Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One

If the smoke rising to Mount Nasu had a heart—

O heavens, bear witness to the people's anguish — (1884) Shōzō

Chapter One Unfold the Land Survey Department’s 1:200,000-scale maps “Nikkō” and “Utsunomiya”. You will notice a river that originates at Matsunokizawa on the southern face of the outer rim mountains surrounding Lake Chūzenji, flowing southward through overlapping green folds. It turns sharply southeast near where the Mount Akagi foothills form its right bank, pressing against the base of hills descending from the Nikko mountain range on its left bank as it emerges into broad terrain at Ōmama, Kiryū, and Ashikaga, then winds its way through serpentine bends to converge with the Tonegawa River just before Kurehashi.

This was none other than the Watarase River. If one counted the tributaries joining it along its course, those flowing from the south amounted to merely two rivers—the Yaba and Yatsuda—while from the north came the Kiryū, Kōmata, Matsuda, followed further downstream by the Fukuro, Sai, Hata, and Akiyama tributaries, with the Omoi River converging near Koga. Its watershed spanned four prefectures—Tochigi, Gunma, Saitama, and Ibaraki—with an area exceeding 230 square ri. The main river’s course measured 27 ri, while the combined total length of all tributaries extended over 210 ri.

Now, that this lower plain had been agriculturally fertile since ancient times became evident when consulting old local histories: from Prince Toyokiirihiko’s descent during the reign of Emperor Sujin—the tenth human emperor—to become the progenitor of Kenu Province, through Yamato Takeru’s eastern campaigns, Fujiwara no Uona’s subjugation of the eastern barbarians, the Tengyō Rebellion, the Former Nine Years’ War, and the Later Three Years’ War, whenever rebellions arose in the eastern provinces, the Sano region served as both a base of operations and a logistical hub for suppression. In other words, this was because the region had been rich in resources and could withstand such requisitioning when necessary, and because life had been leisurely enough that increasing numbers of soldiers settled to engage in farming, with their descendants then responding to military conscription in turn. The fact that numerous ancient burial mounds were discovered in this region, and that villages abounded with castle ruins and fortress remnants, served as evidence of these circumstances. Moreover, the local proverb "In Anso, none lack a family name" did not refer to indolent individuals without lineage, but rather signified that every household took pride in pedigrees and genealogies. Before the Tokugawa shogunate implemented its oppressive ban on official titles due to administrative inconveniences, it was said that in the Anso region alone there had existed two hundred fifty to sixty households possessing court-bestowed titles and ranks—comparable to how Kyoto and its environs swarmed with court nobles, differing only in social standing. These local lords, proud of pedigrees, maintained fierce self-esteem; even under Tokugawa rule, they stubbornly refused to bow to its authority in private. To a greater or lesser extent, they harbored imperial loyalist ideals, and this resulted in fostering a particular ethos among their communities.

To speak of this as a land of abundant harvests, there was no need to invoke such ancient history. Merely citing the abundance of its rivers would suffice as half the proof.

Where there are rivers, floods inevitably follow—a near-universal truth. The lower regions of the Watarase River had indeed been struck by floods every three to five years. Moreover, as its headwaters lay in deep mountains where ridges of old were blanketed by pristine forests untouched by axes or hatchets, whenever heavy rains fell in the highlands, the floodwaters would sweep away decayed matter—dead branches, fallen leaves, and rotted tree nuts accumulated at forest roots and valley floors—carrying this sediment into the entire downstream basin. Therefore, after the floodwaters receded, this sediment would blanket the land—two to three *sun* deep in thinner areas, eight to nine *sun* where it accumulated most heavily. This was what they called leaf mold—a natural fertilizer. That is to say, while floods would damage crops along the banks, in return there was no need to apply fertilizer in the following year or the year after that. The farmers even tended to welcome the floods. Moreover, they could compensate for the crop losses incurred from that year's flood through their fishing harvest. When floods occurred, fish would proliferate abundantly in all surrounding rivers, marshes, and ditches.

The 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—to evade such damage. However, winter crops such as barley, wheat, rapeseed, and mustard greens required only scattered seeds to yield a harvest without fertilizer. Barley stalks grew to five shaku in height, often toppling under their own weight. When fastened to horses, their ears hung in dense clusters that dragged along the ground. Rapeseed reached over six shaku while mustard greens thrived at eight to nine shaku. When rapeseed flowers bloomed in full splendor, the entire riverside radiated such a lush golden glow that it seemed to brighten the very sky.

Moreover, along the riverbanks, forests and bamboo groves were lushly overgrown. The bamboo groves in particular grew magnificently, with thick stalks called *Shakumaru*—so large that single stalks were sold and traded as bundles. Around August and September, the harvested green bamboo was assembled into rafts and sent down the river in countless numbers. In addition to Mōsō bamboo, shino bamboo flourished everywhere, their stems so thickly clustered that ascending and descending riverboats remained invisible, their presence known only by the sound of oars. These, in turn, naturally served as embankments.

In areas where thickets of dwarf bamboo, muddy willows, and reeds grew densely, structures jutting out over the river surface with erected frameworks and square nets could be seen. Cross-shaped green bamboo poles creaked and bent as the net was hauled up with a splash, water cascading down. The caught fish leaped vigorously, glinting silver. Sweetfish, crucian carp, common carp, Pacific redfin, and others were caught in quantities of ten to twenty *kan* per night. When late summer turned to early autumn, figures casting nets from boats drifting in the morning mist could be seen. Sea bass and mullet were caught five or six at a time in a single net. There were also those who set stakes in the tributaries and hung salmon nets. After heavy rains, five kan or even ten kan of eels were caught in bag nets set in the murky waters.

Even if year after year, they could not escape life’s joys and sorrows there as well, for the farmers it was truly a land where they could live and work in peace, fully savoring nature’s bounty.

However, it was the summer of Meiji 12 (1879). After the rain, the river water turned milky white and turbid as fish came floating downstream with their pale bellies upturned. Their numbers reached thousands upon thousands. Yet that year passed with only those who had seen it nursing suspicions about what occurred. Then during the next year's flood, eels that once swam vigorously came drifting down exhausted and limp. Children amused themselves by grabbing them bare-handed and raising a clamor.

"Strange things had lately been occurring along the Watarase River."

Voices of suspicion finally began to spread. "This is no ordinary matter," some would mutter, furrowing their brows uneasily during field conversations. But no one knew the reason why. No one stepped forward to investigate the cause. They would nod in agreement at explanations from self-styled experts found everywhere—it was probably due to the dyes used by textile manufacturers in the Kiryū and Ashikaga areas—and leave it at that. Indeed, Tochigi Governor Fujikawa Tamechika issued an ordinance: the fish of the Watarase River posed a public health hazard and must not be caught. This warning continued from Meiji 13 (1880) to 15 (1882), but only restrained fish catches. Moreover, that Fujikawa was eventually relegated to Shimane Prefecture.

Those who made their living from fishing dwindled year by year, yet ordinary farmers still did not take such circumstances as a warning to heart. They had come to regard floods as natural disasters and ordinary occurrences; they merely discussed how strange it was that after a flood, the skin between their toes would fester and that no grass would grow in the soil left behind by the floodwaters.

Thus, several more years passed. But those floods grew more violent year by year. In Tochigi Prefecture on the north bank, reverse currents from several tributaries grew more violent with each flood, and crop yields in the fields and paddies decreased markedly. While Gunma Prefecture on the south bank—having fewer tributaries—was spared damage from reverse currents, the taro planted in mulberry fields beyond the embankments would no sooner grow leaves barely reaching the size of Tenpō coins than they withered away. The upland rice planted afterward also withered and died once it reached three or four sun in height. In the flood, sturdy mulberry trees fell, their roots failing to take hold, and withered away one after another. Thus, the abnormalities became strikingly evident to the eye. They could no longer remain indifferent to the abnormalities, whether they wanted to or not. In the deep mountains upstream of this Watarase River lies the Ashio Copper Mine. It is said that the Ashio Copper Mine had recently begun operating vigorously. The mine toxins had flowed downstream; they were undoubtedly responsible for this calamity. No one could say who first voiced it, but such voices reached the farmers’ ears and were recounted with looks of astonishment as though realizing it anew. Those who heard this recalled the past and scrutinized the present, and were indeed struck by an indescribable terror. Although they had finally noticed the cause of the abnormalities and been struck to the heart, the people did not know what to do. They could only exchange looks of sorrow and worry about what lay ahead. There must have been those who discussed appealing to the relevant authorities now to have measures taken to eliminate the harm, but it never progressed to actual implementation of how to do so. As if mocking their ignorance with scornful laughter, on August 23, Meiji 23 (1890), yet another flood struck the region. Even for the Watarase River, this flooding was unprecedented. In Tochigi Prefecture, the various tributaries swelled with water, reversed their flow, and inundated the surrounding farmland.

In Gunma Prefecture, the embankment at Ōmaki, Yokokawa, Nishiyata Village collapsed and turned eight or nine villages east of Tatebayashi into a sea of mud.

In Azuma Village—among the disaster-stricken areas that had suffered particularly severe damage—a provisional village assembly was convened in December, and a written petition was submitted to the Tochigi Governor under Mayor Kameda Sahei's name; this marked the pioneering act of public protest against mining pollution damage by those awakened to its harms. The text contained these words: "This devastation extends not solely to our Azuma Village—every settlement along the Watarase River basin suffers identical harm. Within years unnumbered, these lands shall become barren wildernesses where all villagers scatter like dust." That same month, the Tochigi Prefectural Assembly submitted a proposal to Governor Orda regarding measures to eliminate the damage. Yet both prefectural offices and county offices—as if fearing that widespread recognition of mining pollution's effects would stir unrest among riverside residents—conducted only token investigations to maintain appearances.

In early April of the following year, concerned citizens from Ashikaga and Yanada counties gathered in Ashikaga Town, consulted with volunteers from the disaster-stricken areas, agreed to conduct their own on-site investigation, and each returned to their respective villages to advance the plans. On May 1st, Kameda Sahei, Naitō Masujirō, and Kawata Dōjirō from Azuma Village; Hayakawa Chūgo, Onuki Kazuyoshi, and Kawashima Minokichi from Keno Village; and Nagai Sukeyuki, Nakayama Katsusaku, and Ogawa Sakutarō from Yanada Village gathered in Keno Village to take a concrete step forward in advancing their investigation. The following day, Hayakawa departed for Tokyo carrying sediment samples from Ōaza Hata in Azuma Village and Ōaza Yanada in Yanada Village, and Nagai set out for the Ashio Copper Mine.

Hayakawa Chūgo visited Murakami Seiji, a journalist from Sano, and requested an introduction to Shiga Shigeaki. Since Shiga was an agricultural scholar who also worked as a political journalist at the time, the idea was that he would select someone suitable for analyzing sediment. Shiga provided a letter of introduction addressed to Ōuchi Ken at the Higher Normal School. When they visited Ōuchi, he recommended Kozai Yoshimichi of the Agricultural College, vouching for the man’s integrity—that he was impartial and would never yield to personal considerations. Hayakawa Chūgo, with renewed determination, promptly visited Professor Kozai and stated his purpose:

“Already, Engineer Banno from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has been dispatched to the site, but the administrative offices’ actions remain roundabout and contrary to our hopes as local residents.” “Moreover, we fear that due to concerns farmers might riot if the survey results were reported truthfully, the facts themselves would likely not be disclosed—though this may be unfounded worry on our part.” “The reality is that the damage far exceeds even our gravest fears.” “We earnestly request you conduct a rigorous academic investigation utilizing the Agricultural College’s expertise.” “We wished to determine the cause of the damage through a trustworthy investigation by the Agricultural College—with that thought, we specifically came to Tokyo carrying sediment.”

Professor Kozai Yoshimichi, who had been listening silently, responded: "Professor Nagaoka is currently on a business trip and will be bringing back various soil samples from cultivated lands. Preparations are underway to establish test fields and conduct trial cultivations as soon as he returns to Tokyo. The university is proceeding with its investigation from its own perspective. However, it is entirely reasonable that local people would seek to place their trust in the Agricultural College’s analysis. Very well—I shall proceed with the analysis immediately."

Hayakawa edged his knees further forward, "If we can receive that report, we must show it to concerned citizens in each region." "Professor, you will bear responsibility for the report." "Of course—having undertaken the analysis—I am prepared for that responsibility."

With that acceptance, Hayakawa Chūgo returned to his hometown greatly encouraged. And together with his comrades, he waited for the report with each day feeling like a thousand years.

Meanwhile, Nagai Sukeyuki passed through Kiryū and Ōmama, then traveled upstream along the Watarase River for over ten ri, arriving in Ashio on the third day. When he came near Hanawa in Kōzuke along the way, the color of the mountain stream’s water had already changed. After passing through the town of Ashio and arriving at the confluence near the slightly upstream village of Watarae, he involuntarily halted and stared intently at the water flow. Although the stream flowing from Hosoo Pass through Kannonai was clear and pure, one tributary of Matsunokizawa had water so turbid it resembled stirred clay mixed with lime. The distinction between the two was stark. He could not help but keenly feel that the presence or absence of mine toxins could be discerned from the water’s color. The next day, he went along that mountain stream to the Akakura Smelting Plant and saw several roasting furnaces and blast furnace smokestacks belching dense, ominous smoke that blotted out the sunlight. He saw noxious fumes that assailed the nose and irritated the throat drifting and flowing about. The mountains surrounding the valley stood bare of trees, only withered, lifeless trunks meeting the eye. The mountainsides were all on the verge of collapsing into jumbled accumulations of rocks. Under these circumstances—when summer downpours would wash away sediment and rocks all at once—he nodded in agreement that it stood to reason for the Watarase River’s bed to become shallow. He further climbed to the various mine entrances at Ariki, Takano-su, and Honkuchi in Honzan and saw bluish-tinged wastewater flowing out from their mouths. This indeed contained copper sulfate, and he shuddered in horror at how mine toxins were thus being ceaselessly poured into the Watarase River at all times. The following day, he viewed the Kotaki Mine and there too felt a similar profound emotion.

There, he visited the mine office on the sixth day in an attempt to understand how those responsible for the copper mine perceived the mining pollution damage. A certain Mr. Todo conducted the interview, and various exchanges took place between him and Nagai. The farmers along the Watarase River had been unaware that mining pollution was the cause for ten years, but when Nagai explained that the recent devastation was thus-and-so, Todo indeed shook his head, insisting it must be flood damage—mining toxins couldn’t reach such distant areas. When pressed to implement countermeasures, he dismissed it as not being urgent and refused to engage.

Realizing the futility of any further discussion, Nagai fell silent. Deeply stirred in his heart with resolve that he must vigorously launch a movement upon returning home, he descended the mountain.

Thus in June, a printed document titled "Ashio Copper Mine Industry and Watarase River Coastal Damage Report" was distributed to villages along the river by concerned citizens from the aforementioned three villages. This document included reports from Hayakawa and Nagai alongside Professor Kozai’s analysis table, with an appended note stating: “The absence of plant growth in the aforementioned fields likely stems from copper compounds present within the soil.” It also contained an analysis of water from the ferry landing in Ōaza Kita Saruda, Keno Village, which stated: “Based on these results, this water contains nitrous acid, copper, ammonia, and other substances, rendering it unsuitable for drinking.” This was the outcome of an analysis Hayakawa had requested from Utsunomiya Hospital in October of the previous year, bearing the signature of Dispensary Bureau Director Ōsawa Komanosuke.

Around this time, concerned citizens requested Yokoi Tokiyoshi, who presided over *Sangyō Jiron* (Industrial Review), to conduct an inspection of the affected areas. Yokoi toured the devastated regions, expressed profound sympathy for the farmers, and organized lecture meetings at multiple sites to rouse their awareness. After returning to Tokyo, he sought to galvanize public discourse from the standpoints of agrarian issues and social policy, yet scarcely anyone lent an ear.

At this time, Tanaka Shōzō—a member of the House of Representatives elected from Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District (Aso, Yanada, and Ashikaga Counties)—had independently launched an investigation into the damage with the assistance of Saheiji Saburō, a native of Gunma Prefecture. Saheiji Saburō was still a student at Tokyo Senmon Gakkō (predecessor of Waseda University) at the time but had already been residing at Koyama Kōhachirō’s home in Ōshima Village since the previous autumn under Tanaka Shōzō’s orders to advance his investigations, while also deliberating with local volunteers on matters related to petitions.

Now, what manner of mine was this Ashio Copper Mine?

At this point, it became necessary to address its historical development. According to ancient records, it originated when two Ashio Village farmers named Jibu and Naikura first discovered an ore vein in Keichō 15 (1610) and conducted test drilling with permission from their feudal lord—the abbot of Nikkō Zazen-in—but why did mine pollution damage emerge in the Meiji 10s? There had to be a reason commensurate with that outcome. When Jibu and Naikura conducted test drilling, they obtained a large quantity of copper ore in the following year (Keichō 16), which they presented to the shogunal family as mabuki copper. This coincided with preparations for Iemitsu’s hakama-wearing ceremony, an event deemed so auspicious that the copper mine subsequently came under direct shogunate control. By Keichō 18-19 (1613-1614), trading offices had been established in Edo, Osaka, and Nagasaki, reaching the point where one-fifth of produced copper was exported to Holland. Thereafter—from Enpō 4 (1676) to Jōkyō 4 (1687)—they established thirty-two smelting furnaces, thereafter producing between 350,000 and 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 mine’s structures, houses, copper ore, slag, and waste ore were washed away. But with construction funds granted by the shogunate, operations recovered sufficiently to produce over 1,206,400 copper plates for Edo Castle’s restoration tiles by the fifth year of the same era. In Kyōhō 3 (1718), a fire broke out, reducing all of Ashio’s over a thousand households to ashes. After these many vicissitudes, from around the first year of Genbun (1736), income and expenses finally ceased to balance, and as operational difficulties accumulated year after year, they petitioned for permission to mint widely circulated coins. It is said that this refers to the "Ashio" (足) character on the reverse side of the one-rin coin.

In March of Meiji 1, the shogunate copper mine office was disbanded. Under Nikkō Prefecture's administration—later Tochigi Prefecture—it remained until Meiji 4, but in the fifth year [of Meiji], it was first transferred to private hands, becoming the leased area of Noda Sangō of Osaka Prefecture. Subsequently in the seventh year [of Meiji], [the nominal rights] were transferred to Fukuda Kin’ichi of Nagasaki Prefecture, and in the tenth year [of Meiji], to Shiga Naomichi of Fukushima Prefecture. Shiga Naomichi—a former retainer of the Soma family—had lent his personal name to serve as the public face for his lord's house, but behind the scenes, an entirely different individual had initiated mining operations in Ashio. Now—who was this behind-the-scenes figure?

The collapse of Kyoto’s Ono-gumi occurred in the seventh year of Meiji.

At that time, Ono-gumi handled government funds and managed official exchange services for various prefectures, pouring the interest-free, unsecured, indefinite-term loans granted under the banner of industrial promotion 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 deposits of public funds. Ono-gumi, lacking the means to prepare for this emergency, went bankrupt, and consequently found itself unable to repay the deposits from the Soma family as well. Thereupon, as compensation, the Kusakura Copper Mine in Echigo was transferred from Ono-gumi to the Soma family.

It was Furukawa Ichibē, who had advanced to a separate family branch and managed the Tokyo branch, that originally compelled Ono-gumi to establish its mining business. Through bitter experience of his main house's collapse, Ichibē came to keenly realize that his painstakingly managed enterprise had crumbled to ashes because its foundation depended entirely on others. He devoted himself day and night to establishing an independent enterprise. As a result, he began by undertaking the subcontracting operations of the Kusakura mine that had been returned to the Soma family. This occurred in Meiji 8. Later, when some among the Soma family's former retainers voiced opposition to their lord's house engaging in such a volatile enterprise as mining, Ichibē purchased this Kusakura mine. In Meiji 9, he acquired the Kōsei Copper Mine in Uzen from the former Takamatsu domain's Matsudaira family, and in Meiji 10, through a joint venture with the Soma family and Shibusawa Eiichi, he embarked on mining operations at Ashio. However, the actual management of this venture too was entirely in Ichibē's hands. Therefore, he soon took over the rights from the Soma family and Shibusawa, thereby bringing Ashio completely under his sole control both in name and reality. This occurred in Meiji 19.

After all, Ashio was a mine that had been continuously excavated since the Keichō era. It was said to have 8,800 mine openings, making it practically identical to a beehive. Moreover, for the past several years, it had been nearly abandoned. Fellow miners ridiculed Furukawa, wondering where he saw potential in such a ramshackle mine to venture into it, and those around him were constantly voicing cautions. However, Ichibē entered solely on the basis that it was a famed peak with a long history—and did so as if certain of success. The unmanned mine interior was inherently eerie. Moreover, the old pits recklessly excavated during the Bakumatsu period had numerous areas of rockfalls and water seepage; taking even a single step inside would plunge one into a scene of ghastly devastation where an oppressive, ghostly aura closed in. Even the miners recoiled from and detested the ore-sorting work. Thereupon, Ichibē resolutely took the lead in entering and rallied the miners—it was under these circumstances that the old pit on Tetsuzan Mountain’s slopes, which had lain dormant since Meiji 10 (1877), came back to life.

Ichibē poured the profits from both the Kusakura and Kōsei mines into this venture, but even around Meiji 13 (1880), he could not easily foresee its future prospects. But he was not one to yield to such circumstances. In later years, he would espouse maxims like "fortune, persistence, and tenacity"—axioms befitting an industrialist with merchant roots—but even he had undergone an apprenticeship period sufficient to cement such convictions. It was this tenacity that forged Ichibē's character, and it was tenacity that brought his enterprise to greatness. With that tenacity, he fiercely clashed against the rock formations of Ashio. He changed mine managers three times, finally appointing his nephew Kimura Chōbee as the fourth mine manager. Now, this Chōbee possessed such a vigorous demeanor that it was said to have stirred the morale of the entire mine. Of course, this was not the sole reason, but in May of Meiji 17 (1884), they struck a major vein in a horizontal drift within the main tunnel that had been advancing under an excavation policy to probe the lower depths of the Bizen Tetsuzan Mine since Meiji 15 (1882). This marked the beginning of Ashio's rise to prosperity, and in September of the following year (Meiji 18, 1885), they commenced excavation of the Ōtsūdō Tunnel. That is, the site selected for this mine entrance was 820 shaku below the main tunnel, at Wada-ga-fuchi on the northern bank of the Watarase River.

From the eighteenth year (1885), Ashio’s copper production output suddenly increased. From 220,000 kin in the fifteenth year (1882) to 1,000,000 kin in the sixteenth year (1883), and 3,800,000 kin in the seventeenth year (1884), the output had been progressively increasing year after year, ultimately reaching 6,800,000 kin in the eighteenth year (1885). By the end of the twenty-first year [of Meiji], 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 forward to a new stage. During this period, the Kantō Power Plant was completed, yet even so, there remained a risk that power shortages would arise before long. Indeed, the copper production output figures—over 8 million kin in Meiji 22 (1889), over 9.7 million kin in Meiji 23 (1890), and over 12.7 million kin in Meiji 24 (1891)—revealed the operation’s rapid expansion.

Chapter 2

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

In a room of the retirement cottage built facing the village road, a new unpainted wooden memorial tablet had been placed before the Buddhist altar, and the yellow chrysanthemums offered there emitted a strong fragrance. The candle flame illuminating it flickered as though the deceased’s lingering presence still permeated the air. In the adjacent room’s soot-darkened tatami mats, until the day before yesterday, his father Shōzō had lain with his ailing, emaciated frame, and until just this afternoon, the coffin had been placed there.

After the Himuro-oroshi wind—howling through the grove with such sharp ferocity one might have thought the mountains were snow-laden—had passed, the roof timbers creaked incessantly for some time. When the noise subsided, the snores of relatives sleeping upstairs drifted down, deepening the heavy stillness of the advancing night. Soon footsteps approached from the direction of the rear main house; the sliding door rattled open, and Shōzō returned. The old tatami mats groaned under his five shaku two sun frame and twenty kan bulk as he entered. Shōzō lit incense and knelt formally before the memorial tablet, murmuring “Jōren’in Hōfu Daidoku Sei Koji” under his breath while bowing his head briefly. Then shifting his position beside the andon lamp, he settled the bulky white cloth bundle onto his hakama-clad knees and began unwrapping it.

"I had already gone to bed earlier," called Katsuko from the adjacent room. "Yes, yes. Don't mind me and get your rest," Shōzō began with formal politeness as if addressing a stranger, then caught himself and finished brusquely. "You must be worn out from working day and night. Sleep without hesitation."

Shōzō moistened his fingertips with saliva, turned the pages of the documents, and held them out toward the dim firelight as he read through them. "You must get some rest tonight... You didn't sleep a wink last night either..."

“There’s a Diet session tomorrow—the day when the Prime Minister gives his policy address. That’s why I need to rise early and return to Tokyo.” Shōzō answered without lifting his eyes from the documents, as though making excuses. “Then you must get some sleep tonight—all the more reason.” “No—I’m fine without sleeping a night or two. This happens constantly.”

Once he said something, he would never retreat—that was his nature. Moreover, tonight it wasn’t merely his usual stubbornness—there was something resolute in his demeanor—so Katsuko too slipped out from under the futon and pulled on her chilled kimono. She carried the hibachi near Shōzō, added charcoal, and tilting her small chignon, began stoking the fire. Shōzō had finally placed the documents on his knees and was watching her work when “Thanks to you, I was able to see my father off without incident.” “From the bottom of my heart, I offer you my thanks.”

The words resonated with such artless sincerity that Katsuko involuntarily raised her face and stared fixedly back at Shōzō. To have heartfelt words of gratitude directed at her was both utterly unfamiliar and unexpected—she who had long since relinquished any expectation, let alone resentment, that domestic concerns might ever occupy his thoughts amid his ceaseless political crusading. Yet though he spoke nothing and feigned ignorance, he had indeed perceived every ounce of her struggle. Those eleven years of unacknowledged toil spent tending her ailing father-in-law now felt redeemed by this single utterance. As this realization took hold, a loosening within her chest released tears she had never before let fall in her husband's presence—they dropped soundlessly onto her knees.

“To tell the truth—though this was a careless oversight—I returned home tormented by how we’d manage the funeral expenses. But when I arrived, you’d taken care of everything. When you said, ‘We have about sixty-three yen—more than enough for now,’ I truly clasped my hands in gratitude within my heart. But where did you arrange these funds? I’d meant to ask since yesterday, but there was never time... Was it Harada?”

Harada was Shōzō’s younger sister’s husband and had long been a hidden supporter. Katsuko poked at the ashes with fire tongs while, “Mr. Sadanosuke also repeatedly told me to take as much as I needed without hesitation, but I declined.” “Lady Orin also approached me with a proposal for a monetary gift, but since we had already imposed on her when your mother passed away some years ago, this time I declined any amount beyond what was strictly necessary.” “Then where on earth…”

As Shōzō’s expression grew increasingly suspicious, Katsuko glanced back at him briefly, “Since the time eleven years ago when your father fell ill, I had been privately putting money aside.” “Every year, six to of rice were deposited with Mr. Eikichi at the waterwheel mill—over ten years, that accumulated to six koku.” “At an average price of seven to eight yen per koku, that comes to roughly forty-five or forty-six yen.” “With interest added, it became over sixty yen.” “Hmm.” “I shouldn’t speak out of turn—but with household finances tightening year after year and your father’s condition being uncertain at any moment—if something were to happen during your absence and we were to shame ourselves publicly… I could never forgive myself.” “That’s why I…”

Perhaps finally overwhelmed by the tumult of emotions welling in her chest, Katsuko pressed the sleeve of her underrobe to her contorted face. Shōzō too made no attempt to wipe the tears that fell plopping down, merely hanging his head in wordless silence. He stared with blurred eyes at a single spot on his black hakama where dampness spread like a stain.

After a while,

“There’s no one as unfilial as me.” “I’ve come to realize it deeply myself.” “I failed to be at my mother’s deathbed—and this time too, I couldn’t reach Father in his final moments…”

With that, he crossed his arms with a sullen expression. Seventeen years prior, when Shōzō had been a subordinate official in Oshu Esashi Prefecture, he had once been falsely accused of murdering a colleague and spent a full four years in prison from Meiji 4 to 7. After four years, he was finally exonerated and released, but thirty-three days prior to his release—on March 9—his mother had already passed away. Shōzō had resented even the fact of his exoneration, so overwhelmed with grief was he at one point. To this day, he had never heard that the true culprit had been apprehended. This sense of discomfort too would revive in his breast each time he recalled his deceased mother.

“That’s…” Katsuko bowed her head as though overwhelmed by sympathy. “Your situation is different.” “You can’t simply call it unfilial across the board.” “Your father was already in a coma by the end… and moreover, he had long since accepted that you were never at home.” “In that regard, he was truly a great man.” “Shōzō’s entire being has been dedicated for the sake of the many.” “He often said that to the villagers as well.” “And when the villagers gathered by his bedside, he would have them share stories about where they had heard your speeches, and listening to those seemed to make him happiest of all…”

That was the compassionate tone meant to console Shōzō’s anguish. But Shōzō—appearing instead stirred with emotion—fixed his triangular eyes and continued gazing at the lamplight. Exactly twelve years prior—when his father was sixty-five and he himself thirty-nine. It was under this same flickering light that he had knelt before his father’s knees and presented a written plea: “Shōzō humbly requests…” How had his father granted approval then—how had he freed him to stride forward without looking back?—Recalling this now, Shōzō swayed slightly at the knees with a pious expression as though formally kneeling before his father’s presence.

Even then, while his father held that written petition to the lamp and read through it—his heart racing all the while—he had heard this very sizzle of burning oil. The document contained this itemized list: 1. From this day forward, he shall not expend mental effort for new self-profit ventures. 1. He shall expend 120 yen each year over thirty-five years for the public good movement. 1. He shall provide appropriate education to the two adopted children and send them elsewhere.

My capabilities are singularly focused; it is impossible to engage in profit-driven enterprises while simultaneously devoting myself to political endeavors. Rather, my duty lies in devoting myself to political reform. He had resolved this from the depths of his heart, and regarding the matter itself, he believed it would not be difficult to obtain his father’s approval. As for the matter of adopting children—since the couple had no children of their own, they had adopted Katsuko’s nephew Bunzō and Harada’s younger sister Takeko—there should be no significant objections to this arrangement either. The only anticipated difficulty—and one that weighed heavily on him personally—was the second clause. In his twenties, Shōzō had not only exhausted the family fortune through his involvement in the Rokkaku family’s Hakkan Incident but also left behind debts amounting to hundreds of ryō. Since returning home after emerging from the Esashi scandal, he had devoted himself assiduously to repaying those debts and had only just managed to restore the family fortune to its former state. This was a selfish wish—to once again seek permission to sacrifice the family fortune while disregarding their circumstances. Shōzō’s groundless anxiety truly hinged on this point.

But his father began to read aloud the document Shōzō had written. ——Shōzō has forty million brethren; of these, twenty million are fathers and elders, twenty million children and juniors. Heaven is my roof, earth my bed.——As his father set the paper on his knees and fixed his gaze upon Shōzō, even a look of joy appeared on his face. “These phrases are too polished for you.” “Your resolve is most commendable.” “But…” It carried a steady resonance, as though the patina of age had directly become the weight behind his words. Shōzō unconsciously swallowed his saliva and waited for the next words.

“The ancients say: ‘To speak is easy; to act is hard.’” “But do you truly possess the resolve to uphold your aspirations to the very end?”

Shōzō leaned forward on his knees and answered. “The three and a half years in Esashi Prison gave me an unprecedented period of study. I thought day after day, night after night about matters such as the reason for human existence, the worth of humankind, and humanity’s mission. Through this, I realized how presumptuous it was to consider my life as my own possession. When I came to understand the nobility and preciousness of being born human, I shuddered with awe. My birth was granted through the grace of my parents, my country, and heaven and earth. Human existence exists to repay this debt. As I reached these conclusions and understood life’s value to be absolute and infinite, I grew so restless in prison that I could hardly keep still. ‘When I regain my freedom,’ I vowed in my heart, ‘I shall work sparing neither body nor soul, guided by the teachings of innate moral knowledge and ability.’ Yet while imprisoned, I happened upon the biography of a great man named Wellington—a passage where he trembled with dread at the prospect of debt struck me profoundly. Even were I to escape the prison of suspicion, my body would remain confined in the prison of duty. So long as I remained captive there, I could never truly pursue my aspirations. Having realized this, I have strived these past several years to break free from this prison of obligation. And now that I believe I’ve finally achieved unyielding independence, this is why I make such a request. This resolve was formed neither yesterday nor today.”

"But the human heart is a fragile thing." "When one is not properly understood, anyone becomes prone to discontent." "No matter how devotedly one serves society, if society not only coldly turns away but mocks you, discontent will surely arise." Shōzō felt as though a press were tightening around his chest—was Father truly anxious for him to such an extent? "Everything I do is devoted to Heaven." "If I act with that conviction, I believe no discontent will arise from any matter."

Upon hearing this, his father pulled the nearby inkstone box closer and bit the tip of the worn brush. Soon he began gliding his brush smoothly across the hanshi paper——Do not seek to become a Buddha after death; become a good person while you yet live. It was said to be the work of a certain Zen master. Shōzō read it once, then again, and thought it a truly fitting maxim for himself. Moreover, through the visible traces of his father’s handwriting, he felt his father’s affection seeping profoundly into his chest.

——The emotions of that night twelve years prior now revived vividly in Shōzō's chest. It was as vivid as yesterday. He could almost see it—the way his father had bitten the brush tip, even the ink-stained lips curling into a grin—all shadowed beneath the lamplight.

"There is nothing more precious than parents……"

Shōzō let out a sigh and, after a pause, repeated the same words. At the same time, the fact that throughout these long years, in his frenzy to stay away from home, he had not even had a moment to look back on his father now led him into a shadow of regret.

Katsuko pressed her sleeve to her face and sneezed. Bathed in dim firelight, her figure appeared poignantly forlorn. Shōzō shifted his gaze toward her as if searching for something vanished,

“How many years has it been since then? I was twenty-four, you were sixteen—it was before the Keiō era even began…” They were speaking of the olden days when they had formed their marital bond. Shōzō counted on his fingers, his expression that of someone observing something uncanny in their movement. Katsuko too was drawn into counting on her fingers. “Twenty-seven years…” she murmured, then suddenly rubbed her hands together as if smothering old memories. “We really should be an old couple by now.”

“So it’s been twenty-seven years… That we’ve endured this long stretch together—I believe it’s all thanks to you resigning yourself and patiently enduring… But truly, you were the last one who’d ever place faith in someone like me.” “Back then, I brought you straight home from your sewing lessons in Kamiishizuka…… When you resisted in embarrassment, I forced you into the carrying basket and bore you on my back. But upon crossing the bridge to this bank, I suddenly realized I had to prepare for our wedding.” “So I set down the basket outside and rushed into that general store—‘I don’t know what items a wedding requires, but I need them now! Assemble a complete set in haste!’” “Even when I told him this, the shopkeeper wouldn’t take me seriously.” “‘Who’s getting married? Where’s this bride from? Who is she?’—he kept prying with unnecessary questions while smirking.” “‘It’s my own wedding! The bride’s waiting in that basket over there,’ I declared, and even that shopkeeper was left utterly dumbfounded.” “Ha ha ha...”

“How crude—I thought you were talking about something important, but it’s just nonsense…… I’ll truly take my leave and rest now.”

“Wait a moment,” he said as Katsuko spoke curtly and began to rise. Shōzō made as if to press down with his hand and restrained her. “Even if we meet again, who knows when we’ll have another chance to talk things through properly.” “What do you intend to do from now on—I want to hear that.” He would continue rushing about here and there. He had no time at all to look back on home. There was an unspoken implication that you must manage your livelihood on your own.

“Yes, I’ve already resigned myself to that.” “After all, I’ve always thought you’re even more restless than Amida-sama.”

Katsuko smiled, her cheek twisting with loneliness. Across the village road, among a grove of cedars and plum trees, stood an aged Amida Hall. As the principal image—the Amida statue—was made to circulate among village households throughout the year, the hall’s interior remained perpetually draped in spiderwebs. Yet even Amida-sama unfailingly returned to sit in solemn repose within the hall on the twenty-third of each month. Katsuko had used this fact to satirize Shōzō.

“Ha ha ha…” Shōzō masked his laughter with a chuckle, then abruptly continued, “By the way, in my thinking, I mean to give that main house to Mr. Shinozaki in due course.”

The main house stood deep within, beyond the black gate adjacent to the retirement residence, having passed beneath a persimmon tree. It remained from the time when Shōzō's father Shōjō had served as district administrator and Shōzō himself as village headman—a structure too plain for its former prestige, yet its darkened beams and pillars still stood solid. Shōzō had first installed Dr. Shinozaki in this main house in Meiji 8, the year following his return from Iwate Prefecture, when recruited by a neighboring village's oil merchant to become business manager—specifically engaging Shinozaki, a Shōnaka native, to entrust his sixty-year-old father's care while providing the residence without charge. Though that father now belonged to the realm of spirits, Shōzō stated his intent for Dr. Shinozaki to remain dwelling there—both for his stepmother's sake and the village's benefit.

“Indeed,” Katsuko wholeheartedly agreed. “This retirement residence alone is more than enough for me. If I keep selling daily necessities to the villagers here as I always have, I can manage to make ends meet.”

Hearing this clear reply that there would be absolutely no future worries, Shōzō blinked contentedly. When he tried to say something, a series of loud sneezes erupted in rapid succession. The north wind that had been raging in the cedar grove behind Jōrenji Temple roared against the storm shutters, causing both the lantern and the Buddhist altar’s candles to flicker.

“It’s grown bitterly cold,” Katsuko said, rubbing her arms. “Come now—to bed with you before you catch your death.” “No need,” Shōzō sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I’ve still work ahead... those Watarase toxicity reports won’t review themselves.” “Dreadful business—this year’s blight.” Her voice tightened like overstrung shamisen strings. “They say Funatsugawabe’s paddies yielded not one proper grain.” “Worse than last flood season.” His ink-stained fingers traced invisible maps across the tabletop. “The poison’s reached every bend of the river now. Kohzu—the investigator lodging in Ōshima—writes they’re finally stirring up countermeasures there.” A log shifted in the hearth, casting jagged shadows as he continued: “But no village remedy can purge this filth. We must sever the serpent’s head—stop the mine’s outflow at its source.” The lantern’s glow deepened the hollows beneath his eyes as he leaned forward. “Our plan stands firm: gather ten thousand signatures demanding mining cessation, have the mayors petition Agriculture Ministry officials.” A dry cough punctuated his words. “Then I’ll table formal inquiries before the Diet—force open debate through parliamentary channels.”

“I heard there was an activist who caused a commotion demanding to see you in front of the House of Representatives’ gate the day before yesterday.”

Katsuko suddenly recalled it and furrowed her brows. But Shōzō did not answer that, as if he had forgotten the listener was his wife,

“Last year, the Prefectural Assembly proposed a recommendation bill, but among its members there are local assemblymen benefiting from the Ashio Copper Mine’s patronage and others scheming to bury the issue in darkness—so it came to nothing.” “On the other hand, even if the victims petition the prefectural office, this too makes no progress.” “With things as they are, it’s truly uncertain when this urgent crisis will be resolved.” “In truth, this is not merely a local issue confined to Tochigi Prefecture—by all means, we must appeal to society at large through the National Diet.” “Moreover, this very thing is my responsibility.”

“I don’t fully grasp political affairs, but my heart aches for the farmers.” “If that’s your resolve, then act as you see fit without restraint.” “You’ve bid farewell to your father, and since there remains nothing more to weigh on you... I shall safeguard the memorial tablet while breath remains in me.” “Right—that alone I entrust to you.”

Katsuko stood up, replaced the Buddhist altar's candles, then quietly entered her futon. She appeared to sleep with her legs drawn up, listening to the bleak howl of the north wind.

Shōzō stirred the lamp’s flame and took up the documents again, but his eyes merely glared into empty space; what came and went in his mind were the desolate landscapes of the afflicted areas he had visited multiple times that autumn. Ah, what devastation. When he closed his eyes, something akin to shame tightened around his chest. Even his own efforts over the past ten years now felt like some futile waste. While he had been rushing from village to village in Keno, repeatedly shouting “Rise up! Rise up for freedom! Rise up for people’s rights!”—while he had crossed and recrossed the Watarase River countless times—today’s calamity had been gradually, steadily prepared. What Shōzō had thought was true. The ten years he had devoted to the civil rights movement had, in their shadow, secretly prepared a new battle he was destined to confront.

Chapter Three

On the afternoon of December 24th, Shōzō’s arrival at the Diet was slightly delayed from the scheduled time. The moment he grabbed the bill with one hand and pushed open the Diet chamber’s front door, the strangely solemn atmosphere inside struck his face.

Looking across, Communications Minister Gotō Shōjirō sat imposingly on the distant podium, his massive frame composed, uttering one solemn word after another from beneath frosted-white whiskers that draped over the corners of his mouth. He was in the midst of a speech advocating maintaining the original bill regarding private railway acquisition costs. To Shōzō, it seemed as though all the assemblymen were obsequiously prostrating themselves at Gotō’s feet. Of course, this was merely a momentary illusion born from the scene before him, but Shōzō—revealing open hostility in his rounded shoulders—swiftly closed the distance facing Gotō. People’s gazes all at once focused on the black haori emblazoned with five large sword-shaped katabami crests. Shōzō came to the fourth seat in the front row’s left side, cleared his throat with a loud “Ahem,” and sat down.

The seats that had been hushed until now erupted in roaring laughter, followed by coughs imitating Shōzō’s breaking out here and there. People knew that even glimpsing Gotō in a corridor would make Shōzō bellow insults at full volume, and accepting that collisions between them inevitably sparked incidents, commoners irresponsibly cheered them on like spectators watching a roadside dogfight, having already dubbed the pair Big Elephant and Little Elephant. Yet even in these moments, Shōzō’s tirades never sprang from personal spite. Few recognized that his revulsion toward Gotō’s political vacillations stemmed from an excess of contempt for his ideological betrayals.

After chasing Gotō’s exit from the podium, Takagi Masatoshi of the Kaishintō Party repeatedly pressed with questions, forcing Gotō to take the floor again and again for rebuttals, leading to hours of heated exchange.

Nagata Sadauemon, exasperated, ended up shouting: “This chamber is not a debate hall for Minister Gotō and Takagi!” But Takagi, clinging on with dogged persistence, refused to yield; however, he finally shouted, “No matter how much I ask, it’s futile—I’ll cease my questioning!” before sitting down, plunging the entire chamber into stunned silence for a moment. When Awaya Shinsō next took the podium, vigorously shaking his bald head, the chamber was already filled with laughter as if greeting a clown actor. “Gentlemen!” When Awaya let out a shout, a roar of laughter erupted. “I am one of those in favor of railway nationalization.” “Hear, hear!” rose from beneath his words. Yaji interjected. “I do not hold a single share of railway stock.” Another roar of laughter erupted. “Therefore, this is by no means an argument to channel water to my own fields!” Another roar of laughter erupted; with every pause between his words, a clamorous uproar broke out. Amid that commotion, Gotō had at some point vanished from the minister’s seat.

As the commotion in the seats subsided, Chairman Nakashima Nobuyuki’s voice rang out: “Mr. Shimada Saburō.”

When called, Shimada Saburō stood abruptly from his seat and declared, “I waive my right to debate. Allow me to state the reasons for this from this chamber. Yesterday, I requested the attendance of the Prime Minister and the three ministers. To attend the chamber is the responsibility that ministers must fulfill toward the nation. Today, I believed—nay, earnestly hoped—that they would attend, yet only Minister Gotō appeared and delivered his speech. As for that very speech itself, I assert it held no value worth hearing.” A wave of hissing voices surged through the assembly seats. Shimada calmly waited for the assembly to quiet down before stating, “The only influential member in favor of this bill is Mr. Awaya. And Minister Gotō, who delivered a speech representing the cabinet, has now departed and vacated his seat. The cabinet itself shows signs of having abandoned this critical issue. When there is no enemy, one cannot loose arrows. Since there is no longer any need to expend words in debate, I waive my right to argue.”

It was precisely this that delivered the final blow to the pro-government party’s arguments. They immediately moved to a vote.

The result became newspaper extras proclaiming "Private Railway Nationalization Bill Rejected," as the ringing of bells raced through the towns. In the chamber, they moved to agenda items under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education, then proceeded to those under the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce; but by then it was already past the scheduled time of five o'clock, and even a voice shouting “Today’s proceedings are concluded!” could be heard.

But for Shōzō, this was a moment that demanded heightened tension. Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Mutsu Munemitsu advanced to the podium in a Western suit that clung tightly to his emaciated frame.

“To reduce project funds would inevitably curtail planned undertakings—rather than merely hindering national profit sources and decreasing treasury revenue, this would diminish the interests of the entire citizenry.” “If you implement this reduction under the principle of restoring the people’s strength, it will likely run counter to that very objective...” Mutsu swept his piercing gaze across the left and right seats while demonstrating his formidable presence as he proceeded to argue incisively. Nishimura, the government committee member who followed him, merely parroted the Minister’s arguments with no vigor of his own—his portly frame in traditional Japanese attire forming a strange contrast. Koma Shuku stood as a budget committee member to explain the amendments. When that concluded, it was finally Shōzō’s turn. Shōzō gripped his seat with both hands and forcefully pushed himself up, ascending the stairs while glaring up at Mutsu with each step.

“I submitted an inquiry to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce the other day regarding the Ashio Copper Mine, yet even after seven days, there has been no answer.”

“…The Diet Law stipulates that you must respond immediately; if you cannot do so immediately, you must clearly state the reasons.” “Before proceeding to the main expense item—and since you are present here as Minister—I believe it proper that you first address this matter.” “If you cannot provide an answer, then don’t.” “Furthermore, there remains a procedural order in which I must pose further inquiries.”

As if resolving something within his heart, Shōzō twisted his round shoulders and glared piercingly at Mutsu. And 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 presented an elaborate argument that these are indispensable expenses for mine regulation—if there is any error in that assertion, I ask you to state it plainly.” “As for mine regulation, our Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has not conducted any oversight whatsoever.” “Where exactly are you regulating the mines?” “Since a separate inquiry has already been submitted regarding this matter, discussing it here would result in redundancy; therefore, I will only clarify this point.” “Therefore, if there were a response to my earlier inquiry, I would have proceeded to state that there is no mine regulation.” “How can you disburse travel expenses for round trips to the mines when there is no mine regulation?” “To go so far as to accept the entire original proposal is an argument one cannot help but deem utterly impudent.” “This is truly an utterly insolent argument.”

Laughter erupted incessantly. Shōzō projected his voice even louder, "You claim not a single fraction can be reduced—but what exactly is this 'fraction' you speak of?" "Are you speaking of fractions in terms of monetary amounts, or fractions of time—a single moment or minute?" "The government rushes to supervise the mines—yet even as the people writhe in agony, their owned fields and paddies vanishing before their eyes, why do you not apply the character for 'fraction' to this?"

Shōzō paused his speech there,

“In the Minister’s speech as well, there was the argument that while we should practice thrift where possible, administrative activities must not be hindered for the sake of reducing government expenses—that adjusting these expenditures would impede development.” “…What exactly does the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce consider ‘thrift’? As for these forestry section expenses—if it were solely up to my own judgment, I would naturally want to eliminate them entirely…” He pressed his attack, citing the improper transfer of 3,700 chōbu of Tochigi Prefecture’s forested mountains to Anshō Jūnshirō—who had served as district chief at the time—under the nominal classification of “grass-covered mountains” to challenge their actions. As Shōzō descended from the podium amidst applause, Mutsu—who had been sitting with crossed arms and a bitter expression—lifted his emaciated frame.

“At the outset of Mr. Tanaka’s current inquiry,” Mutsu began, “there was a follow-up regarding the delayed response to his written submission about the Ashio matter.” His voice carried bureaucratic precision. “I remain prepared to respond at any time—the documents are here today as well.” He gestured toward the podium’s edge where papers lay stacked. “Indeed, I intended to address the Speaker formally today.” A calculated pause followed. “Or perhaps tomorrow.” Maintaining glacial composure, Mutsu let his gaze drift downward to where Shōzō sat—a visual dismissal—before resuming his defense of the forest transfers. “With sixty thousand chōbu under our ministry’s jurisdiction,” he intoned, fingers tracing invisible columns in the air, “we cannot confirm specifics about Anshō’s parcel without ledger verification.” His lips twitched faintly at the technicality. “What we call wilderness may yet bear trees,” he continued, “just as designated forests might stand barren.” With this semantic sleight-of-hand lingering like woodsmoke, he retreated from the podium.

The proceedings on the 25th also continued under the third section of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce—namely, the Mine Supervision Office expenses. Shōzō took the podium again that day. “A ‘grass mountain’ means a mountain covered in grass, while one with trees is called a ‘forested mountain.’ This distinction should be clear even to a three-year-old child.” “The thirty-seven hundred chōbu transferred to Anshō Jūnshirō has trees growing in every corner.” “The transfer cost five hundred yen—eighteen thousand yen being an amount one could borrow without much difficulty.” “This eighteen thousand yen was repaid using profits from Furukawa Ichibē’s charcoal production at Ashio Copper Mine, which yielded two to three hundred yen monthly.”

With that, he first mocked yesterday’s response from Mutsu, “The matter regarding the mine remains unanswered in my written inquiry.” “Why have you not provided an answer today?” “Yesterday you said you would answer tomorrow—why is there no answer today?” “If you cannot provide an answer, then you should simply state that you cannot—this is what I also stated yesterday.” Shōzō shifted his footing and glanced back at the ministers' seats, but today he still could not catch sight of Mutsu. Only Government Committee Member Nishimura—perhaps nursing a grudge over having been severely reprimanded by Shōzō the previous day—remained sullenly reserved.

“Depending on that response, there would still be much to debate, but as this budget meeting presses urgently forward, I shall refrain from detailing this matter.” “There exist various statistics and analysis tables—without devoting several hours, I could not deliver my speech.” “In any event, the Watarase River flowing between Gunma and Tochigi prefectures has—through mine toxins discharged from the mines—inflicted damage upon over twelve hundred chōbu of combined farmland along both banks.” “This precious farmland exceeding twelve hundred chōbu has yielded no crops for two years—nay, three.” “Particularly in last year’s twenty-third year of Meiji, not a single grain sprouted.” “Not only did they fail to sprout—nothing grew at all.” “This constitutes so grave an incident.” “Yet they remain utterly oblivious to this grave incident.” “Examine the mine regulations!” “If you remain unacquainted with the mine regulations, I shall read them aloud for your edification.”

Laughter erupted uproariously throughout the assembly hall. Shōzō grabbed documents from his pocket—swollen like a monk’s alms bag—placed them on the podium without hesitation, and continued in an even sharper tone with booming voice. “What does the Japanese Mining Law state?” “Furthermore, though the Mining Regulations explicitly state that the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce may suspend such operations, no matter how profitable Furukawa Ichibē’s enterprise may be for himself, how can they fail to see the harm inflicted upon these people—people who fulfill their tax obligations, people who settled in this land expecting no such harm?” “……If they tried to catch fish to sell, the police would loudly declare these were poisoned fish that must not be sold.” “This has been occurring since around Meiji 13.” “The people go to the prefectural office to petition—the people of Gunma and Tochigi prefectures have all investigated this matter and gone there countless times.” “Strangely enough, even the Minister of Home Affairs appears not to see this.” “I do not know what arrangements may have been made with the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, but that mines under its jurisdiction harm the people remains invisible even to the Minister of Home Affairs.” “Why does everything turn so dark before my eyes?” “Could there truly be something so inexplicable?” “There are matters too sensitive to mention openly in public discourse.” “Furthermore, given that the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce has received a son from Furukawa Ichibē and is thus related by kinship—though I too believe a minister of state would never abuse public office for such personal ends.” “However, when the people say such things—how can they explain this?” “That prefectural assemblies and district chiefs below them harm the people and block this path of petition—I think it entirely plausible such a situation exists.” “You may boldly delete this mine’s third section outright.”

Shōzō，his face flushed crimson and brandishing his arms as he roared，abruptly fell silent with those words. A surging wave of applause erupted simultaneously. Shōzō waved the sleeve of the formal kimono and descended the podium，a trace of sorrowful grief lingering in his brows. After taking his seat，he once again looked up at the ministers' seats but ultimately failed to catch sight of Mutsu until the very end.

The talk of marital relations between Mutsu and Furukawa that Shōzō raised was by no means baseless rumor. Due to the relationship where his main house, the Ono-gumi, handled official exchange operations, Ichibē became acquainted with Mutsu, who had 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 Ichibē was forty-one. One was a sharp blade, the other a dull chisel—two men of seemingly opposing temperaments. Yet by what common ground did they forge such rapport? By the following year, they had formalized an agreement: Mutsu’s second son, Yoshikichi, would become Ichibē’s adopted heir. However, in Meiji 7 (1874), when the Ono-gumi collapsed, Ichibē was reduced to destitution. Mutsu exhorted Ichibē at this time, stating, “I made a promise to entrust you with my beloved child because I believed in you. My trust in you today is no different than it was in the past. The rise and fall of a person should not be measured by the dusk of a single day. You must devise a plan to rise again,” he said. Thereafter, on June 10, Meiji 11 (1878), Mutsu was suddenly arrested while serving as Secretary of the Genrōin. This was because it had been detected that Ōe Taku, Kataoka Kenkichi, Hayashi Yūzō, Takeuchi Tsuna, and other members of the Tosa faction were involved in a conspiracy to overthrow the government. Though Mutsu did not publicly take the forefront, he was in fact the shadowed mastermind. Furukawa Ichibē repaid their former bond by traveling all the way to Yamagata the following year to visit Mutsu in prison and pressing him to fulfill their prior agreement. As a result, in February of the thirteenth year, Yoshikichi left his birth home and entered the Furukawa family. This was when Yoshikichi was eleven years old. The family registration was carried out somewhat belatedly in May of Meiji 16 (1883), after Mutsu’s release from prison. Between the two men had indeed lurked such a hidden connection.

This occurred shortly after his release from prison. Mutsu Munemitsu stopped by Nikko while on his provincial tour, cane in hand. At that moment, while gazing at the verdant mountains and glancing aside, he remarked: “The mountains and rivers of Shimotsuke are picturesque, but scenery holds no use for the economy. “Mountains are not revered because they are high.” Upon hearing this from Shionoya Michihiro and Komine Shinpachirō, both then members of the prefectural assembly, Shōzō kept it firmly in his memory for years. Now that the amendments to Articles 4 and 5 under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce had passed, the proceedings next moved to matters under the purview of the Ministry of Communications. As Minister Gotō’s speech concluded, a voice like a cracked bell erupted from right beneath him. “Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman!” Shōzō stood up abruptly, his air of challenge unmistakable. Gotō glanced at it, pushed open the door, and slipped away furtively.

Not a single minister showed their face in those seats, but the opposition members paid no mind to their absence. With unstoppable momentum as they crushed the government bill, all matters under the Ministry of Communications’ jurisdiction were likewise approved in accordance with the assessment draft. But why were the ministers' seats completely deserted at that time? They would come to understand this several hours later. The ministers were nowhere to be seen because they had all gathered at the Prime Minister's Official Residence, huddled in grave deliberation. At the very moment when the Diet adjourned at 6:50 PM and opposition party members triumphantly returned to their lodgings, Prime Minister Matsukata was leisurely driving his carriage along a gravel road toward the palace.

How much past eight o'clock had it been? Into the lit parliamentary proceedings office of the Diet, Secretary-General Hirayama entered with a grave expression. He had gone through the rooms searching for the Chairman. When he caught sight of the Chairman, he strode briskly over and wordlessly handed him a slip of paper. It was the Imperial Decree for the Dissolution of the House of Representatives.

The Chairman, as if struck by emotion, fixed his gaze in silence for a short while, but—

"We must inform them as soon as possible," he suddenly exclaimed in a fluster.

Immediately, the clerks who had stayed behind were summoned. Some immediately rolled up their sleeves and set to printing notices with konnyaku blocks; others addressed envelopes... “Paper here! Pens here!”—the attendants were hustled about. Before long, three hundred konnyaku blocks were printed, and the office messengers were mobilized for delivery. Each rickshaw loaded with office messengers vanished into the evening dusk, their drivers' shouts ringing spiritedly as they headed toward the lodgings of Diet members scattered across the city.

Spurred by the daily intensifying ferocity of parliamentary strife and rumors that the government was making actual progress in buying off legislators, local party members had gathered one after another in Tokyo. They stormed the legislators' lodgings to flush out those trying to evade participation through absence, while also crowding outside the Diet building to restrain parliamentary maneuvers. Therefore, once news of the dissolution spread, such individuals excitedly gathered at each political party's office. Moreover, capitalizing on the tumultuous atmosphere, the night streets teemed with self-styled patriots—some drunkenly lamenting with fervor, others playing pranks on women they spotted—their prowling having become an intolerable spectacle.

When Shōzō received the dissolution notice and raced to the Kaishintō office in Minami-nabechō, numerous party members had already gathered around braziers throughout the building, engaged in boisterous discussions. The momentum of this party—which had fought as the vanguard—had surged through this assembly of comrades. Not a trace of sorrow over the dissolution could be seen on any face; rather, an eagerness that all but declared they were witnessing proof of our party’s might drove them into exhilaration. Shōzō took a seat behind the crowd and sat silently closing his eyes while crossing his arms. He seemed deeply lost in thought about something when suddenly he glared fiercely, leaned forward, and shouted.

“You utter fool! Spouting such nonsense here among comrades!” The people, startled by the loud shout, all fell silent at once. "Tanaka-kun and his idiocy again…" Some glared back with hostile expressions. Takada Sanae rose slightly from his seat with a mediating expression. “Isn’t this about Kabayama’s infamous fist-pounding speech? “There’s no reason to fly into a rage out of nowhere. “If you take those vulgar insults as an affront, it’s infuriating—but in truth, that’s just bluster from them being utterly cowed by our People’s Party’s momentum. “It’s the domain clique’s wail. “They were just hurling insults like that. “Why on earth would you take issue with that?”

It was during the budget plenary session on the 22nd of last month. Navy Minister Kabayama banged his lectern and rebuked them, “The people revile the government as the Satchō regime, but who has maintained national peace and social order to this day?” This caused the Diet hall to erupt into a tumultuous uproar, plunging into chaos unprecedented since the parliament’s establishment. This so-called “fist-pounding speech” by Kabayama was something every opposition party member was indignant about.

“No—that’s not it.” Shōzō shook his head, his face still contorted with unabated anger. “I don’t know who they’re talking about, but someone was slandering a comrade—claiming they’d been taken to restaurants or teahouses by Kabayama’s underlings.” “My ears aren’t deaf!” “I heard it clear as day!” “That’s mistaken, Mr. Tanaka,” an elderly man resembling a local party member raised his hand to explain. “Navy Minister Kabayama resorted to considerable underhanded maneuvers—the sort one hesitates even to mention—to push through this budget bill.” “Within the Liberal Party, some wagged their tails like dogs at his bait, while others revolted against such base tactics and turned to attacking the government.” “I merely repeated here what’s being said among the people.”

“I see. I thought I’d slandered someone from Kaishintō behind their back again. It infuriated me to think those charged with national concerns would stoop to women’s gossip.” “Truly the deaf man who hears too quickly! Let anyone hear such talk and they’d never stay silent.” Kato Masanosuke, who had been sitting ahead, turned around and laughed. “This was my error—I was wrong. My apologies.”

Shōzō sat down looking relieved. Crossing his arms, he sank into silent meditation like a different person entirely. The gathering shifted their talk to predictions about the upcoming general election, voices growing animated. Home Minister Shinagawa Yajirō was the man who had previously counseled behind the scenes during the Yamagata Cabinet to dissolve [the Diet] decisively and form a government-aligned party. For him, this was merely accomplishing what Yamagata—with his excessive caution—had failed to achieve during the First Diet session. As a natural consequence, they would likely employ extreme election interference. Every prediction aligned with this expectation.

While listening to this, Shōzō's heart ached with a distinct resentment and anxiety beyond others' comprehension. First was having lost the chance to keep appealing about the mining pollution in the Diet. Second was having failed to extract accountable responses from the authorities. Third was being forced to let disaster victims needlessly endure prolonged hardship.

At that moment, Shimada Saburō entered with a shadowed expression, wrinkles gathered into the character 'eight' on both sides of his nose. He recognized Shōzō and came straight to his side,

“I deeply admired your speech on mining pollution today. It was most commendable.”

Shōzō opened his eyes without so much as a smile, but upon recognizing the man as Shimada, his eyes took on a warm familiarity. “No, no—I myself still feel it was far from adequate—utterly insufficient.” “After all, there was no time to spare… Had I known dissolution was imminent, I would have done much more.” “No, no—you must, as usual, provide even more candid criticism.” “The reporter on my side was also impressed and said he’d write about it in tomorrow’s Diet Proceedings Supplement.”

But Tanaka remained silent, showing no reaction to it. Shimada pressed on, “That must be what they mean when they say every word bursts forth from the depths of one’s heart.” “If the speaker lacks sincerity, such words cannot strike people’s hearts.” “Could it be that Mr. Tanaka has resolved to shoulder the mining pollution issue entirely on his own?” “I even thought as much while listening.” Upon hearing those final words, Shōzō’s chest tightened with a start, and he fixed Shimada with a piercing gaze that gleamed from its depths. Shimada diverted the conversation with an attitude that seemed either to have noticed or not noticed his agitation.

“I haven’t seen the official gazette yet,” Shimada said, “but mark my words—in their dissolution memorial, the government will surely shift all blame onto us in the opposition.” “No doubt,” Shōzō nodded gravely. “They likely stalled even the Nobi Earthquake relief resolution deliberately... But we weren’t squabbling over policy minutiae.” “Precisely,” Shimada agreed. “Our fight aimed to rectify their misguided political convictions. This unprecedented form of government has kindled people’s hopes for a better age—yet that last Diet left its stains, and now this one collapses into chaos. At constitutional governance’s very dawn, far from modeling sound administration, they’ve sown nothing but pernicious precedents.”

With a voice heavy with sorrow as though from a pain deep in his chest, Shimada quietly left Tanaka's side.

The next morning’s newspapers uniformly reported the dissolution and carried updates on each political party’s movements. The Mainichi Shimbun’s “Diet Proceedings Supplement” column that Shimada had mentioned carried an article titled “The Iron Pillar of the Diet,” which wrote of Shōzō: “A million souls now mired in destitution and exhaustion find their representative in this man—clad in a tattered cotton robe and frayed hat, he himself becomes their living emblem as he attends the assembly, and so on.” The dissolution memorial became visible to the public through various newspapers on the 27th, accusing the Diet of having delayed urgent resolutions without reason and condemning it for abusing its authority to hinder administrative functions.

Then on the 29th, a written response to the mining pollution issue was announced under the name of the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce via an official gazette supplement, which was also reprinted in various newspapers—[the response stated]: 1. While it is true that farmlands along the Watarase River basin have suffered damage, the cause has yet to be conclusively determined based on definitive test results. 2. Various experts are conducting tests and investigations. 3. Mining operators have implemented all possible preventive measures and have newly purchased and installed ore dust collectors from Germany and the United States to further prepare against mineral runoff. In essence, it was a perfunctory response of this nature.

Chapter Four

At the entrance of Murayama Han’s residence—designated as Sano’s election headquarters—a large banner proclaiming “Long Live Mr. Tanaka Shōzō,” its ink still bleeding into the fabric, bent the bamboo pole as it snapped and fluttered in the wind. Shōzō passed beneath it and, exchanging greetings with local volunteers from nearby areas—all clad in straw sandals and carrying staffs—made his way along the garden stones to the inner room. As he moved through the bustling crowd, his eyes stung at the glaring whiteness of several baskets of washed rice piled beneath the wooden-shingled roof by the wellside. The scene from his journey through the disaster zone resurfaced—withered rice stalks collapsed under thin ice, left unharvested—and he felt something akin to silent reproach gnawing within him.

Earlier, while Shōzō was still staying in Tokyo attending political rallies across the capital, an advertisement had already appeared in newspapers under the name of Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District Youth Association: “We hereby select 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 County gathering at the main hall of Sōshū Temple in Kasugaoka, Sano Town, early in the New Year and reaching a unanimous resolution. On that day, those who rushed in from nearby towns and villages were over a hundred individuals—Murayama Han, Tsukui Hikoshichi, Tatenuma Jōkichi, Wakui Tōshichi, Sekiguchi Chūtarō, Kawabata 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 among them—all of whom could be called comrades from Shōzō’s civil rights movement days, many having been members of organizations he had founded like the Chūsetsusha and Kaishin Seikaitō.

Under a barrage of urgent summons pressing his return home, Shōzō had finally appeared. The dozen or so people gathered in the inner room erupted in commotion as they welcomed him. When he took his seat near the alcove, they immediately began briefing Shōzō on local political developments without even allowing him time for greetings. According to intelligence they had gathered, Kimura Hanbei's candidacy was nearly certain. "Is that newspaper report false?" "They say the Progressive and Liberal Parties made an agreement to re-elect incumbent legislators—to prevent opposition allies from competing against each other..."

The master of this house, Murayama Han, questioned in a tone probing the party’s movements in the capital.

“Hmm, since the Kyūrō days, Mr. Shimada and others have been vigorously pursuing that, but negotiations are still ongoing.” “I too have urged Mr. Shimada to the utmost.” “If opposition comrades waste their efforts attacking walls, they will never overthrow the clan oligarchy.” “The ones who suffer are none but the people…” Cutting off his heavy voice mid-sentence, Shōzō’s face clouded over.

“No—that’s akin to climbing a tree in search of fish.” Kawashima Jihei, the prefectural assembly member, moved his thick eyebrows and said, “There’s no way they’ll enforce any party discipline. In fact, in District One, Hoshi Tōru is running and clashing with Yokobori Sanko—fellow party members at that—and chaos is already anticipated in every district.” “Kimura claims allegiance to the Liberal Party, but if he truly understood our cause, he wouldn’t be running from District Three.” It was Tenkai Hamakichi’s voice.

“Exactly—the Masked Liberal Party. We’ll just consider them part of the government party and crush them here.”

With Shōzō joining their circle, the activists' debate grew increasingly heated. "In truth, he's pure government faction through and through," declared a voice from the corner as its owner thrust forward from kneeling position. "I don't know how much of a fortune Kimura once commanded, but his current standing became clear after the asset liquidation." "Yet campaign funds keep flowing from that Anshō Jūnshirō involved in the forestland sell-offs." "That's why he's brazenly running again despite last election's humiliation—or so they claim..."

“No—it’s not just that,” interjected Murayama. “Through Mutsu’s scheming, funds for obstruction are also being provided by Furukawa.” “Since Tanaka-san harshly pursued the mining pollution issue in the last Diet session, they can’t afford to have that repeated in the assembly again.” “It seems they’ve reached an agreement to make sure Tanaka loses the election by any means necessary.” “The campaign managers are Arai Shōgo and Sakakibara Tsunetake, while the chief of staff is likely Sano Tsunetami.” “In fact, it’s reported that the Utsunomiya Police are going door to door investigating who people voted for in the last election—no doubt their sinister reach will soon extend to our district as well.”

The room suddenly darkened, and the light in people's eyes grew unnervingly fierce. “After all, it’s said that the governor openly gave instructions embodying the government’s intentions—‘Show as much leniency as possible, and if you can’t manage that movement, you’ll be dismissed!’” “We too must gird our loins and brace ourselves.” Kawashima slid open the shoji screen as he said this, muttering “Oh, it’s started hailing,” then left for the toilet. At the suddenly intensified sound of hail, the group, with expressions barely containing their agitation, gazed at the garden front being pelted by hail. Shōzō knitted his brows again as he stared at the black clouds gathering beyond the eaves. “What possible reason could the police have for conducting such an investigation?” “Why is Mr. Yokobori staying silent about such an outrageous act?”

Shōzō’s indignation was, as usual, like water dumped from an overturned bucket.

At that moment, four or five young men came bustling in energetically from the garden. Some wore short-sleeved kimonos with hakama trousers rolled up at the thighs; others had on loose work pants with straw sandals. All thrust long swords at their waists, their faces red from the pelting hail and an excited glint in their eyes. The leading man approached the edge of the veranda and stood rigidly at attention, “The venue is already packed with people pouring in.” “As we’re about to begin, they’ve requested that the speakers come over.”

“It’s still too early for the scheduled start time,” Murayama retorted. “But the audience is clamoring for us to hurry up.” “Very well, let us depart early,” said Shōzō, rising first and stepping on the hem of his hakama—but from behind the youths about to leave came a voice: “Why are you all making such dangerous preparations?” “Uh…” From beside them, Murayama intervened. “Since there’s a chance the enemy might come to disrupt us, I’ve been tacitly allowing the young ones to carry weapons as a precaution.”

“Hmm,” Shōzō nodded, then turned toward the garden and shouted, “If it’s for defense, there’s no alternative—but even in extremis, you must strictly avoid wielding weapons.” “Introducing such means into an electoral campaign violates constitutional governance’s very principles.” When Shōzō and his group emerged at the gate, the youths from before seized the large banners fluttering beneath the eaves and hoisted them aloft. Though the hail had stopped, inky clouds churned across the leaden sky, and the slashing wind pierced their skin like needles. The figures—each face contorted—resembled a band pressing forward despite foreseeing some grim struggle ahead. Passing through Sōshū Temple’s main gate, they were greeted first by applause from the crowd overflowing the main hall and packed onto the elevated veranda. The assembly commenced at once, with six or seven committed men rising to debate current affairs and politics, their fervor mounting. By the time Shōzō finally stood to speak, twilight had deepened and the cold grown sharper still—yet the audience sat breathless, riveted by his opening words.

“Gentlemen, I just now heard voices calling out ‘Tochi-chin! Tochi-chin!’ I take this as an affectionate nickname for this Shōzō. I do not consider speaking in this main hall as addressing strangers. It feels as if I’m speaking in your homes—in your sitting rooms or by your hearths. My connection with this Sōshū Temple runs deep indeed. Among you, there must be many who have conversed with me here before. Even if not yourselves, I surely met your grandfathers, fathers, or elder brothers in this place. Over a decade ago, I predicted Saigō Nanshū would fall in battle and Ōkubo Kōtō meet violent ends—both soon proved true. Puffed up by this accuracy, I resolved to sacrifice myself for political reform. But this Shōzō is no prophet nor heaven-gifted man. Neither scholar nor virtuous soul. Merely one who observed the world’s course with sincerity—thus hitting truth by chance. Though conceit drove me to seek reform, I’ve not forgotten my station. I know my limits and capabilities. Hence during the first general election, I deemed my time on stage over. Having rushed about for freedom and people’s rights these many years, I felt my duty done when our long-awaited Diet convened. No more need for an unlettered country elder like me. Parliament must rest with youth possessing fresh insight. Thus I wished someone like Mr. Shimada Saburō to emerge from Tochigi’s third district—so much that I fixed upon him in my mind. Mr. Shimada’s political works bear no shadow—a man who steers by moral convictions held fast in his breast.”

Not only those who had passionately advocated for Shōzō’s candidacy, but all those involved in the movement suspected that Shōzō might say something outlandish and end up throwing cold water on their efforts. But the voice from the podium flowed on torrentially. “However, regrettably, Mr. Shimada 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 are probably aware of this person.” “Just like Mr. Shimada, he belonged to the Ōmeisha group led by Numata Morikazu. In Meiji 15, I became convinced he was the right person—just as with Mr. Shimada—and persuaded him to come serve as president and editor-in-chief of the Tochigi Newspaper.” “He was a mere twenty-three years of age at the time—hardly more than a youth—yet his character was truly upright and refined.” “Back then, Mr. Nomura endured hardships alongside me for about a year. At the newspaper office, while everyone would sit cross-legged and speak casually in my presence, when Mr. Nomura arrived for work, they would straighten their collars properly. I was deeply struck by how vastly his dignity surpassed my own.”

From among the audience escaped muffled snickers and stifled laughter. Shōzō, however, with the vigor of one finally arriving at his main subject, “Because Mr. Nomura is such a man, he once again firmly refused.” “As time passed and deadlines loomed, it ultimately left no choice but for me to stand.” “Yet in this election, my state of mind differs entirely from that time.” “Back then, I believed we must uphold constitutional government by having capable men of fresh insight come forward.” “My commitment to constitutional government remains unshaken—but now an urgent matter compels me personally to address parliament and appeal to public opinion.” “What crisis? As you gentlemen know—over twelve hundred hectares along the Watarase River lie barren these two years, crops withered by mining toxins, our people teetering on exodus.” “This transcends local suffering.” “It is a national calamity.” “Thus we who endure this poison must cry out—for our kin’s survival and the nation’s duty.” “Yet what thoughts occupy this land’s people today?”

Shōzō cut off his words, glared over the heads of the gloomy audience, then continued expounding in exhaustive detail about the alarming symptoms of mining pollution damage and the people’s inherent right to petition.

Thus, with this rally as the opening salvo, round-the-clock activities commenced. Anso County within the three counties of the third district had long been Shōzō’s base. The groundwork was also settled through a preliminary round of visits. Next, as it was determined through collective discussion that Yanada District would be the decisive battleground of the election, Shōzō relocated to the Yanada office after a span of ten days.

Then, that very day, village mayors from nearby areas gathered and made the following appeal to Shōzō. As the old year pressed to its close, when the village mayors gathered and went in response to a summons from Yanada District Office, they were informed that District Chief Kabayama Kiheiji wished to hold a discussion. As they waited in suspicion, wondering what this was about, the district chief soon appeared with an arrogant demeanor. He announced he would mediate between the victims and the mine operator, then thrust forward a nine-article contract, intimidating them by declaring it had been "issued under instructions."

Furukawa Ichibē would install powdered ore collectors by June 1893 to prevent the outflow of powdered ore. From 1891 to 1893, he would provide settlement funds on moral grounds regardless of damage extent. In exchange, signatories could not raise complaints during that period. The village mayors silently read these itemized clauses but struggled to grasp their true intent. After consulting Atsu, they replied they would respond later and withdrew. On January 2nd over two hundred villagers convened a meeting. Objections erupted into chaos until hardliners prevailed. They resolved to accept arbitration only if harm-reduction methods were clarified and contracts made equitable. Otherwise even district-chief arbitration would be rejected. This response was unanimously adopted.

As he listened to the village mayors speaking in turn about their grievances，Shōzō felt fury welling up within him.—Had Furukawa already stretched out such a sinister hand? Not only were they failing to implement measures to eliminate the harm out of fear of public outcry over mining pollution，but they were scheming to overturn the facts and bury them in darkness． Moreover—as for their methods—they were recklessly mobilizing governmental authority for my own sake． The governors and district officials were also subservient before Furukawa，content to be his slaves…． To Shōzō，the mayors’ thoughtful expressions were unbearably frustrating． Why had they not erupted in anger at these insulting terms? Why had they not rejected them outright on the spot? The frustration gnawed at him． No—it was suspicious． However，Shōzō softened his expression and，

“Responding that you would agree if it were an equal contract was an excellent move.” “What sort of logic is this—rendering the fields barren and then offering money on moral grounds?” “Morality is not such a self-serving thing… They will undoubtedly try to deceive us again and again with ever-changing methods.” “So that your eyes are not dazzled by immediate petty gains—so that such individuals do not emerge—you gentlemen must remain united to the end in crushing their treacherous schemes and conspiracies.”

Instructing, admonishing, and encouraging the village mayors, Shōzō seemed to have forgotten all about the election. Even after the mayors had left, this matter remained lodged in Shōzō’s chest like a stone throughout the campaign. Yet by consciously shifting his focus—recognizing Furukawa Ichibē rather than Kimura Hanbee as his true adversary—he found his courage multiplying severalfold. On days when the northern sky cleared and the Maruiwa, Kumataka, and Himuro peaks loomed so near they seemed to graze his brow, he would stand amid wind-scoured fallow fields, glaring at those distant mountains as though they housed the enemy’s very stronghold.

As days passed, reports of intensifying turmoil throughout the prefecture arrived daily. Consequently, the prefectural assembly members found themselves forced into agonizing dilemmas regarding their political allegiances. At every election office, whenever news spread about an assembly member's movements, heated denunciations inevitably arose. Mochida Wakusa and Tsukada Minesaburō—both considered part of the Hoshi faction—were lauded for having prioritized public duty over private interests when they rushed to reinforce Yokobori's camp. Conversely, Hirose Kōsaku, Kawashima Chōjūrō, and Hayakawa Chūgo faced censure for allegedly abandoning their public roles when they resigned from the assembly to join Kimura's staff, seen as sacrificing civic responsibility for personal gain. This crisis traced back to late November of the previous year when tensions between government and parliament had reached breaking point. At that critical juncture, all prefectural assembly members had jointly declared: "Should extreme circumstances arise, we comrades solemnly pledge to exert ourselves in your service and resolve to realize our aspirations to the utmost limit." They had urged this in a signed statement meant to galvanize elected representatives across the prefecture. Now this very letter of endorsement ensnared them in contradictions, breeding confusion in their political stances. Yet precisely because this collective pledge had been hailed nationwide as a model for electoral districts, Shōzō found its present outcome bitterly disappointing. He could not shake the conviction that his faction's ethical decline now stood exposed before the entire nation.

One day around that time, Kurihara Kizō’s son Hikosaburō arrived as a messenger from the Kitagō office overseeing the northern mountain villages. Having run the full three-ri distance, he presented his father’s letter with shoulders heaving from exertion as he gasped for breath. When Shōzō broke the seal, inside lay printed materials reportedly distributed to voters by the Kimura faction. Dated January 25,

*Dear Sirs,* We humbly deem that Diet members who grow complacent merely by citing their own deeds of braving harsh winters and scorching summers to rush about the district—or who idly advocate for resting the people’s strength while rejecting government proposals without even investigating their merits and losses, blindly concurring in refusal as if it were first nature—act against the nation’s interests. Thus, we earnestly beseech you to exert every effort in selecting for this occasion a level-headed individual of keen practical acumen, for the sake of our nation. Respectfully submitted. *Signed: Concerned Citizens of Ashikaga District* The document implicitly disparaged Shōzō. One felt increasingly certain the Kimura faction was revealing its true nature as a government-aligned party. A boy with shining eyes reported again from nearby.

“The enemy scoundrels are suggesting people go on pilgrimages to Ise around the lunar New Year—they’ll cover the travel expenses.” “Saying that, they’re apparently trying to persuade folks from the villages.”

Shōzō counted on his fingers, “Ah, the election day falls on the seventeenth day of the old calendar New Year.” “They’re scheming to take voters out of their hometowns and make them abstain.” “A cleverly devised scheme.” He glanced left and right and laughed.

As January neared its end, the election battles intensified nationwide. Grim reports substantiating this came pouring in from all corners of the region. Amidst this turmoil, developments in Kōchi Prefecture—the birthplace of the Liberal Party—turned particularly ferocious. Even minor incidents like Nagahama Village households posting notices declaring *“Pilgrim beggars and Pro-Government Party campaigners shall not pass these gates”* were trumpeted as gratifying acts of defiance. Meanwhile in Sakawa Village of the same prefecture, a bloody clash erupted where Pro-Government and Liberal factions drew swords, fired shots, and brawled—leaving several dead on the spot—further stoking tensions across the land. As a consequence of this social upheaval, on the 28th came the promulgation of the Precautionary Ordinance. Since its enforcement was entrusted to local officials’ discretion, people greeted it with renewed suspicion. Though ostensibly meant to control vagrants and rein in ruffians, it was widely decried as a stopgap measure to crush opposition parties.

On February 2, three Tanaka faction prefectural assembly members—Kawashima Jihei, Yamaguchi Shinji, and Tamou Kashuhei—were suddenly subjected to house searches, and Yamaguchi was taken into custody on the spot for reasons unknown. The people grew furious, as if oil had been poured on flames, at this evidence that district officials and police officers were covertly aiding the Kimura faction. On February 6, having already secured control of western Yanada District, the Tanaka faction resolved to press their advantage and strike at the enemy’s stronghold. Moreover, they would march into Obata Village—Kimura Hanbee’s residence—and hold a political rally, intending to strike terror into the heart of their enemy. On this day, as leaden clouds hung motionless overhead and the Watarase River’s winds stabbed at their skin, over eighty members of the Tanaka faction marched forward—a great banner emblazoned with “Long Live Councilor Tanaka” fluttering at their forefront—surrounding Tanaka Shōzō alongside prefectural assemblymen Yokoo Terukichi, Kawashima Jihei, and Tenkai Hamakichi. All wore straw sandals as they formed ranks and advanced, trampling through snow lingering from two days prior.

The rally was also held at the village temple there, with the audience overflowing the spacious grounds and packing tightly together. Yokoo, Kawashima, and several others took turns rising to mercilessly attack the Kimura faction—this being, after all, the enemy's stronghold. Shouts of “No! No!” erupted incessantly—feet stomped, wooden doors were pounded, angry roars filled the air—as disruptions grew steadily more violent and the atmosphere turned murderous. Seeing this, the overseeing police inspector finally barked an order to disperse. Yet having achieved more than half their objective, the Tanaka faction formed ranks and withdrew triumphantly with jeers ringing at their backs. It was at Mitsumata crossroads near Yamamae Village on their return route that three hundred Kimura faction members—fronted by glowering young toughs with squared shoulders—blocked the road, hurling abuse and stones while firing rifles skyward from nearby trees in intimidation. His allies too were inevitably roused to fury, their movements signaling impending chaos, but as Shōzō and others rasped out restraining shouts, a dozen police officers arrived to broker a tense standoff. The Kimura faction had reportedly mobilized five to six hundred hired hands—Ashio miners and Kamitsuga gamblers from beyond the district—through monetary inducements.

However, that night in the dead of night as snow fell soundlessly and piled deep, violence finally broke out between the two factions. As Yamada and ten others from the Tanaka faction made their way back to Sano after campaigning in Ashikaga District—struggling through a blizzard and trudging through accumulated snow in the faint twilight—a voice suddenly barked from behind them: “Halt, Progressive Party activists!” though none could tell from where they’d been followed. In that instant recognizing enemies, they shouted “You ruffians!” and stood their ground. Peering through the driving snow, they discerned forty or fifty overlapping black shadows—then snowballs came hurtling. Stones flew. The Tanaka faction as one drew their concealed staves and charged in a silent rush brimming with lethal intent. Even their adversaries fired pistols at this onslaught before fleeing in terror at their own echoing gunshots.

On the 8th, Kawashima Jihei and Masuda Daizaburō, having finished their speech in Obata Village, were surrounded by over two hundred thugs near Hansai Village on their way back. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, 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 pushed into Anso District and held a rally at Turtle Crane Hall in Tanuma. The Tanaka faction descended upon them with over seven hundred members and drowned out Hanbee’s speech with shouts of “No! No!” Moreover, Kawamata Kyūhei and his group, claiming that Kimura had reviled Shōzō, stormed into the waiting room. This outcome further implicated the Kimura faction deeply, and the ordeal of Kawashima and Masuda was ultimately but a ripple effect of it.

On the 9th, the Tanaka faction once again held a social gathering in Yamashita Village—what might be called the enemy’s stronghold. Gathering over fifty concerned villagers from the entire village, as Yokoo Terukichi and Sabe Hikojirō, there to lend support, were delivering speeches from the podium, members of the Kimura faction came surging to the gate. By evening, their numbers had reached seven or eight hundred, completely surrounding the compound’s outer walls while incessantly hurling jeers. When they slid open the shoji screens and looked down, they saw figures in several spots prying off the metal lids of sake barrels to boost their spirits—but soon after, stones began raining down toward the venue. In the end, even firewood came crashing through. The Tanaka faction inside the gate could no longer continue their speeches. Resigned to their fate, they threw open the gate and surged out, intent on cutting a path through. The Kimura faction swiftly rallied their numbers and encircled them. Amid clashing wooden swords, grappling bodies, and countless stones of all sizes pelting down, the twilight road transformed into a merciless battleground.

At the same time, two thousand members of the Tanaka faction stormed a Kimura faction rally held in Kuzu, where both groups became entangled in blade-drawn violence. As election day drew nearer, the conflict between both factions grew increasingly murderous daily. Around this time, Kurihara Kizō of Kanuma Village in the northern mountains repeatedly sustained injuries himself while many subordinates fell wounded. Furthermore, the remote mountain village of Tobikoma shared Kanuma's polling station, requiring voters to cross treacherous passes. The Kimura faction spread relentless rumors—threatening that those refusing to vote for Kimura would be ambushed halfway by activists waiting to beat them half-dead, or that they would raid Tanaka supporters' homes. Kurihara coordinated with Tobikoma's Kageyama Kensai and others to counter these tactics by bringing Tobikoma voters to Kanuma Village the day before elections, lodging them with relatives. For those still hesitating, Kanuma's volunteers rode horses along miles of mountain trails to retrieve each holdout personally.

Such fervor among the adults eventually spread to the children. Kurihara Hikosaburō, son of Kurihara Kizō, wrote an essay titled “A Recommendation for Tanaka Shōzō” in his elementary school composition and was reprimanded by the principal. Then, on the morning of February 15th—election day—he had a laborer carry a five-sun caliber firework tube up the back mountain before dawn. He tied it to a large pine tree, loaded it with double the amount of gunpowder and rags, and launched it. With an earth-shaking rumble, a terrifying blast rent the pre-dawn darkness and roared. After all, he was still just a child. Hikosaburō was delighted beyond measure by the cannon-like grandeur of it all. He launched three more rounds and, even then, returned home as though reluctant to leave. He had done it to demonstrate the village’s fighting spirit, but the elders—his grandfather, Kageyama, and others—severely scolded him for doing something so dangerous. Thereupon, he gathered his village boy companions, brought out rifles from the storehouse, set up targets along the roadside, and began shooting practice. It was morning, and a horse-drawn cart loaded with charcoal sacks and firewood bound for Tanuma happened to pass by. “Hey, mister!” Hikosaburō called out to the cart drivers.

“In Kanuma, they’re drilling with rifles day and night. When you get to Tanuma, go around saying that, will you? Make sure to say that even the children are waiting with rifles.” At the time, people dismissed it as mere childish mischief, but unbeknownst to all, this spreading of rumors would later prove to have an unexpected effect. The activists led by Arai Shōgo, who had conspired with the Kimura faction to come and intimidate the village, ultimately never showed their faces, fearing these rumors.

Thus, the voting in Kanuma Village had at least concluded safely, but at polling stations in other villages, thugs ran rampant as if today were their final chance, committing excessive acts of interference. Tanuma Minjirō, the mayor of Mikuriya Village, was attacked on his way to witness the voting and sustained bruising injuries to his face. Takagi Seizō of Kuno Village, having been suddenly slashed across the forehead, rushed one *ri* to the polling station and collapsed on the spot after casting his vote. However, the absence of disgraceful scenes like ballot boxes being seized—as occurred in Kochi Prefecture’s Second District—had to be counted as a relative mercy.

Moreover, throughout this election campaign in Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District, the calamities extended beyond those already mentioned—including the prison death of a certain Sunaga; injuries to Ochi Shukichi and Shimizu Masakichi; destruction of the Harada residence; arson incidents in Sano, Horikome, and Kuno Villages; and countless other tragedies too numerous to mention. The vote count results showed Tanaka Shōzō with 733 votes and Kimura Hanbee with 643; the closeness of the race between the two factions was evident even in these numbers. Eventually, the national election results were revealed: the Liberal Party with ninety-four seats, the Progressive Party with thirty-eight, while the Government Parties barely numbered ninety-three. Moreover, the election interference employed to secure these numbers incited public outrage, leaving behind an unconscionable nationwide record of twenty-five deaths and three hundred eighty-eight injured.

Chapter Five

In front of the corridor where young maples near the eaves cast blue shadows in the garden, Shōzō's booming voice carried from a room with its shoji screens thrown open. At Shōzō's regular lodgings on Nihonbashi Yaesu Riverbank—one day during the recess of the Third Diet Session that had convened on May 6th and been ordered to adjourn for a week starting from the 16th. The violent interference during February's general election had caused bloody tragedies nationwide, and as criticism raged that this had distorted public will and defiled electoral freedom, the government—to deflect public opinion's sharp edge—removed Shinagawa, then-serving Home Minister responsible for these actions in March, replacing him with Soejima Taneomi, Vice President of the Privy Council. Mutsu Munemitsu, Minister of Agriculture and Commerce who had denounced interference within cabinet circles, also tendered his resignation, succeeded by Kōno Togama. Yet as opposition factions remained resolute in demanding government censure while rallying mutual defiance, political developments grew increasingly charged with menace approaching Diet sessions. This momentum first manifested at session's opening through an imperial petition addressing election interference. On the 12th, twenty-six members filed notices supporting and nineteen opposing in Diet session—with Kōno Hirotada's explanatory speech spearheading debate where every noted orator rose to speak across hours. Amid murderous tension came voting: rejected by three-vote margin of 146 against 143. This outcome surprised opposition factions—partly from conciliatory leanings among those fearing another dissolution, partly from backroom deals and government activists' violent intimidation. Enraged by failure however, opposition parties reformulated resolution into new proposal passed decisively with forty-three-vote majority on 14th. Thus government countered turbulent politics through adjournment against unstable conditions.

“...While this could be called redemption for our previous failure, I find it rather half-hearted and unsatisfying.” “Yes, that’s true—it’s not about issuing a formal challenge to face the enemy honorably beforehand. It’s an unorthodox stratagem, so to speak—the Liberal Party’s tactic.”

“Prime Minister Matsukata said in a speech: ‘Japanese cabinet ministers would not make light of their positions over such vague facts.’ In reality, a resolution that merely warns about the future like that is neither here nor there for the government.” “I too thought so at first,” Tanaka replied, “but I also realized there were unsettling aspects when it came to drafting an imperial petition. To submit a petition that would disturb His Majesty’s august virtue is truly presumptuous. Even without that, it is said His Majesty has been graciously concerned about the daily proceedings of the Diet since its opening—having the night-duty chamberlain report each day’s affairs. The government’s responsibility must be condemned to the fullest extent—but there exists a constitutional method for doing so.”

The activist-style man fell silent, yielding to Shōzō’s words. Shōzō pressed down on his hakama-clad knees and stood, then carried the Japanese sword lying in the alcove to the veranda and smoothly drew it from its scabbard. The blade’s surface reflected an emerald gleam so vivid it seemed to startle him awake. “What do you think?” “Can you recognize a masterwork when you see one?” “Who’s the smith?” the man asked brashly, reaching out. Shōzō pointed the tip toward him instead, withdrawing a tissue to quietly polish the steel as he spoke: “Even sword appraisal alone—if one examined ten blades daily without fail for ten years—might finally let them discern a Masamune.” “Observe our elected officials—meddling in every budgetary matter.” “Thus they grow irresponsible.”

As Shōzō sheathed his sword with a clang of the guard, the guest rose from his seat. When Shōzō escorted him out and returned to the room, the desk piled high with documents had been turned toward the garden, and Yamada Tomojirō and Kurihara Hikosaburō—who had earlier been waiting in the corner—were once again stationed in their assisting postures.

“I thought that thanks to the Diet’s adjournment, I could rest my mind and carefully draft my interpellation speech, but with these constant interruptions, I was making no progress.” “The recess had now been reduced to just this one day—when would they start again?” However, Shōzō did not immediately take up his brush; instead, he gazed at the fresh green leaves of the paulownia tree, but—

“If humans reflect in their hearts and do not deceive, evil as such should never arise.” He abruptly muttered to himself as if voicing a soliloquy. “The cause of evil lies entirely in the external world. Mencius called the phenomenon of people’s minds being drawn to this external world ‘the release of their innate goodness.’ On the outskirts of Sai no Miyako stood a mountain called Ushiyama. Once lush with verdant trees, it had been stripped bare through relentless deforestation, reduced to a barren wasteland. However, this barren state is by no means the mountain’s true nature. Mencius cites such examples to explain; even if we take the deforested mountains near Ashio as an example, the same principle applies. That rocky, rugged appearance is not the mountain’s true nature. Even if humans act like beasts, it does not mean they lack a sense of justice and humanity. To become akin to beasts is, in essence, because they have cast aside their innate goodness, allowing it to be stifled. As for Furukawa and the officials alike, having cast aside their innate goodness and lost sight of it, they remain unaware of how much evil they have committed. Thus, they sink ever deeper into the mire of evil.—In *Jinxin II*, Mencius teaches that ‘there is no better way to nurture the heart than through reducing desires,’ offering a method to reclaim this lost innate goodness.”

The two boys listened with eyes shining in astonishment and trembling as though a lantern had been thrust into their chests, but when Shōzō’s words ceased, Kurihara slid his knees forward,

“So does that mean you agree with Mencius’s theory of innate goodness, Master?” Shōzō’s eyes glinted sharply. “Ah—with the capabilities of an uneducated man like myself, it is far beyond me to pass judgment on the theories of Confucian sages. Confucius too disdained abstract discourse; having refrained from deep analysis of human nature’s goodness or evilness, China has seen three thousand years of conflicting theories without resolution. But I cannot endure leaving this most crucial matter of human nature’s essence unresolved through such ambiguity.” He leaned forward, calloused hands gripping his knees. “Through my own reflections, I’ve finally found courage to declare human nature inherently good. This conviction came through hearsay learning—from discussions about evolutionary theory with Numata, Shimada, Takada and others. Their teachings made me see humanity’s unbroken path of ascension from antiquity to modernity.” The sword at his side caught sunlight as he gestured. “To progress naturally toward virtue and beauty is humanity’s innate disposition—our very instinct! Had China’s ancient sages known evolution, they’d have unanimously championed innate goodness.” His voice thickened with fervor. “This belief makes my resolve to honor humanity grow daily stronger. Those who commit injustice—” The blade rang faintly as he slammed it against the floorboards “—are destroyers of our innate nature! Traitors to human progress! We must eradicate such scoundrels utterly.” The final words fell like a smith’s hammer: “That is our sacred duty.”

At that moment, along with the clamorous ringing of a bell outside the fence came the cry of a news vendor selling special editions. Yamada stood up and ran to purchase one. When they examined the delivered bulletin, it announced enforcement of the Security Regulations—Chief Superintendent Sonoda’s order declaring “During the Third Imperial Diet session, evacuation beyond three *ri* from the Imperial Palace is mandated,” alongside a roster of numerous activists’ names.

On May 23, immediately after the Diet resumed session, Shōzō promptly submitted his "Inquiry Regarding the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Damage Incident," and on the following day, May 24, he stood to deliver his interpellation speech. First, regarding the disposal of the Horonai-Kikunaippetsu railway and coal mine in Hokkaido, he cited concrete facts to point out its corruption, economic wastefulness, and immorality, declaring: “For the sake of the nation, we must pursue this inquiry relentlessly.” “We do not seek impeachment.” “We simply demand honest answers from the government.” “You cannot blind the public’s eyes and ears with evasions and patchwork responses,” he pressed. As over thirty minutes passed in this manner, Shōzō on the podium—perhaps growing impatient—abruptly shifted to denounce the government’s lack of clear policy regarding disposals at Kobe Shipyard, Kamaishi Iron Mine, and Kosaka Mine. He had intended to finally address his primary target—the mining pollution incident—but even Shōzō now hesitated at monopolizing the podium for so long. Then, altering his tone,

“If you would grant me the time,” Tanaka Shōzō declared, his voice resonating through the chamber, “I wish to address the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Incident—though I caution this may require considerable time.” Cries of “Hear! Hear!” rippled across the assembly. Drawing himself up with renewed vigor, Shōzō drained his water glass in one swift motion and began: “As I outlined last year, the Ashio Mine’s unchecked expansion has unleashed a torrent of toxins from its slopes.” His finger jabbed toward an invisible map. “These poisons course through what we call the Watarase River—the same waters that flow between Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures before merging with the Tone River.” He leaned forward, palms pressing the lectern. “For centuries—nay, millennia—our ancestors thrived along these banks. Yet now?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Now those very people cannot remain on land rendered barren by this mine’s prosperity.” “Constitutionally speaking,” he continued, shifting tone to bureaucratic precision, “when tax-paying citizens become incapable of fulfilling that duty due to external forces, the government must act.” The lectern creaked under his grip. “Each day’s delay compounds the damage. Over 1,600 *chōbu* lie fallow already—wheat shrivels un-sprouted, beanstalks refuse to climb.” A sardonic laugh escaped him. “Prefectural offices erect testing sites proposing remedies—digging pits to invert soil layers, burning fields with buried kindling, dumping three hundred seventy-five kilos of lime per acre.” His hands mimed absurd measurements. “Such methods might salvage a courtyard plot, but applied to wastelands?” He snorted. “They invite officials to lecture on deep plowing techniques—as if academic theories could resurrect poisoned earth!” “And let us examine these vaunted pollution tests,” he added acidly. “Conducted not by scholars, but by pharmacy clerks earning eight yen monthly—men who couldn’t distinguish copper sulfate from table salt!”

“However, last year when they made an uproar in the Diet and local people also raised their voices—perhaps as an excuse—scholars came or doctors came to conduct tests, but these people do not understand.” “Therefore, in last year’s written reply, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce stated there was no established conclusion regarding the cause of damage based on test results.” “Indeed, there are all sorts of doctors today—I hear there are even doctors who cost a pittance.”

A roar of laughter erupted, followed by applause. Shōzō took a breath in the interim and immediately continued. “From around Meiji 12–13, fish in the Watarase River began dying; crops ceased to bear fruit. Though the nearby farmers knew nothing of analytical chemistry, they understood mining pollution well.” “Next, analysis at the prefectural hospital confirmed it.” “Yet as one ascends the bureaucratic hierarchy, comprehension gradually fades.” “Become Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, and understanding vanishes entirely.” Someone guffawed loudly, sparking prolonged laughter. “Their pretext? ‘There must be other causes.’” “But even these ‘other causes’ depend on material factors.” “Consider soot accumulating in a chimney.” “Even the uneducated know this occurs from burning wood or coal below.” “Yet they insist there must be some hidden cause.” “Just as resin builds up in a pipe from smoking tobacco—this too supposedly has ‘other causes!’” Fresh laughter arose, but Shōzō pressed on relentlessly: “Ascend to Ministerhood, and suddenly pipe resin requires grand theories! Suddenly the Watarase’s poison demands mysterious origins!” “Such deception ill becomes our Meiji era.” “Detest restraint though you may, we retain the right to compel it!” Shōzō’s voice lashed like a whip as he wheeled toward the ministers’ seats. He then described boatmen’s lips discoloring from river water, paupers breaking out in rashes after burning river debris—vivid proof of pollution’s health ravages.

“First, this poison usually settles at the riverbed during ordinary times, but when heavy rains suddenly cause a flood, the force of the water stirs up the settled mud with its waves, turning it into poisonous water that flows downstream.” “When this muddy water flows and deposits mud, that mud is entirely laced with poison.” “Therefore, in the past, when this mud was applied at water-drawing areas, it served as fertilizer; but nowadays, wherever even an inch or two—no matter how little—of this mud is deposited, crops can no longer grow.” “In plants as well as in public health, they left matters as they were until last year without addressing them.” “When I questioned this in the Diet chamber, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce responded.” “The gist of the answer consists of two points.” “The first is that the test results remain poorly understood.” “They don’t know what harm it causes; there might be other causes; they say they’re still investigating.” “The second is this peculiar reply: they’ve purchased devices to prevent the poison, installed twenty units, and now claim they’ll make preparations to ensure the toxins no longer flow.” “In any case, this is a self-contradictory response.” “Let us set aside their self-contradictions for now. Both in the report delivered by Tanba Keizō of the Medical University at Gunma Prefecture’s Waterworks Association on December 8 last year, and in the subsequent report published in Tochigi Prefecture this February by Kozai Yoshinao and Nagaoka Muneoki of the Agricultural College—who conducted exhaustive investigations—they unflinchingly state that the source of this toxic harm lies with the Ashio Copper Mine, and that it is an established fact that the Momoiwa waters flowing from Ashio into the Watarase River contain poisonous substances.” “Since it has been conclusively determined that such poison exists due to the mine, not a single day’s delay should be permitted.” “Article 10 of the Mining Ordinance currently in effect contains an explicit provision stating that when harm to public welfare is recognized, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce may order the cessation of its operations.” “It is clearly stipulated in the law.” “Despite this, they hesitate and fail to act even now, paying no heed to how hundreds of thousands of people are driven to destitution and forced to abandon their homes—what could this possibly be?” “Where in this world could there be a government that, despite having laws and ordinances, fails to implement them?” “What you are most concerned about are the foreign treaties.” “Why do those who clamor for treaty revision fear these foreign settlements above all else?” “Although there are laws in our country, it is because they are not enforced.” “Yet in Shimotsuke Province and Gunma Prefecture, the newfangled likes of Furukawa Ichibē run rampant, creating new settlements; though laws exist, they do not enforce them.”

“No matter how destitute the people may become, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce does not even deign to look.” “‘Furukawa Ichibē’s enterprise benefits the nation!’” Shōzō’s voice rose with mounting fervor until he roared: “What preposterous nonsense!” As the words thundered through the chamber’s vaulted ceiling, he pressed onward: “We are the ones shouldering the tax burden.” “This cannot compare to the reality that those who settled this land before Furukawa now find themselves unable to remain on their ancestral fields—unable to till soil their forebears cultivated.” “With our Constitution and laws in place, there can be no justification for failing enforcement.” “Any competent official could resolve this matter. That the Minister cannot proves his dereliction of duty.” “Those incapable of fulfilling their responsibilities must resign without delay.” “Yet today’s purpose is not debate—it is formal inquiry.” “What answer will you give? I demand clarity!”

After concluding his scathing remarks condemning the minister's dereliction of duty, Shōzō returned to his seat amidst applause, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the sweat from his face. However, despite such impassioned demands for a reasoned response made with full logical rigor, days passed without any reply from the government. During this time, questioning and debate over the Railway Bond Bill and Acquisition Bill carried over from the previous Diet session lasted three days; when attempting to move on to the Copyright Bill, the chamber descended into such chaos that six members were ordered to leave. Shōzō too shouted rebukes amid the uproar, making the name of Tanaka Chindai reverberate through the hall—though this had never been his true purpose. On June 7, unable to endure further delay, Shōzō delivered a speech pressing for answers: "If the government neither provides a response nor explicitly states its reasons for withholding one, it becomes a criminal under the law!" "Even criminals who reform their wrongful conduct may still merit moral forgiveness." "Yet leaving this matter unattended while refusing to answer makes maintaining national stability impossible." "It is precisely the government that deliberately stirs turmoil within this Diet," he declared with sharp emphasis.

Then, on June 11, an answer document finally reached the Speaker under the name of Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Kōno Togama. Shōzō read it through once and could not contain his indignation. Not only was it vague and ambiguous, but it strained to avoid conflicting with the Mining Ordinance while deliberately distorting the facts. As a response bearing a cabinet minister's responsibility, it was coldly indifferent to the extreme. Shōzō immediately worked through that night to complete a rebuttal document and submitted it on the 13th. If there was to be no extension of the Diet session, the 14th would be its final day. The thought that it would once again be hastily buried away made his chest seethe with indignation and impatience. In the Diet chamber on the 14th, Shōzō hardly heard the other proceedings; he stared intently at the Speaker, waiting to be called.

And then，having risen from seat number thirty-one and ascended the podium，he began at once，

“The Minister of Agriculture and Commerce’s response amounts to outright fraud against the facts,” he pressed. “This response involves changing names, falsifying names, or altering locations. I am from that region. Do not lie to those who know the state of the land. The foremost part is fundamentally incorrect. 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. Indeed, the notion of dredging the river is not entirely without basis. This refers to an agreement reached with the Matsubayashiōseki Waterworks Association to dredge mud from the narrow canal entering through the sluice gate. However, this measure only addresses a small section and has no effect whatsoever on other areas. I can only assume they are utterly ignorant of the facts. The second point is that, since they do not recognize any harm to public peace and order in the regions, the document states that matters have not yet reached a stage requiring suspension. On what grounds do you make this claim? Those already suffering harm number in the tens of thousands, with over 1,700 *chōbu* of fields across two districts and twenty-eight villages constituting direct damage—and despite the vast scope of harm extending beyond this, they refuse to recognize this grave crisis as a threat to public order. This is an utterly gross discrepancy in facts. Does the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce refuse to recognize this as a threat to public order unless we resort to armed peasant uprisings to petition the authorities? Do you refuse to recognize this as a threat to public order unless every last person living on this land is forced to abandon it or relocate?”

Shōzō’s tone once again grew vehement.

“This proves they remain utterly ignorant of the facts! Were they informed, such an improper response would never pass muster. If they knowingly issued this falsehood, we must conclude even the entire Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce reeks of mining contamination! Furukawa Ichibē commands vast wealth—so much that rumor claims even cabinet ministers grovel before him. Clearly, the Minister too breathes Ashio’s toxic fumes! Thus corrupted by copper’s poison, the entire Ministry stands infected!” Laughter detonated across the chamber. Shōzō gaped like a man retching filth: “Having inhaled copper’s miasma until steeped in its venom, they dismiss pollution as trivial! Like latrine-dwellers grown numb to stench…”

Once again, laughter exploded. How deeply Shōzō himself must have agonized over having to voice such harsh words to this extent. Many of the Diet members guffawed as if they did not comprehend his anguish at all.

When Shōzō descended from the podium, Orita Kensuke of No. 258 abruptly stood up and shouted, “Emergency motion!” Aware of the gazes of the entire assembly fixed upon him as they wondered what was happening, Orita— “Regarding Mr. Tanaka’s remarks about ‘those in the latrine who remain unaware of the stench’ and so forth—should such language ever come before His Majesty the Emperor’s eyes, it would cause profound disgrace. I therefore move to have these words struck from the record.” Before the Speaker could even turn his gaze, Shōzō had risen from Seat 418,

“Since Mr. Orita has such a splendid idea, kindly select wording befitting it and revise accordingly.” The chamber relaxed with a palpable sense of relief, and even laughter could be heard. On this day, while rumors swirled that an imperial edict might extend the Diet session late into the night, it ultimately concluded as the final day without such an occurrence. Despite Shōzō’s repeated questioning, the mining pollution issue was ultimately buried in obscurity during this Diet session as well, left to rest with nothing more than that single response document.

However, the reason government authorities maintained such a cold attitude was that there lay an ulterior motive behind it. Who knows how many hands had copied it? Once the response document was published, official gazettes and newspapers carrying it were distributed free of charge to each village in the affected areas. The basis for the administrative authorities’ confidence that they could suppress the voices of mining pollution victims could be discerned here. The truth was that the victims’ ignorance meant they had no understanding of what science even was. When word spread that slag collectors had been installed by around June of Meiji 26 (1893), many immediately believed they were effective tools for eliminating the harm.

In rural villages where the archaic custom of revering officials and belittling commoners still stubbornly persisted, it was only natural that most people would trust the government’s words and show signs of reluctant relief. Moreover, even prior to distributing these official gazettes and newspapers, thorough preparations had been devised to bury the voices of mining pollution victims in obscurity. Through local officials’ machinations, arbitration contracts steadily took concrete form. Namely, already in May within Tochigi Prefecture, an arbitration committee had been established by nineteen prefectural assembly members including Nakayama Tanjirō, Yokoo Terukichi, and Hayakawa Chūgo—all operating under Governor Orita Hiranai’s direct command. It was bitterly ironic that just as Shōzō stood shouting from the Diet podium about the mining pollution crisis, these men gathered over four hundred local leaders from Anso District’s afflicted areas—those with deep ties to Shōzō—in the county office’s upper hall as their first negotiating maneuver. As voices discussing wheat crop losses swelled among the crowd packed into the narrow venue, Governor Orita appeared to personally explain the arbitration committee’s purpose. Next, Yokoo Terukichi ascended the podium on behalf of the committee with an arrogant demeanor.

“—For several years now, the state of rural villages—year after year suffering diminished harvests and sinking into exhaustion and destitution—has become truly unbearable to witness. We cannot help but feel heartfelt sympathy for you farmers of the afflicted areas. Therefore, we too have devoted ourselves day and night to devising methods for relief. How can we save you from your dire plight? Here, as solutions, there are three methods we have considered. Namely, the first is to halt mining operations through administrative disposition; the second is to have them pay damages as a judicial matter; and the third is to reach a settlement through arbitration—these are the three. Let us now examine here which of these three methods is most appropriate to the situation, feasible, and capable of producing definitive results. What of the first method? This has already been praised by some as a fool’s one-trick solution, but in reality, it is far from simple. Easier said than done. For the Ashio Copper Mine is truly a great mine of the Orient, and its output exceeds two million yen annually. What consequences would arise if this great enterprise were to be halted in a single day? The state will suffer enormous losses. No—not only that, but the numerous people who directly or indirectly make their living through the mine would all lose their means of subsistence and be left destitute.”

Someone shouted in a thick, rough voice. “Rather than others’ affairs, we’re actually struggling to eat.” “Indeed,” Yokoo responded, “if left unresolved and neglected as it is, even you may find yourselves in such circumstances.” He continued speaking with deliberate calm. “However, as Japanese people, you would not consider it acceptable for others to suffer terribly just so that we may be saved.” “There it is—what I want you to consider is this very point.” “Should the Ashio mine halt operations, there’s no guarantee this precedent wouldn’t spread to mines nationwide.” “Japan’s mining industry would be utterly ruined.” “The livelihoods of countless people in mining regions across the nation would be stripped away.” “As the government, we cannot rashly implement measures that might trigger such upheaval.” “Moreover, those bearing political responsibility must consider all Japanese citizens from an elevated perspective—they cannot favor one group while neglecting another.” “Even if mining ceased tomorrow, the slag already settled in the Watarase River’s bed would remain beyond remedy.” “Then what of the second method?” “This too presents extreme difficulties.” “For tens of thousands of fields, forests, and mountains owned by thousands, compensation must be calculated plot by plot using damage registries.” “Without such precision, neither payers nor recipients would find it acceptable.” “Should the mine owner contest even minor points in court, resolution could take years.” “Now regarding arbitration—this constitutes moral adjudication. For societal disputes, both parties must state their claims and compromise appropriately to reach harmonious solutions.” “Through this method alone can the pollution issue be resolved appropriately, swiftly, and advantageously—of this I have no doubt.” “Given Mr. Furukawa’s demonstrated sympathy through his ethical mediation proposal to Governor Orita, we earnestly hope you’ll accept our committee’s guidance in concluding amicable settlements.”

“Nor will we ever shirk working like dogs and horses for your sake...”

The applause was sparse. As they listened to this speech, most people felt a kind of oppression, yet none possessed the energy to resist it. Though the arbitration seemed like it might secure them special benefits, many remained uncertain whether to accept or reject it due to lingering distrust they couldn’t fully overcome. At last came a few questions—all foolish ones asking whether the settlement money would indeed be reliably received. Then a man from the front row stood up, expressed gratitude toward the arbitration committee members, and turned to face the assembly.

“For me to speak like this may seem quite presumptuous, but I believe all of you likely feel the same way. If each person voices their own selfish claims, there will be no end to it. At this juncture, how about we comply with the kind and esteemed committee members’ advice and entrust the arbitration to them?”

After a smattering of applause, in the end, the majority offered perfunctory clapping.

The following day, victim representatives from both Ashikaga and Yanada Counties were convened at Ashikaga County Office as well. Similarly, Governor Orita made an official visit, where Nakayama Tanjirō delivered persuasion nearly identical to Yokoo’s. Moreover, on another day at Shimotsuga County Office, arbitration committee members urged victim representatives toward a settlement in the presence of the county mayor. In this manner, the groundwork for settlements was steadily laid, soon materializing across each affected area. Victim representatives from every village pressed their seals onto contracts issued under Furukawa Ichibē’s name. The contracts’ contents differed little from the draft that the former Yanada County Mayor had presented after gathering village heads across his jurisdiction—stipulating wholly submissive clauses, including designating the period until June 30, Meiji 29 (1896) for testing slag collectors’ efficacy, during which no complaints could be raised nor administrative or judicial remedies sought.

Shōzō learned of these developments in the afflicted areas only after returning home ten days following the Diet’s adjournment. Shōzō alighted from the Tōhoku Line at Koga Station as usual, hired a rickshaw, and headed toward Yanaka Village’s embankment. Observing the Watarase River’s sinuous path through reed beds on his left—its waters turbid and swollen with rainy season runoff—he reached Fujioka Town and lodged at Kawachiya. The next day he passed through Mikamo, Sakai, Ueno and other afflicted villages before proceeding to Sano. In Sano he first halted his rickshaw at Murayama Han’s residence. Having been informed the master was away, he stripped naked by the well and was wiping his sweat-slicked body when Murayama returned. Upon being ushered together into the sitting room, their conversation immediately turned to developments in central political circles—

“I saw reports of your vigorous efforts in the Diet through the newspapers.” “It appears the Hokkaido railway and mine disposal matter was harshly criticized this time as well.” When addressed thus, Shōzō made a face like he had bitten into a bitter insect while retorting: “In truth, before the Diet convened, everyone considered bribery and such things shameful.” “Now, none find it remarkable anymore.” “The government’s corruption has grown thoroughly familiar to the public’s ears.”

“Has the world become more civilized only to descend into corruption?” “It’s the same as how illnesses have increased.” “Whether it’s that medical advancements have uncovered pathogens or that pathogens themselves have multiplied—I cannot say—but just because the number of illnesses has increased doesn’t mean we can abandon the sick.” Murayama nodded several times while staring at Shōzō’s face, “In your Diet speech, you said Hokkaido had become a den of thieves. If they were merely sick, doctors could cure them, but with thieves multiplying, it becomes an intractable problem.”

“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, it remains utterly unclear and unresolved.” “This is the real thief.” “Everywhere you look, it’s a world of thieves.”

His words bordered on jest, but his voice resonated with the heartrending lament of profound grief. “Speaking of mining pollution, are you aware of Mr. Yokoo’s arbitration committee?”

“I only found out after returning here this time.”

Shōzō spat out, his face bearing a look of unbearable indignation. “Is that so? No consultation, not even a greeting?” “Though given that they were betraying comrades of many years, perhaps even those brazen men found it impossible to consult anyone—no matter how thick-skinned they might be.” “Mining poison has seeped into the very marrow of their souls—I couldn’t care less about those copper-stinking bastards.” "But if left unattended, the people of the afflicted areas will suffer terribly." “Due to their ignorance and foolishness, they seem likely to be easily manipulated.” “No—it seems they’ve already been thoroughly duped.” “As evidence of this, even when I visit acquaintances’ homes in the villages, their attitudes toward me have completely changed.” “The look of hiding something is plain as day on their faces.” “They cannot look me straight in the face.” “When I try to press them for answers, they make excuses about having business and flee to hide.” "There are even those who rudely treat me as a nuisance."

“Truly, what proves unreliable is the human heart.”

“The mine faction bastards’ conspiracy was cunningly plotted.” “Yet this time their scheme may well succeed.” “First they’ll stuff hush money into the victims’ mouths to silence all talk of mining pollution, then make those very lips spew slander against me—no doubt they’ll come clamping an iron gag on me next.”

Shōzō sat with arms folded, silently closed his eyes, but suddenly hearing a sound like a stone striking something, he turned his gaze toward the garden. A green plum must have fallen of its own accord and struck a garden stone; he saw it roll toward the base of some dwarf bamboo.

“It is said that Newton discovered gravity by observing an apple fall.” “If you pay heed to the people’s plight, you can grasp the world’s true sentiments.” Shōzō muttered abruptly—words meant to convince himself.

The following afternoon, Shōzō came to Shimohayata in Watarase Village through a mistlike rain, leaving the rickshaw's hood uncovered. After alighting from the rickshaw, he crossed the boat bridge over the Watarase River, stood for a while on the bank gazing at the ceaseless flow of eddies across the river's surface, then entered the moss-covered gate of Unryū-ji Temple while muttering something to himself. As he stepped into puddles and called toward the priest's quarters, Abbot Zen'ō Kurosaki—who seemed to have been writing a letter—emerged still clutching his brush. Though the honorific "Zen'ō" suggested an elderly master, his brow—charged with the fervor of a man not yet thirty—clashed oddly with the white robes. They were old acquaintances, and Shōzō unceremoniously trod across sodden tatami mats before throwing open the eastern shoji screens of the inner chamber. Each visit usually brought distant views of Mount Tsukuba, but now only formless clouds drifted within the frame of lintel and threshold.

Before long, Kobayashi Zenkichi from within the village and Niwata Tsunekichi from Azuma Village on the opposite bank—who had apparently prearranged matters with Shōzō—arrived accompanied by several young men. Once they had taken their seats in a circle in the room, discussion immediately turned to the arbitration committee’s activities. When representatives of the pollution victims had earlier been summoned to Ashikaga District Office and pressured into accepting arbitration, the political rivalry between the Tanaka faction and Kimura faction unwittingly sparked controversy, leading three Kimura faction members—Hayakawa, Hirose, and Kageyama—to break from the arbitration committee and form a separate Mining Pollution Assessment Committee. According to Niwata and others’ reports, this faction’s underlings now prowled near Azuma Village, with Village Mayor Kameda Sahei and his subordinates already tilting toward settlement agreements. Hayakawa and Kameda—these very men who had once spearheaded resistance against mining pollution’s ravages—were people Shōzō himself had lauded as pioneers. All the more reason their subsequent betrayal and ideological reversal could not help but be pitied even for their own sakes. Through Kobayashi’s account, it grew evident that in Gunma Prefecture too, both arbitration bodies were locked in cutthroat competition to beguile the victims—a dire state of affairs demanding grief.

To Shōzō, the bureaucrats’ schemes and the local assemblymen’s plots were all laid bare—the grotesque underbelly of every contrivance visible to his eyes.—The victims, swayed by propaganda, were likely being made to believe that slag collectors were devices to prevent mining pollution. The deadline for their installation was merely scheduled for the end of June next year. However, the damage continued to spread day by day. Moreover, even if they were installed, the mining pollution that had settled on the riverbed over many years would not easily vanish; rather, with each passing year’s floods, it would only compound its toxic harm. If they allowed themselves to be swayed by such flippant notions—that settlement money could be obtained endlessly at this critical moment—lured by trivial immediate gains, they would leave behind a century of regret. Settlement was a conspiratorial means to suppress the voices of mining pollution victims along the Watarase River. They had to be made to protect their ancestral lands through explanations even children and elders could grasp.—Shōzō suppressed the fury smoldering in his breast as he patiently laid out strategies and roused their spirits with earnest exhortations. He turned once more toward the youths and rephrased his words: “Ignorant people immediately cry ‘natural disaster!’ at every turn, blaming everything on divine wrath.” “Volcanic eruptions, storms, ice and snow—indeed, these harm plants and living creatures.” “However, from the perspective of the human heart, what appears merely harmful—for example, when humans harvest and eat ears of wheat—while one cannot say this does not harm the wheat, it only seems harmful and does not violate the natural order of heaven and earth.” “Whether plants or animals, all exist under heaven’s mandate.” “Therefore, there is no such thing as natural disasters.” “Without grasping this principle, the victims resign themselves to both mining pollution and floods as natural disasters.” “Mining pollution is by no means a natural disaster—it is the harm wrought by human hands, by Furukawa Ichibē’s greed.” “The flood damage is also the result of reckless deforestation that began around 1885 and 1886.” “This is a parable, but let us suppose there exists a man of exceedingly weak spirit who has taken a wife prone to bedwetting.” “The wife, being somewhat educated, explains to her husband that her bedwetting is an inborn trait—a natural disaster.” “The husband is a fool; he accepts it as unavoidable, saying, ‘Ah, if it’s a natural disaster, there’s nothing to be done.’” “Then this wife became pregnant.” “The wife shifted her own fault onto her young child, declaring, ‘Though I have miraculously escaped this natural disaster, somehow my child has been struck by one exactly like mine…’ Deceived once more by these words, the husband finally came to accept bedwetting as a natural disaster.”

At the bizarre metaphor, the entire group snickered. Shōzō himself opened his mouth wide to laugh, but—

“No—this is no laughing matter.” “Both floods and mining pollution belong to this same category of bedwetting masquerading as natural disaster.” “If we consider officials and assemblymen as that cunning wife, then the coastal victims become this foolish husband.” “To keep lamenting ‘natural disaster’ while enduring humiliation would make you inferior even to that simpleton.” “Awakening this deluded fool and saving people’s base, servile hearts—this is your duty.” “This is the duty of you young men who possess fresh minds and untainted hearts.” “The people of Kantō originally degenerated under the Tokugawa’s gentle oppression—through two centuries of inherited consequences, their humility and patience warped into fear and servility, leaving feudal traits wholly intact.” “But that’s not all.” “When the Tokugawa once wielded power to steer the nation, even mighty domains like Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, and Hizen swallowed their tears in submission. Now that Satsuma and Chōshū have gripped national affairs these twenty-odd years, they strive to shame our Kantō and Tōhoku under pretext of avenging past oppression.” “They particularly despise those close to Tokugawa and scorn Kantō itself—viewing our land as mere livestock in some garden.” “Thus have two centuries’ feudal remnants grown ever more entrenched—alas! We Kantō folk have utterly lost autonomy and vigor, becoming listless husks devoid of spirit.” “They’ve grown accustomed to groveling before power as slaves who feel no self-reproach.” “To rescue Kantō from this corruption and restore its vitality—there exists no path save through our own strength as Kantō people...”

Evening mist had crept into the room, rendering people’s faces indistinguishable; only scattered glimmers of eyes remained suspended in midair. The rain outside seemed to have ceased—from behind them came three or four crows cawing through cedars as though hastening dusk’s arrival.

However, Shōzō’s efforts were akin to trying to hold back a torrent with a single hand. The inexorable spread of settlement contracts encroached upon village after village along the Watarase River. The arbitration committee members themselves shuttled repeatedly between the affected villages and Furukawa, advancing matters from summer through autumn until contracts were formally exchanged.

In Anso District: Ueno and Sakai Villages and Inubushi Town; in Shimotsuga District: Fujioka Town, and the villages of Nama Take, Heya, Nomizu, Mikamo, and Yanaka. The total affected area under concluded contracts amounted to 2,956 chōbu 5 tan 7 se 28 bu, involving 4,978 individuals. The total settlement money handed over was 48,987 yen 32 sen 9 rin—a figure that might appear substantial at a glance, but when averaged per tan, it amounted to a mere 1 yen 66 sen. Meanwhile, by March of the following year, the movements of the Assessment Committee faction had gradually encroached upon Ashikaga Town and the villages of Azuma, Keno, Tomita, Kobata, Sakanishi, Yanada, Tsukuba, and Yamabe, where individuals calling themselves representatives affixed their seals to contracts. The terms of the settlements followed much the same pattern. In Gunma Prefecture, the four villages of Nishiyata, Oshima, Watase, and Tatara in Ora District signed contracts, but the settlement money was similarly a meager two yen per tan, while in Yamada and Shinden Districts, the average per tan reached an unbelievable eight rin.

Earlier, Home Minister Soejima Taneomi, his ambitions thwarted by undercurrents within the cabinet, resigned in protest; however, Matsukata himself took charge of the portfolio, steered through the Diet session, and on July 14 installed Kono Togama as Home Minister. Thus, Kono methodically implemented post-election interference measures and carried out the dismissal of several governors. This became the cause for friction among cabinet members to surface, and on the 28th of the same month, the Matsukata Cabinet invited its own fate of collapse.

On August 8, the second Itō Cabinet was formed, but its lineup amounted to nothing more than a reshuffling of domain clique politicians. Only Watanabe Kunitake of the Ministry of Finance, being from Shinshu, was regarded by society as an anomaly—a sign sufficient to mark the changing times.

On November 25, the Fourth Diet Session was convened. Looking back, with the Diet now in session, our nation had entered an era of advancing its course through constitutional government—yet this remained merely a continuation of that transitional period seeking constitutional governance itself. Thus unavoidable chaos persisted through this transition, and as Year 25 neared its end, political circles still lay shrouded in gloom. Yet these upheavals' origins must be traced to that distant rupture over invading Korea—the Seikanron debate—which had cast multitudes of disaffected men into political exile. Taking root in regional factions, they nurtured anti-government fervor among discontented masses; then like wildfire across parched plains spread the People's Rights movement, its fury intensifying by the day. Though convened amid such currents, the government still made no effort to rally hearts through political action—dreading instead that half-measured achievements since Restoration might come to naught—and labored solely to preserve domain cliques. Here conflict became inevitable even if avoided. The partisans' aim was unquestionably a party cabinet; yet as means to gain power toward this end, they harnessed popular anti-government sentiment and seized any pretext to attack authorities regardless of policy merit. Thus they assumed even the aspect of attacking for attack's sake—clashing solely to clash. Moreover behind this collision of power-lusts lay tangled interpretations of constitutional governance—imported ideologies snarled with Japanese thought—rendering disputes ever more grotesque. Upon entering Fourth Diet deliberations, discord among Liberal and Progressive factions—so-called people's parties—seemed to shift turmoil's course; yet over budget review proposals government and legislature indeed came to face each other like fortress walls. When on January 16 of Year 26 legislators themselves voted five-day recess demanding government reflection—then submitted memorial to throne—authorities riposted with fifteen-day prorogation request; thus murderous stalemate persisted until adjournment's end. Therefore on February 7 did parliament resume deliberating that memorial until passing it.

On February 10, an imperial rescript titled "His Majesty's Rescript Addressed to the Ministers in Attendance" was issued. It declared: "Behold—the momentum of all nations across the earth grows more urgent with each passing day. Should We at this hour prolong disputes and thereby neglect grand designs, missing opportunities for Our nation's advancement, this would contravene Our resolve to honor the august spirits of Our imperial ancestors and would not be the path to reap constitutional governance's noble fruits." At this same time, it was proclaimed that by economizing on imperial household expenses, 300,000 yen would be granted annually over six years as supplementary funds for shipbuilding. This conflict had originated when the people's parties—under the pretense of allowing public recuperation and reducing government expenditures—vigorously opposed the administration's budget proposal. Thereupon, the House of Representatives convened from the 13th to pass a formal reply address, while the government pledged concessions; thus did the month-long conflict finally subside, allowing subsequent bills to pass peacefully thereafter.

During this time, Shōzō repeatedly rose to request the floor, but he never gained an opportunity to address the mining pollution issue. The surrounding political situation left no room for such discussions. As for conditions in the affected areas, the earlier settlement contract schemes steadily expanded their reach, with many victims now complying meekly—securing for themselves a precarious foothold in this arrangement. Thus did the arbitration committee members’ words and deeds earn gratitude, while Shōzō’s warnings about looming perils and his tireless efforts came gradually to be shunned and reviled. Just as Shōzō himself had once prophesied, by silencing the mining pollution victims’ voices from that region, he too now felt muzzled by an unspoken gag order.

Chapter Six

The Tonghak Party of Korea defeated the government forces and occupied Jeonju's capital. It was May 31, 1894. Yuan Shikai, China's minister, secretly urged Min Yeongjun by declaring the time ripe to borrow neighboring troops for suppressing rebels. The Tientsin Treaty had stipulated that Japan and Qing must notify each other beforehand when deploying troops to Korea. But Yuan had disregarded this, having gauged Japan's domestic turmoil and concluded they lacked capacity for sudden overseas deployment. The Qing authorities saw no better chance than this moment to quell unrest with their forces and reduce Korea to tributary status.

In fact, when considering our country’s situation, the conflict between the government and the people’s parties had already persisted for years; viewed from overseas, they must have perceived Japan as being in endless political strife and extreme chaos. At the Fourth Diet Session, they had appeared to resolve the conflict through an imperial rescript, but when Foreign Minister Mutsu Munemitsu attempted to undertake the arduous task of treaty revision, voices attacking the government boiled up once again. The treaty revision had been attempted and failed multiple times by previous governments; this time, they sought to achieve swift realization by permitting foreigners to reside in the interior. However, it so happened that Ōishi Masami’s appointment as minister plenipotentiary to Korea and his forceful resolution of the long-standing Grain Export Prohibition incident stimulated the foreign policy hardliners, who argued that diplomacy should indeed be conducted with such firmness, leading them to unanimously rally against allowing foreigners to reside in the interior. Furthermore, on November 15, Meiji 26 (1893), the Chishima Incident ended in Japan’s defeat at the Yokohama British Consular Court. The incident originated when a warship commissioned by the government from France, while being transported into the Seto Inland Sea, collided with the British courier ship Raibento and sank to the seabed. It was an event that occurred late at night on October 30, Meiji 25 (1892). Thereupon, the government filed a lawsuit seeking damages; however, opposition figures decried the inappropriate invocation of His Majesty’s name and denounced the act of bringing the case before a foreign court as national disgrace. This transformed their stance from opposing mixed residence to demanding strict treaty enforcement, becoming an anti-government banner. Due to disputes over this proposal to enforce existing treaties, the Diet was dissolved on December 30 while still in recess.

Subsequently, on March 1 of the following year, Meiji 27 (1894), a general election was held. Shōzō defeated Kimura Hanbee in Tochigi Prefecture’s Third District and was elected for the third time. Through this general election, criticism and indignation—which denounced the dissolution of the previous Diet as illegal and accused it of silencing foreign policy hardliners’ debates—came to lead public opinion, creating a situation where opposition parties stood poised before the upcoming Diet, champing at the bit to charge into government attacks.

During this time, another incident suddenly occurred that shocked the foreign policy hardliners. That is, on March 30, every newspaper in Tōto simultaneously published reports that Kim Ok-gyun, a Korean patriot, had been assassinated at a Shanghai inn. Kim Ok-gyun had fled to our country alongside Park Yeong-hyo due to the Gapsin Coup of 1884, and since then under the alias Iwata Shūsaku had spent ten years leading a life of destitution and wandering under the protection of Japanese patriots. On the 23rd, having accepted an invitation from Li Jingfang—the son of Li Hongzhang—he departed for Shanghai alongside 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, that very night Kim was shot down by Hong Jong-u with a pistol. According to later reports, Wada Nobutaro attempted to prepare the corpse for return to Japan but was prevented by Qing authorities and failed to do so. Moreover, it came to light that the Qing warship Weiyuan had transported both the corpse and Jong-u to Incheon. Moreover, the assassination had been carried out under a secret decree from the Korean court, and the corpse was dismembered, its head and limbs separately displayed at Yanghuajin Dock. Rumors abounded that all these measures had been instigated by the Qing side. Public sentiment toward Qing grew increasingly hostile.

On May 15, the Sixth Diet Session was convened. At the very outset, an impeachment proposal from the six-party foreign policy hardliner coalition led by the Progressive Party was submitted, while the Liberal Party separately presented its own impeachment proposal. Debate raged until the assembly hall frequently descended into chaos, but ultimately an amended version of the Liberal Party's proposal passed. As Speaker Kusumoto Masataka—summoned to the Imperial Palace on June 2 and having since returned to the Diet—was reporting that His Majesty had declined to adopt their petition, the dissolution rescript arrived upon his desk.

It was several days later—June 7—when the Qing government mobilized approximately 1,600 troops toward Korea under the overall command of Ye Zhichao. Subsequently, two warships under Admiral Ding Ruchang also proceeded to Incheon. Thereupon, our country urgently ordered Minister Ōshima Keisuke—who was in the process of returning home—back to Korea. Ōshima landed at Incheon with a naval landing force on the 9th, the same day the Qing advance troops had come ashore at Asan. At the same time, they publicly declared that their objective was to protect Japanese residents abroad. Next, the mixed brigade under Army Major General Ōshima Yoshimasa arrived at Incheon and entered Keijō on the 13th. The Tonghak Party, hearing the winds of change, quieted down of their own accord.

However, a new dispute arose between Japan and Qing over the troop withdrawal issue, and as the storm clouds grew ever more urgent with July drawing to a close, it was the early morning of the 25th.

The First Flying Squadron, led by Navy Rear Admiral Tsuboi Kōzō, encountered Qing’s *Jiyuan* and *Guangyi* in the waters off Pungdo, and it was the *Jiyuan*’s opening salvo that first ignited combat between them. Thus began open hostilities between the two nations. On August 1, the imperial rescript declaring war was issued. On September 15, the Imperial Headquarters was relocated to Hiroshima. On the 16th, Pyongyang fell on land, and on the 17th, a decisive naval victory was secured in the Yellow Sea. On October 15, the Seventh Provisional Diet was convened in Hiroshima, and on the 18th, all members of both houses of the Diet gathered in Hiroshima for the opening ceremony.

Prior to this, on September 1, a general election was held, and Tanaka Shōzō was elected for the fourth time. Shōzō also went to the Diet in Hiroshima and, immediately after concluding the opening ceremony on October 22, returned to the capital.

One evening, not long after returning to the capital, Shōzō appeared breezily at the Toizumi boarding house in Waseda Tsurumakichō—where students from his home region lodged—swinging the sleeves of his customary black-crested haori. Three young students, who had been ardently discussing the war situation before an extra edition of the newspaper, started at Shōzō’s figure standing on the engawa and cried out in unison.

“Oh! You’ve already returned to the capital? You’re as swift as a courier!” “Truly, it was a courier’s journey.” “After all, today is no ordinary situation—we must do all we can in our own way.” “Now that you mention it, it was written in the newspaper as well.” It was said that this Diet session had concluded all proceedings in just two days with unstoppable momentum, and Yamada Tomojirou took the thin zabuton cushion from under his knees, offering it while prompting tales of his travels.

“Harmonious cooperation—it was indeed a solemn Diet,” he began. “Around the time of its convening, partisan sentiments had indeed been swirling among the legislators—but this is no domestic war we face. It is a conflict of truly formidable scale.” His voice deepened with conviction. “Unless the nation stands united in purpose, we will assuredly fail to nobly achieve this war’s objectives—objectives enshrined even in the imperial rescript declaring war, which speaks of swiftly securing peace for eternity.” He leaned forward, eyes blazing. “This war serves to restore balance to the Orient—a region whose very climate has been thrown into disarray by foreign meddling. Our military must act as lightning and thunder to cleanse this turbulence, while we on the home front—administrators and citizens alike—must become the wind and rain that sustain their righteous fury.” A bitter smile flickered across his face. “Thus did I restrain my critiques today, choosing instead to encourage the government in this shared endeavor—but blind obedience serves no one.” His fist struck the tatami mat. “Officials cannot oversee every detail; we must remain vigilant against missteps and voice our counsel when needed. Should those in power mistake meek compliance for true harmony—” His throat constricted momentarily before he spat out the words, “—such perverse ‘cooperation’ would constitute not unity, but enforced groveling before authority—a farce unworthy of heaven’s notice!”

As Shōzō’s words cut off, thick rope-like creases formed across his forehead, and his gaze took on an unusual gleam. The abhorrent impressions he had witnessed and heard in Hiroshima came back to him vividly and in a multitude of ways. Under the Imperial Headquarters, His Majesty—whose august heart was troubled—failed to grasp the nation’s existential crisis, while a certain minister spread scandalous rumors of womanizing. However, Shōzō sank this matter into the depths of his heart and changed his tone, “This time in Hiroshima, I heard a truly heartening and gratifying tale. A man named Munakata Kotarō, though a person of humble station, humbly presented himself in the front garden of the Imperial Headquarters’ august residence and was granted a personal audience, after which—through his close attendants—His Majesty inquired in detail for two hours about the situation in China.”

“It was in the recent newspaper as well.” “He worked as a spy in Chefoo and narrowly escaped death to return…” Emori Yasukichi interjected. “By special imperial command, he was to wear Chinese attire during his stay in China for the audience. Munakata, deeply moved, appeared in the guise of a Chinese man weathered by hardship.” “It was most humbling.”

Shōzō’s voice quivered at its edges as he gazed toward the eaves. In the evening gloom, yellow paulownia leaves rustled dryly. After a prolonged silence, he turned to face the three youths sitting stiffly in formal posture. “Gentlemen—you’ll be cooking rice soon? My apologies, but I’ll impose on your hospitality tonight. As always, we’re poor as church mice, but I’ve coin enough for sake. Someone fetch a flask.” Tamura Yoshijūrō rose to his feet. “Shall I order the Yanagawa hotpot as well?”

Yamada brought out a charcoal brazier onto the garden stone, added dead branches to it, and fanned them noisily with a tattered uchiwa, while Emori cleaned the lamp chimney and lit it. Before long, Tamura returned carrying a humble sake bottle. Following close behind, the ordered Yanagawa hotpot arrived. They set a desk under the lamp, and immediately a modest drinking party began. Shōzō poured sake into each of their cups in turn while gazing intently at their faces, appearing thoroughly delighted to be drinking like this with the young men.

“What’s wrong, Sensei? You’ve got owl-like eyes all wide in surprise,” Yamada inquired with an uninhibited expression that anticipated banter. “Well, I was gazing at your faces—pardon me for this—because I find it so heartening to think that young people like yourselves will work diligently to improve and advance Japan from here on out.” “Sensei, even if you flatter us like that, tonight’s treat ends here.” “No—this is no joking matter. Future Japan differs from the era five or six years ago, when pseudo-heroes and petty talents stirred up society. Generally speaking, the elderly of today certainly have experience, but when it comes to managing the newly established political system since the Meiji government—even in areas like politics—they leave behind nothing but utterly outdated vestiges. There are many of these flaws among government officials as well, and our minds in the opposition are no different.”

“But we’re just students trying to study our way into society.” “So when it comes to your studies, I don’t want you to merely absorb knowledge—I want you to establish a firm resolve. As long as you firmly establish this resolve, your specialized field of study can be any discipline. Within the brief span of a human life, one cannot master much specialized knowledge. Even those called scholars today haven’t truly mastered such a vast array of academic disciplines. If you devote yourself to mastering even one field and bring it to completion, it will form the foundation for social reform and public morality. However, Japan’s traditional customs hold that unless one masters ten skills and six arts, one cannot be considered fully human. First, look at the members of the House of Representatives. They meddle in every matter. That’s why they become irresponsible. They severely lack public morality. The affairs of the world cannot be handled by mere table talk alone. You must diligently apply yourselves to practical matters and, without cease, research upon research using the method of investigating things to extend knowledge until you achieve completion.”

Shōzō poured sake from the mouth of the sake bottle into the three men’s bowls, then wiped his own mouth with his palm as if slurping. “I believe it was around Meiji 20 when Mr. Ozaki Yukio, serving as secretary of the Daidō Dōdan, invited a gathering of Tokyo-based politicians to the San’entei in Shiba.” “I was also invited, but not knowing how to eat Western cuisine, I was terribly at a loss.” “Since Mr. Takada Sanae happened to be there, I went and sat in the chair next to Mr. Takada.” “But today, as you can see—” As the three tried to stifle their laughter, Shōzō stopped them with his hand,

“At that time, I was wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in ages—they reeked something awful—and since Mr. Takada knew full well I was crawling with lice, he turned away like this.” Shōzō made a grimace and twisted his shoulders in demonstration, causing the three young men to burst into laughter. “However, by imitating Mr. Takada’s actions, I somehow managed to finish eating, but I was startled when they suddenly thrust a bottle out from my shoulder to pour me sake.” “Startled but managing not to make a scene, just as I was about to leave—thinking this white cloth around my chest would make a decent handkerchief and tucking it into my waist—the waiter grabbed me. Ha ha ha!”

The three clapped their hands and laughed. “In that way, while I know nothing of table etiquette or how dishes should be eaten, I understand cuisine’s true essence.” “A meal’s flavor cannot be grasped simply by eating what’s served before you.” “One must descend to the kitchen oneself—pound bones, wash rice, prepare miso, chop firewood, draw water—only through personally handling these preparations does true taste reveal itself.” “Advance further—enter mountains to gather fuel, work rice fields—only after enduring each grain’s hardship does one comprehend genuine essence.” “Social reform follows this same truth. Today’s scholars resemble mere kitchen hands, while our task lies in actually cultivating rice.” “Modern academics mistake cooking’s fundamental nature.” “Politicians fare no better.” “When speaking of two titans among contemporary statesmen, we mean Prince Itō and Count Ōkuma.” “Both possess undeniable skill.” “Yet if pressed, their true mastery lies in devouring sweets at banquets.” “Though this hardly tells the full tale.” “They’ve endured considerable trials—personally scrubbing rice in kitchens, attempting miso-making, even splitting kindling—setting them apart from common fawning bureaucrats.” “Different they indeed are—yet neither has ventured mountainside to gather fuel nor worked paddies to grow grain.” “Compare them to Kido or Saigō—men who entered forests themselves and labored in fields.” “But today’s politicians and scholars remain ignorant of such truths. They recklessly heap sugar to sweeten mouths, adopting policies where mere pleasure suffices.” “Thus Japan becomes a jumbled ideology.” “Fragmented—a society veering toward darkness.”

“But Sensei,” Yamada, who had been listening in admiration, interjected. “Japan is now on a string of victories—if we press forward with this momentum, we could even force the enemy to sign a treaty under our walls.” “I believe Japan’s future is boundless, but…” “You’re right—the people are ecstatic with the triumphant reports from the battlefield.” “But that is precisely why I worry about the dawn when triumphal hymns ring out in victory.” “At present, the people’s hearts are united against external enemies—and in form, the nation gains strength—but in constitutional spirit, we remain tainted by yesterday’s chaotic ideologies. If they raise triumphal hymns without reflecting on this, those above will grow arrogant, those below insolent, and I fear the nation’s stability will falter.” “The harmful effects of deficient public morality will manifest even amid this war.” “In a frigid place like Manchuria, where the cold will only grow harsher and soldiers will soon be freezing to death in their suffering, there are rotten officers back home, government-contracted merchants who’ve gone bad—those wretches reek—and though I don’t wish to make dire predictions, I can see what evils are festering in the shadows.”

Shōzō fixed his eyes on the stained wall and remained silent for a moment before continuing. “Therefore, I must have you young people with fresh minds apply yourselves diligently.” “What I ask is that you raise pure banners—righteous banners—in this world.” “Under those standards, young people must gather and labor together to refine their spirits.” “Otherwise, even should we win this war, Japan’s foundations will grow unstable.”

Having said that far, Shōzō assumed an expression of relief, as though finally unburdened,

“Ah, tonight is truly delightful.” Beneath the words “Let me recite another poem,” his hoarse voice growled out Du Fu’s *Poem of Poor Friendship*—*Turn your hand and you make clouds; cover your hand and you make rain—why must we count these countless frivolous souls?*—in a rasping timbre.

When he finished, “Well, shall we have dinner?” Shōzō stood up and brought the clay pot from the veranda himself. The three also served themselves lukewarm rice and began munching on takuan. Shōzō looked at each of their faces in turn and said, “What do you think? This is a request—won’t you let me join your group as well?” “Let’s live together and cook for ourselves.” “As I said earlier, I know how to rinse rice and cook it properly. Ha ha ha!” “But this is a students’ boarding house—it’s far too crude for a politician like you, Sir.” Yamada wore a half-convinced, half-doubting expression, unsure how serious Shōzō truly was.

However, Shōzō shook his shoulders repeatedly and protested vehemently.

“Don’t be absurd! Is there any law that says a politician staying in a shabby boarding house is wrong? Politicians residing in splendid mansions and indulging in warm clothes and ample food are why the world descends into darkness.” “But even if it’s fine for you, Sir, we’ll be in trouble.” Tamura took over and opposed. “If we’re with a politician, we can’t study. Especially when you, Sir, get tipsy and recite Tang poetry now and then—it’s unbearably disruptive.” “Well, that’s quite a blow,” he laughed. “If my poetry recitation is so bad, I’ll refrain from it. I’ll make sure not to get in your way, and I won’t cause you any trouble at all. Since this is an earnest request, don’t be so dismissive—please give it serious consideration.”

Shōzō now had an attitude of complete entreaty. This was later realized. Furthermore, in the autumn of the following year, the four of them established a household at Waseda 36-banchi and named it the Heimin Club. However, Shōzō himself, due to his perpetually busy circumstances, never lived long with the students; he would drift in and out from time to time. The purpose was both to immerse himself in the youths’ invigorating atmosphere and to establish a foothold for local youths’ academic pursuits.

That night, he squeezed into the students’ futon and slept sprawled out; the next morning, Shōzō went out idly. He rushed straight to Ueno Station, boarded the train, and soon arrived at Harada’s house in Ashikaga Town. As luck would have it, Teisuke had just returned from an outing and was taking a bath; upon seeing Shōzō’s face, he first expressed concern for his long journey. But the moment Shōzō sat down, abruptly, “I’m sorry to trouble you again as always, but I’d like to borrow a bit of money.” “I’m flat broke right now.”

“It was a long journey—that’s only natural.” “But there are things to take care of later—first, please bathe.” “I see,” Shōzō replied evenly, rising to his feet on the veranda as he slipped out of his hakama.

“It seems people think I’m overly fond of baths,” he said. “Wherever I go, they immediately urge me to take one.” Teisuke burst out laughing. “That’s because you leave your little ‘souvenirs’ everywhere you go, Uncle!” “Nonsense! It’s not as though I’m deliberately cultivating lice,” Shōzō retorted. “Besides, lice are a patriot’s badge of honor—any fool who scoffs at them isn’t worth conversing with!” With that, Shōzō—now stark naked save for his wooden sandals—let out a boisterous cry and went hopping across the rain-slicked stepping stones toward the bathhouse, disappearing into the downpour.

Not even ten minutes later, Shōzō went up to the second floor, slid open the shoji screens completely, and gazed at the back mountain where autumn leaves streamed their colors through the rain and evening haze—but when Teisuke came up, “During this trip too, I pondered why Japanese soldiers are so strong—it’s clearly no accident.” “The key lies in our new education system—elementary schooling.” “Since Meiji 7’s Education Order was enacted in ’74, this new education has only just taken root.” “But today’s soldiers are precisely those who completed this elementary curriculum.” “Japan now stands divided—those above conscription age and those below might as well be different races inhabiting separate nations—ceaseless generational renewal reshapes us.” “Of course that’s not all—there are deeper causes.” “Our ancestral Japanese spirit—national ideology, isolationist principles, imperial devotion—these stoke morale’s furnace.” “When small strikes large with purpose—that breeds resolve.” “Contrarily, when large crushes small through might alone—contempt festers.” “Observe their nation—bereft of national ideology, merely feudal monarch-worshipers—strong only when kings prove wise.” “Compare Japan—where high and low alike revere His Majesty through virtue and vice alike—the chasm spans heaven and earth.” “Today’s China wallows in moral rot—their military systems decay accordingly.” “Striking their weakness with our strength at this precise juncture—victory’s conclusion needs no oracle.”

“That’s absolutely true.” “There has never been a time when each and every person has contemplated the nation’s survival as intensely as today.” “Everyone’s deadly earnest.” “Precisely why their hostile fervor has grown so formidable.” “Even here in Ashikaga, the unlettered masses are clamoring about boycotting Confucius’s temple itself—such crude hatred they bear for China.” “War’s repercussions truly surface in unforeseen quarters.” “Statesmen must attend to these grassroots sentiments... Yet China wallows in profound decay—its defeat becomes inevitable.” “But what becomes of Japan should fragmentation follow our victory paeans?” “And mark this—that dread proves far from baseless.”

Shōzō once again could not help but voice the anxiety lying deep in his heart. With a loud sneeze, he closed the shoji screens and muttered, "Even now, people high and low are growing arrogant." "There’s a sense that they look upon others as though they’ve climbed onto a rooftop to gaze down at dogs or horses in a courtyard." "Those who view the nation with a beggar’s heart—sleeping beneath a bridge while gazing at the bright moon—grow ever fewer." Sadassuke stared intently at Shōzō’s condition in the dim light,

“How has your health been lately? Did that rheumatism of yours act up during your travels?” “There was nothing particularly wrong. Around the time of the May Diet session, I was hospitalized at Juntendo and attended the sessions—though I could barely manage to lean back in a chair for twelve hours at most. That’s where Dr. Shinozaki of Konaka used to work, so through that connection everyone from the director on down treats me well. Illness is a loss through and through—but I find enjoyment in it all the same. Living three hundred sixty-five days a year free from illness may be splendid in its way—but when one’s heart rushes ever outward, the mind’s capacity for self-reflection grows faint. An uneducated man like me suffers particularly from such failings. When I happen to fall ill and take to bed—gaining days of leisure and clarity—my heart expands greatly. That’s why even when my body isn’t particularly afflicted, I sometimes check into the hospital to cure my mind’s maladies. Moreover, hospitals prove advantageous at times—if I’m hospitalized, I needn’t meet those I’d rather avoid. This past May during that disturbance at Koganehara Cultivation Land, farmers came to the hospital in tattered clothes and pale faces to plead their case—those are people I gladly receive. They’d been told ‘Cultivate the land and it will be yours,’ only to have everything developed since early Meiji snatched away and handed over to some company! Hearing their story—how could I stay silent? So I raised it in the Diet alongside that Hokkaido Coal Mine Railway business.”

“As for this session of the Hiroshima Diet, was there anything…”

“No—no,” Shōzō shook his head and gave a full account of the situation in Hiroshima. “Under such circumstances—even from the standpoint of building national strength—it’s an issue that can’t be neglected for a single day. Yet they had no time to even address the mining pollution incident.” “Dissolutions following dissolutions—and now this war.” “For those in the mining pollution zones, it’s truly a grave misfortune—but unavoidable.”

When Shōzō concluded his words with solemn gravity, Sadassuke fixed him with a gaze that seemed to probe his very heart— “Uncle, I think it would be best if you withdrew from the mining pollution incident for a time.”

“You fool! Who do you think would back down now?!” Tanaka Shōzō shouted angrily in a booming voice, “They’ve fallen into the mining faction’s trap with these settlement contracts—that’s why they can’t speak out!” “In regions where settlements were reached,” Sadassuke countered, “haven’t village heads and representatives even sent letters of thanks to the arbitration committee members? Last summer and autumn too—when you went around warning village after village in the affected areas—it seemed no one would heed your admonitions.”

“Exactly—the more I earnestly warned them that resigning themselves to underhanded settlements would spell ruin, the more they shunned and despised me.” Sadassuke hoisted the lamp brought by the girl from below and, with a sympathetic gaze, looked at Shōzō, who appeared even more shadowed in its light. “That’s only natural.” “The truth is, unspeakable slander is being spread.” “There’s someone who went out of their way to come and inform me.” “Tanaka is quite the cunning old fox.” “While openly attacking Mutsu and Furukawa, he maneuvered behind the scenes to have Ichibē withdraw one hundred thousand yen for local party leaders and distribute it to the victims—though he also lined his own pockets in the process.” “This helped expand local political parties, and this won the favor of voters.” “Tanaka is truly a cunning old fox…”

“As for that matter, I’ve heard it too.” “The spreading of such rumors stems from my own lack of virtue—Tanaka is that sort of man, so it can’t be helped—but the attacks against the victims are even more egregious.” “They raise a clamor about mining pollution damage and such matters,but in reality，it’s nothing serious.” “Making such a grand fuss ultimately serves to let farmers themselves pocket money.” “They say farmers are honest，but there’s nothing craftier than farmers.” —“That’s how it is.” “In their simple honesty，they were deceived into taking money，had their ancestral fields laid waste，and now bear this stigma.”

Shōzō assumed a grave expression and moved his hands—gnarled like wood knots—over the folds of his hakama,

“I wonder what day it was this New Year… At any rate, parliament dissolved on the thirtieth of last month—this happened soon after.” “Even calling it election preparation—there wasn’t a single yen for campaigning funds. This wretched poverty left me unable to return home at all.” “As I sat knee-to-knee with Kawakami Yasutarō, tilting my head in helpless deliberation, some fellow arrived delivering a pair of money envelopes addressed to me.” “When Kawakami brought them from the entrance asking what to do, I resolutely ordered them sent back.” “Afterward, when Kawakami pressed me regretfully—‘Why refuse?’—I told him: ‘We can’t accept tainted money. Visit Hiyama and you’ll trace its origin.’ But…”

“Was it delivered by Hiyama Rokuzaburō?” “When Kawakami met Hiyama, he said that Tanaka-san must have secured military funds.” “That’s how Furukawa’s schemes operate.” “Now I see the basis for the slander.” “When their bribery failed, they retaliated with rumors.” Shōzō did not answer and silently turned his gaze toward the tokonoma.

Destroy homes, harm people, set fires—how can the people’s smoke ever rise? Two years prior, his own work hung there, crudely mounted. The intense election interference of those days when Sadassuke’s father had campaigned in straw sandals and that Yamakawa affair came vividly to his mind.

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

When the rickshaw stopped beside Niwata Tsunekichi’s house, Shōzō emerged through a wide bamboo grove to the riverbank. Under the western sun, gravel mixed with rounded stones piled up high in mounds along the riverbank. A large tree—where had it been swept from?—lay buried in sediment, its withered leaves still clinging, a testament to the recent flood’s destructive force. The gravel’s appearance and its color were desolate, giving a sense that the flood’s ferocity had somehow changed in nature. The river water flowing through the far side appeared murky, whether due to the overcast sky, and seemed to take on a hue deeply tainted with poison. While the cold river wind whipped at the hem of his hakama, Shōzō stood motionless, seemingly unaware of the clamorous rustling from the bamboo thicket.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

When he turned at the sound of the voice, Niwata’s father—a man of his own generation—stood rigidly beside him, his reddish-black face gleaming with one eye as he grinned, “The rickshaw driver said he’d brought you here, so I brewed some bitter tea thinking I’d hear about Hiroshima or something. But when I come out, you’re just standing there like Benkei’s last stand!”

Shōzō looked back toward the riverbank once more, “Genpachi-san, the riverbed seems to have risen considerably…”

“That’s right—it just keeps getting higher with each year’s floods.” “The other day when I dug into my front yard’s ground, I found layers stacked several inches thick.” “Each flood leaves behind that much sediment.” “With things being this way, the riverbed’s bound to rise five inches—even a whole foot—with every flood.” “Hmm, no doubt.” “That bastard Furukawa—after clear-cutting seven thousand chōbu of mountain forest, he’s now exploiting this wartime chaos to illegally log around the copper mine’s hills.” “What’s worse, the smelter’s toxic smoke’s been killing forests across the whole region.” “Climb those mountainsides and you’ll see—barren peaks stretch for miles in every direction.” “But you can’t condemn wickedness on rumors alone—that’s why I sent investigators.” “Their field reports confirmed everything.” “The smoke carries some peculiar ash—makes leaves shrivel on contact.” “Not just trees either—bamboo grass, weeds, even moss all dead.” “No wonder the mountainsides are crumbling.” “Thick forests with roots tangled like palm bark—that’s what holds soil and rocks firm.”

“Moreover, with every flood silting up the river’s pools and toxic waters flowing in, we haven’t seen a single fish for years now.” “The fishermen are all gone now, and old folks like me have lost even our simple pleasures,” Genpachi let out a hollow laugh. “In the old days, we’d set bamboo traps from this season clear through winter.” “What was fascinating was this contraption called a *tawara-zen*—they’d make a large bamboo basket three feet across and twelve feet long, wrap it in matting, stuff it with boards, bamboo leaves, straw, and buckwheat husks, then lay it flat. Crucian carp, catfish, large shrimp, and all sorts of small fry—you could catch four or five bushels’ worth.” “It’s a story from over thirty years ago now—there was a man named Ono Bun’emon in Funatsugawa who couldn’t haul it up alone and called three or four others to help pull it in—they filled three straw mats completely with three *koku* of fish.” “Ah—this here was the catch of a lifetime!” “Ha ha ha...” “Young folks these days—even if you tell ’em stories like that, not a one’ll take you seriously.”

Shōzō stood as though he hadn't heard a single word of the conversation,

“There’s bound to be a major landslide—it’s inevitable.” “This may sound like doom-mongering, but mark my words—if we leave things as they are, a catastrophic collapse will occur.” Another violent gust battered them, setting the entire bamboo grove behind them into frenzied motion. Tsunekichi arrived then, urging them inside. Shōzō walked with him through the rustling thicket, inquiring about the harvest. “Not worth speaking of,” Tsunekichi replied darkly, shaking his head. “You’ve seen it yourself—fifteen chōbu of paddies around our main house’s new compound. Only the mulberries yielded anything resembling a crop.” “Even when they strip away two feet of topsoil and replant everything, toxic grit still drifts down with every breeze. Poisoned runoff flows whenever it rains. The sprouts push through... then shrivel before your eyes.”

“I see,” said Shōzō, his face contorting as if overwhelmed by emotion. “With so many toxic mounds around here now, they must be trying because there’s still some harvest to be had. That’s what I’ve thought while traveling through these areas.” “Even when we farmers know it’s hopeless, we can’t just stop planting crops.”

The main house was a two-story structure that looked every bit the stately mansion. When they were shown to the sitting room, Shōzō heard an even more unexpected story from Tsunekichi. A certain Aoki—a county official from Ashikaga—had recently been dispatched to villages in this area, exploiting pollution victims’ destitution by offering three or four yen per tan of farmland while scheming to make them seal perpetual settlement contracts forbidding all future complaints henceforth, no matter what incidents might occur. It was said he was coercing them with a threatening manner.

“This is exactly the sort of work Furukawa’s clerks would do.” “No doubt they’re taking bribes from Furukawa, but no matter how greedy for money they may be, for someone who bears the title of official to become a slave to Furukawa Ichibē is unconscionable.” “And what do they think today’s circumstances are?” “Unconscionable bastards!” Shōzō’s face turned red as he began shouting in a loud voice. Tsunekichi, startled by his outburst, fell silent, but Genpachi, stepping in from beside him, “Mr. Tanaka, there’s no use getting angry at us like this.”

At the bitter smile, Shōzō turned his triangular eyes and glared sharply back, then finally, as if coming back to himself, dropped his shoulders. “No, well… It’s just…” “I wasn’t angry at you folks, but when I hear such stories, I just… flare up like that.” “So, are there people in this village too who’ve stamped their seals on those contracts swearing never to lodge complaints…”

“I think there might be one or two.” Tsunekichi stole a brief glance at Shōzō’s face before continuing. “The methods of deception vary—they claim the Ashio Copper Mine’s mineral veins will be exhausted in about a year, so taking two or three yen now would be to their advantage. They’d approach them with lines like, ‘I’ll tell you this in confidence,’ and so on. Even then, if they refuse to comply—won’t take the money, won’t stamp the seals—they resort to threats. They get the ruffians drunk and send them over. Finally, just two or three days ago, such a thing occurred. There’s a man named Yokotsuka Kichigorō living further ahead—apparently, he was called outside his house at night and beaten by ruffians. ‘It’s because you won’t take the money that others can’t take it either! It’s retribution for not considering others’ inconvenience!’ After saying that, they beat him mercilessly.”

The anger he had barely managed to suppress within his chest welled up once more. “When there happens to be honest citizens, for those duty-bound to protect them to resort to violence—this defies all reason!” “Such men are parasites gnawing at Japan’s very core.” “Vermin!” “If we cannot compel these petty officials to mend their wicked ways, then even should Japan triumph in war, corruption will fester unchecked.” “What mockery—to speak of disregarding others’ suffering when they themselves are its source!” “For such villains—you must report them immediately to the police station with detailed descriptions of their faces!” “Never let them reduce you to silent suffering!”

Shōzō continued roaring furiously, shaking his clenched fist against his hakama-clad knee. "It was a dark evening—they couldn't make out the faces," said Tsunekichi. "But a neighbor fetched a constable, who witnessed and thoroughly documented the injuries." "Then you must watch closely to ensure the police don't obscure their handling," Shōzō commanded. "Don't treat this as others' business—help them like brothers. If the violence persists, document every detail and petition the prefectural office. Should that fail, take it straight to the Ministry of Home Affairs."

Tsunekichi looked back at Shōzō with a sorrowful gaze, “The officials come claiming to be deputies of the county magistrate.” “Given that, it’s impossible to tell where these internal orders are coming from.” He could not help but speculate about such matters. Shōzō stared at Tsunekichi and, without a word, nodded deeply. “Even after being deceived by settlement contracts before, have they still not opened their eyes?” “You must thoroughly explain to the people in the village—they must never stamp their seals on such an utterly foolish contract that takes two or three yen per *tan* in exchange for swearing never to voice complaints for generations to come.” “As for us, there is no path other than petitioning the government to the very end to halt the copper mine’s operations.” “Moreover, we have been splendidly granted the right to do so.” “And yet, to sell off such vital rights for a paltry sum of money would be tantamount to suicide.” “Rights are fundamental.” “Desire must be as vast as heaven and earth.” “By saying that, please explain it thoroughly until they fully understand.” “I will now go to Watase Village and stay at Unryu-ji Temple tonight.” “Also, please ask the young people in the village to gather.”

Before long, Shōzō took his leave and hurriedly boarded a rickshaw. The scheme of permanent settlements that Shōzō had been made to hear of at this time continued to see relentless efforts extended to villages across the region thereafter. County officials frequented the area, exploiting the pollution victims’ vulnerabilities to repeat threats, sweet talk, and desperate coercion. In March of the following year, Meiji 28 (1895), Niwata and his companions, unable to endure these abuses any longer, rallied like-minded individuals from Takabashi in their own village, Kawasaki in Keno Village, Okudo in Tomita Village, and other areas, ultimately submitting a written appeal to both the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. However, on the other hand, beginning with representatives from Beya Village and four other villages in Shimotsuga District entering into permanent settlement contracts with mining operators dated March 16, similar contracts were successively concluded in each village. Despite the conditions being humiliating and the worst possible, the settlement money handed to them was far smaller in amount than that of the previous instance.

Part Two

Though my aged body may not be counted among the living,

What shall become of these guileless folk? —Shōzō (Meiji 31)

Chapter One

The twenty-eighth year drew to a close amid a whirlwind of events—the peace treaty followed by the Triple Intervention and Liaodong's retrocession—and the political world entering its twenty-ninth year remained fraught with turmoil. On March 25, as the Ninth Diet session neared its end, Tanaka Shōzō stood to deliver an explanatory speech after submitting twelve questions addressing accountability for Liaodong's return, Foreign Minister Mutsu's dereliction of duty, military procurement irregularities, the mining pollution crisis, and the Koganehara reclamation incident. There lingered a sense of wartime frustrations erupting at last when he roared in his opening salvo: "In this complex cesspool of corruption, twelve trivial questions could never settle matters!" Yet with issues sprawling so wide, his condemnation of mining pollution focused solely on subordinate officials violently coercing permanent settlements. Come March, six factions formerly aligned under Foreign Hardline principles formed the Progressive Party. By June, Shōzō campaigned through Shikoku as their speaker alongside Suzuki Shigetō, Taguchi Urakichi, and Takahashi Hideoomi. This journey's true yield lay in how traveling companions deepened their grasp of mining pollution's horrors.

Around July 19, violent storms struck various regions, and reports of flood damage were frequent. From the Chūgoku region to Kinki, Chūbu, Hokuriku, Kantō, and Tōhoku, nearly all parts of the mainland suffered from swollen rivers and flooded houses—but particularly in Gifu and Aichi Prefectures, where embankments along the Kiso, Nagara, and Ibi Rivers collapsed, leaving a reported mere 25,000 people spared from starvation. Thus while government and public attention seemed wholly absorbed by the disasters in Gifu and Aichi, Shōzō—still in Tokyo—spotted a brief telegram in a newspaper corner: "Watarase River floodwaters rising eleven feet and still climbing." He rushed off to the mining pollution disaster areas.

First, he took lodgings at the Kawada Inn in Sano to gather information from various areas, waited for the floodwaters to recede, and began touring the regions accessible on foot. When compiling the information, it became clear that levee breaches had occurred at over a dozen locations, with all areas along the Anso-Ashikaga riverbanks suffering flood damage reaching unexpected directions due to tributary backflows. The fact that inundated areas had spread beyond expectations this year only deepened their unfounded fears and unease as they anticipated developments that would permit no easy resolution. When he met and spoke with concerned individuals around Funatsugawa and Shimohata, he realized that a sense of anxiety about the future was beginning to stir among the villagers. The test period for the ore collector under the Meiji 25 settlement contract had already expired at June’s end, and they were gradually awakening to its complete ineffectiveness over three years. Moreover, those deceived by permanent settlements still constituted only a small portion regionally. Having long been silenced by Furukawa’s wicked schemes, now was the time to seize this opportunity and awaken them. Tanaka Shōzō resolved deeply within his heart and urged promising young men—Kurihara Saijirō of Funatsugawa and Niwata Tsunekichi of Shimohata—to take initiative in guiding villagers to launch a petition movement. The first response came when the United Youth Association was organized in Funatsugawa. Precisely because this flood had completely washed away their rice fields, the villagers’ sentiments aligned instantly. They drafted a contract pledging that until achieving their goal of petitioning for mine closure with resolute determination, they would never pursue individual movements regardless of difficulties—one hundred seventy-six individuals signing and sealing 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 waters rise over ten feet around Hayakawada. That same day, a major earthquake struck Senboku District in Akita Prefecture.

Following the great June tsunami in Sanriku, this year seemed to carry an ominous accumulation of natural calamities.

Prior to this, political movements had finally grown tumultuous, and while the collapse of the Itō Cabinet was seen as a matter of time, on this day Prime Minister Itō at last submitted his resignation. Earlier, in May, Foreign Minister Mutsu had resigned, and Finance Minister Watanabe had also come to express his intent to resign, so Itō sought to revitalize diplomacy and finance by bringing in Ōkuma Shigenobu and Matsukata Masayoshi. However, as the cabinet ministers failed to reach agreement and days dragged on without progress, he was ultimately driven into an increasingly dire predicament.

Shōzō, paying no heed to such political upheaval, returned to his hometown and toured the flooded areas. Once 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 the investigation and drafting the petition.

Then, the cloudy sky that had loomed since the morning of the seventh suddenly turned ominous in the afternoon, unleashing a dreary rain that fell without respite. By midnight it had become a deluge violent enough to rip roof tiles away—a downpour showing no sign of abating even at dawn. Shōzō had again tasked Itō Shōichi with preparing fair copies that day, but they found themselves scrambling with buckets to catch leaking rainwater and hauling desks to drier spots.

“If it keeps raining like this, the river will surely flood again.” Shōzō stood repeatedly on the veranda, peering at the dark eaves. It was past noon. Shōzō entered the outhouse and watched a green persimmon branch being battered as if about to snap when he suddenly pricked up his ears amid the rain sounds. Beyond the grove separating them, on the Akiyama River embankment, there seemed to be an uproar of people shouting abuse. Shōzō exited the outhouse and,

“The embankment seems to be in danger.”

With that abrupt remark, he hurried to the temple kitchen, stepped down into the dirt-floored area, and began putting on his straw sandals. By the time Itō had finished dealing with the documents and rushed over, he had already donned a straw raincoat and hat and dashed out into the rain. Itō also quickly prepared himself and hurried to the embankment.

The Akiyama River had swollen to fullness beneath the lashing rain and kicked-up spray. On the surface of the turbid current, countless whirlpools surged up while an ominous backflow encroaching from the Watarase's main channel felt deeply unsettling. Itō stared blankly at the water's surface for a time, then regained his senses and approached the group of straw-cloaked figures, walking among them as he searched for Shōzō. Since they all wore identical straw raincoats and hats, he had to peer beneath each one as he went. Yet he could not find Shōzō among any of the groups. He thought Shōzō might have entered one of the nearby farmhouses and went down the embankment to check, but he wasn't there either. Itō could no longer help but harbor suspicions. He climbed the embankment again, seized a member of the village office, and questioned them,

“Well… he was here until just a moment ago,” the village official hedged, then added, “Surely he hasn’t… fallen into the river?” One of the people nearby gazed at the river surface and remarked, “If he falls in, it’ll be terrible. Even a strapping young man might not survive in this current.” Itō involuntarily shifted his gaze—eyes trembling with anxiety—to the eerie river surface. The water swelled steadily higher, repelling the pounding rain. People began calling out Tanaka’s name in a growing commotion. In the rain-laden mist, their echoing voices grew all the more poignant. An illusion as if Shōzō’s drowning had already become fact began to seize them.

But at that time, Shōzō, still concerned about the swelling of the Watarase River, was hastening his steps alone through the farmland toward Funatsugawa on the northern bank.

When Shōzō stopped by Kurihara Saijirō’s house and invited him to the riverbank, they found the Watarase River had swollen to several times its usual width, its turbid waters surging with terrifying force. The wind-lashed rain whipped up spray like a broom thrashing across the river’s surface. Even amid the clamorous downpour, they could hear the entire river shuddering and rumbling from its depths. “How does the water level compare to July’s flood?” Shōzō pressed his straw raincoat against Kurihara as he asked. “The river’s already risen ten feet with this.” “At this rate, it’ll keep climbing higher.” “I’ve been checking since noon—upstream near Ashikaga must have houses underwater. All sorts of debris keeps floating down.” “This will likely dwarf July’s disaster.”

“Hmm,” Shōzō muttered, staring at the river’s surface once more. “The current’s intensity—it’s horrifying.” “The flow has indeed accelerated." "In the past, they say floodwaters from mountains like Ashio, Kōshin, and Kobugahara would take a full day and night to reach this area, but nowadays they arrive in six hours." “I believe it’s because vegetation in the headwaters and along both banks has withered away—leaving nothing to slow the torrent—combined with silt buildup choking the riverbed.”

“I see—so that’s why the embankment breaks.” “Before downstream flood defenses can even be prepared, the water arrives all at once.” “It’s the same principle as choking when you gulp down a cup of water in one go.”

As the two stood talking in the rain, the rice fields in the embanked land behind them gradually began submerging beneath muddy water. With the Watarase River's swelling, its waters reversed course into the Kikuzawa River and started overflowing. The floodwaters' advance resembled clock hands—seemingly sluggish in motion yet astonishing in cumulative effect. The path Shōzō had walked earlier now lay drowned beneath turbid currents. To return required climbing upstream briefly, tracing the Saikawa River embankment while detouring through higher ground. Should that embankment rupture, he might never make it back.

Shōzō finally reached Hōun-an through the evening gloom where the rain had let up slightly. Given that he still hadn’t returned, they concluded he must have drowned, and at that very moment, Priest Washimi—alongside Itō, several village office staff members, and a number of villagers—were gathered beneath the eaves of the temple kitchen, their heads pressed together as they discussed organizing a search party. Among them, Itō’s concern had been especially grave, so he placed a hand on his chest in relief, “Sir, I truly felt my life shortening from the worry.”

It was a voice thick with resentment. Shōzō explained how he had gone to Funatsugawa and become stranded by the floodwaters, then apologized for worrying everyone. Itō poured steaming bancha for Shōzō while continuing his reproach: "Still—going out alone like that was sheer recklessness." "In the first place, you shouldn't have ventured out in that straw raincoat and hat." "Flood control is beneath your station." "You ought to leave such matters to the villagers."

“That’s because even if I go out there, the embankment will break if it’s going to break,” Shōzō answered with a laugh. “However, your definition of ‘trivial matters’ is mistaken. You concern yourselves with national issues, and I involve myself with village matters. Could it be said that each of us has overstepped our proper roles? That’s not the case. No matter how trivial the matter, when a person confronts it, they must fulfill their true duty as human beings—that is the reality. Just because I am a minister does not mean I can overlook people drowning.”

“Now that you mention it, that must be true, but…” “When I am fulfilling my duties as a Diet member, I am a Diet member; but when I am here in the village like this, I am no different from the villagers. You all should be no different from me.”

Before long, as soon as Shōzō had washed his feet and entered the temple kitchen, the villagers donned their hats and departed.

The following afternoon, Shōzō set out for Funatsugawa again with Itō in tow, but the lowlands had been entirely submerged by muddy water, transforming into what seemed a vast marshland. Straw-thatched roofs floated as if they had been constructed across the water’s surface, while between them people were coming and going by farm boat. When they gazed across to the distant opposite bank, there too lay a brown expanse of water beneath the rain—hazy and boundless, stretching endlessly into the mist. Shōzō was ultimately unable to approach Funatsugawa and withdrew to Sano.

On the tenth day following the 220th day, the rain still showed lingering force, falling and stopping intermittently. Shōzō stayed at an inn in Sano, where he could only continue being shocked by the immense damage reported from various areas day and night. The Watarase River's swelling reached twenty-five feet. The three counties of Shimotsuga, Anso, and Ashikaga—save for roughly twenty percent of their northern highlands—had been entirely inundated. The destruction of embankments and roads, and the collapse and washing away of bridges, were beyond counting. The train services between Ashikaga and Kiryū, and between Tochigi and Oyama, had been impassable since the eighth.

The severity of the flood damage along the entire south bank of the Watarase River was harrowing to hear. The terror of that moment when the 180-ken-long levee at Shinmei-nishi, Ōaza Nishioka, Nishiyata Village, Ōra District, Gunma Prefecture—directly across from Takayama in Sekimura—was destroyed in an instant was said to be so profound that even recalling it could not suppress their trembling. By the time nearby villagers, startled by a thunderclap-like roar, rushed out into the rain, a ferocious muddy torrent had already formed cascades flowing into the embanked area. The muddy water surged and spread as it flowed; rice plants in paddies had barely submerged when field crops began flooding. While people stood frozen in shock, the murky waters already lapped at their feet. Straw bags in gardens began floating. Mortars beneath eaves started washing away. Some propped ladders against roofs; others scrambled up storehouse lofts; still others launched boats to salvage belongings or freed stabled horses—every household, driven by curses and wails, barely managed to evacuate elders and children. Thus did most of Ōra District east of Tatebayashi become a mud lake in under an hour.

Moreover, the floodwaters across the regions did not readily recede. Five days, ten days—in some places, even half a month had to pass before one could finally see fields that had turned into tidal flats. Particularly at every breached section of the levees, the land had transformed into expanses of sandy plains, while in places like Shinmei-nishi, massive mud swamps formed alongside them—their stagnant water surfaces mirroring the shadows of autumn clouds. According to later investigations, the damage in Nishiyata Village alone reached staggering proportions: four human deaths; over 1,200 livestock fatalities; 150 houses collapsed; 350 houses damaged; 416 houses flooded; 21 *chō* (≈52 acres) of farmland swept away; 74 *chō* (≈181 acres) invaded by sediment; 795 *chō* (≈1,948 acres) submerged; five levee breaches; 24 levee sections damaged; and sixteen bridge structures washed away—figures that sufficed to glimpse the scale of devastation along the entire riverbank.

On September 18th, the imperial mandate was finally issued to Matsukata Masayoshi. During this period, an alliance among the three—Matsukata, Ōkuma, and Gotō—had already been formed; however, Gotō declined cabinet participation due to heart disease, and on the 28th, the Matsukata-Ōkuma coalition finalized all ministerial appointments. Namely, Matsukata served as Prime Minister concurrently holding the Finance portfolio, while Ōkuma became Foreign Minister and de facto Deputy Prime Minister. Home Affairs went to Kabayama Sukenori, Agriculture and Commerce to Enomoto Takeaki. By the time these speculations were nearly confirmed, Shōzō had already returned home and was racing through districts where flood-soaked earth still clung damp. He first visited Yanada County to confer with village representatives, resolving to gather every victim's signature for a petition. On the 28th he returned to Sano; by October 2nd he'd formalized petitions across all of Anso County. On the 3rd he journeyed to Ueno Village to rally young activists, examined their consolidated petition draft, and resolved to have them spearhead its submission. This became the inaugural mine closure petition from flood-stricken coastal areas. On the 5th he lodged overnight at Unryu-ji Temple in Hayakawada, negotiating its use as a mineral pollution petition headquarters.

On the afternoon of October 9, at the entrance of the Kawada Inn in Sano, a straw-sandaled old man who appeared to be a poor farmer from the vicinity arrived and requested an audience with Shōzō, claiming to be a messenger from Sayama Bunzui of Ōshima Village. Sayama had been a comrade from the civil rights movement days, and whatever the matter might be, when Shōzō came out to meet him, the old man presented a letter from one Nagashima Yohachi alongside Sayama’s letter of introduction. After seating the old man on the step, Shōzō promptly broke the letter’s seal. Though unpolished, the characters were written in a style that suggested they had been composed with knees properly aligned in formal posture.

“With utmost respect: Though I am but a humble youth of no consequence, I humbly beseech Your Excellency—a member of the House of Representatives—to pardon the grave offense of my presuming to present this missive without regard for propriety.”

Such was its opening. He then described how witnessing the tragedies along the Watarase River’s banks left him unable to find peace day or night, and expressed his resolve to initiate a petition movement to implement fundamental solutions for eliminating the harm.

“To achieve the aims of this petition, I have resolved to dedicate not only my property but even my life to this movement, and have also obtained consent from my adoptive father.” “Having long been aware of Your Excellency’s tireless efforts regarding the mining pollution incident, I rejoice as one who has found a blind turtle’s driftwood, and thus earnestly entreat you: I humbly beg you to perceive my humble resolve and henceforth allow me to follow in your esteemed wake, that I might initiate this petition movement to save the lands and people of both banks of the Watarase River—a plea I reiterate with utmost urgency.”

As he nodded and finished reading, Shōzō’s face overflowed with joy. “Ah, you’ve done well.” Shōzō thanked the elderly messenger, borrowed writing materials from the front desk, and immediately began drafting a reply. “In reply, I am overjoyed to learn that along the banks of the Watarase River there exists a youth such as yourself—it is as though I have unearthed a rare treasure. The damage from mining pollution is truly a matter of no small consequence. However, the corrupt individuals and blind masses have neglected this matter and engaged in such foolishness as settlements. We must fight this thoroughly, awaken them to it, and openly strive for a fundamental resolution. In that case, first and foremost, begin the movement from your village. The first step of this movement lies in holding a grand rally in your village to issue a stern warning to the villagers. If you make preparations for the rally, I shall gladly attend. Here ends my humble reply. Respectfully,”

He placed it in an envelope addressed “To Nagashima Yohachi, Esteemed Youth of the Nation,” and had the messenger return with it.

Thus, their bond was forged. Following this exchange of letters, preparations were promptly finalized to hold a mining pollution rally at Nankō-in Temple in Nishioka. Moreover, not a single day passed in leisure for Shōzō. He would visit Unryu-ji Temple, spend hours at Watase Village Office, and by the thirteenth day found himself on a whirlwind journey from Kuno Village through Ashikaga Town to Tokyo.

By mid-afternoon on the 15th, villagers young and old began streaming into Nankō-in Temple—not only from the immediate vicinity but from outlying areas like Hari, Hosoya, and Ōniba. The crowd overflowed not only the main hall and priests’ quarters but even the wide veranda, soon threatening to fill the entire front garden. It was a throng where each individual seemed burdened by their own shadows as they gathered, and a gloomy atmosphere had naturally settled over the temple’s interior and exterior; yet there was no doubt most had come driven half by curiosity. There was even an elderly person muttering, “If I could just see the face of this Mr. Tanaka, it would make a memento for the afterlife...”

Before long, two rickshaws arrived at the gate. Tanaka Shōzō arrived accompanied by Arakawa Kōsaburō, a Gunma Prefectural Assembly member. The crowd, which had been waiting impatiently, welcomed the two with cheers and applause. Shōzō and his group were first shown to a waiting room, where they received greetings from Arai Kahei and other local leading figures. Among them was a small-statured young man who appeared to be about twenty-three or twenty-four, fidgeting as he introduced himself as Nagashima Yohachi and apologized for the impropriety of having sent a presumptuous letter some days prior. He seemed to muster his voice with some timidity, yet in his thick eyebrows beneath stiff, hanging hair and eyes clouded with worry brimmed the purity and sincerity unique to youth.

“Ah, so it was you!” Shōzō exclaimed, turning to face Nagashima with an encouraging look and raising his voice. “When I saw that letter, I was truly overjoyed. With a youth like you along these banks, the movement will surely rise up vigorously. In any effort to rouse the masses into action, securing one person willing to stake their life on the cause is essential. That’s why I was beyond measure gladdened to learn of your existence.” When addressed so fervently, Nagashima felt both elation and shame, his knees stiffening further. The emotion from receiving that reply made his chest leap as he tried to voice it, but his voice caught in his throat—leaving him speechless—and he could only stare fixedly at Shōzō’s face.

“In that letter, you wrote that you’d obtained your father’s permission—did he consent readily?” “Yes. At first, he said, ‘What’s a greenhorn like you gonna achieve no matter how much you stomp your feet?’ and wouldn’t hear me out. But I pleaded so earnestly that he finally relented, saying if I was that determined, I should give it a try.” “I see. You have a good father.” “In that case, you can devote yourself to the movement without reservation.”

Shōzō turned his face toward the inner garden and gazed as if toward the horizon. The scene from when he had been thirty-nine—kneeling before his father and begging for the freedom to dedicate himself wholly to public service—suddenly crossed his mind.

Nagashima, too, prompted by his own words, recalled a rainy day about ten days earlier. In the dimly lit barn that day, I was buried in straw with my taciturn adoptive father, making straw sandals. The rustling of straw rubbing together, the thud of a wooden mallet, the gloomy, incessant dripping of rainwater…. I would occasionally pause my work and sigh, but finally steeled myself and called out “Father,” confessing the thoughts that had kept me awake night after night since the flood.

“If we sit idly by, we will surely be destroyed by the mining pollution.” “We now have death throes closing in on us.” “After all, it’s property that will eventually be passed down—and since it’s property that will be destroyed regardless, I want to use it now for the petition movement’s expenses.” Having said that, he pleaded. At that moment, Father finally opened his heavy mouth. He spoke of his hardships—how he had started out earning fifty mon a day as a laborer and painstakingly saved his earnings. “Look,” he said, “if I’m the one usin’ the wealth I scraped together, ain’t no complaints comin’ from anywhere. If ya think of it as goin’ back to stuffin’ coins in a sack like I used to, then lettin’ go ain’t so hard.” “There are those in this world who are bled dry by prodigal sons.” “What can ya do?” “If ya’re gonna do it, go ahead and try,” he told me. “Moreover,” he added, “but once you start this, do you have the spirit to see it through no matter what hardships you face?” “A person’s gotta have grit in everything they do.” Having said that, he spurred me on. Every word seeped into his heart; he could not have listened without tears. I trembled all over as I made my vow. “Since Father staked his wealth and granted me permission, I resolved to stake my life on the movement.” —Every detail of that scene, every fragment of their conversation, remained vivid in Nagashima’s mind. He had unconsciously grown teary-eyed; bowing his head, he listened to the crowd’s murmur. Father must be somewhere in this crowd—what feelings must he be watching today’s grand gathering with, I wonder. As he thought this, a tumult of emotions surged within his chest.

“Mr. Nagashima—it’s time.”

Startled, he looked up to find Arai Kihei standing beside him, urging him on. “Yes, well then…”

Nagashima suppressed his suddenly racing heart, bowed to Shōzō, and rose from his seat. Following the applause in the waiting room, thunderous clapping erupted simultaneously from the main hall and garden audiences. Nagashima clenched his fist while clambering over the heads and knees of the densely packed crowd toward the podium. He stood before the dais, poured water into a cup and took a sip, “Ladies and gentlemen of this assembly!”

Even though he had projected his voice as loudly as he could, the sea of faces—frozen in silence and piled upon one another—seemed for an instant to surge forward toward him. He drank down another mouthful of water from the cup, cleared his throat, and— “Ladies and gentlemen,” he repeated the same words once more. Nevertheless, somehow he managed to state his conviction that they must unite and launch a petition movement, introduce the fervor with which Diet member Tanaka and Prefectural Assemblyman Arakawa had specially come to their village, and stepped down from the podium. He returned to the speakers’ waiting room, sat down in a corner while feeling the chill of sweat under his arms, and let out a sigh of relief. Then Shōzō leaned his body forward as if peering intently,

“Is this your first time? No—surely it is not.” Nagashima, having been spoken to, felt his cheeks—which had just begun to cool—flush hot again.

In the venue, young men from Azuma Village who had come at Shōzō's summons to lend support stood one after another to deliver brief speeches. They were Nomura Chiyozō, Yokotsuka Jisankyū, and Unahara Chūkichi. Next came Arakawa—his sun-darkened face framed by a severe beard—calmly advancing his tall stature forward. He held aloft a large sheet depicting the topography of Ashio Copper Mine and Watarase River, explaining in plain terms how mountains and waterways interrelated. Finally, Tanaka Shōzō ascended the podium and commenced his address from first principles of statecraft. "The people bear obligations to the nation while being endowed with what we term rights," he declared. "Among these rights lies recourse—when plunged into such extremity of misery—to petition government for succor and redress." His voice took on a catechistic cadence: "Yet our coastal victims remain ignorant even of this right's existence! Henceforth you must awaken to these sacred endowments! Let no wiles of cunning rogues divert you! March united upon petition's path!"

“...I shall remain your ally unto the very end.” “Together with you all, I desire to deliver your lands from this scourge of mining pollution.” “This alone I desire—and with resolve to grind my bones and rend my flesh, I rush east and west day and night for its sake.” “For your own selves and for your descendants yet unborn, you must safeguard this sacred right; you must defend this land.”

When the speech concluded with that final remark, the interior of the main hall had grown dim; the slanting sunset light that had been streaming over the audience in the front garden faded away, and evening mist began to descend beneath the trees.

The audience scattered in all directions, and the youths from Azuma Village also departed. Arai Kihei guided Shōzō and Arakawa to secure lodging for the two. Even as Yohachi felt he had finally unloaded the day’s burden, his chest swelled with exhilaration from taking on burdens many times heavier as he returned home. Father had already returned from the venue. “While walking back together, Mr. Fukuda said, ‘Your son handled things quite well.’”

Father had spoken only that single line, but from his satisfied expression, Yohachi sensed those words were imbued with sincere emotions—his father secretly rejoicing in his efforts and striving to encourage him.

Early the next morning, Yohachi visited Arai’s house where the two were staying. Shōzō was already wearing his hakama and offered words of appreciation for yesterday’s efforts with utmost courtesy. When Yohachi asked for guidance regarding future strategies for the movement, Shōzō leaned forward with a solemn expression, “First and foremost, you must rouse young people like yourself across the villages in the affected coastal areas—one after another." “This crisis cannot be overcome without the strength of youth.” “Men like Mr. Arai—old yet open-minded—have their merits, but…”

When Yohachi instinctively glanced to the side, Arai let out a faint smirk. Shōzō continued speaking with unwavering seriousness. “After all, youth must be met with youthful spirit.” “We must urgently hold lecture meetings in both coastal villages and issue stern warnings.” “The people remain asleep now, but sound warnings will rouse activists from among the young.” Arakawa added from beside him, “This era belongs wholly to the young.” “Throw yourselves into this struggle.”

When told this, Nagashima began to feel as though his own comrades were indeed lying hidden somewhere along the coast. He imagined himself walking through the villages, persuading each villager one by one as he made his rounds—even picturing those who would firmly grasp his hand in solidarity. Before long, two rickshaws arrived. Tanaka and Arakawa boarded them and departed westward along the Tatebayashi Highway. Nagashima stood by the roadside, watching until the dust clouds raised by the receding vehicles vanished from sight. Then, recalling how his father had allowed a faint, knowing smile to escape upon hearing his account, he hurried off toward home.

Chapter Two

It was several days after the mining pollution lecture meeting had been held at Nankō-in Temple in Nishioka.

Yohachi visited the residence of Koyama Kōhachirō in the neighboring Ōshima Village. He had followed his father’s advice—Koyama being a man who had served in the early prefectural assembly and stood as the most influential figure in the county. The estate faced Tatebayashi Highway across an expanse of over a thousand tsubo (roughly 3,300 square meters), its front encircled by a longhouse-style gate while three massive zelkova trees at the rear spread like sheltering umbrellas over the main house’s roof. Beneath rain-laden clouds, the zelkovas shed leaves incessantly, casting an uncanny desolation. Kōhachirō was father to Koyama Rokunosuke (born Toyotarō)—infamous for shooting Li Hongzhang, the Qing peace envoy, at Shimonoseki the prior year. The assassination on March 24 had rocked the nation, and Yohachi had privately imagined Kōhachirō enduring hidden anguish as the killer’s father. Yet the man, not yet fifty, greeted him with vigorous magnanimity. In this house’s previous generation, when Tanaka Shōzō still traveled under the name Kenzaburō purchasing indigo, he had often lodged here—a connection Kōhachirō now invoked.

“My father was Kenzaburō—Kenzaburō, as he was called—and Mr. Tanaka was very fond of him.” He recounted memories from his boyhood. He also spoke of 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 on mining pollution in the surrounding villages. Yohachi felt that even his hearing of these matters was bound by a profound connection, and he sensed an unspoken encouragement. “First, in this village—Ōide Kihei, Yamamoto Eishirō, Aoki Kinjirō—these men here have the mettle and will surely rise up as comrades.”

Kōhachirō counted them off on his fingers and declared that he himself still had the vigor to stand alongside young men and rush about when the time came, proudly raising his eyebrows.

Following the route, Yohachi first visited Aoki Kinjirō. Aoki Kinjirō promptly agreed and accompanied Yohachi to Ōshima Village Office. At the village office, when Yohachi, his demeanor slightly stiffened, stated their purpose, Aoki also added words from beside him, “I intend to devote myself wholeheartedly to the movement from now on, so I ask that you gentlemen of the office lend your full support.”

Starting with Village Mayor Aoyama Kaichirō, none of the officials raised objections, and the conversation grew lively as they touched upon practical matters like where to begin with the movement. Then three unfamiliar men entered together, dressed in crisply pleated haori jackets and straw sandals.

When they looked at the business cards, they read Kobayashi Zenkichi of Shimo-Hayakawada, Oaza, Watase Village; Hara Kinjirō of the same; and Niwata Tsunekichi of Shimo-Haneda, Oaza, Azuma Village. Kobayashi and Niwata were thirty-five or thirty-six, while Hara was around fifty. When they heard Niwata formally state his purpose, it was indeed regarding the petition movement. Until now, not only had the affected area been vast with numerous pollution victims holding divergent views, but there had also been no small number of villages that resigned themselves to accepting meager settlement sums. However, even if they had once reached settlements, now that it was clear the slag collectors were ineffective, they believed there would be not the slightest inconvenience in revising their policy and agreeing to petition. Niwata said this and raised his voice with renewed vigor,

“Since this year’s great flood has inflicted immense damage along the entire coast and plunged us into hardship, we naturally concluded that your views would align with ours—hence our coming to consult you.” The village mayor immediately agreed without reservation. Yohachi, who had listened throughout, found himself unable to suppress his joy at how their shared resolve and his own fortuitous arrival today matched like interlocking tallies. He stepped before the three men and declared his name.

“To tell the truth, I too have only very recently begun this movement, and was just here expressing similar opinions.” “Therefore, though I am deeply sorry to ask after your long journey, might I humbly request you visit my village as well?” “Having esteemed individuals from other villages share their views would carry deeper significance.” “Even if it inconveniences you, I must beg you to condescend to grant this request.” As Yohachi spoke in near-pleading tones, Niwata nodded and—

“I have been apprised about you by Diet Member Tanaka.” “I had just been wanting to meet you to discuss this matter, and this timing proves most opportune.” “Then I shall accompany you at once.”

When the four of them left Ōshima Village Office together, rain suddenly began to pour from the gray sky that had barely held back until then, and even the wind began to rage. Though each carried an umbrella, against the wind and rain sweeping across the open, shelterless fields, they proved nearly useless. For Niwata and his companions, the journey home only grew more distant, and Yohachi secretly felt apologetic for having caused them such trouble. But when he glanced at the umbrellas beside him, they showed not the slightest concern for such matters, pressing forward with unwavering focus.

They soon reached the wasteland near the breached levee west of Shinmei, but the clouds hung darkly low, and the rain poured down as if leaking through a sieve, making the desolation press relentlessly against their skin. Yohachi glanced left and right as he surveyed the area,

“Everyone, this here is the area near Nishioka Shinden in my village,” he called out. “In the past, this was truly fertile land where both winter and summer crops flourished splendidly. The wilderness stretched so vast they couldn’t cultivate it all, so most became grassland. Year after year, the reeds grew over ten feet tall—so thick that reed cutters passing through would grumble, ‘Make your noise loud before midsummer!’ as they went by. In recent years, they reclaimed much of that grassland, thinking it wasteful otherwise, turning it into fine fields that yielded five or six bales of rice and wheat. But this year’s great flood forced toxic sludge through that breached levee over there, leaving nothing but this wasteland.”

In the direction he pointed, beyond the long breached levee, the river’s surface glimmered faintly. Yohachi slackened his pace as he walked, “And that area beyond the levee—though it’s now a barren wasteland where not even weeds grow due to mining pollution—when I was a child, the soil was so excessively fertile that even wheat sown without fertilizer would lodge and bear no grain. That area outside the levee was where we often cultivated rapeseed and mustard greens. When the yellow flowers were in full bloom, standing atop the levee made the sky seem dazzlingly bright. They grew over six feet tall, so thick that even an adult could disappear into them, and there was even a time when five or six thieves had made their hideout within the rapeseed fields. Since the entire village had turned out for a thief hunt—yes, I was ten at the time—I was taken by my grandfather to watch fearfully from atop the levee. Then, what seemed to be the leader of the thieves drew his sword and came leaping out from the rapeseed plants.”

Kobayashi Zenkichi, standing beside him, shifted his grip on his umbrella and directed a pained gaze. “That’s right. “In Shimo-Hayakawada’s embankment-exterior area as well, it was just the same—they could grow wheat without fertilizer so well that it became a problem.” “So we mainly cultivated rapeseed and mustard greens.” “My property lies right on the edge of the Watarase River,” Hara Kinjirō began, pausing between each phrase as he spoke. “The soil was so fertile that around my house stood cedar groves and bamboo thickets, with fallen leaves so abundant we couldn’t burn them all.” “The bamboo yielded around one hundred yen every year from being harvested.” “The fields attached to the residence spanned about one chō, yielding fifty to sixty bales each of barley and wheat without fertilizer.” “Life was comfortable back then.” “Now, on the contrary, the places that were once prosperous are even more afflicted by mining pollution—it’s truly a pitiful state of affairs.”

“Truly as Mr. Hara says, my residence too lies near his by the river’s edge, and likewise, our bamboo grove yielded a considerable income every year.” “Around the house were many fields, and the mulberry trees grew so thick that neither horse nor cart could pass through.” “We had such an overabundance of potatoes and radishes that we couldn’t manage them all—we used to take them to relatives and acquaintances in town.” “But now, not even a single potato or leaf of greens can be harvested…” Niwata said this too and froze in place, his face contorted as if enduring stomach cramps. The four stood facing different directions and remained wordless for a time. Only the sound of wind and rain lashing their umbrellas pitilessly enveloped them. They appeared like four survivors in a desolate world, agonizing over life and death itself.

Eventually, the four arrived at Arai Kahei’s gate in Nishioka Village and closed their umbrellas. The master was out, but when they went up to the sitting room to wait, before long, the sound of a throat-clearing accompanied by his return home could be heard. Once introductions were finished, the conversation immediately turned to the petition. The sound of rain on the eaves grew even more intense, and as the sitting room darkened, a lacquered tray befitting an old household was brought in, reflecting lamplight. Even after the meal, the conversation showed no sign of ending. In the end, all that had been decided was to tour the coastal villages and strive for solidarity at the earliest opportunity—nothing more—yet even this mutual understanding stood as a significant achievement. Around past eleven o'clock, Niwata and the others declined offers of lodging and set out on their return journey. With only a single lantern piercing the darkness as rain lashed down, they began retracing three ri of road.

After Yohachi saw them partway and returned home, “You’ve just returned? It was quite late.”

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 practice every night—no matter how late—to give a full report of the day’s events. Though Yohachi’s excitement permeated that night’s account, his father listened with closed eyes, murmuring “Hmm, hmm” in apparent satisfaction. Eventually, when his father’s loud snores began escaping, Yohachi left the bedside.

The next morning, Nagashima Yohachi promptly visited Matsumoto Kichizō and Nonaka Hikoshirō and first recounted the events of the previous day. The two were the first sympathizers Yohachi had gained from his home village. Yohachi asked the two to join him in action as he attempted stumping speeches in the coastal villages. The three men immediately began walking around that very day, treading through the muddy aftermath of the rain in their straw sandals.

The first stop for their stumping speeches was the neighboring village of Oshima. Through Koyama Kōhachirō's efforts, they secured Zenjōin Temple in Okasato near the Watarase River as their venue, where not only Nagashima and his two companions but also Sawayama Bunzui—a senior figure from their own village—along with young men Aoki Kinjirō and Ōide Kihira delivered fervent speeches. From the audience emerged comrades including Matsushima Kashichirō, Sekiguchi Yoshizō, Aida Sadakichi, Aoyama Kichijirō, and Naitō Seizō.

For the next two weeks or so, they raced from village to village along the coast day and night without rest. They held rallies in temples, schools, and private homes alike, borrowing every place they could secure. Their throats were ruined, and their comrades’ conversations resembled the slurred speech of stroke patients. It was no longer unusual for them to walk back two or three ri along night roads after the rallies ended. Yohachi, exhausted and sleep-deprived, walked while half-asleep and once even tumbled into a muddy field. The late October river wind roared and howled, and as his limbs, numb with cold, trembled, Yohachi shed tears without pride or defiance. However, there was no room in his heart for even a single day of quiet rest.

At last, their efforts bore fruit as comrades emerged from every village and public sentiment gradually shifted toward petitioning. As momentum swelled on the right bank of the Watarase River around this time, the left bank too—beginning with Niwata Tsunekichi’s Azuma Village—saw volunteers from upstream Kenu Village and downstream areas like Ueno Village, Kai Village, and Inubushi Town rise up one after another to devote themselves to petitioning efforts.

Thus, volunteers from each village in the affected areas on both banks gathered, found it necessary to strengthen their unity, and align their steps. Without anyone in particular having decided it, matters unfolded naturally until it was finally settled that they would gather at Unryu-ji Temple in the Oaza Shimo-Hayakawada area of Watase Village on November 2. For it stood in one of the areas most severely afflicted by pollution on the left bank of the Watarase River, was geographically situated nearly at the center of all devastated villages, and because Shōzō had designated it as their headquarters.

That day was a cold, hazy one reminiscent of early winter; gray clouds shrouded the wasteland as a west wind swept through, whipping up sand and soil. As people from various villages gradually gathered in the afternoon, each and every one halted at the sight of that desolate scene, struck by its bleakness—none among those sharing equal sorrows failed to strengthen their solidarity as comrades. Passing through the weathered mountain gate and proceeding straight through temple grounds surrounded by towering cedars and autumn-tinted trees toward the large thatched-roof hall, they found Kobayashi Teishichirō—nearing seventy—alongside four or five local comrades already at work. When they opened the shoji screens to sit among earlier arrivals, they were met by an atmosphere both tense and intimate—one that could only exist among those harboring shared resolve. Hearing Diet member Tanaka had already come, their chests tightened further even as brightness pierced their hearts.

Yohachi, along with three comrades from his own village, had hastened along the Watarase River embankment for three ri. Because they were heading straight into the great west wind, the cold bit like being stripped naked and exposed to its blast. Upon arriving at Unryu-ji Temple, guided by Niwata Tsunekichi, he went from the main hall through a dark corridor to pay his respects at the priests' quarters. Shōzō was gripping his brush and writing a letter with sharp-eyed concentration, but upon finishing listening to Yohachi’s words,

“Well now—this means we can finally begin our full-fledged campaign. “Gathering momentum up to this point must have been grueling. “You’ve endured quite an ordeal. “My deepest gratitude for your efforts.” With these words, his stern expression softened into warmth. Hearing them flooded Yohachi with memories of his own fortnight’s desperate labors. He knew full well how Shōzō himself had raced between disaster-stricken villages these past weeks—how between sprints he’d penned letters urging on volunteers. Yet still those measured words kindled solace in his chest.

Before long, the members had all gathered. It was not as though anyone had formally 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, Zenkichi, Ietomi Motokichi, Hara Kinjirō, Kimura Yūkichi, and Yatsu Yasaburō of Watase Village; Tanoiri Rizaburō and Kamei Tomoharu from neighboring Tatarami Village to the west; Koyama Kōhachirō, Sawayama Bunzui, Ōide Kihira, and Aoki Kinjirō from Ōshima Village to the east; Arai Kabei, Matsumoto Kichizō, Nonaka Hikoshirō, and Nagashima Yohachi from Nishiyata Village. From Tochigi Prefecture: Niwata Tsunekichi, Seishirō, Komaki, Sakurai Yosōji, Abe Takisaburō, Nomura Chiyozō, Unahara Chūkichi, Yokozuka Jisankyū, Satori Yasujirō, and Maruyama Namijirō from Azuma Village across the river from Watase; Murota Chūshichi, Inamura Chūzō, Yoichi, Inage Kyōjirō, Iso Naokichi, Jisai Shigekichi, and Dōichi from Kuno Village on the right bank; Iwasaki Sajū, Yahachi, and Akiyama Kazusuke from upstream Kenu Village; Sekiguchi Kōhachi, Ono Masakichi, Okada Takago, and Tani Motohachi from Ueno Village east of Azuma; Kurihara Saijirō from Kai Village downstream across from Ōshima; Itoi Tōjirō, Benkichi, Moro Sōjirō, Heikichi, Fukuchi Naohachi, Noguchi Haruzō, and Yajima Kōsaku; and from Inubushi Town: Yamazaki Keijirō, Kobayashi Magohei, and Koseki Eikichi—over fifty individuals in total.

Now then, just as the group had left the vicinity of the charcoal brazier, straightened their postures, reseated themselves, and were about to begin their deliberations—the temple’s head priest, Kurozaki Zen’ō, emerged holding a white-haired hossu resembling a horse’s tail. Though clad in a kesa robe and presenting the appearance of one detached from worldly affairs, his countenance could not entirely conceal the ambition harbored in the chest of a man barely twenty-seven. As the people wondered what was about to begin, he suddenly stood before them and boomed out in a thick voice reeking of sutra-chanting. The fact that the head priest understood the mining pollution issue was evident from his providing the venue, but his suddenly starting a speech was unexpected. The people listened with expressions half-curious and half-perplexed, exchanging glances with one another. As Kobayashi Teishichirō approached his side and cautioned him about something, he said, “Well then…” gave a brief bow, and withdrew toward the priests’ quarters with composed steps.

First, Kobayashi Teishichirō was nominated and took the chairperson’s seat. Tanaka Shōzō stood to address the gathering and stated that witnessing proof of the coastal volunteers’ spirits uniting here today was nothing short of heartening, “However, gentlemen,” he said, shifting his tone. “It is an exceedingly difficult task to align the steps of many people and sustain a movement over the long term.” “Therefore, to fully achieve our objectives, appointing representatives or committee members would not be without merit; however, we must instead rely on the united cooperation of those fervent individuals who willingly step forward to take matters into their own hands.” “I believe that you gentlemen gathered here today are precisely those individuals.”

Shōzō surveyed the group, paused as if etching each face into his mind, then concluded as follows. “Therefore, I believe that for today’s conference, it is most crucial to omit all formalities and have you gentlemen enter into a spiritual contract.” “Thus I earnestly hope you will resolve: that no matter what hardships you may encounter hereafter or what opponents may arise, you shall unwaveringly break through and repel them until our purpose is achieved, never bending your resolve.”

The people nodded. When stated, it may seem trivial, but it was truly a warning from those who understood where the people’s hearts lay. From the chairman’s seat, Kobayashi, with a cough,

“I wholeheartedly agree with Mr. Tanaka’s words just now. I believe that your firm resolve and unity are the very foundation of all we do.” While carefully gauging the reactions of the assembly, he continued, “After all, this is a vast and significant issue, so I imagine it will not be easily resolved. Therefore, regarding this spiritual contract we’ve discussed—though spiritual in nature—I was thinking we might give it tangible form. In the olden days, this would have been called a joint pledge document. We are all already fully resolved, but by openly declaring that resolve to one another and forging it into an even more solid block, how about we then commence our movement upon that foundation?”

Not a single soul opposed the proposal. They resolved at once to forge this spiritual contract, whereupon a draft materialized through the hands of a few and was laid before Shōzō. Article 1: We shall engage in this movement with the spirit of fulfilling our duty as subjects of Japan, pursuing with unyielding resolve from first to last the fundamental resolution of the mining pollution problem. Article 2: We shall unite with all pollution victims in upholding without deviation our movement's guiding principles, that we may achieve this fundamental resolution of the mining pollution problem.

Article 3: We shall never succumb to setbacks or betray our cause, no matter what difficulties we encounter in this movement. Article 4: We shall travel widely through areas affected by mining pollution to guide and enlighten, thereby prompting unified action. Article 5: Should any among us pollution victims abandon the petition movement midway to enter private settlements with the mine owner, we shall impose moral sanctions upon them. Article 6: We shall uphold these articles to achieve our objectives and hereby establish this spiritual contract with our very lives.

Following these articles, led by Kobayashi Teishichirō, they each rose from their seats and came forward one by one to sign and affix their seals. Those who had finished signing and those awaiting their turn alike were planting fists on knees to puff out shoulders, crossing arms and pursing lips into taut lines—every last one wore tense expressions. Few exchanged words; beyond coughs there remained only the occasional rustle of wind outside and the sound of fallen leaves striking the shoji.

Thus, the people who entered into this pact returned to their respective villages with a clearer purpose and resolve than when they had come. Immediately, they held rallies and conducted personal outreach. On the thick pillars of Unryu-ji Temple’s main gate, facing the desolate wilderness, a large signboard boldly inscribed with "Ashio Copper Mine Closure Petition Office" was erected. They resolved to hold monthly meetings from then on, and the straw sandal-clad comrades could be seen constantly passing through this temple gate, with small gatherings and consultations taking place nearly every day. In particular, Nagashima and several others carried out Shōzō’s instructions to the letter, hauling in bedding to take up full-time residence at Unryu-ji Temple, where they handled communications and miscellaneous tasks.

Shōzō also found himself increasingly occupied with various matters from that point onward. Notices came from every village in the coastal disaster-affected areas, announcing gatherings and discussion meetings. Whenever a notice arrived, he would attend without fail, regardless of the distance. Moreover, from wherever his efforts took him, he sent letters day after day to Unryu-ji Temple, never forgetting to encourage them. The following text was another such example.

“Each person must not lose their own strengths; it is an error for each person not to revere others’ merits. Henceforth: let the Unryu-ji monk state one tenet of Zen; let Messrs. Hara, Niwata, and Sekiguchi each recite one passage from the Analects; let Ōide expound principles of the mind; let the people discourse on law. Consider it beneficial to proclaim these at every assembly without fail. (Ah! Let not worldly ways steal our conscience!)”

Now, as a result of the comrades’ tireless efforts and fervor, the general momentum in the affected areas had finally begun to stir. At the office, the petition for mine closure had been drafted, and now volunteer pollution victims from two counties and nine towns and villages across Tochigi and Gunma prefectures were set to jointly sign and submit it. The petition was addressed to Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Enomoto Takeaki, but procedurally required routing through county and prefectural offices. Thereupon, they first took it to the county office to request an endorsement. Yet at every county office, officials found pretexts to refuse endorsements. Having no alternative, they asked that it at least be forwarded before departing—only to return four or five days later and find it still undelivered. They retrieved the documents and this time carried them directly to the prefectural office. But there too they faced cold contempt; neither endorsements nor forwarding would be granted.

But when one considered it, this was only natural. The petition described the mining pollution catastrophe with lines saturated in piercing grief. For those immersed in calamity, such outcries were inevitable—yet their anguish overflowed into condemnations of prefectural governors and county officials. "The coastal disaster towns had attempted mine closure petitions back in Meiji 25 [1892], but the Tochigi Governor at that time manipulated residents into settling with the mine owner. Moreover, they installed slag collectors utterly ineffective against pollution damage, deceiving people by claiming these devices would fully eliminate contamination—thereby causing today’s devastation. Is this not an unforgivable crime by those styled as shepherd-officials? And further—Ah! What manner of lawless tyranny is this! To brazenly commit such outrages beside the Imperial Capital in broad daylight—with governors acting thus, can we still call these thirteen coastal counties part of our constitutional empire? That county officials under gubernatorial supervision should kowtow to the mine owner’s every command—is this not beyond all doubt? They tricked people into stamping fraudulent documents with blind seals, swindling eternal rights through petty cash bribes—their vicious cunning defies description."

It had to be said that compelling petty officials to acknowledge their own past misdeeds was impossible. Moreover, even at this late hour—exploiting both the destitution and inexperience of the pollution victims—those infamous permanent arbitration contracts were still being imposed upon villages beyond the comrades' reach. At the gathering in Unryu-ji Temple, the comrades had to pool their wisdom to devise countermeasures against this. As a result, they unanimously resolved that there remained no alternative but to dispatch commissioners to the capital and petition the government directly.

On November 27, a proposal was submitted to the Gunma Prefectural Assembly under the names of Arakawa Kōsaburō, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, Arai Seibee, Kitayama Tsunekichi, and Orihara Itsutarō: "Should immediate relief measures not be implemented without delay, the entire Watarase River region will become a desolate wasteland—we believe this outcome looms near. We therefore request that mine closure measures be enacted in accordance with Article 19 of the Mining Ordinance." Meanwhile, concerning land tax exemptions too, pollution victims across every town and village were met with unexpectedly callous and insincere treatment from the authorities. For example, when concerned citizens from Keno Village, Tomita Village, and Azuma Village in Ashikaga County submitted a tax exemption petition dated October 20 to the Ashikaga Tax Office, officials rejected it outright on grounds that documents containing the term "mining pollution" could not be processed—the Land Tax Regulations lacking explicit provisions for such cases. Even when appealed to the Tochigi Prefectural Office, petitions were refused for identical reasons.

In Nishiyata Village as well, the petition was similarly rejected by the Tatebayashi Tax Office. Perhaps recognizing the difficulty of collecting taxes from land that had effectively become wasteland, officials visited Nishiyata Village Office to persuade them that deleting the term "mining pollution" would be advisable. The village office officials and villagers, swayed by this, resubmitted their applications as ordinary wasteland tax exemption petitions. It was only Nagashima Yohachi, his elder brother Nagashima Chūzaburō, and Fukuda Harukichi—three men—who refused to delete the words “mining pollution” and stubbornly sought to press their claims, insisting on treating facts as facts to the bitter end.

However, those who had resubmitted their applications under ordinary wasteland procedures saw their tax exemptions processed one after another, while Yohachi, who refused to compromise his principles, found himself subjected to backbiting and open ridicule from the surrounding villagers. Having fallen into isolation and exhausted all possible measures, Yohachi resolved to at least convey his plight to Shōzō and sent a written account of the entire matter. Immediately, a reply arrived. I am deeply heartened by your spirit in persisting in your claims through single-handed struggle to the very end. This matter is by no means limited to the trivial issue of tax exemption alone; it is indeed a potent method to compel the authorities to acknowledge the reality of mining pollution damage. Furthermore, your solitary stance shall soon become a most compelling rationale in resolving the mining pollution incident; therefore, I earnestly entreat you to uphold this position with unwavering resolve throughout.

Yohachi promptly showed it to his real brother and Fukuda as well, lifting their spirits.

Chapter Three

Ever since committed individuals from the coastal disaster areas forged their pact at Unryu-ji Temple, Shōzō too rushed about in all directions without a moment to let his seat grow warm. The momentum for halting mining pollution petitions—finally beginning to stir—had to seize this moment to surge forward and crystallize into the unified voice of all victims. Shōzō barreled toward that goal with relentless drive. Yet even were they to gather hundreds of thousands of signatures, he saw no path where conventional petitions might make the government yield. While amplifying local voices, he needed equally to rally intellectuals from Tokyo outward, stir public sympathy, and harness the force of collective opinion. Having recognized this truth, Shōzō pinned hopes on addressing the nation through the Tenth Diet while growing anxious over his need to cultivate allies both within and beyond its chambers.

On December 22, the Tenth Diet was convened. Snow had been falling thickly since morning that day. Once the speaker election at the Diet concluded, Shōzō rode through the snow by rickshaw into Ginza—gazing from his seat at Hibiya Parade Ground's stark white vista that evoked the disaster zone's desolation—and visited first Mainichi Shimbun headquarters, then 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 lands firsthand. He had determined that securing reporters' efforts and wielding their pens' influence must be his initial move.

On January 3 of Meiji 30 (1897), Shōzō departed from his lodgings in Kyōbashi Hakkōchō accompanied by Yamada Tomojirō, braving the predawn cold as they hastened toward Ueno Station. By the 7 o'clock departure time, reporters from Mainichi, Yomiuri, Kokumin and other outlets—including Amano Kinosuke, Kurosu Ryutaro, Fukuda Mataya and eight others—had gathered completely. Inside the train car, Shōzō immediately commenced his discourse on mining pollution while his listeners shivered yet attended closely. After transferring at Oyama Station, the small box-like train crept westward with seats and windows creaking miserably. As they finally passed Sano, Shōzō repeatedly rose and sat while urgently pointing out each village cluster in efforts to explain. The tracks now traced alongside disaster zones where distant vistas of devastation gradually unfurled. Beneath a cold sky heavy with thin clouds stretched a landscape appearing utterly desolate to behold. Even glimpsing the Watarase River's silver surface through wind-scattered soot somehow formed a view that chilled the soul.

At Ashikaga Station’s entrance, eight or nine pollution victims from Keno Village—including Iwasaki Sajū—awaited them in sharply creased haori coats and straw sandals. Among them could also be seen Sunaga Kinnosuke, president of the Jomo Shinpo newspaper, ready to join the party. After finishing lunch at the station front, the group lined up rickshaws and first headed west through Ashikaga Town to reach Itsuwa in Mie Village. This was a renowned sericulture region, but autumn floods had altered the Watarase River’s bed, transforming mulberry fields into a vast gravel plain. They turned their rickshaws eastward into Keno Village and toured severely affected areas along the Watarase River—Kawasaki and Okudo. At each key location, Shōzō halted his rickshaw and explained with gestures resembling dance movements. People stood amid the riverbed’s expanse—astonished by its desolation yet filled with pity at farmers’ dazed helplessness. Crossing the river brought them to Kuno Village on the opposite bank. By the time they inspected traces of Meiji 23’s embankment breach and neared Shimodenota and Kamidenota hamlets, dense clouds overhead had grown damp, casting gloom across the land. The large mounds dotting the landscape now appeared in ever more numerous clusters.

“What do you think of these poison mounds?” “It’s just like Matsushima in Oshu,” Shōzō said, pointing. “The islands of Matsushima stay lush even in midwinter, but these poison mounds have no green even at the height of summer.”

“Poison mounds… Ah, poison mounds! Poison mounds!” Yamada parodied Bashō’s renowned verse and shouted. “The prefectural officials claim to champion their so-called deep plowing method with great fervor, yet merely scraping together surface-layer toxic soil has brought us to this state.” “Can they truly dig two or three shaku into this vast affected land? Try swinging a hoe yourself and you’ll see.” “Enough of this armchair theorizing!” “You idiots!” His final rebuke carried the fury of a man facing his sworn enemy. The people hunched their shoulders in the rickshaw and instinctively exchanged uneasy glances.

Crossing the tributary Yabagawa River and entering Watase Village, they found here too were towering poison mounds. As the west wind intensified, whipping up sand and dust from every mound in a terrifying spectacle, the people—overcome—covered their mouths, pulled their hats low over their eyes, and held their breath. As dusk deepened and they approached Shimohayakawata, “Ah, look at that cart over there!” Shōzō turned around on the rickshaw while pointing ahead. Looking, they saw several figures gathered around a cart in the twilight—the man appeared to be pulling the vehicle while his wife carried a child on her back and held the hand of another, five- or six-year-old. And on top of the cart, alongside meager belongings, they were loading a sickly-looking white-haired old woman.

“How pitiful—the sight of them abandoning their ancestral burial grounds.” “No—no! They aren’t abandoning their homes. They’ve been forced to leave because they’ve nothing to eat and nowhere left to live.” “Do they have anywhere to go—or not?” “Even so, it’s a blessing that the family can still stay together like that.” “Brothers and fathers torn apart, deaths from illness and poisoning—for whose sake has this come to pass?” “Who did this?” “Who was it?” “Which one of them?”

The evening wind scattered Shōzō’s voice in broken gusts as he wiped his eyes and screamed atop the rickshaw. When they crossed back over to the opposite bank of the eerie river surface where the night air had dissolved, before their eyes loomed a dense cedar forest, and the clamorous roar of the winter wind struck their ears. It was Unryu-ji Temple, where the group planned to spend the night.

Hearing the voices, two or three lanterns came rushing out from the temple gate. In the main hall as well, lanterns had been lit, and there was already an air of forty or fifty pollution victims having gathered.

After the meal, they promptly held a discussion meeting with those pollution victims, sitting knee-to-knee. After introducing the journalists and other companions to the group, Shōzō added some words. “—As I also stated when opposing that evil law suspending newspaper publications during my speech at the Ninth Diet last January, newspapers—as they have been called the heralds of society—truly possess contributions that must not be erased, whether in times of national peace or crisis.” “It is true that newspapers have many good points, but they also have their bad aspects.” “They can sometimes employ quite reckless writing.” “But take, for example, a man here who indulges in carnal pleasures.” “Suppose there was an idiot under the Imperial Headquarters who, drowning himself in geisha, took in a woman named O-Kiku.” “Even such a man would receive the Golden Kite Medal if he had military merits.” “Their merits cannot be negated by their sins.” “Since the Korean Affair and the Sino-Japanese War, how great have the contributions of newspapers been?” “It was thanks to newspapers that the nation’s voice was unified and its strength solidified.” “Newspaper reporters went to Liaodong, Weihaiwei, Taiwan, and other places; these gentlemen reported on matters beneficial to the war but did nothing that would harm it.” “When you opened canned goods from the Logistics Department, they were rotten; when you bought tobacco, it was just shredded leaves from Hokkaido; a single bottle of sake cost one yen and fifty sen—there wasn’t a single reporter in the war zones who didn’t know about these complaints from the Logistics Department.” “Even so, during the war, they refrained from publishing this because the harm was great and the benefits few.” “This too must rather be counted as a merit.” “Even during the Triple Intervention, the newspapers were quicker to catch wind of it than those in power had noticed.” “Moreover, when the Triple Intervention finally came, how did the journalists resolve themselves?” “First, they demonstrated externally the robust vitality of the people.” “They also performed the splendid task of making the country appear strong by striving to allow Ito and Mutsu, the plenipotentiary commissioners, to fulfill their duties without losing public trust.” “Truly, if one were to count all the good deeds, they would be beyond enumeration.”

“Moreover, journalists are not people who crave glittering rewards like peerages or medals, even when they’ve earned merit.” “Newspapers wield such power precisely because journalists devote themselves to this sacred vocation.” “Now that these honorable individuals have journeyed far to witness our plight, I implore you to thoroughly document the damage and listen with sincere hearts to the true voices of the poisoned people.”

And so, under the dim light of a single lamp, the people’s appeals and questions were exchanged back and forth until late into the night. When the voices of conversation suddenly ceased, the cry of the winter wind shaking the cedar grove behind them assailed the gathering. The people each shrugged their shoulders as though hearing fate’s voice, or found themselves drawn to gazes that turned inward to contemplate their own circumstances.

On the fourth day, they first visited Niwata Tsunekichi’s house in Shimohata Village near Unryu-ji Temple, where in a vast bamboo grove they attempted pulling bamboo stalks three to four *sun* (≈4–5 inches) in diameter that slipped out cleanly when tugged by two people. Genpachi—the father—also emerged,

"As he began recounting tales of old—'It was only when this bamboo grove started withering that we first noticed the mining pollution'—the forty or fifty faces that had gathered at Unryu-ji Temple the night before were now all assembled." No sooner had they heard the shrill whinny of a horse than Noguchi Shunzō’s figure on horseback appeared among the bamboo. He had come from Sakaimura to serve as today’s guide. The group fastened their straw sandals and came from Funatsukawa—the severely affected area of Ueno Village—crossing the ferry to Oshima Village in Gunma Prefecture.

Walking along embankments and winding through village roads—everywhere the same toxic mounds and sandy plains, their hearts aching at the sight of impoverished hamlets crowded with dilapidated houses—they crossed the Watarase River once more and emerged at Bamon, Sakaimura’s most severely afflicted area. Noguchi, around forty, explained in a crisp tone from horseback, as if declaring “This here is my territory” without quite saying so. To each and every 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.” “Mr. Tanaka has come to guide the people from the newspaper companies and investigate our mining pollution damage.” “As I’ve said before, there’s no path to salvation for us except stopping Furukawa’s mining operations.” “They’ve come to help with that movement,” he declared loudly.

As they gazed at Noguchi’s demeanor, the journalists’ hushed exchanges could be heard.

“What formidable spirit. If someone were to stir them up even slightly, they’d be raising straw-burl banners in no time.” “Exactly. With that heat and fighting spirit, the masses would surely rise.”

After lunch, gazing at Koshina Swamp through the withered reeds, they proceeded to Mikamo Village and toured the affected areas, then crossed again via the temporary bridge at Ichimon’s Ferry and passed through Oshima Village, finally arriving at Nishiyata Village. While lingering at the site of last autumn's great embankment breach in Shinmei Nishi, the winter day descended as if a curtain had fallen, making their faces indistinguishable from one another. That night found them lodging at Arai Kahei’s house in Nishinooka of the same village, but word had spread—over eighty people gathered from nearby villages until even Arai’s spacious residence grew crowded out to the veranda. As was his custom, Shōzō introduced the group members and launched into an address. Within it lay these words:

“Those who do not rage against mining pollution’s harm share the same spirit as those who groveled in obedience during the Triple Intervention.” “I hear many influential figures in your villages remain indifferent. But this indifference differs from ignorant apathy—it reveals a bankruptcy of moral conscience.” “Consider this: suppose an arsonist burns down homes. When winds threaten his own house downwind, they shift direction—he escapes calamity. Overjoyed, he forgets to condemn the arsonist’s evil.” “This is self-interest.” “Such men deserve censure.” “They fail to grasp that withholding sympathy from victims amounts to showing mercy to criminals.” “These are precisely the sort who unwittingly stray from righteousness and lose their way.”

Perhaps provoked by this, no sooner had the discussion begun than voices of abuse erupted from the youths of each village toward a certain village headman. Criticized for lacking enthusiasm in the movement, the village headman remained dejected throughout, keeping his head bowed without uttering a single word in rebuttal.

On the fifth, guided by Arai, Nagashima, and several others, they followed the riverbank, toured Josen, Hosoya, and Hanare within the village, and reached Fujioka on the opposite bank. From atop the embankment, they gazed out at the desolately stretching disaster areas of Shimotsuga District, then crossed the river and entered the severely affected area of Ebise Village. After observing the damage in Rishima and Kawabe Villages in Saitama Prefecture, they crossed the Watarase River once more and stopped at Shimomiya in Taninaka Village. Extending their journey to Nogimura, they parted ways with those returning to Tokyo at Koga and lodged overnight at Konya Gorouemon’s residence.

On the sixth day, from early morning through a haze of fine drizzling rain, the party of three made their way toward Yamata Village in Ibaraki Prefecture. This followed letters received last December from Yamata's village head and those of two neighboring villages expressing sudden interest in joining the petition movement - correspondence that first revealed how far downstream the mining pollution had spread. That evening at Sekineya Inn overlooking the Tone River in Sakaimachi, they located Yamata Village Head Sekine Kamezō and convened a meeting. Though flood-submerged rice crops had once yielded sprouted husks usable as horse feed, villagers testified that recent years brought only unsprouted grains and water-rotted straw even livestock refused. As Shōzō heard accounts of withered hazel trees along paddies, dead fish in marshes, and shriveled algae beds, his mind superimposed these scenes onto the devastated areas he'd recently traversed - transforming abstract reports into visceral realities that compelled him to sharpen his tone with urgent intensity. Compounding this crisis, the downstream region faced a unique hydrological curse: once flooded, waters would stubbornly linger for over a hundred days due to current patterns.

In the afternoon of the seventh, Shōzō and his group boarded a boat from Sekiyado and went down the Edo River. Following the others’ example, Shōzō too lay down under a thin, soiled blanket, but before long he abruptly sat up, took out his portable writing set, and penned several letters. He had not even had time to pick up a brush since the start of the new year. Yamada, who had been watching this, “You truly have no time for your body to rest, do you? Dashing about in all directions—or rather, now it’s south by boat and north by horse, I suppose?” Shōzō nodded lightly and said, “Since childhood, I’ve never eaten a meal on tatami mats. So all this rushing about is second nature to me. When I hear stories of people going out of their way to cloister themselves in temples and spend time on Zen meditation, there are moments when I envy those with such leisure. But this isn’t sour grapes—my Zen meditation lies in constant striving. Cultivating resolve isn’t confined to formal sitting. On horseback, in carriages, aboard boats—even while treading perilous paths, there lie opportunities for enlightenment. That is to say, all are forms of Zen meditation. Therefore, wherever I go, I make every place I visit into Zen meditation.”

Mid-sentence, Shōzō placed his hands on his hakama-clad knees and closed both eyes. Yamada too, not wanting to disturb the meditation, watched in silence. However, his breathing was so quiet that Yamada suspected he might have fallen asleep—but then his lips began to quiver faintly,

“I slumbered from Meiji 19 (1886) to Meiji 23 (1890). From Meiji 23 (1890), I began to awaken slightly; by Meiji 28 (1895), I finally became aware of religious matters and was able to return to being a true human as I had been before Meiji 19 (1886).”

After that, the silent meditation continued once more. Where had they reached? The boat sank into twilight. There seemed to be boats passing by; the creak of oars could be heard, and voices boomed as they called out to one another. Taking the opportunity when Shōzō opened his eyes, Yamada asked: "You said you became aware of religion—was it Buddhism or Christianity?"

Shōzō shook his head. “No, no—it’s not that I’ve converted to any particular religion. I’m uneducated and know nothing of profound doctrines.” “What little I know of Buddhism amounts to secondhand knowledge at best.” “As for Christianity, I know absolutely nothing. Therefore, I have not reached the point of adhering to any particular one.” “Yet Shakyamuni stands alone—there is truly no one like him but Shakyamuni himself.” “Confucius too is great.” “I think Christ too is great—these sages are people who, as humans, attained divinity.” “People can become gods if they so choose.” “People can become gods even without academic learning.” “If people become gods, the power of academic learning becomes mere dust.” “Therefore, people must become gods.” “Striving to become gods is the duty of people.” “That I came to be aware of religious matters is precisely that very point.”

The boat boy entered, stepping over the sleeping people, and lit the hanging lamp. “When I return to Tokyo, this time I intend to ask spiritual thinkers and religious figures for their assistance and borrow their spiritual strength.”

Under the lamplight, Shōzō shook his large frame and let slip another quiet remark. Yamada contained a smile, “Are you referring to Mr. Tsuda of the Gakunō-sha? That person is short-tempered - how he flies into rage before hearing half of what others say matches you perfectly, does it not?”

Speaking of Tsuda Sen, he was then regarded less as an agricultural scholar than as an upright samurai activist. The previous December, Kurihara Hikosaburo—residing in Aoyama Gakuin’s dormitory—had visited Tsuda bearing a letter of introduction from Principal Honda Yoichi. This led Tsuda to have Kurihara guide him on a day-long tour of the affected areas. Profoundly moved by the harrowing conditions he witnessed, Tsuda reflected, “My conviction that Tanaka Shōzō was a fraud stemmed from my own error,” while pledging his full commitment to future efforts.

“I have yet to express my gratitude to Mr. Tsuda.” “When I meet him face-to-face, I must earnestly ask for his continued support going forward.” “And Matsumura Kaiseki—I must request this gentleman’s assistance as well.”

The fellow passengers around them woke up and began eating their boxed meals. The accompanying Mainichi reporter let out a big yawn and sat up, so Shōzō and his group also took out their rice balls and began nibbling.

That night, the ship arrived at Fukagawa Takahashi at nine o'clock, and by the time they hired a rickshaw waiting at the crossroads and returned to Hachikancho, it was past eleven o'clock. However, from the very next day, Shōzō immediately put his words into action and went out campaigning to gain comrades and sympathizers. On days like the ninth when Tokyo was again buried under heavy snow, he could not bring himself to huddle over a brazier for warmth, thinking of the pollution victims' hardships. On the night of the eleventh, news came of the Empress Dowager’s passing. All music and performances were suspended, and even the New Year atmosphere that typically lingered until the removal of pine decorations vanished from Tokyo’s streets.

On the 26th, Shōzō requested individuals including Nakajima Yūhachi, Arai Keigorō, Kogure Budayū, Horikoshi Kansuke, and Fujita Kichirōmaro to assemble regarding the matter of submitting the mining pollution inquiry to parliament, convening a meeting at Isekkanrō in Kyōbashi.

Thus, as the Tokyo movement finally took concrete shape and the need for an office became pressing, Shōzō rented the detached drawing room at his lodgings—located at 26-banchi, Hachikancho, Kyōbashi Ward, Miyashita Eisuke’s residence—and established it as a meeting place for Diet members elected from mining pollution-affected prefectures. Young men such as Itō Sōichi and Katō Kanekichi (later changing his surname to Miyashita) were in charge of the office work. In each pollution-affected region, signatures for petitions demanding mine closure gradually accumulated, and committee members traveling to Tokyo finally began doing so with increasing frequency. The committee members who had come to Tokyo all gathered relying on Shōzō and acted according to his instructions. By the end of January, the number of signatories on the documents submitted to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce had reached several thousand; it was reported that signatures were still being added continuously, and it was anticipated that the total would ultimately climb to tens of thousands. Moreover, during this period, the endeavors of Sekiguchi Chūtarō, Tochigi Prefectural Assembly member; Arakawa Kōsaburō, Gunma Prefectural Assembly member; and Ōtsuka Genjūrō of the same prefecture—who stayed in the capital for dozens of days striving to mediate—were by no means ordinary.

On February 15, the day before the budget proposal was to be submitted to the Tenth Diet, the Progressive Party convened a general assembly of representatives on the upper floor of their headquarters in Uchisaiwaicho and determined their stance on the budget proposal. As a result, despite fierce attacks from the Liberal Party, the budget proposal concluded deliberations on the 18th. That it passed so swiftly was unprecedented except in wartime parliaments—a result of the Progressive Party supporting the government and aligning with other ruling parties—but precisely because the general populace had expected the new cabinet to renew all governance, their disappointment was all the greater. Moreover, the House of Representatives had no bills to schedule and reached the ludicrous outcome of adjourning from the 19th.

The Four-Prefecture Alliance for Ashio Copper Mine Closure Petitions office in Shibaguchi Sanchome dispatched Mining Pollution Damage Summary Reports to various parties on the 20th and 24th. On the 24th, following the recess, an "Inquiry Regarding the Failure to Halt 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 individuals as endorsers.

On the 26th, when the plenary session that had commenced at 1 PM concluded with Chairman Hatoyama Kazuo’s customary reports, a voice resounded through the chamber from a seat below the podium: "Number thirty-five!" By the time people's eyes turned toward the voice, the shoulders of that familiar five-crested old haori were already moving leisurely away from the seat. Though its contents remained unclear, a bulky furoshiki bundle wrapped in white cloth was cradled with importance under his left arm. It was Shōzō—who had long been deprived of opportunity through successive parliamentary dissolutions and the Sino-Japanese War—who finally rose to deliver his interpellation speech on the mining pollution crisis, suppressing his overflowing indignation.

Shōzō stood at the podium, took documents from his bundle, and declared, “I shall now read aloud the names of the proposers of this motion.” He continued reading: “The proposers are Tanaka Shōzō, Mr. Ōtō Gitetsu, Mr. Suzuki Shigetō, Mr. Haseba Sumitaka, Mr. Kashiwada Morifumi…” and then drank water. “Today, there are many important issues at hand, and my lengthy interpellation speech must surely be a nuisance. However, this inquiry concerns an urgent matter in the regions where district officials among local authorities are currently oppressing and deceiving the people. We must bring this to light as soon as possible and relieve their suffering... This marks my fifth inquiry since Meiji 24 (1891), following four previous ones.” “The Minister of Agriculture and Commerce has occasionally provided responses to this, but they have all been deceitful.” “And thus, they have allowed this mining pollution to grow catastrophically severe.” “Regarding this mining pollution crisis, the parliament does not trust the government, and the people have come to resent the government.” “Under such circumstances, if this were viewed through impartial eyes, the very value of the state itself would diminish.” “Since the government does not provide legal protection, the people have no obligation to comply with the law.” “If there is no obligation to obey the law, they may resort to any manner of actions henceforth.”

First prefacing his remarks with a warning that this was not an issue to be dismissed lightly, he proceeded into a detailed explanation. The Kantō region's flat terrain inherently allows toxic matter to spread like water poured across wooden floorboards when it flows in. The fundamental error lay in having permitted operations in that area without even conducting geographical surveys. While this stemmed from negligence initially, he denounced as malicious the act of permitting reckless deforestation across 10,000 chōbu (approximately 9,900 hectares) in deep mountains untouched by axes since antiquity. Expounding on the dangers linking forest destruction to mining pollution, he warned that once four or five years passed and the roots of these felled trees rotted away, catastrophic landslides would inevitably follow. He vehemently emphasized that unlike ordinary flood damage in other prefectures, their crisis differed through mining toxins infiltrating the waters. Declaring "The bamboo along the embankments dies exactly like this," he retrieved from his furoshiki bundle a section of bamboo root approximately two shaku long (60 centimeters) and held it aloft.

After presenting a segment on embankment construction theory, he cited examples of how sediment pushed down from mountains had raised the riverbed and accelerated floodwater velocity—inferring that embankments would inevitably collapse if torrents struck simultaneously—and thus demonstrated through statistics how the damage scope had expanded alarmingly. Moreover, this wasteland could not recover within five or ten years like ordinary floodlands through cultivation; because farmers had to remove every trace of toxic soil ranging from five sun (15 cm) to one jō (3 meters) deep, their hardships defied comparison. As matters stood, 1,600 chōbu had already become desert, and abandoning over 30,000 chōbu would inevitably turn them all to wasteland. Regarding this, he persistently argued that tax exemptions and reductions must be granted, his interrogation growing keener: Why hadn’t the Ministry of Finance—overseer of taxation—promptly recognized this crisis and pressured the Agriculture Minister?

He then read aloud fifty-four articles detailing the damages, ultimately explaining that mining pollution harms human lives: the people had been suddenly stripped of their property, plunged into poverty, deprived of clothing, food, and shelter, and robbed of their nutritional strength—the resulting health hazards defying comprehension. There were many who ate unpolished rice contaminated with poisoned water without knowing it was toxic; among them were those who consumed it despite their awareness, driven by poverty. That matters had reached the point of them eating poison was a pitiful state of affairs. —Shōzō fell silent for a moment, his face bearing a grave expression.

Shōzō then took out from his furoshiki straw ash tainted with mining pollution and mulberry leaves to display them, along with twenty-one other samples of crops affected by mining pollution—unpolished rice, wheat, barley, soybeans, potatoes, sesame, upland rice, paddy rice, and more—inviting them to examine these later in the lounge before folding up the cloth bundle. He then addressed drinking water, stating that while the total number of wells remained undetermined, he asked them to remember that households infiltrated by toxic water alone numbered ninety-eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight—and with that, he paused.

“In addition, I must explain how mining pollution violates fundamental rights.” Shōzō’s voice took on an even more anguished tone. “They can no longer send their children to elementary school. Schools are the least of it—families torn apart, fathers and sons scattered. What words could possibly convey this devastation?” “Even marriages are being ruined.”

The chamber fell silent as if water had been splashed, with only restrained coughs audible. "To subject one side to such terrible suffering while allowing the mining operators on the other to run rampant—what manner of injustice is this?" "This mining operator goes by the name Furukawa Ichibē." "Though it may not reflect his personal intent alone, such speculator-like ventures inevitably attract unscrupulous agents who commit countless misdeeds unknown to their master." "We do not seek to attack a single mining operator without cause." "I name him because he bears responsibility." "Their rampage brings true devastation—as I stated earlier, they fell trees akin to illegal loggers, lay waste to over thirty-five thousand *chōbu* of land, strip people of their rights, poison a hundred thousand souls through public health hazards, and not only wallow in their own glory but seize local officials whenever citizens dare petition against them." "District officers have become little more than Furukawa's slaves." "I shall now present incontrovertible proof of their enslavement……" "Were Furukawa himself making these claims, that would be one matter—but when outsiders and even government officials tout this as profitable enterprise and national revenue…" "We might overlook such talk from the ignorant, but when those charged with governance voice these lies, it becomes contemptible beyond measure." "They remain blind to the truth—that our nation's true wealth flows from its people." "To squander this nation's resources while ignoring mining's evils—for any official with ordinary sense to claim mines constitute national wealth—this is folly unworthy of consideration." "There exist circumstances behind this." "I need not elaborate—you grasp my meaning." "Money gained through such means cannot truly be called profit." "True profit is that obtained through righteous means—only this merits the name." "Profit means restraining oneself to benefit society—can wealth seized through banditry deserve that noble title?" "Shall we call it plunder? Stolen goods? I struggle to find fitting words." "It cannot be cloaked in the virtuous characters spelling 'profit.'"

“To thus place a single mining operator beyond the reach of law and permit their unchecked rampage is nothing less than establishing extraterritoriality within our own nation and granting them its enforcement rights.” “I believe even the Foreign Minister and Minister of Justice must themselves exercise vigilance.” “Under such circumstances, when mixed residence is implemented, by what means can we make foreigners obey our nation’s laws?” Shōzō’s oratory grew ever sharper, his large face flushed and engorged a deep red, glistening with sweat.

“Given such extensive harm, why have the people of the afflicted regions not taken action until today? Is their outcry not woefully belated? And even now, do their voices not remain so faint? These doubts cannot be ignored. On this matter, I must lay bare the true circumstances of these victims and mount a vigorous defense of their position. Those in power must be made to hear this—…the disaster-stricken lands along the lower Watarase have reached a state where raising their voices has become impossible.”

“Why can they not raise their voices?” Shōzō began his explanation in a voice trembling with suppressed indignation—how local farmers had been conditioned to accept all calamities as natural disasters, developing a temperament less prone to anger than those from other regions. For about ten years, they remained unaware that mining pollution had become intermingled with these natural disasters. Even when they came to understand this, he continued, the issue proved too complex, demanding knowledge across multiple fields—an insurmountable challenge for them.

At this moment, the large wall clock already pointed to 2:25. The rear door rattled. Foreign Minister Ōkuma Shigenobu entered, supporting himself with a crutch in his right hand 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 into every seat—public, officials', foreign guests', women's—swayed as if released from their tension. Revived by new expectations, even hushed whispers arose among them. In truth, most of them had come today with the aim of hearing the Foreign Minister's explanatory speech regarding the Russo-Japanese Consultative Convention.

But Shōzō continued his speech, undeterred by the surrounding commotion. Yoshimoto Eikichi stood up from his seat as if unable to bear it any longer, hurried up to the podium, and whispered something. As Yoshimoto withdrew, Shōzō continued in a slightly altered tone: "As I have previously stated—though this must surely impose upon your patience—if there exists even a shred of your gracious intention to deliver these Pollution Victims from calamity, I humbly entreat you to grant me your attention a while longer." “Now, local government offices are making a great fuss, claiming that smallpox has begun to spread.” “This is all well and good to raise an uproar about.” “As for this mining pollution, they feign ignorance.” “In last year’s flood, over a hundred thousand people were poisoned to death, yet they haven’t uttered a single word about mining pollution.” “Even when warned, they do nothing.” “They decree that it must not be put into writing.” “They suppress this because writing would make it known.” “It is through such cruel means that the people of Tochigi and Gunma prefectures endure the inhumane treatment by district officials and prefectural authorities.” “If we were to abandon everything—on the contrary, district officials race about east and west, devising interference methods while committing nothing but outrageous misdeeds.” “Under such circumstances, can the people raise their voices?”

Perhaps because the flowing sweat was getting into his eyes, he continued speaking while tightly squeezing his eyelids shut or snapping them open to cast an eerie light. “Even as I speak in this manner, if the poison were truly severe, surely the people would have resorted to bamboo spears and makeshift banners by now." “You may imagine them donning straw cloaks and hats to petition before the gates, but due to various circumstances, they either apprehend district officials or capture locally prominent figures to enforce their oppression.” "This extends beyond just the pollution victims of Tochigi and Gunma." “Even among those of middle-class standing or higher, should there be a group of fifty or thirty people, once two or three of their leaders are bought off, the rest fall silent—such things do not occur within this parliament, but step beyond its gates, and you will find precisely this being practiced.”

Shōzō’s tone shifted to one of grave solemnity, growing increasingly caustic. “There is another matter: people readily notice tangible things; however, those belonging to the intangible realm are indeed slow to be perceived. Disasters such as the Gifu and Aichi earthquakes, the Sanriku tsunami, and the eruption of Mount Azuma—even a complete fool could understand these. Ministers and others all rush to the scene. Even natural disasters—the government would attend to those. This mining pollution crisis combines natural disaster with human-inflicted harm. Harm caused by human agency is absolutely possible to remedy through human agency. To leave preventable man-made harm unchecked defies all comprehension. It should be incomprehensible. Because harm inflicted through human agency can also be remedied through human agency. If speculators scatter money and act, it is no wonder that people unaware of the situation believe opposing arguments. But compared to the people of the affected regions remaining submissive and not raising their voices until today—the fact that officials from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce have not raised their voices should be deemed hundreds of times more servile, or perhaps willfully ignorant—truly, one struggles to find words to describe it. They cannot be called maggots, nor can they be called bastards. How should one properly describe this? Gentlemen, behold! The Kantō plain lies flat and vast—Japan’s unobstructed fertile expanse where no sight meets the eye but abundance. Yet these bountiful fields across dozens of miles lie ravaged, and to find that within our government there exists no means to save them—what say you to this?”

Shōzō thrust his arm from the sleeve of his formal kimono, swept it through the air, struck downward, swung it about—as if his very body writhed with the struggle of how he might unleash the fury in his breast, how he might convey the suffering of the pollution victims. “The clan-dominated government that you gentlemen so detest treats the people of Tohoku with precisely this degree of cruelty.” “Having reduced them to utter helplessness—since a written inquiry has been submitted—they ought to provide a proper response.” “What manner of response could they possibly give?” “Perhaps they might hire scholars and purchase machinery to stop further poisoning from now onward—even mere theoretical discussions would suffice.” “After slaughtering people, now they mean to conduct medical research.” “Could such idiocy exist in this world?” “You would do well to abandon such responses.”

Shōzō roared and slammed the table with a *DON*. He glared, remaining frozen in that posture for a moment, but soon shrugged his broad shoulders and shifted his discourse to the relationship between politics and mining, beginning to recount in meticulous detail the course of events from the twenty-fourth year’s inquiry up to the present day. “The most egregious case occurred in November of Meiji 27 [1894]. During the Sino-Japanese War, around the time of the Battle of Haicheng, soldiers were freezing to death in the cold. At the very time they were protesting insufficient provisions and clothing, conscripts were being dispatched from these affected regions as well. To exploit the absence of conscripts by intimidating and deceiving people of all ages into affixing their seals—no matter how driven by greed for money they may be—it is utterly outrageous that those wretches bearing the title of official would become slaves to Furukawa Ichibē! That these individuals still serve as district officials or whatnot today—if there is no Japanese government, then so be it! But as long as one exists, I believe such scoundrels must face severe punishment…”

When he pressed his appeal here, both upper and lower floors fell utterly silent—a stillness so profound that every face in the hall seemed to hold its breath. Had emotion overwhelmed them all? Shōzō too remained silent for a moment as if overcome by his own feelings, then abruptly straightened his posture and assumed a solemn expression.

“In Niita District, Gunma Prefecture, there exists a place called Kanayama.” “In Tochigi Prefecture stands Mount Karasawa.” “These mountains yield mushrooms in abundance—every autumn His Majesty would honor us with imperial mushroom-gathering visits.” “Yet their foothills harbor mining pollution.” “During His Majesty’s Hokuriku Tour in Meiji 14 [1881], imperial benevolence showered rewards upon widowers, widows, orphans, the childless—even loyal retainers and righteous servants received due recognition.” “Though His Majesty’s virtuous reign has only brightened since then, certain parties now dare guide him to foothills festering with mining toxins.” “What manner of men would presume to orchestrate such visits? Our nation’s subjects remain dutiful—repairing roads, tending lands—yet...” “Not one soul among the people bears ill will toward the Imperial Court.” “But when these guides parade His Majesty before emaciated villagers powerless against the poison—when gaunt faces replace courtly retinues—how can such company maintain decorum?” “Gentlemen! This appeal serves the Imperial Household itself!” “Let Cabinet Ministers henceforth exercise utmost vigilance!” “Mark these words well!”

Midway through his words, Shōzō’s face twisted and his voice grew hoarse. Then suddenly, he covered both eyes with his right hand, bowed his head, and began to sob. For a few minutes, he hung his head, shoulders shaking. Eventually, he took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face, and quietly resumed speaking.

“My initial warning to the government concerning mining pollution was issued in Meiji 24 (1891), as I previously stated—at that time the contaminated area spanned over 1,600 *chōbu* [approx. 1,600 hectares]. Yet they concocted endless pretexts, told threefold lies, and now the devastation has reached over thirty thousand *chōbu*. ...Our interrogation does not arise from any delight in censure. We bring this appeal because the facts compel us. Why have you permitted this to continue unchecked until today? Do you presume yourselves capable of offering any valid response? Or do you imagine that coercing thumbprints through local hoodlums and complicit officials constitutes resolution? Even should they succeed in deceiving every last victim—the state will never sanction such acts! The state must protect its people’s rights without reservation. If the government fails in this duty—we shall assume it ourselves!”

Having concluded his rebuke with heightened intensity, Shōzō next cited constitutional provisions and mining regulations, bringing to a close over two hours of sustained interrogation before declaring, "I sincerely apologize for having imposed upon your time at such length." Shōzō bowed his head on the podium with the reverence of one observing silent prayer, then hastily rearranged his furoshiki-wrapped documents before clutching them to his chest and stepping down from the platform.

A day later, on February 28, Tokyo's first Mining Pollution Incident Rally was held at the Christian Youth Hall in Kanda Midoshichō. At that time, public meetings were almost exclusively political campaign rallies; those addressing social issues remained rare. However, in the affected regions, Shōzō had already frequently organized mining pollution lecture meetings to awaken local farmers. The proposal sought to hold such a meeting in Tokyo to appeal for metropolitan-wide sympathy. The venue was secured free of charge through Niwa Kiyojirō's goodwill. The Nihon, Mainichi, and Yomiuri newspapers each devoted space in their pages to advertise it. On the eve of the event, rumors circulated: "Furukawa plans to send copper miners en masse to sabotage the rally." There were those who spread such whispers. Concerned by this,Yamada Tomojirō hastily mobilized over fifty young volunteers from polluted areas to prepare countermeasures.

On the day itself, before the opening, the first to arrive were alumni and upperclassmen from Kurihara's school—about forty to fifty people including Soejima Yasosuke and Yokoyama Keizō—who took positions directly beneath the podium. Before long, men who appeared to be miners dispatched from Furukawa, along with other rough-looking men aligned with Furukawa’s side, entered in small groups with squared shoulders, and before anyone knew it, they had secured the center of the venue. Then Ichiki Saitarō, who sided with Shōzō, arrived leading fifty or sixty of his stalwart followers and discreetly encircled them, while the young men from the pollution-affected areas dug in firmly at the four corners of the outer perimeter. In the meantime, the general audience gradually crowded in, filling whatever seats they could find on both the upper and lower floors. Groups of two or three vigilant police officers clustered together, their hat visors gleaming and sabers clattering imposingly. Thus, an hour before the scheduled start, even in the speakers’ waiting room, bright remarks like “We’ve got seven hundred people in already” were exchanged. When observing the reporters from each newspaper company who came to the waiting room to exchange name cards, there were faces such as Masuda Yoshikazu, Enjōji Kiyoshi, and Sakai Karegawa among them.

A bit past 1 PM, Kurihara Hikosaburo first stood amid applause and delivered the opening address. At the tender age of nineteen, though his tone carried the cadence of a debating society, he fearlessly ignited condemnation of governmental negligence amid clamorous cheers from allies and jeers from adversaries. Next to take the podium was Takahashi Hidemi. He first declared that Ashio’s mining operations must cease without delay, then appealed that salvation lay in youth imbued with social morality rising up. During last summer’s lecture tour through Kansai, when Shōzō had implored him—“Mr. Takahashi, you are a young champion; lend your strength to relieving mining pollution victims”—his impassioned speech honored that very pledge.

Next was Matsumura Kaiseki. Citing the opium trade and slavery issues, he expounded that the mining pollution crisis too was a humanitarian problem, urging that those with compassionate hearts ought to extend their fullest sympathy—a speech that, while interwoven with humor, spoke truths so profoundly it left a deep impression.

The fourth to take the podium was Tsuda Sen. He coldly ridiculed the officials’ incompetence and irresponsibility, his words growing increasingly scathing despite his composed tone.

The fifth was Tanaka Shōzō. As he explained the mining pollution situation that had grown increasingly severe with each passing year—initially maintaining a metaphor likening it to “a maiden”—Shōzō gradually escalated into denouncing Furukawa, his indignation and outrage intensifying. He took out the document titled *Mining Pollution Damage Arbitration Proposal*—distributed last autumn under the names of Yokoo, Nakayama, and others—and had barely begun reading the first two lines when he cried, “This is deception! “It’s a fraud! “You may deceive ignorant, benighted pollution victims—but you cannot deceive the world!” he shouted, ripping the document to shreds and slamming the pieces onto the floor at his feet. The audience involuntarily raised their voices in an uproar but immediately erupted into a sudden downpour of applause.

The next speaker was Shimada Saburō. “This is not merely a local issue but indeed a grave national problem.” “Yet the fact that it has only now been introduced to the world through the words of Mr. Tanaka Shōzō is truly the height of lamentability.” With a solemn countenance yet crisp articulation, he began his exposition. After establishing that there were valid reasons for having long obstructed public awareness, he meticulously detailed everything from the corruption in local administration to the government’s responsibility, concluding that “Ultimately, this is the crime of politics.” “This is due to the decay of moral integrity among those who administer politics,” he declared in a grand speech that flowed like a meandering river for over an hour. And so it was at the moment when the audience, deeply moved, began to rise from their seats. In a voice like a cracked bell,

“Gentlemen, kindly wait a moment. There are still things I have yet to say.”

As the audience, who had begun to leave, turned back, Shōzō extended both hands from the podium in a gesture beckoning them to return. 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 raise their voices, and pleaded earnestly for them to spare a day from their schedules 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 toughs sent by Furukawa were ultimately unable to act and returned without accomplishing anything.

Chapter Four

In the predawn hours of March 3, the dark sky showed the barest sliver of movement—as if peeling away a single layer of tissue—as the bitter cold seeped into their bones. At Hibiya Parade Grounds (now a park), shadowy figures gathered one cluster after another from nowhere, then collapsed onto the withered grass with heavy thuds, utterly exhausted. The withered grass was covered in frost, and the cold seeped up from beneath their buttocks. But they paid no heed to such discomforts—some lay sprawled out as if dead in slumber, while others silently leaned back-to-back against one another. Among them, there were also those trembling as they bit into frozen rice balls. It was too dark to make out anyone’s face clearly; they appeared either indifferent toward one another as comrades who had reached mutual understanding or utterly devoid of even the energy to show concern for those nearby. By the time the sky paled into dawn and a faint light began to cast upon the outlines of their faces, their numbers had reached about seven hundred.

They were pollution victims who had boarded boats from Furukawa under cover of darkness, descended the Tone River and come down the Edo River. By the time they reached Furukawa, their numbers had exceeded two thousand, but blocked by security forces dispatched from Tatebayashi, Sano, and Furukawa police stations, more than half were forced to turn back. The remaining members exhorted one another to assemble at Hibiya Parade Grounds before dawn that morning and entered the capital in scattered groups while evading watchful eyes.

Their purpose went without saying. In response to Tanaka Shōzō’s questioning in the House of Representatives on the 26th, they had firmly believed the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce would provide a definitive answer. Yet according to newspaper reports, the Ministry would establish an investigative committee and respond only after reviewing its findings. They could not help being shocked by this unexpected turn. What need could there possibly be now for further investigation into a matter debated in parliament for years? They could no longer afford to wait idly. They had no choice but to appear before the Ministry themselves and plead their desperate circumstances. Their resolve had coalesced unexpectedly around this course of action.

When dawn broke, a group of police officers arrived, their swords glinting. Perhaps perceiving some ominous development, they abruptly ordered them to disperse without hearing any explanations. It was a threat that failure to comply would result in punishment under the Assembly and Political Societies Law. They simply selected several representatives as the police instructed and withdrew from the scene with an unsettling docility.

The representatives divided into several groups 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 Houses of Peers and Representatives. Furukawa, alarmed by Tanaka Shōzō’s parliamentary address, had British Envoy Satow pressure the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce under the pretext that mine closure would halt copper exports to Britain. Amid these spreading rumors, some went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to verify them.

Meanwhile, from around ten in the morning, they began gathering within the grounds of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce in small groups—some wearing straw raincoats and hats, others draped in blue or red blankets, still others carrying straw mats on their backs—their steps weary as they arrived.

The pollution victims driven out of Hibiya Parade Grounds had nowhere to settle. Having wandered aimlessly through the city with no destination, drawn by something latent within them, their feet turned toward the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce as if returning home. Prominent members took turns one after another, each presenting their name cards to request a meeting with the Minister. Even when told he was absent, they remained impassive, showing no sign of readily leaving. A group of police officers arrived and once again ordered them to disperse. But this time, they neither resisted whatever was said to them nor complied with the orders. Their silence, which had seemed merely obstinate that morning, had now transformed into one charged with extraordinary resolve. If a policeman tried to take their arm and pull them out, they would plop down onto the ground. If a policeman shouted at them, they would glare back with the whites of their eyes showing. Every last one of them stood their ground with a stubborn resolve, as though transformed into entirely different people. Even as they did so, their numbers swelled from behind, one after another. By around 1:00 p.m., their numbers had reached 350, spilling beyond the grounds and beginning to block the road in front of the gate.

Prior to this, Enomoto had resolved to set a specific day to hear statements from the delegation of affected areas who frequently sought meetings. Therefore, he had ordered yesterday that notification be given for a meeting at the official residence at 10 a.m. on the 3rd. That morning, he waited for them as promised. However, due to some miscommunication in the interim, not a single committee member ultimately appeared. Having waited in vain, Enomoto headed to his office, but upon seeing both the ministry building's front gate and courtyard filled with throngs of farmers, he perceived the gravity of the situation, summoned Secretary Hayakawa, and ordered 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 Yūnoshosuke, Fukuyoshi Kazuzō, Ōta Jūshirō, Hara Kinjirō, Teshima Isematsu, Mugakura Iwajirō, Noguchi Haruzō, and others were shown to the reception room still wearing their straw sandals. Eventually, they returned to their group, climbed onto the garden stones at the carriage turnaround, and each in turn reported the full account 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 10 a.m. the day after tomorrow.

“Given this situation, what should we do?” Having posed this question, they collectively deliberated their next course of action. “The Minister claims he’s overwhelmed with official duties, but didn’t we abandon all our responsibilities to come here?” This declaration from someone in the crowd sparked a surge of voices. “Are they ordering us to sleep rough here until then?”

“The wives and children we left behind will starve to death. How can we keep sitting here so carefree?” “Everyone’s starving. Make the office give us lunch!” “Going back now means starving anyway. It’s all the same where we die. Don’t budge an inch from this spot till we meet the Minister!” When the representatives reluctantly conveyed this, the secretary’s reply came thus:

“The official closing time is 4:00 p.m. Until then, you may stay as you wish. But after that hour, remaining on the premises will absolutely not be permitted. If you still refuse to leave by then, we will have no choice but to use public force. The notion of preparing lunch for you is utterly unthinkable.”

When the representatives relayed this verbatim, the entire group erupted in furious uproar. Even those who had been sitting cross-legged on the gravel with pipes clenched in their mouths stood up and began hurling curses one after another. Fatigue and hunger intensified their anger, making it even more ferocious. A murderous tension filled the air—one misstep away from plunging them into unimaginable chaos. The police gradually swelled in number, with over a dozen reinforcements arriving from the Metropolitan Police Department until they barely managed to hold the line at the brink of crisis. The afternoon sunlight, which had been warm with a hint of spring earlier, faded as shadows of dead trees cast upon people’s backs grew bleak. Yet even as time passed, not a single person showed any sign of leaving, and between the police and representatives, a relentless back-and-forth argument continued without cease. “What on earth do you all intend to do?” “The Minister will meet you on the fifth—no need to dig in your heels like this.” “You can’t even camp out in a place like this.”

The police officers too looked utterly at a loss. “No, we came here prepared to die. Of course we have no funds for travel expenses—even if we left this place now, there’d be nowhere for us to stay. We’ve resigned ourselves to spending the night right here like this. Though it must be rather trying for you all too—having to camp out alongside us.”

When one person said this in a sarcastic tone, another spoke up: “The day after tomorrow, the Minister will definitely meet with us—the Minister himself will answer our questions. Can you get us some kind of written proof of that?” “If you can produce such solid proof, depending on how it looks, we might not refuse to leave.” “That’s impossible.” “Low-ranking officers like us can’t get that sort of certification from the Minister.” The policeman’s face remained stubbornly impassive—earnest and self-righteous to the core.

“What of it?” “If there were another place for you all to stay, would you withdraw?” “If you put it that way, we have no choice.” The representatives exchanged meaningful nods. “We’ll endure any lodging that shelters us from the night dew.” “But make no mistake—this doesn’t mean we’ve retreated an inch from our stance.” “Our spirits remain rooted here regardless.” “This is merely borrowing shelter elsewhere for one night.” “Do not misinterpret this concession.”

Compelled to go consult at the main station, the representatives left the group behind and accompanied them to Kyōbashi Police Station. As night mist began gathering in the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce's garden while they waited impatiently for their representatives' return, a police officer came before them and announced: "We've arranged lodgings for you at Tsukiji Honganji Temple. Go there immediately." "This was decided after consulting your representatives." "No! Don't be fooled by such lies!" "Do not move from this spot until our representatives return!"

Some shouted such things. In the end, about a hundred stubbornly remained behind, but with the cold, hunger, and the unease of their reduced numbers compounding their distress, they too eventually left the gates of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.

When the group arrived at Tsukiji Honganji Temple, they discovered a stark divergence from the temple’s stated position. While permitting temporary assemblies under police oversight posed no issue, housing a large contingent overnight was firmly refused. The officers rescinded their prior assurances, demanding dispersal due to unavoidable circumstances. “Were we deceived?” cried some. “Had we known this,” others lamented, “we should never have withdrawn from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.” Amid these outcries rose visceral shouts of “Gods, I’m starving!”—raw hunger piercing through the collective despair.

Tochigi Prefectural Assembly member Sekiguchi Chūtarō arrived. Gunma Prefectural Assembly members Arako Takasaburō and Ōtsuka Genjūrō, who had taken the representatives to petition the Ministry of Finance, also returned. In addition, several village heads who had previously left the capital also hurried to the scene. After repeated negotiations with the temple, all the tatami mats in the main hall were removed, and the group was permitted to lie down on the floorboards while still wearing 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 rows with their heads aligned and legs crossed, was not unlike tuna laid out at a fish market. The sight, reminiscent of a ship’s hold battered by a storm, presented a scene of utter desolation under the faint flicker of dim lamplight. Perhaps it was the relief of no longer fearing forced dispersal that brought their exhaustion to the surface—few spoke, and from all around, intermittent snores began escaping.

At that moment, once again, the rough sound of boots and the clatter of swords rang out as forcible intruders roused the sleeping group. As they rubbed their eyes, sneezed, and reluctantly raised their bodies, a bearded man who had assumed an even more imposing demeanor began his admonitions. It was Fujisaki, the Kyōbashi Police Station Chief. Moreover, for them, it was nothing but phrases they had been subjected to hearing since morning to the point of weariness. Hara Yatarō, Yamada Tomojirō, and Nagashima Yohachi could no longer endure it and rose to their feet, seething with anger.

“We’re well aware our actions are deemed unconstitutional—no need to lecture us about that,” they countered. “As you say, we’ve submitted written petitions countless times.” “This isn’t some trivial matter you can opine on blindly,” their voices sharpened. “The county office acts unconstitutionally. The prefectural office. The Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce!” “A mass delegation can’t meet the Minister at once,” Fujisaki retorted. “I know that too. Meetings will be handled through representatives. But until those results materialize, none of you are returning home.”

The three men raised their voices in unison and began protesting vehemently. Then Fujisaki ordered his subordinates to detain them and withdrew, taking them away. At the police station too, they were subjected to a stern lecture—harsh in wording but hollow in substance. Yet these were not men who would sit forever with hands on knees listening reverently. With grave expressions, they kept earnestly conveying the actual conditions of the afflicted regions. The police chief who was meant to admonish them instead found himself forced into the listener’s role. Fujisaki had no choice but to release them as they were. When the three returned to Honganji Temple, most had stayed awake waiting. The group had gathered their resolve and unanimously agreed—should the three be detained without returning, they would storm the police station together. They immediately began deliberating their next steps for tomorrow, but with opinions clashing endlessly and discussions dragging on, it stretched past midnight.

The next morning, the nursery in Uchisaiwaicho that served as lodging for prefectural assembly members became severely congested with pollution victims entering and leaving. In the afternoon, they finally resolved to incorporate Shōzō and others' opinions, appoint representatives from each village, and have the remainder temporarily begin their journey back to their villages. Fifty-one representatives were joined by five members: Gunma Prefectural Assembly members Arako Takasaburō, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, and Iizuka Harutarō, along with Tochigi Prefectural Assembly members Sekiguchi Chūtarō and Fujisawa Tomojirō. With a meeting for those who had submitted mining pollution inquiries and their supporters scheduled to be held that evening at the Kaika-tei in Kyōbashi, Shōzō rushed there by rickshaw from the nursery.

On the 5th, they gathered shortly before ten o'clock inside the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. When all representatives had assembled, each submitted their name card. That day too, officers from Kyobashi Police Station stood guard with imposing formality. As the group passed through the entrance, each had their pockets searched. They scowled darkly or forced wry smiles, submitting to the inspections without protest. Shown upstairs to the conference room, they took seats arranged in five rows. When footsteps and chair-scraping noises subsided, an uncanny silence descended—their exchanges naturally dwindling to whispers. Outside, wind rattled window frames intermittently. Branches of a dark oak-like tree swayed into view. In the distance, gull-like birds occasionally appeared—wings arching mid-hover—their suspended forms an unfamiliar sight to these observers. After nearly thirty minutes of waiting, footsteps echoed in the corridor. The instantly recognizable Minister entered with attendants in tow. The assembly rose to greet him. Among delegates, some stared fixedly at those sharp eyes beneath a broad forehead and the peculiar beard tufts sprouting from both cheeks—wondering if this was indeed the valiant commander who had barricaded himself in Hakodate's Goryōkaku Fortress during early Meiji.

Enomoto took his seat in the armchair that had been set up on a raised platform. Seated in the lower-tier chairs were Secretary Official Hayakawa, Mining Bureau Director Yamauchi, Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce Engineer Hosoi, and others. First, the Mining Bureau Chief delivered his greetings and cautioned that, as the Minister had specially taken time from his busy schedule to meet them, they should present only the key points from as few individuals as possible. At that moment, one of the representatives suddenly stood up, “While it may seem that our number of fifty-six is large, the scope of mining pollution is exceedingly widespread, and the state of damage differs from village to village.” “We must humbly request that each of us be allowed to petition individually; otherwise, we fear you will not fully comprehend the actual conditions in the affected areas.”

“Very well. Let us proceed to hear from each of you starting from the front, in order.”

The Mining Bureau Chief answered with a reluctant expression. Then, the Minister slowly opened his mouth. “Today, rather than hearing from many people, I shall listen to your accounts. Speak without reservation and explain your situation fully,” he added with unexpected understanding. First, after Arako and Sekiguchi had outlined the general situation, the representatives began standing up one by one to describe their villages’ dire circumstances. Those who had initially been stiff and halting in their speech—perhaps driven by desperate resolve to seize this moment—found themselves transformed into unexpectedly eloquent advocates. “In the past, crops grew so abundantly that locals doubted the need for mulberry trees,” one explained his village’s agricultural decline. “But now, with no strength left for fertilizing fields, we neglect rice paddies and cling to sericulture for meager income.” “Even those mulberry fields demand care four or five times a year,” another continued. “The trees lack vigor—their cocoons form poor silk coatings, yielding half what they once did.” A third representative stood: “We know fertilizer is useless against mining poison, yet still we scrape together coins yearly to buy it—such is a farmer’s sorrow.” “In my village,” said another, “houses, storehouses, forests—all gradually pass into others’ hands. Only debts multiply.” “Since last year’s great flood,” a voice concluded, “half our households have vanished. Here, collapsed homes linger in wooded shadows; there, lone wells mark where dwellings once stood.” Thus they painted their villages’ ruin.

Matsumoto Eiichi of Ebise Village—one of the most severely affected areas—spoke in detail about the villagers’ destitution, “In my village, there’s a man named Sugimoto Katsuzō who used to own over two chō of rice fields. But driven to despair by having nothing left to eat, he lost his mind four years ago. Now he wanders the area every single day, muttering, ‘Nothing grows... nothing grows at all.’” “Even more heartbreaking is that malnutrition leaves mothers unable to produce breast milk, so all the nursing infants in the village have become emaciated.” “That’s why child abandonments keep increasing.” “Even at my own home—over these past two years—we’ve found three infants abandoned by our gate. We took them in and raised them, but…”

Matsumoto covered his face mid-sentence and sat down.

Next, Moro Heikichi of Sakai Village stood up and described the dire conditions within the village, which Harunozo Noguchi supplemented by saying, “Ebise and my Sakai Village—if likened to a patient, we are in critical condition, not knowing when death may come,” his voice catching. “The number of deaths in the 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 quintupled.” “Whose sin is this ultimately?” “Every last one of these sturdy adults suffers stomach ailments.” “They develop stomach ailments without proper nourishment.” “Eye diseases have also proliferated since the flood ten years ago.” “In the Takayama district of Mr. Moro’s village that you mentioned, those with sound eyesight can be counted on one hand.” “The moment you enter the village, sightless people greet you everywhere.” “An elderly woman from the Kurota Sandozō household—seventy years old—weaves lime straw bags with clouded eyes.” “Weaving ten bales earns four sen or four sen five rin. Since our village’s straw proves useless, we must purchase straw elsewhere to weave.” “After deducting straw costs, it amounts to almost nothing.” “Yet thinking it might sustain their lives, they drive their aged limbs to work.” “If someone lives on, they become that much more burdensome to their children.” “Old folk should die—but they can’t just up and die.” “When I see her say this, tears spilling from sightless eyes...”

Noguchi’s voice suddenly thickened with tears, and for a time, he could not continue speaking. From the seats of delegates on both sides leaked the sound of sniffling.

“The devastation encompasses entire villages—every stretch of the Watarase River’s banks.” “Those with meager holdings suffer harm precisely because they’re small; those with substantial assets suffer because they’re large.” “My friend’s family shares this fate—the multiplying abandoned homes in our village are no distant tragedy.” “Tomorrow’s calamity will surely befall us all. We pollution victims, bound together, can only sink deeper each day into this inescapable mire.” “A Tokyo beggar may cling to sleeves and beg mercy, but we who remember pre-poisoned lands and never left our soil—even in ruin, have nowhere to turn.” “Our only choice: declare to ourselves—starvation or frozen death. Such becomes our existence.” “Is this truly the fate we must accept…?”

Noguchi kept pleading while wiping tears with his calloused hands. To either side, every last person pulled at kimono sleeves or pressed handkerchiefs to their eyes. Some choked back sobs, faces bowed beyond lifting. When one looked up at the podium, Enomoto too had tears shining in his eyes. Whether clouds had dimmed the sun, that pallid winter light through the windows now cast faint silhouettes upon limbs varied yet uniformly bleak - figures beyond redemption alike in their gloom.

Once the statements and petitions had run their course, Enomoto surveyed the assembly with a gaze that seemed unable to bear its own pity,

“Having heard your accounts, I have come to understand in detail the circumstances of the affected areas.” “To you who endure these dire straits and to your brethren, I truly cannot help but sympathize.” “However, regarding what you term ‘mine closure’—from my position as a responsible minister—hearing your petition does not permit an immediate decision.” “Even were mining halted, the poisoned land would not immediately recover. Moreover, the government has already dedicated itself entirely to researching pollution mitigation measures.” “Furthermore, petitions against closure have been submitted by those who would lose their livelihoods the very day operations ceased.” “We must also consider its status as a major mine in the Orient—circumstances making suspension no light matter.” “Yet I acknowledge the extensive damage.” “Precisely because of this acknowledgment, we diligently pursue countermeasures. Should elimination of harm prove impossible, we will have no choice but to halt operations.” “This resolution I have already made.” “But I cannot declare it plainly here today.”

Upon hearing this, the delegates realized they had been steeping themselves in the tragic solemnity of recounting their dire circumstances. They felt as though they had received a sincere answer from the Minister, yet also felt that the man who had just been weeping with them moments earlier had become a completely different person.

The people fell deathly silent, with only the ticking of the wall clock audible, but then Nagashima Yohachi, regaining his senses, suddenly raised his head,

“If Your Excellency maintains this position, we earnestly entreat you to order mining operations suspended until such time as complete pollution mitigation measures are enacted.”

Then, Enomoto immediately responded, “In any case—as I previously stated—since we are currently investigating pollution mitigation measures, we cannot readily give an immediate decision regarding a suspension order.” “However, having now heard firsthand about these circumstances, I will by no means treat this matter lightly.” “I will implement appropriate measures with all possible speed.” “Gentlemen, I must ask you to place your trust in the government.” “Moreover, you may visit this ministry however many times necessary going forward to press your claims.” “This presents no inconvenience whatsoever.” “For my part, I intend to meet with you gentlemen as frequently as circumstances allow.”

“Your Excellency acknowledged earlier that the damage is extensive; however, if I may say so, I believe your inability to decide on suspending mining operations stems from not having personally witnessed the actual conditions in the affected areas.” “Nevertheless, with a hundred thousand people suffering in misery and despair, Your Excellency’s refusal to conduct an inspection tour can only be seen as heartless neglect.”

Noguchi declared resolutely. Enomoto cast a grave gaze.

“I understand.” “As for conducting an inspection tour—it is not that I have failed to consider it.”

“Well, that’s all for today—” When he cut off his words, Enomoto gave a slight bow, stepped down from the podium, and began walking toward the door. The secretary hurriedly ran over and opened the door, and the Mining Bureau Chief—followed by others—disappeared into the corridor. The delegates left behind also regained their senses and wordlessly rose from their chairs.

The clock on the wall pointed to 1:40. A lingering trace of dissatisfaction remained in every chest. But their faces showed they were straining to cling to a shred of hope—that the Minister had listened to their appeal.

As they straggled out through the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce's gate, a crowd sat hunched along the street before the entrance, their bluish-black emaciated faces exposed to the pallid sunlight. These were villagers who had postponed returning home and gathered here, anxious about today's meeting outcome. The delegates found themselves encircled on the spot as they relayed details of the discussion. Across the listeners' faces flickered a faint loosening of furrowed brows.

Chapter Five

The circumstances surrounding numerous pollution victims who had traveled to the capital in early March to petition were reported over several days by various newspapers in the capital region, drawing some public attention to this issue. This presented a golden opportunity to reveal the truth and gain sympathy from educated citizens. As Tsuda and Matsumura wanted to hold a second rally while these reports remained fresh in memory, they had young activists work tirelessly—resulting in Central Hall in Hongō being secured for an event on March 6.

The order of speakers was set as Takahashi Hidemi, Fukuda Mataichi, Sudō Kōsaku, Matsumura Kaiseki, Tsuda Sen, and Garsuto (the American single-tax advocate Tarō), with Shōzō concluding the event. The audience overflowed the hall, and each speaker delivered impassioned arguments in their signature styles until the final turn came—but Shōzō was nowhere to be seen in the waiting room. The audience grew restless and began stirring. When an anxious staff member called his inn, they received the reply: “Since today’s speech is crucial, I intended to rest my mind with a nap but overslept.” “I’ll come at once,” came the response. Everyone in the waiting room was startled. Yet recalling Shōzō’s habitual eccentricity, they felt compassion—attributing this lapse to exhaustion. Still, they had to keep the audience from leaving. Yamada stood and declared, “Gentlemen, Mr. Tanaka has been unavoidably detained but will arrive shortly.” “Until then, allow me to brief you,” he began reciting from the damage report. The audience soon grew bored and started rising from their seats en masse. It was when the crowd pushed through the doors and flooded the rain-dampened streets that— From afar, a two-man rickshaw came racing closer, its passenger spreading his black-crested sleeves like kite wings,

“Gentlemen, wait! Please wait! There’s something I want you to hear!”

The people 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 blazing oration from the very start, dissecting every facet of the issue with unbridled fervor. The audience’s emotion ran unusually deep, and here and there, figures could be seen wiping away tears.

On March 7, representatives of pollution victims from Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, and Saitama prefectures collaborated to establish the Ashio Copper Mine Closure Petition Alliance office at the Shinano-ya Inn in Shibaguchi 3-chome and agreed to unify their efforts henceforth.

Around this time, the people who had finally begun mobilizing around Tsuda and Matsumura formed an organization to actively support Shōzō as a separate contingent of the movement, and the first consultation meeting was held in the discussion room of the Christian Youth Hall. Those who gathered were Tsuda Sen, Matsumura Kaiseki, Ichiki Saitarō, Yamaguchi Danjō, Tarui Tōkichi, Inagaki Shimesu, Takahashi Hidemi, and Tanaka Shōzō. At the meeting, Ichiki first proposed that organizing a socially influential group to resolve the mining pollution crisis was an urgent necessity. Needless to say, no one objected to this; however, as they exchanged various opinions, Matsumura argued that their movement should not limit itself solely to the mining pollution crisis but should establish a principle of extending efforts to other social issues once this was resolved—a position Tsuda immediately endorsed. As a result, they resolved to pursue their efforts under the dual ideals of preventing destabilization of the nation’s foundation and protecting and promoting the happiness of the majority of its people. The organization was named the Kyōdō Shinwakai (Cooperative Harmony Society), preparatory committee members were appointed, and thus they largely concluded the day’s essential discussions.

Before long, a fresh pot of bancha tea was brought in, and they drifted into casual conversation when, with Shōzō present, the topic turned to his usual conduct—and since the foundational ideology behind it was something uniquely different from any of theirs, someone proposed that they should assign a name to it then and there. Shōzō himself, wearing a perplexed expression, cut them off, "Oh, as you well know, I'm uneducated and have no thoughts shaped through academic study or anything of the sort—there's no need to assign a name." "What I have is simply the natural disposition and sentiments forged by over a thousand years of my hometown's history—nothing so formal as to be solemnly labeled an 'ideology' or such."

“Setting aside questions of value, while serving as the standard for your words and deeds, it exerts considerable influence on others as an expression of your character.” “If that is so, then even if you yourself have no need for it, assigning a name would still serve a purpose.”

When Matsumura tried to persuade him, Shōzō answered in a feigned innocent tone.

“But even what I believe today may change if I hear a more convincing theory tomorrow.” “Then even if you go to the trouble of bestowing a name, it’ll immediately cease to align…”

It was not that he lacked confidence in what he believed in. Shōzō had always maintained a mindset of listening attentively to others' arguments with genuine humility; he simply disliked being bound by labels of this or that -ism. "I greatly admire that aspect of Mr. Tanaka," interjected Tsuda. "The noble sentiment of constantly cultivating oneself, researching, and striving toward progress." "Of course, people's thoughts should change—with each change comes progress and development—but things like one's fundamental character or the innate spirit flowing through their blood do not change."

“Yes.” “Yes. Exactly.” “My understanding of the nation has not changed by so much as a hair’s breadth from my youth to this very day.” “...In that case, I would ask you gentlemen to devise a suitable name.”

Thereupon, the people seated together each scratched their heads and proposed names they deemed appropriate. Matsumura argued that Imperial Loyalist Socialism was appropriate, while Tsuda contended that Patriotic Commoner Doctrine was suitable. Takahashi insisted it should be called Patriotic Populism. There was a sense that each proposed name reflected its proposer’s intellectual orientation. But Shōzō felt only an awkward ticklishness, as if being groped by blindfolded hands—never quite reaching the heart of the matter. Tarui compiled these into a long-winded name: Patriotic Imperial Loyalist Social Populism. Shōzō remained silent, still looking dissatisfied. Then Ichiki, as if gauging Shōzō’s thoughts,

“Including the character for ‘society’ is unacceptable.” “There’s a risk it might be mistaken for some form of socialism.” “But the term ‘society’ isn’t exclusively reserved for socialism.” “Socialism and social policy are distinct concepts—especially given our emphasis on imperial loyalty, no one should conflate this with subversive ideologies.”

Matsumura adhered to his own argument, and Ichiki countered again,

“In any case, a socialist-sounding name is no good.” “I think State Subject Doctrine is best.” “This is what I believe.” Shōzō opened his lips as though he could no longer contain himself. “My 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, this is what I believe.” “Fundamentally, our nation was formed simultaneously by this land, the Imperial Household, and the people—where the land serves as Japan’s bones, and the people are its flesh and blood.” “The Imperial Household is both the brain and the heart.” “These three cannot be separated.” “Thus, our people’s social organization takes the family as its unit, but we live as one large family with the Imperial Household as our collective great parent.” “Just as our hearts return to our families when touched by events, so too do they always return to our great parent, the Imperial Household.” “The Imperial Household is the center point of a great circle; those who depart from this are but lost children.” “You utter fools who cannot comprehend our nation’s social organization!”

“In essence, we should manifest that spirit through nomenclature—but ‘Imperial Household-Centered Doctrine’ risks becoming mere boilerplate rhetoric for scholars who distort learning to curry favor with the times...”

Matsumura tilted his head. Shōzō, too, wore an expression that still seemed to have more to say. “When the Emperor stands before the imperial ancestral deities, He occupies the same position as us mortals. This point holds profound significance, for I believe it manifests the national faith of our people, who have since ancient times believed in the unity of gods and mortals. It is in this belief and ancestor worship that I believe the foundation of our nation’s morality lies. When we speak of abandoning ourselves completely, it is not merely discarding our bodies—it means repaying with heart and soul the parents who gave us life. One returns oneself, and oneself returns. That which gave birth to oneself is one’s biological parents, the homeland, and the gods. Therefore, my resolve to never shirk sacrificial service lies precisely there—the fundamental qualification of being a citizen of this nation. No matter how much learning one may possess or wealth one may hold, those who pursue their own interests to the extent of disregarding national welfare and harming their fellow citizens’ happiness are pitiable beasts unworthy of being called citizens of this nation.”

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

“Imperial Household-Centered Ancestral National Populism—this should satisfy you.” “It includes the bones，flesh，and heart of Japan that you speak of.” Shōzō groaned “Hmm...” and， He muttered “Imperial Household-Centered Ancestral National Populism” repeatedly， “This is excellent!” “No—truly，I’m grateful.” “I’ve taken a liking to it...”

His eyes shone with innocent delight. Yet this was merely situational enthusiasm—Shōzō, who inherently detested constraints himself, had never intended to impose his doctrines upon others. He had long taught that Japan's popular ideology originated in its ancient founding era. The gravest crime in antiquity was agricultural sabotage, as recorded in the Nihon Shoki through the concept of Eight Heavenly Crimes. The Rock-Cave Retreat myth represented divine retribution against Susanoo-no-Mikoto for these transgressions, while the council of eight million gods at the Plain of High Heaven exemplified the manifestation of popular consensus. This proved that even then, both impoverished and affluent deities held equal speaking rights. Shōzō's rationale for rooting popular thought in national founding principles apparently derived from such historical foundations.

Shōzō had once read a translation of Rousseau’s *The Social Contract* in the mountains of Esashi. He had also been deeply influenced by democratic ideals instilled through Numata Morikazu and the Ōmeisha faction, with which he strongly resonated. Yet he had joined the civil rights movement armed with his own interpretations and convictions. As translated notions of liberty and equality—the era’s prevailing intellectual currents—gradually moderated in public discourse, Shōzō worked to assimilate them with Japan’s indigenous popular thought rooted in its founding ethos. From an awareness of the “individual,” he derived a “sense of responsibility”; through exhaustive pursuit of “freedom,” he attained “self-restraint.” “Equality” transformed into “fraternal love,” while “rights” evolved into “respect for personhood.” To these he wedded Shinto’s principles of innocence and purity, thereby imbuing this popular philosophy 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 sent to comrades in his hometown: “How grateful! Oh, how grateful! The Emperor bestows boundless treasure upon the people.”

Shōzō believed that through the establishment of the constitution and inauguration of the parliament following the Meiji Restoration, the founding spirit of joint rule by sovereign and people would be fully manifested in the political system. Therefore, against the Satsuma-Chōshū clique—who hid within the sleeves of the imperial robe to gratify their lusts for power and fame, ignored the constitution, and trampled on the people’s rights—he rose in fierce opposition.

On March 13, the Progressive Party held a representatives' meeting. Beginning at four o'clock in the afternoon at Yanagiya by Gofukubashi Bridge, over fifty individuals convened—including House of Peers member Komura Eizaburō; House of Representatives members Nakajima Yūhachi, Arai Keigorō, Kogure Budayū, and Tanaka Shōzō; Tochigi Prefectural Assembly member Sekiguchi Chūtarō; Gunma Prefectural Assembly member Arakawa Otozaburō; six others; representative lawyers for pollution victims; and journalists. Until now, politicians from the afflicted regions—who had largely maintained a bystander attitude toward what they perceived as Shōzō's solitary issue—found themselves unable to remain indifferent as public opinion began shifting. At this gathering was formed the Ashio Copper Mine Closure Realization Alliance.

It was around this time that Itō Shōichi and others issued a lengthy manifesto titled "Appealing to the Righteous Patriots of the Land." The text contained these words: "The impoverished good citizens, having nowhere to appeal their misfortunes, wept until their voices choked with sorrow—lamenting to heaven and earth, day and night their sleeves never dried." The Cooperative Harmony Society also sent out a document titled "Proclaiming to the Righteous Patriots of the Land" to various sectors. “Is there no Sakura Sōgorō in the Meiji realm? No Ōshio Heihachirō under the Meiji heavens? Why does no one step forth to shoulder this duty!”—the tone grew ever more grief-stricken and indignant.

Thus, as the movement outside the Diet gained concrete expansion—on one hand appealing to public opinion while on the other creating a growing momentum to pressure politicians and government authorities—Shōzō resolved to persist with desperate efforts within the assembly. On March 15, Shōzō pressed the government to respond to the questions he had raised on the 26th of the previous month. It was a day of drizzling spring rain; in the dim, smoke-hazed assembly hall, the faces of diet members were sparse. However, as soon as the chairperson concluded the proceedings report, Shōzō fixed his gaze on Vice-Minister Kaneko of Agriculture and Commerce and demanded to speak.

“To this day, there has been no response.” “No doubt after seeing our written inquiry, you panicked and scrambled to investigate everywhere—or so you claim.” “Officials who idle away their days will always be thus.” “There is absolutely no possibility of a satisfactory answer.” “If you cannot give a proper response, have it done swiftly!” “We must press our questions repeatedly.” Shōzō struck the desk with his seat marker, eyes blazing as he shouted with barely contained fury. His voice echoed hollowly through the suffocating gloom of the assembly hall. Before the echoes faded, the Vice-Minister had already fled in disarray.

On this day, the Mainichi Shimbun reported that Tani Kanjō would soon inspect the affected areas. Shōzō knew members of the Cooperative Harmony Society were lobbying peers in the House of Lords under Tsuda Sen’s direction. Yet he had nearly abandoned hope of swaying Tani—a task he considered nearly impossible. Beyond his military fame from the Kumamoto Siege, Tani commanded respect through his principled conduct in office and carried authority in the House of Peers as an unbending orator. Tani’s position should have profoundly influenced resolving the mining pollution crisis. This was why Shōzō had earlier sought a private audience, only to be rebuffed as anticipated. Another attempt—mediated by Taguchi Uikichi—ended in shouted arguments after perfunctory greetings. Tani’s view of Shōzō as a charlatan stemmed from Furukawa’s propaganda, while Shōzō concluded Tani was obstinate beyond measure.

“At any rate, I’m grateful General Tani will go inspect.” “The General is a principled man of both compassion and integrity.” “He could never witness it and stay silent.” That night, Shōzō returned to his lodgings, was shown the newspaper, and slapped his knee in delight. A day later, on the 17th, when deliberations on the Tariff Rate Bill concluded in the House of Representatives, Shōzō again suddenly shouted “Number thirty-five!” and sprang upright from his seat.

“The other day, when I pressed the Vice-Minister, who was present, as to why he had not responded to this day, he retreated without giving any answer. Given this situation, even if they were to present their response in the assembly, they might resort to the cunning tactic of doing so when Number Thirty-Five is absent—so be warned—for while it is true that responses may sometimes require advance scheduling of dates, they must adhere to moral principles and provide their answer when the person in question is present.”

Vice-Minister Kaneko of Agriculture and Commerce responded to this, “Having read the stenographic record of your questioning speech on the 26th, I too was deeply impressed by its fervor.” “We are by no means being negligent.” “As we are currently negotiating with the Home Ministry, I believe the answer will likely proceed around tomorrow.” “No delaying with ‘tomorrow’ or ‘the day after tomorrow’—that won’t do!” “If it’s tomorrow, then let it be tomorrow; if it’s the day after tomorrow, then let it be the day after tomorrow—I want this properly settled.” “At that time, the Minister should also be present.” “Merely consulting the stenographic record will not suffice.” “The stenographic record cannot be viewed unless it is the next day.” “There seems to be a tendency to exploit Number Thirty-Five’s absence, so I am ascertaining this in advance.”

On the following day, the 18th, many members were absent from the House of Representatives, as its important agenda items had already been concluded.

Shōzō was also absent and remained at his lodgings. However, as dusk approached, in that assembly hall where no government commissioners attended and only a handful of legislators remained, the government's written response was submitted. Despite the Vice-Minister of Agriculture and Commerce having so emphatically declared in the assembly hall the previous day, this approach appeared calculated to exploit Shōzō’s absence.

The content of the response document was merely an attempt to evade pursuit of the questions, containing not a trace of sincerity. It stated that they had "contracted with mining operators to entirely refrain from so-called administrative or judicial measures, thereby concluding the matter," and that "should future circumstances require ad hoc consultations or the establishment of separate agreements—or if civil law provides its own avenues for redress—there would be no alternative but to rely on these," thus evading the government’s own responsibility. It further claimed that "whether the extent of damage indeed meets the criteria under Article 19 of the Mining Ordinance cannot be hastily asserted until sufficient time has passed to confirm the efficacy of preventive measures," merely listing such elegant yet empty phrases. On March 19, Sekiguchi Tadaitarō, Yamaguchi Zenbeijutsu, Ōtsuka Genjūrō, Yamada Tomojirō, and others, acting under Shōzō’s direction, visited Tani Kanjō at the House of Peers and confirmed arrangements for inspecting the affected areas.

“I’ll depart on the first train tomorrow—arrange the guide. I will absolutely go. A bit of rain or snow won’t stop me.” Having secured this commitment, the entire group joyfully returned to their office, whereupon Sekiguchi, Yamada, and others departed for the site to prepare for welcoming arrangements in the affected areas. On March 20, when the party of Tani Kanjō, a certain retainer from his household, Tsuda Sen, and Takahashi Hidemi departed Ueno at 5:00 AM and alighted at Tomita Station, they found local figures—including Sekiguchi Tadaitarō, Murayama Han, Tatenuma Jōkichi, and Tsukui Hikoshichi—alongside approximately three thousand pollution victims led by Yamada Tomojirō, Iwasaki Sajū, and Noguchi Haruzō waiting to greet them at the stationfront.

The party formed a procession of rickshaws and proceeded toward Kawasaki in Keno Village. When they crossed the Onagawa River and came into view of Okuto Village’s settlement, the full severity of the damage at last lay starkly before their eyes. Tani alighted from his rickshaw and listened intently to their explanations. “This Okuto area is where last year’s flood saw the embankment collapse like a saw’s teeth,” Noguchi explained. Niwata gestured toward the toxic mounds and lamented, “Even when we labor to cultivate these fields, toxic sand scatters down with every windstorm—when rains come, poisoned water flows through them. This is our reality.” Then from beside them, Iwasaki displayed a withered rice stalk he had uprooted from the field, picking apart its rotted husks with his fingernails to demonstrate.

As they emerged near the Watarase River from there, everything that met the eye bore witness to the devastation. The mulberry trunks bore black spots, their bark cracked and fissured. When a hand grasped a branch, it snapped off effortlessly with a dry crack. Even the deutzia and willow branches along the ridges showed no signs of budding. Soon, they approached a vast thicket of moso bamboo that had faded to a pale brown and was on the verge of withering near the embankment. Tani got down from the rickshaw again. Two or three young men, including Sakurai, placed their hands on the bamboo trunks before Tani’s eyes, shook them two or three times, and with a heave, effortlessly pulled out bamboo stalks measuring three inches in diameter.

"There are only this many roots." "This bamboo sprouted last year." "Bamboo shoots do sprout even amidst the poison because they're encased in husks." "But as they pierce through those husks to grow outward—when they should be spreading lateral roots—the poison makes them stay shriveled like this, still wrapped tight." "I'm from Azuma Village down below here, and every bamboo grove there looks just the same." When Niwata thrust forward the bamboo roots to show them, Iwasaki spoke up from beside him,

“Since there are no lateral roots spreading out, even a moderately strong wind will knock them over sideways, as you can see there.” In the direction they pointed, a corner of the bamboo grove appeared to have been cruelly felled. “Bamboo was originally planted along the embankments in this area.” “Because these groves have been withering year after year like this, the embankment roots weakened—that’s why last year’s floods collapsed dikes in multiple places.” Tani listened to the explanations with a grim face, his eyes occasionally glinting as he fixed his gaze on the speaker.

When he next moved to stand atop the embankment, the sight of toxic mound clusters scattered near and far across the fields stretching under thin cloud cover—their forms utterly pitiless—resembled a foreign graveyard. "There's not a blade of green grass in sight." Tani uttered those words with genuine emotion for the first time.

"This is truly beyond expectation," Tani uttered as he turned to Takahashi beside him, his voice low and grave. "I have been deceived by those officials." He kept twisting his white mustache compulsively, as though trying to physically wring away his remorse.

“It’s only natural that Tanaka is outraged.” “I must apologize for having thought of him as some sort of schemer.” “Mr. Tanaka is truly the god who saves the people.” Takahashi had been comparing this to his own experience from last December—the conviction that even those with hearts of iron and stone would be compelled to outrage if brought to the disaster area—but witnessing General Tani’s demeanor firsthand made his chest tighten. When he realized that Shōzō’s sincere efforts had finally gotten through, a surge of emotion welled up within him as if it were his own triumph.

On the sandy plain that had become the area outside the embankment, tens of thousands of pollution victims had gathered like clouds, but upon catching sight of the party atop the embankment, they suddenly began to stir. Those tugging at neighbors' sleeves, those rising from the sand, those removing face coverings, those wiping straw raincoats and hats—the agitation spread from one to the next. Tani watched the scene for a time before descending to the sandy plain as urged and standing before the crowd now fallen silent in solemnity. When the representative finished delivering his greeting in altered tones, the entire group bowed their heads as if expressing gratitude from their hearts. As Tani returned the bow, a voice suddenly pierced from within the crowd: "Your Excellency, please save these tens of thousands of pollution victims!" Taking this as their cue, the people began shouting "Save us!" as though finally permitted to raise their voices. "We implore you," they burst out pleadingly. The sight of countless bluish-black faces—eyes twitching as voices clamored in unison—seemed scarcely of this world. The dim light filtering through overcast skies and river winds whipping up sand lent an even more sinister air to the scene. When prominent figures finally quelled the commotion, a man appearing forty-five or forty-six pushed through the crowd. Suddenly throwing himself at Tani's feet and grinding his forehead into the sand, he declared: "I am Inamura Yoichi of Kubota, Kuno Village." Clinging to Tani's downward gaze with artless desperation etched across his face—

“The harm from mining pollution is being suffered equally by all those gathered here.” “Landlords and tenant farmers alike have today fallen into circumstances where they cannot even afford to eat, lamenting in grief.” “Even were we to offer these fields yielding nothing to anyone willing to take them for free, not a soul would accept them—such is our plight.” “There are those who once owned hectares of rice fields but now work as day laborers, domestic servants, or rickshaw pullers.” “Ancestral homes passed down through generations were seized for debts; household goods sold until nothing remained—some left villages clutching only family tablets.” “A blind old woman with no kin after her son’s death clings to life in a stranger’s shed rather than perish in foreign lands.” “There was one—the village’s most filial—who hanged themselves in shame at failing to feed their parents proper meals.”

He fell silent for a moment, then began recounting in detail the lives of the destitute. Even the vast crowd, drawn into the mournful tone of his account, seemed to reflect on their own circumstances. Choked sobs swelled up here and there. "...No, this is by no means limited to the most severely affected areas. If mining operations continue unchecked and the flow of mining pollution remains unstopped, this fate will inevitably befall everyone before long. I beg you—tour the villages from now on and hear the pitiful cries of nursing infants. The mothers cannot eat enough proper food, so there is no milk. With no milk to sustain them, the infants lack even the strength to cry properly. Their lips have swollen from sucking at dry nipples. The parents would endure their own hunger for days if they could, but they can only hold their weeping children and sob together. Like pheasants sheltering chicks in scorched fields, or cranes crying in the night..."

Inamura choked back tears and could no longer continue speaking. Before him, Tani stood motionless and silent, tears overflowing from both eyes. They streamed down his cheeks endlessly, one after another, as if knowing no end. But Tani did not attempt to wipe them away; he remained immovable with hands perpetually hanging down, his fingertips trembling faintly. Above this uncanny scene, the dark clouds shrouding the sky began shifting slowly, as though turning upon a revolving stage.

After bidding farewell to the numerous pollution victims there, the party crossed the Watarase River to the opposite bank accompanied by a small group of committed individuals. Having passed through Yanada Village and entered Kuno Village, villagers who had learned of Tani’s inspection trailed behind them with gazes mingling curiosity and wariness. There was a man muttering incessantly like one caught in fevered ramblings, and a woman wearing nothing but rags with an infant pressed against her bare skin. While stopping along the way at hovels with collapsed walls and sagging eaves where solitary elderly men lay ill, the group eventually took rest at a timeworn farmhouse sheltered by Noda Forest.

They soon settled on the veranda and began eating their packed lunches, but even during this time, villagers from the vicinity had filled the yard, watching them with expressions that seemed to plead for even a single word of acknowledgment about their hardships. Suddenly, Yamada Tomojirō strode purposefully up to the villagers with a youthful, determined manner. “Everyone, first hear this,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket and beginning to read aloud. “It is the reply document from both the Minister of Home Affairs and the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce that was sent to the Diet on the eighteenth of last month.” Yamada then raised his voice further and began his speech. Then, the policeman who had been following the party ever since Kawasaki pushed through the crowd, making his sword clatter as he ran up.

“Hey! You can’t be giving political speeches in a place like this!” “Why can’t we speak in a place like this?” “You haven’t obtained a permit.” “Don’t talk nonsense, sir.” “Calling this a political speech is your fabrication.” A heated argument began between the two of them. Tani set down his bitter tea bowl and rose smoothly to his feet before striding briskly forward. He moved with the ferocity of a whirlwind swirling about him. His face flushed crimson with rage. But Tani silenced the policeman with a single glare, then turned his gaze toward the villagers who had been holding their breath throughout the confrontation,

“Gentlemen, I am Tani.” “Today, guided by concerned citizens, I came to witness firsthand the mining pollution’s devastation, and I can only stand aghast at its sheer scale.” “That your ancestral lands lie barren and you struggle to subsist—while officials’ reports kept me ignorant until this day—demands my deepest contrition.” “But henceforth, you may rest assured.” “Having seen these truths, I will not remain a passive observer.” “I pledge to exhaust every effort so you may till your soil in peace and see your aspirations realized.” “Should this aged frame prove useful to you victims’ cause, I am prepared to embrace death itself without hesitation…”

From within the crowd came the sound of choked sobs overwhelmed with emotion. They spread from one neighbor to another until the entire garden became a theater of shared grief. Tani turned his back and quietly retreated beneath the eaves while wiping his eyes.

The group crossed the tributary Yaba River and toured Watase Village, observing toxic mounds standing in rows everywhere they went, then crossed the Watarase River via its boat bridge and stopped at Unryu-ji Temple.

Even when urged by Priest Kurozaki to enter the temple quarters, Tani did not go up, instead sitting on the veranda and merely sipping a cup of tea. Then, a young man approached where he sat and, crouching down, presented a sealed letter. When Tani casually opened it, he found what appeared to be a blood-oath petition calling for a halt to mining operations—likely written the previous night—bearing the name Sakurai Yosozō of Azuma Village. Tani silently stared at the young man, but after borrowing a brush and inkstone from the priest, he composed an impromptu poem and presented it to him. The once-renowned land of Kenu now lies nameless, its river flowing with tears that drench our sleeves.

Sakurai accepted the offered paper and read it in silence, then wiped his eyes sideways with the sleeve of his plain kimono and stepped back, placing a hand on the ground. A wind arose in the temple's cedar grove, carrying a sound that gloomily heralded the coming of night.

That night, volunteers from Asō District gathered at Banseirō in Sano and hosted a reception for Tani. At that gathering, Tani was compelled to give a speech: “I came intending to conduct a strictly private inspection and return—even appearing before such a large assembly runs counter to my original purpose.” “If I may speak plainly to you all: mobilizing masses to petition the capital as was done recently constitutes feudal-era conduct—a method I absolutely reject.” “Under constitutional governance, the people must achieve their aims through constitutional means.” “I too acknowledge the government’s reply document remains gravely inadequate.” “This stems from some fundamental disconnect between government and populace.” “Being acquainted with many ministers and officials, I shall offer them thorough counsel.” “I resolve to shoulder this disaster’s burden and exert myself utterly,” he declared with unflinching candor.

The banquet finally reached its height. A certain Ogasawara, a member of the House of Peers, came to the anteroom and requested a meeting with Tani. Tani temporarily excused himself and returned after a few minutes with a look as if nothing had happened. However, someone passing through the anteroom corridor reported overhearing Tani’s thunderous rebuke, sending hushed whispers rippling through the gathering. Rumors spread that Furukawa—fearing Tani’s deepening sympathy for the victims—had already attempted conciliation.

The group boarded the last train for their return journey, but another minor incident occurred aboard the carriage. As they approached the iron bridge over the Tone River, a roar overwhelmed the train car. From the neighboring car, a man who looked like a political activist suddenly burst into the second-class carriage. The members of the party were all asleep, and no one had noticed it. Before long, amidst that roaring noise came an unusual sound, startling the group awake—but by then, all they saw was the retreating figure of the man who looked like a political activist staggering away. The political activist attempted to harm Tani, charging at him in silence with a concealed cane, but Tani had not been sound asleep. Sensing the presence, he evaded in an instant and struck the shoulder of the assailant lunging forward with an iron fan.—Tani did not speak much; suppressing the retainer—a hero from the Siege of Kumamoto—who tried to apprehend the activist, he quietly closed his eyes as if sleeping.

Takahashi and the others parted ways with Tsuda along the way, sent Tani into his Ichigaya residence, and immediately had the rickshaw return from the gate. Having safely accomplished their great task, they heaved a sigh of relief in the rickshaw, where above the pine trees on the outer moat's embankment hung a moon as pale as tissue paper. At the Kyōbashi office, Shōzō—unable to wait any longer for Takahashi's return—had been lightly drinking with Ochi Shūkichi, but upon seeing Takahashi's figure, he pushed aside the meal tray. Shōzō closed his eyes and nodded "Mm, mm," as if scenes from the affected areas were vividly rising before him through Takahashi's every word,

“If the General shows such resolve in supporting us, it would be like gaining three armies as allies.” “I express my gratitude to Mr. Tsuda and all you gentlemen.” The tone of his words had shifted so markedly that everyone present involuntarily looked at Shōzō’s face anew, as though seeing him for the first time.

On the morning of the 21st, Tsuda Sen showed no signs of fatigue from the previous day and had the rickshaw pull up at the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce’s official residence together with Takahashi. Tsuda had also been a former retainer of the shogunate; during the Restoration, he had shared both advances and retreats with Enomoto amidst the turmoil of war—in short, they were sworn comrades who had faced life and death together. Tsuda had recently become deeply involved in addressing the mining pollution issue, and upon learning that Enomoto, as the responsible authority in this matter, had become a target of criticism between experts and pollution victims, he could not help but feel profound regret. This was, after all, likely due to the fact that even those in charge remained ignorant of the actual conditions. He had been thinking of meeting him face-to-face not in any official capacity to have a thorough discussion. However, having guided Tani Kanjō through the affected areas the previous day and witnessed how he had indeed been shocked by the devastation—even lamenting having been deceived by officials—Tsuda found himself driven by an urgent compulsion to make Enomoto [Takeaki] glimpse these ravaged lands as well.

Despite the abruptness of their visit, Tsuda fortuitously managed to meet with Enomoto without delay. When they had taken seats in the reception room chairs and only three people remained inside, Enomoto initiated first: "You took Tani to the afflicted regions, I hear." Saying this, he directed a smile at Tsuda.

“That was quick. Has there already been such a report?” “According to a report from Gunma Prefecture, it states that Tsuda Sen and others brought an imposter posing as Tani Kanjō to incite the pollution victims, thereby causing them to assume an unstable posture.” “Through years of friendship, I know your character well.” “I naturally assumed this report must be some manner of mistake, but…” “This is no mere mistake.” “It was a deliberate attempt to bury the facts.” “That’s precisely how these corrupt local officials operate,” Tsuda sneered. “Whatever they mean by ‘incitement,’ General Tani departed after hearing the victims’ pleas with tears in his eyes.”

“Well, if it’s General Tani, that would be expected,” Enomoto nodded, appearing to ponder for a moment before continuing, “I am well aware of Mr. Tanaka’s fervor, and of your own dedication as well. However, I cannot afford to distrust reports from local officials appointed in His Majesty’s name. If we were to distrust all local officials, the government would be unable to conduct politics. The daily reports from local officials today stand entirely opposed to what you and your associates claim. Your assertions and those of the local officials are as incompatible as snow and ink, fire and ice.”

Enomoto’s tone resembled the creak of a closing door, its former warmth vanishing into shadow. "If local officials err," he continued, "you must first persuade them to enlighten themselves." At these words, blood surged visibly into Tsuda’s face. He kicked his chair aside as he rose, stomping toward Enomoto’s table. With unexpected force from those vein-corded arms, he slammed the surface—a thunderous blow. The teacup flipped over.

“You should resign as Minister.” “You are not fit to be Minister at all.” That voice too trembled with anger. A gaze that might well lead to leaping into a grapple remained fixed upon him, depending on his response. Takahashi had come prepared to resort to physical force if necessary, but with the conversation still in its early stages, found himself instead having to calm the old man—a predicament that left him perplexed. He stepped in front of Tsuda and finally managed to settle him back into his chair.

Tsuda’s anger in this situation had stemmed from his sincere desire to make Enomoto handle matters appropriately and avoid errors in governance; thus, when he saw that his shouting had left the other man despondent, Tsuda began speaking calmly again and endeavored to persuade him to inspect the affected areas at any rate. Enomoto remained silent, seemingly absorbed in some separate contemplation, the look of profound sorrow deepening ever more between his brows—

“I want to see General Tani,” he blurted out as if driven to desperation. “General Tani is a meritorious retainer acknowledged by all.” “He is also His Majesty the Emperor’s favored retainer.” “It is no wonder at all that his words are considered more weighty than those of local officials.” Tsuda nodded deeply with a look of understanding. “I see. So that’s how it is.” “With that, I’ve come to understand.” Enomoto’s gaze was uncertain, as if gauging how deeply the other man had interpreted the subtleties beyond his words. Tsuda, paying no heed to that, continued with his characteristic impatience,

"Tomorrow morning, I will meet Mr. Tani at the House of Peers and then visit you together." "In that case, I will be waiting in the Minister’s Office at the House of Peers at 9:00 a.m." "I think it would be better before the other ministers arrive."

Upon hearing this, Tsuda rose briskly with an expression that suggested everything was unfolding precisely as he’d intended. Enomoto watched them leave with lingering unease, then abruptly stood himself. “There’s something I must say. But you must swear absolute secrecy,” he added with grave intensity. “To speak plainly—I am not ignorant of the true state in the afflicted regions. No, I know full well. Though Takeaki may seem a fool, his inner eye sees clearly. That I must feign ignorance and play the simpleton—this stems from circumstances beyond ordinary measure. The corruption extends beyond local officials. Within the government itself, only Ōkuma and I merit your trust. Among lower bureaucrats, only those friends of Mr. Tanaka from the Progressive Party. ...But rest assured—I have resolved upon a decisive course.”

Enomoto gazed into Tsuda’s eyes as if trying to ascertain how much of his words had been understood. Then he pulled an inkstone closer from his desk, cut a sheet of calligraphy paper—likely left by someone requesting brushwork—and wielded his brush to write: “To read intent is to read books.”

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

Takahashi stopped by Shōzō’s lodgings in Hachikanchō, showed him Enomoto’s document, and conveyed Enomoto’s words. As he listened with his hands resting on his hakama-clad knees, Shōzō’s eyes began to take on an unusual gleam. “Is that so? It is exactly as I had imagined.”

He tightly pressed his lips together and stared at the shoji screen’s wooden frame, “It’s possible Enomoto may resign.” “A truly regrettable thing.”

Shōzō let out those words like a sigh and sank into thought. Takahashi gazed at Shōzō’s brow, recalled Enomoto and Tsuda’s countenances, and savored the sense of an invisible current flowing between their three hearts.

Early the next morning，Tsuda and Takahashi arrived at the House of Peers’ waiting room twenty minutes before nine. As arranged，Tani appeared within five minutes without making them wait. When they went together to visit the Minister’s Office，Enomoto had already arrived at parliament and was waiting. Tani gave a detailed account of his damage inspection from two days prior，and Tsuda supplemented it from beside him. Enomoto listened with a composed demeanor unlike yesterday’s tension—as if he now had some leeway—but—

“It must be as you’ve described,” he nodded in complete agreement. “As a Minister of State serving in this office, I have not forgotten for a moment my responsibility to relieve the hardships of His Majesty’s people as swiftly as possible. Moreover, from a human perspective as well, every time I hear of the plight of the pollution victims, tears come to my eyes……” Enomoto abruptly drew in his chest as though stifling his voice. Then he shifted his gaze toward Tsuda and Takahashi, “I had long intended to conduct an inspection, but due to opposition within the government against my doing so, matters dragged on until today.… However, last night I met with Ōkuma, explained my thoughts, and consulted thoroughly—whereupon Ōkuma came to share my view. In any case, I have decided to inspect the affected areas tomorrow, so I request your guidance. As for matters after returning, I had already consulted with Ōkuma last night regarding most of it, so you can rest assured on that point as well.” His tone carried a deeply concealed resolve.

Chapter Six

On the morning of March 23, Enomoto descended at Koga Station accompanied by Engineer Sakano under Tsuda's guidance. It was an inspection tour conducted discreetly to avoid public attention. When they crossed the pontoon bridge at Sangoku Bridge and reached Ebisese Village's outskirts, numerous pollution victims awaited them. No sooner had the representatives finished their formal greetings than one man—unable to suppress his accumulated grievances—began detailing the contents of the government's response document dated the 18th. Then others behind him started shouting accusations until Enomoto stood encircled by this uproar. Tsuda, precisely because he understood Enomoto's constrained position, pitied the minister's predicament; yet recognizing the victims' outbursts as justified, he found himself powerless to intervene and could only watch in distress.

The representatives finally managed to calm everyone down and promptly decided to guide them through the affected areas. Aware that Enomoto’s inspection was meant to be discreet, they kept the guides to a bare minimum. They proceeded from Ebisese Village’s worst-hit area along the riverbank into Nishiyata Village, reaching the site of the breached embankment at Shimen Nishi. The area around the rupture had turned into a monochrome gray desert, where a swamp formed during the flooding still held eerily still water. People of all ages with bluish faces carried baskets on their shoulders, dumping soil into that water. This was part of the embankment construction work. Witnessing withered mulberry fields devoid of sprouts, paddies where the only green was the occasional butterbur, abandoned houses in every hamlet, and the plight of the sick—brutal truths at every turn—Enomoto pressed forward in silence. Crossing Watase Village’s boat bridge past Unryu-ji Temple, through Azuma Village’s Shimohata and Ueno Village’s Funatsugawa, their shadows stretched long in an oddly detached reddish glow by the time they reached Sakai Village. When they turned, a festering crimson sun floated at the edge of desolate fields stripped bare.

Fatigue began to show in Enomoto’s gait. When they reached Sasara Bridge at Mikamo Village’s border, they ushered Enomoto into a roadside teahouse at Tsuda’s urging. The hand gripping the bitter tea bowl darkened as cold seeped into his bones. At that moment, one guide stepped forth before Enomoto,

“We sincerely thank you for accompanying us on this lengthy journey today and taking the time to thoroughly inspect the damage,” he said, bowing deeply. “Having seen the actual site of the damage firsthand, what are Your Excellency’s thoughts?” “If we could but receive Your Excellency’s words, all the pollution victims would surely weep with gratitude, I do believe…” “Hmm, you’ve all endured considerable hardships.” Enomoto had already averted his eyes to the rustling of withered reeds, but sensing his interlocutor’s pleading gaze,

“I am not unfeeling. “I have indeed felt much, but as today’s visit is incognito, I cannot share my impressions here and now.” When he uttered that in a solemn tone, he fell silent once more. The man could only stare at his own feet with a vacant gaze, as if he had been pushed away. From there, they had to walk approximately two ri further to Fujioka Town. From Fujioka, they traveled three ri along the night road, jostled in a rickshaw until they reached Koga.

When they arrived at Ueno Station, a carriage was waiting to meet them. Enomoto immediately boarded it and headed for Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda.

Prior to this, the pollution victims had gathered one after another at Unryu-ji Temple under cover of night on the 22nd. They had learned the contents of the government's reply document and were at first left dumbfounded by its severity, but as two or three gathered to discuss it, the pent-up frustration in their hearts gradually took form and blazed into indignation—until their feet turned unbidden toward Unryu-ji Temple. Since all those assembling shared the same anguish, it was only natural that the atmosphere became cloaked in solemn fury.

“The authorities haven’t a shred of sincerity to rescue us from our destitution.” “At this point, our only choice is to hang ourselves in the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce’s courtyard and sever this torment at soonest...” Such anguished outcries found resonance. They collectively swore oaths to march on the capital, resolved to die. In the temple’s main hall, they exchanged cups of water. One contingent descended the Watarase River by boat to muster reinforcements, while another stormed forth to confront and interrogate those who had served as Furukawa’s lackeys—determined to prevent their renewed encroachment upon the villages. This news swiftly reached police stations in Sano, Ashikaga, and Tatebayashi, prompting dozens of officers to rush urgently toward the riverbanks. They raced toward bonfires visible at various locations, laboring earnestly through persuasion to disperse the pollution victims. Yet the victims’ resolve proved unexpectedly unyielding; as arguments volleyed back and forth, night’s darkness began paling toward dawn. Eventually—perhaps having resolved to postpone their efforts—the pollution victims started scattering as night’s curtain fell once more.

And so, on the night of the 23rd—the same day as Enomoto's covert inspection—groups of twenty or thirty elders and youths from each village once again formed orderly ranks and converged upon Unryu-ji Temple. As night deepened, their numbers gradually swelled until they reached three thousand seven or eight hundred.

As a result of their discussions, they agreed that each person would carry four or five days' worth of provisions, prepare to sleep outdoors, and set out on the march toward the capital.

At that moment, several Tokyo-based committee members who had hurriedly departed from Ueno on the last train after hearing reports of unrest rushed to the scene. They attempted to dissuade the group from departing for the capital, exhausting every possible argument in their persuasion, but the masses showed not the slightest inclination to listen.

When they argued that "Sending large numbers to the capital recklessly would bring much labor with little effect," the crowd shot back, "It's because you Tokyo committee members lack backbone that our petitions still haven't reached [the authorities]." "We can't entrust this to you any longer," the throng retorted as one. "The other day Viscount Tani conducted an inspection," they pressed on, "and today the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce himself made a special incognito tour." "Given these developments, it wouldn't be too late to wait a while longer and see how things progress."

When they argued this, “The Minister’s inspection was mere formality.” “Even when pressed for impressions, he coldly replied he couldn’t comment.” “Our resolve no longer rests with the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.” This met vehement rebuttal. “We’ve no choice but plead our case directly to the Imperial Household Ministry,” some had secretly resolved. Rejecting the Tokyo committee’s counsel, the group resolved to depart Unryu-ji Temple at once. Police from nearby Sano and Tatebayashi stations mobilized forces. Officers waved red lanterns while urging restraint, but the crowd advanced in silent disregard. Against this wordless, relentless advance, police stood powerless. They tried blocking the pontoon bridge, but the crowd surged through officers’ hesitation—2,300 crossing en masse.

Eventually, the group split into two columns—half heading toward Kurihashi, and by the time the remaining half approached Kawamata along the banks of the Tone River, dawn had broken. At that pontoon bridge, a dozen or so police officers stood blocking the way, having spread out a large fishing net. They were ordering them to turn back, claiming the pontoon bridge was damaged. “Whether it’s damaged or not, at least let us see it.” Several of them shouted this even as they ducked under the net and broke into a run. “Hey! It’s not damaged at all!” “They’ve just removed the mechanical boats!”

Upon hearing that voice, the entire group surged past the police officers and began to cross. Beneath their feet, the surging current—swollen with meltwater from the mountains—churned with foam and whirlpools, roaring from the depths. Noguchi Haruzō and Arai Kigorō were first to strip naked and plunge into the water. As other hot-blooded youths prepared to undress, the ferrymen Fujino Jūrō and Hosomura Teihachi, unable to bear watching any longer, brought out a boat. Following their lead, some in the crowd untied mooring ropes and launched vessels. Several boats laden with dark figures cut across the rushing currents of the Tone River.

The group split their path again on the southern bank of the Tone River, some heading west toward Gyōda and others east toward Hanyū, but both directions were blocked by over a hundred police officers. Seizing every opportunity, they attempted to escape in groups of five or ten and hurried further and further south.

Exactly on this day, the 24th, at that very hour, Shōzō shouted from the podium of the House of Representatives. The damage survey they had previously commissioned from willing pollution volunteers had finally been completed, and he had drafted a written inquiry refuting the government’s earlier response. However, with the Diet session now having reached its final day, he hurriedly submitted that inquiry still in draft form and took to the podium with a pressing sense of urgency.

“I will not give a long speech today.” Having prefaced his remarks, he stated that while the previous inquiry had reported mining pollution affecting 33,000 *chō* of land, subsequent investigations had revealed the damage now extended to over 43,700 *chō* across one urban prefecture and five rural prefectures. Through Noguchi Haruzō’s investigations, it had been confirmed that mining pollution now extended to Higashi-Katsushika County in Chiba Prefecture, Kita-Katsushika County in Saitama Prefecture, and Minami-Katsushika County in Tokyo Prefecture. As a result, he explained that those harmed by toxic water now numbered 135,000 people. He further expounded on the Tone River’s water management system, arguing that the Watarase’s poisoned waters were being channeled through the Tone Canal to such unexpected regions in this manner. He then moved on to refuting the official response, but as he elaborated, his words gradually grew more impassioned, and his scathing attacks on the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce showed no sign of abating. Then Okada Ryoichiro gripped the lectern and leaned forward halfway,

“Tanaka, that’s enough already.” “I also have things to say. Give me some time.”

It was an irritated voice, as if he could no longer endure it. Instantly, voices arose in support of Shōzō: “Go for it! Go for it!” “I have gravely violated our agreement and incurred censure,” Shōzō said, surveying the assembly seats as if regaining his composure. “Please allow me to speak a little longer.” Shōzō began denouncing the negligence of the Home Ministry and the Ministry of Finance. After that, he shifted his focus to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce: “If I may speak my mind, every last official in Agriculture and Commerce ought to be expelled. Fire every last one of them and sprinkle disinfectant inside. And then you must dig up and replace the soil beneath to a depth of one or two shaku. Replacing just one minister’s head or one vice-minister won’t do at all within this rotten core. My words may verge on cruelty, but you must carry out reforms so thorough that you replace everyone from top to bottom—down to the receptionists. That would be a splendid reform. If you won’t do it, we’ll take matters into our own hands. We are a people who receive no protection under the law. What have you protected against mining pollution? If we do not receive the protection of the law, we have no obligation to obey it. However, it is not that the people are neglecting their obligations. Today, they are not allowed to uphold them. Has there ever been such outrageous acts in any politics or any government throughout history? Nothing is as corrupt as today’s Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. Well then, if you find it galling, go ahead and argue your case. I never speak without evidence. The people went to great lengths—mobilizing and conducting surveys with nothing but rice balls and straw sandals—to submit these findings to the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce and present them to this very Diet.”

“What did the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce investigate?” Shōzō pounded the lectern and continued shouting. “Have you resolved to create over forty thousand chō of new desert wasteland in Kantō’s heartland and leave this as your clique-ridden government’s parting legacy?” “This defies all reason!” “If you mean to act, then act!” “Since you’ve begun these violent measures, see them through to their wretched end!” “Go ahead—slaughter all Kantō’s people as you please!” “We too have our means.” “...Though debate remains unfinished, prolonging it further would be improper—I shall stop here.” “Over a hundred thousand humans poisoned to death...”

At those words, derisive laughter spilled forth from here and there among the seats. Then, suddenly, Shōzō’s countenance contorted. “Since there are those among you gentlemen who find this amusing, I find myself compelled to take my argument one step further.” “If not a single vegetable can grow at the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce’s villa in Mukōjima—what then?” “They would immediately feel it in their own heads.” “If that beautiful garden at Mr. Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda were to lose every blade of grass and every flower—what would you do then?” “What if the sand before Mr. Itō’s Sōrōkaku villa in Odawara and before his Ōiso villa were mining-polluted sand?” “They would understand if it happened to them—but until it does, they won’t give it a moment’s thought.” “If we must persist in troubling you with all these tedious arguments, then let us fetch mining-polluted water and have the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce drink it.”

Once again, laughter erupted here and there. “It is quite impossible to convey the true state of affairs through mere words such as these.” “Please, gentlemen—if you have any compassion—gentlemen, you could go and return in a single day.” “To conduct a thorough inspection would require fifteen days, but even visiting just one location could be done as a day trip. Therefore, gentlemen, I implore you—whether I am telling falsehoods or exaggerating matters will become clear once you have seen with your own eyes the state of the affected areas.” “I have come to recognize that the current government is ultimately not one that would adopt a considerate approach even after going to see them.” “From the state of this response document, I have resigned myself to the fact that this is a government beyond naming, and thus I am resolved not to rely on it.” “I make a request to you gentlemen.” “I humbly entreat you gentlemen to personally inspect these affected areas.” “I must insist.”

Shōzō, with an overwhelmed expression, shouted his final words. It carried a painfully clear resonance—that now, the sole remaining hope lay with the people of this Diet chamber. The assembly members too had fallen utterly silent, profoundly moved as though Shōzō had come before each of them and bowed—but as he began to step down from the podium, they sent forth applause as if jolted awake for the first time.

While Shōzō was shouting from the podium, outside the Diet building, newsboys' bells were ringing through the streets with extra editions announcing the Cabinet's establishment of the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Investigation Committee. The government had held an emergency cabinet meeting that morning to decide on this matter and appointed the chairman and other members. Specifically, they appointed Kanmuchi Tomotsune, Director-General of the Cabinet Legislation Bureau, as chairman; Furuichi Kōi, Doctor of Engineering and Director of Civil Engineering at the Home Ministry; Gotō Shinpei, Director of the Sanitation Bureau at the Home Ministry; Mekata Tanetarō, Director-General of the Tax Bureau at the Ministry of Finance; Hayakawa Tetsuji, Secretary to the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce; Sakano Hatsutarō, Engineer at the Agricultural Experiment Station; Hosoi Iwaya, Engineer at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce; Wada Kunijirō of the same ministry; and Kojiro Kaeru of the same ministry as committee members. Furthermore, on the 26th, they added as additional committee members Councillor Oda Hajime of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce; Mining Bureau Director Koizuka Ryū; along with scholars beyond Furukawa's influence—including Dr. Kotō Bunjirō (Doctor of Science, Professor at Tokyo Imperial University), Dr. Watanabe Wataru (Doctor of Engineering), Dr. Tsuboi Jirō (Doctor of Medicine, Professor at Tokyo Imperial University), Associate Professor Nagaoka Munezane of the Agricultural College, and Associate Professor Irisawa Tatsuyoshi of Tokyo Imperial University.

Meanwhile, the pollution victims en route from the capital split into four or five groups by the afternoon of the 24th and gradually made their way southward, each hurrying along their respective routes toward Senju, Itabashi, and Ōji. Emergency reports came in rapid succession from police stations across the region, prompting the Metropolitan Police Department to issue an alert directive to all stations under its jurisdiction. From the Shitaya and Asakusa police stations, dozens of officers were urgently dispatched toward Senju, while from the Koishikawa and Hongo stations, dozens each were rushed to Itabashi. Particularly as a large number of pollution victims headed toward the Itabashi entrance, Captain Kageyama of the Kempeitai led two non-commissioned officers, thirteen superior privates, and eight horses in hurrying to the Kempeitai outpost there.

However, despite such strict security measures, by the 25th many had increasingly managed to breach the cordons and enter the capital, their exhausted forms converging at the Shinano-ya office in Shibaguchi 3-chome. There were others too—straw-sandaled figures draped in red blankets—wandering about Ueno Park and Atagoyama, prompting the Shitaya and Shiba police stations to muster off-duty officers for heightened vigilance. On the night of the 24th, Yamada Tomojirō and Tanoiri Rizaburō had raced to Saitama Prefecture under Shōzō’s orders to pacify the pollution victims, yet like those who went to Unryu-ji Temple before them, found themselves crushed beneath the victims’ fervor and achieved nothing. The next day they returned empty-handed to Tokyo, only for Shōzō to drive them forth once more that very afternoon toward the victims’ marching route.

The 25th was the day of the Diet’s closing ceremony. Four or five committee members from the appeal campaign stood before the gates of the House of Representatives, distributing flyers titled “Request for Imperial Inspection of the Dire State of Ashio Copper Mine Pollution-Affected Areas.” The text read: “Though officials and village officers may guide you, we earnestly request you remain vigilant—therefore we pollution victims ourselves humbly offer to serve as guides.” Paper scraps bearing phrases like “If there exists in all the world a single soul moved to shed a tear—we beg you save us” and “Failing that, grant us death” lay scattered across nearby streets, left to be trampled underfoot by those untouched by compassion.

That morning, when the group of over a thousand people descending the Nakasendō approached Hasuda in Minami-Saitama District, they were stopped by dozens of police officers—unintentionally sparking a clash that left four injured. The previous day, when they had pushed forward from Hanyū to Hasuda's outskirts, it was already dusk. The elderly dragged their feet like emaciated figures, exhausted beyond measure. They entered the woods near Hasuda and decided to spend the night each laying out fallen leaves as makeshift bedding. At dawn, they shivered awake, exchanging glances at the thick layer of frost coating their blankets and straw mats. Some contorted their faces as if about to cry when confronted anew with their wretched circumstances. Still muttering hopes of reaching Tokyo that day, they were gnawing on frozen rice balls when dozens of officers stormed in. The order was absolute: not one step further. But the pollution victims had long grown numb to such warnings. After straightening their clothes, they simply glared defiantly before ducking under officers' arms and darting forward. Whether their passive resistance provoked the police or the officers themselves grew agitated, chaos erupted. Mugakura Fujizō—who had been standing on a rise staring blankly at the commotion—was suddenly yanked down and kicked, sustaining gashes on his forehead and left brow. Nagashima Yohachi barely shouted "Abuse of authority!" before being swarmed and struck on the head with sword hilts, while Yamazaki Tomosaburō collapsed after taking a blow to the chest. Into this melee rushed the Urawa Police Chief and his men. Even the chief blanched at the injuries, hastily summoning Dr. Taguchi Kōzō from the village to administer first aid.

In this way, the group pressed forward relentlessly until they reached Iwatsuki. There, over a hundred police officers stood waiting, and both sides blocked the road, maintaining their standoff for hours while glaring at each other. Then Saitama Prefectural Police Chief Yoshimura Yoshiyuki and Security Division Chief Narasaki Jirōhachi arrived, requesting a meeting with leading figures among the pollution victims to discuss matters.

“Since evening approaches and you all appear exhausted, you should go stay at Hōrin-ji Temple tonight regardless,” said Yoshimura Yoshiyuki, the Saitama Prefectural Police Chief, his tone sympathetic. “Afterward, we can properly discuss your circumstances.” But the pollution victims exchanged wary glances. “Too kind by half,” someone muttered. “Feels like a trap. Fall for their sweet talk and we’ll regret it.” Blatantly suspicious whispers rippled through the crowd. Another voice rose: “We’re poor folk—no money for lodging. Our provisions are nearly gone. Wasting a night here’ll only leave us worse off.”

There were also those who raised their voices in opposition. However, Yoshimura maintained his conciliatory attitude to the very end—assuring them that if it was a matter of meals, he would arrange for local volunteers to handle it without fail—and finally persuaded them. On the way to Hōrin-ji Temple, there was also a group that suddenly changed course toward Kawagoe, and in the end, about three hundred and fifty people remained behind. Through the sympathy of District Head Shimazaki, Town Mayor Uemura, Murata Kakunosuke along with several town council members, Tomioka Toyokichi, Suzuki Iwakichi, and other philanthropists, within the temple grounds, preparations for an evening meal were swiftly arranged.

The pollution victims were utterly exhausted. They hadn’t slept a wink the night before last, and their open-air lodging had offered no chance for sleep to bring dreams. Since leaving Unryu-ji Temple, this night marked their first time sleeping under a roof. When their bellies filled with warm rice balls, none could think of anything beyond sleeping soundly. Yet as they settled into their sleeping spots to lie down, the Police Chief, Security Division Chief, and branch chiefs from Okegawa, Omiya, and Iwatsuki came in rapid succession, delivering identical admonitions to return home the next day. Prefectural assembly members Araki and Ōtsuka had rushed from Tokyo to persuade them. But when pressed on this matter, the pollution victims turned stubborn as if conspiring. They protested they would depart for the capital at dawn’s first light, showing no trace of hesitation.

In any case, the night deepened, and the morning of the 26th arrived. When they looked, the temple gates were shut, and a large number of police officers stood lined up before them in an imposing show of vigilance. Combined with those mobilized from nearby branch stations and reinforcements dispatched from Tokyo, their numbers exceeded three hundred officers. The pollution victims were like fish trapped in a weir. Their mood had completely changed. “We have remained calm and obedient all along, yet the police’s methods aim to intimidate us into submission,” they fumed,

“We even took the farewell cup of water to come this far.” “Do you think we’d ever go back, even if it meant death?” They encouraged one another with these words in unison. Yet they restrained their inner fury, maintaining an utterly calm demeanor throughout. Following the commands of their prominent members, both gathering and dispersing were carried out quietly. Police Chief Yoshimura and others found themselves moved by their gentle compliance—they carried not even a single staff—while simultaneously perplexed by their unyielding resolve. They remained confined within the temple grounds as noon arrived. It was just before the Hinamatsuri festival in the old calendar’s third month. People heading to the doll market craned their necks as they passed the temple gate, wondering what commotion had arisen. Some came specifically after hearing rumors. Before long, a realization stirred within them all: This stalemate could not continue. “Let’s unite as one and break through their barricade!” Without any ringleader, they silently signaled agreement among themselves. When they noticed half the officers leaving in shifts for meals—thinning their ranks—they seized the moment to push open the gate from within and surge outward. The remaining officers outside scrambled to form a human barricade, while those dining rushed back from all directions. The victims stood on the brink of breakthrough when they were forced back inside once more. At this juncture, Security Division Chief Hatakeyama of Tochigi Prefecture arrived to lecture them, only to be met with derision: “Have you ever once lifted a finger to relieve us?” Struck silent, he offered no retort. Police Chief Yoshimura conceived a desperate stratagem. He enlisted local volunteers who had been preparing meals for the victims since the previous night. Thereupon, Okōchi Gorōbei, Tomioka Toyokichi, and Satō Hanjirō entered the temple grounds to persuade the key figures.

“We fully understand your determination to reach the capital by overcoming all hardships, and we deeply sympathize with your cause. However, as the police officials seem intent on blocking your journey to Tokyo at all costs, a clash will inevitably be unavoidable. If by any chance someone were to get injured, it would leave behind nothing but bitter regret. There’s no helping it today. I believe the most strategic course would be to select representatives to send to Tokyo and have everyone else return to your hometowns for the time being.”

Their genuine sympathy showed on their faces, and when combined with the kindness they had shown since the day before, even the leaders found themselves at a loss for words. Thereupon, they gathered everyone in the main hall and held a discussion. The generous treatment they had received since the previous night, given the circumstances, had touched everyone deeply. To flatly reject the words of those who had shown them kindness, even if only for a single night, would be to act against virtue. Such considerations took root in everyone’s hearts. In the end, following the three men’s advice, the pollution victims decided to elect representatives, and their initial demand of one hundred and fifty people was halved, resulting in seventy-five being sent to the capital.

The representatives had already been selected and were about to depart immediately when local supporters persuaded them to stay, resulting in them spending another night lodged in the temple's main hall. Those who had breached security cordons from other directions took shelter at Asakusa's Chōjiya, Bakurochō's Umezawa Inn, Shibaguchi's Maruya, and the petition office Shinano-ya.

On this day, Tsuda Sen had Ichiji Jirō carry a camera as he toured the affected areas. They captured the actual conditions on camera to create lantern slides, prepared to project them at future rallies and appeal to the audience’s emotions. The people who had parted ways with the group returning home in 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, Mr. Tsuda Sen, and Mr. Takahashi Hidemi, and just the other day, I inspected the affected areas with Mr. Tsuda and returned shocked by the devastation that surpassed all I had heard. Since I believed this could not be abandoned, I consulted with both the Minister of Home Affairs and the Minister of Finance, brought the matter to cabinet meetings, and proceeded with appointing an investigation committee. Before long, there will surely be some measures taken, so I ask that you all kindly understand this…”

Enomoto’s words were frank, showing no attempt to conceal his acute sense of responsibility. That evening, when Tsuda visited the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce's official residence, a carriage stood hitched at the entrance with Enomoto poised to board it. Tsuda’s sharp eyes caught the scrolls inside the carriage, making him wheel around to stare at Enomoto’s face in shock. Two mornings prior during their meeting, Enomoto had abruptly grown solemn mid-conversation, dropping his voice to confess his resignation plans. Tsuda had pressed urgently: “You must stay until this pollution crisis is resolved,” pushing him to reconsider. Enomoto’s expression deepened into anguish. “Our ministry has drawn parliamentary censure and—worse—disturbed His Majesty’s peace with this affair.” “The shame overwhelms me.” “As for the pollution—we bear responsibility for abandoning the victims all this time. Local officials must be held accountable.” His voice carried an unyielding resolve that surprised even Tsuda.

“Isn’t this rather hasty?” Tsuda stood blocking the carriage door and stared at Enomoto once more. “Yeah, I’m moving out now.” “Next time, do come visit me in Mukojima.” Enomoto nonchalantly brushed it off and settled into the carriage. And then, from inside, he leaned his face in and added a few words. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll go give Ōkuma’s backside a good thrashing.”

Around ten o'clock in the morning on the 28th, the bell-ringing of extra edition sellers resounded through the streets. It reported the resignation of Enomoto Takeaki as Minister of Agriculture and Commerce and the concurrent appointment of Ōkuma Shigenobu, the Foreign Minister, to the position of Minister of Agriculture and Commerce.

Thereupon, Tsuda, Takahashi, and more than a dozen other volunteers visited Ōkuma together and proposed two matters: expediting the implementation of mining pollution relief measures and having the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce conduct an inspection of the affected areas.

“I am in complete agreement with the essence of your arguments, gentlemen.” “However, being told to inspect the affected areas shows no sympathy toward me – given my physical condition, as you well know – making this quite impossible.” “Nevertheless, regarding this matter, I have heard repeated reports from Tanaka too. As Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, I intend to exhaust every measure within my authority.” “I must ask you to wait a little longer.” The group continued exchanging statements and, after enduring Ōkuma’s lengthy harangue for several hours, finally withdrew.

Chapter Seven

From five o'clock in the afternoon on March 30, a mining pollution rally was held at the Christian Youth Hall in Mitoshira-chō. This marked the third assembly organized by the Kyodo Shinwakai faction. Though a mist-like drizzle had persisted since dawn, people trudged through muddy streets to crowd into the venue. Each speaker stirred profound emotions within the audience until finally General Tani Kanjō ascended the podium. Shōzō had taken position with Tsuda in the thinly populated, dimly lit second-floor gallery to observe. Tani reportedly felt his very bowels twist when confronted with devastation surpassing even what he'd witnessed during his own prior inspection. Now humbled, he openly acknowledged his past folly in dismissing Tanaka Shōzō's warnings as mere alarmist exaggerations. Words faltering from his core resonated through the hall with visceral sorrow.

“Some in society may call Mr. Tanaka Shōzō a fraud or madman, but I believe he is truly the deity who will save our society.” Hearing this, Tsuda felt the profound emotion from that day when he had guided Tani through the ravaged lands surge anew within him. He remembered how Tani Kanjō’s first anguished sigh—uttered while standing on that desolate embankment—had carried those very words’ weight. Tani continued: “Before resolving this crisis, none who hold even a shred of concern for our nation and unwavering resolve—none who shed a single tear for their countrymen—may remain idle spectators.” “I too,” he declared, “have vowed before you victims to stake my life upon your deliverance.” As Tsuda listened, he recalled Tani weeping openly before the crowd that day.

Tani adjusted his feet on the podium, straightened his posture, and abruptly changed his tone. "What I am about to humbly state here may be presumptuous, but I wish to present a report..." Cutting off his words and lowering his gaze, “Under His Majesty the Emperor’s auspices, it appears an Imperial Attendant will soon be dispatched to inspect the affected areas.” When that voice spread through the solemnly hushed venue, an unusual sound was heard beside Tsuda. Looking over, Shōzō had slid down from his chair and collapsed backward onto the aisle floor. Suspecting he might have fallen ill, someone peered closer and saw large droplets trickling from Shōzō’s eyes. Shōzō was indeed facing toward the Imperial Palace, reverently prostrating himself. In that manner, there was not a shred of premeditated artifice. Moved by his innermost feelings, he performed these gestures with utmost naturalness. Only through the hearts of those who witnessed it could infinite meaning gradually be drawn forth. Tsuda, with tears welling in his aged eyes, continued to gaze at Shōzō’s rounded shoulders.

On the following day, the 31st, Hirohata Jijū, accompanied by an Imperial Household Agency secretary, proceeded to inspect the affected areas. Around this time, people from both public and private sectors had finally come to inspect the affected areas in increasing numbers. On the 29th of the previous month, Vice-Minister of Home Affairs Nakamura Motoo, Vice-Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Kaneko Kentarō, Mining Pollution Investigation Committee Chairman Kanmuchi Tomotsune, committee member Hizuka Ryū, and others conducted inspections. On April 2, Progressive Party representatives Shudo Rikuzō and Matsushima Rensaku went to conduct inspections. Subsequently, Shimada Saburō, Taguchi Urakichi, Omura Wakichirō, Kawai Shigezō, and Kogegawa Toyojirō also conducted inspections and returned.

The Kyodo Shinwakai held an extraordinary general meeting over the two days of April 2 and 3 at Matsumoto-tei in Kanda Nishikichō and agreed to urge cabinet ministers to take action. On the 9th, four representatives of the association—Inagaki Shimesu, Takahashi Hidemi, Nakamura Tateo, and Yamaguchi Danjō—visited Ōkuma Shigenobu in his capacity as Minister of Agriculture and Commerce. They presented three proposals: that halting mining operations was the only viable solution; that tax exemptions for affected areas be implemented immediately; and that the minister conduct an on-site inspection. Having pressed for concrete action, they departed. On the same 9th, Home Minister Kabayama toured the affected areas accompanied by the Misaki Prefectural Governor. During this inspection, Inamura Yoichi of Kuno Village tearfully recounted his grievances in exhaustive detail, each word laden with profound sorrow. Kabayama, visibly moved, took pains to console him at length. Meanwhile, an accompanying engineer named Tōjō provoked anger through careless remarks, while a Diet member representing the affected region found himself surrounded by hundreds of constituents who denounced his habitual indifference and compelled him to vow renewed efforts.

On the 10th, starting at 1:00 PM, a mining pollution rally organized by the Kyodo Shinwakai was held at the Kawakami-za Theater in Kanda Misaki-chō. On this day, Kurihara was taken into custody from the venue to Kanda Police Station. The notification submitted by the speaker had falsely listed the American Gastor under the Japanese-sounding pseudonym Tanzaemon Taro, and during his speech there had been statements that appeared to incite riots, which violated taboos. At that time, Shōzō was not present at the venue, but when Miyashita Kenkichi informed him of the emergency, he hurried to secure his release.

Around this same time in the affected areas, Nagashima Yohachi was thrown into detention pending trial. On that day, when he was attempting to go to Unryu-ji Temple’s office and walking with Aoki Kinjirō across the boat bridge at Hayakawada toward the temple gate, suddenly from behind came a man in an unfamiliar happi coat—around forty years old—trotting up and saying, "Take a look at this," as he pulled out a scrap of paper from his navy blue apron. When Nagashima casually received it, the document proved to be a writ stating: “In connection with the case of trespassing and victimization, there exists a need for interrogation; therefore, you are to be detained and brought before this court.” Though Nagashima could not immediately recall any reason for the detention, certain aspects did come to mind as he eyed the man’s appearance suspiciously.

“Are you a police officer, dressed like that?” The man briefly glanced down at his chest area, then with a vigilant gaze pressed, “You won’t run away, will you, Mr. Nagashima?” as he rustlingly pulled out a hemp rope from his apron. “No—I will absolutely not flee or hide. “Then let me be bound with the rope right here.”

“There’s no need to bind you since you claim you won’t flee, but this too is an ordinance we must follow.” The man muttered such excuses while letting slip a smile ill-suited to the occasion. And whether out of consideration to make the rope’s binding marks less conspicuous, he entwined the rope’s end beneath the heko-obi. But perhaps it was out of fear that if fellow pollution victims were to spot [the binding] along the way, they might attempt to wrest him back. As Yohachi started walking, glancing sideways at Unryu-ji Temple’s main gate, Aoki—who until then had been standing vacantly beside him—snapped back to his senses with an expression...

“I’ll go inform the office right away, then head to your home to let them know.” With that, he called from behind and dashed into the grounds. Yohachi arrived at Tomita Station with a happi-coated police officer and was given lunch at a diner in front of the station. “Eating on government funds—this is my first time,” Yohachi declared with defiant bravado that feigned composure, though his smile remained strained. At Ashikaga Police Station, there was a brief interrogation by the chief—more a formality than anything—before they were promptly sent to the Prosecutor’s Office of the Utsunomiya District Court Tochigi Branch in Tochigi Town. There, they underwent questioning by the prosecutor until evening.

The pollution victims who had departed Unryu-ji Temple on the night of March 23—obstructed at every turn yet barely managing to leave the capital—dragged their exhausted feet along the twenty-ri journey and returned on the 28th. Along the way, Nagashima and his group heard unexpected news: two turncoats from among their comrades who had forged a spiritual contract at Unryu-ji Temple last November had already gathered five allies and were now vigorously advocating for a negotiated settlement. Some recalled that day’s solemn scenes and raged as if something sacred had been defiled; others frowned, believing they must devise countermeasures before opposition could coalesce. In the end, they unanimously resolved to visit these five individuals directly and demand why they had betrayed the petition movement. It was the culmination of everything—their pride in enduring oppression, their frustration at seeing no results despite it all, their days of fatigue and hunger, the oppressive discomfort of being battered by heavy rain—all coalescing into fury.

They did not stop at Unryu-ji Temple either, changing their route through the lashing rain as they pressed toward Keno Village. In villages along the way, comrades who had returned earlier greeted them and asked about their Tokyo efforts, while spreading rumors that Mayor Hayakawa of Keno Village—a prefectural assembly member—and others had submitted petitions opposing mine closures. Together they grew incensed and marched onward. By the time they reached Onodera’s house, their ranks had swollen to over five hundred. Though twilight’s faint glow lingered through the downpour outside, the house stood pitch-dark within. Had they already fled in terror? Not a shadow of the household remained visible.

“Don’t run and hide!” “Come out, you traitors!” The villagers began shouting all at once.

“No—we have absolutely not come here to cause trouble. We’ve only come to hear your reasons for opposing us.” No matter how loudly they shouted, their voices only echoed through the room like an abandoned house. Before long, one of them—

“They must be hiding somewhere. “Alright, we’ll hunt them down!” With those words, they jumped up onto the veranda still wearing their muddy shoes, stepped in one after another, and began walking all through the house. They merely dripped rainwater from their clothes and straw raincoats and trampled through the mud with their muddy shoes, ultimately gaining nothing. “There’s nothing to be done about those who aren’t here.” With that, the whole group clattered noisily down into the garden again. They did not break a single shoji frame or destroy a single lamp. But after they withdrew, when the family members crawled out from somewhere and lit a lamp to look, the room’s tatami mats had been so thoroughly churned that their woven patterns were indistinguishable, leaving the space no different from the muddy ground beneath the eaves.

They next stormed the house of a certain Hayakawa. They barged in with their muddy shoes, declaring they would search the house, but once again had no choice but to withdraw empty-handed. Next they redirected their spearhead toward Kuno Village, visiting in succession the houses of a certain Iso, a certain Nojima, and a certain Inage, proceeding with combative vigor. Every house stood empty as if by prior arrangement, leaving them unable to apprehend a single soul. By the time they withdrew from the fifth house, everyone's footsteps showed marked weariness mingled with disappointment. Through unspoken agreement, all resigned themselves to heading home, groups dissolving into darkness at each fork in the road. Those from distant areas reached their homes as night began paling into dawn; after changing out of soaked clothes, they collapsed like corpses into sleep.

The arrest warrant had already been labeled as a home invasion incident, but Nagashima could recall nothing beyond what had transpired. After concluding the prosecutor's interrogation, they placed him in a solitary cell with five-inch square bars. In the faint evening light, he first saw the wafer-thin futon, wooden pillow, and corner toilet - all coalescing into a bleak realization: Was this truly where I must exist? Yet remembering the crushing poverty of pollution victims, this confinement seemed almost bearable by comparison. What truly choked his spirit wasn't prison's physical constraints, but being severed from the petition movement that gave life meaning.

In addition to Nagashima, those similarly detained under trespassing charges pending trial were Ono Masakichi of Ueno Village and Ishikawa Hyōzō of Kuno Village. The two, now in prison, unwittingly became martyrs of the movement, garnering sympathy not only from pollution victims but also from the general public. The morning after Nagashima spent his first night in prison, an unknown person sent him a boxed lunch—this too was one manifestation of that sympathy. The guard brought a boxed lunch and, “Do you know a man named Takase Jinnosuke?”

“I do not know.” “Would a stranger send you a meal? Think carefully about that.” Even after the guard had left, Yohachi searched every corner of his mind but could not recall Takase Jinnosuke at all. There were kind people in the world; even as he worried that if he had forgotten Takase it would be inexcusable, he ate the breakfast with gratitude nonetheless.

The next morning, a letter bearing the court’s seal arrived from that person named Takase.

“Dear Sir, I learned through this morning’s newspaper of your imprisonment, and though it may be said to serve society and the people, I find myself utterly unable to contain my sympathy. Though I have not yet had the honor of your acquaintance, I wish to offer some small solace for your hardships and humbly ask your kind acceptance of this proposal: beginning this morning, I shall provide meals for one week. Moreover, I would gladly perform any service within my power at your command; please do not hesitate to make your requests known. While you remain confined, I earnestly pray you devote yourself wholly to preserving your health as I await with reverence the day of your release. Sincerely, Takase Jinnosuke of Muromachi, Tochigi Town”

Though they had suffered casualties, the united actions of the pollution victims proved sufficient to intimidate local assembly members with guilty consciences and settlement contractors still mired in indecision. Trembling with fear, some pleaded for police protection while others resorted to slandering fellow victims to defend themselves. There were even those who packed up their household belongings and fled to Tokyo under the protection of mining industrialist Furukawa.

Meanwhile, Tanaka Shōzō, recognizing the necessity of conducting precise surveys to actively provide materials to the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee, urged both the Shibaguchi and Unryu-ji Temple offices to undertake this task.

In any case, the situation was unfolding favorably. At the very least, they had now secured the necessary conditions for favorable developments. Ōkuma Shigenobu, who concurrently served as Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, had been an acquaintance of Shōzō since the People’s Rights Movement era. In any case, Shōzō recognized Ōkuma as a great man of their time, and Ōkuma too possessed the magnanimity to accept Shōzō’s unyielding integrity and untamed spirit. Additionally, there was a reshuffling of local officials, with Eguchi Senju—reputed for his unyielding integrity—assuming the governorship of Tochigi Prefecture, and Kosho Kado becoming the governor of Gunma Prefecture. Kanmuchi Tomotsune, chairman of the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee, was a man of integrity praised for his unblemished stance since the days of the Foreign Hardline Movement, and together with Cabinet Secretary Takahashi Kenzō, they were regarded as the twin pillars of purity untainted by worldly corruption within the current cabinet. Koizuka Ryū, another committee member, may have been a man of small stature, but he was, above all, someone with ties dating back to the Ōmeisha days. Among the other committee members were many scholars beyond Furukawa’s reach. Among them was Nagaoka Muneaki, an assistant professor at the College of Agriculture, who had already in the 23rd year of Meiji (1890) conducted soil analysis in the affected areas alongside the upright Kozai Yoshinao and forthrightly published findings that Ashio's mining pollution was flowing into the Watarase River—a scholar of such caliber.

The committee members earnestly surveyed the affected areas. Meanwhile, the solidarity of the pollution victims finally strengthened, and public opinion began to shift. Thus, it seemed the petition to halt mining operations was nearing its desired outcome. Shōzō even felt some relief at having dragged the situation this far.

However, as April drew to a close and they gauged the atmosphere within the investigation committee, it became apparent that mining operations would not be halted. Among the committee members, it had also come to light that there were those who deliberately attempted to distort matters by claiming the damage was not from mining pollution but merely from floods. Shōzō’s face contorted with rage as he raged. Yet he could not settle for merely being indignant. To further solidify the unity of the pollution victims and demonstrate their resolve and aspirations to the authorities, he conceived the idea of organizing a lecture tour.

Tanaka Shōzō returned to his hometown to spearhead the effort himself, commencing with a rally at Unryu-ji Temple on the 30th before appearing at gatherings across multiple locations. On May 1, when an assembly was held in Maurida Village of Yamada County, Shōzō delivered an exhaustive three-hour lecture that left the audience sobbing. Afterward, Nakajima Yasutarō recounted the history of the mining pollution incident as a closing address. But when he declared, “In the 27th year of Meiji [1894], a certain prefectural assemblyman named Kubota accepted settlement money from Furukawa and used it to enrich himself…”, a man suddenly charged up from behind the podium and shoved Nakajima’s shoulder. It was Kubota himself—the very man implicated. The entire audience sprang to their feet. “Beat that scoundrel!” they roared in unison, surging toward the podium. Thirty-odd supervising police officers scrambled to block them, resulting in scuffles that prolonged the disturbance for two full hours. They ultimately calmed the assembly by selecting committee members to deliver a formal rebuke, then escorted Kubota to the village office. But the crowd again converged on the office, encircling the gate’s exterior and refusing to back down.

After this incident, police departments across the region were thrown into great disarray. Perceiving signs that the pollution victims might launch another large-scale petition, they began enforcing strict vigilance along the routes to Utsunomiya and Tokyo. On the night of the third, over a thousand police officers stood guard all night through the violent storm.

Around this time, Shōzō moved about the affected villages to hold rallies, often sleeping wedged between young activists at the Unryu-ji Temple office. That night, after nearby pollution victims had dispersed, Shōzō joined a few young men and head priest Kurosaki in talking late into the night while listening to rain so relentless it seemed to rot the eaves. At times, winds that shook the cedar grove roared against the storm shutters with a fierce intensity. When drafts stirred the shoji paper—now wet with dampness—with a desolate sound, the andon lamp sighed anxiously with each gust.

“I heard that Venerable Katsu Kaishū composed a poem for us recently.” Kurosaki inquired as if suddenly recalling. “Hmm—had I not yet shown you? When I went the other day to report on the petition movement’s progress, he wrote this for us while explaining how it came to be.”

Shōzō did so while taking up his brush from the inkstone box and humming as he wrote it down. Who stirs Furukawa’s muddied waters into the pure stream, playing innocent? “Truly a master’s poem.” “It flows smoothly yet carries such caustic wit.” “And not a trace of vulgarity.” “Alongside General Tani’s inspection poem, this stands as twin masterpieces among mining protest verses.” “I sometimes try composing waka myself, but they turn into mad ramblings.” “Last October—something like ‘Furukawa and beggars clinking coins’... Ha ha ha...”

Shōzō laughed heartily, causing the others to burst into laughter as well, but Kurosaki shook his knees and— “Well, when it comes to caustic wit, you certainly hold your own. … But there’s one of your poems that I truly admire.” “If one becomes a god—what was it you said?” “I am no good at poetry, but this is what I believe.” “Fundamentally, it is a mistake to regard those called poetry reciters or poets as if they were different beings.” “It is those who are not poets who recite true poetry.” “The reason the way of poetry did not spread among us commoners in recent times lies in the sins of those who have stood above through the ages—the crime of the military class.” “For hundreds of years, they forbade farmers and merchants from composing poetry—that is their crime.” “The disorder of our nation’s language also has its cause here—Japanese people who do not know the beauty of their own language have become incoherent, and few even comprehend the meaning of the words they themselves use.” Shōzō cut off his words as if ashamed of having uncharacteristically launched into an exposition on poetry and murmured, “But poetry is a fine thing.” He murmured as if to himself.

At that moment when they noticed the rain's clamor had stilled, the cedars' boughs could be heard shedding their heavy burden of droplets.

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

“It’s gotten uncharacteristically quiet.” “Downright eerie.”

Kobayashi Yoshikichi whispered.

"What do you suppose Nagashima-kun is thinking about in his cell on a night like this?" "...on such nights as these?" Ōide Kihei whispered back.

Shōzō noted those words and looked back at Ōide, then shifted his gaze to the lamp’s halo on the tatami and crossed his arms. “All under heaven—I love it all,” he said. “Yet none walk beside me. I turn none away—it is others who push me aside. Should one truly attain this state of mind, that heart becomes noble and profound—a realm where all matters under heaven lie within one’s view. How then could slander or hatred arise? Only those who violate the Great Law and oppose the Grand Path—these we must utterly subjugate. This is the resolve I too shall strive toward.” He paused, voice deepening. “I ask you all to proceed with this same resolve.”

At that moment，suddenly，a bird’s cry pierced across the roof ridge. Four，five cries tore from its entire being，and Kobayashi and the others involuntarily pricked up their ears. “Is that a lesser cuckoo?” Kurosaki muttered，his face taking on a thoughtful look，but— “Ah，I had remembered. ‘If one becomes a god，even the sound of a single hand would be heard；yet who listens to the voice of two hands？’—this is the poem. It was two years ago when I heard this from someone who had come from Takasaki and stopped by. That was around this time of year—no，June，perhaps？ If the ears of the heart are shrouded by the mind of attachment，the sound of a single hand cannot be heard. One hand is the root；both hands are the branches. We must return to nature. As long as humans remain bound by the rope of life and death，prosperity and decay，they cannot possibly save other humans. Only by transcending humanity can one finally save both the world and its people. So saying，I—a monk by vocation—was instead granted revelation of the enlightened path. I have not forgotten to this day.”

Shōzō remained with his arms crossed, offering no reply and making no movement as he sat in silence. At first glance, one might have thought this was what Shōzō called his self-styled zazen, but even so, there was something unnatural about how he remained utterly still, like a fossil. Kurosaki abandoned his intention to refresh the tea and, like the others, sat properly on the tatami with his knees aligned, waiting solemnly without moving. But as the time stretched on excessively long, when someone peered quietly, Shōzō remained staring at a single point in the night’s darkness, tears pooled in both eyes yet unshed.

Kurosaki drew back in surprise, but he could not fathom what those tears meant. They were not mere worldly sorrow or tears of remorse; that much was clear. He wondered if they were indeed tears of compassion, shed by one intent on saving people and the world. No—what seemed more certain was that the very source of strength to endure hardships and trials lay within those drops. After a moment, words escaped from Shōzō’s lips. “People say that the lesser cuckoo sings as if the bird itself harbors jealousy or resentment, but that is merely deluded humans projecting onto others with their own deluded hearts.” “When one speculates about the profound mysteries of nature with a base heart, it is only natural to err.”

Public rallies continued to be held in various locations. On the eighth, one was held in Yanada Village, but after it closed, approximately two hundred audience members followed along under the pretext of escorting the speakers. When the procession—one carriage, sixty mounted riders, and the rest on foot—approached the Gunma Prefecture border, thirty to forty police officers who had been lying in wait there blocked their path. The police pressed them, stating that their riding horses were problematic and that marching in formation was inappropriate. The group rebutted by demanding why marching in formation was wrong and questioning how this differed from Ise pilgrimages. It became a peculiar back-and-forth.

The venue in Ōta Town the following day was Masago-za. The hall that could hold three thousand people filled to capacity instantly, its doors shut tight, yet outside a crowd of nearly ten thousand still pressed forward. Even after realizing they couldn't enter, they refused to disperse, stirring restlessly each time applause or commotion leaked from within. At this point inside, six speakers were ordered to stop their addresses, finally provoking the audience into an uproar. The inspecting police chief ultimately declared the assembly dissolved, leaving Arakawa and Shōzō without ever taking to the podium.

From this day onward, nearly every public rally came to face the bitter ordeal of either speakers being silenced or gatherings forcibly dissolved.

Moreover, the pollution victims' fervor came to be falsely reported as harboring seditious intent—whether this resulted from scheming and slander by Furukawa faction members who had earlier fled their hometowns remained unclear—when suddenly on May 11, Captain Kageyama of the Kempeitai arrived from Tokyo with thirty subordinates. They secured and began monitoring all strategic points along sixteen ri of both the Watarase and Tone riverbanks, stretching from Kiryū Town in Gunma Prefecture to Sakaimachi in Ibaraki Prefecture.

Shōzō, in Tokyo, learned of this development, but his heart ached with concern that the coastal activists might shrink back in fear because of it. When he saw toy guns in Asakusa, he bought five of them for some reason and had Yamaguchi Zenbei take them to Unryu-ji Temple.

Moreover, as if coinciding with this May 11th, the preliminary hearing for Nagashima and others—which had been left undecided for approximately one and a half months—concluded, marking at last the day when their public trial would commence in Tochigi. People from distant areas went so far as to leave their homes in the dead of night, and many from across the coastal region set out to attend the trial. Along the roadside where the three, wearing deep woven hats, were escorted from Kangaku to the courthouse, over two thousand pollution victims stood lined up, each offering words of solace. The verdict sentenced Nagashima and Ono to six months of heavy imprisonment and Ishikawa Hyōzō to four months of the same; Nagashima and Ono accepted their sentences, while Ishikawa appealed.

A few days later, Shōzō returned to his hometown and visited Unryu-ji Temple. Having summoned his elderly wife from Konaka Village, he walked along the coast with Ōide Kihei and Kurosaki Zenō—the four of them—to observe the security measures in place. The military police, upon learning of Shōzō's inspection patrols, inexplicably lifted their vigilance and withdrew immediately.

A few days later on the 20th, eleven individuals—Kamei Tomoji, Hara Daijirō, Hara Seizō, Nomura Kazujirō, Sakurai Nihei, Naganuma Masakichi, Tanairi Rissaburō, Kamei Toranosuke, Abe Eitarō, Kubota Yūkichi, and Kura Toyozō—were arrested on charges of trespassing. The charges alleged they had broken into certain homes in Tsukuba Village and assaulted residents, but since this originally stemmed from a plot by members of the Furukawa faction to crush the spirits of youth activists dedicated to their cause, the case was ultimately dismissed at preliminary hearing on June 15 after less than a month of detention pending trial.

Chapter Eight

On May 19, dozens of representatives from four towns and villages in Yamada County traveled to the capital to petition the chairman of the investigation committee. Shōzō departed for the capital alongside them. Whether mining operations would be halted or not—their fate hung on these two weeks of efforts. Shōzō encouraged the representatives with those words. Rather than letting twenty-four years and seven months of hardships go to waste—if we do not use this momentum we've built to force through a mining halt here and now—what will become of these hundred thousand pollution victims' very lives? When he contemplated this, he himself felt unable to sit still or remain standing. The depth of his anxiety appeared pitiful even to outside observers.

Therefore, 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 two Diet members—Nakajima Yūhachi and Arai Keigorō—and more than a dozen others had gathered. There was something about the government’s attitude that demanded vigilance until the very end. In response to movements within the Diet, they determined it necessary to intensify their efforts from outside as well, and thus deliberated thoroughly on their campaign strategy. As a result, they decided that Tsuda, Matsumura, Nakajima, and Takahashi would press Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Ōkuma, Chairman Kanmuchi, and others with resolute demands; Ichiki, Inagaki, Yamaguchi, Nakamura, and Kurihara’s group would confront Prime Minister Matsukata and Home Minister Kabayama; while Arai and Kojima’s contingent would visit members of the Investigation Committee—each delegation making separate visits to these authorities.

At seven o'clock the next morning, Ichiki's group assembled at his house. With the addition of Ichiki’s followers, a rather tumultuous group of more than a dozen members formed. Ichiki Saitarō’s name resonated among political activist circles of the time. It was also true that many reckless daredevils from Kumamoto numbered among his subordinates. Ichiki stood nearly six shaku tall—a towering figure with long hair cascading over his shoulders—yet carried himself with an air of scholarly refinement. His education in Chinese classics and poetic composition naturally lent depth to his presence. Yet the political firebrand within him surfaced at crucial moments. Once, he proposed to Matsumura Kaiseki: “Mr. Matsumura, shall we assassinate Furukawa?” Matsumura—a Christian adherent—possessed an equally forthright nature. “You mustn’t commit such atrocities,” he countered. “Why not smear excrement on his face instead? That would vex him thoroughly.” With that, he laughed.

Now, their group of over ten members arrived beside Sannō Shrine in Akasaka and halted under young chinquapin leaves. The narrow slope shaded by these trees' lower branches led to the Prime Minister's official residence. They positioned themselves in the stone wall's shadow at the slope's base and first sent one of Ichiki's underlings to scout. Soon the underling came running down, reporting Matsukata was about to depart by carriage. At that cue they all rushed to the residence's gate, where Matsukata stood poised to enter his carriage. Over ten men scattered beneath a great tree and surrounded the vehicle. Matsukata betrayed no panic—he merely swiveled his stubby neck, large eyes darting about inside. When an underling seized both horses' bridles and blocked them, the coachman gaped slack-whip. Two policemen shouted "We won't tolerate violence!" They came running with rebukes but wilted before the group's fervor, standing stiffly with feigned authority. Ichiki bellowed and gripped the carriage door.

“Which matters more—a single industrialist, or twenty ri of fertile land and one hundred thousand people? We’ve come to hear your answer.” Inside the carriage, Matsukata twitched his white beard that hung from his lips. “Regarding that matter, I will meet with you all later and give my response.” “I’m departing now and cannot spare time for lengthy discussion.”

Upon hearing this, Yamaguchi and Kurihara rushed over from both sides of the carriage,

“We won’t accept such evasive answers on the spot. We demand an immediate answer!” “If you can give an answer later, there’s no reason you can’t do it right now.”

Ichiki spoke again in his resonant, penetrating voice, "I have no desire to exchange lives with you, Minister, but if you insist on protecting only the mining industrialists, we have no alternative." "We are resolved to this course." Then the crowd pressed their faces against the carriage windows once more, voices overlapping as they cried— "This is no time for composure!" "A hundred thousand people teeter on starvation's edge!" "The path is clear," Ichiki declared. "Even should you refuse to halt mining operations, there exists no other solution."

At that moment, one of the men who had been keeping watch outside the gate came running up,

“Gentlemen, twenty or thirty police officers are rushing here now!”

“Alright, having said this much, he must have taken it to heart by now.” At Ichiki’s voice, the person holding the bridle let go. The wheels crunched into the gravel with a creak. Inagaki snapped his words as if to drive the point home. “If you value your life, don’t become Furukawa’s lackey.”

As the carriage exited the gate, a large group of police officers clattered their swords and swarmed in. This time, the group was surrounded by police officers. The mustached man who appeared to be a police inspector said there was cause for questioning and ordered them to come along to the main station. Then, Ichiki, his eyes flaring with anger, stepped forward,

“We don’t have time for that. We have an appointment to meet with Foreign Minister Ōkuma, so we’re heading to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs now. There’s absolutely no way we can accompany you. If you insist on taking us along, you can do so after we meet with Ōkuma.” He did so with a vigor that bordered on bellowing. The inspector, while inwardly exasperated, snorted in an effort to convey contempt. “His Excellency Ōkuma has no reason to meet with the likes of you.” “There’s no need for debate. In any case, follow us to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

Ichiki pushed through the ring of police officers. In that instant, his underlings squared their shoulders and flanked him on both sides. The officers, though skeptical, found themselves overwhelmed by their imperious manner and let them pass unimpeded. As the group neared the Foreign Ministry's distinctive namako walls, they encountered Ōkuma's carriage arriving for duty. Ōkuma took note of both the conspicuously large police contingent and Ichiki's group, halting his carriage. The officers closed ranks around the vehicle as if providing an escort.

“What’s all this commotion?”

A voice called out from inside the carriage. "No—when we came to request an audience with Your Excellency, this police officer tried to detain us without justification." “Your Excellency, we ask that you reprimand them.” Ichiki preemptively declared this while taking the lead and approached the carriage window. Given the weight of his words, even the police officers yielded their positions. Ōkuma faced them, “These are all like my students; they’re not suspicious individuals.” “You mustn’t detain them without cause.”

The police officers, looking deflated, each saluted and left. Ōkuma's words had not been false. He had taken notice of Ichiki as a promising man, routinely allowing him to come and go like the leader of an activist group. Meeting Ōkuma had not been scheduled for that day, but Ichiki instantly devised a strategy to exploit their usual relationship and drive off the police. It was quick thinking befitting the moment.

Next, they went to the Home Minister’s official residence. Kawayama knew Ichiki and Inagaki well, and having already held multiple meetings about the mining pollution issue, they were able to meet without difficulty that day too. “You may rest assured some resolution will come within a day or two.” Kawayama nearly let slip part of what he knew before sealing his lips. They left the residence emboldened by his reassuring tone. Tsuda’s faction and Arai’s faction each visited other ministers and investigation committee members as agreed the previous day. Pooling their gathered information, they pressed their campaign day after day. Meanwhile, the pollution victims’ Tokyo representatives continued round-the-clock efforts—lobbying authorities and coordinating with affected regions.

On the 23rd, it was reported that Vice Minister Oishi of Agriculture and Commerce had summoned the three governors—Egi of Tochigi, Kosho of Gunma, and Onoda of Ibaraki—to the minister’s official residence for several hours of discussions regarding mining pollution disposal. The outcome culminated on the 27th in a crushing blow against mining operator Furukawa. The mining pollution prevention order issued in the name of Minami Teizō, Director of the Tokyo Mining Bureau, was that measure. The issuance of such prevention work orders to major mines was unprecedented in our nation, their stipulations markedly stringent. The order consisted of thirty-seven articles mandating pollution control facilities and embankment construction for: mixing quicklime into mine water and wastewater; sedimentation ponds; prevention of rainwater inflow; storage areas for mud residue and slag with collapse prevention measures; precipitation of arsenous acid fumes; desulfurization of sulfurous acid gas; and related matters. Particularly significant were deadlines requiring work commencement within seven days and completion within thirty to 150 days—alongside a final clause stating, “Should any provisions be violated, mining operations shall immediately cease”—which projected a government stance of unyielding severity. For Furukawa, this proved an undeniable thunderclap: a directive too rigorous to evade through customary government manipulation, one whose compliance would surely bring substantial operational and financial hardship.

Simultaneously, directives were issued to the Dairin District Office regarding handling guidelines for afforestation and other matters concerning the Ashio government-owned forests, while separate directives were sent to the Tochigi and Gunma prefectural offices regarding privately owned forests upstream of the Watarase River. Furthermore, the Ministry of Finance's issuance of directives to tax officials concerning land tax exemptions due to mining pollution damage—along with its order for inspections and dispositions—had to be acknowledged as unprecedentedly thorough.

That day, a summons arrived at the Shinano-ya petition office from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, requesting to meet with the representatives. For the authorities to proactively request a meeting was something that had never occurred before. While wondering at this unusual development, Noguchi, Niwata, and several other Tokyo-based committee members presented themselves and were ushered into the reception room on the grounds that Vice Minister Oishi would meet them. They waited with growing suspicion—tilting their heads as if examining minutiae and exchanging whispers in hushed tones. Before long, Oishi entered and courteously acknowledged their trouble, then announced that a prevention order had been issued this time. After earnestly expounding the government's intentions behind each article of the order,

“You must fully explain this to your fellow victims and make them understand that from now on, they should peacefully return to their respective occupations.”

These were his thoroughly considered words. But Noguchi and the others showed clear signs of dissatisfaction, “We have been petitioning for the cessation of mining up until today; we did not petition for prevention orders.” “When we say this, it may seem as though we are unreasonably finding fault with the measures you have taken, but that is absolutely not the case.” “Because we have been told about prevention and pollution control measures countless times before, and we once trusted and relied on them.” “However, when we inquire about the results, there is absolutely no effect from the pollution control measures.” “We were deceived time and again, and while being deceived, we were plunged into ever more wretched circumstances.”

Then, Inamura, growing excited, continued from beside them. “That’s right. No matter how much we’re told now about effective pollution control methods, we can no longer believe them today. We’ve been made incapable of believing. Whose fault is this? With all due respect, do you officials truly think lukewarm measures like the Prevention Order can bring satisfactory resolution? We can’t stay idle when the outcome’s transparent. Until mining cessation is ordered, we’ve no path but to continue petitioning. This isn’t just the representatives’ opinion—I believe all pollution victims share this view.”

Oishi stared back at them with an expression of exasperation at their stubbornness, and whether because he had resigned himself to the impossibility of managing these ignorant country folk, he offered no response to this. After a moment, "In truth, I wish to explain the circumstances directly to Mr. Tanaka as well, but I hear he is currently in the affected area. I would request that your office send a telegram urging him to come to Tokyo." His words remained impeccably courteous. The representatives exchanged glances for a moment, but—

“No—that’s unacceptable,” said Noguchi, his chair creaking as he thrust his chest forward. “For us to make such presumptuous demands—even temporarily—would let Mr. Tanaka think we’ve accepted this measure of yours. That’s not our intent at all. If this concerns your office, you should naturally handle it yourself by sending a telegram or such from your side.” “Well, if that’s the case…” Oishi trailed off his words and stood up with a displeased expression. The representatives abruptly clattered their chairs and rose to their feet.

Two days later, over thirty members centered around the Cooperative Harmony Association gathered at Shibaura-tei. Of course, thorough deliberations were conducted regarding the government’s current measures. Tani Kanjō, while traveling, sent letters to Tsuda and others expressing his opinions on countermeasures. As a result of this meeting, in the early morning of June 1, Tsuda, Matsumura, Narai, Ichiki, Nakajima, Arai, Takahashi, and others visited Ōkuma’s residence in Waseda. They were ushered into a large reception room and were sitting in chairs as they pleased or gazing out at the spacious garden from the windows. The young trees that densely covered the area near the window displayed foliage so verdant it seemed to stain one's face, presenting a view pulsating with the joy of burgeoning life.

“I heard that when Count Ōkuma was accused of being indifferent to the mining pollution, Mr. Tanaka wrapped contaminated soil in newspaper and dumped it on the bonsai in his garden – even His Lordship was left speechless.” “Exactly! And I hear that bonsai ended up withering completely.” As Narai and Nakajima exchanged these remarks, Ōkuma entered wearing an unpatterned iron-gray haori, supported by his steward. He sank into an armchair and accepted the group’s salutations with a composed smile.

“Well now, this Prevention Order proves rather stringent, does it not? Reaching that stage was no small ordeal.” He laughed—a dry, calculated sound.

Ōkuma, convinced the entire group had come to express gratitude, was in high spirits. In response, they took turns explaining how they had deliberated on the government's measures at the Shibaura-tei meeting held on the 29th of the previous month. The government had long been negligent regarding the mining pollution incident, engaging in numerous unjust acts. For instance, while claiming to implement pollution control measures like ore concentrators, they had systematically deceived the people for years. Therefore, whether this order would prove effective and whether the measures were truly appropriate— After investigating these points, they intended to form their own opinion and make it public. Collectively, this represented their stance.

“Therefore, as we continue our movement going forward, we have come to inquire whether your fundamental policy absolutely deems mining cessation impermissible, and to seek your esteemed opinion on this matter.”

When Tsuda pressed on like that, Ōkuma opened his tightly closed, toad-like mouth. “I fully acknowledge the facts of the mining pollution damage.” “I do not consider Tanaka’s arguments to be unreasonable either.” “However, having gathered the nation’s foremost scholars and experts in the field to conduct research—through which we have obtained conclusive evidence that mining pollution can indeed be prevented in the future—we cannot abruptly cease all mining operations without first observing these results.” “This latest Prevention Order exists entirely for this purpose.” “We will have them carry out the preventive works, and if after a year or two their effectiveness still proves insufficient, then of course the idea is to decisively prohibit it…”

Seeing that remaining silent would likely allow Ōkuma to launch into another lengthy harangue, Takahashi leaned forward from his chair, “Is this 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 my opinion as the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce.”

Takahashi immediately looked around to his left and right. “Everyone, I ask you to remember the Minister’s words clearly.” Matsumura sharply interjected. “As I stated earlier—why does the order document make no mention of compensation for pollution victims? Regarding the method, we plan to offer our suggestions.” “That falls under judicial matters—compensation must be handled according to the Civil Code and other provisions. The government cannot issue compensation orders directly.”

“Then regarding measures to protect the pollution victims’ health – what disposition do you intend to adopt?” “On that matter, I believe the Home Ministry and local authorities will sufficiently handle it, so there’s no need for concern. Though of course, urging the authorities is your prerogative – feel free to do so without reserve.”

Ōkuma deflected their thrust while maintaining a tone that left room for their hopes to persist. The dialogue ended here. The visitors were crowding in one after another, so the group made their various requests regarding future measures and took their leave. Shōzō learned of the Prevention Order at Unryu-ji Temple in the affected area. When he returned along the night path after walking around the Kuno area to investigate the damage, the paper screens of the main hall were brightly lit by lamplight, and someone’s shadow moved in the corridor leading to the priest’s quarters. Hearing a cough, Ōide came out to meet him and thrust two telegrams forward, saying, “The Prevention Order has finally been issued.” Shōzō came under the hanging lamp and stood there fixing his eyes on the telegrams. They were from the Shibaguchi Mining Pollution Office and Hachikanchō, both informing him of the decision regarding the Prevention Order, but the wording was brief and the specifics of the content remained unclear.

"Hmm." Shōzō groaned and stood rigidly for a while, staring at the lamp flame, then muttered "So it is—it truly came to this after all" as he slumped into a seated position and crossed his arms. "To what extent would these preventive works be?" Ōide brought tea from the priest’s quarters and, while offering it to Shōzō, peered at him. "That I cannot say. Given the current state of affairs, it’s likely to be considerably stringent. But no matter how stringent it may be, it remains worlds apart from the mining cessation we desire."

But in Shōzō’s heart alone, he had long anticipated this general progression. Even if the specifics remained unclear, he could only see it as having settled on the worst-case scenario he had predicted.

“What a grievous mistake we’ve made. To overturn this settled matter and push for mining cessation would prove harder now than forcing it through decisively from the start… Truly, our efforts fell short.”

Drooping his shoulders, Shōzō let out a deep sigh. Though he had anticipated this outcome, Shōzō had devoted his entire being to crying out for mining cessation while mobilizing the masses. And until that moment when he had scanned the telegrams, he had clung to a glimmer of hope. All the greater was his disappointment. Yet he could not show that disappointment to those around him.

“Even with this latest order—is it still not enough? Will the mining pollution keep flowing? Will we still not be saved?”

When Yokozuka said this and leaned forward, his young face twisting with earnest apprehension, "The government has deceived the pollution victims twice now. We have learned this truth through our own flesh. If that is so, we must steel ourselves to expect nothing less hereafter. Should we abandon our movement over such half-measures, the entire Watarase River basin will meet its ruin." As was his constant refrain, "We cannot silence our cry for mining cessation until we achieve our purpose."

Shōzō pressed his argument in a sharp tone, his voice taking on an almost possessed quality. Under the lamplight, his eyes gleamed, and greasy sweat glistened on his forehead. Shōzō wiped his face smoothly with his large palm,

“Putting it this way may indeed make us seem stubborn and narrow-minded, but that is not the case.” “The human spirit is by no means something vast; if you spread it thin, it becomes diluted and loses its strength.” “Only by staying narrow can it finally remain solid.” “Whether they call us narrow-minded or stubborn, we must persist with unwavering resolve toward our objective—there is no path but to resolutely see it through.” As Shōzō was thus vehemently emphasizing his points, volunteers from nearby villages began streaming in, and the main hall’s spacious room took on the appearance of a discussion meeting. Telegrams had come from the Tokyo-based committee members to each village, and they had unwittingly directed their steps toward Unryu-ji Temple, thinking that going to the office would allow them to learn the details.

Two days later, Shōzō left the capital, checked into Shinano-ya in Shibaguchi, and heard from the Tokyo-based committee members about the details of their meeting with Vice Minister Ōishi. He listened while studying everyone’s faces. “Hmm, well done. Vice Minister Ōishi must have been exasperated by their stubbornness, but this demonstrated the pollution victims’ resolve—it was most commendable,” he praised their efforts, and there too he tirelessly advocated the spirit of continuing their movement.

On the morning when the Kyodo Shinwakai members visited Ōkuma’s residence, Shōzō arrived at Hachikanchō—where the tower of Egi Photo Studio could be seen above lush, verdant trees—and alighted from his carriage at Miyashitagata. While waiting in the detached room, Takahashi soon stopped by to report. The day before, he had heard Shōzō voice outright dissatisfaction with the government’s latest measures and argue vehemently that they must continue their movement to halt mining operations. Thus, he had feared how agitated Shōzō might become upon hearing Minister Ōkuma’s opinion. Yet unexpectedly, Shōzō listened calmly and dismissed it,

“I see,” Shōzō said as if anticipating this outcome. “That’s precisely what one would expect from the Minister’s words.” “On my return journey,” Takahashi reported, “I called at the Ichigaya residence as well. General Tani held nearly identical views to Count Ōkuma.”

Shōzō seemed somewhat struck by this revelation; his eyes rolled conspicuously as he turned to look back at Takahashi. After Takahashi left, Shōzō returned to his seat and sat in heavy silence. A ground bee had strayed into the room, its persistent buzzing filling the space as he followed its erratic path with his gaze—an oddly lonesome sight. When the insect finally flew out toward the garden where new leaves glimmered, Shōzō abruptly spoke to Kato Kenkichi beside him. "If we press recklessly for immediate mining cessation only to have the prevention order show results, we'll appear both shortsighted and disturbingly eager for chaos." "Therefore we must endure—observe how this prevention order unfolds." "Such criticisms will inevitably arise." "No—they've already arisen. But these are merely vulgar opinions."

He stared into Kato’s eyes as if demanding comprehension, but immediately continued, “For if, even as we continue our movement, the prevention works prove effective and the harm of mining pollution disappears, then nothing could be better.” “Since that has been our objective from the very beginning, we can simply end our movement cleanly when the time comes.” “On the other hand, if we were to abandon this movement there—what then?” “Even if the prevention works prove ineffective, a movement that has gained such public support today cannot be restarted.” “Strike while the iron is red.” “Once it cools, there’s no helping it.” “Even if they raise an uproar at that point, the pollution victims will have no choice but to perish in indignation alongside this land poisoned by mining pollution.” “Therefore, we must continue burning like this.” “We must continue this movement to the very end. If by some fortune the prevention works prove effective, I will resign myself to being slandered by the world as an ambitious troublemaker, a lover of chaos, a fool lacking foresight—whatever they may call me.”

“Ah…” “I do not labor for fame.” “The path ahead lies solely in this single course.” “You must devote yourself to this purpose.” “However—” Shōzō halted mid-sentence and fixed his gaze once more upon the man’s eyes.

“This matter must not be disclosed to anyone.”

Kato simply remained silent and nodded deeply. Moved as if he had been made to listen to a naked confession, he found himself without 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-General of the Tax Bureau regarding tax exemption measures. Until now, any petition containing the two characters for "mining pollution" had been rejected on grounds that "there is no explicit mention in the Land Tax Regulations," but through their appeals, they were finally able to openly use the term "mining pollution" for the first time. Thereupon, from the Shinano-ya office, they notified all pollution victims of the required documentation format while cautioning that since tax officials would soon be dispatched from Tokyo for investigations, the victims must urgently prepare to provide detailed answers whenever and wherever questioned by any official.

The Kyodo Shinwakai had been scheduled to submit their opinions to the government regarding measures for compensation and health protection, but after holding frequent meetings to refine their proposal, they submitted a written petition on June 10. Furthermore, the association frequently held mining pollution lectures and, using photographs Tsuda had taken during his multiple trips to the affected areas—for which slide preparations had now been completed—organized slide shows depicting mining pollution damage in various locations. The devastation of Nishioka Shinden’s wheat fields, Fukuchi Hachirō’s residence in the same village, and the lake formed by the breached embankment in that village deeply moved the audience, with some even coming to the anteroom to declare, “I will join the movement and work from tomorrow.”

Even Shōzō was shocked by photographs showing actual conditions of destitute households and sent a letter dated June 21 to Unryu-ji Temple's office containing the following text.

“Dear Sirs, Respectfully.” Regarding this unfortunate incident, the activists’ movement must truly engrave its truth upon their minds; should they neglect this matter, I humbly believe they will soon drift into luxury and abandon divine purpose, giving rise to words and deeds divorced from the incident. Though I have long devoted myself here, it was only last year that I requested Unryu-ji Temple’s damaged building serve as our office; since then, despite our prolonged association through your mediation, you have not permitted Shōzō to lodge among your villages’ principal victims and destitute persons, nor has Shōzō himself known the actual conditions of impoverished households—only now seeing their reality through Mr. Tsuda’s photographs. Moreover, even when Tokyo’s meat-eating gentlemen occasionally come to inspect, the longstanding negligence of guides has only now become apparent. Henceforth, to witness firsthand the extremity of food, clothing, and livelihood among destitute households, I humbly request that rest stops also be established in those areas to hear their accounts.”

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 various ministries and the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee on June 27.

During last September’s flood, countless dead fish had drifted into Honjo. Shōzō determined this was due to mining pollution from the Watarase River, studied the water currents of various rivers, and arrived at the following conclusion. The Tone River, compared to the Watarase River, has a more distant source and longer basin, resulting in differing flood arrival times at their confluence. Specifically, the Watarase River’s flood arrives a day or half-day earlier, flowing into the Edo River via the Gongendo River and Sekiyado before the Tone River’s flood reaches them. Furthermore, floodwaters flowing eastward into the Tone River collided with the Kinu River’s surge at Sashima District’s eastern edge, then ran south through the Tone Canal to clash again with the Edo River’s current. This inundated Saitama Prefecture and reached Tokyo Prefecture. The damage in these neighboring prefectures still drew little attention—precisely as the people of Tochigi and Gunma Prefectures around Meiji 12-13 had ignored glaring signs. Unless awakened quickly, they would inevitably follow the Watarase region’s fate. Shōzō had been urgently voicing these concerns when he learned villages near Sekiyado finally showed visible damage. Hearing reports of clams and freshwater shellfish drastically declining near the Edo and Nakagawa Rivers’ mouths, he abruptly ordered Kato Kenkichi and Noguchi Haruzō to conduct a field survey.

The two men departed on July 2nd and trekked dozens of miles from Ashikaga and Ora counties in the west to Choshi in the east and the mouth of Gyotoku in the south, returning to the capital on the 19th. The damage was unmistakably evident. However, on the afternoon of the 22nd, when his fatigue had not yet subsided, Kato once again had to depart for the affected areas under Shōzō’s direction. This was because alarming information had reached the Shibaguchi office. The tax officials and prefectural/municipal officials who had long treated the pollution victims with contempt were publicly declaring, "Submitting tax exemption petitions is futile—stop it," thus deceiving the guileless farmers, all while the submission deadline loomed at month’s end. When Shōzō and his group came to Furukawa to verify the facts, it was said that Shimotsuga and Sashima counties were suffering most from those abuses. Although the night had already grown late, Shōzō—showing the single-mindedness of a man possessed as he declared there was not a moment to lose—immediately departed for the site.

Shōzō spent several days patrolling villages in that area, sometimes entering and exiting village offices to check submission statuses, other times urging motivated youths to press villagers into filing petitions. Even while doing so—conducting on-site surveys of the damage and witnessing the hardships of those in extreme poverty—Shōzō could not help but feel anguish in his heart. Standing at the Yanaka embankment, he was once again stunned by the vast expanse of reeds stretching before him. The only traces left to recall that this entire area had once been rice fields and farmlands were the remnants of ridges beneath the wildly swaying reeds and withered mulberry trees. These reeds had become the final means of sustenance for destitute residents—sold as roofing and screen materials to eke out a living—yet even these now showed signs of withering this year. They said it was the result of a seven-foot flood surge in early July. Shōzō persuaded village leaders to submit a damage inspection petition that bluntly stated: "Reed shoots fail to sprout, leaving the destitute unable to shelter themselves from rain and dew." In sections of the worst-hit areas, rice plants floated uprooted in paddies. Patches of verdigris tinged the green ridges, catching the eye. The feet of those working the paddies festered between toes with swollen boils. The hands of women picking mulberry leaves were horribly cracked and bleeding.

When Shōzō returned to the capital, information from each affected area reaching the office urgently reported destitution. Thereupon, he encouraged the understaffed Tokyo-based committee members, organized materials, revised each draft, and categorized the damage caused by mining pollution—both material and psychological—into three types (individual, municipal, and public), compiling over forty items to have a voluminous petition submitted to incumbent ministers. In late July, the Ministry of Finance dispatched several appraisers to investigate affected zones and conduct soil analysis, but the pollution victims' actual circumstances allowed no room to await these test results. Thereupon, each affected town and village submitted a "Tax Payment Deferral Petition" on September 7, taking it a step further by following up with an "Indefinite Tax Reduction and Exemption Petition."

Around the same time, the Tokyo-based committee members also prepared petitions concerning the cessation of deforestation in mountains near the copper mine, damage from mining pollution to mulberry leaves and silkworm cocoons, impacts on pasture fertilizers, harm to embankments, and other related matters. Thus did Shōzō and his associates continue their tireless physical and mental exertions day after day—one moment seated at desks writing from dawn till dusk, the next running themselves ragged in ceaseless activity. The focus of their movement became concentrated primarily on urgent matters of tax reduction/exemption and health protection. Though Shōzō had originally resolved to pursue mine closure indefinitely, maintaining single-minded support for this goal as before had grown untenable under current circumstances. This stemmed both from their perpetual entanglement in immediate crises day and night, and from preventive works commencing at Ashio Copper Mine with four supervisory officials dispatched from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce—developments fostering among comrades a growing sentiment to acknowledge the severity of government prevention orders while tentatively awaiting their results. Even within the Kyodo Shinwakai group, while some initially swayed by Shōzō’s arguments had vehemently protested to Minister Ōkuma of Agriculture and Commerce and Vice-Minister Ōishi about half-hearted government measures, practical considerations gradually prevailed over principle. The view gained ground that demanding immediate mine closure outright was unrealistic as a practical matter. "Our future task," it was concluded, "should rather be securing appropriate compensation from Furukawa as provisional measures during this prevention order trial period, thereby alleviating pollution victims’ immediate destitution." This opinion came to be regarded as prudent. Tani Kanjō, Tsuda Sen, and Matsumura Kaiseki all shared this stance.

One day in July, when Shōzō visited Matsumura’s house in Sambanchō, Matsumura conveyed it as his own idea. Shōzō’s face visibly flushed. He discarded his fan, suddenly rolled up his sleeves, and straightened the knees of his hakama while— “You stink too—you took it, didn’t you?” He looked ready to lunge at him. However, Matsumura was also a man of resourcefulness. Showing not a hint of surprise, “I hear you struck Shimada Saburō’s head, but I won’t be struck silently.” “Fine. If you’re going to hit me, then go ahead and try.”

He glared back without moving a muscle.

The Shimada incident referred to an event that had occurred the previous November at the Progressive Party's office. When Shimada advised, "With greater issues confronting us today, you shouldn't obsess over a localized problem like this mining pollution incident," Shōzō retorted indignantly: "The Soga brothers devoted their entire lives to avenging their father's enemy. Sakura Sōgorō died for his villagers. How much more urgent is this mining pollution crisis—a grave matter affecting three hundred thousand people across forty thousand chō of contaminated land? You gentlemen engrossed in petty office-seeking campaigns likely lack even the leisure to distinguish between major and minor issues!" These exchanges culminated in Shōzō's furious outburst of violence. Matters had escalated thus partly because Shimada maintained that "Ashio remains a national treasure house—mine closure should only follow absolute confirmation of unpreventable damage," an opinion Shōzō had long found deeply objectionable. Though estranged from Shimda since then, Shōzō never reconciled himself to having assaulted his longtime friend.

Now that Matsumura had brought this up, he snapped back to his senses with a start. Shōzō suddenly softened his expression and apologized for his rashness. “Well, I had already surmised that this plan would be disagreeable to you, who are intent on pursuing mine closure to the very end,” Matsumura nodded with slumped shoulders. “However, my principal focus lies in the relief of farmers in the affected areas. If this objective can be achieved, then even incurring your anger may be unavoidable under certain circumstances. That’s why I decided to speak about it.”

“If we accept even a single sen, we’ll ultimately have to bow to Furukawa’s tyranny.” “We’d be repeating last year’s disastrous settlement in the affected areas.” “Taking their coins means plunging into Avīci Hell itself!” “And dragging our people into living hell besides.” “I grasp this perfectly.” “Compensation alone can never bring true salvation.” “The government’s new tax relief measures? Of course they’re justified.” “But thinking this restores the land? Sheer delusion!” “As I’ve always said—land flooded with clean silt becomes forest or field.” “Places turned lakes overnight make decent fish ponds.” “But soil laced with poison? Unless we dig out every grain, recovery’s impossible.” “Our people breathe this filth daily.” “Forced to drink venomous water, eat tainted rice—their bodies rot from within.” “That’s why our restoration petition demands health protections too.” “But what use stripping poisoned earth when the mine keeps spewing more?” “We’ve been duped at every turn.” “Their ‘preventive works’? Might as well be children’s sandcastles.” “If by miracle they worked? I’d disband our movement that very hour.” “But today I see only one path—shut the mines forever.”

It was because of this unyielding attitude that Shōzō clashed with Tani Kanjō. He also clashed with Tsuda Sen. In Tsuda’s case, the two met at Matsumura’s house and engaged in heated debate. Though they eventually reached understanding and shared laughter, at one point the elderly men grew so agitated they sprang up as if to duel. Thus the compensation issue naturally dissipated of its own accord. Around this time occurred the incident where Shōzō visited Ōkuma Shigenobu at his Ōiso villa—their discussion of mining pollution rapidly escalating into his customary shouting until attendees seized his arms and expelled him. Ōkuma had initially listened with magnanimous “Hmm, hmm” interjections, but when his prevention order came under criticism, even he flushed crimson and rebuked Tanaka’s discourtesy. This served only to fuel the flames of Shōzō’s convictions.

Shōzō's conviction remained unyieldingly firm. When matters turned to mining pollution, Shōzō—by nature straightforward, single-minded, and hot-blooded—insisted on his beliefs without compromise. Naturally, those around him came to view this as obstinacy. Even among friends and acquaintances of many years, some began keeping their distance. Not only had most of the three to four thousand sympathizers painstakingly gathered since February drifted away after the Prevention Order as if the matter were settled, but now even his comrades dwindled like missing teeth, leaving barely three or four individuals working in true unity. Yet within this isolation, Shōzō persisted in his petitioning campaign focused solely on mine closure while rallying the pollution victims' representatives.

From the dawn of September 9th, the entire Kantō region was struck by a violent storm. In Tokyo proper as well, starting with Kinokunizaka, rows of trees were knocked down like dominoes in various locations, houses collapsed, and several people were crushed to death. In the Hayakawada vicinity, a ten-shaku rise in water levels had already been observed by mid-morning. On the 10th, the embankment at Yanaka Village's cross-section collapsed, and its muddy torrent inundated the entire area of Ebise Village. Moreover, due to this violent storm, the pollution victims began agonizing incessantly over whether rumors about the mountains in the Ashio region collapsing were true. Finally, Tanimoto Hachirō, Tanairi Rizaburō, and several others resolved to ascend to Ashio to conduct an inspection of the preventive construction work.

Over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth, they conducted an on-site survey and returned after making various observations: that cracks had formed in the Kotaki sedimentation pond; that approximately twenty ken 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 widespread deforestation in the mountain forests. Subsequently, they left the capital, appealed to Superintendent Hizuka of the Mining Bureau about the actual conditions, and further submitted a written report based on their field survey on October 7.

On the same eighth day, a petition titled "Petition Regarding Damage from Mining Pollution to Public Health and Other Areas" was submitted by Tokyo-based committee members. Additionally, among documents produced that same month at the Unryu-ji Temple office were the "Watarase River Coastal Reconstruction Petition," "Mining Pollution Damage Disposition Petition," and "Request for Official Inspection of Rice Crop Yields in Mining Pollution-Affected Areas."

In late October, a study group on the mining pollution problem emerged among concerned members of the House of Peers, and they requested a statement from Tanaka Shōzō. Shōzō naturally attended gladly, recounted the entire course of events at length, and concluded by urging them to devote their efforts to relief.

November 17 was the day when Nagashima and Kobayashi, who had been incarcerated at Utsunomiya Prison, were released after completing six months of imprisonment. At ten in the morning, when the two exited the prison gate, numerous representatives from each village were there to greet them. The two were immediately guided to Inaya Inn and served a light midday meal. Soon after, they came to Sano Station by train with the representatives. The welcoming party filled both sides of the road from the station front to the eaves of buildings, numbering approximately 1,500 to 1,600 people.

For Nagashima, a white horse specially chosen and sent by Komure Yohachi from their home village stood tethered. For Kobayashi, a chestnut horse was brought forth. The crowd helped both men mount their horses and set out toward Unryu-ji Temple, the great banner proclaiming "Welcome the Released Patriots" flapping vigorously in the late autumn wind.

Gazing down from horseback at this elaborate display with gratitude, Nagashima found it gradually turning painful. Reflecting on the marks of hardship etched into the people's gaunt faces, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had been living a comparatively easier life himself. As he neared the coast and surveyed the pollution-ravaged fields spreading left and right, something resembling self-reproach surged more intensely in his chest. The two men stood on the sandy plain before Unryu-ji Temple's gate, enduring another round of embarrassingly effusive welcomes before parting ways to be escorted to their respective villages. Nagashima rode swaying along the embankment, viewing to his right the resentful flow of the Watarase River and to his left the blighted lands showing little sign of harvest. How many times had he crossed this path? With this thought, bitter memories flooded back. Then he steeled himself - starting tomorrow, he must rejoin the struggle. He now belatedly remembered the solemn vow made with his father. Soon his mind circled repeatedly until the faces of father, mother, wife, and children rose before him...

Meanwhile, at the Ashio Copper Mine, the construction of the desulfurization tower—considered the most challenging part of the preventive works—was completed on October 22. Subsequently, the other construction works were finally completed within the ordered timeframe, and on November 22, they received completion approval from the Mining Supervision Office. When this Prevention Order was issued last May, those around Furukawa Ichibē had said, “Such massive construction cannot possibly be completed in such a short period of time." “Even if it’s a government order, when forced to do the impossible, we must resolutely refuse.” There were not a few who urged him thus. However, Furukawa Ichibē nevertheless refused to listen to this. Rejecting the various opinions from left and right, the construction work was commenced. However, he too soon found himself facing a dire shortage of funds. This was because, as part of Furukawa Ichibē’s economic policy, he had consistently devoted all his capabilities to developing various mines. In a section of a letter he addressed to the Ashio Director on July 14,

"Regarding the financial matter as well, I am profoundly grateful for your kind consideration." "As for the remaining shortfall, while we expect to attain sufficient reassurance through receiving advance contract deposits from next fiscal year's forward copper sales in Yokohama, we shall contrive some means and make subsequent payments."

Under such circumstances, they fell into difficulties midway through construction, but what accelerated these hardships further was the labor shortage and scarcity of construction materials. Due to the surge in industrial ventures following the First Sino-Japanese War, workers were already in short supply, and in mountainous areas like Ashio where they needed to recruit over five thousand laborers, they could not afford to haggle over wage levels. Moreover, construction materials like cement had no surplus in domestic production capacity, with market prices surging so much due to Furukawa's purchasing activities. Amid these challenges, Yoshikichi—the adopted son—met with Shibusawa Eiichi of Daiichi Bank on Ichibē's behalf and successfully secured a loan that had already exceeded lending limits and even Ichibē had been unable to obtain, thereby resolving the emergency.

Jun'ichi 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 to convalescing from his chronic lung ailment, but with the arrival of this year, his condition suddenly worsened, and he finally died at his Nishigahara residence at the age of fifty-four. Jun'ichi was 28 years old that year, and Ichibē was 66.

With November's arrival, the political world became increasingly consumed by stormy developments. On October 8, Cabinet Secretary-General Takahashi Kenzō stepped down after submitting a resignation letter that declared "I cannot pursue reformist politics alongside these rabble," openly insulting the Satsuma faction, followed by Legislation Bureau Director Kanmuchi Tomotsune's resignation on the 28th. Then on November 2 came the mass resignation of all Progressive Party members, culminating in Ōkuma's own resignation on the 6th. The direct cause of Ōkuma's resignation lay in his strenuous opposition to the impending land tax hike bill before the Diet - his argument that it exceeded the people's capacity to bear such burdens having been ultimately rejected - leading him to perceive that his cabinet's lifespan had already expired.

With Ōkuma thus departing the halls of power and all of Shōzō's close associates from the Progressive Party—those with whom he shared deep ties—resigning from their government posts, the authorities' attitude toward Shōzō's mining pollution movement and its victims underwent a complete transformation. The suppression of their efforts grew increasingly overt in every regard. At this juncture, capitalizing on the Progressive Party's rejection of Matsukata, certain factions within the Liberal Party began plotting alliances with the Satsuma clique. Yet both Liberal and Progressive parties had already endured bitter experiences through their past collaborations with clan-based politicians. Among informed members of both groups emerged a mutual recognition that previous strategies had been misguided, sparking momentum toward forming a united front against the government.

Shōzō, compelled by circumstances, began rushing about during this period under the principle that since the current government was no longer reliable, it was better to build a powerful force outside the government. Not only himself, but he also mobilized youths related to the mining pollution and worked diligently to facilitate connections. Shōzō had consistently secured submitters and supporters from various factions when submitting mining pollution inquiry documents up to this point, and since the pollution activists around him had continuously visited among them to gain sympathy and understanding, these connections played a partial role in the alliance of three opposition factions (Progressive Party, Liberal Party, National Association). In a sense, it could be said that this served as the driving wedge.

The opposition alliance had already been formed, and the opening ceremony of the Eleventh Diet was held on December 24. Thus, on the following day, the 25th, a no-confidence motion was first presented to the assembly with the support of two-thirds of the entire house as a majority opinion, and just as the chamber was thrown into turmoil and about to commence deliberations, an imperial edict of dissolution was issued. However, by that evening, the cabinet was also forced to resign en masse.

Prior to this, the "Petition for the Protection of Pollution Victims Based on the Constitution," created through coordination between both mining pollution offices, had been submitted to various ministers and the Speakers of both Houses of the Diet on December 14 after securing support from dozens of town and village heads across five prefectures and eight districts. To this was attached a thick booklet explaining the contents of the twenty-four-chapter petition summary, and its explanatory content was the most detailed and substantial among all that had been submitted thus far.

However, this too was buried amidst the tumultuous political strife, and thus the year came to a close.

Part Three

If I clutch my aged arm, bones jut high

Voice too assumes the desolate visage of a withered field (Meiji 34) — Shōzō

Chapter One

In Meiji 31 (1898), Shōzō turned fifty-eight. That year, having been continuously active in the disaster-stricken regions since January, Shōzō went up to the capital for the first time in ages on March 25 and lodged at Shinanoya. His vital energies seemed utterly depleted - his mental faculties had dulled, and he now found himself in such a state that even trivial matters overwhelmed his capacity for consideration. What occurred to him then were the Shio-no-Yu hot springs in Shibaura where he had bathed for recuperation the previous year.

Materially and spiritually, Shōzō had no leisure to rest comfortably. It was a state that could most aptly be described by the word "destitution." His body was obese; the piercing gaze that shot from triangular eyelids was sharp; at first glance, he did not appear ill to anyone's eyes. Yet when observing the lusterless color of his skin and the sagging lower eyelids shadowed with dark circles, it became undeniable that something within was being eroded away. However, based on his self-awareness of symptoms like declining memory and dulled thinking, Shōzō himself became convinced he had a brain disease and had told others so as well—yet concerns about a brain disease proved unfounded, as these symptoms actually stemmed from physical and mental overwork. The fatigue from years of relentless exertion had finally begun to manifest externally in his old age, directly resulting from the strain he had imposed since January.

In mid-January, as days of severe cold persisted, Shōzō—already suffering from a chill—dispatched the Mining Pollution Victims’ Guidelines to five prefectures and seven districts on the 19th, working with several youths in the frigid main hall of Unryu-ji Temple. This stemmed from the concern that the pollution victims might lose sight of their true purpose amidst the elections. He was confined to bed from that night onward—yet even the following day, he continued directing the youths from his sickbed to send out the materials. “Both the Shibaguchi office and this office here don’t have a single sen to spare. But even we penniless, uneducated men have uncovered these vast sums—thirty-five million yen in damages up to the thirtieth year and thirty thousand yen annually in tax exemptions—as outlined in these guidelines. Societal matters are not about the presence or absence of money. In short, it’s spirit.” He had been encouraging the youths with such fervor, but the overexertion proved too much.

Moreover, impatient for his condition to improve, he went to Tatebayashi on the 23rd, and the following day, trembling in a rickshaw through a blizzard, returned to Unryu-ji Temple. Heeding no words of restraint from those around him, he raced about day after day, sustaining his vigor with alcohol. He did attend political campaign speeches, but more often than not, he traveled from village to village in the affected areas, holding one mining pollution discussion meeting after another. During his stay of approximately two months, his activities extended across twenty-five locations in the six districts of the Ryōmō region. The main focus of this movement had been to prevent the loss of public rights through special tax exemptions, for despite the urgency of the situation, it had been neglected due to the pollution victims' lack of awareness.

Shōzō remained particularly vigilant against using the Unryu-ji Temple office for election campaigning. At committee meetings, he warned against this matter and strictly forbade any discussion of election expenses. Yet on March 8—while he attended the Mining Pollution Discussion Meeting in Nishitabata, Nitta District—the Unryu-ji Temple office underwent a search that confiscated all documents and saw Ōide Kihei taken into custody. Tanimoto Yachihachi was subsequently arrested. This resulted from the opposition faction's slander—a calculated scheme with dual aims: to undermine Shōzō's electoral standing and demoralize riverside pollution activists.

Despite direct interference and Tanaka Shōzō himself having hardly engaged in election campaigning, the March 15th voting results showed an overwhelming victory: Tanaka Shōzō with 1,076 votes and Kimura Hanbee with 78 votes. The election expenses consisted of about 1,000 yen raised as usual by volunteers from Anso County, with additional contributions of over 200 yen coming from outside the electoral district such as Shimotsuga, Gunma, and Saitama. However, Shōzō merely listened to reports without ever seeing the actual money, nor was he informed about how and where the funds were distributed.

Under such circumstances, even while staying at Shio-no-Yu, Shōzō’s funds remained meager. He had no money even for postage stamps for letters sent to various people in the affected areas, borrowing one yen from a maid to manage that; when going out, he was unable to pay for lunch and had a rickshaw puller cover the cost. March 31st—a leaden overcast day typical of the cherry blossom season. When he slid open the shoji screens, beyond the handrail lay a dull-gray sea where seagulls danced like scraps of paper. The dull, heavy glare oppressively weighed on his mind. The nearly thirty-year-old maid came and chattered about the cherry blossoms, which he listened to absently. Then muttering, “Spring arrives, yet no spring comes to me,” he took a scroll and scribbled an impromptu verse.

"Since they won't scatter, how utterly foolish these withered flowers are." "And though they do not scatter at that time, the flowers have withered." The maid peered at the verses, perhaps thinking she herself was being satirized. "Oh, Mr. Tanaka, you're being quite harsh!" "No, no—this is about me. If I let myself falter over a minor illness, I'm nothing but a withered flower."

After several days of rest, he seemed to have somewhat recovered from his illness.

April 2nd found no visitors coming. As he shut himself away alone in his room, images of the poisoned lands flitted unbidden through his mind—the Itō Cabinet newly formed on January 12th with its influx of untested officials; the House of Representatives dissolved at year's end and only now reconstituted through general elections; all these fresh legislators ignorant of their cause. While domestic squabbles—mockingly called "conjugal farts behind paper screens"—consumed the New Year celebrations, Germany had seized Jiaozhou Bay and Russia Port Arthur, both signing lease treaties with Qing China in January and March respectively. Politicians' minds and public attention alike drowned in these foreign affairs—the mining crisis would likely fade unheeded. Every conceivable obstacle blocked their path—the victims' own movement crawled forward like crippled oxen. First Ōide and Tani jailed through opposition slander; now rumors swirled of landlords hiking rents on toxic plots in Anso District—greed-stricken fools ensnared by schemers' traps! Should this prove true, how swiftly would foes twist it: "Rents rise because harvests return! All their pollution claims—lies! Just gold-digging theatrics!" These thoughts constricted Shōzō's chest until—with a thunderous sigh—he slammed fist against knee and roared: “Ah! Wretched Kantō!” A maid passing the corridor wheeled round in alarm.

Shōzō took out a diary bound with hanshi paper and wrote.

“Raise your voice! Alas, Kantō is wretched!” “The people must not become slaves to lawyers. Pollution Victims, pointing to the affected lands, must not forget that we are the rightful owners of this nation’s soil.”

April 3rd. It was a hazy spring rain. In the rain, a nori-gathering boat laden with bundles of brushwood traced its course along the waterway. That strangely melancholy scenery evoked memories of the skies and waters from flood season. When he closed the shoji screens, the sound of dripping eaves filled the tatami-matted room. Shōzō sat alone in silent meditation when tears began to stream down his cheeks. Shōzō recorded this in his diary that day.

"People feel shame beneath a leaking roof; I shed unending tears under its drops. Ah, human words and deeds hold truth only when one weeps alone in a room. The world's affairs reside within a single chamber. 'A single tear may yet drown an empire.' Though his illness had waned, recovery remained incomplete. He knew full well ten more days of rest would help, but such respite eluded him. On the fifteenth, he returned home, lodging that night in Furukawa before meeting committee members from Fujioka Town and eight villages the next day—a full day consumed by mining pollution discussions. When he checked into Kawada Ryokan in Sano on the eighteenth, prefectural assemblymen and local supporters descended upon him. The nineteenth saw him attend the Progressive Party branch inauguration in Tochigi Town."

That night saw a fellowship meeting for a political faction. Urged to speak, Shōzō rose to address the gathering but, unable to endure these wine-sack fools' idiocy any longer, condemned those who debated state affairs over drink. From the crowd came a furious bellow: "Ragged Garrison!" He spun toward the voice as if struck empty-handed, yet found himself powerless to reproach the affront. Then he remembered words from his recent diary entry: "Slander others, and you banish virtue." Acknowledging the epithet's truth within his breast, he curtly ended his speech and resumed his seat.

On the night of the 20th, he returned to the capital, but at Shinano-ya there were constant visitors demanding his attention. With the Twelfth Diet Session set to convene on May 14th, he found it utterly impossible to organize the victim surveys or draft the questions. Therefore, from the 23rd, he took refuge from the commotion at Kōyōkan in Kobikichō. Upon completing a thirty-one-article inquiry document titled *“Questions Regarding the Failure to Implement Measures Against Mining Pollution Damage on Land Comparable to a Province in Households Within the Nation,”* Shōzō rushed between supporters of various factions and secured thirteen sponsors and seventy-eight endorsers.

On June 6th, he finally submitted the inquiry document and delivered an explanatory speech that same day. “I must say, since the 23rd year of Meiji, I have not once visited the Minister’s official residence, the Vice Minister’s official residence, or any such place.” “However, regarding this mining pollution issue—a matter concerning the survival of three hundred thousand victims and land comparable to an entire province—I have indeed visited the Minister’s office frequently since last year, bowing my head as I humbly discussed various matters.” “The result was merely receiving a refusal from Count Ōkuma—whom I have respected as my senior for sixteen years—stating his opposition.” “Therefore, there has been no need since then to frequent Count Ōkuma’s residence…… When we enter government offices, it is not to request transfers of mountain forests or to go asking for handouts.” “...I must inform the members of the Cabinet as well that they should properly and fairly heed the main points of this inquiry.”

He first outlined the historical progression: how since Meiji 24 [1891], pollution victims had initially submitted petitions for pollution removal through great adversity, followed by continuous appeals for mining cessation from Meiji 29 [1896] onward. While touching upon these varied petitions' contents and issuing warnings about the authorities' measures—condemning their negligence—his words gradually grew caustic and took on an increasingly vehement tone. "Hasn't a single step been taken toward restoring the poisoned lands? Unless measures prevent the poison accumulated in riverside fields from scattering, it will keep flowing downstream. The river channel lies smashed to pieces. What of the embankment reconstruction? When it comes to water source conservation—ignoring our seven-, eight-year warnings about public health hazards—every cabinet proves itself no government at all! For ten years people remained unaware; combined with eighteen years of governmental pretense, through such negligence year after year have non-polluted lands turned toxic—fertile plains equivalent in population and households to Noto Province now lie devastated." —Shōzō, his face contorted with bitter indignation, expounded back and forth for two hours, his lengthy oration continuing unabated.

“The total damages amount to approximately forty million yen. What does the government intend to do about compensating the people’s share of this? The previous cabinet had no plan whatsoever. Their position was that this should be claimed through legal proceedings. This case has no parallel in Japan’s history. Our nation lacks any law addressing the survival of a province and the disappearance of its land and people. If you take this to court as some individual matter and lose—what then? Should we lose, these fields will become Furukawa Ichibē’s property. Even here, ownership would revert to lands he controls at will. Today, the sedimentation ponds built at the copper mines remain mere prototypes, while natural sedimentation ponds span forty to fifty thousand chō. Should we lose, he’ll gain license to openly discharge mining pollution as he pleases. The people will be driven out. A desert will spread across land equivalent to Noto Province itself. The Liaodong Peninsula’s return was stripped from us due to insufficient standing. Should our intellectual strategies progress through connections, recovery might not prove impossible. But once mining-poisoned lands are lost, they’ll become the most desolate desert this world can hold. We must take precautions now. To abandon this into hands that have suffered harm for years while declaring ‘Let courts decide victory’—could such cruelty come from anyone human? From anyone Japanese?” Shōzō clung to the podium, face contorted as if enduring pain, yet pressed on.

“A true politician must examine facts thoroughly,” Shōzō declared. “If the facts don’t align with existing laws, then amend the laws! Lawyers who merely recite statutes without pity for the people, without compassion for pollution victims, without mercy—such lawyers are worthless.” He then addressed tax exemptions: “On this particular matter, I must profoundly thank even the previous cabinet. Yet how tragic—this comes too late. Losing a single human finger means losing it for eternity—it’s equivalent to death itself.” His voice thickened with anguish. “It’s as if we’ve finally freed those innocents whom past administrations hung upside down in cruelty. To strip public authority over these tax exemptions defies reason.” “Municipal governments have been gutted of power,” he continued. “They’ve stolen our voting rights.” Returning to compensation claims, his tone hardened: “Should any politician dare say ‘Abandon this and do as you please,’ I’d deem them public enemies—enemies I’d strike down even at cost of mutual destruction.” He concluded his two-and-a-half-hour address with a challenge: “How does this cabinet interpret these truths?”

On the following 7th, the controversial land tax increase bill was submitted. Prime Minister Itō stood to explain it and declared, “If you gentlemen reject this as unjust, I will have no choice but to resort to other measures.”

Shōzō could not remain silent at this; striking the podium, he shouted twice in a voice like a temple bell: “Do not intimidate! Do not intimidate!” The entire hall erupted into uproar in response. Before long, opposition speeches proceeded according to scheduled order, but during their delivery, an imperial rescript suddenly decreed a three-day adjournment. On the 8th, Ōide Kihei and Tanimoto Hachigorō were released from prison and came to Tokyo; they were accompanied to Shio no Yu in Shibaura where they conversed warmly. “Extracting more taxes means sucking the people’s lifeblood.” “Like mosquitoes and bees stinging their sentiments—the people will grow furious and crush them.” “Compared to this, people-pleasing vices suck blood too—but more like tuberculosis.” “Even when others warn them, they remain utterly unshaken.” Having thus sarcastically criticized Itō, Shōzō then clearly predicted: “On the tenth, parliament will dissolve over this tax bill.” True to his words, on the tenth the Diet hall boiled over from the outset. When the Liberal Party resolved its stance and aligned with the Progressive Party, the tax bill was rejected by an absolute majority—yet that very night saw an imperial edict dissolve parliament issued.

The momentum for rapprochement between the Liberal and Progressive parties had already matured. However, both parties bore long-standing traditions, with deeply rooted sentiments of mutual hatred and opposition persisting in every matter—making various obstacles inevitable when manifesting their movement publicly. Yet the situation shifted abruptly, and on the sixteenth, a discussion meeting was held at Nakamura-rō between both parties and other comrades—a gathering Ōkuma and Itagaki also attended. The formation of such a major political party had also been Shōzō’s longstanding aspiration. “Overthrowing clan cliques” and “upholding constitutional government” had been perennial rallying cries, but there was also the expectation that if a grand party could emerge to create a cabinet truly aligned with their ideals, the mining pollution issue—which had defied resolution for years—might finally find its solution. Shōzō directed Sahō and other young associates to support this movement from the periphery by conveying his intentions, while he himself actively mediated throughout this period.

On June 9, Shōzō attended a national newspaper reporters’ meeting held at Momiji Hall as a Progressive Party press officer and urged, “Honest youths and those outside the Diet must take the first step in unification.” “You must not allow only Count Ōkuma and Count Itagaki’s close associates to become the founders.” “To overthrow the clan cliques, we must first eliminate both parties’ ingrained vices—only then can we truly renew and cleanse the government!” he proclaimed, met with thunderous applause. At the comrades’ meeting held at Kinkikan Hall on the 11th, he warned: “What we must guard against is competing for credit.” “In merging the two parties, there may be sages like Zhang Liang.” “But ancient wisdom succeeded through restraint—today’s wisdom spills forth too readily,” he cautioned.

On June 22, they held a founding ceremony at Shintomi-za Theater where the merger of both parties finally bore fruit, naming it the Constitutional Party. Opposition newspapers derided them as a dog-and-monkey couple, but the Itō cabinet resigned in frantic haste as if cowering before this development. On the 25th came the mass resignation, and that same day Ōkuma and Itagaki were summoned to the official residence where they received consultation from Itō regarding the transfer of power. Shōzō heard this and fretted that "this violated proper procedures," his face betraying barely contained fury. Yet on the following 26th, when meeting with Kanmuchi, Abei, Yamada (Kinosuke) and others at Ōtake Kan'ichi's residence, he went so far as to demand disciplinary action against the Two Counts. This stemmed from his regret that even at its inception, shadows already loomed over the new party cabinet.

On the 27th, an imperial mandate was issued to Ōkuma and Itagaki, with the investiture ceremony conducted on the 30th. The cabinet lineup comprised Ōkuma Shigenobu from the former Progressive Party as Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, Ozaki Yukio as Education Minister, and Ōtomo Yoshitetsu as Justice Minister; Itagaki Taisuke from the former Liberal Party as Home Minister, Matsuda Masahisa as Finance Minister, and Hayashi Yūzō as Communications Minister; with Ōishi Masami from neutral factions assuming Agriculture and Commerce Minister. On July 1, Ōkuma, Itagaki, and other ministers visited the Constitutional Party headquarters to express their gratitude. After Kusumoto delivered a response address, Shōzō too rose to speak, offering a word of caution.

“If there exists another national party that holds a majority, power should be smoothly ceded.” “However, should a clan-based militaristic political party ever gain majority control, we must defend them with our very lives.” Shōzō returned home on the 2nd, attended the inaugural meeting of the Shimotsuke branch held in Utsunomiya on the 3rd, and from the following day resumed touring various towns and villages in the affected areas. It was less an election campaign and more a desperate struggle against mining pollution. August 10 was the voting day, and Shōzō was elected for the sixth time. When the nationwide vote counts were finalized, the Constitutional Party held an absolute majority of 260 seats, while those considered opposition forces numbered only 20 members from the National Association, with the remainder being independents.

Afterward, Shōzō continued staying in the affected areas, discussing with youths from each village and attending mining pollution research meetings without respite. Their base remained Unryu-ji Temple as usual, but one day he found a brief reprieve and passed time chatting with a few youths. The conversation naturally shifted from election incidents to the new cabinet, but Shōzō—fanning his unkempt beard with a persimmon-tanned uchiwa— “Since the cabinet’s formation, I’ve accomplished nothing worth a hair’s breadth.” “The political world grows ever more benighted—a complete void now.” “I merely haunt impoverished villages by riverbanks and reeds like some waterfowl.” “Surviving on meager scraps of nourishment.” “How could I possibly grasp affairs of gilded ministerial halls?”

Having said this, he showed a disappointed expression. As Yamada stared at his face, before long,

“But I’ve made a discovery while moving through these impoverished villages lately,” he said, his eyes glinting sharply. “It’s that political movements are such trifling matters.” “Compared to the mining pollution issue, politics deals with nothing but surface-level concerns.” “Understanding how frivolous today’s politics has become left me both astonished and unnerved.” “A coldness has taken root in my very core.”

Yamada could keenly sense the pent-up frustration toward the mining pollution issue. Yet when he considered how much hope Shōzō had placed on the emergence of the party cabinet, he found these distrustful words somewhat perplexing. "But this time, it's entirely our party's cabinet—" "No." Shōzō shook his head sharply. "There may be no formidable enemies without, but this cabinet will collapse from within. From its very formation, there was squabbling over ministerial seats. Then came the rabble scrambling for government posts. The nation exists beneath these chairs—not the chairs beneath the nation. Not a soul recognizes this truth. With their absolute majority secured, both ministers and representatives grow ever more arrogant—this cabinet will undoubtedly fall before long. That's why we must resolve all mining pollution matters decisively now. I need you all to redouble your efforts under this directive."

Black clouds hung and shifted beneath the eaves of the open main hall when suddenly the rain began pouring down. Everyone remained silent for a while, listening to the sound of the rain, but Shōzō continued, “The other day, I came across this maxim.” “Even the wisest of all, if they involve themselves in countless matters, will rarely achieve their goals. Even an ordinary fool, if they devote themselves single-mindedly, cannot fail to achieve their purpose… so it says.” Amidst the fierce rain, Shōzō repeatedly murmured that maxim.

Chapter Two

On September 3, torrential rains poured relentlessly, and by around 8 PM, a fifteen-shaku rise in water levels had already been observed near Hayakawada. Though this flooding subsided without escalating into catastrophe, before there was even time to ease furrowed brows, another ferocious storm struck from the night of the 6th. The rains persisted unabated through the 7th, leaving people to spend their days gazing resentfully from beneath dripping eaves. This year had seen generally favorable weather overall, with arable lands along the Watarase River anticipating double last year's harvest. Even lands verging on barrenness had expected modest yield increases. Then came two days of violent storms - paddies and fields alike were left completely submerged by breached embankments and surging floodwaters.

Shōzō hurriedly went to Tokyo to meet with Interior Minister Itagaki and stated, “Due to flooding of the Watarase River, there appears to be no rice harvest at all along its banks. I urge you to conduct an inspection immediately. The situation admits no delay,” he petitioned. On the 10th, he once again returned to the affected areas and toured various regions. News arrived that the sedimentation pond at the Ashio Kotaki mine had collapsed due to flooding, and at the office in Unryu-ji Temple, a discussion arose about dispatching representatives for a site inspection.

After completing his rounds and returning to the capital, on the twenty-fourth he met with Agriculture and Commerce Minister Ōishi and stated, “This year’s devastation rivals even that of the twenty-ninth year—the amount of mining pollution has nearly doubled.” “This pollution crisis won’t be resolved next year just by clamoring about it now—the poison will keep flowing for generations.” “If we don’t act swiftly, the damage will only worsen.” “Do you intend to take decisive action or not?” he pressed. He then visited the Interior Ministry and the official residences of the Finance and Education Ministers to request field inspections by cabinet members.

On September 25, as Shōzō had caught a cold and was feeling unwell, he lay in a separate room at Shinanoya when Arai Junjirō from Funatsugawa happened to visit and discuss the large assembly scheduled that day at Unryu-ji Temple. As Arai left, he drew the white fan from his waist and instructed him to soil it. Shōzō meditated awhile—"What remedy exists for one who loathes the world and shuns its haste? Only through self-abandonment does peace arise"—then committed these customary reflections to paper with a worn brush.

Then, it was around 2:40 PM the next day.

Sahō Hikojirō appeared at the doorway of the separate room where Shōzō was resting, his face pale and footsteps hurried. “A telegram arrived,” he said, thrusting it forward. “It was sent from Tatebayashi.”

“Pollution Victims have now departed.” “Their number: ten thousand and two people.” Shōzō let out a small cry of “Oh!” and felt a violent shock pierce his chest. He had never imagined this would happen. Yet when multitudes gathered, it was only natural their momentum would reach this point. What folly—what utter shortsightedness—to have failed anticipating this until the final moment— Shōzō’s face twisted in anguish before hardening with ferocity. Compassion, needless worry, and outrage churned ceaselessly within him. “Inevitable… inevitable,” murmured an inner voice. Simultaneously another countered: “Inevitable—but wasn’t it precisely to spare them this desperation that you’d long compelled them to pursue constitutional petitions?”

Though he was ill, he decided to wait for further reports. By the next morning, seven urgent telegrams had arrived. The reports varied in both numbers and originating offices, leaving Shōzō still hesitating over which to believe. Then, at 9:50 AM, a telegram from Satte reported, "Over ten thousand people have arrived in this area," and at 1:54 PM, a telegram from Sugito arrived stating, "The entire group is advancing." The sight of the entire group pressing ever southward along the highway finally became visible. Meanwhile, the telephone rang incessantly, and reports came in that large numbers of military police and officers were being dispatched as a precautionary measure, making the gravity of the situation increasingly apparent with each passing moment.

Shōzō could no longer remain still. He raced by rickshaw straight to the Ministry of Interior and, without ceremony, demanded a meeting with the Police Affairs Bureau Director.

“They are coming to the capital solely for petitioning purposes—this will absolutely not escalate into disturbances.” “This was evident even during last spring’s events.” “Therefore, I implore you not to recklessly obstruct their progress.” “Otherwise, though they’re ordinarily peaceful people, in their current agitated state, even a minor spark could ignite needless clashes.” He pressed for understanding through this appeal. The Director and his subordinates, moved by Shōzō’s sincerity, acquiesced while divulging, “Interior Ministry telegrams report their numbers at one thousand.” Next he visited the Agriculture and Commerce Ministry to meet with the Vice-Minister and Secretary-General, warning them about the root causes driving the pollution victims’ fury.

All this rushing about had already brought nightfall, but Shōzō called at the official residence of Education Minister Ozaki on his return journey and returned to Shinanoya several hours later. Then, during his absence, a telegram from Koshigaya had arrived at the office at seven o'clock.

“The group is exhausted, camping out on the grasslands…” After reading through this report, Shōzō shifted his gaze to the dark garden beyond. Large teardrops were streaming down his cheek. Memories of an old man who had died of illness after returning home from lack of sleep and sustenance during last spring’s mass protest in Tokyo now filled his mind. He hadn’t slept properly the previous night either, and his body was utterly spent from today’s exertions while ill. But Shōzō—as though brushing away the grief etched across his face—resolutely declared he would now go to Koshigaya. Leaving Sunaga Kinzaburō and Yamada Tomojirō, who happened to be present, in charge of the office, he departed taking only Sahō Hikojirō with him. It was 1:00 AM.

When they reached Senju, two policemen were already standing guard in the darkness at the bridge. When they arrived at Fukabori Village along the Saitama border within the prefecture's jurisdiction, they heard a rooster crow. The rickshaw puller abruptly complained of hunger and declared he could walk no farther. Particularly one puller had been running nearly nonstop with Shōzō since noon the previous day—it was no wonder he'd reached his limit. He roused Takezuka's Kameya inn to prepare rice and let them rest awhile. Shōzō too lay down his feverish sick body during that brief respite and closed his eyes.

When he awoke from his doze, the pale light of dawn had brightened the sky. They immediately lined up the rickshaws and hurried north. When they approached the Hokima district of Fukabori Village, a group of riders passed by, leaving behind the clatter of hooves and the panting of horses. They were five military policemen. They appeared to be retreating to Senju to block the group. Before long, within the morning mist ahead, a crowd of pollution victims wearing straw rain hats came into view. A policeman stood at the head of the group, which numbered over a hundred people. Among them was also the figure of an elderly man over seventy. Shōzō stopped his rickshaw and shouted in a loud voice, “Everyone, please wait a moment.”

“I am Tanaka Shōzō. When I saw last night’s telegram, I rushed here through the night in alarm. Everyone, you must have endured such hardship. You must be utterly exhausted.” Shōzō’s voice caught as he wiped his eyes and stepped down from the rickshaw. “It’s Mr. Tanaka!” When cries of “It’s Mr. Tanaka!” spread through the crowd, they halted one by one and stood along the roadside. The village headman of Fukabori Village approached Shōzō and presented his calling card. Sakata Shōsuke was a dark-complexioned man whose brow radiated resolve. Another group of pollution victims arrived and merged with the crowd. Shōzō asked the headman to borrow nearby farmhouse yards and directed them inside. But group after group kept arriving until four or five nearby farmyards overflowed completely, spilling out to block both sides of the highway.

Through the mediation of the village headman and council members, they further borrowed the grounds of Hikawa Shrine, a village shrine, and decided to accommodate everyone there. Their number was about 2,400; from the surroundings of the temple buildings all the way to the cedar grove, everything was filled with black human figures. As Shōzō detained the village headman to request food distribution, Noguchi Haruzō—who had been directing the crowd—suddenly approached and tugged at his sleeve, “Please listen, this is what happened.” he began pleading with a pained expression.

“When we departed from Hayakawada, there were eleven thousand of us.” “But police officers intimidated us and drove people back along the way, ferry boats were hidden—in the end, only half managed to cross the Tone River.” “Many from that remaining half were forced to return to their villages, unable to endure the constant abuse. Those of us left had no choice but to change our route—we camped near Koshigaya last night.” “You’ve truly endured so much.” “Looking around—every single one of them seems utterly exhausted.” “How terribly you must have suffered!”

Shōzō furrowed his brow and gazed at the crowd under the autumn sun. “They were exhausted, and there were also sick people among them. The inns were packed with police who refused to lodge them, so we had no choice but to enter Kannon Hall’s precincts—we spread out our straw raincoats beneath trees and on grass patches to sleep rough.” “Then guess what? At midnight those military policemen came charging through on horseback—right where we lay sleeping! They tried trampling us under hooves!” “Pitch darkness...people scrambling over roots...some smashed against tree trunks...others tumbled into ditches...injured everywhere... Damn shame! Without those cops and MPs blocking us...ten thousand strong would’ve reached Tokyo!”

Noguchi cut off his words and clenched his teeth in frustration. Then, before anyone knew it, the people who had densely crowded around began voicing their grievances—young voices, hoarse voices, enraged shouts, sobs, cries—all merging into chaotic uproar. Before long, sobs spread contagiously through the crowd, and some began wailing without restraint. Gradually, the commotion subsided as more people laid out their straw raincoats and sat down. They must have been utterly spent. Once seated, they squatted hugging their knees, remaining dazed and wordless. All were elders and youths from twenty severely afflicted townships—a region spanning sixteen or seventeen ri east to west—where few recognized each other; yet bound by shared hardship, their mutual reverence and care were heartrending.

When their grievances were compiled, they were as follows. ——

On the day of the large assembly on the 25th, over eight thousand pollution victims flocked to the precincts of Unryu-ji Temple from dawn. First came a report from committee members who had inspected the damage to sedimentation ponds at Ashio Copper Mine, followed by various opinions about future petition methods. During these discussions, representatives from nine villages abruptly declared their resignation. “We have rushed to the capital time and again since the year before last to submit petitions.” “Despite this, not only have mining operations failed to cease, but the pollution control measures remain incomplete.” “The embankments still lie collapsed and unrepaired.” “Because of this, this year’s great floods have only deepened the devastation.” “In the end, we believe this shows our own powerlessness...”

Then from within the crowd, "That's not the committee members' fault!" "It's because the government is cold-hearted!"

“Exactly! The government’s attitude is tantamount to telling us to die here in this poisoned land!” “If we’re going to die anyway, it makes no difference where we die. Let us confront the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce once more and die before its gates!” In unison with that voice, the crowd erupted in a chorus of shouts.

“That’s right!” “That’s right.” “Let’s not make only the committee members bear this burden—every one of us must go to the capital together!” The petition to march to Tokyo was unexpectedly resolved with unanimous approval by the assembly. They then agreed to gather again at Unryu-ji Temple on the night of the 26th and depart when the temple bell tolled.

However, when morning came on the 26th, people began streaming into Unryu-ji Temple one after another, and by midday, over ten thousand had gathered. Some had left their wives and children in dilapidated houses not yet reached by the toxic floodwaters; others had entrusted their homes to a single blind mother. Though their circumstances varied, their resolve to face death was uniformly manifested in earth-colored faces. But even though their resolute hearts were equally connected, they were, so to speak, a motley crowd. The preparations and assembling of their ranks took time, so they departed Unryu-ji Temple at 1:00 PM and passed through Tatebayashi around 2:30. As they advanced toward Kawamata, they sang the "Mining Pollution Song" composed by Ōide Kihei along the way.

“Alas, let us all steel our resolve!” “The mountains and rivers bear no guilt.” “The foe is base profiteers.” “In accordance with constitutional provisions, we must diligently pursue restoration petitions.” “The outcome of this path was clear.”

"Hardships are nothing to us!" "We must pierce through even solid rock!..." As their own singing voices suddenly filled them with melancholy—and even the blazing western sun seemed indifferent, deepening their desolation—they approached Kawamata's pontoon bridge. They found precautionary measures fully implemented here too, the bridge completely dismantled. Having learned from last time when victims had plunged into the water to drag boats across, authorities had apparently hidden even the mechanized vessels somewhere. Only twilight-glowing water lay uselessly spread across the landscape. With no alternative, they sought a downstream crossing and trudged east along the Tone River's northern embankment. Yet at Chizu Village, Toaita, and Iino—police kept arriving first to hide every ferry. They finally reached Koshino Ferry after trudging through over two ri of embankment shrouded in tall grass and darkness. Nearby, reconstruction work continued on flood-breached levees, where five or six large Japanese-style construction boats lay moored.

“Right—let’s explain our situation to the construction workers and have them ferry us across in this boat.” “There must be someone in that hut.” “I’ll go ask them.” Katayama Kahee of Toshima Village, the local area, said this and descended the embankment, whereupon several people including Ida Heikichi of Kawabe Village followed after him. Before long, six or seven men emerged from inside the hut, “Alright, they’re here! We’ll get every one of you across now!”

they shouted as they leaped onto the boat. Among them, a man who appeared to be the leader stood at the bow, wearing only a single undergarment and a headband tied around his forehead, “Ain’t nothin’ to get worked up over a cop or two.” “If any cops try to interfere, I’ll whack ’em with this pole and make ’em take a dip in the Tone River!” “Come on, everyone! Get on board, get on!” The pollution victims, spurred by the momentum, boarded in one fell swoop. More and more police officers rushed to the scene and desperately tried to block them. Then, in a fit of madness, two or three police officers drew their swords. Noguchi Haruzō, who happened to be right there, flew into a rage,

“Come on! If you’re going to cut us down, then try it! We don’t even have a stick to defend ourselves, but we’ve been ready to die from the start!” He spread his arms wide and stood blocking the way. Perhaps even the sword-drawing officers had lost their nerve, for they too melted away into the darkness. Meanwhile, every boat became packed solid with people until they looked pitch-black against the night. The vessels slid out with oars creaking in protest. Boats crossed the dark river surface and returned—making trip after endless trip. On the southern bank too, police had apparently massed in force by then, interfering with each landing amid chaotic scuffles that sent lantern lights swaying wildly. Each time, thunderous cheers roared from the northern bank. Though some had crossed downstream at Hosoma Ferry and many more been violently repelled, five or six thousand ultimately managed to breach the Tone River before dawn.

When he finished listening to the people’s appeals, Shōzō ascended the shrine hall with the village head and a police officer. Shōzō had intended to stand there and deliver a speech of appeasement, but as he surveyed the group resting in solemn silence, his chest tightened anew at their pitiable state. Then arrived Hasegawa Morizo, Chief of the Security Section from the Metropolitan Police Department. Military Police Captain Yasuda Shigetomo and Second Lieutenant Kiryu Sadamasa followed in succession. The Senju Police Station Chief came rushing with an inspector in tow. Perhaps stirred by this ominous show of force, a pollution victim threw himself at Shōzō’s feet on the steps, weeping 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 rough by roadsides or secretly borrow space under barn eaves. Then, perhaps feeling pity for us, someone from a nearby inn spread a mat in the backyard and let us rest. Just as we were feeling grateful for this, military police came again, and we could hear them demanding, ‘If there are any pollution victims here, hand them over! Hand them over!’...”

When the man’s voice choked up, the person next to him continued after him. "We walked here without even being able to eat." "Even those who brought crushed wheat with them had no pot to cook it in." "Last night, when we tried to borrow pots and pans in Sakurai Village, nobody would lend them to us anywhere." "The village head says it’s forbidden because they’ve received strict orders from the police." "This is outrageous!" "Are we not even allowed to cook our own meals and eat?" "Are you telling us to die without even eating?"

The tearful voices gradually swelled into shouts of anger. Voices rose in response from rocks here and trees there, from every direction, until the commotion resembled a stirred hornet’s nest. Even as he tried to pacify them, Shōzō found himself overwhelmed, tears streaming unchecked down his face. Meanwhile, behind the shrine office under Village Head Sakata’s direction, five bales of rice stood polished while thick logs blazed beneath a massive cauldron. Soon steam rose as rice was transferred from cauldron to tubs, carried by village women who formed rice balls across eight wooden planks. When the village head and assembly members joined in shaping the portions, even the shrine priest descended to distribute them through the garden.

Around 2 PM, those who had fallen behind arrived one after another, utterly exhausted. The endless stream showed no signs of abating, but Shōzō grew impatient with the belated timing and rose to his feet on the shrine's steps. With a wave of his hand, he summoned all the military police, police officers, village head, and village assembly members, instructed them to attend as he would now address the entire gathering, and further—

“In your presence, I would ask that you listen carefully to the speech I am about to deliver.” After clearly emphasizing his point, he swept his gaze across the assembly.

“Everyone, I am Tanaka Shōzō.” “It appears most here are unacquainted with me, though perhaps one in ten among you may know who I am.” “The reason all of you have come to the capital in such large numbers is something Shōzō understands well.” “Indeed, this month’s great flood—compounding the mining pollution’s ravages—carried somewhat less water volume than the 29th year flood. Yet through mountains collapsing and riverbeds silting, it instead raised water levels higher still. Moreover, as the floodwaters surged with sudden ferocity, they breached embankments in moments, allowing mining pollution to invade the villages.” “Some houses and belongings submerged in the water floated up and were swept away by toxic waves, the tragedy beyond all imagination.” “Under these circumstances, they have no doubt been compelled to risk their very lives and come to the capital.” “Since the year before last, town and village heads have jointly signed and submitted petitions to central authorities, various ministers, and the parliament on two occasions, requesting that constitutional and legal protection be granted.” “In addition, the petitions and appeals submitted one after another are extremely numerous in variety.” “Yet despite this, as the parliament has repeatedly dissolved and the government has taken no measures whatsoever, you have undoubtedly come to the capital resolved that even if you starve to death, you will not retreat until obtaining answers to your petitions at the gates of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce and the Ministry of Home Affairs.” “Truly, your heartfelt plight is more than I can bear to witness.”

“Everyone—why must we victims of Ashio Copper Mine pollution alone endure years without constitutional or legal protection? Why are our property rights violated, our education ignored, our health harmed, our fields devastated, all livelihoods damaged and suspended? “These are all human-inflicted harms that current laws cannot remedy. “The victims know well that tax exemptions for ordinary floods revoke civil rights. “Yet even when mining pollution forces tax exemptions, civil rights vanish—with no laws to preserve them. “But there’s no justification for seizing property and rights through human-made disasters! “Meanwhile, local officials still collect taxes from dying villages while hiding mining damage. “Thus nothing aligns with legal frameworks. “Even if effective laws like mining regulations existed, the government’s refusal to enforce them inevitably clashes with victims’ demands. “Your righteous fury is utterly warranted.”

“However，Shōzō has a request he must make to everyone here for maintaining social order.” “That is to say，having so many of you come to the capital in this way must not be allowed.”

“As Shōzō himself has true reasons for this, I must ask you to desist. In any such national matter—while those in authority bear responsibility—the nation’s patriots and benevolent individuals must shoulder their duties before the pollution victims. Above all, it is the fundamental duty of politicians to anticipate national calamities and act against them. As for those holding authority—their burden grows heavier still. The mere fact that they await petitions before deigning to act—this alone constitutes dereliction of duty from the outset.”

Shōzō cut off his words and remained silent for a while, as if feeling deep self-reproach. The assembly fell completely silent; some watched Shōzō's demeanor intently, while others hung their heads and sniffled. “Looking back, when thousands of you tried coming to the capital last spring for the mining suspension petition—after they removed the Tone River bridges, you plunged into water cold enough to slice through skin, needles of winter cold stabbing your flesh, desperately building makeshift crossings to pass through. Then at Iwatsuki, you scattered wounded after clashing with dozens of police officers—barely six or seven hundred of you finally reached Matsubashuku.” “Moreover during that time, from the unfamiliar journey and lack of food and sleep, those who fell ill and died after returning home numbered two in Takayama Hamlet alone—Sakai Village, Asō County, Shimotsuke Province.” “All who perished were elderly.” “If there were two deaths in Takayama alone, I believe there must have been at least twenty or thirty fatalities across all regions.” “This time too, we cannot claim none will follow this same path—falling ill or meeting their end.” “If you could die before the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce or Ministry of Home Affairs gates, perhaps you might find peace in that closure. But should you instead sicken and die after returning home—that would be a tragedy beyond measure.”

Sobs and sniffles continued incessantly. Shōzō continued speaking,

“If officials and legislators knew our nation harbors such suffering citizens, they must lead the charge—staking their very lives to save them! This is their solemn duty.” “Let them recall the First Sino-Japanese War.” “How many soldiers perished at the front—braving frozen snowstorms, charging enemy lines!” “Yet dying for the nation isn’t soldiers’ duty alone.” “Officials and Diet members too must stand ready to sacrifice.” “To believe only soldiers die for Japan—this is monumental folly!” “First among them stands Shōzō—a Diet member who knows pollution’s full devastation. My bounden duty demands I labor before all others.” “Seeing those among you already fallen gravely ill—Shōzō vows to meet death before your own!”

Shōzō choked back his voice. A profound shadow, as of one renewing their resolve, covered his countenance. "However, few in the new government yet know of this devastation." "We must make those in the new government understand the true extent of this suffering." "For in welcoming you—exhausted after two days and nights without rest—they block roads, dismantle bridges, and seize ferries as if preparing for northern barbarians." "This cruelty stems from their failure to comprehend—a cruelty born entirely of misunderstanding." "There is nothing more terrible in this world than ignorance." "First, we must reveal the full horror of this damage and the people's true anguish." "To achieve our demands, I will make desperate efforts with the new cabinet." "Fortunately, the current government somewhat resembles a party cabinet—your regions surely contain many from the former Liberal and Progressive Parties." "That is to say—it is your government." "It is our government." "As our government, we must trust it and support where it falters." "Therefore, I ask you to choose ten representatives from among yourselves." "I shall strive to explain the facts to the government on your behalf alongside them." "As for the rest—I implore you to heed my request and return home from here." "Upon returning, you must fully inform new governors, local legislators, district chiefs, and village heads." "Since most side with Furukawa for their own reasons, you must labor tirelessly to reveal the truth and destroy their delusions!" "You must also seek many sympathetic outsiders and beg their cooperation." "Should the government still neglect its duty after learning the facts—we will condemn their responsibility in parliament without mercy, and denounce this illegality to society until the end!"

“At that time, there will be no alternative.” “When that moment arrives, you may all proceed to the capital as you deem fit.” “Shōzō shall never again presume to restrain you.” “Nay—not only shall I refrain from restraint, but when that hour comes, this Shōzō will stand at your vanguard and share every advance and retreat with you all.” “Until then, I beseech you—preserve those lives resolved on sacrifice today. Keep them intact awhile longer.” “Shōzō swears this oath to you all.” “I implore you—heed these words now. Abandon this mass march to the capital and return to your provinces without delay.” “Shōzō shall never speak falsehood.” “As declared, Shōzō shall assuredly fulfill this pledge.”

They had been listening while barely containing their emotions, but when Shōzō’s voice abruptly ceased, a sharp cry erupted suddenly. When he looked, the majority of the crowd were weeping—covering their faces, shaking their shoulders, or crouching down. Shōzō, his heart once more constricted at the sight, felt tears streaming down his cheeks. When he attempted to return to his seat and looked around, even the eyes of the military police and police officers were brimming with tears.

At that moment, Noguchi Haruzō strode up the steps of the shrine hall.

“We appreciate your considerate counsel, but we came here resolved to our purpose.” “If entry to the capital remains forbidden, we shall stay here awaiting the government’s answer.” “Until we hear their formal reply, we will not budge one inch from this place.”

Taking that as their cue, a large number of people surged toward Shōzō. They pounded the stairs, struck the edges of the veranda, and once more voiced their fury from the previous night. Particularly, Sekiguchi Shibazō of Ōshima Village pressed his face against Shōzō’s feet, tears streaming down uncontrollably. The others too—many who recognized faces but not names—all wore expressions of desperate entreaty as they clung 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 a message to share.” Sabe shouted, urging everyone to pay attention. As the commotion had somewhat subsided, Captain Yasuda stepped forward and straightened his long boots. “If the matters you are claiming are indeed factual, then this must be thoroughly investigated.” “The injured will accompany us to the Senju garrison station.” From beneath those words, Noguchi answered resolutely.

“Let’s go.” “Let’s all go together.” “The group’s interests are the group’s responsibility.” In response, the people once again raised their voices in clamor. “Exactly! We’re reporting violence because it’s the truth!” “Who would fabricate such things?” Witnessing this scene, the Senju Police Chief suddenly gripped the hilt of his sword. He called his subordinates together and hastily left the scene. Perceiving the march to the capital as inevitable, it was inferred he intended to rush back to Senju and secure the bridge.

However, before long, the prominent figures from the villages gathered behind the shrine hall and held a meeting to deliberate on their course of action. As a result, they finally heeded Shōzō’s dissuasion; however, at the majority’s insistence, the number of delegates was increased to fifty. Ōide Kihira and Tanimoto Motoyachi reported this to Shōzō.

Chapter Three

Parting ways with three thousand comrades setting out on the return journey from Fuchie Village, the fifty delegates headed to the capital, their hearts heavy with tragic resolve. On the following day, the 29th, they split into two groups: one appeared at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, and the other at the Ministry of Home Affairs. At the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, Secretary Tsushima granted them an audience and promised a meeting with the minister at noon on the 30th, but at the Ministry of Home Affairs, a clerk from the Police Bureau— The clerk from the Police Bureau bluntly dismissed them, saying, “The Minister absolutely will not meet you.” Prior to this, when reports arrived of pollution victims marching en masse to the capital, each police station in the city panicked and immediately stationed guards at key locations. In addition to securing Senju, Itabashi, Mukōjima, Hikifune, Kanamachi, Nakagawa Bridge, and Ichikawa Crossing among others, the water police made strict arrangements for vessels along the Onagi River. Despite this, the number of those who managed to pass through those security nets and enter the capital by the 29th reached five to six hundred people. All were either those who had taken separate routes from the main group in Fuchie Village or those who had departed after the main group’s formation. They temporarily lodged at various cheap inns, but upon fully learning that the main group had returned home through Tanaka Shōzō’s persuasion, they each set off on their return journeys on the 30th.

On the 30th, the delegates appeared at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce as promised. Secretary Tsushima made a troubled face and stated that the Minister would not attend today due to a cabinet meeting. The delegates became indignant and insisted they would wait until the minister arrived. Some accused the authorities of their heartlessness; there were those who broke into wails. The already bleak reception room seemed as though a fragment of Fuchie Village’s devastated landscape had been transplanted there in its entirety.

Shōzō, having heard the details from the delegates, immediately rushed to the headquarters by rickshaw. After meeting with Executive Committee Member Ehara Soroku, he demanded, “The pollution victims have come all the way to the capital to petition—why won’t the ministers meet them? Whether you call it cowardice or despicableness—it’s utterly disgraceful! You must arrange an immediate meeting!” he declared, throwing this warning over his shoulder as he left.

That night, when they sat facing each other alone in a private room at the Shinanoya inn, Sabe furrowed his brows with concern.

“If you make one misstep, Mr. Tanaka, the pollution victims will take your head.” “No—there will be no misstep.”

Shōzō answered immediately in a voice that resonated from his gut. "But if you fail..." "It won't fail." Within a face as dull as a winter melon from illness and exhaustion, his large eyes flashed. To Sabe, the Fuchie Village speech clung to his mind—Shōzō had given an irrevocable statement that seemed to have cornered them. But knowing Shōzō's resolve far surpassed such needless fears, he fell silent. Before him, Shōzō began appearing like an immovable boulder set in stone.

On October 1st at 11:00 AM, the delegates proceeded from the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce to the Minister’s Residence, where they finally met with Ōishi. Ōishi listened quietly to their petition. "Even if you simplistically speak of restoring the affected areas," he said, "it would require an enormous amount of money—utterly impossible to implement." “Rather than such vague petitions, you gentlemen should submit ones equipped with well-founded reasons.” “At that time, I too shall stake my position and strive to fulfill your wishes,” Ōishi answered in a placating manner.

“Moreover, your coming to the capital in such large numbers was procedurally flawed.” “If you follow proper procedures when submitting your petition,” he earnestly advised, “the Minister of Home Affairs will surely grant you an audience.” They temporarily withdrew to the office, and in the afternoon proceeded to the Constitutional Party headquarters to meet with Secretary Takeichi. On the 3rd, they appeared at the Forestry Bureau, Mining Bureau, Fisheries Bureau, and other offices.

Ever since Shōzō had overexerted himself with the Fuchie Village affair, the course of his illness had shown no signs of improvement. Nevertheless, he could not leave the petitioning entirely to the delegates alone, so on the 2nd he met with the Vice-Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, on the 4th with the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, and on the 5th with the Minister of Finance. Minister of Finance Matsuda said, “Above all else, why not send the delegates back home promptly?” Shōzō answered indignantly, “No—the delegates must be increased even further. Since there are so many concerned government offices, fifty people simply aren’t enough hands.”

However, the delegates had left their wives and children behind in the lingering aftermath of the flood to come to the capital, so they could not afford to let days pass idly by. There were not a few among them being informed through letters from their families of the starvation they faced. That day, Shōzō returned to the office and advised that except for a few who would stay behind, the rest should return home gradually. As a result, Ōide Kihira, Inamura Yoichi, and Noguchi Haruzō became the three who remained. Noguchi had fallen ill from overwork and was recuperating at the salt baths in Shibaura.

On the 8th, Shōzō finally took to bed at Shinanoya. People worried and called for a doctor, but the patient was unexpectedly energetic. Perhaps having let his guard down due to this situation, Yamada at the bedside let slip some unfavorable rumors circulating about Shōzō. “Tanaka is an ambitious schemer. “He claims credit for persuading three thousand victims to return home, but in truth, he’s using that achievement to curry favor at ministers’ doors—wearing himself out chasing some official post. “He puts on a facade of calm composure, but deep down, he’s consumed by this feverish ambition for official positions. “People are spreading such terrible rumors about you.”

Shōzō's haggard face became shrouded in a shadow of unmistakable discomfort. The room fell deathly silent. The people glared at the one who had misspoken with accusatory stares, all while anxiously bracing themselves for an eruption of furious shouts. Yet Shōzō neither moved a brow nor spoke, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Perhaps mistaking this silence for devastation, Ōide attempted to mediate: "It's precisely those who say such things—they can only gauge and judge others through the lens of their own base hearts."

Then Inamura, trying to shift the conversation from where he sat beside them, said, “I’ve heard that counterfeit delegates have been appearing around Tokyo lately.” “They claim to be representatives of the pollution victims, but they’re apparently taking money from certain parties to spread statements opposing our petitions.” “The rumors you’re hearing now must be their slander too.” “We cannot ignore this.” Shōzō raised his head from the pillow. “I care nothing for what they say about me, but these counterfeit delegates will hinder our movement going forward.” “We must hunt them down relentlessly and make sure they can no longer skulk about either the affected regions or Tokyo.”

“That’s right. “That’s right.” “Let’s try investigating them ourselves.” “In an ideal world, such matters should be regulated by the government, but we have no choice but to handle it ourselves.” “As I mentioned the other day at Venerable Katsura Anbō’s place—in the past, 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 breeze.” “Having the people regulate them, they lounge about complacently.” “So to speak, you’d be the Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police, Mr. Tanaka.”

When Sabe interjected, Yamada once again spoke up: "Actually, there was indeed an offer made to you, Mr. Tanaka, to become Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police. Professor Takaeda Sanae came to our Heimin Club in Waseda for negotiations." "If Mr. Tanaka had been Superintendent-General," Ōide laughed as he said this, "we wouldn't have been obstructed on our way to the capital or had our petitions interfered with." "Lately, they've been telling me to become governor," Shōzō said, as if flicking away filth. "Of course I refused. I am and always will be a farmer representative—farmers should stay true to being farmers. 'If you have three measures of rice bran, don't marry into another household; if you have three measures of rice bran, don't become an official.'"

The people laughed out loud.

“When you think about it, it’s pitiful,” he said. “A cabinet on the verge of collapse teems with nothing but office-seekers. The Satsuma-Chōshū men of old emerged from the remotest hinterlands during an age of poor transportation—people knew nothing of their true nature. That ignorance let even complete nobodies appear as paragons of virtue. Once they became vice-ministers or governors, folks gazed up at them in reverence. But today’s office-seekers? Shelf-worn goods! Everyone knows their true colors now—they command no respect whatsoever. And what exactly are these factions up to nowadays? The old Liberal Party and Progressive Party alike—nothing but simmering feuds between bungling fools! Simmering squabbles! Bungling ambitions! Bungling networking! Half-baked talents! 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 accompanied by inner vehemence; but when he thudded his head back onto the pillow,

“Fame and profit, selfish desires, corruption, vice, narrow-mindedness—nothing but these things remain, without a shred of national consciousness to be seen.” “They’ve likely clean forgotten even the founding principles of their coalition by now.”

After that, he suddenly let out a deep sigh. The depths of his resentment and despair hung on those final words. No—his resentment and despair ran too deep to be gauged by mere words. The greater his expectations had been for the coalition of political parties and the achievements of the party cabinet, the more bitterly he regretted the current state he witnessed.

At that time, internal strife within the Constitutional Party was gradually intensifying in severity. They had already clashed over ministerial seats during the cabinet’s formation. When campaigning in the general election, they had ridden out from party headquarters in unison only to return snarling at each other across regional districts. Next came disputes over executive appointments. Yet these conflicts had not yet reached the point where they forgot the disadvantages of rupturing harmony. What finally amplified discord was the issue of appointing a dedicated Foreign Minister. Ōkuma had earlier given a pledge to appease the Liberal Party—promising to relinquish his concurrent post later and select a successor from their ranks. Former Liberal Party members seized this pledge, championed balance-of-power theory, and pressed to recommend successors. Behind the scenes during this period, Hoshi Toru—the U.S. Minister who had just returned to Japan in August—greatly fomented discontent among former Liberal Party members. The opposition coalition had formed during his absence; naturally contributing nothing to the new party left him without influence within it. Yet Hoshi—realizing his cabinet ambitions were unattainable—colluded with a faction to launch destructive maneuvers. By chance, a speech Education Minister Ozaki had attempted at August 20th’s Great Japan Educational Tea Meeting inadvertently sparked controversy; former Liberal Party members seized this golden opportunity to falsely brand it a republican address and denounce him with demands that “those responsible for education must duly beg forgiveness before His Majesty.” Liberal-aligned newspapers echoed this chorus in lockstep. In essence, it was a plot to expel Ozaki from the cabinet and thereby fulfill balance-of-power theory’s long-cherished ambition.

It was October 15th. A tea meeting was held at the Minister of Finance’s official residence, and Shōzō had been invited to attend. When the conversation turned to the matter of three thousand pollution victims marching to the capital, Saigō Tsugumichi, seated nearby, remarked with a faint smile,

“That recent task was a bit too clever.” “You’re the one who egged them on, then turned around and lectured them into going home, aren’t you?”

When he heard this, Shōzō whirled around and fixed the man with a piercing stare— "That’s utterly ridiculous talk, Mr. Saigō." "You must penetrate beyond surface appearances—see both sides of matters." "Granted, one might incite crowds then lecture them into retreat—such tricks belong to organized factions like Liberal or Progressive Parties, or those united under single banners." "The pollution victims who recently left Tokyo hail from the worst-hit areas alone—yet their villages stretch eighteen ri along the Watarase’s banks." "In truth, none truly know me." "They may recognize my name, but few grasp my actual being." "No rules dictate how many come from this village or that, who serves as delegates or committee members—no chain of command governs their movements." "Before such a rabble—if we may call them that—I ask you to ponder whether your notion of clever manipulation holds any water."

Shōzō pressed on, his eyes flashing with intensity. Saigō, exasperated by the sharp protest, interjected while furrowing his thick brow. “No—understood.” “I get it.” “It’s a problem when you misinterpret everything in that manner.” “That too, in short, is because you do not know the true circumstances.” “How devastating the mining pollution damage is—how direly the pollution victims are suffering—I want you to go and see it for yourself once.” “It’s not some remote place fifty *ri* or seven hundred *ri* away.” “It’s a place you can visit and return from within a day.” “What I find utterly perplexing is how you ministers so readily journey south to Kamakura, Ōiso, and Odawara, yet not a single one of you turns your steps toward the suffering of the people.”

As Shōzō passionately continued his tirade, Saigō stood up with an air of purpose and vacated his chair. But Shōzō paid no heed and, this time turning toward Itagaki,

“Mr. Itagaki, among all cabinet ministers, you must be nearly the only one who doesn’t own land in Nasunogahara.” “The ministers all know how to reclaim wastelands.” “They know how to cultivate barren earth, yet fail to see how this mining-poisoned Watarase River—the most fertile land in all Kanto—rots before their eyes. What explains this?” “Why don’t you build yourself a villa in the polluted area too?” “Then perhaps they’d finally show some care for this blighted land…”

The attendees fled one by one, then two by two, until only a few remained listening until the end: the host, Matsuda Masahisa, along with Kojima Korekata, Hoshi Toru, and others.

The following day, the sixteenth, Shōzō recorded in his diary: "They lounge on silk cloth, making a habit of translating revolutionary histories—unworthy of trust." And then, from October 22nd, he began drafting the third petition to protect the constitution.

That day, he composed an impromptu verse: "If I die, let me die; if I live, let me live - what joy it was to be born into this world." On the 25th, hearing the chrysanthemums at Ōkuma's residence had reached full bloom, he dispatched a letter addressed to Ōkuma Hidemaro.

"Accompanied by several youths from the mining pollution-affected areas, when we go to view the chrysanthemum flowers in the next few days and return, we shall break off several branches—large and small." "Do not reprimand this as rough conduct." "I hereby inform you in advance."

Ozaki finally resolved his course of action on October 24th. The infighting over the successor's seat had come to resemble nothing more than child's play. The former Liberal Party ministers recommended Hoshi Toru and Ehara Soroku, but Ōkuma put forward Inukai Tsuyoshi of the former Progressive Party, and the official appointment ceremony was held on the 27th. There, having failed to achieve their objective, the former Liberal Party openly pressured executive committee members from the former Progressive Party to disband on the following day, the 28th. When that was sternly rejected, they preemptively convened a general meeting consisting solely of the former Liberal Party on the 29th and passed a resolution to disband. They reorganized under the same name as the Constitutional Party, and Hoshi led a group of nationalist activists to occupy the Constitutional Party headquarters in Shibakoen. On the same day, Itagaki, Matsuda, and Hayashi resigned, and on the thirty-first, Ōkuma, Ōtō, and Inukai submitted their resignations. The former Progressive Party newly adopted the name Constitutional Government Main Party. Thus, the split within the Constitutional Party became the precursor to the cabinet’s collapse.

Shōzō's prediction had been proven correct all too soon. His grand political party, established with soaring ambition and aspirations to achieve administrative results based on the spirit of the constitution, ultimately persisted in futile infighting, meeting an ignominious end without even convening a single parliamentary session.

On November 8th, the Yamagata Cabinet was formed.

On December 3rd, the opening ceremony of the Thirteenth Diet session was held.

On the seventh, Shōzō mailed two petitions to the ministers of each government ministry: one concerning constitutional protection, and another detailing deficiencies in the Ashio afforestation and prevention works along with supervisory negligence. From the eighth onward, he began drafting question documents to submit to the Diet, staying up all night on the ninth for this purpose. On the tenth, the two question documents Shōzō submitted to the Diet consisted of one concerning the protection of constitutional governance and another titled "Questions 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.

He first briefly explained the history of the mining pollution incident and warned that while there was a tendency among the Japanese to grow bored and neglect matters once they became old, such flippancy could not be tolerated in political matters. "The pollution victims came to Tokyo twice in the twenty-ninth year and again this year to submit their petitions." "The fact that this has occurred so frequently must be engraved into the minds of even this insensitive government." “Yet time and again, the Diet has been dissolved.” “The Government collapses.” "Throughout this period, the pollution victims have had nowhere to turn." "During this period, regrettably, it has been akin to a state of anarchy." “This is not a government that administers the people’s affairs, but one that frets over all manner of other things.” "In the thirtieth year [of Meiji], the cabinet established something called the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Investigation Committee and had its orders fully carried out—but how bitterly regrettable that it proved utterly ineffective." “Because, to put it in human terms, this would be like applying a single plaster when facing either a terminal illness or a body wholly consumed by rot.”

Shōzō’s face, once flushed red, now turned pale with grief and indignation, his eyes blazing fiercely.

“Throughout Japan as a whole, there are far too many politicians who have reached the depths of depravity. Truly pathetic. I am utterly unable to contain my indignation. Were people simply remaining silent, that would be one matter—but they have appealed year in and year out to this extent. As for those officials who neither hear these voices nor see the pollution victims’ anguish—they are nothing less than unpardonable traitors to the nation!”

When he choked up and banged the podium, derisive laughter escaped from the seats. Shōzō glared back at the source of that voice,

“Though some among you gentlemen may find laughter in my words having strayed into excess, let it be known that this incident remains unrelated to any radicalism in my speech. For the matter at hand—pitiful as it is—I must implore: if you are human, let tears fall.” Shōzō then addressed the absence of constitutional protections: “Under such circumstances, were I to have the strength and time, I would wish to elaborate in detail,” he said, regretfully trailing off.

In fact, on the podium, Shōzō’s state of fatigue was clearly visible. With a look of compulsion he could not suppress, Shōzō pressed on, declaring vehemently that abolishing the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce was imperative—then pivoted sharply to begin harshly questioning the interference with pollution victims’ journey to the capital. “When it comes to these matters,” he said, “they seem scarcely Japanese.” “No Japanese person would commit such foolish acts.” “This exceeds all bounds of insolence!” “To drive away pollution victims sleeping rough from their very bedsides—these must indeed be called traitors to the nation!”

Shōzō’s voice enveloped the assembly hall not with attack but with a clarion call’s resonance, and only the sound of coughs could escape.

"In the Imperial Edict of the opening ceremony, it is proclaimed that the foundation of public finance must be solidified." "What is the foundation of public finance?" "It is to solidify the root of taxation." "The very foundation of that root is the land." “It is the land and the people.” “In a politics that neglects this land and its people, I believe and fear that upholding this Imperial Edict would prove difficult.”

Regarding the critical portions of his speech, Vice Chairman Motoda, seated at the podium, cautioned him: "You are inciting the military's wrath. How about retracting a portion [of your speech]?" However, Shōzō refused. He wrote on a scrap of paper and showed it to Nakayama at the left seat: "If I die, let me die; if they kill, let them kill. In a dead world, being slain brings no sorrow."

The 11th was a Sunday. On the following 12th, in the House of Representatives, Vice Army Minister Nakamura issued a rebuttal to Shōzō's speech, declaring the allegations about dispersing pollution victims to be entirely baseless. At that precise moment, Shōzō had been absent from his seat; but later, after attending the session and waiting through a lull in the questioning regarding the Military Secrets Protection Bill, he rose from Seat 116— “Mr. Speaker!” he shouted. “I was briefly absent earlier, but concerning my inquiry from two days prior—”

When he had gotten that far, Chairman Kataoka interrupted him. “If this concerns the matter from two days ago, I cannot permit you to speak, as we are currently handling questions regarding today’s agenda.”

Shōzō remained standing, tilting his head slightly— “Then I take it you permitted the government commissioners to speak before?” “Let the record show whether Tanaka Shōzō lies or the Minister lies!” he roared, his seat groaning under the force. The assembly hall erupted into chaos. “I will not permit you to speak.” “The Chairman permits the government commissioners.” “I demand questions be raised about the stenographic records to determine who lies.” “To make irresponsible claims when I’m absent—this reeks of outright lawlessness!”

“Mr. Tanaka Shōzō, I order you to leave the chamber.” “Mr. Tanaka, I order you to leave the chamber.” “Withdraw? Very well. Perfectly splendid indeed. I shall withdraw.” “Perfectly splendid indeed.” “I shall withdraw.”

Shōzō, his face filled with rage, shrugged his shoulders and pushed through the seats toward the door.

A few days later, starting at 8:00 AM on the 15th, the Anti-Tax Increase Faction’s Grand Gathering was held at Momijigokan Hall in Shiba. The attendees included Ōkuma Shigenobu, Tani Kanjō, Miura Gorō, and Tomita Tetsunosuke, along with over two thousand supporters—naturally too many to fit inside the building, leaving the withered garden filled to capacity. However, shortly after this gathering commenced, during Tani’s speech, authorities ordered its dissolution under official supervision. The matters of financial restructuring and tax increases had emerged as inevitable challenges following the expansion of national expenditures after the Sino-Japanese War—a persistent problem that successive cabinets had attempted yet failed to resolve. Particularly contentious was the Land Tax Increase Bill, which faced such fierce opposition in the House of Representatives that it wounded the Matsukata Cabinet and ultimately toppled the Itō Cabinet. Given this historical context, one could only conclude the bill stood little chance of passage. Yet the government faced dire financial straits requiring immediate action. Thus, the Yamagata Cabinet—with Matsukata serving as Finance Minister—approached the Diet determined to secure the bill’s enactment. Indeed, the Land Tax Increase Bill had already been submitted to the House of Representatives on December 8th. But confidence in its passage remained low within government circles. To compensate, extensive political maneuvering had been conducted prior to convening the Diet session, with the parliamentary proceedings commencing only after securing an alliance with the Constitutional Party. The architect behind these machinations was none other than Hoshi Tōru, Executive Director of the Constitutional Party.

On this day, the 15th, in the House of Representatives, Kudō Yukimori stood up at the very outset to question [the assembly], condemning the unlawful dissolution of the Anti-Tax Increase Faction’s Grand Gathering that had occurred that morning. When they saw Kudō descend from the podium, Monma Hisatsune immediately shouted, “There is an urgent motion!” Motoda, seated at the podium, pretended not to hear and announced, “We shall now proceed to the first item on the agenda.” “Emergency motion!” Monma continued. “Emergency motion! Emergency motion!” he continued to shout, and the assembly hall descended into chaos. It was a scene of uncontrollable chaos. Motoda ordered Monma to leave the chamber and ultimately called out, “Chief Guard!” Amidst this commotion, Shōzō remained in his seat, silently watching the tumultuous surroundings around him. It was a figure of utter stillness, akin to wall-gazing Zen meditation. Excluding the days of mining pollution questioning, there were occasional moments like this for Shōzō in the assembly hall during this period.

In the House of Representatives the following day, Chairman Kataoka first expressed regret over the previous day’s disturbances and urged everyone to maintain decorum henceforth. Then Fujisawa Kinosuke stood up and censured the Vice Chairman for adjourning the assembly without proper deliberation. When Kataoka defended this action as permissible, voices demanding recognition erupted from all directions, plunging the assembly hall into renewed chaos. Fujisawa countered by declaring this a violation of parliamentary rights, to which Hoshi retorted that there was a precedent from Chairman Hatoyama’s tenure.

“I have a point of order for the Chair!” Shōzō shouted loudly as he sprang up from his seat. “I had meant to remain silent, but when a legal authority like Mr. Hoshi makes such erroneous claims, silence becomes impossible. What sort of precedent invokes violations of law? During Mr. Hatoyama’s tenure, this matter remained unknown—but having discovered it today, we must naturally correct it today. As Chairman, you too should publicly rectify the errors committed by your appointed proxy through fair and upright means. Moreover, since Mr. Motoda holds a law degree, he must abandon cowardly equivocations—first amend his own faults with integrity, then restore order to this assembly. [...] Though he claims to refer matters to disciplinary committees rather than flee, his retreat resembled nothing so much as a craven judge condemning a man to death before scurrying away.”

Vigorous applause broke out. Then Ōoka Ikuzō stood up and began defending Motoda’s actions. Once again, clamorous voices arose from all directions. The situation reached the point where even jeers of “You’re lying!” and “Bastard!” could be heard.

“Gentlemen, there is a report,” declared the Chairman’s voice, quieting the uproar.

“Just now, in the Diet’s visitor reception room, Mr. Shigeno Kenjiro was attacked and injured by an assailant.”

It was reported that he had sustained a contusion on the right side of his head measuring eight sun (approximately 24 centimeters) in length and reaching the periosteum in depth. “That is a grave incident. Have the culprits been apprehended yet? It must be those opposition party bastards.” It was Hoshi’s voice. At the same time, Shōzō stood up indignantly. “What is the meaning of your statement just now, Mr. Hoshi?” “What do you mean by ‘opposition party’?” “This must be heard out properly.” “What do you mean by saying ‘the opposition party carried out an assault’?” “We must have the proceedings halted.” “What do you mean by ‘opposition party’?” “What the hell do you mean by ‘opposition party’?” “Answer clearly!”

Voices of “Hear, hear!” and “No, no!” intermingled chaotically. Shōzō leapt from his seat and ran toward the chairman’s podium. “You’re treating us legislators like villains! Why won’t you censure this disrespect, Chairman?” “Return to your seat.” “Why do you not censure this outrage? Why do you not censure—”

The Chairman recoiled backward 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, Kataoka barked: “Drag him out at once!” “How dare you order someone to drag out a legislator?” Shōzō, enraged, lunged forward with simian-like arms to seize the Chairman’s sleeve but was forcibly dragged from the chamber by the guards.

After that, an emergency motion from Inoue Gorō was submitted, and Shōzō was finally referred to the disciplinary committee. Shōzō was still in the Diet’s waiting room when he heard that Kōno Hironaka and other friends within the party were working to mitigate his punishment through backroom negotiations. Shōzō felt profound shame that such behind-the-scenes maneuvering was being undertaken on his behalf. He seized Kōno, rejected his unnecessary concern, and departed.

Yet even so, unease lingered in Shōzō's heart. He acknowledged his words and actions had been somewhat excessive, but saw no error in his outrage. He refused absolutely to believe it merited punishment. Precisely for this reason, he would not evade discipline through underhanded means. The next morning, he went to party headquarters and before the assembled members vehemently declared they must not scheme basely on his behalf. Afterward, he submitted his resignation to the Prime Minister's office, but through appeasement was dissuaded from fully withdrawing.

On this day, the House of Representatives handed down a one-week suspension from attendance to Shōzō and a three-day suspension to Monma. The committee had determined two weeks for Shōzō and one week for Monma; their penalties were reduced precisely because of this. As the land tax increase bill was scheduled for imminent submission to the House, the attendance records of these two members carried critical numerical significance—a consideration that had been secretly factored into the decision. On December 20th, while Shōzō remained suspended from attendance, the House of Representatives passed the land tax increase bill with only minor revisions. Specifically, the land tax rate—previously set at 2.5 percent of property value—was revised to 3.5 percent for the coming five years. When Shōzō learned this, he remarked that many must have been deceived by this five-year provision. This deception indeed existed. Yet between the government and the Constitutional Party, a separate tacit understanding had already been forged.

Chapter Four

The land tax increase bill passed through the House of Representatives without incident, but its impact on local sentiment far exceeded anything imagined by those in the capital. In the mining pollution-affected regions especially, outcries condemning Diet members who had betrayed public opinion to support the bill grew fierce—Kanai Mitsugu, elected from Gunma’s Second District, found himself facing demands to resign from victim delegates including Nagashima Yohachi and Tanobairi Rizaburō. It was mid-January of Meiji 32 (1899).

The damage from mining pollution continued growing increasingly severe. In Azuma Village, Shimohata, the cedar groves around Niwada Tsunekichi’s property and throughout the nearby area had shown lush verdant growth until last summer, yet now they had all turned a rust-red hue. The roots of the moso bamboo rotted away, and whenever a slight west wind blew, thick bamboos seven or eight sun in diameter would snap and crash down one after another. In Tomita Village Okudo, out of sixty households, nine had relocated to other regions in the previous year, leaving vacant homes either demolished or left to the biting winds that crumbled their dilapidated walls. In Ueno Village, Funatsugawa, all thirteen infants born within the past year died of similar symptoms.

Around noon on February 1st, pollution victims gathered in front of the Anso County Office and requested a meeting with the county magistrate. Because the county magistrate refused to meet them, about two hundred people spilled onto the road and stubbornly refused to move until around eight at night—a glimpse of how dire their circumstances had become. At Unryu-ji Temple’s office, they decided early in the new year to send delegates to Tokyo, and Hasegawa Sadajirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Kimura Yūkichi, Jisai Shigekichi, Sakurai Yosozō, Yokozuka Chisaku, Noguchi Haruzō, Taniguchi Fusakichi, Noguchi Genzō, Koshinami Ushijirō, and Ida Heikichi, among others, went to the capital and rushed about petitioning activities.

On February 24th, the "Petition Seeking Constitutional Protection" passed in the House of Representatives, and subsequently passed through the House of Peers as well. It was the result of years of continued petitions, but the joy of their petition finally passing both houses for the first time defied all comparison. The delegates wept and cheered at the Shibaguchi office. To immediately inform their hometowns of this joy, some sent telegrams while others drafted detailed reports of the entire proceedings and rushed to dispatch them.

On the 28th, the Diet was further extended until March 9th by imperial decree. Since the very beginning of the year, it had been rumored that the government was planning to increase legislative salaries while struggling to secure funding sources; meanwhile, political parties' maneuvers surrounding this issue increasingly captured public attention. In the current Diet session, the government had resolved various bills long considered problematic, starting with tax increases—a display of competence worthy of notice. But ultimately, this merely demonstrated how skillfully they had manipulated the Constitutional Party. Even regarding his land tax increase bill, reluctance arose within the Constitutional Party since adopting it meant abandoning their long-championed platform of "tax reduction" maintained since their Liberal Party days. Observing this, the government reserved various compensations through Hoshi Toru to entice lawmakers—the salary increase bill being one such measure.

Finally, with the session extended to deliberate on this matter, an emergency motion was submitted by Hoshi Toru in the House of Representatives on March 4th. Namely, it proposed that the bill to amend the Diet Law be placed on the agenda and referred to committee. Public opinion condemned the legislators' brazenness in voting to increase their own salaries and denounced it as corruption within the Imperial Diet. But the Constitutional Party's stance under Hoshi's leadership had been predetermined from the outset. Within the Constitutional Party, the integrity faction—Suzuki Shigezō, Abeii Iwane, Terada Hikotarō, Tanaka Shōzō, and others—had staunchly opposed the bill, yet the party itself vacillated and found itself unable to solidify its position. However, upon reviewing the bill's submission on the 4th, they finally resolved to formally oppose it through a party resolution.

At the plenary session on the 6th, Chairman Kanmuchi reported, “The committee has approved this bill by majority vote and revised the clause from ‘Members have not been able to decline their salaries’ to ‘Members may decline their salaries.’” “Furthermore,” Chairman Kanmuchi continued, “there was a minority opinion that increasing legislative salaries should not be permitted given the nation’s current manifold expenditures.” Afterward, Tanaka Shōzō ascended the podium amid applause, his lips pressed tightly together. He stood there to voice opposition on behalf of the Constitutional Party. This duty weighed heavily upon him. Lately, he had resolved not to speak in the Diet except on mining pollution matters, yet now opposing this bill meant shouldering full responsibility for his words. But as he contemplated the issue itself, he felt a pure spirit—one demanding he fight relentlessly—propelling him forward. “This is no salary increase bill—it’s a scheme to bribe legislators!” “An outrageous act of public corruption!” “An unforgivable crime!” Shōzō stood at the podium, this fury burning within him.

“They don’t exactly seem reluctant to take it.”

Tsunematsu Ryūkei’s gravelly voice could be heard hurling jeers. But Shōzō calmly poured water down his throat and began, “Ladies and gentlemen—”

“I oppose this amendment to the Diet Law—that is to say, this legislative salary increase bill.” “In other words, I concur with the minority opinion that Mr. Kanmuchi has just presented in his report.” “As you may all be concerned, I have been utterly consumed by the mining pollution issue, leaving me no opportunity whatsoever to investigate general budgetary matters or other legal issues—to the point that beyond this crisis, all else lies in utter darkness.” “Therefore, I have earnestly listened to your esteemed arguments and am in agreement with those among them that I find personally convincing.” “Wherever a theory has merit—without regard to party—I hold the intention to support it.” “For these reasons, I have of late remained in this assembly hall much like a dead man...but today, circumstances compel me to speak these words without fail.” “As a Diet member who has received His Majesty the Emperor’s summons and now defiles this seat—whatever its number—I must respond in some measure to matters that benefit the nation.” “To such a draft proposal, I must respond.”

Shōzō further intensified his tone,

“First, what of this rationale for increasing legislative stipends?” “Generally speaking, it matters not what may be written in such a rationale document—yet this one states that current stipends are insufficient to maintain legislators’ qualifications.” “What does this signify?” “It declares that insufficient funds prevent the preservation of legislative dignity.” “To write such phrases suggesting lawmakers can be swayed by monetary sums demonstrates contempt for legislators themselves.” “This amounts to outright insult.” “Those who consider this document reasonable must believe nothing in this world can be achieved without money—but setting such individuals aside, I cannot imagine any self-respecting person would feel unashamed to hear legislative dignity cannot be maintained due to inadequate funds.” “This is an insult.” “Moreover, given present circumstances—even were lawmakers to demand increased stipends—why would the government consent?” “To propose such a draft—I know not if these words seem too harsh—is tantamount to institutionalized bribery.” “This constitutes extreme disrespect.” “Regarding today’s fiscal state and regional economic stagnation—as you all represent constituencies—none here can claim ignorance of these realities.” “At present, farmland values have depreciated by forty percent in some districts, twenty in others.” “Before this assembly’s land tax bill has even taken effect, regional economies already lie in ruins.” “Should you return home bearing your briefcases now, you would witness conditions that would shock you profoundly.” “Rather than this bill, proper conduct for lawmakers and government officials in these times would involve debating stipend reductions—or at minimum replacing the current monthly 800 yen with daily allowances or per diem expenses.”

Shōzō straightened his posture with a solemn expression and once again addressed them as "Gentlemen."

“Was it not His Majesty the Emperor who, during the warship construction in previous years when national funds were strained, contributed from His personal coffers?” “Did not government officials—down to the lowest-ranking clerks—contribute one-tenth of their salaries? They all acted according to the moral duty demanded by those times.” “Even matters of economic interest—His Majesty framed them as issues of moral duty when contributing from His personal reserves.” “When considering legislative salaries, we cannot evaluate them through ordinary economic calculations.” “This is not a matter of material gain.” “It becomes an issue of spiritual principle.” “Since legislators hold the supreme authority to adjust national budgets regarding their own salaries—even if fully entitled—they must practice restraint.” “Even were the nation prosperous enough to reduce taxes or were public opinion to endorse salary increases—true legislators could never readily accept such augmentation.” “That constitutes legislative dignity.” “That defines legislative qualification.” “To claim that raising salaries from eight hundred to two thousand yen preserves qualifications—what manner of ill-conceived proposal is this?” “How dare they presume to govern this nation with such reasoning?” “Should this pass through parliament—legislators would betray both His Majesty above and the people below.” “Though such errors ought no longer occur—out of excessive caution born from an old woman’s worry—I have spoken thus.”

The lawmakers, who had fallen silent, sent forth applause as if revived with relief. Hoshi Tōru took the podium next, thrusting out his ponderous belly as he ascended. "When I visited Britain," he began, "their parliament too was debating a salary increase..." A faint flush coloring his pallid face, he launched into far-fetched arguments bolstered by foreign examples. "We conclude there can be no objection whatsoever," he declared with sardonic emphasis, "since we dare not levy new taxes to fund these increased salaries."

“Moreover, the original amendment states that legislators may resign from receiving their salaries.” “If one does not desire a salary increase, they may simply resign from receiving them.” “Should you gentlemen choose to decline them, the Ministry of Finance would no doubt welcome it heartily.” Nervous murmurs rippled through the chamber in response. After Hoshi descended from the podium, Shimada Saburō ascended with such vigor that he seemed to stir the air around him. Refuting Hoshi’s claim that no new taxes would be imposed for this purpose, he countered that merely debating the matter itself amounted to deliberating new taxes, then vehemently condemned the government for its contradictory responsibilities.

Voices clamoring to end the debate arose repeatedly. The chairperson approved the motion, and after another uproar over whether to use anonymous or open voting, the decision was made through anonymous balloting. One hundred thirty-four white balls, one hundred twenty-five black balls—the legislator bribery bill finally passed the House of Representatives by a nine-vote margin.

On the 8th, Shōzō stood to raise further questions regarding the mining pollution incident. “Count Kabayama of the Ministry of Education was said to have shed tears during his inspection tour of the affected areas in Meiji 29 [1896], for which the people remain deeply grateful.” “As the devastation from the Meiji 31 floods has grown three or four times worse than in Meiji 29, we implore you to conduct a new inspection.” “I trust Count Kabayama has not become a different man from before,” he said, turning toward the ministers’ seats with a gaze steeped in reproach and resolve.

Then, in a voice thick with mounting grief, he laid out statistics showing this was no longer just a public health crisis but a mortal threat to people’s lives—how deaths kept climbing, how children bore the brunt of it all. Since Meiji 24, on matters of public health, the government has never once deigned to respond. Just when you think they’ve finally answered now, they trot out some two-year-old report: “Per the Mining Pollution Committee’s findings,” he mimicked their blithe tone, “copper poses no bodily harm nor future health risks.” What in hell have you been doing these past two years? For over an hour Tanaka pressed with surgical precision until his voice dropped to leaden finality—“With our constitutionally protected petition now passed, let this be our last such questioning”—each syllable dripping decades of rancor dredged from his soul’s marrow.

On April 12, Shōzō guided Viscount Miura Gorō along with 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 silk weaver Fujū Sakijirō. Fujū's predecessor had been a pioneer who, as early as the Ansei era, recognized the Watarase River's suitability for dyeing and ventured into silk weaving. Sakijirō inherited this vision and in Meiji 7 (1874), dug a new channel to divert the river's waters into his residence's garden. However, from around Meiji 12–13 (1879–1880), no matter how meticulously they tended to the process, they could no longer achieve satisfactory results in refining raw silk—the most crucial stage of production. Thus becoming early victims of mining pollution, they sank new wells and began using well water for all their silk refining and dyeing processes. Furthermore, all riverside silk weavers who had previously depended on the Watarase for water had similarly dug wells in recent years. This followed petitions already submitted to authorities by delegates from Ashikaga and Kiryu Towns two years prior in October.

The group then proceeded to Azuma Village and stopped by the office at Unryu-ji Temple. The reference materials—straw with adhered copper components, withered wheat, dried mulberry roots, uprooted bamboo, and others—none failed to seize the onlookers' attention. They then followed the route through Funatsugawa, Nishiyatsuda, and Yanaka, closely observing the state of devastation in the worst-affected areas, and none could help but voice their shock at the conditions far exceeding what Shōzō’s usual accounts had described.

On the 14th, Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Sone Arasuke inspected the affected areas and, upon witnessing their dire state, returned heaving sighs of dismay. Immediately after returning to the capital, Sone met with Minister of Home Affairs Saigō and Vice-Minister Matsudaira, demanding they implement remedial measures without delay. Hearing fragments of these developments, Shōzō's face momentarily brightened. Yet during this period, a new profound anguish had taken root in his innermost thoughts. Needless to say, he agonized over how to discharge his responsibilities regarding the legislative salary issue. One day at an inn in Shibaguchi—when only he and Sabe remained behind tightly closed shōji screens—Shōzō quietly let slip a fragment of his private deliberations.

"I must resign my legislative salary." Behind those blunt words lingered a resonance that hinted at still more complex emotions within.

“But,” Sabe said, peering at Shōzō’s face. “Since this has been established by law, I see no need for you alone, Mr. Tanaka, to resign your legislative salary.” “No—one must uphold full accountability for their words.” “Those very words that exposed government corruption in the sacred assembly hall bear especially grave responsibility.” “Having chosen opposition, I accept those consequences—that much is clear.” “Yet through this act, I may forfeit my standing as a legislator.”

“How could such a thing be? Your local supporters will surely stand by you without fail.” “The hearts of men are not so constant.” “They will inevitably brand me a fool and cast me aside.” “My descent into wretchedness lies plain before us.” “Men see only the two thousand yen I cast away—they grasp nothing of how this warning might curb the nation’s profligacy.” “Nor shall they ever perceive the incalculable good in cleansing even a fraction of this moral decay from their souls.”

When told this, even Sabe grew concerned about the local supporters' activities after the legislative salary resignation. The funds Shōzō had obtained his father’s permission to dedicate to lifelong political activism twenty years prior had been entirely depleted in the first two elections. All subsequent election expenses had been covered by donations from volunteers in Asō District. Moreover, what Shōzō had expended for the mining pollution issue was by no means a small amount. As a result, seven volunteers had borrowed over a thousand yen from Sanō Bank under joint liability, with half the legislative salary allocated to interest payments while gradually repaying the principal in increments. Sabe being largely aware of these internal circumstances made the potential repercussions all the more fraught with unfounded worries.

“Then, if you were to stop attending the Diet, what on earth would become of the mining pollution issue?”

Sabe raised his troubled eyes as if reproaching.

“No—the mining pollution issue already has many comrades within the Diet halls, so it isn’t absolutely necessary for me to remain in the chamber.” “Yet because of Yamagata and Hoshi, the parliament has been utterly desecrated.” “This corrupt influence will undoubtedly plague both the Diet and political sphere for decades to come.” “Therefore, I feel compelled to remain seated as a legislator—to strike a decisive blow against this rot and force their reckoning.”

Shōzō stared intently, as if peering into the depths of his own mind, his eyes fixed for a time. “But depending on how one looks at it—if Yamagata has stooped to such disgraceful acts just to placate the Hoshi faction—perhaps the hanbatsu’s power has weakened more than we realized.” “If the people’s power advances one step, they will naturally have to retreat one step; thus, their power will eventually fade away.” “In that case, there would be no need for me to remain in the assembly.” “My struggle lies in this single point.”

With those words, Shōzō closed his eyes as if sleeping. As he gazed at that immovable figure, Sabe envisioned a great tree spreading its roots deep and wide beneath the earth. The true struggles of a steadfast man take root where imagination cannot reach. He immersed himself in these solemn reflections... until eventually, the faint sound of spring rain trickling through gutters reached his ears.

Before long, Shōzō put into action the resolve he had harbored that day. Specifically, on April 13th, carrying the "Notice of Resignation of Legislative Salary" in his breast pocket, he arrived by rickshaw at the House of Representatives, met with a clerk, and requested its formal submission. The clerk blinked irritably behind his glasses,

“The proposed amendment to the Diet Law bill has not yet received imperial sanction.” “We cannot possibly accept this.” With that, he flashed a dismissive smile. Shōzō glared at him, “No—even if the law isn’t promulgated,” he declared, thrusting his chest forward. “Now that that bill has passed both houses of the Diet, I must uphold my responsibility for my words and resign regardless.” “Moreover, as you can see, this old and exhausted body may not see another day.” “Were I to die of illness before the law’s promulgation, I would fail to fulfill my accountability.” “Even in death, I would remain branded a villain.” “It is precisely to prevent this disgrace that I submit my notice now.” “There exists no statute forbidding its acceptance.”

Not only did each word resonate with genuine sincerity, but Shōzō’s face bore a severity that seemed ready to rebuke any further refusal. The clerk, who had initially been looking on with contempt at Shōzō’s shabby appearance, now wore a resigned expression as he lowered his eyes once more to the notice addressed to Speaker Kataoka Kenkichi of the House of Representatives.

Thus, Shōzō's resignation of the legislative salary was immediately reported in the newspapers the following day. Excluding government-aligned newspapers and those of the Hoshi faction, all other papers—whether in miscellaneous reports or editorials—did not fail to praise Shōzō’s integrity. From philanthropists across the country who had seen the newspapers, telegrams and letters expressing gratitude arrived daily in bundles at the Shibaguchi Inn. Among them, an elderly man named Kurihara Nobuchika from Anayama Village in Kitakoma District, Yamanashi Prefecture was not satisfied with merely sending a letter of gratitude; he advertised this as a righteous act in three prefectural newspapers. Moreover, among members of local youth associations and educators, there were even those who made a special trip to the capital to visit Shōzō. However, such developments were an entirely unexpected ostentation for Shōzō. When they informed him that the notification procedures had been completed on the 19th, Shōzō distributed letters dated the 21st to his home electoral district. The text detailed the circumstances of the resignation of the legislative salary and contained the following words.

"—When said bill was brought before the Diet, though we allies vehemently opposed it and strove to uphold legislators' sanctity, through nine immoral men's machinations we failed to achieve our long-cherished aim—that wealth wrung from the people's blood and sweat should be plundered by those vile creatures through deceit—this fills us with indignation and bitter tears beyond endurance. Having reached this juncture, as you know, even in my destitution I cannot draw from their polluted stream so long as my true heart remains unclouded. Therefore, persisting in my initial resolve to impose vigilance upon national expenditures and thereby maintain sanctity before my conscience, I declare I have resigned my legislative salary in full. Regarding my livelihood—having long received your generous support with substantial debts still unreturned—I ought to have sought your consent before resigning. Yet amid urgent state affairs claiming every moment, circumstances compelled me to act without approval—a matter I implore you to deeply ponder. Even had consent been needed, this old man's spirit remains wholly unchanged; my sole intent lies in resigning the salary without ulterior motive."

Of course, the people of the affected areas now felt Shōzō’s integrity anew in light of this matter. It became voices of sympathy for Shōzō’s circumstances and a gathering of concerned citizens at Unryu-ji Temple. They themselves were of course impoverished by the annual mining pollution damage. But he who had plunged into destitution through his efforts to save us now faced daily survival as an imminent struggle. How could we remain silent? Since everyone felt this conviction, it was unanimously decided that henceforth the nine villages would each month pool fifty yen to give him.

On the 24th, Yamada, Noguchi, Ōide, Yamamoto, Hara, and Aoki went to the capital as delegates and conveyed their collective will to Shōzō in a room at the Shinanoya. Tears overflowed from Shōzō’s eyes as he listened in silence, and he struck his knee. “I’m grateful,” Shōzō said in a trembling voice. “Your kindness pierces me to the core; I am deeply grateful. “I deeply appreciate your goodwill; now I feel the very nature of the mining pollution issue has transformed into a matter of life and death. “Even those who were previously indifferent cannot remain unmoved by this matter. “If there are those among ten million people who remain unmoved by this, they are no different from beasts. “Even frivolous Tokyoites have increasingly been moved by this. “To receive even fifty yen each month in contributions from people enduring these dire circumstances brings me more gratitude and joy than the clamor of ordinary hundreds of thousands or millions of yen. “I should humbly accept this, but I cannot do so. “That is to say, there is no ulterior motive. “The reason I devote myself to the mining pollution issue is that this is a spiritual endeavor—one never swayed by the presence or absence of money. “Gentlemen, I ask that you refrain from concerning yourselves with my personal affairs henceforth. “There is absolutely no need for concern.”

Surveying the silently gathered crowd, Shōzō continued. “The outcome of life’s battles depends on two things: the amount of money and resolve in life.” “No matter how much money one may have, without resolve in one’s heart, there can be no achievement.” “Moreover, in life’s battles each must have enemies and allies, strengths and weaknesses.” “The victims’ strength lies in utter folly and impoverishment.” “The perpetrator Ichibē’s strengths are abundant funds and coercion.” “It is only through each side’s strengths that battle is joined; if we abandon our own to contest the enemy’s, we compound weakness upon weakness - leading to endless defeats these twenty-four years.” “No—the affected areas spread wider each year and now near sixty thousand chō.” “When I consider this, I sense our opponents’ momentum has made great strides while our strength retreats.” “I even feel we may have been driven beyond hope of prevention.”

Shōzō, with a truly troubled gaze, once again surveyed the faces of the people. The delegates could no longer offer any response.

Two or three days later, Shōzō was admitted to Juntendo Hospital. This was both due to his frequent episodes of a dazed mental state—as had become customary—and for treatment of his eye disease. However, what he himself believed to be a chronic brain condition was largely attributable to overwork. Thus when he entered the hospital for convalescence, the symptoms diminished somewhat within days. While there, he spent roughly a week treating his eye ailment and planned to return home immediately after discharge. On May 2nd, Shōzō took up his brush in the hospital room and wrote an account of these matters to his nephew Sadassuke Harada in Ashikaga. At the letter’s conclusion, he poured forth unfiltered emotions,

"The legislative salary issue concerns national principles, yet judgments vary. Some call it a matter of personal morality, others frame it as an issue of rights—but not a soul has treated it as a question of national principle. The mining pollution crisis has been cornered, while political reforms have instead brought annual increases in corruption, educational decline, religious decay, and a daily proliferation of rot. All our efforts have ended in failure. Yet in life there exists this adage: 'Unyielding through a hundred defeats.' Truly, when Shōzō sat alone in his hospital room meditating silently, he could not escape the profound sense that 'all was failure.' Days later upon returning home, he had to listen to reports that some joint debt guarantors resented his recent decision. Legislative salaries were said to rise to two thousand yen—enough to repay debts and shed responsibility. Those who had clung to such hopes now harbored resentment toward Shōzō, their disappointment curdling into bitterness after his unexpected refusal."

Chapter Five

The mining pollution incident saw no resolution as this year too drew to a close, and the distress of those pollution victims deepened alongside the cold. No household could even conceive of preparing for the New Year. Without any hope, they could only spend each passing day steeped in grief.

But through the twenty-nine-year movement that had operated with Unryu-ji Temple's office at its core, youths tempered by hardship had finally spread throughout every village. They did not merely grieve over their misfortune. Even if no helping hand was extended, they never lost the will to break through this crisis themselves. Thus arose the need to unify the pollution victims' actions and strengthen their solidarity. This led to the proposal at Unryu-ji Temple's October 21st meeting to organize what became known as the Mining Pollution Assembly. On December 22nd, draft regulations for this assembly were distributed to all villages under the names of both Shibaguchi and Unryu-ji Temple offices.

“Members shall be those from the affected areas born in the Meiji era.” The decision to organize primarily with youths aged thirty-two or younger held profound significance for their aspirations. Prior to this, during October, Shōzō had written to the Unryu-ji Temple office: “Though hearing that many children die due to mining pollution’s harm, if one does not grieve even as much as for dead dogs and cats, then they are no different from dogs and cats. I earnestly wish to cleanse this disgrace from human society. May youthful patriots from all quarters rouse one another.”

Through this initiative, volunteers continued investigating survivors and deceased residents in every village of the affected areas. In November, they completed these statistics and published the first report. Then in December, they publicly released the second report. Those who conducted this arduous investigation included Heikichi Ida, Sajū Iwasaki, Maijirō Kameoka, Tsuneyoshi Niwata, Fusakichi Tani, Haruzō Noguchi, Teishichirō Kobayashi, Chikamoro Moro, Eiichi Matsumoto, and Tsunehachi Shitara. They visited local government offices across municipalities for their survey, but most officials dismissed even this life-and-death matter as inconvenient, with scarcely any assisting them.

The statistics compared birth and death rates from Meiji 27 to 31 across each year, their numbers clearly demonstrating how the invisible harm of mining pollution had now become irrefutable evidence through human mortality patterns. One could cite numerous cases resembling the Funatsu River circumstances Shōzō had referenced during his March 8th interpellation speech. In places like Shimotsukenoda of Kuno Village—a hamlet of fifty-one households—Meiji 31 recorded five births against twenty-two deaths, translating to percentages of 1.88% for births and 8.63% for deaths. Throughout all hamlets, births still far outnumbered deaths around Meiji 27, but deaths gradually multiplied until they surpassed births severalfold. Examination of death causes revealed alarmingly high rates of infant malnutrition and stillbirths. As for the realities surrounding these life-and-death matters, no descriptor sufficed beyond sheer tragedy.

Shōzō stared at the investigative report, feeling as though molten lead had been poured into his chest. Time and again he saw the skies of the poisoned lands behind closed eyelids; time and again sighs heaved from the depths of his being. On December 6th, at a Constitutional Party representatives' banquet held at Kogetsu in Karasumori, Shōzō rose to deliver a toast—then deliberately shattered the convivial atmosphere by demanding, "Why won't you investigate the mining wastelands at your very feet?" This outburst too sprang from that same leaden despair. Though Tanaka Shōzō had always maintained the fastidious principle of not straightening one's hat beneath a pear tree—refusing even to approach ministerial residences—he now raced daily between legislative sessions to pound on the gates of Matsukata at Finance, Kabayama at Education, and Saigō at Home Affairs. These were men who'd occupied cabinet seats when the Mining Pollution Investigation Committee was established thirty years prior; Shōzō meant to force them to acknowledge how their failed prevention works had brought about this catastrophe. Yet no amount of visits could secure him an audience. Most determinedly, he called sixteen times on Saigō—the minister directly responsible for public welfare—throughout January 1900 alone.

On one front, he also had to draft a written inquiry to submit to the Diet. He also had to rush about securing numerous supporters. By February 8th, he had finally obtained 129 supporters and completed the draft of the written inquiry. Namely titled "Written Inquiry Concerning Petitions Related to the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Incident," its attached explanatory statement particularly stood out—a meticulous chronicle of devastation that pierced straight to the heart with its anguish-laden prose. He wrote these words in its concluding section: “Should our language appear to stray from rhetorical conventions or breach discursive norms, know that this suffering defies capture by brush or tongue; should our entreaties seem fragmented beyond endurance, understand that we cannot bear this torment of being rent asunder. Unless every article of this mortal petition be adopted, we mining pollution victims shall find all lawful avenues to rescue ourselves utterly barred.”

Around this time, over twenty village heads from the affected areas came to the capital and submitted petitions signed by the five towns, forty-nine villages, and their delegates to the relevant ministers as well as both Houses of the Diet. On February 9th in the House of Representatives, the moment the scheduled bell rang out, Shōzō was the first to enter the chamber and take seat number forty-three. In the packed upper-floor gallery seats, upon seeing this, whispers of “Tochin, Tochin” arose. However, when Shōzō eventually ascended the podium in accordance with the order of notification, neither his voice nor his demeanor displayed their usual vehemence that day. His face was shrouded in shadows as if his worries had sunk deep and were seething with internal strife. In truth, his body remained weakened from illness, and his spirit had grown somewhat subdued.

"...Why does the government not value the people's petitions?" "Setting that aside—what does it mean to ignore what parliament resolved by majority?" After rebuking the government for failing to act on the "Petition for Constitutional Protection" passed in the previous Diet session, Shōzō turned his focus toward his own party: "If I am an obstacle, then expel me and handle this issue properly." "If you hesitate because Count Ōkuma issued the prevention orders, then order him to leave the party." "Why do you keep appointing superficial committees and leave this matter neglected until today?" "I make no concessions." "This issue is a social problem that has become a national crisis since Meiji 30." "This is absolutely not a partisan matter."

Considering Tanaka Shōzō—who during his Kaishintō days had partisanship stronger than most and devoted himself to the party with overflowing ambition—it was all the more surprising that these words existed now. But with what depth of disappointment had he looked back upon the aftermath of that failed merger of the people's parties? And with what depth of indignation had he watched the ugliness of subsequent party infighting?...The mining pollution issue had rather been plagued by partisanship. To resolve this issue, one had to transcend partisanship. Reflecting on years of bitter experience, Shōzō had finally come to direct his thoughts there.

During this period, frequent gatherings of delegates were held at the Unryu-ji Temple office. At the meeting on the 11th, they finally resolved to present their petition in Tokyo, with an internal notice of this decision also sent to Shinano-ya. No matter how coldly the government might act or respond with cruel treatment, the pollution victims had no path but to appeal to the authorities. They determined the number of petitioners going to Tokyo would be 1,064 people, resolved that this would be their final entreaty. According to surveys through November of the previous year, among a population of 18,473 there had been 3,255 deaths—1,064 more fatalities than the mortality rate in unpolluted areas. This figure represented those estimated to have met untimely deaths due to mining contamination. When delegates from Tochigi and Gunma prefectures organized a memorial service on the eighteenth of last month, they too had commemorated these 1,064 spirits.

On the 13th, Shōzō once again submitted two written inquiries and stood to deliver an explanatory speech. First, he began with the rationale for his inquiry: "What monetary value would be lost if the natural productive capacity of all mining pollution-affected regions were to perish entirely?" "Why do matsutake mushrooms grow in the mountains?" "They grow because there are pine trees." "If you cut down the mountain trees, matsutake mushrooms will not grow." "If this connection is severed and people cannot live there—this requires no explanation." "If we consider that mining pollution will continue flowing at the current rate, I declare that the affected regions spanning over 60,000 chō will become completely barren within approximately sixty years."

Having spoken that far, Shōzō sent the water down his throat, “As my fatigue has rather taken hold, I would like to read the written inquiry and beg your pardon.”

In fact, his face was swollen an ashen hue, shrouded in a gloomier shadow than usual. Only those characteristic large eyes of his 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 audiences to petitioners." "The authorities neither halt pollution's source nor purify the rivers, letting toxicity intensify yearly while ministers pretend not to see it—now when deaths force desperate pleas, why do local officials reject orderly petitioners? Why do ministers deny meetings? That is all I ask."

Just when it seemed he would stop, he continued his explanation in an unceasing torrent. It was an irrepressible outburst of emotion. "So, speaking generally about what kinds of people comprise most of these deaths—children and the elderly still predominate." "There are many who are physically frail." "Even those who were once robust may not die easily, but their bodies too have deteriorated." "When examining military conscription screenings, we've reached the grave situation where those capable of fulfilling their military obligations have decreased." "Therefore these petitioners aren't of normal health—they're semi-invalids." "They treat these semi-invalid people coming forth no differently than how they regard those fully protected by constitutional law—the ones who swarm out in confusion from some misguided notion, like violent mobs during famine years..."

Shōzō grimaced as though cornered with no escape. Then, invoking the Fuchie Incident, he continued pleading with anguish that cut to the bone. “During this session, I shall submit roughly one written inquiry daily, but I won’t mount this podium each time to deliver speeches of questioning.” “There exists this cunningly crafted document declaring ‘we bear no responsibility beyond the Diet.’ Yet I myself fully embrace accountability outside these chambers. Let them say what they will about ministers—that Diet matters absolve them of external responsibility—I harbor no such contemptible mentality.” “The human mind in its divine complexity makes no distinction between affairs inside and outside the Diet.” “I reject interpretations crafted to appease the three hundred.” “I shall conclude here today and resume tomorrow.”

Shōzō descended the stairs slowly, step by step, as if counting each one. But his demeanor was not so much due to fatigue as it was a weightiness with a subdued intensity—that of someone who had settled into a life-or-death situation.

Just as Shōzō stood on the podium delivering his speech, unprecedented disturbances erupted in the affected regions.

After returning to the waiting room, Shōzō was informed of a visitor and casually made his way to the meeting room. There, Kato—who had rushed from the Shinano-ya office to deliver an urgent report—awaited him with a look of grim resolve. The petition group that had departed Unryu-ji Temple that morning had been violently suppressed at Kawamata. The commotion apparently resembled warfare, leaving dozens injured. One casualty, Yamazaki Keijirō of Inunuki, had abruptly boarded a train to Tokyo mid-journey, filed a report at Shiba Police Station, and was now receiving treatment for his wounds at the office, it was said.

When Shōzō heard this, the world before his eyes turned pitch black, and he sank back against the chair as though his chest had been hollowed out. His hands trembled violently on his knees, the vibrations traveling down to the hem of his hakama. He had known about their departure to Tokyo for the petition because there had been a notification. But this time—this time—they were likely coming forth with a desperate resolve. How could I possibly stop them myself? He was tormented by that thought. For he was intimately acquainted with both the dire circumstances that had driven them to this point and the emotions they carried. Moreover, since the Fuchie Village incident two years prior, I bore a heavy responsibility for my words and actions. "Shōzō will not tell you to stop again." "No—not only will I not tell you to stop, but when that time comes, Shōzō will stand together with you all in advance and retreat"—those words from that time ceaselessly coursed through his chest. He had not explicitly ordered them to come out, but he earnestly hoped they would maintain their earnest attitude throughout. Moreover, on that point, he had never doubted that there were trustworthy people involved. But no matter how earnestly they act or how carefully they plan their actions, there are times when humans cannot prevent unforeseen errors from arising...... Shōzō had been sinking into such reflections, but suddenly rose to his feet and left the House of Representatives with Katō.

When he returned to Shinano-ya, Yamazaki’s bandaged head—surrounded by delegates who had come to the capital—immediately caught his eye. The moment Yamazaki saw Shōzō, he straightened his posture and, with a face contorted by surging grief and indignation, began to plead his case. “There were about thirty of us who joined the group from Tatebayashi.” “In the same way, others joined in succession along the way, and by the time we reached Kawamata, our numbers had swelled to nearly three thousand people.” “When we came to about two chō before that Kyūhakuba stone bridge in Kawamata, we could see a large number of police officers on guard near the houses on the other side of the bridge.” “Behind them, the figures of military police were also visible.” “Yes, there must have been three hundred police officers.” “There, Mr. Noguchi at the front stopped his horse and huddled together with Ōide, Inamura, Nagashima, and Kamei to discuss.” “This bridge was the critical point.” “We had prepared boats because we learned our lesson after being denied the pontoon bridge before—if we could just get through here safely, we wouldn’t have to worry about the Tone River.” “So if we pushed forward with those two carts carrying the boats at the front, the police would clear the path, and in that moment, we could all cross at once.” “Having discussed and agreed on this plan, they pressed forward.” “However, the police officers blocked their way, not allowing them to advance a single step, and with a fierce demeanor ordered them to disperse.” “It seemed Mr. Nagashima Yohachi at the front had begun to argue something, but suddenly four or five police officers lunged forward and began savagely beating him.” At the same time, a large group also lunged toward the carts and overturned the front one. “Because the front cart had overturned, the rear cart collided with it, blocking the road and making it impossible to advance.” “Those at the back, not understanding what was happening, simply pressed together in confusion.” “Then, the police officers also charged forward and rushed at us with their saber pommels.” “Then—they struck, stabbed, kicked, stomped, rampaging like madmen.” “We had no intention of resisting from the start, and since we were unarmed, there was nothing to do but flee.”

“We threw down whatever dried rice we had and were driven into the fields and paddies, scattering like spiderlings.” “They chased after us again and beat us…” “Black smoke rose over all the fields—it was just like a war…”

“Is the pain unbearable?” When Shōzō—his brow furrowed in anguish—shifted his gaze to the bandages, the forty-year-old man’s ashen face twisted abruptly. “They beat us with sabers.” “Is this their notion of protecting the people?” “We set out clutching petitions to safeguard our very lives.” “And yet…”

His voice gave out, and Yamazaki hung his bandaged head. Then, from under the hands that covered his face, sobs escaped.

Shōzō sat with both hands clenched atop his hakama, silently listening to the unspoken plea, but even on the cheek beneath his closed eyelids, something glistening trailed down. “About how many people were injured?”

Shōzō suddenly blurted out.

“Twenty people, or perhaps even more.” “After all, we were scattered over a two or three-ri stretch, so there was no way to tell who was injured and where they lay.” “There must certainly have been deaths as well.”

Shōzō closed his eyes again and continued groaning with chest-tightening anguish, then muttered, "February 13th... February 13th," like a soliloquy. Before long, that voice grew louder,

"February 13th—what an ill-fated day." "Even if February 13th comes a hundred times, two hundred times, the mining pollution will not cease." "The murders won’t cease!" It was a voice like a cracked bell. The people were startled and stared at Shōzō’s face, then uneasily exchanged glances with one another. But Shōzō let out a deep sigh and then fell still, as if falling asleep. The people too fell silent, each becoming absorbed in their own thoughts.

Moreover, within that same night, three or four individuals came to the capital bearing information—yet even regarding matters like casualty counts, figures varied wildly between a hundred and three hundred, for each person’s observations remained fragmentary and colored by conjecture. The presence or absence of dead bodies also remained unclear.

“They say Furukawa’s shop manager was wearing a police uniform and moving among them,” “Someone swears they saw a face that looked just like his.” “That bastard must’ve been egging the officers on.” When one man said this, another added with grave conviction, “They knew exactly which delegates to target—shouting ‘That’s the ringleader! Take him down!’ as they rushed at us.”

Shōzō could not help but doubt how much credence to give those words, but— "Even if it wasn't Furukawa's shop manager, it must have been someone like Furukawa Ichibē's errand boy—no one else would do such a thing. Logically speaking, we can conclude they took bribes from Furukawa and acted accordingly. If they were truly local police officers, their way of seeing us pollution victims would have been different. They should know full well how simple and compliant we victims are. We've never once resorted to violence. Even in March two years ago, they listened to me and went home peacefully..."

While saying this, Shōzō pulled his inkstone box closer and began drafting the text of the inquiry document he would submit to the House of Representatives the following day. "A grave incident has occurred in which the emergency resolutions passed by both houses during the 13th Diet were ignored, resulting in the poisoning deaths of many pollution victims and the violent killings of numerous citizens." "What say you to this?" He gnawed on his brush and continued writing.

“It is also said that dozens of Furukawa Ichibē’s followers—the perpetrators—disguised themselves in police uniforms, incited constables to intimidate the pollution victims, and furthermore, in this act of violence, plotted to assassinate the pollution victims’ committee members and delegate village mayors.” The characters themselves fiercely conveyed the depths of Shōzō’s heart.

The next morning, there were those who brought yet another piece of information. By synthesizing these reports, the circumstances from their departure at Unryu-ji Temple to their arrival in Tatebayashi took rough shape. However, that morning’s newspaper carried a telegram from local officials to the Home Ministry, but the contents of the two accounts diverged sharply. Terms like “mob” and “thugs” were used in reports, portraying the pollution victims as having perpetrated acts of violence. Of course, this was unbelievable, but Shōzō showed the newspaper to each person individually to verify the facts, and every time, his indignation was rekindled.

Piecing together the people's accounts, it went like this—

Late at night on the 12th, when all household members had fallen asleep. The ominous tolling of temple bells along the coast conveyed a gloomy resonance through the night wind. Having prearranged this as their signal, they soon departed from their home thresholds carrying a day's worth of rice balls and one shō of dried rice, donning straw raincoats and hats while wrapped in blankets. From beneath eaves here and tree shadows there, black shadows slipped out one after another, drawn together as though magnetized into groups of fifty or sixty people each hurrying toward Unryu-ji Temple.

In Unryu-ji Temple's spacious courtyard, such numbers steadily gathered, reaching six or seven hundred people by around 1 a.m. Though it was February, the cold had barely begun to lift—and this was the dead of night. The cold wind blowing across the riverbed pierced their skin, unbearable. Bonfires were lit in several places. The pillars of fire scorching the dark sky brought a faint vitality back to their gloomy faces. Some were murmuring quietly amongst themselves, while others fell silent, thinking of the wives and children they had left behind at home. Each and every one of them was waiting in that manner for instructions from the delegates and bracing themselves to wait for the night to end.

Then, around 1:30 a.m., Tatebayashi Police Chief Ima Teppei entered with about fifty officers. Ima first appeared to go around the bonfires saying something, but then he suddenly stood in the center of the courtyard and shouted, “By order of the Public Assembly and Political Associations Law, you are commanded to disperse!” But not a single person made a move to comply. Some among them shouted, “This order to disperse is unjust!” but most merely exchanged glances and feigned indifference. Even in their simple hearts, they could not help but think, “What nonsense are they spouting? This is a matter of life or death for us,” and thus held in contempt the orders of police officers who were out of touch with the people’s suffering. Moreover, from the direction of the temple gate, more people came streaming in one after another, singing the familiar Mining Pollution Elegy. Bonfire spots were increased. Because the voices in each group were finally growing into a clamor at that moment, it remained highly doubtful how much the dispersal order had actually been communicated.

No sooner had the police officers begun milling about in confusion than unsettling shouts could be heard from the direction of the main hall’s office. Police Chief Ima then ordered those inside the main hall to disperse as well and, shouting "Drag them out!," stomped in alongside his officers, their shoes still on their feet. At that moment, from the mountain gate came Noguchi Haruzō astride a horse and wearing a war hat, leading the way at the head of thirty or forty men as they rode in. Upon seeing the commotion inside the hall, he shouted loudly.

“This is our office! We don’t permit outsiders to barge in recklessly—now then, once we’re prepared, let’s depart at once!” But the mayhem inside the main hall only intensified. When the lamp went out, lanterns swayed in the darkness—perhaps someone had flung a brazier—sending sparks flying and smoke billowing upward. A thunderous crash echoed as sliding doors collapsed under the strain. Even the crowd in the courtyard grew restless, erupting into clamorous shouts. Then—who had struck it?—the temple bell began tolling violently, making it seem for a moment that all order might disintegrate.

This was precisely where the telegram sent to the Home Ministry stated that though the Tatebayashi Police Chief had ordered dispersal, [they] committed acts of violence such as extinguishing lamps and throwing braziers, and thus did not disperse. However, the fact remained that initially, inside the main hall, about ten people—old and young—had been sleeping under futons. There, numerous police officers stomped in with their shoes on and ordered them to disperse. This led to a heated exchange over the unreasonableness of the demand, and while the police officers attempted to drag them out by force, the people maintained their stance of refusing to comply with an unjust order and would not move. It remained unclear which side had taken and thrown the brazier; when the police officers withdrew, both inside and outside the hall fell completely silent, it was said.

From the break of dawn into morning, the number of people gathering grew increasingly larger, reaching a total of nearly two thousand.

At 8:00 a.m., preparations for departure were finally ready, but first, a podium had been set up on the front stairs of the main hall. First, head priest Kurosaki Zen'ō expounded on attaining spiritual resolve through peace of mind. "The true meaning of human death lies in how that death gives life to all people." "Since this will be your final protest, execute it with resolute determination to save three hundred thousand lives—even at the cost of your own." "Do not falter midway. Once you depart, advance straight ahead like a train charging down its rails—overcome every obstacle in your path."

Next, Sabe Hikojirō rose. “The reason we have gathered here in such numbers is solely to exercise our constitutionally granted right to petition.” “There is not the slightest legal transgression in our actions.” “The very gates of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce shall become our burial ground.” “Let us entrust ourselves to justice and righteousness, and advance resolutely—with utmost dignity—toward that burial site.” Following this, Inamura Yoichi, Nagashima Yohachi, Niwada Tsunekichi, and Yamamoto Eishirō each took turns delivering short addresses. Some stressed that as this was a mass undertaking, they must proceed with quiet composure while maintaining unshakable resolve; others emphasized upholding proper conduct by abstaining from purchasing food or drink along the route; still others reminded them not to discard their coarse garments or cold-weather gear—thus reiterating every precaution posted in the main hall’s office since the previous day to ensure thorough preparation.

Finally, at 9 a.m., the group set out from Unryu-ji Temple in secret, resolved that unless their demands were met, they would not set foot on this land again alive. They crossed the temporary bridge over the Watarase River and headed toward Tatebayashi, each group singing the Mining Pollution Elegy as they went. Thus passing by the Tatebayashi Police Station's gate, another altercation erupted there. According to telegrams published in newspapers, it was reported that a violent mob had stormed the police station. However, from what Shōzō had heard, it was merely that Sabe Hikojirō and Yamamoto Eishirō—who had been overseeing the group's rear—entered the station to protest how matters had been handled regarding the Unryu-ji main hall incident.

However, the actual circumstances of this matter had not yet reached Shōzō. When the group approached the police station gate, a watchful officer seized Noguchi Haruzō’s bridle and tried to drag him from his horse. Those nearby converged around Noguchi, using the crowd’s momentum to pull both man and steed back beyond the gate. At that instant, Kawashima Tamiya, Urushihara Kenji, and Ono Kumajirō—the three men leading the crowd—were apprehended for resisting officers. The mob again cascaded through the gate, voices clamoring in unison for their comrades’ release. The dozen officers, overwhelmed, scrawled “We return them now—keep quiet” in bold characters on paper and pasted it at the entrance. But when the three emerged, Kawashima bore gashes across his face streaming blood. Nagashima and others erupted—“Why’d you wound him?” “We won’t take injured men without explanations!”—their outcry swelling as they stood immovable. Sabe and Yamamoto arrived then. Inspector Hasegawa suggested doctors from both sides examine injuries and defer judgment—terms Sabe accepted by pledging to negotiate directly with police, dispersing the crowd beyond the gate. Meanwhile, the protest’s vanguard pressed toward Kawamata. Noguchi remounted his horse, thrusting a white flag inscribed “Namu Amida Butsu” into his collar, while Ōide Kihira rode a rickshaw at their head.—Such proved later to be the full truth.

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 Six

On February 15th, 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 intended to present my questions in an orderly manner today, first disclosing them for your reference in due course. However, given that an urgent and grave incident has now occurred here, I have submitted an additional written inquiry regarding this matter.” “I trust that among you patriotic colleagues, there is not a single person who would take such a matter lightly. However, this problem being unprecedented, it follows naturally that people in society do not fully comprehend the sequence of events in this Mining Pollution Incident.” “Therefore, no matter how earnestly I have delivered speeches until now, I have been met with suspicions that I might be magnifying trivialities into grand issues through exaggeration. But as of today, I must say what I have conveyed thus far has not even reached half of your ears—indeed, I question whether I have managed to communicate even half of the facts.”

Shōzō cleared his throat loudly and continued. “Therefore today, though I strive to advocate for this cause with impartiality—for the nation’s sake and for the pollution victims’ sake—the reality remains that my intentions are too often misconstrued through various complicating factors. For this reason, I hereby resolve to make a momentous decision.” That day, skies that had remained clear for days grew overcast, shrouding the assembly hall in gloom—yet Shōzō’s solemn declaration struck like a watchman’s clapper, tensing the entire chamber. Those who had been resting their chins on their hands sat upright and fixed their eyes on the podium.

“I have traditionally been an old party member, but even up until the day before yesterday, whenever there was cause to attack the government, I did so quite vigorously.” “But from this point forward, there is no room for such attacks.” “I may yet take practical action.” “Yet even if some may think that I oppose the government because I belong to the Kaishintō or to Ōkuma’s party—though Tanaka Shōzō harbors no such petty motives—and even if others impose base interpretations upon my words, claiming I speak for factional interests or my own electoral district while corpses lie piled before me, let them think so; Tanaka Shōzō is but a man of such measure. But we must not allow this vital issue to be buried beneath such interpretations, nor permit the nation’s people to misperceive where truth resides.” “I must ask for your attention today, members of all parties—as of this day, I am resigning from the Constitutional Political Party.”

Seats across all parties showed signs of unrest, and whispers arose here and there. But Shōzō paid no heed to that, continuing with firm resolve filling his brow. "Having resigned from the Constitutional Political Party, I may no longer restrain myself—whether in increasingly attacking the government or in dealings with other parties—regarding what arguments may arise." "Now that I have resigned from the party I have been committed to since around Meiji Year Twelve, I earnestly request that all of you—regardless of party affiliation or whether you are government officials or civilians—treat this issue as a special one. I believe I have fulfilled my personal obligation in this regard." "With all due respect, I am not one of those party members who crept in through the back door—I humbly beseech you to view this matter with your honorable discernment." "I hear that members of the Constitutional Political Party reportedly departed for the affected areas this morning, which is truly appreciated. However, were I still affiliated with the party, people would assume that it was Tanaka who instigated this action, thereby attributing the party’s involvement to my influence." "Now that I have resigned, this work—indeed, all matters pertaining to the Constitutional Political Party—have no connection whatsoever to Tanaka Shōzō." "However, in terms of moral duty, I deeply regret having made this decision without consulting my fellow party members. Yet having resolved this matter through my own convictions, what grieves me is that this critical issue has compelled me to take such action."

Having thus clearly declared his resignation, Shōzō—now wearing the expression of one who had cast off all entanglements—abruptly changed his tone. First, he explained point by point how all information from government authorities was falsifying the facts, citing reports from the pollution victims’ side, “This half-sick man carries no blade upon his person. This makes the fourth time, but I didn’t have one during the previous three either. This time, of course, I have nothing either. Nor is there any need for me to carry one. Yet for what reason did they sandwich-attack and inflict injuries?”

he glared and rebuked sternly. As Shōzō vehemently lamented the horrific conditions at the scene, a ghastly aura emanated from the podium, seeming to rain down upon the people’s heads.

“If, gentlemen, the pollution victims had been carrying something, what would have transpired?” “Since I myself have not witnessed these matters firsthand—and do not present them as things I fully believe—there may be discrepancies.” “I humbly beseech your compassion—if you would but stay a single day, you could hear the full account of these matters before returning. I earnestly entreat you to hear testimony based on actual conditions.”

The entire hall fell silent, devoid of sound, and tears glistened and spilled from Shōzō’s eyes. Before long, he continued speaking further and brought up the Fuchie Village Incident from March of the year before last, “Therefore, gentlemen, regarding the fact that I personally persuaded them to return home, I now bear sole responsibility for this matter. When they had come out many times before, I had known nothing at all. This time, I am not entirely unaware that the people of the affected areas are coming forth. If there are any wrongdoings concerning this incident, I have no intention of evading them. As I have stated before, I do not speak only within the Diet. Even outside the Diet, I intend to clearly state that I am involved in this matter. It’s not that I instructed them to come on out. Today, in order to gain your trust that there is no falsehood in what I present, I even proceed to discuss such matters as these.”

Shōzō, with an expression of overwhelming emotions, fell into a desolate silence, but— “Furthermore, should there persist within this chamber—even among one or two members lacking influence—this absurd notion that I, Tanaka Shōzō, act merely because I am a House of Representatives member with ties to my electoral district, thereby bringing misfortune upon both pollution victims and the nation through such misinterpretation, I shall resign my legislative seat without hesitation.” “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, should I submit my resignation today, I would be unable to ascend the podium tomorrow. Therefore, having now delivered this final address, I intend to resign as a legislator." "I earnestly beseech you to kindly comprehend my heartfelt sentiments." "How could this issue possibly be Tanaka Shōzō’s personal concern?" "For the government too, it is an issue that has been addressed as a domestic matter these thirty years past—particularly last year, when after three consecutive years of petitions from the people, they finally passed through both houses of the Diet in this third year." "That is to say, in both houses of the Diet, they have seen fit to adopt the policy of granting constitutional protection." “I humbly beseech you to kindly exert your utmost efforts to ensure its thorough implementation.”

Applause erupted from all directions. It subsided only to surge up again, not ceasing until Shōzō returned to his seat.

This resignation declaration delivered an extraordinary shock to the people. Shimada Saburō, who had been a longtime political ally of Shōzō but had distanced himself during the 30th and 31st years of Meiji due to disagreements over whether to halt mining operations, was also among them.

Shimada immediately left the Diet and rushed by rickshaw to the Mainichi Newspaper Company where he served as president. The company was housed in a red-brick building at the corner of Owari-chō, a relic dating back to the early Meiji years. Climbing the narrow, steep stairs nicknamed Hiyodorigoe by the staff, Shimada entered the editorial room without relaxing his grave expression. He cast a sharp glance around the room, then strode briskly over to Kinoshita Naoe’s desk.

“Today, Tanaka has finally resigned from the party.” He spoke in a grave voice, his expression still suggesting he had more to say, but— “As I mentioned before, now is the time to uncover the truth of the mining pollution issue and facilitate its resolution.” “As soon as possible—I want you to depart even tonight.” The Mainichi Newspaper 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 Political Party held a general assembly of its representatives. Following Ichishima Kenkichi's presentation detailing his inspection of the affected areas and asserting the insufficiency of implemented prevention measures, the assembly resolved to submit a proposal for reestablishing the investigation committee.

Also on this day, various newspapers in the capital reported discrepancies in official announcements, publishing telegrams from the prefectural office that stated: "While the exact number of civilian injuries remains unclear, none were caused by police officers," and "From the outset, officers took care to secure their swords with hemp ropes to prevent accidental injuries; thus, not a single officer drew their blade." Kinoshita Naoe drove a rickshaw from Fukiage Station on the Takasaki Line toward Tatebayashi that morning. The bitter wind sweeping down from Nikkō Ashio's mountain ranges whipped up sand and soil as it blasted directly against them. Even the rickshaw pulled by two men struggled to advance. To their left, beyond Jōshū's distant blue-black mountain range, snow-capped Asama jutted upward while tattered dark clouds streamed across the sky in a fearsome spectacle. After crossing the Tone River, they halted before the aftermath of the Kawamata disturbance. Continuing northward, crude characters scrawled along their journey—"Ashio Mining Pollution Victims Headed to the Capital" and "1,064 Tragic Deaths"—lingered faded on roadside utility poles and signposts, evoking memories of that time. That night, they stayed in Sano and wrote their first dispatch to Tokyo.

The following day, the 17th, Kinoshita returned to the coastal affected areas and walked through the villages. Everywhere he went, what he heard were accounts of that tragic day. In a half-dead state and unable to stand on their legs, fifteen individuals had been arrested on the spot. They were: Nagashima Yohachi, Tanagami Chūkichi, Ōmori Ryūkichi, Shimada Danzō, Nakata Zenjirō, Fukuchi Hikozō, Koyama Tōhachi, Kuroda Mokichi, Ōboshi Zenpei, Ishii Gunzaburō, Moro Sōjirō, Nomura Chiyozō, Taniguma Jirō, Sekiguchi Takichi, and Horiguchi Genkichi.

Since all of them were injured, villagers from the local Sanuki Village—including its mayor Shionoya Yoichi and other concerned citizens—could not bear to leave them as they were. They took the injured into nearby Shinnyo-in Temple, summoned the village doctor Takahashi Kinroku, and had him administer emergency treatment. However, even during treatment, they were not permitted to have their restraints removed, and their clothes remained caked with mud. Before long, they were strung together in a line and delivered through the evening haze to the very Tatebayashi Police Station they had showered with curses that morning. Only Nagashima, being utterly unable to walk, was placed in a rickshaw. He had been thrown into a deep muddy moat and crawled out drenched like a rat, only to be captured after collapsing in a mulberry field. As a result, he sustained bruises to his head, eyes, arms, and legs—with his eyes particularly severely swollen, one eye rendered completely unable to open. Even atop the rickshaw, the vibrations resonated through the pain in his legs and waist, making it unbearable. The cold wind chilled his body—soaked through to his underclothes—all the more, and by the time they arrived at the police station, he could no longer speak.

Muneda Chūshichi, Inamura Yoichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Yatsu Tomisaburō, Kamei Tomoji, and Arai Kazō were taken into custody from their homes on the 15th. On the 16th, villagers' houses were subjected to frequent searches. Arrest warrants were issued one after another, with rumors spreading that every last man was being thrown into prison. Some fled in terror of this, while many others who did not flee remained confined within their homes. Some lay groaning with untreated bruises; others had gone to Maebashi on errands like delivering items to inmates. Every hamlet lay silent, devoid of vitality.

“What does the government intend to do with us…” There were times when the women would ask him such things, but Kinoshita could of course provide no answers. Having been informed that an elderly man named Niwaida Genhachi in Shimohata, Azuma Village understood the full circumstances well, Kinoshita decided to visit him. Genhachi was around sixty years old and appeared every bit the robust old man. He guided Kinoshita to a riverside bamboo grove and suddenly grabbed a thick green bamboo. After giving it two or three light shakes, the thick bamboo came loose effortlessly from its roots, which were covered in beard-like tendrils.

“Government officials claim I’ve been spreading sulfuric acid to stage some hoax, but just look at how vast this bamboo grove is—do they really think anyone could spray chemicals across all this? It should be obvious if they’d just open their eyes.” The old man said this, raised his ruddy face with one eye, and laughed—“Ha ha ha...” As the sun set, shadows creeping along the ground grew cold and desolate. The old man urged him to stay overnight by all means. But Kinoshita knew that the household head was also among those imprisoned. Seeing his hesitation, the old man added magnanimously, “There’s no need for reserve at all.” That night, Kinoshita went to bathe at the neighboring house. On the shelf by the back door, a bean lamp’s light traced a wavering circle. In the chilly spring night wind, the fire beneath the kettle hissed and sputtered. Kinoshita soaked in the bath, impressions of the day floating before his eyelids. In the dark earthen-floored area, wives from both households whispered in hushed tones,

“What will become of us from here on?”

As they spoke, their long sighs reached his ears with such uncanny clarity that he could even discern the nuances in their exhalations. The master of this new house was not among the defendants, but on this day as well, he had gone to Maebashi on an errand to deliver supplies.

After dinner, when they faced each other in the center of the spacious tatami room, the old man spoke of the time before the mining pollution had permeated the land, his demeanor indeed filled with deep emotion, but—

“I have something I wrote. Listen as I read it.” The old man took out a thick sheaf of ruled paper bound together and spread it out beneath the lamp. It was a record that Genhachi 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, intoning with measured cadence, began resonating through the still night air. “…Ten days past the New Year’s season, snow fell seven sun [approx. 21 cm] to over one shaku [approx. 30 cm] deep. Though the cold showed little sign of relenting, spring’s warmth had already arrived, and when clear skies came the following day, the snow began gradually melting from eight or nine o’clock until ten.” In the rice fields, areas with good sunlight here and there revealed soil emerging from the snow. Heat hazes rose shimmering; the warmth ascending from beneath the soil stood towering like steam. "However, in rice fields where the mining pollution damage extends from eight or nine sun [approx. 24–27 cm] to three shaku [approx. 90 cm] deep, no rising warmth could be seen." Reading through February’s Awakening of Insects and March’s Grain Rain, he arrived at: “Grain Full in April, mid-season. In the mountain forests, rice fields, and basins, there were numerous kinds of snakes. There were Yamakagashi snakes, striped snakes, burrowing snakes, Japanese rat snakes, and Kaname snakes; yet in the mining pollution-affected areas, even these have become so scarce as to be practically nonexistent. Moreover, along the boundaries of fields, they cultivated many trees called deutzia. Because the roots of these trees do not spread particularly well, they are exceedingly scarce as boundary markers and such. On this tree, pure white deutzia flowers burst into bloom. "During the season when these flowers bloomed, cuckoos would sing and flit about everywhere. But now, perhaps because insects and spiders no longer exist here due to the mining pollution, not a single call can be heard."

Grain in Ear in May: firefly hunting, the harvesting of barley and wheat. Summer Solstice: bamboo brooms, swallows, rice planting. Minor Heat: cicadas, dragonflies, centipedes, bats. Major Heat: floods known as the Doyō’s Tōtei Suikaku (a term for seasonal torrents). With the arrival of White Dew in August came the rice plants in the paddies; millet in the fields; buckwheat, soybeans, adzuki beans, upland rice, peas, daikon radishes, leeks, potatoes, sorghum, soybeans, turnips, burdock roots, carrots, and perilla. In the forest undergrowth were oak mushrooms, bamboo grass mushrooms, and hackberry mushrooms. Japanese tits, bull-headed shrikes, and the ceaseless fluttering of countless migratory birds’ wings. On the Watarase River: casting nets for sea bass, Seigo, and mullet; salmon nets; eel bag nets. Genhachi’s voice thus unfurled the blessings of nature from before the devastation, but—

““……Since the mining pollution disaster began, bamboo and trees withered; rice harvests diminished; straw dwindled. No barley straw remained. No rapeseed or mustard grew. No firewood could be gathered. No fodder existed for horses. No grass survived trampling. Nothing remained to cut for hay. Livestock feed and fertilizers alike vanished entirely—those truly deserving pity were the people of the mining pollution-affected areas.”

When he had read that far, the old man suddenly looked back at Kinoshita, “The vegetables in the bowl I served you earlier—truth be told, I had to go all the way to the next town to buy them. That’s how things stand.” “It’s like some unbelievable tale.” “Ha ha ha...”

The seemingly carefree resonance of that laughter felt to Kinoshita like some false chill. The reading continued. "When Major Snow arrived in November, daikon radishes, burdock, leeks, and tubers were harvested in abundance. For these potatoes, people would dig holes in fields or along roadsides, storing five or seven horse-loads in each pit. Each household maintained three, four, or even five such storage mounds, inscribing them with family crests or surnames before sowing barley seeds. Come spring, that barley would sprout lush and green, serving as vivid markers. But now with potatoes gone due to mining pollution, these mounds have vanished from the landscape. ...When Major Cold descended in December, raccoon dogs and foxes would prowl about house eaves and yards. Raccoon dogs cried 'gai-gai-gai,' foxes barked 'kon-kon-kon,' some even wailing 'kain-kain-kain.' Though people once buried carrots around their homes to dig up later, mining pollution has left no field mice, insects, or fish—realities unknown to those under twenty. From April through September grew countless grasses. Among them were ground locusts in fields and leech algae in paddies—the most vicious weeds—yet not a trace remains now. Words cannot convey it. What persists are only grasses and horsetails—plants we call such—spreading unchecked."

When the old man finished his long recitation, the night deepened profoundly. The fire in the brazier had turned to ashes, and the nine-year-old boy who had been sitting quietly beside his grandfather at some point pressed his face against the man’s knee and began breathing in sleep.

On this day, in the House of Representatives, Higashira Saburō first stood to condemn 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—concerning the principle that ‘those ignorant of approaching ruin are already ruined’—I shall pose my inquiry.” “Though this may resemble political rhetoric, every facet of this reality stems from the mining pollution incident—there exists no element here divorced from politics.” “I beg your forbearance as I speak before earning your reproach.” “I strive with my entire being.” “Let this be confined solely to today.” “Today’s interrogation constitutes an address to rescue our Japan from impending national collapse.” “To believe Japan possesses a government is error.” “To imagine this nation endures is delusion.” “Should those governing fail to grasp this truth, they dwell in ignorance of our attained ruin.” “He who knows his folly escapes folly’s essence.” “He who knows not his folly embodies true folly.” “Thus my inquiry’s core: slaughtering citizens constitutes slaughtering the state.” “To spurn law amounts to spurning the nation itself.” “The people themselves murder their country.” “To plunder wealth, massacre subjects, and shatter laws—such an unperishing realm remains unheard through all my days.” “Might you yourselves harbor awareness of this?” “Awareness coupled with inaction marks naught but escalating despotism.” “Government forms a collective entity—this very collective sinks unwitting into depravity.” “This constitutes governmental failure.” “Does governance comprehend this? Or does comprehension persist alongside impotent paralysis?”

“This is the main point of my questions.” “This has historical precedent—just because the state is thrown into disorder does not mean it will collapse abruptly.” Shōzō said this and, from the very beginning, showed a desperate intensity with his face filled with rage, but— “I must apologize for speaking when my strength is spent…” he prefaced—the Minister knows how to develop even a mere inch of black soil strata like that of Nasu Moor if it were his own property. “Why do you not employ such intellect for the public good?” he demanded, launching this counterargument before proceeding to recount the history of mining pollution. "In this manner, citing examples of how they were neglecting their duties and shirking responsibility, he launched attacks on each ministry one after another."

“For these reasons, this does not constitute national ruin.” “Do you believe Japan enjoys heavenly peace?” “These antiquated minds can no longer be tolerated.” “Yet among today’s youth, no vigorous souls have emerged to shoulder the nation’s burden—both young and old prove equally worthless.” “The elderly fail to grasp reality.” “The young lack backbone.” “Even were we all spineless fools—if we acted earnestly—this land might yet endure. But when idiots grow insolent and perfect only wickedness, not a shred of worth remains.” “My censure cannot stop at the government alone.” “I myself lack proper education and have aged poorly.” “Had we even inferior schooling, that might suffice—but we lack even that. I fundamentally lack the caliber to bear this nation.” “You educated youths might yet save us through earnest effort—by some miraculous fortune—but given our present state, ruin is inevitable.” “It has perished.” “It lies already in ruins.” “They claim continued decline will destroy the nation—but destruction has come.” “How can they still deny its demise when ruin stares them in the face?”

After lowering the arm he had been brandishing—his aged face ablaze with fury—Shōzō bit his lip for a time. The white beard and sideburns trembled visibly. “Today’s questioning concerns the mining pollution incident—one manifestation of this national crisis.” “Yet this matter fails to reach your ears.” “That our appeals to society go unheeded stems partly from this being an unprecedented issue, and partly because society itself has assumed a state resembling mining pollution, leaving people no longer shocked by its horrors.” “These are unfortunate souls sinking deeper into misery’s abyss—I implore you gentlemen to extend salvation.” “While I remain in this chamber, I must defend them—but to dismiss pollution victims as violent ruffians with a single phrase is nothing short of gross miscarriage of justice.”

Thus, after addressing the Kawamata Incident and relentlessly pursuing where responsibility for the disturbance lay,

“Very well—if you insist on labeling this a ‘violent mob,’ then I too am one among them. Why then, regardless of this chamber being in session or adjourned, have you not arrested me first? If this truly constitutes a violent mob of such magnitude, then there should be no mercy—not even for a Diet member. I have never engaged in incitement, but I have indeed traveled far and wide giving speeches advocating for people’s rights and matters related to public health. Therefore, when the fools of the world see this, it may appear as incitement. They can call it whatever name they like. Since they are the ones attaching these labels, there’s nothing to be done. If there is to be an arrest, then you should arrest me first. I will neither flee nor hide. I reside in Shibaguchi Sanchome—so even during parliamentary sessions, I care not. If you have official business, I will present myself at any time. If you grandly declare this a riotous assembly, then why did you not take action against Tanaka Shōzō? If you would go so far as to slaughter the people, then why have you not arrested and investigated Tanaka Shōzō? Shall I call you blundering oafs or utter imbeciles? Had these parliamentary records not been destined for His Majesty’s eyes, I would hurl every vile insult and heap every manner of abuse upon you—yet mercy upon mercy I shall grant. You who are supposed to be ministers of a constitutional government—whether viewed as base, greedy, or spineless—by what means do you presume to bear this nation on your shoulders? The destiny of the state today is not such an easygoing, carefree matter!”

Shōzō, at the peak of his roaring, abruptly cut off his words and glared across the entire assembly. Then, his expression took on a look of having somewhat vented his pent-up resentment,

“I shall not discuss foreign affairs, as I know nothing of them. But if domestic matters truly stand as they do, then naturally nothing can be accomplished.” “Suppose we were to overthrow today’s government—could you do so even knowing it would bring misery to those who follow?” “Even if Mr. Itō were to take power, or Mr. Ōkuma, or Mr. Yamagata—well, I believe they would all prove similarly inadequate.” “For those who ought to support these people have become mere preservers rather than pioneers of enterprise, and as we now live in an age where all seek only to amass personal wealth, no leader who emerges will succeed.” “As for what path we should take hereafter—even I do not know.” “I earnestly hope—though this nation belongs to none—that those who have become today’s officials and today’s Diet members recognize the gravity of their responsibility.” “Setting aside past failures, I implore you now: henceforth act with sincerity and earnestness for the nation’s sake, that this country may not collapse.” “Does the government truly believe these things that have so utterly perished have not perished?” “Do you genuinely believe—as Tanaka Shōzō declares—that they have perished?” “How answer you?” “This constitutes the essence of my inquiry.”

When Shōzō descended from the podium in this manner—having exhausted every ounce of his strength—the large clock on the wall read three-oh-five.

The Mainichi Shimbun featured the mining pollution incident in its editorials for three days starting on the 18th, and on the 19th filled an entire page with Kinoshita’s second correspondence. Other newspapers reported on this incident daily since the Kawamata Incident, with some publishing sympathetic editorials; as a result, public sympathy gradually coalesced. Letters of sympathy from unknown individuals piled up at the Shinano-ya office. A certain Miura, a dairy business operator in Shirokane Imazato-cho, even applied to deliver two gō of milk to Shōzō every morning free of charge.

On the 19th, at the House of Representatives, Shōzō took the podium for the fifth time. “To inflict violence upon these exceptionally compliant citizens who have thus far followed proper procedures in petitioning, and furthermore to brand them with such defamatory labels as ‘riotous assembly,’ is utterly unconscionable.” With this sharp remark, he briefly read out the essence of his inquiry titled “Regarding the Matter of Deeming Petitions from Good Citizens as Riotous Assembly” and stepped down from the podium. Then, on the 21st, a written response to Shōzō’s inquiry from the 17th—issued under the name of Prime Minister Yamagata Aritomo—reached the Speaker’s desk.

"The essence of the inquiry fails to comprehend its essential points; therefore, no response shall be made." "The aforementioned matters and our response are hereby set forth."

On the 23rd, Shōzō attended the House of Representatives carrying twenty-four written inquiries. It was his sixth time taking the podium. The Diet had entered its fourth day since the session was extended, and it was the day before the closing ceremony—yet many bills still remained. Shōzō, showing restraint regarding this, had mostly limited himself to reading aloud the gist of his inquiry, but finally added a few explanatory words: “I want officials, both high and low, not to forget that His Majesty the Emperor exists. Do not forget that His Majesty’s subjects exist,” he declared bitterly.

On the 26th, the Mainichi Shimbun published Kinoshita’s third correspondence—his Ashio field report—and subsequently began serializing his editorials day after day, which examined deficiencies in the pollution prevention construction works.

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 couldn’t have imagined it was Shōzō just from being told that. When Kinoshita opened the glass door to the reception room adjacent to the editorial office, there sat an old man who looked every bit the wilderness hermit—his elbows planted at the edge of a large zelkova-wood round table, hands clutching his head beneath a wild mane of hair, sitting perfectly still as if asleep. From the paper-patched ceiling where rain had leaked dangled a single gas lamp pipe, while bookshelves blocked both side walls. It was a bleak room devoid of any decoration.

“I’ve kept you waiting.” When he called out, Shōzō jerked his head up as if roused from sleep and widened his triangular double eyelids. His gaze glared intensely, but his large, round face was utterly drained of color, revealing a weariness like that of threadbare, overwashed cloth. When Kinoshita introduced himself, Shōzō turned toward the young man and pressed his forehead against the table in greeting for their first meeting. Soon untying the cloth-wrapped bundle and extracting a notebook of newspaper clippings,

“Between running about day and night, I’ve reached the point where I don’t even have time to read the papers…” He muttered as if to himself and furrowed deep wrinkles between his brows. When he did so, it appeared as though all his physical and mental fatigue had momentarily gathered there. Shōzō had come specifically to express his gratitude regarding Kinoshita’s article that had exposed the inadequacy of Ashio’s pollution-prevention construction works. In the middle of speaking, Shōzō suddenly closed his eyes, “My mind isn’t right…”

After saying that, he shook his head sideways. Each time, wrinkles formed between his brows. At times, he seemed to lose the thread of his own words. Overwork. Kinoshita muttered inwardly and averted his eyes. Suddenly, Shōzō, as if someone tapped him on the shoulder, “I’ve taken up your time when you’re so busy.” He hurriedly repacked the cloth bundle and rose to his feet. Even as he rose from the chair, his movements were unsteady and feeble. As Kinoshita watched from the top of the stairs, Shōzō, gripping the iron handrail with his left hand, used the hem of his double-layered kimono to sweep the mud from each step as he descended.

Through this first meeting, the opportunity for Kinoshita himself to attend to Shōzō on his deathbed in later years was set in motion—something he could not have predicted at all.

Chapter Seven

It was March 26th of that year. While sequestered in a back room of Shinano-ya amidst an unceasing flow of visitors, that day—for some reason—the desolate figure of his elderly wife keeping vigil over their empty home persisted in floating before his eyes. This might have been because he had recently received word of her minor ailment. As he listened to crows cawing on a neighboring roof, Shōzō lifted the inkstone lid. "First: Regarding Your Esteemed Self—When my father Shōzō passed in Meiji 24, though I had made no preparations whatsoever, through your devoted efforts over many years in appropriately arranging provisional matters befitting my elderly father's station, the funeral proceedings concluded without impediment. As a son fulfilling his role on my behalf, this was achieved entirely through your graciousness, leaving me deeply indebted. Since then, though I have proven wholly inept, you have for years managed all affairs from household matters during my absence to ancestral rites—for this belated gratitude I now offer. I humbly entreat your continued assistance henceforth. Penned hastily."

He set down his brush there, but noticing he had not yet mentioned a single word about his elderly wife, "On the second day, I must apologize for my many discourtesies. Given your recent convalescence—which you have been taking such pains to tend to—I humbly entreat your assistance regarding the dire circumstance of nursing mothers afflicted by milk deficiency due to mining pollution."

he added. In any case, for something that was supposedly written by chance as he was reminded of days past, this letter of gratitude went too far. It was true that those past events had been deeply engraved in his heart, but the reason he now belatedly expressed gratitude anew lay hidden within his recent state of mind. As stated in the text—"having achieved nothing"—around this time, as he reflected on the past half of his life, feelings akin to repentance stirred within him frequently. No—rather, some kind of premonition regarding the future welled up within him. To speculate further, by this time Tanaka Shōzō had already secretly harbored some profound resolution regarding his own fate.

Yet for Shōzō, the immediate problems that occupied his every waking moment were endless. As for the Kawamata Incident too, under that usual charge of assembling vicious mobs, those subject to arrest warrants had reached sixty-eight individuals, with most already confined in Maebashi Prison. There was also the matter of comforting those people. There were requests for lawyers and visits to bereaved homes. What could not be neglected even for a single day was how pollution victims' lives were being eroded away day by day. Regarding the milk deficiency issue, he had also repeatedly sought assistance through his elderly wife's devoted efforts for that very purpose.

Moreover, what occupied his thoughts day and night was how to restore the momentum of the petition movement. Not only had the incident stripped away most of those who had stood on the front lines until then, but rumors that anyone involved in the movement would be indiscriminately thrown into prison had completely broken the spirits of the pollution victims. The opposition factions appeared to be scheming not to let this opportunity slip by and bury the mining pollution issue altogether. When he thought of this, Shōzō felt a restlessness that made it impossible to remain still.

It so happened that on April 1st, heavy rain fell, and the following day the Watarase River swelled, with reports emerging that the water’s color showed abnormalities. Upon hearing this, the first thought that struck Shōzō was how the villages—now depleted of able-bodied men due to imprisonment, injuries, and flight—must have been thrown into utter disarray and confusion, left only with the elderly, women, and children. After entrusting Kunomura Arai Denkichi and others, who were away from the capital, with submitting an immediate inspection request to the authorities, he promptly visited the affected areas. However, fortunately, the flood did not reach the extent that had been feared.

Therefore, Shōzō set his sights on the capable young men remaining in the coastal villages and resolved to plan the revival of the movement. First, he enlisted young men such as Kizuka Sadaharu, Arai Taichi, Niizato Ryūzō, and Dō Shōtarō from Ueno Village. He enlisted Kondō Sadakichi, Sumi Tetsumichi, and others. Through their efforts, they managed to hold a rally at Manza in Sano on April 11th. Shōzō once returned to the capital and, on the day, came accompanied by orators such as Shimada Saburō, Matsumura Kaiseki, and Kurahara Korehiro. With the memory of the incident still raw, a crowd of over two thousand people had already overflowed the venue well before the appointed time. The orators all declared, “The right to petition is constitutionally guaranteed. You must never abandon your rights out of fear from this fabricated scandal. You must rise up with even greater resolve and carry on the will of the victims!” they urged.

Subsequently, on the 18th, they held an outdoor rally in the precincts of Aoume Tenjin Shrine in Tatebayashi. The person in charge at this time was again Kizuka Sadaharu, with Mita Zenzo, Niizato Ryuzo, Kuroda Tsurukichi, and others handling the preparations. Outdoor rallies in particular required erecting bamboo fences and draping cloth around them to obtain permits, making the preparations unexpectedly difficult. In addition to the four orators 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, but immediately from the police inspector’s seat—

“Orator, take heed!” Imai Teppei gripped the hilt of his sword and shouted with feigned authority. Kurahara abruptly turned to face the police inspector, his eyes wide with fury, and barked: “I am merely discussing here what I have already discussed in the House of Representatives. What exactly requires caution here? Since there are stenographic records of Diet speeches, go read them properly with your eyes wide open!” Casting a sidelong glance at the police inspector who had fallen completely silent without uttering a word, Kurahara once again launched into an impassioned oration.

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 revenue 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 for delivering supplies to all detainees. Furthermore, using a portion of that money, they bought sweet potatoes and distributed them to the most destitute among the pollution victims.

The handling of deliveries and correspondence for detainees fell to volunteers including Kizuka and Mita, who gathered at Maebashi’s Aburaya Inn to devote their efforts, while requests for legal counsel were primarily shouldered by three individuals—Yamada Tomojirō, Arai Tomoshichirō, and Sudō Yosōji—who worked tirelessly on that front. Thus, the follow-up measures began to take some semblance of order. The once-dispirited momentum along the coast, which had seemed like a fire extinguished, was finally halted just short of complete extinction. Even during the defendants’ absence, the prospect of continuing the movement was secured. However, Shōzō did not consider this sufficient. Moreover, he continued to mobilize young men and persisted in conducting itinerant speeches through the coastal villages.

Amidst such constant rushing about, Shōzō would visit the homes of detainees whenever he found spare moments. In particular, the elderly women left behind would lament their sons’ misfortunes through old ramblings, perplexing Shōzō—yet each time, he would... “No, no—it’s not that they entered prison because they committed crimes; there’s absolutely nothing for them to be ashamed of! The time will soon come when right and wrong are made clear. You know of Sakura Sōgo, don’t you? He is enshrined as a god and even now is called Daimyōjin. Because they were people who gave their lives for justice. This situation is no different. Those confined in prison for justice are gods.”

His earnest wish had been to instill pride in these servile souls and plant within them the strength to endure grief. "You can talk like that because it's not your concern," retorted an elderly woman, her voice trembling. "No one feels joy being locked in a prison everyone reviles." "There's no knowing how my boy suffers in there." "And in his last letter... he wrote such heartbreaking things." Shōzō found himself compelled to respond anew. "Prison is harsh—that much is true," he conceded, his voice gravelly with experience. "Suffering awaits all who enter." "But I've endured those walls myself—more than once. When your body lies still, your mind grows restless. It turns inward, plumbing depths you'd never fathom otherwise." "This pain I bear now? It's to rescue multitudes from hardship." "For justice." "Once that truth takes root, your spirit's strength soon masters bodily anguish." "The pain... ceases to be pain."

But listening to their grief and complaints was still bearable. Among the parents of the detainees, there were those who voiced resentful complaints as if Shōzō bore some responsibility. Even that he could endure. “So-and-so from somewhere is clever. They skillfully maneuvered and thus avoided going to prison.” For Shōzō, enduring the parents’ persistent resentment was the most unbearable. Of course, he couldn’t simply dismiss it. “No, that’s not it. There is no one as unperturbed by being ridiculed by people from other regions as the men of Kanto. Having had a great desert created in the heart of Kanto by Furukawa Ichibē, a Kyoto native, they remain unperturbed even now. They have had their ancestral lands completely stripped away, yet remain utterly unperturbed. They neither know how to feel righteous indignation for justice’s sake, nor do they know how to become angry for their wives and children. It’s as if they have no brains at all. Unfortunately, home education in Kanto is extremely poor. Parents teach their children to act cunningly and shamelessly. Farming households have been that way for generations. So every single man has become servile and cowardly. Women still retain some sense of shame and understanding of human ethics. That is the custom of Kanto—but when you look at that, your sons are in prison for the sake of justice. That is admirable.”

“They cannot be compared to those who maneuvered cunningly.”

Shōzō would say this while suppressing his indignation and try to persuade them, but in many such cases, the other party would simply fall into an awkward silence.

However, the mining pollution movement had indeed profoundly influenced local youth. Shōzō remained convinced their moral character and human development showed remarkable progress. He particularly trusted those currently imprisoned this time. Among them existed men whose vitality surpassed others in intensity. There were those endowed with profound discernment. Some had cultivated considerable scholarly knowledge. Others demonstrated peerless devotion. Certain individuals rushed dozens of miles daily without exhaustion. Even in poverty, some labored harder than the wealthy. Their indomitable spirit transformed into light that shone through iron-barred windows. As these thoughts filled Shōzō's mind, he grew concerned about their daily prison routines.

But what of their villages? What of their neighbors?

One day, when Shōzō visited Abe Genjirō of Kuno. Unfortunately, the master was absent, and his elderly mother served bitter tea on the veranda while speaking of such matters. “Those who joined us back then—even those who don’t remember doing anything wrong—have all fled and aren’t in the village anymore.” “If someone goes to prison, the family’s expenses become overwhelming—there’s sending care packages, and then they have to hire lawyers and such.” “I can’t say this too loudly, but before any summons arrive, escape the village and hide somewhere.” “In time, the fervor will die down.” “They can come back once they’ve judged the timing is right.” “It was the parents who urged them to flee by saying that.”

Shōzō once again found himself contemplating the corrupting family practices. He further reflected: If there were righteous governance in the realm, the people should at least be able to live securely through their labors. Yet now they feared the police, feared their friends, feared every sight and sound in society. As their conversation deepened, Shōzō noticed the old woman herself seemed uneasy about hosting him overnight. When making his village rounds, Shōzō customarily stayed at supporters' homes wherever dusk found him. He lodged without distinction of wealth—eating cold barley rice alongside families, sometimes sleeping curled like kashiwa mochi beneath a single soiled quilt. Though appearing indifferent, he meticulously avoided burdening others, finding joy in simple fare and dress. Thus hosts never frowned however long he stayed. But today the old woman's manner differed subtly. Her evasive speech betrayed fear of the local police officer. Shōzō rose after sipping chilled tea. Then the old woman reached into the folds of her wrinkled obi—

“Where are you heading back to? Anyway, please take this and ride 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 feel nothing but compassion for this sincere heart striving to show its unwavering devotion.

On one such fleeting day amidst their hurried affairs, Shōzō was urged by someone at a gathering in Unryu-ji Temple to wield his brush, and he obliged.

—From this moment, the sound of a single hand resounds; until it echoes far and wide without both hands striking.

When compared to the intent of his work from the twenty-eighth year—"If one becomes a god, even the sound of a single hand may be heard; yet who listens to the voice of both hands?"—this inscription revealed traces of a newfound confidence that had entered Shōzō's state of mind. Indeed, this poem was one he had pondered amidst his hectic schedule over the past six months, seeking to entrust his innermost thoughts to it, and when he happened to show it to Maejima Hisoka on April 4th, Maejima remarked, "It achieves the finest harmony with Zen essence." Maejima praised it three times, saying it "has greatly expanded upon the meaning of Hakuin's 'single hand' and thoroughly elucidated it," and Shōzō too secretly took pride in this.

While Shōzō ceaselessly made his rounds through the affected areas, his elderly wife Katsuko walked through Ebisase Village and other severely impacted villages, investigating the lack of breast milk and working to provide relief. At the Maebashi District Court, investigations under Preliminary Judge Mizutani Yoshiaki gradually progressed, but needless to say, those confined in prison cells found no joy in their days and nights. They were preoccupied with their case's outcome—whether they would be found guilty or innocent—but since information from outside could only be obtained through limited correspondence and occasional visits, their days never ceased being filled with speculation and heartache. Once they began dwelling on the movement's subsequent progress or household matters, there was no end to pessimistic considerations; their anxieties endlessly surged and subsided. Some suffered prolonged sleeplessness from mental strain, eventually developing insomnia or neurasthenia. There were those who had become half-mad, and those who spent their days in listless torment while battling illness.

Nagashima Yohachi too had been arrested at the Kawamata site and spent one night at Tatebayashi Police Station before being promptly transferred to Maebashi Prison; however, due to sustaining bruises across his entire body—beginning with his bandaged head—he was temporarily granted permission to lie down freely even during daytime hours. In his six-by-four-foot solitary cell, enduring the pain, he had been turning over various memories of the past in his mind when he suddenly hit upon an idea. He realized this was the perfect opportunity to read the Bible he had procured earlier.

Nagashima promptly wrote a letter to his father and requested that the Bible be sent in. Then two or three days later, Kobayashi Sonpei came for a visit and delivered the Bible. From then on, Nagashima's existence became one of rising with the Bible and sleeping with the Bible. Every single day, during the hours when sunlight streamed into his prison cell, he continued straining his eyes on the fine print. When night fell, he would recite the passages engraved in his mind, repeatedly probing their true meaning. The narrowness of his solitary cell and its loneliness now meant nothing before the vastness of the spiritual realm guided by the Bible. After twenty days had passed, then thirty, he began feeling some invisible hand gradually prying open his heart's door.

Before long, Nagashima had come to realize that faith meant nothing more than believing with single-minded devotion. It had long been held that the God of Heaven and Earth was the father of humankind and that Christ alone was humanity's savior. He had come to understand that the purpose of human existence in this world was never to seek personal happiness, but rather to devote oneself entirely to following divine will. No matter what circumstances he might find himself in, he had grown to think that as long as he could serve this divine will, his personal fortunes or misfortunes were not worth deliberate consideration. It felt as though the clouds had parted, letting a sudden shaft of light come streaming through. This was the joy of something that had once been beyond reach high above now resting palpable upon his knees. Whether their pollution case would be judged guilty or innocent now rested solely with divine providence. When this realization took hold, Nagashima ceased troubling his mind over the matter. Perhaps because his heart had found peace, as his bruises healed and even while sitting quietly in confinement, his body too grew remarkably robust.

In the high wall of the solitary cell was a small window through which a sliver of sky could be seen. One day Nagashima saw the shadow of a small bird flitting past that window. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he could hear birdsong resonating within the light. When he looked again, even the color of sky segmented by the wall now carried deep infusions of spring. Before he knew it, a vivid spring landscape had crystallized in his mind - his own village and all along the Watarase River basin where spring had returned. The embankments lay blanketed in lush silver grass, mugwort, and tangled undergrowth. To the left stretched rapeseed fields glowing golden from their roots upward; to the right extended endless expanses of crimson clover... Yet soon these imagined hues faded, replaced in his mind by visions of villages gripped by such hopeless desolation it mocked salvation itself. At that moment though, he thought: If only each person in these poisoned lands would embrace faith, surely even this wretched reality could find spiritual redemption.

Nagashima prayed day and night for the salvation of his own soul while also praying that through God’s guidance people would come to embrace faith. On the other hand, it became his daily routine to write and send letters urging faith to his family members, relatives, friends, and acquaintances every day.

Then, one day it happened. The usual assigned guard passed by with haughtily clacking footsteps, but suddenly stopped and barked, “Number 208!” “I won’t let you write any more letters after today.” “Why? Why isn’t it allowed?”

Nagashima asked in surprise, clinging to the bars. “Think about why you’re even allowed to write letters! Whether it’s requesting lawyers, summoning witnesses, or obtaining evidence items—correspondence is permitted only for matters related to your case! Yet all you write about is God this and Christ that! What do you take this prison for? This isn’t some leisure hall for scribbling nonsense! If you want to write that drivel, wait until you’re back in the free world—write all you want out there!”

Lately, Nagashima had been particularly compliant with the guards' words, not showing the slightest hint of resistance; “Officer, from your perspective these may seem like carefree letters, but for me, they are truly vital—written with utmost devotion—more important even than the outcome of my case.” “So you’re saying you don’t care whether your sentence becomes three years or five?”

The guard glared threateningly. But Nagashima had developed enough conviction not to falter at that. “Ah, the feelings with which I write these letters every day are likely beyond the understanding of those without faith.” “However, setting that aside—in any case, the freedom to send correspondence is granted by the prison regulations approved by His Majesty the Emperor, is it not?” “If you absolutely refuse to permit it, then I have no choice—I will appeal to the Warden.”

Even the guard had no retort to this; he clicked his tongue in annoyance and stomped away with heavy footsteps.

Before long, through the passing clouds that grazed the prison windows and the force of the falling rain, it became known that early summer had arrived in the outside world. On some days, the warmth of summer could be felt in the air around them. Depending on the wind's whims, the scent of young leaves and grass blades would sometimes be carried in. Four months had now passed in the life of the cell. Around this time, Nagashima had begun exchanging words with a guard who seemed earnest, their conversation crossing the barrier of the cell. That guard too had initially regarded with suspicion how Nagashima kept writing daily about nothing but God and Christ. While performing his duty of inspecting letters, he neither dismissed them as nonsense nor found them bothersome, unlike the previous guard. 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 remarkably sincere. As a result, he began observing Nagashima’s daily activities with particular attention. Due to the nature of his duties, he had grown accustomed to witnessing prisoners' grief and anguish, but seeing someone like Nagashima living each day with such vitality struck him as somehow unexpected. He finally came to a stop before the solitary cell and spoke.

“I’ve been wondering something lately—you don’t seem troubled at all by the prison’s deprivations.” “Looking at how you carry yourself, I almost feel we’re the ones buckling under life’s burdens.” “Does it truly appear so?” Nagashima replied humbly, containing his inward joy. “None find prison easy, but I place my faith in God and surrender all to His will—thus my spirit stays tranquil.” “Faith demands complete devotion.” “Others cling to self-preservation—that’s where their torment begins.”

“I’ve spoken about you when I returned home,” “In my assigned cell block there’s a man who writes letters every day urging those outside to embrace faith,” “and when I told her about your daily routine and such—well—my wife got so impressed she said if faith’s got that much power she oughta hear more ’bout it sometime…”

The guard said this with a slightly abashed look. This became the catalyst, and whenever his duty hours came around, he would come to the solitary cell and began to listen to Nagashima's talks about faith. Nagashima, with the mindset that this was a trial testing whether he could evangelize, continued to speak tirelessly of his faith, humble though it was.

In time, the preliminary hearings for the sixty-eight defendants finally concluded, and on July 9th, a written decision concluding the preliminary hearings was issued under Judge Mizutani’s name. Those like Nagashima who had been imprisoned early on had their charges—whether guilty or innocent—determined for the first time in nearly half a year. Namely, defendants Noguchi Haruzō, Inamura Yoichi, Ōide Kihira, Yamamoto Eishirō, and Sabe Hikojirō were charged with the felony of leading a riotous assembly under Article 137 of the Penal Code. Defendant Kurosaki Zen'ō was charged with the felony of instigation under Article 105 and the first clause of Article 137 of the Penal Code. Defendants Nagashima Yohachi, Niwata Tsunekichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Murota Chūshichi, Aoki Kinjirō, Kamei Tomoji, Fukuda Kazuzō, Yamazaki Keijirō, Yatsu Tomisaburō, Ietomi Motoyoshi, Kobayashi Zenkichi, Kawashima Motojirō, Kurihara Saijirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Harada Eisaburō, Koyama Takihachirō, and Jisai Shigekichi were charged with the felony of incitement under Article 137, middle clause of the Penal Code. Defendants Shimada Danzō, Ōmori Tomokichi, Moro Sōjirō, Taniguma Jirō, Sekiguchi Takichi, Ōboke Zenpei, Koyama Tōhachi, Kuroda Shigekichi, Nomura Chiyozō, Nakata Zenjirō, Koizumi Chūsaburō, Fukuchi Hikozō, Tanami Chūsuke, Horiguchi Genkichi, Niwata Komakichi, Naganuma Masakichi, Mugikura Kitarō, Hara Fukutarō, Ikumi Kōzō, Hara Yatarō, Kawashima Tamiya, Urushihara Keiji, Ono Kumajirō, Yokotsuka Jisankyū, Kosone Nobukichi, Ono Torakichi, Horikoshi Seikyūrō, and Ochiai Teijirō were charged with accompanying and following [the assembly], constituting a misdemeanor under the final clause of the same article of the Penal Code. Additionally, charges under the Assembly and Association Law and the Public Order and Police Law were added against Nagashima, Sabe, Noguchi, Harada, Niwata (Tsune), and Kurihara, while charges of resisting officials were added against Kawashima, Urushihara, and Ono (Kuma), who were finally brought to trial.

At the same time, the seventeen defendants—Arai Yoshie, Iso Kōjirō, Kobayashi Teishichirō, Matsumoto Morisaburō, Moro Chikasuke, Inamura Tadazō, Fukuchi Koichirō, Ida Hyōsuke, Hara Kinjirō, Koshizawa Ushijirō, Ochiai Yoshisaku, Ono Masakichi, Doi Kamekichi, Sekiguchi Saburōji, Aida Sadakichi, Kitayama Seijirō, and Nonaka Genzō—were acquitted due to insufficient evidence.

Now, with many pollution victims having been found guilty in this manner, a proposal arose among members of the Cooperative Harmony Association to widely publicize the truth of the mining pollution issue and open a path toward relief. They gathered fellow members and convened at the Kanda Youth Hall on the 21st to organize the Mining Pollution Investigation Society. The people who gathered that day were twenty individuals: Tani Kanjō, Itsukimoto Zenji, Soejima Yasohachi, Abe Isoo, Hanai Takuzō, Harada Fukujō, Matsuda Jumpei, Yamazaki Kōdō, Tomeoka Kōsuke, Nunokawa Magobei, Ōmura Wakijirō, Kurahara Korehiro, Miyake Yūjirō, Niwa Seijirō, Ehara Soroku, Tomita Tetsunosuke, Nishihara Kiyoharu, Iida Kōsaku, Yamada Kichirōbei, and Matsumura Kaiseki.

Chapter 8

From around June of that year, the violence of the Boxer Rebellion in Qing China grew increasingly rampant. On June 12, our legation secretary Sugiyama Akira was brutally murdered en route, followed by German Minister Ketteler being assassinated in broad daylight. On the 17th, the allied nations' naval landing forces mobilized and captured the Taku Forts. Subsequently, Major General Fukushima’s provisional dispatch unit embarked from our country. This marked the beginning of what became known as the Boxer Rebellion.

Domestically, from late May through October, political upheaval had shaken the nation. Itō organized the new Rikken Seiyūkai by merging with the Kenseitō, holding its inaugural ceremony on September 15th. Hoshi, ever opportunistic in seizing chances, assessed both the Constitutional Party's internal demands for reform and Itō's ambitions, then proactively devised the party's reorganization—thus accelerating these developments. On the 26th, Yamagata resigned first, causing the cabinet's collapse, and on October 19th, the fourth Itō cabinet was formed. On the day Itō and his cabinet members received their appointments, Grand Chamberlain Sanenori Tokudaiji personally conveyed a message to them.

“At this time of numerous domestic and foreign crises,” announced the Grand Chamberlain, “His Majesty’s heart is deeply troubled, and thus he issues this imperial edict: Cabinet ministers must unite in cooperation to fully fulfill their weighty responsibilities.” This stern admonition came precisely because frequent cabinet changes in recent times had revealed ministers’ failure to demonstrate wholehearted loyalty in dedicating themselves to their advisory duties. The Rikken Seiyūkai thus took shape as a coalition of the former Liberal Party faction and Itō Hirobumi’s direct followers, though a significant number from the former Progressive Party faction also rushed to join its ranks. Many who had long stood alongside Tanaka Shōzō in activism—including Ozaki Yukio and Haseba Sumitaka—now enrolled in the party. Even Shōzō himself, currently without party affiliation, received repeated invitations to join through Hoshi’s mediation. “Since President Itō possesses full understanding of the mining pollution incident,” came the enticement, “this would be the wisest moment to achieve your longstanding ambition through a major party’s influence.” Hoshi dangled this alluring lure before him.

But Shōzō’s enthusiasm for political parties had completely cooled. No—rather，he was acutely aware of how much belonging to any political party or faction would hinder resolving the issue. For that reason，he had already severed even his long-standing connections dating back to the Kaishintō. That Yamagata had labored to utilize political parties and Itō had again organized a party himself could，in short，be seen as evidence that the domain-based cliques had already lost the power to overturn legislative authority. At the very least，Shōzō thought，that groundless anxiety had faded. However，when it came to the mining pollution issue，Itō’s true intentions remained deeply suspect. Even if he were to join Itō’s faction now，it would likely have no effect on resolving the issue. No—rather，plunging back into political strife would only sow the seeds of future conflict. He could not help but think so. Moreover，the mining pollution issue was already a national problem. After all，I must continue to stand upon a position of pure principle，no matter how far it takes me. Shōzō’s conviction ultimately could not be shaken. With an attitude that bordered on stubbornness，he resolutely refused to join the party.

The first session of the initial trial for the defendants in the Riotous Assembly Case was held on October 10th at the Maebashi District Court’s Criminal Division courtroom. On that day, appearing as defense counsel for all defendants were Hanai Takuzō, Shioya Tsunetarō, Miyoshi Taizō, Kogiso Yoshifusa, Ōta Suketoki, Nagashima Washitarō, Ogawa Heikichi, Takeuchi Heikichi, Nobuoka Yūshirō, Imamura Rikisaburō, Nakahachi Yoshiaki, Kurosu Ryūtarō, Toguchi Shigeri, Hiraoka Manjirō, Saitō Jirō, Takahashi Shirō, Kobayashi Mohatsu, Ōshima Somenosuke, Ōno Kiyoshige, Nakamura Eika, Itō Masaharu, Hayashi Mingorō, Kurobane Genji, Kimura Yoshikichi, Nakamura Kanzō, Yamada Takeshi, and Oka Kaoru. Additionally, there were over a dozen other lawyers absent that day, but all of them had either agreed to take on the defense out of sympathy for the mining pollution issue and the defendants' circumstances or had volunteered to undertake the effort of their defense.

The trial 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 the defendants' cause. Thus the trial had reached its fifth session. At the joint request of both prosecutors and defense attorneys, it was decided to conduct field inspections of the affected areas in Gunma and Tochigi prefectures. From October 23rd over five days, judges, prosecutors, clerks, lawyers, and village-appointed experts examined blighted crops in the contaminated regions before conducting on-site inspections at Unryu-ji Temple, Yoraku District Office, Tatebayashi Police Station, Kawamata Bridge, and other key locations. The legal team included Shioya Tsunetarō, Toguchi Shigeri, Takahashi Hidenobu, Ishiyama Yahei, and Kobayashi Mohatsu.

November 18th, the fifteenth trial session, was the day of Prosecutor Kobayashi’s closing argument. When it became just before the appointed time, fifty defendants—all except Harada Eisaburō—entered. They removed their deep-woven sedge hats, revealing rows of shaved heads that spanned generations as they took their seats. All of them waited with bated breath for the prosecutor’s argument, their faces grown pallid from prolonged imprisonment and rigid with tension. The prosecutor first declared he would begin his argument from the disturbance at Unryu-ji Temple, then deduced the march’s purpose based on Imatsu Teppei’s testimony: “They publicly declared that when multitudes press urgent demands upon the government—and still find their appeals rejected—anarchy becomes no different. Thus they would destroy Furukawa’s house.” Though their actions toward the government could not be deemed destructive, he asserted that voicing such anarchic rhetoric naturally revealed dangerous intent festering within them. “Moreover,” he concluded, “their inflammatory speeches at Unryu-ji Temple—vowing to die and proclaiming the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce’s gates as their burial ground—precisely corroborate this evidence.”

He then began describing the situation at Unryu-ji Temple. Though both the indictment and preliminary investigation records had fabricated titles such as commander-in-chief, governor, and district supervisor—as if the defendants had formally established these roles to orchestrate events—he adopted this narrative wholesale. Asserting there could be no doubt they had made prior arrangements through mutual agreement not to return to their villages even if persuaded by authorities along the way, he declared this true regardless of whether it constituted gathering a mob. Thus, beginning with Imatsu Teppei's order to disband, he detailed each of the defendants' charges spanning from the disturbance within the main hall to their departure the following morning, then extended his argument to cover the sequence of events at the Yoraku District Office and Tatebayashi Police Station. The defendants, keenly feeling the courtroom’s unusually solemn atmosphere that day, appeared to have steeled themselves with deep resolve from the outset. The prosecutor’s words grew increasingly sharp as he proceeded to his closing argument regarding the Kawamata Incident.

After appropriately arranging the defendants' statements from the preliminary investigation and the testimony from police inspectors and officers, he first outlined the general circumstances of the disturbance. "And prior to launching boats at Kawamata, it was Noguchi Haruzō, Nagashima Yohachi, Inamura Yohei, and others who had planned this riot—their scheme to breach the police cordon being clearly evidenced by testimony from various police inspectors and officers." "As a result of these discussions, Ōide Kihira, Niwata Tsunekichi, Shitara Tsunehachi, Murota Chūshichi, Aoki Kinjirō, Kamei Tomoji, Fukuda Kazuzō, Yamazaki Keijirō, Ietomi Motoyoshi, Kobayashi Yoshikichi, Kurihara Saijirō, Iwasaki Sajū, Koyama Kōhachirō, Kawashima Motojirō, Jisai Shigeyoshi, Harada Eisaburō, and others were primarily involved in the riot."

It was a tone imbued with unshakable conviction. Having faced unfavorable closing arguments at every turn, even the defendants could no longer fully mask their inner agitation. From earlier, some had hung their heads ever lower, knees trembling, while others glared at the prosecutor with eyes narrowed in anger. Yet the prosecutor maintained his ice-cold severity as he pressed on. "Among witnesses and defendants exist those who allege police brutality, yet not a single item in these records constitutes credible evidence." "That injuries were sustained by some defendants is indeed factual." "However, these were likely self-inflicted through resistance during arrest by officers." "As for Yamazaki Keijirō's head injury alone—while I find it profoundly regrettable—this likely occurred when Police Officer Ishizuka Yoshinosuke had his sword seized and thrown by someone, striking Keijirō's head."

At this moment. From a corner of the deathly silent gallery came a deliberate "Ahem, ahem" of throat-clearing, followed by a drawn-out "Aaaah..." of an enormous yawn that reverberated through the chamber. Judges, lawyers, and spectators alike were all involuntarily shaken by this unexpected event and strained their ears. Among them, Prosecutor Kobayashi glared toward the voice with a look of indignation at having his argument interrupted. The source of the yawn was a portly old man around sixty years old wearing a crested black formal kimono, who kept his robust arms thrust high out from his sleeves, showed no reaction to the converging stares, stretched fully to completion, and leisurely lowered his hands.

Judge Isono raised his hand and cautioned, “Order, order.” “Such behavior must be refrained from in the courtroom,” he said. “Spectators should know well enough that they must maintain quiet decorum.” “Yes, yes.”

The old man, disregarding the guards who moved to escort him out, rose from his seat and withdrew through the encircling spectators with precarious steps. It was, needless to say, Tanaka Shōzō. In the gallery, some who witnessed his departure stifled snickers behind their hands, but how many truly grasped that this brazen yawn concealed Shōzō's voiceless wrath? The prosecutor, deeming the yawn willfully contemptuous, promptly brought charges of insulting public officials.

In the over a dozen subsequent court sessions starting from the next one, arguments were presented by lawyers including Hanai Takuzō and Hatoyama Kazuo. They all denied the facts of the indictment, refuted the prosecutor’s closing arguments, and asserted the defendants’ innocence. Thus, on December 22nd, all defendants except Harada attended the courtroom and received the verdict from Judge Isono. The heaviest sentence was Noguchi’s: two years of heavy imprisonment and a twenty-yen fine for resisting officials. Ōide, Sabe, Nagashima, Yamamoto, Inamura, and Yatsu were each sentenced to one year of heavy imprisonment and a ten-yen fine for resisting officials. Ietomi, Murota, Niwata (Tsune), Kobayashi, Kamei, Nomura, Shimada, Ōmori, Shigero, Tani, Ōboke, Koyama, Kuroda, Nakata, Koizumi, Fukuchi, Tanagami, Horiguchi, and Sekiguchi were each sentenced to four months of heavy imprisonment and a four-yen fine for resisting officials. Ono was sentenced to one month of heavy imprisonment and a five-yen fine for contempt of official authority. Kurihara and Harada were each sentenced to two months of light imprisonment for violating the Public Order and Police Law. The others were all found innocent. In response to this verdict, both the prosecution and the defense filed appeals. Consequently, the case was immediately transferred to the Tokyo Court of Appeals for trial, and all defendants were escorted via Kumagaya Police Station to Tokyo Kajibashi Prison within days.

Slightly before this verdict was delivered, Shimada Saburō visited Shinano-ya one day. At that time, the lawyers traveled to Maebashi for each trial session, leaving them almost no time to attend to other cases and facing unexpected hardships. Therefore they too strove under the policy of appealing to overturn it by moving the case to a Tokyo court. The authorities had avoided Urawa and taken the trial to Maebashi because proximity to Tokyo meant newspapers would make trouble. Shōzō had made similarly incisive observations and seethed at this vileness. Amid these circumstances—though Shimada's business naturally concerned the trial—he gave voice to longstanding concerns and inquired about health. He knew Shōzō neglected sleep and meals in his frantic efforts, but could not believe facial swelling and lifeless complexion stemmed solely from fatigue.

“It’s nothing particularly serious, but from morning till night I meet with various people without a moment’s rest, so as always my mind grows disordered—it’s quite troublesome.” “Yet when night deepens and I try to sleep, my mind becomes alert and I find myself unable to fall asleep.” “Lately, I’ve been drinking alcohol at midnight and relying on its effects to fall asleep, but…” When Shōzō answered casually, Shimada pressed him with his characteristic earnestness.

“That is inadvisable.” “If you keep that up, you’ll destroy your body with drink.” “Aren’t you now the central figure bearing the interests of the many regarding this incident on your shoulders?” “If you, as the very foundation of this cause, cannot overcome your own desires, then there is no hope.” “You must stop drinking alcohol immediately.” “No—the body is not the issue.” “I’ve been saying things like my mind grows disordered and I can’t sleep—those are merely personal matters, and I’ve never held any hatred toward my own body.”

Shōzō’s triangular eyelids quivered with an eerie light. “I understand that sentiment well.” “Moved by your spirit, lawyers brandish their arguments and journalists wield their pens.” “Everyone, out of respect for your fervor, is sparing no effort and devoting their hearts.” “But that’s precisely why you must take care of your body.” “That can’t be right.” Shōzō vehemently shook his head, and before long, his voice grew increasingly intense. “Tanaka Shōzō is nothing.” “Whether it be the gentlemen lawyers or the gentlemen journalists, it is precisely because they sympathize with the mining pollution incident or the victims that they are exerting themselves so vigorously.” “That must apply to you as well.” “They shouldn’t be sympathizing with Tanaka Shōzō—they should be sympathizing with Shōzō’s cause.”

“That is essentially the same thing. The cause is carried out by people. A true cause forms two sides of the same coin between people and work. Therefore, to sympathize with the cause means simultaneously sympathizing with that person... Well, let’s set aside such debates—you must stop drinking.” “Even if people were to sympathize with Shōzō, such sympathy would bring me neither joy nor anything else.” Shōzō’s face turned crimson as he glared at Shimada. But Shimada did not retreat. “You rage at being told not to drink, yet you yourself once sternly advised the late Mr. Numama. I won’t employ such violent methods, but I won’t cease offering advice merely because you grow angry. Isn’t it absurd that you refuse this counsel meant for the cause’s sake?”

This occurred during a time when the Freedom and People's Rights Movement was still thriving. Numama Morikazu, their mutual senior, was a man extremely neglectful of his health, indulging in alcohol and heeding no one’s admonitions. Worried, Shōzō once earnestly advised him while exchanging drinks. But Numama stubbornly refused and would not listen at all. Shōzō finally abandoned any attempt to persuade through words, grabbed the sake bottle at hand, and hurled it at Numama. Shimada had heard this story from Numama, which was why he now brought it up.

When something did not sit right with him, Shōzō would fly into a sudden rage. However, once he calmed his mind, reflected, and realized his own fault, he would not hesitate to accept others’ words with equanimity. Knowing this aspect of his temperament, Shimada simply bid farewell and returned home that day. Sure enough, four or five days later, Shōzō visited Shimada’s house in Kōjimachi Naka-Rokubanchō. Bringing news of his resolute decision to abstain from alcohol as a token, he stepped over the threshold intending to apologize for his previous discourtesy.

The year changed to Meiji 34 (1901), and Shōzō reached his sixtieth year.

New Year’s Day— The crane’s head crimson red, My beard white—behold this spring! It was an impromptu poem he had jotted down in the margin of his notebook.

On January 6th, Shōzō visited the couple Harada Kanashichirō and Takeko in Yokohama, where he stayed for two days. During that time, Shōzō secretly entrusted Takeko with matters resembling a will. Takeko was Harada Sadassuke’s eldest sister and had once been fostered by the Konaka family as their adopted daughter. Since the previous December, Shōzō’s chronic brain disease had shown no improvement, his vitality had waned, and he had been gripped by a vague premonition that some physical crisis would occur within a month or two—thus his thoughts had naturally turned in that direction.

On his return journey, he stayed overnight at the Hashimoto Inn in Katase, but around midnight on the eighth, he felt dizzy—even while lying in bed, his head spun each time he turned over. The condition persisted throughout the night, deepening the distress of his restless travel sleep, but by morning it had grown somewhat milder. After returning to the capital on Tomoguchi Shigeri’s advice, he underwent examination at a moxibustion practitioner named Chiba near Senju Ōhashi Bridge. There it was found that his right shoulder measured six *bu* longer than his left. He was told that should it stretch eight *bu* longer, half his body would be imperiled. What struck Shōzō with profound realization was not the diagnosis itself, but rather his own sudden premonition that had driven him to Yokohama.

Shōzō wrote to Takeko conveying the moxibustion practitioner’s words, and then on January 20th, he drafted the following supplementary letter. "In retrospect, when in Meiji Year 11 I returned two adopted children to their birth families and further requested my father’s permission to dispose of all property without remainder for the sake of the state, this was something I had clearly calculated would lead to the present day. This is what might be called a single prophecy. A prophecy is a clear declaration of the evident calculation of future prospects. However, those who do not know the arithmetic of numbers in the universe, without knowing its eternal, vast, and boundless calculations, cannot comprehend the certainty of a precious prophecy, and so forth."

From around this time, Shōzō began frequently writing down the characters for "melancholic resolve" in his notebook.

"A nation organized through faith in the gods." "That our military refrained from plundering in Northern Qing demonstrates His Majesty's virtuous benevolence. This sufficiently manifests the people's character. Both superiors and subordinates remain loyal. They show loyalty whether at home or abroad. Government officials embezzle state funds and engage in plunder. Is their restraint from plundering abroad due to insufficient power? No—it stems from the soldiers' integrity. Look inward. Those who kill men receive the Junior Fifth Rank. Loyalty that protects the nation lies imprisoned. They jail petitioners and abandon their cases, imprison victims while letting perpetrators run rampant, yet leave all petitioned matters unresolved."

Prior to this, the Itō Cabinet had been denounced for corrupting official discipline, and its public trust had already plummeted to the ground. At that time, Communications Minister Hoshi Tōru had registered himself with the Tokyo City Council and, backed by his faction, was arbitrarily controlling municipal administration when a major corruption scandal erupted, making him the sole target of public censure. Not only were there frequent detentions, but rumors that repercussions would reach Hoshi himself became rampant. Over one hundred members of the House of Peers jointly signed and pressed Itō for Hoshi’s dismissal, resulting in Hoshi’s resignation on the twenty-first day of the twelfth lunar month.

Amidst such turmoil, the Fifteenth Diet was convened, but the government immediately submitted a tax increase bill and, relying on the Seiyūkai’s majority, effortlessly pushed it through the House of Representatives.

Shōzō continued writing in his notebook from February into March.

"When there was no constitution, the Emperor was revered as a god. Now that we have a constitution—what if we were to lose that dignity? The Constitution exists to preserve reverence from times more ancient than antiquity itself. The people have made clear the distinction between their unprecedented precious rights and duties. The central government should merely protect its authority; now it usurps both those above and below, allowing itself alone to monopolize all authority." "Pollution victims—if they lack money—cannot even undergo trial." "The judiciary may not be corrupt, but since it is the administration that creates incidents at their root—the administration works through ill-gotten money gifted by perpetrators, acts for evildoers' benefit—and thus matters end up in court. The independence of the judiciary stands imperiled."

"The founding of the Restoration resides in His Majesty’s august name." "Now treacherous officials lie across the path, abuse His Majesty’s august name, and wield that name to bring about the nation’s ruin." "They have finally resorted to embezzling vast state funds." Also, he wrote: "Shōzō is a great sinner against society." "He amassed vast wealth for evil people." "He could not save the pollution victims; instead, he has created a demon’s nest." "This is Shōzō’s great sin."

Shōzō’s righteous indignation and self-reflection finally reached this juncture.

"If one learns purity in old age, the spirit becomes clear and only the body dies—the body dies indeed. If the young learn purity, they will attain integrity and their lives will be long; both spirit and body will enjoy long life." Furthermore, appended after that was a poem: "This aged body—grip its arm and bones jut high; a voice as harsh as a desolate moor’s visage."

Composed on March 7, Meiji 34 (1901)

On February 7th in the House of Representatives, a written inquiry titled "Regarding the Establishment of a Mining Pollution Investigation Committee" was submitted by Ōmura Wakijirō and three others. It was a pointed inquiry questioning why, despite having proposed the formation of an investigation committee during the Fourteenth Diet, this had not been implemented.

On March 14th, Shimada Saburō and five others submitted a written inquiry titled "Regarding Measures That Rendered the House of Peers’ Deliberations on the Ashio Copper Mine Pollution Matter Futile." In response to this, the government’s written reply was published on the 18th. To the inquiry from Ōmura Wakijirō and three others, the government replied, "We do not currently recognize the necessity to establish an investigation committee," and to the inquiry from Shimada Saburō and five others, it stated, "The government is currently conducting various investigations. "By no means are we treating this with negligence," they explained in their written response.

On the 16th [of March], Shōzō submitted a written inquiry titled "Regarding the Impact of Ashio Copper Mine Pollution on Life and Property" to the House of Representatives.

On the 19th [of March], he condemned the impropriety of the government’s written replies during the Fourteenth Diet and submitted two written inquiries. Then on the 22nd, he submitted four more: “Inquiry Regarding the Unjust Imposition of Baseless Infamy,” “Inquiry Concerning Failure to Obtain Substantive Replies from Representatives Ōmura and Shimada,” “Inquiry Pertaining to Ministerial Responsibility,” and “Re-inquiry Regarding Failure to Recognize the Path to National Ruin.”

Shōzō stood to deliver an explanatory speech for the first time on this day. Summoned by the chair and emerging from seat No. 239, Shōzō’s movements appeared laborious, his face pallid and swollen, shrouded in exhaustion. Indeed, Shōzō showed none of his usual vigor, “Ladies and gentlemen, I will endeavor to present only the essential points. “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 spent these years beseeching you all to address it piecemeal through some small measures." "Be it tampering with a single article of law or securing some form of relief here—I believe there was no shortage of stopgap measures we might have employed." "However, this issue extends beyond the Ashio Copper Mine's pollution alone. A sweeping reform of our nation's entire mining industry must be carried out. Through your thorough research and investigation into Ashio's current unjust and reckless practices, my earnest wish is that we may achieve a proper amendment." "That is why for ten years until today, I have refrained from making petty appeals and instead raised my voice about this matter, causing you all such concern—yet not an inch of progress has been made."

Every member in the seats, struck by the heartrending tone that seemed to force them to listen with knees pressed together in shared sorrow, fell completely silent. Shōzō then shifted his tone and pressed them: “The written reply states that relief has been provided to the affected areas, but what does this ‘government relief’ entail? What does it mean? Setting aside for a moment the pitiable circumstances of the petitioners, if we speak frankly in terms of rights—why has the government allowed the people’s land to be ruined and then granted tax exemptions? This becomes the debate.” “With such foolish notions as ‘They must be delighted now that they’ve been granted tax exemption,’ they are being scorned and insulted.” “There is no relief—nothing at all.” “Far from it!” “They are obstructing the petitioners’ appeals…!” he continued to shout, surrendering himself to a fervor that made him forget his illness. “Those who are poisoned by mining pollution and die increase in number year after year.” “Lately, those who would enlist as soldiers have ceased to appear.” “They are causing education to decline and have installed machinery that corrupts the morals of the land.” “It has become the duty of local officials to lead the entire populace of that land into foolishness.” “He decried how all existing organizations—the moral frameworks that took five hundred or even a thousand years to establish—are being destroyed; he detailed the collapse of town and village structures, and enumerated the losses of natural resources,”

“Unlike other forms of damage, the land itself perishes.” “That is to say, the principal itself perishes.” “As the land perishes, so too does humanity dwelling upon it.” “This is an eternal catastrophe—if left unaddressed today, I am merely repeating that the people will perish and the nation will cease to exist.”

Furthermore, continuing his words, he elaborated on how last spring’s mass petition by the pollution victims had resulted from their exhaustive efforts: "I cannot say whether speaking at length in such a place might bring harm to the pollution victims—but those who slander these upright citizens as 'riotous mobs' are themselves the true mobs! Utterly unscrupulous wretches!" Having vented his full-throated indignation in that concise phrase, he pivoted sharply to discuss preventive works from prior years: "Had those measures been consistently implemented as originally intended, they might have yielded modest effect." "Yet when cabinets change," he continued, "new ministers abandon their predecessors' policies. Worse—when decrees prohibit deforestation in mountainous areas, they immediately begin felling trees!" He exposed how tens of thousands of chō of forests in Gunma's Tone River headwaters had been sold to Furukawa—a fact revealed through disputes over lumber roads—and declared: "Now they recklessly cut down shrine and temple groves." "This will bring national upheaval within two years," he warned. "I must caution you—this will cause drastic climatic changes." His condemnation of ministerial incompetence grew fiercer: "Did not even feudal stewards enshrine deities and build temples to protect water sources? Yet our Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce does nothing!"

“I beg your pardon for speaking so bluntly, but we do respect any government that fulfills its role as a government.” “We show officials the respect due to their position.” “Yet those very officials are being used by Furukawa Ichibē almost like errand boys.” “Though these traces of collusion are glaringly evident—even when written into formal inquiries and challenged—those inquiries remain merely as stenographic records. And because Tanaka Shōzō’s speeches are deemed excessively lengthy and thus go unheeded, you dismiss them entirely. Is this what constitutes ministerial responsibility?” “I would earnestly request you to refrain from that at least.” “In the upcoming Sixteenth Diet session, even if Tanaka Shōzō does not attend, this remains a national issue. Therefore, no matter who raises this matter, I earnestly hope that the Ito cabinet will refrain from declaring itself a slave to Furukawa Ichibē.” “Past ministers and government officials of previous administrations may have all been wise individuals, but all they leave behind are traces of violence and evil.” “Officials need not be wise.” “They need not be Japan’s most saintly figures.” “They need not be great statesmen either—I would earnestly request that they at least ensure no violent acts remain in their wake.”

As he elaborated point after point in exhaustive detail, even what had been introduced as a brief preliminary speech stretched to nearly two hours. Even Shōzō had finally noticed this, "I have already caused you considerable trouble, so I will stop my remarks here."

When he closed his mouth apologetically, a voice—its owner unclear—was heard shouting, “Take your time.” Shōzō swallowed his saliva and continued speaking,

“There are truly many things I wish to express, but what should I say now that we’ve reached this point?” He appeared to ponder deeply. The flush of anger that had reddened his face earlier faded, revealing clear signs of fatigue. “Among you in the government exists a paragon of virtue. I implore you—abandon these vile practices of old. Should you persist, it would amount to the government itself authorizing its people to take up bamboo spears and straw banners, to rise in rebellion. I offer this warning. Mr. Ito too has grown quite aged—as this may be his final chance, let him fulfill his duties admirably, free from lingering attachments. Otherwise, the nation’s people shall endure hardship.”

Shōzō descended from the podium with a look of pent-up frustration, as though he still had more to say.

In response to this inquiry, the following day, a brief written reply arrived at the hands of the Speaker of the House of Representatives.

“We do not recognize this as a valid inquiry and therefore will not respond.” On the following 24th, Tanaka Shōzō once again pushed through his ailing body and stood on the podium. “Today, I will keep this extremely brief.” “On the recent 19th, I submitted a written inquiry to the government regarding its self-contemptuous actions endangering the nation. When one poses a constitutional question or seeks an explanation, is it not precisely for answering such that the Diet remains in session?” “You have stated that ‘the existence of the Diet itself proves we have a Constitution’—though admittedly, this was a response given hastily in this chamber when questioned, not a product of deep deliberation, so I do not mean to reproach you for it. Nevertheless, both the Finance Minister and Prime Minister have repeatedly made such assertions.” “To claim that because there is a Diet, there must be a Constitution—that is far too crude a notion.” “This equates to saying that as long as humans live they eat, and as long as they eat they remain virtuous—not wicked.” “If you persist in interpreting everything to suit your own convenience, ever more evildoers will emerge.” “Thus, should the government belittle itself, it must not grow complacent through its own doing.” “This is my firm conviction.”

Shōzō, occasionally furrowing his brow as though enduring pain, “Therefore, though I shall omit explaining today’s inquiry, what I must urgently convey to you all is this: we must recognize that human life cannot be assured even until tomorrow.” “Given that the Diet session concludes tomorrow, we who are advanced in years especially cannot count on even seeing tomorrow at all.” “Setting aside for now the upcoming Sixteenth Diet Session—since tomorrow cannot be assured—I wish to convey to you all the essential points of my thoughts, even if but a single word.” “That is to say, with today’s approach…”

While turning a blind eye to constitutional violations on one hand, they endlessly imposed tax hike after tax hike—what manner of governance was this?—he denounced. “When, as we see today, a small number of people—a mere handful—monopolize extraordinary fortune, violently overthrow others’ property to satisfy their own excessive greed, and the government colludes with them to bolster their power—when the nation’s economy is trampled underfoot for the sake of these ungovernable few—this nation will lose all vitality.” “It may be tolerable while the general populace remains compliant toward the government, but they begin to disregard Japan’s sovereign authority.” “When [the nation’s resources] are pilfered solely by these few crafty, wicked schemers, and the general populace remains suppressed, the shared ideology that esteems what we call Japan’s soul will steadily diminish.”

With a deep, resonant sigh that heaved his chest, Shōzō continued.

“You often claim there are no financial resources, but Tanaka Shōzō declares unequivocally that such resources exist in abundance like mountains.” “To begin with my first point: we must stop these thieves.” “We must stop the bandits.” “Even if we were only to strictly prohibit deforestation, we would no longer lose millions of the nation’s treasures annually.” “By not losing the corresponding flood control expenses, we would also reduce expenditures by millions of yen.” They let the rivers smash everything to pieces, allowed unchecked deforestation in the mountains, and then turned around to raise taxes. And then used that as an excuse to claim there were no financial resources—what manner of reasoning was this? “You must refrain from self-contradiction.” “You talk about developing Hokkaido or exploring emigration lands—stop spouting nonsense!” “Within our nation’s very mainland, those who work to strip the people of their splendid lands exist at the heart of the capital!”

Shouting at the top of his lungs, Shōzō was momentarily stunned by the reverberation of his own voice echoing through the chamber, but— “If you would but refrain from this wasteful self-contradiction, financial resources would naturally abound beyond all possible use.”

Although he had regained a somewhat calmer tone, soon—

“If even that proves insufficient, you should abolish institutions like today’s Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce." "This may sound like talk of violent lawlessness, but until now, the Ministry has used five million yen—funds that disrupt national finances—as operational expenses." "It has become a den of villains that disrupts the nation’s finances." "For us to utter such words is truly pitiful—most regrettable..."

For a time, his irrepressible indignation spilled forth as curses.

"I can no longer bring myself to speak, but..." Shōzō's face turned ashen. Even so, he clung to the table as if for support and began discussing constitutional issues once more. Then Speaker Kataoka leaned forward,

“Please state the gist of your inquiry,” he cautioned. “I am entirely 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 am anxious about next year, and the year after that. Those who uphold morality have the right to possess the Constitution; those who are immoral have no such right. The Constitution should be shared by our forty million compatriots, but needless to say, this Constitution and these laws grant no ownership rights to evildoers. Yet while law-abiding citizens—petitioners who come forth upholding the Constitution—are branded as riotous assemblies and thrown into prison, what of the other side? The evildoers who are perpetrators come and go through the imperial court and receive court ranks. What understanding of responsibility did the ministers who witnessed this hold in such circumstances? ...Any who holds the position of minister must consider that they themselves have driven them to it, should even a single person fall into a ravine. If there is even a single person who cannot find their place, it is the duty of those who value the position of minister to consider this their own responsibility. Even if the Itō Cabinet changes tomorrow and Ōkuma comes to power, or Yamagata, or Matsukata—I must oppose any government that merely schemes to increase taxes while arbitrarily disregarding the Constitution. As long as I draw breath, I must oppose. Though this matter is long settled, since none among us can assure ourselves of tomorrow, I have—disregarding the weight of your esteemed duties—borrowed your ears for a time and spoken with the full sincerity of my heart.”

Shōzō concluded his words in an altered tone, as though bidding farewell to the crowd, then surveyed the assembly hall with a profoundly moved expression before descending the stairs with unsteady steps, counting each one as if measuring his descent.

On the night two days after the Diet session closed, Shōzō—his chronic ailment aggravated by the strain of parliamentary exertions—felt his vitality wane severely and was admitted to Juntendo Hospital. Yet when he avoided others and found himself alone, a tumult of emotions welled up in his chest, leaving him more agitated than before. So soon after being admitted, he even considered discharging himself.

On the 27th, the final six imprisoned individuals were released on bail.

Chapter Nine

On May 11th, Shōzō composed a letter addressed to Harada Sadassuke of Ashikaga at the Shizuokaya Inn in Kobunechō.

“The results of Shōzō’s efforts since last month with Tokyo’s various newspapers, magazines, and other outlets have been truly excellent.” Shōzō has been suffering day and night from this brain disease. Shōzō’s brain disease is an intangible illness; it bears no relation to the soundness or unsoundness of his physical body. Fortunately, Shōzō’s physical body has been sound in recent days; the brain disease remains entirely an intangible illness, one that even physicians cannot comprehend. To summarize: it is a disease that hinders vitality, strength, memory, endurance, discernment, vigor, and meticulousness—an extraordinary grave affliction, and for those among humanity requiring discernment, there exists no greater affliction than this. However, those aspects unaffected by this disease are Shōzō’s spirit; the essential parts—purity, honesty, impatience, anger—still remain. Shōzō has greatly diminished pleasures and increased sorrows. However, this sorrow is not for his own sake, but arises from having been unable to prevent or eliminate the evils encroaching upon the public good—evils that are even claiming lives—and from feeling excessive anguish that the citizens remain oblivious to this reality. Shōzō is prudent; unlike worldly heroes who act boldly, he knows to foresee and grieve over the nation’s afflictions before others. I earnestly request that you do not mistake Shōzō’s illness for something brought on by poverty or excessive personal worries. I earnestly request that you kindly explain to trusted friends as well that Shōzō knows nothing of poverty. Especially as there are provisions from Harada, there is no poverty whatsoever. Shōzō’s illness is not an individual’s affliction but the nation’s sickness; therefore, should the nation fully recover, Shōzō would yet have ten years of life. If the nation continues as it does today, unable to save even the lives of the pollution victims, Shōzō’s lifespan will end within this year. I beseech you to accept this without anguish; compare solely the nation’s condition with Shōzō’s lifespan, and remember that this prophecy errs not overmuch.

Regarding one minor incident among those mentioned above, my foolish wife Katsuko has come; I humbly request that you hear her out. Written in haste during illness; respectfully submitted. P.S. Once again, "Furthermore, since receiving your regular donations, Shōzō has been greatly at ease; regarding this matter, there is absolutely no illness—he shall perish entirely alongside the nation." Harada had never refused to support Shōzō and had maintained quiet benevolence over many years; however, recently, unable to bear witnessing the severity of his destitution, he decided to provide fixed monthly support. Since resigning his salary in the 31st year of Meiji, Shōzō had in fact been without any fixed means of income. The travel expenses required for his day-and-night endeavors, the lodging fees—all had no choice but to rely on donations from relatives and acquaintances. Moreover, after the Kawamata Incident erupted, while maintaining the Shibaguchi office on one hand, the mounting extra expenses from traveling to Maebashi, delivering supplies to defendants, visiting households, and negotiating with willing lawyers left Shōzō himself frequently lacking even tobacco money. Amidst these circumstances, when Harada began providing fixed monthly support, he found some relief on that front; however, the money vanished from one hand to the other. In March of that year, for instance, he had given the entire one hundred yen received from Harada directly to those struggling to secure bail funds.

However, as the letter's text indicated, Shōzō had of course transcended such material poverty. At his core festered an anguish far more urgent than tangible destitution—when amplified, this became patriotic concern. As glimpsed in the Diet's outcries since the previous year, it was the specter of national ruin. The concrete manifestation was needless to say the mining pollution incident: the affected lands remained unrestored, the pollution victims' lives still unsalvaged. Scaling this down to immediate concerns, what now occupied his thoughts was the situation of defendants released on provisional parole.

After the Kawamata Incident, the awareness of concerned individuals in society finally began to change. However, what Shōzō found most unbearable was the shallow-heartedness displayed by some of the defendants in the courtroom. They operated under the naive misconception that feigning ignorance before the judges would hasten the case's resolution, pretending complete disinterest in the petition through statements like "We only came because others urged us" or "We didn't participate at all." Some even denied having been beaten and injured. Neither the intent behind the pollution victims’ unavoidable petitions nor the harrowing details of their suffering was ever boldly presented by anyone in the courtroom.

If one considered that it was the timid resolve born of illiteracy, panic, and an inability to endure iron-barred suffering that compelled such speech, then there indeed existed aspects worthy of forgiveness. Yet even so, it remained an undeniable fact that since the incident, those who devoted themselves wholeheartedly to petitions had grown scarce.

Before long, the Tokyo appeal trial drew near. There would likely be a need to prompt their reflection and resolve in advance. On April 4th, Shōzō had also written a lengthy letter addressed to Noguchi Haruzō, urging their fellow activists to continue their movement. "Therefore, what should we do from this point onward? From now on, they must speak truthfully and act truthfully. First, let their clothing remain honest garments used for agriculture; the same applies to their food and drink." "As for the matter of Kawamata, I humbly believe it is exactly as stated."

Now, as for what state the current severely affected areas will fall into ten years from now—if one simply recalls what Takayama Funatsugawa was like ten years ago, it can be clearly understood. Ten years hence, when these lands lie utterly barren, when people and livestock have scattered and perished entirely—when even stripping their rights until none remain to petition would provoke no outrage, when reason itself seems lost—compared to ten years prior, those in the worst-affected areas will either be dead or reduced to beggars; these two fates are as unavoidable as a reflection in a mirror. However many fools there may be among them, let those with conscience be swiftly resolved—from this very tomorrow, before the trial commences, act at once. "Since the pollution victims bear no guilt whatsoever, let poverty be shown plainly as poverty and hardship as hardship—if they present these truths without concealment or pretense, matters will find resolution hereafter."

The remarks about clothing in the letter stemmed from this: there had been petitioners who, clinging to a mindset from the uncontaminated era, would strain themselves to come to Tokyo dressed in Western suits or haori jackets; Shōzō admonished that no matter how earnestly such people might speak of their hardships and recount their circumstances, they could never make others believe them. Moreover, what Shōzō found both puzzling and regrettable was that many defendants had returned home immediately after their release as if fleeing in panic—without heeding any words of caution about future plans—and had since sent no word whatsoever. They had not communicated even a single word about local conditions and had fallen completely silent. Unable to contain his indignation, Shōzō wrote once more to Noguchi Haruzō.

"People in unaffected areas have finally come to fully believe what Shōzō has been saying, while conversely, those in affected areas have reached the point of disbelieving it." "Alas—what shall become of the coastal populace under the great responsibility borne by defendants released from prison?" "Do they consider all responsibilities fulfilled?" "Do they imagine this hardship-filled task faces no opposition?" "Do they presume this work encounters no villainous resistance?" "Do they deem any moment opportune?" "Never before has there been such disbelief in what this superficial Shōzō declares as exists today." "And yet—the people of unaffected areas have finally come to believe." "What have these gentlemen of unaffected regions achieved these past fifty days?" "What truly merits lament is the affected people's lack of discipline; we weep bitterly, tormented by our inability to devise means for their salvation. April 22."

Shōzō continued sending letters to the willing among the defendants, urging them to reflect. Any human isolated from society for a year becomes estranged from it. If they, already estranged from society, returned to rural villages that were themselves estranged from society, became entangled in delusions of slander and division, and found themselves surrounded by complaints and servility, they would grow increasingly ignorant of societal truths and true principles. Alongside these warnings came an urgent call for them to promptly depart for Tokyo and resume their activism.

For them, it was indeed a fact that the wounds of imprisonment had taken deep root in both mind and body. After returning home, they were unable to regain the strength to rise again. Besieged by pleas from those around them and restrained on all sides, they lived in constrained circumstances. Shōzō had largely discerned these circumstances but found that the situation had reached a point where they still needed to be spurred to rise up from within them.

On the 24th of this month, there was a trial at Maebashi Court regarding Shōzō’s own defendant case.

To appeal the truth of the mining pollution issue, Shōzō—pushing through illness—made hurried round trips to Kansai around this time. On June 20th, he guided Uchimura Kanzō to the pollution-affected areas. This followed the resolution passed by Kusumoto Masataka, Tsuda Sen, Yamanaka Yūjirō, Takagi Masakatsu, Uchimura Kanzō, Tanaka Hiroyuki, and others from the Mining Pollution Investigation Volunteer Association, who had assembled at the YMCA Hall on the 21st of last month to investigate the veracity of the reported increase in deaths. Human lives are the fundamental issue. They maintained that once this fact alone was confirmed, other secondary interests would not be worth discussing.

Upon arriving in the affected area, Shōzō immediately sent circular notices to Sakurai, Noguchi, Ono, Niwata, and Kobayashi, and this issue finally began to emerge as a substantive national problem. He urged them to seize this heaven-sent opportunity with redoubled resolve and instructed them to devote their full efforts to providing thorough explanations.

However, despite Shōzō relentlessly moving through villages across the region from the 20th to the 28th without respite, the defendants' state defied all imagination. Some had shut themselves away since returning home after release from prison, not even showing their faces to neighbors or those nearby. Others lay under their futons, having even their three meals brought to their beds. When people came, they would hold their breath beneath their bedding and peer toward the doorway—such was their condition. Shōzō was told such facts not just once. Even the village police officer,

“The released prisoners are holding their breath and keeping quiet under their wives’ skirts, you know.” He let out a scornful sneer as he spoke.

Every time Shōzō met with the committed members, he could not help but stress the necessity of solidarity among comrades in their movement. “While claiming obedience to a wife’s orders and parents’ teachings to avoid going out may seem reasonable, it’s using logic to justify error.” “To forget your right to petition would be no different than submitting to Ichibē’s dogmatic doctrine that says even if your lives are taken, you mustn’t assert your rights.” “It’s precisely like when Native Americans mistook Columbus’s ships for sea monsters in their shock and fear.” “If you show resolve during the trial, acquittal is possible—but cower, and conviction may follow again.”

At times, he had no choice but to admonish them in such ways, encourage them, and exhaust every word in persuasion.

Among the defendants, Nagashima Yohachi’s circumstances were somewhat different. Immediately after being released on bail this March, Nagashima was baptized by Pastor Hori at Maebashi Church. Unexpectedly, Judge Isono, the presiding judge, was also present and baptized. He recalled how his letters had undergone daily censorship by Judge Isono and could not help but think this strange connection too must be divine providence. Through faith, impatience in Nagashima’s heart was replaced by forgiveness, and the eyes with which he viewed his surroundings changed. During this one year that he had been unaware, public awareness of the mining pollution incident seemed to have changed unexpectedly compared to before his imprisonment. The authorities still hadn’t taken any measures for us, but now that society had awakened, wasn’t it time for us to shift our conventional movement strategies? If we kept repeating these large-scale marches to Tokyo, wouldn’t we be unable to escape accusations of reckless action? He was secretly agonizing over such matters in this way.

Shōzō returned to Tokyo and immediately caught a cold, lying down at the Uchima residence in Akasaka Omotechō where he remained bedridden for an entire week. This instead brought some slight respite to the stagnation weighing on his mind. Yet as one thought led to another, he found himself tossing and turning restlessly in his sickbed. Visualizing the destitution of Ebisemura Manda's impoverished people behind closed eyelids, Shōzō pulled his bedside inkstone box closer,

"In today's society, where the measure of one's wealth dictates the measure of one's effort, even when aiding the strength of multitudes of destitute people, we remain not only unequal but far inferior to that wicked and tyrannical Ichibē who wields autocratic power through unmatched violence and abuses his financial influence." "Yet this is not merely about debating strength and weakness while leaving injustice unchallenged." "Though our justice may be weak, we are resolved to save this very weakness as it exists." "I earnestly implore you to gather several sincere comrades and come witness with your own eyes the dire conditions in Ebisemura Manda." "When one realizes there exist fellow Japanese suffering such misfortune, however faint-hearted we may be, we cannot continue living this way." —July 1st, addressed to Harada Sadassuke.

Shōzō was still bedridden when he learned that during his brief absence of less than ten days, no small divide-and-conquer tactic had been implemented in Tokyo. It became clear that Furukawa, having been exceptionally alarmed by the activities of the investigation volunteer association, had devised a plan to dispatch his subordinates to stir up confusion among its members. As a countermeasure, dispelling misunderstandings among the members became an urgent priority. However, while there had temporarily been several members at the office—Sabe, Yokotsuka, Itoi, Ono, and others—the staffing shortage persisted thereafter.

Shōzō once again took up his brush and wrote a letter addressed to Ōide Kihira urging him to come to the capital.

"While I finally had the opportunity to travel through the regions with Mr. Uchimura for ten days, we clearly discovered severe slander circulating among Tokyo's willing members regarding this matter. Concerning both the trial lawyers and government-related items—if we divide efforts and campaign on these fronts, each day would hold the value of a thousand gold pieces; this is truly of utmost necessity. However, being unfortunately ill, I cannot assist, and Mr. Sabe only just returned to Tokyo yesterday, facing immense difficulties due to shortages of funds and personnel." "Given these circumstances, I must urgently implore Yamamoto, Koyama, Aoki, Nagashima, Noguchi, Kamei, Kobayashi, Yatsu, and other gentlemen—who should not remain in the provinces any longer—to come to Tokyo immediately and exert yourselves fully, not merely for your own sakes but for the public good. Without this, we can offer no justification before the nation's discerning righteous souls... Moreover, toward lawyers adopting too laissez-faire an approach—where their efforts lose vigor and reciprocity between fish and water—we do not think ill of defendants or ourselves, knowing they act under dire necessity while lamenting bitterly. Yet those willing members ignorant of the affected areas' realities privately seethe with anger and despair." "Even arriving ten or twenty days before the trial would leave insufficient time to conduct necessary campaigns regarding this issue." "At least thirty to forty days are required; the earlier [you come], the greater the value." "We are currently in a state of utmost urgency." "By mid-August, it would be advisable for you to return briefly to your home province." "My heart aches; the opportune moment has not yet arrived." "In my pitiable state of composing this letter while ill, I earnestly entreat you to perceive my pressing sincerity without oversight." "Respectfully,"

Furthermore, on July 19th, he once again drafted a written document addressed to Harada Sadassuke, "Katsuko departed yesterday for Mr. Matsumoto Eiichi in Ebisemura Village, Ōra District, Gunma Prefecture. Through Mr. Matsumoto's care, she will temporarily lodge at an impoverished household in Manda within that area. She remains there to investigate the dire conditions. I urgently entreat you to send ten yen to that location on this occasion. Two alumnae from Shintake Girls' School must be dispatched to Ebisemura regarding women's lactation deficiency - essential both as humanitarian concern and factual reference. Should you send those ten yen at that juncture, it would serve dual purposes; I earnestly implore you regarding this matter. Though Katsuko carried five yen when departing yesterday, after train fares and other expenses are paid, I fear nothing will remain. By all means given this month's urgency, I humbly request you deliver [funds] directly to Ebisemura's dispatched committee members - hand them personally to those individuals."

The results of the investigation conducted by his elderly wife Katsuko during her stay in Manda into the state of male and female disease sufferers and lactation deficiency in nearby villages were printed at the Shibaguchi office on August 21st and presented to the public. Due to Shōzō’s relentless urging, several people had come to Tokyo to work at the office. They found inexpensive lodgings in Honjo, and preparations were made for over sixty people—fifty-one defendants plus committee members—to lodge together.

Thus, as the appeal trial drew steadily closer on September 3rd, Shōzō once again sent a letter addressed to Harada Takeko.

"You people must reserve your strength for another day. At present, this Shōzō has become the very nexus of slander and division. See how greater matters have been split between pollution victims and government, while lesser schemes fully sunder even Sadassuke from me. You have fallen into these traps—pitiful souls! The desperate machinations of those who spare no treachery lie utterly beyond the grasp of armchair tacticians and innocents like yourselves. What you now celebrate will ultimately claim both flesh and life. Were Shōzō to remain hale these coming years, indirect protection might yet be possible—but now affairs progress too swiftly for remedy, tomorrow remains uncertain, and Shōzō stands already rendered useless."

The heartrending emotion seeped through both the darkness of the ink and the traces of the brushstrokes.

On September 20th, the 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 delegation of over fifty people—headed by Chief Judge Isogai Kōjirō along with associate judges and prosecutor magistrates; expert witnesses including Professor Tokiyoshi Yokoi of the Agricultural College, Munezumi Nagaoka, and Mari Toyonaga; sixteen attending lawyers such as Taizō Miyoshi, Tsunetarō Shiotani, Kumatarō Sakurai, Rikisaburō Imamura, Kitarō Urabe, and Hidetomi Takahashi; along with eight newspaper reporters including Zenji Ōba of the Mainichi Shimbun and Toshihiko Sakai of the Yorozu Chōhō—set out for the mining pollution-affected areas on October 6th. From the Mining Pollution Investigation Volunteer Association, two members—Tanaka Hiroyuki and Genmoto Zenji—joined the delegation, while Tanaka Shōzō also accompanied them despite his ailing body to ensure no oversights in guiding the group.

That day, under Yamazaki Keijirō’s guidance, they began their inspection starting from the Ōaza Abumi-zuka district of Inubushi Town. In an area where fields, paddies, mountains, and forests had all been submerged by the September 7th flood, one paddy stood completely overgrown with weeds, bearing no trace of any crops having been planted. Another paddy had rice leaves that withered and died after growing merely one or two feet long. After passing through Ōaza Nishiura, their guide changed to Noguchi Haruzō at Ōaza Kōna in Sakai Village. When they reached the communal soil collection site along Kōna Marsh—where villagers of old would gather sediment during each flood to use as fertilizer—they found it utterly desolate, twelve chōbu of land now transformed into an endless reed field. The sight of the autumn wind whispering through the reeds seized everyone’s gaze.

On this day, as they crossed Kōna Marsh by boat to reach the opposite bank, Noguchi’s boat capsized. The judges and lawyers aboard all fell into the water. After disembarking and building a bonfire in a farmhouse yard, Noguchi busily arranged to dry their clothes but remained in his dripping garments, refusing to warm himself by the flames. Shōzō, unable to bear it, urged him to dry his clothes quickly, but Noguchi stubbornly shook his head. He seemed tormented by responsibility for his failure—as if no words could apologize enough, as if no atonement sufficed without action. Shōzō recognized this and pitied his state of mind, leaving him be. 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 broke into goosebumps and turned ashen, eyes growing moist. When others noticed, even walking pained him. He caught a cold and spiked a fever—a severe one. The lawyers and judges, first learning of his condition now, were genuinely moved, eyes glistening as they urged rest.

The following day, the seventh, Noguchi once again insisted on guiding them despite his ailing body and would not be dissuaded. Starting from Ōaza Takayama, they came through Aza Gongenmukai to Aza Koizumi. Cracks had formed in the road beneath the embankment there, with bluish-black topsoil about six bu thick flaking off in fragments. They were remnants from the September 13th flooding. The farmland in Gongenmukai was covered entirely with field horsetail across over thirty chōbu, with only faint traces of ridges visible among the grass. Next, the guidance shifted to Kurihara Saijirō as they moved to Funatsugawa in Ueno Village, where they tested how easily thick bamboo could be pulled out in the bamboo grove outside the embankment. The rice fields across the area showed slight signs of fertility, but poison mounds were scattered everywhere amidst the rice leaves. Next, under Niwada Tsunekichi’s guidance, they came to Ōaza Shimohata in Azuma Village. There, they once again confirmed that the bamboo in the riverside grove could be pulled out by hand with ease, and examined that within Niwada’s residential area, residual sediment from the 29th year had accumulated to a thickness of five shaku. Furthermore, in Aza Tsubakida, they saw the marsh formed by the levee breach in the 29th year and observed the devastation of the nearby mulberry fields.

On the 8th, they went to Ōaza Kawasaki in Keno Village, where under Iwazaki Jū’s guidance they inspected the stunted growth of upland rice, buckwheat, and sorghum plants; stood at three levee breach sites; observed the withered bamboo grove; and surveyed from the embankment’s height how most mulberry fields across the northeastern lower embankment area had turned to wasteland. 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 site where soil had been excavated to repair the breach from the 29th year had become a depression over three meters deep. When they stood atop the embankment, the southeastern expanse stretched before their eyes as a boundless sandy plain, countless poison mounds rising like small hills across its breadth. This was nothing like the time around the 29th year when Shōzō had remarked, “It’s just like Matsushima.” The area spanned approximately 50 chōbu.

On the 9th, they suspended inspections for the day. On the 10th, guided by Kamei Tomoji, they passed through Ōaza Hinata and Ōaza Kido in Tataramura Village, then proceeded under Kobayashi Zenkichi’s guidance to Ōaza Kami-Hayakawada in Watase Village. In Raiden Forest of the same area, over a hundred cedar trees had all been left to wither and die, their leaves turned rust-colored. About ten ken to the north was the confluence where the Yabagawa River flows into the Watarasegawa River; this vicinity was a location where the water depth reached five shaku during flooding. On the 11th, after continuing from the previous day to inspect the mulberry fields and other areas in Shimohayakawada, Ōide Kihira took charge of guiding them as they entered Ōshima Village. The Kamiazuchi embankment exterior in the same village’s Azami district had been a communal soil collection site in the past, and had now become entirely a reed field. It was reported that in Year 31 there had been twenty shaku five sun of flooding; in Year 32, seventeen shaku; in Year 33, seventeen shaku; and in Year 34, fourteen shaku. When test excavations were conducted, the soil had formed distinct layers, leaving clear evidence of each year’s flood intensity. Only the crops within the embankment generally showed signs of fertility.

Next, Nagashima Yohachi guided them to Ōaza Nishioka Shinden in Nishiyata Village. This area had been reduced to complete devastation by the breach of the Shinmei West levee, with traces of sediment flow remaining across the entire region. The rice fields had been cultivated through sediment removal, their soil depth measuring two shaku eight sun from the surface. Poison mounds lay scattered everywhere here too—some covered in orange-yellow moss, devoid of even a single blade of grass. Observing workers digging up and transporting the toxic soil, they came to Ōaza Yokkawa. The mulberry fields along the Watarase River in that area had completely withered across eighteen chō, while the eastern expanse retained only scattered mulberry plants here and there, indistinguishable from wilderness.

With this, the verification of the pollution-affected areas was concluded. On the following day, the 12th, they conducted inspections at locations related to the incident: Unryu-ji Temple in Shimohayakawada; the Tatebayashi County Office and Police Station; and Ōaza Kawamata in Sanuki Village, among others.

The materials of soil and agricultural products collected from pollution-affected areas during these several days of inspections were to be analyzed by experts, with their findings and other results reported in due course.

However, Shōzō did not wait for the results. He had no mental space for such things. Eleven years had passed since he first brought this issue before parliament—years during which none of his efforts had drawn society's attention—until at last a rigorous investigation was conducted through the exercise of judicial authority. Shōzō never doubted this outcome would force recognition of the mining pollution. Facts could not remain concealed forever. The reality of mining pollution was absolute. From any fair and impartial standpoint, none could fail to acknowledge it. With proper recognition, those defendants' acquittal would follow as a matter of course. This would shift how the public viewed the pollution issue. There was no longer need to await results...and greater trials now loomed ahead. Furukawa had finally altered strategy, initiating attempts to purchase contaminated lands.

Upon returning to the capital, Shōzō submitted his resignation to the House of Representatives and decisively bid farewell to his long political career. For Shōzō, this was simply fulfilling the promise he had made from the podium of the House of Representatives on March 24th—a planned action he had long kept in his heart. However, it was merely that he had finally been able to seize that opportunity.

Having ended his life as a legislator and exited the gates of the House of Representatives that day, Shōzō scolded the rickshaw man who had knowingly tried to take the route toward Shibaguchi and made him run in the opposite direction. When they reached the moat’s edge where old pine trees hung their branches deeply from the stone walls, he made the rickshaw stop and, paying no heed to the rickshaw man’s puzzled expression, stepped onto the gravel and proceeded into the Imperial Palace square. However, he did not venture further in. He stood gazing at the distant forest shadows of Ōuchiyama where autumn clouds drifted, and became still. He then bowed deeply and reverently.

After some time had passed, Shōzō, having become once again a passenger in the rickshaw, carried in his demeanor a calmness that suggested he had trodden the path he was meant to tread. Not solely due to the penetrating cold light of late autumn—his eyes themselves 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 the 23rd year. In the six elections spanning from the 23rd to the 31st year, he recalled how his true comrades from home had earnestly supported him, and how he himself had acted with unwavering sincerity as a Diet member throughout those ten years—day in and day out—and on that point, he felt assured he had nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of. But what of the mining pollution issue?

Once his thoughts reached that point, Shōzō’s face suddenly clouded over. It began with my impeachment of Mutsu Munemitsu, then Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, during the Year 24 Diet session—a move that resulted in election interference in Year 25. The enemy’s campaign funds that had brought about this devastation were distributed to opposing factions through Mutsu’s directives. When in Year 25 I attempted to continue attacking Mutsu, Mutsu resigned, shifted tactics, and struck at me from behind. Former comrades from the Progressive Party—Yokoo Teruyoshi and his associates—joined forces with Ichibē, finally forcing the pollution victims to swallow 100,000 yen. The destitute people actually welcomed the measures taken by the government and Furukawa, and as a result, my own voice was nearly silenced for a time. The slander and defamation against me also grew increasingly severe around this time. No—rather, the slander and defamation against the pollution victims was even more severe than that directed at myself. Furukawa’s faction spread propaganda claiming that mining pollution did not exist because there were pollution victims, but rather that the pollution problem existed because there were pollution victims.

However, I did not yield and continued attacking with sound arguments. Even so, this remained merely an attack on theoretical grounds and failed to achieve the true purpose of conveying the pollution victims' suffering. To prevent the fertile fields of Kantō from becoming barren, I could not stop this disaster in advance. I raced alone in frenzy and roared in outrage, but few took notice; six years passed vainly amidst society's mockery and slander. During this time, the perpetrator Furukawa wielded financial power, violent authority, and wicked schemes—leaving no method untried. The political world, officials great and small, scholars, and educators had all been poisoned by this, becoming Furukawa's lackeys and beasts of burden. Even those untouched by the calamity—as political parties and government lacked all experience in such matters—lived without understanding the problem's true nature. The general public too remained ignorant, their faces showing complete indifference. Even the pollution victims lacked awareness, failing to grasp the terror of their harm. As mining pollution intensified, barren lands multiplied, and regions sank into poverty and disease, the victims finally began comprehending whether Shōzō's words were sound arguments or biased claims. By Year 30, it had finally come to receive minimal government attention.

However, he still could not save the pollution victims. He could not restore the barren land. At one point, he had tried to rely on the power of major political parties, only to be pointlessly confronted with their grotesque corruption. Even when the Kenseitō was formed, because I was a member of it, the other parties went so far as to reject this issue itself. Not only that, but even the Kenseitō itself fell prey to divide-and-conquer tactics, with few believing in him as they claimed, "Shōzō barks at shadows—he makes mountains out of molehills." Therefore, I severed my long-standing ties and resigned from the party. He demonstrated that this was not merely a matter of a single party or faction, but a national issue and a social issue. Moreover, the slander still did not cease.

“The mining pollution issue is Tanaka Shōzō’s exclusive domain.” “Just giving verbal approval suffices—no need to actively ally with him.” They added, “Tanaka only shrieks to flatter his constituents.” “Without the pollution campaign, he couldn’t win unopposed.” “It’s mere electioneering.” The public accepted this unquestioningly.

Furthermore, with each passing year, the divide-and-conquer tactics and slanderous rumors grew increasingly severe. “Even the frequent petitions from pollution victims do not originate from their own will.” “They stem from Shōzō’s instigation and incitement.” In this way, the slander that had filled the political world no longer had any room to be resolved. My own strength had reached its limit. But I had been prepared for self-sacrifice from the start. Whatever can be done alone, I will not hesitate to carry out single-handedly. The reason I resigned as a Diet member today and became an ordinary individual was to silence the mouths of those slanderers.

But given their expertise in underhanded schemes, they would likely force some unforeseen slanderous ploy.

No—no, such things are no longer an issue now. The true reason I must resign as a Diet member lies deep within my chest. From this day forth, I walk alone. The final campaign.—Even if judicial authority were to properly recognize the facts of mining pollution, and even if activists across society were to mobilize however they might, the mining pollution issue has now reached a point where aiming merely to resolve the mining pollution issue itself will not achieve resolution. National ruin—unless this national ruin is saved, the problem will not be resolved. The Mahayana-like belief in saving the nation from ruin—only when one discards the mining pollution issue and elevates this belief to this level will the solution to this problem finally begin. Moreover, the sole path permitted to me is to save this nation from ruin through the mining pollution issue. That path—it must remain deeply buried in my heart until the very end...

When those around him learned that Shōzō had resigned as a Diet member, they all immediately pressed him to reconsider. Friends and acquaintances rushed over in astonishment. Concerned members of his local community traveled to the capital to advise him. Yet not a single soul succeeded in swaying Shōzō’s resolve to resign.

On October 20, Shōzō wrote the following in a room at Ueno-kan and sent it to Harada Takeko:

“As for my reason for declining the legislative salary, there exists not a single soul in Japan capable of interpreting it.” “I wonder if even Mr. Harada Kanjūrō fails to comprehend.” “Sadassuke’s mother understands considerably—perhaps half.” “Mr. Kanjūrō does grasp this resignation.” “They shall never fathom why I remained in office until last year.” “Only when the day arrives that our people comprehend matters of parliamentary salaries shall Japan approach an era of true development.” “So long as multitudes remain uncomprehending, Japan shall not cease her course until she regresses—nay, meets utter ruin.” “This declaration I prophesy shall find its day of reference ere long.”

Chapter Ten

On the night of November 2, Shōzō visited Shimada Saburō at his private residence in Naka-Rokubanchō. The following day was Tenchōsetsu (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 Research Volunteer Group; thus, the purpose was to coordinate preparations.

The wife joined them at the table, and as their discussion naturally focused on the affected areas, Shōzō described the dire conditions in Ebise Village and Yamaguchimata: “I’ll guide you there myself—you must see it with your own eyes. Compared to when you last surveyed these areas years ago, the difference is staggering—dozens of homes stand abandoned now, their inhabitants either dead or reduced to wandering beggars in distant lands. Even those houses still occupied—there’s not one without someone bedridden, blind, or driven mad. The whole village has crumbled beyond recognition… It defies description.”

Shōzō's eyes grew moist with tears. The agitation he had stirred up through his explanation lingered in his chest long after the group fell into profound silence. The chirping of crickets seemed to rise from beneath their knees like groundwater. "In the affected areas, we can no longer hear even these insect cries." "Not a single creature we'd call an insect remains..." Eyes still closed, Shōzō uttered these words like a soliloquy before releasing a heavy sigh.

That night, having been settled to stay over, he withdrew to a separate room; yet the thoughts swirling in his chest showed no sign of abating, and sitting upright under the lamplight, he took up brush and ink and began writing a letter. “This session of the Diet is gravely urgent. Regarding the enduring nature of the mining pollution issue, the life-or-death matter of the riverine areas truly lies with your esteemed selves. The weight of your responsibility to persevere unwaveringly until the final resolution defies all description through brush or tongue. Having become leaders to thirteen thousand, then on multiple occasions to over two thousand, and again to those imprisoned—over fifty souls—you tormented trials, vexed lawyers, and caused suffering to parents, wives, and children; these instances are too numerous to recount. You who have maintained a resolve of impartial selflessness—exempting taxes across sixty-eight villages, initiating preventive construction works, and gradually carrying out planting within water sources—your achievements are by no means insignificant.”

There, he laid the brush on his knee, gazed upward as if peering into the distance, inserted a parenthetical ("My regards to Mr. Niwata, Mr. Ono, Mr. Nakabayashi, and others") before continuing. "Yet without reaching the root cause, with mining pollution still unchecked and the rivers' devastation gradually intensifying its harm, they have shifted tactics and are now devising the wicked scheme to purchase and annex all polluted lands. Parts of Yoraku, Yamada, Anso, Ibaraki, and Saitama lie within this calamity. Shimotsuga's Yanaka Village stands as one such instance. The problem, having transformed as described above, has become an even more intractable issue."

Society had decayed beyond the human compassion of Meiji 29—was this not a spectacle where money's might and violent wickedness ran rampant, with all good people cast down to the lower ranks? This marked a bizarre era—the very hour of national collapse. Those coastal regions across four or five prefectures stood as ruin's vanguard. Though the people might slumber, let them slumber—only those long since awakened; those who neither wearied nor faltered; those foreseeing national ruin as this age's ultimate end; those grasping constitutional law, moral principles, human rights, life and property; those placing rights before profit; those enduring poverty without warping their spirit for gain; those understanding that a day's neglect meant a hundred-yen loss, that a year's complacency brought not mere decade-long damage but eternal remorse—through such individuals' names alone did he earnestly hope to submit another worthy petition to this Diet session, as had become customary.

The names of you gentlemen are already known to many; therefore, your names alone should suffice to represent the natural riverine areas. Obtaining signatures is cumbersome. Moreover, even if we amass mountains of names from swarms of fools thick as clouds and mist, they would achieve little in practice; whereas even a single person embodying the spirit of sincere principle should suffice. "I believe that two or three—or even four to seven—of you gentlemen would suffice." Shōzō suddenly remembered and added in parentheses, "(Please give my regards to Mr. Yamamoto Eishirō)." "I earnestly entreat you not to neglect drafting the petition text." I shall review it without fail. Though I too ought to draft it, as you know, the Tochigi Prefectural Assembly convenes on the twelfth, and regarding the sowing of wheat fields across Yanaka's thousand chō, they have yet to devise any urgent measures. Furthermore, from the twenty-second onward, the Tokyo Court of Appeals will be in session—with neither funds nor helpers, I can only burden my aged old friends. "I can no longer move this body as I did around Meiji 29; my spirit and flesh have become inversely proportional, rendering this physical form inconvenient, growing obtuse in administrative matters, capable only of absurdities—truly an impossible predicament."

Shōzō was frowning deeply, grinding the tip of his brush against the inkstone, but— “However, there is one matter where I must ask you to rest your spirits: your minds grow ever purer, and your clarity of thought and power of insight have seemingly doubled from before—a marvel among marvels. May you rejoice in this. My judgment has also made some progress compared to previous years. Only in the aging of my flesh am I myself almost appalled. Ultimately, this flesh is destined to rot away completely. Only the spirit, in contrast, will not decay at all and shall perhaps work eternally. Thus, while my body suffers, my spirit also finds joy. Do people come to be reborn time and again, or do they not? Even if they are born as fools, born as idiots, born into wealthy families, born without knowing the ways of society and human compassion—there is no limit to those who will die as if in a dream. Therefore, in this present world of ours, though we may not be inventors, we are no fools. Though we are not sages, neither are we fools. Though we are poor, we do not become guardians of wealth or consort with thieves. We have indeed been born fortunate in this present world. Have you not become leaders to tens of thousands and aided many of the sick? You covertly crossed the Tone River to advance on the enemy front and performed actual deeds befitting warriors of humanity.”

You gentlemen were born with bodies capable of this work and intellect. This happiness lies beyond the reach of the multitude—it is only natural that others should envy it. For instance, though nine out of ten instances of the Opposition Copper Mine Party's insidious divide-and-conquer tactics, slanderous rumors, and direct or indirect persecutions escape your eyes and ears; though they abuse and insult us as if exterminating a rat trapped in a bag—their persecution leaving no crevice for even an ant to crawl through, extending invisibly yet systematically in all directions, far and wide, continuously and variously constricting like silk floss slowly strangling a throat—still our honest sincerity neither dies nor has its life-breath stopped. It persists unyieldingly, not budging an inch. No—it has become a spirit layered with resolve since times of old. You gentlemen are still in the vigorous prime of life; your bodies and minds remain hale and hearty. With these sound bodies and minds as your reward in this present world, though you have already given your all, I earnestly pray that you may once more devote your very beings to society for a time; that in this session, you will submit petitions to the Diet with but a small number of people; and that alongside your own peace of mind, the people languishing in this mortal world and the calamities yet to come may be wholly saved. I have finally penned this letter late into the night. Written in haste amidst fatigue. I humbly request that you refrain from reprimanding me as well. Respectfully. At the residence of Shimada Saburō in Tokyo—Shōzō

He finished writing the final portion with labored, grunting breaths, then flipped through the scrolls that had piled up on the tatami mat and meticulously wrote out the addressees: Mr. Ōide Zenpei, Mr. Noguchi Haruzō, Mr. Kamei Tomoji, Mr. Matsumoto Eiichi, Mr. Itoi Tōjirō, Mr. Iwasaki Sajū, Mr. Onodera, Mr. Yamazaki Keijirō, Mr. Aoki, Mr. Tanino, and Mr. Kimura.

In response to this, the two men, Noguchi and Ōide, departed for the capital and began rushing between sympathizers day and night.

As Shōzō had written in his letter, the Sixteenth Diet Session now loomed less than a month away. Earlier that year, the Seiyūkai Cabinet had become mired in internal strife over budget disputes, leading Prime Minister Itō to tender his resignation on May 5th—an act that precipitated the entire cabinet's collapse. After Privy Council President Saionji Kinmochi temporarily assumed the premiership, June 2nd finally witnessed the formation of a new cabinet. Katsura Tarō became Prime Minister; Utsumi Tadakatsu took Home Affairs; Sone Arasuke assumed Finance; and Hirata Tōsuke headed Agriculture and Commerce. This lineup—dubbed the Young Cabinet by some, mocked as the Backward Cabinet by others, derided as the Silent Cabinet for its slogan of "deeds over words"—revealed through its very nicknames one facet of its nature.

On November 9th, Shōzō guided Shimada Saburō and Takano Haiki to Ebisemura Village. By then, since the end of the previous month, he had already made four round trips accompanied by sympathizers.

The following day, when Shimada arrived at the Mainichi Shimbun office, he summoned Kinoshita Naoe into a separate room,

“The situation was so utterly unexpected that I returned in complete shock,” he said, his brow furrowed deeply. “Villages I’d seen just two or three years ago now lay devastated beyond recognition…”

While painfully furrowing his broad brow, he recounted what he had seen and heard the previous day. Then through the window, he ran his hand over the waning winter sunlight that lay upon his desk,

“Their destitution stems neither from laziness nor natural disaster. “It is entirely the result of political wrongdoing, and society at large must also bear the burden of that sin. “While eliminating the poison from the polluted areas remains fundamental, I believe extending relief to these destitute people has become an urgent priority—especially with the severe winter now upon us. “To share food with those who have none and clothing with those who lack it—this is the ultimate expression of human compassion.”

Shimada glanced through the window at the main street where the horse-drawn tram passed and continued. “So, how should we provide relief?” “During the return journey, I considered various approaches, but I wish to entrust this undertaking to sympathetic women as an entirely new movement separate from previous anti-pollution efforts.” “I want to trust in women’s natural solidarity.” “That strikes me as an eminently suitable approach,” interjected Kinoshita. “At the recent pollution lecture meeting, members of the Women’s Purity Society attended as observers and appeared deeply moved while listening.” “Why not ask them to take charge?”

“Hmm, I was thinking that too.”

When they approached the Women’s Purity Society, Shioda Chiseko promptly came to the office. Her hair was already half-white; she was a petite woman of about sixty, but her oval face radiated a keen vitality, and her eyes were clear and resolute. Having been profoundly moved by the lecture meeting the other night, she expressed her eagerness, stating she had long wished to inspect the actual site firsthand. After hearing Shimada’s firsthand account, she seemed to deepen her resolve and appeared convinced that providing relief had become her personal duty.

As a result of that day’s discussions, it was decided that on the 16th, women volunteers would conduct their first inspection of the polluted areas. From the Women’s Purity Society, in addition to Shioda, they added President Yajima Kashi, Baroness Kutsuki, Mrs. Shimada Saburō, and Mainichi Shimbun journalist Matsumoto Eiko—making five in total—with Shōzō himself serving as their guide. They departed from Furukawa by rickshaw to Akuto Shinden Ferry Landing and crossed the Omoi River. Had one passed through without noticing, it would have seemed an ordinary reed bed—yet from both before and beyond that point, this had already been pollution-affected land. When they emerged from the riverbed onto the embankment and stopped the rickshaw, the reed beds stretched endlessly before them, revealing a vista where the late autumn wind wandered aimlessly. No birds took flight; the only sound was the rustling of leaves. Shōzō closed his eyes, his face assuming an expression as though he were listening to the sound of heaven and earth’s annihilation, but before long, he had the rickshaw move forward again at a leisurely pace,

"This area ahead is called Ebisemura’s Seven Bends, where the Watarase River twists and turns like a snake." From the southwest direction here, a tributary called the Yatagawa River converges, and Ebisemura Village lies sandwiched between these two rivers. Once a flood occurs, because the Watarase River’s force is so powerful, it flows backward into it. Ebisemura Village was ravaged by both of these floods, and the damage from mining pollution grew far more severe with each passing year compared to other areas. That led to today’s devastation. The downstream areas along the Watarase River have undulating terrain with scattered marshes here and there—a land that people of old likened to the Ninety-Nine Valleys, saying that with one more valley it would match Kōya’s Hundred Valleys. Twenty years ago, both its rivers and marshes teemed with fish. Moreover, when this season arrived each year, thousands upon thousands of migratory birds would fill the air with their wingbeats, and bird hunts were common. In the outer embankment areas, the barley yield reached over three koku per tan, and rapeseed yielded two koku per tan—so much so that people from other prefectures coming to buy rapeseed had to bring thousands of yen with them, it was said. From the rice paddies, eight to nine bales of rice could be harvested, making it a land blessed with heaven-given wealth. "And now look at it." “Now it’s like this as far as the eye can see.”

With that, Shōzō shook the tip of his white beard and moved his chin from side to side, "They had no choice but to plant reeds like this."

“My goodness,” exclaimed Matsumoto Eiko. “Were these reeds planted?” “I had been surprised, thinking they’d grown naturally.” “No, no—this is all three-stage poisoned wasteland.” “When you say ‘three-stage’…?” “If we take the era when there were grain harvests, as I just mentioned, as the first stage, then the second stage would be when the harvests ceased and mulberry trees were planted in the fields and willows in the paddies. When even those mulberry trees and willows withered away, turning the land into reed beds—that marks the third stage.” “They planted reeds thinking that since these plants thrive both on land and in water, they could be sold as roofing and screen material. But even though they grow, they’re inherently weak—now there’s nothing to do but use them as kindling.” “It’s a pitiable state where the young no longer know the value of fields and paddies.” “No—if left unattended, the entire dozens of miles along the Watarase River will become like this within another ten years.”

Shōzō turned to look back at the embankment they had just traversed, his expression one contemplating distant memories. The others followed his gaze. At the edge of the swaying reed bed where white flowers floated sporadically, the distinct purple silhouette of Mount Tsukuba stood vivid against the autumn sun. After proceeding half a ri further, they found a dilapidated teahouse atop the embankment. Abandoning their rickshaws there, they let the women rest on camp stools. “From here,” Shōzō continued, “descend south along this embankment for five or six chō, and you’ll reach the Watarase River ferry landing.” “Beyond lies Ebisemura Village’s worst-hit zone, with Yanaka Village’s Shimomiya midway—a place equally ravaged.” “Yet within this village exists something profoundly jarring.” “Observe how every farmhouse here crumbles with collapsed walls and sagging eaves—save one.” “That towering structure with whitewashed walls belongs to Furusawa, the cur who became Furukawa’s hound years ago.” “He schemed permanent settlements that doomed five or six villages…”

As Shōzō was explaining in an intense tone, Matsumoto Eiichi arrived with someone from the village office to greet them.

Under their guidance, the group descended the embankment southward and soon entered Shimomiya hamlet. The eaves of every house cast deep shadows, their torn paper screens exposed to the sun—a sight that seemed to symbolize each household’s misfortune. Moreover, most dwellings in the hamlet stood with storm shutters tightly closed, leaving no trace of human activity or hearth fires glowing within. Without needing explanation, the entire village lay eerily silent, its state of decay striking their hearts with poignant force.

Eventually, they crossed the Watarase River and arrived at Mada. The village office staff guided the group to the back of a farmhouse. In one corner stood a cedar tree with red withered leaves, and beneath it, in a shabby shed, a blind old woman lived with her small granddaughters. The village office man explained that she was called Tashiro Kura—a woman who had once lived in a grand front residence and owned over five chō of fields and paddies. Shioda inquired about her circumstances in gentle tones. The old woman seemed unable to bear this fresh grief, her chest heaving visibly, but at length she began to speak, rubbing her gnarled hands together as she said, “Thank you.”

“...With misfortune piling up and then my spouse passing away, leaving behind four children, there was nothing I could do.” Even as she spoke, tears overflowed from her withered eyes. “What became of your son?” “And your daughter-in-law…?” “My son couldn’t earn enough to feed us at home, so he went to Kitagō for day labor. At first, he sent about forty or fifty sen each month, but these past three or four months, he hasn’t sent a single thing.” “My daughter-in-law has been entrusted to Furukawa Village.”

The other children too had scattered to make ends meet. "I can't do anything because of my poor eyesight, so with the five or six sen I earn selling candies, I barely manage to feed my three grandchildren gruel." "And even that—when it rains, there's no business, so I can't even feed them properly." "When I think of the past, I feel nothing but hopelessness and want to die soon."

The old woman wept after every word she spoke. The listeners, being women themselves, were reduced to tears and had no words of comfort. The notebook in which Matsumoto Eiko jotted down her notes was marked by many tear stains. In this manner, the women went from one destitute household to the next, leaving behind wrapped packages of money as they made their rounds. In response to those meager acts of charity, they would prostrate themselves, press their heads against doorframes, or clasp their hands in prayer as they bowed to their retreating figures. They also witnessed in Yamaguchi hamlet a rock-bottom existence unseen even in the poorest slums of Tokyo. The hut where Nozawa Wakichi, a middle-aged blind man, lived was just like a dog kennel, with the walls on all four sides having collapsed. Bundles of reeds had been propped against holes in the walls to block the night’s cold wind, and rotting matting hung over the windows. The floor was constructed by laying planks over logs raised a couple of inches from the ground, covered only with dirty mats; a hearth had been dug into the floor, with two or three tiles placed beside it. It appeared to be a setup for building a fire by feel, and one could almost see the figure of the blind man spending the long night in silence, illuminated by the firelight. There had once been a foster child, but they were now missing; though blind, he managed to eke out a living by pounding rice for others.

“You must be terribly lonely all alone.” “And being visually impaired must cause you so much hardship.” “Why don’t you come to Tokyo with us? There’s something like an old-age home there, and I think that would be better than staying like this.”

Shioda gently suggested this, but the blind man wore an unwilling expression, “Thank you kindly for your consideration, but I feel more at ease staying in a place I’ve settled into...”

With his unseeing eyes, he looked around his surroundings. Even in such a land and such circumstances, his inability to relinquish his attachment to his homeland struck them as deeply poignant. Yamaguchi, which once had over a hundred households, now had barely half that number—with twenty-three households abandoned in just the past two or three years alone. As the village office staff explained how each disappearance meant either death or displacement—each one a tale of tragedy—their voices grew thick with emotion. In the northern neighboring Tanimoto Village, what struck their hearts was the family of Matsumoto Katsuzō. Katsuzō was forty and his wife Okuma forty-three; between them they had six children. Yet Okuma was so ill and emaciated she appeared no different from a woman over sixty, while Katsuzō sat hunched beside her—his posture so diminished that one might mistake him for her son.

“This here… this is my husband.” “Before the mining pollution... we had over two chō of rice fields and paddies, but not a single se remains—we couldn’t even eat anymore. Tormented by that, his mind began to unravel eight years ago.” “…Day after day, he walks around crying and raging, ‘Nothing grows! Nothing at all!’ It’s just pitiful...”

As Okuma wiped her tears, the infant clinging to her ribcage suddenly began to cry. “Because I don’t eat enough, my milk won’t come out—it’s a constant struggle.” The mother’s lament even made the eight-year-old boy beside her begin rubbing his eyes frequently. The mother too suffered from stomach illness and couldn’t work, so with the eldest son earning about fifteen sen a day and his younger brother around ten sen in meager wages, the family was sustaining themselves on little more than hot water or gruel. When asked about school,

“If I send them to school, they’ll starve to death—that’s why I don’t.” “Right now, I’m helping with the wheat sowing, but I keep wondering what we’ll do when winter comes.” The group of women urged in unison, “Would you consider sending one or two of your children to Tokyo? We could educate them to help support you in the future.” Yet being women themselves, their compassion was attentive as they added, “But separating them from their parents’ laps would be so heartbreaking.” Then from beneath those words came Okuma—

“No, it’s not about pity—I’d send them anywhere, anywhere at all.” Her voice came out strained, then dissolved into choked sobs. Tanaka Shōzō, who had long witnessed every form of poverty writhing in the abyss, finally reached his limit—large teardrops cascaded from both eyes. His tightly pressed lips twitched, “Very well, very well. I, Tanaka, will surely exact vengeance for you!”

With a fearsome countenance, he clenched his fists and swung them as if to strike down the phantom before his eyes.

The group was guided to the house of Matsumoto Eiichi within Tanimoto for lunch. The Matsumoto family was a prominent landowner in the vicinity, with over 93 chō of combined wilderness, fields, paddies, and residential land. Their land tax had previously approached 100 yen, but now amounted to around twelve yen for exempted areas alone—clear evidence of the damage's severity. Though the harvest yielded barely one-fifth of former levels, with over two hundred tenant farmers employed and the entire collapsing village's weight bearing down upon them in every way, the family shouldered an immense burden. Each new dawn brought losses exceeding thirteen yen—a suffering distinct from that of impoverished households. As village representative, he would sometimes return home through snow-covered reed valleys at midnight, other times host forty or fifty guests at his house. Driving his frail body to sustain the movement meant even mealtimes revolved around Matsumoto's mining pollution campaign.

In the afternoon, they visited the village poor door to door. No matter where they walked, they did not see a single dog or chicken. Neither birdsong nor insect chirps could be heard. When they reached the sacred grove, there stood a hut beneath dense cedars—its roof thatched with woven reed lattices and reed mats hung around its perimeter. An old woman in a patched cylindrical-sleeved kimono swept fallen leaves; using her broom as a cane, she straightened her bent back and recounted her circumstances in Tokyo-accented speech when addressed. “Yes, I am seventy-eight. I came here five years ago to sell sweets, but with no worshippers visiting now, there’s no trade to speak of. I simply spend each day cleaning around the shrine.”

Even during daylight hours, this forest stood desolate—how much more desolate must it have been in midnight's depths? The only audible sounds were dew droplets striking cedar boughs and squirrels gnawing through bark in the undergrowth. What phantoms visited the old woman's pillow through those endless nights... As the women stared with gazes that pierced through darkness itself, the old woman gave her name as Arai Yuri—admitting she did have children once: a daughter driven mad by matching destitution at her marital home, a son who fled and severed all contact. The village staff appended that this was the withered remnant of a fish magnate's wife from coastal days when tens of thousands of fishermen teemed these waters.

Shioda tried inviting her again to come to Tokyo together, but “Thank you kindly for your consideration, but as long as I am allowed to serve this shrine and perform the morning and evening cleanings, I believe it may bring some merit for the afterlife...” The old woman’s wrinkled face displayed an unexpectedly firm resolve. The group glanced at the characters “Thirty-Three Ascents, Great Vow Fulfilled” on a shaded stone monument, then departed with lingering hearts, wondering when—and who—might next come to comfort this old woman.

Having completed their rounds, they began returning through fields where the evening wind pierced their flesh, yet in each woman's heart, everything now differed completely from before they had seen the afflicted lands. The tragic reality surpassed by severalfold—nay tenfold—what they had previously heard in speeches or read in newspapers. Who could have conceived such magnitude? Whose sin was this? How might salvation come? Their footsteps dragged slowly under the weight of conflicting emotions and daily exhaustion. Even their guide's figure, never before perceived thus, now seemed to them a bearer of profound sorrow,

"It feels almost like we're setting out to make a direct appeal..."

Matsumoto Eiko involuntarily muttered to herself. Startled by her own voice, she covered her mouth with her hand, but neither the villagers walking ahead nor Shōzō were within earshot.

Leaving behind Matsumoto Eiko, who planned to stay overnight to inspect the vicinity, the women returning the same day began their journey home through the gathering dusk.

On the return train, the women unexpectedly found themselves discussing emergency relief measures. Thus, during the journey until their arrival at Ueno, while the women remained engrossed in their discussions beside him, Shōzō occasionally muttered "Grateful" as he listened, but eventually fixed his eyes on the dark world beyond the window and sank into solitary contemplation. What ceaselessly haunted his mind these days were the vestiges of his decade-long failures. These were not mere repeated setbacks but a relentless descent into isolation. Though recent developments—the judges' and scholars' inspections of afflicted areas, the tireless efforts of allies—had brought circumstantial improvements, within Shōzō's heart a stubborn sense of loneliness had instead taken root. And this autumn, he could not help but acutely feel how each passing day brought nearer that final moment he had secretly envisioned when resigning as a Diet member. At times it surged as impatience; at others descended as stillness—these sensations assailing his chest.

The Kyōfūkai had long been preparing to hold a lecture meeting at the Christian Youth Hall on the 29th of this month. Thus it was decided this gathering would immediately serve as the inaugural assembly of the Women's Relief Association for Mining Pollution Victims. That evening under Yajima Kako's chairmanship, Shioda Chiseko along with Kitsumoto Zenji, Abe Isoo, Kinoshita Naoe, and Shimada Saburō took to the podium in succession—unlike previous mining pollution lectures that had debated political or social dimensions, this meeting centered on the spiritual essence of the uneducated poor. Over one hundred yen in donations was collected on-site. The bylaws were announced with Shioda Chiseko as chairperson and Kuchiki Yoshiko, Yamawaki Fusako, Yajima Kako, Matsumoto Eiko, Kuwaki Sonoko, Kinoshita Misako, Miwada Masako, and Shimada Nobuko listed as founding members.

Preparations were steadily advanced to implement measures centered around Shioda: collecting money, goods, and clothing from the public; mobilizing women volunteers for inspection and relief trips; and providing on-site medical treatment and hospital admissions with the assistance of physicians.

During this period, the expert reports on yield surveys, soil analysis, and botanical assessments compiled by inspectors who had previously examined the afflicted areas were submitted to Chief Judge Isogaya Kōjirō. It was the 22nd. Then came the 29th for the public trial, where all defendants appeared unrestrained at the public courtroom of the Fourth Criminal Division of the Tokyo Court of Appeals, having come freely from their lodgings in Honjo. Before long, the chief judge declared the continuation of proceedings in this case and summoned Yokoi Tokiaki—responsible for harvest assessments—to enter the courtroom. "Are your age, status, occupation, address, and other particulars identical to those previously declared at the inspection site?"

“Yes.” “Have any familial, employment, or cohabitation relationships arisen between Noguchi Haruzō and the forty-nine others since then?”

“No relationships have arisen.” “In that case, I will have you explain the unclear points in the expert report submitted regarding this case. You must state your account fairly and honestly.” “Yes.”

Thus began a meticulous inquiry into the evidentiary basis of the assessment. “How did you determine that once agricultural land becomes subjected to toxic soil under agricultural economics, its financial balance becomes irrecoverable?”

“First, we must remove the toxic soil.” “Removing this would require extraordinary labor and enormous costs, and even if one applies large amounts of fertilizer and cultivates [the land], it is clearly impossible to turn a profit.” “This was calculated based on our nation’s current economic conditions.” “Can we not acknowledge that the cause of decreased harvests at the inspection site stems from negligent farming practices?” “We cannot acknowledge that.” “No matter how much care is given to poor-quality soil, it lacks the capacity for cultivation.” “Therefore, at the inspection site, unless we replace all of the soil, it will be difficult to restore it to its original state.”

“In that case, can we definitively assert that the decrease in harvests stems entirely from copper poisoning?” “I maintain it is principally due to copper toxicity.” “There exists what society calls dyeing poison—did you find no harmful effects from dye works in Ashikaga or Kiryū?” “None whatsoever.” “Consider Kyoto’s Nishijin district—they irrigate using water indigo, yet I’ve never heard reports of harm.” “Per your report’s conclusion: unless this toxic soil is fully removed, its fertility cannot be fundamentally restored—correct?”

“Yes.” On December 2nd in court, Nagaoka Munehisa from soil analysis and Toyonaga Mari from botanical analysis each concluded with conviction: copper and sulfuric acid components existed in the inspected areas’ soil; mining pollution harmed all agricultural crops by first corroding plant root cells, invading their systems, combining with proteins into insoluble compounds, and ultimately causing plant death.

Around this very time, on November 30th... Around 9 a.m., workers engaged in underground cable work beneath Kandabashi Bridge raised an alarm: “Hey! A corpse is floating down the river!” The drowned corpse of an elderly woman had floated up with the high tide. They reported it to the Motosakaemachi police box, and the corpse was immediately retrieved, but the identity remained unknown. The clothing consisted of striped crepe silk with an obi combining tea-colored Hakata silk and mouse-gray satin. The layered medium-patterned cotton kimono did not appear to be formal attire; if these were everyday clothes, she must have been a person of considerable standing. Moreover, the small marumage hairstyle adorned with a solid gold hairpin left even the examiners momentarily stunned.

At that moment, two rickshaws came by and abruptly halted their poles. A portly old gentleman and a man who appeared to be his servant, somewhat disheveled, hurriedly alighted from the rickshaws. They were Furukawa Ichibē and his clerk Bunada Bunjirō. Having searched since morning after Furukawa's wife failed to return home late the previous night, they peered into the crowd with dreadful anticipation—a premonition that proved tragically accurate. The unidentified corpse was indeed Furukawa Ichibē's elderly wife Tameko.

When this was reported in the newspapers, various rumors arose among the townspeople. It was said that this was karmic retribution for Furukawa Ichibē tormenting hundreds of thousands of people, and it was also said that Tameko had developed mental distress over it. It was also a fact that Tameko had been deeply troubled by the developments in the mining pollution incident, suffered a profound blow, and become despondent under the weight of absorbing all the curses and resentment.

Chapter Eleven In response to Harada Sadassuke’s request for guidance through the afflicted areas, Shōzō sent a reply dated December 7th. In the letter’s opening section, after meticulously detailing both the route to follow upon alighting at Koga and every location requiring observation along the way, he appended these words:

"Even these poisoned fields appear at a glance to be ordinary plains. If viewed through tears - only the hungry ghosts of hell. If viewed through willpower - bamboo spears. If viewed through cowardice - nothing but disease."

Ah, that today a man of Shimotsuke should request guidance—how utterly circuitous this is! Even women born in the distant lands of Kyushu and Shikoku now travel back and forth between Tokyo and Ebise without guides every single day. "Let our Shimotsuke men also have some resolve!"

On the ninth day, one day later, Shōzō wrote another document addressed to Harada Sadassuke and Kanashichirō, entrusting a message for Tatenuma. After Shōzō had resigned, he found himself compelled to issue a stern admonition to Tatenuma Jōkichi—newly elected as a replacement member of the House of Representatives—if he were to consider him his successor. "1. The following items should be confidentially communicated to Mr. Tatenuma personally by you: 1. The nature of legislative stipends and representatives' daily allowances. The aforementioned differ in nature from ordinary compensation such as monthly salaries. By examining both the nature of resigning one's legislative salary and the distinction between Japanese newspapers' public opinion and Anso's self-serving arguments, one can discern a difference as vast as heaven and earth."

1. Know your place. One’s own capabilities and limitations are best known to oneself; even if one becomes a representative, one must focus on discerning whether they possess the competence to warrant over one hundred yen per month. The above matters are well known to Tenjin and oneself. Pay no heed to others. Pay no heed to the foolish arguments of a foolish society. 1. A person is nothing without spirit. The diminishment of spirit can be readily observed and proven through the diminishment of women’s chastity. Who would rejoice in the diminishment of women’s chastity?

1. A person must be strong. Be strong. Be resolute. Strength and resolve prove difficult to attain even through ardent desire. Should one lack this yearning heart, there remains naught but to sink into weakness compounded by weakness, into utter pliancy. 1. The world teems with philanthropists. Genuine and false alike multiply. The genuine manifests through action; the false cloaks itself in reputation. These matters must be earnestly conveyed in confidence through personal discourse; I find myself presently occupied. Those who serve society and the public now begrudge lavishing time upon any single individual. "As for Shōzō himself—I cannot vouchsafe tomorrow's breath. With illness encroaching and urgent matters pressing, I therefore entrust this charge to your hands."

The opening ceremony of the Sixteenth Diet now loomed just one day away. Shōzō had drafted this in haste, in a room at Etchūya in Shibaguchi Nichōme. Recently, the mining pollution office had also been relocated here from Shinanoya, but this place too was a suitable inexpensive inn for those involved with the mining pollution.

On this day, after night had fallen, Harada Takeko—his niece—came to visit Etchūya. It was a postcard from Shōzō that seemed to indicate urgent business, so she hurried over. At the sound of the shoji being opened, Shōzō, who had been sitting alone with his eyes closed in meditation, “You’ve come.”

he directed an impatiently awaited gaze. Takeko edged closer to the brazier, but Shōzō merely sat looking satisfied and said nothing. Reflecting that the matter might not have been so urgent after all, Takeko added charcoal to the fire and made tea. Shōzō slurped the tea noisily. Then, after quietly setting down the tea bowl, he repositioned his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and once again appeared immersed in solitary meditation. He didn’t move a muscle for what felt like ages. He maintained his composure as if having forgotten another’s presence entirely. Yet Takeko found herself unable to speak. She hesitated to thoughtlessly disrupt his meditation. When Takeko gazed at Shōzō’s face—held perfectly upright under the firelight—his skin appeared bleached of luster, shrouded in deep shadows. The horizontal wrinkles across his forehead, the sagging skin framing his upper eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the figure-eight lines beside his nostrils, and the area around his tightly pressed lips stood etched in particularly stark relief. The marks of decades of hardship seemed carved there. Even Takeko recognized the outline of that suffering. But what anxieties lurked within these shadows now defied comprehension. The space between Shōzō’s eyebrows twitched momentarily, a convulsive wrinkle forming as if from internal pain. Takeko felt her chest tighten as she continued staring. She remembered how he had startled her that New Year at the Yokohama house by suddenly speaking of wills. In subsequent letters too, he kept sending ominous phrases about not counting on tomorrow—prophetic turns of phrase at every opportunity. When they met, he still displayed his former vigor, yet lately seemed increasingly illness-prone, with an undeniable physical decline becoming apparent. Perhaps his illness had progressed further than any observer could guess—perhaps he himself now wrestled with dark premonitions he concealed from view.

Such speculations had fleetingly crossed her mind... No—no—she shook her head faintly, dismissing them herself as she continued watching his meditative form.

A long time passed. The winter wind rattled the storm shutters once, and after it passed, the lonesome sound of a night train’s steam whistle could be heard. Takeko involuntarily glanced around her surroundings. At the sound of rustling clothes,

“Did you say something?” Shōzō opened his eyes. “No… I didn’t say anything. I came thinking you had some business, but since it’s quite a distance, I’ll take my leave now.” “It’s not so late yet. It’s still fine. Stay a little longer.” Though he had stopped her, Shōzō said nothing more about any substantive matters. He seemed to find supreme satisfaction in simply sitting silently across from Takeko. Takeko felt as if she’d been told “It’s been ages since we sat face to face like this,” and settled back down. In the distant hallway, the lavatory door creaked open. The deepening night pressed against both sides of the shoji screens. Takeko finally insisted it was growing too late and began preparing to leave. Shōzō murmured “I see,” following her movements with an altered gaze that seemed to caress each motion.

Shōzō saw Takeko off as she hesitated to leave, returned to his room, and once again took his seat and closed his eyes. But this too lasted only a moment; when he opened his eyes, his demeanor abruptly shifted from stillness to motion. He called the maid and ordered a rickshaw.

The rickshaw passed through Shibasannai, where old trees loomed darkly overhead, and raced toward Azabu-Miyamurachō. The place Shōzō had come visiting at such a late hour was the residence of Kōtoku Denjirō, a journalist for Yorozu Chōhō. The gate was already firmly shut, but relying on lamplight leaking through second-floor storm shutters, he called out and knocked. Through Yorozu Chōhō’s longstanding publication of articles sympathetic to mining pollution issues and connections via Kishida Naoe and Ishikawa Hanzan of Mainichi Shimbun, Shōzō had already become acquainted with him. Even so, this late-night visit seemed far too abrupt for a spontaneous impulse. No—this had been firmly planned deep within Shōzō’s heart; circumstances pressing urgently that night concealed reasons permitting no hesitation.

Kōtoku, suspicious of Shōzō’s unexpected visit, courteously ushered him up to the second-floor study. He flipped over a zabuton cushion and offered it, stirred the buried embers in the brazier, and they sat facing each other. The thin, slight-framed Kōtoku—his profile taut with nerves under the dim lamplight—gazed at Shōzō’s face, more haggard than when they had last met, and waited quietly for the substantive discussion to begin. Shōzō soon started speaking about the hardships he faced regarding the mining pollution issue. Placing his hand on his black silk crepe hakama, he maintained a courteous attitude toward Kōtoku, who was less than half his age. At this time, Kōtoku was still just a young man of thirty-one.

Before long, Shōzō’s expression grew grave, and he restlessly glanced back toward the staircase.

“This is something that would be problematic if anyone overheard...” He appeared deeply concerned. “There’s no need for concern.” “Those downstairs are already asleep.” Shōzō silently nodded in response. Nevertheless, he still lowered his voice of his own accord, leaned forward, and began to speak while gazing into Kōtoku’s eyes. “I am a great criminal against society.” “I could not save the pollution victims; instead, I ended up creating a nest of demons.” “I have brought Japan to national ruin.” “Now there remains no path but to subject myself to severe punishment.” “Here remains the last and only path.” “That is to say—to offer back this life, this very self, to the nation that gave me life.” “After all, this life was never mine to begin with—it belongs to the public—so this is only natural, but…”

Having said this, Shōzō disclosed that the day to abandon himself was fast approaching—tomorrow. The profound sincerity born of his wholehearted resolve overflowed across his face. Kōtoku felt as if the lamplight had momentarily changed hue, clutching at his thin ribs with the hand tucked against his chest. Though the gravity of the matter pressed urgently before him and he tried to interject sternly, Shōzō gave him no opening. “Therefore, unlike my own circumstances, there must be no oversights in the text. Yet preparing it long in advance risks leaks. This is why I’ve come tonight—counting on your character and skill as a writer—to make this unavoidable request. A document penned by one such as myself, unversed in civilized etiquette, would inevitably contain flaws. I must trouble you for your revisions—this conviction has taken root in my heart. Please take pity on my sincere feelings, weigh the circumstances, and grant me your consent. Say yes. No—having come this far, even if refused, I shall not retreat. I’ll cause you no inconvenience. No—no—of course you’re not one swayed by such petty concerns as inconvenience.” He caught himself. “That was poorly phrased. I implore you—I beg this of you with my whole being.”

Shōzō solemnly bowed deeply. Kōtoku finally found an opening to interject,

“I’m afraid I simply cannot agree to that particular point...”

Kōtoku had finally regained his usual composure. Yet his tone carried the vehemence of one compelled to offer remonstrance. No matter what was said to him, Shōzō remained obstinate and refused to accept it. Declaring that everything was part of his resolve, he refused to accept anything at all. Kōtoku, having resigned himself to the futility of any further words, continued to stare fixedly at the charcoal fire in the brazier.

The north wind shook the tall trees of the neighboring estate and blew down to the eaves. The storm shutters rattled as if hands from outside were pushing against them. Kōtoku’s hand gripping the fire tongs trembled faintly as he looked back at Shōzō with a grave expression. Shōzō sat despondent with head bowed. The knee of his hakama showed a damp stain where tears had fallen. Tears glistened in Kōtoku’s eyes too. Reason demanded he refuse outright. But faced with this aged body wearied by years of struggle, he could not force out the words “I refuse.”

Kōtoku sent Shōzō off while stepping on fallen leaves and closed the gate. He returned to the second floor, added kerosene to the lamp, and immediately sat down at the desk to begin editing the draft Shōzō had left. After painstakingly revising throughout all sections, rewriting, and completing the fair copy on five sheets of Mino paper, dawn had already broken. After attaching a single sheet of blank paper as a cover and binding it with a paper string, he placed it in his pocket and went to visit Shōzō at the Shibaguchi Inn.

That morning, Shōzō woke at six and, with an air of nonchalance, gave orders to the still-sleepy-faced maid. "I have to go out, so make the meal quickly."

He had returned late the previous night, so he had been unable to make arrangements for that morning’s matters. But he was pressed for time and could not wait for the rice to cook. He had her prepare rice with tea and shoveled a single bowlful into his mouth with his own hands. Kōtoku arrived shortly after, and Shōzō had already finished dressing and sat upright waiting. As Kōtoku silently handed over the paper-wrapped package, Shōzō silently accepted it, tucked it deep into his kimono folds, exchanged a meaningful look, and stood up. Kōtoku rose immediately and followed Shōzō with unease. The corridor’s cold seeped through his soles into his heart. Shōzō draped himself in a threadbare overcoat at the entrance, donned the black top hat recently gifted by Suto Tadaichirō, and climbed into the waiting rickshaw. Rickshawman Yasakichi, unaware of his regular passenger’s grave mission that day, casually lifted the shaft. Kōtoku stood alone watching Shōzō’s receding figure—arms crossed, silently swaying in the carriage—for what felt like an eternity. His chest tightened under emotions sharper than pity or sympathy.

Around the Diet building, pedestrian traffic remained sparse, and within the grounds, only a handful of rickshaws could be seen arriving. Though fully aware the hour was too early, Shōzō nonetheless breathed a sigh of relief and directed the rickshaw into the House of Representatives Chairman's official residence. As it was the opening ceremony day, the chairman's residence stood empty and silent. Shōzō notified an attendant he recognized and entered the reception room whose layout he knew well. After closing the door and settling into a chair, he retrieved from his breast pocket the paper-wrapped bundle he had received earlier and quietly unfolded it. Engrossed in silent reading before he realized it, he continued through to the end with tears glistening in his eyes.

“What a sharp mind.” Shōzō murmured inwardly and lifted his head. To be truthful, he had returned home the previous night harboring secret anxieties. As he had earnestly described the mining region’s devastation—its history and desperate need for resolution—Kōtoku listened with one hand buried in his pocket and the other restlessly stirring ashes with fire tongs. Kōtoku had only responded with occasional noncommittal grunts through his nose, leaving Shōzō deeply uncertain whether his words had truly registered. Though he had left his draft behind and trusted in Kōtoku’s literary skill, that very point had filled him with unease. Now, reading through it, he found his intentions thoroughly grasped and expressed in masterfully crafted prose. Admiring the work, Shōzō retrieved his writing kit and inscribed “Respectfully Submitted” in bold characters at the cover’s center. He then wrote “Tanaka Shōzō” to its left and pressed a round vermilion seal beneath the character 造 in his name. Yet when he finished signing, an unsettled feeling lingered—as though wearing ill-fitting borrowed robes.

A text has a life and character of its own. There were passages that did not align with his fervor. In any case, he had to correct any points where facts had been distorted for the sake of context. With that thought, Shōzō gripped his brush and began scrutinizing each phrase and character from the beginning. “I, Tanaka Shōzō, a humble subject of no consequence from the wilds, in fearful reverence and kowtowing repeatedly, most respectfully submit this petition. Humbly considering that I, a mere rustic subject from the fields, dare to overstep regulations and breach laws to approach the Imperial Carriage—this crime truly merits ten thousand deaths. Yet the reason I dare to do this is that there truly exists—in my efforts for the nation and its people—a single-minded resolve which ultimately could not be restrained. Humbly beseeching that Your Majesty, in your profound benevolence and mercy, might take pity upon my mad folly and deign to cast but a glance upon this petition in the late-night hours.”

Shōzō drew a vertical line through the character for "mad" in "mad folly," wrote "utmost" beside it, stamped his seal, and moved to the next section. "Humbly considering: Forty ri north of Tokyo lies the Ashio Copper Mine, where toxic waters and waste produced during mineral extraction and smelting have long filled ravines, flowed into streams, rushed down the Watarase River, leaving no stretch of its banks unharmed. As mining operations expanded ever further, their toxic discharge grew increasingly voluminous; compounded by years of reckless deforestation that turned water sources into barren red earth, the riverbeds became drastically altered, floods occurring frequently. Poisonous flows spread in all directions, with toxic waste permeating areas across Ibaraki, Tochigi, Gunma, and Saitama prefectures and their downstream lands reaching tens of thousands of chōbu*. Fish perished en masse, farmlands lay ruined, and hundreds of thousands of people lost their livelihoods and occupations—starving without food, ailing without medicine. The elderly and children were left to perish in ditches while the able-bodied abandoned their homes to wander displaced in foreign lands. Thus did fertile fields and rich soil from twenty years past become a wilderness of utter devastation as far as the eye could see—a barren expanse of yellow miscanthus and white reeds."

Shōzō inserted “in recent years, as Western-style machinery in mining has developed, its toxic discharge has grown increasingly voluminous” below “the Ashio Copper Mine exists,” deleted “for a long time,” and struck out the subsequent passage beginning with “as the mining industry increasingly.” He struck out everything from “voluminous” onwards. He changed “the riverbed changed” to “the riverbed underwent drastic changes,” deleted “suddenly reached,” revised it to “with water levels rising several feet,” and altered “toxic debris” to “toxic residue.” Furthermore, upon rereading “the people have lost their livelihoods,” he wrote, “The mining pollution-affected areas are vast. Some have lost their livelihoods while others have not reached that extremity. There are places reduced to devastated wastelands and others not yet so ruined.” “I mustn’t lie,” he muttered inwardly as he added the lines with his brush.

“Among the people are those who have lost their livelihoods, those who have lost their sustenance; there are those separated from their occupations who starve without food and sicken without medicine—and now there are those places that have become a devastated wasteland as far as the eye can see, overgrown with yellow miscanthus and white reeds.” Shōzō had a habit of forgetting time, place, and all surrounding circumstances once he immersed himself in a task. The revisions showed no sign of nearing completion. At this moment particularly, Shōzō was pouring his entire spirit and soul into this single matter.

With a clatter, the door flew open, and the attendant thrust his face into the room. He had come to inform him about what had been requested earlier. “His Majesty will be passing through shortly.” Shōzō snapped back to his senses, hastily tucked the petition into his pocket, and immediately rushed out into the corridor.

In the latter part of the petition document, “Having long witnessed how mining pollution’s calamity spreads endlessly and how the people’s anguish reaches its extremity, I am so distressed I know not where to place my hands and feet. When first elected to the House of Representatives years past, during the Second Diet session I formally questioned the government; these ten years since have seen me clamor in assembly halls for rescue measures. Yet government authorities ever cloak their words in ambiguity, implementing no fitting remedy. Those entrusted with local governance remain complacent, unrepentant. When destitute masses rise pleading for protection, officials dispatch police to crush them—even falsely branding petitioners violent insurgents to cast into prisons. This plague now drains tens of thousands of yen from state coffers yearly, strips countless citizens of rights, reduces municipal governance to ruin, and swells yearly the toll of those perishing from want, sickness, and poison.”

and expounded on the traces of bitter struggles and the reach of mining pollution’s devastation, “Humbly considering: Your Majesty, with exceptional qualities unmatched through generations, has succeeded to the glorious achievements of ancestral sovereigns—Your virtue overflows across the Four Seas, Your authority extends throughout the Eight Corners, and hundreds of millions sing praises to this era of peace.” Yet not far beneath the imperial carriage, hundreds of thousands of destitute people with no one to appeal to are seen vainly hoping for the benevolence of rain and dew as they wail to the heavens. Ah, can this not be called a stain upon this sacred era? And indeed, the responsibility lies in the negligence and dereliction of duty by the government authorities; above, they obscure Your Majesty’s wisdom, and below, they do not hold the welfare of the nation’s people in regard. Ah, are not the lands of these four prefectures part of Your Majesty’s household? Are not the people of these four prefectures children of Your Majesty? "The government authorities have plunged Your Majesty’s lands and people into such dire straits through their actions without reflection—this is something I cannot remain silent about."

Having thus censured the government’s inaction and appealed to Your Majesty’s wisdom, he proceeded to outline measures for relief: “Humbly considering: There exists no other path than compelling the government authorities to fully fulfill their responsibilities, thereby causing Your Majesty’s children to be illuminated by the grace of sun and moon. Cleansing the water source of the Watarase River is the first measure. The second measure is to repair the riverbed and restore it to its natural state. The third measure is to remove the most severely contaminated soil. Restoring the immeasurable natural resources of the marshlands is the fourth measure. Restoring the decayed towns and villages is the fifth measure. Halting the poisoning mining industry and eradicating the outflow of toxic water and waste is the sixth measure. Thus shall we save the lives of hundreds of thousands of living beings; restore the foundations for habitation and inheritance; halt the depletion of their population; and through proper implementation of our Japanese Constitution and laws, ensure that each retains their rights—furthermore severing the loss of immeasurable power and wealth that forms the foundation of our nation's future. If this is not done and the toxic waters are left to flow unchecked for long, I fear that the reach of their calamity will become immeasurable in the future.”

The conclusion was once again marked by words of utmost sorrow as follows. "I am sixty-one years of age, and old age and illness press upon me daily; in truth, my remaining days are few. Hoping only for the slightest chance to repay my debt, I dare not calculate gain or loss for my own person; therefore, I risk the severest punishment to make this appeal, my emotions so overwhelming that through tears, I know not what to say. Humbly beseeching that Your Imperial Wisdom might deign to bestow compassionate consideration. I can no longer contain my anguished cries. A humble subject from among the grasses and thickets, Tanaka Shōzō, in utmost reverence and fear, kowtows again and again."

The imperial procession returning from the Diet opening ceremony passed before the gates of the House of Peers, turned right, and proceeded solemnly along the main avenue to the right side of the House of Representatives Chairman’s official residence. It was 11:20 a.m. The spectators lining both sides of the broad avenue suddenly held their breath, stifled coughs, and fell silent. As their faces tensed and hardened under the winter sun, the clatter of hooves soon began to echo. The honor guard’s red and white spear flags appeared like a flock of birds taking wing. Deepest bows rippled through the human wall from head to head. The crunch of wheels grinding gravel rumbled beneath the clattering hooves, signaling the imperial carriage’s imminent approach. It happened then. From among the spectators before the official residence, an old man suddenly flung off the coat tucked under his left arm and burst forward. Dressed in a black cotton-padded kimono beneath a black haori bearing five large family crests, with black hakama trousers and split-toe socks but bare feet, he advanced two or three paces before the crowd could even gasp.

“I have a request.” Clutching the paper bundle he had pulled from his breast pocket high in his right hand, desperately repeating the same plea three or four times, he strained toward the imperial carriage. There could be no doubt—this was Tanaka Shōzō himself. But by then, the imperial carriage had already advanced three or four ken beyond Shōzō’s reach. The moment Cavalry Sergeant Major Ichiiji Suemori of the rear guard spotted this disturbance, he wheeled his mount about and charged forward, lance leveled to block Shōzō’s path. Yet as someone tried to cut across Shōzō’s front in that critical instant—whether through mishap or miscalculation—the long lance flashed through empty air. The horse crashed sideways with a thunderous impact, flinging the sergeant major a full two ken ahead. Immediately, two policemen from the Kōjimachi Station guard detail rushed in to seize Shōzō. During the scuffle, Police Chief Murajima of Kōjimachi Station arrived at a run, and together the three men finally pinned down the thrashing activist.

The imperial procession remained wholly unaffected by this disturbance and returned unscathed to the palace. Through the clamoring throng of astonished spectators, Shōzō was led by police officers to the Toranomon police box for initial processing. He first received a bowl of water which he drained completely, then composed himself to answer questions regarding his address and full name. Subsequently, he was transported by rickshaw under guard to Kōjimachi Police Station.

At that very moment, an unfamiliar man in Western clothes came running into Etchūya in Shibaguchi and began shouting loudly from the entrance.

“It’s terrible! It’s terrible! Is there no one from the office here? Mr. Tanaka has made a direct appeal!” Sabe and Sudō came running out into the corridor, their faces pale. “Mr. Tanaka—what happened?” They asked breathlessly in unison. However, the man’s answer was simply that he had apparently been surrounded by a large number of police officers and taken to the station. They didn’t even know which police station he had been taken to. The people gathered there could only exchange uneasy glances and sigh at the gravity of the situation.

Before long, word arrived that Shōzō had been taken to Kōjimachi Police Station.

At Etchūya, they began bustling about with boxed meals and blankets. Sabe rushed to Kōjimachi Police Station. Though unspoken, every face wore a sorrowful look, convinced Shōzō would never return alive. Even the two maidservants Haru and Kide came to peek into Shōzō’s vacant room between tasks, pressing their aprons to their faces as they wept. Upon hearing of the incident, old acquaintances and new, lawyers, newspaper reporters, and even strangers—regardless of relation—came one after another to Etchūya’s entrance inquiring about developments with concern, and the commotion there continued unabated until midnight.

Then late that night, Shōzō was released without incident and returned to Etchūya. The people who had gathered with bowed heads, repeating nothing but aimless conjectures and speculations while sighing, unexpectedly saw Shōzō unharmed; letting out sighs of relief as their worried expressions eased, they guided him into the parlor as if carrying him in their arms. With a stern expression that seemed angry and having grown slightly more reticent, Shōzō's demeanor showed little difference from his usual state.

“We are most relieved to see you safe and sound.” “We truly didn’t know what would become of things.” As the voices around him offered their greetings, Shōzō listened with deep emotion, but “I thought to remove the weeds that had grown along the path to His Majesty’s side, but…” he murmured. Then, after another pause, “It’s strange I wasn’t killed. When I left this morning, I had no intention of returning alive…”

With that, he let out a deep sigh. His eyes were shrouded in somber light.

The next morning's newspapers gave prominent coverage to the incident's details while reporting that Home Minister Uchiumi—who had long been bedridden—had immediately pushed through his illness yesterday to attend court and pay respects to the Emperor's well-being; they also published the full text of Shōzō's petition. In any case, this incident shocked both government officials and ordinary citizens alike. Given both the extraordinary nature of the incident and its profound impact, public opinion became sharply divided regarding Shōzō’s actions—some dismissed it as merely an eccentric episode consistent with Tanaka Shōzō’s usual temperament, permissible through his display of utmost reverence toward the imperial household; others insisted it should be immediately deemed lèse-majesté without examining whether it stemmed from wholly benevolent intentions. Even regarding Shōzō’s unexpectedly swift release without charges, rumors spread that he had been deemed a madman like past offenders of imperial disrespect, while others spoke in hushed tones as if conveying confidential information: “His Majesty reportedly stated, ‘Tanaka simply erred in location.’” It remained true that authorities had engaged in extensive debate—while Shōzō undeniably lacked both the qualifications to submit direct appeals and chose an improper venue, they ultimately concluded it could hardly be recognized as constituting lèse-majesté under criminal law. The February 12th editorial in the Yorozu Chōhō Newspaper represented the sympathetic faction of public discourse.

"We believe that when human life reaches this extremity, there remains no recourse but to appeal to heaven and to the gods and buddhas. Fortunately, we the people of our nation revere the most benevolent and merciful Imperial Household. That one would weep to the vast heavens and ultimately resort to a direct appeal to His Majesty the Emperor—this truly embodies the deepest sincerity of we Japanese subjects. This is indeed what makes Japan Japan—the relationship between the benevolent Imperial Household and its loyal subjects being precisely of this nature. What Tanaka did was precisely such an act; his heartfelt intentions warrant compassion rather than censure, grief rather than anger. Indeed—what is there to criticize?"

Shōzō shut himself in a room at Etchūya and devoted himself solely to seclusion. Upon learning of Shōzō’s release, friends, acquaintances, and concerned supporters came in an unending stream to visit him. However, Shōzō seemed disinclined to speak much about the incident. “Though my efforts have been defeated, if even a fragment of my utmost sincerity has reached His Majesty’s ears, it is truly a most grateful outcome.” He merely said this and showed a composure that suggested he could console himself. Depending on the person he was speaking to,

“If I had merely wanted to submit a document to His Majesty’s hands, there were plenty of good opportunities. If I had done it during the Diet’s opening ceremony, it would have been a simple matter. However, for one in the position of a Diet member to have done such a thing would be to insult the duties of that office…” With that, he also let slip something of the depth and foresight of the preparations he had secretly been considering. But when people mentioned that the government’s measures had been unexpectedly lenient, Shōzō’s face immediately twisted into gloom.

“The government bastards have treated this Tanaka Shōzō as a madman or something.” His tone was that of one utterly unable to contain his bitter indignation.

Several days later on the 18th, taking advantage of Mada villagers stopping by the inn, Shōzō sent his first letter since the direct appeal to his elderly wife and child, who were staying in the same village engaged in refugee relief and consolation visits.

"I have sent a letter to Mr. Kuroda Ushimatsu of Mada on the occasion of his return to the village." On the tenth day past due to having committed an act of great presumption,I have since been living in seclusion; I humbly request your understanding of this matter. However，this seclusion was not ordered by the authorities;it stems solely from my own volition. Moreover，Shōzō is henceforth no longer a man who belongs to this world. He was one who should have met his end on that tenth day. That he lives today constitutes an error;it truly arises from unavoidable circumstances. Had none among the cavalrymen fallen from their horses that day，this error would not exist,and matters would have reached an incomparable state benefiting both high and low;yet unfortunately,due to his feeble legs，he has humbly remained unharmed until now. This error must stem entirely from there having been someone who fell from their horse—so does Shōzō humbly consider.

Today, Mrs. Shioda and other ladies have come to Takayama; they are expected to stay for one or two nights—truly a most gracious occurrence. Among those who had entered the hospital, one woman has recovered and, along with the child, returned to the village today. Also today, Mr. Kuroda of Mada arrived bringing two children. However, two out of fourteen people were ordered to return to the village on grounds that their conduct was unsatisfactory and their household circumstances deemed passable. Hereafter, though it will be truly trying, I humbly request that you devote particular care to tending solely to the children. Furthermore, I must speak to ensure that the people of each village all keep their hearts on the path of virtue and sincerely care for one another to the utmost of their abilities. The profound compassion of the Tokyo women’s group is truly, truly akin to that of a heavenly father and mother. I remain deeply and profoundly grateful.

If your condition should worsen—even should you summon doctors from Fujioka or Koga—have them focus their visits on Ebisemura, Shimomiya, Yamaguchi, and Soko-dani, taking care not to let them range too widely. For Mada and Yamaguchi in particular, you must visit daily when possible, gradually informing them about developments with the Tokyo women’s group and the plight of those suffering in the village. The whole village lives in peace and harmony now, united without envy or slander; they speak of upholding rights and valuing time’s preciousness. I too devote myself to praying single-mindedly to heaven and must teach others to do likewise.

If my current physical condition is well, you should rest assured. Many necessary people have come, keeping me occupied from morning until evening. For this reason, my mind has suffered. Though it is nothing of great concern. "The aforementioned matter regarding Mr. Kuroda’s return to the village: I have sent a brief message."

As a result of Shōzō’s direct appeal delivering such a profound shock to society, the activities of the Mining Pollution Relief Women’s Association evoked a response greater than anticipated. The daily speech meetings each succeeded in drawing crowds that overflowed the halls every time they were held. Furthermore, from this Women’s Relief Association’s movement emerged an entirely new initiative. Students from Tokyo Imperial University and over thirty schools in the capital used their year-end vacation to travel en masse to inspect the mining pollution-affected areas, subsequently appealing to passersby through street-corner speeches where they shared what they had witnessed and learned.

(End)