The Emperor's General

by James Webb

“An interesting thought, Lord Privy Seal.”

  “Yes, interesting! And important.” He became earnest. “I personally have been working on this for more than a year!”

  “More than a year?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Since the fall of Saipan. We knew then that although we might lose the war, we could not lose our way of life. The Russians were going to help us but they continually betrayed us. The less help we had from the outside, the more important it became to the future that our sacrifices be complete. That no one could look back and say that we did not do enough. But once the sacrifices were complete, it would be time for the emperor to relieve the people of their suffering. I am a man of peace, Captain Jay Marsh. And so is the emperor.”

  Kido had now dumbfounded me. After Saipan had come Guam, Tinian, Peleliu, the entire Philippines campaign, Iwo Jima, Okinawa. And the firebombs that had leveled most of the cities in the Kanto Plain. And Hiroshima. And Nagasaki. Ensuring that the sacrifices would be complete? Waiting for the right moment?

  Kido had caught my look and anticipated my unspoken question. “We worked very hard for peace. But the people could not be betrayed. If their sacrifice was not complete, would they be so easily welcoming MacArthur, or would they wish to continue the fight? So you see,” shrugged the lord privy seal, “by having the struggle run its course, the emperor has delivered the people to MacArthur. Because in the end we must maintain order, and work together.”

  Kido was confusing me even further. Who, in his mind, was we?

  I did not have a chance to ask, for a hush fell over the diet floor. In moments the emperor himself began to walk slowly toward the rostrum at its front. Watching him walk, I remembered reading years before that Hirohito had inherited a slight motor malfunction from his grandfather, the emperor Meiji, causing him to move with what some prewar Western correspondents had irreverently called the “imperial shuffle.” Most Japanese by contrast had seen his odd gait as an attribute, giving the emperor a direct connection to his revered grandfather.

  The entire diet, in their mix of kimonos, military uniforms, and tuxedoes, was now bowing deeply, as did Kido, who had stood up as soon as the emperor appeared. The emperor reached the rostrum and returned their bows, standing still for several seconds before finishing his own bow and moving to the microphone. He was wearing a dark, high-necked naval uniform, modified with royal embroidery at its front. The uniform was stripped of all badges of rank except for his Order of Merit, First Class, a bright, swirling badge sewn onto his left chest. After having heard years of wartime propaganda I noted with surprise when he stood ready to speak that he was an erect, handsome man with a narrow face and a thin, neatly trimmed mustache.

  The diet took its seats. Hirohito began speaking in the slow, rather high-pitched singsong reserved for imperial pronouncements. “It is important that we should discuss our coming responsibilities under the new situation that has arisen,” he began. “Last night I brought my closest advisers to the palace shrine. We announced the end of the war to the ancestors, and to the Sun Goddess. The new era has begun, but it does not end the old. And we must conduct ourselves in a manner that will bring credit to the sacrifices of those who went before us.”

  The diet sat rapt and attentive, for the quiet singsong of the emperor carried with it an immense strength. It instantly struck me that despite the Western news reports that were portraying him as weak and out of touch, this was no puppet king or ceremonial figurehead such as the incidental and irrelevant monarchs of Europe. Emperor Hirohito was back from the palace shrine, bringing to Japan’s ruling class a modern equivalent of the tablets that Moses carried down from the Mount.

  “We must remember that our country accepted a termination of hostilities based on certain understandings,” continued Hirohito. “We expect that all sides, including the Japanese people, will live up to those understandings. We have faith in our people and know that they should abide peacefully by the terms of the Potsdam Declaration, just as the other side will be careful in its enforcement. Then it will be possible for us to rebuild in all areas, and to keep our national structure.”

  The emperor paused, gazing out at the diet as if to look into the face of each of his subalterns. I marveled at the indirect power of the message he was sending. Again, he had not mentioned the word “surrender.” And by tasking the Japanese people to respect the Potsdam Declaration, he was also reminding the Americans that they had guaranteed that the imperial system would remain intact. In effect, he was giving MacArthur a warning: if the Americans did not live up to their guarantee, he had the power to ensure that the Japanese people might not act so peacefully in the future.

  Now he continued. “We stand by the people. We wish always to share with them in their moments of joy and sorrow. The ties between us and our people have always stood upon mutual trust and affection. They do not depend on mere legends and myths. They are not predicated on the false conception that the emperor is divine and that the Japanese people are superior to other races and fated to rule the world.”

  I did not know what to make of this statement. Was the emperor telling them that they had fought for a lie? I doubted it. Was he telling them that the bond between rulers and subjects was greater than any false debate over divinity and superiority that outsiders might wish to pursue? Probably. Was he tossing out these words about legend and myth and false conceptions to secretly mock the foreign media attacks that seemed continually to ridicule the Japanese system? Maybe. Or was there something else at work here, a kind of “belly talk” that few westerners would ever comprehend?

  I could not tell. But I did notice that his comment brought nods of quiet agreement, even from Kido sitting next to me.

  The emperor now held a piece of paper in front of him. “I have written a poem for our people,” he announced. The diet whispered with an excited anticipation, for here would come the emperor’s true message. It was common practice for members of the aristocracy to communicate their sincerest emotions through such thirty-one syllable tanka. And then the emperor began to read.

  “Courageous the pine/that does not change in color/under winter snow./Truly the men of Japan/should be a forest of pines.”

  The well-schooled members of the diet murmured their admiration, and as a group stood from their chairs and bowed deeply to the emperor. They knew exactly what he meant. They were the forest of pines. We the Western occupiers were the winter snow, bringing a temporary whiteness upon their branches. But spring would come, and after that the summer. The snow would melt away. And the forest of pines, stronger and more eternal, would still remain.

  The emperor returned their bows, then without further comment shuffled slowly out of the room. Only after he had departed did the members of the diet cease their farewell bows.

  “And now the prime minister,” said Lord Privy Seal Kido after the emperor had gone. “We must discuss later what he says, yes?”

  “If you wish, Lord Privy Seal.”

  “Yes,” said the lord privy seal earnestly. “We must.”

  Prince Higashikuni, the emperor’s uncle, now walked to the podium and bowed. He had been prime minister only since Japan’s surrender. I knew from Willoughby that Higashikuni was an army general with thirty-one years experience, including seven years as an intelligence officer in Europe. In many ways the opposite of Hirohito, the sybaritic prince was known for fast cars, French mistresses, and an addiction to intrigue. In the 1930s he had been involved in numerous assassinations, religious hoaxes, and threats of blackmail or murder as a part of a campaign of terror against moderates who were opposed to Japan’s continued expansionism. In 1937 he had commanded Japan’s initial bombing campaign against key Chinese cities. It was believed that Hirohito had convinced his reluctant uncle to become the first peace government prime minister because of Higashikuni’s influence, as a member of the royal family, over those who had still been opposed to surrender. Without Higashikuni, the extremist factions might have begun a palace intrigue designed to sub
vert the emperor’s decision to end the war.

  Not that Higashikuni seemed in the mood to cooperate. He was wearing a single-breasted khaki uniform, from which he had stripped his many personal decorations. Now nearing sixty, he was a small, balding, hard-looking, flat-faced man. He brought with him to the podium an air of boldness that bordered on arrogance. Preparing to speak, he surveyed the seated members of the diet with an expression that did not conceal his great bitterness. And the prince wasted no time in venting that emotion.

  “And so it has come to this,” began Prince Higashikuni. As he looked out toward the diet I felt him staring directly at me. “Today, one hundred thousand foreign soldiers are occupying our sacred soil. More will come. Throughout the world, commentators are now saying that Japan was wrong to have taken territory in other countries. Morally wrong, they are saying! Evil! That such acts of aggression are contrary to the way nations should conduct their affairs.”

  The prime minister surveyed his fellow aristocrats with an expression that told them he believed this was all absurd. “But what of the conduct of these same nations who now celebrate our defeat? Yes, we seized territory in a ruined China, but did not Great Britain and even Portugal precede us? After all, who was it that ruined China, with their opium trade and forced concessions? Yes, we took Singapore and Malaya, but from whom? Not the Singaporeans, not the Malayans, but the British. Yes, we took Indochina, but did we take it from the Vietnamese, Cambodians, or Laotians? No, we took it from the French! We did not take the Philippines from Filipinos but from the Americans, who themselves less than fifty years ago took the Philippines from the Spanish! And from whom did we conquer Borneo, Java, and Sumatra? Not their own people but the Dutch! And what of New Guinea, split in half like a sausage between the Dutch and the British? When we ousted these European regimes, did the people of Papua and Hollandia feel violated?”

  The unrepentant Higashikuni raised an angry fist into the air and pounded it onto the podium. “No, they did not! It was our sacred mission to retake Asian territory in the name of Asia. To free it from the white man’s rule!” Several in the diet squirmed in their seats, cringing as the prince remembered their old objective so baldly. Seeing this, he scoffed.

  “What? Why do you look down at the floor as I speak? Am I wrong? Are we now ashamed even to say it? And should we not remember that in time these territories would have been returned? Liberation was our goal! Cooperation was our aim!”

  A great emotion pulsed back and forth through the seated diet. Many of its members were struggling mightily to repress the grand ambitions of a very recent past. Others were visibly wondering where the prime minister was heading with these openly defiant comments. Only two days before, MacArthur had spoken eloquently aboard the USS Missouri in the name of tolerance, justice, and dignity. On this very day, the emperor had ordered the supreme commander’s Missouri speech to be published throughout Japan. What was the prime minister trying to accomplish?

  Higashikuni had stopped to take a few deep breaths, staring defiantly into the faces of his fellow aristocrats. And finally he continued.

  “We lost this war, yes. But it was conducted under historic principles of international conduct. Where did we learn these principles? They were first dictated to us by the European and American powers nearly a century ago. I am here to accept responsibility on behalf of the imperial family for this loss. But we are serving notice, too. The new rules of accountability that are the result of the Potsdam Declaration and other Allied proclamations are dangerous revisionism! We must demand that they be very carefully applied.”

  A murmur washed across the diet floor, for the prince’s public uttering of this warning could only be interpreted as having come at least indirectly from the emperor himself. Higashikuni seemed to seethe with resentment as he went on.

  “A new and unfair concept is upon us. It threatens to label our honored leaders with the term ‘war criminal’ simply because they carried out policies that have been a part of international behavior throughout history. Is it an international crime to take territory by force? If so, who convicted the British, French, Dutch, and American leaders after they took the territories we recently liberated? No one! They congratulated each other, and competed to take even more territory! And what is different with Japan? Nothing! We do not accept that our leaders have conducted themselves as criminals. We will never accept this concept.”

  The members of the diet nodded slowly, but many of their faces were addled and confused. The war was lost. Shame was upon them. The Allies had landed. MacArthur had been given unilateral powers. Japan had signed the document. What more was there to accept or reject? As I stared out at them, I could feel Kido slyly watching me. He touched my arm, as if reassuring me.

  “I will explain later,” said Kido.

  Prime Minister Higashikuni had wound down, the emotion of his speech seemingly exhausting him. Now he waved a hand toward the diet, as if reassuring them. “We will cooperate at every level with the occupation forces, so long as they are involved in activities to which we agreed. But the war was ended under very clear conditions. And we will not allow anyone to dishonor the leaders who conducted themselves according to the historic conduct of international affairs.”

  Murmurs and whispers coursed across the diet floor as Prince Higashikuni stepped away from the podium. He had inspired some, confused others, and left the majority nodding to one another with what appeared to be a knowing acceptance, as if the speech had been expected. Kido tapped my shoulder once again, his face bright with a smiling intensity that masked an obvious concern.

  “We should speak now,” said the lord privy seal. “Would you come with me?”

  He rose from his seat. I hesitated, thinking of the report I would be required to give upon my return to Yokohama. “What about the other speeches?”

  He waved dismissively toward the floor. “They will be nothing. Water projects, road construction, and power plants. Governments!” laughed the lord privy seal. “After the rhetoric, they are all the same.”

  I followed him back down the dark hallway to the small room where he had been waiting before my arrival. Inside was a round wooden conference table surrounded by four chairs. At the middle of the table were a plain grey ceramic teapot and two ceramic cups. The walls were grey and bare, except for a large, ornate chrysanthemum symbol just across from the doorway where we entered. A second, closed door on the right-hand wall led to an unseen inner office.

  Kido took a chair. I automatically sat across from him. He carefully poured us both some tea. The tea was steaming hot. Some unseen hand had known the exact moment we were leaving the diet floor and had placed the teapot onto the table just before we entered the room.

  “You should please tell the supreme commander not to worry about this speech,” urged the lord privy seal. “It was necessary, but he should not make too much of it.”

  “I will inform General MacArthur,” I replied, sipping my tea and trying to remain diplomatic. “But there will be questions. After all, the speech was given by the prime minister, and there were a lot of reporters.”

  “Oh, we can take care of the Japanese reporters. They understand such things. And our interpreters were working with yours. And do not worry about the rest of it. The prince will not be prime minister for long.”

  Kido continued to force his smile, looking at me as if he were my tutor. “You see, we are playing many roles here. A great deal of preparation has gone into this! The prince became prime minister only so that the imperial family could accept responsibility to the people for the war. When it comes time to move into the future, he will go.”

  “We are moving into the future already, Lord Privy Seal. That was the basis of General MacArthur’s speech two days ago.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the lord privy seal with the wave of a hand. “But you must understand, these moments are necessary. We are reminding—our people—of certain things. As the emperor said, the new era should not ignore the old.”
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br />   Kido picked up on the confusion in my stare. “We are in a transition, Captain Jay Marsh. The prince must have his say, or there would be trouble. But then he will be gone. It is the same as with the foreign minister! Shigemitsu will be gone soon. He is old. He signed the papers ending the war. He will leave government soon, and he will take the shame away with him. Others—”

  Kido seemed to catch himself now, as if he were assuming too much from my own background and revealing himself too clearly. “Others are tasked with different roles. Each has a role to play. It is very important.”

  A giddiness coursed through me, for I was loving my own new role as a listener for the supreme commander. And I could not restrain my curiosity. “And what is your role, Lord Privy Seal?”

  “Me?” Kido laughed lightly, as if he thought I already should have known. “My duty is to advise and protect the emperor from those who might use or shame him. My role? My role is to assign the roles.”

  We stared at each other for several seconds, then Kido shrugged. “Our culture is very exact, Captain Jay Marsh. For instance, it would have been—destabilizing—for Prince Higashikuni to have signed the documents onboard the Missouri, even though he was prime minister. This is why the foreign minister signed. We know that MacArthur understands these things. Just as he understood the importance of the royal Chin.”

  My mind began to crystallize as I watched Kido’s smiling face, as if I were looking through binoculars that were finally focusing on a distant object. Of course, I thought. The prime minister’s remarks were meant as a signal to MacArthur, particularly with regard to any charges for war crimes that might affect Japan’s top leaders. And it was Kido who had picked Higashikuni over other members of the imperial family to be prime minister. The prince was playing out an assigned role even as Kido tried to convince me that his remarks had been harmless.

  I sat my teacup onto the table. “There will be charges for war crimes, Lord Privy Seal. We all know that.”