Fateful Choices: Ten Decisions That Changed the World, 1940-1941

by Ian Kershaw

  The vital document, advocating a policy committing Japan to war, was rubber-stamped by the Cabinet late the next day. The last, and most formal, stage of adoption was to present it to the Imperial Conference, sitting in the Emperor’s presence, on 6 September. Once that had taken place, it would be enshrined as national policy and, sealed with the Emperor’s imprimatur, as good as impossible to change.

  The evening before, Konoe went to the palace to brief the Emperor formally on the ‘Essentials for Carrying out the Empire’s Policies’ (though Hirohito was, as usual, well abreast of developments and recognized that he would probably soon be called upon to make ‘a truly grave decision’).36 The Emperor was alarmed at what the document endorsed by the Liaison Conference implied. He thought it gave precedence to war over diplomacy, and wanted Konoe to alter the highly dangerous October deadline imposed on negotiations. The Prime Minister could offer only the consolation that he would do his utmost to succeed in the negotiations, but said it was difficult to amend a decision taken by the Liaison Conference. He suggested the Emperor question the chiefs of staff.37

  A little later, Nagano and Sugiyama appeared at the palace, with Konoe in attendance. Hirohito asked about the probability of victory in the event of war with the United States. When Sugiyama replied that victory was probable within three months, the Emperor became angry–a most rare occurrence. ‘At the time of the China Incident, the army told me that we could achieve peace immediately after dealing them one blow with three divisions,’ Hirohito objected, adding: ‘Sugiyama, you were Army Minister at that time.’ Sugiyama answered lamely that China was a vast area, and Japan had encountered unexpected difficulties. ‘Isn’t the Pacific Ocean even more vast?’ the Emperor retorted. He reminded his chief of staff of his warnings at the time, then asked directly: ‘Sugiyama, are you lying to me?’ Nagano intervened to save his colleague’s embarrassment. He agreed that victory could not be totally guaranteed. This was the case in all conflicts. He then presented a medical analogy. If a doctor says there is a 70 per cent chance of saving a sick patient by an operation, but that not operating would mean certain death, then surgery would surely be chosen. ‘And if, after the surgery, the patient dies, one must say that was meant to be. This indeed’, he claimed, with dubious logic, ‘is the situation we face today…If we waste time, let the days pass, and are forced to fight after it is too late to fight, then we won’t be able to do a thing about it.’ It was a strange argument. But it seemed to calm the Emperor. Konoe asked whether he should change the agenda for the next day’s Imperial Conference. The Emperor replied: ‘There is no need to change anything.’38

  Could the Emperor at this crucial juncture have done other than resignedly accept that which he had just fundamentally questioned? Did he have a choice? Could he have opted to give his complete backing to diplomacy and rejected the countdown to a decision for war? One counsellor at least thought other options were available to him. He was advised by Shigemitsu Mamoru, former ambassador to Great Britain, that Japan could best retain her status as a great power and influence postwar politics by staying out of the European conflict and re-examining her own current policies.39 In plain terms, this implied backing away from an alliance with the Axis powers and making concessions on China and south-east Asia sufficient to impress the Americans in negotiations. But substantial concessions were opposed by most of the power-elite, while without them the oil-clock would continue running down. In any case, the Emperor’s power was more limited in practice than it was in theory. Constitutionally, the Emperor still held executive power. In theory, the armed forces acted in accordance with his will. And it was certainly true that the leaders of government as well as the armed forces felt a bond of honour through obedience to the Emperor. But, quite apart from Hirohito’s less than forceful personality, to try to exercise executive power by overriding a decision reached in a Liaison Conference by the army and navy High Command in combination with the leadership of the civil government would have been to take a great risk with the standing of the imperial throne. In practice, it was unthinkable. Hirohito certainly preferred peace to the dangers of war with America. But he had inwardly as well as externally favoured the steps in the quest for Japan’s power and glory that had placed the country in its present plight. He could not order an unwilling military to retreat from a stance which had become associated in the eyes of most of the general public, as well as major sections of the elites, with Japan’s national honour. To have attempted conflict with the military leadership in those circumstances would conceivably have been to put the position of the monarchy itself in jeopardy.

  Twenty minutes before the beginning of the Imperial Conference, scheduled for 10 o’clock on the morning of 6 September, Hirohito sent for his chief counsellor, the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, Kido Koichi, and told him that he wanted to raise some questions at the meeting. This was quite contrary to convention. The Emperor’s traditional role was to sit silently, while his Privy Council President, Hara Yoshimichi, posed questions on his behalf to ministers and armed forces’ leaders. Kido advised him that the tradition should be upheld on this occasion, too, but that it would be fitting for the Emperor to give a warning at the end of the meeting to encourage active cooperation in the pursuit of success in the forthcoming negotiations.40

  A momentous Imperial Conference began with a statement by the Prime Minister, Prince Konoe, on the increasingly strained international situation.41 A united front of the United States, Great Britain and the Netherlands stood opposed to the Empire. The Soviet Union might well join them. If this situation continued, over time Japan would be unable to sustain her national power. Konoe laid the stress on diplomatic measures to prevent the disaster of war. But should they fail within a specified time, he said, ‘I believe we cannot help but take the ultimate step in order to defend ourselves’. It was scarcely a ringing endorsement of the overriding need (which Konoe had privately expressed) to make significant sacrifices for the greater good of peace.

  Nagano, the navy’s chief of staff, followed. He rehearsed the same arguments he had advanced at the Liaison Conference three days earlier. The key factor was time. Delay would reduce Japan ‘to a crippled condition’. He pointed out that oil supplies ‘are dwindling day by day. This will cause a gradual weakening of our national defence, and lead to a situation in which, if we maintain the status quo, the capacity of our Empire to act will be reduced in the days to come,’ while American and British military preparedness was being strengthened. As at the Liaison Conference, his prognosis in the event of war was based upon a best-case scenario. If Japan could swiftly defeat American and British naval forces ‘in the areas of the ocean we have in mind’ (meaning in the Far East), and if, in a likely prolonged war, strategic areas and raw materials could be obtained to make Japan’s position impregnable, then there was a good chance of victory. Even then the outcome would depend upon overall national power and unforeseeable developments in the world situation. But–this was the gist of his statement–Japan’s best opportunity lay in the immediate future. She could not afford to wait. Diplomacy must be given its chance. However, stringent time limits had to be set. And results must be obtained which would mean that Japan was not to be compelled to fight at a later date–and in more disadvantageous circumstances. It was a worrying assessment, an irrational one for a nation likely to embark upon a major war against a country with overwhelming advantages in strength and resources. The line of argument contained obvious flaws, weaknesses and untested assumptions. But no serious scrutiny followed.

  Nor was there any rigorous interrogation of Sugiyama, the army chief of staff, who began by expressing his complete agreement with Nagano’s statement. Sugiyama outlined the pressure of time which had determined late October as the completion date of war preparations. He accepted, of course, the need to exhaust all diplomatic measures, but it was obvious that they were for him of secondary importance. The main concern was to be ready for war in the near future. He added–his own optimistic pr
ognosis–that ‘if we could take advantage of the winter season and quickly finish our military operations in the South, I believe we would be in a position to deal with any changes in the Northern situation that might take place next spring or thereafter’. (This rested on the army’s highly optimistic estimation, prepared for the Imperial Conference: ‘It is virtually certain that Germany will sweep through the greater part of Soviet Europe within the year and that the Stalin regime will flee east of the Urals…It is clear that the Stalin regime, having lost Soviet Europe, will weaken with the passage of time and lose its capacity to prosecute the war.’42)

  After Toyoda had provided a lengthy description of diplomatic dealings with the United States since the spring, the director of the Planning Board, General Suzuki Teiichi, addressed the issue of material resources. As a result of the economic embargo by the western powers, ‘our Empire’s national power is declining day by day’, he reported. ‘Our liquid fuel stockpile, which is the most important, will reach bottom by June or July of next year, even if we impose strict wartime controls on the civilian demand.’ His conclusion was obvious: ‘it is vitally important for the survival of our Empire that we make up our minds to establish and stabilise a firm economic base.’ That meant military action.

  The President of the Privy Council, Hara, now took the opportunity to pose questions on behalf of the Emperor. In contrast to the military leaders, he placed the emphasis squarely upon diplomacy. Conventional efforts would not suffice. Every possible means had to be tried. He supported Konoe’s initiative to meet President Roosevelt. He accepted that military preparations had to be made for the eventuality that diplomacy ultimately failed. But he was troubled by the draft of the ‘Essentials for Carrying out the Empire’s Policies’ presented to the Conference. It implied a primacy given to war, not diplomacy. The Navy Minister, Oikawa, tried to assuage him. There was no priority for war. This would be a last resort only when and if the most serious diplomatic effort had failed. Hara seemed contented. A decision for war, should Konoe’s efforts fail, would, he took it, be subject to careful deliberation. As long as diplomatic negotiations were carried out and taken as far as possible, he was satisfied. But before the proposal facing the Conference received the Imperial Assent, Hara asked for full support to be placed behind Konoe’s forthcoming visit to the United States and in avoiding ‘the worst possible situation between Japan and the United States’. At this point, there was an embarrassing silence. Then something extraordinary occurred. The Emperor himself, in his squeaky high-pitched voice, asked: ‘Why don’t you answer?’ After a moment or two, Oikawa took it upon himself to utter that, although war preparations would be started, every effort to negotiate would be undertaken. There was a further awkward silence. Neither Nagano nor Sugiyama commented. Then the Emperor spoke again. ‘Why doesn’t the High Command answer?’ At this point Hirohito took out of his pocket a piece of paper and read out a short–and delphic–reflection composed by his grandfather, Emperor Meiji, at the beginning of the war with Russia in 1904:

  Across the four seas

  All are brothers.

  In such a world,

  Why do the waves rage,

  The winds roar?

  He said he frequently read the composition to remind him of Emperor Meiji’s ‘peace-loving spirit’.43 Nagano and Sugiyama, taken aback, rose apologetically in turn to underline their agreement with Hara’s emphasis on the vital importance of peace negotiations as a priority. With that, the unusual and tense Imperial Conference drew to a close.

  The Emperor’s extraordinary intervention, and the evident disagreements over the relative weighting of diplomatic negotiations and military preparations, could not conceal the enormous significance of what had just received the Imperial Assent and, therefore, become national policy: that Japan was now virtually committed to war. If, within a matter of a mere few weeks, diplomatic negotiations–not yet even scheduled, and foreseen as having only scant chances of success–turned out to be predictably unfavourable, a decision for war would be confirmed. For all its drama, at the Imperial Conference, as at the Liaison Conference that had preceded it, the lack of fundamental opposition to this most probable, and highly fateful, development was striking. The compromise reached between those favouring early military action, mainly the armed services leaders, and those stressing the urgency of diplomacy was in essence a hollow one. While the military leaders forcefully advanced their case, paying little more than lip-service to diplomacy, the supporters of negotiations were weak, defensive and willing to accept the ultimate rationale of war before the winter against the United States. Moreover, no voice was raised to challenge the military logic, the limitations of Japanese mate

  ´riel and manpower in a long war, or the very inflexibility of the negotiating position as regards China or the southern advance to build the ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’. Though unease at the worrying prospect of war was manifest, and though there were plainly disagreements within Japan’s ruling elites, there was no division between ‘doves’ and ‘hawks’. The dividing line fell rather between those with cold feet and the fatalists.

  The latter, prominent among the military, took the view that war, whatever its outcome, was inevitable. The thinking was reflected in an answer prepared by the army General Staff for possible use at the Imperial Conference. To the question whether war with Britain and the United States was unavoidable, the prepared answer stated:

  The construction of a New Order in East Asia, centring on the Empire’s disposition of the China Incident, is unshakeable national policy. However, United States policy towards Japan rests on a status quo world view that would obstruct the Empire’s rise and expansion in East Asia in order to dominate the world and defend democracy. The policy of Japan is in fundamental contradiction to this. Collisions between the two will finally develop into war after periods of tension and relaxation. This may be said to have the nature of historical inevitability. So long as the United States does not alter its policies towards Japan, the realities of the situation will reduce the Empire to the point of no return where it cannot help but resort to war as the final means of self-preservation and self-defence. If for the sake of a temporary peace we were now to yield one step to the United States by a partial retreat from state policy, the strengthening of America’s military position will lead to its demanding further retreats of ten steps then a hundred. Ultimately, the Empire will wind up having to do whatever the United States wants it to do.44

  This, rather than the lukewarm underwriting of Konoe’s peace manoeuvres, represented the true face of thinking, not just of the army, but of the navy as well. It amounted to a fatalistic acceptance that Japan could only break free of dependence upon America by a military gamble that might well end in disaster. Given the dominance of such thinking in the Japanese elite, the chances of avoiding war were now slim indeed.

  III

  Losing no time once the Imperial Conference was over, Konoe left for an unofficial–and highly secret–meeting with the American ambassador, Joseph Grew, at the residence of Count Bunkichi Ito, head of one of Japan’s great noble families. The only other persons present were the Prime Minister’s private secretary, Ushiba Tomohiko, the United States embassy counsellor, Eugene H. Dooman (who had been born in Japan and had a deep knowledge of the country he had lived in for twenty-three years), and Konoe’s mistress. Konoe had managed to reach her by telephone while she was at the hairdressers and told her to be ready. A car would soon pick her up to take her to the secret rendezvous. With the servants dismissed for the evening to maintain absolute secrecy, her job was to look after the catering arrangements. She was introduced as the ‘daughter of the house’. With Ushiba and Dooman translating, Konoe and Grew talked frankly for three hours. Konoe stressed how anxious he was to have the meeting with Roosevelt, and that time was of the essence. He thought that, in direct talks with the President, he could resolve the immediate problems and prevent war. This was the absolute priority. A detailed agreem
ent could be worked out later by officials. He acknowledged his own responsibility for the ‘China Incident’, the Tripartite Pact and the deterioration of relations with the United States. He was even prepared, he suggested, to accept in principle the ‘Four Principles’, of the inviolability of territorial sovereignty, noninterference in the internal affairs of other countries, equality of commercial opportunity and preservation of the status quo in the pacific, laid down in April by Cordell Hull as the non-negotiable basis of American policy. Konoe thought he could carry the Japanese people with him. He was aware of the risk to his life–an assassination attempt by four armed nationalist fanatics only a few days later was foiled by security guards45–but regarded this as unimportant in the greater purpose of saving the peace. Grew and Dooman returned convinced of Konoe’s sincerity. Grew, in what he told Konoe would be ‘the most important cable’ of his career, exhorted Washington to approve the meeting with the President. But Cordell Hull remained deeply suspicious. And Stanley Hornbeck, his chief adviser, was as hostile as ever.46