The Rising Sun: The Decline and Fall of the Japanese Empire, 1936-1945 (Modern Library War)

by Toland, John

  The Grew interpretation later gave the Hornbeck group an excuse for labeling Konoye a liar.

  a Literally, “sleep on kindling and lick gall.” “This phrase is Chinese in origin,” Marquis Kido explained in a personal letter. “In the dictionary it says: ‘to suffer hardships and privations repeatedly in order to take revenge’; however, here it means to ask the people to endure a life of patience and austerity in order to accomplish our purposes. Not too long ago, after the Sino-Japanese War, when Japan was forced to return the Liaotung Peninsula by the Triple Intervention [of Germany, Russia and France], this phrase was first used in Japan to mean that we were to endure a life of patience and austerity until someday our national strength burgeoned and we would rise again.”

  b A Buddhist temple located on a hill at the edge of a ravine in Kyoto.

  c Pronounced approximately like Tohngo. In Japanese the sound of g, except when it is the first letter of a word, is somewhat similar to ng.

  5

  The Fatal Note

  1.

  Even though the Russians didn’t yet know the results of the imperial conference of July 2, one of their agents, Hotsumi Ozaki, had just heard a rumor of the decision to go south instead of attacking Siberia. For confirmation his chief, Richard Sorge, sent him to Manchuria, where he discovered that the Kwantung Army’s secret order for three thousand railroad workers to help mount an attack on the Red Army had inexplicably been reduced to practically nothing. On October 4 Sorge radioed this information to Moscow, along with the latest diplomatic developments:

  ACCORDING TO INFORMATION OBTAINED FROM VARIOUS JAPANESE OFFICIAL SOURCES, IF NO SATISFACTORY REPLY IS RECEIVED FROM THE U.S. TO JAPAN’S REQUEST FOR NEGOTIATIONS BY THE 15TH OR 16TH OF THIS MONTH, THERE WILL EITHER BE A GENERAL RESIGNATION OR A DRASTIC REORGANIZATION OF THE JAPANESE GOVERNMENT. IN EITHER EVENT … THERE WILL BE WAR WITH THE U. S. THIS MONTH OR NEXT MONTH. THE SOLE HOPE OF THE JAPANESE AUTHORITIES IS THAT AMBASSADOR GREW WILL PRESENT SOME SORT OF ELEVENTH-HOUR PROPOSAL THROUGH WHICH NEGOTIATIONS CAN BE OPENED.

  WITH RESPECT TO THE SOVIET UNION, TOP-RANKING ELEMENTS ARE GENERALLY AGREED THAT, IF GERMANY WINS, JAPAN CAN TAKE OVER HER GAINS IN THE FAR EAST IN THE FUTURE AND THAT THEREFORE IT IS UNNECESSARY FOR JAPAN TO FIGHT RUSSIA. THEY FEEL THAT IF GERMANY PROVES UNABLE TO DESTROY THE SOVIET GOVERNMENT AND FORCE IT OUT OF MOSCOW, JAPAN SHOULD BIDE HER TIME UNTIL NEXT SPRING. IN ANY EVENT, THE AMERICAN ISSUE AND THE QUESTION OF THE ADVANCE TO THE SOUTH ARE FAR MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE NORTHERN PROBLEM.

  This remarkably accurate information, which helped influence the Red Army to transfer most of its troops from Manchuria to the western front, was the last sent by Sorge. A week later a member of his ring, Yotoku Miyagi, a thirty-eight-year-old artist with tuberculosis, was arrested by chance when a woman who had been picked up in a general anti-Communist drive by the tokko (“Thought” police) revealed that she had known him in America, where both had been members of the Communist party. Miyagi had become a Communist out of resentment for “the inhuman discrimination practiced against the Asiatic races” in the United States. He had in his possession a study of Japan’s oil-stock level in Manchuria and other top-secret material, but refused to talk for a day. During a lunch break, in a unique try at suicide for a Japanese, Miyagi suddenly dived out a third-story window. A detective instinctively plunged after him. Both landed in a tree and Miyagi suffered a broken leg. After that he told everything he knew about Sorge’s setup.

  This resulted in Ozaki’s arrest three days later. Both he and Miyagi were supposed to rendezvous with their chief that night, and when they failed to appear, Sorge suspected that they had been caught. As he gloomily drank cup after cup of sake, he became more certain than ever that his mission in Japan was over; recently he had drafted a message to Moscow requesting that he be sent to Russia or Germany “to embark on new activities.”

  As it happened, Sorge himself was safe for the moment. The Minister of the Interior was alarmed lest the resulting publicity reveal that Ozaki was “a close friend” of Konoye’s (the connection was tenuous; he was merely an acquaintance and had gained access to the prince’s celebrated discussion group, the Breakfast Club, through his classmate Ushiba), thus causing the government to fall. But since Konoye resigned the following day, this was no longer a consideration. Permission was granted to pick up Sorge.

  Before dawn the next morning—the day Tojo was to be installed formally as prime minister—Sorge was arrested in bed and taken in pajamas and slippers to the Toriizaka police station. Ambassador Ott protested to the Foreign Ministry and demanded to see Sorge. When they met, Sorge seemed embarrassed. They talked of trivialities for a few moments, then Ott asked if Sorge had anything else on his mind. After a pause he said, “Mr. Ambassador, this is our final farewell. Give my regards to your wife and family.”

  At last Ott realized he had been betrayed by his friend. The two stared at each other silently, and once Sorge was taken away, the shaken Ott told the official in charge, “For the good of our two countries, investigate this case thoroughly. Get to the bottom of it.”

  At the liaison conference of October 23, Navy Chief of Staff Nagano observed somberly, “We were supposed to have reached a decision in October and yet here we are.” The Navy was consuming four hundred tons of oil per hour. “The situation is urgent. We must have a decision at once, one way or the other.”

  The Army was in agreement. “There’s already been a month’s delay,” Sugiyama said. “We can’t waste four or five days in study. We must rush forward!”

  Prime Minister Tojo’s answer could have come from Konoye. “I can understand why the Supreme Command is urging haste, but the government prefers to study the matter carefully and responsibly, since we have new ministers of Navy, Finance and Foreign Affairs. We should make up our minds whether to accept the September 6 decision or look at it from a different point of view. Does the Supreme Command object?”

  No, said Sugiyama and Nagano.

  Tojo had met his first formal test with authority. Kido’s instinct had been correct; Tojo had proved he could cope with a disgruntled military.

  Subsequent liaison conferences during the next ten days were devoted to the negotiations in Washington and the chances of success in case of war. The members agreed to maintain their stand on the Tripartite Pact and to honor Konoye’s promise to adhere to Hull’s four principles. The only discord was on the withdrawal of troops from China. Tojo, so adamant with Konoye, suggested that “as a diplomatic gesture” they should offer to withdraw all troops in about twenty-five years. Now it was Sugiyama who argued Tojo’s former position. He adamantly refused time and again to make any concession. The Prime Minister found stronger support than he wanted from Foreign Minister Shigenori Togo, who said “it would be better to withdraw troops right away,” and then that “everything would turn out for the better” if the American proposals were accepted, almost intact.

  These suggestions were so disruptive—in fact, several thought Togo had lost his mind—that a motion was made for an adjournment until the next day. This was agreeable to Togo, who welcomed the chance “to get my mind in order.”

  It was Tojo who insisted that they continue. Every minute counted and a decision must be made, if they had to stay up all night. He urged them to study three courses: avoid war even at the expense of great hardship, or as Kido had put it, gashin-shotan—“to sleep on kindling and lick gall”; decide on war at once; or continue negotiations but be ready to go to war if necessary. Personally, he added, he was hoping that diplomacy would bring peace.

  Sugiyama and Tsukada left the prolonged meeting, bewildered and distressed by Tojo’s change in attitude; he was talking more like a civilian than a general. Tojo returned to his office and discussed the three alternatives with his favorite sounding board, Kenryo Sato, now a major general, who said an immediate declaration of war was folly. The Kido solution, gashin-shotan, would solve neither the China Incident nor the basic differences between America and Japan; neverth
eless, this course would have to be taken if the Navy officially admitted lack of confidence. “If there is any real prospect of winning, I am of course for war. But if there’s no chance of victory, it would be nonsense to start it.”

  Tojo needed little persuasion. He told Sato to induce Chief of Staff Sugiyama privately not to insist on immediate war at the crucial liaison conference the next morning. But Sugiyama answered with some sarcasm, “Tell the War Minister the only possible answer is war.”

  The conference was set for nine o’clock, but Tojo asked Sugiyama to see him earlier; he was hoping that a personal confrontation would lead to a compromise. At seven-thirty Sugiyama and his deputy, the outspoken Tsukada, arrived at the official residence.

  “The Emperor,” Tojo began, “is strongly opposed to abandoning diplomacy and starting a war in the south.” He doubted that Sugiyama’s views would change the Emperor’s mind. “If you feel confident, please see him yourself. I have no objection.”

  The General Staff felt that the negotiations with America were at a dead end, Sugiyama replied, and as long as the United States remained stubborn there was neither opportunity nor need to continue the talks. There was but one solution—war! Then he berated Tojo, a military man, for siding with the civilians. Tojo made no reply; he was the Prime Minister, and secondarily War Minister.

  The conference—it was the sixty-sixth since their inception in 1937—started on November 1 at the Palace in the Imperial Courtroom amidst an atmosphere of apprehension. With the fate of the nation in the balance, a prime minister was again at odds with the Army, which still held the voting majority. Tojo said he would like to discuss the three alternatives. What about the first—gashin-shotan?

  One of his civilian supporters, Finance Minister Kaya, answered with two questions: “What if we go along as now, without war, and in three years the American fleet attacks us? Would the Navy have any prospect of winning then or not?”

  “Who knows?” said Admiral Nagano.

  “Will the U. S. fleet come and attack us or not?” pressed Kaya.

  “I think the chances are fifty-fifty,” said Nagano.

  If it came, Kaya insisted, could the Navy win?

  Nagano still refused to commit the Navy. “We can either avoid war now and go to war in three years; or go to war immediately and plan for it to continue for the next three years.” It would be better, he said, to start war at once while Japan held the advantage.

  Kaya reminded him that Nagano himself had admitted that victory was not certain if the war lasted for three years. “What’s more, I firmly believe there is little chance of the United States’ attacking us and I must conclude it would not be a good idea for us to go to war at the present.”

  Another civilian, Foreign Minister Togo, supported him on both counts.

  “Remember the old saying, ‘Don’t count on what won’t happen,’ ” said Nagano. “The future is a question mark and anything can happen.” Within three years America would be strong in Southeast Asia.

  “All right, so when can we go to war and win it?” Kaya goaded him.

  “At once,” Nagano replied emphatically. “An opportune time for war will not come later!”

  The conflict should be started at the beginning of December, said Sugiyama, but negotiations with America should be carried on to give Japan a military advantage. To Kaya, this was totally repugnant. “We have come to a great turning point in our 2,600-year history. The fate of our country hangs in the balance. It’s simply outrageous for us to resort to diplomatic trickery!”

  “We can’t do such a thing!” Togo protested.

  The Navy Vice Chief of Staff ignored their outbursts. “Speaking for the Navy, you can negotiate until November 20 [Tokyo time].”

  The Army was not willing to wait that long—their deadline was November 13.

  Togo was indignant. “I can’t carry on diplomacy as foreign minister unless there is a chance of success. I simply cannot accept deadlines or conditions that will hinder hope of success. It’s obvious you’ll have to give up the idea of starting a war.”

  Prime Minister Tojo somehow remained calm, backing Togo and Kaya as often as he did the military. Gradually the Army began concentrating on Togo, and even tried to pressure him during the breaks. He was told, “If the Foreign Minister opposes war, all we have to do is replace him.” After lunch, which was served at the conference table, Togo continued to berate the Army. “November 13 is too outrageous,” he said. “The Navy puts it at November 20.”

  “Until November 13 at the latest!” said Tsukada. A delay would create confusion among operational units.

  It was an admiral who objected to such rigid thinking. Navy Minister Shigetaro Shimada didn’t see why negotiations couldn’t continue until November 29.

  “Keep quiet, please!” exclaimed General Tsukada. “Your suggestion is out of order.” He turned to Togo. “What deadline would you like?”

  The discussion got out of hand. Tojo called a break. During the twenty-minute recess the Army conferred and concluded that negotiations could continue, if necessary, until November 30.

  When the meeting reconvened, Prime Minister Tojo tried for one more concession. “Can’t we make the deadline December 1?” he said. Psychologically it might give the diplomats much more time. “Can’t you let negotiations go on just one more day?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Tsukada. “We absolutely cannot go beyond November 30.”

  “Tsukada-san,” Admiral Shimada asked, “until exactly what time on November 30? Till midnight?” This would, in effect, put the deadline where Tojo wanted it—December 1.

  “All right,” Tsukada conceded, “until midnight.”

  With the deadline for negotiations tentatively agreed upon, the burden of convincing the Americans to come to agreement would rest on Foreign Minister Togo. He said he had drawn up two proposals to be sent to America. Proposal A was a somewhat watered-down version of their previous offers. In it the Army agreed to withdraw all troops from China, including those left as defense against Communism, by 1966. Proposal B was to be used in case Secretary of State Hull turned down the first, and constituted a modus vivendi, a temporary arrangement pending a final settlement, to be used as a last resort. It was designed to allay Hull’s suspicions about the drive into Indochina and assure him that Japan was abandoning any idea of a military conquest of Southeast Asia.

  In Proposal B, Japan promised not to make any more aggressive moves south, and once peace was restored with China or a general peace in the Pacific established, all troops would be pulled out of Indochina. In the meantime Japan would at once move all troops in south Indochina to the north of that country. In return, America was to sell Japan one million tons of aviation gasoline.

  Proposal B was unacceptable. “Stationing troops in French Indochina keeps China under control, and also enables us to get raw materials in the south on a fifty-fifty basis,” said Sugiyama. “Moreover, it places us in a stronger position strategically toward the United States as well as in settling the China Incident. Coming to an agreement with the United States doesn’t mean they will give us materials. We’re against Proposal B.” Such stubborn opposition forced Togo to come out in the open and say he really didn’t think “A” would have much chance in Washington with such a short time left to negotiate. The only realistic hope of salvaging peace was to narrow the negotiations to the south. “You’re putting me in a difficult position if you tell me to do something that can’t be done.”

  A few—including Secretary-General Hoshino and Finance Minister Kaya—realized that he was right, but the Army remained adamant. “We absolutely cannot pull out our troops from southern Indochina!” Tsukada exclaimed and repeated Sugiyama’s arguments. “Besides, withdrawal of these troops would place our supply routes for all materials from the south at the mercy of the Americans, who could cut them off whenever they wanted.” It would merely delay the crisis for another six months and by then—because of the weather—Japan’s chances to win a dec
ision by arms would have come and gone. “Therefore, Proposal B is out. Just present Proposal A.”

  For hours the Army refused to accede to any suggestion of withdrawal from Indochina, while insisting that Hull be asked to unfreeze Japanese assets and cease his sabotage of a peaceful settlement of the China Incident.* It was a ridiculous proposition and Togo thought he could not possibly negotiate on such terms. In desperation he burst out, “We can’t carry on diplomacy—but we still shouldn’t start a war!”

  “That’s why we should go ahead with Proposal A!” Tsukada shouted back.

  “Yes,” said Nagano, “we should just go ahead and negotiate with Proposal A.”

  Confronted as he was by combined Army-Navy opposition, Foreign Minister Togo still refused to back down on Indochina. How could he negotiate without any ammunition? The shouting reached such a peak that one of the secretaries—it was General Muto—proposed a ten-minute recess, then helped Tojo herd the three other Army men into an anteroom to reason with them. “If the negotiations fail on account of the Army’s resistance to the Foreign Minister’s proposal,” Muto asked, “can the Army take the responsibility?” Tojo reminded them that the Emperor had called for “blank paper” and they should bow to his wishes. Finally Sugiyama reluctantly acquiesced, but only if Proposal A failed. He was still concerned about how the radicals in the Army might be kept from rebelling when they learned that Japan had made such a humiliating concession.

  “I can handle that,” said Tojo. The discussion simply could not go on and on. It was already after midnight.