The Japanese have continuously shrugged off responsibility for their past military actions when they took control of other Asian countries (most notably in China and Korea), or choosing to deny/change facts (i.g. comfort women).
By Miyavi accepting this role, the Japanese felt that he “betrayed” his country with his portrayal, despite his comments that he portrayed this role so that it would be respectful to the Japanese, but honest in the actions. This, however, is just more of the population’s revisionist thinking when it comes to the war, spearheaded by Prime Minister Shinzo Abe.
Despite this, Miyavi has repeatedly said in interviews that he hopes the movie gets a premiere in Japan or that it gets seen by the people, so that, yes, they see what transpired during the war, but that they also see the other big message in the film, that of acknowledging your actions and forgiving.
That is why there’s comments now using his ethnicity against him and demanding he be deported (despite the fact that his mother is ethnic Japanese and his father is Zainichi Korean), even though Miyavi has always been proud of his heritage.
"Louie stood in the sun, holding up the beam. The Bird stretched over the roof like a contented cat, calling to the Japanese who walked by, pointing to Louie and laughing. Louie locked his eyes on the Bird’s face, radiating hatred.
Several minutes passed. Louie stood, eyes on the Bird. The beam felt heavier and heavier, the pain more intense. The Bird watched Louie, amused by his suffering, mocking him. Wade and Tinker went on with their work, stealing anxious glances at the scene across the compound.
Wade looked at the camp clock when Louie had first lifted the beam. He became more and more conscious of how much time was passing.
Fire more minutes passed, then ten. Louie’s arms began to waver and go numb. His body shook. The beam tipped. The guard jabbed Louie with his gun, and Louie straightened up. Less and Less blood was reaching his head, and he began to feel confused, his thoughts gauzy, the camp swimming around him. He felt consciousness slipping, his mind losing adhesion, until all he knew was a single thought: He can not break me.”
They were standing before a small office, where they’d been told to wait. In front of them, standing beside the building, was a Japanese corporal. He was leering at them.
He was a beautifully crafted man, a few years short of thirty. His face was handsome, with full lips that turned up slightly at the edges, giving his mouth a faintly cruel expression. Beneath his smartly tailored uniform, his body was perfectly balanced, his torso radiating power, his form trim. A sword angled elegantly off of his hip, and circling his waist was a broad webbed belt embellished with an enormous metal buckle. The only incongruities on this striking corporal were his hands—huge, brutish, animal things that one man would liken to paws.