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

by Toland, John

  At last, at 8:30 P.M., the Emperor, in the presence of Prime Minister Suzuki, signed the patchwork document and affixed his seal. Still the formal surrender to the Allies could not be transmitted until the entire Cabinet had signed it. It took almost an hour and a half to collect all the signatures. At about 11 P.M. the last man, the Transportation Minister, arrived at the Prime Minister’s conference room and signed. Surrender was official. A secretary phoned the Foreign Ministry and identical cables in English were sent to the Japanese legations in Switzerland and Sweden. The ministers in those countries were instructed to transmit the following message to the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union and China:

  With reference to the Japanese Government’s note of August 10 regarding their acceptance of the provisions of the Potsdam declaration and the reply of the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and China sent by American Secretary of State Byrnes under the date of August 11, the Japanese Government have the honor to communicate to the Governments of the four powers as follows:

  1. His Majesty the Emperor has issued an Imperial rescript regarding Japan’s acceptance of the provisions of the Potsdam declaration.

  2. His Majesty the Emperor is prepared to authorize and ensure the signature of his government and the Imperial General Headquarters of the necessary terms for carrying out the provisions of the Potsdam declaration. His Majesty is also prepared to issue his commands to all the military, naval, and air authorities of Japan and all the forces under their control wherever located to cease active operations, to surrender arms and to issue such other orders as may be required by the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces for the execution of the above-mentioned terms.

  The Cabinet ministers sat numb around the table. There were no more decisions to make. Suzuki got up and left the room. Anami, in his full uniform, rose and approached his old antagonist, Togo. He squared his shoulders and said in a dignified tone, “I have seen the Foreign Minister’s draft of the communication to the Allied powers regarding the occupation and disarmament, and I am grateful beyond description. Had I known that the matter would be dealt with in that way, I should not have felt it necessary to speak so zealously at the imperial conference.”

  Togo thought this was being overly polite and replied rather stiffly that he had always been sympathetic to the conditions for surrender proposed by the military.

  Anami buckled on his sword, and with cap under his arm he entered Suzuki’s private office. He saluted the Prime Minister. “Ever since the peace talk started, I have given you a great deal of trouble and I am here to express my regrets. What I did was only so that our kokutai could be maintained—that was all. I hope you understand this and I deeply apologize.”

  “I am fully aware of that,” said Suzuki and went up to Anami, who was blinking the tears from his eyes. He grasped the general’s hand. “But Anami-san, please rest assured that the Imperial Household will always be blessed by peace, for His Majesty always prayed for peace at the spring and autumn festivals of his imperial ancestors.”

  3.

  In the Household Ministry a four-man crew from NHK had been waiting since midafternoon to record the Emperor’s announcement of surrender. Daitaro Arakawa, the director of engineering at NHK, had set up equipment in adjoining rooms on the second floor. Only once before had His Majesty’s voice been recorded; on December 2, 1928, through an acoustical freak, NHK microphones had inadvertently picked up the young Emperor’s voice fifty yards away when he was reading a rescript to the Army.

  At 11:30 P.M. the Emperor was escorted to the microphone, which stood in front of two gold-foiled screens. Chamberlain Yasuhide Toda, whose voice somewhat resembled the Emperor’s, said a few words into the microphone so the engineers could judge how to modulate the volume for His Majesty.

  “How loudly shall I speak?” the Emperor asked.

  President of the Information Board Shimomura said that his ordinary voice, which was loud, would be adequate. But the Emperor unconsciously lowered his voice as he spoke the words in the unique, imperial language:

  “TO OUR GOOD AND LOYAL SUBJECTS

  “After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in Our Empire today, We have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure.

  “We have ordered Our Government to communicate to the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, China and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration.

  “To strive for the common prosperity and happiness of all nations, as well as the security and well-being of Our subjects, is the solemn obligation which has been handed down by Our Imperial Ancestors, and which We lay close to heart. Indeed, We declared war on America and Britain out of Our sincere desire to ensure Japan’s self-preservation and the stabilization of East Asia, it being far from Our thought either to infringe upon the sovereignty of other nations or to embark upon territorial aggrandizement. But now the war has lasted for nearly four years. Despite the best that has been done by everyone—the gallant fighting of military and naval forces, the diligence and assiduity of Our servants of the State and the devoted service of Our one hundred million people—the war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan’s advantage, while the general trends of the world have all turned against her interest. Moreover, the enemy has begun to employ a new and most cruel bomb, the power of which to do damage is indeed incalculable, taking the toll of many innocent lives. Should We continue to fight, it would not only result in an ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation, but also it would lead to the total extinction of human civilization. Such being the case, how are We to save the millions of Our subjects; or to atone Ourselves before the hallowed spirits of Our Imperial Ancestors? This is the reason why We have ordered the acceptance of the provisions of the Joint Declaration of the Powers.

  “We cannot but express the deepest sense of regret to our allied nations of East Asia, who have consistently co-operated with the Empire toward the emancipation of East Asia. The thought of those officers and men as well as others who have fallen in the fields of battle, those who died at their posts of duty, or those who met with untimely death and all their bereaved families, pains Our Heart night and day. The welfare of the wounded and the war-sufferers, and of those who have lost their homes and livelihood, are the objects of Our profound solicitude. The hardships and sufferings to which Our nation is to be subjected hereafter will certainly be great. We are keenly aware of the inmost feelings of all ye, Our subjects. However, it is according to the dictate of time and fate that We have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable.

  “Having been able to safeguard and maintain the structure of the Imperial State, We are always with ye, Our good and loyal subjects, relying upon your sincerity and integrity. Beware most strictly of any outbursts of emotion which may engender needless complications, or any fraternal contention and strife which may create confusion, lead ye astray and cause ye to lose the confidence of the world. Let the entire nation continue as one family from generation to generation, ever firm in its faith of the imperishableness of its divine land, and mindful of its heavy burden of responsibilities, and the long road before it. Unite your total strength to be devoted to the construction for the future. Cultivate the ways of rectitude; foster nobility of spirit; and work with resolution so as ye may enhance the innate glory of the Imperial State and keep pace with the progress of the world.”

  His Majesty turned and said, “Was it all right?” An engineer in the other room embarrassedly replied that he was sorry but a few words were not clear. The Emperor, who was showing increased interest in the proceedings, knew he had stuttered several times and said he wanted to do it again. This time his voice was pitched too high and he skipped a character. “I’m willing to make another,” he said obligingly, but it was thou
ght that this would be “too great an ordeal” for him.

  It was decided that the second version would be the official one, and the first used only in an emergency. The two sets of two 10-inch disks each were carefully placed in separate cardboard containers, then put in a cotton bag that someone found in the room. Now the problem was: Where would be the safest place to keep them? The obvious place—the radio station—would be vulnerable in case there was any truth to the rumor about an uprising; the Household Ministry would be more secure. Consequently, the records were locked in a small safe on the second floor.

  These precautions were well taken. The Palace grounds were about to be sealed from the outside world by rebel troops, and already a general had been assassinated. Rebuffed at Army Headquarters, Hatanaka had gone to Colonel Toyojiro Haga, commander of the Second Regiment of the Konoye Division, and by swearing that Generals Anami, Umezu, Tanaka and Mori had joined the conspiracy, won his reluctant support. Then Hatanaka bicycled back to Ichigaya Heights, where he awakened Colonel Ida—for the past week many officers had been sleeping at Army Headquarters. Again Hatanaka grossly exaggerated his backing: “The regimental commanders of Konoye Division have all agreed to come in with us! The only one left to convince is the division commander.” He doubted that Mori would listen to him (the general had been one of his instructors at the War College and still regarded him as a “student”), but Ida, as a lieutenant colonel, might be heeded. Hatanaka swore that if Mori refused to join then, he would abandon his entire plan.

  Ida still endorsed the purpose of the revolt, and he convinced himself that he should go along with Hatanaka. If General Mori could be persuaded to join them, he assured himself, that “would help to prove we were right.” Moreover, if trouble started, Ida would be on hand to stop it.

  On bicycles the two men followed the dark streets to the Konoye Division barracks, which were located just outside the Palace compound only a few hundred yards from the obunko. A flat tire prevented them from reaching Mori’s office until 11 P.M. and the general had just left to inspect the grounds. Even when Mori returned they were kept waiting in the orderly room; the general was visiting with his brother-in-law, Lieutenant Colonel Michinori Shiraishi. Shortly after midnight Hatanaka impatiently stood up. “Never mind about his visitor,” he said. “Let’s go in and see Mori.” Ida followed him to the general’s office. At the door Hatanaka stopped. “You go in by yourself,” he said. At the same time he would try to re-enlist Colonel Takeshita’s help with his brother-in-law. He left Ida so exasperated that he almost returned to Army Headquarters. But Ida knocked at the door and entered.

  General Mori (a scholarly, solemn man with the appropriate nickname Osho-san, “head monk”) had berated two generals that afternoon at Army Headquarters for their part in losing the war. He greeted Ida affably, and without asking why he had come, began a philosophic monologue on life and religion. It was half an hour before Ida could find an appropriate opening. Ordinarily, he said, a loyal Japanese obeyed any order of the Emperor, such obedience was a virtue. But today it was the duty of the loyal subject to advise His Majesty to reconsider his decision. “It is not true loyalty to the Emperor to obey him blindly.” Mori listened perturbed, but with growing interest. Ida pressed him. “If you are absolutely convinced that the Allies have guaranteed to maintain the national essence, then obey the Emperor, but if you are uncertain, shouldn’t you so advise His Majesty?” But it would be too late unless the recording His Majesty made was seized. He urged Mori to mobilize the Konoye Division at once.

  “I’m not sure what is right,” Mori said dubiously. “I would like to go to Meiji Shrine, where I can cleanse myself of all impure thoughts. Then I can tell who is correct—you or me.” Colonel Kazuo Mizutani, the general’s chief of staff, entered. “You came in at the right moment,” said Mori and turned to Ida, who was dripping with nervous perspiration. “Ask him what he thinks.”

  Mizutani suggested that they talk in his office while the general changed clothes to go to the shrine. In the corridor they encountered Major Hatanaka—thanks to his persuasiveness, Colonel Takeshita had agreed to see Anami once more—and several other conspirators.

  Ida said that he and General Mori were going to the Meiji Shrine, but first he had to see Colonel Mizutani for a moment.

  “This is all a waste of time!” Hatanaka exclaimed irritably.

  It wouldn’t take long; Ida ordered Hatanaka to wait in Mori’s office.

  But Hatanaka was in no mood for delay. Impatience had brought him to the point of recklessness. In fact, he was ready to cut Mori down if he rejected them. He strode into Mori’s office, followed by several other aggressive sympathizers. Ignoring military courtesy, Hatanaka abruptly asked—rather, insisted—that the general join them. But Mori would not be rushed; he would decide only after he had visited the shrine.

  His procrastination was intolerable. Captain Shigetaro Uehara, of the Air Academy, advanced on him with drawn sword. Colonel Shiraishi lunged to shield his brother-in-law, General Mori. Uehara struck him down. Another rebel officer, a major, slashed viciously at the prone Shiraishi, almost beheading him. Uehara’s impulsive attack unleashed the pent-up emotions of days of frustration. Hatanaka leveled his pistol at Mori and pulled the trigger. The general collapsed into the blood flowing from Shiraishi’s body and died.

  Ida and Mizutani heard the shot and a clattering of feet. They ran into the corridor. There was Hatanaka, his face drained, pistol still in hand. Instantly Ida guessed what had happened. “Bakayaro!” he shouted. Why couldn’t Hatanaka have waited; Mori might have joined them after he had visited the Meiji Shrine.

  “I did it because there was no time left,” Hatanaka muttered. “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head but he had lost none of his determination. He begged Ida to make another appeal to General Tanaka. With Mori dead, the division was now under his command.

  Ida had reluctantly accompanied Hatanaka to the Konoye Division to prevent violence, but now that the worst had happened he had become, in effect, an accessory to assassination, committed to a course he had resisted. With Mori’s death, serious opposition to the coup within the Konoye Division was eliminated and its troops would shortly occupy the Palace grounds. Accompanied by an almost hysterical Colonel Mizutani, Ida speeded by staff car to the Dai Ichi Building, headquarters of Eastern District Army. Mizutani rushed into Tanaka’s inner office while Ida, without mentioning Mori’s murder, requested Tanaka’s chief of staff, Major General Tatsuhiko Takashima, to cooperate with the rebels. Takashima’s reaction seemed almost one of embarrassment—it was like “jumping from fire into ice water”—and Ida’s too-easily-won confidence evaporated.

  The phone rang. It was Major Koga, Tojo’s son-in-law, reporting that the Konoye Division had just revolted and would never surrender. Eastern District Army must join them. General Takashima went into Tanaka’s private office, leaving Ida with one of the staff officers with whom he continued to argue. But the staff officer maintained that there was not the slightest possibility that General Tanaka would oppose the Emperor. His certainty brought Ida back to reality. Soberly he said, “I will do my best to withdraw the troops before dawn.”

  An order had already been issued to regimental commanders of the Konoye Division—it bore General Mori’s seal but it had been placed there by Hatanaka. The instructions, actually written by Major Koga, directed the troops to occupy the Palace grounds, thus “protecting” the Emperor and kokutai; one company was sent to the NHK Building to control what was broadcast. Contingents totaling more than a thousand men cordoned the Palace grounds. The majority, as in the 2/26 uprising, had no idea that they were acting as insurgents. In appearance all that seemed to be taking place was an emergency reinforcement of the permanent guard posts. Within minutes all of the great gates clanged shut and the Emperor was isolated from the outside.

  Nor was anyone, no matter what his rank, allowed to leave the grounds without Hatanaka’s permission. Inside the Imperial Household Ministry, the Emper
or had finished his recording, and President Shimomura and the NHK crew drove away. As their cars approached the Sakashita Gate, barely a hundred yards away, soldiers with fixed bayonets halted them. One peered into the first car. He had been alerted to look for the President of the Information Board. Shimomura’s secretary acknowledged who they were and the entire contingent was taken under escort to a small wooden guardhouse for interrogation. One of the group disclosed that the recording had been turned over to a chamberlain for safekeeping. A search party was sent to the Imperial Household Ministry.

  On the fourth floor of the ministry Kido was routed from his cot by Chamberlain Yasuhide Toda. The Privy Seal had been kept half awake by a succession of noises—air-raid sirens, the thud of bombs in the distance,‡ announcement from the loudspeaker in the hall reporting damage, and most recently the crunch of marching feet on gravel.

  Toda informed him that rebel soldiers were in the building looking for Kido and the recording, and that the obunko itself was surrounded. The Privy Seal remained calm. “I expected something like this,” he said. “The Army is shoganai yatsu [damn foolish].” Since Kido’s appearance was little known outside Palace circles, Toda suggested that he move to the court physician’s-night-duty quarters, where he could pose as a doctor. No sooner was Kido stretched out on the doctor’s bed than he began brooding about how humiliating it would be to be killed while hiding like Kira in The Forty-seven Ronin. He returned to his office, where he hastily collected his most secret documents, tore them to bits and flushed them down the toilet.