Japan’s monarchy wrestles with idea of happiness By Norimitsu Onishi

TOKYO: When the Imperial Household Agency announced recently 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 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 Masako disappeared from the public eye eight months ago, the Imperial Household Agency steadfastly denied that anything was seriously wrong. Then late last month 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 past 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, 70, gives way to the as-yet-unnamed age of the future emperor, Masako's husband 44.

"The crown prince has been making statements as the next emperor," said Toshiya Matsuzaki, a reporter for the magazine Josei Jishin Weekly who has been covering the court for 45 years. "He is contending to become an emperor in a new era."

The prince, who is expected soon to begin assuming many of the public duties performed by his 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.

However epoch-making the prince's words may have been, they were in a true sense behind the times in the broader Japanese society. For if older generations of Japanese corporate employees 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. Akihito's wife, Princess Michiko, quickly produced a male heir to the throne. But as the first commoner to marry into the royal family, Michiko was subjected to enormous pressure and also – it has always been an open secret – suffered from depression. Yet neither the Imperial House-hold nor then Crown Prince Akihito ever talked about it.

Akihito’s choice of a commoner as a bride was revolutionary in a monarchy in which his father, Emperor Hirohito, had been considered a living god by some Japanese. But the prince’s choice of Masako Owada was equally revolutionary. He was choosing a type of bride many Japanese men avoid to this day: a woman with a full-fledged career, someone who was better educated, more accomplished and even taller than he was.

After declining the prince's marriage proposal for several years, Masako accepted 11 years ago, but only after eliciting his promise to protect her.

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, 145 kilometers, or 90 miles, northwest of Tokyo.

The Imperial Household Agency, which had ignored Masako's depression, could no longer do so after the prince's comments in May. The agency said it was considering changing her official duties, thus acknowledging her pain.

"They wanted to avoid having support for the imperial system crumble," 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."

The International Herald Tribune

Monday, August 9, 2004