An Inoffensive Rearmament (30 page)

In discussing the attitudes of the Japanese people concerning armament with Mr. Masuhara, the director general, he minced no words:

You know, Colonel, for five years prior to the Korean War, you Americans preached disarmament, painting the glories and the wonders of a peaceful world. You gave us an impossible constitution. For a while you even took the pistols away from our policemen. You gave the women the right to vote. You encouraged them to march through our stores, destroying our so-called war toys. Well, the women have the power now. It's going to be a long time before there can be a referendum on the revision of the constitution. In the meanwhile we'll have to build some kind of defensive force as best we can.

Throughout these crucial months, Prime Minister Yoshida alone maintained an irrepressible determination that moved Japan slowly but continuously forward. He could neither be hurried by American pressure nor stopped by the vociferous opposition on the left. “One Man” Yoshida had set a calculated course for his country, and he never wavered from his purpose. Navigating through tricky waters, he accepted American artillery, tanks, and aircraft; denied that he was rearming the nation; and refused to budge at American pleas and coercions to increase inordinately the size of the Japanese forces.

It is reported that when Mr. Dulles urged Mr. Yoshida at the San Francisco Peace Treaty Conference and later in Japan to speed up rearmament, the prime minister at first pleaded economic difficulties, and then cleverly confused the issue with innocuous promises. At the time, the United States was urging Japan to expand its force to 300,000 troops. The prime minister refused to budge beyond a force of 110,000 men. Even when Mr. Dulles, in a counteroffer, suggested economic assistance to Japan, he could obtain nothing more from Yoshida than an uncertain promise to increase the country's “war potential.” He left the meaning of this promise to others to define.

There were many important political and economic considerations, of course, operating on the prime minister, but for those who looked behind the scenes, something much more profound than politics or economics seemed to motivate Yoshida. Before returning to the United States in May 1952, I had a revealing talk with one of the top politicians of Japan. “I can't understand,” I began, “why the prime minister refuses to increase the defense forces of your country when we are willing to assume the costly burden of supplying weapons and equipment. Surely, this is all to the advantage of Japan. All you're asked to furnish is manpower and you have a lot of that.”

Responded my friend, “We will strengthen our forces, but not until 1955.”

“Why 1955?” I asked.

“By then the Korean War will be over.”

“But why must you wait until the war is ended?” I persisted.

This politician explained,

Mr. Yoshida does not want Japan to become involved in the Korean War. If we organize 300,000 troops as your Mr. Dulles wanted us to do, your government will insist that we send some of these troops to Korea. That is why the prime minister agreed to expand our forces only to 110,000. Mr. Yoshida shudders every time he recalls how the Japanese army was bogged down in China. In that the people share his fears. Should Japan have 300,000 ground troops, a strong argument would be made that we don't need that many to defend Japan from attack and the United Nations, under your influence, would ask us to cooperate by sending at least a hundred thousand to Korea. Once these troops are dispatched, there is no telling when they will be withdrawn.

Even more important is Mr. Yoshida's view—and many Japanese agree with him—that China should be left alone. China may turn red or black, all the same. Be it the people's revolution of Dr. Sun Yat-sen or Mao Tse-tung's communist revolution, leave this to China. What is an affair of China should be left to the Chinese. It will all settle down in the long run. That is the history of China, and it is not a business in which other people should interfere, Mr. Yoshida thinks.

Whatever the reason, “One Man” Yoshida held the Japanese rearmament machine in low gear.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE IMPERIAL MILITARY

The preceding chapter abundantly demonstrated that on the whole, the Japanese people viewed rearmament and military forces as a necessary evil rather than as a national aspiration. Many equated rearmament to war and they were touchy about war; 106,000 had died in two atomic blasts alone. Rearmament, many thought, could prove to be an invitation to disaster.

Soviet pressures in the world, however, culminating in the communist invasion of Korea, forced radical changes in American objectives and policies in Japan. Occupation reform programs were hastily abandoned. The scorn and exposure that had been so studiously focused on the Japanese militarists and ultra-nationalists was now turned furiously upon communism and the Japanese left. As we shifted into a “reverse course,” previously purged and discredited enemies of democracy suddenly became friends, and former war allies became our enemies.

Though the Potsdam Declaration called for removal of purgees from public life “for all times,” the new conditions in the world and specifically in Japan necessitated greater acceleration on the “reverse course.” A mass depurge in October 1951 removed thousands of former Imperial Army and Navy officers from purge restrictions. By the time Japan had regained its sovereignty in April 1952, only about five thousand former military officers remained on the purge lists. With their full citizenship restored, thousands of these former officers, who for the past six or seven years had been seeking out their stifled existences as fishermen, farmers, and toilers, now raised their eyes and voices to Tōkyō for recognition.
Conscious of their military education, training, and experience, they were convinced that the United States needed them and that their own government would have to use their services in the new military establishment that was forming.

I think a look at these men, who they were, what political and military views they espoused, and what some of them tried to do will add to our understanding of the environment in which the rearmament of Japan was initiated.

As a group, the former Imperial officers were honorable, dedicated, forthright men. Most of them had difficulty, however, in shedding the mental shackles of their early indoctrination, and too many seemed unable to catch up with the modern world. A few were more concerned about their personal ambitions than the welfare of the country.

To me, their most disturbing weakness was their inability to grow above their narrow concentration on the importance of a national military posture. Their vision of the political aspirations and hopes of the people, Japan's economic limitations, and its commitments to other nations were as misplaced after the surrender as they had been in their delusionary prewar days. Although many of their spokesmen embraced the principle of civilian control of the military, they never quite grasped the true meaning of a concept that permitted a former operator of haberdashery (Truman) to sack a five-star general (MacArthur). They argued correctly that the civilian leaders of the NPR did not have the needed military “know-how,” and so it was necessary to use former military officers in the new forces. But they also rigidly contended that since they possessed military “know-how,” they were the best qualified to organize and formulate the rearmament policy of the country. In this regard, they had learned nothing from the tragedy of the Pacific War.

The military of Japan has enjoyed long centuries of hegemony over the affairs of the nation. Rising to power in the twelfth century, the shoguns (generals) subjugated the emperor and ruled Japan for seven hundred years. They were finally overthrown in the Meiji Restoration. Under the influence of Western political concepts, the privileged position of the military was torn down and civilian authority grew dominant. During the past hundred years, their fortunes and powers waxed and waned with changes in the world situation and the ability of the civilian political forces to suppress them. Governed by strong civilian leaders and moving carefully under a cautious foreign policy, Japan emerged from World War
I with its territories enhanced and recognized as a world power. For a decade its military receded. Then in the 1930s military leaders assassinated the civilian leadership and banded together into
gunbatsu
, or “military cliques,” and seized control of the government and direction of the nation's foreign policy. Qualified to command, ready to die, but unfit to rule, they reaped a horrendous devastation.

In the purge that followed the Pacific War, the militarists and ultra-nationalists, directly responsible for having misled the people of Japan, were shorn overnight of their power and prestige. The bureaucrats, who were generally untouched by the purge, stood to gain by the liquidation of their erstwhile bosses and eagerly joined the occupation forces in the indictment. The people too no longer found the military to be heroes, and they accepted the foreigner's explanation of Japan's degradation. Hundreds of top military officers were tried as war criminals, and all 122,235 career military officers were purged. Not only was the leadership of the nation completely changed, but the former military elite became national outcasts, unpitied, unwanted, and distrusted by the people.

Understandably, when the purge restrictions were lifted and the former Imperial officers were inducted into the NPR in 1951 and 1952, they were not greeted with popular enthusiasm. Although the recruitment was limited essentially to young captains, some majors and lieutenant colonels, and a few carefully screened colonels, the people nevertheless were suspicious and watchful. The civilian leaders of the NPR received the new officers into the organization with reserved caution. The young
yobitai,
having found American tutelage pleasantly acceptable, viewed the former Imperials with mixed emotions. Officially, however, everyone hoped they would bring leadership and the badly needed military “know-how” to the new military establishment.

In the meantime, outside the NPR, the former military community was fermenting with disappointment and distrust. Senior officers of the Imperial forces became disgruntled when they were not called by the government to serve. Many organized and joined rightist groups, which have plagued Japan into the present. When they found themselves unable to influence the rearmament program, they turned on the government, became critical of the United States, flooded the news media with militaristic statements, and did their utmost to undermine the morale and integrity of the young
yobitai.
It is difficult to predict what role the younger militarists of the rightist organizations may play in their country's future. But the
senior Imperial leaders, now elderly men, are fading away. In the early 1950s, however, they pressed their views furiously.

The nationalist movement has its roots planted deeply in tradition. Japanese literature is replete with accounts of gruesome assassinations every time the “patriots” and
rōnin
“masterless samurai” got together. Genyōsha, or Dark Ocean Society, the first modern nationalist organization in Japan, was organized in 1881 by a band of self-righteous men incensed at what they considered to be a sellout by the Japanese government, which was revising its treaties with foreign powers. The band carried on a violent campaign that instigated a terrorist, Tsuneki Kurushima, to throw a bomb at Shigenobu Ōkuma, the foreign minister. Though the “incident” shocked the nation at the time, Kurushima set a pattern for a steadily increasing series of bloody assassinations and attempted killings. As the nationalists became more sophisticated, their murderous outrages were cleverly justified as having been carried out “for the sake of the country,” “for the emperor,” or “for the prestige of the army.”