Reading and War

After three weeks in Puerto Vallarta last December, I knew that I had settled in when I began to write. Now, four weeks after our move to Major St the marker of a deeper comfort with my surroundings is that I have resumed reading. Since our move I have been unable to settle deeply into any of the books that present themselves to me on our wonderful living room shelves. Rather, I have read only the newspapers, flyers that appear at our doorstep, and, the slim volume by William Trevor, Felicia’s Journey, de rigueur for our book club meeting last weekend. A very fine story, by the way. Suddenly yesterday I found myself entirely engrossed by a book by William Craig, entitled The Fall of Japan, a volume entirely focussed on the few months before and after the surrender of the Japanese government to the Allied forces. Publishing in 1967 Craig had access to documents and personnel in Japan as well as in the United States where the development of the atomic bomb and the decision to deploy its power to end the war was happening. In Japan the clear knowledge that their war was lost conflicted with the impossible to accept notion of their country being not just defeated, but occupied by a foreign force for the first time in its close to three millennial existence. The samurai code, deeply imbedded in the consciousness especially of the military officer class, demanded a fight to the death, even for some, the death of the entire country. This determination differed from a similar attitude among some Nazi leaders. Hitler’s personal bitterness and knowledge of his own impending death made him immune to concern about the fate of his fellow citizens.

In Japan a major sticking point for the diplomats and generals who after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were forced to consider the Allies demand for unconditional surrender, was their fear that the Emperor, revered by the nation as a god, would be removed from his central position in the Japanese hierarchy and culture. Their deepest loyalties were to this iconic figure, who in reality had had no executive powers for centuries. For about a week after the debacle of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, an intense debate raged not only within the highest echelons of the army and the government, but also with the junior, young officer ranks of the military. Factions emerged that argued for and against the acceptance of the Allies demands. By a subtle wording of their official response to the US government, diplomats signalled their concern that a radical elimination of the Emperor as Japan’s central figure, would lead to revolutionary reactions. Recognizing the truth in this concern, the US, the actual leader in all “Allied” communiqués with Japan, similarly tailored their own acceptance of the Japanese response to allow for a nuanced approach to the role of the Emperor.

Nonetheless, the council of men charged with a final decision were unable to come to an agreement. The Premier took an entirely unprecedented step, asking Emperor Hirohito to meet with the council and to give his advice. Hirohito unequivocally entreated the council to accept the terms of surrender. He had never favoured the war which had essentially been entered into unilaterally by the military with their invasion of Manchuria in the 1930s. His personal suffering over the daily devastation of his people which continued with fire-bombing raids even after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was evident in his address to the council. Even after this meeting, however, some in the council continued to agitate for a continuation of the war, regardless of the cost. They were abetted by some junior officers whose sense of personal and national honour forbade an acceptance of surrender.

On the night before the address to the nation by the Emperor, a radio recording already made, an attempt at a coup was mounted. The Imperial Palace was invaded by dissident soldiers. Their leaders sought particularly to find the recording and to destroy it. The plan was to hold the Emperor in “safe keeping,” from the “traitors” who had forced his acceptance of surrender, and to effect a prolongation of the war. In a secret room below the palace those charged with the recording were hidden from the invaders. They knew well that if they were discovered their own lives would be forfeited and that the official statement of surrender would not go out to the nation. They were not discovered. As the long night progressed, the rebellion lost its energy. Superior officers alerted to the revolt moved to quell its spread to other areas. By the next day it was completely finished. The main rebel leaders committed suicide, an outcome respected even by those whom they had attempted to coerce. There was happiness for no one in this ending of the war. The country had been ravaged; supplies of every kind were virtually non-existent; and, the people who had been told for decades of the cruel fates that awaited them should the Allies be victorious, feared for their future.

Craig’s book continues into the months during which McArthur arrives in Japan. I’m finding much in his narrative that is new to me. Like reading about or seeing a documentary about the inner workings of the North Vietnamese government and army during that later conflict, it helps to see “the enemy” as presented during a war, from its own perspective, from its own needs and logic, distinct from that given by war propaganda. War is perhaps the greatest possible tragedy to which we humans submit ourselves. It opens the Pandora’s Box of all possible horrors to be inflicted on our planet and one another. As I regard the long history of our species, I beg your forgiveness for saying that in all truth, I hold out little hope that we will be able to find other means of dealing with conflicts that inevitably arise over the quest for resources.