New York Times (8.7.04).
A Princess's Distress Pierces Japan's Veil
of Secrecy.
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Japan's Crown Princess
Masako at a garden party in Tokyo.
TOKYO, Aug. 6 - When
the Imperial Household Agency announced last week that Princess Masako was
receiving therapy for depression and anxiety, it was the first time in the
long, long history of Japan's monarchy that there was royal recognition of
something most take for granted: personal happiness.
Until then, the issue of personal happiness or
unhappiness had never been officially broached, irrelevant as it was in a
mind-set that placed the survival of the Chrysanthemum Throne above everything
else.
In keeping with that thinking, enormous,
ultimately unbearable pressure was applied on Princess Masako, a Harvard- and
Oxford-educated woman who had been destined for a brilliant career in
diplomacy, to do one thing and one thing alone: bear a suitable male heir.
After Princess Masako disappeared from the
public eye eight months ago, the Imperial Household Agency steadfastly denied
that anything was seriously wrong. Then last week it put its imprimatur on a
statement that the princess was suffering from a stress-induced adjustment
disorder and, in addition to counseling, was taking prescription drugs.
Beneath the story of an unhappy princess lies
the larger story of a monarchy struggling to catch up with a changing Japan.
Japan's monarchy has changed greatly in the last century and a half, and change
has typically come with the ascent of a new emperor, which starts a new age on
the calendar in Japan.
To many court watchers, recent actions by
Crown Prince Naruhito portend changes that will occur when the Heisei Era of
Emperor Akihito gives way to the as yet unnamed age of the future emperor,
Princess Masako's husband.
"The crown prince has been making
statements as the next emperor,'' said Toshiya Matsuzaki, a reporter for Josei
Jishin Weekly magazine who has been covering the court for 45 years. "He
is contending to become an emperor in a new era.''
The prince, 44, who is expected soon to begin
assuming many of the public duties performed by his 70-year-old father,
signaled how things might change in a speech in May that especially after the
Imperial Household Agency's announcement last week, is being recognized as
historic.
In the speech, his usually affable face
visibly taut, the prince spoke of the illness and unhappiness of his wife, 40.
"There has been a move,'' the prince said, in words that have been
scrutinized endlessly since then, "to deny Masako's career and personality.''
The words, directed perhaps at the Imperial
Household Agency, perhaps at his parents, conveyed the message that he was
unwilling to let his wife be sacrificed for the greater good of the monarchy.
"Essentially, the crown prince put more
importance on individual happiness than on the imperial system,'' said Takeshi
Hara, a professor specializing in the monarchy at Meiji Gakuin University here.
However epoch-making the prince's words may
have been, they were in a true sense already behind the times in the broader Japanese
society. For if older generations of Japanese salarymen and their wives were
willing to sacrifice their private lives and personal happiness for the
survival of their companies, far fewer today are willing to do so.
The prince and princess were no doubt expected
to act the same way their parents had. Emperor Akihito's wife, Princess
Michiko, quickly produced a male heir to the throne. But as the first commoner
to marry into the royal family, Princess Michiko was subjected to enormous
pressure and also - it has always been an open secret - suffered from
depression.
Yet neither the Imperial Household nor then
Crown Prince Akihito ever talked about it. Suffering in silence for the sake of
the monarchy was perhaps the conduct befitting an age when Japanese were
sacrificing themselves to build their companies and rebuild postwar Japan.
"When Akihito was crown prince he never
said such things as he would protect Michiko,'' Mr. Matsuzaki said. "There
was a tacit understanding that Imperial Household members should not talk about
their private lives.''
Until then, the issue of personal happiness or
unhappiness had never been officially broached, irrelevant as it was in a
mind-set that placed the survival of the Chrysanthemum Throne above everything
else.
In keeping with that thinking, enormous,
ultimately unbearable pressure was applied on Princess Masako, a Harvard- and
Oxford-educated woman who had been destined for a brilliant career in
diplomacy, to do one thing and one thing alone: bear a suitable male heir.
After Princess Masako disappeared from the
public eye eight months ago, the Imperial Household Agency steadfastly denied
that anything was seriously wrong. Then last week it put its imprimatur on a
statement that the princess was suffering from a stress-induced adjustment
disorder and, in addition to counseling, was taking prescription drugs.
Beneath the story of an unhappy princess lies
the larger story of a monarchy struggling to catch up with a changing Japan.
Japan's monarchy has changed greatly in the last century and a half, and change
has typically come with the ascent of a new emperor, which starts a new age on
the calendar in Japan.
To many court watchers, recent actions by
Crown Prince Naruhito portend changes that will occur when the Heisei Era of
Emperor Akihito gives way to the as yet unnamed age of the future emperor,
Princess Masako's husband.
"The crown prince has been making
statements as the next emperor,'' said Toshiya Matsuzaki, a reporter for Josei
Jishin Weekly magazine who has been covering the court for 45 years. "He
is contending to become an emperor in a new era.''
The prince, 44, who is expected soon to begin
assuming many of the public duties performed by his 70-year-old father, signaled
how things might change in a speech in May that especially after the Imperial
Household Agency's announcement last week, is being recognized as historic.
In the speech, his usually affable face
visibly taut, the prince spoke of the illness and unhappiness of his wife, 40.
"There has been a move,'' the prince said, in words that have been
scrutinized endlessly since then, "to deny Masako's career and
personality.''
The words, directed perhaps at the Imperial
Household Agency, perhaps at his parents, conveyed the message that he was
unwilling to let his wife be sacrificed for the greater good of the monarchy.
"Essentially, the crown prince put more
importance on individual happiness than on the imperial system,'' said Takeshi
Hara, a professor specializing in the monarchy at Meiji Gakuin University here.
However epoch-making the prince's words may
have been, they were in a true sense already behind the times in the broader
Japanese society. For if older generations of Japanese salarymen and their wives
were willing to sacrifice their private lives and personal happiness for the
survival of their companies, far fewer today are willing to do so.
The prince and princess were no doubt expected
to act the same way their parents had. Emperor Akihito's wife, Princess
Michiko, quickly produced a male heir to the throne. But as the first commoner
to marry into the royal family, Princess Michiko was subjected to enormous
pressure and also - it has always been an open secret - suffered from
depression.
Yet neither the Imperial Household nor then
Crown Prince Akihito ever talked about it. Suffering in silence for the sake of
the monarchy was perhaps the conduct befitting an age when Japanese were
sacrificing themselves to build their companies and rebuild postwar Japan.
"When Akihito was crown prince he never
said such things as he would protect Michiko,'' Mr. Matsuzaki said. "There
was a tacit understanding that Imperial Household members should not talk about
their private lives.''
After declining the prince's marriage proposal
for several years, Masako finally accepted 11 years ago, but only after
eliciting his promise to protect her. At the time, many ordinary Japanese,
especially young women, while impressed at the prince's choice for a bride,
expressed regret that such a modern woman would disappear into the closed world
of the monarchy.
Pressure to adapt to royal life, and pressure
to produce a male heir, visibly took their toll on Princess Masako over the
years.
In news clips that television networks have
been running endlessly since May, she first appears as a young diplomat
speaking quickly, with clarity and self-assuredness written all over her face.
As princess, she speaks softly and slowly, often with an uncertain or forced
smile. In the last, haunting image of her, after she withdrew from public view,
she is seen riding in the back of a car, her face drained of all expression.
In 2001, Princess Masako gave birth to a girl,
Aiko, who according to law cannot ascend the throne. There was renewed pressure
to bear a boy.
It was not clear what caused the princess to
sink into her present depression eight months ago. But it became severe enough
for her to take the unheard-of step of leaving the Tokyo palace and staying for
one month at her parents' country villa in Karuizawa, 90 miles northwest of
Tokyo. During that time the prince reportedly visited twice, for a total of
nine days, and stayed at a hotel except for a couple of nights, prompting some
court watchers to worry about the possibility of a divorce.
The Imperial Household Agency, which had
ignored her depression, could no longer do so after the prince's comments in
May.
To keep ignoring the issue would have harmed
the monarchy. So in keeping with the changing times, acknowledging her personal
unhappiness has become a way to secure the throne. The Imperial Household
Agency said it was considering changing her official duties, thus acknowledging
her pain.
"They wanted to avoid having support for
the imperial system crumble,'' Mr. Hara said. "They wanted to avoid a
worst-case scenario in which the Japanese people start questioning whether they
want a system that destroys personal happiness. So they issued a message that's
as positive as possible. They're trying to maintain the people's support.''