Home » 研究活動紹介 » symposiums and conferences シンポジウム・学会 » Presentation 発表

symposiums and conferences シンポジウム・学会

Presentation 発表

Introduction
In the marathon race of the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics, two Japanese runners, Yamada and Tuda, finished fourth and sixth, having trailed top-runner El Ouafi of French Algeria, who was followed by Plaza of Chile, and Marttelin of Finland.
This was the official ranking. However, for Head Coach Yamamoto, Track Coach Takeuchi, and all the others in Japan’s national team, it meant a race much closer to the gold medal, because Yamada led the race in most of the second half of the race. It was only after he passed 39 kilometers that Yamada gave in, obliged to slow down due to knee injury, to El Ouafi and then two others.
To make up for Yamada’s disappointing last-stage slowdown, however, the Japanese media devised a unique way in which the Japanese team could be elevated to a second, not fourth, place. Two runners among top rankings—meaning first to sixth—should deserve a place better than the silver, if not gold, as the media vociferously, if self-contentedly, claimed. Even so, this was the view that the Japanese nationals, both in Amsterdam and at home, willingly shared. To summarize, the Japanese media interpreted the ranking as the African, the Japanese, and the rest in this order, which was exactly opposite to what the Japanese had traditionally conceived of as a racial hierarchy of the “whites,” the “yellows,” and the “blacks.” The 1928 Amsterdam marathon presented the exact reverse of it.
This presentation demands closer attention to the 1928 Amsterdam marathon for its role and place in the formation and transformation of racial representation and discourse in modern Japanese history by looking concretely at the lives and careers of Yamada and Tsuda, the records they left, and the media reporting of the times.

I. Kanematsu Yamada
Kanematsu Yamada was born in 1903 as last child of Kinjiro, a salt farmer in Sakaide of Kagawa Prefecture, rural Japan. Upon graduation from elementary school, Yamada entered the family business of salt farming as a beach laborer, who had to get up early, carry sea water to the farm, and work with a cumbersome horse hoe every day. It was a job too tough for a youngster, which he accepted obediently if not willingly, as a way of life. Yet, labor at salt farms from childhood built him into a robust long-distance runner.
The moment came in 1921 that inspired Yamada at age 16 to aim at becoming a world-class marathoner when his senior colleagues at salt farming beat Ohura, an Antwerp Olympian also from Kagawa, but prestigious National Tokyo Normal University graduate. The marathon was an event that celebrated Ohura’s homecoming. “We beat Olympian Ohura!” Salt farm runners cried in jubilation. With this victory, Yamada could now set his target at the Olympics.
After this memorable event for him, Yamada began his steady climb to stardom. In 1927 he won a cross-country race, covering a course at a little over two and half hours, the distance of which was a little longer than the full marathon. The time was very close to El Ouafi’s’ in Amsterdam.
Yet, before he secured the place as an Olympian, he had to overcome father Kinjiro, the patriarch, who said: “running could never feed your family.” Yamada almost gave up his dream when his mother intervened, saying to the son: “I will take care of your family. A man must do it once he decides to do it.” She gave the son the final push to Amsterdam.
A track team with Yamada and Tsuda took the Siberian railroad to Europe; they had a training camp in Berlin, where he had the knee injured while training on the unaccustomed stone-paved road. He had to suspend training for 10 days. Although he recovered to run the full course in about 2 hours 46 minutes, it was far behind his best record.
The following interview with Yamada by Tokyo Nichinichi shows his character: “I am not satisfied with fourth place, but I am not so sorry about it, either. I am confident that I could have won the race if my knee had not hurt.”
Yamada retired at the peak of his career. As for the reason, his wife Hisae gave the following hint: “I had to work really hard, and his absence for training and races affected my health. Our first two children, a girl and a boy died soon after birth in 1927 and 29.” One may guess that Yamada must have wished to take burden off from her to have a healthy child. After retirement, they gave birth to three boys and four girls, all of whom lived, or continue to live, healthily.
One should ask whether his encounter with El Ouafi caused him any sense of difference by race at all. No available evidence hints upon this point, but it is hard to believe that Yamada saw El Ouafi as unbeatable. Probably, he did not feel any threat from El-Ouafi because Yamada was convinced that his loss was only caused by injury—a loss for which he was responsible himself. Equally, it is hard to believe that El Ouafi’s racial difference mattered much to Yamada, because, as he was from a small village, he must have seen himself as distant from Tsuda socioeconomically as from El Ouafi culturally. After retirement, Yamada chose a life of family man. He died at the age of 74.

II. Seiichiro Tsuda
Tsuda’s life and career are different from Yamada’s, as he lived a life of the pre-WWII-Japan’s elite. Tsuda was born in Shimane Prefecture in western Japan in 1906, advanced from Matsue High School, to Kansai University Preparatory School, and then in the Olympic year of 1928 to Keio University, one of the two top private schools.
Tsuda began to participate in track meets at junior high school, but he could not go beyond the prefectural level. Yet, during the years at Preparatory School, Tsuda happened to acquire data from the media on the running of legendary “Flying Finns,” such as Kolehmainen and Nurmi, which opened his eyes to the world’ top-level running. Tsuda realized that, to compete at this level, one needed to run fast. To do so, the Japanese traditional way of training that emphasized endurance appeared outdated. He suspended running for long distance, and introduced what he termed as “scientific training,” which aimed to improve fast running skills.
It is rather ironic that, despite his commitment to “scientific” methods, Tsuda was never able to outrival Yamada on the level playing field. Unlike Yamada, however, Tsuda was young enough to have a second chance in the LA Olympics of 1932 and raised his ranking from sixth to fifth. Yet, as the Japanese in LA and at home expected a medal, Tsuda’s fifth place entailed only disappointment.
Unlike Yamada, Tsuda openly expressed his racial feelings on various occasions in spirited ways, and even in emotional terms. Having learned at the higher end of Japan’s educational hierarchy, he was well aware of what the Japanese saw as the long tradition of Western racism against Asia. By the late 1920s, he seems to have accumulated experiences from which he would develop an increasingly patriotic and nationalistic state of mind
Tsuda’s racial awareness initially took the form of a sense of inferiority, which is reflected in the statement he made during a practice in Amsterdam. He said: “When I was training with runners from Canda, Chile, Mexico, and US, I felt sorry that I am a person of color. But soon I had a second thought. My identity as a person of color may affect me in other areas. But in sports, I can play equally with them. When I came to think this way, I could recover from a depression.”
When he saw Japan’s national flag rising at the main stand for Mikio Oda’s gold medal in triple jump, Tsuda seems to have sublimated a sense of inferiority into a pride, or even into a sense of superiority, as he said: “We saw the rising flag and listened to our national anthem. Tears fell from my eyes. I was deeply moved with a feeling I had never felt before. Then I realized: we could beat the white race. No reason we should be afraid of them.” The next episode suggests that even a pair of socks could give him a reason to be patriotic.
A case in point is “tabi” that the Japanese traditionally wore for socks. Tabi is usually worn with “geta” or “zori,” both Japanese traditional shoes. But the Japanese runners at Amsterdam wore tabi for running without shoes. During the roll call before the race, according to Tsuda, Dutch officials approached him and stared at his tabi “scornfully;” or, at least, he felt so. He also heard them say some words, which he could not understand, but he sensed in them something “derogatory” or “spiteful.” After the race in which Japan won the “second” place by its own logic, however, the officials came up to Tsuda again, but with a totally different look. Tsuda said, “they asked if they could have them, as they wanted to keep them as materials for research.” Tsuda concluded: “We do not have to always learn from foreign countries. We have three thousand years of history and our unique tradition, as well as manners and customs.”
How much and what sort of impression did Tsuda have with El Ouafi? He wrote on several occasions about his experience in Amsterdam, but he did not say much about the victor. Still, it seems safe to say, based on his words in September 1930, that the personal identity of the gold medalist did not matter much to him. In describing the last moment of the race, Tsuda wrote as follows: “It was all over. I did my best. Still, I could not swallow the intense feeling of sorrow and regret by the defeat. I took hands with Yamada and cried to my satisfaction. Yet I never forgot to congratulate France on its victory.” Curiously, he did not call the victor by name, El Ouafi, but just by nation, France. For Tsuda, it seems, El Ouafi’s individuality did not matter much as he seemed to cover it by the veil of nationhood. It can be at least argued that El Ouafi as a person did not stay in Tsuda’s mind when he wrote two years after the Olympics.

III.Media Reports on the Race and Runners
With his victory in Amsterdam, did El Ouafi become an instant celebrity in Japan? One way to examine this possibility is to take a look at the way the Japanese media reported on the Amsterdam marathon. It is true that they covered it extensively in the sports pages, and introduced the winning Algerian French. One story described the gold medalist like this: “El Ouafi, born in Algeria, twenty-nine years old, working at an automobile factory in Billancourt in the suburb of Paris.” The tone was both objective and detached.
It is clear that El Ouafi had been familiar to almost none in Japan until the day of victory. One day before the race, Osaka Asahi named countries with strong medal contenders, whose list included Finland, Germany, England, Czechoslovakia, Chile and South Africa. The reporter thus could predict the chance for Chile, although he did not specifically mention Manuel Plaza. Still this fact only highlights the absence of France or El Ouafi in the list. In a report after the race, having witnessed the unexpected result, the newspaper claimed, “even the French people could not predict this runner’s victory. For them, too, this was an extreme surprise.”
The Japanese lack of familiarity with El Ouafi was reflected in their inability to unify the spelling of his name. A brief glance at the official documents that recorded the marathon’s results reveals nearly ten different ways of spelling for him.
But the Japanese were not only people who were thrown into confusion by the unexpected champion. So were most of the spectators. As the following episode suggests, an overwhelming majority of the people who watched the race from the stadium seem to have mistaken El Ouafi for Yamada, and possibly Manuel Plaza for Tsuda.
Two leaders of the Japanese national team, Track Coach Takeuchi and Head Coach Yamamoto, told stories that reveal the extent by which the spectators were ignorant of national and ethnic identities of the first- and second-place runners, even though they were watching them in real time at the moment of glory. To the last moment of the race, and even beyond it, they seemed to believe Japan to have been an incredible one-two finisher.
One factor behind this confusion was technical, concerned with the manual means of communication on which the reporting of ranking was based. In those days, runners were identified by numbers, and numbers were shown on the stadium board as they passed each of the eight check points assigned throughout the course. When runners passed the last check point before the stadium gate, two top runners were Yamada and Tsuda in this order, so the stadium board showed their numbers as first and second. When the first two runners appeared at the stadium gate, the numbers remained the same, so the spectators saw the runners as they expected them to be Yamada and Tsuda.
Takeuchi wrote: “the board of the stadium showed runners’ number in the order they passed the last check point. The first was 264, and the second 260, numbers of Yamada and Tsuda! The spectators who had being waiting for the runners’ return for two and a half hours here found from the program that these numbers belonged to our Japanese runners.
Yamamoto reported on what followed this discovery: “Since it was the last day of Track and Field events, I came back to the stadium and, with the flag of the rising sun in my hand, awaited Yamada to give him a triumph tossing. But the first runner was not Yamada but one from France. I felt terrible, but European people in the stadium still raised a cry in excitement, “Japon,” “Japon.” Almost everyone in the stadium believed that the victor was Yamada. No matter how hard and repeatedly I told them that he was French, no one believed me.”
However, it seems that interest in the marathon victor lasted at least to next year. The monthly Track and Field magazine reveals retention of its attention to El Ouafi, as it inserted in one of its next year’s issues a picture of him running and overtaking a tall runner with this comment: “Marathon Champ El Ouafi Running in a Recent Race.” Yet this picture was just an insertion without any longer text with it. This suggests that interest was there, but the extent remains unseen by which the journal retained its intensity.
To investigate how the Japanese media evaluated the champion, it is necessary to take a closer look at a longer excerpt that introduced him, which goes as follows:
“El-Ouafi, who won the marathon race of this Olympic, is from the area near Biskra in the French colony of Algeria (in Africa). He is a 29-year-old “do-jin” (or “savage/native” in English) of Arabia. Initially he was employed by the French troops in the territory which was formerly French Algeria, where he worked as a carrier of correspondence. It was during this time that he naturally developed his long-distance running ability. Later he was employed at an automobile factory where he was picked out and trained to become a marathon runner,” and so on.
First, it should be noted that the term that conveys most directly the writer’s attitude toward El Ouafi is “do-jin.” This is a term which means “native” and/or “savage” in English but with a subtle nuance of both. According to an etymological analysis, the weight of each meaning gradually shifted from the late nineteenth century with a stronger implication of “native,” to the early twentieth century with a stronger one of “savage.” As time went by in the twentieth century, Japan expanded its territories outward with its deepening and intensifying entrepreneurial and imperial ambitions, its leaders began to apply the term “do-jin” to people they encountered in the new territories, thus making the implication of “savage” stronger. It is certain that by the Amsterdam Olympics, “do-jin” had come to assume a stronger implication of “savage,” thereby most frequently used with derogatory or condescending intent at best. Therefore, although the insertion of the word “do-jin” in the supposedly congratulatory context of a hero interview could be viewed as a mismatch, it is actually not. Rather, the use of the term “do-jin” should be read as reflecting the writer’s intended choice based on what he saw as his relative position with the victor.
Second, expressions such as “picked out” and “trained to” should be read as assuming a touch of colonialism, in which a superior power of the Western nation is supposed as the force that could change their inferiors into a better being. The implication is that El Ouafi would not have won by himself, but was made into one by the superior force.
Taken together, “do-jin” and other expressions should be viewed as reflecting the intent of the writer. The descriptor of “do-jin savage” would become dominant for Africa and its people, with both implicit and explicit consent from the readers, during the next decade.
Available evidence suggests that, for a gold medalist, El Ouafi remained, at best, an obscure figure who did not stay long in the Japanese collective memory, or, at worst, failed to command the attention he deserved because of his “do-jin” descent.

Discourse and Representation on El Ouafi in Historical Context
From the late 1920s to 30s, an era that future generations would nostalgically call the golden age of Japan’s track team, its military leaders gradually took over the control of national politics and began to involve the nation in its aggressive expansionism against Asia, especially, China. In 1931, the military engineered the Mukuden Incident and invaded the northern part of China. In 1933, when the League of Nations refused to acknowledge Manchukuo, a puppet of Japan, the Japanese government resigned from it. Thereafter, Japan followed the fateful path to the Second World War, as it declared war against China in 1937 and the United States in 1941.
As a vision for Japan in the prospective new order, the government and military constructed and promulgated the concept of the Great East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, in which all people in the sphere could co-exist peacefully, with economic sufficiency, free of Western intervention, and most importantly, with the ethnic Japanese at its top. To inspire future leaders to co-prosperity, intellectual leaders of the time found it imperative to dispel the old hierarchical notion based on the three layers of whites, Asians, and blacks. They tried to do so by advocating Japan’s superiority over the West in terms of cultural and historical traditions and its people’s mental and spiritual strength. By contrast, they predicted the inevitable decline of the West, especially the United States, due to its greed and materialism.
Following this logic, in sports, coaches and educators stressed the value of hard training, concentration of mind, and coordination and teamwork among members, all of which they saw as belonging to the domain of will power and spirit, for they could not deny the physical strength of taller and heavier Westerners. As a nation to excel in culture and mental power, Japanese athletes believed, or hoped to believe, that they could beat the white race, as Tsuda did when he saw Mikio Oda win triple jump, and traditional socks “tabi” win Dutch officials’ respect.
As for people of African descent, Dean B. Cromwell, head coach at University of Southern California made the following remark in 1934: “the Negro excels in the events he does because he is closer to the primitive than the white man. It was not so long ago that his ability to sprint and jump was a life-and-death matter to him in the jungle.”
Cromwell’s argument may have reached Japan through students who studied at USC, such as Furukawa and Kwon. Although the specific route by which this transmission of knowledge took place needs to be clarified, Cromwell’s view came to widely circulate in the Japanese media by the mid-1930s. Both Japanese coaches and athletes accepted his teaching because it retained sufficient explanatory power about what they saw as superior athletic performance of black athletes while confirming Japan’s culturally superior position. The media’s portrayal of El Ouafi as a “do-jin” in 1928 should be viewed as a precursor of this trend.
Argument for cultural superiority over the West and the acceptance of Cromwell’s view of blacks as “athletically superior primitives” should be viewed as discourses that constituted part of the same strategic and ideological order that the Japanese elaborated as they sought a cultural uplift to a status which they wished to deserve as the leader for Co-Prosperity.


研究活動紹介
研究活動紹介
wrigings 執筆
Adacemi Journ Article 論文
coauhtor 共著
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
academic journal article 論文
book 著書
Essay 随筆
佐賀新聞にロンドン五輪に関する「識者評論」が掲載されました
academic journal aritcle 論文
symposiums and conferences シンポジウム・学会
Presentation 発表
Participation 参加
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Participation 参加
Presentation 発表
participation 参加
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Moderator 司会
Moderator 司会
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
leading moderator 総合司会
presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Presentation 発表
Moderator 司会
Presentation 発表
lectures 講演
Guest Lecture 招待授業
Special Lecture 特別講演
Guest Lecture 招待講演
Guest Lecture 招待講演
guest lecture 招待授業
guest lecture 招待授業
research visits 調査
Visit as a Visiting Scholar 客員研究員としての招聘
Research at archives アーカイブスでの資料講読
Reading at archives, interviews with scholars アーカイブズでの資料講読、研究者との情報交換
research at arichives アーカイブズでの資料講読
research at archives, interviews with scholars アーカイブズでの資料講読、研究者との情報交換
Research at Archives at the University of California, Berkeley
Research Preparation 調査のための準備訪問
Research Preparation 調査のための準備訪問
visits for exchange and/or inspection 視察・訪問
visit for partnership 海外視察
visit to partner institution 協定校訪問
visit for partnership 海外視察
visit to partner institution 協定校訪問
visit to partner institution 協定校訪問
visit to partner institution 協定校訪問
Visit to National Chengchi University, Taiwan 台湾 国立政治大学
visit to National Taipei University, Taiwan 台湾 国立台北大学
visit to National Normal University, Taiwan 台湾 国立師範大学
Visit to Partner Institution 協定校訪問
Visit to Partner Institution 協定校訪問
PR 広報
PR Activities in Musashi 学内広報誌
Newspaper 新聞
Website ウェブサイト
Mass Media マスコミ掲載
Newspaper Review Article 新聞書評
Interview インタビュー
Guest in a Radio Program ラジオ出演
Guest in a TV program テレビ出演
Appearance in a mass media journal 雑誌掲載
Interview on Newspaper インタビュー記事
原麻里子氏の『人種とスポーツ』書評
橋本大也氏の『人種とスポーツ』書評
玉木正之氏ブログでの言及
阿部珠樹氏による書評
東京新聞に『人種とスポーツ』の書評が掲載
ウェブマガジンン『風』で紹介
『週刊東洋経済』に短評が掲載されました
日経新聞(夕刊)に短評が掲載されました
NHK「視点・論点」に出演しました
北海道新聞(7月8日)「訪問」で紹介されました
日経新聞7月8日朝刊に書評がでました
読売新聞7月16日(月)「記者の一冊」で紹介されました
Yomiuri Onlineで紹介されました
図書新聞に書評が掲載されました
読売新聞(7月23日夕刊)で紹介されました
福井新聞オンラインで紹介されました
エキサイトレビューで紹介されました
月刊トレーニングジャーナル2012年12月10日号で紹介されました
麻酔科情報誌で紹介されました
Courses at Musashi 授業
Lecture at Musashi University 2011 Introduction to American Society 武蔵大学2011年度講義 英米の社会
Seminar in American history at Musashi University 2011 武蔵大学2011年度授業 アメリカ史演習

ページトップへ
http://researchers.waseda.jp/profile/ja.5c187cb14932dacbbcd5aeb6bfca02d9.html