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

by Toland, John

  The forbidden subject of peace was at last out in the open, but one of the military men apprehensively suggested that they keep their discussions within the confines of the room—lest the morale of the armed forces be “seriously shaken.” In this conspiratorial atmosphere they candidly discussed possible mediation by Switzerland, Sweden, China or the Vatican and concluded that these channels would undoubtedly end in the Allies’ demand for unconditional surrender. General Yoshijiro Umezu, the Army Chief of Staff, saw the Soviet Union with its power and prestige as the best possible go-between for Japan. General Korechika Anami, the War Minister, concurred: the Soviets would prefer a strong Japan to emerge from the war as a buffer between their Asian possessions and the United States.

  The undiplomatic Togo accused them of being unrealistic. “The matter of Japan must have been discussed at the Yalta Conference,” he said, “so it is probably hopeless to try and get the Soviets on our side now. Judging from past Russian actions [recently he had told Sakomizu, “The Soviet Union is not to be trusted”], I think it’s even going to be difficult to keep her from joining the war. It would be better, in my opinion, to negotiate directly with the United States for a cease-fire.”

  But Suzuki, who was still playing haragei, backed the generals. “Stalin seems to be like Saigo,† and I believe he will make every effort on our behalf if we ask him.” Togo, who was from Kyushu, saw no similarity but when it became evident that the Army was willing to negotiate through Russia alone, he agreed to write up a draft memorandum to that effect. He presented it to the Big Six on May 14:

  It should be clearly made known to Russia that she owes her victory over Germany to Japan, since we remained neutral, and that it would be to the advantage of the Soviets to help Japan maintain her international position, since they may have the United States as an enemy in the future.

  The memorandum warned that Russia, having achieved her victory over Germany, might demand a price “much beyond our imagination,” and Japan should be prepared to give up Port Arthur, Dairen, the railways in South Manchuria and the northern portions of the Kuriles.

  Togo expected opposition from the military at the prospect of giving up so much territory, but the Big Six approved the draft unanimously and instructed him to initiate negotiations. Togo reckoned that the straightest line to Moscow would go through a former premier and foreign minister, Koki Hirota, who had many ties with diplomats of the Soviet Union. Togo asked him to sound out the Soviet ambassador, Yakov Malik, who was staying at Gohra, a resort town in the Hakone area, a two-hour drive from Tokyo.

  Hirota was to try to convince Malik to reverse the recent Soviet decision not to extend their Neutrality Pact,‡ and ask for help in ending the war. The devastating May 25 fire bombing of Tokyo delayed Hirota’s departure, and it was not until June 3 that he finally reached Gohra. That evening he strolled around the mountain village like any other vacationer and stopped, as if by chance, at the Gohra Hotel, a comfortable European-type establishment, to chat with Malik.

  “It is very fortunate that Japan and the Soviet Union have not exchanged blows in this war,” Hirota said affably, and congratulated Malik on his country’s victory over Hitler. He assured Malik that the Japanese people earnestly desired friendly relations with both the Soviet Union and China. Malik was guarded—he implied that there were those in Japan who showed considerable antagonism to the Soviet Union—but he did invite Hirota to dinner at the hotel the next evening.

  Over the table Hirota concentrated on Japan’s desire to resuscitate the Neutrality Pact. “Japan wishes to promote friendly relations with the Soviet Union even before it terminates. That’s why we are currently trying to figure out how to go about it.”

  Malik replied that Russia had consistently maintained a peaceful policy but that her distrust of Japan was based on the many belligerent acts of the past and the anti-Soviet feeling in Japan.

  Hirota pointed out that there was “an increasing number of people who are beginning to understand the attitude of the U.S.S.R. … Japan wishes to find means to maintain peace with the Soviet Union for a long time to come.” When Malik wondered if this was simply Hirota’s personal opinion, the answer was: “I want you to know that what I just told you reflects the attitude of the Imperial Government as well as the people.”

  Malik pondered this for a moment, then said he wanted a few days to think the matter over before giving an answer. Hirota was encouraged; he had dealt with the Russians before and knew they were inherently cautious. He reported to Togo that “the atmosphere of the talks was friendly, that the Russian side responded satisfactorily and the conversations looked hopeful.”

  But hopes for a negotiated peace were dashed the following morning—it was June 6—at another Big Six meeting when Togo was handed a document composed by the Supreme Command entitled The Fundamental Policy to be Followed Henceforth in the Conduct of the War. It demanded an official reaffirmation of carrying the war to its ultimate conclusion:

  With a faith born of eternal loyalty as our inspiration, we shall—thanks to the advantages of our terrain and the unity of our nation—prosecute the war to the bitter end in order to uphold our kokutai [national essence], protect the imperial land and achieve our goals of conquest.

  There followed a list of steps that would have to be taken, including all-out preparations for defense of the mainland and organization of a national volunteer army. Togo read on in consternation. No one had consulted him about this. If accepted, it ensured Japan’s destruction. Ironically, Sakomizu’s devastating report was attached, and items from it had been quoted out of context with the ostensible purpose of giving weight to the Supreme Command’s position.

  Togo stood up painfully—he had been suffering from pernicious anemia for five years. “Going through these items,” he said, waving the Sakomizu report, “I can find no reason for continuing the war. As far as I can see, there is no relation between your draft proposal and the detailed items submitted.” He ridiculed all the Supreme Command’s theories, including the one that the nearer the battlefield came to Japan, the more advantageous it would be. And what about the strained will of the hard-pressed people?

  At this Admiral Toyoda lost his composure. “Even if the Japanese people are weary of the war, we must fight to the last man!”

  General Anami was furious. “If we cannot fulfill our responsibility as advisers to the Throne,” he exclaimed, “we should offer our sincere apologies by committing hara-kiri!”

  Another hour passed. Without any support Togo could no longer delay the decision, and the resolution to fight to the end was passed. On his way out, Togo confronted Admiral Yonai. “I expected support from you today,” he complained, “but I got none.”

  Two days later, on June 8, an imperial conference was convened to present the Supreme Council’s resolution to the Emperor for his approval. It was held in the Imperial Household Ministry because of fire damage to the Palace. In attendance, besides the Emperor, were the Big Six, President of the Privy Council Hiranuma, the Munitions Minister, the Agriculture and Forestry Minister, and four secretaries including Sakomizu.

  Unprepared for what he was hearing, the Emperor sat silent on his dais “with a grave look on his face.” Togo alone expressed reservations but they were muted, apparently out of consideration for His Majesty, and at the conclusion of the stilted discussion, even he did not respond to Suzuki’s request for summary opinions on the new policy. “Well, then,” said the Prime Minister, “I conclude that no one has any particular objection to the plan.”

  The thirteen members rose, bowed to the Emperor and backed out of the room. As the Emperor emerged from the meeting Marquis Kido was puzzled by the concern on his face and wondered why. “They have made this decision,” His Majesty replied and showed the Privy Seal a copy of the new policy. It was as great a surprise to Kido as it had been to Togo, and it undermined his faith in Suzuki. Now it was apparent that he could no longer depend on the aging Prime Minister, even with the support of Togo
, to take the initiative for peace. As confidential adviser to the Throne, tradition required Kido to remain above politics. In the past he had circumvented this restriction indirectly, but now somehow he had to take positive action.

  The problem seemed insoluble. All that afternoon and into the night he searched for a solution. Ideally the initiative should come from the Army, whose power could thwart other peace movements. The solution was inescapable: there was one source no one could oppose—the Throne. Kido decided to confront the Emperor with candor. He felt that in the crisis, such an unprecedented approach was necessary to persuade His Majesty to end the war by personal intervention. At last the Privy Seal dropped off to sleep.

  In the morning he marshaled his arguments in a paper entitled Tentative Plan to Cope with the Situation. At 1:30 P.M. he presented himself to the Emperor. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “I consider any peace move almost impossible, but I will, with His Majesty’s gracious permission, try to address myself to the problem. These are my ideas.”

  The Emperor studied the document. The first four paragraphs summed up the situation: reports on production indicated that it was unlikely war could be waged by the end of the year; further, the devastation wrought by the bombings, aggravated by the growing food shortage, would create serious unrest throughout the nation.

  5. Based on the above, I believe Japan must resolutely move toward a resumption of peace by terminating hostilities. How shall this objective be attained? That is the question which calls for cautious study.

  6. It is almost certain, in the light of various announcements, speeches and articles made public by the enemy in their peace offensive, that the enemy’s main object is to overthrow the so-called gumbatsu, that is, military clique.

  7. Although it is customary to start negotiations with a proposal of peace from the military, followed by negotiations on the part of the government, this would be almost impossible at the present stage in Japan’s current condition. Moreover, if we wait for a more favorable opportunity, it may be too late. Then Japan would share Germany’s fate and her minimum demands—the security of the royal family and retention of our national essence—might not even be met.

  8. Exceptional and unprecedented measures have to be taken—and we do so with awe and trepidation—but I believe the only possible course is to ask His Majesty to intervene for the sake of the people and initiate termination of hostilities in the following manner:

  9. Start negotiations with an intermediary power with His Majesty’s personal message.…

  10. The message should cite the Imperial Rescript on the Declaration of War [December 8, 1941] and emphasize His Majesty’s constant desire for peace and his decision to end the war—bearing the unbearable in view of the heavy damages we have sustained in the war—on reasonable terms. The minimum peace terms are:

  Honorable peace (this may, inevitably, be the minimum term) If guarantee is obtained that the Pacific be truly pacific … Japan will renounce her right of occupation and claim of leadership for all occupied areas, provided that the nations and peoples therein attain their independence. The Japanese armed forces in these occupied areas will be withdrawn by Japan on her own accord.…

  11. As for armament limitation, Japan must be prepared to meet demands for a pretty heavy reduction. We must be contented with minimum armament for national defense.

  This is my personal opinion, candidly expressed. It contains only the essential points.

  The Emperor appeared to be “greatly satisfied” by what he read, and Kido asked permission to discuss the proposal with the Prime Minister and other leaders; he would need the support of key men in the Cabinet before the Emperor could be openly involved. His Majesty approved: “Do it at once.”

  Kido, however, felt it was wiser to wait for a few days. The Diet was in session and the entire Cabinet was too involved in politics. On the morning of June 13, the final day of the proceedings, Kido intercepted Suzuki on his way to the Diet Building. He briefly outlined his peace plan and got a promise from Suzuki to return as soon as the Diet was adjourned.

  In the meantime Kido talked to Admiral Yonai. He was the only one of the four military chiefs the Privy Seal was sure would not betray the peace plan. He asked the admiral to read the proposal. Yonai reacted with his usual caution. “Of course, very good idea,” he said with restrained enthusiasm, “but I wonder how the Prime Minister really feels about the war?”

  So did Kido.

  The object of their conjecture was just rising from his seat to address the House of Peers and House of Representatives. Suzuki was far more committed to peace than he had indicated to Kido, and was about to prove it in public. He began by referring to a speech he had made in San Francisco twenty-seven years before when he commanded the training fleet. His listeners, who were prepared to indulge the reminiscences of an old man, were shocked by the point he was making.

  “The gist of my speech was: ‘Japan is not warlike. She is the most peace-loving nation in the world. There is no reason why she and the United States should come to war, but if they do, the conflict will be a long one and end disastrously. The Pacific Ocean, as the name suggests, should be the Sea of Peace with no troop transports permitted on its surface. However, if such an unhappy event should come to pass, both sides will be meted out punishment by the gods.’ ”§

  A wave of indignation swept the vast hall. The word “peace” and the desirability to achieve it had been publicly proclaimed by the head of the government, and the effect was not mitigated by Suzuki’s concluding exhortation that the nation must fight to the end and that unconditional surrender would mean the ruin of the Japanese race. As he turned from the podium the hostility erupted into boos, threatening gestures, and cries of “Down with the Suzuki Cabinet!” One Diet member, however, elbowed his way to Cabinet Secretary Sakomizu. “Now I understand what the Prime Minister means in his heart,” he said tearfully. “Please continue!”

  If Suzuki heard the jeers, he ignored them as he absently waved at the audience. Forcing his way through the pressing crowd, he started for the Imperial Household Ministry to make the traditional report to the Emperor. Then he proceeded down the corridor to Kido’s office, where he read the Privy Seal’s unique plan in its entirety. Suzuki promised to do everything he could to further its aims, but like Yonai, he seemed to have some reservations: “I wonder what Admiral Yonai thinks about all this?”

  “Yonai said the same thing about you,” Kido told him. This struck Suzuki as comical, but Kido was perturbed. How was it that at such a critical point in the war neither the Prime Minister nor his Navy Minister knew what the other “had in his stomach”?

  Suzuki’s pledge to help Kido did not alter his public stance. At a press conference the following morning he spoke like a militarist. “If our hundred million people fight with the resolve to sacrifice their lives, I believe it is not at all impossible to attain the great goal of preserving the essence of Japan.… None of our fighting men can understand how it is that Germany, with such a large army left, was not able to hold out until the end. In quantities of arms and supplies, we may not compare favorably with the enemy, but our determination as we stand on the firing line is peculiar to us alone. With this formidable strength we must fight to the end, the entire population uniting as one body.”

  Kido now summoned the third member of the Cabinet whose support was vital, Foreign Minister Togo. The Privy Seal did not show him the written proposal but confided to him that the Emperor was deeply disturbed by the decision presented to him at the latest imperial conference. Togo pointed out that he had opposed the suicidal Army plan at the Big Six meeting.

  “I know,” said Kido. “I have some ideas of my own about peace and I need your help.” He indicated that the Emperor might possibly make a public statement calling for peace.

  Togo was ready to do anything he could, and said he would be extremely gratified “if the Emperor were to say now that we should work to end the war without delay, for there could be
no greater aid to the attainment of my purpose than such words from the Throne.”

  It was not Kido’s intention to involve the other three military chiefs, but on impulse one day he found himself telling War Minister Anami about his proposal. It happened as a result of Anami’s casual remark as he left the Privy Seal’s office: “I hear you’re resigning. Is it true?”

  Perhaps the fact that they had once been very intimate—Anami was military aide to the Emperor when Kido was chief secretary to the Privy Seal—led Kido to say, “I’m not resigning, but if I tell you what’s on my mind you may ask me to resign.”

  “What is it?” Anami wanted to know.

  Kido revealed the entire peace plan and the part the Throne would play in it. His instinct was sound. Anami was not antagonistic; in fact, he “agreed in principle” with the Privy Seal’s line of action. He had considerable reservations, however, about its timing. It would be more advantageous, he pointed out, for Japan to sue for peace “after the United States has sustained heavy losses in the Mainland Beach Operation.”

  Then Kido belittled the fact that thousands of planes had been collected to be thrown against the invaders. “When they are gone, what will you do?” Since Japan did not have more strength than to destroy one third of the American landing force, it would be better to come to terms before the invasion. Anami recognized the authority of Kido’s tactical conclusions—his own secret filesǁ—and although he would not support the Kido plan, he promised not to oppose it “too vigorously” before the Big Six.

  The unexpected opportunity to sound out Anami had been “assistance from Heaven.” Now Kido felt he had the backing he needed to confront the Supreme Council. On June 22 the Emperor, at the instigation of his Privy Seal, abruptly summoned the Big Six to the obunko annex. He signified the unique informality of the occasion by speaking first. “This is not an imperial command,” he said simply, “but merely a discussion. At the last meeting of the Supreme Council it was decided to adopt a new policy and prepare the homeland for defense. But now I have deemed it necessary to consider a move toward peace, an unprecedented one, and I ask you to take steps at once to realize my wish.” General Umezu and Admiral Toyoda, the two men Kido had not consulted, were staggered.