Photo by Johnathan F. Lee
Japan’s fueihō (or "entertainment business control law") code governs everything from dancing, to drinking, to sex work, to nightclubs. Since its inception in 1948, the set of laws has technically forbade the existence of nightclubs under 66 square meters in size to allow dancing or for any sized club to allow dancing after midnight or 1 a.m. (depending on the area). For decades, officials turned a blind eye to the code, but in the last five years, police began enforcing the laws, leading to the closure of many dance halls and clubs. That, coupled with factors like the aging of Japan, threatened to decimate the country's clubbing culture. Fearing extinction, several promoters and club owners in the scene organized—through a coalition called Let's Dance—to use the 2020 Olympics as leverage and put political pressure on the government to update the laws. After several failed attempts, they finally forced the government to rewrite some of the code earlier this summer. This revision loosened some of the dancing restrictions and now allows for certain clubs to be open past midnight or 1 a.m. (provided certain stipulations, like having the requisite amount of light in the venue, are met).
But while many impressions in the media presume this revision marks significant progress for Japanese culture, Terre Thaemlitz—an American expat and outspoken trans DJ/producer known as DJ Sprinkles and G.R.R.L.—feels this was a blown opportunity to affect any meaningful change. As it goes with drawing any new social lines, many people—whether club owners operating under the 66 square meter line or queer sex workers (who, unlike their straight counterparts, are not legally allowed to operate)—have been entirely left out of the revisions and public conversation. And now they're forced further toward the margins. I spoke with Thaemlitz about why this perceived victory for Japan is one giant step sideways, if not backwards.
Pitchfork: You wrote an open letter and concluded that the fueihō revisions will not affect the majority of clubs...
Terre Thaemlitz: Right, most clubs do not meet the legal requirements to obtain dance permits. First and foremost is the space requirement, which specifies any dancehall must have a certain amount of uninterrupted space—including no ceiling support pillars, etc.—and it is incredibly hard to find architectural spaces within Japan that meet those requirements. I forget the exact size, but I think it is around 65 square meters? Like, last night I was just playing the opening party at a new club called Arc, and I would classify it as a pretty big venue, yet even they could probably never pass the dancehall application process simply based on architectural limitations. So the fueihō restrictions about curfews, etc., apply to legally licensed dancehalls, but everyone else is operating outside the law. That is how it has always been done here—which is really stressful for club owners and staff.
Pitchfork: What are the punishments that have been handed down and whom does it affect?
TT: There have been a few articles written in English about the Club Noon case in Osaka, which was the most notorious case in recent history, so I would encourage people who are interested to read about that. Basically, legal charges can be brought against club owners and all officially employed staff, and the venues are closed. I believe this results in a legal arrest record for staff, which is a high price to pay for working as a dishwasher or mop-up crew. So these risks also perpetuate off-the-books labor, to protect staff from legal charges, which of course means people are working with no legal protections or benefits, etc. And with closures, the owners generally face bankruptcy. The fueihō codes really do more to perpetuate social problems than resolve or 'protect' anything or anyone! It's the truly obscene aspect of all this obscenity law stuff.
Pitchfork: Have you ever witnessed a club shut down yourself or been taken to jail for any of your involvement?
TT: No. I have had police enter rooms I was playing. It was more common a few years ago. But not lately. Generally, the club staff keep an eye on police patrols, and if the cops come they quickly rush to turn down the volume of the sound system, which quickly breaks the mood and generally stops people from dancing. This is a quicker and more discreet way of stopping the dancing than making an announcement—although they usually also move through the crowd personally asking people to stop dancing momentarily until the cops are gone. Sometimes the audience doesn't understand what is happening, and can start to shout or complain—especially foreigners with little understanding of the context—but things usually stay pretty calm, which is good.
Pitchfork: Is there any meaningful opposition within Japan to the 2020 Olympics? It seems like some countries have slowly started to wake up to the fact that large-scale games like this can break local economies.
TT: Yes, absolutely! But as in most countries, it makes no difference. The Olympics are too fucking powerful. I fucking hate sports—they generate so much fucking nationalism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, racism, economic exploitation, displacement of communities to build fucking worthless bankrupt stadiums.
Here in Japan, one of the big crimes of Olympic preparations is the fact that all of the nation's construction workers are being preoccupied with building things in Tokyo, and as a direct result of this, the country has still been unable to build housing for those dislocated from Fukushima after the 2011 nuclear disaster because there are not enough people to do the work! The Olympics take priority. It's fucking heartless. Not so different from the stories of Chinese farmers going without water for crops in order to make the river prettier during the Beijing games. What the fuck. How can anyone watch the Olympics? I can't understand it. Really. Boycott that shit, people!
Pitchfork: What keeps you in Japan? Do you ever plan on leaving or do you ever flirt with that idea?
TT: I hope to remain in Japan for the rest of my life—although who knows how things can change here, with Prime Minister Abe and his league of doom at the helm. I keep my U.S. passport as an escape route. I am always very clear that my ability to live here is based on my past experiences in the U.S. It is not about Japan being so fucking amazing. As far as I am concerned, humans are a shit species, so there's nowhere in this world to get overly excited about. It's more about safety in daily life, the absence of guns and class-A drugs, the way people in the street ignore those they dislike rather than lash out verbally or physically. Like, if I'm in drag on the subway, I might get one or two silent looks, but nobody shoving me or shouting "Faggot!" At the same time, if I was born in Japan, I am sure I would not want to live here—just as I cannot imagine myself being emotionally able to return to the U.S. now.
Pitchfork: What are concrete steps to meaningfully revise these laws in a way that allows more freedom to use one's body? How can these coalitions of DJs and club-related people—or anyone, really—express any power in this system?
TT: The lawyer involved in the fueihō revisions describe it as a baby step process. They expect further revisions, bit by bit, that will eventually allow small clubs to be legally licensed, etc. I am skeptical about the types of concessions that will be given to the police in that process. I mean, the police have way too much political power here. Actually, the fueihō revisions were supposed to be put to a vote many months ago—the date was set. I don't remember exactly, but I think it was supposed to be in June 2014? Or maybe after that. Anyway, this was after a couple of years of hard negotiating between lawyers and politicians, and everyone was really glad to have finally reached a consensus. But literally the day before the vote, the police entered and told the politicians the revisions were unacceptable and they would rewrite the proposal themselves to submit for the formal vote. And the politicians immediately conceded. And months later, the revisions as rewritten by the police were put to a vote, and approved. It's pretty scary to think that kind of thing happens in relation to national legislation. As part of those changes, the police now have more direct control over what is defined as legal and moral entertainment. One of my lawyer friends thinks it's not a big deal, but for me it's super scary to think about how that can be abused, and what restrictions it places on the public—not only in terms of who can get arrested for doing what today, but how it limits future possibilities of public 'perversity.'
The coalition of DJs who issued that "Declaration on the Future of Japan's Club Culture" is meaningless. They are just a PR mechanism to appease conservatives, and a tool of the lawyers attempting to sell an image of club goers as socially upright. Their argument is that clubs should not fall under the fueihō code since they have nothing to do with sex work and other things at the core of the morality code. In social terms, it's a pretty big 'fuck you' to other communities affected by the fueihō—to have all of this legal mobilization around revising the morality codes, yet refuse to address the notion of morality itself. That's politically irresponsible. In my eyes, it's a form of cultural violence.
I don't know how we can express power within that system. But I know that the entirety of Japanese club culture has evolved despite the law, parallel to the law, simultaneous to the law. So I would like to think that other types of activities will continue, despite how that dominant system attempts to perpetuate itself and be 'all-inclusive' simply to apply restrictions more effectively. As I said, most of the clubs here are not legal dancehalls anyway, but in the spaces in which I interact with people—owners, staff, clientele—I see them attempting to interact with each other in ways that allow them to continue to hold events with as little police intervention as possible. That is a type of strength and organizing, for sure. And club staff have their own ways of doing things to keep the cops out.
Pitchfork: Can you explain how these laws extend to affect queer and transgendered communities?
TT: Queer sex work generally does not meet fueihō requirements for legal licensing, so it happens in illegal spaces, and in illegal ways. That has always been the case. As you can see, there is a constant pattern of that which has happened and continues happening despite being outside the licensing regulations of the law, and this kind of liberal-minded attempt to bring people into the fueihō code as a means of "public protection".
It seems evident that the more profound, helpful, and meaningful way to protect people is to dismantle the morality code, and grant people the freedom to openly organize without legal risks—rather than attempting to legally regulate everything, which will always enact social exclusions at some level. I mean, these kinds of laws never protect anyone, despite claiming to be all about protecting the public. Each legal restriction only strengthens the power of mafia and crime organising who step in to help people do what the law says they can't do, in every country. This is indisputable. Within all of this enforcement of "morality," there is no sense of how to morally, ethically, or fairly help people live safer lives. It's all about banishment or punishment or forced destitution—all of which creates more desperation, and more social risk-taking by people in moments of crisis.