Dialogue to the Future: Interviews with a New Generation of Researchers in the AJI

The 14^th Interview

Interview with Dr. Marika TSUKAHARA

――First, could you tell me what led you to decide on a career as a researcher?

Tsukahara: Currently, my research focuses on the historical transformation of technical discourse and social consciousness surrounding military technology development (defense technology development) from the former Imperial Japanese Army to the Japan Self-Defense Forces. I examine these shifts through the analytical lenses of media history and historical sociology. However, I am not a “sociologist” in its strictest sense, that is, a sociologist who has studied in the field since his or her undergraduate years. My background is originally in video and contemporary art. I once studied at an art university and worked as a filmmaker. That being said, my creative work as an artist focused on the memories of the war surrounding my own great-uncle, who died in the Asia-Pacific War. In that sense, I believe I have long held the same core interests that drive my current research themes.

—Your background is originally in art. That’s an interesting career path! What eventually led you to transition from art to the path of academic research?

Tsukahara: The decision to move from being an artist to pursuing a career in research was triggered by criticism of my work in a certain film magazine. The critic pointed out that my work “lacked a critical perspective on history.” To be sure, my work did not tackle “History” with a capital H, the grand narrative of the Asia-Pacific War. Instead, it focused on the personal memories of a fallen relative, my family history, and the subtle emotional nuances within myself surrounding those memories. Even so, I felt I had thought deeply about my great-uncle’s wartime experiences and the historical context behind them, pouring those reflections into my art. At the time, I was actually indignant, thinking “What do you know!?” However, once I had calmed down from the critique, I began to wonder, what exactly it means to “have a critical perspective on history”? What kind of attitude or practice does it entail? This curiosity is what led me to step into the world of academic research, where “History” can be squarely faced.

—I see. So, you turned your frustration into fuel for growing your interest. But could you tell me why your search for “History” led you specifically toward historical sociology?

Tsukahara: Well, at the time, my interest was still rooted in the memory of my great-uncle rather than in “History.” This led me to join the “Association for the Sociology of War,” a research group that explored war memories, including personal experiences and individual reflections, rather than classical historical studies. This was my first real encounter with the sociological approach. Through my participation in this group, I discovered the field of “historical sociology,” which clarifies the nature of society by analyzing the processes through which history is constructed and transformed, incorporating individual experiences and memories. I felt this was exactly what I wanted to do. It was also in this research group that I met the professor who would later become my graduate supervisor, leading me to pursue my PhD at the Graduate School of Sociology at Ritsumeikan University.

—I see. So, your focus shifted from your great-uncle’s own personal experience to the broader historical tides that shaped it. Could you tell me more about the specific process that led you to your current research frameworks of historical sociology and the sociology of the military?

Tsukahara: I entered graduate school with a firm decision to develop a “critical perspective on history.” However, I soon faced a wall. While the personal history of a fallen relative was deeply meaningful to me, it didn’t easily translate into a formal research project. Had he been a high-ranking officer, it might have been different, but my great-uncle was just an ordinary soldier. I struggled after enrolling, trying to figure out what my actual research theme should be. Despite the struggle, I knew I wanted to employ a viewpoint that addressed a certain sense of unease I, as an artist, had felt while investigating my great-uncle’s life, an irreconcilable contradiction regarding the nature of history and personal memory. My unease stemmed from a stark contrast I encountered during my investigation. While there were abundant records about the battleship my great-uncle had served on and the battlefields where he had fought, searching for anything under his individual name revealed almost nothing. It took me three years just to find a single photograph of his face. This persistent gap in the archives always felt profoundly wrong to me. Looking back, I believe it was a sense of frustration that the death of a single human being, “Tsuneo Taniguchi,” was almost entirely unremembered by society. It brings to mind the essay “Within a Death Unconfirmed: A Death in the Concentration Camps” written by the poet Yoshiro Ishihara, who survived internment in Siberia. In it, he writes: The word “genocide,” mass killing, is a word that I, in the end, cannot comprehend. However, the sheer horror of this word is something I can feel. The horror of genocide does not lie in the fact that a mass of people is slaughtered all at once. What is horrific to me is that, within it, the death of each individual does not exist. When human beings cannot maintain their autonomy in the face of suffering and are reduced to a mere collective, they will likely remain as such even in death, never achieving autonomy. To be a mere number in death - that is the very essence of despair. In death, each and every person must be called by their own name. I realized that Ishihara’s claims, “to be a mere number in death - that is the very essence of despair,” and “in death, each and every person must be called by their own name,” captured the exact nature of my frustration. My great-uncle, who died for the “greater cause” of the then-state, was being reduced to a mere statistic, his name no longer acknowledged by society. The question of how such a situation becomes possible in the first place became the fundamental point of departure for my research.

—This is a crucial issue that inevitably haunts the history of twentieth-century total war. I believe Ishihara’s poetry squarely confronts this, even while being devastated by the fact that true remembrance is rendered nearly impossible in such an era. You, too, faced this same dilemma in your research. So, tell us—what then drew your attention toward the discourse analysis of military technology?

Tsukahara: While there are many factors that make individuals remain trapped within a group, even in death, I focused on “technology” as a key driver. John Ellis, in his work The Social History of the Machine Gun, pointed out that the invention of the machine gun introduced the very concept of “overkill” to warfare. Similarly, I believe that advancements in science and technology made mass death on an unprecedented scale possible on the battlefield, ultimately leading to the collectivization of death and the reduction of the dead to mere numbers. Nonetheless, since I am not a technical expert, my focus is not on the history of technology itself. Instead, I am interested in why humanity continues to pursue “technology” despite its inherent potential to bring about such inhumane forms of death. I chose this theme to examine the human desires that sustain the existence of military technology and the social consciousness that shapes our perception of it.

— Certainly, the introduction of the machine gun was one of the pivotal technologies that enabled mass slaughter and mass death in total war. It is fascinating that you have turned your attention to how people represented the invention of such technologies. In your work, you attempt to capture the historical transformation of the images associated with specific military technologies, such as battleships and fighter planes. Could you tell us about the specific research methods you employ in your investigations?

Tsukahara: As I deal with history, it involves tapping into and interpreting historical documents. In traditional historiography, significant weight is often placed on discovering new historical materials that no one has yet noticed. However, in my case, I am less interested in unearthing dormant records than in finding new ways to interpret common, readily available materials. Furthermore, the media that construct the image of military technology and reflect the public’s perception of it, are not limited to written texts. They span a wide range, from films, manga, and anime to museums and plastic models. Dealing with media not typically regarded as “historical documents” is one of the characteristics of my approach. As social images of military technology or anything else are mostly constructed and received through various media, a media-history approach is effective to capturing their historical transformation. It is often said that “media history is the study of forms of media.” I do not only analyze the texts within the media, but also investigate how those texts were produced, circulated, and consumed. For example, when studying a magazine, I examine the publisher’s and editors’ policies, circulation figures, distribution channels, and the target readerships. This is because the “form” constitutes both the text itself and the way that text is received. By analyzing both content and form as two sides of the same coin, I believe I can structurally clarify the reality of historical shifts in imagery and how and why those shifts occurred.

—I see. That’s interesting. Marshall McLuhan’s famous dictum, “The medium is the message,” perfectly captures the significance of media’s formal aspects. It seems your research goes a step further by looking at how specific content is received, examining not just the formal side of media, but also the social interactions through which an image of that content is constructed. In February 2025, you published The Historical Sociology of the Battleship Yamato: Military Technology and Japan’s Self-Portrait (Shinyosha). How has the response to your book been so far?

Tsukahara: Thank you for asking about it. I am deeply honored that my book has been reviewed in several newspapers and academic journals. Since its publication, I have also received requests to write articles for newspapers and magazines on themes related to my research. They are opportunities I have never had before. I feel incredibly grateful for these new ways to engage with the public. Above all, while this is an academic work, what motivates me so much is the response I’ve received on social media from people beyond the research community, including military culture enthusiasts and Battleship Yamato fans. This book is based on my doctoral dissertation, but throughout the publication process, I deliberately aimed to make it accessible to a broader audience interested in military affairs, technology, and culture. Knowing that it has reached the readers I hoped to engage with is truly rewarding.

—That’s wonderful. Last year marked the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II for Japan, so publishing your work at such a milestone was truly significant. Moving on to the next question, you have been conducting your research as a Senior Researcher at the Asia-Japan Research Institute. Have you noticed any changes in your research activities or perspective while working in such an international environment?

Tsukahara: I would say the most significant change has been a growing conscious effort to situate my research within a much broader context. This shift is evident not only in how I present my findings, such as writing papers in English or presenting at international conferences, but also in how I locate my research within global trends. I have become far more conscious of how the construction of imagination of military technology in modern Japanese society is situated within world history and international affairs. Previously, I felt I was engaged in a very niche investigation, minutely scrutinizing defense technology development and military culture within the narrow confines of Japan. However, I have come to realize that these developments always unfold within a global socio- political landscape. For example, post-war Japanese defense technology was exported to Southeast Asian countries as part of war reparations. And more recently, international joint development of fighter jets has become increasingly common. These international dynamics undoubtedly influence the realm of public imagination. Therefore, even when focusing on Japanese cases, I believe now that by examining the international environment in which they emerge and evolve, I can uncover new dimensions of social consciousness and the imagination surrounding military technology in Japanese society.

—What you have just said is very important. We are currently living in a time of heightened geopolitical and military tensions and confrontations worldwide. In such a climate, uncovering the historical relationship between military technology, politics, and society carries profound significance. Looking at your recent work, what do you currently find most compelling or exciting about your research?

Tsukahara: Until today, my research has primarily focused on how the products of pre-war and wartime military technology, most notably the battleship Yamato and the Zero fighter, were re-evaluated and reinterpreted in post- war Japanese society, eventually becoming established as a kind of cultural icon or “idol.” It is a process of uncovering how something that no longer exists in reality is reconstructed as an image within the collective imagination. Recently, I have been shifting my focus toward the discourse and representation of the Japan Self-Defense Forces (JSDF) equipment. Unlike the battleship Yamato, much of the equipment is actually in use, and the rest is in the very process of development and production. Consequently, the interactions and dynamics between actual technical development and the public image of defense technology emerge as something far more real and ongoing. By highlighting these changes, I can more clearly understand the process of how human desires and imaginations regarding “technology” arise in reality. At the same time, I can observe how the current process of image formation is, to a greater or lesser extent, influenced by history. This connection between the present and the past is where I find the current fascination in my research.

—How does the past influence the contemporary imagination of military technology? Could you be more specific?

Tsukahara: Sure. For example, I have recently been researching how the post- war Japanese aviation industry attempted to rebuild itself from the ruins of defeat. It has become clear that the motivation behind the slogan “Japanese wings once more in Japanese skies” was deeply rooted in the pre-war self-consciousness of Japan as an “aviation superpower.” I find it fascinating that by unraveling history, we can understand the continuity between the post-war era and the pre-war and wartime period. Furthermore, by studying this trajectory diachronically from the pre-war era to the present, I’ve discovered a common thread: the development of military and defense technology, and the construction of the imagery surrounding it, are closely related, not just on the grounds of rational reasoning, but by a certain kind of emotional aspiration. We tend to assume that such development is driven solely by military-political logic, economic profit, or effectiveness. However, my archival research reveals non-rational elements, such as pride in one’s national technology, a yearning for technological mastery, and an aesthetic sensibility that finds beauty in technical artifacts, often act as the driving forces behind development and are projected onto the images of these technologies. A professor once told me that “historical sociology is about depicting the history of the hearts and minds of the people living in society.” Deciphering not just social rationality, but also those undeniable, deeply-seated human emotions, is precisely what I find so compelling right now.

—I agree. Emotion, imagery, and rationality are closely intertwined as they unfold throughout history. In that sense, your insights are truly fascinating. Now, for our final question: what are your plans for the future?

Tsukahara: I believe my theme for the next few years will be a “return to my roots.” Since I began my career, I have followed my interests through various case studies centered on the theme of “technology.” Through this process, I have accumulated a significant amount of insight into how specific images emerge and transform within individual historical contexts. However, I feel I have yet to give a sufficient answer to the very first question that opened my research career: “How is it possible for human individuals to remain a mere group, even in death?” Of course, this is a tough question to answer. I expect it will be a lifelong pursuit. Nevertheless, I believe now is the time to draw upon the individual insights I have gained so far in my research to reflect more deeply on this core issue. I want to examine how public imagery and social consciousness regarding military technology have sustained and justified the pursuit of a “technology” that inherently possesses the potential to reduce the dead to mere numbers. Addressing this remains my ultimate goal. In approaching these questions, I still cannot say for sure what a “critical perspective on history” truly entails. However, I have recently felt a growing desire to move beyond writing and return to creating visual works as well. Last summer, when I organized a workshop collaborating with artists, I was reminded of how fascinating the world of art is. It sparked various ideas about how the results of my research could be expressed through media other than academic papers. Looking ahead, I aspire to be both a researcher and a creator, utilizing not only scholarly articles but a diverse range of expressive measures to share my research findings with the public.

—You are referring to the international workshop held in September 2025, “How Can We Speak of War Memories Today? Reflections from Academic and Artistic Perspectives.” I also joined it as an audience member, and it was a truly rare and stimulating opportunity to see researchers and artists come together to discuss the nature of war memories. Through our conversation today, it has become very clear that your research and interests unfold precisely at the intersection of scholarship and art. I have great expectations for your future endeavors. Thank you very much for our talk today.