TOKYO, Japan / The Japan Times / Life in Japan / May 16, 2010
COUNTERPOINT
By Roger Pulvers
Every generation has its theme song.
I was contemplating this quaint truism when trying to
pinpoint a tune that would neatly sum up the mores of the men and women
who grew to adulthood in Japan between 1960 and 1985, the era of rapid
and spectacular economic expansion.
Was it 1961's jolly "Sukiyaki Song," with its uplifting
lyric, "Let's walk with our eyes to the sky?" Or, conversely, could it
be the sorrowful lament of Hibari Misora's 1966 hit, "Kanashii Sake"
("Sad Sake"): "Drinking all alone in a bar / I can taste the tears of
parting?"
Actually, it was "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," the 1933
American hit by Jerome Kern and Otto Harbach, that came to mind under
the clear skies of Golden Week.
And not only in your eyes, but also in your nose, mouth
and all over your clothing. This association of Japan with smoking rose
up like a toxic cloud before my eyes thanks to something that happened
this month far away from Japan, in Australia.
But first, why "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"?
I am often asked about my first impression upon
arriving in Japan in 1967. It is, hands down, cigarette smoke wherever
you went. Mind you, the developed countries of the West could not take
much of a healthier-than-thou attitude on that, since the consciousness
there regarding the dangers to public health posed by tobacco was only
in its formative stage at the time. I had spent the earlier part of 1967
in France, a country whose intellectuals identified much more
profoundly with their Gauloises cigarettes than they did with de Gaulle,
their leader.
Just look at the smoking rates for Japan, a place with
no restrictions on where people could puff away. For Japanese males:
1965, 82 percent; 1976, 75 percent; 1980, 70 percent; 1985, 65 percent.
The corresponding percentages for the United States, where, from the
mid-'60s, the anti-smoking campaign began to take hold: 52, 41, 37, 33.
Related report
Japan Tobacco’s Gallaher move catches light
People in Japan generally lit up without asking those
around if it might bother them. In addition, I cannot recall a single
public place — be it a restaurant, business office or university common
room — where it was possible to escape the effects of passive smoking.
In the good old days, we were all smokers.
Japan Tobacco’s Gallaher move catches light
The anti-smoking campaign here started to pick up
steam, if you will, in the 1980s. Japan Tobacco was, until 1985, a
state-owned and state-controlled monopoly, with profits flowing into
government coffers. When the tide finally started to turn in Japan, as
well, in favor of restrictions — such as warnings on cigarette packets —
the government opted for the ultra-mild: "For our health, let's try not
to smoke too much."
The tobacco industry, newly privatized (in 1985),
sought to smarten their game and polish their image with some catchy
slogans. Two that spring to mind sound as ludicrous to our ear today as
they did then. "Always Keep an Ashtray in Your Heart" . . . or, my
absolute favorite, a classic of the adman's art . . . "The Ashtray is
Sunday for Your Heart."
As for me, working in Tokyo during the heady 1980s,
passive smoke affected not only my lungs but my wallet as well. Whenever
I got home, my wife would make me strip and leave my clothes, reeking
of smoke, at the door. Not only was this tricky when there were guests
in the living room, but it also added tens of thousands of yen to the
dry-cleaning bill.
So why Australia all of a sudden?
Well, two weeks ago, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd
announced an increase of between A$2 and A$3 in the price of a standard
pack of 25 cigarettes — effective immediately — so taking the cost up to
approximately A$15 (about ¥1,200), which is more than three times the
cost in Japan. Estimates are that this price hike will cut the smoking
rate by 2 to 3 percent, and will generate an extra A$5 billion in
government revenue — all of which is earmarked to fund health and
hospital initiatives.
But an even more startling announcement by Mr. Rudd
inaugurates a world's-first policy.
From Jan. 1, 2012, all brands will be sold in plain
brown boxes with photos of cigarette damage to health and bold-face
warnings on the front. Brand names will appear colorless in an identical
font style and size at the bottom. This policy sounds the death knell
for the stylish identifications made by advertisers — that Marlboro men
are all John Waynes in disguise and Virginia Slims girls are snakelike
Kate Mosses just waiting to shed. The government wants to cut the
smoking rate — now 26.5 percent for men and 20 percent for women — to an
overall 10 percent by 2018.
As for Japan Tobacco Inc., now known as JT for short,
the company accounts for two-thirds of all cigarettes sold in Japan,
contributing the equivalent of more than $3 billion to the government,
which still owns a controlling share in the company. And although the
smoking rate among Japanese males has now dropped to 43 percent, it
still represents a huge number of addicted consumers.
JT's ad mavens are older and shrewder. Their
advertising is greener than green, both in color and conceptual design.
They are now emphasizing the manners surrounding smoking, both personal
and public. This has two effects. It encourages smokers to be mindful of
the comfort and rights of non-smokers. But more crucial for the tobacco
industry, it gives smokers the impression that they have a choice of
whether to smoke or not, thereby refuting the fact that tobacco is a
highly addictive drug that, according to the United Nation's health
agency, the World Health Organization, will account for 50 percent of
the deaths of young people who take up the habit now.
JT's self-stated mission purports to emphasize "the
diversity of societies and individuals." This is code for creating ads
that target small groups of people, categorized by gender, age, ethnic
bonds, etc. It is an advertising campaign that covers the wolf of profit
in the soft fleece of consideration.
Certainly, public habits are changing in this country,
with more and more locations becoming smoke free. But such regulations
are not the biggest threat to the tobacco industry. That would come from
a simple price rise. Surveys show that approximately half of Japanese
smokers say they would try to quit if the price of a pack went to ¥500
or more.
JT is feeling the pinch of progress. Even though
protected by their masters in government, they are on the defensive.
"Our customers are beginning to feel marginalized,"
says Toshimasa Kurita, head of the Environment Creation Division of JT.
(C) The Japan Times
