Comrades in this vital effort, little did the two men know they would never see each other again.
A GENERAL CAN be forgiven for making a military blunder like MacArthur’s in walking into a Chinese ambush. But he cannot be forgiven for making unapproved public statements. MacArthur never disobeyed the Joint Chiefs’ military directives. He did, however, on several occasions speak too freely in public about his opinions concerning Formosa and Korea. On April 11, acting on the unanimous recommendation of his closest advisors and the Joint Chiefs, President Truman made his decision to get rid of MacArthur. The supreme commander had become too much of a loose cannon. He had also outlived his usefulness: He had done his job in Japan so well there was nothing more for him to do. As a general in Korea, he had chosen a superb military successor in Ridgway, so he was no longer needed there either.
A cable was sent to Tokyo, to be delivered personally to MacArthur in a brown envelope stamped in red letters ACTION FOR MACARTHUR. Only it didn’t work out that way. Because the cable had to go through several relay stations, there was a problem getting the message through. In the meantime one of the newspapers got wind of what was happening and made an inquiry to the White House press office, which quickly issued a denial. Fearful the reporter would leak the story (as it turned out, he didn’t), the White House had to move quickly.
Not many press conferences get called for one o’clock in the morning. Had a head of state died? Had Russia declared war? The announcement of news at such an hour dragged reporters out of bed. To further compound the comedy of errors, the official brown envelope got delayed in the delivery. It didn’t arrive until ten minutes after MacArthur learned the news from his wife, who had gotten it from a staffer listening to the president’s announcement on the radio.
The Japanese people were stunned and dismayed to lose their father figure. Could the same fate befall them? Could the United States suddenly wake up one morning and say to Japan: We’re leaving; handle Russia and China by yourself. Quickly, there was talk of monuments and statues to the only peacetime leader most of them had ever known. First to act was the port of Yokohama: It put up a bronze bust near the waterfront: “General Douglas MacArthur—liberator of Japan.” Similar accolades appeared in many newspaper editorials, lamenting Japan’s loss of so great a leader. The Asahi Shimbun said he had been a great commander who had taught the Japanese people the value of peace and democracy. The Diet passed a resolution citing the general “who helped our country out of the confusion and poverty prevailing at the time the war ended.” Prime Minister Yoshida wrote to express his “shock and sorrow beyond words,” and came to the embassy to personally express his gratitude for everything MacArthur had done. Then a humongous Grosser Mercedes 770 pulled up to the American Embassy, and out stepped a surprise visitor: the emperor. It was their eleventh meeting in the two thousand days of MacArthur’s reign. It was an emotional meeting for both men, and the supreme commander returned the gesture by personally escorting Hirohito back to his limousine.
In the United States, Republicans reached an agreement with the Democrats to issue an invitation for MacArthur to address a joint meeting of Congress, and for a gold medal to be struck in his honor: “Protector of Australia; Liberator of the Philippines; Conqueror of Japan; Defender of Korea.” (One wishes the congressmen had been more accurate. No way would MacArthur have conceived of himself as the “conqueror” of Japan. “Protector” might be acceptable; “restorer” would be more accurate and all-inclusive.) Out at Haneda Airport, painters scrubbed out the letters “SCAP” on the Constellation airplane used by the Supreme Commander, and substituted the word “Bataan.”
On April 16 MacArthur left Tokyo for good. Two hundred thousand Japanese lined the streets to see him off and wish him farewell. At the airport waiting for him was an imperial deputy, the prime minister, the cabinet, Diet members, and representatives of several countries. The wife of one of the American generals observed:
From the gates of the Embassy to the doors of the plane, all six miles, there was a solid line of guards. Japanese police, soldiers, sailors and marines. And behind them thousands lined the streets the entire way. Everywhere he moved, people applauded, everywhere he turned, eyes followed him, some weeping, some silent, and some I am sure, among the followers of Acheson, relieved. When he turned from the seventeen-gun salute, his eyes were wet, as when he spoke to me. At other times his eyes were quiet. But I did not see him smile . . . the passengers boarded the plane and the MacArthurs stood waving from the top. A roar of “Bonsai!” went up from the Japanese in enthusiasm and love for the man who had saved them and their emperor and their country.
America’s successful exercise in the occupation of a country was over, the greatest feat by America’s greatest general. For Japan, back on its feet, it was time to move on.
And the same for Southeast Asia, then beginning to develop. Following Japan’s lead, South Korea, Hong Kong, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore would turn into some of the most dynamic economies in the world, stopping Communism in its tracks and saving a billion-plus people from the poverty and brutality of a North Korean regime. Douglas MacArthur, in two thousand days, had done his work well. To the extent that he saved Japan, he also saved an entire region.
PART FOUR
EPILOGUE
24
Had He Died at Inchon
MACARTHUR NOT ONLY made a fatal misjudgment in wanting to cross the Yalu, he blew his hard-earned goodwill with the Japanese. On May 5, 1951, MacArthur, during three days of congressional testimony in Washington, used an unfortunate choice of words in describing the Japanese people. The discussion was about the differences between Germany and Japan. Here is what MacArthur said:
Well, the German problem is a completely and entirely different one from the Japanese problem. The German people were a mature race. If the Anglo-Saxon was say 45 years of age in his development in the sciences, the arts, divinity, culture, the Germans were quite as mature. The Japanese, however, in spite of their antiquity measured by time, were in a very tuitionary condition. Measured by the standards of modern civilization, they would be like a boy of twelve as compared to our development of forty-five years.
Like any tuitionary period, they were susceptible to following new models, new ideas. You can implant basic concepts there. They were still close enough to origin to be elastic and acceptable to new ideas.
MacArthur went on to say that “you are not going to change the German nature . . . but the Japanese were entirely different,” meaning that in Japan the United States could undertake more extensive policies to eliminate militarism than they could in Germany. All of this seemed perfectly obvious to the senators, who didn’t pursue the subject and moved on to other topics.
In Japan, however, MacArthur’s “like a boy of twelve”—5 words out of 174,000 over three days—caused a firestorm. He had insulted the Japanese. Overnight his luster in Japan evaporated. “Hyaku-nichi no seppo he hitotsu,” the Japanese would say (“One hour’s cold will spoil seven years’ warming”). Plans to build a big monument in Japan were abandoned. No designation of “honorary citizen” would materialize. Several large companies got together and published an ad: “We Are Not Twelve-Year-Olds!”
To be sure, not all Japanese reacted so viscerally or emotionally. The famed Japanese novelist Yukio Mishima stated on national radio: “I had thought that Japan was an old country that now needed a cane to walk, so I was happy that some famous American kindly pointed out that it’s only twelve years old. Among the words Americans have bestowed upon Japan, this one has delighted me the most.” Mishima continued with his argument, almost tongue-in-cheek: “I’m told that by criminal law no one under the age of fourteen has the ability to take on criminal responsibilities,” meaning that “the so-called war criminals” weren’t responsible for their deeds.
MacArthur’s reference to “a boy of twelve” was not misplaced; in fact it was part of Western perceptions of Japanese culture. Victor Hugo, who had never visit
ed Japan, once described Japan as “the child of the world’s old age.” Many nineteenth-century travelers made similar comments based on the country’s modest size, lack of development, and the short stature of its people. On a more practical note, an age of twelve made perfect sense compared to the timelines of most other nations, which are expressed in terms of centuries. From the time of Commodore Perry’s visit to open Japan to the outside world in 1858 and the time Japan became a world sea power ready to challenge Britain and the United States, some eighty years had passed—a remarkably short time. In likening Japan to a twelve-year-old, MacArthur also was saying that Japan would rise again. Japan may have been underdeveloped in terms of liberalism and democratic government, but it would grow quickly. Unfortunately most Japanese, still smarting from the ignominy of defeat, did not see it that way. An outsider like Victor Hugo could make a comment like this, but not the man the Japanese people had considered a father. Coming from MacArthur, the words were a slap in the face.
Finally, in early September 1951, came the moment the supreme commander had been striving for: the signing of the peace treaty, along with a separate agreement, a U.S.-Japan Security Pact. The Americans had occupied Japan for six years—a year longer than the war. Conspicuous by his absence at the San Francisco meeting was the bold leader who had made it happen. “Perhaps someone just forgot to remember,” MacArthur wistfully said. What he neglected to mention was that he had insisted that the invitation come from the UN—not from the United States. Angry at his arrogance, Secretary of State Acheson refused. This wasn’t the only time MacArthur forgot who he was working for. Two months before his termination, Deputy Undersecretary of State Dean Rusk had slipped a warning to William Sebald: MacArthur needed to be reminded he was an American general working for the Joint Chiefs and the president. MacArthur’s response to Sebald: SCAP was an international position, and he reported not to the president but to the eleven countries of the Far Eastern Commission (though he had been only too delighted to agree with George Kennan that the FEC could be ignored whenever he felt like it). Perhaps MacArthur just forgot to look at his paycheck and see who was paying his salary.
Today in Japan, MacArthur is largely forgotten. There is only one statue of MacArthur in the entire country (at Atsugi Air Force Base).
MacArthur once said, “It’s the orders you disobey that make you famous.” This was back in World War I when he arrived in France as head of the Rainbow Division and refused to wear a steel helmet, insisting on sporting a cap set at a rakish angle. Today, of course, he is famous for disobeying President Truman. The best thing for MacArthur’s legacy would have been if he had died at Inchon—which he almost did when he foolhardily insisted on getting close to the firefight on the beach.
As Harry Truman said, a man’s fame is often determined by when he dies. MacArthur was a great man who lived too long. He once told journalist Theodore White: “Wars are over, White, wars are over. There will never be another war. Men like me are obsolete.” And what were White’s thoughts about this remark? “He could be magnificently right and magnificently wrong at the same time.” F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote: “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” The drama of MacArthur’s demise makes most people focus on the tragedy, which is unfortunate because it obscures the more important aspect of the man’s life: the hero. In his comment to White, he was correct in saying that wars are waged differently now, and generals who pursue their goals relentlessly and don’t know when to stop are unwelcome. But he overdramatized the situation. Generals fighting a total war may be obsolete in today’s era of limited wars, but good supreme commanders of occupied countries are vital—and always will be. Just as the mission of every statesman is to prevent a small foreign affairs crisis from becoming a big one, so the mission of every general is to win a war in a way that wins the peace. “Total” victory is an elastic concept, with Japan being about as “total” a victory as anyone will ever see, yet a country with a strong spirit and a willingness to work hard—two traits essential for economic growth. MacArthur’s genius in administering Japan was in convincing the Japanese people that he was working for them, not for the United States. A superb administrator with considerable sensitivity to local needs—“a hard-headed softie,” as George Kenney liked to say—he was the right man for the job. Because he was a general with such an awesome reputation as to be politically untouchable, operating in an arena where he had enormous freedom, he could be bold. He could introduce changes and take risks that no politician in America could ever take. Edwin O. Reischauer, the eminent historian and U.S. ambassador to Japan from 1961 to 1966, had this description of MacArthur: “The most radical, one might say even socialistic, leader the United States ever produced, and also one of the most successful.”
As might be expected of a man who, like Winston Churchill, had a remarkable gift for the written word, the supreme commander’s best eulogy was written by himself. Certainly it describes what he achieved in Japan, the goal of any fighting general anywhere, anytime: “Could I have but a line a century hence crediting a contribution to the advance of peace, I would gladly yield every honor which has been accorded by war.”
For Korea he was not the right man. He underestimated the dangers of war in a hostile mainland occupied by millions of soldiers, especially at a time when America’s military resources were stretched thin. He ignored warnings, he refused to listen. Korea did not need a man puffed with his own glory who thought himself invincible, it needed a battlefield tactician to capture a hundred miles of territory. In choosing Gen.Matthew Ridgway to take over the fighting in Korea, MacArthur made a superb choice and fulfilled one of the most basic responsibilities of a leader: choosing a successor. In so doing, for the second time (his victory at Inchon being the first) he saved Korea from being a total disaster. It was his last military gift, and a most valuable one.
He not only chose the right successor, he gave him control of both American armies in Korea, the Eighth Army and the Tenth Corps, thus ending the split that had hindered the campaign until then. Under Ridgway’s leadership, in a relatively short time the Communists—despite their enormous advantages in manpower and unlimited support logistics right next door—were beaten back to the 38th parallel. By inflicting as many as ten times the casualties as the enemy could inflict on him, Ridgway proved that America could fight a war anywhere on the globe and not be beaten. That in itself was a victory (though MacArthur would never admit it).
Besides his Inchon victory and his choice of successor, there was a third gift MacArthur made to America’s “victory” in Korea: the moral one. When Ridgway arrived in Korea to take over the fighting and saw how desperate the situation was, he asked the supreme commander for permission to use poison gas. MacArthur turned him down cold: “U.S. inhibitions on its use are complete and drastic.”
THE IMAGE OF Truman firing MacArthur and banishing him to purgatory on the spot is incorrect. Truman asked John Foster Dulles, who of course had nothing to do with the sacking of MacArthur, to keep lines of communication open and assume responsibility for completing the last major task of the occupation: Consummate the peace treaty. Said Dulles: “With the President’s knowledge and approval, I continued regularly to consult with General MacArthur and I was constantly strengthened by the pledge of his support.” The two men communicated several times by phone, and came up with an approach that took everybody off the hook: Instead of the United States asking Japan for permission to install troops, it would be the reverse. The treaty would have a provision whereby Japan would request American military aid, and the United States would accept. To counter the Communists’ offer of raw materials, the United States would offer a better deal—unlimited access to the U.S. home market. To protect Japanese sovereignty, America would not ask for fixed military bases on Japanese soil; rather, it would ask for the right to use its troops anywhere in Japan as necessary.
In many ways the real loser in the MacArthur-Truman controversy was Truman. By sacking the popular gene
ral and doing it in such a crude way, he outraged the Republicans and blew his chances of running for reelection in 1952. The winner of the controversy would be a third party: the likable Eisenhower, who had no baggage or major question marks.
MacArthur would not go out quietly. The American people wouldn’t let him. He received 150,000 letters and 20,000 telegrams. He found himself treated to thunderous motorcades in New York, Boston, Washington, Baltimore, Miami, Houston, Dallas, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee, Seattle, and San Francisco. In New York alone, the motorcade lasted seven hours. It was the greatest outpouring of hero worship ever seen in America. Subsequently he gave a powerful speech to Congress watched by thirty million Americans, then returned to testify during a ten-day congressional investigation about the situation in the Far East and the facts concerning his relief. One of the questions, asked at the very beginning, was what day he was born. “I was born when my parents were away,” he joked, bringing down the house. Thanks to President Truman, he had become a martyr. So much Sturm und Drang would focus on MacArthur and how he deserved to be fired that one has to look hard to find out what caused the firing in the first place. Yes, he disobeyed the president in his public statements. Yes, he was guilty of horrible misjudgment. Yes, he failed to keep his mouth shut.
But he did not, despite what many people believe, lead his troops north to the Yalu River against the president’s orders. He was doing as he was told.
In the Senate investigation he responded to heavy questioning, earning plaudits from almost all the senators for his answers. After he finished, the next person interrogated was George Marshall. Several senators, angry at MacArthur’s termination, grilled Marshall. Had the supreme commander disobeyed the president’s or the Joint Chiefs’ orders? No, he had not, said Marshall: “What has brought about the necessity for General MacArthur’s removal, is the wholly unprecedented situation of a local theater commander publicly expressing his displeasure at and his disagreement with the foreign and military policy of the United States.” The senators were not satisfied. The committee chairman asked “whether or not General MacArthur directly or indirectly violated any orders or directives.” Replied Marshall: “No, he has not. . . . In relation to public statements, he has.” The next day, just to make sure everyone was on the same wavelength and there was no misunderstanding, the senators brought the subject up again. Senator Alexander Wiley, a Wisconsin Republican, asked if MacArthur had ever violated the administration’s policy of not bombing north of the Yalu.
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