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I got another chance to write an article for Connect! This time, I decided to write about Christianity in Japan, and its influence. This was a particularly long article, so I’ve split it into two parts. The first part revolves mostly around my perception of Japanese Christians, and my interview with a Japanese Christian. The second half focuses on the history of the religion of Japan. I found this so fascinating to research, and even though I still have very complicated feelings regarding Christianity, I do have a profound respect for people who still practice it, especially in those who endured through difficult times. 

In Jesus’ Name, (R)Amen- Kaedama!!: Japan’s Dark History With Christianity

Christianity’s impact on Japanese culture is… debatable. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely there, but sometimes, it can be hard to clock. Traditions for Christian holidays like Christmas have changed to fit Japanese tastes past the point of recognition for most foreigners (“Christmas is Kentucky”, anyone?), and the aesthetics of Christianity seem to be embraced rather than for its ideologies. Previously, I discussed how the religion has permeated Japanese culture, as well as interviewing a Japanese Christian to learn more about contemporary Japanese views of Christianity. Through the interview, I could better understand not only Japan’s image of Christianity, but also how Japan viewed religion in general, and I hope some readers were able to, too.

But, the one thing I still didn’t really understand was why only 2% of the population identifies as Christian. It had been around in Japan since the mid-1500s, (almost 500 years!) and I knew that there were incidents like the 26 Martyrs, but that had happened 1597! What happened between then and now for Christianity’s growth in Japan to be so stunted? I took to the books, Internet, and articles, and as it turns out, Japan’s history with Christianity was far darker than I realized. 

It all started out happily enough. After Portuguese traders, Antonio de Mota and Francisco Zeimoto, accidentally landed on Japan’s shores in 1543, the first Christian missionaries sailed from Portugal to Japan in 1549 and began working. Spearheading the effort was Francis Xavier, a Jesuit monk. Though evangelizing the Japanese people was the main goal, the Portuguese were keenly aware that establishing Christianity in Japan could help expand their trading territory further, and with that, the race to convert (and earn money) was on.

Unfortunately, initial efforts weren’t one hundred percent successful. In addition to the language barrier, missionaries had a hard time explaining Christianity to the Japanese, who questioned how a God who created everything, including evil, could be good. Most were indifferent, and tolerated the missionaries at best. Oda Nobunaga, the most powerful warlord at the time, supported their activities, but never converted nor pushed policies to further their work. Still, the missionaries managed to catch the attention of powerful people who wanted in on the trade and commerce they brought. 

Shrewd shoguns gave some missionaries license to practice and teach in their territories in exchange for access to foreign goods, like silk and porcelain. Japanese people were seriously craving Chinese goods because China had stopped trading with Japan after pirate attacks, and Portuguese missionaries took the opportunity to motivate people to convert. Some daimyos even voluntarily converted so Portuguese traders would be more willing to trade with them. Seeing Portugal’s success, Spain eventually joined in too, sending over Franciscan monks to Japan. Slowly, but steadily, the Christian movement spread across Kyushu and Western Japan, reaching around 200,000 members by 1582. 

Alas, missionaries’ progress slowed down when Japan was reunified under Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who feared the growing influence of foreigners in Japan. Hideyoshi’s suspiscions weren’t exactly unwarranted, either; much to his horror, Hideyoshi discovered that the Portuguese were purchasing Japanese people for the slave trade, and found foreigners’ disdain for Buddhist traditions troubling. Things came to a head after the San Felipe incident of 1596, when the Spanish trade ship, the San Felipe, crashed into Shikoku and was ransacked by the daimyo of the area. 

To maintain diplomatic relations stable with Spain, Hideyoshi sent a representative to speak with the sailors of the San Felipe (up to this point, Hideyoshi had tolerated Christians, albeit with some side-eye). The following meeting proved to be a disaster, however, and the representative reported back what he understood from their conversation: that the influx of Christian missionaries in Japan was, in fact, phase 1 of a bigger plan to conquer Japan as a Spanish colony, and if all went to plan, Spain would be sending in conquistadors to finish the job.

Though it’s up for debate whether or not this plan was real, Hideyoshi was furious, and fearing loss of his power, he quickly issued an edict to remove all Christians from Japan swiftly. To discourage further converts, the warlord ordered the torture and execution of 26 Catholics, later known as the 26 Martyrs of Japan (remember them?). Unfortunately, their deaths were just the beginning, and over the next few decades, more than 200 Christians were executed, with many others persecuted for their faith.  

Things went from bad to worse in 1637, under Tokugawa Ieyasu’s  reign, when 16 year old (!) Amakusa Shiro led the Shimabara Rebellion against the current rulers. Many of the rebels, including Shiro, were Catholic, and had originally joined forces to fight against strict Christian persecution. The rebellion’s eventual failure, however, caused the deaths of an estimated 37,000 insurgents and instigated an even more serious crackdown on Christian activities. Those suspected of practicing Christianity were captured and could be tortured until they denounced the religion, or even executed.

One interrogation method was using a fumi-e (literally “stepping picture”). Authorities would order suspects to step on fumi-es, which were metal plates with pictures of Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary on them. Those who refused to step on them would then be branded as Christians and be forced to recant their faith or else be tortured (or executed). Countless others had land confiscated or reduced to utter poverty, and the rampant persecution forced Christians to go into hiding, thus beginning the era of the kakure kirishitan, or “hidden Christians”, who practiced their faith in secrecy. 

 These hidden Christians took great, ingenious lengths to disguise their religion. Besides physically hiding their activities, they disguised anything to do with Christianity; holy iconography was hidden in statues of the Buddha and his disciples, Latin prayers were changed to sound more like Buddhist chants, and all printed word was eliminated, with followers resorting to orally reciting the scripture instead. Christianity became a tradition that was passed down generations, and this system continued until the Christianity ban was finally lifted during the Meiji Era.

Of course, the road to religious freedom was not a fast one. It all started with America making trade agreements with Japan. As the number of foreigners began to increase, Japan and America passed the Treaty of Amity & Commerce in 1858, which only allowed Americans to practice their religion and establish places of worship. Around this time, the practice of using fumi-e to out Christians was abolished as well. Although they weren’t allowed to spread the religion, Christian clergymen began to pour into Japan, and 15 years later, in 1873, Japanese people were granted religious freedom, too. This didn’t mean Japanese Christians weren’t persecuted anymore, though. Christians were still considered a liability to the government, and politicians were concerned that Christians would be difficult to control or subdue. Even more damning was that many Christians did not recognize the divinity of the Emperor, and as the country began to colonize Asia, one of the opposing groups was, you guessed it, Christians! As nationalism started sweeping up Japan, Christians became seen as more and more of a disgrace to society. In other words, Japanese Christians were still very much considered “the other” in their own country, but it would only get worse when Japan entered World War II.

Like with colonization, Japanese Christians were strongly against the war, much to the ire of more patriotic neighbors. Accounts of Christians receiving less rations or even being taken away by special forces are ample, and it wasn’t much better in the army, either; Christian soldiers were blacklisted if they were discovered, and labelled as a risk to the regime. Those who disobeyed orders because of their faith were severely punished or tortured. 

The shift towards acceptance began once Japan surrendered and, more importantly, the Emperor renounced his divinity, a huge blow to national pride. Post-war Japan was a difficult landscape to navigate, and under General MacArthur’s project to suppress Japanese nationalism, Japan’s entire identity was changed or reevaluated. Traditions and values people had maintained for generations meant nothing when faced with hunger and violence in this new, unfamiliar environment that was once their home. Many turned to religion for solace, and with the large presence of foreigners, Christianity started to become a more widely accepted religion. 

In my interview, I was told that many Japanese people saw Christians as too moralistic, uncompromising, and soft. However, through my research for this article, I realized that, actually, Christians have been seen as rebels, insurgents, and in some ways, revolutionaries. They chose to embrace the unfamiliar over traditional Japanese values, and when they were ordered to disconnect from the foreign influence of the religion, they disobeyed and tried to preserve their faith as much as possible. For a country like Japan, whose people pride themselves in maintaining traditions for decades or even centuries, what the early Christians did was absolutely radical. There are many, many valid problems with organized religion, and I myself don’t identify as Christian anymore despite my upbringing, but I am awed by the sheer perseverance of the Japanese Christians. 

If you would like to learn more about Japanese Christians, you can find historically significant sights in Kyushu, like Oura Cathedral in Nagasaki, the oldest standing church in Japan. There are also several remote areas around Kyushu where kakure Christians practiced their faith in defiance of authority, such as Hirado island or the Goto islands.

I had a chance to write about a music artist I really love, and it will soon be published in Connect Magazine, which is a community driven project where expats living in Japan contribute articles about Japanese culture and everyday life. The issue my article will debut comes out in a few days. It is totally free to read and available online. Please enjoy below!

“I’m sorry,” Cosette tells him. “We’ll be by for the next movie night, I promise.”

  “It’s fine,” Enjolras assures her, but he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, glad that she can’t see him over the phone. “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  With his phone back in his pocket, Enjolras looks around at his living room. They have movie night once every fortnight, changing up the location from time to time, but since the apartment he shares with Combeferre is the largest they usually have it here. There are bowls of snacks laid out on the table, a collection of movies (carefully sorted through to make sure that none of the titles will start an argument, though arguments tend to be inevitable during movie night with everyone having completely different tastes) in a pile, blankets folded neatly on the edge of the sofa for anyone who chooses to sit on the floor.

And nearly everyone has cancelled. Joly and Bossuet stopped by earlier to tell him they couldn’t come. Éponine sent him a text earlier that said she, Bahorel and Feuilly were going to be busy. Cosette just called to let him know that she and Marius were having dinner with her father instead.

  Which leaves Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac. And Grantaire.

  There’s a knock at the door, and Enjolras starts toward it until Combeferre shoulders past him, wearing his winter jacket with a scarf wrapped around his neck. “Where are you going?” Enjolras demands, following after him.

  Combeferre gives him a look over his shoulder. “Dinner with Courf,” he says. “We’re trying out that new Italian place down the block.”

  “But it’s movie  night,” Enjolras reminds him as Combeferre pulls open the door.

  “Is it?” Courfeyrac asks. He stands on the other side of the door, wearing a scarf that almost matches Combeferre’s and a beanie over his hair. “We totally forgot, didn’t we ‘Ferre?”

  “Completely,” Combeferre says with a grin. “Sorry, Enjolras, but we’ve got reservations. We’ll be here for the next one.”

  “You and everyone else, apparently,” Enjolras says, but he isn’t mad. Just slightly irritated at being the only left without any plans. If he had known everyone was going to cancel he would have found something else to do. “Have fun. I’ll be here, watching movies by myself.”

  “Not by yourself.” Courfeyrac checks his phone. “R should be here any minute now.”

  Enjolras opens his mouth but Combeferre takes Courfeyrac’s arm and pulls him away, shutting the door behind them, leaving Enjolras standing there alone. Grantaire is the only one who hasn’t cancelled, which means he’ll be the only one here with Enjolras. Which means they’ll spend the night alone, together, watching movies on his couch like a— like a date, almost.

  Enjolras pulls out his phone again, bringing up Grantaire’s contact, and seriously considered telling him that movie night is cancelled. But he can’t find it in himself to type out the words, to send the text. Spending the night alone with Grantaire would be better than spending it alone by himself, wouldn’t it?

  And maybe, a small part of him says, it would be better than spending it with all their friends, too. Enjolras rarely listens to that part of himself; it’s better for his sanity if he doesn’t.

  Before he can make up his mind on whether or not he’s going to tell Grantaire not to come, there’s another knock at the door and the decision is made for him.

  “Brought drinks,” Grantaire says, holding up a bag with two bottles of Coke. “You made popcorn already, right? I’m starving.” Grantaire walks right into his apartment without being invited. “Where is everyone?”

  “Busy,” Enjolras says. He shuts the door and leans against it. “Everyone cancelled.”

  “Everyone cancelled,” Grantaire repeats. “Everyone?”

  “Even Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

  “Damn.” Grantaire tugs a hand through his messy hair and looks around the apartment, the colour in his cheeks either because of the cold outside or something else that Enjolras doesn’t want to dwell on. “Right. Should I go then?”

  Enjolras hesitates for only a moment. “No.” He pushes away from the door. “No, you might as well stay. I already have everything set up. It’d be a waste.” He holds out his hand for Grantaire’s bag. “I’ll get us drinks, you pick out what we’re going to watch. Movies are on the table.”

  “Okay,” Grantaire says softly. “I’ll— yeah, I’ll do that.”

  Enjolras leaves him behind, holding his breath until he gets to the kitchen, and then he lets it out in one long sigh. He should have sent Grantaire home and he knows it. He should have told him to turn around the moment he opened the door. But he hadn’t, and now here they are, and here Enjolras is, thrumming with anticipation like this is secretly what he wanted all along.

  Damn his friends for doing this to him.

  When Enjolras gets back to the living room, juggling two large drinks, Grantaire is standing there with his jacket and boots no longer on, holding up a DVD case with a bloodied man holding an axe on the front. “A horror movie? Really?”

  “I’ve seen all the rest,” Grantaire says defensively. “Shouldn’t have asked me to pick if you didn’t want to watch what I like.”

  Enjolras places the drinks on the table and takes the case. “I wasn’t complaining,” he says as he pops it into the DVD player. “Just surprised.”

  The movie starts up and Enjolras and Grantaire sit on opposite ends of the couch, as far from each other as possible. It’s awkward through the previews, with neither of them moving or speaking. Usually their friends are here to fill the silence, but with just the two of them it’s impossibly quiet.

  Enjolras leans forward to get his drink at the same time as Grantaire and their fingers brush until Grantaire jerks back, eyes wide. “Sorry,” Grantaire says quickly.

  “For what?”

  It could just be the flickering lights from the TV, but Enjolras could swear Grantaire’s cheeks were red. “For, um, picking a shitty movie,” he says. “This sucks.”

  It does. They’re ten minutes in and six people have already died, and now six more are driving towards an abandoned cabin in the woods that just so happens to belong to one character’s family even though no one has been out there in years. Predictable, Enjolras thinks, not to mention the fact that the acting is terrible.

  Almost an hour later Enjolras is rolling his eyes, muttering, “Idiot.”

  “Seriously,” Grantaire agrees. “Walking around in the woods alone at night. Really, what could go wrong there?”

  “Who dies first?” Enjolras asks. “Him or the couple having sex in the car?”

  “Oh, definitely him,” Grantaire says. “The girl hasn’t taken her top off yet. They can’t kill her until they’ve gotten her naked. Don’t you know how horror movies work?”

  “That’s horrible,” Enjolras states.

  “That’s the movie industry for you.”

  And, like predicted, the guy wandering the woods gets beheaded. The head hits the windshield of the car with the couple in it just as they both get naked, and then they’re screaming and running from the car as if the logical thing to do isn’t to use the keys, start the car and get out of there.

  Enjolras makes a face and looks away as another character dies in a particularly bloody, disgusting fashion.

  “Scared?” Grantaire teases.

  “Disgusted,” Enjolras corrects. “I’m turning it off.”

  Enjolras turns on the lights as he gets up, and when he looks back at Grantaire he’s getting out of his seat too, looking crestfallen. He gathers up his jacket, heads for the door, and Enjolras frowns at him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Um.” Grantaire leans heavily on one leg, looking awkward. “Home? Movie’s over, right?”

  “I have four more,” Enjolras points out.

  “You want me to stay?”

  “Of course.” The words are out before Enjolras even thinks them through, but he finds them to be completely genuine. “If you want to, that is.”

  “Yeah,” Grantaire says, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, I do.” He drops his jacket and flops onto the couch, taking up more room than before. “What are we watching?”

  They sit through the entire next movie without changing it, and once again Grantaire looks ready to leave and Enjolras puts on another one. Slowly they move closer together, sharing the bowl of popcorn between them until it’s empty and Grantaire puts it on the table, leaving only a sliver of space between them now.

  Enjolras is hyper-aware of the fact that Grantaire’s hand rests on the cushion between them, just lying there as if waiting for Enjolras to—

  “D’you think they did this on purpose?” Grantaire asks, eyes on the TV.

  “Did what?” If he moved his hand just a bit, they’d be touching. Does Grantaire want that, or would he jerk away again and make an excuse to leave?

  “Cancel on movie night so we were the only ones left,” Grantaire elaborates. “Do you think they did it on purpose?”

  “Why would they do that on purpose?”

  Grantaire raises his eyebrows pointedly. “To get us alone together.”

  “Why would they—” Enjolras knows damn well why they would do that. “Damn them.”

  “They think they’re sneaky,” Grantaire says. “They’re really, really not.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Enjolras agrees. “What did they think would happen? That we’d spend a few hours alone and suddenly be all over each other?”

  Grantaire forces a laugh. “Yeah, like that would happen.”

  They both pretend to focus on the movie after that, but Enjolras knows they aren’t. His hand moves closer to where Grantaire’s is still resting on the cushion until their fingers touch, and then he fits his into the spaces between Grantaire’s easily, like they were just waiting for him to do it.

  When Grantaire squeezes his hand, looking over at him out of the corners of his eyes, Enjolras says, “We can’t let them know it worked.”