An Inoffensive Rearmament

by Frank Kowalski

  Having been indoctrinated for generations in this principle of civilian control of the military, we never considered any other kind of organization for the future army of Japan. More significant, we knew the history of Japanese militarism and wanted to provide legal and policy blocks within the structure of the force to prevent any possible resurgence of that militarism. I was especially aware that from 1936 to the end of World War II, no cabinet could be formed in Japan without an active army officer as minister of war and an active naval officer as a minister of the navy. Mr. Masuhara and the Japanese officials who gradually began to assemble at NPR Headquarters listened politely to our arguments, but we seemed unable to communicate with each other. Moreover, as the Japanese logically argued, since the NPR had no former Imperial officers and its bureaus were being staffed by civilians, why worry about a civilian control element?

  For days, General Shepard labored with Mr. Masuhara, and the CASA staff worked with Japanese officials explaining the mysteries of civilian control. A year and a half later, when I served for two month as acting chief of the Advisory Group, I was still faced with the same problem. At that time, I had a detailed study prepared of the U.S. Department of Defense for the further orientation of the top Japanese officials who were then preparing the basic law for the National Safety Agency (Kokka Hoanchō, which was to succeed the NPR). It is amazing how difficult it was for the most democratic elements in Japan to understand and accept the inviolate Western principle of civilian control of a nation’s military forces.

  By the time Cabinet Order No. 260 establishing the NPR had been promulgated, Mr. Masuhara had been sufficiently indoctrinated to include in Article 4 of the order a covert provision for a civilian headquarters staff. Accordingly, Article 4 stated, “The fixed number of personnel of the National Police Reserve shall be seventy-five thousand, one hundred (75,100) including policemen of the National Police Reserve of seventy-five thousand (75,000).” Article 4 is deliberately silent about the remaining one hundred. They were added on the recommendation of General Shepard to provide the nucleus for the director general’s office.

  Having finally accepted the idea of a civilian headquarters and motivated by the age-old drive of the empire builders, Mr. Masuhara asked for five hundred people in his office. General Shepard, however, having a long-standing aversion to large numbers of civilians in a military organization, objected strenuously, suggesting that a small policy group of fifty civilians would be sufficient. Gradually, Mr. Masuhara lowered his sights to two hundred, and General Shepard finally compromised for a staff of one hundred. I was present when the agreement was reached and can still remember Mr. Masuhara’s loud voice: “I see one hundred stuffs,” he boomed, mispronouncing the English word “staff,” as the “a” and the “u” sounds are sometimes hard for Japanese to enunciate.

  From then on, the civilians in the director’s office were known to American advisers as the “hundred stuffs.” For purposes of identification, the director general issued a lapel button to each of the one hundred civilians of his headquarters. I considered myself especially honored when Mr. Masuhara personally gave me an NPR button with the number 101.

  Except for the provision of these one hundred spaces above the National Police Reserve of 75,000, Cabinet Order No. 260 failed to give any hint of the civilian control principle we were urging so forcefully upon the NPR. The basic articles establishing the headquarters of the force and defining the responsibilities of the director general provide for a straight-line police type of organization, with the director general as the chief of the force.

  Article 5 of the Cabinet Order simply stated, “The National Police Reserve shall have a headquarters, troops, and other necessary agencies.” Article 7 briefly elaborated, “The headquarters shall have a Director General and Assistant Director General. The Director General shall be appointed by the Prime Minister. The appointment of the Director General shall be attested by the Emperor. The Director General shall direct [command] the functions of the National Police Reserve as its chief under the direction and supervision of the Prime Minister.”

  Though General Shepard calmly dismissed the question of civilian control and told me to be patient, I continued to be deeply disturbed by a sense of history. Lieutenant Colonel Albergotti, our operations officer, and Lieutenant Colonel Freyereisen, our comptroller, were equally concerned about the principle involved, and the three of us took every opportunity to educate and indoctrinate the Japanese staff members with whom we worked. Where the situation permitted, we would incorporate in the NPR policies and procedures as much of our American concepts as we could.

  About this time, I became deeply concerned about the appointment of NPR officers and senior civilians. In the United States, original appointment and subsequent promotions of all officers in our military force are made by the president with the advice and consent of the U.S. Senate. This procedure ensures all that appointments and promotions in the military are made by joint action of our political representatives in the Senate. Actually, this has meant that the Republicans as well as the Democrats in the Senate have a voice in the appointment and promotion of our military.

  When the NPR was being organized, the Japanese proposed that both the civilian officials and the military officers should be appointed by the cabinet. I objected most strenuously to this proposal, arguing that the cabinet was composed of a particular party and as such did not represent all the people in the nation. Disregarding any possibility of political corruption, appointments and promotions of military officers under this arrangement would be made at the pleasure of a particular party. The minority political party or parties would have no voice in determining who would be appointed or promoted. I held that all original appointments and subsequent promotions of the NPR military officers should be submitted by the prime minister to the House of Councillors (Sangiin) for approval as is done in our country. I was at first surprised at the severity of the Japanese objections until I realized that the prime minister feared a battle royal with the Socialists in the House of Councillors on the question of initial appointments. And he didn’t want to renew the battle every time he had to promote any NPR officer or appoint new ones.

  I could not accept this argument of expediency in a matter so vital. Moreover, as I pointed out, it was possible under the proposal that after the cabinet approved the initial appointments in the NPR, the Socialist Party could win the elections. What would happen then? Would a Socialist cabinet dismiss all the NPR officers previously appointed and appoint new ones? Or would they do something less drastic like appointing their own followers or promoting their own people. The arrangement to my mind was fraught with extreme danger for the NPR and the future military forces of Japan.

  I was convinced that if the occupation forces insisted, Prime Minister Yoshida would have receded from political expediency and accepted “advice and consent” control by the House of Councillors over military appointments and promotions. But there are not a few military officers in our forces who are above playing politics. I am sure principle was not pressed because there were those in the Far East Command who despised all socialists and the Japanese socialists especially as “reds.” These men agreed with Yoshida that Socialist Party members of the House of Councillors should be given no opportunity to criticize our American handiwork or the appointments of our conservative friends in the Japanese government.

  My arguments did not prevail, and Prime Minister Yoshida’s cabinet appointed all the officers of the NPR. I believe the appointments were fair; certainly I could detect no political chicanery, but a vital principle of democratic government was violated. I disagreed so strongly with General Shepard on this issue that I contemplated asking being relieved from my assignment. I suppose the practical political considerations were overriding.

  As the NPR proceeded to organize itself in some fifty camps scattered throughout the country, acquiring men and resources from the surrounding communities, the situation at the national level continued in a nebulous
state. CASA provided the central impetus and guidance while Japanese officials slowly trickled into the Maritime School buildings. Finally the director general reluctantly agreed to subdivide his headquarters into two elements, a small civilian policy office and a military operational staff.

  There was now established an NPR Headquarters with an allocation of one hundred civilians whose responsibilities were parallel with those of the office of the secretary of the Army and a General Group Headquarters. Initially assigned seven hundred spaces, equivalent in mission and functions to the Army Headquarters in the Pentagon, the chief of the General Group was assigned the same responsibilities as our Army chief of staff.

  A large percentage of the civilians who joined Mr. Masuhara transferred from the National Rural Police, and although they took off their police uniforms and worked for the director general in civilian clothes, they thought and behaved like police officers. Those who were not police officers were mossback bureaucrats from the Communications Ministry (Denki Tsushinshō), the Finance Ministry (Ōkurashō), Transportation Ministry (Unyushō), and other central government agencies. The police chiefs particularly regarded NPR Headquarters as a kind of central police station.

  The officers who were slowly recruited for General Group were equally ignorant in their duties. As mentioned previously, all professional officers of the Imperial Army and Navy had been purged by General MacArthur and were ineligible for the NPR. The top people in uniform in this embryonic Japanese army accordingly had no previous military experience. Most of them, as in the civilian NPR Headquarters, were career police officials. The administrators, engineers, finance personnel, and supply officials from the various national ministries were organized rapidly and their sections functioned effectively. The general staff sections, however, staffed with inexperienced police officers and some low-ranking former officers and noncommissioned officers of the Imperial Army and Navy who had not been purged, were hopelessly ineffectual. The only difference between the personnel in the NPR Headquarters and General Group was that those in the General Group wore uniforms.

  The new chief of their headquarters, Senior Superintendent General Hayashi, likewise had no military experience, having served, as previously mentioned, as governor of a prefecture, Home Ministry official, and assistant steward of the Imperial household. Although in time I became very fond of General Hayashi and respected him for the fine executive he was, I must confess that I had my misgivings when he first reported for duty in striped trousers and frock coat. He certainly was the most unusual chief of staff that commanded an army.

  As in the United States Army, there were many amusing incidents that occurred in those formative days with the officers commissioned directly from civilian life. Like all doctors, the chief medical officer, for example, had his own views about wearing the uniform. A nationally famous surgeon, he was induced to join the NPR only after much coaxing by the national government. Accordingly, Colonel Shellenberger, our chief medical adviser, treated him with considerable respect and finesse. Nevertheless, after having observed Major General Honna in various combinations of uniform and civilian clothes, I called Colonel Shellenberger into my office one day to straighten out the good surgeon.

  “Doc,” I began, “you’ve got to do something about your Surgeon General Fuminori Honna. He is a disgrace to the NPR uniform. Get him properly dressed, will you?”

  “I’ll try,” laughed Shellenberger, “but I promise you no miracles.”

  In the next few days, I observed a perceptible improvement in Lieutenant General Honna’s uniform, except he persisted in wearing a dilapidated civilian brown fedora. Once again I asked Colonel Shellenberger to come into my office. As he sat down, I saw a flashing twinkle in Shellenberger’s eye. “I know it’s about Honna and his fedora,” he began laughingly. “This will get you. I took my fine friend personally to the supply office. There the old man tried on four or five uniform caps for size. He eyed himself with disgust in the mirror and then, with a determined finality he placed his brown fedora on his head and walked out muttering, ‘I like this one best.’ Since that time, he refuses to put on an NPR hat. If you think you can get General Honna into a uniform hat I urge you to try it.”

  I didn’t have the courage to joust with the doctor, and General Honna continued wearing an NPR uniform with a civilian fedora.

  One of the decisions that had to be made in those early days was whether the new force should be organized in the image of the Imperial Japanese Army or in accordance with the tables of organization of the United States Army. The Basic Plan was mute on this question. There were many good reasons to support both views.

  Though we had crushed Japan in the Pacific War, the Imperial Japanese Army, as our own Army and Marines could attest, had proven itself to be a formidable fighting machine. The Japanese heitai, as an Imperial soldier, was second to none in the world. Inspired by a fanatical devotion to the god-emperor, he had been spiritually prepared to destroy the enemy or perish himself. The basic Japanese fighting force depended on manpower. It had little mechanized equipment and few supporting weapons. It was an army designed and trained to fight primarily with rifles, machine guns, and mortars. Japanese logistics were simple. Each soldier was trained to endure with minimum food and little ammunition. If we patterned the new armed force after the liquidated Imperial Japanese Army, we would achieve maximum manpower at minimum cost. The NPR would be cheap to organize, simple to maintain, and easy to train. Furthermore, despite the prohibition on the use of career officers, there were many former noncommissioned officers who were eager and well-qualified to build the new force in the image of the old.

  We were also reasonably certain that there were those in Japan who would have no difficulty resurrecting the “liquidated” Imperial Army regulations, training manuals, and the literature that might be necessary to establish an effective organization. In addition, there were considerable stocks of old Japanese weapons still available to arm a substantial force. Most significant, those who favored modeling the new army on the old argued that if we imposed a new military system on Japan, we would build a force that would accept the privileges of American soldiers with none of the virtues of the Imperial Japanese fighters.

  On the other hand, there were compelling reasons favoring the establishment of a new Japanese force organized on the American pattern. Japan had been systematically demilitarized, and munitions makers had been purged and their factories destroyed or converted to civilian manufacture. Weapons and much of the equipment for the new Japanese force for years would necessarily have to be supplied by the United States. As these would be of American design, the combat, supply, and maintenance units of the new forces would have to be organized in a way similar to American Army units. Furthermore and most significant, in the event of joint U.S.-Japanese military operations, the advantages of having two forces identically organized and similarly equipped were obvious. The two command and staff structures, communications systems and procedures, and logistical systems could be integrated and superimposed one upon the other with minimum disarrangement. This obviously was an overriding consideration. The NPR became a little American Army.

  This decision, however, created a host of new and complicated problems. One of the most difficult was the requirement for Japanese manuals, both training and technical. Much of the early instruction in the use of carbines, M-1 rifles, and machine guns was accomplished without Japanese manuals through interpreters. Since many of the interpreters knew little about firearms, their interpretation of American instructions and especially nomenclature was something marvelous to hear on retranslation. But it’s impossible for a modern army to train without manuals. Individual American camp commanders accordingly did their best to provide temporary mimeographed Japanese instructions locally produced. As General Group Headquarters began to recruit officers, we were finally able to publish a few Japanese manuals at the national level.

  We encountered our most serious difficulties when we began to translate American
manuals on tactics into Japanese. One must keep in mind that officially we were organizing a police force. Under the circumstances, there could be no talk about soldiers, fire and movement, entrenchments, and tactical maneuvers. Police group tactics are limited to riot control. What complicated the translations was our insistence that the Japanese use no military terms in the manuals.

  One day General Hayashi came to me in complete frustration. “What are we doing,” he asked, “organizing an army or police force?”

  “You know the answer to that,” I said.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “We are organizing an army. You and I know that, but we can’t tell our policemen that or the people. It is most difficult to describe a police attack on a bunker with artillery and flame throwers, especially when we have to disguise the words ‘bunker,’ ‘artillery,’ and ‘flame throwers.’ That’s bad enough in any language, but I’ve got to invent characters for the phony names we have given some of these.” Continuing with pencil and paper, he said, “Look, Colonel, this is a Chinese character for vehicle. You know we Japanese use Chinese characters. But I am supposed to call a tank a special vehicle. Tell me, Colonel, how do I change this Chinese character you see here for vehicle into a special vehicle and expect my yobitai to recognize it as a tank?”

  “That’s what they made you a general for,” I gibed, and then we both sat down and laughed until tears came to our eyes.

  Language is always a difficult barrier between people, but in Japan that year it sometimes gave birth to comedy, and on occasions almost brought on tragedy. We had adequate interpreters and many of the Japanese could speak some English, so we were always able to communicate, but it was the miscommunication that caused mischief.