Japan court orders the dissolution of the Unification Church
TOKYO March 25, 2025 : A courtroom in Tokyo buzzing with tension, a decision looming that could reshape the landscape of religious freedom in Japan. On March 25, 2025, that scene became reality when the Tokyo District Court ordered the dissolution of the Unification Church, a South Korean-born religious group that’s stirred controversy for decades. Known colloquially as the “Moonies” after its founder Sun Myung Moon, the church now faces the loss of its tax-exempt status and a mandate to liquidate its assets in Japan. But this isn’t just a legal ruling—it’s a story of grief, greed, and a nation grappling with its past and future.
Let’s dive into what led to this seismic shift, explore the ripples it’s sending through Japan and beyond, and uncover what it means for the people caught in the crossfire.
The Spark That Ignited the Fire
The roots of this ruling stretch back to a sweltering day in July 2022, when former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe was gunned down during a campaign speech. The shooter, Tetsuya Yamagami, didn’t just aim at Abe—he aimed at the Unification Church, which he blamed for his family’s financial ruin. His mother, a devoted follower, had poured over 100 million yen (roughly $670,000 today) into the church’s coffers, a sum that shattered their lives. Yamagami saw Abe as complicit, tied to the church through political connections that stretched back to his grandfather, Nobusuke Kishi, who helped the group plant roots in Japan in the 1960s.
That single act of violence cracked open a Pandora’s box. Investigations revealed a web of ties between the church and Japan’s ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). An internal LDP probe found that 179 of its 379 lawmakers had some link to the group—attending events, accepting donations, or leaning on its members for election muscle. The public was stunned, and the backlash was swift: four ministers resigned, and trust in the government took a nosedive.
A Church Under the Microscope
Founded in 1954 by Sun Myung Moon, a self-proclaimed messiah with a fierce anti-communist streak, the Unification Church built its identity on grand ideals—unifying the Korean Peninsula, promoting world peace, and centering salvation on marriage (think mass weddings with thousands of couples saying “I do” in unison). In Japan, it grew into a powerhouse, claiming up to 100,000 active members and raising an estimated 10 billion yen ($67 million) annually.
But beneath the surface, a darker narrative brewed. Japan’s Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, which oversees religious groups, launched a probe in 2022. They interviewed nearly 200 former members who painted a chilling picture: the church preyed on fears—spiritual curses, ancestral sins from Japan’s colonial rule over Korea (1910-1945)—to pressure followers into buying overpriced trinkets or handing over life-altering sums. One statistic stands out: since 2023, 200 ex-believers have sought 5.7 billion yen ($38.5 million) in compensation for what they call coerced donations.
The ministry didn’t stop there. They pointed to 32 civil lawsuits where courts ordered the church to pay damages for illegal solicitation tactics, totaling billions of yen. This wasn’t petty crime—it was systemic, they argued, and it warranted stripping the church of its religious corporation status under Japan’s Religious Corporations Law.
The Courtroom Showdown
Fast forward to October 2023: the ministry formally asked the Tokyo District Court to dissolve the church, a move unprecedented for a group not tied to criminal acts like the Aum Shinrikyo cult’s 1995 subway attack. The church fought back, insisting its donation practices were sacred acts of faith, not exploitation. They’d cleaned up their act since 2009, they claimed, with stricter compliance rules.
But the court wasn’t swayed. On March 25, 2025, the gavel fell. The ruling hinged on a key interpretation: violations of civil law—like manipulating vulnerable people—could justify dissolution if they “substantially harmed public welfare.” A Supreme Court decision earlier that month had paved the way, affirming that civil wrongs, not just criminal ones, could trigger such an order. The church, now officially the Family Federation for World Peace and Unification, was out of legal lifelines—at least for now. They’ve vowed to appeal to the Tokyo High Court, setting the stage for a protracted battle.
What Dissolution Really Means
Here’s where it gets practical. Losing its religious status doesn’t ban the church outright—it can still operate as a private entity in Japan. But the financial hit is real: no more tax breaks, and its assets (think properties, cash reserves) must be sold off or redistributed. For a group that’s reportedly funneled much of its global funding from Japan, this could kneecap its operations worldwide.
For followers, it’s a mixed bag. The court stressed that dissolution doesn’t infringe on their freedom to worship—Moon’s teachings can live on in their hearts and homes. But the stigma? That’s harder to shake. Imagine being part of a group now branded a pariah, your faith tangled in headlines about fraud and political scandal.
The Bigger Picture: Faith, Freedom, and Fallout
This ruling isn’t just about one church—it’s a litmus test for how Japan balances religious liberty with public protection. Historically, the nation’s been cautious about curbing faith groups, scarred by prewar oppression of dissenters. Only two other organizations have faced dissolution, both tied to violent crimes. The Unification Church case breaks that mold, raising eyebrows globally. Religious freedom advocates, like those at the Coordination of Associations and Individuals for Freedom of Conscience, cry foul, warning of a slippery slope where “public welfare” becomes a cudgel against unpopular beliefs.
On the flip side, victims see justice. For people like “Keiko Kaburagi” (a pseudonym used online), who escaped the church’s grip, this is vindication after decades of ignored pleas. The National Network of Lawyers Against Spiritual Sales, a group pushing for accountability, estimates the church’s tactics have drained billions from Japanese families since the 1980s. To them, this isn’t persecution—it’s a reckoning.
What’s Next for the Moonies and Japan?
The appeal process could drag on for months, maybe years, as the church digs in its heels. If the ruling sticks, expect a seismic shift in how religious groups operate in Japan—more scrutiny, tighter rules, and a wary eye on political ties. The LDP, already reeling from the scandal, might face fresh pressure to purge any lingering church influence ahead of future elections.
For the average reader, here’s the takeaway: this saga isn’t black-and-white. It’s a clash of ideals—freedom versus accountability, faith versus fairness. If you’re traveling to Japan, you might still spot Unification Church members quietly recruiting, their mission undeterred. But their clout? That’s fading fast.
So, next time you hear about a “cult” in the news, think beyond the headlines. Behind the courtroom drama lies a human story—of believers, betrayed families, and a nation wrestling with where to draw the line. What do you think: is this justice served, or a step too far?
