From TV personality to terrorist
How a failed election bid led to Tokyo’s sarin gas attack
A popular TV personality runs for public office and despite an aggressive campaign, suffers a crushing defeat. Humiliated from his loss, he begins a PR campaign decrying the election to be a fraud. He claims the vote counting had been rigged, that votes had been switched, that he should have had at least 60,000 votes without reason. He floats conspiracy theories that shadow organizations had played a part in the fraud.
The story sounds familiar, but it takes place more than thirty years ago.
In 1990, well-known, eccentric TV personality, Shoko Asahara, was running for the House of Representatives in Japan. Despite zero political experience, everyone knew him. He was the leader of a rapidly growing cult that operated several successful businesses including a chain of popular low-priced bento (lunch box) stands and computer retailers, all while offering the answer to enlightenment. With his distinctive “guru”-like appearance, he had written several well-received religious help books and was a fixture on several television shows and magazines, often touting Buddhism-inspired wisdoms and purporting to have gained super powers through meditation. Followers and admirers would pay up to $10,000 a month for headgear supposedly designed to “synchronize” their brainwaves with him.
Born with infantile glaucoma, Chizuo Matsumoto (later Shoko Asahara) was blind in one eye. Despite retaining vision in his other eye, he was sent to a boarding school for the blind by his parents for financial reasons and lived there for the next fourteen years. Being one of the only students who could still see, many say he was treated like a king and often took advantage of his fellow classmates, forcing them to do his assignments or making them fight for his amusement.
Similar to Trump, Asahara was first a business grifter before a cult leader. In the early 80s, he opened a pharmacy where he made nearly 7 million yen in false claims to insurance companies for fake prescriptions he’d written using blank prescription paper he’d taken from a local physician. When that was shut down, he honed his skills as a salesman, selling unregulated drugs and homemade concoctions that he claimed could cure anything. With catchphrases like “cure your rheumatism, neuralgia, and back pain in just 30 minutes!” he would gather prospective buyers in a room at a luxury hotel and sell more than 100,000 yen in products (~$1000 USD) in a single sitting.
After getting arrested and fined for selling fake prescriptions without a pharmaceutical license, he founded a small yoga group called Aum Shinsen no Kai (literally “the gathering of Aum divine immortals”) in 1984. In between well-received yoga classes, he proselytized his idea that a nuclear war would soon bring about the end of the world and only the select “enlightened” few would survive. Meshing together ideas from Buddhism, the Bible, and existing conspiracy theories, he gradually shifted the yoga group toward a more religious direction, leading members to believe that only he could provide the necessary teachings to be saved from doomsday. The growing cult was soon renamed Aum Shinrikyo (Aum ‘Supreme Truth’) and their leader took on the new name Shoko Asahara. (It would later be revealed that he had recruited an expert on Buddhist teachings into the cult to help ghostwrite his “divine teachings” since the member claimed he in fact “knew very little about religion/Buddhism.”).
Aum recruited from a wide range of channels and employed an innovative media mix that was unheard for cults before (including anime, radio, and even conspiracy theory/occult magazines). They held yoga and herbal healing classes where members were recruited. They opened discount computer stores, bookstores, and noodle shops where they recruited. They even created catchy, propaganda-minded songs like “SONSHI MAACHI (Guru’s March)” that gained mainstream popularity. Like Trump, Asahara understood the importance of name value and media visibility, so he aggressively solicited magazines with articles and photos of himself “levitating” or photos of himself and the Dalai Lama (that he had expressly traveled to Nepal and Tibet to obtain), claiming he had been given a divine mission by the latter. Once he established relationships with media publications, he actively bought ad space in attempts to gain favor and name recognition until he could ask to write an article column to further promote Aum.
Asahara told members he had “super power” blood, but that they too could gain supernatural skills with enough practice and become one of the “chosen ones” who would survive the nuclear war. Aum was always equal parts welcoming and exclusive. For many Japanese people, the promise of power and belonging became especially appealing after the sudden market crash of 1991 which left many unemployed and unable to reconcile the country’s abrupt economic stagnation with the ostentatious wealth growth that defined the 80s in Japan.
For prospective AUM members, the initiation process into the cult revolved around magnifying the person’s fears and elevating Asahara to god-like status. Brainwashing techniques were employed to isolate and indoctrinate the person. Recruits were forced to listen to recordings of Asahara chanting “Train yourself! (修行するぞ)” for hundreds of hours. Sleep deprivation and the use of psychedelic drugs were often used to elicit “supernatural” experiences. Sensory assault was a core part of the brainwashing process. New recruits were individually confined to small rooms where they were forced to watch hours of video footage showing assault and murder. Afterwards, the person would be asked to sit in a zen position and meditate, while sudden loud sounds of drums, whispering, or weeping would be played, all designed to create the jarring feeling of being “reborn.”
Asahara had a multi-tiered recruitment strategy that aligned with his financial and political ambitions. Aum actively recruited members of the JDF (Japan Self Defense Force, the post-war Japanese military) and police officers from around the country. An estimated 40 active JDF members (and 60 retired) had joined by 1995. These people were seen as essential “combat troops” that would act as fighters, train other members, and provide insider intel about the government. Several would later assist in stealing driver license data from the police department and breaking into military factories to steal technical documents on artillery. Manufacturing employees were also targeted for their access to equipment, chemicals, and valuable blueprints/documentation. Young female recruits were groomed to go on television and attend public events to provide a welcoming and attractive face for the cult.
Similar to Trump supporter demographics in America, the media often presented Aum followers as gullible and fringe members of society, but in actuality, Asahara’s promise of enlightenment also attracted many white collar workers who worked long hours and felt disillusioned with society. Ikuo Hayashi, a senior medical doctor at Japan’s prestigious Keio University who had doubts about the future of his practice, found Aum during his search beyond orthodox science and was seduced by the promise of true “enlightenment.” In 1990, he left his lucrative job, moved into an Aum commune, and became one of the core members in Asahara’s quasi-government. He was not unique. Aum actively recruited doctors, scientists, lawyers, and engineers, many who retained their influential positions even after joining. For those who were not convinced of Asahara’s spiritual mission, they were lured in by the promise of funding and freedom in their research without the bureaucracy or ethics tied to government, academic or corporate positions. These educated “superelite” were instrumental in adding legitimacy to the group, developing new recruitment tactics, fending off difficult questions from journalists, finding legal loopholes, and eventually producing the sarin gas used during the subway attacks.
The media helped bring in new recruits, unknowingly or not. Because of their bizarre yet fascinating rituals and unique leader, Aum was a fixture on TV and magazines, its catchy songs played so often that elementary school children would sing them. Even popular comedian Takeshi Kitano was a fan of Asahara’s and invited him onto his talkshow to ask for advice. Fumihiro Joyu, the head of PR for Aum had a legion of female fans who would travel for hours to get a glimpse of him outside Aum’s Tokyo headquarters.
In tandem with its growing success, however, Aum quietly silenced its dissenters in the background. Asahara justified murdering his enemies as a way of protecting “the supreme truth.” He demonized those who spoke against him and claimed that death was the most merciful option for someone who couldn’t be enlightened. When he wanted someone to be killed, he would say the group needed to “Phowa” the person — a Tibetan-Buddhist term that referred to liberating a person’s consciousness from its physical body to rid it of bad karma. In 1989, Tsutsumi Sakamoto, an anti-cult lawyer who had been hired to represent a class action lawsuit against Aum on behalf of family members of followers “disappeared” along with his wife and 1-year old son (their bodies only recovered 6 years later). In 1995, days before the sarin gas attack, several followers abducted and murdered Kiyoshi Kariya, a public notary who had tried to help his sister escape the cult after they had demanded she give up her real estate assets. He was one of the several victims over the year between 1994 and the Tokyo subway attacks, mainly consisting of people who were aiding members in escaping. Journalists became afraid of writing about the attacks. Some had received death threats for criticizing the cult. One had narrowly survived after cult members filled her apartment with phosgene gas.
In February 1990, Asahara and 24 other members ran for office under the new political party “SHINRI-TO” (the “Supreme Truth Party”). Despite reservations from some members who thought winning would be unrealistic given his lack of political experience and others who believed politics would endanger the cult, Asahara convinced his followers that he was running to save Japan. He invested millions of yen into an aggressive and often bizarre campaign which included public dances and marches with followers dressed as Asahara. He ordered followers to vandalize and tear down campaign posters of other candidates. Despite their efforts, however, Asahara received just 1,783 votes out of the approximately 500,000 cast. All 24 other members failed to win a seat.
This failed election bid is most often cited as the major turning point where Asahara decided to wage war on Japan. Among his inner circle, his paranoia became more apparent, but few contradicted his claims of election fraud. He claimed he had evidence, none of which was provable. When Fumihiro Joyu, the head of public relations for Aum, told Asahara that he didn’t believe there had been any fraud, he was quickly “subject to immense pressure from the entire cult” to walk back his dissent.
This wouldn’t be the first time Asahara had used his followers to try and change an outcome he didn’t like. In 1989, when the government had refused to grant official religious organization certification to Aum due to numerous complaints about the cult, Asahara sent 220 of his followers to march through the halls of the Tokyo Government Office in protest. He aggressively called the offices and homes of the department manager and the lieutenant governor in charge of his application. When neither worked, he filed a lawsuit against Tokyo city claiming they had taken longer than the legally required three months to process Aum’s certification application. The government finally folded two months later, granting the Aum official religious organization status and Asahara dropped his lawsuit.
A few weeks after the election, Asahara asked his scientists in Aum to start developing chemical agents such as botulinum. By mid-April, he announced to his followers that even though he had tried to “save” Japan by running for the government, his fraudulent loss had proved that society was was “unsaveable” and that the necessary purge would be coming soon. On the inside, they began preparations for war. Utilizing the privacy protections that came with religious organization certification, Asahara and his closest followers began to secretly gather and experiment with multiple chemical and biological agents. Guns and other weapons were manufactured on-site (financially supported through their lucrative side-businesses and technically supported by their connections with manufacturers). Members were encouraged to take military training including “shooting tours” in Russia. For the next several years, biological weapons were tested on those they considered enemies, which included spraying newly synthesized VX on the head of the “Association of Victims of Aum Shinrikyo’ and a failed attempt to cultivate ebola in 1992. On June 27, 1994, they released sarin gas from a refrigerator truck through a small residential area in Matsumoto city, killing 8 and injuring 500. This was the test run for their main attack which would happen only nine months later.
On March 20th, 1995, sarin was released on three rush-hour trains in the center of Tokyo, killing thirteen and injuring more than 6000. For most Japanese people, the attack seemed like a sudden senseless act of violence, but for those following Aum, it was a culmination of Asahara’s long, meticulous process of recruiting and indoctrinating those who would remain loyal enough to fulfill any command he demanded even if detrimental to their own well-being. Ikuo Hayashi, one of the people who delivered and released the deadly gas on the Tokyo subway said high ranking members held a “rehearsal” the night before the actual attack to ensure there would be no hesitation. They practiced piercing plastic bags (then filled with water) multiple times. On the morning of, as he held onto his three bags of sarin, he found himself sitting across from a woman and her small child on the Chiyoda Line subway. According to his testimony, he wavered for a moment when he thought ‘If I unleash the sarin here and now, the woman opposite me is dead for sure.’ But he quickly steeled his nerves and punctured the bags at the assigned station just as he had been ordered because he truly believed there was no other option. For Hayashi and the other Aum followers, they could no longer see the outside world as an option. There are records that indicate members had even begun looking into nuclear weapons, eager to bring about Asahara’s original prophecy of nuclear war.
Fumihiro Joyu, who now runs a “Buddhist philosophy study group,” went on Facebook soon after the US presidential election to point out how the accusations of election fraud and the unfailing belief Trump’s followers had in their leader reminded him of his time in Aum. He explains how for those who follow a cult, there is no other side. In the case of Aum, whatever the guru (Asahara) told his followers, they believed without any further inspection or analysis — everything their leader said was “absolute” (Kiyohide Hayakawa, one of the members responsible for the Sakamoto murders, echoed this sentiment during his trial). It is what the American Psychology Association refers to as “thought-stopping” — a technique used to remove doubt about the cult. Cult leaders will frequently repeat key words or phrases that condition members into blocking out doubts when they hear them. Members are taught to only trust information channels that back up their beliefs. Additional authority figures are used to support the leader’s claims to strengthen the potency of the thought-stopping. Asahara had his pool of Japanese superelite; Trump has his puppets on Fox News and in Congress.
While Aum followers were physically isolated on communes and forced to listen to hours of recordings with Asahara chanting “Train yourself (修行するぞ),” Trump supporters found themselves isolated in a more virtual way. Quasi-news sources like OAN to Newsmax provided a platform for conspiracy theories under the mask of authentic-looking coverage, Trump talking-heads like Mark Levin to Candace Owens to Laura Ingraham targeted specific demographics, the frequent barrage of emails and texts from the Trump campaign reminding supporters of “the fraud” and the “media’s dishonesty,” and the legion of social media “influencers” who inundated people’s timelines with the same parroted pro-Trump conspiracies — they created a 24/7 digital thought-stopping bubble to keep Trump’s followers locked in. They repeated the same key words and phrases: “Fake News,” “Stop the steal,” “Save America,” “Release the Kraken,” or even the ever-present “Make America Great Again.” These media sources, along with complicit Republican government officials, spread the same lies, legitimizing whatever Trump told his followers and erasing any traces of cognitive dissonance. Meanwhile social media algorithms helped them find each other. In August 2020, QAnon groups on Facebook numbered in the thousands, with millions of members. A quick tweet or Facebook post and you might find yourself with likes or comments from dozens of others supporting the same conspiracy. There’s strength in numbers. It is scientifically proven that people cannot easily change their minds because it feels so good to be told you’re right.
Asahara commanded his followers to “protect the supreme truth” against an unclear enemy, and Trump did the same. This is the same good-versus-evil narrative that religious leaders have used for hundreds and thousands of years to mobilize their followers into slaughtering others. Trump supporters called themselves “freedom fighters,” “warriors” and “patriots” while referring to those they oppose as “thugs,” “the radical left” or “antifa” without a clear, consistent definition for any. The radical left could be a neighbor who simply posted a “Black Lives Matter” poster on their window or any news source that acknowledged the legitimacy of the election. Anyone could instantly go from being a fellow “patriot” to a member of the “radical left” if they did not blindly support their leader. The good-versus evil narrative is effective because it makes it easy to expel any member who is no longer loyal or useful. It’s not flip-flopping — they’re just “evil” now. This was apparent during the Capitol riots. Despite how Trump and his supporters had vehemently argued for “Blue Lives Matter” throughout the Black Lives Matter protests, the moment a police officer opposed them in front of the Capitol, they didn’t hesitate to call him a traitor and slam a fire extinguisher into his head.
For Aum followers, the sense of superiority that came with being part of the “enlightened” combined with the all-consuming belief that Asahara was a supreme authority, made leaving the cult impossible and committing even the worst of crimes possible. They had been programmed to believe they had the moral high ground. Perhaps not unlike the Trump supporters who believed it necessary to hang Mike Pence or murder a Black Lives Matter protestor to be a proper “Patriot,” the Aum followers who released sarin gas onto crowded Tokyo trains in 1995 believed they were saving and being saved. There are no moral contradictions when the other side has been so thoroughly demonized and you’ve been absolved of all accountability. Violence is an inevitability, not an exception. It is the same tactic used during wars.
The real problem is that cults, conspiracy theories, and trumped up wars are lucrative business for the select few at the top. Aum, despite its spiritual front, was also largely a financial venture, much like Asahara’s earlier pharmaceutical scams. Members were required to live in communes and were told they had to give up all their personal assets to the cult in order to reach enlightenment. Depending on the recruit, this amount could range from a few hundred dollars to millions in properties. Special services could be obtained by paying additional fees including a “blood initiation” for 1 million yen (where a follower would be given some of Asahara’s blood to drink), super power “liberation” training, and the infamous brainwave syncing headgear monthly subscription. Not unlike the false promises of real estate success touted by Trump University, Aum promised a fast-track to enlightenment for those who were willing to pay for it. Between 1989 and 1995, the cult’s assets grew from 430 million yen (~4.3 million USD) to an estimated 100 billion yen (~1 billion USD). Followers later admitted that Asahara had ordered the sarin gas attacks in order to distract police attention away from an ongoing investigation and impending raid on the organization’s facilities in order to protect its assets. When police came to arrest him, they found him in the attic clutching nearly 10 million yen in cash.
Many of Trump’s followers praise him for not starting a new war overseas — instead, he incited one within his own country for the sake of profit. In the single month that followed the November 3rd election, the former President fundraised nearly $200 million through his nonstop false accusations of election fraud (and equally nonstop requests for donations), claiming the funds would go to “defend the integrity of our election.” For reference, his highest single month fundraising record before this was $81 million in September. In truth, 75% of this “Save America” money was funneled into a Trump “leadership PAC” which he could use to fund his personal travels and expenses or pay back his campaign debt, with no obligation to spend on 2020 election litigation. Trump wasn't the only one who has personally benefited financially from perpetuating a false accusation. Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley, along with a handful of other Republicans actively fundraised off the fact that they were “fighting false electors.” Influencers can receive anywhere between $10 to thousands for a paid political post. Merchandisers make millions off of slogan products like “Stop the Steal” t-shirts selling at $25 each. Newsmax, founded 22 years ago, saw its viewership increase by tenfold in the weeks following the election when it refused to acknowledge the results and bolstered lies of voter fraud. As Joyu said: “Many people who spread conspiracy theories do not actually believe in them, but do so because it makes money.”
Shoko Egawa, the journalist who survived the 1994 phosgene gassing who has followed the rise and fall of Aum Shinrikyo since the late 1980s, wrote about the dangers of leaving conspiracy theories unchecked after she saw the siege on the US Capitol:
“Society underestimates the power of a cult. The media positioned Aum as a new subculture or religion. This allowed them ‘grow’ until they reached a critical mass where they could do great damage… Conspiracy theories can pull people in. They’re fascinating because by nature they are ‘information you won’t find anywhere in the mainstream media.’ If they support ideas you already have, that makes them even more attractive. But, some people can become addicted to conspiracy theories because they make life easier. They make it so [if you believe them] you no longer to have think critically or analyze all the facts for yourself.”
77% of people who voted for Trump still believe the election was stolen from him. Only 18% of Republicans thought the election results would be unreliable compared to 64% after the election. Conspiracy believers can now be found in all rungs of society from an Olympic medalist to elected officials to even immigrants who despite being targeted by Trump’s policies, helped bolster his electoral wins in states like Florida in November. Even after conceding the election, many followers floated new conspiracy theories completely on their own: was Trump being held hostage? Had a computer-generated ‘deep fake’ been used to replace him in the video? Had he actually coded something else into his message for his followers only? Conspiracy theories, when left unchecked, will continue to birth new conspiracies.
More alarmingly, however, is how the conspiracies spread to the military and police. Numerous police officers from across the country were found to have participated in the Capitol siege (some even flashing their badges). Two Capitol police officers who were on-duty at the time have since been suspended (and several more under investigation) for taking selfies with and guiding pro-Trump rioters during the attack. An Army psychological operations officer was being investigated for her part in leading a pro-Trump group from North Carolina to the riots in DC. Just as Asahara quietly recruited JDF and police to be his combat troops and insider intel, Trump leveraged a lie to make sure he had soldiers to defend him if the time came.
As social media platforms scrambled to strip Trump of his lies-proliferating megaphone (the indefinite suspension of his Twitter account being the most effective), there was an outcry from many about the destruction of free speech, including the ACLU. While not a legal infringement of our First Amendment rights as most Trump supporters liked to believe, some think these bans set a dangerous precedent for tech companies to silence anyone, that the people should have their own choice in what they see and believe. Yet as Fumihiro Joyu said in his rebuke of disinformation: “are we supporting a system in which democracy destroys democracy?”
‘Fake News’ was a term coined for Trump Era propaganda, but it will not go away with the end of his presidency. As most Republican leaders continue to avoid accountability under the guise of ‘seeking unity,' as an elected official who actively promoted the conspiracy that the Parkland school shooting was staged and harassed survivors was given a standing ovation, as one of the major promoters of election fraud (and inciter of the January 6th riot) was given a front-page national platform to complain about "cancel culture" and is still considered a 2024 presidential forerunner, it is not so difficult to see a tragedy like the Tokyo sarin gas attacks eventually unfold within our own borders. The Capitol Riots on January 6th were already only steps away from becoming one. As Shoko Egawa said: “Casually spreading conspiracy is tantamount to spreading a virus.” It may take weeks, or it might take years, but once people learn to distrust the news, misinformation becomes a weapon ready for anyone to abuse.
