The negotiations stalled in September 1941 when the Japanese war minister General Hideki Tojo refused to consider even a token withdrawal from China and called for a council of war. When two weeks later the Japanese ambassador Admiral Nomura informed Tokyo that the Americans were adamant on the China issue, Japan’s prime minister Prince Fumimaro Konoe and his government fell and in its place came the fateful and fanatically chauvinistic and expansionist government of General Tojo. Now the militarists were in total control.
Tojo was somewhat different from the other fascist dictators of the Axis. He was born into a military family, his father had been a general, and he attended military schools and rose rapidly in rank commensurate with his abilities. He was a militarist and pro-expansionist and it was under his reign that the war was made and the subsequent heinous Japanese behavior was conducted, and which in the end left him twisting from the hangman’s rope. He was fifty-seven years old when he took charge, a slight, humorless, bald, and bespectacled man with a “brushy” mustache. His face, according to one magazine writer, “has a parched look, as though he had caught his head in an oven.” He has been described thusly by one historian: “Tojo was not the stuff of which dictators or great leaders are made. He had none of Churchill’s magnificence, Roosevelt’s political acumen, Hitler’s evil genius, Mussolini’s extravagant dash, or Stalin’s peasant shrewdness. But he was rigidly disciplined, honest, and had a team of draft horses for work. He had a sharp but narrow mind and was quite simply a successful general in an organization which discouraged flair and personality, the perfect instrument of Japan’s collective dictator—the Army.”22
Japanese militarism had been sparked by the spectacular victories over Russia in 1904. The idea that the Asian no longer had to fear the European and the American began to take on new meaning: expansion. Spurred in some measure by Japanese newspaper editorialists, Japan’s leaders realized they needed ever-increasing natural resources if they were to compete as a world power, and it became apparent to certain hard-line military and civilian leaders that the easiest way to obtain these resources was simply to take them, thus the expansion into Korea, Manchuria, and China, which were all precipitated by so-called incidents.
Slowly, over the first part of the twentieth century, the military gained greater and greater influence over the emperor and the prime minister’s cabinet, while at the same time building up Japan’s military might. By the 1930s, the Japanese had amassed a great army and navy and, in the minds of the militarists, what good was it to have these powerful forces just sitting in Japanese ports or languishing in training camps? Like a boxer who has trained for years to fight, and with the newspapers goading them on daily, the Japanese were bursting to prove how tough they were. Racism played its hand, too. Still smarting from American slights of bygone years (the “yellow peril”) they began to indulge in racism of their own, in which Americans, British, and other Westerners came to be described as “devils.”
With Tojo in charge, the handwriting was on the wall and one man who could read it clearly was the longtime American ambassador to Japan, Joseph Grew. He believed, correctly, that the U.S. State Department was not taking the Japanese threat seriously enough and warned anyone who would listen against “any possible misunderstanding of the ability or readiness of Japan to plunge into a suicidal war.” He foretold that Japan was prepared “to commit national hara-kiri,” and that the fall of the Konoe government would “probably lead to unbridled acts,” which could come with “dangerous suddenness.” Hull did not quite think so, though, based on the hard-line views of his adviser Dr. Hornbeck, who had been raised in China and despised Japan and refused to believe that even the militarists would be so stupid as to go to war with the United States.
Diplomacy was not quite dead, although it was on its last legs. Since the entire responsibility now rested on his own shoulders, Tojo seemed to get cold feet—with a little help from the emperor, Hirohito, who told him to “go back to blank paper.”
The emperor himself was an odd sort of duck and certainly occupied a unique place among leaders of developed nations, for he was venerated as a god by the Japanese people. Anyone passing near the Imperial Palace was expected to take off his hat and taxi drivers often stopped so that their passengers could get out and bow at the walls. Children were warned they would be “struck blind” if they ever looked into his face. He was grandson to Meiji, the first emperor of modern Japan, but had adopted all the proper Western customs such as wearing a striped-pants morning suit to official functions. As war approached, he began dressing in European-style military garb and carrying a samurai sword, and he was usually depicted riding a white horse, complete with English saddle.* A mild-mannered man who had just turned forty, the emperor had acquired a taste for jazz music, scotch whisky, golf, and in his private hours devoted himself to the study of marine biology. Yet Hirohito was obviously anxious over the prospect of fighting the United States, and so told his military advisers, who were shocked by his admission. This was because, god or not, under Japanese custom the emperor wasn’t expected to interfere in national affairs.23
Accordingly, as a result of the emperor’s “go back to blank paper” remark, in early November 1941 Tojo sent to the United States a “special emissary” he thought could help the beleaguered Nomura with negotiations. Saburo Kurusu was a former Japanese consul in Chicago, a short, bespectacled man who often wore a morning suit, complete with top hat and cane, and who had married his American secretary and spoke perfect idiomatic English, which Nomura did not.
For his part, Secretary of State Cordell Hull quickly concluded that this new Japanese emissary was “deceitful,” an assessment that was not without foundation. Six years earlier, in 1935, when Kurusu had been a minor official with the Japanese Foreign Office, he had remarked during a conversation with one of the undersecretaries at the U.S. embassy in Tokyo that “Japan is destined to be the leader of the Oriental civilization and will in the course of time be the ‘boss’ of a group comprising China, India, the Netherlands East Indies.”24 This engaging comment had been duly relayed through channels back to the State Department in Washington and Hull no doubt had it before him as he formed his appreciation of Japan’s latest addition to its diplomatic team.
Kurusu came bringing two plans: Proposal A, which called for a limited withdrawal of Japanese troops from China as well as a “comprehensive peace plan” that, in effect, was no more than a promise that “peace” would come to China just as soon as the Japanese had conquered it. Hull, who had already seen Proposal A through MAGIC intercepts, stalled for a few days, then rejected it, calling once more for Japan to get out of China. Nomura and Kurusu, on November 20, then presented Proposal B, which Hull had also seen, compliments of MAGIC. It stated that Japan would temporarily stop further aggression in Asia—while still leaving its troops in place—only if the United States would immediately ship it one million gallons of high-octane aviation gasoline. This Hull regarded as an ultimatum but stalled for time on his reply.
Tokyo received this news poorly and told Nomura that he had until November 29 to get the Americans to change their minds or, “after that, things are automatically going to happen.” MAGIC intercepts picked this up too and it was viewed darkly by U.S. officials. On November 25 the president and the secretary of state, holding their noses, agreed to a modified version of Proposal B, which would have restored to Japan a limited supply of oil, “on a monthly basis for civilian purposes,” in return for Japan’s promise of no further aggression for the next three months. This would have given the U.S. military precious time to rush men, guns, planes, and ships to its vital Pacific outposts.* Next day, however, before the counterproposal could be communicated to the Japanese ambassador, it was dropped after intelligence discovered that a large Japanese attack force had put to sea and was apparently sailing for Indochina or Malaya. Roosevelt, when he received this news, was beside himself and, according to his aide Harry Hopkins, “nearly jumped out of his seat.” Hull, likew
ise infuriated, instead handed Ambassadors Nomura and Kurusu a blunt document informing the Japanese yet again that no U.S. oil would be forthcoming until they got out of China and Indochina and reneged on their Axis obligations—in other words, the original American negotiating positions.
By then even Hull had concluded that the situation was hopeless, telling Secretary of War Henry Stimson, “Now it’s in the hands of you and [Secretary of the Navy Frank] Knox,” that is, he was handing over responsibility to the War Department. That same day, Admiral Yamamoto’s huge carrier strike force set sail from its bleak anchorage rendezvous in the remote islands north of Japan, destined for Pearl Harbor.
Chapter Four
By late autumn 1941, tensions between the United States and Japan had become taut as an overused violin string, but most Americans were still blissfully unaware that the thing could snap at any moment. True, public opinion polls showed that two-thirds of the population believed that war with Japan was inevitable but most did not believe it was imminent. Even as the Japanese armada was sailing inexorably toward its rendezvous with Pearl Harbor, the New York Times was reporting hopefully, “An impression prevailed in diplomatic circles that something approaching a status quo may have been reached temporarily that might permit the exploratory conversations between the United States and Japanese emissaries to continue with less disturbance.”1
Ever since the shocking German victories in Europe eighteen months earlier, America had gone on a modified war footing, beginning with the institution of the first peacetime draft in U.S. history and enormous appropriations of military funding. Aircraft plants and shipyards had expanded their production of warplanes and warships manyfold and automobile manufacturers had begun making tanks, jeeps, trucks, and other military vehicles. The big firearm companies such as Colt and Winchester had retooled to produce military weapons and electronics giants like RCA and Motorola were turning out everything from top-secret radar to commonplace walkie-talkies.
Furthermore, under the emergency War Powers Act granted to the president, the Washington bureaucracy began multiplying itself into a bewildering array of preparedness and administrative agencies that would include such acronymic organizations as the NDAC, OEM, OPM, WPB, OPACS, OES, and, before it was all over, between fifty and sixty other war agencies, “empowered to lay down rules and regulations affecting nearly every sector of the economy, from General Motors to the corner grocer. They were told what they could produce, buy, or sell, the prices they could charge, and the profits they could make. Their performance was dictated by a deluge of orders and printed forms—often confusing and contradictory—and policed by an army of bureaucrats and citizen busybodies.”2
America was certainly trying, but nothing seemed to go smoothly. There was precious little equipment as yet available for the million or so soldiers recently drafted into the army. Men were training with broomsticks for rifles, chicken eggs for hand grenades, trucks for tanks, and the old “soup plate” helmets left over from the First World War. Modern war-planes were scarce; warships were obsolete. Labor strikes frequently slowed or stopped production of vital war materials. The automobile industry continued to produce cars as fast as it could because the profits from these were higher than for those in their weapons and arms production plants, which were subject to government price controls. Some civilian industries were put out of business entirely because of a shortage of raw goods, which were mandated for war production. So many marginal workers such as farmhands, domestic servants, cooks, and day laborers were rushing to grab the higher-paying defense jobs that it threw some parts of the economy into an uproar.
Still, on the eve of war there were some four million Americans out of work (down from more than twice that number a decade earlier), but even though most economic indicators had picked up considerably the vestiges of the Great Depression lingered sourly. Nevertheless, even as the Japanese battle fleet steamed remorselessly across the Pacific many, if not most, of the 134 million Americans had reason to believe that hard times were fading, despite the fact that a terrible war might be lurking in the near future.
About two-thirds of all Americans were in some form of the middle class, earning from $1,000 to $3,000 a year (about $15,000 to $40,000 today). But lunch was SO cents and a couple could dine out at most good restaurants for well under $5; a decent suit could be had for under $50, bread was anywhere from 5 to 8 cents a loaf, and a glass of beer cost a dime. Women could buy a pair of nylons for $1.75 (expensive but traditional silk stockings had become unavailable due to the trade embargo against Japan). Fewer than 50,000 American citizens earned more than $25,000 a year (about $325,000 in today’s dollars).
At the movies people were watching the critically acclaimed Citizen Kane or still going to see the popular, long-playing Gone With the Wind, or else they stayed home and listened to the Jack Benny or Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy shows on the radio—or to Edward R. Murrow’s riveting transatlantic news broadcasts during the London aerial blitz. There was no home air-conditioning. They sang anyway, or listened to music on the radio or record player, perhaps such wistfully haunting wartime tunes as “The Last Time I Saw Paris,” or “There’ll Be Bluebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover,” or rousing numbers such as “Deep in the Heart of Texas”; they danced to the swing bands such as Benny Goodman’s and Glenn Miller’s, and did the boogie-woogie. “Chattanooga Choo Choo” was a popular favorite. For vacation people traveled to the mountains or the shore where rates at good resorts were about $10 per day, including meals. A six-day cruise to Havana cost $75, third class. Tourists wishing to go to Hawaii were informed that they would “scarcely notice the Army pillboxes, they were so well concealed.” Naturally, nobody talked anymore about vacationing in Europe.3
America’s attitude vis-a-vis the war was difficult to read. Except for the diehard isolationists, the majority disliked Hitler and hoped England would win but were still not ready to leap into the fray. So far as Japan went, the sentiment was harsher. Americans had seen the newsreels of the Rape of Nanking, with Chinese citizens lined up by Japanese soldiers and shot in the back of the head into their own graves.* They had read the best-selling novel The Good Earth by Pearl Buck, which described the pitiless Japanese oppression in that forlorn land. All in all, Japan got bad press in the United States, the lone exception being the popular Mr. Moto movies, based on a fictional Japanese-American detective of that name created by John P. Marquand and played by the actor Peter Loire. Even so, most people considered Mr. Moto to be “tricky,” unlike his equally popular movie counterpart, the Chinese detective Charlie Chan.
The American view of the Japanese was such as to give some credence to Japanese complaints of racial stereotyping. The typical Japanese soldier was depicted in newspaper cartoons as a short, bandy-legged, buck-toothed, nearsighted, chattering ape.* That aside, the Japanese remained a weird enigma to average Americans. The historian John Toland gave this description in perfect candor: “To most Westerners, the Japanese was utterly inscrutable. The way he handled his tools was all wrong; he squatted at the anvil; he pulled rather than pushed a saw; he built his house from the roof down. To open a lock, he turned his key to the left, the wrong direction. Everything the Japanese did was backwards. He spoke backwards, read backwards, wrote backwards. He sat on the floor instead of in chairs, ate fish raw, and live, wriggling shrimp. He would tell of the most tragic personal events and then laugh; fall in the mud in his best suit and come up with a grin. ... [He would] discuss matters in a devious, tortuous manner, treat you with exaggerated politeness in his home and then rudely shove you aside in a train—even murder a man and then apologize to his servants for messing up the house.”4
The popular American humorist-poet Ogden Nash added to the caricature with this piece of doggerel, depicting Japanese international behavior:
How courteous is the Japanese;
He always says, “Excuse it, please.”
He climbs into his neighbor’s garden,
And smiles, an
d says, “I beg your pardon”;
He bows and grins a friendly grin,
And calls his hungry family in;
He grins, and bows a friendly bow;
“So sorry, this my garden now.”5
How such a people could pose a serious threat to the United States of America was not clear to most Americans, but it wouldn’t be long before they found out.
The Japanese war plan was based on the somewhat logical but faulty assumption that a “lightning strike” against all of East Asia and the mid-Pacific, followed by rapid fortification of the conquered lands, would cause the United States, Great Britain, and the Dutch to sue for peace on the notion that it simply would not be worth their efforts and expense in lives and treasure to try to drive the Japanese out of countries thousands of miles distant that were peopled by Asians anyway. Thus, having acquired all the oil, raw materials, and rice they needed, Japan would then proceed to finish off what they had started in China, and the empire would then extend and expand from the far northern Kuril Islands near the U.S.-owned Aleutians, southward nearly the length of the Pacific to New Guinea off the coast of Australia, thence westward for five thousand miles, encompassing the rich island countries on the China and Philippine Seas, and all the way to the border with British colonial India—and maybe into that, too. Although most of it would be ocean, twenty-five million square miles of new territory, land and sea, would nevertheless fall under the permanent domination of the empire of Japan—and after the war began, as we shall see, this was to be just the beginning.