by Toland, John
The Emperor asked if they had considered initiating negotiations. He already knew the answer—Togo had privately kept him informed. Suzuki struggled to his feet and allowed as how the government had given thought to negotiations. Togo gave a full account of Hirota’s conversations with Malik.
“When will an envoy be sent to the Soviet Union?” the Emperor asked. “Is there any chance of success?”
Togo estimated that envoys would probably arrive in Moscow before mid-July. He warned, however, that Japan would no doubt be forced to make numerous concessions to Stalin.
The Emperor turned to the two Army representatives, who had remained silent. Anami kept his word to Kido: he did not object to any attempt “to save the situation,” but expressed his fear that it would be construed as a sign of weakness if Japan appeared too anxious to end the war. Army Chief of Staff Umezu, on the other hand, was openly distressed: any proposal of peace would have incalculable impact at home and abroad and should be “treated with the utmost caution.”
“Does treating the proposal ‘with the utmost caution’ imply acting only after having struck another blow at the enemy?” the Emperor asked. Umezu said no. “It is all very well to be cautious, but if we are too cautious we will miss our opportunity.”
“Well, the sooner the better, then,” Umezu conceded.
It was the first palpable step toward peace.
On June 24 Hirota, at Togo’s bidding, once more visited Malik. This time Hirota abandoned the language of diplomacy and made a direct request to have the moribund Neutrality Pact superseded. Malik remained evasive however; there was no need for another pact, he said, since the previous one was still in effect.
In desperation, Hirota offered rubber, tin, lead and tungsten in exchange for oil. “If the Soviet Army and the Japanese Navy were to join forces,” he said, “Japan and the Soviet Union together would become the strongest force in the world!”
Understandably, Malik was not impressed; the bulk of the Imperial Navy was resting on the bottom of the sea. He replied that Russia didn’t have enough oil for her own needs. Brusquely he questioned the necessity for further meetings unless Japan came up with some “concrete plan.”
In less than a week Hirota returned with one in writing: in return for a new nonaggression treaty and oil, Japan promised to give Manchuria her independence and relinquish her fishing concessions in Soviet waters. Malik remained noncommittal; he would get back to Hirota when he got an answer from Moscow. Then he asked if it was true that Japan and America were conducting peace negotiations in Sweden.
“Of course not,” Hirota exclaimed. Japan would surely consult the Soviet Union before engaging in any negotiations at all.
Hirota’s ingenuous answer was close to the truth: Japan had turned down two offers to negotiate in Sweden, and the Fujimura channel in Berne had been abandoned as well. But a new, more prestigious peace venture was getting under way in Switzerland. It was inspired by a remark made by Lieutenant General Seigo Okamoto, the military attaché, to two Japanese bankers—Kojiro Kitamura and Kan Yoshimura, officials of the Bank for International Settlements in Basel. “Japan intends to fight to the end,” he had told them. “However, she can’t fight an extended war, and if there is any peace move on the part of the Americans, I would like to negotiate with them.”
Such words from a general in such a sensitive position had an electrifying effect on the two civilians. Perhaps it was possible, after all, to save Japan from total ruin? But how could the militarists back home be persuaded to countenance these negotiations?
“Chief of Staff Umezu and I are very close friends,” Okamoto said confidently. “In the Nomonhan Incident [on the Manchurian border in 1938] he was my Army commander. So he will listen to what I say.”
The bankers agreed to “sound out” the Americans. But who was there with sufficient prestige to act as go-between? They settled on Per Jacobsson, a director of their bank and known for his proficiency as a negotiator in international disputes. Like so many Swedes before him, Jacobsson was responsive. He was well thought of by the Americans, and easily made direct contact with a Dulles operative.
Jacobsson told the two bankers that the Americans fully appreciated the respect in which the royal family was held by the Japanese; that was why they had sedulously avoided bombing the Imperial Palace. The conditions for any peace talks would, of course, have to be unconditional surrender. Yoshimura objected to the term even in a purely military sense. It was better than continuing a hopeless war, argued Jacobsson. The Kaiser’s surrender in 1918 had prevented Germany from being totally occupied, as it was now, and had, furthermore, led to the retention of the German government. It was likely that both the Constitution and the Throne could be saved even after unconditional surrender.
On July 10 Jacobsson was back talking to the Americans, this time to Gero von S. Gaevernitz, Dulles’ German-born second-in-command who had masterminded the surrender of all German forces in Italy. Gaevernitz re-emphasized the necessity for unconditional surrender but also held out hope that the Japanese might be able to retain their Emperor. No, the latter item could not be put in writing. The only ones who could do that were President Truman and Churchill. It would take weeks.
“Could not Allen Dulles tell what his [own] impression is?” asked Jacobsson.
“He would not be authorized to do so.”
“Have you never done or said anything without authorization?”
Gaevernitz conceded the possibility. “But suppose Allen Dulles made such a statement and suppose a leakage occurred in Tokyo. The result might be that Dulles could no longer be used by the State Department.” Instead Gaevernitz proposed that Jacobsson exaggerate a bit and tell the Japanese that he was “in direct contact with the Americans responsible for these surrender negotiations.” He added that in his opinion “these talks ought not to be carried on with anybody else than those present. No other Americans. If the Japanese approached the U. S. Military Attaché that would only muddle matters. He might not want to go on with the talks. And no Swiss.”
Now the next step was up to the Japanese. But General Okamoto, whose words had instigated the conspiracy, refused to involve Tokyo until he was assured of the fate of the royal family and the Constitution. These restrictions did not discourage Jacobsson. He had just received word from the Americans that in a few days he was to meet Dulles himself in Germany, and confident of his own powers of persuasion, he felt he might persuade Dulles to allay Okamoto’s fears.
While these scattered efforts went on, the Japanese militarists completed their final plans for suicidal defense of the homeland—Operation Decision (KETSU-GO). More than ten thousand planes—most of them hastily converted trainers—had been collected. Two thirds of these would be thrown into the battle for Kyushu; the rest would be reserved to repel any landing near Tokyo. In the face of the bloody lessons of Tarawa and Saipan, the plan was to crush the Americans on the beaches with fifty-three infantry divisions and twenty-five brigades—a total of 2,350,000 troops. These would be backed by almost 4,000,000 Army and Navy civilian employees, a special garrison force of 250,000, and a 28,000,000 civilian militia. This last mammoth force would evolve from the national volunteer military service law for men from fifteen to sixty and women from seventeen to forty-five which had been unanimously passed at the final Diet session. The military spokesmen, whose impressive testimony had ensured passage of the bill, later showed Suzuki and his cabinet a display of the weapons that would be used by the volunteers: muzzle-loading rifles and bamboo sticks cut into spears stacked beside bows and arrows from feudal times.
3.
The negotiations initiated by the Japanese government itself were being ignored. A week had gone by and Moscow had not replied to Hirota’s overtures. It was the Emperor who lost his patience, and he sent for Prime Minister Suzuki on July 7. “It will not do to miss the opportunity of exploring the Soviet Union’s real intentions,” he said. Couldn’t Russia be asked directly to mediate? Why not dispatch th
e special envoy with a personal message from the Throne?
Konoye was the Emperor’s obvious choice for such a mission. He was summoned to Tokyo on July 12 from his summer home in Karuizawa. Dressed as a commoner in simple khakis—the national civilian uniform—he waited with mixed emotions in the obunko for the Emperor to ascend from his underground office. His Majesty’s appearance was unsettling—he looked pale, exhausted and ill-groomed. Contrary to court protocol, the two were alone. Kido’s hope that this would encourage frankness was borne out by Konoye’s reply to the question: What did the former prime minister think should be done about the war? “The people are tired of war,” Konoye replied candidly. “They all wish His Majesty would condescend to act in their behalf and do something to relieve their plight. There are even those who say His Majesty is to blame. It is necessary to end the war as soon as possible.”
The Emperor told him to make preparations to leave for Moscow. Though Konoye was privately opposed to relying on Russia as a go-between, he was willing to take any step to rectify his past mistakes. He brought up the occasion of the signing of the Tripartite Pact, when the Emperor had warned him that it would eventually lead to war with Britain and America. “At that time,” Konoye went on, “His Majesty graciously told me I would have to share the consequences with him, the good things as well as the bad. Now if it is the imperial command”—he was choked with emotion—“I am prepared to risk my life for His Majesty’s sake.”
As soon as Konoye left, the Emperor was rejoined by Kido. He turned to the Privy Seal and said with satisfaction, “This time he appears to be resolute.”
Even as the Emperor was sounding out Konoye, Ambassador Naotake Sato in Moscow was advised of the prince’s imminent arrival:
HIS MAJESTY IS EXTREMELY ANXIOUS TO TERMINATE THE WAR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, BEING DEEPLY CONCERNED THAT ANY FURTHER CONTINUATION OF HOSTILITIES WILL ONLY AGGRAVATE THE UNTOLD MISERIES OF THE MILLIONS UPON MILLIONS OF INNOCENT MEN AND WOMEN IN THE COUNTRIES AT WAR. SHOULD, HOWEVER, THE UNITED STATES AND GREAT BRITAIN INSIST ON UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER, JAPAN WOULD BE FORCED TO FIGHT TO THE BITTER END WITH ALL HER MIGHT IN ORDER TO VINDICATE HER HONOR AND SAFEGUARD HER NATIONAL EXISTENCE, WHICH, TO OUR INTENSE REGRET, WOULD ENTAIL FURTHER BLOODSHED. OUR GOVERNMENT THEREFORE DESIRES TO NEGOTIATE FOR A SPEEDY RESTORATION OF PEACE, PROMPTED AS WE SINCERELY ARE BY SOLICITUDE FOR THE WELFARE OF MANKIND. FOR THIS PURPOSE PRINCE KONOYE WILL PROCEED TO MOSCOW WITH A PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM THE EMPEROR AND IT IS REQUESTED THAT THE SOVIET GOVERNMENT KINDLY PROVIDE HIM WITH TRAVEL FACILITIES.
Sato knew the Russians well enough to doubt that anything good would come of this maneuver; at one time he had spent almost nine years in St. Petersburg and had been ambassador in Moscow since early 1942. In what way, he reasoned, would the Soviets profit from a speedy end to the war in the Pacific? Molotov had shown no interest in the Hirota-Malik conversations. Why would he be interested now? His assessment was confirmed as soon as he phoned the Kremlin and requested an appointment with the Foreign Commissar. Molotov was about to leave for an Allied conference in Germany and was too busy. Would Deputy Commissar Alexander Lozovsky do?
Lozovsky (his real name was A. S. Dridso) was as unco-operative as Malik had been with Hirota. He politely side-stepped every attempt Sato made to get prompt approval for Konoye’s visit. The most Lozovsky would say was that a reply would take at least several days.
Sato cabled a report to Togo, with the caustic observation that if Konoye was merely coming to enunciate “previous abstractions, lacking in concreteness,” he had better stay home, and the following day added some unpalatable advice:
… A PEACE TREATY BY NEGOTIATION IS SOMETHING WHICH CANNOT WIN THE SUPPORT OF THE SOVIET UNION. IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS, IF OUR COUNTRY TRULY DESIRES TO TERMINATE THE WAR, WE HAVE NO ALTERNATIVE BUT TO ACCEPT UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER OR SOMETHING VERY CLOSE TO IT.
The question of Japan’s surrender was also being pursued by Per Jacobsson and Allen Dulles in Germany. The OSS now had headquarters at Wiesbaden in a champagne factory that once supplied wine to Himmler. The stench was so penetrating, however, that Jacobsson’s meeting with Dulles and Gaevernitz took place in their billets, a snug two-story stucco house.
Dulles’ primary concern was whether the Japanese negotiators were sincere. Jacobsson was certain that they were and that the peace party in Japan was doing its best, but Dulles remained suspicious. “Isn’t this perhaps a trick of the war party to strengthen morale? To try to show how unreasonable the Americans are?”
Jacobsson resented the implication that he was an accessory to a deception. He curtly conceded that he did not have Dulles’ experience in negotiating but that he had a reputation for being trustworthy. “I even persuaded De Valera to negotiate with the British in 1935–37.”
They argued for hours in Stifling heat and retired with nothing resolved. At breakfast Jacobsson renewed his appeal to maintain the Throne—the crux, he felt, of the negotiations. The position of the Emperor should depend solely on how he conducted himself. He could disassociate himself from the military, and if he then came out with a peace move, something could be worked out. This way the American public would be able to distinguish between the royal family and the war clique.
Dulles could not, even by inference, commit his government to such a policy. If, however, the Emperor took the lead in effectuating a surrender and removed Japanese troops from foreign soil, Americans would be more prone to let him continue to reign. It was merely an opinion but one from a man of position, and Dulles’ parting words emphasized his sincerity. “We very much appreciate that you have come here,” he told Jacobsson. “Don’t think we do not.” Then he made a phone call to Potsdam, a city just west of Berlin, where President Truman and his advisers had just arrived to meet with Churchill and Stalin in the final conference of the war.
* The pine root oil project required a work force of millions to grub out the pine roots, as well as more than 37,000 small distillation units, each capable of producing 3 to 4 gallons of crude oil per day. Production eventually reached 70,000 barrels a month, but the process of refining was so difficult that little more than 3,000 barrels of aviation gasoline were produced by the end of the war.
† The samurai hero from Kyushu who arranged with rebel troops a peaceable transfer of the city of Edo in 1867.
‡ On April 5, 1945, the Soviet government had announced that it could not renew its pact with Japan because the situation had “basically altered” since it was signed. A Short History of the U.S.S.R. states that the pact “ran out on April 5, 1945.” It did not terminate until April 13, 1946, and according to its terms, a full year’s notice had to be given if either party did not wish to renew it. Unaware of the secret provisions in the Yalta agreement, the Japanese felt assured of a twelve-month period of grace, during which time they might get the Russians to sign a new pact. Perhaps the Soviet historians made a mistake; perhaps they were attempting to obscure the fact that when Russia declared war on Japan on August 8, 1945, she was violating a treaty.
§ Suzuki had submitted the speech to his cabinet two days earlier and was urged to eliminate the phrase “Sea of Peace,” and the reference to retribution; the Americans alone should be punished by the gods. But Suzuki ignored both suggestions. He told his son just before the Diet session that there would be no point in making a speech with such deletions; he hoped that the United States would take his words as a subtle peace feeler.
ǁ Top-secret information was often channeled to Kido and other proponents of peace by a special group of influential aides who were endeavoring to reform the Big Six into a peace body. The group was composed of Colonel Sei Matsutani, Suzuki’s first secretary; Toshikazu Kase, Togo’s secretary; Marquis Yasumasa Matsudaira, Kido’s aide and secretary; and the redoubtable Admiral Takagi, who represented Yonai. These four conferred frequently, occasionally changing the meeting place to prevent being tracked down by the kempeitai. Their favorite rendezvous was a secluded room in the Diet Building.
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“That Was Not Any Decision That You Had to Worry About”
1.
On the morning of July 15, Augusta, the cruiser that had brought Roosevelt to his historic meeting with Churchill off Newfoundland to promulgate the Atlantic Charter, docked at Antwerp with Harry S. Truman. A little after noon he was aboard the presidential plane, The Sacred Cow, bound for Potsdam and the meeting code-named “Terminal.”
War had forced an uneasy alliance between capitalism and Communism, and the advent of peace exposed the underlying antagonisms between East and West. The union forged at Yalta was already disintegrating. Stalin had broken his promise to honor the Declaration of Liberated Europe by attempting to communize all territory liberated by the Red Army in eastern Europe. He himself suspected the West of plotting behind his back: witness the “anti-Soviet” negotiations recently concluded by the Dulles group in North Italy.
There was no doubt how the new President intended to handle the Russians. Molotov had already found his frankness disconcerting. “The United States is prepared to carry out loyally all the agreements reached at Yalta and only asks that the Soviet government do the same,” he had told the Foreign Commissar at their first meeting in Washington. “But I want it clearly understood that this can be only on a basis of the mutual observation of agreements and not on the basis of a one-way street.”