‘Kyoto gaijin are different. Tokyo gaijin are there for money or sex. Kyoto gaijin are here for Zen, or lacquerware, or Heian poetry, or to learn shakuhachi. Nearly everyone plays shakuhachi!’ So began the absorbing talk by Richard Lloyd Parry at Ryukoku’s new stylish building on the Omiya campus, next to the World Heritage site of Nishi Honganji.
As is the case with many of us, Richard’s path to Japan had been a matter of chance and good fortune. In his case, particularly so. At the age of 16 he won a trip to Japan on a tv show. After studying English Literature at Oxford, he got into freelance journalism before being sent to Japan by The Independent. It was 1995 and the end of the postwar expansion period – The Hanshin earthquake, the Sarin attack, the consequences of the bursting of the bubble. Seven years after arriving Richard was offered a job with the world’s oldest surviving newspaper, The Times.
What does he like about his job? Variety, diversity, travel, investigation, the research, the unpredictability; ‘Above all, I like writing,’ he concluded. His career had taken him to some dangerous places too – wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, East Timor and Kosovo. Conflict with Japan’s ultra-rightists too. He appeared to have a remarkable sang-froid.
As for his books, he noted that journalists often turn to longer works because articles are so limiting. Typically there are just 700 words to play with. With such tight limitations, it’s impossible to do a subject justice. Compared to journalism, book writing was a different style of writing altogether, much like running 100 meter dash compared to a marathon. Whereas cliché was the friend of the journalist; book writers had to take more care. It meant that he’d taken time off – unpaid – in order to write his books. As well as one about Indonesia, there were two best-sellers about Japan – People Who Eat Darkness (2012) and Ghosts of the Tsunami (2018).
The first of the books concerned the murder of a young English hostess, Lucie Blackman, which was an unusual case in many ways, particularly in terms of the psychology of the killer and the trial which he faced. Japanese police are excellent in many respects, but in terms of police procedural and collecting evidence they do not excel. In this case they emerged with great discredit. The second of the books was sparked by the aftermath of the Tohoku tsunami and the remarkable dignity of survivors. No squabbling or self-pity, but self-discipline, generosity and collaboration. It was not just the best of Japan, but the best of humanity.
The book he wrote of his experiences in Tohoku centred around a primary school where 74 schoolchildren had perished – the whole school except for four children and one teacher. As it turned out, the children had died unnecessarily and a cover-up had taken place, raising questions about responsbiity, preventative measures and the Japanese justice system.
It turned out that the books were not so much investigations of crimes, as enlightening enquiries into the nature of Japanese society. Richard let slip that he’s presently contemplating another book though he was reluctant to divulge what the subject matter might be. There were a lot of people in the audience who will be eagerly awaiting the day the book comes out.
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