The Naked Blood of the Cherry Blossoms

by Kano Ishikawa

  The situation at Kongo Gakuen and the revelation of Akahata, he viewed with growing abomination. He very much doubted that its readers were confined to Pak and a few other teachers, though he had no evidence for it. At the heart, his concern was students whose minds were being corrupted by extremism, and once again the futile call to arms.

  So after several days of anguish, he again settled in front of the typewriter to write to the General. He hoped MacArthur would read this one last plea?

  “Dear Honourable and Supreme Excellency General MacArthur,

  Private and Confidential

  I offer you my greetings from Kobe. My name is Paul Yasuo Atsugi, a music teacher at Kobe First Municipal Junior High School, and also assist at the Kongo Gakuen Korean school on Saturdays. Your Excellency may recall that I have written numerous times previously concerning food shortages, the plight of Korean nationals here in Japan, the emerging communist threat and how it threatens freedom of worship.

  I do appreciate that your Excellency is busy, but despite my heartfelt pleas, I am increasingly anxious that my messages are not being heard by you or your staff.”

  Atsugi decided he had to be blunter and more abrupt with the General, although he knew there was a danger he would be seen as rude and impolite.

  I would like to inform Your Excellency in the utmost confidence, that I have heard rumours about a newspaper that is being circulated which supports radical policy change.

  Atsugi had debated with himself whether to name the newspaper in his letter. Ultimately he chose not to. He had seen only one copy and was not in position to accurately assess its popularity.

  People here blame the occupation forces for the food shortages, the lack of supplies and the rampant growth of food prices! Even now, over a year and half after the war ended, thousands of people are going hungry! That is why there is a growing clamour for price and rent controls, the abolition of the black markets, greater public control of services, and even support for a Communist government, for the people, like in Northern Korea.

  I must be honest with Your Excellency and state again, peoples’ frustration is ultimately rooted in the fact that there are no regular food supplies.

  I know Your Excellency is a learned man, please do not ignore the lessons of history. One of the causes of the French revolution was food shortages!

  I earnestly ask Your Excellency to act on our cry for help. The stability and safety of our country rests in your hands.

  I am your faithful servant

  Paul Yasuo Atsugi, Music Teacher, Kobe First Municipal School, Chuo-Ku, Nozaki Dori, Kobe.”

  the interview

  Summer 1947

  Atsugi felt more optimistic about the future than for many months. Whilst there was still no response from General MacArthur to his letters, a new Japanese prime minister Tetsu Katayama came to office following the socialist party’s election victory.

  There was a mood of change in the air.

  Katayama was a Christian and a pacifist, like Atsugi. So Atsugi was delighted when the Prime Minister declared that the government ‘should be guided by a spirit of morality.’

  He was sure his prayers for the whole-scale revival and renewal in Japan were being answered. Especially when new reforms like the introduction of maternity leave and the ‘equal pay for equal work’ initiative were introduced. Atsugi believed that Katayama would quickly turn his new cabinet’s focus to the issue of food shortages which remained critical.

  As summer arrived with its regalia of flowers, first the hydrangea and asagao, then the lotus and bellflower and finally the tall, majestic sunflowers symbolising longevity, Atsugi’s musical rehearsals continued apace. They had finally settled on the programme for their next concert and Beethoven’s March in D Major was to be a central element.

  Atsugi felt it was suitable given the increasing number of wind instruments in his ensemble. Plus it required drums, cymbals and a triangle, which were perfectly suited for some of his newer musicians.

  Eun Ae played a central part as Atsugi substituted the clarinet for the shakuhachi and took a lead role in the rehearsals. She encouraged other students with her dedication and attention to detail, attributes Atsugi valued highly.

  There had been no further mention of Akahata and Eun Ae had even shown him some other drawings that were entirely absent of political overtones.

  Atsugi particularly liked her sketch of a young female cellist. It was a simple drawing done in three pencil colours. The cellist’s eyes closed deep in concentration, her left hand and forearm bringing out the note’s vibrato.

  So it was with great surprise that one day, early in September, after his duties at the Kobe First Municipal school ended, a police Inspector and his Sergeant and were waiting for him at the gate.

  They both wore dark navy blue uniforms with blue peaked hats with the gold braided chrysanthemum crest. Both of their jackets were buttoned up formally, despite the heat. The jackets were identical except the Inspector’s had shoulder labels signifying his superior rank. Both men wore white arm bands with the words ‘Police’ clearly visible. Atsugi imagined the Inspector was of a his age group whilst the Sergeant was a few years younger.

  “Excuse me, are you Paul Yasuo Atsugi?” asked the Inspector

  “Yes,” replied Atsugi. He noticed they used his Christian name which was rather unusual.

  “We’re investigating extremism in the community and believe you can help us,” continued the Inspector. “We would be obliged if you could come with us to the police station to answer some questions.”

  Atsugi nodded his agreement. He did not imagine that declining their request was an option.

  The police Sergeant directed Atsugi towards their car, a black beetle shaped vehicle. It had a long bonnet with thick metal grill on the front. The three immediately drove to the police station.

  It was rare for Atsugi to ride in a car as motor traffic was confined to American military jeeps and a small number of privately owned trucks.

  The police station was in the centre of Kobe. It was a five storeys, grey stone brick building, one of the few to have survived the blanket bombing almost unscathed.

  Atsugi was taken inside and immediately noticed how busy it was. He saw a large pool of clerical staff on the ground floor, ranged neatly alongside lengthy oblong shaped desks, handling piles of paper. Straight away he was shown to a small meeting room, where there was a simple wooden table and chairs and asked to wait.

  The room was painted white with no décor, besides a wall mounted clock, and was window less. Atsugi waited patiently at first but then began to fidget, and his hands were sweating. After about twenty minutes before the two reappeared and sat in-front of him.

  The Inspector carried a cream coloured manila folder made from stiff card. Atsugi could only tell it contained documents as there was nothing written on the outside. The Sergeant carried a closed notebook and pen.

  Neither of the policemen introduced themselves and they wore no name badges either. Atsugi had no interaction before with the police and was unsure how to address them.

  “Thank you for helping us,” said the Inspector, smiling in a matter of fact way. He wore steel rimmed glasses, which accentuated his brown eyes. He peered at Atsugi. “My Sergeant is going to ask you some questions, so we would be grateful if you could assist us.”

  The Sergeant opened his notebook and looked sternly at Atsugi. His voice tone was less conciliatory than the Inspector. He showed no emotion.

  “We understand you’re a music teacher at the Kobe First Municipal School and also the Kongo Gakuen in Osaka, is that correct?” Atsugi replied that it was and the Sergeant continued. “We’ve been receiving reports that there is pro-communist and revolutionary teaching taking place in the Korean school, what can you tell us about it?”

  Atsugi swallowed and thought for a moment before replying. “As you may know Kongo Gakuen is a Korean school that has been open for almost two years now. Most of the teachers are Korean Japa
nese who originally come from what is now called Southern Korea. However, there are some whose families are living in the North. As you are no doubt aware the new government in the North has made a number of changes like abolishing private business and land ownership for redistribution to the peasants. It is fair to say this move had been favourably commented on by some people at the school.”

  “Which people?” interjected the Sergeant.

  “Well there are a number of teachers and also parents who view these sorts of developments positively. Many believe Japan should go in a similar direction.” replied Atsugi.

  “Can you give us the names of teachers and parents who are backing the Northern Korean government?” asked the Sergeant.

  “That is a harder question to answer as I try to focus on teaching music rather than politics,” replied Atsugi.

  There was a pause and the Inspector asked a question.

  “But it’s fair to say that you have concerns about extremism at the school and in the community, isn’t it?” He reached for his folder and withdrew a typed letter that was written in English. Atsugi couldn’t read it well as it was upside down. “After all you have been writing to the American authorities about it. Haven’t you?”

  Atsugi realised the Inspector was holding one of his letters to the General. He was astounded the Japanese police had been given access to them. There was a pause whilst Atsugi composed himself.

  “Yes, it’s true,” admitted Atsugi. “We have had enough of war and I have lost too many pupils. I have been writing to the Americans only because people are starving. The situation is not getting better and there is complete despair. In these circumstances, people are blaming the authorities. And if they do not see any improvement, seek far reaching solutions.”

  The Sergeant was taking notes and didn’t look happy. “How are people at the school aware of what is going on in Korea?” asked the Inspector innocently.

  “Well they talk, they receive letters from relatives over there,” Atsugi replied.

  “Are you aware of any pro-communist propaganda materials circulating in the school?” asked the Inspector. He looked first at Atsugi’s letter and then at what appeared to be a Japanese translation. “You say there are rumours about a newspaper that supports radical policy change, can you elaborate on that?”

  Atsugi felt awkward and there was sweat on his palms. “I have heard about a newspaper called Akahata, that advocates pro-communist policy change in Japan. I understand it is supportive of the Northern government in Korea.”

  “And how is this newspaper being distributed?” asked the Inspector.

  “I have heard that some teachers are reading it, that’s all,” replied Atsugi evasively. “I don’t know where they get in from,” he added.

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “Well one of the teachers who is a Zainichi told me about it,” replied Atsugi. He felt a gut retch in his stomach as he lied.

  “What’s his name?” asked the Inspector.

  Atsugi hesitated for a moment and then said, “Pak, and his Japanese name is Takagi.”

  The Sergeant wrote the name in his book.

  “Do you have anything else to add?” continued the Inspector.

  Atsugi experienced a rush of emotions and sentiments. What else should he say? That his primary concern was the safety and welfare of the students? That he had lost so many pupils in the Pacific war that he couldn’t bear to see it repeated again? That the Koreans had been ill-treated by the Japanese and now again by the Americans?

  “It has been the case that there are some people advocating a change in government. Yet as I have tried to explain in my letters,” he gestured at the Inspector’s folder, “these expressions are the symptom of a deeper problem, namely the breakdown of food supplies. This is the fundamental cause. If the Americans and our new government can solve that, then I believe these pro-communist sentiments will fade away.”

  The Inspector produced a copy of Akahata from his folder. One Atsugi had not seen. Its headline read, ‘Fight against Imperialism in Korea!’ The Inspector showed the article to Atsugi and pointed to a sentence that had been underlined. It read ‘there is no real change without blood and violence.’

  Atsugi shook his head and his face was grim.

  “Listen carefully Atsugi-san,” said the Inspector interrupting his thoughts. “You were correct to share your concerns with the authorities. Communism is a grave danger to our society and stability.” He looked at Atsugi, “it is also a creed which runs counter to Seventh Day Adventist beliefs, which I think you follow closely?”

  Atsugi then wondered how much the police knew about him and felt uneasy. The Inspector continued, “if you hear more about this Akahata or other pro-communist propaganda, then you must inform us.”

  The Inspector reached into his folder and produced a card with his contact details on it.

  “This is how to contact us.”

  The police offered to return him to Kobe First Municipal School but Atsugi declined. Instead he walked out of the building feeling shaken. He needed space and meandered around Sannomiya for at least two hours, his mind racing with introspection.

  Atsugi’s first anguish was about privacy. Why had the General shared his private and confidential letters with the police? Atsugi felt strongly that an American officer should have contacted him first or at the very least attended the meeting. Was it not a breach of trust? Atsugi thought privacy was enshrined in the American Constitution, but he was not absolutely sure. He couldn’t reconcile this fact with ‘the better world based on faith and understanding,’ that the General had so proudly extolled.

  Then there was the question of interpretation, his letters were in English, a language the police did not understand. So there was bound to be misunderstandings.

  He also felt contorted with guilt. He had actually lied by implicating Pak as the source of Akahata, not Eun Ae and her family. The reasons were clear, he wished to protect his student, who he believed was vulnerable and innocent. But he knew it was a lame excuse. Lying was a sin, especially to those in authority. It was laid out in the Bible, in several verses.

  Then there was the intractable issue of Akahata, radicalism and the subversive way its ideas were being distributed. He had seen its impact on Pak and other teachers.

  Whilst Atsugi did not believe Eun Ae was an extremist, she was almost certainly being manipulated by darker forces, her sister especially, if not others, to spread false doctrines. Atsugi wondered if he had been lulled into a false sense of security? Whilst he had not seen or heard anything of Akahata recently, was it covered up? As the Book of Proverbs said, ‘waiting to bite like a serpent and sting like a viper?’

  Finally how did the police know about his Seventh Day Adventist beliefs? He had not attended one of their services for a long time, due to Saturday commitments at Kongo Gakuen.

  Chillingly he remembered the wartime Kenpeitai, secret police, and their arrests of people for anti-war and defeatist beliefs. He wondered if the police had kept their records?

  Atsugi believed that after the Americans’ arrival and the resurrection of Japan’s democracy, such data would have been cast away. But he didn’t know. What else did the police know about him?

  The more he pondered, the further away the answers receded.

  The radical

  Late 1947

  The year-end saw a rising wave of political torment in Korea whose ripples rolled into Japan and beyond.

  At the end of WW2, a 38th parallel was established on the peninsula, separating North and South. A joint Soviet and US Commission, whose task was to agree a unified governing system across the Korean peninsula, failed to make progress. Consequently, preparations were made by the US for the South’s first national election in May 1948, at first planned for the whole peninsula.

  Yet, it was not only the Soviet backed North which opposed the elections. Some Western countries like Australia and Canada expressed doubts. Delegates at the U.N. voiced co
ncerns about Korea’s political maturity. Even in the South, some Korean politicians denounced the plans, arguing they hindered, not helped, the path to reunification.

  The Zainichi community in Japan watched these events, plus faced two extra challenges. The first was the status of recently opened Korean schools, as the government stated that education was mandatory for all ‘nationals’ and should be in Japanese only.

  The second was the government, backed by MacArthur, introduced a directive categorising Korean Japanese as ‘aliens.’ By contrast during the war they had been classed as ‘nationals.’ A factor behind this decision was increasing crime, particularly racketeering, theft and even murder which was blamed on the Korean Japanese community.

  These contradictory developments were the source of considerable anguish and anger in the Zainichi community.

  Whilst Mi-Chan continued to work at the Rokko Garden her motives for doing so had moved on. At first, it was providing for Umma and then her sister, Eun Ae.

  Although Kongo Gakuen was a public school. The family was required to support extra curricula activities, like music, which was Eun Ae’s passion. Without Mi-Chan’s contributions, this would have been impossible.

  Unfortunately Mi-Chan had not seen any of her sister’s performances, she heard glowing reports from Umma. Eun Ae was also showing great interest in her Korean heritage, much to Umma’s delight.

  As time passed, Mi-Chan’s interactions with the Yam’ichi, Sakamoto and the Peace Bridge orphans, caused a profound shift in her thinking and values.

  The plight of the mixed race babies. The blatant lack of morals amongst the occupation troops. Her own sordid experience with Jared. And not to forget the opulence enjoyed by the Americans in poverty stricken Japan. All these events opened her eyes to fundamental failures in the country.