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English Pages [354] Year 2003
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L T C B International Library Trust/lnternational House of Japan
B eyond the “J udgment of C ivilization ” T h e In t e l l e c t u a l L e g a c y o f t h e J a pa n e se W a r C r im e s T r ia l s , 19 4 6 -19 4 9
Ushimura Kei A ssociate P rofessor M eisei University a t O m e
T ran slated by
Steven J. Ericson
LTCB International Library Selection No. 14
Transcription of names The Hepburn system of romanization is used for Japanese terms, including the names of persons and places. Long vowels are indicated by a macron. Chinese terms are romanized using the pinyin system. The Wade-Giles system is used, however, in quotations from materials from the early postwar period. With regard to Japanese, Chinese, and Korean personal names, we have fol lowed the local custom of placing the family name first.
Photographs appearing on pages 1, 15, and 19 are courtesy of the Kyodo Press, Mainichi Shinbun, Togo Shinenori Kinenkai, and the U.S. Army.
This book was originally published in 2001 by Chuokoron Shinsha under the title “B unm ei n o sabak i” o k oete: Tainichi senpan saiban dokkai n o k ok orom i. English translation rights reserved by The International House of Japan, Inc. under contract with Ushimura Kei and through the courtesy of ChuokoronShinsha. © 2003 by The International House of Japan All rights reserved by The International House of Japan. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permis sion, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First English edition published March 2003 by The International House of Japan 11-16, 5-chome, Minato-ku, Tokyo 106-0032, Japan Tel: +81-3-3470-3211 Fax: +81-3-3470-3170
Printed in Japan
Contents
Forew ord................................................................................................ ix Preface ................................................................................................ xiii In tr o d u ctio n A determined Battle o f Civilization .................................3 O verview o f the Tokyo W ar Crimes Trial ................... 4 Jackson o f the Niirnberg Trial ...........................................7 W hat Is “the Judgment of Civilization” ? .................... 8
P art I. T he D efendants at the In tern ation al M T ribunals in Ea st an d W est
C hapter 1.
ilitary
C ritique of M aruyama M asao ’s “Psychology of M ilitarist R ulers” ........................................... 17
the
Doubts about M aruyam a’s Thesis ............................... 17 The Defendants through Keenan’s Eyes ......................2 1 Jackson’s Closing Argument ...........................................24 Koiso Kuniaki and “The Way of We Japanese” .............. 27 Keitel on the Witness Stand ............................................. 29 Von Neurath Cornered .................................................... 30 C hapter 2.
I D o N ot Evade R esponsibility: G eneral M atsui IWANE AND THE NANJING INCIDENT .................. 35
Sacrifice Oneself for Benevolence ................................... 37 I Do Not Evade Responsibility .......................................41 The Fateful Exchange ...................................................... 43 The Prosecution’s Interpretation...........................................46 v
vi
C ontents
The Defense Counterattack .................................................. 51 The Verdict ......................................................................... 55 Two Kinds of Responsibility .............................................. 55 “Deviation from One’s Competence” ........................... 57 C hapter 3.
“R egard for Feelings between Private Individuals” and “ H aragei” : T he L ogic of Foreign M inister T ogo Shigenori ....................61
Togo Shigenori’s “W eak N erves” ...................................61 G rew ’s R ecollections.......................................................... 67 A Comparison w ith Hull .................................................. 71 Togo Shigenori and the Tripartite Pact ....................... 77 The Determination to C arry out U.S.-Japan Negotiations and H aragei ...........................................81 C hapter 4.
W estern R esponsibility, Eastern R esponsibility: H ermann G oring and T ojo H ideki....................87
G oring’s Responsibility .................................................. 87 T ojo’s Responsibility ...................................................... 92 M en o f Letters Witness the Day o f Sentencing ............96 The Critique o f “Tensei jingo” (Vox Populi, V o x Dei) ......................................................................99 October 1, 19 4 6 ............................................................ 102 C o nclusion..........................................................................104
P art II. P o rtraits
C hapter 5.
fr o m the
T ake yam a M ichio
T o k y o T rial
and the
T okyo T rial
... i l l
“The Trial of M r. Hyde” ...............................................I l l Kinoshita Junji’s Between G od and Man ....................117 “M odernity as the Lead A ctor” ................................... 120 History o f the Spirit o f Show a ....................................... 124 “A Letter to Judge Roling” ...........................................128
C ontents
“A Visit to H olland” .................................................... 131 “The History of Showa and the Tokyo T rial” ...... 136 C hapter 6.
J udge R oling
and J apan :
T he T o k y o T rial
and
O n R eading
B eyond ..........................138
The Tokyo Trial Revisited: An Unexpected Publication ..................................................................138 Mistranslations Diminish the Value of the Original 142 Roling’s Contribution to a Collected W ork on Buddhist Philosophy ......................................... 144 The “New Facts” That Roling R e v e a ls......................147 “The Defendants W ere Dignified Fellows” .............. 148 Japan as a Foreign Culture ...........................................152 From a Comparative Viewpoint: Macbeth Crimes 154 Bernard Roling, Historian ...........................................157 “Ideological Aggression” and Japan ........................... 161 C hapter 7.
Echoing C ritiques of the H ull N ote: J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock ................ 164
Orientalism and Japanese Studies ............................... 164 Judge Pal’s Separate Opinion ....................................... 166 An “Alm ost Blinding” Despair ................................... 171 The Identity of the “American H istorian” .............. 174 An Interdisciplinary Critic ......................................... 177 Resisting the Current of the Times ..............................179 Albert Nock, the Historian ......................................... 181 On Justice and Patriotism ...............................................182 The Last Days o f a Superfluous M an ........................185 C hapter 8.
J ustice A cross the O cean: A ttorney B en B ruce B lakeney ................................................................ 187
Speaking for Justice and Fair Play ..............................187 An Officer in the Occupation Arm y ............................189 Nonfiction W riter .......................................................... 192 The Kabuki Actor at Ichigaya ....................................... 194 A Great M an from O k lah o m a ....................................... 196
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viii
C ontents
For Duty and Honor ...........................................................200 The Artist in Sanshiro .......................................................202 Professor Blakeney ...............................................................207 Beloved Home, J a p a n ...........................................................211 C hapter 9.
T he Foreign M inister as C ritic: T ogo Shigenori and C hanging V iews of “C ivilization” ...................................................... 217
Introduction ........................................................................... 217 M utsu Munemitsu as a Precursor ..................................218 A Nation of “the New Civilization of theW est” ... 222 The Sino-Japanese W ar from the Perspective of Intellectual History .......................................................225 The M an Who Experienced Different Cultures .........228 “The Causes of the Greater East Asia W ar” .............233 Confronting Technology .................................................. 236 Concluding Remarks ...........................................................240
A t P laces
P art III. J u d gm en t A br o ad
of
C hapter 10 . C onfronting “ the O ther”: T he Prison D iary of L ieutenant G eneral K awamura Saburo 245
Uninvited Guests ...................................................................245 Singapore, February 1 9 4 2 .................................................. 246 Imperial Gifts—Silver Watches and a Pair of M ilitary Swords ............................................................................... 250 Into the M idst of “the Other” .........................................252 Modern Japan and Its Experience of the Other .......254 Changi Prison as a Foreign Culture ............................256 A Public Trial with Great Fanfare ..................................262 The Last Grand Scene of M y Life ..................................265 A Stubborn Pursuit ...............................................................268 The Foreign Culture of Anglo-American Law .........271 In His Final Dwelling ...........................................................275
C ontents
C hapter 11. “A G entleman D elights in T hree T hings”: T he M emoirs of G eneral Imamura H itoshi 278
Introduction ........................................................................... 278 The Memoirs of a General .............................................. 280 Imamura Hitoshi the W riter ..........................................283 Lucky in Teachers ...............................................................287 Parents ....................................................................................293 On the Road to Becoming a Soldier ............................. 297 As an E ducator....................................................................... 301 For the Sake of a Stray Sheep .......................................... 304 As a Teacher and a Caring Father-Figure..................... 311 Concluding Remarks ........................................................... 3 17
E pilogue W ar , Literature,
and
Selected Bibliography
C ivilization .............................................. 319
327
ix
Foreword
Coping with defeat is never easy. Think of Germany after World W ar I or the American South after the Civil W ar or France after the Napoleonic W ars. Coping with defeat is particularly difficult if the w ar has strong cultural or ideological aspects, if the victors pre sume to speak for “civilization.” Then the vanquished must deal not merely with the fact of defeat but also with an overwhelming challenge to their values. In 1945 the Japanese could not deny the fact of Japan’s defeat: the firebom bing and the atomic bombs guaranteed that. But many Japanese accepted as well the worldview of the victors. The title of John W. D ower’s prize-w inning book of 1999 about Jap an ’s experience of the Am erican O ccupation (1945-1952) is telling: E m bracin g D efea t. M any intellectuals bought into the idea of the superiority of the “W est,” of the “American w a y ,” of democracy. The costs of this accom modation were not im m edi ately apparent, at least not to m any of those Japanese (and Americans) who made it. These costs are more obvious now, in hindsight. One of the major Occupation efforts was the Tokyo W ar Crimes Trial (1946-1948), the Pacific counterpart of the first Niirnberg Tribunal in Germany. In condemning Japan’s wartim e policies and leaders, the prosecutors at Tokyo and the m ajority judgment xi
xii
Foreword
claimed to speak for “civilization.” Did the trial represent the “judgment of civilization” ? If not, what were the consequences for Japan and its intellectuals? Who accepted the trial’s verdicts as the “judgment of civilization” ? Who did not? The Tokyo trial has been the subject of much impassioned debate, among both Japanese and non-Japanese writers. W ithin Japan many conservatives attacked the trial and embraced the dissenting judgment of Judge Pal of India; many progressives embraced the trial and criticized Pal. Only in the last two decades have those lines become less clear-cut. Today many progressives concede that the trial was severely flawed, but their concession on this point does not lead necessarily to an ac ceptance of the rest of the conservative attack. (In 1971, motivated in part by my own hostility to the American war in Indochina, I argued in Victors’ Justice: The Tokyo War Crimes Trial that the trial involved fla grant abuses of law and legal procedure and a highly questionable read ing of Japanese history.) Ushimura Kei was born in 1959, a decade after the Tokyo judges handed down their judgments. His background is in French lan guage and literature, the focus of his undergraduate w ork at the University of Tokyo (B.A., 1983), and in comparative literature (M.A., 1985, also University of Tokyo). Having done graduate work at the University of Chicago, he is at home in English, too. He has w rit ten essays on the East-West ideological struggle, on translation, on learning English, on writings about Japan by non-Japanese, and on World W ar II and the Tokyo trial. The present volume is his first monograph. We can say of Ushimura w hat he says here of the American Albert J. Nock, that he is an interdisciplinary writer who cannot be forced into any narrow category—for example, “histo rian .” He ranges broadly, and he is provocative, challenging us to rethink our assumptions. We find in this volume not m erely the fam iliar figures of the Tokyo trial itself—Chief Prosecutor Keenan, Judge Roling (the N etherlands), defendants Tojo and Togo and M atsui—but also two of the defendants at lesser w ar crim es trials: K aw am ura Saburo (Singapore) and Im am ura H itoshi (New B ritain and Java). We find as w ell figures we know m ainly in other settings—
Forewaod
w riters K aw abata Y asunari (Nobel Laureate), M o ri O gai (The Wild G oose), N atsum e Soseki (K oko ro ), O saragi Jiro ( The Jou rney), and T akeyam a M ichio (Harp o f Burm a). And we find—the famous postwar essays of political scientist M aruyam a M asao to the contrary notwithstanding—that the behavior of the Japanese defendants w as not so different from that of the Niirnberg defendants. These trials provide Ushimura a lens, and the view he sees through that lens is of a much broader field, the encounter of Japanese intellectuals with the United States and the “W est” in the immediate postwar years. Ushimura does not restrict his gaze to the Japanese dissenters, Takeyam a and Togo most notably, but in cludes extended treatment of defense counsel Ben Bruce Blakeney and Judge Roling. He does not mention the American Helen Mears, author of the much-neglected masterpiece, Mirror for Americans: Japan (1948). Years before others questioned American claims to righteousness, M ears critiqued the effects of that hubris on Americans. Ushimura pursues primarily the effects of that hubris on Japanese. In law , it is often the case that long after the fact we look for insight to the dissents, not to the m ajority judgments. Perhaps the same holds true of history, too: it is the dissenting voices, often unheard or underappreciated at the time, that in retrospect are the most instructive. I end with a personal note: these dark days of American arro gance and “preventive w ar” are in many w ays a throwback to the chauvinism and ethnocentrism that characterized “the judgment of civilization.” Iraq (or “the Muslim w orld”) replaces Japan, and the “w ar on terrorism” replaces the Pacific W ar and the Cold W ar, but otherwise the mindset is not much different. Ushimura wrote this book before George W. Bush was anointed president, but much of his argument about “the judgment of civilization” applies, with only minor changes, to current American official and media think ing about the world. Is it too much to hope that Ushimura’s dis cussion of the past will help us all—Japanese and Americans alike— to see the dangers of this present parochialism?
xiii
xiv
Foreword
In this meticulous translation, Steven J. Ericson makes Ushim ura’s thesis available to those who do not read Japanese, thereby accelerating its impact on all who think and write about the Tokyo trial, the American Occupation of Japan, and modern Japanese and American intellectual history.
Richard H. Minear Amherst, Massachusetts February 2003
*
Richard H. Minear is professor of history at the University of Massachusetts and author of V ictors’ Ju stice: T he T ok yo War C rim es Trial (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1971); Japanese translation: Shosha n o sabaki: S enso saiban S enso sekinin to w a Nanika, translated by Ando Nisuke (Tokyo: Fukumura Shuppan, 1972)
Preface
The Tokyo Trial was an unprecedented attempt by the Allies to bring justice to a former foe, Japan. In contrast to its German counterpart, the trial for Japanese w ar crimes has not aroused much attention since its conclusion in 1948, except within a lim ited circle of scholars of international law and modern history. A lthough both have e q u a lly been c alled the “Ju d g m en t of Civilization,” looking back on the course of events in the postwar world, in particular on the m ilitary interventions by the former Allied powers in Eastern Europe and Southeast Asia, one could not possibly take their ideal of civilization at face value. On the other hand, the trials are often labeled “Victor’s Justice,” and the mere fact of there being no judge from neutral countries, let alone from the defeated, helps to strengthen that impression. Thirty years ago, many people shared these views, and at the beginning of this cen tury, one could discern the same response far and wide. M aybe in another three decades, a sim ilar understanding w ill still be preva lent. Generation after generation, the view has been and w ill be the same; but would it then be sufficient merely to express skepticism of these tribunals? Although quite understandable, to be sure, these responses w ill not likely contribute to serious scholarship. A noteworthy exception is, perhaps, the American historian Richard xv
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Preface
M in e ar, w ho presented a far-re ac h in g a n a ly sis of “V ic to r’s Justice” in the early 1970s, whereas, concerning the civilization perspective, no comprehensive contribution had yet been made. M y first encounter w ith the Tokyo T rial dates back to my childhood days. I w as in the fifth grade then, a boy of eleven who had a strong interest in Japanese history, and would derive great pleasure from chatting w ith m y friends, who were also history enthusiasts. I still vividly remember the first time I came across this historical event. Looking casually through a juvenile encyclo pedia of Japanese history, I met w ith the trial. W hat struck me w as the fact that in the middle of the 20th century our national leaders had been tried and some had even been executed simply because they had lost the w ar. I was im mediately reminded of the execution of Ishida M itsunari, a w arrior in the late 16th century, who fought again st T okugaw a Ieyasu and w as defeated in the Battle of Sekigahara. W ith this precedent in mind, it w as natural that I would consider the trial to be a revival of the M iddle Ages in the very m idst of m odernity and w an t to acquire a further knowledge of the event. Some m ight think that this reaction was a bit precocious for my age, but the reality is that the Tokyo T rial had fatal flaw s that even a fifth-grader could spot w ith ease. Some thirty years after this first encounter, I managed to or ganize my thoughts on the trials into a full volume. It was indeed a pleasant surprise and a great honor when I was notified that the selection committee and committee for general policy of the LTCB International Library Trust had nominated my book for translation into English. Thanks to the professional edi torship of M r. Saji Yasuo of the International House of Japan, together with the invaluable editorial assistance of M s. Janet Ashby, and, above all, the “feat in translation across the ocean” of Dr. Steven J. Ericson, the book was finally transformed into another piece of literature. M y luck did not stop here. The author of V ictors’ Ju stice kindly offered to contribute a foreword to this lucid and meticulous translation. These are honors greater than I deserve. When concluding chapter 11, I referred to the “three
Preface
delights” in M encius. I cannot but think that besides M encius’s three, another three delights were bestowed on me. I would there fore like to express my sincere gratitude to those who have contributed to enabling this translation to come into being.
Ushimura Kei March 2003
xvii
INTRODUCTION
The International M ilitary Tribunal fo r th e Far East o p en ed on M ay 3, 1946 in th e Ichigayadai co u rtro om : ju stices o n left, d efen d a n ts on th e right. In th e rear is a g a llery fo r visitors and new sm en.
2
Introduction
In this book I quote extensively from the transcripts of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East held in Tokyo (the Tokyo Trial) and the International Military Tribunal held in Niirnberg (the Niirnberg Trial). For these sources I have used the following abbreviations, placing them at the end of the relevant citations:
T he T ok yo War C rim es Trial, annotated, compiled, and edited by R. John Pritchard and Sonia Magbanua Zaide, 27 vols. (New York: Garland Publishing, 1981-1987). Abbreviated as, for example, [T1234], which stands for p. 1234 of the tran scripts of the Tokyo Trial.
Trial o f th e M ajor War C rim inals b e fo r e th e In tern ation al M ilitary Tribunal, N u rem b erg, 14 N o v em b er 1945—1 O cto b e r 1946, 42 vols. (Niirnberg, 1947-1949). Abbreviated as, for example, [N2.50], which stands for vol. 2, p. 50 of the transcripts of the Niirnberg Trial.
Introduction
A D etermined B attle
of
C ivilization
Mr. President, this is no ordinary trial, for here we are waging a part of the determined battle of civilization to preserve the entire world from destruction. . .. A very few throughout the world, including these accused, de cided to take the law into their own hands and to force their in dividual will upon mankind. They declared war upon civilization. They made the rules and defined the issues. They were determined to destroy democracy and its essential basis—freedom and respect of [sic] human personality; they were determined that the system of government of and by and for the people should be eradicated and what they called a “New Order” established instead. And to this end they joined hands with the Hitlerite group . . . . Together they planned, prepared, and initiated aggressive wars against the great democracies enumerated in the indictment [T384-385].
On June 4, 1946, Joseph B. Keenan, Chief Prosecutor for the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, thus began his lengthy opening statement. This address, which runs to some 15,000 words, presents the views of the prosecution on this unprecedented international m ilitary tribunal, the relationship between this tri bunal and existing international law, and the various aspects of 3
4
Introduction
Japanese aggression that the prosecutors planned to establish; but the statement drew particular attention by raising the notion of “civilization.” W hat exactly did Keenan mean by “civilization” ? “Civilization” in this context referred not only to “freedom and respect of human personality” and “the system of government of and by and for the people” but to “the great democracies enumer ated in the indictment.” In other words, Keenan loudly proclaimed that the Allied Powers themselves represented civilization. W hat the prosecutor depicted here w as not a struggle of civi lizations whereby W estern civilization would pass judgment on Japan with its non-Western civilization. This was most likely be cause the non-Western countries of China, the Philippines, and India were members of the tribunal. All that he presented here was a framework in which the “civilized” Allied Powers would pass judgment on an “uncivilized” and “barbaric” Japan. Therefore, “to preserve the entire world from destruction” meant “to save the Allies from destruction.” O verview
of the
T o k y o W a r C rimes T rial
Before proceeding with my discussion of these issues, let me provide an overview of the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, commonly known as the Tokyo W ar Crimes Trial. The Potsdam Declaration, the joint proclamation calling on Japan to surrender that the United States, Great Britain, and China issued on July 26, 1945, stated in Article 10 that “stern justice shall be meted out to all w ar criminals, including those who have visited cruelties upon our prisoners.” It thereby specified the punishment of w ar criminals as one of the stipulations of Japan’s surrender. Herein lies the ori gin of the Tokyo Trial. And the Charter of the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, promulgated in January 1946 under the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers, General Douglas M acArthur, set the actual framework for the trial includ ing procedures for public hearings. This document conformed to the charter for the International M ilitary Tribunal held in Niirnberg from November 1945 to October 1946, popularly known as the
Introduction
Niirnberg Trial, which brought legal action against Germany’s lead ers, and contained the new legal concepts of “crimes against peace” and “crimes against hum anity” in addition to the standard “con ventional w ar crim es.” As the formal title indicates, the Tokyo Trial was the Far Eastern edition of the International M ilitary Tribunal in Niirnberg. Nonetheless, the two trials had organizational differences. For ex ample, whereas in Niirnberg the United States, Great Britain, France, and the Soviet Union formed the tribunal, in Tokyo, be sides the Niirnberg four, seven other countries sat in judgment: Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the Netherlands, the Republic of China, the Philippines, and India. Also, in contrast to the Niirnberg Trial, which brought four charges—crimes against peace, crimes against humanity, w ar crimes, and “a common plan or conspiracy to commit” those crimes, the Tokyo Trial subdivided these charges and prosecuted the defendants on a total of fifty-five counts. The N iirnberg T rial indicted tw enty-four Germans—of these original defendants, one w as released on grounds of serious ill ness, and one committed suicide while in prison before the trial, so in essence tw enty-tw o Germans—and sentenced tw elve of them to death by hanging, three to life imprisonment, and four to various terms of im prisonm ent and acquitted three. The Tokyo Trial prosecuted the following twenty-eight defendants (in alpha betical order): A raki Sadao (general; arm y m inister; education m inister), D oihara Kenji (general; head of the Special Service Agency in M anchukuo; superintendent-general of the air force), Hashimoto Kingoro (colonel; artillery regim ent chief), H ata Shunroku (field m arshal; commander of the expeditionary force in Central China; army minister), Hiranuma Kiichiro (prime min ister; president of the Privy Council), H irota Koki (career diplo mat; foreign minister; prime minister), Hoshino N aoki (directorgeneral of M anchukuo; chief secretary of the cabinet), Itagaki Seishiro (general; chief of staff of the Kwantung Army; army min ister), Kaya Okinori (president of the North China Development Com pany; finance m inister), Kido Koichi (education m inister; Ford Keeper of the Privy Seal), Kimura H eitaro (general; vice
5
Introduction
army minister; commander of the expeditionary force in Burma), Koiso Kuniaki (general; governor-general of Korea; prime m inis ter), M atsui Iwane (general; area com m ander of the Japanese forces in C entral C hina), M atsuoka Yosuke (career diplom at; president of the South M anchuria R ailw ay Com pany; foreign minister), M inam i Jiro (general; arm y minister; governor-general of Korea), M uto A kira (lieutenant general; chief of the M ilitary Affairs Bureau, Army M inistry; chief of staff of the 14th District Army), Nagano Osami (fleet adm iral; navy minister; chief of the N avy General Staff), Oka Takazum i (vice adm iral; chief of the M ilitary Affairs Bureau, N avy M inistry), O kaw a Shumei (panAsianist; writer), Oshima Hiroshi (lieutenant general; ambassador to G erm any), Sato Kenryo (lieutenant general; chief of the M ilitary Affairs Bureau, Army M in istry), Shigem itsu M am oru (career diplom at; foreign m inister), Shimada Shigetaro (adm iral; navy m inister; chief of the Navy General Staff), Shiratori Toshio (career diplomat; ambassador to Italy), Suzuki Teiichi (lieutenant general; president of the Cabinet Planning Board), Togo Shigenori (career diplom at; am bassador to Germany; foreign m inister), Tojo Hideki (general; army minister; prime minister), and Umezu Yoshijiro (general; commander of the Kwantung Arm y; chief of the General Staff). Of the accused, O kawa was removed after being deemed men tally unfit to stand trial, while Matsuoka and Nagano died of illness during the proceedings. The tribunal began on M ay 3, 1946. After two-and-a-half years of deliberations, it found all the defendants guilty and, on November 1 2 ,1 948, passed sentence and came to an end. Doihara, Hirota, Itagaki, Kimura, M atsui, M uto, and Tojo were sentenced to death by hanging; A raki, Hashimoto, H ata, Hiranum a, Hoshino, Kaya, Kido, Koiso, M inam i, Oka, Oshima, Sato, Shimada, Shiratori, Suzuki, and Umezu received life sentences; and Togo was sentenced to twenty years in prison and Shigemitsu to seven years. The court at Ichigayadai in Tokyo, which passed judgment on these national leaders, is popularly known as the class “A ” tribunal; meanwhile, Japanese m ilitary personnel accused of committing “conventional w ar crimes” in specific areas were tried
Introduction
by m ilitary courts of the Allied countries concerned, and these courts are called class “B” and “C ” tribunals. J ac k so n
of the
N u r n b e r g T rial
In his opening statement, Keenan went on to describe the relation between the two international m ilitary tribunals at Nurnberg and Tokyo: In Nurnberg today similar proceedings are taking place, with other accused in the dock. With those we have no concern, other than to indicate to this Tribunal that these accused were in accord with the designs of the accused at Nurnberg and were confederated with them in this effort to dominate the world [T392].
In fact, however, even if one looks only at the opening statements by the chief prosecutors at the two trials, one is struck by the sim ilarities rather than the differences between them. On November 21, 1945, just over a half year before Keenan made his initial re marks, Robert H. Jackson, chief of counsel for the United States at the Nurnberg Trial, also began his opening statement with refer ences to “civilization”: The wrongs which we seek to condemn and punish have been so calculated, so malignant and so devastating, that civilization cannot tolerate their being ignored because it cannot survive their being repeated. . . . Civilization can afford no compromise with the social forces which would gain renewed strength if we deal ambiguously or indecisively with the men in whom those forces now precariously survive [N2.99],
Jackson even went so far as to assert: “The real complaining party at your bar is Civilization” [N2.155]. He was referring to the Jewish Holocaust under Nazi Germany, a genocide that had become clear after the w ar. As Holocaust scholars from Raul Hilberg to Michael M arrus have pointed out: “At Nuremberg, immediately after the war, crimes against Jews were part of the proceedings conducted by
7
Introduction
the International M ilitary Tribunal, but such crimes never assumed a prominent place .”1 Nonetheless, in his opening statement, Jackson made use of the Holocaust as the perfect weapon to de nounce the Nazis for their uncivilized character. In this w ay, through their opening addresses, the chief prosecutors at the in ternational m ilitary tribunals in both the East and the W est emphatically set forth a common framework of identifying the ac cuser with civilization and the accused with barbarism. W
hat
Is “ the J ud gm en t
of
C ivilization ” ?
The International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, which pros ecuted Jap an ’s wartim e leaders following the Second W orld W ar, w as a case of the victorious A llies’ u n ilaterally dragging a van quished Japan into court under the ex p o st fa c to legal charges of “crimes against peace” and “crimes against hum anity.” From the beginning there were no justices from neutral countries, and the Allied Powers were the sole decision makers as to the selection of defendants. Furtherm ore, at the trial itself, such actions by the prosecuting Allies as Am erica’s dropping of the atom bombs and R ussia’s declaring of w ar on Japan after breaking the JapaneseSoviet N eu trality Pact were all disregarded as irrelevant. Here one finds the basis for the viewpoint that the Tokyo Trial was an instance of “victor’s ju stice.” Emblematic of that perspective is the book on the trial of that title by American historian of Japan R ichard M inear, w hich in Japanese tran slatio n caused quite a commotion in Jap an .12 On the other hand, the Tokyo tribunal is also often described as a “judgm ent of civilizatio n ,” which w as the w ay Chief 1.
2.
Michael R. Marrus, T he H o lo ca u st in H istory (Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1987), p. 4. By Hilberg, see T he D estru ction o f th e E uropean J e w s (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1961). Richard H. Minear, Victors’ Ju stice: T he Tokyo War C rim es Trial (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971), translated by Ando Nisuke as Shosha n o sabaki: sen so saiban, sen so sekinin to w a nanika? (Victor’s Justice: What Are War Trials and War Responsibility?) (Tokyo: Fukumura Shuppan, 1973).
Introduction
Prosecutor Keenan characterized it in his opening statement. Yet, if one looks at the postwar actions by the Allied countries that sat in judgment while professing civilization—the Soviet Union’s m ili tary intervention in East European countries or A m erica’s d is patch of troops to Vietnam , for exam ple—it becomes clear how crude this “civilization” was, a fact that many commentators have repeatedly pointed out. Onuma Yasuaki, scholar of international law who published a great deal on the Tokyo Trial in the 1980s, wrote succinctly about the deception of the phrase “judgment of civilization”: “These in stances [postwar military interventions by the former Allied nations] rendered the Allies’ assertion that the Tokyo Trial was a ‘judgment of civilization’ a totally hypocritical and empty reverberation .”3But is it right simply to dismiss this claim by the Allies as a hypocritical and hollow “reverberation”? Should we not try to examine the sub stance of the tribunal’s judgment using the term “civilization” as a key? In his article entitled “Beyond ‘the Judgment of Civilization’ and ‘Victor’s Justice’ ” (‘Bunmei no sabaki,’ ‘shosha no sabaki’ o koete), Onuma makes only the following general remarks: At the Tokyo Trial, the Allies claimed that the judgment was mainly about “civilization.” To be sure, most of the actions being adjudicated were actions that would have been condemned, and for which the perpetrators would have been convicted, in either Western civilization or Eastern civilization. Yet, for all that, were the adjudging nations qualified to assume the title of civilization in general? One can hardly deny that therein lay the arrogance of the Western powers, which equated modern Western civilization with civilization as a whole.4
At this rate, compared to its provocative title, the contents of this article leave something to be desired. 3.
4.
Onuma Yasuaki, ‘“Bunmei no sabaki,’ ‘shosha no sabaki’ o koete,” in T okyo saiban kara s e n g o sekinin n o sh iso e (From the Tokyo Trial to the Idea of Postwar Responsibility) (Tokyo: Yushindo, 1985), p. 28. Ibid., p. 31.
9
10
Introduction
To date, the Tokyo Trial has been frequently discussed from the viewpoints of international law, modern Japanese history, and the history of U.S.-Japan relations. More than a half century has passed since the end of the trial, and during that time numerous studies have appeared. Especially noteworthy is the volume that resulted from the international symposium held in M ay 1983 to mark the release of the documentary film “The Tokyo T rial,” directed by Kobayashi M asaki .5 This conference, which brought together for discussions interested parties ranging from narrow specialists in international law and history to critics and writers, was a pivotal event in the his tory of studies on the trial. The participation of such living witnesses to history as the Dutch judge at the trial, B. V. A. Roling, American lawyers George Furness and Alfred Brooks, and Japanese lawyer Takikaw a M asajiro raised the substantive level of the meeting. This two-day symposium consisted of four panels dealing with the trial “from the perspective of international law ,” “in historical perspec tive,” “from the perspective of the quest for peace,” and in terms of its “contemporary significance,” but it made no attempt to examine the trial from the perspective of “civilization.” Thirteen years after this meeting, a symposium m ainly of histori ans called “W hat Was the Tokyo T rial?” was held to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the opening of the trial. Compared to the earlier conference, while this one included in-depth examination of the historical background as well as the presentation of new research findings, it left something to be desired for a discussion among spe cialists, with one panelist, for instance, commenting on the Soviet position without knowing the decision of the Soviet judge .6 According to Igarashi Takeshi, one of the editors of the symposium 5.
6.
The symposium proceedings were published as T ok yo sa iban o to u (An Inquiry into the Tokyo Trial), edited by Hosoya Chihiro, Ando Nisuke, and Onuma Yasuaki (Kodansha, 1984). The English edition was published as T he T ok yo War C rim es Trial: An In tern a tion a l S ym p osiu m (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1986), with Richard H. Minear joining the three Japanese editors. Igarashi Takeshi and Kitaoka Shin’ichi, eds., (Soron) T ok yo saiban to w a nan datta n o ka? ([Debate] What Was the Tokyo Trial?) (Tokyo: Tsukiji Shokan, 1997), p. 113.
Introduction
volume, the meeting was a great success, but there, too, the idea of the trial as representing a “judgment of civilization” did not become a topic, let alone a point of contention. In my view, as far as the history of studies on the Tokyo Trial is concerned, the person who has made the most substantial com ments on this notion of the “judgment of civilization” is the legal philosopher Nagao Ryuichi. In a stimulating essay entitled “Was Civilization the Judge or the Judged?” Nagao states: The fact that the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East has been set forth as the “judge of civilization” is emblem atic. . . . Why has it been called the “judge of civilization”? . . . To say that judgment was passed on the backwardness of “ma chine civilization” may be close to the truth, but that was prob ably far from the minds of the people concerned. As for saying that judgment was passed on the suppression of Asian peoples’ aspirations for liberation, the odor of former colonial empires is too strong on the part of those sitting in judgment. That it was inexcusable for Japan to have challenged the Western order of “civilized nations,” when the powers thought they had previously gotten it to acknowledge its membership in that order, was probably closest to the consciousness of those sitting in judgment.7 Furthermore, in a later piece, Nagao writes: The Tokyo Trial expressed the self-righteousness of the Allied powers professing to be “civilized nations,” and essentially it was retaliation for their loss of colonies. But, in countering that, the defense counsel tried to persuade them by using the legal theory of “civilized nations” as well.8 7.
Nagao Ryuichi, “Bunmei wa sabaita no ka sabakareta no ka,” C hiio K oron (August 1975), p. 83.
8.
Nagao Ryuichi, “Kaisetsu” (Commentary), in Kiyose Ichiro, K aiteiban hirok u T ok yo saiban (Revised Edition Secret Memoirs of the Tokyo Trial) (Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbunsha, 1981), p. 312.
11
12
Introduction
Even today, more than twenty years after their publication, N agao’s comments are full of fresh and suggestive insights. On the so-called class B and C w ar crimes trials, we have an earlier study by Tsukuba H isaharu entitled “Class B and C W ar Criminals and Postwar Thought .”9 In this article, Tsukuba states that w hat sparked his interest was a feeling of “com m onality”— a sense that we should not disregard them as the affairs of unre lated “others”—w ith regard to the circumstances of class C w ar crim inals, the low -ranking servicemen who, having been forced during the conflict to cooperate w ith the w ar effort, were pun ished afterw ards when their actions were deemed to have been crim inal. A m ajor distinguishing feature of his study is that he sees “an East-W est cultural confrontation” in the class B and C w ar crim es trials. The “confrontation” to which he refers w as that “between W estern ethos and Japanese m orality (S eid teki seishin to N ih o n teki d o to k u ).” 101Having carefully read the tran scripts of the class B and C trials, Tsukuba asserts that those tri als became the site for the follow ing harsh lessons: The tacit Japanese understanding that persons of superior character can hardly commit vicious crimes w ill have absolutely no currency in an “in ternational aren a”; and “the verdict of the A llied judges w as that, whatever the cause, whatever the person’s character, if the resulting action is bad, then it is a crim e .”11 In this book, w hile I am indebted to the above articles by N agao and Tsukuba for many of my ideas, I try to investigate the as-yet unexplored issues of the circum stances behind the socalled “judgment of civilization” and the essential characteristics of the notion of “civilization” as set forth at the Tokyo Trial. In Part I, on the basis of a com parison of the Tokyo T rial and the international m ilitary tribunal held at N iirnberg, I exam ine the 9. Tsukuba Hisaharu, “B C kyu senpan to sengo shiso,” in Shiso no kagaku kenkyukai (Society for Scientific Research on Thought), ed., K yod d kenkyu N ihon sen ry o (Joint Research on the Occupation of Japan) (Tokyo: Tokuma Shoten, 1972). 10. Ibid., p. 332. 11. Ibid., p. 340.
Introduction
differences in speech and behavior between the defendants at the trial of a W estern civilization and those at the trial of a nonW estern civilization . In Part II, I deal w ith the views on the Tokyo Trial as well as on civilization held by people who became involved in the trial in various capacities. From a broader per spective, the Tokyo tribunal was only one of many Japanese w ar crimes trials. So, in Part III, using as a clue the memoirs of two soldiers tried overseas for class B w ar crimes, I investigate the cir cum stances surrounding the defendants’ confrontation w ith a foreign civilization. Hence, I carry this study forward using the term “civilization” as a keyword, but before proceeding I should comment briefly on the basis of my argument. M any cultural anthropologists including Edward Burnett Tylor and sociologists such as Norbert Elias have attempted definitions of “civilization.” The basic approach I take in this study is not to scrutinize each text in light of a prior defini tion of the word “civilization,” but rather to interrogate the meanings and implications that the term “civilization” connotes within each text.
13
Part I
The D efendants at the International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
The d efen d a n ts at th e In tern a tion a l M ilitary Tribunal in N iirnberg
T he d efen d a n ts a t th e In tern a tion a l M ilitary Tribunal fo r th e Far East
Chapter 1
Critique of Maruyama Masao’s “Psychology of the Militarist Rulers”
D o ubts
about
M a r u y a m a ’ s T hesis
An earlier study that focused on the courtroom speech and behav ior of the former leaders of Japan and Germany was M aruyam a M asao’s “Psychology of the M ilitarist Rulers.”1 M aruyam a wrote this essay on the basis of transcripts he had borrowed from Kaino M ichitaka, a colleague in the University of Tokyo Faculty of Law who had served as counsel to the defendant Suzuki Teiichi. The work w as first published in the M ay 1949 issue of the journal Cboryu (Tide), less than half a year after the end of the Tokyo Trial. Since then it has continued to receive critical acclaim as a “fine essay utilizing the transcripts of the Far Eastern and Niirnberg m ilitary 1 1. Chapters 1-3 contain numerous quotations from Maruyama’s article, in cluded in his Gendai seiji no shiso to kodo, 2 vols. (Miraisha, 1956-1957), and translated as “Thought and Behaviour Patterns of Japan’s Wartime Leaders,” in Masao Maruyama, Thought and Behaviour in Modern Japanese Politics, ed. Ivan Morris (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 84-134. The citation in parentheses at the end of each quote refers to the pagination in the English translation. (A few additions have been made to the quoted passages in that translation from the proceedings of the Tokyo Tribunal.)
17
International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
tribunals,”23“an enduring achievement,”2 and so on. And, together with the term “system of irresponsibilities” that M aruyam a uses in the essay, the study has attained an unshakable position within the field of political science in postwar Japan. In fact, the section in which M aruyam a compares the characters of the Japanese and German governments as policy-implementing bodies seems to presage his later contributions as a distinguished political scientist. Especially the passages in which he discusses the lack of international understanding on the part of Japan’s prewar and wartime leaders and the “weak character” of Konoe Fumimaro are quite persuasive. In a nutshell, M aruyam a presents the following portraits of the German and Japanese defendants: The Nazi w ar criminal—typified by Hermann Goring, Reich marshal and commander-in-chief of the Luftwaffe, who declared, “I take one hundred per cent responsibil ity”—was an “outlaw who defiantly bases his actions on ‘evil’” and has “the lucidity of a nihilist” (100-101). M eanwhile, the Japanese w ar crim inal offered answers to the prosecutors’ questions that “were slippery as eels, hazy as the m ist” (101; M aruyam a’s em phasis). M aruyam a thus draws sharply divergent pictures of the two groups of defendants. He then characterizes the attitude of the Japanese w ar criminals collectively as “the dwarfishness of Japanese fascism”; furthermore, as two aspects of this “dwarfishness,” he cites “submission to faits accom p lis” and “refuge in one’s compe tence or jurisdiction” (103). Although “The Psychology of the M ilitarist Rulers” has won high praise, scanning the transcripts of both trials as well as related works yields images of the defendants that are quite different from those M aruyam a presents. A few scholars have noted this fact in raising questions about the methods he uses in this essay. One such scholar is Onuma Yasuaki, to whom I referred in the Introduction. Onuma 2. Inoki Masamichi, “Shohyo Gendai seiji no shiso to kodd" (Review of Thought and Behaviour in Modern Japanese Politics), Chiio koron (March 1957), p. 216. 3. Sakuta Keiichi, Haji no bunka saiko (A Reconsideration of Shame Culture) (Chikuma Shobo, 1967), p. 155.
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers
writes without hesitation that, as a scholar who has read the tran scripts of both trials, “I have serious doubts about M aruyam a’s comparison of the trials—and, therefore, about the contrast he draws from that comparison between the Nazi and Japanese m ili tarists.”4 Onuma’s doubts come down to the following two points: the Nazi leaders also displayed “refuge in their competence or ju risdiction,” and Goring was not so “clear-cut” in his testimony. Yet, perhaps out of deference to his predecessor in the Law Faculty at the University of Tokyo, Onuma places his criticism in the endnotes to his article, rendering it no more than a supplemental commentary, as it were. On the other hand, Tsutsui Kiyotada has carried out a fullfledged critique of M aruyam a’s article in the course of examining his representative writings as classics of the Japanese fascism thesis.5 After listing his doubts as to the appropriateness of M aruyam a’s evaluation of the German systems of governance and wartim e lead ership as well as the validity of his placement of Germany with its “fascism from below” and Japan with its “fascism from above” in the same “fascist state” category, Tsutsui points out “critical issues and questions about this article with regard to the handling of source m aterials.”6 Specifically, he notes: “The speeches by the de fendants at these trials were made simply to escape the death sentence; therefore, no m atter how one tries to use the various words they uttered in court as ‘source m aterial,’ it w ill not make clearer the ‘political processes belonging to normal modes of be havior’ and the like.”7 4. Onuma Yasuaki, “Tokyo saiban, senso sekinin, sengo sekinin” (The Tokyo Trial, War Responsibility, Postwar Responsibility), in his Tokyo saiban kara sengo sekinin no shiso e (From the Tokyo Trial to the Idea of Postwar Responsibility) (Yushindo, 1985), p. 190. 5. Tsutsui Kiyotada, ‘“Nihon fascism’ ron no saikosatsu: Maruyama riron e no ichi hihan” (A Reconsideration of the “Japanese Fascism” Thesis: A Critique of the Maruyama Theory), in Sbowa ki Nihon no kozo (The Structure of Japan during the Showa Period), Yuhikaku sensho R (Yuhikaku R Series) (Yuhikaku, 1984). 6. Ibid., p. 9. 7. Ibid.
19
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
This third point made by Tsutsui is an incisive one, which would seem to demolish the premise of M aruyam a’s thesis. This is not to deny, however, the appropriateness of comparing the Japanese with the Nazi defendants who found themselves in sim ilar “circum stances,” that is, striving to avoid anticipated capital punishment. But, in order to make this comparison persuasive, one would have to make extensive use of the transcripts of both international m ili tary tribunals. The fact that M aruyam a failed to do so is, in my view, the greatest shortcoming of his study in terms of the handling of source m aterials. In other words, this is no less than a question about the arbitrariness of data selection. While M aruyam a’s article takes the form of comparing the for mer leaders of Japan and Germany, out of the twenty-two defendants at Niirnberg it contains only a few quotes from the trial records concerning Goring—not enough to provide even a general picture of the Reich marshal himself. Besides Goring, the names of five other Nazi leaders—Adolf Hitler, SS Chief Heinrich Himmler, M inister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels, Labor Front leader Robert Ley, and Foreign M inister Joachim von Ribbentrop—ap pear in the article, but the contents of speeches by only three of these—Hitler, Himmler, and Ribbentrop—are even slightly quoted from. Also, with the exception of Goring and Ribbentrop, all of these men were absent from Niirnberg, having previously commit ted suicide. Even the cited remarks by Ribbentrop were not from his courtroom testimony or from anything he had submitted to the court. In effect, therefore, the accused at Niirnberg were represented solely by Goring; moreover, the article cites just a fraction of his tes timony. Even if one includes the few quoted remarks of Hitler and the others from before the tribunal, one would have to say that the amount of citation is grossly inadequate for purposes of drawing a reliable overview of the Nazi leaders. The resulting study deviates sharply from the methodology that M aruyam a himself describes in the article: “M y approach to the problem w ill be a . . . direct one, namely, to compare the words and actions of the wartim e leaders in Germany and Jap an ” (93).
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers ”
On the other hand, when he turns to the former leaders of Japan, M aruyam a quotes extensively from statements made at the Tokyo Tribunal, so in their case his method takes the form of letting the record speak for itself. In a case like this where there is a marked imbalance in the m aterials for conducting comparative work, can one really expect accurate results from the analysis? One can fairly easily clear up this first doubt by pointing out w hat M aruyam a omits from his essay. Another question concerns what he includes. That is, should the examples that M aruyam a cites of the “dw arfish” character of Japan’s former ruling class in fact be interpreted the w ay he sug gests? Importantly, this doubt is not a matter merely of subjective disagreement but, dare I say, is a question about M aruyam a’s in terpretive procedure. Specifically, the doubt is about whether M aruyam a’s explanation of the speech and behavior of Togo Shigenori, foreign minister both at the beginning and the end of the w ar, and of M atsui Iwane, supreme commander at the time of the conquest of Nanjing, was really appropriate. In this chapter, I take up the question of M aruyam a’s method ology. On the basis of unearthing what M aruyam a does not write about in his essay, I seek to refute his opinion concerning the dif ferences between the former leaders of Japan and Germany and argue instead that, in contrast to M aruyam a’s assertion, the two sets of leaders had a great number of points in common. I w ill ex amine M aruyam a’s interpretations of M atsui and Togo in Chapters 2 and 3, respectively. T he D efendants
through
K eenan ’ s E yes
M aruyam a, who characterizes the speech and behavior of the de fendants at the Tokyo Tribunal as “dw arfish,” goes on to select a portion of Chief Prosecutor Keenan’s closing argum ent as sum m arizing this “dw arfishness” and, as a good exam ple of a d ia m etrically opposite characterization, cites part of Goring’s state ment at the N iirnberg trial. Based on these two sets of data, M aru yam a attem pts to contrast the “dw arfishness” of the
21
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
Japanese w ar criminals with the “lucidity” of their Nazi counter parts: This dwarfishness of Japan’s wartime leaders was most clearly brought home to the world by the way in which the war crimes suspects with one accord denied their responsibility. It will not be necessary to quote the individual defendants, since their atti tude on this point is already well known. The following state ment from Mr. Keenan’s final address to the Court will serve as an epitome: From all of the remaining twenty-five accused, including for mer Prime Ministers, Cabinet members, high ranking diplo mats, propagandists, generals, marshals, admirals, and the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal (the Emperor’s adviser), we have heard one common reply: No one among them wanted to bring about this war. This applies to the Manchurian in vasion, the subsequent China wars, and the Pacific War, an unbroken course of aggression covering a period of fourteen years . . . . When they cannot deny the authority, the power and responsibility they held and cannot deny acquiescence in the policy of continuing and expanding these aggressive wars to the extent that the whole world was shaken by them, they coolly assert that there was no other course left open (International Military Tribunal for the Far East, no. 371). Nowhere does the contrast in attitudes between the German and Japanese defendants emerge more clearly than here. Referring to the Anschluss, for instance, Goring spoke as follows: “I take one hundred percent responsibility . . . I ignored even the Fiihrer’s op position and led everything to its final stage of development.” He was “wild with rage” about the invasion of Norway, but this was because he had not been informed beforehand; so far as his opin ion about the actual attack was concerned, he admitted: “My at titude was completely positive.” Goring was also against the at tack on the Soviet Union; but his opposition was essentially concerned with the timing, being based on the view that until England was subjugated it would be better to postpone opera tions against Russia. He had no doubt about his motives: “My
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers ”
ideas were determined exclusively by political and military consid erations.” What a clear-cut approach! This truly is the lucidity of a nihilist who consciously challenges the traditional European spirit; it is the bluster of the outlaw who defiantly bases his actions on “evil” (100-101).
To be sure, if one looks only at Keenan’s closing argum ent, Japan’s former leaders lined up in the dock at the Tokyo Tribunal come across as figures who were simply absorbed in their own selfdefense, insisting, while having before them the fact of a long-running w ar, that they had absolutely no connection to the conflict or that it was unavoidable. On the other hand, the question arises as to whether Japan’s former leaders were indeed the only ones who took this kind of posture in court; in other words, was this “dwarfishness” a unique characteristic of these men? W hat M aruyam a cites from the closing argum ent that Chief Prosecutor Keenan delivered on February 11, 1948, is the first part of Section 18, but there is a sentence im m ediately preceding the quoted portion that M aruyam a omits. That sentence reads: “In so doing, they follow the pattern employed by almost all classes of criminals when cornered and brought before a Tribunal to answer criminal charges.” No doubt deliberately, M aruyam a simply omit ted this sentence from w hat he cited. Therefore, to those reading his excerpt from the address, it would appear that Keenan was de nouncing only the former leaders of Japan. In this w ay, after deleting the opening sentence, M aruyam a interpreted this speech as summarizing the special characteristics of Japan’s ruling class. But what did Keenan himself think? One can reach a conclusion based on the opening sentence that M aruyam a omits. That is, Keenan determined that the claims made by the defendants in the Tokyo Tribunal “follow[ed] the pattern employed by almost all classes of crim inals.” In other words, he stated that the defendants’ claims were by no means unique to them as members of the Japanese ruling class; on the contrary, they were nothing but stock phrases that criminals use in court. W hat Keenan, who was an of ficial in the U.S. Justice Department, undoubtedly had in mind was a comparison not with the speech and behavior of other Japanese
23
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
criminals hut with those of accused in the courts of his own coun try. Judging from this fact alone, one would have to say that M aruyam a’s assertion concerning the distinctive “dwarfishness of Japan’s wartim e leaders” lacks validity. J a c k so n ’ s C losing A rgu m en t
Did the Nazi defendants at the Niirnberg trial, as M aruyam a pur ports, display behavior that was diam etrically opposed to that of their counterparts at the Tokyo Tribunal? M aruyam a cites part of the closing argument of the chief prosecutor at the Tokyo trial and uses that quotation to epitomize the special characteristics of the defendants’ speech and conduct in court. This method is extremely effective, for, apart from the justices who w ill later pass sentence, those who pay most attention to the words and actions of defen dants in court are the prosecutors who confront them. Accordingly, using this same method, namely, gazing at the accused from the viewpoint of the prosecutors, I w ill try to depict the courtroom speech and behavior of the Nazi defendants as summarized by the prosecution. In the closing argument he delivered at the Niirnberg trial on July 26, 1946, Chief of Counsel Robert Jackson stated: Each of these men made a real contribution to the Nazi plan. Every man had a key part. Deprive the Nazi regime of the func tions performed by a Schacht, a Sauckel, a von Papen, or a Goring, and you have a different regime. Look down the rows of fallen men and picture them as the photographic and documen tary evidence shows them to have been in their days of power. Is there one whose work did not substantially advance the conspir acy along its bloody path towards its bloody goal? Can we as sume that the great effort of these men’s lives was directed to wards ends they never suspected? To escape the implications of their positions and the inference of guilt from their activities, the defendants are almost unanimous in one defense. The refrain is heard time and again: these men were without authority, without knowledge, without influence, indeed without importance. Funk summed up the general self-
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers”
abasement of the dock in his plaintive lament that, “I always, so to speak, came up to the door. But I was not permitted to enter.” In the testimony of each defendant, at some point there was reached the familiar blank wall: nobody knew anything about what was going on. Time after time we have heard the chorus from the dock: “I only heard about these things here for the first time.” These men saw no evil, spoke none, and none was uttered in their presence. This claim might sound very plausible if made by one defendant. But when we put all their stories together, the im pression which emerges of the Third Reich, which was to last a thousand years, is ludicrous. If we combine only the stories from the front bench, this is the ridiculous composite picture of Hitler’s government that emerges (N19.426-427). According to Jackson, the defendants, although they had in fact held high positions and considerable power, claimed in unison that they had been small fry, that they had not participated in any w ay in im portant decision making, and that consequently they had learned about the circumstances in question for the first time through the charges brought against them in court. In conclusion, Jackson noted with biting sarcasm that, if one were to gather all the defendants’ claims, one would end up with an image of an im perial state that did not bear the slightest resemblance to the actual Nazi Third Reich. After reading the above passage, one is struck far more by the similarities than by the differences between it and the previously cited excerpt from the closing statement that Chief Prosecutor Keenan made. The general picture conveyed by the above quote from Jackson’s final speech is in remarkable agreement with the key sentence in Keenan’s argument that “no one among them wanted to bring about this w ar.” From Jackson’s address, one gets the im pression that the clear-cut attitude represented by Goring’s line re garding the Anschluss— “I take one hundred percent responsibil ity”—was by no means common to the Nazi defendants as a whole. In fact, concerning the w ay the accused Nazis took responsibil ity, Chief of Counsel Jackson made the following scathingly sarcastic pronouncement:
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
The defendants have been unanimous, when pressed, in shifting the blame on other men, sometimes on one and sometimes on an other. But the names they have repeatedly picked are Hitler, Himmler, Heydrich, Goebbels, and Bormann. All of these are dead or missing. No matter how hard we have pressed the de fendants on the stand, they have never pointed the finger at a liv ing man as guilty. It is a temptation to ponder the wondrous workings of a fate which has left only the guilty dead and only the innocent alive. It is almost too remarkable. The chief villain on whom blame is placed—some of the de fendants vie with each other in producing appropriate epithets— is Hitler. He is the man at whom nearly every defendant has pointed an accusing finger (N19.428-429). Is this not the very picture of evasion of responsibility? The general tendency of the Nazi defendants at Niirnberg, then, was hardly one of taking “one hundred percent responsibility.” Is it the case, though, that Goring never dropped his stance of “defiantly basing his actions on ‘evil’” in a “clear-cut” w ay and continued in court with speech and behavior free of any avoidance of responsibility? In the continuation of the passage from his closing argument cited above, Jackson calls Goring the “number two m an”—the figure that emerges in M aruyam a’s essay is that of a nihilist who does not have an ounce of evasion of responsibility and alw ays gives lucid answers—and he portrays him as follows: A number two man who knew nothing of the excesses of the Gestapo which he created, and never suspected the Jewish ex termination program although he was the signer of over a score of decrees which instituted the persecutions of that race (N19.427). As a prosecutor, Jackson could scarcely be expected to make statements advantageous to Goring. Nevertheless, the picture he sketches of the Reich m arshal is so removed from the one M aruyam a delineates as to be that of a different person. From the standpoint of the chief prosecutors’ closing arguments, I have carried out a comparative investigation of the speech and be
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers”
havior of the defendants in the Eastern and Western m ilitary tri bunals. The characteristics that M aruyam a—even to the point of omitting part of the record—asserts were unique to Japan’s former leaders were also observable aplenty among their N azi counter parts: these attributes were by no means peculiar to Japan. Having pointed out the overall commonalities, I would next like to draw on concrete examples to illustrate further characteristics shared by the two groups of leaders.
Koiso K uniaki an d
“T he W ay
of the
J apanese ”
M aruyam a, who, as noted above, lists “submission to faits accom plis and refuge in one’s competence or jurisdiction” as the two es sential aspects of “the dwarfishness of Japanese fascism,” takes up the case of General Koiso Kuniaki as an example of “submission to faits a ccom p lish When we read in the affidavits of the defendants that by and large they had been opposed to the entire succession of political devel opments and international agreements following the Manchurian Incident, we are overcome by the feeling that this concatenation of historical processes was a sort of natural disaster, a convulsion of nature, eclipsing all human powers. In attacking the affidavit of General Koiso, which was a caricature of this line of defense, the prosecuting counsel, Colonel Fixel, made the point trenchantly and exhaustively: . . . you opposed the March 1931 Incident; you tried to prevent the Manchurian Incident; you opposed the China Adventure; you opposed the Tripartite Pact; you opposed going into a war against the United States; and you tried to settle the China war when you became Premier, and in all of these important mat ters you were frustrated and prevented from having your ideas and desires prevail. If you disagreed with and were opposed to these events and policies, why did you accept one important position in the Government after another whereby you became one of the protagonists of the very matters you now say you so strenuously objected to? (IMTFE, no. 37)
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Koiso’s reply was according to form: The way of the Japanese is that no matter what our personal opinions and our own personal arguments may be, once a pol icy of State has been decided upon, it is our duty to bend all our efforts for the prosecution of such policy. This has been the traditional custom and respected w ay in our country (105-106; Maruyama’s emphasis).
Koiso himself recalled this exchange as follows: Finally, I was asked, “Why was it that the defendant, while de claring that he was not a planner of the March Incident, that he took exception to the outbreak of the Manchurian Incident, that he opposed the Tripartite Pact, and that he had no plans for armed aggression to the south, continually held important state positions?” I replied: “It is because our country’s custom is to hold it as our duty that, before a matter has been settled, we frankly express our opinions, but once it has been decided as na tional policy, even if that decision goes against our personal opin ions, we follow the decided-upon policy, setting aside our own views just as one would throw away worn-out shoes.”8
The Japanese term that Koiso used for “replied” (kotaete oita) con veys a sense of superiority and contempt for the other party, but as a whole the w ay he remembered his response further amplifies the version that appears in the court records. In short, Koiso’s assertion was that, once a decision is reached, suppressing personal feelings and following national policy is the Japanese w ay. M aruyam a deduces from the explanation Koiso gave that “sub mission to faits accom plis ” was characteristic of the “dwarfishness” of Japan’s ruling class. But did Koiso’s reply really point to a pe culiar attribute on the part of Japanese leaders? Generally speaking, once a decision is made, holding back personal feelings and com plying with national policy is a very normal pattern of behavior. According to the response by Koiso himself, this is “the w ay of the 8.
Koiso Kuniaki Jijoden Kankokai, ed., K atsuzan k oso (Autobiography of a Great Man, Koiso Kuniaki) (Marunouchi Shuppan, 1963), p. 883.
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers”
Japanese,” but it is extremely doubtful that the general, who had spent a little less than a year in Europe as a colonel, fully understood the difference between “the Japanese w a y ” and “the w ay of W esterners” such as Colonel Fixel and the other prosecutors. Even today foreigners inside and outside Japan note and criticize the tendency of the Japanese to m aintain a closed society, regard ing everything about themselves that foreigners don’t understand as being distinctively Japanese and thinking that, even if things are ex plained to foreigners, they won’t understand anyway. Koiso’s yeply, making use of the stock phrase “the w ay of the Japanese,” is a clas sic exam ple of this tendency. After exam ining whether such pronouncements can be found outside Japan, specifically at the Niirnberg trial, I w ill try to draw a conclusion as to whether the behavior observed in Tokyo was in fact “peculiar to Jap an .” In the following sections, I w ill take up similar cases from Niirnberg. K eitel
on the
W
itness
S tand
If one interpreted “settled national policy” rather broadly, one could view it as a kind of command. In other words, a national pol icy that has been decided upon is a state command. If one were to formulate Koiso’s reply in these terms, then it would become: “Once an order is issued, even if one’s own opinion differs, one must hold back personal feelings and abide by it.” Thinking along these lines im m ediately brings to mind the relationship between “soldiers and orders.” To be sure, the lower the rank of the soldier, the greater the punishment for m ilitary disobedience, with flat op position meaning no less than death. Needless to say, because Koiso’s position as a general was quite different—probably at most he would have faced dismissal from service—one would have to compare him not with common soldiers but with other top-rank ing m ilitary men. Corresponding in wartime Germany to Japanese national policies were Hitler’s orders. W as there, then, any highranking m ilitary defendant at Niirnberg who testified that, once Hitler issued an order, it was one’s duty to follow it? Field M arshall
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W ilhelm Keitel, chief of staff of the High Command of the W ehrmacht, offers precisely such a case. Keitel’s defense at the Niirnberg trial began on April 3, 1946. The following is an excerpt from the exchange between Keitel and his attorney, Dr. Nelte: DR. NELTE:. . . Is it correct that according to this, all the Keitel or ders, Keitel decrees, which have been submitted by the Prosecution, were in reality Fiihrer orders, that is to say, orders which were the expression of Hitler’s will, based on his instruc tions and commands? KEITEL: Yes, that is the correct definition of the summary of the testimony I have given. . . . I may add that insofar as I had mili tary or other objections to the orders, I naturally expressed them very forcibly and that I endeavored to prevent orders being given which I considered controversial. But I must state in all truth that if the decision had been finally made by Hitler, I then issued these orders and transmitted them, I might almost say, without check ing them in any way (N10.482).
Keitel m aintained that, for him, orders finally decided upon by Hitler were non-debatable and absolute. Given the “faits a cc o m plish of H itler’s orders, his own w ay was to follow those orders, that is, to “subm it” to them. One can easily see the sim ilarity be tween Keitel’s assertion here and Koiso’s explanation that, once national policy has been decided upon, the w ay of the Japanese is to obey, regardless of personal feelings. V on N eurath C ornered
The gist of Prosecutor F ixel’s cross-exam ination of Koiso w as: “You opposed the M arch 1931 Incident; you tried to prevent the M anchurian Incident; . . . you opposed the T ripartite Pact . . . w hy did you accept one im portant position in the Government after another w hereby you became one of the protagonists of [these] very m atters?” In other words, he underscored the contra diction between Koiso’s claim s and the facts: all the events that Koiso had opposed ahead of time had ended up occurring despite
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers ”
his opposition. W hy then, although as an opponent of those events, he n atu rally should have eschewed key governm ent ap pointments, had he remained as an important leader? The Niirnberg Tribunal also witnessed a scenario in which one of the accused defended himself using similar logic while the op posing side (in this case a judge) went after contradictions between the defendant’s claims and the facts employing a sim ilar method. Although this was not a case of “submission to faits a cc o m p lish it is worth considering as an example of parallel speech and behavior on the part of defendants in the two trials. And because it serves as a good introduction to the Niirnberg Tribunal, illustrating the tense atmosphere that prevailed there, I quote at some length from the rel evant portion of the proceedings. The case involves the cross-examination of Constantin von Neurath, former foreign min ister, by senior Soviet justice Ion Timofeevich Nikitchenko on June 26, 1946: THE TRIBUNAL (Major General Nikitchenko, Member for the U.S.S.R.): Did you ever express yourself openly against the pol icy of the Hitlerite Government? VON NEURATH: I am sorry, but the translation was not good. N.: In your explanations made before the Tribunal you stated that you were not in agreement with the policy of Hitler’s Government, either on individual questions or taken as a whole, as well. Is that true? V.N.: Yes. N.: Did you ever express yourself openly with a statement of your disagreement with Hitler’s policy? V.N.: I did so more than once. N.: In what manner was it, then? I am asking you about your pub lic statements, either in the press or while addressing any meeting? V.N.: No. It was no longer possible either to have a voice in the press, or to hold a meeting. It was quite out of the question. I could only speak to Hitler personally or, at the beginning, in the Cabinet in protest against this policy. There was no freedom of the press any longer, any more than in Russia. In the same way no meeting was possible. Consequently . . . N.: I am not asking you about Russia; I am asking you about your
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expressing your views publicly. In other words, you never ex pressed them. V.N.: No. N.: And in that way nobody in Germany could know, or did know, about the fact that you were not in agreement with the policy on the part of Hitler’s Government? V.N.: I always expressed myself quite unmistakably about it, but not in articles, nor in meetings either; but otherwise I always ex pressed myself clearly about it. N.: Yes, but only in your tete-a-tete with Hitler, only personally to Hitler. You said so, did you not? V.N.: No; I tell you I said that to everyone who would listen, but I could not do so in public meetings, in speeches, or in articles. N.: And you remained a member of the Government in spite of the fact that you were not in agreement with the Government’s pol icy; is that so? V.N.: Yes, for that very reason. N.: In order to counteract his policy? V.N.: Yes. N.: Do you know the results of such counteracting? V.N.: I did not understand that. N.: What were the results of counteracting the policy of Hitler’s Government? V.N.: Well, I am not in a position to give the details on that. N.: In particular, as to the question of aggression, were you against the joining of Germany and Austria? V.N.: Yes. N.: The German Government, in spite of this, joined Austria to Germany; is that so? V.N.: I believe it has been clearly expressed here that at the last mo ment Hitler did that. N.: You were against the seizing of Czechoslovakia? V.N.: Yes. N.: And the German Government, in spite of this, seized Czechoslovakia ? V.N.: I was no longer a member of the Government at that time. N.: But as a statesman whose opinion should have been considered, you, of course, expressed your opinion against it, did you not?
C ritique of M aruyama’ s “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers ”
V.N.: Always. N.: You were against the attack on Poland? V.N.: Yes. N.: And in spite of that Germany did attack Poland. V.N.: I repeat, I was no longer a member of the Government. I learned of it only at the last moment. N.: You were against the attack on the U.S.S.R.? V.N.: Yes, more so indeed; I always wanted the exact opposite. I wanted cooperation with the Soviet Union, I said that as early as 19 . . .
N.: And still Germany attacked the Soviet Union? V.N.: Yes. N.: Judging from your explanations, Hitler must have known about your political opposition and your disagreement with his policy; is it correct? V.N.: He knew that very well, for I resigned in 1938 for that reason. N.: Yes. And you know how Hitler made short work of his political opponents? V.N.: In the Reich, yes. N.: And so far as you were concerned, in spite of the fact that you sided with the opposition, nothing happened; that is true, is it not? V.N.: I did not understand. N.: So far as you were concerned, in spite of the fact that you de clared yourself for the opposition, nothing of the kind happened? V.N.: No, but I always expected it. [N17: 100-103]
Von Neurath stated that he had opposed Hitler from start to fin ish. H itler had made it a practice to liquidate his political opponents. Then why had von Neurath managed to escape with his life? If he had really opposed Hitler, he should no longer be alive. But here he was in court. That is to say, he survived because he had not opposed Hitler’s policies at all. In the face of the sharp, prosecutorial-like cross-examination by Justice Nikitchenko, who thus hammered aw ay at the contradiction between assertions and facts, von Neurath finally replied, “I alw ays expected it [the m ur der],” and somehow tried to save appearances.
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Justice Nikitchenko’s cross-examination of von Neurath seems to have made quite an impression, and on June 27 the N ew York Times reported on the situation at the trial as follows: VON NEURATH FEARED MURDER, HE ASSERTS NUREMBERG, Germany, June 26 (AP)—Baron Constantin von Neurath told the International Military Tribunal today that he had “always expected” to be liquidated by Adolf Hitler for opposing some of Hitler’s policies and could not explain why it never happened. He pictured himself, despite his high positions under Hitler, as a follower of different political thought. The Russian prosecutor asked: “You knew how Hitler made short work of political op position?” “Yes,” von Neurath replied. “Then, in spite of the fact that you considered yourself to be a member of the opposition, nothing happened to you!” “No, but I always expected it.”
Properly speaking, this exchange represented supplemental ques tioning by the court. But because the style of the cross-examination, with its sharp attack on the logical inconsistency of the defendant, was like the adversarial one of a prosecution, the Associated Press reporter m istakenly referred to the judge as a prosecutor. W hat emerges from this article is the image of von N eurath faltering under the keen interrogation of the court. The sections I have exam ined from the defense phase at the N iirnberg trial have thus pointed up sim ilarities between the cases of Keitel and Koiso on the question of “submission to faits a c c o m p lis ” and between those of von N eurath and Koiso w ith regard to portraying oneself as an opponent of government pol icy w hile rem aining a top official in the regim e. M aruyam a draws from the exchange between Prosecutor Fixel and Koiso the view that “subm ission to faits a cc o m p lis w as one aspect of the dwarfishness peculiar to Ja p an .” Yet the scene he takes up from the Tokyo Tribunal was by no means unique to Japan.
Chapter 2
I Do Not Evade Responsibility: General Matsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
M atsui Iwane, described by A sabi newspaper’s courtroom press corps as someone who, “when leaving the court during a recess, would disappear through the door staggering like a sick chicken re turning to its coop,”1 was frequently absent from court owing to a weak constitution on top of advanced age. During the individual defense stage, he had to delay his court appearance on account of illness, and it was not until November 24, 1947, that he took the witness stand. After his counsel, Lawrence M cM anus, had read his formal deposition, M atsui underwent cross-exam ination by Prosecuting Attorney Henry Nolan. M aruyam a M asao quotes part of this cross-examination as follows: Prosecutor: You said something a moment ago about discipline and morals being the responsibility of a subordinate commander to yourself. Matsui: The responsibility of the divisional commander. 1. Asahi Shimbun Hotei Kishadan (Asahi Newspaper Court Press Corps), Tokyo saiban (The Tokyo Trial), 3 vols. (Tokyo: Tokyo Saiban Kankokai, 1962-1963), vol. 2 (1962), p. 589. 35
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Prosecutor: You were the Commander-in-Chief of the Central China Area Army, were you not? Matsui: Yes. Prosecutor: Are you suggesting to this Tribunal that that power of command did not carry with it the power to enforce discipline on the troops under your command? Matsui: As Commander-in-Chief of the Central China Area Army I was given the power to command operations of the two subordi nate armies under my command, but I did not have the authority directly to handle the discipline and morals within these respec tive armies. Prosecutor: No, but you had the power to see that discipline and morals were maintained in the units under your command? Matsui: It would be better to say, and more correct to say, obliga tion rather than authority—obligation or duty. . . . Prosecutor: And that is because there is an army commander in the units under your command, and you carry out disciplinary mea sures through your army commanders? Matsui: I myself did not have the authority to take disciplinary mea sures, or to hold court martial; such authority resided in the com mander of the army or the divisional commander. Prosecutor: But you could order a court martial to be held either in the army or in the division? Matsui: I had no legal right to issue such an order. Prosecutor: Well then, how do you explain your efforts to show that you ordered severe punishment meted out to the guilty for the outrages in Nanking, and that you did everything in your power as Commander of the Central China Area Army to give severe punishment to the guilty? . . . Matsui: I had no authority except to express my desires as over-all Commander-in-Chief to the commander o f the arm y under my command and the divisional commanders thereunder [!]. Prosecutor: And I suppose a general officer commanding expresses his desires to those subordinate to him in the form of orders? Matsui: No, that would be difficult in the light of the law (117-118; Maruyama’s emphasis and exclamation mark).
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
Inasmuch as the Nanjing Incident was treated like a proven fact at the Tokyo trial, it was clear to everyone that the prosecution of M atsui would center on the close investigation of his responsibility as supreme commander at the time of the incident. Therefore, when one reads the proceedings, one’s interest is drawn to the prosecutors’ pursuit of that issue and M atsui’s defense against that line of in quiry. If one reads the above passage with that interest in mind, the impression one gets is none other than that of an old general striv ing as hard as he can to evade responsibility on the grounds that he had no personal authority. M aruyam a himself notes: “It was not only in their Tokyo offices that the defendants found themselves hemmed in by ‘rules’ and ‘authority’; the same hesitations applied when they were in the field” (117). He concludes that “when things went badly, they could always represent themselves as having been ‘specialist officials’ (F ach beam te ), who could function only within the professional limits strictly laid down by the rules and regula tions” (118), asserting that M atsui’s defense was a good example of taking “refuge in one’s competence or jurisdiction.” Before exam ining this passage, I would first like to explore M atsui’s own view of the trial and the ways in which the Japanese people around him perceived M atsui and his prosecution. Such an exercise w ill doubtless be of some use for an understanding of the defendant’s mind, which one cannot read from these proceedings. S acrifice O neself
for
B enevolence
M atsui Iwane, known within the Japanese army as an eminent au thority on China, had retired from active service and transferred to reserve duty in August 1935, but as the w ar escalated on the con tinent, in August 1937 he was recalled to active duty and headed for China as commander of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force. In December of that year, he became commander of the newly estab lished Central China Area Army and held both positions concurrently until Prince Asaka Yasuhiko assumed command of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force. M atsui directed the campaign to capture Nanjing and was deactivated in M arch 1938. Later he held
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the position of cabinet councilor; and, assuming a m ajor post in the Imperial Rule Assistance Association, he presided over the Greater East Asia Society and spent his days advocating w hat he re ferred to as “Greater Asianism .” Although he had retired from active service, he was far from leading a sedate life and was actu ally quite active. When surrender appeared more and more likely, M atsui and his close friend Tokutomi Soho tried to hold a lecture meeting at H ibiya Public H all in opposition to surrender. They scheduled the meeting for August 20, but because the w ar ended on the 15th, it ultim ately did not take place. After the w ar’s end, M atsui stated to an acquaintance of his, a M ainichi newspaper correspondent named Takagi: “I am prepared for the worst, and Mr. Tokutomi is quite ready as w ell.”2 Both men were designated w ar criminals, but due to advanced age and poor health, Soho was confined to his own home. Only M atsui entered Sugamo Prison. On April 29, 1946, M atsui was indicted on thirty-eight of the fifty-five counts brought against the class A w ar criminals by the Tokyo Tribunal. The charges centered on his responsibility for the Nanjing Incident. The Tokyo trial, which opened on M ay 3 of that year, proceeded directly to the prosecution’s case. The Nanjing Incident made its first appearance in court on July 25. Defendant Shigemitsu M am oru kept a record of his observations in and out side of the court, which he later published as Sugam o D iary.3 On that day he recorded in his diary: In court the testimony of Ching Teh-chun [in pinyin Qin Dechun] ended, and the trial turned to the Nanjing Incident and entered into testimony on the violent acts of the Japanese army. Its shame ful conduct was enough to make one cover one’s ears. Has the Japanese spirit gone rotten? (Sugamo 25) 2. Hayakawa Kiyoji, T okutom i S oho (Tokyo: Tokutomi Soho Denki Hensankai, 1968), p. 651. 3. Published in Tokyo by Bungei Shunju Shinsha in 1953. In this book I will quote extensively from S ugam o D iary. At the end of each quotation, I will indicate the page reference as, for instance, (Sugamo 30).
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
Over the following two days, Friday the 26th and M onday the 29th (the court adjourned on Saturdays and Sundays), the tribunal completed its investigation of the N anjing Incident for the time being. The issue reappeared in court about a half month later, on August 15 and 16. Pastor John Magee and others testified at that time. Shigemitsu wrote in his diary on August 15: In court the Chinese prosecutor gave his final address. He ex posed the atrocities of the Japanese army. A missionary gave tes timony on the Nanjing outrage and kept testifying in detail for several hours on incidents of massacre, rape, assault, and van dalism. It made us want to hide our faces in our hands. All Japanese should die of shame (Sugamo 32).
By the w ay, M atsui himself was absent from court because of ill ness. On September 14 of that year, Shigemitsu made the following entry in his diary: After being hospitalized for a month, General Matsui returned in good health. He had contracted a stomach illness. He had since put on some weight. He was rather fortunate to have escaped hearing the presentation of evidence in court on the Nanjing Incident. Matsui’s fate at the hands of the court was a foregone conclusion (Sugamo 39).
Most likely anyone hearing the evidence that the prosecution pre sented on the Nanjing Incident would have thought “M atsui’s fate was a foregone conclusion.” That is to say, it was probably inevitable that, as supreme commander, he would face the death penalty. According to Shigemitsu, however, there was apparently a rumor at the time that, after being sent under guard to China and given a formal trial there, M atsui would be made a m ilitary adviser to the Nanjing government. Upon hearing this rumor, wrote Shigemitsu, M atsui “displayed a joyful lo o k.” Be that as it m ay, Shigemitsu went on to write in his diary: Nevertheless, he recited the sutra of the Goddess of Mercy every day without fail, and the voice with which he chanted the sutra
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was strangely mellow. The calligraphy he drew at people’s request always contained the characters for “sacrifice oneself for benev olence” (Sugamo 39).
Concerning this phrase, Shimanouchi Tatsuoki, chief counsel for Defendant Oshima Hiroshi, had the following explanation: For spring [Matsui] quoted the line from Mencius “Forsake one’s life to obtain righteousness; sacrifice oneself for benevolence.” And for winter he wrote a phrase with the same meaning: “Sacrifice oneself for benevolence; do right in the sight of Heaven and Earth.” These two lines of calligraphy . . . signified that he would die for the sake of the nation or perhaps that he, as com mander of the army, would die in place of his subordinates; in ei ther case, they expressed the state of mind that, as for his arrest and trial by the enemy, he had done nothing to be ashamed of.4
“Sacrifice oneself for benevolence”—this was doubtless precisely what M atsui was prepared to do at the time of the trial. Counsel Shimanouchi further observed of M atsui: Because Army General Matsui Iwane was the commanding offi cer of the troops that during the Sino-Japanese War committed a great atrocity toward the citizens of Nanjing for over a month after its occupation in December 1937, he appears from the be ginning of the trial to have been resigned to the fact that he could not avoid a death sentence.5
From the w ay the trial was proceeding, those around M atsui were all predicting the death penalty, even if they were not openly saying so. Under these circumstances, even if the above calligraphy was a case of social convention, I find it hard to imagine that M atsui, the genius of the imperial army who had graduated from the Army College at the top of his class, had surrendered to fantasy, so to speak. It is a little difficult to visualize a figure who, on the one 4. Shimanouchi Tatsuoki, T ok yo saiban (The Tokyo Trial) (Tokyo: Nihon Hyoronsha, 1984), p. 143. 5. Ibid.
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
hand, writes “sacrifice oneself for benevolence” and, on the other, pursues a vigorous yet seemingly futile self-defense on the grounds of an absence of personal authority. I
Do N o t Evade R esponsibility
Did M atsui Iwane really maintain throughout his cross-examina tion the posture that M aruyam a M asao presents in the quoted section? In other words, was he unwilling personally to take the blame, devoting himself throughout to the evasion of responsibil ity? In fact, the relevant section in the proceedings contains a passage where M atsui himself declared, “I do not evade responsi bility.” Moreover, that passage is the portion that M aruyam a omits from the section he quotes. Herewith is the passage in question: Nolan: You said something a moment ago about discipline and morals being the responsibility of a subordinate commander to yourself. Matsui: The responsibility of the division commander. Nolan: You were the Commander-in-Chief of the Central China Area Army, were you not? Matsui: Yes. Nolan: Are you suggesting to this Tribunal that that power of command did not carry with it the power to enforce discipline on the troops under your command? Matsui: As Commander-in-Chief of the Central China Area Army I was given the power to command operations of the two sub ordinate armies under my command, but I did not have the au thority directly to handle the discipline and morals within these respective armies. Nolan: No, but you had the power to see that discipline and morals were maintained in the units under your command? Matsui: It would be better to say, and more correct to say, obliga tion rather than authority—obligation or duty. Nolan: Yes. And that is the reason why you summoned your officers in Nanking after your entry and talked to them about disciplinary measures, is it not ?
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Matsui: Yes. Nolan: So th at you are not attem pting to say that the pow er o f discipline was not inherent in your command, are you? Matsui: I do not—I am not trying, nor do I evade all responsibili ties in connection with the capture o f N anking as area com m ander—area arm y com m ander—com m anding my subordi nates. However, I am only tryin g to tell you that I am not directly responsible for the discipline and morals o f the troops under the respective armies under my command. Nolan: And that is because there is an army commander in the units under your command, and you carry out disciplinary measures through your army commanders? Matsui: I, myself, did not have the authority to take disciplinary measures, or to hold court-martial, such authority resided in the commander of the army or the division commander. Nolan: But you could order a court-martial to be held either in the army or in the division? Matsui: I had no legal right to issue such an order. Nolan: Well, then, how do you explain your efforts to show that you ordered severe punishment meted out to the guilty for the outrages in Nanking, and that you did everything in your power as Commander of the Central China Area Army to give severe punishment to the guilty? Matsui: I had no authority except to express my desires as over-all Commander-in-Chief to the commander of the army under my command and the divisional commanders thereunder. Nolan: And I suppose a general officer commanding expresses his desires to those subordinate to him in the form of orders? Matsui: No, that would be difficult in the light of law [T33873-33875],
M aruyam a deleted the italicized portions. Only in this passage, which came during cross-exam ination by Prosecutor N olan on November 2 4 -2 5 , 1947, did M atsui plainly state that he was not evading personal responsibility. Therefore, this line “I do not evade responsibility” assumes all the more importance. Because ultimately
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
M atsui received the death sentence, it would be wrong to ignore this statement as the only such remark he made, for each and every part of the inquiry at the Tokyo Trial informed the judgment that would decide the fate of each defendant. Accordingly, in reading the proceedings, one must take care to consider every single word. At the beginning of the quote, when Prosecutor Nolan stated, “You said something a moment ago . . . , ” he was referring to the following observation that Matsui had made shortly before this line of inquiry: Matsui: Ordinarily discipline and morals within an army was the responsibility of the Division Commander. The Commander of the Army above the Division Commanders supervised these Division Commanders and maintained the court martial under his jurisdiction. I was above them. I was the Commander above them and my Area Army Headquarters had no legal organ nor any military police or gendarmerie under its direct control, and therefore reports were not made to my headquarters or to me directly. It would be more proper to say that the facts were brought to my attention or communicated to me for reference purposes [T33871].
T he Fateful Exceiange
The cross-examination of M atsui continued on November 25. At the beginning of that day, Acting Chief Justice M yron Cramer (Chief Justice Sir W illiam Webb had tem porarily returned to Australia) carried out questioning supplemental to the previous day’s interrogation. In considering the problem of M atsui’s posi tion concerning his responsibility, I regard this supplemental questioning to be of decisive importance. Acting President: Before you proceed, Brigadier, I have a question by a member of the Court. If you had no power to give orders relative to the maintenance of discipline, please explain the last sentence on page 9 of your af-
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fidavit, which I will read to you: “After entering Nanking on 17 December, I heard about if [s/c] for the first time, from the commander of the Kempei unit, and I, at once, ordered every unit to investigate thoroughly and to pun ish the guilty men.” How do you explain that statement? Matsui: I gathered—by that passage I meant to say that I gathered together my subordinate Commanders and commanding offi cers of the various units and expressed to them my desires in regard to the maintenance of discipline and ordered them to take appropriate measures. The Monitor: Instead of “subordinate Commanders,” it should be “subordinate Army Commanders.” Acting President: But, I thought you testified yesterday that you had no power to give orders. Matsui: At the time, being Area Commander, I was given author ity and power to unify and control the strategy—the joint strat egy of the two Armies. The Monitor: “Area Commander” should be substituted by “Area Army Commander.” Matsui: (Continuing) Therefore, I could not say that the mainte nance of military discipline had no connection with military strategy, and therefore, in so far as the two were intercon nected, I thought that I did have the power to interfere in mat ters relating to military discipline, but in the strict legal sense I did not conceive myself as having the power to give specific or ders—orders in detail with regard to the maintenance of mili tary discipline, and this remains my belief to the present day [T33882— 33883].
Acting Chief Justice Cramer asked: If, as M atsui claim ed, the area army commander had no authority to issue commands con cerning the maintenance of m ilitary discipline and morals, did that not contradict the fact that, as the general mentioned in his affi davit, upon hearing reports of misconduct, he immediately ordered each unit to carry out strict investigation and punishment? M atsui
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
responded by stating that, since m ilitary discipline and morals were not unrelated to operations, he “interfered” in the matter and is sued the orders in question. Shigemitsu observed of M atsu i’s cross-examination, which concluded on that day: At court, the Matsui section ended without any trouble. The at titude of Matsui and that of Canadian Brigadier General Nolan were both good. The Chinese side was lenient toward Matsui (Sugamo 303).
Although Shigemitsu wrote that the session “ended without any trouble,” in fact for M atsui, this exchange with the acting chief jus tice became the turning point against him—the exchange that sealed his fate. In summary, M atsui’s position in the quoted passage was as fol lows: Although an area arm y commander had the authority to direct the operations of the various armies under his command (in M atsui’s case, the Shanghai Expeditionary Force and the 10th Army), he did not have the authority to supervise directly the m il itary discipline and morals of the troops—that is, the divisions—within each army. M atsui did not evade responsibility for w hat w as said to have occurred in Nanjing, but in attempting to punish violators of m ilitary discipline and morals, as area army commander, he could only express his desires to his subordinate army commanders and divisional leaders. M atsui was charged solely with the duty of exercising supervision so that morals would be maintained. Therefore, it was problematic to discuss the legal responsibility of an area army commander with regard to m ilitary discipline and morals. How did third parties view the exchange between Defendant M atsui and Prosecutor Nolan on the question of responsibility? In court, domestic and foreign news corps were observing the course of the trial while covering the proceedings. Unlike the do mestic press, which was subject to SCAP censorship, foreign newspapers appear to have been able to report relatively freely on the courtroom atmosphere.
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On November 25, the N ew York Times printed the AP wire deal ing with the court proceedings of the 24th. The article, entitled “MATSUI ADMITS ASKING END OF ATROCITY NEWS,” un fortunately did not refer to the exchange regarding the issue of responsibility. And in its coverage of the same day’s proceedings, the Occupation newspaper, The Pacific Stars an d Stripes, merely introduced part of M atsui’s deposition under the title “Chief of Nanking Rape Says China-Japan W ar W as ‘Brotherly Fight’” and made no mention at all of Prosecutor Nolan’s cross-examination. Furthermore, Britain’s premier newspaper, The Times, carried no article whatsoever on that day’s proceedings. Of the foreign news papers examined, none covered the exchange in question. In other words, at the time, M atsui’s declaration that “I do not evade re sponsibility” appears not to have been communicated at all beyond the courtroom. T he P rosecution ’ s Interpretation
The exchange on the issue of responsibility between Defendant M atsui and Prosecutor Nolan ended up not being reported in the press. Then w as M atsu i’s line “I do not evade responsibility” a trifle that disappeared w ithout attracting any attention w hatso ever? One must reply that this w as not the case. In court, there were people who listened attentively to every word of M atsu i’s cross-exam ination. These were M atsu i’s adversaries, nam ely, members of the prosecution and the bench, which w ould, in due course, pass judgm ent upon him. The signal that M atsui issued with his statement “I do not evade responsibility” w as definitely received by the prosecution and reappeared in its closing argu ment on February 25, 1948. W hile considering the prosecution’s understanding of M atsu i’s statem ent, I w ould like to present in detail its interpretation of the defendant’s position concerning his responsibility. In its final address, the prosecution began by summarizing what M atsui had claimed during his cross-examination. The address in cluded the following passage:
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
Matsui stated that he did not say that the power of discipline was not inherent in his command and did not evade all responsibili ties in connection with the capture of Nanking as Area Army Commander commanding his subordinates, but was trying to say that he was not directly responsible for the discipline and morals of the troops under the respective armies under his command [T41257],
Thus the prosecutors had definitely understood M atsui’s statement “I do not evade responsibility.” Furthermore, they summed up the view that M atsui himself held of his responsibility by stating: He stated that it would be a very difficult matter to determine his responsibility with regard to the question of discipline and morals and he could not make any definite statement at that time [T41258].
The final address then touched on the exchange between Defendant M atsui and Acting Chief Justice Cramer: In answer to the Acting President, Matsui stated that he could not say that the maintenance of military discipline had no connection with military strategy and, therefore, insofar as the two were in terconnected, he thought that he did have the power to interfere in matters relating to military discipline, but in the strict legal sense he did not conceive himself as having the power to give spe cific orders in detail with regard to the maintenance of military discipline, and this remains his belief to the present day [T41259].
In this w ay, the prosecution also presented in sum mary form M atsui’s assertion that he had had no authority to issue orders con cerning the maintenance of m ilitary discipline. The strategy that the prosecution then took was to draw on ev idence introduced in court to point out actions by M atsui that contradicted this assertion of his. In the Tokyo T ribunal, where logic w as everything, the result would be a total collapse of M atsui’s position.
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It appears, however, from his cross-examination that on 18 December 1937 he ordered as many officers as possible of the various armies and divisions to assemble, because on 17 December through his Chief of Staff he has received the report of the gendarmerie in regard to outrages committed by the Japanese soldiers and he gathered these officers together for the purpose of giving them instructions directly. Those instructions are in evidence and state in part that all of ficers and men should realize the true significance of command, should enforce stricter military discipline and that everyone should be cautious with regard to conduct on his part and should exert his utmost efforts to maintain and augment the splendid battle results, thereby enhancing the prestige of the Imperial Army [T41259-41260].
The prosecution underscored M atsui’s own statement that, hav ing received a report on the commission of atrocities by Japanese troops from the m ilitary police via the area army chief of staff, he had issued instructions that included the directive: “all officers and men . . . should enforce stricter m ilitary discipline.” The distinctive feature of the prosecution’s final address is that it w as based prim arily on M atsui’s own answers in court and on documentary evidence introduced by the defense. The prosecution made absolutely no attem pt to bring up the regulations of the Japanese arm y and put forw ard its own interpretation as to whether it was in fact only the divisional commander who had re sponsibility for m aintaining m ilitary discipline and morals. The stance assumed by the prosecution, whereby it did not base its closing address on a different interpretation of the facts but in stead took up the assertions of the defense and pointed out con tradictions therein, was much more persuasive than had the pros ecution used evidence that it had introduced itself as the basis of its final address. Since the contradictions within their own asser tions had come under attack, those on the defense side must have found it extremely difficult to build a counterargument.
General M atsui Iwane and the Nanjing Incident
Having noted those contradictions, the prosecution concluded its case on the question of responsibility with the following state ment: The defendant Matsui seeks to evade his responsibility by taking the position that his command and supervision over his armies was entirely indirect and that consequently he was not directly responsible for the discipline and morals of the officers and men under his command. He would, it seems, limit his responsibility to purely operational matters such as the shelling of the “ Ladybird.” The prosecution submits that it is impossible to divorce the power to enforce discipline from the power of command and he himself admits that where military discipline and military strategy are interconnected he did have power to interfere in matters of military discipline |T41269],
M atsui claimed that the area army commander had had respon sibilities connected only to operational command, but in point of fact he had issued orders on the maintenance of m ilitary discipline and morals in Nanjing. As the acting chief justice observed, M atsui himself clearly mentioned this point in his deposition. If the m ain tenance of m ilitary discipline and morals had been a matter of re sponsibility solely of the divisional com m anders, then M atsui, though acting indirectly as a superior officer, w ould have been overstepping his authority in issuing those orders. On this point, M atsui explained that he had given the orders because m ilitary dis cipline and morals were not unrelated to operational matters. This explanation became a tacit admission by M atsui that he had had the authority to “interfere” not only in operational matters but also in matters of discipline and morals. In other words, by no means could one say that the area army commander had had noth ing to do with the breakdown of m ilitary discipline and morals. To put it yet another w ay, M atsui, the area army commander at the time, could not escape responsibility for the N anjing Incident, which was held to have resulted from the breakdown of m ilitary
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discipline and m orals. This was the prosecution’s conclusion on the issue of responsibility. All that the prosecutors used to reach this conclusion was M atsui’s courtroom testimony and deposition; they introduced absolutely no witnesses or evidence of their own. Accordingly, to the defense, the final address of the prosecution undoubtedly came across as an extremely logical statement, albeit one coming from the opposition, that left alm ost no room for counterargument. Having established M atsu i’s responsibility, the prosecution brought its final address to a conclusion: Furthermore, it is clear from the evidence that it was the Commander-in-Chief, Matsui, who on 18 December called his officers together in Nanking and told them that they should rec ognize the true significance of command and enforce stricter dis cipline. It was Matsui who ordered investigations, such as they were, into atrocities and it is submitted that everything he did is consistent with the view that the power to enforce discipline resided in him as Commander-in-Chief and cannot be shifted as he suggests to his subordinates in the armies under his command. He should have followed his own advice and, realizing the true significance of his own command, have enforced stricter disci pline on those officers and men of the Japanese Army who turned a peaceful and nonresisting city into a charnel house littered with the bodies of innocent Chinese men, women and children [T41270].
W hile sayin g that the m aintenance of m ilitary discipline and morals had been the responsibility of divisional commanders, as area army commander M atsui himself had issued orders on the matter. At the Tokyo Trial, the Nanjing Incident was treated as an irrefutably proven fact. Therefore, the “fact” that numerous atroc ities had occurred had resulted from the very in ad eq u acy of M atsu i’s supervision of m ilitary discipline and morals. In other words, M atsui had not done what he should have done or his w ay of dealing with the matter had been totally unsatisfactory. Thus
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
did the prosecution condemn M atsui in its closing statement, as serting his nonfeasance or deficiency in supervising m ilitary disci pline and morals. Shigemitsu recorded in his diary the following impressions of this closing address: In his closing statement in court, the public prosecutor finished with Kido and then went on to Kimura, Koiso, Matsui, and Minami before coming to Muto. With regard to Kimura he was severe, albeit brief, but toward Matsui he was rather sympathetic (Sugamo 353).
Yet, a close exam ination of the proceedings shows that, even though Prosecutor Nolan did not express the note of censure to ward M atsui that, for instance, Prosecutor Hsiang Che-chun of the Republic of China and Prosecutor Pedro Lopez of the Philippines did toward Defendants Itagaki Seishiro and M uto A kira, respec tively, his demeanor and tone were nonetheless extremely “severe.” In a court, the record is everything. Even at the Niirnberg International M ilitary Tribunal, where both the defendants and plaintiffs belonged to the same Western cultural sphere, w hat crushed the allegations of the Nazi defendants—that they didn’t know, it didn’t exist, they weren’t involved—was the record of ev idence that the prosecution introduced. The Nazi defendants were completely defeated by Chief of Counsel Jackson’s strategy of let ting the record speak. Sim ilarly, M atsui Iwane’s responsibility for the N anjing Incident ended up being established by the record that M atsui himself presented. T he D efense C o un terattack
How did the defense counsel for M atsui Iwane of Japan, a country that differs culturally from the West, respond to the final address of the prosecution? The closing argument for M atsui took place on April 9, 1948. Concerning “[t]he Alleged Nanking Outrages”, “a number of witnesses and such documentary evidence were presented
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by the prosecution,” but since among those “are found many fic tions and groundless stories, exaggerated statements of facts, or decidedly sensational propagandistic phrases,” it can be said that “those should not, therefore, be considered reliable in this trial.” That the Japanese army alone can be charged with responsibility is none other than “the result of their subtle and exaggerated propa ganda.” That is to say, it is because “the Chinese people are born propagandists, and a people very susceptible to propaganda.” After thus rebutting the prosecution’s assertion that the Nanjing Incident had actually happened the w ay the prosecution described it, the de fense then alluded to the issue of M atsui’s responsibility. First, it summarized the following points concerning his authority and du ties as Central China area arm y commander: The duties of that commander had been limited to coordinating and directing the op erations of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force and the 10th Army. In the Japanese army, the authority and duty to maintain and enforce discipline and morals among the officers and men had rested with the divisional commander. The proof of that fact was that until the Tokyo Trial no area army commander, let alone army commander, had been censured for the illegal actions of subordinate officers and men. Consequently, M atsui as the Central China area army com mander had had no legal responsibility. This was the gist of his defense, which to this point was logically consistent. Then, how did the defense try to explain the fact that M atsui, having had no authority or duty to issue orders in this matter, had nonetheless done so? On the occasion of the fall of Nanking, General Matsui wished to see by it, Japanese vested interests and rights in the south of the Yangtze secured and, at the same time, a turning point be marked, for the establishment of friendly relations between Japan and China, by accelerating reflection on the part of the Chinese people on their miscalculated anti-Japanese ideology, which was his long cherished desire to see substantiated. In order to attain such high-minded objectives, he felt the need of making the troops under his command observe the military discipline with
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
utmost strictness. No unjust act, no single murder case was to be tolerated. He was in the firm belief that only by so rigorously en forcing the military discipline, the true worth of the Japanese troops could be shown to the world, and thus the world’s esti mate of the Japanese troops would be enhanced. With such con viction in his mind General Matsui as a section commander-in chief, issued directives repeatedly to the troops under his command calling attention to the need of strictly observing the military discipline, despite the fact that legally he was not bound to do so [T47238M7239].
The defense claimed that the ultimate objective of the capture of Nanjing had been to create “a turning point . . . for the establish ment of friendly relations between Japan and C hina” and that, in order to attain “such high-minded objectives,” M atsui had issued orders irrespective of his m ilitarily prescribed authority as area army commander. In having done so as an exception owing to the nobility of the objective, he had not gone beyond his competence but had merely chosen not to adhere to his jurisdiction. Behind this defense explanation was the contention that M atsui’s order had been strictly exceptional and that one should not generalize from it that the area army commander had had responsibility for regulat ing m ilitary discipline and morals. No doubt, defense counsel did the best they could. Nevertheless, the above assertion carried decisive weaknesses. First of all, the de fense stated that, because the objective had been noble, the act of issuing orders had been exceptional; but the standard for judging that “nobility” rested solely on the arbitrary value judgment of the defense counsel. To the prosecutors, especially the one from China, the notion of the “nobility” of Japanese aims w as totally unac ceptable. Therefore, the premise of “exceptionality” immediately lost relevance and collapsed. Furthermore, in his exchange with the acting chief justice, M atsui himself clearly stated that operations and the maintenance of m ilitary discipline and morals were not un related: “ I could not say that the maintenance of m ilitary discipline had no connection with m ilitary strategy, and therefore, in so far as
L
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the two were interconnected, I thought I did have the power to in terfere in matters relating to m ilitary discipline.” In other words, the defense ended up failing to use logic persuasive to a third party to refute the prosecution’s claim that M atsui as area army comman der had had responsibility for the management of military discipline and morals. At this point, the defense developed an entirely different line of argument concerning M atsui’s responsibility. To begin with, it em phasized M atsui’s lofty character and asserted that, as a man of such character, he could not have helped doing his best to deal with the matter. It then asked that the court take into considera tion the handicaps he had faced in being laid up with illness at the time and spending only five days in Nanjing. The first part of this argument amounted to a form of “character witness,” and in court, where documents and testimony are everything, such an argument has no validity. In the logical world of the courtroom, the plea that a person of high character could only have done this or could not have ordered that is regarded as mere conjecture; even if used for defense purposes, it cannot possibly be effective. Finally, the defense counsel rebutted the prosecution’s charge that M atsui was to blame for nonfeasance and insufficient punish ment and concluded its argument concerning his responsibility: General Matsui, when he received a report from the comman der of the Kempeitai, of a few disgraceful occurrences, became angry, and scolded his subordinates, and orders were issued to the Military Police to suppress such activities and arrest any participants, according to the testimony of Muto. Such being the attitude of Matsui, had he known of any such things as as serted by the prosecution, he would have done something about them, as far as it lay within his power [T47243-47244].
This claim was also no more than conjecture and was in no w ay an effective rebuttal of the prosecution’s final address. It did not go beyond an assertion based on M atsui’s character. As is clear from the above inquiry, the closing argument of the defense counsel had many weaknesses in both its premises and
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
methods and utterly failed to match the prosecution’s logical pre sentation. Indeed, the prosecution carried out its cross-examination to the point of logical perfection. Unless one introduced persuasive new evidence and, using logic convincing to third parties, knocked down the assertion that the Nanjing Incident had actually taken place, the prosecutors’ case was impossible to refute. Yet, since M atsui himself admitted that a number of illegal acts had occurred, the defense could not deny the incident itself and was simply unable to take that approach. T he V erdict
The justices who listen to the verbal battle between the prosecu tion and the defense are expected to consider the claims of both sides in passing sentence, but it is clear from the above analysis that the justices in this case w ould lik ely decide in favor of the prosecutors’ position, for it was nearly perfect in logic. In fact, in its verdict, announced on November 12, 1948, the tribunal made the following reference to M atsui Iw ane’s responsibility prior to sentencing him to death by hanging: He did nothing, or nothing effective to abate these horrors . . . . He had the power, as he had the duty, to control his troops and to protect the unfortunate citizens of Nanking. He must be held criminally responsible for his failure to discharge this duty [T49816].
Two K inds
of
R esponsibility
The argument that M atsui himself made concerning his responsi bility can ultim ately be summed up in this passage from his cross-examination: Nolan: You said something a moment ago about discipline and morals being the responsibility of a subordinate commander to yourself.
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Matsui: The responsibility of the division commander.
Matsui: I do not—I am not trying, nor do I evade all responsibili ties in connection with the capture of Nanking as area com mander—area army commander—commanding my subordi nates. However, I am only trying to tell you that I am not directly responsible for the discipline and morals of the troops under the respective armies under my command.
That is to say, the maintenance of m ilitary discipline and morals had been the duty of the divisional commander. W hile M atsui, as area arm y commander, did not evade responsibility, he had not been the one directly responsible. One might think that in the final analysis this assertion amounted to evasion of responsibility. But if one regards the phrases “I do not evade responsibility” and “I was not the person responsible” as referring to two different kinds of re sponsibility, then the logical contradiction disappears, and M atsui’s statement becomes clear. The two kinds of responsibility are “moral responsibility” and “legal responsibility.” That is, M atsui was claim ing that, as supreme commander during the conquest of Nanjing, he did not evade moral responsibility, but divisional leaders, as direct com manders, should bear legal responsibility. But, as it appears in both the English and Japanese versions of the proceedings, in his previ ously cited statement M atsui simply used the term “responsibility” and did not distinguish between “m oral” and “legal” forms. Nevertheless, the prosecution clearly made that distinction in court. This is evidenced by the fact that during its cross-examination, as can be seen in the portion of the proceedings quoted earlier, it aimed at getting M atsui to admit to his legal—that is, penal—re sponsibility. By stating in its final address that “M atsui . . . did not evade all responsibilities in connection with the capture of Nanking as Area Army Commander commanding his subordinates” and “the defendant M atsui seeks to evade his responsibility,” the pros ecution in effect alleged that, although M atsui said he did not evade his own m oral responsibility, he was trying to avoid legal respon
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
sibility. The prosecutors, seeking to prove M atsu i’s crim inal re sponsibility, concluded that they would be able to do so as long as they made use of M atsui’s replies to the supplemental questions of the acting chief justice, and so they did not pursue the issue of re sponsibility in subsequent cross-examination. “ D eviation
fr o m
O ne ’ s C ompetence ”
The distinction between these two kinds of responsibility—“legal, penal responsibility” and “moral responsibility”—was not ex pressed directly during the prosecution of General M atsui Iwane, but in m ilitary courts that adjudicated w ar crimes, it was clear that prosecutors would make that distinction. One example of this prac tice was seen at the m ilitary trial of Lieutenant General Honma M asaharu, which the American arm y held in M anila, the Philippines, in January and February 1946. The prosecution of Honma centered on his responsibility for the so-called “Bataan Death M arch.” Like M atsui, Honma had been supreme comman der of a field arm y—in his case, the 14th Army occupying the Philippines—when, according to the prosecution, “atrocities” had taken place. Although there was a difference between an army com mander and an area army commander, it was deemed that Honma and M atsui had held sim ilar positions. As a result, Honma came to stand as a defendant before a m ilitary tribunal as well. At the Honma trial, which began on January 3, 1946, the last day of court appearances by defense witnesses was February 7. Honma was the first to testify that day. When the prosecuting at torney pressed him on whether he as supreme commander took responsibility for the actions of his subordinates, Honma replied that he took moral responsibility, but the prosecution persisted in trying to extend Honma’s responsibility to a crim inal one.6 The next day’s Pacific Stars and Stripes carried the following article: 6. Tsunoda Fusako, Issai yume ni goza soro: Honma Masaharu chujo den (Everything Is a Dream: The Biography of Lieutenant General Honma Masaharu) (Tokyo: Chuko Bunko, 1975), p. 399.
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HOMMA ADMITS HE ORDERED ‘DEATH MARCH’ ‘Morally Responsible For Anything That Happened,’ Tells Court MANILA(AP)—Masaharu Homma admitted under cross exami nation at his war crimes trial that he issued the order for the Bataan march of 70,000 American prisoners of war and added “I was morally responsible for anything that happened under my command.” Seventeen thousand Americans and Filipinos died in the march.
Also, the following paragraph appeared in the N ew York Times that day: Before General Homma himself left the stand this afternoon he de clared for the third time in three days that he assumed “moral re sponsibility” for “everything that happened under my command.”
That a newspaper could print such a detailed item as “he de clared for the third time” was simply owing to the fact that, as in the case of M atsui and the N anjing Incident, the question of Honma M asaharu’s responsibility for the “Bataan Death M arch” had attracted a huge amount of interest. Being fluent in English, Lieutenant General Honma gave his own testimony in that language. Consequently, the phrase “moral re sponsibility” that the two papers reported was undoubtedly one that came straight from his mouth. Yet, in pursuing his criminal re sponsibility as well, the prosecutors could hardly have been satisfied with that response. As reported in the Occupation newspaper Pacific Stars an d Stripes on February 11, the prosecution made the following assertion in its final address: “Homma admitted his moral responsibility,” Meek [the chief prosecutor] reminded the commission [equivalent to the court]. “He is responsible in every sense of the word.”
This was a severe statement, for the prosecuting party was in sisting that “in every sense,” including the crim inal one, Honma
General M atsui Iwane and the N anjing Incident
bore responsibility. Looking at the w ay the prosecutors at the Honma trial pursued the defendant’s responsibility makes all the clearer how their counterparts at the Tokyo Tribunal inquired into General M atsui’s responsibility. As seen heretofore, M aruyam a M asao treated Defendant Matsui Iwane’s attitude at the Tokyo trial as an example of “refuge in one’s competence or jurisdiction.” Was this characterization really accu rate? If M atsui had only declared that “w hat is deemed to have occurred at N anjing is entirely my responsibility,” M aruyam a would probably not have concluded that he had sought “refuge in his competence.” Had M atsui made such a statement, observers in and out of court would undoubtedly have commented on his manly behavior. One can substantiate this conjecture by means of a state ment a young former naval officer made to Kodama Yoshio, one of the unindicted class A w ar crim inals, on June 24, 1946, shortly after the opening of the trial: If Mr. Tojo and the others, when they first stood before the court in Ichigaya, had admitted en masse that they were guilty and had accepted their sentences, saying that “all responsibility lies with us,” then I think they would have left forever in the hearts of Japanese something that at least the Japanese themselves would understand.7
Indeed, if the principal defendants had declared that “we are en tirely responsible,” then the charge that they took “refuge in their competence” could not possibly have been made. In that case, though, their explanation would have amounted to a claim that they had ignored standing laws and regulations; it would have been nothing but an acknowledgment that they had “deviated from their competence,” not that they had taken “refuge in their competence.” After deleting the passage in which M atsui Iwane declared, “I do not evade my own [moral] responsibility,” and thereby misrepre senting his character, M aruyam a asserted that this was an example 7. Kodama Yoshio, Unmei no mon (Destiny’s Gate) (Tokyo: Rokumeisha, 1950), pp. 148-149.
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of taking “refuge in one’s competence” and that in this w ay Japan’s former leaders were “dw arfish.” Yet, if one reads and interprets the text of the proceedings with an open mind, one finds M atsui explaining that he did not evade moral responsibility at all, but that this is the w ay it is with the laws and regulations of the Japanese army. I think it is a far more natural interpretation to acknowledge the figure of an old general who was prepared for the ultimate penalty. In characterizing Defendant M atsui Iwane, M aruyam a made crucial deletions from the passages that he quoted from the documentary record and tried to push through his presuppositions and biases, using what could be called an arbitrary method. For the line of argument he presented, M aruyam a M asao should have re alized that he himself would be held “morally responsible.”
C hapter 3
“Regard for Feelings between Private Individuals” and “H ara g e i”: The Logic of Foreign Minister Togo Shigenori
T o g o S higenori ’ s “W
eak
N erves ”
Among the Japanese defendants who took the w itness stand at the Tokyo T ribunal in Ich igayad ai, Kido Koichi and Togo Shigenori made the strongest personal pleas. Kido had been Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, while Togo had served as foreign minister at the beginning and end of the w ar. The depositions of these two men, particularly that of Kido, surpassed those of the other defendants in both length and substance. Because the de fense side w as m ainly tryin g to put em phasis on “national de fense” rather than “individual defense,” the speech and behavior of these two on the w itness stand also gave rise to controversy among the accused. After taking office as foreign minister in October 1941, Togo Shigenori pushed to carry out negotiations with the United States, opposing tooth and nail the commencement of hostilities; and later as foreign minister in the cabinet of Suzuki Kantaro, he directly 61
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confronted the m ilitary and sought to prevent a widening of the w ar’s devastation by insisting on acceptance of the Potsdam D eclaration. Today a number of records speak of these actions. Foreign M inistry bureaucrats who were in personal contact with Togo testify to his conduct as foreign minister, characterizing him as “calm and stern in addition to aloof in character” 1 and “a per son who assumed a fairly severe attitude toward everyone.”12 And M ori M otojiro, a Kyodo News Service reporter, who had been on friendly terms with Togo from around the time of the M anchurian Incident, remarked: He is not a man to draw back without a word, thinking it’s no use to say anything now that it’s too late. . . . He combines the mind of a lawyer with an incomparable tenacity, and whether in public or private situations, when confronted with the most adverse and defensive position, he displays a formidable latent strength.3
These evaluations of Togo speak to his character. W hile ac know ledging that he had such a “strong sp irit,” M aru yam a M asao nonetheless asserted in “Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers” that, like Konoe Fum im aro, Togo also exem plified the “w eak nerves” exhibited by Ja p a n ’s former leaders. On the m orning of December 8, 1941, the day hostilities commenced, Togo summoned U.S. Ambassador to Japan Joseph Grew to the Foreign M inistry and handed him a m emorandum breaking off negotiations w ith the United States. Seizing on this incident, M aruyam a said that it revealed Togo’s “w eak nerves.” At that time, Togo said nothing definite to Grew about either the decla ration of w ar or the attack on Pearl H arbor. W hen he took the 1. 2. 3.
Kase Toshikazu, Nihon gaiko no shuyakutachi (The Leading Men of Japanese Diplomacy) (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjusha, 1974), p. 156. Nishi Haruhiko, Kaiso no Nihon gaiko (Reminiscences on Japanese Diplomacy) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho, 1965), p. 115. Mori Motojiro, “Higeki no hito, Togo Shigenori: Shusen gaiko o yomite” (A Tragic Man, Togo Shigenori: On Reading War-Termination Diplomacy), Kaizo, March 1951, pp. 146-147.
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witness stand during the individual phase o f the trial, Togo gave three reasons as to w hy he had made no explicit statement on the ou tb reak o f w ar. A fter citing these points, M aruyam a offered this analysis: When Mr. [Ben Bruce] Blakeney asked him in Court why dur ing the course of the interview he had not said a word about a state of war existing, he came out with some curious explana tions. First, he presumed that the Ambassador already knew about the opening of hostilities from the morning broadcast. Let us accept this for the sake of argument and go on to the sec ond point: since the Imperial Proclamation of War had not yet been issued to the Japanese people, he thought it inappropriate to mention the matter when it was not necessary. This already seems rather odd; but what really shocked the Court was his third reason: Ambassador Grew and I had been acquainted with each other for a long time, and I was very much hesitant about men tioning even the word “war” between us. And so, instead of talking about or referring to the word “war,” I expressed to him my very deep regrets that the relations between his coun try and mine had come to such a state that we must part (IMTFE, no. 342). Let us see what this really means. At an official interview be tween a Foreign Minister and an Ambassador, each representing his country at a most critical time in their relations, the Japanese party is inhibited by a type of constraint that one normally asso ciates with dealings between private individuals; this constraint involves a keen sense of awkwardness and embarrassment and makes him hesitate to speak straight out about the situation star ing him in the face. Apart from his weakness of spirit, Togo may well have been hobbled by a certain sense of shame over the sur prise attack on Pearl Flarbor. In any case, when sympathy for someone’s feelings reaches this point, it is tantamount to the greatest contempt. A perfect contrast is provided by the attitude of the American Secretary of State, Mr. Cordell FIull, during his
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final interview with the Japanese Ambassadors, Nomura and Kurusu (98-99; Maruyama’s emphasis).
This part of M aru yam a’s sum m ary, which includes the gist of Togo’s statement, is generally accurate. But on one point, where M aruyam a had Blakeney asking “why during the course of the interview he had not said a word about a state of w ar existing,” he should probably have put it as “w hy . . . he had not said ex plicitly that a state of w ar existed .” Incidentally, in the English version of the proceedings, this passage is rendered as “did not mention to him specifically . . . ” [T36140]. In this supplem ental questioning, Defense Counsel Blakeney w as follow ing up on the cross-exam ination of Togo that Chief Prosecutor Keenan had carried out four days earlier, on December 22, 1947. W hat follows is an excerpt from that crossexamination; KEENAN: Was his demeanor cordial as ordinarily with you? TOGO: I noticed nothing especially different. KEENAN: And it is your opinion, and it was your conclusion that Mr. Grew would come to you at your summons and know that there was a surprise attack upon Pearl Harbor delivered at the very moment when your highest ambassadors were within the eaves of the White House at Washington and that he would not say anything about it to you or give evidence of his knowl edge of that fact by a change of expression upon his face or gesture? Are you asking this Court to believe that? TOGO: When Ambassador Grew came to see me—perhaps it was because it was so early in the morning—he had a very serious face. Before Ambassador Grew called on me I had learned that it had already been arranged that there was to be an announce ment from Imperial General Headquarters that Japan had opened hostilities, and therefore I assumed that he also knew that such was the case. Therefore, the conversation which took place between myself and Ambassador Grew on this occasion was done in a very serious atmosphere [T35942-35943].
1
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First of all, Togo admitted in his deposition that at the time of his interview w ith Am bassador Grew, although he thanked the am bassador for his efforts in the negotiations to date and ex pressed regret that U.S.-Japan negotiations had broken down, he did not mention the outbreak of war. According to Togo, the rea son he did not was that, since the interview took place after the opening of hostilities had been officially announced to the world, he thought Grew already knew. Further, he also claimed that he believed the ambassador understood their meeting to be a parting interview. In response to this deposition, Chief Prosecutor Keenan personally undertook the cross-exam ination. After questioning Togo closely on his assertion that, because Grew must already have known, the foreign minister did not refer to the outbreak of w ar, Keenan charged that this claim was no more than an excuse since a document found at the Foreign M inistry contained the sen tence “Both the British and American Ambassadors did not know of the outbreak of the state of w ar prior to the above, at the time of the conversation on the morning of [the] 8th” [T35927-35928] and that probably at bottom Togo felt ashamed to mention in per son the fact of the “surprise attack.” In other words, the prosecu tor sought to dem onstrate that the foreign m inister’s behavior stemmed from an inner feeling of shame. Judging that the situation was going unfavorably for Togo, his counsel, Blakeney, had him explain to the court in greater detail the reasons for his behavior at the time of this interview. Besides be lieving that Grew must have known, Togo added two other reasons: Because the imperial proclamation of w ar had not yet been issued at home, he considered it inappropriate to mention it; and, since Grew was an old acquaintance, he refrained from explicitly using the word “w a r” in the conversation and instead expressed himself indirectly by saying he regretted parting under such circumstances. As cited previously, M aruyam a M asao seized on this third reason in censuring Togo for “weakness of spirit.” Did Foreign M inister Togo’s attitude toward Ambassador Grew really stem from a “w eak spirit,” as M aruyam a contended? Before
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examining this point, I would first like to consider how the prose cution in its final address interpreted the reasons Togo gave for his conduct and how the defense, in turn, responded to that explana tion in its closing argument. The prosecution gave its final address on the Togo phase of the trial on March 1-2, 1948. During the morning of the 2nd, the pros ecutors, taking up the interview with Grew, asserted the peculiarity of Togo’s explanation that he had not referred to the outbreak of a state of w ar because he had thought Grew had already known it, since clearly Grew was in the dark at the time of the outbreak of w ar; as proof, they pointed to the Foreign M inistry document they had produced earlier. On the interview with Grew, the prosecution confined itself to this point and did not examine the other reasons that Togo had detailed to Blakeney. Responding to the prosecution’s final address, the defense pre sented its concluding argument on April 14: It is believed that the conversations of Foreign Minister Togo with the British and American Ambassadors, on the morning of 8 December, are of no real significance to the case. The prose cution point out—which is quite true—that although those conversations took place after the outbreak of hostilities, no mention of that fact was made by Mr. Togo; but they fail to mention any significance of this. It is not apparent what differ ence in the situation would have been created by an announce ment by Mr. Togo of the state of war then in existence, unless to spare the ambassadors that injury to their self-esteem which the prosecution seem to feel for them. It is so plain that when the war had once started Mr. Togo could have had no ulterior motive in withholding information of the existence of the state of war from the ambassadors that, it is submitted, his own ex planation of why he did so can only be accepted, however strange psychologically it may appear from the western point of view. . . [T47908-78909],
Perhaps realizing that, in view of the strong evidence the prosecu tors had already introduced into court, it would be rather difficult
The L ogic of Foreign M inister T ogo S higenori
to refute their assertion that Grew at the time was unaware of the commencement of hostilities, the defense avoided confronting this assertion head-on; instead, it tried to downplay the importance of this interview and insisted on the appropriateness of the reasons Togo had given. Interestingly, the defense developed a kind of comparative cul ture argument, as if to say: The reasons Togo gave may have ap peared strange to the prosecution, but that was because its percep tion was based on a Western w ay of thinking, whereas in the Japanese w ay of thinking his explanation sounded reasonable. In the view of the defense, the reason the prosecution and Togo held different opinions was that in the final analysis Western and Japanese ways of looking at things differed, and any further discus sion of this point was both unnecessary and useless. In this tribunal, where evidence based on records governed everything, such a com parative culture argument carried hardly any weight. N aturally, the court did not take this assertion seriously. In their verdict, the jus tices made absolutely no mention of this interview, perhaps because they considered it unimportant. For, when all is said and done, the prosecution of Togo really centered on the fact that he had entered the Tojo cabinet and played an important role in the process lead ing to the outbreak of war. G r e w ’ s R ecollections
How was Togo’s attitude viewed by Westerners, especially by Grew, the other party in the interview in question? In the deposition he submitted to the court, Grew recalled that Togo had not said a word about the commencement of hostilities. Then, at the time of the in terview, w hat exactly did the ambassador think of Togo’s behav ior? On the day of the meeting, Grew wrote in his diary: December 8, 1941 At 7 a.m. I was awakened by a telephone call from Kase [Toshikazu, at the time chief of the North American Section of the Foreign Ministry and private secretary to the foreign minister],
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who asked me to come to see the Minister as soon as possible. He said that he had been trying to telephone me ever since 5 a.m. but could not get through. I hurriedly dressed and got to the of ficial residence at about 7:30. Kase was cordial; Togo grim and formal. He made a brief statement which is contained in my re port to the Department and then handed to me a memorandum of thirteen pages, dated December 8, which he said had been com municated by Admiral Nomura to the Secretary today, breaking off the conversations. The final paragraph read: The Japanese Government regrets to have to notify hereby the American Government that, in view of the attitude of the American Government, it cannot but consider that it is im possible to reach an agreement through further negotiations. Togo said that he had seen the Emperor (at 3 a.m., I under stand), and that the memorandum constituted the Emperor’s reply to the President’s message. He then made a little speech thanking me for my co-operation during the conversations and came down stairs to see me off at the door. Not a word was said about Pearl Harbor. On returning to the Embassy I shaved and breakfasted and then sent off my report to the Department, but it probably did not get through. Shortly afterward we heard that Imperial Headquarters had announced that Japan was in armed conflict with the United States and Great Britain. This was contained in a Yomiuri statement issued early this morning.4
This account corroborates the fact that at the time of the interview Grew knew nothing about the commencement of w ar, nor did he feel the interview to be a parting one, as Togo claimed. During his cross-examination, Togo replied to Keenan that “when Ambassador Grew came to see me—perhaps it was because it was so early in the morning—he had a very serious face,” but in Grew’s eyes, Togo was 4.
Joseph C. Grew, Ten Years in Japan: A Contemporary Record Drawn from the Diaries and Private and Official Papers of Joseph C. Grew (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1944), p. 493.
The L ogic of Foreign M inister T ogo S higenori
more than serious—he was “grim and form al.” Probably what hap pened was that Grew, who had hurried over to the Foreign Ministry with an intent look and wondering what in the world was the mat ter, noticed that Togo’s expression was abnormal to the point of being grim—it made all the more of an impression due to the con trast with the am iable face of Secretary Kase, who stood beside Togo—and, in spite of himself, his own expression hardened. Seeing this look on Grew’s face, Togo, in turn, unwittingly became more and more stern in his expression. Most likely as a result, this inter view, as Togo stated in his reply to Keenan, was “done in a very se rious atmosphere.” As cited previously, during his cross-examination, Togo had the following exchange with Keenan: Keenan: Was his demeanor cordial as ordinarily with you? Togo: I noticed nothing especially different.
He said that Grew’s being “cordial” was the same as always, but the general mood of their meeting that morning was doubtless such that Grew was led by Togo to appear more serious than usual. I think it not unreasonable that Togo should at the time have drawn the conclusion that Grew must already have known about the outbreak of war. Togo also mentioned this interview in the memoirs he wrote after the Tokyo Trial. There he stated that he had attended the interview “thinking there was no need for me to repeat unpleasant news,” but later at the trial the prosecution turned that issue into a “m at ter for censure,” and “in the end what I had meant as good will to ward both am bassadors [Grew and Sir Robert Craigie, Britain’s ambassador to Japan] instead became a source of misunderstand ing.” Because w hat he considered proper conduct had been misun derstood, he went so far as to write indignantly that “since it came to this, I think it would have been better if instead I had not had an interview with either am bassador.”5 But, as previously shown, the “good w ill” he speaks of did not come across to Grew. 5.
Togo Shigenori, Jidai no ichimen (An Aspect of the Times) (Tokyo: Hara Shobo, 1985), p. 282.
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Togo asserted that, since Grew was a longtime acquaintance, he was inclined to refrain from verbalizing to him the straightforward expression “w ar,” and so he did not voice that word. In its closing ar gument, the defense claimed that, if the prosecution found this asser tion to be strange, then that was because it was following a Western w ay of thinking. In other words, it contended that Togo’s behavior based on “good w ill” appeared natural to a Japanese way of thinking. W ithout trying to consider this assertion by Togo within a com parative cultural context, M aruyam a M asao instead judged it to be the product of a “w eak character.” To be sure, defense counsel’s explanation that this was a kind of Japanese-like behavior disap peared from the court without being taken into account whatsoever by the justices. Nonetheless, even if one disregards the importance of this defense claim from the standpoint of courtroom tactics, it is probably worth considering. Although one should refrain from de veloping a simple national character argument in a scholarly set ting, I cannot help but think that many Japanese would find Togo’s assertion convincing. That is to say, can one not see this as an ex ample of the Japanese tendency, especially in formal situations, to avoid speaking frankly? Typical was the reaction to a harrowing in cident that took place in Japan some twenty years ago when a renowned scholar of English literature was stabbed to death in broad daylight by one of his grandchildren. Whereas not one of the many Japanese who contributed to a special magazine edition is sued in memory of that scholar mentioned this tragic event, the for eign contributors made explicit use of such words as “stabbing to death” and “m urder.”6 One can regard this as a similar case. Still, even if one puts it this w ay, in the final analysis, this explanation 6.
Eigo seinen (The Rising Generation), November 1982. The following sen tences by Tezuka Tomio (p. 11) probably represented the strongest allusion to the tragedy among the Japanese contributors: “I didn’t think that so sense less an incident could happen again. I could only feel that this was an ex tremely vicious trick of fate.” By contrast, of the three foreign contributors, two used the expressions “stabbing to death” (Joseph Roggendorf, p. 12) and “the news of Professor Saito’s murder” (Peter Milward, p. 38).
The L ogic of Foreign M inister T ogo Shigenori
amounts to nothing more than a hypothesis. W hat needs to be done is to demonstrate that Togo Shigenori had a “strong character,” drawing on the same historical records that M aruyam a used. A C om pariso n
w ith
H ull
M aruyam a M asao ended his examination of Togo’s behavior during his December 8 interview with Ambassador Grew by observing: “A perfect contrast is provided by the attitude of the American Secretary of State, M r. Cordell Hull, during his final interview with the Japanese ambassadors, Nomura and Kurusu” (99). In what follows, then, I would like to pursue this comparison. M aruyam a does not mention the specific historical record from which he derived his de piction of Hull’s attitude. As noted earlier, his article “The Psychology of the M ilitarist Rulers” appeared in the M ay 1949 issue of the jour nal Cbdryu. Therefore, the chances are fairly high that M aruyam a consulted the memoirs of Secretary of State Hull, published the pre vious year.7 The relevant passage from H ull’s memoirs reads: Nomura and Kurusu came into my office at 2:20. I received them coldly and did not ask them to sit down. Nomura diffidently said he had been instructed by his Government to deliver a document to me at one o’clock, but that difficulty in decoding the message had delayed him. He then handed me his Government’s note. I asked him why he had specified one o’clock in his first re quest for an interview. He replied that he did not know, but that was his instruction. I made a pretense of glancing through the note. I knew its con tents already but naturally could give no indication of this fact. After reading two or three pages, I asked Nomura whether he had presented the document under instructions from his Government. 7.
The Memoirs of Cordell Hull, 2 vols. (New York: Macmillan, 1948).
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He replied that he had. When I finished skimming the pages, I turned to Nomura and put my eye on him. “I must say,” I said, “that in all my conversations with you during the last nine months I have never uttered one word of un truth. This is borne out absolutely by the record. In all my fifty years of public service I have never seen a document that was more crowded wtih infamous falsehoods and distortions—infa mous falsehoods and distortions on a scale so huge that I never imagined until today that any Government on this planet was ca pable of uttering them.” Nomura seemed about to say something. His face was impas sive, but I felt he was under great emotional strain. I stopped him with a motion of my hand. I nodded toward the door. The Ambassadors turned without a word and walked out, their heads down.8
Soon after Ambassadors Nomura Kichisaburo and Kurusu Saburo had taken their leave, Hull phoned Roosevelt to tell him the details of his conversation. And the president, he noted, “said he was pleased that I had spoken so strongly.”9 M aruyam a stated that, in contrast to Togo, H ull w as the pos sessor of a “strong sp irit” who did not care at all about such things as regard for feelings between private individuals. True, Hull “spoke strongly,” but the biggest impression one gets upon reading this passage from his memoirs is that of H u ll’s ap pear ance as an actor, pretending to read the document in question for the first time while knowing full well its contents and speaking to A m bassador N om ura w ith a look of total indignation. The Americans had intercepted the Japanese communication, and this fact w as also made clear at the Tokyo T ribunal. Even if M aruyam a, who wrote his article based on the trial proceedings, had not yet looked at H u ll’s m em oirs, he ought to have been 8.
9.
Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 1096-1097. Ibid., p. 1097.
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aw are that, when Hull faced Ambassadors Nomura and Kurusu, he already knew the contents of the document they presented and that his “attitude,” therefore, was a sham. In short, can one take this behavior of H ull’s at face value and treat it sim ply as a fine example of displaying a “strong spirit” ? Moreover, is it really ap propriate to compare the positions of Hull and Togo? That is to say, Togo w as the foreign m inister of the country declaring w ar while Hull was the secretary of state of the country on the receiv ing end. Comparing the attitude of Togo toward Grew with that of Nomura toward Hull would be understandable, but the com parative project that M aruyam a proposed has fundamental prob lems from the start and would appear to be inappropriate. If one compares the speech and conduct of Togo when he was placed in the same position as H ull w ith H u ll’s behavior on December 7, then the com parison becomes appropriate. Togo found himself in such a position when, as foreign minister in the Suzuki K antaro cabinet in 1945, he confronted the situation in which the Soviet Union unilaterally broke its neutrality pact with Jap an and declared w ar on it. At the tim e, although Jap an w as paying attention to the movements of the Soviet Union as a po tential m ediator in peace negotiations, it w as not intercepting Soviet com m unications as the United States had been doing to Jap an . C onsequently, w hen the Soviet am bassador to Jap an called on the foreign minister to notify him of the declaration of w ar, one can regard w hat Togo said to him not as the words of an actor but as a statem ent that he really m eant. A record of what Togo said on that occasion actually appears in a book enti tled Jid a i no ichim en {An A spect o f the Tim es), which might just as w ell be called the M em oirs o f T o g o . The pertinent passage reads: Interview with the Soviet Am bassador. In the meantime, as there was a request from Soviet Ambassador to Japan [Jacob] Malik for an interview on the 9th, I had a reply sent to him that, since I could not meet that day owing to a liaison confer ence, if it was urgent, he should meet with the vice-minister; but
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he said the 10th would be fine, so I received him that day. The Soviet ambassador said that on this day, by order of his govern ment, he was notifying us of its declaration of war. After hear ing this, upon pointing out that the neutrality pact between the Soviet Union and Japan was still in effect, I took him to task for his government’s inexcusable act of declaring war while it had not yet given a definite reply to Japan’s request that it intercede on behalf of peace. Further, concerning the reason he gave for this action—that Japan had rejected the joint declaration of Britain, the United States, and China—I expressed the wrong fulness of their not having taken steps to check with the Japanese government. Moreover, I stated that the behavior of the Soviet Union would in future be subjected to the criticism of history. But he merely uttered a series of abstract words to the effect that in no way was the Soviet Union’s conduct at fault and said nothing further to the point.101
From the phrases “I took him to task for the inexcusable act . . . expressed the wrongfulness . . . stated that their behavior would in future be subjected to the criticism of history,” one can clearly tell that Togo censured Ambassador M alik in an extremely sharp tone. M eanw hile, the line “he merely uttered a series of abstract words . . . and said nothing further to the point” is enough to in dicate M alik ’s totally flustered state. An A spect o f the Times is a book of reminiscences that Togo himself wrote—an autobiography in a broad sense.11 One can fully expect that in this kind of work the author w ill not mention things that might put him in an unfavorable light, and at times he w ill jus tify his own actions and at other times w ill distort the facts. For example, as cited earlier, FJull claimed in his memoirs that, at the end of his interview with Ambassadors Nomura and Kurusu, he “nodded toward the door,” and the ambassadors left “without a word . . . their heads dow n.” But, according to Nomura’s recollec tions, that day’s interview went as follows: 10. Togo, p. 361. 11. I will do a textual analysis of An Aspect of the Times in Chapter 9.
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On December 7 (Sunday), we received instructions to the effect that we should deliver our government’s reply to the other side at 1 p.m. Washington time, but what with deciphering the code, typewriting, and so on, we were unable to make it in time and arrived at the Department of State at 2 p.m. After waiting a while, we entered the secretary of state’s office at 2:20 p.m. When I said, “We received instructions that we were to deliver this reply to you, Mr. Secretary, at 1 p.m.,” he asked, “Why 1 p.m.?” to which I answered, “We don’t know why.” After read ing through our side’s reply, he stated with an extremely indignant look: “During the past nine months, I have always spoken the truth. I have never seen an official document so full of falsehoods and distortions.” I shook the secretary’s hand and bid him farewell. According to the New York Tribune, the Department of State immediately is sued an announcement about the interview, but the text was mis taken in saying that we had made the request for the interview at 1 p.m., for . . . the actual fact is that around 10:30 a.m. we had set up an appointment for a meeting at 1 p.m.12
As for H ull’s use of strong language, there is no difference between the two accounts. But Nomura stated that he had departed after shaking hands with Hull. Did the ambassador, then, alter the facts in an attempt to avoid the ignominious appearance of the Japanese envoys leaving tongue-tied and hanging their heads? Or did Hull wish to depict all the more strongly his own firm attitude? Where the truth actually lies we have no w ay of telling. Togo wrote An A spect o f the Times in a deeply resentful state of mind while serving his twenty-year prison sentence. In view of the fact that he died five days after handing the book manuscript to his daughter, who had come to visit him in the prison hospital, one can 12. Nomura Kichisaburo, Beikoku ni tsukai shite: Nichi-Bei kosho no kaiso (As an Envoy to America: Recollections of U.S.-Japan Negotiations) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1946), pp. 164-165. Hull, however, admitted in his mem oirs that “toward noon” Nomura had phoned his office to ask for an appointment at 1 p.m.: Hull, p. 1095.
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regard the work as both his last testament and apologia. Therefore, however much the reader is drawn to the figure of Togo, he should read the book with care. Fortunately, in the case of the interview w ith the Soviet am bassador, the following recollection of Kase Toshikazu, who was also present, corroborates Togo’s account: When Ambassador Malik brought the declaration of war, the Soviet Union was already descending on Manchuria. To avoid attention, the interview between Togo and Malik was held in the VIP reception room of the House of Peers; I attended. Togo re ceived Ambassador Malik with a stern look and vehemently took him to task for the violation of the neutrality pact. The am bassador whispered an explanation in a subdued tone. It was most gratifying—as though a prosecutor were raking a defen dant over the coals. Though Japan was about to collapse, Togo’s attitude was stately and commanding. Later, when Malik be came a fellow ambassador with me at the United Nations, he re called: “On that occasion I felt I had my life span shortened.”13
Reading this passage, one can visualize the scene as though it were unfolding before one’s eyes. The line “Togo received Ambassador M alik with a stern look and vehemently took him to task for the vi olation of the neutrality pact” was just like the foreign minister and is enough to bring home to the reader the character of the man. And the sentiment expressed by Kase, observing the situation from the side, namely, that “it was most gratifying,” was probably his honest feeling then as a Japanese, furious at the Soviet Union for ig noring the neutrality pact and declaring w ar on Japan. The remark that M alik is said to have later uttered to Kase—“on that occasion I felt I had my life span shortened”—suggests a bit of dramatization by Kase, but even so it am ply corroborates the intensity of the tongue-lashing that Togo administered. Foreign M inister Togo’s speech and behavior toward Ambassador M alik suffer absolutely nothing by comparison with 13. Kase, pp. 158-159.
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those of Secretary of State Hull toward Ambassador Nomura as far as displaying a “strong spirit” is concerned. One is entirely justified in m aintaining that Togo Shigenori was by no means a person of “w eak nerves,” as M aruyam a contended; but in situations that called for a display of “strength,” as in the case of his upbraiding of M alik when he belatedly brought the declaration of w ar, he was a m an fully capable of exhibiting the strong character of which M aruyam a M asao spoke. T o g o S higenori
an d the
T ripartite Pa c t
In considering “strength” of spirit, one should not judge a person to be either the possessor of a “strong spirit” merely because he emits strong w ords, or the possessor of a “w eak sp irit” sim ply because he avoids straightforw ard expressions, w ithout taking into account the circum stances in which that person finds him self. W hen one exam ines the conduct of a certain person, the more im portant the position the person holds, the more im por tant it is to take into consideration the immediate circumstances and historical setting. Accordingly, if one, for exam ple, selects a speech m ade in the Diet by a certain person and, taking no ac count of the situation in which that person was placed, considers it sufficient sim ply to carry out a textu al interpretation of that speech, then one w ould have to call that interpretation exceed ingly superficial and inadequate. M aruyam a M asao w as not in nocent of such shallow interpretations. On December 23, 1947, during the cross-examination of Togo Shigenori, Chief Prosecutor Keenan directed his questions to Togo’s involvement in the Tripartite Pact. M aruyam a summarized this matter and concluded as follows: When Togo was asked whether or not he had approved of the Tripartite Pact at the time of his appointment as foreign minister in the Tojo cabinet, he replied as follows (note that in his earlier deposition Togo stated that he had used all his energy to oppose the strengthening of relations with Germany):
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My own personal feeling was opposed to the Tripartite Pact. But no matter what the subject may be, in human affairs there is also a certain continuity. Once a matter decided on before has become a fait accompli it is very difficult to try to change
that established fact. The prosecution then charged him with having made an enthusi astic speech about the pact in the 81st Diet. He replied: Well, there was no room in this public speech to include my own personal likes or dislikes . . . It would be more accurate to say that as foreign minister of Japan I was in such a position that I had to make a speech o f that nature, rather than to say there was no room for truth (IMTFE, no. 340). Let us leave aside the questions of how far Kido and Togo were actually opposed to the pact and of what action they took to counter it. The heart of the problem is the spirit of their replies: where important matters of national policy were concerned, they were not faithful to their own beliefs but repressed them as being “personal emotions,” choosing instead to adapt themselves to the environment; and this they made into their morality (104-105; Maruyama’s emphasis).
Before examining this commentary by M aruyam a, I would first like to point out the circumstances in which Togo Shigenori found himself at the start of negotiations leading to the Tripartite Pact of 1940. When this m ilitary treaty among Japan, Germany, and Italy was being mooted during the first Konoe cabinet (1937-39), Togo, who w as then the Japanese am bassador to Germany, flatly op posed it. Probably for that reason he was transferred to the ambas sadorship to the Soviet Union, and Lieutenant General Oshima H iroshi, who had been the m ilitary attache to the em bassy in Germany and an ardent promoter of closer ties with that country, was placed on the reserve list and named Togo’s successor as am bassador to Germany. Togo himself recalled the particulars of this affair as follows:
The L ogic of Foreign M inister T ogo Shigenori
In Tokyo, Foreign Minister Hirota, who had approved of my negative policy toward Germany, resigned in May, and pressure from the military seemed to intensify all the more. At the end of August there was a preannouncement that negotia tions were beginning with the German side. Since I sent a telegram voicing my opposition to this move and the impropri ety of having the military attache handle such an important diplomatic matter, I received a return wire from the foreign minister saying that I would be transferred to Moscow. I fur ther objected to this as well, but since the minister repeatedly sent telegrams asking me to comply with the request by all means, it turned out I was appointed ambassador to the Soviet Union in October 19 3 8 .14
Although Togo was trying to relate only the facts while doing his best to contain his emotions, these recollections seem to ooze with feelings of resentment and indignation. M ori M otojiro, the aforementioned Kyodo News Service re porter, described Togo at the time as follows: Togo differed from Matsuoka Yosuke, Saito Hiroshi, and the like in being a very restrained man. Yet because he was a leading figure in the orthodox faction of the Foreign Ministry, he opposed the Tripartite Pact. .. . His restraint earned him the dislike of the upstart Nazis including Ribbentrop, while he did not get along well with the great Nazi favorite, Army Attache Oshima, either, and he was transferred to the Soviet ambassadorship as if he were driven out. Around this time, hearing the news of Togo’s isola tion, I went two or three times from Warsaw (Poland) to Berlin to cheer him up. In the drawing room of the ambassador’s residence on the edge of Tiergarten, drinking whiskey with him all night as he reclined forlornly on a sofa, I encouraged him, but he didn’t say a word in idle complaint or self-justification. He just uttered: “Do those fellows (the Axis faction) understand diplomacy?” . . . 14. Togo, p.131.
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When he was driven out of Berlin and on the way to his new ap pointment in Moscow, since he had notified me by telephone in advance, I met him at Warsaw Station. As usual he didn’t talk much, but his look of relief at having escaped a situation where he had been completely surrounded by enemies was almost pitiable. On this occasion as well, he didn’t talk about this or that circum stance in Berlin, but left for Moscow saying only, “I’m off now.”15
This passage gives poignant expression to the loneliness of Togo, whose personal opinion in opposition to the Tripartite Pact was re jected and who w as practically demoted rather than just relocated to Moscow from Berlin, a strategic place for Japan at the time. It shows that both he and others realized that the change in am bas sadors to Germany resulted from the very fact that he had opposed the making of the pact. About three years later, then, no sooner had Togo, a member of the faction that opposed the Tripartite Pact, taken office as foreign minister than in the official setting of the Diet he made a speech praising the pact. If one only considers this fact, one could interpret it as a remarkable about-face by Togo, the erstwhile leader of the anti-treaty faction. Even if he had opposed the pact’s realization while serving as ambassador to Germany, had he not become an admirer of it by the time he took office as foreign minister? In other words, Keenan scornfully remarked, it was obvious that he shared the ambition of world conquest through alliance with Germany and Italy, which was nothing less than a “crime against peace.” In re sponse, Togo brought up the difference between “my own personal feeling” and having “to make a speech of that nature as foreign min ister of Japan” and insisted that, in praising the Tripartite Pact, he was speaking not from his heart but “as foreign minister of Japan .” Based solely on this explanation by Togo, M aruyam a concluded: “The heart of the problem is the spirit of their replies: where impor tant matters of national policy were concerned, they were not faith ful to their own beliefs but repressed them as being ‘personal emo 15. Mori, pp. 14 6-14 7.
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tions,’ choosing instead to adapt themselves to the environment; and this they made into their m orality.” Was this conclusion really on target? To answer that question, one would have to consider the sit uation in which the Japanese foreign minister found himself in 1941. T he D etermination t o C arry N egotiations an d H a r a g e i
out
U .S .-J apan
In October 1941, Togo Shigenori w as approached by Prime Minister Designate-Tojo Hideki about joining his cabinet as foreign minister. Togo did not immediately agree to assume the post, but in a subsequent interview with Tojo, whose new cabinet, it was ru mored, was likely to become a w ar cabinet, he secured the incom ing prime minister’s pledge to cooperate genuinely in carrying out U.S.-Japan negotiations, after which he consented to join the cabi net. As the new foreign minister, Togo directed his efforts to pur suing U.S.-Japan negotiations and avoiding w ar between the two countries. The achievement of this great objective was his very mis sion, and it is not difficult to imagine that, in order to realize that mission, he may have considered it unavoidable to do things—such as expressing support for the Tripartite Pact—that appeared to go against his will. Needless to say, Foreign Minister Togo’s negotiating partner, by w ay of Ambassador Nomura, was the United States, but domesti cally as well he had an opposite number to confront. This party consisted of the so-called m ilitary hard-liners, centering on the army, who never stopped advocating breaking off negotiations and opening hostilities at once. Togo recalled how much of an obstacle these hard-liners posed to his own aim of pursuing negotiations: The occupation of southern French Indochina, which, taking place during the U.S.-Japan negotiations, exploded those discus sions, was based on the plans of the military. Furthermore, after it was decided to make efforts to accelerate and complete war preparations under the decisions of July 2 and September 6, as previously quoted from Konoe’s memorandum, the military
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became confident that it could win a war; and, insisting on break ing off negotiations and immediately opening hostilities, it sought to push its way through this grave situation. In particular, after the American oil embargo went into effect, because the Japanese navy was now at the mercy of the Allies, it became extremely uneasy, and the feeling gradually strengthened that, if there were no prospect of concluding negotiations, then Japan should promptly commence hostilities, which, in the event, precipitated the outbreak of war. In all likelihood, this resulted from the fact that those within the military stubbornly opposed any modera tion of the items to be negotiated, bringing to naught the possi bility of concluding the negotiations.16
Tanaka Ryukichi, who was director of the Soldiers’ Affairs Bureau of the W ar M inistry at the time, related in a deposition sub mitted to the Tokyo Tribunal that even confidential state matters had leaked, revealing Togo’s stubborn opposition to w ar, and as a result his life had been endangered .17 But successfully concluding the negotiations and avoiding w ar had constituted Togo’s mission, and he would not budge an inch. As long as there was even a glim mer of hope, he had thrown himself into achieving those objectives until the last moment. W hen even confidential state m atters were leaked to the m ili tary, it was only natural that public statements would reach it as w ell. M em bers of the m ilitary pricked up their ears and kept a sharp w atch on speeches in the Diet, published interview s, and the like. It should be sufficient to recall such incidents as Saito T akao’s “anti-m ilitary speech ”18 and Ozaki Yukio’s “lese-majeste 16. Togo, pp. 208-209. 17. “A party of radicals in the army thereupon even maintained that it was an encroachment upon the prerogative of the High Command for a foreign minister to utter such an opinion, and declared threateningly that such a foreign minister should be ‘disposed of’” [T35543]. 18. On February 2, 1940, Saito Takao sharply questioned Japan’s policy in its war with China in a speech in the lower house of the Diet. Under army pressure his critical remarks were expurged from the record and, on March 3, in a secret session, he was expelled from Diet membership.
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statem ent .” 19 That is to say, if one made a public statement that did not agree w ith the wishes of the m ilitary, let alone criticized its policies, the situation would immediately develop into a crisis. In the event the person in question w as a Diet member or a pri vate individual, the incident would end as an individual m atter, but in the case of a cabinet minister, the person would inevitably be forced to resign from his official post, and one could fully an ticipate that, as a result of the m inister’s resignation, the cabinet would not only fall into confusion but might even collapse. If under these circumstances Togo had been, as M aruyam a put it, “faithful to [his] own beliefs” and spoken out frankly against the Tripartite Pact in a Diet address, w hat would have been the re sult? Nothing less than the personal extinction of his political life as foreign minister. But Togo, determined at all costs to carry through U.S.-Japan negotiations and avoid war, could not possibly let go of the position of foreign minister, which held the crucial ne gotiating authority. One could say that, compared to the pending problem of U.S.Japan negotiations, the already concluded Tripartite Pact was a minor and, for the moment, harmless issue. In that case, it is not difficult to imagine that Togo kept to himself the plan of moving forward negotiations with the United States while doing his best not to make waves with the army hard-liners, even going so far as to praise the Tripartite Pact in public, though at heart he continued to oppose it. To my m ind, Togo’s speech praising the Tripartite Pact w as a case of haragei or “saying one thing but meaning another.” This was just like the attitude of then Prime M inister Suzuki Kantaro, who, although he aimed for a cessation of hostilities in the closing days of the w ar, appealed to the nation to attack the enemy while “stepping over my dead body” and, at a conference of senior 19. Liberal politician Ozaki Yukio found himself arrested for remarks he made during a campaign speech in 1942. His use of a quotation to the effect of going from rags to riches and back to rags again in three generations—in ref erence to Japan throwing away the gains it had made under the previous two emperors—was considered an insult to the Showa emperor.
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statesmen, pounded his fist on the table, asserting that, “if we re sist all out and the day is lost, then death is all that rem ains.” But one can apply the term “ h a r a g e i ” only to cases where both the audience and gist of w hat one wishes to convey are clear to third parties; otherw ise, even if one tries to m ake use of the concept later to justify oneself, it cannot possibly be convincing. Admiral Toyoda Soemu, who at the end of the w ar was chief of the Naval General Staff, continued to advocate do-or-die resistance to the last and finally, without prior notice to Navy M inister Yonai M itsum asa, memorialized the Throne calling for rejection of the Potsdam Declaration. He was sharply reprimanded by Yonai for this action, but Toyoda himself described the train of events as follows: Getting the story out of order a bit, I will supplement my ear lier description of conditions within the Naval General Staff. When the reply came from the Allies, I read it and thought, “This is bad.” . . . Since subordinates within the General Staff came to me about this matter and began venting their feelings of dissatisfaction, I told them, “Keep quiet. I’ll speak, as I have a definite plan.” So I went ahead and expressed my opinion on the matter, and with that they were satisfied. It seemed possible that, if I had kept quiet, those in sisting that we reject such a thing and give our all to the war would have appeared one after another. For that reason, I took the lead; and, saying that I would insist on this much, I restrained the im petuousness of my subordinates using fairly strong language. . . . In this way, to put it negatively, on the one hand, I betrayed the confidence of Navy Minister Yonai and, on the other, greatly en couraged my subordinates, saying, “Prepare for war and the deaths of a hundred million.” Since at the same time I was secretly ma neuvering to end the war, the fact is I was in a strange position; but at the time, even if one was working to terminate the war, one could not afford to give clear signs of that to others. One simply had to resort to double-dealing.20
20. Toyoda Soemu, S aigo n o teikoku kaigun (The Last Imperial Navy) (Tokyo: Shufu no Tomo Sabisu Senta, 1984), pp. 205-207.
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Even if one gives a favorable interpretation and regards Toyoda’s conduct just before the end of the w ar as an instance of b a ra g ei ”—he calls it “double-dealing”—one cannot possibly ex plain a member of the high command going it alone in the form of an individual address to the Throne. Toyoda’s assertion would assume a touch of truth if he had at least made his intentions known to Y onai; but, as it is, his claim cannot escape the c riti cism of being no more than justification by hindsight. In Togo’s case, there was the intention of trying, on the one hand, to flatter and appease the m ilitary hard-liners and, on the other, to avert m ilitary intervention, if at all possible, and constructively pro mote U .S.-Japan negotiations. If one takes into consideration both the circumstances in which Togo found himself and his con victions, one can easily infer this scenario. Keenan, however, in cross-examining defendants, placed empha sis above all else on evidence and logic. Hence, he undoubtedly con sidered it strange for Togo to distinguish between “personal emo tions” and “public speech” and regarded this distinction as nothing but an excuse on his part. According to the American historian of Japan Robert Butow, the aforementioned baragei of Suzuki Kantaro could become a source of misunderstanding .21 It was inevitable that for Keenan, who had even less basic knowledge about the Japanese than Butow and no more than an extemporaneous grasp of Japanese history, Togo’s remarks would be incomprehensible. The assertions by Togo Shigenori, who replied during cross-ex amination by Keenan that his personal feelings were one thing and his statements as foreign minister were another, were by no means random rem arks or courtroom fabrications; if one considers the circumstances in which Togo was placed in 1941, his actions rep resented the best steps that he could have taken, and his claims in court were no doubt entirely truthful and from the heart. In 1941 M aruyam a M asao was already an adult. As an up-and-coming po litical scientist, he ought to have known full well the atmosphere of 21. As cited in Hirakawa Sukehiro, H eiwa n o um i to tatakai n o um i (The Sea of Peace and the Sea of War) (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1983), p. 60.
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the times. Indeed, to investigate why Togo had to make a speech in the Diet whose substance was the exact opposite of his real inten tion would be a natural task for a political scientist. The fact that M aruyam a neglected that task and focused exclusively on Togo’s public statements is utterly incomprehensible.
C hapter 4
Western Responsibility, Eastern Responsibility: Hermann Goring and To jo Hideki
G o r in g ’ s R esponsibility
The Tokyo Tribunal opened on M ay 3, 1946, and three days later the defendants were arraigned in alphabetical order in w hat amounts to an Anglo-American legal ritual. The first to be asked by the chief justice, “How do you plead, guilty or not g uilty?” was General Araki Sadao. As domestic and foreign news agencies fo cused their attention on him, Araki surprised everyone by stating: As I have looked through the Indictment, which charges me with crimes against peace, [conventional] war crimes, and crimes against humanity, I found, based on my seventy-year life . . . 4
Chief Justice Webb im m ediately interrupted A raki’s speech and curtly instructed him to say only “G uilty” or “Not guilty.” This in cident would appear to be simply a case in which a Japanese defendant was ignorant of Anglo-American legal procedures and a chief justice lost his patience over that unfam iliarity, but actually a similar incident took place at the Niirnberg trial. 1 1. The English-language proceedings do not contain this statement by Araki, probably because right after the statement the chief prosecutor asked the tri bunal to “strike out from the record everything that was said by the accused other than the words ‘not guilty’” [T101]. 87
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The arraignment at Niirnberg occurred on November 21, 1945. The next day the N ew York Times reported in an article by corre spondent Kathleen M cLaughlin on the previous day’s proceedings. The article included the following passage: Entering of their pleas in response to the indictment was the first order of the day . . . Hermann Goering, summoned first to step forward and announce his plea, squared his shoulders, flicked open a document in his hand and began to read: “Before I an swer the question of the high court whether I am guilty . . . .” The presiding justice rapped once with his gavel and then again, whereupon Goering looked up, pausing. “I informed the court that the defendants were not entitled to make statements,” Lord Justice Lawrence said. “You must plead guilty or not guilty.” Angrily Goering retorted: “I declare myself in the sense of the indictment not guilty.”
Goring seems to have been even more intent than A raki on m aking some kind of statement. And in the document that Lord Justice Geoffrey Lawrence refused to let him read, Goring had in fact included a reference to his own responsibility. T hat same issue of the N ew Y ork Tim es carried the full text of his prepared statement. According to the paper, Goring had tried to say that, although he could not rightfully accept a court of the victorious nations, he did agree to express his views there; m oreover, he took all political responsibility for his own acts and the orders he had issued. N evertheless, he attached the follow ing reservation: “I also reject most sharply the responsibility for acts that are not known to me, that I would never have approved if known or for such facts that I could not prevent.” Thus, Goring did not state that he took one hundred percent responsibility for everything but tried to set considerable lim its on his own responsibility. Furthermore, the kinds of acts he listed were those that he could easily use to “evade” responsibility at any time. For exam ple, if he w as accused of being responsible for ordering that a certain atrocity be carried out, he could claim that, had he known about
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it at the time, he could not have issued such an order, and there fore he had nothing to do w ith the m atter and had no responsi bility for it. And, even if the written order had Goring’s signature on it, he could deny it, saying that he would not approve of such an inhumane act and that the signature was not his. In this w ay, he developed an argument about his responsibility that had con siderable reservations attached to it. Goring took the witness stand in his own defense on M arch 13, 1946. Including the prosecutors’ cross-exam ination, the Goring portion of the trial continued until the 23rd of that month. During that time, Goring drew on specific examples to build his argument. For instance, the N ew York Times reported on M arch 16: He [Goring] then expressed his opinion that the Geneva Convention was outmoded, but denied that he had had anything to do with the order to kill fugitive prisoners of war. He said that had been Hitler’s direct order and it had been carried out by Heinrich Himmler over his [Goring’s] bitter opposition . . . .
As shown in this news item, Goring did not take the attitude of as suming responsibility for all matters w ith which he had even the slightest connection. One can even read this statement as shifting re sponsibility to Hitler and Himmler, who, having already committed suicide, could not testify otherwise. By the w ay, Goring got another chance to take the w itness stand. On August 20, 1946, after the closing address by the pros ecution, he w as perm itted to take the stand again as an “excep tional case.” The N ew Y ork T im es reported on that d ay ’s pro ceedings as follows: GOERING ALLOWED TO TESTILY AGAIN Nuremberg, Germany. Aug. 20 (U.P.)—The International Military Tribunal ruled today that Hermann Goering was an “ex ceptional case,” and it allowed him to testify again in his fight to escape the gallows. His testimony today was principally a denial of charges that he had any connection with or any knowledge of experiments with
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concentration camp inmates. German air-force equipment was frequently utilized in these tests.
The prosecution had charged that, being head of the German air force, Goring w as undoubtedly involved in inhumane experi ments utilizing German air-force equipm ent. His session of re testifying w as in response to that charge and consisted of two parts: questioning by his attorney, Dr. Otto Stahmer, and crossexam ination by the British prosecutor, Sir David M axwell-Fyfe. Stahmer tried to make the case that Goring had absolutely no re sponsibility for the concentration-cam p experim ents, which could be considered a “crime against hum anity,” by confirming Goring’s non-involvement in those experiments and by asserting that, although he w as com m ander of the German air force, the experim ents were outside his official jurisdiction. The prosecu tion responded by attempting to establish his involvement as well as responsibility. Prosecutor M axwell-Fyfe began his cross-exam ination by ad dressing Goring simply as “Defendant.” Besides giving necessary replies to the prosecutor’s questions, the talkative Goring answered in his usual fashion, relating his own experiences of flying in air planes and the like. But M axw ell-Fyfe w as im perturbable, and, upon sensing that Goring was trying to dodge his questioning by leading him off the subject, he at once introduced another example and vigorously pursued the issue of Goring’s involvement in the ex periments. M axwell-Fyfe insisted that since Goring chaired the Imperial Research Council, whose members carried out experiments in altitude, aviation clothing, and low temperature at the Dachau concentration camp, he must have known about the experiments. In response, Goring denied any knowledge of them and suggested that, had such experiments taken place, they would have been the work of Himmler or the SS. Thereupon the British prosecutor con firmed that, at the time experiments were being carried out at the concentration camps, Goring and Himmler were not yet antago nistic toward each other and then, brimming with sarcasm, rounded off his cross-examination as follows:
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
SIR DAVID MAXWELL-FYFE: You were more than that. Within a few days of this letter you sent him an attache-case of crocodile leather, a box of cigars, and a notebook for Christmas. This means that you were on good terms with Himmler at this time. Do you mean to say that you never heard, that Himmler never said to you, that Milch never told you, that your medical officer never said to you, that these experiments were being carried on and were causing protest in Christian medical circles? Did every one conspire, Defendant, to keep you in ignorance of every mat ter that might be embarrassing to you? Now, is that the answer? [N21.316-317]
This was scathing sarcasm. Maxwell-Fyfe emphasized that, un less everyone around Goring was deliberately keeping information aw ay from him, he must have known. Goring replied to this charge: GOERING: The experiments and knowledge of them have noth ing to do with the crocodile attache-case and the notebook. These were Christmas presents in return for a present which Himmler always gave me for Christmas on behalf of the SS, and I always wanted to respond to this gesture. Secondly, no attempts were made to hide anything from me intentionally, but the various spheres of activity were divided; there were im portant matters, very important matters, and routine matters which were treated by certain departments. The Medical Inspectorate was one of them. It was impossible to bring every thing to my knowledge [N21.317].
The N ew York Tim es reported that Goring w as trying “to es cape the gallow s,” but in the final analysis he was unable to make any valid points. In this cross-exam ination, he m erely denied knowing things that, by reason of his position, he ought to have known. At times, he shifted responsibility to Himmler, his oppo nent within the N azi Party; at other times, he pleaded ignorance owing to the pressure of w ork. In short, from beginning to end, he took “refuge in his competence or jurisdiction.” True, unlike the Japanese defendants, he did display an actor’s style as if he
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were declaring to the prosecutor, “Just like you, I, too, have only twenty-four hours a d a y .” But in the critical “fight to evade the gallo w s,” he met w ith virtual defeat. As it appears in the text of the judgm ent, Goring indeed stated that he took “one hundred percent responsibility” for the Anschluss. Yet, as shown above, he was no stranger to evasion, shifting, or denial of responsibility. Before Hitler took his own life just prior to the fall of Berlin, he named Karl Donitz of the navy to be his successor. Donitz was also sitting in the dock at Niirnberg; but after the Fiihrer’s death, Goring was the number-one defendant, alw ays the focus of attention at the trial. Next, for com parative purposes, I would like to consider briefly the argument made by Tojo Hideki, the number-one defen dant at Tokyo, concerning his responsibility.
Tojo’s R esponsibility . . . unlike Hitler and a number of other Japanese generals, Tojo waited with his suicide attempt until the very last moment, in the hope that he would not be called to account, and shot himself only when American officers were breaking down his doors. He had laid out his hara-kiri knives but shrank from using them, pre ferring what he thought to be the easier and surer pistol.
Thus did the N ew York Times report on September 12, 1945, on the previous day’s attempted suicide by Tojo Hideki. Tojo was the former power-holder who at one time had single-handedly held the important positions of prime minister, arm y minister, and chief of the General Staff. On the 11th, an American army officer had heard a gunshot and burst into the ex-prime minister’s residence. This ar ticle, appearing in a leading newspaper of the victorious enemy, was full of scorn and distorted the facts. Such contempt was not confined to American newspapers, however. On hearing reports of Tojo’s attempted suicide, Hosokawa M orisada, the son-in-law and private secretary of Konoe Fumimaro, wrote in his diary the next day: “Whether it be his talk after he was wounded or his attitude up to this day, clearly he is a petty man. Japan is unfortunate to
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have been led by such a fool.”2 Furthermore, a farmer in Ehime Prefecture is reported to have stated: Since many people were killed, those responsible should naturally commit suicide, if only for the war dead and the bereaved fami lies. At any rate, it is Tojo who has lowered himself in the eyes of the public. He is a fool who has done things unbecoming in a war leader like starting to disembowel himself and cutting partway but bungling the job; this is an eternal disgrace.3
The opinion of this farmer typified the reaction of people at all levels of society to the attempted suicide: “Very few felt sympathy in any w ay with regard to the timing of his suicide attem pt, his method, his attitude, and so on, while almost everyone denounced him from first to last .”4 Such feelings of antipathy and contempt among the Japanese clearly made an impression on foreigners res ident in Japan. For example, the N ew York Times , on the front page of its issue on the 13th, carried the headline “Transfusion Aids Tojo/Countrymen Scorn H im ” and reported that “Japanese tradi tionalists despise his hesitation to commit hara-kiri.” The day before his suicide attempt, Tojo is said to have told then Army M inister Shimomura Sadamu: “I feel profoundly responsible toward the Throne and the nation, so it is only right for me to com mit suicide .”5 Here, perhaps, one can grasp Tojo’s motive for attempting suicide as well as his sense of responsibility. After he re covered from his wound, then, w hat did he say about his responsibility as he stood in the Allied court? As the trial proceeded, arguments in the case of Tojo Hideki began on December 26, 1947, two years and three months after his attempted suicide and a full year and eight months after the open ing of the trial. The Pacific Stars and Stripes reported in detail on the 2. Hosokawa Morisada, H osok aw a nikki (Hosokawa Diary), 2 vols. (Tokyo: Chuko Bunko), vol. 2, pp. 158-159. 3. S hiryo N ihon ge n d a i sh i (Sources in Modern Japanese History), 13 vols. (Tokyo: Otsuki Shoten, 1980-1985), vol. 2 (1980), p. 364. 4. Ibid., p. 344. 5. Joho Yoshio, ed., T ojo H ideki (Fuyo Shobo, 1974), p. 423.
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Tojo portion of the trial. The first day was devoted to the reading of an opening statement and an affidavit by Tojo’s American lawyer, George Francis Blewett. The newspaper carried an article that day by UP correspondent Ian Mutsu: Tojo To Shoulder Responsibility For Pacific War Hideki Tojo, the only Axis dictator to stand trial, “will never evade his political and administrative responsibility for actions he performed,” his defense counsel pleaded before the International Military Tribunal for the Far East today . . . .
In its December 28 issue, the paper published another article by the same correspondent, which included the following statements: “Hideki Tojo Friday admitted full responsibility for the Pacific W ar and Japan’s defeat but told the world that he had committed no crimes” and, furthermore, “he assumed responsibility for plunging Japan into the w ar, but insisted that it was a defensive w ar.” These were not the words of Tojo himself, but the comments of corre spondent M utsu on the affidavit read out by Attorney Blewett. In this w ay, foreign newspapers were reporting accurately on Tojo, the number-one defendant, as he declared his responsibility for the outbreak of w ar and for Japan’s defeat. The cross-examination by the prosecution finally began on December 31. Chief Prosecutor Keenan himself took charge, and it is well known that his central aim was to obtain conclusive evidence for the “Emperor’s immunity from responsibility.” This cross-examina tion allows one to pinpoint Tojo’s view of his own responsibility: Keenan: . . . If Mr. Togo, as Foreign Minister, told the Japanese Ambassadors at Washington that Plans A and B contained the maximum concessions that Japan was willing to agree to was he carrying out your instructions or was he disobeying them? . . . Tojo: No, it was not against my will at all. It was done—taken as a diplomatic step by him in accordance with my intentions and my desires. Keenan: And you take the responsibility therefor? Tojo: Yes, naturally [T36706-36707].
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
Tojo, who held the position of prime minister on the eve of the war, declared that he took responsibility for the termination of U.S.Japan negotiations. Nevertheless, he did not say that he took blanket responsibility for everything. Keenan: Would you say the same about the Japanese troop move ments that took place beginning with the Marco Polo Bridge skirmish? Tojo: Let me remind you that at that time I held no position of po litical responsibility and so I am replying to you only from my own common knowledge, ordinary knowledge of the question because there is no responsibility attached to expressing such views [T36552].
This is a case not of taking “refuge in one’s competence” but of clarifying the locus of responsibility and of stating, on that basis, that one has no connection to the matter. Tojo, whose square-off with Keenan sandwiched the New Year’s holiday, appeared to Shigemitsu Mamoru as follows: Tojo did not evade responsibility in the least; he defended his sub ordinates and colleagues, extolled His Imperial Majesty’s benev olence, behaved modestly toward the court, and in a dignified manner explained his position to the prosecutor. The judgment of the American counsel and others was that Keenan had been de feated (Sugamo 316-317).
George Furness, Shigem itsu’s law yer, probably conveyed to him the im pressions of the A m erican attorneys. M aru yam a M asao treats G oring’s statem ent that “I take one hundred percent re sponsibility” as the prevailing view of the Nazi w ar crim inals at Niirnberg; but as shown earlier, even Goring evaded responsibil ity, shifting blam e to H im m ler or H itler. M ean w h ile, the sup posedly “d w arfish ” defendants at Ichigaya, w hether M atsu i Iwane or Tojo H ideki, pleaded w hat they needed to plead and then declared that they took responsibility for w hat they ought to. Of course, I have absolutely no intention of using the above analysis to make value judgments on the courtroom behavior of
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the defendants in the Eastern and W estern international m ilitary tribunals. Nonetheless, one can conclude that a M aruyam a-style interpretation is not based on the facts. M aruyam a tried, almost desperately it seems, to highlight the differences between the “m ilitarist ru le rs” of Jap an and G erm any; but, in truth , there w ere m ore points of sim ilarity than of difference between the two groups of leaders. M en
of
L etters W
itness the
D ay
of
S entencing
The International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, which fin ished trial proceedings and adjourned on April 16, 1948, recon vened on N ovember 4 of that year for the reading of its judg ment. On N ovember 12, starting at 3:50 p.m ., sentence w as pronounced on each of the defendants. The entire nation listened as the words of Chief Justice Webb, followed im m ediately by the Japanese translation, flowed from the radio. N aturally the court w as full of people who had been able to obtain visito rs’ passes for that day. Among them w ere literary figures dispatched by newspaper and m agazine publishers. During the w ar, many men of letters had gone to m ainland C hina or to the South Seas as w ar correspondents and had w ritten about the bravery of the Japanese forces. Now they were commissioned to depict the spec tacle whereby the former leaders of their own country were con victed by the enemy. Kawabata Yasunari, who was forty-nine at the time, did not have experience as a w ar writer but happened to be there when the sen tences were pronounced in court. The Yomiuri newspaper had arranged for him to get a visitor’s pass for that day. In K aw abata’s eyes, the Japanese defendants appeared as “the old men of the Tokyo T rial,” as he wrote in an article of that title carried by the Yomiuri two days later. The eighty-two-year-old Hiranum a Kiichiro, the oldest; the seventy-five-year-old Minami Jiro; and “the other old men—perhaps because they had already been detained for three years and thus looked far less arrogant now, they showed a touch of old age in their mental attitud e,” and it seemed to
H ermann Goring and Tojo H ideki
Kawabata “ridiculous and unbelievable that these men had led the nation and the people around in that w ay .”6In another article that appeared in the journal Shakai (Society) in January 1949, he wrote: Since I attended as a writer, I presume people want to read my impressions of the defendants as well as descriptions of their at titudes, expressions, and actions when, one by one, they re ceived their sentences. I was observing with that purpose in mind, but now I am loath to write about it. . . . I suppose I could just say they all behaved well. Not a single man acted in an unseemly manner.7 Contrary to others’ expectations, Kawabata refrained from depict ing the defendants’ expressions in detail. He confined himself to writing at most along the lines of this quote in the various essays he published around this time. Another writer, however, did put into print what happened on the day of sentencing in the same w ay a newspaper reporter would. This person was Osaragi Jiro, a novelist well known for his histor ical works such as Pari m oyu (Paris Is Burning), in addition to historical novels .8Osaragi wrote: Presently a man came in from the entrance, a solitary black figure. It was Defendant Araki wearing a morning coat. With ear phones on, he stood erect. The sentence was pronounced distinctly, and it was extremely short. Life imprisonment—a murmur of surprise swept across the reporters’ gallery. The chief justice picked up the gavel on the
6. Kawabata Yasunari, “Tokyo saiban no rOjintachi” (The Old Men of the Tokyo Trial), K aw abata Y asunari zenshii (Complete Works), vol. 27 (ShinchOsha, 1982), p. 401. 7. Kawabata Yasunari, “Tokyo saiban hanketsu no hi” (The Day of Sentencing at the Tokyo Trial), K aw abata Yasunari zenshii (Complete Works), vol. 27 (ShinchOsha, 1982), p. 405. This article first appeared as “Hanketsu no ki” (An Account of the Sentencing) in Shakai (Society), January 1949. 8. During the war Osaragi went to the front on his own initiative, but not as a special correspondent for a newspaper or magazine.
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table and rapped out a warning. Araki removed his earphones, made a bow, and departed. In the end, he showed no emotion, re maining expressionless. Next Defendant Doihara stood and received the sentence of death by hanging. He let out a smile and also left after bowing. Upon hearing his sentence, the following defendant, Hashimoto, turned around and went out without bowing. Besides Hashimoto, the defendants who did not bow were Itagaki, Matsui, Minami, Oka, Oshima, Togo, and Hirota. The exit of Defendant Hirota, the only civilian to be sentenced to death by hanging, made a par ticular impression. As soon as he had heard the death sentence and removed his earphones, he looked up at his family in the sec ond-floor visitors’ gallery and saluted them with a smile. As I heard later, Hirota told people that receiving the death sentence was like being hit by a thunderbolt, but he had a calm demeanor. Defendant Shimada, composed as usual, stood with a mask frozen like a statue and, after only hearing the verdict in English, took off his earphones, bowed correctly, and departed. Finally,9 Defendant Tojo listened while moving his head as though he were nodding and, as soon as the sentencing ended, smiled, made a bow, and exited. The tension unwound. With that, the war trial was declared over.10
This was a time when there was no television, let alone video. The au thor, relying solely on his own memory and perhaps notes and using a splendid style with composure and rhythm, recreates the drama that unfolded before his eyes, a drama literally of life and death. The skill he displays here strikes one as being typical of Osaragi. If one 9. As in the case of the arraignment, the sentencing of the defendants was done alphabetically; however, because Kaya, Shiratori, and Umezu were ill and unable to appear in court, Tojo, whom everyone considered the most im portant defendant, ended up receiving his sentence last. 10. Osaragi Jiro, “Tokyo saiban no hanketsu” (The Judgment of the Tokyo Tribunal), Asahi h y o ro n (Asahi Review), December 1948. Reprinted in B essatsu jin sei d ok u h on : s e n g o taiken (Supplement Reader on Human Existence: The Postwar Experience) (Kawade Shobo Shinsha, 1981), p. 135.
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
now tries to verify his descriptions by comparing them with scenes from the documentary film “Tokyo T rial,” one cannot help being astonished at the accuracy of his descriptive ability. Although what happened at the sentencing would soon be shown in newsreels, most Japanese learned about the verdicts by hearing the proceedings on the radio and then reading reports in the news paper. But those able to attend the sentencing at Ichigaya had the opportunity to gain information firsthand by seeing the movements of men in the flesh, not to mention hearing the verdicts. Only to those people were the expressions and actions of the defendants brought home as they received their sentences. And, among those actions, what especially caught the attention of observers were the Japanese defendants’ bows, which Osaragi Jiro even went so far as to count. T he C ritique
of
“ T ensei jin g o ” (V o x P opuli, V o x D ei)
Indeed, the sight of the Japanese defendants bowing to the justices seems to have made quite an impression on those who saw it. At a symposium on the Tokyo Trial, the historian of modern Japan Hata Ikuhiko stated: You know when the defendants bow deeply to the chief justice. Since they do exactly the same thing even when they are sentenced to death by hanging, I found it strange. This was my impression from seeing it on a newsreel, though.11
Osaragi Jiro confined himself to describing things as he saw them, while Hata did no more than express his simple thoughts. They did not try to make value judgments from the perspective of an out sider, so to speak, comparing or relating the situation to something else. A moralistic critique of the defendants’ bowing did appear in a medium that had a far greater readership than any magazine—the1 11. Kojima Noboru, Hata Ikuhiko, and Hando Kazutoshi, “Bocho seki kara mita Tokyo saiban” (The Tokyo Trial as Seen from the Visitors’ Gallery), Shokun! (Gentlemen!), August 1983.
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national newspaper A sah i. In the November 15 , 1 9 4 8 issue of that paper, the popular front-page column “Tensei jingo” (Vox Populi, V ox Dei) noted:
The Japanese are a people who like to bow. One by one most of the defendants at the Tokyo Trial politely bowed in court. Even after receiving sentences of death by hanging or life imprison ment, many of the defendants respectfully bowed as they left court. To a Japanese, this doesn’t seem that strange, but reportedly it appeared odd to some in the foreign visitors’ gallery. There is no difference between the West and Japan in terms of showing re spect for the dignity of the court, but perhaps in cases like this a profound obeisance that goes beyond the level of a salutation may strike one as somehow obsequious and disingenuous. Partly because until now trials in our country have been carried out “in the name of the Emperor,” even if a defendant was cer tain of his innocence, he would bow to the bench without hesita tion or reservation, and it was even feared that, if one didn’t, one would give a bad impression. That became the custom, and so one would make a deep bow even to those who had sentenced one to death. This being an extremely Japanese form of etiquette, it must appear strange to the Western way of thinking. During the war the Japanese were even made to bow to vari ous kinds of “objects.” One could even be charged with “lese majeste” for failing to make a profound obeisance to the Japanese flag behind the rostrum at the start of a public lecture or the like. Although the day’s column was supposed to be about the bow ing o f the defendants at the T okyo T rial at the time o f their sentencing, the topic expanded to the bowing o f the Japanese in general. The commentary offers a perfect example o f a discussion, common to w hat is popularly know n as “national character stud ies,” that, although seemingly o f great interest, lacks scholarly persuasiveness in that it leaps from a special case to a general con clusion about the Japanese people as a whole. The commentator w rites that the defendants’ bowing even after they had received
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
harsh sentences “reportedly appeared odd to some in the foreign visitors’ gallery,” but as to why “it appeared odd,” he simply ex presses his own vague supposition that “perhaps . . . [it] may strike one as somehow obsequious and disingenuous.” Furthermore, in the next paragraph, without giving any evidence, he ends up jump ing from the conjecture “perhaps . . . [it] m ay strike one” to the conclusion “it must appear strange.” Needless to say, “Vox Populi, Vox Dei” is not a scholarly piece. Nevertheless, the style is enough to make one think that the com mentator, as a w riter for a national newspaper w ith a million readers, could have been a little more careful in developing his ar gument. Inasmuch as there are leaps in logic, w hat one may notice upon reading the column is that the writer has inserted value judg ments. While noting that the bowing of the Japanese “m ay strike one as somehow obsequious and disingenuous,” he is not in the least critical of himself as a member of Japanese society, that is, he is not being introspective at all. He ends up w ith a moralistic cri tique from the vantage of a third party, as if he had found this Japanese habit to be distasteful for some time past and, hearing from others that “it appeared odd to some in the foreign visitors’ gallery,” he denounced the practice, heartily agreeing w ith these foreign observers. Upon reading the line “during the w ar the Japanese were even made to bow to various kinds of ‘objects,’” one cannot help thinking that behind the author’s words lay a ressentim ent tow ard things prew ar and wartim e and, as a result, his commentary has turned into an unsympathetic critique of his com patriots. The topic of the “Vox Populi, Vox Dei” column was the “odd” impression that the defendants’ bowing was said to have made on “some in the foreign visitors’ gallery.” Then, how did the behavior of the Japanese defendants actually appear to foreigners in the courtroom? On November 13, 1948, The Times reported on the previous day’s court proceedings under the headline “TOKYO TRIAL FINDINGS/ALL ACCUSED GUILTY/SEVEN DEATH SENTENCES.” The report contained the following passage:
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
All the accused men listened to their sentences with composure and uttered no protest. Most of them bowed deeply in the direc tion of the judges after being sentenced.
To be sure, the bowing by the defendants caught the attention of foreign correspondents, in this case a British reporter. Nonetheless, the correspondents simply recorded the facts and added no criti cism at all that bowing deeply w as obsequious or the like. T he Times article confined its description of the accused to the above passage and concluded by noting that several justices had entered opinions differing from the m ajority judgment and that “the Japanese say openly that the judges’ real motive in not reading the dissenting opinions [in court] is their desire to get home for the Christmas festivities.” Osaragi Jiro, Hata Ikuhiko, the “Vox Populi, Vox Dei” column, and The Times correspondent—they all took notice of the Japanese defendants’ bowing. Some calmly recorded the facts, and some con cluded that the bowing w as distinctively Japanese and tried to criticize it. How did the Japanese defendants, then, compare with their counterparts at Niirnberg in this regard? O cto ber
1,1946
The Niirnberg tribunal, which opened on November 20, 1945, con cluded hearings on August 31 of the next year. On September 30, 1946, it began reading the judgment; and, with the pronouncement of sentence on the defendants, it ended on October 1. The major newspapers of the world, not to mention within Germany, gave ex tensive coverage to the final act of this unprecedented trial. The day after the trial ended, the N ew York Times reported in considerable detail on the expressions of the N azi defendants as they had re ceived their sentences: With few exceptions, the pattern was almost identical. The spectators, all wearing earphones of the quadrilingual inter preting system, saw each defendant adjust the corresponding
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
headset, saw him receive the pronouncement and heard the switch close. Each in turn paused as if uncertain, waiting. A few seemed stunned. Others plucked off the headset and flung themselves back through the sliding door, which closed with a decisive thud.
The paper went on to describe the demeanor of the German defen dants upon their sentencing. It did not do so for all the defendants—one finds no mention of Goring, in particular—but the behavior of former Deputy Fiihrer Rudolf Hess, who faced his sentencing “with his customary air of defiance,” w as described in detail. Noteworthy, however, was the passage that followed the de piction of Hess: Kaltenbrunner and Speer Bow Kaltenbrunner, head of the secret police under Heinrich Himmler, on being sentenced to death, removed the earphones and saluted his judges with a typically military bow before retir ing. Later, Speer, whose lighter sentence might well have inspired his gesture, also made a low bow before turning to leave.
Ernst K altenbrunner had held the num ber-two position after H im m ler w ithin the SS, the N azi “security echelons.” Consequently, he was fated to serve as a substitute for Himmler, who, after his arrest but w ell before the trial, had killed himself by taking poison. R eportedly K altenbrunner w as regarded as a “scapegoat,” the other defendants shunning him as the embodi ment of the m urderous SS .12 A ccordingly, his fate w as plain to those around him , and the verdict cam e as no surprise. M eanw hile, Albert Speer w as a young architect who had found favor w ith H itler. He had handled the construction of the Fiihrer’s official residence, among other buildings, and later had held the position of munitions minister. In that capacity, he had actively supported the forced m obilization of foreign w orkers, and there w as no predicting w hat sentence w ould come from a 12. Leo Kahn, N u rem berg Trials (New York: Ballantine Books, 1972), p. 80.
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International M ilitary Tribunals , East and W est
court that was passing judgment on “crimes against hum anity .” 13 But the verdict w as tw enty years’ im prisonm ent. In light of the sentence of death by hanging pronounced on Fritz Sauckel, who had been charged w ith the forced m obilization of foreign slave labor, it w as not unreasonable for the N ew York T im es corre spondent to speculate that Speer’s “lighter sentence m ight well have inspired” his bowing. W ith the exception of the fugitive M artin Bormann, who was tried in absentia, the twenty-one German defendants received their sentences via headphones, and of these men, two ended up bowing. One person bowed despite having been sentenced to death, and the other did so probably because his sentence was lighter than he had expected. Applying the logic of “Vox Populi, Vox Dei,” one could appropriately interpret this spectacle “as somehow obsequious and disingenuous.” Of course, the N ew York Times correspondent, de spite representing the media of a victorious country, added no such negative value judgment. From start to finish he simply reported the facts. Therefore, the tone of a major Japanese newspaper bent on criticizing fellow countrymen seems all the more odd. As the above inquiry points out, there were German defendants at Niirnberg who bowed upon receiving their sentences in the same w ay that Japanese defendants did at the Tokyo trial. By no means can one label bowing at the time of sentencing a “Japanese” mode of behavior, much less say that value-laden criticism is a valid form of comparative analysis. C onclusion
The international m ilitary tribunals at Niirnberg and Tokyo were unprecedented events in world history in that victorious countries convicted the state leaders of defeated nations. Comparative exam ination of the two trials raises a myriad of issues, besides the usual 13. Speer himself recalled that, when the trial was completely over, “I considered my life at its close.” Albert Speer, Inside the Third R eich: M em oirs , tr. Richard and Clara Winston (New York: Macmillan, 1970), p. 521.
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
ones in international law and modern history. Take one more ex ample. Among the many witnesses who appeared in court at the Tokyo Trial, the first person to shock the defendants and their coun sel was a former director of the Soldiers’ Affairs Bureau of the W ar M inistry and m ajor general named Tanaka Ryukichi. Shigemitsu noted in his diary that this Tanaka “took the witness stand . . . and caused a sensation” (Sugamo 23). W hile calling Tojo Hideki and Itagaki Seishiro his patrons and Hashimoto Kingoro his friend, he gave testimony on behalf of the prosecution, denouncing the army officers sitting in the dock. The defendants named by Tanaka seethed with hatred toward him, and the nonfiction writer Hosaka M asayasu went so far as to label him the “Japanese Judas .”14 The Tanaka Ryukichi phenomenon, however, was by no means unique to the Ichigaya court. On February 12 ,1 9 4 6 , the N ew York Times reported on the sensational appearance by the former com mander of the German 6th Army at the Niirnberg trial: VON PAULUS LISTS 3 IN RUSSIAN ATTACK Says Goering, Keitel and Jodi Were Chiefly Responsible For ‘Criminal’ Assault Nuremberg, Germany, Feb. 1 1 —Field Marshal Gen. Friedrich von Paulus, former commander of the German Sixth Army, which he surrendered at Stalingrad, returned to his homeland today as a witness for the Russian prosecution before the International Military Tribunal and charged Hermann Goering, Field Marshal Gen. Wilhelm Keitel and Col. Gen. Alfred Jodi with initiating the German attack on Russia. . . . His appearance as a witness had not been announced until just before the afternoon session and there was a stir among the de fendants when he entered the court. None had seen him since he left for the front in 1942. 14. Hosaka Masayasu, “Nihon no Yuda Tanaka Ryukichi no kyojitsu” (The Truth about the Japanese Judas, Tanaka Ryukichi), Shokun!, August 1983, p. 73.
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The defeated general at Stalingrad, Friedrich von Paulus became a prisoner of the Soviet army following his surrender and during the w ar broadcast denunciations of Hitler over the radio from Moscow. In other words, he became a turncoat. Although Field M arshal von Paulus could hardly have been expected to testify in favor of the defendants, it is fitting to call him “the T anaka Ryukichi of N iirnberg”—a witness for the prosecution who was thoroughly fa m iliar with the state of affairs within his own country’s m ilitary and attacked his former arm y comrades by name. The sim ilarity is enough to make one wonder if Chief Prosecutor Keenan, in his plan to use Tanaka Ryukichi, had in mind the precedent of Field M arshal von Paulus. W hat I have attempted to do in Part I is to read carefully as texts the court proceedings and related historical records of the Niirnberg and Tokyo international m ilitary tribunals. In doing so, contrary to w hat M aruyam a M asao claimed in “The Psychology of the M ilitarist R ulers,” I have found more similarities than differences. In the final analysis, however, this approach takes as the object of inquiry merely w hat appeared on the surface in and around the tri bunals. It is, so to speak, a phenomenological approach. In addition to such m atters, there are other points suitable for com parative study. Let me give one example. Of the twelve Nazi defendants sen tenced to death, Alfred Rosenberg and Julius Streicher were, properly speaking, neither m ilitary figures nor politicians. Rosenberg was the top Nazi theorist who authored the book D er M ytbus des 20. Jah rb u n d erts (The M yth of the Twentieth Century ),15 while Streicher was the leader of the vulgar journalism known for its tone of contempt for the Jews. Although admittedly Rosenberg was also accused of committing crimes as minister of
15. First published in Munich by Hoheneichen-Verlag in 1930. Translated into English as The Myth of the Twentieth Century: An Evaluation of the SpiritualIntellectual Confrontations of Our Age (Torrance, Calif.: Noontide Press, 1982), and into Japanese as Nijisseiki no shin’wa, tr. Marukawa Hitoo (Tokyo: Mikasa Shobo, 1938).
H ermann Goring and T ojo H ideki
the Eastern occupation, the two men were thus in a sense charged by the Niirnberg tribunal with intellectual responsibility. At Ichigaya, the only person who might have been termed the Far Eastern edition of Rosenberg was O kawa Shumei; yet because he quickly departed from the court, in the end, not one intellectual or journalist was called to account by the Tokyo tribunal. One can draw several inferences from this fact. First of all, unlike Germany, Japan m ay not be fertile ground for the kinds of intellectuals and journalists who would have an influence on national policy; and secondly, in Germany and, by extension, Europe, intellectuals are probably regarded as having far greater responsibility than their Japanese counterparts. Hence, the two international m ilitary tri bunals seem to point up a difference between Japan and the West in the weight of responsibility held by intellectuals. This is an im portant issue that ought to be discussed further, but here I would just like to bring it up as a future subject. In this w ay, the Western and Eastern international m ilitary tribunals following the Second World W ar pose a number of questions worthy of comparative in tellectual study.
107
Pa r t
II
P ortraits from the Tokyo Trial
Takeyama M ichio
B en B ru ce B lak eney
B ernard V. A. R olin g
R adba binod Pal
T ogo S higen ori
Listed below are the works by Takeyama Michio that 1 cite in chapter 5 . 1 specify the sources of quoted passages from Takeyama by placing at the end of each quote a notation such as (A 310), which stands for p. 310 of “The Trial of Mr. Hyde,” contained in Volume 1 of the author’s collected works. A: “Haido-shi no saiban” (The Trial of Mr. Hyde), in Takeyama Michio chosaku shii (Collected Works), vol. 1: Showa no seishin shi (History of the Spirit of Showa) (Tokyo: Fukutake Shoten, 1983). B: “Shuyaku to-shite no kindai” (Modernity as the Lead Actor), in Shuyaku toshite no kindai (Tokyo: Kodansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 1984). C: “Showa no seishin shi” (History of the Spirit of Showa), in Takeyama Michio chosaku shit, vol. 1: Showa no seishin shi. D: “Roringu hanji e no tegami” (A Letter to Judge Roling), in Showa no seishin shi (History of the Spirit of Showa) (Tokyo: Kodansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 1985). E: “Oranda no homon” (A Visit to Holland), in Takeyama Michio chosaku shii, vol. 2: Supein no nisegane (The Counterfeit Money of Spain) (Tokyo: Fukutake Shoten, 1983). F: “Showa shi to Tokyo saiban” (The History of Showa and the Tokyo Trial), in Rekishiteki ishiki ni tsuite (On Historical Consciousness) (Tokyo: Kodansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 1983). 110
Chapter 5
Takeyama Michio and the Tokyo Trial
“T he T rial
of
M r . H yde”
Mr. President, this is no ordinary trial, for here we are waging a part of the determined battle of civilization to preserve the entire world from destruction [T384].
Only four months after Chief Prosecutor Keenan made this decla ration in his opening statem ent at the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, a Japanese cleverly used this address, half in jest, to write a critique of the Tokyo T rial. The author of this piece, an essay entitled “The Judgm ent of M r. H yde ,” 1 was Takeyam a M ichio, who two years later became famous through out Japan for his book Birum a no tateg oto (Harp of Burma). At the time he was a professor at the First Higher School under the old system of education, affectionately called “T akeyam a-san ”12 1. At the time he wrote the essay, the author entitled it “Haido-shi no sabaki” (The Judgment of Mr. Hyde), but when he subsequently included it in M om i n o ki to bara (A Fir Tree and Roses) (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1951), he retitled the essay “Haido-shi no saiban” (The Trial of Mr. Hyde). 2. The suffix “-san” roughly translates as “Mister,” but would be considered a familiar appellation in this case, the normal title for a teacher being the more honorific “-sensei. ” 111
112
Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
by his students. In the prew ar period, as an active scholar of German literatu re, he had translated Goethe, N ietzsche, and Ibsen from German and had also introduced A lbert Schweitzer to Japan. T akeyam a’s interests, however, were not confined to German literature in a narrow sense but extended to the European thought and culture that underlay that literature. Around 1 9 3 9 -1 9 4 0 , when he w as em barking on his scholarly career by translating Nietzsche’s A lso sprach Z arathu stra, events in Japan were mov ing rap idly tow ard the T ripartite A lliance w ith G ermany and Italy. German literature circles in Japan were also leaning toward glorification of the N azis. In the m idst of this trend, T akeyam a was one of a courageous m inority, declaring in an article entitled “Doitsu: atarashiki chusei?” (Germany: The New M iddle Ages?): “If the Anglo-French side is victorious, ‘freedom of thought’ can be saved in some form for at least as long as we live. If Germany is victorious, it w ill likely be rooted out im m ediately.”3 He would later come to be known as a critic who went against the current of the times, and this passage appropriately marked the beginning of his writing career. Though today Takeyam a Michio is m ainly remembered as the author of H arp o f Burm a , he in fact combined a teaching career with nearly half a century of activity as a writer. Among the lifelong themes of his literary work was the Tokyo Trial. Takeyam a first expressed his view of that trial in a memorable essay entitled “The Trial of M r. H yde.” One day I attended the war crimes trial. On this day a special trial was being held, so admission tickets were not needed, nor was there an inspection of one’s personal effects. . . . The per son being prosecuted on this day was someone who had not yet gotten coverage in the papers. I had never seen a photo graph of his face either. . . . He had a terrible look and cowed 3. Takeyama Michio, “Doitsu: atarashiki chusei?” in Takeyama M ichio chosaku sh ii , vol. 1: S how a n o seishin shi, p. 289.
Takeyama M ichio and
th e
Tokyo Trial
all the defendants. . . . Whispering was forbidden, but I furtively asked the person next to me: “What is the name of that new defendant?” My neighbor informed me: ‘“Modern Civilization’” (A 300).4
Thus did Takeyam a begin his essay. He himself paid frequent visits to the courtroom at Ichigaya. C onsequently, he wrote up this piece not in a flight of fancy, but as a kind of allegory based on his own experience. The story, which only takes up eighteen pages in the author’s collected works, consists m ainly of the pros ecutor’s denunciation of the defendant named M odern Civilization. In other words, using the tone in which Keenan con demned the Japanese defendants, the author presents an im agi nary prosecution of the defendant Modern Civilization. In a court in w hich judgm ent is supposed to be passed on Ja p an ’s prew ar and w artim e leaders, M odern C ivilization is being cross-exam ined for its responsibility as the prime defendant. Penned a mere four months after Keenan loudly proclaimed a “determined battle of civilizatio n ” and em phatically asserted that civilization itself was the plain tiff in court, “The Trial of M r. H yde” m ay be the earliest w ritten critique of the Tokyo T rial. Had it appeared in print, it w ould undoubtedly have evoked reactions pro and con, but regrettably it remained unpublished until 1951 on account of Occupation censorship. In “The Trial of M r. H yde,” Takeyam a by no means thrusts all the blame on M odern Civilization, condemning it as an all-out evil. Rather, he subjects to trenchant analysis the “fate” of modern civ ilization, which the court failed to address. The bench and prosecution, of course, deliberately avoided that issue, for calling modern civilization to account was synonymous with calling to ac count their own Western civilization and censuring their own past. According to Takeyam a, that “fate” hinged on the fact that Modern Civilization was two-sided or, to borrow his expression, it 4. See the list of Takeyama’s articles preceding Note 1 above.
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combined Dr. Jekyll and M r. Hyde; and he emphasized the impor tance of grasping that two-sidedness. While in a well-off country modern civilization has such sublime achievements, in an ill-fated country subject to various restric tions, it takes this unexpected form and does evil in unthinkable places (A 301-302).
Takeyam a begins by explaining that the “sublim e” aspect cor responds to Dr. Jekyll and the “evil” to M r. Hyde and maintains that in Japan M odern Civilization functioned solely in the guise of M r. H yde. By developing such an argum ent, T akeyam a may give the im pression that he is trying to exem pt Jap an from re sponsibility for all its actions, to make “an argument for Jap an ’s innocence,” but such is not the case. In the very same essay, he criticizes Jap an ’s national leaders, stating that dom estically they had come to possess a godlike omnipotence by accepting organi zations and weapons based on Modern Civilization and, shutting the eyes and ears of the people, had dragged them along in totally one-sided fashion in the direction the leaders them selves had wanted to go (A 305). After emphasizing the importance of grasping the two-sidedness of Modern Civilization in the form of a prosecutor’s address, Takeyam a has the prosecutor utter the following conclusion: Mr. President, we are passing judgment in this court in the name of civilization. We are honored and proud to do so. We revere civilization and worship its noble aspect. And we believe that this civilization of ours is pure in every respect and that its light will guide humanity forever. We embrace the civi lization that is in the form of Jekyll. The fact that it has taken the form of Hyde and appeared that way in several countries of the world is deplorable. . . . Why does modern civilization morph into the shape of Hyde when it appears in the “have-not coun tries”? . . . This is not just a question of morality, of people in certain countries having evil attitudes and therefore simply refus ing to follow what Jekyll says in the “have countries.” I believe it
Takeyama M ichio
a n d
the
Tokyo Trial
is a fundamental problem to which people in more fortunate countries that have been spared the figure of Hyde must also give thought (A 315-316).
Just like Chief of Counsel Jackson had done at the Niirnberg Tribunal, Keenan also claimed in court that the plaintiff was civi lization. About four months later, Takeyama Michio ventured a re buttal by writing that Modern Civilization was none other than a defendant. He asserted that “victors’ justice” was far from a funda mental resolution of the tragedy and that, if one hoped for perpetu ation of the kind of true civilization Keenan spoke of, one must con sider the conditions under which Modern Civilization changes into evil. Furthermore, Takeyama pleaded the importance of carrying out an overall examination of past history, including that of the prose cuting side. The history of the Allied Powers meant the history of colonization and imperialism. Consequently, this “Trial of M r. Hyde” can be read as a scathing critique of the one-sided historical interpretation of the Tokyo Trial, far more than just an assertion of a difference in outlook on civilization between the defendant Japan and the plaintiff Allies. And this historical perspective resonates with the following passage from the dissenting opinion of Justice Radhabinod Pal of India, which will be dealt with in Chapter 7: I would only like to observe once again that the so-called Western interests in the Eastern Hemisphere were mostly founded on the past success of these western people in “transmuting military vi olence into commercial profit.”5
Not a few people are aware of the existence of Pal’s “Opinion,” but “The Trial of M r. H yde” can be called a w ork buried in ob scurity, known, if at all, only to fans of Takeyam a Michio. Yet, as far as presenting a view of civilization and history based on a pro found historical understanding is concerned, T akeyam a suffers nothing by comparison with Pal. Moreover, because “The Trial of 5. Radhabinod Pal, International M ilitary Tribunal fo r th e Far East: D issentient ju d g m e n t o f ju s t ic e Pal (Calcutta: Sanyal, 1953), p. 135.
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M r. Hyde” is written in the style of a prosecutor’s speech in court, it also succeeds in criticizing all the more effectively the fact that the historical interpretation of the Tokyo Trial was superficial and political. A reader fam iliar w ith Keenan’s initial statement would im m ediately discern that T akeyam a w as ridiculing it w ith the opening lines of the prosecutor’s speech quoted above. Looking back on Keenan’s opening address, Takeyam a himself stated in his later years that “it tended very much to be an emotional, m oralis tic argum ent” (F 29). At the time he wrote the essay, the Tokyo Trial was still in progress, and naturally the court proceedings had yet to be published. Only a few interested parties such as the attor neys in charge had copies of them. The fact that Takeyam a so bril liantly used Keenan’s opening statement to attack the shortcom ings of the court suggests that he somehow obtained a copy of the proceedings or happened to be visiting the court on the day of the speech and carefully memorized its contents. In other words, the essay fully conveys the author’s extraordinary spirit of inquiry as he set out to write it. In this essay, Takeyam a criticized not only the court’s shallow historical interpretation, but also the attitude of contemporary Japanese. As he put it: I find it extremely puzzling that the guilt of this one [Modern Civilization] is not yet widely known and, while people are these days eager to curse, taunt, and flog all sorts of men, vying to ex claim that “This is the guilty party,” “No, that one is also impli cated in the conspiracy,” I have not once heard the name of this one mentioned (A 301).
Just like Pal, T akeyam a criticized the one-sided historical inter pretation of the court. But, in addition, he also felt indignation at the behavior of his contem poraries in Japan . The backbiting at home was fully conveyed even to General Imamura Hitoshi, a de tainee in the distant South Pacific island port of R abaul, through the few news accounts he received from Japan. Imamura left the follow ing poem lam enting his com patriots’ tendency to attack each other:
Takeyama M ichio
a n d
the
Tokyo Trial
I simply grow weary thinking they have become such people, The verbal war after the hostilities have ended.6
Sim ilarly, T akeyam a’s H arp o f Burm a contains the following passage: I cannot help being appalled by what I read in newspapers and magazines nowadays. Many people seem to pride themselves on slandering and blaming others. “It’s all that fellow’s fault,” they declare, as arrogantly as if we had won the war. “That’s why the country is in such a mess.” But these are the very people whose attitude during the war was hardly admirable, and who manage to live extravagantly even now.7
Thus, in “The Trial of M r. H yde,” Takeyam a Michio severely crit icized not only the court’s one-sided historical interpretation but also the then-prevailing view that, in order to establish one’s own innocence and victimization, all one had to do was despise other Japanese. K inoshita J unji ’ s B e t w e e n G o d
an d
M an
“The T rial of M r. H yde” was a w ork of fiction that took a leaf from Chief Prosecutor Keenan’s opening appeal to “the judgment of civilization” with the aim of criticizing his statement; and be cause it took the form of a prosecutor’s speech, it succeeded in becoming an especially powerful piece of sarcasm. With the premise that “I” happened to visit the trial on the occasion of the prosecu tor’s opening address, the eighteen pages of the story consist mainly of that address or, to put it differently, the monodrama performed by the prosecutor. While I am deeply impressed by the skill with which Takeyam a produced an incisive critique of the trial in a fic tional account of only eighteen pages, I cannot help wondering, had 6. Imamura Hitoshi, Im am ura H itoshi kaikoroku (Memoirs) (Tokyo: Fuyo Shobo, 1980), p. 428. 7. Michio Takeyama, Harp o f Burm a, tr. Howard Hibbett (Rutland, VT, and Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle, 1966), p. 90.
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he given lines to people other than the prosecutor, he could have made it into an even more splendid critique of the Tokyo Trial. Incidentally, there is a play about the Tokyo T rial — B etw een G o d and M an, Part I: “The Judgm ent” by the dramatist Kinoshita Junji, who is w ell known for such works as Yuzuru (Twilight Crane). Completed in 1970, this play appears to be unique among K inoshita’s w orks, but in fact the Tokyo T rial has been a long standing theme of his. He even participated in the 1983 international symposium as a panelist and gave a presentation on “W hat the Tokyo Trial M ade Me Think about.” He is, so to speak, a student of the Tokyo Trial. “The Judgm ent,” running to about a hundred pages in the Japanese original, is a tour de force, occasionally mixing fiction into a skillful arrangement of scenes that actually took place over the two and a half years of the Tokyo Trial—from the disgraceful con duct of O kawa Shumei hitting Tojo Hideki on the head to the per formance of Defense Attorney David F. Smith, who complained to the chief justice about the court’s “undue interference” and brazenly exited without apologizing for his “contemptuous expression,” de spite repeated warnings from the presiding justice. Whereas the pro ceedings of the Niirnberg International M ilitary Tribunal were pub lished in four languages shortly after the trial ended, those of the Tokyo T rial were not published until 1968, a surprising twenty years after its conclusion. Moreover, because only a limited number were put on sale, they were generally unavailable to the reading pub lic. “The Judgm ent,” like the actual Tokyo Trial, features a cast ranging from the presiding justice down to the language monitors who checked the accuracy of the translations. Besides, it was w rit ten on the basis of a careful reading of the proceedings. Therefore, it could be said that the play aptly conveys the substance of the Tokyo Trial and even serves practically as an abridged version of the proceedings. Yet, more than thirty years have passed since the pub lication of the proceedings, and during that time numerous studies have appeared, including those dealing with the court drama and its setting. Consequently, the edifying role that “The Judgment” had at the time of its publication has diminished.
Takeyama M ichio
a n d
th e
Tokyo Trial
Nevertheless, the resulting work fully conveys the atmosphere of a court based on Anglo-American law —something new to the av erage Japanese in 1946—w ith the defense and the prosecution exchanging verbal blows over the evidence submitted in court; in that regard the play still has significance today. With a colorful cast, it differs from the actual tribunal in having no parts for visitors. The playwright probably intended that, if one joins the audience of this play, one can see a “reenactment” of the tribunal as if one were sitting in the visitors’ gallery of the Tokyo Trial. “The Judgm ent” begins with a challenge against the presiding judge by the Japanese chief counsel for the defense, who appears to be Kiyose Ichiro, and ends with the president declaring an ad journment of the court, interrupting the following statement by another Japanese defense counsel: DEFENSE ATTORNEY H: I was only wondering if the American attorney fo r the defense and the Soviet attorney for the prose cution have ever given consideration to the tragic fate o f those victims [of the atomic bomb].8
Kinoshita made up this section. There is no record of a Japanese defense attorney posing such a question in court to a fellow American counsel for the defense. The literary critic Isoda Koichi, seizing on this concluding portion in a review of “The Judgm ent,” wrote of his disappointment that, “amid the tension of legal lan guage, all of a sudden the human righteousness faction appears” and raised the question: “W hy did he bring to a close a hard-prob lem play, one in which legal words compete with each other, with an emotional assertion of rancor over the atomic bombing?”9 But is this question in fact well taken? One could just as well say that the 8. Kishoshita Junji, Between God and Man—A Judgment on War Crimes: A Play in Two Parts, tr. Eric J. Gangloff (Seattle and London: University of Tokyo Press and University of Washington Press, 1979), p. 91. 9. Isoda Koichi, “Tokyo saiban ron—Kinoshita Junji ‘Shinpan’ o chushin ni” (The Debate over the Tokyo Trial—with a Focus on Kinoshita Junji’s “The Judgment”), in Showa e no chinkon (Requiem for the Showa Period) (Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbunsha, 1976), pp. 147-148.
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playwright has skillfully summarized in the statement of this defense attorney the point of view of the Japanese people, who saw the ig noring of the atomic bombings of Japan as an example of “victors’ justice” whereby only the crimes of their defeated nation were sub ject to judgment. Removing this statement would have reduced the author of “The Judgm ent” to a person of unknown nationality, something that Kinoshita Junji, who has always been conscious of his homeland, as in turning native folktales into plays, would un doubtedly have eschewed. I have dealt with Kinoshita’s “The Judgment” at length here pre cisely because I wished to compare it with “The Trial of M r. H yde,” thereby highlighting the significance of Takeyam a’s essay. Although criticisms such as the above-mentioned one by Isoda exist, “The Judgment” has an established reputation as a problem play about the Tokyo Trial. A major work of some one hundred pages, it is a kind of epitome depicting many of the scenes and issues of the actual Tokyo Trial. Since the author has transplanted the seriousness of the trial into his own work without ridiculing the verbal battle in court, the result is that one can even feel the tense atmosphere in the court room. Because it addresses a variety of issues, the play does not un fold with a focus on one subject such as the fate of Modern Civilization, as in the case of “The Trial of M r. H yde.” Meanwhile, Takeyam a’s essay is only about one sixth the length of “The Judgment,” but it is designed so as to deliver a pungent taste, for the essay, although short, develops with a narrow focus on “modern civ ilization.” Despite its ironic take on Chief Prosecutor Keenan’s open ing statement, it is similar to “The Judgment” in that both works are written in a serious manner. In level of literary accomplishment, therefore, “The Trial of M r. Hyde” should also be highly regarded. “ M odern ity
as the
L ead A c t o r ”
All the major calamities we have encountered are the work of vestiges of things medieval. This has become the accepted opinion nowadays. It is as if “feudalism” was being charged
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
with all crimes, whereas modernity was being held entirely blameless. . . . I cannot help being puzzled and wonder: Can “feudalism” really have done all those things? (B 55)
Takeyam a wrote that Modern Civilization was a defendant rather than a plaintiff, for, when it appears in “have-not countries,” it in variably takes the form of M r. Hyde and does evil. About one year later, he penned an essay entitled “M odernity as the Lead Actor” (“Shuyaku to-shite no kindai”). This piece is not a critique of the Tokyo Trial, but in the above opening passage, one can perceive a certain resonance with the theme of “The Trial of M r. H yde.” After pointing out the general characteristic of modernity that no one can offer resistance to a government that possesses modern weapons and systems, Takeyam a once again emphasized the two aspects of modernity or modern civilization: Even in Japan, at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, there were people who openly advocated peace. That did not happen this time. This was not because feudalism had grown. Rather, it was because the coercive power of the modern had increased. . . . In other words, modernity has two aspects. One is the modern that liberates human beings; the other is the modern that shackles human beings. In Japan, owing to special circumstances, by the time the former began to show glimpses of itself, the latter had al ready attained decisive power (B 57).
The two-sidedness of Modern Civilization, which in Takeyam a’s previous w ork was depicted as the two figures of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, is here described more concretely as “the modern that liberates human beings” and “the modern that shackles human be ings.” Taking into account these two aspects of modern civiliza tion, Takeyam a explains the cause of Japan’s m ajor calamities as follows: In our country, while modernization was underway but still far from completion, the collapse of the modern had already begun. In a less developed country burdened with limitations, the mod ern could not achieve a smooth development (B 58).
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After the pre-surrender ultranationalistic view of history had been swept aw ay, the dominant historical view among Japanese in tellectuals was that the very insufficiency of Japan’s modernization, that is, the vestiges of feudalism from the premodern era, had brought about the unprecedented tragedy of defeat. In contrast to that perspective, after distinguishing between the two “personali ties” of the modern, Takeyam a Michio expressed his own view of the cause of Japan’s tragedy. He concluded as follows: Rising and becoming active as a modern state, Japan took its place in the modern world. But, because the formation and col lapse of modern society took place here in a distorted way over a short period of time, people have fallen under the illusion that our country does not yet know modernity and that only things medieval are to blame for bringing on our misfortune (B 60).
T akeyam a thus exam ined in greater detail the tw o faces of M odern C ivilizatio n he had discussed in “The T rial of M r. H yde,” this time presenting them as the two characteristics of the modern. On that basis, he took exception to the then-dom inant historical view centering on feudal remnants. In the midst of the prew ar glorification of the N azis, Takeyam a had incisively criti cized their true nature and resisted the current of the times. After the w ar, then, he remained perfectly consistent in his critical atti tude. The following quote from M aruyam a M asao gives further in sight into the “current of the times” in the early postwar years. It gradually became clear to everyone, therefore, that modern thinking in our country, far from being “overcome,” had not even been truly attained. . . . On the other hand, one cannot label as correct the view that in the past Japan witnessed absolutely no autonomous development of modern thought.10 10. Maruyama Masao, “Kindaiteki shiyui” (Modern Thinking), in S en chii to se n g o n o aida (Between Wartime and Postwar) (Tokyo: Misuzu Shobo, 1982), p. 189.
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
This passage appeared in an essay entitled “Modern Thinking” that M aruyam a published in Jan u ary 1946, some five months after Japan’s defeat. Although he refrained from going so far as to blame everything on feudalism, he clearly stated that “modern thinking” had never been truly attained in Japan. Two months later M aruyam a published the article “Theory and Psychology of UltraN ationalism ” and began receiving attention as a political scientist. While pointing out the “dwarfishness” of Japan’s state leaders, a concept on which he would later elaborate in “Psychology of the M ilitarist Rulers,” M aruyam a described the special characteristic of modern Japan as follows: In the absence of any free, subjective awareness the individ ual’s actions are not circumscribed by the dictates of conscience; instead he is regulated by the existence of people in a higher class—of people, that is, who are closer to the ultimate value. What takes the place of despotism in such a situation is a phe nomenon that may be described as the maintenance o f equilib rium by the transfer o f oppression. By exercising arbitrary power on those who are below, people manage to transfer in a downward direction the sense of oppression that comes from above, thus preserving the balance of the whole. This phenomenon is one of the most important heritages that modern Japan received from feudal society. . . . By the union of authority with power the preponderant role of force in feudal society was systematically incorporated into the struc ture of modern Japan11 [Maruyama’s emphasis].
This study by M aruyam a elicited a huge response, and favorable reviews appeared one after the other. In one sense, he rode the current of the times. If one takes into consideration the intellec tual m ilieu of this period, it should become all the more evident 11. Maruyama Masao, “Theory and Psychology of Ultra-Nationalism,” in T h ou gh t a n d B eh a viou r in M od ern J a p a n ese P olitics, ed. Ivan Morris, ex panded edition (London, Oxford, and New York: Oxford University Press, 1969), pp. 17 -18.
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that Takeyam a M ichio’s “M odernity as the Lead A ctor” was not only a rebuttal of the historical interpretation of the Tokyo Trial but something of a challenge to the intelligentsia of the time as well. H is t o r y
o f the
Sp ir it
of
S h O wa
The trends in postwar Japan that Takeyam a M ichio criticized in directly through the narration of fairy tales showed no letup at all. After the term ination of the American Occupation, freedoms of speech and press w ere o fficially restored, but in fact critical views of the Tokyo T rial were considered reactionary and were not highly regarded, although the reason for the low regard was that m ost of those views w ere sim ply shallow em otional out bursts. The atmosphere of the times, however, did not yet allow for acceptance of form al expressions of doubt about the Tokyo T rial. Im m ediately after the O ccupation ended, for instance, T ak ik aw a M asajiro , an assistant attorney to the defendant Admiral Shimada Shigetaro, published a two-volume work enti tled T o k y o saiban o sa b a k u (Judging the Tokyo T rial), in which he sharply attacked the shortcomings of the Ichigaya court. Yet, because the book sold poorly, the publisher reportedly went bankrupt.12 The dominant historical view of Showa history at the time cen tered on “the Emperor system consisting of the senior statesmen, political parties, financial cliques, bureaucracy, and m ilitary clique” and held that feudal vestiges were the cause of the Showa tragedy. The most w idely read book written from this perspective was Show a shi (The History of Showa) by three M arxist historians pub lished by Iwanami in 1955. This w ork, based on historical m aterialism and aimed at explaining Jap an ’s tragedy in terms of the incompleteness of its modernization, was received even more favorably than M aru yam a’s aforementioned study. Takeyam a 12. Takikawa Masajiro, T ok yo saiban o sabaku (Judging the Tokyo Trial), 2 vols. (Sotakusha, 1978), vol. 1, p. 39.
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
Michio responded to this historical explanation by presenting his own interpretation of Showa history. This response later resulted in a book entitled H istory o f the Spirit o f Show a. In the same year of publication as T he H istory o f Show a, Takeyam a serialized his own study in the journal K o k o r o (Heart) and the next year published it as a book. In this study, he discussed the history of the Showa pe riod, while refuting point by point the E. H. Norman-style perspective of history based on “deductive reasoning from above.” And in the last two chapters of this work, which contains fifteen chapters in all, he dealt with the Tokyo Trial. During the Tokyo T rial, T akeyam a happened to become ac quainted w ith the judge representing the N etherlands, Bernard Roling. After m eeting at a music recital at the residence of T akeyam a’s younger brother, they encountered each other again one summer day on the seashore at Kam akura. They soon began to engage in friendly conversations. R oling apparently visited Takeyam a’s house in Kam akura, its window glass still broken, to chat with him. According to the chronological record prepared by Professor H irakaw a Sukehiro,13 Takeyam a’s son-in-law, this visit took place in 1947, a few months into the second year of the Tokyo Trial. By that time Takeyam a had already finished writing “The Trial of M r. H yde.” As the electricity w as cut off at night, they had a long talk by candlelight. Observing the untidy, chaotic state of the room, the judge laughingly said, “The w ar is still going on here” (E 204). Before they knew it, the topic had turned to the ongoing trial. “I believe there is a scapegoat among the men who are now sitting in court.” As soon as I said this, Mr. Roling looked at me with obvious surprise. Clearly the judge had not seen things that way until then (C 121).
13. Hirakawa Sukehiro, ed., “Nenpu” (Chronological Record), in T akeyam a M ichio ch osak u shu, vol. 8: K o to henrek i (Pilgrimage to the Old Capital) (Fukutake Shoten, 1983), pp. 331-332.
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Having presented an unexpectedly fresh viewpoint to the Dutch judge, Takeyama went on to state that, at a time when a strong force was dragging the nation along, it was of no use whatever to resist or to remain indifferent; the only practicable approach was to save the whole by cooperating with that force and working from within. Specifically, he mentioned the name of Hirota Koki. Although the judge listened carefully, he gave no opinion at all on that occasion. The next time we met, we had hardly finished shaking hands when all of a sudden he asked me: “What do you think of Togo?” (C 122)
By “Togo,” of course, he was referring to Togo Shigenori, who had served as foreign minister in the cabinets at the outbreak and close of the w ar and, like his senior diplomatic colleague, H irota, was also in the midst of defending himself at Ichigaya against charges of being a class A w ar criminal. Roling, who had come to Japan to pass judgment on the former enemy as the justice representing the N etherlands, mentioned the name of a specific defendant and sought the opinion of this Japanese, Takeyam a Michio. Normally such behavior would be unimaginable. I w ill examine Roling more thoroughly in the next chapter; for now, suffice it to say that this judge, who arrived in Japan with almost no knowledge at all of the country, studiously avoided political contacts but, on the other hand, sought exchanges with Japanese cultural and intellectual fig ures and, from them, tried to learn as much as possible about Japanese ways of thinking. It is nevertheless surprising that Roling would ask Takeyam a for his opinion about a defendant in an ongoing trial. Could this be proof that the two of them, who were about the same age, felt a cer tain connection and that Roling judged Takeyama to be a person he could trust? Reading Takeyam a’s account that the judge asked him not hesitantly but when “we had hardly finished shaking hands,” one is struck by the level of confidence Roling placed in Takeyam a. The Japanese writer claimed that he answered, “I don’t know any thing.” As the details of the situation on the eve of the w ar had not yet reached the general public, Takeyam a was undoubtedly telling
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
the truth when he said this. The judge, however, was not disap pointed, Takeyam a recalled, but conveyed “the enthusiasm of hav ing found a clue to solving a difficult problem” (C 122). After that, the two of them talked about how times had changed in Japan in the mid-1930s. Roling frequently “complained about the difficulty of elucidating that history” (C 122). In November 1948, about one and a half years after the two had met, the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East ren dered its decision. Hirota and Togo, who had appeared in the con versation at T akeyam a’s residence in K am akura, were both found guilty, Togo being sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment and H irota being the only civilian defendant to receive the death penalty. The sentences struck Takeyam a as “terribly unjust” (C 123). And he frankly conveyed his impressions to Roling: “I have no intention of casting aspersions on the court. However, during the past ten to fifteen years I have experienced so many irrational stupidities. And I feel that this judgment is the height of folly.” The judge replied:
“People’s passions are running high at the moment, but when they calm down by and by, I think they will be able to judge it more accurately” (C 123-124). Roling was in fact one of the justices who filed individual opin ions separate from the m ajority decision. In his “Opinion,” Roling adjudged both Hirota Koki and Togo Shigenori to be innocent. Of course it was with knowledge of this fact that Takeyam a gave his fran k im pressions of the o fficial ju d gm ent. In the face of Occupation controls on speech and writing, this Japanese had no chance to express criticism of that judgment. Nevertheless, in his separate opinion, Roling used two phrases that Takeyam a had said to him. The majority judgment contended that the mere fact of en tering a w ar cabinet in the capacity of foreign minister is per se a crim e. R bling, on the other hand, surely based on som ething T akeyam a had uttered when they had talked about Shigemitsu Mamoru, refuted the view of the majority by saying “It [The view]
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would compel statesmen who desire to work for peace, to abstain from holding positions in which they could achieve their desire.”14 Takeyam a mentions nothing about this matter, but he may have found some consolation in the fact that he was able to “make pub lic” his own views through Roling. As noted earlier, because of Occupation censorship, Takeyam a’s first critique of the Tokyo Trial, “The Trial of M r. H yde,” did not appear in print at the time of its writing. Seven years after the tri bunal’s conclusion, this writer recreated in a calm literary style the exchanges he had had with Judge Roling at the time of the trial; while thus reminiscing, he gave full voice to his misgivings about the Tokyo trial in H istory o f the Spirit o f Show a. “ A L etter
to
J udge R o l i n g ”
The judgment rendered by the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East in November 1948 was appealed to the U.S. Supreme C ourt, thanks to the efforts of the American defense attorneys, who were striving somehow or other to get the sentences com muted. The appeal took place around the time the justices were returning home, their duties in Japan completed. W hile giving a copy of his separate opinion to Takeyam a, Roling stated that the appeal to the Supreme Court would “likely be dismissed, but if it is accepted, I w ill return to Japan. As I w ant to know w hat kinds of im pressions Japanese have, I w ould like you to w rite down your opinion” (D 256). W ith that, he headed back to his home land, the Netherlands, after a two and a half years’ absence. Since the appeal was dismissed, Takeyam a missed the chance to give his thoughts to the judge directly. Yet, as if responding to the trust Roling had placed in him, he committed his own views to writing, publishing a piece entitled “A Letter to Judge R o lin g” in the August 1949 issue of S hin cho (New Tide). C hronologically speaking, this w as his second w ork concerning the Tokyo Trial after “The Trial of M r. H yde.” 14. “Roling’s Opinion,” pp. 236-237.
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
Roling, of course, had w ritten his separate opinion based on the historical facts that had been uncovered one by one in court. H aving read that opinion, T akeyam a saw that m atters about which he had alw ays felt “it w as probably like th is” were dis cussed in the opinion “using all kinds of evidence as well as clear analysis and reasoning.” This prompted him to w rite at the be ginning of his “letter”: “There is hardly anything left for me to sa y ” (D 256). Accordingly, he decided sim ply to set down “gen eral im pressions” (D 256). In contrast to H istory o f the Spirit o f S h ow a —essentially the crystallization of seven years of contem plation— “A Letter to Judge R oling” still conveys the immediate aftershocks of the Tokyo T rial. This w as p artly because Takeyam a put his thoughts into w riting in this piece just a little over a half year after the judgm ent. A good exam ple is his de scription of Togo Shigenori, who entered the Tojo cabinet per sonally vowing to prevent the outbreak of w ar and strove to the last to bring U.S.-Japan negotiations to a successful conclusion, yet ended up becoming a member of a w ar cabinet. T akeyam a w rites w ithout citing any of the Japanese defendants by nam e, but it is clear from the context that he is referring to Togo. He tries to give an appraisal of the diplomat using a simile: The most upright and manly position at that time was to throw oneself into the midst of one’s adversaries and work from within their organization. In those days our country was like a train that had run off the track and was hurtling forward blindly. If there is absolutely no way to stop such a train, it is better not to just sit in a passenger car at the rear and complain or listen to malicious gossip but rather to take it upon oneself to go into the locomotive and, steadying the hand of the reckless driver, try to get the train back on the rails. That was the only remaining option that could have produced good results. Save the whole by cooperating with villains—that was what the most conscientious men had to do. Supposing the outbreak of war could have been averted, it could only have been accomplished by such people; one could not have expected it of people with clean hands.
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Under these circumstances, being totally innocent also meant being guilty! It meant being an accomplice! (D 261)
This fiery appeal brings to mind the word “petition” rather than “letter.” A reader used to Takeyam a M ichio’s style, gentle and at times dispassionate, may be overwhelmed by the fiercely rhythmic repetition, like giant waves beating the shore one after another. The diplomat Togo Shigenori had preceded Takeyam a as a student of German literature at Tokyo Imperial University. Of course, that was probably not the reason he argued so passionately about Togo, but the article clearly conveys Takeyam a’s still heated indignation over the official judgment, which failed to take into consideration Togo’s efforts to avoid w ar in sentencing him to twenty years’ imprison ment. Borrowing an expression from History o f the Spirit o f Show a, one could say it was anger over “the height of irrational stupidity” (C 123). Thus Takeyam a Michio candidly recorded his inner feel ings for the former justice, who, having trusted him, an erstwhile enemy, had come to ask for his views on the trial even though it was still in progress. Takeyam a noted that he was “deeply grateful” (D 262) for the fact that Roling, as if lifting a weight from his chest, had recognized Togo’s efforts and deemed him innocent. Togo Shigenori was then engaged in writing his memoirs, An Aspect o f the Times, as he battled illness in Sugamo Prison. There is no record that Togo, who as a prisoner was subject to severe restrictions on his personal effects and incoming supplies, saw Roling’s separate opin ion. Nor is it likely that he obtained a copy of the issue of Shincho in which T akeyam a’s article appeared. The passion that fills this essay, however, is enough to make one wish that Togo, who died of sickness the next year immediately after completing the manuscript of his memoirs, could have read both Roling’s judgment and this “opinion concerning Togo” by Takeyam a. In his essay, after giving some “general impressions” of the his tory of the Showa period as Roling had interpreted it, Takeyama moved on to a discussion of morality. Through the experience of w ar, Takeyam a wrote, he had come to feel strongly that one must regard a crime committed by the group to which one belongs, be it
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
a nation or a race, as one’s own crime (D 263). In other words, one cannot be exempted from “a collective indictm ent” (D 263). He added that the existence of starving waifs after the w ar and the fact that both young students abroad and old politicians at home had “met death to expiate the offenses of others” (D 274) were all re sults of “a collective indictment.” Roling, w ho recognized the virtues o f the Japanese and even ex pressed admiration for them, wondered w hy those same Japanese had committed atrocities. Attributing those acts to “an indefensible flaw in the national character,” Takeyama concluded his letter: “I would like to reflect further on the nature o f the Japanese, who like all peoples possess both strengths and weaknesses” (D 274).
The positions that “A Letter to Judge Roling” takes—its rebuttal of the historical perspective presented in the official judgment of the Tokyo Trial and its argument about m orality centering on w ar guilt—are key to evaluating the Tokyo Trial. This essay is important in terms not only of Takeyama Michio’s view of the Tokyo Trial but of the historiography on the trial within Japan as well. On the one hand was Bernard Roling, who confided in Takeyam a Michio, even speaking to him about the trial while it was in progress; on the other hand, Takeyama Michio, who responded to the confidence the judge placed in him by setting down his own candid thoughts. One is also impressed by the meeting of minds between two youthful men of erudition who would probably never have met if not for the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East. Yet it is still pre mature to be amazed, for what should Takeyam a do but set out for the Netherlands by himself to talk with Roling about the Tokyo Trial. “A V isit
to
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The H olland o f the kind that appears in old pictures seems by now to have all but disappeared (E 192).
W ith this sentence, reminiscent of the opening line of a travelogue, Takeyama Michio began the essay entitled “A Visit to H olland,” an
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account of the visit he paid to his old acquaintance Bernard Roling. In September 1955, the same month in which he serialized the study he would later publish as H istory o f the Spirit o f S how a, he de parted for Europe, returning home in October 1956. It was in the summer of 1956 that he called on Roling in the city of Groningen in the Netherlands. He was pleased when Roling firmly shook his hand at the front door, saying, “I was w aiting for you, Takeyam asan .” But they “had hardly finished greeting each other upon meeting again after eight years when the conversation turned to the Far Eastern tribunal” (E 197-198). “That trial was a mistake,” Roling said, while gazing at me with a look full of emotion. “If that trial were held now, it’s unimaginable that it would turn out that way. Apart from con ventional war crimes such as the mistreatment of prisoners of war, we would probably not reach those kinds of conclusions with regard to things that happened as a result of policies. Most likely we would view things as the Indian Pal did.” The electric light was on in this study, which had a high ceil ing and was filled with books. Although it was summer, the stove was lit, and firewood was stacked beside it (E 198).
The author has provided a splendid sketch in which he places all the more emphasis on Roling’s calm tone of speech by appending a description of his study. The result resembles a still-life picture. Roling’s assertion that the judgment was a mistake was not a par ticularly new departure for him. As an indication of his nonparticipation in the official judgment that the justices in the m a jority had drawn u p ,15 he had already filed a separate opinion. Rather, what I think is noteworthy is that, after eight years of study, 15. Of the eleven representatives of countries on the bench, the justices from the United States, Britain, the Soviet Union, Canada, New Zealand, the Philippines, and China constituted the “majority faction” and, as such, had the authority to draft the official judgment. Meanwhile, the justices from Australia, the Netherlands, France, India, and the Philippines filed separate opinions. In his opinion the Philippine judge, as a member of the “majority faction,” supported the official judgment but argued that the sentences were too lenient.
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
Roling had come to agree with Pal’s opinion, namely, that behind Japan’s m ilitary operations on the continent was the threat posed by communism to Japan. Roling frankly acknowledged that his own views had been superficial, noting his astonishment at “seeing China go Red soon [after the trial]. So that’s how it was—the threat [of communism] was that im m inent!” (E 201) The conversation continued through lunch and w ent on for several days. W ith M rs. Roling joining them for m eals, they w ould also talk about Japanese culture and language. Before long the conversation between the two of them in the study turned to the subject of w ar guilt. Specifically, they discussed the responsibility of men who fought to get through the existing situ ation and men who collaborated with the m ilitary once it had es tablished predominant authority and begun strongly influencing history through its actions (E 209-210). Roling did not take ex ception to T akeyam a’s statement that “I don’t think one can lay the blame for irresponsible m ilitarism ” (E 210) on men of the for mer type, such as A dm irals Shim ada Shigetaro and N agano Osami, who had assumed leadership positions in the navy after Jap an had reached the point of no return on the road to w ar with the United States. As for the latter type, Takeyam a listened carefu lly as R oling stated on the basis of specific exam ples of people in the N etherlands who had collaborated w ith the Nazis that, although the two of them were in agreement on H irota and Togo, it w as “an extremely difficult and delicate issue” (E 213). After having been apart for eight years, the two talked endlessly, covering a variety of topics. Yet, while they spoke freely with each other, something approaching tension ran between them at one point. The window was wet from the rain, and drops were running down the glass. Firewood was burning with a low crackle in the stove. Although I felt hesitant, I asked him in a reserved way about something I had wanted to know for some time past. “When they received the death sentence, how did the seven men behave?”
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Roling twitched his body and fell silent. Suddenly something like a wall formed around a man who had been talking openly until then. Slightly out of humor, he curtly uttered just these words: “Not one man disgraced himself.” The w in d o w w as w et fro m the rain , and one could fa in tly hear in the distance the sound o f a piano being played by his daughter (E 217-218).
This, too, is a superb sketch. The scene is bookended by two sen tences that begin with “The window was wet from the rain . . . The line “one could faintly hear in the distance the sound of a piano being played by his daughter” adeptly conveys to the reader the fact that the silence that abruptly came between them continued for a while. There was no end to the topics of conversation between the two men, who were both deeply versed in art as well as music, although the u kiyoe prints that Roling had brought back from Japan and hung in the hall and in the stairw ay of their home appeared to Takeyam a’s eyes to be “not very exquisite” (E 206). Their conver sation also extended to the modernization of Japan and the colonialism of the West that lay behind the trial. Takeyam a hap pened to make comments related to the notion of the two-sidedness of modern civilization that he had fleshed out in “The Trial of Mr. H yde,” stating that Europe, having held colonies from early on, was well-off while Japan, by contrast, was handicapped, where upon Roling in a strong tone denounced the European colonialism of old. His condemnation w as so impassioned that at one point Takeyam a, as if to calm him down, remarked: “I don’t think we can judge things that happened historically with the moral sense of the mid-twentieth century” (E 221-222). This was the Takeyam a Michio who, upon reading Roling’s sep arate opinion after the announcement of the Tokyo T rial’s judgment, had commented, “There is hardly anything left for me to say” (D 256). But, of course, the two of them did not see eye to eye
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
on everything. One example was their difference of opinion on the question of conspiracy. I said the verdict that there had been a conspiracy among that lineup of defendants seemed a most puzzling piece of nonsense from our point of view. Roling nodded while listening to me, but on the last point [the question of conspiracy] he refuted the way I had put it. “Even among those who have never seen each other or talked with each other, it is possible to have a conspiracy.” I said, “At least in Japan’s case, I think it would be like find ing that Bismarck and Prince [Bernhard] von Billow or [Paul von] Hindenberg and Hitler had both engaged in a conspiracy by rea son of aspiring to the preservation and prosperity of Germany.”
“Conspiracy is a concept in Anglo-American law, and it cer tainly involves many issues that need to be investigated” (E 203). This is a question that not only T akeyam a M ichio but all Japanese, w ith their use of Chinese characters as ideogram s, are likely to entertain; yet it is actu ally off the m ark. The word for “conspiracy” in Japanese, k y o d o b og i, literally, “joint conspir a c y ,” is suggestive of the terms in b o , “p lo t” or “in trigu e,” and k y o b o k y o d o seib an or “principal offense of conspiratorial col laboration,” but in fact they are not the same. W hat Roling said is correct; it is a conception of crime peculiar to Anglo-American law that allows for people who have never set eyes on each other to be arrested as a team of crim inals. Therefore, T akeyam a’s contention missed the heart of the problem. R ather, as Roling, a jurist of the continental legal tradition, pointed out, the attempt to apply a h ighly problem atic crim inal concept itself ought to have been exam ined. In later years R oling w ould even call this notion of conspiracy “one of the ugly aspects of the Anglo-Saxon crim inal system .”16 T akeyam a records nothing more about this particular conversation. He continued to harbor until the end of 16. Bernard V. A. Roling, T he T okyo Trial a n d B ey o n d : R eflectio n s o f a P ea cem o n ger, ed. Antonio Cassese (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993), p. 58.
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his life this simple yet m istaken doubt about the charge of con spiracy. I would venture to say that, within his highly suggestive series of w ritings on the Tokyo trial, this m isunderstanding re mained as a shortcoming. “ T he H istory
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The last essay on the Tokyo Trial by Takeyam a Michio, who grap pled with the trial throughout his long career as a critic, was “The History of Showa and the Tokyo T rial,” which he wrote in the fall of 1982, two years before his death. As people grow older, they get obstinate and plain-spoken. Takeyama Michio was no exception. In “The History of Showa and the Tokyo T rial,” he offered the clear est and occasionally the most extreme expression of his view of the Tokyo Trial. At a time when we were prostrate and despondent over the diffi culty of living and a black mood swirled within society, the Tokyo trial was held in the name of “civilization and humanity.” Reconstructing the history of the previous several years with a large organization and at great expense, it informed us that “you Japanese are thus morally crippled.” Because our eyes and ears had been shut for ten-odd years, we did not know the real facts, but as the trial progressed, the truth was revealed to us, and learn ing for the first time that this was how it had been, we were at once astonished and ashamed. With the press blindly following, agitators and busybodies enumerated the evils of their own coun try with a vengeance (F 11).
Here, once again, was a scathing critique of the historical per spective of the Tokyo Trial as w ell as of the contemporary intelligentsia who, assuming the position of outsiders, were ab sorbed in denouncing their own country’s past. After listing his doubts about the Tokyo Trial in the ensuing section, Takeyam a de scribed his view of “civilization” as follows:
Takeyama M ichio and the Tokyo Trial
The Tokyo Tribunal was held in the name of the “civilization” en gendered by the intellectual heritage stemming from ancient Greece and by the divine righteousness of Christianity. Nonetheless, insofar as it appeared at that trial, that “civiliza tion” was a miserable affair (F 35-36).
Owing to censorship under the Occupation, at the time of the Tokyo Trial, Takeyam a could deliver a criticism of the court’s out look on civilization only by making it in the form of an allegory. Even his carefully thought-out essay, “The Trial of M r. H yde,” was unable to see the light of day at the time. Not until he reached the age of seventy-nine did he thus criticize the court’s notion of “civ ilization” in a sharp and distinct tone. Takeyam a M ichio made consistent criticism his lifework and never jumped on the bandwagon of the day. Amid the trend to w ard glorification of the Nazis on the eve of W orld W ar II, the fledgling literary critic perceived their true nature and made a coura geous stand. After the w ar, with admirers of the communist bloc in the m ajority among Japanese intellectuals, he was the one who pointed out that between the two halves of Germany the number of refugees going from east to west was overwhelmingly larger than the other w ay around and made known in Japan the facts about the communist bloc. It is no surprise that Takeyama has been called “the man of principled consistency.”17 One can certainly grasp that consistency in his nearly forty years of reflections on the Tokyo Trial.
17. Saeki Shoichi, “Soshu ikkan no hito” (The Man of Principled Consistency), in T akeyam a M ichio ch osak u sbii, vol. 1: G ep p o (Monthly Bulletin) (Tokyo: Fukutake Shoten, 1983), p. 1.
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C hapter 6
Judge Roling and Japan: On Reading
The Tokyo T rial and Beyond
T he T o k y o T rial R evisited : A n U nexpected P ublication
More than half a century has passed since the Tokyo trial. From the time immediately following its conclusion until today, numerous studies have appeared concerning this international m ilitary tri bunal, which passed judgment on the political and m ilitary leaders of a vanquished nation. The three great landmarks in the history of studies on the Tokyo Tribunal are the publications of the proceed ings, which are absolutely indispensable for research on the trial, first in Japanese in 1968 and then in English in 1981 and of T oky o saiban k y a k k a m iteishutsu b en g og aw a shiryo (Defense Counsel M aterials Dismissed or Not Submitted at the Tokyo Trial) in 1995.1 By referring to these basic historical materials as well as the records of people connected to the trial such as Shigemitsu M am oru’s Sugam o D iary and the voluminous report on the court proceedings*1 This chapter contains a number of quotations from B. V. A. Roling, T he Tokyo Trial a n d B eyon d : R eflectio n s o f a P ea cem o n ger, ed. and with an introduction by Antonio Cassese (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993). For this work alone, I will indicate the pagination for citations in parentheses at the end of each quotation. 1.
The defense counsel materials were edited by Tokyo Saiban Shiryo Kankokai (Society for Publication of Materials on the Tokyo Trial) and published in Tokyo by Kokusho Kankokai. 138
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by the A sahi newspaper or the more recently published reminis cences of Fuji Nobuo, who attended most of the trial as the court clerk of the former N avy M inistry,2 members of future generations w ill be able to experience for themselves quite faithfully the history that their predecessors underwent. Life being finite, most of the participants have died by now, a half century after the trial; yet, just when it seemed one could hardly expect any new memoirs or reminiscences to appear, a study on the Tokyo Tribunal and international law entitled The T okyo Trial and Beyond, consisting of an interview with Justice Bernard Roling, was published in 1993, with a Japanese translation3 following three years later. Representatives of eleven countries sat on the bench at the Tokyo trial, and at the time the verdict was announced, five judges in cluding Chief Justice Sir W illiam Webb of Australia filed separate opinions. The m ajority judgment as well as the individual opinions can be found in the trial proceedings, the aforementioned report of the A sahi newspaper, and a documentary collection entitled The T okyo Ju dgem en t,4 which Roling himself co-edited. Roling’s opin ion, the second longest after that of Justice Pal of India,5 did not attract as much attention as Pal’s judgment, which concluded that all the defendants were innocent. Yet, the opinion submitted by the Dutch judge was distinguished by holding five of the defendants to be innocent (Field M arshal H ata Shunroku, former prime minister Hirota Koki, former Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal Kido Koichi, 2.
3. 4. 5.
Fuji Nobuo, Watashi no mita Tokyo saiban (The Tokyo Trial as I Saw It) (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1988). For publication data on Shigemitsu’s diary and the report of the Asahi court press corps, see the notes to Chapter 2. Rerinku banji no Tokyo saiban (Judge Roling’s Tokyo Trial), tr. Kosuge Nobuko, with an introduction by Awaya Kentaro (Tokyo: Shin’yosha, 1996). B. V. A. Roling and C. F. Riiter, eds., The Tokyo Judgement, 2 vols. (Amsterdam: APA-Amsterdam University Press, 1977). Roling’s opinion was 249 typescript pages in length and consisted of four sections: an introduction, an inquiry into legal issues (jurisdiction, crimes against peace, and responsibility for nonfeasance), an examination of the facts, and judgments on all the defendants.
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and former foreign ministers Shigemitsu M am oru and Togo Shigenori), while adding three to the list of those to be sentenced to death (Vice Adm iral Oka Takasum i, Lieutenant General Sato Kenryo, and Admiral Shimada Shigetaro). It drew notice in partic ular by asserting the innocence of Hirota Koki, whom the m ajority judgment condemned to death by hanging. Of the five justices who submitted separate opinions, Roling joined Pal as the only judges to find any of the defendants “not guilty.” Roling w as invited to be a panelist at the International Symposium on the Tokyo W ar Crimes Trial, held in M ay 1983 prior to the premiere of the documentary film T okyo Trial; he vis ited Japan for the first time in thirty-five years and gave a keynote paper on “The Tokyo Trial and the Quest for Peace.” This sym posium lasted two days, with numerous students of the Tokyo trial participating from Japan and abroad. A fledgling graduate student at the time, I was able to attend the symposium and sat in a corner of the hall. I still cannot forget Roling’s calm and deliberate w ay of speaking English. Just a little peculiar, however, was the fact that Japan gave Roling a rousing welcome at the time: even though he was no more than a panelist, he was treated like a guest of honor; and even outside of the conference, for instance, T akikaw a M asajiro, who had served as assistant counsel to Admiral Shimada, a defendant for whom Roling had recommended the death sen tence, placed a photograph of himself with Roling in front of an article he published.6 During his short stay in Japan, Roling talked about the Tokyo and N iirnberg trials from the standpoint of the postw ar peace movement. The vast m ajority of the questions directed to him as the “sole surviving justice” were about the inner workings of the Tokyo trial rather than the contents of the paper he presented. Based on his professional ethics as a judge, however, he answered virtu ally none of those questions before leaving Jap an . Upon 6.
Takikawa Masajiro, “Nihon ‘zenkasha’ shikan o haisu” (Rejecting the Historical View of Japan as an “Ex-Convict”), Shokun! (Gentlemen!), August 1983, p. 68.
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receiving news of his death two years later, everyone believed we would not be able to learn anything more about the Tokyo trial from the judge him self. Yet, before his death, R oling gave a lengthy interview on the Tokyo Tribunal. The result was none other than The T okyo Trial an d Beyond. Unlike Pal, who visited Japan several times after the Tokyo trial, Roling, until his return to the country in 1983, was a bygone buried in oblivion to most Japanese, except for some scholars of interna tional law. On the occasion of his first visit to Japan in thirty-five years, however, he became the man of the moment, not only par ticipating in the symposium but agreeing to do a television interview and to talk about the trial with students at Keio and Tokyo uni versities. After Roling left Japan, several articles on him appeared in Japanese journals.7 In one of them, a published interview, the questioner tried to move the conversation toward the inner w ork ings of the trial,8 but Roling gave an almost curt reply and refrained from discussing the “inside story.” At the time of his return to Japan, many people, upon hearing his statements or reading articles about him, got the impression that Roling was a man who played it close to the vest as far as the Tokyo Tribunal w as concerned. Therefore, when this extended interview was published in 1993, eight years after his death, those interested in the Tokyo trial won dered w hat in the world Roling could have said before he died. Obtaining a copy of The T okyo Trial an d B eyond, I was aston ished upon reading it. Roling, who on the basis of professional ethics had h ardly spoken about the tr ia l’s inner w orkings until then, w as freely and openly talking about everything from the at titudes of the judges to the personalities of the defendants and 7.
8.
B. Roling, interview with Kojima Noboru, ‘“Tokyo saiban’ wa nani o sabaita ka” (“On What Did the ‘Tokyo Trial’ Pass Judgment?”), B ungei shunju, July 1983; B. Roling, “Yuiitsu no bunkan shikei hikoku: Hirota Koki o saishin suru” (A Reexamination of Hirota Koki: The Only Civilian Defendant Sentenced to Death), Child k oron, August 1983; “Reringu hanji e no itsutsu no shitsumon” (Five Questions for Justice Roling), composed by Ando Nisuke, Shokun!, August 1983. Roling, interview with Kojima.
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even the details of Tojo H ideki’s attem pted suicide. M oreover, according to the preface by the interview er, Antonio Cassese, a scholar of international law with a w ealth of practical experience at the United N ations, publication of the book w as delayed be cause Roling had requested, not that it come out after his death, but rather that Cassese add more of his own personal views to the transcript; yet Cassese had found it difficult to do so and had m ade little progress on the m anuscript. In other w ords, it w as possible that the work could have been published before Roling’s death. Even more surprising w as the fact that the interview had taken place from October to November 1977. That is, a full five and a half years before he made his second visit to Japan for the international symposium, Roling had talked eloquently about the Tokyo trial. M istranslation s D iminish
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W ith the Japanese translation of T he T oky o Trial an d B eyon d in 1996, the reading public in Japan ought to have been able to take one more step toward a better understanding of the Tokyo trial. W hile incorporating some of the notes from the original into the text, the translator has rendered the book into Japanese without any abridgment and has also appended an index, as in the original; she has thus produced a work that looks very conscientious. The translation strikes me as a little too stiff for conveying R oling’s smooth speech, but this is probably just a matter of taste. Regrettably, however, the volume contains an excessive number of mistranslations. Having obtained a copy of the Japanese translation, I began look ing through it and found several passages that I did not remember having seen in the English original; to make sure, I compared the two and confirmed the mistranslations. In the part of the translation dealing with the Tokyo trial (pages 35-149), mistranslations appear at the rate of one every two pages. These are not alterations stem ming from a specific historical perspective but mistakes in interpre
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tation that are at times so elementary from a linguistic standpoint as to defy belief. Let me cite several examples: • “Togo had already died in prison.” (p. 34 of the original) “Togo wa mada gokuchu ni imashita.” (“Togo was still in prison.”) (p. 60 of the translation) • “There was no question of similarity.” (46) “’Soiten ni tsuite wa tokuni mondai wa arimasen.” (“There is no particular problem with regard to differences.”) (77) • “centrally given criminal orders.” (47) “banzai ni chokusetsu kakawaru meirei” (“orders that are di rectly concerned with crimes”) (80) • “about half a year.” (80) “ichi nen ban” (“a year and a half”) (132) • “ . . . I thought: ‘What a pity I haven’t a good memory, be cause I would love to remember those phrases [that General Douglas MacArthur used.]”’ (83) “Zannen na koto ni, yoku omoi-dasemasen. Issbo-kenmei Makkaasaa no itta kotoba o omoi-daso to shite iru no desuga.” (“It’s a pity that I can’t recall very much. I am trying as hard as I can, though, to recall the words MacArthur spoke.”) (136)
Examples like the following, being reckless mistranslations that convey serious m istakes in historical fact, can scarcely be over looked: • “But the general line of agreement should have been discussed in chambers, with all the judges present. That was not done.” (p. 63 of the original) “Shikasbi, goi no kibonsen wa zen hanji ga shusseki shite hanjishitsu de togi saremashita. Kore wa ketcbaku shimasen deshita.” (“But the general line of agreement was discussed in chambers, with all the judges present. The discussion did not settle the issue.”) (p. 103 of the translation)
The “truth of the m atter,” as Judge Henri Bernard disclosed in his separate opinion, w as that, of the eleven justices, the seven who made up the so-called “m ajority faction” decided important mat-
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ters all by themselves, and this fact can even be called a point of common knowledge concerning the Tokyo trial. In this translation, however, it ends up being that all eleven judges were in on the dis cussion. This is totally contrary to historical fact .9 R o l in g ’ s C o n tribution B uddhist P hilosophy
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Upon reading The Tokyo Trial and Beyond ,10one notices that Roling had already stated in this interview most of what appeared in the various journal articles that came out on the occasion of his second visit to Japan in 1983. This includes, for example, his view of “crimes against peace,” his comparison of the Emperor’s function with that of a loudspeaker, and his finding of commonalities between the for eign policy that Hirota Koki pursued and the theory that the French strategist Andre Beaufre developed in the 1960s. The question then arises as to what new information came to light as a result of the publication of this interview. But first I would like to draw attention to an all-but-forgotten essay that Roling published in Japan seventeen years prior to the interview that became the basis of this book. In 1960 the Buddhist philosopher D. T. (Daisetz Teitaro) Suzuki turned ninety. October of that year saw the publication of 9. The translator mentions in a postscript that this Japanese rendering was es sentially a collaborative work with Awaya Kentaro. Although it contains passages where, just by reading the Japanese translation, one can clearly tell that they have been mistranslated since they run counter to historical facts, could it be that Awaya, commonly acknowledged as an expert on the Tokyo trial, overlooked such mistakes? Or, despite this being a translation, did the editor in charge fail to check the manuscript? I find this all the more regret table for in recent years the publisher has brought out a number of stimulating academic books. 10. Of the 138 pages of text in T he T okyo Trial an d B eyon d , the introduction, in which the interviewer Cassese explains the historical background to the Tokyo trial and gives an overview of Roling the man, accounts for 17 pages, while the four sections of the interview—“The Tokyo Trial,” “Aggression and Other International Crimes,” “Strategies for Peace,” and “A ‘Miserable International Law’?”—take up 73, 24, 16, and 7 pages, respectively. In this chapter I will deal mainly with the first section, which accounts for the bulk of the book.
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an edited collection of essays by thirty-six Japanese and foreign contributors entitled B u d d h ism a n d C ulture: D ed ic a te d to Dr. D aisetz T eita ro Suzuki in C o m m em o ra tio n o f H is N in etieth B irthday. Those subm itting papers in celebration of Suzuki’s
longevity ranged from philosophers of the Kyoto school such as Tanabe H ajim e and N ishitani Keiji to foreign scholars like Arnold Toynbee and Erich Fromm. Among these essays w as an article of a different kind from the rest—a study of some twenty pages entitled “The Tokyo T rial in R etrospect,” authored by none other than Bernard Roling. At the end of this essay, Roling states: The particular reason to publish these observations on things of the past is to honour Dr. D. T. Suzuki, with whom, at the time, I discussed so often strange ways of human behaviour and the tricky courses of history, and whose house was a haven of refuge in years of agonizing decisions.11
In his interview with Cassese as well, Roling describes Suzuki as the Japanese with whom he had the “closest contact,” and he men tions that he regularly called on Suzuki to find out whether Buddhism could distinguish between good and bad and to learn “about the Japanese w ay of thinking” (35). At the beginning of the essay he contributed, Roling posed the question: “To see things and their real significance one needs the correct distance. Too close, and one is only struck by the details, one does not see the wood for the trees. Too far aw ay, and one m ay have a good view on the whole, but one misses the particu lars and their im pact on the direct surroundings. . . . Do we al ready have enough distance to evaluate the ‘Tokyo trial’ . . . ?”1112 He then developed his argum ent as follow s: The scale of the 11. Bert V. A. Roling, “The Tokyo Trial in Retrospect,” in Buddhism and Culture, ed. Yamaguchi Susumu (Kyoto: Suzuki Daisetsu Hakushi Shoju Kinenkai, 1960), p. 266. The Japanese title of the book is Bukkyo to bunka: Suzuki Daisetsu hakushi shoju kinen ronbunshii (Buddhism and Culture: Collected Essays Commemorating the Longevity of Dr. Suzuki Daisetsu). 12. Roling, “The Tokyo Trial,” p. 247.
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Jewish Holocaust at the hands of the Nazis during W orld W ar II and the nature of the w ar itself made possible the im plem enta tion of the N iirnberg T ribunal to judge the national leaders of Germany on the charges of “crimes against hum anity” and “the crim e of w agin g w ars of aggressio n ,” th at is, “crim es again st p eace.” M ean w h ile, according to w h at R oling learned from M acA rthur, in the Far East, in retaliation for the attack on Pearl H arbor, the United States w as thinking of holding a trial of Japanese as a w ay of avoiding finger-pointing at home over Am erica’s m ajor setback in H aw aii by laying the blame for it on the fact that Jap an had struck w ithout w arn ing in violation of in ternational law . In light of the W estern countries’ history of aggression in Asia, there w as a problem w ith their passing judg ment on Jap an ’s m ilitary actions in that region, a problem they did not face in the case of G ermany, a fellow W estern country. Because of the precedent established at N iirnberg, however, the Japanese trial ended up encom passing not only reprisal for the unlawful attack on Pearl Harbor but also the same set of charges that had been brought against the German leaders. One can say that the two international m ilitary tribunals represented a revo lution in the history of law . T rue, there is som ething to the Japanese and German criticism s over the defects of the two tri als, and if either bench had included a member from the defeated nation in question, let alone from a neutral country, it m ight have formed an interpretation different from the view of the vic torious nations. Yet, those reservations do not mean that the basic ideas resulting from these trials are wrong. Indeed, bring ing the revolutionary project of the two trials to com pletion is an ongoing task for the United Nations. Twelve years after the end of the Tokyo trial, although in a venue with a limited audience—a collection of essays in honor of D. T. Suzuki—Roling thus spoke clearly to the people of Japan, a country on which he had earlier passed judgment. And, seven teen years later, his view of the Tokyo trial w ould be repeated like a refrain in the published interview T h e T o k y o T rial an d B eyon d.
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T he “N ew Fa c t s ” T hat R o l in g R eveals
From this interview, one can learn a number of new “facts” about the Tokyo trial. This is probably its foremost appeal and distinc tion. One can cite the appearance in Tokyo of separate opinions—five of them, in fact—as one w ay in which the Tokyo trial differed from its Niirnberg counterpart. One puzzle was that the authors of these opinions included even justices from countries of the continental legal tradition that lacked the custom of judges’ filing separate opinions. As one of those justices, Roling offers a solution to this puzzle: At first we had a court of only nine judges. Two further judges were added only later: the one from the Philippines and the judge from India.. .. The nine of us . .. had already taken the decision to deliver a majority judgement, and not to allow “dissenting opin ions.” . . . From the beginning, [the Indian judge, Pal] had decided to deliver his own opinion. I think that when he joined the court, he knew from the very start that he would not find anyone guilty of anything. Therefore he said, well, I’m not going to be bound by the decision of the other ten judges. And that was the reason why our agreement not to allow “dissenting opinions” fell apart, be cause those of the judges who were not in agreement with the ma jority were now compelled to express themselves, to prevent their being considered in agreement with the others (28-29).
Furthermore, Roling discloses the following astonishing inci dent: After all the trial sessions were over, he noticed that one doc ument did not fit in at all w ith the course of Japanese government decisions leading to w ar. When he asked the Translation Bureau to check the document, it became clear that it had been mistranslated. The new corrected translation fit perfectly into the historical chronology. So, according to Roling, he proposed to his colleagues on the bench that they use the new translation in rendering their judgment, but his proposal was refused on the grounds that oth erwise they would have to reopen the trial and do sessions over again. He gives his thoughts on the matter:
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. . . it would be a silly business to render a judgement on the his tory of Japan knowing that a wrong translation was used. And it might have had a certain influence on Hirota’s sentence (53).
Hirota Koki w as one of the defendants who deeply impressed Roling during the trial. The judge never changed his position of expounding the injustice of H iro ta’s death sentence. The court press corps of the A sahi newspaper, in introducing Roling’s sepa rate opinion, noted: “There are even indications that Judge R oling m ay have w ritten this opinion in order to save H irota from capital punishment .”13 Roling himself responds to this sug gestion as follows: [Hirota] was brought to trial at the request of the Chinese, be cause he was held responsible for the “rape of Nanking” and the misbehaviour of the Japanese, and he was sentenced to death. I personally didn’t think that he was responsible for the “rape of Nanking,” because he was not in a position to change what hap pened. Therefore my dissenting judgement was to the effect that he should be acquitted (32).
In addition, succinct character sketches of fellow justices Webb, Pal, and Cramer and of prosecutors Keenan and Sir Arthur Com yns-Carr—for instance, Webb as “a dictator” (52) and “a lonely man” (30) and Pal as “every inch an Asian” (28)—might also be called “facts” that this interview has clarified. “ T he D efendants W
ere
D ignified F e llo w s ”
The following exchange took place between Takeyam a Michio and Roling: “Among the accused who impresses you?” “All.” He said that two of the defendants were men of small caliber, but he had a high regard for the personal abilities of the other 13. Asahi Shinbun Hotei Kishadan. T ok yo saiban, vol. 3, p. 219.
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men. For some of them, he was almost speechless with admira tion. In those days it was strange to hear such remarks.14 As I suggested earlier, until Rdling’s second visit in 1983, about the only thing that had appeared on or by him in Japan was his sepa rate opinion. The one exception was a number of references to him by a Japanese writer. This was Takeyam a Michio. In the study that he first serialized in 1955 and published the following year as H istory o f the Spirit o f Show a, Takeyam a discussed the history of the Showa period and commented on the Tokyo trial, including in his purview the judge from the Netherlands. As I mentioned in Chapter 5, at the time of the trial, Takeyama came to know Roling and to have friendly conversations with him. After they met, the judge occasionally visited the Takeyam a resi dence in Kamakura, and before long the two of them became con fidants who even talked to each other about the trial. The exchange I cited above gives Roling’s impressions of the defendants at the time. As I also noted in the last chapter, in the year in which History o f the Spirit o f Show a appeared, Takeyam a traveled all the w ay to the N etherlands and met with Roling for the first time in years, going back and forth to his house in Groningen over a period of sev eral days to talk about the Tokyo trial. Takeyam a’s essay entitled “A Visit to H olland” contains the following passage: When Mr. Roling was in Tokyo, he was speechless with admira tion for General Tojo. While holding his breath and shaking his head with a show of deep emotion, he repeatedly murmured, “Outstanding man!” It was not just Japanese who stared in won der at his one-to-one combat with Prosecutor Keenan. But, “be cause [Tojo] had had the power to restrain the military,” [Roling] blamed him for the fact that the prime minister had not accepted the Hull note.15 14. Takeyama, T akeyam a M ichio ch osak u shu, vol. 1: S how a n o seishin shi, pp. 12 2-12 3. 15. Takeyama, “Oranda no homon,” in Takeyam a M ichio ch osak u sh u , vol. 2: S upein n o n isega n e, p. 210.
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Thus, until the publication of T he T o k y o Trial an d B ey on d , one could only infer Roling’s view of the defendants indirectly from the writings of Takeyam a. W ith the publication of his 1977 interview, however, he clearly speaks his mind: Oh yes, they [the defendants] were mostly first-rate people. Not all of them, but the majority of them were prominent people. The navy people, and Tojo himself, were extremely clever, that’s for sure (32). Cowards? Not at all. None of them, I think. They were really very dignified fellows.. . . I must say that they were men who stood for something; they may not have behaved in the way that we would like to have them behave, but still, they were impressive (38).
As one can see from this example, the second distinctive feature of The T o k y o Trial an d B eyon d is that it corroborates the inferences about Roling’s views that Japanese have drawn from Takeyam a’s work. The interview substantiates another prior description of Roling that appears in the book W indow s fo r the C row n Prince by Elizabeth Vining, who served as private tutor to Crown Prince Akihito: He [Roling] was impressed by the quality of the defendants; by the fact that Tojo, on trial for his life, spent his time writing po etry, and others studied the great religious literature of the world, Christian as well as Buddhist. As he sat facing the twenty-five defendants day after day for so many months, he came to know them in a curious sort of way. . .. “I am afraid to go home,” he said. “I came here with the Dutch hatred of the Japanese . . . but after nearly two years I have come to like the Japanese people. They are idealists, and sensitive, and they have something to offer to us westerners, with our emphasis on material things.”16 16. Elizabeth Gray Vining, Windows for the Crown Prince (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1952), p. 169.
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This passage is also entirely consistent with statements Roling made in the published interview. In recent years, some observers have treated Judge Roling’s ob servations on the Tokyo Tribunal as a basis for asserting the posi tive significance of the trial. These commentators have emphasized that, although Roling believed the trial had defects, he did not dis avow it but sought to locate its significance in the subsequent history of international law. Yet it is perhaps no wonder that Roling as a judge—moreover, as a concerned party who had participated ac tively in the trial of the century—would say nothing to disavow the Tokyo Tribunal. Since he had literally devoted half his life to “the Tokyo trial and beyond,” whenever he was given a chance to speak, probably his only option was to expound the significance of the trial rather than deny it. On that point, one can even begin to sense Roling’s anguish. In his separate opinion, Roling gave a severe assessment of the cases, for, while he judged five of the defendants to be innocent, he called for capital punishment for nine others and life imprisonment for the remaining eleven. To Japanese who only look at the outward appearance of the trial, the Roling judgment, unlike Pal’s finding of innocence for all the defendants, does not evoke good feelings, and some may criticize the judgment, seeing the m an’s “lim itations” in it. Perhaps partly for that reason, Roling has not been as well known as Pal. But now, w ith the publication of this interview, we have available the materials to know almost everything about him. In the course of his participation in the trial, this Dutchman, who had arrived in Japan bearing hatred for it, came to have affection for the country and, deeply impressed by the dignified courtroom behavior of Japan’s wartime leaders, came to have a high regard for them. Any introduction to Roling that fails to mention these facts would be a distorted one. Takeyam a Michio had his main character in H arp o f Burm a ex claim at the time of the trial: “I cannot help being appalled by what I read in newspapers and magazines nowadays. M any people seem to pride themselves on slandering and blaming others. ‘It’s all that fellow’s fault,’ they declare, as arrogantly as if we had won the war.
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‘That’s why the country is in such a mess.’”17 At the same time, this Dutch judge was holding Jap an ’s wartim e leaders in high regard for their human dignity. Contrast this view with that of intellectu als like M aruyam a M asao, who, going so far as to m anipulate sources, gained attention by writing that Jap an ’s national leaders were “dwarfish” both as human beings and as political or military leaders. Given this situation, anyone who reads Roling’s comments, not just a Takeyam a M ichio, should be able to draw some reas surance from this display of conscience on his part. J apan
as a
F oreign C ulture
One other major appeal of The T o k y o Trial and B eyond —one that appears at every turn—is the Westerner Bernard Roling’s “view of Jap an .” Except for the trials conducted by the Chinese, all the post w ar m ilitary tribunals involving Japan, ranging from the Tokyo trial to the class B and C trials held in various parts of Asia, had the character of judging the crimes of non-Western Japan using a Western yardstick. Japan was judged by countries with a different culture, and one could even say that in court the defendants and their counsel were forced to interact with a foreign culture. In the proceedings and memoirs of participants, one can find evidence of the defendants’ bewilderment upon confronting this culture. Yet, it was by no means just the defense side that was bewildered by an alien culture and struggled to understand it. A conscientious judge also agonized a great deal over the same problem. Of the eleven justices, Roling was most frequently present dur ing the trial, that is, he performed his duties most faithfully ;18 but as the trial began, Japan, the subject being judged, w as, to this thirty-nine-year-old, a totally unknown country. Apparently, it was for the following reason that the Dutch government appointed Roling, a laym an in terms of Japanese studies, to represent it on 17. Takeyama, Harp o f Burm a, p. 90. 18. Meirion and Susie Harries, S h eath in g th e S w ord : T he D em ilitarisation o f Japan (New York: Macmillan, 1987), p. 149.
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the bench in Tokyo .19At the time his government sounded him out about going to Japan, Roling was a judge in the province of Utrecht and also held the position of visiting professor at the University of Utrecht, where he taught crim inal law of the Dutch East Indies, or Indonesia, a place he himself had never visited. He was probably chosen because that area fell within the jurisdiction of the Tokyo Tribunal. Thus did the youthful Roling’s assignment turn from is sues of crim inal procedure within the Netherlands and its colonies to questions concerning the wartim e leaders of the exotic Far Eastern land of Japan, in particular the history of that country from 1928 to 1945. The task of a judge is to render a judgment based solely on the evidence presented by the attacking prosecution and the countering defense. Therefore, in passing judgment on Japan, although he wanted to read expert works on Japanese history and culture, Roling, who tried to remain true to his job, said that he took care to avoid such books and the preconceptions they might instill in him .20 The young judge from the Netherlands, however, enjoyed hobnobbing with a number of Japanese outside of the court. In view of his position as a judge, he refrained from keeping company with bureaucrats and politicians, but, as already indicated, he did form friendships w ith first-rate intellectuals such as D. T. Suzuki and Takeyam a Michio. As he w as about to return home after com pleting two and a half years of service in Japan, Roling gave a copy of his separate opinion to Takeyam a and said that he wanted to write a book on Japanese history some d ay .21 When Takeyam a met him again in the Netherlands eight years later, however, the former judge con fessed that he had “abandoned that plan, having realized that it’s something a foreigner cannot possibly do. It’s a job I should like 19. A work that deals with the relationship between Roling and the Tokyo trial, on the one hand, and the Dutch government, on the other, is L. van Poelgeest, Nederland en het Tribunaal van Tokio (Arnhem: Gouda Quint, 1989). 20. Roling, interview with Kojima, p. 165. 21. Takeyama, Takeyama Michio chosaku shu, vol. 1: Showa no seishin shi, p. 130.
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Japanese people to do .”22 To be sure, Roling did not write a his tory of Jap an , but he did study and carry out research on the country. For instance, he read Ruth Benedict’s C hrysanthem um a n d th e S w ord and also scrutinized C harles Beard’s P residen t R o o sev elt an d the C om ing o f the W ar. In addition, he continued to investigate the history of relations between Jap an and the Netherlands. Long after he had left Japan, Roling’s interest in the country did not flag but only strengthened. Through T he T o k y o Trial an d B eyon d, he would bequeath to posterity part of the re sults of those studies, offering a broad historical narrative that could be called “Professor Roling’s History of Jap an .” Fr o m
a
C om parative V iewpoint : M acbeth C rimes
Having come to Japan without any knowledge of the country he was about to judge, Roling attempted to understand Japan and its people by finding some clue within his own experience to use as a basis for drawing comparisons. Arriving in Japan as a member of the occupying Allies, he w as reminded first of all of the days when Nazi Germany occupied his homeland, the Netherlands. He singled out the experience of being occupied as a point in common between Japan and the Netherlands. During the period of occupation by Germany in World W ar II, the Dutch people had an intense hatred of Germans. Roling himself recalled the following incident: He had been playing music with some acquaintances and flatly refused a request by two German officers, who had been outside listening, that the officers come in and join them (22). Therefore, it was nat ural for him, as a member of the occupying forces, to brace himself this time for similar treatment by the Japanese. Contrary to his ex pectations, the Japanese that Roling met invited him to their homes and, upon learning that he had a taste for musical instruments, even asked him to join them in a string quartet (22). Some of Roling’s friends in the Netherlands, upon hearing that he was going to Japan as a judge, warned him with a straight face 22. Ibid., “Oranda no homon,” pp. 203-204.
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that he should live on a ship so he could escape at a moment’s no tice, if need be, and that he should alw ays go to the courtroom under guard. Fortunately, their fears turned out to be needless. During his stay in Japan, he “never had the feeling of being threat ened at a ll” (21). The hatred of an occupied nation toward the forces occupying it was nowhere to be seen in the case of Japan. This comparison whereby Roling analogized from his own past experience as a citizen of an occupied nation was not very helpful to him in understanding Japanese people. Nevertheless, a number of Japanese opened their hearts to Roling and were willing to be on friendly terms w ith him, and through them he was able to strengthen his grasp of Japan. As he confided to Elizabeth Vining, having lost his hatred of the Japanese, in all sincerity he had come to have a warm regard for Japan. Of course, this w as not the only w ay in w hich Roling used a com parative method in trying to understand Japan. H aving vis ited the international m ilitary tribunal in Niirnberg before going to T okyo ,23 he constantly compared the speech and behavior of the defendants at Ichigaya w ith those of the German defendants. Yet he w as free from such one-sided interpretations as the view that, unlike Goring w ith his declaratio n, “I take one hundred percent resp o n sib ility,” the Japanese defendants epitom ized a “system of irrespo nsib ilities” in which “subm ission to faits a c com plish and “refuge in one’s competence or jursidiction” were the norm. Fie had firm ly fixed in his m em ory the spectacle of Goring at Niirnberg trying to shift the blame onto Hitler (37). Asserting that there were no similarities between the Japanese and the Germans accused in the two international m ilitary tri bunals (46), Roling explained their differences in detail. First of all this Dutch judge was surprised that the Japanese defendants were completely lacking in emotion. Having studied Zen thought under the guidance of Suzuki, Roling appears initially to have wanted to 23. Roling visited Niirnberg in late January 1946 when the French prosecutor was giving his concluding address in court. This was about half a month before the court appearance of Field Marshal von Paulus, mentioned in Chapter 4.
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view this characteristic as a product of Buddhist “enlightenment,” but instead he ended up developing an argument about the national character of the Japanese: It struck me at the time that Japanese in general do not act and react in an individual way, but more as members of a collectivity. If you asked something, it was as if they answered: “As Japanese we think this . . . ” The individualistic attitude was generally miss ing. The Western civilization is very individualistic. You have your own thoughts, norms. You get them from society, but you mould them in an individual way. In Japan there prevailed the attitude of judging things from the group standpoint (36).
When he arrived in Japan, Roling had hardly any prior knowledge of the country. Over time, however, he thus grew, as it were, into a sociologist or anthropologist who could speak w ith confidence about the special characteristics of the Japanese. Another distinctive feature Roling noted of the defendants at Ichigaya w as that none of them showed any pangs of conscience. He concluded that this was because they had never actually com mitted w ar crimes or ordered the carrying out of such crimes (46). Here Roling introduces his own coinage— “Macbeth crim es”—to explain the atrocities committed by the SS, the Nazi “security ech elon s,” which he considers to have been poles ap art from the Japanese defendants. In the play M a cb eth , one of Shakespeare’s four great tragedies, the brave Scottish general M acbeth b ril lian tly distinguishes him self in w ar and w ins the highest praise from his liege, King Duncan. Yet M acbeth believes the prophecy of three witches that he w ill soon become king and, prodded by his w ife, m urders King Duncan. Thereafter, beginning w ith his comrade-in-arms, Banquo, he kills one by one those who are po tential threats to him and takes the throne himself, but he is de feated by D uncan’s son, M alcolm , as the play comes to an end. Roling saw in M acbeth the psychology w hereby, once you have committed a crim e, you have to commit m any more in order to efface the memory of that first one. He then called crimes that are committed in this m anner “M acbeth crim es,” believing that one
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could use this phrase to explain the situation in which the SS went on com m itting one horrific atrocity after another. According to Roling, however, the phrase could not be employed to explain the crimes of the Japanese, for they were not scoundrels or sadists at all, nor w ere they “out for k illin g ,” although the Japanese did everything to reach a specific goal on the battlefield (47). The notion of “M acbeth crim es” strikes one as fresh, for it w ould not be found in the w riting of a historian in a narrow sense. M oreover, even if Shakespeare is a m atter of common knowledge among European intellectuals, it is invigorating to see someone w ell versed in literature using it to discuss history. Unlike a dry, mechanical view of history, this approach is charac terized by a warm th imbued with hum anity. Yet, Roling appears to have pressed his an alysis a little too far. G ranted, pangs of conscience m ay not have been apparent in the faces of the Japanese defendants; and R oling’s observation on this point is probably reliable, since, as he noted, “Having sat opposite them for more than two years—even though I could not talk to them— I could still see their movements and hear them sp eaking” (38). Nonetheless, Shigemitsu M am oru, for one, agonized over the se ries of alleged crimes by the Japanese m ilitary that w as brought to light in court .24 Roling, therefore, m ay have been slightly hur ried in his argum ent about the dichotomy between the Japanese and German defendants, but the value of his original concept of “Macbeth crim es” cannot be overestimated. B ernard R o l in g , H istorian
I suggested that one could expect a freshness in historical interpre tation by someone who is not a historian by profession. No doubt the freshness stems from the discovery of perspectives that experts 24. Throughout his prison diary, S ugam o nikki, Shigemitsu recorded his shock and anguish over the acts of the Japanese army that were revealed in court. One example, as I quoted in Chapter 2, was his comment in reaction to the testimony of a prosecution witness to the Nanjing Incident that “Japanese should die of shame.”
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would not have thought of or would have overlooked, as well as from the boldness to assert those perspectives. Such boldness w ill give rise to a persuasive interpretation only when the interpretation is carefully substantiated, but if one fails to provide conclusive cor roboration, then it runs the risk of ending up as sim ply a misapprehension. Regrettably, Roling was not immune to this kind of failure .25 M aintaining that “in the Japanese language there are different w ays of speaking to superiors or to servants”—this premise was correct—Roling stated that in the courtroom To jo “spoke the lan guage for addressing servants” and, as a result, the people of van quished Japan were able to find some relief from their judgment by the victors (34). Roling introduced this as “knowledge” a Japanese friend had im parted to him. Yet, if one carefully checks the Japanese version of the proceedings, one finds Tojo speaking in a polite tone, ending each sentence with a courteous desu or masu. Very rarely does one see a less polite utterance such as “d esh o n a ” (I reckon so) or “tsuyaku ga b a k k ir i shin ai” (the translation isn’t clear), but one cannot possibly call this “language for addressing servants.” I regret not so much that Roling spoke with exuberance about this matter but that a Japanese person put such half-baked ideas into his head. On the other hand, the quick w it of Japanese around Roling helped him out of a difficult situation. Pressured by his home gov ernment not to file a separate opinion, Roling faced a serious dilemma for a time. He visited a temple with some Japanese friends and bought a slip of paper that told his fortune. He recalls that his friend translated into English for him what was written on the paper: 25. Even the contents of this interview are not free of mistakes. Roling’s statement that Suzuki Teiichi had served as prime minister (33) and his suggestion that Admiral Toyoda Soemu had been General Yamashita Tomoyuki’s “supe rior” (73), for example, are clearly contrary to fact. These errors could have been avoided if he had consulted an informant versed in Japanese history. Yet, when all is said and done, these do not detract from the originality of Roling’s understanding of Japan.
J udge R oling and J apan
“You are involved in a big trial. If you follow your conscience no harm w ill come” (62). Both sbiren (“ordeal” or “test”) and saiban (“court trial”) can be translated into English as “trial.” This “in formant” brilliantly eased Roling’s anxiety by using a single word with multiple meanings rather than separate words to describe both the “big trial” of the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East and the “big ordeal” of how he should act in the face of pressure from his home government. Thanks to this person’s skill in transla tion, Roling, who had even considered resigning, abandoned that idea and went on to leave a major m ark on the Tokyo trial. Roling believed that what drives history is not “petite bistoire ” but “grande bistoire” (31); yet, in this case, one could say that the “petite bis toire ” of that slip of paper played an important role in the “history” of this m an’s career. To interpret history is above all to explain historical m aterials accurately without presuppositions or biases. W hether or not one calls oneself a historian, only when one is able to interpret histor ical sources accurately can one become a historian in the true sense of the word. Did Roling in fact deserve this title? The indictm ent against H irota Koki, one of the seven con demned to death, centered on “The Fundam ental Principles of Our N ational Policy.” This document was agreed upon at a highlevel conference in 1936 during H iro ta’s prim e m inistership. It held that Ja p an ’s basic national policy w as to have “diplom acy and national defense go hand in hand in promoting the empire’s advance into the South Seas together w ith securing its position on the East Asian m ain lan d” and, as policy aim s, listed coexis tence and co-prosperity in the East; the strengthening of national defense; the sound development of M anchukuo and the realiza tion of cooperation among Japan , M anchukuo, and China; and the em pire’s gradu al and peaceful advance to the south .26 R egarding this docum ent as deceptive and dishonest and con cluding th at it had played a grave role in setting Jap an on the road to w ar, the court sentenced Hirota to death. Roling states: 26. K ok ushi daijiten, vol. 5 (1985), p. 643.
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But such an interpretation overlooks the fact that this govern ment document was top secret, being only directed at the inner governmental circle. It was a kind of compromise between the military and the civilian members of the government. . . . (45)
Roling here emphasizes that, before exam ining the contents of a document, one must first consider for whom it was drafted. He is talking about how one should handle and read historical m ateri als. This is indeed the proper w ay to read such m aterials. It goes w ithout saying which historical interpretation—R oling’s or that of the seven justices who drew up the “m ajority judgm ent”—w as accurate. A skilled historian is in a sense a detective. Interpreting historical records accurately and logically and exercising his imagination, he reconstructs history. Just before the attack on Pearl H arbor, the Emperor summoned the navy minister and the chief of the Naval General Staff and asked them whether Japan had any chance of win ning a w ar against the United States. In the court proceedings, this incident was interpreted as showing that the Emperor was worried about losing the w ar but was not opposed to it. Roling, however, states: But it was the Japanese way of expressing that he was against it. If he had been in favour of the war, he would not have asked that. It was his only way of indicating his opposition to war (42).
The Dutchman Bernard Roling, based on what he had learned about Japanese w ays of thinking from D. T. Suzuki, Takeyam a Michio, and other Japanese intellectuals, thus used his imagination to explain the Emperor’s inquiry. He also gave the following ex planation of the Emperor’s role in prewar and wartim e Japan: As for the Emperor—he was a symbol of the nation. The Japanese consider the Emperor as the essence of Japan. But he had no power at all. . . . I have always thought that you could compare his function with that of a loudspeaker. The government spoke, but through
J udge R oling and J apan
the Emperor. And when he spoke, it resounded through the whole Empire and was obeyed (39).
In reviewing A H istory o f Ja p a n by his former teacher, James Murdoch, Natsume Soseki, a literary figure in the M eiji and Taisho priods, once wrote: “Everyone knows that Western civilization and Christian culture are closely connected, but the average Japanese cannot possibly imagine that, if it’s not Christian culture, it’s not civilization. Yet, having been warned by the professor that this is the general conclusion of W esterners, I am indeed compelled to agree with him .”2 This passage speaks to the appeal that a history of Japan written by a foreigner has for Japanese readers. Sim ilarly, in his “history of Jap an ,” Roling offers a lively and persuasive nar rative, making use of such original concepts as “Macbeth crimes” and the Emperor as “loudspeaker.” “Ideo logical A ggr essio n ”
an d
J apan
As mentioned earlier, Roling’s separate opinion attracted attention above all in its finding of innocence for Hirota Koki. One cannot help sensing a kind of destiny in the fact that the Dutch judge Roling, who arrived in Japan without any knowledge of the coun try, came, as a result of gradually wider and deeper study, to plead wholeheartedly on behalf of Hirota, who had at one time served as am bassador to the Netherlands. Behind Roling’s conviction that H irota was innocent lay the following historical understanding: When Japan first came into contact with the West in the sixteenth century, Japanese learned from shipwrecked Westerners the modus operandi of their “ideological aggression.” First they would open the door to trade, then they would send in missionaries, and finally, with the help of converted natives, they would take over the coun try in question. Realizing the danger, the Japanese succeeded in banishing Christianity at the beginning of the seventeenth century. 27. Natsume Soseki, “Madokku sensei no Nihon rekishi” (Professor Murdoch’s H istory o f Japan), in Soseki b u n m ei ron sbu (Collected Essays on Civilization by Soseki) (Tokyo: Iwanami Bunko, 1986), p. 231.
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Two hundred years later, when the W estern powers pressured Japan to open its ports, the daimyo of the M ito domain vigorously opposed the opening of the country. The threat of “ideological ag gression” from two centuries earlier was “still vivid” in his mind. After explaining the course of history in this w ay, Roling adds the following observation: This memory [of economic and ideological aggression] might explain why in the twentieth century Japan—in Hirota’s pol icy-reverted to it, decided to use economic and ideological ag gression as a means for its own policy of conquest (28).
Here Roling seems to be presenting a view of history whereby a past historical event remains permanently in the consciousness of a certain people and becomes a guide to their future conduct. Roling also brings into his field of vision the history of Europe after the Second W orld W ar and points out that this ideologically aggressive side of the Hirota policy can be found in the theory of the French strategist Andre Beaufre in the 1960s (43). Furthermore, he talks about other developments taking place in recent decades. He states that from 1960 on the United Nations considered the pos session of colonies to be illegal, and in order to promote the self-determination of peoples it even came to recognize subversive activity from within. This was the very means that the Hirota pol icy had advocated in seeking to liberate Southeast Asia from Western colonization. Accordingly, Roling came to the following conclusion: “Fess than a quarter of a century later, the UN was doing precisely that which had earned Hirota the death sentence” (46). This assertion strikes one as characteristic of Roling, who was not only a scholar but, until 1958, a delegate to the United Nations. In the early M eiji era, Fukuzawa Yukichi used the expression “one experiences two lives” to describe the good fortune of a scholar living in a period of intellectual upheaval. Fukuzawa per sonally embodied that expression. The Dutchman Bernard R oling, through his involvem ent w ith Jap an , also came to lead two lives. One begins to think it w as no accident that the exact m idpoint of the seventy-nine-year life of this jurist, a man who
J udge R oling and J apan
left such excellent commentary on Japan, fell in the year in which he took up his post at the Tokyo Tribunal. Takeyam a M ichio, who had hoped that Roling would write a history of Japan, passed aw ay about nine months before Roling died. Regrettably, he was unable to see the “Japan commentary” contained in T he T o k y o Trial and Beyond. Yet, if one peruses this interview, in a sense a posthumous work, one finds not only new facts about the Tokyo trial but also the lasting m ark of the sincere thinking of one Westerner who happened to encounter Japan and strove to understand its culture.
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Chapter 7
Echoing Critiques of the Hull Note: Judge Radhabinod Pal and Albert Nock
O rientalism
an d
J apanese S tudies
After investigating Western conceptions of “the East” over a long period, Edward W. Said represented them concisely with the term “O rientalism ,” but in a sense quite different from meanings previ ously attached to the word. In his book O rientalism , Said defined the term, which is suggestive of things romantic or exotic of the East, as “a style of thought based upon an ontological and episte mological distinction between ‘the Orient’ and . . . ‘the Occident.’ . . . It is, above all, a discourse . . . ”x He then denounced this dis course as “a W estern style for dom inating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient.”12 Said’s O rientalism , which created a sensation among the reading public worldwide in the latter part of the 1970s, was a daring and intellectually stimulating book. Yet his discussion of the “Orient” did not contain any real mention of Japan. It was Richard M inear, a historian of Japan noted in the United States for his research on the Tokyo trial, who took over from Said in this regard. Holding that one can make a similar analysis of the history of research on 1. 2.
Edward W. Said, O rientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978), pp. 2, 12. Ibid., p. 3. 164
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Japan in Western countries, M inear takes up the three giants who pioneered Japanese studies in the West—Basil Hall Chamberlain, George B. Sansom, and Edwin O. Reischauer. First of all, he claims that, although Chamberlain and Sansom praised selective aspects of the Japanese past, they denied “relevance for the future” to any thing but Western views .3 M inear then offers a trenchant critique of Reischauer, the famous pro-Japanese diplomat and scholar. He states that, in his studies from shortly after the w ar until the 1960s, Reischauer carried out, based on an obliquely disdainful compari son of Western countries and Japan, a classification along the lines of “the W est” versus “the East,” “Europeans” and “Americans” versus “Japanese,” and “us” versus “them.” M inear concludes that the perspective of these scholars is equivalent to the Orientalism that Said denounced. Although his subject is not as w ide-ranging as that of Said, M inear’s exam ination of the giants of Japanese studies, who are usually labelled Japanophiles—the polar opposites of the series of Japan bashers that appeared in the United States from the 1980s on—does strike one as a bold and fresh analysis. Nevertheless, M inear confined his study to the “O rientalist” discourse on Japan that he perceived among representative Japan scholars in the West. A discourse on Japan likewise ought to exist among the Japanese themselves, a discourse that m ay well display a Said-style “O rientalism .” After World W ar II, probably nothing had a greater influence on the Japanese in terms of shaping the discourse on Japan than the judgment of the Tokyo Tribunal. In the chaotic postwar years, when the Japanese people were on the verge of starvation, this judg ment presented them not only with a Western-style explanation of their country’s modern history but with an analysis of their national character as well. Immediately after the w ar, not to mention during the conflict, the Japanese in general did not know what had actu ally happened in the wartime period. The Tokyo Tribunal, having 3.
Richard Minear, “Orientalism and the Study of Japan,” Jo u rn a l o f Asian
S tudies, vol. 39, no. 3 (May 1980), pp. 507-508.
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made Japan’s history since 1928 the subject of indictment, brought to light one by one the dark parts of Jap an ’s prewar and wartime experience; and, hearing these disclosures, the mass media were ab sorbed in forwarding the facts to the Japanese people through newspapers and newsreels in the manner of “this is the w ay it re ally w as.” Thus, the judgment rendered in November 1948 represented not only a judicial decision but also a historical inter pretation. One aspect of the trial itself was the conviction of vanquished Japan by the victorious Allies. In addition, the histori cal interpretation set forth in the judgment, combined w ith the fact that the Occupation forces succeeded in blaming the Japanese m il itary for all that had gone wrong and portraying the people at large as victims, became nothing but an expression of the “O rientalism” expounded by Said, that is, of “a Western style for dominating, re structuring, and having authority over the O rient.” J udge Pal ’ s S eparate O pinion
At Niirnberg, four nations—the United States, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union—passed judgment on Germany, whereas at Tokyo the bench consisted of representatives from eleven countries, with Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the Netherlands, the Republic of China, the Philippines, and India joining the “N iirnberg four.” Along with the disparity in the number of countries sitting in judg ment, the biggest difference between the two tribunals, as mentioned in Chapter 6, was the submission of no fewer than five separate opinions at Tokyo. At Niirnberg, by contrast, there was only one judgment. Among the separate opinions in Japan was the totally dissenting one of the Indian justice, Radhabinod Pal. Based on his extensive knowledge of world history and international law, Pal interpreted Japan’s actions in a completely different w ay from that of the official judgment. His position, which runs through his voluminous opinion (at a quarter of a m illion words, it exceeds even the main judgment in length), was that Japan had fought in order to liberate Asia from Western colonialism, and not only the defeated countries but all nations involved in the w ar had commit
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
ted conventional w ar crimes. In other words, Pal argued that, be fore passing judgment on Japan’s actions, the court should consider the past deeds of the Western powers. He found all the defendants to be innocent on every count, but, as I w ill show later, it was not as if he completely affirmed the past actions of Japan. Inasmuch as the prewar and wartime picture of Japan that the court drew came as a shock to the Japanese, Pal’s dissenting opin ion was received all the more enthusiastically in Japan. Very few people, however, were able to read the opinion, for, at the time the verdict was rendered, dissenting opinions were not allowed to be read in court or to be put into print. Lieutenant Commander Fuji Nobuo, who attended most of the Tokyo trial as court clerk of the former Navy M inistry, was one of the fortunate few able to peruse Pal’s separate opinion right after the pronouncement of the verdict. He said he borrowed a Japanese version from Somiya Shinji, coun sel for one of the defendants, Vice Admiral Oka Takasum i, and read it twice. At that time, he recalled, having gotten as far as the section “W hat Is Aggressive W ar?” he had the feeling that “This is a courageous shout of the colored races against the white race !”45 The opinion consists of seven parts: “Preliminary Question of Law,” “W hat Is ‘Aggressive W ar,”’ “Rules of Evidence and Procedure,” “Over-all Conspiracy,” “Scope of Tribunal’s Jursidiction,” “W ar Crimes Stricto Sensu,” and “Recommendation.” As early as Part I, Pal delivers a critique of the court’s legal basis: The so-called trial held according to the definition of crime now given by the victors obliterates the centuries of civilization which stretch between us and the summary slaying of the defeated in a war. A trial with law thus prescribed will only be a sham em ployment of legal process for the satisfaction of a thirst for re venge. . . . Formalized vengeance can bring only an ephemeral satisfaction, with every probability of ultimate regret. . . ,s
4. 5.
Fuji, W atashi n o m ita T ok yo saiban, vol. 2, p. 349. R. B. Pal, In tern a tion a l M ilitary T ribunal f o r th e Far East: D issen tien t J u d gm en t (Calcutta: Sanyal, 1953), pp. 17 -18.
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Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
It is not hard to understand w hat he means by “formalized vengeance.” This expression could be called the very first criticism of the Tokyo trial to appear in print. In the ensuing part, Pal voices his opinion that, before passing judgment on Japan’s actions, the court should consider the past history of the Western powers, and he concludes by stating: I would only like to observe once again that the so-called Western interests in the Eastern Hemisphere were mostly founded on the past success of these western people in “transmuting military vi olence into commercial profit.”6 One can say that Pal has incisively pointed out the essence of the history of colonial domination by the Western powers. In the courtroom at Ichigaya, the prosecution also denounced the racial prejudice held by the Japanese. After introducing the gist of the prosecution’s assertion, Pal expresses his thinking on this point: Much was sought to be made of what was characterized as A CHANGE IN THE JAPANESE EDUCATIONAL POLICY whereby it was designed to create in every youthful mind a feel ing of RACIAL SUPERIORITY. I believe this is a failing common to all nations. Every nation is under a delusion that its race is superior to all others, and, so long as racial difference will be maintained in international life, this delusion is indeed a defensive weapon. The leaders of any particular nation may bona fide believe that . . . the western racial behaviour necessitates this feeling as a measure of self protection. . . . The ideal of asceticism and self-repression has not as yet been adopted by any of the modern civilized nations.7 Pal’s view in this regard immediately calls to mind the following passage from Orientalism : 6. 7.
Ibid., p. 135. Ibid., pp. 315-316.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
It is therefore correct that every European, in what he could say about the Orient, was consequently a racist, an imperialist, and almost totally ethnocentric.. . . human societies, at least the more advanced cultures, have rarely offered the individual anything but imperialism, racism, and ethnocentrism for dealing with “other” cultures.8 Just as Said pointed out that not only Europeans but peoples of “more advanced cultures” in general were deeply im plicated in racial prejudice, so, too, did Pal assert that not just Jap an but every one of “the modern civilized nations” w as under the sway of ethnocentrism . Here one can perceive a rem arkable coinci dence between, on the one hand, Said-style “O rientalism ,” which criticizes the m odality of non-W estern dom ination by the W est, and, on the other, P al’s opinion, which to tally disavow ed the judgment of a tribunal that turned out to be “a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over” Japan. In his separate opinion, which can thus be read as a critique of Orientalism as applied to Japan, this Indian judge w as even pre pared to criticize sharply one of the Allied Powers: It would be sufficient for my present purpose to say that if any in discriminate destruction of civilian life and property is still ille gitimate in warfare, then, in the Pacific war, this decision to use the atom bomb is the only near approach to the directives of the German Emperor during the first world war and of the Nazi lead ers during the second world war.9 In this w ay, although Pal did not bring up the name of the country, he censured the United States. This passage, I think, reveals most clearly Pal’s assertion, which appears over and over again in his separate opinion, that the Tokyo trial was nothing but a case of unilateral “formalized vengeance,” with Japan alone being subject to prosecution. 8. 9.
Said, O rientalism , p. 204. Pal, D issentient Ju d gm en t, p. 621.
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Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
As mentioned in the preface, the view of civilization that the chief prosecutor presented in his opening statement was political and therefore superficial as well. Meanwhile, Pal was going beyond such a sterile outlook. To the Indian judge, who declared the court to be an example of “formalized vengeance,” the prosecution side, far from representing civilization, was none other than the obliterator of civilization spanning several centuries. Nevertheless, Pal was not holding the defendants to be innocent based on a blanket approval of Japan’s actions. As M inear points out, Pal insisted that those ac tions could not be called “ille g al” in an indictable sense .101He simply regarded the Japanese defendants lined up in the courtroom at Ichigaya to be blameless for the w ar crimes that the Japanese m ilitary had allegedly committed at the front; on the w ar crimes in the Philippines, for instance, he expressly stated: I need not give in detail the incidents taking place since November 1944. We are given several incidents taking place dur ing this period and certainly these were atrocious misdeeds. These are the instances of atrocities perpetrated by the Japanese army against the civilians at different theatres during the entire pe riod of the war. The devilish and fiendish character of the alleged atrocities cannot be denied.11
Pal’s D issentient Ju dgm en t offered not only a critique of Orientalism, but also one angle for explaining civilization as ab stracted in a w ar crimes trial. In other words, he pointed out in his opinion that, w hile such a trial was a kind of “formalized vengeance” that had nothing to do with civilization, there was also something in the conduct of the Japanese m ilitary tow ard noncombatants that could not possibly be called civilized. To regard the verdict of innocence for all the defendants ren dered by Pal, an Asian judge, as proof that Asia did not recognize the Tokyo Tribunal or, to put it another w ay, that it approved of 10. Richard Minear, “In Defense of Radha Binod Pal,” Japan In terpreter, vol. 11, no. 3 (1977), p. 270. 11. Pal, D issentient Ju d gm en t, pp. 619-620.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Jap an ’s m ilitary operations against Southeast Asia as liberating colonies from the West, would be to draw an overly simplistic con clusion. To be sure, Pal was an Indian national who participated in the trial as a judge representing India, but one should refrain from jumping to the conclusion that his opinion represented the collec tive w ill of his country. For example, the separate opinion of the Dutch judge, Roling, was a private production in which he fended off pressure from his home government not to release it; in other words, it could not be called the opinion of the Dutch government. Likewise, according to a recent study ,12 Pal’s opinion cannot be called the general view of his native country, but was truly his per sonal opinion. In short, one should be careful to read and treat his judgment not as the position of India but as the view of one Asian. A n “ A l m o st B lin din g ” D espair
W ithin Pal’s voluminous separate opinion, one of the most famous passages appears in Part 4, “Over-all Conspiracy.” In this section, Pal argued at length that nothing like the conspiracy the prosecu tion accused the defendants of committing had taken place; meanwhile, the passage in question referred to the Hull Note: Even contemporary historians could think that “as for the pre sent war, the Principality of Monaco, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, would have taken up arms against the United States on receipt of such a note as the State Department sent the Japanese Government on the eve of Pearl Harbour.”13 Who is this particular “contemporary historian,” who, through Judge Pal’s quotation, has survived, as it were, in the historiography of the Tokyo trial? Before probing the identity of this person, I 12. Higurashi Yoshinobu, “Paru hanketsu saiko: Tokyo saiban ni okeru bekko iken no kokusai kankyo” (The Pal Judgment Reconsidered: The International Milieu of the Separate Opinions at the Tokyo Trial), in Ito Takashi, ed., N ihon kindai sh i n o saik ochik u (The Reconstruction of Modern Japanese History) (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1993). 13. Pal, D issentient Ju d gm en t, p. 546.
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th e
Tokyo Trial
would first like to examine a history account that touches on this “historian.” The author of this account is Togo Shigenori, Japan’s foreign minister at the time the Hull Note was delivered. On October 16, 1941, the third cabinet of Konoe Fumimaro re signed en bloc owing to disagreement among its members, and on the 17th Lieutenant General Tojo Hideki, who had been army min ister in the Konoe cabinet, received imperial orders to form a new cabinet. Tojo invited Togo to join the cabinet as foreign minister. At that time Togo did not immediately agree to assume the post; but in a separate meeting with Tojo, the head of a cabinet that, rumor had it, w as going to become a w ar cabinet, he accepted the ap pointment after securing Tojo’s promise that he would cooperate earnestly in carrying out negotiations with the United States. As the new foreign minister, Togo directed his efforts to bringing U.S.Japan negotiations to a successful conclusion, thereby averting w ar between the two countries. During the first week after his appoint ment, he recalled, other than attending meetings of the cabinet and the liaison conference ,14 he devoted all of his time to negotiations with the United States. At a meeting of the liaison conference held at the beginning of November, Togo somehow succeeded in warding off the high com m and’s demand that Japan go to w ar w ith the United States im m ediately. Instead, the conference adopted the so-called Proposals A and B, which became the basis of the Tojo cabinet’s ne gotiations with the United States. Proposal A summed up the views of the Emperor, who desired continued negotiations, and the m ili tary hard-liners; while Proposal B, formed on the basis of a proposal by Shidehara Kijuro, provided for substantial concessions as well as flexible measures. In W ashington, negotiations began at once on the basis of Proposal A. On November 16, Special Ambassador Kurusu Saburo arrived to join Ambassador Nomura Kichisaburo. The Americans at first seemed receptive to Proposal A, but gradu 14. Established during his second cabinet, in July 1940, the liaison conference sought to coordinate the policies of the cabinet and the military high com mand.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
ally their position hardened. Thereupon Togo cabled the embassy to present Proposal B. The negotiations thus entered into a discus sion of Proposal B on November 20. On the 26th, however, Secretary of State Cordell Hull delivered the so-called Hull Note to Ambassadors Kurusu and Nomura. This note was far more un compromising than Japan had expected. It demanded the complete w ithdraw al of Japanese m ilitary and police forces from China and Indochina, the non-recognition of governments in China other than the Chiang Kai-shek regime, and the abrogation of the Tripartite Pact. Foreign M inister Togo had regarded the successful conclusion of U.S.-Japan negotiations as his personal mission and had followed intently the course of talks in Washington. Later, he recalled that, upon receiving the full text of the note, “I was struck by an almost blinding sense of despair.” In another place he remarked: [Concerning] my own state of mind upon receipt of the Hull Note, I can never forget the despair which overpowered me. I had fought and worked unflaggingly until that moment; but I could feel no enthusiasm for the fight thereafter. I tried as it were to close my eyes and swallow the Hull Note whole, as the alterna tive to war, but it stuck in the craw.15 Considering resignation to be nothing but evasion of responsi bility, however, Togo stayed at his post, resolved to strive for peace until the last moment and, in the event w ar broke out, to exert every effort to bring the conflict to an early conclusion. Togo thus ended up remaining in the w ar cabinet and, for that reason, was indicted after the w ar by the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East and sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment. While in jail he com piled the book Jid a i no ichim en (An Aspect of the Times); an English translation of the portion covering his tenure as foreign minister was published in 1956 as The Cause o f Japan . Togo passed aw ay five days after handing the manuscript to his daughter, who 15. Togo Shigenori, T he C ause o f Japan, tr. and ed. Togo Fumihiko and Ben Bruce Blakeney (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1956), p. 188.
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had come to visit him in the prison infirmary. This work was, there fore, a testament on behalf of himself as w ell as Japanese diplomacy. In it, Togo cited several pieces of evidence in arguing that the Americans did not expect Japan to accept the Hull Note, that they regarded it as being tantamount to an ultimatum. Unlike the several clearly identifiable sources he mentions, such as Charles Beard’s President R oosev elt an d the C om ing o f the War and a re port by Togo’s secretary, one reference whose provenance is obscure stands out: . . . an American historian wrote that even a Monaco or Luxemburg would have taken up arms against the United States if it had been handed such a memorandum as that which the State Department presented to the Japanese government.16 This “American historian” undoubtedly gave some comfort to Togo Shigenori, a prisoner on the verge of death, but who in the world was he? T he Identity
of the
“A m erican H ist o r ia n ”
Jid a i no ichim en (An Aspect of the Times) has been reissued sev
eral tim es since it first cam e out in 1 9 5 2 .17 Yet one w ould be hard pressed to say that the book has enjoyed a wide circulation, much less that m any people have taken note of Togo’s reference to “an A m erican h isto rian .” Although one can appreciate the significance of being able to confirm that a criticism of the Hull Note by an American historian reached the person most respon sible for Japanese diplom acy at the time the note w as delivered, in the final analysis it is the Pal opinion that gets the most credit 16. Ibid., p. 187. Translator’s note: I have changed “chronicler” in the above translation to “historian” (rekishika in the Japanese original). 17. The book was first published in an edition of 2,000 copies by Kaizosha and reissued in 1966 by Hara Shobo under the title Togo S h igen ori ga ik o shuki (Diplomatic Memoirs of Togo Shigenori). It was published a third time in 1985, again by Hara Shobo, as jid a i n o ich im en , and then added to the Chuko Bunko series in 1989 as well.
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for dissem inating this h isto rian ’s statem ent. M any com m enta tors, however, have m istaken Pal’s reference to this criticism of the Hull Note for a critique by the judge himself. Since the state ment has quotation m arks, one ought to recognize it as a c ita tion, but people probably become careless in their eagerness to bring up the “au th o rity ” of Justice R adhabinod Pal. A recent book on the H ull Note, for example, contains the following pas sage: At the Tokyo trial, it is said, the Indian judge Pal remarked that, if confronted by something like the Hull Note, even Monaco or Luxemburg would probably have taken up arms. It is not certain to what extent Pal really meant this, but it is a fa mous remark that Japanese who write about this issue almost invariably cite.18 At this rate, the passage cannot help but give the false impression that Judge Pal personally made this statement in the courtroom at Ichigaya. In fact, Chief Justice Webb was the only one of the eleven judges who could speak in court; he did not allow the other jus tices to speak. In addition, the phrase “it is said that he rem arked” is a bit sloppy for the w riting of a specialist; and even if this book is intended for a general audience, is it not the duty of a specialist to check the proceedings and the separate opinion scrupulously when giving such an account? Although one can infer from the use of quotation marks that the statement is probably a citation, there is no indication of the source. In his opinion, Pal bases his arguments on quotations from numer ous books; and, since for many of those citations he does not give the source or the relevant page number, the difficulty of checking the original m aterials is an inconvenience for researchers. After all, what Pal drafted was not an academic treatise but strictly a sepa rate opinion, so there is nothing one can do about it. 18. Sudo Shinji, H am n o to o kaita otok o: N ichi-B ei k aisen ga ik o to “yu k i” sakusen (The Man Who Wrote the Hull Note: U.S.-Japan Diplomacy Leading to War and the “Snow” Strategy) (Tokyo: Bungei Shunju, 1999), p. 177.
17 5
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A sentence that both Judge Pal and Defendant Togo cited, for which neither specified or could specify the source19—wondering if it might not be among the pieces of evidence presented in court, I checked the proceedings, whereupon I discovered a section in the closing argument by the defense in which this statement made its first appearance. This was the part in which defense counsel discussed the Hull Note on M arch 15, 1948. The person delivering this part of the address was none other than Togo Shigenori’s American counsel, Ben Bruce Blakeney: Much breath has been expended in this courtroom in discussion of the topic, “ultimatum.” Whether the Hull Note be character ized as an “ultimatum” is utterly immaterial; it is its effect which concerns us...The Hull Note is a part of history now; let us leave it with a contemporary historian’s words: “As for the present war, the Principality of Monaco, the Grand Duchy of Luxemburg, would have taken up arms against the United States on receipt of such a note as the State Department sent the Japanese Government on the eve of Pearl Harbor” [T43697-43698].
The quotation in this passage is identical to the one that appears in the Pal opinion. According to a note appended to the proceed ings, this sentence is from page 249 of a book entitled M em oirs o f a Superfluous M an, published in 1943 and written by a person named Albert Nock. This is most likely what happened: Blakeney had read this book in the United States prior to his sojourn in Japan and utilized it in his closing argument. Then Pal in his dissenting opinion and Togo in his memoirs made use of the sentence Togo’s attorney had quoted. Blakeney had studied at Harvard Law School and opened a law practice in his home state of Oklahoma; but, called into the army in 1942, he served as head of the Japan section of the Army 19. Unlike the Japanese original, however, T he C ause o f Japan, the English trans lation of the part of Jid a i n o ich im en covering Togo’s tenure as foreign minister, does specify in a note the source of the cited remark by “an American historian”: Togo, T he C ause o f Japan, p. 187, n. 8.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Air Forces Intelligence School. At some point during that time, he had obtained a copy of Nock’s book and undoubtedly brought it with him to Japan. The source reference appended to the proceed ings indicates that he had that book at hand. This sentence in Nock’s work was a criticism of the Hull Note that found its w ay into print during the war. Just what kind of re action did it provoke? And what did the author record in these memoirs? Above all, w hat kind of person was this “historian” by the name of Nock, who called himself “a superfluous m an” ? A n Interdisciplinary C ritic
There is no entry on Nock in the standard reference work Seiyd jinm ei jiten (Dictionary of W estern Biography), let alone in any Japanese encyclopedia. Furthermore, as far as I can tell, there is no mention of him in any of the literature in Japanese. In the follow ing introduction to the man, therefore, I have relied on the entry on Nock in the D ictionary o f A m erican B iog rap h y 20 by Robert M . Crunden, who has himself written a study entitled T he M ind and Art o f A lbert Ja y N o c k .1'
Albert Nock was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, on October 13, 1870, but lived until the age of ten in the New York suburb of Brooklyn. His father was an Episcopal minister. The fam ily subse quently moved to a lumbering town in M ichigan. In 1887 Nock entered St. Stephen’s College, from which he graduated in 1892. Thereafter he enrolled in several graduate schools, including Berkeley Divinity School, but never obtained a graduate degree. Apparently proficient in baseball, he may have played at the semiprofessional level. He married in 1900 and had two children. At his mother’s urging, Nock himself had become a minister in 1897, but in 1909 he left both the ministry and his family and entered the 20. Dictionary of American Biography: Supplement Three, 1941-1945, ed. Edward T. James (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1973), pp. 554-555. 21. Robert M. Crunden, The Mind and Art of Albert Jay Nock (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1964).
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world of journalism . After an in itial stint as a w riter for the Am erican M agazine, he participated actively in the presidential elec tion of 1916 as a member of the W oodrow W ilson cam paign. Following the election, however, “W ilson’s subsequent course so infuriated him that he became an almost purebred philosophical anarchist and scarcely ever said a good word about a living politi cian afterw ard .”22 After working briefly for the N ation , he launched his own magazine, the Freem an, in 1920 with his friend Francis Neilsen. “Nock quickly earned a reputation as an excellent editor, capable of getting the best from his w riters ,”23 Crunden notes. Owing to mounting deficits and his own failing health, he quit the editorial business in 1924. Thereafter, with New York as his base, while frequently retreating to New England or traveling to Brussels, he devoted himself to his own writing. N ock’s essays dealt m ainly w ith education, feminism, morals, and various other social issues. M any of these have been collected in three works: On D oing the Right Thing, Free Speech an d Plain Language, and Snoring as a Fine Art. Of his books, Jefferso n , pub lished in 1926, stands out; this study, which describes Thomas Jefferson’s character and thought, remains an excellent introduc tion. He also wrote a still-useful book on Francis Rabelais. In 1945, two years after the publication of M em oirs o f a Superfluous Man, he died of lymphatic leukemia. After giving a sketch of Nock’s life, Crunden concludes by stating: Nock was one of those figures who achieves minor importance in so many areas that he tends to be passed over by those who study his ideas as part of a sinple discipline. . . . Nock retains a firm if minor place in American intellectual history.24
As people who had an influence on the intellectually versatile N ock, Crunden m entions M atthew A rnold, H erbert Spencer, 22. Ibid., p. 554. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., p.555.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Thomas Jefferson, and Franz Oppenheimer. Blakeney, as well as Pal and Togo, who doubtless based their view on his, considered Nock a “historian.” In calling him that, Blakeney may have had in mind Nock’s study of Jefferson, or, in order to enhance the au thority of his own quotation, he m ay have tried to emphasize the historical side of the m an’s multifaceted work. In fact, Albert Jay Nock appears to have been, properly speaking, an interdiscipli nary critic who would scarcely fit into the category of a historian or the like. R esisting
the
C urrent
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Nock’s memoir, running to 326 pages, is different from an ordi nary book of reminiscences .25 It is neither the retrospection of a person who has won fame and name nor the apologia of a fallen politician. Nock found most disagreeable the w riting of such a conventional autobiography. In the Preface, he notes: I have led a singularly uneventful life, largely solitary, have had little to do with the great of the earth . . . Hence my autobiogra phy would be like the famous chapter on owls in Bishop Pontoppidan’s history of Iceland. The good bishop wrote simply that there are no owls in Iceland, and that one sentence was the whole of his chapter (iii).
Nock, however, received a proposal from his longtime friend, W illiam Flarlowe Briggs of H arper & Brothers, that he write “a history of ideas, the autobiography of a mind in relation to the society in which it found itself” 'iv). Intrigued by this suggestion, he decided to accept the challenge. In the resulting book, he places one or two quotations from classic works at the beginning 25. After M em oirs was published by Harper & Brothers in 1943, it remained out of print until 1964, when it was reissued by Regnery. Since then, several reprint editions have appeared, including one in paperback from University Press of America in 1 9 8 3 .1 have placed in parentheses at the end of the pas sages I have quoted below from Nock’s book the corresponding page numbers in his book.
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of each of the sixteen chapters to indicate, as it w ere, the theme of that chapter. Although he touches on his birth and childhood as w ell as on his parents, he w rites absolutely nothing about his m arriage or his children, and the book seems extrem ely wanting as a source on N ock’s life. Yet, because the w ork depicts social conditions in the W est in the first half of the tw entieth century through the eyes of a self-styled “superfluous” American intellec tual and records at every turn N ock’s candid opinions about edu cational, econom ic, and other m atters, it constitutes a valuable contemporary history. W hat, then, is meant by a “superfluous m an” ? Let me introduce Nock’s own clever simile regarding this phrase: The whole sum of it was that I was like a man who had landed in Greenland with a cargo of straw hats. There was nothing wrong with Greenland or with the hats, and the man might be on the best terms with the Greenlanders in a social way, but there was not the faintest chance of a market for his line of goods (144-145).
In the first half of the twentieth century, the United States w it nessed faith in the mystique of capitalism as epitomized by Henry Ford and tendencies toward excessive materialism. For Nock, who abhorred this kind of “economism,” as he put it, his native coun try, America, was indeed Greenland. Knowing only the philosophy of economism, [America] respected none other, made place for none other. One who represented any other was clearly superfluous in its society (145).
One can no doubt read this rather harsh label of “superfluous m an” as an expression of Nock’s strong belief in his own w ay of life. It brims w ith the attitude of “I w ill not be deterred, though my foes be legion”—in other words, w ith the satisfaction of one who has lived his life resisting the current of the times.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
A lbert N o c k ,
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As a contemporary historian, Nock is noted for having been a re visionist. World W ar I, the first total w ar in history, left deep scars on Europe. Blame for the conflict was laid entirely on Germany, as was obvious from the punitive settlement at Versailles. As early as 1922, in his first book entitled The Myth o f a Guilty N ation , Nock claimed that Germany was not the only one responsible for the out break of the Great W ar. To him, the First W orld W ar seemed but a stage in w hat Spencer had called “the course of rebarbarisation.” This first volume by Nock represented a rather bold challenge to the majority in the United States, for, after the country entered the war, all things German were regarded with such hostility within America that even the Library of Congress hid its German-language books, and Nock’s work carried the risk of being misunderstood as m ak ing a case for German im perialism in defiance of overwhelming public opinion at home. Nock was also an opponent, in the Jeffersonian tradition, of political centralization and criticized both big government and centralization with prose full of passion and wit. In foreign policy he was an isolationist. Thus, w illy-nilly, he came to be regarded as a leader of the conservative intellectuals op posed to President Franklin Roosevelt. In considering the sentence quoted by Blakeney, one must, I think, take into account these views that Nock held. Nock’s criticism of the Hull Note appears in Chapter 13, a chap ter that reveals his historical perspective perfectly. In short, that perspective is that there is no contingency in history: events hap pen because they are supposed to happen. Even in the case of an incident that seems incredibly confused, Nock m aintains, if one looks below the surface, one sees “a spectacle of majestic and nec essary order”; cause and effect are always at work (238). And, as an example of that principle, he explains in the sentence quoted by Blakeney Jap an ’s reaction to the Hull Note. Needless to say, as a Japanese reader, I looked forward to com ing across interpretations of Japan by Nock, but regrettably about
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the only reference he makes to the country throughout his memoir is the sentence that Blakeney cited; in one other place, he merely mentions as one example of imperialist activity in the latter part of the nineteenth century Japan’s acquisition of “tremendous profits” through the Sino-Japanese W ar (104).
After commenting on the Hull Note, Nock gives his own view of the Second World W ar: Knowing its antecedents, one could regard the current war only as one did the last, as an incident in a long and regular se quence of cause and effect. It is so completely in order, so com pletely in the natural succession of things, that one can feel lit tle concern with its fortuitous ups-and-downs or with its immediate outcome. . . . After the war of 1914, Western society lived at a much lower level of civilisation than before. This was what interested me. Military victory and military defeat made no difference whatever with this outcome; they meant merely that the waves were run ning this way or that w a y .. . . Therefore this war, like the last, has held no interest for me. I have had no curiosity about its progress, have read nothing of it, and all I have heard has been casual (249-250).
Thus, for Nock, who repeatedly expounded the inevitability of his tory, W orld W ar II was likewise nothing but an “incident” in “the course of rebarbarisation.” Given this viewpoint, he did not pub lish a fuller explication of his thoughts on the w ar. Or rather, to be precise, as I w ill explain below, he was deprived of the opportunity to do so. O n J ustice
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One m ay fairly call Nock, who held wide-ranging historical and cultural interests, a cosmoplitan in a broad sense, his call for isola tionism notwithstanding. Then how exactly w as this attitude fostered in him?
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Until he turned fourteen, Nock’s school consisted of his fam ily and his neighborhood. His preacher father taught him the rudi ments of classical languages. Thus did Nock enter the worlds of Greece and Rome. M editation s by the Roman philosopher-em peror M arcus A urelius w as apparently a lifelong favorite. W ith his likin g for the classics, he soon developed a certain w ay of looking at history, namely, to trace it from the present gradually back to the past. Nock noted that, in his mid-twenties, he applied this m ethod in studying not only the p o litical history of the United States but also the contemporary histories of other coun tries. Doing so enabled him to view Am erica’s im perialist policies beginning w ith the Spanish-Am erican W ar from the standpoint of comparative history. My classical studies had thoroughly acquainted me with these phenomena of the old days around the Mediterranean, and I had as yet seen nothing to suggest any essential difference between modern imperialism and the imperialism which I had studied and understood. Thus I was able to read between the lines of stan dard American historical writing, even such as was dished up for the young in our educational institutions.. . . I emerged with the conviction that at least on this one item of imperialism, our po litical history from first to last was utterly disgraceful (103-104).
During his late teens and early twenties, Nock had another ex perience that exerted a great formative influence on his view of life. This was the five-year period he spent in college. The depiction he offers in his memoir of his undergraduate life is enough to convince the reader that he must have passed those days in total content ment. At the college, emphasis was placed on proper speech, with fellow students calling each other not by first name but by surname preceded by “M ister”; and the instructors, besides being scholars, were, above all, gentlemen. Nock recalls that w hat he learned from his college education was justice: We learned not only that justice is always the same in small mat ters as in great, but we also learned thoroughly the consequent
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lesson which seems so unaccountably hard for Anglo-Saxons ever to learn, that justice is always the same in the case of men and things you do not like, as in the case of those you do like (77).
In this w ay, the foundation for the cosmopolitanism that Nock w ould later display w as formed during his school years. W hat, then, was America to this man who called his own country’s history “utterly disgraceful” and criticized the Hull Note? W as his home land simply an object of scorn to him? A curious opinion prevails, writes Nock, that a person who leaves his country, as he himself often did, is unpatriotic and dis loyal to the state, but he notes that he could not understand this opinion: What is patriotism? Is it loyalty to a spot on a map . . . the spot where one was born? But birth is a pure accident; surely one is in no way responsible for having been born on this spot or on that. . . . Is it loyalty to a set of political jobholders . . . ? I should say it depends entirely on what the jobholders are like and what they d o .. . . What is one’s country?. . . As a general principle, I should put it that a man’s country is where the things he loves are most respected (145-146).
As indicated earlier, the person who brought Nock’s name into the Tokyo trial, citing him as a critic of the Hull Note, w as the de fense attorney Blakeney. Undoubtedly he quoted Nock as proof that criticism of the Hull Note actually existed in the United States and that Japan had had good reason to regard the note as an ulti matum. But I wonder if Blakeney, as he read this passage from the memoirs, did not feel rather sympathetic toward Nock’s position, for the attorney, who would even attack his homeland in court for the sake of a defendant from an erstwhile enemy, continually had the issue of patriotism on his mind. As I w ill discuss in the next chapter, Blakeney felt it was his legal duty to criticize the United States, when necessary, in the interests of his client, but if he suf fered any internal conflict at all over that duty, N ock’s sentence must surely have given him encouragement.
J udge R adhabinod Pal and A lbert N ock
Returning to Nock, if one reads his discussion of patriotism to gether with the statement he makes a few paragraphs later that “I have alw ays a regard for the America I had known in my earlier years” (147), then w hat he intended by that discussion becomes clear. Here one can see both a refutation of the shallow assertion that patriotism naturally manifests itself in cooperation with state leaders and—although Nock refrains from naming people—a sharp criticism of the contemporary holders of political power. Following the anthropologist Franz Oppenheimer, Nock viewed the state as an organization by which a handful of people exploit the rest; hence, as long as he lived, he regarded nationalism as the enemy. T he L a st D ays
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As Roosevelt succeeded in whipping up w ar sentiment among the American people by declaring Jap an ’s raid on Pearl H arbor a “treacherous attack,” his popularity soared. Yet those were difficult days for Nock as a writer. Around the time W orld W ar II began in Europe in 1939, the Atlantic and C om m en tator magazines were still offering Nock opportunities to publish his writing. After the outbreak of w ar w ith Japan, however, the leading journals no longer carried his essays. Accordingly, Nock temporarily gave up writing. It was under these circumstances, then, that he received the proposal from his old friend to write his memoirs. M em oirs was published in 1943, by which time the United States had clearly gained the upper hand in its w ar with Japan. Severe crit icism of the book was expected, but the reviews turned out to be generally favorable. The one that appeared in the September 25 issue of the N ew Y orker read: Mr. Nock is a highly civilized man who does not like our civi lization and will have no part of it. He is a rare bird, one of an al most extinct species, and, as he very properly puts it, a superflu ous one. We are not apt to see his like again.26 26. Review by Clifton Fadiman, N ew Yorker , September 25, 1943, p. 80.
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Nock, who wrote that “this w ar . . . has held no interest for m e,” passed aw ay on August 19, 1945, just after the Allies had gained victory over Japan. The N ew York Tim es did not carry an obituary on this “superfluous m an” who had continuously opposed the state. In the Preface to M em oirs , Nock had stated: “I do not think [this book] . . . would interest many people or benefit anybody . . . ” (iv). Nevertheless, thanks to Blakeney, Pal, and Togo, his critique of the Hull Note would transcend time and space and be imparted to future students of the history of U.S.-Japan relations.
Chapter 8
Justice Across the Ocean: Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney
S peaking
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On M ay 14, 1946, a light rain fell in the Tokyo area. The International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East had entered its fifth day of proceedings. A little before 10:30 in the morning, Ben Bruce Blakeney, counsel for Defendant Umezu Yoshijiro, brought to a close the supplementary motion he had introduced that day: The Chief Prosecutor assumes to speak for America in urging upon this Tribunal the acceptance of this Indictment as drawn. Those of us American defense counsel who wear the uniform of the armed forces of our country, I think, also have the right to speak for America. We speak for American, for Anglo-Saxon, for Anglo-American, for democratic views of justice, of fair play. We speak for the proposition that observing legal forms, while ig noring the essence of legal principles, is the supreme atrocity against the law. . . . By a trial founded upon such a dubious ju risdiction as this, we may, indeed, prove anew the power of the victor over the vanquished; but we cannot hope to add luster to our repute for attachment to justice and law [T214-215].
Having taken the floor after George Furness, attorney for Shigemitsu M am oru, had argued the necessity of appointing jus tices from neutral countries to ensure the im partiality of the trial, 187
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Blakeney had begun by stating: “By leave of the Tribunal, I am M ajor Blakeney” [T201]. Thus did Blakeney, whom the British statesman Lord Hankey would later call “the doyen of the [defense] group ,”1 m ake his debut. The gist of his supplementary motion, some fourteen typewritten pages in length, was as follows: W ar is not a crime, for international laws and regulations concerning w ar exist, and w ar is regarded as legal. In addition, w ar is an act of a state, not of individuals. Therefore, it is wrong to charge individu als w ith responsibility for w ar and to judge them on that basis. Furthermore, as long as w ar is legal, killing in w ar is also “legalized killing,” and only a m ilitary court can pass judgment on violations of the laws of w ar, whereas this tribunal is clearly not an ordinary m ilitary court appropriate for the trial of such offenses. W hile making these points in his motion, Blakeney drew atten tion by taking up Am erica’s dropping of the atomic bomb as an example of w ar as legalized killing and asking rhetorically if the re sponsible chief of staff as well as head of state, that is, the president, had any sense at all of having committed murder. The next day’s A sabi newspaper lost no time in commenting on this point: Do the casualties suffered at Hiroshima due to the atomic bomb not amount to murder? The indictment of the Tokyo Tribunal lists crimes against peace and crimes against humanity. If the killing of Admiral Kidd and the other American troops by the at tack on Pearl Harbor is murder, then what about the killing caused by the atomic bomb? On the fifth day of the Tokyo Tribunal, the American attorney Blakeney posed this question in his explanation of the motion by defense counsel.
The paper then noted: “As m ight be expected of a highly legal m atter, the argum ent turned out to be purely scholarly, with the result that it was not very interesting.” Yet, in spite of the A sabi ’ s contention in this regard, Blakeney’s statement evoked quite a re action. The American Bar Association, for instance, took notice 1.
Lord Hankey, P olitics, Trials a n d E rrors (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1950), p. 111.
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and published the entire text in its jo u rn al .2 It added the com ment that Blakeney’s argum ent was “an outstanding demonstra tion of the law yer’s performance of the traditions of his profes sion to say all that can be said in behalf of his client’s cause, to the end that justice m ay be done according to law .”3 At first the defendants “simply thought that [the American at torneys] would be of service mainly in mediating between Japanese counsel and the court.”4 Yet, the statements that Blakeney and his associate made in the courtroom that day, calling for justice under the law and pointing up the defects of the trial, left a deep impres sion. The trial, however, was only five days old, and there was no telling w hat the future might hold. In his prison diary, Shigemitsu simply recorded: “The American counsel proceeded with their fer vent arguments” (Sugamo 12). Outside the courtroom, where chaos in the aftermath of defeat reigned, “miserable conditions with ra tions delayed by a week to ten days” (Sugamo 12) continued on a daily basis. A n O fficer
in the
O ccupation A r m y
One day in September 1945, a jeep stopped in front of the resi dence of Kagami Yoshiyuki and his wife A iko, who had taken refuge in Atami during the w ar .5 The driver was an American of ficer of the Allied Occupation Forces in his m id-thirties. He had brought along a local policeman as a guide but was kind enough to take him back to his police box. M r. Kagami, an executive of the NYK Line who had studied in England and also served in New York, received the American with fluent English. The officer 2.
3. 4.
5.
Major Ben Bruce Blakeney, “International Military Tribunal: Argument for Motions to Dismiss,” A m erican Bar A ssociation Jo u rn a l, vol. 32 (August 1946), pp. 475-477, 523. Ibid., p. 475. Shigemitsu Mamoru, “Senso o ato ni shite” (After the War), S higem itsu M am oru shuk i (Memoirs), ed. Ito Takashi and Watanabe Yukio (Tokyo: Chuo Koronsha, 1986), p. 623. The following account is based on Kagami Aiko, interview by the author, March 10, 1992.
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introduced him self as Ben Bruce Blakeney and said that he had come on behalf of a M axw ell Kleiman, who was concerned about their well-being. Kleiman had formerly served as a consulting at torney to the NYK and had been on friendly terms w ith the Kagam i fam ily. After returning to the United States, he had taught Japanese at the Arm y language school, where Blakeney had been one of his students, devoting eight hours a day to inten sive training in Japanese under Kleiman’s guidance. Upon arriving in Jap an as a member of the O ccupation Forces, Blakeney had used every possible means to find out the K agam is’ place of refuge and had come all the w ay to Atami to see them. For most people in Atam i, it w as the first time they had ever set eyes on a soldier of the O ccupation arm y, and reportedly some children even cried out, “M acA rthur has com e!” From that point on, Blakeney, like his teacher Kleiman, also became friends w ith the Kagamis. Ben Bruce Blakeney was born in Shawnee, Oklahoma, on July 30, 1908.6 His father w as a law yer. After graduating from the University of O klahom a, he attended H arvard Law School and earned his law degree there in 1933. He then returned to his home state to practice law in Oklahoma City; he also worked as a legal adviser to a local oil company. Called into the army in 1942, he headed the Japan section in the Army Air Forces Intelligence School. Once the Pacific W ar ended, he went to Japan as an officer in the Occupation forces. Thanks to his participation as an American counsel in the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, his name was to live on in the history of the Showa period. 6.
For Blakeney’s life history, I have relied on Tanaka Hideo, “Bureikuni sen sei no koto” (On Mr. Blakeney), in Ei-Bei ho to Nihon ho (Anglo-American Law and Japanese Law) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1988); Moriya Yoshiteru, “Bureikuni sensei no kingyo to Bei ho kenkyii shiryo ni tsuite” (On Mr. Blakeney’s Recent Work and Materials for the Study of American Law), in Hikaku ho zasshi (Comparative Law Review), vol. 1, no. 1 (1951); “Bureikuni bengonin” (Counsel Blakeney), in Tokyo saiban handobukku (Handbook on the Tokyo Trial) (Tokyo: Aoki Shoten, 1989); and Yoshida Toshi, interview by the author, March 13, 1992.
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At the beginning of the Occupation, Ota Saburo of the Foreign M inistry was in charge of liaison with Occupation headquarters concerning plans for a “w ar crimes trial .”7 Since the Japanese de fense attorneys were unfamiliar with Anglo-American law, he came up w ith the idea of having American counsel assist them at the Tokyo Tribunal. When Ota discussed the idea with Keenan, the chief prosecutor gave his approval. Ota then sent a written request to Chief Justice Webb. At a joint conference, the judges decided to grant the request and to have the Occupation forces shoulder the expense. It was not until the middle of M ay 1946, after the trial had opened, that the American counsel were all present. They came from a variety of places: some were recruited directly from the United States, others like Blakeney were already in Japan as part of the Occupation army, and Furness arrived from M anila, where he had served as defense counsel in the trial of Lieutenant General Flonma M asaharu. All they received, however, w as an order to “proceed to Tokyo to undertake the defense of w ar crim inals” but no instructions whatever as to the line of defense they were to take .8 After the defendants had consulted with their Japanese attorneys, “each chose and requested one [American counsel] he considered appropriate .”9Shigemitsu decided to request Furness. Later he re called: I placed importance on obtaining a suitable American counsel, concluding that, in the final analysis, everything would depend on whether you could make yourself understood in such a trial. That conclusion was not mistaken.10
Blakeney took charge of General Umezu Yoshijiro’s defense, but he also showed great interest in the case of Togo Shigenori, for eign m inister at the beginning and end of the w ar; and perhaps 7. Sumimoto Toshio, S en ryo h irok u (Secret Memoirs of the Occupation) (Tokyo: Chuo Koronsha, 1988), p. 597. 8. Ibid. 9. Shigemitsu, “Senso o ato ni shite,” p. 623. 10. Ibid., p. 624.
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partly because Togo’s American attorney, George Yam aoka, was B lakeney’s friend, when Y am aoka sw itched to another defen dant, Blakeney assumed Togo’s defense as w ell, in July 1946." N onfiction W
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While he was still in his twenties, Blakeney published two articles in the journal of his home state’s bar association .112And in 1942, the year of his enlistment, he contributed another article in three in stallments to the organ of the American Bar Association .13 He thus made a name for himself not only as a practitioner but also as a scholar of law. But, after all, these were journals for specialists, not readily available to laymen. Blakeney the lawyer became known to the entire nation as Blakeney the writer when he authored a sevenpage article on Emperor Kang Te of M anchukuo entitled “Pu Y i.” The article appeared in the July 16, 1945 issue of L ife m agazine .14 It was a timely piece, published when many Americans expected M anchuria to become the final, decisive battleground in the w ar against Japan. L ife being a magazine with a general readership, the article has no references to the materials Blakeney used, but he probably con sulted such sources as Tw ilight in the F orbidden City (1934) by Reginald F. Johnston, Pu Yi’s English tutor ,15 and newspaper re ports of Americans who interviewed the emperor himself. In the article, Blakeney describes Pu Y i’s life to that point in a restrained style, showing how he had continued to be a puppet of fate since the 11. Togo Ise, interview by the author, March 5, 1992. 12. Ben Bruce Blakeney, “Relation of the State Bar to the Public,” Oklahoma State Bar Journal, vol. 6 (May 1935), pp. 24-25; “Unauthorized Practice of Law,” Oklahoma State Bar Journal, vol. 6, p. 125 (October 1935), pp. 149-152 (November 1935), pp. 175-176 (December 1935), vol. 7, p. 78 (July 1936). 13. Ben Bruce Blakeney, “The Old Court of Appeals,” American Bar Association Journal, vol. 28, pp. 167-171 (March 1942), pp. 259-262 (April 1942), pp. 329-331 (May 1942). 14. Ben Bruce Blakeney, “Pu Yi,” Life, vol. 19, no. 3, July 16, 1945, pp. 78-82, 84, 86. 15. Published in London by Victor Gollancz Ltd.
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empress dowager Tzu Hsi had installed him as emperor of China when he was only two years old. Blakeney introduces several anec dotes about Pu Yi, such as that he adopted the English name “Henry” for himself out of admiration for Henry VIII of England; and for the average reader, the piece offers a brief and accessible portrait of Pu Yi. After noting that the Japanese army took good care of the deposed Qing emperor not out of altruism but because it thought he would be useful when the time came for it to take over M anchuria, Blakeney writes: There are variorum [sic] stories of his journey to Manchuria. According to his own story he went, voluntarily and eagerly, for two simple purposes: to restore Manchu sovereignty and end the exploitation of the people by the war-lord dynasty of the Changs (Tso-lin and his son Hsueh-liang) and to vindicate himself after every term of his abdication agreement had been violated or dis regarded by the Republic. He went to Manchuria late in 1931. The Chinese, upon learn ing of it, denounced him as a traitor and ordered his arrest, but he was beyond reach.1617
Ju st as the K wantung Army had intended, Pu Yi became Emperor of M anchukuo, but it w as an empty title: “The w orst of life in Hsingking [the capital] w as, to Pu Yi, that he had noth ing to do. . . . He w as to exist as a sym b o l. . . . He signed the p a pers, he graced state functions .” 1 Though he aspired to be “a real ru ler,” Pu Yi w as never able to become one. Blakeney con cludes: He has always liked Americans and admired America. Now, the Japanese tell him, he is at war with America and he must pray for its downfall. If he were a fool or a rogue he would de serve our contempt. But he is neither rogue nor fool. He is a man who has never had a chance to be a man, who throughout
16. Blakeney, “Pu Yi,” p. 81. 17. Ibid., p. 84.
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life has danced on a puppet’s strings, the dupe of others, a man whose destiny has eluded him. We may pity him. His only pos sible future is to lose his third throne and, quite probably this time, his life as well. Whatever justice he may see in his own course, to millions of Chinese he is an unparalleled traitor. We may pity him, but we should not try to save him.18
Blakeney thus wrote that, with the collapse of M anchukuo, Pu Yi would likely forfeit his life. But, in yet another twist of fate, the last emperor of China would in fact survive and end up confronting none other than Ben Bruce Blakeney. T he K abu ki A c t o r
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Following Chief Prosecutor Keenan’s opening statement on June 4, 1946, the Tokyo T ribunal entered the prosecution phase of testimony, and a succession of witnesses took the stand. The first to cause a stir both in and out of court w as T anaka R yukichi, who testified during the m ilitary aggression in M anchuria phase of the trial. A former m ajor general, T an aka inform ed against one erstwhile colleague after another and incurred the revulsion of the m ilitary defendants. One even recorded in his prison diary: “T anaka has revealed himself as a beast w ith a human face. His treasonous behavior cannot be condemned too strongly .” 19 N ext to attract attention w as the former em peror of M anchukuo, Pu Yi. His turn as a prosecution witness began on August 16, 1946, during the phase of testim ony on the circum stances concerning the establishm ent of M anchukuo. At first, members of the defense counsel, “out of respect for the fact that Pu Yi had formerly been the im perial m ajesty of the allied nation M anchukuo, had curiously agreed not to cross-exam ine him .”20 18. Ibid., p. 86. 19. Itagaki Seishiro Kankokai, ed., Hiroku Itagaki S eishiro (Secret Memoirs of Itagaki Seishiro) (Tokyo: Fuyo Shobo, 1972), p. 375. 20. Shimanouchi Tatsuoki, T ok yo saiban (The Tokyo Trial) (Tokyo: Nihon Hyoronsha, 1984), p. 184.
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But, once they realized his line of testimony was that he had been pressured by the K wantung Army to assume the em perorship and, while holding that position, had been unable to exercise any free w ill, they changed course and decided that “there is no longer an y need to show deference to Pu Yi; each counselor should cross-examine as he pleases .”21 Over a period of five and a h alf days, no fewer than seven Japanese and A m erican mem bers of the defense counsel cross-examined Pu Yi. The first was Counsel Uzawa Somei. A noted legal scholar who served as president of M eiji University and was well versed in the Chinese classics, Uzawa had been present at the trial as head of the Japanese defense team but had not received any attention until then. He cross-examined Pu Yi more from the standpoint of a scholar of Chinese classics than that of a lawyer. For the most part, he asked questions like: Do you think it is possible to create even in our time “a Utopia land, W angtao, or the Kingly W ay” of Emperors Kan Xi and Qian Long? When Chief Justice Webb broke in to say, “This is too remote to be of any value to the Tribunal,” Uzawa replied, “As a matter of fact, an old man such as I have [sic] been very much sur prised and astonished by the modernity of this Court and had hoped that a little bit of Oriental culture injected into the proceedings might be of some benefit” [T4055], whereupon he stepped down from the podium. At Ichigaya, Anglo-American law held sway, as did English as the language of the court, but more than anything else this was a world of “logic and speed .”22When Webb heard the simulataneous translation of Uzawa’s remark, he must in turn have felt “surprised” by the translated statement. Blakeney took the podium next. Having w ritten in L ife m aga zine that the collapse of Manchukuo would likely mean the end of Pu Y i’s life, Blakeney came face to face with him in Japan just one year after the publication of his essay. Blakeney stood for cross-ex am ination because his charge, Defendant Umezu, was subject to the counts of indictment concerning M anchukuo as commander of 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 28.
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the Kwantung Army. But as someone who had done research on Pu Yi, he was certainly fit for the part. B lakeney’s cross-exam ination lasted three days, extending from the afternoon of August 20 until after 2 p.m. on the 22nd. He began by introducing and confirming historical facts concern ing Pu Yi, such as those he had referred to in his L ife m agazine article, w hile asking the ex-em peror about his state of mind on various occasions. The questions were along the following lines: As a result of the Chinese Republic’s failure to fulfill the terms by which you abdicated, did you not come to harbor anim osity to w ard the governm ent? In taking this line of in quiry, of course, Blakeney w as establishing a premise for draw ing the conclusion that Pu Yi had ascended the throne of M anchukuo w illingly. For his part, Pu Yi responded cleverly, giving a ready answer, for in stance, to the question of w hether he thought conditions in M anchuria under the rule of Chang Tso-lin and his son Chang Hsueh-liang were good or bad: “W hat is the criterion of com par ison? If you w an t me to say good or bad I have to have some thing to base [it] on” [T4061]. M eanw hile, he evaded questions m eant to confirm key historical facts by replying, “I can not re call th a t” [T4071]. Before long Blakeney moved on to confirm w hat appeared to be trivial facts of history. When the chief jus tice interrupted im patiently w ith the statem ent “ I thought you were not seeking inform ation but trying to destroy cred it” [T4088], the attorney began explaining the position he was taking in his cross-examination: Implicit in the entire testimony of this witness is the suggestion reiterated by him from the stand that he was a reluctant monarch. Woven through the entire fabric of his testimony is the suggestion that all he did was done under duress . . . [T4088],
Sounding just like the speech of an actor appearing on stage, this statem ent has both rhythm and style. M igita M asao , assistant counsel to Defendant Hoshino N aoki, later wrote: “I believe one can say that he [Blakeney] raised the literary quality of the Tokyo
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trial proceedings to a higher level.”23 The above statement is un doubtedly a classic example of the American attorney’s rhetorical skill. And, as Blakeney concluded, if he could demonstrate that Pu Yi had not acted under duress, he could have him discredited as a witness and the prosecution’s case w ould likely collapse. It was truly a statement embodying the “world of logic.” Blakeney’s cross-examination of Pu Yi came to a turning point in the afternoon of the 21st. A signed letter addressed to Army M inister M inam i Jiro was thrust before the ex-emperor. Pu Yi had expressed in the letter his desire to be restored to the throne; the prime minister of M anchukuo had certified on the letter that it was in Pu Y i’s own handwriting, and it had also been stamped with the imperial seal. While m aintaining throughout that this letter was a “fake one,” Pu Yi appeared to be totally disconcerted, for, if he had acknowledged the letter to have been in his own hand, then his argument that he was a reluctant monarch would have collapsed. Shigemitsu wrote in his diary that day: In court, Blakeney’s cross-examination reached a climax; it lasted the whole day, and Pu Yi’s true character was finally ex posed. Blakeney had studied Pu Yi at length and a year or two ago had even written about him in Life magazine. Observing his cross-examination was like watching a great kabuki perfor mance (Sugamo 33). F inally, on the 22nd, Blakeney asked if Pu Yi knew that the Chinese governm ent had plans to try him as a w ar crim inal for having cooperated with the Japanese. When Keenan immediately objected, stating, “Prosecution objects to that question as being irrelevant to any of the issues in this case . . . ” [T4145], Blakeney rejoined: This witness says that in the past he falsified facts under duress; therefore, by clarifyin g his present status and fram e of mind, we n atu rally can tell how credible his statem ents in this courtroom are [T4146]. In other w ords, he reasoned, if Pu Yi is 23. Migita Masao, “Atogaki” (Afterword), H ogaku sh in p o ([Chuo University] Law Review), vol. 56, no. 4 (1949), p. 226.
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currently also under duress, then he is not telling the truth. This, too, was a scene epitomizing the court as a “world of logic.” A G reat M
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Nishi H aruhiko, Japanese counsel to Togo Shigenori, recalled: Truth, truth, nothing but truth ’ w as M r. Blakeney’s motto .”24 His modus operandi was to seek the truth, speak logically, and em ploy rhetoric as well. He would say what he had to say, but he never assumed an attitude of defiance toward the chief justice, as the other American defense attorneys often did; rather, his w ay was to speak with all due courtesy so as to have his position understood. At one point he had the following exchange with Chief Justice Webb, who was trying to speed up the trial: The President: . . . My concern is to save time. Mr. Blakeney: My concern is to save my clients’ lives [T32026].
The counsel’s ready use of the verb “save” here was nothing short of brilliant. As the trial went on, Blakeney played an increasingly active role, earning a growing reputation for his ability. In Shigemitsu’s prison diary, compliments for Blakeney begin to appear frequently. When the trial opened, the American was considered an unknown quan tity; but, by the time Furness left for Europe to gather evidence, Shigemitsu decided w ithout hesitation to entrust his case to Blakeney (Sugamo 79). It was not just the Japanese side that w as bestowing compli ments. During the court session on M ay 12, 1947, the chief justice declared that the defense counsel appeared to be deliberately de laying the distribution of the text of its opening statement for the Soviet phase of the trial and that at least one judge felt concern that the defense was going to make propaganda for Japan and slander 24. Nishi Haruhiko, K aiso n o N ihon ga ik o (Reminiscences on Japanese Diplomacy) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho, 1965), p. 133. The italicized portion appears in English in the original.
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the Soviet Union. Blakeney responded by reproaching the bench for making such a sweeping criticism in advance and by pointing out instances in which the prosecution had been late in distributing docum ents. The chief justice w as unable to come up w ith a counterargument [T21871-21873]. The next day’s Pacific Stars and Stripes carried a front-page report under the headline “Blakeney Wins Argument Concerning Discussion of Defense Presentation.” On June 4, 1947, the trial was in the middle of the Soviet phase. In court, the affidavit of the Japanese am bassador to the Soviet Union, Sato Naotake, was introduced; in his deposition, Sato noted that the Soviet government had repeatedly given assurance to Japan that it would abide by the Japanese-Soviet N eutrality Pact. The Soviet prosecutor argued that his nation’s entry into the w ar was a result of the Tehran and Y alta conferences and that accepting a document claiming that the Soviet Union had broken a neutrality pact with the aggressor nation Japan would be tantamount to pass ing judgment on the Soviet Union; he therefore requested that the affidavit be rejected [T23565-23568]. Blakeney countered by as serting that it contravened the principles of fair play and justice for the Soviet Union, the violator of the neutrality pact, to try to pros ecute and convict Japan. If, as the prosecutor stated, a country that attacked another country without justification was an aggressor na tion, then the Soviet Union fell into that category since it had opened hostilities against Japan only because the other Allies had requested that it do so [T23569-23574], After a lengthy adjournm ent, the chief justice announced the court’s ruling that testimony concerning the Soviet Union’s entry into the w ar was irrelevant to the trial. In the end, “the fact that the victors unilaterally selected the [trial] m aterials indicated perfectly that the M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East was a one-sided m ilitary trial by the victors” (Sugamo 202). Shigemitsu brought to a close his diary entry for that day as follows: Blakeney’s statements in court today were truly the highlight of the Far Eastern tribunal, and he looked like a great lawyer, a great man from Oklahoma. Before him, both the prosecutor and the
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Blakeney’s activities in the courtroom, such as having Colonel Rufus S. Bratton of the U.S. Army testify to the fact that Japanese telegrams were intercepted [T26245], were too many to enumerate. But what exactly was the source of his attitude as a defense attor ney that, if it was in his client’s interests, he would not hesitate even to introduce evidence unfavorable to his home country? Shimanouchi Tatsuoki, counsel for Defendant Oshima Hiroshi, writes as follows; Why did they work so earnestly to defend suspected war criminals from an enemy country? It was not because the defendants or their families had implored them to give their all. Even if their de fense had succeeded and their clients had been found innocent, they could not have expected contingency fees from anyone, let alone from their impoverished defendants.. . . They acted in such good faith merely out of their own sense of duty and honor.25
T akikaw a M asajiro, an assistant counsel to Defendant Shimada Shigetaro, went a step further: We are profoundly grateful for the effort and spirit of devotion to justice on the part of the American counsel and wish to show our respect for the humanitarianism of the United States, which provided us with such counsel. . . . I believe there is something great about this nation in the fact that, even if Americans criti cize U.S. policy, they do not regard it as harming the prestige of the state.26
25. Shimanouchi, p. 70. 26. Sumimoto, pp. 600-601.
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Blakeney’s own view on the matter can be found in the trial pro ceedings. In his closing argument for the phase dealing with U.S.-Japan negotiations leading up to the w ar, he clarified his own attitude as follows: Another tendency which one has been able to note during these proceedings is that of insinuating that defense counsel, when their duty has required them to suggest that the conduct of their own country was something less than impeccable, have been guilty of gratuitous lapses from good taste, if not of something unpatriotic or, it may be, bordering on the treasonable. To such suggestions a lawyer is and ever has been contemptuously impervious; how ever ungrateful the duty, it is there to be done [T43497].
One might well view this passage as an expression of Blakeney’s “w ay of the law yer.” The Tokyo Tribunal issued its verdict on November 12, 1948. All the defendants were pronounced guilty, including even Shigemitsu, who, it had been thought, would likely be found inno cent. Blakeney and the other American defense attorneys wept over the judgment. But for Blakeney this was not the end. He submitted to M ac Arthur an appeal, dated November 21, on behalf of all de fense counsel. W hile draw ing on the opinions of the dissenting judges, this appeal, written in lucid and expressive prose, pointed out that “the trial was unfair” and “the verdict is not based on the evidence.” And it concluded: If we hope for a world organized under law and operating under the rule of law and the principles of justice, we must not ourselves be guilty of atrocities against the law and justice. No good, but only pyramided evil, will come from the verdict of this Tribunal as it now stands.27
M acArthur rejected this request for a reexamination of the ver dict. But the stance Blakeney displayed here coincided perfectly with the position he had taken two years earlier at the time of his 27. Hankey, p. 116.
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trial debut. Chief Prosecutor Keenan, in his opening statement, de scribed the action of the Tokyo Tribunal as a “determined battle of civilizatio n ” and set out a fram ew ork w hereby the “civilized” Allies would pass judgment on “barbaric” Japan. The Japanese side responded by presenting its own in terpretation, one that would take the place of this framework, and at times it tried to in troduce a kind of comparative-culture argument. This is where the Tokyo Tribunal was a point of contact between different cultures. Yet, at the point of contact, the Japanese had to make their rebut tals in English and return fire according to the rules of AngloAmerican law. In other words, they were compelled to fight using the legal logic of their opponents. Under these circumstances, the Am erican defense attorneys, who w ere n atu rally fam iliar w ith Anglo-American law and with the situation on the Western side, were indispensable. In a court judging the enemy Japan over a pe rio d of tw o and a h alf y e a rs, the A m erican defense counsel Blakeney consistently sought justice and fair play. In the Tokyo Tribunal, this man ended up playing the role, one might say, of a buffer or bridge between two cultures. T he A rtist
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In Natsume Soseki’s novel Sanshiro , first published serially in the A sahi newspaper in 1908, the protagonist, Ogawa Sanshiro, is in vited by M ineko to go to the “Tanseikai Group’s exhibit.” At the show, they are particularly struck by the work of a pair of artists: Many of the paintings were by a brother and sister who had traveled abroad extensively. Their works bore the same surname, and their paintings hung together. Mineko stopped in front of one. “This must be Venice,” she said. Sanshiro could tell that much. It was so Venice-like. He wanted to take a ride in a gondola.28 28. Natsume Soseki, S anshiro: A N ovel, tr. Jay Rubin (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 1977), p. 144.
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Soseki modeled his fictional show on the sixth exhibition of the Pacific Art Association (Taiheiyo G akai), held in Ueno that year. The models for the “brother and sister” were Yoshida Hiroshi and his sister-in-law Fujio, who caused a sensation by having 226 works from their stay in Europe and America displayed at the exhibition. To be exact, the two of them, having married the year before, were “husband and w ife.” Concerning this “sketching trip ,” Yoshida himself published a record of their travels immediately after they re turned home. When it comes to painting in Venice, foreigners begin by depict ing the famous “canal side streets,” as they are called. Because I am sensitive to cold, I spread my canvas where I could bask in the sun, while sister set up her tripod at the corner of a small wa terway about two blocks from where I was. That place is a par ticularly famous spot, one where every artist who comes to Venice invariably does one painting, and all about are daubs of paint. But, since the place is never bathed in sunshine from morning till night, she was shivering as she painted, complaining about how cold it was; so starting with her next picture, just like me, she ended up basking in the sun.29
Yoshida Hiroshi, who gave the title “Delightful Venice” to the section describing his impressions of that city, was born in 1876 in the city of Kurume in present-day Fukuoka prefecture .30While he was studying at the Shuyukan M iddle School, his ability was rec ognized by the draw ing instructor, an artist of W estern-style painting named Yoshida Kasaburo, who adopted the young man as his son. In 1894 Hiroshi went to Tokyo and entered a private art 29. Yoshida Hiroshi, Amerika Afurika Yoroppa shasei ryoko (A Sketching Tour of America, Africa, and Europe) (Tokyo: Hakubunkan, 1907), p. 222. 30. For biographical information on Yoshida, I have relied on Ito Tadashi, “Suisai gaka to shite no Yoshida Hiroshi” (Yoshida Hiroshi as a Watercolor Painter), in Nihon no suisai ga: Yoshida Hiroshi (Japanese Watercolor Painting: Yoshida Hiroshi) (Tokyo: Daiichi Hoki, 1989); and Yasunaga Koichi, “Yoshida Hiroshi: hito to geijutsu” (Yoshida Hiroshi: The Man and His Art), in Yoshida Hiroshi zen mokuhanga shu (Complete Woodblock Prints of Yoshida Hiroshi) (Tokyo: Abe Shuppan, 1987).
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school, the Fudosha. Nakam ura Fusetsu, Kanokogi Takeshiro, and Aoki Shigeru, who all became noted artists, were fellow pupils. At the school, Yoshida trained by concentrating first on sketching and then moving on to watercolor and oil painting. He took a trip to America in 1899 with his friend N akagawa Hachiro. They exhibited and sold works in Boston, Providence, and various other places in the United States and returned to Japan having learned a great deal. By that time in the Japanese art w orld, follow ing the form a tion in 1896 of the W hite Horse Society (H akubakai) by Kuroda Seiki and others of w hat m ight be called the French School, the older M eiji Fine Arts Society (M eiji Bijutsukai) led by Asai Chu had gradually fallen into decline, and there was talk of reforming it. W hat emerged from the dissolution and reorganization of this M eiji Fine Arts Society, then, w as the Pacific Art Association. It w as Yoshida Hiroshi who gave it that name, and the sense of ri v alry that the artists returning from Am erica had tow ard the French-oriented W hite Horse Society was nicely expressed in the title of the association. Together w ith their respective leaders, K uroda Seiki and Yoshida H iroshi, these two schools, which would compete—and be contrasted—w ith each other from then on, “were both epitomes and symbols of the history of modern Japanese art in the M eiji and Taisho periods .”31 Today, whereas Kuroda Seiki is w ell known as a W estern-style painter, Yoshida Hiroshi is far from a household name, for he is remembered, if at all, as an artist of woodblock prints, to which he devoted the lat ter part of his life. Yoshida Hiroshi passed aw ay on April 5, 1950, at the age of 73. He left behind more than two hundred fifty woodblocks. Not long after his death, a pam phlet w as published in English of some tw enty pages entitled Y osh ida H iro sh i: P rin t-M aker .32 In 31. Yasunaga, p. 19. 32. Ben Bruce Blakeney, Y oshida H iroshi: Print-M aker (Tokyo: Foreign Affairs Association of Japan, 1950). This work reprinted an article that had ap peared in the journal C on tem p ora ry Japan in April-June 1950. The full text of the booklet can be found online at .
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the opening paragraphs of this booklet, bound in Japanese style and featuring a print of the Alham bra palace, to which Yoshida had taken a fancy, the author briefly summarized the history of ukiyoe from the T okugaw a period to the early tw entieth cen tury—its rise, fall, and rebirth as a new w oodcut art—and then noted: “But now we have lost, in Yoshida H iroshi, who died a few w eeks ago, another of those pioneers, of them all the best known to the W est as artist and philosopher of the art of the color-print .”33 The author of this tribute to Yoshida w as none other than the former American counsel at the Tokyo trial, Ben Bruce Blakeney. Yoshida Hiroshi made a total of six trips abroad. On the third trip, he went to the United States with his wife to sell about eight hundred works by members of his association to raise money for fellow artists who had suffered from the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. On that occasion, he brought with him seven woodcuts, which he had only recently begun producing, and these were well received in America. In woodblock printing, usually one can make as many as a hundred prints from a single woodcut. This visit to America became the opportunity for Yoshida to sell his prints over seas, and indeed, from that point on, most of his works went abroad. In the United States, anyone with an interest in modern Japanese art would invariably have seen at least one of his works. Blakeney, too, was attracted to Yoshida’s prints, and before the w ar he had already been collecting them. In the late autum n of 1945, Blakeney called on the Yoshida residence in the Shim o-ochiai district of Tokyo. He found it by himself and, w ithout anyone’s introduction, showed up alone as a “collector.” Thereafter he paid occasional visits and even came during the Tokyo trial; one time, according to Y oshida’s eldest son, Toshi, Blakeney said, “Something funny happened in court today,” and proceeded to tell about the incident in which Okawa Shumei had struck Tojo on the head .34 This took place on the 33. Ibid., p. 10. 34. Yoshida Toshi, interview by the author, March 13, 1992.
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first day of the trial. Hence, by the time he made his motion on behalf of “justice and fair p la y ,” Blakeney had come to be on friendly terms w ith the Y oshida fam ily. R eportedly the fam ily obtained for Blakeney some of Yoshida’s early woodblock prints, which by then were hard to come by, as the woodcuts had been destroyed by fire in the G reat Kanto E arthquake .35 Blakeney him self bought and collected other w orks by Yoshida in Japan and built up his own personal collection. In the booklet, Blakeney beautifully sketches Yoshida Hiroshi’s life, the background against which he embarked on print-making, and the process for making woodblock prints. He illustrates as well the vital ity of Yoshida’s spirit of inquiry whereby he sought to improve every thing from the paper to the bamboo printing pad (baren) and dis cusses the artist’s major works, the context in which he produced them, and even the seals he placed on his prints. Blakeney himself writes on the last page that he has not “spoken here of M r. Yoshida’s personality . . . .”36 To be sure, he makes no mention of the artist’s combative side as a man who opposed the White Horse Society and was rumored to have struck Kuroda Seiki,37 nor of how he treated acquaintances, including Blakeney. Nevertheless, the personality of Yoshida Hiroshi is conveyed naturally to the reader from such de scriptions of the artist as “an inveterate experimenter”38forever seek ing improvements and as “an ardent and indefatigable alpinist” who, although he “looked so frail that he was sometimes called ‘the Crane ,”’39regularly went mountain climbing in search of subjects for paintings and prints. Before ever setting foot in Japan, Blakeney had learned about that land across the Pacific from the woodblock prints of this artist born of Meiji; this time, by producing a booklet in English and reintroducing Yoshida to the United States, the American re turned the favor, as it were, in a small but meaningful way. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.
Ibid. Blakeney, Y oshida, p. 25. Yasunaga, p. 19. Blakeney, Y oshida, p. 10. Ibid., p. 17.
Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney 207
P rofessor B lakeney “Not guilty . . . The voice of Chief Justice O’Brien has never faded, forever lin gering in my ears. My own belief was that I was innocent. When it actually turned out that way, I had a strange illusion to the con trary. . . . Finally, Mr. Blakeney grasped my hand tightly with his large hand.40
For Blakeney, the end of the Tokyo trial was also the beginning of a new battle. While requesting that M acArthur reexamine the tribunal’s verdict, he served as defense counsel, together with Furness and three Japanese law yers, at the w ar crimes trial of Adm iral Toyoda Soemu, which was held from October 1948 to September 1949.41 As depicted in the above quote from Toyoda’s memoir, Blakeney and his colleagues won a verdict of not guilty for the admiral. The American’s w ay of going about his work heed less of “any national boundaries,” Toyoda recalled, made “a deep impression on me bordering on that of astonishment .”42 H aving performed im portant roles at two m ilitary tribunals, Blakeney of his own volition chose Japan as the place to start a new life. First of all, he began teaching at Tokyo, Chuo, and Keio uni versities as a lecturer on American law. In M eiji Japan, once the state had compiled modern law codes, legal experts had concen trated on interpreting the finished codes, but, in doing so, they had 40. Toyoda Soemu, S aigo n o teikoku kaigun (The Last Imperial Navy) (Tokyo: Shufu no Tomo Sabisu Senta, 1984), p. 231. 41. This trial opened on October 29, 1948, but because four of the five defense counsel—Blakeney, Furness, Shimanouchi Tatsuoki, and Hanai Tadashi— were also serving at the Tokyo Tribunal awaiting the announcement of the verdict and then appealing it to MacArthur, the trial was adjourned until they had attended to those matters and did not actually begin until November 26. The trial sessions ended on August 17 ,19 4 9 , and the verdict was handed down on September 6. Besides Shimanouchi and Hanai, who at the Tokyo Tribunal had been chief counsel to Defendant Hirota Koki, the Japanese at torneys at the Toyoda trial included Baba Tosaku, a navy law officer. 42. Toyoda, p. 221.
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felt almost compelled to cite German commentary for fear of being labeled incompetent or lazy otherwise. Therefore, “from the start, most experts in positive law had gone about ignoring AngloAmerican law .”43 Under these circumstances, that legal tradition had been studied only to a limited extent in the prew ar period. Interest in American law had been especially weak, with the rele vant professorship at Tokyo Imperial University having been called the chair not of “Anglo-American la w ” but of “English la w ” (Igirisu ho).44 Thus, from its birth, the study of American law in Japan had truly gone through a period of hibernation. After the w ar, the situation changed completely. Because the United States played the lead role in the occupation of Japan, much of the legal system beginning with the constitution was reorganized on the basis of American law; and, in academic circles as well, a kind of American law boom occurred. Indeed, Blakeney, who had gained a reputation as an American legal authority and as a prac titioner at m ilitary tribunals based on Anglo-American law , was highly sought after in postwar Japan as an educator in that field. The criminal code was totally revised in 1948 with the adoption of “the plaintiff system whereby a prosecutor is entrusted with the conduct of criminal proceedings while the judge reaches a decision from the standpoint of an im partial third party after hearing the cases of both the prosecution and the defense.”45 The trial at Ichigaya was like a model of that procedure, and Blakeney, who had actively participated in that trial, was a walking textbook. Amid the postw ar m ania for things Am erican, Blakeney’s classes, taught as they were by an attorney who had publicly demonstrated American law at m ilitary tribunals, were immensely popular. For his lectures at Keio, more than two hundred students filled the auditorium; and, at the University of Tokyo, over a hun dred applied to take his seminar. Blakeney himself interviewed the 43. Tanaka Hideo, “Nihon ni okeru gaikoku ho no sesshu: Amerika ho” (The Adoption of Foreign Law in Japan: American Law), in Ei-Bei h o to N ihon h o, p. 308. 44. Ibid., p. 306. 45. Ibid., p. 310.
Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney 209
applicants and tested their ability to translate from English into Japanese, after which he selected about ten students. The seminar w as conducted in English; and, “after the American fashion, classes proceeded with an emphasis on the students’ responding to questions posed by the professor, on the assumption that they had come to class having read the m aterials [in English] that he had distributed to them beforehand.”46 Blakeney was the first foreign instructor in the Faculty of Law at the Elniversity of Tokyo since the m id-1920s; the method of instruction he employed was fresh and markedly different from the usual practice whereby professors would read their notes in huge classrooms and students would w rite down w hat they heard and hammer it into their heads. Young men in their twenties had the experience of “learning about American law in English using original texts as m aterials,”47 an experience that greatly stim ulated their intellectual curiosity but would have been inconceivable in the prewar period. Blakeney’s teaching method was the “case method,” which was also the method of choice at his alma mater, Elarvard Law School. Because America has state laws, even when dealing with the same case, the judicial outcome might differ depending on the state. Committing to memory the laws of all fifty states was impossible. So, in the classroom, Blakeney would have the students read and debate various precedents and practice so that they could argue the case of either the defendant or the plaintiff. In some instances, there was no correct interpretation. By arguing from all sides, however, students would acquire a law yerly outlook as well as the courage and ability to keep fighting whether they represented the defendant or the plaintiff. Kobayashi Noritake, one of Blakeney’s students and eventually dean of Keio Business School, rates as “an extraordinary pioneer”48 the man who thus introduced the case method to Japan. Blakeney turned the teaching materials he used at the University of Tokyo into a multi-part textbook. Published by Yuhikaku in 46. Tanaka, “Bureikuni sensei no koto,” p. 400. 47. Ibid. 48. Kobayashi Noritake, interview by the author, April 2, 1992.
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1950-1951 and entitled M aterials fo r the Study o f Am erican Law ,49 this text was a detailed guide for first-time students of American law. According to an early review, it “seeks to bring out the special char acteristics of the Anglo-American legal system by surveying the var ious legal traditions that exist throughout the world and especially by comparing it to its Roman counterpart, so that the Anglo-American tradition w ill be grasped in the context of other traditions”; it then “turns to a theoretical approach to the origins of law, an approach essential to understanding Anglo-American law, and, starting with the meaning of legal origins, it discusses, in turn, statutory law, case law, and classical interpretations of law .”50 The work was equivalent to a casebook used in American law schools, and at the time, when the only textbook available on American law was the one by Takayanagi Kenzo, it was an extremely significant publication. Blakeney’s students all remember him as “a person who loved to teach.” Usually he was brusque and looked forbidding, but in the classroom he spoke eloquently and charmed his audience. Having no children of his own, Blakeney, some twenty years older than his students, treated them with affection. When they went abroad to study, he helped them both m aterially and emotionally. Blakeney also taught a lot about English. O taka Hiroshi, an alumnus of Blakeney’s seminar who served as ambassador to M yanm ar, relates that he was instructed to use “however” at the end of sentences in stead of overusing “But” at the beginning.51 M eanwhile, Togo Shigenori’s daughter Ise was already proficient in English and German, but she says that, thanks to Blakeney, she learned a great deal and improved her English considerably. In particular, she recalls being coached not to use three words if two would suffice and not to split her infinitives.52 49. The textbook has a total of five parts: Volume 1, Introductory, came out in three parts, but only the first two parts of Volume 2, Constitutional Law, were published. 50. Ito Masami, review of Blakeney, Amerika h o n yu m on (Materials for the Study of American Law), in H oritsu jih o (Law Digest), vol. 22, no. 9 (1950), p. 55. 51. Otaka Hiroshi, interview by the author, April 2, 1992. 52. Togo Ise, interview by the author, March 5, 1992.
Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney 211
Since the end of the w ar, the number of Americans who have come to Japan to teach for short periods on the Fulbright and sim ilar programs has gradually increased. Yet Blakeney, who lived in Japan and continued to teach there for a long time, played a role different from that of such short-term visitors. “The fact that many of the participants in his seminar went on to academic careers ought to be mentioned as one manifestation of that.”53 Thus does Tanaka Hideo, who himself became a scholar of Anglo-American law, look back on the influence of Professor Blakeney. B eloved H o m e , J apan
W hile lecturing on American law , Blakeney also practiced law in Japan. After his exhausting experience in the w ar crimes trials, he hardly ever handled crim inal cases again .54 Instead, he concen trated on civil cases, especially those involving demand for Japanese products resulting from so-called “special procure m ent” orders by the Am erican O ccupation Forces. In 1952 he opened an office in partnership w ith Baba T osaku, who had served w ith him as defense counsel in the Toyoda trial and had made arrangem ents for Blakeney to join the Japanese Bar A ssociation.55 The office w as located in the N ikkatsu International H all in H ibiya, said to be the most modern building at the tim e. W hile m aking a business trip to Kyoto w ith Blakeney, Baba recalls, he w as surprised that his partner had so much knowledge about woodblock prints, and it made him real ize the importance of learning for pleasure.56 After the Occupation ended, Blakeney, now just an American civilian residing in Japan , purchased land in the Kojimachi sec 53. Tanaka, “Bureikuni sensei no koto,” p. 400. 54. Togo Ise, interview by the author, March 5, 1992. 55. Umezu Yoshikazu, the son of General Umezu YoshijirO, whom Blakeney had defended at the Tokyo trial, served as the American lawyer’s secretary. 56. Baba Tosaku, Kaiko (Reminiscences), 2 vols. (Tokyo: Hanrei Taimuzusha, 1989), vol. l,p . 144.
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tion of T okyo’s C hiyoda W ard and built a house there. As one observer noted of this house, “Only the parlor and the study are Western style; the rest of the rooms are all Japanese-style rooms. In the alcove of the eight-mat dining room, drawings of M t. Fuji by Y okoyam a T aikan are put up to m atch the change of sea sons.”57 At the front entrance, the American posted a nameplate that read in Japanese characters “Bu re ku n i.” He made a Japanese-style garden with rocks that he himself had chosen and every night slept on a futon spread out on the tatam i floor. For breakfast, he never failed to have m iso soup. U nlike foreigners who m erely have an interest in Jap an , he w as a born lover of Japanese food going beyond sukiyaki and tempura, and when he returned to the United States for a w hile, he is said to have be m oaned the fact that he could not obtain tofu in A m erica.58 In his home, he had large bookcases, w ith a considerable number of books by foreigners introducing Japanese law and the like. He also appears to have read Japanese literature and once remarked to a student, although som ewhat off the m ark: “A k u tag aw a’s K appa is light hum or.”59 He was a person who went beyond nor m al pastim es and practiced “learning as an av o catio n .” Sugaw ara Y utaka, who w as in charge of General A raki Sadao’s defense at the Tokyo trial, offers the following anecdote: One day, at the invitation of Counsel Ikeda Sumihisa [in charge of Defendant Umezu], he and Blakeney took a drive along the Tama River, and Blakeney said, “The fact that Tama is written not with the Chinese ideograph for ‘ball’ or ‘jewel’ HZbut with the Chinese characters #1® used phonetically is Man’yo style,60 isn’t it?” This nearly dumbfounded Ikeda. I was told that, on the way back, when they passed the time by seeing who could write the
57. 58. 59. 60.
Moriya, p. 179. Yoshida Toshi, interview by the author, March 13, 1992. Hayashi Hiroshi, correspondence to the author. An early Japanese writing style in which Chinese characters were used pho netically rather than semantically.
Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney 213
most Chinese characters with the “rain” radical on top, he wrote thirteen characters.61
Because his students and most other people who met with Blakeney could speak English, he did not have to use Japanese very much. Nevertheless, he became so good at Japanese that he expe rienced no difficulty whatsoever in his daily life in Japan; and once, when he attended a drinking party with his colleague from Chuo University, Professor M oriya Yoshiteru, he is said to have turned to M oriya, who had left his sake cup standing, and blurted in a vul gar tone, “Hell, the mosquito larvae are gonna hatch !” (N ande, b o fur a ga w aku jan eka), whereupon he picked up the bottle and pressed more sake on his astonished colleague.62 In addition to woodblock prints, he also had a strong interest in kabuki, and when the son of the famous actor Kikugoro VI, Kuroemon, made his first trip to America, Blakeney even took it upon himself to tutor Kuroemon in English. Furthermore, he is said to have published an essay in English on Kikugoro entitled “The Sixth” (“Rokudaim e”). “He was a real American Japanophile”63 seems to have been the unanimous opinion of all parties concerned. Blakeney urged his students to become people of culture and practiced w hat he preached. In music, he especially loved classical rather than jazz or popular music.64 Brahms was his favorite; he also liked Wagner. Among performers, he was partial to the pianist Artur Schnabel and the violinist Nathan M ilstein and, among con ductors, Serge Koussevitzky. When violinist Yehudi Menuhin made his first visit to Japan, Blakeney is said to have offhandedly given concert tickets to his music-loving students. Moreover, another stu dent received from him a copy of the FitzGerald translation of the R ubaiyat. “In terms of character, he was far above the average 61. Sugawara Yutaka, T ok yo saiban n o sh ota i (The True Character of the Tokyo Trial) (Tokyo: Jiji Tsflshinsha, 1961), p. 230. 62. Moriya Yoshiteru, “Ben Bureikunii o shinobu” (In Memory of Ben Blakeney), H ogaku sh inpd, vol. 70, no. 3 (1963), p. 71. 63. Asahi shinbun, March, 6, 1963. 64. Kagami Aiko, interview by the author, March 10, 1992.
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Am erican,” recalls Professor H ayashi Hiroshi of Gakushuin University.65 Judging from his career, one might say that postwar Japan could not have found a better person than Blakeney as both lawyer and teacher, so necessary was he to Japan in the postwar era. After he had performed his “official duties” at the m ilitary tribunals, why did he remain in the country rather than return home? W as it sim ply because he felt “called” by Japan? Besides being a fine teacher and man of culture, Blakeney had another side that many of those who befriended him have pointed out, one that appears to provide a clue to answering this question. A reserved, shy, unsociable person, a man who made clear to oth ers his likes and dislikes, who did not associate with those he disliked and socialized with only a small number of people—this is the person described by those who knew him. For example, at breakfast time in a hotel, if a waitress tried to pour coffee into his cup without asking, Blakeney, who disliked coffee, would give her a scolding. Although one should refrain from making facile comparative observations about national characteristics, one can say that Blakeney’s personality was vastly different from the personality that Japanese normally associate with the word “American.” Reportedly he himself remarked that he did not have a lot of friends in America. M any people affirm that his character may have been suited to Japan. Even there, though, he had a narrow circle of acquaintances, and when he played bridge, for in stance, the members of the foursome rarely changed. As Blakeney continued to have great success in his legal practice in Japan, his interests expanded to include private airplanes. In 1960, around the time the Ikeda H ayato cabinet announced its “Income-Doubling P lan,” Blakeney owned two planes each in Japan and America. From this fact, one can tell just how successful he was as a law yer at the time. When young Hayashi, his student, warned that “airplanes are dangerous,” Blakeney laughed off his concerns, saying, “Are you afraid of crossing a road?” Yet one of his airplanes would cost him his life. 65. H ayashi Hiroshi, correspondence to the author.
Attorney Ben Bruce Blakeney 215
On M arch 4, 1963, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse, as an early spring storm set in. Blakeney, together with his wife and secretary, M argot, was heading for O kinawa on business in one of his planes, a Cessna 172 Skyhawk. They took off from Haneda at 8:11 a.m. and were scheduled to land at Osaka Airport for refueling at 10:51 a.m ., but lost contact en route. The next day the Cessna was found in the Amagi m ountain range on the Izu Peninsula, and the bodies of Blakeney and his wife were recovered. At the site of the crash on the 4th, powdery snow had been blow ing about in the morning, and a light rain had fallen until about noon. It appears that moisture on the wings had frozen, causing the plane to lose lift and plunge into the mountains. Apart from the planes of newspaper companies, it was the first accident in Japan in volving a private airplane. After the remains were cremated in M ishima, a Shinto funeral service w as held in their home. Their ashes were buried in Aoyama cemetery next to those of Togo Shigenori. Their epitaph, in English, includes the following sentence: He practiced and taught law as nurtured in his native land, America, and made its spirit his legacy to their beloved home, Japan.66
Professor H ayashi, who learned of his teacher’s passing while studying abroad, recently expressed anew his feelings of regret: 66. The full epitaph reads: Ben Bruce Blakeney 1908-1963 Margot Blakeney 19 02-1963 He practiced and taught law as nurtured in his native land, America, and made its spirit his legacy to their beloved home, Japan; ‘The application of those wise restraints which make men free.’ He also found ex pression in exploring the sky. As his life’s partner, Margot gave him her love and help to bring these efforts to fruition in the land they loved.
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“Even great people die senseless deaths. Had he lived longer, I would have liked to help him become a cultural figure like Lafcadio Hearn.”67 Ben Bruce Blakeney, an American who crossed the Pacific bringing a spirit of justice and fair play to a defeated Japan—it is now forty years since he soared for the last time into the skies over his “beloved home.”
67. H ayashi Hiroshi, correspondence to the author.
Chapter 9
The Foreign Minister as Critic: Togo Shigenori and Changing Views of “Civilization”
In tro du ctio n
In Ju ly 1950, Togo Shigenori, having fallen seriously ill, was trans ferred from Sugamo Prison to the U.S. Army hospital at Kuramae-bashi, Tokyo. W hile in the hospital, he handed to his daughter, Ise, two notebooks and reams of paper that he had filled with writing in pencil, saying, “Read these as soon as possible and let me know w hat you think.”1 Togo, however, died five days later on Ju ly 23. He was 67. The manuscript he left behind w as pub lished two years later as Jid a i no ichimen (An Aspect of the Times).12 Since then, as the memoir of Japan’s highest-ranking diplomat, this book has served as an indispensable historical source on the Pacific War. It continues to be read as a record of Japanese diplomacy lead ing up to and during that conflict. 1.
2.
Togo Ise, “Jo ni kaete” (Foreword), in Togo Shigenori, Jidai n o ich im en (An Aspect of the Times) (Tokyo: Hara Shobo, 1985), unpaginated. Hereafter, I will place the page reference in parentheses at the end of each quotation from this book. The ones who worked the manuscript into publishable form were Ise’s hus band, Togo Fumihiko, and his birth father, Hongo Gunjiro: Hagiwara Nobutoshi, T o go S higen ori: denk i to kaisetsu (Togo Shigenori: Biography and Interpretation) (Tokyo: Hara Shobo, 1985), p. 343. 217
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Togo probably did not intend for people to read An Aspect o f the Tim es m erely as a diplom atic record or a prison memoir. As he notes in the Preface: The purpose of this book is not to serve as my autobiography, nor is it to explain either my own actions or the policies of the Japanese government; its true aim is to describe the trend of the times as I saw it and to examine events I observed or in which I played a part mainly in terms of the history of civilization.
Togo thus proclaim s that he is going to survey “the trend of the times as I saw it ” from the standpoint of “civilizatio n .” Yet he wrote the book not in the com fort of a study or office but in a concrete isolation cell where the cold of winter assailed his debili tated body. To prevent suicide, the O ccupation authorities for bade ballpoint, let alone fountain, pens; the only implements he had to w rite w ith were short pencils. Seeing that Togo Shigenori completed An A spect o f the Tim es while battling ill health under such harsh circumstances, one m ight w ell consider this w ork his posthumous testament. In that case, I believe, it is incumbent on readers to resp o n d to his call for “exam ining events in terms of the history of civilization.” This chapter is my own small attempt at such a response. M u tsu M unem itsu
as a
P recurso r
Forced open to foreign relations under pressure from the Western powers in the late Tokugawa period, Japan would strive to catch up w ith those powers follow ing the M eiji R estoration of 1868. Looking at the situation externally, one could say that, each time Jap an w ent to w ar, it experienced “g ro w th .” A part from local conflicts, W orld W ar II w as the first large-scale m ilitary defeat for modern Japan. As the top diplom at when that w ar began and ended, Togo w as in a broad sense equivalent to the commander of a defeated army. M eanwhile, Japan had “grown up” w ith vic tories in two m ajor w ars w ith C hina and R ussia. The SinoJapanese W ar w as the first large-scale foreign conflict in modern
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging V iews of “C ivilization ” 219
Japanese history; the top diplom at at the tim e w as M utsu M unem itsu. After the w ar, Japan suffered the T ripartite Intervention by R ussia, G erm any, and France, and M utsu in curred domestic criticism for yielding to their demands; still, he differed from Togo in being foreign m inister of a victorious na tion. Nevertheless, besides the fact that both were foreign m inis ters at the time of one or another of the m ajor external conflicts of modern Japan, M utsu and Togo have in common a number of interesting points worthy of comparative investigation. Here I would like to compare An A spect o f the Times with K enkenroku (A Record of Travail), a diplomatic record-cum-memoir by Mutsu. Regrettably, Komura Jutaro, foreign minister at the time of the Russo-Japanese W ar, left no such memoir. Consequently, Mutsu Munemitsu is probably the only suitable subject for a com parative study with Togo. In fact, some observers have already pointed out similarities between the two. For example, Nishi Haruhiko, vice-minister of foreign affairs under Togo when the Pacific W ar broke out, described An A spect o f the Tim es , in a fore word on the occasion of its reissue in 1967, as “a record compara ble to K enkenroku by the late Count Mutsu Munemitsu, foreign min ister at the time of the Sino-Japanese W ar.”3 No matter how carefully one reads or rereads An A spect o f the Tim es, there is no w ay of knowing w hat Togo Shigenori himself thought of his predecessor Mutsu, let alone of K enkenroku. Still, one can easily imagine that, as a diplomatic forerunner confronting a crisis, M utsu was continually on Togo’s mind. Shortly after the opening of hostilities, on New Year’s Day of 1942, Foreign Minister Togo gave instructions to the ministry staff, “emphasizing the importance of wartime diplomacy and admon ishing them that the Foreign M inistry must prom ptly make preparations for terminating the w ar” (292). Togo issued these in structions before the bronze statue of Mutsu Munemitsu erected in 3.
Nishi Haruhiko, “Foreword,” in Togo Shigenori, T o g o S h igen ori ga ik o shuki: jidai n o ich im en (Togo Shigenori’s Diplomatic Memoirs: An Aspect of the Times) (Tokyo: Hara Shobo, 1967), unpaginated.
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front of the Foreign M inistry. Kurihara Ken, then a young foreignservice employee, has left a well-known account of this event: On New Year’s Day, Foreign Minister Togo, dignified in a frock coat (or was it a morning coat?), his face pale and looking as though it had a slight tic from the grief he had felt since the [col lapse of] U.S.-Japan negotiations, stood beneath the bronze statue of Foreign Minister Mutsu and solemnly gave the above instruc tions. I was among those present, and at that moment I realized for the first time what the foreign minister was driving at; while silently paying my respects to him for his insight and courage, I recalled the strenuous efforts of such foreign ministers as Okuma [Shigenobu], Mutsu, and Komura at the time of the revision of the unequal treaties and the negotiation of the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese peace settlements and thought that sooner or later Foreign Minister Togo would likely be confronted with even greater hardships.4
In the eyes of young Kurihara, Foreign M inister Togo and Mutsu appeared to merge. Togo thus sought to express his personal re solve to his staff against the backdrop of the bronze statue of his predecessor Mutsu. Judging from Kurihara’s comments, one would have to say he definitely succeeded. Just as Togo did in An A spect o f the Tim es, Mutsu described his aim in writing K en ken roku in the preface to that book: The purpose of this short volume is to present a general de scription of Japan’s recent diplomatic policies. The events under consideration here began with the outbreak of the Tonghak rebellion in late April and early May 1894, and they continued with Japan’s successful military campaign against China. The period closed with the exchange of instruments rat ifying the Treaty of Shimonoseki, which took place this year 4.
Gaimu sho (Ministry of Foreign Affairs), ed., S husen sh irok u (Historical Records on the Termination of the War) (Tokyo: Shusen Shiroku Kankokai,
1986), pp. 36-37.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 221
[1895] on May 8, despite the complications of the tripartite in tervention by the Russian, German, and French powers.5
Also, in the last chapter, he stated: My object in compiling this volume has been rather to preserve for future generations some record of the terribly complex diplo matic tasks Japan faced during the period which began last year with the Tonghak rebellion and continued down through the war against China to the triple intervention (249).
At the time he wrote his book, M utsu, although convalescing, was still foreign minister.6 It was unprecedented for a foreign min ister in office to publish a discussion of diplomatic affairs in which he himself had been involved. Scholars have debated his real pur pose in w riting K en ken roku . Was it to give “an explanation of the Tripartite Intervention”7 or to let the M eiji emperor know the plain truth about the highhandedness of the m ilitary?8 In his latest study, after scrutinizing and dismissing these interpretations, N akatsuka Akira asserts that K en ken roku was for Mutsu “a glorious memor ia l,” “a piece of w riting backed by an overflowing confidence welling up from w ithin.”9 In this chapter, however, I am not con cerned with examining M utsu’s intent in writing K en ken roku . It is 5.
6.
7. 8. 9.
Mutsu Munemitsu, Kenkenroku: A Diplomatic Record of the Sino-Japanese War, 1894-95, ed. and tr. Gordon M. Berger (Tokyo: Japan Foundation, 1982), p. 3. Hereafter, I will place the page reference in parentheses at the end of each quotation from this book. Mutsu hailed from Wakayama, a domain that was not part of the winning coalition in the Meiji Restoration of 1868. He left the domain well before the Restoration and joined the Kaientai, or Naval Auxiliary Force, led by Sakamoto Ryoma, associated with Tosa domain. Thanks to this fact, Mutsu was able to obtain a post in the Meiji government. However, he also spent five years in prison after being implicated in an antigovernment plot around the time of the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877. Despite these disabilities, he con tinued gaining promotions after his pardon in 1883 until he became foreign minister in 1892. Nakatsuka Akira, Kenkenroku no sekai (The World of Kenkenroku) (Tokyo: Misuzu Shobo, 1992), pp. 9-14. Ibid., p. 15. Ibid., p. 192.
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enough to point out that K en ken roku can be read not only as a diplomatic memoir—or, in the words of M utsu himself, “a vivid picture of our diplom acy” (4) at the time—but also as a work that discusses civilization. In other words, K en ken roku tells us how a Japanese statesman of the late nineteenth century perceived Europe and America, China and Korea, and his own country from the view point of civilization. Between M utsu M unem itsu and Togo Shigenori, two foreign ministers of modern Japan who faced crisis situations, there is a gap of nearly half a century. I would like to look first at the “civi lization” of K en ken roku and then turn to An A spect o f the Times, taking into account trends in Japanese and world history in the in tervening decades. I believe that reading the two works together w ill put in sharp relief the special characteristic of An A spect o f the Tim es as a book on civilization. A N ation
of
“ the N ew C ivilization
of the
W
est ”
As one reads K en ken roku with its impressive literary style, one re alizes anew that an outstanding historical work can also be excellent literature. M utsu wrote this book in 1895 -18 96.10 Contemporary works from the Japanese literary world include M ori O gai’s M aihim e (The Dancing Girl; 1890); Higuchi Ichiyo’s T akeku rabe (Comparing Heights; 1895), and M asaoka Shiki’s combative U tayom i ni atauru sh o (Letters to the Tanka Poets; 1898). Even placed among these polished literary works, K en ken roku compares favorably with any of them in terms of its superb writing. With his impressive style, then, Mutsu clearly presents his per sonal views on civilization in the opening section of Chapter 5, 10. Mutsu himself claimed in his preface to K enkenroku that he finished writing the book at Oiso on New Year’s Eve of 1895 (4), the year in which the SinoJapanese W ar ended. While editing and annotating the Iwanami Bunko edition of the work, however, Nakatsuka Akira came across a letter from Mutsu to his secretary, Nakada Takayoshi, in which Mutsu wrote that he had finally completed the manuscript on Empire Day, or February 11, of 1896: Nakatsuka, pp. 33-34.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 223
entitled “A General View of the Issues Related to Korea’s Reform and Chinese Suzerainty in Korea.” First of all, he summarizes the former relationship between Japan and China: For hundreds of years, Japan and China have enjoyed a history of intercourse and communication as friendly neighbors. We share the same roots in politics, law, literature, the arts, morals, reli gion, and all other elements of civilization; and in ancient times, Japan was often blessed with the introduction into the country of many splendid aspects of China’s civilization. Hence, China as sumed the position of an advanced nation while we took some thing of the role of being a more backward state (27).
W ith the exception of the one unique period known as AzuchiM om oyam a (1568-1600), when W estern, especially Spanish and Portuguese, culture flowed into Japan, the foreign culture that in fluenced the country before M eiji was that of neighboring China. Having thus summed up Jap an ’s past indebtedness to China, M utsu turned to the new age of M eiji: More recently, the influence of many European nations has reached Asia, and elements of what we call Western civilization have now been implanted in the farthest reaches of the Orient. Particularly in Japan, the government and people have worked assiduously for nearly three decades since the Restoration to adopt Western civilization. We made rapid progress toward this end through many reforms, virtually transforming Japan from old to new and exciting the wonder and admiration of the advanced nations of the West (27).
Crossing M utsu’s mind as he reviewed the contemporary history of W esternization in M eiji was undoubtedly a sense of pride in having been the first among successive foreign ministers to achieve one of the goals of that W esternization: revision of the unequal commercial treaties the Western powers had imposed on Japan in 1858. In contrast to Japan, which was striving to adopt “Western civilization,” Qing China “adhered strictly to outmoded customs of the p a s t. . . ” (27). Based on these observations, M utsu went so
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far as to describe the two countries as follows: “We are thus pre sented with the rem arkable spectacle of two countries separated only by a n arro w stretch of w ate r, one of w hich represents W estern civilization while the other remains the guardian of the outworn practices of East A sia” (27). During the forty years since the opening of the country and the im position of the unequal treaties in the late T okugaw a period, Japan had proceeded w ith nation-building in order to catch up w ith the W estern powers. It had even witnessed such pathetic spectacles under its W esternization policy as the Rokumeikan ex perim ent of the m id-1880s, when the governm ent erected an elaborate social hall for W estern-style dancing. The Rokumeikan w as “w indow dressing at which the nascent modern state was compelled to try its hand.”11 After a period of such tragicomedy, w ith the nineteenth century drawing to a close, Foreign M inister M utsu lo udly proclaim ed his native country to be a land that “represents W estern civ ilizatio n .” Form erly Jap an had called neighboring China the “C elestial K ingdom ” and the “Great E m pire.” C onfucian scholars had once been “w ont to regard China w ith great reverence” (27). N early thirty years into the M eiji era, however, Qing China appeared in Japanese eyes to be “a bigoted and ignorant colossus of conservatism ,” while China ridiculed Japan as “a tiny island of barbarians who have reck lessly and im pudently rushed forward in a mad effort to imitate the external trappings of W estern civilization” (28). Following this brief exposition by M utsu of the history of SinoJapanese relations, the reader encounters a highly interesting discussion of civilization in K en ken roku : Given the mutually incompatible feelings each nation holds to ward the other, it was inevitable that we should one day clash in some fashion. Whatever form the quarrel might take, though, it was patently clear to all that the real cause of friction would be a 11. Isoda Koichi, Rokum eikan n o keifu: kindai N ihon b u n gei shishi (The Lineage of the Rokumeikan: A Literary Epic of Modern Japan) (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjusha, 1983), p. 36.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging V iews of “C ivilization ” 225
collision between the new civilization of the West and the old civ ilization of East Asia (28).
The Sino-Japanese W ar is usually defined as “a w ar fought between Japan and China over control of Korea.”12 The standard interpre tation is that the w ar broke out because the Qing rejected the proposal for Korean reform that Japan, taking advantage of the Tonghak Rebellion, had put forward. M utsu, however, presented the conflict between these two countries as a clash of civilizations pitting Japan, the country of “the new civilization of the W est,” against China, the land of “the old civilization of East A sia.” Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese W ar ten years later was in terpreted in and outside Japan as an Eastern nation defeating a full-fledged Western power, and it is well known that this outcome encouraged nationalists in India suffering under British oppression. A full decade earlier, Jap an ’s foreign m inister, while conducting wartime diplom acy, had perceived his own country as a land of “the new civilization of the W est.” Surely this is a view of civiliza tion that deserves attention. T he S ino -J apanese W a r Intellectual H istory
fro m the
P erspective
of
Although Mutsu described Japan as a land of “the new civilization of the W est,” it would be naive to think that the foreign minister, a political realist, was expecting countries all over the world—and especially in the West—to put that construction on his country. To the contrary, with a cool eye M utsu perceived the West gazing crit ically at Japan: Although the Western powers had over the years watched Japan adopt European modes of military organization and discipline, they had remained doubtful whether our extensive emulation of*1 12. “Nisshin senso” (The Sino-Japanese War), K okushi daijiten (Dictionary of Japanese History), 15 vols. (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kobunkan, 1979-1997), vol. 11 (1990), p. 57.
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civilized military systems would actually be reflected in warfare through the same maintenance of perfect military discipline and order which prevail among European armies (108).
In fact, the Japanese m ilitary demonstrated a high level of discipline and order during the conflict with China, but it was probably not until several years later that Japan gained an international reputa tion along those lines owing to the conduct of its army during the suppression of the Boxer Rebellion, an uprising that broke out in China at the turn of the century. W ithin the allied expeditionary force that quelled the uprising, the behavior of the Japanese troops contrasted sharply w ith that of their Russian and German coun terparts, who plundered and assaulted the local population at will; and, as a result, they won praise for themselves both in and outside Japan. W esterners’ “doubts” about Japan, however, were not confined to the m ilitary sphere. When Japan revised its legal codes, for ex ample, “they ridiculed our law s as im practical,” and seeing that Japan had established a constitutional system of government, “they looked on skeptically and made a number of most offensive criti cisms . . . for they doubted whether constitutionalism could actually survive in a non-European society” (108). M utsu described suc cinctly the view that Western countries had of Japan in the first half of the M eiji period, prior to the Sino-Japanese W ar: “In short, they presumed that the products of European civilization were a mo nopoly of the European race and that their value could not be truly appreciated by non-European peoples” (108). M utsu went on to note that Japan’s victory in the Sino-Japanese W ar brought about a m ajor change in the W est’s perception of Japan. Having clearly pointed out that the w ar can be viewed not only from the perspective of international relations and diplomatic history but also in terms of a clash of civilizations, he tried to ex plain its outcome from the viewpoint of intellectual history as well: The effects of our military successes against the Chinese may thus be summarized in the following fashion. On the one hand, they enhanced our position and influence in the eyes of our
T
T ogo S higenori and C hanging V iews of “C ivilization ” 227
countrymen and observers abroad, and permanently disabused the Western powers of the degrading notion that Japan was lit tle more than a superficial imitator of civilization. No longer did they conceive of Japan as simply a beautiful Oriental gar den of mountains and water; for they had come to see that we had become a major international force (111).
The outcome of the w ar thus “elevated the prestige of one empire” but “at the same time debased the reputation of another” (111). Although it was gratifying that Japan had come to be recognized as “a m ajor international force,” Mutsu, ever the realist, discounted the present “excessive praise” of Westerners, as he had their former “excessive disparagement,” and raised as “one of the main issues of the future . . . whether Japan can really go beyond certain limits in assimilating European civilization” (109). For Jap an , gaining recognition as “a m ajor international force” as a result of its m ilitary triumph also meant being drawn w illy-n illy onto the stage of global power politics. It w as like M utsu not to be carried aw ay by the “excessive p raise” of the W est but to keep his composure in pondering problem s for the future. N evertheless, the actual “yardstick of c iv ilizatio n ” w as not a fixed measure but one that w as lim itlessly elastic; in other words, each time Japan caught up with the advanced civilized n a tions, there w as alw ays a w ay to become more “c iv ilized .” 13 Those who would agonize over the elusiveness of that “yardstick or standard of c iv ilizatio n ” were the Japanese politicians and diplom ats of the first half of the tw entieth century who w ould follow in the w ake of M utsu M unem itsu. K en k en ro k u also pre sents rather negative stereotypes of the Chinese and Korean na tional characters, asserting, for exam ple, that China “has p ur sued a po licy of isolation and distru st” (156) and that “deeply suspicious anim osity and unscrupulous recourse to treachery . . . are characteristic of the Korean people” (95). One can probably call these descriptions precursors of the flawed views that often 13. Gerrit W. Gong, T he S tandard o f “C ivilization” in In tern a tion a l S o ciety (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 186.
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Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
appear in nation al character studies today. This shortcom ing, however, does not detract from the value of K e n k e n r o k u ’ s in quiry into civilization. As noted above, Mutsu Munemitsu, Japan’s foreign minister at the end of the nineteenth century, wrote that the progress of civi lization in Japan was a problem for the future. Accordingly, I would now like to turn to what was, from M utsu’s viewpoint, the “fu ture,” namely, Japan in the first half of the twentieth century, the time of Togo Shigenori. T he M an W
ho
Experienced D ifferent C ultures
It is said that style is the man. If one peruses An A spect o f the Times, especially the passages in which Togo confronts a series of national crises while holding increasingly im portant posts in the Foreign M inistry, one senses, not only from the content of his w riting but also from his use of almost stubbornly long sentences, “his defi antly tenacious sang-froid” and his determination to “stand firm in his opinions.”14 While it is not unusual for one sentence to ap proach a hundred words, the w riting retains a clarity that enables one to grasp the m eaning perfectly in one reading. Takeyam a Michio once offered the following assessment of An A spect o f the Tim es from the viewpoint of a literary scholar: “M ost likely be cause this book was written while the author was on his deathbed, there is a lack of elegance.”15 To be sure, one can hardly see in Togo’s work the graceful style one finds in the autobiography of Suzuki Kantaro or the memoirs of Imamura Hitoshi, the subject of the last chapter of this book. W hereas K en ken roku compares fa vorably with contemporary works of literature, one would hesitate to treat An A spect o f the Tim es as literature in a narrow sense, of the kind a general literary history would mention. Takeyam a sur 14. Shimomura Kainan, Shusen hishi (Secret History of the Termination of the War) (Tokyo: Kodansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 1985), pp. 122-123. 15. Takeyama Michio, Takeyam a M ichio chosak u shu (Collected Works), vol. 1: S h ow a n o seish in sh i (History of the Spirit of Showa) (Tokyo: Fukutake Shoten, 1983), p. 131.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 229
mised that Togo’s style lacked beauty on account of his illness, but for a large portion of An A spect o f the Tim es, Togo followed the written affidavit he had submitted to the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East practically verbatim, so it would appear that the book’s style faithfully reflects the very character of Togo, his attitude and none other,16 as revealed in the contemporary his torical m aterials examined in Chapter 3. An A spect o f the Times was written by a prisoner, but even if Togo, like M utsu, had been the foreign minister of a victorious nation, there would probably not have been much difference in his literary style. Togo Shigenori was a diplomat with the unique background of having graduated with a degree in German literature from the lib eral arts college of Tokyo Imperial University. Born in 1882, he studied German literature in college at the time of the RussoJapanese W ar and in the years im m ediately follow ing it .17 At a time when only a select few were allow ed to travel abroad, for eign literature served as a w indow on other cultures, just as the many Western books that the writer Akutagaw a Ryunosuke pur chased at M aruzen Company in Tokyo let him “experience” the West. At Kagoshima’s Seventh Higher School, Togo met a teacher by the name of K atayam a M asao; and, after going to Tokyo, w hile enrolled in the departm ent of German literature at the Im perial U niversity, he also studied privately under Tobari Chikufu, a scholar of German literature and K atayam a’s mentor. In the m eantim e, Togo’s former teacher, K atayam a, obtained a position at Gakushuin University, and so he also came to Tokyo. Thus did a gathering known as the “Three Generations Society” composed of teacher, student, and student’s student become the training ground for Togo, the youthful literary enthusiast. It was an auspicious start for him, as he was the only student, for exam ple, to contribute to a special number of the journal T eiko k u bung a k u (Im perial Literature) issued in 1905 on the centennial of 16. For examples of how Togo’s contemporaries described his character, see the quotations at Notes 1 and 2 in Chapter 3. 17. TOgO entered Tokyo Imperial University in September 1904: Hagiwara, p. 38.
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th e
Tokyo Trial
Friedrich von Schiller’s death .18 His time as a literature student, however, was not a case of “w ell begun is half done.” His former teacher left Tokyo; he lost a considerable number of books in a fire; and, to m ake m atters worse, he did poorly in his studies at the university. After m eandering for a period, in 1912 Togo fi nally embarked on a career as a diplomat. An A spect o f the Times is a record that begins w ith his entry into the Foreign M inistry that year; it describes the latter half of his life—the period from when he became a diplomat at age 30 until he confronted Japan’s defeat at the age of 62. N ow, as in the past, the diplom atic service is a profession premised on appointm ent overseas. Togo, who during his high school and college days had indirectly become acquainted with for eign cultures through the study of German literature, now acquired direct experience of other cultures thanks to overseas appointments. Until he assumed the position of foreign minister in 1941, Togo held appointments in several countries, serving, in succession, in China (at M ukden), Switzerland, Germany, the United States, again Germany, and the Soviet Union. Likewise, M utsu Munemitsu had lived in places like England and Australia between 1884 and 1886, when Togo was a child. Nevertheless, M utsu had gone overseas not on a diplomatic tour of duty but on a rather carefree “study tour,” and the total amount of time he had spent abroad was far less than that of Togo. By gaining fam iliarity with one foreign country, a person is able to take up his own country as a subject of comparison. W hat he had not seen before m ay become visible. And, if he comes to know yet another country, he can also put on the table for comparison the foreign country with which he had previously become fam iliar. By the nature of his profession, a diplomat gains direct experience of several countries and thus acquires a basis for being able to observe and critique his own country objectively. Still, the view that a 18. Tobari Masami, “Dokubungakusha ni narisokoneta Togo Shigenori” (Togo Shigenori Who Nearly Became a Scholar of German Literature), Child koron, September 1978, p. 192.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 231
Japanese diplomat would have of his own country is not that of a stateless person who would simply look down on the shortcomings of Japan as an outsider. Keenly aware of the fact that he bears the fate of the nation on his shoulders, even if he were to criticize his homeland, he would do so in a warm and even encouraging tone. Such is the case with An A spect o f the Tim es , in which constructive criticism of Japan is based on comparison with other countries ex perienced firsthand as foreign cultures. By contrast, K en ken roku lacks this feature, for it takes Japan alone as its subject. In June 1916 Togo was heading to his new place of appointment, Switzerland, by w ay of the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Since it was in the middle of W orld W ar I, he took a roundabout w ay to Switzerland, via northern Europe and England. He came down with typhoid and had an unexpected stopover of three and a half months in England; however, he turned misfortune to account by making his stay an opportunity to take lessons from the wartim e British in their “indomitable spirit and realistic w ay of thinking” (24). Upon arriving at the legation in Bern later than expected, Togo was struck first of all by the “easygoing international sense” of the Japanese: There were many Japanese officials and people touring Europe who entered the country [Switzerland] thinking they would ob serve the situation in Central Europe from this place . . . and what was troublesome was that the Allied Powers harbored suspicions about the intentions of these incoming Japanese. It is no different now, but our nationals had an easygoing international sense, imagining, for example, that, once Japan signed a treaty with a nation, then the whole people somehow became their kinsfolk. By contrast, in those days, people in the Allied nations sometimes even suspected travelers who were merely sympathetic toward the Central Powers of intriguing with the enemy (24-25).
Sw itzerland w as then the only neutral country in Europe, the rest being on the side of either the Allies or the Central Powers. D uring his tour there, Togo w as deeply im pressed by Sw itzerland’s “democratic governm ent,” “natural features,” and “abiding passion for n eu trality” w hereby it w ould consider ei
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ther Germany or France the enemy depending on which country attacked it first (25-26). The more Togo understood the actu al state of in tern atio n al relatio ns, the m ore he w as struck by the “easygoing in tern atio n al sense” of his com patriots. By and large, diplomats by profession have m any opportunities for con tact w ith other cultures. Yet, even am ong his colleagues, Togo stood out in that he made efforts to travel over and above the re quirements of official business. Convinced that seeing is believ ing, he w ould set off on travels even at his own expense. W hile posted in W ashington beginning in 1926, however, he did not have the chance to travel other than to visit various universities, so he applied him self to “the study of things A m erican” (57) by reading books. And, “thinking that it w ould also be useful [to his career] to com pare anew European civilizatio n w ith American civilization” (63), he agreed to serve in Germany from 1929. Togo’s views on national character, based on firsthand experi ence of other cultures, appear at every turn in An A sp ect o f the T im es. In contrast to the “re alistic ” British, the Germans were “unyielding” (32), but with their defeat in World W ar I “they be came diffident and discouraged and, compared to the prew ar sit uation, had a considerably self-abasing attitu d e”; hence, it seemed that “the evils accom panying their rise were elim inated” (32). W hile passing through the United States on the w ay home after his first tour of duty in G erm any, he “felt m entally re freshed coming to this place that cham pions freedom ” (44) and “was amazed at the skyscrapers . . . and admired the progress of machine civilization” (45); but when an American woman sitting next to him at the annual meeting of the A m erica-Japan Society m entioned that, w ith W orld W ar I over, now w as a golden op portunity to “squeeze” G erm any, he felt that he had “come across an aspect of the Am erican nation al ch aracter” (45). R eturning home after his first visit to A m erica, Togo “encoun tered the graceful figure of M t. Fuji resplendent against the blue sky at dawn and w as moved for the first time in a long w hile by the genuine beauty of my native lan d ” (45). H owever, knowing
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 233
the vastness of Am erica, he w as struck by how extrem ely sm all Japan seemed: After landing, I thought the main streets of Tokyo and Yokohama were like the outskirts of the great cities of Europe and America; and to my eyes, which had seen American “skyscrapers,” Japanese buildings had the appearance of “matchboxes.” While I enjoyed the verdant sight of the paddy fields, the surrounding gardens looked like toy boxes. All of this was because I was com paring it with that large-scale America (45-46).
It is not hard to imagine that a decade and a half later the size and pow er of Am erica were constantly on Foreign M inister Togo’s m ind when he pursued negotiations w ith the United States as w ell as considered the im plications of commencing w ar against that nation. W hile pointing out that a clash of civiliza tions had been an underlying aspect of the Sino-Japanese W ar, M utsu M unem itsu presented a brief history of the relationship between Jap an and C hina. Did Togo likew ise leave behind a study of U .S.-Japan relations, in his words, “in terms of the his tory of civilization” ? “ T he C auses
of the
G reater Ea st A sia W a r ”
An A spect o f the Tim es w as partially translated into English by Togo’s adopted son-in-law, Fumihiko, and by his attorney at the Tokyo trial, Ben Bruce Blakeney, and published as T he Cause o f Jap an (1956).19 The translation covers the period from Togo’s first appointment as foreign minister; that is, it comprises Parts II and III of the Japanese original. In these sections of the book, as the title of the English translation accurately points out, Togo discusses the “cause of Jap an ” at every turn. He does so most intensively in the chapter of the English translation entitled “The Historical Background for the N egotiations.” This chapter constitutes Togo’s brief history of U.S.-Japan relations: 19. Published in New York by Simon and Schuster.
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But had this crisis [in relations between Japan and the United States] been engendered only after the commencement of the ne gotiations? Japan purposed, in the Japanese-American negotiations, ob taining the mediation of the United States for settlement of the China Affair, and inducing her to discontinue her aid to Chiang Kai-shek, in order to hasten a Japanese-Chinese settlement. But the United States . . . had taken her stand solidly behind China.20
One of the first questions everyone seems to have when study ing prew ar Japanese history is: W hy did Japan negotiate w ith the United States in order to break the deadlock in the China Incident (the Japanese euphemism for the Second Sino-Japanese W ar of 1937-1945)? Togo also uses this issue as a starting point in presenting a history of U .S.-Japan relations. T oday there is nothing particularly new about Togo’s argument that U.S.-Japan relations changed m arkedly when, due to Ja p an ’s victory in the R usso-Japanese W ar of 1 9 0 4 -1 9 0 5 , it suddenly rose as “a new Power in the Pacific”21 and posed more of a threat to American interests than did Russia. One can hardly expect a prisoner w ith out proper historical m aterials to present new historical facts or interpretations. Despite its lack of freshness, however, the discussion offers a distinctive historical perspective. Although not the same as Arnold Toynbee’s view of civilizations, this perspective makes it possible to conceive of U .S.-Japan relations as developing through a process whereby a challenge from one side elicits a re sponse from the other, and th at response, in turn, becomes a challenge producing a new response. At the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, Jap an ’s past became the sole object of prosecution, and any attempt to make a case about the country’s history in term s of its relationship w ith the United States was dismissed as im m aterial. Therefore, as if he finally had the chance to m ake public a treatise that he had previously been 20. Togo, C ause o f Japan, p. 102. 21. Ibid., p. 105.
'
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 235
unable to publish, Togo records his opinions sometimes fervently but alw ays incisively: As Japan, in the normal course of her capitalistic development expanding into the continent, found herself opposed at every stage by Britain and America, the militarists and others riding the mounting wave of expansionism began to accept the idea that the nation must prepare for a war as the inevitable end of the con frontation with the Western Powers.22
Togo then moves on to a “challenge and response” narrative cov ering the interwar naval arms limitation treaties, relations with the Axis Powers, American assistance to the Chang Kai-shek regime, and the like: After the conclusion of the Tripartite Pact. . . the United States was . . . passing condemnation on all of Japan’s actions since the Manchurian Incident. This attitude of the United States was a challenge to the military and other obstreperous elements in Japan. It was perhaps inevitable, that each side reacting with increasing antagonism toward the other, the struggle should have been intensified as time went on; but it must be remem bered that this state of affairs . . . caused the breakdown of the Japanese-American negotiations and thus brought about the Pacific War.23
This passage represents the conclusion to Togo’s brief history of U.S.-Japan relations aimed at discovering, as he put it, “the origins of the Greater East Asia w ar.”24 The reader would be mistaken to judge from this account that Togo was in the end offering an apolo gia both for Japan and for himself. One needs to remember that An A spect o f the Tim es was not expressly written for publication; that is, the author did not expect a large, general readership. When Togo took the witness stand at the Tokyo trial in December 1947, he de22. Ibid., p. 109. 23. Ibid., p. 110. 24. Ibid., p. 103.
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dared his position as follow s: “I have fought throughout my life for w hat I thought was right, and now at the end o f it I am deter mined . . . to the best o f my ability and recollection to tell the full truth as it is know n to me . . . ” [T35717], In this section o f An A spect o f the Tim es as well, this stance o f Togo’s comes through loud and clear. C on fron tin g T ech n o lo gy
Another characteristic of the view of civilization that Togo Shigenori presents in An A spect o f the Times, a feature that does not appear in M utsu’s w ork, is his reference to the role that technology or ma chinery plays within civilization. In An O utline o f Civilization, Fukuzawa Yukichi, the most famous teacher of things Western in early M eiji, urged his compatriots to “make Western civilization the objective”; meanwhile, the policy of the M eiji government was like wise to carry out nation-building on the basis of Westernization. Consequently, as noted earlier, at the time of the Sino-Japanese W ar, Foreign M inister M utsu called Japan a country of “the new civi lization of the W est.” The perspective on civilization that could lead to such an “objective” began to change at the turn of the century, with one of the direct causes being the aforementioned behavior of the allied expeditionary force that suppressed the Boxer Uprising. Arriving after the hostilities had ended, part of the German contin gent satisfied its “fighting spirit” by repeatedly pillaging, raping, and slaughtering Chinese civilians. In Japan, journals such as Yorozu ch o h o (“All Things” Morning News) and N ihonjin (The Japanese) took up the spectacle of this depraved “civilization”; not only did they vehemently denounce it, but they also set about investigating its roots.25 Thus, before anyone knew it, there had emerged among the Japanese one “opinion” of Western civilization, about which Nakae Chomin wrote succinctly: 25. See, for example, “Nihon gun no meiyo” (The Honor of the Japanese Army), Y orozu ch o h o , July 27, 1900; and “Ikani gaihei no zangyaku o miru” (How We View the Atrocities of the Foreign Troops), N ihonjin, no. 134 (1901).
T ogo S higenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 237
But, when shortly they [the German troops] lined up on the battlefield in North China and engaged the enemy, they badly exposed their weaknesses; and seeing their barbarous conduct, all our soldiers realized for the first time that their so-called civ ilization was more often than not confined to things material and that, as far as reason and justice were concerned, they were no better than we and possibly far inferior.26
Here we see the emergence of the view that W estern civilization may be superior to that of Japan in “things m aterial,” but is de cidedly not in terms of “reason and justice.” This opinion had de veloped by the Taisho period (1912-1926) into the ascendancy of spiritual “culture” over the “civilization” represented by technol ogy.27 M utsu Munemitsu, a man of the nineteenth century, could hardly have im agined this transform ation. In the midst of the Pacific W ar, in Ju ly 1942, the journal B u n gakkai (Literary World) held a symposium in Kyoto on the theme of “Overcoming the M odern.” The meaning and subsequent influence of M eiji civiliza tion became a m ajor topic of discussion at this gathering. The gen eral tendency among the participants was to argue the superiority of the spirit over the m aterial and machine civilization of the “Am ericanism ” that had permeated Japan after W orld W ar I.28 Though he did not necessarily share this view, Togo Shigenori, a twentieth-century Japanese diplomat, was nonetheless constantly aware of technology. One common criticism concerning the last world w ar is that Japan rushed into a reckless conflict w ithout seriously considering the difference in national power between itself and the United 26. Nakae Chomin, “Ichinen yu han” (One and a Half Years), in Nakae Chomin zenshii (Complete Works), 18 vols. (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1983-1986), vol. 10 (1983), p. 207. 27. Harry D. Harootunian, “Introduction: A Sense of an Ending and the Problem of Taisho,” in Bernard S. Silberman and Harry D. Harootunian, eds., Japan in Crisis: Essays in Taisho Democracy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1974), p. 16. 28. Kindai no chokoku (Overcoming the Modern) (Tokyo: Fuzanbo Hyakka Bunko, 1979), pp. 254-263.
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Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
States. G ranted, ow ing to the spectacular victories in the early stage of the w ar, even some members of the cabinet made unreal istic statements such as “Jap an m ight w ell, if she kept on at the present pace, occupy W ashington,”29 but at meetings of the lia i son conference30 held frequently just before the commencement of hostilities, Ja p an ’s leaders did not underestim ate A m erica’s na tional power at all. From his tour of duty there, Foreign M inister Togo himself knew full well the vastness of the United States; and as for A m erica’s productive capacity, the participants in the iaison onference clearly recognized that “her potential w as beyond com parison greater than that of Ja p a n .”31 For that very reason, Togo, as mentioned earlier, continually advocated an early peace. Yet, after resigning in September 1942 over his opposition to Prime M inister T ojo’s plan for the establishm ent of a G reater East Asia M inistry,32 Togo no longer had the power to influence national policy. Although he held the honorary position of mem bership in the House of Peers,33 he could do nothing but observe the worsening of the w ar situation for Japan: Not only, however, did the enemy take full advantage of the de velopments of science in aircraft, radar, submarine sound ranging and like fields; its advance was scientifically planned, and slowly but surely overwhelmed our forces. I considered that the root of the failure on the Japanese side was that, having been spoiled by the initial success at Hawaii, our military services placed their re 29. Togo, C ause o f Japan, p. 230. 30. A body established in July 1940 under the second Konoe cabinet to provide a means of policy coordination between the cabinet and the high command: Ibid., p. 115. 31. Ibid., p. 126. 32. Specifically, Togo objected to Prime Minister Tojo’s plan to remove part of the “Greater East Asia” region from the jurisdiction of the Foreign Ministry and place it under a proposed Greater East Asia Ministry, and he sought to bring about a reversal in policy by forcing the resignation of the entire cabi net; but, having ascertained that the throne did not wish a cabinet shakeup, he alone resigned on September 1, 1942. 33. Togo became an imperial nominee to the House of Peers in September 1942.
T ogo Shigenori and C hanging V iews of “C ivilization ” 239
liance in moves of a headlong rashness based on mere personal bravery.34
In modern warfare, “personal bravery” was, after all, no match for “science,” that is to say, technology. When Togo assumed the post of foreign minister for the second time at the request of Prime Minister-Designate Suzuki Kantaro, the fortunes of Japan were clearly and irreversibly on the decline. Regarding his mission as being to realize peace as soon as possible, Togo was reminded of a scene he had witnessed on M arch 11, 1945, the day after the Great Tokyo Air Raid. A train from Ueno to Karuizawa had been filled with victims of the raid: I heard many say that even though they had been burned out, hav ing managed to escape Tokyo with their lives they would not com plain if only Japan could win the war. The gallant spirit was touch ing, and I could not keep the tears from my eyes at thought of this pathetic nurturing of confidence in a victory which the inexorable march of events had already put beyond the pale of hope. Such scenes were to be witnessed frequently at that time; but the purest and most glowing patriotism could not contend with material forces, and our soldiers were obliged to continue unendingly, step by step, their bitter retreat before the advancing enemy.35
Kept from suing for an early peace by the succession of victo ries in the first phase of the w ar, Japan eventually began to con sider w ays to term inate the conflict as the tide turned against it; but those efforts did not move forw ard, and in the face of the “m achinery” that was closing in day by day, Japan w as unable to recover from its deteriorating situation through “gallan t sp irit” and patriotism alone. And the height of the enem y’s technology w as the atom bomb, dropped first on H iroshim a and then on N agasaki in August 1945. Several days later the Japanese empire put an end to its “w ar against technology.” One can infer Togo’s 34. Togo, C ause o f Japan, p. 257. 35. Ibid., p. 266.
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thoughts about “m achinery” from the follow ing poem he com posed while in prison: The country that won the fearsome war Had the power of machinery, the power of organization (410).
Before the colossal machine civilization of America, which Togo had observed as a young diplom at, his homeland thus fell to defeat. C on cludin g R em arks
Two foreign ministers who confronted m ajor w ars in modern Japanese history—M utsu M unem itsu and Togo Shigenori. Each met with a different fate, the one being on the victorious side, the other on the losing side; but by a curious coincidence they both left memoirs. Both of their works, written about a half century apart, are not only diplomatic records; they are also fascinating studies of civilization—texts that include inquiries into the history of civi lization. Using M utsu’s view of civilization as a clue, I have tried to consider the distinctive features of what Togo calls “an examination in terms of the history of civilization”; however, there are many more passages in K en ken roku and An A spect o f the Tim es that I would like to compare. Although the foreign m inister of a victorious nation, M utsu came under fire for bringing on the Triple Intervention; that is, he faced criticism for proceeding to “demand territories from China which we already knew might be necessary to retrocede” (251). In response, M utsu rebuked his critics-by-hindsight, noting that at the time of the Sino-Japanese peace conference the general ten dency not only among the public at large but also within the gov ernment w as to seek even more territorial concessions than just the Liaotung Peninsula, which the continental European powers forced Japan to return to China in the Triple Intervention (251). And M utsu clearly stated: “I should like to think that anyone
T ogo S higenori and C hanging Views of “C ivilization ” 2 4 1
confronted by the situation at that time w ould have concluded that this was the best course available to us” (254). Sim ilarly, Togo w as subjected to the postw ar criticism that “there w as no reason that Japan could not approve the Hull Note.”36 The proponent of this argument had in fact been an ardent supporter of the Anti-Comintern Pact that Japan and Germany had signed in 193 6.37 After rebuking the man for his apostasy, Togo wrote that there had been no alternative: Indubitably, with the fiat of the Hull Note enacted, Japan’s posi tion would have been roughly the same as that at present, the con sequence of her defeat. But he who argues that Japan would nev ertheless have been in better case by bowing to the American dictate, and thus escaping the ravages of war, while plausible, is wholly sophistical, for he fails to allow weight to either the honor or the prestige of the nation.38
Likewise, in another place he noted that “no m atter who had formed the cabinet, short of a complete w ithdraw al from the con tinent, there would have been w ar” (195), asserting emphatically that, after Japan received the Hull Note, because it included a de mand for the w ithdraw al of all Japanese forces from the continent, the country had no choice but to go to war. In this w ay, both Mutsu and Togo, irrespective of victory or defeat, encountered the postwar criticism of their compatriots. M utsu, however, was the foreign minister of a victorious nation. Besides, he settled the pending question of treaty revision for the new M eiji Japan. In short, he won both fame and name. Just before the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese W ar, the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of Commerce and N avigation was ready for signing. The treaty contained, among other items, a provision for the abolition of con 36. Ibid., p. 182. 37. Ibid., p. 183. 38. Ibid., p. 186.
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Portraits from the Tokyo Trial
sular jurisdiction. W orried at the time about the Far Eastern situa tion centering on Korea, M utsu found news of the impending signing all the more joyous: I cannot now put into words the extent to which I was then sub jected to anxiety and intense pressures from my official duties; but . . . [the] auspicious telegram [from London announcing the impending signing] now made me forget all of the accumulated tensions I had experienced (71-72).
One finds no such exultation in An A spect o f the Tim es, written as it was by a defeated and imprisoned former leader. The book contains a measure of joy over such achievements as breaking a deadlock in negotiations with the Soviet Union over North Pacific fishing rights (134-136) or skillfully arranging a ceasefire and com promise settlement after Japanese and Soviet forces had clashed at Nomonhan in 1939 (139-140). Yet, as one would expect, the tone of a memoir that ends with Jap an ’s defeat in w ar is anything but cheerful. H alf a century after Togo’s predecessor M utsu Munemitsu, the fate of Japan’s foreign minister had thus changed considerably. Nevertheless, Togo Shigenori cherished one small satisfaction for the remainder of his life. Overcoming great obstacles, he had suc ceeded in bringing the w ar to a close in the summer of 1945. In December 1947, at the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, he concluded his lengthy testimony as follows: It is the great sorrow of my life that I was not successful in pre venting war in 1941, but it is a matter of some consolation for me that I was able by my efforts to contribute to lessening the suf fering of mankind by ending it in 1945 [T35791],
Another half century has passed since Togo Shigenori, foreign minister in the final stage of the Japanese empire, thus ended his testimony.
Pa r t
III
A t P laces
of J udgment A broad
Chapter 10
Confronting “the Other”: The Prison Diary of Lieutenant General Kawamura Saburo
U ninvited G uests I was aroused from a tranquil dream by a pounding, as if a door was being smashed. For a burglar, this would be odd. If it was the police, I was not aware of having done anything wrong. Breaking open the front door and forcing their way in with their shoes on were several MPs wearing steel helmets and two Japanese police officers. Seizing me in my night clothes, they stood me in a corner of the room and would not allow me to move an inch. They began rummaging through the house. . . . I knew intuitively that it was most likely the incident involving the Chinese in Singapore . . . }
Early on September 14, 1946, former Lieutenant General Kawam ura Saburo w as arrested as a suspected w ar crim inal by American MPs who burst into his home in Kaita city, Hiroshima prefecture, without warning. That night a younger brother of his wife was also staying at the house, and all of the fam ily members1 1.
Kawamura Saburo, Ju sa n kaidan o n o b o ru (Ascending Thirteen Steps) (Tokyo: Ato Shobo, 1952). Hereafter, I will place the page reference in paren theses at the end of each quotation from this book.
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simply stood in a daze. The intruders confiscated old letters and even the school notebooks of the suspect’s four children, not to mention the diary of the man himself. All that the children, ob serving the behavior of the uninvited midnight callers, could do was to “appeal silently, their sleepy eyes filled with tears” (8). Lieutenant General Kawamura was taken forthwith to Kure and briefly put in a Japanese jail. Then he w as sent under guard to Tokyo on a train that departed Kure at 1 p.m. on the 14th. Arriving at Tokyo station the next day at 8 a.m., he was taken directly to Sugamo Prison. Thus began his life behind bars as a w ar crimes suspect. It was also the start of one tedious day after another with “nothing to do and no books to read” (10). Jusan kaidan o n oboru (Ascending Thirteen Steps) is the prison diary that Lieutenant General K awamura kept from the date of his arrest until his execution on June 26, 1947, at Changi Prison in Singapore. After W orld W ar II, based on the provision of the Potsdam Declaration that “stern justice shall be meted out to all w ar criminals, including those who have visited cruelties upon our prisoners of w ar,” the Allied Powers held w ar crimes trials against Japan. As a result, nearly one thousand Japanese ended up being executed in various parts of Asia. Most of those executed left behind notes, and a collection of about seven hundred of them was pub lished in a single volume shortly after the peace treaty came into ef fect in 1952.2 But only a few prison diaries returned safely to Japan and found their w ay into print. W hile reading Ju san kaid an o n o b oru , one of those scarce records, I would like to trace the think ing of one Japanese m ilitary officer branded a w ar criminal. S in g a p o r e , F e b r u a r y 1 9 4 2
Kawam ura writes that, when he was arrested by the MPs at his home in Kaita city, he “knew intuitively” that the reason for his arrest was “most likely the incident involving the Chinese in 2.
Sugamo Isho Hensankai, ed., Seiki n o ish o (Testaments of the Century) (Tokyo: Sugamo Isho Hensan Kankokai, 1953).
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
Singapore” (8). Launching its w ar against Britain and the United States on December 8, 1941, Japan implemented its “southern strat egy” for Southeast Asia; and the 25th Army, commanded by Lieutenant General Yamashita Tomoyuki, engaged a hundred thou sand British troops with a force three fifths that size and, crossing nearly seven hundred miles of jungle, captured M alaya and Singapore. This was a m ilitary operation befitting the designation “blitz strategy.”3 Singapore fell on the evening of February 15, 1942, and the companies, seeing that city before them with deep emotion, held their units in place (on the outskirts of Singapore), as or dered, and observed various regulations directly after the bat tle; and in the city the army expressly moved forward only a military police force (with the attachment of auxiliary military policemen from each division), directing it to maintain public peace and order. But a rash of incidents occurred involving looting, arson, and so on by refugees and vagrants, and, in ad dition, secret maneuvers by hostile elements began, so the situa tion was one of public turmoil (163). Five years after the event, Kawamura thus recalled the state of af fairs im m ediately following the fall of Singapore, which the Japanese renamed Shonan. A newspaper at the time also reported on the disorder within the city: In the city of Singapore in its hour of death, the vanquished enemy running about while trying to escape took advantage of the disorder to loot and assault at will, so that the place seethed with agonized shrieks, calling to mind the end of this world. Consequently, the number of Malays and Chinese who broke through the battle line under a shower of bullets to get back under the protection of our forces increased day by day . . . ,4 3. 4.
Hata Ikuhiko, S how a sh i n o nazo o ou (Pursuing Mysteries of the History of Showa), 2 vols. (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjusha, 1993), vol. 1, p. 282. Asahi Shinbun, February 16, 1942.
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When Nanjing had been captured on December 13, 1937, each division, ignoring a prior agreement, sent waves of soldiers into the fortified city and thereby ended up compounding the disorder. Most likely having learned from that experience, the commander, General Yam ashita, gave strict orders prohibiting ordinary soldiers from entering the city. Nonetheless, the environs of Singapore following the surrender of the British forces were reduced to a “crucible of plunder .”5Under those circumstances, the man appointed garrison commander for Shonan w as M ajor General K awam ura Saburo, head of the 5th Division’s 9th Brigade, who through his participa tion in the M alay operations had become w ell known as “the fearlessly courageous general of the M alay offensive .”6 When Kawamura reported for duty at army headquarters on the morning of February 18, Yamashita commanded in “a grave m anner” (163): In order to conduct new operations in another area, the army must quickly divert a large number of troops. Hostile Chinese res idents, however, lurk everywhere, intending to sabotage our op erations. If we do not take the initiative now and remove this dan ger root and stem, the public peace and order of Malaya as a southern base will not be ensured. The garrison commander must immediately carry out mop-up operations within the city, remove these hostile Chinese residents, and make sure the army can un dertake its operations without anxiety about the future. As for details, follow the instructions of the army chief of staff (163).
Kawamura then received instructions from Chief of Staff Suzuki Sosaku detailing concrete measures of enforcement. According to these directives, upon investigation, those judged to be “hostile” were to be executed summarily. Surprised by the term “immediate severe disposition,” Kawamura questioned this directive, but Suzuki cut him short by declaring, “There w ill likely be all manner of opin ion and argument about this matter, but it has been decreed by the 5.
6.
Shinozaki Mamoru, “Kakyo kyokai setsuritsu no shinso” (The Truth behind the Establishment of Overseas Chinese Associations), Shokun! (Gentlemen!), August 1974, p. 198. Ibid.
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
army commander and is essentially a mop-up operation. I expect you to carry it out as ordered” (164). In this way, the absolute nature of the order in question was af firmed. Since I was a soldier, I had no choice but to accept this order respectfully and carry it out, and I did exactly as ordered (164).
In the ensuing mop-up operation, which the chief of staff ordered Kawamura to complete within the three days from February 21 to 23, “resident Chinese army volunteers, Communist Party members, anti-Japanese elements, those who had contributed to the Chiang Kai-shek regime, rogues, ex-convicts, and the like ”7 were targeted for liquidation, and after “verification” those who had been rounded up were executed. A second purge (February 28 to M arch 3) and a third (late March) followed. As to why the resident Chinese thus became the targets of purges, commentators have raised the following reasons: (1) In supporting the anti-Japanese movement in China, the overseas Chinese in M alaya and Singapore played a central role; (2) The resident Chinese volunteer army offered stiff re sistance to the advance of the Japanese army; (3) Unable to end the resistance of Chinese in mainland China, the Japanese had become increasingly malevolent; and (4) In order to move its main force to Indochina, the Japanese army had to nip the opposition in the bud .8 As garrison commander, Kawamura in effect assumed responsibil ity for the mop-up operation and later wrote w ith a note of introspection on this fourth point: As for these dispositions, upon the proclamation of martial law, we should of course have committed the suspects to courts-mar tial and carried out punishments appropriate to their offenses. As a matter of form, it was somewhat improper that this was dealt with under an order for a mop-up operation; but the army, while 7. 8.
Hata, p. 283. Hara Fujio, “Shingaporu gunsei no jitsuzo o otte” (In Pursuit of the Real Singapore Military Administration), Ajia keizai (Asian Economy), vol. 28, no. 4(19 87 ), p. 84.
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aware of this point, had to enforce this order because, with the immediate diversion of military force, the garrison that was to re main in Shonan faced an extreme reduction in numbers (167).
W hen he received the mop-up order, Garrison Commander Kawamura was surprised by the term “immediate severe disposi tion.” In conveying the order to the companies under his charge, he noticed “a look of displeasure on each of the company comman ders” (165). Furthermore, while the order was being carried out, K awam ura’s “sound and proper measures even ran counter to the arm y’s hard-line view ” (166). When he went to report on the ac tual results to Commander Yam ashita, he offered his opinion to Chief of Staff Suzuki that “in future such drastic measures be dis continued” (166), whereupon Suzuki soothed Kawam ura “with deeply sympathetic w ords” (166). Nevertheless, M ajor General Kawamura Saburo was the man responsible for this mop-up oper ation. W ith Japan’s defeat in the w ar, the scene was set for him to be charged with “responsibility” as garrison commander of Shonan. Im p e r ia l G Sw
if t s—
S il v e r W
atches an d a
P a ir
of
M
il it a r y
ords
Kawamura Saburo was born in Kanazawa city, Ishikawa prefec ture, on October 7, 1896, the third son of a former Kaga domain retainer, Suzuki Tomoyasu .9Tomoyasu had served in the army and risen to the rank of captain. In addition, Saburo’s oldest brother, M inoru, w as a surgeon m ajor general, and his other brother, Shigeyasu, ten years older than Saburo and principal of Narashino School, eventually became a lieutenant general in the first reserve, so it was a true army household. From the fact that Saburo’s wife 9.
I have relied on the following for biographical information on Kawamura: Nihon Kindai Shiryo Kenkyukai (Society for Research on Modern Japanese Historical Materials), ed., N ihon riku-kaigun n o seid o , soshik i, jin ji (The Systems, Organization, and Personnel of the Japanese Army and Navy) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1971); and the author’s brief personal history included at the beginning of Ju san kaidan o n ob oru .
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
did not take the name Kawamura, it is likely that he was adopted into another family before their m arriage .10 On M ay 28, 1915, he graduated from the arm y’s central preparatory school at the top of a class of 276. He then went on to the Army Academy and again graduated first in his class on M ay 26, 1917. At each graduation he was awarded a silver imperial gift watch. In December 1917 he was commissioned second lieutenant and assigned to the 6th Infantry Regiment. In December 1921 he was promoted to lieutenant. Then, in November 1924 he graduated from the Army College sixth of 64, and the imperial gift of m ilitary swords was conferred on him. In the same class were Ayabe Kitsuju, Arisue Seizo, and Ikeda Sumihisa. W hat stood out in Kawamura’s subsequent career was his frequent posting to the Bureau of M ilitary Affairs in the Army M inistry. Further recognition of his talent came with his dispatch to the Faculty of Law at Tokyo Imperial University to study polit ical science for a full three years from April 1928 to M arch 1931. He audited classes at the university as a special student. In prewar Japan, there were two ways by which anyone could be come part of the elite, regardless of birth. One w ay was to graduate from the Law Faculty of the imperial university and become a bu reaucrat, and the other was to gain admission to the army or navy college and become an officer. Kawamura, who not only became an officer but also got a chance to study at the imperial university, was a rare individual w ith experience of both these tracks. W hile in prison, he wrote about the everyday significance of this fact: I don’t think I acquired any practical knowledge during my three years at the Army College or at the imperial university, but once I graduated it was as if I knew in spite of myself that I was slightly different from others in “level” of culture (137).
This passage clearly conveys the pride of an elite officer who had studied at the Army College and the country’s premier university. Not only was Kawam ura dispatched to Tokyo Imperial University, but from M ay 1931 to January 1934, having risen by 10. His wife’s family name was Hoshino: Kawamura, p. 93.
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then to the rank of captain, he was stationed in France. As for his command of French, since he “could only make out the general meaning” (127) of a novel by the French writer Prosper Merimee that a British soldier lent him while he was in Changi Prison, he does not seem to have been particularly proficient. After returning home, Kawamura served mainly in the M ilitary Affairs Bureau, and during his time as a colonel, from December 1939 to February 1941, he filled the important position of M ilitary Affairs Section head. The chief of the M ilitary Affairs Bureau during that time was Muto Akira, who had graduated from both the Army Academy and College four years ahead of him. Kawamura appeared to be a ca reer m ilitary bureaucrat: both he and others probably thought that in due course he would become head of the M ilitary Affairs Bureau. But in October 1941, after serving as commander of the 213th Infantry Regiment, he was promoted to major general and, in the midst of preparations for southern operations, was appointed com mander of the 9th Infantry Brigade of the 5th Army Division. Thus, little by little, his future fate was decided. In to
the
M idst
of
“ the O t h e r ”
In the afternoon a British army sergeant came to notify me of my discharge. When I asked him where I was being released to, he replied, “Home.” The answer was unexpected and too good to be true. I was glad but, at the same time, apprehensive. . . . An army doctor showed up. He asked me if anything was physically wrong with me. Thinking “This is suspicious!” I had an attack of anxiety: If he was sending me home, I couldn’t see why he should ask such a thing.. . . When I went to the doctor’s room, I found that he had prepared an injection for me. “This is for heading south.” A cold drop of sweat ran down each of my armpits. In place of my premature rejoicing over returning home, I was setting off for the banks of the River Styx (15-16).
i
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
Having been held at Sugamo Prison since September 15, 1946, Kawamura was thus bound for Singapore on September 28. He was sent there to be tried by a British m ilitary court as a w ar crimes sus pect in the case involving purges of resident Chinese. The British army sergeant’s reply of “home” was truly in bad taste. Sent to Iwakuni by train, Kawamura was flown from there to Singapore. The plane stopped along the w ay at Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Saigon and reached Singapore at 1:30 p .m . on October 9. Kawamura spent the first night of the trip in Shanghai, where someone was apparently executed that night, and a chorus of the old navy anthem “Umi yukaba” (If We Go by Sea) reached his ears. He marked his fiftieth birthday en route in a prison cell in Hong Kong. That day he wrote in his diary: “Life is full of ups and downs. Being fifty years old now, I just pray for the best” (21). Then, as soon as the plane landed in Singapore, he w as “surrounded by newspaper reporters and cameramen” (22). These experiences were enough to suggest that the road ahead of him would be fraught with hardship. To be sent from Japan to Singapore to be tried by Britons in a case involving purges of Chinese was to be judged by the foreign culture of Britain in a matter concerning foreigners, namely, over seas Chinese, in a foreign land known as Singapore. In other words, what Kawamura experienced thereafter was not only a m ilitary tri bunal under the British arm y but also an encounter with foreign cultures and foreign people. In truth, such encounters began before his arrival in Singapore, for Sugamo Prison, though it was located in Japan, was also the site of a foreign culture controlled by “the Other.” Once they have come into contact with foreign cultures and out siders, people are able to gain perspective on themselves. Until then they m ay only see one tree at a time, but gaining perspective, that is, occasionally viewing the forest from the outside, makes it possi ble for them to perceive the existence of the forest as well. While still imprisoned at Sugamo, Kawamura had been interrogated by an in ternational prosecutory team m ainly w ith regard to French Indochina. On the day of the interrogation, he had written:
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The American second lieutenant in charge of the investigation has a fairly good command of Japanese. I am told that he studied in an Oriental program in the United States. After the war broke out, whereas in Japan the study of foreign languages, particularly of English, was neglected, in the United States such study was ea gerly carried out; and on this point as well, one can see a differ ence between a hollow idealism and a utilitarianism. I am deeply impressed by this fact (13). Here is an example of someone being able to look objectively at one aspect of wartim e Japan by taking a comparative view. In fact, during the Pacific W ar, things suggestive of the Western Allied na tions, including even loanwords, were banned; and in forming national policy, the authorities, far from taking into confidence ex perts on America such as Kiyosawa Kiyoshi, went so far as to slight them. In this w ay, Kawamura and others designated w ar criminals happened to experience foreign cultures or, in other words, en counters w ith “the O ther.” Before proceeding w ith the story of Kawamura, however, I would like to survey briefly the history of the experience of foreign cultures in modern Japan. M odern J apan
an d
Its E xperience
of the
O ther
With Americans coming over throughout the Kaei period (18481854) and then with commercial treaties being concluded with various Western countries, the Japanese people learned of the ex istence of the West for the first time. And by comparing the state of their own civilization with that of others, they realized there were great differences. This at once created a sensation, causing, as it were, great turmoil in people’s minds.11 Thus did Fukuzawa Yukichi, the most influential proponent of W esternization in early M eiji, describe the situation in Japan after1 11. Fukuzawa Yukichi, “Bunmei ron no gairyaku shogen” (Preface to An Outline of a Theory of Civilization), in Fukuzawa Yukichi sen sh u (Selected Works), 8 vols. (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1981), vol. 4, p. 6.
1
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
the opening of the country in the late Tokugaw a period. Thirtysome years later, at the end of the M eiji era, Natsume Soseki, a celebrated literary figure who was born a year prior to the M eiji Restration, depicted Japan after its late Tokugawa opening from the standpoint that “the history of M eiji is no less than my his tory” 12: “After having been anesthetized for as long as two hundred years by a closed, antiforeign atmosphere, Japan suddenly leaped up under the stimulus of Western culture . . . .”13 Perhaps to heighten the impact of their descriptions, both Fukuzawa and Soseki made no reference to the reception of Western civilization through “Dutch studies” and Western learning, which, developing in the latter part of the Tokugawa period, had become something to be reckoned with well before the opening of the country. Still, for Japanese people other than scholars of Western learning and some members of the samurai class, the influx of Western culture from late Tokugawa on no doubt provided a stimulus of a magnitude hard to imagine today. Viewed in this light, the descriptions of Fukuzawa and Soseki m ay not be altogether ex aggerated. Under its nationwide modernization policy, the M eiji state zeal ously introduced Western learning. In a lecture he gave in 1902, Mori Ogai listed three ways in which Western learning could be in troduced into M eiji Japan: “one can master a Western language and read books in that language or read those books secondhand in translation; one can engage foreign instructors and listen to their expositions; or one can go abroad to study .” 14 Of these, the third option of “going abroad to study” was a w ay of gaining firsthand experience of a foreign culture, but such an opportunity was af 12. Natsume Soseki, “Madokku sensei no ‘Nihon rekishi’” (Professor Murdoch’s H istory o f Japan), in Soseki b u n m ei ron shu (Collected Essays on Civilization by Soseki) (Tokyo: Iwanami Bunko, 1986), p. 229. 13. Natsume Soseki, “Gendai Nihon no kaika” (The Enlightenment of Modern Japan), in Soseki b u n m ei ron shu , p. 26. 14. Mori Ogai, “Yogaku no seisui o ronzu” (Discussing the Vicissitudes of Western Learning), in O gai zenshu (Complete Works), 38 vols. (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 19 71-1975 ), vol. 34 (1974), p. 222.
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forded only a select few, and most people simply learned about for eign cultures indirectly through books or foreign instructors. But, in the last year of the nineteenth century, the opportunity for a large number of Japanese to experience a foreign culture firsthand un expectedly presented itself. In 1900 the Qing regime hoped to root out the influence of the great powers by taking advantage of the Boxer Uprising, a major antiforeign movement in China composed mainly of peasants and raising the slogan “Uphold the Qing, exterminate the foreigner”; with that goal in mind, it declared w ar on the allied forces on June 21, leading to the North China Affair. One result was the siege of foreign legations and residents in Peking. Regarding the dispatch of troops to rescue them as a golden opportunity to raise the na tion’s prestige, the Japanese government sent a relief arm y after a joint request was issued by the powers. Although the allied army carried the day, even after the fighting had ended, the German and Russian troops engaged in plunder, assault, and rape, for which they came under international criticism. As mentioned in the pre vious chapter, in Japan as well, journals such as Yorozu c b o h o and N ibonjin were quick to report on these atrocities .15 Yet one person made w hat could be called a unique analysis of the North China Affair. That person was Mori Ogai, who at the time w as in “exile” in provincial Kokura, where he w as serving as the top medical officer in the 12th Army Division. In a lecture he gave at the army officers’ club in Kokura in December 1901, Ogai began by taking up the powers’ joint dispatch of troops in this in cident from the viewpoint that “several contemporary races raised an army as one and rushed forward with one objective .” 16 And he underscored the significance of this development from the stand point of comparative history, stating that “the only phenomenon of this kind in former times was the Crusades .” 17 Furthermore, con 15. Such reports appeared, for example, in Y orozu ch o h o , July 27, 1900, and in N ibonjin, no. 134 (1901). 16. Mori Ogai, “Hoku-Shin jiken no ichimen no kansatsu” (Observations on One Aspect of the North China Incident), in O gai zenshu, vol. 34, p. 216. 17. Ibid.
The Prison D iary of Lt . Gen. Kawamura Saburo
cerning the fact that Japanese troops had conducted m ilitary oper ations in concert with troops of the Western powers, he added the following observations: Will the present North China Incident exert an influence on us in manners and customs? Of course, ever since the Restoration, we have already long been studying and copying the armies of the European powers with which we have come into contact. But, with our reliance on books, on hired Westerners, and on a few overseas students and travelers, it has all been secondhand. Now, from the general on high to the private below, our men are making direct contact.18
The joint dispatch of troops in the North China Affair repre sented the first time that im perial Japan had participated in a collective action on the international scene on an equal footing with the Western powers, and it became a driving force behind Japan’s entry into the fam ily of civilized nations .19 Beyond that, however, as Ogai explained, this troop dispatch provided the opportunity for many Japanese, ranging from generals to privates, to experience foreign cultures firsthand, even though they may have met with lan guage difficulties .20 Following its defeat in W orld W ar II, a quarter century after O gai’s death, Japan found itself placed once more in a position whereby “from the general on high to the private below” Japanese gained firsthand experience of foreign cultures, indeed were com pelled to gain such experience. That was because of the unprece dented w ar crimes trials carried out by the Allied nations. And one such “general on high” was Lieutenant General Kawamura Saburo. 18. Ibid., p. 217. 19. The 1904 edition of a widely read textbook on international law by William Edward Hall listed the following as factors that propelled Japan’s inclusion into the ranks of civilized nations: its victory in the Sino-Japanese War of 1894-1895, its dispatch of troops during the Boxer Uprising, and the con clusion of its alliance with England in 1902: Hall, A T reatise on International Law, 5th ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1904), p. 42. 20. Mori Ogai, “Yogaku no seisui o ronzu,” p. 222.
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Kawamura’s experience of foreign cultures that began with his days in Sugamo Prison heightened after he was sent to Singapore. There he was held in Changi Prison. This prison had originally been built by Britain exclusively for the confinement of non-white people as part of its adm inistration of M alaya. After the fall of Singapore, the Japanese army occasionally used it for the internment of whites, but following Japan’s surrender it was employed for the internment of w ar criminals. Changi was in fact the prison that produced the largest number of executions under the Japanese w ar crimes trials, 130 in all ,21 as well as the one in which Private 1st Class Kimura Hisao, whose testament is included in the collection mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, spent his final days and was executed. The reason Changi is notorious even today is that, in addition to the large number of executions, terrible acts of violence and abuse were inflicted on the Japanese w ar criminals held there. Private 1st Class Kimura also made note of this fact ,22 but by the time Kawamura was incarcerated at Changi, such treatment had declined, and he stated that he himself was not subjected to abuse ( 102). At Changi Prison, the routine was to sleep on the concrete floor with three blankets and a pillow one made by taking off and rolling up one’s prison uniform. At first Kawam ura shared a cell with Lieutenant General M utaguchi Ren’ya, known for the Imphal cam paign, but before long he w as transferred to a solitary cell. The foreign culture that Kawamura witnessed at Changi took concrete form in the British soldiers serving there as w ell as the Indian sol diers on prison guard and other duties under their British counterparts. 21. Chaen Yoshio, ed., Nihon BC-kyii senpan shiryo (Materials on Japanese Class B and C War Criminals) (Tokyo: Fuji Shuppan, 1983), p. 235. 22. Nihon Senbotsu Gakusei Shuki Henshu Iinkai (Editorial Committee for the Writings of the Fallen Japanese Students), ed., Kike wadatsumi no koe (Listen to the Voices from the Sea) (Tokyo: Iwanami Bunko, 1982), p. 318. Translated by Midori Yamanouchi and Joseph L. Quinn as Listen to the Voices from the Sea (Scranton, PA: University of Scranton, 2000).
The Prison D iary of Lt . Gen. Kawamura Saburo
About two weeks after he was moved to Changi, Kawamura was interrogated by a British army major about the purges of resident Chinese. This tall officer appeared to him “a person with a very gen tlemanlike demeanor” (27). One wonders on what basis Kawamura, who had probably never spent time in England and had simply fought against British forces in the M alay operation, concluded that this man was a “British gentleman,” but he records nothing beyond that. Still, beginning with this remark, what might be called an out look on Britain crops up from time to time in his prison diary. And that outlook often takes shape by comparison w ith the view of America that he had acquired at Sugamo Prison. He is constantly comparing everything from the contents of meals to the inspection rounds of officers: “At Sugamo, the American army required that we stop behaving as soldiers as soon as possible, but here they demand the rigor of standing at attention and saluting” (40). K aw am ura’s view of B ritain, including the m atter of m eals that left him so unsatisfied he often “couldn’t sleep from hunger” (39), w as much more negative than his view of Am erica. In fact, w hat further lowered his perception of England, which was now going to pass judgm ent on him, w as the conduct of the British soldiers. Not only w as there a corporal who assaulted the in mates, but there were also plenty of guards bent on thievery who “kept a sharp eye out for the few belongings” (36) of the prison ers. Such behavior appeared to K aw am ura as “alm ost b eastly” (36). Therefore, when he occasionally encountered a British sol dier who received him w ith courtesy, he came to think that, “even though he is as much a Briton as the others, he seems to be of a different race ” (50). Also, one day when he learned that a Briton had w ritten the authorities a letter arguing that the sen tences passed on some Japanese w ar crim inals were too severe, he w rote, “even am ong the British, there ap paren tly are good people now and then” (57). In this w ay, K awam ura proceeded lit tle by little from the few cases he actu ally observed to create an image of the British at large, and before long this image became firmly established in his mind. This was none other than his con ception of the British as “almost beastly.”
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As suggested earlier, by coming into contact with foreign cultures and encountering others, a person begins to see the “forest,” which until then had been out of sight, and gains the ability to look at him self objectively; but here one can see that in his haste to sum up the essence of the “forest” of the Other, namely, England, Kawamura gradually neglects to consider the “trees,” that is, individual Britons. As 1 previously pointed out, in the field of national character stud ies, there are innumerable examples of what goes by the name of “research” whereby one tries to extract from a rather small number of personal experiences what can be thought of as “national char acter traits.” If one searches for the characteristics of a certain na tion in the vocabulary it employs and attempts to explain one’s own limited experiences with “keywords” drawn from that vocabulary, the result may make for interesting reading, but it lacks persuasive power as scholarship .23 Lieutenant General Kawamura did not in fact look for keywords in the opposite party’s vocabulary; but, in the foreign culture of Changi Prison, he, too, unwittingly succumbed to the lure of extracting generalizations from limited experience. In contrast to his remarks about the British soldiers, from first to last Kawamura wrote favorably about their Indian counterparts: He [an Indian major] likewise attends to me in good faith. His Japanese is quite good. There is something subtle about the Indians’ attitude toward Japan. At heart they are definitely pleased at the late war. Could it somehow be that our conquest of Singapore marked a turning point in their realization of the prospects for independence from a British colonial regime that had oppressed their three hundred fifty million compatriots for centuries? Apprehensive lest they incur British suspicions, they don’t ever put it into words, but their conduct seems to overflow with sympathy (45-46). 23. For instance, see my critique of Doi Takeo, “Amae” no kozo (The Structure of “Amae”) (Tokyo: Kobundo, 1971), translated by John Bester as The Anatomy of Dependence (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1973): “Kiku to katana kara ‘Amae’ no kozo e” (From The Chrysanthemum and the Sword to The Anatomy of Dependence), Hikaku bunmei (Comparative Civilizations), no. 8 (1992).
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo 261
Thus did Kawamura ruminate—a Japanese soldier who had dis tinguished himself in the conquest of Singapore—adding that perhaps “one can discern a ray of significance” (46) in the fact that people in India had recognized “prospects for independence.” Beginning with this major, a number of Indian soldiers impressed Kawamura as being friendly and pro-Japanese. Consequently, when he encountered Indian soldiers singing loudly far into the night, he felt that, “among them, there are such depraved fellows as w ell” (63). In other words, he believed that just as “good Englishmen” were the exception, so, too, were “depraved Indian soldiers.” In this w ay, as the days went by at Changi, K aw am ura’s views of Britain and India, based on the speech and conduct of the two coun tries’ soldiers he met while in prison, turned into ever more sharply contrasting perceptions. Such views are undoubtedly open to the criticism that they are one-sided opinions draw n w ith emotion from a lim ited number of cases. Nevertheless, I would like to point out that Kawam ura unsparingly turned on Ja p an ’s past the same critical eye that he cast on the speech and behavior of the British soldiers. After not ing that the success of postw ar peace-building hinged on the le niency of the victors tow ard the vanquished and thereby im plic itly criticizing the British treatment of the Japanese, he concluded as follows: On second thought, if only, when we were winning in the early stages of the war, we had further united, high and low, in dis playing a generosity of compassion toward the defeated, now after our defeat we would probably have seen a considerable dif ference in the attitude of the powers (29).
Inasmuch as these were impressions Kawamura recorded in a prison diary, a piece of writing that he had no intention of publishing, the reader can accept them all the more unreservedly as expressing his true feelings. The Lieutenant General Kawamura who thus wrote down his thoughts while in the foreign culture of Changi Prison was finally to confront England in the setting of a British m ilitary tribunal.
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When Kawamura got word that charges would shortly be filed in the overseas Chinese case, it w as w ell into the new year, on February 4, 1947. In his diary that day, he wrote: “W hat was bound to happen has finally happened. All I can do is w ait” (65). A week later both the list of defendants—seven men including Kawamura—and the three Japanese attorneys who would defend them had largely been decided .24 On February 21 they received the indictment. Its main point was that, even if they had acted under or ders of the arm y commander, they each bore responsibility for selecting the time, place, and method of the mop-up and for over seeing the m assacres themselves (72). That is to say, they were charged with violating laws and conventions of w ar. With the indictment pending, February 15 had marked the fifth anniversary of the fall of Singapore. That day Kawam ura had turned his thoughts toward his family and put into writing the way things stood at the time. While reflecting on the past and keeping the upcoming trial in mind, he had recorded the following: Responsibility for implementing the matter of the disposition of Chinese residing in Shonan was formally mine; I am confident that, obeying operational orders, I carried out the task sincerely and appropriately and achieved fair results, and I have nothing at all to be ashamed of. I still pride myself on the fact that, no mat ter who might have taken my place, I doubt that that person could have taken more appropriate measures than I did. It is unclear as to whether the judgment of the British army will acknowledge the evidence of these efforts of mine, but all I
24. The other defendants were Lieutenant General Nishimura Takuma, former commander of the Imperial Guard Division; Colonel Oishi Masayuki, former head of the military police field corps; and four other members of that corpS—Colonel Yokota Yoshitaka, Major Onishi Satoru, Captain Hisamatsu Haruji, and Lieutenant Jo Tomotatsu—the last of whom was added just be fore the trial. Defense counsel consisted of three Japanese lawyers, Kakuta, Kurose, and Fuji’iwa.
The Prison Diary
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can do is be ready to accept its decision, whatever the outcome. That is because I am one of the defeated, and the defeated have to submit in the way that they are expected to. (167)
Having thus recorded his state of mind on the eve of the trial, Kawamura again wrote in his diary ten days later: “Simply because we were defeated on account of our weakness, all I can do is blindly submit to the victors’ judgment” (73). The tribunal that sat in judgment on the case involving purges of resident Chinese was the last of three major m ilitary tribunals pub licly announced by Britain .25 It was to be held in the city’s public auditorium, the Victoria M em orial Hall. All of Singapore, a city of overseas Chinese, “overflowed with a simply dreadful anti-Japanese tendency ,”26 with a demonstration against Japan led by the resi dent Chinese elite, for exam ple, being carried out in the city. Furthermore, the local Chinese newspapers are said to have carried editorials that played up this massacre of Chinese residing in Singapore as one of the four great massacres suffered by the Chinese people, ranking with the “Yang zhou m assacre” and the “Jiading slaughter” by the Qing army and the “Nanking m assacre” by the Japanese arm y .27 News of such developments outside of the court room apparently reached those in prison, for Kawamura wrote that he had renewed apprehensions about the “political coloring” (75) of his trial. The trial opened on March 10, “formerly the glorious Army Day commemorating the great Battle of M ukden” (75). In the public hall that has that statue [of Sir Stamford Raffles, founder of modern Singapore], a public trial is to be held with great fanfare. Facing a barrage of cameramen, I settle calmly into 25. The other two tribunals dealt respectively with “the Shonan military police unit that investigated what was behind the case of the raid on Shonan har bor by an Australian commando unit and POW atrocities in the construction of the Thai-Burma Railway”: Shinozaki, “Kakyo kyokai setsuritsu no shinso,” Shokun!, December 1974, p. 153. 26. Ibid., p. 157. 27. Ibid.
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my seat in the dock. Perhaps because it is the first day, the visitors’ gallery is packed (76).
Back in Britain, T he Tim es merely gave a list of the defendants, judges, and attorneys as well as a summary of the case in a short article of about thirty lines on page three, but the local Singaporean English paper, the Straits Times, carried a front-page headline story on the opening of the trial with a photograph of the courtroom that day. It reported on the enormous interest shown by the locals as follows: Hundreds of Chinese had to be turned away as the court was crammed to capacity at 10 a.m. When the seven accused Japanese officers filed into the dock, about 1,000 people jammed into the court.
The trial w as held every day except Saturdays and Sundays. The Straits Times, founded in 1845, is a valuable prim ary source on the
proceedings, as it covered the entire trial from opening to sentenc ing. For defense counsel unfamiliar with Anglo-American law, daily proceedings meant a rather hard schedule, but one gets the im pression that, compared to Tokyo and other w ar crimes trials, at least formally this tribunal aimed at fair play, accepting, for exam ple, a request by the defense for an adjournment so that it could prepare its case .28 On the opening day of the trial, the courtroom was filled with visitors, and people were turned aw ay, but by the fourth day, perhaps because of rainy weather, empty seats had be come conspicuous in the visitors’ gallery (78). M eanw hile, this m ilitary tribunal, based on Anglo-Am erican law , began w ith the prosecution phase. One after another, those who had barely escaped alive from the execution site as w ell as those who had seen corpses took the witness stand. Hearing their testim ony, K aw am ura w as struck deeply by the fact that “they 28. Considering that the average length of trial per accused war criminal in the Singapore military tribunal of the British army was barely two days (Chaen, p. 7), one would have to say that this tribunal, which took three weeks, was much better.
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
are bringing out witnesses from totally unrelated areas and hav ing them m ake false statem ents. W ith things of this kind in tro duced, the trial itself is preposterous” (77). Indifferent to such concerns of the defense, the trial moved on. It became clear that the prosecution w as centering its case on the fact that the Japanese had executed resident Chinese w ithout conducting for mal trials (78). As cited previously, Kawamura himself had recog nized the need for courts-m artial (167), but concerning this accu sation by the prosecutors, all in all he took it as reflecting “the difference between the idea of punishm ent for a crim e and the idea of urgent m ilitary operations for self-defense” (78). And he had alread y m ade up his m ind that in the im pending defense phase he had “no choice but to tell the truth” (79). T
he
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The defense phase began on M arch 20. After the adviser to the de fense, Captain W ait of the British army, made an opening statement in English, the defendants took the witness stand one by one. Lieutenant General Nishimura Takum a went first, followed by Kawamura around 1:30 P.M. That day’s testimony by Kawamura was confined to the period from when he received the mop-up order from the army commander to when he as the garrison commander ultimately passed the order along. Kawamura took the witness stand again on the 21st, as his de fense counsel, a M r. K akuta, continued w ith his questioning. Asked if he had considered Commander Yam ashita Tom oyuki’s order to mop up Chinese resisters justified at the time, Kawamura promptly replied: “I thought that it was an order that could not be helped and that it was ju st.” He w as further ques tioned as to w hat would have happened if he had disobeyed the orders of his superior: MR. KAKUTA: If you had refused this order what would have hap pened to you? KAWAMURA: I would have been charged with insubordination and
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being in the actual battlefield, I would have been shot without a Court Martial."9
The Army Penal Code indeed prescribed the kind of punishment for the “crime of insubordination” that Kawamura indicated .2 30At 9 the end of the interrogation by his lawyer, the lieutenant general summarized his responses: I stated that I had regarded this order as a legitimate operational order whose issuance had been necessitated by the war situation at the time, that I had had no choice but to obey the order, and that under the prevailing circumstances anyone in my position would have had no alternative but to act as I had done. As a re sult, I concluded, one could only call it “fate” that I had come to 29. Apparently the official record of this military tribunal was finally made public a few years ago: Hayashi Hirofumi, Sabakareta senso banzai: Igirisu no tai-Nichi senpan saiban (Passing Judgment on W ar Crimes: British Trials of Japanese War Criminals) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1998). Since I have not yet had the opportunity to examine this record, for minutes of the trial, I have had to use reports published in the Straits Times, which covered the entire court proceedings. Hereafter, direct quotations that convey what was happening in court are all taken from that newspaper. For help in gain ing access to a microfilm of the paper, I am grateful to Mr. Asano Masahiko, who was a doctoral student in political science at UCLA. According to Nakajima Masato, author of Bosatsu no koseki: Shingaporu kakyd gyakusatsu jiken (In the Wake of Premeditated Murder: The Singaporean Chinese Massacre) (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1985), the pro ceedings of this trial appear in almost complete form in a book that was published in London in 1949: Nakajima, p. 195. When I inquired into the matter with the assistance of a librarian at the Mure campus library of Tokyo Women’s Christian University, however, I received the reply that this statement was not true. According to Hara Fujio, “methods that are inexusable for a history researcher” appear here and there in Nakajima’s work: Hara, pp. 85-90. The book is no longer in print, but there is little doubt that Nakajima’s “source of information” was the Straits Times. Yet his work is such that mistranslations and misunderstandings of the trial proceedings crop up here and there. 30. Article 57 of the Army Penal Code stated: “A person who resists or disobeys the orders of a superior should be punished according to the following cate gories: 1. When the army is facing an enemy, the person should be sentenced either to death or to imprisonment for life or for ten or more years. . . . ”
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo stand before this m ilitary tribunal. And I ended by stating that, al though it was a m ilitary order, I prayed from the bottom of my heart for the souls o f the Chinese victimized by it (81).
After recording this sum mary in his diary that day, Kawam ura added: “Having fully expressed my thoughts, I have no regrets. When I wonder if this is the last grand (?) scene of my life, I cannot help feeling a touch of sadness” (81). Kawamura’s message that “I prayed from the bottom of my heart for [their] souls” evoked quite a response, to the point of being car ried on the front page of the next d ay’s Straits Tim es. Below a photograph of the damage from a flood that had hit Singapore, the following article appeared under the title “General’s ‘Regrets’ For M assacre”: No. 2 of the seven accused Japanese, 52 year-old Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo, told the Massacre Trial Court yesterday, “I pray from the bottom of my heart for the peaceful repose of the souls of the victimised Chinese and I regret that the massacre had to be carried out according to the operational order of the Army.” . . . Kawamura said it “would have been better” if somebody other than the accused had conducted the massacre and added “The fact that I stand before a War Crimes Court today is nothing but fate.” He said he was sorry for the victims of the incident and that he can condole with their bereaved relatives “as I do with those of Hiroshima (atombombed [sic] Japanese city),” though such con dolences amount to nothing now.
In this w ay, Lieutenant General Kawam ura’s “thinking” was put into print in English and spread throughout Singapore. Had he known of this fact while in prison, his feeling that “having fully ex pressed my thoughts, I have no regrets” would probably have been even stronger. But the Straits Tim es was severe. Even while report ing the “facts” of the trial, it uniformly rendered the Japanese word for “mop-up” (s o to ) used by Kawamura as “m assacre”: in other words, it had Kawamura regretting not a “mop-up” operation but a “m assacre.”
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Lieutenant General Kawamura had approached the witness stand with the feeling that he had “no choice but to tell the truth” and w as thus able to “express fully his tho ughts.” W hat he then faced, however, w as a sharp cross-exam ination by the prosecu tion. On another page of its M arch 22 issue, under an oversized headline that read “Exterm ination Order ‘Ju st’ Says Jap G eneral,” the Straits T im es reported at length on the exchange between K awam ura and the prosecutor, a M ajor W ard. W ard’s cross-exam ination, like the questioning by the defense counsel cited earlier, began with an inquiry as to whether Kawamura as the garrison leader considered the army comman der’s order to be justifiable at the time. Obtaining a response in the affirmative, Prosecutor W ard asked about the categories of antiJapanese elements targeted for mop-up and then turned to the question of responsibility. W hat I would like to affirm here is that all the defendants in this trial acknowledged the fact that a “massacre” had occurred by order of Yamashita Tomoyuki, commander of the 25th Army. That being the case, since the duty of a soldier is to obey the orders of a supe rior, they pleaded that they themselves bore no responsibility. This makes for an excellent comparison with the postwar trial of another “massacre,” the December 1937 “Rape of Nanking,” that took place at the Nanking Tribunal in China. At that tribunal, while literally surrounded by foes on all sides, Lieutenant General Tani Hisao, com mander of the 6th Army Division, flatly denied that his own division had been involved in the Nanking Massacre, let alone that he was re sponsible for the incident. The tribunal, however, found him to blame for the massacre and sentenced him to die before a firing squad. The official record of the Nanking Tribunal has not been made public, but on February 9 ,19 47, the N ew York Times, for example, reported under the heading “Japanese General Asserts Trial Is Unfair; Denies Active Role During Rape of N anking”: Nanking, China, Feb. 8—Lieut. Gen. Hisao Tani protested in court today that he was not receiving a fair trial on charges
The Prison Diary of Lt . Gen. Kawamura Saburo
resulting from the infamous Japanese “rape of Nanking.” He accused the six-man Chinese military tribunal of intentionally linking general evidence of atrocities with the specific South Gate area that his division garrisoned for one week. . . . He claimed that Chinese witnesses who appeared against him were vague and insisted that the atrocities they reported must have been committed by “other troops, at other places and at other times.”
Lieutenant General Tani, noted as a military historian and author of Kimitsu N ichi-R o sensbi (Secret History of the Russo-Japanese W ar ),31 was placed on the reserve list before the outbreak of the Pacific W ar. Just before the end of the w ar, however, he was called up to be commander of the 59th Army and concurrently head of the army in the Chugoku District of Japan. And the person appointed chief of staff under him was none other than Kawamura Saburo, who had been promoted to lieutenant general about half a year ear lier. The two of them, who would soon become tragic m ilitary fig ures subjected to trials in N anking and Singapore that symbolized atrocities committed by the Japanese army, thus happened to serve together in their last posting as soldiers. In his cross-examination of Kawamura centering on the issue of responsibility, M ajor W ard touched on one point after another that would prove to be pivotal: Ward: So the position is that you had such confidence in your com manders that you left the methods of screening to them? Kawamura: After speaking to the Chief of Staff, the screening of the anti-Japanese elements became very easy, so I left the methods of screening in the hands of my commanders. Ward: By “easy” what do you mean? If you suspected someone, would you say “Right-o, shoot him?” Kawamura: No. I received orders that the people whose names were in the book were to be shot. 31. Initially circulated only within the Army, but later published by Hara Shobo in 1971.
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Ward: Now, I have got a book here, Gen. Kawamura, and your name is in it. Do you call it justice if I took you outside and shot you on mere suspicion? Kawamura: The Army ordered it so. Ward: I said, would you call it justice? Kawamura: It was shown to me at that time by the Army that there were hostile Chinese. Ward: Do you call it justice? Kawamura: It was justified to act according to the Army order. Ward: But is it justice to your mind? Kawamura: To obey the Army order is justice. Ward: I put it to you that you did not care one jot whether the Chinese were killed or not. Kawamura: It is wrong, I think sir. I am a very sympathetic man.
At the beginning of the cross-examination, Kawamura declared that, upon receiving the m ilitary order for an operation to mop up resident Chinese, he had regarded it as justifiable. At this point, how ever, Prosecutor W ard did not ease up in his pursuit. In response to Kawamura’s suggestion that he himself bore no responsibility since it was his duty as a soldier to obey his superiors—the commander of the 25th Army and the army chief of staff—W ard asked, then did he have any moral qualms? Finally, the prosecutor turned to the ques tion of responsibility for “verification,” that is, for the selection of those to be executed from among suspected anti-Japanese elements: Ward: Who was it who decided that a particular man was to be killed? Kawamura: In order to kill, I think every sector commander had the responsibility to pick out the people. Ward: And that responsibility, that power, came through Onishi32 from you, did it not? Kawamura: Yes. 32. The Straits T im es reported the name as Onishi, but most likely its corre spondent either misheard it or misread it in the minutes, for according to the chain of command the correct name would have been Oishi—for Oishi Masayuki, head of the military police.
The Prison Diary of Lt . Gen. Kawamura Saburo
In this w ay, Lieutenant General Kawamura admitted to the prose cution that he himself w as responsible for selecting the anti-Japanese elements who were to be executed. He described that day’s interrogation in his diary as follows: The prosecutor’s cross-examination consisted entirely of trying to trip me up on some point of criminal law, and he kept stub bornly pursuing matters that had nothing to do with the greater intentions I had previously explained (81).
T
he
F o r e ig n C
ulture of
A
n glo
-A
m e r ic a n
Law
The above passage, I think, deserves to be examined further. W hat exactly was Kawam ura seeking in the cross-exam ination by the prosecution? W as it understanding of his “greater intentions” ? Or, more specifically, besides appreciation of his statement about pray ing for the souls of the victimized Chinese, was it understanding of the fact that his appearance before this m ilitary tribunal was simply “fate”? This m ilitary tribunal, based as it was on Anglo-American law, represented a world of logic. It was a place where evidence was everything and where the prosecution and defense traded verbal blows, each seeking favorable courtroom testimony. In that setting, “trying to trip [the cross-examined] up on some point of criminal law ” was a matter of course. No matter how dissatisfied Kawamura may have been, since it was a court based on Anglo-American law, “stubbornly pursuing matters” was the normal procedure. In Japan, it was not until 1948 that the code of criminal proce dure was totally revised and the system moved from the former continental model to the Anglo-American pattern. Until then the practice had been for the judge himself to question the defendant, clarifying the actual circumstances of the alleged crime, and then to decide on the guilt or innocence of the accused .33 Consequently, 33. Tanaka Hideo, “Nihon ni okeru gaikoku ho no sesshu: Amerika ho” (The Adoption of Foreign Law in Japan: American Law), in Ei-Bei h o to N ihon h o (Anglo-American Law and Japanese Law) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1988), p. 310.
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this was the first time that the defense attorneys, not to mention the defendants, had experienced an Anglo-American law court; that is, the court setup itself was to them a foreign culture. W hile dissatisfied with the questioning by the prosecution, Kawamura was pleased when Counselor Kakuta told him, “You’re doing quite w ell” (82). And the next day, as his thoughts returned to this mopping-up operation, he wrote: If this were Japan, I would naturally be found innocent with re gard to this action in which I exerted myself reasonably and fairly in absolute obedience to an operational order under the preroga tive of the supreme command (82).
In court, after each of the remaining defendants had taken the stand, witnesses for the defense made statements on behalf of the defendants. On M arch 28, Lieutenant General N um ata Takazo, who had been chief of staff of the Southern Army at the end of the w ar and was then under detention, took the witness stand. In his testimony, he “spoke about the relationship of submission to or ders in the Japanese army as a matter of general principle” (85). In his diary Kawamura mentions nothing more about the details of w hat Numata said. The Straits Times, however, printed a summary of N um ata’s tes timony while also giving a brief survey of his career and even reporting on his “shining top boots.” The gist of his testimony was that, when one carries out the order of a superior officer, whether or not that order is justifiable, the responsibility rests with the su perior who issued the order, not with the subordinate who carries it out; in this case, since General Yamashita was the one who de vised and issued the order, the responsibility lay solely with him, not with those who implemented it. Furthermore, the paper also quoted the following exchange concerning the “absoluteness of a superior officer’s order”: Ward: If you were ordered by your superior officer to bayonet a small child, would you do it, Gen. Numata? Numata:Yes, I will carry out that order.
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
Even the most extreme question from Prosecutor W ard had no effect on N umata, who clung tenaciously to the principle that or ders are absolute. Thus, while the lieutenant general struck the court as a cold-blooded soldier who would even kill infants, it appeared to the defendants that he had given favorable testimony. The Straits Tim es made no further mention of his cross-exam ination. Nevertheless, in the logical world of a m ilitary tribunal based on Anglo-American law , Lieutenant General Numata Takazo ceded points that may have proved fatal. And naturally the prosecution, playing the part of the heavy—the adversary experienced in the world of logic—was not about to let them pass by. The Singapore m ilitary tribunal, which opened on M arch 10, 1947, delivered its verdict three weeks later, on April 2. On that day a fierce storm—the “Sumatra w ind”—raged.34 The court ses sion began with M ajor W ard’s closing address. As he delivered the speech in English, Kawamura could understand no more than the gist of it. In his address, W ard quoted a passage from N um ata’s re cent testimony in which the general had said that “any order is the Emperor’s order in the Japanese Army, and that the soldier is par ticularly w arned to bear in mind that this is so ,” but when the conversation had turned to the February 2 6 ,1 9 3 6 coup attempt by radical young officers in Japan, Numata had stated, “[N]ot only was the person who issued the order punished, but also the persons who worked in this plot.” This speech was enough to refute logi cally K aw am ura’s assertion that “if this were Japan . . . I would naturally be found innocent,” and one that sufficed to spell victory for the prosecution. If Lieutenant General Kawamura had been able to understand this address, he would no doubt have been dumb founded to realize that the testimony of his army superior literally cost him his life. The Straits Times grasped the lack of consistency on the Japanese side, reporting in detail on Prosecutor W ard’s final statement under the headline “The Japanese Officers Broke Their Own M ilitary Code.” 34. Shinozaki, “Kakyo kyokai setsuritsu no shinso,” S h o k u n !, December 1974, p. 161.
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Next, Captain W ait, the adviser to the defense counsel, gave a closing address. Before entering m ilitary service, W ait had been a missionary and also had experience as a prisoner of w ar. His ad dress, a fervent speech that lasted seventy minutes, referred to all manner of literature ranging from the Bible to Kipling as well as to the history of massacres in the East and West, past and present; the Straits Tim es described it as an “impassioned plea.” But its main point was simply to reassert that the incident had occurred owing to the absoluteness of a superior’s order. It did mention, for exam ple, that one who upholds the principle of total w ar and thinks nothing of dropping an atom bomb on Hiroshima has no right to complain about a combat action against a general citizenry, but it could not possibly trump the prosecution’s argument in terms of logic. The court sentenced Lieutenant General Kawamura and Colonel Oishi M asayuki to death by hanging and the remaining five defen dants to life imprisonment. Kawamura thus concluded his diary entry for that day: “It was the first really hot day since I arrived in Singapore” (89). It is surprising that, in the verdict of a “trial with great fanfare” involving a case in which at least five thousand Chinese were slaughtered, five defendants escaped the death penalty. In fact, the resident Chinese are said to have lodged a protest claiming the ver dict was too lenient and demanding death sentences for all seven defendants. In the logical world of a m ilitary tribunal governed by Anglo-American law , was there any room to commute the death penalty for Lieutenant General Kawam ura and Colonel Oishi? Prosecutor W ard stated in his final address: Under what circumstances might the plea of superior orders have been listened to with sympathy? Has any accused come forward and said, “Yes, we knew that what we were doing was wrong, but we could not help it; we were forced into it, reluctant and un willing”?
The prosecutor declared that the defendants, who had showed no pangs of conscience in court and tried to justify their own actions
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo
on the grounds of m ilitary necessity and the absoluteness of supe rior orders, were nothing but “willing partners.” Nevertheless, the hypothetical portrait that M ajor Ward drew was the exact image of Shonan Garrison Commander Kawamura Saburo when he received and implemented the order for a mopping-up operation against res ident Chinese. Perhaps this portrayal by Prosecutor W ard was a tacit expression of consolation. Yet one cannot help thinking that the outcome might have been different had defense counsel taken the strategy not just of adhering to the line that the operational order of 25th Army Commander Yamashita was absolute and the defendants had merely followed that order, but also of touching on their inner dissent. In H is F inal D welling
As soon as he was sentenced to death, Lieutenant General Kawamura was put into the jail for condemned criminals. Even his prison uniform was changed from dark gray to red. This jail, which went by the name of P H all, had a gallows in one corner and was a merciless place that made one unm istakably aware of executions. With the m ilitary tribunal over, P Hall became for Kawamura the point of contact with a foreign culture as well as the final dwelling place. In P Hall there were ten “prior guests,” including Lieutenant General Harada Kumakichi, commander of the Java Expeditionary Force, but they were executed one by one. Kawamura noted his im pression that, in view of the fact that their executions were “overly businesslike” (106), “the British had even less feeling about stran gling a man than they did about killing a chicken” (106). In this w ay, K awam ura’s opinion of the British national character reap peared in his prison diary. Lieutenant General H arada, who had functioned as chief of the P Hall prisoners, was hanged on M ay 28. The day before, Harada had said indignantly to the interpreter, a White Russian: “Last Sunday a party of four British women came for a visit to P Block. Their despicable behavior, even going to see the gallows—is this the character of British w om en?” (132) That
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day Kawamura recorded the following thought: “The Anglo-Saxon piratic nature courses through the bodies of English women today, and one must not overlook the bestial instinct concealed under their genteel dress” (132). K awam ura’s view of the British moved a step further from the image of “almost beastly” to that of “bestial” itself. Yet, even as he regarded the British this w ay and was “at heart already resigned” (93), K awam ura placed his last hope in this foreign culture of Britain and in these “other” people, the British. It was “a glimmer of hope” (140). That is, the verdict, he realized, was probably un avoidable from the standpoint of British policy toward the resident Chinese, but he had “a ray of wishful thinking” (140) that “per haps even the British army is not devoid of righteous men” (140), specifically, that victorious Britain would be magnanimous toward defeated Japan and commute the sentence. But that hope was de nied on June 13 with a notification confirming the execution, and at 9 A.M. on June 26 Lieutenant General Kawamura Saburo climbed the thirteen steps to the scaffold. The day before his execution, Kawamura was allowed to present a written opinion to the British army commander together with his testament. In that opinion, he complained: I know that, in Japan, a criminal generally shows feelings of re morse and repentance and sheds tears, deeply moved by the warm treatment of the judge, and I think it is the same in England. Yet, in the present war trial, who expressed feelings of remorse, re pentance, and gratitude? Absolutely no one did! In the final analy sis, that is because the two sides never struck a common chord of feeling, the gap in thinking between them being so wide; it was by no means the result of a language barrier or the like (174).
On the day before he died, Kawamura claimed that this w ar trial ought to have occurred in a place where, beyond “language barri ers,” different cultures could communicate. He tried to say that the parties ought to have been able to transcend culture to have mutual understanding and exchange, striking “a common chord of feel ing.” To be sure, the British had a side that might be called “almost
L
The Prison Diary of Lt. Gen. Kawamura Saburo 111
beastly” or “bestial,” but Kawamura believed that, as human be ings, he and they could converse based on “feelings.” Yet this British m ilitary tribunal represented a world grounded in AngloAmerican law that valued logic above all. It was not a world that attached more importance to emotion than to reason. The intellec tual struggle that this talented former general of the Japanese army waged with the British thus came to an end, the two sides never to achieve satisfactory communication. The prison diary, which Kawamura hoped somehow to send home, safely reached Japan and was published as Ascending Thirteen Steps. Today, when one reads that diary and follows the trail of K awam ura’s thinking, one can discern there the intellectual struggle of this tragic figure.
I
Chapter 11
“A Gentleman Delights in Three Things”: The Memoirs of General Imamura Hitoshi In tro d u ctio n
More than half a century has passed since Japan suffered unprece dented defeat in W orld W ar II. Since then no one has sung the praises of the Imperial Japanese Army, which bore part of the “re sponsibility” for that defeat. The role it played in the development of modern Japan has been totally dismissed. And, in immediate postwar Japan, with the help of skillful propaganda by the Occupation forces, which disseminated the view that the m ilitary was to blame for all that had gone wrong while the people at large had been victims, career m ilitary officers were denounced as “ring leaders” who had brought suffering on the Japanese populace. High-ranking officers were reduced to symbols of the dark side of imperial Japan, the most obvious case being General Tojo Hideki, prime minister and army minister at the time the w ar broke out; all criticism of him had been taboo during the w ar, but with the defeat he became a target for the resentment of the entire nation. Yet, among such unpopular m ilitary men, there was one army of ficer who, though not as famous as Fleet Adm iral Yamamoto Isoroku, enjoyed a popularity similar to his. That man w as General Imamura Hitoshi. Even one historian who has a negative view of 278
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
the former Japanese army introduces Imamura without hesitation as someone with a reputation for having been “a sincere and de voted officer.”*1 Imamura Hitoshi stands out in m any respects among generals of the im perial arm y in its final period. He had a com bat record of having never lost a battle, beginning w ith the fierce engage ment at N anning in South C hina, which he confronted as com mander of the 5th Division, through the conquest of Java, which he successfully carried out as com mander of the 16th Arm y, to the end of the w ar, which he faced in R abaul as com mander of the 8th Area Army. Furthermore, he possessed the broad vision of a field com m ander-in-chief who heavily fortified R abaul on the South Pacific island of New Britain in preparation for an allout attack by the Allied forces and, in contrast to the situation on G uadalcanal (G a-to), w hich, in a sardonic p lay on homonyms, was said to have been reduced to “starvation island” (gato), even took the lead in achieving local food self-sufficiency. M oreover, he had a fatherly side to him , as when he shielded and took a firm stand for his former subordinates as a defendant in w ar crimes trials conducted by the Australian and Dutch armies after the w ar and when, even after his transfer to Sugamo Prison, he went, at his own request, to serve the rem ainder of his sentence in an internm ent cam p on the hot, hum id island of M anus in Papua N ew G uinea, where his old subordinates had reportedly been receiving harsh treatm ent. These are the reasons he is still described as a peerless “great com mander” and “sage general.” In this chapter, I use as the texts of Imamura’s memoirs the two-volume edition published in Tokyo by Fuyo Shobo in 1970 and 1971, respectively, as Ichi gunjin rokuju nen no aikan (One Soldier’s Sixty Years of Joys and Sorrows) and Zoku ichi gunjin rokuju nen no aikan (Sequel) and reissued by the same publisher in 1980 under the new title Imamura Hitoshi kaikoroku (Memoirs of Imamura Hitoshi) and Zoku Imamura Hitoshi kaikoroku (Sequel). At the end of each quo tation from these two volumes, I have placed the page reference in parentheses, as in (25) and (Sequel 25).
1.
Fujiwara Akira, “Imamura Hitoshi,” in Kokushi daijiten (Dictionary of Japanese History), 15 vols. (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kobunkan, 1979-1997), vol. 1 (1979), p. 800.
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Three decades after the death of General Imamura, the “sage gen eral” has long since become a historical figure. Few people remain who can say anything about him as a soldier based on firsthand ex perience. Nevertheless, if one reads Im am ura H itoshi k a ik o ro k u (The Memoirs of Imamura Hitoshi), the general instantly appears before the reader. This memoir not only has great value as a source that tells a lot about the Japanese army; it also has appeal as a “lit erary piece” that one should not overlook. When Heibonsha pub lished a twenty-five-volume series entitled N ihonjin no jiden (Autobiographies of Japanese) in the early 1980s, out of all the avail able memoirs or autobiographies of m ilitary men, it selected the reminiscences of Imamura Hitoshi, along with those of Admiral Suzuki Kantaro, in the volume or m ilitary figures. This fact clearly shows recognition of his work as a piece of literature. In this chap ter, while savoring the literary quality of General Imamura’s mem oirs, I w ill attempt to trace the character formation of this man, known to posterity as a caring father-figure to w ar criminals, and then to examine his view of the w ar crimes trials through a careful reading of his memoirs. T he M em oirs
of a
G eneral
The old saying is that “a vanquished general should not talk of battles,” but, after Japan’s defeat in the Second W orld W ar, sev eral career soldiers left behind memoirs. Among generals alone, besides Im am ura’s w ork, A raki S ad ao fuun sanju nen (Araki Sadao: T hirty Years of Turbulence)2 and K atsuzan k o s o (A utobiography of a Great M an, Koiso K uniaki) by Koiso K uniaki,3 who also served as w artim e prime m inister, im m edi ately come to mind. A raki’s book is a rather broad account of the “road I traveled”; to put it favorably, this work by a general who was elevated to the status of head of the Imperial W ay faction of 2. 3.
Edited by Aritake Shuji and published in Tokyo by Fuyo Shobo in 1975. Published in Tokyo by the Koiso Kuniaki Jijoden Kankokai (Publishing Society for the Autobiography) in 1963.
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
army officers impresses one with the generosity of the man while, frankly speaking, it gives one a glimpse of the coarseness of his character, and I do not feel that it merits careful reading as litera ture. On the other hand, Koiso’s memoir, “a great autobiography of a soldier-statesman,”4 is the product of an outstanding memory in terms of both breadth and accuracy; but, in the second half, to a considerable degree it gives off the odor of apologia, as might be expected when “a vanquished general speaks of b attles.” And with regard to the Tokyo trial, where Koiso himself was a defen dant, one could say that, rather than a carefully argued rebuttal, he develops throughout a position of aloofness and denial. Consequently, on the whole, one cannot look to this voluminous memoir for “the pleasure of the te x t,” as Roland Barthes put it. One cannot write “literature” with only a mastery of W h o’s W ho , that is, with nothing but a good memory of things past. Earlier I mentioned that, among m ilitary men of the Showa pe riod, Imamura Hitoshi is unique. And one could also say that his memoirs possess unparalleled characteristics. Whereas Araki and Koiso produced their works as the recollections of generals who had won fame, if not honor, Imamura began composing his mem oirs and completed most of the writing while he was being held in solitary cofinement on Java at a time when both he and others were fully anticipating that he would receive the death sentence. Although in places he does point up cogently the injustice of w ar crimes trials imposed unilaterally by the Allied Powers, his clear and placid style is enough to make the reader forget that the au thor is someone whose life was at the mercy of the former enemy. The finished memoirs were published in the early 1960s.5 4.
5.
Rikugun Shi Kenkyukai (Society for Research on Army History), ed., Nihon rikugun no hon: so kaisetsu (Book on the Japanese Army: General Commentary) (Tokyo: Jiyu Kokuminsha, 1985), p. 62. In 1960 Jiyu Ajiasha published the four volumes Ori no naka no baku (The Caged Tapir), Kozoku to kashikan (Imperial Princes and Noncommissioned Officers), Dai gekisen (The Great Hard-Fought Battle), and Tatakai oivaru (The Conflict Ends) as Imamura Hitoshi taisho kaisdroku (Memoirs of General Imamura Hitoshi). The next year the same publisher issued Kappa
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Following his release after returning from Manus Island to Sugamo, General Imamura is said to have built onto his house a three-mat “confinement room ” and, until the day he died, continued to en gage in self-reflection there. Apparently he published his memoirs so he could use the royalties to assist, even in a small w ay, the sur viving families of those who had lost their lives on the battlefield or through the w ar crimes trials.6 Once they were published, Imamura’s memoirs met with an un expected response. On this point as well, they differed markedly from the reminiscences of other m ilitary figures. The work became a fa vorite of executives in the business world as a book of lessons on life. Even in recent years, the economist Kusaka Kimindo has written of Imamura that, “for salarymen living in the organizations of modern society, [his work] should be a very helpful guide.”7 Kusaka also touches on General Imamura’s narrative style and mode of expres sion and states that the reader of his memoirs begins to feel as if he is “right at the scene with Imamura Hitoshi, perched on his shoul ders.”8 Furthermore, Tsunoda Fusako, who has completed what is perhaps the only full-fledged biography of General Imamura, sums up the attraction of his memoir as a literary work by noting that its reading leaves “a fresh impression.”9 M urakam i Hyoe, who did the commentary for the memoir when it was included in the aforemen tioned Heibonsha series, gives the following evaluation of the styles of narration and expression of the two m ilitary leaders’ memoirs: no Nisa (A Water Sprite Named Nisa), Kenbosho (Amnesia), and Nogi taisho (General Nogi) as the three-part Imamura Hitoshi taisho kaisoroku: seishun hen (The Youth Volume). Besides reprinting this Jiyu Ajiasha edition, the
6.
7.
8. 9.
Fuyo Shobo one, which I have used as my source, includes newly discovered posthumous manuscripts, but it leaves out some of the contents of the Jiyu Ajiasha edition, so regrettably it is not a complete reissue. Tsunoda Fusako, Sekinin: Rabauru no shogun Imamura Hitoshi (Responsi bility: The General of Rabaul Imamura Hitoshi) (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1984), p. 156. Kusaka Kimindo, Imamura Hitoshi-shi no gunjin seikatsu (The Military Life of Mr. Imamura Hitoshi) (Kyoto: PHP Kenkyujo, 1983), Preface, unpagi nated. Ibid., p. 204. Tsunoda, p. 154.
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi 283
In the case of the two men whose work is contained in this vol ume [Suzuki and Imamura], it appears that they were relatively indifferent to personal advancement. In that sense they can be called men of character. This fact has made their autobiogra phies fresh, but, at the same time, it has also made them unin teresting. Being indifferent about oneself does not necessarily lend itself to depicting contemporary society and people’s state of mind.101 Although we need to investigate more thoroughly whether, as M urakam i suggests, Im am ura’s memoirs fail to “depict contemporary society and people’s state o f mind,” the adjective “fresh (s u g a su g a sh ii )” happens to be identical to the w ord Tsunoda uses. No doubt many readers o f the memoirs would agree at once with this succinct remark. Nevertheless, to my knowledge, this is about the extent o f the literary discourse concerning Imamura’s opus. Having positioned it among military memoirs, I would now like to attempt an appreciation of the w ork as literature. Im a m u r a H itoshi
the
W
riter
No one looking through K atsuzan koso can help but admire Koiso Kuniaki’s extraordinary memory. Likewise, in the case o f Imamura Hitoshi, the reader w ill undoubtedly be impressed by his remem brance o f things from childhood through the w ar years, his sole ref erence being “a notebook in which I had recorded only important matters from a long time ago.”11 But by no means did Imamura have an outstanding memory. Far from claiming “I remembered my own birth,”12 as did Mishima Yukio, he did not hesitate to write
10. Nihonjin no jiden (Autobiographies of Japanese), 25 vols. (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1980-1982), vol. 12: Suzuki Kantard, Imamura Hitoshi (1981), p. 423. 11. Imamura, Ori no naka no baku (Tokyo: Jiyu Ajiasha, 1960), p. 6. The pref ace from which this quote is drawn is not included in the Fuyo Shobo edition. 12. Mishima Yukio, Confessions of a Mask, tr. Meredith Weatherby (Norfolk, CT: New Directions, 1958), p. 2.
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frankly that “Just a few events from before grade school appear dimly as if in the hazy distance, but I have no clear recollection of them” (Sequel 237). Then why exactly is the reader of Imamura’s memoir impressed by his memory? The reason is probably the author’s power of ex pression in giving vivid descriptions of various scenes from his life. As anyone notices upon reading it, one m ajor characteristic of Im am ura’s memoir is that it employs the technique of direct narration, that is, it has the characters, including himself, speak in person. As Im am ura’s biographer, Tsunoda Fusako, has actually succeeded in doing, just adding simple sentences that resemble stage directions to the direct narration part of the memoir is all it takes to produce a splendid novel, so consummate is Im am ura’s technique. Let me cite one example of how he is so skillful in this regard that one could well call him the novelist Imamura Hitoshi. At the time the M anchurian Incident broke out, Imamura held the im portant post of chief of operations in the General Staff Office and earnestly tried to restrain the reckless advance of the Kwantung Field Army. Looking back after the w ar, while noting that “I think the Kwantung Army staff ought to have fully cooper ated with the center and waited patiently until the time was ripe” (210), he wrote that, in terms of the history of Japan’s modern de velopment, “I regard the M anchurian Incident as having been the nation’s destiny” (210). The problem, he pointed out, was that the failure of the principals in the affair, Itagaki Seishiro and Ishihara K anji, to “subm it to central co n tro l” (210) w as com pletely ig nored. “The people who became the new central leaders, consid ering them to have achieved success in the M anchurian Incident, summoned both officers to T okyo, w here they showered them w ith the highest praise. Deeming it inadequate merely to confer on them aw ards for distinguished service, they went so far as to send them on special inspection tours of the W est. M oreover, subsequently, w hile prom oting them to im portant posts at the center, the leaders at the same time ended up expelling from the center every one of the officers who had tried to bring the K wantung Arm y under central co n tro l” (210-211). In other
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi 285
words, they created a basis for subordinate officers to “commit breaches of m ilitary discipline” (210), that is, for “the lower to dominate the upper” (g ek o k u jo) within the arm y. And five years later the “hero” of the M anchurian Incident, Ishihara Kanji, would reap the harvest from the seeds that he himself had sown. In 1936 M ajor General Ishihara, who then held the key position of chief of the operations division at the Army General Staff, pro ceeded to his former place of service, the Kwantung Army, in order to make it stop its maneuvering in Inner M ongolia, which it was carrying out against central wishes. Receiving him were his close friend, Lieutenant General Itagaki, the chief of staff of the Kwantung Army, and other staff officers. At the time, Imamura was serving as vice chief of staff under Itagaki. Upon his arrival, M ajor General Ishihara declared in “a manner full of confidence” that he had come to “have the wishes of the central authorities fully understood” (211). After explaining “the maneuvering in Inner M ongolia,” Imamura returns to the scene in which Ishihara was welcomed: Colonel Muto spoke up with a smile. “Ishihara-saw! Is this just a message for outward show in which you’re relaying the orders of superior officers, or are you speak ing your own mind?” “What are you saying? I am personally dead set against the Inner Mongolian operations. At a time when the construction of Manchukuo is finally getting under way, common sense would tell you that, if you got us into trouble with the Soviet Union or China over a place like Mongolia, it would be a serious matter.” “I can hardly believe you really mean that. When you were ac tively engaged in the Manchurian Incident, I served in the opera tions section of the General Staff Office with Vice Chief Imamura, who is here; and we closely observed your actions and were deeply impressed by them. We have followed the example of your actions and behaved accordingly in Inner Mongolia.” No sooner had he said this than the other young staff officers all burst into laughter (211-212).
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W ith his statements, M uto A kira seems to poke fun at Ishihara, serious and brim m ing w ith self-confidence. The phrase “spoke up with a sm ile” makes it all the more effective. That “sm ile” ex pands into a “burst of laughter.” The indignation of the isolated Ishihara Kanji comes across to the reader thick and fast. In the next moment every reader w onders, “W hat about Itag ak i?” Im am ura continues: “M r. Ishihara fixed his eyes on his senior and staunch friend from those days, Lieutenant General Itagaki. The lieutenant general said nothing, casting a chill over the entire room ” (212). The technique reminds one of a practiced writer fa m iliar w ith the tendencies and interests of readers. Im am ura, who w ith the calm eye of a third party thus depicted the scene centering on Ishihara, also drew him self into the picture. It was like the Spanish court artist Diego V elasquez painting himself, depicting the scene with paintbrush in hand, into “Las M eninas” (The M aids of Honor). I considered it discourteous to treat in this way a person who had come on behalf of the chief of the General Staff to convey his orders. “Chief of Staff! May I suggest the following? It’s already dinner time. How about if we have dinner now, and you and I receive the instructions of His Highness [the chief of the General Staff at the time was Prince Kan’in-no-miya Kotohito] in the army commander’s office, and this evening we just have a friendly talk?” (212)
Two days later Chief of the Operations Division Ishihara would leave the headquarters of the Kwantung Army in Hsingking, but he “had a forlorn look as if he were a different person from when we received him ” (212). Ishihara, full of confidence; M uto, speaking out with a smile as if to brush aside the general’s seriousness; the roar of laughter from the staff officers; silent Itagaki; tactful Imamura; forlornly depart ing Ishihara—to this progression is added just the right amount of direct narration. The reader is left with the illusion that this scene from the headquarters of the Kwantung Army in the fall of 1936 is
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unfolding before his very eyes. This is truly a masterful reconstruc tion of a moment in time. As noted earlier, M urakam i Hyoe has characterized Imamura Hitoshi’s writing style as “uninteresting,” one that “does not nec essarily lend itself to depicting contemporary society and people’s state of m ind.” But I doubt there is any other record that depicts so skillfully the human side of affairs within the Japanese army in the latter half of the 1930s. Lu c k y
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As one can tell from this passage concerning M ajor General Ishihara’s visit to the headquarters of the Kwantung Army, Imamura Hitoshi’s literary style has no superfluous rhetorical flour ishes. One can describe it as calm, composed, even simple. Yet it is by no means monotonous; on the contrary, there is something ap pealing about it that keeps drawing in the reader. Where exactly did he learn this style? When one reads the memoirs of people who were active as diplo mats in the prewar period, one often comes across accounts that in their fledgling days they had their superiors correct drafts of their w riting with red ink, and that process became their literary ap prenticeship. In the case of arm y officer Imamura Hitoshi, even after assiduously reading his voluminous memoirs, one finds no such recollection. W hen he w as a student at Shibata M iddle School in N iigata prefecture, Im am ura joined the literary as w ell as debate clubs, and his mother feared that he would become a “literary w eak lin g ,” so interested w as he in literature. When he entered his fourth year at the school, the person who taught Japanese la n guage and literature w as an elderly man named K awasum i Sutebei, who had transferred from the First M iddle School in Kyoto prefecture, “a forbidding teacher” with a faded suit and a scowl. He didn’t care w hether the students were listening and conducted the class as if he were talking to himself while staring out the window at a pine grove. At first the students commented,
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“He’s an oddball, this teacher.” But, “as the months went by, the students became totally captivated by Teacher, straining to catch every w ord of his exp lan atio n s” (Sequel 294). The reason, Imamura w rites, w as that Kawasum i “took great interest in the trends in modern literature” and gave “outspoken critiques of the works of various literary m asters,” thereby “m aking the students feel as though they were being taken to a dream land.” (Sequel 295) Naturally, the youthful Imamura became one of the students who frequently called on Kawasumi. To this young literary enthusiast, the teacher had this to say: If one gazes at what are called Japanese masterpieces, one is struck by a kind of energy. A pattern-dyed Yuzen design is simply pretty, but it does not evoke a feeling of pleasure; and, if one stares at it a long time, it may even elicit disgust. Trying to embellish a sen tence with adjectives is no different from the art of Yuzen dye ing. In prose, song, and poetry, the important thing is the thoughts and feelings they contain. Moreover, rather than express these in a gaudy fashion using adjectives, it will impress people much more to write in such a way that they find expression from within the text (Sequel 296).
Some fifty years after receiving this advice, Imamura Hitoshi thus remembered it as a defeated general in prison. And in composing his memoirs, although Imamura himself m ay not have realized it, he put into practice the very writing method this former teacher had recommended. Even after graduating from middle school, the young Imamura would exchange letters with this teacher of litera ture about twice a year; and in 1942, when as commander of the 16th Army Imamura had successfully completed the conquest of the Dutch East Indies, Kawasumi, he recalled, “rejoiced greatly at the news and sent a letter to me in Jav a” (Sequel 297). The lieutenant general, who at age 56 was then much older than Kawasumi had been when he had taught Imamura, no doubt received his former teacher’s letter with the feelings of a sixteen-year-old boy. Besides K aw asum i Sutebei, several other teachers Im amura had had as a youth appear in his memoirs. The section that in-
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eludes them, covering the period from his infancy until he took the exam ination for the Army Academy, accounts for about one ninth of the memoirs. Though he w as over 60, Imamura offers a depiction of his early days, both fresh and lucid, as if he were w riting about something that had happened the day before rather than reminiscing about the distant past. Perhaps because people have exclusively emphasized the view of Imamura as an elite m il itary officer who survived the massive organization known as the im perial arm y, no one has so far attem pted a full-fledged inter pretation of the boyhood years th at Im am ura portrays in his memoirs. Yet, even if one selects only that portion of the w ork, the level of accomplishment is such that it easily stands as an au tobiographical novel in its own right. And vivid recollections of former teachers constitute one of its distinctive features. Imamura’s father, who was a judge, was serving in the Sendai court at the time of Hitoshi’s birth. Thereafter, as he was succes sively transferred, the Imamura family moved to Yam agata, Sakata (in Yam agata prefecture), and then Shirakawa (in Fukushima pre fecture). When Hitoshi entered elem entary school, they were residents of Yam agata prefecture. In second grade Imamura was always “taking his eyes off” the book in class and constantly being scolded by the teacher in charge, and in the end he was punished by being locked up in a broom closet; but over the next three years he was fortunate to encounter sympathetic teachers— “fatherly” Shiga, “great big brother” Fujita, and H anakada, who looked like a mere “student” (Sequel 264). Whenever he recalls one of these teachers, Imamura’s tone is filled with respect and warmth. Years later, when Imamura was being sent from Rabaul to Java to stand trial before a Dutch m ilitary tribunal and was prepared to face the death penalty as commander in chief, a passage from the medieval Japanese w ar tale Taiheiki flashed across his mind (475). The passage described the journey of the court noble Hino Toshimoto of Kyoto, who had been captured and was being sent to Kamakura for execution, and on to this story General Imamura su perimposed his own fate. The person who long ago had initiated the ten-year-old Imamura into the fascinating world of the T aiheiki
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was the youthful teacher Hanakada Junsaku, who had just gradu ated from middle school. The brotherly discussion o f literature be tween teacher and pupil cannot help but bring a smile to the reader: One Sunday afternoon I asked: “Teacher! Besides Boys’ World (the magazine Shorten sekai), I haven’t been reading anything other than Mr. Sazanami’s work.13 Even if you play baseball, can you still like books?” “Books and baseball have nothing to do with each other. And yet maybe you could say they do. Playing sports after studying, reading books after playing sports. Either way seems fine, because it will help change your mood. I am relieved that, even though you’ve become earnest about baseball, your school grades haven’t gone down. It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t become equally good, equally clever at both.” “I’m not talking about school books. I’m talking about books like the ones in your bookcase.” “Oh, these literature books? It depends on your preferences, so I really can’t say.” As he spoke, he took out a volume, opened it, and, making a dog-ear on a page in one section, handed it to me. “This book is called the Taiheiki. The place I dog-eared is a section that describes the journey of a loyal retainer named Hino who, together with Emperor Godaigo, had gone after a bad clan named Hojo, but instead he had been captured and was being sent to Kamakura for execution. It’s a famous passage, beauti fully written, and many people read it and even learn it by heart. If you want to look at it, you can take it with you.” I borrowed it as I left. . . . I was a boy of only ten, but I was moved by just how elegant the writing was in the passage on the courtier Hino Toshimoto’s “Leaving the Capital for the Kanto Region” in the Taiheiki—this war tale—and finally I ended up memorizing the entire passage.
13. Iwaya Sazanami (1870-1933) was a novelist and scholar of children’s liter ature.
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Two Sundays later I called on him in Kugawa village by way of returning the Taiheiki. “You didn’t have to be in such a hurry. Did you enjoy it?” “I read it twice. With so many difficult Chinese characters, there were parts I couldn’t understand very well. I enjoyed read ing it and went over the passage on ‘Leaving the Capital for the Kanto Region’ several times and learned it by heart.” “I can recite that from memory, too. Let’s see you do it.” Without stumbling too much, I recited the passage, starting with: To wander through Katano’s snow Of falling flowers in spring, Or from Storm Mountain come home again, Robed in autumn’s maple-leaf brocade.14 “Well done! So you also like literature . . . .” “When you say ‘literature,’ do you mean ‘writing’? Is some thing like Boys’ World literature, too?” “I shouldn’t have said ‘literature.’ When you grow up, you’ll understand.” As I left that day, he lent me the Genpei seisuiki (Chronicle of the Rise and Pall of the Minamoto and Taira) (Sequel 265-266).
The young instructor trying to fulfill his duties as a teacher with all his heart; the elementary-school pupil trusting and idolizing that teacher as he introduces him to a new world. W hile frankly adm it ting that there were many Chinese characters that were difficult and parts that were unclear, the pupil is overjoyed at being praised for successfully reciting the passage from memory. One can gather the kind of impact this childhood “literary lesson” had on Imamura from the fact that, even after the passage of more than half a cen tury, he writes with certainty that he went to return the copy of the T aiheiki two Sundays later. Even after Imamura had become a gen eral, this young instructor who had told him he would understand once he grew up remained “Teacher” to him. 14. T he Taiheiki: A C hron icle o f M edieval ja p a n , tr. Helen Craig McCullough (New York: Columbia University Press, 1959), p. 38.
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As one reads Im am ura’s moving encounters with several teach ers, one is struck by the strong bond between teacher and student so strong that, while Imamura treasures his memories of his for mer teachers, they in turn never forget him. I have already men tioned the congratulatory letter from K awasum i upon the con quest of Jav a. After hearing news of the same cam paign, Shidehara Taira (the older brother of Foreign M inister and Prime M inister Shidehara K ijuro), who had been principal of Kofu M iddle School when Imamura was enrolled there, told his friends and acquaintances: “When I w as in Taipei, I did quite a bit of re search on the southern regions. . . . I am going to go while a for mer student is there and have him show me all around the place” (Sequel 278). For H anakada as well, the Imamura lad was an unforgettable student. Later this teacher became a Russian-language instructor at the Army College. One day he happened to spot Imamura’s name on the list of applicants to the college and sent word through a cap tain who was Imamura’s senior that by all means he would like to meet him. Hearing that Hanakada was undergoing treatment for tu berculosis, the former student immediately called on his home, but the teacher who had initiated him into the wonders of the T aiheiki had passed aw ay the day before. His widow spoke to Lieutenant Imamura: Last night he talked for a while about baseball at the elemen tary school and said things like “He was small but full of en ergy. I think he was a pitcher, or was he the catcher? They did n’t lose many games. Now that he’s become a soldier, he must be all grown up.” Over and over again he would rouse himself to say that he was definitely going to get well and teach again, so I never thought that five or six hours later he would close his eyes . . . (Sequel 269).
At that moment, try as he m ight, Im am ura w as unable to hold back tears. He concluded his recollections of H anakada Junsaku by noting: “I w as deeply touched by the fact that a grade school
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teacher w ould continue to rem em ber a form er student o f his” (Sequel 269).
A child cannot choose his parents, nor can a student choose his teachers. If there is such a thing as being lucky in teachers, then Imamura Hitoshi was certainly blessed with such luck. Of course, the very fact that Imamura himself was a good student made it pos sible for him to encounter and be remembered by these teachers. Parents
Reading the boyhood recollections of Imamura Hitoshi as he came under the positive influence of a series of teachers, one gets the im pression that, broadly speaking, this section amounts to a Bildungsroman. The story one reads is of an impressionable youth in his formative years growing up as he absorbs the lessons of his teachers. Of course, parents also exert a huge impact on a youth’s journey to adulthood. The Imamura fam ily had for generations been re tainers of the Sendai daimyo. At the time of the M eiji Restoration, the head of the Imamura house, W ashinosuke, was supposed to have fought against the imperial forces as staff officer of the army of the Sendai domain, but when the domain army submitted to the imperials, he was w rongly suspected of having made a deal with them to save his own skin. After that unhappy experience, he gave up his feudal stipend and went into retirement. During the M eiji era, he lived virtually as a hermit, and the Imamura fam ily gradu ally fell into poverty. After W ashinosuke died, his heir, Torao, became responsible for the care of his stepmother and five halfbrothers and sisters. From the age of fifteen or sixteen, he began working as a page in a government office. This Imamura Torao was none other than Hitoshi’s father. Torao became a judge after studying on his own and placing second in the country on the judicial service exam ination. As he had earlier studied Sinology under his father, who had given lec tures to the dom ain lord on the Chinese classics and the art of w ar, his avocation w as to compose Chinese poetry. One of his
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fellow poetry enthusiasts later told H itoshi that T orao “com posed poems subordinating the choice of characters to the thought and feeling im plied” (Sequel 329). This acquaintance added that, although he w as a justice, his w orks “sounded as though they sang of the emotions of an accused crim inal, not of a judge” (Sequel 329). Torao reportedly admitted to this friend that, being forced to judge according to law s that “condemn the of fense as w ell as the offender,” he “often sym pathized w ith the defendant and felt terribly forlorn after pronouncing sentence” (Sequel 331). H itoshi’s father w as not only a man of reason but also a man of heart. Having been born prem aturely, Hitoshi had a small physique. Until he was nine, he did not stop bed-wetting and routinely soiled his futon. But his father never scolded him. On the other hand, his mother, Kiyomi, was very strict, and because he was alw ays quar reling w ith his siblings and w etting his bed, she “w as especially severe in her criticism ” of him (Sequel 259). She was also extremely strong and a fearsome figure to young Hitoshi during his gradeschool days. Just like his fond recollections of his former teachers, Imamura’s reminiscences of his late parents are full of respect and warm th. And his style of w riting wonderfully recreates from a child’s point of view his boyhood relationship with his parents. Moving on to higher elementary school, the young Imamura be came king of the mischief-makers without knowing it. He would think nothing of sneaking into a nearby vineyard w ith his gang, stealing ripened grapes, and enjoying them down on the dry riverbed. Finally, the owner, who had been on the lookout, caught him in the act one day and took him home. After his mother re spectfully apologized, she persuaded the reluctant farmer to accept a considerable amount of money to cover his losses and made her son apologize then and there as well. The farmer politely bowed to Mother and went home. I thought that would be the end of it, but my mother took me to the draw ing room on the second floor and tied my hands with a towel. “Are these the hands? The ones that stole someone else’s things?”
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She twisted the backs of my hands until they hurt something awful. “Do you know so little about Father’s position? Now that our family has turned out a thief like you, Father will have to quit his government job.” While weeping, she then spanked me a number of times. . . . Everything about my mother that day came down heavily on my heart, and, terrified to think that Mother could be this frighten ing, I began trembling from head to toe. “This time Fll have to tell Father the truth. You need to reflect on the fact that you’ve been bad.” My mother went downstairs. The towel with which she had tied my hands dug into my wrists, and it hurt so much I could hardly stand it.. . . After a while my father returned from the of fice and came upstairs. “Do you understand that you did something bad?” “I understand.” “If there’s something you want so much that you’ll steal for it, then ask Mother, and if she says you can’t have it, then ask me.” “More than wanting it, I thought it was fun.” “That’s the way it is. At first, driven by poverty, a person cau tiously steals things from other people, but once that person suc cessfully gets hold of things, he begins to feel more and more ex hilarated about taking risks when stealing, and in the end he becomes a big villain. Since your stealing of grapes went well in the beginning, you started to think it was a fun game. You were lucky to get caught today. Do you understand? Early on is the most crit ical time. If there’s something you want, be sure to tell us.” My father, who would always smile at his children and never scold them no matter how much Mother berated us, was not smil ing at all today. I realized I had done a very bad thing. “I know I was bad. I’ll never steal again.” “Very well. As long as you understand. Now go downstairs and apologize to Mother.” He untied the towel from my hands. During dinner, Mother didn’t say a word, and Father was not smiling as he usually did.
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. . . For days after that, I kept worrying that my father would have to quit his government job (Sequel 271-272).
Not only did the mother tie her son’s hands with a towel, but, spanking him as she wept, she rebuked him for his misdeed. Yet, rather than scolding her grade-school-age son in a hysterically vio lent w ay, she appealed to his reason, saying, “You need to reflect on the fact that you’ve been bad.” By noting in these recollections the pain he felt in his bound wrists, Imamura succeeded not only in showing that his mother was by no means physically weak, but also in communicating to the reader the feelings of a boy reflecting on his own wrongdoing. After the father returned home, his son told him truthfully that he had stolen the grapes more for fun than out of a desire for them. The father replied by explaining in simple terms that this was the pre vailing psychology of criminals. Some may say that, given the nature of his occupation as a judge, it was only natural for him to offer such an explanation. Nonetheless, the father’s tone was patient and without a trace of agitation. He reasoned in a w ay that any child, not just the young Hitoshi, could not help saying or, rather, would simply want to say, “I know I was bad.” By ending with the sentence “For days after that, I kept worrying that my father would have to quit his government job,” the author makes clear that he had com pletely understood and reflected on what his mother had scolded him about. But he also gives the illusion that a ten-year-old is w rit ing down this passage from the perspective of a boy that age. Among Japanese works that portray the world of children from a child’s point of view, one that immediately comes to mind is the Silver Spoon (Gin no saji, 1913), which Natsume Soseki praised as an unparalleled evocation of a child’s world. Coincidentally, the author, N aka Kansuke, w as Imamura H itoshi’s contem porary, born as he w as in 1885, just a year before Imamura. The Silver Spoon , which N aka planned and wrote from the beginning as a novel, is certainly a more accomplished work than the general’s reminiscences in terms of depicting the world of children. N aka w as tw enty-eight at the time he w orked up his recollections of
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childhood from about two decades earlier into a short novel. By contrast, Im am ura w as alread y into his sixties when he wrote about his childhood of more than half a century ago as part of his memoirs. The fact that a passage he penned for a w ork of nonfic tion nonetheless reads like a novel testifies to Imamura’s extraor dinary gift for writing. Although the two authors produced these works at very different times in their lives, as might be expected of contemporaries, they happen to have some stories in common in their portrayals of childhood. For example, they both talk about the heightened w ar atmosphere within Japan at the time of the Sino-Japanese W ar of 1894-1895. N aka went to the First Higher School and then on to Tokyo Imperial University. There he found favor w ith his classroom teacher, Soseki, who recognized his literary talent, and embarked on a writing career as a Soseki protege. If Imamura had taken the same route, would he and N aka have crossed paths? If he, as a student with a huge interest in literature, had received instruction from Soseki, how would he have felt? As when he dropped in on his teacher’s house during his elementary-school days, would he have gone to Soseki’s home, had his w riting ability recognized, and started on a literary career? If so, w hat kind of w riter would he have become? These sorts of hypothetical musings come flooding into my mind. Having graduated from Shibata M iddle School in N iigata pre fecture in M arch 1904, Imamura went to Tokyo to prepare for the entrance examination to the First Higher School and lodged at his uncle’s house in Koishikawa. Thus, the necessary conditions for him to become both a friend of N aka Kansuke and a protege of Natsume Soseki were in place. All that remained w as for him to take and pass the examination. At this juncture, however, his life came to a major turning point. On
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woodblock prints of the w ar were hanging in front of bookstores and print shops in the town. Looking at the prints, which were re placed each time a new battle occurred, the young Imamura “felt both pleasure and a stirring in my heart” (Sequel 254). He recalled that his m other, the daughter of an arm y captain, w as alw ays buying him the enticing prints. A decade later, when Japan plunged into w ar w ith Russia, Hitoshi was at the age of gradua tion from middle school, which lasted five years under the prewar system. He w as chosen to deliver the valedictory at the grad ua tion ceremony. His father was also asked to give a greeting on be half of the parents. On the day of the ceremony, despite running a fever, Torao w alked the snow-covered paths to carry out his im portant task; after he returned home, the fever worsened, and he ended up bedridden. He failed to recover, and in late M ay Hitoshi received a telegram at his place of lodging in Tokyo saying, “Father near death, come home at once.” By the time he reached home, a sign reading “In M ourning” had already been posted on the gate of the Imamura residence (Sequel 318). By cutting off the source of income for the Imamura household, his father’s death meant for Hitoshi and his siblings the loss of the fam ily’s ability to pay for educational expenses. An alternative would have been to accept money from a benefactor, but his mother would not allow Hitoshi to do that; otherwise, she said, he “would end up at the beck and call of that person” (Sequel 335). She ex plained in a letter to her son in Tokyo: If none of you five boys goes to war, we will have neglected our duty to our country. Your grandfathers on both sides of the fam ily were soldiers. Whether you enlist as a soldier in active service or go to the military academy and become an officer, you must by all means serve on the field of battle (Sequel 335). A t the m ilitary academy, everything from the uniform to room and board was paid fo r by the governm ent. And, just to make sure Hitoshi didn’t miss the application deadline for the academy, his mother had already sent in an application for him, forging his sig nature on it.
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“Day after day I continued to struggle over it” (Sequel 335), Imamura candidly wrote in his memoirs about his feelings at the time. The uncle who was putting him up in Tokyo was his father’s half-brother; at one time Torao had raised the money to cover all of this half-brother’s school expenses. No doubt Hitoshi could have approached this uncle for help or taken other steps to realize his dream of attending the First Higher School. But Imamura was a du tiful son. Rather than ignoring his mother’s wishes, he “exchanged letters” (Sequel 336) w ith her and reconsidered his career plans. Then one day he read in the paper that a m ilitary review would be held at the Aoyama parade ground and went to have a look. The parade ground was already full of people, and while “listening to the sound of bugles and the playing of the m ilitary band w ay off in the distance” (Sequel 336) he stood among the crowd on an adjacent road. About an hour later, when the review ended and the M eiji emperor headed back to the Imperial Palace in his carriage, “the crowd numbering several tens of thousands moved toward the pro cession like floodwater breaking through a levee” (Sequel 336). Jostled by the crowd, Imamura “was swept into the front row com pletely unawares and pushed out to where I was barely two meters from the carriage” (Sequel 336). Thus, he came to have the good fortune of seeing “the serene visage” (Sequel 336) of the emperor. At the time, the Russo-Japanese W ar was at its height, and the sense of nationalism in imperial Japan had reached a clim ax. The multitude crowding round the emperor’s carriage shed tears of grat itude and shouted banzai after banzai. Like a superb newspaper reporter, Imamura gave vivid recollections of the citizens who thronged to the parade ground on the day of the m ilitary review. He followed that description with a well-known passage: “So this is the national character of Japan!” In this way I was deeply moved by the unity between the em peror and his people in this great family state. On the way home, I dropped by the post office and sent a telegram to my mother in Echigo [Niigata]. “Will take exam for army academy. Failing that, will enlist.”
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My career as a soldier began with the profound emotion I felt at this time (Sequel 336-337).
A young man making up his mind to become a soldier on his own initiative rather than being prevailed upon by his mother to take that path—Imamura uses a simple style to convey this scenario. By quoting the text of the telegram, he effectively gives the reader a sense of being present as the young man reaches his decision. Thus did Imamura H itoshi’s chances of becoming a friend of N aka Kansuke and a protege of Natsume Soseki fade aw ay. With this decision, however, he took the first step toward a m ilitary ca reer that would ultim ately lead to his command of the armies that conquered Java and occupied Rabaul. In April 1905, right after the Battle of M ukden, Imamura took the army cadet’s examination, and in late June notification of his acceptance as an infantryman reached his home. Besides congratu lations, his mother relayed advice from a fam ily friend who was in the m ilitary: “In the three weeks until your enlistment, you should w alk a lot and especially practice double tim e” (Sequel 339). Her nineteen-year-old son lost no time in buying a used pair of army boots and “every evening tried marching double time the roughly eight kilometers from near the [Koishikawa] Botanical Garden to Sugamo Bridge and back” (Sequel 339). The image of the obedient son comes through clearly in this episode. For Imamura, who had been blessed with good teachers in ele m entary and middle school, his new “teacher” w as Colonel Kawauchi Reizo, commander of the Sendai infantry regiment that he joined. Imamura notes that he later told K awauchi’s former classmate General Utsunomiya Taro: “I was born the child of my parents, but as a soldier, from the time I became a cadet until I en tered the Army College, I w as raised all along by Regimental Commander K awauchi” (48). The first meeting with a new teacher is alw ays tense. “I am Colonel Kawauchi Reizo, the alternate commander of this regiment. I will now call out your names. When your name is called, face the regimental commander and answer ‘Here.’”
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Unfolding the muster he had brought with him, he began the roll call. When each person looked at the regimental commander and replied “Here,” he would stare at that person and be in no hurry to call the next name. Somehow it felt as though we were being browbeaten (Sequel 340).
Imamura thus recalled his first encounter w ith Colonel Kawauchi. With the regimental commander “staring at each person and in no hurry to call the next nam e,” nineteen-year-old Cadet Imamura felt “browbeaten,” but w hat comes through here is the image of a teacher trying to remember the names of eighteen new faces.
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People who are lucky enough to have good teachers often try to be come good teachers themselves. Testifying to that pattern is the fact that many a fine academic has written about the debt of gratitude he owes his mentors. Inspired by good instructors during his ele mentary- and middle-school years, Imamura Hitoshi still cherished them a half century later. If he had gone to First Higher School and then to the imperial university, he would undoubtedly have met and become obligated to a number of teachers there as well. Even if he had not chosen a literary career, he might well have aspired to be a teacher himself. And it is not hard to imagine that he would have spent the rest of his life as a good teacher who never forgot his former students, for in his career as a soldier he embodied the qual ities of a good instructor. In the case of a professional soldier, the term “instructor” brings to mind a member of the Army College faculty. During a m ilitary career that spanned more than four decades, Imamura never held a faculty position at the Army College. While a colonel from 1933 to 1935, he served as director of the arm y’s Narashino School, and as a lieutenant general he headed the main office of the Department of M ilitary Education for three months in 1940. Neither of these posts, however, involved teaching young officers in the classroom.
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Consequently, Imamura never served as a teacher in the narrow sense of the word. W hat I would like to take up here are his activ ities as an educator broadly conceived. After about five months of train ing under R egim ental Commander K awauchi, Imamura entered the M ilitary Academy on December 1, 1905. Following his graduation in June 1907, he w as sent back to his home unit, the 4th Infantry Regim ent of Sendai, and assigned to its 12th Company as a probationary offi cer. Imamura recalled his experience then as a twenty-one-yearold soldier: The fourteen warrant officers and noncoms were older than I. The second-year enlisted men were the same age, while the firstyear enlistees were a year younger. Naturally most of the men came to feel a brotherly attachment to each other. Within a matter of a week I had pretty much grasped how things were within the company and had managed to memorize the names of the one hundred and sixty or so noncommissioned officers and enlisted men (23).
As any young man assigned to a new post discovers, learning the names of one’s superiors as quickly as possible is an indispensable ritual for gaining recognition at a new place of work. Imamura said that within a matter of a week he had learned the names not only of his fourteen superiors but also of his nearly one hundred fifty subordinates. He writes as if this accomplishment were nothing, but anyone with teaching experience would be amazed at the ef fort required. Behind that effort he so casually mentions was undoubtedly the example of Regimental Commander Kawauchi “staring at each person and in no hurry to call the next nam e,” as he tried to commit to memory the names and faces of the new comers. To learn the name of another person is to recognize that person’s identity. The young enlisted men, all of them about twenty years of age, must have been gratified to have the newly appointed probationary officer learn their names so quickly, and one can read ily imagine that before long the gratification they felt led to a sense of trust in Imamura.
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
Beginning with his time as a probationary officer, Imamura Hitoshi continued throughout his m ilitary career to be extremely passionate about the training of men within the army. After com pleting his education at the Army College, First Lieutenant Imamura returned once again to his home regiment in Sendai, at which time he was appointed commander of the 10th Company. While he was imprisoned in Java, he looked back on that time and wrote: In the army the most absorbing duties are training recruits or candidates for private first class as a second or first lieutenant and commanding either a company as a captain or a regiment as a field officer. In these duties, where there are no intermediaries whatsoever, one is able to give guidance directly to many young men, and the close connections that result make a deep impression. As a company commander, as long as there were no prior en gagements, I made it a rule every Friday to conduct maneuvers after a march of more than thirty kilometers round-trip. This march usually took seven to eight hours. And while on the march I would talk for about an hour with one soldier at a time. When I would ask a soldier about his previous occupation, his family, and his special talents and interests, he would answer in a sur prisingly open manner. Naturally over the course of eight months, I thought, I would get to know the backgrounds and characters of all one hundred fifty men and be able to train them hard from that point on (103).
The image that comes to mind is that of a teacher in charge of a class—or more aptly of an entire grade—trying to get to know all the students in his charge. The picture is of a teacher who doesn’t just sit at a desk checking a list of names against a stack of identi fication papers but takes the time to talk w ith the students individually and learn about each of them as a person. One w ho becomes a principal after m aturing as a teacher while interacting with many students speaks with greater author ity than one who becomes a principal sim ply by being clever
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enough to pass the p rin cip al’s exam ination. Sim ilarly, w hat Im am ura H itoshi has to say carries w eight inasm uch as he clim bed the ranks of the m ilitary profession w hile associating closely w ith enlisted men and observing them carefully from the time he w as tw enty-one. During his stint as com m ander of the regiment at Sakura in Chiba prefecture, an incident occurred in w hich a sword w as m issing and presumed stolen in one of the companies under his command. When the company commander claimed that a Private “M ” must have stolen the sword, Colonel Imamura asserted: So far I have seen tens of times more soldiers than you have. From what I’ve seen of M, my gut feeling is that he is a good soldier. . . . Although there may be exceptions, a man’s charac ter is expressed in his eyes. Just like I do, you look into his eyes every day, don’t you? Where in the bright gleam of his eyes do you see the shadow of evil? (221)
This passage is precisely w hat one would expect of Imamura Hitoshi the educator, who found purpose in training enlisted men by personally mingling with them and observing them firsthand. And it is also characteristic of his voluminous memoirs that he ap pears to regard such training not as an obligation but as the greatest of pleasures. I am sorry to say, though, that Imamura’s memoirs hardly over flow with joy and delight. For they also include bitter recollections of the days when he and his former subordinates faced an un precedented challenge—the Allies’ staging of w ar crimes trials in the South Pacific—and he himself came to be known as the “caring father-figure to w ar crim inals.” Fo r
the
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Imamura Hitoshi decided to pursue a career as a soldier at the height of the Russo-Japanese W ar, when Japan was undergoing a surge of nationalism. His m ilitary career coincided perfectly with the rise and fall of the imperialist latecomer Japan, which had joined
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
the ranks of the great powers with its victory over Russia. Though after 1905 Japan engaged in limited m ilitary operations such as the Siberian Intervention of 1918-1922, it did not enter into another full-scale foreign conflict until the Second Sino-Japanese W ar of 1937-1945. Imamura’s maiden campaign took place in December 1938 in South China. As mentioned earlier, as a soldier he had found purpose in training officers and men while serving as a com pany and then a regimental commander, but his first battlefield posting was to lead the 5th Army Division. At the time Imamura was fifty-two. It was nine months after he had been promoted to lieutenant general. Although he struggled against Chiang Kai-shek’s forces, which outnumbered his troops more than ten to one, Divisional Commander Imamura scored a brilliant victory for the Japanese army in the Nanning action. This operation, which later the Army College even used in its instructional m aterials,15 enhanced his rep utation as a commander. Subsequently, right after the outbreak of war with the Allies, he led the conquest of Java as commander of the 16th Army and forced the Dutch troops there to surrender within a short period of time. Thus, he was still an undefeated gen eral when he witnessed the end of the w ar as commander of the 8th Area Army in Rabaul. If he had had his due, General Imamura Hitoshi would probably have been remembered in the m ilitary his tory of imperial Japan simply as a great, resourceful commander who was unrivalled in the area of strategy. Yet, after the Japanese m ilitary surrendered to the Allied forces, having spent itself fight ing the first total w ar in Japanese history, a new ordeal awaited it; and because of Imamura’s involvement in that experience, his name would go down in posterity in a different w ay. That ordeal was the trial of suspected w ar criminals by Allied m ilitary tribunals based on the Japanese government’s acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration, whose Article 10 stated: “Stern justice shall be meted out to all w ar criminals, including those who have visited cruelties upon our prisoners of w ar.” 15. Tsunoda, p. 187.
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After being disarmed, the seventy thousand Japanese soldiers at Rabaul and the thirty thousand sailors under the command of Vice Admiral Kusaka Jin ’ichi gathered in the area designated by M ajor General Kenneth Eather, commanding officer of the Australian oc cupying forces. After looking into potential w ar crimes by the Japanese troops stationed at Rabaul, Eather reported to his home government that “there were no charges to be brought for w ar crimes in the Rabaul area” (434). According to Imamura, at first the white Australians in the occupation army bore intense hatred to ward Japanese, but as time passed and they saw the strict discipline of the Japanese troops, their feelings toward the Japanese gradu ally changed (434). And, unlike M anila and Singapore, which were both scenes of heavy fighting, Rabaul witnessed the end of the war before any large-scale engagement took place, so to begin with it lacked the kind of conditions that give rise to conventional w ar crimes. Thus, “while feeling a big sense of inferiority over the fact that the Greater East Asia W ar had ended in failure, the officers and men were all glad to go home” (434). M ajor General Eather, however, received strict instructions from his home government to prosecute w ar criminals, and on December 5, 1945, he began detaining Japanese officers and enlisted men as w ar crimes suspects. A trial commenced straightaway on the 9th, with the first verdict being handed down on the 12th. As the m ili tary tribunal proceeded relentlessly despite the commander’s own previous statement that he had found no evidence of w ar crimes, former commander-in-chief Imamura requested a meeting with Eather at which he made the following appeal: With one exception, my subordinates who have been put in jail as suspected war criminals have all been accused of wrongful treatment of Chinese, Indians, Indonesian auxiliaries, native or other wage laborers, or spies, but they should be judged accord ing to Japanese law, not tried for war crimes. . . . Nevertheless, if you are still going to try them as war criminals, you ought to bring charges only against the commander-in-chief, who holds the position of leadership, rather than trying the officers and
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
men individually. Accordingly, I would like you to put me on trial and release the others immediately (434-435).
As 8th Area Army Commander, Imamura insisted that, if prisoners of the Japanese army were released on parole after pledging not to engage in further hostilities against Japanese forces or even promis ing to cooperate with them as allies, as did the Indian troops, then they were no longer prisoners of w ar; therefore, if Japanese troops committed unlawful acts against them, they ought to be tried under Japanese law. The Australian forces retorted that those captured by the Japanese army remained prisoners of w ar and thus retained rights under international law ; that is, they, the Australians, had grounds for bringing criminal cases before their own m ilitary tri bunal. The Hague Convention states only that “a prisoner of w ar cannot be compelled to accept his liberty on parole,” so in effect whether a POW has accepted his release on parole “of his own free w ill” or has been “compelled” to accept it depends on w hat the prisoner himself claims. As a result, once the w ar ended, most of the Chinese and Indian troops who had previously cooperated with the Japanese army, fearing that they would be prosecuted and punished as enemy collaborators by their compatriots, testified that they had been freed on parole against their w ill; and so Japanese soldiers at Rabaul ended up being charged with mistreatment of POWs. Like the w ar crimes trials conducted by other A llied nations, the A ustralian m ilitary tribunal at Rabaul represented a world of logic w here to all appearances the subm itted “evidence” was everything. But on this point Imamura delivered a sharp critique: “This m ilitary tribunal accepted hearsay testim ony as valid and used it to determine crim in ality, even though courts in general, and p articu larly courts based on British law w ith a high regard for evidence, do not adm it such testim ony” (437). Yet, disregard ing the protests of the defeated Japanese com m ander, the court sentenced one defendant after another to death. Im am ura and more than thirty other generals and adm irals were housed in a place called “Generals’ V illage.” Twice he received letters signed jo intly by the com m anding officers who had been under his di
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rect com m and. H aving alread y been placed in an internm ent camp as suspected w ar crim inals, they complained about their in nermost feelings of unease. Imamura made up his mind: Reading the anguish not only of the letter w riters but also of much younger officers and men, he asked to be interned w ith the ac cused w ar crim inals so that he could be close to them and offer help, even though he him self had not been charged w ith any crimes. Fam iliar w ith the Bible, Imamura wrote of his feelings at the time: “Even if it means leaving the ninety-nine sheep, one must not forsake the one that is lonely and in distress” (435-436). The section of Imamura’s memoirs covering his time in captivity, entitled “Prison M iscellany,” deals mainly with the unprecedented affair of the m ilitary tribunal. Because the life of each and every person who faced trial there w as at stake, and indeed many Japanese officers and men were sentenced to death, the reader should approach this section w ith the solemnity it deserves. Yet, even as Imamura describes the tense situation in and about the in ternment camp, he manages to convey a measure of human warm th, demonstrating once again his talent as a writer. Speaking of “sheep,” the following conversation between Imamura and the Australian chaplain at the internment camp serves to inject a dose of levity into an otherwise serious subject: “General, now that you have come into this place, the Japanese, I understand, are all depending on you.” “I was able to send ninety-nine sheep back to the homeland, but I must take responsibility for watching over the one stray left behind here.” The chaplain asked, “Did you keep sheep, General? Where on earth?” (462)
Previously, the Rabaul forces under Imamura had somehow man aged to raise three crops a year, storing the produce so they would not run out of provisions in the event of an attack on their remote South Pacific island. It may be that this Australian chaplain had heard about their effort to achieve food self-sufficiency. The reader can just imagine the look of surprise on the chaplain’s face, as he
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
misunderstood Imamura to mean that the Japanese had even been raising sheep. The two of them were talking with the aid of an in terpreter, Naval Lieutenant Katayama Hideo; but Imamura, who had a fairly good command of English, must have clearly under stood the question as the startled Australian delivered it. Upon hearing K atayam a’s explanation that the general had been using a metaphor drawn from the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel of St. M atthew, the chaplain, wrote Imamura, “broke into a sm ile.” This man was supposedly an expert on the Bible, and one senses in this passage the “prankster” in Imamura who happens to pull a fast one on this expert in the Scriptures. As for Im amura’s attitude toward the w ar crimes tribunal, be sides criticizing the admission of hearsay evidence and the one-sided “victors’ justice,” whereby only the vanquished were being tried and convicted, he also complained about the practice of judging a soldier’s mentality and conduct under extreme battle conditions as though they were normal. In this regard, he denounced the court for not taking into account at all the peculiarities of combat behavior: For example, suppose that a person is frantically trying to rescue his family and belongings from a blazing house and runs headlong into people blocking the street, causing several casualties. After the fire is put out—and in fact a long time afterwards—the judge, totally ignoring such things as the special circumstances sur rounding the fire and the motives of the assailant, rules that run ning into people without first trying to clear them from the street, and thereby causing injury to others, constitutes a crime and de serves severe punishment. There were many cases like that [at Rabaul] . . . ” (449).
When Natsume Soseki spoke in his later years to a general audience in W akayam a on “The Enlightenment of Modern Jap an ” or to stu dents at Gakushuin University in Tokyo on “M y Individualism ,” he skillfully interspersed a number of analogies and never lost the in terest of his listeners. The metaphor that Imamura presents here is somewhat reminiscent of Soseki in being easy to understand as well as to the point.
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For all that General Imamura Hitoshi criticized the Australian m ilitary tribunal for its shortcomings, he did not deny outright the need for w ar crimes trials. In fact, he noted: International treaties such as the Articles of W ar and the Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War were created in order to minimize the ravages of war. I think it is certainly necessary to abide by these treaties, and they must be observed from the standpoint of humaneness. Consequently, one must agree to the trial of those who violate the above treaties and the punishment of war criminals as measures that promote serious reflection on the part of all humankind (436).
Thus, Imamura’s basic position was that, although he acknowledged the fundamental significance of w ar crimes trials, he did not recog nize the Australian m ilitary tribunal “as legitim ate” (436) because it had defects of the kind mentioned earlier. Unlike many critics of the w ar crimes trials, however, he happened to have a flexibility of mind that enabled him to use the trials as a mirror for self-reflection. For instance, Imamura was surprised that the Australian general in charge of the internment camp “managed everything himself as if he were the duty noncom of the week or the officer on patrol” (440). He decided that he had much to learn from the spirit this man ex uded of “constantly venturing to the front and leading the troops in person, even after becoming a general, rather than staying far to the rear” (440). M eanwhile, in the Japanese arm y, “the idea that the head of an army should exercise command was strongly advocated, but as a commander climbed the ranks, his function was increas ingly limited to supervising only the commanding officers under his direct control,” so the tendency was “to lose touch with the lower ranks” (440). After contrasting the cultures of the Australian and Japanese armies in this w ay, Imamura concluded: It seems that the war crimes had something to do with this ig norance of conditions in the lower ranks. Having thus reflected on the matter, I believe that in the end I must take ultimate responsibility for these crimes (440).
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
The tribunal finally granted Imamura’s request that he be put on trial as commander-in-chief and began hearing his case in M ay 1947. After a five-day trial, on M ay 15 it sentenced him to ten years’ imprisonment on the grounds of dereliction of duty, his sub ordinate officers and men having produced such a large number of w ar criminals. The verdict was confirmed on July 26. In his mem oirs, Imamura says nothing about w hat kind of exchanges took place in court between the prosecution and defense counsel. All he cites is the gist of the closing address by an elderly attorney who ap pears to have been the chief prosecutor, but the excerpt leaves something to be desired as an historical record. Nonetheless, Imamura describes one scene from the sweltering courtroom in which he was overcome by drowsiness, his Achilles’ heel since child hood, and an MP lieutenant, who had been keeping an eye on Imamura lest he fell asleep, also dozed off, both of them finally being awakened by the chief justice (470-471). Passages such as this one convey almost a sense of “tranquility,” an unexpected mood for a trial in which defendants’ lives were at stake. As a
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Having been put into the w ar crim inals’ internment camp at his own request long before he was indicted, Imamura tried to be a pil lar of support for his officers and men. Even in the case of soldiers he had never met, if necessary, he would voluntarily appear in court as a witness and give favorable testimony; and if a person were sen tenced to death, he would do everything in his power up until the confirmation of sentence to get the penalty reduced. Yet in only a few cases did Im amaura’s efforts bear fruit. Those were days that were hard to bear and were full of regret for him. Nevertheless, through the good offices of the regional headquarters of the A ustralian arm y, he enjoyed considerable freedom of movement while in prison and “was able to advise the more than one hundred men there who were my subordinates on their trials, fam ily cir cumstances, and the like” (449). Under these circumstances, Imamura’s passion for educating soldiers w as rekindled.
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During the work-hours required of all the inmates, Imamura cul tivated a plot of land of about one eighth of an acre. Right in the middle of the plot he made a small resting place, planting canna and zinnia around it so people would not be able to see in from the outside, and there he would meet with young prisoners who were aw aiting their verdicts or had already been convicted. One of those prisoners was a youngster with a “gentle face” (449), Corporal X, who had been sentenced to death. As a medic during the w ar, this corporal had been in charge of the infirm ary for the Indian labor corps, and on one occasion he had slapped an Indian who had pre tended to take a dose of precious quinine but had then thrown it aw ay. After the w ar, however, some Indians accused him of having caused patients to die for lack of treatment, and so he now faced the death penalty. The corporal spoke from his heart that, having ob tained a copy of the Bible, he had accepted Christ and no longer felt malice toward Indians, but he was disturbed at the thought of how his mother in Japan would do once she learned of his execution. W hile tenderly watching the soldier, who finally broke down cry ing, Imamura spoke words of comfort to him. He recreated the scene in his memoirs as follows:I I let him sob, thinking that at least the tears would comfort him . . . . After a little while, I spoke. “I know how you feel. They say that through faith a person even comes to find joy in sorrow, but on the eve of his death Jesus was overcome with grief. . . and let out a mournful cry. . . . The very fact that each time you think of your mother you lose com posure is a true sign of your humanity as a child of the Heavenly Father. I believe that God will without fail convey your feelings to your mother.” At some point while offering these words of comfort, I was moved by his sobbing and felt my eyes begin to tear up. The stars were shining, but they seemed clouded over.
After a while Corporal X spoke up again (451).
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
The relationship that appears in this touching scene is no longer that between a commander-in-chief and a corporal. The images one sees are of a young man trusting wholeheartedly in the other, keep ing nothing back from him, and of a great teacher or even a father catching the youngster in his arms, listening carefully to what he has to say and trying to soothe his distress. The corporal confided to Imamura that he had been raised in a “deprived fam ily” and ended by asking the general to communicate to his mother his feel ings of remorse over predeceasing her and not being able to care for her. In response, Imamura wrote, “M y heart surged with emotion, and without saying any more words of comfort, I just held his hand tightly and let him cry” (452). Imamura’s appeal on behalf of Corporal X was to no avail, and about three weeks later his death sentence was confirmed, and the date of execution was set. When that day came, Imamura was al lowed to see him off on behalf of all the Japanese. “Corporal X, I’ll be sure to tell your mother.” “Please, if you would be so kind. Well, then, I must go. Goodbye.” He gave a lonely but serene smile—this young man who was the same age as my older son—and, escorted by an Australian MP, headed toward the execution ground with a steady step (452).
Noting as he did that the corporal “was the same age as my older son,” Imamura clearly saw the image of that son reflected in this young man. In fact, a Freudian analyst would have a field day with the comparisons that frequently appear in Imamura’s descriptions of young men: “my second son, who is the same age as you” (454), “Katayama, who was a year younger than my older son; Takahashi, who was a year younger than my second son.”16 Imamura wrote time and again that a general is like a father to someone else’s son, “entrusted with the beloved child of aged parents” (470), and he must have felt all the more heartbroken that the soldiers being led to the scaffold one by one were young men of the same age as his 16. Ibid., p. 118.
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own sons. M eanwhile, as each of the young men branded as w ar criminals awaited his execution, he no doubt projected the image of the father he had left in faraw ay Japan on to this arm y general, whom he would never have even dreamed of talking with in person previously. The “caring father-figure” to w ar criminals is indeed a fitting description of Imamura Hitoshi. H aving been sentenced to ten years’ im prisonm ent, Imamura w as determined to be on hand to support his officers and men as long as the trial continued at R abaul. A request for his extrad i tion, however, came from the Dutch, who wanted to try him for w ar crimes committed w hile he w as com m ander-in-chief of the occupation arm y on Java, and so he left Rabaul behind on M ay 1, 1948. Because it w as a different prosecuting country, the dou ble jeopardy principle did not apply. Thus Imamura, feeling that “the struggle w ill go on as before until I breathe my la st” (475), headed for the Dutch m ilitary tribunal on Java. After prelim inary hearings—tw enty-five sessions in a ll—w ere held between midM ay and late October, the trial finally began on M arch 8, 1949. On the 15th the prosecution recommended the death penalty for Imamura as w ell as Lieutenant General O kazaki Seizaburo, for mer chief of staff of the 16th Army, who was standing with him at the bar. The court adjourned the next day, but it took a long time to reach a decision. F inally, on December 24, Imamura re ceived the verdict at the internm ent cam p: both he and Lieutenant General O kazaki were found innocent “for lack of ev idence in regard to the criminal charges against them ” (503). The prosecution had likew ise recommended the death penalty for Lieutenant General M aruyam a M asao (no relation to the politi cal scientist of that nam e), who had com manded the 2nd Division under Imamura, but he was also found innocent. During the w ar, hard-liners in occupied areas as well as central m ilitary leaders had criticized the administration of Dutch territory under Imamura’s 16th Army as too lenient. Despite such criticism, however, Imamura had made no change in his policy of eschewing coercive measures of m ilitary government. This “virtuous rule” may have made a good impression on the Dutch. Yet, for all that, the
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
verdict in Imamura’s case was an exception, for, even though the fighting between Japan and the Netherlands had lasted barely nine days, the Dutch were the most unsparing in their judgments, sur passing all other Allies in sentencing a total of 236 defendants to death. For example, the tribunal set up at Medan on Sumatra to try the headquarters staff of the 25th Army passed sentences of death on the commander, Lieutenant General Tanabe M oritake, and three others—the chief of staff, the paymaster, and the chief medical officer. The prosecution, however, had recommended life imprisonment for all but Tanabe; in other words, the verdicts were more severe than even the recommended sentences. And there were many other cases similar to this one. Hostilities between the Japanese and the Dutch ended after just nine days, and because the fighting did not cost them dearly, nor did passions run high on either side, Dutch POWs and residents in general suffered little in the way of injury compared to other Allies once hostilities ceased. Nevertheless, the number of people they charged with war crimes and the severity of the sentences they imposed were extreme beyond compare. Why was this the case? (504)
Having thus pointed out the relentless nature of the Dutch tri bunals, his own acquittal notwithstanding, Imamura offered his own explanation of the hard line they took: The other Allied nations could in any case take pride and satis faction in having defeated Japan . . . . But at the end of the war Holland simply had the Dutch East Indies returned to it by the British and Australian forces that had recaptured them, so in the end it missed out on the sense of superiority that the others experienced in bearing down directly on the Japanese forces and overpowering them. Naturally, as long as emotions remain pent up, the appetite for revenge is not satisfied. This national discontent found an outlet for vindictiveness in the war crimes tribunals. In this way, the country that suffered the least harm carried out the most ruthless punishment (504).
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Imamura thus wrote in his memoirs while remembering things he had personally observed in the Dutch East Indies for a little less than a year, first as commander-in-chief of the conquest of Java and then as the top administrator in the military government of the island. Having mentioned “national discontent” as a reason for the harsh ness of the Dutch tribunals, he added one other explanation: anger over the fact that Jap an ’s m ilitary occupation of the Dutch East Indies became the decisive factor behind Indonesia’s acquisition of independence after World W ar II; in other words, it was Japan’s fault that Holland lost the colony it had held in Southeast Asia since the beginning of the seventeenth century. ‘“ Holland has been put in this predicament because of a w ar Japan started and because of its occupation of Jav a.’ It’s natural for them to be totally convinced of this and to continue cursing us for it” (505). The defeated general Imamura Hitoshi thus concluded his discussion of why the Dutch trials had been so severe by putting himself in the enemy’s shoes and taking into account the history of Holland as a colonial power. Incidentally, Imamura’s interpretation of this matter largely co incides with that of a Dutchman who was residing in the East Indies at the time: Dutchmen were attacked by Japan, but they were not in their home country. Rather, they had invaded and colonized Indonesia, which became the scene of conflict with Japan, and had been sitting pretty under military rule. For these reasons, the Dutch in the East Indies had a hard time confirming their “status as victims.” The various steps they took after the war can be seen collectively as a struggle to cling to their identity as perfect victims under the pretense of their own purity.17 By denouncing the evil acts of the Japanese arm y through the medium of trials, the Dutch would not only be able to throw off the m oral burden of their colonial rule but w ould easily attain the status of “perfect victim s.” And the more severe the verdicts, 17. Rudy Kousbroek, S e io n o s h o k u m in c h i s o s h its u to N ih o n (Europe’s Loss of Colonies and Japan), tr. Kondo Noriko (Tokyo: Soshisha, 1998), pp. 10-11.
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
the brighter the spotlight on the misdeeds of the Japanese arm y and the higher the level of their own purported victim ization. Im am ura had no w ay of ascertaining the real m otives of the Dutch and was simply inferring them, but his historical insight is rather striking. Having prevailed in his second m ilitary trial, Imamura Hitoshi still faced the prison sentence that the Australian army had imposed on him; but by agreement with the Australian m ilitary authorities, the Allies arranged for him to be sent back to Japan and to serve out his sentence at Sugamo Prison. Around this time, however, he re ceived a letter from a former subordinate held in an Australian army prison on M anus Island complaining of the harsh conditions there. And so, although Imamura had just returned to Japan, he volun tarily asked to serve the rest of his sentence on M anus, even sending his wife to Allied Occupation headquarters to persuade the au thorities concerned. His request granted, Imamura thus resumed his activity as a “caring father-figure” to w ar criminals on a remote South Pacific island, continuing to give encouragement to his fellow inmates until the Australian army closed the prison in question in July 1953. C on cludin g R em arks
The Japanese w ar criminals who had been imprisoned on Manus Island returned to Japan in August 1953. Those yet to complete their sentences were placed in Sugamo Prison. Once again, there fore, Imamura found himself an inmate at Sugamo; but he was released on November 15, 1954. The San Francisco Peace Treaty had already come into effect; and with the lifting of Occupation controls on speech, a number of former generals and admirals went into right-wing political activity. Imamura Hitoshi, however, began “a solitary existence as if to prolong his life in prison,” spending most of his time in the three-mat room he had built onto his house in Tokyo. He continued to live in seclusion until his death on October 4, 1968. When asked, he would give lectures, but report edly all the money he received as honoraria went to supporting the
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surviving families of his former subordinates. It was in his three-mat “confinement room” that Imamura completed his memoir. That memoir has a timeless appeal as a work of literature. As should be clear from the several passages taken up in this chapter, one of its distinctive features is that the people Imamura depicts from memory in his calm and lucid style are so fresh and vivid. Other examples of graphic descriptions are the bewildered looks on the faces of the Dutch generals who showed up to negotiate the cease-fire and surrender on Java when Imamura was commander of the 16th Army (372) and the imploring of Sugiyama Hajime, com mander of the North China Area Army, when he came to observe maneuvers at Qingdao and played with the songbird that members of Imamura’s 5th Division were keeping as a pet, beseeching them to give him the bird (275). In the latter scene, Imamura brilliantly conveys to the reader General Sugiyam a’s human foibles, which hardly come across in that m an’s published notes. In this w ay, Imamura’s work is a consummate piece of literature. Yet, more than anything else, Imamura Hitoshi was an officer of the imperial Japanese army. And w hat strikes one as the defining char acteristic of his entire m ilitary career was his singular passion for educating soldiers. In view of that passion, it sometimes seems as though he embarked on a m ilitary career seeking to teach in the army instead of in a school. After the w ar, his enthusiasm for men toring led him to take on the new roles of confidant and “caring father-figure” to young men who were caught up in the unprece dented w ar crimes trials. Imamura’s teachers and parents contributed greatly to the for mation of his character. Of his many siblings, some died of illness, but Hitoshi and his three younger brothers all went into the army and became known as the “four Imamura brothers.” Imamura Hitoshi, who never lost a battle, held that “for an officer, particu larly a commander—and the higher the rank of the commander, the more he must not forget—his most im portant duty and re sponsibility are to gain victory” (131). Rereading Imamura’s memoirs while looking back on his life in this w ay, I w as reminded of the following passage from Mencius:
The M emoirs of General Imamura H itoshi
Mencius said, “There are three things a gentleman delights in, and being ruler over the Empire is not amongst them. His par ents are alive and his brothers are well. This is the first delight. Above, he is not ashamed to face Heaven; below, he is not ashamed to face man. This is the second delight. He has the good fortune of having the most talented pupils in the Empire. This is the third delight. There are three things a gentleman delights in and being ruler over the Empire is not amongst them.” 18
To be sure, Imamura Hitoshi was a career soldier who rose to the highest rank in the army. In other words, in the m ilitary world, one could say that he managed to become a “ruler.” Moreover, of the three “delights” that Mencius refers to, Imamura was also a person who attested, above all, to the delight of education. His memoirs have much to say not just to businessmen but to educators as well.
18.
M e n c iu s , tr. D. C. Lau, 2 vols. (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1984), vol. 2, p. 271.
319
Epilogue
War, Literature, and Civilization
In premodern times, Japan as an island country at the eastern ex tremity of Asia had very little experience of foreign wars. Until the M eiji period, it engaged in no more than a half dozen conflicts with foreigners. Apart from the legendary campaigns in Korea under the regent empress Jingu in the third century A.D., the list includes only a w ar with the Korean kingdom of Koguryo at the end of the fourth century, the Battle of Hakusukinoe between Japanese and Chinese naval forces in 663, the “Toi Invasion” of 1019 in which the Japanese repulsed an attack on northern Kyushu by a Jiirchen fleet, the Mongol invasions of Japan in the late thirteenth century, and Hideyoshi’s invasions of Korea in the 1590s. In this regard, pre modern Japan differs m arkedly from the countries of Europe or the dynasties of China, which were constantly at w ar with their neigh bors over land or religion. Besides pillage and slaughter, wars against foreigners have un w ittingly given rise to brilliant and enduring achievements of literature everywhere. For example, the heroic battle between the knights of Charlemagne and the Muslim “infidels” produced the magnificent epic poem T he Song o f Roland. Likewise, the long-run ning conflict between the Han Dynasty and the Hiong-nu, a powerful nomadic tribe on China’s northern frontier, provided the m aterial for the beautiful yet tragic tale of the legendary heroine 321
322 Epilogue
W ang Zhao-jun. Indeed, throughout the history of world literature, foreign wars have inspired great writing as an unintended byprod uct. In the history of Japanese literature, one genre that stands out is the medieval w ar tale (gunki m on o), famous examples being The Tale o f the H eike and The T aiheiki: A Chronicle o f M edieval Japan , which recount epic struggles between rival groups of samurai in the twelfth and fourteenth century, respectively. The w ar tales, how ever, depict civil wars—conflicts within Japan—so no matter how favorably, for instance, The T ale o f the H eike compares with The Song o f R olan d as an epic poem, it does not represent the product of a foreign war. Although the Mongol invasions gave rise to a fine picture scroll, no literary achievement resulted from them. It was not until much later, after the modern era began, that foreign wars produced works of literature in Japan. Yielding to pressure from the Western powers, Japan abandoned the “ancestral law ” of isolation and opened itself to the world in the late 1850s. After 1868, under the M eiji government, it embarked on a full-scale program of modernization. Paradoxically, it set out to learn from the West in order to avoid being colonized by the West. But the new teacher differed from the old one, China, in rep resenting a totally different civilization without any shared elements such as Confucian or Buddhist values. Fukuzawa Yukichi brilliantly captured the bewilderment of his contemporaries in early Meiji: Suddenly coming into close contact with peculiar things that rep resent a different geographical area, elements of a different civi lization, and a different level of development, our people natu rally find these things curious for their novelty and marvel at everything they see and hear. As if applying white-hot fire to freez ing water, this experience cannot help disturbing people’s minds as well as sending the very core of their beings topsy-turvy.1
1.
Fukuzawa Yukichi, “Bunmei ron no gairyaku shogen” (Preface to An Outline of a Theory of Civilization), in F u k u z a w a Y u k ic h i s e n s h ii (Selected Works), 8 vols. (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1981), vol. 4, p. 7.
Epilogue
W ith his clever sim ile “as if applying w hite-hot fire to freezing w a te r,” Fukuzaw a offers a palpable description of the public com motion at the time. Though Jap an started modern nation building w ith such great psychological turm oil, the process went relatively sm oothly, and Japan m anaged to avoid becoming a colony of the Western powers. Along the w ay it fought and won two m ajor foreign w ars, against China and Russia. As a result, for the first time in Japanese history external w ars began to in spire works of literature. In Chapter 9 I introduced the diplomatic memoirs of Foreign M inister M utsu Munemitsu, who helped guide Japan to victory in the Sino-Japanese W ar. Besides being a historical w ork, his K en ken roku w ith its elevated style is a superb piece of literature. A decade later M ori Ogai, who served in the Russo-Japanese W ar as a medical officer, described the bravery and determination of the Japanese troops in the form of a traditional Chinese poem entitled “A Diary in Verse” (Uta nikki). On the other hand, Tayam a Katai, accompanying the Japanese army as a journalist, depicted the bru tality and senselessness of the w ar in O ne S oldier (Ippei sotsu ), while Yosano Akiko expressed a woman’s antiwar sentiment in the poem “You Shall Not Be Killed, Brother!” (Kimi shinitamo koto nakare). In his memoirs, Mutsu perceived a clash of civilizations behind the Sino-Japanese W ar, conceptualizing that conflict as a struggle between Qing China representing Eastern civilization and Japan representing W estern civilization. But his point of view w as not m ainstream : Although the conflicts w ith China and Russia were unm istakably wars against foreigners, Qing China and Japan had the same “elements of civilization,” to borrow Fukuzawa’s phrase, while Russia under the Romanovs, its W esternization policy since Peter the Great notwithstanding, w as basically a country on the fringe of the West, one that the M eiji state had difficulty identify ing with the Western countries to which it looked for models. With a few other exceptions such as O gai’s lecture at the time of the Boxer Rebellion cited in Chapter 10, the w ars w ith China and Russia did not have much potential for generating literary works
323
324
Ep
il o g u e
that used “civilization” as an organizing concept. In fact, it was not until World W ar II, when Japan had to fight the Western powers, its erstwhile mentors in nation-building, that a foreign conflict pro voked serious thought about civilization in Japanese literature. In the summer after the outbreak of w ar with the United States, the journal B u n gakkai (Literary World) invited about a dozen crit ics, writers, and academics to a symposium in Kyoto on the theme of “overcoming the modern.” Although the participants submitted papers beforehand, they often talked at cross-purposes and failed to reach a definite conclusion about “overcoming the m odern.” Nevertheless, it was significant that the theme of the symposium was “m odernity,” which was then considered synonymous with Western civilization. Furthermore, one participant, N akam ura M itsuo, wrote in his paper, “One could go so far as to say that at bottom the introduction of Western civilization at that time [dur ing the M eiji period] amounted to nothing but the importation of machinery and the acquisition of the know-how to operate it.”2 And another, H ayashi Fusao, declared at the symposium, “Civilization and enlightenment meant the adoption of European culture after the M eiji Restoration and resulted in the submission of Japan to the W est.”3 Although it would be somewhat rash to re gard these men as representative of Japanese intellectuals at the time, both the theme and the comments attest to the fact that in tellectuals were taking a keen interest in such matters as civilization, modernity, and the West. In other words, they saw a clash of civi lizations behind the outbreak of hostilities between Japan and the United States. Four years later, at the International M ilitary Tribunal for the Far East, Chief Prosecutor Keenan would utter the phrase “determined battle of civilization.” In light of the wartime debates, therefore, it doubtless came as no surprise to Japanese in tellectuals that he would use the word “civilization.” 2.
3.
Nakamura Mitsuo, “‘Kindai’ e no giwaku” (Doubts about “Modernity”), in Kawakami Tetsutaro et al., K in d a i n o c h o k o k u (Overcoming the Modern) (Tokyo: Fuzanbo Hyakka Bunko, 1979), p. 157. Ibid., p. 239.
E
p il o g u e
Keenan’s “civilization,” however, w as synonymous w ith “we, the Allies” and was a shallow political usage of the term. Reacting immediately to this usage, Takeyam a Michio pondered the essence and fate of “modern civilization” and, in the end, made the Tokyo trial’s assumptions about “civilization” one of the enduring themes of his writing. Togo Shigenori, as a defendant at that trial, squared off with Keenan during cross-examination; while battling illness in prison, he completed a study from the viewpoint of the history of civilization that became his last testament. Army generals Kawamura Saburo and Imamura Hitoshi, who both faced trial as w ar criminals far aw ay from their homeland, offered incisive com mentaries on the essence of Western civilization from their days in court and in prison. The writings they left behind do not fall under the rubric of literature in the narrow sense, of the kind that would appear in a history of Japanese literature. As literary byproducts of the w ar, a standard textbook would typically list Ooka Shohei’s T aken C aptive: A Ja p a n e s e P O W ’s Story (Furyoki) and Noma Hiroshi’s Z on e o f Em ptiness (Shinku cbitai), which depict the hor rible experiences of soldiers, as well as Ibuse M asuji’s B lack Rain (Kuroi am e) and Hara Tam iki’s Summer F low er (Natsu no hana), which deal with the horrors of the atomic bombings. Yet, as this book has attempted to do, one can read and appre ciate even trial proceedings using the same methods one w ould em ploy in perusing so-called literary w orks. And, in light of a standard dictionary definition of “literatu re” as “artistic works that appeal to human feelings and emotions through language,”4 the various texts examined in this study can be regarded as pos sessing the basic characteristics of literature. From this perspec tive, one can say that W orld W ar II itself engendered for the first time in Jap an a significant number of literary w orks that dealt w ith issues relating to civilization. S eiki no ish o (Testaments of the Century), a collection of writings by Japanese accused of w ar crimes who died in prison or on the scaffold in various parts of 4.
“Bungaku” (Literature), K o k u g o d a i Language) (Tokyo: Shogakkan, 1981).
jit e n
(Dictionary of the Japanese
325
326
Epilogue
Asia, also gives impressions of the civilization of the prosecuting A llies. This w ork represents another suggestive yet sorrow ful product of the last world war. Among the acquaintances of Takeyam a M ichio and Togo Shigenori were foreigners like Bernard Roling and Ben Bruce Blakeney who began lifelong associations with Japan as a result of the Tokyo trial. And, had it not been for that trial, Radhabinod Pal’s name would undoubtedly be absent from the pages of postwar Japanese history. They, too, thought and talked about civilization in the courtroom or subsequently wrote about Japan as a country with a different culture. The “views on civilization” of the people examined in this book who were involved in one form or another with the Tokyo and other Japanese w ar crimes trials cannot be sum marized in a word. But, whether they were Japanese or foreigners, their thinking alw ays rested on a framework of comparison with Western civilization. When they considered the notion of “civiliza tion” trumpeted at the w ar crimes trials, as in the cases of Takeyam a, Togo, and Pal in particular, they inevitably placed the course of modern Japan within the context of world history. Although at times they m ay have had misconceptions or emotional reactions, any one of their “views on civilization” showed deeper insight than did the superficial perspective of the chief prosecutor. G lancing at the history of the postw ar w orld, one can easily point out the vacuity and deception of the term “judgment of civ iliz a tio n .” Yet, in considering the history of tw entieth-century Japan, one should not forget that, aside from Keenan, there were those who gave serious thought to “c iv ilizatio n ” and that the Japanese w ar crimes trials unw ittingly provided the occasion for such reflection.
Selected Bibliography
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(Historical Records on 1987^h)
(Editorial Committee for the Centennial History of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ed.) (~t' b )JJ (Centennial of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 2 vols.) (JMIlM. 1969^) K ~7 y P S M the Tokyo Trial, ed.) Trial) f l* * * J S , 1989*?)
S
(Editorial Committee for the Handbook on Y 7 V P J (Handbook on the Tokyo
(Committee for Publication of Materials on the Tokyo Trial, ed.) (Defense Counsel Materials Dismissed or Not Submitted at the Tokyo Trial, 8 vols.) ^8H; (Hltr'fi.l'fTw, 1995^) i f l ( S o c i e t y for Research on the Tokyo Trial, ed.) flJ^:# (± -T )J (Joint Research on the Pal Judgment, 2 vols.) (If J* ,1984^ ) (Asahi Newspaper Tokyo Trial Press Corps) riHflic flj (±- cji ."F)j (The Tokyo Trial, 3 vols.) 1962¥) E3^ i£ f t £ 14 W 3^2x11 (Society for Research on Modern Japanese Historical Materials, ed.) r 0 ■fflUt •A # J (The Systems, Organization, and Personnel of the Japanese Army and Navy) 19714^)
327
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(Hata Ikuhiko, ed.) F0 4s |S^ 1|[ Encyclopedia of the Japanese Army and Navy)
jSy (Comprehensive 1991^ )
l^ips&W'Jewels (Society for Research on Army History, ed.) T0 fttM W ki (Book of the Japanese Army: General Commentary) (§ EhBIKtt, 1985¥) HMMr.ifcfiPSil (Awaya Kentaro, ed.) rR f4' 0$fHftl£!.-2J (Sources in Modern Japanese History, vol. 2) 1980^F) iS-W S^ (Editorial Committee for the Sugamo Testaments, ed.) IJK^IJ •tit $E©ifilrJ (Testaments of the Century, 1984 reprint) (iff licit, 1984^ ) (Sugamo Committee on Judicial Affairs, ed.) fT O E iffiO il t@J (The Reality of the War Crimes Trials) (tJMlril, 1981-^T) ^FllltiJIlS (Chaen Yoshio) lB C S® ffi'R I4J (Materials on Japanese Class B and C War Criminals) (T-— tBiHsG1983^) -------- . (T)J (Materials on British Military Trials of Class B and C War Criminals, vol. 2) (T'TlfctDK. 1989^) -------- . BCI5® -iEifcffi y R$4J (Materials on the Australian Military Trial of Class B and C War Criminals at Rabaul) (T-—ttllfi, 1990^ ) ---------. l y y f j i f - * —
(The British Military
Tribunal at Singapore: Full Report on the Indictment in the Case of the Resident Chinese Massacres) ('F—dj® , 1995*f-) Nanjing, ed.)
(Editorial Committee for the History of the Battle of (History of the Battle of Nanjing) 1989^)
. IS1M K S.R I4SJ (Collected Materials on the History of the Battle of Nanjing) (({tfTlt, 1989^F) 114 ffifi i a ft.lS (Jiji Press, ed.) f— (A Survey of the Proceedings of the Niirnberg Trial) (B # ♦ilff It, 19474f)
t
T H - S l t t f l l i t i (Igarashi Takeshi, et al., ed.) r [^ - § } ]
J (“Debate”: What Was the Tokyo Trial?) (^ ftk fflt.
fittfO 4] iYilI1# (Sato Kazuo, ed.) 1"tkt7b1J If tz
1997^)
(The Tokyo Trial as
Titifl (Kiyose Ichiro) i iS »DK ’ (Revised Edition, Secret Memoirs of the Tokyo Trial) ( i ^ f r M t t , 1967^ )
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Sj I^hI^S (Shimanouchi Tatsuoki) 1984^) H ( S u g a h a r a Yutaka) Tokyo Trial) (B#*fflfi&, 19 6 l¥ )
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itlJlli&f^^MTakikawa Masajiro) r j S b t S f f i & § ISX ( - t ' T ) J (Judging the Tokyo Trial, 2 vols.) (fNtJjll, 1978^)
SfWlEJ? (Nomura Masao) f^fD jSW jI?- #: M b3-St ¥11-fe 1? X- t)i J (Peace Declaration, Number One: Memorandum on the Tokyo Trial) (0 iSlSrM-1949'T) 5 ± { f ^ (Fuji Nobuo) rj&0jLfc^MSt4ll(_fc.-T).I (The Tokyo Trial as I Saw It, 2 vols.) ( I S 1 988^)
W W f - » (Aritake ShQji) of Turbulence) (^EHUri^, 1975^P)
+ ^ J (Araki Sadao: Thirty Years
tJxififfiHPffiffzSSl (Publishing Society for Itagaki Seishiro) f!|IJ (Secret Memoirs of Itagaki Seishiro ) (Jtcliiir)^, 1972^P) Memoirs)
(Ito Takashi et al., ed.) 1986^P)
-------- . m a ,i9 8 8 ¥ )
•ISfafiEH
f£j (Shigemitsu Mamoru
(Sequel to the Shigemitsu Mamoru Memoirs) ([;f1fTi:iir
(Imamura Hitoshi) 1980^ )
(Memoirs of Imamura Hitoshi) (3€
-------- . r £ n i - ( S e q u e l to the Memoirs of Imamura Hitoshi) (HH
irJI. 1980^) (Kawamura SaburO) ( ® m * S ,1 9 5 2 ¥ )
(Ascending Thirteen Steps)
pfc/3 0
(Society for Research on the Diary of Kido Koichi) (The Diary of Kido Koichi: The Period of the Tokyo Trial) (m M ^ ^ a jJS ^ ,1 9 8 0 ¥ )
Bffi:
'HUSKS (Koiso Kuniaki) I'll UUSl/fU (Autobiography of a Great Man, Koiso Kuniaki) (/jMRHHaafiflJfT^flJ. 1963^) (Kodama Yoshio) fiSw © H J (Destiny’s Gate) (ffin.ttt, 1950^) 'M L lilfrll (Komiyama Noboru, ed.) Diary of Field Marshal Hata Shunroku) ( 0
(The Sugamo 1992^ )
(Shigemitsu Mamoru) m i t B lf iJ (Sugamo Diary) (X 1 8 # ft#TtL 1953¥)
M .y t M
[
329
330
S
elected
B
ib l io g r a p h y
(Shimomura Kainan) the War) (§11t&tt 1985#) -t&1£#§$Si (Joho Yoshio, ed.) -------- . Military Affairs Bureau) JK®1 '-dr (Togo Ise)
(Secret History of the Termination of (Tojo H i d e k i ) ( J € f f 1974#)
(The Memoirs of Muto Akira, Chief of the 1981# )
f & M l k 'X l
(Colorless Fireworks) (/vPIftilfi, 1991# )
(Togo Shigenori) fllffft© - ffij (An Aspect of the Times) (MilIM. 1985#)
IS 03filJS (Toyoda Soemu) S ttD fi-tf-
(The Last Imperial Navy) (ilf§© , 1984#)
(Nishi Haruhiko) THilitiO 0 #51-32.1 (Reminiscences on Japanese Diplomacy) (TtiSSf#, 1965#) IfJJ'o’Hfili (Nomura Kichisaburo) r^UKl'OfLT : 0# 3®£©|h]III (As an Envoy to America: Recollections of the U.S.-Japan Negotiations) (#§!>' (Jiff, 1946#) 7E|i|1l3lB (Hanayama Shinsho) r^pjQCO^&M-J (The Discovery of Peace) (TJ¥ ?G, 19703#) H3SS7lc; (Mutsu Munemitsu)
(A Record of Travail)
1983#)
(Awaya Kentaro) r#.ip.ikTl|jj|tJ (On the Tokyo Trial) (#,0llri£. 19893#) (Onuma Yasuaki) fS# Jtfi!w )T K ii,J (Introduction to Discourse on War Responsibility) (^ 1975#) -------- . (From the Tokyo Trial to the Idea of Postwar Responsibility) (# fa's', 1985#) -------- , ed. f i l l Fb ] #| 0 W J4 • 0 # COMife • 125 • (Weekly Asahi Encyclopedia of Japanese History, vol. 125: The Tokyo Trial) (11 0 firMtt, 1988#) (Okuhara Toshio) r j R ® ^ ] ITS *|^ f| § 11-3 J (“The Theory of Joint Conspiracy at the Tokyo Trial (1)—(3),” ( F|5±tf M i [Kokushikan University] The Politics and Economics Review 5, 7 ,12 d\ 1966,1968.1970# ) (Kobayashi Hirotada) 1999#)
!) X > J (Sugamo Prison)
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'M I S — IP (Kobori Keiichiro) Tfi & IE • * m M ^1 J (The Tokyo Trial Reexamined) (PHPWKEF/k 1996^) -------- ed. Japan)
• El
(The Tokyo Trial: The Justification of 1995??)
'rYU-lii# (Takeyama Michio) (Collected Works of Takeyama Michio, vol. 1: History of the Spirit of Showa) (H SH l£,1983??) -------- . WUl j H # i H ? ^ l 2 - ( C o l l e c t e d Works, vol. 2: The Counterfeit Money of Spain) 1983^) -------- . Pr'nJLjit##fElfS7 • E 'k T W S # J (Collected Works, vol. 7: Harp of Burma) (*SS;*J£, 19831?)
'T J (On Historical Consciousness)
-------- . # ,1983??) -------- . f± .S 19841?)
t
LTCOJir'f'tJ (Modernity as the Lead Actor)
(Oketani Hideaki) fBSfPffitti. W & M J (The Intellectual History of Showa: Postwar Volume) 20001?) W-ftif A (Tsutsui Kiyotada) rBSftllH 0 $ O lS ia i (The Structure of Japan dur ing the Showa Period) (W SH . 1984^) HJHit— (Nagao Ryuichi) EfcWKiSif 'I'z O l'h 'W i.friX tz O -h 'i (“Was Civilization the Judge or the Judged?”) ( [Chuo Koron] 1975l?8?] M 01SrEji£ (Higurashi Yoshinobu) IfPlft: ( nSfp-Sffi---fc -p— DID— 3. / U y s O U ? 1 0H1R) (“Commentary: The Ideas of the International Military Tribunals,” translation of T h e O t h e r N iir n b e r g : T h e U n to ld S to r y o f th e T o k y o W a r C rim e s T r ia ls ) 19911?) ---------. r/1;M lJftH # j(f?)S|^a r a ^ ifr f ^ iD S t lf lS J (“The Pal Judgment Reconsidered,” The Reconstruction of Modern Japanese History) (|1|)11 HiHR a , 19931?) &KIEJK (Hosaka Masayasu) 0 $ A l (The Japanese around the Time of the Defeat) (?? 0 X # - 1989??)
aiilftJB (Maruyama Masao) Behavior in Modern Politics, enlarged edition)
(Thought and 19641?)
(Iwakawa Takashi) HOU&Oifc t b -B C lR M S ^ JJ (Even If We Die on a Solitary Island: The Class B and C War Crimes Trials) (fltM tt,1995??)
331
332
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ib l io g r a p h y
(Kamisaka Fuyuko) I M I X DX>13-^-^JPJ (The Iron Door of Cell No. 13 at Sugamo Prison) (fr^flXK , 1984X) (Tsukuba H is a h a ru ) r B C » « ffit« ftS flj( W(S|W5l - 0£daffO ) (“Class B and C War Criminals and Postwar Thought,” Joint Research on the Occupation of Japan) (tsSPuJIrliit, 1972^ ) f t E E U ^ z P (Tsunoda Fusako) R ' o $ l
C $ " ( § • $ PH ? £ H it f t (Everything Is a Dream: The Biography of Lieutenant General Honma Masaharu) (ft A X #,1975*T)
-------- . W f i ■ Imamura Hitoshi) (iffiUtt, 1984X)
(Responsibility: The General of Rabaul
(Hayashi Hirofumi) ---- T X ') XGDTt 0 WESflJj (Passing Judgment on War Crimes: British Trials of Japanese War Criminals) (S iM J £ , 1998¥)
lilA'b^F (Yamamoto Shichihei)
ft IPJj (The Execution of Lieutenant General Ko Shiyoku) ( X ll# f A 1986^ )
WAfX (Aoki Tamotsu) f l y (The Transformation of the “Discourse on Japanese Culture”) ( f t i ^ A i t a , 1990^) JiW SlSlJit (Iokibe Makoto) Ft|€H© El^da'iSSS® (_ h 'X )J (U.S. Policy on the Occupation of Japan, 2 vols.) ( f t & A l t a , 1985^) A'ZEiSJt!] (Irie Takanori) FJK(=if cDfjjfJy (The Postwars of the Defeated) (ft A # # ,1 9 8 9 ^ ) '/ I® (E to Jun) (_h •T) J (Record of Maneuvers to End the War, 2 vols.) ( f i ! £ a X f f , 198 6 ^ ) -------- . f d j p l i .i t (1 •2) J (Historical Record of the Occupation, 2 vols.) (ISIfe a ^ * X J * ,1 9 8 9 # 0 i P i S f f — (Kase Toshikazu)
J (The Leading Men of
Japanese Diplomacy) (XH##C, 1974^) (Sugita Hideaki) r ift 'j >J X M (“‘Orientalism’ and Us”) (HM - K rX 'J X > 3? 'J X A J (Orientalism) X 'A ftX IR ) ( M l f t , 1987^ ) fiftX O J? (Sumimoto Toshio)
(Secret Memoir of the Occupation)
(ft A X ® , 1988*1) (Togo Shigehiko) W R Q M M ffiW 'C D Q iM l (The Life of My Grandfather, Togo Shigenori) ( X l l # f t , 1993^E)
Se
itlilKIMftii (Toyama Shigeki et al.) 195550
le cte d
B
ib l io g r a p h y
(AHistory of Showa)
(Nakatsuka Akira) F T SSfej Travail) ( f r t ? 1 99250
(The World of A Record of
• x'VOOtil&Sii (Najita, Tetsuo et al., ed.) History of Postwar Japan) (siS lIliS , 198850
(Intellectual
(Hagiwara Nobutoshi) JSfE t $?t£j (Togo Shigenori: Biography and Interpretation) (JHU^, 1985^f) -------- .
(Mutsu Munemitsu [biography]) (W! B f/rMtt, 199750
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(Mutsu Munemitsu [biography]) OOifeiVUili, 1984^0 (The Nanjing Incident) ( ^ A f r l r . 198650
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(History Investigative Committee, ed.) T (Overview of the Greater East Asia War) (IH stt, 19955-)
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