---

Proposed Title

A Civilian Testimony on Sectarian Influence, State Failure, and Ninkyo dou 任侠道 as an Informal Code of Order

I have acted in a manner intended to bring these matters to the attention of foreign governments.

A group commonly described as a new religious movement may previously have been left in a somewhat ambiguous state, almost as something tolerated or ignored. However, certain human-rights groups may have come to play a serious role as pawns or operational instruments. For that reason, governments have likely begun to recognise that this matter requires caution.

Even when organisations share the same name, one branch may be connected to corruption reaching into the police or to the distribution of narcotics, while another branch may have members entering government employment. Under such circumstances, the question becomes: what should be done?

My proposal has been clear: people should defend the country in which they presently live.

Trump may sometimes go too far. However, after I began sending strong objections to the White House regarding the continued consequences of the Second World War, including serious dissatisfaction with the naming and political meaning surrounding nuclear weapons, it appears that bureaucrats and politicians limited to the White House wished to establish a stronger public image of leadership.

By now, I understand the limits of the White House’s capabilities. Therefore, I have proposed that they gather and consult with politicians who have specialised experience in international crime, domestic crime, and counter-cult or anti-sect issues.

In any case, I am not fine at all.

More than the political issues I am addressing here, what has weighed on me even more deeply is the fear that has existed since childhood: long-standing physical and mental distress, the loss of a parent, and the difficulty of establishing the rest of one’s life after such a loss.

A heart that had nearly given up has, through literally twelve hours a day of AI personalisation, formed a legislative concept that appears not to have existed anywhere in the world before.

At first glance, I may not appear to suffer from serious physical or mental difficulties. Yet if one speaks with me, it may become clear that there is a grave deficiency or absence within me. Internally, the condition is far more serious.

My mother once clearly implied to me that, in ancient times, if a child was unwell, there were eras in which such a child would not have been allowed to leave the house.

In other words, under older concepts of human rights, it may have been possible to “cut off” or suppress a child’s life at an early stage.

In eras when agriculture and physical labour required large numbers of workers, children were seen differently. Later, with the establishment of school systems and modern institutions, stricter questions emerged: from what age is a person considered an adult?

Politicians may believe that they have achieved progress in this regard.

Yet even in the absence of unlawful groups, older groups of women may still have motives in their social competition with younger women—motives that men themselves may not fully recognise. They may wish to produce results, to prevail over other women, and to establish their superiority.

Likewise, if many men who enter politics or the bureaucracy are highly educated, and if they have spent most of their lives sitting at desks from around the age of seven or eight until university graduation and perhaps the age of twenty-five, they may come to view government through the worldview of academic merit alone. They may imagine the state as an institution somehow separate from violence, instability, and raw social conflict.

If such men have had relatively little experience of being popular with women, then it is possible that they hold a particularly rigid or simplified image of “underage girls” as a category. I believe this point must be raised.

I have experience with gangs and large-scale organisational structures. At that time, among the yakuza, there were still generations who believed that even committing murder could raise one’s standing. As a result, boys also formed large-scale organisations, and facing death was part of daily life.

Even a person born as an ordinary civilian could, through random conflicts, find himself capable of cornering petty criminals or yakuza members.

Many of my seniors were strong-willed men, quick-thinking and forceful. Many of them now run construction companies or similar businesses. Yet at the time, they constantly placed the old code of chivalry—ninkyōdō—at the centre of how they thought about and resolved conflict.

It left an impression similar to a scene from an animation in which a gang says:

“We are not the police. We cannot handle every civilian dispute. But there are problems that only a family can understand, and those words cannot be taken lightly.”

They acted in ways that did not exclude violence.

When I later bonded with other powerful yakuza figures and groups of boys I met in high school, and when I belonged to a motorcycle group in which deaths had occurred, I effectively learned that older Japanese code of ninkyōdō.

In other words, I learned a worldview resembling that of mid-ranking samurai who, during periods of historical change, possessed the qualities of warriors while standing at the front of the masses.

One group of boys was able to repel a small, random yakuza group with ease by swinging metal bats. This was not something anyone could do. The yakuza still possessed a real aura of intimidation.

After the year 2000, when the era of delinquent youth culture began to fade, some old-style motorcycle-gang groups became physically and socially weaker. What might have looked thoroughly hard-line and intimidating ten years earlier had softened, likely due to changes in the upper-level business structures of the yakuza, and such groups had begun gathering almost automatically.

At one point, I saw a motorcycle group gather and block an intersection. Against a group of roughly fifty people, a physically powerful man began kicking the vehicles of their trailing associates. His presence and force were such that all fifty fled.

The only people who could stand against such yakuza elements were those possessing the strongest form of masculinity within that country.

When physically robust boys born from ordinary civilian backgrounds—low in academic achievement, yet superior in body, bone structure, spirit, and force of character—encountered the children of yakuza families who possessed strong intelligence, a kind of fusion could naturally occur.

Those young men may not have been academically gifted, but through a wide range of early-life experiences, they became mature, responsible, and protective of their group. They were, in the truest sense, leaders.

I was not a core or central member of that group. Even so, as someone at the margins, I received considerable benefit from being close to it and was able to learn social dynamics that could never be learned from text alone.

The image posted above was generated as a somewhat humorous illustration of the kinds of reactions that women of various age groups may produce in relation to the subject of “minors.” I am posting it here for reference.