Identification with the Showa Emperor reconsidered

 

The memory of the Hiroshima bombardment, established by identification of the hibakusha with the Showa Emperor, the memory of the Nagasaki bombardment and the national ‘war memory’ of the Japanese stained by a ‘victim consciousness’ are all inherent ‘fabrications’ and ‘distortions’ that pre-empt the inclusion of the ‘Emperor column’ in the ‘Tsukurukai’ history textbook. Why? Because identifi- cation of the hibakusha with the Showa Emperor is itself an illusion, and the ‘war memory’ of the Japanese (devoid of others) is also an illusion.

 

Let us dwell on Hiroshima.

 

First, identification of the hibakusha with the Showa Emperor is possible only by negation of the Showa Emperor’s accountability for the ‘imperial decision that came too late’. Had the ‘imperial decision’ to end the war come immediately after the Potsdam Declaration of 26 July 1945, there would have been no atomic bomb on 6 August (nor the Nagasaki atrocity of 9 August). The ruling classes, especially the Showa Emperor, who continued to ignore the Potsdam Declaration by seeking a guarantee of the retention of the ‘national polity’, cannot escape grave responsibility for the atrocities occasioned by the atomic bombing. The atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima by US military forces. And yet the meaningless procrastination over acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration was caused by the group that sought to preserve the ‘national polity’ for their own protection. In view of the fact that, immediately after the end of the war, the hibakusha were unable to comprehend the background to the ‘imperial decision that came too late’, it follows that, if the hibakusha remained incapable of ending their identifi- cation with the Showa Emperor even after that background became known to the public, it must be because the hibakusha had negated the accountability of the Showa Emperor.

 

On 31 October 1975, the Showa Emperor was interviewed at the Japan Press Club upon his return from a trip to the US. Asked what he had thought of the atomic bombing, he replied, ‘Although I think it is regrettable that the A-bomb was dropped, and even though I feel sorry for the citizens of Hiroshima, considering that it was an act during such a war, I think it was unavoidable.’ This question and response could be interpreted as revealing a vague concern about the general response to the atomic bombing. However irrespective of the questioner’s intent, this dialogue can be construed as pertaining to the war responsibility of the Showa Emperor himself. However ‘regrettable’ and however ‘sorry’ he might feel, nevertheless ‘acts committed during such a war’ were ‘unavoidable’; in short, the Emperor was responding, ‘I have sympathy, but my subjects must accept their ordeal’.

 

The decision to defer acceptance of Potsdam can be extremely valuable as a means of severing the Japanese identification with the Showa Emperor in the context of Japan’s ‘war damage’ (including, but not limited to, Hiroshima and Nagasaki). It was not only the atomic bombings that could have been avoided had Japan acted swiftly to accept the Potsdam Declaration, but also personal losses and suffering, including the detentions of Japanese citizens in Siberia as a result of the last-minute Soviet participation in the war against Japan. ‘The imperial decision that came too late’ is highly pertinent, not merely with regard to the acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration, but also concerning the so-called ‘Konoe Report to the Showa Emperor’ (Konoe joso) of February 1945. At that time the Showa Emperor, fearful of a ‘reform of our polity by the US’, took his own initiative in rejecting Konoe’s suggestion (born partly of the desire to secure the continued prosperity of the Imperial Family) that it was ‘necessary to urgently arrange for the ending of the war’ on the ground that ‘negotiations will be rather difficult unless we achieve military gains once again’. The major Tokyo Air Raid took place in March, to be followed by the indiscriminate strategic bombing of other cities. The Battle of Okinawa began with US military forces landing on the Kerama Islands and Okinawa main island at the end of March and on 1 April 1945 respectively. The major Tokyo Air Raid, indiscriminate bombings of cities, the Battle of Okinawa, the nuclear obliteration of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, personal injury suffered in the Manchuria region due to the Soviet participation in the war, detention in Siberia . . . all these have been cited and re-cited as representative instances of the ‘misery of war’ in ‘the war memories’ of the postwar Japanese, and remain at the core of the ‘Japanese victim consciousness’. (Note, however, that there were exceptional circumstances about the Battle of Okinawa that cannot simply be paralleled with the other incidents.) All occurred after the Showa Emperor’s personal rejection of the ‘Konoe Report to the Showa Emperor’ and were the consequence of the ‘imperial decision that came too late’.

 

The fact that they all resulted from ‘the imperial decision that came too late’ means that those war ‘victims’ were sacrificed for ‘the retention of the national polity’ and preservation of the Imperial Family. The fact that the ‘victim consciousness’ of the Japanese in the post-war period was unable to exclude identification with the Showa Emperor signifies that such ‘victim consciousness’ was established purely on a rejection of the accountability of the Emperor and the emperor system. On the other hand, if the ‘imperial decision that came too late’ strategem became known to the public, there was a possibility that, even from within the ‘victim consciousness’ of the Japanese, a pursuit of responsibility of the Emperor and the emperor system could emerge. It would seem necessary to re-examine the similarities and differences between Hiroshima/Nagasaki and Okinawa from this viewpoint.

 

First, in this regard, it is important to note that the ‘war memory’ of Okinawans assumed a totally different direction, in that it cannot be assimilated with the ‘war memory’ of other Japanese who identify themselves with the Emperor. Okinawan war memories cannot be ‘nationalized’ nor can the sufferings of Okinawans be incorporated into ‘the victim consciousness’ of the Japanese.

 

Second, ‘within’ Hiroshima itself (as well as within Nagasaki), there exist others who resist such identification. In order for the myth of being ‘the only nuclear victim’ to be shattered, it is simply enough to remember that people from about twenty countries (based on post-war national configurations) were resident in Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the cities encountered the atomic bombings. The vast majority of these people came from the Korean Peninsula. According to the estimates of the Association of Korean Atomic Bomb Victims, of the approximately 420,000 Hiroshima hibakusha , Korean hibakusha numbered about 50,000, and of all the approximately 150,000 deceased hibakusha , 30,000 were Koreans. In Nagasaki, of the approximately 270,000 hibakusha , Korean hibakusha numbered about 20,000, and of all the approximately 70,000 deceased hibakusha , about 10,000 were Koreans (with ‘Korean’ referring to both South and North Koreans).

 

The vast majority of these people would not have been in Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the disasters occurred had they not been victims of forcible deportation from their homelands, itself a consequence of the Japanese colonization of Korea. These people had been removed from their home country as a direct consequence of the colonial rule of the imperial Japanese state and they became hibakusha as a result of the ‘imperial decision that came too late’ of the Showa Emperor. Their existence represents an invaluable counter to the Japanese consciousness represented in the words of the old lady who argued, ‘I have a feeling that I have always been sharing hardship with the Showa Emperor’. Their experience as hibakusha militates again the self-identification of the Japanese as ‘the only nuclear victim’. Conversely, in order for Japan to construct its consciousness as the only ‘nuclear-irradiated country’, such memories must be eliminated. Thus, the existence of such non-Japanese hibakusha has long been completely excluded from the memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and from the ‘war memories’ of the post-war Japanese.

 

In 1995, the so-called ‘Atomic Bomb Exhibition’ took place at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the Cultural Research Institute of the NHK Broadcasting Corporation conducted polls in Japan, the US and Korea. To the question ‘Do you think the dropping of the atomic bombs was justifiable or not?’, 8.2 per cent of Japanese, 62.3 per cent of American and 80.5 per cent of Korean subjects responded affirmatively, whereas 57.8 per cent, 25.7 per cent and 19.1 per cent respectively responded negatively.

 

From this it can be seen that Korean support of the atomic bombing in Japan was markedly higher even than that of the Americans. Such a high rate of affirmative response can be understood only in conjunction with the interpretation that the atomic bombings caused Japan’s defeat in the war and brought about the liberation of Korea from the yoke of colonialist rule (literally ‘recovery of light’ in Korean). Both Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bases for Japan’s invasion of Asia, and there is no denying that the atomic bombings provided a fatal blow to the dying Japanese Empire. However, it is also clear that the Korean attitude concerning the ‘justifiability’ of the atomic bombings is incompatible with the presence of numerous ‘Korean’ hibakusha . Perhaps the old and new colonialism of Japan with its emperor system not only excluded ‘Korean’ hibakusha from the Japanese memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but also made ‘Korean’ hibakusha invisible to the eyes of their fellow Koreans.

 

The Constitution, Banzai and Kimigayo

 

In the last paragraph of its column on the Emperor, the blank-cover edition of the ‘Tsukurukai’ history textbook linked the ‘cries’ of ‘Banzai’ heard during the imperial tours after Japan’s defeat to ‘the veritable symbol of the Japanese state and the unity of the Japanese people’. By the time of the imperial tours to Hiroshima in December 1947 and Nagasaki in May 1949, the Showa Emperor had already become ‘the symbol of the State and the unity of people’ through the Constitution of Japan. If the symbolic emperor system is inherently revisionist, what would become of the Constitution of Japan, which delineates the symbolic emperor system in Chapter 1, Article 1?

 

On 3 November 1946, about a year before the ‘Banzai’ cries in front of the Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima, numerous festive events were held in Tokyo to commemorate the promulgation of the Constitution of Japan. On the following day, the Mainichi shinbun reported the scene of a ‘Tokyo Citizens Celebration Meeting’ hosted by the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly in the following terms:

 

In the capital city, to commemorate this significant day, various celebrations and festive events took place throughout the city, including one at the Palace Plaza. The ‘Tokyo Citizens Celebration Meeting’, hosted by the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly, was honoured by the presence of the Emperor and Empress and, under clear autumn skies, was a great success. Even before the gates were opened, the people formed long queues at all entrances to the Palace, including the Babasen, Sakashita and Hibiyaguchi gates. The total number of participants exceeded one hundred thousand . . . the Meeting was declared open at the scheduled hour of two o’clock in the afternoon. The Metropolitan Orchestra played ‘Chiyoda no shiro o aogite’ (Looking up at the Chiyoda Imperial Palace). An opening address was then delivered by Chairman Nakazato of the Executive Committee, followed by an address by Chairman Kuwabara of the Metropolitan Assembly and readings of congratulatory messages by Vice- Chairman Yata of the Metropolitan Assembly. These were followed by addresses on behalf of the distinguished guests, first by Prime Minister Yoshida, then by Chairman Tokugawa of the House of Peers, Chairman Yamazaki of the House of Representatives, followed lastly by Governor Yasui of Tokyo. As the Kimigayo national anthem played solemnly, the Emperor and the Empress arrived at the Meeting in the imperial carriage. The hour was two thirty-five and cries of Banzai filled the autumnal sky. The imperial couple was showered with the enthusiasm of the citizens and, with the second playing of the Kimigayo, retired in good spirits. The Meeting was solemnly closed at two forty. (emphasis added)

 

Another quote from the same source reads:

 

With the Kimigayo playing in the background, the Imperial couple arrived at the venue of the ‘Tokyo Citizens Celebration Meeting’. The Emperor was dressed in morning suit with a trilby hat, while the Empress was in a light yellow-green imperial court dress. They stood side by side on the stage. The people, overcome by the sight of these figures at such proximity, ardently sang the ‘Kimigayo’. Since the end of the war, who would have thought of singing the ‘Kimigayo’ so loudly?

 

Thus, the Constitution of Japan, symbol and fount of Japan’s post-war democracy, was stained from its inception by the emperor system and the consequent politics of national symbolism. At the 145th session of the Diet in 1999, the hinomaru and Kimigayo were legislated, for the first time in history, as the national flag and national anthem. Such nationalistic politics of symbols, based on the national flag and national anthem, did not suddenly appear as a betrayal of postwar democracy at the end of the twentieth century. We must remember that, at the outset of post-war Japanese democracy, cries of Kimigayo and Banzai echoed in praise of the Emperor as symbol of the Japanese nation and of the unification of the Japanese people. In order to critique the ‘Tsukurukai’’s view of history and of the Emperor adequately these premises of Japanese post-war democracy must be confronted.

 

University of Tokyo

 

Acknowledgements

 

The author expresses his sincere appreciation to Mr Sakurai Hitoshi and Mr Uchida Makoto for assistance in verification of reference materials.

 

Notes

 

1. In Japan, new nationalistic movements that advocate the recovery of national pride have intensified since the latter half of the 1990s. ‘The Society for History Textbook Reform’ is one such representative neo-nationalistic movement. It was established in December 1996 by activists including Nishio Kanji, a scholar of German literature, Fujioka Nobukatsu, a scholar of education, and Kobayashi Yoshinori, a cartoonist, and its formal inauguration took place in the following January. In its inaugural statement, the Society criticized existing history textbooks as being dominated by post-war ‘masochistic views of history’ and advocated the creation of a new textbook that could serve as ‘the official national history’. The Society strongly demanded deletion of all descriptions of the so-called ‘comfort women’ from existing textbooks.

 

2. From ‘The Path to the Tokyo Tribunal’, broadcast in 1992 in Video Images of Twentieth Century Japan, NHK. The narration reports that ‘50,000’ people gathered. It is probably a scene from the ‘Hiroshima Citizens Welcoming Venue’, built at the site of the former Gokoku Shrine to greet the Emperor on 7 December 1947.

 

3. On 29 May 1949, the ‘Nagasaki Citizens Welcoming Venue’ was built near ground zero to greet the Emperor, with 50,000 people reportedly gathering.

 

4. In this interview, the Emperor was also asked: ‘What does Your Majesty think of so-called war accountability?’ To this he answered: ‘I did not study literature well enough and do not understand the exact connotation of such words. As I do not understand well these matters, I cannot answer such questions.’ It is one of the wonders of world history that such an answer was made, coolly and in the eyes of the world, and that it remained largely unchallenged. However, in light of the arguments advanced in this paper, it is nothing to be astonished at in post-war Japanese society. In any case, the complexity of the Showa Emperor’s interview is beyond the scope of this article and needs further close examination.

 

5. This does not mean that, in Hiroshima and in Nagasaki, there were no individuals who tried to detach themselves from identification with the Showa Emperor. For example, the case of Ms Amano Fumiko, also ‘an old lady exposed to radiation in Hiroshima’, is remarkable. One should also bear in mind the example of Hitoshi Motoshima, former Mayor of Nagasaki.

 

6. Hitoshi Sakurai (2001) ‘How video images have been delineating hibakusha’, Sekai September: 132.

 

Takahashi Tetsuya is Associate Professor in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at the University of Tokyo. His current research interests are problems of deconstruction, history and memory, and showa. E-mail: [email protected]

 

This article was published in Japan Forum 15(1) 2003: 3–14.

 

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