Japan’s conservative government has removed two pillars of its post-World War II pacifism. It now requires schools to teach patriotism and has upgraded its Defense Agency to a full ministry.
What to make of this news? Perhaps both too much and not enough given Japan’s unique status and character:
Sixty one years after the end of World War II, Germany is a fully fledged player in Europe and the world. Its Nazi past is not forgotten, but is no longer an issue. By contrast, Japan is a marginal player in Asia and nearly invisible on the world stage. And its militaristic past remains very much an issue.
I have more than a passing acquaintance with Japan. With Tokyo as my base, I traveled the country and the Far East for nearly three years. I made many friends and became deeply enamored of Japanese architecture, art, drama and cuisine, as well as their love of American jazz.
But I also came to understand that the Japanese are literally and figuratively insular and xenophobia is a national trait. Many Japanese are racist.
These traits go a long way toward explaining why Japan rose from the ashes of World War II to become an economic colossus but has not been able to shake off its imperialist past and become a major player on the political stage regionally and globally.
As dictated by their American conquerers, Japan’s so-called “peace” constitution has permitted only a small defensive military force. Although it is long past time for Japan to grow its own military capability and play a larger security role, something that Prime Minister Shinzo Abe now seems intent on doing, the Japanese themselves recognize that there is something inherent in their national character that has prevented them from accepting and taking responsibility for their past. This makes the prospect of a militaristic future deeply worrisome.
Japanese textbooks still paper-over the country’s barbarous wartime conduct. Pearl Harbor notwithstanding, many Japanese believe that their country was not the aggressor and atrocities like the Rape of Nanking never happened. According to polls, half of all Japanese supported former PM Koizumi’s August visit to the Yasukuni shrine where many Japanese war criminals are buried, with about a third rationalizing the visit as necessary to save face because of condemnations from China and South and North Korea.
Ah, yes, saving face.
These sentiments make the prospect of a remilitarized Japan a frightening prospect to Japanese who believe that, despite the outward appearances of a sophisticated society, a middle course between pacifism and militarism is not possible.
I regret to say that I agree.
Japan is at a crossroads. Its population is aging and its birth rate continues to drop. There will literally not be enough people to run Japan’s factories and institutions in a few decades, while its immigration policies make it extremely difficult for non-Japanese to become citizens, let alone enter the workforce.
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No, not all Japanese are racist or xenophobes. My friends certainly weren’t, and as painful as the subject was, they acknowledged the truth about Japan and World War II and its inability to come to terms with its past. Some had spent time in Europe and the U.S. and several had attended American universities.
Coming home, shaking off the Western ways that they had embraced and obeying their parents’ wishes that they accept the old ways was sometimes painful to watch. I had particularly mixed feelings about a friend who had a successful career in broadcasting but put that aside and took over the family’s generations-old tea ceremony business when his father retired.
Mrs. Mioshi, my landlady in Tokyo, was one of the first Japanese women to attend Oxford University in England. We became friends, and one evening after a farewell dinner, she said that she wanted to show me something before I flew home.
She explained that she had brought back a lovely Wedgewood china dinner service from England before the war and had buried it in the back yard of their home early in 1945 when the U.S. advance up the Pacific enabled its B-29 bombers to reach Tokyo.
The Mioshis lived out the closing months of the war in the country. They returned after the surrender to find Roppongi, their neighborhood and later mine, decimated from firebombings.
Mrs. Mioshi told a story as she opened the doors to a cupboard and pulled out a dinner plate:
“It was a lovely ivory white,” she explained as she handed the plate to me. “But you can see what the intense heat of the firebombings did.”
Indeed. The plate had turned an otherwordly cobalt blue, as had the rest of the dinner service.
“I forgive the Americans for what they had to do,” Mrs. Mioshi said in her tiny voice. Japanese often look down when they address gaijin, but she looked me right in the eye.
“It is just that we will never be able to confront our past, let alone forgive ourselves for it.”