Hello and welcome to Japanology Plus.
I'm Peter Barakan.

Our topic for today is this.

These personal stamps
with your name carved into them

are known in Japanese as “hanko.”

This is mine.

It has my name just rendered phonetically.

Luckily, my name transliterates
quite well into Japanese.

For hundreds of years now, people in Japan
have been using these hanko

as proof of identity in official documents
and the like.

But recently, with the advent
of digital communication

and also with the trend
towards working remotely

triggered by the COVID-19 pandemic,

there's been a move to reconsider
the role of the hanko.

On today's program,
we'll look at the history of these stamps

and how their role
may change in the future.

Apply red ink to your hanko...

...and stamp your name
on a piece of paper.

In Japan, this is done
in many different situations.

For example, when receiving a parcel...

...or when signing an important document,

such as a marriage registration form.

When a business makes a transaction,

or a public body issues a certificate,

they'll mark the paperwork
with the organization's stamp.

Some hanko make use of valuable materials
or feature beautiful designs.

This collection was assembled around
200 years ago by an aristocratic family.

Each stamp showcases
exquisite workmanship.

This design shows two lions.

Through generations of use,
it has taken on a smooth, rounded form.

It's made of ivory,
which was very expensive at the time.

This hanko is made of bamboo root.

The face of the stamp draws attention
to the natural charm of the material.

Various minerals are used.

Crystal has a high degree
of transparency.

Agate, meanwhile, allows
for the carving of intricate motifs.

After the chosen material
is formed into something to hold,

the requested name
is carved into the stamp's face.

This is a skill-intensive task.

So that the stamp prints correctly,

the artisan will carve
a mirror image of the name.

This is done within a circle
less than a centimeter in diameter.

It requires dexterity and concentration.

A small blade is required for this task.

Everything around the characters
is removed, leaving just a raised name.

Replicating a finished hanko
is next to impossible.

And so, for many centuries,

Japanese have valued these unique seals
as a way of proving identity.

This is Ichikawa-misato,
a town in Yamanashi Prefecture.

Around 50 percent of Japan's hanko
are made here.

That makes it Japan's leading producer.

The town is home to
a lot of expert carvers,

and many other residents are involved
in the industry in one way or another.

Today, we're visiting
the community's name stamp museum.

-Hello. Nice to meet you.
-Hello.

It's very nice to meet you too.

At the entrance to the museum
is Japan's largest hanko.

It weighs 3 tons.

I noticed this. This is enormous.

Yes, it's huge.

It was created by a previous generation
of hanko makers in this town.

Of course, it's written backwards,
and I'm trying to work out what it says.

It says “be as immovable
as a mountain”—

words used on the battle standard
of a local 16th-century warlord.

The words were taken from a classic
Chinese text, Sun Tzu's The Art of War.

The museum's collection includes
antique hanko,

documents, and minerals used to
make stamps.

It's the perfect place to learn more
about the history of hanko.

Our guest is Kobayashi Shigehito—

the man in charge of the museum,
and a second-generation hanko carver.

I understand that this town,
which is a small provincial town,

has an enormous share of the hanko market.

How did that come to be?

Yamanashi had a lot of crystal,

and people became skillful at working
with it. Polishing it, and so on.

They eventually started
using crystal to make stamps.

This town ended up having
everything people needed to make hanko.

It was the only place in the country

to be able to handle the whole
process from start to finish.

So the town got a lot of orders.

The orders came in from all over Japan,

and the town developed into
a major hanko producer.

That's how it happened.

I got one of these too,

I mean, I've had it for almost
as long as I've been in Japan.

Mine's a fairly simple bamboo one.

I came here in 1974
and for my birthday in 1975,

some of the people I worked with
at my first company

gave it to me for a birthday present.

So it's still an essential item for just
about everybody in Japan, even now, right?

I can offer some examples.

When someone creates a piece of
calligraphy, or paints a picture,

rather than signing it,
they might add their seal.

People have been doing
that for many hundreds of years.

That mark serves as proof of identity.

People add their seal as
a way of saying, “I did this.”

And that custom still exists today.

When somebody writes a letter,

they might stamp it
at the bottom, next to their name.

Some people do that.

The presence of that mark
conveys a sense of significance.

The person receiving the letter

will know that it's more special
than a regular letter would be.

That's another role that hanko play.

And I'm trying to think back.

I don't remember exactly,

but I imagine

I probably wasn't able to start a bank
account until I had one of these.

And of course, that goes
for everybody in Japan as well.

Actually, many organizations
are starting to drop that requirement.

But when opening an account,

it's still very common to have to register
the mark made by the stamp with the bank.

The same thing happens
when you start a new company.

You have to register the seal.

Then in the case of families,

grandparents may have an official hanko
made as a gift for a grandchild.

Or parents may give an official stamp
to their own child when they come of age.

People do that.

Why do you think stamps became
so essential to the Japanese?

For centuries,

seals have been important as a form of
signature for a shrine or temple.

So I think the action of
stamping something

eventually took on a special significance.

People wouldn't get something
stamped in daily life—

only on special occasions.

So a stamped document came
to be seen as something precious.

The roots of hanko can be traced back to
the Mesopotamian civilization that

existed in around 3,000 BC.

They carved images and
written characters into stone,

then rolled the stone onto wet clay.

Hanko arrived in Japan
around 2,300 years ago, via China.

Japan's oldest existing hanko
dates from the 1st century AD.

It's made of gold, and it was a gift
from a Chinese emperor of the Han dynasty.

In the 18th century, Japan experienced
a boom in commerce and industry.

This led to the wider adoption of hanko,

which were used to ratify
various certificates and deeds.

Here's a wooden stamp from that time.

Hanko like this were used
by merchants and government officials.

Artists used stamps too,

as can be seen in ukiyo-e
woodblock prints like this one.

You can see the artist's seal here.

A seal proved authorship of the work.

In the second half of the 19th century,
Japan began to modernize.

Until that point,

only about four percent
of the population—

the upper classes—had a family name.

The government, influenced
by Western customs,

decided that everybody
should have a family name.

A new law required people
to use a seal on official documents.

As a result, in no time at all,

name stamps became widely
used by the general public.

Hanko usage reached a peak
in the latter half of the 20th century.

As Japan's economy expanded,
stamps became essential at work.

It was common to stamp
dozens of documents a day.

Stationery makers continually
developed new models,

to make stamping
easier and more efficient.

For example, a self-inking hanko.

Or a pen with a stamp at the other end.

Cheap, disposable hanko
were manufactured in vast quantities.

Mass production changed
attitudes towards name stamps.

Previously, people would think
carefully before using their hanko.

But now a stamp represented a quick
and easy way to sign off on something.

Hanko became a deeply
embedded part of Japanese life.

Things that were born in that part of
the world, the Middle East, central Asia,

tend to go both ways, both east and west.

Interestingly, hanko didn't.

Or at least didn't seem
to go in the direction of Europe.

They became popular in China
and especially in Japan.

Why do you think that is?

One reason is the difference
in writing systems.

Japan uses “kanji” characters.

They came from China,

where the earliest examples
were representations of actual things.

As time went by countless
different characters were developed.

The characters we use today
are relatively easy to write.

But originally, many
were extremely complicated.

If you transfer complex
writing to a stamp,

you end up with something
that is very difficult to replicate.

Something potentially useful.

And I think that's why people in the East
came to regard hanko as valuable.

I can understand that.

I mean, in the West as well, you would
have like a royal seal, for example.

I think most people are used
to seeing those in historical dramas.

And you're saying that,
I mean, in the old days,

it was people of authority
would have a seal.

What about the ordinary people,
just the man in the street?

At one time there was a rule
that unstamped documents were invalid.

The 19th-century Meiji government
introduced that law.

So everybody had a hanko
and its mark was officially registered.

A hanko was used to
offer proof of identity.

When you stamped your name,

you were demonstrating that
you were making an official commitment

to whatever it was you were stamping.

People only did it when they were prepared
to accept that commitment.

It reflected the weight of responsibility.

So I think officially registered seals
have played a key role over the years.

So starting from the Meiji period,
which is the 1860s,

to...up 'til the present day,

we have hanko being used
by just about everybody.

Are there any particular times when there
was exponential growth in the market?

One that I myself experienced
was the bubble era.

-The 1980s? Really?
-Yes. That's right.

There was demand for better products.

That feeling was strong.

There was a lot of money floating around,
and people were willing to use it.

People wanted to upgrade
the things they owned.

Many decided to replace
their hanko with a better version.

It was such a hectic time.

I never finished work before midnight.

Wow.

That's how busy it was.

That must have been tough.

At the other end of the scale you have,
you can go to ¥100 shops

and you can buy a very simple hanko.

What's your view of those sort of things?

The kind of hanko you can buy
for just a hundred yen

cannot be used as proof of identity.

You can't hold it up and say, “This is
the hanko I've used for years and years.”

Anyone can buy an identical copy.

There's a vast difference between
a hanko made to order by a specialist,

and a mass-produced hanko
that costs next to nothing.

Handmade hanko are unique.

If someone were to ask me to make
an exact copy of a hanko I'd made before,

I simply wouldn't be able to do it.

It's impossible?

Yes. Totally.

There would be minute
differences in the lines,

and the way the characters were formed.

And because of that,

if you compared the marks left by both
stamps, you'd see a slight difference.

That's why they have value.

It's specifically because
they can't be replicated.

That is an essential feature
of hanko for important uses.

Kobayashi inherited
this workshop from his father.

Here, he carves
as many as ten hanko a day.

It's quite a compact space,
you just have this one desk.

I suppose that's all you
need to do your work?

Yes. Hanko are small objects,

so a single desk
like this is plenty of room.

The characters on a stamp's face
must be flipped, left-to-right.

Kobayashi pictures this in his mind, then
writes them onto the face of the hanko.

Each character is
around 3 millimeters tall.

Often, two strokes must fit
within a single millimeter.

If you make a mistake, you can't redo it.
You just have to throw it out.

The customer entrusts me
with the blank stamp that I will work on.

I carve the requested characters,

and then hand the customer
the finished hanko.

That's what I do.

So there's no margin for error.

I have to be very careful.

If I make a mistake, I have to make
things right with the customer.

So I take great care.

What's the most difficult
aspect of your work?

When evaluating a completed stamp,

the key issue is how cleanly
the characters are depicted

within a small space.

How well they fit.

Whether or not I'm satisfied
is beside the point.

It's whether the customer is satisfied.

Are they pleased with the carving?

Do they like how the characters look?

That's the kind of thing
I pay attention to.

That's what I focus on.

I try out the stamps
I carve, to test them.

Of course, characters with a lot of
strokes require very intricate carving.

So obviously they're difficult to do.

But characters with only a few strokes
are difficult in a different way.

That's because you can see clearly
if they look attractive or not.

The fewer the strokes,
the more apparent the quality of work.

So characters with only a few strokes
pose a special challenge.

In 2020, following the global
outbreak of COVID-19,

Japan declared a state of emergency.

Many people stayed at home,
and worked remotely.

It was a turning point
for hanko in the workplace.

People were accustomed to using their
stamps in person, but now they could not.

This new reality led to
the emergence of electronic hanko.

First of all,

a digital version of a seal is scanned
into an application on a computer.

Then, using a special pad—

and this device,
which looks like a conventional hanko,

the seal is applied to a digital document.

This allows employees to stamp documents
when they're working outside the office.

Systems like this are being adopted
by more and more organizations.

Here's one example, an IT company.

Employees working remotely
make use of electronic seals.

The company's paper usage has dropped
by over 10,000 sheets per year.

It's a notable cost reduction.

This trend in the private sector

has prompted public organizations
to rethink their procedures.

In some parts of Japan,

various common public certificates
can now be obtained without a stamp.

Here's what a typical
form used to look like.

There's a column set aside for a seal.

On the new forms, that
column has disappeared.

There's no longer a space for a seal.

In contrast,

there has been a growing appreciation
for fun stamps used in informal contexts.

This shop sells hanko with animal designs.

These cute images are especially
popular among young people.

One fun item for international visitors
is this hanko vending machine.

It lets you use the alphabet.

You can choose a size
and font for the text.

You can also select the color
and material of the stamp.

20 minutes later,
you have the perfect souvenir.

The pandemic made a significant impact
on Japan's relationship with hanko,

and the industry is battling
to find ways to survive.

Recently, people are starting to say
that maybe we don't need to have hanko.

How did that come about?

Well, I'd say that the biggest factor
is, of course, digitization.

In the digital context,

some people don't know how to
make the best use of hanko.

And so they end up saying,
“Let's just get rid of them.”

The question is how hanko can continue to
exist in an increasingly digital world.

And that's a tough question to answer.

But I think Japan should
digitize in its own way.

We should find our own path.

There's no need for us to do everything
just like the rest of the world.

I want Japan to be true to itself.

Hanko are a manifestation of culture.

And culture represents
a country's identity.

I understand that.

I'm just trying to think
...as a specific example,

I work freelance,

which means that every time I do a job,

I usually have to send an invoice
in order to get paid.

And when I make an invoice,
every time, it has to have a stamp.

So now that things are digital,
I create the invoice digitally.

I have to print it on
my printer, stamp it,

scan the piece of paper back into
the computer, and then send it by email.

And it becomes overly complicated.

I think perhaps for...especially
for young people,

the idea of having to have hanko
on you all the time is just a nuisance.

How would you react to that?

Well, it depends on the context.

For example, if all you want to do
is indicate that you read a document,

you shouldn't need a stamp.

After the pandemic started,

some people were going into the office
just to stamp something.

That's clearly odd.

Sometimes the system seems to
be based on the idea of

stamping things for the sake of it.

The message people receive is
“Hurry up and stamp this document,”

when it should actually be
“Please read this document.”

The seal should show that
you've digested the content.

But if a hanko is used incorrectly,
that's not the fault of the hanko itself.

Even so, I imagine the role of the hanko
will change, in a...

in an increasingly digital future.

Can you see how it will
change at this point?

I think we're still groping
around for appropriate answers.

But there is another aspect of
a hanko's identity we should mention.

They have an aesthetic appeal.

I'd love to see more people
getting interested in that aspect.

I'd like people to see a hanko
as something good to have.

Something pleasing.

Stamping a document and so on is fun.

And a letter or other document
looks better with a seal on it.

I'd very much like people to take
another look at hanko in that light.

And if we do take that step,

I have a feeling that using
a hanko in everyday situations

would start to feel
a little less bothersome.

I think that would actually be
a very positive direction to take.

The presence of a seal on a document

should make the person receiving
it treat the document with respect.

And the person who stamped the document

should feel the weight of responsibility
that stamping it represents.

That's the original value of hanko.

I'd like to see that way of
thinking make a comeback.

OK, thank you very much.

Thank you very much.