A woman struggles to free her brother from death row in Japan

When the court declared Iwao Hakamata innocent in September, the world's longest-serving death row prisoner seemed unable to comprehend the moment, let alone enjoy it.

“I told him he had been acquitted, so he kept quiet,” Hideko Hakamata, his 91-year-old sister, told the BBC at her home in Hamamatsu, Japan.

“I couldn't tell if he understood or not.”

Hideko had been fighting for her brother to be retried since he was convicted of quadruple murder in 1968.

In September 2024, at the age of 88, he was finally acquitted, ending Japan's longest running legal saga.

Mr. Hakamata's condition is remarkable. But it also highlights the systemic brutality underpinning Japan's justice system, where death row inmates are only notified a few hours before their execution and spend years unsure whether each day will be their last.

Human rights experts have long condemned such treatment as cruel and inhumane, saying it exacerbates prisoners' risk of serious mental illness.

The more than half of his life he spent in solitary confinement, awaiting execution for a crime he did not commit, had a profound impact on Mr. Hakamata.

Since his retrial and release from prison in 2014, he has lived under Hideko's close care.

When we arrived at the apartment, he was on his daily walk with a volunteer group that supports the elderly brothers. Hideko explains that he is wary of strangers, and has been in “his own world” for years.

“Maybe it can't be helped,” she says. “This is what happens when you are locked up and crammed into a small cell for over 40 years.

“They made him live like an animal.”

Former professional boxer Iwao Hakamata was working at a miso processing plant when the bodies of his boss, his wife, and their two teenage children were found. The four were stabbed to death.

Authorities accused Hakamata of killing the family, setting fire to their home in Shizuoka and stealing 200,000 yen (£199; $556) in cash.

“We had no idea what was going on,” Hideko says of that day in 1966 when police came to arrest her brother.

The family home was searched, as were the homes of their two older sisters, and Mr. Hakamata was taken away.

He initially denied all charges, but later made what he described as a forced confession after beatings and interrogations that continued for up to 12 hours a day.

Two years after his arrest, Hakamata was convicted of murder and arson and sentenced to death. When he was taken to a cell on death row, Hideko noticed a change in his behavior.

One prison visit in particular stands out.

“He said, ‘There was an execution yesterday, and there was someone in the cell next door,'” she recalls. “He asked me to take care of it, and since then he has completely changed mentally and has become very calm.”

Mr. Hakamata is not the only one affected by life on Japan's death row, where prisoners wake up every morning not knowing whether this will be their last.

“The period between 08:00 and 08:30 a.m. was the most important, because that was generally when prisoners were notified of their execution,” Minda Sakai, who spent 34 years on death row before being exonerated, wrote in the book. Try it.

“You start feeling terribly anxious, because you don't know if they're going to stop in front of your cell. It's impossible to express how terrible that feeling is.”

“The daily threat of imminent death is cruel, inhuman and degrading,” noted James Welsh, lead author of Amnesty International's 2009 report on conditions on death row. The report concluded that prisoners were at risk of “significant mental health problems.”

Hideko could only watch as her brother's mental health deteriorated as the years passed.

“One time he asked me, 'Do you know who I am?' I said: Yes, you are Iwao Hakamata. He said: No, you should be here to see someone different. He just returned (to his cell).

Hideko stepped up as his spokesman and advocate. However, there was no significant progress in his case until 2014.

The main evidence against Hakamata was the red-stained clothes found in a miso tank at his workplace.

They were recovered a year and two months after the murder, and the prosecution said they belonged to him. But Hakamata's defense team has argued for years that DNA extracted from the clothing did not match his DNA, and claimed the evidence was planted.

In 2014, they were able to convince the judge to release him from prison and retry him.

Lengthy legal proceedings meant the retrial took until last October. When it finally happened, it was Hideko who appeared in court, pleading for her brother's life.

Mr. Hakamata's fate depends on the spots, specifically how they age.

The prosecution claimed the stains were red when the clothes were recovered, but the defense said the blood would have turned black after being soaked in miso for so long.

That was enough to convince presiding judge Koushi Kone, who declared that “the investigating body added the blood stains and hid the items in the miso tank long after the accident occurred.”

Judge Kony also found other evidence to be fabricated, including the investigation report, and declared Mr. Hakamata innocent.

Hideko's first reaction was to cry.

“When the judge said the defendant was not guilty, I felt elated and shed tears,” she says. “I'm not a person who cries, but my tears flowed non-stop for about an hour.”

The court's conclusion that the evidence against Mr. Hakamata was fabricated raises troubling questions.

Japan has a 99% conviction rate and a system called “hostage justice” that, according to Kanae Doi, Japan director at Human Rights Watch, “deprives detained persons of their rights to the presumption of innocence and prompt and fair bail.” Listen and have a lawyer during interrogation.”

“These abusive practices have led to lives and families being torn apart, as well as wrongful convictions,” Mr. Dowie noted in 2023.

David T. Johnson, a professor of sociology at the University of Hawaii at Manoa whose research focuses on criminal justice in Japan, has followed the Hakamata case for the past 30 years.

One reason for the delay, he said, was that “evidence important to the defense was not disclosed to them until approximately 2010.”

Johnson told the BBC that the failure was “massive and inexcusable”. “The judges have continued to postpone the case, as they often do in response to motions for retrial (because) they are busy, and the law allows them to do so.”

Hideko says the core of the injustice was the forced confession and coercion her brother was subjected to.

But Johnson says false accusations don't happen because of a single mistake. Instead, these problems are exacerbated by failures at all levels – from the police to the prosecution, the courts and Parliament.

He added: “The judges have the final say.” “When a wrongful conviction occurs, it ultimately happens because they said so. Too often, judges' responsibility for producing and maintaining wrongful convictions is neglected, overlooked and overlooked.”

Against this backdrop, Hakamata's acquittal was a turning point – and a rare moment of retrospective justice.

After Mr. Hakamata was declared innocent, the judge presiding over his retrial apologized to Hideko for how long it had taken to get justice.

Shortly after, Shizuoka Police Chief Takayoshi Tsuda visited her home and bowed to her brother and sister.

“For the past 58 years… we have caused you untold anxiety and burden,” Tsuda said. “We're really sorry.”

Hideko gave the police chief an unexpected response.

“We believe that everything that happened was our fate,” she said. “We won't complain about anything now.”

After nearly 60 years of anxiety and pain, Hideko designed her home with the express intention of letting in some light. The rooms are bright and inviting, filled with photos of her and Iwao alongside family friends and supporters.

Hideko laughs as she shares memories of her “cute” little brother as a child, flipping through black-and-white family photos.

He seems to be the youngest of six siblings who always stands by her side.

“We were always together as kids,” she explains. “I always knew I had to take care of my little brother. And so it continues.”

She entered Mr. Hakamata's room and introduced their red cat, who occupied the chair he usually sat on. She then pointed to pictures of him as a young professional boxer.

“He wanted to be a hero,” she says. “Then the accident happened.”

She explained that after Hakamata's release in 2014, Hideko wanted to make the apartment as bright as possible. So she painted the front door pink.

“I thought if he was in a bright room and living a happy life, he would naturally recover.”

It's the first thing one notices when visiting Hideko's apartment, this bright pink statement of hope and resilience.

It is unclear whether this method worked, as Hakamata still paced back and forth for hours, just as he had done for years in a prison cell no larger than three mats.

But Hideko refuses to continue asking what their lives would have been like if not for this terrible miscarriage of justice.

When asked who she blamed for her brother's suffering, she replied: “Nobody.”

“Complaining about what happened will get us nowhere.”

Her priority now is keeping her brother comfortable. She shaves his face, massages his head, and slices apples and apricots for his breakfast every morning.

Hideko, who spent most of her 91 years fighting for her brother's freedom, says this was their fate.

“I don’t want to think about the past,” she says. “I don’t know how long I will live.” “I just want Iwao to live a peaceful and quiet life.”

Additional reporting by Chika Nakayama