三神武尊

A Tribute to Japanese Ufologists There is something peculiar, and perhaps even tragic, about the role that ufologists play in Japanese society. Many of them are highly intelligent, deeply knowledgeable, and genuinely committed to understanding the mysteries of our world. Yet to the general public, they often appear eccentric, unserious, or even ridiculous. But appearing ridiculous and being foolish are two very different things. In America, there is a cultural place for the lone wolf, the maverick, the outsider who refuses to conform. Such figures may be controversial, but their independence can also earn them respect. American culture, at least in its self-image, celebrates the individual who stands apart from the crowd. Japan is different. Social belonging matters enormously, and being completely ostracized can be almost unbearable. Even those who pursue unconventional ideas often feel compelled to maintain some connection with the group. And perhaps more importantly, Japanese people tend to respond to what others expect of them, even when those expectations are absurd. So what happens when society expects you to be a clown? You play the clown. Some Japanese ufologists have become remarkably good at it. They know what audiences want: eccentricity, outrageous claims, a touch of madness. They play along, partly to make a living, but also as a way of remaining socially acceptable while pursuing ideas that might otherwise lead to exclusion. Even Taro Okamoto, one of Japan’s most radical and intellectually sophisticated artists, became something of a clown in the public imagination. He knew how to play that role, too. Perhaps that’s one way Japanese society makes room for its outsiders: by turning them into characters. The outsider is tolerated, sometimes even celebrated, as long as he plays the part society expects of him. But after wearing that mask for decades, perhaps even the performers themselves can no longer tell where the performance ends and their true selves begin. The deeper tragedy is that when they do have something genuinely important to say, the world may hear only the clown. Perhaps this is one of the paradoxes of Japanese society: even its outsiders feel compelled to play the roles that others expect of them. And we should be careful not to confuse the performance with the person, or the apparent absurdity of the messenger with the merits of the message. Perhaps we are finally entering an era when we no longer have to play the clown to talk seriously about UFOs. After all, who would think of Christopher Mellon as a clown when he appeared on 60 Minutes? Incidentally, it was Chris who introduced me to Yoshiharu Asakawa at Stanford, my alma mater. I’m grateful to Sol, too, for helping bring legitimacy to the UAP discussion. In Japan, too, things may be changing. Asakawa-san is now in Kyushu with a TV crew from a major Japanese television network, filming a serious documentary. But we must never forget the respect and gratitude we owe to those who came before us, who kept the conversation alive when few others would take it seriously.