3. Navigating the Boundary between Subjection and Agency:
Gender-Based Violence in the Japanese Popular Music Industry
Chiharu Chujo
©2025 Chiharu Chujo, CC BY-NC 4.0 https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0436.03
Introduction
In March 2023, a BBC documentary exposed the critical issues of power imbalances and gender inequities within the Japanese music industry (Mobeen, 2023). The high-profile sexual abuse scandal involving Johnny Kitagawa, a prominent figure in the Japanese music industry, brought to the forefront systemic issues that demand meticulous examination.1 Six years after the #MeToo movement,2 the Japanese popular music industry appears to be finally addressing the pervasive gender-based violence (GBV) entrenched in the sector. Nevertheless, as a vibrant and culturally significant realm, it has long harboured complex gender power dynamics that deserve scholarly examination.
The Japanese music industry is characterised by its diversity and dynamism and offers a wide range of genres to cater to the preferences of the public, such as J-pop, J-rock, J-hip-hop, enka, anime and idol. Each genre in Japan has its own dedicated group of fans, distinctive characteristics and cultural significance. Against the backdrop of this vibrant yet complex industry, it is imperative to consider the broader gender dynamics at play in Japan. The nation ranks 118th out of 146 countries in the 2024 Global Gender Gap Report (Kusum et al., 2024), underscoring the staggering gender disparities that prevail within the fabric of society. Moreover, gender discrimination remains pervasive in the music industry. The business has traditionally been dominated by male musicians and male-focused themes, posing challenges for female artists to achieve success. The disparity in gender representation is particularly pronounced in the rock and hip-hop genres, where male artists dominate.3 The idol system is another example of significant gender inequality in Japanese music. Idol groups, consisting mainly of young female performers, dominate the music scene in Japan, with their strict beauty criteria, limited artistic independence and the commodification of female artists4 (Chujo & Wartelle-Sakamoto, 2021; Naitō, 2021). In production, management and leadership positions, men also have more power and influence than women.5 The existing disparity in leadership roles perpetuates gender inequality and limits the availability of music industry opportunities for women.
Over the past few years, a few studies have highlighted such gendered norms within the popular music world. Hypergendered expectations for women in prominent musical roles and the constrained contexts encompassing their professional and private lives have been documented (Chujo & Wartelle-Sakamoto, 2021; Naitō, 2021; Hyôgen no Genba Chôsa Dan, 2021; Takeda, 2017). Nevertheless, the examination of gender discrimination and, more specifically, GBV within the Japanese popular music industry and the social structure that has maintained these issues remains a notably underexplored domain within the academic sphere in Japan. The reasons for this require further investigation.
This chapter seeks to address this research gap, delving into the GBV inherent in the Japanese popular music scene and providing a nuanced analysis of the societal and structural factors that perpetuate it. Through an in-depth examination, this research aims to contribute valuable insights to the broader discourse surrounding gender dynamics within the Japanese popular music industry.
Academic Silence: A Lack of Research on Gender-Based Violence in the Japanese Music Industry
As defined by the European Commission (n.d.), GBV refers to ‘violence directed against a person because of that person’s gender or violence that affects persons of a particular gender disproportionately’. If this violence can take ‘many forms’ (Council of Europe, 2019, p. 18), GBV refers to situations in which individuals are treated unequally and unfavourably because of their gender. In reference to Liz Kelly’s (1987) definition of violence, which suggests the notion of a continuum, violence against women occurs on a spectrum rather than in isolated incidents. This emphasises the interconnectedness and normalisation of different forms of violence, ranging from subtle behaviours and objectification to more overt forms. Violence, therefore, can be embodied in ‘disparaging sexist remarks […] sexual jokes, insistent flirting, or derogatory jokes about sexuality or looks’ (Chapter 2 in this book). These are the most common practices—so embedded in everyday life that the victims themselves would hardly be aware of their nature and psychological, economic or institutional effects. It is noteworthy that gender roles and expectations, male privilege, sexual objectification and inequalities in power and status have served to legitimise, invisibilise, sexualise and perpetuate certain forms of violence against women (Russo et al., 2006). In considering this definition and the potential elements which perpetuate GBV, I will examine the situation of women in the Japanese popular music industry.6
The issue of GBV in the music world has remained largely overlooked in Japan in 2024, persisting even in the wake of the #MeToo movement. Within academia, a mere forty-three articles emerge in Japanese when searching the term ‘gender-based violence’, and a similarly limited 205 articles appear with the same keyword in English on CiNii, a search engine for Japanese academic references.7 In the realm of art, there exists a scarcity of academic works on GBV to date—with minimal exploration of the subject, particularly within the field of music. Notably, academic attention has primarily focused on the representation of violence, primarily in the realm of painting (Ikeda et al., 2010), with even fewer studies addressing the same theme in the domain of music.8 Despite the release of several government reports9 on GBV since 2000, particularly on issues such as domestic violence, stalking, trafficking and sexual harassment, there is an absence of government statistics specifically identifying these problems within the arts.
Several grassroots associations have taken action despite this academic and institutional silence. In 2021, the voluntary organisation Hyôgen no Genba Chôsa Dan (Research Group for Artist’s Voice) published its research report on sexual harassment in various artistic fields. This organisation investigates harassment in the arts and includes artists, writers, researchers, filmmakers and professionals from various fields. The survey, which included 1,449 people of all genders, is categorised by artistic field, workplace injury and working conditions. Of the 1,161 respondents (of all genders), most reported verbal sexual harassment related to their appearance or age, but almost half also reported physical harassment.
The survey, which provides a comprehensive overview of sexual harassment in the arts, does not fully cover the music sector. Only 204 (9.2%) of the respondents belonged to the music field, and the music section has only twelve short comments, significantly fewer than other sections (Hyôgen no Genba Chôsa Dan, 2021). Moreover, according to James Paul Gee’s (2014) metaphor of communication as an ‘iceberg’, respondents with explicit insights into violence may not fully capture the nuances of the latent violence of the unspoken society. Indeed, interviews may not cover all aspects of social violence. However, interviews can be combined with other research methods, such as cultural artefact analysis, to better understand violence and its many forms in a particular context.
In this chapter, I thus seek to complement the aforementioned study by conducting a more in-depth analysis of GBV affecting individuals working in the music industry. Specifically, it will focus on the experiences of those employed behind the scenes in technical and industry roles, as well as on the challenges faced by the artists themselves. While the mentor-disciple relationships in opera (see Chapter 2 in this book) and the emotional labour in visual arts education (see Chapter 4 in this book) illustrate structural challenges in European contexts, similar issues arise in Japan’s music industry. These dynamics resonate with the precarious conditions of freelance workers in New York theatre (see Chapter 7 in this book). Nevertheless, I aim to identify the specific features of cases within the Japanese music industry. After outlining my methodology, this chapter will proceed with the presentation of key observations, which will then be analysed to provide insightful interpretations. To conclude, I will discuss future perspectives stemming from this analysis.
Methodology
Commencing in 2019, my research endeavours have centred on qualitative investigation, employing semi-structured interviews and observational methods, within the context of the music industry, encompassing both female and male participants. Snowball sampling methodology was chosen for participant recruitment. Similar to the British and American film industries (Patriotta & Hirsch, 2016; Wreyford, 2015), the French jazz scene (Buscatto, 2021) or the creative industries (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2010), Japanese popular music is a closed society composed of informal networks. Given the nature of this milieu and my geographical base in France, the establishment of relationships within these professional circles initially demanded strategic efforts. Regrettably, the onset of the global pandemic necessitated a two-year hiatus in my research activities—impeding the continuation of fieldwork, particularly observational components.
The initial selection of interviewees relied on personal networks, with individuals often identified through associations with friends or colleagues with whom preexisting professional or personal relationships were established. Subsequently, during a six-month research stay in Japan in 2023, I conducted additional fieldwork and broadened my network in this domain. Social networking sites, notably X (formerly Twitter), were utilised as platforms to solicit interview participants, yielding responses from eight volunteers. So far, a total of seventeen individuals have been interviewed, encompassing a wide range of professional backgrounds and age groups. Most of the participants are female musicians from different genres.10
The demographic breakdown is as follows:
- Female musicians: 9.
- Other female music professionals (music magazine writer, idol make-up artist and radio director): 3.
- Male musicians and sound engineer: 5, with 1 self-identifying as queer.
The semi-structured interviews, characterised by flexibility and depth, varied in duration, ranging from one to three hours. After a general conversation about the course of their lives and careers, I used six main questions to gain a deeper understanding of their perspectives. Although the questions were listed, they were not always asked in the same sequence; at times the sequence changed, depending on the topic and the situation. The questions covered whether they have experienced:
- unconscious gender bias,
- a lack of confidence in their own work,
- ridicule/criticism,
- overt gender discrimination (akiraka na seisabetsu),
- sexual harassment (sekuhara), and
- difficulty in accessing information and funding in the industry as a woman.
Questions 1, 4 and 6 pertain to gender discrimination, whereas 3 and 5 more directly relate to GBV. Number 3 is also acknowledged as a characteristic of gender-based discrimination. Number 2, addressing an outcome of both gender discrimination and violence, was included based on insights from the Be the Change: Women in Music 2022 survey report (Kahlert et al., 2022). The report notes that a significant number of women participants grapple with self-esteem issues. In fact, the interviews revealed a deliberate choice not to directly use the terms ‘gender-based violence’ (jendâ ni motozuku bôryoku) or ‘sexual violence’ (seibôryoku). Instead, the term ‘sexual harassment’ (sekuhara) is utilised, as it encapsulates one facet of GBV. According to the National Personnel Authority (NPA),11 a Japanese public administrative agency, sexual harassment is defined as:
- sexual behavior in the workplace that makes others uncomfortable, especially the fact that:
- an employee offends other employees;
- an employee offends a person other than the employee with whom the employee comes into contact in the performance of his or her duties;
- a non-employee offending an employee, or;
- sexual behavior by an employee outside the workplace that is offensive to other employees.
Here, ‘sexual behaviours’ include (i) behaviours based on sexual interest or desire, (ii) behaviours based on a sense that roles should be assigned according to gender and (iii) behaviours based on prejudice regarding gender orientation or gender identity.
Considering the NPA’s definition, this term may align closely with the definition of GBV previously outlined. In the Japanese context, however, seibôryoku and sekuhara carry distinct connotations for many individuals. Sekuhara, for many, is perceived as something more ingrained in everyday life, appearing more relevant and at times less severe than violence. On the other hand, seibôryoku is generally considered something more overtly violent by most people, although there is a growing understanding in journalism that sekuhara is also a form of GBV.12 Finally, for the sixth inquiry, I also conducted a parallel investigation by posing identical interrogatives to individuals identifying with the contrasting gender, thereby eliciting a comparative analysis of their perceptions and sentiments regarding the subject matter.
Due to the small number of male informants, this article places a particular focus on the issues of sexual harassment (sekuhara) as attested by female informants. Considering this sociolinguistic nuance, I subsequently undertake an in-depth analysis of the informants’ discourses. Initially seeming to deny the existence of violence, I will explore these discourses, acknowledging the intricate sociolinguistic landscape that shapes their narratives.
Ambivalent Discourses: No Sexual Harassment,
Even If…
Violence is deeply ingrained in the everyday interactions in the Japanese music industry to such an extent that those who encounter it are often unaware of its presence, as highlighted in Mathieu Trachman’s (2018) study on what he refers to as ‘ordinary violence’. During my research, most of the informants denied the presence of physical sexual assault or physical violence (i.e. any direct use of physical force, such as hitting or kicking) in their professional field—except for Aki, a singer who suffered constant sexual harassment from her agency’s president:
The president of the office I was working in at the time was an old man, and he was very powerful in the industry. I was constantly being sexually harassed, and I was about seventeen, so mentally, I didn’t really know how to escape. […] I thought that if I went on like that I would break down, so I decided to stop. When I told them that I wanted to quit, they told me that I was the record company’s 40th anniversary newcomer, so if I quit for that reason, it would make their position in the industry worse. So they asked me to stop. They said, ‘We just want you to continue. It would be a problem if you quit’. (Aki,13 July 19, 2019)
Despite facing tangible and legally sanctionable harassment, Aki was unable to pursue any legal or media-related recourse but chose to pursue an avenue of escape, as elucidated further in this chapter. This decision was influenced by power dynamics inherent in her relationship with her president and considerations related to her professional career. Nevertheless, when analysing what was said by my respondents, one can identify ‘commonplace gender-based violence’.
Rumours
Most of the informants have some form of musical education from their youth, from junior or senior high school. Some of them have higher education, such as attending universities specialised in music or at least performing musical activities at their university. In such surroundings, all female informants testified that they faced gender discrimination in their artistic recognition but denied having experienced physical sexual harassment. However, many of them confirmed that their friends and colleagues had experienced sexual harassment by their mentor during lessons:
I myself am quite secure, but in reality I feel it’s a mess [at the university]. We have trainings in quite a small room […] that you couldn’t see inside from the front […] But during my time at university, all these [doors with small] windows were taken out […]. They said it was because someone had done something really terrible to someone else during a class. I remember that. (Nao, July 25, 2023)
‘Minor’ Harassment in Unofficial Settings: Gender-Based Violence Not Being Considered as Such
When asked in the context of a more nuanced understanding of ‘sexual harassment’—including manifestations such as sexist remarks, persistent flirtation and derogatory jokes about sexuality or appearance—respondents clearly confirmed recurrent encounters with such incidents. One of the most relevant cases is after-work drinks with colleagues, which is a relevant custom in the music industry, as Sophie Hennekam and Dawn Bennett (2017) highlight in their work on sexual harassment in Dutch creative industries. In these moments, which ‘often go with a loosening of professional etiquette and potentially high level[s] of drinking’ (Boni-Le Goff, 2022, p. 55), sexual behaviours are often considered insignificant or negligible by the perpetrator and even their close peers, such as colleagues, because they do not appear harmful from the outside.
Much of the people I talk to at the sales fairs are men, so when I am asked to have a meeting with them, sometimes I wonder if it’s a work meeting or just a dinner. In the end, we end up talking almost entirely without talking about work […]. I want to be careful about that. But if I’m told that it’s a meeting, I have to go, don’t I? (Aki, July 19, 2019)
It is worth noting that these respondents seem confused rather than embarrassed or angry about such flirtatious behaviour from their male colleagues. In fact, these respondents were unsure whether such behaviour could be considered sexual harassment. They seem to be in a constrained situation where they have no choice but to accept it for the sake of their professional position, even though there are no tangible promises or assurances for their professional careers.
Lookism and Ageism
In a similar way to American popular culture (Leschner, 2019), the female body is vocally objectified in everyday contexts in the Japanese popular music industry. Although most informants denied having experienced direct physical sexual harassment, they talked extensively about sexist (or hypergendered) notions of appearance evoked by their peers. Most of them testified about the restrictive expectations of how women should look and how old they should be: ‘I think the kind of people who are considered singers are a bit like they’re being told what to do. They’re like the guy in the band telling them to dress up like a country cowgirl or something’ (Saki, August 3, 2022).
Sometimes, such lookism privileges women, but it is to enhance the atmosphere or merely to decorate the environment. Eminent pianist Eri (July 19, 2023) testified that she had seen many hotel restaurants offer a job exclusively to female pianists because ‘the place would look better if a woman in a dress played the piano’. In such a case, according to her, her agent ‘gets angry’ with her if she wears her glasses.
However, in such circumstances imposing gendered norms on their appearance, as is the case of flirting in informal settings, the informants seem to be reluctant to consider such practices as sexual harassment.
I myself don’t get [sexually harassed] … I don’t, but I still feel like there’s quite a lot in costumes and that sort of thing. I think that a certain amount of exposure is expected. Also, I’m speaking in terms of compliments, but I often see situations where I’m praised for being unusually sexy. I think there are a lot of outfit problems […]. When I wear something like that [i.e. the dress, people say] it’s glamorous or something like that. Male musicians are supposed to wear tails and so on. But women are told that it’s nice to wear something like that, and I found it a bit disgusting the way they said it. And if you have a job that requires you to wear something like that, or if it’s a visual performance, you must wear a dress or something. It might not go as far as sexual harassment but … (Nao, July 25, 2023)
Strategies to Escape or Resolve Challenging Situations
In such instances—ranging from inappropriate remarks and lookism to more subtle forms of coercion in professional interactions—the informants appeared to adopt a posture wherein they refrain from categorising themselves as recipients of harassment. There is an evident lack of certainty or consideration regarding the seriousness with which their experiences might be acknowledged as instances of violence. The process of raising critical consciousness regarding these perceived acts of violence appears elusive or intangible. Nevertheless, and quite surprisingly, they also articulated strategies indicative of their proclivity to either evade or resolve the challenging situations they encounter.
Escaping from the Situation
Regarding the potential solution of escaping from the situation, one course of action involves departing from restrictive and detrimental environments, as exemplified by Aki. However, as articulated in her testimony, she initially encountered challenges in taking this step due to resistance not only from her immediate superior but also from the agency itself. The agency dissuaded her from severing ties with the agent to prevent potential damage to its reputation.
Acting against the Situation
Certain individuals face challenges and make efforts, both passively and actively, to overcome difficult circumstances. Marie Buscatto (2021) states that French female jazz musicians intentionally diminish their sexual allure to prevent harassment. Similarly, one of the respondents in my study elucidated her method of establishing an atmosphere that dissuades flirtatious propositions, effectively conveying her unequivocal rejection of such advances. Another approach involves utilising a structural framework to establish a prominent musical standing in order to discourage harassment. Active resistance primarily entails the act of publicly condemning or criticising something. Only a single interviewee revealed instances of violence that occurred in the 1980s. The artist expressed strong opposition to GBV in her music, which was considered notably radical and transgressive (Chujo & Aizawa, 2021). Most informants who encountered such challenges responded in a passive manner.
Letting It Be
Several informants attested to their inability to evade or rebuff certain behaviours exhibited by the audience, particularly persistent advances. One of them—Yuki, who plays as a DJ in many venues in Tokyo—recounted seeking advice from a female and more experienced colleague regarding flirtatious behaviours of male audience. In response, the colleague advised her to endure and tolerate such occurrences.
I remember a senior member of the club staff saying that it was a water trade [mizushôbai] … When she said it was a water business, I was shocked […] and at the same time, I thought that was right. So I thought that if my activities were supposed to be a water business, then it would be simpler to just let it be. (Yuki, 26 July 2023)
Mizushôbai, colloquially known as ‘water business’, serves as a slang term denoting an eating and drinking establishment with an uncertain income. In common parlance in Japan, however, it typically connotes sex work. Rather than contesting or opposing this characterisation in the context of her musical activities, the informant acknowledged and accepted this association. It is noteworthy that Yuki sought to align herself with the discourse articulated by her senior colleague—notwithstanding harbouring reservations, owing to the considerable esteem she held for the latter.
Recourse to Professional and Familial Networks
Certain informants provided testimony indicating that they were able to avert offensive behaviour or verbal abuse through the support of their social networks. Many of them have familial connections—often with their fathers or male peers occupying elevated hierarchical positions, affording them a form of protective buffer:
My father is a man who has done a lot in my milieu, and he is respected for his contribution. So I think that because I’m his daughter, I’ve got a certain freedom to do what I want. […] There’s nothing more to it than that, so it’s a daughter category. So there’s no depth to it, nothing special. I am not an ‘individual’. (Saki, August 3, 2022)
Saki, whose father is a distinguished musician and owns a concert hall, acknowledged the power dynamics within her milieu. Her father occupies an esteemed position, consequently framing her identity primarily as the ‘daughter of this person’.
Another informant—Miki, who has engaged in several intimate relationships with her male peers—explicitly refuted any suggestion that these relationships have influenced her musical activities. She asserted that she ‘does not want to relate it’ to her own professional pursuits. Simultaneously, however, she acknowledged that these relationships afford her a sense of equality with her male peers:
I think that being in a romantic relationship may have made it possible for us to speak as equals. I mean, with the band members. Until then, I kind of thought that I might not have had much to say about the arrangements or the performance side of things […] because I have a complex. […] But now that having gone through a romantic relationship, I know that it’s okay to talk about anything I think. […] Without that [i.e. the romantic relationship], maybe I would have been a complexed person. (Miki, September 11, 2023)
For this young musician, establishing an intimate relationship with a member of their (male-dominated) group served as a means of overcoming her musical ‘complex’ towards her male peers. Similar to Saki, who benefits from her father’s recognition, acknowledgement from her male partner is deemed essential for her to establish professional legitimacy in relation to other male peers. It is noteworthy, however, that, in contrast to Saki, she does not perceive the relationship with a male peer as problematic when its impact is perceived positively. Furthermore, age and professional stage, which are tied to one another, are societal factors that influence women’s positions. Some interviewees, all above the age of forty, stated that they do not require this form of action since they have advanced enough in their careers and have a particular reputation.
Socialised Coercion Preventing Recognition of Violence
These testimonials divulge a discourse marked by ambivalence among the informants. While, on the one hand, the informants either denied or expressed uncertainty about encountering sexual harassment and consistently refrained from explicitly mentioning GBV, on the other hand, their narratives inadvertently affirm, even unconsciously, the manifestation of certain effects associated with aspects of GBV, in line with the concept of a continuum: subtle sexist behaviours, rooted in underlying attitudes, beliefs and social structures, are normalised and perpetuated in their professional activities.
The emergence of a paradox is evident—where, despite denying instances of harassment, informants consistently adopt strategies aimed at proactively ‘avoiding’ such situations. This prompts an investigation into the discrepancy: why, if they claim not to have experienced sexual harassment, do they use language and actions that reflect deliberate avoidance? In the following section, an examination of the social and economic milieu in which the informants work will help to grasp the paradoxical position adopted by the informants.
One could posit a hypothesis suggesting that sexual harassment, encompassed within the broader framework of gender violence, is not cognizantly acknowledged by the informants. Drawing from Nakane Tae’s14 (2023) ethnographic exploration of (weak) mobilisations within the music world, it is elucidated that participants in this milieu often dissociate their identity as artists, performers or music professionals from that of traditional workers (rōdōsha). According to Bård Kleppe and Sigrid Røyseng (2016, p. 293), Norwegian theatre is a representation of what Max Weber (2013/1922) refers to as ‘charismatic communities’, where members must recognise the authenticity of the charismatic leader and conform accordingly. This principle defines relationships between members as ‘strictly personal’ (Kleppe & Røyseng, 2016, p. 293) and based on their own standards. Ensuring professional and career security therefore requires prioritising relationships with powerful individuals over other rational factors. In line with Kleppe and Røyseng’s analysis, Nakane suggests that the concept of ‘labour rights’ or ‘labour mobilisation’ might not resonate with these professionals in the music industry, as they do not perceive themselves as conventional workers. Nakane’s analysis provides grounds to hypothesise that in addition to the awareness of workers’ rights being limited, the awareness of women’s rights or GBV may also be low among female practitioners in the music world. Indeed, all interviewees explicitly mentioned that, prior to their engagement in the interviews, they had scarcely contemplated the position of women in the realm of employment. Despite their expressed interest in the subject, their reflections on the place of women in the workforce were minimal. The limited discussion of women in the labour market in the specified situation may indicate larger issues in sectors such as the Japanese music industry—including insufficient attention to gender equality, as my previous research revealed (Chujo, 2023); a lower number of female artists; unequal opportunities and recognition; and insufficient measures to combat gender-based discrimination and violence. Furthermore, the absence of active involvement indicates that the policies of gender equality in the arts, particularly in music, may be insufficient or nonexistent in terms of promoting equal treatment and preventing GBV. While generalising from these testimonies would be premature, the prevailing discourse on mobilisation against GBV may find limited resonance within such an environment.
An additional hypothesis posits that the informants deliberately (albeit unconsciously) refrain from acknowledging the presence of violence in their lives. As Gunilla Carstensen (2016) observed, determining whether an act qualifies as sexual harassment can often be ambiguous due to factors such as the specific circumstances, context and a lack of clarity, as the definition of sexual harassment is imprecise. Furthermore, drawing on insights from Henry Greenspan’s (2019) discourse analysis of Holocaust survivors15 and Blandine Veith’s (2010) life history research on migrant women, deliberate positionalities may be assumed during interviews, with informants choosing to omit certain experiences that are challenging to articulate.
The paradoxical discourse observed in our informants could potentially result from such intentional positionalities. Their hesitancy in addressing uncomfortable situations may be explained by an ambivalent standpoint. As per the analysis of Japanese sociologist and feminist Ueno Chizuko (2010), women inadvertently contribute to feelings of self-hatred (jiko-ken’o) and the process of perceiving others as different or alien (tasha-ka). First, women internalise feelings of resentment towards society, and second, they deliberately create distance between themselves and others who experience discrimination or violence in order to avoid being stigmatised. What information can be uncovered when informants employ the strategy of othering to prevent feelings of self-hatred within their limitations? Here are three potential factors that can affect the positioning of the informants.
Hierarchical Relationships with Seniors
Initially, the interviewees found themselves constrained within three restrictive relationships that impede their ability to denounce GBV in their surroundings: commercial relationships with audiences and fans, professional relationships with peers and hierarchical relationships with elders. In the context of the latter, reference is made to Inagaki Kyōko’s (2017) work, which posits that Japanese art worlds embody a distinct concept of master–disciple relationships or ingratitude. The Japanese art world is highly hierarchical—as in the case of orchestra (Ravet, 2015) or opera (Buscatto et al., in this book) in France and, based on the principle of networking, the creative cultural sphere in the UK (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2010).
However, studies by Inagaki (2017) and Ōtera Masako (2021) on harassment in Japanese music colleges emphasise that in the Japanese social context, the master supports the disciple, and the disciple in turn repays the debt owed to the master over a long period. Many of the informants in my research appear to uphold such hierarchical relationships with their older peers, expressing sentiments such as ‘that person has always been good to/taken care of me, so I don’t want to betray them’. Although not explicitly acknowledging the constraints arising from these hierarchical relationships, it appears that they are hesitant to confront instances of GBV, particularly if their senior colleagues fail to acknowledge their grievances seriously. Yuki observed the hierarchical connection within her DJ community and its gendered component. She posited that male DJs place a higher importance on hierarchical relationships compared to their female counterparts. Therefore, women, who are already facing disadvantages, should exercise caution in selecting their male partners in order to uphold their social standing. She witnessed that her romantic involvement with her ex-boyfriend, who was seven years her senior, influenced her male coworker, who was four years older than her, and regards her boyfriend as a mentor, to grant her approval:
Women must be extremely cautious about who they date, or they will be hurt later on. […] Because the man you choose directly affects your future activities. […] It’s like a pretty traditional male-female connection, like the old-fashioned couple feeling. This is ‘my girl’ stuff. It’s difficult to change the old ways (Yuki, July 26, 2023).
Here, the manifestation of societal norms and standards with respect to interpersonal connections becomes evident. Yuki’s discourse implies that women are subject to close examination and judgement depending on their selection of a spouse, which then impacts their social status and engagements. Although Yuki admitted that there are archaic standards, she also suggested that it is hard to question or overthrow them. The notion of conforming to predetermined roles, such as ‘my girl’ or ‘his girlfriend’, highlights the lasting impact of gendered power dynamics paradigms. This leads to the second aspect: the emotional investment.
Emotional Labour and Emotional Blackmail
Second, all the informants exert substantial effort to interact amiably with their audience and colleagues in their professional spheres. The emotional investment involved in this effort can be framed as ‘emotional labour’, a concept elucidated by Arlie Hochschild (1979) in the context of certain service industries. Japanese sociologist Takeda Keiko (2017) has highlighted the emotional labour inherent in the idol business, particularly concerning the relationships with fans. The informants who tolerate the sexist behaviours of their customers appear to be grappling with a similar dynamic. They are expected to maintain a pleasant demeanour towards their customers and refrain from expressing anger, even if confronted with provocative behaviour. It is noteworthy that this expectation for emotional labour is accentuated within the context of seniority relationships, as discussed earlier. Consequently, shaping relationships with colleagues, especially those in more senior positions, becomes a norm.
Precarious Status as Freelance
Third, it is noteworthy that all the informants operate independently, particularly in their musical pursuits, without the backing of an agency. Moreover, within the realm of art worlds, an inherent ambiguity exists in demarcating boundaries between work and nonwork, potentially elucidating the comparatively low level of mobilisation among workers (Takahashi, 2023). Sociologist Takahashi Kaori highlights the awareness within art professions, which often materialises at the intersection of the notions of ‘work’ and ‘inciting things’ (yaritaikoto); ‘work’ pertains to artistic practices adapting to external demands for remuneration, while ‘inciting things’ refers to artistic practice stemming from intrinsic motivation and undertaken for its own sake. Within the domain of artistic occupations, the notion of ‘work’ encompasses meeting external criteria in return for monetary remuneration. This encompasses various assignments, initiatives or duties performed to fulfil the requirements of clients, employers, colleagues or the public. Conversely, ‘inciting things’ refers to artistic pursuits driven by personal enthusiasm and motivation. These are (or are supposed to be) artistic endeavours pursued solely for the pleasure of producing—without the primary objective of financial profit or outward acclaim, as Angela McRobbie (2016) argues in her research on the circumstances of creative labour in Britain. This differentiation emphasises the dual nature that artists frequently encounter: managing the requirement to support themselves financially through their job while fostering their own creative instincts and manifestations. Actors and actresses in these spheres often rely on the latter to safeguard their artistic identity. Consequently, when faced with workplace injustices and possessing limited discretion, they may find themselves in situations where they cannot adapt or manage decisions as they typically would. This phenomenon is not unique to the informants’ experiences but has been demonstrated in other studies encompassing members of musical groups (Nomura, 2023) and amateur idols (Kamioka, 2021, 2023). These performing professions frequently lack fixed contracts and provide few assurances of stable economic situations for the artists involved. In such a precarious environment, the informants may find themselves desensitised to annoying conduct.
Socialised coercion occurs when professional norms and expectations are internalised, making GBV prevention difficult. Drawing on Ueno Chizuko’s theoretical framework (2010), the informants’ ambivalence reflects a complex dynamic between self-loathing and stigma avoidance. These elements reveal the complex social structures that perpetuate GBV in the music industry. In essence, the informants’ deliberate positionalities are deeply entwined with societal expectations, making socioeconomic and cultural contexts crucial to addressing GBV in the music industry.
Conclusion
This research illuminates the pervasive yet overlooked issue of daily harassment faced by the informants in their professional pursuits. The prevalent trivialisation of such experiences, often overlooked or not consciously acknowledged, highlights a significant gap in the recognition of GBV within the Japanese music industry. Persistent advances and seemingly innocuous remarks are inadequately categorised, perpetuating an environment where the concept of violence remains elusive. This lack of recognition is compounded by the presence of restrictive hierarchical relationships, the imposition of emotional labour and an overarching environment that demonstrates limited awareness of women’s rights.
These findings exhibit similarities with patterns observed in other artistic and cultural domains—such as cinema, theatre, opera or other creative works in Western countries, where incidents of harassment and discrimination may also be minimised or disregarded. Within this particular context, it is evident that the Japanese music industry exhibits a distinct characteristic: the hierarchical arrangement of connections within Japanese society, primarily centred around age and mentor–disciple relationships, strengthens the power dynamic between not only men and women, but also men and men, and women and women. This subsequently impacts the professional trajectories of individuals.
The existence of rigid hierarchical structures, along with the enforcement of emotional labour, intensifies the situation, resulting in an environment that displays a lack of understanding regarding women’s rights. The failure to acknowledge GBV is a recurring theme in different fields, which mirrors the wider societal beliefs and systems that enable the continuation of such conduct.
Despite these insights, it is crucial to acknowledge the study’s limitations. The underrepresentation of men in the sample underscores the need for a more diverse participant pool to capture a comprehensive spectrum of experiences. Furthermore, additional research is required to tackle the absence of viewpoints from male actors in the industry. Homosociability contributes to the structure that can perpetuate GBV, as in Patricia Yancey Martin and David L. Collinson’s (1999) or Michele Rene Gregory’s (2009) observations of male homosociability in the workplace. Such studies should encompass a wider spectrum of voices and narratives. Understanding the complex dynamics of relationships between male actors in Japanese social interactions is crucial for comprehending its significant impact on professional experiences and outcomes. In moving forward, addressing these limitations and continuing to investigate the nuanced dynamics within this professional milieu will contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of the challenges faced by individuals, paving the way for informed interventions and policy changes that foster a safer and more equitable working environment.
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1 The scandal surrounding Johnny Kitagawa, founder of Johnny & Associates, revealed decades-long sexual abuse allegations involving underage male trainees in Japan’s music industry. The case highlights systemic issues, including power imbalances, media complicity and inadequate legal protections, while challenging cultural norms that perpetuate silence around abuse. This has sparked calls for reform within the entertainment industry and broader societal accountability.
2 The limited impact of the #MeToo movement in Japan can be attributed to the deeply entrenched patriarchal values and societal norms that discourage open discussions about sexual harassment and gender-based violence (GBV). Hasunuma and Shin (2019) highlight that, unlike in other countries, the #MeToo movement in Japan has progressed more slowly, with fewer women coming forward publicly and those who do often choosing to remain anonymous. This phenomenon is further entrenched by the legislative landscape—which has historically failed to recognise sexual harassment as a criminal offence, perpetuating a culture of impunity (Hasunuma & Shin, 2019).
3 Based on my personal research, the Fuji Rock Festival 2022 featured a total of 163 artists and groups, out of which only 26 were female. In Musicman, a database of the popular music industry that has been widely utilised as a crucial business resource in the sector, the category of ‘musicians’ (background musicians, songwriters and lyricists) also has a low representation of women (42 out of 302), and only 1% of sound engineers are women (2 out of 140).
4 The commodification and gendered image shaping observed in the Helsinki School, as discussed in Chapter 5 by Leena-Maija Rossi and Sari Karttunen, finds resonance in the Japanese idol culture, where hypergendered norms dictate the visual and professional personas of female artists.
5 According to my research on the websites of prominent record labels, such as Avex Japan, Nippon Columbia, Pony Canyon, the Sony Music Group, Universal Music Japan, Victor Entertainment, Warner Music and Yamaha Music Communications, only Pony Canyon has a board composition with more than 10% women, specifically 11.8% (2 out of 17 members).
6 This chapter defines the music industry based on research involving music producers and distributors (Hesmondhalgh, 2018; Hirsch, 1972; Yagi, 2010). The scope of the music industry encompasses four main areas: 1) music creation, which involves individuals such as directors, sound engineers and artists; 2) live performance, which includes professionals such as public address (PA) operators, lighting technicians, event promoters and organisers; 3) music distribution, which involves activities such as promotions, sales and retailing; and 4) music industry copyright work.
7 Author’s research, April 2024.
8 As of the current date in 2024, the only study that has addressed sexual harassment issues in the Japanese music world is Ōtera’s (2021) research on music colleges in Japan.
9 See the Gender Equality Bureau Cabinet Office’s website: https://www.gender.go.jp/policy/no_violence/e-vaw/chousa/h11_top.html
10 The present study primarily focuses on GBV as experienced by cisgender women in the Japanese music industry, reflecting the composition of the sample and the sociocultural context under examination. It is acknowledged, however, that this approach does not fully encompass the experiences of LGBTQIA+ individuals or account for the complexities of non-binary and intersectional identities. Consequently, it is essential for future research to extend the scope of inquiry to encompass diverse gender identities and sexual orientations, thereby addressing the intricate intersections between GBV and these identities.
11 See https://www.jinji.go.jp/seisaku/kinmu/harassment/10-10.html
12 Yukiko Itoh (2022) notes that the term ‘sexual violence’ (seibôryoku) was first used in the early 2010s in Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai (NHK)’s narrative on sexual violence. She examines the actual damage caused by sexual violence and the structural problems that society only became aware of in 2015. Through interviews with victims and actor-narrators, she identifies their hidden realities.
13 Most informants expressed a preference for anonymity; hence, all names attributed to informants in this chapter are pseudonyms.
14 This chapter follows Japanese naming conventions, where the family name precedes the given name (e.g., Nakane Tae). This format is used consistently throughout.
15 Greenspan (2019) characterises silence in his discourse analysis of Holocaust survivors as unsaid, incommunicable, unbearable, and irretrievable. A survivor may choose not to talk about the unspoken, while the things that cannot be communicated are difficult to put into words. Unbearable refers to the intense emotional suffering that survivors may choose not to discuss, while irretrievable describes the loss of loved ones, communities, and a feeling of belonging. Greenspan asserts that his Holocaust survivor research holds great significance, emphasising that it is equally relevant to all of us.