A Medicated Empire: The Pharmaceutical Industry and Modern Japan 9781501756269

Citation preview

A MEDICATED EMPIRE

Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University The Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute of Columbia University were inaugurated in 1962 to bring to a wider public the results of significant new research on modern and contemporary East Asia.

A MEDICATED EMPIRE The Pharmaceutical Industry and Modern Japan Timothy M. Yang

CORNELL UNIVERSITY PRESS

ITHACA AND LONDON

Cornell University Press gratefully acknowledges receipt of a grant from the University of Georgia Franklin College of Arts and Sciences, which aided in the publication of this book. Copyright © 2021 by Cornell University All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, New York 14850. Visit our website at cornellpress.cornell.edu. First published 2021 by Cornell University Press Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Yang, Timothy M., 1981– author. Title: A medicated empire : the pharmaceutical industry and modern Japan / Timothy M. Yang. Description: Ithaca [New York] : Cornell University Press, 2021. | Series: Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020039253 (print) | LCCN 2020039254 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501756245 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781501756252 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501756269 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Hoshi Pharmaceuticals—History. | Pharmaceutical industry— Japan—History—20th century. Classification: LCC HD9672.J29 Y354 2021 (print) | LCC HD9672.J29 (ebook) | DDC 338.7/616151095209041—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020039253 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020039254 Cover illustration: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Seimei encho¯: Hoshi no seihin. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1924.

For Mi-Ryong and Nora

The hand that stocks the drug stores rules the world. Let us start our Republic with a chain of drug stores, a chain of grocery stores, a chain of gas chambers, and a national game. After that, we can write our Constitution. —Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle

Contents

List of Tables and Figures Acknowledgments Note to the Reader Introduction Par t I

Par t II

xi xiii xvi

1

THE DRUG INDUSTRY, ENTREPRENEURSHIP, AND THE STATE

1. A Strategic Industry

19

2. The Supposed Self-Made Man and His Company

38

MARKETING MEDICINES AND MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES

3. Marketing a Culture of Self-Medication 4. Medicinal Infrastructures and Medical Missionaries

69 105

Par t III THE OPIUM EMPIRE

5. The Scandal of Opium (and the Colonial Exception)

135

6. Things Fall Apart

162

Par t IV SCIENCE, SELF-SUFFICIENCY, AND WARTIME MOBILIZATION

7. Selling the Science of Quinine Self-Sufficiency

185

8. War and Drugs

208

Epilogue

231

Notes Bibliography Index

239 297 323

Tables and Figures

Tables 2.1

Capital expansion

6.1

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ income, operating expenses, and profit

165

Sankyo¯ Pharmaceuticals’ income, operating expenses, and profit

165

Hoshi versus Sankyo¯

166

6.2

6.3

65

Figures 3.1

Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 3, 1923

83

3.2

Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, January 5, 1919

93

3.3

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, April 12, 1919

95

3.4

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, July 8, 1922

95

3.5

Hoshi Digestive Medicine from advertisement in Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 11, 1919

96

3.6

Advertisement from Keijo¯ nippo¯, February 17, 1924

98

3.7

Advertisement from Tonga ilbo, January 9, 1924

99

3.8

Advertisement from Nichi-Bei shinbun, July 9, 1924

99

3.9

Advertisement from Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, May 15, 1919

3.10

100

Advertisement from Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, March 13, 1925

3.11a and 3.11b

101

Hoshi katei isho

103

4.1

Wholesale distribution network

109

4.2

Hoshi’s franchise network

112

4.3

“Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha: Tokuyakuten dai boshu¯”

115

xi

xii

TABLES AND FIGURES

4.4

“Jijokai no unyo¯ zu”

123

4.5

“Beikoku no kusuriya”

126

4.6–4.8

Blueprints from “Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo”

127

6.1

Hoshi strike poster, June 20, 1930

175

6.2

The two Hoshi Digestive Medicines

179

7.1

“Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no Taiwan banchi ni okeru kina saibai”

195

8.1

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, March 7, 1921

222

8.2

Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 24, 1935

223

8.3

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, May 16, 1939

226

8.4

Advertisement from Yakuten keiei, July 9, 1941

227

8.5

Advertisement from Tonga ilbo, June 19, 1939

228

Acknowledgments

Many people have helped me write this book. First, thank you to Carol Gluck, an inspiring mentor who has always encouraged and believed in me. Grateful appreciation to Kim Brandt and Eugenia Lean for their steadfast support and guidance, and to Victoria de Grazia, Paul Gootenberg, and Madeleine Zelin for providing intellectual inspiration. A number of people helped me during my research in Japan and Taiwan. Many thanks to Goto¯ Ken’ichi, Iijima Wataru, Iwata Mizuho, Okamoto Ko¯ichi, Sugano Atsushi, Chang Che-chia, and Michael Shiyung Liu. I am deeply grateful, in particular, to Sato¯ Shiro and Suzuki Akihiro for allowing me to access the archival collection at Hoshi University and to Misawa Miwa for letting me spend a summer weekend in his office photocopying almost the entirety of the Hoshi company newspaper. The transition from idea to book has been a long one, broken up by multiple cross-country moves, changing family circumstances, and a seemingly endless global pandemic. I am indebted to a number of colleagues who provided detailed feedback on portions of this book at various stages of revision, including He Bian, Adam Bronson, Steven Bryan, Sakura Christmas, William Gervase Clarence-Smith, Arunabh Ghosh, Andrew Gordon, Todd Henry, Richard Ivan Jobs, Hoi-eun Kim, Yumi Kim, Jamie Kreiner, Lawrence Lipin, Hiromi Mizuno, Scott Nelson, Cassia Roth, Jesús Solís, Philip Thai, and Julia Yongue. During a postdoctoral year at the Program on US-Japan Relations at Harvard University, I benefitted from the encouragement of Maren Ehlers, Shinju Fujihira, Nick Kapur, Sohini Kar, Elisabeth Köll, Shigehisa Kuriyama, Ian Miller, Mimaki Seiko, Hiromu Nagahara, Bill Nehring, Susan Pharr, Hiro Saito¯, Victor Seow, Franziska Seraphim, Shimizu Yuichiro, Takii Kazuhiro, Jeremy Yellen, and many others. I am deeply indebted to my former colleagues at Pacific University in Oregon, including Jules Boycoff, Daniel Eisen, Aaron Greer, Jessica Hardin, Yasutaka Maruki, Kazuko Osada, Sarah Phillips, Martha Rampton, Phil Ruder, Lisa Szefel, and Jaye Cee Whitehead. Thank you to Emma Campbell, who helped me compile an early bibliography. Appreciation to Andrew Bernstein, Kenneth Ruoff, and Douglas Fix for their warm welcome to the vibrant intellectual community in Portland. At the University of Georgia, I am grateful for having wonderful colleagues such as Steve Berry, James Brooks, Oscar Chamosa, Tim Cleaveland,

xiii

xiv

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Brian Drake, Ben Ehlers, Cindy Hahamovitch, Peter Hoffer, John Inscoe, Kevin Jones, Chana Kai Lee, Joey Kellner, Ari Levine, Susan Mattern, Nan McMurry, Stephen Mihm, Diane Batts Morrow, John Morrow, Scott Nesbit, Jennifer Palmer, Miranda Pollard, Bob Pratt, Akela Reason, Reinaldo Román, Dan Rood, Claudio Saunt, John Short, Steven Soper, Thomas Whigham, Kirk Willis, Michael Winship, Montgomery Wolf, and Dean Martin Kagel. I received important feedback from presenting parts of this book at workshops and seminars at the Annual Conference of the Association for Asian Studies, Aoyama Gakuin University, the Chemical Heritage Foundation, the University of California, Santa Barbara, the University of Chicago, the Conference of the American Society for Environmental History, the European Congress on World and Global History, Duke University, Hong Kong University, the International Conference of the History of Science in East Asia, Michigan State University, the Modern Japan History Workshop in Tokyo, the University of California, Los Angeles, Waseda University, Yale University, and the University of Zürich. An early version of chapter 7 appeared in East Asian Science, Technology, and Society: An International Journal 6, no. 1 (March 2012). Parts of chapter 4 appear in the module “The Drugstore as Contact Zone” for the online digital humanities project Bodies and Structures: Deep-Mapping the Spaces of Japanese History (2019), https://scalar.chass.ncsu.edu/bodies-and-structures. I am indebted to a number of scholars who share similar research interests and whose inspiring scholarship as well as thoughtful advice and encouragement have greatly improved this work. They include David Ambaras, Bridie Andrews, Noriko Aso, Nicole Barnes, Alexander Bay, Oleg Benesˇ, Dani Botsman, Susan Burns, Siddarth Chandra, Leo Ching, John DiMoia, Kjell Ericson, Jud Eri Magy, David Fedman, Harald Fischer-Tiné, Yulia Frumer, Sheldon Garon, Reut Harari, Laura Hein, David Howell, Hung Kuang-chi, Janet Hunter, Hsu Hung-Bin, Iijima Mariko, John Jennings, Lijing Jiang, Miriam Kingsberg Kadia, Paul Kreitman, Kuo Wen-hua, John Lee, Victoria Lee, James Lin, William Marotti, Kate McDonald, Ryan Moran, Carla Nappi, Izumi Nakayama, Ti Ngo, Ozaki Ko¯ji, Jin-kyung Park, Evelyn Rawski, Thomas Rawski, Seiji Shirane, Wayne Soon, Soyoung Suh, Holly Stephens, Kathryn Tanaka, Sarah Thal, Daniel Trambaiolo, Judith Vitale, Shellen Wu, William Young, and many others. Sincere apologies for anyone I have failed to mention. My book would not be possible without generous funding and support from the Association for Asian Studies Northeast Asia Council Japan Research Grant, the Blakemore Foundation, Columbia University’s Department of History and Weatherhead East Asia Institute, the Japan Foundation, the Konosuke Matsushita Memorial Foundation, the Mellon Foundation, Pacific University’s Faculty Development Grant, the Social Science Research Council’s International Dissertation Research Fellowship Program, University of Georgia’s Franklin

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

xv

College of Arts and Sciences First-Book Subvention Program, and University of Georgia’s Willson Center. I want to thank the staff at a number of libraries and research centers, including Academia Sinica, Columbia University’s Starr East Asian Library and Rare Book and Manuscript Library, the Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room of Japan’s National Diet Library, the Ko¯be University Library Digital Archive, the National Archives at College Park, Maryland, the National Archives of Japan, National Taiwan Library, National Chung Hsing Library, National Tai¯ hara Institute for wan University Library, the New York Public Library, the O Social Research of Ho¯sei University, Stanford University’s Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Tokyo Metropolitan Library, Tokyo University of Pharmacy and Life Sciences Library, University of Georgia Library, and Waseda University Library. I could not have asked for a better group of friends and colleagues who have challenged and supported me since graduate school days. Thank you to Dan Asen, Ramona Bajema, Sayaka Chatani, Buyun Chen, Christopher Craig, Chad Diehl, Eric Han, Colin Jaundrill, Abhishek Kaicker, S. E. Kile, Liza Lawrence, Peiting Li, Andy Liu, Michael McCarty, Greg Patterson, Meha Priyadarshini, Kristin Roebuck, Chelsea Szendi Schieder, Nate Shockey, Bryan Tsui, Rob Tuck, Stacey Van Vleet, Jenny Wang-Medina, Benno Weiner, Hitomi Yoshio, Yurou Zhong, and many others. My deepest appreciation to James Dorsey, Steven Ericson, and Dennis Washburn for encouraging me since my undergraduate days at Dartmouth. Thank you to my parents, Cheng-Hsin and Rebecca, who were both research scientists for major pharmaceutical firms in the New York metropolitan area. Family vacations usually dovetailed with industry conferences, and pencils and notebooks for school often had the name of a newly introduced heart medicine or liver drug. Perhaps this book represents a subconscious coming to terms with this childhood past. Thanks to my brother Ted and to the Yang, Chiu, Lin, Shim, Sato¯, Minami, and Takayama families across the United States, Canada, Taiwan, and Japan for your company and support throughout my life. Thank you to Ross Yelsey, who shepherded the book for review, and to Roger Haydon, Karen Laun, and the editorial and production staff at Cornell University Press. Thank you to Monica Achen for diligent copyediting. And gratitude to the two anonymous reviewers whose comments and constructive criticisms have greatly improved this book. Last but not least, thank you to Mi-Ryong and our daughter Nora, who was born during the penultimate stage of revising this book. This book, above all, is dedicated to you.

Note to the Reader

I have written Japanese, Chinese, and Korean names with the surname first, except when the author publishes in English or is a scholar who primarily works or writes in an English-language context. I have used macrons to indicate long vowels in romanized Japanese, except for common place names that often appear in English, like Kyoto, Osaka, or Tokyo.

xvi

A MEDICATED EMPIRE

Introduction

In a 1901 speech on public health, one of Japan’s leading statesmen, Goto¯ Shinpei (1857–1929), boasted of the importance of medicine for his nation’s imperial aspirations. Making use of his medical background—he had trained as a physician and was a former president of Nagoya Medical School—Goto¯ explicitly coded Japan’s mission civilatrice as a duty to provide the benefits of modern medicine and public health: “Other imperial nations use religion to help them govern; exploiting weaknesses in humanity, they proselytize to unify peoples’ hearts and minds, ridding them of superstition.” Yet, “because Japan does not have an absolute religion,” Goto¯ claimed, “relieving humanity from the suffering of disease [is] a similar method for unifying.”1 Goto¯ delivered his speech in Taiwan, where he served as civil administrator of the colonial government. But he was not just speaking of Japan’s first formal colonial possession. Japan was not only a new empire but also a new nation-state. It had promulgated its constitution in 1889, and it had just begun to revise its unequal treaties with Western imperial powers before it won Taiwan as a spoil of victory from the First Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895). This process of wholesale nation-state building during Japan’s Meiji period (1868–1912), which began immediately after the abolition of feudal rule, proceeded simultaneously with imperial expansion, first to the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands (Okinawa) and Hokkaido¯, and later to Taiwan, Korea, Manchuria, and other parts of Asia and the Pacific.2 “Meiji” means “enlightened rule” in Japanese, and Japan’s leaders during this period—like those of other nation-states with similar ambitions—turned to 1

2

INTRODUCTION

biomedicine (applying the principles of natural science to cure illness and disease) and public health as tools for what they claimed was enlightened state governance and imperial control.3 Driven by fears of Japan being colonized itself, they held the common beliefs that a nation derived its strength from its people and that its people were only as strong as their bodies. As they established ministries of army, finance, and foreign affairs, they also instituted a system of state-licensed medicine and public health measures to inscribe the strength and fitness of Japan as a nation on both a literal and metaphorical body politic. Government authorities constructed hospitals, immunized local populations, and inculcated hygienic habits not only to protect people from health hazards but also to convince them of the legitimacy of the current regime’s rule. From the very beginning, the goal was to create individuals imbued with the values of industrial capitalism, which, in times of crisis, easily transformed into the ethics of a loyal soldier.4 The benefits of modern medicine, however, have never been matter-of-fact. In Japan, Asia, and across the world, public health regimes have often encountered controversy if not outright resistance. Scholars have analyzed how nationstates used biomedicine and public health to control individuals and subjugate populations, particularly in colonial contexts. Scholars have also explored how individuals and subject populations used medical knowledge and medicinal practices to assert their own subjectivity. Imbued with multiple meanings and imbricated in power dynamics, medicine has served as a crucial site to analyze the triangulated relationships among state, society, and individual.5 This book builds on this scholarship by examining medicine as a business. It explores how modern medicine spread not just through state-supported institutions and networks of like-minded practitioners but also through a variety of actors engaged in market relations.6 In the words of the anthropologist Jean Comaroff, “The dominance of bio-medicine as our orthodox system of healing is legitimized both by formal mechanisms of control, and by the tacit hegemony of the conception of knowledge which it shares with our mainstream culture.”7 This book examines how the pharmaceutical industry promotes this tacit hegemony by fostering medical knowledge and shaping patterns of consumption through the manufacture and sale of medicines.8 It analyzes the incipient Japanese pharmaceutical industry in the early twentieth century, its cozy connections to Japan’s emerging nation-state and empire, and the ways in which this industry helped spread modern medicine as an ideology—as a matter-of-fact, common-sense belief in modern medicine as a humanitarian endeavor for greater social good. The book is about the connections between capitalism and medicine as a form of biopower—namely how the drug industry’s market machinations helped mold pliant minds and produce docile bodies for the benefit (and sometimes to the detriment) of state rule.9

INTRODUCTION

3

The anchor of this book is Hoshi Pharmaceuticals—a short-lived company known for its connections to the Japanese state and its imperial project, not to mention to Goto¯ Shinpei himself. Hoshi Hajime (1873–1951) founded the company in Tokyo in 1906. And soon after, the company enjoyed a meteoric—and to critics, suspicious—rise, particularly in the years after World War I. By the mid1920s, it was Japan’s largest pharmaceutical company in terms of capitalization. At its peak in 1923, it was capitalized at 50 million yen, whereas its nearest competitor at the time, Sankyo¯, was capitalized at 12 million yen.10 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was well regarded for its patent medicines—known in Japanese as baiyaku, which literally means “medicines for sale”—and hygiene products. It sold these goods through its network of franchises and chain stores, supported by ubiquitous advertising in print media featuring such slogans as “Medicines are Hoshi” (Kusuri wa Hoshi).11 It was also Japan’s leading producer and trader of alkaloids—naturally occurring plant-based nitrogenous compounds that include morphine, quinine, and cocaine. In 1925, disaster befell the company when it became embroiled in an opium-trading scandal that destroyed its reputation and bankrupted the company. Hoshi managed to briefly recover from bankruptcy in the 1930s to become a key supplier of medicines for the military during World War II, but its financial troubles lingered into the postwar era. Despite its failure, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals nevertheless remains familiar in popular culture. Today, it is best known because of Hoshi Shin’ichi (1926–1997), founder Hoshi Hajime’s eldest son, who briefly served as a president of the company. Shin’ichi was one of the most famous science fiction writers of the postwar generation, and he wrote two biographical works about his father and his father’s company.12 This book uses the case of Hoshi to examine how the pharmaceutical industry served as an intermediary for instilling the values of a modern medicinal culture that supported Japan’s national development and imperial expansion. Companies like Hoshi claimed that they manufactured medicines to improve public health and welfare. Yet, the production and sale of their medicines often contradicted their professed social and humanitarian intent. Medical authorities dismissed many of their patent medicines as placebos at best and poisons at worst. Government officials (both domestic and foreign) questioned how narcotics manufactured for medical use frequently found their way into illicit markets. Moreover, the commodity chains of so-called lifesaving medicines often depended on the domination of foreign lands and peoples. By following Hoshi’s involvement in commodities such as opium, quinine, and patent medicines across Japan and its expanding empire (and beyond), this book connects the dreams and schemes of politicians and industrialists to the innovations of scientists and the productive power of labor, not only in Japan and the rest of East Asia but in places like Peru, the Dutch East Indies, and the United States.

4

INTRODUCTION

At the intersection of global histories of medicine, capitalism, and empire, it examines how the development of the modern pharmaceutical industry in the early twentieth century simultaneously supported and subverted regimes of biomedicine and public health.

The Pharmaceutical Industry, Science, and the State If modern medicine, as Goto¯ Shinpei argued, served as Japan’s humanitarian and civilizing ideology—comparable, perhaps, to a unifying religion—then the pharmaceutical industry was one of its most important proselytizers.13 Although the case of Japan in the early twentieth century has its own particularities, there are basic commonalities that apply to the pharmaceutical industry in any modern context.14 The outlines of what we know today as the modern pharmaceutical industry began appearing in Europe and the United States in the early nineteenth century. Although apothecaries and healers had existed much earlier, it was only at this time that corporations began to emerge, with the ability to mobilize capital and resources to develop, manufacture, and bring medicinal compounds to market on an industrial scale. This drugmaking revolution was an aspect of the industrial revolution and the broader socioeconomic changes that it wrought.15 It was also imbricated in the discoveries and innovations of laboratory science, particularly the abilities to identify and isolate—as well as synthesize and reconfigure—both organic and inorganic chemical compounds at the molecular level. The word “pharmaceuticals” contains such scientific and industrial connotations. Although “pharmaceuticals,” “medicines,” and “drugs” are often interchangeable, “pharmaceuticals” include not just medicines, but also a wide array of vaccines, organic and inorganic compounds, medical devices, and other related products.16 In the late nineteenth century, the development of Japan’s modern pharmaceutical industry was tied to a state policy of industrial development writ large, embodied by the catchphrase “rich nation, strong army” (fukoku kyo¯hei). Shackled by unequal treaties, rampant inflation, and an unfavorable balance of trade—an unhappy inheritance from the final years of the feudal Tokugawa regime (1600–1868)—the government embarked on a program of rapid industrialization to cure its ills. It made import substitution and export promotion primary goals.17 To achieve these objectives, the government unabashedly promoted learning Western science and technology as well as adapting such knowledge and techniques to Japan, at the expense of indigenous, traditional forms.

INTRODUCTION

5

This program of industrial modernization entailed creating state-owned enterprises, particularly in heavy industries essential for military strength, such as shipbuilding and steel. These enterprises proved vital for spurring industrialization and the development of an entrepreneurial class, despite operating at considerable losses. In the 1880s, the government privatized these companies as part of Finance Minister Matsukata Masayoshi’s policies of fiscal and monetary retrenchment.18 Wealthy, well-connected “men of ability” (jitsuryokusha) were all too eager to purchase these ready-made enterprises at cut-rate prices after the government had done much of the heavy lifting. Afterward, the government continued supporting these industries through subsidies, protectionist policies, and providing technical expertise. Although drugmaking was not a heavy industry at this time, the government deemed this sector strategic and essential, given the widespread belief among elites that a strong and healthy populace was the backbone of a strong nation. As a result, the government gave the drug industry a helping hand. Just as Japan’s medical leaders, such as Nagayo Sensai (1838–1902), looked to Germany as the fountainhead of medical and pharmaceutical sciences, they looked to Germany’s world-leading pharmaceutical industry for similar inspiration. Firms such as Bayer and Hoeschst demonstrated the values of strong ties among state, science, and industry.19 In the early years of the Meiji era, the government dispatched scholarship students to study at major German research universities. These students returned to become the forebearers of the drug industry. Among them were the chemist Nagai Nagayoshi (1845–1929) and the physician and bacteriologist Kitasato Shibasaburo¯ (1853–1931). Medical authorities established nationwide medicine inspection centers and published a national pharmacopeia. They also promulgated a series of regulations aimed at promoting scientifically produced Western medicines and curbing the production and sale of Chinese and native medicines, quackish remedies, and counterfeits of any kind. In 1885, the government established a nationalized drug company, Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals, to domestically manufacture Western medicines, and it appointed Nagai Nagayoshi as the company’s first director.20 Despite these early achievements, however, the fledgling industry was largely unable to produce its own medicines until well into the early twentieth century. At the turn of the twentieth century—when the majority of firms continued to sell Chinese and native herbal medicines—it was increasingly common for Japanese firms to become intermediaries for foreign drug firms to enter into the market. During this time, some of the most famous pharmaceutical firms today—such as Takeda, Tanabe, and Shionogi—transformed from purveyors of medicines based on Asian medical traditions to exclusive Japanese distributors for European and US pharmaceutical companies.

6

INTRODUCTION

This situation changed after the outbreak of World War I, which disrupted imports of European medicines. With Europe mired in conflict, Japanese companies seized the moment to manufacture their own Western-style medicines. Under the banner of “self-sufficiency” (jikyu¯ jisoku), which identified the shortage of essential medicines as a threat to national security, the Home Ministry voided overseas patent rights, ordered state laboratories to reveal drug formulas, and provided monetary incentives to promote domestic production. Government intervention during the war led to a rapid expansion in the pharmaceutical industry, as firms old and new rushed to satisfy the demand at home and carve out new markets abroad.21 Perhaps no drug firm benefited more from the Japanese state’s sponsorship in the early twentieth century than Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. From its beginning, Hoshi served as an instrument of national development and colonial expansion. Hoshi Hajime, an ardent nationalist who was elected to the lower house of Japan’s National Diet five times from 1911 to 1947, declared two goals for his company: to make Japan the leading pharmaceutical-producing nation in the world and to demonstrate that a profitmaking enterprise could be combined with a commitment to welfare, the latter reflected in Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ motto, “Kindness First” (Shinsetsu dai-ichi). The early capital for the company came from a group of like-minded politicians-cum-industrialists associated with Goto¯ Shinpei. Official connections helped Hoshi become the government’s largest supplier of opium, quinine, and cocaine as the company provided the medicines for the nation’s colonial and wartime aims. The company’s close-knit ties with officials in Goto¯’s circle provided it with access to capital, contracts, and legal protection as well as special access to Taiwan, a colony that was rich in medicinal raw materials and had a growing base of consumers. This relationship was not one-sided, but mutually beneficial, and the boundaries between state and private enterprise often blurred. Like all drug firms, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals strove to associate itself with advances in science and modern medicine. Industry leaders portrayed science as objective, unprejudiced, and apolitical; they depicted medicine as the most humane of all sciences, the primary goal of which was to better people’s lives, and downplayed its coercive aspects. At every opportunity, Hoshi advertised its connections to leading scientists throughout the world. These included the Nobel Prize–nominated bacteriologist Noguchi Hideyo (1876–1928), who directed the company’s production of vaccines, as well as medical doctors like Horiuchi Tsuguo (1873–1955) and botanists like Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯ (1885–1976), who lent legitimacy to its overseas schemes to produce supposedly invaluable and lifesaving medicines such as quinine. Hoshi also cultivated international scientific connections. In 1920 the company donated 100,000 yen for the development of

INTRODUCTION

7

German science in the aftermath of World War I; in November 1924, the Nobel Prize–winning German chemist Fritz Haber (1868–1934) reciprocated this gift by visiting Hoshi’s Tokyo headquarters and lecturing at the company’s affiliated business school.22 Although Hoshi Pharmaceuticals professed a “fidelity to science” (kagaku no chu¯ jitsu), it did not depend on laboratory research for its early success. Laboratories and scientists require large-scale capital investment—a barrier often too imposing to overcome for many firms trying to enter the industry. Drug companies in early twentieth-century Japan transitioned to what is now known as research and development only after they had already become established or had stable sources of capital. Hoshi was no different. The company’s early fame and profits came from its patent medicines, which had a social resonance similar to that of herbal remedies today. Government regulatory organs often campaigned against patent medicines as unscientific, fraudulent concoctions in their effort to spread the values and habits of modern Western medicine. Similarly, it is likely no accident that the company focused on alkaloids after its early patent medicine successes. Poppy, coca, and cinchona bark had been harvested for millennia, and industrial technologies for distilling and producing morphine, quinine, and cocaine had existed since the mid-nineteenth century. Hoshi’s alkaloid trade thus depended more on securing raw materials, labor, and legitimacy abroad than on breakthroughs in laboratory science. As an active participant in the technocratic movement of the early twentieth century, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals liberally applied science outside of the confines of the laboratory. This movement operated on the principle that all aspects of modern life—from corporate hierarchies to families to global markets—could be planned and organized through the proper harnessing of science.23 Hoshi was one of Japan’s foremost proselytizers of Taylorism when business managers across the globe rushed to implement the principles of scientific management.24 In rhetoric and in practice, Hoshi employed scientific principles in almost every aspect of its company management, emphasizing rationality (go¯risei), efficiency (no¯ritsusei), and cooperative (kyo¯ryokuteki)—rather than antagonistic— relations between management and labor. Hoshi Hajime first encountered such globally circulating ideas while studying at the turn of the twentieth century in the United States, where he became immersed in Progressive Era debates about the effect of large-scale corporations on US society amid the looming threat of socialism. The company incorporated the principles of scientific management into its textbooks, training manuals, and lectures on how to properly run a pharmacy, a plantation, or a factory shop floor. In many ways, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals exemplified Japan’s so-called late industrial development in the early twentieth century. Its major characteristics

8

INTRODUCTION

fit what has been described—and often dehistoricized—as a culturally distinct Japanese pattern: an ideology of firm-as-family as nation, corporate paternalism, codependence of government and business, and vertical integration with autarkic aims.25 The case of Hoshi demonstrates that these were not timeless cultural attributes, but specific historical responses to an idea common among political and business elites in other industrializing nations in the early twentieth century: that the invisible hand of the free market needed a helping hand.26 The outbreak of World War I and the subsequent collapse of the world economic order—which ushered in a period characterized by protectionism, autarky, and state planning—seemed, for many, to confirm the dangers of the market economy. Hoshi was at the epicenter of arguments concerning the proper functioning of the medicinal market. Like many leading Japanese companies of that era, it was also at the forefront of technologies and techniques for greater efficiency in production and stronger control over distribution, including Taylorist management practices and franchising business methods.

Medicines as Commodities If ideology, as Louis Althusser claimed, always has a material existence, then medicines served as some of the most important vectors for the modern Japanese state’s humanitarian and civilizing claims.27 When an individual consumes a medicine, she participates in a performative ritual. She does so believing that the medicine will alleviate an ailment or help cure an illness. The more times she takes the medicine—and the more diligently she follows the instructions—the greater grows her belief in the medicine. She is also more likely to take medicine to treat other maladies. The scientist and medical doctor—frocked in white coats and entrusted with the authority to interpret a medicine’s virtues for the mass public—inspire the individual’s confidence that the medicine will work. Pharmaceutical companies not only manufacture the objects used in these bodily rituals but also help determine the rituals themselves. When they bring their medicines to market, they work together with regulatory authorities and medical professionals (among others) to create imagined spaces for and spread knowledge of proper medicinal consumption. In these various collaborations and exchanges, drug firms weave top-down narratives of the objective value of medicine for humanitarian good.28 The profitability of a particular medicine depends on the ability of the manufacturer to make consumers believe that the medicine works. The more convincing the manufacturer’s narrative, the more consumers believe in the medicine, which increases the potential for profit. The connection between the humanitarian narrative and the profit potential of a

INTRODUCTION

9

particular medicine depends on how drug firms sell their medicines and on the efficacy—both real and imagined—of the medicine itself. Pharmaceutical companies market their medicines as metonyms for medical professionals and medical treatment. As commodities, medicines help spread the virtues of proper health and hygiene because they symbolize objectified medical practices.29 Over-the-counter cold pills, for example, are concrete representations of care and healing in an inexpensive and ready-to-use form; they allow a sick individual to bypass a visit to a doctor, and, hence, to avoid entering into an unequal power relationship between physician and patient, predicated on knowledge and authority. The profitability of a particular medicine thus depends on the firm’s ability to generate what Marx called “commodity fetishism”—the appearance of all social relations as an “immense collection of commodities.”30 The imagined consumption of cold pills stands in for medical care that requires a human touch. The encapsulation (pun intended) of medical labor in this example, as in all commodity fetishes, conceals the hierarchical social relationships and disparities in wealth and power involved in that medicine’s production, distribution, and consumption.31 The humanitarian narrative of any medicine, however, is always inherently flimsy and unstable. Drug companies are not disinterested actors. Corporations, by definition, are not humanitarian; although they might be treated as people under certain nations’ laws, they are entities designed to maximize profits by overcoming human lifespans and limitations.32 Shareholders’ desire for profit can put them at loggerheads with government interests that might have incentives—especially during times of war and crisis—to remove medicines from the realm of market exchange. The incompatibility between humanitarian aims and fundamentally dehumanizing corporate structures defines the pharmaceutical industry in general; the industry claims that it provides goods and services for saving and improving lives, yet when push comes to shove, it is almost always the bottom line that counts. The characteristics of the medicines themselves, whether inherent or socially constructed, similarly reflect this incongruity. A useful medicine can be a dangerous poison or quackish placebo depending on usage, dosage, and circumstance; medicines have side effects and they often affect different individuals in dissimilar ways. Medicines are substances with multiple, fundamentally unstable meanings, particularly when they are commodities to be bought and traded as well as advertised and sold. Some medicines heal physical ailments, whereas others treat mental anguish. The different connotations of the terms “medicine,” which evokes healing, and “drug,” which can imply loss of control or consciousness, reflect this instability. Compared to most other commodities, the warning “buyer beware” has a distinct significance in the case of medicines because of their potential

10

INTRODUCTION

to poison. All modern nation-states have regulatory organs, such as the United States Food and Drug Administration, to protect consumers from the danger of medicines straying from their proper, prescribed paths of consumption. Medicines have the potential to not only cause complications during consumption but in their paths of production. All of the actors who contribute to a medicine’s creation—from laboratory chemists and farm laborers to pharmacists and advertising directors—imbue it with diverse meanings through their different aims and disparate means. Procuring and processing materials to make medicines requires massive capital investments and complex logistical frameworks. Bringing medicines to market involves deals among drug firms, governments, shippers, and often labor unions; it necessitates laws on trade and intellectual property, including tariffs, trademarks, and licensing contracts; and it requires, above all, the dispossession of land and the exploitation of labor, whether legal or otherwise.33 The entire commodity chain requires guarantees and protection—a function that, more often than not, only a state can provide. Historically, if it was in the state’s best interests to foster a native drug industry to produce medicines needed for improving public health and hygiene, then it was also beneficial—maybe even necessary—for drug companies to accept the state’s guiding hand. The global pharmaceutical industry developed as a statist and colonial enterprise.34 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals actively participated in the Japanese state’s medicinal mythmaking by manufacturing and supplying, in the words of Hoshi Hajime, “good medicines as propaganda for Japanese civilization.”35 The effectiveness of this rhetoric depended, in large part, on the intrinsic characteristics and socially constructed associations of the commodities Hoshi produced. Purportedly lifesaving medicines such as quinine had different symbolic resonances and social significances compared to patent medicines marketed as mass consumables or narcotics like morphine. Quinine was one of the most important drugs for demonstrating the humanitarian value of modern medicine. Until the mid-twentieth century, colonial administrators viewed quinine as a tool of enlightened empire; as the most reliable medicine for the prevention and treatment of malaria, it supposedly furthered Japan’s civilizing, imperial mission by helping to protect and maintain healthy bodies of both colonizers and colonized in tropical climes.36 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals became Japan’s first private supplier of quinine in 1917, and it later managed plantations for producing its raw material, cinchona bark, in Peru and Taiwan. Hoshi often celebrated its involvement in the global quinine trade as a contribution to Japan’s expanding empire and its overall public health. While Hoshi produced medicines like quinine for medical professionals, it also manufactured and sold patent medicines for the mass consumer

INTRODUCTION

11

market. The profitability of patent medicines depended more on the ability of the manufacturer to create desire and difference than on the intrinsic qualities of the medicines themselves. Hoshi claimed that it brought scientific rigor to a patent-medicine marketplace littered with fraudulent concoctions. It advertised its medicines as scientifically verified and essential for participating in modern life, based on the ethos of middle-class consumption. The company created demand for its medicines—and helped define the nature of chronic disease— through pedagogical newspapers and family-medicine handbooks that spread knowledge of a variety of ailments and provided specific recommendations of different Hoshi-brand products that alleviated their symptoms or helped cure them. Hoshi’s primary target was the stereotypical housewife, the guardian of family health and welfare and the manager of family finances. Hoshi’s goal was to cultivate what I call a culture of self-medication—of rational, free-thinking consumers with the knowledge and ability to diagnose maladies and treat them on their own. This culture of self-medication appeared both liberating and democratic, despite being tied to the dictates of the state and its top-down imposition of industrial capitalism. It seemed to provide individuals with the freedom to choose what medicine to buy and the ability to shun the authority of medical practitioners whose services were costly and inconvenient compared to medicating on one’s own. But in order to create this fantasy of consumer freedom, Hoshi relied on retailing infrastructures that emphasized hierarchical efficiency and control. Similar to cosmetics firms like Shiseido¯, Kao¯, and Lion, Hoshi forged a US-style network of franchises across Japan and its empire to sell its patent medicines, hygiene products, and household goods.37 In this sense, companies like Hoshi helped the state mold individuals into what Miriam Silverberg terms “consumer-subjects”: rational consumers who were always simultaneously productive workers and obedient state subjects.38 The process that defines industrial capitalism is none other than the mythic production of the rational individual. Hoshi, however, undercut these efforts through the manufacture of opiumbased drugs like morphine. Although medical practitioners and public health officials prized morphine for its indispensable analgesic properties, they deemed opium—the raw material for morphine—a public danger because of its ability to alter psychological states. Opium had connotations of vice and backwardness, and state authorities blamed it for the devastation and decline of late-Qing China. Japan strictly prohibited Japanese citizens from using opium-based narcotics, except for limited medical use. But for Japan’s colonized peoples, officials maintained state-run opium monopolies to manufacture opium paste for regulated consumption as part of a policy of gradual opium suppression. Hoshi became an exclusive buyer of discounted crude morphine from Taiwan’s opium

12

INTRODUCTION

monopoly as well as one of the monopoly’s primary raw opium suppliers. These connections helped it dominate Japan’s narcotics market during World War I, but they also put the company under global suspicion as the licit face of Japan’s illicit opium empire. Hoshi’s case was far from unique. The licit origin of illicit drugs has been a common theme in the global history of narcotics.39 Pharmaceutical companies across the world mobilized capital and resources to extract raw materials like the opium poppy or coca leaf and employed scientists and laboratory technicians to derive and distill medicines from those raw materials. The production process was scientific; it broke down substances from the natural world into fundamental building blocks before reassembling them. Each iteration, based on the accrued knowledge of all the processes and experiments before, increased a medicine’s purity and potency. And so, from the humble opium poppy sprang forth a whole range of narcotics from morphine and heroin to Vicodin and OxyContin. Drug companies created substances that have helped liberate humanity from physical and psychological pain, but those very substances have also caused untold suffering. The basis for most drug-related controversies has been the public perception that pharmaceutical companies knowingly engaged in what David Courtwright calls limbic capitalism: “A technologically advanced but socially regressive business system in which global industries, often with the help of complicit governments and criminal organizations, encourage excessive consumption and addiction.”40 Hoshi’s opium scandal devastated the company—and, by association, the Japanese state—because it revealed its complicity in creating the obverse of the civilized, rational, free-thinking individual: the doped-up addict, racially coded at the time as a dirty and degenerate Chinese.

A Global Company and Industry Hoshi Pharmaceuticals typified large-scale pharmaceutical companies in its efforts to spread the gospel of modern medicine in the service of nation and empire. Such firms emerged in Japan in the wake of World War I, seizing the opportunity of a Europe in conflict to manufacture their own Western-style medicines under the banners of national security and self-sufficiency. Government assistance spurred drug firms like Sankyo¯ and Dai Nippon to enter the morphine business, and propelled Takeda and Shionogi to follow Hoshi’s lead in producing quinine on plantations in Taiwan in the 1930s and 1940s.41 During the interwar years, cosmetics and household goods companies like Shiseido¯ and Kao¯ began advertising campaigns that emphasized cosmopolitan culture and

INTRODUCTION

13

instituted franchise distribution systems that extended to the colonies.42 Drug firms like Fujisawa, for example, praised Hoshi for helping it obtain footholds in markets abroad; Hisamitsu credited the origin of its most famous patent medicine to Hoshi; and Taisho¯ credited Hoshi as the model for its own enormously profitable franchise system.43 These companies continue to flourish today as leaders in their industries. An examination of Hoshi’s transformation from local drugmaker to transnational pharmaceutical conglomerate sheds light on broader trends in the development of the pharmaceutical industry across the world. A major reason why German drug firms dominated the global market in the early twentieth century was their mastery of alkaloid extraction beginning in the midnineteenth century.44 Firms like Britain’s Burroughs Wellcome and Glaxo and the United States’ Parke-Davis were well known for using cutting-edge advertising and cooperative distribution methods to create markets for their over-thecounter medicines. Pharmaceutical companies in the United States, like their Japanese counterparts, took advantage of global market disruptions during World War I to produce products competitive with their European, especially German, equivalents.45 At the same time that Hoshi experimented with coca and cinchona plantations in Taiwan and Peru, firms like Merck tested similar botanicals in tropical climes like Guatemala and Puerto Rico. In the 1930s and 1940s, during times of total war, companies ranging from United States’ Pfizer to Germany’s IG Farben, infamous for its association with the Nazi regime, manufactured medicines and hygiene products that supported state efforts to curb scarcity for civilians at home and soldiers abroad.46 These firms, like their Japanese analogues, operated in a time when self-sufficiency, cooperative capitalism, and technocracy were part of a global lexicon that developed in response to perceived crises in the functioning of the global economy and the international order in the aftermath of World War I. Yet, unlike its counterparts that have continued to flourish, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals failed. Hoshi had an extraordinary appetite for risk and expansion. Rather than pull back production amid the post–World War I economic downturn, it engaged in debt-financed expansion with impunity. Hoshi’s 1925 opium scandal broke out at the point in its history when it was most highly leveraged, and it was unable to fully recover from the financial problems that the scandal wrought. The Hoshi family sold its stake in the company in 1952, after Hoshi Hajime’s untimely death a year before. In a sense, the case of Hoshi is eerily similar to that of the Kobe-based firm Suzuki Trading, which began as a sugar trader with strong connections to colonial Taiwan, and whose rapid rise and even faster fall became a parable for the dangers of debt-financed expansion and tight government-business connections.47 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals today is a shell

14

INTRODUCTION

of the company that was once among the leading firms in the industry, both in Japan and across the world. It is an understatement to say that without Hoshi’s failure, this book would not exist. Successful corporations employ their own historians to write their histories. In Japan, “company history” (shashi) has become a subfield of history unto itself, with research groups and libraries devoted to the subject.48 Whiggish and hagiographic almost without exception, Japanese company histories generally follow the broad outlines of the nation-state’s so-called miraculous postwar industrial growth writ large, emphasizing scientific innovation, managerial expertise, social betterment, and industrial grit, making few connections to contemporaneous politics or prewar pasts.49 Unlike the current book, many gloss over or completely elide Japan’s colonial empire or its wartime years. As demonstrated by Alfred Chandler’s brand of business history as well as countless other popular corporate histories, this approach is not a peculiarly Japanese phenomenon.50 In the case of Hoshi, however, an official company history was never written. Instead, a trove of documents, from legal briefs to company newspapers to speeches and advertising campaigns, culled from Hoshi Hajime’s office, remain loosely filed in dusty steel cabinets in a storeroom at Hoshi University, a pharmacology school in western Tokyo that was once an institute to train corporate employees as well as franchise managers and clerks.51 I use this trove, however incomplete and problematic, as the primary document base for this work—as an entry point for exploring a rhizome of thick, knotty connections among capitalism, science, medicine, and the state in Japan and its global empire in the early twentieth century. Although I read Hoshi company materials with a critical eye, my reliance on them means that this work undoubtedly falls into the same trap that most business histories do; they are often too close to company archives. I have tried to compensate for this problem by contextualizing Hoshi through comparison and by giving voice, wherever possible, to contemporaneous depictions of Hoshi endeavors from non-company sources. This book is a critical business history of a failed company and a commodity history of the manifest ways in which the pharmaceutical industry helped the state discipline individual subjects across Japan and its empire. It uses the case of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and its major medicines as a narrative framework to examine aspects fundamental to the pharmaceutical industry as it developed in Japan in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: the tension between humanitarian aims and profitmaking motives; the ideological and coercive power of medicines as mass-market commodities; and the interactions among private corporations, the state, and society during times of war and peace.

INTRODUCTION

15

Through the production and sale of medicines, drug companies like Hoshi helped spread an ideology of medicine as an objective humanitarian benefit. They supported the state by making the medicines for its biomedical regime and by spreading the values of modern medicine across society through marketplace machinations. Their endeavors helped mold individuals into rational consumersubjects imbued with the discipline of industrial capitalism who could easily transform into loyal soldiers during times of crisis. Yet drug companies also subverted these efforts through their dependence on vast colonial empires and through the manufacture of medicines that often veered from their prescribed paths of consumption and straddled the line between life-preserving substances and life-sucking poisons. The business of medicine is always deeply political and fundamentally contradictory and flawed. This book is composed of eight chapters divided into four parts: Part I examines the Japanese state’s connections to the pharmaceutical industry and its entrepreneurs. Chapter 1 situates the development of the domestic pharmaceutical industry within the broader context of the medicinal market in the early Meiji period and efforts by state planners to control the consumption of medicine. Chapter 2 explores Hoshi Hajime’s emergence as a so-called self-made man and the origins of his company. It examines his background and intellectual inspirations, and it shows how the company he created depended on personal ties forged with leading politicians and industrial elites. Part II explores the selling of consumer medicines to the masses during the early interwar years. Chapter 3 examines how Hoshi marketed a culture of self-medication that tried to make patent medicines supplemental, rather than oppositional, to professional medical treatments. It focuses in particular on the company’s most popular remedy, the Hoshi Digestive Medicine (Hoshi icho¯yaku). Chapter 4 examines how the company created spaces for medicinal consumption through its franchise distribution network and how it attempted to mold individual retailers into on-the-ground proselytizers of modern medicine. Part III shifts the discussion away from distribution and consumption to production. It focuses on a medicinal raw material that the state deemed too dangerous—and too important—for unregulated market circulation: opium. Chapter 5 deconstructs Hoshi’s opium-trading scandal amid the international antinarcotics movement of the early twentieth century. It demonstrates how the scandal erupted from questions concerning the legitimacy of colonial opium monopolies, geopolitical and domestic competition in the opium trade, and the socially determined nature of opium as a substance. Chapter 6 addresses Hoshi’s financial fallout in the opium scandal’s aftermath. Part IV analyzes the pharmaceutical industry leading up to and during World War II. Chapter 7 explores the nature of scientific legitimacy and quinine

16

INTRODUCTION

self-sufficiency through an examination of Hoshi’s cinchona plantations in colonial Taiwan and its coca plantations in Peru. It demonstrates how the production of a lifesaving medicine involved the domination of land and the subjugation of aboriginal people. Finally, Chapter 8 discusses how companies like Hoshi actively participated in wartime mobilization. It shows how the idiom of healthy minds and bodies for rational participation in modern life easily transposed into the idiom of healthy minds and bodies for national sacrifice. Collectively, these chronologically overlapping chapters tell the story of an incipient drug industry that emerged in lockstep with the development of Japan as a nation-state and empire. The early twentieth century was a time when manufacturers across the globe relied on state benevolence and generosity for securing raw materials and investments, and the state, in turn, relied on them for the medicines they produced as well the messages they used to sell them. This book is a tale of border-crossing translations and transactions, of shifting interconnections between state and industry as well as metropole and periphery, of the contradictory nature of medicines as commodities, and of states’ and corporations’ problematic attempts to control medicinal markets. The rise and fall of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals demonstrates how the business of modern medicine was—as Goto¯ Shinpei suggested in the quotation opening this book—quite literally the business of control and domination.

1 A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

From the beginning of the modern Japanese state—and, for that matter, well before—government officials viewed pharmaceuticals as a strategic industry. In their efforts to nurture healthy, disciplined, and modern subjects, protected from the darkness of disease, they concurrently promoted a domestic pharmaceutical industry to help control their subjects’ purchase and consumption of medicine. They viewed medicines as necessities for Japan’s modernizing imperatives both at home and in its growing empire abroad. Yet officials did not value all medicines equally. Soon after the fall of the Tokugawa shogunate, they attempted to modernize Japan’s medicinal market. They looked to Western nations as the pinnacle of medical and pharmaceutical science, and their official prioritization of Western medical knowledge and administration planted the roots for Japan’s modern pharmaceutical industry. Supported by cultural critics, intellectuals, and entrepreneurs—many of whom were connected to the incipient state themselves—they began promulgating laws and regulations that promoted Western medicines at the expense of indigenous ones. They cast Chinese and traditional herbal medicines as unscientific and superstitious; they considered opium a danger to health and morality; and they deemed indigenous patent medicines as placebos at best and poisons at worst. But the modern medicines that they championed had problems as well— particularly their susceptibility to counterfeit and adulteration. Above all, officials worried about the how medicines’ profitmaking potential so often superseded

19

20

CHAPTER 1

their humanitarian benefit. They portrayed the consumer as victim to the wiles and guiles of disreputable merchants, and they responded by implementing a number of regulations that culminated in the development of a national medicine regulatory system. In their endeavors to control the medicinal market, government leaders worked together with—and, indeed, greatly depended on—the efforts of existing drug merchants and manufacturers, some of whom had previously been purveyors of the very medicines that the government sought to eradicate. Whereas some firms rallied against state regulations, which they perceived as threats to their livelihoods, others recognized the new medicine regulations as opportunities and adapted to become some of the leading pharmaceutical firms of the time. The government went so far as to create a state-sponsored pharmaceutical company, as it had done for major strategic industries such as shipbuilding, banking, and iron and steel. This chapter examines how Japan’s domestic pharmaceutical industry developed as a response to efforts by state planners to control the purchase and consumption of medicine. It does so by providing the broader background and context of the medicinal market in the early Meiji period. The fundamental questions that Japan’s leaders grappled with at this time not only endured but continued to structure the fledgling pharmaceutical industry well into the twentieth century. How freely should medicines circulate in the marketplace? Should medicines be treated like other consumer commodities or were they too important (or too dangerous) for free market consumption? Although Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was one of the firms that benefited most from this state sponsorship, its case was not unique for the medicine industry or, for that matter, seemingly any other industry in Japan. The development of pharmaceuticals as a strategic industry reflected the Meiji era’s top-down social engineering and cultural tastemaking to civilize and enlighten subjects toward the creation of a strong nation-state. State planners targeted indigenous medicines for eradication, deeming them unscientific, immoral, and steeped in superstition (and, therefore, in desperate need of regulation). The transformation of a medicinal marketplace—from one that primarily sold medicines derived from native and Asian traditions to one dominated by medicines based on Western biomedical practices—was gradual, uneven, and fraught with conflict. Like the broader program for industrial modernization, the top-down attempts to encourage Western medicines and inculcate medicinal practices were anything but smooth. Despite government efforts, indigenous medicines continued to flourish. The Meiji era was a time of flux and experimentation, when even the primary proponents of modern medicines remained unsure how they themselves could become modern, too. One of the underlying themes of

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

21

this chapter—and, indeed, this book—is how the term “modern medicine” had different meanings for different people.

Medicines and the State The development of the pharmaceutical industry in Japan began with the latenineteenth-century institutionalization of biomedicine based on Western examples. In an era marked by an obsession with developing Japan into a modern, industrial nation-state and a concomitant hunger for goods and practices originating in Europe and the United States, Japanese leaders deemed the strength and fitness of the populace vital to the strength and fitness of Japan as a nation and empire. They institutionalized Western medicine and fostered its customs and practices across society to help shape, both literally and metaphorically, the body politic.1 Although the state’s role in molding healthy minds and hygienical bodies was far from unified—and, for that matter, far from uniquely Japanese—the speed with which Japan developed its medical and public health infrastructure was singular for its time.2 Hygienists such as Nagayo Sensai, statesmen such as Goto- Shinpei, military doctors such as Mori Rintaro- (1862–1922), and bacteriologists such as Kitasato Shibasaburo- laid the foundations for Japan’s modern system of state-licensed medicine and public health, based, in large part, on German models underpinned by advances in laboratory-based science and technology.3 State medical authorities established medical schools, quarantine stations, mass immunization programs, and “sanitary police” (eisei keisatsu) to eradicate infectious diseases such as cholera and typhus and sexually transmitted afflictions like syphilis and gonorrhea.4 Some established asylums for the mentally ill; others fostered campaigns to inculcate healthy everyday life practices like handwashing or even adopting hygienic Western-style hairstyles and clothes.5 The goal was to mobilize a populace ready to work in industrial factories and to fight in a newly constructed conscript army.6 To support this strengthening of the national body through the discipline of corporeal bodies, the government collected statistical data on Japanese citizens, including average height, weight, chest dimension, and life expectancy, as well as disabilities, contagious diseases, and infant mortality.7 As Michel Foucault famously wrote, “Knowledge is not for understanding; it is for cutting.”8 Recorded data and accumulated knowledge about subject bodies helped create a disciplinary modern regime of medicine and public health that proved essential for Japan’s top-down program of modernization based on the catch phrases “civilization and enlightenment” (bunmei kaika) and “rich nation, strong army”

22

CHAPTER 1

(fukoku kyo-hei). Japan’s medical modernizers cast a panoptic gaze on its populace, mobilizing them to productively labor for the good of the nation, fight for the glory of the empire, and protect their bodies from disease. Medical reformers based this program of a strong, invasive state as protector of public health and well-being on the German Staatsmedizin of Otto von Bismarck’s Germany. Although German models and ideas dominated official state medical discourse and practice through the early twentieth century, they were far from the only ideas circulating during the Meiji era. Despite its top-down nature and disciplinary intent, the institutionalization of state medicine involved fraught, wide-ranging processes that proved far from systematic. Meiji-era medical leaders did not work from a blank slate, but from within a milieu of cultural practices, disciplinary institutions, and intellectual currents forged during the waning years of the Tokugawa regime.9 Indeed, the category of Western medicine itself was up for debate. For example, for much of the Edo period (1603–1868), Western medicine was simply “Dutch medicine” (Ranpo-, or literally, the “Dutch Way”); this only changed after Commodore Matthew Perry and his so-called Black Ships arrived in Edo Bay in 1853 and sparked a socio-political and epistemological crisis that opened the floodgates to Western imperialism, which ultimately toppled the shogunate. Dutch medicine entered Japan during the Edo period through merchant-explorers who mediated Japan’s contact with the Western world. Although the Tokugawa regime limited contact with Western nations, it allowed Dutch merchants to periodically trade directly with shogunal officials through Dejima, a roughly two-acre manmade depot off the coast of Nagasaki. The scientists and physicians who accompanied the merchants became the wellsprings of medicine and medical knowledge. Perhaps the most famous example was Pompe van Meerdervoort (1829–1908), who trained Nagayo Sensai.10 The eventual dominance of German medical doctors in the Meiji-era medical regime—rather than Dutch doctors or, for that matter, British, French, or American, all of whom sought to impart their teachings on Japanese shores—was, like the broader revolutionary Meiji regime itself, both a political compromise between competing factions and a pragmatic, practical choice.11 At the highest levels, government leaders established a centralized, hierarchical administrative structure based on German examples. The Medical Affairs Bureau (Imukyoku) was established in March 1873. In 1875, it was renamed the Sanitary Bureau (Eiseikyoku) and placed under the auspices of the Home Ministry. From this bureau’s Central Sanitary Board (Chu-o- eiseikai), officials monitored, regulated, and legislated nearly all aspects of medicine and public health, from supervising schools and hospitals to directing mass vaccinations.12 Yet Dutch medical doctors remained important, likely because of the legacy of Dutch medicine from

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

23

the Edo period. Two of the key figures in establishing medicinal regulations, for example, were the Dutch military physician Anton Johannes Cornelis Geerts (1843–1883) and the Dutch chemist Johann Frederick Eijkman (1851–1915), both of whom the fledgling Meiji government hired as “foreign experts” (oyatoi gaijin).13 The administration of public health at the local level also relied on native institutions and practices for household surveillance and self-rule. These dated back to the Edo period, when the Tokugawa regime sought to curb and prevent infectious diseases such as cholera, smallpox, measles, and dysentery. In 1887, the Central Sanitary Board ordered the nationwide formation of the “sanitary cooperatives” (eisei kumiai), which comprised neighborhood leaders responsible for supervising and enforcing public health measures, the most important of which, according to William Johnston, “was to ensure that nobody within the cooperative concealed the identity of anyone who had an acute infectious disease.”14 Officials based these cooperatives on the “five-person groups” (gonin gumi) and customs of ostracizing villagers (mura hachibu) responsible for keeping peace and order during the Edo period.15 In Japan’s overseas empire, the administration of public health similarly relied on preexisting disciplinary edifices. For example, the government-general of Taiwan (as well colonial regimes in other places with large populations of Han Chinese) carried out public health policy by means of the indigenous hoko- (baojia) system of social organization through neighborhood control.16 From this perspective, seemingly modern practices like quarantine did not seem very modern at all.

The Variegated Medicinal Market Within an environment that privileged Western medicine, indigenous and non-Western forms of healing increasingly faced suspicion and hostility. The imposition of Western medicine by state medical elites involved the inculcation of scientific epistemologies and a concomitant attack on indigenous and non-Western forms of healing. Two key figures behind these efforts were the German military doctors Leopold Müller (1822–1893) and Theodor Hoffmann (1837–1894)—whom the Japanese government invited during 1871–1874 to educate a generation of physicians to become the leaders of a modern medical regime. Müller and Hoffmann targeted, above all, the Chinese medical tradition (kanpo- in Japanese, which literally means “method of the Chinese Han Dynasty”). They blamed this tradition for the problems that they faced in educating Japan’s first class of Western-trained medical doctors, who, according to Hoffmann, had “blind faith in authority” and lacked the capacity for “independent observation or

24

CHAPTER 1

[forming] their own medical opinions.”17 The formal delegitimation of Chinese medicine began in 1876 with a government regulation that required all physicians to study Western medicine, followed by an 1883 directive that derecognized Chinese medical practitioners under the new medical system.18 Looking back on his time in Japan, Müller considered “the displacement of Chinese method” as the most prominent achievement of their tenure when “for the first time, it was demonstrated to the eyes of the Japanese that science could be acquired not by an aphoristic memorization, but only a well-organized and arranged, serious study.”19 The denunciations levied against native medical practices like kanpo- also applied, of course, to the medicines and associated products those practices used. Müller, for example, derided indigenous “druggists [yakuzaishi] or whatever you call them” for having a “severely limited understanding of herbal medicines” and for how they “disorderedly [muchakucha] arranged their medicines on shelves, most of which were in unmarked containers.”20 The many reasons for discrimination against indigenous medicine amounted to the same basic critique: these practices were old, backward, and empirically unverifiable. They represented deficiencies that doctors trained in Western biomedicine wanted to eradicate from society and symbolized the opposite of what they felt that a scientifically based medicinal market should be. In contrast to Western biomedicine, which aims to isolate and root out contagions, Chinese medicine strives to restore harmony to an unbalanced, weakened body. It includes practices such as moxibustion and acupuncture, reflexology and acupressure (shiatsu), and the administration of herbal remedies.21 Chinese medicines likely first reached Japan during the Nara period (710–794), and in successive years, indigenous elites often adapted them, along with Chinese medical classics, to suit local conditions. This process accelerated during the Edo period, when medicine healers began forming a recognizable, native medical tradition, rooted in—yet distinctly divergent from—Chinese ones. This nativist turn in medicines reflected trends in the Tokugawa intellectual milieu, particularly the popularity of the School of National Learning (Kokugaku), founded by Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801) and amplified by Hirata Atsutane (1776–1843) and his disciples, which sought to distill core Japanese values distinct from Chinese and other outside influences.22 Divergences and adaptations of the Chinese medicinal canon also represented pragmatic responses to problems in medicinal supply. Although the trade of medicines from the Asian continent continued during the Edo period through ports like Nagasaki, ingredients and concoctions in Chinese texts were routinely unavailable in Japan or prohibitively expensive and difficult to obtain; for example, one landmark text, Okamoto Ippo-’s 1698 Materia Medica, focused

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

25

on medicinal substances easily obtainable within the Japanese archipelago.23 In the Edo period, medical practitioners commonly differentiated kanpo- medicines from the Asian continent (to-yakushu) from domestically sourced and, often, less pricey Japanese medicines (wakanshu).24 Among the many different, overlapping terms for medicines—which reflected intellectual origins, provenance, and composition—were “medicines of the Chinese way” (kanpo-yaku), “Eastern medicines” (to-yo- iyaku), “Sino-Japanese medicines” (wakanyaku), and the descriptively matter-of-fact (and as time passed, increasingly dismissive) so-konmokuhi, literally translated as “grasses, roots, and tree bark.”25 Despite the harangues of Western doctors like Müller and Hoffmann—not to mention the criticisms of a new generation of physicians, many of whom they trained—indigenous medicines and medical practices were far from unscientific. One major intellectual current, as Federico Marcon has shown, was honzo-gaku (literally “the study of fundamental herbs”), which linked pharmaceutical studies to new ways of seeing and knowing nature.26 Although native medicines represented, in the eyes of Western-trained doctors, static and base customs of the past, their proponents and practitioners did not stand still, but continually innovated on their own terms, thereby challenging what it meant to be modern.27 As elsewhere, modernity and tradition were heuristic categories that derived meaning largely from comparison, context, and translation.28 And just as discontinuities between medical practice from the Edo to Meiji periods have been overstated, so, too, has been the state’s ability to influence medicinal consumption. In a textured and nuanced article on continuities in cholera prevention and people’s dietary regimen from the Edo to Meiji periods, Suzuki Akihito and Suzuki Mika demonstrate that as much as the Meiji-era imposition of Western medicine seemed like an abrupt, top-down affair, it also involved considerable buy-in (pun intended) from the populace at large. According to Suzuki and Suzuki, the “policy of the elite and the common people’s health-seeking behavior had considerable overlaps,” and these overlaps occurred in a “marketplace of health.”29 At the end of the Edo period, the Tokugawa shogunate formally imported Western medicines immediately after the signing of the 1858 Treaty of Amity and Commerce between the United States and Japan, the first of the so-called unequal treaties, which put Japan in inferior diplomatic and trading relationships with the Western imperial powers. At this time, popular Western medicines largely consisted of simple tinctures and tonics, and some of the earliest imports included morphine for killing pain, santonin for expelling parasitic worms, digitalis for complications with the heart, and kina bark for treating malaria-induced fever.30 In the Meiji era, these substances remained among the most popular medicines of any kind, along with iodine, silver nitrate, cod-liver oil, chloroform, antipyrine, mercurous chloride, carbolic acid, quinine, and cocaine.31

26

CHAPTER 1

Although state medical authorities such as Nagayo Sensai demonstrated a clear preference for Western medicines, they did not welcome them all. They worried about how their preference fostered a growing market for counterfeits and adulterates (giyaku or nisegusuri). Steeped in paternalistic attitudes, they did not trust the ability of the broader populace to make rational decisions concerning medicinal consumption and felt consumer ignorance hurt not just pocketbooks but also constitutions. The difficulty and expense of obtaining imported Western medicines provided a major incentive to cheat—ineffective or even poisonous counterfeits could be sold at a discount, thus harming buyer and seller and throwing off the supposed equilibrium of the marketplace. Consumer unfamiliarity with Western medicines—especially as new varieties seemingly appeared every day—compounded the problem. State officials were well aware that even licensed pharmacy shops often sold inferior forms. The poor quality of domestically produced medicines exacerbated the situation, as is so often the case in fledgling industries.32 A category of medicine that similarly troubled medical authorities was that of patent medicines (baiyaku), which originally derived from Chinese and native medicinal traditions, and consisted of ornately packaged pills, elixirs, tonics, and potions. Medicine healers and itinerant peddlers sold them either as supplements or as less expensive alternatives to medicines prescribed by doctors. Many, including licensed medical practitioners looking to supplement their incomes, sold their own home-brewed concoctions. In the Meiji period, patent medicine peddlers increasingly advertised their wares as modern, Western, and scientific. Yet like their counterparts in the Western world, they frequently faced accusations of quackery and counterfeiting.33 Perhaps above all, medical authorities feared narcotics—substances that alter moods and dull the senses. Narcotics were part of both Western and Asian medicinal canons. Opium scared authorities most of all. On the one hand, Japan’s growing Western-trained medical community widely recognized and valued opium and its medicinal derivatives for their analgesic and soporific qualities, as communities across cultures have done for centuries. By the late nineteenth century, many medical practitioners already used morphine for rudimentary surgery and rehabilitation, among other pain-relief purposes. Yet on the other hand, medical authorities recognized opium as a dangerous scourge. Although officials considered morphine as a scientific—albeit exceedingly dangerous—Western medicine, they coded opium, in its raw form, as a distinctly backward, Asian drug. The global legitimacy of the Japanese nation-state involved, in the words of Miriam Kingsberg, “stigmatizing, pathologizing, criminalizing, and finally eliminating” opium smoking as a social deviance.34

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

27

The Meiji state feared the threat of opium from its beginning. As early as April 1868—the month of the promulgation of the Imperial Charter Oath, which expressed the modernizing goals of the new regime immediately after the enthronement of the Meiji Emperor—the samurai-turned-statesmen who led the overthrow of the Tokugawa shogunate called for the immediate prohibition of opium, claiming that it would “lead to disaster” if it spread “among the public.”35 They deemed opium smoking an evil custom and moral pathogen, and they considered opium prohibition essential for consolidating their control over the populace and for leading Japan to a civilizational level worthy of a first-rank nation-state.

Toward Regulation Prevailing concerns about the nature of Japan’s medicinal market and its medicine supply compelled state medical authorities into action. They looked toward regulation to help tilt the scales in consumers’ favor (and, of course, to assert their own paternalistic authority). Officials viewed medicines as strategic commodities tied to the nation-state’s program of civilization and enlightenment, and, therefore, felt that they could not be left to the vagaries and whims of the market. They believed that the medicinal market required not just regulation of counterfeit and problematic medicines but also the active, guiding hand of the state to encourage the production of quality medicines. Nagayo Sensai, along with foreign experts such as Anton Johannes Cornelis Geerts and Johann Frederick Eijkman, led the efforts to create a national medicine regulatory system. But a growing number of Japanese scientists such as Shibata Sho-kei (1850–1910), Shimoyama Jun’ichiro- (1853–1912), Niwa To-kichiro(1856–1930), Ikeguchi Keizo- (1867–1933), and Tanba Keizo- (1854–1927), soon joined their ranks. These men all studied at leading German universities and took up leading positions in Japan’s state medical administration and its most prominent academic institutions after they returned to their home country. They helped establish pharmacology as a discipline and directed efforts to regulate the medicinal marketplace. They issued regulations and reforms in rapid succession, and successive policies reinforced preceding laws.36 In May 1873, the Medical Affairs Bureau of the Ministry of Education promulgated the landmark Procedures for the Investigation of Medicines (Yakuzai torishirabe no ho-ho-), which provided the foundations for medicine regulation in Japan. It delineated procedures for nationwide testing and inspection of medicines, which included on-site investigations of pharmacies and a national

28

CHAPTER 1

licensing system for medicine purveyors. It also ordered the compilation of a national pharmacopeia that officially identified and established standards for medicinal compounds. A subsequent June 1873 directive required the registry of every medicine shop in the nation. Officials recorded the ownership, background and characteristics of each store, which were each assigned a designated number as official authorization to handle medicines.37 The Procedures for the Investigation of Medicines also called for the establishment of a national pharmacy school to train licensed pharmacists, which began the differentiation of pharmaceutical sciences from other medical sciences. State authorities felt that Japan lacked essential expertise in fields like pharmacology to regulate medicines, and they also wanted oversight over doctors who concocted their own remedies for direct sale to patients. Medical doctors, however, fought back in response to what they perceived as an incursion into their livelihoods. This began a controversy over medical professionalization known as iyaku bungyo- (“separating doctors from pharmacists”) that continued well into the twentieth century.38 In March 1874, a centralized national administrative structure for inspecting medicines, the Office for Supervising Medicines (Shiyakujo-), opened its doors in the Nihonbashi district of Tokyo with the German doctor Georg Martin as its first director. Previously, inspections of medicines had literally been surface deep, conducted only on a medicine’s packaging without examining what was inside. In addition to collecting and testing medicines, the Office for Supervising Medicines gathered and investigated a variety of plants, animals, and other substances that could potentially serve as medicinal raw materials. In December 1874, soon after the Tokyo office opened, nearly identical medicine supervisory offices opened in Kyoto and Osaka.39 With these central administrative offices established, subsequent laws regulated the medicines themselves. In September 1874, the Directive on Handling Poisonous Medicines (Dokuyaku torishimari rei) identified thirty-one different types of potentially dangerous substances for special regulation, including arsenic and phosphorous. In March 1875, authorities passed the Regulations on the Testing of Medicine Shops (Yakuho shiken kisoku) in Kyoto, setting the standards and requirements for licensing medicine shops across the nation. In April 1875, authorities instituted a system of stamping medicines that passed inspection and assigning punishments for those who sold counterfeit or adulterated medicines. There were three possible stamps a medicine could receive: “appropriate medicines” (teki-iyakuyo-), “inappropriate medicines” (futeki-iyakuyo-), and “medicines prohibited for medical use” (kin-iyakuyo-).40 After writing laws to regulate medicinal quality, medical authorities turned their attention to patent medicines, which transgressed the boundaries between

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

29

indigenous and foreign as well as between medical practice and medicine as commodity. In January 1877, the promulgation of the Regulations on Patent Medicines (Baiyaku kisoku) prohibited poisonous patent medicines, but allowed the sale of those found, based on inspection, to be “ineffective and innoucuous” (muko- mugai). The law also ordered manufacturers to pay taxes on the medicines they produced as well as fees for inspection. In 1882, authorities issued a Stamp Tax on Patent Medicines (Baiyaku inshizei), which levied a tax of 10 percent on the retail price of every patent medicine sold.41 The government similarly enacted laws that strictly regulated the quality and quantity of opium to clamp down on its abuse. Japanese authorities were so fearful of the substance that they issued the very first control measure—the 1870 Regulations on the Control of Raw Opium (Nama ahen torishimari kisoku), which prohibited opium consumption except for limited medicinal use—before establishing the state medical regime. In 1878, the Regulations on the Manufacturing and Trade of Opium (Yakuyo- ahen baibai narabi seizo- kisoku) replaced this law. The 1878 regulations gave the Home Ministry exclusive control of all matters related to opium, whether domestically produced or imported. Not only did the ministry have the power to regulate the quality of opium, it also maintained a monopoly on its sale and distribution through a network of medicine administrative offices across Japan’s prefectures, which granted official licenses for purchasing opium to doctors, hospitals, pharmacies, and other medical practitioners. Each dispensation of opium to patients, in turn, was strictly recorded, and only 150 grams were allowed to be given at a time. The ministry even directly contracted with foreign suppliers of raw opium. The 1878 Regulations on the Sale and Distribution of Opium (Ahen uriwatashi kisoku)—which, notably, were also written in Chinese to curb opium smoking in treaty-port Chinatowns— along with the 1880 Criminal Code (Keiho-) set penalties for the possession and use of opium as well as related paraphernalia. The state’s message was simple: opium smoking was among the greatest sins that a modern, civilized citizen could commit.42 By the early 1880s, the government had created the foundations of a medicine regulatory system. The January 1880 promulgation of the Regulations on Medicines and the Medicine Business (Yakuhin eigyo- narabi yakuhin torishimari kisoku) consolidated and superseded earlier edicts, and gave the responsibility for regulating medicines to the aforementioned three offices for supervising medicines in Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. In 1883, these offices became the three state sanitary laboratories (eisei shikenjo).43 Meanwhile, in 1880, Nagayo Sensai directed an editorial team including Shibata, Eijkman, and Geerts to begin compiling a Japanese pharmacopeia (Nihon yakkyokuho-) modeled on the pharmacopeia of Western nations. It was the first

30

CHAPTER 1

pharmacopeia established in Asia, and the first edition, published in 1886, identified the formulas of 468 separate medicines. In March 1889, the promulgation of the Regulations on the Medicine Business and on the Handling and Use of Medicines (Yakuhin eigyo- narabi yakuhin toriatsukai kisoku) required all medicines manufactured and traded within Japan to conform to the pharmacopeia’s established standards. According to these regulations, any medicines that did not conform to the Japanese pharmacopeia or the pharmacopeias of other countries were subject to additional testing and required labels on their packaging that listed their main ingredients.44 The institution of a national regulatory system was groundbreaking for the modernization of the medicinal marketplace. Its regulations and supporting institutions framed the broader outlines of the pharmaceutical industry and drug trade through the twentieth century. In practice, however, the system faced many logistical problems and remained far from complete. Despite the formation of a national medicine regulatory system that included a stamp certification system and a national pharmacopeia, authorities soon realized that they did not have enough resources to inspect all the medicines circulating within Japan. The demand for and high cost of new Western medicines enticed entrepreneurs to enter the market, but also worsened the problem of counterfeits and adulterates. Medicines not yet listed in the pharmacopeia continually reached the market and added to authorities’ angst by making it difficult to tell whether a newly introduced medicine was an effective remedy or a fake placebo. Suspicions often arose as to whether the samples manufacturers provided for testing were the same as those actually produced. There were also widespread rumors and reports of unscrupulous entrepreneurs peddling counterfeit medicines using imported glass bottles or reused packaging. The poor quality of early domestically produced Western medicines added to these problems.45 Amid these pressures, the state served as much more than a guiding hand to its fledgling drug industry; it began to actively enlist leading private firms for help with regulation. Overburdened, underfunded, and understaffed, the three state sanitary laboratories simply could not handle the sheer number of medicines that needed to be tested. In 1888, leaders of fourteen major drug companies, under the direction of the governor of Osaka, set up a corporation for the testing of medicines, the Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company (Osaka yakuhin shiken kaisha). This nominally private corporation functioned, for all intents and purposes, as an official government organ; medical practitioners considered a medicine that bore its stamp of approval as they would a medicine that had passed similar inspection from the Osaka Sanitary Laboratory (Osaka eisei shikenjo). In 1898, drugmakers in Tokyo established a similar regulatory structure: the Tokyo Pharmaceutical Trade Association (Tokyo seiyaku do-gyo- kumiai). The

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

31

association’s seventy-eight founding members banded together to regulate the industry—and thus protect its reputation and foster its growth—by preventing inferior medicines from entering the market and legislating against unfair competition.46 The regulatory relationship between government organs and well-established merchants in the drug industry was far from a solely modern phenomenon. Since the eleventh century (if not earlier), urban merchants in Japan organized into guilds (za), which were similar to those that developed in European citystates during the medieval period. Guilds regulated commerce and trade through monopoly rights (tokken) negotiated with local governments. Such rights often included the control and regulation of merchandise stocks, sales routes, trade agreements, and provisions for tax avoidance. By the Edo period, guilds controlled commerce in Japan’s urban castle-towns, and particularly in three major centers of political and economic power: Kyoto, the home of the emperor and the titular imperial capital of Japan; Edo, the residence of the shogun and the center of authority in the era; and Osaka, a center of national commerce, mostly because of the Do-jima rice exchange, where samurai traded surplus rice from their hereditary stipends for cash.47 These cities became the centers of a nationwide wholesale distribution network. The system involved wholesalers (yakushu tonya or to-yaku tonya) buying commodities from brokers (nakagainin) or directly from producers (seisansha), and then selling them, either to different brokers or to retailers (ko-uriya). Merchants within city limits began congregating in specific areas for the sale of specific goods, and they formed guild-like trade associations among themselves. Osaka’s Fushimimachi, for example, attracted textile merchants, whereas the area along the two banks of the Higashi Yo- ko- Canal (Higashi yo-ko-bori)—consisting of Dosho-machi, Hiranomachi, and Awajimachi—lured Chinese medicine traders.48 Meanwhile, a wholesale medicine distribution system developed in Dosho-machi in Kyoto, in Honmachi in Tokyo, and later in other castle-towns.49 Although the exact regulations concerning each wholesale system differed from town to town, the basic premise remained the same: the encouragement of cooperation and self-regulation among a limited number of actors organized as kabunakama (often translated as “merchant guilds” or “protective associations”) who paid membership fees called myo-gakin.50 In 1722, the shogunate granted monopoly rights over all imported medicines to merchant guilds located in Osaka’s Dosho-machi and Edo’s Honmachi. These associations had the exclusive right to import medicines and negotiate prices with wholesalers who packaged and distributed the medicines to druggists, doctors, and retail shops throughout Japan. Their leading members had express authority to investigate and regulate

32

CHAPTER 1

medicines, which was particularly controversial to competing nonmembers. Nonmembers regularly petitioned the shogunate to protest unfair trade. The shogunate granted monopoly and powers to these associations because it claimed that it wanted to promote the manufacture and trade of medicines while ensuring their quality and reliability.51 The regulatory powers wielded by major medicine manufacturers carried over into the Meiji era. Indeed, the drugmakers who formed the Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company in 1888 were all influential members of a wholesale system based in Osaka’s Dosho-machi since the Edo period.52 Two of the most influential figures in establishing the Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company, Tanabe Go-hei and Takeda Cho-hei, rode the shifting winds of the Meiji period to transform their businesses from Edo-period purveyors of Chinese and native medicines to traders—and later, manufacturers—of Western medicines. Their respective firms became two modern giants of the industry, Tanabe Pharmaceuticals and Takeda Pharmaceuticals.53 Today, Dosho-machi remains the de facto center of the pharmaceutical industry today.54

Toward a State-Sponsored Drug Industry The Meiji government’s efforts to control the medicine market also dealt with a broader, more fundamental problem of resource scarcity. Even if the national regulatory system for medicines had worked as intended—without the setbacks, inefficiencies, and lack of the resources available to inspect all the medicines circulating within Japan—this still would not have resolved the fundamental problem that Japan had to rely on foreign countries for its medicine supply. Nearly all of the medicines officially listed in the Japanese pharmacopeia (or otherwise receiving official endorsement) came from foreign sources. Amid the influx of new and foreign medicines, the majority of people continued to rely on traditional remedies and patent medicines, which authorities disdained. As government leaders directed Japan toward industrial modernity—and particularly after the country’s colonial machinations embroiled it in two regional wars, the 1894–1905 Sino-Japanese War and 1904–1905 Russo-Japanese War— national self-sufficiency regarding medicines necessary for the war effort, such as iodine and quinine, increasingly became a public health concern. State medical authorities perceived the lack of quality medicines as hindering modern medical practices. Domestic manufacturers also lacked the technical knowledge, capital, and research infrastructure necessary to produce such medicines. The defining characteristic of the global pharmaceutical industry was the well-funded and often

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

33

state-supported research laboratory and its ability to isolate and replicate compounds from the natural world.55 Pharmaceutical development at this time— in Japan and across the world—was intertwined with the growth of chemical, dyestuff, and other related industries. These industries all relied on innovations and breakthroughs in organic chemistry that allowed entrepreneurial scientists to synthesize costly natural compounds, which were often difficult to procure and inconsistent in quality. Within the confines of the research laboratory, compounds—whether intended as clothes dyes or for alleviating stomachaches (or both!)—could be isolated, refined, controlled for quality, and uniformly reproduced for mass production. One famous example of the interconnection between pharmaceuticals, chemicals, and dyes was William Henry Perkin’s serendipitous discovery of aniline, a purple organic dye, after he set out to discover a synthetic alternative to quinine. Another example was the development of the German pharmaceutical industry, which led the world in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Its leading firms, such as Hoeschst and Bayer, began as broader chemical and dye manufacturers before producing pharmaceuticals. Connections to well-funded research universities, government bureaucrats, and financial institutions helped these firms discover pharmaceutical compounds, market and distribute them, and even enforce their patents worldwide.56 Because Japan’s medical authorities regarded the difficulty of procuring and producing quality medicines as a pressing a problem, it refused to leave the pharmaceutical industry to its own devices. For example, one important supplier of chemicals for pharmaceutical production in the 1870s was actually the Mint Bureau (Zo-heikyoku) in Osaka, which sold surplus chemicals from currency production, such as sulfuric acid and zinc sulfate, to drug manufacturers. National demand for these chemicals, however, far exceeded what the Mint Bureau could supply.57 The frequency of outbreaks of infectious disease—such as the cholera epidemic of 1877, which stemmed from the Seinan War (Seinan senso-, perhaps better known as the Satsuma Rebellion)—underlined the national importance of maintaining sufficient stocks of imported disinfecting agents such as carbolic acid.58 Another problem was intellectual property. The groundbreaking publication of the first edition of the Japanese pharmacopeia in 1886 demonstrated a major weakness: Western drug producers held the trademarks of nearly all of the medicines that the pharmacopeia listed as officially recognized medicines.59 Officials believed that regulations would never truly work in the pharmaceutical industry unless Japanese producers could have the commercial rights to produce the medicines that physicians required. The government fostered pharmaceuticals as a strategic industry, which it deemed necessary for Japan’s overall health and welfare, in response to these

34

CHAPTER 1

problems. It adopted an approach common across nearly all sectors of Japan’s economy: direct, active investment, often via operating a state-run enterprise or fostering a cadre of entrepreneurs who, in most cases, were more than willing to align their pursuit of profit with national interests. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was a major beneficiary of this tradition of state sponsorship. But it was far from the only one, and perhaps not even the most exemplary. One of the earliest examples of the government’s active role in industry development was the 1890 creation of a nationalized consortium of three Osaka-based pharmaceutical firms, Tanabe, Takeda, and Shionogi, to manufacture iodine, amid concerns over access to global supplies from Germany and Chile. Iodine was (and remains to this day) valued for its antiseptic properties and for its treatment of hyperthyroidism. The consortium worked together to lower the costs and improve the efficiency of all aspects of iodine production, from establishing a manufatory, to perfecting techniques for extracting iodine from seaweed ash, to buying necessary chemicals and raw materials. In response, Great Britain created an iodine syndicate based in Glasgow, which underscored how governments throughout the world treated medicinal self-sufficiency as a zero-sum game.60 In the early 1880s, the government founded Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals, the pharmaceutical industry’s corollary to state-sponsored model enterprises in other areas such as shipbuilding and railroads. The company was the brainchild of Nagayo Sensai, who headed a group of influential politicians-cumindustrialists across Japan, including Baron Nitta Tadasumi (the first president of the company), Viscount Shinagawa Yajiro-, Count Yamada Akiyoshi, Komuro – Nobuo, Okura Kihachiro-, Shimada Kyu-bei, and Fukuhara Arinobu (the future founder of Shiseido-). The government gave the company its official sanction and financial support, which included twenty-year leases on land, structures, and machinery, as well startup capital of 100,000 yen.61 The company’s mission, according to a corporate history, was to “supply good, high-quality medicines according to the Japanese pharmacopeia,” which would be cheaper than previous imports.62 Government leaders established Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals during the height of the Matsukata Deflation (1881–1885), named after Finance Minister Matsukata Masayoshi’s deflationary policies, which involved cutting state expenses, shrinking the money supply, and raising revenue through higher taxes and the privatization of underperforming state enterprises.63 Dai Nippon was founded at a time when the first generation of students sent abroad for a modern education had either finished their degrees or were in the process of completing them. So unlike earlier government-run firms, it was able to rely on Japanese experts, rather than comparatively costly foreign counterparts. Nagai Nagayoshi—widely recognized today as the father of Japan’s pharmaceutical

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

35

industry—was the most important such expert in Dai Nippon’s early years. Nagai directed the company’s drug production efforts after studying chemistry at Germany’s Berlin University. His other accomplishments included discovering and chemically synthesizing ephedrine in 1885 and serving as the first president of the Pharmaceutical Society of Japan.64 Dai Nippon formally began operation on May 5, 1885, in the Kyo- bashi district of Tokyo. Under Nagai’s direction, the company originally focused on galenicals—medicines derived from natural rather than synthetic elements.65 In 1883 Nagai established a contract to import German-manufactured “damp opium” (shitsujun ahen), and until the establishment of opium manufacturing facilities within the Tokyo Sanitary Laboratory (Tokyo eisei shikenjo) in November 1894, Dai Nippon was the sole producer of opium-based medicines in Japan.66 In 1893, Nagai synthesized methamphetamine, which Dai Nippon later widely sold on the consumer market as its trademarked drug for stavingoff sleepiness, Philopon (or hiropon).67 Another noteworthy early product was what has continued to be among the most popular carbonated beverages in Japan, Ramune, which was then sold as a remedy for alleviating the symptoms of cholera.68 In October 1897, the government sold off Dai Nippon to private investors after suffering years of financial difficulties, similar to the sell-off of statesponsored companies during Matsukata Masayoshi’s tenure as finance minister. The buyer, Osaka Pharmaceuticals (Osaka seiyaku kabushiki kaisha)—which had been established in Dosho-machi only a year earlier by the industrialist Hino Kurobe¯ and twenty-one leading drug entrepreneurs, including the leaders of Tanabe, Takeda, Shionogi—had its roots in the Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company, which itself sprouted from relationships sown since Tokugawa times.69 Osaka Pharmaceuticals assumed not just Dai Nippon’s name but also its trademarks and entire operations, including factories, machinery, and personnel. The “new” Dai Nippon thus represented an even greater example of the intimate and overlapping connections between public- and private-sector elites in the drug industry.70 Meanwhile, the state’s privileging of Western medicines enticed a variety of entrepreneurs—in addition to former manufacturers and traders of indigenous medicines—who saw opportunities for profit. Some, such as Maruho Pharmaceuticals, Tomoda Pharmaceuticals, and Torii Pharmaceuticals, transformed from trading firms to fully specialize in producing medicines. Others answered the call of government planners to establish firms that expressly manufactured Western medicines. Some, like Maruishi Pharmaceuticals, specialized in medicines officially listed in the Japanese pharmacopeia, whereas others focused on manufacturing new medicines not yet officially listed in the pharmacopeia that

36

CHAPTER 1

were in use overseas; these latter firms included Nihon Pharmaceuticals, BanyuPharmaceuticals, and Radium (Rajiumu) Pharmaceuticals.71 The thick connections between state and drug industry were, perhaps, more discernible in times of war than in times of peace. Japan’s two major wars for regional supremacy, the Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War, were boons for the fledgling drug industry. Japan’s victory in the Sino-Japanese War marked the transition from a China-dominated East Asian order to a Japanese one, and its victory in the Russo-Japanese War represented the unprecedented triumph of an Asian nation over a Western imperialist power. As times of exception—when the state tried to harness the majority of society’s productive forces for warfare—these wars helped solidify commonly held ideas about the importance of medical self-sufficiency and the dangers of market fluctuations that caused shortages at the most inopportune times. During these wars, medicines became more than simple commodities, and manufacturers of certain medicines became rich. The Sino-Japanese War demonstrated the dangers of Japan’s exposure to global speculators. For example, according to a November 1894 article in the drug industry trade journal, Nihon yakugyo- shinshi, “Before the Sino-Japanese War, the market for medicine was largely quiet. But the market immediately reacted once news spread of the war’s harm to navigation and hindrances to trade. People began speculating in different ways. Some people suffered during this time while others [took advantage] and reaped huge profits.”72 During the costly and closely contested Russo-Japanese War, major pharmaceutical firms similarly took advantage of the disruptions of trade and the military’s demand for essential medicines. Takeda Pharmaceuticals supplied soldiers with sulfuric acid and ampoule drugs, and Tanabe Pharmaceuticals provisioned fighting forces with phenol and creosote. The demand for war matériel spurred Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals’s debt-financed expansion, which was accomplished largely through war bonds. Fujisawa Pharmaceuticals took advantage of the Russo-Japanese War to solidify its presence in the global market for camphor.73 The Japanese army even developed its own medicine to fight life-threatening diarrhea among soldiers, the “Conquer-Russia-Pill” (Seirogan), which became a popular patent medicine and patriotic symbol of militarisitic expansion well after the war’s end.74 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was born in the wake of the Russo-Japanese War, primarily as a producer of patent medicines for the consumer market. The growth of Japan’s modern, domestic pharmaceutical industry depended on the intimate ties between state and private enterprise. This dynamic stemmed from the muddled medicinal marketplace that had existed in Japan even before the Meiji government came to power. The danger of counterfeits, the popularity

A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

37

of patent medicines, and the looming threat of narcotics—coupled with fears concerning native medical traditions—influenced state planners toward regulations intended to protect consumers as well as influence them. Deeming medicines commodities too dangerous for unmediated exchange, these planners implemented regulations that attempted to protect consumers from sinister hucksters as well as potential dangers lurking within the medicines themselves. Their regulations privileged medicines of Western provenance and scientific disposition, and they relied on and incentivized domestic manufacturers to produce them. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was a company all too willing to take on that role. The next chapter examines how Hoshi Hajime—with more than a little help from his extraordinarily influential friends—founded his company to take advantage of a climate that privileged Western medicines and emphasized the importance of medicinal self-sufficiency for Japan.

2 THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

The story of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ founding is often recited in the company’s promotional material. The level of detail varies, but the tale largely remains the same. Like many such narratives, it begins with a founder of little means with a pioneering, potentially world-changing idea. In 1906, with 400 yen of borrowed money, Hoshi Hajime produced a tar-colored salve called ichtyol for sale to a Nihonbashi pharmacy named Iwashiya. Ichthyol (ammonium bituminosulfonate) is an antibacterial and anti-inflammatory ointment distilled from shale oil and used to treat skin problems, including acne and eczema. Hoshi sold his first batch of ichthyol for 1,600 yen, earning a profit of 1,200 yen from his initial capital of 400 yen. These profits boosted his confidence for continuing in the industry, and he soon opened a small medicine manufactory.1 From this modest foothold, his medicine business grew exponentially. By 1908 it had raised a capital of 5,000 yen, and in 1910 it received an investment of 25,000 yen from a group of “anonymous investors” (tokumei kumiai). Only a year later, in 1911, the company formally incorporated as a joint-stock holding company with a capitalization of 500,000 yen.2 Hoshi attributed its transformation from a self-proclaimed humble drug manufactory to pharmaceutical giant to its visionary humanitarian mantra: “Kindness First” (Shinsetsu dai-ichi). Emblazoned on billboards, product labels, and advertising leaflets from the 1910s through the 1940s, “Kindness First” represented, according to the company, its goal of “showing the world the possibility of combining profitmaking enterprise and social welfare.”3 It had three interrelated 38

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

39

components: a “spirit of self-reliance” (jichi no seishin) marked by diligence and individual responsibility, a faithfulness to the unimpeachable laws of “science” (kagaku), and, most importantly, “cooperation” (kyo-ryoku) within the firm-asfamily for the benefit of the community as a whole.4 “Kindness First” also alluded to the medicine business itself—that is, the company’s social responsibility of manufacturing medicines to improve peoples’ daily lives. Yet neither Hoshi’s origins nor its corporate ideology were exceptional. This chapter begins with the background of the company’s founder, Hoshi Hajime. It contextualizes his early life story and his intellectual inspirations and globetrotting experiences amid the widespread changes occurring both inside and outside Japan at the turn of the twentieth century. According to a 1923 article in the To-yo- keizai shinpo-, “Hoshi Pharmaceuticals is not a company of stockholders, nor is it a company of employees, but simply the company of Hoshi Hajime, the president. In order to understand the substance of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, one first has to understand Hoshi Hajime, the individual.”5 Hoshi Hajime was a product of his times, and he created his company in his own image. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals followed a prosaic pattern of many successful companies in the early years of Japan’s industrialization (and of companies throughout the world, then and now). It depended on its founder’s personal ties to leading statesmen who promoted his company—and richly profited from it— by aligning its growth and development with prevailing state directives, in this case concerning public health. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals blurred the lines between state and industry, and—as discussed in future chapters—benefited from politicians’ favoritism and largesse.

The Supposed Self-Made Man Hoshi Hajime was a major public figure in Japan in the first half of the twentieth century, and much of his early life story is well known, particularly through his own efforts.6 Hoshi often portrayed himself as an extraordinary case—the subtitle of one of his authorized biographies, after all, is Do-ryoku to shinnen no sekaijin (A worldly man of hard work and conviction).7 Yet, his story follows the pattern of a typical bildungsroman of a hardworking industrialist from humble origins, interwoven with the dramatic socioeconomic changes occurring within Japan and across the world at the turn of the twentieth century.8 Hoshi constructed himself and his company based, in large part, on his early childhood experiences as the privileged eldest son of a local elite in Fukushima Prefecture and on the more than ten years he spent studying and working in the United States.

40

CHAPTER 2

In many ways, Hoshi’s story fit the archetype of an ambitious, elite youth who grew up during Japan’s Meiji era—an archetype that Earl Kinmonth has called the “Self-Made Man.” The Meiji period marked Japan’s extraordinarily rapid transformation from a feudal society to a modern, global power, which involved the reevaluation, refashioning, and remaking of nearly every political and economic institution and social custom. This tumultuous time included the establishment of a constitutional government, Japan’s march toward industrial capitalism, and the growth of its overseas empire, along with their attendant cultural frictions and socioeconomic dislocations. To create a modern and patriotic populace, state bureaucrats tried to foster an ethos of civic-minded achievement through compulsory public schooling. Vernacular works such as Fukuzawa Yukichi’s Gakumon no susume (An encouragement of learning) and Nakamura Masanao’s Saikoku risshi hen (Success stories of the West)—a bestselling translation of Samuel Smiles’s Self-Help—furthered such efforts by contributing to their mass appeal.9 Amid this backdrop, young men like Hoshi strove to “rise in the world” (risshin shusse) through competitive achievement, primarily based on education for success.10 Early formulations of risshin shusse often meant achieving fame and fortune through public office and other civic-minded occupations, but by the 1890s there was a much higher emphasis on material success.11 In contrast to the first generation of entrepreneurs in Japan, such as Shibusawa Eiichi (1840–1931), the so-called father of Japanese capitalism, or Iwasaki Yataro(1835–1885), the founder of Mitsubishi, Hoshi did not come from a samurai family that had converted its social capital into industrial and financial capital in the early years after the end of feudal rule in 1868. Yet Hoshi, like that earlier generation of entrepreneurs, believed his future fortunes advanced in lockstep with the strength of his nation—a view shared by other elite youth of his time. A commonality among such men, in the words of historian Byron Marshall, was their self-proclaimed “patriotic devotion and a willingness to sacrifice for the common good.”12 Although Japanese entrepreneurs were quick to embrace a do-it-yourself ethos of self-made success, they also explicitly legitimated individual striving within a prevailing lexicon of nation-minded social betterment. Not only was it good business to do so but it also reflected a modern, capitalist emphasis on individual subjectivity and self-sufficiency.13 Hoshi grew up in a wealthy, upwardly mobile rural household. Born in 1873 in Nishiki, a hamlet of Iwaki Township in Fukushima Prefecture, he was the eldest son of a wealthy sericulturalist named Kisanta, a member of the rural entrepreneurial elite—often translated as “men of renown” or “local notables” (chiho- meibo-ka). Kisanta served as the village head and representative on the Iwaki town committee during Hajime’s formative years. As a leading figure in the

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

41

“regional self-government” (chiho- jichi), he served as a vital intermediary for the central administration in Tokyo to enact its measures in the countryside.14 “Jichi” comes from the German concept of Selbstverwaltung (self-administration). In the 1880s, bureaucrats based Japan’s system of regional governance on this term, in which local communities would handle their own administrative affairs (albeit always in accordance with the dictates of the central state). The rural entrepreneurial elite were—to use the words of Carol Gluck— civic-minded “farmers in frock coats” who saw themselves as engines of change in the developing nation-state. In the first National Diet election in 1890, they occupied as much as two-thirds of the Lower House.15 They were often soysauce and sake brewers or silk manufacturers—occupations that the government encouraged in the 1870s as “side-employments” (fukugyo-) and that were then Japan’s leading commercial enterprises. In times of growth and expansion, these rural government officials often directed local infrastructure projects, such as the construction of roads and dams and the administration of public health. During economic downturns, they took responsibility for fiscal retrenchment by increasing taxes and encouraging savings for the benefit of the national good. No matter the circumstances, they stressed the development of harmonious, cooperative, and self-sufficient communities that undergirded national progress and development.16 Hoshi’s biographies paint Kisanta as a stereotype of his class. As an ambitious, pragmatic, nation-minded, and, above all, materialistic man, he imparted similar characteristics into his son. When Hoshi turned nineteen, his father urged him to give up his given name, Sakichi, in favor of Hajime to facilitate his future in politics and industry. Hajime, which is written in one stroke, was not only easier to remember and write but also meant the “first” and “best.”17 For Hoshi, as for other youth of his generation, “self-reliance” primarily meant education. Teachers, for example, often appealed to jichi no seishin to convince students to take charge of their own learning.18 For the most ambitious, selfreliance often involved leaving home for the city. A recurring trope within stories of self-aggrandizing, self-made Meiji men was the protagonist’s life-changing encounter with Tokyo, the locus of political, cultural, and socioeconomic transformation in Japan. At the age of seventeen, Hoshi left his job as a rural primary school teacher for Tokyo, where he spent four years taking nighttime classes at the Tokyo Commercial School (Tokyo sho-gyo- gakko-).19 According Hoshi Shin’ichi’s biography of his father, the Tokyo Commercial School was not—as was commonly but mistakenly believed—the predecessor to present-day Hitotsubashi University, one of Japan’s leading universities, but a comparatively unprivileged institution that attracted Hoshi because of its affordable tuition.20 In fact, however, the faculty of the Tokyo Commercial School

42

CHAPTER 2

included leading politicians and public intellectuals such as Takahashi Kenzo(1855–1898), who became Prime Minister Matsukata Masayoshi’s chief cabinet secretary in 1896, the economist Wadagaki Kenzo- (1860–1919), the chemical engineer Shimomura Ko-taro- (1861–1937), and a future governor-general of Taiwan, Uchida Kakichi (1866–1933). Takahashi Kenzo-, who was the principal of the school, became one of Hoshi’s earliest mentors, and introduced Hoshi to Nakamura Masanao’s translation of Samuel Smiles’ Self-Help, which became for Hoshi, as for many aspiring youth of his generation, the bible for achieving success.21 The school provided a practical education. Its required coursework included business history, economic history, commercial geography (sho-gyo- chiri), statistics, and English conversation and composition.22 At the time, there was no more practical concern than how to construct a modern nation and society that could overcome Western imperialist powers and the unequal treaties that they imposed. In the early years after the Meiji Restoration, many of Japan’s leaders had embarked on educational expeditions like the famed 1871–1873 Iwakura Mission to learn how these nations became so powerful, and they pointed to the latter’s economic development as the primary foundation for their strength.23 The explicit goal of the regime was to overcome the West through the development of industrial capitalism. Two of the most common slogans of the day were “rich nation, strong army” (fukoku kyo-hei) and “increase production, promote industry” (shokusan ko-gyo-). Although the content of Hoshi’s coursework remains unclear, Hoshi’s mentors—who were all well connected in the world of global geopolitics—undoubtedly helped instill the mindset of a nation-minded industrialist in whom the goals of state and industry were intertwined. Hoshi’s biographers continued the trope of Hoshi as self-made man through their narratives of his experiences studying abroad in the United States. At a time when Japanese elites seemed enthralled with Western influences and inspirations, study abroad represented a way to advance in the new government, culture, and economy of a rapidly industrializing Japan. The preferred location for many was the United States, where a similar narrative of pulling oneself up by the bootstraps had blossomed in the aftermath of the Civil War, and where the victory of the North over the South seemed to represent the triumph of industry over agriculture as well as of meritocracy over social connections. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Japanese elites saw the United States as the place where Horatio Alger’s rags-to-riches stories of self-styled success corresponded with supposed real-life examples in Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, Cornelius Vanderbilt, and other captains of industry. Translations of apocryphal tales of these steely-eyed men reached Japan in the late nineteenth

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

43

century; many were included in school textbooks, which were often direct translations of American ones.24 To emphasize Hoshi’s humble beginnings, his biographers characterized his decision to study in the United States as predetermined by class distinctions. For wealthy, rural youth like Hoshi who fell just outside of—yet strove to become part of—Tokyo’s political and economic elite, the United States represented a meritocracy free of the old-world, aristocratic customs of Western Europe.25 Compared to Germany or England, where study abroad was expensive and limited to elites earmarked for ministerial service, the United States supposedly represented a place where sons of peasants and shop clerks could work their way through school.26 Statistics concerning the destinations of overseas Japanese students seem to demonstrate the United States’ popularity and relative accessibility. From 1894 through 1901, out of 4,712 total passports issued for overseas study, 54.8 percent were issued for study in the United States, which far surpassed any other country in this regard.27 In 1894, out of 15 governmentsponsored students, 7 went to Germany, 3 studied in England, and none went to the United States; in 1895, out of 9 such students, 7 studied in Germany and none went to either England or the United States.28 Yet considering that the entire population of Japan at this time numbered roughly 42 million people, study abroad in the United States was still extraordinarily limited, even if it was comparatively more accessible to a larger swath of the Japanese male population. At the age of twenty-three, Hoshi arrived in San Francisco in October 1894 after a three-week journey across the Pacific from Yokohama.29 He had 300 yen of his father’s money in his pockets (not including unspecified additional funds raised from locals in his hometown) as well as a letter of introduction to the San Francisco consul general, Chinda Sutemi, from his mentor at the Tokyo Commercial School, Takahashi Kenzo-.30 The stereotypical job for Japanese immigrants was serving in wealthy households to earn tuition and living expenses. Hoshi followed suit. He first lived in a Christian boarding house called the Fukuinkai with about twenty others, and he performed assorted chores for wealthy families. To improve his English, he enrolled as a fourth grader in a primary school, but his goal was to enroll in a university on the East Coast. He ultimately decided on Columbia University in New York.31 He made the cross-country trek in May 1896, and he worked a number of jobs—including as a pageboy for the New York Herald and even as a street peddler of lace handicrafts—to save up enough money to pay Columbia’s tuition, which was 150 dollars a year.32 By the fall of 1897, he had saved enough to enter the School of Political Science of Columbia University while working part-time.33

44

CHAPTER 2

Of course, only a tiny fraction of Americans at this time, let alone Japanese, had the background and means to study at an elite institution such as Columbia. During his time there, Hoshi befriended Japanese classmates such as Tanaka Hozumi (1876–1944), who later became a journalist for the Tokyo nichi nichi shinbun, a professor of economics and finance at Waseda University, and a member of the House of Peers; Sano Zensaku (1873–1952), who would become an influential scholar of commerce and finance at Hitotsubashi University; Sakurai Nobuhiro, who would become a director of Mitsukoshi Department Store; and, perhaps most important, the future industrialist Natori Wasaku (1872–1959), who would become one of the first managing directors of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. Natori served in the House of Peers, founded Fuji Electric Company (Fuji denki seizo-), and took leading positions in companies like Tokyo Electric, Japanese Silk Manufacturing (Nihon kenpu seiren), and the newspaper Jiji shinpo-.34 Despite the biographical portrayal of Hoshi’s roots as hardscrabble, Hoshi was among a privileged few who not only had an opportunity to study at a US university but parlayed social capital accrued abroad to advance their future careers in Japanese politics and industry.

Corporations and the Public Good The four years that Hoshi Hajime spent at Columbia likely influenced his future company’s paternalistic ideology of “Kindness First” (Shinsetsu dai-ichi).35 Corporate paternalism—the Japanese term is onjo-shugi, which literally translates as “kindness principle”—has been nothing new when scholars speak of a so-called Japanese or Asian-style capitalism. Scholars have often ascribed what they see as a firm-as-family structure and ethos to Confucian-inflected, traditional Japanese values from Tokugawa times.36 Further, entrepreneurs from the Meiji era to today have openly embraced their Japanese uniqueness and cultural superiority as a facile explanation of success. The so-called father of Japanese capitalism, Shibusawa Eiichi, for example, attributed the success of Japan’s rapid turn-of-the-century growth to the enduring principle of gapponshugi, a fusion of capitalism and societal responsibility.37 Hoshi Hajime’s “Kindness First” derived from a similar vein of thought, and he went so far as to set up a Kindness First Shrine (Shinsetsu dai-ichi inari jinja) at his company’s main factory in Tokyo.38 Yet as scholars such as William Tsutsui have shown, corporate paternalism did not sprout from immutable values of loyalty and benevolence inherited simply by being Japanese. The managerial class purposefully articulated the idea of a firm-as-family to deal with disloyal, mobile workers who often organized strikes

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

45

for better wages and working conditions.39 Japanese-style labor relations—and for that matter, a Japanese pattern of capitalist development—were as much an invented tradition as was State Shinto- or the emperor system itself.40 In this sense, Hoshi Hajime’s case demonstrates how a so-called Japanese-style capitalism— based on family harmony and cooperative relationships between management and labor—had global foundations.41 Hoshi’s stay in the United States coincided with the Progressive Era, when a plethora of overlapping and often conflicting voices—from muckrakers and agrarian populists to temperance advocates and eugenicists—argued that the period of rapid industrialization and unfettered competition after the Civil War, which had seemingly brought power, prosperity, and prestige to the United States, was really a gilded age that papered over shoddy social foundations. These voices responded to the rise of the new form of capitalist development that had made this rapid industrialization possible: the large-scale private corporations, often referred to as trusts. The increasing dominance of the corporation in the economy and in society, amid the specter of Marxism, was known as the “trust problem.”42 At the turn of the century, the US corporation remained an inchoate, indeterminate entity that blurred the lines between public and private, and most corporations were either public or jointly owned enterprises operating with both government and private funds.43 Corporations had two advantages that helped them become the dominant organizational structure in the economy from the latter half of the nineteenth century. First, they operated as a form of socialized property that spread ownership to groups of individuals.44 This perpetuated wealth beyond individual lifespans, spread responsibility—and hence, risk—across a group, and, most important, led to huge aggregations of capital controlled by a handful of directors that act on behalf of—and in the best interests of—a plurality of owners.45 Second, charters of incorporation often granted monopolistic rights and privileges such as tax-exemptions and eminent domain that allowed corporations to avoid competition and to maintain a sovereign-like ability to enforce their own laws.46 In the Progressive Era, these advantages led to vehement critiques. Critics claimed that the size, influence, and special privileges that corporations enjoyed harmed individuals and ruined the proper functioning of the market’s “invisible hand”; their ability to control prices and limit competition subverted the laws of supply and demand. During this time, pitched conflicts broke out between management and labor, exemplified by increasing unionization, nationally publicized strikes, rampant soldiering (doing as little work possible for as long as possible), and frequent work stoppages.47 The Progressive Era, in this sense, was a referendum on the laissez-faire ideology of classical liberalism that had undergirded the

46

CHAPTER 2

post–Civil War era, with the corporation as the prime target.48 Reforms such as the 1890 Sherman Antitrust Act, however, did not stop the growth and development of corporations; rather, they helped them evolve to meet the needs of US capitalism, which demanded, in the words of the historian Gabriel Kolko, “stability, predictability, and security” to ensure long-term profits.49 During Hoshi’s time at Columbia, he learned from leading scholars of the concentration of capital and the corporatization of the United States: Richmond Mayo-Smith (1854–1901), Edwin Robert Anderson Seligman (1861–1939), John Bates Clark (1847–1938), and Franklin Giddings (1855–1931).50 Together, these scholars helped instill in Hoshi a strong belief in corporations as structures that worked for the public good. Mayo-Smith and Giddings were among the foremost US statisticians of the time and were founders of sociology as a discipline in the United States, which they regarded as utilitarian, quantifiable, and meant to reform social problems.51 Mayo-Smith’s protégé, the economist E. R. A. Seligman, was known for his works on public finance and taxation, in which he wrote about the plight of the worker and supported the concept of a living wage as benefiting corporations being “in the direction of progress and social peace.”52 In Japan, Seligman was famous for The Economic Interpretation of History, which was a widely translated bestseller (at least by academic standards), and was one of the earliest introductions to Marxist theory in Japan, even though Seligman was clearly not a Marxist.53 John Bates Clark (1847–1938) was a Christian socialist whose works such as The Distribution of Wealth and The Control of Trusts grappled with the problems of monopoly and economic inequality.54 Hoshi paid homage to these scholars throughout his career as a pharmaceutical magnate and even did so before. In 1899, for example, Hoshi introduced Mayo-Smith’s ideas and methods on statistical science to the Japanese general public through a two-part translation of chapter 2 of Mayo-Smith’s Statistics and Sociology titled “The Criteria of Statistics” (To-kei no hyo-jun), published in the leading Japanese magazine Taiyo-.55 Although these scholars examined capitalist development in the United States, their ideas for saving capitalism converged with ideas that emanated from Germany, particularly from the so-called “lecture socialism” (Kathedersozialismus) of the German Historical School led by Friedrich List (1789–1846). This was no accident. Mayo-Smith, Seligman, and Clark had all studied under List’s disciples in Germany’s leading universities, including Heidelberg and Berlin. The German Historical School argued for a strong, activist state to develop industry and commerce as well as to ward off the growing dangers of Marxism.56 They argued that the state had a moral duty to protect the weak and the poor whom industrialization left behind; to them, unfettered competition did not bring about the greatest social gain.57

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

47

Within Japan, German intellectual thought had already made important inroads in the discourse of the Meiji era’s elite. Beginning in the 1870s, leaders such – – as Okubo Toshimichi (1830–1878), Okuma Shigenobu (1838–1922), and even Matsukata Masayoshi—the conservative proponent of fiscal retrenchment— turned to German philosophy. They saw Germany as Japan’s kindred spirit in a competitive and hierarchical international order dominated by the United Kingdom and the United States.58 For them, the primary tenet of economic liberalism—that a self-regulating market provides the greatest social good for the most people—was not objective truth, but underpinned by subjective factors, namely military and economic might. In their eyes, Friedrich List replaced Adam Smith and David Hume. One of the foremost Japanese disseminators of such ideas was none other than Wadagaki Kenzo-, one of Hoshi’s early instructors at the Tokyo Commercial School, who later succeeded Ernest Fenellosa as lecturer in economics at Tokyo Imperial University. Alarmed at the potential for class conflict and the poverty of the working class, Wadagaki and his colleagues Kanai Noboru, Kumazo- Kuwata, and Fukuda Tokuzo- founded the Japanese Association for the Study of Social Policy (Nihon shakai seisaku gakkai) in 1896. This group of anti–laissez-faire scholars shared a common belief that the science of history and the science of economics—particularly through the collection and analysis of economic data—would help solve the social problems of their times.59 Wadagaki and his colleagues were part of a broader social reform movement led by journalists, such as Yokoyama Gennosuke (1871–1915), who brought attention to the poor working and living conditions of Japanese factory workers who, by the turn of the century, numbered almost half a million.60 Indeed, at almost the same time as the Progressive Era in the United States, Japan experienced its own progressive era as politicians, journalists, and academics decried the plight of those migrating from rural areas to city slums, the working conditions of child and female laborers in textile and match factories, and other side effects of industrialization.61 By the late 1890s, these challenges and criticisms helped induce some factory managers to begin replacing the prevailing oyakata-kokata (master-apprentice) relationship—which they characterized as an inefficient feudal relic that gave far too much autonomy to workers—with a system that gave control of the means of production to a rising professional class of scientifically trained managers and engineers.62 In this sense, Hoshi Hajime’s border-crossing journey from Japan to the United States allowed him to absorb common ideas circulating among elites around the globe who had similar stakes in and therefore shared similar concerns about the nature of capitalist development.63 In 1901, Hoshi Hajime graduated from Columbia with a master’s thesis titled “Trusts in the United States: Their Origins and Effects.”64 His thesis grappled

48

CHAPTER 2

head on with the “trust problem,” and it bore the imprint of his advisers, who believed in capitalism and sought to protect it from itself. Hoshi defended the dominance of large-scale corporations—he used the term “corporation” interchangeably with “trusts,” following the parlance of the times—by arguing that they served the public good, and he supported his arguments empirically with US government census data, statistical analyses from industrial associations, and figures provided by leading firms and trusts such as John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil and the Sugar Trust.65 To Hoshi, the answer to the “trust problem” was that there was no such problem to begin with: “Trusts should not be discouraged by popular prejudice, or by restrictive [sic] or prohibitive legislation,” because “it is the best policy for a progressive country to encourage this form of industry and commercial activity.”66 In this early stage of his intellectual development, Hoshi betrayed a belief in both the benefits of a close-knit symbiotic relationship between state and industry and the benevolence of managerial experts regarding labor. Hoshi argued that trusts were not barriers that prevented capitalist competition, but rather natural outgrowths of competition that simply conducted business on a larger, more efficient scale. To Hoshi, corporations were beneficial—and indeed essential—to the progress of the nation: “Without the corporation and its natural and logical outgrowth, the trust, this nation would not be the same as it is to-day, but would have had a different history.”67 Corporations lowered and improved the cost of living by “cheapen[ing] the necessaries of life” for consumers. By limiting wasteful competition, trusts, Hoshi wrote, “lowered the cost of living in Europe and America, developed luxuries and improved literature, art, science, and elevated the moral standard.”68 The linchpin of Hoshi’s argument was the necessity for cooperation between management and labor within a corporation. Hoshi argued that the savings that resulted from greater efficiency and less competition not only reduced prices for consumers but also improved wages for workers. Because “the basis of industrial efficiency [was] the health and strength of its workers . . . cheap labor,” Hoshi argued, was “uneconomic,” and corporations would logically increase wages and maintain the health and strength of their workers.69 Corporations, in other words, logically acted with “kindness first.”

Fostering Elite Connections Hoshi Hajime’s education in the United States exposed him to a variety of globally circulating ideas that would help shape his future company’s trajectory. But his experiences outside of the classroom—where he formed lifelong

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

49

friendships with Japan’s political and economic elite—proved even more important. Hoshi’s circle of friends reads like a checklist of the great men of the Meiji era: Ito- Hirobumi (1841–1901), Nitobe Inazo- (1862–1933), Sugiyama Shigemaru (1864–1935), and especially Goto- Shinpei. In fact, Hoshi’s novelist son, Shin’ichi, even wrote a nonfiction work about such larger-than-life figures, titled Meiji, chichi, Amerika (Meiji, my father, and America).70 Hoshi also rubbed elbows with lesser-known yet still powerful men, nearly all of whom were, or would, like him, become, politicians-cum-industrialists. The overarching goal of the early Meiji leaders was to revise the unequal treaties that Japan had signed with the Western powers under the Tokugawa regime. The means for achieving that goal was promoting industrial capitalism. Government leaders had little capital and meager resources. With the threat of Western imperialism looming, they deemed foreign investment too risky. Yet they also lacked confidence that the private sector had the ambition, knowledge, and resources to succeed on its own. They resolved to actively intervene in the private sector, and they cultivated a cadre of entrepreneurs eager to promote and enact their plans for industrialization. The Japanese term for such entrepreneurs was seisho-, literally “political merchants” or, in the evocative words of the historian Johannes Hirschmeier, “merchants by the grace of political connections.”71 As “men who always stood in the first line when government favours were disbursed,” seisho- often stood for favoritism and profiteering at the expense of government and the public good, but they also proved to be invaluable pacesetters to industrialize an economy hamstrung by a lack of tariff autonomy and the technological and material dominance of foreign firms.72 Scholars have described the political merchants as the originators of a purportedly unique Japanese form of business—mercantilist in intent and antithetical to the proper workings of free market capitalism—that matured in the twentieth century, culminating in “Japan, Inc.” But their influence also reflected widespread economic prescriptions for so-called late-developing economies popularized by Friedrich List. These included industrial protection for undeveloped industries, particularly those vital to the strength of nationstate.73 In the words of William Wray: “Though often used as a pejorative, seishoaptly describe a particular institutional stage in the development of Japanese business, which lasted from the Restoration to the mid-1880s. During these years the privileged connections, the source of much business wealth, were essentially ad hoc relations with the government. While business greatly benefited from these special ties, its services, though expensive, helped stabilize the early Meiji government.”74 Political merchants led the government’s adoption of model, pilot enterprises, financed by state coffers, for the private sector to imitate. The most famous

50

CHAPTER 2

included members of the Mitsui family as well as Iwasaki Yataro- and Yasuda Zenjiro- (1838–1921), the founders of the Mitsubishi and Yasuda zaibatsu, respectively, whose early enterprises in shipping, finance, and trading functioned as quasi-governmental organs.75 Although bureaucrats largely earmarked such government benevolence for heavy industries tied to infrastructure or military might, the pattern of these state-run enterprises—whether railways, shipyards, silk spinning, or beer—largely remained the same. The government assumed the initial burden and risk of entrepreneurship on behalf of fostering private entrepreneurs. The Ministry of Industry, established in 1870, provided administrative guidance for this task; its many responsibilities included assuming startup costs for factories, importing machinery, obtaining raw materials, and even procuring labor.76 One major characteristic (and criticism) of the political merchants was how they often thrived during times of state emergency and government distress. During the 1874 Taiwan Expedition and 1877 Satsuma Rebellion, Iwasaki Yataro- was one among many who benefited from exclusively provisioning military forces.77 During the 1880s Matsukata Deflation, the government sold its unprofitable state-run model enterprises to help balance budgets and pay off debts. Wellconnected entrepreneurs—and ex-officials such as Godai Tomatsu and Goto- Sho-jiro- (1838–1897) who joined their ranks—richly profited by purchasing factories, machinery, and contracts at bargain prices, and, thus, were able to largely avoid the prohibitive startup costs and risk already incurred by the government.78 Although Hoshi Hajime represented a generation of capitalists who emerged after the 1880s heyday of the seisho-—and did not come from elite samurai stock like so many of them—the fortunes of his future company would depend on thick personal connections to leading government figures. Hoshi made those connections in the United States. One of the most important people he met while in the United States was the bacteriologist Noguchi Hideyo. Noguchi was arguably the most famous Japanese scientist of his time, nominated several times for the Nobel Prize for his groundbreaking research at the Rockefeller Institute of Medical Research, where he worked on syphilis, trachoma, polio, and yellow fever, among other infectious diseases. Hoshi first met Noguchi when the latter was conducting research in Philadelphia at the University of Pennsylvania. Both men were from Fukushima Prefecture, and they quickly became fast friends.79 Hoshi’s first calling—journalism, not medicine—also helped him make friends in high places. Hoshi had long regarded the newspaper industry as a means for becoming a self-made man; his early mentor, the principal of the Tokyo Commercial School, Takahashi Kenzo-, later became the editor-in-chief of the Osaka mainichi shinbun. Hoshi recognized the power that newspapers wielded

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

51

on politics and society, and was an admirer of William Randolph Hearst.80 Hoshi entered the newspaper business in the summer of 1898. At the time, he was between semesters at Columbia, and he was also working as a manservant in the home of a wealthy New York lawyer. With the financial and editorial support of his US employer, Hoshi translated articles from Taiyo- and other popular Japanese periodicals, which he then assembled into a newsletter titled Japan-America Weekly Report (Nichi-Bei shu-ho-) for sale to newspaper companies who wanted information on Japan.81 It was a newsletter whose raison d’être was fostering elite connections. After his graduation from Columbia in 1901—and bolstered by funding from the Japanese government—Hoshi transformed Japan-America Weekly Report to a monthly newspaper that fostered bilateral relations called Japan and America.82 It had a monthly circulation of roughly four hundred copies, and each issue cost ten cents. It contained two sections: one in English for US readers and one in romanized Japanese for overseas Japanese, with articles that summarized important political and economic events. To encourage the cross-cultural intermingling of political and business elites, Hoshi published special supplements such as “Prominent Americans Interested in Japan and Prominent Japanese in America,” which provided short biographies of and contact information for such figures. Hoshi’s second-in-command was a man named Anraku Eiji (1871–1926), whom he first met while in San Francisco. Anraku later became Hoshi’s right-hand man at Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and occupied a variety of posts within the company, including director of general affairs.83 Japan-America Weekly Report and Japan and America provided the platform for Hoshi to advertise his credentials as an insider in US society, a missionary of Japanese culture, and a translator of English and Japanese. Hoshi, even in his earliest schoolboy days in Tokyo, had been a man with extraordinary connections. Hoshi became an even more highly sought-after figure for Japan’s elites by managing these early and influential newspapers for Japanese living in the United States. Hoshi’s master’s degree from Columbia University—received at a time when top-level university professors often did not have a PhD—only burnished his public image. Indeed, the overseas travel of Japan’s elites has been one of the longstanding themes of the nation-state’s transition to capitalist modernity. Japan’s leaders did not limit themselves to the home islands. They traveled abroad for official diplomatic purposes as well as for ideas and inspirations. The Iwakura Mission, embarked on barely three years after the overthrow of the Tokugawa shogunate, remains the greatest example. When Japan’s leading statesmen visited the United States at the turn of the century, Hoshi tracked them down for interviews to publish in his newspaper. Hoshi befriended them, and these figures,

52

CHAPTER 2

in turn, relied on Hoshi for his intimate knowledge of the United States, not to mention his language expertise. Hoshi’s position as a go-between allowed him to cultivate lifelong relationships with such men of consequence as Nitobe Inazo-, Sugiyama Shigemaru, ItoHirobumi, and Goto- Shinpei. These larger-than-life leaders shared two major characteristics; they wore multiple hats across the political, academic, and industrial worlds (often at the same time), and they were some of the leading figures in Japan’s early imperial expansion abroad, particularly in its first formal colony, Taiwan, where Hoshi’s future drug company would put down deep roots. By dominating the cabinet and bureaucracy of Japan through the 1920s, either from formal offices or in shrouded backrooms, these men quite literally determined the course of Japan’s empire. Nitobe Inazo- hired Hoshi to work at the Japan exhibition of the 1900 Paris World Fair. Perhaps best known for his English-language publication Bushido: The Soul of Japan, which codified samurai values and virtues for a global audience, Nitobe was one of the foremost advocates for the civilizing potential of colonial rule and the pioneer of colonial studies in Japan.84 At the time, Nitobe was a professor of agricultural science and colonial studies at Sapporo Agricultural College (now Hokkaido University), and was only a year away from accepting a post to lead the Sugar Bureau in Japan’s colonial government in Taiwan. Nitobe later took a position in agricultural sciences and colonial studies at Kyoto Imperial University in 1904, and assumed the chair of colonial studies at Tokyo Imperial University in 1913. Nitobe was a diplomat and a politician known for his internationalist foreign policy. He became an undersecretary in the League of Nations in 1920 and served in the House of Peers in 1926.85 Whereas Nitobe was one of Japan’s leading diplomats, widely respected in elite circles for being a liberal gentleman, Sugiyama was a behind-the-scenes broker of comparatively ill repute. As a member of the right-wing ultranationalist Gen’yo-sha (Black Ocean Society), Sugiyama had served jail time for assisting in the – assassination of O kuma Shigenobu, one of Meiji Japan’s leading politicians and bureaucrats, and he supposedly plotted an assassination of Ito- Hirobumi before they became friends.86 Members of the Gen’yo-sha were active in imperial expansion, and rumors swirled that they provided the muscle that helped facilitate the annexation of Korea in 1910 and even helped establish such government-sponsored entities as the Bank of Taiwan and the South Manchuria Railway.87 Despite (or perhaps because of) his reputation, Sugiyama was well acquainted with Japan’s leading statesmen. Sugiyama and Hoshi both hailed from Fukushima Prefecture, and Sugiyama had befriended Hoshi’s father, Kisanta. Hoshi had first met Sugiyama while studying in Tokyo before they crossed paths again

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

53

in New York in 1901 when Sugiyama was helping Prime Minister Katsura Taro(1848–1913) negotiate foreign loans with the United States.88 That same year, Sugiyama introduced Hoshi to Ito- Hirobumi—one of the authors of the Meiji Constitution and a four-time prime minister of Japan—who had stopped in New York on a year-long world tour.89 Ito- was also Japan’s first resident general in Korea before his assassination by An Jung-geun in 1910. In 1902, Sugiyama introduced Hoshi to Goto- Shinpei, perhaps Hoshi’s most influential supporter. At that time, Goto- was director of civilian affairs in the government-general in Taiwan.90 Goto- was Japan’s version of Cecil Rhodes; his career reads like a political history of Japan’s early empire. Trained as a doctor in Japan and Germany, he served in the Home Ministry’s Central Sanitary Bureau in the late 1880s. He was also the first director of the South Manchurian Railway (1906–1908), and was the mayor of Tokyo in the 1920s. During Katsura Taro-’s second stint as prime minister (1908–1912), Goto- served as the communications minister, the railway minister, and later, the director of the Colonization Bureau. In the cabinet of Prime Minister Terauchi Masatake (1916–1918), Goto- served as home minister and foreign minister. Goto- was also an influential diplomat, particularly in negotiations with China and the Soviet Union.91 Goto- Shinpei, himself, was a medical doctor, and he undoubtedly also influenced Hoshi’s later determination to enter the medicine business. Widely considered as one of the founders of modern medicine in Taiwan, Goto- was a leading proponent of state intervention into the public health of citizens, based on the principles of German Staatsmedizin, which he had learned while studying at the Robert Koch Institute in Berlin. Goto- had previously trained at Fukushima’s Sukagawa Medical School and worked as the resident physician of Aichi prefectural hospital, but he was known, according to Michael Shiyung Liu, as a “grand braggart but a mediocre doctor,” which made him perfect for administration.92 He was fond, for example, of the Chinese proverb: “A regular physician can cure diseases, and a good physician can cure patients, but a brilliant physician could manage the state.”93 Goto- was also a prolific writer whose works on medicine and public hygiene—particularly the importance of so-called sanitary police—outlined the principles of state medicine based on Western (and particularly German) forms. These works included Kokka eisei genri (The principles of state hygiene, 1889), Eisei seidoron (On sanitary administration, 1890), and his doctoral dissertation, “Vergleichende Darstellung der Medizinalpolizei und Medizinalverwaltung in Japan und Anderen Staaten” (A comparative description of the medical police and medical administration of Japan and other states).94 Goto- brought his ideas on medicine and public health to Taiwan when he assumed the position of head of civil affairs under Governor-General Kodama Gentaro-. Medicine, to Goto- and his ilk, had a disciplinary function.

54

CHAPTER 2

Taiwan became a laboratory for his ideas, and Goto- was quick to implement the fundamentals of Meiji state medicine there, including the sanitary police (eisei keisatsu), quarantine, public hospitals, and sanitation.95 Hoshi first encountered Goto- in Tokyo, at the Red Cross Hospital during a return trip to Japan to fundraise for Japan and America. It was the first time he had been back in eight years, and his newspaper had fallen on such hard times that Hoshi considered jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge so that his life insurance would help cover its debts.96 Goto- took an immediate liking to Hoshi, and both men had Fukushima ties. Goto- convinced him to keep on living, and he even provided 5,000 yen to prop up Japan and America. Hoshi would serve as Goto-’s guide for future visits to the United States. Goto- also invited Hoshi to join him when he returned to Taiwan. In the summer of 1902, Hoshi stayed for about a month at Goto-’s residence in Taihoku (Taipei) while working informally for both Goto- and Nitobe Inazo-.97 Hoshi benefited by becoming one of Goto-’s protégés and closest confidantes—in a nod to Hoshi’s English-language ability and experiences in the United States, Goto- called him his “American.”98 From this time forward, Hoshi’s and Goto-’s fortunes were inextricably tied.99 By 1904 Hoshi decided to end publication of Japan and America because of financial difficulties.100 But by that time, he had already taken on—through Goto-’s and Nitobe’s connections—the directorship of the Japan exhibition at the 1904 St. Louis World Fair.101 For a nation-state obsessed with its global status and achieving rapid industrial modernity, world fairs were among the most important public relations ventures.102 In the words of Susan Buck-Morss, the world fairs of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were “utopian fairyland[s]” of historical progress—a “phantasmagoria of politics . . . no less than a phantasmagoria of merchandise, wherein industry and technology were presented as mythic powers capable of producing out of themselves a future world of peace, class harmony, and abundance.”103 They were places where the legitimacy of empire was unquestioned and where the spoils and curios of far-flung imperial ventures were readily on display. Hoshi had previously worked at the 1900 Paris World Fair, where his duties included conducting press conferences and creating pamphlets on the state of newspaper publishing in Japan.104 In Paris, he also worked as a researcher for – Ooka Ikuzo- (1856–1928), the publisher, at that time, of the newspaper Chuo– shinbun. Ooka later became one of the most important elders of one of Japan’s most powerful political parties in the early twentieth century, the Seiyu-kai.105 Working at the Japan pavilion in St. Louis provided an ideal opportunity for a nation-minded self-made man like Hoshi to contribute to the glory of Japan, not to mention to solidify his cosmopolitan reputation and high-level connections.

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

55

It exposed him to a world of elite diplomacy through comparative cultural and commercial spectacles, and likely solidified his belief that he could contribute to (not to mention benefit from) Japan’s sprint toward industrial capitalist modernity. Indeed, the vast majority of Japan’s exhibits emphasized achievements in industry and commerce, including displays on electricity and transportation as well as mines and metallurgy; exhibitions on Japan’s colony of Taiwan similarly highlighted the importance of Japan’s camphor industry, which produced twothirds of the world’s camphor, and its associated commodities.106 The image of Japan that Hoshi presented to the broader international public—according to the preface of his Handbook of Japan and Japanese Exhibits—emphasized Japan’s “civilization and enlightenment” through peaceful commerce and narrated imperial expansion as matter-of-fact: “The startling rapid development of Japanese trade,” he wrote, “is due to the readiness and celerity with which the frank and courageous people of the Empire abandoned their old customs and turned their faces toward a new civilization.”107 After the end of the St. Louis World Fair, Hoshi returned to Tokyo, chastened by the failure of Japan and America. But before he made the more than twohundred-kilometer trek back to his hometown of Iwaki in Fukushima Prefecture, Hoshi first visited the homes of Sugiyama, Ito-, Goto-, and other dignitaries who had supported him, in order to pay his respects.108 Hoshi was a man restless for success, and the connections he had cultivated in his more than ten years in the United States seemingly took precedence over any nostalgic longing he had for his family or hometown. The years that Hoshi had spent abroad coincided with Japan’s rapid ascension to a global, imperialist power, particularly through military means, and the start of unequal treaty revision with the Western powers. Japan’s victory in the Sino-Japanese War provided a bounty of concessions, including treaty ports, an indemnity of 200 million taels of silver, and the island of Taiwan. But after Germany, Russia, and France’s infamous Triple Intervention prevented Japan from taking control of the Liaodong Peninsula, Japan’s state planners felt the need to seek more imperial gains. Although Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese War did not provide an indemnity—leading to riots in city streets across the nation, most famously in Tokyo’s Hibiya Park—it gained Japan supremacy over the Korean Peninsula. In 1905, Japan established a protectorate over Korea. The first resident general of Korea was none other than Ito- Hirobumi, and he invited Hoshi to stay in Korea as an informal adviser, along with Sugiyama Shigemaru, during his first year in office. The logic of empire melded the major tenets of industrial capitalism and Social Darwinism, and larger-than-life elites like Ito- and Goto- deemed colonies

56

CHAPTER 2

must-have accessories for any modern nation-state. Colonies provided markets, resources, and security. They served as outlets for excess goods and people, and were buffers against outside threats. The logic was tautological, limitless, and zero-sum; only strong nation-states had empires, and empires made strong nation-states, yet securing security only created greater insecurities. In Japan’s case, Yamagata Aritomo (1838–1922)—a leading Meiji oligarch and father of the modern military—expressed it best when he declared Korea “a dagger pointed at Japan’s heart” to legitimize its colonization as a “zone of advantage” to protect the “zone of sovereignty” of the Japanese home islands. But what happens when the “zone of advantage” is attacked?109 In 1905, Hoshi spent a total of three months in Korea with Ito- and Sugiyama. There he observed from the very top the making of a colonial administration. Taiwan might have been the very first formal colony, but Korea was the crown jewel. The Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War, after all, had been largely fought over preeminence on the Korea Peninsula (as well as literally fought on the Korean Peninsula). Ito- Hirobumi’s installation as the first resident general provided further proof of Korea’s importance for Japan. Although Ito-’s term was cut short by his 1909 assassination by the Korean nationalist An Junggeun, Ito- had already enacted a number of measures to consolidate Japanese rule over Korea, including control over diplomacy, the establishment of a military police force, the suppression of the pro-independence Righteous Armies, and the takeover of the Korean court (headlined by the abdication of King Kojong in favor of his pliable son, Sunjong).110 For Ito-, economic development worked hand in hand with nation-building. One of his major imperatives was fostering Japanese business interests in Korea. “Promoting the progress of the state,” stated Ito- in 1897, “is the same as nurturing national strength . . . and national strength springs from nothing more or less than the nurturing of people’s wealth.”111 Before Ito- took office as the resident general in 1905, government and business leaders had already begun turning Korea into an economic—particularly agricultural—appendage by promoting textiles and rice production, incorporating Korea into a modern banking sector, and investing in infrastructure such as the Seoul-Pusan Railroad. After taking power, Ito- only consolidated these early economic gains.112 One of Hoshi’s enduring memories of Ito- during this time was their discussions of the work of the French economist Paul Leroy-Beaulieu (1843–1916), known for his advocacy of imperial expansion based on liberal economics. Through works such as his 1870 De la colonization chez les peuples modernes (On colonization by modern peoples), Leroy-Beaulieu championed the material benefits and moral duty of French colonization in North Africa and Southeast Asia, with capitalism as the primary force for change.113 Indeed, the literary scholar

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

57

Christopher L. Hill compares Leroy-Beaulieu to Japan’s greatest proponent of nation, empire, and all things modern, Fukuzawa Yukichi (1861–1901): For both Fukuzawa and Leroy-Beaulieu, capital is the greatest tool of imperialism. Its promiscuous adaptability threatens national borders for one, while the same quality makes it the medium of a benevolent global hierarchy for the other . . . colonization becomes proof that a nation has been able to advance along the universal path of development and is a “modern people.”114 Ito- Hirobumi offered Hoshi a number of positions within the colonial bureaucracy, and even offered to help him start a newspaper in the new protectorate despite his earlier failure with Japan and America.115 Hoshi, however, continuously demurred. Hoshi still strove to become a wealthy businessman, but he did not know what industry to enter.

The Founding of the Company After his return from Korea in 1906, Hoshi began looking for a new business opportunity. He resolved to spend almost a month examining Tokyo’s shopping districts between Shinbashi and Ueno, carefully recording the merchandise and display windows of individual stores as well as the attributes and idiosyncrasies of their customers in an orderly, disciplined, and scientific manner. He came up with a list of ten requirements for his future business: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

It has to respond the demands of the times [jisei no yo-kyu- ni o-zuru]; it has to have high demand [juyo- no o-kimono]; it has to have a future [sho-rai aru mono]; it should have lasting characteristics [eizoku subeki seishitsu no mono]; it has to allow for the fast recovery of capital [shikin no kaishu- no hayaki mono]; it has to be easy to buy [shiire ni kantan naru mono]; it should not chase fashion [ryu-ko- o owazaru mono]; its price should not change much [kakaku no hendo- sukoki mono]; it would tolerate being stored [chozo- ni taeyuru mono]; and it must not require advertising [taezu ko-koku o yo-sezaru mono].116

His primary goal was to find a business that would “cater to the masses” (taishu-sei no aru sho-bai).117 His desire for a viable, profitable enterprise superseded any humanitarian or nation-minded interests he might have had.

58

CHAPTER 2

Hoshi whittled his list down to three prospective businesses. One possibility was Western footwear, because he thought shoes and sandals were essential for modern times. A second was to open a hardware store, which was inspired by a visit to the famed Simmons Hardware Company in St. Louis during his time working at the World’s Fair; Hoshi thought that a hardware business would do well in industrializing Japan, where urban centers were riddled with construction. The third possibility was medicines. Producing medicines did not require much initial capital, and the capital put down could be recovered quickly because of high margins compared to low costs of production. Moreover, medicines had a malleable demand that seemed inelastic. The primary allure of the medicine – business was its profitmaking potential. In the words of one biographer, Oyama Keisuke: Making good medicines and cheaply selling them would certainly make people happy and be a successful business. During his time in America, Hoshi vowed not to get sick, and in order to make sure to take care of himself even when he felt the slightest onset of a cold, he purchased a variety of patent medicines to take. Therefore, he had a considerable interest in their efficacy. Medicines were very popular in America at the time, especially ones that immediately stopped headaches or lowered fevers after catching colds like aspirin. As a home remedy for bruises, a compress of ammonia was commonly used. Hoshi saw how effective these treatments were and, as a result, had a deep interest in medicines.118 In 1906, Hoshi entered the medicine business with a belief in the increasing demand for pharmaceuticals in an industrializing Japan and the assurance that he could rely on the safety net of well-connected political and industrial elites for help tapping into that demand. He was not a medical doctor and had only the most rudimentary knowledge of chemistry or the biological sciences, but what he did know was how to sell and whom to turn to for support. One of his friends had been conducting research on a tar-colored sulfuric salve called ichthyol already popular in nations such as Germany and the United States. Ichthyol, as previously mentioned, was a common antibacterial and anti-inflammatory ointment used to treat a host of maladies from skin problems such as acne and eczema to rheumatism and arthritis. According to one medical journal of the time, “There is no remedy of more universal application than Ichthyol. . . . We frequently hear the expression, ‘It cures everything from corns to consumption.’ ”119 Sensing an opportunity, Hoshi purchased the rights to his friend’s research on ichthyol production for 400 yen. He then turned to Sugiyama Shigemaru, who asked his associate, Count Goto- Taketaro- (1863–1913), to provide funds necessary to bring

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

59

ichthyol to market.120 Goto- Taketaro- was the second son of the government minister Goto- Sho-jiro- and a member of the House of Peers, as well as the founder of Shinagawa Coach and Railway Company and, later, a founder of Japan’s oldest movie studio, Nikkatsu.121 Goto- was also one of the first known Japanese explorers of the South Pacific islands. Perhaps most importantly for Hoshi, he was one degree removed from Goto- Shinpei. Goto- Taketaro- had served as Goto- Shinpei’s personal secretary in Taiwan. – Through the introduction of Ooka Ikuzo-, whom Hoshi befriended while working at the 1900 Paris World Fair, Hoshi sold his first batch of ichythol for 1,600 yen, earning a profit of 1,200 yen from his initial capital of 400 yen. These profits emboldened him to open a medicine manufactory for producing ichythol in 1908 in Tokyo’s Sunamachi district. This venture was supported by an investment of 5,000 yen from Sugiyama Shigemaru and the backing of the foreign minister at the time, Yamaza Enjiro- (1866–1914). The manufactory operated with free energy provided by the gas company next door, which was operated by the father of one of Hoshi’s classmates from the Tokyo Commercial School. In 1909, Hoshi moved his business to a larger factory in Mita, where he began mass-producing ichthyol and other patent medicines based on examples he had seen in the United States.122 At the same time as his initial foray into the medicine business, Hoshi also pursued a career in politics, which only helped him procure more capital and influence to expand his company. In 1908, Hoshi won a seat in the House of Representatives in his hometown of Iwaki in Fukushima Prefecture.123 As a member of the National Diet, Hoshi became acquainted with other politicianscum-industrialists like Kataoka Naoharu (1859–1934), the founder of Japan Life Insurance and a member of the House of Representatives; Matsukata Ko-jiro(1866–1950), a member of the House of Representatives and a founder of the Kawasaki industrial conglomerate; Iwashita Kiyochika (1857–1928), a member of the House of Representatives, president of Kitahama Bank, and a director of the South Manchurian Railway; and Hoshino Shaku (1854–1938), the president of Tokyo Printing Company and a member of the House of Representatives, who later became the president of multiple companies including Japan Sugar and Hokkaido- Takushoku Bank.124 These men were among some fifty leading businessmen in the National Diet associated with the Boshin Club (Boshin kurabu)—a group of cosmopolitan, commercial and industrial elites who shared a fundamental belief in low taxes and the primacy of economic growth for Japan’s civilizational development, as well as deep ties to Japan’s colonial and diplomatic expansion.125 The Boshin Club was pro-oligarchy, which reflected an abiding belief in the top-down rule of elites.126 It had particularly close ties to Katsura Taro- and Yamagata Aritomo,

60

CHAPTER 2

two leading politicians and military men who both served multiple terms as prime minister, among other high-level cabinet appointments.127 Although the Boshin Club was short-lived, its members remained influential in politics and business; only a few years after the club’s formation in December 1908, it disbanded in March 1910, when more than half of the members joined with a likeminded organization, the Daido- Club, to form the Central Club. The formation and breakup of the Boshin Club were part of a broader realignment in Japan’s emergent party system to check the growth of the power of the dominant party of the time, the Seiyu-kai.128 Hoshi was a company founded on elite connections, and in its early years, members of this cadre of political-cum-industrial elites dominated the company’s upper management. In 1910, Iwashita Kiyochika organized a group of investors, composed of Kataoka, Matsukata, Sugiyama, and Goto- Taketaro-, who provided 25,000 yen for Hoshi to expand production. In 1911, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals formally incorporated as a joint-stock holding company with a capitalization of 500,000 yen.129 In 1913, the company doubled its capitalization to 1,000,000 yen.130 At the time of the first publication of the company newspaper in 1913, the company listed Hoshi Hajime as president; Count Goto- Taketaro-, Watanabe To-ru (1867–1933), and Natori Wasaku served on its board of directors (torishimariyaku); Hoshino Shaku and Fujimura Yoshinae held the titles of corporate auditors (kansayaku); and Iwashita Kiyochika, Kataoka Naoharu, and Matsukata Ko-jiro- served as advisers (so-danyaku).131 The company’s management in these early years also included others whom Hajime met during his time in the United States. One was Anraku Eiji—Hoshi’s close friend during his stay in New York—who joined the company in 1913 and worked in the advertising and trade divisions before becoming the managing director in 1918.132 In 1914, the company named other acquaintances from Hoshi Hajime’s travels in the United States to its roster of managers and advisers; these included the bacteriologist Noguchi Hideyo; a medical doctor, Sugimoto Junzo-; and the Keio University legal scholar Aoki Tetsuji (1874–1930).133 Yet despite this impressive roster, the involvement of these figures in the management of the company remained opaque. Noguchi Hideyo, for example, resided in the United States when he first assumed his advisory role at Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. He later became the company’s director of vaccine production, despite continuing to live and work in New York. It is also unclear how much of the company each individual owned at this time. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals did not list on the Tokyo Stock Exchange until March 3, 1920 when it had 200,000 outstanding shares and offered each individual share for fifty yen. Even after listing, it often did not disclose its shareholder data.134 Nevertheless, it is safe to assume that Hoshi Hajime remained far and away the largest

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

61

shareholder: according to stockholder information for the first half of 1923, he owned 68,276 shares out of 400,000 shares outstanding.135

World War I and the Emergence of Japan’s Domestic Pharmaceutical Industry Hoshi Pharmaceuticals benefited not only from its connections to politicians and government ministers but also from contingencies tied to Japan’s economic expansion during World War I. The outbreak of the war cut off European exports and provided a major opportunity for domestic manufacturers to grow. From 1914 to 1918, Japan’s industrial output rose from 1.4 billion to 6.8 billion yen (in inflation-adjusted terms, an increase of 54 percent) and overseas trade rose 186 percent.136 Corporations profited enormously; many offered dividend rates that surpassed 100 percent and increased wages because labor was in short supply.137 Like Japan’s industrial development as a whole, the pharmaceutical industry prospered amid this wartime state of economic exception. In a sense, Japan’s pharmaceutical industry did not fully emerge until World War I. Most drug merchants became manufacturers only after the outbreak of the war disrupted imports of European medicines, particularly from Germany, which had been the main supplier of pharmaceuticals up until this time. The outbreak of the Great War in Europe—and the subsequent boycott of German goods—created a shortage of Western medicines and skyrocketed their prices. In 1914, Japanese government authorities responded to a potentially dangerous drug shortage by instituting a drug self-sufficiency policy. In 1915, the government promulgated the Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes (Senryo- iyakuhin seizo- sho-rei ho-), which provided economic incentives for producing medicines deemed vital for health and wellbeing, as well as the technological know-how to do so. It also voided scores of German pharmaceutical patents in one fell swoop. Well-established companies like Takeda, Tanabe, and Dai Nippon, as well as recent up-and-comers like Hoshi, used this opening to establish a foothold in the domestic Japanese drug industry, as well as to secure new sources for raw materials and markets abroad.138 Domestic production roughly doubled during the war; the aggregate value of all medicines produced increased from 19.9 million yen in 1914 to 39.4 million yen by 1919.139 Hoshi, for its part, took advantage of the outbreak of the war to expand its production of patent medicines for the consumer market and move into the manufacture of medicines listed in the official pharmacopeia, beginning with tightly regulated and extraordinarily profitable narcotics such as morphine and

62

CHAPTER 2

cocaine. For example, the company’s promotional material at this time frequently boasted of its support for the state’s strategic goal of medical self-sufficiency and exhorted its franchisees to work harder because Hoshi had a significant responsibility, during this global conflict, to spread medical knowledge and medicines.140 According to Hoshi executive Anraku Eiji, the strength of Germany was its ability to cheaply produce good medicines for exports, and by the end of the Great War, Hoshi had become an essential contributor to “an international competition that Japan could not lose!”141 Hoshi’s exponential capital growth during this time seemed to reflect its growing profits; it doubled its capitalization to 2 million yen in 1917, which increased to 5 million yen in 1918, 10 million yen in 1919, 20 million yen in 1921, and 50 million yen in 1923.142 Hoshi richly benefited from the government’s helping hand, but it was far from the only manufacturer to do so. The previous chapter described how the intimate ties between the drug industry and state originated during the Edo and Meiji periods because of prevailing concerns over medicines and the marketplace; officials considered some too dangerous and others too important for unregulated sale. The pharmaceutical industry developed in Japan, as elsewhere, as a state-supported industry, largely because of the nature of medicines as commodities. Although Hoshi Pharmaceuticals could not lay claim to a deep history of medicinal production from Tokugawa times like the Osaka-based firms of Takeda Pharmaceuticals and Tanabe Pharmaceuticals, it did not want for government largesse. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals can be compared to its greatest rival, Sankyo- Pharmaceuticals, another relative newcomer to the pharmaceutical industry, and in 2020 one of the leading pharmaceutical firms in Japan, Dai-ichi Sankyo-. The similarities are striking. The industrialist Shiobara Matasaku (1877–1955), along with two friends, Nishimura Sho-taro- (1864–1945) and Fukui Genjiro- (1874–1938), founded Sankyo- Pharmacy (Sankyo- yakuten) in Yokohama in 1899. Sankyomeans “three together,” and these three studied in the United States and became importers of Western goods after they returned to Japan. They formed Sankyo- for one goal: to import Taka-diastase, the popular digestive enzyme produced by a Japanese chemist in New York, Takamine Jo-kichi (1854–1922) and licensed by the pharmaceutical firm Parke, Davis and Company, based in Detroit, Michigan. Sankyo- gained its early wealth through Takamine’s connections to Parke-Davis. Takamine Jo-kichi—like Hoshi Hajime—was involved in fostering US-Japan relations. He founded the Nippon Club in New York at 161 West 93rd Street and Riverside and he also donated cherry-blossom trees to the US government, many of which still stand in Washington DC’s National Mall. Sankyo- was the exclusive importer and distributor of Taka-diastase along with other Parke-Davis products in Japan. Beginning in 1902, it held exclusive rights to another drug produced by

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

63

Takamine and licensed by Parke-Davis: adrenaline. In 1913, Sankyo- Pharmacy merged with Takamine’s research laboratory to become Sankyo- Pharmaceuticals. Takamine became the first president.143 Like Hoshi, Sankyo- had important supports in the upper echelons of the government. None was more important than Kato- Takaaki (1860–1926, also known as Kato- Ko-mei), prime minister of Japan from 1924 until his untimely death in 1926 and the leader of the Kenseikai party during the brief ascendancy of party politics in the early twentieth century known as “Taisho- Democracy.” Kato- Takaaki’s main political rival was none other than Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ political patron, Goto- Shinpei. Sankyo-, as discussed in detail in chapters 3 and 5, competed with Hoshi in alkaloid medicines as well as in consumer medicines marketed to the growing middle-class masses. World War I, however, was not entirely positive for Hoshi, nor, for that matter, for Japan’s economy. The uneven wartime boom created disparities across the social spectrum and only increased the disparities between city and countryside. For workers and consumers, rampant inflation offset gains in industrial production and employment. World War I, according to Andrew Gordon, was when “Japan experienced its worst inflationary surge in modern times.”144 Wholesale prices rose nearly 150 percent and the retail price of rice increased 174 percent. Meanwhile, agricultural productivity stagnated in the first decades of the twentieth century and inequalities increased between wealthy landlords and tenant farmers, causing many of the latter to collectivize to fight for lower rents and greater rights. Economic growth and rising prices during this wartime boom created a class of entrepreneurs, known as the narikin or nouveau riche. These individuals richly profited, rising in social status, and people blamed them for manipulating markets and creating artificial shortages for profits.145 Hoshi Hajime was one of the foremost narikin of his generation, and he became a symbol of growing economic inequality during a time when the term “political merchant” (seisho-) became increasingly pejorative. Although Hoshi continuously claimed that his company’s remarkable success resulted from its hard work and ability to put “kindness first,” critics often dismissed his wealth as a result of inordinate luck, not pluck, and, most of all, of his extraordinary connections.146 At a time when public anger against Japan’s elder statesmen reached a boiling point because of economic uncertainty—not to mention efforts by some to slow down the advance of popular rights and the functions of parliamentary democracy—Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ connections to figures such as GotoShinpei and Sugiyama Shigemaru came into question.147 Suspicion of Hoshi only increased after the bottom fell out of this breakneck economic expansion in Japan.148 When European competitors returned to the

64

CHAPTER 2

market, the skyrocketing cost of Japanese goods during the war put manufacturers at a disadvantage and created a crisis of overproduction. Prices collapsed, exports plummeted, and banks subsequently failed, culminating in a stock market crash in April 1920.149 Amid a still-sputtering economy, disaster struck again at midday on September 1, 1923, when the Great Kanto- Earthquake devastated Tokyo and its environs. The earthquake destroyed 570,000 residences (almost three-quarters of the homes) in the Tokyo area, killed between 100,000 and 200,000 people, and wiped out between 5.5 and 10 billion yen of the gross national wealth. Hoshi’s administrative offices in the Kyo-bashi district of Tokyo suffered a massive fire, which led the company to relocate its official headquarters to its main factory in Tokyo’s Ozaki district.150 In the earthquake’s aftermath, an economy that had seemed on the verge of recovery nosedived once again.151 Aggregate production in the pharmaceutical industry plummeted from 135.6 million yen in 1923 to 77.4 million yen in 1924.152 At a time when rivals stagnated or pulled back, Hoshi nevertheless continued its phenomenal capital expansion. Its capitalization grew exponentially, from 5 million yen at war’s end in 1918 to 50 million yen by 1923.153 This growth attracted “suspicious eyes” (giwaku no me) on Hoshi, particularly in financial circles.154 The opacity of Hoshi’s management, operations, and ownership structure only created more questions. The chart below compares Hoshi’s capitalization to that of Sankyo- Pharmaceuticals (see table 2.1). By the early 1920s, Hoshi and Sankyo- were the two largest pharmaceutical firms in terms of capitalization. Yet Hoshi’s rapid capital expansion dwarfed not only its rival Sankyobut also other large-scale pharmacuetical firms of its time. Two longstanding firms with roots from the Edo period—Shionogi Pharmaceuticals and Takeda Pharmaceuticals—had much smaller capitalizations and incorporated much later than Sankyo- or Hoshi. Shionogi Pharmaceuticals formally incorporated in 1919 with a capitalization of 1.5 million yen, which increased to 2 million yen by 1925; Takeda Pharmaceuticals formally incorporated in 1925 with a capitalization of 5.3 million yen.155 How and why was Hoshi growing so fast? Hoshi Hajime’s early life experiences as a middle-class youth in late nineteenthcentury Japan and his ten-year sojourn in the United States were vital for how he shaped his future company. These experiences instilled in him the belief in the importance of self-help, affirmed his belief in the importance of close ties between state and industry, and also helped inspire his future company’s paternalistic ideology of melding profitmaking motives with humanitarian and social concerns. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was a company defined by the ideology of “Kindness First.”

THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

TABLE 2.1

65

Capital expansion

-

HOSHI

SANKYO

DATE

CAPITAL (YEN)

CAPITAL (YEN)

1907 1910 1911 1913 1917 1918 1919 1921 1923

400 25,000 500,000 1,000,000 2,000,000 5,000,000 10,000,000 20,000,000 50,000,000

N/A N/A N/A 100,000 2,300,000 4,600,000 5,600,000 5,600,000 5,600,000

Sources: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo ¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 5; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo ¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 8; and Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo ¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo ¯hen (Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 52.

But behind this carefully crafted public image of a company unlike any other— involved in a lifesaving industry unlike any other—the reason for the company’s success was much more mundane. Its growth and prosperity depended on the founder’s extraordinary personal connections to some of Japan’s leading statesmen and power brokers, trailblazers who directed Japan’s fledgling nation-state and empire at the turn of the twentieth century and beyond. The fact that Hoshi Hajime himself was also a politician only further blurred these distinctions between the realms of business and politics. Like so many apocryphal captains of industry, this so-called self-made man was anything but. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was one of a number of large-scale pharmaceutical firms that reaped rich rewards for its ties to the state. But its extraordinarily rapid growth also made critics question how Hoshi made its money. The chapters that follow address this issue. They also address how the company tried to proselytize the values of the self-made man—namely, individualism, diligence, and efficiency—through the manufacture and sale of its medicines.

3 MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals made its early fame and fortune selling medicines for the consumer market. After initial success with ichthyol (ammonium bituminosulfonate), it produced a panoply of profitable tinctures, cures, and salves to alleviate a range of nagging ailments from headaches to indigestion to muscle pains. Yet precisely because of this early involvement in medicines for mass consumption rather than medicines for prescription use, pharmaceutical industry histories have often dismissed Hoshi as a second-tier company. One industry history, for example, characterizes Hoshi with this backhanded compliment: “Although it was weak in drugs for medical practitioners [ika muke ni yowakatta] . . . Hoshi achieved great success . . . largely because of its focus on family medicines [katei iyaku].”1 It implies that producing medicines for professionally trained doctors was more trustworthy and respectable than producing medicines to be sold on the consumer market, because the former’s value relied not on the functions of the market but on the proper workings of an objective, scientific research laboratory. Hoshi, according to this critique, was more a merchant than a manufacturer. Selling medicines is about selling promises. Each pill, tincture, or dab of ointment represents a tangible, materialized promise that, if properly used, it will alleviate a symptom, cure an illness, or prevent a disease. But whether or not those promises come true is often difficult to tell. This applies, of course, to commodities in general; the seller’s end goal is simply to sell his or her wares for the greatest amount of profit. In the words of the cultural theorist Wolfgang Haug, “Commodity production does not set as its aim the production of certain 69

70

CHAPTER 3

use-values as such, but rather, producing to sell. Use-value plays a role in the calculation of the commodity producer only in terms of buyer expectation.”2 In other words, buyer beware. Yet in the case of medicines, buyer beware seems to take on an altogether different level of significance because of their intrinsic nature. Not only do buyers’ expectations create placebo effects but the human body’s immune system also heals illnesses and injuries on its own (time and rest are often quite good medicines on their own). A fake or poor-quality medicine could be life threatening, whereas a malfunctioning toy or widget likely would not. Medicines are imbued with particular humanitarian and ethical meanings— they save lives and improve health, and what has more value than human life? That has been the underlying message for drug advertisers in any society. Japan’s modern state medical regime, led by figures such as Nagayo Sensai, promulgated policies to regulate medicines for these very reasons. Medical authorities believed that consumers lacked proper knowledge when purchasing medicines, which made them vulnerable to unscrupulous merchants. They regarded medicines as essentials for public health and tried to uncouple medicines from the mechanisms of the market. Supported by cultural critics, intellectuals, and entrepreneurs—many of whom were connected to the incipient state themselves—they promoted scientific Western medicines at the expense of indigenous ones. Their efforts paralleled similar undertakings in Europe and the United States, where the goal of the pharmaceutical industry’s powerbrokers was to imbue medicine manufacture with the aura of the hygienic laboratory.3 This chapter concerns the most blatantly consumerist of all medicines, baiyaku, which included a variety of packaged pills and bottled tonics and, for much of Japan’s early history, were vital to medical care. Historians have usually translated baiyaku as “patent medicines” or “proprietary medicines” because of their similarities to Western equivalents. (I use the term “patent medicines” not just for convenience but to emphasize the global comparison.) In Japan at the turn of the century, patent medicines had similar social resonances to counterparts in Europe and the United States; how they were sold often mattered more than the contents of the medicines themselves. Educated, urban elites often railed against the quackery of patent medicines and decried how amoral purveyors preyed on the fears of an uneducated populace while handsomely profiting from it. Patent medicines, however, continued to thrive well into the twentieth century, despite top-down regulations and rhetoric aimed at driving them out of existence. This chapter focuses on the marketing of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ patent medicines, and, in particular, its most famous drug, Hoshi Digestive Medicine (Hoshi icho¯yaku). Drugmakers like Hoshi embraced technologies of mass consumer culture that simultaneously celebrated and hid their commodity characteristics.

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

71

Deploying the lingua franca of inexorable scientific progress and civilizational development, drug firms argued that consuming their medicines contributed to the betterment of public health and social welfare for all. Print advertising often seemed not to be advertising at all—some advertisements mimicked family medical dictionaries, whereas others impersonated seemingly objective reportage. The intention was to appear authoritative, pedagogical, and enlightening. Companies like Hoshi marketed their patent medicines as symbols of medical democratization by cultivating a culture of self-medication. This culture helped make patent medicines supplemental—rather than oppositional—to modern and professional medical treatments, which patent-medicine makers characterized as costly and out of reach for many. The culture of self-medication— consisting of a congeries of drug manufacturers, an assemblage of salesmen and advertisers, and an emerging regulatory regime of sympathetic bureaucrats-cumscientists—associated consuming medicines with participating in new, civilized forms of modern life. It worked hand in hand with the dictates of self-help tied to an industrializing economy that placed the ever-increasing burden of society’s health on the shoulders of individuals. It strove to imbue individuals with the confidence and authority to diagnose and treat an illness like a credentialed doctor. The medium for this message was, ironically enough, the marketplace that state authorities so feared. In this way, the very medicines that the state had tried to eradicate helped inculcate the values of a hygienic modernity into the broader populace, perhaps even better than the official organs of state medicine themselves.

Medicines for the Masses The term “patent medicines” originated in late seventeenth-century England when members of royalty granted patents for medicinal concoctions that they favored. Not patents in the modern, contemporary sense, they were, rather, official endorsements—the proper term was “letters patent”—that conferred ownership and confidentiality. Patent medicines were not dissimilar to Heinz 57 or Coca-Cola; the secrecy of the formulas often added to the allure.4 Generally less expensive and more easily accessible for the vast majority of the population— especially in rural regions where medical care was comparably scarce—they allowed for self-medication and provided therapy without the need for a doctor or nurse. Yet their unscientific character often opened them up to accusations of quackery. Patent medicines invited skepticism and controversy because of gaudy packaging and exuberant advertising that often claimed to cure a laundry list of illnesses and symptoms.5 Critics regarded patent-medicine peddlers as snake-oil

72

CHAPTER 3

salesmen who duped the public to part with their well-earned money; they were horrified when people bought considerable amounts of such medicines.6 Governments commonly perceived patent medicines as a public health crisis, and they responded by enacting regulations to curb their consumption and standardize their production, not to mention punish manufacturers’ misdeeds.7 Their efforts paralleled—and worked in tandem with—movements to professionalize the practice of medicine through national organizations such as the British Medical Association and the American Medical Association. The United States’ Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, which required producers to list their ingredients and prohibited the inclusion of narcotics like cocaine and morphine, represented the culmination of decades worth of legislation against the dangers of patent medicines and had corollaries in other national contexts.8 As governments, doctors, and other proponents of professionalized medical science attacked quackish remedies, they concurrently supported so-called “ethical manufacturers”—a self-designated term among large-scale manufacturers that arose in the nineteenth-century to differentiate producers of medicines who used scientific standards of research from others—fostering both the development of “ethical drugs” and the establishment of prescription drug systems.9 The nearest equivalents to patent medicines today would be herbal remedies that do not require government testing or over-the-counter drugs that do not require prescriptions. Patent medicines have a long history in Japan. The earliest references to medicinal preparations appear in one of the first medical compendia—the early ninth-century Daido¯ ruiju¯ ho¯, which catalogs recipes handed down orally from generation to generation.10 By the fourteenth century, medicine shops started selling their own mixed concoctions, known as aigusuri or go¯yaku (literally “combined medicines”), and by the fifteenth century, itinerant medicine peddlers roamed cities and countryside.11 Most baiyaku recipes during these times derived from formulas in medical compendia and materia medica brought back from missions to China during the Ming Dynasty.12 Families prized the recipes of efficacious medicines and they guarded their secrets through generations. Buddhist monks and Shinto¯ priests often produced and sold medicines with divinatory phrases and blessings, which cultivated religious and often mystical beliefs in their healing efficacy; such medicines became known as myo¯yaku (literally “wonder drugs”), imbued with religious ritual and mysticism.13 During the Edo period, patent medicines increasingly reflected socioeconomic transitions toward market-oriented commodity exchange. Although late nineteenth-century elites fashioned the Edo period as the Meiji period’s bête noire, the Edo period actually had the makings of a vibrant, protocapitalist society.14 During this era, popular premixed and prepackaged patent medicines

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

73

became known for the ways in which they were packaged and sold, rather than for their efficacy. Advertising leaflets and posters adorned with colorful, eyecatching images of geisha and well-known kabuki actors—as well as the ornate packaging of the medicines themselves—became coveted as collectors’ items and are part of a genre of artwork known as nishiki-e.15 Another appellation for patent medicines was manbyo¯yaku, literally “medicines for 10,000 illnesses,” for the number and diversity of ailments that they claimed to alleviate and cure, which evolved into an epithet for criticizing their mysticism and quackery. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, elites inside and outside the government saw patent medicines as hindrances to their program of biomedicine and public health based on the ostensible objectivity of science. More than any other type of medicine, patent medicines openly exhibited commodity characteristics of goods sold for profit, which necessarily detracted from humanitarian claims. If, in the well-worn words of Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno, the “Enlightenment’s program was the disenchantment of the world,” then the problem with patent medicines was that rather than “dispel[ling] myths . . . and overthrow[ing] fantasy with knowledge,” they bridged magicoreligious myths with fantasies of commodification.16 The sale of patent medicines engaged in the myths of magic and religion and the fantasies of free market capitalism and consumer culture. Only two years after the Meiji Restoration, government officials formally intervened in the patent-medicine market with the 1870 promulgation of the Regulations on the Management of Patent Medicines (Baiyaku torishimari kisoku). This law attempted to regulate patent medicines through a centralized system that analyzed their contents and gauged their efficacy. It also regulated advertising, prohibiting terms such as “secret formula” and “secret family transmission.” Although the government repealed this law in 1872—mainly because there were too many medicines to review, yet too few regulators to test them—it broke ground by requiring patent medicines to prove their medicinal efficacy. Commentators dubbed this the “principle of effectiveness” (yu¯ko¯shugi).17 But before these principles could effectively be put into practice, government regulators changed their stance, taking a middle-of-the-road policy that angered both critics who wanted to eliminate patent medicines and members of the patentmedicine industry who felt their livelihoods threatened by the regulations. Following Germany’s 1872 Imperial Ordinance on Trade with Medications, the Japanese government instituted a policy in 1874 that allowed “ineffective” (muko¯) patent medicines to enter the marketplace as long as they did no harm (mugai). The policy declared: “The purpose of patent-medicine inspection was to ban patent medicines that did harm. . . . However, innocuous patent medicines may be sold for the time being. Certificates [of approval] would only be based on

74

CHAPTER 3

whether or not a medicine did harm; they did not serve as guarantees of the effectiveness or quality of medicines.”18 In 1877, the government’s Regulations on Patent Medicines (Baiyaku kisoku) reaffirmed this earlier policy. This law imposed more stringent standards on manufacturers. It required manufacturers to report their operations and pay fees for government inspection, and it imposed taxes on medicines produced—not to mention fines for medicines ill-produced. But it continued to allow the sale of ineffective and innocuous medicines.19 To critics, it seemed as if the government openly profited from the sale of useless medicines. From the critics’ perspective, patent medicines duped the people. There was no more vocal critic on the subject than Fukuzawa Yukichi, arguably the leading proponent of Japan’s rapid top-down industrialization and march toward civilization during the Meiji era.20 Using his influential newspapers Jiji shinpo¯ and Minkan zasshi as his pulpit, from 1878 through 1883 Fukuzawa wrote a series of essays that denounced patent medicines for their quackery and criticized the government for taking a half-hearted stance against them, despite knowing that many were completely ineffective. Collectively entitled Baiyakuron (Comments on patent medicines), these essays dismissed patent medicines as unscientific placebos that duped the public at best and poisoned it at worst. Fukuzawa pulled no punches—in an 1878 essay, for example, he argued: “Patent medicines have no effect and do not even ease people’s minds—it’s absurd these medicines cost money!”21 His essays also argued for a stamp tax on patent medicines to discourage their sale and to fund public health institutions. Fukuzawa’s arguments apparently held sway. In 1882, the government promulgated the Stamp Tax on Patent Medicines (Baiyaku inshizei), which levied a flat tax of 10 percent on the retail price of every patent medicine sold and declared patent medicines subject to the same taxation as substances that the government deemed “unnecessary for daily life” (nichiyo¯ seikatsu yo¯hin narazaru), such as tobacco and alcohol.22 Immediately after this law’s promulgation, an association of patent-medicine sellers sued Fukuzawa for slander.23 In 1885, however, Fukuzawa was ultimately found not guilty.24 Until the repeal of the stamp tax in 1926, Fukuzawa’s controversy set the terms of the debate over patent medicines and their role in public health. On one side stood Western-trained intellectuals, scientists, and medical practitioners who wanted to protect the greater public from the quackery and superstition associated with patent medicines and tried to foster a marketplace of scientifically based drugs. Patent-medicine merchants and manufacturers stood on the other side and took a populist stance.25 Underlying this debate was the issue of medical professionalization known as iyaku bungyo¯, literally the “differentiation of the work of physicians from pharmacists.” Patent-medicine merchants targeted doctors whom they felt were getting an unfair advantage—namely those with private practices, who were some

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

75

of the leading supporters of regulations and taxes on patent medicines. They saw the stamp tax as an attempt by physicians to monopolize the medicine industry, and accused the latter of hypocrisy because many of them sold their own patent medicines to supplement their own incomes. A prescription system such as the one in the United States today did not exist within Japan until the Allied Occupation reforms in the aftermath of World War II. Medical practitioners could freely create and sell their own medicines, or sell premade concoctions; the majority did so, to supplement their incomes. In other words, it was not just medicines, but medical treatments that were problematic commodities.26 Positioning their products as a defense of the “common people” (jo¯min), patent-medicine makers decried the tax on patent medicines as an attack on the health of rural society. According to them, state sponsorship of Western medicine was creating a new class of privileged, urban-dwelling elites whose services were financially out of reach for the general populace.27 In 1874, for example, the number of practitioners of Western medicine was 5,274, compared to 23,015 practioners of Asian medicine, which was more than four times the former number.28 And although the number of Western-trained doctors increased year by year until the 1910s—while the number of practitioners of Asian medicine decreased precipitously to just 8 by 1910—the per capita number of Westerntrained doctors did not dramatically increase during the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries.29 Furthermore, a growing problem was that most doctors chose to work and/or open their practices in major cities and trading ports, where there were the greatest concentration of patients who not only believed in the value of Western medicine but could also afford it. As late as 1922, the ratio of practitioners of Western medicine to inhabitants was 14.58 per 10,000 inhabitants for Tokyo, 9.26 for Yokohama, and 10.31 for Osaka, but only 4.52 and 4.91 per 10,000, respectively, for Aomori and Gunma (mountainous, rural locales).30 Patent-medicine proponents argued that their remedies provided an inexpensive alternative to visiting a medical professional, comparable to an indigenous system of public health for land-locked, distant mountain regions. Statistics seem to support these populist claims. According to sales figures on patent medicines from Toyama Prefecture—a major center for patent-medicine production since the Edo period—from 1917 to 1924, the frontier region of Hokkaido¯ had the highest revenues by far, followed by mountainous, rural regions like Niigata and Aichi as second and third, respectively.31 In 1917, the suggested price of Toyama patent medicines ranged from five sen per dose for the digestive remedy Hangontan to thirty sen per dose for Kyu¯meigan, a medicine for relieving the nighttime crying and convulsions of infants.32 By comparison, the market rate at this time for twenty-five grams of quinine sulfate was one yen and seventy sen, and twenty-five grams of opium laudanum cost nine yen.33 The prohibitive cost and

76

CHAPTER 3

limited availability of professional medical care meant that even wealthy rural elites of the time preferred to self-medicate and seek alternate treatments like acupuncture or bloodletting for minor ailments.34 Even if some could afford Western medicines, it did not mean that they used them. Consumers of medicine faced a plethora of choices. In the words of Suzuki Akihito, “It is . . . simplistic to conclude that poorer people were ignorant of Western medical concepts or obstinately clung to dying indigenous medical ideas.”35 In the early twentieth century, modern medical treatments and practices such as surgery posed great risk, and the nearly unquestioned belief in their benefits had not yet become hegemonic in nations such as the United States, let alone in Japan.36 Chinese and traditional medicines also did not simply go away, but remained influential among the populace. Patent-medicine controversies overlapped with other campaigns against modern medicine at the time, particularly the Movement to Revive Chinese Medicines (Kanpo¯ fukko¯ undo¯), which was sparked by the journalist Nakayama Tadanao in the mid-1920s and had offshoots across East Asia.37 People did not use patent medicines simply for pecuniary reasons, but had a variety of motivations that depended on the severity of an illness as well as differing conceptions of the body and the nature of disease.38 According to Maki Umemura, because “this was a pre-antibiotics era . . . when advances in Western medicine were still far from impressive . . . [m]ost Japanese continued to consume traditional medicine because the alternative product, Western medicine, was expensive and not much better.”39 The patent-medicine industry weathered its challenges. By some measures, it even thrived. Manufacturers consolidated and adapted as small-scale vendors and manufacturers left the business because of increasing competition.40 Vendors in Toyama Prefecture, for example, joined together to form modern shareholding corporations such as Ko¯kando¯ and Shitendo¯, which industrialized, standardized, and scaled up production for a growing mass consumer national market.41 From 1883 through the peak around 1935, the number of workers involved in manufacturing increased from 262 to 1,713, the number of retail workers from 797 to 4,241, and the number of itinerant medicine peddlers from 812 to 13,220.42 Revenue also markedly increased. Although many state authorities continued to look down on the patent-medicine industry, the government also clearly benefited from its growth and expansion through tax receipts. From 1876 to 1914, for example, total state tax revenues from patent medicines rose from 28,455 yen to 2,621,459 yen.43 The patent-medicine industry, as Jinbo Mitsuhiro argues, benefited from dramatic industrial expansion in the war years and a slower, yet still significant rise in people’s standard of living.44 Stamp tax receipts more than doubled during World War I to reach 6,591,943 yen by 1919, and they continued to increase after the war, reaching 10,449,131 yen in 1924 before decreasing to

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

77

8,330,736 yen in 1925 (the final year statistics are available before the abolishment of the tax in 1926).45 A major reason why the industry flourished was the ability of producers to find markets abroad. In 1905, the government amended its Regulations on Patent Medicines to state that medicines exported abroad were outside of the purview of the stamp tax.46 With state encouragement, the total value of exported medicines increased from roughly 200,000 yen to 600,000 yen from the end of the Meiji era through the Taisho¯ period (1912–1926).47 In 1917, for example, overseas sales accounted for roughly 17 percent of overall sales for the six major patent-medicine producers in Toyama Prefecture, one of Japan’s patentmedicine producing centers.48 During this time, exports to China accounted for roughly 60 to almost 90 percent of the total.49 Popular medicines included Morishita Hiroshi Yakubo¯’s Jintan, which was composed of silver-colored pills and marketed as a cure-all, as well as Juntendo¯’s popular eye medicine, Megusuri. They were among the most visible goods boycotted during China’s 1919 May 4th Movement, which sparked China’s National Products Movement (Guohuo yundong).50 The success of Jintan—as Sherman Cochran has shown— attracted copycats who explicitly imitated the medicine in both content and advertising to create profitable medicinal networks across China and Southeast Asia.51 In this sense, patent medicines were vectors for spreading not only medicinal values but also the values of consumer capitalism. But perhaps the primary reason for the patent-medicine industry’s continued relevance was its adaptability to government legislation that favored scientifically proven medicines, particularly in how it sold its medicines. By the 1910s, leading figures within the drug industry—namely Tokyo University professors of pharmacology Tanba Keizo¯ and Nagai Nagayoshi, along with Ikeguchi Keizo¯ of the Home Ministry—began working toward a compromise between medical practioners and medicine men. They strove to weed out quackery within the industry because they recognized the continued popularity of and dependence on patent medicines as health care. They also, however, remained cognizant of the inequality of medical care as a legitimate social concern and sought measures to lower the cost of doctors’ check-ups and the medicines they prescribed, which helped lead to the establishment of a national health insurance system that, by the 1930s, attempted to regulate the price of medical check-ups and certain essential medicines.52 While the doyens of pharmaceutical regulation in Japan worked on enacting legislation to help resolve patent-medicine controversies in the home islands, in 1912, the government-generals of Korea and Taiwan independently promulgated regulations to curb quackery and deception in patent-medicine marketing and sale. The regulations required retailers to display fixed prices for medicines and

78

CHAPTER 3

gave colonial police organs oversight over the manufacture of medicines, including their ingredients, preparation methods, and places of production. The 1912 colonial regulations, as Susan Burns points out, “anticipated developments in Japan proper.”53 If patent medicine represented vectors for spreading the values of modern medicine and consumer capitalism, then those vectors were far from unidirectional. In 1914, the government passed the landmark Patent Medicine Law (Baiyaku ho¯), which proved to be a turning point in the debate over patent medicines. The Patent Medicine Law formally eliminated the “ineffective and innocuous” (muko¯ mugai) stance toward patent medicines, which had been in effect since the 1870s, in favor of only recognizing medicines for sale that proved to be “effective and do no harm” (yu¯ko¯ mugai) through government laboratory testing.54 The law’s intention was to professionalize patent-medicine manufacturing under a rigorous licensing system. It required state officials to inspect patent-medicine manufacturers and required manufacturers to employ licensed physicians or pharmacists. It also called for officials to regulate advertising content, prohibiting false claims about medicinal efficacy as well as slander against medical professionals.55 Although supporters of the patent-medicine industry initially protested the law, they ultimately warmed up to Patent Medicine Law because they felt it would help abolish the onerous stamp tax; by improving medicinal standards, the law would hopefully allow their medicines to be treated as other so-called ethical medicines.56 Susan Burns has described how baiyaku, which “acquired strong connotations of hucksterism and quackery in the mid-twentieth century . . . has been replaced by the neologism, ‘home medicines’ (kateiyaku) in advertising discourse.”57 The ability to become “home medicines”—that serve as supplements to prescription medicines—depended, in large part, on how patent-medicine advertisers embraced not just the prerogatives of state medical modernizers who promoted Western medicine but also technologies of mass consumer culture such as advertising. Working within trends that favored scientific, rational, and ethical medicine, patent-medicine makers advertised their products as distinctly modern, scientific commodities for preventive and therapeutic care. Instead of patent medicines as panaceas for a variety of ailments, they proliferated through specialization; almost any ailment or bodily defect could be treated with a specific tonic, tincture, or powder that was easily within reach. Patent medicines transformed to become essential complements of, rather than stultifying adversaries to, physician’s office visits. Patent medicines thus represented the enchantment of the world through consumer capitalism, but they achieved this through the promise of disenchanting the human body within its natural environs. This enchantment through the

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

79

appearance of disenchantment piggybacked on the rhetoric of seemingly inexorable advances in modern medicine and was within reach to anyone who could afford to purchase a medicine. In the words of Thomas Richards in his analysis of the English case: The placebo-drug became the ultimate icon of consumer capitalism; its use and appeal cut across class lines and created the illusion of a consumer democracy; it transformed the body first into a field for advertised commodities, and later into an entity so dependent on them that it had become one in its own right; it reorganized the myth of the consuming subject around the ingestion of quick-fix remedies; and it equated abundance with the easily availability of self-transforming substances.58

The Enchantment of Scientific Patent Medicines Companies like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals were at the forefront of the enchantment of patent medicines through the seeming disenchantment of modern medicine. Like other drug companies, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals claimed it was in the business of improving (kairyo¯) patent medicines through laboratory research rather than reliance on secretive, traditional formulas. The key figure in the company’s efforts was Ishizu Risaku, who headed research and development. Armed with a doctorate in pharmacology and employed at the government’s Sanitary Laboratory (Eisei shikenjo), Ishizu was a well-regarded figure in the pharmaceutical industry also renowned for his research on the mineral contents of hot springs (onsen) in Japan.59 Ishizu claimed that he had joined the company because it “followed his ideals for patent medicines,” which included not just production but consumption.60 He declared that as science and industrial technology progressed, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had a mission to improve public trust in patent medicines through rigorous testing of raw materials and quality control and through the introduction of European and US patent medicines.61 Indeed, some of Hoshi’s medicines included traditional remedies such as Hoshi kyu¯meigan and Hoshi rokushingan. Both had been popular since the Edo period as herbal remedies. The former was a children’s nighttime medicine and the latter was supposed to relieve a panoply of ailments from lung and heart disorders to diarrhea and heatstroke.62 Under the Hoshi brand, the company now advertised them as having undergone extensive testing to improve purity, effectiveness, and quality.63 Ishizu simultaneously encouraged the consumption of patent medicines tied into the rhythms

80

CHAPTER 3

of everyday life. Ishizu claimed that he wanted baiyaku to attract not only the “uneducated class” (hi-chishiki kaikyu¯) in rural regions but city intelligentsia. The price of a doctor’s examination was costly not just in yen but also in time. Patent medicines, he thus argued, suited the hectic lifestyles of discriminating urbanites who could not afford to be sick.64 Hoshi’s courting of state medical authorities only served to bolster its declared fidelity to science. In 1922, the company invited Ikeguchi Keizo¯—the key figure behind the 1914 Patent Medicine Law—to deliver a lecture at its headquarters concerning the future of patent medicines. Ikeguchi argued that companies like Hoshi needed to gain the public’s trust and confidence in them because patent medicines “have the function of supporting medical treatment” (iryo¯ no hojoteki kikan). One way was to move away from medicines that claimed to be panaceas (manbyo¯yaku) based on secret family formulas and “divine dreams” (shinbutsu muso¯) to ones that targeted distinct ailments and specific symptoms (tokko¯yaku), based on patent medicines in Europe and the United States.65 Another was to concentrate on testing medicinal raw materials. Reflecting on the course of patent-medicine regulation, Ikeguchi expressed disappointment with the late-Meiji policy of turning a blind eye to “ineffective and innocuous” (muko¯ mugai) medicines, which had done more harm than good. The government had acquiesced to the protests of merchants when problematic medicines spread unchecked. The 1914 Patent Medicine Law represented, to him, the culmination of years of hard work toward improving trust in patent medicines.66 No matter how effective a medicine may have been, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals recognized that its potential success depended on creating demand. As a former newspaperman who had published Japan and America in the late nineteenth century, Hoshi Hajime was well aware of the power of advertising. National newspapers provided the advertising backbone for an expanding national market, similar to how railroads cut space and time as they laid the tracks for industrial development.67 Newspapers served as the primary medium that allowed manufacturers to market to the masses, and as readership exponentially increased, so did the intensity with which manufacturers advertised their products. Major patent-medicine producers concentrated their advertising efforts on newspapers, particularly national circulars centered in major urban metropolises such as Tokyo nichi nichi shinbun and Osaka mainichi shinbun. In 1909, for example, nearly 92 percent of total patent-medicine newspaper advertisements populated national circulars.68 One of the early patent-medicine magnates of the Meiji era, Kishida Ginko¯, was also the publisher of the Tokyo nichi nichi shinbun.69 Indeed, one of Fukuzawa Yukichi’s primary complaints about patent-medicine companies was how they used newspaper advertising to influence consumer choices (though Fukuzawa was trying to do the very same thing!). Implicit in Fukuzawa’s

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

81

critique was not just the authority of the printed word, but also the inability of the masses to be discerning consumers.70 By the early twentieth century, the patent-medicine industry had become one of the “three big advertisers” (sandai ko¯koku) along with cosmetics and publications (tosho), and was usually the top-ranked category.71 Frequently advertised medicines at this time included Tsumura Juntendo¯’s herbal concoction for promoting female reproductive health, Chu¯jo¯to¯, Yamazaki teikokudo¯’s headache remedy, No¯gan, and Yamada shintendo¯’s eye medicine, Rohto meyaku (the forerunner to the popular present-day eyedrops), as well as those offered by so-called ethical drug manufacturers, including Sankyo¯’s digestive remedy, Taka-diastase.72 Like other medicine makers, Hoshi was part of this advertising milieu, which included publishing empires like Hakubunkan, the publisher of Taiyo¯, as well as cosmetics companies like Shiseido¯, Lion, and Kao¯.73 Cosmetics were the goods most often associated with the spectacle of consumer capitalism, and patent medicines were similar in many ways. Both relied on advertising for creating demand and both commodified the body. Through advertising, the face and body thus became sites of consumption for alluring, easily available substances for endless improvement toward a seemingly attainable— but never fully achievable—perfection. The present-day cosmetics giant Shiseido¯, founded by Fukuhara Arinobu, began as a pharmacy for prescription drugs in the Ginza district of Tokyo in 1872. Fukuhara was an influential figure in Japan’s early pharmaceutical industry who had been among the leading constituent members of the Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company (see chapter 1). By the late 1870s, Shiseido¯ had shifted to producing patent medicines for the consumer market, and it became a manufacturer of cosmetics by the turn of the century, as it sensed opportunities for profit amid the influx of European and US influences and the rise of mass consumer culture. By the mid-1910s, it had mostly forgone its medicine business and focused on cosmetics.74 Most major pharmaceutical firms other than Hoshi, however, took a different stance, and strove to protect their brands from the seeming taint of consumerism. Sankyo¯, Hoshi’s closest rival, provides an apt comparison. Although Hoshi openly marketed all of its medicines under a single brand, Sankyo¯ attempted to differentiate its scientifically produced medicines from some of its consumer medicine and health products. In July 1914, Sankyo¯ spun off a company called Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals, whose express purpose was to manufacture and sell “family medicines for the masses” (taishu¯), which “required gaudy advertising” (hadena senden), particularly in print advertising.75 Sankyo¯’s rationale was that it “was inappropriate [teki shinakunatta] for a firm that mainly produced modern medicines and new pharmaceutical preparations [shinyaku shinseizai]” to also

82

CHAPTER 3

produce mass-marketed medicines.76 Sankyo¯ thus sold two products that directly competed with Hoshi Digestive Medicine: Taka-diastase, which it marketed through the Sankyo¯ brand as a thoroughly scientific medicine, and, through its subsidiary, Taisho¯, a Miso-infused digestive remedy called “Golf ” Digestive Medicine (Icho¯yaku gorufu).77 Like Hoshi, Sankyo¯ relied on franchise distribution networks to sell its medicinal preparations, and it even enlisted the help of its large-scale competitors as regional sales agents for its medicines, including Torii Pharmaceuticals in the Kanto¯ region and Takeda Pharmaceuticals in the Kansai region.78 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals tried to create an ever-expanding base of loyal and educated consumers who recognized and believed in the quality of Hoshi’s products; it strove, in other words, to develop a brand. From Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ perspective, advertising was essential to its business. A December 1, 1915, article in the company newspaper titled “The Key to Increasing Sales” (Hanbai zo¯shin no hiketsu), stated that “no matter what industry, in these present, civilized times [genkon bunmei no yo],” all successful businesses “employ advertising to introduce their products and attract customers.”79 This was “absolutely necessary for goods that were not necessary for everyday life [nichijo¯ no hitsujuhin ni arazaru] such as patent medicines and cosmetics,” which required advertising to influence consumers to purchase them.80 In its early years, Hoshi did not have the name recognition of more well-established drug companies, and many consumers did not know about any of the medicines that it offered. Many might not even have had familiarity with the ailments and symptoms that those products purported to cure. The importance of the brand increased in proportion to the size of a given market. The larger the market, the more unfamiliar a product was to potential consumers, and, therefore, the more important the brand. To create brand awareness, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals saturated the national mass consumer market. This included placing advertisements in popular newspapers, women’s magazines such as Shufu no tomo (Housewife’s companion) and Ie no hikari (Light of the home), and specialized pharmaceutical and trade magazines. The company made use of other forms of advertising, including wooden placards, billboards along railway tracks, leaflets and handbills, posters, window displays and illuminations in its stores, exhibition displays, flags, motion pictures, and even toy airplanes.81 Hoshi did not emphasize radio advertising, which was still too new of a medium during Hoshi’s heyday in the 1920s (the first public radio broadcast in Asia originated in Tokyo in March 1925).82 One of Hoshi’s most famous advertising campaigns, which epitomized its approach to marketing as well as the vast resources it mobilized to sell its products, occurred on May 3, 1923, when airplanes dropped roughly 10,000 handbills. On the same day a full-page advertisement appeared in the Tokyo asahi shinbun

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

83

with these words: “Look at the Ground! Look at the Sky! One controls the sky. One is on the ground, dominating the world of medicines. Medicines are Hoshi. Medicines are Hoshi. From your head to your fingertips and toes, medicines are Hoshi. Medicines are Hoshi!” (see fig. 3.1).83 In the words of the historian of

FIGURE 3.1. Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 3, 1923, morning edition.

84

CHAPTER 3

advertising Uchikawa Yoshimi, this demonstrates how the “concise” catch phrase “Medicines are Hoshi . . . permeated the masses and became familiar [shitashimare shinto¯-shita]” even to children.84 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ attempts to saturate the public with advertising were far from scattershot. The company declared that it based its marketing techniques and advertising strategies on thorough research and scientific principles, and it often disseminated its findings along with sales advice in its company newspaper. For example, a May 1, 1916, article on advertising leaflets (chirashi ko¯koku), argued, based on statistics, that in a place like Tokyo where a person could accumulate more than five and a half kilograms worth of leaflets over a six-month period, the primary goal was to ensure that leaflets would be read at least once before being thrown out. In addition to advice to use high-quality paper and colorful, modern fonts, the article recommended inserting leaflets that would make a “flopping sound” (basari oto) as they fell from the daily newspapers. It even suggested that leaflets could be made into the shape of cheap toys for children or used as posters to adorn the walls of lower-income homes.85 Other articles on leaflet advertising celebrated direct mailings and suggested the benefits of making advertisements appear like telegrams or bookmarks.86 The company paid careful attention to the design of each advertisement. Some advertisements comprised mostly images and simple, declarative phrases such as “Good health starts in the belly” (Kenko¯ wa i kara), meant to be understood in a single glance (mirubeki ko¯koku). Others, meant to be read carefully (yomubeki ko¯koku), included blocks of informational text. Many combined both forms. But above all, the goal was to attract the person’s eyes and make them come to a stop. The headline (midashi), above all, was crucial.87 Company advertising directors applied similar principles of design to store window displays and billboard advertising.88 Statistical research, the company claimed, was an important aspect of its advertising strategy. Here, there are echoes of Hoshi’s education in statistics and his translation of Richmond Mayo-Smith’s ideas on social science (see chapter 2). ¯ tsuka In a January 1922 article describing the company’s promotional network, O Katsuichi, the head of Hoshi advertising at the time, described the company’s use of empirical data to sell to the masses. First and foremost, the company gathered ¯ tsuka stated that the precise data concerning the circulation of newspapers. O company advertised in all 15 dailies in Tokyo, 5 in Osaka, and in 220 of the more than 300 regional newspapers.89 Estimating that a newspaper reached an average ¯ tsuka boasted that in one month, ads reached more than of 4,050 households, O 891,000 households, and 10,692,000 households in one year: “If one were to line up all of the characters used side-by-side, then it would equal 1,496,880 shaku (1 shaku = 30.3 cm) or about 121 times the height of Mt. Fuji!” The company’s

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

85

advertisements not only “strove for truthfulness in every single word and phrase [ichiji ikku]” but also chose fonts and letters that “created, step-by-step, a steady foundation” that would be easy on viewers’ eyes and prevent them from wandering. At its peak, Hoshi spent upward of 200,000 yen per month on advertising.90 Sometimes the company published statistics relevant to the medicine business, such as those from the government on the export and domestic sale of patent medicines or the number of people affected by influenza and other infectious diseases.91 Hoshi also made extensive use of slogans. The most famous were “Kindness First” (Shinsetsu dai-ichi) and “Medicines Are Hoshi” (Kusuri wa Hoshi), which were ubiquitous across 1920s Japan. According to an article in the company newspaper, such slogans were “brilliant” because they were simple, catchy, and clear, making it easy for even children to remember them. They were also meant to be suggestive (renso¯): “Medicines are Hoshi includes a deeper meaning: namely, other patent medicines cannot be trusted, and whenever one takes medicine, one had better use Hoshi’s.”92 Hoshi’s advertising strategy and schemes, however, received criticism, particularly from retailers who felt that they paid for advertising through high mer¯ tsuka Katsuichi defended chandise costs. A November 1918 article penned by O the cost of the company’s medicines while poking fun at the intelligence of the retailers who complained.93 He argued that contrary to the “bad habit of people who form[ed] opinions based on little or incomplete knowledge,” consumers and retailers were not burdened with advertising fees that “inflated prices” (kakene). The most heavily advertised medicines, such as Hoshi Digestive Medicine, ¯ tsuka, were usually cheaper and almost always more effective and according to O ¯ tsuka argued, promoted more trustworthy than their competitors. Advertising, O a “strong awareness of the effectiveness and quality of [Hoshi’s] medicines” that had the power to attract growing numbers of customers.94

Creating a Culture of Self-Medication: The Case of Hoshi Digestive Medicine In a May 29, 1913, interview in the Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ titled “Civilized Nations and Patent Medicines” (Bunmeikoku to baiyaku), Hoshi Hajime outlined the message behind his company’s advertising strategy. As the official newspaper of the government-general, with the highest circulation out of all newspaper dailies, the Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ was the de facto mouthpiece of the Japanese state abroad, published in both Japanese and Chinese editions and aimed at the growing communities of expatriate and subaltern colonized elites. Hoshi

86

CHAPTER 3

Pharmaceuticals held a privileged position in Taiwan, Japan’s first formal colony after its victory in the Sino-Japanese War, thanks to Hoshi’s personal ties to Goto¯ Shinpei. The company established its first overseas branch office in Taihoku (Taipei) in 1913. Taiwan would become its largest overseas market. Hoshi began his interview with a rhetorical question: Why are patent medicines so popular in civilized nations? Let me give you one example. Last night I caught a cold, and in the morning I had a terrible headache and no appetite. This pain, which I would have had to endure for three or four hours—or perhaps for as long as one day—was cured after only one or two hours by taking a single dose of medicine that costs a mere one or two sen. In this terribly competitive world, are there still stupid people who would not do such a thing? In civilized nations a single dose of medicine would allow a man to be able to carry out the daily tasks in his life; after twelve hours or so, he would be back to normal and be able to cheerfully perform his duties. . . . But in nations where medicine has not progressed, this headache would cause a lot of worry and negatively influence the functions of household and workplace. . . . In our nation [Japan], the average person spends 55 sen on patent medicines in a year. Although this has increased rapidly over the years, the average person in the United States, by comparison, consumes five yen worth of patent medicines per year. In a few years’ time, average consumption in our nation will increase to one yen, then to two, then to three until it reaches a level equivalent with the United States.95 Hoshi aligned the consumption of medicines with the drumbeat of industrial capitalism; time equaled money, and in a globally competitive, modern world, civilized people took medicines because they could not afford to be sick. He expressed civilization as productivity in teleological terms with statistics on patent-medicine consumption as the abstract comparative measure. The individual shouldered the burden of public health and welfare; the health of a properly functioning society depended on each individual, and each individual illness needed to be contained before it could disrupt the harmony of the home, the productivity of the workplace, and, by extension, the unity of a nation-state and empire striving to overcome the Western imperialist powers. Each individual had the freedom to not only diagnose his own ailment but also to choose precisely— and without wasting time or money to see a doctor—what medicine to consume in order to continue his everyday working routine. It was a freedom that fit like a glove with the image of Hoshi Hajime as the self-made man. Although Hoshi’s interview took place in Taiwan, his words also rang true for conditions within Japan’s home islands, as the company latched onto the

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

87

prevailing discourse concerning the uneven development of the rural countryside that was at the heart of Fukuzawa Yukichi’s original patent-medicine controversy. One 1913 article in the company newspaper, for example, argued that taking patent medicines often eliminated the need to see doctors, prevented illness, and, in “mountainous, remote regions” (sankan hekichi), provided the “only common form of health care” (tsu¯zoku eisei yuiitsu no kikan).96 In 1915 an article celebrated the usefulness of medicines in Hoshi’s Household Safety Box (Katei anshin hako) to relieve symptoms while waiting for a doctor to come.97 Echoing the very same humanitarian discourse concerning the spread of modern medical practices in overseas colonies and beyond, a company newspaper article on November 1, 1915, lamented the small number of Hoshi franchises in densely populated locations like Kansai, let alone in a less densely populated region like To¯hoku, where modern medical care was comparatively scarce.98 Medicine consumption served as the independent variable that abstracted differences between metropole and colonial periphery as well as among all the peoples of the world. The more medicines individuals consumed within a given society, the more civilized it was, irrespective of race or place. In all of its advertising, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals attempted to cultivate a civilizing and democratizing ethos of self-medication. It strove to imbue consumers with a sense of agency—suggesting that consumers could, with proper training and knowledge, diagnose and alleviate their illnesses on their own without having to see a doctor. Because consumers often did not know what they were buying, manufacturers spent money and effort to describe the ailments the medicines would cure. The goal was to create desire for their medicines, which consumers likely did not previously have. The target, above all, was the family household, and the access point was the “good wife and wise mother” (ryo¯sai kenbo)—the rational housewife—who was seen as the warden of family health.99 In the words of Anne McClintock, “Advertising’s chief contribution to the culture of modernity was the discovery that by manipulating the semiotic space around the commodity, the unconscious as a public space could also be manipulated.”100 We see this most clearly with the case of Hoshi Digestive Medicine. Other popular company medicines included Hoshi Ginseng Quinine Wine (Hoshi ninjin kina budo¯shu), Hoshi Children’s Medicine (Hoshi sho¯ni gusuri), and Hoshi Cold Pills (Hoshi ganbo¯jo¯). But no medicine was more important than to the company than Hoshi Digestive Medicine (Hoshi icho¯yaku). Ishizu Risaku, who led the company’s efforts to modernize patent medicines as head of research and development, created the medicine in 1906. Known as the “red can” (akakan) for its iconic packaging, the medicine consisted of a chalky white powder that the company marketed as a panacea for alleviating all sorts of digestive disorders, from heartburn and ulcers to diarrhea and intestinal inflammation. Often

88

CHAPTER 3

accounting for more than half of the company’s sales, it was Hoshi’s most profitable product and symbolized the company’s efforts to sell modern medicines in the name of Japan’s civilizing mission both at home and abroad.101 By the 1920s, Hoshi Digestive Medicine had become one of the most famous patent medicines in Japan. A 1999 article in the popular periodical President waxed nostalgic for Hoshi Digestive Medicine as “such a famous medicine that no prewar Japanese did not know it.”102 One of the many slogans for Hoshi Digestive Medicine was “Good health starts with your belly” (Kenko¯ wa i kara). And like most successful sales slogans, it appealed to potential consumers because it reflected an accepted belief. In this case, it aimed to alleviate the humble stomachache, a common, seemingly ubiquitous, and never fully resolvable—or even verifiable—problem. The Japanese term icho¯byo¯ (literally “digestive disease”) served as the broad catch-all for nearly all ailments of the stomach and intestines. This included anything from ulcers (kaiyo¯) and inflammation (ensho¯) to diarrhea (geri), heartburn (muneyake), indigestion (ijaku), and constipation (hiketsu). “Dyspepsia” is the best English equivalent for icho¯byo¯, which had a similar social significance.103 At the turn of the century, public health officials considered icho¯byo¯ potentially life threatening. In 1914, for example, the government published a stand-alone 190-page statistical volume on deaths from digestive disease from 1899 to 1908. During those years, an average of nearly 65,000 deaths per year resulted from stomach ailments (i no shikkan), while diarrhea and intestinal inflation caused more than 60,000 deaths.104 In these early decades, a specialized discipline for the study of stomach and intestinal disorders, icho¯byo¯gaku, had taken shape, marked by the publication of authoritative volumes with titles such as Icho¯byo¯ shindan oyobi chiryo¯gaku and Shin icho¯byo¯gaku.105 There was even a threevolume translation of German physician Max Einhorn’s Die Krankheiten des Magens und des Darms (Diseases of the stomach and intestines).106 A range of family medical guides for proper diet and digestive care aimed at a more general public supported these scholarly tomes, not to mention advice columns in popular women’s magazines. Specialized hospitals for digestive disease (icho¯byo¯in) openly advertised their amenities in newspaper dailies to attract new patients. Of course, the various symptoms and illnesses falling under the category icho¯byo¯ were not just scientifically determined but socially constructed. Whether on the basis of empirical observation or accepted wisdom, medical elites constrctued icho¯byo¯ as a thoroughly modern disease.107 The primary culprit was modern life itself, particularly its competitiveness and tempo. If postfeudal Japan represented an impetuous rush toward industrial modernity, then it is instructive how the very nations that Japan wanted to become—and eventually overtake— were also the one with the most sufferers of stomach and intestinal disorders.

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

89

One 1915 guide claimed: “In America, the reason why there are so many sufferers of stomach and intestinal disorders is due to the intense struggle to survive [seizon kyo¯so¯ no hageshi],” which made it almost impossible to eat and slowly digest meals.108 Excessive drinking and use of tobacco—practices coded as cosmopolitan and modern—were also among the culprits. In addition, experts linked improper digestion to another thoroughly modern, yet ill-defined, unverifiable, and seemingly catch-all disease: seishin suijaku (neurasthenia) or seishinbyo¯ (mental illness).109 The top-down push for rapid civilization and enlightenment took its toll on the body and psyche of the Japanese subject. Heartburn, stomach cramps, and other stomach and intestinal disorders thus stood, in a sense, as symptoms of Japan’s struggles to digest industrial modernity. By the early twentieth century, doctors and scientists throughout the world had isolated one of the root causes of stomach and intestinal disorders: excess secretions of hydrochloric acid from the membranes lining the stomach cavity.110 The primary goal was to find ways of reducing acidity in the stomach, whether through diet, medicine, or lifestyle change. Common family medical guides advocated for maintaining a proper balanced diet, eating meals at regular times, and avoiding excess drinking and smoking.111 Scientists tested stomach acidity levels of staple foods in Western diets compared to Japanese ones, including the speed at which substances passed through the digestive tract.112 Doctors across the world prescribed—as they thoroughly debated—the use of alkali salts to reduce acidity, and this was clearly reflected in Japanese medical guides that catered to the populace at large.113 Hoshi marketed its Digestive Medicine by raising public awareness of digestive disease, and by demonstrating how the regular consumption of Hoshi Digestive Medicine was the most time- and cost-efficient way to prevent and alleviate its various symptoms. “Japan is the nation of digestive disease” (icho¯byo¯ koku), declared a 1918 advertisement in the Yomiuri shinbun. “Based on recent statistics, 160,000 people die every year in our country from digestive disease, which is about 1 out of every 6.8 deaths. Before, it was lung disease, but now it is digestive disease . . . compared to Germany, digestive disease is a fierce enemy to be feared by our nation’s people.”114 To this end, Hoshi portrayed its remedy as the “most advanced, the most trustworthy, and the most effective digestive medicine.”115 One 1918 advertisement in the Tokyo asahi shinbun, for example, boasted about the excellence of Hoshi’s manufacturing facilities and the quality control of its production. It claimed that Hoshi manufactured all its medicines with “equipment great in size at its impeccable factory” staffed by doctors and pharmacists with advanced degrees who conducted “rational research” (go¯riteki kenkyu¯).116 The advertisement also notably included endorsements from police officers and officials from the Home Ministry, who praised Hoshi’s facilities and

90

CHAPTER 3

celebrated the company’s “continuing contribution the progress and development of pharmaceuticals and patent medicines under the auspices of the state’s health policy.”117 Hoshi Digestive Medicine was a novel remedy for its times, based, in large part, on new normative standards of Western science. It was popular, in large part, because it worked. One of the early but enduring slogans for the medicine was simply “It’s very effective” (yoku kiku). The medicine’s two major active ingredients, magnesium carbonate and sodium bicarbonate, made up 93.565 percent of the compound and gave the medicine its chalky white consistency. Although these ingredients may seem mundane—the former is the active ingredient in Tums and Alka-Seltzer, the latter is common baking soda—they were two of the most frequently tested and prescribed alkali salts in the early twentieth century. (Tums and Alka-Seltzer did not reach the market until the early 1930s, well after the heyday of Hoshi icho¯yaku in the 1910s and 1920s.) When the company first introduced the product to the Japanese market, it was one of the only mass-produced medicines of its kind for stomach trouble. Its material composition likely made it novel. Other popular digestive remedies for the consumer marketplace were either liquids, like Sankyo¯ Pharmaceuticals’ Taka-diastase, or pills, like the herb-based traditional Toyama remedy Hangontan; licensed pharmacists and medical professionals also sold digestive enzymes including pepsin and pancreatin.118 Adults took Hoshi Digestive Medicine three times a day, either an hour before or an hour after meals, by mixing one dose (roughly one gram) in water and drinking the milky-white suspension. Hoshi priced the medicine according to quantity: a container of 20 doses cost twenty sen; 55 doses cost fifty sen; 150 doses cost one yen; and 235 doses cost two yen.119 Despite its seeming modernity, however, Hoshi Digestive Medicine nevertheless remained a prototypical patent medicine that relied on the marketplace’s enchantment through the appearance of disenchantment. Although Hoshi marketed the icho¯yaku as a scientifically tested prophylactic and cure for icho¯byo¯, a scientifically understood modern disease, both medicine and disease depended on a measure of ambiguity. The vagueness of the catch-all term icho¯byo¯—along with the often chronic and ill-defined nature of its constitutive maladies— resonated with the opacity typical of patent-medicine marketing at the time, not to mention in earlier Tokugawa times. Evoking patent-medicine advertising of such earlier eras, Hoshi marketed the medicine as a seeming panacea purported to alleviate a panoply of digestive disorders, including nausea (o¯to), stomach pains (ibyo¯), vomiting and diarrhea (tosha), heartburn (munazukae), indigestion (sho¯ka furyo¯), and chronic stomach and intestinal inflammation (mansei icho¯ kataru). It also highlighted its special proprietary mixture of herbal ingredients, such as menthol (mento¯ru), cinnamon oil (keihi yu), cinnamon powder (keihi

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

91

matsu), colombo powder (koronbo matsu), gentian power (genchiana matsu), and ginger powder (sho¯kyo¯ matsu). Hoshi Digestive Medicine was part of the company’s attempt to create a culture of self-medication. Hoshi tried to foster associations, conscious and otherwise, between consuming the medicine and becoming a modern person. Companies like Hoshi sold not just medicines but also a lifestyle that invited consumers to participate in what Harry Harootunian calls the “fantasy of modern life”—a social discourse of everyday consumerism often called bunka seikatsu (cultural living) by social critics and contemporaries, which was propagated in popular magazines, newspapers, advertisements, and other forms of mass media. The ceaseless introduction of new consumer products reconceived everyday life as constant change, different from the slower tempo and repetition of routinized practices associated with agrarian living.120 Bunka seikatsu was an aspirational middle-class fantasy of consumerism accessible to a small but growing fraction of society. National income tax records defined as “middle-class” those with annual household incomes between 500 and 5,000 yen. In 1903, only 2.3 percent of the population qualified, in 1918, 6.8 percent did, and in 1921, 10 percent.121 Hoshi played a major role in helping to create this aspirational ideal of middle-class life.122 Because the cheapest container of Hoshi Digestive Medicine was 20 sen—about one-third of what the average wage worker (both male and female) earned in a day in the 1920s, only members of this class and above consumed Hoshi medicines.123 A much larger swath of people, however, participated in the fantasy of modern life as “consumer-subjects,” to use Miriam Silverberg’s term. Even if consumer objects were not attainable, all consumer-subjects had access to department stores and cinema spectacles. Even more significant must have been the immediate accessibility of the pictures of commodities in the ubiquitous print media. In other words, the consumption of images of objects rather than the objects themselves was central to Japanese modern culture.124 “Bunka seikatsu,” according to Jordan Sand, “thus bore the chimerical promises of consumer capitalism.”125 In the early twentieth century, this illusory cultural living signified the cosmopolitan and urban, the decadent and liberating, and perhaps above all, the American and female. The primary protagonist in this fantasy, the “modern girl” (moga, the Japanese version of the flapper) represented not just the excitement of the era but also the potential dangers of flouting old-world social values and class distinctions. According to Barbara Sato, “the terms Americanism (Americankizumu) and Americanization (Amerkanaizeishon),” were often code words for consumerism, and “America and women became the symbols of the social and cultural changes of the postwar world. Both were troubling figures of modernity, modernity’s Other.”126

92

CHAPTER 3

Hoshi styled itself as the most American of companies and through advertising it fashioned its own fantasy of modern life, which it rendered as rational, if perhaps not dangerous or exciting. The minimum requirement to participate in this fantasy was good health, which could be had so easily with routine medicinal consumption without the trouble of seeing a physician.127 Although Hoshi also employed the familiar trope of the modern girl, it refrained from portraying itself as overly radical. (Not surprisingly, it had little time for the “modern boy,” or mobo—the girl’s rakish, often university-educated boyfriend, who carried within him the virus of socialism.) The company consolidated the trope of an older, more sophisticated modern woman, which was not mutually exclusive with the familiar trope of the loyal housewife as guardian of family values, the “good wife, wise mother” (ryo¯sai kenbo) popularized since the late nineteenth century. Most important for companies like Hoshi, of course, was the stereotype that the housewife also guarded the household’s purse strings. The primary site of Hoshi’s cultural living was not the cinema, dance hall, or café, but the home. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals thus helped define what Jordan Sand has described as the “new profession of housewife” during the interwar period, in which the so-called traditional housewife became a full-time, rational worker responsible not just for the care of her family but for its protection and prosperity.128 The construction of the rational housewife, as Sheldon Garon has similarly shown, worked hand in hand with state campaigns to improve the realm of daily life, and was, above all, an effort to create disciplined national subjects amid growing socioeconomic challenges in wake of World War I.129 “Modern housewifery,” according to Sand, took shape as a counterpart to “specific professional disciplines: child psychology, medicine, hygiene, nutrition science, industrial management, and architecture . . . their imbrication in modern professional formations restructured labor roles and practices in ways that would ultimately prove as fundamental as the regulation of male labor and leisure under modern capitalism.”130 A January 1919 advertisement in the Tokyo asahi shinbun depicts how Hoshi helped define the rational housewife through consumption. The central actor is the housewife within her proper space of authority, her home, during the festive season. In the image on the left, she is (presumably) represented by a disembodied female hand which dutifully serves sake to her kimono-clad husband. In the image on the right, the kimono-clad wife sits at the dinner table with her toddler, eating zo¯ni, a miso-based soup common for New Year’s. The housewife thus has a number of responsibilities. She cares for her child and passes down New Year’s cultural traditions through serving certain foods like zo¯ni or mochi. And she soothes her husband after he partakes in two culturally authorized (for men) festive season excesses: being “terribly drunk” (waruyoi) and hungover (futsukayoi).

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

93

In addition to emphasizing the effectiveness of Hoshi Digestive Medicine for alleviating pains from overindulging in both food and drink, the text and images attempt to portray the consumption of the medicine itself as an essential New Year’s ritual for being Japanese (see fig. 3.2).131 For Hoshi, the home was not only the site of consumption but also an inexpensive and convenient alternative to a clinic or hospital stay. A 1919 advertisement from the Yomiuri shinbun provides a good example of this claim. The advertisement depicts a canister of Digestive Medicine overlaid with an urban streetscape. It represents a return from the confines of illness to participation in everyday life activities, not to mention a Social Darwinian visualization of civilizational development—from an indeterminate mass, to faceless people dressed in traditional kimono, to sharply dressed men in Western suits and top hats. The exception, of course, is the kimono-clad woman representing the guardian of the traditional values of family life. Likening the medicine to a metaphorical “digestive disease hospital [icho¯ byo¯in] for household use [katei yo¯],” it describes how “each and every day, tens of thousands of stomach disease sufferers are completely healed and discharged from the hospital [taiin] after taking the medicine” (see fig. 3.3).132 A 1922 advertisement in the same newspaper similarly depicts a fictitious diary entry of a prototypical day for a productive urban and middleclass male worker stricken with digestive disease. He wakes up early, reads the

FIGURE 3.2. Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, January 5, 1919, morning edition.

94

CHAPTER 3

paper, goes out for breakfast, commutes to work by train, gossips with friends, and attends a friend’s going-away party (see fig. 3.4). He writes that he is only able to perform these mundane, everyday tasks because of Hoshi Digestive Medicine, which has been incorporated as part of his daily routine.133 The two advertisements play on similar tropes of substituting the comfort and convenience of the home for the space of the hospital clinic, and of linking the productive capacity of the working male—and, by extension, civilized Japanese society via the modern household—to the health of his stomach and bowels. The indeterminate nature of icho¯byo¯ lent itself particularly well to the company’s narrative of the benefits of self-medication at home. Most medical experts at the time considered digestive disease to be entirely preventable. Even if an individual received a diagnosis of a gastric ulcer or intestinal inflammation, prescribed treatments such as ingestible bismuth or alkali solutions and bed rest, along with lifestyle and diet changes, all seemed more suitable in the comfort of one’s home. A visit to a hospital or clinic was inconvenient and costly by comparison. Testing, which could run the gamut from fecal-matter inspections, to stomach biopsies, to colonoscopies, was invasive. Potential clinical therapies included massage, hydrotherapy, orthopedic treatments designed to straighten the digestive tract, or, for the most courageous, recto-abdominal intestinal electrification (chokucho¯ fukuheki denki ryo¯ho¯). Surgical procedures such as plyloroplasty (yu¯mon no kyo¯saku no sekkeijutsu)—widening the opening between the stomach and intestine—and gastrectomy (isetsujojutsu)—removal of portions of the stomach—remained a last resort for the most serious cases because of the statistically significant threat of death or serious injury.134 In Japan’s growing empire, Hoshi employed similar tropes of clean, cultural living to sell its medicines. In the formal colonies, Korea and Taiwan, the market included a burgeoning number of settler-colonists as well as an expanding population of subaltern colonized elites whose social and pecuniary status depended on the fortunes of Japan’s overseas machinations. Hoshi supported the state’s efforts to define and demarcate its subjects through coding the practice of consumption. For settler-colonists abroad, consumption emphasized ties to the homeland. For, colonized elites, consumption helped foster pan-Asian similarities. And for both, consumption helped consolidate what it meant to be Japanese: modern, scientific, and cosmopolitan. Hoshi defined Japaneseness, in other words, as the universal standard for a hygienic life. (The absence of imagery that denoted any colonial indigeneity implied that those who did not consume Hoshi medicines were too barbaric to matter.)135 To this end, the company did not change its product labels, whether it sold them within the home islands or abroad. Many, including Hoshi Digestive Medicine, included both kanji characters legible to Chinese readers and Korean hangul

FIGURE 3.3. edition.

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, April 12, 1919, morning

FIGURE 3.4. edition.

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, July 8, 1922, morning

96

CHAPTER 3

script (see fig. 3.5). Prices, denominated in yen, remained the same in Japan, Korea, and Taiwan, and consumers were able to purchase Hoshi-brand products from Hoshi-licensed merchants who operated within the same franchise distribution network. Hoshi also marketed its medicines outside of the confines of Japan’s formal empire for diasporic communities in places like Southeast Asia, Hawai‘i, Brazil, and the West Coast of the United States.136 Compared to advertisements within Japan proper during the 1920s, however, advertisements abroad had a greater nationalistic inflection and openly celebrated Japanese characteristics of both the company and its products. Hoshi wanted its advertisements to remind expatriates of the familiarities of the home and to convince colonized elites that they, too, could participate in a hygienically modern and cosmopolitan life coded as particularly Japanese. One

FIGURE 3.5. Hoshi Digestive Medicine from advertisement in Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 11, 1919, morning edition.

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

97

1924 advertisement, in the state-sponsored newspaper Keijo¯ nippo¯ from Keijo¯ (Seoul), Korea, played on the idea of consumption as belonging. The text reads: “You and I, we have the same hairstyle, the same facial features, you and I are alike. We wear the same kimono, the same waistband, you and I are alike. We have the same illnesses, the same bellyaches, you and I are alike. We have the same digestive organs, the same medicine, you and I are alike” (see fig. 3.6).137 The images of the two women, who dress alike and look alike, play on the notion of sisterhood. The sisters might be literal sisters, perhaps separated by the distance between metropole and colony. They might also be metaphorical sisters, one Japanese and one Korean, representing Pan-Asian unity. Or they might even be lovers. The image is intentionally vague. But no matter the audience, the idea remains the same: the consumption of Hoshi Digestive Medicine is a marker of identification and belonging. In this sense, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals followed what Susan Burns has called a “shared corporality” in the marketing of women’s medicines across Japan’s empire, which emphasized cosmopolitanism over nativism under the banner of science and progress; Hoshi’s advertisements promoted the similarity of all women’s bodies based on the ability to consume the same commodity for the same ailments that all women suffer.138 More often than not, the nationalism in Hoshi’s advertisements was far from subtle. One of the most commonly used motifs, for example, consisted of Hoshi Digestive Medicine in the forefront with the Japanese flag, the hinomaru or “Rising Sun,” as the backdrop. A 1924 advertisement from the Korean-language Tonga ilbo, which catered to educated colonized elites, provides this image with little text other than the name of the medicine and the prices of its various sizes (see fig. 3.7).139 A similar image is found in a 1924 issue of the Nichi-Bei shinbun, which was published in San Francisco for the Japanese diasporic community on the West Coast of the United States. The advertisement, which includes the name of the import distributor, Kurata Company of Oakland, California, depicts the image of the Rising Sun overlaid with Hoshi Digestive Medicine along with a description of another popular remedy, Hoshi Ginseng Pills. The text celebrates the two medicines as “two family medicines that Japanese compatriots in America absolutely trust.” The text claims that “although supplies have been cut off for a while due to the earthquake in the homeland [kokoku],” a large shipment has arrived, and that the distributor is now taking orders as usual (see fig. 3.8).140 Patent-medicine advertisements, according to Jin-kyung Park, “deeply infiltrated colonial daily life via vernacular newspapers,” primarily through their promotion of science. They “serv[ed] as visual icons of imperial medical prowess and scientific modernity,” and they “personif[ied] biomedical knowledge and taxonomies of disease.”141 Advertisements functioned, in other words, by associating medicinal consumption with the fundamental theories, structures, and

FIGURE 3.6.

Advertisement from Keijo¯ nippo¯, February 17, 1924.

FIGURE 3.7.

Advertisement from Tonga ilbo, January 9, 1924.

FIGURE 3.8. Advertisement from Nichi-Bei shinbun, July 9, 1924. Courtesy of Ho ¯ji Shinbun Digital Collection, Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University.

100

CHAPTER 3

technologies of biomedicine itself. In this way, some of Hoshi’s most effective advertisements, for example, did not appear as advertisements at all. Here, the company subsumed consumer culture under the cloak of the seeming objectivity of science. A notable 1919 advertisement in the Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ for Hoshi Digestive Medicine, for example, appears embedded amid other news. Product promotion melds into seemingly objective and official reportage. On the left is an article about a trial that determined the liabilities of a shipwreck carrying tin scrap (sekikai) from Hong Kong to Japan; on the right is an advertisement that describes Hoshi Digestive Medicine as a “highly regarded medicine based on the newest knowledge [shin-chishiki] in the medical world . . . which was the medicine of choice among Japanese expatriates [honto¯jin]” (see fig. 3.9).142 In a 1925 issue of the Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, Hoshi took out a full-page advertisement—the printed equivalent of an infomercial—that attempted to educate consumers on how to use its medicines. An advice column concerning “home remedies” (katei chiryo¯) occupies the top half of the page. It lists popular Hoshi-brand medicines like Hoshi Digestive Medicine that people “had to know about and have on hand” (kokoroete okanakereba naranu) as well as tips about how to best use Hoshi-brand medicines. The bottom half of the page introduces some of the more popular medicines that the company sold in Taiwan, with the heading “Health is an inexhaustible asset” (Kenko¯ wa mugen no shihon nari) (see fig. 3.10).143 In a similar vein, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals also published and circulated its own free-of-charge newspapers on family living. Imbued with an aura of scientific

FIGURE 3.9.

Advertisement from Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo ¯, May 15, 1919.

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

FIGURE 3.10.

101

Advertisement from Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo ¯, March 13, 1925.

authority and expertise, these pedagogical publications cultivated literate, middleclass housewives who would view Hoshi and its products as synonymous with and essential to nearly every aspect of a hygienic and cultured lifestyle. The goal was to imbue the housewife with the knowledge and ability to self-diagnose

102

CHAPTER 3

and then self-medicate—to determine, on her own, how to properly treat a malady and how to choose a proper Hoshi-brand remedy. The most important of these publications was the Hoshi katei shinbun (Hoshi family newspaper). First published in October 1924 in Tokyo and Osaka, the Hoshi katei shinbun had an initial monthly circulation of four million copies and was based on an earlier company publication, Katei no hana (Flower of the home).144 The company intended the publication to be educational and entertaining, and to fill what the company perceived as a lack of “commonsensical, scientific” (jo¯shikiteki, kagakuteki) periodicals in Japan.145 Issues commonly included current events articles, opinions, easy recipes, child-rearing tips, short pieces of fiction, and advice on hygiene and the application of cosmetics. They also devoted pages for children’s stories, comics, and space for coloring with crayons. A year earlier, the company had created a special newspaper insert to focus exclusively on child-rearing called the Hoshi sho¯ni shinbun (Hoshi children’s newspaper).146 Hoshi also published advertisements in the form of authoritative reference manuals. Among publications including Baiyaku tokuhon (Patent medicine handbook) and Kesho¯ tokuhon (Cosmetics handbook), the most prominent of all was Hoshi katei isho (Hoshi family medical dictionary). First published in 1910, it epitomized the company’s efforts to portray itself as a scientific company that worked toward the greater public good.147 Hoshi katei isho was an educational textbook, reference guide, product advertisement, and public relations guidebook rolled into one. The best comparison might be to The Merck Manual, published since 1899 by the drug manufacturer Merck & Co. Since 1997, The Merck Manual has appeared in a home edition that, according to Merck and Co., translates “the complex medical information in The Merck Manual into everyday language, producing a book accessible by people who [do] not have a medical degree.”148 Hoshi katei isho provided simple explanations of common ailments and tips on administering first aid, and discussed how the eighty-eight medicines that Hoshi sold at the time were ideal treatments to help heal those ailments. The seventh edition, published in 1920 (and described here), contains 208 pages, cost twenty-five yen, and, like its predecessors, is compact enough to fit in any adult palm. It includes five sections: a summary of the structures of the body and physiology; an explanation of serious illnesses; an outline of major principles of administering first aid; a section on the “purest and best patent medicines,” which sketches out the background and principles behind Hoshi Pharmaceuticals; and, finally, a section that describes each of Hoshi’s patent medicines and provides directions for their proper use. The front of the book, before the table of contents, includes a chart of the human body along with pictures of Hoshi’s physical plants, from its coca fields in Peru to pill-manufacturing machines to

MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

103

white-coated chemists in its research laboratories. The back contains a chart of all of the medicines that Hoshi produced, divided by type, such as digestive medicines or vaccines. This chart includes the price of each medicine as well as major symptoms and illnesses that each medicine would treat.149 With furigana readings for each printed Chinese character, it was designed to be accessible even for those with the most elementary education.150 For the poor and illiterate, the company encouraged retailers to organize reading and discussion groups (ko¯dokukai) including both store clerks and customers, which, of course, further imbued the dictionary with an aura of authority.151 In this sense, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals portrayed its dictionary as a medical bible—the fount of all proper everyday medical knowledge (see figs. 3.11a and 3.11b). Hoshi Digestive Medicine, of course, featured prominently in the dictionary as well as in the company’s other pedagogical publications. The dictionary lists digestive troubles first in its “explanation of important diseases” (omonaru byo¯ki setsumei), and it recommends Hoshi Digestive Medicine as crucial for treating such maladies as acute and chronic gastric catarrh (ikataru), stomach spasms

FIGURES 3.11A AND B. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi katei isho (Hoshi family medical dictionary) (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1920).

104

CHAPTER 3

(ikei), weak digestion (ijaku), intestinal catarrh (cho¯kataru), and constipation (benpi). The dictionary also recommends the medicine as a prophylactic for daily consumption to maintain healthy digestion. To this end, it advises adults to take the medicine three times a day, either an hour before or an hour after meals, by taking one dose (roughly one gram) mixed in water.152 The dictionary thus provided the authority that dovetailed with print advertisements to create a habitual culture of self-medication for digestive disorders, in which the Hoshi icho¯yaku would become part of a daily regimen for any healthy, rational, and modern adult. Patent medicines flaunted their commodity characteristics more than any other type of medicine. This was the primary reason for their success, but also why critics who espoused the benefits of an ethical medicinal marketplace found them so dangerous. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was one among many firms that helped transform the conception of patent medicines as quackish concoctions. Through marketing campaigns that piggybacked on the Japanese state’s efforts to promote a healthy citizenry based on biomedical principles, Hoshi portrayed patent medicines as essential implements for performing everyday rituals to maintain hygienic bodies and, by extension, for maintaining the overall health of society. In doing so, Hoshi helped redefine what the state counted as legitimate medicine. Although the Japanese state had initially tried to eradicate patent medicines, they may have been some of the best vectors to spread the values of a hygienic modernity, both at home and abroad. Anne McClintock’s words about Victorian-era soap in Great Britain might be apt here: “More than merely a symbol of imperial progress, the domestic commodity becomes the agent of history itself. The commodity, abstracted from social context and human labor, does the civilizing work of empire.”153 The next chapter continues the discussion of patent medicine as consumer commodities and as vectors of a purportedly civilizing and democratic culture of self-medication. It examines how the company attempted to access local markets through the creation of a franchise distribution system that attempted to link the interests of the company to its local retailers. Selling medicine depended on managing the retailer as well as the space that he or she occupied.

4 MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

The previous chapter explored how companies like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals fostered a culture of self-medication through patent-medicine marketing. Doctors, politicians, and bureaucrats (among others) helped the company transform goods once dismissed as placebos antithetical to modern life into scientifically derived essentials in a medicinal culture of self-care. This culture purportedly liberated individuals from the authority wielded by medical practitioners (even as it simultaneously helped individuals conform to the dictates of the industrial economy by placing the burden of health squarely on their shoulders). This chapter continues the discussion of the pharmaceutical industry’s intervention into the realm of everyday life by focusing on distribution, particularly at the retail-store level. In the early twentieth century, drugstores were not simply places to buy medicines—they were contact zones for a variety of globally circulating goods and ideas. At a time when the hegemony of Western medicine over indigenous forms of healing was not yet matter-of-fact, drugstores served as crucial interfaces for spreading the values and practices of modern medicine across society and into people’s hearts and minds. Drugstores were places where the values and practices of medicine intersected with those of the market—the point at which consumers decided, ultimately, to buy certain products or nothing at all. The medicines they sold were more than simply compounds for health and healing; they represented objectified healing seemingly free from unequal social entanglements such as the uneven power relationship between doctor and

105

106

CHAPTER 4

patient.1 If “the spatially bounded, family-centered household,” as Jordan Sand has meticulously shown, “was made into an essential instrument of the modern state,” then the retail drugstore was similarly fashioned as a contiguous space.2 This chapter examines how companies like Hoshi helped lay the groundwork for a medicinal culture of self-care through an infrastructure of retailers. Hoshi created such an infrastructure, modeled on US franchising and chain store techniques, to establish greater control over on-the-ground merchants peddling its products, which would help facilitate ever faster, more efficient sales. It tried to mold its store clerks into loyal medical missionaries who proselytized the benefits of a hygienic modernity through the use of the company’s products. It strove to create its retail drugstores as spaces that promoted freedom for consumers to choose their own medicines (spending money, after all, is perhaps the only true freedom in a capitalist system). Hoshi Pharmaceuticals prized loyalty above all else, but this did not guarantee that its retailers would dutifully impart the company’s prescribed messages.

The Distribution Revolution In the early twentieth century, manufacturers of nondurable goods attempted to revolutionize control of how retailers sold their goods. They relied on two closely related, yet often confused, structures: the franchise and the chain store. Manufacturers lose control over their products once the products leave their hands; franchises and chain stores help ensure that store clerks do everything possible to sell the manufacturer’s product, although, as discussed below, that was often not the case. They also help protect and propagate a manufacturer’s brand. Franchises and chain stores first took root in the United States in the second half of the nineteenth century, and since then, the two business models have often overlapped. As a result, they have often been mistakenly viewed as one and the same.3 Both franchises and chain stores arose out of manufacturers’ desire to have increasing control over distribution. They apply scientific management to retailing, and, like department stores and mail-order firms, have the ability to maximize profits through cutting-edge merchandising and distribution techniques that emphasize uniformity, speed, and efficiency.4 A chain store shares the same name, appearance, and merchandise as other stores; a franchise may, too, but in its most restricted definition, a franchise is simply a right to sell a company’s goods or services in a particular area.5 The most important difference concerns ownership; chain stores are owned by a parent company, which assumes most of the risk and chance for profit, whereas franchises are owned by franchisees who have entered into contracts with the main company (the franchisor) to

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

107

use its name, sell its products, and share risk and profit. A local merchant chooses to join a franchise and can break a contract if the parent company does not fulfill mutually determined obligations, and vice versa. For example, in the early twentieth century United States, chain stores represented the threat that big business posed to small-town neighborhood mom-and-pop stores, whereas franchises often had more populist connotations and greater appeal for local communities and business proprietors, because they did not require huge agglomerations of capital or resources and preserved some measure of autonomy.6 In Japan, franchises and chain stores became popular after World War II when the Allied Occupation fostered an influx of US culture and ideas. Both types of business, however, began during an earlier era of Americanization across the globe: the post–World War I years, marked by a crisis of overproduction and recessions from Western Europe to Latin America to Asia. Franchises and chain stores became popular all over the world as solutions to overproduction through efficient distribution.7 Franchising became especially popular, likely because it did not require as much capital and organizational infrastructure as chain stores. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals began its franchise system in 1910. It was among the earliest franchise pioneers, along with companies that produced health and beauty products like Kao¯ and Lion, cosmetics manufacturers like Shiseido¯, confectioners like Morinaga Candy, and Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals.8 In its company history, Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals even cites Hoshi as the inspiration for its own distribution network.9 These companies all sold nonessential, nondurable consumer goods like cosmetics and patent medicines that depended on creating demand.10 Manufacturers relied on individual retailers to sell their goods, but how did they know that those retailers were doing all they could to increase sales? What if the retailers were actually encouraging a rival’s products over theirs? Franchises and chain stores helped manufacturers reduce costs, improve efficiency, and, most important, provide some measure of control over the distribution process; they helped ensured that merchants would sell a manufacturer’s products, rather than those of other brands. In Japan, the most prominent examples of franchising are the “Shiseido¯ Chain Store” signs (written in English), which can be found adorning pre–World War I cosmetics stores and drugstores near train stations. Their seeming ubiquity even today demonstrates the slippage and confusion between the concepts of the chain store and the franchise.11 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals self-consciously modeled its distribution system on US examples, which its founder had learned about during a decade spent in the United States. To Hoshi Hajime, franchises represented technologies that enabled the development of US capitalist growth and prosperity, and they embodied the modern values that the company attempted to cultivate. The company kept up to date with the practices and methods of franchises and chain stores around

108

CHAPTER 4

the world, and it often sent company leadership to Europe and the United States to inspect the best business practices of leading franchise and chain drugstores, including Walgreen’s, Rexall, and John H. Patterson’s National Cash Registry Company. When company leaders returned, the company disseminated information about of these journeys through interview and articles in the company newspapers, as well as through informational pamphlets.12 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ distribution system began with a simple contract between the company and an independent, individual store. It based its distribution system on franchises (tokuyakuten), which it likely preferred over chain stores because, unlike the latter, they did not require huge outlays of capital. After signing an exclusive contract (tokuyaku) with the company, a store became a franchise—literally an exclusive-contract store (tokuyakuten). A franchise could engage in side businesses and sell other goods provided that those did not compete with Hoshi-manufactured products. In exchange, the franchise had the right to purchase merchandise from the company and access to its national advertising and marketing advice. Yet the company did not indiscriminately borrow, but adapted to local conditions. Technologies of mass consumer capitalism, as they emanated from places like the United States to Japan, often overlapped with—and adjusted to—local forms. It was always a process of translation. Despite admitting close similarities to US models, Hoshi took advantage of the popular conflation between franchises and chain stores to claim that its distribution system differed in important respects. Although the company was heavily influenced by US business practices, it was careful not to come across as a mere imitator. According to one company publication: American [chain] companies own most of their branch stores, and are organizations structured on the power of capital (ownership); it is better to say, however, that Hoshi’s distribution system is founded upon a “family system” [kazoku seido] of spiritual [seishinteki], capitalistic cooperation [shihonteki kyo¯ryoku] and hard work, rather than on the power of capital. It was, so to speak, a structure, based upon cooperation, of a giant family [dai kazoku] that connected small families in individual areas; one that was better than the principles of American chain stores. For these reasons, it would be possible to call it a family system of chain stores.13 In this way, the company simultaneously echoed populist US criticisms of chain stores for their homogeneity and accentuated jingoistic rhetoric underscoring the uniqueness of Japanese development; the family was the firm and firm was family, which was humanitarian, cooperative, and distinctly Japanese.

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

109

Hoshi intentionally portrayed its distribution system in such nationalistic terms. For example, in a 1918 article titled “Franchises and Nationalist Ideas,” the company argued that if the nation-state was an assemblage of people, the franchise system was the collective of the company: “Just as constructing a strong nationstate depends on people with strong, nationalist ideals, the foundations of this company will only strengthen due to the efforts of you, the franchises.” Because each franchise, no matter how small, was a “constitutive part of the company’s being” (honsha no sonritsu wo sasaeru ichi yo¯so nari), each worker had a duty to work hard to sell good medicines because it affected the company as a whole.14 Hoshi positioned itself as an industry outsider and portrayed its distribution system as a more open and modern alternative to what it characterized as a monopolistic and backward wholesale system (tonya seido) that pervaded distribution for pharmaceuticals as well as foodstuffs, cosmetics, and other nondurable consumer goods in the early twentieth century.15 The wholesale system, as discussed in chapter 1, was composed of a national network that funneled medicines through gatekeepers in Osaka’s Dosho¯machi and Tokyo’s Honmachi, and it resembled—in structure, function, and membership—the distribution and regulatory system from Tokugawa times. The wholesaler (tonya) connected manufacturers to retailers by taking orders from the “ordering stores” (chu¯monya) and the “intermediary stores” (miseuriya). The chu¯monya and the miseuriya then provided medicines to regional wholesalers (chiho¯ tonya), which were the final distributors to retail stores, doctors, and pharmacies across the nation. This system lasted roughly from the beginning of the Meiji period up to the late 1930s, and its most influential members, like Takeda and Shionogi, had maintained or even consolidated their power since the Edo period (see fig. 4.1).16 Hoshi railed against the wholesale system for its reliance on middlemen who profited without doing the hard work of manufacturing or selling and whose presence raised business costs.17 Hoshi’s distribution system also competed with door-to-door peddling of medicines (gyo¯sho¯), which had been pervasive since the Edo period. The most

Foreign drug makers

Ordering stores (Chu‒monya)

Regional wholesalers (Chiho‒ tonya)

Drugstores

Intermediary stores (Miseuriya)

Auction

Doctors, hospitals

Wholesalers (Tonya) Domestic drug makers

FIGURE 4.1. Wholesale distribution network modeled on diagram in Yamashita Mai, Iyaku o kindaika shita kenkyu¯ to senryaku (Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2010), 36.

110

CHAPTER 4

famous door-to-door peddling system was associated with Toyama Prefecture, arguably the most prolific patent-medicine producing region in Japan.18 Toyama patent medicines supposedly became famous after Maeda Masatoshi (1649–1706), the daimyo¯ of the Etchu¯-Toyama domain, prescribed a remedy called Hangontan to cure a severe bellyache of a rival feudal lord during a 1690 visit to Edo Castle; this spread word across Japan of the ability of this medicine to magically—as the Chinese characters of its name suggest—“turn back evil demons” that caused upset stomachs. Practitioners of shugendo¯—an ascetic and syncretic “mountain religion”—also produced, carried, and sold Hangontan, among other medicines, during pilgrimages across Japan.19 Despite its apocryphal nature, this origin story reveals how patent-medicine peddlers relied on the development of a national, protocapitalist economy during the Edo period, which, in turn, depended on the growth of long-distance transportation and communication networks.20 Purposefully populist, Toyama’s sales system catered to rural regions in which itinerant peddlers traveled to individual homes to leave boxes of assorted medicines at customer’s doorstep before returning to settle accounts, restock supplies, and then customize later shipments after customer consultation. Merchants often timed their deliveries and collections with the rhythms of rural life, arriving during or after seasonal holidays like New Year’s or the summer festival of the dead, Obon. The guiding ethos—and principal sales slogan—for the sale of these medicines was senyo¯ ko¯ri (“use first, pay later”), which emphasized humanitarian before profitmaking interests. The customer would have immediate access to medicines the moment a sickness occurs, and he or she would only use what was needed.21 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals criticized Toyama’s sales system as outdated, stupid, and inefficient. In particular, it attacked Toyama’s reliance on credit rather than cash-based sales, which slowed payment collection.22 A 1918 company newspaper article, for example, likened the Toyama system to “cooking two liters worth of rice in individual one-cup-size pots.”23 By contrast, Hoshi’s distribution system operated on the principles of speed and efficiency through high concentration of capital, economies of scale, and standardization. “Time is Money!” declared a company newspaper article that told retailers that “five minutes, or even one second of free time could be put to good use.”24 The goal was greater integration in the commodity chain from manufacturer to retailer to consumer in order to speed up turnover. The scale of Hoshi’s operations, which included a labor force of over two thousand workers, enabled the company to buy raw materials in bulk and to keep its factories humming. This lowered costs and improved efficiency and quality, and, in turn, helped ensure that the consumer would be able to walk into any retailer and purchase the exact same product. Uniform prices, often at a level just below prices of competing goods, quickened sales. Standardized packaging helped eliminate wasted space in shipping containers.25 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

111

also rigorously avoided credit-based transactions, which had been the norm not just for Toyama’s patent-medicine industry but across the entire pharmaceutical industry—not to mention for other consumer industries at the time, from soap to sewing machines.26 Hoshi Hajime explained: “Because selling based on future payments for goods is the same as loaning money, it is the work of capitalists, not the business of manufacturers . . . there’s nothing more irrational than for patent medicines to be ‘loaned’ in this way for six months or even one year at a time.”27 The company believed that cash-based transactions avoided the complications of credit, including trust, bill collection, and bookkeeping. Yet Hoshi’s distribution system had distinct similarities to distribution networks that the company hypocritically criticized and sought to replace. Despite claims to the contrary, Hoshi mimicked the efficiency of wholesalers and the populism of traditional medicine peddlers. When the company founded its franchise system, it declared that it wanted to maintain a direct connection with its franchisees. But as its number of franchisees grew, Hoshi found it hard to keep up with the number of orders arriving by telegraph, letters, and postcards, so it created a hierarchical chain of command to shorten the time of shipment, maintain the efficient transport and distribution of goods, and have greater oversight over its franchises. Despite its professed goal of eliminating the wasteful wholesale middleman, in 1914 Hoshi’s distribution system became, for all practical purposes, a Hoshi-exclusive wholesale network when it added two levels between the company and its franchises. A wholesale distributor at the prefectural level now had responsibility over—and supplied merchandise to—city- or district-level wholesale distributors (see fig. 4.2).28 At the same time, the company encouraged its franchises to engage in the door-to-door peddling popularized by Toyama medicine merchants, to build trust and awareness in their local communities. Hoshi dubbed these efforts “pioneer selling” (kaitaku hanbai). The company sang the praises of “politely explaining methods to treat illnesses and take care of one’s health.”29 It proclaimed the effectiveness of delivering door-to-door as often as three to four times a week and that the peddlers themselves served as great advertisements for the company and its medicines.30 A 1918 recruiting bulletin solicited peddlers in Tottori and Hiroshima Prefectures, offering a monthly wage of 15 yen per month with the chance to earn upward of 150 yen per month based on commission.31 Hoshi’s franchise network seemed extraordinarily successful in its early years. In 1910, the number of Hoshi franchises was around 700. By 1913, they numbered 4,000, by 1917, 15,000, and by 1923, they peaked above 35,000—remarkable numbers, even given the fact that Hoshi counted franchises simply as individual contracts with merchants (rather than as brick-and-mortar stores, which

112

CHAPTER 4

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals

Prefectural distributor

Local distributor

Franchises

FIGURE 4.2. Hoshi’s franchise network, from Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo ¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 11.

would make these numbers absurd).32 The company replicated this distribution machinery overseas—a process that proceeded simultaneously with franchise developments in the home islands. Hoshi distributors and franchises spread into the colonies of Taiwan, Korea, Karafuto, and Manchuria, as well as into Southeast Asia, the Dutch East Indies, South America, Hawai‘i, and even the West Coast of the United States.33 Hoshi’s greatest overseas presence, by far, was in colonial Taiwan, where its patent-medicine market compared favorably to that within Japan’s home islands. Hoshi, of course, had extensive connections with the governmentgeneral through Goto¯ Shinpei. If Hoshi Hajime’s claim from his 1913 interview that “patent-medicine consumption was a marker of civilization” rang true, then Taihoku (Taipei) did not lag far behind Tokyo in civilizational terms. In 1915, the per capita consumption of patent medicines within Taiwan (1,590,939.80

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

113

yen for a population of 3,615,545) was almost exactly the same as within Japan (24,6549,988.00 yen for a population of 56,022,700).34 By 1913, the company had established a corporate branch office in Taihoku, from which Hoshi Hajime worked as many as four or five times a year.35 By the middle of 1922, fourteen district-level wholesale distributors had already been established to support the franchises in Taiwan.36 Hoshi had a slower and more difficult time breaking into Japan’s other major colony, Korea, a protectorate from 1905 until its annexation in 1910. Compared to Taiwan and Japan’s home islands, per capita consumption of patent medicines in Korea was a meager 162,491 yen for a population of 16,278,389 in 1915.37 Whereas Hoshi characterized Taiwan as a place of relative modernity, it painted Korea as rife with illness and poor-quality medicines and portrayed its sales efforts there as a “pioneer movement” (kaitaku undo¯) for improving public health.38 Preparations for Hoshi’s franchise system in Korea only began in late 1910s; in 1918, for example, the company dispatched an executive on a threemonth fact-finding mission before beginning its expansion into the Korean Peninsula.39 The company established a single wholesale distributor for the entire peninsula in Keijo¯ (Seoul) in June of 1922. By the end of 1923, this distributor oversaw and supplied merchandise to eleven lower-level distributors.40

Molding Medical Missionaries Hoshi Pharmaceuticals claimed that its franchises were integral parts of the company’s efforts to “democratize” (minshu¯ka) medicines through a culture of selfmedication that provided timely and affordable medicines for people who lacked access to modern medical care. To this end, Hoshi strove to create a loyal army of retailers to spread the benefits of its modern medicines to far-flung rural and land-locked regions across Japan, as well as across the world.41 In Hoshi’s rendering, franchises substituted for medical clinics, and its store clerks stood in for doctors and nurses. The ideal franchise became an indispensable space for the local community, and the ideal clerk was a knowledgeable, on-the-ground proselytizer of the company’s promise to better human lives through better medicines. Medicines relied on trust and reputation. Customers, in turn, relied on the advice of drugstore clerks when they did not know the active ingredients in a particular medicine or what kinds of medicines could treat particular ailments. Hoshi’s success depended on the management of its clerks, who served as the primary points of contact with potential consumers. Hoshi’s distribution system depended on growth and recruitment. It pursued a strategy for recruiting retailers that attempted to build loyalty and trust

114

CHAPTER 4

not only between customers and stores but also between the company and store clerks. Hoshi deliberately set barriers to entry low; the cost of the contract was a deposit originally set a minimum of 10 yen in 1910, which it increased 25 yen in 1912, paid up front to the company.42 The company lured prospective retailers with the potential for exponential profits. One of its earliest national advertisements, which appeared on May 18, 1910, in the Tokyo asahi shinbun—before Hoshi’s incorporation as a joint-stock company—invited prospective franchisees to contact the company for an application, stating: “Any person, in any location, can with as little as 10 to 15 yen of capital, earn more than 80 yen in a year.”43 A 1912–1913 recruitment campaign boasted: “Based on a calculation of growing profit from the use of newspaper advertising, there are those who have earned more than 200 hundred yen with as little as 25 yen of initial capital, while there are many cases of those who, with a 200 yen investment, earned more than 2,000 yen.” The advertising campaign guaranteed that if a hardworking franchisee put down 50 yen of capital, he would earn more than 300 yen in a year.44 It provided a number of reasons why prospective retailers could expect such returns. First, the company promised a monopoly for a given area. To avoid competition among franchises as well as promote a cooperative group mentality among them, Hoshi permitted only one franchise in each town or village. Each individual store had a sphere of influence in its designated area—the store directly purchased its merchandise from Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, and it had the sole right and responsibility to sell goods for its area. According to the campaign, these privileges were the “same special privileges as government-granted monopoly rights.”45 Hoshi’s distribution system, in other words, was predicated on parceling out space for efficient control. The company also offered prospective franchisees access to its national advertising network, discussed in chapter 3, which became more attractive as the company grew larger and more influential. The company claimed it would provide all the knowledge and training needed to turn amateur medicine sellers into experts. Once a merchant entered into a contract with Hoshi, the company provided— free of charge—billboards, posters, advertising leaflets, and publications that introduced and reviewed new medicines as well as novel ways for selling them.46 The reputation of Hoshi’s brand was paramount. Hoshi sold itself— particularly its connections to well-known political, business, and scientific figures. One advertisement in the 1912–1913 recruiting campaign celebrated Hoshi as “the best pharmaceutical company in Japan, which was organized by first-rank businessmen,” and included portraits of the members of its board of directors and its advisory committee, as well as of major stockholders such as Count Goto¯ Taketaro¯, Iwashita Kiyochika, Kataoka Naoharu, Noguchi Hideyo, and Iwahara Kenzo¯ (1863–1936), the managing director of Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, who

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

115

later became the first chairman—with Goto¯ Shinpei as its first president—of the Japan Broadcasting Corporation, also known as NHK (see fig. 4.3).47 Along with a prominent statement of Hoshi’s present capitalization of 500,000 yen, the pictures and descriptions of these figures gave the company an aura of trustworthiness and authority. The importance the company placed on reputation extended to the type of people it hoped to recruit. Although anyone could potentially join Hoshi’s ranks, the company exhorted recruiters to “first of all, recruit people recognized as ‘firstrank people’ [dai-ichi ryu¯], and to avoid ‘second rank’ [dai-ni ryu¯] and ‘third rank’ [dai-san ryu¯] individuals” who would be easy to recruit but provided little benefit. Because of first-rank recruits’ reputation, the company claimed, they would not only be excellent sellers but would also help convince others to join the franchise network. The company believed that people strove to be like their superiors and would—consciously or not—mimic their values and tastes, not to mention the health and beauty products they bought. One can always tell a good merchant, in other words, by the company he or she keeps. And once an attractive merchant became part of the Hoshi network, the company did everything in its power to ensure that he or she would promote Hoshi’s products and maintain the company’s reputation.48

FIGURE 4.3. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha: Tokuyakuten dai boshu¯,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, February 4, 1913, morning edition.

116

CHAPTER 4

Hoshi tried to ensure the loyalty and hard work of its retailers through stock offerings, which co-opted them to become micro-owners of the company. The company claimed that by binding together the financial interests of the company with its individual franchises’ fortunes, it “killed two birds with one stone” (ikkyo ryo¯toku), increasing its total capital while providing sales incentives.49 Hoshi encouraged its employees and retailers to purchase shares, and it offered extraordinarily high dividends (ranging from 6 to 30 percent from 1912 through 1923).50 Because the price for a single share was 50 yen, which was quite a large sum for that time, the company allowed purchasers to pay only one-fourth of the price up front, with the remainder to be collected at a later date.51 An analysis of Hoshi’s stockholdings shows that small shareholders indeed owned a substantial portion of the company; many of them were likely associated with its franchises. As of the first half of 1923, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had 400,000 outstanding shares with 5,546 shareholders. Major shareholders owned 226,752 of the 400,000 shares (Hoshi Hajime owned 68,276 shares, and other members of his family, company executives, and 19 other people owned at least 1,000 shares each). The rest were owned by small shareholders, with roughly 31.4 shares per person.52 Perhaps the most important device for promoting franchise solidarity, as well as spreading medical and sales knowledge, was the company newspaper, which is one of the major sources for this book. The newspaper allowed its readers envision themselves as a broader, imagined community of Hoshi devotees. The company established the newspaper in November 1913, and it initially distributed it to every domestic and overseas franchise once every two months, before increasing the publication frequency to monthly, and, later, bi-weekly. The newspaper’s contents included news about day-to-day company happenings, testimonials of high-performing franchise owners, and information about new products and new techniques to improve sales.53 The company solicited feedback through the newspaper, requesting articles for publication about techniques for sales, successes, failures, and personal stories.54 The primary goal of the newspaper was to help and encourage its franchises to sell more medicines. To this end, it had two longstanding columns throughout the 1910s and 1920s. One, “Hygiene Knowledge Repository” (Eisei chiko¯), provided medical advice concerning proper hygienic practices and the treatment of common illnesses, each linked, of course, to a suitable Hoshi-brand medicine.55 The other, “Business Transactions” (Sho¯bai o¯rai), dispensed practical marketing and sales tips and, most importantly, advice on how to manage workers, which included everything from salary suggestions to pointers to pay careful attention to cues that reflected harmful attitudes and slackening dispositions.56 Most articles concerned how to improve sales. One example was a seven-part series of articles from January 1919 through July 1920 titled “Popular Sales

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

117

Psychology for Patent Medicines” that purported to make use of advances in psychology (shinrigaku) to increase sales. It covered topics such as “What does it mean to be human?”; the mental process of choosing medicines; the four phenomena of mind (shinri gensho¯), knowledge (chi), emotion (jo¯), and will (i); how to create advertisements and store windows to attract customers; and the pros and cons of directly or indirectly appealing to customers.57 “Psychology,” the company claimed, “had become practically inseparable from sales strategy [hanbai sho¯ryaku],” because it made rational the seeming irrationality of the human mind and its desires. Learning some basic theories would help retailers become more efficient at attracting customers by better understanding and catering their tastes (shiko¯). One article, for example, mused: “What shapes and structures generally have the most impact, from all angles, in public view? What kinds of colors resonate [kyo¯mei] with female consciousness depending on age? The answers to these types of questions are applied to merchandise as well as to other objects aimed at enticing customers.”58 Like all pedagogical tools, the newspaper had a disciplinary function. The success of Hoshi’s franchise system depended on loyalty, yet the company often encountered disloyal merchants tempted to skirt company directives for additional profits. Nearly every issue of the newspaper contained a section that ranked franchise managers for achieving sales goals, or announced rewards for high-performing employees, or issued punishments for those who shamefully violated company regulations or failed to meet sales expectations.59 Through special features such as “Superlative Franchises,” the newspaper regularly featured model stores and outstanding clerks who shared the company’s ambition for growth and success.60 One example was the story of a twenty-three-year-old clerk named Kai Machiko, an exceptional “young female better than men” who hailed from the city of Otaru in Hokkaido¯. Kai took responsibility for making special sales campaigns, like Hoshi Digestive Medicine Day, a success, and always treated customers with such sincerity that they became regulars. Her efforts helped make her workplace the top drugstore in Otaru, a place packed with customers night and day, so much so that there was “barely any room between customers.”61 Kai Machiko’s story reveals one of the most important aspects of Hoshi’s franchise system: its reliance on—and, perhaps, even preference for—female labor. Japan quite literally industrialized on the backs of female workers. This was particularly true of Japan’s leading industry, silk, which profited from the labor of young girls because of their low wages and small hands.62 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals employed approximately four hundred female factory workers at wages comparable to those of silk factories to work as clerks, machinists, and packagers. In an October 1918 article in an industry trade journal, Hoshi Hajime argued

118

CHAPTER 4

that although female laborers lacked education, training, and physical capacities compared to men—and were frequently unable to “stay even keeled” (seishin wo heisei ni tamoteinai)—their sensitivity, caution, and attention to detail could be put to good use, especially if they were plied with gifts, among other incentives, and treated like family rather than like slaves.63 According to a notable personal account—the autobiography of the labor activist Takai Toshio—Hoshi’s domestic factories were “clean and incomparable to the spinning mills” and “the most ‘human’ [ichiban ningenrashii] life could be for women.”64 Takai praised Hoshi for fostering a sense of equality. She described how management and workers shared a cafeteria, how all workers wore the same color-coded uniforms (male workers wore the same gray suit as the president, and female workers wore the same white coats and white hats), and how the company encouraged all employees to study and learn. In one anecdote, Takai recalled Albert Einstein delivering a speech that she attended at the Hoshi Business School (Hoshi seiyaku sho¯gyo¯ gakko¯), and how she had naively thought that his theory of relativity referred to the relationships between women and men!65 Most of all, Takai enjoyed the comradery and convivial spirit in her workplace. Takai recounted how people at Hoshi’s factory often hummed along to popular tunes like the opera singer Taya Rikizo¯’s “Love Is a Gentle Wildflower” (Koi wa yasashi nobe no hana yo)—a far cry from the tunes she sung while working in a silk factory, which contained lyrics such as: “It would be great if the company washed away, the factory burned, and the guards died of cholera.”66 Female workers were, perhaps, even more important at Hoshi’s franchises. The key consumer and authority figure in Hoshi’s culture of self-medication was not the officious medical physician or scientist, but the stereotypical modern and rational housewife who dutifully managed the home, raised the children, and monitored the pocketbooks—the prewar precursor, perhaps, to the postwar Japanese “education mama” (kyo¯iku mama) (or US tiger mom variant), who made elite college admission for her children her mission. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals marketed its medicines, above all, to her. The company found female clerks helpful for attracting this customer because of their perceived sincerity and approachability. More often than not, female clerks also proved better than men at providing suggestions for beauty and feminine care products.67 Hoshi similarly encouraged the idea of a franchise as a family unit, asking the dutiful wife to balance both finances and family affairs. The March 1, 1926, issue of the company newspaper, for example, featured enterprising women from Yamagata Prefecture who organized their own educational support group for promoting sales, which the company claimed was the first of its kind in Japan. These women who “surpassed men” (danshi o shinogu) in their intiative and determination shared techniques for better advertising and customer service and

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

119

support; they often worked side-by-side with their husbands and joined them in attending franchise conventions.68 Hoshi even encouraged wives to stand outside stores to greet passersby looking for conversation in order to understand their state of mind and gain a loyal following. “Active sales [katsudo¯ hanbai] was not the job of a male alone,” claimed one article that encouraged women to support their male colleagues in attracting passersby, not to mention join in peddling products door-to-door.69 Although nearly all franchise owners were men, there were some notable exceptions. A July 1926 article featured two such women, Kanda Sawako and Takahara Miyoko, who ran a flourishing store in the greater Tokyo area near the city of Hachio¯ji. The article praised the store for an innovative six-sided cosmetics display case spread out with an assortment of makeup brushes and pocket mirrors that invited customers to freely try out various products under the watchful eyes of store clerks, who readily dispensed advice.70 “The power of a woman [was] great,” declared Hoshi Hajime, because she provided a humane touch to nearly all aspects of a successful store.71

Disciplining Distribution Hoshi’s franchise system worked as long as the company was growing. The company enticed prospective retailers with fantasies of wealth achieved with a little bit of elbow grease. Throughout the 1910s, it seemed like Hoshi had succeeded in attracting prospective merchants into an expanding network and increasing the number of consumers who used its medicines and household products. Yet Japan’s economic climate dramatically shifted after World War I, when the economy was mired in a decade of repeated crisis and retrenchment. Amid this postwar economic malaise, Hoshi attempted to rally its retailers to work harder and stay the course. The sheer number and rapidity of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ promotions, campaigns, and exhortations within its company newspaper reflected a flagging confidence in the profitability of its franchises and the stability of its network. In a poor economy, the company grew increasingly worried that workers would cut corners and retailers would violate their contracts. One striking example of this concern was a full-page 1919 article that addressed what Hoshi deemed the “gravest of sins” (saiaku no tsumi): franchise retailers who surreptitiously worked with wholesale distributors outside of Hoshi’s network. The article implored franchises to honor their contracts and avoid the temptations of selling competitors’ goods. Hoshi had premised its retail success on breaking the monopoly power of wholesale distributors through a monopoly distribution system of its own. It sought reliable, trustworthy retailers who honored their exclusive contracts, yet the presence of the article indicates

120

CHAPTER 4

that violating contracts was not rare.72 In times of trouble, loyalty and trustworthiness could not be guaranteed. A 1920 article titled “For us there’s no downturn!” (Wareware ni fukeiki nashi), similarly exhorted workers to remain calm and avoid rumors about impending economic crisis, because the demand for medicine was comparatively inelastic, unlike other industries, especially silk, which had been Japan’s dominant industry. The article claimed that the economic downturn was an opportunity to increase sales, as people would “not abandon the sick” (byo¯nin wo suteteoku), but rather compromise by choosing cheaper patent medicines they could trust over expensive prescribed medicines. Therefore, “for the benefit of health of the Japanese people . . . it was imperative to continue perfecting its advertising and sales system to sell its medicines.”73 The argument echoed a well-worn catchphrase concerning the performative humanitarianism of the medicine business—that no price was too high when saving a human life. Exhortations and platitudes, of course, only went so far. To help overcome the post–World War I economic malaise, Japanese corporations like Hoshi sent executives abroad to look for answers, and they often found inspiration in how US firms managed their workers. In their travels, Hoshi executives did not limit their tours to drugstores, but visited all sorts of successful enterprises and infrastructure for efficient sales and distribution, from department stores such as Sears Roebuck, to self-service chain supermarkets such as Piggly-Wiggly, to Curtis Publishing Company (the publisher of the Saturday Evening Post), to Chicago’s Union Stock Yards of meatpacking fame.74 They paid attention to a number of new specialized occupations that proved essential to the proper functioning of mass consumer culture, including advertising agents, show-window designers, ad copywriters, and stevedores.75 Hoshi executives focused their attention on US store clerks, whom they praised for their politeness, formality, and “spirit of faithful duty” (chu¯kin no seishin)—a jarring image for those familiar with the impeccably polite cashier or the depiction of salaryman as samurai literally dying from overwork (karo¯shi), so often used to critique the indolence and moral disrepute of US manufacturing and sales workers in the 1980s.76 One Hoshi company article claimed that the American people as a whole had a “business-like temperament” (sho¯ninteki kishitsu) of hard work, practicality, and a desire to get ahead.77 Even the most hardworking person could benefit from management’s strategic prodding. Hoshi praised techniques that put workers under constant pressure, such as paying workers based on commission, gathering data on workers’ domiciles and everyday lives, ensuring workers spent as much time as possible in the workplace; and tying bonuses to performance.78 Management needed to convince its workers to buy into efficiency improvements; to this end, the company

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

121

advocated the use of suggestion boxes that solicited opinions from workers.79 Although minor managerial improvements may not have seemed like much, they would be like “dust piling up to a mountain.”80 The guiding ethos behind the company’s efforts to control its workforce was, of course, scientific management, that is, Taylorism, which was becoming popular across the world for its practical cost-cutting and time-saving measures.81 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals jumped headfirst into this global craze, declaring that “the world was already in an era of scientific management.”82 Company literature that celebrated scientific management abounded; Hoshi even coined two phrases, “Efficiency First” (No¯ritsu dai-ichi) and “Assiduousness First” (Nesshin dai-ichi), puns on its ubiquitous motto, “Kindness First.”83 Hoshi drew inspiration from US business examples not just for production methods and store design, but for ideas concerning how to better control the most uncontrollable of inputs—the worker. Taylorism, above all, was about labor productivity, and its popularity owed much to the enduring and apocryphal tale of how the management of Bethlehem Steel motivated a worker named Schmidt to nearly quadruple his haul of pig iron. To Hoshi, the brilliance of scientific management harnessed the “power of science to the power of the people.”84 For Hoshi, no company was better at managing its workers than the Ford Motor Company, which had succeeded in applying Taylorist principles to mass production. Hoshi Hajime even styled himself as a Japanese Henry Ford with the publication of a hagiographic 1924 work, Hoshi and Ford, which attempted to portray Hoshi as a revolutionary company of equal importance to society as Ford.85 In response to the economic downturn, Hoshi introduced a number of programs inspired by scientific management to support its franchise retailers and incentivize faster turnover. In 1919, the company introduced a club, the Hoshi Excellence Club (Hoshi ko¯kai), for high-performing stores. The club required an average above one yen of sales per day or 365 yen per calendar year to join; if a store reached this goal, it was awarded between 3 and 200 yen, with the amount determined by a lottery held in March of the following year. Because stores could earn an unlimited number of tickets, this program incentivized them to sell, even if they had to do so at deep discounts.86 The company based this on an earlier program called Regulations to Promote Higher Sales (Uriage sho¯rei kitei) in 1914, which encouraged franchises to procure more products from the company by providing rebates. For example, if orders totaled over 150 yen in a one-year period, the purchaser would receive 3 percent back; above 300 yen, 5 percent; over 600 yen, 8 percent; over 1,000 yen, 10 percent, etc.87 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals also attempted to foster loyalty and solidarity through pedagogical structures and institutions. Among the most important were its franchise conventions. In February 1921, the company held its first franchise

122

CHAPTER 4

convention in Tokyo to build morale among members of its distribution network and to share information about new products and best marketing and sales practices.88 Prefectural and international franchise conventions followed soon after. Conventions often lasted for a few days, and consisted of lectures and workshops. Hoshi Hajime attended each convention, accompanied by high-ranking executives in the company. More often than not, the opening session consisted of guest lectures by notable statesmen or scientists (who were, more often than not, personal friends of Hoshi Hajime), such as Goto¯ Shinpei, Sugiyama Shigemaru, or Kitasato Shibasaburo¯. The earliest overseas franchise conventions were held in Taiwan in July 1921: one in Taihoku, attended by 265 franchise members and 158 invited guests, and the other in Tainan, attended by 423 franchise members and 72 invited guests.89 In Korea, the first franchise convention occurred in late May 1924, simultaneously in Keijo¯ (610 people), Fusan (Pusan) (264 people), and Gunsan (288 people).90 Another important disciplinary institution was the Hoshi Business School, founded in 1921 for training retail managers and store clerks from across Japan (and elsewhere). Located adjacent to the company’s Tokyo factory in the Gotanda district, the business school offered two courses of study: a two-week crash course for basic knowledge in pharmacology, medicine, and business practices, and a more comprehensive six-week course intended for students to gain basic qualifications in handling medicines as licensed pharmacists (yakuzaishi). Classes were often held at night. Scientific management saturated the school’s curriculum— one of the textbooks was titled Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei (Principles of scientific management) and was loosely based on Frederick Taylor’s famous work of the same name.91 Lessons and activities gave students practical knowledge for increasing sales and also helped instill a sense of belonging in the company, as if it were family. For example, a man named Masuda Masutsugu, from Ishikari in Hokkaido¯, spoke of a deep desire to “fundamentally reform” (konponteki kaizo¯) his store in Ishinokari in Hokkaido¯ based on the new information he learned. Another attendee, named Anzu Gitoku (from Okinawa Prefecture) had this to say when he stared out the window during his train ride home along the Tokaido¯ and Kyu¯shu¯ rail lines: “When I saw advertisements with ‘Medicines are Hoshi,’ I was suddenly struck by a sense that I, along with the company, were growing together.”92 Perhaps the most famous alumnus of the school was Matsumoto Kiyoshi, who graduated in 1930 and subsequently opened his first store in Chiba Prefecture in 1932.93 Matsumoto Kiyoshi is the name of one of the most popular drugstore franchises in Japan today. Hoshi retailers often violated their contracts for pecuniary reasons. To this end, the company introduced a financial support network in October 1921 known as the jijokai (literally, “self-help associations”), which indicated that

FIGURE 4.4. “Jijokai no unyo¯ zu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1923.

124

CHAPTER 4

many franchises continued to have trouble making profits or even maintaining solvency.94 Although in principle the company maintained a cash-only system, cash also limited the size and scale of transactions, which became a problem if a franchise wanted to purchase relatively expensive medicines or if it needed to purchase quantities in bulk. The company worried that such constraints might encourage retailers to cheat the system by selling competitors’ products or even leave the franchise network. Through the jijokai, transactions could be made with paper bills (tegata), much like the commercial paper of today, basically as guaranteed IOUs.95 Jijokai operated, for all practical purposes, as internal banks in the Hoshi franchise system. Members could invest unused or uncirculated paper bills for later use, and they guaranteed the value of the notes, charging a transaction fee of one yen per hundred yen while earning interest on the investments as commission. Hoshi established jijokai at three levels: the prefectural level, corresponding with the prefectural wholesale distributor, the city or district level, corresponding with the city or district wholesale distributor, and the local level, for individual retailers (see fig. 4.4).96 Despite the fact that these so-called self-help associations provided a number of important functions for troubled retailers, the term jijokai purposefully invoked the company’s pullyourself-up-by-your-bootstraps ideology of a “spirit of self-reliance” (jichi no seishin), which, itself, was an invocation of a late-Meiji era ideology emphasizing the importance of local self-help (jichi) that encouraged villages to straighten up their fiscal and administrative affairs (with, of course, government direction and financial aid).97 Carol Gluck describes jichi as having a double meaning, “for it emphasized the localities’ administrative self-governance at the same time that it denied any semblance of political autonomy and tied the chiho¯ [provinces] as closely as possible to the center.”98 That description applies equally well to the self-help that Hoshi tried to invoke.

Controlling Retail Space One of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ most important ways to control retailers was to homogenize space. Hoshi originally did not have any regulations concerning the spatial layout of its stores. A franchise, by definition, was simply an exclusive contract, and Hoshi’s primary concern in its early days was recruiting merchants to sign up and stay loyal to the company. It treated retailers as almost one and the same, in the tradition, perhaps, of indigenous patent-medicine peddlers. Yet as Hoshi expanded its network, it became increasingly preoccupied with how its personnel occupied space to increase revenue. The company’s goal was to facilitate ever faster, more efficient sales. In doing so, it helped influence the dissemination

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

125

of modern medicine on the ground, at the point of contact between merchant and consumer. Hoshi strove to create an environment that cultivated an ethos of self-medication, liberated from the unequal power relationship between doctor and patient—a space that promoted the freedom for consumers to choose their own medicines and purchase them quickly and efficiently. In the February 1923 issue of the company newspaper, Hoshi announced plans for a new “steel-constructed Hoshi-style store” (Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo). The new steel-and-glass prototype promoted an open, liberating space to entice prospective customers and give them a sense of individual subjectivity. In particular, the company celebrated how display cases with glass windows and sliding doors could “exhibit an abundance of goods” and allow customers to “freely, quickly, and individually decide to buy the goods they want[ed], without bothering individual store clerks.” Conversion, the company claimed, would lead to skyrocketing sales.99 Hoshi’s prototype was an abstraction of the floor plans of various midwestern drugstores in the United States. In the summer of 1917, company executive Anraku Eiji embarked on a fact-finding journey to towns and cities across the midwestern United States to examine the layouts of US drugstores. Anraku praised drugstores like Rexall and Walgreen’s for their cleanliness and convenience, not to mention the kindness and diligence of their clerks. But what most impressed him was the open layout that offered easy access and made it seem as if one were not in a drugstore at all.100 According to him: When one first steps into a town in America, and walk along its streets, if one asks what kind of shop will most catch your eye, the answer would undoubtedly be a drugstore. Among all the stores in America, I believe there are really no stores better able to attract the attention of passersby—or, moreover, as approachable—as drugstores. When wandering the streets, drugstores can bring one to a halt—one suddenly might want to borrow a light, and without hesitation, one enters under a drugstore’s awning. This is because of the structure and location of American drugstores, which are ideally suited for attracting customers— in other words, it is due to business strategy. That is why the most important point to pay attention to, when opening a drugstore, is the location and structure of the store. And, consequently, it is why they are the most ingenious among stores in America. Here, Anraku described how customers almost subconsciously entered drugstores and were often not there to explicitly purchase medicines. In this sense, the ideal drugstore appeared as if it were not a drugstore at all, but simply a convenience for potential customers—a naturalized part of the rhythm of everyday

126

CHAPTER 4

life. Anraku’s words thus demonstrate the importance of the environment for shaping the modern values of health and hygiene in subtle, even unconscious ways. Drugstores helped proselytize such values by serving as spaces that made it seem like the customer was always in charge (see figs. 4.5–4.8). The company wanted the space of the drugstore to promote an open, clean, and “refreshing feeling” (so¯kai naru kibun) that enticed potential customers and allowed such ease of access that they would, according to Anraku Eiji, “unconsciously walk into a drugstore without realizing it.”101 Window displays would be rotated every week to best attract potential customers’ attention as they passed by. And when a customer entered, he or she would be greeted by well-lit and welllabeled merchandise shelves and display cases, which were easily within reach. Hoshi purposefully contrasted its new drugstores to older, traditional stores where shopkeepers, seated on tatami mats, would bring merchandise individually for the consumer after careful consultation (zauri ho¯shiki).102 Compared to the closed layout of such traditional drugstores, Hoshi’s store attempted to eliminate the authority that the store clerk had over his or her customer. Now the customer did not have to engage with a clerk before viewing merchandise. Drugstores thus appeared similar to another new space of democratic consumerism: the department store.103 Indeed, the space of an ideal drugstore provided a variety of functions, many of which seemingly had nothing to do with

FIGURE 4.5. From “Beikoku no kusuriya,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho ¯, October 1, 1917.

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

127

selling medicines. In the words of Anraku Eiji, drugstores often “appear[ed] no different than a general store [zakkasho¯]”—they sold a variety of goods, such as candy, cosmetics, and tobacco, and they also provided a variety of services for public convenience, such as postal delivery.104 Drugstores served, in a sense, as temples of mass consumption, and medicines appeared as products consumed as often—and maybe as blithely—as candy.105 The emphasis on creating an open, democratic space also applied to efforts to make drugstores serve as cheaper, more convenient substitutes for medical clinics. The ideal store encouraged customers to freely seek medical advice from clerks in private rooms, and thereby helped alleviate potential awkwardness when customers described their ailments. A “well-equipped drugstore” according to Hoshi, “provides rooms for customers who seek medicines, but are too embarrassed to talk about their symptoms in front of other customers.”106

FIGURE 4.6. Blueprints from “Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho ¯, February 1, 1923.

FIGURE 4.7. Blueprints from “Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1923.

128

CHAPTER 4

FIGURE 4.8. Blueprints from “Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho ¯, February 1, 1923.

This private, closed space within an open public space, where a clerk greeted a customer with almost familial kindness and candidness, mimicked the entryway of a home. The clerk was crucial; Hoshi privileged woman clerks not just for their warmth and kindness that “naturally” attracted customers, but also for their ability to advise female customers on issues of women’s health and hygiene. The company required all store clerks, even if they were not licensed pharmacists, to

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

129

learn rudimentary medical training to quickly diagnose customers’ problems, answer their questions, and make medicinal recommendations. The Hoshi katei isho (Hoshi family medical dictionary) and company newspaper, discussed in chapter 3, were among the many resources that helped in this education. Beginning in 1925, the company newspaper ran a series, “Questions and Answers on Hygiene” (eisei mondo¯), that shed light on how a clerk should properly handle an individual encounter with a customer. An ideal interaction would go something like this: Q: I can’t sleep at night. After I climb into bed and close my eyes, I end up thinking about a variety of things, and end up not being able to fall asleep until 2 or 3 am. When I finally fall asleep, I’m half asleep and half awake [yume tsutsu], and can’t go into a deep sleep. What do you suggest I do? A: It’s probably neurasthenia [shinkei suijaku]. It would be good to simutaneously take medicine and follow scientifically proven treatments. Hoshi Nerben [Hoshi neruben] and Hoshi Ginseng Preparation [Hoshi ninjin seizai] are effective medicines. I’d recommend going on a retreat at a hot spring or by the sea, if circumstances permit. Rubbing your body with cold water [reisui masatsu] is a particularly effective treatment. It’s best to immediately do this while the weather is good. It’s also best to avoid reading materials, activities, and pictures that arouse strong emotions.107 The immediacy of the response is striking. Without examining the customer or asking any further questions about his or her health and family background, the store clerk makes an immediate diagnosis: neurasthenia. He or she then immediately prescribes two medicines to soothe the customer’s nerves. One is a bromide-based sedative and the other is a Ginseng-based herbal concoction. The clerk then makes a blanket recommendation to go on a relaxing retreat and avoid everyday phenomena that elicit passion. In this way, Hoshi’s medicines become incorporated into practices for coping with modern life itself—perhaps the root cause of the customer’s sleeplessness and anxiety.108 In this transaction, the clerk is not just doctor or pharmacist, but therapist and even vacation planner. One simple, two-minute conversation provides the customer all he or she needs to get on the road to recovery, without having to take a detour to a medical clinic. The power and authority of the medical doctor is transubstantiated into the medicines, which, to use the words of Sjaak van der Geest and Susan Reynolds Whyte, are “widely believed to contain the power of healing in themselves.”109 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals attempted to homogenize the space of its franchise retailers based on an ideal drugstore, just like it had tried to homogenize the store

130

CHAPTER 4

clerk based on the principles of scientific management. According to Michel de Certeau, “Space occurs as the effect produced by the operations that orient it, situate it, temporalize it, and make it function in a polyvalent unity of conflictual programs or contractual proximities.”110 A space, in other words, only has meaning through the actions of those that occupy it. Hoshi’s efforts to homogenize the retail space of its franchises, however, ultimately failed because it simply could not control the actions of its franchise retailers. In a groundbreaking article on patent-medicine peddlers in colonial Korea, Hoieun Kim provides some important insights into the problematic nature of retail clerks as dependable workers, let alone purported medical missionaries. Korean peddlers, Kim argues, were “adulterated intermediaries”; their deceptive and even fraudulent sales tactics tainted the patent-medicine industry and tempered their contribution to expanding the medicinal market.111 Although such peddlers were “disposable commodities” compared to Hoshi’s franchise personnel—many of whom received extensive training and education, and even had the ability to purchase company stock—it is easy to imagine how disgruntled and avaricious Hoshi clerks might have similarly sabotaged the company’s bottom line, which depended on the dissemination of its hygienic values and self-medicating ideals.112 The fact that the company invested so much time and effort in prescriptive measures to maintain discipline (disseminated through prescriptive media like the company newspaper) strongly suggests—when read against the grain—that personnel often strayed from company directives. Despite Hoshi’s efforts, few retailers invested in shiny, glass-and-steel temples of middle-class consumption. One notable exception was a franchise manager from Osaka named Tomimatsu Toraichi, who became an exemplar of the hardworking manager who wisely kept up to date with modern technologies and designs. Tomimatsu began a Hoshi franchise in January 1917 and immediately exhausted his startup capital of 300 yen on merchandise and store renovations, which cost nearly five times more than initially planned. When his store formally opened a month later, he was already mired in debt. Yet he worked hard and made sound financial decisions; he opened his store from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. daily, and he regularly woke up before 7 a.m. to clean the store, arrange merchandise displays, and strategize advertising campaigns. Four years later, he had saved enough money to invest 1,500 yen in a second round of store renovations. In 1923 he had enough for a major store renovation that cost 3,700 yen and had installed a telephone, purchased a car for the franchise, and even ordered a top-of-the-line cash register from the United States’ National Cash Register Company.113 Another exception was a drugstore named Sawada Pharmacy, based in central Tokyo at Hongo¯ sancho¯me. In May 1924, Hoshi praised Sawada Pharmacy for being a “true American-style drugstore” (junzentaru Beikoku-shiki yakuten) that imbued

MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

131

customers with a sense of freedom and ease and notably included a parlor space that invited them to linger for coffee or soda. Only a month after its official opening in April, its welcoming atmosphere and open layout already attracted plenty of foot traffic even though it had barely started advertising and outreach campaigns.114 Hoshi blamed the small number of store conversions on the wideranging destruction of the 1923 Great Kanto¯ Earthquake, which disincentivized retailers from investing in costly remodels. In the earthquake’s wake, the company temporarily halted its formal efforts to pursue franchise renovations.115 Finally, if Hoshi’s franchise retailers were often unreceptive to company directives, then how receptive were consumers to Hoshi’s culture of self-medication? One way to get a better picture of this is through sales statistics. I have found some sales data on Hoshi Digestive Medicine, via early 1930s trademark infringement lawsuits, which will be discussed in greater detail in chapter 6. From 1920 to 1925, year-to-year sales dramatically increased in Japan, from 894,086.30 yen to 2,818,181.00 yen.116 This year-to-year sales growth eclipsed the sales growth of patent medicines as a whole in Japan over the same period based on Stamp Tax receipts, which rose from 79,819,230 yen in 1920 to 104,491,310 yen in 1924 before falling to 83,307,360 yen in 1925.117 Considering that each container of Hoshi Digestive Medicine cost from 20 to 235 yen, hundreds of thousands of Japanese likely purchased the medicine in these years, even if there were many repeat purchases.118 Because the average worker (either male or female) earned roughly 56 sen per day at this time, the majority of the medicine’s purchasers likely came from the middle class, which made up about 10 percent of Japan’s total population of roughly 60 million in the 1920s and whose members’ annual income was from 500 to 5,000 yen—or above.119 Hoshi Digestive Medicine was undoubtedly a bestselling medicine during this time, and even those who did not purchase it likely either tried the medicine or knew of it through advertising or word of mouth. Nevertheless, correlation does not equal causation. Just because a consumer purchased the digestive medicine does not mean that he or she used it, let alone believed in its healing abilities or the company’s vision of self-medication. He or she might have purchased Hoshi Digestive Medicine simply for its fetching container and used alternative remedies to treat digestive maladies. Sales statistics, in other words, do not account for the panoply of choices a consumer has, and cannot, alone, reveal his or her mind. Indeed, sales of the medicine actually peaked at 8,364.694.30 yen in 1926, likely for reasons very different than widespread belief in the medicine’s efficacy. Hoshi’s opium-trading scandal broke in 1925, so in 1926 the future of the company was very much in doubt (proving, perhaps, that all publicity is good publicity).120 The company ultimately ended its program to refurbish the layouts of its retailers after the scandal broke, despite some desperate last-ditch efforts.121

132

CHAPTER 4

What is clear, however, is that that manufacturers of medicines and health products like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals played a vital role in structuring the business infrastructure and fostering the cultural milieu for spreading the values of modern medicine in the consumer marketplace. In October 1928, the industry trade journal, Nihon yakuho¯, launched a series of twenty-one articles, titled “A Tour of Remodeled Stores” (Shinso¯ tenpo meguri), that stressed how the openfloor layouts and glass display cases of recently refurbished drugstores helped promote individual consumer choice. Although Hoshi’s plans for refurbishing its retail stores had not come to fruition, independent retailers, along with competing firms like Sankyo¯, Taisho¯, and Radium, fully embraced similar efforts to democratize the space of the drugstore to promote sales.122 The seeming ubiquity in Japan today of drugstores like Matsumoto Kiyoshi—whose founder was a graduate of the Hoshi Business School and whose stores are almost indistinguishable from department stores or grocery stores—suggests that efforts to make drugstores into temples of self-medicating consumerism did not end with the failure of Hoshi’s best-laid plans. Companies like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals attempted to foster a culture of selfmedication in the consumer market through the management of space. Hoshi attempted to apportion space through a national franchise retail network, which extended into Japan’s colonies. The ideal Hoshi drugstore was both a temple of consumerism and a more convenient and inexpensive alternative to a medical clinic. But as this chapter has shown, Hoshi’s distribution system often failed to live up to its ideal. The company depended on the diligence and loyalty of its retail clerks, but in practice it found that diligence and loyalty increasingly hard to guarantee, especially amid troubling economic times. Disobedient retailers undoubtedly damaged its efforts to spread its culture of self-medication. The next two chapters shift attention from marketing and distribution to production, and from medicines sold like any other consumer commodity to medicinal substances often deemed too dangerous for the open market. These chapters focus on Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ opium-trading scandal and its aftereffects. One of the major consequences of the scandal was an unraveling of the Hoshi distribution system as its members increasingly lost confidence in the company’s brand and reputation as well as its financial health.

5 THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

Perhaps more than any other substance in modern history, opium has straddled the line between drugs and medicines. Although the words are often interchangeable, “drug” carries connotations of addiction as well as illicit use and abuse. Drugs intoxicate the body and mind into submission. A “medicine” by contrast, soothes symptoms and save lives. In the eyes of Japanese authorities in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, opium’s potential dangers seemed to take precedence over its medicinal benefits. To them, the overriding war against drugs was the 1839–1842 Opium War, which forced Asia open to Western imperialism and transformed China into the “sick man of Asia.” Fearful of opium’s threat to public safety and morality, state authorities prohibited the sale, possession, and use of the substance by private entities within Japan’s home islands. Portraying opium smoking as an incorrigible Chinese vice followed the logic of many who supported Fukuzawa Yukichi’s famous essay “Datsu-A ron”—that Japan had no choice but to leave Asia in order to become modern and civilized.1 Yet the rules did not uniformly apply across nation and empire, and Japanese officials certainly did not overlook opium’s potential usefulness. Japan’s overseas colonies operated as spaces of exception. Opium prohibitions only pertained to Japanese nationals in these places. The governmentgenerals of Taiwan and Korea—not to mention the puppet state of Manchukuo in Manchuria—administered state monopolies for the manufacture and trade of opium-based intoxicants for colonized peoples; they also enlisted scientists to 135

136

CHAPTER 5

cultivate supplies of opium poppies to help lessen dependence on foreign sources. In these efforts, they often relied on the developing drug industry for procuring resources, manpower, and expertise, but they limited the number of participants. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals greatly profited from operating within Japan’s colonial empire. During World War I, when medicinal self-sufficiency became a national security concern, Hoshi engaged with the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau (the state opium monopoly in Taiwan) in two ways; it imported raw opium from Turkey on behalf of the bureau, and it had an exclusive contract to purchase crude morphine from the bureau, which the company parlayed into a hugely profitable yet short-lived monopoly over opium-based medicines within Japan.2 The contract allowed Hoshi to become Japan’s sole private supplier of morphine during World War I, when prices skyrocketed because of a widespread shortage of Western medicines. But the government largesse came with baggage. Amid a growing global antinarcotics movement, including in Japan, critics railed against the seemingly contradictory and hypocritical nature of Japan’s opium policies. How could the government prohibit its own citizens from consuming opium and be a signatory of various international antinarcotics conventions, yet not only permit but monopolize the sale of opium for recreational consumption in its colonies? How could Japan claim to be a civilized nation if it also dealt drugs? Where were the profits going? Hoshi Pharmaceuticals became entangled in these geopolitical machinations because of its intimate ties to the state. A devastating opium-trading scandal was the result. The scandal revealed the unseemly side of a company that had portrayed itself as the embodiment of progress and civilization—as a humanitarian company that always put “Kindness First”—and it destroyed Hoshi’s financial fortunes and public image. It publicly disclosed how the company richly profited from an exclusive monopoly over morphine and, quite probably, from opium trafficking, facilitated by seemingly nepotistic connections to government elites. To critics, Hoshi’s opium scandal revealed the sordid codependence between state and industry that has often characterized Japanese capitalism. Amid the intensifying global antinarcotics movement in the 1920s, rumors circulated within the diplomatic community that Hoshi served as the legitimating façade for Japan’s imperial expansion into Asia.3 In a sense, the opium scandal exposed—in terms often used to essentialize so-called Japanese uniqueness—the honne (real feelings) behind the tatemae (public face). The scandal also laid bare the hypocrisy of the Japanese biomedical regime’s civilizing mission. The modern Japanese state constructed the opium addict as the obverse of the modern subject. It claimed that opium smoking was a scourge to public health and morality, associated with backwardness and vice, not to

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

137

mention the weakness of China’s Qing Empire. An opium addict was a slave to the drug, and therefore incapable of being a free-thinking and rational individual. A consumer of opium, by definition, was not Japanese, but he or she could still be a colonial subject. Perhaps the real scandal of opium was the revelation that the Japanese state openly profited from making its colonial subjects into addicts, and how—with the help of licit drug companies like Hoshi—it manufactured and sold a controlled substance, opium, almost as if it were any other medicine or commodity.

Opium as Commodity The scandal of opium begins with the commodity itself. The medicinal value of opium is a story as long as recorded human history. Archaeologists have traced its use to as early as the Neolithic Era, and records of its medicinal use have been dated to 2100 BC in Sumer.4 Since the discovery of the opium poppy, which is native to southeastern Europe and western Asia, opium has been consumed in various ways, from directly ingesting the seeds, to drinking opium-infused beer and wine, to what became the most popular method—smoking the product as a paste. There has likely never been a substance more notorious, or perhaps more confounding, than opium. Whether opium was a dangerous drug or a beneficial medicine depended on time and circumstance. Opium has been shaped by political and social institutions and steeped in cultural mores. The dried latex derived from the opium poppy (Papaver somniferum) has been at the center of global struggles and conflicts. In the history of modern East Asia, no conflict was more significant than the Opium War, which marked the end of China’s millennia-long regional dominance and opened the floodgates to Western imperialism. The Opium War played a major role in defining opium as a scourge. To the Qing imperial government, opium threatened social order in many ways, but perhaps most of all in undermining productivity. It enervated the laboring masses, weakened soldiers’ will to fight, and dulled the bureaucratic elite to ever greater levels of laziness and ineptness. Depraved addicts with an uncontrollable desire for the drug neglected their social duties, which left them susceptible to corrupt influences. In the words of Frederick Wakeman: Opium . . . was viewed as an agent of barbarian aggression, a “moral poison” which debased people’s minds. Like “heretical religion” it dissolved the proper social relationships (lun-yi) which distinguished man from the beasts, and Chinese from barbarians. If people continued to sink ever deeper into the selfish languor of the addict, argued the censor

138

CHAPTER 5

Yüan Yü-li in 1836, “Fathers would no longer be able to admonish their wives; masters would no longer be able to restrain their servants; and teachers would no longer be able to train their pupils. . . . It would mean the end of the life of the people and the destruction of the soul of the nation.”5 The demand for opium among people at all levels of society emptied purses and coffers; it was the primary reason for transforming into deficit the Qing Empire’s previous trade surplus with the British Empire. Authorities declared Chinese merchants responsible for this transnational trade traitors to their country and race.6 To nationalists across Asia—from Rabinadrath Tagore to Liang Qichao to Fukuzawa Yukichi—the Opium War became an allegory for China’s weakness and submission.7 The opium addict, by association, became a symbol of a weak and unhealthy nation.8 Opium was not just a social scourge.9 Even in the empire that the British East India Company had laid waste, opium smoking in China was not limited to impoverished addicts, prostrate in squalid opium dens. Like coffee, tea, or sugar, its cost and scarcity made consuming it originally an upper-class pursuit, replete with the rules, regulations, and the refinement of a religious ritual.10 And as it became more accessible and inclusive, it also increasingly became an object of distinction and differentiation. In the words of Frank Dikötter and his coauthors, “Opium came in different shapes, colours, textures, fractures or ‘touches,’ gravities, consistencies, strengths and aromas, as well as degrees of purity.” Tastemaking connoisseurs not only determined the quality and provenance of opium but also dictated its proper preparation and methods of consumption. Opium smoking marked social status, and its implements became prized collectibles.11 Opium, of course, has also been among the greatest of medicines in human history, a miracle prized throughout the world for its analgesic, soporific, and antidiarrheal qualities. Its natural and synthetic derivatives continue to be indispensable for surgery and recovery. In the words of David Courtwright, “Opium was uniquely suited to treat the ills of civilized peoples: anxiety, boredom, chronic fatigue and pain, insomnia, squalling babies in close quarters, and, not least, diarrheal diseases, ubiquitous and often deadly afflictions inherent to concentrated populations.”12 Widely popular and readily available in most Western nations in the nineteenth century, opium was often a primary ingredient in popular patent medicines and was similarly presented, like those concoctions, as a panacea. For example, the writer and physician Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (father of the US Supreme Court Justice)—a “hardened skeptic of the use of drugs”—proclaimed opium as the only medicine “which the Creator himself seems to prescribe.”13

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

139

Opium’s analgesic properties made it easy for consumers to conflate pain relief with treatment of underlying conditions—a confusion that manufacturers readily tried to exploit, particularly because of its addictive nature.14 Even blackmarket peddlers talked up its curative properties. For example, Fujianese opium cakes seized in 1920s Hong Kong had labels that read: “These cakes can keep away malaria and foul air, stimulate the spirits, and moisten the throat and tongue. They are as efficacious as gods in curing all kinds of extraordinary and difficult diseases.”15 Fifty-odd alkaloids—including codeine, thebaine, papaverine, narcotine, and narceine—give opium its analgesic properties. Morphine, the most famous and most abundant of them all, is generally 8 to 14 percent of the dry weight of the opium poppy. Most of the morphine content of the opium poppy is contained in the seed pods, the juice from which is collected and dried into a sticky, brownish or yellowish latex-like substance: raw opium. The labor-intensive method of harvesting opium poppy and extracting raw opium has largely remained the same since at least 1500 BC. Unripe seed pods are cut, and raw opium is scraped off to be laid out in the sun to dry before storage.16 In the early nineteenth century, European scientists brought opium into the laboratory. The landmark event, which helped propel Germany’s pharmaceutical industry to a position of world dominance, occurred in 1804 when the German pharmacist Friedrich Sertüner discovered and succeeded in isolating morphine. (In an 1805 article in the German Journal der Pharmazie, he named the compound after Morpheus, the mythological Greek god of sleep and dreams.) In 1817, Sertüner was also the first person to refine and distribute morphine as a medicine. In 1821, scientists isolated another alkaloid from opium, codeine. Merck was the first company to commercially sell morphine, in 1827, and by the mid-1830s physicians routinely prescribed morphine in England. Manufacturers, by this time, produced morphine in a variety of forms, from tablets to powders to suppositories to intravenous injections.17 Morphine quickly became well known for its analgesic and psychoactive properties, but also for its addictiveness. In response, toward the end of the nineteenth century, laboratory chemists started manipulating morphine in order to reduce its addictive side effects. In 1874, the English chemist C. R. Alder Wright succeeded by creating the semi-synthetic diacetylmorphine, which as the name suggests, was composed of morphine with the addition of two acetyl groups. Twenty years later, the German pharmaceutical company Bayer mass-produced diacetylmorphine under the name heroin, advertising it as a drug “with a stronger and more powerful effect than morphine and codeine, but without the adverse addictive side-effects for which morphine has by now become so notorious.”18

140

CHAPTER 5

A major reason for morphine’s success in the nineteenth century—along with that of other alkaloids derived from opium—was the expansion of global capitalism under the auspices of massive imperial networks. Opium is a hardy plant that can be grown almost anywhere, and it is no accident that poppy fields developed in regions like the Middle East and India, where colonial regimes helped ensure a steady supply of labor, often through coercive means. Morphine was also suitable for large-scale industrial production. With the groundbreaking ability to isolate and refine alkaloids, the quality of the morphine produced also became more predictable and replicable, which saved costs for producers and benefited consumers who had become accustomed to the characteristics of certain products. The reliability of morphine as compared to raw opium, whose morphine content could vary wildly, allowed doctors to prescribe dosages to patients more accurately (and addicts to also develop tastes for products of a certain potency). The global supply chain and market for commodities like morphine helped spur the development of the chemical and pharmaceutical industry at this time. The vast size, scale, and investment required encouraged specialization—some companies specialized in manufacturing medicines on a large scale, others became retailers, and still others focused on procuring the raw materials for these medicines. Colonial empires supported and guaranteed this vast, bordercrossing infrastructure.

The Colonial Exception From the early 1870s, the Japanese Ministry of Home Affairs held a monopoly over opium, controlling everything from regulations concerning consumption to distribution and even production. Prevailing fears over its abuse outweighed recognition of its potential for medicinal use. Doctors and pharmacists could only purchase medicines from a network of official government dispensaries, which also meticulously recorded every prescription of opium and its related derivatives. In 1897, the Home Ministry promulgated the Opium Law (Ahen ho-), which replaced earlier regulations and consolidated its control over the manufacture and distribution of opium.19 For domestic private manufacturers, opium’s potential for profit seemed out of reach. The fears of opium addiction and abuse, and the construction of opium smoking as backward and distinctly un-Japanese, had much to do with Japan’s colonial ambitions. Japanese administrators saw opium smoking as a political danger and social scourge that enervated Qing China, making it easy prey for Western imperialism. Almost immediately after Japan claimed the island of Taiwan from

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

141

China as a spoil of victory from the 1894–1895 Sino-Japanese War, one of its primary concerns was the “opium problem” (ahen mondai), namely, how to prevent Japanese soldiers and settlers from smoking opium. Military officials viewed opium smoking as a widespread social habit ingrained among the large Chinese population in Taiwan. Japan’s opium policy in Taiwan was one of the primary foundations of its incipient colonial regime. The key government official in Taiwan was none other than Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ greatest ally, Goto- Shinpei, who made the opium problem arguably the primary concern for Japan’s incipient colony. According to Goto-, “As the Japanese go to the island in large numbers and come into close contact with the natives, and as some of them may contract the evil habit [drug use], it is easy to see that there is a serious danger of it spreading into Japan.”20 Throughout his larger-than-life career as a bureaucrat, businessman, and politician, Goto- was a major proponent of imperial expansion based on scientific principles and economic means. As the head of civil affairs in the government-general in Taiwan at the turn of the century, Goto- helped shape Japan’s early colonial project on the island. He was particularly well known for his scientific approach to colonial rule based on the principles of “biological laws” (seibutsugakuteki genri). Goto- espoused empirical research and statistical methods for understanding the rules of nature—he famously described Taiwan as a laboratory for colonial rule—and he later brought his accrued experiences in Taiwan to Manchuria and elsewhere.21 Under Goto-’s authority, an 1895 government-sanctioned anthropological investigation into the customs of the native population labeled opium smoking— along with foot-binding and the wearing of queues—as one of the three vices of the Chinese population that needed to be eradicated.22 In the words of a noted historian of the time, Takekoshi Yosaburo-: When Formosa came into our possession it was so difficult to decide what was the best course to pursue in regard to the opium smoking in the island that many even of our most eminent statesmen were at their wits’ end. It was generally believed that the success of our administration in the island depended upon the ability of our authorities to solve this problem. . . . To attempt, however, to make a Formosan Chinese give up opium smoking would be like attempting to make him stop eating and drinking. Rather than submit to such an order he would go back to China.23 As a short-term solution to prevent Japanese soldiers and civilians from taking up the habit, the military decreed that “anyone who furnished soldiers with opium, opium smoking implements, or a venue for smoking” would be

142

CHAPTER 5

executed.24 The aim was to quarantine the malevolence of opium smoking from harming Japanese bodies and the Japanese body politic writ large.25 Finding a long-term solution proved more difficult. Although most authorities agreed that opium smoking should be eradicated, they did not know how it should be done. Should the government prohibit opium smoking outright or should it gradually help wean smokers from the drug?26 The opium question overlapped with two abiding problems in the early years of Japan’s empire: the government’s relative lack of capital, which was especially acute in colonies intended as agricultural appendages, and Taiwan’s geopolitical position vis-àvis a waxing Japanese empire and a waning Chinese one. As Mark Metzler has shown, the Meiji government largely debt-financed its industrial modernization and attendant imperial ambitions through the global markets of London and New York while it “aggressively pushed its own loans” into China to create a “dependent financial imperialism.” A “newly industrializing Japan,” according to Metzler, “suffered from a persistent capital shortage and went into debt to European and American capitalists in order to build its European-style empire.”27 Opium’s potential profitability was extraordinarily enticing for a cash-strapped and expanding empire like Japan; in an 1895 opinion to Prime Minister Ito- Hirobumi, for example, Goto- Shinpei estimated that governmentgeneral authorities in Taiwan could earn over 2 million yen per year on the opium trade.28 State administrators anxious about the fragility and legitimacy of Japan’s rule over Taiwan also supported Goto-’s opium plan. They feared, in the words of Miriam Kingsberg, “inflaming settlers from the Chinese mainland, who might use the prohibition of opium as a cause to muster local support for overthrowing the colonial government.”29 And they found wisdom and benevolence in “stretching prohibition over a longer time frame” to free Taiwanese (and others!) from the fate of the Chinese.30 The opium policy enacted under Goto-’s leadership represented a seemingly pragmatic compromise. It prohibited nonaddicts from consuming opium, but allowed confirmed opium addicts to continue smoking under official supervision. This policy of “gradual suppression [zenkinshugi] by means of a government monopoly,” according to Goto-, was both practical and humane; because enforcing prohibition would drain valuable capital and human resources as well as endanger the health of addicts who would have to suffer the side effects of opium withdrawal, it was better to gradually wean smokers away from the drug.31 And as an added benefit, proceeds from the opium monopoly would be earmarked for public health purposes, from building hospitals to funding educational programs on the dangers of opium use. Goto-’s plan, in other words,

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

143

established a “self-regulating” system for curbing opium addiction that had the added benefit of contributing to the financial and social welfare of the colony.32 Goto-’s opium policy functioned by creating Taiwan as a space of exception. The message was clear: one rule applied for the Japanese home islands, but an entirely different one applied for the colonies. Although the 1897 Opium Law and associated regulations had strictly denied recreational opium consumption within Japan—only permitting opium smoking for medicinal use—Goto-’s policy permitted Taiwanese addicts to continue recreational consumption under the state-run Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau (Senbaikyoku). To smoke opium legally in Taiwan, smokers first obtained permits granted by local police or designated physicians, both of whom recorded detailed data on each addict, including their domiciles. They exchanged those permits for ration books, which they then swapped for opium at licensed pharmacies. Because opium addicts needed to register with police or medical authorities, this plan allowed the governing authorities to monitor and oversee their health while preventing nonsmokers from taking up the harmful habit. By preventing new addicts, the government would allow the number of smokers to naturally decrease with time as opium addicts passed away. Japanese authorities in Taiwan created an opium policy that allowed Japan to profit from the opium trade while attempting to prevent and eliminate opium’s use.33 Taiwan’s government-general showcased its policy for both its medical and financial success. For the first ten years of the monopoly’s existence, profits from opium accounted for 19.4 to 46.3 percent of the total annual income of Taiwan. Public health improvements represented only a fraction of these revenues accrued from the opium monopoly.34 Officials circulated statistics that demonstrated the success of the island’s opium policy and seemingly contradicted critics’ claims. From 1897 to 1900, the number of registered opium smokers increased from 50,397 to a peak of 169,064 (accounting for 2.1 and 6.3 percent of the population, respectively). After 1900, the number of opium smokers steadily decreased. By 1910, the number fell to 98,987 (3.2 percent of the population), and from 1910 to 1920, the number fell by more than half of to 38,012 (1.3 percent of the population).35 For Japanese authorities, these statistics not only proved the efficacy of weaning opium smokers from addiction (and the wisdom of allowing existing opium smokers to simply pass away) but also that their policy was modern, civilized, and humanitarian. Yet the colonial government continued to richly benefit from opium revenues throughout this time; from 1900 to 1920, opium revenues increased in absolute terms from roughly 4 million to 8 million yen even though their share in total revenues decreased from 32.4 percent to 9.5 percent.36

144

CHAPTER 5

Creating a colony as a space of exception was far from exceptional. As Taiwan’s administrators debated the merits of opium control versus consumption, colonial officials across the world dealt with similar questions. In British colonies including Burma, India, and Sri Lanka, as well as in French colonies such as Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, officials faced increasing pressure to prohibit opium’s production and retail sale from anti-opium campaigns that had latched onto global temperance movements.37 As Steffen Rimner has shown, Japan’s opium policy in Taiwan became a blueprint for colonial regimes across the world because “Japan owned an existing template of opium control, crowned with social and political success.”38 In 1903, when the United States took over the Philippines after the 1898 Spanish-American War, administrators under the US governor, William Howard Taft, instituted a registration and rehabilitation scheme, modeled on the case of Taiwan, to wean opium from indigenous and non-white migrant populations in response to growing global anti-opium advocacy. Government-sponsored gradualism in the Philippines similarly represented an enlightened public health policy.39 And, as Japan’s empire expanded, other Japanese colonies replicated the principles of the program in Taiwan; in 1919 and in 1932, respectively, the government-general in Korea and Japan’s puppet state in Manchuria, Manchukuo, established their own opium monopolies.40 The opium policy in Taiwan, however, contradicted Japan’s self-portrayal as a moral and civilized nation on the international stage. While authorities worked to establish an opium policy on the island, Japan also participated in the growing international antinarcotics movement. Influenced by turn-of-the-century temperance campaigns emanating from nations such as the United States and Great Britain, and spurred, in particular, by the writings of Western missionaries in China who decried the social and moral harm of opium addiction, the global antinarcotics movement as a whole argued that civilized nations had a moral duty to ban narcotics. Opium became the primary target because of its associations with harmful addiction and degeneracy. Concerned with Japan’s status as a modern nation, Japanese leaders joined this antinarcotics movement as part of the effort to, in the (in)famous words of Fukuzawa Yukichi, “leave Asia [datsu-A].”41 In 1909, Japan was one of thirteen signatories of the International Opium Convention, which publicly denounced the trade of opium. At international conferences and conventions held at The Hague in 1911–1912, Geneva in 1924–1925, and Bangkok in 1931, as well as at annual meetings of the League of Nations’ Advisory Committee on Traffic in Opium and Other Dangerous Drugs, Japan consistently proclaimed its stance against the illicit trafficking of narcotics. In signing theses conventions, it joined nations as varied as China, Great Britain, Persia, Portugal, and

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

145

Siam to declare the need to eliminate the scourge of opium smoking from civilized society and to prohibit illegal opium trafficking and punish known violators.42 The financial rewards of the opium trade, however, provided great incentive to cheat. Great Britain, after all, had financed much of its global empire on the opium trade. Opium harvested and imported from its colonial holdings on the Indian subcontinent helped stanch and reverse the flow of silver into China to pay for Britain’s thirst for Chinese silk, tea, and porcelain, thereby allowing Britain to gain the upper hand in the balance of trade between the two nations.43 Qing government efforts to rectify this imbalance led to the outbreak of the Opium War in 1839. The aftermath of Britain’s overwhelming victory during this war entered into the global lexicon of imperialism terms like “unequal treaty” and “extraterritoriality,” setting the stage for the so-called slicing of the Chinese melon (in which European powers carved up China into individual spheres of influence), the opening of Japan by Commodore Matthew Perry, and other forms of socalled new imperialism by industrializing powers.44 In a sense, Japan’s entry into the global opium trade was one more example of how Japan, as the newcomer to the European imperialist grab for land and resources, modeled itself on preceding examples. But just as Japan entered the global opium trade, the world’s leading opium producer, Great Britain, tried to become an antinarcotics policeman. In the mid-1910s, British diplomats became increasingly suspicious of Japan’s growing role in the opium trade. They focused on morphine, particularly after reports appeared in the China Mail and the North China Daily News concerning illicit morphine trafficking. Because it was more easily accessible to the poor, given its higher potency relative to price, morphine seemed more invidious than opium paste. One editorial claimed: “Even the poorest coolie can acquire the habit of injection at a cost of as little as 3 cents.”45 Consular reports linked the illicit smuggling of morphine on the Asian continent to Japan’s legitimate medicine trade. “All the so-called patent medicine dealers and shopkeepers,” one report claimed, “are engaged in this detestable traffic.”46 British diplomats pressured their Japanese colleagues for increased surveillance over its opium trade, and they began conducting their own investigation of Japan’s opium dealings, noting discrepancies in the statistics on imports and exports. One report claimed: “The morphia traffic by Japanese in China is the most colossal and profitable monopoly in the world. The drug costs from 16s to 20s per lb., and is sold in China for 100l.”47 Although morphine’s menace seemed exceptional for its times, it represented a danger common among narcotics produced in modern times, whether heroin or cocaine or OxyContin; it involved a modern pharmaceutical—whose potency was greatly enhanced through

146

CHAPTER 5

laboratory isolation, synthetization, and refinement—that diverged from its “proper” licit path of commodity circulation.48 The seeming hypocrisy of Taiwan’s opium monopoly became a logical target for international critics alarmed with Japan’s opium policy. Critics claimed that its true purpose was not to cure Taiwanese of the scourge of opium, but to monopolize demand to increase revenue. Whereas proponents of the policy argued that it allowed authorities to discourage opium smoking, detractors pointed to its inherent contradictions. Why would authorities want to cure opium addiction if selling opium provided vital revenue? Perhaps the most damning critique concerned the consumer character of opium sold, despite claims that it was only for legitimate medical use. Unlike opium dispensed by licensed doctors and pharmacists within Japan, which was restricted to dosages of 150 grams or less and prescribed strictly for medicinal purposes, the opium paste manufactured by the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau was treated as a commodity little different from alcohol or tobacco, except, perhaps, without the advertising. To cater to connoisseurs who could readily distinguish the provenance and textures of their opium, the bureau sold three different varieties of opium differentiated by price and quality—from topquality first grade meant for wealthy connoisseurs to the relatively inexpensive third grade meant for everyday addicts. Authorities even conducted market research on consumer tastes and preferences in different regions to acquire—in the words of Hsu Hung Bin—“knowledge of how to make paste, but also how to manage the taste.”49 Why would authorities sell opium differentiated by quality and consumer price points if the goal were to eradicate opium? The commodity character of opium thus betrayed the government-general’s true intent: the marketing of literal opiates to the masses. In this sense, Taiwan’s opium monopoly represented an egregious example of what David Courtwright might call “limbic capitalism.” With the help of a complicit colonial government, the opium monopoly seemingly encouraged the excessive consumption of opium and maintained a steady stable of consumers and addicts.50 Criticisms of Japan’s opium policy also emanated from within Japan as well as from the colonies. One critic was the politician and journalist Shimada Saburo- (1852–1923), once the president of Mainichi shinbun and a noted advocate for popular rights ever since his turn-of-the-century efforts to shine light on pollution at Ashio Copper Mine.51 In 1923, Shimada had a scathing editorial translated and published in the Chinese-language Taiwan minbao (Taiwan people’s newspaper). In it, he pilloried the wisdom and reputation of Taiwan’s gradualist opium policy as existing “in name but not reality” (youming wushi) and claimed that the policy was among the major “falsehoods of Japan’s rule in Taiwan”

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

147

(Zhitai zhi miuwu). Directing his ire at government-general officials who turned a blind eye, Shimada criticized the laxity (bu lixing) of opium regulations as the reason why opium smoking not only had continued but seemed to thrive after more than twenty years after the gradualist policy’s implementation. Shimada ended his critique with these portentous words: “There is a saying that ‘People who rely on morals thrive, but people who rely on power die [ju dezhe chang, ju lizhe wang].’ . . . We cannot help but feel anguish when we see what our nation has recently done in this new territory, and what this means for the future of the League of Nations.”52 Across the world, anti-opium campaigns similarly became a cause célèbre among colonized elites, particularly in the wake of World War I during the so-called Wilsonian moment.53 Since the mid-nineteenth century, racist rhetoric— both overt and couched in scientific metaphors of fitness, hygiene, and disease— pervaded anti-opium campaigns worldwide. Fears of the debased opium addict as “Yellow Peril,” for example, helped spur United States anti-immigration policies against Chinese and other East Asians.54 Social Darwinist–inflected scientific racism against Indians, Southeast Asians, and Chinese similarly colored British imperial policies.55 Across the non-Western world, colonized elites who excelled in cultures and social structures steeped in this rhetoric—from Mahatma Gandhi and Rabinadrath Tagore in India to members of China’s New Culture Movement—metabolized this rhetoric of opium smoking as backward vice and turned it against their colonial masters in order to argue for liberation.56 China’s Lu Xun, for example, characterized his efforts to awaken nationalism as an attempt to cure China’s degraded soul.57 If colonial regimes had used the rhetoric of opium smoking as backward vice to differentiate civilized from uncivilized and thereby legitimate their rule, colonized elites asked, then why were so many of them profiting it? To use the words of Steffen Rimner, “Anti-opium activists” like these “shrank the political distance” to create “a globality of anti-opium opposition.”58 Colonized elites in Taiwan undoubtedly read the tea leaves of this global phenomenon. In the 1920s, organizations of Taiwanese elites such as the Taiwan Cultural Association (Taiwan bunka kyo-kai) and Taiwan People’s Party (Taiwan minshu-to-) pressed for Taiwan’s political liberation using the same idiom of opium and enlightenment that had legitimated colonial domination.59 In major newspapers, elites directly challenged Japan’s civilizing mission in Taiwan by questioning the rationale for the government-general’s opium monopoly, given that opium smoking had long been recognized as a backward social vice that prevented a nation from becoming civilized.60 One editorial in the journal Taiwan written by an intellectual living in Lugang claimed that “stopping the calamity” (duan nan) of opium smoking would help civilize the country and

148

CHAPTER 5

“free the island from its servitude” (bendao gai li).61 Another article from the Taiwan minbao explicitly placed the blame for illicit opium traffic on Taiwan’s opium monopoly, arguing for an immediate ban on opium smoking lest it sullen the reputation of the Taiwanese people. It declared that the Taiwanese served as a front (Taiwanren zuo biaomian) for the smuggling of opium done by Japanese who had access to the seemingly strictly regulated commodity through licit means. If opium had been so thoroughly regulated as the government-general claimed, then to have “such a large amount of opium for smuggling [zheyang ju’e ke de mimai] . . . necessitated either secret production or secret importation [biyu mi zi zhizhao huo mi zi shuru].”62 The rhetorical refrain in such articles was often the same: How could Japan claim to civilize the Taiwanese if it continued to profit from the colonized’s continued consumption? What was the true source of illicit opium traffic?

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and the Opium Trade The Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau depended on a steady supply of raw opium from foreign sources. As with other medicines deemed as strategic goods, fears of resource scarcity during the aggrandizement of nation and empire stirred calls for self-sufficiency. In 1896, the government-general created the Opium Production Office (Seiyakujo) in Taiwan for the manufacture, transportation, and examination of raw opium from abroad. At first, it relied on two trading firms, the Japanese conglomerate Mitsui Heavy Industry (Mitsui Bussan) and Great Britain’s Samuel and Samuel, to purchase Indian and Persian opium through Hong Kong–based intermediaries.63 Officials relied on foreign sources and intermediaries because of path dependency—they modeled the opium monopoly in Taiwan on opium manufacturers that they had investigated in Southeast Asia— and they strove to maintain consistency in paste production while ensuring that their products suited local taste preferences, lest opium addicts buy their opium paste elsewhere. Indian opium, particularly from Benares, for example, had a stable quality more suitable for mass production, whereas Taiwanese preferred the taste of Persian opium, which had more varying quality.64 In 1901, the Opium Production Office became part of the Opium Monopoly Bureau, which was charged with controlling the entire supply chain, from importing raw opium, to refining it into smoking paste, to distributing the paste to wholesalers who would, in turn, furnish the product to licensed pharmacies.65 The reliance on imported opium exposed the bureau to price fluctuations and supply-chain

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

149

problems in the global market. For example, a sudden rise in the market price of raw opium in 1905 spurred the Japanese government to lease twenty hectares of land in the village of Fukui in Osaka Prefecture to test out the feasibility of large-scale poppy cultivation within Japan, enlisting the consortium run by the entrepreneurial farmer Nitan’osa Otozo- (1875–1950), the so-called Opium King of Japan.66 By the 1910s, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals turned to alkaloid-based medicines like morphine and quinine after its early success with patent medicines. Alkaloids are nitrogen-containing organic compounds often found in seed-bearing plants, and in many ways they helped define the development of the global pharmaceutical industry, given their suitability for large-scale mass manufacture. The early growth of firms like Bayer and Merck provide a case in point.67 Hoshi’s decision to enter the alkaloid market therefore seemed logical; alkaloid manufacture was simple, already well understood, and did not carry the same risks as attempting to research and develop lesser-known substances. It primarily involved procuring alkaloid-containing plants, grinding those plants through a mill, and then extracting and purifying alkaloid compounds from the ground-up plant paste by mixing it in simple, water miscible or immiscible solvents before distillation in a still.68 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was still a new business, and the “fast recovery of capital,” according to one of the biographers of Hoshi Hajime, Kyo-tani Daisuke, had been one of Hoshi’s initial requirements for entering the drug industry.69 It was a risk-averse strategy. Rather than investing in laboratory research to discover previously unknown chemical compounds, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals focused its energies on producing already-known compounds with medical and therapeutic value. Indeed, although Hoshi later expanded into laboratory research for vaccine production, critics often dismissed it as not a true pharmaceutical company, largely because of its emphasis on preexisting medicines, many of which catered to the consumer market, rather than on the research and development of new medicines for medical professionals.70 Alkaloid medicine manufacture required the ability to procure raw materials—most of which were derived from medical plants indigenous in farflung regions across the globe—and the capacity to transport, extract, and refine those raw materials into medicines. Perhaps, above all, it necessitated a strong government to help protect and guarantee such overseas logistics and transactions. Here, Hoshi Hajime’s personal connections to Goto- Shinpei—the man behind not only Japan’s opium policy in Taiwan but also Japan’s colonization of Taiwan— proved invaluable. With the backing of Goto-’s network, Hoshi staked its future on the manufacture of alkaloids—particularly morphine, cocaine, and quinine—and attempted to become one of the world’s leading suppliers of these medicines.

150

CHAPTER 5

Hoshi Hajime was not the only entrepreneur with intimate ties to Japan’s colonial opium monopolies. Only a few years earlier, in Japan’s Kwangtung Leased Territory, another similarly self-made man, Ishimoto Kantaro-, had parlayed his own personal connections to Japan’s political establishment—including to Goto- Shinpei—to gain control of collecting taxes on the leasehold’s licensed opium sales. With the backing of the Kwantung Government-General and the support of the Kwantung Army, Ishimoto, in the words of Miriam Kingsberg, “almost single-handedly transformed Dairen into the premier drug depot of the early twentieth-century world.”71 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ involvement in opium formally began in 1913 when Goto- Shinpei served as director of Japan’s Colonization Bureau (Takushokukyoku)—the regulatory organ for its entire overseas empire, housed, at that time, under the Home Ministry. Goto- Shinpei had intimate access to key personnel within the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau, which he had indeed helped to create. The key Hoshi ally in the bureau was its director, Kaku Sagataro-. Hoshi made use of these connections to send scientists to study how the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau manufactured smoking paste. One of the by-products of smoking paste production was residual crude morphine (somatsu moruhine), which the bureau considered a waste product, but which Hoshi’s scientists surmised could serve as the raw material for medical-grade morphine. Over the course of almost three months, and after spending more than 50,000 yen, Hoshi scientists created a replicable technique for isolating and refining the leftover crude morphine.72 In 1914, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals signed an exclusive contract with the government-general to purchase this leftover crude morphine. In 1915, Hoshi became the first—and, at that time, only—private Japanese manufacturer with the legal authority and ability to manufacture morphine for medical use from crude morphine. Hoshi’s contract exploited a seeming loophole in Japan’s Opium Law that prohibited private citizens from handling morphine but did not specifically mention crude morphine.73 From 1915 to 1924, the company purchased 68,217 pounds of crude morphine from the bureau, worth approximately 8 million yen in total.74 The outbreak of World War I helped catalyze as well as legitimate Hoshi’s exclusive contract. Most of Japan’s supply of morphine came from German sources, and its leaders worried about the nation’s supply of medical-grade morphine after Japan declared war on Germany and embargoed German goods.75 As bloodshed on the European continent accumulated, the price of morphine skyrocketed from six yen per twenty-five grams before the war to forty-six yen per twenty-five grams by war’s end.76

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

151

In response, the government embarked on a policy of opium self-sufficiency under the Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes (Senryoiyakuhin seizo- sho-rei ho-). One aspect of the policy was encouraging domestic cultivation of opium poppies. From 1914 to 1917, raw opium production increased from 15 kilograms to 1,470 kilograms per year, largely through the aforementioned Nitan’osa Otozo-’s Osaka-based consortium. But Japan could not produce enough to meet demand. Although the costs of Persian and Indian opium more than doubled during the war (from 937 yen and 1,056 yen per kilogram, respectively, in 1914 to 2,336 yen and 2,460 yen in 1916), Japanese imports of raw opium more than tripled (from roughly 5,124 kilograms in 1914 to 16,690 kilograms in 1917).77 In addition to its exclusive contract to purchase crude morphine from the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau, Hoshi also became involved in helping the bureau procure raw opium. In 1914, Hoshi made a proposal to the bureau that encouraged the purchase of less Indian opium in favor of more Persian and Turkish opium, both of which Hoshi would help provide. The company played up the potential dangers of relying on only a handful of foreign sources of opium, and it claimed the bureau would save money by making paste from Turkish and Persian opium because they had higher morphine content than Indian opium. At the time, 600 grams of raw Indian opium cost 12 yen and had a morphine content of approximately 6 percent; 600 grams of raw Persian opium cost 12 yen and had a morphine content between 9 and 10 percent; and 600 grams of raw Turkish opium cost 12.5 yen and had a morphine content between 10 and 16 percent. Despite the cost inefficiency of Indian opium, it still represented from 37 percent to 60 percent of total raw opium imports from 1911 to 1915, whereas Persian opium accounted for from 38 percent to 56 percent and Turkish opium from 1.88 percent to 11.11 percent, likely because of consumer taste preferences.78 Beginning in 1917, Hoshi—along with Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals and Sankyo Pharmaceuticals—gained approval to purchase raw opium on the behalf of various state organs within the Japanese Empire, including the Home Ministry’s Sanitary Laboratory (Eisei shikenjo), the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau, and administrative offices in the Kwantung Leased Territory and Qingdao—a German concession taken over by Japan in 1914 during World War I. Armed with a remittance of 180,000 yen from the Bank of Taiwan to the Imperial Bank of Persia in Tehran, Hoshi first tried to purchase raw opium from local Persian brokers, but it lost its entire cargo at sea after numerous delays and detours because of wartime disruption as well as British confiscations. To help avoid British pressure and to better ensure the safety of the cargo, Hoshi decided to

152

CHAPTER 5

focus on Turkish opium, which it purchased through private intermediaries from Great Britain and the United States. Nearly two-thirds of its opium came from one firm in particular, Ralph. L. Fuller and Company of New York, with whom Hoshi signed an agreement for the manufacture and sale of alkaloidbased medicines in 1916.79 Statistics demonstrate Hoshi’s influence in Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau’s supply chain. From 1916 to 1918, opium imports from India rose from 47 percent to 78 percent, whereas opium imports from Persia fell from 53 percent to 22 percent; during this time, the bureau did not report any raw opium imports from Turkey. But in 1919, Turkish opium amounted to more than 42 percent of its total raw opium imports, which increased to more than 60 percent in 1920, and peaked at almost 64 percent in 1922.80 From 1919 to 1922, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals provided 268,778 kilograms of raw opium for the bureau, which was roughly 88 percent of the bureau’s total raw opium imports from Turkey and 45 percent its total raw opium imports worldwide.81 Although the agreement appeared mutually beneficial on the surface, Hoshi clearly overstated its claims on closer examination. The decision to replace costly Indian opium with Turkish opium was based on the assumptions that morphine isolated from its source material was fundamentally the same, irrespective of origin, and that morphine was the only important ingredient in creating opium paste. Both assumptions belied the concurrent difficulties that bureau scientists faced in extracting replicable morphine, not to mention their efforts to create opium pastes that catered to consumers’ tastes. In addition, the company exaggerated the intervention’s cost-savings. Although Turkish opium was cheaper than opium of either Indian or Persian provenance, Hoshi purchased it almost entirely through intermediaries from Great Britain and the United States, which undoubtedly sold to Hoshi at a profit.82 The logistics of shipping cargo from Turkey—or Great Britain or New York for that matter—also surely cost more than shipping from the Indian subcontinent. Hoshi’s sudden and hugely profitable colonial concession in the opium trade attracted suspicion. In 1917, Hoshi’s exclusive contract to purchase crude morphine from the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau became the subject of debate within the National Diet after competitors perceived the favoritism toward Hoshi and cried foul.83 The controversy helped spur the revision of the Opium Law to allow three pharmaceutical firms other than Hoshi—Sankyo-, Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals, and Radium—to manufacture opium-based narcotics like morphine.84 Nevertheless, Taiwan’s Governor-General Akashi Motojiro(1864–1919)—an appointee of the current Prime Minister Terauchi Masatake and an ally of Goto- Shinpei, the home minister at the time—continued to honor

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

153

Hoshi’s exclusive contract for purchasing crude morphine, citing Hoshi’s initial hard work, risk, and endeavor as a benefit to the nation.85 In 1919, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ cozy relationship with the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau once again became the topic of debate within the National Diet. At the time, a Diet member named Tsuchiya Seisaburo- questioned why Hoshi Pharmaceuticals continued to be the only private company granted the exclusive right to purchase crude morphine. As a former medical doctor, Tsuchiya brought up Hoshi’s contract because of his concern over the price of opiumbased drugs. To him, the contract made no sense because the lack of competition limited the profits that the government-general could potentially make. Tsuchiya surmised that there were other reasons for the existence of the contract. Attention focused on Hoshi Hajime’s personal relationship to Goto- Shinpei and to the Taiwan Women’s Philanthropy Association (Taiwan fujin jizenkai), whose leading members were the wives of high-level bureaucrats in the government-general and whose first president was Goto- Shinpei’s wife, Kazuko. As an incorporated foundation (zaimu ho-jin), its finances were public knowledge, and its holdings of 100,000 yen worth of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals stock had come to the attention of authorities. Discussion of Hoshi’s contract within the Diet, however, was quickly shelved behind closed doors—and notably, without an official transcript of proceedings.86 Meanwhile, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ dominance over Japan’s opium trade attracted global attention. Critics who had been skeptical of the Japanese government’s efforts to curb illicit trafficking of opium while it actively profited from the opium trade in its colonies wanted to find proof of a link between opium intended for legitimate medical use and the illegal opium trade in China. The Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau became one of critics’ major sites of interest, as did Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. After discovering Hoshi’s contract to purchase crude morphine from the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau and its role as a purchaser and distributor of raw opium from Turkey to Taiwan, foreign diplomats began to pressure Japanese authorities. In a 1920 report of a meeting with Kaku Sagataro-, the director of the Taiwan Opium Monopoly, the acting British consul in Formosa wrote: Mr. Kaku said that his bureau produced about 300 kin of very inferior morphia per month, and that it was sold to the Hoshi Drug Company. None of it could be consumed in Formosa, for medicinal or any other purposes . . . the whole of this morphia was exported by the Hoshi Company to Japan for medicinal purposes, but that he could not be held responsible for the disposal of the drug when once it had passed out of

154

CHAPTER 5

the control of his bureau and out of this island . . . I venture to think that the crux of the Formosa opium question lies in the disposal of morphia by the Hoshi Drug Company.87 British officials viewed this statement as a tacit admission that the Japanese government had knowledge of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ involvement in the illegal drug trade. A 1921 report to the British Foreign Secretary further argued: “Morphia sold to Hoshi drug company, who profess to export it to Japan for medicinal purposes . . . is really exported secretly to China, because the official figures showing the amount of drugs exported to Japan are not sufficiently large to cover the amount of morphia which is admittedly handed over to the Hoshi Company.”88 In early 1923, British officials felt vindicated when they received reports that members of Japan’s National Diet had questioned Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ actions. To them, this not only validated their suspicions about Hoshi’s role in opium trafficking but also demonstrated that the Japanese government did not back Hoshi unconditionally—rather, there were distinct cleavages between the aims of the government in Tokyo and those of the government-general in Taiwan. According to one report: The government could not at once stop the operations of the Hoshi Pharmaceutical Company. Even before the regulations of 1917 were drawn up, that firm had been buying morphine from the Formosan Government, and it has been making the drug in Japan up to the present moment. For historical reasons (its long connection with the Formosan Government?) and because it would have been unduly harsh to deal a heavy blow to a firm which had been doing business on a big scale, the authorities would not stop the firm’s operations immediately, and accordingly in 1922 a license to import a suitable quantity (of morphine) had been issued.89 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was caught up in these overlapping domestic and international suspicions concerning the Japanese government’s involvement in the opium trade. At the time, Japan was not only one of the world’s largest players on the global opium market but also one of the leading participants in an international movement to control the illicit trafficking and use of narcotics. This blatant conflict of interest—profiting from the opium trade on the one hand while decrying its social harm—aroused the suspicions of European powers who attempted to police the global opium trade as well as check Japan’s growing economic power. This led to intense scrutiny of both government-sponsored and private Japanese traders, and Hoshi Pharmaceuticals eventually became a target.

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

155

The Outbreak of the Scandal The opium scandal broke on May 14, 1925. At the time, Hoshi Hajime was on a roadshow advertising refrigeration technology to investors in Fukushima Prefecture, and he only found out that his company was under suspicion for illegally trading opium by reading about a warrant for his arrest in a daily newspaper. After rushing back to Tokyo the following day, he found police detectives searching his offices in Kyo-bashi and his family home in the wealthy Aoyama district. According to early reports, the violation in question concerned the improper storage and handling of 110,000 pounds of raw opium (worth 2 million yen) held at bonded warehouses in Yokohama and intended for transport to Vladivostok through the ports of Jilong, Taiwan and Otaru, Japan.90 The scandal occurred when the company seemed at the peak of its powers. In the previous year, the company had begun a newspaper devoted to family life, the Hoshi katei shinbun (Hoshi family newspaper), and introduced new household products, including baby food, condiments, and a line of cosmetics. It had also expanded its infrastructure—opening a soap factory in Osaka, issuing a fourth debt offering of 5,000,000 yen, establishing a new distribution center to reduce the time it took for goods to reach store shelves, and even expanding the facilities and class size of its affiliated business school.91 In April 1925, the company announced that it would use recent advances in refrigeration technology to start a new subsidiary company of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, the Refrigeration Manufacturing Company (Teion ko-gyo- kabushiki kaisha), which would, it was hoped, seamlessly fit with its expanding food-products line.92 Hoshi’s franchises seemed to be flourishing both within Japan and in its colonies, particularly in Taiwan, but also in Korea.93 Its products were making inroads into Southeast Asia and even Hawai‘i.94 If the company’s famous slogan, “Medicines are Hoshi,” rang true at any time in its history, it was the beginning of 1925, which was supposed to be a year “filled with happiness and activity” (tako- tabo-).95 Yet, on closer examination, it was also an extraordinarily risky time for the company because debt had largely financed this expansion. When the scandal broke, Hoshi was at its most highly leveraged point in its history—at a time when Japan’s overall economy continued to tread water after the post–World War I economic downturn and in the aftermath of the 1923 Great Kanto- Earthquake. After issuing a debt offering of 5,000,000 yen in 1924, in February 1925 it issued an offering of 2,300,000 yen.96 The opium scandal quickly reversed the company’s seeming good fortunes. During the investigation and subsequent trials, which lasted from the time investigators searched the president’s home on suspicion of opium trafficking in May 1925 to his acquittal in September 1926 in the third and penultimate

156

CHAPTER 5

trial, authorities froze the bank accounts and assets of both the company and its founder. The highly leveraged company suddenly found itself unable to service its debt. Hoshi’s reputation also suffered because of what the company called an adversarial press and its “exaggerated, malicious reports” (o--gesa naru aku senden) amid a post-earthquake era of financial turmoil.97 This all had a knockon effect for the sale of its medicines at its franchises and chain stores. News of Hoshi’s opium scandal covered the pages of the major daily newspapers for almost two years, and it shattered the company’s carefully crafted self-image. Hoshi had long portrayed itself as an enterprise that melded humanitarian interests with profitmaking concerns, based on the principle of “cooperation” (kyo-ryoku). And it had staked its claims on the commodities it sold and produced. The company characterized the business of medicine as the business of saving and improving lives, and boasted that the more medicines people consumed, the better their lives would be. Its rapid growth and expansion compared to rival firms in the pharmaceutical industry had seemingly buttressed its assertions. But to a public persuaded of the dangers of narcotics and steeped in the rhetoric of Japanese superiority over “degenerate” Chinese, some of whom continued to smoke opium in the Chinatowns of Yokohama, Nagasaki, and Kobe, opium was not just any medicine, but a hazardous and vile drug injurious to public health and morality.98 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was also not just any company, but one that had seemingly benefited from unseemly connections to the highest levels of the Japanese government. At first, Hoshi was adamant that the opium scandal was simply a misunderstanding. It was, in the words of Hoshi Hajime, “not a big deal” because the company was a contractor to the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau and had regularly worked with three government ministries—Home, Finance, and Foreign—in its opium-based dealings. Hoshi surmised that the present investigation might be related to an incident involving one of his company’s major competitors, the British firm Samuel and Samuel, which had been fined for a technicality only a month before.99 On May 19, however, prosecutors issued a warrant for Hoshi’s immediate arrest, and he appeared in the Taipei District Court on July 26.100 The prosecutor’s office of the Taipei District Court charged Hoshi—along with Kimura Kenkichi, the head of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ Taihoku branch office, and Sekido Shinji, the managing director of Yokoyama Sanyo- Shipping—for violating Taiwan’s Opium Law (Taiwan ahen ho-), which forbade private citizens from handling and selling raw opium. According to the first charge, between June 16, 1921 and April 20, 1922, Hoshi and his codefendants broke the law fifteen times by illegally selling 1,038 cases of raw Turkish opium worth over 2,700,000 yen at two locations in Taihoku (Taipei), the Omotecho- Railway Hotel and Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

157

branch office in Yamatocho-, to a known opium trafficker of Chinese nationality, Guo Tian-he.101 The second charge stated that from June 21, 1921 to May 14, 1923, Hoshi and his codefendants transported 1,517 cases of raw Turkish opium, worth over 3,150,000 yen, to bonded warehouses in Jilong, Taiwan, without proper authorization.102 The charges linked Hoshi Pharmaceuticals to an illicit network of opium traders across Asia, which included Chinese opium traffickers in Shanghai and a Japanese firm of “carpetbaggers from Dairen”—to use John Jennings’s colorful words—Yakuro sho-kai, which operated out of Vladivostok.103 From 1918 to 1922, the Japanese military maintained a major presence in and around Vladivostok because of Japan’s participation in the Siberian Intervention, a joint military intervention to support anticommunist White loyalists.104 In January 1922, Yakuro sho-kai purchased opium monopoly rights from the anti-Bolshevik Provisional Priamur Government and subsequently became a major conduit for trafficking in northern China.105 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals appeared to be caught red-handed. It did not dispute that it had officially violated the Opium Law by transporting and attempting to sell the opium in question. Whereas in the case of patent medicines, Hoshi strove to control the paths of both production and consumption, Hoshi declared that it no longer had any responsibility for opium once the substance passed out of its hands. Like nearly all licit merchants ensnared in illicit scandals, Hoshi claimed that responsibility fell on the consumer after the point of purchase. Instead, Hoshi portrayed itself as an innocent victim of bureaucratic red tape and international intrigue, and claimed that its opium trading benefited the Japanese nation. The company claimed it purchased surplus raw opium from its suppliers in Turkey—under the direction of Kaku Sagataro-, the director of the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau—in order to take advantage of a precipitous drop in opium prices after the end of World War I, and that it then stored this opium in bonded warehouses in Yokohama as a buffer against potential price increases.106 Hoshi had authorization from both the governmentgeneral and the Home Ministry’s Sanitary Bureau to store opium in bonded customs warehouses in Yokohama, which did not violate the Opium Law because those locations technically remained outside Japanese soil. But in the summer of 1921, it received a notice from the director of the Yokohama Customs Bureau that it needed to move the opium because of increased international suspicion and surveillance of Japan’s opium trading after a vessel containing opium from Kobe was captured on its way to China. Hoshi nevertheless maintained that it had assurances from Finance and Home Ministry bureaucrats that it had broken no rules, and that these bureaucrats urged the company to sell the opium abroad as quickly as possible to avoid international watchdogs

158

CHAPTER 5

who were conspiring against Japan. After all, it found its buyer, Yakuro sho-kai, through Home Ministry contacts.107 Hoshi maintained that its sale of opium was not an illicit conspiracy to traffic opium, but was forced on it by bureaucratic errors in oversight as well as unforeseen circumstances in the global opium market. Because the global price of opium was low in the post–World War I economic downturn, the company claimed that locking in losses by selling off its opium stocks at cut-rate prices was not in its best interest. The company professed to be unaware of the illegality of selling opium to Russia when it subsequently sent two shipments to Vladivostok.108 Although the first shipment made it safely to Vladivostok, the other did not because it lacked proper authorization. Customs authorities impounded that shipment in Japan’s closest port to Vladivostok, Otaru, in Hokkaido-.109 After a home ministry official helped Hoshi recover its cargo, the company attempted to transfer it to a warehouse in Jilong, Taiwan, for safekeeping.110 In early November 1925, the Taipei District Court found the defendants guilty of the illicit sale and transport of opium; it levied individual fines of 3,000 yen on Hoshi and 2,000 yen on Kimura and Sekido, with an additional fine of 1,260,000 yen among the three defendants.111 An editorial in the Chinese-language Taiwan minbao immediately used the Hoshi verdict to question the legitimacy of Japan’s civilizing mission. It criticized the hypocritical and unscrupulous actions of officials who had, at best, turned a blind eye to Hoshi’s illicit actions and had “sacrificed the people for profit” (ba guomin danzuo xisheng er qu liyi). Hoshi’s scandal was proof that the opium monopoly needed to end and opium smoking be completely banned, “lest these immoral acts [bu daode de shi] wreak havoc on the discipline of government officials [raoluan guanji] or, even worse, court worldwide suspicion [zhaore shiren de huaiyi].”112 Hoshi Hajime and his codefendants promptly appealed the verdict, and two additional trials occurred in 1926 before they were ultimately found not guilty.113 The company also responded with a defense in the court of public opinion as vociferous as its lawyers’ defense within the courtroom. Beginning in October 1926, barely a month after Hoshi Hajime and his codefendants were declared not guilty in their third and final trial in the Taiwan Higher Court, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and its supporters attempted to paint the company as an unlucky victim of the sweeping political changes that were occurring in the Japanese government, particularly the rise of party politics in the 1910s and 1920s, which historians have commonly dubbed “Taisho- Democracy.” Hoshi and its supporters did so through a series of publications for public consumption. One was distributed to Hoshi’s stockholders and bondholders; another appeared as a pamphlet in a series of government-sponsored publications that covered Japan’s colonial interests in the southern hemisphere; and others included an edited compilation of

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

159

the major points in the oral arguments of Hanai Takuzo-, Hoshi’s chief lawyer, as well as a word-for-word transcript of every oral argument in trial.114 Most of all, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals portrayed itself as an innocent victim of a nepotistic conspiracy among politicians, bureaucrats, and industrial elites. According to this narrative, the opium scandal resulted from unseemly partisan politics between two men and their supporters. On one side was Kato- Takaaki—whose wife was the eldest daughter of Iwasaki Yataro-, the founder of the Mitsubishi zaibatsu—and his Kenseikai Party; on the other side was Goto- Shinpei, a major figure in the rival Seiyu-kai Party and, of course, a longtime supporter of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals.115 After the Kenseikai Party rose to power in 1924, Kato-—who had personal connections to Shiobara Matasaku of SankyoPharmaceuticals—tried to bring down Goto- Shinpei. Kato- and Shiobara targeted Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, and, in particular, Hoshi’s close-knit relationship to the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau. The Kato- cabinet immediately replaced many of the personnel in the Taiwan Government-General’s office, which had long been controlled by people loyal to Goto-. Soon after, they not only tried to end Hoshi’s exclusive crude morphine contract but also revised regulations on manufacturing, transporting, and selling opium.116 Meanwhile, Shiobara Matasaku parlayed his personal connections to Kato- and his party to become the director and owner of a controlling stake of Naikoku Pharmaceuticals, one of two government-sponsored drug companies created under the 1915 Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes, and one of the four companies granted permission to purchase raw opium and manufacture narcotics after the Opium Law’s 1917 revision.117 Hoshi and its supporters vehemently criticized this collusive relationship, particularly after Naikoku fell into bankruptcy in 1920 and Sankyo- purchased it outright at a steep discount. To them, Naikoku served as an example of unfair government intervention and political-industrial collusion against Hoshi’s heroic, free market individualism.118 Of course, the accusations that Hoshi and its defenders directed at the company’s enemies applied just as well to Hoshi and its supporters. As previously noted, Hoshi Hajime had extraordinary personal connections to Japan’s policymakers and elites, including Goto- Shinpei, Nitobe Inazo-, and Sugiyama Shigemaru. His company’s early success relied on these connections as much as anything else. These close-knit ties facilitated his company’s dominance over Japan’s narcotics market and its exclusive contract to purchase discounted crude morphine from Taiwan’s Opium Monopoly Bureau. Hoshi Hajime’s wife, Kiyoko, might not have been the daughter of one of the leaders of Japan’s most influential industrial conglomerates, but she was certainly no humble nonentity either. Kiyoko was the daughter of Koganei Yoshikiyo (1859–1944), a prominent Tokyo University professor of medicine and anatomy,

160

CHAPTER 5

as well as the niece of the former surgeon general of the Japanese Army, Mori Rintaro- who is perhaps better known as one of Japan’s most celebrated writers, – Mori Ogai. Hoshi married Kiyoko during the opium scandal appeals process in August 1926.119 The opium scandal was inarguably the defining moment in the history of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. Like all drug firms then and now, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals relied on forging a public image of a humanitarian company—for Hoshi it was putting “Kindness First.” Hoshi Pharmaceuticals faithfully proselytized for Japan’s civilizing mission through the manufacture and sale of its medicines, which it imbued with a symbolic significance that supposedly superseded mere commodity exchange. The opium scandal shattered that notion. Whether or not the company knowingly conspired in illicit opium trafficking was difficult to prove, and is, perhaps, beside the point. (It likely did, and like most pharmaceutical firms that serve as licit founts for illicit downstream drug trafficking, pretended not to know where its products ended up after making its sales.) The scandal demonstrated, above all, how Hoshi’s success depended on close-knit connections to statesmen and bureaucrats, which extended into Japan’s developing empire. For the whole of World War I—a time when the supply of morphine from Europe was cut off—Hoshi Pharmaceuticals greatly profited as the sole private manufacturer of morphine. This attracted the attention of competing pharmaceutical companies that saw the vast sums of money to be made from opium-based narcotics, and clamored to enter the market. The international antinarcotics movement, coupled with domestic competition and maybe a dose of political-industrial intrigue, brought unwanted attention to relationships that the company had previously been all too proud to embrace. In turn, a Japanese state that had celebrated the civilizing mission of its imperial endeavors felt the brunt of this blowback. According to John Jennings, an opium controversy similar to Hoshi’s erupted in the city of Dairen (Dalian or Port Arthur) in the Japanese-occupied Kwantung Leased Territory in March 1926. It involved another major drug company, Taisho- Pharmaceuticals, which had recently set up its own morphine factory in Keijo- (Seoul) to supply the opium monopoly of the government-general of Korea. Police officials arrested a number of Taisho- company officials for smuggling morphine across the border from Korea to Darien. Taisho-, however, faced few penalties other than having to fire the offending employees, because its controversy occurred while Hoshi’s opium trial was still going on, and authorities soon “hushed it up.”120 In the wartime era of the 1930s and 1940s, suspicions of Japan’s illicit narcotics trafficking only increased in scope, to include not just opium and morphine, but heroin and cocaine.121

THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

161

These controversies all have a similar outline. They brought into question the close-knit relationship between state and industry, which had been a hallmark of Japan’s capitalist development as a nation-state and empire. They involved, of course, opium—a liminal substance that in both production and consumption transgressed the boundaries between licit and illicit and between medicine and poison. Opium’s liminality laid bare the inherent tensions between medicine as a humanitarian practice and as a for-profit enterprise, and Hoshi’s opium scandal revealed how these tensions often differed depending on space and circumstance. Colonies like Taiwan operated as spaces of exception, where a state that staked its legitimacy on civilizing colonized populations could also monopolize profits from the recreational sale of narcotics. By implication, companies like Hoshi that manufactured these drugs helped create the polar opposite of the rational and civilized individual: the degenerate addict enslaved to a harmful commodity. The scandal of opium was none other than the scandal of empire.

6 THINGS FALL APART

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ opium scandal transformed the company’s fortunes and reputation. To many, it remains the event for which the company is most well known. Like all drug firms then and now, the company relied on forging a public image of a humanitarian company—for Hoshi it meant putting “Kindness First,” shorthand for placing humanitarian interests above profitmaking concerns. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals claimed that it faithfully promoted Japan’s civilizing mission through the manufacture and sale of its medicines, which it imbued with a symbolic significance that supposedly superseded mere commodity exchange. It frequently asserted that because the business of medicine was the business of saving and improving lives, the more medicines people consumed, the better their lives would be. It declared that it provided low-cost medicines where medical care was scarce and that it even offered people of modest means opportunities to rise in the world and to participate in a growing middle class by becoming franchisees. Hoshi’s rapid growth and expansion compared to that of rival drug firms only seemed to reinforce its claims. The opium scandal, however, brought into question its so-called humanitarianism as well as the nature of Hoshi’s business model. The result was a shattered reputation and financial devastation. This chapter describes Hoshi’s unraveling in the opium scandal’s aftermath. The scandal revealed reasons for Hoshi’s success that the company had hoped to conceal: profiteering from an exclusive monopoly over morphine and, quite possibly, from opium trafficking, both facilitated by collusive connections to

162

THINGS FALL APART

163

government elites. It also shined light on the shaky debt-financed foundations and questionable accounting methods on which the company was built. The opium scandal wreaked financial havoc when the company was at its most highly leveraged point in its short history. In the scandal’s aftermath, the company struggled to meet payroll, and in reaction, blue- and white-collar workers went to the picket lines. Meanwhile creditors and investors tried to liquidate the company and salvage assets such as intellectual property related to its patent medicines. The financial fallout from Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ foray into opium ultimately bankrupted the company after it had seemingly achieved such great heights.

The Interwar Economy and Hoshi’s Peculiar Financing To understand the opium scandal’s financial fallout, it is necessary to revisit the company’s almost storybook ascent to the top of the pharmaceutical world in the early decades of the twentieth century, discussed in chapter 2. Well before the scandal, critics had two major concerns about the company: Why did it grow so fast compared to its competitors? And where was it making its money?1 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ expansion from a supposedly humble manufacturer of ichthyol in 1906, with an initial capital of 400 yen, to an incorporated pharmaceutical company capitalized at 500,000 yen might have been understandable given the injection of capital from leading political and industrial elites. Its further capital expansion to 2 million yen might have been comprehensible considering the state-directed intervention into the pharmaceutical industry during World War I.2 After the war, however, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ growth only accelerated, despite the bottom falling out of Japan’s economy during a postwar crisis of overproduction, and even after the catastrophic Great Kanto¯ Earthquake, which not only devastated the nation but caused substantial damage to Hoshi’s administrative headquarters.3 On September 26, 1923, barely three weeks after the earthquake, Hoshi issued the largest stock offering in its history, which more than doubled its capitalization to a total of 50 million yen, even though its net profit had only increased 7.67 percent from the first to second half of 1923 and its gross income had decreased from 2,565,248 yen to 2,377,174 yen.4 The business historian Jinbo Mitsuhiro explicates Hoshi’s capital expansion as follows. At the time of its incorporation in 1911, the company sold individual shares at a price of 50 yen. But Hoshi only required purchasers to put down a quarter of the price, 12.5 yen, with the remaining 37.5 yen due at a later date.

164

CHAPTER 6

And when that date came, the company did not force shareholders to pay the full amount for shares owned. Instead, the company raised the capital it needed for expansion by recruiting investors to purchase stock in newly formed “new no-content companies” (munaiyo¯ no shinkaisha), which, as the name suggests, existed only on paper as shell or holding companies. For each existing share, a new share was created, and Hoshi again required investors to put up one-quarter of the price of these shares. Then it merged shares of all of these companies into itself, drastically increasing its overall capitalization. The paid value of the company thus represented only a quarter of its listed value. For example, in 1923, although the listed capital of the company was 50 million yen, only a quarter of that amount—12.5 million yen—was paid share capital (haraikomikin), with 37.5 million yen remaining as unpaid share capital. According to company records, as of the first half of 1923 (when the company’s capital was 20 million yen, before it officially expanded its capital to 50 million yen in the latter half of that year), Hoshi Pharmaceuticals only had 6.93 million yen worth of assets, of which a little less than 5.567 million yen (around 80.3 percent) was fixed capital.5 The company financed much of this dramatic capital expansion through unsecured corporate bonds. Hoshi encouraged workers and franchisees to purchase unsecured bonds through certificates in amounts as small as twenty yen.6 Also known as debentures (shasai), unsecured bonds typically offer a higher interest rate compared to bonds secured by collateral (saiken), because of increased risk.7 In June 1922, the company issued its first unsecured bond offering (shasai) in the amount of 1 million yen with 8 percent interest due in two years.8 In August 1922, Hoshi announced a second debenture offering of 2 million yen with 8 percent interest due in two years.9 And on December 1, 1923, it issued a third unsecured bond worth 5 million yen with 9 percent interest due in three years.10 Hoshi’s debt-financed capital expansion troubled investors, befuddled onlookers, and likely enraged critics and competitors. Critics argued that Hoshi greatly exaggerated its “extremely meager” (sukoburu tobishii) capital at best and was guilty of running a Ponzi scheme at worst.11 They could not comprehend these actions given the company’s declared income and operating expenses, particularly compared to its drug industry rivals (see table 6.1). For example, Hoshi’s archrival, Sankyo¯—the second-largest pharmaceutical company at the time—maintained a capitalization of 12 million yen, despite a gross income and profit that was not too far behind Hoshi’s for these same years (see tables 6.2 and 6.3). Some labeled Hoshi’s capital expansion as a “so-called phantom capital increase” (iwayuru yu¯rei zo¯shi), while others denounced Hoshi Hajime as a “swindler” (yamashi to hyo¯ sase) whose business was a “fantasy” (ku¯ so¯) and a mere “bubble company” (futsu¯ ho¯matsu kaisha).12 The price of Hoshi’s stock on

THINGS FALL APART

165

the Tokyo Stock Exchange reflected these criticisms as well as the economic turmoil after World War I. After Hoshi publicly listed at a price of 50 yen on March 1, 1920, right before an April stock market crash, the value of its shares precipitously declined to averages of 31.94 yen in 1920, 24.61 yen in 1921, and 16.40 yen in 1922. In the wake of the Great Kanto¯ Earthquake, the company’s stock plummeted even further, from 11.20 yen in 1923 to 7.30 yen in 1924.13 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, however, defended its capital expansion as an act of kindness (shinsetsu) to shareholders, claiming that the majority of these were franchise retailers in its family-style network. The postwar economic downturn hammered home the dangers of capitalist business cycles, and Hoshi declared that it wanted to protect shareholders from the boom-and-bust cycles of global

TABLE 6.1

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ income, operating expenses, and profit

TIME PERIOD

GROSS INCOME (YEN)

OPERATING EXPENSES (YEN)

1919 1919 1920 1920 1921 1921 1922 1922 1923 1923

834,879 1,248,867 1,611,497 1,492,000 1,648,305 2,148,719 2,132,228 2,624,186 2,565,248 2,377,174

413,040 448,821 787,124 808,423 960,553 1,242,329 1,263,647 1,744,257 1,642,758 1,384,871

(1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half)

NET PROFIT (YEN)

421,829 800,045 824,372 683,586 687,753 905,389 868,581 879,929 922,489 993,302

Source: Kyo ¯ tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo ¯ do (Tokyo: Ko ¯ seikaku, 1924), 203.

TABLE 6.2 Sankyo ¯ Pharmaceuticals’ income, operating expenses, and profit TIME PERIOD

GROSS INCOME (YEN)

NET PROFIT (YEN)

1919 1919 1920 1920 1921 1921 1922 1922 1923 1923

1,503,475 1,456,242 1,985,691 1,642,276 1,574,289 1,871,699 1,675,337 2,004,751 2,149,865 1,876,177

394,761 489,492 747,112 495,793 372,293 581,741 448,808 555,664 592,870 635,260

(1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half) (1st half) (2nd half)

Source: Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo ¯ kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki,” Keieishigaku 43, no. 2 (2008): 7.

166

TABLE 6.3

CHAPTER 6

Hoshi versus Sankyo ¯ HOSHI PHARMACEUTICALS

¯ PHARMACEUTICALS SANKYO

YEAR

CAPITAL (YEN)

PAID CAPITAL (YEN)

CAPITAL (YEN)

PAID CAPITAL (YEN)

1907 1908 1910 1911 1913 1917 1918 1919 1921 1923 1924

400 5,000 25,000 500,000 1,000,000 2,000,000 5,000,000 10,000,000 20,000,000 50,000,000 50,000,000

400 5,000 25,000 125,000 250,000 500,000 1,250,000 2,500,000 5,000,000 12,500,000 12,500,000

N/A N/A N/A N/A 100,000 2,300,000 4,600,000 5,600,000 5,600,000 5,600,000 12,000,000

N/A N/A N/A N/A 100,000 2,300,000 2,875,000 3,125,000 N/A 5,600,000 7,200,000

Source: Kyo ¯ tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo ¯ do (Tokyo: Ko ¯ seikaku, 1924), 200–202; Sankyo ¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo ¯ 100-nen shi henshu ¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo ¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo ¯ hen (Tokyo: Sankyo ¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 52.

capitalism that, the company stated, “if looking at history, seemed to happen every ten years.”14 The company argued that forcing shareholders to pay the entire cost of their shares was an unfair and painful burden during times of economic trouble, which would force many to sell their stock at a loss.15 As Hoshi Hajime’s company expanded in the early 1920s, he boasted: “Industrialists and businessmen must not be controlled [shihai] by economic conditions; they must try to control economic conditions.”16 In the present deflationary climate, Hoshi argued, his company needed to take advantage when resources were cheap and labor was in great supply.17 The problem, however, is that the real cost of borrowing goes up in a deflationary economy. Here is where Hoshi’s reliance on franchise retailers purchasing Hoshi stock and debt would supposedly pay off. An article in the To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ grudgingly acknowledged the logic of Hoshi’s actions: “If one were to borrow necessary capital from banks, the more one borrows the harder it is to borrow. However, if you mobilize 50,000 franchises, and you recruit capital from a tribe of followers [ichizoku ro¯do¯], then 3 million yen or 5 million yen would not be difficult at all to obtain.”18 Hoshi’s franchise distribution system, in other words, also functioned, for all practical purposes, as an exclusive, companycontrolled bank. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals thus depended on faith and loyalty in the company, particularly among its franchisees who tied themselves to the company’s fortunes. This was perhaps why the company depended so much on its ideology of “Kindness First” as well as the exhibition of its unprecedented

THINGS FALL APART

167

success. A strong reputation and the appearance of success mattered to keep franchisees, investors, and employees in line.

Financial Fallout If not for the opium scandal, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ debt-financed capital expansion might have worked, even with the financial troubles after the Great Kanto¯ Earthquake. Hoshi seemed to recover from the earthquake quickly. In the first half of 1924 the company posted a gross income of 2,870,786 yen with a net profit of 1,908,993 yen; and in the second half of 1924 it increased its gross income and net profit to 3,391,668 yen and 2,406,126 yen, respectively.19 But after the scandal broke, Hoshi faced a slew of financial troubles. The damage to its reputation hurt sales. Inventories piled up. With bank accounts frozen, the company had trouble meeting payroll and paying for daily expenses. Trust and loyalty within Hoshi’s retail network only deteriorated as a result. One January 1926 notice, “Complaints Welcome!” (Warukuchi boshu¯ ), called on angry and disgruntled franchises to air their grievances and rat out underperforming employees as well as competitor franchises that were skirting the rules.20 On May 15, 1926, the company formally delisted from the Tokyo Stock Exchange, after its share price fell to a low of 3.6 yen per share.21 In response to these troubles, the company looked to its franchise retailers for help and instituted a number of cost-saving and recovery measures that invoked a spirit of cooperation that now meant sacrifice for the good of the company as a whole. In June 1926, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals relabeled its franchise system (tokuyakuten seido) as a chain store system. To mark the difference, it no longer called its stores tokuyakuten, and instead called them che¯n sutoa, in the katakana phonetic script used for foreign loan words.22 In an open letter to franchise managers, Hoshi Hajime wrote that “he was firmly convinced that the new chain store system would be effective in dealing with the present chaos in the economic world.”23 Although the company claimed that its “new chain store system” represented a natural progression toward more efficient, cost-saving distribution amid an interwar era marked by economic uncertainty, it primarily involved surfacelevel rather than deep structural changes.24 The most important aspect of the new chain store system was the imposition of an additional deposit or “guarantee payment” (shinninkin), which was a measure to quickly raise funds by squeezing existing franchises. For existing stores in good standing, the amount of the deposit was set at 200 to 400 yen; for new applicants, it was 300 to 500 yen. To encourage the conversion of the old franchises stores into chain stores, Hoshi provided a number of incentives and

168

CHAPTER 6

penalties. For example, stores that entered into the new chain store system in June would receive a reward of 3 percent cash back for a period of six months on the price of goods purchased from the company; for stores that signed terms in July, the amount decreased to 2 percent cash back.25 In addition, the required deposit increased the later a store signed a contract. Contracts signed in the first fifteen days of August required a minimum deposit of at least 220 yen; for those who signed in the second half of August, the required deposit increased to a minimum of 250 yen.26 Other changes, though cosmetic by comparison, helped increase turnover and improve efficiency. The company organized its retail stores into two different types: the “conventional chain store” (sei-che¯n) in cities with populations of five thousand or more; and the “associate chain store” (ju¯ n-che¯n) in smaller towns and villages with five thousand or fewer residents. Hoshi classified the conventional chain stores according to three ranks based on population: “A rank” for populations of twenty thousand or more; “B rank” for populations of ten to twenty thousand; and “C rank” for populations of five to ten thousand. The company continued to set retail prices, and it required all stores to calculate total sales at the end of each business day and then send a portion of those proceeds to the company. Finally, the company now had the power to appoint (or dismiss) all personnel, and it required all personnel to wear uniforms.27 At the same time, Hoshi also tried to reduce its financial liabilities through a simultaneous reduction in both its total number of shares and in each share’s price. In late 1926, Hoshi had a total liability worth approximately 18.2 million yen, roughly 12.3 million yen of which was in outstanding unsecured bonds. The company decreased the value of each individual share from 50 yen to 25 yen, and then halved the number of shares from a million to half a million, ending up with a total of 12.5 million yen worth of shares.28 Although legal, these transactions raised red flags among investors in light of the company’s circumstances after the opium scandal. Ordinarily, there are only two situations in which a company reduces its capital: when there is a capital surplus (definitely not true in Hoshi’s case) and when a company wants to reduce outstanding debt. Because the capital stock of a corporation serves as security for its creditors, any reduction of capital sets off warning signs. By reducing its capital from 50 million yen to 12.5 million yen, Hoshi conveniently eliminated 37.5 million yen of unpaid capital in one fell swoop—an enormous reduction in liability.29 On November 1, 1926, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals performed another questionable action to reduce its liability to shareholders by merging (heidon) with Pacific Pharmaceuticals (Taiheiyo¯ seiyaku), a tiny drug firm by comparison, capitalized at 500,000 yen. The merger dissolved (kaisan) Hoshi Pharmaceuticals as a legal

THINGS FALL APART

169

entity. Then, only two days later, Pacific Pharmaceuticals changed its name to Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, with a paid share capital of 13 million yen, with Hoshi Hajime assuming the presidency. Thus, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals now became, for all practical purposes, a different legal entity from the one that had suffered the opium scandal, yet with ownership of the same name brand, trademarks, and facilities.30 Hoshi’s attempts to reduce its liabilities set the stage for an emergency shareholder meeting on November 22, 1926. At this meeting, company executives— along with 5,589 shareholders holding 300,378 shares of company stock—voted on three emergency measures to raise funds to help relieve the company’s financial burdens. First, the company decided to issue a new 600,000-yen unsecured bond offering at 8 percent interest per year, redeemable in three years. Second, it declared a drastic reorganization of the company’s shareholdings by increasing the total amount of outstanding shares from 13 million yen to 18 million yen through a preferred stock offering of 200,000 shares worth 5,000,000 yen. The third decision was by far the most controversial. The company announced that it had no choice but to default on the repayment of its third unsecured bond offering of 5 million yen, which carried an interest of 5 percent and was scheduled to mature little more than a week later on December 1, 1926. Hoshi begged its creditors to sacrifice repayments due to them in order to overcome the most pressing crisis the company encountered: a lack of the cash flow needed to keep the company running.31 The default on this unsecured bond offering marked the official start of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ financial unraveling. It angered the company’s creditors by leaving them in a bind. Because few regulations protected their rights at this time, they had few means to sue the company for repayment, nor could they, on the other hand, force the company into bankruptcy. The latter was likened to “blowing up” (jibakuteki) their own interests, given that they would then receive nothing. (The proverb “If you owe the bank millions, then you own the bank,” applies well here.) Critics lamented that Hoshi was forcing its creditors “to submit to even the company’s most demeaning demands” (kaisha no yo¯kyu¯ ni kutsuju¯ ).32 At this point, investors in Hoshi’s debt offerings had no choice but to accept that the company would not repay them and to acquiesce to what the company offered them: the conversion of their holdings into either preferred stock or a new debenture offering. A 1927 article in the business magazine Invesutomento used Hoshi’s default to argue for regulations to protect investors’ interests; it stated that Hoshi’s default would “not only send shockwaves [sho¯do¯] to the bond world, but would reverberate throughout the financial world as well.”33 After the default on this unsecured bond offering, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals continued pleading with its creditors and investors to cooperate with the

170

CHAPTER 6

company to avert bankruptcy. In an open letter dated January 20, 1927, the company announced a new, cooperative plan that declared the need to overcome adversity through “coexistence and coprosperity” (kyo¯son kyo¯ei) during Japan’s economic troubles.34 The company proposed a solution that would deal with the problem of its growing debts to investors as well as boost the sale of its goods; it declared that it would pay its dividends on stock and its interest on its outstanding debt with redeemable coupons for its goods. The company claimed that its products were as good as cash because they were “items that no household could go without” (katei ni mo nakute wa naranai).35 For example, a stockholder who expected to receive a 10 percent dividend per share would instead receive a coupon with the cash equivalent of that amount. The catch was that the coupons would not purchase the full value of the goods, but only replace 20 percent of the price, with the customer having to pay cash for the remainder. Stressing that this proposal aligned with a new world based on “cooperativism” (kyo¯ryokushugi)— even though it might seem “quite irrational” (hanahada fugo¯ri) from the “perspective of conventional capitalism” (ju¯ rai no shihonshugi no tachiba)—Hoshi declared that it “not only formed a relationship between you, the creditors, and the debtor company, but also a relationship between the company that produces goods and you, the consumers, through ‘coexistence and coprosperity’ [kyo¯son kyo¯ei].”36 This proposal seemed a win-win for the company. It would increase— and, in part, control—the demand for its products by ensuring that its stock and bondholders purchased them. And at a time when cash was in short supply, it would also save the company money by replacing cash payments with products that it had difficulty selling in the wake of the opium scandal. In September 1928, Hoshi tied this latest effort to appease its creditors to its distribution network by announcing its Federation of Manufacturers and Distributors (Seizo¯ka hanbainin renmei), which expanded Hoshi’s distribution network to include outside manufacturers who produced consumer goods like liquors, shoes, and umbrellas.37 Framed as a response to the 1927 financial crisis triggered by the bankruptcy of Suzuki Trading—the Kobe-based firm that defaulted on 67 million yen of loans from the Bank of Taiwan—the federation represented a cooperative way of business intended to overcome the economic woes of the times. Producers and distributors would work together by avoiding competition, improving efficiency, and then passing along the savings to consumers by lowering the cost of goods.38 In many ways, these efforts paralleled the actions of the broader business community in the late 1920s and early 1930s—a time when industrial rationalization (sangyo¯ go¯rika), as noted by William Tsutsui, was “an amorphous but far-reaching movement of academics, bureaucrats, and businessmen that dominated the public discourse on industrial development and economic recovery.”39

THINGS FALL APART

171

Hoshi’s creditors, however, were not amused with the company’s financial gymnastics or its last-ditch efforts to remain solvent. To avoid bankruptcy, in October 1928 Hoshi sought arbitration with its creditors to resolve its debts, and it struck an agreement on March 5, 1929. Hoshi resolved to pay its total debt, which had now reached 25 million yen, in increasing yearly installments over a ten-year period.40

The End of Labor Cooperation? Hoshi’s financial difficulties directly led to labor problems. Because of the debt it owed its creditors, the company began having trouble making payroll in August 1929. In early 1930, the situation worsened when the company paid only half of the workers’ wages for the months of February and March. This led to one of the most publicized labor conflicts of the early 1930s, the Hoshi Pharmaceuticals strike, which involved 612 factory workers and 503 other employees at the com¯ saki district of Tokyo. It lasted nearly three months pany’s major factory in the O and was one of the catalysts that convinced creditors to institute bankruptcy proceedings against the company.41 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had frequently portrayed itself as a paradise for its workers in the spirit of cooperative, Taylorist business relations.42 In a July 1919 article in the company newspaper, written in the wake of the 1917 Russian Revolution and the 1918 Rice Riots, Hoshi Hajime outlined his stance on cooperative and friendly labor relations against the threat of socialism.43 On the one hand, Hoshi criticized the popularity of Marxism in Japan by stating that it was a “problem that Japanese people had been easily agitated by ideas from overseas,” which were “empty theories on a desk or empty thoughts on a bookshelf ” (kijo¯ no ku¯ron ya shosai no ku¯so¯). Yet on the other hand Hoshi also criticized rapacious capitalists, declaring: “It’s a regrettable [ikan] trend that the more capitalists there are in Japan, the more strikes occur between capitalists and labor, where heartless [mujo¯] capitalists crush the virtues [biten] of laborers.” According to Hoshi, Japan could and should be different: “In the West, workers are slaves [dorei] . . . and even President Wilson’s father probably used them,” but capitalism developed differently in Japan where “workers were not treated like objects.”44 Hoshi’s words and actions reflected a growing concern among political and industrial elites about a growing crisis between labor and capital in the postwar years. Rapid inflation driven by wartime industrial expansion created a spike in strikes and work stoppages toward the end of the war and after. The number of workers engaged in strikes exploded from 9,000 in 1914–1916 to 57,000 in 1917, 66,457 in 1918, and 63,157 by 1919.45 In response, industrial entrepreneurs of the

172

CHAPTER 6

time consistently espoused social harmony as a remedy different from Westernstyle labor unions. Throughout his career as a drug magnate, Hoshi Hajime allied with the conservative Seiyu¯kai Party, which consistently represented the interests of large-scale industries and their hostility to labor unions and popular rights.46 Entrepreneurs like Hoshi, to use the words of Sheldon Garon, “adroitly couched their hostility to governmental labor reforms in . . . [the] traditionalist language so popular with conservatives at the time.”47 Harmony, cooperation, and tradition, were, of course, vital components in Hoshi’s rhetoric of “Kindness First.” The workers’ strike against Hoshi Pharmaceuticals formally began on April 16, 1930, when employees organized a general strike to protest unpaid wages. For the first few weeks, workers engaged in peaceful protest. On May 4, the dispute even seemed to reach a resolution through an agreement that the company would repay the full wages due to the workers from the beginning of the year (a total of approximately 30,000 yen). But on May 29, 1930, the company doused gasoline on the dispute when it laid off 73 employees (19 of whom were women) and 291 factory workers (190 of whom were women), many of whom did not receive their notices in time and subsequently found themselves locked out on arriving at work that day. Hoshi defended its actions by declaring that it was an “unavoidable reorganization” (yamu o enu seiri) because “productivity had markedly fallen” (ichijirushiku no¯ritsu no teigen)—it claimed that disgruntled workers continued their fight informally by slackening their work, taking frequent breaks, and purposefully committing errors to slow down production (taigyo¯).48 In response, these workers organized the Hoshi Workers’ Union (Hoshi ju¯ gyo¯in do¯mei) at a nearby company dormitory, where they pooled together money and resources, applied for help from national labor unions, and elected individuals to lead the strike and negotiate settlements with management.49 Meanwhile, white-collar workers formed a separate organization called the Hoshi Employees’ Union (Hoshi shaiin do¯mei) before they renamed it as the Hoshi Federation of Laid-Off Employees (Hoshi kaikochu¯ shaiin renmei).50 Together, the two groups, which numbered roughly 600 active people each day for the length of the twomonth strike—protested day and night outside the gates of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ main factory, singing popular labor songs and making public speeches denouncing the company.51 The proletarian literature journal Senki, which provided a running commentary on the events, characterized the mass layoffs in this way: On May 29, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals suddenly fired 390 factory workers and 60 staff workers, with no prior warning. The reason they gave— that it was due to business troubles—is a bullshit excuse. Those bastards [yatsura] fired us at a convenient time for them, during a time of

THINGS FALL APART

173

economic trouble, when they tried to sell their merchandise—especially that worthless shit medicine for hicks [yamakan yaro¯], which wouldn’t even sell in a good economy! This was only after they had lived to the limits of luxury and extravagance, squeezing and extracting all they could from [us] like kept women [mekake]. Without paying our wages, they threw us out on the street, innocently pretending they didn’t know what was happening.52 The strike was marked by violence, which only increased as the battle wore on. On the night of May 31—only a few days after the strike had been formally declared—national newspapers reported that protesters had thrown rocks at the homes of two company executives, damaging property and creating disturbances in the tonier neighborhoods of western Tokyo.53 Protests frequently annoyed the security guards and municipal police who protected Hoshi, leading to suppression by physical violence or water hose.54 In the early morning of June 3, a female factory worker and her daughter were hospitalized because of injuries caused by the police.55 On June 6, a unit of fifteen city police officers invaded the workers’ dormitory, which had served as the primary headquarters of the strike, and arrested thirteen people. In the process they crushed the foot of a female factory worker, and reports of her serious injury created bad press.56 Sympathizers rallied against police brutality, denouncing the police as no better than a “criminal gang” (bo¯ryokudan), and filed lawsuits on the injured workers’ behalf.57 The strike received notable outside help. The most important was from the national labor movement, which provided guidance and maintained discipline during the strike. The Hoshi unions affiliated with national labor unions such as the Kanto¯ Labor Union (Kanto¯ ro¯do¯ kumiai), the Kanto¯ branch of the Japan Labor Union (Nippon ro¯do¯ kumiai kyo¯gikai) and the Free Labor and Self-Rule Association (Jiyu¯ ro¯do¯ jichikai). Pro-labor politicians in the Labor and Farmers ¯ yama Ikuo (1880–1955), Hososako Kanemitsu Party (Ro¯do¯ no¯minto¯) such as O (1896–1972), and Nakamura Takaichi (1897–1981) joined the cause, and helped formally register the strike with the Police Agency (Keishicho¯) of the Ministry of Home Affairs.58 Perhaps the best example of the strike’s steadfast discipline occurred on the evening of June 7 when not a single person picked up Hoshi’s severance payment in order to symbolically return the checks as a bundle.59 Of course, conservative outlets such as the Yomiuri shinbun, which sympathized with the company and took every opportunity to criticize the workers, painted the event in a different light. They excoriated union leaders for not taking the severance payment as a spiteful, inhumane and empty gesture of showmanship that prevented suffering workers from receiving desperately needed money.60

174

CHAPTER 6

Hoshi’s creditors also provided influential support for the workers’ cause. On June 13, two hundred of them organized a meeting at the strike headquarters. They demanded that the company immediately repurchase or repay all outstanding debt, and they resolved to organize all creditors throughout the nation into an organization named the Hoshi Bondholders Association (Hoshi saikensha do¯shikai) with an office at strike headquarters in order to coordinate their efforts with those of the workers (see fig. 6.1).61 After nearly a month of fighting, the strike seemed to come to a conclusion on June 22 with a resolution between the company and protesters. The company promised to pay a total of 31,000 yen to the strikers (composed of severance pay and other monies), stop layoffs and shortening of business hours, pay wages on time, and refrain from any seeking retribution against the striking workers.62 Yet, Hoshi’s labor troubles were far from over. Only a few days after this seeming resolution, the labor dispute reached farcical levels when roughly fifty laid-off workers descended on corporate headquarters in the Kyo¯bashi district of Tokyo to demand a meeting with the president. But when they arrived, Hoshi Hajime, likely scared out of his wits, had just slipped away. Company officials told the laid-off workers that Hoshi would not meet them and that his whereabouts were unknown. The workers responded by occupying a reception room and ended up engaging in a brawl (kozeriai) with company officials, with many suffering minor cuts and bruises in the process.63 They subsequently chased after Hoshi, creating havoc across the streets of Tokyo before they found him hiding in the cafeteria of the Tokyo branch of Taiwan Bank and blocked off the cafeteria’s egress until he agreed to meet them.64 On July 5, the Hoshi strike formally came to an end with a promise of a severance payment of roughly 20,000 yen followed by a ceremony for disbanding the workers’ union.65 Simmering tensions, however, boiled over again on August 22 when the company informed laid-off workers that it would be late making its payments, which aroused suspicion that the company would renege on its promises like it had multiple times before.66 In the month that followed, workers realized that Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was in such poor financial health that it could not meet its payments, let alone restart the factory to put workers back to work. In response, they called for the management of the factory by a workers’ cooperative. In a quiet ceremony on the morning of September 30, the workers formally took over the managment of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ Tokyo factory after Hoshi Hajime finally acceded to their demands.67 Under the terms of the agreement, the 20,000-yen severance payment owed to the workers would be used to rent land, the factory, machinery, and other resources from the company for a period of ten years.68 On October 10, the workers held an election for the membership of the deliberative counsel (kanri hyo¯giin) to oversee the factory, and on October 20, the

¯ hara Institute FIGURE 6.1. Hoshi strike poster, June 20, 1930. Courtesy of O for Social Research, Ho¯sei University. The text on the right-hand side reads: “Form an Alliance to Boycott the Products of the Blood-Sucking Devil Hoshi!”

176

CHAPTER 6

workers formally replaced the factory sign with new ones for Hoshi Cooperative Union (Hoshi kyo¯ryoku kumiai).69 Sympathetic pro-labor commentators wondered if the developments at Hoshi augured a nationwide trend of cooperative worker management, as it mirrored recent developments at other corporations, including Yu¯rin Printing Company (Yu¯rin insatsu kaisha), Yoshino Timber Manufactory (Yoshino seizaisho), and Kyoto Electric Company (Kyo¯to denki kaisha).70 A notable January 14 newspaper article proclaimed that the Hoshi situation, which had “attracted the attention of all society,” was a story that “hurt the ears of capitalists” (shihonka ni mimi ga itai hanashi) because it demonstrated that labor perhaps did not need the guiding hand of management. It proved that cooperative worker management was a viable alternative to shutting down factories amid economic troubles; despite the lack of upper management and high-wage workers, quality and productivity did not fall because workers took individual responsiblity.71 The fate of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals now seemed out of Hoshi Hajime’s hands.

Bankruptcy Battles and Trademark Troubles Hoshi’s labor strike was the last straw for the company’s creditors. While workers prepared to take joint control of its factory, the company’s creditors began pushing for Hoshi to declare bankruptcy. On October 13, 1930, a group of major creditors led by Masuda Shinshichi and Yasuda Rokunosuke filed bankruptcy proceedings against the company in the Tokyo District Court, citing the company’s recent labor troubles as one reason for their lack of confidence in the company’s ability to pay off 60,000 yen worth of debt.72 On October 19 of the following year—after Hoshi Hajime declared personal bankruptcy—another group of major creditors led by Sakurada Seitaro¯ and the investment firm Shiba Trading (Shiba sho¯ji) filed for bankruptcy against the company in the Tokyo District Court, citing its failure to repay approximately 300,000 yen worth of debt to each.73 On October 28, 1931, the Tokyo District Court formally placed the company under the custodianship of three lawyers who acted as trustees: Kawamoto Fumihira, Goto¯ Tokutaro¯, and Hirabayashi Sho¯taro¯.74 Hoshi’s creditors wanted to liquidate the company and immediately divide and distribute its remaining assets. The most visible—and for many, most important—assets were in the physical plant of Hoshi’s main factory. Workers who were worried about layoffs tried to meet with the custodians concerning unpaid wages. For them, the timing of the bankruptcy’s announcement was suspicious. It occurred right before payday and therefore prevented the disbursement of wages.75 On November 10, 1931, 350 workers protested outside of the

THINGS FALL APART

177

factory gates after hearing that one of the creditors, Shiba Trading, had petitioned the Tokyo District Court for the workers’ wages as part of its compensation. On the same day, another 10 workers paid a visit to the Meguro-district home of Shiba Trading’s president, Shiba Gitaro¯, to demand a meeting.76 The next day, 200 workers surrounded Shiba’s home and raised the red flag of the Japanese communist movement (akahata) before finding out that the owner was not home and dispersing in the late afternoon.77 In the weeks that followed, workers’ anger only increased against the creditors who refused to pay wages or even the factory’s electricity bill. Meanwhile, their anger against Hoshi Hajime seemingly subsided. Hoshi had put his full support behind the workers (perhaps out of good will, but also because he had almost no choice but to take their side). On December 21, 200 workers, divided into two groups—a pro-Hoshi faction, accompanied by Hoshi Hajime, and an anti-Hoshi faction—marched together to the Tokyo District Court to protest against the asset-stripping of the factory.78 On December 24, the court accepted the resignation of all three trustees, and roughly 400 workers erupted in celebration, hoping that three newly appointed ones—Akiyama Sho¯, Hara Sho¯jiro, and Wakimoto Tatsuzo¯—would support their efforts to restart the factory.79 In January of the following year, workers went back to work, and at a January 26 meeting attended by roughly 200 creditors, the trustees laid out a plan for “compulsory reconciliation” (kyo¯sei wagi), which would give Hoshi Pharmaceuticals a chance to recover from bankruptcy rather than divide up its assets. This plan would allow workers to continue factory operations and divert profits from Hoshi’s alkaloid business, which had restarted earlier in the decade, toward the repayment of debt.80 By the early months of 1932, it seemed like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals might recover from bankruptcy, but on April 25, a group of creditors from Shiba Trading once again filed for the bankruptcy of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, which put the workers’ future once again in doubt.81 At the same time as Shiba Trading fought for Hoshi’s bankruptcy, it also attempted to seize the company’s intellectual property. For Shiba, the trademarks of popular Hoshi patent medicines, particularly the Hoshi Digestive Medicine (Hoshi icho¯yaku), were the most valuable assets. “Patent medicines” is a misnomer. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, medicine makers throughout the world relied on trademarks, which afforded—in most countries— similar intellectual property protection to patents without the seeming taint of patenting. Patents were associated with secrecy and monopoly control, and therefore were seemingly antithetical to humanitarian notions of medicine as a social good.82 Trademarks provided product differentiation through legal means, even if a trademarked product was identical to competing products. What trademarks protected was not the commodity, but the manufacturer’s

178

CHAPTER 6

brand.83 In an era of mass production and mass consumer culture, trademarks allowed manufacturers to not only differentiate their products from others but also hold near monopolies through brand protection. For the consumer, the trademark served as a guarantee that provided a measure of quality assurance. For the manufacturer, the trademark afforded a measure of legal protection for its entire advertising and sales network.84 Before the opium scandal, Shiba Trading had served as a major Osaka-based distributor of Hoshi’s medicines, including Hoshi Digestive Medicine and the company’s alkaloid-based drugs. After the scandal broke out, Shiba provided Hoshi with 340,000 yen worth of promissory notes (tegata) from 1925 to 1930, which the company used to meet payroll, pay suppliers, and maintain operations.85 In the fall of 1930, as Shiba Trading filed for Hoshi’s bankruptcy, a Hoshi ¯ nishi Otojiro¯ transferred (jo¯to) Hoshi Digestive Mediboard member named O cine’s trademark rights to Shiba Trading, along with those of two other wellknown medicines, as security for the remainder of the debt the company owed, without—according to Hoshi lawyers—the knowledge or permission of Hoshi ¯ nishi Otojiro¯ subsequently resigned from Hoshi and took a direcHajime.86 O tor’s position at Shiba Trading, which immediately embarked on a joint venture with Yagi Tokutaro¯—another former Hoshi distributor in Osaka—to form a new drug company called Hoshi seiyakujo, which also translates into English as Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and which manufactured a product called Digestive Pain Medicine (icho¯ kitsu¯ yaku). This medicine not only had the exact same contents as the original Hoshi Digestive Medicine but also mimicked its branding and label.87 In 1930, two seemingly identical Hoshi Digestive Medicines appeared, produced by two firms both claiming to be the Hoshi Pharmaceuticals.88 The origi¯ nishi Otojiro¯, and nal Hoshi sued the firm formerly known as Shiba Trading, O Yagi Tokutaro¯ for trademark violation, calling for the nullification of the trademark transfer and a provisional disjunction (kari shobun) to suspend all sales of Digestive Pain Medicine.89 According to Hoshi’s lawyers, the transfer of trademark rights to Shiba Trading was illegal because it occurred without the knowledge or authority of Hoshi Hajime.90 In a separate lawsuit, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals sued ¯ nishi for falsifying documents and breaching his fiduciary responsibilities, O accusing him of plotting with Shiba to destroy the company while he served as a board member.91 In response, the firm formerly known as Shiba Trading countersued; it claimed that the trademark transfer was legal and that the bankrupted entity, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, had infringed on its trademark by continuing to manufacture and sell Hoshi Digestive Medicine.92 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals based its lawsuits on three points that emphasized the importance of the Hoshi Digestive Medicine and its trademark to the Hoshi ¯ nishi Otojiro¯ had struck his deal for the brand. First, the company argued that O

THINGS FALL APART

179

transfer of trademark rights without Hoshi Hajime’s knowledge and authority. Second, it asserted the inconceivability that Hoshi Hajime or any other company executive would accede to giving up trademarks over its three most popular medicines, particularly its digestive medicine, which accounted for nearly half of its sales as well as half of its advertising budget. “When one says Hoshi, one thinks of digestive medicine, and when one thinks of digestive medicine, one things of Hoshi,” stated company lawyers in a written deposition.93 As its highest grossing and most popular product, Hoshi Digestive Medicine was the lifeblood of the company. It was essential for the company’s future and its efforts to recover from bankruptcy; without it, the company would have trouble keeping franchisees, let alone attract new ones into its sales system.94 Third, Hoshi claimed that it was impossible to disassociate the company from its trademarked brand. Under Japan’s trademark law at the time, trademarks could not be transferred with¯ nishi’s out also transferring the business operation (eigyo¯); in this case, even if O agreement was conducted in good faith, the transferred trademarks should be invalid.95 In June of 1934, the Tokyo District Court ruled in favor of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals; it invalidated the transfer of the trademarks to the firm formerly known as Shiba Trading, which was now known as Osaka Pharmaceuticals

FIGURE 6.2. The two Hoshi Digestive Medicines. “Yakugyo ¯ka shokun ni keikoku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho ¯, April 28, 1936.

180

CHAPTER 6

(Osaka seiyakujo). It also ordered a provisional injunction on the sale of Osaka’s Hoshi Digestive Medicine—a decision that Osaka Pharmaceuticals repeatedly disobeyed until the matter formally ended in Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ favor in late 1936 (see fig. 6.2).96 Nevertheless, Hoshi’s trademark troubles continued. In 1936, Hoshi sued Osaka Pharmaceuticals for marketing another medicine that mimicked Hoshi Digestive Medicine: Red Can Digestive Medicine (Akakan icho¯yaku). Although Hoshi initially won a provisional injunction against Red Can, the Tokyo Appeals Court ruled in favor of Osaka Pharmaceuticals in 1937. The court sought to promote competition by limiting the power of Hoshi’s trademarks. It stated in its decision that there was nothing special about using a red can for medicines, and it “would be tough to understand the efficacy of banning the use of plain red cans.”97 At the same time, Hoshi was victorious in a lawsuit against another firm, Wada Corporation (Wada go¯mei kaisha), for selling a copycat product called Two Star Digestive Medicine (Futatsu-boshi icho¯yaku). Among multiple points of dispute—including the color of the packaging, the gold color of the border, and fonts of the lettering—the most controversial was the product’s name, which appeared as a pun on Hoshi’s name. Hoshi means star in Japanese. If a literal translation of Hoshi icho¯yaku were “One Star Digestive Medicine,” then what would best it? “Two Star Digestive Medicine,” of course.98 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals presented itself as the embodiment of a humanitarian and cooperative form of business that would overcome the crises of capitalism. It claimed that its distribution network, which tied its interests to local retailers, provided good medicines that helped save lives. Hoshi’s business model depended, in large part, on selling an image of success to entice more and more merchants across Japan and Asia to enter into franchising contracts. Amid an inhospitable post–World War I economic climate, the company pushed on, taking on larger and larger amounts of debt to support its expansion. Its rapid expansion amid two major economic crises made its business model seem successful. But the opium scandal, which broke out when it was the most highly leveraged in its history, was a crisis that it could not overcome. The scandal’s aftermath— comprising a labor strike, bankruptcy, and multiple lawsuits—was devastating. It laid bare the unsteady and questionable foundations on which Hoshi’s cooperative model had been built: seemingly dubious accounting and an overly zealous debt-financed expansion authorized by government elites with close personal ties to the company. Its trademark trials revealed that when stripped bare, Hoshi’s primary asset was none other than its branding. The unraveling of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals in the wake of the opium scandal was a drawn-out and seemingly endless source of embarrassment for Hoshi

THINGS FALL APART

181

Hajime. On July 6, 1932, Hoshi Hajime finally hit rock bottom when he was arrested for bribing tax officials to avoid repaying 600,000 yen worth of national taxes and 100,000 yen worth of prefectural taxes dating back to 1929.99 Hoshi spent two months in Tokyo’s Ichigaya Prison before his release on bail.100 On March 30, 1933, the Tokyo District Court found him guilty and sentenced him to an additional three months in prison.101 Although Hoshi tried to clear his name, an appeals court later maintained the original guilty verdict and levied an additional fine of 300 yen.102 While Hoshi was embroiled in his tax-bribery scandal, his company’s bankruptcy battles only continued. Yet, just as Hoshi’s fortunes seemed to have bottomed out, his luck dramatically turned. On September 12, 1933, the Tokyo District Court brokered an extraordinarily favorable settlement for the company. The terms stipulated a grace period of three years before Hoshi’s initial payment, and if Hoshi repaid 20 percent of its total outstanding debt of 22,565,250 yen to 20,898 creditors over a period of ten years, then the remaining 80 percent would be forgiven (menjo).103 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals formally resumed operations on December 26, 1933.104 In order to rebuild his company’s finances and reputation, Hoshi Hajime once again looked abroad, specifically back to colonial Taiwan, which had been so important for the company’s early success and its recent failures. Hoshi would now focus on a substance that did not have the same symbolic baggage as opium, cinchona: the raw material the world’s most important medicine for the prevention and treatment of malaria, quinine. One of the many problems of opiumbased narcotics was that they transgressed the boundaries between licit and illicit as well medicine and poison. Antimalarials like quinine were seen only as humanitarian medicines. Hoshi’s involvement in managing plantations for the harvesting of cinchona is the subject of the following chapter.

7 SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

On April 30th, 1934, Hoshi Hajime hosted a roundtable discussion in the ballroom of the Taihoku Railway Hotel. The topic was Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ proposal to cultivate cinchona (kina) near aboriginal villages in the mountains of Taiwan. Cinchona, a tree indigenous to South America, provided the raw material for one of the most important drugs in the early twentieth century, the antimalarial drug quinine. At the time, roughly 90 percent of the world’s supply came from Dutch plantations in Java. A monopoly known as the Kina Bureau, headquartered in Amsterdam, controlled its production and distribution.1 Aligning corporate profit motives with national interests, Hoshi Hajime capitalized on government fears of medicinal scarcity to present quinine selfsufficiency as synonymous with the security of the Japanese Empire, which at this time was rapidly expanding into Manchuria and northeastern China. Hoshi presented a ten-year plan for cultivating cinchona on roughly 120 square kilometers of land in plantations in the mountains of Gaoxiong Prefecture in southwest Taiwan and in Taidong Province in the southeast. Hoshi declared that his company would, at minimum, provide 3 million yen for the project for a period of three years—an enormous sum. Hoshi argued that plan would cost upward of 10 million yen if it were carried out in a different location, presumably without cheap, aboriginal labor. He had a business partner in this venture, William Hosken, who would also provide some capital. Hoshi hoped that additional funding would come from the Japanese government-general of Taiwan, particularly from the

185

186

CHAPTER 7

Central Research Institute, which would have its own research laboratory on the premises.2 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ proposal for a “greater cinchona empire” (dai kina teikoku) was a metaphor for Japan’s colonial project, replete with allusions to civilizing the barbarians and arguments for autarky, not to mention the matterof-fact logic of the benefits of modern science. This vision appealed to a wide range of actors, including colonial authorities who wanted to tame the aboriginal population; botanists and medical doctors who strove to cure tropical disease through the advance of botanical science; and major firms like the statesponsored Taiwan Development Company (Taiwan takushoku kabushiki kaisha), which dreamed of exploiting the potential of the island’s tropical environment for industrial agriculture. It also appealed—as discussed in chapter 8—to military officials concerned with Japan’s quinine reserves as its empire expanded into Southeast Asia. The quinine venture had particular importance for Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. After bankruptcy, a massive labor strike, and lingering suspicions of its involvement with global narcotics trafficking, the venture was a way to recover the company’s finances and reputation. Taiwan had been integral to the company’s early success, and it was the locus of the opium-trading scandal that nearly destroyed the company. By returning to Japan’s first formal colony with a plan to produce a medicine that stood for everything opium was not, Hoshi wanted to prove to the public that he and his company remained a humanitarian business that put “Kindness First.” Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was not alone in such a venture. Competing drug firms like Takeda and Shionogi allied with tropical medicine research centers from Tokyo and Kyoto Universities, respectively, to produce similar investments and plans. Like Hoshi, Takeda and Shionogi both imported quinine and cinchona bark from Java. Takeda had two plantations in Taidong and one in Taizhong, which was affiliated with Tokyo University’s Agriculture Department. Shionogi had one plantation in Gaoxiong, which was affiliated with a forestry laboratory from Kyoto University.3 Meanwhile, half a world away, the US pharmaceutical giant Merck began experimenting with cinchona plantations in Guatemala in 1934 with the support of the US Department of Agriculture.4 At a time when pharmaceutical production depended on natural resources for raw materials—in contrast, perhaps, to the chemically produced synthetic derivatives commonly used for pharmaceutical production in the early twenty-first century—Hoshi’s project revealed how the production of even the most widely regarded lifesaving medicine involved the hierarchical subjugation of human life and the domination of territorially bounded spaces. In this sense, Hoshi’s quinine plantations reveal—perhaps better than any other example in this book—how

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

187

the modern drug industry, which has become so enmeshed in what Bruno Latour calls the “black box” of the scientific research laboratory, depended on the machinations of nation-states and their (post)colonial empires.5

The Commodity: Quinine and Enlightened Empire Morphine and quinine are both alkaloids—naturally occurring, nitrogenous organic compounds that have useful physiological effects in humans. Both have been important modern medicines since their discovery and mass production. Unlike quinine, the medicinal benefits of morphine—along with the plant from which it is derived, opium—have long been shadowed by associations with addiction, degeneracy, and black markets. Opium smoking, as discussed in previous chapters, played a major role in Western imperialism in Asia. It was blamed for the fall of the Qing Empire, identified by colonial officials in Taiwan as a major Chinese vice, and served as a cash cow for Japan’s imperial endeavors. Morphine had associations with the dark side of modern life. Quinine, however, had none of these associations. Hoshi’s proposal to grow cinchona in Taiwan grew out of the opium scandal and the financial difficulties it engendered. The company tried to keep its opium trade away from prying eyes and strove to erase any suspected ties to the Japanese Empire’s darker underbelly. By contrast, it actively publicized its involvement in the quinine trade and cinchona plantations. Quinine could be seen as a medicine of enlightened empire—an instrument that would allow Japan to accomplish its civilizing imperial mission. Quinine was the most reliable drug for the prevention and treatment of malaria at the time. Malaria is an infectious disease caused by plasmodia and transmitted by mosquitoes that is endemic to tropical and subtropical regions. It causes fever, headaches, and lethargy, and in severe cases may lead to hallucinations, coma, and death. Malaria was thought of as an environmental disease, associated with murky swampland and caused by breathing in humid or foul-smelling air (the word comes from Italian for bad air, mal’ aria). In the early 1930s, confirmed cases of malaria numbered almost 17.7 million worldwide, but the number of actual cases—according to a 1933 article in the British Medical Journal—was probably “ten times the number treated,” and “no figures were reported from China.”6 Overcoming malaria has overwhelmingly been portrayed in heroic, civilizing terms—a story of (European) man conquering nature in an untamed (colonial) environment. In 1880, Charles Alphonse Laveran (1845–1922), an army doctor in the French colony of Algeria, provided a germ-theory-based explanation for

188

CHAPTER 7

malaria infection by proposing its cause as plasmodia, which he had observed in the blood cells of patients suffering from the disease.7 In 1898, Ronald Ross (1857–1932), a British doctor working in Calcutta, built on the work of Carlos Finlay (1833–1915), a Spanish and Cuban epidemiologist, and Patrick Manson (1844–1922), a Scottish physician practicing in China, to prove that malaria was transmitted by the Anopheles mosquito.8 Laveran and Ross were both awarded Nobel Prizes in medicine for their discoveries, and the story of William C. Gorgas (1854–1920) draining mosquito-infested swamps to save thousands of lives from malaria and yellow fever during the construction of the Panama Canal remains a well-worn tale. The importance of quinine for the prevention and treatment of malaria has been well documented by historians of science and colonialism, most succinctly by Daniel Headrick in The Tools of Empire, where he makes a convincing case that quinine—along with other European technologies such as steamships and railroads—made European colonialism possible.9 Headrick’s thesis has been challenged by scholars for overemphasizing the effectiveness of quinine, for his focus on technological innovation as the primary driving force of imperial expansion (rather than the converse), and for his disregard of local transactions and interactions. But the book nevertheless remains useful for its depiction of quinine in the colonizers’ imaginary. Colonial authorities heavily promoted quinine prophylaxis as part of a daily regimen of life in the tropics, regardless of its limitations.10 The story of malaria and quinine self-sufficiency in Japan follows a similar pattern to European experiences of colonization and tropical disease. Knowledge about malaria in Japan was intertwined with its encounter with Taiwan. Although scholars have found documented cases of outbreaks of malaria in the Japanese archipelago and the Ryu¯kyu¯ Islands dating back to the Edo period, recognition of malaria as a disease endemic to the tropics did not become a major concern for the Japanese government until the 1874 Taiwan Expedition, a punitive expedition against Taiwan aboriginals in retaliation for the murder of fifty-four Ryu¯ku¯an sailors in the 1871 Mudanshe Incident.11 At the time, state medical authorities called malaria “Taiwan fever,” and the threat of this fearsome disease led to antimalarial policies and tropical medicine research, first in Okinawa and later in Taiwan.12 In the words of Michael Shiyung Liu, “For a latecomer to imperialism like Japan, attacking malaria by applying modern medicine was a way to exhibit Japan’s success to the international community.”13 Jesuit monks in Peru first spread word of quinine’s antimalarial properties to Europeans in the seventeenth century. Named for the wife of Spain’s governorgeneral in Peru, the Countess of Chinchon, cinchona bark was imported to Europe in small quantities. In the eighteenth century, doctors began prescribing it as a treatment for malaria. Because cinchona is native to the Andes Mountains,

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

189

it was originally extremely rare and hard to get. But in 1820, two French chemists, Pierre-Joseph Pelletier and Josephe Bienaimé Caventou, became the first to extract quinine from cinchona bark, thereby making mass commercial production of quinine possible.14 Three years later, the German chemist Friedrich Koch (1786–1865) built on Pelletier and Caventou’s work to develop an industrial extraction technique that, to use the words of chemists Klaus Roth and Sabine Streller, “led not only to good yields, but was in fact so effective and economical that, in principle, it is still practiced today.”15 This process involves grinding and milling cinchona bark into a powdery pulp, then mixing with a solution of sodium and hydroxide (caustic soda). After allowing the solution to sit for several days to release the alkaloids, the addition of oil (for example, petroleum or kerosene) as a solvent, which is removed afterward through filtration, helps separate the alkaloids. Finally, the addition of either hydrochloric or sulfuric acid crystallizes the alkaloids into either quinine hydrochloride or quinine sulfate, respectively, after drying. Koch’s procedure proved to be a major financial success, and by the mid-1850s his pharmaceutical factory in the Rhine Valley produced as much as sixty tons of quinine per year, which gave his firm 80 percent of the market share for quinine in Germany at the time.16 The primary problem for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries was obtaining enough cinchona bark from which to extract quinine. In the mid-tolate nineteenth century, British and Dutch botanists and horticulturalists from places like the famed Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew succeeded in secretly collecting seeds from the Andes and planting them in botanical gardens in India and Java. They also, according to Daniel Headrick, perfected techniques like “mossing (cutting strips of bark and wrapping the trees in moss) and coppicing (cutting trees to their stumps or roots every six or seven years)” to increase their quinine content.17 In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, four major species of cinchona trees were cultivated across the world for commercial production: the “pale bark” Cinchona officinalis, the “yellow bark” Cinchona calisaya, the “red bark” Cinchona succirubra, and the hybrid Cinchona calisaya ledgeriana (commonly known as Cinchona ledgeriana or “Commercial Ledger Bark” for its inventor, Charles Ledger), which dominated the Java plantations. C. succirubra was “the hardiest of all the Cinchonas” with a range of 1.5 to 5 percent quinine. The more difficult to grow C. ledgeriana was prized for its high quinine content of 3 to 8 percent.18 C. succirubra and C. ledgeriana were the species of cinchona cultivated in Hoshi’s plantations in Taiwan. In the early twentieth century, government medical authorities distributed quinine, and they commonly administered it as a prophylaxis sulfate of quinine tablets. A 1927 handbook published by the Amsterdam-based Bureau for

190

CHAPTER 7

Increasing the Use of Quinine stated: “Medical officers attach great importance to the free supply of quinine by large companies and industrial concerns to all their employees during the malaria season in the tropics, even if there is no actual epidemic . . . the systematic administration of quinine is a valuable economic measure and may be regarded as an insurance premium which no large undertaking or company in the tropics should omit to pay.”19 To prevent malaria infection, colonial officials in Taiwan integrated quinine prophylaxis into the everyday routines of Japanese settlers, for whom it became, in the words of Michael Shiyung Liu, “barely distinct from ordinary sanitary activity.”20 According to a 1919 handbook titled Nettai seikatsu (Life in the tropics), written by the parasitologist Miyajima Mikinosuke of Tokyo Imperial University, “200–300 milligrams of quinine should be taken after dinner and before bed” as an essential and effective way to prevent malaria.21 The high cost of quinine, however, meant that officials often limited its use. In 1932, for example, one of colonial Taiwan’s leading medical authorities, Takagi Tomoe (1858–1943), described how quinine prophylaxis for all peoples was inefficient and unreasonable. According to him, malaria infection resulted in the annual loss of 150,416 workdays for Japanese settlers and 3,365,896 workdays for Taiwanese. Because quinine prophylaxis for each individual cost 0.3 yen per day, he estimated that the total cost of treatment per year would have been 2,254,893 yen.22 Colonial authorities thus dispensed quinine primarily for Japanese immigrants in urban centers. They prescribed quinine as a preventive measure less frequently for Taiwanese, let alone for aboriginal people, for whom they viewed malaria infection as an accepted part of their everyday lives.23

Quinine Self-Sufficiency and National Security The onset of World War I created a global shortage of quinine. Disruptions in shipping and increasing demand for quinine in the battlefields made world powers aware of the dangers of having global quinine production concentrated in the Dutch East Indies and controlled by a Dutch cartel.24 In the United States, for example, Herbert Hoover, the Director of the Food and Drug Administration during World War I, answered this challenge by issuing a terse telegraph to the US protectorate in the Philippines with two words: “Raise quinine!” After the war, the Kina Bureau formed the Second Quinine Convention between planters and manufacturers to further consolidate its power.25 In the 1920s and 1930s, the Kina Bureau became a common enemy for nations with colonial interests, as quinine self-sufficiency was increasingly seen as necessary for national security. Medical authorities in Britain argued for an “urgent

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

191

need for Government action” to meet the estimated 680 tons of quinine needed to fight malaria in India, fretting that “the consumption of quinine [was] limited by its price, and the populations most crippled by malaria [were] least able to afford the drug.”26 In 1927, the US Department of Justice prosecuted the Kina Bureau under the terms of the Sherman Antitrust Act, and forced a settlement in 1928.27 This led companies like Merck, which was the largest manufacturer of quinine in the United States, and the US Commerce, Agriculture, and State Departments, to experiment with cinchona plantations in places including Costa Rica, Guatemala, and Puerto Rico and in the 1930s and 1940s.28 Meanwhile, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals leaped at the chance to become a leading manufacturer of quinine and other alkaloid drugs. In 1917, Hoshi purchased nine thousand kilograms of cinchona bark from Takeda in order to produce quinine sulfate.29 Four years later, in 1921, the company completed a quinine production facility at its main factory in Tokyo.30 Hoshi’s production methods remained largely the same as Friedrich Koch’s aforementioned procedure. Hoshi first ground up cinchona bark in a large vat before transporting that groundup bark to another vessel for mixing with an extracting solvent. After initially using petroleum oil as the solvent, the company’s scientists discovered that using benzene was 16 percent more efficient. In 1925, Hoshi tried to create a facility for the express purpose of benzene extraction before it had to scupper this investment because of financial difficulties likely related to the opium scandal.31 Hoshi manufactured three preparations of quinine from cinchona bark: quinine sulfate, quinine hydrochloride, and euchinin, which is quinine combined with ethyl chlorocarbonate.32 Quinine also reached consumer markets in Japan and Asia as a popular ingredient in patent medicines and nutritional beverages. Quinine, of course, is the ingredient in tonic water that gives it its bitter taste. (The British military first popularized gin and tonics in the eighteenth century as a way to get soldiers in colonial India to take their daily doses of quinine.) Hoshi Pharmaceuticals included quinine in a number of its patent medicines and remedies, including its Hoshi Ginseng Quinine Wine (Hoshi ninjin budo¯shu)—a dietary beverage that treated a host of ailments including anemia, loss of appetite, and impotence—and its popular stomach and cold medicines.33 Like its worldwide competitors, Hoshi needed to secure stable and cheap sources of quinine, and it, too, looked for ways to work around the Dutch Kina Bureau monopoly. One method was through contracts with plantations outside the purview of the Kina Bureau. Here, the company once again relied on intimate connections to colonial bureaucrats. From October 1917 to October 1918, Matsumoto Mikinosuke, the Japanese consul in Batavia (present-day Jakarta), helped Hoshi Pharmaceuticals negotiate a contract to import cinchona bark from the independent Sadareke Estate in Java.34 By the time this contract ended in 1924,

192

CHAPTER 7

Hoshi had already entered into a five-year agreement with another independent plantation on the Dutch East Indies island of Bintan, which lasted until 1928.35 These efforts to control a supply of cinchona bark out of the purview of the Kina Bureau attracted international criticism. According to a popular history of quinine written by the Yale microbiologist M. L. Duran-Reynals in 1947, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals “wanted to become independent of the Bureau” and “set about to destroy it . . . beginning as early as 1918, agents and salesmen of Hoshi appeared as if by magic everywhere, offering sulphate of quinine below price and praising the infinite wisdom of those who owned their own sources of quinine.”36 From 1919 to 1931, Hoshi imported roughly six million tons of cinchona bark over a thirteen-year period, and its surplus after domestic sales allowed Hoshi to become a global supplier of cinchona bark, with government contracts from Bulgaria, Greece, and Italy, in addition to purchasers in London and New York.37 Hoshi also tried to avoid the Kina Bureau by simply growing cinchona on its own plantations—an idea it had borrowed from Japanese state scientists. Like other colonizing nations such as Britain, the Netherlands, and the United States, Japan had recognized the importance of quinine self-sufficiency and had tried to cultivate its raw material.38 In the 1880s, the Ministry of Agriculture dispatched the botanist Tashiro Yasusada (1856–1928) to India and Java to investigate the mechanics of cinchona cultivation. From 1882 to 1885, Tashiro led unsuccessful ¯ shima, Yaeyama, and Miyakojima. cinchona cultivation trials on the islands of O From 1902 to 1910, while employed by the Taiwan Government-General, Tashiro continued to carry out experiments in cinchona cultivation at the Hengchun Tropical Botanical Garden, which he had founded, as well as at the Shinjuku Imperial Botanical Garden.39 From 1911 to 1921, the director of the Taiwan Government-General Museum, Kawakami Takiya (1871–1915), and the botanist Kanehira Ryo¯zo¯ (1882–1948) attempted to cultivate cinchona in mountainous places like Taoyuan, Jiaoban, and Alishan, but again without success.40 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ first plantation, however, was not in Taiwan but half a world away in Peru. Beginning in late 1917, Hoshi purchased tracts of land in the upper regions of the Andes Mountains of Peru. First, the company purchased a five-square-kilometer parcel of land called the Pampayacu property, located at the junction the Tulumayo and Huallaga Rivers, two Amazon River tributaries.41 The following year, it purchased an additional three hundred thousand hectares of land adjacent to Pampayacu known as the Tulamayo property.42 Company newspaper articles advertised Tulumayo as an “ideal place for medicinal herbs,” in which Hoshi was enlisted in a “war over raw materials” (genryo¯ no senso¯) in the service of the nation.43 Hoshi declared that he wanted to create a self-sufficient

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

193

enterprise in the Peruvian mountains for medicinal plants like cinchona and coca as well as other plant-based resources including rubber, bananas, and coffee. Although the Peruvian Andes may seem an unlikely location, it offered a number of advantages for the company. Most important, perhaps, were its infrastructure and the accrued experience and expertise of the plantations’ laborers in the cocaine industry. The company did not purchase pristine land, but land that, in the words of Paul Gootenberg, was a “key site in cocaine history . . . a source of crude cocaine, cinchona, and also of knowledge about this business.”44 In subsequent years, the company transferred tools and knowledge as well as seeds, saplings, and other organic material from its holdings in Peru to its plantations in Taiwan.45 Indeed, the most lucrative natural resource in Peru was not the Peruvian bark. This, perhaps, was also the case for Hoshi in Taiwan. In September 1918, Hoshi had quietly purchased a 1.64-square-kilometer coca plantation in the village of Zhongpu in the Jiayi (Kagi) District of Tainan.46 In the 1920s, critics grew suspicious of Hoshi’s coca and cocaine production (as they did of its opium and morphine-based medicines), and questioned, in particular, Hoshi’s relationship to a seeming Japanese-government drug cartel and whether the company diverted some of its licitly produced cocaine for the illicit black market. Hoshi’s rivals, such as Sankyo¯, Takeda, and Shionogi, also manufactured cocaine and aroused similar suspicions.47 The Peruvian Andes was also a location where the Japanese government had already established a strong foothold and commanded a large population of laborers. Latin America had been a major site of Japanese mass immigration since the late nineteenth century. In Latin America, as in Hawai‘i, Southeast Asia, and the western United States, state-sponsored emigration companies—linked to sugar cane, pineapple, or other types of plantations—recruited impoverished people from the countryside for cheap labor.48 One of the most important of these state-sponsored companies was Kaigai ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha (known locally as the “KKKK”), which funded emigration as well as the economic expansion of Japanese businesses abroad. Indeed, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals purchased its properties in Peru through the mediation—and recommendation—of a former KKKK official, Saito¯ Chiyuki, who then headed the company’s efforts along with an associate named Sawada Masaho.49 According to an apocryphal story, Hoshi Hajime trusted his associates in Peru so much that he green-lighted the purchase sight-unseen and remarked, “If there’s a river, running water, and trees to cultivate, why not buy it?”50 Part of the appeal was the Japanese immigrant population in the immediate area, which the company estimated as numbering twenty thousand.51

194

CHAPTER 7

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ attempt to grow cinchona in Taiwan formally began in 1922. At this time, Hoshi imported cinchona seeds and saplings from Java to experiment with growing quinine in two nurseries in Taiwan: one in the village of Laishe (Raisha) in Gaoxiong Prefecture in the southwest, and the other in the village of Zhiben (Shihon) in Taidong Province in the southeast. Both would become the basis for Hoshi’s quinine project in the 1930s and 1940s.52 The director of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ experiments was none other than Tashiro Yasusada, whom the company hired for his early experience and expertise. But in 1926, Hoshi abruptly shelved these initial experiments to grow cinchona in Peru and Taiwan when his company fell into bankruptcy after the opium-trading scandal in 1925. In the same year, Hoshi gave up its fight against the Kina Bureau and became a signatory of the Quinine Convention.53 And in July 1926, the company abruptly released Tashiro from his contract, and shelved its cinchona plantation in the wake of the opium scandal; Tashiro passed away in 1929.54 In the early 1930s, however, Hoshi received a reprieve from the Ministry of Home Affairs. This was a time of economic crisis and political upheaval; rampant unemployment and inflation caused by the global depression were crippling the Japanese economy at home while Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations in the aftermath of the colonization of Manchuria in 1932 ended a brief era of diplomatic internationalism for Japan. Like Hoshi, the Japanese pharmaceutical industry was sputtering, and imported medicines from Europe were once again dominating Japan’s domestic market. In response to these crises, the Home Ministry began providing subsidies and incentives to promote the research and manufacture of vital drugs like aspirin and the antiepileptic phenobarbital. In many ways, this was a repetition of the emergency drug self-sufficiency policy enacted during World War I.55 Quinine was a major part of this policy. In 1933, military doctors, bureaucrats from the Ministry of Home Affairs, and scientists from the Taiwan GovernmentGeneral visited the locations of Hoshi’s earlier cinchona venture in Taiwan. In that same year, Hoshi Hajime made an inspection of the locations himself and began meeting with government-general authorities to revive his cinchona plantations, thereby setting the stage for the roundtable discussion in April 1934 (see fig 7.1).56 For Hoshi Hajime, financial gain in this venture might have been less important than rescuing his company’s reputation. In a global climate where the rhetoric of self-sufficiency (jikyu¯ jisoku) permeated global interactions, Hoshi’s plan to cultivate cinchona in Taiwan would help distance himself and his company from the taint of its opium scandal. Cinchona cultivation would allow Hoshi to demonstrate that the interests of his business were the interests of the nation.

FIGURE 7.1. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no Taiwan banchi ni okeru kina saibai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho ¯, March 18, 1933.

196

CHAPTER 7

But considering the cost and scale of the project, the risks were enormous, even though the state, as ever, would help manage and mitigate those risks. It was an unlikely course of action for a company that had been so close to financial collapse (and it was even more unlikely that any creditor other than the Japanese government would provide funding to a company recovering from bankruptcy like Hoshi). The project, however, made symbolic sense because quinine was not just any drug. By centering his project on the medicine par excellence of civilizing missions across the globe, Hoshi wanted to prove once again that his company embodied humanitarian and nation-building motives; appeals to leading scientific experts helped to legitimate his plans and to bolster his reputation. If quinine could be produced through humane management of aboriginals that clearly reflected his company’s principle of “Kindness First,” then even better.

The Authority of Science and the Productivity of Mountain Lands Hoshi’s 1934 proposal appealed to the authority of science. Brimming with the language of enlightenment, it portrayed science as an instrument for overcoming the limits of nature and the imperfections in the body and mind. But Hoshi’s proposed plantations faced two major obstacles—the harsh, infertile climate of Taiwan’s mountain regions and the dangers of the aboriginal population who lived there. In order to sell his venture, Hoshi invoked underpinnings of scientific rationality to assert how his project would prevail. Hoshi relied on his connections to scientific experts to demonstrate how his plan would work. One such figure was Horiuchi Tsuguo—at the time, the principal of Taiwan Medical School and director of the Hygiene Division of the Central Research Institute—who spoke about the medical importance of quinine selfsufficiency as well as the feasibility of growing cinchona in Taiwan. The other was Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, a botanist from Taihoku (Taipei) Imperial University who explicitly linked Hoshi’s grand vision with the future of Japanese agriculture through what he called, in a number of academic journals and colonial publications in the 1930s and 1940s, the “Formosa highland utilization movement.”57 Together, these experts not only testified to the scientific possibility of growing cinchona in Taiwan and the importance of this project for the future of Japan’s empire but also validated Hoshi’s expertise in cinchona and quinine. Horiuchi was a leading figure in the establishment of Western medicine in Taiwan, having served as a military doctor fighting tropical diseases such as cholera, malaria, and dysentery during the early years of Japan’s colonization of Taiwan at

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

197

the turn of the twentieth century, and as director of the Taihoku Red Cross Hospital in the 1930s. Horiuchi is the main protagonist of Oda Toshio’s hagiographic account of Japanese colonial medicine in Taiwan, Taiwan igaku 50-nen (Fifty years of medicine in Taiwan). In his account, Oda portrays Horiuchi, along with his colleague Takagi Tomoe as heroes whose research in tropical medicine, work in public sanitation, and leadership of Taiwanese medical education set the stage for Taiwan’s medical system and allowed the continued close-knit ties between Japanese and Taiwanese doctors (and, by extension, what he views as the affinity that Taiwanese have for Japan and its people).58 In the 1934 roundtable discussion, Horiuchi Tsuguo followed Hoshi’s introduction by speaking about the dangers of the Dutch monopoly over quinine production and the importance of quinine self-sufficiency for Taiwan. Horiuchi declared that Japan was lucky that the Netherlands had been an ally in World War I, but that if it became an enemy country and Japan were unable to import cinchona bark and quinine from Java, then “Taiwan would have the most problems.” Horiuchi expressed his gratitude to Hoshi for his past actions in helping Taiwan through its “difficulties”—specifically his securing of cinchona bark from Java and his research accomplishments in extracting quinine—and declared that he would be willing to help in any way.59 Horiuchi then discussed his involvement in Japan’s various attempts to grow cinchona in Taiwan to lend credence to the scientific feasibility of the Hoshi project, and he commended the company’s previous experience and expertise. In 1916, Horiuchi was a member of an expedition to Java to examine the potential for growing cinchona in Taiwan, because he feared the government would be unprepared for a malaria outbreak. What he discovered was that cinchona was a finicky species that was extremely difficult to grow in Taiwan. Among other logistical problems, such as pests, heavy rainfall, damaging winds, and landslides that are a hallmark of Taiwan’s tropical climate and typhoon-prone location, cinchona has to be grown in a year-round temperate climate between forty-five and sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Such conditions existed in mountain regions close to the equator, and there was no place better, Horiuchi claimed, than “in Java, in Bandung and its vicinity.”60 Based on his 1916 expedition to Java and the record of the failed experiments in Taiwan, Horiuchi had become resigned to thinking that cinchona would not grow in the latter place. But in 1921, he heard that Tashiro Yasusada was able to start cultivating cinchona in the mountains in southern Taiwan, and exclaimed, “Ah, so it could be done!”61 At this time, Tashiro was employed by Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, and according to Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, Hoshi’s previous success in growing cinchona was because of Tashiro’s advanced, “cutting-edge” investigations. “There is no such thing as science without experience,” declared Hoshi in the

198

CHAPTER 7

1934 roundtable, boasting about the importance of empirical experimentation and his company’s initial efforts, led by Tashiro, to grow cinchona in Taiwan.62 While Horiuchi buttressed Hoshi’s arguments for quinine self-sufficiency and the practicality of growing cinchona, Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯ connected the cinchona cultivation proposal in Taiwan with the agricultural future of the Japanese empire. To Tanaka, cinchona cultivation was part of a larger vision to open up the mountain regions of Taiwan to agriculture. Although he claimed he was a “complete amateur” with regard to cinchona bark, the famed botanist from Taihoku Imperial University had extensive knowledge of edible plants, especially of citrus fruits.63 Central to Tanaka’s argument was the presence in Taiwan of the citrus tachibana, a plant native to western Japan. According to Tanaka, places that grew tachibana were ideal for agriculture, and in Taiwan they only existed at high elevations. Places with the most tachibana plants were at elevations between 1,000 and 1,200 meters in Kaoshiung and Taidong—the locations of Hoshi’s cinchona plantations, with roughly the same temperatures as the regions of Chu¯goku, Shikoku, and Kyu¯shu¯ in western Japan. Therefore, Tanaka argued, if fruit trees like “citruses, pears, persimmons, and loquats” could be planted as they were in those regions in Japan, then the nation could “at the very least have an industry worth a million yen per year.”64 On August 26, 1935, Tanaka expanded on his arguments in another conference with Hoshi Hajime, where he presented his theory for highland utilization as the basis for developing Taiwan’s mountain regions. Tanaka argued that the more temperate, subtropical climate of Taiwan’s highlands was “Taiwan’s California,” where an array of plants could be cultivated—including citrus trees, tobacco, and Assam tea, as well as those intended for medicinal purposes, such as coca leaves—in an entirely self-sustaining environment. Along with the raising of cows and sheep, this was what Tanaka called “three-dimensional” agriculture (rittai no¯gyo¯): the cultivation of trees, herbs, and livestock. Tying his project to the geopolitical situation of the times, Tanaka added: “Tachibana is a plant with a very close association to our nation’s myths and history; written about in the Kojiki, it’s a plant that has been greatly admired and is in harmony with our people.”65 To Tanaka, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ cinchona project provided the key to agricultural self-sufficiency for Japan’s colony of Taiwan.

Science, Education, and the Aboriginal Problem After addressing environmental obstacles, Hoshi turned his attention to human problems. The linchpin of his cinchona cultivation scheme was his proposal to solve Taiwan’s “aboriginal problem” (banjin mondai), which involved dealing

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

199

with the aboriginals through his vision of peaceful “cooperation” (kyo¯ryoku). The land Hoshi needed was not a blank canvas, but the home of aboriginal tribes that had a tenuous relationship to the island’s colonizers. From the sixteenthcentury arrival of Portuguese traders (the first Europeans to visit Taiwan) to the late nineteenth-century Qing Dynasty policy of “opening up the mountains and taming the savages” (kaishan fufan), aboriginal management was a primary concern of settlers in Taiwan. Could the aboriginals be civilized and taught the ways of modern life? Or were they beyond hope, and would it be better to subdue them through military means? And what implications did barbarian policy on the frontier have for the self-regarding civilized center? Japanese colonizers dealt with similar questions.66 After the 1895 Treaty of Shimonoseki, when Qing China ceded Taiwan to Japan, there were, on the one hand, ethnographic movements led by scholars such as Ino¯ Kanori (1867–1925) to study and classify the aboriginals with an aim toward assimilation; on the other hand, there were several military campaigns against aboriginal tribes during the first twenty years of colonial rule.67 Aboriginal management was enmeshed with the interests of the Japanese camphor industry, which needed access to the camphor forests in the mountains.68 By the 1930s, the colonial state governed the Taiwanese highlands as a special administrative zone where, in the words of Paul Barclay, “the state proceeded to inventory, catalog, regulate, regiment, spatially array, and even nurture indigenous populations in order to extract wealth from the highlands.”69 In this sense, Hoshi’s proposal was the latest successor in a long history of interconnections between business interests and government concerns over how to best exploit the native population without setting off a rebellion. In the 1934 roundtable, Yoshida Tokuji of the Aboriginal Affairs Office of the Police Bureau in Taiwan raised the primary dissenting voice against Hoshi’s cinchona cultivation scheme. Often the only government figures in remote aboriginal villages, police officers had a number of responsibilities in addition to maintaining law and order; they managed trading posts, served as schoolteachers, provided healthcare, and directed the building of roads and the farming of fields.70 Based on his experience, Yoshida viewed the aboriginals as inflexible and backward, and provided a number of reasons why Hoshi Pharmaceuticals would face difficulties in carrying out its plan. To begin with, the power of tribal leaders meant that in reality, aboriginals answered to two governments. Yoshida described the arrangement as the “two-layer government of the aboriginal world” (bankai no niju¯ seiji), one layer determined by the rule of law and the other by the absolute rule of tribal leaders.71 Yoshida argued that the aboriginals could not be taught, and his prime example was the 1930 Musha Incident, when aboriginals from the Atayal tribe attacked an athletic contest at an elementary school near the town of

200

CHAPTER 7

Puli and killed 134 Japanese nationals.72 In the words of Leo Ching, this was the “surprise of all surprises” because “the perpetrators were from what the colonial officials had praised as the most ‘enlightened and compliant’ of all aboriginal territories, which had relatively higher living and education standards.”73 Indeed, according to Yoshida, the young men educated through the school system were the “intelligentsia,” but, “under Mona-rudao’s [the tribal chief ’s] single order,” they grasped their weapons and struck. In addition, Yoshida explained that even if aboriginals worked as paid laborers, they would drink away their wages because they had a “poor understanding of economics.”74 Hoshi, however, was undeterred. Rather than use the stick, Hoshi argued it was much better to provide the carrot, and to cooperate with the aboriginals for mutual benefit. The violence against the Japanese government, he argued, did not result from the intractability of the native population, but from a lack of food and a low standard of living.75 Hoshi argued that the key to raising the low standard of living was education, which Japanese specialists like himself, Horiuchi Tsuguo, and Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯ would provide. Once again, Hoshi relied on Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯’s expertise for the scientific foundations of the plan. To natural scientists like Tanaka, the aboriginal problem was not about maintaining order and preventing violent rebellion, but about how finding a way for aboriginals live sustainably in the mountains without “causing the destruction of their land.”76 Tanaka argued that even though the aboriginals had been forced into the mountains, they continued to practice agriculture more suitable to level ground; they “burned untouched forests, ploughed fields, and grew crops like chestnuts, sweet potatoes, and peanuts” that left mountains bare and resulted in dangerous landslides.77 Tanaka’s answer was to find suitable and sustainable staple foods such as walnuts (kurumi) and other nuts like pecans and pistachios that could be harvested without cutting down forests.78 Educating aboriginals in the methods of sustainable agriculture, rather than slash-and-burn methods, was the centerpiece of the plantation. To promote regular school attendance, Hoshi’s plantation managers encouraged mothers to bring their children each morning to school, where they could obtain daily rations for their families.79 In a related 1935 conference on aboriginal management in eastern Taiwan, Hoshi describes these schools as “settler schools” (kaitaku gakko¯) whose purpose was to educate aboriginals in productive methods of agriculture; he called the plantations “cooperative areas” (kyo¯ryokuchi) where Japanese (naichijin), Chinese Taiwanese (honto¯jin), and aboriginals (banjin) would work together in harmony for their common benefit.80 Echoing Goto¯ Shinpei’s policy of “military preparation in civilian clothing” (bunso¯teki bubi), Hoshi’s goal was to foster a “business army” (sangyo¯ guntai), which, he argued, was just as important as a regular army for the protection of national interests.81 “Japan,” Hoshi

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

201

claimed, “was a nation based on the principle of cooperation, and the Japanese were people were willing to cooperate with anyone, irrespective of race, towards progress.”82 Hoshi’s grand vision was not new, he said, but based on the example of Indian reservations in the United States. In the roundtable discussion, Hoshi recalled how in 1897, while he was the editor and publisher of his newspaper, Japan and America, he accompanied Goto¯ Shinpei on a tour around the United States. At the time, one of Goto¯’s purposes for visiting the United States was to examine the US policy toward Indians. According to Hoshi, they inspected several reservations in the Rocky Mountains, which “left them satisfied and impressed.” To Hoshi, American Indian reservations provided the best model for protecting and nurturing the lives of aboriginal peoples in Taiwan. Hoshi also added that he had previous experience with such projects, that he had succeeded in establishing schools to educate aboriginals at his plantations in the Andes.83 An October 1, 1919, article in the company newspaper mentioned an elementary school taught by one of Hoshi’s leading managers in Peru, Sawada Masaho. The school had nineteen students, tuition was “free to win over the natives [roha de dojin o tenazukeru] by accommodating their children,” and written on the blackboard were the words “Escuela de Pampayacu, el unico colegio en la montaña” (School of Pampayacu, the only school in the mountain).84 Hoshi Hajime’s proposal to educate and improve the standard of living of aboriginals was also inspired by Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ experience training its franchise retailers (see chapter 4). The company held assemblies at its affiliated business school that brought together managers for daylong regional seminars to exchange ideas on how to improve sales.85 It also hosted regular training sessions for managers throughout the country near Hoshi’s factory in Tokyo, where they were housed in dormitories, fed, and exposed to such guiding principles of the company as “Kindness First” at lectures on subjects like individual self-improvement, etiquette, hard work, and efficiency.86 In addition, one of the business school’s textbooks was titled Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei (Principle laws of scientific management). It emphasized efficiency and hard work as well as close-knit collaboration between storeowner and clerk to achieve a common goal.87 “Scientific” (kagakuteki) and “rational” (go¯riteki) were catch phrases of the time that permeated the corporate culture of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. The company newspaper, distributed to all managers, was filled with articles like “The Power of Science and the Power of People”;88 “The World Is Already in the Era of Scientific Management”;89 “Scientific Drug Industry Management”;90 and “Our Rational Activities.”91 In the preface of the textbook, Hoshi wrote that “scientific management” was originally the idea of a US engineer, but had been “modified and improved by many people,” and this textbook overlapped with

202

CHAPTER 7

this engineer’s ideas because Hoshi had taken them as his starting point.92 The engineer was Frederick Taylor, although Hoshi did not mention him by name. In his classic 1911 work The Principles of Scientific Management, Taylor argued for applying scientific principles to study, select, train, and develop all employees to ensure that they produce at their optimum capacity without wasted motion. He argued for providing extra incentives to the most productive workers, for teaching and improving the workingman as both beneficial and a moral duty, and for the importance of cooperation between management and labor: “In place of the suspicious watchfulness and the more or less open warfare which characterizes the ordinary types of management, there is universally friendly cooperation between the management and the men.”93 “Open warfare” by labor was a neverending threat to management—this was the time of muckrakers like Upton Sinclair, and memories of the major Homestead and Pullman Strikes were fresh in the minds of managers. Thus, Taylor’s key selling point was: “One of the marked advantages of scientific management lies in its freedom from strikes.”94 If one were to substitute “rebellions” for “strikes,” Taylor’s language could easily apply to Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ ideas for managing aboriginal tribes in Taiwan. The language of enlightened aboriginal policy was the same as the language of a business culture infused with the principles of scientific management. As Judith Merkle writes in her analysis of scientific management: The core of Taylorism was clearly an explicit call for reconciliation between capital and labor, on the neutral ground of science and rationality . . . power in the production process was to be transferred to the hands of those custodians who knew more about the system, and what was really good for it, through the aid of their scientific insight. In short, power would be in the hands of Taylor, the scientific managers, and the category of well-intentioned, rational, public-spirited, virtuous, middleclass technicians that they represented. This power was the essential condition for the imposition of their world-view upon the production situation.95 This equivalence between aboriginal and laborer did not travel in only one direction. At the September 1928 Convention of the Federation of Manufacturers and Distributors, for example, Hoshi declared, “In times of extreme competition, manufacturers and distributor needed action; otherwise they would inevitably die out . . . like raw aboriginals [seiban] waiting to be cured when sick.” Hoshi called the arrangements between the company and manufacturers “cooperative villages” (kyo¯ryoku mura). For Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, cooperation had many contexts and inflections, but all worked to benefit its bottom line.96

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

203

The capitalist mode of production works hand in hand with hierarchical forms of domination, whether traditional, modern, Japanese, or otherwise.

The Problems of Plantation Management Hoshi’s 1934 roundtable discussion was a performance for public consumption. After newspapers such as the Yomiuri shinbun publicized his project in the early spring of 1934, Hoshi invited a reporter from the major Japanese daily in Taiwan, the Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, as one of the roundtable’s principal attendees.97 This led to a series of reports in this newspaper.98 A 1934 press release in the American Chemical Society’s Chemical and Engineering News echoed Hoshi’s presentation: “Japanese officials have drafted Mr. Hoshi, who is experienced in the manufacture of quinine, to take charge of this enterprise, which is designed to break the monopoly so far enjoyed by the Dutch. . . . But it is to the following feature we wish to call attention. Mr. Hoshi proposes to promote the material development of Formosa head hunters and intends to give them ‘stability of living, peace of mind, and hope.’”99 Hoshi also published an edited transcript of the roundtable discussion. According to him, it was so popular that he printed additional editions and published a sequel that detailed further conversations he had with government leaders and scientists about his proposed cinchona plantation.100 The new-books section of the September 1934 issue of the colonial government–sponsored magazine Gekkan “Taiwan” (Taiwan monthly) described the transcript as having “a lot of useful points for anyone with or without an interest in the subject, even at a cursory glance.”101 After finding out about Hoshi’s change of fortune, Arakawa Teizo¯ of Taiwan’s Opium Monopoly Bureau quipped: “Isn’t life funny? From now on, Hoshi the king of debt becomes the king of cinchona. Taiwan’s central mountain ranges will all become cinchona forests. Hoshi will provide fifteen thousand Takasago aboriginals with work. Aboriginal affairs and Hoshi’s cinchona business will merge. This will definitely happen. A great failure is the precondition to great happiness.”102 The early years of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ cinchona adventure in Taiwan seemed to proceed according to plan. The Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ reported in March 1935 that Hoshi had secured 1 million yen of funding for the venture from Hosken Trading, Inc. The following September, Hoshi registered a separate holding company to oversee the project, Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, with a capital of 1.25 million yen.103 According to the colonial journal Riban no tomo, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had sponsored the third part of an exhibit on the

204

CHAPTER 7

history and future of aboriginal life at the Fortieth Anniversary Taiwan Exhibition, which discussed how cinchona cultivation in the village of Laishe had begun to demonstrate how even in the desolate mountains, “there [was] potential for [industrial agricultural] development if crops suitable to the land [were] chosen, even in aboriginal areas that [had] little value to industry.”104 Despite the early publicity, the initial promise of Hoshi’s cinchona project proved short-lived. In 1938, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals entered into a joint venture with Taiwan Development Company to create a separate entity, the Hoshi Quinine Industry Company (Hoshi kina sangyo¯ kabushiki kaisha). According to its annual report, in 1940, Taiwan Development Company came to the rescue of Hoshi and invested 250,000 yen after concerns that Hoshi might have to abandon the project due to financial difficulties.105 Some of the problems undoubtedly stemmed from the financial troubles that Hoshi Pharmaceuticals as a whole faced during this time, which were discussed in previous chapters. But perhaps a more important reason why the cinchona cultivation project stumbled was the mundane, day-to-day problems that it faced. First of all, the climate was a major obstacle, especially during typhoon season, when high temperatures and gusts of wind and rain damaged both crops and local infrastructure. Tropical weather also contributed to infestations of pests, such as the “tea mosquito,” Helopeltis antonii, which damaged the growth of cinchona trees by infecting their leaves.106 Despite the seeming similarities in climate between Hoshi’s plantations in Taiwan and those in Java, there were some important differences. Compared with Bandung, which had an average high of 22.0 Celsius year round, the plantations in Zhiben and Laishe not only had lower average annual temperatures of 19.4 and 19.2 Celsius, respectively, but also more temperature variation. In Zhiben, the average high in the summer was 23.6 Celsius, and the average low in the winter was 17.0 Celsius. In Laishe, the average high in the summer was 23.9 Celsius, and the average low in the winter was 16.3 Celsius.107 Rainfall in these locations also dramatically varied. Zhiben averaged between 2,000 and 3,000 millimeters of precipitation per year, whereas Laishe averaged between 5,000 and 6,000 millimeters of precipitation. For both locations, the highest rainfall occurred during the summer typhoon season (May to September), which accounted for well over half of a year’s rainfall.108 In contrast, Bandung averaged roughly 1,900 millimeters of rain, with the heaviest rainfall from November to April.109 The problematic climate had two direct effects on the production of cinchona. First, it greatly influenced which species of cinchona would prosper. As previously mentioned, the two species of cinchona cultivated in Hoshi’s plantations were Cinchona ledgeriana and Cinchona succirubra, with the former dominating production in Java because of its higher quinine content. The latter was prized

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

205

in the harsher conditions of Taiwan because of its relative durability and ease of growth. In a field report based on an August 1941 visit to the cinchona plantations in Taiwan, Miyamoto Sadaichi, a managing director of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals at the time, advocated stopping the planting ledgeriana seeds and planting only succirubra seeds going forward.110 Second, the problematic climate exacerbated labor problems. Wind and water damage created labor shortages, which slowed cinchona production. After a major storm or typhoon, the company diverted nearly all available labor power to repairing roads. Miyamoto lamented: “Although it seemed like there were enough hands [during these times], in reality, there were not.”111 Cinchona cultivation was already very labor intensive, especially during the dry season when tasks included removing weeds, harvesting, and clearing land, in addition to peeling and drying of the cinchona bark.112 In its Zhiben plantation, which was located in the sparsely populated region of Taidong, Hoshi had trouble not just finding enough laborers for its plantations but also motivating them to work. The centerpiece of Hoshi’s proposal had been to kill two birds with one stone by employing aboriginal laborers as a solution to Taiwan’s aboriginal problem. According to the company’s original proposal, it would provide food, education, and other material benefits to induce laborers to work. Hoshi would set a typical male worker’s daily wage at twelve sen plus approximately one liter of rice, a hundred grams of salt, twenty grams of sugar, and one salted sardine. A married worker would receive an additional seven sen for his wife along with an additional ration of food, and if he had children he would receive five or six sen and an additional food allocation for each child. Every tenth day, each worker would also receive half a liter of sake. The typical worker would live in dormitories on the plantation and would have access to healthcare and education for his family. Hoshi would coordinate all matters concerning compensation with the Aboriginal Affairs Office.113 Nevertheless, in practice, labor problems recurred not only for Hoshi’s plantations but also for other companies that maintained plantations for growing crops like cocoa and coffee or refineries for charcoal and cement.114 In his 1941 field report, Miyamoto lamented that the few “native aboriginals” (dochaku banjin) at the Zhiben plantation in eastern Taiwan were unwilling to work because they seemed to have “no desire for money” (kinsen yoku naku) and “sufficient land for living.”115 The situation was so bad that the plantation had to import aboriginal laborers from western Taiwan, including ethnically Chinese Taiwanese (honto¯jin) who worked for higher wages (one yen and thirty sen a day compared to ninety sen a day for aboriginals) and, who, according to Miyamoto, were “mostly a lazy bunch of people who had no work ethic and squander their money in the west.”116 Miyamoto also reported that the plantation employed women and children at

206

CHAPTER 7

wages roughly 80 percent and 50 percent those of the men, respectively.117 But he notably did not make any mention of aboriginal education, food provisions, or any other material benefits in lieu of monetary compensation mentioned in the company’s original proposal. The problem with Zhiben, in other words, was that aboriginals were simply too well off to have to work. To alleviate the labor problem in Zhiben, Miyamoto recommended importing indentured laborers (ku¯rı¯ in Japanese or kuli in Chinese, the origin of the pejorative term “coolie”) from the more populated western part of Taiwan.118 Hoshi, along with other companies in the area, brought in indentured laborers to work for ten days at a time, at roughly 110 sen for the entire time period.119 From December 1941 to October 1942, the number of Taiwanese employed at Zhiben decreased from 132 to 78, whereas the number of aboriginal workers increased from 12 in December 1941 to 62 in April 1942.120 Companies recruited indentured laborers by applying to the local “aboriginal affairs station” (banchi kankatsu chu¯zaisho). One report stated that because demand for labor was so high, it was “customary to give gifts [shinmotsu] like money and liquor to police officers to facilitate transactions,” and added “whichever way you look at it, obtaining labor was an underhanded process [uramen ko¯saku].”121 Similarly, whichever way one looked, Hoshi’s cinchona plantations proved to be far cry from its portrayal as a paternalistic paradise of corporate cooperativism and racial harmony. This is not surprising, given that the Japanese state did not treat aboriginals as Japanese citizens or even as colonial subjects who could possibly become Japanese. To use the words of Paul Barclay, the colonial state “did not produce individuals in Taiwan’s indigenous territories. Rather, it produced tribes, settlements, ethnic groups, and the aborigines. Collective punishment, ad hoc justice, forced relocation, fixed prices at trading posts, poorly compensated corvée labor, and nonrecognition of ownership rights in forest lands were the lot of those who lived under special administration in colonial Taiwan.”122 In the words of the anthropologist Anna Tsing, “Capitalism, science, and politics all depend on global connections. Each spreads through aspirations to fulfill universal dreams and schemes. Yet this is a particular kind of universality: it can only be charged and enacted in the sticky materiality of practical encounters.”123 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ cinchona cultivation project embodied visions of selfsufficiency, agricultural development, and cooperative social and business relationships across borders and races. The project flattened differences of all sorts in favor of perceived universal similarities. Scientists legitimated the project based on the similarities of Taiwan’s mountains to those in Java and Peru as well as Taiwan’s climactic comparability to the Japanese islands of Shikoku and Kyu¯shu¯, and even to California. Major inspirations for Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ aboriginal policy were Native American reservations in the United States as well as Hoshi’s

SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

207

own distribution network, which, as previously noted, was heavily influenced by US franchising practices. Advances in botany and scientific management would, in theory, apply equally well to Taiwan as to other regions across the globe. The problem was that despite similarities in climate and topography to Bandung in Java, the cinchona plantations in Taiwan’s mountainous regions had their own sticky materialities, composed of different soil compositions, topographies, and social environments in which practical encounters had to occur. The research laboratory of the early twentieth century pharmaceutical industry did not remain cordoned off behind sanitized steel-and-glass doors. In this sense, Hoshi’s cinchona project reflected pharmaceutical production as it developed in the early twentieth century. Cinchona cultivation, like growing opium poppies or other natural resources with medicinal benefits, was a mammoth endeavor that required maintaining large tracts of territory and a steady supply of capital and cheap labor. Vast infrastructure networks needed to be protected, and research laboratories needed to be supported.124 Like the drug industry itself, it was a border-crossing project that required heavy state subsidy or investment. The project’s early germination (pun intended) shows how drug companies like Hoshi not only produced so-called lifesaving medicines for the state but also helped discipline state subjects and differentiate among them. Plantations in Taiwan faced an abundance of labor troubles, and perhaps the key problem was that aboriginal laborers were not desperate enough to work for wages. The capitalist mode of production, in other words, might simply have been too foreign to them. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had tried to cultivate goodwill with Taiwan’s aboriginals through the provision of basic necessities, and it tried to civilize them through education. Most of all, it strove to make aboriginal workers efficient and productive, just as it had attempted to do with its factory laborers and franchise retailers. Although Hoshi claimed to civilize the aboriginals, its efforts simply reinscribed existing inequalities within Japanese colonial discourse and policy. Aboriginals could die in the name of the emperor, but they were not afforded the same economic and legal rights as Japanese or even other Taiwanese. Hoshi relied on aboriginal labor for the production of quinine, but aboriginals were the last in line to receive quinine to prevent malaria, due to the high cost of such treatments. No matter how hard they worked on Hoshi’s plantations, aboriginals largely lacked the ability to purchase medicines to participate in the so-called democratizing culture of self-medication. For Hoshi, the determining factor for becoming a modern citizen, after all, was the monetary value of the medicine one consumed.

8 WAR AND DRUGS

In the 1930s, Japan seemingly transformed from a cosmopolitan nation on the brink of liberal democracy to a fascist nation bent on conquering Asia and overcoming the West. In 1931, the Kwangtung Army invaded Manchuria under false pretenses and established the puppet state of Manchukuo, a nominally independent, Pan-Asianist republic. In 1932, right-wing naval officers assassinated Prime Minister Inukai Tsuyoshi (1855–1932). On February 26, 1936, another group of far-right army officers occupied government offices in central Tokyo in an attempted coup d’état in the name of the emperor and against the excesses of capitalism and democracy, which they viewed as foreign contaminants. Although the coup failed, it reflected the growing power of right-wing military officials and their efforts to suppress civil rights against a state and economy mobilized for total war. On July 7, 1937, the exchange of fire between Chinese and Japanese forces near Beijing’s Marco Polo Bridge marked the formal beginning of World War II in Asia. Scholars have provided a number of reasons for Japan’s fascist turn. Some, such as Maruyama Masao, have tried to protect the sanctity of liberal democracy through claims that Japan’s incomplete prewar modernity made it ripe for fascism.1 Others, like the Marxist Tosaka Jun, have squarely placed the blame on liberal democracy for its complicity with fascism because of its failure to resolve capitalism’s contradictions.2 And many argue over broad or constrictive definitions of fascism and their applicability to the Japanese case.3 From the perspective of biopolitics (how nation-states regulate their subjects’ bodies to harness human 208

WAR AND DRUGS

209

power in the aggregate), however, the free-thinking individual and the selfsacrificing soldier—the ideal subject in a liberal democracy and a fascist military state, respectively—are one and the same. “Fascism,” as Michel Foucault wrote, is “in us all, in our heads, and in our everyday behavior.”4 From its earliest beginnings, the Japanese state tried to create a strong, disciplined, and civilized citizenry composed of sound bodies and minds through inculcating the values of modern medicine. Its benchmark was an imaginary individual attuned to the rhythms of a society shaped by industrial capitalism, and therefore, rational and productive—the so-called economic man.5 This individual worked hard, took care of his or her body, and had the seeming ability to freely think and choose. (Of course, it was no coincidence that his or her thoughts and actions so often aligned with the cultural values and structures that the state deemed important.) Through the very same medical institutions and public health campaigns that helped shape these individuals, the state also determined who had the right to live, who should die, and, perhaps most important for this book, the proper way to go about life. The aggregate of these individuals represented a state’s productive capacity, and determined, in large part, its ability to wage war. The ideal citizen was the ideal soldier (or ideal housewife on the home front), and the ideal society functioned with the discipline and efficiency of the military. Sheldon Garon might have said it best when he called Japan in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as “a nation at war in peace.”6 This book has focused on the pharmaceutical industry’s contribution to the state’s biomedical program. Companies like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals discovered, developed, and distributed so-called essential medicines for the state. They also tried to advance state prerogatives through the cultivation of consumer-subjects in the very medicinal marketplace that the state so feared. Nearly all industrialized states—aided by advances in science, standardization, and professionalization— have tried to cordon off their biomedical regimes from the contamination of commerce, to greater or lesser success. Yet, the medicinal marketplace was just as vital a space for influencing people’s hearts and minds as state-run clinics or public health campaigns. Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, for its part, marketed modern medicine to the masses by embracing technologies of mass consumer culture. It cultivated a culture of self-medication that imbued individuals with the knowledge and ability to diagnose and treat ailments on their own, without having to see a doctor. It was democratic, the company claimed, because it gave individuals a choice between directly consuming a medicine and spending additional money and effort to see a doctor. Knowledge-based self-diagnosis and self-treatment helped challenge the power and authority of credentialed medical practitioners. The means might

210

CHAPTER 8

have differed from—and seemingly subverted—the biomedical state regime, but the end goal—a healthy populace—was the same. Good health was the minimum requirement for an individual to go to work and perform his or her duties in the household. If this could be accomplished without wasting time and effort to see a doctor, then all the better for everyone involved. Good health was also the minimum requirement to participate in the new fantasy of modern life of a seemingly liberating consumer culture of leisure. In this sense, Hoshi’s opium trading was so scandalous because opium consumption symbolized the enervation and degradation of the rational individual. Hoshi claimed its business was saving lives, but its opium scandal revealed a commerce of death. Good health, of course, was also the minimum requirement to fight and die for the glory of the nation and empire. This chapter examines how Hoshi Pharmaceuticals transitioned from a time of peace to a time of war. Like nearly all Japanese drug firms, Hoshi supplied essential medicines to maintain healthy bodies in a military fighting force that killed tens of millions of people and subjugated hundreds of millions more. Within a context of total war, the mobilization of individuals to become productive members of an industrial society easily transformed into a wartime idiom of mobilizing healthy bodies for the national body politic. Within the context of a nationalized, planned economy, the efforts to market and sell products transformed into efforts to market and sell the war effort itself. The biopolitics of life and death, as Achille Mbembe has shown, were one and the same.7

The Planned Economy and the Nationalization of an Industry By the 1930s, Japan was already well on the way to creating a planned economy. In the eyes of right-wing politicians and bureaucrats like Kishi Nobusuke (1896–1987) and Konoe Fumimaro (1891–1945), industrialists like Nissan’s Aikawa Yoshizuke (1880–1967), and intellectuals like Kita Ikki (1883–1937), the post–World War I economic doldrums—worsened with the 1923 Great Kanto¯ Earthquake and the 1927 financial crisis—had demonstrated the detriment of capitalism to social harmony as well as the importance of an organic cultural and social unity tied to imperial expansion.8 Dangers lurked wherever they looked, from the laborer on strike to the disgruntled rural tenant to the modern girl (moga), who represented the seductions of cosmopolitan consumerism and engaged in casual sex with the modern boy (mobo), who whispered socialist ideas in her ear.9 The global depression at the turn of the decade— worsened by a policy of fiscal retrenchment and a return to the gold standard

WAR AND DRUGS

211

mere months before the October 1929 New York stock market crash—only confirmed their beliefs and fears. The Manchurian Incident—the staged bombing of the South Manchurian Railway line near Mukden, which Japan used as a pretext to invade Manchuria in 1931—conformed to the prevailing sense of turmoil and crisis. Machinations among rogue right-wing militarists sparked the crisis, but the supposedly calmer higher-ups in Tokyo—buoyed by populist zeal for empire and unnerved by highprofile assassinations of those who seemingly advocated military restraint— consolidated their foothold in northeast Asia as a stepping stone for further military aggression and as a means for renovating a nation and society that had seemingly gone awry.10 Japan’s financial recovery after the worldwide global depression—made possible, in large part, by Keynesian-style debt-financing under Takahashi Korekiyo (1854–1936), much of which funded military expansion on the Asian continent—helped it grow far faster than other industrial nations, bar Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union.11 The fervor for empire and military endeavor provided the backdrop for the construction of a so-called New Order (Shintaisei), which purposefully paralleled the political and socioeconomic controls of similar fascist regimes in Italy, Germany, and elsewhere. The economic reforms of the New Order built on previous efforts and inspirations from the industrial rationalization movement (sangyo¯ go¯rika) to work toward a nationalized, centrally planned economy.12 Its leading proponents, which included figures like Konoe Fumimaro and Kishi Nobusuke, deemed competition wasteful and dangerous to social harmony; they viewed the invisible hand of the free market with suspicion, and they saw Britain and the United States as its hypocritical puppeteers.13 After gaining control of the government, they attempted to control industry’s entire productive capacity, including the sourcing of material and human inputs as well as distribution. To achieve their ends, they co-opted the nation’s industrialists and labor unions (if those industrialists and labor union leaders had not read the tea leaves and supported the New Order already), and they mobilized labor across Japan’s colonies in Korea, Manchuria, and Taiwan. In 1937, the Planning Ministry (Kikakuin) was established for the express purpose of overseeing industries vital to the war effort. In April 1938, Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro’s cabinet promulgated the National General Mobilization Law (Kokka so¯do¯in ho¯), which ordered the mobilization of “material and human resources” (and prohibited labor protests) during a state of emergency.14 Under the New Order, the state subsumed the economy for the harmony of collective individuals in a national body (kokutai), all in the name of an emperor who traced his lineage from time immemorial. The state control and consolidation of the pharmaceutical industry during World War II represented an intensification of earlier symbioses between the

212

CHAPTER 8

industry and the state. Government efforts to control the medicinal market stemming from the desire for medicinal self-sufficiency and the notion of medicines as goods too important for market exchange had been a major theme since before the beginning of the Meiji era; the Tokugawa shogunate relied on a monopoly of drug wholesalers to monitor the quality and police the distribution of medicines. Drugmakers richly profited from medicinal shortages during the Sino-Japanese War and Russo-Japanese War. And during the World War I, the Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes provided the impetus for large-scale domestic pharmaceutical manufacture. After the promulgation of the National General Mobilization Law, the drug industry’s nationalization proceeded in a swift and steady manner. In September 1938, the government established the Japanese Association to Control the Import of Pharmaceuticals (Nihon iyakuhin yunyu¯ kai), and in December of that same year, the National Association to Control Pharmaceutical Distribution (Zenkoku iyakuhin genryo¯ to¯seikai) forced competing firms to cooperate with each other by fixing prices and sharing knowledge and resources. In March 1940, the government established the Principles for Controlling the Distribution of Pharmaceuticals (Iyakuhin haikyu¯ to¯sei yo¯ko¯), followed in April by the establishment of two structures—one each for eastern and western Japan—to control pharmaceutical distribution. In May 1941, the government issued the Regulations to Control the Production and Distribution of Medical Goods and Hygiene Products (Iyakuhin oyobi eisei zairyo¯ seisan haikyu¯ to¯sei kisoku), and in July, it established two organizing structures for controlling production and distribution, respectively. By December 1941, 165 medicines fell under direct wartime control, and by December 1942, that the number nearly doubled, to 309. In February 1942, the Ministry of Health and Welfare (Ko¯seisho¯) issued directives to rationalize and control the production and distribution of patent medicines.15 The passage of each subsequent law and the establishment of each successive organ marked an increasing level of government centralization and control, which paralleled waxing urgency, shortages, and despair characteristic of what Thomas Havens has dubbed as Japan’s descent into its dark valley.16 Nationalization culminated with the January 1944 formation of the Medicine Regulation Company (Iyakuhin to¯sei kabushiki kaisha), which ultimately consolidated every pharmaceutical company and pharmacy under the banner of a single company.17 Like its pharmaceutical industry peers, Hoshi wholeheartedly participated at every step of the drug industry’s nationalization for Japan’s imperial wartime expansion. After all, the company owed much of its success to the patronage of politicians and industrialists involved in colonial aggrandizement and extraterritorial machinations. Hoshi’s rise to national prominence in the early twentieth century had depended on Japan’s growing empire, particularly its connections to

WAR AND DRUGS

213

Goto¯ Shinpei’s clique that controlled the bureaucracy in the government-general in Taiwan. Although Goto¯ passed away in 1929 and others like Nitobe Inazo¯ soon followed, Hoshi continued to enjoy the support influential political figures who promoted Japanese militarism. One key figure was Nagai Ryu¯taro¯ (1881–1944), a former Waseda University professor, Diet member, and minister of both communications and foreign affairs, who became a leading proponent of fascist rule through leadership in the Imperial Rule Assistance Association (Taisei yokusankai) during the war. Nagai was known for his advocacy of Pan-Asianism and for his catchphrase hakko¯ ichiu (literally, “eight corners of the world under one roof ”), which has been interpreted as an evocation of either Japan’s thirst for global domination or a more harmonious ideal of “universal brotherhood.”18 In a 1939 speech published in the Hoshi company newspaper, Nagai beseeched Hoshi workers and retailers to work hard because the drug industry had a vital role in constructing a new East Asian world order.19 Arguably Hoshi’s most important supporter within the wartime government— at least until his death in 1941—was Mochizuki Keisuke (1867–1941) who spent most of his career as a politician and cabinet minister affiliated with the Seiyu¯kai Party. A staunch conservative and anticommunist, Mochizuki often sided with industry against labor as well as with the state against civil society. During his stint as home minister in the late 1920s, Mochizuki promoted the growth of the police state through his heavy-handed efforts to expand the scope of the 1925 Peace Preservation Law (Chian iji ho¯), which was enacted to suppress labor strikes and political dissent from the left.20 In a 1939 address to a Hoshi company audience, Mochizuki called for all Japanese to become believers in “the spirit of service and self-restraint” (kokki to ho¯shi no kokoro).21 Hoshi also had associates who operated outside of the government as intermediaries that linked the worlds of industry and politics to a darker far-right underworld that beat the drum for colonial expansion through military aggression. The key person was Sugiyama Shigemaru, whom the political scientist Daba Hiroshi argues was an even closer and more important figure for Hoshi Hajime than Goto¯ Shinpei.22 Sugiyama’s friends included To¯yama Mitsuru (1855–1944), a teacher and benefactor who had founded the Gen’yo¯sha, the right-wing paramilitary society that championed imperial expansion and military conquest. Another associate was Uchida Ryo¯hei (1873–1937), a To¯yama disciple who was the leader of the Kokuryu¯kai (Black Dragon Society), a Gen’yo¯sha offshoot, which had one primary aim in the early twentieth century: the containment of Russia through the occupation and expansion of Japan’s empire in Manchuria.23 Sugiyama had introduced Hoshi Hajime to Uchida during their stay with Ito¯ Hirobumi in Korea in 1905.24

214

CHAPTER 8

Sugiyama and his associates have been implicated in a number of plots, from ¯ kuma Shigenobu, to paramilitary a failed assassination of the leading politician O logistics for Japan’s takeover of Korea, to the overthrow of the Qing Dynasty in support of Sun Yat-sen. Marius Jansen refers to men like Sugiyama, To¯yama, and Uchida as “the giants of nationalism and imperialism.” As he writes, “[They] performed a valuable service for Japanese nationalism, politics, and imperialism by serving as intermediaries between the several levels and classes of government, business, and the lower fringes of society [and they offered] an invaluable channel for government and business in providing unofficial aid and secret support to any purpose or group.”25 By the 1930s, these men had become, in their old age, the public paragons of Japanese patriotism for an increasingly militant nation.26 During Hoshi’s crisis after its opium scandal, Sugiyama, To¯yama, and Uchida used their considerable influence to help Hoshi recover from bankruptcy and reach a favorable settlement with its creditors through “compulsory reconciliation” (kyo¯sei wagi). They helped the company in two ways. First, they raised money and rallied public support for Hoshi. They claimed that Hoshi was too strategically important to fail, because its medicines were essential for the strength and security of the nation. They also explained to the public how bankruptcy would ruin the value of all shares and lead to the liquidation of company assets, whereas “compulsory arbitration” would allow the company a chance to recover. Second, they helped the company negotiate with creditors, an endeavor undoubtedly supported by their reputed ties to the underworld. Hoshi’s overt and covert reliance on these men might have saved it from bankruptcy, but it only tied the company closer to a militant far right baying for blood on the Asian continent.27

Medicines for the War Effort Japanese drug companies provisioned essential medicines for the war effort, and Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ most celebrated material contribution was quinine. In the 1930s and 1940s, quinine ranked among oil, rubber, camphor, and sugar as a resource essential for the Southward Advance Policy (Nanshin seisaku), which called for the military takeover of southern China and Southeast Asia to protect Japan’s colonial territories and liberate Asian brothers and sisters from the shackles of Western imperialism. The ideology and rhetoric of Nanshin had taken shape in the late nineteenth century, when bureaucrats and scholars including Takekoshi Yosaburo¯ and Shiga Shigetaka advocated a “theory of southward advance” (Nanshinron) to benefit Japanese settler expansion as a response to the scarcity of living space and material resources. In the 1930s, navy ministers

WAR AND DRUGS

215

formally implemented the Southward Advance Policy as a corollary to army ministers’ policy of expansion into northeast Asia.28 For firms like Hoshi, Takeda, and Shionogi, the Japanese military’s advance into Southeast Asia represented the potential to profit from provisioning soldiers and the possibility of opening new markets. Japan’s invasion of China brought heightened concerns over quinine selfsufficiency. Soon after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident in July 1937, the Japanese military advanced southward from Beijing to seize control of the ports and industrial centers that dotted China’s coast. With the help of additional forces that landed along Shanghai’s northeast shore, the military attacked Shanghai beginning in August. After its fall in October, the military consolidated its gains along the Yangtze River delta and marched inland to lay siege to Nanjing, the capital of the Republic of China, where Japanese forces suffered an extraordinary number of casualties—and massacred an even greater number of Chinese soldiers and civilians while committing unspeakable atrocities—to achieve victory. The consolidation of the Yangtze River delta involved some of World War II’s bloodiest and most infamous conflicts.29 In June 1938, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals sponsored a two-week-long tour to this war-ravaged region. Officially titled the Inspection Tour to Comfort the Imperial Army in Central China (Ko¯gun imon chu¯ shi shisatsu), it included forty-one members, most of whom belonged to Hoshi’s retail distribution system. Supporting the troops and improving their morale, however, was not the only—or perhaps even the primary—aim. Another goal of the trip, the company claimed, was to help rebuild and consolidate rule in the war-torn region through the provision of medicines. Hoshi’s central China tour was thus a way for the company to help spread its name, whet the appetite for its medicinal products in the region, and, by extension, foster improved relations between the local populace and the ruling Japanese military government.30 A year earlier, Hoshi Hajime had strengthened his company’s connections to this government by once again winning election to the House of Representatives from his native Fukushima Prefecture. According to Hoshi, there was no better way to contribute to the imperial army’s efforts—and reconcile “Japanese-Chinese relations” (Nisshi yu¯ wa)—than through its lifesaving medicines. Japan had swiftly defeated the Chinese Nationalists (Guomindang), who had controlled the Republic of China as a one-party state since the late 1920s from their base in the Yangtze River delta. But establishing law and order in the war-torn region remained a challenge. Japanese forces were stretched thin, particularly in the countryside, where they were prone to guerilla attacks. China, Hoshi claimed, was the “world’s most unsanitary country,” and it wanted to improve the health and hygiene of Japanese and Chinese soldiers and civilians.31 The hot, humid climate, combined with poor water

216

CHAPTER 8

quality and inadequate sanitation, made cholera, malaria, and other infectious diseases endemic. (The Japanese term for “bed bug” is Nankin mushi, literally, “Nanjing bugs.”)32 Malaria, Hoshi claimed, was the most pressing problem, and Hoshi-supplied quinine, of course, provided the answer. According to the company, China had a tenth of the world’s sufferers, yet 95 percent of the population did not have access to quinine as a treatment. Hoshi blamed Chiang Kai-shek—claiming that his regime failed to control the malaria epidemic and his irrational war only increased its severity and his people’s suffering.33 Quinine, the company argued, would stabilize the region, because public health was essential for life as well as for a regime’s legitimacy. Improving the quality of life in the region through better medicines would also lay the groundwork for future Japanese immigration to the region. The company claimed it had unique qualifications for distributing quinine in China; it was the second-largest quinine trader in the world, managed government-sponsored plantations for growing cinchona in Taiwan, and had accrued local knowledge through previously established franchises in Shanghai, among other port cities.34 The Japanese military’s advance into Southeast Asia in the 1940s—and the construction of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere—only increased concerns over quinine self-sufficiency.35 In December 1941, the same month that Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, it embarked on its southern campaign with simultaneous attacks on Hong Kong, Malaya, and the Philippines. Hong Kong surrendered on Christmas Day, and Malaya fell in January 1942. Singapore— Great Britain’s supposedly impenetrable “Gibraltar of the East”—surrendered in February, followed by Burma and Indonesia in March and the Philippines in May. During this swift advance into Southeast Asia, the Japanese government enlisted the help of its major pharmaceutical companies with quininemanufacturing experience to provide adequate stocks of the medicine for the prevention of malaria. Although firms like Hoshi, Takeda, and Shionogi actively promoted the potential contributions of their cinchona plantations for the southward advance, these plantations had only barely begun to produce cinchona by the beginning of the decade. According to a report from Taiwan Development Company, by 1940, Hoshi’s plantations had only harvested small amounts of bark from damaged trees, fallen branches, and other regular pruning, and had “not even reached what one would call a production yield.”36 Despite these meager gains, by 1941, Hoshi had expanded cinchona cultivation to four other plantations in addition to Laishe and Zhiben—at Jiaxian in Gaoxiong, Qingshui in Hualian, and Daxi and Damali in Taidong.37 Takeda and Shionogi had similar, if not worse, problems. The Hoshi executive Miyamoto Sadaichi sharply criticized competitors in

WAR AND DRUGS

217

his report of his tour of Taiwan’s cinchona plantations in August 1941, which demonstrated that the government consolidation of the pharmaceutical industry did not prevent cheap shots between competitors. In an entry dated August 12, 1941, Miyamoto smugly laughed at an “anonymous pharmaceutical company (likely Takeda)” ordering 3,000 yen worth of cinchona seeds from Java through the Forestry Bureau of the government-general without even one seed sprouting.38 Another entry, from August 14 described the scale of one of Shionogi’s plantations as so “trivial that it seemed like a child’s play” (yu¯giteki).39 None of this, however, was out of the ordinary—cultivators generally waited an average of ten years before they cut down mature cinchona trees for harvesting. Nevertheless, all the major parties involved—from drug companies to government bureaucrats to military leaders—recognized quinine as an essential medicine for soldiers’ health. In 1941, a memo from the managing director of Takeda Pharmaceuticals to the Planning Ministry reflected the importance of quinine self-sufficiency for Japan’s war effort. To him, the experience of “the First European War” had shown that “even when Japan was a member of the Allied Powers, securing quinine had been extremely hard,” let alone in a time of emergency when Japan was at war with the Allies.40 A similar memo from Shionogi Pharmaceuticals echoed the necessity of quinine as the Japanese army advanced into Southeast Asia where malaria was the “most malignant and rampant” (sai’un sho¯ketsu).41 On February 20, 1942—during Japan’s invasion of Java—the Army Ministry (Rikugunsho¯) issued the Emergency Cinchona Policy (Kina kinkyu¯ taisaku), in response to the growing concern that quinine consumption was outstripping supplies. At the time, Japan had approximately fifteen tons of quinine reserved for the army, and at the current rate (the army in Southeast Asia consumed approximately three and a half tons of quinine a month, while the army in China consumed roughly two tons of quinine a month), the army’s supply of quinine would run out in under three months.42 This policy also made preparations for the takeover of the cinchona industry in Java. Quinine self-sufficiency thus became a tautology. The military required quinine to protect soldiers from unsanitary conditions during its military intervention in China and Southeast Asia, but only through military intervention into these regions—particularly the quinine-producing heartland of Java—could the Japanese military procure enough quinine to satisfy its own demand. Military planners called for consolidating five companies in the quinine business—Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, Takeda Pharmaceuticals, and Shionogi Pharmaceuticals, along with two other firms, Nankoku Industries and Kyokunan Industries.43 Japan’s takeover of Java’s quinine industry alarmed the Allied Powers. In the words of the US journal Scientific Monthly, “Something like panic seized the country when Java fell in March, 1942. Quinine, hitherto rarely mentioned in the newspapers,

218

CHAPTER 8

yielded, through our clipping services, thousands of articles charging, ‘shortage,’ ‘hoarding,’ ‘price-fixing,’ ‘government incompetence,’ ‘speculation,’ ‘monopoly.’”44 In addition to medicines like quinine, military officials also designated narcotics like morphine, heroin, and codeine as essential medicines for the war effort. Protecting bodies from infectious diseases was important, but so, too, was dulling pain and numbing minds from the horrors of war. Morphine, for example, was essential for treating a number of wartime ailments; it was a pain killer (chintsu¯ ) and sedative (chinsei) as well as a cough suppressant (chingaizai) and an anticonvulsive (chinkei) for treating epileptic seizures.45 In the wake of its notorious opium scandal, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals had quietly resumed its narcotics business, almost as if nothing had happened. Although antinarcotics watchdogs continued to scrutinize Hoshi for any signs of illegality, the seeming necessity of narcotic medicines superseded any bad press for Hoshi or the Japanese government.46 In June 1927, the Taiwan Opium Monopoly granted Hoshi, Sankyo¯, and a “certain firm” (bo¯sha) in Osaka (likely Dai Nippon) the exclusive right to purchase discounted crude morphine in a ratio of 5:3:2, respectively.47 By the outbreak of war in China in 1937 and the subsequent nationalization of the drug industry, Hoshi, Sankyo¯, and Dai Nippon had become a three-company consortium tasked with producing medical-grade narcotics for the war effort.48 Two other entities were also involved in the manufacture and supply of opium-based narcotics: Radium Pharmaceuticals and the Home Ministry’s Sanitary Laboratory (Eisei shikenjo).49 As Japan became mired in a war of attrition in China, supplies of medicalgrade morphine dwindled and production fell far short of expectations as well as expected demand. An emergency report issued by the Planning Ministry on February 17, 1941, responded to this situation. Its statistics predicted a shortfall of approximately 210,000 kilograms of opium (assuming an average morphine content of 10 percent) across Japan and its empire. The highest demand was in territories on the Asian continent; Manchuria required 325,000 kilograms of opium and the Kwantung Leased Territory, which occupied just the tip of northeast China’s Liaodong Peninsula, required 30,000 kilograms. By comparison, the entire Japanese archipelago only required 32,000 kilograms. Opium stocks, however, had almost entirely dried up in Taiwan because of the disruption of imports from Turkey and other foreign countries. Meanwhile, the production of raw opium in Korea, which had become a major exporter since the early 1930s, particularly under the auspices of Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals, fell 96,000 kilograms short of requirements.50 In response, the ministry provisioned the cargo ship Tamagawa-Maru, owned by Mitsui Heavy Industries, to set sail for Iran to purchase opium.51 Another Planning Ministry document, dated March 31, 1941, further supported the dire need for narcotics by illustrating the dwindling supply of raw opium and crude morphine held in storage by the government’s major

WAR AND DRUGS

219

suppliers (including Hoshi). The ministry predicted that over a five-month period, from April to August 1941, raw opium stocks would decrease from 526,050 to 349,250 kilograms, while supplies of crude morphine would plummet from 1,925,916 to 90,526 kilograms.52 As the fortunes of Japan’s war effort grew increasingly dire, Hoshi continued to manufacture narcotics with Sankyo¯ and Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals.53 As Hoshi resumed its opium business, it carried on cultivating coca for cocaine production in plantations in Peru and Taiwan. From 1930 to 1937, Hoshi produced from 44,598 to 55,060 kilograms of raw coca leaf and from 330 to 408 kilograms of cocaine sulfate per year.54 As Japan’s overseas aggression intensified in the 1930s, however, Hoshi’s holdings in Peru came into question. Amid growing concerns for resource self-sufficiency and rising anti-Japanese fervor—spurred in part by US interests attempting to counteract Japan’s growing influence in the Western Hemisphere—a Peruvian citizen brought a local lawsuit against Hoshi in 1935 that questioned the validity of its 1918 Tulumayo property purchase in the Andes Mountains. The court ruled in favor of the plaintiff, and, after a failed appeal, the Peruvian government ultimately confiscated and nationalized Hoshi’s holdings in 1938.55 Hoshi nevertheless continued to operate its plantation in Jiayi, Taiwan, during Japan’s wartime mobilization. From 1938 through 1944, the plantation produced 45,000 kilograms of coca leaf and 330 kilograms of cocaine sulfate per year, on average.56 In an October 1945 report in preparation for the Chinese Nationalist government’s takeover of Taiwan, the company counted roughly 300,000 coca plants under cultivation.57 As the war progressed, Japanese pharmaceutical firms increasingly moved production overseas to the Asian continent and into Southeast Asia. By the early 1930s, major firms like Sankyo¯, Shionogi, and Takeda had established production facilities in the Korean Peninsula, in Manchuria, and, of course, in Taiwan.58 In 1943, these same firms joined with the South Manchurian Railway Company and with other drug companies, including Manyu¯, Tanabe, and Dai Nippon, to create a state-sponsored joint venture for manufacturing medicines in Manchuria called the Manchurian Pharmaceutical Manufacturing Company (Manshu¯ iyakuhin seizo¯ kaisha).59 At the same time, many firms moved production into Chinese cities like Qingdao, Tianjin, and Shanghai, as well as into Southeast Asia in places like Manila and Jakarta.60 In March of that year, Hoshi established a Shanghai factory for manufacturing patent medicines, and by this time it likely controlled production facilities in a number of other locations in Asia.61

Wartime Consumer Culture In addition to supporting the war effort through provisioning essential medicines like morphine and quinine, Hoshi rallied the public through the marketing

220

CHAPTER 8

of patent medicines. The transition to a wartime planned economy was far from abrupt, and the 1920s era of cosmopolitan consumerism in many ways never ended, even in the war’s latter years. Modern consumer culture, as Andrew Gordon has shown, was a transwar phenomenon that “persisted and even accelerated” as Japan descended into the so-called wartime dark valley; a greater proportion of the population purchased the accoutrements that defined a middle-class modernity during the 1930s and 1940s than in the cosmopolitan 1920s, “despite the increasingly censorious demands of the wartime political leaders to offer patriotic service in a time of emergency, to live more simply and to reject American ways.”62 People’s spending power increased amid an economy juiced by wartime deficit spending. A mushrooming appetite for war-related news contributed to the proliferation of mass media. The rationalization of daily life, articulated as a response to the economic doldrums of the 1920s, transformed depictions of consumerism as profligacy into those emphasizing pragmatic spending to spur industrial production for the benefit of the nation.63 Hoshi promoted this program of rational consumption through a rationalization of its retail distribution network, which built on earlier efforts to increase efficiency and control over its franchise stores. In the wake of the opium scandal, the company had transformed its retail franchise network into a pseudo–chain store system to help recoup its financial losses through the imposition of additional membership fees rather than a substantive change.64 In late 1933—after its seemingly miraculous recovery from bankruptcy—Hoshi reorganized its distribution network again for similar reasons. The company unveiled a new program amid the increasingly militaristic climate of the times: Ninmu danko¯, which roughly translates to “Carry Out the Mission” or “Fulfilling One’s Duties.” Hoshi played on ideas of self-reliance and individual responsibility to sacrifice for a greater cause—in this case the financial future of the firm tied to the fortunes of the nation. Ninmu danko¯ reflected, at the rhetorical level, government leaders’ growing distaste for the market economy and increasing embrace of coordination and planning—it scrubbed away the term “store” from all retail stores, which it now dubbed “branch offices” (shibu), and it renamed store managers “branch leaders” (shibucho¯ or shicho¯). But in practice, the program involved a series of incentives and penalties that echoed Hoshi’s earlier schemes to increase turnover and speed up payments to the company. Most notably, it required each branch office to pay 15 percent of the retail price of any Hoshi medicine or product upfront on delivery, which it incentivized with the promise of future rebates, to be paid directly to the branch leader, worth 5 to 10 percent of that payment. The company’s goal was to have its branch offices sell a total of 3,650,000 yen worth of merchandise in a year, or 10,000 yen worth per day.65

WAR AND DRUGS

221

In addition to rationalizing distribution, Hoshi also adapted its advertising messages to suit wartime consumer culture. Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, its advertisements tied consuming medicines to a civilization and modernity closely aligned to Euro-American norms. After the Manchurian Incident and Japan’s subsequent withdrawal from the League of Nations, the company’s advertisements continued to promote medicinal consumption as civilized and modern, yet they also took on a decidedly nationalistic edge that paralleled the rhetoric of right-wing ideologues and political leaders in their growing disavowal of the West. Advertisements explicitly celebrated Hoshi’s nationalist credentials and the rational social utility of its products. We can see this in how Hoshi advertised its ubiquitous digestive medicine, which was discussed at length in chapter 3. In the cosmopolitan 1920s, Hoshi had portrayed the consumption of its icho¯yaku as essential to being a productive member of society adapted to the standards of global capitalism and attuned to the rhythms of consumer culture. The digestive medicine was part of a daily regimen to ensure that a modern individual never skipped a beat because of an upset stomach. Advertisements emphasized the medicine’s scientific nature as well as its universality and modernity along Western lines. Many, like a 1921 ad from the Yomiuri shinbun (see fig. 8.1), openly celebrated the similarities between Westerner and Japanese digestive tracts by featuring the visage of a Caucasian girl and a boast that Hoshi Digestive Medicine was “not only the number one medicine in the East, but has crossed over the seas to make an impact even in Europe.”66 In the 1930s, the tone of Hoshi’s advertisements gradually shifted amid the growing militarist climate aimed at overcoming Western modernity. One 1935 advertisement in the Tokyo asahi shinbun, for example, features the grand old man of patriotism himself, To¯yama Mitsuru (see fig. 8.2). On the left are the words “Medicines are Hoshi” and “Hoshi Digestive Medicine” in modernist block-print, and on the right is an image of To¯yama accompanied by words mimicking the rhythm and flow of Confucian-style proverbs: To¯yama Mitsuru-sensei says: Hoshi Pharmaceuticals is a company based on the principles of the nation [kokka hon’i], and the medicines it makes are also based on the principles of the nation. Whether or not something is good or evil [zen’aku] in the world is determined according to the principles of the nation, and in the same way, whether a medicine is good or bad is determined according to the principles of the nation.67 In the same year, Hoshi featured Sugiyama Shigemaru, Uchida Ryo¯hei, and Nagai Ryu¯taro¯ in similar advertisements that linked the regular consumption of the digestive medicine to the improvement of bodily health. Far from shying

FIGURE 8.1. edition.

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, March 7, 1921, morning

WAR AND DRUGS

223

FIGURE 8.2. Advertisement from Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 24, 1935, evening edition.

away from its association with the far right, Hoshi felt that the public fervor for nationalism made it profitable to promote its products through right-wing politicians and talking heads.68 At the same time, ethnocentrism began to seep into Hoshi’s marketing rhetoric. The principles of the nation seemed to derive, according to Hoshi’s advertisements, from the strength of people’s digestive organs. A 1935 advertisement in the Tokyo asahi shinbun, for example, states: “Healthy digestion is . . . the very foundation for good health” (Icho¯ no kenzen koso . . . kenko¯ no kiso).69 But in a time of growing anti-Westernism—when digestion itself increasingly became a subject of cultural particularism—Hoshi’s advertisements followed suit. Rather than helping progress the Japanese people along a social Darwinist track of civilization and modernity, Hoshi Digestive Medicine now represented the ideal medicine for uniquely Japanese digestive tracts, differentiated from those of other

224

CHAPTER 8

humans around the globe. This shift played to tropes about cultural superiority and uniqueness based on differences in the Japanese diet (i.e., that it included less meat and more fish and vegetables than Western diets) as well as folk legends concerning the longer length of Japanese intestines compared to Western ones. A 1935 advertisement, for example, links the vast number of Japanese digestive troubles to a lack of protein from rice-based diets (beishoku).70 A 1936 advertisement similarly proclaims that regular consumption of Hoshi Digestive Medicine improves digestion to help guard against beriberi, which has been “a major problem since the time of the Tokugawa Shogunate when people began eating white rice.”71 As mobilization intensified on the home front, the importance of advertising did not simply go away, despite the top-down dismantling of the functions of a market economy. After the April 1938 promulgation of the National General Mobilization Law, the government swifty nationalized and consolidated all industries under a centrally planned economy that controlled production and distribution, without the seeming wastefulness of competition. Yet, marketing and advertising remained important, even without the need to compete for customers. In his 2010 work, Senso¯ to ko¯koku (War and advertising), the advertising executive Baba Makoto reflects on the reasons why advertising continued to flourish. Baba meditates on the controversial wartime history of two giants of advertising, the graphic artist Yamana Ayao (1897–1980) and the marketing executive Arai Seiichiro¯ (1907–1990). Before the war, both men helped create the symbols and idioms for Japan’s post–World War I era of cosmopolitanism and new cultural life. Yamana’s alluring art deco–inspired designs for Shiseido¯ helped shape the aethestics and inspired the social imaginary of the modern girl, the symbol of the era. Arai, meanwhile, created advertising campaigns and provided deft turns of phrase for Morinaga Candy.72 Yet, during Japan’s fascist turn when right-wing militarists railed against overt consumerism and proclaimed “luxury as the enemy” (zeitaku wa teki da), both men parlayed their talents to inspire men and women to sacrifice for the glory of the nation. Yamana’s Shiseido¯ deemphasized cosmetics in favor of daily hygiene goods that “surpassed [Western] imports” (hakurai o ryo¯ga suru) and celebrated beauty as strength through strong skin and strong white teeth.73 Profligate spending on seemingly superfluous beauty products transformed into rational, utilitarian consumption for the nation. Under Arai’s watch, Morinaga Mother’s Day became a popular campaign for mobilizing “pillars of the nation” (Haha wa kuni no hashira) while caramel advertisements disseminated the lyrics of “The Patriotic March” (Aikoku ko¯shin kyoku).74 Both men became leading figures in the Media Technology Research Group (Ho¯do¯ gijutsu kenkyu¯ kai), whose express

WAR AND DRUGS

225

aim was to improve wartime propaganda. To Baba Makoto, Yamana and Arai bore responsbility for the deaths of millions and deserved to feel shame for their actions. But at the same time, they were also products of their times and had a responsibility as ad men to follow their customers’ wishes. “Advertising,” Baba ruefully notes, “is a business that always lives by flattering the times [jidai ni obekka] as well as transforming oneself to fit those times.”75 In the words of Gennifer Weisenfeld, “In the advertising campaigns of the 1930s, the corporate and the national were already tightly bound together, and there was no discontinuity of artistic production—from publicity to propaganda—in terms of techniques, tactics, or personnel . . . reactionary and progressive modernism were cast from the same mold.”76 The ability to lure people’s hearts and minds applied equally well to peacetime consumerism and to a planned wartime economy. In a planned economy geared for total war, value thus transformed from being measured largely in monetary terms to being measured more and more in terms of utility and sacrifice for the state’s war effort. Although the wartime consolidation of the pharmaceutical industry seemingly obviated the need for marketing and advertising, drug companies like Hoshi continued to devote resources to create demand for its products. The key difference was that they did so in a different register, to a consumer public that, for all practical purposes, was becoming one with the state. As Japan transitioned from a climate of cultural cosmopolitanism to a fascist state mobilized for total war, firms like Hoshi continued to advertise because they sought the symbolic value of demonstrating service and sacrifice— a fungible value that promised to be commutable into money, contracts, or connections at war’s end (provided, of course, that Japan proved victorious). One of the major ways that Hoshi marketed Japan’s war effort was through its participation in the national health and hygiene campaign under the slogan Kenko¯ ho¯koku, translated as “Health in the Service of the Nation” or “Patriotic Health,” which became part of the public lexicon in the 1930s and 1940s, particularly after the formal outbreak of the war in China in 1937. In a 1938 speech, the minister of health and welfare, Kido Ko¯ichi (1889–1977), described “Patriotic Health”: It is vital to maintain conviction in Patriotic Health. Because these words are deeply endowed with the idea that when an individual improves his physical strength, it is not only for his own personal wellbeing, but also for prosperity for his family and nation. Train your bodies for the nation and strengthen it. Each individual does not have sole ownership of his body; rather it is also the property of the nation.77 The overarching goal of “Patriotic Health” was to unify the nation for the war effort through improvements in public health. It involved spreading knowledge

226

CHAPTER 8

about proper hygiene and sanitation practices, training citizens’ bodies and minds, improving nutrition, containing infectious and venereal diseases, improving maternal and child health, and encouraging civic morality. “Patriotic Health” disciplined the mind and body; it encompassed a wide variety of everyday practices from group radio calisthenics (rajio taiso¯) to eating unpolished rice and less meat. It thus shunned behaviors and practices seen as foreign or decadent, which proved particularly useful during shortages of food and consumer goods toward the end of the war. Kenko¯ ho¯koku required each individual to be healthy. The sick, disabled, and weak—by implication—were lesser citizens.78 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals immediately aligned itself with this campaign, even as it increasingly lost control of medicinal distribution. In October 1937, Hoshi began running advertisements with “Kenko¯ ho¯koku” in either bold script or calligraphy. These advertisements once again featured To¯yama Mitsuru, declaring “Health is the first principle of patriotism” (Kenko¯ wa ho¯koku no dai-ichi gi).79 “Patriotic Health” became a catch-all slogan that encompassed every aspect of Hoshi’s business, from its production of lifesaving quinine, to its provisioning of narcotics to soldiers on the battlefield, to its manufacture of consumer medicines that promoted self-medication. One of Hoshi’s key campaigns under the rubric of “Patriotic Health” involved its digestive medicine. A 1939 advertisement for Hoshi Digestive Medicine in the Yomiuri shinbun depicted the Hinomaru flag with the words “national policy” (kokusaku) within the Rising Sun without even the image of the ubiquitous canister (see fig. 8.3).80 The company prominently advertised the medicine in publications ranging from the Hoshi katei shinbun (Hoshi family newspaper)

FIGURE 8.3. edition.

Advertisement from Yomiuri shinbun, May 16, 1939, evening

FIGURE 8.4.

Advertisement from Yakuten keiei, July 9, 1941.

228

CHAPTER 8

FIGURE 8.5.

Advertisement from Tonga ilbo, June 19, 1939.

to the industry trade journal Yakuten keiei (Drugstore management) featuring the slogan “Good health starts from the belly!” (Kenko¯ wa icho¯ kara).81 A 1941 advertisement in Yakuten keiei emphasizes the linkage between Hoshi Digestive Medicine, cultural identity, and wartime labor in the service of the nation; it depicts a faceless muscular worker hammering his pickaxe into the ground, with the words “The Red Can you were familiar with as a baby!” (Nyu¯ ji goro kara najimi no akakan!) (see fig. 8.4).82 At a time when Japan’s propagandists portrayed its wartime aggression into Southeast Asia as a pan-Asianist holy war (seisen) against Western imperialism,

WAR AND DRUGS

229

Hoshi also used the trope of similar diet and digestion to emphasize brotherhood among Asians. A 1939 advertisement in the Korean newspaper Tonga ilbo, for example, has the heading “Healthier through Hoshi” (Hosi ro cho˘ mjo˘ m ko˘ n’gang hamnida in Korean), as well as the heading Kusuri to heitai (Medicines and soldiers), which might be a play on Hino Ashihei’s bestselling war novel Mugi to heitai (Barley and soldiers), published a year earlier (see fig. 8.5).83 A 1941 company memo echoed the importance of the medicine for uniquely pan-Asian digestion, claiming: “Hoshi Digestive Medicine is a medicine that will forever be sold wherever there are rice eaters, because rice eaters are not limited to Japan.”84 The wartime capacity of the nation depended, in Hoshi’s rendering, on the strength of Asian bellies. Although the campaign of “Patriotic Health” occurred during Japan’s time of emergency (jikyoku), its prescriptions and proscriptions had a number of antecedents and remain common in public health campaigns around the globe today. Irrespective of war or peace, the modern state insinuates itself into everyday life to make individual health and hygiene essential aspects of being a citizen. “Patriotic Health” represented none other than the wartime transposition of the culture of self-medication from previous times. This chapter has examined how drug companies like Hoshi Pharmaceuticals contributed to Japan’s war effort. Hoshi produced medicines that the state deemed essential to maintain soldiers’ health on far-flung battlefields in China and Southeast Asia. It also promoted the war effort at home by marketing its consumer medicines as necessities for national health and hygiene campaigns, even amid a controlled economy where rationing obviated the necessity to sell. During war, the rhetoric and techniques for mobilizing individuals to become productive members of society easily transformed into propaganda and tools for mobilizing soldiers and citizens to sacrifice in the service of the nation. To use the words of Miriam Silverberg, “Consumers are never only subjects.”85 The case of Hoshi thus demonstrates that creating the consumer-subject was never far from creating imperial subjects or wartime weapons. As war escalated and Japan’s victories turned to defeats, however, shortages of essential medicines paled in comparison to the growing problem of not having enough healthy bodies to medicate. Hoshi Business School was a case in point. In May 1941, the company transformed the school from a training center for retail clerks to a training center for fostering a new generation of pharmacists, the Hoshi Pharmacology Professional School (Hoshi yakka senmon gakko¯). In its inauguration ceremony, former prime minister Hirota Ko¯ ki (1878–1948) described the mission of the school as one of “constructing people and medicines” (kusuri to hito no kensetsu) as an expression of

230

CHAPTER 8

“international brotherhood” (hakko¯ ichiu¯ ). “To gain the trust of other Asian peoples under the present global circumstances,” Hirota claimed, “Japan must make its own medicines, and must also supply them to the other Asian nations.”86 Yet, only a few months after its opening in September 1941, the school transformed to an army training school. Instead of training a cadre of thirty-odd students to work as chemists in laboratories and pharmacists in drugstores, it now trained a corps of more than four hundred soldiers to kill their enemies and steel themselves for death on the battlefield. In a state of wartime exception, the company that produced lifesaving medicines now manufactured the instruments of death and destruction. “Kindness First,” indeed.

Epilogue

After the end of World War II, the victorious Allied Powers occupied a defeated Japan and embarked on an effort to remake, reconstruct, and revolutionize all aspects of the government, economy, and society. The goal was to root out the causes of Japanese militarism and create a peace-loving and democratic nation based on US ideals and examples. One of the first problems they encountered, however, was the threat of starvation, malnutrition, and epidemic disease. On October 2, 1945, occupation officials created the Public Health and Welfare Section (PHW). Led by an army doctor, Section Chief Crawford Sams, the PHW was charged with instituting public health and hygiene policies that would improve sanitation and prevent epidemic and sexually transmitted diseases in both the occupying Allied military forces and the public at large. PHW initiated emergency relief operations to deal with starvation and malnutrition, ordered wide-scale dusting with dichloro-diphenyl-trichloroethane (DDT) to prevent malaria, and quarantined and vaccinated suspect populations like the repatriates (hikiagesha) from Asia.1 To meet the immense demand for medicines—and fight off harmful inflation, which led to shortages of medicines and other consumer goods—PHW attempted to revive Japan’s war-torn pharmaceutical industry. To do so, the Allied Occupation relied on Japan’s existing drug-distribution system, instituted during the wartime period under the Ministry of Health and Welfare. The goal was to restore the functioning of Japan’s domestic pharmaceutical industry. By 1946, the industry had fallen to 15 percent of the productive capacity at its 1941 231

232

EPILOGUE

wartime peak because of damage from aerial bombings and shortages of raw materials and labor. Through top-down policies that encouraged the domestic production of pharmaceuticals—and which invoked earlier top-down Japanese state policies to promote medicinal production—the industry returned to 94.5 percent of its peak wartime capacity by 1950.2 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was largely left out of this early postwar industry-wide revival. And a major reason once again had to do with narcotics. In addition to preventing diseases and famine, one of the primary concerns of the PHW was the regulation of narcotics to prevent addiction as well as the potential for Japan to revive its role in the illicit international narcotics trade. Both during World War II and after, US Customs authorities had continuously confiscated narcotics bearing the labels of Japanese pharmaceutical companies. One report stated that: “Seizures of cocaine along the Pacific Coast prior to World War II frequently bore the ‘Hoshi’ label.”3 From September through November 1945, occupation authorities issued a series of directives that required the full itemization of stockpiles of narcotics and a prohibition on the import, export, growth, and manufacture of substances including opium, cocaine, morphine, heroin, and marijuana, not to mention their unlicensed, nonmedical use. Under the occupation’s direction, the Ministry of Health and Welfare issued these directives to the major narcotics-producing drug companies, including Sankyo¯, Takeda, Dai Nippon, Shionogi, Radium, and, of course, Hoshi.4 Occupation officials, however, worried about whether these companies followed their directives. On November 5, 1945, Wayland L. Speer, the official who oversaw narcotics, paid a surprise inspection visit to Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ main factory in Tokyo, accompanied by personnel from the Health and Welfare Ministry. They discovered the company continuing to produce morphine—a clear violation of Directive 130, which prohibited the production of narcotics. Despite Hoshi’s protests that it never received official word from authorities to stop its production, the company suffered major penalties. On November 6, Speer ordered ministry officials to confiscate all of Hoshi’s narcotics. They doused the medicines they found with gasoline and burned them on the spot. Authorities assigned a military police officer to oversee the company’s daily activities, and they prohibited Hoshi from producing not only narcotics but also any other medicines.5 These punishments effectively ended the company. Although occupation authorities removed many of the restrictions placed on Hoshi by 1948, the damage to the company’s finances and reputation had already been done. Despite the company’s numerous petitions and protests, however, the occupation continued to deny Hoshi the right to manufacture narcotics for medicinal use, likely because of Hoshi’s earlier narcotics transgressions both during the

EPILOGUE

233

occupation and before. Once Japan’s leading narcotics producer, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was unable to produce such medicines again.6 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals suffered a similar fate with its holdings abroad, which fell into the hands of the conquering Allied Powers. Hoshi’s most valuable overseas holdings were in Taiwan. In 1944, Hoshi’s coca plantations had produced 44,597 kilograms of coca leaf, and in 1945, Hoshi’s cinchona plantations had produced 33,766 kilograms of cinchona bark.7 The two subsidiary companies of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals that oversaw these properties, Taiwan Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and the Hoshi Quinine Industry Company, had a total capital of 2 million yen and 1.25 million yen, respectively.8 After Japan’s unconditional surrender, the Chinese Nationalists (Guomindang) confiscated all of its holdings—along with those of all the other Japanese drug companies—and placed them under the control of its newly formed state drug monopoly, the Taiwan Medical Goods Company (Taiwan yiyaopin gongsi).9 The property of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals in Taiwan—along with that of other Japanese drug companies—thus became the foundation for Taiwan’s early postwar pharmaceutical industry. On January 18, 1951, Hoshi Hajime suddenly died of pneumonia in Los Angeles while en route to Peru in a last-ditch attempt to recover his company’s Tulamayo plantation in the Andes.10 One authorized biography, published in 1949, ends with him pinning the future recovery of his company on cultivating a “plot of land that is even larger than our nation’s island of Shikoku” in Peru’s Huallaga Valley.11 Only a few years earlier, in 1948, Hoshi had maintained his seat in an election for the House of Representatives, which he had initially won in the first Diet election under the Allied Occupation in 1946. Hoshi Hajime’s sudden death left his eldest son, Hoshi Shin’ichi, to assume the reins of the company. For the twenty-nine-year-old Shin’ichi, the burden of once again reviving Hoshi Pharmaceuticals was too much to handle. Born in 1926, Shin’ichi had known the company only as his father’s financially troubled obsession, which had caused his family misery and strife. In 1952, Shin’ichi passed on the presidency of the company and sold the controlling shareholding stake that he inherited from his ¯ tani Yonetaro¯ (1881–1968), the founder of the New father to the industrialist O ¯ tani Hotel chain.12 Shin’ichi embarked on a career in letters, and eventually O became one of Japan’s foremost science fiction novelists. The name of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals remains today, chastened and shorn of everything but its civilizing face as a provider of medicines and hygiene products for the public good. In 1950, the original Hoshi Business School for training employees and franchisees became Hoshi University, a school for the training ¯ tani of drug researchers and pharmacists. As a wholly owned subsidiary of the O family’s holding company, TOC Corporation, Limited, the present-day Hoshi Pharmaceuticals peddles a nostalgic range of dietary supplements and cosmetics,

234

EPILOGUE

including Hoshi Digestive Medicine.13 Its capitalization of 75 million yen is a mere fraction of that of industry leaders like Takeda, Taisho¯, or Dai-ichi Sankyo¯, which have capitalizations in the tens of billions.14 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, however, maintains a strong presence in popular culture, largely because of Hoshi Shin’ichi’s attempt to rewrite company history. Although Shin’ichi was never able to escape the shadow of his father, he attempted to come to terms with the shadow of his father’s company through an account of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ involvement in the opium scandal, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi (Bureaucrats are powerful, the people are weak), first published in 1967.15 In the words of the prominent postwar intellectual and Hoshi family friend Tsurumi Shunsuke, “Hoshi Shin’ichi was unable to take revenge on his father’s enemies in the business world . . . but it can be said that he carried out his revenge after he entered the field of literature.”16 Effacing the company’s involvement in opium trafficking, Shin’ichi’s narrative portrays Hoshi Pharmaceuticals as an enlightened, US-style company unfairly persecuted by the corrupt, feudal interests that dominated prewar government and business circles. Contrary to Shin’ichi’s claims, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, of course, had prospered from its close connections to government leaders, which not only helped it become Japan’s largest supplier of alkaloid medicines like quinine and morphine but also rescued it from bankruptcy in the wake of the opium scandal. In a defense of the Hoshi family, Tsurumi Shunsuke made the case that Hoshi Hajime typified Japanese capitalist development of his era: “Hoshi was not a zaibatsu. It did not have the government-business ties (seisho¯) of a Mitsui or Mitsubishi. It looks very similar to the case of Suzuki Trading, which grew rapidly after World War I, but it was an era where businesses that did not have thick ties with the government were unable to grow.”17 Yet, more often than not, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals has been portrayed as an aberration that deviated from the industry’s normal course of development. One recent history, for example, describes Hoshi as a short-lived, “special” (tokuiteki) case that “depicted a singular era” (ichijidai o kakushita).18 By the end of the occupation in 1952, with the medical crisis largely abated, companies like Takeda, Sankyo¯, Shionogi, and Dai Nippon had begun investing in new facilities for discovering and manufacturing new, laboratory-reproducible medicines.19 Along with other occupation reforms, PHW’s policies helped lay the groundwork for this development. Because the policies prevented the industry from—and duly punished individual firms for—dealing in medicines deemed harmful to society, they were tantamount to sanctioning the industry to begin anew, shorn of associations with darker wartime and colonial pasts. The image propounded by today’s multinational pharmaceutical firms is of white-coated scientists handling translucent vials and beakers in their pristine

EPILOGUE

235

laboratories. Cordoned off from outside social and environmental contaminants, and armed with multi-million-dollar machines and instruments, scientists discover and derive compounds for the public good.20 Pharmaceutical histories, whether in Japan or any other country, have two common characteristics. First, they take as their subjects either heroic researchers who toil and sacrifice to discover the latest miracle medicine or visionary managers who implement ever more rational and efficient organizational structures and business practices. Second, because the compounds that drug companies produce improve our daily lives, they are often described as fundamentally “moral corporations” and “companies that care” (to quote two company histories).21 And what makes drug companies moral, of course, are the supposedly humanitarian commodities they produce. Portrayed in this light, Hoshi was an outlier that conveniently failed at the very beginning of the industry’s so-called miraculous postwar recover and rebirth. But as this book has tried to show, Hoshi in its heyday was not all that different from other large-scale drug companies of its time. It was a parable of an earlier era—characterized by collusive connections between state and industry, overheated, debt-financed expansion, and the dangers of peddling potential poisons as medicines. To sell its medicines, Hoshi, like other companies, wove a scientific, humanitarian, and democratic narrative of medicinal consumption that highlighted the allegedly objective and self-evident merits of modern medicine for curing disease and improving people’s lives for the benefit of society as a whole. It wanted consumers to believe that the business of medicine was solely an ethical endeavor. The case of Hoshi demonstrates how the modern pharmaceutical industry developed outside of the research laboratory, deeply immersed and implicated in politics and society. The symbiotic relationship it had with the Japanese state and its imperial expansion linked medicine sales to disciplinary regimes as well as domestic and international political intrigues. The nature of the medicines that Hoshi produced and sold—and its methods for producing and selling them— demonstrates how medicines were, like other commodities, subject to the vagaries of (geo)politics, the marketplace, and human vices. Hoshi manufactured narcotics like morphine, heroin, and cocaine, often deemed as dangers to society; traded in patent medicines criticized for their overt commodification; and, at its peak in the 1920s, manufactured vaccines, vitamins, and a range of cosmetics and household goods. Hoshi was an ambitious company that undertook vast amounts of debt in order to try its hand at dominating the global pharmaceutical market in the early twentieth century. The postwar drug industry’s primary difference from the drug industry of this earlier era has been its growing dependence on research and development.

236

EPILOGUE

This has helped solidify narratives of the seeming hegemony of science across the pharmaceutical sector. But the fundamental contradiction that constitutes the business of medicine—between profitmaking motives and humanitarian concerns—remains unresolved. The postwar pharmaceutical industry has consequently encountered similar controversies concerning the value of medicine that, despite its best efforts, have demonstrated that the industry cannot disassociate itself from its colonial and wartime past. The primary problem has been—and remains—the impossibility of controlling consumption. Unlike medicinal production, which can be shuttered from public view in a controlled laboratory, medicinal consumption easily diverts from its proper, prescribed path. Through the act of consumption, drug companies like Hoshi tried to mold individuals to become healthy and productive state subjects. But there was no guarantee that they would follow instructions. After all, the state tightly regulated and restricted the circulation of narcotics because improper consumption posed too great a risk to the literal and metaphorical body politic. In Japan (as elsewhere) during World War II, pharmaceutical companies supplied the medicines to help turn civilians into soldiers and soldiers into killing machines. Companies like Hoshi manufactured narcotics for soldiers to dull their physical pains and mental anguish. But Hoshi notably did not join its peers in producing another popular wartime medicine that gave users the opposite effect: methamphetamine, which soldiers prized for helping them stay alert during battle. The wartime government considered methamphetamine—better known as hiropon because of the early dominance of Dai Nippon’s brand-named version, Philopon—a safe stimulant not just for countering lethargy for soldiers in combat but for commercial sale to an overworked population mobilized for war.22 After the war, the transition from wartime soldier to peacetime civilian was anything but easy for many. The image of the opium-addicted former soldier suffering from withdrawal after his return home became symbolic of the complications of Japan’s withdrawal from a sprawling wartime empire to a peaceful, empireless nation.23 Occupation authorities tightly regulated the production and distribution of narcotics because they were well aware of their potential to cause harm. By comparison, the dangers of hiropon caught authorities by surprise. As Jeffrey Alexander and Miriam Kingsberg have shown, fears concerning the widespread abuse of stimulants like methamphetamine created a moral panic in the 1950s associated with crime, deviance, and the contagion of foreign otherness— the very same social illnesses ascribed to narcotics addiction. Yet, methamphetamine remained widely available on the consumer market until it became policed as a controlled substance in the early 1950s. The inventor of the medicine was none other than the so-called father of Japan’s modern pharmaceutical industry,

EPILOGUE

237

Nagai Nagayoshi, a man celebrated for bringing the principles of modern science into Japanese drug production and the leading figure in the state-sponsored drug company, Dai Nippon.24 This book has explored—through a microhistory of the rise and fall of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals—the making of this industry and how it supported the Japanese state’s efforts to mold individuals into healthy and productive citizens. Drug companies like Hoshi manufactured medicines for the state’s biomedical regime, and they helped imbue its values through the consumer marketplace. Yet, the periodic eruption of controversies like Hoshi’s opium scandal or the hiropon crisis demonstrate how drug companies also simultaneously subverted the biomedical regime. These controversies shined light on the state’s reliance on companies that put profit-seeking motives above humanitarian concerns. They also revealed what might be the fundamental problem of biomedicine: how it privileges the collective over the individual. Companies like Hoshi helped mold individuals into state subjects based on one-size-fits-all archetypes of mass consumer culture, such as the rational housewife or the productive worker. This paralleled state efforts to improve collective public health through measures such as quarantine and mass vaccination. But consuming a medicine is, at root, an individual practice, and individuals react to a medicine in disparate ways. “The predominant medical model of disease,” in the words of Jean Comaroff, simultaneously “constitute[ed] a powerful image of selfhood” and “reproduc[ed] the symbolic basis for our perceptions of progressive alienation.”25 Although “Western medicine” (seiyo¯ igaku) in late nineteenth-century and early twentiethcentury Japan has become simply “medicine” (igaku), shorn of its modifier, dissatisfaction lingers with the dominant structures and practice of medicine today, as evidenced, perhaps, by the continued popularity of alternative and traditional forms of healing.26 In Japan, biomedicine developed top-down, in the service of the state and its expanding empire and in connection with the growth of large-scale industrial corporations. In healing bodies, the biomedical regime reinscribed social and economic hierarchies and privileged the collective over the rational individual that it helped create. Yet illness is always an individuated experience. Individuals are the ones who truly bear the brunt of an illness and the burden of freeing themselves from its shackles. And they alone are left to ponder their station in life and to what end they must suffer.

Notes

INTRODUCTION

1. Quoted in Oda Toshio, Taiwan igaku 50-nen (Tokyo: Igaku shoin, 1974), 51–52 and Tsurumi Yu¯suke, Ketteiban, seiden Goto¯ Shinpei, annotated and revised by Ikkai Tomoyoshi, vol. 3 (Tokyo: Fujiwara shoten [1937–1949] 2004–2006), 416–417. 2. See Robert Eskildsen, “Of Civilization and Savages: The Mimetic Imperialism of Japan’s 1874 Expedition to Taiwan,” American Historical Review 107, no. 2 (2002): 388–418; Wendy Matsumura, The Limits of Okinawa: Japanese Capitalism, Living Labor, and Theorizations of Community (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015); Sidney Xu Lu, The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and Trans-Pacific Migration, 1868–1961 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019). 3. See, for example, Charlotte E. Henze, Disease, Health Care and Government in Late Imperial Russia: Life and Death on the Volga, 1823–1914 (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2011); Magrit Davies, Public Health and Colonialism: The Case of German New Guinea, 1884–1914 (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2002); Frank M. Snowden, Naples in the Time of Cholera, 1884–1911 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Birsen Bulmus¸, Plagues, Quarantines, and Geopolitics in the Ottoman Empire (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012). 4. For more on public health, hygiene, and the state in modern Japan and its empire, see William Johnston, The Modern Epidemic: A History of Tuberculosis in Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1995); Susan L. Burns, Kingdom of the Sick: A History of Leprosy and Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2019); Susan L. Burns, “Constructing the National Body: Public Health and the Nation in Meiji Japan,” in Nation Work: Asian Elites and National Identities, edited by Timothy Brook and Andre Schmid (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 17–50; Sabine Frühstück, Colonizing Sex: Sexology and Social Control in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); Kano Masanao, Kenko¯ kan ni miru kindai (Tokyo: Asahi shinbunsha, 2001); Iijima Wataru and Wakimura Ko¯hei, “Eisei to teikoku: Nichi-Ei shokuminchishugi no hikakushiteki ko¯satsu ni mukete,” Nihon shi kenkyu¯, 462 (February 2001): 3–25; Iijima Wataru, Mararia to teikoku: shokuminchi igaku to Higashi Ajia no ko¯ iki chitsujo (Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppansha, 2005); Iijima Wataru, Pesuto to kindai Chu¯goku (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 2000); Ann Jannetta, “From Physician to Bureaucrat: The Case of Nagayo Sensai,” in New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan, ed. Helen Hardacre (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1997), 151–160; Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009); Hoi-eun Kim, Doctors of Empire: Medical and Cultural Encounters between Imperial Germany and Meiji Japan (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014); and Ming-Cheng Lo, Doctors within Borders: Profession, Ethnicity, and Modernity in Colonial Taiwan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 5. The literature on the global history of medicine, particularly in a colonial context, is vast and expanding. Influential works, which represent a range of methodologies, places, and perspectives, include David Arnold, Colonizing the Body: State Medicine and Epidemic Disease in Nineteenth-Century India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 239

240

NOTES TO PAGE 2

1993); Mark Harrison, Public Health in British India: Anglo-Indian Preventive Medicine, 1859–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Philip Curtin, Death by Migration: Europe’s Encounter with the Tropical World in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Nancy Tomes, The Gospel of Germs: Men, Women, and the Microbe in American Life (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999); Warwick Anderson, Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); Nancy Rose Hunt, A Colonial Lexicon: Of Birth Ritual, Medicalization, and Mobility in the Congo (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999); Megan Vaughn, Curing Their Ills: Colonial Power and African Illness (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991); Ruth Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty-Port China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004); Angela Ki Che Leung and Charlotte Furth, eds., Health and Hygiene in Chinese East Asia: Policies and Publics in the Long Twentieth Century (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010); Bridie Andrews, The Making of Modern Chinese Medicine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Carol Benedict, Bubonic Plague in Nineteenth-Century China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996); Angela Ki Che Leung, Leprosy in China: A History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009); and Sean Hsiang-Lin Lei, Neither Donkey nor Horse: Medicine in the Struggle over China’s Modernity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014). 6. One work that examines medicine as a business is Pierre-Yves Donzé, Making Medicine a Business: X-Ray Technology, Global Competition, and the Transformation of the Japanese Medical System, 1895–1945 (Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018). 7. Jean Comaroff, “Medicine: Symbol and Ideology,” in The Problem of Medical Knowledge: Examining the Social Construction of Medicine, edited by Peter Wright and Andrew Treacher (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1982), 55. 8. For an excellent introduction to pharmaceutical studies, see Sergio Sismondo and Jeremy A. Greene, eds., The Pharmaceutical Studies Reader (Chichester, UK: Wiley and Sons, 2015). Also see Jeremy A. Greene, Prescribing by the Numbers: Drugs and the Definition of Disease (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007). My work directly builds on recent scholarship in the commodity history of medicines in East Asia, including Susan L. Burns, “The Japanese Patent Medicine Trade in East Asia: Women’s Medicines and the Tensions of Empire,” in Gender, Health, and History in East Asia, edited by Izumi Nakayama and Angela Leung (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017), 139–165; Emily Baum, “Health by the Bottle: The Dr. Williams’ Medicine Company and the Commodification of Well-Being in Liangyou,” in Liangyou: Kaleidoscopic Modernity and the Shanghai Global Metropolis, 1926–1945, edited by Paul Pickowicz, Kuiyi Shen, and Yingjiu Zhang (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2013), 71–94; Sherman Cochran, Chinese Medicine Men: Consumer Culture in China and Southeast Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006); Hoi-eun Kim, “Adulterated Intermediaries: Peddlers, Pharmacists, and the Patent Medicine Industry in Colonial Korea (1910–1945),” Enterprise and Society 20, no. 4 (December 2019): 939–977; Mirian Kingsberg, Moral Nation: Modern Japan and Narcotics in Global History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014); Jin-kyung Park, “Managing ‘Dis-ease’: Print Media, Medical Images, and Patent Medicine Advertisements in Colonial Korea,” International Journal of Cultural Studies 2, no. 4 (2018): 420–439; and Soyoung Suh, Naming the Local: Medicine, Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017). 9. “Biopower” is a term coined by Michel Foucault to refer to the technologies and practices that nation-states use to assert control over their subjects’ bodies. Although scholars have primarily analyzed biopower from the perspective of the state, Foucault himself discusses the importance of examining biopower in connection with the development

NOTES TO PAGES 3–4

241

of industrial capitalism. He writes, “In fact, the two processes—the accumulation of men and the accumulation of capital—cannot be separated; it would not have been possible to solve the problem of the accumulation of men without the growth of an apparatus of production capable of both sustaining them and using them; conversely, the techniques that made the cumulative multiplicity of men useful accelerated the accumulation of capital.” Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, translated by Alan Sheridan (New York: Vintage, [1978] 1995), 221. 10. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 5; Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo¯ hen (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 52. 11. Hoshi claimed that it had both franchises and chain stores in its distribution network, but it is more accurate to describe Hoshi’s “chain stores” as franchises (see chapter 4 and 6). The difference between the two terms is that chain stores are typically companyowned, whereas franchises are not. Here, kusuri can also be translated as “drugs.” I have chosen to use “medicines” because “drugs” has a connotation of illegal substances and addiction, which is clearly not the intent of the company’s slogan. 12. Hoshi Shin’ichi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 1967, rev. ed. 2006); and Hoshi Shin’ichi, Meiji, Chichi, Amerika (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1975] revised 2007). Also see Saisho¯ Hazuki’s magisterial biography, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007). 13. Scholars such as Morris Low and Michael Shiyung Liu have explored the dominance (and limitations) of the ideology of the spread of science and medicine as a progressive and civilizing force. See Morris Fraser Low, “The Butterfly and the Frigate: Social Studies of Science in Japan,” Social Studies of Science 19, no. 2: 313–342; Shiyung Liu, “The Ripple of Rivalry: The Spread of Modern Medicine from Japan to Its Colonies,” East Asian Science, Technology and Society: An International Journal 2, no. 1 (2008): 47–71. 14. Broad histories of Japan’s pharmaceutical industry include Maki Umemura, The Japanese Pharmaceutical Industry: Its Evolution and Current Challenges (London: Routledge, 2011); Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995); “Nihon no shinyaku” hanko¯kai, ed., Nihon no shinyakushi (Tokyo: Yakugyo¯jiho¯sha, 1969); Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010); Amano Hiroshi, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2000); Ikeda Matsugoro¯, Nihon yakugyo¯ shi (Tokyo: Yakugyo¯jironsha, 1929); Shimizu To¯taro¯, Nihon yakugakushi. Tokyo: Nanzando¯, 1949; Yoshida Jinkichi, Yakugyo¯ keieron (Tokyo: Hyo¯ronsha, [1962] 1966); Julia S. Yongue, “Origins of Innovation in the Japanese Pharmaceutical Industry: The Case of Yamanouchi Pharmaceutical Company (1923–1976),” Japanese Research in Business History 22 (2005): 109–136; Julia S. Yongue, “Academia-Industry Relations: Interpreting the Role of Nagai Nagayoshi in the Development of New Businesses in the Meiji Period and Beyond,” in Science, Technology, and Medicine in the Modern Japanese Empire, edited by David G. Wittner and Philip C. Brown (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2016), 33–49. 15. Other industries had similar developmental paths. See, for example, Barbara Molony, Technology and Investment: The Prewar Japanese Chemical Industry (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1990); and William D. Wray, Managing Industrial Enterprise: Cases from Japan’s Prewar Experience (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989). For more on the economy in the interwar years, see, for example, Michael Smitka, ed., The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940 (New York: Garland, 1998); Randall K. Morck and Masao Nakamura, “A Frog in a Well Knows Nothing of the Ocean: A History of Corporate Ownership in Japan,” in A History of Corporate Governance around the World: Family Business Groups to Professional Managers, edited by Randall K. Morck (Chicago: University of Chicago

242

NOTES TO PAGES 4–8

Press, 2005), 367–465; and Morikawa Hidemasa, Zaibatsu: the Rise and Fall of Family Enterprise Groups in Japan (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1992). 16. For a broad introduction to the global history of pharmaceuticals, see Stuart Anderson, Making Medicines: A Brief History of Pharmacy and Pharmaceuticals (London: Pharmaceutical, 2005); and Edward Kremers and George Urdang, Kremers and Urdang’s History of Pharmacy, 4th ed., revised by Glenn Sonnedecker (Madison, WI: American Institute of the History of Pharmacy, 1976). Notable histories of leading drug companies include Roy Church and E. M. Tansey, Burroughs Wellcome and Co.: Knowledge, Trust, Profit and the Transformation of the British Pharmaceutical Industry, 1880–1940 (Lancaster, UK: Crucible, 2007); and Roy P. Vagelos and Louis Galambos, Medicine, Science, and Merck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). For a work that challenges definitions of the modern pharmacy and pharmaceutical knowledge across time and space, see He Bian, Know Your Remedies: Pharmacy and Culture in Early Modern China (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020). 17. Thomas C. Smith, Political Change and Industrial Development in Japan: Government Enterprise, 1868–1880 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1954), 23–26. 18. The government’s debts were from the costs of building up the economy and military as well as suppressing a samurai revolt known as the Satsuma Rebellion. For a nuanced and well-balanced take on Matsukata’s deflationary policies, see Steven J. Ericson, Financial Stabilization in Meiji Japan: The Impact of the Matsukata Reform (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2020). 19. Jan R. McTavish, Pain and Profits: The History of the Headache and Its Remedies in America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 64–85. 20. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi (Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1998), 2–3. 21. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 56–62; Yakugyo¯ keizai kenkyu¯jo, Yakugyo¯ keizai nenkan (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1967), 241–246. 22. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 27, 33; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Tsukareta Doitsu kagaku no enjo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , March 1, 1923. 23. See Hiromi Mizuno, Science for Empire: Scientific Nationalism in Modern Japan (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009); Janis Mimura, Planning for Empire: Reform Bureaucrats and the Japanese Wartime State (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011); Aaron S. Moore, Constructing East Asia: Technology, Ideology, and Empire in Japan’s Wartime Era, 1931–1945 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2015). 24. For a discussion of the adaptation of Taylorism in Japan, see William M. Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology: Scientific Management in Twentieth-Century Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998). 25. See, for example, Richard J. Samuels, Machiavelli’s Children: Leaders and Their Legacies in Italy and Japan (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), 124–175; Chalmers Johnson, MITI and the Japanese Miracle: The Growth of Industrial Policy, 1925–1975 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1982); Chie Nakane, Japanese Society (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970); and Ronald Dore, British Factory, Japanese Factory: The Origins of National Diversity in Industrial Production (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973). 26. Historians have convincingly challenged the cultural foundations of this “Japanese pattern” in their well-regarded works. See, for example, Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology; Andrew Gordon, The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry, 1853–1955 (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1985); and Sheldon Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987). For a discussion of Japan and the global economic climate of the late nineteenth

NOTES TO PAGES 8–10

243

and early twentieth centuries, see Steven Bryan, The Gold Standard at the Turn of the Twentieth Century: Rising Powers, Global Money, and the Age of Empire (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010); and Mark Metzler, Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006). 27. Louis Althusser, “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes towards an Investigation),” in “Lenin and Philosophy” and Other Essays. Translated by Ben Brewster (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1971), 127–186. 28. See Thomas W. Laqueur, “Bodies, Details, and the Humanitarian Narrative,” in The New Cultural History, edited by Lynn Hunt (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 176–204. 29. See Sjaak van der Geest and Susan Reynolds Whyte, “The Charm of Medicines: Metaphors and Metonyms,” Medical Anthropology Quarterly, n.s. 3, no. 4 (December 1989): 345–367; Sjaak van der Geest, Susan Reynolds Whyte, and Anita Hardon, “The Anthropology of Pharmaceuticals: A Biographical Approach,” Annual Review of Anthropology 25 (1996): 153–178; and Susan Reynolds Whyte, Sjaak van der Geest, and Anita Hardon, Social Lives of Medicines (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 30. See Karl Marx, Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, vol. 1, translated by Ben Fowkes (London: Penguin, 1990), 125–177, quote on 126. 31. See Igor Kopytoff, “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process,” in The Social Life of Things, edited by Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 64–91; and Sidney Mintz, Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History (New York: Viking, 1985). 32. In the words of Alan Trachtenberg, “Based on minority ownership—that is, on the legally established authority of a small group of directors and managers to act in the name of a larger, amorphous body of otherwise unrelated stockholders—the corporation provided capitalists with a more flexible and far-reaching instrument than earlier forms of ownership such as simple partnerships and family businesses.” See Trachtenberg, The Incorporation of America: Culture and Society in the Gilded Age (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982), 3–5. 33. See Jason W. Moore’s idea of a “commodity frontier.” According to Moore, “While state actors attempt to shape the system’s division of labor to their advantage, the primary organizing mechanisms are commodity chains, whose operations are by definition transnational.” Moore, “Sugar and the Expansion of the Early Modern World-Economy: Commodity Frontiers, Ecological Transformations, and Industrialization,” Review 23 (2000): 410. For more on the legal structures in the pharmaceutical industry, see Joseph M. Gabriel, Medical Monopoly: Intellectual Property Rights and the Origins of the Modern Pharmaceutical Industry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014). 34. For some global examples, even though some of these authors do not focus explicitly on the pharmaceutical industry as their primary subjects, see Abena Dove Osseo-Asare, Bitter Roots: The Search for Healing Plants in Africa (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014); Gabriela Soto Laveaga, Jungle Laboratories: Mexican Peasants, National Projects, and the Making of the Pill (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009); Suzanna Reiss, We Sell Drugs: The Alchemy of US Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014); Laurence Monnais, The Colonial Life of Pharmaceuticals: Medicines and Modernity in Vietnam, translated by Noémi Tousignant (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019); and Timothy Burke’s groundbreaking work, Lifebuoy Men, Lux Women: Commodification, Consumption, and Cleanliness in Modern Zimbabwe (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996). These works are all exemplary of how a commodity studies’ approach emphasizes interconnections across social, class, and national boundaries.

244

NOTES TO PAGES 10–13

35. Hoshi Hajime, “Yoi kusuri wa Nihon bunmei no purobakanda¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , February 1, 1920. 36. See Daniel Headrick, The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 58–79. 37. Representative works on the development of modern consumer culture include William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage, 1993); Susan Strasser, Satisfaction Guaranteed: The Making of the American Mass Market (New York: Pantheon, 1989); Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through 20th Century Europe (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 2005); Geoffrey Jones, Beauty Imagined: A History of the Global Beauty Industry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); Penelope Francks, The Japanese Consumer: An Alternative Economic History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); and Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012). 38. Miriam Silverberg, Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 20–28, quote on 20. 39. See Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008); Eric C. Schneider, Smack: Heroin and the American City (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008); Robert P. Stephens, Germans on Drugs: The Complications of Modernization in Hamburg (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007); Jeffrey W. Alexander, Drinking Bomb and Shooting Meth: Alcohol and Drug Use in Japan (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2018); David F. Musto, The American Disease: Origins of Narcotic Control (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1973); Diana S. Kim, Empires of Vice: The Rise of Opium Prohibition across Southeast Asia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020). 40. David T. Courtwright, The Age of Addiction: How Bad Habits Became Big Business (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019), 6. 41. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi, 52; Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi, 29; Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 180-nen shi (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ nai shashi hensan iinkai iincho¯, 1962), 589; Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Shionogi 100-nen (Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978), 202–203. 42. Louisa Rubinfein, “Commodity to National Brand: Manufacturers, Merchants, and the Development of the Consumer Market in Interwar Japan” (PhD dissertation, Harvard University, 1995); Wada Hirofumi, Shiseido¯ to iu bunka so¯ chi, 1874–1945 (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2011); and Kao¯ myu¯jiamu shiryo¯shitsu, Kao¯ , 120-nen: 1890–2010-nen (Tokyo: Kao¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2012). 43. Hisamitsu’s official history contains an apocryphal story of the origins of one its most famous early drugs, Asahi mankinko¯ , a salve for bruises and sprains, and its connections to Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. In 1923, Hisamitsu’s president, Nakatomi Saburo¯ traveled to Tokyo and engaged in a contract with Hoshi Pharmaceuticals to buy bulk quantities of Hoshi mankinko¯ . He then sold it repackaged under the name Asahi mankinko¯ . See Hisamitsu seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 145-nen shi hensan iinkai, 145-nen shi: Hisamitsu kabushiki kaisha (Tosu, Japan: Hisamitsu seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1992), 130–131. According to Fujisawa’s official history, it was one of the primary suppliers of raw materials for Hoshi Digestive Medicine. See Fujisawa yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Fujisawa 100-nen shi (Osaka: Fujisawa yakuhin ko¯gyo¯, 1995), 47–48. Also see Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shashi henshu¯ jimukyoku, Taisho¯ seiyaku 80-nen shi (Tokyo: Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1993), 27–30. 44. Anderson, Making Medicines, 157–159, 180–181. 45. McTavish, Pain and Profits, 161.

NOTES TO PAGES 13–21

245

46. See Peter Hayes, Industry and Ideology: I. G. Farben in the Nazi Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 43, 185. Bayer became a part of IG Farben in 1925. Pfizer was most famous for its mass production of penicillin for the war effort, which it dubbed “the magic bullet.” See Jeffrey L. Rodengen, The Legend of Pfizer (Fort Lauderdale, FL: Write Stuff Syndicate, 1999), 52–67. 47. See Morck and Nakamura, “A Frog in a Well Knows Nothing of the Ocean,” 402–412. 48. See, for example, the publisher Yumani shobo¯’s series “Japanese Economic History through Company Histories” (Shashi de miru Nihon keizaishi), which numbers more than a hundred volumes. In the United States, the University of Pittsburgh has sponsored a peer-reviewed journal, Shashi: The Journal of Japanese Business and Company History. 49. Japan’s postwar recovery was not miraculous. See John W. Dower, “The Useful War,” in Showa: The Japan of Hirohito, edited by Carol Gluck and Stephen R. Graubard (New York: W. W. Norton, 1992), 49–70. 50. See Alfred D. Chandler, Jr., Shaping the Industrial Century: The Remarkable Story of the Evolution of the Modern Chemical and Pharmaceutical Industries (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 51. I found the files in a “document compilation room” (shiryo¯ hensan shitsu) on the second floor of the central administrative building of Hoshi University. There is a history that celebrates eighty years of Hoshi University, Hoshi yakka daigaku-shi hensan iinkai, ed., Hoshi yakka daigaku 80-nen shi (Tokyo: Hoshi yakka daigaku, 1991). Liu Bi-rong, who introduced me to the archival collection at Hoshi University, has a political science dissertation on Hoshi that is excellent and comprehensive. See Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009). CHAPTER 1. A STRATEGIC INDUSTRY

1. See, for example, William Johnston, The Modern Epidemic: A History of Tuberculosis in Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, Harvard University, 1995); Ruth Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty-Port China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004); Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009); and Susan L. Burns, “Constructing the National Body: Public Health and the Nation in Meiji Japan,” in Nation Work: Asian Elites and National Identities, edited by Timothy Brook and Andre Schmid (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 17–50. 2. See Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity, 136–164; Iijima Wataru, Mararia to teikoku: shokuminchi igaku to Higashi Ajia no ko¯ iki chitsujo (Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppansha, 2005), 113–155; Iijima Wataru and Wakimura Ko¯hei, “Eisei to teikoku: Nichi-Ei shokuminchis hugi no hikakushiteki ko¯satsu ni mukete,” Nihonshi kenkyu¯, 462 (February 2001): 3–25. 3. Nagayo is often described as the father of Japan’s public health system for his role in establishing the infrastructure for state medicine, which included bureaucratic structures like the health ministry, medical legislation, and a medical school that became part of Tokyo Imperial University. Kitasato was a leading physician and bacteriologist known for his contributions to microbiology, and specifically for discovering and isolating bacteria responsible for a number of infectious diseases. Mori Rintaro¯ was an army surgeon who was promoted to Surgeon General after the Russo-Japanese War. He was also one ¯ gai. See Hoi-Eun Kim, of Japan’s foremost novelists, who went by the pen name Mori O

246

NOTES TO PAGES 21–24

Doctors of Empire: Medical and Cultural Encounters between Imperial Germany and Meiji Japan (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014); Ann Jannetta, “From Physician to Bureaucrat: The Case of Nagayo Sensai,” in New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan, edited by Helen Hardacre (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1997); James R. Bartholomew, The Formation of Science in Japan: Building a Research Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993); and James Richard Bartholomew, “The Acculturation of Science in Japan: Kitasato Shibasaburo¯ and the Bacteriological Community, 1885–1920” (PhD Dissertation, Stanford University, 1971). 4. See, for example, Iijima, Mararia to teikoku; Iijima and Wakimura, “Eisei to teikoku”; and Iijima Wataru, Pesuto to kindai Chu¯goku (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 2000). 5. Susan L. Burns, “Marketing ‘Women’s Medicines’: Gender, OTC Herbal Medicines and Medical Culture in Modern Japan,” Asian Medicine 5, no. 1 (2009): 146–172. 6. See D. Colin Jaundrill, Remaking Military Service in Nineteenth-Century Japan (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2016). 7. Susan L. Burns, “Marketing Health and the Modern Body: Patent Medicine Advertisements in Meiji-Taisho¯ Japan,” in Looking Modern: East Asian Visual Culture from Treaty Ports to World War II, edited by Jennifer Purtle and Hans Bjarne Thomsen (Chicago: Center for the Art of East Asia, Department of Art History, University of Chicago, 2009), 184. 8. Michel Foucault, “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History” in The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul Rabinow (New York: Pantheon, 1984), 88. 9. Johnston, The Modern Epidemic, 163–170. 10. Ellen Gardner Nakamura, Practical Pursuits: Takano Cho¯ ei, Takahashi Keisaku, and Western Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 4–14; Ann Jannetta, The Vaccinators: Smallpox, Medical Knowledge, and the “Opening” of Japan (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007), 78–101. 11. Johnston, The Modern Epidemic, 167–170; Kim, Doctors of Empire, 19. 12. Johnston, The Modern Epidemic, 173–176. 13. Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 17–24. 14. Johnston, The Modern Epidemic, 164–176, quote on 176. 15. Johnston, The Modern Epidemic, 177. 16. Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 58. For a full-length analysis of the importance of the hoko¯ system as a tool of discipline, see Hui-yu Caroline Ts’ai, Taiwan in Japan’s Empire Building: An Institutional Approach to Colonial Engineering (London: Routledge, 2009). 17. Quoted in Kim, Doctors of Empire, 35. 18. Margaret M. Lock, East Asian Medicine in Urban Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980), 62. 19. Quoted in Kim, Doctors of Empire, 42. Also see Amano Hiroshi, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2000), 88–89; Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo, Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi (Tokyo: Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo so¯ritsu hyakushu¯-nen kinenjigyo¯, 1975), 7–9. 20. Quoted in Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 89. 21. For a lucid discussion on the differing—yet interrelated—representations and practices of Chinese and Western medicine, see Shigehisa Kuriyama, The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine (New York: Zone, 1999). 22. Indeed, intellectuals were often practicing physicians and often explicitly wrote on medical topics, as in the case of Hirata Astutane. See Daniel Trambaiolo, “Native and Foreign in Tokugawa Medicine,” Journal of Japanese Studies 39, no. 2 (Summer 2013): 318–322; and Susan L. Burns, “Nanayama Jundo¯ at Work: A Village Doctor and Medical

NOTES TO PAGES 25–28

247

Knowledge in Nineteenth Century Japan,” East Asian Science, Technology, and Medicine 29 (2008): 62–65. 23. Trambaiolo, “Native and Foreign in Tokugawa Medicine,” 300. 24. Yamashita Mai, Iyaku o kindaika shita kenkyu¯ to senryaku (Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2010), 21. 25. Before the arrival of Dutch medicine, Edo-period neologisms demonstrated that although most medicines might have originated in Asia, their provenance was far from apolitical for much of Japan’s premodern history, just like in modern times. Trambaiolo, “Native and Foreign in Tokugawa Medicine,” 300. 26. See Federico Marcon, “Honzo¯gaku after Seibutsugaku: Traditional Pharmacology as Antiquarinaism after the Institutionalization of Modern Biology in Early Meiji Japan,” Antiquarianism, Language, and Medical Philology: From Early Modern to Modern SinoJapanese Medical Discourses, edited by in Benjamin Elman (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2015), 148–162; Federico Marcon, The Knowledge of Nature and the Nature of Knowledge (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015); and Maki Fukuoka, The Premise of Fidelity: Science, Visuality, and Representing the Real in Nineteenth-Century Japan (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2012). Also see He Bian, Know Your Remedies: Pharmacy and Culture in Early Modern China (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020); and Carla Nappi, The Monkey and the Inkpot: Natural History and Its Transformations in Early Modern China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). 27. Representative works include those mentioned above as well as Bridie Andrews, The Making of Modern Chinese Medicine, 1850–1960 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2014); Sean Hsiang-lin Lei, Neither Donkey nor Horse: Medicine in the Struggle over China’s Modernity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014); and Soyoung Suh, Naming the Local: Medicine, Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017). There are many, many more. 28. The seminal work is Lydia H. Liu, Translingual Practice: Literature, National Culture, and Translated Modernity—China, 1900–1937 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995). 29. Akihito Suzuki and Mika Suzuki, “Cholera, Consumer and Citizenship: Modernisations of Medicine in Japan,” in The Development of Modern Medicine in Non-Western Countries: Historical Perspectives, edited by Hormoz Ebrahimnejad (London: Routledge, 2009), 184–203, quote on 185. 30. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 1995), 22–24; Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo, Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi, 3–4. 31. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 51. 32. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 38–43; Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 90–95. 33. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 50–51, 99–101. 34. Miriam Kingsberg, Moral Nation: Modern Japan and Narcotics in Global History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014), 2. 35. Quoted in Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 11. 36. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 89–95. 37. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 95–97; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 35–39; 12–26; Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo, Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi, 12–26. 38. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 92–95, 102–106, 112–114; 121–129. 39. Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo, Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi, 14–16. 40. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 39–42; Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 95–97.

248

NOTES TO PAGES 29–34

41. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 99, 107–109. 42. John M. Jennings, The Opium Empire: Japanese Imperialism and Drug Trafficking in Asia, 1895–1945 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997), 8–11; Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 11; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 36–37. 43. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 102. 44. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 43, 48–49. 45. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 35–51; Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 117, 129. 46. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 49–51. 47. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 25–27. 48. James L. McClain, “Space, Power, Wealth, and Status in Seventeenth Century Osaka,” in Osaka: The Merchants’ Capital of Early Modern Japan, edited by James L. McClain and Wakita Osamu (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999), 65–67. 49. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 25–27. 50. For more on the development of kabunakama in Osaka, see William B. Hauser, Economic Institutional Change in Tokugawa Japan: Osaka and the Kinai Cotton Trade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 7–58; and E. S. Crawcour, “Changes in Japanese Commerce in the Tokugawa Period,” in Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan, edited by John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), 189–202. 51. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 25–27. 52. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 25–27, 46–51. 53. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 180-nen shi (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ nai shashi hensan iinkai iincho¯, 1962), 190–215; and Tanabe seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shashi hensan iinkai, Tanabe seiyaku 305-nen shi (Osaka: Tanabe seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1983), 33–78. 54. There are a number of apocryphal origin stories as to how Dosho¯machi became the traditional heartland of the medicine industry. For a quick summary, see Yamashita, Iyaku o kindaika shita kenkyu¯ to senryaku, 20–21. 55. Jan R. McTavish, Pain and Profits: The History of the Headache and Its Remedies in America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 64–65. 56. McTavish, Pain and Profits, 67–72. 57. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 43. For more on the development of the chemical industry in Japan, see Barbara Molony, Technology and Investment: The Prewar Japanese Chemical Industry (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1990). 58. Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo, Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi, 38–39. For more on cholera epidemics in Japan, see William Johnston, “Cholera and the Environment in Nineteenth-Century Japan,” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review (e-journal), no. 30 (2019): 9–34; and William Johnston, “The Shifting Epistemological Foundations of Cholera Control in Japan, 1822 to 1900,” Extrême-Orient ExtrêmeOccident 37 (2014): 171–196. 59. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 45. 60. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 129–130. 61. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi (Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1998), 5–7. 62. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi (Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi hensan iinkai, 1957), 25. 63. Steven J. Ericson convincingly argues that Matsukata’s financial reform was far from “a self-imposed nineteenth-century antecedent” of neoliberalism, but rather “combined financial stabilization with economic nationalism in adapting liberal orthodoxy to changing

NOTES TO PAGES 35–39

249

conditions.” See Steven J. Ericson, Financial Stabilization in Meiji Japan: The Impact of the Matsukata Reform (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2020), quote on 4–5. 64. Julia S. Yongue, “Academia-Industry Relations: Interpreting the Role of Nagai Nagayoshi in the Development of New Businesses in the Meiji Period and Beyond,” in Science, Technology, and Medicine in the Modern Japanese Empire, edited by David G. Wittner and Philip C. Brown (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2016), 36–38. 65. Yongue, “Academia-Industry Relations,” 36–38. 66. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi, 5–7. 67. Jeffrey W. Alexander, Drinking Bomb and Shooting Meth: Alcohol and Drug Use in Japan (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2018), 101. 68. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi, 25; Yongue, “Academia-Industry Relations,” 36–38; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 45–47. 69. According to Amano Hiroshi, Osaka Pharmaceuticals was originally formed by the old-line Osaka drug firms to compete against Dai Nippon’s state monopoly. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 133; Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi, 10–15. 70. According to official company histories, Dai Nippon became a victim of bureaucratic excess after its seeming success. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi, 5–7, 10–15; Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi, 25; Yongue, “Academia-Industry Relations,” 36–38; Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 133. 71. Quoted in Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 50–51. 72. Quoted in Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 53. 73. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 55. 74. Hoi-eun Kim, “Cure for Empire: The ‘Conquer-Russia-Pill,’ Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and the Making of Patriotic Japanese, 1904–1945,” Medical History 57, no. 2 (2013): 249–268. CHAPTER 2. THE SUPPOSED SELF-MADE MAN AND HIS COMPANY

¯ yama Keisuke, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯ den (Tokyo: 1. O Kyo¯wa shobo¯, [1949] revised 1997), 118–120. 2. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 2–5. 3. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 5. 4. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 5–6; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 1. 5. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯ yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ , December 8, 1923. The To¯ yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ in Japan in its day was roughly equivalent to what The Economist is now. 6. In 1924, Kyo¯tani Daisuke’s Hoshi to Fo¯ do (Hoshi and Ford) compared Hoshi and his company to Henry Ford and Ford Motors. See Kyo¯tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo¯ do ¯ yama, Doryoku to shin(Tokyo: Ko¯seikaku, 1924). The other two major biographies are O nen no sekaijin; and Hoshi Shin’ichi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1975] revised 2007). Also see Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007). ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin. 7. O 8. Earl H. Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought: From Samurai to Salary Man (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981).

250

NOTES TO PAGES 40–43

9. For a discussion of the influence of these works, see Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought, 10–20; Carol Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 257. 10. Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought, 2. 11. Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, 206–208; Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought, 153–205. 12. Byron K. Marshall, Capitalism and Nationalism in Prewar Japan (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1967), 3–4. 13. I am thinking of the myth of Robinson Crusoe. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 14. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 11–17, 35; O 11–17. Kisanta himself was a mukoyoshi—a son-in-law who assumed his wife’s family name. 15. Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, 68–69, 162. 16. Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, 192–193. 17. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 82. 18. Mark Elwood Lincicome, Principle, Practice, and Politics of Educational Reform in Meiji Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995), 170. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 22–24. 19. O 20. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 57–59; 69–70. Mori Arinori (1847–1889), a statesman who later became the first minister of education, founded the predecessor to Hitotsubashi University as the Commercial Training Institute (Sho¯ ho¯ ko¯ shu¯jo) in 1875 to train the nation’s leading businessmen. Here, Shin’ichi implies that his father could not afford to attend this institution or other, more illustrious choices like Tokyo Imperial University, Tokyo senmon gakko¯ , present-day Waseda University, or Fukuzawa Yukichi’s Keio¯ gijuku, the predecessor to Keio University. 21. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 56–60, 70–74. 22. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 59. 23. The Iwakura Mission, led by Iwakura Tomomi, was a two-year diplomatic mission from 1871–1873 to investigate the customs and guidelines of Europe and the United States. Government leaders conducted the mission as research for Japan’s program of industrial modernization. Masao Miyoshi, As We Saw Them: The First Japanese Embassy to the United States (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979). 24. Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought, 188–191; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 42. Also see Benjamin C. Duke, The History of Modern Japanese Education: Constructing the National School System, 1872–1890 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2008), 5–6, 66–71; Marius B. Jansen, The Making of Modern Japan, 3rd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 402–411; Richard Sims, French Policy towards the Bakufu and Meiji Japan, 1854–1895 (Richmond, UK: Japan Library, 1998), 259–262. 25. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 80; Kinmonth, The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought, 191. 26. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 80. 27. Other popular choices included Germany, at 4.8 percent of overseas-study passports; England at 3.4 percent; and China at 9.8 percent. The total number of students who studied overseas was tiny, increasing from 289 in 1894 to 981 by 1901. The growing emphasis on Germany likely reflected the increased interest in German science and medicine at the time. See James T. Conte, “Overseas Study in the Meiji Period: Japanese Students in America, 1867–1902” (PhD dissertation, Princeton University, 1977), 27. 28. Conte, “Overseas Study in the Meiji Period,” 36. 29. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 115, 122. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 23, 44–55; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 30. O 101, 122–124.

NOTES TO PAGES 43–46

251

¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 44–55; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 151. 31. O ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekai32. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 167, 172–191; O jin, 72. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 72. According to O ¯ yama, Hoshi nego33. O tiated an installment plan—paying half of the tuition up front and the remainder in monthly installments—at Columbia. Entrance to the School of Political Science did not require a test. See also Columbia University Catalogue (1897–1898) (New York: Columbia University, 1897), 16–17. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 79–81. 34. O 35. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 5. 36. The best example of this is Ezra Vogel, Japan as Number One (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979), which became a bestseller in Japan. Another is Robert N. Bellah, Tokugawa Religion: The Values of Pre-Industrial Japan (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1957), which evokes Max Weber’s concept of the Protestant work ethic in its analysis of the Japanese case. 37. Patrick Fridenson and Kikkawa Takeo, eds., Ethical Capitalism: Shibusawa Eiichi and Business Leadership in Global Perspective (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017). 38. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 1, 5. 39. Andrew Gordon, The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry, 1853–1955 (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1985), 6–7, 64–69; Ronald Dore, British Factory–Japanese Factory: The Origins of National Diversity in Industrial Relations (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 378–403. Also see Sheldon Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 10–38. 40. See Helen Hardacre, Shinto¯ and the State (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991); and T. Fujitani, Splendid Monarchy: Power and Pageantry in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 41. William M. Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology: Scientific Management in TwentiethCentury Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998). 42. “Trust,” “monopoly,” and “corporation” were often used interchangeably at the time. See Thomas Cochran, The American Business System (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957), 51. 43. The corporation grew out of charters of incorporation, which government entities had bestowed since the early nineteenth century to promote growth and expand trade for the public good; legislatures commonly granted them for developing infrastructure such as railroad lines, harbors, canals, and communication networks, as well as for educational institutions. See Alan Trachtenberg, The Incorporation of America: Culture and Society in the Gilded Age (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982), 5–7; William G. Roy, Socializing Capital: The Rise of the Large Industrial Corporation in America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 46–51. 44. Roy, Socializing Capital, 10. 45. Trachtenberg, The Incorporation of America, 4. 46. Roy, Socializing Capital, 45–50. 47. Andrea Tone, The Business of Benevolence: Industrial Paternalism in Progressive America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), 7. 48. See Robert H. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 1877–1920 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1966); Gabriel Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism: A Reinterpretation of American History, 1900–1916 (New York: Free Press, 1977). 49. Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism, 3. From 1895 to 1904, for example, 157 holding companies absorbed more than 1,800 existing firms and controlled more

252

NOTES TO PAGE 46

than 40 percent of the market. By 1904, two-fifths of the nation’s manufacturing was concentrated in about three hundred firms. See W. Lawrence Neuman, “Negotiated Meanings and State Transformation: The Trust Issue in the Progressive Era,” Social Problems 45, no. 3 (August 1998), 321; Martin J. Sklar, The Corporate Reconstruction of American Capitalism, 1890–1916: The Market, the Law and Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 81. The School of Political Science was 50. O the predecessor of the Departments of History, Sociology, Economics, Anthropology, Mathematical Statistics, and Public Law and Government (later, Political Science). R. Gordon Hoxie, A History of the Faculty of Political Science, Columbia University (New York: Columbia University Press, 1955). 51. Franek Rozwadowski, “From Recitation Room to Research Seminar: Political Economy at Columbia University,” in Economists and Higher Learning in the Nineteenth Century, edited and with a new introduction by William J. Barber (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1993), 194, 199. See Daniel T. Rodgers, Atlantic Crossings: Social Politics in a Progressive Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 1998. 52. Rozwadowski, “From Recitation Room to Research Seminar,” 196–197; Joseph Dorfman, The Economic Mind in American Civilization, vol. 3: 1865–1918 (New York: Viking, 1949), 254–256. Seligman was cofounder, along with Richard T. Ely, of the American Economic Association, the scholarly association that helped establish economics as a professional discipline. 53. The translation influenced such intellectuals as Kawai Eijiro¯ (1891–1944) and Nitobe Inazo¯, who was especially close to Hoshi Hajime. Nitobe, for example, used the translation as a textbook in his lectures as chair of colonial studies at Tokyo Imperial University. Although the historian Hirai Atsuko dismisses Seligman’s work as an “an apology for the Marxian theory of history,” Seligman was actually trying to separate the term “economic interpretation of history,” which he saw as the basis for all social relations, from its associations with Karl Marx. As an economist with neoclassical roots, Seligman believed in the evolution—through natural selection—of political and socioeconomic structures, but he did not believe, as Marx did, that competition and conflict would inevitably lead to class struggle. Seligman was a capitalist with a conscience. See Atsuko Hirai, Individualism and Socialism: The Life and Thought of Kawai Eijiro¯ (1891–1944) (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1986), 35–36; and Edwin R. A. Seligman, The Economic Interpretation of History (New York: Columbia University Press, 1902), 3–4, 24. 54. Rozwadowski, “From Recitation Room to Research Seminar,” 199–201; John Bates Clark, The Distribution of Wealth: A Theory of Wages, Interests, and Profits (New York: Macmillan, 1908); John Bates Clark, The Control of Trusts: An Argument in Favor of Curbing the Power of Monopoly by a Natural Method (New York: Macmillan, 1902). 55. In this word-for-word translation, Hoshi conveyed Mayo-Smith’s idea that “if Statistics is a scientific instrument of investigation it must be used scientifically . . . just as a tool is nothing more than a mass of wood or metal, except in the hands of a skilled workman.” Mayo-Smith’s method for the scientific use of statistics consisted of four sequential stages: (1) gathering the material; (2) tabulating and arranging it; (3) comparing one set of statistics with another in order to discover relations of coexistence or of cause and effect; and (4) formulating statistical or sociological laws. See Hoshi Hajime, “Kaigai jijyo¯: shicho¯ to¯kei no hyo¯jun,” Taiyo¯ 5, no. 5 (March 4, 1899): 218–222; Hoshi Hajime, “Kaigai jijyo¯: shicho¯ to¯kei no hyo¯jun,” Taiyo¯ 5, no. 6 (March 20, 1899): 219–223. Richmond Mayo-Smith, Science of Statistics Part I: Statistics and Sociology (New York: Macmillan, 1895), 17–18.

NOTES TO PAGES 46–50

253

56. Richard J. Samuels, Machiavelli’s Children: Leaders and Their Legacies in Italy and Japan (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), 72, 78–87; Sydney Crawcour, “Industrialization and Technological Change, 1885–1920,” in The Cambridge History of Japan, vol. 6: The Twentieth Century, edited by Peter Duus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 446–450. 57. Tamotsu Nishizawa, “The Emergence of the Economic Science in Japan and the Evolution of Textbooks 1860s–1930s,” in The Economic Reader: Textbooks, Manuals and the Dissemination of the Economic Sciences during the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries, edited by Massimo M. Augello and Marco E. L. Guidi (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2011), 310; Mishima Noriyuki, “Wadagaki Kenzo¯ to Meiji/Taisho¯ki no keizaigakkai (I): Wadagaki no keireki to katsudo¯ wo chu¯ shin ni (1),” To¯ hoku ko¯ eki bunka daigaku so¯ go¯ kenkyu¯ ronshu¯: forum 21, no. 4 (December 2002): 29, 43. 58. Steven J. Ericson, Financial Stabilization in Meiji Japan: The Impact of the Matsukata Reform (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2020), 47–48. 59. Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan, 25; Tessa Morris-Suzuki, A History of Japanese Economic Thought (London: Routledge, 1989), 54–59. 60. Morris-Suzuki, A History of Japanese Economic Thought, 56. 61. Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan, 23–25. 62. Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology, 15–17. 63. For a concise example, see Steven Bryan, The Gold Standard at the Turn of the Twentieth Century: Rising Powers, Global Money, and the Age of Empire (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). 64. Hoshi Hajime, “Trusts in the United States: Their Origins and Effects” (master’s thesis, Columbia University, 1901). Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University, New York, New York. 65. Hoshi endeavored to disassociate the word “trust” from “monopoly,” which had connotations of corruption and collusion that diametrically opposed free market ideology. According to him, a trust “may also be a monopoly, but it is not necessarily, no[r] is it usually, monopolistic in its operation.” Hoshi, “Trusts in the United States,” 3–4. Also see Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism, 18. 66. Hoshi, “Trusts in the United States,” 29. 67. Hoshi, “Trusts in the United States,” 14. 68. Hoshi, “Trusts in the United States,” 7–8, 14–17. 69. Hoshi, “Trusts in the United States,” 20–23. 70. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika. 71. Johannes Hirschmeier and Tsunehiko Yui, The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1975), 96–97. 72. Hirschmeier and Yui, The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973, 96–98. For a succinct overview of the connections between state and industry, see Ian Inkster, Japanese Industrialisation: Historical and Cultural Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2001), 72–93; and Peter von Staden, Business-Government Relations in Prewar Japan (London: Routledge, 2008), 11–28. 73. Hirschmeier and Yui, The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973, 86–88. See Chalmers Johnson, MITI and the Japanese Miracle: The Growth of Industrial Policy, 1925–1975 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1982). 74. William Wray, Mitsubishi and the N.Y.K., 1870–1914: Business Strategy in the Japanese Shipping Industry (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, 1984), 5. 75. Wray, Mitsubishi and the N.Y.K., 5. 76. Although the government avoided foreign investment almost entirely, it notably contracted well-paid “hired foreigners” (oyatoi gaijin), who numbered over

254

NOTES TO PAGES 50–53

five hundred in 1872 and cost upward of 50 percent of the total budget, to provide guidance and expertise. ¯ kura Kihachiro¯, Fujita Denzaburo¯, Matsumoto Ju¯taro¯, and 77. Others included O Nakano Go¯ichi. See Hirschmeier and Yui, The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973, 96–98. 78. Wray, Mitsubishi and the N.Y.K., 5; Hirschmeier and Yui, The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973, 96–98. 79. See Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 259, 105–106; Hoshi Ryo¯ichi, Noguchi Hideyo: haran no sho¯ gai (Tokyo: Sanshu¯sha, 2008), 170–172. 80. 1898 was the year that Hearst’s New York Journal whipped up support for the Spanish-American War. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 186–187. 81. The employer’s name was Mr. Stickney; his wife was Hoshi’s major supporter. According to Hoshi Shin’ichi, there was a growing appetite at this time for “things Japanese” because of the popularity of Lafcardio Hearn’s writings. Hoshi’s translation of ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 75–79; Mayo-Smith likely began during this time. O Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 178–184. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 79; Japan and America, 1901–1903. 82. O In 1903, Japan and America was merged into Japanese-American Commercial Weekly (formerly the Japanese American Weekly News). ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 83. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 190, 268; O 81–82. 84. Nitobe Inazo, Bushido, the Soul of Japan: An Exposition of Japanese Thought (Tokyo: Sakurai Hikoichiro¯, 1905); Genzo¯ Yamamoto, “Navigating the Euro-American Enlightenment: Japan and the Modern World,” in Japan and Asian Modernities, edited by Rein Raud (London: Kegan Paul International, 2007), 135–137; Mark Lincicome, Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens: Nationalism, Internationalism, and Education in Japan (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2009), 42; Andrew E. Barshay, The Social Sciences in Modern Japan: The Marxian and Modernist Traditions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 60. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 85. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 193–195; O 84–86. 86. See Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 91–100; Watanabe Ryu¯saku, Kindai Nichu¯ minshu¯ ko¯ ryu¯ gaishi (Tokyo: Yu¯zankaku shuppan, 1981), 36. 87. Marius B. Jansen, The Japanese and Sun Yat-sen (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1970), 39–40; Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea, 1895–1910 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 202, 240–241; Eiko Maruko Siniawer, Ruffians, Yakuza, Nationalists: The Violent Politics of Modern Japan, 1860–1960 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 52–57, 202–203. 88. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 96, 215–216. See Daba Hiroshi, Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯ zo¯ no kenkyu¯ (Tokyo: Nanso¯sha, 2007), 140–141; Sugiyama Shigemaru, Hyakuma: zokuhen (Tokyo: Dai Nihon yu¯benkai, 1926), 112, 116, 120. 89. Daba, Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯ zo¯ no kenkyu¯, 140–141; Hoshi, Meiji, ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 92–93. chichi, Amerika, 218–223; O 90. Daba, Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯ zo¯ no kenkyu¯, 140–141. 91. Frederick R. Dickinson, War and National Reinvention: Japan in the Great War, 1914–1919 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1999), 56. 92. Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009), 49. 93. Quoted in Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 50. 94. Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 50–51.

NOTES TO PAGES 54–57

255

95. Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 56–62. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen 96. See Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 224–225, 234–240; O no sekaijin, 98–102. 97. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 239–241. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 101; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 240. 98. O ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 99. 99. O ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 112. 100. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 242; O ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 107; Hajime Hoshi, Handbook of Japan 101. O and Japanese Exhibits at World’s Fair, St. Louis, 1904 (St. Louis, MO: Woodward and Tiernan, 1904). 102. There are a number of works concerning the nation-building importance of the world fair. See, for example, Mauricio Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World’s Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996); and Marieke Bloembergen, Colonial Spectacles: The Netherlands and the Dutch East Indies at the World Exhibitions, 1880–1931, translated by Beverley Jackson (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006). 103. Susan Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989), 86–89. 104. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 195–201. ¯ oka won a seat in the House of Representatives twelve times in the course of 105. O his career. In 1914, he briefly served as education minister in Prime Minister Yamamoto ¯ oka had contracted Hoshi to write a report on trusts in the Gonbee’s cabinet. In 1899, O United States, which later germinated into his Columbia University master’s thesis. See ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 84–86. Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 193–195; O 106. Hoshi, Handbook of Japan and Japanese Exhibits at World’s Fair, 14, 120–121. 107. Hoshi, Handbook of Japan and Japanese Exhibits at World’s Fair, 5. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 112. 108. O 109. The phrasing is from Andrew Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present, 4th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 118. The original phrase came from Prussian major Jacob Meckel’s lectures to students at Japan’s War College in 1884. See Dickinson, War and National Reinvention, 23. 110. For more on Ito¯ Hirobumi’s efforts in Korea, see Takii Kazuhiro, Ito¯ Hirobumi— Japan’s First Prime Minister and Father of the Meiji Constitution, translated by Takechi Manabu (London: Routledge, 2014), 183–216. 111. Quoted in Peter Duus, “Economic Dimensions of Meiji Imperialism: The Case of Korea, 1895–1910,” in The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 132. 112. Duus, The Abacus and the Sword, 148–161. 113. In the words of Leroy-Beaulieu, “Colonization is a nation’s expansionist force, it is its power of reproduction, it is its expansion [dilatation] and proliferation across space, it is the submission of the universe or a large part of it to its language, its morals, its ideas, and its laws. A nation that colonizes is one that lays the foundations of its future grandeur and supremacy.” Quoted in Bruno Charbonneau, France and the New Imperialism: Security Policy in Sub-Saharan Africa (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2008), 32–33. For an excellent summary of Leroy-Beaulieu’s pro-imperial writings, see Dan Warshaw, Paul Leroy-Beaulieu and Established Liberalism in France (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1991), 78–105; James R. Lehning, To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), 132. 114. Christopher L. Hill, National History and the World of Nations: Capital, State, and the Rhetoric of History in Japan, France, and the United States (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008), 137–138.

256

NOTES TO PAGES 57–60

¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 114–115; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, 115. O Amerika, 266. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 116–118; Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯ do, 116. O 140–141. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 115. 117. O ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 116–118. 118. O 119. The journal was Medical Summary (November 1905), quoted in Merck’s Archives: A Journal of Materia Medica and Therapeutics for the General Practitioner Presenting a Review of Therapeutic Progress 8 (January 1906): 128; Ichthyol: Its History, Properties, and Therapeutics (New York: Merck, 1913), 1. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 118. 120. O 121. Count Goto¯ Sho¯jiro¯, a major figure in the 1868 Meiji Revolution that ended feudal rule, was a leader in the Freedom and Popular Rights Movement (Jiyu¯ minken undo¯). He served as communications minister in Prime Minister Kuroda Kiyotaka’s cabinet and the agriculture and commerce minister in Ito¯ Hirobumi’s second cabinet. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 118–120; Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin 122. O tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009), 48–49. 123. At the time, running for a seat cost 3,000 yen, which likely came from his connections to Sugiyama and Goto¯. 124. Count Goto¯ Taketaro¯ was the son of Count Goto¯ Sho¯jiro¯. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 118–120. For more on the Boshin Club, 125. O see Boshin kurabu, Dai niju¯go gikai ko¯ koku (Tokyo: Boshin kurabu, 1909). 126. One of the abiding characteristics of the Japanese state in the early twentieth century was the continued influence of the Meiji oligarchs (genro¯ )—many of whom led the overthrow of the Tokugawa shogunate as young samurai, the so-called founding fathers of Japan—often to the detriment of democracy. 127. J. A. A. Stockwin, “Japan,” in Political Parties of Asia and the Pacific, edited by Haruhiro Fukui (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1985), 457–458, 477. 128. Stockwin, “Japan,” 457–458, 477. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 118–120; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia 129. O Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 48–49. 130. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 2–5. 131. Hoshi met Natori Wasaku while at Columbia, and Fujimura Yoshinae was the president of Banzai Life Insurance (Banzai seimei hoken) at the time. Watanabe To¯ru took up a number of executive positions in companies like Banzai Life Insurance, Eiko¯ Water and Electric (Eiko¯ suido¯ denki), and Kinugawa Electric (Kinugawa denki), was a director of the Tokyo Stock Exchange, and lectured on commerce at his alma mater, Waseda University. See “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ hakko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1913. 132. Hoshi Hajime, “Anraku-san ga shinimashita,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1913. 133. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ hakko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , January 1, 1914; Hoshi, Meiji, chichi, Amerika, 259, 105–106; Hoshi, Noguchi Hideyo, 170–172. Aoki Tetsuji was a scholar of commercial law at Keio University known for his criticism of lèse-majesté, which landed him in jail in 1920. I have found no information about Sugimoto Junzo¯. 134. Shareholder data has been hard to find. Before 1949, publicly listed companies were required to file business statements (eigyo¯ ho¯ kokusho), but because disclosure rules were not strict, companies (such as Hoshi) often did not disclose their

NOTES TO PAGES 61–64

257

shareholder data. In the archive at Hoshi University, I found eigyo¯ ho¯ kokusho for the following years: 1923, 1933, 1934, 1935, 1937, 1940, 1941, 1944, 1945, 1948, 1949, 1950, and 1951. None include any data about individual investors’ stockholdings. After 1949, corporations were required to file financial statements on their assets and securities (yu¯kasho¯ ken ho¯ kokusho), which are much more detailed and include information on major shareholders. 135. Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo goju¯-nen shi (Tokyo: Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, 1928), 236. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kabunushi meibo,” May 31, 1924. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 136. Mark Metzler, Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 95; Gordon, A Modern History of Japan, 143. 137. Metzler, Lever of Empire, 95. 138. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995), 56–57. 139. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 59–60. 140. “Naimusho¯ mo Nihon Dai-ichi to iu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1917. 141. Anraku Eiji, “Ware ware no kokkateki ko¯ken,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1918. 142. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 2–5. 143. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo¯ hen (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 2–29, 48–59. For more information on Takamine, see Shiobara Matasaku, Takamine hakushi (Tokyo: Shiobara Matasaku, 1926). 144. Gordon, A Modern History of Japan, 143. 145. Gordon, A Modern History of Japan, 143–150. 146. Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 68. 147. For more on Japan’s elder statesmen, see J. Mark Ramseyer and Frances M. Rosenbluth, The Politics of Oligarchy: Institutional Choice in Imperial Japan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); and Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan. Also see the role of violence in the making of Taisho¯ Democracy in Siniawer, Ruffians, Yakuza, Nationalists, 74–107. 148. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯ yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ , December 8, 1923. 149. Between 1914 and 1920, overall wholesale prices rose almost 150 percent, and the retail cost of rice increased 174 percent. See Gordon, A Modern History of Japan, 143. 150. “Daishinsai ni shosuru Honsha ko¯jo¯ no ho¯fu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , October 1, 1923. 151. Takafusa Nakamura, “Depression, Recovery, and War, 1920–1945,” translated by Jacqueline Kaminsky, in The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940, edited with introductions by Michael Smitka (New York: Garland, 1998), 456. For more on the earthquake, see Edward Seidensticker, Low City, High City: Tokyo from Edo to the Earthquake (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983), 3–7. 152. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 64. 153. Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯ do, 200–204; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 4–5. 154. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯ yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ , December 8, 1923. The company addressed these suspicions in its pamphlet describing the structure and business of the company. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1923), 4–7.

258

NOTES TO PAGES 64–72

155. Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Shionogi 100-nen (Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978), 510–512; Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 200nen shi: shiryo¯ hen (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin kabushiki kaisha, 1983), 302. CHAPTER 3. MARKETING A CULTURE OF SELF-MEDICATION

1. Matsue Mitsuyuki, Takeda yakuhin to Taisho¯ seiyaku (Tokyo: Hyo¯gensha, 1956), 40. 2. See Wolfgang Fritz Haug, Commodity Aesthetics, Ideology and Culture (New York and Bagnolet, France: International General, 1987), 106. 3. See Joseph M. Gabriel, Medical Monopoly: Intellectual Property Rights and the Origins of the Modern Pharmaceutical Industry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014); Jan R. McTavish, Pain and Profits: The History of the Headache and Its Remedies in America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004). 4. Jeremy Agnew, Medicine in the Old West: A History, 1850–1900 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2010), 181–184. For US examples of patent medicines in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Nancy Tomes, Remaking the American Patient: How Madison Avenue and Modern Medicine Turned Patients into Consumers (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2016), 19–104. 5. Tomes, Remaking the American Patient, 19–47; Lori Loeb, “Doctors and Patent Medicines in Modern Britain: Professionalism and Consumerism,” Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies 33, no. 3 (Autumn 2001): 404–425. 6. According to one lament from a government official in late nineteenth-century England, which had the highest per capita consumption of patent medicines in the world, the public “bought more potions than it did legitimate drugs” and “was spending its money on nothing really valid, but on a kind of neo-impressionism of journalism.” See Thomas Richards, The Commodity Culture of Victorian England: Advertising and Spectacle, 1851–1914 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 171–172. Similarly, in the United States, one of the great patent-medicine magnates, Benjamin Brandreth, likened patent medicines to a form of faith healing, which “arose from ‘the belief of the buyer in the efficacy of the product.’” Quoted in K. Patrick Ober, Mark Twain and Medicine: Any Mummery Will Cure (Columbus: University of Missouri Press, 2003), 62. The pioneering work on US patent medicines is James Harvey Young, The Toadstool Millionaires: A Social History of Patent Medicines (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961). 7. When regulation failed, community leaders often took it on themselves to legislate against patent medicines, as one German mayor did by enacting a “program of public enlightenment” on patent medicines, in which the town council purchased and tested the efficacy of commonly advertised remedies, then published results. See James Woycke, “Patent Medicines in Imperial Germany,” Canadian Bulletin of Medical History 9 (1992): 49. 8. See Richards, The Commodity Culture of Victorian England, 170–171, 178; Woycke, “Patent Medicines in Imperial Germany,” 50; Tomes, Remaking the American Patient, 32–37. Also see James Harvey Young, Pure Food: Securing the Federal Food and Drugs Act of 1906 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989). In England, major acts included the Pharmacy Acts of 1868–1869, the Sale of Food and Drugs Acts of 1875 and 1899, the Merchandise Marks Act of 1887, and the Poisons and Pharmacy Act of 1908. In Germany, the major law was the Imperial Ordinance on Trade with Medications, first promulgated in 1872 and revised in 1875, 1890, and 1901. 9. Woycke, “Patent Medicines in Imperial Germany,” 51. For a clear description of ethical manufacturers, see Gabriel, Medical Monopoly, 56–58, 63–69.

NOTES TO PAGES 72–75

259

10. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995), 30–31. For an excellent discussion of Daido¯ ruiju¯ ho¯ , see Daniel Trambaiolo, “Native and Foreign in Tokugawa Medicine,” Journal of Japanese Studies 39, no. 2 (Summer 2013), 312–317. 11. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 30–31. 12. For more on the study of materia medica, see the aforementioned scholarship on Honzo¯gaku as well as Daniel Trambaiolo, “The Languages of Medical Knowledge in Tokugawa Japan,” in Rethinking East Asian Languages, Vernaculars, and Literacies, 1000–1919, edited by Benjamin A. Elman (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2014), 147–168. 13. The more popular the temple or shrine, often, the more popular the drug. Some of the most famous early medicines, for example, included To¯daiji’s Kiongan, Saidaiji’s Reishintan, and Hiraizumidera’s Marugusuri. Amano Hiroshi, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2000), 38–39; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 30–31. 14. See, for example, Carol Gluck, “The Invention of Edo,” in Mirror of the Modern: Invented Traditions in Modern Japan, edited by Stephen Vlastos (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 262–284; and Thomas C. Smith, The Agrarian Origins of Modern Japan (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1959). 15. See Toyama-shi kyo¯iku iinkai, Meiji no baiyaku hanga (Toyama-shi, Japan: Daito¯ insatsu kabushiki kaisha, 1997); Toyama-shi baiyaku shiryo¯kan, Tokubetsuten: Baiyaku no insatsu bunkaten (Toyama-shi, Japan: Daito¯ insatsu kabushiki kaisha, 1999). 16. Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments, edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr, translated by Edmund Jephcott (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002), 1. 17. Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 25–26. 18. Quoted in Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 26. 19. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 26; Woycke, “Patent Medicines in Imperial Germany,” 50. 20. One of the most famous Meiji figures, Fukuzawa Yukichi was founder of what became Keio University, publisher of the newspaper Jiji shinpo¯ , and author of popular works like Gakumon no susume (An encouragement of learning) and Bunmeiron no gairyaku (An outline of a theory of civilization) that helped define the sensibilities of elites and those striving to be become elite. 21. Quoted in Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 26. 22. Susan L. Burns, “Marketing Health and the Modern Body: Patent Medicine Advertisements in Meiji-Taisho¯ Japan,” in Looking Modern: East Asian Visual Culture from Treaty Ports to World War II, edited by Jennifer Purtle and Hans Bjarne Thomsen (Chicago: Center for the Art of East Asia, Department of Art History, University of Chicago, 2009), 184–185, quote on 185; Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 25–26; Shimizu To¯taro¯, Nihon yakugakushi (Tokyo: Nanzando¯, 1949), quote on 203. 23. Amano, Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi, 108–112. 24. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 25–26. See, for example, “No. 175: Meiji 30, 2-gatsu; Baiyaku inshi cho¯yo¯ haishi no seigan,” Toyama nippo¯ , February 5, 1897, reprinted in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯ shi, shiryo¯ shu¯sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983), 257–258. 25. “Haizei chokugo ni okeru baiyaku,” Nihon yakuho¯ , May 4, 1926. 26. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 11, 39–40, 79–88. 27. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 25–34. 28. See Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯ shi, 25.

260

NOTES TO PAGES 75–77

29. Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei,” Nagasaki kenritsu daigaku keizaibu ronshu¯ 49, no. 6 (2016): 161–162; Maki Umemura, “Reviving Tradition: Patients and the Shaping of Japan’s Traditional Medicine Industry,” in The Historical Consumer: Consumption and Everyday Life in Japan, 1850–2000, edited by Penelope Francks and Janet Hunter (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 182. 30. Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku, Eiseikyoku nenpo¯ , 1922 (Tokyo, 1924), 56–57. 31. “No. 207: Taisho¯ 14, 6-gatsu; Naimusho¯, Isha no yakka ni kansho¯,” Toyama nippo¯ , June 27, 1925, reprinted in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, shiryo¯ shu¯sei: to¯ kei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983), 296–297. 32. “No. 315: Taisho¯ 7, 8-gatsu; Seizo¯yaku todokehyo¯,” in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯ shi, shiryo¯ shu¯sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983), 533. 33. Ando¯ Chu¯jiro¯, Yakuhin so¯ ba to¯ kei nenkan (Osaka: Yakuseki nippo¯ sha, 1920), 66. 34. Satoru Nakanishi and Tomoko Futaya, “Japanese Modernisation and the Changing Everyday Life of the Consumer: Evidence from Household Accounts,” in The Historical Consumer: Consumption and Everyday Life in Japan, 1850–2000, edited by Penelope Francks and Janet Hunter (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 114–116, 121, 124–125. 35. Akihito Suzuki, “Illness Experience and Therapeutic Choice: Evidence from Modern Japan,” Social Science History 32, no. 4 (Winter 2008): 529–530; also see Suzuki Akihito, “Chiryo¯ no shakaiteki ko¯satsu,” in Bunbetsusareru seimei: 20-seiki no iryo¯ senryaku, edited by Kawagoe Osamu and Suzuki Akihito (Tokyo: Ho¯sei daigaku, 2008), 129–162. 36. As Jeremy Agnew argues, part of the reason patent medicines were popular in the United States in the “Old West” was because of the limited reach of medical treatment in frontier regions (see Agnew, Medicine in the Old West). 37. Nakayama Tadanao, “Kanpo¯ igaku fukko¯ron,” Nihon oyobi nihonjin, 109 (1926): 1–76. 38. Burns, “Marketing ‘Women’s Medicines’: Gender, OTC Herbal Medicines and Medical Culture in Modern Japan,” Asian Medicine 5, no. 1 (2009): 154–155. 39. Umemura, “Reviving Tradition,” 183. 40. Jinbo, “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei,” 163–166. 41. Ko¯kando¯ kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯ kando¯ no ayumi (Toyama-shi, Japan: Ko¯kando¯ kabushiki kaisha 1956). 42. “To¯kei,” in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯ shi, shiryo¯ shu¯sei, vol. 2, edited by Toyama-ken (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983), 7–8. 43. “To¯kei,” 3. 44. Jinbo, “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei,” 156–162. 45. Jinbo, “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei,” 156; Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku, Eiseikyoku nenpo¯ , 1914 (Tokyo, 1916), 221; Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku, Eiseikyoku nenpo¯ , 1925 (Tokyo, 1927), 259. 46. Endo¯ Kazuko, Toyama no kusuri uri: ma¯ketingu no senkushatachi (Tokyo: Saimaru shuppankai, 1993), 237; “No. 187: Meiji 38, 5-gatsu; Baiyaku zeiho¯ shiko¯ kisoku ko¯fu,” in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯ shi, shiryo¯ shu¯sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983), 269. 47. Toyama-ken, Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, tsu¯shi (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1987), 624. 48. “To¯kei,” 34–35. 49. Toyama-ken, Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, tsu¯shi, 624. 50. Endo¯, Toyama no kusuri uri, 252–254; Toyama-ken, Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi tsu¯shi, 629–630; Sherman Cochran, Chinese Medicine Men: Consumer Culture in China and Southeast Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 47–51.

NOTES TO PAGES 77–81

261

51. Cochran, Chinese Medicine Men, 44–51. 52. “No. 207: Taisho¯ 14, 6-gatsu,” 296. For more on the development of health insurance, see Ryan Moran, “Securing the Health of the Nation: Life Insurance, Labor, and Health Improvement in Interwar Japan,” Japan Forum 31, no. 2 (2019): 212–234. 53. Susan L. Burns, “The Japanese Patent Medicine Trade in East Asia: Women’s Medicines and the Tensions of Empire,” in Gender, Health, and History in East Asia, edited by Izumi Nakayama and Angela Leung (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017), 147–148. 54. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 25–34; Shimizu, Nihon yakugakushi, 203–205. 55. Burns, “Marketing ‘Women’s Medicines,’” 154–155. 56. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 25–34. 57. Burns, “Marketing ‘Women’s Medicines,’” 148. 58. Richards, The Commodity Culture of Victorian England, 196. 59. Ishizu Risaku, The Mineral Springs of Japan; with Tables of Analyses, Radio Activity, Notes on Prominent Spas and List of Seaside Resorts and Summer Retreats (Tokyo: Sankyo¯, 1915); Ishizu Risaku and Yanagisawa Hideyoshi, “Ryu¯san atoropin seizo¯ shiken seiseki ho¯koku,” Yakugaku zasshi, July 26, 1926, 847–853. 60. Ishizu Risaku, “Baiyaku ni taisuru yo no riso¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1918. 61. Ishizu Risaku, “Baiyaku ni taisuru yo no riso¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1918. 62. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi katei isho (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1920), 147–148. 63. “Baiyaku torishimari ho¯shin ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1918; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Seimei encho¯ : Hoshi no seihin (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1924), 7, 15. 64. Ishizu Risaku, “Baiyaku ni taisuru yo no riso¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1918. 65. Ikeguchi specifically mentioned two remedies for stomach troubles, including diarrhea and vomiting, Senkintan and Mankintan, the latter of which was intimately associated with pilgrimages to Ise Shrine. Ikeguchi Keizo¯, “Baiyaku sho¯rai ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , May 1, 1922. 66. Ikeguchi Keizo¯, “Baiyaku sho¯rai ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , May 1, 1922. 67. See, of course, Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 1983). 68. Uchikawa Yoshimi, Nihon ko¯ kokushi, vol. 1 (Tokyo: Dentsu, 1976), 97. 69. Kishida, who created the eye medicine Sekisui, along with Morita Jihei (1841–1912), who produced the stomach remedy Ho¯ tan, which also relieved the harsher symptoms of cholera, were the major leaders of the lawsuit against Fukuzawa. Nishikawa, Kusuri no shakaishi, 68; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku, 1929), 28–29. 70. Burns, “Marketing Health and the Modern Body,” 186. 71. These statistics were gathered by the Japanese advertising conglomerate Dentsu¯. See Uchikawa, Nihon ko¯ kokushi, 23, 109–112. 72. Uchikawa, Nihon ko¯ kokushi, 23, 112; Burns, “Marketing Health and the Modern Body,” 179–201. 73. Lion, Kao¯, and Hakubunkan have corporate histories. See Raion kabushiki kaisha shashi hensan iinkai, Raion 100-nen shi: itsumo kurashi no naka ni Lion (Tokyo: Raion kabushiki kaisha, 1992); Kao¯ myu¯jiamu shiryo¯shitsu, Kao¯ , 120-nen: 1890–2010-nen (Tokyo: Kao¯ kabushiki kaisha, ed., 2012); and Zenshiro¯ Tsuboya, Hakubunkan 50-nen shi (Tokyo: Hakubunkan, 1937).

262

NOTES TO PAGES 81–85

74. Sasaki Satoshi, Kurashi wo kaeta biyo¯ to eisei (Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2009), 43–64. For a discussion of Shiseido¯’s advertising, see Wada Hirofumi, Shiseido¯ to iu bunka so¯ chi, 1874–1945 (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2011), chap. 2. 75. Sankyo¯’s Taisho¯ (泰昌) is not to be confused with the large-scale pharmaceutical firm Taisho¯ (大正). The kanji (Chinese characters) are different. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 1960), 61. 76. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi, 61. 77. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi, 61–62. 78. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi, 10–11. 79. “Hanbai zo¯shin no hiketsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , December 1, 1915. 80. “Hanbai zo¯shin no hiketsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , December 1, 1915. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Hoshi seiyaku no ko¯koku ami,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 81. O shaho¯ , January 1, 1922. 82. For more on radio, see Gregory Kasza, The State and the Mass Media in Japan, 1918–1945 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 72–101. Nevertheless, Hoshi’s company newspaper does highlight radio broadcasts that mention the company. One article from March 1925 discusses how a housewife from Shizuoka sang the praises of Hoshi medicines in a song about tea-picking. Another, from March 1932, discusses radio news coverage of Hoshi’s bankruptcy and arbitration process, which will be discussed in chapter 6. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Rajio ho¯so¯ ‘chatsumi uta’ ga Hoshi to musubikushiki roku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , March 1, 1926; “Rajio ho¯so!,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , March 21, 1932. 83. Uchikawa, Nihon ko¯ kokushi, 214; “Hoshi seiyaku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 3, 1923, morning edition. 84. Uchikawa, Nihon ko¯ kokushi, 214. 85. “Chirashi ko¯koku ho¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , May 1, 1916. 86. “Chirashi ko¯koku no kubarikata,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , August 1, 1919; “Sho¯bai o¯rai: chirashi ko¯koku sho¯ryaku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , March 1, 1920. 87. “Honsha no ko¯koku ho¯shin wa,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1921. 88. “Ko¯koku no (iku) ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1921. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Hoshi seiyaku no ko¯koku ami,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 89. O shaho¯ , January 1, 1922. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Hoshi seiyaku no ko¯koku ami,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 90. O shaho¯ , January 1, 1922, 139. 91. “Yushutsu baiyaku to¯kei hyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , July 1, 1918; “Kaku fuken jinko¯ oyobi baiyaku sho¯hikaku (teika) hyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , August 1, 1918; “Zenkoku ryu¯kanja no kazu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , April 1, 1920. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Hoshi seiyaku no ko¯koku ami,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 92. O shaho¯ , January 1, 1922. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Ko¯koku-hi no fudansha,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 93. O shaho¯ , November 1, 1918. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Ko¯koku-hi no fudansha,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 94. O shaho¯ , November 1, 1918.

NOTES TO PAGES 86–89

263

95. “Bunmeikoku to baiyaku: Hoshi seiyaku shacho¯ dan,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ , May 29, 1913. 96. Matsu Shu¯, “Baiyaku no konjaku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1913. 97. “Isha ga kuru made,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1915. A January 1, 1917 company newspaper article reiterated the original arguments put forth in Hoshi’s interview in Taiwan, declaring: “The amount of patent medicines consumed demonstrates civilization” (baiyaku no sho¯ hi daka wa bunmei wo shimesu). “Baiyaku no sho¯hi daka wa bunmei wo shimesu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , January 1, 1917. 98. “To¯hoku chiho¯ to Kansai chiho¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1915. 99. See Shizuko Koyama, Ryo¯ sai Kenbo: The Educational Ideal of “Good Wife, Wise Mother” in Modern Japan (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2013). 100. Anne McClintock, Race, Gender, and Empire in the Colonial Contest (New York: Routledge, 1995), 134. 101. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Hoshi icho¯yaku no enkaku,” November 19, 1941, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ , May 15, 1919; Suzuki Akira, Nihon no densho¯ yaku— Edo baiyaku kara kateiyaku made (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2005), 226–231. 102. Yamasaki Mitsuo, “Nihon no meiyaku: anshin, yoku kiku, kateijo¯ biyaku—dai ju¯ yon kai: Hoshi icho¯yaku),” President 38, no. 2 (February 1999), 228–229. 103. See, for example, Ian Miller, A Modern History of the Stomach: Gastric Illness, Medicine and British Society, 1800–1950 (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2011). 104. Naikaku to¯keikyoku, Icho¯ byo¯ ni yoru shibo¯ to¯ kei (Tokyo: Naikaku to¯kei hensan, 1914), 3, 99. The other major categories of disease that merited separate volumes included lung disease, kidney disease, deaths related to pregnancy and childbirth, cancer, tuberculosis, leprosy, and syphilis. 105. See, for example, Minami Daizo¯, Icho¯ byo¯ shindan oyobi chiryo¯ gaku (Jo¯ ) (Tokyo: Nanko¯do¯, 1908); Sasaki Yomoshi and Inoue Zenjiro¯, Shin icho¯ byo¯ gaku (Tokyo: Toho¯do¯, 1910). 106. Einhorn was the world’s leading scholar of stomach and intestinal disorders at this time. Max Einhorn, Icho¯ byo¯ gaku (Ashi), vols. 1–3, translated by Tanaka Seitaku and Nagayo Sho¯kichi (Tokyo: Nanko¯do¯, 1908). 107. For more on pharmaceuticals and the social construction of disease, see Jeremy A. Greene, Prescribing by the Numbers: Drugs and the Definition of Disease (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007). 108. Takagi Kanehiro, Katei eisei oyobi chiryo¯ kan’i jitsuyo¯ (Tokyo: Daigakukan, 1915), 238–239. 109. Takagi, Katei eisei oyobi chiryo¯ kan’i jitsuyo¯ , 244–246; Hayang (Yumi) Kim, “Sick at Heart: Mental Illness in Modern Japan” (PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 2015); and Junko Kitanaka, Depression in Japan: Psychiatric Cures for a Society in Distress (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 110. See, for example, R. Taylor Wheeler, “The Influence of Baking-Powder Residues on Digestion,” Science, January 3, 1890, 14–16; Thomas Dryslwyn Griffiths et al., “On the Treatment of Gastric Ulcer,” British Medical Journal, October 24, 1903, 1041–1045; A. W. Mayo Robson, “A Clinical Lecture on the Complications of Gastric Ulcer and Their Treatment,” British Medical Journal, February 2, 1901, 257–261; David Drummond, “Remarks on the Causes and Treatment of Functional Dyspepsia,” British Medical Journal, March 12, 1910, 613–616; A. S. Blumgarten, “The Administration of Medicines (Continued),” American Journal of Nursing 15, no. 6 (March 1915): 480–483; T. Izod Bennett, “The

264

NOTES TO PAGES 89–94

Modification of Gastric Function by Means of Drugs,” British Medical Journal, March 3, 1923, 366–370; Arthur F. Hurs, “An Address on Recent Advances in the Treatment of Gastric Disease,” British Medical Journal, November 3, 1928, 779–783. 111. Takagi, Katei eisei oyobi chiryo¯ kan’i jitsuyo¯ ; and Shimonaka Yasaburo¯, Saishin katei iten (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1929). 112. See, for example, Nakao Yukio, “Nihonjin no ieki (jo¯; chu¯; ge): saiensu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, April 24–26, 1924; Takahashi Shin, “Iyoku to icho¯,” Ho¯ chi shinbun, September 7, 1918. 113. See, for example, Ochiai So¯suke, Shippei to eisei: ichimei/katei igaku taikan (Tokyo: San’eido¯, 1914), 161–162. Also see Eustace Smith, “Remarks on the Use of Alkalis in Practical Medicine,” British Medical Journal, January 30, 1909, 263–265. 114. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yomiuri shinbun, August 26, 1918, morning edition. 115. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yomiuri shinbun, April 12, 1919, morning edition; “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 3, 1922, morning edition. 116. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 30, 1918, morning edition. 117. The Japanese reads, “Kokka eisei jo¯ iyaku baiyaku no shinpo hattatsu ni ko¯ ken sen to kishi tsutsu ari.” “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 30, 1918, morning edition. 118. Ochiai, Shippei to eisei, 164. 119. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Seimei encho¯ , 1. 120. Harry Harootunian, Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 13. 121. Quoted in Barbara Sato, The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and Women in Interwar Japan (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 30. 122. See Jamyung Choi, “Cultivating Class: Tokyo Imperial University and the Rise of a Middle-Class Society in Modern Japan” (PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2014). 123. Nomura Taku, “Iryo¯hi to shotoku to no rekishi teki so¯kan ni tsuite,” Seimei hoken bunka kenkyu¯jo shoho¯ , no. 26, 83–84. 124. Miriam Silverberg, Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 22, 23. 125. Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003), 204. 126. Sato, The New Japanese Woman, 31. 127. Hoshi’s rendering of modern life would fit Ruth Rogaski’s idea of hygienic modernity. See Ruth Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty-Port China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004). 128. Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan, 55–56. 129. Sheldon Garon, Molding Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 122–130. 130. Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan, 55–56. 131. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, January 5, 1919, morning edition. 132. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yomiuri shinbun, April 12, 1919, morning edition. 133. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yomiuri shinbun, July 8, 1922, morning edition. 134. See Minami, Icho¯ byo¯ shindan oyobi chiryo¯ gaku (Jo¯ ), for an extensive description of the various diagnoses and treatments for digestive disease, and particularly 649–661 for a description of surgical procedures. 135. See Soyoung Suh for how Korean manufacturers responded to Japanese pharmaceutical companies by emphasizing indigeneity. Soyoung Suh, Naming the Local: Medicine,

NOTES TO PAGES 96–106

265

Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017), 105–136. 136. See Eiichiro Azuma, Between Two Empires: Race, History, and Transnationalism in Japanese America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); and Eiichiro Azuma, In Search of Our Frontier: Japanese America and Settler Colonialism in the Construction of Japan’s Borderless Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2019). 137. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Keijo¯ nippo¯ , February 17, 1924. 138. Burns, “The Japanese Patent Medicine Trade in East Asia,” 154–157, quote on 157. 139. “Hosi wijangyak [kwangko],” Tonga ilbo, January 9, 1924. 140. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Nichi-Bei shinbun, July 9, 1924. 141. Jin-kyung Park, “Managing ‘Dis-ease’: Print Media, Medical Images, and Patent Medicine Advertisements in Colonial Korea,” International Journal of Cultural Studies 2, no. 4 (2018): 429. Also see, Jin-kyung Park, “Picturing Empire and Illness: Biomedicine, Venereal Disease and the Modern Girl in Korea under Japanese Colonial Rule,” Cultural Studies 28, no. 1 (2014): 108–141. 142. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ , May 15, 1919. 143. “Hoshi seiyaku [ko¯koku],” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ , March 13, 1921. 144. “Otokui to no rensa kikan: Hoshi katei shinbun chikaku so¯kan,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , July 15, 1924; “Iyo iyo hakko¯ sareta Hoshi katei shinbun saru ichi ¯ saka no ryo¯chi kara hasso¯ shita,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , nichi To¯kyo¯-O October 10, 1924; “Hoshi katei shinbun no hakkan ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , August 15, 1924; “Hoshi katei shinbun no riyo¯ ho¯ho¯ ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , November 1, 1924; “Hoshi katei shinbun no katsuyo¯ to chiho¯ban hakko¯ ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , December 15, 1924. 145. “Hoshi katei shinbun no hasso¯ kaishi saru,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , October 1, 1924. 146. The first issue of the Hoshi sho¯ ni shinbun was published on June 1, 1923. 147. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi katei isho; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Kesho¯ tokuhon (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926); Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Baiyaku tokuhon (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1934). 148. “History of the Merck Manuals,” Kenilworth, NJ: Merck, n.d., https://www.mer ckmanuals.com/professional/resourcespages/history. 149. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi katei isho. 150. Furigana is Japanese superscript, often used to provide the reading of rare or complex kanji. 151. “Hoshi kusuri kyo¯do¯ haichi yakusho ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , July 1, 1923. 152. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi katei isho, 17–21, 104–106. 153. Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (New York: Routledge, 1995), 141. CHAPTER 4. MEDICINAL INFRASTRUCTURES AND MEDICAL MISSIONARIES

1. Susan Reynolds Whyte, Sjaak van der Geest, and Anita Hardon, Social Lives of Medicines (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 3–19. 2. Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003), 5. 3. In the United States, chain stores began in 1859 with the founding of the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company (A&P), which initially sold hides and leathers and later shifted into the tea trade. The McCormick Harvesting Machine Company, founded in

266

NOTES TO PAGES 106–109

1847, and the I. M. Singer Manufacturing Company (of sewing machine fame), founded in 1851, are usually credited as the forerunners of franchise business models. See Richard S. Tedlow, New and Improved: The Story of Mass Marketing in America (New York: Basic Books, 1990), 188. See also Thomas S. Dicke, Franchising in America: The Development of a Business Method, 1840–1980 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 12–47. 4. Susan Strasser, Satisfaction Guaranteed: The Making of the American Mass Market (New York: Pantheon, 1989, 204–206. According to a 1922 US handbook on chain store management, the growing prominence of chain stores was “characteristic of all that [was] best in tendencies towards combination and scientific control. It [was] thoroughly American. It [stood] for scientific management as applied to the great function of retail merchandising.” See Walter S. Hayward and Percival White, Chain Stores: Their Management and Operation (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1922), v. 5. For a concise definition of franchising as a business model, see Roger D. Blair and Francine Lafontaine, The Economics of Franchising (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 3–5. 6. Dicke, Franchising in America, 54–55. 7. See, for example, Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through 20th Century Europe (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005); Peter Stearns, Consumerism in World History: The Global Transformation of Desire (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2006), 140–146. 8. See Kazuo Usui, Marketing and Consumption in Modern Japan (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014), 18–42. Also see Louisa Rubinfein, “Commodity to National Brand: Manufacturers, Merchants, and the Development of the Consumer Market in Interwar Japan” (PhD dissertation, Harvard University, 1995), 238–254; and Geoffrey Jones, Beauty Imagined: A History of the Global Beauty Industry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 97–138. 9. Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shashi henshu¯ jimukyoku, Taisho¯ seiyaku 80-nen shi (Tokyo: Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1993), 27–30. 10. Andrew Gordon’s study of the Singer sewing machine in Japan demonstrates that loyal salesmen were likely even more important for durable goods. Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 30–56. 11. Popular Japanese-English dictionaries often translate tokuyakuten as “chain store.” Tokuyakuten, however, literally means “exclusive-contract store,” and, therefore, should only mean “franchise.” Rensaten or che¯n sutoa are more precise translations for “chain store.” 12. Kyo¯tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo¯ do (Tokyo: Koseikaku, 1924), 209. One pamphlet, for example, stated that the “15,600 chain stores, which had more than 10 billion yen of sales per year . . . were the reason why American department stores have had such a large impact” throughout the world. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi che¯n sutoa (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1928), 1. 13. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 11–12. 14. “Tokuyakuten to kokkateki gainen,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , February 2, 1918. 15. The most detailed and concise exploration of wholesalers in Japan remains Rubinfein, “Commodity to National Brand.” 16. Yamashita Mai, Iyaku wo kindaika shita kenkyu¯ to senryaku (Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2010), 34–36. 17. “Tonya mondai kaiketsu to tokuyakuten seido,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ , December 1, 1919.

NOTES TO PAGES 110–113

267

18. Other popular patent-medicine-producing areas, which had their own systems of peddling, were Yamato baiyaku from Nara Prefecture, Tashiro baiyaku from Saga Prefec¯ mi baiyaku from Shiga Prefecture. See Takechi Kyo¯zo¯, Kindai Nihon to Yamato ture, and O baiyaku—baiyaku kara haichi kateiyaku e (Tokyo: Zeimu keiri kyo¯kai, 1995); Kobayashi Hajime, Tsushima-ryo¯ Tashiro baiyaku hattatsushi (Tosu, Japan: Kobayashi Hajime, 1999); Somanosho¯ Akio, ed., Shiga no yakugyo¯shi (Ko¯ka, Japan: Shigaken yakugyo¯ kyo¯kai, 1975). 19. Murakami Seizo¯, Toyama baiyaku to sono shu¯hen: Genroku kara Sho¯wa no hajime made (Toyama, Japan: Toyama kenmin kaikan, 1983), 1–2; Toyama-ken, ed., Toyamaken yakugyo¯shi, tsu¯shi (Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1987), 65–69. 20. The key structure in this system was the Tokugawa shogunate’s alternate attendance system (sankin ko¯tai). Implemented to ensure daimyo¯ docility by requiring lords to keep their families in Edo and spend alternate years in the capital and their fiefdoms, it stimulated, in dialectical fashion, market forces that contributed to the downfall of the shogunate, including the growth of national transportation and communication networks, which linked intradomainal villages to castle-towns to national markets as well as fostering conspicuous consumption. See Constantine Nomikos Vaporis, Tour of Duty: Samurai, Military Service in Edo, and the Culture of Early Modern Japan (Honololu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008); and John Whitney Hall, “The Castle Town and Japan’s Modern Urbanization,” in Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan, edited by John Whitney Hall and Marius B. Jansen (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), 169–188. 21. Toyama-ken, ed., Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, tsu¯shi, 22–27, 31. 22. Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo¯kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki,” Keieishigaku 43, no. 2 (2008): 10; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi che¯n sutoa, 12–13. 23. In Japanese, “isho¯ no meshi o kau ni ichi go¯ ate kakubetsu no nabe ni.” “Kyu¯shiki baiyaku wa dame yo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 24. “Jitsumuka to jikan no katsuyo¯: taimu izu mane¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1917. 25. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 12; “Beikoku-ryu¯ keiei ho¯ wo torero¯ Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha,” Jitsugyo¯kai 8, no. 2 (1914): 129. 26. See, for example, Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 30–56. 27. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 10; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi che¯n sutoa, 12–13. 28. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 13–16, 27; Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009), 67–68. 29. “Seiko¯ seru tokuyakuten no keieiburi—seiko¯ seru tokuyakuten no jikko¯ ho¯ wo sanko¯ ni seyo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1915. 30. “Hanbai zo¯shin no hiketsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1915; “Shin-shiki gyo¯sho¯ho¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 1, 1917. 31. “Gyo¯sho¯in boshu¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1918. 32. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 12. Jinbo provides the most succinct description of the structure of this system, and I am greatly indebted to his work for helping me figure out its mechanics. 33. Misawa Miwa, Chiba Yoshihiko, and Ushikubo Hiroko, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” Yakushigaku zasshi 43, no. 1 (2008): 40–47. 34. Misawa, Chiba, and Ushikubo, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” 43–44; “Shokuminchi genzai jinko¯ (dojin o mo fukumu) Taisho¯ 4-nen matsu sacho¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, August 1, 1918; “Bunmeikoku to baiyaku: Hoshi seiyaku shacho¯ dan,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, May 29, 1913, morning edition.

268

NOTES TO PAGES 113–117

35. Misawa, Chiba, and Ushikubo, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” 43. 36. “Taiwan ni shinsetsu gunmoto: ju¯yon ken,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1922. 37. Misawa, Chiba, and Ushikubo, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” 43–44; “Shokuminchi genzai jinko¯ (dojin wo mo fukumu) Taisho¯ 4-nen matsu sacho¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, August 1, 1918. 38. “Kaitaku no noroshi heizen to kagayaku: Cho¯sen dai-ikkai tokuyakuten taikai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 15, 1924. 39. “Takagi shutcho¯in Cho¯sen yori kikyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1918. 40. Misawa, Chiba, and Ushikubo, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” 41–42. 41. “Baiyaku no minshu¯ka,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 15, 1924. 42. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha: Tokuyakuten dai boshu¯ [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, December 18, 1912, morning edition. 43. “Hoshi seiyakujo: Tokuyakuten [Ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 18, 1910, morning edition. 44. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha: Tokuyakuten daiboshu¯ [ko¯koku]” appeared in the morning edition of the Tokyo asahi shinbun on December 18, 1912, February 4, 1913, March 23, 1913, April 24, 1913, and October 27, 1913. It also appeared in the morning edition of the Yomiuri shinbun on January 13, 1913 (and likely in other major newspapers). 45. In Japanese, senbai tokushu wo etaru to to¯itsu no tokuken. 46. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Bunka tokuyakuten boshu¯ so¯ten,” March 5, 1926, 3–8, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; “Hanbai zo¯shin no hiketsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1915. 47. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha: Tokuyakuten daiboshu¯ [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, February 4, 1913, morning edition. Iwashita Kiyochika and Kataoka Naoharu had been members of the Boshin Club (see chapter 2). 48. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Bunka tokuyakuten boshu¯ so¯ten,” March 5, 1926, 5, 11. 49. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. 50. Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯do, 200–202. 51. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 23. 52. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯.” On May 31, 1924, Hoshi Hajime and his family owned roughly the same percentage of shares as the year previously. Hoshi Hajime directly owned 164,040 shares and other family members owned 143,845 shares. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kabunushi meibo,” May 31, 1924. 53. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ hakko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1913. 54. “Genko¯ boshu¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 55. “Eisei chiko,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1917. 56. “Sho¯bai o¯rai: ten’in no shikaku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1918; “Sho¯bai o¯rai: ten’in kishitsu no gai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 1, 1918. 57. “Baiyaku o omo toshita tsu¯zoku hanbai shinrigaku (ichi),” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1919; “Baiyaku o omo toshita tsu¯zoku hanbai shinrigaku (sono ni),” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1920; “Baiyaku o omo toshita tsu¯zoku hanbai shinrigaku (sono san),” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1920; “Baiyaku o omo toshita tsu¯zoku hanbai shinrigaku (sono go),” Hoshi seiyaku

NOTES TO PAGES 117–120

269

kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1920; “Baiyaku o omo toshita tsu¯zoku hanbai shinrigaku (sono nana),” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1920. 58. “Sho¯nin to shinrigaku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 59. See, for example, “Hyo¯sho¯ saretaru yu¯ryo¯ tokuyakuten,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1923. 60. “Tokubetsu jo¯to¯ no tokuyakuten,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 15, 1924; “Ko¯jo¯ shin aru ten’in wa shussei suru yu¯bo¯ na ten’in,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1920. 61. “Tokubetsu jo¯to¯ no tokuyakuten,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 15, 1924. 62. See E. Patricia Tsurumi, Factory Girls: Women in the Thread Mills of Meiji Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990). 63. Hoshi Hajime, “Seiyakugyo¯ to joko¯,” Keiei to hanbai: ko¯koku kenkyu¯ zasshi, fujingo¯, October 1, 1918. 64. Takai Toshio, Watashi no “joko¯ aishi” (My “Tragic history of female factory workers”) (Tokyo: So¯do bunka, 1980), 66–68. Watashi no “joko¯ aishi” was a follow-up to Hosoi Wakizo¯’s (1897–1925) famous novella Joko¯ aishi (The tragic history of female factory workers), published by the progressive publisher Kaizo¯ in 1925. Known for its vivid depiction of the terrible working conditions, dormitory life, and sexual harassment endured by roughly three million factory workers in the silk industry, which provided the nation’s dominant export, Joko¯ aishi was an influential part of the proletarian literature of the time. Hosoi died within a month of its publication; Takai was Hosoi’s common-law wife. Takai’s account was her attempt to set the record straight about her relationship to Hosoi, and also an opportunity to tell her own story of the plight of female factory workers. Takai began work at Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ main factory in the winter of 1923–24 as a packager of candy mints, after she had quit her job as a waitress and answered a recruiting poster she saw nailed to an electric pole. Also, see Ronald P. Loftus, Telling Lives: Women’s SelfWriting in Modern Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004), 82–85. 65. It is likely that Takai was mistaking another Nobel Prize–winning German scientist, Fritz Haber, for Albert Einstein. Haber famously developed a technique for synthesizing ammonia, and delivered a lecture at the Hoshi Business School in November 1924. A major reason for Faber’s visit to the Hoshi Business School was Hoshi Pharmaceuticals’ donation of 2 million marks for the development of German science in October 1920, followed by an additional two thousand yen per month beginning in November 1922, and ten thousand yen per year beginning in 1924. I have not found any mention of Einstein visiting Hoshi Pharmaceuticals. See Misawa Miwa, “Hoshi Hajime no juryo¯shita Doitsu kara no ho¯sho¯ no shinajina,” Yakushigaku zasshi 41, no. 1 (2006): 35–39. 66. In Japanese, “Kaisha nagarete ko¯jo¯ yakete monban korera de shineba yoi.” Takai, Watashi no “joko¯ aishi,” 66–68. 67. “Tsu¯ko¯jin made mo otokui ni,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1926. 68. “Nihon de hajimete no fujin gunriji,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 1, 1926. 69. “Tsu¯ko¯jin made mo otokui ni,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1926. 70. “Fujin keie no sugureta mise,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1926. 71. “Tsuko¯jin made mo otokui ni,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1926. 72. “Tonya mondai kaiketsu to tokuyakuten seido,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1919.

270

NOTES TO PAGES 120–124

73. “Wareware ni fukeiki nashi!,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1920. ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Amerika ni okeru yakuten no shinkiun: odorokubeki rensaten 74. O no hattatsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1925. 75. “Atarashii sho¯bai (jo¯),” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1919. 76. “Ei-Bei sho¯bai sho¯ten no misegawa,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 1, 1917; “Shinsetsu dai-ichi to beikoku sho¯ten no hanbai jutsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1921. 77. “Beikoku to sho¯nin,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1918. 78. “Ei-Bei sho¯bai sho¯ten no misegawa,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 1, 1918; “No¯ritsu zo¯shin: Beikoku no jitsurei,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 79. “No¯ritsu zo¯shin: Beikoku no jitsurei,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 80. In Japanese, “chiritsumotte yama to naru.” “No¯ritsu zo¯shin: Beikoku no jitsurei,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1918. 81. See, for example, Judith Merkle, Management and Ideology: The Legacy of the International Scientific Management Movement (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980); Frederick Taylor, Principles of Scientific Management (New York: Harper, 1911); Frederick Taylor, Shop Management (New York: Harper, 1911). 82. Hoshi Hajime, “Yo wa sude ni kagakuteki keiei no jidai nari,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1922; “Kagakuteki yakugyo¯ keiei mazu konpon seishin o tateyo!,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1922. 83. “No¯ritsu dai-ichi,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1918; “No¯ritsu dai-ichi kai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 2, 1919; “Kaisha to tokuyakuten to no kakusei o unagasu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1918. 84. “Kagaku no chikara to ningen no chikara,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 1, 1918. 85. Kyo¯tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo¯do. 86. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 19. See, for example, “Tokuyakuten yu¯toku Hoshi ko¯ka (ichimei ichiyenkai) o¯mori kyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1919. 87. “Uriage shorei kitei,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 1, 1913. 88. “Tokuyakuten taikai keikaku happyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1921. 89. Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 69–70; “Taiwan no tokuyakuten taikai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, September 1, 1921. 90. Misawa, Chiba, and Ushikubo, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” 42–43; “Kaitaku no noroshi heizen to kagayaku: Cho¯sen dai-ikkai tokuyakuten taikai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 15, 1924. 91. Hoshi yakka daigaku-shi hensan iinkai, ed., Hoshi yakka daigaku 80-nen shi (Tokyo: Hoshi yakka daigaku, 1991), 94–96, 110–113; Hoshi Hajime, Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku sho¯gyo¯ gakko¯, 1923). 92. “Kyo¯do ni kaerite kan ari,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1922. 93. Kibayashi Yu¯ko, Suguyaruka o tsukutta otoko: Matsumoto Kiyoshi den (Tokyo: Sho¯gakkan, 1996), 35–40. 94. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 21–22; “Kabushiki kaisha Hoshi seiyaku jijokai iyoiyo so¯ritsu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1921. 95. Large-scale corporations often use commercial paper to meet short-term debt obligations.

NOTES TO PAGES 124–131

271

96. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin,” 21–22; “Jijokai,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1923. 97. Carol Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 191–197. 98. Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, 193. ¯ -Bei yori motaraseru Ko¯tetsu-sei Hoshi-shiki kumitate tenpo 99. “Hoshi shacho¯ ga O ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, February 1, 1923. 100. “Beikoku no kusuriya,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1917. 101. “Beikoku no kusuriya,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1917. 102. Shimizu Masami, “Beikoku no sho¯ten to Nihon no sho¯ten,” parts 1–53, in Jiji shinpo¯, July 3, 1920–December 29, 1920; Yoshioka Shin, Edo no Kigusuriya (Tokyo: Seiabo¯, 1994), 9–10. 103. See Hatsuda To¯ru, Hyakkaten no tanjo¯ (Tokyo: Sanseido¯, 1993), 60–71; William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage, 1993); and Michael B. Miller, Le Bon Marché: Bourgeois Culture and the Department Store, 1869–1920 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987). 104. “Beikoku no kusuriya,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1917. 105. For the development of department stores in Japan, see Yamamoto Taketoshi and Nishizawa Tamotsu, eds., Hyakkaten no bunkashi: Nihon no sho¯hi kakumei (Kyoto: Sekai shiso¯sha, 1999); Tamura Masanori, Sho¯hisha no rekishi (Tokyo: Chikura Shobo¯, 2011), 144–159. 106. “Beikoku no kusuriya,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1917. 107. “Eisei monto¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 15, 1925. 108. Hayang (Yumi) Kim, “Sick at Heart: Mental Illness in Modern Japan” (PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 2015); and Junko Kitanaka, Depression in Japan: Psychiatric Cures for a Society in Distress (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 109. Sjaak van der Geest and Susan Reynolds Whyte, “The Charm of Medicines: Metaphors and Metonyms,” Medical Anthropology Quarterly, n.s. 3, no. 4 (December 1989): 345–346. 110. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, translated by Steven Rendall (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 117. 111. Hoi-eun Kim, “Adulterated Intermediaries: Peddlers, Pharmacists, and the Patent Medicine Industry in Colonial Korea (1910–1945),” Enterprise and Society 20, no. 4 (December 2019): 939–977. 112. Kim, “Adulterated Intermediaries,” 19, quote on 37. 113. “Tokubetsu jo¯to¯ no tokuyakuten,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 5, 1924. 114. “Hongo¯ no menuki ni ko¯tetsu-sei tenpo,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 5, 1924. 115. “Tokuyakuten kakui! Hoshi shiki tenpo kensetsu kumiai ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1925. 116. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Jo¯shinsho: Tokyo ko¯soin,” June 1932. 117. The Stamp Tax was abolished in 1926. During the opium scandal’s multiple trials in 1926, sales of the medicine peaked at 8,364,694.30 yen (proving, perhaps, that all publicity is good publicity), then leveled off to 2,082,243.00 yen in 1927 and 2,216,292.10 yen in 1929. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Jo¯shinsho: Tokyo ko¯soin,” June 1932, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei,” Nagasaki kenritsu daigaku keizaibu ronshu¯ 49, no. 6 (2016): 156; Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku, Eiseikyoku nenpo¯, 1914 (Tokyo, 1916), 221; Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku, Eiseikyoku nenpo¯, 1925 (Tokyo, 1927), 259.

272

NOTES TO PAGES 131–138

118. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Seimei encho¯: Hoshi no seihin (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1924), 1. 119. See Barbara Sato, The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and Women in Interwar Japan (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 30; Nomura Taku, “Iryo¯hi to shotoku to no rekishi teki so¯kan ni tsuite,” Seimei hoken bunka kenkyu¯sho shoho¯, no. 26, 83–84. 120. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Jo¯shinsho: Tokyo ko¯soin.” 121. “Tokuyakuten no shihon oyobi tenpo kairyo¯ ni oite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1925; “Tokuyakuten kakui! Hoshi shiki tenpo kensetsu kumiai ni oite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1925. 122. “Shinso¯ tenpo meguri,” Nihon yakuho¯, October 5, 1928–December 5, 1929, 1–21. CHAPTER 5. THE SCANDAL OF OPIUM (AND THE COLONIAL EXCEPTION)

1. Originally published on March 16, 1885, in his newspaper circular, Jiji shinpo¯, Fukuzawa Yukichi famous treatise “Datsu-A ron” has been widely translated into English. See Fukuzawa Yukichi, “Good-bye Asia (Datsu-A), 1885,” in Japan: A Documentary History, vol. 2, edited by David J. Lu, 351–353 (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1997). 2. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926), 2–7. 3. For more on illicit narcotics in the making of the Japanese Empire, please see John M. Jennings, The Opium Empire: Japanese Imperialism and Drug Trafficking in Asia, 1895–1945 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997); and Miriam Kingsberg, Moral Nation: Modern Japan and Narcotics in Global History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014). Also see Steffen Rimner, Opium’s Long Shadow: From Asian Revolt to Global Drug Control (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018). 4. Jan-Willem Gerritsen, The Control of Fuddle and Flash: A Sociological History of the Regulation of Alcohol and Opiates (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2000), 41–47; L. D. Kapoor, Opium Poppy: Botany, Chemistry, and Pharmacology (Binghamton, NY: Haworth, 1995), 43. 5. Frederick Wakeman, “The Canton Trade and the Opium War,” in Cambridge History of China, vol. 10: Late Ch’ing, 1800–1911, edited by John King Fairbank (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 163–212, at 179. 6. Wakeman, “The Canton Trade and the Opium War,” 185–188; Peter Ward Fay, The Opium War 1840–1842: Barbarians in the Celestial Empire in the Early Part of the Nineteenth Century and the War by Which They Forced Her Gates Ajar (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975), 142–148; Hsin-pao Chang, Commisioner Lin and the Opium War (New York: W. W. Norton, 1964), 142–148. 7. Rabinadrath Tagore wrote an 1881 essay titled “The Death Traffic” concerning the Opium War and the opium trade, which also reflected on how his grandfather, Dwarkanath Tagore, had richly profited from the trade. See Pankaj Mishra, From the Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012), 26–33. For Japanese perceptions of the Opium War, see Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi, “From Peril to Profit: Opium in Late-Edo to Meiji Japan,” in Opium Regimes: China, Britain, and Japan, 1839–1952, edited by Timothy Brook and Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 55–75. 8. Mark S. Eykholt, “Resistance to Opium as a Social Evil in Wartime China,” in Brook and Wakabayashi, Opium Regimes, 363–364. 9. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 5.

NOTES TO PAGES 138–144

273

10. See David T. Courtwright, Forces of Habit: Drugs and the Making of the Modern World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001). 11. Frank Dikötter, Lars Laamann, and Zhou Xun, Narcotic Culture: A History of Drugs in China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 49–50, 57–65. 12. Courtwright, Forces of Habit, 32. 13. Quoted in Lukasz Kamien´ski, Shooting Up: A Short History of Drugs and War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 69. 14. Jeremy Agnew, Medicine in the Old West: A History, 1850–1900 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2010), 182–185; Victor B. Stolberg, Painkillers: History, Science, and Issues (Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood, 2016), 34–36. 15. Edward Slack, Jr., Opium, State, and Society: China’s Narco-Economy and the Guomindang, 1924–1937 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001), 40. 16. Gerritsen, The Control of Fuddle and Flash, 41–47; Kapoor, Opium Poppy, 43–46. 17. Gerritsen, The Control of Fuddle and Flash, 46–48. 18. Gerritsen, The Control of Fuddle and Flash, 47–48. 19. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 10. 20. Quoted in Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 21. 21. See Yukiko Hayase, “The Career of Goto¯ Shinpei: Japan’s Statesman of Research, 1857–1929” (PhD dissertation, Florida State University, 1974), 119, 127; Mark R. Peattie, “Japanese Attitudes toward Colonialism, 1895–1945,” in The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 83–85; Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009), 56. 22. Harry J. Lamley, “Taiwan under Japanese Rule, 1895–1945: The Vicissitudes of Colonialism,” in Taiwan: A New History, edited by Murray A. Rubinstein (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1999), 218. 23. Takekoshi Yosaburo¯, Japanese Rule in Formosa (Taipei: SMC, [1907] 1996) 156. Formosa was another name for Taiwan. 24. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 19–21. 25. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 20–28. 26. Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 111–114. 27. Mark Metzler, Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 50–51. 28. Ryu¯ Meishu¯ [Liu Mingxiu], Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai (Tokyo: Yamakawa shuppansha, 1983), 50–51. 29. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 22. 30. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 23. 31. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 21; Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 21–25; Hung Bin Hsu, “The Taste of Opium: Science, Monopoly, and the Japanese Colonization in Taiwan, 1895–1945,” Past and Present 222, supplement 9 (2014): 30. 32. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 22. 33. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 21–25. 34. Quoted in Ryu¯, Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai, 107, 185, 204. 35. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 24; Ryu¯, Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai, 93, 204. 36. Ryu¯, Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai, 107, 185; Jennings, The Opium Empire, 29. 37. See Diana S. Kim, Empires of Vice: The Rise of Opium Prohibition across Southeast Asia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020). 38. Rimner, Opium’s Long Shadow, 160–190.

274

NOTES TO PAGES 144–147

39. Rimner, Opium’s Long Shadow, 160–190; Julia Buxton, The Political Economy of Narcotics: Production, Consumption, and Global Markets (London: Zed, 2006), 30–32. 40. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 32–35, 81–86. 41. Fukuzawa, “Good-bye Asia (Datsu-A), 1885.” 42. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 10–19. 43. For more on opium in the British Empire, see Carl A. Trocki, Opium, Empire and the Global Political Economy: A Study of the Asian Opium Trade (London: Routledge, 1999). For more on Britain’s role in the antinarcotics movement, see William O. Walker III, Opium and Foreign Policy: The Anglo-American Search for Order in Asia, 1912–1954 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); and Peter D. Lowes, The Genesis of International Narcotics Control (Geneva, Switzerland: Librarie Droz, 1966). 44. For more on the Opium War, see, for example, Fay, The Opium War 1940–1842; Arthur Waley, The Opium War through Chinese Eyes (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1958). 45. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “Enclosure 1 in no. 2, Peking, January 6, 1916,” in “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part X: January to September 1916,” in The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 3: 1913–1916 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974), 7. For a vivid description of Japan’s dehumanizing opium regime in North China and Manchuria, particularly during the 1930s and 1940s, see Mark Driscoll, Absolute Erotic, Absolute Grotesque: The Living, Dead, and Undead in Japan’s Imperialism, 1895–1945 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010), 228–262. Also see Norman Smith, Intoxicating Manchuria: Alcohol, Opium, and Culture in China’s Northeast (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2012). 46. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “Enclosure 1 in no. 2, Peking, January 6, 1916,” 7. 47. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “No. 32,” in “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XVI: July to December 1921,” in The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974), 40. 48. For the case of heroin the United States, see Eric C. Schneider, Smack: Heroin and the American City (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 6. For the case of cocaine, see Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 105–141. 49. Hsu, “The Taste of Opium,” 237. 50. David T. Courtwright, The Age of Addiction: How Bad Habits Became Big Business (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019), 6. 51. The Ashio Copper Mine was the site of Japan’s most infamous nonnuclear environmental disaster. See Kazuo Nimura, The Ashio Riot of 1907: A Social History of Mining in Japan, edited by Andrew Gordon, translated by Terry Boardman (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998). 52. “Zhitai zhi miuwu (xu),” Taiwan minbao, November 11, 1923, in Riji shiqi “Taiwan minbao” yiyao weisheng shiliao jilu, edited by Zheng Zhimin (Taipei: Guoli Zhongguo yiyao yanjiusuo, 2004), 38–39. 53. See Erez Manela, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). 54. Doris Marie Provine, Unequal under Law: Race in the War on Drugs (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 68–73. 55. Buxton, The Political Economy of Narcotics, 21–22; Ashley Wright, Opium and Empire in Southeast Asia: Regulating Consumption in British Burma (Houndsmills, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 52–55. 56. Buxton, The Political Economy of Narcotics, 28–29. 57. See Lu Hsun, “Preface to the First Collection of Short Stories, ‘Call to Arms,’” in Selected Stories of Lu Hsun, translated by Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang (New York: W. W. Norton, 1960), 1–6.

NOTES TO PAGES 147–150

275

58. Rimner, Opium’s Long Shadow, 3–4. 59. For more information on anticolonial nationalism in Taiwan, see Edward I-Tse Chen, “Formosan Political Movements under Japanese Colonial Rule, 1914–1937,” Journal of Asian Studies 31, no. 3 (May 1972): 447–497. It was no accident that a disproportionate number of anticolonial activists were medical doctors. A career in medicine—as the anthropologist Ming-Cheng Lo points out—represented one of the few ladders available for social-climbing Taiwanese. Japanese authorities were wary of establishing higher education for fear of dissent. But medicine was an exception; they needed doctors to help administer public health measures, and they viewed medicine as apolitical by comparison to other disciplines. Nevertheless, in Taiwan as in other colonies, doctors led anticolonial protests by virtue of their elite status and exposure to higher education. See MingCheng Lo, Doctors within Borders: Profession, Ethnicity, and Modernity in Colonial Taiwan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 37–39, 48–50. 60. Lo, Doctors within Borders, 73–74. 61. “Yapian bigai lun,” Taiwan minbao, March 10, 1923, in Zheng, Riji shiqi “Taiwan minbao” yiyao weisheng shiliao jilu, 33. 62. “Shishi duanpian—Neidiren mimai yapian,” Taiwan minbao, December 11, 1923, in Zheng, Riji shiqi “Taiwan minbao” yiyao weisheng shiliao jilu, 64. 63. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 26. 64. Hsu, “The Taste of Opium,” 231–239. 65. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 26–28. 66. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 40–41. For more on the life and career of Nitan’osa, see Nitan’osa Nakaba, Senso¯ to Nihon ahenshi: Ahen o¯ Nitan’osa Otozo¯ no sho¯gai (Tokyo: Subaru shobo¯, 1977). 67. Gerritsen, The Control of Fuddle and Flash, 46–48; Jan R. McTavish, Pain and Profits: The History of the Headache and Its Remedies in America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 112–114. 68. Frank E. Hamerslag, The Technology and Chemistry of Alkaloids (New York: D. Van Nostrand, 1950), 7–10. 69. Kyo¯tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo¯do (Tokyo: Ko¯seikaku, 1924), 140–141. 70. Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 68; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 12; Matsue Mitsuyuki, Takeda yakuhin tai Taisho¯ seiyaku (Tokyo: Hyo¯gensha, 1956), 40. 71. Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 100–104, quote on 101. Also see Emer O’Dwyer’s work, which vividly describes Ishimoto’s efforts as not just a drug czar but as leading political figure who was mayor of Dairen as well as member of the Japanese Diet. Emer O’Dwyer, Significant Soil: Settler Colonialism and Japan’s Urban Empire in Manchuria (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2015), 76–120. 72. The key scientist in these endeavors was a man named Nagashima Fujiyoshi. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 2–7; Hsu, “The Taste of Opium,” 244. The clearest explication of Hoshi’s involvement with the Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau in any language is Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009), 92–97. ¯ yama Keisuke, Doryoku to 73. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 2–7; O shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯den (Tokyo: Kyo¯wa shobo¯, [1949] revised 1997), 171–173; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 92–97. 74. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 55. 75. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995), 56–57. 76. Ando¯ Chu¯jiro¯, Yakuhin so¯ba to¯kei nenkan (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1920), 50–55.

276

NOTES TO PAGES 151–155

77. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 43–47. 78. Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 93–102. 79. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1927), 7–8, 18–20; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 100–102. 80. Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 102. 81. The Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau’s total raw opium imports amounted to 593,364 kilograms. I based Hoshi’s percentage of opium imports on the weight of a typical case of opium, 72.2 kilograms. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 102, 110. 82. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu, 7–8. 83. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 14–18; Hoshi Shin’ichi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi [Bureaucrats are powerful, the people are weak] (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1967] rev. ed. 2006), 72–78. 84. “Ahen urisage kaisha shitei,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 23, 1917, morning edition; Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi (Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi hensan iinkai, 1957), 70–72; “Seiyakuyo¯ ahen: honsha e kitei urisage,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1917. 85. Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 111–114; Ryu¯, Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai, 194–195. 86. Daba Hiroshi, Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯zo¯ no kenkyu¯ (Tokyo: Nanso¯sha, 2007), 140–144; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 111–114; Ryu¯, Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai, 194–195. 87. 1 kin is equivalent to roughly 600 grams. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “Enclosure in no. 82, Tokyo, February 26, 1921,” in “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XV,” in The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974), 108–110. 88. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “Enclosure in no. 19, Tokyo, June 22, 1921,” in “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XVI: July to December 1921,” in The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974), 26. 89. Great Britain, Foreign Office, “Enclosure in no. 27, Tokyo, February 27, 1923,” in “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XIX: January to June 1923,” in The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 5: 1922–1926 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974), 52–54. ¯ saki ko¯jo¯ kataku so¯saku o uku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 16, 90. “Hoshi seiyaku O 1925; Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi, 177–181. Hoshi Shin’ichi published the latter work to deliver the company’s narrative of the opium scandal to a popular audience. He wrote it fifteen years after he had stepped down from the presidency of the ¯ tani Yonetaro¯ to embark on company and sold off his family’s stake to the industrialist O a career as a science fiction writer. 91. Fukui Sho¯taro¯, “Taisho¯ 14-nen ni mukaete,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1925. 92. “Teion ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki gaishi setsuritsu ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 15, 1925. 93. Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Senzenki Hoshi Seiyaku ni okeru seiseiki ma¯keteingu,” Do¯shisha Sho¯gaku 61, no. 6 (2010): 215; Misawa Miwa, Chiba Yoshihiko, and Ushikubo Hiroko, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen,” Yakushigaku zasshi 43, no. 1 (2008): 40–47. 94. “Kaku-fuken jinko¯ oyobi baiyaku sho¯hi kaku (teika) hyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, August 1, 1917. 95. Hoshi Hajime, “Tako¯ tabo¯ no nen wo kangei su,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1925.

NOTES TO PAGES 155–159

277

96. “Dai yonkai shasai yo¯ko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 10, 1924; ¯ tsuka Katsuichi, “Hongetsu ju¯go nichi wo kishi dai-go kai no shasai uridashi,” Hoshi O seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1925. 97. “Shasai shoyu¯sha kakui,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1926. 98. See Eric C. Han, Rise of a Japanese Chinatown: Yokohama, 1894–1972 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2014), 39–40; Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 13–14. ¯ saki ko¯jo¯ kataku so¯saku o uku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 16, 99. “Hoshi seiyaku O 1925; Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi, 177–181. 100. “Hoshi Hajime shi ni ko¯injo¯: honjitsu kenjikyoku yori,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, evening edition, May 20, 1925. 101. Each case of opium contained roughly seventy-two pounds of opium at a rate of thirteen yen per pound. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu, 5. 102. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu, 5; “Ahen uriwatashi no jijitsu wo mitomu: Hoshi-shi mitsuyu jiken ko¯ban bo¯cho¯ kinshi chu¯ ni Hoshi-shi no chinjutsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 20, 1925. 103. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 56. 104. See Paul E. Dunscomb, Japan’s Siberian Intervention, 1918–1922: “A Great Disobedience against the People” (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2011). 105. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 56. 106. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 22–24; Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi, 110–112. 107. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 24, 25–26. 108. The Japanese term for Russia here is “Rokoku,” which likely refers to the provisional government in Siberia rather than to the Soviet Union. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 37–39. 109. The company called this the “Otaru incident.” 110. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 25–28, 37–39. 111. “Ahen jiken hanketsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 10, 1925. 112. “Pinglun: Taiwan yapian zhengce de liudu: yingsu duanxing yanjinzhuyi,” Taiwan minbao, November 8, 1925. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin, 181. 113. O 114. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken; Taiwan, Nanshi, Nanyo¯ panfuretto (Taipei: Takushoku tsu¯shinsha, 1926); Hanai Takuzo¯, Ahen jiken benron sokki (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926); Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken tenmatsu; Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanshi wa tsuyoshi. 115. Frederick R. Dickinson, War and National Reinvention: Japan in the Great War, 1914–1919 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1999), 66, 84–92, 156–162; Metzler, Lever of Empire, 99–100. Kato¯ Takaaki and Goto¯ Shinpei had a long history as rivals in the era of prewar party politics. They first butted heads in the wake of the Taisho¯ political crisis of 1913 when both aspired to the presidency of the newly formed Do¯shikai ¯ kuma Shigenobu in party, with Kato¯ winning out. After the election of the Do¯shikai’s O 1914, Kato¯ refused Goto¯ a seat in the cabinet. Goto¯ retaliated by joining the rival Seiyu¯kai ¯ kuma cabinet’s harshest critics. party, and became one of the O 116. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 2–16; Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi, 105–107; Liu, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 113–114. 117. The other government-sponsored company was To¯yo¯ Pharmaceuticals. The Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes provided economic incentives to spur the domestic production of strategically important Western medicines to make up

278

NOTES TO PAGES 159–166

for domestic shortages during World War I. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 56–57. 118. Hoshi Shin’ichi went so far as to accuse Shiobara of bribing Home Ministry officials with over a million yen. He claimed that Naikoku Pharmaceuticals failed because its advantages as a publicly funded company made its management and workers lazy. Hoshi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi, 52–56, 61–62, 168. Also see Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 1960), 48–53; and Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ahen jiken, 14–18. ¯ gai’s younger sister. Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi 119. Seiko’s mother, Kimiko, was Mori O Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007), 23–24, 34. 120. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 57, 127. 121. Opium trafficking in China was one of the charges leveled against Japanese government and military officials during the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal. CHAPTER 6. THINGS FALL APART

1. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. 2. Kyo¯tani Daisuke, Hoshi to Fo¯do (Tokyo: Ko¯seikaku, 1924), 200–204; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 4–5. 3. “Daishinsai ni shosuru Honsha ko¯jo¯ no ho¯fu,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1923. 4. Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯do, 201–202; Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009), 117; Jinbo Mitsuhiro, “Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo¯kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki,” Keieishigaku 43, no. 2 (2008): 7. 5. Jinbo, “Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo¯kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki,” 6–8; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯, 1923, 4–7; “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. 6. “Shasai hakko¯ no seiko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1922. 7. Debentures are freely transferable, and their holders receive periodic interest and get back their principal at the end of term. 8. “Motome yo Hoshi seiyaku no shasai o: to¯shi seyo Hoshi no shasai ni,” Yomiuri shinbun, June 15, 1922, morning edition. 9. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha dai-ni kai shasai uridashi,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, August 12, 1922, morning edition. 10. “Dai-san kai shasai no hakko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 15, 1923. 11. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. The article does not use the words “Ponzi scheme,” although savvy investors likely knew about the notorious Charles Ponzi, who was arrested in 1920. 12. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. The company addressed these suspicions in its pamphlet describing its structure and business. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯, 1923, 7. 13. See Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo 50-nen shi (Tokyo: Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, 1928), 235–236. 14. “Wareware ni fukeiki nashi!,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1920; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯, 1923, 7; “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. 15. Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯do, 205–206.

NOTES TO PAGES 166–170

279

¯ yama Keisuke, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯den (Tokyo: 16. O Kyo¯wa shobo¯, [1949] revised 1997), 146; Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯do, 199–200. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯, 1923, 10–12. 17. Kyo¯tani, Hoshi to Fo¯do, 209–211. 18. “Jigyo¯ to kaisha: Hoshi seiyaku no naiyo¯,” To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯, December 8, 1923. 19. Jinbo, Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo¯kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki,” 7. 20. “Warukuchi boshu¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1926. 21. Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo 50-nen shi, 236. 22. Adding to this confusion, before this renaming and reorganization of its distribution system, Hoshi had used terms such as tokuyakuten (literally “exclusive-contract store”) and rensaten (literally “chain store”) interchangeably. See chapter 4. 23. “Kyu¯ tokuyakuten kakui,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1927. 24. Hoshi’s “new chain stores” do not fit most conventional definitions of the term. As discussed in chapter 4, most business scholars consider them franchises because the company did not take ownership of the stores even with this new distribution system. 25. “Che¯n sutoa taikai ketsuki jiko¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1926. 26. “8-gatsu chu¯ ni che¯n ni kanyu¯ suru michi,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, August 1, 1926. 27. “Che¯n shibu to shibucho¯ kettei,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, September 1, 1926; “Hoshi seiyaku no soshiki shita che¯n sutoa seido,” Nihon yakuho¯, July 20, 1926. 28. Sasahara Masashi, “Hoshi seiyaku no shasai sho¯kan furiko¯ ni tsuite,” Invesutomento 3, no. 4 (1927): 35–37. 29. Sasahara, “Hoshi seiyaku no shasai sho¯kan furiko¯ ni tsuite,” 35–37. 30. Sasahara, “Hoshi seiyaku no shasai sho¯kan furiko¯ ni tsuite,” 32–33. At this time, Hoshi also issued 20,000 shares of preferred stock. Preferred stockholders received an extra 10 percent of the dividends paid out to regular shareholders in a given earnings period. The total number of shares was now 520,000. 31. “Shasai shoyu¯sha kakui,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 1, 1926. 32. Sasahara, “Hoshi seiyaku no shasai sho¯kan furiko¯ ni tsuite,” 32–33. 33. Sasahara, “Hoshi seiyaku no shasai sho¯kan furiko¯ ni tsuite,” 32–40, quote on 32. 34. Hoshi Hajime, “Kabunushi oyobi shasai, shaken shoyu¯sha kakui: haito¯kin oyobi risatsu shiharai ni tsuite,” January 20, 1927, 3–4. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 35. Hoshi, “Kabunushi oyobi shasai, shaken shuyu¯sha kakui,” January 20, 1927, 9. 36. Hoshi, “Kabunushi oyobi shasai, shaken shuyu¯sha kakui,” January 20, 1927, 6–10, quote on 6. 37. Hoshi celebrated this new distribution system with the opening of the Convention of the Federation of Manufacturers and Distributors (Seizo¯ka hanbainin renmei taikai) at the Hoshi Business School. Eighteen hundred people attended this four-day event, which included all the branch managers and vice–branch managers, chain store managers, and various visitors and dignitaries. Notable keynote speakers opened each day’s events. They included, for example, Mochizuki Keisuke, the home minister at the time, the German ambassador Wilhelm Heinrich Solf (1867–1936), and Goto¯ Shinpei. Together, these dignitaries lauded the efforts of Hoshi Hajime and his company, and declared their support and encouragement for its revival in the wake of the opium scandal. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 26–28. 38. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯, 1929, 26–28. Hoshi called these arrangements among manufacturers “cooperative villages” (kyo¯ryoku

280

NOTES TO PAGES 170–173

mura). Manufacturers allowed Hoshi to set the prices of their products in exchange for access to Hoshi’s distribution system. For more on the 1927 financial crisis, see Takafusa Nakamura, “Depression, Recovery, and War, 1920–1945,” translated by Jacqueline Kaminsky, in The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940, edited with introductions by Michael Smitka (New York: Garland, 1998), 451–467. 39. William M. Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology: Scientific Management in TwentiethCentury Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 58. 40. “Hoshi seiyaku no wagi setsuritsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 6, 1929, morning edition; “Hoshi seiyaku no wagi jo¯ken,” Kokumin shinbun, March 3, 1929; Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Hoshi seiyaku hasan kansaijin akutoku ikkan hyo¯,” June 8, 1932. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 41. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi,” Ro¯do¯ jiho¯, July 28, 1930, 172. 42. Of course, scientific management was largely a fantasy. It did not prevent labor unrest, but instead provoked it. And it was, in practice, unscientific. Taylor, it turned out, had fudged much of his Bethlehem Steel data! See Matthew Stewart, The Management Myth: Why the Experts Keep Getting It Wrong (New York: W. W. Norton, 2009). 43. For more on the Rice Riots, see Michael Lewis, Rioters and Citizens: Mass Protest in Imperial Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). ¯ -Bei no sore to kotonaru Nihon no ro¯do¯ mondai,” Hoshi seiyaku 44. Hoshi Hajime, “O kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, July 1, 1919. 45. Sheldon Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 39–54. 46. After winning election to the House of Representatives in 1908, Hoshi Hajime later had two unsuccessful campaigns for a House seat, in 1924 and 1936, before winning election in 1937, 1942, 1946, and 1948. 47. Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan, 45. 48. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi,” 172; “Hoshi seiyaku shain to shukuko¯ yonhyakuju¯ mei o kaiko dashinuke no tsu¯chi ni fungai shite sugu so¯gidan wo soshiki,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 31, 1930, morning edition. 49. The demands of the Hoshi Workers Union were simple. It wanted Hoshi Pharmaceuticals to restart business operations, rehire all workers, and pay all unpaid wages as well as all costs the workers incurred during the strike. The union organized meetings to protest and to criticize the company and assigned rules and roles for the protests. Female workers who lived in dorms, for example, could assemble only between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m., whereas male workers had no such limitations. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi,” 172; “Hoshi seiyaku ju¯yaku taku e bo¯kan rannyu¯ su; so¯gi yo¯yaku akka su; kyo¯ shokko¯gawa to kaishagawa kaiken,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 31, 1930, morning edition; “Hoshi seiyaku shain to shukuko¯ yonhyakuju¯ mei o kaiko dashinuke no tsu¯chi ni fungai shite sugu so¯gidan wo soshiki,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 31, 1930, morning edition; and “Hoshi seiyaku no so¯gi sarani akka ka,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 1, 1930, evening edition. 50. This division was necessary because the wages of these workers were set at a much higher pay scale than those of the factory workers (ko¯in), and therefore they had a higher amount of unpaid wages. These employees elected their own representative to negotiate with the company. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi.” 51. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi,” 172. 52. Yoshiya Kun, “Hoshi seiyaku no so¯gi wa kanarazu katsu zo,” Senki 3, no. 11 (July 1930): 94–95. 53. “Hoshi seiyaku no so¯gi sarani akka ka,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 1, 1930, evening edition.

NOTES TO PAGES 173–177

281

54. Yamaguchi Goro¯, “Hoshi seiyaku so¯gi wa naze yabureta ka,” Senki 3, no. 13 (August 1930): 50–52. 55. “Keikan no bo¯ko¯ o akumade nankitsu: Hoshi seiyaku no so¯gi ni seiyakubu kenkyu¯shitsu mo do¯jo¯ higyo¯,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 4, 1930, morning edition. 56. “So¯gidan honbu o kaisha ga senryo¯: keikan rannyu¯ shite kanbu o kensoku; Hoshi seiyaku no jo¯ko¯ fusho¯,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 7, 1930, Saturday edition. 57. Yamaguchi, “Hoshi seiyaku so¯gi wa naze yabureta ka,” 50–52. 58. “Hoshi seiyaku no so¯gi sarani akka ka,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 1, 1930, evening edition; “Keikan no bo¯ko¯ wo akumade nankitsu.” 59. “Kaisha kara teate o yu¯so¯: hitori mo uketori ni kozu; Hoshi seiyaku so¯gi,” Yomiuri shinbun, June 9, 1930. 60. “Sokutatsu no teate ni wa te o sawareru na: hitomatome ni shite honbu kara henkan: Hoshi so¯gi iyoiyo akka su,” Yomiuri shinbun, June 9, 1930, morning edition. 61. “Hoshi no saikensha ni-hyaku mei sanshu¯,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 14, 1930, morning edition. 62. “Hoshi no so¯gi kaiketsu su,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 23, 1930, morning edition; “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi,” 174. 63. “Hoshi kaiko shain oshiyosu shacho¯ yukue fumei de hikiagu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 25, 1930, morning edition. 64. “Shacho¯ o oi daikatsugeki Hoshi no kaiko shain hyaku to mei ga Kyo¯bashi kara Marunouchi made hitosawagi,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, June 26, 1930, morning edition. 65. “Teate niman-en de Hoshi so¯gi kaiketsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, July 6, 1930, morning edition. 66. “Hoshi kaiko shain sho¯totsu: teatekin no enki de hito sawagi,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, August 24, 1930, morning edition. 67. “Hoshi seiyaku ko¯jo¯ kanri: ju¯gyo¯in de kimesu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 11, 1930, morning edition. 68. “Sashiosae o keikai shite: nanoriageta Hoshi kyo¯ryoku kumiai,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 21, 1930, morning edition; “Hoshi seiyaku wa ju¯gyo¯in no kyo¯do¯ kanri de ko¯sei: kumai soshiki de keiei suru,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, October 5, 1930. 69. “Kyo¯ Hoshi kanban kakekae” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 18, 1930, morning edition; “Sashi-osae o keikai shite: nanori-ageta Hoshi kyo¯ryoku kumiai,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 21, 1930, morning edition. 70. “Ro¯do¯sha no ko¯gyo¯ kanri,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, October 12, 1930; “Ro¯do¯ so¯gi no akka to ko¯gyo¯ kanri,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 26, 1930, morning edition. 71. “Ro¯do¯sha no ko¯jo¯ kanri seiseki wa warukunai,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, January 13, 1931, morning edition. 72. “Hoshi seiyaku ni hasan shinsei: tsui ni manukarenu unmei ka,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 15, 1930, evening edition. 73. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Hoshi seiyaku hasan kansaijin akutoku ikkan hyo¯,” June 8, 1932; “Kyu¯ryo¯bi o mae ni hasan o senkoku saru: saisei tojo¯ no Hoshi seiyaku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 30, 1931, morning edition. 74. “Kyu¯ryo¯bi o mae ni hasan o senkoku saru: saisei tojo¯ no Hoshi seiyaku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 30, 1931, morning edition. 75. “Kyu¯ryo¯bi o mae ni hasan o senkoku saru: saisei tojo¯ no Hoshi seiyaku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 30, 1931, morning edition. 76. “Hoshi seiyaku ju¯gyo¯in kyu¯ryo¯ mondai de demo,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 11, 1931, morning edition.

282

NOTES TO PAGES 177–178

77. “Hoshi so¯gidan futatabi Shibatei ho¯i,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 12, 1931, morning edition; “Hoshi ju¯gyo¯in Shibatei no kakumi o toku,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, November 13, 1931, morning edition. 78. “Nihyaku no Hoshi ju¯gyo¯in saibansho e oshiyosu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, December 22, 1931, morning edition. 79. “Hoshi-shi wa fukiso; ko¯jyo¯ no mikomitatsu;yorokobu ju¯gyo¯in 400 mei,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, December 25, 1931. 80. “Hoshi seiyaku ko¯sei: kyo¯ saikenshakai,” Yomiuri shinbun, January 27, 1932, evening edition. 81. “Hoshi seiyaku no saihasan: kyo¯ senkoku kudaru,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, April 26, 1932, evening edition. 82. The term itself is a misnomer. Most patent medicines throughout the world did got get brand protection through patents. Patents were—as they are now—grants of monopoly rights for a designated period of time, provided as incentives to encourage invention and as ways to make knowledge about new inventions public, balancing individual interest with overall social good. Associated with secrecy and carrying connotation of monopoly control, patents were seemingly antithetical to humanitarian notions of medicine as a social good. Patents, it was commonly assumed, were strictly for manufactured goods, bestowed on items where inventors had added value. Medicines, which derived from plants, animals, or chemicals, were often considered common, natural substances, although this became increasingly disputed the more medicine makers relied on laboratory research and development. Early Japanese patent regulations, which were modeled on European examples, prohibited the patenting of medicines for these very reasons. Legislation, however, evolved over the course of the twentieth century to grant patents to manufacturers for the method of a drug’s production, also known as process patents. In Japan, a “process patent system” (seizo¯ho¯ tokkyo seido) was put in place by the early 1960s. In 1976, a revision to patent law allowed for medicines to be patented as products. See Joseph M. Gabriel, Medical Monopoly: Intellectual Property Rights and the Origins of the Modern Pharmaceutical Industry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014), 10–26; Michele Boldrin and David K. Levine, Against Intellectual Monopoly (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 215–217; Christopher Heath, “5.2 Patent Law,” in History of Law in Japan since 1868, edited by Wilhem Röhl (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2005), 423–442; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995), 15, 115; Maki Umemura, The Japanese Pharmaceutical Industry: Its Evolution and Current Challenges (London: Routledge, 2011), 14; Maki Umemura, “A Second-Tier Performance: Reflections on Japan’s Pharmaceutical Industry, 1945–2005,” Japan Forum 23, no. 2 (2011): 213. 83. The goal of any manufacturer was to convince consumers to purchase its products rather than any number of similar products. A manufacturer did this by creating demand through advertising and publicity. The manufacturers goal was to make its branded product synonymous with a commodity, like Kleenex for facial tissues or Coca-Cola for soda pop (“Can’t beat the real thing!”). The best-known brands were none other than guarantees of quality and value that provided a degree of monopoly control—consumers would often choose the branded product over a competitor’s, even if it cost more. 84. Wolfgang Fritz Haug, Commodity Aesthetics, Ideology and Culture (New York and Bagnolet, France: International General, 1987), 110. Haug cites the economists Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy, who use trademarking as evidence for their famous argument on monopoly capitalism. 85. “Hoshi Hajime hasan kiroku,” Tokyo-ku saibansho (1930 [tsu] no. 365); Tokyo chiho¯ saibansho (1931 [so] no. 425); Daishinin (1932 [ku] no. 845). Sources can be found

NOTES TO PAGES 178–181

283

in Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Over the course of this five-year period, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals paid Shiba Trading 104,845.06 yen in interest payments, but the principle remained outstanding. In response to Shiba Trading’s initiation of bankruptcy proceedings, Hoshi proclaimed that it had already repaid the equivalent of 200,000 yen of the principle through merchandise and was well on its way to repaying the full amount. 86. The other two medicines were Hoshi Antituberken (Hoshi anchitsuberuken), a cough and bronchitis remedy, and Hoshi Ichthyol (Hoshi chioru), a salve for skin ailments that was the company’s first medicine. 87. Sagawa Ketsu, “‘Hoshi icho¯yaku’ sho¯hyo¯ken mondai,” May 28, 1932, 1–2, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; “Futatsu no Hoshi icho¯yaku: sho¯hyo¯ken wo meguru arasoi,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, April 21, 1931. The purpose of infringement was to profit by riding on the coattails of a highly popular or well-regarded product that had dominated the market. The goal for regulators—in Japan as elsewhere— was to protect the consumer from misrepresentation and misinformation. See Tomita Tetsuo, ed., Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ setteishi (Tokyo: Gakujutsu sensho, 1998); Christopher Heath, “5.5 Trade Mark Law,” in History of Law in Japan since 1868, edited by Wilhem Röhl (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2005), 466–482. 88. “Yakugyo¯ka shokun ni keikoku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 28, 1936; “Kusuri wo megutte kikai na arasoi: Hoshi seiyaku wo aite ni,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, April 19, 1931, evening edition; “Futatsu no Hoshi icho¯yaku: sho¯hyo¯ken wo meguru arasoi,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, April 21, 1931. 89. “Futatsu no Hoshi icho¯yaku: sho¯hyo¯ken wo meguru arasoi,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, April 21, 1931; “Kusuri wo megutte kikai na arasoi: Hoshi seiyaku wo aite ni,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, April 19, 1931, evening edition; Ko¯no, “Sho¯hyo¯ken no iten ni tsuite,” Nihon yakuho¯, July 5, 1931. 90. “Hoshi Hajime hasan kiroku.” 91. “Futatsu no Hoshi icho¯yaku: sho¯hyo¯ken wo meguru arasoi,” Osaka mainichi shinbun, April 21, 1931. 92. “Hoshi-shi torishirabe,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 12, 1931, morning edition; “Hoshi Hajime-shi shutto¯: kokuso jiken de Osaka kenji kyoku e,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, September 15, 1931, morning edition. 93. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Jo¯shinsho: Tokyo ko¯soin,” June 1932, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 94. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Jo¯shinsho.” 95. Sagawa, “‘Hoshi icho¯yaku’ sho¯hyo¯ken mondai,” 3. 96. “Hoshi seiyaku haru gareru: sho¯hyo¯ sosho¯ ni mo katsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, evening edition, June 15, 1934; “Hoshi seiyaku sho¯so,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, morning edition, November 28, 1935; “Hoshi-shi no sho¯so,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, morning edition, May 29, 1936; “Hoshi seiyaku katsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, evening edition, November 12, 1936; Tokyo chiho¯ saibansho, “Hanketsu,” September 27, 1934, 931 (Ne) no. 1586, 13–14, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 97. “‘Akakan icho¯yaku to Hoshi icho¯yaku,’ kari shobun shinsei jiken (kyakka),” in Tomita, Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ setteishi, 189–191. 98. “‘Hoshi icho¯yaku to Futatsu-boshi icho¯yaku’ kari shobun igi jiken (kari shobun kettei ninka),” in Tomita, Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ setteishi, 187–189. 99. “Ko¯soku shita ue senji hoka no sekinin kengi e: Hoshi-shi kyo¯ kyo¯sei shu¯ryo¯,” Yomiuri shinbun, July 7, 1932, morning edition; “Hoshi Hajime-shi kiso,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, July 17, 1932, evening edition. 100. “Hoshi Hajime-shi shakuho¯ sareru: hasan jiken hanketsu o matte kiso,” Yomiuri shinbun, September 7, 1932, morning edition.

284

NOTES TO PAGES 181–188

101. “Hoshi-shi wa cho¯eki sanka-getsu: Zeimushi wairo jiken no hanketsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 31, 1933, evening edition. 102. “Hoshi-shacho¯ ni bakkin 300 en: Zeishi wairo jiken,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, December 27, 1933, evening edition. 103. “Hoshi seiyaku ko¯sei e: kyo¯sei wagi naru,” Yomiuri shinbun, September 13, 1933, morning edition. 104. Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007), 49. CHAPTER 7. SELLING THE SCIENCE OF QUININE SELF-SUFFICIENCY

1. For more on quininine in the Dutch East Indies, see Andrew Goss, “Building the World’s Supply of Quinine: Dutch Colonialism and the Origins of a Global Pharmaceutical Industry,” Endeavour 38, iss. 1 (March 2014): 8–18. 2. Hoshi Hajime, ed., Kina ni kansuru zadankai sokkiroku (Tokyo: Hoshi Hajime, 1934), 4, 20, 132–140. According to the trade journal American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review, “William Hosken was formerly vice-president of the Ralph L. Fuller Co., and for five years traveled in Europe, China and Japan establishing branches and also buying and selling chemicals, dyes, oils, etc. The firm of Victor & Hosken are also exclusive agents for the Hoshi Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd., Tokio [sic], Japan, who are the largest manufacturers of quinine salts.” The address of Vietor & Hosken was 160 Pearl Street in New York City. See “Trade Notes,” in American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review 17, no. 12 (February 1923): 553. Ralph L. Fuller and Company was organized in 1916 and based in New York; it specialized in drugs and chemicals. See “Ralph L. Fuller,” Oil, Paint, and Drug Reporter, October 10, 1917, 24. 3. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 180-nen shi (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ nai shashi hensan iinkai iincho¯, 1962), 589; Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Shionogi 100-nen (Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978), 202–203. 4. During World War I, the US government expropriated the US subsidiary of Merck and after the war, it established this subsidiary as a separate company. Frederic Rosengarten, Jr., History of the Cinchona Project of Merck & Co., Inc. and Experimental Plantations, Inc., 1934–1943 (Rahway, NJ: Merck, 1944). 5. Bruno Latour, Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 1–3. 6. “The Quinine Problem,” British Medical Journal, May 27, 1933, 923–924. 7. Daniel Headrick, The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century (New York: Oxford University, 1981), 65. 8. Philip D. Curtin, Death by Migration: Europe’s Encounter with the Tropical World in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 132–137. 9. Headrick, The Tools of Empire, 64. Also see Matthew Jones Crawford, The Andean Wonder Drug: Cinchona Bark and Imperial Science in the Spanish Atlantic, 1630–1800 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburg Press, 2016). 10. See David Arnold, “Introduction: Disease, Medicine and Empire,” in Imperial Medicine and Indigenous Societies, edited by David Arnold (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1988), 1–26; Mark Harrison, Public Health in British India: Anglo-Indian Preventive Medicine, 1859–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Curtin, Death by Migration; Philip D. Curtin, Disease and Empire: The Health of European Troops in the Conquest of Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); and Philip D. Curtin, “Medical Knowledge and Urban Planning in Tropical Africa,” American Historical Review 90 (1985): 594–613. Curtin’s body of work discusses how colonial medical authorities often debated the efficacy and side effects of bitter-tasting quinine as a prophylaxis,

NOTES TO PAGES 188–191

285

and shows how mortality rates increased in the case of the conquest of Africa, even with the use of quinine and other preventive practices. Recent historiography concerning malaria in the Japanese Empire similarly challenges the “tools of empire” thesis by emphasizing the importance of local interactions for shaping the trajectory of colonial medicine. Notably, Ku Ya-wen finds fractures in the heroic portrayal of malarial policy as a conquest of nature, and persuasively treats malaria as a constructed, “developo-genic disease” (kaihatsu genbyo¯). She shows how even though malaria was thought of—and handled—as a disease endemic to hostile, tropical environments, its severity in Taiwan resulted, in large part, from human development changing the environment (for example, the spread of wet-rice agriculture and the growth of the camphor industry leading to deforestation). See Ku Yawen, “Rizhi shiqi Taiwan nüeji fang’e zhengce—‘dui ren fa’? ‘dui wen fa’?” Taiwan lishi yanjiu 11, no. 2 (2004): 185–222; Ku Ya-wen, “Shokuminchiki Taiwan ni okeru kaihatsu to mararia no ryu¯ko¯—tsukurareta ‘aku kankyo¯,’” Shakai keizaishigaku 70, no. 5 (2005): 67–89; and Ku Ya-wen, “Anti-Malaria Policy and Its Consequences in Colonial Taiwan,” in Disease, Colonialism, and the State: Malaria in Modern East Asian History, edited by Ka-che Yip (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2009), 31–48. 11. Iijima Wataru, Mararia to teikoku: shokuminchi igaku to Higashi Ajia no ko¯iki chitsujo (Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppansha, 2005), 13. 12. Iijima, Mararia to teikoku, 13. 13. Michael Shiyung Liu, Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009), 114. 14. Headrick, The Tools of Empire, 66. 15. Klaus Roth and Sabine Streller, “From Pharmacy to the Pub—A Bark Conquers the World: Part 1,” ChemViews Magazine, May 7, 2013, https://www.chemistryviews.org/ details/ezine/4701281/From_Pharmacy_to_the_Pub__A_Bark_Conquers_the_World_ Part_1.html. 16. Roth and Streller, “From Pharmacy to the Pub.” 17. Headrick, The Tools of Empire, 71–72. 18. J. H. Holland, “Ledger Bark and Red Bark,” Bulletin of Miscellaneous Information (Royal Gardens, Kew) 1 (1932): 1–17. 19. Malaria and Quinine (Amsterdam: Bureau for Increasing the Use of Quinine, 1927), 41. 20. Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 115. 21. Miyajima Mikinosuke, Nettai seikatsu (Tokyo: Nan’yo¯ kyo¯kai, 1919), 44–46. 22. Liu, Prescribing Colonization, 120–121. 23. Takagi Shigeru, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite” (graduate thesis, Agriculture and Forestry Specialty Division affiliated with Taihoku Imperial University, 1943), 11, National Chung Hsing University Library, Taichung, Taiwan. 24. M. L. Duran-Reynals, The Fever Bark Tree: The Pageant of Quinine (London: W. H. Allen, 1947), 213. For a discussion of Dutch coca in Java, see Arjo Roercsh van der Hoogte and Toine Pieters, “From Javanese Coca to Java Coca: An Exemplary Product of Dutch Colonial Agro-Industrialism, 1880–1920,” Technology and Culture 54 (January 2013): 90–116. 25. Duran-Reynals, The Fever Bark Tree, 212–213. 26. “The Quinine Problem,” 923–924. 27. Duran-Reynals, The Fever Bark Tree, 218–220. 28. Duran-Reynals, The Fever Bark Tree, 220–221; Rosengarten, Jr., History of the Cinchona Project of Merck & Co., Inc. 29. Miyamoto Sadaichi, ed., Dai-ippen: kinı¯ne seizo¯, Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no kina jigyo¯ (1942), 2, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History

286

NOTES TO PAGES 191–193

Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan; “Seiyakubu no shinseihin: ryu¯san kinı¯ne,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, September 1, 1917. 30. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 2. 31. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 97–99. 32. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 93–95. 33. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Katei isho (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923), 119–121; Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 203–204. 34. Matsumoto Mikinosuke, “Hoshi seiyaku kaisha jaba kina hi ko¯nyu¯ ni kansuru ken,” October 4, 1917, Gaimusho¯, Japan Center for Asian Historical Records, National Archives of Japan, Tokyo, Japan. 35. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 23. 36. Duran-Reynals, The Fever Bark Tree, 217. 37. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 8, 56–57. 38. See Ku Ya-wen, “The Development of Cinchona Cultivation and ‘Kina Gaku’ in the Japanese Empire, 1912–45,” Environment, Modernization and Development in East Asia: Perspectives from Environmental History, edited by in Ts’ui-jung Liu and James Beattie (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 157–181. 39. Nagumo Seiji, “Nihon e no kina do¯nyu¯ no ashiato o tadoru,” Yakushigaku zasshi 44, no. 1 (2009): 1–2. 40. Lin Weizhi, “Taiwan zhi jing jina,” Taiwan yinghang jikan 8, no. 2 (June 1956): 69–70. 41. “Sekai ichi no dankai toshite Nan-Bei e no hatten,” Hoshi seiyaku kaubshiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1917; “Panpayaku no gaichi eikyu¯ uriwatashi yakubun ichi,” December 11, 1917, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; “Hoshi seiyaku no hiyaku,” Yomiuri shinbun, August 26, 1919, morning edition. 42. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho,” May 5, 1962, 11–12, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 43. “Sekai ichi no dankai toshite Nan-Bei e no hatten,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, November 1, 1917; “Yakuso¯ noriso¯kyo¯ taru Nanbei Peru¯: Saigo no seiko¯ wa ichinin ichigyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1920. 44. Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 128–132. 45. Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kigyo¯ taisho,” October 31, 1945, Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. 46. Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kigyo¯ taisho,” October 31, 1945. 47. Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine, 128–132, 165–166. For a salacious description of Japan’s cocaine trafficking, see Steven B. Karch, A Brief History of Cocaine: From Inca Monarchs to Cali Cartels; 500 Years of Cocaine Dealing (Boca Raton, FL: Taylor and Francis, 2006), 147–160. For a detailed examination of the smuggling of cocaine into the Asian continent, see Peter Thilly, “The Fujitsuru Mystery: Translocal Xiamen, Japanese Expansionism, and the Asian Cocaine Trade, 1900–1937,” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 7, no. 1 (May 2018): 93–117. 48. See Eiichiro Azuma, In Search of Our Frontier: Japanese America and Settler Colonialism in the Construction of Japan’s Borderless Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2019); and Sidney Xu Lu, The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and Trans-Pacific Migration, 1868–1961 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019). 49. “Yakuso¯ no riso¯kyo¯-taru Nanbei Peru¯: Saigo no seiko¯ wa ichinin ichigyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, April 1, 1920. 50. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho,” 9–10.

NOTES TO PAGES 193–200

287

51. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho,” 10–29. ¯ yama Keisuke, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯den (Tokyo: 52. O Kyo¯wa shobo¯, 1949), 231–232. 53. Miyamoto, Dai-ippen, 47. 54. Yanagimoto Michihiko, Meiji no bo¯ken kagakushatachi: shintenchi Taiwan ni kaketa yume (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2005), 127–129. 55. Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 107–108. 56. Miyamoto Sadaichi, ed., Dai-nihen: kina ki saibai, Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no kina jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1942), 53–54, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 57. Tyo¯zaburo¯ Tanaka, “The Theoretical Basis of the Highland Utilization Movement in Formosa,” essay no. 16 (Taipei: Horticultural Institute, Taihoku Imperial University, n.d.), 1–22; Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, “Taiwan sanchi kaihatsu no shin-shimei,” Taiwan keisatsu jiho¯, no. 290, sanchi kaihatsu serii, no. 10 (January 1940): 1–7; Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, “Nettai shigen to no¯gaku no shimei,” Kyo¯iku no¯gei 10, no. 1 (January 1941): 1–9; Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, “To¯-A kyo¯eiken no kokushi keikaku to nettai shigen,” Taiwan no¯kaiho¯ 3 (May 1941): 8–18. 58. Oda Toshio, Taiwan igaku 50-nen (Tokyo: Igaku shoin, 1974), 13–14, 129. Oda was Horiuchi’s son-in-law and disciple. He succeeded Horiuchi in positions of leadership in the Taiwan medical community. 59. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 38–44, quote on 39. 60. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 39–41, quote on 41. 61. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 42. 62. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 28, 110. 63. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 25–26. 64. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 25–26. 65. Hoshi Hajime, ed., Taiwan sanchi kaihatsu zadankai (Tokyo: Hoshi Hajime, 1935), 1–9, quote on 1–2. 66. See, for example, Emma Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writing and Pictures, 1683–1895 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2005); and Robert Eskildsen, “Of Civilization and Savages: The Mimetic Imperialism of Japan’s 1874 Expedition to Taiwan,” American Historical Review 107, no. 2 (2002): 388–418. 67. John F. Thorne, “Pangcah: The Evolution of Ethnic Identity among Urbanizing Pangcah Aborigines in Taiwan” (PhD dissertation, University of Hong Kong, 1997). 68. Antonio C. Tavares, “Crystals from the Savage Forest: Imperialism and Capitalism in the Taiwan Camphor Industry, 1800–1945” (PhD dissertation, Princeton University, 2004). 69. Paul D. Barclay, Outcasts of Empire: Japan’s Rule on Taiwan’s “Savage Border,” 1874–1945 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2018), 244–247, quote on 245. 70. Ching-chih Chen, “Police and Community Control Systems in the Empire,” in The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 213–239. 71. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 51–55, quote on 54. 72. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 51–55; Leo T. S. Ching, Becoming “Japanese”: Colonial Taiwan and the Politics of Identity Formation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). 73. Ching, Becoming “Japanese,” 133–148. 74. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 52–53, quote on 55.

288

NOTES TO PAGES 200–204

75. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 73. 76. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 23. 77. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 7. 78. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 12, 24; Hoshi, Taiwan sanchi kaihatsu, 5–6. 79. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 62–68. 80. Hoshi Hajime, ed., Banjin to naichijin to no kyo¯ryoku: Taiwan bankai oyobi to¯bu kaitaku—20-nen naichi iju¯sha hyakuman nin (Taipei: Hoshi Hajime, 1935), 23–26; Mark Metzler, Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 56. 81. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 49; Metzler, Lever of Empire, 56. 82. Hoshi, Banjin to naichijin to no kyo¯ryoku, 18. 83. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 12–13; 46. 84. “Nan-Bei no riso¯ kyo¯ ni katsu: odoraseru Sawada honshain,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, October 1, 1919. 85. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929), 26–28. ¯ yama, Doryoku to shinnen no sekai jin, 152–158. 86. O 87. Hoshi Hajime, Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei (Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku sho¯gyo¯ gakko¯, 1923). 88. “Kagaku no chikara to ningen no chikara,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 1, 1918. 89. Hoshi Hajime, “Yo wa sude ni kagakuteki keiei no jidai nari,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1922. 90. “Kagakuteki yakugyo¯ keiei: mada konpon seishin o tateyo!,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 1, 1922. 91. Hoshi Hajime, “Wareware no go¯riteki katsudo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, January 1, 1928. 92. Hoshi, Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei, 1. 93. Frederick Taylor, Principles of Scientific Management (New York: Harper, 1911), 28. 94. Frederick Taylor, Shop Management (New York: Harper, 1911), 68. 95. Judith A. Merkle, Management and Ideology: The Legacy of the International Scientific Management Movement (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980), 15. 96. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯ (1929), 26–28. 97. “Kinı¯ ne mo jikyu¯ keikaku: Taiwan de saibai,” Yomiuri shinbun, March 28, 1934; Hoshi Hajime, “Kina ni kansuru dai-ni zadankai sokkiroku insatsu ni tsukite,” in Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru, 6. 98. “Banjin to kyo¯ryoku shi kina no dai zo¯rin Hoshi-shi ga kankeiryokusha o sho¯tai: kina zadankai o hiraku,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, May 3, 1934, evening edition; Ikaruko, “Kina no zenbo¯ to Hoshi seiyaku kaisha,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, May 3, 1934. 99. “Cinchona in Formosa,” Chemical Engineering News, July 20, 1934, 259. 100. Hoshi, Kina ni kansuru; Hoshi, “Kina ni kansuru.” 101. “Shinkan sho¯kai,” in Gekkan “Taiwan” 5, no. 9 (September 18, 1934): 62. 102. Quoted in Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007), 49–50. 103. “Hoshi Hajime shi no kina jigyo¯: Beikoku shikinka kara hyakuman-en enjo,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, March 23, 1935; “Shinhonkin hyaku-niju¯goman-en no Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kaisha mikka setsuritsu to¯ki wo kanyryo¯,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, September 4, 1935; “Taiwan shinshe xing zhiyao huishe,” Taiwan ri ri xinbao, September 5, 1935. 104. “Riban kankei shuppin kaisetsu,” Riban no tomo, October 1, 1935.

NOTES TO PAGES 204–209

289

105. Sakurada Saburo¯, ed., Taiwan takushoku kabushiki kaisha jigyo¯ gaikan (Tokyo: Taiwan Takushoku, 1940), 38. 106. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 28–29. 107. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 40–41. 108. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 42–43. 109. Lin, “Taiwan zhi jing jina,” 75. 110. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 165–177. 111. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 182. 112. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 33. 113. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 58. 114. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 86.; Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 172–173, 182. One of the other major companies was Morinaga Candy. 115. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 182. 116. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 177, 182. 117. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 177, 182. 118. Miyamoto, Dai nihen, 182. 119. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 89–90. 120. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 87, 91–114. Compared to Zhiben, Laishe had relatively few labor problems. The plantation employed no Taiwanese at all, and the number of workers stayed roughly the same from December 1941 to October 1942, fluctuating from a low of fifty-four workers to a high of sixty workers. 121. Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 105–106. 122. Barclay, Outcasts of Empire, 245. 123. Anna Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 2005), 1. 124. For global corollaries to this project of what some now call “bio-prospecting,” see Richard Drayton, Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the “Improvement” of the World (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000); Richard H. Grove, Green Imperialism: Colonial Expansion, Tropical Island Edens and the Origins of Environmentalism, 1600–1860 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); and Greg Grandin, Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City (New York: Henry Holt, 2009). CHAPTER 8. WAR AND DRUGS

1. Maruyama Masao, Thought and Behavior in Modern Japanese Politics, translated and edited by Ivan Morris (London: Oxford University Press, 1963). 2. Reto Hofmann, The Fascist Effect: Japan and Italy, 1915–1972 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2015), 73. Also see Ken C. Kawashima, Fabian Schäfer, and Robert P. Stolz, eds., Tosaka Jun: A Critical Reader (Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Series, 2013). 3. For a brief yet comprehensive introduction to major players in the debate, see the histographical section in Louise Young, “When Fascism Met Empire in JapaneseOccupied Manchuria,” Journal of Global History 12, iss. 2 (July 2017): 276–280. 4. Michel Foucault, preface to Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, translated by Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), xiii. 5. For a summary of the term “economic man,” see Joseph Persky, “Retrospectives: The Ethology of Homo Economicus,” Journal of Economic Perspectives 9, no. 2 (Spring 1995): 221–231. Also see Amartya K. Sen, “Rational Fools: A Critique of the Behavioral Foundations of Economic Theory,” Philosophy and Public Affairs 6, no. 4 (Summer 1977): 317–344.

290

NOTES TO PAGES 209–215

6. Sheldon Garon, Molding Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life (Princeton: NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 8. 7. Achille Mbembe, “Necropolitics,” translated by Libby Meintjes, Public Culture 15, no. 1 (Winter 2003): 11–40. 8. Janis Mimura, Planning for Empire: Reform Bureaucrats and the Japanese Wartime State (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011), 1–40. 9. Miriam Silverberg, Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 51–72. 10. Louise Young, Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 55–114. 11. Mark Metzler, Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 240–256. 12. Mimura, Planning for Empire, 7–40. 13. See, for example, Konoe Fumimaro, “Against a Pacifism Centered in England and America,” Japan Echo, November 1918, 12–14, reprinted in Japan Echo 22 (1995): 51–55. 14. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi (Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995), 84–85; Andrew Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present, 4th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 217–219. 15. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 84–85; “Baiyaku to¯go¯: seizo¯ wa ichi fuken ichi gyo¯sha,” Yomiuri shinbun, February 20, 1942, morning edition. 16. Thomas Havens, Valley of Darkness: The Japanese People and World War Two (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1978). 17. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 84–85. 18. Peter Duus, “Nagai Ryu¯taro¯ and the ‘White Peril,’ 1905–1944,” Journal of Asian Studies 31, no. 1 (November 1971): 41–48. 19. “Yakugyo¯ to shite shin-Ajia kensetsu no kakugo: Nagai Ryu¯taro¯ kakka,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 5, 1939. 20. Sheldon Garon, The State and Labor in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 152–156. For more on the Peace Preservation Law, see Max Ward, Thought Crime: Ideology and State Power in Interwar Japan (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019). 21. “Kokki to ho¯shi no kokoro: Mochizuki Keisuke kakka go¯ ko¯wa no taiyo¯,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, May 5, 1939. 22. Daba Hiroshi, Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯zo¯ no kenkyu¯ (Tokyo: Nanso¯sha, 2007), 140–141. 23. Marius B. Jansen, The Japanese and Sun Yat-sen (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 1970), 35. 24. Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007), 27; Eiko Maruko Siniawer, Ruffians, Yakuza, Nationalists: The Violent Politics of Modern Japan, 1860–1960 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 52–57, 202–203. 25. Jansen, The Japanese and Sun Yat-sen, 40–41. 26. Marius B. Jansen, The Making of Modern Japan, 3rd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 604–605. 27. To¯yama Mitsuru, Sugiyama Shigemaru, and Uchida Ryo¯hei, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, saiken kakui ni atau,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, March 20, 1933. 28. See Chen Ci-yu, “Chulun Riben nanjin zhengce xia Taiwan yu Dong-Nan-Ya de jingqi guanxi,” Zhongyang yanjiu yuan Dong-Nan-Ya yanjiu lunwen xilie 10 [PROSEA Occasional Paper 10], Zhongyang yanjiu yuan Dong-Nan-Ya quyu yanjiu jihuabian

NOTES TO PAGES 215–218

291

(December 1997): 697–734; Harry J. Lamley, “Taiwan under Japanese Rule, 1895–1945: The Vicissitudes of Colonialism.” In Taiwan: A New History, edited by Murray A. Rubinstein (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1999), 235–236; and Ken’ichi Goto¯, Tensions of Empire: Japan and Southeast Asia in the Colonial and Postcolonial World, edited and with an introduction by Paul H. Kratoska (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2003), 18–23. 29. See Joshua A. Fogel, ed., The Nanjing Massacre in History and Historiography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). 30. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯gun imon chu¯shi shisatsu ryoko¯ ho¯koku (Tokyo: Hoshi do¯kyu¯kai, 1938), 4–5. 31. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯gun imon, 2–3. 32. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯gun imon, 2–3. 33. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯gun imon, 4. 34. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Ko¯gun imon, 3–5. 35. See Jeremy A. Yellen, The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere: When Total Empire Met Total War (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2019). 36. In Zhiben in 1940, twenty-seven kilograms of cinchona bark were harvested from fallen trees, and in Laishe in 1941 there were roughly five hundred kilograms of cinchona bark in storage. Takagi Shigeru, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite” (graduate thesis, Agriculture and Forestry Specialty Division affiliated with Taihoku Imperial University, 1943), 175, copy in National Chung Hsing University Library, Taichung, Taiwan; Taiwan takushoku kabushiki kaisha cho¯sa ka, “Taiwan ni okeru kina saibai jigyo¯ gaiyo¯,” Taipei, March 1940. 37. Xing guina chanye zhushi huishe, “Zhen shixiang biao,” in “Xing guina chanye zhushi huishi cheng linwuju songjiao huishe gexiang ying cha tian shixiang bagaoshu,” July 3–4, 1946. 38. Miyamoto Sadaichi, ed., Dai-nihen: kina ki saibai, Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no kina jigyo¯ (1942), 153, copy in Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 39. Miyamoto, Dai-nihen, 159; Takagi, “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite,” 14–15. 40. Takeda Yoshizo¯, “Mararia chiryo¯ yaku kinı¯ne juyo¯ taisaku shiryo¯,” 1941, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 41. Shionogi shoten, “Honsha no kinaju¯ saibai narabi ni kinı¯ne seiyaku jigyo¯ gaiyo¯,” 1941, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 42. Rikugunsho¯ ko¯seika ijika, “Kina kinkyu¯ taisaku,” November 20, 1942, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 43. Rikugunsho¯ ko¯seika ijika, “Kina kinkyu¯ taisaku.” 44. Norman Taylor, “Quinine: The Story of Cinchona,” Scientific Monthly 57, no. 1 (July 1943): 17–32, quote on 27–29. The situation led the US government to order the rationing of quinine for strictly military purpose, the production of totaquina, a similar antimalarial drug that diluted quinine with other alkaloids extracted from cinchona bark, and the fixing of the price of cinchona and quinine imported from South America. 45. Kikakuin, “Jun-moruhine yo¯ yunyu¯ tokubetsu sochi no ken,” February 17, 1941, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 46. In a letter to the Taiwan colonial police, the managing director of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals dismissed rumors that the company had engaged in the illicit heroin trade. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, torishimariyaku, “Keisatsucho¯ dai ni so¯sakacho¯,

292

NOTES TO PAGES 218–222

Morimoto Kan-dono,” May 2, 1933, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 47. “Yo¯yaku kimatta: Ahen shobun—Hoshi ni gofun sankyo¯ to Osaka no bo¯sha ni sanbun to nifun no wariai de haraisage,” Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯, June 11, 1927, daytime edition; John M. Jennings, The Opium Empire: Japanese Imperialism and Drug Trafficking in Asia, 1895–1945 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997), 59. 48. Jennings writes: “By 1927 Hoshi Pharmaceutical was once again processing crude morphine from Taiwan, though the concession was now shared with two other companies.” It is likely that the two other companies in 1927 were also Dai Nippon and Sankyo¯. Jennings, The Opium Empire, 59. 49. Kikakuin, “Genryo¯ ukeharai mikomi hyo¯,” March 31, 1941, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 50. Kikakuin, “Jun-moruhine yo¯ yunyu¯ tokubetsu sochi no ken.” For more on opium production in Korea, see Jennings, The Opium Empire, 32–38. 51. It is unclear whether its mission succeeded, especially given that the British and Soviet invasion of Iran in August 1941. Kikakuin, “Jun-moruhine yo¯ yunyu¯ tokubetsu sochi no ken.” 52. Kikakuin, “Genryo¯ ukeharai mikomi hyo¯.” 53. Ko¯seisho¯ eiseikyoku, “Ahen jimu renraku kyo¯gikai kyo¯gi jiko¯,” December 3, 1942, Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. 54. Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi” (PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009), 210–211. 55. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho,” May 5, 1962, 10–29; Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 128–132, 165–166. 56. Liu Bi-rong, “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi,” 211–212. 57. Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kigyo¯ taisho,” October 31, 1945, Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. 58. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 180-nen shi (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ nai shashi hensan iinkai iincho¯, 1962), 356–358; Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo¯hen (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 94–95; Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Shionogi 100-nen (Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978), 195–200. 59. “Manshu¯ iyakuhin seizo¯ kaisha setsuritsu,” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 21, 1943, morning edition; Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 87. 60. Nihon yakushi gakkai, Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi, 87. 61. Kabushiki kaisha Chu¯ka Hoshi seiyaku ko¯sho¯, “Kigyo¯ kyoka shinseisho,” December 1943, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 62. Andrew Gordon, “Consumption, Leisure and the Middle Class in Transwar Japan,” Social Science Japan Journal 10, no. 1 (April 2007): 8. 63. Gordon, “Consumption, Leisure and the Middle Class,” 9. 64. See discussion of the Hoshi’s intentional slippage in meaning between franchises and chain stores in chapters 4 and 6. 65. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Kyo¯sei wagi shiharai so¯ten (1933), 1–9, copy in Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 66. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yomiuri shinbun, March 7, 1921, morning edition. 67. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 24, 1935, evening edition.

NOTES TO PAGES 223–232

293

68. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 10, 1935, morning edition; Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, March 31, 1935, evening edition; “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, April 7, 1935, evening edition. 69. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, May 28, 1935, morning edition. 70. “Kenko¯ ho¯koku,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, June 6, 1935. 71. Furuichi Sho¯, “Shokuyoku zo¯jinzai: Hoshi icho¯yaku ni tsuite,” Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯, December 5, 1936; Alexander R. Bay, Beriberi in Modern Japan: The Making of a National Disease (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2012). 72. Baba Makoto, Senso¯ to ko¯koku (Tokyo: Ushio shuppansha, 2010). 73. Baba, Senso¯ to ko¯koku, 57. 74. Baba, Senso¯ to ko¯koku, 55–58, 65–66, 71–73; Barak Kushner, The Thought War: Japanese Imperial Propaganda (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 68–77. 75. Baba, Senso¯ to ko¯koku, 227; Kushner, The Thought War, 68–77. 76. Gennifer Weisenfeld, “Publicity and Propaganda in 1930s Japan: Modernism as Method,” Design Issues 25, no. 4 (Autumn 2009): 22. 77. Fujino Yutaka, Kyo¯sei sareta kenko¯: Nihon fashizumu ka no seimei to shintai (Tokyo: Yoshikawa ko¯bunkan, 2000), 25–26. 78. Fujino, Kyo¯sei sareta kenko¯, 25–26; Bay, Beriberi in Modern Japan, 128–151; Ko¯seisho¯, Kenko¯ ho¯koku ryo¯ho¯ michi (Tokyo: Ko¯seisho¯, 1942). 79. “Hoshi seiyaku, Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 15, 1937, evening edition; “Hoshi seiyaku, Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Tokyo asahi shinbun, October 20, 1937, evening edition. 80. “Kokusaku, Hoshi icho¯yaku,” Yomiuri shinbun, May 16, 1939, evening edition. 81. “Kenko¯ wa icho¯ kara! [ko¯koku],” Hoshi katei shinbun, January 1, 1941; “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yakuten keiei, July 9, 1941. 82. “Hoshi icho¯yaku [ko¯koku],” Yakuten keiei, July 9, 1941. 83. “Hosi wijangyak [kwangko],” Tonga ilbo, June 19, 1939. See also Ashihei Hino, Barley and Soldiers, translated by Kaneko Bush and Lewis W. Bush (Tokyo: Kenkyu¯sha, 1939). 84. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Hoshi icho¯yaku no enkaku,” November 19, 1941. 85. Miriam Silverberg, Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 20–28, quote on 25. 86. “Hakko¯ ichiu o arawase: kusuri to hito no kensetsu,” in Hoshi yakka daigaku 80-nen shi, edited by Hoshi yakka daigaku-shi henshu¯ iinkai (Tokyo: Hoshi yakka daigaku, 1991), 267–269. EPILOGUE

1. Nishikawa Takashi, “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon: Sho¯wa 20 nendai no genfu¯kei to konnichi (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2004), 23–51; Eiji Takamae, Inside GHQ: The Allied Occupation of Japan and Its Legacy, translated and adapted by Robert Ricketts and Sebastian Swann (New York: Continuum, 2002), 190–192. Also see Lori Watt, When Empire Comes Home: Repatriation and Reintegration in Postwar Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2010). 2. Nishikawa, “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon, 23. 3. Bureau of Customs, US Treasury Department, “Monthly Narcotics Intelligence Bulletin,” September 15, 1949. Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers Public Health and Welfare Section, Narcotic Control Division, Subject File, 1945–1952, folder nos. 1–8, box no. 9389, National Archives, College Park, MD.

294

NOTES TO PAGES 232–234

4. H. R. Friman, “The Impact of the Occupation on Crime in Japan,” in Democracy in Occupied Japan: The U.S. Occupation and Japanese Politics and Society, edited by Mark E. Caprio and Yoneyuki Sugita (London: Routledge, 2007), 92–93; Nishikawa, “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon, 52–54. Also see Miriam Kingsberg, Moral Nation: Modern Japan and Narcotics in Global History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014), 181–200. 5. Nishikawa, “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon, 54–56; Hoshi Hajime, “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ni mayaku seizai no seizo¯ wo kyoka sezaru ken ni kanshite chinjo¯,” August 31, 1946, Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan; Saisho¯ Hazuki, Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007), 112–113. 6. Nishikawa Takashi, “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon, 54–56; Hoshi, “Hoshi seiyaku,” August 31, 1946; Saisho¯, Hoshi Shin’ichi, 112–113. 7. Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Kigyo¯ taisho,” October 31, 1945; Xing guina chanye zhushi huishe, “Zhen shixiang biao,” in “Xing guina chanye zhushi huishi cheng linwuju songjiao huishe gexiang ying cha tian shixiang bagaoshu,” July 3–4, 1946, Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. 8. Nonglinchu linwuju, “Linwu gongshi zhiben tongjibiao,” August 15, 1945, Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. 9. Lin Weizhi, “Taiwan zhi jing jina,” Taiwan yinghang jikan 8, no. 2 (1956): 72–73; Fan Zuoxun, Taiwan yaoxue shi (Taipei: Zhengshi yaoxue wenjiao jijinhui, 2001), 197. 10. Saisho¯, Hoshi Shin’ichi, 141–144. ¯ yama Keisuke, Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯den (Tokyo: 11. O Kyo¯wa shobo¯, [1949] revised 1997), 272–273. 12. Saisho¯, Hoshi Shin’ichi, 143–167. 13. In 1962, the company formally ended its association with cocaine production in the Huallaga Valley, which by this time had started to become one of the centers of the illicit cocaine trade. See Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho,” May 5, 1962, 10–29, copy in Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. 14. See the Hoshi Pharmaceuticals website, http://www.hoshi-ph.com/. 15. Hoshi Shin’ichi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1967] rev. ed. 2006). 16. See Tsurumi Shunsuke, “Kaisetsu,” in Hoshi Shin’ichi, Jinmin wa yowashi kanri wa tsuyoshi (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1967] rev ed. 2006), 305–308, quote on 307. The Tsurumi and Hoshi families were close. Tsurumi’s father, Yu¯suke, was a family friend of Hajime. In his critique, Tsurumi Shunsuke fondly recalls seeing Hoshi Hajime driving his black Packard to his home for almost daily meetings with his father. He reminisces about how bathrooms at his family compound were filled up to the brim with Hoshi “digestive, constipation, and anti-diarrheal medicines,” and how his family servants called him the endearing “Hoshipin.” Although he supported Shin’ichi’s efforts as well as the broad outlines of his narrative, Tsurumi had no choice but to label his work what it was: a onesided revenge story to rescue his father’s name. In the 1930s and 1940s, Yu¯suke wrote what remains today the definitive biography of Goto¯ Shinpei, Tsurumi Yu¯suke, Kettaiban, seiden Goto¯ Shinpei, 9 vols., annotated and revised by Ikkai Tomoyoshi (Tokyo: Fujiwara shoten [1937–1949] 2004–2006). See Kurokawa So¯, Tsurumi Shunsuke den (Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2018), 40. 17. Quoted in Saisho¯, Hoshi Shin’ichi, 33. 18. The quote is from Nishikawa Takashi, Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa (Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010), 68. 19. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Takeda 200-nen shi (Osaka: Takeda yakuhin kabushiki kaisha, 1983), 371–393; Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Shionogi 100-nen (Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978), 239–266; Dai Nippon

NOTES TO PAGES 235–237

295

100-nen Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi (Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1998), 66–91; Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed., Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi (Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000), 106–117. 20. See, for example, P. Roy Vagelos and Louis Galambos, Medicine, Science, and Merck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); and Alfred D. Chandler, Jr., Shaping the Industrial Century: The Remarkable Story of the Evolution of the Modern Chemical and Pharmaceutical Industries (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 21. See, for example, Lawrence G. Foster, A Company That Cares (New Brunswick, NJ: Johnson & Johnson, 1986); P. Roy Vagelos and Louis Galambos, The Moral Corporation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 22. Jeffrey W. Alexander, Drinking Bomb and Shooting Meth: Alcohol and Drug Use in Japan (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2018), 101. 23. Perhaps no figure is more emblematic of this literal hangover from war than the character Naoji in Dazai Osamu’s Shayo¯ (The Setting Sun), Kazuko’s strung-out brother who struggles with the absurdity of everyday life after confronting the horrors of war in China. Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun, translated by Donald Keene (New York: New Directions, 1950). 24. Alexander, Drinking Bomb and Shooting Meth, 99–114; Kingsberg, Moral Nation, 181–200. 25. Jean Comaroff, “Medicine: Symbol and Ideology,” in The Problem of Medical Knowledge: Examining the Social Construction of Medicine, edited by Peter Wright and Andrew Treacher (Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press, 1982), 63. 26. To use the words of Soyoung Suh, whose description of traditional medicine in colonial Korea applies to other contexts, “Each patient’s symptoms and economic situations were supposed to be reflected in the personalized prescriptions of traditional medicine. Biomedicine simply matched diseases with prescriptions, ignoring the subjective experience of illness.” Soyoung Suh, Naming the Local: Medicine, Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: Asia Center, Harvard University, 2017), 80. Also see Margaret M. Lock, East Asian Medicine in Urban Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980); Maki Umemura, “Reviving Tradition: Patients and the Shaping of Japan’s Traditional Medicine Industry,” in The Historical Consumer: Consumption and Everyday Life in Japan, 1850–2000, edited by Penelope Francks and Janet Hunter (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 186–199.

Bibliography

Newspapers and Periodicals American Journal of Nursing American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review British Medical Journal Chemical Engineering News Gekkan “Taiwan” Ho¯chi shinbun Hoshi katei shinbun Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shaho¯ Hoshi sho¯ni shinbun Invesutomento Japan and America Jiji shinpo¯ Jitsugyo¯kai Keijo¯ nippo¯ Nichi-Bei shinbun Nihon yakuho¯ Oil, Paint and Drug Reporter Osaka asahi shinbun

Osaka mainichi shinbun President Riban no tomo San Francisco Chronicle Scientific Monthly Senki Taiwan minbao Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ Taiwan ri ri xinbao Taiyo¯ Tokyo asahi shinbun Tokyo no baiyaku Tonga ilbo To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ Yakugaku zasshi Yakuten keiei Yomiuri shinbun

Unpublished Sources Bureau of Customs, United States Treasury Department. “Monthly Narcotics Intelligence Bulletin,” September 15, 1949. Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers Public Health and Welfare Section, Narcotic Control Division, Subject File, 1945–1952, folder nos. 1–8, box no. 9389. National Archives, College Park, MD. Hoshi Hajime. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ni mayaku seizai no seizo¯ wo kyoka sezaru ken ni kanshite chinjo¯.” August 31, 1946. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi Hajime. “Kabunushi oyobi shasai, shaken shoyu¯sha kakui: haito¯kin oyobi risatsu shiharai ni tsuite.” January 20, 1927. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi, Hajime. “Trusts in the United States: Their Origins and Effects.” Master’s thesis, Columbia University, 1901. Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University, New York, NY. 297

298

BIBLIOGRAPHY

“Hoshi Hajime hasan kiroku.” Tokyo-ku saibansho (1930 [tsu] No. 365); Tokyo chiho¯ saibansho (1931 [so] No. 425); Daishinin (1932 [ku] No. 845). Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Bunka tokuyakuten boshu¯ so¯ten.” March 5, 1926. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Hoshi icho¯yaku no enkaku.” November 19, 1941. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Hoshi seiyaku hasan kansaijin akutoku ikkanhyo¯.” June 8, 1932. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Jo¯shinsho: Tokyo ko¯soin.” June 1932. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Kabunushi meibo.” May 31, 1924. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Kyo¯sei wagi shiharai so¯ten. 1933. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Panpayaku no gaichi eikyu¯ uriwatashi yakubun ichi.” December 11, 1917. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Peru¯ koku Tsurumayo chiiki jichi to¯sa ho¯kokusho.” May 5, 1962. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, torishimariyaku. “Keisatsucho¯ dai ni so¯sakucho¯, Morimoto Kan-dono.” May 2, 1933. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Kabushiki kaisha Chu¯ka Hoshi seiyaku ko¯sho¯. “Kigyo¯ kyoka shinseisho.” December 1943. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Kikakuin. “Genryo¯ ukeharai mikomi hyo¯.” March 31, 1941. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Kikakuin. “Jun-moruhine yo¯ yunyu¯ tokubetsu sochi no ken.” February 17, 1941. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Ko¯seisho¯ eiseikyoku. “Ahen jimu renraku kyo¯gikai kyo¯gi jiko¯.” December 3, 1942. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet library, Tokyo, Japan. Matsumoto Mikinosuke. “Hoshi seiyaku kaisha jaba kina hi ko¯nyu¯ ni kansuru ken.” Gaimusho¯, October 4, 1917. Japan Center for Asian Historical Records, National Archives of Japan, Tokyo, Japan. Miyamoto Sadaichi, ed. Dai-nihen: kina ki saibai, Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no kina jigyo¯. 1942. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Miyamoto Sadaichi, ed. Dai-ippen: kinı¯ne seizo¯, Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha no kina jigyo¯. 1942. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Nonglinchu linwuju. “Linwu gongshi zhiben tongjibiao.” August 15, 1945. Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. Rikugunsho¯ ko¯seika ijika. “Kina kinkyu¯ taisaku.” November 20, 1942. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

299

Sagawa Ketsu. “Hoshi icho¯yaku sho¯hyo¯ken mondai.” May 28, 1932. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Shionogi shoten. “Honsha no kinaju¯ saibai narabi ni kinı¯ne ne seiyaku jigyo¯ gaiyo¯.” 1941. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. “Kigyo¯ taisho.” October 31, 1945. Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. Takagi Shigeru. “Taiwan ni okeru kinaen keiei ni tsuite.” Graduate thesis, Agriculture and Forestry Specialty Division affiliated with Taihoku Imperial University, 1943. National Chung Hsing University Library, Taichung, Taiwan. Takeda Yoshizo¯. “Mararia chiryo¯ yaku kinı¯ne juyo¯ taisaku shiryo¯.” 1941. Okamoto Minoru bunsho, Modern Japanese Political History Materials Room, National Diet Library, Tokyo, Japan. Tokyo chiho¯ saibansho. “Hanketsu.” September 27, 1934. 931 (Ne) no. 1586. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Tokyo ko¯soin. “Sho¯hyo¯ ken jiken hanketsu ni taishite no ko¯so jiken no hanketsu.” May 28, 1936. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Tokyo-ku saibansho. “Kyo¯sei wagi saiken kakutei kaku sho¯mei gan.” December 3, 1937. Hoshi University document compilation room, Tokyo, Japan. Xing guina chanye zhushi huishe. “Zhen shixiang biao.” In “Xing guina chanye zhushi huishi cheng linwuju songjiao huishe gexiang ying cha tian shixiang bagaoshu.” July 3–4, 1946. Archives of the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan.

Published Sources Agnew, Jeremy. Medicine in the Old West: A History, 1850–1900. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2010. “‘Akakan icho¯yaku to Hoshi icho¯yaku,’ kari shobun shinsei jiken (kyakka).” In Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ setteishi, edited by Tomita Testuo, 189–191. Tokyo: Gakujutsu sensho, 1998. Alexander, Jeffrey W. Drinking Bomb and Shooting Meth: Alcohol and Drug Use in Japan. Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2018. Althusser, Louis. “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes towards an Investigation).” In “Lenin and Philosophy” and Other Essays. Translated Ben Brewster, 127–187. New York: Monthly Review Press, 1971. Amano Hiroshi. Gaisetsu kusuri no rekishi. Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2000. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. London: Verso, 1983. Anderson, Stuart. Making Medicines: A Brief History of Pharmacy and Pharmaceuticals. London: Pharmaceutical, 2005. Anderson, Warwick. Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006. Ando¯ Chu¯jiro¯. Yakuhin so¯ba to¯kei nenkan. Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1920. Andrews, Bridie. The Making of Modern Chinese Medicine, 1850–1960. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Arnold, David. Colonizing the Body: State Medicine and Epidemic Disease in NineteenthCentury India. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Arnold, David. “Introduction: Disease, Medicine and Empire.” In Imperial Medicine and Indigenous Societies, edited by David Arnold, 1–26. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1988.

300

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Azuma, Eiichiro. Between Two Empires: Race, History, and Transnationalism in Japanese America. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Azuma, Eiichiro. In Search of Our Frontier: Japanese America and Settler Colonialism in the Construction of Japan’s Borderless Empire. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2019. Baba Makoto. Senso¯ to ko¯koku. Tokyo: Ushio shuppansha, 2010. Barclay, Paul D. Outcasts of Empire: Japan’s Rule on Taiwan’s “Savage Border,” 1874–1945. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2018. Barrow, Clyde W. “From Marx to Madison: The Seligman Connection in Charles Beard’s Constitutional Theory.” Polity 24, no. 3 (Spring 1992): 379–397. Barshay, Andrew E. The Social Sciences in Modern Japan: The Marxian and Modernist Traditions. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004. Bartholomew, James Richard. “The Acculturation of Science in Japan: Kitasato Shibasaburo¯ and the Bacteriological Community, 1885–1920.” PhD dissertation, Stanford University, 1971. Bartholomew, James Richard. The Formation of Science in Japan: Building a Research Tradition. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993. Baum, Emily. “Health by the Bottle: The Dr. Williams’ Medicine Company and the Commodification of Well-Being in Liangyou.” In Liangyou: Kaleidoscopic Modernity and the Shanghai Global Metropolis, 1926–1945, edited by Paul Pickowicz, Kuiyi Shen, and Yingjiu Zhang, 71–94. Leiden: The Netherlands: Brill, 2013. Bay, Alexander R. Beriberi in Modern Japan: The Making of a National Disease. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2012. Beard, Charles. An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution of the United States. New York: Macmillan, 1913. Bellah, Robert N. Tokugawa Religion: The Values of Pre-Industrial Japan. Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1957. Benedict, Carol. Bubonic Plague in Nineteenth-Century China. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996. Bian, He. Know Your Remedies: Pharmacy and Culture in Early Modern China. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020. Blair, Roger D., and Francine Lafontaine. The Economics of Franchising. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Blake, Robert. Jardine Matheson: Traders of the Far East. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1999. Bloembergen, Marieke. Colonial Spectacles: The Netherlands and the Dutch East Indies at the World Exhibitions, 1880–1931. Translated by Beverley Jackson. Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006. Boldrin, Michele, and David K. Levine. Against Intellectual Monopoly. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Boshin kurabu. Dai niju¯ go gikai ko¯koku. Tokyo: Boshin kurabu, 1909. Bowen, H. V. The Business of Empire: The East India Company and Imperial Britain, 1756–1833. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Bryan, Steven. The Gold Standard at the Turn of the Twentieth Century: Rising Powers, Global Money, and the Age of Empire. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010. Buck-Morss, Susan. The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989. Bulmus¸, Birsen. Plagues, Quarantines, and Geopolitics in the Ottoman Empire. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

301

Burke, Timothy. Lifebuoy Men, Lux Women: Commodification, Consumption, and Cleanliness in Modern Zimbabwe. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996. Burns, Susan L. “Constructing the National Body: Public Health and the Nation in Meiji Japan.” In Nation Work: Asian Elites and National Identities, edited by Timothy Brook and Andre Schmid, 17–50. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000. Burns, Susan L. “The Japanese Patent Medicine Trade in East Asia: Women’s Medicines and the Tensions of Empire.” In Gender, Health, and History in East Asia, edited by Izumi Nakayama and Angela Leung, 139–165. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017. Burns, Susan L. Kingdom of the Sick: A History of Leprosy and Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2019. Burns, Susan L. “Marketing Health and the Modern Body: Patent Medicine Advertisements in Meiji-Taisho¯ Japan.” In Looking Modern: East Asian Visual Culture from Treaty Ports to World War II, edited by Jennifer Purtle and Hans Bjarne Thomsen, 179–202. Chicago: Center for the Art of East Asia, Department of Art History, University of Chicago, 2009. Burns, Susan L. “Marketing ‘Women’s Medicines’: Gender, OTC Herbal Medicines and Medical Culture in Modern Japan.” Asian Medicine 5, no. 1 (2009): 146–172. Burns, Susan L. “Nanayama Jundo¯ at Work: A Village Doctor and Medical Knowledge in Nineteenth Century Japan.” East Asian Science, Technology, and Medicine 29 (2008): 62–83. Buxton, Julia. The Political Economy of Narcotics: Production, Consumption, and Global Markets. London: Zed, 2006. Chandler, Jr., Alfred D. Shaping the Industrial Century: The Remarkable Story of the Evolution of the Modern Chemical and Pharmaceutical Industries. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005. Chang, Hsin-pao. Commisioner Lin and the Opium War. New York: W. W. Norton, 1964. Charbonneau, Bruno. France and the New Imperialism: Security Policy in Sub-Saharan Africa. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2008. Chen, Ching-chih. “Police and Community Control Systems in the Empire.” In The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie, 213–239. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984. Chen Ci-yu. “Chulun Riben nanjin zhengce xia Taiwan yu Dong-Nan-Ya de jingqi guanxi.” Dong-Nan-Ya yanjiu lunwen xilie 10 [PROSEA Occasional Paper 10], Zhongyang yanjiu yuan Dong-Nan-Ya quyu yanjiu jihuabian (December 1997): 697–734. Chen, Edward I-Tse. “Formosan Political Movements under Japanese Colonial Rule, 1914–1937.” Journal of Asian Studies 31, no. 3 (May 1972): 447–497. Ching, Leo T. S. Becoming “Japanese”: Colonial Taiwan and the Politics of Identity Formation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001. Choi, Jamyung. “Cultivating Class: Tokyo Imperial University and the Rise of a MiddleClass Society in Modern Japan.” PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2014. Church, Roy, and E. M. Tansey. Burroughs Wellcome and Co.: Knowledge, Trust, Profit and the Transformation of the British Pharmaceutical Industry, 1880–1940. Lancaster, UK: Crucible, 2007. Clark, John Bates. The Control of Trusts: An Argument in Favor of Curbing the Power of Monopoly by a Natural Method. New York: Macmillan, 1902. Clark, John Bates. The Distribution of Wealth: A Theory of Wages, Interests, and Profits. New York: Macmillan, 1908.

302

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Cochran, Sherman. Chinese Medicine Men: Consumer Culture in China and Southeast Asia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. Cochran, Thomas. The American Business System. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957. Columbia University Catalogue (1897–1898, 1898–1899, 1899–1900). New York: Columbia University, 1897, 1898, 1899. Columbia University School of Political Science. Announcement: 1898–1899. New York: Columbia University, 1898. Comaroff, Jean. “Medicine: Symbol and Ideology.” In The Problem of Medical Knowledge: Examining the Social Construction of Medicine, edited by Peter Wright and Andrew Treacher, 49–68. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press, 1982. Conte, James T. “Overseas Study in the Meiji Period: Japanese Students in America, 1867–1902.” PhD dissertation, Princeton University, 1977. Courtwright, David T. The Age of Addiction: How Bad Habits Became Big Business. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019. Courtwright, David T. Forces of Habit: Drugs and the Making of the Modern World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001. Crawcour, E. S. “Changes in Japanese Commerce in the Tokugawa Period.” In Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan, edited by John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, 202–215. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968. Crawcour, Sydney. “Industrialization and Technological Change, 1885–1920.” In The Cambridge History of Japan, vol. 6: The Twentieth Century, edited by Peter Duus, 383–450. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Crawford, Matthew Jones. The Andean Wonder Drug: Cinchona Bark and Imperial Science in the Spanish Atlantic, 1630–1800. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburg Press, 2016. Curtin, Philip D. Death by Migration: Europe’s Encounter with the Tropical World in the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Curtin, Philip D. Disease and Empire: The Health of European Troops in the Conquest of Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Curtin, Philip D. “Medical Knowledge and Urban Planning in Tropical Africa.” American Historical Review 90, no. 3 (1985): 594–613. Daba Hiroshi. Goto¯ Shinpei o meguru kenryoku ko¯zo¯ no kenkyu¯. Tokyo: Nanso¯sha, 2007. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Dai Nippon seiyaku 100-nen shi. Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1998. Dai Nippon seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi. Osaka: Dai Nippon seiyaku 60-nen shi hensan iinkai, 1957. Davies, Magrit. Public Health and Colonialism: The Case of German New Guinea, 1884–1914. Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2002. Dazai, Osamu. The Setting Sun. Translated by Donald Keene. New York: New Directions, 1950. de Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. de Grazia, Victoria. Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through 20th Century Europe. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005. Dicke, Thomas S. Franchising in America: The Development of a Business Method, 1840–1980. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992. Dickinson, Frederick R. War and National Reinvention: Japan in the Great War, 1914–1919. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1999. Dikötter, Frank, Lars Laamann, and Zhou Xun. Narcotic Culture: A History of Drugs in China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

303

Donzé, Pierre-Yves. Making Medicine a Business: X-Ray Technology, Global Competition, and the Transformation of the Japanese Medical System, 1895–1945. Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. Doray, Bernard. From Taylorism to Fordism: A Rational Madness. Translated by David Macey. London: Free Association, 1988. Dore, Ronald. British Factory–Japanese Factory: The Origins of National Diversity in Industrial Production. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973. Dorfman, Joseph. The Economic Mind in American Civilization, vol. 3: 1865–1918. New York: Viking, 1949. Dower, John W. “The Useful War.” In Showa: The Japan of Hirohito, edited by Carol Gluck and Stephen R. Graubard, 49–70. New York: W. W. Norton, 1992. Drayton, Richard. Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the “Improvement” of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000. Driscoll, Mark. Absolute Erotic, Absolute Grotesque: The Living, Dead, and Undead in Japan’s Imperialism, 1895–1945. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010. Duke, Benjamin C. The History of Modern Japanese Education: Constructing the National School System, 1872–1890. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2008. Dunscomb, Paul E. Japan’s Siberian Intervention, 1918–1922: “A Great Disobedience against the People.” Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2011. Duran-Reynals, M. L. The Fever Bark Tree: The Pageant of Quinine. London: W. H. Allen, 1947. Duus, Peter. The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea, 1895–1910. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Duus, Peter. “Economic Dimensions of Meiji Imperialism: The Case of Korea, 1895–1910.” In The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie, 128–171. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985. Duus, Peter. “Nagai Ryu¯taro¯ and the ‘White Peril,’ 1905–1944.” Journal of Asian Studies 31, no. 1 (November 1971): 41–48. Eiichi, Shibusawa. The Autobiography of Shibusawa Eiichi: From Peasant to Entrepreneur. Translated, with an introduction and notes, by Teruko Craig. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1994. Eiji Takamae. Inside GHQ: The Allied Occupation of Japan and Its Legacy. Translated and adapted by Robert Ricketts and Sebastian Swann. New York: Continuum, 2002. Einhorn, Max. Icho¯byo¯gaku (Ashi), vols. 1–3. Translated by Tanaka Seitaku and Nagayo Sho¯kichi. Tokyo: Nanko¯do¯, 1908. Endo¯ Kazuko. Toyama no kusuri uri: ma¯ ketingu no senkushatachi. Tokyo: Saimaru shuppankai, 1993. Ericson, Steven J. Financial Stabilization in Meiji Japan: The Impact of the Matsukata Reform. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2020. Eskildsen, Robert. “Of Civilization and Savages: The Mimetic Imperialism of Japan’s 1874 Expedition to Taiwan.” American Historical Review 107, no. 2 (2002): 388–418. Eykholt, Mark S. “Resistance to Opium as a Social Evil in Wartime China.” In Opium Regimes: China, Britain, and Japan, 1839–1952, edited by Timothy Brook and Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi, 360–379. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Fan Zuoxun. Taiwan yaoxue shi. Taipei: Zhengshi yaoxue wenjiao jijinhui, 2001. Fay, Peter. The Opium War 1840–1842: Barbarians in the Celestial Empire in the Early Part of the Nineteenth Century and the War by Which They Forced Her Gates Ajar. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975.

304

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Francks, Penelope. The Japanese Consumer: An Alternative Economic History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Fridenson, Patrick, and Kikkawa Takeo, eds. Ethical Capitalism: Shibusawa Eiichi and Business Leadership in Global Perspective. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017. Fogel, Joshua A., ed. The Nanjing Massacre in History and Historiography. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Foster, Lawrence G. A Company That Cares. New Brunswick, NJ: Johnson & Johnson, 1986. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage, [1978] 1995. Foucault, Michel. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” In The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul Rabinow, 76–100. New York: Pantheon, 1984. Foucault, Michel. Preface to Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane, xi–xiv. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983. Friman, H. R. “The Impact of the Occupation on Crime in Japan.” In Democracy in Occupied Japan: The U.S. Occupation and Japanese Politics and Society, edited by Mark E. Caprio and Yoneyuki Sugita, 89–119. London: Routledge, 2007. Frühstück, Sabine. Colonizing Sex: Sexology and Social Control in Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. Fujino Yutaka. Kyo¯sei sareta kenko¯: Nihon fashizumu ka no seimei to shintai. Tokyo: Yoshikawa ko¯bunkan, 2000. Fujisawa yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha. Fujisawa 100-nen shi. Osaka: Fujisawa yakuhin ko¯gyo¯, 1995. Fujitani, T. Splendid Monarchy: Power and Pageantry in Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Fukuoka, Maki. The Premise of Fidelity: Science, Visuality, and Representing the Real in Nineteenth-Century Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2012. Fukuzawa Yukichi. “Good-bye Asia (Datsu-A), 1885.” In Japan: A Documentary History, vol. 2, edited by David J. Lu, 351–353. Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1997. Gabriel, Joseph M. Medical Monopoly: Intellectual Property Rights and the Origins of the Modern Pharmaceutical Industry. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014. Garon, Sheldon. Molding Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997. Garon, Sheldon. The State and Labor in Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987. Gerritsen, Jan-Willem. The Control of Fuddle and Flash: A Sociological History of the Regulation of Alcohol and Opiates. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2000. Giddens, Franklin. Democracy and Empire, with Studies of Their Psychological, Economic, and Moral Foundations. New York: Macmillan, 1900. Gluck, Carol. “The Invention of Edo.” In Mirror of the Modern: Invented Traditions in Modern Japan, edited by Stephen Vlastos, 262–284. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Gluck, Carol. Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985. Goble, Andrew. Confluences of Medicine in Medieval Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011. Gootenberg, Paul. Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

305

Gordon, Andrew. “Consumption, Leisure and the Middle Class in Transwar Japan.” Social Science Japan Journal 10, no. 1 (April 2007): 1–21. Gordon, Andrew. The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry, 1853–1955. Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1985. Gordon, Andrew. Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012. Gordon, Andrew. A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present. 4th ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020. Goss, Andrew. “Building the World’s Supply of Quinine: Dutch Colonialism and the Origins of a Global Pharmaceutical Industry.” Endeavour 38, iss. 1 (March 2014): 8–18. Goto¯ Ken’ichi. Kindai Nihon to To¯-Nan Ajia: Nanshin no “sho¯geki” to “isan.” Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2010. Goto¯, Ken’ichi. Tensions of Empire: Japan and Southeast Asia in the Colonial and Postcolonial World. Edited and with an introduction by Paul H. Kratoska. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2003. Grandin, Greg. Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City. New York: Henry Holt, 2009. Great Britain, Foreign Office. “Enclosure 1 in no. 2, Peking, January 6, 1916.” In “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part X: January to September 1916.” In The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 3: 1913–1916, 7. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974. Great Britain, Foreign Office. “Enclosure in no. 19, Tokyo, June 22, 1921.” In “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XVI: July to December 1921.” In The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921, 26. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974. Great Britain, Foreign Office. “Enclosure in no. 27, Tokyo, February 27, 1923.” In “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XIX: January to June 1923.” In The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 5: 1922–1926, 52–54. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974. Great Britain, Foreign Office. “Enclosure in no. 82, Tokyo, February 26, 1921.” In “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XV.” In The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921, 108–110. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974. Great Britain, Foreign Office. “No. 32.” In “Further Correspondence respecting Opium, Part XVI: July to December 1921.” In The Opium Trade, 1910–1941, vol. 4: 1917–1921, 40. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1974. Greene, Jeremy A. Prescribing by the Numbers: Drugs and the Definition of Disease. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007. Grimmer-Solem, Erick. The Rise of Historical Economics and Social Reform in Germany, 1864–1894. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Grove, Richard H. Green Imperialism: Colonial Expansion, Tropical Island Edens and the Origins of Environmentalism, 1600–1860. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. “Hakko¯ ichiu o arawase: kusuri to hito no kensetsu.” In Hoshi yakka daigaku 80-nen shi, edited by Hoshi yakka daigaku-shi hensan iinkai, 267–269. Tokyo: Hoshi yakka daigaku, 1991. Hall, John Whitney. “The Castle Town and Japan’s Modern Urbanization.” In Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan, edited by John Whitney Hall and Marius B. Jansen, 182–201. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968. Hamerslag, Frank E. The Technology and Chemistry of Alkaloids. New York: D. Van Nostrand, 1950.

306

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Han, Eric C. Rise of a Japanese Chinatown: Yokohama, 1894–1972. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2014. Hanai Takuzo¯. Ahen jiken benron sokki. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926. Hardacre, Helen. Shinto¯ and the State. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991. Harootunian, Harry. Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000. Harrison, Mark. Public Health in British India: Anglo-Indian Preventive Medicine, 1859–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Hatsuda To¯ru. Hyakkaten no tanjo¯. Tokyo: Sanseido¯, 1993. Haug, Wolfgang Fritz. Commodity Aesthetics, Ideology and Culture. New York and Bagnolet, France: International General, 1987. Hauser, William B. Economic Institutional Change in Tokugawa Japan: Osaka and the Kinai Cotton Trade. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974. Havens, Thomas. Valley of Darkness: The Japanese People and World War Two. New York: W. W. Norton, 1978. Hayase, Yukiko. “The Career of Goto¯ Shinpei: Japan’s Statesman of Research, 1857–1929.” PhD dissertation, Florida State University, 1974. Hayes, Peter. Industry and Ideology: I. G. Farben in the Nazi Era. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Hayward, Walter S., and Percival White. Chain Stores: Their Management and Operation. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1922. Headrick, Daniel. The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981. Heath, Christopher. “5.2 Patent Law.” In History of Law in Japan since 1868, edited by Wilhem Röhl, 423–442. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2005. Heath, Christopher. “5.5 Trade Mark Law.” In History of Law in Japan since 1868, edited by Wilhem Röhl, 466–482. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2005. Henze, Charlotte E. Disease, Health Care and Government in Late Imperial Russia: Life and Death on the Volga, 1823–1914. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2011. Hill, Christopher L. National History and the World of Nations: Capital, State, and the Rhetoric of History in Japan, France, and the United States. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. 2008. Hino, Ashihei. Barley and Soldiers. Translated by Kaneko Bush and Lewis W. Bush. Tokyo: Kenkyu¯sha, 1939. Hirai, Atsuko. Individualism and Socialism: The Life and Thought of Kawai Eijiro¯ (1891–1944). Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1986. Hirschmeier, Johannes. The Origins of Entrepreneurship in Meiji Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964. Hirschmeier, Johannes, and Tsunehiko Yui. The Development of Japanese Business, 1600–1973. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1975. Hisamitsu seiyaku kabushiki kaisha 145-nen shi hensan iinkai. 145-nen shi: Hisamitsu kabushiki kaisha. Tosu, Japan: Hisamitsu seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1992. “History of the Merck Manuals.” Kenilworth, NJ: Merck, n.d. https://www.merckman uals.com/professional/resourcespages/history. Hofmann, Reto. The Fascist Effect: Japan and Italy, 1915–1972. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2015. Hofstadter, Richard. The Age of Reform: From Bryan to F.D.R. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1955. Holland, J. H. “Ledger Bark and Red Bark.” Bulletin of Miscellaneous Information (Royal Gardens, Kew) 1 (1932): 1–17.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

307

Horie, Yasuzo¯. “Modern Entrepreneurship in Meiji Japan.” In State and Economic Enterprise in Japan: Essays in the Political Economy of Growth, edited by William W. Lockwood, 183–208. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1965. Horkheimer, Max, and Theodor W. Adorno. Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments. Edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr. Translated by Edmund Jephcott. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002. Hoshi Hajime, ed. Banjin to naichijin to no kyo¯ryoku: Taiwan bankai oyobi to¯bu kaitaku—20-nen naichi iju¯ sha hyakuman nin. Taipei: Hoshi Hajime, 1935. Hoshi, Hajime. Handbook of Japan and Japanese Exhibits at World’s Fair, St. Louis, 1904. St. Louis, MO: Woodward and Tiernan, 1904. Hoshi Hajime. Kagakuteki keieiho¯ no shintei. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku sho¯gyo¯ gakko¯, 1923. Hoshi Hajime, ed. Kina ni kansuru zadankai sokkiroku. Tokyo: Hoshi Hajime, 1934. Hoshi Hajime. “Kina ni kansuru dai-ni zadankai sokkiroku insatsu ni tsukite.” In Kina ni kansuru dai-ni zadankai sokkiroku, edited by Hoshi Hajime, 1–8. Tokyo: Hoshi Hajime, 1934. Hoshi Hajime. “Seiyakugyo¯ to joko¯.” Keiei to hanbai: ko¯koku kenkyu¯ zasshi, fujin-go¯. October 1, 1918. Hoshi Hajime, ed. Taiwan sanchi kaihatsu zadankai. Tokyo: Hoshi Hajime, 1935. “‘Hoshi icho¯yaku to Futatsu-boshi icho¯yaku’ karishobun igi jiken (kari shobun kettei ninka).” In Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ setteishi, edited by Tomita Tetsuo, 187–189. Tokyo: Gakujutsu sensho, 1998. Hoshi Ryo¯ichi. Noguchi Hideyo: haran no sho¯gai. Tokyo: Sanshu¯sha, 2008. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Ahen jiken. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Ahen jiken tenmatsu. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1927. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Baiyaku tokuhon. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1934. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Hoshi che¯n sutoa. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1928. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Hoshi katei isho. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1920. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1923. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Hoshi no soshiki to sono jigyo¯. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1929. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Kesho¯ tokuhon. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1926. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Ko¯gun imon chu¯ shi shisatsu ryoko¯ ho¯koku. Tokyo: Hoshi do¯kyu¯kai, 1938. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Ko¯ki nisen roppyaku-nen ho¯shuku: so¯ritsu san-ju¯ shu¯nen kinen taikai. Tokyo: Shimoyamada seikei, 1940. Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Seimei encho¯: Hoshi no seihin. Tokyo: Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1924. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha ro¯do¯ so¯gi.” Ro¯do¯ jiho¯ 7, no. 7, July 28, 1930. “Hoshi seiyaku no wagi jo¯ken.” Kokumin shinbun, March 3, 1929. Hoshi Shin’ichi. Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1967] rev. ed. 2006. Hoshi Shin’ichi. Meiji, chichi, Amerika. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1975] revised 2007. Hoshi yakka daigaku-shi hensan iinkai, ed. Hoshi yakka daigaku 80-nen shi. Tokyo: Hoshi yakka daigaku, 1991.

308

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Hoxie, R. Gordon. A History of the Faculty of Political Science, Columbia University. New York: Columbia University Press, 1955. Hsu, Hung Bin. “The Taste of Opium: Science, Monopoly, and the Japanese Colonization in Taiwan, 1895–1945,” Past and Present 222, supplement 9 (2014): 227–246. Hunt, Nancy Rose. A Colonial Lexicon: Of Birth Ritual, Medicalization, and Mobility in the Congo. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999. Ichthyol: Its History, Properties, and Therapeutics. New York: Merck, 1913. Iijima Wataru. Mararia to teikoku: shokuminchi igaku to Higashi Ajia no ko¯iki chitsujo. Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppansha, 2005. Iijima Wataru. Pesuto to kindai Chu¯ goku. Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 2000. Iijima Wataru and Wakimura Ko¯hei. “Eisei to teikoku: Nichi-Ei shokuminchishugi no hikakushiteki ko¯satsu ni mukete.” Nihonshi kenkyu¯ 462 (February 2001): 3–25. Ikeda Matsugoro¯. Nihon yakugyo¯shi. Tokyo: Yakugyo¯jironsha, 1929. Inkster, Ian. Japanese Industrialisation: Historical and Cultural Perspectives. London: Routledge, 2001. Ishizu, Risaku. The Mineral Springs of Japan; with Tables of Analyses, Radio Activity, Notes on Prominent Spas and List of Seaside Resorts and Summer Retreats. Tokyo: Sankyo¯, 1915. Ishizu Risaku and Yanagizawa Hideyoshi. “Ryu¯san atoropin seizo¯ shiken seiseki ho¯koku.” Yakugaku zasshi, July 26, 1926, 847–853. Jannetta, Ann. “From Physician to Bureaucrat: The Case of Nagayo Sensai.” In New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan, edited by Helen Hardacre, 151–160. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1997. Jannetta, Ann. The Vaccinators: Smallpox, Medical Knowledge, and the “Opening” of Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007. Jansen, Marius B. The Japanese and Sun Yat-sen. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1970. Jansen, Marius B. The Making of Modern Japan. 3rd ed. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000. Jaundrill, D. Colin. Remaking Military Service in Nineteenth-Century Japan. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2016. Jennings, John M. The Opium Empire: Japanese Imperialism and Drug Trafficking in Asia, 1895–1945. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997. Jinbo Mitsuhiro. “Hanbai wariate sekininsei no do¯nyu¯ to sono haikei.” Nagasaki kenritsu daigaku keizaibu ronshu¯ 49, no. 6 (2016): 155–184. Jinbo Mitsuhiro. “Senzenki Hoshi Seiyaku ni okeru seiseiki ma¯ketingu.” Do¯shisha Sho¯gaku 61, no. 6 (2010): 206–223. Jinbo Mitsuhiro. “Wagakuni iyakuhin gyo¯kai ni okeru senkuteki hanbai soshiki.” Keieishigaku 43, no. 2 (2008): 3–29. Johnson, Chalmers. MITI and the Japanese Miracle: The Growth of Industrial Policy, 1925–1975. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1982. Johnston, William. “Cholera and the Environment in Nineteenth-Century Japan.” CrossCurrents: East Asian History and Culture Review (e-journal), no. 30 (2019): 9–34. Johnston, William. The Modern Epidemic: A History of Tuberculosis in Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1995. Johnston, William. “The Shifting Epistemological Foundations of Cholera Control in Japan, 1822 to 1900.” Extrême-Orient Extrême-Occident 37 (2014): 171–196. Jones, Geoffrey. Beauty Imagined: A History of the Global Beauty Industry. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

309

Kamien´ski, Lukasz. Shooting Up: A Short History of Drugs and War. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Kano Masanao. Kenko¯kan ni miru kindai. Tokyo: Asahi shinbunsha, 2001. Kao¯ myu¯jiamu shiryo¯shitsu. Kao¯, 120-nen: 1890–2010-nen. Tokyo: Kao¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2012. Kapoor, L. D. Opium Poppy: Botany, Chemistry, and Pharmacology. Binghamton, NY: Haworth, 1995. Karch, Steven B. A Brief History of Cocaine: From Inca Monarchs to Cali Cartels; 500 Years of Cocaine Dealing. Boca Raton, FL: Taylor and Francis, 2006. Kasza, Gregory. The State and the Mass Media in Japan, 1918–1945. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988. Kawashima, Ken C., Fabian Schäfer, and Robert P. Stolz, eds. Tosaka Jun: A Critical Reader. Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Series, 2013. Kibayashi Yu¯ko. Suguyaruka o tsukutta otoko: Matsumoto Kiyoshi den. Tokyo: Sho¯gakkan, 1996. Kim, Diana S. Empires of Vice: The Rise of Opium Prohibition across Southeast Asia. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020. Kim, Hayang (Yumi). “Sick at Heart: Mental Illness in Modern Japan.” PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 2015. Kim, Hoi-eun. “Adulterated Intermediaries: Peddlers, Pharmacists, and the Patent Medicine Industry in Colonial Korea (1910–1945).” Enterprise and Society 20, no. 4 (December 2019): 939–977. Kim, Hoi-eun. “Cure for Empire: The ‘Conquer-Russia-Pill,’ Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and the Making of Patriotic Japanese, 1904–1945.” Medical History 57, no. 2 (2013): 249–268. Kim, Hoi-eun. Doctors of Empire: Medical and Cultural Encounters between Imperial Germany and Meiji Japan. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014. Kim, Hoi-eun. “Physicians on the Move: German Physicians in Meiji Japan and Japanese Medical Students in Imperial Germany, 1868–1914.” PhD dissertation, Harvard University, 2006. Kingsberg, Miriam. Moral Nation: Modern Japan and Narcotics in Global History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014. Kinmonth, Earl H. The Self-Made Man in Meiji Japanese Thought: From Samurai to Salary Man. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981. Kitanaka, Junko. Depression in Japan: Psychiatric Cures for a Society in Distress. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012. Kobayashi Hajime. Tsushimaryo¯ Tashiro baiyaku hattatsushi. Tosu, Japan: Kobayashi Hajime, 1999. Ko¯kando¯ kabushiki kaisha. Ko¯kando¯ no ayumi. Toyama, Japan: Ko¯kando¯ kabushiki kaisha, 1956. Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo. Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo 100-nen shi. Tokyo: Kokuritsu eisei shikenjo so¯ritsu hyakushu¯-nen kinenjigyo¯, 1975. Kolko, Gabriel. The Triumph of Conservatism: A Reinterpretation of American History, 1900–1916. New York: Free Press, 1977. Konoe, Fumimaro. “Against a Pacifism Centered in England and America.” Japan Echo, November 1918, 12–14. Reprinted in Japan Echo 22 (1995): 51–55. Kopytoff, Igor. “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process.” In The Social Life of Things, edited by Arjun Appadurai, 64–91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Ko¯seisho¯. Kenko¯ ho¯koku ryo¯ho¯ michi. Tokyo: Ko¯seisho¯, 1942.

310

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Koyama, Shizuko. Ryo¯sai Kenbo: The Educational Ideal of “Good Wife, Wise Mother” in Modern Japan. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2013. Kremers, Edward, and George Urdang. Kremers and Urdang’s History of Pharmacy. 4th ed. Revised by Glenn Sonnendecker. Madison, WI: American Institute of the History of Pharmacy, 1986. Kuriyama, Shigehisa. The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine. New York: Zone, 1999. Kurokawa So¯. Tsurumi Shunsuke den. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2018. Kushner, Barak. The Thought War: Japanese Imperial Propaganda. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006. Ku Ya-wen. “Anti-Malaria Policy and Its Consequences in Colonial Taiwan.” In Disease, Colonialism, and the State: Malaria in Modern East Asian History, edited by Ka-che Yip, 31–48. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2009. Ku Ya-wen. “The Development of Cinchona Cultivation and ‘Kina Gaku’ in the Japanese Empire, 1912–45.” In Environment, Modernization and Development in East Asia: Perspectives from Environmental History, edited by Ts’ui-jung Liu and James Beattie, 157–181. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. Ku Ya-wen. “Rizhi shiqi Taiwan nüeji fang’e zhengce—‘dui ren fa’? ‘dui wen fa’?” Taiwan lishi yanjiu 11, no. 2 (2004): 185–222. Ku Ya-wen. “Shokuminchiki Taiwan ni okeru kaihatsu to mararia no ryu¯ko¯—tsukurareta ‘aku kankyo¯.’” Shakai keizaishigaku 70, no. 5 (2005): 67–89. Kyo¯tani Daisuke. Hoshi to Fo¯do. Tokyo: Ko¯seikaku, 1924. Lamley, Harry J. “Taiwan under Japanese Rule, 1895–1945: The Vicissitudes of Colonialism.” In Taiwan: A New History, edited by Murray A. Rubinstein, 201–260. Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1999. Laqueur, Thomas W. “Bodies, Details, and the Humanitarian Narrative.” In The New Cultural History, edited by Lynn Hunt, 176–204. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. Latour, Bruno. Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988. Laveaga, Gabriela Soto. Jungle Laboratories: Mexican Peasants, National Projects, and the Making of the Pill. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009. Leach, William. Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture. New York: Vintage, 1993. Lee, Lee Ou-Fan. Shanghai Modern: The Flowering of a New Urban Culture in China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Lehning, James R. To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001. Lei, Sean Hsiang-lin. Neither Donkey nor Horse: Medicine in the Struggle over China’s Modernity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014. Lei, Sean Hsiang-lin. “When Chinese Medicine Encountered the State: 1910–1949.” PhD dissertation, University of Chicago, 1999. Leung, Angela Ki Che. Leprosy in China: A History. New York: Columbia University Press, 2009. Leung, Angela Ki Che, and Charlotte Furth, eds. Health and Hygiene in Chinese East Asia: Policies and Publics in the Long Twentieth Century. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010. Levinson, Mark. The Great A&P and the Struggle for Small Business in America. New York: Hill and Wang, 2011. Lewis, Michael. Rioters and Citizens: Mass Protest in Imperial Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

311

Lin Weizhi. “Taiwan zhi jing jina.” Taiwan yinghang jikan 8, no. 2 (1956): 69–86. Lincicome, Mark Elwood. Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens: Nationalism, Internationalism, and Education in Japan. Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2009. Lincicome, Mark Elwood. Principle, Practice, and Politics of Educational Reform in Meiji Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995. Liu Bi-rong. “Riben zhimin tizhi xia Xing zhiyao huishe de zheng shang guanxi.” PhD dissertation, National Taiwan Normal University, 2009. Liu, Lydia H. Translingual Practice: Literature, National Culture, and Translated Modernity—China, 1900–1937. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995. Liu, Michael Shiyung. Prescribing Colonization: The Role of Medical Practices and Policies in Japan-Ruled Taiwan, 1895–1945. Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2009. Liu, Shiyung. “The Ripple of Rivalry: The Spread of Modern Medicine from Japan to Its Colonies.” East Asian Science, Technology and Society: An International Journal 2, no. 1 (2008): 47–71. Lo, Ming-Cheng. Doctors within Borders: Profession, Ethnicity, and Modernity in Colonial Taiwan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Lock, Margaret M. East Asian Medicine in Urban Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980. Loeb, Lori. “Doctors and Patent Medicines in Modern Britain: Professionalism and Consumerism.” Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies 33, no. 3 (Autumn 2001): 404–425. Loftus, Ronald P. Telling Lives: Women’s Self-Writing in Modern Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004. Low, Morris Fraser. “The Butterfly and the Frigate: Social Studies of Science in Japan.” Social Studies of Science 19, no. 2: 313–342. Lowes, Peter D. The Genesis of International Narcotics Control. Geneva, Switzerland: Librarie Droz, 1966. Lu, Hanchao. Beyond the Neon Lights: Everyday Shanghai in the Early Twentieth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Lu Hsun. “Preface to the First Collection of Short Stories, ‘Call to Arms.’” In Selected Stories of Lu Hsun, translated by Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang, 1–6. New York: W. W. Norton, 1960. Lu, Sidney Xu. The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and TransPacific Migration, 1868–1961. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. Maier, Charles. In Search of Stability: Explorations in Historical Political Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Malaria and Quinine. Amsterdam: Bureau for Increasing the Use of Quinine, 1927. Manela, Erez. The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Marcon, Federico. “Honzo¯gaku after Seibutsugaku: Traditional Pharmacology as Antiquarinaism after the Institutionalization of Modern Biology in Early Meiji Japan.” In Antiquarianism, Language, and Medical Philology: From Early Modern to Modern Sino-Japanese Medical Discourses, edited by Benjamin Elman, 148–162. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2015. Marcon, Federico. The Knowledge of Nature and the Nature of Knowledge. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015. Marshall, Byron K. Capitalism and Nationalism in Prewar Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1967. Maruyama Masao. Thought and Behavior in Modern Japanese Politics. Translated and edited by Ivan Morris. London: Oxford University Press, 1963.

312

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, vol. 1. Translated by Ben Fowkes. London: Penguin, 1990. Matsue Mitsuyuki. Takeda yakuhin tai Taisho¯ seiyaku. Tokyo: Hyo¯gensha, 1956. Matsumura, Wendy. The Limits of Okinawa: Japanese Capitalism, Living Labor, and Theorizations of Community. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015. Mayo-Smith, Richmond. Science of Statistics Part I: Statistics and Sociology. New York: Macmillan, 1895. Mayo-Smith, Richmond. Science of Statistics Part II: Statistics and Economics. New York: Macmillan, 1899. Mbembe, Achille. “Necropolitics.” Translated by Libby Meintjes. Public Culture 15, no. 1 (Winter 2003): 11–40. McClain, James L. “Space, Power, Wealth, and Status in Seventeenth Century Osaka.” In Osaka: The Merchants’ Capital of Early Modern Japan, edited by James L. McClain and Wakita Osamu, 44–79. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999. McClintock, Anne. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest. New York: Routledge, 1995. McTavish, Jan R. Pain and Profits: The History of the Headache and Its Remedies in America. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004. Merck’s Archives: A Journal of Materia Medica and Therapeutics for the General Practitioner Presenting a Review of Therapeutic Progress 8 (January 1906). Merkle, Judith A. Management and Ideology: The Legacy of the International Scientific Management Movement. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980. Metzler, Mark. Lever of Empire: The International Gold Standard and the Crisis of Liberalism in Prewar Japan. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006. Miller, Ian. A Modern History of the Stomach: Gastric Illness, Medicine and British Society, 1800–1950. London: Pickering and Chatto, 2011. Miller, Michael B. Le Bon Marché: Bourgeois Culture and the Department Store, 1869–1920. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987. Mimura, Janis. Planning for Empire: Reform Bureaucrats and the Japanese Wartime State. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011. Minami Daizo¯. Icho¯byo¯ shindan oyobi chiryo¯gaku (Jo¯). Tokyo: Nanko¯do¯, 1908. Mintz, Sidney. Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. New York: Viking, 1985. Misawa Miwa. “Hoshi Hajime no juryo¯shita Doitsu kara no ho¯sho¯ no shinajina.” Yakushigaku zasshi 41, no. 1 (2006): 35–39. Misawa Miwa, Chiba Yoshihiko, and Ushikubo Hiroko. “Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha to cho¯sen.” Yakushigaku zasshi 43, no. 1 (2008): 40–47. Mishima Noriyuki. “Wadagaki Kenzo¯ to Meiji/Taisho¯ki no keizaigakkai (I): Wadagaki no keireki to katsudo¯ wo chu¯shin ni (1).” To¯hoku ko¯eki bunka daigaku so¯go¯ kenkyu¯ ronshu¯ : forumu 21, no. 4 (December 2002): 29–50. Mishra, Pankaj. From the Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012. Miyajima Mikinosuke. Nettai seikatsu. Tokyo: Nan’yo¯ kyo¯kai, 1919. Miyoshi, Masao. As We Saw Them: The First Japanese Embassy to the United States. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979. Mizuno, Hiromi. Science for Empire: Scientific Nationalism in Modern Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009. Molony, Barbara. Technology and Investment: The Prewar Japanese Chemical Industry. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 1990.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

313

Monnais, Laurence. The Colonial Life of Pharmaceuticals: Medicines and Modernity in Vietnam. Translated by Noémi Tousignant. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. Moore, Aaron S. Constructing East Asia: Technology, Ideology, and Empire in Japan’s Wartime Era, 1931–1945. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2015. Moore, Jason W. “Sugar and the Expansion of the Early Modern World-Economy: Commodity Frontiers, Ecological Transformations, and Industrialization.” Review 23 (2000): 409–433. Moran, Ryan. “Securing the Health of the Nation: Life Insurance, Labor, and Health Improvement in Interwar Japan.” Japan Forum 31, no. 2 (2019): 212–234. Morck, Randall K., and Masao Nakamura. “A Frog in a Well Knows Nothing of the Ocean: A History of Corporate Ownership in Japan.” In A History of Corporate Governance around the World: Family Business Groups to Professional Managers, edited by Randall K. Morck, 367–465. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Morikawa Hidemasa. Zaibatsu: The Rise and Fall of Family Enterprise Groups in Japan. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1992. Morris-Suzuki, Tessa. A History of Japanese Economic Thought. London: Routledge, 1989. Murakami Seizo¯. Toyama baiyaku to sono shu¯hen: Genroku kara Sho¯wa no hajime made. Toyama, Japan: Toyama kenmin kaikan, 1983. Musto, David F. The American Disease: Origins of Narcotic Control. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1973. Myers Ramon H., and Mark R. Peattie, eds. The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985. Nagumo Seiji. “Nihon e no kina do¯nyu¯ no ashiato o tadoru.” Yakushigaku zasshi 44, no. 1 (2009): 1–2. Naikaku to¯keikyoku. Icho¯byo¯ ni yoru shibo¯ to¯kei. Tokyo: Naikaku to¯kei hensan, 1914. Naimusho¯ eiseikyoku. Eiseikyoku nenpo¯ 1914, 1922, 1925. Tokyo, 1916, 1924, 1927. Nakamura, Ellen Gardner. Practical Pursuits: Takano Cho¯ei, Takahashi Keisaku, and Western Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005. Nakamura, Takafusa. “Depression, Recovery, and War, 1920–1945.” Translated by Jacqueline Kaminsky. In The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940, edited with introductions by Michael Smitka. New York: Garland, 1998. Nakane, Chie. Japanese Society. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970. Nakanishi, Satoru, and Tomoko Futaya. “Japanese Modernisation and the Changing Everyday Life of the Consumer: Evidence from Household Accounts.” In The Historical Consumer: Consumption and Everyday Life in Japan, 1850–2000, edited by Penelope Francks and Janet Hunter, 107–126. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Nakayama Tadanao. “Kanpo¯ igaku fukko¯ron.” Nihon oyobi nihonjin 109 (1926): 1–76. Nappi, Carla. The Monkey and the Inkpot: Natural History and Its Transformations in Early Modern China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Nelson, Daniel. Frederick W. Taylor and the Rise of Scientific Management. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1980. Neuman, W. Lawrence. “Negotiated Meanings and State Transformation: The Trust Issue in the Progressive Era.” Social Problems 45, no. 3 (August 1998): 315–335. “Nihon no shinyaku” hanko¯ kai, ed. Nihon no shinyakushi. Tokyo: Yakugyo¯jiho¯sha, 1969. Nihon yakushi gakkai. Nihon iyakuhin sangyo¯shi. Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1995.

314

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Nimura, Kazuo. The Ashio Riot of 1907: A Social History of Mining in Japan. Edited by Andrew Gordon. Translated by Terry Boardman. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998. Nishikawa Takashi. “Kusuri” kara mita Nihon: Sho¯wa 20 nendai no genfu¯kei to konnichi. Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2004. Nishikawa Takashi. Kusuri no shakaishi: jinbutsu to jiji de yomu 33 wa. Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2010. Nishizawa, Tamotsu. “The Emergence of the Economic Science in Japan and the Evolution of Textbooks 1860s–1930s.” In The Economic Reader: Textbooks, Manuals and the Dissemination of the Economic Sciences during the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries, edited by Massimo M. Augello and Marco E. L. Guidi. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2011. Nitan’osa Nakaba. Senso¯ to Nihon ahenshi: Ahen o¯ Nitan’osa Otozo¯ no sho¯gai. Tokyo: Subaru shobo¯, 1977. Nitobe Inazo. Bushido, the Soul of Japan: An Exposition of Japanese Thought. Tokyo: Sakurai Hikoichiro¯, 1905. “No. 175: Meiji 30, 2-gatsu; Baiyaku inshi cho¯yo¯ haishi no seigan.” Toyama nippo¯, February 5, 1897. Reprinted in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, shiryo¯ shu¯ sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983. “No. 187: Meiji 38, 5-gatsu; Baiyaku zeiho¯ shiko¯ kisoku ko¯fu.” In Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, shiryo¯ shu¯ sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken, 169–170. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983. “No. 207: Taisho¯ 14, 6-gatsu; Naimusho¯, Isha no yakka ni kansho¯.” Toyama nippo¯, June 27, 1925. Reprinted in Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi shiryo¯ shu¯ sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken, 296–297. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983. “No. 315: Taisho¯ 7, 8-gatsu; Seizo¯yaku todokehyo¯.” In Toyama-ken yakugyo¯ shi, shiryo¯ shu¯ sei, vol. 1, edited by Toyama-ken, 533. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983. Nomura Taku. “Iryo¯hi to shotoku to no rekishi teki so¯kan ni tsuite.” Seimei hoken bunka kenkyu¯ jo shoho¯, no. 26, 73–107. Ober, K. Patrick. Mark Twain and Medicine: Any Mummery Will Cure. Columbus: University of Missouri Press, 2003. Ochiai So¯suke. Shippei to eisei: ichimei/katei igaku taikan. Tokyo: San’eido¯, 1914. Oda Toshio. Taiwan igaku 50-nen. Tokyo: Igaku shoin, 1974. O’Dwyer, Emer. Significant Soil: Settler Colonialism and Japan’s Urban Empire in Manchuria. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2015. Osseo-Asare, Abena Dove. Bitter Roots: The Search for Healing Plants in Africa. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014. ¯ yama Keisuke. Doryoku to shinnen no sekaijin: Hoshi Hajime hyo¯den. Tokyo: Kyo¯wa O shobo¯, [1949] revised 1997. Park, Jin-kyung. “Managing ‘Dis-ease’: Print Media, Medical Images, and Patent Medicine Advertisements in Colonial Korea.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 2, no. 4 (2018): 420–439. Park, Jin-kyung. “Picturing Empire and Illness: Biomedicine, Venereal Disease and the Modern Girl in Korea under Japanese Colonial Rule.” Cultural Studies 28, no. 1 (2014): 108–141. Peattie, Mark R. “Japanese Attitudes toward Colonialism, 1895–1945.” In The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie, 80–127. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985. Persky, Joseph. “Retrospectives: The Ethology of Homo Economicus.” Journal of Economic Perspectives 9, no. 2 (Spring 1995): 221–231.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

315

Plunkett-Powell, Karen. Remembering Woolworth’s: A Nostalgic History of the World’s Most Famous Five-and-Dime. New York: St. Martin’s, 1999. Provine, Doris Marie. Unequal under Law: Race in the War on Drugs. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007. Raion kabushiki kaisha shashi hensan iinkai. Raion 100-nen shi: itsumo kurashi no naka ni Lion. Tokyo: Raion kabushiki kaisha, 1992. Ramseyer, J. Mark, and Frances M. Rosenbluth. The Politics of Oligarchy: Institutional Choice in Imperial Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Reiss, Suzanna. We Sell Drugs: The Alchemy of US Empire. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014. Richards, Thomas. The Commodity Culture of Victorian England: Advertising and Spectacle, 1851–1914. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990. Rimner, Steffen. Opium’s Long Shadow: From Asian Revolt to Global Drug Control. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018. Rodengen, Jeffrey L. The Legend of Pfizer. Fort Lauderdale, FL: Write Stuff Syndicate, 1999. Rodgers, Daniel T. Atlantic Crossings: Social Politics in a Progressive Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998. Rogaski, Ruth. Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty-Port China. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004. Rosengarten, Jr., Frederic. History of the Cinchona Project of Merck & Co., Inc. and Experimental Plantations, Inc., 1934–1943. Rahway, NJ: Merck, 1944. Roth, Klaus, and Sabine Streller. “From Pharmacy to the Pub—A Bark Conquers the World: Part 1.” ChemViews Magazine, May 7, 2013. https://www.chemistryviews. org/details/ezine/4701281/From_Pharmacy_to_the_Pub__A_Bark_Conquers_ the_World_Part_1.html. Roy, William G. Socializing Capital: The Rise of the Large Industrial Corporation in America. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997. Rozwadowski, Franck. “From Recitation Room to Research Seminar: Political Economy at Columbia University.” In Economists and Higher Learning in the Nineteenth Century, edited and with a new introduction by William J. Barber. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1993. Rubinfein, Louisa. “Commodity to National Brand: Manufacturers, Merchants, and the Development of the Consumer Market in Interwar Japan.” PhD dissertation, Harvard University, 1995. Ryu¯ Meishu¯ [Liu Mingxiu]. Taiwan to¯chi to ahen mondai. Tokyo: Yamakawa shuppansha, 1983. Saisho¯ Hazuki. Hoshi Shin’ichi: 1001 wa o tsukutta hito. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2007. Sakurada Saburo¯, ed. Taiwan takushoku kabushiki kaisha jigyo¯ gaikan. Tokyo: Taiwan Takushoku, 1940. Samuels, Richard J. Machiavelli’s Children: Leaders and Their Legacies in Italy and Japan. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003. Sand, Jordan. House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003. Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed. Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi. Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi kanko¯ iinkai, ed. Sankyo¯ 60-nen shi. Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 1960. Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi henshu¯ iinkai, ed. Sankyo¯ 100-nen shi: shiryo¯hen. Tokyo: Sankyo¯ kabushiki kaisha, 2000. Sasaki Satoshi. Kurashi wo kaeta biyo¯ to eisei. Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2009.

316

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Sasaki Yomoshi and Inoue Zenjiro¯. Shin icho¯byo¯gaku. Tokyo: Toho¯do¯, 1910. Sato, Barbara. The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and Women in Interwar Japan. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003. Schneider, Eric C. Smack: Heroin and the American City. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008. Seidensticker, Edward. Low City, High City: Tokyo from Edo to the Earthquake. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983. Seligman, Ben. Main Currents in Modern Economics: Economic Thought since 1870. Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1962. Seligman, Edwin R. A. The Economic Interpretation of History. New York: Columbia University Press, 1902. Sen, Amartya K. “Rational Fools: A Critique of the Behavioral Foundations of Economic Theory.” Philosophy and Public Affairs 6, no. 4 (Summer 1977): 317–344. Shibusawa Eiichi. The Autobiography of Shibusawa Eiichi: Trom Peasant to Entrepreneur. Translated, with an introduction and notes, by Teruko Craig. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1994. Shimizu Masami. “Beikoku no sho¯ten to Nihon no sho¯ten,” parts 1–53. Jiji shinpo¯. July 3, 1920–December 29, 1920. Shimizu To¯taro¯. Nihon yakugakushi. Tokyo: Nanzando¯, 1949. Shimonaka Yasaburo¯. Saishin katei iten. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1929. Shiobara Matasaku. Takamine hakushi. Tokyo: Shiobara Matasaku, 1926. Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha. Shionogi 100-nen. Osaka: Shionogi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1978. Silverberg, Miriam. Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Sims, Richard. French Policy towards the Bakufu and Meiji Japan, 1854–1895. Richmond, UK: Japan Library, 1998. Siniawer, Eiko Maruko. Ruffians, Yakuza, Nationalists: The Violent Politics of Modern Japan, 1860–1960. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008. Sismondo, Sergio, and Jeremy A. Greene, eds. The Pharmaceutical Studies Reader. Chichester, UK: Wiley and Sons, 2015. Sklar, Martin J. The Corporate Reconstruction of American Capitalism, 1890–1916: The Market, the Law and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Slack, Jr., Edward. Opium, State, and Society: China’s Narco-Economy and the Guomindang, 1924–1937. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001. Smith, Norman. Intoxicating Manchuria: Alcohol, Opium, and Culture in China’s Northeast. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2012. Smith, Thomas C. The Agrarian Origins of Modern Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1959. Smith, Thomas C. Political Change and Industrial Development in Japan: Government Enterprise, 1868–1880. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1954. Smitka, Michael, ed. The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940. New York: Garland, 1998. Snowden, Frank M. Naples in the Time of Cholera, 1884–1911. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Somanosho¯ Akio, ed. Shiga no yakugyo¯shi. Ko¯ka, Japan: Shigaken yakugyo¯ kyo¯kai, 1975. Stearns, Peter. Consumerism in World History: The Global Transformation of Desire. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2006. Stephens, Robert P. Germans on Drugs: The Complications of Modernization in Hamburg. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

317

Stewart, Matthew. The Management Myth: Why The Experts Keep Getting It Wrong. New York: W. W. Norton, 2009. Stockwin, J. A. A., “Japan.” In Political Parties of Asia and the Pacific, edited by Haruhiro Fukui, 449–631. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1985. Stolberg, Victor B. Painkillers: History, Science, and Issues. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood, 2016. Sugiyama Shigemaru. Hyakuma: zokuhen. Tokyo: Dai Nihon yu¯benkai, 1926. Suh, Soyoung. Naming the Local: Medicine, Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017. Suzuki Akihito. “Chiryo¯ no shakaiteki ko¯satsu.” In Bunbetsusareru seimei: 20-seiki no iryo¯ senryaku, edited by Kawagoe Osamu and Suzuki Akihito, 129–162. Tokyo: Ho¯sei daigaku, 2008. Suzuki, Akihito. “Illness Experience and Therapeutic Choice: Evidence from Modern Japan.” Social Science History 32, no. 4 (Winter 2008): 515–534. Suzuki, Akihito, and Mika Suzuki. “Cholera, Consumer and Citizenship: Modernisations of Medicine in Japan.” In The Development of Modern Medicine in NonWestern Countries: Historical Perspectives, edited by Hormoz Ebrahimnejad, 184–203. London: Routledge, 2009. Suzuki Akira. Nihon no densho¯yaku—Edo baiyaku kara kateiyaku made. Tokyo: Yakuji nippo¯sha, 2005. Strasser, Susan. Satisfaction Guaranteed: The Making of the American Mass Market. New York: Pantheon, 1989. Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shashi henshu¯ jimukyoku. Taisho¯ seiyaku 80-nen shi. Tokyo: Taisho¯ seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1993. Taiwan, Nanshi, Nanyo¯ panfuretto. Taipei: Takushoku tsu¯shinsha, 1926. Taiwan takushoku kabushiki kaisha cho¯sa ka. “Taiwan ni okeru kina saibai jigyo¯ gaiyo¯.” Taipei, March 1940. Takafusa Nakamura. “Depression, Recovery, and War, 1920–1945,” translated by Jacqueline Kaminsky. In The Interwar Economy of Japan: Colonialism, Depression, and Recovery, 1910–1940, edited with introductions by Michael Smitka, 99–142. New York: Garland, 1998. Takagi Kanehiro. Katei eisei oyobi chiryo¯ kan’i jitsuyo¯. Tokyo: Daigakukan, 1915. Takai Toshio. Watashi no “joko¯ aishi.” Tokyo: So¯do bunka, 1980. Takamae, Eiji. Inside GHQ: The Allied Occupation of Japan and Its Legacy. Translated and adapted by Robert Ricketts and Sebastian Swann. New York: Continuum, 2002. Takechi Kyo¯zo¯. Kindai Nihon to Yamato baiyaku—baiyaku kara haichi kateiyaku e. Tokyo: Zeimu keiri kyo¯kai, 1995. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha. Takeda 180-nen shi. Osaka: Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ nai shashi hensan iinkai iincho¯, 1962. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha. Takeda 200-nen shi. Osaka: Takeda yakuhin kabushiki kaisha, 1983. Takeda yakuhin ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha. Takeda 200-nen shi: shiryo¯hen. Osaka: Takeda yakuhin kabushiki kaisha, 1983. Takekoshi Yosaburo¯. Japanese Rule in Formosa. Taipei: SMC, [1907] 1996. Takii Kazuhiro. Ito¯ Hirobumi—Japan’s First Prime Minister and Father of the Meiji Constitution. Translated by Takechi Manabu. London: Routledge, 2014. Tamura Masanori. Sho¯hisha no rekishi. Tokyo: Chikura Shobo¯, 2011. Tanabe seiyaku kabushiki kaisha shashi hensan iinkai. Tanabe seiyaku 305-nen shi. Osaka, Tanabe seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 1983. Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯. “Nettai shigen to no¯gaku no shimei.” Kyo¯iku no¯gei 10, no. 1 (January 1941): 1–9.

318

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯. “Taiwan sanchi kaihatsu no shin-shimei.” Taiwan keisatsu jiho¯, no. 290, sanchi kaihatsu serii, no. 10 (January 1940): 1–7. Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯. “To¯-A kyo¯eiken no kokushi keikaku to nettai shigen.” Taiwan no¯kaiho¯ 3 (May 1941): 8–18. Tanaka, Tyo¯zaburo¯. “The Theoretical Basis of the Highland Utilization Movement in Formosa.” Essay no. 16. Taipei: Horticultural Institute, Taihoku Imperial University, n.d. Tavares, Antonio C. “Crystals from the Savage Forest: Imperialism and Capitalism in the Taiwan Camphor Industry, 1800–1945.” PhD dissertation, Princeton University, 2004. Taylor, Frederick. Principles of Scientific Management. New York: Harper, 1911. Taylor, Frederick. Shop Management. New York: Harper, 1911. Tedlow, Richard S. New and Improved: The Story of Mass Marketing in America. New York: Basic Books, 1990. Tenorio-Trillo, Mauricio. Mexico at the World’s Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Teng, Emma. Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writing and Pictures, 1683–1895. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2005. Thilly, Peter. “The Fujitsuru Mystery: Translocal Xiamen, Japanese Expansionism, and the Asian Cocaine Trade, 1900–1937.” Cross-Currents: East Asian History and Culture Review 7, no. 1 (May 2018): 93–117. Thimm, Alfred. Business Ideologies in the Reform-Progressive Era, 1880–1914. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1974. Thorne, John F. “Pangcah: The Evolution of Ethnic Identity among Urbanizing Pangcah Aborigines in Taiwan.” PhD dissertation, University of Hong Kong, 1997. “To¯kei.” In Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, shiryo¯ shusei, vol. 2, edited by Toyama-ken, 1–113. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1983. Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo. Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo 50-nen shi. Tokyo: Tokyo kabushiki torihikijo, 1928. Tomes, Nancy. The Gospel of Germs: Men, Women, and the Microbe in American Life. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Tomes, Nancy. Remaking the American Patient: How Madison Avenue and Modern Medicine Turned Patients into Consumers. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2016. Tomita Tetsuo, ed. Shiryo¯ ni yoru fusei kyo¯so¯ bo¯shiho¯ seiteishi. Tokyo: Gakujutsu sensho, 1998. Tone, Andrea. The Business of Benevolence: Industrial Paternalism in Progressive America. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997. Toyama-ken, ed. Toyama-ken yakugyo¯shi, tsu¯shi. Toyama-shi, Japan: Toyama-ken, 1987. Toyama-shi baiyaku shiryo¯kan. Tokubetsuten: Baiyaku no insatsu bunkaten. Toyamashi, Japan: Daito¯ insatsu kabushiki kaisha, 1999. Toyama-shi kyo¯iku iinkai. Meiji no baiyaku hanga. Toyama-shi, Japan: Daito¯ insatsu kabushiki kaisha, 1997. Trachtenberg, Alan. The Incorporation of America: Culture and Society in the Gilded Age. New York: Hill and Wang, 1982. Trambaiolo, Daniel. “The Languages of Medical Knowledge in Tokugawa Japan.” In Rethinking East Asian Languages, Vernaculars, and Literacies, 1000–1919, edited by Benjamin A. Elman, 147–168. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2014. Trambaiolo, Daniel. “Native and Foreign in Tokugawa Medicine.” Journal of Japanese Studies 39, no. 2 (Summer 2013): 299–324.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

319

Trocki, Carl A. Opium, Empire and the Global Political Economy: A Study of the Asian Opium Trade. London: Routledge, 1999. Ts’ai, Hui-yu Caroline. Taiwan in Japan’s Empire Building: An Institutional Approach to Colonial Engineering. London: Routledge, 2009. Tsing, Anna. Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 2005. Tsurumi, E. Patricia. Factory Girls: Women in the Thread Mills of Meiji Japan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990. Tsurumi Shunsuke. “Kaisetsu.” In Hoshi Shin’ichi, Jinmin wa yowashi, kanri wa tsuyoshi. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, [1978] 2006. Tsurumi Yu¯suke. Ketteiban, seiden Goto¯ Shinpei. 9 vols., annotated and revised by Ikkai Tomoyoshi. Tokyo: Fujiwara shoten, [1937–1949] 2004–2006. Tsutsui, William M. Manufacturing Ideology: Scientific Management in Twentieth-Century Japan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998. Turner, Stephen P. “The World of the Academic Quantifiers: The Columbia University Family and Its Connections.” In The Classical Tradition in Sociology: The American Tradition, vol. 1, edited by Jeffrey C. Alexander, Raymond Boudon, and Mohammed Cherkaoui. London: Sage, 1997. Uchikawa Yoshimi. Nihon ko¯kokushi, vol. 1. Tokyo: Dentsu¯, 1976. Umemura, Maki. The Japanese Pharmaceutical Industry: Its Evolution and Current Challenges. London: Routledge, 2011. Umemura, Maki. “Reviving Tradition: Patients and the Shaping of Japan’s Traditional Medicine Industry.” In The Historical Consumer: Consumption and Everyday Life in Japan, 1850–2000, edited by Penelope Francks and Janet Hunter, 176–203. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Umemura, Maki. “A Second-Tier Performance: Reflections on Japan’s Pharmaceutical Industry, 1945–2005.” Japan Forum 23, no. 2 (2011): 207–233. Usui, Kazuo. Marketing and Consumption in Modern Japan. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. Vagelos, Roy P., and Louis Galambos. Medicine, Science, and Merck. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Vagelos, Roy P., and Louis Galambos. The Moral Corporation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. van der Geest, Sjaak, and Susan Reynolds Whyte. “The Charm of Medicines: Metaphors and Metonyms.” Medical Anthropology Quarterly, n.s. 3, no. 4 (December 1989): 345–367. van der Geest, Sjaak, Susan Reynolds Whyte, and Anita Hardon. “The Anthropology of Pharmaceuticals: A Biographical Approach.” Annual Review of Anthropology 25 (1996): 153–178. van der Hoogte, Arjo Roercsh, and Toine Pieters. “From Javanese Coca to Java Coca: An Exemplary Product of Dutch Colonial Agro-Industrialism, 1880–1920.” Technology and Culture 54 (January 2013): 90–116. Vaporis, Constantine Nomikos. Tour of Duty: Samurai, Military Service in Edo, and the Culture of Early Modern Japan. Honololu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008. Vaughn, Megan. Curing Their Ills: Colonial Power and African Illness. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991. Vogel, Ezra. Japan as Number One. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979. von Staden, Peter. Business-Government Relations in Prewar Japan. London: Routledge, 2008. Wada Hirofumi. Shiseido¯ to iu bunka so¯chi, 1874–1945. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2011.

320

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Wakabayashi, Bob Tadashi. “From Peril to Profit: Opium in Late-Edo to Meiji Japan.” In Opium Regimes: China, Britain, and Japan, 1839–1952, edited by Timothy Brook and Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi, 55–75. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Wakeman, Frederick. “The Canton Trade and the Opium War.” In Cambridge History of China, vol. 10: Late Ch’ing, 1800–1911, edited by John King Fairbank, 163–212. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978. Waley, Arthur. The Opium War through Chinese Eyes. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1958. Walker III, William O. Opium and Foreign Policy: The Anglo-American Search for Order in Asia, 1912–1954. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991. Ward, Max. Thought Crime: Ideology and State Power in Interwar Japan. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019. Warshaw, Dan. Paul Leroy-Beaulieu and Established Liberalism in France. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1991. Watanabe Ryu¯saku. Kindai Nitchu¯ minshu¯ ko¯ryu¯ gaishi. Tokyo: Yu¯zankaku shuppan, 1981. Watt, Lori. When Empire Comes Home: Repatriation and Reintegration in Postwar Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2010. Weber, Max. Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretative Sociology. Edited by Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978. Weber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Translated and updated by Stephen Kalberg. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Weisenfeld, Gennifer. “Publicity and Propaganda in 1930s Japan: Modernism as Method.” Design Issues 25, no. 4 (Autumn 2009): 13–28. Wheeler, R. Taylor. “The Influence of Baking-Powder Residues on Digestion.” Science, January 3, 1890, 14–16. Whyte, Susan Reynolds, Sjaak van der Geest, and Anita Hardon. Social Lives of Medicines. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Wiebe, Robert H. The Search for Order, 1877–1920. New York: Hill and Wang, 1966. Woycke, James. “Patent Medicines in Imperial Germany.” Canadian Bulletin of Medical History 9 (1992): 41–56. Wray, William D. Managing Industrial Enterprise: Cases from Japan’s Prewar Experience. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989. Wray, William D. Mitsubishi and the N.Y.K., 1870–1914: Business Strategy in the Japanese Shipping Industry. Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, 1984. Wright, Ashley. Opium and Empire in Southeast Asia: Regulating Consumption in British Burma. Houndsmills, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. Yakugyo¯ keizai kenkyu¯jo. Yakugyo¯ keizai nenkan. Tokyo: Yakushi nippo¯sha, 1967. Yamamoto, Genzo¯. “Navigating the Euro-American Enlightenment: Japan and the Modern World.” In Japan and Asian Modernities, edited by Rein Raud, 123–166. London: Kegan Paul International, 2007. Yamamoto Taketoshi and Nishizawa Tamotsu, eds. Hyakkaten no bunkashi: Nihon no sho¯hi kakumei. Kyoto: Sekai shiso¯sha, 1999. Yamamura, Kozo. “The Founding of Mitsubishi: A Case Study in Japanese Business History.” Business History Review 41, no. 2 (Summer 1967): 141–160. Yamashita Mai. Iyaku o kindaika shita kenkyu¯ to senryaku. Tokyo: Fuyo¯ shobo¯, 2010. Yanagimoto Michihiko. Meiji no bo¯ken kagakushatachi: shintenchi Taiwan ni kaketa yume. Tokyo: Shincho¯sha, 2005.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

321

Yeh, Wen-Hsin. Shanghai Splendor: Economic Sentiments and the Making of Modern China, 1843–1949. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007. Yellen, Jeremy A. The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere: When Total Empire Met Total War. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2019. Yongue, Julia S. “Academia-Industry Relations: Interpreting the Role of Nagai Nagayoshi in the Development of New Businesses in the Meiji Period and Beyond.” In Science, Technology, and Medicine in the Modern Japanese Empire, edited by David G. Wittner and Philip C. Brown, 33–49. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2016. Yongue, Julia S. “Origins of Innovation in the Japanese Pharmaceutical Industry: The Case of Yamanouchi Pharmaceutical Company (1923–1976).” Japanese Research in Business History 22 (2005): 109–136. Yoshida Jinkichi. Yakugyo¯ keieiron. Tokyo: Hyo¯ronsha, [1962] 1966. Yoshioka Shin. Edo no Kigusuriya. Tokyo: Seiabo¯, 1994. Young, James Harvey. Pure Food: Securing the Federal Food and Drugs Act of 1906. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989. Young, James Harvey. The Toadstool Millionaires: A Social History of Patent Medicines. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961. Young, Louise. Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Young, Louise. “When Fascism Met Empire in Japanese-Occupied Manchuria.” Journal of Global History 12, iss. 2 (July 2017): 274–296. Zenshiro¯ Tsuboya. Hakubunkan 50-nen shi. Tokyo: Hakubunkan, 1937. Zheng Zhimin, ed. Riji shiqi “Taiwan minbao” yiyao weisheng shiliao jilu. Taipei: Guoli Zhongguo yiyao yanjiusuo, 2004.

Index

Adorno, Theodor, 73 Aikawa Yoshizuke, 210 Akashi Motojiro¯, 152 Akiyama Sho¯, 177 Alexander, Jeffrey, 236 alkaloids, 3, 7, 13, 139–40, 149, 187, 189. See also morphine and morphine business; quinine Allied Powers, 75, 107, 217, 231–34 Althusser, Louis, 8 Americanism, 91 Anraku Eiji, 51, 60, 62, 125–27 Anzu Gitoku, 122 Aoki Tetsuji, 60, 256n133 Arai Seiichiro¯, 203, 224–25 Arakawa Teizo¯, 203 Army Ministry, 217 Ashio Copper Mine, 146, 274n51 Baba, Makoto, 224–25 Baiyaku tokuhon (Patent medicine handbook), 102 Banyu¯ Pharmaceuticals, 36 Barclay, Paul, 199, 206 Bayer AG, 5, 33, 139, 149, 245n46 biomedicine, 1–2, 4, 21, 24, 100, 237, 295n26; biopolitics, 208–210 biopolitics, 208–210 biopower, 2, 240n9 Boshin Club (Boshin kurabu), 59–60 Britain, 13, 34, 144–45, 148, 152–54, 190, 216 Britain, laws: Merchandise Marks Act (1887), 258n8; Pharmacy Acts (1968–1869), 258n8; Poisons and Pharmacy Act (1899), 258n8; Sale of Food and Drugs Acts (1875, 1899), 258n8 British Medical Journal, 187 Buck-Morss, Susan, 54 Burns, Susan, 78, 97 Bushido: The Soul of Japan (Nitobe), 52 camphor, 36, 55, 199, 214, 285n10 Caventou, Josephe Bienaimé, 189 Chandler, Alfred, 14

Chemical and Engineering News, 203 chemicals, dyes and pharmaceuticals, 32–34 Chiang Kai-shek, 216 China: Japan’s invasion, 215–16; Liaodong Peninsula, 55; and Manchuria, 185; National Products Movement (Guohuo yundong), 77; New Culture Movement, 147; opium trading, 157; quinine self-sufficiency, 215–17; “sick man of Asia,” 135, 147; Treaty of Shimonoseki (1895), 141, 199; Triple Intervention, 55. See also patent medicines (baiyaku); Qing dynasty China Mail (newspaper), 145 Chinda Sutemi, 43 Chinese and traditional medicines: delegitimation of, 19–20, 23–24, 32; guild locations, 31; history of, 72, 247n25; Hoshi Pharmaceuticals and, 79; Movement to Revive Chinese Medicines, 76; in Nara period Japan, 24; practitioners of, 75; theory and practice, 24–25 Ching, Leo, 200 Chuo¯ shinbun (newspaper), 54 Clark, John Bates, 46 cocaine, 6–7, 62, 72, 145, 149, 160, 193, 219, 232 Cochran, Sherman, 77 Columbia University, 43–44, 46–47, 51, 251n33, 252n50 Comaroff, Jean, 2, 237 commodity: chains, 23, 30; fetishism, 9; frontier, 243n22; opium, 137–140; patent medicines, 70–72, 97, 104; quinine, 187–190 Control of Trusts, The (Clark), 46 Convention of the Federation of Manufacturers and Distributors, 279n37 cosmetics and cosmetic companies, 81–82, 107, 109; See also Shiseido¯ counterfeits and adulterates, 5, 19, 26–28, 30, 36 Courtwright, David, 12, 138, 146

323

324

INDEX

“Criteria of Statistics, The” (Hoshi), 46, 252n55 Curtin, Philip D., 284n10 Daba Hiroshi, 213 Dai-ichi Sankyo¯. See Sankyo¯ Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals, 151–52, 219; debt financing, 36; government founding, 5, 34; government incentives, 61; history of, 35, 249nn69–70; methamphetamine, 35, 236; morphine business, 12, 35, 151–52, 218–19, 232; narcotics business, 218, 232; opium manufacturing, 35; Ramune, cholera medicine, 35; wartime medicines, 36 Dazai Osamu, 295n23 de Certeau, Michel, 130 De la colonization chez les peuples modernes (Leroy-Beaulieu), 56, 255n113 Die Krankheiten des Magens und des Darms (Einhorn), 88 Dikötter, Frank, 138 Distribution of Wealth, The (Clark), 46 Dosho¯machi, 32, 109, 248n54 drug distribution: Edo period, 109; peddlers, 72, 76, 110–11; Toyama system, 110; wholesale system, 109–10 drugstores, 105–6, 108, 120, 125–31. See also Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, franchise system Duran-Reynals, M. L., 192 Economic Interpretation of History, The (Seligman), 46, 252n53 economy and economics: commodity chains, 243n33; financial crisis (1927), 170, 210; foreign ideas, 46–48, 120, 253n76; imperial expansion, 56–57; planned economy, 210; political merchants (seisho¯), 49–50, 63; post–WWI downturn, 63–64, 120 Edo period (1603–1868): Dutch influence, 22–23; government role, 31; longstanding drug firms, 64; peddlers of, 109–10; transportation and communication, 267n20; unequal Western treaties, 49. See also Chinese and traditional medicines Eijkman, Johann Frederick, 23, 27, 29 Einhorn, Max, 88, 263n106 Einstein, Albert, 118, 269n65 Fenellosa, Ernest, 47 Finlay, Carlos, 188 Ford, Henry, 121 Foucault, Michel, 21, 209, 240n9

franchises and chain stores: definitions of, 106–7; history in Japan, 3, 107, 266nn10–11 franchises and chain stores, U.S., 106–7 Free Labor and Self-Rule Association, 173 Fujimura Yoshinae, 60 Fujisawa Pharmaceuticals, 13, 36, 244n43 Fukuda Tokuzo¯, 47 Fukuhara Arinobu, 34, 81 Fukui Genjiro¯, 62 Fukushima Prefecture, 39–40, 50, 53–55, 59, 155, 215 Fukuzawa Yukichi, 40, 57, 74, 80, 135, 138, 144, 259n20, 261n69, 272n1 Gandhi, Mahatma, 147 Garon, Sheldon, 92, 172, 209 Geerts, Anton Johannes Cornelis, 23, 27, 29 Geest, Sjaak van der, 129 Gekkan “Taiwan” (Taiwan monthly), 203 Gen’yo¯sha (Black Ocean Society), 52, 213 German Historical School, 46 Germany: economic liberalism, 46–47; Japan and, 5; Japanese donation to, 7; “lecture socialism,” 46; overseas study, 250n27 Germany and medicine: alkaloids, 13; influence of, 21–23, 27–28, 33; medical exports, 34–35, 150; morphine discovery, 139; patent medicine regulation, 73, 258n7; quinine processing, 189; Staatsmedizin (state medicine), 22, 53; wartime export, 61–62 Giddings, Franklin, 46 Gluck, Carol, 41, 124 Godai Tomatsu, 50 Gootenberg, Paul, 193 Gordon, Andrew, 63, 220 Gorgas, William C., 188 Goto¯ Kazuko, 153 Goto¯ Shinpei: friendship with Hoshi, 3, 49, 54, 63, 86, 112; Kato¯ Takaaki rivalry, 277n115; “military preparation in civilian clothing,” 200; and opium, 149–50, 152–53; and opium scandal, 159; public health, 21; support for industrialists, 6; Taiwan colonial rule, 141; Taiwan opium trade, 142–43, 213; Taiwan speech (1901), 1; US friendship with Hoshi, 52–53, 55; US tour with Hoshi, 201; view of modern medicine, 4–5 Goto¯ Shinpei, writings: Eisei seidoron (On sanitary administration), 53; Kokka eisei genri (The principles of state hygiene), 53

INDEX

Goto¯ Sho¯jiro¯, 50, 59, 256n121 Goto¯ Taketaro¯, 58–60, 114 Goto¯ Tokutaro¯, 176 government regulation: Central Sanitary Board, 23; Japanese system of, 29; Medical Affairs Bureau (Imukyoku), 22; Sanitary Bureau (Eiseikyoku), 22 government role in pharmaceuticals: consumer protection, 27–32, 37, 70; strategic industry, 19–20, 33–36 Great Kanto¯ Earthquake (1923), 64, 97, 131, 155, 163, 165, 167, 210 Haber, Fritz, 7, 269n65 Hanai Takuzo¯, 159 Handbook of Japan and Japanese Exhibits (Hoshi), 55 Hangontan (medicine), 90, 110 Hara Sho¯jiro, 177 Harootunian, Harry, 91 Haug, Wolfgang, 69 Havens, Thomas, 212 Headrick, Daniel, 188–89 Hearst, William Randolph, H, 51 Hill, Christopher L., 57 Hino Ashihei, 229 Hino Kurobe¯, 35 Hirabayashi Sho¯taro¯, 176 Hirata Atsutane, 24, 246n22 hiropon (methamphetamine), 35, 236–37 Hirota Ko¯ki, 229–30 Hirschmeier, Johannes, 49 Hisamitsu, 13, 244n43 Hoechst AG, 5, 33 Hoffmann, Theodor, 23, 25 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Sr., 138 Honmachi, 31, 109 Hoover, Herbert, 190 Horiuchi Tsuguo, 6, 196–98, 200, 287n58 Horkheimer, Max, 73 Hoshi and Ford (Hoshi), 121 Hoshi Bondholders Association, 174 Hoshi Business School (Hoshi seiyaku sho¯gyo¯ gakko¯), 118, 122, 132, 155, 201, 229, 233, 269n65, 279n37 Hoshi Digestive Medicine, 96, 103; active ingredients, 90; advertising of, 85, 87, 92–102, 221–24; digestive disease and, 89–90; fantasy of modern life, 91–92; most popular remedy, 15, 70, 88; sales statistics, 131, 271n117; Sankyo¯ competition, 82; self-medicate, 91, 101–2; trademark court battles, 178–80, 283n87

325

Hoshi Federation of Laid-Off Employees, 172, 280n50 Hoshi Hajime: aboriginal management, 200–201, 203; advertising strategy of, 85; cash basis, 111; chain store benefits, 167; cinchona cultivation, 185, 194, 197–99, 201, 203; “Civilized Nations and Patent Medicines,” 85–86, 112; at Columbia University, 43–44, 46–48, 51, 251n33, 255n105, 256n131; at company conventions, 122; company president, 60; death of, 233; early life story, 38–44, 64; on female labor, 117–19; franchise, understanding of, 107; “Franchises and Nationalist Ideas,” 109; future business requirements, 57–58; and Goto¯ Shinpei, 3, 54, 149, 159; government support for, 213; House of Representatives (1908), 6, 59, 215, 233, 256n123, 280n46; Japanese Henry Ford, 121; in Korea, 55–56; labor relations ideas, 7, 171, 174, 177, 202; name change from Sakichi, 41; newspaper business, 51, 80; nouveau riche (narikin), 63; personal bankruptcy, 176; Peru land purchase, 193; pharmaceutical business beginnings, 38, 58; political friendships, 59, 65, 213–14; Progressive Era influence, 45; quinine business, 185, 194, 203; scientific management, 202; Seiyu¯kai Party, 172; “swindler,” 164; tax bribery arrest, 180–81; Tokyo Commercial School, 41–42; “trust problem” master’s thesis, 47–48, 253n65; and Tsurumi Shunsuke, 294n16; US connections, 49–53, 55, 64; work in US, 254n81; World Fair, Paris (1900), 52, 54, 59; World Fair, St. Louis (1904), 54. See also Hoshi Pharmaceuticals; quinine; Taiwan Hoshi katei isho (Hoshi family medical dictionary), 102–4, 129 Hoshi katei shinbun (newspaper), 102, 155, 226 Hoshi Kisanta, 40–41, 52, 250n14 Hoshi Kiyoko, 159–60 Hoshino Shaku, 59–60 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals: advertising of, 92–93; alkaloids, producer of, 6; branch office in Taiwan, 86; comparison to Sankyo¯, 62–65; consumer market beginnings, 69; early management, 60; expansion, post–WWI, 64, 257n154; founding of, 3, 60; free-ofcharge newspapers, 100; history of, 3, 38; humanitarianism of, 162; labor conflict, 171–76, 280nn49–50; morphine monopoly,

326

INDEX

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals: (continued) 136, 150–54; narcotics business, 291n46, 292n48, 294n13; nationalization of, 212–13; – Otani takeover, 233–34; political-andindustrial elites, 60; post–WWII narcotics link, 232–33; quinine business, 6–7, 149, 186–87, 191–96, 206–7, 214, 216; radio advertising, 82, 262n82; self-medication, 209–10; slogans, 3, 85, 88, 90, 121; World War I and, 62–63; World War II and, 215–17, 226, 229. See also Dai-ichi Sankyo¯; Hoshi Digestive Medicine; “Kindness First” mantra; Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, company newspaper: “Business Transactions” column, 116; franchise rankings, 117; “Hygiene Knowledge Repository” column, 116; “Popular Sales Psychology,” 116–17; “Questions and Answers on Hygiene,” 129; sales advice, 84; scientific management, 201 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, finance: bankruptcy, 176–77; “cooperativism,” 170, 279n38; creditors, 174, 176; debt financing, 13, 155, 164–66, 168–69; distribution network, 170–71, 279n37; labor and payroll, 171; opium scandal effect, 167; Pacific Pharmaceuticals merger, 168–69; politicaland-industrial elites, 59–60, 163–64; Ponzi scheme-like, 164, 278nn11–12; post–WWI expansion, 61–65, 120, 163–64; shareholders, 116, 164–66, 169, 256n134; and Shiba Trading, 176–78, 283nn85–86; Tokyo Stock Exchange, 60, 165, 167; trademarks, 177–78; unsecured bonds, 164, 168–69, 278n7 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, franchise system: advertising of, 114; cash basis, 111, 124, 270n95; chain stores, 167–68, 241n11, 279n22, 279n24; competition, 109–10; customers, 131; female labor, 117–19, 128, 269n64; franchise conventions, 121–23; history of, 107; Hoshi Excellence Club (Hoshi ko¯kai), 121; in Korea, 113; local adaptation, 108–9; monopoly distribution, 119–20; network, 111–12; peddling, 111; process of, 108, 110–11; recruitment, 113–15; self-help associations (jijokai), 122–23, 124; stock offerings, 116, 268n52; store design and products, 124–28, 130, 132; study of foreign franchises, 108, 266n12; successful franchisees, 130–31; in Taiwan, 112–13; workforce control, 120–21

Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, opium scandal, 3, 15, 210; aftermath of, 167–69; alkaloid manufacture, 7, 149, 152, 177, 191; government investigation, 12–13, 153–54; morphine business, 150–52, 275n72; Opium Law violation and trials, 156–58; profit from opium, 136; public relations response, 158–60, 276n90, 278n118; scandal history, 155–56; Taiwan production, 149–50, 153; WWII resumption, 218–19 Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, patent medicines: advertising of, 3, 82–87, 221; brand awareness, 82; Hoshi Children’s Medicine, 87; Hoshi Cold Pills, 87; Hoshi Ginseng Quinine Wine, 87, 191; Ikeguchi lecture, 80; laboratory research and testing, 79–80; marketing of, 80, 82, 84; statistical research, 84–85; WWII and, 220–21 Hoshi Pharmacology Professional School, 229 Hoshi Quinine Industry Company, 204 Hoshi Shin’ichi, 3, 41, 49, 233–34, 250n20, 276n90, 278n118, 294n16 Hoshi sho¯ni shinbun (children’s newspaper), 102, 265n146 Hoshi University, 14, 233, 245n51 Hoshi Workers’ Union, 172, 280n49 Hosken, William, 185, 284n2 Hosoi Wakizo¯, 269n64 Hososako Kanemitsu, 173 Hsu Hung Bin, 146 Hume, David, 47 Ie no hikari (Light of the home)(magazine), 82 Ikeguchi Keizo¯, 27, 77, 80, 261n65 indigenous medicines, 4, 19–20, 23–25, 70. See also Chinese and traditional medicines Ino¯ Kanori, 199 intellectual property. See trademarks International Opium Convention, 144 Inukai Tsuyoshi, 208 Ishimoto Kantaro¯, 150 Ishizu Risaku, 79–80, 87 Ito¯ Hirobumi, 49, 52–53, 55–57, 142, 213 Iwahara Kenzo¯, 114 Iwakura Mission, 42, 51, 250n23 Iwasaki Yataro¯, 40, 50, 159 Iwashita Kiyochika, 59–60, 114 Jansen, Marius, 214 Japan, politics of: empire, 1, 55–56; fascism in, 208–9, 211, 225; ideal citizen, 209–10;

INDEX

nationalism and imperialism, 214; New Order (Shintaisei), 211; Southward Advance Policy (Nanshin seisaku), 214–15 Japan-America Weekly Report, 51 Japan and America, 51, 54–55, 201, 254n82 Japanese Association for the Study of Social Policy, 47 Japanese Association to Control the Import of Pharmaceuticals, 212 Jennings, John, 157, 160 Jiji shinpo¯ (newspaper), 44, 74, 259n20 Jinbo Mitsuhiro, 76, 163 Jintan (medicine), 97 Johnston, William, 23 Journal der Pharmazie (journal), 139 Kagakuteki keieihoo¯ no shintei (Principle laws of scientific management), 201–2 Kaigai ko¯gyo¯ kabushiki kaisha (KKKK), 193 Kai Machiko, 117 Kaku Sagataro¯, 150, 153, 157 Kanai Noboru, 47 Kanda Sawako, 119 Kanehira Ryo¯zo¯, 192 Kanto¯ Labor Union, 173 Kataoka Naoharu, 59–60, 114 Kato¯ Takaaki, 63, 159, 277n115 Katsura Taro¯, 53, 59 Kawakami Takiya, 192 Kawamoto Fumihira, 176 Keijo¯ nippo¯ (newspaper), 97–98 Kenseikai Party. See Seiyu¯kai Party; Taisho¯ Democracy Kesho¯ tokuhon (Cosmetics handbook), 102 Kido Ko¯ichi, 225 Kim, Hoi-eun, 130 Kimura Kenkichi, 156, 158 Kina Bureau, 185, 190–92, 194, 197, 203 “Kindness First” mantra: corporate paternalism, 44, 64; “Efficiency First,” 121; franchisees bondholders, 166; irony of, 230; labor relations and, 48, 172; opium scandal and, 136, 160, 162; political friendships, 63; profitmaking and welfare, 6, 39; quinine business, 186, 196; role in expansion, 38; and Taiwan, 201; ubiquity of, 85 Kingsberg, Miriam, 26, 142, 150, 236 Kinmonth, Earl, 40 Kishida Ginko¯, 80, 261n69 Kishi Nobusuke, 210–11 Kita Ikki, 210 Kitasato Shibasaburo¯, 5, 21, 122, 245n3 Koch, Friedrich, 189

327

Kodama Gentaro¯, 53 Koganei Yoshikiyo, 159 Ko¯kando¯, 76 Kolko, Gabriel, 46 Komuro Nobuo, 34 Konoe Fumimaro, 210–11 Korea: annexation (1910), 52, 55; Hoshi Digestive Medicine in, 94, 96; Japanese rule, 56; peddlers, 130; regulations against quackery, 77–78; traditional herbal medicines, 295n26 Kumazo¯ Kuwata, 47 Kwantung Leased Territory, 150–151, 160, 218 Kyokunan Industries, 217 Kyo¯tani Daisuke, 149 Latour, Bruno, 187 Laveran, Charles Alphonse, 187 laws and regulations, Germany: Imperial Ordinance on Trade with Medications (1872), 73, 258n8; Procedures for the Investigation of Medicines, 27 laws and regulations, Japan: Criminal Code (1880), 29; Directive on Handling Poisonous Medicines, 28; Law for Promoting the Production of Medicine and Dyes, 61, 151, 159, 212, 277n117; National General Mobilization Law, 211–12, 224; Opium Law (1897), 140, 143, 152; Patent Medicine Law (1914), 78, 80; Principles for Controlling the Distribution of Pharmaceuticals, 212; Regulations on Medicines and the Medicine Business, 29; Regulations on Patent Medicines (1877), 29, 74, 77; Regulations on the Control of Raw Opium, 29; Regulations on the Management of Patent Medicines (1870), 73; Regulations on the Manufacturing and Trade of Opium, 29; Regulations on the Medicine Business and on the Handling and Use of Medicines, 30; Regulations on the Sale and Distribution of Opium, 29; Regulations on the Testing of Medicine Shops, 28; Regulations to Control the Production and Distribution of Medical Goods and Hygiene Products, 212; Stamp Tax on Patent Medicines (1882), 29, 74–76, 78, 131, 271n117 laws and regulations, US, Pure Food and Drug Act (1906), 72 Leroy-Beaulieu, Paul, 56–57, 255n113 Liang Qichao, 138 List, Friedrich, 46–47, 49

328

INDEX

Liu, Michael Shiyung, 53, 188, 190 Lu Xun, 147 Maeda Masatoshi, 110 Maki Umemura, 76 malaria. See quinine Manchurian Incident, 211 Manchurian Pharmaceutical Manufacturing Company, 219 Manson, Patrick, 188 Marcon, Federico, 25 Marshall, Byron, 40 Martin, Georg, 28 Maruho Pharmaceuticals, 35 Maruishi Pharmaceuticals, 35 Maruyama Masao, 208 Marx, Karl, 252n53 Masuda Masutsugu, 122 Masuda Shinshichi, 176 Materia Medica (Okamoto), 24 Matsukata Deflation (1881–1885), 5, 34, 50, 248n63 Matsukata Ko¯jiro¯, 59–60 Matsukata Masayoshi, 5, 34–35, 47 Matsumoto Kiyoshi, 122, 132 Matsumoto Mikinosuke, 191 Mayo-Smith, Richmond, 46, 84, 252n55 Mbembe, Achille, 210 McClintock, Anne, 87, 104 Meckel, Jacob, 255n109 Media Technology Research Group, 224 Medical Affairs Bureau, 22, 27 Medicine Regulation Company, 212 Meiji, chichi, Amerika (Hoshi Shin’ichi), 49 Meiji era (1868–1912): continuing influence of, 256n126; Dutch influence, 23, 247n25; industrial modernization, 5, 142, 242n18; meaning of, 1; opium prohibition, 27; “rich nation, strong army,” 4, 21, 42; rural entrepreneurial elite, 41; self-help manuals, 40; social engineering, 20 merchant guilds (kabunakama), 31 Merck & Co., 13, 139, 149, 186, 191, 284n4 Merck Manual, The, 102 Merkle, Judith, 202 Metzler, Mark, 142 Ministry of Agriculture, 192 Ministry of Health and Welfare, 212, 231–32 Ministry of Home Affairs, 6, 22, 29, 53, 77, 89, 140, 150–51, 157, 173, 194, 218, 278n118 Ministry of Industry, 50 Minkan zasshi (newspaper), 74 Miyajima Mikinosuke, 190

Miyamoto Sadaichi, 205–6, 216–17 Mochizuki Keisuke, 213 Mori Arinori, 250n20 Morinaga Candy, 107, 224, 289 Mori Rintaro¯, 21, 160, 245n3 Morinaga Candy, 107, 224, 289 Morita Jihel, 261n69 morphine and morphine business: benefits and problems of, 187; Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals, 12, 35, 151–52, 218–19, 232; global supply chain, 140; Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, 11, 136, 150–154; Sankyo¯ Pharmaceuticals, 12, 151–52, 218–19, 232; World War I benefit, 62 Motoori Norinaga, 24 Müller, Leopold, 23–25 Nagai Nagayoshi, 5, 34–35, 77, 237 Nagai Ryu¯taro¯, 213, 221 Nagashima Fujiyoshi, 275n72 Nagayo Sensai, 5, 21–22, 26–27, 29, 34, 70, 245n3 Naikoku Pharmaceuticals, 159, 278n118 Nakamura Masanao, 40, 42 Nakamura Takaichi, 173 Nakatomi Saburo¯, 244n43 Nakayama Tadanao, 76 Nankoku Industries, 217 narcotics: addicted soldiers, 236; government view of, 26–27; international antinarcotics movement, 144–45, 147; post–WWII Japan, 232; WWII and, 218–19. See also cocaine; morphine and morphine business; opium National Association to Control Pharmaceutical Distribution, 212 national medicine regulatory system, 20, 27, 30 national pharmacy school, 28 Natori Wasaku, 44, 60 Nichi-Bei shinbun (newspaper), 97, 99 Nihon Pharmaceuticals, 36 Nihon yakugyo¯ shinshi (journal), 36 Nihon yakuho¯ (journal), 132 Nishimura Sho¯taro¯, 62 Nitan’osa Otozo¯, 149, 151 Nitobe Inazo¯, 49, 52, 54, 159, 213, 252n53 Nitta Tadasumi, 34 Niwa To¯kichiro¯, 27 Noguchi Hideyo, 6, 50, 60, 114 North China Daily (newspaper), 145 Oda Toshio, 197, 287n58 Office for Supervising Medicines, 28

INDEX

Okamoto Ippo¯, 24 – Okubo Toshimichi, 47 – Okuma Shigenobu, 47, 52, 214, 277n15 – Okura Kihachiro¯, 34 – Onishi Otojiro¯, 178 – Ooka Ikuzo¯, 54, 59, 255n105 opium: benefits and problems of, 26–27; colonized peoples and, 135–36, 144; “The Death Traffic” (Tagore), 272n7; financial rewards of, 145; government monopoly, 140; government policy criticism, 146–47; government role, 19, 26–27, 29, 135–37, 161; history of, 137–39; Kwangtung Leased Territory, 150; medicinal use, 138–39; Opium Law violations, 156–57; space of exception, 135, 143–44; state and industry in Japan, 136; supply chain, 148–49, 151–52, 276n81, 277n101; WWII and, 218–19. See also Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, opium scandal; morphine and morphine business; Taiwan Opium War (1839–1842), 135, 137–38, 145, 272n7 Osaka mainichi shinbun (newspaper), 50, 80 Osaka Pharmaceuticals, 35, 249n69 Osaka Pharmaceutical Testing Company, 30, 32, 35, 81 Osaka Sanitary Laboratory, 30 – Otani Yonetaro¯, 233 – Otsuka Katsuichi, 84–85 – Oyama Ikuo, 173 – Oyama Keisuke, 58 Park, Jin-kyung, 97 patent medicines: in England, 258n6; history of, 71–72; misnomer, 177, 282n82; placebodrug, 79; in US, 258n6, 260n36 patent medicines (baiyaku): Comments on patent medicines (Baiyakuron), 74; defense of, 73–76; exports, 77; history of, 72–73, 259n13; Hoshi interview on, 85–86; industry growth, 76–77; lawsuit for slander, 74–75, 80, 261n69; marketing of, 71, 78, 80–81, 104; problems of, 26, 73–74; regulation of, 29, 73, 75; regional production, 110, 267n18; and similar Western medicines, 70; Toyama Prefecture, 110, 267n18; translation, 70. See also Chinese and traditional medicines; Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, patent medicines; laws and regulations, Japan Patterson, John H., 108 Pelletier, Pierre-Joseph, 189

329

Perkin, William Henry, 33 Perry, Matthew, 22, 145 Peru, 192–93, 201, 219 pharmaceutical industry: history of, 2, 4, 21, 241n13; nationalization of, 211–12; national self-sufficiency, 32–33; post–WWII, 234–36; profit motive, 9, 237; World War I benefit, 61 pharmaceuticals, definition of, 4 pharmacists, controversy with doctors, 28, 74–75, 77 pharmacopeia, first Japanese, 29–30 Planning Ministry, 211, 217–18 Pompe van Meerdervoort, J.L.C., 22 President (magazine), 88 Principles of Scientific Management, The (Taylor), 202 Procedures for the Investigation of Medicines, 27–28 Progressive Era, 45–46, 251n49 public health: digestive diseases (icho¯byo¯), 88–89, 94, 261n65, 263n104; economic man, 209; government’s duty, 1, 73; importance of data, 21; “Patriotic Health,” 225–26, 229; “sanitary cooperatives” 23; state, 1–2, 21–23, 53, 70, 209, 236–37; Taiwan, 142–144 Qing dynasty, 11, 137–38, 140, 144–45, 187, 199, 214 quackery. See patent medicines (baiyaku) quinine: cinchona bark, 10, 185–89, 192; commercial production discovery, 189; malaria treatment and preventive, 10, 181, 185, 187–91, 216; pricing and cost, 75, 190; prophylaxis, 188–90, 284n10; selfsufficiency, 15, 32, 190–91, 196–98, 215, 217, 291n44. See also Kina Bureau; Taiwan Quinine Convention, 190, 194 racism, “Yellow Peril,” 147 Radium Pharmaceuticals, 36, 132, 218, 232 See also morphine and morphine business Rhodes, Cecil, 53 Richards, Thomas, 79 Rimner, Steffen, 144, 147 Rockefeller, John D., 42, 48 Ross, Ronald, 188 Roth, Klaus, 189 Russia, 158, 213, 277n108 Saito¯ Chiyuki, 193 Sakurada Seitaro¯, 176 Sakurai Nobuhiro, 44

330

INDEX

Sams, Crawford, 231 Sand, Jordan, 91–92 Sankyo¯: advertising by, 81; brand names, 81–82, 262n75; capitalization, 164–66; Hoshi competitor, 3, 63–65, 132, 159; narcotics business, 193, 218–19, 232; opium business, 12, 151, 159; post–WWII, 234; Taka-diastase, 62, 81–82, 90; WWII and, 219. See also Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals (Sankyo¯ subsidiary) Sano Zensaku, 44 Sato, Barbara, 91 Sawada Masaho, 193, 201 scientific management, 106, 121–22, 130, 201–2, 266n4, 280n42. See also Taylorism Scientific Monthly, 217 Seiyu¯kai Party, 54, 80, 159, 172, 213. See also Taisho¯ Democracy Sekido Shinji, 156, 158 Self-Help (Smiles), 40, 42 Seligman, Edwin Robert Anderson, 46, 251nn52–53 Senki (journal), 172–73 Senso¯ to ko¯koku (War and advertising) (Makoto), 224–25 Sertüner, Friedrich, 139 Shiba Gitaro¯, 177 Shibata Sho¯kei, 27, 29 Shibusawa Eiichi, 40, 44 Shiga Shigetaka, 214 Shimada Kyu¯bei, 34 Shimada Saburo¯, 146–47 Shimomura Ko¯taro¯, 42 Shimoyama Jun’ichiro¯, 27 Shinagawa Yajiro¯, 34 Shiobara Matasaku, 62, 159 Shionogi Pharmaceuticals, 5, 34–35, 64, 109, 186, 193, 215–17, 219, 232, 234 Shiseido¯, 11–12, 34, 81, 107, 224 Shitendo¯, 76 Shufu no tomo (Housewife’s companion), 82 Silverberg, Miriam, 91, 229 Sinclair, Upton, 202 Smiles, Samuel, 40, 42 Smith, Adam, 47 Speer, Wayland L., 232 state licensed medicine: licensing system, 28; statistics and, 21 state-sponsored drug industry, 32–35. See also Dai Nippon Pharmaceuticals; World War I and post–World War I; World War II Statistics and Sociology (Mayo-Smith), 46 Streller, Sabine, 189 Sugimoto Junzo¯, 60

Sugiyama Shigemaru, 49, 52–53, 55–56, 58–60, 63, 122, 159, 213–14, 221 Suh, Soyoung, 295n26 Sun Yat-sen, 214 Suzuki, Akihito, 25 Suzuki, Mika, 25 Suzuki Akihito, 76 Taft, William Howard, 144 Tagore, Rabinadrath, 138, 147, 272n7 Taisho¯ Democracy, 63, 158–59, 277n115 Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals, 12, 107, 132, 160, 218, 234, 262n75 Taisho¯ Pharmaceuticals (Sankyo¯ subsidiary), 81–82, 262n75 Taiwan: Aboriginal Affairs Office, 199, 205; aboriginal population, 198–200, 202, 205, 207; anticolonial medical doctors, 275n59; cinchona cultivation, 185–87, 192–94, 196–98, 203–5, 216–17, 291n36; first formal colony, 1, 52, 86; “Formosa highland utilization movement,” 196; Goto¯ Shinpei in, 53–54; government opium policy, 142–44, 146–48; hoko¯ (baojia) system, 23; Hoshi Digestive Medicine in, 94, 96, 100–101; labor problems, 200, 205–6, 289n120; morphine business, 292n48; Mudanshe Incident, 188; Musha Incident, 199–200; Opium Production Office, 148; opium smuggling, 148; quinine plantations, 12; regulations against quackery, 77–78; three Chinese vices, 141–42; Treaty of Shimonoseki (1895), 199 Taiwan Central Research Institute, 186 Taiwan Cultural Association, 147 Taiwan Development Company, 186, 204, 216 Taiwan Expedition (1874), 50, 188 Taiwan Hoshi seiyaku kabushiki kaisha, 203 Taiwan igaku 50-nen (Fifty years of medicine in Taiwan), 197 Taiwan minbao (Taiwan people’s newspaper), 146, 158 Taiwan nichi nichi shinpo¯ (newspaper), 85, 100–101, 203 Taiwan Opium Monopoly Bureau, 136, 143, 146, 148, 150–53, 156–57, 159, 218, 276n81 Taiwan People’s Party, 147 Taiyo¯ (magazine), 46 Takagi Tomoe, 190, 197 Takahara Miyoko, 119 Takahashi Kenzo¯, 42–43, 50 Takahashi Korekiyo, 211 Takai Toshio, 118, 269nn64–65 Takamine Jo¯kichi, 62–63

INDEX

Takeda Cho¯hei, 32 Takeda Pharmaceuticals, 5; capitalization of, 64; cocaine production, 193; government role, 61–62; history of, 35; Hoshi competitor, 82, 186; national iodine consortium, 34; occupation authorities and, 232, 234; quinine business, 12, 186, 191, 216–17; Southward Advance Policy (Nanshin seisaku), 215; wartime medicines, 36, 219; wholesale system, 109 Takekoshi Yosaburo¯, 141, 214 Tanabe Go¯hei, 32 Tanabe Pharmaceuticals, 5, 32, 34, 36, 61–62 Tanaka Cho¯zaburo¯, 6, 196–98, 200 Tanaka Hozumi, 44 Tanba Keizo¯, 27, 77 Tashiro Yasusada, 192, 194, 197–98 Taylor, Frederick, 122, 202 Taylorism, 121, 202, 280n42 Terauchi Masatake, 53, 152 Tokugawa regime. See Edo period Tokyo asahi shinbun (newspaper), 82–84, 89, 92–93, 96, 114–15, 221–23 Tokyo Commercial School, 41–43, 47, 50, 59, 250n20 Tokyo nichi nichi shinbun (newspaper), 44, 80 Tokyo Pharmaceutical Trade Association, 30–31 Tokyo Sanitary Laboratory, 35 Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal, 278n121 Tomimatsu Toraichi, 130 Tomoda Pharmaceuticals, 35 Tonga ilbo (newspaper), 97, 99, 228–29 Tools of Empire, The (Headrick), 188 Torii Pharmaceuticals, 35 Tosaka Jun, 208 To¯yama Mitsuru, 213–14, 221, 223, 226 To¯yo¯ keizai shinpo¯ (journal), 39, 166, 249n5 To¯yo¯ Pharmaceuticals, 277n117 trademarks, 33, 35, 131, 282nn83–84; Hoshi troubles, 177–80 Tragic history of female factory workers, The (Hosoi), 269n64 treaties and conventions. See China; International Opium Convention; Quinine Convention; Treaty of Amity and Commerce Treaty of Amity and Commerce (1858), 25 Tsing, Anna, 206 Tsuchiya Seisaburo¯, 153 Tsurumi Shunsuke, 234, 294n16 Tsutsui, William, 44, 170

331

Uchida Kakichi, 42 Uchida Ryo¯hei, 213–14, 221 United States: chain stores, 106–9, 265n3, 266n4; corporations, 44–48, 243n32, 251n43; Indian reservations, 201; midwestern US drugstores, 125; Philippines opium registration, 144; Progressive Era, 45–47; quinine rationing, 291n44; store clerks, 120 van Meerdervoort, Pompe, 22 Wadagaki Kenzo¯, 42, 47 Wakeman, Frederick, 137 Wakimoto Tatsuzo¯, 177 wars: Russo-Japanese War, 32, 36, 55–56, 212; Seinan War (Satsuma Rebellion), 33, 242n18; Sino-Japanese War, 1, 32, 36, 55–56, 86, 141, 212 Watanabe To¯ru, 60 Weisenfeld, Gennifer, 225 Western medicine, 5, 19–26, 30–32, 35, 61, 70, 74–75, 237 Whyte, Susan Reynolds, 129 World War I and post–World War I: Americanization, 107; economic effect of, 8, 12, 61–65, 119–20, 155, 158, 165, 234; and Germany, 7; inflationary surge, 63; medicine imports and, 6, 13, 136, 160, 190, 194 World War II: advertising and propaganda, 220–29; Emergency Cinchona Policy, 217; Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, 216; Inspection Tour to Comfort the Imperial Army in Central China, 215; Marco Polo Bridge incident, 208, 215; narcotics and war effort, 218; “Patriotic Health,” 225–26, 229; pharmaceutical industry role, 236; transition to peacetime, 295n23 Wray, William, 49 Wright, C. R. Alder, 139 Yakuten keiei (newspaper), 227–28 Yamada Akiyoshi, 34 Yamagata Aritomo, 56, 59, 224, 255n109 Yamana Ayao, 224–25 Yamaza Enjiro¯, 59 Yasuda Rokunosuke, 176 Yasuda Zenjiro¯, 50 Yokoyama Gennosuke, 47 Yomiuri shinbun (newspaper), 89, 93–95, 173, 203, 221–22, 226 Yoshida Tokuji, 199–200

Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute Columbia University

Selected Titles (Complete list at: http://weai.columbia.edu/publications/studies-weai/) Recovering Histories: Life and Labor after Heroin in Reform-Era China, by Nicholas Bartlett. University of California Press, 2020. The Chinese Revolution on the Tibetan Frontier, by Benno Weiner. Cornell University Press, 2020. Making It Count: Statistics and Statecraft in the Early People’s Republic of China, by Arunabh Ghosh. Princeton University Press, 2020. Tea War: A History of Capitalism in China and India, by Andrew B. Liu. Yale University Press, 2020. Revolution Goes East: Imperial Japan and Soviet Communism, by Tatiana Linkhoeva. Cornell University Press, 2020. Vernacular Industrialism in China: Local Innovation and Translated Technologies in the Making of a Cosmetics Empire, 1900–1940, by Eugenia Lean. Columbia University Press, 2020. Fighting for Virtue: Justice and Politics in Thailand, by Duncan McCargo. Cornell University Press, 2020. Beyond the Steppe Frontier: A History of the Sino-Russian Border, by Sören Urbansky. Princeton University Press, 2020. Pirates and Publishers: A Social History of Copyright in Modern China, by Fei-Hsien Wang. Princeton University Press, 2019. The Typographic Imagination: Reading and Writing in Japan’s Age of Modern Print Media, by Nathan Shockey. Columbia University Press, 2019. Down and Out in Saigon: Stories of the Poor in a Colonial City, by Haydon Cherry. Yale University Press, 2019. Beauty in the Age of Empire: Japan, Egypt, and the Global History of Aesthetic Education, by Raja Adal. Columbia University Press, 2019. Mass Vaccination: Citizens’ Bodies and State Power in Modern China, by Mary Augusta Brazelton. Cornell University Press, 2019. Residual Futures: The Urban Ecologies of Literary and Visual Media of 1960s and 1970s Japan, by Franz Prichard. Columbia University Press, 2019. The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and Trans-Pacific Migration, 1868–1961, by Sidney Xu Lu. Cambridge University Press, 2019. The Power of Print in Modern China: Intellectuals and Industrial Publishing from the End of Empire to Maoist State Socialism, by Robert Culp. Columbia University Press, 2019. Beyond the Asylum: Mental Illness in French Colonial Vietnam, by Claire E. Edington. Cornell University Press, 2019. Borderland Memories: Searching for Historical Identity in Post-Mao China, by Martin Fromm. Cambridge University Press, 2019. Arc of Containment: Britain, the United States, and Anticommunism in Southeast Asia, by Wen-Qing Ngoei. Cornell University Press, 2019.

333

Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute Columbia University

Selected Titles (Complete list at: http://weai.columbia.edu/publications/studies-weai/) Recovering Histories: Life and Labor after Heroin in Reform-Era China, by Nicholas Bartlett. University of California Press, 2020. The Chinese Revolution on the Tibetan Frontier, by Benno Weiner. Cornell University Press, 2020. Making It Count: Statistics and Statecraft in the Early People’s Republic of China, by Arunabh Ghosh. Princeton University Press, 2020. Tea War: A History of Capitalism in China and India, by Andrew B. Liu. Yale University Press, 2020. Revolution Goes East: Imperial Japan and Soviet Communism, by Tatiana Linkhoeva. Cornell University Press, 2020. Vernacular Industrialism in China: Local Innovation and Translated Technologies in the Making of a Cosmetics Empire, 1900–1940, by Eugenia Lean. Columbia University Press, 2020. Fighting for Virtue: Justice and Politics in Thailand, by Duncan McCargo. Cornell University Press, 2020. Beyond the Steppe Frontier: A History of the Sino-Russian Border, by Sören Urbansky. Princeton University Press, 2020. Pirates and Publishers: A Social History of Copyright in Modern China, by Fei-Hsien Wang. Princeton University Press, 2019. The Typographic Imagination: Reading and Writing in Japan’s Age of Modern Print Media, by Nathan Shockey. Columbia University Press, 2019. Down and Out in Saigon: Stories of the Poor in a Colonial City, by Haydon Cherry. Yale University Press, 2019. Beauty in the Age of Empire: Japan, Egypt, and the Global History of Aesthetic Education, by Raja Adal. Columbia University Press, 2019. Mass Vaccination: Citizens’ Bodies and State Power in Modern China, by Mary Augusta Brazelton. Cornell University Press, 2019. Residual Futures: The Urban Ecologies of Literary and Visual Media of 1960s and 1970s Japan, by Franz Prichard. Columbia University Press, 2019. The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and Trans-Pacific Migration, 1868–1961, by Sidney Xu Lu. Cambridge University Press, 2019. The Power of Print in Modern China: Intellectuals and Industrial Publishing from the End of Empire to Maoist State Socialism, by Robert Culp. Columbia University Press, 2019. Beyond the Asylum: Mental Illness in French Colonial Vietnam, by Claire E. Edington. Cornell University Press, 2019. Borderland Memories: Searching for Historical Identity in Post-Mao China, by Martin Fromm. Cambridge University Press, 2019. Arc of Containment: Britain, the United States, and Anticommunism in Southeast Asia, by Wen-Qing Ngoei. Cornell University Press, 2019.

333

334

STUDIES OF THE WEATHERHEAD EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITYTE

Sovereignty Experiments: Korean Migrants and the Building of Borders in Northeast Asia, 1860–1949, by Alyssa M. Park. Cornell University Press, 2019. The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere: When Total Empire Met Total War, by Jeremy A. Yellen. Cornell University Press, 2019. Thought Crime: Ideology and State Power in Interwar Japan, by Max Ward. Duke University Press, 2019. Statebuilding by Imposition: Resistance and Control in Colonial Taiwan and the Philippines, by Reo Matsuzaki. Cornell University Press, 2019. Nation-Empire: Ideology and Rural Youth Mobilization in Japan and Its Colonies, by Sayaka Chatani. Cornell University Press, 2019. Fixing Landscape: A Techno-Poetic History of China’s Three Gorges, by Corey Byrnes. Columbia University Press, 2019. The Invention of Madness: State, Society, and the Insane in Modern China, by Emily Baum. University of Chicago Press, 2018. A Misunderstood Friendship: Mao Zedong, Kim Il-sung, and Sino–North Korean Relations, 1949–1976, by Zhihua Shen and Yafeng Xia. Columbia University Press, 2018. The Other Milk: Reinventing Soy in Republican China, by Jia-Chen Fu. University of Washington Press, 2018. Japan’s Imperial Underworlds: Intimate Encounters at the Borders of Empire, by David Ambaras. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Heroes and Toilers: Work as Life in Postwar North Korea, 1953–1961, by Cheehyung Harrison Kim. Columbia University Press, 2018. Electrified Voices: How the Telephone, Phonograph, and Radio Shaped Modern Japan, 1868–1945, by Kerim Yasar. Columbia University Press, 2018. Making Two Vietnams: War and Youth Identities, 1965–1975, by Olga Dror. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Engineering Asia: Technology, Colonial Development, and the Cold War Order, by Hiromi Mizuno, Aaron S. Moore, and John DiMoia. Bloomsbury Press, 2018. Japan’s Occupation of Java in the Second World War: A Transnational History, by Ethan Mark. Bloomsbury Press, 2018. Navigating Semi-Colonialism: Shipping, Sovereignty, and Nation-Building in China, 1860–1937, by Anne Reinhardt. Harvard University Asia Center, 2018. Playing by the Informal Rules: Why the Chinese Regime Remains Stable Despite Rising Protests, by Yao Li. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Raising China’s Revolutionaries: Modernizing Childhood for Cosmopolitan Nationalists and Liberated Comrades, by Margaret Mih Tillman. Columbia University Press, 2018. Buddhas and Ancestors: Religion and Wealth in Fourteenth-Century Korea, by Juhn Y. Ahn. University of Washington Press, 2018. Idly Scribbling Rhymers: Poetry, Print, and Community in Nineteenth Century Japan, by Robert Tuck. Columbia University Press, 2018. China’s War on Smuggling: Law, Economic Life, and the Making of the Modern State, 1842–1965, by Philip Thai. Columbia University Press, 2018. Forging the Golden Urn: The Qing Empire and the Politics of Reincarnation in Tibet, by Max Oidtmann. Columbia University Press, 2018. The Battle for Fortune: State-Led Development, Personhood, and Power among Tibetans in China, by Charlene Makley. Cornell University Press, 2018. Aesthetic Life: Beauty and Art in Modern Japan, by Miya Elise Mizuta Lippit. Harvard University Asia Center, 2018.

STUDIES OF THE WEATHERHEAD EAST ASIAN INSTITUTE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

335

Where the Party Rules: The Rank and File of China’s Communist State, by Daniel Koss. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Resurrecting Nagasaki: Reconstruction and the Formation of Atomic Narratives, by Chad R. Diehl. Cornell University Press, 2018. The Army and the Indonesian Genocide: Mechanics of Mass Murder, by Jess Melvin. Routledge, 2018. China’s Philological Turn: Scholars, Textualism, and the Dao in the Eighteenth Century, by Ori Sela. Columbia University Press, 2018. Making Time: Astronomical Time Measurement in Tokugawa Japan, by Yulia Frumer. University of Chicago Press, 2018. Mobilizing without the Masses: Control and Contention in China, by Diana Fu. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Post-Fascist Japan: Political Culture in Kamakura after the Second World War, by Laura Hein. Bloomsbury, 2018. China’s Conservative Revolution: The Quest for a New Order, 1927–1949, by Brian Tsui. Cambridge University Press, 2018. Promiscuous Media: Film and Visual Culture in Imperial Japan, 1926–1945, by Hikari Hori. Cornell University Press, 2018.