"Gangsters and foreigners have no rights"
by Hiroshi Ichikawa (former prosecutor).
Translated by Michael H. Fox
Japan Innocence and Death Penalty Information Center
www.jiadep.org

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Chapter 2. "Gangsters and foreigners have no rights."

April 5, 1993.

Today I entered the Yokohama Prosecutor's office, bright and bubbly, to begin my appointment.

The chief prosecutor and the assistant chief were both veterans of the Lockheed investigation. The Yokohama Prosecutors Office is one of the Comprehensive Administrative Offices。Briefly put, the CAO is staffed by many prosecutors, and consists of an criminal investigative unit, a special investigative unit, a traffic unit , and a hearings unit. The hearings unit litigates cases in the courts.

Newly appointed prosecutors are all assigned to a CAO. Most circulate between the criminal unit and the hearings unit: an educational measure. I and the other new appointee would be assigned to the investigative unit for a six month stint from April to September; to the hearings unit from October through February; and finally to the traffic unit for March. In fact, we would end up spending an extra month in the criminal unit.

Being transferred around is typical, but the full half year in the criminal unit reflects the present climate of the procuracy. The first and foremost job of a prosecutor is investigation, attending court is secondary. The achievements of our chief and deputy chief prosecutor- veterans of the Lockheed investigation-made this plainly obvious. Our criminal unit chief worked for the Tokyo Special Investigative Unit and was a ferocious investigator.

We new appointees received an unforgettable investigative education. We were assigned to Room 501: office of the Violence Section prosecutor.

The Public Prosecutor's Office is divided according to various sections. For example, the Financial-Economic Section is concerned with tax evasion; the Drug Section with meta-amphetamines and marijuana; the Foreign Affairs Section with crimes committed by foreigners; the Juvenile Section with crimes by youth; and the Violence Section probes crimes committed by gangsters.

Now, we newbies had a real education watching gangster suspects coming in and going out, over and over. Being rather timid, I was thoroughly frightened.

Our advisory leader was a veteran prosecutor who took good care of us. But unlike the time spent during legal apprenticeship, making a mistake would mean a scolding without sympathy. We were no longer pretending, and indulging mistakes would not be permitted.

My first assignment was a 'custody case' meaning that the suspects are incarcerated. Moreover, there were several suspects charged in this single dangerous robbery. During apprenticeship, I only handled suspects who were not incarcerated, and most of these were not prosecuted. Now, with this single case, I began to tremble.

Adding fuel to the fire was the breadth of the case: several suspects, victims, and various material witnesses. The case file was 30 centimeters (12 inches) thick! During apprenticeship, I read files which were one centimeter, or at most 3 centimeters thick. I almost felt knocked out having discovered the real profession.

And to make matters worse, this being a custody case, we only had 20 days to read the entire file and make a decision of how to charge the several suspects. According to the Code of Criminal Procedure, suspects can held for 20 days at the longest. Prosecutors must then decide to proceed with prosecution or release.

From the very beginning, I was in a bad fix working late into the night, struggling with the case file. This, in fact, is the very ordinary work of a prosecutor.

As this was my first case, I was fortunate to be working with my newly appointed partner. But this was of little help, we were practically in tears being pressed to get through the file.

A veteran prosecutor would be done in a day. The veteran can discern what evidence is important, request further investigation from the police, call the material witnesses in for questioning, and put everything down neatly on paper. Otherwise, no charging decision can be made inside the 20 day limit.

Just yesterday, my partner and I were dawdling legal apprentices. We spent three full days reading the 30 centimeter (12 inch) file. And after having read the whole thing in three days, we had no idea of what the case was about. It was a wretched situation, not even being able to remember what was on the first page.

So, after many hours without result, we looked up to our supervisory prosecutor for help. Absolutely perplexed, we bit the bullet and approached with frank questions: "What does this mean, and how should we proceed?"

In fact, asking "how should we proceed" in the Office of the Public Prosecutor is unforgivable . The proper procedure is to present an opinion, "in regard to such and such a point, I think this and that would be best. Is this OK?" Not stating your opinion or a game plan would lead to a screeching, "quit screwing around!" As we are pros, this makes sense.

But since newbies can't tell right from left, special consideration is given to "children's questions." Even if I were to present an opinion, not understanding the situation, I would be spared a scolding.

So after two years of apprenticeship, four months of which was spent in the prosecutors office, I was in a dismal state. Apprenticeship, in the end, was no more than an office stint, and I strongly felt that the time spent in the Takamatsu prosecutor's office was a showroom observation trip.

My very first mistake was on this case. While interrogating a suspect, I forgot to advise him of the right to remain silent. Not advising a suspect of the right to remain silent is illegal. It was a big blunder. During my apprenticeship, the supervisory prosecutor advised the right of silence, and then did the interrogation. I didn't have to think about it.

Having realized this error, after finishing the interrogation, my face turned white and I humbly consulted my supervisor. The supervisor was neither angry or excited, "the police advise the right to silence as well, so, hmm, I guess it's OK. Just don't do it, again." I was overwhelmingly relieved.

Somehow, after disposing with this first case, I absentmindedly told my supervisor, "I feel that everything I learned in my two year apprenticeship has gone out the window."

Immersed completely in this job, running at full speed, it was an exhausting 20 days. Learning how to brace myself with these hectic incarcerated cases, was a complete baptism into the ways of the prosecutor's office.

After this first case, we were assigned cases one by one. They were all custody cases. And we only did one case at a time. To keep newbies from falling to pieces, the Yokohama Prosecutor's Office exercised diligence. Adult prosecutors handle double digit incarceration cases at the same time.

Even being indulged, with only one incarceration case at a time, I always felt rushed.

As our supervising prosecutor was the Violence Section Chief, I also handled a yakuza case. The crime was attempted extortion.

While interrogating this suspect, I became extremely embarrassed. In the midst of questioning, the suspect pointed at the large volume next to me with his chin and then bluntly asked, "Prosecutor-san, haven't you read the records? Everything you are asking is already written down."

I gave a gruff reply but his words sorely hit the mark. I was at a loss for words. Though I had the records, none of its contents remained in my head. And when he said, "Hey, read the records," I wanted to crawl into a hole.

Another time, I made a mistake while handling a gambling incident involving several suspects. One of the suspects said, "I am the boss. The others are part timers I hired, please let them go." In a hasty conclusion, I thought well this is the perpetrator, and I can just let the others go. And as he was elderly, I decided to release him even before the ten day custody period expired.

According to the Code of Criminal Procedure (CCP), suspects may be held for ten days, and if need be, for a second ten days. Even after a ten day custody period is granted, if the prosecutor sees no need, the suspect can be released before the termination date. The CCP does not mandate a ten day custody period.

When I approved the release, the police investigator assigned to the case was startled. "Huh?," he looked at me, "the period isn't over with."

To me, this early release was just part of a diversion. This is one of the reasons I became a prosecutor. I felt proud in achieving one of my goals.

Later on, as the investigation continued, I found out that this older guy was really the number two culprit taking the bullet for his boss. I ended up denting the police investigation.

And so, though I made many mistakes, I felt myself growing day by day. Instead of being discouraged, I felt a sense of fulfillment.

Yet, later on, the sky became ominous.

One time, I was examining the case of an illegal firearms violation. The defendant busted up the pistol, and later hid the parts. He confessed his guilt, but the case was messy. Though all of the pieces were retrieved, if properly assembled, would the gun shoot? We asked the Institute of Scientific Investigation for an opinion.

The suspect later admitted that he could put the gun back together. My supervising prosecutor stated, "the case can be prosecuted, get a confession."

But there was a hurdle. The suspect curtly confessed to being able to put the gun together himself. But my supervisor admonished that this was not enough. "Get him to admit that the gun could be fired, and, could kill or injure!"

Under the present circumstances, if the defendant goes into court and testifies, "Though I could assemble the gun, I never thought that it could be fired," then there would be a good chance of a decision of not guilty.

My supervisor instructed me to get a confession clearly stating, "I was fully aware that the gun could be fired and used to kill."

I felt some resistance. Though I had a full confession about possession, wouldn't getting one admitting to "being able shoot and kill" be a radical departure. The accused was not a gangster, and possession of a handgun did not equate with murderous intent.

Nevertheless, my supervisor fearlessly stated, "This is how to do the confession." I wanted so say, "That's unreasonable. That's not true." But as a newbie, I just could not. Even if I objected, I would be ordered to explain why the confession was false, and it would not pass muster in the world of jurists.

No matter how weird I thought this all, I could not bring myself to say, "That's wrong!" This was my biggest problem as a prosecutor. And all this occurring while I was still in the infancy of my appointment.

Anyway, at this time, I did not give it any deep thought, and just sought a confession as my supervisor instructed.

I wrote a new confession and took it to the suspect. He read the statement calmly and with a sad, stunned, smile said, "Whaddya mean? To shoot and kill..?"

Without flinching, I said, "Yeah, but that was the point, wasn't it?" Resigned, he replied, "Well, yeah, it was..." Secretly seeking divine forgiveness, I injected, "this report does not contain anything you didn't say?" So I finished writing the confession and he wrote in his signature.

My supervisor offered praise, "good job!" But the whole case left me with a bad after taste. The sadness in that suspect's forced smile, even now, I cannot forget it.

Having started work at the Yokohama Prosecutor's Office, there was never any time when I left work at five or six p.m. I always worked late into the night.

From my times as an apprentice, I knew that the prosecutors office had a refrigerator. At night there was a get together and cold beers flowed. Prosecutors rarely drank out.

New prosecutors did much more than just drink, we had to read long, thick case records of in-custody cases. So when my supervisor called out, "Hey Ichikawa, don't mind about work, let's drink, let's drink" I always felt grateful and imbibed.

During these get-togethers, prosecutors would flow in and out of the room, some sitting, some standing. And at these times, new and young prosecutors would gain much knowhow and guidance from our superiors.

My supervisor fervently espoused that at each and every opportunity, "getting a suspect to confess is the most important thing." And once he added, "Since becoming a prosecutor, I have gotten a confession from every single suspect! Getting them to confess is the first step toward rehabilitation."

I really wanted to chime in, 'Huh, that can't be right?' But toward my senior colleague with more than 20 years experience, I just could not do it.

One of the subjects on the bar exam which I studied was the policy regarding rehabilitation of criminals. I came to think, "If criminals confess, is sending them to prison really necessary? And is prosecution even necessary?" Internally, I rebelled at the prospect.

In the end, at the very least, "All suspects must absolutely confess" made sense to me. Beyond right or wrong, from the prospect of rehabilitation, it was not unreasonable for prosecutors to embrace the tenet that confessions must be extracted.

Another time, I had an important lesson from my supervisor. After downing a couple beers, upon recovering his sobriety, he blurted out, "gangsters and foreigners have no rights! Once when I interrogated a foreign suspect, who didn't speak Japanese. I stuck my eyeleteer in his face and screamed abuse. And I got the confession!"

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He continued, "But I abandoned the case. My superior said, 'you got that confession through torture, didn't you..?' And even though I abandoned prosecution, that confession caused rehabilitation!"

And then he stated with a snide look, "Incidentally, whenever we close the records of a case, the office staff always punches a hole with the eyeleteer. So there is always one in the prosecutors room."

He said all this with a straight face, and I had no idea of how to respond. All I could say was a "huh?"

Hearing the word "torture" from the mouth of a prosecutor was startling. Though I wished otherwise, I knew this wasn't a dream.

Another time I heard the following.

"Yeah, we have suspects who give us the runaround. You know what I do. I get in their faces and scream, "Get up and face the wall! And then I get back to work. After they have stood for sometime, I ask, 'You feel like talking now?' Follow this process and you will get a confession."

"When I was young, I was working on an election violation case. I and a junior prosecutor entered into a competition to see who could get a confession first. I was faster. What did I do? I called in a suspect who was staying at home, and stuck a magazine on the desk in front of the chair. And then one of the clerks calls the suspect from the waiting room into my office. I intentionally keep quiet and strum through the case file page by page. Finally, the suspect cannot take it anymore and begins to look through the magazine. And then I scream, 'who told you it's OK to read!' The suspect quickly replies with 'Sorry' and soon ends up confessing."

Ridiculous! And a shock to my conscience.

During my apprentice training, I heard similar shocking talk. But it didn't phase me, at the very most it was like being pissed on by a cicada. But now, I felt like I was standing in the pouring rain. Words bubbled up in my throat, "why did you go so far in forcing a confession? Uh...I see..forcing a confession is the first step in rehabilitation. Yeah ….but…" I was completely in a haze.

Another time, a high senior colleague, who was not lying or drunk, spouted "Getting a confession is a must! That is how rehabilitation begins!" Again and again, this was the message of what was fitting and proper for prosecutors.

The shock of rain continued.

"Do you know why you can't make a report without a confession? If you create a document in which the suspect denies the crime, the attorney will refute the charges in court. But if you get a document with a confession, when the attorney and the suspect first meet, the attorney will start with 'Why did you do it?' If you do this properly, there will be no denial in court. Therefore, you absolutely need to get a confession and include it in your report."

I also learned how to get around the rules. "Ya know, when I was young, I had many more cases than now...so many that my eyes were spinning. One time, I had a murder case, and I was unable to finish even at the 20 day custody expiry date. So I requested a psychiatric report (in which the suspect is moved from the police station cell to the detention center or a hospital, and over the period of a long time, the psychiatrist conducts an examination). I was able to get a 2-3 month extension!

When I remember this now, I want to think that it was a joke. Especially this last episode, I want to believe that from the time I became a prosecutor, nobody ever else did it.

Yet, I want to share some words spoken seriously by my supervisor without any distortion. One thing in particular left me quite thankful.

"You new guys haven't received any cases in which the suspect denies the charges. Ya know why? Well, I'll tell you, new appointees mustn't suffer decisions of not guilty. For new appointees, that would injure your career. Therefore, we haven't given you any cases in which the charges are contested, ya see."

At the time, the Yokohama district prosecutor's office was educating us for our own protection. They really took care of new recruits.

On the other hand, these words indicated decisions of not guilty were injurious to prosecutors. I had complex feelings wondering, is this how the system really operates?

The End.
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Translator's note: Upon reading this chapter, I excitedly started translating with the intent of publication in the Asia-Pacific Journal, perhaps the best resource for honest journalistic and academic discourse about Japan. APJ refused this piece without reason. "We’re interested in legal issues but decided that it is not for APJ." I was shocked. It seems that the dark sins of Japan: comfort women; forced laborers; eugenic sterilizations; are all good fodder for publication. Do the title and contents of this translation impugn the self-concept of white, foreign academics who wish to think that 'we foreigners' should be grateful guests and accept comfortable salaries and research funds without complaint?

This is not the first time my voice has been obstructed by the foreign academia in Japan. Some years ago, I submitted a a roundtable proposal on criminal justice reform to the Association of Asian Studies conference at Sophia University. The conference organizer refused the proposal, "we believe that our conference is designed for academic study and debate, rather than for advocacy." Once again, 'guestism' at work. See Ivan Hall's "Sidelining the Heterodox." : http://www.jpri.org/publications/occasionalpapers/op28.html