Studying Japanese History through Commodities: An interview with award-winning PhD Candidate Narusa Yamato

Narusa Yamato is 6th year Ph.D. candidate in East Asian History. Interested in the history of science and material culture, her work probes the  relationship between imperialism, nation building, and capitalism by studying the history of the Japanese dairy industry from 1850-1952. Her paper, "The Global Making of a Japanese  ‘Holstein Island’: Silk, Milk, and Hachijō Island in Imperial Japan,” is awarded the 2025 Best Graduate Student Paper Prize from the Association for Asian Studies’ Northeast Asia Council. Her dissertation is tentatively titled “Milk for the Nation: A History of the Japanese Dairy Industry, 1854-1954”. 

Congratulations on receiving the best graduate student paper prize from the Association for Asian Studies. What is the paper about?

The paper explores how Hachijō, a peripheral island in the Pacific that is situated 287 km away from Tokyo, evolved into a major Holstein producer in Japan. Milk was important in late nineteenth century to early twentieth century Japan. To protect the country’s sovereignty from encroaching western empires, the Japanese government focused on transforming Japan into a modern nation and empire by selectively embracing western technology, knowledge, and goods. Amongst those was milk. The Meiji Japanese government (1868–1912) promoted cow’s milk as a nutritious “elixir” that was crucial for strengthening what Japanese officials perceived as “meager” bodies of the Japanese race and creating a strong army. Focusing on these dynamics, I shed light on how  this small island contributed to the rise of the Japanese dairy industry. 

How did you get interested in this topic? 

My interest in this topic grew when I was exploring the geography of the Japanese dairy industry. Through preliminary research, I learned that although a handful of elites consumed dairy items, fresh milk was largely absent from the early modern Japanese diet. For most Japanese people, then, cow’s milk was a new food that the state introduced in the modern period. Given the novelty of this beverage at the time, I wondered how and where Japanese people produced cow’s milk. I was surprised to find that dairying flourished on several small Japanese islands, including the two islands of the Izu Archipelago––Izu Ōshima and Hachijo. Although the islands are categorized into the same archipelago, their distance from Tokyo differed. Izu Ōshima was fairly proximate, approximately 107 km away from Tokyo, whereas Hachijō was almost three times further away. The sheer distance that separated Hachijō from the main islands raised a host of questions for me: Who brought Holsteins all the way to Hachijō? Why did someone think about doing that? And why did it succeed? Studying Hachijō’s dairy cattle industry inspired me to focus on the ecological diversity of Japan in my dissertation, tentatively titled “Milk for the Nation: A History of the Japanese Dairy Industry, 1854-1954”. 

How does focusing on food tell us about capitalism? 

Focusing on food highlights that capitalism is rarely straightforward. What I find compelling about studying food is how it draws attention to the many constraints involved in building an industry. These challenges become especially pronounced with a commodity like milk, whose distinct materiality—its perishability, health risks, and cultural unfamiliarity—complicates every stage of production and distribution: Observing such dynamics in the case of  Hachijō, I set out to explore who did and didn’t overcome these challenges, how they did it, and why. Exploring these questions helped me elucidate the transnational movement of knowledge, technology, and ideas carried out by a diverse range of actors. 

Tell us about your archival  research.

I’ve been fortunate because countless people helped me find many fascinating sources during my archical work . At one point,  I was unable to find enough sources on a particular dairy business. Right around that time, I met a woman who previously wrote in a local newspaper about that business because she had lived in the region where that business was located. She generously shared her knowledge with me and provided inspiring advice that allowed me to piece together some of the fragmented information I gathered from other sources. Furthermore, she gifted me her collection of sources on that particular business as well as on the Japanese dairy industry in general. In her collection, I found many rare sources that I would have never been able to access otherwise. Moments like this reminded me of the joys and importance of conducting field work. 

You co-organized the Commodity Markets in the History of Capitalism and Economic Growth conference in November 2024. How does focusing on commodities allow one to trace, decode, and connect global histories of economic growth?

Focusing on commodities offers a unique and tangible lens through which we can trace how economic growth is inherently transnational. By examining the entire lifecycle of a product—its production, transportation, packaging, and consumption—it becomes clear that creating a single commodity involves a complex network of actors, each contributing knowledge, technology, materials, ideas, and practices from various corners of the world. While some finished products are consumed on a global scale, others are consumed locally, yet both are integral to supporting national economies. At the November conference, we brought together scholars specializing in  diverse time periods and geographical contexts to discuss the complex, transnational histories of economic growth that can be  written through the lens of a single commodity such as coffee, sugar, and  milk.

You have also helped curate the Embodied Knowledge: Women and Science Before Silicon Valley with a piece about gender, science, and medicine. What is this work about? 

My curatorial essay focused on Japan to examine how women’s health was understood in East Asia from 1700 to 1945. In the early modern era, Japan was not only geographically isolated by its island geography, but by a series of policies in the early seventeenth century that imposed maritime restrictions. However, by examining the artifacts from Stanford’s East Asia Library and Lane Medical Library, I demonstrated that Japan was far from being isolated –– it was part of a dynamic global network of knowledge spanning across East Asia, Europe, and the United States. My analysis is based on a diverse set of artifacts from the seventeenth century through the early twentieth century, including didactic texts on obstetrics, an advertisement for a patent medicine claiming to cure syphilis, and a bag containing various documents owned by a midwife. Each artifact reveals a fascinating aspect of the genealogy of Japanese women’s medicine. 

Was writing for an exhibit any different than writing an article? 

While writing for an exhibit differs from writing an article, I found more similarities than differences. Both rely on primary sources and require succinctly conveying why a topic or artifact matters and what it can reveal. The object labels for the exhibit had a 200–300 word limit, so they resembled the introduction of an article. However, their purpose is not to present a full argument but to spark curiosity about the object. With this in mind, I explored strategies to sustain the viewer’s interest by highlighting a particular facet of the artifact. This process deepened my attention to the distinct features of each object. This sharpened focus is equally valuable in academic writing, where close engagement with material evidence can illuminate broader historical arguments in both articles and dissertation chapters. 

What is your top writing tip for an award-winning analysis?

I wish I had a single top tip—but since I don’t, I’ll walk you through what I did when I wrote that paper. Somewhat related to my answer to the previous question, I think it’s important to communicate in jargon-free, accessible language when writing about why my research matters. It is often difficult to do this without another set of eyes, so I often have someone read my paper and point out parts that are unclear or difficult to understand. I also return to some of my favorite articles and books to emulate their writing strategies. Lastly, I write with the same passion that I feel for my topic in the hopes that my readers will feel my enthusiasm.

 

Narusa Yamato in Hachijo