Chinese man spray-paints word ‘toilet’ and urinates on Tokyo shrine
South China Morning Post
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KudankitaJapan 35° N · 139° E Verified Aug 2026
Tokyo's official cherry blossom season begins at a single tree here—yet Yasukuni also enshrines 2.46 million war dead, including 14 Class-A war criminals.
Why does a shrine that enshrines 2,466,532 human souls keep no graves, no urns, no bone fragments anywhere on its grounds? The question begins before you pass the 25-meter steel torii at Yasukuni Shrine in Kudankita, Tokyo, Japan, and it only sharpens as you walk the tree-lined approach past bronze lanterns, a hulking 1930s museum, and a Noh stage. You visit not for postcard calm but to stand inside Japan's most contested living memorial—where daily Shinto ritual, unresolved war guilt, and the machinery of the modern state all hum under the same crows.
By a quirk of botany, the official start of Tokyo's cherry-blossom season is declared from a single Somei Yoshino tree near the Noh stage. But Yasukuni rewards looking twice: behind the main sanctuary, behind a steel fence, sits a tiny 1965 shrine built to pacify the souls of Japan's enemies and Meiji rebels, too.
Inside the Yushukan museum, a Zero fighter and a human torpedo face rows of last letters from conscripts; outside, white homing pigeons flap above the sumo ring where grand champions still perform in April. The air is not quiet. It carries tour-bus engines, camera clicks, and, on certain dates, the chants of nationalists and the silence of protesters.
Still, the shrine's daily rhythm continues. Priests in pale robes carry offerings through the oratory at dawn, as they have since 1869. The grounds themselves are not ancient—they are an invented tradition with a real register, and that register is still being read aloud.
History
Yasukuni is a shrine made of paper. Its real holy object is not the Honden's cypress frame or the bronze torii; it is the Reijibo, a set of bound registers holding 2,466,532 names, written in ink by hand and continuously used since 1869. Every morning, priests still offer food, water, and norito prayers to those names. No graves, no ashes. Just a list, and a daily ritual that has not stopped through empire, firebombing, occupation, or scandal.
That continuity is exactly what makes the place strange. Most Shinto tradition once treated death as ritual pollution, leaving funerals to Buddhist temples. Yasukuni inverts that: death in service to Japan, even death by court-ordered execution, becomes a deity. The same spring and autumn festivals, sumo dedications, and Noh performances have filled this ground for over 150 years.
The turning point
For much of the post-war period, Yasukuni seemed to have settled into a careful role: a private shrine for the war dead, visited by Emperor Hirohito eight times between the late 1940s and 1975, its rituals publicly scheduled. Most visitors in 1978 would have seen only the familiar autumn festival—lanterns, offerings, elderly veterans in dark suits bowing before the Honden.
But Chief Priest Nagayoshi Matsudaira saw a gap in the register. Fourteen men convicted as Class-A war criminals by the Tokyo Tribunal had not been enshrined alongside ordinary soldiers. He believed the shrine's founding logic demanded their inclusion: everyone who died in service had a place on the list. He faced a brutal choice—enshrine the fourteen and risk alienating the emperor, or leave them out and break the shrine's promise that every war dead belongs on the list.
On the night of 17 October 1978, during the Autumn Grand Festival, Matsudaira and a small circle of priests sealed themselves inside the Honden and wrote those fourteen names into the Reijibo. No photograph, no public announcement, no message to the Imperial Household. When Emperor Hirohito learned what had happened, he never set foot in Yasukuni again. Neither did his son or grandson. Now, when you stand before the Honden during the autumn festival, you are looking at the exact spot where a priest's ink changed what an emperor was willing to visit.
Yes, with a caveat: this is not a neutral photo stop. The shrine enshrines 2,466,532 war dead, no bodies, just names brushed onto paper soul registers, and Chief Priest Nagayoshi Matsudaira secretly added 14 Class-A war criminals to those registers in October 1978. Still, the free grounds hold a 25-meter steel torii, a Zero fighter, and the Chinreisha, a tiny shrine honoring all war dead, including Japan's enemies.
Thirty minutes covers the main approach and worship hall; two hours lets you do the Yushukan museum properly. The museum's own route is designed as a 120-minute course. Add another hour if you want the pond garden behind the main sanctuary and the Chinreisha tucked in the trees.
Take the Tokyo Metro Tozai, Hanzomon, or Toei Shinjuku line to Kudanshita Station and use Exit 1. You'll see the 25-meter steel torii gate about 3 minutes later. The shrine sits at 3-1-1 Kudankita, Chiyoda-ku, on a hill above the Imperial Palace moat.
Late March to early April, when the shrine's own cherry tree declares spring for all of Tokyo. The Japan Meteorological Agency checks one specific Somei Yoshino tree near the Noh stage; when 5 to 6 flowers open, Tokyo's cherry blossom season officially begins. July 13-16 brings Mitama Matsuri, with 30,000 yellow lanterns and Bon Odori dancing. Avoid August 15 unless you want riot police and loudspeaker vans.
Yes, the grounds and main worship hall cost nothing. The Yushukan museum charges ¥1,000 for adults, but the ground-floor hall with the Mitsubishi Zero fighter and the C56 steam locomotive is free. Grounds open at 6:00 and close at 18:00 from March to October, 17:00 in winter.
Don't miss the Chinreisha, a small wooden shrine hidden behind the main sanctuary that honors all war dead, including Japan's enemies. Chief Priest Fujimaro Tsukuba commissioned it in 1965, and most visitors walk right past it. Also worth your time: the 1887 bronze torii gate cast by the Imperial Artillery Arsenal, the largest in Japan, and the free Zero fighter in the Yushukan lobby.
In October 1978, Chief Priest Nagayoshi Matsudaira secretly enshrined 14 Class-A war criminals from the Tokyo Trials, including wartime Prime Minister Hideki Tojo. Emperor Hirohito never visited again after learning of the enshrinement, and no emperor has since. The shrine also holds roughly 21,000 Koreans and 28,000 Taiwanese who died in Japanese uniform; their families have sued to remove the names, but the shrine says once a soul merges with the kami, separation is impossible.
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