Here's to Yutaka Mataebara, the 'iron man' of The Japan Times

Yutaka Mataebara, the "iron man" of The Japan Times editorial pages, passed away on Oct. 21 at the age of 89.

Mataebara was a pillar of the JT: During his 44 years at the paper until he retired in 2006, he worked in a variety of departments, including a stint as the editor in chief. His longest tenure, some 20 years, was in the ronsetsu (editorial) division, overseeing daily commentary and editorials.

The editorial department during his time there was sometimes referred to as “the morgue” — we labored quietly in contrast to other more boisterous sections of the paper. We followed our leader. Mataebara was a laconic and balanced manager who motivated a diverse group of staffers and contributors — Japanese, foreigners, passers-through, permanent residents, serious journalists and some much less so — to put out one of the most interesting and wide-ranging opinion sections of any daily newspaper in the world.

Mataebara grew up in rural Miyazaki Prefecture in the prewar era. In lighter moments, he regaled his team with tales of his childhood, hunting and farming. One staffer recalls him telling stories of shooting sparrows with an air gun and making yakitori of them. Even late in his career he regularly went home to help manage the property. His rise to the head of the JT translation team — another post he held for some time — was never ordained; he had to overcome his elementary-school English, where the teacher taught such constructions as “monkey tree fall down.”

From Miyazaki he headed to Waseda University. Mataebara recounted with pride his participation in the 1960 student demonstrations against a security treaty with the United States. The protests, he insisted, weren’t motivated by Japan’s intent to sign a treaty with the U.S. but rather by the fact that the man leading that effort was a former suspected war criminal.

At the paper, Mataebara earned a reputation as a tough, silent guy, with a deep well of experience. That contributed to his equanimity and tolerance for other peoples’ idiosyncrasies and made him a good boss. He didn’t — best I could tell — even blink when the editorial board was saddled with a young American with no journalism or Japan experience, who was foisted upon him by the then-publisher, a sometimes mercurial figure who didn’t quite grasp the troubles he sometimes created for the people who worked for him.

Mataebara did, however, expect his team to produce. He did. He worked hard — “like a machine,” said a colleague who worked with him on translating Japanese newswire stories — but was never unreasonable in his demands.

That work ethic was part of something more quintessentially Japanese. One afternoon, we were discussing problems that the JT was encountering as circulation was threatened by new digital media and traditional revenue streams were shrinking because of economic stagnation. Unlike the other English-language papers in Japan, the JT didn’t have a Japanese version to support (or subsidize) its operations.

Yet as fiscal pressures mounted, Mataebara was adamant that he would not balance the books on the back of the labor force. “That’s not how we do business,” he explained with an intensity that he could muster for issues that truly mattered to him.

To those who didn’t know him, Mataebara was an intimidating man. For those of us who had the opportunity to work with him, he was an inspiring boss. He may not have shown a lot of emotion, but he did have a great belly laugh. He was also capable of surprising us.

When I joined the paper in 1991, he took me to lunch to figure out what sort of liability I would be. I naively inquired if he would be having a drink with the meal, which I hoped would give me license to do the same. He raised an eyebrow and made it clear that drinking at lunch was not done.

Several years later, a colleague and I launched the tradition of a Friday lunch, accompanied by an end-of-the-week treat of a glass of wine. Once, despite my friend’s misgivings, I invited Mataebara to join us. (She was worried that he would disapprove of our libation.) After we ordered the meal and the wine, he hesitated for just a second and then joined us for a glass. After that he became a regular at our Friday lunches. Once he even confessed that he often went out with us even when he wasn’t hungry. Colleagues told me that he continued our tradition after my friend and I had left the paper.

Mataebara had a profound influence on me and my understanding of Japan — and I know I was not alone to have benefited from his insight and balance. He was “the last samurai” to many who worked at the JT. We, The Japan Times and its readers were all beneficiaries of his commitment and grace. He will be missed.