"Bluebottle fly" was what he says he was called by the police. But freelance journalist Shunsuke Yamaoka is now getting a buzz from watching the law deal with wrongdoers he exposed.

For any reporter, that -- and the headline stories he has written along the way -- would be achievement enough. But for a freelance journalist who took on the mighty consumer loan company Takefuji Corp. -- without the support and protection afforded by a major media organization -- that achievement is little short of astonishing.

Yamaoka, though, has suffered a lot along the way. The struggle he's been engaged in is, however, a clear illustration of the challenges faced by lone journalists in Japan who choose to scrutinize areas of national life that many movers and shakers would prefer remained hidden from public view.

In this case, the story goes back to 2000, when Yamaoka wrote an article for the features journal Bessatsu Takarajima, in which he suggested that a consumer loan company whose name had the initial T had been window-dressing its accounts. Tokyo-based Takefuji Corp. promptly -- and successfully -- sued the publisher, Takarajimasha Inc., and Yamaoka, and was awarded 3 million yen damages.

But as we now know, victory in that civil action wasn't enough for Takefuji. For his pains, between December 2000 and February 2001 the company also had Yamaoka's home phone tapped.

"I had my suspicions," said Yamaoka. "A source warned me that my lines were bugged. But at the time I had no proof."

What was to lift the lid on this and other nefarious goings-on was a meeting Yamaoka had some 18 months later with Kazuhiro Nakagawa, a former Takefuji employee. Then, on Sept. 27, 2002, Nakagawa told him information and showed him documents that seemed to suggest Takefuji may have engaged in illegal activities. According to Yamaoka, the documents included a list of beer coupons distributed to police officers, a list of the criminal records of gangsters and Takefuji employees, and tape-recordings of conversations on his home phone.

"I couldn't believe my eyes," said Yamaoka. "It was just too much to swallow all at once."

At another meeting soon after, Nakagawa told Yamaoka that he, too, had been involved in tapping his phone -- an admission that both men knew put Nakagawa's neck on the block. But Nakagawa was desperate and reportedly told police he was nearly 50 million yen in debt.

"For most whistle-blowers, it is not just about justice and honor," said Yamaoka. "They usually come to me with something on their minds. And in Nakagawa's case, he was at fault in a few ways as well -- and one of them was gambling."

To pay off his debts, Nakagawa urgently needed money. To write his scoop, Yamaoka needed the documents -- but he couldn't have paid for them even if he wished to. So, Yamaoka did the only thing he could think of, which was to introduce Nakagawa to Cho Man Gil, a man known for his "connections."

Cho then let it be known that he had this information, and eventually copies of some of the material got into the hands of a company executive called Tadao Sakashita, and his son Tadaaki.

In April 2003, the father and son were arrested for attempting to extort 100 million yen from Takefuji -- a company reportedly then valued at 550 billion yen. As police connected the dots, Nakagawa and Cho were arrested on related charges a month later. All of the four except Nakagawa were subsequently charged and tried following those arrests. On July 28, 2003, the Sakashitas were found guilty and handed suspended jail sentences -- 2 1/2 years for the father, one year for his son -- while Cho's trial is ongoing.

"I can see why it would look suspicious," said Yamaoka. "But the truth is Nakagawa had no intention of blackmailing Takefuji. And in the end, Nakagawa was not prosecuted for attempted extortion."

However, two days after Nakagawa's arrest, Yamaoka was called to the police station where he was being detained. There, he said, not only was he was accused of being in on the attempted extortion, but an officer also called him a "bluebottle fly" for buzzing around the Nakagawa information looking for dirt.

"That was discrimination against freelance journalists," said Yamaoka. "Just because you are freelance, people automatically assume that you are untrustworthy and would do anything to make money."

But none of that stopped Yamaoka and fellow freelance journalist Yu Terasawa, who continued to write article after article for news magazines on Takefuji's alleged illegal activities, based on Nakagawa's information.

On May 30, 2003, Yamaoka also held a press conference to announce his intention of filing criminal complaints of wiretapping against Takefuji's founder and chairman Yasuo Takei, the whistle-blower Nakagawa, and private investigator Kazuo Shigemura, who he alleged actually installed the tap. Although hardly any of the media reported on the story, nearly 100 people showed up -- most of them media representatives.

"I don't know if it's true, but I heard there was a rumor that I was about to be arrested for extortion, so the reporters were given orders to get a picture of me," Yamaoka said to partly explain this paradox.

While the two journalists were taking action, though, Takefuji was not just sitting back waiting. The giant nationwide company fought back through its Web site, where it posted searing criticisms of each of Yamaoka's and Terasawa's "libelous" published stories.

Not only that, but Takefuji brought the law to bear against Yamaoka and Terasawa as well. Beginning in May 2003, the company began firing civil suits at the journalists alleging defamation and demanding damages from them totaling hundreds of millions of yen.

It was two regular freelance journalists versus a man ranked 62nd in this year's Forbes list of billionaires worldwide. In terms of financial resources, the odds were loaded against them, but still they did not give up.

For them, the first powerful ray of hope came in July 2003, when the Metropolitan Police Department punished three officers for passing to Takefuji the criminal records of its employees, and also of gang members (supposedly so the company could beware lending them money). At the same time, it came to light that 14 MPD officers, including the three, had accepted nearly 1,000 beer coupons from Takefuji between 1993 and 2001.

Then, on Dec. 2, 2003, Takei was arrested on suspicion of ordering the wiretapping.

Six days later, after admitting he ordered the wiretapping, Takei resigned his post as chairman of Takefuji, and in January 2004, Takefuji posted an apology on its Web site to numerous publishers and journalists, including Terasawa and Yamaoka. Then, in February and March, Takefuji withdrew its civil suits for defamation against both journalists. And finally, in June, the Takei family sold 39 billion yen of its stocks in the company, reportedly en route to reducing its holding to under 50 percent, from the 70 percent it had been. The family was quoted as saying they took this action "to regain public trust in the company."

Meanwhile, Nakagawa was arrested in June 2003 for embezzlement of Takefuji company documents, then he was arrested for wiretapping that November -- charges which together resulted in him being handed a three-year suspended jail term this May. The following month, the private investigator Shigemura was handed a 1 1/2-year suspended jail term for wiretapping.

"It was because I was a freelance writer that I got this far," said Yamaoka. "If I had worked for a major media organization, I couldn't have written it because they rely too much on advertisements. It is basically self-imposed control of editorial content by the media for commercial reasons."

As a 17-year veteran of freelance writing, Yamaoka covers a broad field, from politics and corporate scandals to the economy and education. On the other hand, Terasawa, who supported and fought alongside Yamaoka throughout the Takefuji episode, focuses on one thing -- police corruption.

Digging deep, Terasawa has found countless proverbial skeletons in law-enforcers' closets. Out of these, he has written a series of articles on connections between gangsters and the police; a woman who was subjected to an act of obscenity by an officer while being held in a detention house; and a private detective agency run mostly by former policemen that was given access to criminal records and other confidential police information. As a result of his reporting, more than 10 officers have been driven to resign, and many, many more have been punished.

"I have been basically uncovering all of the hidden criminal activities by the police," said Terasawa. "And there are just so many of them that the list is endless."

However, from the 15 years Terasawa has been a freelance journalist, he can recount more than his share of run-ins with the police.

One time, he says he was followed all the way down from Tokyo to Fukushima Prefecture by police in an unmarked vehicle, and had to switch cars with a friend to shake them off and to protect an informant he was about to meet. In addition, he also claims to have been beaten up by about 10 policemen.

Though he seems to be living on the edge, Terasawa is undisturbed. "I think that what happens to me is completely natural if you are a reporter," he said. "It doesn't make me an easy target just because I am freelance. It's just that a lot of people don't write about dangerous topics."

Yet, there are complications when you are a freelance writer in Japan. One of the biggest issues concerns the so-called kisha clubs (press clubs), into whose exclusive circles it is impossible for outsiders to step. However, when the Matsuyama District Court in Shikoku's Ehime Prefecture refused to give him a copy of an outline of a court ruling on police officers who were arrested for illegal possession of guns, Terasawa had had enough.

"They said they couldn't give it to me because I am not a member of the press club and that [giving out the information to such a person] was unprecedented," he said. "But what was even more ridiculous was that they asked me to get a copy from the press club members instead."

So in 1999, Terasawa sued the government on the grounds of discrimination against freelance journalists -- and violation of Article 21 of the Constitution, which secures freedom of the press. The first ruling was in favor of the state, as was the second. Finally, Terasawa appealed to the Supreme Court, but last year, his appeal was dismissed.

Even that didn't get him down. "I'll just start all over again," said Terasawa, who is now preparing his second lawsuit over press clubs. "Until I get the right court ruling, I'll sue 100 or 200 times if I have to, and make them beg for me to stop."

Aside from the restrictions on access by "outside" journalists that the press club system creates, there is also an issue of money. When Nagano Prefecture Gov. Yasuo Tanaka abolished press clubs within his jurisdiction in 2001, one reason he gave was the 15 million yen-a-year of Nagano taxpayers' money it cost to run them.

"For the general public who pay the taxes, this is absurd," said Terasawa. "The only people it benefits are those in power, like the government or police departments -- and the members of the press clubs . . . And if they decide to get rid of them, the only people who will suffer are the reporters who work for major newspapers or TV stations."

Certainly, free-lancers such as Yamaoka and Terasawa do perfectly well without enjoying the privilege and access of press clubs, and both insist they have no interest in joining a major news organization. But as they are all too aware, being freelance journalists also exposes them as individuals and makes them easy targets of law suits -- especially over allegations of defamation of character.

"I have no fears because I know I won't lose," Terasawa said confidently. "I am absolutely sure of my facts. No one has the right to complain about my stories."

For his part, though, rather than being a "bluebottle fly," Yamaoka prefers to call freelance journalists like himself and Terasawa "stray dogs."

"We eat anything to live -- and that makes us survivors," he added with a grin.

Stray dogs may be Yamaoka's self-deprecating way of describing freelance reporters -- but they are dogs with bites that bring to account many in Japan whose activities would otherwise remain securely in the shadows.

Steppingstones to a scoop

Sept. 27, 2002: Freelance journalist Shunsuke Yamaoka meets Kazuhiro Nakagawa, a former employee of Takefuji Corp., a major consumer loan company, who had in his possession internal company documents that suggested the company may have been involved in illegal activities.

May 15, 2003: Takefuji begins posting disparaging comments on its Web site about articles written about the company by Yamaoka and fellow freelance journalist Yu Terasawa.

May 21, 2003: Nakagawa is arrested and detained on suspicion of trying to extort money from Takefuji. He is eventually released without charge.

May 23, 2003: Yamaoka is summoned for police questioning in connection with the Nakagawa investigation. During his interrogation he says he was branded by an officer as a "bluebottle fly" for swarming around Nakagawa's documents that smelled of big bucks.

May 27, 2003: Yamaoka files a criminal complaint against Yasuo Takei, the founder and chairman of Takefuji, Nakagawa and a private detective for allegedly wiretapping his home phone.

May 30, 2003: Takefuji files a criminal complaint against Yamaoka alleging libel.

May 30, 2003: Yamaoka holds a press conference about his wiretapping allegations against Takei.

July 2003: The Metropolitan Police Agency punishes 14 officers for accepting beer coupons from Takefuji.

Oct. 1, 2003: Yamaoka and Terasawa file criminal complaints against Takei alleging defamation of character.

Dec. 2, 2003: Takei is arrested on suspicion of wiretapping Yamaoka.

Dec. 8, 2003: Takei admits to wiretapping Yamaoka's home phone and resigns as chairman of Takefuji.

Dec. 15, 2003: Takei (and Takefuji Corp. on Dec. 25) charged with wiretapping under the Telecommunications Business Law (case continues).

March 19, 2004: Takei charged with defamation against Yamaoka and Terasawa (case continues).