Then, at 9:12 in the morning, Chester W. Nimitz, Fleet Admiral and Commander of the Pacific Fleet, signed as representative of the United States. He was attended by Admiral William F. Halsey, Commander of the Third Fleet. It was my first time to see his face, and he certainly looked fearless.
Later, the representatives of China, the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union, Australia, Canada, France, the Netherlands and New Zealand signed in that order. However, looking at their faces which were inflated with a victor’s pride, I felt like telling them, “Look, we never gave in to you guys. The only reason we lost the Pacific War was simply because we could not match the Task Force Fleet of Admiral Halsey, who is standing there next to you.” Again, I found myself clenching my fists in anger.
After all the representatives had signed the surrender treaty, MacArthur broadcast a message to the world through a microphone set on the Missouri’s deck. I listened carefully but could not fully understand. However, he said something like World War II was over, and the duty assigned to him was to neutralize Japan militarily so that the country would never again be a threat to the world.
The surrender ceremony came to a close when MacArthur’s message was over. Then, on cue, in combined formation, hundreds of carrier-based and strategic air force planes of the US forces flew in the sky above the USS Missouri. It was a splendid, grand display.
42
Admiral Nimitz and War Crimes Issues Regarding the Emperor
Several days after the surrender ceremony, an American named Manson came over from the US, and it was reported that he was going to investigate the circumstances leading to the start of war. Everybody was nervous, as there was talk everywhere about criminal issues involving the Emperor.
Before long, a questionnaire was issued under Manson’s name. It covered several dozen items regarding the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Central Communication Division, which was in charge of matters relating to the war’s termination, delegated the reporting to me.
During the closing days of the war, the Central Command of Japan issued orders to incinerate all documents containing any state or military secrets, and, in accordance with this order, each unit completely burned such documents. These were the battle records of four years paid in blood, and many were hard-fought battles. Helped by the resignation of defeat, it was easier for us to deny the value of these battle documents anyway, and we even felt that a heavy weight had been removed from our shoulders as we watched the documents go up in flames. Even at Combined Fleet Headquarters, on instructions from Senior Staff Officer Mineo Yamaoka, two warehouses full of documents were burned over a three-day period. We heard that, on Kyushu, there was even a troop that burned their barracks down accidentally while they were destroying their battle records.
I wonder why the Japanese cannot be free from such a narrow-minded islander mentality. Once defeated, a nation does not have any state or military secrets that need to be hidden. It is something that a victor nation should worry about. Besides, victory or defeat is only a consequence of physical power, and even a losing nation would have entered the war with a conviction that justice was on its side. Ideally, it would be wiser to edit the records from the start of the war and distribute a report entitled, “This is How We Fought,” to the nations of the world even when we are defeated. It was really a blinkered policy.
Talking about narrow-mindedness, the prohibition on the use of English after the war’s opening round—based on the excuse that it was a hostile language—was another example. The authorities banned the teaching of English at schools as well. Although it might have pleased some students, it caused inconvenience in general.
In terms of inconvenience, the Navy also followed suit in eradicating English. As an example, prior to starting a plane’s engine, maintenance crews announced, “Switch off,” because they had to rotate the propeller by hand; and they shouted, “Contact,” as they turned on the switch to start the engine. If they had to do it all in Japanese, they were at a complete loss of what to say and do.
However, when the Occupation Forces advanced into Japan after our surrender, I discovered that they had what they called language officers, who were fluent in Japanese. I asked one of them, “When did you start learning Japanese?”
Most of them replied that it was since the war started. I asked further, “Did you start learning Japanese because you were confident that you would win the war?”
The answer was, “Regardless of winning or losing, during the war, knowledge of the enemy’s language was absolutely required.” What they said was quite reasonable.
But I digress. All of our records had been burned, so I had no other way but to rely on my memory in responding to Manson’s questionnaire. I do not necessarily have a good memory, but when it comes to Pearl Harbor, I can recall the events as if they happened yesterday. Then, based on my memory, I prepared an elaborate report in response to each of Manson’s dozens of questions, and I turned it in. This report was translated into English by the Occupation Forces and made into a booklet with the not so honorable title, “Record of Interrogation of Captain Fuchida,” and added to the so-called Manson Report as part of the official record.
However, after he compiled his report, Mr. Manson asked me for more information. “Captain Fuchida, your testimony helped my research a lot, and I appreciate that. However, your testimony is based only on memory and, therefore, has limited reliability. I need records that endorse your testimony.”
At that time, there was a move among Japan’s top leaders to concoct a story that the Emperor knew nothing about plans to start the war to avoid having His Majesty tried as a war criminal. They were trying to protect the Emperor out of their loyalty to him.
The leaders who were accused of being involved in the opening of hostilities were prosecuted as Class A war criminals and temporarily interned at the former prison camp in Ofuna, near Tokyo. Manson interrogated them, but they persisted to the end that they alone were responsible for all war planning and that “the Emperor did not know anything about it.”
Likewise, when Manson required that they produce documents, like the Daikairei, which gave the orders to commence hostilities, Central Communications Headquarters prepared a summary based solely on memory with the excuse that all relevant records had been incinerated, and they even dared to make up incidents in order to deflect blame away from the Emperor.
One day, I was passing through Hibiya Park in central Tokyo. I was on my way back from the Dai-Ichi Life Insurance Building, which was alongside the moat surrounding the Imperial Palace. I had been summoned by GHQ, which had moved into this building. Just after I entered the park, Communist demonstrators began organizing, planting several of their red flags. What their leader shouted was, “My fellow Japanese, your fathers, husbands and sons died shouting ‘Long live the Emperor!’ Nevertheless, the Emperor himself did not know anything about Pearl Harbor. If the Emperor is such a good-for-nothing, we do not need the Emperor. Now is the time for us to overthrow the Emperor system.”
Well, that actually sounded reasonable to some extent. That’s what had me concerned—the leaders’ distortion of the truth. The attack on Pearl Harbor triggered the war, and the fact that the Emperor had knowledge as head of state generated such unexpected repercussions. We should never distort the facts.
Acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration meant unconditional surrender on our part. Among scholars of international law, there were some who insisted that it was a conditional surrender, subject to the terms stated in the Potsdam Declaration. Scholars are knowledgeable people, and they can present various interpretations, but if our acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration came with conditions, the main one was the preservation of the fundamental character of the state. However, it was not something the allied forces confirmed as a condition. They simply maintained that it was a tacit understanding, and it was so stated in the edict terminating the war: Here, we have achieved the preservation of kokutai [the fundamental character of the state].
Our
comrades, including myself, believe that it was not worthwhile living if kokutai ceased to exist. We even thought about engaging in guerrilla activities, even if we stood no chance of winning. In that event, we might have beheaded General MacArthur, the arrogant Supreme Commander of the Occupation Forces, a long time ago.
After the surrender ceremony, Fleet Admiral Nimitz stayed a while at Yokosuka Naval Port.
One day, I was summoned to Yokosuka by Nimitz’s office. In those days, it had become customary for me to be summoned by various sections of the Occupation Forces. Even nameless young officers in charge of collecting information summoned me using their borrowed authority only for arrogance’s sake. However, Fleet Admiral Nimitz was a very distinguished figure, and I was nervous as I reported to the General Headquarters of the US Navy. They were located in the offices of the former Yokosuka Navy District.
Contrary to what I had expected, they treated me very politely. I was offered a seat on a fine sofa and served a cup of coffee. Before long, the Fleet Admiral appeared, smiling, and began by saying that it was his strong personal interest to talk to me. The Q&A continued for an hour or so. On that occasion, I spoke frankly and told him the truth about the matters I had experienced. Nimitz seemed to be greatly satisfied, and we continued our discussion. He told me about an episode to show that he respected Japan’s Fleet Admiral Togo.
When Nimitz was a young naval officer, just after graduating from the Naval Academy at Annapolis, his ship made a long voyage and called in at Tokyo. There, the crew received a lecture from Fleet Admiral Togo, and ever since then, he had admired Admiral Togo. Later, when Nimitz was promoted and assigned to Manila as Captain of the heavy cruiser, USS Augusta, flagship of the Asian Fleet, Togo passed away. The United States dispatched the Augusta to Tokyo as a diplomatic courtesy and sign of respect. Nimitz said that he walked alongside Fleet Admiral Togo’s coffin in the funeral procession.
As I heard his story, I came to like Nimitz. He showed an unreserved frankness. Encouraged by the atmosphere of our discussions, I decided to mention that I was cooperating with the Manson report team, and I solicited the Fleet Admiral’s advice regarding the resolution of the Emperor’s war crimes issue. Nimitz nodded without saying a word.
Afterwards, Nimitz recommended to GHQ that, “The reason that Japan has been adhering to the Potsdam Declaration faithfully—whether demobilizing her soldiers or handing over weapons—is owing to the presence of the Emperor. If the Emperor should be treated as a war criminal, then the situation will become uncontrollable, and the occupation policy will not proceed smoothly.”
It was powerful advice from such an important figure as Nimitz. MacArthur himself seemed to have understood, and the war criminal issues hanging over the Emperor disappeared.
43
Amateur Farmer
After our defeat, the public directed their resentment against former soldiers and sailors. The expression, “professional soldiers,” was often used, and they accused those professional soldiers of being war lovers who ruined the nation. Whoever had been in the military was regarded as an agent of this military clique and, consequently, was the target of bitter criticism.
As the expression, “professional soldiers,” became common, I wondered if there really was anybody who considered military service a profession. To my surprise, I was branded as one of them, even though I myself had never considered my military service as a profession. I was foolish not to have been aware that I was considered part of the military clique.
Occasionally, as a part of post-war policy, the Occupation Forces coerced the Japanese government into enacting an expulsion decree with the objective of eliminating militaristic elements from Japan. As a result of this decree, on the pretext that I was a “professional” Navy officer, I was purged. The people showed their pleasure by clapping their hands. Regrettably, worship of the powerful is the nature of the Japanese people. They wagged their tails to the occupation policy. To make matters worse, military pensions were suspended by order of the occupation forces. It was indeed adding insult to injury.
I had never felt so bitter about how unreliable people could be. All the friends I had in the world cast me aside. For the past four years I had been in the battlefield every day, staking my life for my beloved nation and brethren. I survived while losing many comrades during our desperate fight, but I never ran away from the battlefield or turned my back on my comrades. I always attacked whenever we detected the enemy with the motto, “At the sight of enemy, a certain fight.” Therefore, despite our defeat, I had no regrets about my role in the war.
Now, I really hated those après-guerre Japanese who looked so coldly on me. While I understand with my head that I should not hate others, I could not control what I felt in my heart. I endured with clenched teeth, simply because I felt responsible for my insufficient achievements as a warrior in the face of undeniable defeat.
I could rely only on my own efforts. I had acquired land near Unebi-cho, so I returned with my family to my hometown in Nara Prefecture and started life as a farmer. I was a poor peasant with only three-quarters of an acre.
While it was the Occupation Forces who put me in a pot of boiling water, labeling me as an agent of the military clique, those who were lighting the fire under the caldron to boil me were my Japanese brethren. Thus, I myself looked coldly on such confusing, changed social conditions and engaged in my new life planning to work hard with muscle and sweat. It resembled the life of Robinson Crusoe on an isolated island. I dug a well for drinking water, and I built a house by myself for my family to live in. I was penniless, but I had wisdom and time.
Even today, there are people called samurai, usually written in katakana characters. The term refers to a type of people who are the butt of jokes for others in conversations around their dinner tables.
After I returned to my hometown, I was one of those samurai. I did not necessarily acknowledge it myself, but I was highbrow and obstinate about everything I did, disregarding social conventions. I wanted to build a house, but I did not have any money and could not hire professional carpenters. However, looking around me at the many creatures in our world, I decided that all creatures make their own nests by themselves. Consequently, I decided to build my own house by myself.
One day, I went to Osaka for some things I needed, and, as I was walking along Nihonbashi, somebody stopped me, saying, “Hi, good to see you again.”
It was Commander Yagi of our fighter squadron. He was junior to me at the Naval Academy by two classes. This man was already a modern-day samurai while he was in the Navy. Since our careers did not cross during the war, it was indeed a long time since we had last seen each other.
“What are you doing these days?” It is established etiquette between jobless samurai to begin their conversation by asking how they are making a living.
“Will you come and take a look at my shop?” he said. I was impressed that he had a shop in luxurious Nihonbashi and followed him for half a block. We turned into the first alley, where I found a small shop.
There was a big signboard which read, “Food Processing Store,” but it was empty inside.
“I don’t see anything inside except the signboard.”
“That’s right. As a matter of fact, I’m half-black marketeer and half-manufacturer of konnyaku [a jelly-like food made from arrowroot starch]. But I’m basically doing nothing these days as I had a fight with the farmer who was supplying my raw materials until a few days ago. Now, I can’t get any ingredients. Is there any konnyaku available where you live?
“There’s a konnyaku shop in my village.”
“I’m talking about the farmers who grow the bulbs to make konnyaku.”
“I didn’t know that bulbs for konnyaku are produced by farmers.”
I was ashamed to admit that I did not know that konnyaku was made of vegetable roots with the same name, and I had never seen the plant, ever.
“I can see that you’re an amateur farmer who doesn’t even know where konnya
ku bulbs come from. By the way, what’s the size of your estate?”
“It’s not worth calling an estate. I am a peasant farmer with only three-quarters of an acre.”
“Then, no wonder you say you enjoy farming. While you are enjoying farming, you certainly can’t make a living from your small plot.”
“You hit the nail on the head. As you say, I can’t make a living. Give me some ideas on how I can survive.”
“Well, as you have that space, how about raising poultry? Why don’t we put some eggs in this shop?”
We both thought it was a good idea. And, as I am hasty person, I had already decided to build a hen house by myself. On my way back, I found a vendor in the Nihonbashi area who sold used carpenter’s tools, and I selected a low-priced saw, chisels, plane and a hammer, and also wire netting which caught my eye. As I returned through Abeno-bashi, I happened to find a book called Profitable Poultry at a used book store. I was pleased to buy it and returned home with the book in my pocket.
What I needed next was lumber. I could not afford to buy it, so I had my eyes set on the mountain where my wife’s parents had their home. Since the property they owned was quite large, they would not care if I took some trees down. I asked my wife which was the nearest mountain forest, and she said it was Mt. Takatori. Still, it was 12 kilometers [7.5 miles] from my farm.
For That One Day: The Memoirs of Mitsuo Fuchida, Commander of the Attack on Pearl Harbor Page 22