rumored that the government was planning to increase parliamentary stipends and was struggling to secure the necessary funds, but the movements of each political party surrounding this issue had increasingly attracted public attention. In the current Diet session, the government resolved various bills that had long been considered difficult issues—beginning with the tax increase proposal—demonstrating a skill that commanded attention. But in the end, this was nothing more than a demonstration of how skillfully they had manipulated the Constitutional Party. Even his land tax increase bill—for the Constitutional Party, this meant abandoning their long-cherished platform of "land tax reduction" that they had championed for years since their days as the Liberal Party—faced inevitable reluctance. Seeing this, the government, through Hoshi Tōru, arranged various compensations to entice the representatives, and the stipend increase bill was one such measure.

Finally, with the session extended to deliberate on this matter, an emergency motion was submitted by Hoshi Tōru in the House of Representatives on March 4th. Namely, it was to place the bill to amend the Diet Law on the agenda and refer it to a committee. Public opinion denounced the audacity of legislators themselves voting to increase their stipends and even censured the corruption of the Imperial Diet. However, the Constitutional Party’s attitude under Hoshi’s leadership had been decided from the very beginning. Within the Constitutional Reform Party, Suzuki Jūzō, Abei Iwane, Terada Hikotarō, Tanaka Shōzō, and other members of the clean faction were vehemently opposing it, but the party itself, showing signs of wavering, was struggling to settle on a stance. However, upon seeing its submission on the 4th, they finally decided through party resolution to oppose it.

At the plenary session on the 6th, Chairman Kanmuchi reported: "The Committee passed this bill by a majority vote and revised the clause 'Members shall not resign their parliamentary stipends' to 'Members may resign their parliamentary stipends.'" "Furthermore, as for the minority opinion, there was the argument that increasing parliamentary stipends at a time when the nation's expenditures are manifold should not be permitted," he reported on the committee's proceedings.

After that, Tanaka Shōzō mounted the podium to applause, his lips pressed tightly together. He was there to voice opposition on behalf of the Constitutional Reform Party. This duty weighed heavily on Shōzō. Lately he had resolved to avoid speaking in the Diet except on mining pollution matters; now that he opposed this bill, he knew he must bear full responsibility for every word uttered. Yet as he contemplated the issue itself, he felt an unadulterated spirit compelling him to fight relentlessly. This was no mere stipend increase bill—it was outright legislative bribery. A brazen act of institutionalized corruption. An unforgivable crime against public trust. Clutching this indignation to his chest, Shōzō stood before the assembly.

“They don’t exactly seem reluctant to accept it.” Tsunematsu Ryūkei’s gravelly voice rang out with the heckle. But Shōzō drank calmly from his cup and began: “Ladies and gentlemen—” “I oppose this bill to amend the Diet Law—that is to say, the parliamentary stipend increase proposal.” “To clarify—I align myself with the minority opinion that Mr. Kanmuchi has just reported.” “As you’ve all observed, I’ve been wholly consumed by the mining pollution crisis, leaving me no capacity to examine general budgetary matters or other legislative affairs. Beyond this issue, all else remains shrouded in darkness.” “Thus I’ve listened respectfully to your arguments and supported those I found convincing.” “Wherever an argument holds merit, I disregard party lines to lend my agreement.” “This being so, I’ve sat silent as a corpse in this chamber of late—yet today circumstances compel me to speak.” “Having received His Majesty’s summons to occupy this seat—unworthy though I may be—I must answer however I can when the nation’s welfare demands it.” “To such a proposal as this—I must answer.”

Shōzō intensified his tone: “First—what of this statement of reasons for increasing parliamentary stipends?” “Generally speaking, what’s written matters little—yet it declares our current stipend insufficient to maintain a Diet member’s qualifications.” “What does this mean?” “They claim our dignity cannot be preserved without more money.” “To draft such language equating a representative’s worth with monetary value shows contempt for this assembly.” “This is nothing less than insult.” “Those accepting this document as reasonable view the world through coin-filled eyes—but setting such men aside, I defy any honorable soul to hear ‘a Diet member’s dignity requires more yen’ without shame.” “This insults us all.” “Moreover—given these troubled times—why would the government consent even if we demanded higher pay?” “To propose such legislation—forgive my bluntness—reeks of bribery.” “Utterly disrespectful.” “You all know—as district representatives—how public finances languish and regions suffocate in depression.” “Farmland values have plunged—forty percent in some areas, even twenty percent in others.” “Our passed land tax bill lies dormant while villages starve.” “When you return home with your briefcases, this devastation will confront you.” “True representatives—a responsible government—would debate reducing stipends to daily allowances befitting this crisis year!”

Shōzō straightened his posture with a solemn expression and once more addressed them as “Gentlemen.” “Did not His Majesty the Emperor contribute from his personal funds during the financial strain of warship construction some years ago? Furthermore, did not government officials in general, down to the lowest-ranking clerks, pay one-tenth of their salaries? All acted according to the moral duty required by those times. Even in matters of economic interest, His Majesty the Emperor was guided by moral duty to contribute from his personal funds. When it comes to parliamentary stipends, they cannot be discussed using ordinary economic principles. It is not a matter of greed. It becomes a matter of the spirit. Given that Diet members hold the great authority to increase or decrease the national budget, even if it were perfectly permissible for them to accept their stipends, they must exercise restraint themselves. Even if the nation were to prosper—with all taxes reduced or public voices suggesting stipend increases—Diet members cannot readily agree to such an increase. That is what constitutes the dignity of Diet members. That is what constitutes their qualifications. What an ill-conceived draft proposal this is—to claim that Diet members’ qualifications can be maintained by increasing stipends from eight hundred yen to two thousand yen because eight hundred yen is insufficient! How could they presume to govern the nation with such thinking? If this were to pass through the Diet, representatives would truly fail in their duty both to His Majesty the Emperor above and to the people below. Though such errors may no longer exist, out of caution and with meddlesome concern, I have stated my piece as such.”

The Diet members, who had fallen silent, sent forth applause as if revived with a collective sigh of relief.

Taking his place, Hoshi Tōru ascended the podium while thrusting forward his ample belly. “When I traveled to England, their parliament was also deliberating an increase in parliamentary stipends, but...” Despite his pale complexion showing slight signs of agitation, he began to present far-fetched supporting arguments by citing foreign examples. "We are not by any means proposing new taxes to fund the stipend increase," he declared, "so there will be no issue whatsoever," adding in a sarcastic tone.

“Moreover, the original amendment explicitly permits resignation from parliamentary stipends. If you do not desire an increase in stipends, then you should properly resign from them. Were you to resign, the Ministry of Finance would most heartily welcome it.” Anxious murmurs rippled through the chamber in response.

After waiting for Hoshi to descend from the podium, Shimada Saburō ascended with a momentum that whipped up the air around him. He refuted Hoshi’s arguments, challenging the claim that no new taxes would be imposed for this purpose by pointing out that discussing this matter itself constituted deliberation of new taxes, then fiercely condemned the government’s contradictory responsibility.

Voices demanding an end to the debate erupted repeatedly. The Speaker accepted the motion, and after renewed turmoil over whether to hold a secret or open ballot, the resolution was settled through anonymous voting. One hundred thirty-four white balls, one hundred twenty-five black balls—at last, this bribery bill cleared the House of Representatives by a nine-vote margin.

On the eighth, Shōzō took the floor to question once more regarding the mining pollution incident. "It is said that Count Kabayama of the Ministry of Education graciously toured the affected areas in Meiji 29 (1896) and shed tears, for which the people remain truly grateful." "The devastation from the Meiji 31 (1898) floods now stands at threefold—nay, fourfold—compared to Meiji 29 (1896). We therefore implore you to conduct a renewed inspection." "Count Kabayama has not undergone some metamorphosis since then," he declared, turning to fix the ministers' seats with a gaze that blended reproach and fervent resolve.

In a voice trembling with sorrow, he then explained with statistical evidence that the current situation was no longer merely a matter of public health hazards but one that posed a direct threat to people’s lives—that deaths were mounting steadily, and that children in particular were suffering devastating effects. Since Meiji 24 (1891), regarding public health matters, the government had never once provided an answer. Just when one thought they had finally responded for the first time, the government made a carefree reply by citing a two-year-old survey: “According to the Mining Pollution Incident Investigation Committee’s report, copper has not caused harm to human bodies, nor do we recognize any future public health hazards.” What had they been doing these past two years? With incisive rhetoric, Shōzō pressed his case relentlessly for over an hour. Yet it was his solemnly delivered declaration—“Since the petition seeking constitutional protection has already passed, we wish to make such questioning as ours today the last of its kind”—that carried the weight of years of resentment, a sound wrung from the depths of his being.

On April 12, Shōzō guided Viscount Miura Gorō and other Diet members—Terada Hikotarō, Hiraoka Kōtarō, Hiraoka Manjirō, Ejima Kumeo, Komatsu Kiheiji, Akiubo Chikakane, Takaoka Tadazato, and Hanai Takuzō—to the affected areas. First, they came to Hirozawa Village on the opposite bank of Kiryu Town and visited the residence of Fujiu Sakijirō, a textile manufacturer. The Fujiu family's predecessor was a visionary who, as early as the Ansei era, recognized the suitability of the Watarase River's water for dyeing and dedicated himself to textile manufacturing. Sakijirō inherited his predecessor’s will and, in Meiji 7 (1874), opened a new channel to divert the Watarase River's waters into his residence's garden. However, from around Meiji 12-13 (1879-1880), no matter how meticulously they attended to it, they could no longer achieve good results in refining raw silk—the most crucial process in textile manufacturing. Therefore, having quickly recognized the encroachment of mining pollution, they dug new wells and began drawing well water for all their silk refining and dyeing processes. Moreover, all other riverside textile manufacturers who previously relied on the Watarase River for their water supply had dug wells in recent years. In October of the year before last, representatives from both Ashikaga and Kiryu towns had already submitted petitions to the authorities and appealed.

The group then went to Azuma Village and stopped by the office of Unryūji Temple. The reference materials—straw coated with copper residue, stunted wheat, dead mulberry roots, uprooted bamboo—none failed to seize the people’s gaze. They then followed the route through Funezukawa, Nishiyatada, and Yanaka, closely observing the state of exhaustion in the most severely affected areas, and none could help but cry out in shock at the devastation that far exceeded Shōzō’s usual accounts. On the fourteenth, Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Sone Arinosuke conducted an inspection of the affected areas and returned home after letting out a lament at the heartrending actual conditions. Sone, upon returning to the capital, immediately met with Home Minister Saigō and Vice-Minister Matsudaira and pressed them to implement countermeasures as soon as possible.

Upon overhearing this news, Shōzō's face momentarily brightened. Yet during this period, another profound concern had taken root in Shōzō's heart. Needless to say, he was agonizing over how to address his responsibilities regarding the parliamentary stipend issue. One day at an inn in Shibaguchi, when only he and Sabe remained together behind tightly closed shoji screens, Shōzō quietly revealed a fragment of his innermost thoughts. "I must renounce my parliamentary stipend."

Behind those blunt words lingered a resonance that seemed to reveal the still more complex depths of his heart.

“But,” Sabe peered at Shōzō’s face. “Since it’s legally stipulated, I don’t believe you alone need to resign from your parliamentary stipend.” “No, I must uphold the responsibility for my words to the utmost.” “Moreover, those words that exposed the government’s misconduct in the sacred halls of the Diet carry grave responsibility.” “Of course, since I am resolved to oppose it, that’s acceptable.” “However, because of this, I may never be able to stand as a Diet member again.”

“How could such a thing happen? The people of your hometown will undoubtedly continue to support you without fail.”

“The hearts of people are not so steadfast. People will surely call me a fool and abandon me. It is clear as day that I will fall into dire straits. They’ll only see that I’ve thrown away 2,000 yen—they won’t understand how much my warning to the nation could reduce national expenditure. And even if I could somewhat correct the corruption in people’s hearts—though the benefits would be beyond counting—they likely wouldn’t realize it.”

When told this, Sabe too grew concerned about how their local constituency might react after the stipend resignation. Twenty years earlier, Shōzō had secured his father’s permission to dedicate funds to his lifelong political campaign—money that had been entirely exhausted in his first two elections. All subsequent election costs had been covered by donations from patrons in Asō District. Nor had the sums Shōzō dispersed for the mining pollution crisis been insignificant. Consequently, seven supporters had taken out a loan exceeding one thousand yen from Sano Bank under joint liability, with arrangements to allocate half the parliamentary stipend toward interest payments while gradually repaying the principal. Being largely privy to these circumstances, Sabe found himself all the more troubled by what might come—his anxieties magnified by intimate knowledge of their precarious finances.

“So, if you were to stop attending the Diet, what on earth would become of the mining pollution issue?” Sabe raised his anxious eyes reproachfully. “No, regarding the mining pollution issue, there are already many comrades within the Diet, so it’s not necessarily required for me to remain in the assembly hall. However, because of Yamagata and Hoshi, the Diet has been utterly defiled. This pernicious practice will undoubtedly wreak havoc on the Diet and political world for decades to come. Therefore, in order to deliver a major blow to this and make them reflect, I also feel that it is absolutely necessary to remain in the Diet as a member.”

Shōzō fixed his gaze intently, as if staring into the depths of his mind for a while— "But viewed another way," he thought, "if Yamagata has resorted to such disgraceful measures just to kowtow to the Hoshi faction, perhaps the power of the hanbatsu clique has weakened more than expected. When the people’s strength advances one step, they must naturally retreat another. In time, their influence too will dwindle away." His eyes remained focused on some invisible point. "Then there’s no need for me to stubbornly cling to my seat in the Diet chamber." "My struggle lies in this very quandary."

With those words, Shōzō closed his eyes as if sleeping. While gazing at that immovable figure, Sabe envisioned a great tree spreading its roots deep and wide beneath the earth. The struggles of a steadfast man take root where imagination cannot reach. He had steeped himself in such emotions... Until at last, the sound of spring rain trickling through gutters whispered quietly.

Before long, Shōzō put the innermost thoughts of that day into action. Namely, on April 13, carrying the "Resignation Notice for Parliamentary Stipend" in his breast pocket, he arrived by rickshaw at the House of Representatives, met with a clerk, and requested its submission. The clerk blinked in apparent annoyance from behind his glasses, “The aforementioned bill to amend the Diet Law has not yet received Imperial sanction.” “I’m afraid I cannot possibly accept this.”

With that, he flashed a dismissive smile. Shōzō glared at him and, “No, even if the law isn’t enacted—” he thrust his chest forward. “Since that bill has already passed both houses, I must resign to uphold my responsibility for my words.” “Moreover, as you see, this aged and exhausted body may not last from morning to night.” “Should I die of illness before the law’s enactment, I would fail to fulfill my responsibility.” “I would remain a villain even in death.” “It is precisely to prevent this disgrace that I submit my notice now.” “There exists no law refusing its acceptance.”

Not only did each word resonate with sincerity, but Shōzō’s face bore such severity that it seemed he would rebuke them harshly if refused again. The clerk, who had initially regarded Shōzō’s unkempt appearance with contemptuous eyes, now wore a resigned expression as he turned his gaze once more to the resignation notice addressed to Speaker of the House of Representatives Katō Kenkichi. In this manner, Shōzō’s resignation of his parliamentary stipend was immediately reported in newspapers the following day. With the exception of government-aligned papers and those of the Hoshi faction, every publication—whether in miscellaneous reports or editorials—praised Shōzō’s integrity. From philanthropists across the nation who had read the papers, telegrams and letters expressing gratitude arrived daily in bundles at Shibaguchi Inn. Among them, an elderly man named Kurihara Nobuchika from Anayama Village in Kitakoma District, Yamanashi Prefecture went beyond merely submitting a letter of thanks—he advertised this righteous act in three prefectural newspapers. There were even members of local youth associations and educators who made special trips to the capital to visit Shōzō. Yet for Shōzō, such attention brought an entirely unexpected sense of exposure. When he learned that the resignation procedures had been completed on the nineteenth, Shōzō distributed letters dated the twenty-first to his home electoral district. The text contained a full account of his stipend resignation process followed by these words:

“When that bill was brought before the Diet at that time, we comrades strove earnestly to oppose it and preserve the sanctity of Diet members. Yet through those nine immoral individuals’ doing, we were unable to achieve our long-cherished objective—the precious funds wrung from the people’s blood and sweat were seized through the deceitful schemes of those vile, corrupt clans. Truly, this brought us to unbearable indignation and tears.” “Having reached this juncture—as you well know—even in my destitution, drawing from their polluted streams is something this old man cannot do so long as my true mind remains unclouded. Therefore, persisting in my initial resolve, I have maintained vigilance against national expenditures and, to uphold sanctity before my own conscience, hereby resign all parliamentary stipends.” “Regarding my personal livelihood—having long received your generous support and borrowed no small sum still unreturned—I ought to have sought each of your approvals before resigning my stipend. Yet with state affairs demanding urgent attention, I completed the resignation without obtaining consent. I earnestly beg your understanding of these circumstances repeatedly. Though your approval was required, my spirit remains wholly unchanged; my sole intent lies in resigning the stipend—nothing more.”

Of course, regarding this matter, the people of the affected areas belatedly came to recognize Shōzō's integrity. This sentiment transformed into voices of sympathy for Shōzō's circumstances and led to a gathering of concerned citizens at Unryūji Temple. Year after year, they themselves were of course in dire straits due to the mining pollution damage. But he had fallen into poverty so stark it could be scrubbed bare—all to save us—and now, just ahead, a state where even daily survival would become a struggle loomed visible. How could we possibly remain silent? Because everyone shared this sentiment, it was unanimously resolved that the people of the nine villages would henceforth contribute fifty yen each month through pooled funds and present it to him.

On the 24th, as representatives, Yamada, Noguchi, Ōide, Yamamoto, Hara, and Aoki traveled to the capital and conveyed their collective will to Shōzō in a room at Shinano-ya. Tears overflowed from Shōzō's eyes as he listened in silence, and he struck his knee. “Thank you,” Shōzō said in a trembling voice. “Your profound kindness pierces me to the core.” “I deeply appreciate your consideration. Now, what we once called ‘the mining pollution issue’ has transformed into a matter of life and death itself.” “Even those who were numb to all feeling—not one remains unmoved by this.” “Should any among ten million souls remain unshaken by this, they would be no better than beasts.” “Even flighty Tokyoites now find themselves stirred in growing numbers.” “To receive fifty yen monthly—charity from those suffering this same plight—moves me more deeply than pledges of millions from untouched hands.” “Though I should humbly accept this... I cannot.” “Let me be clear—there is no hidden meaning here.” “My work against mining pollution is a spiritual crusade—one untouched by presence or absence of coin.” “Gentlemen—I must ask you to cease worrying over my personal affairs from this day forth.” “There is truly no need for concern.”

Surveying the people’s silent faces, Shōzō continued. “The outcome of life hinges on two factors: the amount of money one possesses and the resolve one holds in life. No matter how much wealth one may accumulate, without resolute determination, no meaningful achievement can follow. In life’s battles, each side must have its own allies and adversaries, strengths and weaknesses. Our victims’ strength lies in utter simplicity and poverty. The perpetrator Ichibei’s advantage stems from his wealth and guile. Only through these respective strengths does conflict take shape—if we abandon our virtues to contest his advantages, we compound weakness upon weakness, repeating twenty-four years of unbroken defeat. No—the poisoned lands spread wider each year, now nearing sixty thousand *chō*. When I consider this, these days it seems our opponents’ momentum advances with great strides while our own strength shrinks back. I even feel we may have been cornered into a state where prevention has become utterly impossible.”

Shōzō scanned their faces once more with a profoundly troubled gaze. The representatives could not muster any further words.

Two or three days later, Shōzō was admitted to Juntendō Hospital. As was often the case, he frequently experienced mental haziness, and it was also to treat his eye disease. However, the brain disease that he himself believed to be a chronic illness was largely caused by overwork. Therefore, when he was hospitalized and rested, his symptoms subsided somewhat within a few days. Taking about a week to heal his eye disease as well, he intended to return home immediately after being discharged. On May 2, Shōzō took up his brush in his hospital room and wrote to his nephew Sadassuke Harada in Ashikaga about this matter. And at the end of the letter, he continued writing, pouring out his emotions,

"The stipend issue is a matter of national principles, yet there are various judgments about it. Some call it a matter of personal morality, others a question of legal rights—but not a single person has yet regarded it as an issue of national principles. The mining pollution incident has been driven to extremity, while political reform instead sees yearly increases in corruption, decline in education, decay of religion—daily witnessing only an increase in corruption. Our endeavors have been nothing but failures. However, regarding life, there is this saying: 'Perseverance through a hundred setbacks.'"

Indeed, when Shōzō sat alone in his hospital room in silent contemplation, he could not help but feel deeply that "it was all nothing but failure." Several days later, he had to return to his hometown and hear that some of the joint guarantors of his debts resented this recent measure. It was said the parliamentary stipend had risen to 2,000 yen. With this, they could repay their debts and be free from responsibility. In other words, those who had been harboring such expectations had been unexpectedly refused by Shōzō, and in their excessive disappointment, they now held resentment.

Chapter 5

The mining pollution incident was drawing to another year’s close without any resolution in sight, and the destitution of these affected residents grew increasingly severe with the deepening cold. No household could make any preparations for the New Year. Without any hope, they could only spend each coming day in grief.

However, through the twenty-nine-year movement centered around Unryūji Temple's office, youths tempered by hardship had finally reached every hamlet. They did not merely wallow in grief over their misfortune. Even with no relief extended to them, they clung to the willpower needed to break through this impasse themselves. This very urgency demanded tighter unity among the affected residents' actions. Thus emerged the proposal at Unryūji Temple's October 21st meeting—to form what they termed the Mining Pollution Parliament. On December 22, draft regulations for this parliament were distributed village-wide under both Shibaguchi and Unryūji Temple offices' names.

“Members shall be selected from among the people of the affected regions who were born in the Meiji era.”

In principle, by deciding to organize with youths aged thirty-two and below, there lay a profound significance in their resolute purpose. Prior to this, in October, Shōzō had sent a written message to the Unryūji Temple office: "If they hear that many children perish from mining poison yet grieve no more than for dead dogs and cats, then they themselves become as beasts." "I earnestly desire to purge this stain from human society." "May you rally and strengthen one another, all you young patriots across the land."

Through this, concerned individuals continued investigating the living and deceased in each affected village. In November, the statistics were completed, and the first report was published. Then, with December’s arrival, the second report was made public. The ones who rushed about conducting this laborious investigation were Ida Heikichi, Iwasaki Sajū, Kameoka Maijirō, Niwada Tsuneyoshi, Tani Fusakichi, Noguchi Haruzō, Kobayashi Teishichirō, Moro Kinsuke, Matsumoto Eiichi, and Shitara Tsunehachi. They walked from one local government office to another for their investigation, but most town and village officials neglected even this matter of life and death under the pretext of being busy, and those who assisted them in the investigation were rare.

The statistics compared annual birth and death rates from Meiji 27 (1894) through 31 (1898), their numbers now laying bare how mining pollution's invisible harm had become irrefutable evidence written in human lives. Cases mirroring Funatsugawa's circumstances—which Shōzō had cited during his March 8th interpellation speech—stood plentiful. Take Shimoda in Kuno Village: fifty-one households where Meiji 31 saw five births against twenty-two deaths, percentages standing at 1.88% births to 8.63% deaths. Every hamlet told the same story—births far outpacing deaths around Meiji 27, only for mortality rates to swell severalfold since. Infant malnutrition and stillbirths dominated death records when examined. As for the circumstances surrounding these lives and deaths? No words sufficed beyond "tragic."

Shōzō set his eyes upon this investigative report and felt as though lead had been poured into his chest. Time and again he closed his eyes and pictured the skies over the afflicted lands, sighing from the depths of his heart again and again. On December 6, at a Constitutional Party representatives' social gathering held at Karasumori's Kogetsu, even as Shōzō stood to deliver a speech meant to foster camaraderie, he boldly demanded why they refused to investigate the mining-ravaged lands at their very feet—an act that drained all mirth from the assembly—and this too sprang from those same torments. Tanaka Shōzō, out of his principled refusal to compromise his integrity, had always considered it beneath him to frequent ministerial residences. But now, driven by urgency that overrode such scruples, he rushed daily between Diet sessions and the gates of Finance Minister Matsukata's, Education Minister Kabayama's, and Home Minister Saigō's official residences. These were men who had occupied cabinet seats when the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee was established in Meiji 30 [1897], and Shōzō believed he must first make them understand how their ineffective prevention works had doomed the afflicted regions to their current plight. Yet no matter how often he came, audiences were never granted. Most persistently he pursued Saigō—the official directly responsible for public protection—visiting him sixteen times by January of Meiji 33 alone.

On one hand, he also had to draft written inquiries to submit to the Diet. He also had to work tirelessly to secure a majority of supporters. By February 8, he had finally secured 129 supporters, and the written inquiry was also completed. Namely, it was titled "Written Inquiry Concerning Petitions Related to the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Problem," but particularly notable was the statement of reasons attached as reference material—its text meticulously detailed the tragic conditions in heartrending terms. In the final section, he wrote as follows. "If there appear to be deviations from the bounds of speech or breaches of linguistic decorum, it is because our bitter suffering defies description through brush or tongue; moreover, it is because we can no longer endure the torment of being torn asunder. Should even this life-risking petition fail to be adopted in its entirety, we mining pollution victims will find every lawful path to save our own households—in accordance with due order—utterly blocked."

Around this time, over twenty village heads from the affected regions traveled to Tokyo and submitted petitions—signed by five towns and forty-nine villages along with their representatives—to the relevant ministers and both Houses of the Diet. On February 9th in the House of Representatives, the moment the scheduled bell rang out, Shōzō entered the chamber first and took seat number forty-three. In the densely packed upper gallery, whispers of “Tochin, Tochin” rippled through the crowd at this sight.

But when Shōzō eventually took the podium in accordance with the announced order, neither his voice nor his demeanor displayed the usual fervor that day. His face was shrouded in shadows, as though his grief had sunk deep within and seethed with inner turmoil. In truth, still recovering from illness, both his body and spirit had bowed somewhat under the strain. "...Why does the government not value the people's petitions?" "Let us set that aside for now—what is the meaning of ignoring what the Diet resolved by majority?"

After criticizing the government for failing to act on "the petition seeking constitutional protection" that had passed the previous Diet session, Shōzō then turned his focus toward his own party: "If Tanaka Shōzō is in your way, then expel him and handle this issue properly." "Furthermore, if Count Ōkuma—being the man who issued the prevention orders—has reservations, then you should order him to leave the party." "Why do you torment yourselves by merely appointing superficial committees and casting it aside until today?" "I have no reservations." "This issue is a social problem and, since the thirtieth year, has become a national one." "It is by no means a partisan issue."

When one recalled Tanaka Shōzō of the Reform Party era—a man whose partisan zeal surpassed all others, who had brimmed with ambition and devoted himself entirely to the party—the existence of these words today seemed almost astonishing. But with what depth of disappointment must he have looked back upon those failed attempts at coalition among the democratic parties? Moreover, with what burning indignation must he have watched the ugliness of subsequent partisan strife?...The mining pollution issue had rather been shackled by partisanship. To resolve this, one needed to rise above party factions. Reflecting on years of bitter experience, Shōzō had finally arrived at this realization.

During this period, frequent meetings of representatives were held at Unryūji Temple's office. At the gathering on the 11th, they finally resolved to petition the capital, with a confidential notice of this decision also being sent to Shinanoya. No matter how coldly the government might act or how cruelly it might retaliate, the affected residents had no path but to appeal to the authorities. They determined the number of delegates for the capital petition as 1,064 people—a figure decided with the resolve that this would be their final appeal. According to surveys through last November, among a population of 18,473 there had been 3,255 deaths—exceeding mortality rates in unpolluted areas by precisely 1,064 individuals. This number thus represented those estimated to have met untimely deaths due to mining pollution. When representatives from Tochigi and Gunma prefectures organized a memorial service on the eighteenth of last month, they too had interred these 1,064 spirits.

On the 13th, Shōzō once again submitted two written inquiries and stood to deliver an explanatory speech. First, beginning with the reasoning behind the question—*if the natural productive capacity of the entire mining pollution-affected region were to be completely destroyed, what monetary value would remain*— “Why do matsutake mushrooms grow in the mountains? Because there are pine trees. If they cut down the mountain trees, matsutake mushrooms will not grow. If that relationship is severed, it goes without saying that sustaining life there becomes impossible. If we consider that the mining pollution will continue flowing at its current rate, I declare that the affected regions spanning over 60,000 chō will become completely barren within approximately sixty years.”

Having said that far, Shōzō drank from the cup of water, “As I have grown quite fatigued, I shall now read the written inquiry and ask for your leave.”

In truth, his face was swollen to an ashen hue, bearing a gloomier shadow than usual. Only those characteristic large eyes blazed fiercely, showing a ferocity that seemed ready to erupt at any moment. "Mining pollution kills people, and I question why the responsible ministers refuse to grant audiences to the petitioners. They neither halt the source of mining pollution nor purify its rivers, allowing the toxicity to intensify yearly, while acting as though blind to it all. Now, when people are being killed and driven to plead their desperate plight—why do local officials reject orderly petitioners? Why do ministers refuse them audiences? This is my question."

Just when one thought he would stop there, he continued his explanation at length. It was an irrepressible surge of emotion.

“Now, if I were to explain what categories comprise the majority of these deceased, it remains children and the elderly.” “There are many with frail constitutions.” “The robust may not perish easily, but even their bodies have deteriorated.” “When examining military conscription screenings, we’ve reached a grave situation where those fit for compulsory service have diminished.” “Thus these petitioners are not in ordinary health—they are semi-invalids.” “To treat these emerging semi-invalids as if they were rioters from famine years—to handle them no differently than those citizens who, fully sheltered by constitutional laws, come swarming forth in mobs under some deluded notion…”

Shōzō grimaced as though all avenues were exhausted. He then invoked the Fuchie Incident and continued appealing with anguished sorrow.

“During this session, I shall submit roughly one written inquiry per day, but I will not mount the podium to deliver questioning speeches for each one.” “There exists this most expedient phrasing about bearing no responsibility outside the Diet chambers—but outside those chambers, I assume full responsibility. To claim that whatever one might say about ministers carries no external consequence simply because it was uttered within these walls—such despicable logic finds no quarter in my mind.” “The profound human spirit recognizes no division between inside and outside parliamentary walls.” “I reject these narrow legalistic interpretations.” “Today I shall stop here and defer the remainder until tomorrow.”

Shōzō descended the stairs slowly, as if counting each step. But his bearing carried not so much fatigue as a grave solemnity—as though he had settled into desperate straits yet concealed his fighting spirit within. Just as Shōzō stood at the podium delivering his speech, unprecedented disturbances had erupted in the pollution-ravaged regions. Having returned to the waiting room, Shōzō was informed of a visitor and casually made his way to the meeting chamber. There waited Kato from the Shinanoya office, his face etched with tragedy, having rushed to deliver urgent news. The petition group that had departed Unryūji Temple that morning had met brutal suppression at Kawamata. Dozens lay injured in what resembled wartime chaos. Among them was Yamazaki Keijirō of Inubuse—who had boarded an emergency train mid-journey to reach Tokyo, filed a report at Shiba Police Station, and now received treatment for his wounds at the office.

When Shōzō heard this, his vision went pitch black, and with his chest sinking heavily, he leaned back against the chair. His hands trembled violently on his knees, and the shaking traveled down to the hem of his hakama. He had known about their coming to the capital to petition because there had been a notification. But this time—this time of all times—they must be coming with desperate resolve. How could I possibly stop them? He was tormented by such thoughts. For he knew all too well both the circumstances that had driven them into a corner and their state of mind. Moreover, since the Fuchie Village incident two years ago, he bore a heavy responsibility for his words. "Shōzō will not ask you to stop again. No—not only will I not ask you to stop again, but at that very moment, Shōzō shall stand or fall with you all." Those words from that time ceaselessly echoed within him. I never explicitly ordered them, "Come on out!" but had kept hoping they would maintain a completely earnest attitude in their actions. Moreover, regarding that point, he had never doubted that there were people he could trust. But no matter how earnestly they act and carefully plan their affairs, there are times when humans cannot prevent unforeseen mistakes from occurring. ……Shōzō had been sunk in such contemplation, but suddenly rose and left the House of Representatives with Kato.

When he returned to Shinanoya, Yamazaki’s bandaged head—surrounded by delegates who had come to the capital—immediately caught his eye. As soon as Yamazaki saw Shōzō, he straightened his posture and began recounting his ordeal with a face contorted by grief and indignation. “We were about thirty people who joined the group from Tatebayashi.” “More kept joining along the way until we numbered nearly three thousand by Kawamata.” “When we reached two chō before Kyūhakuba’s stone bridge in Kawamata, we saw hordes of police guarding the houses beyond.” “Military police stood behind them.” “Three hundred officers—maybe more.” “Mr. Noguchi at the front halted his horse and huddled with Ōide, Inamura, Nagashima, and Kamei.” “This bridge was our trial.” “We’d prepared boats after they removed the pontoon bridge last time—if we cleared this spot, the Tone River wouldn’t trouble us.” “We decided to push two boat-laden carts ahead so police would make way, then cross en masse.” “With that plan settled, we advanced.” “But officers blocked our path—‘Not another step! Disperse!’—all snarls and glares.” “Mr. Nagashima Yohachi up front tried reasoning when—wham!—five cops pounced and beat him senseless.” “Others charged the carts and flipped the lead one.” “The rear cart crashed into it—road blocked.” “Those behind just pressed forward blindly.” “Then cops rushed us with saber hilts.” “Then—they struck! Stabbed! Kicked! Stomped! Went wild like beasts!” “We never meant to fight—empty-handed—could only flee.”

"We threw down whatever dried rice we had and were driven into the fields and paddies, scattering in all directions like spiderlings." "They chased after us again and struck us down…." "Black smoke rose over the fields, as if it were a war…" “Does it not hurt terribly?”

Shōzō furrowed his brow in a pained manner and shifted his gaze to the bandage, whereupon the forty-year-old man’s sallow face suddenly contorted,

"They struck us with sabers." "Is this what they call protecting the people?" "We came out with the life-protection petition tucked in our coats." "And that…" His voice gave out, and Yamazaki hung his bandaged head. Then, from beneath the hands covering his face, a sob escaped. Tanaka clenched his hands on his hakama and listened silently as if attuned to the unspoken plea, but even on his closed eyelids, a glistening trail formed and slid down his cheeks.

“About how many were injured?” Shōzō blurted out. “Twenty people—or perhaps even more.” “After all, we were scattered over several miles—there’s no way to know who was injured or lying where.” “There must have been dead people as well.” Shōzō closed his eyes again and continued to groan as if something weighed heavily on his chest, then muttered to himself, “February thirteenth... February thirteenth.” Soon, that voice grew louder,

"What an ill-omened day February thirteenth is. Even if February thirteenth comes a hundred times—two hundred times—the mining pollution will not cease. The killing won’t stop!"

It was a voice like a broken bell. The people, startled, stared at Shōzō’s face, then exchanged uneasy glances with one another. But Shōzō let out another deep sigh, then fell still, as though asleep. The people too fell silent, each becoming absorbed in their own thoughts. Moreover, that very night, three or four individuals came to the capital with information; however, even regarding matters such as the number of injured, some claimed one hundred while others said three hundred—the figures varied widely due to each person’s partial observations and added speculation. It remained unclear whether there were any dead.

“Furukawa’s clerks were mingling while wearing police uniforms.” “There are those who say they definitely saw faces that looked like them.” “They insist those clerks must have incited the officers.” When one person said this, another added gravely, “They recognized our representatives’ faces—shouting things like ‘This one’s the ringleader! A bad apple! Take him down!’ as they charged at us.”

Shōzō, of course, could not help but doubt how much credibility those words held, but—

"Indeed, even if they weren’t Furukawa’s clerks, unless they were Furukawa Ichibei’s underlings, there would be no reason for them to act this way. Logically speaking, one could say they took bribes from Furukawa. If they were truly local police officers, they ought to regard the victims differently. They should know perfectly well how simple and compliant these victims have always been. The victims have never once resorted to violence before. Even two years ago in March, they heeded my words and returned home peacefully…"

As he said this, Shōzō pulled his inkstone box closer and began drafting the text of the inquiry he would submit to the House of Representatives the following day.

“There exists a grave incident wherein [the authorities] have ignored the urgent resolutions of both houses during the 13th Diet session, poisoning many affected residents to death and beating numerous citizens to death.” “How do you explain this?” He bit his brush and continued writing. “It is further alleged that dozens of Furukawa Ichibei’s followers—disguised in police uniforms—incited officers to intimidate victims and, through this violent act, conspired to assassinate the victims’ committee members and representative village mayors.” The very characters seethed with the fury burning in Shōzō’s heart.

The following morning brought yet another report. By synthesizing these reports, the circumstances spanning from their departure at Unryūji Temple to their arrival in Tatebayashi also took shape in rough outline. However, that morning’s newspaper carried a telegram from local officials to the Home Ministry—its contents sharply contradicted what had been reported thus far. The affected residents were branded as mobs and thugs who had perpetrated violence. Of course, this was unbelievable; Shōzō showed the newspaper to each person one by one to confirm the facts, and with each verification, his indignation flared anew.

When piecing together the villagers’ accounts, it went like this—

Late at night on the twelfth, when all household members had fallen asleep. The tolling of temple bells along the coast carried a sinister resonance on the night wind. Having previously agreed upon this as their signal, they soon left their homes’ thresholds, each carrying a day’s worth of rice balls and one *shō* of dried rice, wearing straw rain hats and wrapped in blankets. From under this eave, from that tree shadow, black shadows emerged one after another, drawn together as if pulled by an invisible force until they formed a group of fifty or sixty, then hurried toward Unryūji Temple.

In the spacious courtyard of Unryūji Temple, such numbers steadily gathered, reaching six to seven hundred people by around 1:00 a.m. Though February had come, the cold had yet to break—especially at midnight. The frigid wind sweeping across the riverbed pierced their skin unbearably. Bonfires began burning in several places. The pillars of fire scorching the darkened sky breathed faint vitality back into their somber faces. Some murmured among themselves in low voices; others had fallen silent while thinking of the wives and children they had left behind at home. Each and every one of them waited in that manner for instructions from their representatives, steeling themselves to wait for dawn.

Then, around 1:30 a.m., Tatebayashi Police Station Chief Ima Teppei entered with about fifty officers in tow. He appeared to go around saying something by each bonfire before suddenly standing in the courtyard's center and shouting, "By authority of the Public Assembly Law, you are ordered to disperse!" Yet not a single person moved in response. Some yelled, "This dispersal order is unjust!" but most merely exchanged glances and maintained an air of feigned indifference. Even these simple folk thought bitterly, *What nonsense—this is our life or death struggle!* They couldn't bring themselves to heed orders from officers so oblivious to the people's plight. Meanwhile, more protesters kept streaming through the mountain gate while singing the Mining Pollution Lament. New bonfires sprang up across the grounds. With voices in each group just beginning to swell into commotion, it remained highly doubtful how thoroughly the dispersal command had even reached them.

As soon as the police officers began scrambling about, shouts of abuse could be heard from the direction of the main hall’s office. Inspector Ima then ordered those inside the main hall to disperse and, shouting “Drag them out!,” stomped in with the police officers with their shoes still on. Then, at that moment, Noguchi Haruzō came riding through the mountain gate on horseback, wearing a war hat and leading thirty to forty men at the front. The moment he saw the commotion inside the hall, he shouted at the top of his voice: “This is our office. Unauthorized entry is not permitted. Now then, once preparations are ready, let’s depart quickly!”

However, the commotion inside the main hall showed no signs of subsiding. No sooner had the lamp gone out than lanterns swayed in the darkness—someone must have overturned a brazier—sending sparks flying and smoke swirling upward. A thunderous crash resounded as sliding doors collapsed. Even the crowd in the courtyard grew restless, erupting into clamorous shouts. The temple bell began tolling—though none could tell who struck it—and for a moment, chaos seemed imminent. This very scene was described in the telegram to the Home Ministry as follows: despite dispersal orders from Tatebayashi's police chief, rioters had extinguished lamps and thrown braziers while refusing to disband. Yet truthfully, only about ten people—young and old—had been sleeping under futons in that hall initially. Then came hordes of police officers trampling in with muddy boots to demand dispersal. When met with protests over this unreasonable command, officers tried dragging people out by force—yet they remained steadfast, refusing to obey what they saw as an unjust order. Who exactly threw the brazier remained unclear; when officers finally withdrew, perfect silence descended both within and without the hall.

From dawn until morning, more and more people gathered until their total number reached nearly two thousand. At 8:00 a.m., preparations for departure were finally ready, but first, a podium was set up on the front steps of the main hall. First, Abbot Kurosaki Zen'ō expounded on attaining spiritual composure through acceptance of fate. “The true significance of human death lies in how that death sustains all people.” “Gentlemen, since this marks your final campaign, act with mortal resolve to save three hundred thousand lives.” “Do not falter midway. Once departed, advance straight ahead like a train charging down its rails—overcome every obstacle in your path.”

Next, Sabe Hikojirō rose.

“We have gathered here in such numbers for no other purpose than to exercise our constitutionally granted right to petition.” “We have not violated any laws whatsoever.” “The gate of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce shall become our burial ground.” “Let us entrust ourselves to justice and righteousness, and march forth with unwavering resolve—fair and square—toward that grave which awaits us!”

Following that, Inamura Yoichi, Nagashima Yohachi, Niwada Tsuneyoshi, and Yamamoto Eishirō took turns standing up and delivered brief speeches. Some stressed that while this mass action required quiet and orderly conduct, their resolve must remain unshaken as they advanced; others emphasized maintaining proper behavior by refraining from buying food or alcohol en route, wearing simple clothing, and remembering cold-weather gear—reiterating the instructions posted in the main hall’s office since the previous day to ensure complete preparedness.

Finally, at 9:00 a.m., the group departed from Unryūji Temple, their resolve steeled in secret—they would not set foot on this land again alive unless their wishes were fulfilled. They crossed the Watarase River Temporary Bridge and headed toward Tatebayashi, each group singing the Mining Pollution Lament as they went. Thus, the group passed by the Tatebayashi Police Station’s gate, but here another commotion broke out. According to the telegram published in the newspaper, it was reported that violent intruders had stormed the police station. However, according to what Shōzō had heard, it was merely that Sabe Hikojirō and Yamamoto Eishirō—who had taken charge of the group’s rear—entered the police station to protest that such conduct regarding the Unryūji Temple main hall incident was unacceptable.

However, the actual circumstances surrounding this matter had not yet been conveyed to Shōzō. As the group approached the police station’s gate, a vigilant police officer seized the bridle of Noguchi Haruzō’s horse and tried to pull him off. Those nearby gathered around Noguchi, and with the crowd’s momentum, managed to pull both man and horse back outside the gate. At that moment, Kawashima Tamiya, Urushihara Kenji, and Ono Kumajirō—the three men at the crowd’s forefront—were arrested for allegedly resisting the officers. Thereupon, the crowd surged through the gate again, shouting in unison for the trio’s return. Over a dozen officers, ultimately unable to quell the unrest, wrote “We will return them now—stay calm!” in large letters on paper and posted it at the entrance. Yet when the three emerged, Kawashima bore multiple facial wounds with blood streaming down. Nagashima and the others grew incensed, yelling “Why did you injure him?” and “We won’t accept the wounded without an explanation!”, showing no sign of backing down. Then Sabe and Yamamoto rushed to the scene. Inspector Hasegawa proposed having doctors from both sides examine the injured and deferring judgment on culpability, to which Sabe agreed. He pacified the crowd by stating they would negotiate with the police and led everyone outside the gate. Meanwhile, the group’s vanguard pressed onward toward Kawamata. Noguchi remounted his horse, thrusting a white flag inscribed with “Namu Amida Butsu” into his collar, while Ōide Kihei rode a rickshaw at their head.—Such was the truth revealed in later days.

On the night of the 14th, detectives from the Metropolitan Police Department arrived and took Yamazaki Keijirō away. For some reason, he was not returned that night.

Chapter 6

On February 15, when the House of Representatives opened at 1:30 p.m. and the Speaker’s schedule report concluded, the first to take the podium was Shōzō.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I had originally intended to present my questions in an orderly manner this year and disclose them for your reference in due course. However, due to the emergence of an urgent and grave matter here, I have submitted additional written inquiries.” “I believe none among you patriotic ladies and gentlemen would disregard such a matter, but this issue is unprecedented—owing to its very novelty, people in society do not fully grasp the sequence of events in this mining pollution incident, for there has never been a problem like it in all of history.” “Therefore, no matter how earnestly I have delivered speeches thus far, I have been met with suspicions that I may be exaggerating or overstating matters, but as of today, whether even half of what I have stated thus far has reached your ears—or whether I have managed to convey even half of the facts—it has come to such a point.”

Shōzō cleared his throat loudly and continued.

"Therefore, no matter how I may strive to advocate for this matter today with impartiality—for the sake of the nation and the affected residents—the fact remains that due to various circumstances, my words are all too often misinterpreted. Thus, I have resolved to make one great decision here."

On this day, the clear skies that had persisted for days clouded over completely, and the chamber too was enveloped in a gloomy atmosphere—yet Shōzō’s solemn declaration tensed the entire room like the sudden strike of a watchman’s clapper. Those who had been resting their cheeks on their hands sat up straight and turned their gaze toward the podium. “I have long been a member of an old political party, and up until the day before yesterday, whenever there was cause to attack the government, I attacked them quite vigorously. From now on, there is no room for mere attacks. I may come to be capable of taking concrete action. However, even if some may believe that Tanaka Shōzō opposes the government because he belongs to the Progressive Party or the Ōkuma faction—though such petty motives do not exist within me—people may harbor such thoughts. Furthermore, even if base interpretations are imposed upon me—claiming that I speak for the sake of a political faction or my own electoral district while corpses lie piled before my eyes—Tanaka Shōzō is but a man of such measure, and that is acceptable. Yet we must not allow this crucial issue to be buried beneath such interpretations and lead the people of this nation astray. Today, I wish to inform all members of every party that I hereby resign from the Constitutional Party effective immediately.”

The seats of every party showed signs of unrest, and whispers arose here and there. But Shōzō paid it no heed, his brow brimming with unwavering resolve as he continued.

“Having resigned from the Constitutional Party, what manner of arguments might emerge as I intensify my attacks against the government? Even when confronting other parties, I may no longer need to exercise restraint from this point onward.” “Now that I have resigned from the party to which I have been committed since around Meiji 12, I hereby entreat you all—regardless of political faction or official station—to treat this matter as a singularly special issue. With this act, I believe I have fulfilled my personal obligation.” “Though it may be impolite, I am not one of those party members who slithered in through the back door—I humbly request that you view this matter with your fair discernment.” “I hear that the Constitutional Party departed for the affected areas this morning—a most commendable effort. However, had I remained a member, people would surely assume that Tanaka was behind it, and thus credit the Constitutional Party’s involvement to my doing.” “Since I have resigned, this work—indeed, the Constitutional Party’s work—has nothing whatsoever to do with Tanaka Shōzō.” “In terms of moral duty, I deeply regret having reached this decision without consulting you, my fellow party members. However, having resolved this matter through my own convictions, what grieves me is that this issue has compelled me to take such action.”

Having thus clearly declared his resignation from the party, Shōzō—with the demeanor of one who had cast off all burdens—suddenly changed his tone. First, he explained point by point, citing reports from the affected residents’ side to demonstrate how every piece of information from government sources was falsifying the facts, “This semi-invalid here does not carry so much as a blade.” “This makes the fourth time, but I carried nothing during the previous three either.” “This time, I naturally cannot carry anything either.” “Nor is there any need for me to carry anything.” “However, for what reason did they sandwich and attack us, causing injuries?”

he glared and rebuked them. As Shōzō described the scene’s horrors with utmost intensity, an aura of dread gushed forth from the podium, raining down upon the people’s heads. “If—gentlemen—the affected residents had been carrying anything, what might have transpired?” “As I myself have not witnessed these matters firsthand nor state them with full conviction, discrepancies may exist.” “I implore you in your mercy—should you but lodge a single night, you could hear these accounts in full. Thus I earnestly entreat you to listen to their stories by visiting the actual sites.”

The entire hall fell silent, glistening tears spilling from Shōzō’s eyes. He continued speaking, invoking the Fuchie Village Incident from March two years prior: “Thus, gentlemen, by personally persuading them to return home, I have now assumed full responsibility. When they came forth repeatedly before, I knew nothing of it. This time, I am not wholly ignorant that the people of the affected areas are mobilizing. Should any wrongdoing exist in this matter, I will not flee from it. As I have previously stated, I do not speak only within these Diet chambers. Beyond these walls too, I intend to declare openly my connection to these events. It was not I who ordered them to come forth. It is precisely to earn your trust—to prove there is no falsehood in what I present today—that I speak even of such things.”

Shōzō wore an expression overwhelmed by a tumult of emotions and fell silent despondently, but “Furthermore, should there be even one or two individuals in this chamber—however lacking in influence—who entertain this foolish theory that ‘this Tanaka Shōzō acts thus because he is a House of Representatives member with electoral district considerations,’ thereby bringing misfortune upon both the affected residents and the nation through such circumstances, I shall resign as a Diet member forthwith.” “If there are even a few such individuals, I will resign and no longer appear in this chamber.” “I intend to work behind the scenes as your humble servant.” “I am of a mind to resolutely submit my refusal to Your Excellency the Speaker even today.” “However, were I to submit my resignation today, I would be unable to ascend the podium tomorrow. Therefore, it is my intention to deliver this final address now and then resign as a Diet member.” “I earnestly beseech you to comprehend my true intentions.” “How could this issue possibly be Tanaka Shōzō’s problem alone?” “Even within the government itself—this being an issue that has been addressed as a domestic matter for these past thirty years—particularly last year saw our citizens persist with their three-year petition drive until it was finally approved by both houses of the Diet in its third year.” “That is to say, in both houses of the Diet, they have adopted the policy of granting constitutional protection.” “I earnestly hope you will exert your utmost efforts to ensure its thorough implementation.”

Applause erupted from all directions. The applause subsided only to surge again, continuing unabated until Shōzō returned to his seat.

This resignation declaration delivered a profound shock to the people. Shimada Saburō, who had been Shōzō’s long-time political ally but had voluntarily distanced himself during Meiji 30 and 31 due to their disagreement over whether to halt mining operations, was also among them.

Shimada headed straight from the Diet to the Mainichi Newspaper Company, where he served as president, by rickshaw.

The company occupied a red brick building at the corner of Owari-chō—a relic from the early Meiji era. Climbing the steep, narrow staircase that employees had nicknamed “Hyōtogoe Pass,” Shimada entered the editorial room without once relaxing his grave expression. After sweeping his gaze across the room, he marched straight to Kinoshita Naoe’s desk. “Tanaka has finally resigned from the party today.” He spoke in a somber voice, his face still suggesting unvoiced thoughts, then continued: “As I’ve said before, we must now uncover the full truth of the mining pollution issue and pave the way for its resolution. Leave at once—tonight if possible.”

The Mainichi Shimbun had already posted an announcement that morning about dispatching Kinoshita as a special correspondent. Kinoshita departed for the mining pollution-affected areas that night.

On the 16th, the Constitutional Party held a general meeting of its Diet members. Ichishima Kenkichi presented his observations from inspecting the affected areas and his opinion that the implementation of prevention measures was insufficient, whereupon they resolved to submit a proposal to reestablish the investigative committee. Also on this day, newspapers in the capital reported discrepancies in official bulletins, publishing telegrams from the prefectural office that stated: “Though the detailed count of civilian injuries remains unclear, none were injured by police officers,” and “From the outset, police officers took care to bind swords with hemp ropes to prevent accidental harm, hence not a single patrolman drew his blade.”

Kinoshita Naoe departed from Fukiage Station on the Takasaki Line by rickshaw toward Tatebayashi that morning. A frigid wind sweeping down from the Nikko-Ashio mountain ranges whipped up sand and soil as it blew directly against them. Even a rickshaw pulled by two people struggled to make progress. To the left, in the distance above Jōshū’s blue-black mountain range, the snow-capped Asama loomed starkly while tattered dark clouds streamed across the sky in a fearsome display.

Eventually, they crossed the Tone River and arrived at the site of the Kawamata disturbance. Heading further north, roughly scrawled messages left by the group along their journey lingered faintly on roadside utility poles and signposts—phrases like “Ashio Mining Pollution Victims March to the Capital” and “1,064 Victims Die Miserably”—their faded traces still evoking memories of that time. That night, he stayed in Sano and sent his first dispatch to Tokyo.

On the 17th, Kinoshita turned back toward the coastal affected areas and walked through the villages. Everywhere he went, people recounted the events of that tragic day. In a half-dead state and unable to stand on their feet, fifteen individuals had been apprehended at the scene. Nagashima Yohachi, Tanagami Chūkichi, Ōmori Ryūkichi, Shimada Danzō, Nakata Zenjirō, Fukuchi Hikozō, Koyama Tōhachi, Kuroda Mokichi, Ōmitsu Zenpei, Ishii Gonsaburō, Moro Sōjirō, Nomura Chiyozō, Taniguma Jirō, Sekiguchi Takichi, Horiguchi Genkichi.

Since all of them were injured, Yoshikazu Shionoya—the mayor of Sanuki Village—along with concerned citizens who could no longer stand by idly, took them into the nearby Shinnyo-in Temple and summoned the village doctor Kinaroku Takahashi to provide emergency first aid. Yet even during treatment, their restraints were not removed, their clothes remaining caked in mud. Eventually strung together in a chain, they were delivered through the evening haze to the Tatebayashi Police Station they had earlier showered with curses. Only Nagashima, being completely unable to walk, was placed in a rickshaw. He had been thrown into a muddy moat and crawled out drenched like a rat, only to be captured while collapsed in a mulberry field. He sustained bruises to his head, eyes, arms, and legs—his eye so severely swollen that he couldn’t open one lid. Even seated in the rickshaw, every jolt reverberated through his aching hips and legs with unbearable intensity. The cold wind bit into his body soaked through to his underclothes, and by the time they reached the station, he had lost the power of speech.

Muneta Chūshichi, Inamura Yoichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Yatsu Tomisaburō, Kamei Tomoharu, and Arai Kazō were taken into custody from their homes on the 15th. On the 16th, yesterday, villagers' homes were subjected to frequent house searches. Warrants for arrest were being issued one after another, and rumors spread that every last man was being thrown into prison. Some, terrified by this, had already fled, while many others who remained were confined to their homes even without fleeing. Some lay groaning with unhealed bruises, while others had gone to Maebashi on errands such as delivering items to detainees. Every village lay hushed and devoid of vitality.

“What could the authorities possibly intend to do with us…” There were times when the women would ask such questions, but Kinoshita could offer no answers. Having learned that an old man named Niwada Genpachi in Shimowata, Azuma Village knew the full circumstances well, Kinoshita resolved to visit him. Genpachi appeared about sixty years old—the very image of a robust elder. He led Kinoshita to a riverside bamboo grove and abruptly seized a green stalk as thick as a man’s grip. After shaking it lightly two or three times, the thick bamboo slid effortlessly from its base, trailing beard-like roots.

“Government officials claim I’ve been spreading sulfuric acid to stage some deceptive act, but just look at this vast bamboo grove—do you really think anyone could spread chemicals across all this? One glance should tell you it’s impossible.”

The old man said this, raised his ruddy face with one eye, and laughed—Ha ha ha… As dusk fell, shadows crawling across the ground took on a desolate chill. The old man insisted he stay overnight without fail. However, Kinoshita knew the household head too numbered among those imprisoned. Noticing his hesitation, the old man added magnanimously, “There’s no need for formalities.” That night Kinoshita bathed at the neighboring new house. By the backdoor shelf, a bean lamp’s light traced faint uncertain circles. In spring’s chill night wind, flames beneath the bath kettle sputtered weakly. Kinoshita soaked in the tub, today’s impressions floating before his closed eyes. In the dim earthen-floored space, both households’ wives whispered together in hushed tones,

“What will become of us?”

As they spoke these words, their long sighs reached him with such uncanny clarity that even the rise and fall of each breath became distinctly audible. The master of this new house was not among those charged, but on this day too he had gone to Maebashi concerning matters of delivering provisions.

After dinner, when they sat facing each other in the center of the spacious tatami room, the old man spoke of the time before the mining pollution had seeped in, his demeanor filled with evident emotion— “I have something I wrote here. Since I’ll be reading it, please do listen.” The old man took out a thickly bound stack of ruled paper and spread it out beneath the lamp. It was a record that Genpachi had spent about three months documenting the state of extinction among birds, beasts, fish, and insects, part of which he had also sent to the Shibaguchi office in the spring of the year before last. The old man’s gravelly voice, reading in a measured cadence, resonated through the still night air.

“...Ten days had passed since the start of the New Year when snow fell seven sun—nearly eight inches—to over one shaku, nearly a foot deep. Though the cold showed no sign of relenting, spring had arrived nonetheless. When clear skies came the following day, the snow began gradually melting from around eight or nine in the morning until ten o’clock.” In the rice paddies too, here and there in sunlit spots where the light fell well, soil began emerging from beneath the snow. The sight of heat haze rose before them—the warmth ascending from the soil like steam. “Yet in paddies where mining pollution damage reaches depths from eight or nine sun to three shaku,” he continued, “no warmth rises from the earth.” Reading through “Awakening of Insects in February” and “Grain Rain in March,” he pressed onward: “Grain Full in April—the middle phase.” “In mountains, forests, paddies and fields, snakes once abounded.” “Tiger keelbacks slithered here, striped snakes there—burrowing snakes and blue-green snakes too, even Kaname snakes. But in these poisoned lands now? Not one remains worth mentioning.” “Along field boundaries we cultivated trees called utsugi.” “Their roots grow shallow, making them ideal boundary markers.” “Pure white unohana blossoms would riot across these branches.” “When these flowers bloomed, cuckoos sang and darted everywhere—but now? With insects and spiders gone from the poison, not a single call remains.”

Grain in Ear in the fifth month: firefly hunting, barley and wheat harvest. Summer Solstice: bamboo brooms, swallows, rice planting. Minor Heat: cicadas, dragonflies, centipedes, bats. Major Heat brought the Doyō-period floods known as raging torrents. And when White Dew arrived in August, there was rice in the paddies, millet in the fields, buckwheat, soybeans, adzuki beans, upland rice, peas, daikon radishes, onions, potatoes, sorghum, soybeans again, turnips, burdock, carrots, and perilla. In the groves: oak mushrooms, bamboo grass mushrooms, enoki mushrooms. Japanese tits, bull-headed shrikes, and the countless fluttering wings of migratory birds. On the Watarase River, there were casting nets for sea bass, young sea bass, and mullet; salmon nets; and bag nets for eels. Old Man Genpachi’s voice thus unfurled the bounties of nature from before the disaster, but—

"...Since the mining pollution disaster, bamboo and trees withered; rice harvests diminished; straw yields dwindled; no barley stalks remained—no rapeseed or mustard grew; firewood vanished; fodder for horses disappeared; trampling grass ceased; mowing grass perished." "Livestock feed and fertilizers—all such provisions had been lost—most pitiable were those people dwelling in mining-poisoned lands."

When he read that far, the old man suddenly turned to look back at Kinoshita, “The vegetables in the bowl I served you earlier—truth be told, I ended up having to go all the way to the next town to buy them.” “It sounds utterly preposterous.” “Ha ha ha…” That seemingly hearty laughter struck Kinoshita with an eerie chill. The reading resumed.

"When the season of heavy snow arrived in November, daikon radishes, burdock, onions, and potatoes were harvested in abundance." As for these potatoes and such, people would dig holes in fields or along roadsides and store five to seven horse-loads of them there. In each household, there were as many as three, four, or five of these mounds, so they would each inscribe their family’s mark or surname upon them and sow barley seeds into these. When spring arrived, the barley would grow lush and green, becoming a memorable sight; but now, due to the mining pollution, since they could no longer harvest potatoes, no matter where one walked, these mounds were nowhere to be found. When the season of Major Cold arrived in December, raccoon dogs and foxes would roam around the eaves of houses and residential areas in great numbers. Raccoon dogs barked in gruff "gai-gai-gai" tones, foxes yipped sharp "kon-kon-kon" cries, and there were also creatures that screeched piercing "kain-kain-kain" calls. When people buried carrots and such in the soil around their estates, animals would dig them up and eat them—but due to the mining pollution, there were now no mice in the fields, no insects, and few fish. Young people under twenty likely knew nothing of this. In addition, from April through September, there had been countless varieties of grasses. Among them were field horsetail in the paddies and leechweed in the rice fields—plants we called the most pernicious of weeds—but due to the mining pollution, not a trace of them remained. It defied description. "The only things that now existed were lawn grass and a type of rush referred to as *suginari*, which spread in abundance."

When the old man finished his long recitation, the night had deepened profoundly. The fire in the brazier had turned to ashes, and the nine-year-old boy who had initially been sitting quietly beside his grandfather had at some point pressed his face against the man’s lap and was breathing softly in sleep.

On this day, in the House of Representatives, Higashi Ryōsaburō first stood and condemned the trampling of petition rights. Following this, at exactly two o'clock, Shōzō took the podium for the fourth time since the start of the year.

“Today—regarding the principle that ‘not knowing one approaches national ruin *is* national ruin’—I intend to pose my questions.” “This may sound like political discourse, but every aspect of this reality stems from the mining pollution incident—there is nothing here untouched by politics.” “I say this before earning your reproach—I beg your forbearance.” “I too am exerting myself to the utmost.” “Let this—please—be the final day.” “Today’s interrogation constitutes an address to rescue our Japan, which teeters on the brink of ruin.” “If you believe Japan possesses a government, you err.” “If you imagine there exists a nation, you err.” “Should those governing fail to comprehend this, they prove themselves ignorant of our having already reached national collapse.” “He who knows his folly ceases to be fool.” “He who knows not his folly embodies true folly.” “Thus my inquiry’s essence: slaughtering citizens constitutes slaughtering the state.” “Defiling laws constitutes defiling the state.” “The people themselves murder their country.” “To plunder wealth, massacre citizens, and shatter statutes—never have I heard of any realm committing such acts yet enduring unruined.” “I suspect you yourselves harbor this knowledge.” “If knowing yet persisting, this becomes tyranny compounded.” “Government constitutes a collective entity—this very entity unwittingly sinks into depravity.” “This is the government’s failing.” “Does the government know this? Or knowing, can it not amend?”

"This is the crux of my questioning." "This is no sudden disorder—the nation's collapse has deep roots." Having said this, Shōzō displayed a desperate intensity, his face brimming with fury from the very start— "I must apologize for speaking when my strength is spent..." he prefaced—then declared: "The Minister knows full well how to exploit even a mere inch of black soil strata like those of Nasu Moor, should it lie within his domain." "Why don't you use such ingenuity for the public good?" he retorted, then launched into a recounting of the mining pollution's history. In this manner, citing examples of their neglected duties and evaded responsibilities, he lambasted each ministry one after another.

“If you think this doesn’t constitute a ruined nation—do you still believe Japan basks in eternal peace? These antiquated mindsets can no longer be tolerated. Yet among today’s youth, no vigorous souls have emerged to shoulder the nation’s burdens—leaving both young and old equally worthless. The elderly comprehend nothing. The youth lack backbone. Even were they spineless or ignorant—had they sincerity between them—this land might yet endure. But when fools grow insolent while perfecting only malice, not a shred of worth remains anywhere. We cannot lay blame solely upon the government. I myself lacked proper education from the start, and now age claims me. Had we even flawed schooling, that might suffice—but we’ve none, and inherently lack the caliber to bear this nation’s weight. You youths at least possess learning—were you to act earnestly, some miraculous chance might spare this country’s destruction. Yet given our present state—it won’t be spared. It has fallen. It lies already fallen. To persist down this path—they speak of impending ruin? Ruin has come! How can they still fancy it unruined when it lies shattered—what madness grips them?”

Lowering the arm he had been swinging with fiery rage etched across his weathered face, Shōzō bit his lip for a moment. His sideburns streaked with white quivered visibly. “Today’s questioning concerns the mining pollution incident—one manifestation of such national crisis.” “Yet this matter never reaches your ears.” “The reason our appeals go unheeded lies partly in this being a novel problem, but also because society itself has gradually taken on a state akin to mining pollution—rendering people numb to the issue itself.” “As these matters concern an increasingly wretched populace sinking deeper into misery, I implore you gentlemen to extend your aid.” “While I remain in this chamber, I must defend them—but to brand these victims as violent ruffians constitutes a gross miscarriage of justice.”

Having thus touched upon the Kawamata Bridge Incident and relentlessly pursued where responsibility for the disturbance lay— “Very well—if you insist on labeling this an ‘Assembly of Violent Groups,’ then I too am one among them! So why haven’t you arrested me first, whether this Diet session is open or closed? If this truly constitutes a major incident like an Assembly of Violent Groups, then even Diet members should be shown no mercy—should they not? I have never engaged in incitement, but I have indeed given speeches far and wide advocating for people’s rights and matters of public health. Therefore, if fools in society were to see this, they might perceive it as incitement. Call it whatever name you like. Since they are the ones labeling it, there’s nothing to be done. If there is to be any arrest, let them arrest me first. I will neither run nor hide. Since I reside in Shibaguchi 3-chome, I care not whether the Diet is in session or otherwise—should official summons come, I will present myself at any time. If you make such grand claims about an ‘Assembly of Violent Groups,’ then why did you not proceed against Tanaka Shōzō? If you would go so far as to slaughter the people, then why do you not arrest and investigate Tanaka Shōzō? Should I call them blustering idiots or utter fools? If these Diet proceedings were not subject to His Majesty’s review, I would hurl every vile insult imaginable and berate them with all the cruelty they deserve—but mercy upon mercy, I shall hold back. You who are ministers of a constitutional government—whether viewed as mean-spirited, greedy, or cowardly—by what means do you presume to bear the weight of this nation? The fate of this nation today does not permit such carefree complacency!”

Shōzō severed his words at the peak of his roaring tirade and glared across the entire chamber. Then, his expression took on a look as though he had somewhat managed to vent his pent-up frustration, “I know nothing of foreign affairs and thus will not speak on them, but if matters within our own borders remain as they are now, it stands to reason that nothing can be accomplished.” “If we were to overthrow today’s government—though it would be a pity for those who follow—could it even be done?” “Even if Mr. Ito were to take charge, or Mr. Okuma, or Mr. Yamagata—well, I think they’d all end up much the same.” “For the simple reason that those who ought to aid these people have become not founders but successors—because we’ve entered an era where they seek only to build their own wealth—no matter who takes charge, nothing will change.” “As for what should be done from here on out—even I do not know.” “I earnestly hope—this nation belongs to no single person—that those who have assumed the roles of today’s officials and today’s Diet members bear an immense responsibility.” “Setting aside past matters for now—from this point forward, I earnestly beseech you to act with sincerity and earnestness for the nation’s sake, and ensure this country does not collapse—this is what I implore of you today.” “How can those in the government regard something that has perished to this extent as not having perished?” “Do they truly believe it has perished exactly as Tanaka Shōzō declares?” “What do you have to say for yourselves?” “This is the essence of my questions.”

When Shōzō descended from the podium in a state of having completely exhausted his vigor, the large clock on the wall pointed to 3:05.

The Mainichi Shimbun featured the mining pollution incident in its editorials for three days starting on the 18th, and on the 19th, it filled an entire page with Kinoshita’s second letter. Other newspapers had been reporting on the Kawamata Bridge Incident nearly every day since its occurrence, while also publishing sympathetic editorials, so public sympathy had finally begun to coalesce. At the Shinanoya office, letters of sympathy from unknown individuals piled up like a mountain. Miura, a milkman from Shirogane Imazato-chō, came to offer Shōzō free daily deliveries of two *gō* of milk each morning.

On the 19th, at the House of Representatives, Shōzō took the podium for the fifth time. "It is utterly outrageous to inflict violence upon these law-abiding citizens who have petitioned with perfect order—these people unrivaled in their compliance—and further to brand them with such defamatory labels as 'Assembly of Violent Groups.'" With this sharp declaration, he read aloud the essence of his inquiry—"Regarding the Matter of Deeming Law-Abiding Citizens' Petitions an Assembly of Violent Groups"—and descended from the podium. Then, on the 21st, an answer document from Prime Minister Yamagata Aritomo addressing Shōzō's questions from the 17th reached the Speaker's hands.

“The inquiry’s purport does not capture its essential points; therefore, we decline to respond.” “The foregoing constitutes our response.” On the 23rd, Shōzō attended the House of Representatives bearing twenty-four letters of inquiry. It marked his sixth ascent to the podium.

The Diet, now extended into its fourth day and being the eve of the closing ceremony, still had many bills remaining. Out of deference to this situation, Shōzō mostly confined himself to reading aloud the main points of his argument, but concluded with a brief explanation: "I want all government officials never to forget His Majesty the Emperor exists— "I want them not to forget that there are subjects," he declared bitterly.

On the 26th, the Mainichi Shimbun published Kinoshita’s third letter—an account of Ashio—and subsequently began serializing his editorials examining deficiencies in mining pollution prevention works day after day.

One afternoon toward the end of that month, Nomura Honnosuke came to Kinoshita’s desk in the editorial room, “Mr. Tanaka says he would like to see you.”

However, Kinoshita wouldn’t have imagined it was Shōzō just from being told that. When Kinoshita opened the glass door of the reception room adjacent to the editorial office, there sat a disheveled old man, both elbows propped on the edge of a large round zelkova table, clutching his head covered in unkempt hair, perfectly still as if asleep. From the ceiling with water-stained paper patches hung a single gas lamp pipe, and bookshelves blocked both walls. Devoid of any decoration, it was a drab room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

When called, Shōzō jerked his head upright as if roused from sleep and peered through his triangular double-lidded eyes. His gaze burned fiercely intense, yet his large round face held no trace of color, bearing a weariness like threadbare cloth washed too many times. When Kinoshita introduced himself, Shōzō turned toward the young man, pressed his forehead against the table in greeting for their first meeting, then untied the cloth bundle and withdrew a notebook of newspaper clippings while— “With all my rushing about day and night, I’ve ended up without even time to glance at the newspapers—”

He muttered as if talking to himself and furrowed his brow deeply. When he did so, it appeared as if all his physical and mental fatigue converged there at once. Shōzō had come specifically to express his gratitude to Kinoshita regarding the article that had criticized the ineffectiveness of the Ashio mining pollution prevention works. In the middle of speaking, Shōzō suddenly closed his eyes, "My brain isn't working well..."

With that, he shook his head. Each time, wrinkles formed between his brows. At times, he seemed to lose the thread of his own words. It was overwork.

Kinoshita murmured this within his heart and averted his gaze. Before long, Shōzō suddenly jerked upright as if someone had tapped his shoulder, “I’ve taken too much of your time.” He hastily rewrapped the cloth bundle and pushed himself up from the chair. His movements remained unsteady even while standing. As Kinoshita watched from the stairhead, Shōzō gripped the iron handrail with his left hand while using the hem of his double-layered overcoat to sweep mud from each descending step. Neither could have imagined this first encounter would later bind Kinoshita to Shōzō’s deathbed vigil.

Chapter Seven

It was March 26th of that year. As he secluded himself in a back room of the Shinanoya inn where visitors came without cease, that day for some reason, the lonely figure of his elderly wife keeping watch over the Konaka household in his absence kept floating before his eyelids. Perhaps it was because he had recently received word that she had been slightly unwell. Shōzō removed the lid of his inkstone while listening to the cawing of a crow that had alighted on the neighboring roof.

"First: Regarding Your Lordship's actions at the time of my father Shōzō's passing in the 24th year of Meiji (1891)—though I had made no preparations whatsoever—through Your Lordship's devoted efforts over many years in appropriately arranging provisional matters for my elderly father according to his station, the funeral preparations were carried out without issue. On behalf of myself, as his child fulfilling my role, this was entirely due to your gracious care, for which I am profoundly grateful." "Since then, having performed no meritorious deeds of my own, yet being graciously entrusted for many years with all matters—from household affairs during my absence to ancestral memorial services—I now belatedly offer my deepest gratitude." "In any case, I humbly beseech Your Lordship to continue extending your gracious assistance henceforth as well. Respectfully,"

He set down his brush there but then realized he had not yet written a single word about his elderly wife. “On the second day, many discourtesies occurred; despite Your Lordship’s recent convalescence and your most careful efforts, I humbly beseech you to provide relief regarding the lack of breast milk among women afflicted by mining pollution.”

he added. In any case, for something written merely as a chance courtesy note guided by past considerations, this had become far too thorough. It was true that the events of that time had been etched into his heart, but as for why he was now belatedly expressing gratitude anew, the secret lay in his recent state of mind. As stated in the text—"without any meritorious deeds"—during this period, he found himself frequently looking back on his past half-life, stirred by feelings akin to repentance. No—more than that—it was that some premonition regarding the future had welled up within him. To speculate further, it was at this time that Shōzō had already quietly harbored a profound resolve regarding his own fate.

Yet for Shōzō, there remained countless pressing problems that would not leave his mind for even an instant. The Kawamata Bridge Incident had also seen arrest warrants issued under the usual charge of Assembly of Violent Groups, with those targeted reaching sixty-eight individuals; already, the majority had been confined in Maebashi Prison. There was also the matter of comforting those people. There were also matters such as commissioning lawyers and visiting the homes of those left behind. Moreover, not a single day could be neglected, for the lives of the affected residents were being eroded away day by day. That was also why he had earnestly requested his elderly wife’s persistent efforts regarding the lack of breast milk.

Furthermore, what occupied his mind day and night was how to restore the momentum of the petition movement. Not only had they lost most of those who had stood on the front lines due to the incident, but rumors that anyone involved in the movement would be indiscriminately thrown into prison—without distinction between this person or that—had completely crushed the spirits of the affected residents. The opposition faction, deeming it imperative not to let this opportunity slip, seemed to be scheming to suppress the mining pollution issue altogether. When he thought of this, Shōzō felt a restlessness so intense he could not remain still.

By chance, heavy rain fell on April 1st, causing the Watarase River to swell the following day; moreover, reports came in of an abnormal coloration in the water. Upon hearing this, the first thing that struck Shōzō was how the villages—now scarce in able-bodied men due to imprisonments, injuries, and desertions—must be in utter confusion and distress, left only with the elderly, women, and children. After instructing Kunomura Arai Denkichi and others who were away from the capital to immediately submit an inspection request to the authorities, he promptly visited the affected areas. However, fortunately, the flood was not as bad as had been feared.

There, Shōzō identified promising young men remaining in the riverside villages and resolved to revive the movement. First he enlisted youths from Ueno Village—Kizuka Sadaji, Arai Taichi, Niisato Ryūzō, and Dō Shōtarō. He brought in Kondō Sadekichi and Sumi Tetsumichi. Through their tireless work, they succeeded in organizing a speech meeting at Manza in Sano by April 11th. Shōzō made a temporary return to Tokyo, then arrived at the event accompanied by orators including Shimada Saburō, Matsumura Kessaku, and Kurahara Korehiro.

With the memory of the incident still raw, over two thousand audience members flooded the venue well before the scheduled time. The orators all declared, “The right to petition is constitutionally guaranteed. One must not cower before this corruption scandal and abandon their rights. We must rouse ourselves even more and carry on the aspirations of the victims,” they exhorted.

Subsequently, on the 18th, they held an outdoor speech meeting in the precincts of Aoume Tenjin Shrine in Tatebayashi. The person in charge this time was again Kizuka Sadaji, with Mita Zenzo, Niisato Ryuzo, Kuroda Tsurukichi, and others handling the preparations. Particularly for outdoor speeches, since permission would not be granted unless bamboo fencing was constructed and cloth draped around it, the preparations involved unexpected difficulties. In addition to the four speakers from the previous event, Arakawa Kōsaburō, Takahashi Hidemi, and Shiōya Tsunetarō joined. First, Arakawa Kōsaburō took the podium, then Kurahara Korehiro stood up and began his impassioned speech when suddenly from the monitoring seats—

“Orator, caution!” Ima Teppei gripped the hilt of his sword and shouted with feigned authority. Kurahara sharply turned toward the police inspector, his eyes narrowing fiercely as he barked. “I am merely reiterating here what I have already argued in the House of Representatives.” “What exactly requires caution here?” “Since there are stenographic records of Diet speeches, go open your eyes wide and read them properly!”

Casting a sidelong glance at the superintendent who had fallen completely silent, Kurahara resumed his torrential eloquence.

On this day, with an audience of over three thousand people, when they collected an admission fee of two sen per person as before, the income amounted to over sixty yen. After deducting expenses, over twelve yen remained; this was combined with the previous surplus of over twenty-four yen and allocated as funds for sending provisions to all the detainees. Moreover, using a portion of these funds, they purchased sweet potatoes and distributed them to the most impoverished among the affected residents. As for the tasks of sending provisions and correspondence to the detainees, Kizuka Sadaji, Mita Zenzo, and other volunteers gathered at the Aburaya Inn in Maebashi to devote themselves to these efforts, while the matter of commissioning lawyers was primarily shouldered by Yamada Tomojirō, Arai Yūshichirō, and Sudō Yosōji, who rushed about handling this responsibility.

In this way, the follow-up measures began to take shape. The momentum along the entire coast—once dispirited like extinguished flames—was finally halted just short of dying out completely. Even during the defendants' absence, they had at least secured a prospect for continuing the movement. Yet Shōzō refused to consider this sufficient. He kept mobilizing young men and maintained his circuit of speeches through the riverside villages.

Amidst his relentless rushing about, Shōzō would visit the homes of detainees whenever he found moments of respite. Particularly the elderly mothers left behind would lament their sons’ misfortunes in a constant litany of aged complaints, perplexing Shōzō each time; yet he would always—

“No, no—it’s not that they’ve committed crimes and been sent to prison; there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” “The time will soon come when right and wrong become clear.” “You know Sakura Sōgo, don’t you?” “He has been enshrined as a god and is now called Daimyōjin.” “Because he was a man who sacrificed himself for justice.” “This current situation is no different.” “Those bound in prison for justice’s sake are gods.”

His wish was filled with the desire to instill in these cowed souls a sense of pride and the strength to endure their grief. "Since it's someone else's affair, you can say such things, but there's no one who'd rejoice at being thrown into a prison everyone despises." "My son must be suffering terribly." "In his recent letter too, he wrote such heartbreaking things." There, Shōzō had to add more words. "Well, that's prison for you—it's hard." "There will be hardships." "But I've been to prison several times myself—when your body is forced to rest, your mind starts working in all sorts of ways, making you contemplate things deeply." "The reason I endure this suffering now is to save multitudes from hardship." "For justice." "Once you start thinking that way, soon your heart's strength will overcome your body's pain." "The pain ceases to feel like pain..."

But listening to their grief and complaints was still bearable. Among the parents of the detainees, there were some who voiced their resentment as if Shōzō were to blame. He could endure even that. “So-and-so from such-and-such place is clever—because they skillfully maneuvered, they managed to avoid going to prison.” For Shōzō, listening to these parents’ obstinate complaints was the most unbearable. Of course, he couldn’t simply dismiss them.

“No—that’s not true.” “There’s no one more content to be mocked by outsiders than Kanto men.” “Kyoto-born Furukawa Ichibei carved a wasteland through Kanto’s heart—yet they remain unmoved.” “Their ancestral lands lie ravaged—still they sit unshaken like stone Buddhas.” “They know neither righteous fury nor fatherly wrath.” “Brains? Might as well be empty gourds rattling in their skulls.” “Kanto’s households breed ignorance—this shameful truth festers.” “Parents school children in deceit—honor flayed raw till only cunning remains.” “Generations steeped in this rot—farmers’ homes reek of moral decay.” “Thus every man here shrivels into cringing cowardice.” “Only women clutch shreds of decency—knowing right from wrong.” “Such defines Kanto’s soul—yet your sons chose prison over complicity!” “Noble sacrifice!” “Never equate them with those spineless schemers!”

Shōzō said this, suppressing his indignation as he tried to persuade them, but in many such cases, the other party would simply fall into an awkward silence. However, in reality, the mining pollution movement had profoundly influenced local youth. He was convinced there had been remarkable progress in their spirit and their humanity. Above all, he held deep trust in the key figures currently imprisoned. Among them were those whose vigor burned exceptionally bright compared to others. There were those of profound prudence. There were also those who had cultivated considerable knowledge. There were those who were uniquely fervent. There were those who could rush around dozens of miles in a day and still not tire. There were those who, though in poverty, labored to surpass the wealthy. Their spirit had become light shining from within the iron-barred windows. As he thought this, Shōzō contemplated their daily lives in prison.

But what of their villages in contrast? And what of their neighbors?

One day, when Shōzō visited Abe Genjirō in Hisano. Unfortunately, the master was absent, and his elderly mother, while serving bitter tea on the veranda, spoke of such matters. “Those who joined us back then—even those who don’t recall doing anything wrong—have all fled and aren’t in the village anymore.” “When someone goes to prison, the household’s expenses become a heavy burden—what with care packages and then having to hire lawyers and such.” “I can’t say this too loudly—better escape the village before any official notices arrive and hide somewhere.” “In time, even the heat will cool down.” “Just come back when you judge the time is right.” “It was their parents who advised them to flee by saying that.”

Once again, Shōzō could not help but dwell on the corrupt practices within households. He pondered further in his heart: If the Way governed the world, at least the people should find security in their vocations. Yet now they had come to dread the police, mistrust their friends, and fear every sight and sound of society.

As they continued talking for a while, Shōzō noticed that the elderly mother too seemed apprehensive about hosting him overnight. When making his village rounds, Shōzō had always followed the custom of staying at whichever supporter’s home he found himself when night fell. Since he lodged wherever offered shelter regardless of wealth, he would eat cold barley rice alongside the household and sometimes sleep curled like a kashiwa mochi rice cake in a single soiled futon. Though appearing unconcerned, he took meticulous care to avoid burdening others and found contentment in keeping all matters of food and clothing simple. Thus those who housed him never showed displeasure no matter how long his stay lasted. Yet on this day, the elderly mother’s demeanor differed subtly from usual. From her evasive manner of speech, he discerned she still feared the officer at the local police post. Shōzō took a sip of chilled tea and prepared to leave. At this, the elderly mother reached into the folds of her creased obi,

“How far are you returning? At least take this for a rickshaw…” With an apologetic look, she held out three yen. Shōzō glanced at the old woman’s wrinkled hand and shook his head. He could do nothing but feel pity and sympathy for her heart’s intent to demonstrate undivided sincerity. On one such hurried day, Shōzō was pressed by someone at a gathering at Unryūji Temple to write calligraphy, and he took up the brush. From this moment forth, let the sound of a single hand resound—until both hands clap and ring out.

When compared to the intent of his Meiji 28 work—“If one becomes divine, even the sound of a single hand may be heard; who would listen to the voice of both hands?”—this revealed traces of newfound confidence that had entered Shōzō’s state of mind. This poem had indeed been something he pondered intermittently over six months amidst hurried days, seeking to entrust his innermost thoughts—and when he showed it to Maejima Hisoka on April 4th, it was praised as “a supreme creation that perfectly captures Zen’s essence.” “It greatly expands upon Hakuin’s ‘single hand’ meaning and thoroughly elucidates it,” came the profound praise—something in which Shōzō secretly took pride.

While Shōzō tirelessly patrolled the affected areas, his elderly wife Katsuko walked through Ebise Village and other severely impacted hamlets, investigating the lack of breast milk and working to provide relief. Meanwhile, at Maebashi District Court, the preliminary investigation led by Judge Mizutani Yoshiaki gradually progressed, though needless to say, those confined in the cells found no joy in their days and nights. They naturally agonized over how their case would unfold—whether they would be found guilty or innocent—but since news from outside could only be gleaned through limited letters and permitted visits, speculation and anguish remained ceaseless. When considering both the movement’s subsequent course and household affairs, there proved no end to pessimistic material; anxiety welled up and subsided endlessly, only to surge again. Among them were those whose prolonged insomnia from mental strain eventually led to chronic sleeplessness or neurasthenia. There were those who had become half-mad, and others who spent their days in gloomy torment due to illness.

Nagashima Yohachi was also arrested at the Kawamata site, spent a night at Tatebayashi Police Station, and was immediately transferred to Maebashi Prison. However, as he had bruises all over his body—including his head, which was covered in bandages—he was initially permitted to lie down freely even during daytime. In his six-foot square solitary cell, he endured the pain while reflecting on the course of events that had passed when an idea suddenly occurred to him. He realized this was the opportunity to read the Bible he had purchased long ago.

Nagashima promptly drafted a letter to his father and requested that the Bible be delivered to him. Two or three days later, Kobayashi Sonpei came for a visit and delivered the Bible. From then on, Nagashima lived rising with the Bible and sleeping with the Bible. Every single day, during the hours when sunlight streamed into his cell, he kept his eyes fixed on the fine print. When night came, he would recite the scriptural passages engraved in his mind, repeatedly searching for their true meaning. The narrowness of his solitary cell and its desolation had now become nothing before the vastness of the spiritual realm the Bible guided him into. As twenty days passed, then thirty, he began to feel the door of his heart gradually being pushed open by an invisible hand.

Before long, Nagashima came to realize that faith meant nothing but single-minded belief. He had long accepted that the God of Heaven and Earth was humanity's father and Christ alone mankind's savior. The truth had grown clear to him—that human existence in this world was never meant for pursuing personal happiness, but rather for wholeheartedly obeying divine will. He had reached the conviction that his personal fortunes mattered little so long as he could serve this divine will, no matter what circumstances might befall him. It felt as though clouds had split open, letting light pour through all at once. Here was joy—to grasp what had once been beyond reach, now resting within his lap. Whether verdicts in the pollution case brought guilt or innocence mattered only as divine will decreed. When this awareness took root, Nagashima ceased tormenting himself over such concerns. Perhaps through this newfound mental calm, as his bruises healed, even while sitting motionless in prison, his body grew remarkably strong.

High up on the solitary cell's wall was a small window through which a sliver of sky could be glimpsed. One day, Nagashima saw the shadow of a small bird pass by that window. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he could hear their songs intertwined in the light. When he looked again with this thought, even the color of the sky framed by the wall had become deeply imbued with spring. At some point, a vivid spring landscape had taken shape in his mind—spring had returned across his village and all along the Watarase River's banks. The embankments were lushly covered with silvergrass, mugwort, and tangled thickets. To the left stretched rapeseed fields casting a golden glow from below; to the right lay endless expanses of milk vetch blossoms... Yet soon these imagined hues faded, replaced in his mind by villages gripped by unsalvageable desolation—a scene too bleak for redemption. But in that moment, he thought: If only each person in the afflicted lands would embrace faith, even this wretched reality might find spiritual deliverance.

Nagashima spent his days praying for the salvation of his own soul while also praying that people would enter into faith through God's guidance. Meanwhile, it became his daily routine to write letters urging faith to his family members, relatives, and friends and acquaintances.

Then one day, the usual duty guard passed by with clacking, haughty footsteps, but suddenly stopped and barked, “Number 208!” “I won’t let you write any more letters after today.” “Why? Why can’t I?” Nagashima asked, startled, clinging to the bars. “Think about why you’re allowed to write letters at all.” “You’re only permitted to write about case-related matters—hiring lawyers, calling witnesses, obtaining evidence.” “Yet all you write about is this God business and Christ nonsense.” “What do you think this prison is?” “This isn’t some place for scribbling your carefree delusions.” “If you want to write that drivel, wait until you’re out—wait until you’re back in the outside world.”

Lately, Nagashima had been particularly compliant with the guards’ words, not showing the slightest hint of resistance; however, “Officer, from your perspective these may seem like carefree letters, but to me, they are truly more important than the outcome of the case—letters I write with all my heart.” “So you’re saying you don’t care if your sentence becomes three years or five?”

The guard glared threateningly. But Nagashima had developed a conviction unwavering enough to withstand it. “No, the feeling with which I write letters every day probably won’t be understood by those without faith. But setting that aside, in any case, the freedom to send letters is granted by the prison regulations approved by His Majesty the Emperor. If you absolutely refuse to permit it, then I have no choice—I will appeal to the warden.”

The guard, for his part, had no retort to this; he clicked his tongue in vexation and stomped away with heavy footsteps.

Before long, it became evident from the passing clouds that grazed the prison window and the force of the falling rain that early summer had arrived in the outside world. On some days, the warmth of summer could be felt in one’s surroundings. Depending on how the wind blew, the scent of young leaves and blades of grass would sometimes be carried in. Four months had now passed in the life of the prison cell. Around this time, Nagashima began exchanging words with a seemingly earnest guard, bridging the divide of the cell bars. That guard too had initially regarded with suspicion how Nagashima daily wrote letters focused solely on God and Christ. While performing his duty of inspecting letters, he neither dismissed them as mere ramblings nor found them bothersome like the previous guard had. Upon learning that Nagashima, unable to keep the joy of his newfound faith locked in his heart alone, was reaching out from prison to the outside world, he found it deeply sincere. As a result, he began monitoring Nagashima’s daily activities with particular scrutiny. Due to his duties, he had become accustomed to witnessing the grief and anguish of prisoners, but seeing someone like Nagashima living each day with vitality was something unexpected. He finally stood before the solitary cell and called out.

“I’ve been wondering something for a while now—you don’t seem bothered at all by the hardships of prison life. When I look at you, somehow I feel like it’s us who are being worn down by life’s hardships.”

“Does it seem that way to you?” Nagashima answered modestly, suppressing his inner joy. “No one could claim prison isn’t painful, but I simply believe in God and entrust everything to His divine will—thus my heart remains at peace.” “Faith requires devotion.” “Others invite suffering by clinging to self-preservation.” “I’ve spoken of you to my wife when returning home.” “In my assigned cell block, there’s a man who writes daily letters urging faith upon outsiders.” “When I described your daily conduct, even my wife grew intrigued—said if faith holds such power, she ought to hear it firsthand...”

The guard said this with a somewhat abashed expression. This became the catalyst—whenever his shift began, he would come to stand before the solitary cell and listen to Nagashima speak of faith. Nagashima, feeling this was a trial to test whether he could truly spread the Gospel, spoke tirelessly of his humble faith. Eventually, the preliminary hearings for all sixty-eight defendants concluded, and on July 9th, Judge Mizutani issued a written decision closing them. For those like Nagashima who had been imprisoned early on, nearly half a year had passed before their guilt or innocence was determined.

Namely, defendants Noguchi Haruzō, Inamura Yoichi, Ōde Kihei, Yamamoto Eishirō, and Sabe Hikojirō were charged with serious crimes under Article 137 of the Penal Code as ringleaders of an Assembly of Violent Groups. Defendant Kurozaki Zen'ō was charged with serious crimes under Article 105 and the first clause of Article 137 of the Penal Code for acts of instigation. Defendants Nagashima Yohachi, Niwada Tsunekichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Murota Chūshichi, Aoki Kinjirō, Kamei Tomoharu, Fukuda Kazuzō, Yamazaki Keijirō, Yatsu Tomisaburō, Ietomi Motoyoshi, Kobayashi Zenkichi, Kawashima Motojirō, Kurihara Saijirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Harada Eizaburō, Oyama Kōhachirō, and Jisai Shigekichi were charged with serious crimes under the middle clause of Article 137 of the Penal Code for acts of instigation. Defendants Shimada Danzō, Ōmori Ryūkichi, Moro Sōjirō, Yaguma Kumaijirō, Sekiguchi Takichi, Ōbokori Zenpei, Koyama Tōhachi, Kuroda Shigekichi, Nomura Chiyozō, Nakata Zenjirō, Koizumi Chūzaburō, Fukuchi Hikozō, Tanami Chūsuke, Horiguchi Genkichi, Niwada Komakichi, Naganuma Masakichi, Mugikura Kitarō, Hara Fukutarō, Ikumi Kōzō, Hara Yatarō, Kawashima Minpachi, Urushihara Keiji, Ono Kumajirō, Yokozuka Jisankyū, Osone Shinkichi, Ono Torakichi, Horikoshi Seikurō, and Ochiai Teijirō were charged with minor crimes under the final clause of the same article of the Penal Code for acts of accompanying as an additional charge. Furthermore, Nagashima [Yohachi], Sabe [Hikojirō], Noguchi [Haruzō], Harada [Eizaburō], Niwada [Tsunekichi], and Kurihara [Saijirō] were charged under the Assembly and Political Parties Law and the Public Order and Police Law, while Kawashima [Minpachi], Urushihara [Keiji], and Ono [Kumajirō] were additionally charged with resisting officials, finally bringing them to trial.

Meanwhile, defendants Arai Yoshie, Iso Kōjirō, Kobayashi Teishichirō, Matsumoto Morisaburō, Moro Chikasuke, Inamura Tadazō, Fukuchi Koichirō, Ida Hyōsuke, Hara Kinjirō, Koshizawa Ushijirō, Ochiai Miyanosaku, Ono Masakichi, Doi Kamekichi, Sekiguchi Saburōji, Aida Sadakichi, Kitayama Seijirō, and Nonaka Genzō—seventeen individuals in total—had their charges dismissed due to insufficient evidence.

Taking this opportunity of so many affected residents being found guilty, a plan arose among the aforementioned former Kyōdō Shinwakai-affiliated like-minded individuals to widely inform society of the truth behind the mining pollution issue and open a path to relief. They gathered their comrades, met at the Kanda Youth Hall on the 21st, and organized the Mining Pollution Investigation Society. The people who gathered that day were twenty in total: Tani Kanjō, Iyemoto Yoshiharu, Soejima Hachijūhachi, Abe Isoo, Hanai Takuzō, Harada Fuku-jō, Matsuda Junpei, Yamazaki Hiromichi, Tomeoka Kōsuke, Nunokawa Magobei, Ōmura Wakichirō, Kurahara Korehiro, Miyake Yūjirō, Niwa Seijirō, Ebara Sōroku, Tomita Tetsunosuke, Nishihara Kiyohigashi, Iida Kōsaku, Yamada Kichirōbei, and Matsumura Kessaku.

Chapter 8

From around June of this year, the uprising of the Boxer Rebellion in Qing China grew increasingly rampant. On June 12th, our embassy secretary Sugiyama Akira was murdered en route, followed by German Minister Ketteler being struck down by an assassin’s blade in broad daylight. On the 17th, the allied naval landing forces were dispatched and captured the Taku Forts. Subsequently, a temporary expeditionary force under Major General Fukushima was dispatched from our country. This marked the beginning of what became known as the Boxer Rebellion.

Domestically, political upheaval unfolded from late May through October. Itō organized the Rikken Seiyūkai by merging it with the Constitutional Party, holding its inaugural ceremony on September 15. Hoshi—ever astute in seizing opportunities—assessed both the Constitutional Party's internal demands for reform and Itō's ambitions, then proactively engineered the party's revival, accelerating these developments. On the 26th, Yamagata resigned first, triggering the cabinet's collapse, and on October 19th, the Fourth Itō Cabinet was formed. When Itō and his cabinet members were formally appointed, Grand Chamberlain Tokudaiji Sanenori specifically conveyed to them:

“At this time of numerous domestic and international affairs, His Majesty the Emperor has been deeply troubled in his august heart, and there has been an imperial edict urging that the state ministers cooperate in unity to fully fulfill their weighty responsibilities.”

Indeed, His Majesty had sternly admonished the lack of wholehearted loyalty among those who should have dedicated themselves to assisting the throne, given the recent frequent changes of cabinet. The Rikken Seiyūkai was thus established as a coalition of the former Liberal Party faction and Itō’s direct lineage, but a significant number from the former Progressive Party faction also rushed to join. Many people who had long worked alongside Tanaka Shōzō, including Ozaki Yukio and Haseba Sumitaka, also joined this party. Moreover, even to Shōzō—who now held no party affiliation—there came frequent invitations through Hoshi to join the party. Since President Itō fully understood the mining pollution incident, it would be wise to take this opportunity to achieve one’s long-cherished aspiration by relying on the power of a major political party. Hoshi lured him with such tempting bait.

But Shōzō’s enthusiasm for political parties had completely cooled. No—if anything, he now keenly understood how belonging to any faction would only obstruct resolving the issue. This was why he had severed even his longstanding ties with the Kaishintō. That Yamagata strained to manipulate parties while Itō formed his own could only mean the cliques had lost their power to overturn legislation through parliamentary means. At least those baseless anxieties had faded, Shōzō reflected. Yet regarding the mining pollution crisis, Itō’s true intentions remained deeply suspect. Even if I joined Itō’s faction now, it would likely achieve nothing toward solving the problem. No—plunging back into political strife would only sow seeds of future calamity. He found himself unable to think otherwise. The mining pollution issue was already a national crisis besides. I must maintain pure independence and press forward unwaveringly. In the end, this conviction remained unshaken within Shōzō. With what some might call obstinacy, he flatly refused to join the party.

The first session of the trial concerning the Assembly of Violent Groups defendants commenced on October 10th at the Maebashi District Court Criminal Division. Appearing as defense counsel for all defendants were Hanai Takuzō, Shiotani Tsunetarō, Miyoshi Taizō, Ogiso Yoshifusa, Ōta Mototoki, Nagashima Washirō, Ogawa Heikichi, Takeuchi Heikichi, Nobuoka Yūshirō, Imamura Rikisaburō, Nakabachi Yoshiaki, Kurosu Ryūtarō, Toguchi Shigeri, Hiraoka Manjirō, Saitō Jirō, Takahashi Shirō, Kobayashi Mohatsu, Ōshima Somenosuke, Ōno Kiyoshige, Nakamura Eika, Itō Masaharu, Hayashi Tamigorō, Kurobane Genji, Kimura Yoshikichi, Nakamura Kanzō, Yamada Takeshi, and Oka Kaoru. Over a dozen additional lawyers remained absent that day; however, all had either accepted their roles out of sympathy for both the mining pollution crisis and defendants' plights or proactively volunteered to undertake defense duties.

The trials continued to be held three times weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, with most defense lawyers making special trips from Tokyo each time to devote themselves to defending the accused. This process had repeated five times when prosecutors and defense attorneys jointly requested an on-site inspection of affected areas in Gunma and Tochigi prefectures. From October 23rd over five days, judges, prosecutors, clerks, defense lawyers, and village appraisers examined blighted crops before inspecting key sites including Unryūji Temple, Yoraku District Office, Tatebayashi Police Station, and Kawamata. The legal team included Shiotani Tsunetarō, Toguchi Shigeri, Takahashi Hidetomi, Ishiyama Yahei, and Kobayashi Mohatsu.

Then came November 18th - the fifteenth trial session - which marked Prosecutor Kobayashi's closing argument day. Before the appointed hour, fifty defendants entered the courtroom, Harada Eizaburō being the sole absence. Removing their deep-woven hats, they sat in orderly rows - young and old alike with shaven heads. Their faces had grown pallid from prolonged imprisonment, every visage taut with tension as they awaited the prosecutor's address with bated breath. The prosecutor opened by addressing the Unryūji Temple disturbance, basing his argument on Imatetsuhei's testimony: "They publicly declared that should their sit-in protests against the government prove futile - since such inaction would constitute anarchy - they'd destroy Furukawa's household." "While no direct destructive acts against the government were observed," he continued, "their very invocation of anarchy undeniably revealed dangerous intent." "Moreover," he concluded, "their inflammatory speeches at Unryūji Temple - vowing martyrdom and declaring the Ministry of Agriculture's gates their burial ground - irrefutably demonstrate this resolve."

He then began describing the situation at Unryūji Temple, but both the indictment and preliminary investigation records had fabricated roles such as "commander-in-chief," "governor," and "district supervisor"—as if the defendants had formally established these positions to orchestrate their actions. Accepting these fabrications without question, he asserted that even absent any Assembly of Violent Groups, there could be no doubt they had prearranged their refusal to return to their villages despite police persuasion during their journey. Methodically detailing each defendant's charges from Imatetsuhei's disbandment order through the disturbance in the main hall to their departure the next morning, he further expanded his argument to address events at Yoraku District Office and Tatebayashi Police Station. The assembled defendants, with the courtroom's unusually solemn atmosphere seeping into their bones from the outset, appeared to have steeled themselves with deep resolve. The prosecutor's rhetoric grew keener still as he transitioned to his closing arguments regarding the Kawamata Bridge Incident.

After first outlining the general course of the disturbance while skillfully coordinating the defendants’ statements from the preliminary investigation with the testimonies of police inspectors and officers, “And prior to launching the boats at Kawamata, it was Noguchi Haruzō, Nagashima Yohachi, and Inamura Yohei who conspired to plan this disturbance; furthermore, their attempt to breach the police cordon has been clearly established through testimonies from various police inspectors and officers.” “As a result of this conspiracy, Ōide Kihei, Niwada Tsunekichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Murota Chūshichi, Aoki Kinjirō, Kamei Tomoharu, Fukuda Kazuzō, Yamazaki Keijirō, Ietomi Motokichi, Kobayashi Zenkichi, Kurihara Saijirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Koyama Kōhachirō, Kawashima Motojirō, Jisai Shigekichi, Harada Eizaburō and others were primarily involved in the riot.”

His tone brimmed with unshakable conviction.

Having been subjected to unfavorable closing arguments at every turn, even the defendants could no longer fully conceal their inner turmoil. From earlier on, some had been hanging their heads ever more deeply, their knees trembling, while others glared at the prosecutor with eyes wide in anger. But the prosecutor continued his words in an unrelentingly cold and severe tone. “Among the witnesses and defendants, there are those who allege that police officers committed acts of violence, but there is not a single piece of evidence worth considering as proof within the case records.” “However, it is an undeniable fact that some among the defendants sustained injuries.” “But this was likely brought upon themselves due to resisting arrest by police officers.” “Regarding Yamazaki Keijirō’s head injury alone, I cannot help but feel profound pity; however, this likely occurred because Police Officer Ishizuka Kinosuke had his sword taken from him, and someone threw that sword—which then struck Keijirō’s head and caused the injury.”

It was at this moment. From one corner of the deathly silent gallery came a deliberate cough—*ahem, ahem*—followed by a long, drawn-out yawn that reverberated through the courtroom: “Aaaah…” Judges, lawyers, and spectators alike were involuntarily shaken by this unexpected event and strained their ears. Among them, Prosecutor Kobayashi glared toward the source of the sound with eyes blazing with indignation at having his argument interrupted. The source of the yawn was a portly old man around sixty years old wearing a black formal kimono with family crests. With his sturdy arms thrust out high from his kimono sleeves, he showed no sign of being perturbed by the converging gazes, stretching fully to the end before leisurely lowering his hands.

Chief Judge Isono raised his hand and cautioned, “Now, now.”

“You must refrain from such behavior in the courtroom. “Spectators must maintain silence and decorum—surely you are aware of this.” “Yes, yes.” The old man, aware of the guards approaching to drag him out from the corner of his eye, rose from his seat and exited the courtroom under the watchful eyes of all present with an unsteady gait. Needless to say, it was Tanaka Shōzō. In the gallery, there were those who snickered and stifled laughter as they watched him leave, but how many truly understood that behind this brazen yawn lay Shōzō’s silent fury? The prosecutor, acknowledging the malicious intent behind this yawn, immediately initiated prosecution for contempt of officials.

In more than a dozen subsequent courtroom sessions following the next hearing, lawyers including Hanai Takuzō and Hatoyama Kazuo presented their arguments. They uniformly denied the prosecution’s factual claims, refuted the prosecutor’s closing statements, and maintained the defendants’ innocence. On December 22nd, all defendants except Harada appeared in court to hear Judge Isono deliver the verdicts. Noguchi received the harshest penalty—two years of heavy imprisonment plus a twenty-yen fine for resisting officials. Ōide, Sabe, Nagashima, Yamamoto, Inamura, and Yatsu each received one year of heavy imprisonment with ten-yen fines for the same charge. Ietomi, Murota, Niwada (Tsune), Kobayashi, Kamei, Nomura, Shimada, Ōmori, Moro, Tani, Ōboke, Koyama, Kuroda, Nakata, Koizumi, Fukuchi, Tanāmi, Horiguchi, and Sekiguchi were sentenced to four months of heavy imprisonment with four-yen fines. Ono received one month of heavy imprisonment and a five-yen fine for contempt of officials. Kurihara and Harada were each given two months of light imprisonment for violating the Public Order and Police Law. All remaining defendants were acquitted. Both prosecution and defense appealed the verdicts. The case was consequently transferred to the Tokyo Court of Appeals for review, with all defendants soon transported through Kumagaya Police Station to Tokyo’s Kajibashi Prison.

Slightly before this verdict was handed down, one day, Shimada Saburō came to visit Shinano-ya. At that time, since the lawyers had to travel to Maebashi for each court session, they had almost no time to attend to other cases and were facing unforeseen difficulties. Therefore, they too were striving under the policy of transferring the case to Tokyo courts and overturning the verdict through appeal. The authorities had avoided Urawa and brought the trial to Maebashi because being close to Tokyo would make newspapers troublesome. Shōzō had similarly made such an incisive observation and was outraged at its despicable nature. Amid these circumstances, while Shimada’s business was naturally related to the trial, he gave voice to his longstanding concern and inquired about Shōzō’s health. He knew Shōzō had been working himself ragged, forgetting to eat or sleep, but the facial swelling and pallor of his skin seemed attributable to more than mere fatigue.

“There’s nothing particularly wrong, but meeting people from dawn till dusk without rest makes my mind grow dull again—it’s truly vexing. Yet when I try to sleep late at night, my mind becomes terribly clear and I can’t drift off. These days I’ve been drinking late into the night, using alcohol’s effect to force myself asleep, but…”

When Shōzō answered nonchalantly, Shimada pressed him with his characteristic earnestness.

“That’s not advisable.” “If you keep that up, you’ll destroy your body with alcohol.” “Aren’t you now the central figure bearing all these people’s interests on your own shoulders in this case?” “If you who form the very foundation cannot overcome your own desires, then there’s no hope.” “You must quit drinking resolutely.” “No, my body isn’t the issue.” “When I say my mind grows dull and troubles me or that I can’t sleep—those are merely personal matters. I bear no hatred toward my own body whatsoever.”

Shōzō’s triangular eyelids quivered with an eerie light. “I understand that sentiment completely,” “Moved by your spirit, lawyers present their arguments passionately and journalists wield their pens.” “Everyone, compelled by your ardent sincerity, spares no effort and labors with their hearts.” “But precisely because of this, you must take care of your body.”

“That’s not true.” Shōzō shook his head vehemently, his voice growing increasingly intense in the blink of an eye. “Someone like Tanaka Shōzō is nothing at all.” “Whether they are lawyers or journalists, it is precisely because they sympathize with the mining pollution incident and the affected residents that they are working so diligently.” “You must be no exception.” “They shouldn’t be sympathizing with Tanaka Shōzō—they ought to be sympathizing with Shōzō’s cause.”

“That amounts to the same thing. A cause is advanced by people. A true undertaking forms an inseparable whole of people and work. Therefore, to sympathize with a cause is simultaneously to sympathize with the person behind it. …Well, let’s put aside such arguments—you must quit drinking.”

“Even if people sympathize with Shōzō, such sympathy brings me no joy whatsoever.”

Shōzō turned his face bright red and glared at Shimada. But Shimada did not flinch. "You’re getting this angry over being told not to drink, yet you yourself once sternly admonished the late Mr. Numada." "I won’t resort to such rough methods, but I won’t stop advising you just because you get angry." "Even though you understand this is for the cause, isn’t it absurd that you won’t listen to such advice?"

That was during the peak of the Freedom and People's Rights Movement. Numada Morikazu, their shared senior colleague, was a man thoroughly negligent of his health who overindulged in alcohol and heeded no one's admonitions. Concerned, Shōzō once earnestly advised him while sharing drinks. Yet Numada obstinately refused and would not lend an ear. Shōzō ultimately abandoned attempts to persuade through words, seized the sake bottle at hand, and hurled it at Numada. Shimada had heard this account from Numada himself, which was why he now raised the matter.

Shōzō, displeased, momentarily flew into a rage. However, once he calmed down, reflected, and realized his own fault, he would calmly accept others' words without hesitation. Knowing this aspect of his temperament, Shimada took his leave and departed that day. Then, just as expected, four or five days later, Shōzō came to visit Shimada's house in Kōjimachi Naka-Rokubanchō. He had stepped over the threshold intending to apologize for his previous rudeness, bringing the report that he had resolutely quit drinking as a token.

The year changed to Meiji 34 (1901), and Shōzō reached his sixtieth year.

New Year's Day—the crane's head crimson, my beard white—behold this spring!

It was an impromptu verse jotted down in the margin of his notebook. On the sixth day of the New Year, Shōzō visited Takeko Harada—wife of Kanshichirō Harada—in Yokohama and stayed for two days. During that time, he secretly entrusted her with something resembling a will. Takeko was the eldest sister of Harada Sadassuke and had once been fostered by the Konaka family. Since the previous December, Shōzō’s chronic brain ailment had shown no improvement. His vitality waned, and a vague premonition that some physical change would occur within a month or two had seized him. Thus his thoughts naturally turned in that direction.

On his return journey, he stayed overnight at Hashimoto Inn in Katase, but on the night of the eighth, he felt dizzy—even while lying in bed, his head swam each time he turned over. The condition persisted all night, deepening the woes of his travel lodgings, but by morning it had somewhat subsided. After returning to the capital, on the advice of Koguchi Tomoshige, he underwent examination at a moxibustion therapist named Chiba in Senju Ōhashi. It was found that his right shoulder measured six-tenths of an inch longer than his left. If it were eight-tenths of an inch longer, he was told half his body would be in danger. Shōzō found himself struck less by the diagnosis itself than by an epiphany about his own abrupt decision to visit Yokohama.

Shōzō wrote down the moxibustion therapist’s words and sent them to Takeko, then drafted a follow-up letter dated January 20 as follows.

"When I reflect on how in Meiji 11 I returned two foster children to their birth families and further petitioned my father to dispose of all our family’s assets without reserve for the nation’s sake—obtaining his approval—this was a clear calculation made in advance that has led to this day." This is what might be called a single prophecy. To begin with, a prophecy is nothing but a clear declaration of well-calculated future prospects. “However, those ignorant of the arithmetic governing heaven and earth—unaware of its eternal and boundless calculations—cannot grasp the certainty of precious prophecies, and so it is said.”

Around this time, Shōzō began frequently jotting down the characters yūketsu (憂結, “melancholy knot”) in his notebook. “A nation founded through faith in God.” “That our military refrained from looting in Northern Qing demonstrates His Majesty’s virtuous character. This suffices to represent the national character. Those above and those below remain faithful. Faithful whether at home or abroad. Administrative officials embezzle state funds and plunder. Do they refrain from plundering abroad because their influence remains limited? No—it is due to military integrity. Look within. Those who kill men receive Junior Fifth Rank. Loyalty protecting the nation lies imprisoned. They cast petitioners into jail, abandon petitioned matters, imprison victims, let perpetrators run rampant—all while leaving grievances wholly unaddressed.”

Prior to this, the Itō Cabinet had been criticized for official misconduct, and its public trust had already plummeted to the ground. At that time, Communications Minister Hoshi Tōru enrolled himself in the Tokyo City Council and monopolized municipal administration with his faction when a major corruption scandal erupted, making him the focus of public censure. Not only were detentions frequent, but rumors also abounded that legal repercussions would soon reach Hoshi himself. Over one hundred members of the House of Peers jointly petitioned Itō for Hoshi’s dismissal, resulting in his resignation on the twenty-first day of the twelfth lunar month. Amidst this turmoil, the Fifteenth Diet was convened, but the government immediately submitted a tax increase bill and, relying on the Seiyūkai’s majority, easily pushed it through the House of Representatives.

Shōzō continued writing in his notebook from February through March. "When there was no Constitution, the Emperor was revered as a god. Now that we have a Constitution, what if His Majesty were to lose his dignity?" "The Constitution exists to preserve the reverence since ancient times." "The people have now clearly distinguished between unprecedented precious rights and duties." "The central government should merely protect its authority; yet now it does not, plundering both high and low, with the center alone monopolizing power."

“The affected residents cannot even receive a trial if they have no money.” “Even if the judiciary remains uncorrupted, since it is the administration that manufactures the root causes of incidents, the administration labors under ill-gotten money bestowed by perpetrators, operates on behalf of evildoers, and consequently drags matters into court.” “Judicial independence stands imperiled.” “The founding of the Restoration resides within His Majesty’s august name.” “Now treacherous ministers sprawl across the path, profligate with His Majesty’s august name, wielding that august name to bring about national ruin.” “Ultimately arriving at the reckless squandering of vast sums from the national treasury.”

Also, he wrote: "Shōzō is a great sinner of society." "He amassed vast wealth for evildoers." "He could not save the victims; instead, he created a nest of demons." "This is Shōzō's great sin."

Shōzō’s indignation and self-reflection had finally culminated here.

"If one learns purity in old age, the spirit becomes clear while only the body dies; the body dies." "If the young learn purity, they will attain cleanliness and have long lives—both soul and body enduring." Following this, he added another poem:

In this aged body—grip the wrist and bones jut high; the voice echoes the desolation of a withered field. March 7, Meiji 34 (1901) — Composed on this day

On February 7, a written inquiry titled "Regarding the Establishment of a Mining Pollution Investigation Committee" was submitted to the House of Representatives by Ōmura Wakichirō and three others. It was a pointed inquiry questioning why, despite having proposed the formation of an investigation committee at the Fourteenth Diet, this had not been implemented. On March 14, a written inquiry titled "Regarding Measures That Rendered Diet Resolutions Futile in the Matter of Ashio Copper Mine Pollution" was submitted by Shimada Saburō and five others.

In response to this, the Government’s written response was announced on the 18th. To Ōmura Wakichirō and three others’ inquiry, the Government answered, “At present, we do not recognize the necessity of establishing a special investigation committee such as this,” and to Shimada Saburō and five others’ inquiry, it stated, “The Government is currently conducting various investigations.” “We are by no means neglecting [the matter],” they explained.

On the 16th, Shōzō submitted a written inquiry titled "Regarding the Effects of Ashio Mining Pollution on Life and Property" to the House of Representatives. On the 19th, he submitted two written inquiries challenging the impropriety of the government’s written responses during the Fourteenth Diet; then on the 22nd, he submitted four more: “Inquiry Regarding the Unjust Imposition of Baseless Infamy,” “Inquiry Concerning Failure to Obtain Adequate Response Summaries from Diet Members Ōmura and Shimada,” “Inquiry Pertaining to Ministerial Responsibility,” and “Re-Inquiry Regarding Ignorance of the Path to National Ruin.”

Shōzō stood to deliver an explanatory speech for the first time that day.

When called by the Speaker and advancing from seat number 239, Shōzō’s appearance betrayed laborious movements, his face pale and swollen, shrouded in exhaustion. True to form, Shōzō showed none of his usual vigor, “Ladies and gentlemen, I will state only the essential points as concisely as possible. “I have been ill this year, and today marks my first time standing at this Diet podium. Even now, I cannot speak at length, but…”

He began speaking in a calm and composed tone. “If this mining pollution problem had not been treated with such gravity, I would have beseeched you all year after year to address it through incremental measures.” “Whether it meant tinkering with a single article of law or having such relief measures implemented here—there was no stopgap measure I couldn’t have undertaken.” “However, this issue is not limited solely to the mining pollution of the Ashio Copper Mine; it necessitates a comprehensive reform of the nation’s entire mining industry. My earnest desire is that through your thorough research and investigation into the current unjust and reckless practices of Ashio Copper Mine operations, we may achieve proper rectification.” “That is why for ten years until today, I have refrained from making petty entreaties and instead have been raising my voice about this matter, causing you all concern—yet the situation has not advanced one step.”

Every last person in the seats sat with knees pressed tightly together, struck by the heartrending resonance of being compelled to listen to his lamentations, and fell completely silent. Then Shōzō shifted his tone and pressed further: “The written response claims to be providing relief for the affected areas—but what exactly does this ‘government relief’ entail? What does it mean? Let us set aside for a moment the pitiable circumstances of the petitioners. Speaking frankly from the standpoint of rights—why would they degrade the people’s land and then grant tax exemptions? That is what this debate comes down to.” “With such foolish notions as ‘They must be overjoyed now that their taxes are exempt,’ they are met with contempt and insult.” “There’s no such thing as relief—none at all.” “Far from it!” “They are hindering the petitioners’ appeals…!” he continued to shout, surrendering himself to a fervor that momentarily eclipsed his physical suffering. “The number of people dying from ingesting mining poison increases year by year.” “The number of young men enlisting in the military has dwindled lately.” “They have installed machinery that causes education to decline and corrupts the morals of the land.” “Guiding the entire people of the land into foolishness has become the duty of local officials.” Proclaiming, “They are destroying all existing organizations—the moral frameworks that took five hundred or even a thousand years to build,” he explained the destruction of town and village structures, and enumerated the loss of natural resources,

"Unlike other damages, the land itself perishes." "In other words, the principal itself perishes." "As the land perishes, so too do the people inhabiting it." "It is an eternal and colossal loss—if left unaddressed today, the people will perish and the nation will cease to exist. This is nothing more than me repeatedly shouting this fact." He continued his address, elaborating how even the affected residents’ mass petition last spring had been the result of their exhaustive human efforts,

“Though I cannot say whether speaking at length in such a place might instead disadvantage the Affected Residents, those who would attach defamatory labels like ‘Assembly of Violent Groups’ to such upstanding people—they are the true Assembly of Violent Groups.” “I believe they are utterly unscrupulous wretches!” he declared in a single terse phrase that vented his pent-up indignation, then abruptly shifted to mention the preventive works of prior years: “Had those been continuously carried out for their original purpose, they might have yielded some benefit. “However, as soon as a new cabinet is formed, its members refuse to continue what the previous cabinet had done.” He pointed out the common failing of those in power: “Not only that, but when it comes to forests—no sooner is an order issued not to cut them down than they begin felling the trees.” “Recently, in the headwaters area of the Tone River in Gunma Prefecture, tens of thousands of chō of mountain forests were transferred to Furukawa; however, due to a commotion arising over roads for transporting lumber, this fact inadvertently came to light,” he exposed. “Today, they are recklessly cutting down the trees of these shrines and temples. “This will bring about tremendous upheaval to the nation within two or three years.” “As this will cause drastic upheavals in climate and other matters, I must give fair warning,” he declared, then relentlessly condemned the Agriculture-Commerce Ministry’s incompetence: “Even feudal lords enshrined deities and built temples to protect water sources—did they not exert efforts in water source conservation?”

“Though my words may sound crude, we show respect to any government that acts as a government should.” “To officials, we accord the courtesy due their station.” “Yet these very officials are employed by Furukawa Ichibē like common errand boys.” “When these clear traces are documented in inquiries yet remain only as stenographic records—when people dismiss Tanaka Shōzō’s speeches as too lengthy to merit hearing—does this constitute a Minister’s responsibility? To abandon them thus?” “This at least I must humbly beg you to cease.” “In the coming Sixteenth Diet session, even should Tanaka Shōzō be absent—as this concerns the nation itself—I earnestly hope that whoever raises this issue will find the Itō Cabinet refraining from declaring itself slave to Furukawa Ichibē.” “Previous ministers and government officials may all have been wise men, yet they leave behind only trails of violence and wickedness.” “Officials need not be wise.” “Nor must they be Japan’s foremost saints.” “They need not be great statesmen—only ensure they leave no recklessness in their wake. This I humbly implore.”

As he elaborated repeatedly, the speech that he began with a brief preface lasted nearly two hours. Even Shōzō finally noticed this,

“Since I must have caused you considerable inconvenience already, I will conclude my speech here.” He fell silent with an apologetic air. Though the owner of the voice remained unidentified, someone shouted, “Take your time!” Shōzō swallowed and resumed: “There are indeed countless matters I wish to address, yet faced with this moment—what should I speak of?” He appeared lost in thought momentarily. The flush of indignation that had colored his face earlier receded, revealing fatigue’s stark imprint. “Within the government resides a paragon of perfection. I must humbly implore you to refrain from repeating those sordid practices of old—for should you persist, it would amount to the government itself granting citizens license to take up bamboo spears and rush banners, to rise in arms. This I solemnly caution.” “Mr. Itō too has advanced in years—this likely being his final opportunity—and would do well to discharge his duties splendidly without clinging to past ways. Should he fail, the nation’s people will suffer.”

Shōzō descended the podium with a look of pent-up frustration, as though he still had words left unspoken.

In response to this inquiry, the following day, a brief written response arrived at the hands of the Speaker of the House of Representatives.

"We do not recognize this as a legitimate inquiry; therefore, we decline to respond." Thereupon, on the following twenty-fourth day, Shōzō once again pushed through his ailing body and stood on the podium.

“Today, I will keep this extremely brief.” “On the nineteenth of this month, I submitted a written inquiry to the Government concerning their self-belittlement that endangers the nation. But when one lodges a constitutional inquiry or seeks an explanation—is that not precisely why Parliament is convened? To respond to such matters?” “You have stated notions like ‘The existence of Parliament itself proves we have a Constitution’—and while I do not mean to nitpick, as this was merely an immediate response given from this seat when faced with an inquiry rather than a considered position—nevertheless, both the Finance Minister and Prime Minister have repeatedly made such assertions.” “To claim ‘Since we have a Parliament, doesn’t that mean we have a Constitution?’—such thinking betrays appalling shallowness.” “This is no different from saying that as long as humans breathe they eat, and as long as they eat they remain virtuous—never wicked.” “If they persist in these self-serving interpretations, evildoers will come pouring out one after another.” “If the government keeps belittling itself this way, they must not grow complacent by their own hand.” “This is my firm conviction.”

Shōzō, enduring his pain, occasionally furrowed his brow as he spoke, “Therefore, while I shall forgo explaining today’s inquiry, what I must appeal to you gentlemen is this: none among us can be certain our lives will endure even until tomorrow.” “When faced with this session concluding tomorrow—particularly for those of us advanced in years—this truly means we cannot stake our hopes on tomorrow at all.” “Setting aside for now the Sixteenth Diet Session yet to come—as tomorrow itself remains beyond reckoning—I wish to impart to you sirs, even if but a single word, the crucial essence of my concerns.” “That is to say, through today’s manner of...”

While turning a blind eye to constitutional misconduct on one hand, he denounced the unchecked proliferation of tax hikes as utterly unconscionable. “As we see today, when a small number of individuals monopolize extraordinary privileges, trampling upon others’ livelihoods through reckless plunder to satisfy their own insatiable greed—and when the government colludes with them, bolstering their momentum—allowing the nation’s economy to be ravaged for the sake of these disruptive few, the entire vitality of this nation will be drained away.” “It may suffice while the general populace remains obedient to the government, but they begin to disregard the sovereignty inherent in Japan’s name as a nation.” “When only these crafty, evil individuals are permitted to embezzle while suppressing ordinary citizens, the shared ideology that esteems what we call Japan’s soul will steadily diminish.”

With a deep sigh that heaved his chest, Shōzō continued. “They often claim there are no financial resources, but Tanaka Shōzō clearly states that financial resources exist like mountains.” "If I may speak briefly, first we must stop these thieves." “We must stop the mountain bandits.” “By merely strictly prohibiting deforestation alone, we would no longer lose millions of the nation’s treasures each year.” By not losing the flood control expenses corresponding to this, it would also mean reducing several million yen. "They smash the rivers to pieces and allow unchecked deforestation in the mountains, all while increasing taxes on one hand." "And then to use that as an excuse to claim there are no financial resources—what is the meaning of this?" "They should avoid self-contradiction." "Developing Hokkaido or exploring immigrant territories—stop spouting such nonsense!" "Within our nation’s inland territories, those who are engaged in the work of robbing the people of their splendid lands reside right beneath the imperial carriage!"

Shouting at the top of his lungs, Shōzō stood momentarily stunned by the reverberations of his own voice echoing through the chamber— “If you would but eliminate this self-defeating wastefulness, financial resources would naturally overflow in such abundance that there’d be nothing left to manage.”

Although he had regained a somewhat calmer tone, before long, once again, "If even that proves insufficient in funds, then it would be best to abolish institutions like today’s Agriculture-Commerce Ministry." "Though this may sound like reckless plundering, the Agriculture-Commerce Ministry has been using five million yen—funds that disrupt the nation’s finances—as operational expenses." "It has become a den of scoundrels disrupting the nation’s finances." "For us to be saying such things is truly pitiful and regrettable……"

For a while, irrepressible indignation spilled forth as abusive words. "I can no longer bring myself to speak any further…" Shōzō's face had turned ashen. Even so, he clung to the table as if for support and began discussing constitutional issues once more. Then, Speaker Katayama leaned forward, “Please state the gist of your inquiry,” cautioned Speaker Katayama. “I have reached a state where I am on the verge of collapse.” “You gentlemen need only look upon my face to understand.” “I can hardly speak… but there remain matters I must convey… Please infer the rest… I worry for next year… and the year after that.” “Those who uphold virtue have the right to possess the Constitution; immoral individuals have no right to possess the Constitution.” “The Constitution is something that should be shared by all forty million compatriots of this nation; however, needless to say, this Constitution and its laws hold no ownership rights for evil people.” “Yet they imprison these law-abiding citizens—petitioners who come forth upholding the Constitution—under the charge of ‘Assembly of Violent Groups,’ while on the other hand, what do we see?” “The perpetrators—these evildoers—come and go within the Imperial Court, receiving court ranks.” “In what terms did the minister who witnessed this understand the concept of responsibility?” “……If even one person entrusted with a ministerial position should perish in a ditch, those who hold such offices must consider that they themselves have driven them to this end.” “If even one person fails to find their rightful place, it is the duty of those who value the office of minister to take responsibility for this.” “Tomorrow, even if the Itō Cabinet changes—whether Ōkuma takes power, Yamagata takes power, or Matsukata takes power—we must oppose any government that merely seeks to increase taxes while neglecting the Constitution as they please.” “As long as there is breath in my body, I must oppose them.” “Though this matter is already settled, since none of us can be certain of tomorrow, I have—disregarding the many pressing duties of today—borrowed your ears for a time and spoken with the utmost sincerity.”

As if bidding farewell to the people, Shōzō concluded his words in an altered tone. Surveying the assembly hall with a deeply moved expression, he then descended the stairs with unsteady steps, counting each one as if tallying them.

On the night two days after the adjournment, Shōzō was admitted to Juntendo Hospital—his chronic illness having been aggravated by the strain of parliamentary duties and his vitality severely diminished. Yet when he avoided others and found himself alone, a tumult of emotions welled up in his chest, leaving him more unsettled than before. So soon after entering the hospital, he even contemplated discharge.

On the 27th of the following month, the final six imprisoned individuals were released on bail.

Chapter Nine

On May 11, Shōzō drafted a letter addressed to Sadassuke Harada of Ashikaga at the Shizuokaya inn in Kobunechō. “The results of my efforts since last month with various Tokyo newspapers, magazines, and others have been truly excellent. I have been tormented day and night by this affliction of the mind. Shōzō’s mental illness is an intangible disease; it does not depend on the health of his body. Fortunately, my physical body has been sound in recent days; the mental illness is entirely an intangible disease that even physicians cannot comprehend. To put it simply, it is a disease that impedes vitality, strength, memory, endurance, deliberation, vivacity, precision, and so forth—an extraordinarily severe illness. For any member of humanity requiring thoughtful deliberation, there exists no greater affliction. However, that which is not afflicted by this disease is my spirit, in which essential elements such as purity, honesty, impatience, and anger still exist. I have greatly reduced pleasures and increased sorrows. However, this sorrow is not for Shōzō’s own sake, but arises from being unable to prevent or eradicate the evils that have encroached upon the public—evils that even claim lives—and from feeling excessive anguish that the prefectural citizens remain oblivious to this. Shōzō is cautious—unlike the heroes of this world—for he knows to take preemptive concern for the nation’s troubles. I earnestly request that you do not mistake Shōzō’s illness as being due to poverty or excessive worry having harmed his body. I earnestly request that you make it thoroughly known to trusted friends that Shōzō knows nothing of poverty. With what has come from Harada, there is not the slightest poverty. Shōzō’s illness is not an individual’s disease—it is the nation’s disease. Therefore, should the nation fully recover, Shōzō will yet have ten years of life. If the nation, as it is today, cannot even save the lives of the victims, then Shōzō’s lifespan will end within this year. I beseech you to accept this without anguish; earnestly compare the nation’s condition with Shōzō’s lifespan, and remember that this prophecy shall not err excessively.”

“Regarding one minor incident among these matters, my humble wife has come to pay her respects; I earnestly request your kind attention to this.” “Written in haste during illness; I reverently submit this.” P.S. Once more, “Since beginning to receive your fixed monthly contributions, I have found profound reassurance—regarding this matter alone, there exists no trace of illness—and I shall meet complete ruin together with the nation.”

Harada had never wavered in supporting Shōzō, having discreetly sustained his benevolent practice for years, but recently, unable to endure witnessing such dire poverty, he resolved to provide a fixed monthly stipend. Since renouncing his parliamentary salary in the thirty-first year of Meiji, Shōzō had effectively been without regular income. The travel expenses required for his ceaseless day-and-night efforts, along with lodging costs—all depended entirely on contributions from relatives and acquaintances. Moreover, following the outbreak of the Kawamata Bridge Incident—while maintaining his office in Shibaguchi on one front—he also had to manage frequent journeys to Maebashi, deliver supplies to defendants, visit their families, and negotiate with sympathetic lawyers, expenses that only mounted until Shōzō himself often lacked even coins for tobacco. When Shōzō began receiving fixed monthly support from Harada amid these circumstances, this brought some relief to his furrowed brow—yet that money too vanished as swiftly as it came. Just this past March, he had given the entire hundred yen sent by Harada directly to those struggling to gather bail funds.

However, as stated in the letter's text, Shōzō had of course overcome such poverty. In Shōzō's heart festered an anguish far more urgent than material want. When viewed on a grand scale, it became a patriotic concern for the nation's ruin—a ruin whose shadow could be glimpsed in the Diet's outcries since the previous year. That concrete manifestation was none other than the Mining Pollution Incident itself. The affected areas had still not been restored; the lives of the afflicted residents remained unsaved. When narrowed to immediate concerns, what weighed on his mind was the movements of defendants following their provisional release.

After the Kawamata Bridge Incident, the awareness of concerned citizens in society had gradually begun to shift. Yet what Shōzō found most unbearable was the shallow-heartedness displayed by some defendants in the courtroom. Before the judges, they clung to the naive misconception that feigning ignorance would expedite resolution, performing indifference to the petitions with statements like "I only came because others persuaded me" or "I never came at all." Some even denied having been beaten and wounded. Neither the desperate intent behind the victims' unavoidable petitions nor the gruesome details of their suffering was boldly articulated by a single person in that courtroom.

If one considered that it was ignorance, panic, and the cowardly resolve of those unable to endure the suffering behind iron bars that had made them speak thus, there were indeed aspects of this that might be forgiven. Nevertheless, it remained an undeniable fact that since the incident, there had been a marked decline in those who poured their passion into petitions. Before long, the appellate public trial in Tokyo would draw near. There would likely be a need to prompt their reflection and resolve beforehand. On April 4, Shōzō had already written a lengthy letter addressed to Haruzō Noguchi, urging the movement among his comrades.

“Then what must we do henceforth? We must speak honestly and act honestly—first in our clothing, which should always be the honest garments of farmers; our food and drink must follow the same principle.” “Regarding the Kawamata matter, I maintain it precisely as stated.” “Now consider—what state will these devastated lands fall into ten years hence? One need only recall Takayama Funatsugawa from ten years past to see it clearly.” “In ten years’ time, when all lies barren, when people and livestock have scattered and perished—leaving none to petition though they strip your rights until no anger remains—you cannot but grasp this truth: compared to ten years prior, those in the worst-hit regions will either lie dead or beg in rags; escaping either fate is as clear as gazing into a mirror. However many fools dwell among you, we must press those with conscience to resolve swiftly—act without delay starting tomorrow, starting even before the public trial—this I implore with utmost urgency.” “As the affected residents bear no guilt whatsoever, let them show their poverty plainly as poverty and their hardships as hardships—without concealment or pretense—speaking and presenting themselves with honesty. Only then may resolution follow.”

The mention of clothing in this text referred to how some petitioners in the past had forced themselves to come to Tokyo in Western suits or haori coats as if living in a peaceful era; Shōzō admonished that no matter how earnestly they spoke of their hardships and recounted their circumstances under such pretense, they could never make others believe them. Moreover, what Shōzō found both puzzling and regrettable was that many of the defendants had returned home in hurried flight soon after their release from prison without heeding any words of caution regarding future plans, and had since given no word at all. They did not communicate even a word about local conditions and fell completely silent. Unable to contain his indignation, Shōzō wrote once more to Noguchi Haruzō.

“People from non-affected areas have finally come to fully believe what Shōzō has been saying, while conversely, people from the affected areas have reached a point where they no longer believe his words.” “Ah, what is the great responsibility of the defendants after their release from prison but to determine how to aid the coastal populace?” “But do they think all responsibilities have ultimately been settled?” “Do they think this hardship is a task without opposition?” “In other words, do they think this is some nefarious scheme that faces no opposition?” “Do they think favorable opportunities are always good?” “There has never been a time like today when my shallow statements are so disbelieved.” “However, people from non-affected areas have gradually come to believe.” “What have the gentlemen of the non-affected areas accomplished these past several dozen days?” “What is truly lamentable is the lack of discipline among the affected residents; we, in tears, are tormented by our inability to find means to save them. April 22nd.”

Shōzō continued sending letters to like-minded individuals among the defendants, urging them to reflect. Any person who had been isolated from society for a year would become estranged from it. Being someone already estranged from that society—if they returned to local villages that were themselves estranged from society and became entangled in delusions of slander and discord, surrounded by complaints and servility—they would grow increasingly blind to society’s truths and true principles. Alongside such warnings came an urging to hasten to the capital and resume their campaign.

For them, it was indeed a fact that the trauma of imprisonment had eaten deep into their minds and bodies. After returning home, they had been unable to regain the strength to rise again. They were pleaded with by those around them and restrained, finding themselves in constrained circumstances. Shōzō had largely perceived those circumstances, but the situation had reached a point where it still necessitated driving them to rise up from within.

On the 24th of this month, a public trial for Shōzō’s own defendant case had been held at Maebashi Court. It was also around this time that Shōzō, despite being ill, had made hurried round trips to Kansai to plead the truth of the mining pollution issue. On June 20, he guided Uchimura Kanzō and headed to the affected areas. This followed a resolution made on the 21st of last month by Kusumoto Masataka, Tsuda Sen, Miyake Yūjirō, Takagi Masakatsu, Uchimura Kanzō, Tanaka Hiroyuki, and others from the Mining Pollution Investigation Society, who had gathered at the Christian Youth Hall to investigate the veracity of the reported increase in deaths. The matter of human lives was the fundamental problem. It had been argued that once this fact alone was confirmed, the ancillary interests would not be worth debating.

Upon arriving in the affected areas, Shōzō immediately sent circular notices to Sakurai, Noguchi, Ono, Niwada, and Kobayashi, and this issue finally began to develop into a substantive national problem. He urged them to rouse themselves to even greater fervor, declaring this opportunity to be as if bestowed from heaven itself, and exhorted them to spare no effort in providing thorough explanations. However, despite Shōzō appearing tirelessly in villages across the region from the 20th to the 28th, the state of the defendants defied all imagination. Some had shut themselves away since returning home after their release from prison and did not show their faces even to their neighbors. Others lay buried under their futons, having even their three daily meals brought to their bedding. When someone came, they would hold their breath under their futons and peer toward the entrance—such was their state. Shōzō was told of such facts more than once. Even the village policeman,

“The bail recipients are cowering under their wives’ skirts, holding their breath and lying low.”

With that, he let out a scornful smirk. Every time Shōzō saw his comrades’ faces, he could not help but emphasize how crucial it was to maintain solidarity within their movement. “Though they claim they don’t go out under their wives’ orders or parents’ teachings, that’s using logic to justify wrongs.” “If they forget their right to petition, it’s no different than obeying Ichibē’s hounds that say even if your life’s taken, don’t assert your rights.” “It’s exactly like when Native savages mistook Columbus’s ships for sea monsters and trembled in fear.” “If they fight vigorously in court, they may be acquitted—but cower, and guilt may yet find them.”

At times, he had no choice but to admonish them in such a manner, encourage them, and exhaust every word in persuasion.

Among the defendants, Nagashima Yohachi’s circumstances were somewhat different. In March, as soon as Nagashima was released on bail, he was baptized by Pastor Hori at Maebashi Church. Unexpectedly, Chief Judge Isono also received baptism alongside him. Recalling how Judge Isono had personally censored his letters daily, Nagashima couldn’t help but see this strange connection as divine providence. Through faith, impatience gave way to forgiveness in Nagashima’s heart, transforming how he perceived his surroundings. He felt public understanding of the mining pollution incident had shifted unexpectedly during his year behind bars—awareness awakening where there had been indifference. Though the authorities still took no action, wasn’t this awakening society precisely the moment to reconsider their protest strategies? If they kept endlessly organizing mass marches to Tokyo, wouldn’t people dismiss them as reckless agitators? These thoughts tormented him in secret.

As soon as Shōzō returned to the capital, he caught a cold and lay down at the Uchiyama residence in Akasaka Omote-chō, remaining confined to bed for an entire week. As a result, the stagnation in his brain found a slight respite. However, as he thought of one thing after another, he could not help but toss and turn restlessly in his sickbed. Shōzō, visualizing the wretchedness of the impoverished residents in Mada, Ebisawa Village, pulled the inkstone box by his pillow closer, “In today’s society, where the amount of money corresponds to the degree of effort exerted, even if we aid the strength of many impoverished people, we remain far inferior to the utterly wicked Ichibē, who acts arbitrarily, wielding incomparable violence and abusing the driving force of wealth. “However, this is not merely to debate strength and weakness once injustice has been set aside. “Even if our justice is weak, we are resolved to save that weakness in its very weakness. “I earnestly entreat you to gather several sincere individuals and personally observe the dire conditions in the Mada district of Ebisawa Village. “When one considers that there are such unfortunate people even among the Japanese, no matter how weak-hearted we may be, there is no room for us to go on living.” —July 1st, addressed to Harada Sadassuke.

Shōzō was still bedridden when he learned that during his brief absence of less than ten days, a significant scheme to sow discord had been devised in Tokyo. It became clear that this was the result of Furukawa having been particularly alarmed by the movements of the voluntary investigation society, leading him to devise a plan to dispatch his subordinates and create discord among its members. As a countermeasure, it became urgently necessary to first resolve the misunderstandings among the members. However, as for the state of the office, there had been a time when several members such as Sahashi, Yokotsuka, Itoi, and Ono were present, but afterward, the personnel shortage persisted.

Shōzō took up his brush once more and wrote a letter to Ōide Kihē urging him to come to the capital. “During the ten days Mr. Uchimura and I finally managed to travel through the regions on official duties, we discovered clear evidence of extensive slander circulating among Tokyo’s concerned citizens. Regarding this matter—both the issues concerning public trial lawyers and those within government departments—if we divide tasks and campaign accordingly, each day would be worth a thousand pieces of gold, such is the critical necessity. However, I am unfortunately ill and unable to assist, while Mr. Sahashi only just returned to the capital yesterday and faces immense difficulties due to funding shortages and lack of personnel.” “Given these circumstances, I must emphasize that gentlemen Yamamoto, Koyama, Aoki, Nagashima, Noguchi, Kamei, Kobayashi, Yazuu—who have remained in the provinces of late—must without delay come to the capital and exert themselves not only for their own sake but for the public good; otherwise, we shall have no excuse before the nation’s discerning righteous souls... Moreover, if you adopt too much of a laissez-faire approach toward the lawyers, even your earnest efforts will lose their vigor and reward—for just as things respond to their echoes, people thrive on mutual goodwill. Though we harbor no ill will toward the defendants or ourselves and lament bitterly that necessity compels this course, those well-meaning souls unaware of the affected regions’ realities grow privately resentful and disheartened.” “...Even if someone were to come for ten or twenty days before the public trial, we have no surplus days to carry out the necessary movements for the issue.” “At least thirty or forty days are required, and if done with true promptness, it would hold immense value.” “This is currently a matter of great urgency.” “When mid-August arrives, it would be advisable for you to return home for a short while.” “My heart aches; the time has not yet come again.” “I earnestly entreat you to perceive without negligence both the pitiable state of my writing this letter while ill and my pressing sincerity.” “With profound respect.”」

Furthermore, on July 19th, he once again drafted a written document addressed to Harada Sadassuke,

“Katsuko departed yesterday for Mr. Matsumoto Eiichi in Ebisawa Village, Ōra District, Gunma Prefecture. Under his care, she is expected to stay temporarily at an impoverished household in Mada within that locality. She remains there to investigate the dire conditions of the area. I earnestly request that you kindly send ten yen in gold to that same location this time. Regarding the two graduates of Shintake Women’s School and others—the matter of women’s lack of breast milk necessitates their dispatch to Ebisawa both as a humanitarian concern and for factual documentation. Should you kindly send the aforementioned ten yen in gold at that juncture, it would serve dual purposes; I most sincerely entreat you to secure this matter. When Katsuko departed yesterday, she carried five yen; however, once train fares and other expenses are paid, I fear there will soon be nothing remaining. Given this month’s urgency, I earnestly implore you to deliver [the funds] directly to the delegates bound for Ebisawa; please hand them personally to the individuals concerned.”

The elderly wife Katsuko stayed in Mada to investigate conditions of men and women suffering from illnesses and lack of breast milk in nearby villages; the results were printed at the Shibaguchi office on August 21st and appealed to the public. Due to Shōzō’s relentless urging, several people came to the capital to work at the office as well. In Honjo, they found an inexpensive lodging and completed preparations for over sixty people—the fifty-one defendants plus committee members—to stay together.

Thus, as the appeal trial drew steadily nearer on September 3, Shōzō once again sent a letter addressed to Harada Takeko. "You must direct your minds to another day. At present, Shōzō’s person stands as the focal point of slander and division. Behold—the grand scheme has driven a wedge between the Affected Residents and the Government, while the petty schemes have fully executed their divisive tactics between Sadassuke and myself. You have all fallen into their snare, pitiable souls that you are. The desperate schemes of those who stop at no treachery are utterly beyond the comprehension of innocent souls like yourselves—armchair strategists who excel in theory alone. However, what is most egregious is that the very things you rejoice in will ultimately take both your flesh and your lives. If Shōzō were still healthy for several more years, he could provide indirect protection; but now it is too late—all matters remain unaccomplished, tomorrow cannot be counted on, and Shōzō has reached a point where he is no longer of use."

The heartrending emotion seeped through even the ink’s darkness and the strokes of the brush.

On September 20th, the public trial finally commenced at the Tokyo Court of Appeals. As a result, the defendants’ petition was accepted, and it was decided to conduct an on-site inspection of the mining pollution-affected areas.

A party of over fifty members—including Chief Judge Kōjirō Isonoya, associate judges, prosecutors, expert witnesses such as Tokiyoshi Yokoi, Muneyoshi Nagaoka, and Mari Toyonaga (professors at the College of Agriculture), attending attorneys Taizō Miyoshi, Tsunetarō Shiotani, Kumatarō Sakurai, Rikisaburō Imamura, Kitarō Urabe, Hidemi Takahashi, and sixteen others, along with eight newspaper reporters including Yoshiharu Ōba of the Mainichi Shimbun and Toshihiko Sakai of the Yorozu Chōhō—departed for the mining pollution-affected areas on October 6th. From the Voluntary Mining Pollution Investigation Society, Tanaka Hiroyuki and Genmoto Zenji joined the group, and Tanaka Shōzō also accompanied them, pushing through his ailing body to ensure there were no oversights in guiding the party.

On that day, under Yamazaki Keijirō’s guidance, the verification first began from Ōaza Abumizuka in Inubushi Town. This was an area where fields, farms, mountains, and forests had all been submerged in the September 7th flood; one field lay so overgrown with weeds that no trace of planted crops remained. In another field, rice leaves had withered and died when barely one to two feet tall. After passing through Ōaza Nishiura, at Ōaza Kōna in Sakai Village, Noguchi Haruzō took over as guide. When they reached the communal soil quarry along Kōna Marsh—where villagers once gathered sediment during floods for fertilizer—they found it now utterly ruined: twelve chō of land had become a vast reed plain stretching to the horizon. Only the soughing autumn wind sweeping across held their gaze.

On this day, as they crossed Kōna Marsh by boat divided into groups, Noguchi’s vessel accidentally capsized. The judges and lawyers aboard all similarly fell into the water. After disembarking and building a bonfire in a farmhouse yard, Noguchi zealously helped dry their clothes yet remained in his dripping garments, refusing to warm himself by the flames. Shōzō, unable to bear the sight, urged him to dry off quickly, but Noguchi stubbornly shook his head. He seemed tormented by responsibility for his blunder—no words could apologize or atone; only action might suffice—his thoughts written plainly in his demeanor. Shōzō recognized this anguish and pitied him, letting him follow his conscience. They soon resumed the inspection, Noguchi guiding them with his body exposed to late autumn’s cold wind like a drenched rat. By evening, his face had paled with goosebumps, eyes glistening. When others noticed, even walking pained him. A cold brought sudden fever—a fierce one at that. The lawyers and judges, newly aware of his state, were moved to genuine pity—eyes moistening as they urged rest.

On the following seventh day, Noguchi again refused to heed advice, persisting in guiding them despite his ailing body. They began from Ōaza Takayama and proceeded through Aza Gongenmukai to Aza Koizumi. Cracks had formed in the road beneath the embankment there, with bluish-black topsoil six bu thick flaking off in fragments. These were remnants left by the September 13th flooding. The farmland in Gongenmukai spanned over thirty chō—a sea of mustard greens where only faint ridge-like traces remained among the vegetation. The guiding role then passed to Kurihara Saijirō as they moved to Funatsu River in Ueno Village, testing how easily thick bamboo could be uprooted in the embankment's outer grove. Though the rice fields showed sparse growth throughout the area, poison mounds dotted every corner among the stalks. Next under Niwada Tsunekichi's guidance, they reached Ōaza Shimohata in Azuma Village. There they reaffirmed that riverside bamboo could be effortlessly pulled out by hand, and inspected residual sediment from the 29th year now five shaku deep within Niwada's property. In Aza Tsubakida, they surveyed both the swamp created by the 29th-year levee breach and the surrounding mulberry fields reduced to wasteland.

On the eighth day, they went to Ōaza Kawasaki in Keno Village, where under Sajū Iwasaki’s guidance they inspected the stunted growth of upland rice, buckwheat, and sorghum; stood at three breached sections of the levee; gazed upon a withered bamboo grove; and surveyed from the embankment’s height the mulberry fields below—now largely reduced to wasteland across the northeastern floodplain. Next, with Inamura Yoichi as their guide, they toured Ōaza Kubota and Ōaza Noda in Kuno Village. Beneath the embankment at Kamitakahashi Ferry Landing, the remains of soil excavated to repair the breach from the 29th year had become a depression over three meters deep. When they stood atop the embankment, the entire southeastern expanse stretched before their eyes as a boundless great sandy plain, within which countless small hill-like poison mounds continued endlessly. That was nothing like the situation around Meiji 29 when Shōzō had remarked, "It’s exactly like Matsushima." The area spanned approximately fifty chōbu.

On the ninth day, they suspended inspections for the entire day. On the tenth, guided by Kamei Tomoji, they passed through Ōaza Hyūga and Ōaza Kido in Tatara Village, then proceeded to Ōaza Kamisakawata in Watase Village under Kobayashi Zenkichi’s guidance. In Raiden Forest within that area, over a hundred cedar trees had all turned reddish-brown and been left to wither and die. About ten ken to the north lay the confluence where the Yabagawa River flows into the Watarase River; during floods, this area becomes submerged under five shaku of water. On the 11th, after continuing their inspection from the previous day of the mulberry fields and other areas in Shimosakawata, Oide Kihei took charge as guide and they entered Ōshima Village. In that village’s Ōaza Kamiakuto—land outside the embankment that had once been a communal soil quarry—everything had now become a reed plain. Trial excavations revealed layered soil deposits corresponding to flood depths recorded as twenty shaku five sun in Meiji 31 (1898), seventeen shaku in Meiji 32 (1899), seventeen shaku in Meiji 33 (1900), and fourteen shaku in Meiji 34 (1901)—clear stratigraphic evidence of each year’s devastating floods. Only crops within the embankment showed any signs of growth.

Furthermore, Nagashima Yohachi guided them to Ōaza Nishiokashinden in Nishiyatamura Village. This was an area where all fields had been reduced to ruin due to the breach of the Shinmei West embankment, with traces of sediment flow remaining across the entire vicinity. The rice fields had been cultivated by removing sediment, their depth measuring two shaku eight sun from the ground surface. Here too, poison mounds were scattered everywhere; some lay covered with ochre-colored moss, with not a single blade of grass growing otherwise. While observing them digging up and transporting the toxic soil, they came to Ōaza Yokkawa. In that area, the mulberry fields along the Watarase River had all withered across approximately eighteen chō, while in the eastern lands only scattered mulberry trees remained—indistinguishable from wilderness.

This concluded the inspection of the affected areas. On the following twelfth day, inspections were conducted at locations related to the incident: Unryūji Temple in Shimosakawata, Tatebayashi County Office and Police Station, and Ōaza Kawamata in Sanuki Village.

The soil samples, crops, and other materials collected from the affected areas during these days of inspections were to be analyzed by experts, with their findings reported in due course. But Shōzō did not wait for those results. He had no mental capacity for that. For eleven years since he first brought this issue before parliament—during which time none of his efforts aligned with his intentions nor gained society’s attention—an investigation had at last been conducted from a strictly impartial standpoint through the fortuitous activation of judicial authority. Shōzō did not doubt that this outcome would bring recognition to the mining pollution. The truth cannot be concealed forever. The fact of mining pollution is absolute. If one stands from a strictly impartial standpoint, no one can fail to recognize it. If properly recognized, the innocence of those defendants was a matter of course. As a result of this, society’s perspective on the mining pollution issue would surely change. There was no longer any need to wait for that result... And now, the problem was about to collide with even greater hardships. Furukawa had finally changed tactics and begun attempting to purchase the polluted lands.

Upon returning to the capital, Shōzō submitted his resignation to the House of Representatives and bid a resolute farewell to his years of political life. For Shōzō, this was merely fulfilling the promise he had made on the podium of the House of Representatives back on March 24th—a course of action he had long harbored in his heart. However, it was merely that he had finally been able to seize that opportunity.

On that day, having bid farewell to his life as a Diet member and exited the gates of the House of Representatives, Shōzō scolded the rickshaw puller who attempted with a knowing look to take the route toward Shibaguchi, instead making him dash off in the opposite direction. When they reached the moat’s edge where an old pine tree hung its branches thickly from atop the stone wall, he had the rickshaw stopped, paid no heed to the rickshaw puller’s puzzled expression, and stepped onto the gravel to walk into the palace square. However, he did not venture deep; he stood gazing at the distant forest shadows of Ouchiyama where autumn clouds drifted and became still. Eventually, he reverently bowed deeply.

After some time had passed, Shōzō—now once more a passenger in the rickshaw—bore a composure that spoke of having trodden the path he was meant to follow. It was not solely due to late autumn's penetrating chill—his eyes too held a lucid clarity. The rickshaw ran along the sparsely populated Atagoshita street toward Shibaguchi. Shōzō sat in the rickshaw with his arms firmly crossed, recalling everything since the first general election of Meiji 23 (1890). In remembering how his true comrades from home had earnestly supported him through six elections spanning Meiji 23 to Meiji 31, and reflecting on how he himself had acted with unwavering earnestness as a Diet member throughout those ten years as if each day were unchanged from the last, he could rest assured he felt no shame whatsoever on that account.

But what of the mining pollution problem?

Once he arrived at that thought, Shōzō's face suddenly clouded over. It began with my attack and impeachment of Mutsu Munemitsu—then Minister of Agriculture and Commerce—in the Meiji 24 parliament; this resulted in election interference during Meiji 25. The enemy's campaign funds that brought about this devastation had been distributed to opposing factions under Mutsu's orders. When I attempted to continue attacking Mutsu in Meiji 25 [1892], he resigned, changed tactics, and struck at me from behind. Yokoo Terukichi and his faction from our former Progressive Party allies joined forces with Ichibē and ultimately forced the affected residents to swallow 100,000 yen. The destitute instead welcomed measures by the government and Furukawa—for a time leaving me nearly silenced. Slander against me also grew increasingly severe around this period. No—the defamation against affected residents surpassed even that against me. Furukawa and his cohorts propagated that mining pollution didn't create victims—rather victims invented mining pollution.

But I did not yield; I continued attacking through valid arguments. Even so, this remained merely an attack based on reason—it never attained the true worth of conveying the suffering of the affected residents. In striving to prevent Kantō's fertile plains from becoming barren wastelands, I could not stop it before it began. I alone ran wildly and roared in fury, but those who looked back were few; six years passed in naught but the world’s ridicule and slander. During this time, Furukawa, the perpetrator, wielded financial power, violent authority, and malicious cunning—leaving nothing wanting in his deplorable conduct. The political world, officials great and small, scholars, and educators—all had been poisoned by this, reduced instead to becoming Furukawa’s lackeys and beasts of burden. Even those spared from the disaster, along with the entire party government—all inexperienced in such matters—had passed their days without grasping the true nature of the problem. The general public, too, was inexperienced, wearing expressions of utter indifference. Even the affected residents were inexperienced and had not realized the horror of the harm. As mining pollution intensified, barren lands proliferated, and regions where people sank into poverty and disease increased, the affected residents finally began to grasp whether Shōzō’s words were valid arguments or mere biased theories. By the thirtieth year [of Meiji] (1897), it had finally come to be addressed—if only slightly—by the government.

But still, I could not save the affected residents. The barren lands could not be restored. At one point, I had attempted to rely on the power of major political parties, only to be confronted with their grotesque corruption. Even when the Constitutional Party was formed, because I was a member of it, other parties went so far as to reject this issue. Not only that, but even the Constitutional Party itself was ensnared by divisive tactics, and there were few who believed in me, claiming that "Shōzō barks falsehoods and exaggerates trivial matters." Therefore, I severed my long-standing ties and resigned from the party. It was not merely an issue of a single party or faction—I had made clear that it was a national problem and a social problem. And yet, the slander still did not cease. “The mining pollution issue is Tanaka Shōzō’s exclusive domain.” “Merely voicing agreement is sufficient; there’s no need to actively join forces with him.” They also declared, “Tanaka Shōzō merely shrieks to curry favor with voters.” “If the mining pollution movement were halted, he couldn’t win elections without it.” “It’s an election campaign.” The public also believed this without question.

Furthermore, year after year, the divisions and baseless rumors grew increasingly virulent. “Even the frequent petitions by the affected residents were never truly of their own volition.” “They sprang from Shōzō’s instigation and incitement.” Thus did the slander that had saturated the political world reach a point beyond remedy. His strength had failed him at last. But from the very beginning, I had been steeled for total devotion. Whatever could be achieved alone—no matter how daunting—I would not falter in resolutely executing it. This day’s resignation from the Diet to become a private citizen served precisely to muzzle those purveyors of lies.

No—given their mastery of treacherous schemes—they would likely impose some unforeseen slander upon me again. No, no. Such matters no longer concerned me now. The true reason I had to resign my Diet seat lay buried deep within my heart. From this day forth, I would walk alone. This final campaign—even were judicial authority to formally acknowledge mining pollution's facts, even were champions of justice to rally however fiercely—the Mining Pollution Issue now stood beyond resolution through mere pollution-focused efforts. The Ruined Nation—unless this Ruined Nation were saved, no solution could exist. Only through elevating this Mahayana-like conviction of national salvation—abandoning narrow anti-pollution aims—might even that issue find its starting thread. And yet the sole path granted me was to redeem the Ruined Nation through this very Mining Pollution struggle. That path—it must stay sealed within my heart's depths until the end...

When those around him learned that Shōzō had resigned as a Diet member, they all pressed him to reconsider. Friends and acquaintances also rushed over in astonishment. Prominent members of his hometown also came to Tokyo to advise. Yet not a single person could sway Shōzō’s resolve to resign.

On October 20, Shōzō wrote the following from a room at Ueno Hall to Takeko Harada:

“The reason for declining the stipend—there exists not a single soul in Japan capable of interpreting it. “Might even Mr. Harada Kanshichirō fail to grasp it? “Sadassuke’s mother proves remarkably astute—she comprehends perhaps half. “Even Mr. Kanshichirō understands this resignation. “Yet he likely fails to fathom why I remained in office these past two years. “Only when our people awaken to comprehend this matter of parliamentary stipends shall Japan attain its true momentum for progress. “So long as multitudes dwell in ignorance, our nation shall not cease its march toward regression—nay, ruin. “Mark these words—the day when this prophecy shall be recalled draws nearer than you imagine.”

Chapter Ten

On the night of November 2, Shōzō visited Shimada Saburō at his private residence in Nakarokubanchō. The following day was the Emperor’s Birthday, and that night, a speech meeting was to be held at the Christian Youth Hall by members of the Mining Pollution Investigation Volunteers; this visit was to coordinate plans for it.

Madame also joined them, and their conversation naturally focused on the affected areas. Shōzō explained the dire conditions in both Ebisawa Village and Yamaguchimata, saying, “I will guide you there myself—you must come see it.” “Compared to when we had the inspection conducted years ago, there is a stark difference—houses left abandoned number in the tens, as people either die out or wander to other regions to become beggars.” “Even those homes not yet abandoned—there’s not a single house without someone sick, blind, or insane. The entire village has fallen into utter ruin.” “It’s beyond what words can express…”

Shōzō’s eyes welled with tears. The agitation he had stirred up through his explanation lingered in his chest long after the gathering had sunk into profound silence. The chirping of autumn insects seemed to seep upward from beneath their knees. “In the affected areas, you can’t even hear these insect sounds anymore.” “Not a single bug remains…” With eyes still closed, Shōzō muttered as if to himself, then released a deep sigh.

That night, having arranged to stay over, he withdrew to a separate room; yet the thoughts swirling in his breast showed no sign of abating, and so he sat upright beneath the lamplight, took up brush and ink, and began writing a letter. “This session of the Diet is gravely urgent. Regarding the perpetuity of the mining pollution issue, the life and death of our coastal regions truly rests with your esteemed selves. The weight of your responsibility—unyielding and unflagging until the very end—defies all description. How many times did I become a leader to thirteen thousand souls, then a leader to over two thousand more? How many times did I rise again as a leader after fifty were cast into prison? How many times did I torment courts, torment lawyers, torment parents and wives and children? These instances lie beyond enumeration. Having maintained within myself a resolve both fair and selfless, I previously secured tax exemptions spanning sixty-eight villages and townships, initiated preventive works, and gradually achieved plantings within water sources—these accomplishments are by no means insignificant.”

There, he set the brush on his knee, gazed upward as if peering into the distance, inserted a parenthetical (“Please convey my regards to Mr. Niwada, Mr. Ono, Mr. Nakabayashi, and others”), and continued with the next part. “And yet [they] have failed to address the root cause; mining pollution has not ceased, and the rivers’ devastation now intensifies its harm. They have shifted tactics and are plotting the wicked scheme to purchase and annex all mining-polluted lands.” Portions of Yōraku, Yamada, Anso, Ibaraki, and Saitama are within that calamity. Yanaka Village in Shimotsuga is one such instance. The problem has evolved in the manner described above and has now transformed into an even more intractable issue.

Society has become corrupt, no longer possessing the humaneness of Meiji 29—is this not the very picture of how the power of money and violence allows evil to run rampant, forcing all good people to grovel in the lower ranks? This is a strange era—the destined time for the nation’s ruin. Are not the coastal areas of these four or five prefectures the precursor to ruin? Even if the people slumber, let them slumber—it is only those long awakened, those who neither tire nor waver, those who foresee ruin in the era’s trajectory, those who comprehend national law and moral principles and human rights and life and property, those who prioritize human rights over profit, those who endure poverty without bending their spirit for selfish desires, those who understand that neglecting this issue for a day brings a loss of one hundred yen and that a year’s complacency incurs not merely a decade’s loss but eternal regret—it is solely through these few individuals’ names that a petition of worth must be submitted to this Diet session as well, following precedent.

The names of you all—many are already known; therefore, your names alone should suffice to represent the natural coastline. Obtaining signatures is troublesome. Moreover, the names of countless fools—even if they were as numerous as clouds and mist—would contribute little in practice; even a single person who embodies the spirit of sincere principles would suffice. "I believe that two or three—or even four, five, six, or seven—of you would suffice."

Shozo, as if suddenly remembering, wrote in (Please give my regards to Mr. Yamamoto Eisaburō). "I earnestly entreat you not to treat lightly the drafting of the petition text. It must indeed be reviewed. Though I too should draft it, as you know, the Tochigi Prefectural Assembly convenes on the coming 12th, and regarding the sowing of wheat fields across Yanaka's thousand *chō*, there remains no expedient measure. Moreover, from the approaching 22nd, the Tokyo Court of Appeals will be in session, and with neither funds nor assistants, I shall merely burden my aged former comrades. I can no longer move this body as in Meiji 29; spirit and flesh having become inversely proportional, causing inconvenience to this flesh—rendered sluggish in practical matters, capable only of bungling errors—it is truly mortifying."

Shōzō furrowed his brow and rubbed the brush tip against the inkstone, but— "However, there is one matter where I must beg your divine respite: my spirit has grown ever purer, my mind clear and eyesight seemingly twice as keen as before—a marvel among marvels. May you rejoice in this. My discernment too has somewhat advanced compared to prior years. As for this mere aging flesh, even I myself am nearly dumbfounded. Ultimately, this body shall not merely decay—it will perish utterly. Yet the spirit alone stands contrary, remaining wholly undecayed and perhaps laboring eternally. Thus while the flesh suffers pain, the spirit finds joy. Are people reborn time and again, or not? Even when reborn, there is no limit to those born as fools, as dullards, into wealthy households—those who perish in dreams without ever comprehending society's true nature. Therefore in this present world of ours—though we are no inventors—we are no fools. Though not sages, neither are we imbeciles. Though impoverished, we neither guard riches nor consort with thieves. Truly, we have been born into felicity in this age. Have we not become leaders to twenty thousand, thirty thousand souls? Have we not aided multitudes of ailing people? Did we not slip through the Tone River to cross enemy lines and perform the true deeds of humanity's warriors?"