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

by Toland, John

  “I have never been talked to like that in my life!” Molotov exclaimed angrily.

  “Carry out your agreements, and you won’t get talked to like that,” said Truman.

  Truman’s goals for “Terminal” were clear. He wanted to establish just political and economic principles for the occupation of Germany, enforce the Declaration on Liberated Europe (particularly in reference to Poland) and solve the reparations problem. All of these would be on the agenda of the plenary sessions. But termination of the war in Asia would require equal though unofficial attention. To Truman, this “most urgent” problem at Potsdam could not be settled around the formal conference table but required a private encounter with Stalin. At the behest of Marshall and MacArthur he was to insinuate the Soviets into the war against Japan as soon as possible. He was to do this even with the secret knowledge that an atomic bomb would soon be tested in New Mexico.

  He had brought with him a draft declaration calling on the Japanese to surrender. It had been instigated by a diplomat who had strived to prevent the war, Joseph Grew. Appalled by reports of the fire bombings in Tokyo, he had called on Truman on May 29 (he was Acting Secretary of State while Stettinius attended the United Nations conference in San Francisco) with the plea that the President issue a proclamation informing the Japanese that unconditional surrender did not mean the end of the imperial system. Without such assurance, he said, it was doubtful that the Japanese would ever surrender. He was supported by Far Eastern experts in the State Department, such as Eugene Dooman, Joseph Ballantine and Professor George Blakeslee.

  “I’ve already given thought to the matter,” Truman replied, “and it seems to me a sound idea.” He wanted Ambassador Grew to consult the Joint Chiefs and the Secretaries of War and Navy before a final decision was made.

  Stimson and Forrestal “liked the idea,” and so did Marshall, but the Chief of Staff feared that a public proclamation “at this time would be premature.” Stimson thought the wording would depend on the successful testing of the atom bomb. The Secretary of War had become increasingly preoccupied over the use of the bomb. He headed a group of prominent civilians known as the Interim Committee which included three noted scientists and which had been set up to advise the President on the political, military and scientific questions that the unleashing of atomic energy would raise. He put his conclusions to the committee, which met two days later with General Marshall and a four-man advisory Scientific Panel. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is our responsibility to recommend action that may turn the course of civilization. In our hands we expect soon to have a weapon of wholly unprecedented destructive power. Today’s prime fact is war. Our great task is to bring this war to a prompt and successful conclusion. We may assume that our new weapon puts in our hands overwhelming power. It is our obligation to use this power with the best wisdom we can command. To us now the matter of first importance is how our use of this new weapon will appear in the long view of history.”

  One of the Scientific Panel members, Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the physicist responsible for the design and testing of the bomb, estimated that a single atomic explosion would probably kill twenty thousand people. The mention of this figure appalled Stimson. The objective, he interjected, should be military destruction, not the lives of civilians. For example, Kyoto, one of the cities on a list of targets, should not be bombed; it was a cultural center and its shrines were revered. His knowledge of the ancient city was fortuitous; recently the son of a friend, a student of the Orient, had told him at length of the charms of Kyoto.

  There was no question in General Marshall’s mind that the bomb should be used to end the war quickly and save American lives, but he did not want to use the prestige of his office to influence the committee. He said that he hoped the bomb would not have to be dropped; it would prematurely reveal to the Soviets the new power America possessed and diminish its deterrent effect in the postwar world.

  When they adjourned for lunch Dr. Arthur Holly Compton, another of the consulting scientists, turned to Stimson on his left and asked if some nonmilitary demonstration couldn’t be arranged to impress the Japanese. The possibility was debated at the table. If an isolated place in Japan were announced in advance, the plane carrying the bomb might be shot down. Moreover, what if the demonstration bomb didn’t work? Innumerable things could go wrong. And if a test were made on neutral ground, the Japanese leaders might think it was faked. The conclusion was that the bomb should be used as soon as possible “against such a target as to make clear its devastating strength”—without warning.

  The three scientists on the Interim Committee—Vannevar Bush, James B. Conant and Karl Compton—concurred but a number of other scientists working on the bomb were dismayed at their recommendation. They were led by Dr. James Franck, a refugee from Germany and a Nobel-prize physicist. He and seven other well-known scientists submitted a report to the committee:

  … If the United States were to be the first to release this new means of indiscriminate destruction upon mankind, she would sacrifice public support throughout the world, precipitate the race for armaments, and prejudice the possibility of reaching an international agreement on the future control of such weapons.

  Much more favorable conditions for the eventual achievement of such an agreement could be created if nuclear bombs were first revealed to the world by demonstration in an appropriately selected uninhabited area.…

  After a long, searching weekend at the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory in New Mexico, Arthur Compton, Oppenheimer and the other two members of the Scientific Panel—Ernest Lawrence and Enrico Fermi—drew up their answer to the Franck Report. “Our hearts were heavy,” Compton recalled, “as on June 16 we turned in this report to the Interim Committee.”

  … Those who advocate a purely technical demonstration would wish to outlaw the use of atomic weapons and have feared that if we use the weapons now our future negotiations will be prejudiced. Others emphasize the opportunity of saving American lives by immediate military use and believe that such use will improve the international prospects, in that they are more concerned with the prevention of war than with the elimination of this special weapon.

  We find ourselves closer to these latter views: we can see no acceptable alternative to direct military use.*

  In Washington, Stimson and The Assistant Secretary of War, John J. McCloy, were preparing for a crucial meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President to determine whether to blockade and bomb Japan into submission or whether to land on the main islands. McCloy opposed both plans. For weeks he and Grew had privately discussed the future of Japan and had come to the same conclusion: that she should be offered an honorable surrender. McCloy had promised to use his influence on Stimson and now said, “We should have our heads examined if we don’t consider a political solution.” America had command of the sea and air and, in addition, possessed the atomic bomb. Japan should be allowed to keep the Emperor on a constitutional basis and also have access to but not control over vital raw materials.

  The President, McCloy went on, should send the Emperor, or the Suzuki government, a personal message outlining this offer, with the threat that if it was not accepted the United States would have no alternative but to employ a new weapon, the atomic bomb, on Japan. Such a procedure would probably bring about the end of the war without further casualties, and if not, America would be in a better moral position if she had to use the bomb. As McCloy spelled out the form and substance of the proposal, Stimson was in apparent agreement saying he thought it a statesmanlike way to proceed and would advocate it at the meeting. On Sunday evening, however, he phoned McCloy. “Jack,” he said, “I’m not up to going to that meeting tomorrow.” He was plagued with one of his migraine headaches. “I’ll arrange with the White House to have you take my place.”

  Just before three-thirty on Monday, June 18, McCloy arrived at the conference room in the White House. The President’s chief of staff, Admiral Leahy, was there, along with two of the Jo
int Chiefs—King and Marshall—but Arnold was represented by Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker. Then Stimson, looking worn and in pain, entered. He had dragged himself out of bed.

  Truman called for opinions from each, beginning with Marshall. The Army Chief of Staff insisted that there was no choice but to invade the main islands. The initial landing, on the island of Kyushu on November 1, would involve 766,700 troops. Losses would be heavy, but air power alone, he said, was simply not enough to conquer Japan. Speaking for the Air Force, Eaker confirmed this judgment; the air arm had not been able to subdue the Germans. Admiral King also supported Marshall.

  To McCloy’s chagrin, Stimson nodded assent. However, he also suggested that some alternatives should be explored. “I do think that there is a large submerged class in Japan who do not favor the present war and whose full opinion and influence have not yet been felt … I feel something should be done to arouse them and to develop any possible influence they might have before it becomes necessary to come to grips with them.” But he said nothing about the message to the Emperor which he had indicated to McCloy he would propose.

  Truman turned to Leahy. The admiral, blunt as always, denounced Roosevelt’s Casablanca formula. “I do not agree with those who say that unless we obtain the unconditional surrender of the Japanese that we will have lost the war. I fear no menace from Japan in the foreseeable future, even if we are unsuccessful in forcing unconditional surrender. What I do fear is that our insistence on unconditional surrender will only result in making the Japanese more desperate and thereby increase our casualty lists. I don’t think this is at all necessary.”

  Truman didn’t believe the public was ready to accept relaxation of the demand for unconditional surrender. As for the Kyushu operation—and here McCloy thought he sounded somewhat reluctant—he said that he was “quite sure that the Joint Chiefs should proceed.” But they were not to invade the main island of Honshu without consulting him. Nor did he want matters to have progressed to such an extent that he “would have no alternative” but to approve such an invasion.

  With that, the meeting was apparently over and the conferees, in a resigned mood, started to get to their feet. The President stopped them. “No one is leaving this meeting without committing himself. McCloy, you haven’t said anything. What is your view?”

  McCloy looked at Stimson questioningly. Stimson nodded. McCloy repeated what he had told the Secretary of War, including the sentence “We should have our heads examined if we don’t consider a political solution.” Admiral King glared at him, but Truman was impressed. “Well, this is just what I wanted considered,” he said. “Spell out the message you think we should send.”

  Verbally McCloy composed a message to the Emperor promising continuation of the imperial regime and ending with a threat to use the atomic bomb. The last two words had an electrifying effect. McCloy “sensed the chills that ran up and down the spines” of his listeners. Everyone in the room knew about the bomb, but it was such a secret that except in private conversations, it was rarely mentioned.

  Truman said that the use of the atomic bomb was a “good possibility,” as if the subject had never before been brought up at a formal meeting he had attended. He asked everyone to remain in the room; it was time the matter was placed on the table. The talk concentrated on the feasibility of the bomb itself and on the question of whether the Japanese should be warned before it was used. Although there was considerable discussion about the unpredictability of the bomb—“How do we know it will go off?” … “It would be a great fiasco if it did not work” … “What would happen if we gave the warning and it would not work?”—everyone seemed to take for granted that it would be dropped if necessary. Without any formal statement, the decision to use the bomb had, in essence, just been confirmed. Truman told McCloy to “give further thought to this message but don’t mention the bomb at this stage.”

  Sobered by the finality of the moment, Stimson left the meeting more resolved than ever to see that Japan was given a realistic chance to surrender. With the help of Grew and Forrestal he began marshaling all arguments in favor of warning Japan before the bomb was used. Concurrently McCloy, Dooman and Ballantine set to work on the text of a declaration to the Japanese outlining surrender terms, to be issued jointly by America, Britain and China. Paragraph 12 contained the sole exception to unconditional surrender and the one most vital to the Japanese—the possibility of retention of the Emperor:

  The occupying forces of the Allies shall be withdrawn from Japan as soon as these objectives have been accomplished and there has been established in accordance with the freely expressed will of the Japanese people a peacefully inclined and responsible government. This may include a constitutional monarchy under the present dynasty if the peace-loving nations can be convinced of the genuine determination of such a government to follow policies of peace which will render impossible the future development of aggressive militarism in Japan.

  On Monday morning, July 2, Truman gave general approval to the declaration, but James F. Byrnes, the new Secretary of State, questioned the last sentence of Paragraph 12. So did Cordell Hull. It sounded “too much like appeasement,” he advised Byrnes. “The Emperor and the ruling classes must be stripped of all extraordinary privileges and placed on a level before the law of everybody else.” Public opinion coincided with this view. In a recent Gallup poll one third had favored executing Hirohito, and 37 percent wanted him put on trial, imprisoned for life or executed. Only 7 percent believed he should be left alone or used as a puppet.

  On the way to Potsdam aboard Augusta, the President and Byrnes made the final decision to eliminate the controversial sentence. At the same time Truman privately re-examined the decision to use the bomb. There had been no doubt among the leaders of the Allies, including Churchill, that the bomb should be dropped once it was ready. In a sense Truman’s decision was inevitable. “As far as I was concerned,” General Leslie Groves, overseer of the Manhattan Project, later wrote, “his decision was one of non-interference—basically, a decision not to upset the existing plans.” Nevertheless, one man would have to push the button and that was the President, and Truman now accepted the responsibility with confidence. After all, it was purely a military weapon, he reasoned, and it had to be used.†

  2.

  The actual site of the conference was a pleasant town surrounded by woods on the outskirts of Potsdam. Almost totally untouched by the war, Babelsberg had been a summer resort and the playground of Germany’s movie colony. It reminded Major General John Deane, head of the U. S. Military Mission in Moscow, of a ghost city. On Sunday, July 15, Truman was installed in a three-story stucco house, once the home of a movie producer now in a Russian labor battalion. Located on Griebnitz Lake, “the Little White House,” as it was nicknamed, was surrounded by groves of trees and an elegant garden which, like the house, showed signs of neglect. Churchill was billeted nearby in similar seedy splendor; Stalin was a mile away.

  The conference, scheduled to open on Monday, July 16, was postponed until the next day because Stalin had suffered a slight heart attack. The one question about the bomb that remained—would it work?—was answered Monday evening at seven-thirty by a cable from Washington addressed to Stimson:

  OPERATED ON THIS MORNING, DIAGNOSIS NOT YET COMPLETE BUT RESULTS SEEM SATISFACTORY AND ALREADY EXCEED EXPECTATIONS. LOCAL PRESS RELEASE NECESSARY AS INTEREST EXTENDS GREAT DISTANCE. DR. GROVES PLEASED. HE RETURNS [to Washington] TOMORROW. I WILL KEEP YOU POSTED.

  The atomic bomb had been successfully exploded in Alamogordo, New Mexico. Groves and his deputy, Brigadier General Thomas Farrell, had watched the explosion from a distance of ten thousand yards. Awed by the stupendous blast Farrell exclaimed, “The war is over!” “Yes, it is over,” said Groves, “as soon as we drop one or two on Japan!”

  Stimson cabled back: I SEND MY WARMEST CONGRATULATIONS TO THE DOCTOR AND HIS CONSULTANT. The timing could not have been better as far as the President was concerned. The following noon Gen
eralissimo Stalin (he had just been given the new title) arrived at the Little White House with Molotov and his interpreter, Pavlov.

  Stalin chatted amiably for a few moments with Truman and Byrnes, then brought up the subject that was foremost in the President’s mind: the war in the Pacific. He confided that the Japanese had requested him to mediate a peace but he had made no definite reply, since they were not ready to accept unconditional surrender. Both Truman and Byrnes knew every detail of the Japanese overture—the messages flying between Togo and Sato had been intercepted and decoded—but they pretended they were hearing it for the first time. Unprompted, Stalin announced that the Red Army would be prepared to attack early in August. The only obstacle was settlement of minor matters with Chiang Kai-shek, such as disposition of Dairen.

  Dairen should be maintained as an open port, said Truman. If we get control of it, Stalin replied reassuringly, it will be. At lunch Stalin was expansive. He praised the wine. It was a propitious observation: when the Filipino waiter whipped the towel from the bottle, a California label came into view.

  The first plenary session opened at ten past five in Cecilienhof Palace, one-time residence of Crown Prince Wilhelm and recently used as an army hospital. Beautifully furnished, the spacious two-story brownstone building on the lake reminded General Deane of an estate in Newport or Grosse Pointe.

  The conferees settled around an imposing oaken table in the palace reception room which was decorated with the flags of the three nations. At Stalin’s suggestion Truman (Churchill’s interpreter thought he looked like a “polite but determined Chairman of a Board Meeting”) took the chair. The initial discussions focused on Europe’s postwar problems. Afterward at his quarters Churchill confided to Lord Moran, “Stalin is very amiable but he is opening his mouth very wide.” He noted that the Generalissimo had switched to cigars, perhaps after the heart attack. “He says he prefers them to cigarettes. If he is photographed smoking a cigar with me everybody will say it is my influence. I said so to him.” Moran asked the Prime Minister if he thought Truman had real ability. “I should think he has. At any rate, he is a man of immense determination. He takes no notice of delicate ground, he just plants his foot firmly on it.” In illustration he stamped both bare feet solidly on the floor.