The General vs. the President

by H. W. Brands

  PART ONE

  TWO ROADS UP THE MOUNTAIN

  1

  OF ALL THE amazing deeds of bravery of the war, I regard MacArthur’s personal landing at Atsugi as the greatest of the lot,” Winston Churchill wrote afterward. The former prime minister, a connoisseur of courage, was speaking of the American general’s daring flight to the heart of enemy territory at the close of the Pacific war in 1945. The Japanese emperor, following the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, had called on his subjects to cease fighting, yet more than twenty divisions of soldiers, who had been prepared to give their last drop of blood to keep the Americans from securing a foothold on Japan’s sacred soil, retained their weapons and their positions on the Kanto Plain. Kamikaze pilots, some having already received the rites for the dead, awaited only a word to carry out their suicide missions. Squads of young civilians, outraged at the emperor’s call for surrender, stormed about Tokyo and nearby Yokohama vowing to resist to the end.

  Douglas MacArthur, as the commander of U.S. Army forces in the Pacific, would receive the formal Japanese surrender on board the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay. Prudence suggested he arrive with the ship, its powerful escort and the protection the vessels and their guns provided. MacArthur refused. He insisted that he would enter Japan ahead of the navy, protected only by the moral force that came with righteous victory. His aides urged him to reconsider. Who knew what some bitter-ender might do? All it took was one bullet, one grenade, and the general would be a dead man. Worse, an assassination might rekindle the Japanese war spirit. If he must enter ahead of the navy, he should wait for more army troops. At the very least, he should be accompanied to Atsugi, the air base for Tokyo, by a substantial guard of well-armed soldiers.

  He waved aside the worries. He declared that he would travel to Atsugi alone, with only his airplane’s crew and his personal staff. His courage would be all the shield he required. He knew the Asian mind. “Years of overseas duty had schooled me well in the ways of the Orient,” he later wrote. The Japanese would understand his action and be more impressed by one man alone than by any number of ships or regiments.

  Courtney Whitney, one of the staff who accompanied MacArthur on the historic flight, recalled never having been more nervous. “We circled the field at little more than treetop height, and as I looked out at the field and the flat stretches of Kanto Plain, I could see numerous anti-aircraft emplacements,” Whitney wrote. “It was difficult not to let my mind dwell on Japan’s recent performances. The war had been started without a formal declaration; nearly everywhere Japanese soldiers had refused to give up until killed; the usual laws of war had not been complied with; deadly traps had frequently been set. Here was the greatest opportunity for a final and climactic act. The anti-aircraft guns could not possibly miss at this range. Had death, the insatiable monster of the battle, passed MacArthur by on a thousand fields only to murder him at the end? I held my breath. I think the whole world was holding its breath.”

  The plane landed without incident. Not a gunner or an airman tried to impede the general’s arrival. Only later did MacArthur learn that Japanese army commanders had sent special squads to remove the propellers from potential kamikaze planes, so worried were they about an attack.

  MacArthur displayed not the slightest hesitation, not the least tremor. His plane pulled to a halt, and he emerged in the open door. He wore the same unadorned khaki shirt as always, collar open. His crumpled uniform cap was on his head, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. His corncob pipe was in his hand. He turned to General Robert Eichelberger. “Bob,” he said, “this is the payoff.”

  Japanese troops lined the road from the airfield, their backs to MacArthur’s car. Eichelberger was puzzled. Were they protesting MacArthur’s presence? Were they protecting him against attack? Eichelberger eventually realized this was a sign of utmost respect. “The turning away of faces was an obeisance which previously had been accorded only to the Emperor himself.”

  —

  THE MYSTIQUE OF MacArthur was never greater than at that moment. Not everyone was taken by it; the unsmitten argued that the danger that day was less than MacArthur’s acolytes, and even the experienced Churchill, judged. The U.S. Navy’s presence was obvious on the ground as well as in the harbor; a marine officer remarked, “Our first wave was made up entirely of admirals trying to get ashore before MacArthur.” Instead of having to contend with suicide squadrons, MacArthur faced hundreds of reporters and photographers. The army’s paratroop corps had landed not just munitions but musicians, and the small band of players greeted MacArthur with a military march. The Japanese supplied vehicles for the drive from the air base, but because nearly everything on wheels had been destroyed in the months of American bombing, the procession was led by a charcoal-burning fire engine that started with a loud explosion and featured a siren that couldn’t be shut off. Even Courtney Whitney, the most smitten of the MacArthur acolytes and one not disposed to spoil the mood of dauntless courage, likened the fire engine to the Toonerville Trolley.

  Yet the Japanese were entranced by MacArthur. “He is a man of light,” a Japanese diplomat, Toshikazu Kase, wrote. “Radiantly, the gathering rays of his magnanimous soul embrace the earth….In the dark hour of our despair and distress, a bright light is ushered in, in the very person of General MacArthur.” The Japanese had expected harsh treatment from their conquerors, not least because of the brutality their soldiers had meted out to the peoples they had conquered. But MacArthur made clear from the beginning that he was a different kind of conqueror. When he discovered how meager were the food supplies in Japan, he ordered American troops to stick to their rations and not feed themselves at the expense of the Japanese. This astonished the Japanese; what conquering army had ever not lived off the land? He ordered that the quarter million Japanese troops on the Kanto Plain be disarmed not by American troops but by their own officers. This astonished the Japanese even more; what conqueror had ever trusted an enemy to disarm itself? How could this American so well understand the Asian concept of face, and be so magnanimous, as to spare the soldiers the humiliation of having to turn over their weapons to an enemy? MacArthur countermanded an order by the U.S. Navy forbidding Japanese fishing vessels to venture across Tokyo Bay, lest some launch mines against the American ships there. The Japanese needed to eat, he explained matter-of-factly.

  In the words he uttered at the formal surrender ceremony, MacArthur spoke not of conquest or dominion but of peace and reconciliation. Tokyo Bay bristled with American power; the greatest battle fleet in the world was gathered there. Generals and admirals lined the deck of the Missouri. MacArthur was conspicuous for the absence of decorations on his uniform. “Look at Mac,” an American sailor whispered. “Ain’t he got no ribbons?” A fellow seaman responded, “If he wore them, they’d go clear over his shoulder.” The Japanese delegation came aboard, expecting to be held up to public disgrace. “A million eyes seemed to beat on us with the million shafts of a rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire,” Toshikazu Kase wrote. “I felt their keenness sink into my body with a sharp physical pain.” Representatives of Britain, the Soviet Union, China and several other Allied powers joined the group.

  MacArthur had received no instructions from Washington on what to say or do. “I was on my own, standing on the quarterdeck with only God and my own conscience to guide me,” he recalled. He found his way. “We are gathered here, representative of the major warring powers, to conclude a solemn agreement whereby peace may be restored,” he declared. “The issues, involving divergent ideals and ideologies, have been determined on the battlefields of the world and hence are not for our discussion or debate. Nor is it for us here to meet, representing as we do, a majority of the peoples of the earth, in a spirit of distrust, malice or hatred. But rather it is for us, both victors and vanquished, to rise to that higher dignity which alone befits the sacred purposes we are about to serve….It is my earnest hope, and indeed the hope of all mankind, that from this solemn occasi
on a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past—a world founded upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish: for freedom, tolerance and justice.”

  MacArthur signed the surrender document on behalf of the United States. He invited the representatives of the other countries to do the same. After all had done so, he said, “Let us pray that peace be now restored to the world, and that God will preserve it always. These proceedings are now closed.”

  Toshikazu Kase could hardly believe what had happened. “For me, who expected the worst humiliation, this was a complete surprise,” the diplomat recalled. “I was thrilled beyond words, spellbound, thunderstruck.” MacArthur’s eloquence and vision were like nothing he had ever experienced or heard of. “Here is a victor announcing the verdict to the prostrate enemy. He can exact his pound of flesh if he so chooses. He can impose a humiliating penalty if he so desires. And yet he pleads for freedom, tolerance, and justice.” Kase felt a tremendous burden lift from his soul. “MacArthur’s words sailed on wings,” he said. “This narrow quarterdeck was transformed into an altar of peace.”

  —

  MACARTHUR CONTINUED TO astonish. He took up residence, with his wife, Jean, and their seven-year-old son, Arthur, in the American embassy. For his office he chose one of the few structures in Tokyo that had survived the American firebombing, an insurance building overlooking the grounds of the imperial palace. The building soon acquired the name Dai Ichi, or “Number One.” He departed the embassy at 10:30 each morning in a black Cadillac brought in from the Philippines, where it had belonged to a sugar baron grateful for MacArthur’s role in liberating those islands. The car was distinctive enough, but the American flags floating above the fenders and the license plate bearing the number 1 on a field of five silver stars made unmistakable that this car was the American general’s. A sergeant drove MacArthur slowly through the streets of the capital. Sometimes MacArthur read newspapers or reports; at other times he sat staring forward, contemplating or even meditating. “His white hands were smooth as wax, only blemished by the brown spots of age,” wrote Faubion Bowers, a major who often rode guard in the front seat. “His fingers were exquisitely manicured, as if lacquered with polish. He held them in his lap, peacefully. His profile, which I knew better than his full face, was granitic. He was always immaculately clean-shaven, and I never saw a nick on him. He had large bones, an oversize jaw that jutted a little. From face to walk, from gesture to speech, he shone with good breeding….He was really very beautiful, like fine ore, a splendid rock, a boulder.”

  Bowers worried that MacArthur’s predictable routine and the slow pace of the car made him vulnerable to attack from a sniper or bomb thrower. Indeed, intelligence reports uncovered a plot against the general’s life. MacArthur ignored the information and maintained his routine. Bowers asked if the driver might at least pick up the pace and move through the city more swiftly. MacArthur told him the pace was fine the way it was. Bowers was still uncomfortable. “Sir, may I ask another question about security?” he inquired.

  MacArthur nodded.

  “What does the general feel about carrying firearms?”

  MacArthur appeared puzzled. “Me?”

  Bowers shook his head. “No, I.”

  MacArthur put down the paper he was reading and pondered the matter, as though the carrying of arms by his security guard was a novelty he had never considered. Finally, taking up his paper again, he said, “Suit yourself. Just don’t make a fuss.”

  MacArthur’s blitheness about his own safety was sincere; he really did not worry about assassination, being too immersed in other matters. But it was also for effect. He appreciated the Japanese fascination with him and his habits, and he knew that each example of fearlessness enhanced his stature the more.

  Though his office overlooked the imperial grounds—and the Imperial Plaza, where, Japanese propaganda had boasted during the war, MacArthur would be paraded in chains before being hanged—he made no effort to see the emperor. After years of demanding the unconditional surrender of Japan, the U.S. government, at the last moment, had allowed the emperor to keep his throne. The world awaited the interview between MacArthur and Hirohito. Many observers supposed the general would march to the gate of the imperial palace and compel entrance; members of his staff suggested he order the emperor to the Dai Ichi. He did neither. “I shall wait,” he told his staff. “And in time the emperor will voluntarily come to see me.” He knew the Oriental mind, he said again, and would turn it to his benefit. “The patience of the East rather than the haste of the West will best serve our purpose.”

  Events once more proved him right. At the Dai Ichi arrived a request from the emperor’s staff for a meeting, at the general’s convenience. MacArthur accepted the request and directed that the emperor be treated with every respect. The meeting was held in the American embassy. At the appointed time, a motorcade of black German Daimlers crossed the moat surrounding the imperial palace and drove to the embassy. The emperor, his closest minister and a translator rode in one car; numerous other officials occupied the rest. One of MacArthur’s assistants greeted the emperor and explained that while the translator could accompany the emperor, everyone else had to wait outside. Panic engulfed the entourage; never had the emperor been so exposed, and to foreigners no less. But the embassy guards had their orders and barred the way.

  The emperor himself was patently nervous. He entered the reception hall, where MacArthur met him. “I offered him an American cigarette, which he took with thanks,” MacArthur recounted afterward. “I noticed how his hands shook as I lighted it for him. I tried to make it as easy for him as I could, but I knew how deep and dreadful must be his agony of humiliation.” MacArthur’s dress and demeanor signaled the new order in Tokyo. The emperor, the supplicant, came dressed in a formal Western morning coat; MacArthur received him in the casual attire he always wore. The general was nearly a foot taller than the emperor, and the official photograph of the meeting, soon transmitted to the world, showed the emperor stiffly at attention, arms straight at his sides, while MacArthur slouched a little, with arms akimbo and hands on his hips.

  MacArthur initially feared, from the emperor’s nervousness, that he had come to beg for his life. Many in America and the other Allied countries were calling for him to be tried as a war criminal. MacArthur had decided not to do so, estimating that he would be more useful alive than dead. But he hadn’t informed the emperor, and he thought things might get awkward if the emperor began denying responsibility for Japan’s actions.

  The emperor did just the opposite. “I come to you, General MacArthur, to offer myself to the judgment of the powers you represent, as the one to bear sole responsibility for every political and military decision made and action taken by my people in the conduct of war,” he said.

  MacArthur hadn’t yet formed an opinion of the emperor’s character, but suddenly he knew the sort of man he was dealing with. “A tremendous impression swept me,” he recalled. “This courageous assumption of a responsibility implicit with death, a responsibility clearly belied by facts of which I was fully aware, moved me to the very marrow of my bones. He was an Emperor by inherent birth, but in that instant I knew I faced the First Gentleman of Japan in his own right.”

  —

  YET IT WAS MacArthur who now ruled where the emperor had only reigned. The general embarked on a project unprecedented in history: the rapid transformation of an ancient civilization and feudal order into a modern liberal democracy. He made a checklist of objectives: “Destroy the military power. Punish war criminals. Build the structure of representative government. Modernize the constitution. Hold free elections. Enfranchise the women. Release the political prisoners. Liberate the farmers. Establish a free labor movement. Encourage a free economy. Abolish police oppression. Develop a free and responsible press. Liberalize education. Decentralize the political power. Separate church from state.”

 
; Certain changes came readily. The Japanese war machine had largely been destroyed by the war and its leaders discredited; the Japanese people were relieved to be rid of its remaining influence. Releasing political prisoners required little more than opening the doors to their cells.

  Other reforms struck deeply into the structure of Japanese society. Freeing the farmers required breaking the hold of feudalism in the countryside and delivering land to those who worked it. MacArthur was never one to underestimate his own accomplishments, but in the area of land reform he believed he outdid himself. “I don’t think that since the Gracchi effort of land reform in the days of the Roman Empire there has been anything quite so successful of that nature,” he remarked.

  Enfranchising women was no less revolutionary. MacArthur never dissolved the Japanese government, which continued to function under his supervision. But when the legislature, or diet, refused to rewrite the Japanese constitution in a manner that matched his vision of Japan’s future, he assumed the job himself. On a yellow legal pad he sketched a new charter for the defeated country. Aides filled in the details. The resulting document enfranchised women, guaranteed civil liberties, secured the right of collective bargaining to workers, and demoted the emperor from divinity to mortal status. Most novel, among these head-spinning innovations, was a no-war clause, by which Japan renounced war as a sovereign right.

  The diet accepted the “MacArthur constitution,” as it was commonly called. The general was pleased. “It is undoubtedly the most liberal constitution in history, having borrowed the best from the constitutions of many countries,” he declared with pride of authorship.

  In the first election under the new constitution, in April 1946, tens of millions of Japanese who had never voted went to the polls. Some thirteen million women cast their ballots alongside their husbands, fathers and sons. Dozens of women put themselves forward as candidates for the diet; thirty-eight were elected.