The Emperor's General

by James Webb

  “You are very kind,” said the emperor. Already I could see a change in his demeanor, a relieved, knowing delight. “But to be trusted by all the nations of the world to come to Japan and work with our people toward a new and better future—that is the ultimate responsibility.”

  “A great responsibility, but under these circumstances not an overwhelming task at all,” replied MacArthur in his stiff, stentorian tone. “I have always spoken of the strength of the Japanese race. The cooperation of your subjects has been most heartening, Your Majesty. My warmest surprise in undertaking these duties has been to see the wonderful, inspiring attitude of the Japanese people as they begin to rebuild their nation.”

  “Oh, no,” protested the emperor, by now smiling with appreciation and pleasure. “Our people have been proud to work with the occupation forces. Certainly the greatest example of exemplary conduct over the past month has been the friendliness and good behavior of your soldiers.”

  “Yes,” said MacArthur. His eyes flashed suddenly with a pulsing of the jealous paranoia that seemed never to be far below the surface of his brilliance. “Despite the predictions of our adversaries, we are all getting along very well, are we not?”

  He began dramatically frowning, sharing a concern with the emperor that would draw the two of them closer together. “You may know that I have been so impressed with the cooperation of your subjects that I decided to decrease the number of soldiers in the occupation forces. I informed my State Department that my needs should be reduced from a half million to only two hundred thousand soldiers. I had thought that such good news would be greeted with celebration. But no! I am under heavy criticism in the American press, and from my own Acting Secretary of State Dean Acheson for having taken this judgment!”

  The emperor nodded several times, indicating his deep appreciation and understanding. “Ah, so. Ah, so, desuka.”

  MacArthur eyed the emperor shrewdly. “Frequently I am accused of being too soft, you know.”

  “Ah, so,” sighed the emperor again. As he empathized with the General, I wondered if his mind was not on more personal examples, such as the continuing calls for him to be tried as a war criminal. “I speak for all my people when I say that we are very fortunate that you, with your wisdom and understanding, have been sent to work with us, General MacArthur. There are so many issues that could cause larger trouble!”

  Back and forth they went for several minutes. Watching MacArthur and the emperor both basking in such mutually reciprocated praise, I could not help but think that these two natural aristocrats might have been cousins or comrades-in-arms, rather than tentatively circling adversaries. With each exchange, both men relaxed further, until it seemed they were indeed friends.

  Finally, ineluctably, MacArthur turned to the war. But he did so with the only positive comments available to him. “Your Majesty, I have heard of the important, decisive role you played in ending the war. I am very grateful to you for having done so.”

  The emperor grew serious. His lips pursed tightly underneath his trimmed mustache. He shuffled in his seat, as if bracing himself. His small hands clenched into secret fists on his lap. The belly talking was abruptly finished. There was no way to speak of the war without some form of direct confrontation.

  “Many people worked for the end of the war!” Hirohito said modestly. His voice had tightened, but with a quiet resolve. “And I must sincerely tell you that I took no pleasure in a war with the Western powers. I thought my heart would break when I approved the declaration of war against the British royal family. They were enormously kind to me when I visited Europe twenty years ago as Crown Prince.”

  MacArthur paused for a moment, trying to find the words that would raise the issue of accountability without causing the emperor to lose great face. When he spoke, I could tell he was giving the emperor room to blame others, particularly former prime minister Tojo, for the war’s conduct.

  “Sometimes it is difficult, even for a monarch, to withstand the pressure of bad advice.”

  Surprisingly, the emperor shook his head, disagreeing. “It was not clear to me that our course was unjustified.” Hirohito raised his chin, staring directly and seriously into the General’s eyes. “I must speak to you honestly, General MacArthur. Even now, I am not sure how historians will view our decision to go to war.”

  MacArthur was stunned into silence. For the first time in the more than two years I had worked with him, he seemed unsure of how to respond. The emperor shifted his gaze, watching me for a moment as if expecting me to divine the General’s thoughts and speak obliquely on his behalf, as some courtesan might have done for Hirohito himself in such circumstances.

  Finally noting by my silence that I held no such powers, the emperor continued. His words were precise and rehearsed. This was the moment for which Lord Privy Seal Kido had prepared him, and he spoke for the first time with the quiet power and certainty he had shown when I had seen him address the extraordinary session of the diet.

  “General MacArthur, I have asked for this meeting in order to offer myself to the judgment of the powers you represent. I personally am the one to bear sole responsibility for every political and military decision made by my people. Every action taken in the conduct of the war.”

  MacArthur remained speechless. What forces silenced him, I did not know. His face held the same look that I had so often observed when watching him stare out of his Dai Ichi office window toward the emperor’s inner palace. There was a longing in his eyes, and an undeniable respect. I knew that he was both a royalist and a romantic. Was he perhaps also intimidated? He had spoken with deep nostalgia of having met Hirohito’s grandfather forty years before—aeons to an American, but a mere heartbeat in Japan. Did he now feel the power and hear the voices of the emperor’s ancestors as he looked into this seemingly bland and unassuming face? Did he feel burdened and even afraid, perhaps just like the emperor himself, realizing that with his acts he was jeopardizing a continuous ruling bloodline, father to son, that in its lore reached back 124 generations to Jimmu, six hundred years before the birth of Christ?

  The emperor continued, speaking simply and quietly. “I have no fear of being put to death. But I will not shame my ancestors by participating in the taking of vengeance against my own loyal advisers.”

  MacArthur recovered, nodding sagely as if agreeing with the emperor. “I want you to know that I share many of your views on this issue. The punishment of war crimes for those who made political decisions on behalf of their government during a time of war is repugnant to me. I have argued vociferously against it. But you do understand that I am dealing with a great deal of pressure from the outside.”

  “It is also my duty to protect the throne,” the emperor answered obliquely. “Last week I sent Prince Konoye to Kyoto on my behalf. His family has provided inner counsel to the imperial family for more than two thousand years. I asked him to explore arrangements if I decided to retire. It was Konoye’s advice that I might find happiness as an abbot in the great Zen temple of Ninna-ji.”

  “You would abdicate?” asked MacArthur, stunned by the thought.

  “There would be a home for me at the Omura imperial villa,” said the emperor, as if the matter were close to being settled. “It is a beautiful and worthy place. My son could ascend to the throne.”

  Having been present in dozens of planning sessions even as the war continued in Manila, I knew that a thousand questions were exploding like starbursts in MacArthur’s mind. His and Willoughby’s entire strategy had been built on the notion of keeping the emperor in power in order to govern through him, and of occasionally using him as a hostage, threatening to remove him from power if issues became irresolvable. And now the emperor had completely turned the tables, announcing that he was thinking of removing himself from power in order to protect his honor and to ensure the continuity of the throne.

  I knew there was precedent for this, and also that it was a serious warning. In old Japan if a powerful shogun failed to res
pect the imperial wishes, an emperor might simply abdicate in favor of one of his children, retire to Kyoto, and then work full-time at intrigues and cabals designed to embarrass and undermine the shogun. With his vast political and military authority, MacArthur had in effect become an American shogun. If the emperor were to renounce his formal power and cease cooperating, for so long as he lived the nation would be at best divided in its loyalties.

  A thought came to me. Perhaps, just perhaps, MacArthur needed the emperor more than the emperor needed MacArthur.

  And it seemed this thought had also occurred to the emperor and his key advisers. So Hirohito had dressed like a beggar, showing only a bland, befuddled countenance to the world outside this drawing room. Then when the doors had closed behind us he had shuffled up to the roulette table, put all his holdings in one pile, and coolly spun the wheel. Watching him stare calmly and unbudgingly at MacArthur, I knew that my first judgment of him, when I saw him speak before the diet, had been correct. This was an iron fist in a velvet glove, a man whose quiet demeanor emanated not from timidity but from an awesome self-confidence.

  MacArthur blinked. On this issue, the emperor had won. “That would be unnecessary. You will never be personally charged, you have my word on this.”

  The supreme commander now waved an arm magnanimously, his face overcome with admiration. “Your Majesty, such a sincere assumption of responsibility, implicit as it is with the risk of your own death, has moved me to the marrow of my bones! You are an emperor by birth, and you will remain the emperor through the force of my own office. But even more—I know you are a true leader, whose first concern is for the welfare of his people. Today I have met not only the emperor but the First Gentleman of Japan in his own right!”

  “You are very kind to say this,” said Hirohito. He seemed almost distracted by such praise. His face was an indecipherable mask as he looked at the supreme commander. “But as I said, I am very concerned about those who were loyal to me.”

  “Each case will be treated with respect and care,” assured MacArthur. “But you also should agree that there is no harm in punishing those who gave the throne evil advice, for their own personal gain?”

  The emperor continued to stare almost blankly at MacArthur. The very emptiness of his gaze was unsettling. “I do not recall receiving any such evil advice,” he answered carefully.

  I decided that this was not a game of roulette after all. Rather, with these two manipulative geniuses, it was becoming the world championship of liar’s poker. Both were coolly throwing huge bets into the pot, while neither of them knew all the cards the other was actually holding.

  “That question will be a matter for the legal system to examine,” said the supreme commander, quickly extracting this small concession from the emperor by trumping it with a moment of flattery. “But I do believe that you as emperor know best about important men in the Japanese political system. So from time to time, I would like to receive your views on this, and other items as well.”

  “I would be pleased to advise you in any way I am able,” said the emperor, finally allowing MacArthur a small smile. “And the lord privy seal, as well as my grand chamberlain, are available to you at any time.”

  “I wish to give you an unbreakable pledge,” said MacArthur. He rose from the couch as he spoke, nodding to me to go outside and fetch the waiting photographer, and then turned back to Hirohito. “You are the emperor of Japan. That will never change. Every honor due a sovereign shall continue to be yours.”

  The photographer took one picture, which ran the next morning in every newspaper in Japan. It showed MacArthur, his hands slouched casually in his rear pockets, towering above the diminutive, Western-clothed emperor as they stood next to each other in front of the couch with the white-columned walls and heavy drapes of the large drawing room behind them. Looking at the photograph, one might have thought the emperor out of place in his own country, adrift and lost in the face of a reverse kamikaze, Douglas MacArthur’s own, undivine wind.

  But late that evening, the supreme commander cabled a carefully worded summation of the meeting to the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington. It was filled with his usual self-flattery, but at the end of his message was a recommendation that might have been written by the emperor himself. Since the emperor had accepted full blame for the conduct of the war, argued MacArthur, there remained no strong reasons in favor of proceeding with the prosecution of political figures who had been responsible for its day-to-day implementation.

  It did not take long for the Joint Chiefs to respond. Their message was terse. In fact, it might have been written by Colonel Sam Genius.

  “Proceed at once with the prosecution of war criminals.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The facts, General MacArthur, are these.”

  Colonel Sam Genius watched MacArthur pace in front of him as he stood beside a tall easel on which a two-foot by three-foot plain-paper tablet had been mounted. He held a long wooden pointer in his right hand. One of his ever-present majors sat in a small chair on the other side of the easel, ready to flip the pages of the tablet at Genius’s command.

  The rumpled, craggy lawyer tapped the paper tablet with the pointer, and the major flipped a page. Genius began lecturing, his voice strong and intense, as if he were delivering the opening argument in a trial. “In the summer of 1937 the Japanese army came to a standstill at the gates of the important port city of Shanghai. It was outnumbered ten to one by Chinese forces that Chiang Kai-shek had sent down from North China in an attempt to stop the Japanese advance to the Chinese capital of Nanking, 170 miles up the Yangtze River.”

  MacArthur abruptly interrupted him. “Colonel, I was in Asia during all of this. I most emphatically do not require a history lesson regarding the late war.”

  Genius’s face reddened, all the way to the top of his balding head. His jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Sitting near him on the supreme commander’s scarred old leather couch, I could tell that he had mentally prepared himself for such interference and was determined that it would not stop him.

  “This is not simply about the military conduct of the war,” answered Genius. “There is a political context to these actions that must be addressed, General. It is all of a piece, and it is important that you see them described to you within that context. I am telling you as one of your legal advisers that you need to listen to every word of this presentation, sir.”

  MacArthur slowed his pacing. He looked over for a moment at General Court Whitney, sitting near me on the couch, and then at the ever-present General Charles Willoughby, who sat near Whitney in his favorite nest of a leather chair. Whitney and Willoughby both nodded back to the supreme commander, quiet signals borne through years of association. In this momentary exchange of glances I saw MacArthur acknowledge that in the delicate area of accountability for political, “Class A” war crimes he did not fully control this lawyer Colonel Samuel Genius, Judge Advocates General Corps, United States Army, or for that matter any lawyer.

  Nor did he desire any further attacks in the press for his supposed softness on the issue. If the supreme commander ignored his adamant warnings, would a disgruntled Colonel Genius vent his anger to the press or even the Congress, either quietly through leaks or openly as a matter of perceived duty? MacArthur was too shrewd a political infighter to take that risk based on a simple briefing on legal alternatives.

  “An excellent point, Colonel. Particularly since others in this room may not comprehend the picture in its entirety. You may proceed.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Colonel Genius cavalierly, not in the least bit mollified by the supreme commander’s intended flattery. “I shall be pleased to proceed.”

  He tapped the page again with his pointer. A crude map had been drawn on the page, emphasizing the port city of Shanghai in central China, and the Yangtze River leading inland to the capital of Nanking. “The Japanese government believed that it could maximize its impact in China if it made a m
ajor push up the Yangtze, inflicting heavy damage on the Chinese countryside along the way, and then took the capital itself.”

  “The Japanese military, you mean,” corrected MacArthur.

  “The Japanese government,” emphasized Genius, holding the supreme commander’s prolonged stare. The distinction between political and military motivation was vital, the very key to the whole “Class A” war crimes issue. “Their strategy was to convince the Chinese people through cruelty and intimidation that they should abandon Chiang Kai-shek, stop their so-called ‘anti-Japanese conduct,’ and come over to the Japanese side as it established its own government in China.”

  MacArthur glanced quickly again at Whitney and Willoughby, then nodded to Genius. “We’ll hold that point for now, Colonel. Proceed.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Genius. “Proceeding on, here.” He could not resist a tweak as he turned back to the easel. “Rather like your statement not long ago about killing the chicken to scare the monkey, although I didn’t realize it at the time. A very large country, right, General? And a relatively small army with which to conquer it?”

  “Proceed, Colonel,” insisted MacArthur.

  “Yes, sir,” said Genius. “Just agreeing with you. Proceeding right along.” He tapped the tablet and his assistant flipped the page. On the new page was a series of boxes with names written inside them, showing an intricate table of Japanese government organizations.

  Genius tapped a box on the page. “In June 1937 Prince Konoye, who was the highest-ranking of the emperor’s hereditary counselors and a key personal adviser for more than fifteen years, was chosen to be prime minister.” He quietly teased MacArthur. “Chosen by—who? By Hirohito.”