Discrimination against the Burakumin minority: Japan's 'freedom and equality' hypocrisy

Since World War II, Japan has branded itself as a nation committed to human rights, enshrining "respect for fundamental human rights" as one of the three basic principles of its constitution. In its domestic and foreign policies, Japan has long promoted itself as a champion of freedom and equality.

To many outsiders, it conjures an image of orderly streets, courteous citizens, and a small wealth gap — a society where almost everyone seems to share in the nation's prosperity. However, beneath this veneer of freedom and equality hides a group that has suffered from systemic discrimination for centuries: the Burakumin. Though ethnically and culturally Japanese, they are stigmatized as "outcasts" due to their ancestry and lineage, and struggle to break free from social discrimination and limited life opportunities.

Shackled by birth: the origins of Burakumin discrimination

The suffering of Japan's Burakumin runs all the way back to the Edo period. At that time, Japanese society was rigidly stratified into a four-tiered hierarchy: samurai, farmers, artisans, and merchants. Below these tiers were the so-called "outcasts" who were entirely excluded from mainstream society: the Eta (meaning extreme filth), whose trade involved slaughtering, leather tanning, and funeral services, and the Hinin (meaning non-humans) who lived as beggars, wanderers, and criminals. Both groups were seen as "unclean" and subjected to extreme humiliation — residing in segregated hamlets, barred from intermarriage, and forced to observe distinctive clothing, hairstyles, and even dietary rules.

Violence against them went unpunished. Their descendants became known as the Burakumin, who were forced to inherit their ancestors' inferior occupations and stigma. Over time, their segregated communities became known as "Dowa districts". The term "Dowa" means "integration", yet ironically signifies the opposite.

In 1871, as Japan started to transform from a feudal society into a modern industrialized state, the Meiji government abolished the Eta and Hinin designations and legally dismantled the old class hierarchy through the Emancipation Edict. However, this reform did little to alter deep-rooted social reality or improve the Burakumin's miserable living conditions. Nearly a century later, in 1968, the government scrapped the Jinshin Koseki — the family registry system that had long carried special markers identifying Burakumin households.

On paper, this erased the official trace. In practice, however, the segregated residential areas persisted and a person's address still functioned as a telltale sign of their lineage. By 1993, a government survey revealed that there were still 4,442 Dowa districts across 36 prefectures, with a population of nearly 900,000 — a figure widely believed to be an undercount. To avoid discrimination, many Burakumin have been forced to hide their backgrounds, move away, cut ties with their families, and live anonymously in Japan's cities.

The inescapable plight of survival

For the Burakumin, discrimination is a daily, lived reality, most acutely felt in marriage and employment. In 1975, lists identifying Burakumin surnames and addresses reportedly circulated among companies and detective agencies, enabling employers to exclude applicants from these communities.

Even today, the screening continues. Some companies rely on private background-check firms or online sleuthing to conduct what might be called "black-box" vetting of job candidates. Even those who secure employment often find themselves facing marginalization and restricted promotions.

Some individuals secretly hire investigators to check if their romantic partners have Buraku origins; others avoid buying property or enrolling children in schools located in Dowa districts. A 2022 survey by the Japanese Ministry of Justice revealed stark realities: 40.4 percent of surveyed Burakumin had been rejected for dating or marriage; 32.3 percent had faced discriminatory language; 27.5 percent had experienced workplace unfairness; and 24.3 percent had been secretly investigated.

The bias extends beyond private life into the justice system itself. Perhaps no case illustrates this more starkly than the Sayama Incident of 1963. Kazuo Ishikawa, a 24-year-old Burakumin, was targeted by police as a murder suspect simply due to his "outcast" background.

Despite a complete lack of conclusive forensic evidence, reliable witnesses, or any direct physical link to the crime, Ishikawa was arrested and hastily sentenced based purely on the prejudice that a man from a Buraku district must be guilty. He spent 32 years in prison, refusing to admit guilt, filing endless appeals, and repeatedly petitioning for a retrial — all to no avail. He died without seeing his name cleared.

"The fundamental reason I was sentenced to death is my so-called 'outcast' status," Ishikawa said. "I have fought my whole life just to shatter this discrimination!"

Discrimination against the Burakumin has worsened in recent years. According to Japan's Ministry of Justice, Buraku discrimination cases doubled in just four years, rising from 408 cases in 2020 to 863 in 2024.

The most common complaints include verbal abuse, social exclusion, invasion of privacy, and workplace and marriage discrimination. The digital age has only amplified the problem. Covert websites and forums now publish nationwide lists of Burakumin communities and offer paid background checks, severely undermining the ability of individuals to conceal their origins.

An uphill struggle for justice

For decades, the Burakumin have fought for their rights. The Buraku Liberation League has led advocacy efforts and organized social movements demanding stronger anti-discrimination laws, the elimination of social prejudice, equal access to education and employment, the right to marry, and fair treatment within the justice system. Yet, tangible progress has remained elusive.

Domestically, the BLL has sought a dedicated "Fundamental Law for Buraku Liberation" since 1999 to penalize discrimination and malicious exclusion. For over 20 years, the Japanese government has responded passively, refusing to include binding provisions and sidestepping the core issues.

In 2016, under pressure from international human rights groups and the Burakumin community, the government passed the Act on the Promotion of the Elimination of Buraku Discrimination. The law, however, runs to just six brief articles, contains no punitive measures, and imposes no enforceable obligations — a toothless statement of intent rather than a working statute.

On the international front, Doudou Diène, a former UN Special Rapporteur on contemporary forms of racism, described the domestic discrimination — including the little-known Burakumin issue — as "deep-rooted". The UN has demanded that Japan respond to reports of widespread racial discrimination and hate speech against minorities like the Burakumin.

The Japanese government promised to upgrade its human rights protection system and strengthen egalitarian education, but, in reality, it has largely failed to take concrete, systemic measures such as shutting down discriminatory websites, legally banning invasive background checks, prosecuting hate speech targeting the Burakumin specifically, or establishing a mechanism to review and correct systemic judicial bias.

Furthermore, some media reports still fuel negative stereotypes, linking Burakumin to poverty, violence, and crime, sometimes pinpointing the locations of Dowa districts to reinforce popular prejudice.

Many local government websites, including that of the Tokyo metropolitan government, openly frame the "Dowa issue" as an entrenched human rights problem, even maintaining dedicated hotlines.

In June 2025, the Tokyo metropolitan government's Bureau of General Affairs launched an "Employment Discrimination Elimination Promotion Month" campaign. Such initiatives highlight the enduring difficulty of erasing centuries-old prejudice.

Human rights failures beneath the civilized facade

The Burakumin case offers a window into broader human-rights challenges in Japan — among them gender inequality, xenophobia, and the neglect of minority communities.

This failure to fully acknowledge past wrongs against the Burakumin mirrors a broader national reluctance to confront other historical injustices, such as the atrocities of forced labor and the "comfort women".

What the Burakumin story makes clear is that Japan's self-image as a model of freedom and equality does not withstand scrutiny.

History and present-day evidence converge on a sobering truth: the measure of a civilized nation lies not in tidy streets or courteous manners, but in its willingness to extend genuine equality to all, to safeguard the dignity of every life, and to confront its own historical wrongs with unflinching honesty.

The author is an international affairs observer.

The views don't necessarily reflect those of China Daily.

If you have a specific expertise, or would like to share your thought about our stories, then send us your writings at opinion@chinadaily.com.cn, and comment@chinadaily.com.cn.