Toshihiro Nakayama | Motohiro Tsuchiya, Vice-President / Professor, Graduate School of Media and Governance
May 31, 2022
The first time I met Toshihiro Nakayama was when I was in the Doctoral Programs. After finishing a presentation at a study group, I went outside and saw Nakayama-san with a shaved head and sunglasses. The organizer of the study group called out to him, "You should have come in," to which he replied with a shy smile, "No, I was late, so I just wanted to say hello."
Later, I had the opportunity to join a study group that Nakayama-san organized at The Japan Institute of International Affairs. When I asked him, "Why the shaved head?" he laughed and said, "It helps me build a rapport when I talk to American military personnel."
When I saw him again a while later, his hair had grown out quite a bit. "What's with the change of heart?" I asked. "Well, that hairstyle doesn't go over so well at a women's university," he said. He had moved from The Japan Institute of International Affairs to Tsuda University.
I was repeatedly amazed by the depth of Nakayama-san's insights when he spoke about trends in American politics. I was very surprised to learn that the origin of this depth was his doctoral dissertation, which analyzed the Communist Party in the United States. Once, when I was talking about Nakayama-san with a high-ranking Japanese government official, he remarked, "I think Nakayama-san was the first to notice the rise of the religious right in America." He had an outstanding ability to read through various literature and identify the undercurrents at play.
Nakayama-san, who had gone from Aoyama Gakuin Senior High School to Aoyama Gakuin University and then to graduate school to earn his doctorate, returned from Tsuda University to Aoyama Gakuin University's Faculty of International Political Economy, where he was seen as a promising talent who would carry Aoyama Gakuin on his shoulders. However, it seems he was also troubled by the sheer volume of work entrusted to him precisely because he was an "Aoyama Gakuin native."
It was then that fate brought him to Keio. One time, while we were having a drink, he told me, "Actually, I was about to finalize a move to another university. But I turned it down." When I asked why, he said, "My father graduated from Keio, and he loved it. He's on his sickbed now, and when I told him, 'I'm going to be a professor at Keio,' I don't think he understood much of anything anymore, but he seemed so happy."
I think many people thought Nakayama-san was a scary person because of his somewhat intimidating appearance and his straightforward arguments on television. But the real Nakayama-san was very shy, always considerate of others, and a kind person who constantly viewed himself and others objectively, always thinking about what was best. When I asked him for a favor, saying, "Nakayama-san, I'm counting on you," he would gently decline, "No, no, I'm not cut out for that sort of thing." But if I pleaded with him enough times, he would eventually agree.
When he gave advice to close friends, it was always frank and appropriate. He would persuade me logically and repeatedly, saying, "This is the way to go." Although he didn't often say it, he was a person who observed others closely. In fact, it was Nakayama-san who strongly supported the decisions of myself and later Tomoki Kamo to become the Dean of the Faculty of Policy Management. The three of us had so many secret talks. We would talk for hours over drinks. After the COVID-19 pandemic began, we exchanged countless emails and text messages. We had many late-night Zoom calls. Whenever I asked for his advice, he always made time for me. And at the end, he would always narrow his eyes and give me a smile.
I heard the news of Nakayama-san's passing in Washington, D.C., a city he loved. I was discussing trans-Pacific security with people from Japan and the U.S. who knew him well when I got a call from Kamo-san. Normally, I wouldn't take a call during a meeting. But the day before, I had received word that Nakayama-san had collapsed. Thinking it was news that he had regained consciousness, I left the room to take the call. My knees gave way.
I am writing this on a flight from Washington, D.C., to Los Angeles, on my way back to Japan earlier than planned. At first, I had no motivation to do anything and just sat in my seat, staring blankly around me. The previous week, a court had ruled that masks were no longer required on public transportation. People on the plane were not wearing masks and were chatting away. I imagine if Nakayama-san saw these people, he would narrow his eyes and give a wry smile. When that thought crossed my mind, I suddenly felt the urge to write about him.
Though slightly older and often saying, "I'm not that type of person," Nakayama-san was a leader of our generation, respected at SFC, at Keio University, and beyond Japan. When he switched into gear and spoke about America or Japan-U.S. relations, everyone listened intently.
During a webinar on Japan-U.S. relations, an acquaintance asked me, "How are you?" I replied, "I'm not okay. I've lost a dear friend." "I know! I'm so sorry about Toshi." So many people truly share this profound sorrow.
The time I spent with Nakayama-san was an irreplaceable part of my life.
Nakayama-san, thank you so much for everything. Please continue to give me your advice in my dreams.