On the question of whether Japanese forces should have compulsory or voluntary service, the Japanese people were overwhelmingly against the draft. In a poll on this question conducted by the Mainichi in September 1951, only 18.5 percent approved a draft whereas 69.2 percent favored voluntary recruitment, if there were to be military forces. A similar poll by the Asahi taken five months later found only 17 percent supporting compulsory service, with 64 percent for a voluntary program.
While the Diet debated Article 9 of the constitution and acrimonious arguments raged throughout the nation, several opinion polls surveyed attitudes of the people. Practically everyone in Japan accepted General MacArthur as the author of the “no war, no war potential” provision of the constitution. Moreover, most of the people recognized that this provision was forced upon the nation. Nevertheless, a large segment of the people hung tenaciously to this idealistic concept. In April 1952, the Shimbun Yoron Chōsa Renmei, querying a sampling of 3,000 people (of whom 2,907 responded), asked the question, “If a plebiscite is held on the revision of the constitution to pave the way for rearmament, will you support revision of the constitution?” Only 42.5 percent said they would support such a revision. It is interesting to note that when the Asahi in early 1953 asked a similar question, “The Japanese Constitution has a clause according to which Japan renounces war forever and promises never to have an army. Do you favor this clause?” a bare 15 percent answered that they favored this clause.
Opinion polls taken in the spring of 1952 demonstrated that the Japanese people, after seven years of occupation, were becoming tired of American controls. Though a heavy percentage of the people queried recognized that they were dependent upon our military protection, they nevertheless wanted our military forces withdrawn from Japan as soon as possible. In many people, this uneasiness stemmed in part from a fear that the Soviet-American struggle in Asia would overflow from Korea into Japan, and they wanted none of that.
In discussing the attitudes of the Japanese people concerning armament with Mr. Masuhara, the director general, he minced no words:
You know, Colonel, for five years prior to the Korean War, you Americans preached disarmament, painting the glories and the wonders of a peaceful world. You gave us an impossible constitution. For a while you even took the pistols away from our policemen. You gave the women the right to vote. You encouraged them to march through our stores, destroying our so-called war toys. Well, the women have the power now. It’s going to be a long time before there can be a referendum on the revision of the constitution. In the meanwhile we’ll have to build some kind of defensive force as best we can.
Throughout these crucial months, Prime Minister Yoshida alone maintained an irrepressible determination that moved Japan slowly but continuously forward. He could neither be hurried by American pressure nor stopped by the vociferous opposition on the left. “One Man” Yoshida had set a calculated course for his country, and he never wavered from his purpose. Navigating through tricky waters, he accepted American artillery, tanks, and aircraft; denied that he was rearming the nation; and refused to budge at American pleas and coercions to increase inordinately the size of the Japanese forces.
It is reported that when Mr. Dulles urged Mr. Yoshida at the San Francisco Peace Treaty Conference and later in Japan to speed up rearmament, the prime minister at first pleaded economic difficulties, and then cleverly confused the issue with innocuous promises. At the time, the United States was urging Japan to expand its force to 300,000 troops. The prime minister refused to budge beyond a force of 110,000 men. Even when Mr. Dulles, in a counteroffer, suggested economic assistance to Japan, he could obtain nothing more from Yoshida than an uncertain promise to increase the country’s “war potential.” He left the meaning of this promise to others to define.
There were many important political and economic considerations, of course, operating on the prime minister, but for those who looked behind the scenes, something much more profound than politics or economics seemed to motivate Yoshida. Before returning to the United States in May 1952, I had a revealing talk with one of the top politicians of Japan. “I can’t understand,” I began, “why the prime minister refuses to increase the defense forces of your country when we are willing to assume the costly burden of supplying weapons and equipment. Surely, this is all to the advantage of Japan. All you’re asked to furnish is manpower and you have a lot of that.”
Responded my friend, “We will strengthen our forces, but not until 1955.”
“Why 1955?” I asked.
“By then the Korean War will be over.”
“But why must you wait until the war is ended?” I persisted.
This politician explained,
Mr. Yoshida does not want Japan to become involved in the Korean War. If we organize 300,000 troops as your Mr. Dulles wanted us to do, your government will insist that we send some of these troops to Korea. That is why the prime minister agreed to expand our forces only to 110,000. Mr. Yoshida shudders every time he recalls how the Japanese army was bogged down in China. In that the people share his fears. Should Japan have 300,000 ground troops, a strong argument would be made that we don’t need that many to defend Japan from attack and the United Nations, under your influence, would ask us to cooperate by sending at least a hundred thousand to Korea. Once these troops are dispatched, there is no telling when they will be withdrawn.
Even more important is Mr. Yoshida’s view—and many Japanese agree with him—that China should be left alone. China may turn red or black, all the same. Be it the people’s revolution of Dr. Sun Yat-sen or Mao Tse-tung’s communist revolution, leave this to China. What is an affair of China should be left to the Chinese. It will all settle down in the long run. That is the history of China, and it is not a business in which other people should interfere, Mr. Yoshida thinks.
Whatever the reason, “One Man” Yoshida held the Japanese rearmament machine in low gear.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE IMPERIAL MILITARY
The preceding chapter abundantly demonstrated that on the whole, the Japanese people viewed rearmament and military forces as a necessary evil rather than as a national aspiration. Many equated rearmament to war and they were touchy about war; 106,000 had died in two atomic blasts alone. Rearmament, many thought, could prove to be an invitation to disaster.
Soviet pressures in the world, however, culminating in the communist invasion of Korea, forced radical changes in American objectives and policies in Japan. Occupation reform programs were hastily abandoned. The scorn and exposure that had been so studiously focused on the Japanese militarists and ultra-nationalists was now turned furiously upon communism and the Japanese left. As we shifted into a “reverse course,” previously purged and discredited enemies of democracy suddenly became friends, and former war allies became our enemies.
Though the Potsdam Declaration called for removal of purgees from public life “for all times,” the new conditions in the world and specifically in Japan necessitated greater acceleration on the “reverse course.” A mass depurge in October 1951 removed thousands of former Imperial Army and Navy officers from purge restrictions. By the time Japan had regained its sovereignty in April 1952, only about five thousand former military officers remained on the purge lists. With their full citizenship restored, thousands of these former officers, who for the past six or seven years had been seeking out their stifled existences as fishermen, farmers, and toilers, now raised their eyes and voices to Tōkyō for recognition. Conscious of their military education, training, and experience, they were convinced that the United States needed them and that their own government would have to use their services in the new military establishment that was forming.
I think a look at these men, who they were, what political and military views they espoused, and what some of them tried to do will add to our understanding of the environment in which the rearmament of Japan was initiated.
As a group, the former Imperial officers were honorable,
dedicated, forthright men. Most of them had difficulty, however, in shedding the mental shackles of their early indoctrination, and too many seemed unable to catch up with the modern world. A few were more concerned about their personal ambitions than the welfare of the country.
To me, their most disturbing weakness was their inability to grow above their narrow concentration on the importance of a national military posture. Their vision of the political aspirations and hopes of the people, Japan’s economic limitations, and its commitments to other nations were as misplaced after the surrender as they had been in their delusionary prewar days. Although many of their spokesmen embraced the principle of civilian control of the military, they never quite grasped the true meaning of a concept that permitted a former operator of haberdashery (Truman) to sack a five-star general (MacArthur). They argued correctly that the civilian leaders of the NPR did not have the needed military “know-how,” and so it was necessary to use former military officers in the new forces. But they also rigidly contended that since they possessed military “know-how,” they were the best qualified to organize and formulate the rearmament policy of the country. In this regard, they had learned nothing from the tragedy of the Pacific War.
The military of Japan has enjoyed long centuries of hegemony over the affairs of the nation. Rising to power in the twelfth century, the shoguns (generals) subjugated the emperor and ruled Japan for seven hundred years. They were finally overthrown in the Meiji Restoration. Under the influence of Western political concepts, the privileged position of the military was torn down and civilian authority grew dominant. During the past hundred years, their fortunes and powers waxed and waned with changes in the world situation and the ability of the civilian political forces to suppress them. Governed by strong civilian leaders and moving carefully under a cautious foreign policy, Japan emerged from World War I with its territories enhanced and recognized as a world power. For a decade its military receded. Then in the 1930s military leaders assassinated the civilian leadership and banded together into gunbatsu, or “military cliques,” and seized control of the government and direction of the nation’s foreign policy. Qualified to command, ready to die, but unfit to rule, they reaped a horrendous devastation.
In the purge that followed the Pacific War, the militarists and ultra-nationalists, directly responsible for having misled the people of Japan, were shorn overnight of their power and prestige. The bureaucrats, who were generally untouched by the purge, stood to gain by the liquidation of their erstwhile bosses and eagerly joined the occupation forces in the indictment. The people too no longer found the military to be heroes, and they accepted the foreigner’s explanation of Japan’s degradation. Hundreds of top military officers were tried as war criminals, and all 122,235 career military officers were purged. Not only was the leadership of the nation completely changed, but the former military elite became national outcasts, unpitied, unwanted, and distrusted by the people.
Understandably, when the purge restrictions were lifted and the former Imperial officers were inducted into the NPR in 1951 and 1952, they were not greeted with popular enthusiasm. Although the recruitment was limited essentially to young captains, some majors and lieutenant colonels, and a few carefully screened colonels, the people nevertheless were suspicious and watchful. The civilian leaders of the NPR received the new officers into the organization with reserved caution. The young yobitai, having found American tutelage pleasantly acceptable, viewed the former Imperials with mixed emotions. Officially, however, everyone hoped they would bring leadership and the badly needed military “know-how” to the new military establishment.
In the meantime, outside the NPR, the former military community was fermenting with disappointment and distrust. Senior officers of the Imperial forces became disgruntled when they were not called by the government to serve. Many organized and joined rightist groups, which have plagued Japan into the present. When they found themselves unable to influence the rearmament program, they turned on the government, became critical of the United States, flooded the news media with militaristic statements, and did their utmost to undermine the morale and integrity of the young yobitai. It is difficult to predict what role the younger militarists of the rightist organizations may play in their country’s future. But the senior Imperial leaders, now elderly men, are fading away. In the early 1950s, however, they pressed their views furiously.
The nationalist movement has its roots planted deeply in tradition. Japanese literature is replete with accounts of gruesome assassinations every time the “patriots” and rōnin “masterless samurai” got together. Genyōsha, or Dark Ocean Society, the first modern nationalist organization in Japan, was organized in 1881 by a band of self-righteous men incensed at what they considered to be a sellout by the Japanese government, which was revising its treaties with foreign powers. The band carried on a violent campaign that instigated a terrorist, Tsuneki Kurushima, to throw a bomb at Shigenobu Ōkuma, the foreign minister. Though the “incident” shocked the nation at the time, Kurushima set a pattern for a steadily increasing series of bloody assassinations and attempted killings. As the nationalists became more sophisticated, their murderous outrages were cleverly justified as having been carried out “for the sake of the country,” “for the emperor,” or “for the prestige of the army.”
The purge disbanded these organizations, but many thoughtful Japanese wonder whether the roots have been torn out. The threat of external communist attack and internal subversion, political strikes of the labor unions, riots, and excesses of leftist students have all stirred violent emotions in the breasts of former senior officers, many of whom belonged to the Cherry Blossom Society (Sakurakai) or the East Asia League (Tōa Renmei), or were the proud and unresurrected veterans of the Kwantung Army (Kantōgun). Some of these nationalist organizations have surfaces with new foliage, but like the bamboo, they get their sap from a common root.
In 1950, as the Korean War grew in ferocity and the United States and the Japanese government shifted their programs and policies into a “reverse course,” the former military officers banded together throughout the country, generating a plethora of organizations. Initially, army and navy academy graduates formed classmates associations for social and informative purposes. These were followed by various service groups to promote mutual benefit interests, such as pension rights. Gradually, groups were organized that were concerned with fighting communism, providing security for the country, advocating rearmament, establishing foreign policy, and promoting nationalism. Like soap bubbles, some burst and others expanded or grew by combining and absorbing smaller groups. In time all these associations became involved in the rearmament program of Japan and the new forces that were being organized.
Pulled by a common emotional magnet, these organizations of former Imperial officers all pointed to the right. Despite this general orientation, there were important differences between them, which inhibited effective cooperation.
Many of the splits and rivalries that existed in the prewar Imperial forces persisted into the 1950s. The hardened military views on the conflicting missions, capabilities, and comparative importance of the army and navy continued to divide the former officers of those services. Programs initially developed by Kanji Ishiwara projected one group of his followers into commitments to international peace while a second group of followers supported a program of “armed neutrality” for Japan.
Interestingly, a significant split developed between senior Imperial officers and the younger officers. After an interlude of six or seven years as citizens of a democratic Japan, the young group entertained a decidedly different view of their country and the future than did their former superiors. Whereas in the prewar Imperial forces the young officers of the army and navy general staff were the extremists, pushing their seniors, evolving bold national strategy, and projecting their generals and admirals upon the national stage, it was the senior officers now who pushed for political action, attacked the government, and were the e
xtremists. The younger former Imperial officers did not find democracy odious; they became acclimated to American innovations and found no difficulty in integrating into civilian society. While the former generals, admirals, and colonels pressed furiously to the right, the younger officers looked cautiously about their surroundings.
Attitudes on rearmament, and specifically concerning the new forces, differed drastically. Men like former general Sadamu Shimomura and former lieutenant generals Eiichi Tatsumi, Shuichi Miyazaki, and Yoshio Kotsuki joined Prime Minister Yoshida to advise him regarding the release of former officers from the purge and to assist in screening officers for acceptance into the NPR. Former navy admirals Yoshio Yamamoto and Sadatoshi Tomioka cooperated with the government in organizing the coast guard. These men, however, had little influence with the mass of the Imperial officers who for a long time regarded the NPR with hostility. After 1951, when former officers were inducted into the NPR and professional military leaders were assigned important posts, most Imperial military officers began to accept the new defense forces as something better than nothing. They continued, however, to differ on the broader aspects of rearmament.
Attitudes on the United States, our military capabilities in the Far East, the impact of the occupation of Japan, and the effect of American training methods on the discipline and the spirit of the new establishment divided the former military officers into a variety of camps. Except for their common slogans against communists, they were pro-American as well as anti-American, favored the new democracy, argued for the liquidation of the NPR, and urged the return of the emperor system. Their views of democracy and Americans influenced their thinking on basic military concepts, polarizing their attitudes on the question of supreme command (saikō shireikan). While the arguments against democratic control of the future military forces by the prime minister were subdued, many nevertheless advocated return of the supreme command to the emperor. These groups contended that neither the power of the law nor institutions alone were sufficient to build a dedicated military force or to inspire the troops. Some were willing to compromise, urging the establishment of a National Defense Council (Kokubō Kaigi) headed by an appropriate member of the Imperial family.
An Inoffensive Rearmament Page 21
