Your new book examines the paradox of the global diffusion of universal human rights. Could you explain this paradox and its origins?

The main paradox here is that states have unwittingly promoted universal human rights to a near-sacred status when these principles do nothing but constrain their sovereignty. I should note that throughout the history of human rights, it was civil society that pressed states hard to establish human rights and limit their arbitrary exercise of power. Gradually, civil society actors expanded their vision of rights-holders such that it’s not just Christians, whites, and men but also non-Christians, non-whites, and women who are seen as deserving of rights, and that universe of obligations expanded to include all humanity by the time of the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. States resisted this process every step of the way but had to make concessions to legitimize their authority and, in the era of World Wars, to mobilize the public toward war efforts. When women contributed to domestic mobilization for World War I in Europe or when Black people contributed to World War II in the United States, the governments’ arguments for discriminatory treatments against them began to lose legitimacy.

Then, as many human rights treaties emerged since the 1960s, states across the globe ratified these treaties in droves, often to deflect criticisms against their domestic human rights practices. The Cold War context gave them a false sense of security, as they thought that these treaties are toothless and if anything happens, either the United States or the Soviet Union would protect them from serious sanctions. This may have been an accurate calculation at the time, but the large number of states parties to these treaties elevated the legitimacy of human rights norms enshrined in these treaties, making human rights a near orthodoxy.

The end of the Cold War enabled the United Nations to engage in human rights activities free from Cold War constraints, and now those states that committed to human rights without thinking about the consequences have to face a world in which their violations can become a real liability for them, a world that they helped create with their empty promises for human rights. All these miscalculations by states constitute this paradox, what I have called in a co-authored paper the paradox of empty promises.

What is your assessment of the efficacy of international human rights instruments and human rights diplomacy in the 21st century? Have some strategies been more effective than others in improving human rights practices?

If you look at the history of international human rights instruments in the post-World War II era, it is fairly clear that those instruments are often powerless when powerful states — permanent members of the UN Security Council — are not willing to act. The international community has repeatedly failed to stop major human rights violations, even universally condemned crimes like genocide, by these powerful states and their allies and protectorates. The international human rights regime’s track record for large-scale, intense human rights violations is not good.

On the other hand, international human rights instruments have been effective in making incremental improvements when sustained campaigns of naming and shaming can be mounted. These changes take a long time and do not necessarily result in dramatic improvements, but all over the world, indigenous peoples have gained more rights, women have voted in more countries than ever, and extreme poverty has declined. International human rights treaties and institutions have been instrumental in bringing about these changes and their contributions should be acknowledged, although we should be aware that there is always the potential for backlashes against all the progress. 

How has Japan been involved in international human rights? How do human rights diplomacy and education in Japan compare with world standards?

Japan’s first international statement that can be seen as a contribution to human rights may have been the proposal to include a racial equality clause at the 1919 Paris Peace Conference. As the only non-white major power, it was an important proposal, even if it was made for its own strategic calculations, and minority groups all over the world, including Black people in the United States, applauded it. It did not pass, unfortunately, and the disillusionment contributed to Japan’s aggressive behavior in Asia after this period.

In the post-World War II period, Japan had an engagement policy, which meant that it would prioritize communication with rights-violating regimes rather than condemn and impose sanctions on them. This was often criticized by the human rights community, as Japan engaged with apartheid South Africa, Myanmar’s military regime, and post-Tiananmen Square China. Over the last decade or so, more politicians and diplomats have been interested in moving Japan toward values diplomacy, largely in an effort to counter China. Some of them have been vocal in criticizing China and North Korea for their human rights violations, and this momentum might spill over to a fuller commitment to human rights diplomacy that has eluded Japan.

Japan’s human rights diplomacy is still emerging for the most part, but it has been a relatively good listener to criticisms about its human rights violations. Primarily because of pressures from UN human rights instruments, Japan has acknowledged Ainu as an indigenous people and promoted their culture, accorded more rights to resident Koreans in Japan, compensated victims of discrimination against leprosy patients, and addressed inequality in legally marriageable ages between men and women.

How do you think Japan will contribute to the future of international human rights? Do you believe that Japan may play a larger role in advancing human rights on a global scale?

Japan has an opportunity to become a leader in human rights in Asia and in the world. The more inwardly oriented United States is creating a vacuum in promotion and protection of liberal values, especially with China’s influence surging, and Japan should carry the torch taking the mantle of human rights, democracy, and rule of law. Japan is the largest contributor to the budget of the International Criminal Court, which prosecutes individuals responsible for major human rights violations, and it is an interesting symbolic example of Japan’s potential contributions to international human rights. That budget is allocated according to national wealth, and the two richer countries, the United States and China, are not members of the ICC, so Japan becomes the largest contributor. This could be a dynamic that plays out in other areas, and Japan should embrace that role of becoming the biggest contributor to international human rights efforts.

What did you find surprising as you were researching your book?

When Japan made the aforementioned proposal for racial equality in 1919 at the Paris Peace Conference, it received majority support and was about to be adopted. It was U.S. President Wilson who nixed this clause, making the argument that such an important resolution requires unanimous support. We tend to think of President Wilson as an architect of the League of Nations at the Conference, and although that might be true, his role in this episode might be indicative of his thinking around the issues of race.

Kouji Yamada (MBA, Harvard), former Visiting Lecturer, Hitotsubashi University Graduate School of International Corporate Strategy, is an advisor to Stanford e-Hiroshima. His parents, Ryuji and Nanako, are supporters of Stanford e-Hiroshima, which is an online course that SPICE offers to high school students in Hiroshima. Taught by Rylan Sekiguchi, Stanford e-Hiroshima was launched in 2019 with the support of the Hiroshima Prefectural Board of Education. SPICE is grateful to Governor Hidehiko Yuzaki for his vision and leadership and Superintendent Rie Hirakawa for her unwavering support.

Ryuji Yamada adjusts the window shades to savor the view that grows elusive to his aging eyes. If you gaze towards Diamond Head from the Yamadas’ condominium, kite surfers glide in and out of your perspective in some random Brownian motion; their paths, pace, and direction seem chaotic. They all share the same wind, waves, and current, but the skill of the rider to look ahead and channel the energies around them sends them on very different and wonderful journeys. 

“I was just 14 living in Hiroshima and still a minor when the bomb dropped. My brother was only one year older but considered an adult and was sent on work detail for defense preparations. He had to walk through ground zero to come home. My father had a meeting at City Hall, but the ferry was cancelled. We all survived, but the blast sent us in very different directions.

“They rebuilt the community with their personality, spirit, and bare hands, but I was pushed inward to my studies. I needed to comprehend the natural force that had wrought so much destruction.

“In the sixties, foreign exchange was scarce, and I was one of the first scientists that the Japanese government sponsored to do research abroad. At Cornell, Robert Wilson guided my career and brought me along to establish what became Fermilab in 1967. We built Fermilab as an oasis of fundamental research in the Illinois prairie. We thought that the pursuit of knowledge would unite us. Wilson’s famous defense in April 1969 of Fermilab to Congress seems even more relevant today.

‘Are we good painters, good sculptors, great poets? I mean all the things that we really venerate and honor in our country and are patriotic about. In that sense, this new knowledge has all to do with honor and country, but it has nothing to do directly with defending our country except to help make it worth defending.’”[1]

December 7, 2021 marked the 80th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. On the occasion of the anniversary, Professor Yujin Yaguchi, Graduate School of Interdisciplinary Information Studies, University of Tokyo, gave a lecture on Pearl Harbor to high school students enrolled in SPICE’s Stanford e-Japan, which is taught by Instructor Meiko Kotani. Yaguchi has been an advisor to both Stanford e-Japan and SPICE’s Reischauer Scholars Program (RSP), an online course about Japan and U.S.–Japan relations that is offered to high school students in the United States and is taught by Instructor Naomi Funahashi. From 2004 to 2009, I worked with Yaguchi during the “Pearl Harbor: History, Memory, and Memorial” summer institutes for American and Japanese teachers that were hosted by the AsiaPacificEd Program for Schools, East-West Center, Honolulu.

Prior to Yaguchi’s lecture, Kotani compiled questions from her students to share with Yaguchi, and he used them to conceptualize his lecture. The students were also required to view a lecture by Stanford Emeritus Professor Peter Duus on the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Yaguchi informed the students that he would be introducing diverse perspectives on the Pearl Harbor attack and also encouraged students to think about the questions that they had written while he delivered his lecture. He encouraged them to consider two questions that he devised based on the students’ questions: “Why do you ask such questions?” and “What do the questions tell you about how you think of the past and today?” Yaguchi noted, “I am kind of spinning the table around.”

Yaguchi set the context for his talk by giving a brief geographic and historical background of Pearl Harbor. He pointed out that for ancient Hawaiians, the name of the harbor now known as Pearl Harbor was Puʻuloa, regarded as the home of the shark goddess, Kaʻahupāhau. Following the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, the U.S. Navy established a base on the island in 1899. Over the years, Pearl Harbor, along with the Naval Base San Diego, remained a main base for the U.S. Pacific Fleet after World War II. He also noted that Pearl Harbor is the most popular destination in Hawaii for American visitors.

Yaguchi pointed out that the excellent questions from the students were primarily about the United States and Japan. He posed the question, “But is Pearl Harbor really only about the U.S. and Japan?” and encouraged students to critically consider the following points, which were the five key points of his lecture.

1. We need to see history in a longer and wider perspective.
2. History is not only about powerful nation states.
3. History is not only about (mostly male) politicians and leaders making decisions.
4. Pearl Harbor means different things to many people.
5. We need to see Pearl Harbor from multiple angles—especially from the perspectives of race and gender (non-white, non-Japanese, non-male)—those who have been making/writing history.
    

He followed up each point with specific questions. For example, “What does Pearl Harbor mean to the indigenous people of Hawaii or the Native Hawaiians?”; and “Was Pearl Harbor an attack on the United States” or “Was Pearl Harbor an attack on Native Hawaiians as well?” were follow-up questions to point number four. Yaguchi pointed out that he was born and raised in Hokkaido, the northern-most main island of Japan, and to his surprise one of the students mentioned that he lives in Kushiro, a city in Hokkaido that is Yaguchi’s ancestral hometown. Since the Ainu are an indigenous people from the northern region of Japan, particularly Hokkaido, Yaguchi’s questions prompted some students to think about parallels between the Ainu and Native Hawaiians.

The five key points of his lecture led to many questions during the question-and-answer period. One student asked, “Is there anything that you keep in mind when teaching Japanese about American history or specific events such as Pearl Harbor?” Yaguchi replied, “At the University of Tokyo, I really encourage students to think about why you learn history in specific ways. Who decides what you need to study? I also encourage students to be critical of the education that you receive. University years are a time for you to reassess what you learn… We living in Japan or educating in Japan tend to connect Pearl Harbor as the beginning and the atomic bombs as the ending… or the cause and the effect. And this is a very common way of framing history. People in the United States do not necessarily think so.”

While listening to Yaguchi’s lecture, I reflected upon UTokyo Compass, which is the University of Tokyo President Teruo Fujii’s statement of the guiding principles of the University of Tokyo—the ideals to which the university should aspire and the direction it should take, under the title “Into a Sea of Diversity: Creating the Future through Dialogue.” In his lecture, Yaguchi extended the reach of UTokyo Compass to Stanford e-Japan high school students throughout Japan. Kotani and I were most appreciative the ripple effect of UTokyo Compass that he provided through his lecture. Kotani stated, “I am so grateful to Professor Yaguchi for introducing my students to not only diverse perspectives on Pearl Harbor but also for engaging them in questions related to epistemology.”

UTokyo Compass prompted me think about the importance of one’s “moral compass,” or a person’s ability to judge what is right and wrong and to act accordingly. Through Stanford e-Japan and the RSP, Kotani, Funahashi, and I hope to encourage high school students to remember to navigate their academic and professional careers with their own moral compass. In addition, as a compass always follows true north, I think that leaders should follow a set of unwavering personal values, including integrity. The students in Stanford e-Japan and the RSP are among the best and brightest in Japan and the United States and future leaders. I encourage them to singlehandedly change the world, to be changemakers.