To the average person the surrender of Japan is synonymous with two events which followed closely upon each other during the final days of the war. The first was the utilization of an atomic bomb against Hiroshima and Kagasaki on August 6 and August 9, 1945. The second event, though less extraordinary at the time, has proved no less fateful in its influence upon post-war developments. This was the Soviet entry into the Pacific arena by way of Manchuria, Korea, and Sakhalin.
In so far as the Japanese surrender is concerned, however, the emphasis which has been given to these two events is quite misleading. Japan's formal acceptance of the Potsdam ultimatum on August 14, 1945 actually represented much more than just a hasty reaction to either the atomic bomb or the Soviet Union's participation in the war. The background of the Empire's decision to capitulate can in fact be sketched, with a fair amount of detail, from the first year of hostilities onward, with a definite pattern of thought and activity emerging more clearly and positively as Japan's initial victories give way before an increasing number of defeats.
Although the point should not be pushed too far, it is clear that even at the time of Pearl Harbor there were a few among the ruling elite who did not share the general view that war was the only alternative to what the army and others called national suicide. But the doubts existing in the minds of this minority were more the result of general impressions than of specific knowledge. Even if incontrovertible evidence had been at hand, the dissidents would not have spoken frankly or openly. Japan was a police state, and the punishments for any deviation from the norm were severe. In short, the disinclination of the few far-seeing men to stand up against the majority point of view, and their very real fear of reprisals at the hands of the secret police and the fanatics, caused these individuals to withdraw into the background and to follow, more often than not, a line of least resistance.
Also effective as a "silencer," especially during early 1942, was the obvious fact of Japan's initial gains. During the first three months of the fighting, Japan's blitzkrieg netted His Majesty's Empire a land area roughly equal to one-half the area of the United States. Moving steadily eastward, southward, and westward, the Japanese military drove relentlessly in quest of the natural resources so vital to the success of Japan's gamble. By the time their victims were awake to the danger, the Japanese were at the gateways to India and Australia. While this vast accomplishment stifled any tendency toward criticism that might. otherwise have appeared within the inner councils, it also inspired confidence in and lent support. to a number of highly-colored expectations which had been aired in military and civilian circles prior to Pearl Harbor. Paramount among these was the idea that the United States could be induced to abandon what threatened to be a long drawn-out war in return for a compromise peace. Although the surprisingly rapid and vigorous recovery of the United States eventually dispelled such expectations one by one, the battle reports of the first six months of the war served to reinforce and perpetuate the assumptions underlying the strategy portrayed in Japan's war plans. As a result, new policy decisions designed to offset the Allied refusal to accept Japan's blueprint for the Pacific were not speedily forthcoming. Although they admitted, for instance, that Americans were materially strong, Japan's military masters stoutly affirmed that morally and spiritually no American could begin to compare with a Japanese. This was a theme which found frequent repetition among the die-hards even after the Americans had proved the reverse to be true.
It was not just a matter of psychology of course; it was also a question of economics. Here, too, the Japanese helped compound their own defeat. If they did not exactly fail to understand they at least failed to meet the economic requirements of modern warfare. One plan followed another, yet none proved capable of producing the desired results. With each passing month new economic insufficiencies added greatly to the mounting difficulties being encountered by Japan's wartime leaders. Those who chose not to think found consolation and renewed promise in the clichés of the propagandists. "Japan," they declared, "may be weak in resources, but she is strong in spirit. This will lead the nation to victory!" But spirit could not produce arms or ammunition, planes or ships, steel or petroleum; nor could it provide any of the actual equipment and resources which might spell the difference between victory and defeat. While time was needed to strengthen impressions, the fact remains that Japan's comparative weakness in total war gradually gave rise to the first serious and sustained reflection on the part of the few men who had had misgivings from the very beginning, or who had soon thereafter found reason to doubt what they had earlier taken for granted. Thus, by the time the war was little more than a year old, an informal but positive movement toward secret comparison of information and guarded questioning of trends was already in progress, with the Emperor's closest adviser, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal Kido, serving as a focal point.
In spite of the part he is alleged to have played in the coming of the war, the en tries in Kido's diary, and other evidence, clearly place him in the forefront of those who soon realized that Japan's initial victories had left the Empire over-extended along a line incapable of defense against the forces being mustered by the Allies. Once Kido, who was the eyes and ears of the Throne, had discerned that the tide had turned against Japan, the responsibility of preserving the nation's polity began to weigh heavily upon his shoulders, and he saw that he could ultimately meet that responsibility only by helping to bring the war to an end. He therefore increasingly lent his support to the argument that Japan must attempt to salvage, through negotiation, what she could no longer hope to retain by prolonging the fighting. In this venture he was to enjoy, at one time or another, not only the counsel but also the active assistance of several former premiers (Konoye, Okada, Wakatsuki, and Yonai), two foreign ministers (Togo and Shigemitsu), and a number of less prominent persons who operated what amounted to a private intelligence service and who, on occasion, performed very necessary liaison duties.
Although the record for 1942 and 1943 is rather barren by comparison with the data available for the last two years of the war, the pre-1944 activity of the individuals mentioned above, and their advocacy of certain ideas later to assume great importance in Japan's decision to surrender, should not be ignored. It was during this early period, for instance, that Prince Konoye, whose position ranked second only to that of the imperial family, began meeting regularly with several other senior statesmen (men who had once held the post of premier) to exchange information and to consider the outlook for the future. This was a modest beginning, but one which was later turned to good account by the enforced resignation of General Tojo, in the creation of an army-navy coalition cabinet to succeed Tojo, and in the final elevation of Admiral Suzuki, Japan's last wartime premier. It was during this early period, also, that Prince Konoye first mentioned his fear that a protracted war, ending in defeat, would inaugurate a Communist revolution within Japan. This was a warning Konoye was to reiterate on at least two other occasions of significance: during the selection of Togo's successor in July, 1944, and during an extraordinary audience with the Emperor in February, 1945. Finally, it was in the early war years that the Privy Seal, Marquis Kido, realized that it would ultimately be necessary to create, or at least to exploit, a situation in which military acceptance of a negotiated peace might perhaps be obtained through the magic formula of imperial influence. Here was the key to an event that was another two years in the making.
In the long run, the views exchanged and the ideas expressed by Konoye, Kido, and a few other members of the ruling elite during 1942 and 1943 were extremely important; in the short run, they were very limited in scope and effect. Even though the war was already turning against Japan, the circumstances and attitudes of the period conspired against an easy cessation of hostilities. Peace at any price was clearly not included in the motivations dominant at the time. A few far-seeing men may have been willing to relinquish Japan's hold on certain areas in order to reduce problems to manageable proportions or to provide a defined incentive to the Allies to accept: Japan's conquest of other areas, but realization of the extent to which Japan would finally be forced to dismember her empire was still far in the future.
In spite of this, however, the year 1944 showed a quickening of pace and a boldness that was, at times, surprising. Marquis Kido, who was the best informed of the civilian elite, began the new year by confiding to his diary that the prospects were precarious. He speculated on the possibility of a German capitulation and raised the all-important question of the policy Japan should adopt in the event of a collapse in Europe. This caused him to draft a so-called peace plan which envisaged a Japanese request for Soviet good offices in bringing the Pacific War to an end. When he subsequently discussed his ideas with Foreign Minister Shigemitsu, Kido found that his own pessimistic outlook was fully shared by the head of the Foreign Office. Shigemitsu even spoke of a need for "great determination" and frankly declared, "unconditional surrender, in essence, will be unavoidable." Also active at this time were two outstanding General Staff officers, Admiral Takagi and Colonel Matsutani. Working independently of one another, these two men saw through the fantastic claims of the propagandists, faced up to the fact that Japan was losing the war, and—as a consequence—turned their attention to ways and means of obtaining a negotiated peace. Such was the atmosphere of the times, however, that the Admiral permitted caution to stand in the way of action while the Colonel, less circumspect than his colleague, found reassignment to Japan's expeditionary forces in China to be the price placed upon initiative and foresight.
As in the earlier years, high-level activity of an end-the-war nature seemed only infrequently to result in any concrete accomplishment in that direction. In fact, while Kido and others were endeavoring to anticipate the approaching crisis by preparing individual "peace plans" of varying significance, the power concentrated in the hands of the military services, especially the army, remained practically unimpaired. Although the Tojo Cabinet was finally forced to resign in July, 1944, after a record thirty-three months in office, the idea at the time was to inject "new life" into the minds and hearts of the people by creating "a strong National Cabinet" that would "move forward unswervingly," presumably in the prosecution of the war. In at her words, in mid-1944 the militarists, in spite of their obvious failures, were still in control of the politics and policies of the country. The rigidity of this group, reinforced by a flair for patriotic and nationalistic sentiments that made any word of criticism an act of treason, served to perpetuate their monopoly of power beyond all reason.
Surprising as it may seem, the people of Japan generally accepted the sugar-coating of unpalatable facts fed them by military and civilian propagandists. Kept ignorant of the degree of Japan's plight, they were slow to react. against the threat of annihilation contained in the refusal of their leaders to acknowledge defeat. Not until after the heavy air raids began in late 1944 did the first signs appear of possible future danger on t he civilian morale front. Even then, lit tie fundamental consideration was given by the masses to matters which thorough indoctrination had led them to regard as outside their realm. The government's propaganda and thought-control accomplishment explains, in part, why the people themselves did not force a termination of the war. It also illustrates why the intrigue of the very few men who sought a solution through negotiation was so long in taking shape and was so thoroughly unsupported by any pressure from the outside.
But in spite of the glib assurances of the propagandists, it was obvious to t he men at the top that all was not well with Japan. The leaders of the new coalition cabinet, for instance, had been enjoined by the Emperor to exert themselves to attain the objectives of the Greater East Asia War, but in October, 1944, scarcely three months after the formation of the cabinet, the Japanese navy was forced to admit that Japan no longer possessed a fleet capable of mounting an offensive. The Emperor had also warned the coalition leaders against antagonizing the Soviet Union, but on November 7, 1944, the anniversary of the Red Revolution, Stalin openly denounced Japan as an aggressor on a plane with Germany. In the Philippines, meanwhile, the situation had gone from bad to worse. The crowning blow came on Christmas Day, 1944, when the United States announced the successful completion of its Leyte campaign. Since the Japanese premier had previously seen fit to characterize this campaign as decisive, the American announcement inevitably gave rise to speculation concerning the relationship between Japan's defeat on Leyte and the ultimate outcome of the war.
By this time the failures which greeted Japan's efforts on every front had become so apparent that not even the Emperor could be kept in the dark any longer. So concerned did His Majesty become with the trend of events that he informed Marquis Kido of his desire to consul t the senior statesmen about the war situation. This was an unusual development, to say the least. The former premiers were not general consultants for either the Emperor or the government. Even though they theoretically represented the most reliable and capable opinion in the country, the Emperor had thus far refrained from seeking their views with regard to Japan's prospects. This had been in deference to the attitude of the Japanese army which looked with disfavor upon any interference by the senior statesmen in affairs of state. In this particular instance, however, the Emperor pressed the matter, and Kido made the necessary arrangements, taking care, in the process, to create the impression that the former premiers merely wanted to pay their respects to His Majesty and to inquire after his health on the occasion of the New Year.
Between February 7 and February 26, 1945, the individual senior statesmen proceeded to the palace according to a prearranged schedule. Of the six former premiers who thus paid their respects to His Majesty, only one presented an exceptional and realistic point of view. This came from Prince Konoye who spoke with a strength of conviction for which he had not always been noted. Japan, he declared had already lost the war. Although it would be a great slain upon the national polity, defeat need not occasion undue concern. Far more serious was the danger that a Communist revolution might accompany defeat and thus destroy Japan's way of life. To preserve the national polity, therefore, Japan "should seek to end the war as speedily as possible."
In a damning admission of his own role as Japan's prewar political leader, Konoye declared that in his desire to achieve national unity he had failed to perceive the real purpose hidden behind the contentions of the extremist elements among the military—the men who were responsible for the Manchurian Incident, the China Incident, and the Greater East Asia War. The elimination of these extremists, he said, constituted a prerequisite to saving Japan from a Communist revolution.
Although Konoye's emphasis upon the Communist danger was stronger than his evidence, he had at least probed to the very core of the problem. In terms of physical accomplishment, the Japanese military had already lost the war, but spiritually they were still indestructible. For want of a better solution they now insisted that, by concentrating their forces in the homeland, they would be able to win a decision against the invader that would permit Japan to end the war on favorable terms. In the months that followed, this became the military answer to every question raised with respect to Japan's ability to prosecute the war to a successful conclusion.
In the meantime, the Koiso-Yonai Coalition Cabinet, which had succeeded to Togo's power with such high hopes, had been encountering all manner of difficulties from both within and without. General Koiso had not only to fight a war which he personally feared was lost, but he had also to maneuver constantly in what proved to be a fruitless effort to gain a position from which he might participate effectively in those functions of the Supreme Command pertaining to the direction of hostilities. In addition, his premiership coincided with the loss of the Philippines, with the disintegration of the Japanese navy as an effective fighting arm, with the commencement and development of a devastating air offensive against the Japanese homeland, and with the American conquest of Iwo Jima, a victory which gave the Allies an air base that was less than eight hundred miles from Tokyo. To make matters worse, Koiso became involved in an essentially insignificant "peace maneuver" with a renegade Chinese who was reputedly in radio communication with Chungking and who was supposedly desirous of serving as a mediator between Japan and China. The culmination of Koiso's inability to solve the problems besetting the nation came on April 1, 1945, when the Allies invaded Okinawa. Four days later, in Tokyo, the Koiso-Yonai Cabinet collapsed, and on that same day in Moscow, the Soviet government announced that it would not renew its Neutrality Pact with Japan. Although this Soviet declaration came as a great shock to Japanese leaders, a rereading of the Neutrality Pact and assurances obtained from Molotov in Moscow encouraged the Japanese Foreign Office to believe that there was no reason for immediate worry. By its terms, the Pact would clearly remain valid for another year, that is, until April 1946, thus giving Japan roughly twelve months of grace in which to mend her diplomatic fences. The primary issue of the moment, moreover, was not Japan's next move toward the Soviet Union but, rather, the selection of a successor to the outgoing premier. In accordance with the usual procedure, the senior statesmen were summoned by the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal to a special meeting held inside the palace. Although their discussion on this occasion was a muddle of many voices and many different points of view, a specific criterion of selection eventually emerged and out of this, in turn, came the nomination of Baron Kantara Suzuki, a 79-year-old retired admiral who had once served the Emperor as Grand Chamberlain.
While on the surface there was nothing extraordinary about this development, the nomination of Suzuki actually represented a rather nebulous decision which had been taking shape in the minds of several of the senior statesmen for some time. Their endorsement of Suzuki was openly contrary to the army's long-standing insistence upon the premier's being a general on active service and was therefore consistent with the movement away from army domination that had been launched the year before when the Koiso-Yonai Coalition Cabinet had been formed to succeed Togo. In addition, Suzuki was regarded as a man of courage who would be able to grasp the whole picture without being encumbered by commitments or alignments formulated in the past. Although a number of end-the-war advocates, Kido and Konoye among them, hoped that Suzuki could eventually be influenced in the direction of launching peace negotiations, nothing of a specific nature was discussed with Suzuki prior to his becoming premier. According to Suzuki's own testimony, the imperial mandate which was bestowed upon him when he assumed office did not contain any direct order from the Emperor with respect to terminating the war. Suzuki clearly comprehended, however, from what the Emperor did say that His Majesty was very much concerned over the plight of his people. The death of civilians due to bombing and the great losses on the battlefields of the Pacific and of Asia weighed heavily upon the Emperor's mind. As premier-designate, in other words, Suzuki was "given to understand" that the Emperor desired him to exert every effort to bring the war to a conclusion (i e., to make peace) as quickly as possible. And that, Suzuki declared, represented his purpose from the very beginning.
Actually, the trail along which Suzuki moved as premier is not so clearly blazed as the foregoing remarks would indicate. In fact, it would appear that the old admiral only gradually acknowledged the necessity of bringing hostilities to an end after he had been in office long enough to learn the whole truth about the growing helplessness of the country. The very senior statesmen's conference at which Suzuki was nominated is a case in point, for throughout the session Suzuki said nothing which could have led anyone to believe that he might have been thinking in terms of ending the war. He even seems to have exceeded the possible requirements of "political strategy" by telling the former premiers that they must first decide to prosecute the war to the fullest and only then pick a successor to the outgoing premier, for their choice could not be suitable unless it fell upon a man who was willing to go all the way. Another indication of Suzuki’s martial temper is found in the testimony of the man who somewhat reluctantly accepted the post of Foreign Minister in the admiral's cabinet. So unconvinced was Mr. Togo that Suzuki would work for a restoration of peace that he actually declined the portfolio and only changed his mind after he had received representations from various quarters urging him to enter the cabinet so as to "enlighten" the premier. Suzuki, so the argument went, was an old man who needed guidance; he could not possibly know all of the details of Japan's critical military situation. Whatever warlike views he might hold at the moment could be changed once he learned the facts. Suzuki, it was believed would listen to reason. These representations, together with a promise from Suzuki to allow Togo a free hand, finally led the latter to take up the duties of Foreign Minister after all.
Additional light is cast on the riddle of Suzuki in a postwar statement made by the aged premier. The Emperor's desire to see the war ended as quickly as possible, Suzuki explained, had put him in a "very difficult position," since an open attempt on his part to carry out the imperial wishes would probably have made him a target for assassins inspired by extremist elements opposed to any effort to terminate the war through negotiation. This situation had forced him to play a deceptive and often inconsistent role. On the one hand, he had found it necessary to promote an "increase in the war effort" and "a determination to fight on" while, on the other hand, he had simultaneously tried to exploit diplomatic channels in an attempt "to negotiate with other countries" to end the fighting. Whatever interpretation is put on these conflicting scraps of testimony, one fact is clear: from the moment he became premier until the day he resigned no one could ever be quite sure of what the old admiral would do or say next.
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As the Suzuki Cabinet entered office in the spring of 1945, the war in Europe was ill its final stages. In the Pacific, Allied military forces had all but completed their reduction of Japan's island outposts of defense. Both the sea and the sky around Japan were thoroughly controlled by Allied air and naval arms. For Japan's propagandists the situation was critical. The little lie gave way to the big lie, and the "one hundred million people" of Japan were actually led to believe that Japan's deteriorating position was in reality merely part of a grand strategic plan conceived and regulated by their own invincible army and navy.
Significantly enough, there was no denial of what lay in store. Indeed, it was generally conceded that an Allied invasion was inevitable. But coupled with this admission was a categorical prophecy of a glorious triumph for "Great Japan" when the "golden opportunity" provided by an Allied invasion would at length be at hand.
Although Imperial General Headquarters continued to enjoy success in deceiving the masses, the propagandists failed to confuse the end-the-war advocates among the ruling elite. The inner conflicts to which these men fell victim, however, and their fear of swift and violent retaliation by military fanatics inevitably produced, on their part, a tardy reaction to events and robbed them of the effectiveness upon which the consummation of their a vowed purpose depended.
There is perhaps no better proof of the embryonic nature of Japanese end-the-war activity than the failure of the so-called pro-peace faction to utilize Germany's capitulation in Europe to ring down the curtain on the war in the Pacific as well. Treaty commitments to Germany may reveal why Japan did not seek a separate settlement before May, 1945. They do not explain, however, why those individuals who supposedly wanted to end the war did not plan, prior to Germany's fall, to parlay the psychological and diplomatic advantages inherent in Hitler's defeat into a Pacific settlement on terms at least slightly more favorable than those set forth in the Cairo Declaration. At the same time, it must be admitted that such an undertaking would have been considerably less difficult to promote within Japan had the Allies previously modified their unconditional surrender formula to include something of a guarantee with respect to the preservation of the imperial institution. Had this been done, Japanese peace maneuvers which were launched in Sweden and Switzerland in May, June, and July, 1945, might have led to a termination of the war more advantageous to both the victors and the vanquished than that which finally prevailed.
The capitulation of Germany, however, did accomplish one thing. It gave the new Foreign Minister, Mr. Togo, an opportunity to provide the leadership which was so necessary to a reorientation of national policy. Largely thanks to his efforts, the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War held several meetings in mid-May, 1945, to discuss the war situation. This "inner cabinet," which had been organized in the late summer of 1944, was composed of the Big Six: Premier Suzuki, Foreign Minister Togo, War Minister Anami, Navy Minister Yonai, Army Chief of Staff Umezu, and Navy Chief of Staff Toyoda. Out of their discussions in May came a somewhat halfhearted agreement whereby Japan was committed to extending a hand to her backyard neighbor, the Soviet Union. Although Japan's primary interest at this time was to prevent a Soviet entry into the Pacific War, the plan drafted by the Foreign Office did envisage, in case every other approach failed, an eventual request for Soviet good offices to end the fighting. The immediate result of this plan, however, was simply an effort on the part of the Foreign Office to entice the Soviet Union into an altitude of friendliness. This difficult task fell to Koki Hirota, a former premier who had once served as Japan's ambassador to Moscow. On June 3 and 4, and again on June 24 and June 29, 19-15, Hirota met with Soviet Ambassador Jacob A. Malik in a vain attempt to lay the ground work for a diplomatic arrangement powerful enough to keep the Soviets on their side of the border. But Malik, who had found the Allied air raids upon Tokyo so convincing that he had moved to a mountain resort area several hours distant from the capital, knew from personal experience and from the observations of his staff that Japan was nearing the end of the line. He therefore proved noncommittal and continually pressed for concrete proposals from Japan. These were finally handed to him, in writing, on June 29. Thus Malik was informed that if the Soviet Union would enter into a nonaggression treaty with Japan, Hirota's government would adopt a hands-off policy with respect to Manchuria, would relinquish Japanese fishing concessions in Soviet Far Eastern waters (in return for oil from the Soviet Union), and would be willing to consider any other matters the Soviet government might wish to place on the agenda. After a short discussion with Hirota, Malik promised to report to Moscow and to resume negotiations as soon as instructions arrived. Although this was the only commitment Malik had made at any time, it proved to be an empty gesture. Every subsequent attempt made by Hirota to see Malik netted the same reply: The ambassador is indisposed. Finally, after two weeks had passed, Hirota conveyed his condolences for the ambassador's ill health, and with that the negotiations ceased.
While these events had been taking place in the Hakone mountains southwest of Tokyo, army planners in the capital had succeeded in committing the nation to a fight to the bitter end. This extraordinary decision is another example of the lengths to which the extremists were able to go at a time when even their estimates of the situation contained astounding evidence of a general and irremediable deterioration. Of those present at the Supreme Council meeting of June 6, 1945, at which this decision was reached, all except Foreign Minister Togo were either ardent supporters of the army's plan or cautious devotees of the obscurity of silence. The Foreign Minister's words of warning went unheeded, and so the die was cast. On June 7 Premier Suzuki herded the Supreme Council's decision through the cabinet and on the following day, June 8, he helped obtain the same result at a so-called imperial conference, that is, a conference of ministers of state and other specially designated officials held in the presence of the Emperor. Only when there was agreement in the Supreme Council and in the cabinet did such a conference convene, for in matters of grave importance it was thought desirable to record the final decision of the government before the person of the sovereign. While His Majesty usually merely listened to the discussion and generally never said anything, a decision adopted by a conference of this type was considered to be endowed by the imperial presence with Imperial sanction.
Although the Emperor had indeed remained silent throughout the conference of June 8, his visible concern over the decision to fight to the last man had subsequently led the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal to survey the alternatives open to Japan. As Kido saw it, there was only one approach that held even a slight promise of success, and that was to encourage the Throne to request the government to seek a termination of the war through the good offices of the neutral Soviet Union. Acting on Kido's advice, the Emperor, on June 22, 1945, suddenly summoned the Big Six to the palace. Rather simply and in carefully chosen phrases, he declared that although the decision of June 8 had established the principle that the war would be fought to the end it was necessary to consider other methods of coping with the crisis facing the nation. Out of this pronouncement and Mr. Hirota's failure to make progress in his discussions with Ambassador Malik came the decision to approach the Kremlin directly. On July 12, 1945, Foreign Minister Togo instructed the Japanese ambassador to the Soviet Union to inform Molotov that the Emperor wanted the war ended immediately and wished to send Prince Konoye to Moscow as a special envoy. The prince would bear a personal letter from t he Emperor and would have the power to discuss any and all issues pertaining to Soviet-Japanese relations—especially the Manchurian question. There was no direct mention, however, of mediation. In fact, the Foreign Minister's cable even stressed that so long as the United States and Great Britain adhered to their unconditional surrender demand the Japanese government would have no choice other than to fight on in order to maintain the honor and existence of the nation. Nine days later, on July 21, this issue was clarified. In a cable dispatched that day, Mr. Togo categorically stated that Prince Konoye would request the Soviet government to use its good offices in bringing the war to an end and would also discuss matters relating to the establishment of co-operative relations between Japan and the Soviet Union.
By this time, of course, the Potsdam Conference was in full session, and the day was fast approaching when Japan would be forced La pay the price of indecision. Although Stalin personally told the President and the Prime Minister that the Japanese had requested Soviet mediation and had proposed sending Prince Konoye to Moscow, he explained that Japan's approach did not show a willingness to surrender unconditionally. As a result, he had unhesitatingly informed Japan, he said, that the Soviet government could not give a definite reply in view of the fact that the Japanese overture was general in form and lacking in any concrete proposals. Although Stalin did not know it, the United States government was already aware of the Japanese effort to obtain Soviet good offices. As in 1941, so now in 1945, American cryptographers had broken the Japanese codes, a fact which permitted Washington to read, with relative ease, the very secret and pressing messages being exchanged by the Foreign Minister in Tokyo and the Japanese ambassador in Moscow.
Into this setting there now came the Potsdam Proclamation of July 26, 1945—the Allied definition of the conditions of "unconditional surrender." In view of the evidence found in Japanese sources, there can be no doubt that the absence of any commitment on the Throne was a serious blow to end-the-war advocates within Japan. This was especially true since preservation of the imperial house had been the one prerequisite upon which all of their efforts to date had been based. Fortunately for everyone concerned, a careful but time-consuming study of the text of the Proclamation subsequently convinced the peace-makers that they could follow through with their plans without endangering the institution to which they owed the ultimate loyalty under their code of ethics. The Japanese military, on the other hand, interpreted the omission of any mention of the Emperor as evidence of the Allied intention to destroy forever the foundation stone of the Japanese nation. It was this difference in interpretation that was to contribute to the split which developed in the cabinet and Supreme Council during the last weeks of the war and thus, in turn, to a fateful delay in Japan's decision to capitulate.
In spite of a long-standing effort on the part of certain civilians to shift blame onto a convenient and naturally-suspect military scapegoat, the truth is that the "peace party" in Japan owed part of its final success to the very military command which is generally accused of having prolonged the fighting by having refused to listen to reason. The difference between officers who held positions of supreme responsibility and authority and those who fell within the lower echelon category has frequently been ignored or blurred into indistinction. The great difficulty he top officers experienced in controlling their subordinates docs much to explain the position taken by the so-called war party: War Minister Anami, Army Chief of Staff Umezu, and Navy Chief of Staff Tovoda. The outstanding fact is that these three officers had it perpetually within their power to wreck the Suzuki Cabinet and to force its resignation. The technique utilized for such a purpose was both simple and legal. No cabinet could take office in Japan without a War or Navy Minister. Nominations to these posts were controlled by the army and navy high commands. If a newly-constituted cabinet did not come up to military expectations, the army and navy simply refused to appoint service ministers. If a cabinet already in office failed to act in accordance with military wishes, the service ministers would resign. The rest of the cabinet would then have a choice between acceding to the demands of the military or relinquishing the reins of government. Anami, in other words, could have resigned had he found himself in disagreement with the decisions of the Suzuki Cabinet. If he had been personally reluctant to act in this manner, Chief of Staff Umezu could have forced his resignation. That neither of these men followed this course of action testifies to their thorough understanding of the insoluble problems besetting the nation and to their growing willingness to cooperate with an effort to effect a negotiated peace.
In spite of the pressures against doing so, Anami, Umezu, and Toyoda were actually prepared to accept the Potsdam Proclamation under certain conditions. The impasse which subsequently developed within the cabinet and the Supreme Council arose primarily over the extent to which Japan should endeavor to obtain modification of the Potsdam terms—and not, as has been implied at times, over the issue of whether to surrender at once or fight to the bitter end. The extremists, to be sure, were clamoring for last-ditch stand on the battlefield of the homeland, but this blind desire was not shared by those whose duty it was to advise the cabinet and the Throne on how best to rescue the state from disaster. Although the role played by the Anami faction created serious problems for the peacemakers and made them fearful of a military coup d’état, the War Minister and the two Chiefs of Staff deserve far more credit than is generally given them by some of their erstwhile colleagues.
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In spite of its stern warning of a coming destruction more terrible than that which had already been visited upon Japan, the Potsdam Proclamation went wide of its mark. The last days of the war thus gave birth to an event which staggered the imagination of the world and left it uncertain of the future. For the people of Japan the final act was one of stark tragedy. On August 6, 1945, the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Three days later a second bomb exploded over Nagasaki. On that same day, August 9, the Soviet Union launched hostilities against Japan in bland disregard of the fact that the Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact would not expire until April, 1946. These crises resulted in feverish activity within the government. Cabinet and Supreme Council sessions followed one upon the other but always with the same result: impasse. The only issue upon which the two opposing factions could agree was the necessity of safeguarding and preserving the imperial institution. Foreign Minister Togo, with the support of Navy Minister Yonai, pressed for an immediate acceptance of the Potsdam Proclamation on the sole condit.ion that it would not comprise any demand which would prejudice the prerogatives of His Majesty as a Sovereign Ruler. War Minister Anami and his two supporters, Umezu and Toyoda, insisted upon adding three other reservations. They wanted to avoid an Allied occupation of Japan; they wanted to try war criminal cases themselves; and they wanted to accept the surrender of their own men, that is, they wanted to withdraw their forces from the occupied and combat areas and to disarm and demobilize their own troops. Stated in this blunt fashion, their position sounds extravagant, but in view of the temper of the rank and file within the services the demands of the Anami faction were not unreasonable.
Through all this Premier Suzuki stood his ground uncertainly, leaning first in one direction and then in another. Kido, on the other hand, ranged himself squarely behind Foreign Minister Togo's point of view, a fact which was reflected in Kido's advice to the Emperor and in his efforts to convince Suzuki that the urgings of the military could only lead to greater difficulties for Japan. Kido's success in this regard eventually led the premier to suggest, and the Emperor to endorse, the convocation of an extraordinary imperial conference. It was at this conference, which convened shortly before midnight on August 9, that the premier resorted to the unprecedented procedure of requesting the Emperor to "decide" which proposal should be adopted-the one suggested by Foreign Minister Togo or the one sponsored by War Minister Anami. Breaking yet another precedent, the Emperor—for the first time in Japan's modern, constitutional history—spoke his mind freely and, in so doing, gave his support to the views of the Foreign Minister. This so-called imperial decision subsequently received the unanimous approval of His Majesty's cabinet, which was called into special session for that purpose. Thus was the deadlock finally broken. By early morning on August 10, 1945, cables announcing Japan's willingness to surrender were already on their way to Japan's diplomatic representatives in Berne and Stockholm, there to be forwarded to Washington, London, Moscow, and Chungking.
While they waited for an answer which they hoped would constitute an unequivocal acceptance of their surrender offer, Japan's cabinet ministers wrangled over the problem of informing the Japanese people of the steps already taken to terminate t he war. Again the cabinet was divided between those who favored all immediate announcement and those who urged postponement until after an Allied reply had been received. A compromise finally produced a government statement which appeared in all of the morning papers on Saturday, August 11. Although this was meant to be a hint that the cabinet was preparing to end the war, the wording of the statement misled the masses into believing that they would be called upon to make a death-to-the-last-man stand on the beaches of their homeland. This impression was heightened by the concurrent publication of a stirring proclamation to the army in which War Minister Anami was quoted as saying, inter alia, "we shall fight on to the bitter end, ever firm in our faith that we shall find life in death." The fact that this proclamation was later proved to be a forgery is simply another illustration of the role played by the extremists and of the problems encountered by the government during the last days of the war.
More serious than this bizarre development was the conflict which arose over the note sent by Secretary of State James Byrnes in reply to Japan's communication of August 10. The principal argument. Revolved around Allied statements to the effect that the Emperor would be "subject to" the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers and that the ultimate form of government in Japan would be established "by the freely expressed will of the Japanese people." While the peace-makers found this acceptable, the War Minister and the two Chiefs of Staff did not. Once again the Supreme Council and the cabinet became involved in an inconclusive tug of war in which neither side could budge the other. This unusual situation finally led to a second imperial conference, held on the morning of August 14. As he had done five days earlier, the Emperor again sided with the so-called peace party. Bowing to the imperial wishes, the cabinet—which met immediately after the imperial conference—unanimously endorsed. for the second time, what the Japanese now call His Majesty's "bold decision." Once again cables were dispatched to Sweden and Switzerland, only this time their message was final.
The real significance of the atomic explosions over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and of the Soviet entry into the war, therefore, was that these events produced a shock great enough to create an unusual atmosphere in which the normally static factor of the Emperor could be made active in such an extraordinary way as to work what was virtually a political miracle. To accomplish their purpose, in other words, the peacemakers found it necessary to rely, as Kido had foreseen in 1943, upon the moral support of the Emperor. Although the latter lacked both the power and the authority to help in any way, he possessed an influence which—if aided by circumstances—could exert a force beyond measure in terms of conventional power.
By August 9, 1945, the burden of nearly four years of war topped suddenly by the imminent possibility of atomic extermination and foreign invasion clearly promised that, should the Suzuki Cabinet resign in disagreement, chaos would follow. This state of affairs made an imperial conference mandatory even though the traditions and practices of the past argued against holding such a conference before a unanimous decision had been reached by the cabinet. To convene an imperial conference prior to complete agreement, although undesirable from the standpoint of implicating the Throne in affairs of state, proved preferable to the internal chaos and national extinction which promised to result from the cabinet's continuing inability to achieve unanimity. When the Emperor, who from childhood on had been taught to equate his own will with that of his advisers, was suddenly asked to resolve an otherwise irreconcilable conflict that had been raging for days among those very advisers, he could do nothing more than express his personal opinion. That this opinion became a so-called imperial decision, and hence the will of the state, stems from the action of the ministers of state, who met in cabinet session immediately following the imperial conference, and who, after due consideration, unanimously endorsed the Emperor's unofficial, and until then extralegal, pronouncement. The fact that the Emperor was forced to state his views twice, first on the night of August 9-10 and again on the morning of August 14, suggests that the regular machinery of government had indeed broken down, leaving the fate of the nation hanging in precarious balance.
Although the Emperor's words proved to be the decisive factor in the thoughts and actions of His Majesty's ministers of state, the "imperial will" failed to silence the diehards. It was the phenomenon of the 1930's reappearing—the perennial justification of the fanatics: "The Emperor is being insincerely advised by a group of traitors close to the Throne. To eliminate this evil influence we must place ourselves in temporary disobedience to His Majesty. The issue at stake is not confined to the present Emperor alone nor is the imperial system limited in scope to the reigning sovereign. Thus, even if we must oppose temporarily the will of His Majesty, the system will be preserved for posterity. To act in compliance with the wishes of the imperial ancestors constitutes a wider and truer loyalty to the Throne. In disobeying His Majesty we are not being disloyal to the imperial institution." Acting on this convenient but questionable principle, a group of field-grade army officers took the lead in attempting a coup d’état aimed at reshaping the course of national policy in accordance with their own wishes. Their efforts failed, however, through lack of organization and because the responsible leaders of the army and navy—Anami, Umezu, and Toyoda—withheld their support.
To dissuade other extremist elements from following a similar course and to inform the masses of what lay in store, the cabinet turned its attention to drafting an imperial rescript announcing the termination of the war and calling upon the Emperor's "good and loyal subjects" to join in paving the way to peace "by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable." Late on the night of August 14 the Emperor personally recorded this rescript for broadcast, by transcription, the following day at noon, Thus did the people of Japan learn from His Majesty's own lips that the war situation had developed "not necessarily to Japan's advantage" while the general trends of the world had "all turned against her interest"—in short, that the war had been brought to an end. Some of the Emperor's subjects broke under the impact of the national failure. A few sought compensation in violence; others resigned themselves to death by suicide. The majority, however, simply accepted the inevitable, thus lending substance, through their unquestioning obedience, to that so-called "extraordinary measure" of August 14, 1945: the surrender of Japan.
*This article is based on the following primary sources: records, exhibits, and proceedings of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East; documents in the possession of and studies prepared by the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs; unclassified and unpublished interrogation files of the U. S. Army's Military History Section, Far East Command; published memoirs of Japanese and Allied leaders of World War II; and notes, diaries, and letters obtained in Japan from participants in the events described.