by Toland, John
“Congratulations on your trip to Europe,” Iwakuro began. “About the fish I sent you the other day, how did you find it? Please have it cooked as soon as possible. Otherwise it will go bad. Nomura and all the others are expecting to have your reply soon.”
“I know, I know,” said Matsuoka curtly. “Tell him not to be so active.”
Iwakuro wished he could have slapped Matsuoka for answering so rudely. “Please find out how others think about it. If you keep the fish around too long, it will surely go bad. Please be careful. Otherwise people will hold you responsible for everything.”
“I know,” was the blunt answer. Iwakuro hung up, muttered something incomprehensible, and to Ikawa’s consternation, abruptly passed out.
The following day the two men called on former President Herbert Hoover, who welcomed them warmly but observed that since the Republicans were not in power, they could be of little help in the negotiations. “If war comes, civilization will be set back five hundred years,” he said and added somberly, “The negotiations should be completed before summer or they will fail.”
In Tokyo, Matsuoka was still delaying the reply to Hull. He had informed Hitler of the Draft Understanding and was waiting for his comments.h To those who pressed for action, he repeated that before approving the Draft Understanding, Japan should ask America to sign a neutrality treaty which would be in effect even if Japan and Britain went to war. Nomura was told to sound out Hull on such a treaty. Naturally, Hull rejected the proposal peremptorily. This irritated Matsuoka no end; he told the Emperor on May 8 that if the United States entered the war in Europe, Japan should back their Axis allies and attack Singapore. He predicted that the talks in Washington would come to nothing, and that if they did succeed it would only mean that America had been placated at the expense of Germany and Italy. “If that happens, I am afraid I cannot remain in the Cabinet.”
When Prince Konoye heard this—from the Emperor himself, who expressed his “astonishment and grave concern”—he secretly met with his War and Navy ministers, General Tojo and Admiral Koshiro Oikawa, and they agreed to force the fractious Foreign Minister to act. A reply accepting the main conditions of the Draft Understanding was drawn up, and Matsuoka was instructed to send it without delay.
On May 12 Nomura brought this document to Hull’s apartment. Hull read it with disappointment. It “offered little basis for an agreement, unless we were willing to sacrifice some of our most basic principles, which we were not.” Still, it was a formal proposition and he decided “to go forward on the basis of the Japanese proposals and seek to argue Japan into modifying here, eliminating there, and inserting elsewhere, until we might reach an accord we both could sign with mutual good will.”
The problem—already beset by language difficulties, stubbornness, rigidity and confusion—was further aggravated by American intercepts of Japanese messages. Diplomatic codes, supposedly unbreakable, had been cracked by American experts, and messages from the Japanese government to its diplomats overseas were being intercepted and deciphered under the cover name of Operation MAGIC. Consequently, Hull usually knew what was on Nomura’s mind before he walked into a conference.i But since many of the decoded messages were not considered worthy of Hull’s attention—a naval officer made this decision on his own—and since messages were translated by men not fluent in the stylized and difficult language of Japanese diplomacy, Hull was occasionally misled.
The judge from Tennessee, moreover, was constantly annoyed at the perpetual, “frozen” smiles of the Japanese, and either ridiculed or made fun of their bowing and “hissing.”j As a result, it was easy for his chief adviser, Dr. Hornbeck, to persuade him that the Japanese were not to be trusted and that any compromise with Japan would be a betrayal of American democratic principles.
Hornbeck, a highly ethical man like his superior, who had been brought up in China, was by nature antagonistic to the Japanese and looked on their expansion from a purely moralistic standpoint. Hornbeck’s associate in the State Department, J. Pierrepont Moffat, described him as regarding “Japan as the sun around which her satellites, Germany and Italy, were revolving.” A proponent for economic warfare since the fall of 1938, he stood for “a diplomatic ‘war plan.’ ” Stubborn and sensitive, he was convinced that Japan was a “predatory” power run by arrogant militarists who were encouraged by world timidity to go from aggression to aggression. He had always felt they could only be blocked by a series of retaliations, ending, if need be, in economic sanctions. This program should be put into effect even if it ended in war; bowing to the militarists’ demands would eventually end in war, anyway. Like so many intellectuals—and he was one of the most brilliant men in the foreign service—he was opinionated.k He was also dictatorial and could easily override more objective subordinates, such as the modest Joseph W. Ballantine, the department’s leading Japan expert.
During these trying days Hull and Nomura often met at the Wardman Park Hotel in an effort to work out their differences, but made little progress. Part of their trouble came from Tokyo, where Matsuoka was making provocative announcements both privately and publicly. On May 14 he told Ambassador Grew that Hitler had shown great “patience and generosity” in not declaring war on the United States, and that American attacks on German submarines would doubtless lead to war between Japan and America. The “manly, decent and reasonable” thing for the United States to do, he said, was “to declare war openly on Germany instead of engaging in acts of war under cover of neutrality.” Grew with all his sympathies could not bear such an insult, and he rebutted Matsuoka’s assertions point for point. Matsuoka realized he had gone too far and after the meeting wrote a conciliatory note:
… I was wondering, to be frank, why you appeared so disturbed when I referred to the American attitude and actions. After Your Excellency’s departure, it all suddenly dawned on me that I misused a word.… Of course, I didn’t mean to say “indecent.” No! I wanted to say “indiscretion.”
I write you the above in order to remove any misapprehension; I’d feel very sorry if I caused any.
Three days later Matsuoka wrote Grew again. In a long, disjointed letter marked “Entirely Private” he said he knew how to be “correct” as a foreign minister but often forgot that he was foreign minister. Furthermore, he hated the so-called correct attitudes of many diplomats which “hardly get us anywhere” and then admitted that he thought in terms of one, two and even three thousand years, and if that sounded like insanity he couldn’t help it because he was made that way.
Indeed, more than one thought this last was the case. At a recent liaison conference Navy Minister Oikawa had remarked, “The Foreign Minister is insane, isn’t he?” And President Roosevelt, after reading a MAGIC translation of instructions sent by Matsuoka to Nomura, thought they were “the product of a mind which is deeply disturbed and unable to think quietly or logically.”
Prince Konoye, however, believed Matsuoka’s provocative, inflammatory and sometimes erratic statements were purposely made to frighten opponents; perhaps that was why he kept aiming so many barbs at America. But if this had started as a tactic and he sincerely wanted peace, it ended in disaster. Because of his insults and delays, the talks in Washington had about reached an impasse. Matsuoka knew this was happening, yet he continued insulting and delaying and looking to Hitler for advice. He was deliberately wrecking the negotiations probably out of his egomaniacal conviction that he and he alone knew the real America and could resolve the controversy.
He remained belligerent while Nomura and Iwakuro talked peace, and Hull, understandably, concluded that he was being misled. On June 21 the Secretary of State at last answered the Japanese proposal: Japan would have to abandon the Tripartite Pact, and he rejected the Japanese plan to retain troops in certain areas of North China to help the Chinese combat the Communists.
Konoye and his cabinet were dismayed. It wasn’t even as acceptable an offer as the Draft Understanding. Why had the Americans changed from their “original
” proposal? wondered Konoye, still unaware that Hull had never regarded the Draft Understanding as a basis for negotiations.
What infuriated Matsuoka was an Oral Statement that accompanied Hull’s answer to the effect that recent public statements by certain Japanese officials—and it was obvious he meant Matsuoka—seemed to be an unsurmountable roadblock to the negotiations. The Foreign Minister took this as a personal insult, and cause for breaking off the talks in Washington altogether.
This concern and confusion was eclipsed the next day, Sunday, June 22, when Hitler invaded Russia. The Japanese were taken by surprise, although Ambassador Oshima, after talks with Hitler and Ribbentrop, had cabled sixteen days earlier that war between Germany and Russia was imminent.
It also came as a blow to Stalin, despite 180 German violations of Soviet air space (including penetrations as deep as four hundred miles) in the previous two months. There were also unheeded warnings of an impending attack from official Washington and London—and Stalin’s own secret agent in Tokyo, Richard Sorge, who had correctly predicted in the spring of 1939 that Germany would march into Poland on September 1. Sorge not only dispatched photocopies of telegrams from Ribbentrop informing his ambassador in Tokyo, General Eugen Ott, that the Wehrmacht would invade the Soviet Union in the second half of June, he also sent a last-minute message on June 14: “War begins June 22.” In the first few hours the Luftwaffe wiped out 66 Soviet airfields and destroyed 1,200 planes while ground forces swept forward capturing almost 2,000 big guns, 3,000 tanks and 2,000 truckloads of ammunition.l
The news of the attack reached Tokyo a little before four o’clock on Sunday afternoon. Within minutes Matsuoka phoned the Lord Privy Seal, Marquis Koichi Kido, and asked for an audience with the Emperor. Kido was a small, neatly compact man of fifty-two, with a trimmed mustache, and had, like Konoye, been a protégé of Prince Saionji’s. The liberal political philosophy and logical reasoning which characterized the last genro (he had died the previous year at the age of ninety-one) had always made a deep impression on him, particularly Saionji’s repeated warnings that Japan’s policy must be based on co-operation with Britain and America. Accordingly, Kido had actively opposed the seizure of Manchuria, the push into China and the Tripartite Pact. His grandfather by marriage, as it were, was Koin Kido, one of the four most illustrious leaders of the Meiji Restoration,m but the young man had earned every advancement by his own industry and ability. As Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, Kido was the permanent confidential adviser to the Emperor on all matters (“I was to the Emperor what Harry Hopkins was to President Roosevelt”) and Hirohito had grown to lean on his counsel. Konoye and Kido were probably the two most influential civilians in Japan, and though close friends, were almost exact opposites in character as well as appearance. Already highly respected as a hard-headed, practical man, the Privy Seal was direct and decisive, a pragmatist. He was an able administrator and every detail of his life was carefully planned, precisely executed. In golf, which he played with zealous regularity, he was such a model of precision with his modulated swing that his partners called him “Kido the Clock.”
After arranging a five-thirty audience for Matsuoka, Kido informed the Emperor that the Foreign Minister’s views probably differed from Konoye’s. “I would like His Majesty to ask him if he has consulted with the Prime Minister regarding the question, and tell him that this question is extremely important,” said Kido. “Therefore he should confer closely with the Prime Minister and tell him that the Emperor is basically in agreement with the Prime Minister. Please excuse my impertinence for daring to give His Majesty this advice.”
When Matsuoka spoke to the Emperor, within the hour, it was evident he had not yet talked with Konoye. He was sure Germany would quickly defeat Russia,n and recommended an immediate attack on Siberia and a postponement of the push to the south. Astonished, since this policy meant expansion in two directions, the Emperor asked Matsuoka to consult with Konoye and indicated that the audience was over.
Matsuoka did see Konoye but listened to no advice, and continued to call for an attack on Russia in private as well as at liaison conferences. These were ordinarily held at the Prime Minister’s official residence. They were informal gatherings of the Big Four of the Cabinet—the Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, War Minister and Navy Minister—with the Army and Navy Chiefs and Vice Chiefs of Staff. Other Cabinet ministers and experts occasionally attended to give counsel and information. The Prime Minister sat in an armchair near the center of a medium-sized conference room surrounded by the others. Three secretaries—the Chief Secretary of the Cabinet, the chief of the Military Affairs Bureau of the War Ministry and the chief of the Naval Affairs Bureau of the Navy Ministry—sat near the entrance.
The conferences were lively. There was no presiding officer, no strict protocol, and arguments were common. The meetings had been started in late 1937, to co-ordinate activities of the government and the military, discontinued for some time, then resumed in late 1940 when the situation became more critical.
Three days after Matsuoka’s audience with the Emperor, he met direct opposition from the military, who were not eager for a simultaneous fight with the Soviet Union and America. Naval operations against both these countries, said Navy Minister Oikawa, would be too difficult. “To avoid this kind of situation, don’t tell us to attack the U.S.S.R. and at the same time push south. The Navy doesn’t want the Soviet Union provoked.”
“When Germany wipes out the Soviet Union, we can’t simply share in the spoils of victory unless we’ve done something,” said Matsuoka and then uttered words which were strange coming from a foreign minister. “We must either shed our blood or embark on diplomacy. And it’s better to shed blood.” The following day he pressed his argument. What was more important, the north or the south? he asked.
Of equal import, replied Army Chief of Staff Sugiyama. “We’re waiting to see how the situation develops.” He did not reveal that if Moscow fell before the end of August, the Army would attack Siberia.
“It all depends on the situation,” said Army Vice Chief of Staff Ko Tsukada, a bright, short-tempered man. “We can’t go both ways simultaneously.”
After the conference Colonel Kenryo Sato continued the debate with Tojo, who felt Matsuoka had made several good points. “We gain nothing in the north,” said Sato. “At least we get oil and other resources in the south.” He was as brilliant and impulsive as General Ishihara and Colonel Iwakuro, and often served as the official spokesman for Army policy. He was already notorious throughout the country for having yelled “Shut up!” at a Diet member who kept interrupting his speech.
Wary as he was of Sato’s quixotic behavior, Tojo had come to depend on advice from the “Shut up” colonel. Sato’s logic made him wonder, “If we declare war on the Russians, would the United States back them up and declare war on us?”
“It’s not impossible. America and the Soviet Union have different systems, but you never can tell in war.”
The following day Tojo gave Matsuoka no support at all. But the Foreign Minister was undaunted. He argued that reports from Ambassador Oshima indicated that the war in Russia would soon be over and that England would capitulate before the end of the year. “If we start discussing the Soviet problem after the Germans beat the Soviets, we’ll get nowhere diplomatically. If we hit the Soviets without delay, the United States won’t enter the war.” He was confident, he said, that he could hold off the United States for three or four months with his diplomacy. “But if we just wait around to see how things will turn out, as the Supreme Command suggests, we’ll be encircled by Britain, the United States and Russia. We must first strike north, then south.” He went on and on almost compulsively until he saw that his words were having no effect. Then, in an attempt to force the issue, he said, “I would like a decision to attack the Soviet Union.”
“No,” said Sugiyama, who spoke for all the military.
Matsuoka’s strongest ally was in Berlin, but Hitler himself had yet t
o come out with a flat request to attack Russia. He did this three days later, in the form of a telegram from Ribbentrop to his ambassador in Tokyo. On the morning of June 30 General Ott transmitted this request to Matsuoka, who used it as a principal argument at the liaison conference that afternoon. Germany, he announced, was now formally asking Japan to come into the war. He became so fervent in his appeal for an attack on Russia that one listener likened it to “a vomit of fire.” “My predictions have always come true,” Matsuoka boasted. “Now I predict that if war starts in the south, America and Britain will join it!” He suggested postponing the drive south and was so persuasive that Oikawa turned to Sugiyama and said, “Well, how about postponing it for six months?”
It looked as if Matsuoka had abruptly turned things around by his oratory. A Navy man leaned over and whispered to Army Vice Chief of Staff Tsukada that perhaps they should consider the postponement, but Tsukada could not be swayed; with a few impassioned words of his own, he brought Oikawa and Sugiyama back to their original position. At this point Prince Konoye, who had been almost silent until then, said that he would have to go along with the Supreme Command. There was no more to say. The long debate was over and the decision was made to go south.
The final step was to get formal approval from the Emperor. This would come automatically at a ceremony held at the Imperial Palace, an imperial conference. At these meetings the Emperor traditionally did nothing but sit silent and listen to explanations of the policy in question. Afterward he would indicate his approval with a stamp of his seal. The members were comprised of those who attended liaison conferences, an expert or two, and the President of the Privy Council, a civilian who represented the Throne in a sense by occasionally asking questions the Emperor himself could not.
