Tokyo — In a stunning turn of events that underscores the unforgiving rigidity of Japan’s drug laws, Takeshi Niinami, the charismatic and outspoken CEO of Suntory Holdings, has stepped down amid a police investigation into his alleged purchase of supplements containing tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the psychoactive compound derived from cannabis. At 66, Niinami wasn’t just another corporate executive; he was a fixture in Japan’s business elite, a Harvard Business School graduate who bridged the gap between traditional family-run conglomerates and global capitalism. His resignation, effective September 1, 2024, raises uncomfortable questions about the intersection of personal missteps, cultural conservatism, and the high-stakes world of international business.
The scandal erupted into public view this week, with Suntory confirming Niinami’s departure during a press conference in Tokyo on Tuesday. According to company president Nobuhiro Torii—a great-grandson of Suntory’s founder Shinjiro Torii—Niinami first informed colleagues on August 22 that he was under police scrutiny. Investigators from Fukuoka Prefectural Police had searched his Tokyo home, suspecting he received products containing cannabis-derived substances from an overseas acquaintance. Media outlets, including public broadcaster NHK and the Tokyo Shimbun, reported that the supplements in question may have included THC, which is strictly prohibited in Japan regardless of its intended use—recreational, medical, or otherwise.
Niinami, for his part, has vehemently denied any intentional wrongdoing. In an interview with the Asahi newspaper published Tuesday evening, he insisted, “I was not aware that it was an illegal supplement. I am innocent.” He explained that he purchased the items under the assumption they were legal, perhaps mistaking them for products containing cannabidiol (CBD), which is permissible in Japan and widely available in health stores. Yet, in a country where possession of THC can land someone in prison for up to seven years, and trafficking carries even harsher penalties, assumptions can be costly. Niinami told the company he felt compelled to resign to avoid fracturing Suntory’s unity, a decision that Torii described as a “real shame,” praising his former boss as a “bold, decisive leader who got things done.”
This isn’t just a personal downfall; it’s a blow to corporate Japan. Niinami was the first outsider to lead Suntory, the family-founded beverage behemoth known for its whiskies, beers, and soft drinks like Orangina. Under his tenure since 2014, the company ballooned its revenue and profits, most notably through the $16 billion acquisition of U.S. spirits maker Beam (including debt), which catapulted Suntory into the global spotlight. He was the face of Japanese business on the world stage—frequently appearing at Davos, advising multiple prime ministers on economic policy, and chairing the influential Keizai Doyukai business lobby. Fluent in English, he often graced international media like CNN, opining on everything from Japan’s economy to central bank strategies. His scheduled press conference with Keizai Doyukai on Wednesday is now poised to be a media circus, where he’ll likely elaborate on the saga.
But let’s pause for a moment of opinionated reflection: Japan’s draconian drug laws, while rooted in a cultural aversion to substances that dates back decades, seem increasingly out of step with global trends. Countries like the U.S., Canada, and even parts of Europe have liberalized cannabis regulations, distinguishing between THC and CBD, and recognizing medical benefits. In Japan, there’s no such nuance—it’s all outlawed, full stop. This zero-tolerance approach has ensnared high-profile figures before: Just last year, Olympus Corp. fired its German CEO Stefan Kaufmann over allegations of illegal drug purchases, and in 2015, Toyota executive Julie Hamp, an American, was arrested for importing oxycodone (though later released). These cases highlight a pattern: Foreign-influenced executives, often more accustomed to lenient Western norms, clash with Japan’s unyielding legal framework.
Is Niinami a victim of this cultural chasm? Possibly. As a global traveler and Harvard alum who previously helmed convenience store chain Lawson, he embodies the modern Japanese leader—outward-looking and ambitious. Yet, his alleged oversight speaks to a broader issue: In an era of e-commerce and international shipping, how can busy executives navigate the minefield of varying global regulations? If the supplements were indeed sent from abroad, as reports suggest (tied to a man arrested in July), it underscores the risks of cross-border transactions. Police have questioned Niinami and searched his home, but no confirmation of possession or use has emerged. Until proven otherwise, he deserves the presumption of innocence, not the swift corporate exile that followed.
Suntory, meanwhile, is steering back toward its roots. With Niinami’s exit, Torii assumes full control, marking a return to family leadership after a brief experiment with external talent. The company, immortalized in Sofia Coppola’s 2003 film “Lost in Translation” where Bill Murray’s character hawked its whisky amid Tokyo’s neon haze, remains a cultural icon. Shares in its listed unit, Suntory Beverage & Food, even rose 3% on Tuesday, suggesting investors view this as a contained crisis rather than a systemic rot.
In the end, Niinami’s resignation feels like a cautionary tale for Japan’s business world: Innovation and global expansion are prized, but stray too far from conservative norms, and the fall is precipitous. He has no plans to step down from Keizai Doyukai, per the Asahi report, which could allow him to salvage his legacy as a thought leader. But for Suntory, the loss of such a dynamic figure is undeniable. As Torii lamented, it’s a shame they couldn’t “continue as a team.” In a nation grappling with economic stagnation and demographic decline, Japan needs more leaders like Niinami—bold and unapologetic—not fewer. Whether this probe uncovers malice or mere misunderstanding will determine if his story ends in redemption or regret. For now, it’s a sobering reminder that even the mightiest CEOs aren’t above the law, especially in Japan.