An Inoffensive Rearmament

by Frank Kowalski

  But there was no peace and there was no rejoicing. There were few signs of spontaneous jubilation. There was a strange uneasiness in the land.

  As I drove through Tōkyō on my way to NPR Headquarters, I observed no outward display of any emotions. I expected and wanted to see joy on the faces of the Japanese people, happiness on their first day of independence from foreign rule. But there was none. The little people who before and during the war dragged their overloaded, unbalanced carts through the streets of metropolitan Tōkyō continued on the day of liberation as they had during the occupation to strain their plodding way, harnessed to the same carts and the same loads. Though the automobile population, acquired with American dollars, had more than doubled since the war, workers in Tōkyō were undernourished and ill-clad. Rice was still rationed. On the historic day of independence, the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry (Nōrinshō) announced a rice production goal of 13.5 million bushels, an increase of half a million bushels above normal yield. The squeeze was on Japan. The announced quota would be met only through the sweat and toil of the farmers.

  Prime Minister Yoshida called upon the people to “march joyfully, courageously, and resolutely on the broad highway of peace and democracy.” But there was no marching. Few bothered to hang out flags. The flag-waving spirit, so much in evidence in Japanese newsreels before the war, was nowhere to be seen. Yoshida himself, driving through Tōkyō, is quoted to have remarked, “Hinomaru flags are too few.” His cabinet hastened to reassure him that the situation would be remedied, not by compulsion as in the past but through “recommendation” to the people.

  Only the little ones seemed moved by the occasion. The most enthusiastic was a group of primary school children, a beautiful post-hostilities crop. As I drove past them, they shouted greetings happily, skipping, jumping, playfully waving their little paper flags of Nippon. These were the fortunate ones who had been spared the horrors of the bombings.

  I had removed my GHQ shoulder patch, which to the Japanese was a symbol of the occupation of Japan, but as I drove through the gate the Japanese guards saluted me as smartly as they had for the past two years. The old men and women who cleaned our offices and so conscientiously polished our desks seemed not at all moved by their new day of freedom.

  I was later to learn dramatically one day that people who worked hard at routine tasks, day in and day out, find little to be joyous about in their drudgery. I was campaigning for Congress in 1958 in Connecticut one early morning at a factory gate, shaking hands and asking the workers to vote for me. Suddenly an old man stopped in front of me, looked me squarely in the eyes, and asked, “Why should I vote for you? What difference will it make to me whether you or your opponent is elected? I have been walking through this gate every morning for forty years. Tomorrow it won’t make a damn bit of difference to me whether you’re elected or not.” I wanted it to make a difference, but I suppose the old fellow was right. One man has little impact on matters in Washington.

  So nothing seemed changed in Japan on its day of liberation. I reached for my Nippon Times and was immediately reassured. Japan had indeed been drastically changed and more dynamic changes were on the way. Its lead editorial was reflective:

  It is well that the people should recall those dreary, hopeless and fearful days immediately following the Japanese surrender. The future at that time offered no pleasant prospects. It was not even a thing to be talked about, except in hurried whispered snatches; the world had seemingly come to end. The people lacked even those basic requirements of food, clothing and shelter. . . . Only later history can give a true and final evaluation of the Japanese occupation. But it would be safe at this time to point out that while mistakes were inevitable, the results on the whole were beneficial not only for Japanese people but also for the world at large. Certainly, no greater tribute can be paid the occupation and its policies than the fact that an entire nation and people were awakened to the political and ideological concept of democracy. It is true, to be sure, that democracy has still a long course to run in Japan, but a start has been made which only a major revolution could halt. The ideas of human rights, popular government, women’s suffrage, land reform, local autonomy, decentralized educational system, and free labor movement among others are here to stay.

  Sovereign Japan began its new era with 81,540,000 people, 20 percent more than the prewar population of the islands. These people were living on an area slightly more than half the territory controlled by Japan before its defeat.

  One indicator of the future of Japan was the combination of statistics relating to the birth and death rates and the life span of the people. The death rate dropped from 15.7 per 1,000 to 10 and the birthrate surprisingly dropped from 31.3 to 25.6. The life expectancy for men had risen from a 1936 level of 46.9 years to 60.8 years and for women from 49.6 to 64.8.

  Japanese were eating more protein than before the war, and the average daily intake of 2,125 calories was approximately that of 1941. Consumption of sugar was down, however, from 18 pounds annually to 9.81 pounds. Average clothing consumption also decreased from 7.59 to 6.97 pounds annually.

  Industrial statistics were encouraging and were a harbinger of things to come. The number of factories had increased 10 percent. Electric power output was up 26 percent. Textile production had almost doubled, but coal and steel production were both down.

  The number of compulsory schools had jumped to keep pace with the population increase. Radio sets had almost doubled to ten million and newspaper circulation soared from 11 million to 29 million. Crime was increasing. The number of female criminals had doubled and the number of juvenile delinquents was increasing alarmingly.

  My attention was drawn to a sad commentary. A newspaper looking for comments on this day of liberation from people on the street approached a former lieutenant of the Japanese Imperial Army. The lieutenant had been wounded in the head and stomach in North China. Now, out of the hospital, he was reduced to begging on the Ginza. His response to the reporter’s question was bitter: “I don’t anticipate a sudden change in the attitude of these passersby toward me.”

  It was a great day nevertheless for those who received pardons under the general amnesty declared by the prime minister. More than 2 million Japanese benefited from this order. Criminal charges against approximately half a million were dropped, 270,000 received reductions in their prison terms, and 470,000 regained their civil rights. The remainder were persons on parole, serving suspended sentences, freed on payment of fines, and evaders on taxes. In the last category were many big businessmen. Most of these were aware that the grand pardon would come in the spring with the signing of the peace treaty. The legal trick was to negotiate and wait out the government. This had been the traditional procedure for big business, and now it was paying off with millions of yen. I was not surprised that under the general amnesty, the government forgave the zaibatsu (cartel) firm of Mitsubishi Chemical Company for nonpayment of 290 million yen, Kokobō Industry Company 27 million yen, and Yokohama Rubber Company 30 million yen. When I recalled how the Japanese tax collector in Ōsaka confiscated pieces of furniture and even hibachi (grills or stoves) from the small businessmen who failed to pay their taxes in 1949, I shuddered at the gross injustice.

  The abolition of the occupation government helped those on the left as well as those on the right. Akahata, the Japan Communist Party publication “Red Flag,” appeared on the streets of Tōkyō for the first time since its suppression by General MacArthur on July 18, 1950. The justice minister acknowledged his office anticipated the publication of Akahata, but in sovereign Japan, there was no prohibition against the Communist Party or its official publication.

  The right-wing Socialists joined the two conservative parties in welcoming independence and sovereignty for the nation. Declaring their rededication to democracy, they announced their determination to increase their efforts to re-establish international confidence in Japan. Kaneshichi Masuda, secretary general of the Liberal Party, said his party p
roposed to rebuild Japan as an independent, self-sufficient nation determined to defend itself. Takeo Miki, secretary general of the Progressive Party, rejoiced at liberation from a foreign occupation. Mr. Miki declared that Japan had to re-establish international confidence and internal harmony by adhering to democratic principles and social justice within the nation. The right-wing Socialists were jubilant over the return of sovereignty but announced dissatisfaction with the treaty terms regarding security, territorial possessions, and reparations.

  Left-wing Socialists found no occasion for rejoicing. They anticipated no change in the condition of Japan under the terms of the peace treaty from what had been the situation under the occupation. They contended that the failure of the government to conclude peace treaties with the Soviet Union, Red China, and other Asian countries left Japan in an unstable international position. The peace treaty with the United States, they said, was bought for the price of the security pact, which made Japan an advance military base for American strategy in the Far East.

  Yet the return of sovereignty to Japan, at a time when the United States was involved in a worldwide Cold War struggle with the communists and engaged in a bloody war in Korea, represented a deliberate gamble for our foreign policy. Those who were willing to gamble rested their stakes on the contention that freedom and independence would make a better and more dependable ally of Japan than would continued occupation. As might be anticipated, the Pentagon and the State Department argued opposing points of view. The State Department, supported by General MacArthur, who had repeatedly declared that no occupation could profitably last more than five years, wanted an early peace treaty. The military, on the other hand, cautioned that an independent Japan could not be explicitly counted upon to support the Korean War. The Pentagon feared that after Japan regained its sovereignty, the United States could no longer tell it what to do. The gamble was minimized when Japan agreed to have the security pact with the United States come into force simultaneously with the peace treaty. As has been pointed out, the Left deplored the price Japan had to pay for the peace treaty, but in its state of economic and military impotence, Japan had no alternative. Its survival as a nation depended on trade with the United States and the protective military umbrella America was willing to extend.

  Prime Minister Yoshida thanked the Allied powers for “a magnanimous peace unparalleled in history” and set the mood for his administration:

  Unfortunately our horizon is darkened by the menace of communism which seeks to conquer the world through insidious propaganda and infiltration by force—by open armed aggression. That is why for the protection of unarmed Japan as well as for the common defense of the Pacific we have concluded a security pact with the United States, under which American land, sea and air forces, at our request, will be stationed within and about our territory. Obviously such an arrangement cannot be continued indefinitely. That is why we must undertake to build up a self-defense power of our own, gradually, according as circumstances and resources permit.

  Conscious of international concern and not wishing to alarm other countries, the prime minister cautiously elaborated, “We will not rearm in such a way as to arouse suspicion and apprehension on the part of foreign countries.” Those who may now be critical of Yoshida’s reluctance to build a larger military force should not overlook the world situation that faced the sagacious prime minister in the early 1950s.

  Eighteen nations of the noncommunist world recognized Japan as a sovereign state. Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, Singapore, and India, among others, greeted Japan’s re-emergence into the world as an independent nation with varying degrees of acceptance. There was deep concern about future trade relations and unabashed fear of Japanese competition.

  The communist world reacted predictably. Mr. Alexander Panyushkin, the Soviet ambassador in Washington, denounced the San Francisco peace treaty as “illegal.” He demanded that American troops be withdrawn from Japan and notified the world that the Soviet Union “cannot bear any responsibility whatsoever for the situation created in Japan.” Red China echoed the Soviet Union’s renunciation of the peace treaty, declaring that China “cannot recognize it any way.” Though most Americans were unconcerned about the communist response, the Japanese people, conscious of their Asian environment, were deeply apprehensive about both their security and economic welfare. To the merchants, manufacturers, and financial circles of trade-hungry Japan, “ideology was politics, but trade was business.” Ishiwara’s philosophy of a coprosperity sphere embracing Japan, China, and Manchuria was so potentially appealing to the Japanese that no ideological obstacles could be permitted to stand in the way of the good life the theory promises.

  There were some thoughtful men among the Japanese who compared the emergence of Japan as an independent nation with the Meiji Restoration. These men highlighted the similarity in the world situations that faced a small, isolated island country in 1868 with the plight of a weak, defenseless, debilitated Japan in 1952. It was useless, they said, to think about the fact that Japan had been a “first-class power.” The disastrous Pacific War had destroyed that power. Japan in the twentieth century faced the same problems that the pioneers of the Meiji era solved under severe limitations of national power. The difference between the Meiji Restoration and new Japan was that in the former period only the country’s leaders and statesmen deliberated and planned the policies for the nation, and the people followed, while in democratic Japan the people had the power and the responsibility to determine the future course of the nation.

  About noon on the first day of sovereignty, Director General Masuhara invited the senior American officers of the Advisory Group to join his staff at NPR Headquarters in a small gathering to commemorate the San Francisco peace treaty. The tables were set in the customary Japanese fashion in the form of a “U.” There were no chairs; guests were invited to eat and drink standing at the tables, which were decorated with ceremonial packages of seaweed tied in interesting little bows of “friendship.” Plates of sliced meats were scattered among brown bottles of excellent Japanese beer.

  Mr. Masuhara presently raised a toast to the United States and its great military forces, thanking Americans for considerations extended during the occupation and the helpful assistance and guidance in organizing the NPR. We responded by wishing Japan prosperity and the NPR success in achieving its mission.

  The little party became lively, and shortly American officers and NPR civilian officials and senior men in uniform were enjoying the comradeship of people who work together. I joined a small group including Mr. Masuhara; Mr. Eguchi, the deputy director general; and General Hayashi. I had been reading about the Japanese constitution and the circumstances of its formulation and acceptance by the Japanese government. I wondered how much of this idealistic document would remain now that Japan had acquired its independence. Mr. Masuhara assured me that the fundamental concepts of the constitution would remain. Some changes were necessary. Article 9, of course, would have to be eliminated. In addition, he thought, the article concerning the dissolution of the House of Representatives would have to be revised. When I pointed out that these amendments, together with changes proposed in Article 18 and 22, would require major surgery, he smiled in agreement. He acknowledged, with Mr. Eguchi’s concurrence, that the women of Japan, so thoroughly indoctrinated against war, would oppose revision most strenuously. Mr. Eguchi volunteered that the political parties would have to launch a broad educational program, not only among women but among the entire electorate, to get the people to support rearmament.

  As we discussed the constitution, I asked whether it was a fact that the “no-war, no-army” provision had actually been included in the constitution at the direction of General MacArthur. The “no” that boomed out of the director general disturbed some of the Americans with us. Mr. Masuhara went on to explain that Baron Shidehara had told the director general personally that although the Japanese people think that General MacArthur directed the provisio
ns of Article 9 be included in the Japanese constitution, actually he, Baron Shidehara, suggested that the provision be placed in the constitution.

  Having read several pieces in the press speculating on the future of Emperor Hirohito, I asked whether the emperor planned to abdicate. General Hayashi blanched, assuring me there was no truth in the rumor. “The emperor,” he said, “will lay to rest all these speculations when he speaks to the people on May 3.”

  “The emperor will stay,” volunteered the director general. “But the prime minister will remain as the head of our defense forces. Japan must have an army responsible to all the people.”

  The opposition parties had entirely different views about revision of the constitution and rearmament. The left Socialist Party, holding a meeting in Itami, Hyōgo Prefecture, on April 3 and 4, 1952, had announced a “struggle policy” of steadfast adherence to Article 9 and irrevocable opposition to rearmament. The party pledged its opposition to rearmament. The party pledged its opposition to “militarization” of the NPR and promised to wage a struggle against American military bases in Japan. Opposing any consideration of the conscription system, the Socialists announced their determination to uphold Article 18, against involuntary servitude, and Article 22, the freedom to select one’s own occupation and change of residence. More significant, the Socialists were girding for an all-out struggle against Prime Minister Yoshida’s legislative program designed to accelerate the “reverse course.” The program of the conservatives to force through the Diet the controversial Subversive Acts Prevention Bill to revise the trade union law, the labor standards law, and the labor relations adjustment law was headed for a rough fight.