Badges of Honor, Discord

One’s called the Grand Cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun with Paulownia Flowers. Another is the meticulously described Order of the Sacred Treasures, Gold Rays with Neck Ribbon. Then there’s the oddly poetic Order of the Precious Crown, Ripple, evoking a hint of low-end wine.

The names may be reminiscent of a Monty Python skit, but the tributes are among the most prestigious that Japanese citizens can receive for their lifelong contributions to the nation.

In fact, in 1971, a low-ranking government worker nominated for the Order of the Sacred Treasure, Gold Medal, felt so inadequate at being recognized that he committed suicide a week before the ceremony.

“I’m not qualified for the order,” he wrote in his final note. “His majesty would look at the list [and see how unworthy I am].”

On Monday, about 9,000 people, living and dead, will be honored by the emperor. Bestowed with great pomp and circumstance, the awards are meant to recognize the great achievements of the nation’s very best native sons and daughters and a handful of famous foreigners. But in the eyes of some, they’re also the epitome of everything that’s wrong with Japan.

“This system is really harmful,” said Kei Mizusawa, author of the book “The Decoration System Is Ruining Japan.” “Honoring people based on their titles rather than what they actually accomplished is a major impediment to real reform in Japan.”

Japan started giving the awards in the 1870s in a bid to shake off feudalism, hoping that the honoring of elites would inspire the masses. The system--inspired by the French Legion of Honor and the British tradition of knighting, and far stuffier than the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom--borrowed elements from several European countries. The winners were initially all chosen from Japanese government and military circles.

After World War II, U.S. occupation forces put the kibosh on issuing these trinkets of tribute, given their close association with war criminals and imperial military traditions. Japanese conservatives spent the next 19 years trying to bring the tribute system back, finally succeeding in 1964 after a concession that civilians would be eligible as well.

Over the years, the number of winners has ballooned to 20,000 annually, compared with at least 5,000 in France, Britain’s 3,000 and several hundred for the Medal of Freedom, raising concern about award inflation.

And although other nations have modernized and popularized their national award systems--Britain honored the Beatles as early as 1965, reasoning that the Fab Four did more for the country’s image than a bevy of bureaucrats--Japan has stuck to its rigid, elitist ways.

The insular selection criteria have on occasion left the nation embarrassed, as when global prizes are awarded to Japanese who haven’t been recognized in their own country. Most recently, the government’s Decoration Bureau, charged with overseeing the program, rushed to honor author Kenzaburo Oe last year after he received the Nobel Prize in literature--in 1994. He turned the government down.

Today, nearly three-quarters of the public thinks that the award criteria are overdue for reform, according to a poll released in January by the Yomiuri Shimbun, Japan’s largest newspaper. But change in Japan tends to be slow, especially when it involves the imperial system, making a significant departure unlikely any time soon.

One major problem in the eyes of experts and the public is that 90% of the top honors go to bureaucrats.

Never mind that ministry officials, who are responsible for selecting the winners, have been embroiled in a parade of scandals over the past decade and have badly fumbled the nation’s economic, social and industrial policies. Precedent and tradition dictate that the system rumble on.

“I’m totally against all these honors going to government officials,” said Hideaki Nagasawa, a 40-year-old office worker in the food industry. “Basically, these bureaucrats just end up awarding those inside their own circle.”

Another concern is the way winners are chosen. In most categories, applicants must be 70 or older and have held a top position for several years. Some say this rewards archaic thinking, even as it encourages senior officials to roost in important posts, blocking innovation and younger colleagues’ promotions.

Under the system, which has changed little in 125 years, women are ineligible for the highest awards. Instead, they’re relegated to a lower “women only” category with special bright yellow ribbons, presumably more feminine-looking.

“In Japan’s so-called gender-equal society, people should be recognized for their achievements, no matter their sex,” said Kimiko Yagi, professor of gender issues at Josai International University. “The system is ridiculous.”

In a small nod to mass appeal, the government confers cultural awards on popular figures, but these account for about five of the 20,000 dispensed annually. Those in favor of reform also complain that the conservative selection system places far more weight on prestige and large organizations than merit, entrepreneurship or any innovation that might threaten the status quo--and help lead Japan out of its political and economic morass.

The system also carries some heavy historical baggage given its role in World War II, when it inspired visions of imperial honor and the prospect of official recognition.

The rigid order of eight grades is closely associated with Japan’s old military structure. The date of this month’s awards ceremony, the 29th, is wartime Emperor Hirohito’s birthday. And decorative medals are still adorned with the blazing sun image found on battle flags throughout the war.

“The whole system elevates the old guard and undermines young people,” said Tomokazu Ohsono, journalist and author of the book “Decoration System: Behind the Scenes.” “Most people don’t realize how closely it’s tied to the old imperial system, although it clearly is.”

Although the honor and glory that come with this recognition are arguably priceless, the cost gets pretty steep. Japan spends about $18 million annually on the medals, ribbons and boxes alone, not counting the upkeep for about 65 bureaucrats and the estimated 100 artisans who support the system. The Decoration Bureau won’t disclose its total budget.

With the public starting to take more notice of the system’s inequities, a government committee recently mapped out the first real reform in more than a century. Its recommendations include granting more awards to ordinary people and ending the strict eight-tier ranking system. But the power of tradition suggests that any change will be modest at best.

“It’s pretty difficult to reduce the number of bureaucrats who win,” said Kazumichi Sakamoto, a Decoration Bureau section head. “There are so many people on the waiting list that it would be disruptive.”

Medals are handmade by Mint Bureau craftspeople drawing on skills once used to hammer out samurai swords. Only the very best are allowed to work on the most intricate medals, which can take up to six months to make and cost $46,000 apiece.

At a wooden desk littered with tools and brushes on the second floor of a long, low building in Tokyo, artisan Hiroo Kato stoops over part of a Grand Cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun, First Grade, filing away tiny imperfections he’s spotted through a magnifying glass. Beside him sits a glass jar with silver flecks collected from his labors. He worked for 33 years before being given such a high-ranking medal to work on.

“I’m very proud,” he says. “Sometimes when I see them giving out awards on TV, I can’t help but wonder if it’s the one I worked on.”

President Eisenhower, recipient of an award in 1960, once called Japan’s medals the most beautiful in the world. And in the 1980s, Satoshi Hakamada, a five-decade master craftsman, spoke angrily about how occupying U.S. soldiers stole several from a safe shortly after the 1945 armistice.

The emperor confers the awards at biannual ceremonies--April 29 and Nov. 3--with the highest grades largely reserved for him and his family, although President Reagan was given one, as were three Japanese prime ministers. The orders and medals are made of gold, silver, pearls and cloisonne bedecked with red, white, black, purple, yellow, orange and blue ribbons.

A handful of the very highest-ranking winners have theirs bestowed personally by the emperor in ceremonies lasting about a minute. Lawmaker Kanezo Muraoka, who rehearsed every step before his big moment last year, said it was among the proudest days of his life.

Thousands of lower-ranking recipients, meanwhile, have theirs handed to them on chartered buses as they’re routed through the palace for pictures. Given the awards’ 70-plus age requirement, moving the winners and their spouses on and off the buses can be time-consuming.

Those receiving the highest categories wear top-end frock coats or special crest-emblazoned silk kimonos, which can cost upward of $12,000 and take 40 days to make.

Once the awards are received, tradition dictates that recipients wear them only at the most formal of events to preserve the dignity and prestige of the system. As a result, many septuagenarians wear them only twice: once at the ceremony itself and once in their caskets.

Award holders quickly become the talk of their towns--and the target of hungry salespeople--in much the same way U.S. lottery winners are besieged. By regulation, only the recipient is allowed to wear the medal. In reality, there’s a vibrant secondhand market amid reports of medal-bedecked collectors parading around their houses admiring themselves in the mirror.

Collectors pay upward of $150,000 for the rarest awards. Antiques dealer Katsuo Nakahori was so taken with the awards, he squirreled away 100 during a lifetime of collecting. He even named his son after an award.

*

Rie Sasaki in The Times’ Tokyo Bureau contributed to this report.