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

by Toland, John

  TO THE JAPANESE PEOPLE

  These American planes are not dropping bombs on you today. They are dropping leaflets instead because the Japanese Government has offered to surrender, and every Japanese has a right to know the terms of that offer and the reply made to it by the United States Government on behalf of itself, the British, the Chinese, and the Russians. Your government now has a chance to end the war immediately.

  The Japanese conditional acceptance of the Potsdam Proclamation was quoted, as well as Byrnes’s reply.

  Marquis Kido took one of the pamphlets, which had landed on the Palace grounds, to the obunko. He told the Emperor that if they fell into the hands of the troops who knew nothing of the negotiations, they could cause an uprising. His Majesty should convoke an imperial conference without delay so he could inform the councilors of his determined desire to end the war immediately.

  The Emperor glanced through the leaflet and instructed his Privy Seal to find Suzuki at once. Fortunately the Prime Minister was already in the anteroom. Under the circumstances, Suzuki said, it would take too much time to obtain the seals of the two Chiefs of Staff; instead, he would have to request the Emperor to take the unprecedented step of mustering the imperial conference on his own authority. Kido saw the necessity of this emergency measure. Moreover, he decided that another unprecedented step was called for: he would accompany Suzuki when he saw the Emperor. Never before had the Privy Seal been present at a private audience between Prime Minister and Emperor. His Majesty not only agreed to call the meeting at 10:30 A.M. but went much further. If there was a deadlock he would “command” the Cabinet to accept the terms of the Brynes note.

  That morning Anami was again urged to take a stand regarding the conspiracy. At his midnight meeting with Colonel Arao he had hedged to such a degree that his secretary, Colonel Hayashi, who had advised him to be frank with Arao, said curtly, “From the way you just talked I couldn’t tell if you were for their plan or not.” Now, with the coup hours away, the rebels descended on Anami at Army Headquarters with demands for his immediate assistance. Once more Anami could not bring himself to give them a straight no; he left them in his office with the excuse that he had to sound out the Army Chief of Staff.

  Umezu was in no such state of indecision. He told Anami that it would be sacrilege to employ armed troops on the Palace grounds. On the way back to his own office Anami was intercepted by the conspirators. He could no longer avoid the issue. “After discussing the matter with the Chief of Staff,” he said, “I’ve decided not to support your action.” He refused to discuss it further and summarily strode out of the building, where a car was waiting to take him to the Prime Minister’s underground conference room for a Cabinet meeting.*

  It had hardly begun before it was announced that they were to transfer en masse to the obunko annex for an emergency imperial conference, the first fully attended meeting with the Emperor since the historic one of December 1, 1941. They were not even given time to change into formal clothes; the Munitions Minister, for example, had to borrow a necktie from an Imperial Household staff official and have it tied by the Welfare Minister. For the second time in five days the military had been maneuvered into a confrontation they were not prepared for, and Suzuki bore the brunt of their resentment.

  As they filed into the restricted underground conference room they saw that the tables had been removed and replaced by two long rows of chairs to accept their increased number. They waited uneasily in the steaming and claustrophobic chamber. At about 10:50 the Emperor, dressed in Army uniform and wearing white gloves, entered with General Hasunuma, his chief military aide-de-camp.

  Suzuki apologized to the Emperor for the fact that his cabinet had not unanimously approved acceptance of the Byrnes note. He indicated the three principal dissenters—Toyoda, Umezu and Anami—and asked them to state their arguments directly to His Majesty. Umezu called for a continuance of the war. If surrender meant the end of the national essence, then the entire nation should be sacrificed in a final battle. His words were echoed by Admiral Toyoda. Anami, whose emotions constricted his voice, wanted to fight on unless the Allies definitely promised to guarantee the Emperor’s safety. There was still a chance to win, and if not, at least the war could be ended on better terms.

  The Emperor waited but no one else got to his feet. Finally he nodded. “If there are no more opinions,” he said, “I will express mine. I want you all to agree with my conclusions. I have listened carefully to all of the arguments opposing Japan’s acceptance of the Allied reply as it stands, but my own view has not changed. I have studied internal as well as international conditions and have come to the conclusion that we cannot continue the war any longer.” His gloved hand brushed tears from his cheeks. The sight unnerved several of the conferees, who were unable to stifle sobs. “I have studied the Allied reply and concluded that it virtually acknowledges the position of our note sent a few days ago. I find it quite acceptable. Some seem to question the Allied motives in regard to the supreme power of the Emperor, but I agree with the Foreign Minister. I do not believe the note was written to subvert our kokutai: I realize full well how difficult it will be for the loyal officers and men of the Army and Navy to surrender their arms to the enemy and see their country occupied, and perhaps stand accused of being war criminals.” His voice broke and he stopped momentarily. “So many died in battle and their families still suffer.… I think of all these with such sympathy.” Again he raised glove to cheek. “All these feelings are so hard to bear, but I cannot let my subjects suffer any longer. I wish to save the people at the risk of my own life. If the war continues our entire nation will be laid waste, hundreds of thousands more will die. I cannot endure this, and the decision I must now make is like the one made by Emperor Meiji at the time of the Triple Intervention when he bore the unbearable and endured the unendurable. Now I must do it and together we must all unite to rebuild Japan into a peaceful country.” He paused again. Two of the ministers had collapsed uncontrollably to the floor.

  “It is my desire that all of you, my ministers of state, bow to my wishes and accept the Allied reply forthwith. The people know nothing about this situation and will be surprised to hear of my sudden decision. I am ready to do anything. If it is for the good of the people I am willing to make a broadcast. I will go anywhere to persuade the officers and men of the Army and Navy to lay down their arms. It is my desire that the Cabinet at once draw up an imperial rescript to end the war.”

  In their anguish and grief the conferees clung to each other. Suzuki struggled to his feet, apologized again, stepped in front of the dais and bowed. The Emperor rose and wearily headed for the door.

  Just before Umezu left Army Headquarters for the meeting, two of the conspirators had burst into his office and berated him. In an attempt at conciliation he told them that he didn’t “absolutely” disapprove of the coup. They started headlong down the hallway to Colonel Takeshita’s office. “Umezu is going along with us!” one of them shouted. Anami had to be advised of this development at once and Takeshita drove to the Prime Minister’s. He discovered to his consternation that the Cabinet meeting had been interrupted for an emergency conference with the Emperor. At the Palace grounds he was forced to wait at the Imperial Household Ministry, and then, after an interminable interval, was informed that everyone had returned to the Prime Minister’s underground chambers to resume the Cabinet meeting. At the Prime Minister’s he again had to wait. The Cabinet was having lunch.

  When the meal was over, General Anami headed for the men’s room followed by his secretary. The War Minister was unnaturally animated. “We have just received information,” he exclaimed to Colonel Hayashi, “that the United States fleet is outside Tokyo Bay! What do you think about attacking them with everything we have?” Hayashi became exasperated with War Minister Anami’s continued vacillation. It was as though he had not attended the imperial conference. “It won’t do,” he said. “In the first place it’s only a rumor that the U. S. fleet i
s outside Tokyo Bay. Secondly, the Emperor has just demanded an end to the war.”

  A man of deep convictions, Anami was emotionally torn by his capacity to see the merits of the facts on all sides. He decided to return to Army Headquarters for a few minutes before the Cabinet meeting reconvened, and face the conspirators. As he passed through the anteroom he ran into his waiting brother-in-law. “General Umezu has changed his mind!” Takeshita burst out.

  Anami’s face brightened. “Is that so?” he said with quickened interest. Then, remembering that it was all over, he added dejectedly, “But everything has already been decided.”

  The colonel pleaded with him to use his influence at the Cabinet meeting, but Anami shook his head. “Then at least resign from the Cabinet,” Takeshita persisted. If he did, the Suzuki government would be dissolved and could not terminate the war.

  “Get me some ink,” Anami said with renewed enthusiasm. “I will write my resignation.” But again he changed his mind—peace was inevitable whether he left the Cabinet or not. “And if I resign,” he added, “I will never again see the Emperor.”

  Anami found his office at Ichigaya Heights occupied by at least fifteen conspirators. There was no pretense left in the War Minister. “A council in the imperial presence has just been held,” he said, “and the Emperor has finally decided to end the war.” His apology for not meeting their expectations was acknowledged by an embarrassed silence. “The entire Army must act in complete accord with this decision,” he said. “Japan will face difficult times, but no matter how arduous life becomes, I ask you to do your utmost to preserve the national essence.”

  A lieutenant colonel, Masataka Ida, challenged him. Why had he changed his mind?

  General Anami closed his eyes, remembering the harrowing experience that morning in the obunko annex. “I could not oppose the decision once His Majesty made it.” He told them that the Emperor, with tears in his eyes, had turned to him expressly and said, “Anami, I understand it is particularly difficult for you, but you must bear it!” He gazed at the bitter faces around him but this time made no attempt to mollify them. “The decision stands and must be obeyed,” he said with dignity and determination. “Those who are dissatisfied will have to cut me down first!”

  Clearly, there was nothing more to be said. Major Hatanaka broke down. Tears coursed down his cheeks and he sobbed. Anami was moved, but without a word he turned and left the room. The others followed him out one by one, heads bowed.

  Anami returned to a Cabinet meeting which was more subdued than any in memory. Suzuki had reprimanded his ministers for twice forcing the Emperor to make the decision for peace; it was an affront to His Majesty. There was no rebuttal to his harsh words. Bowing to the Emperor’s will, each of the fifteen ministers signed the document accepting the Potsdam Proclamation unconditionally.

  One crucial problem remained: How should the decision be presented to the nation? President of the Information Board Kainan Shimomura suggested that the Emperor broadcast an imperial rescript. It was distasteful, but words about capitulation would be believed only if they came from his mouth. The Cabinet unanimously agreed, with one proviso: it would be presumptuous to ask His Majesty to speak directly to his subjects over the airwaves. It should be a recording.

  2.

  The rumor Anami had heard that an American fleet lay off Tokyo Bay swept through Army Headquarters. Enemy troops were preparing to land; paratroopers were about to drop on all important airports. Panicked officers hauled files to the courtyard and set fire to classified documents. A colonel from Okinawa, brandishing his two-handed dress sword, charged into the office which translated English-language broadcasts and newspapers. He accused the translators of promulgating defeatism. Slashing his sword at them, he shouted, “You deserve to die for misleading us!” but he was overcome with tears and left abruptly, slamming the door.

  General Takeshi Mori, commander of the Konoye Division, which guarded the Palace grounds, loosed his frustrations on the chief of Intelligence. He stormed into General Seizo Arisue’s office shouting, “Kill yourself! I’ll commit hara-kiri after I see you dead!” Arisue reminded him it was his duty to guard the Emperor. “That is my business. I’ll defend His Majesty. Then I’ll kill you!” Shaken, Arisue walked over to the office of the Chief of Operations, General Shuichi Miyazaki, who also had been threatened by Mori. “He was out of his mind,” said Arisue.

  Discipline was disintegrating on all levels. Kempei noncoms assigned to the building had deserted, taking clothing and food with them; junior officers insulted their superiors; some senior officers closeted themselves behind their doors with whiskey and sake. Disruption had one positive effect: it unified the Army leaders. Anami, Umezu, Hata and Sugiyama all put their seals to a terse declaration which amounted to a credo: “The Army will act in accord with the imperial decision to the last.” All section chiefs were instructed to report to Conference Room I, where War Minister Anami would address them.

  At 3:30 P.M. Anami climbed a small platform. “The Emperor has decided to end the war,” he told the standing audience. “It is, therefore, proper that we abide by the imperial wish. His Majesty is confident that the kokutai will be maintained and he has expressed that conviction to the field marshals. Difficulties lie ahead for all of us, but you officers must face the fact that death does not absolve you from your duty. You must stay alive, even if it means eating grass and sleeping on thorns and rocks.”

  Anami’s speech destroyed the possibility of any coup involving high-ranking officers. Only the unshakable Major Hatanaka and several die-hard comrades remained resolved to act. Moreover, they still had a good chance of seizing the Palace grounds; two majors of General Mori’s division—one was Tojo’s son-in-law Hidemasa Koga—still espoused their cause. There was one new objective, however, of the highest priority. They would have to intercept the recording the Emperor was to make before it was delivered to the NHK (Japan Broadcasting Corporation) Building.

  All afternoon Hatanaka had been bicycling around Tokyo in the sweltering heat, attempting to revitalize the conspiracy. His obsession led him to the sixth floor of the Dai Ichi Insurance Building, where General Shizuichi Tanaka, commander of Eastern District Army, had a suite. Unannounced, he strode into the general’s private office. Tanaka ordered him to get out. The general’s fury left Hatanaka speechless. He saluted smartly, whirled around and left.

  His resolution had not dissipated, however, and he pedaled back to Ichigaya Heights to re-enlist those who had abandoned the conspiracy. First he went to Colonel Ida; the solution, Ida had decided, after hearing Anami’s pronouncement, was for the leading officers at Army Headquarters to commit mass suicide in apology to the Emperor and the nation—but few were willing to join him.

  Hatanaka asked Ida to follow him up to the roof, where they could talk freely. He had “something important” to say: he planned to occupy the Palace grounds that night. “Most of the battalion and company commanders of the Konoye Division have already agreed,” he said persuasively.

  “It won’t work,” Ida replied. “The Emperor has already made his decision. And what about the commander of the Konoye Division?”

  “I’m not sure of Mori,” Hatanaka conceded, “but we must bring him in somehow.” Ida doubted that General Mori could be won over. “I know, but that can’t stop me. The Emperor himself probably is not sure whether accepting the Potsdam Proclamation will mean maintenance of the national essence. How can we obey the Emperor’s order when we’re fifty percent uncertain of its outcome?” Any Japanese having such doubts, he rationalized, and not rising up in this most critical time of history, would leave a stain on national honor. “That’s why I must test this by acting now. If the coup d’état fails, it will prove that the Emperor’s decision was correct. If it succeeds, then it will prove that I was right. I must do something. I can’t just sit and wait.”

  Ida could not go along with this reasoning, but he admired Hatanaka for risking his life for an ideal. “If you’re
serious about it, go ahead,” he said. “I can’t stop you.”

  But Hatanaka wanted more than approval. “I would appreciate your help.” Ida said he would have to think it over, but he had no intention of changing his mind.

  On the stairway Hatanaka encountered Colonel Masao Inaba, who had written the unauthorized exhortation to the troops to go on fighting. Inaba would not even pretend he would consider supporting the new conspiracy. “The Cabinet has already signed the surrender document,” he said, “and the Emperor is going to broadcast tomorrow. It’s useless. Give it up.”

  Exactly what the Emperor would say in this broadcast—the imperial rescript—was still being debated by the Cabinet. Anami could not tolerate the phrase “the war situation is growing more unfavorable for us every day.” How could he endorse such a statement? It would brand all the communiqués from Imperial Headquarters as lies. Besides, they hadn’t yet lost the war.

  Yonai confronted him with the catastrophic losses of Burma and Okinawa, and another lengthy argument was averted by Sakomizu, who diplomatically suggested that they change the wording to read “the war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan’s advantage.”

  During a recess Anami returned to his residence near the Diet Building to change into dress uniform for the ceremonious signing of the document. As he was about to leave the little house, Field Marshal Shunroku Hata and former Prime Minister Tojo appeared. It was obvious that after the surrender they would all be tried as war criminals, and Tojo wanted everyone to testify that they had fought a defensive war. Hata had a different request: he wanted to give up the rank of field marshal.

  As the Cabinet worked to approve the final wording of the rescript, two officials at the Household Ministry were making copies with brush; one would be the official document, another would be used by the Emperor at the recording. His Majesty was shown the finished version and requested five minor changes. It would take several hours to make new copies, since the rescript contained about eight hundred characters.† Instead the copyists wrote the alterations on slips of paper that were pasted onto the original. Then came a phone call from the Prime Minister’s—another change, the one requested by Anami. This was followed by the frustrating discovery that a clause had been omitted from one of the copies.