Blossoms in the Wind: Human Legacies of the Kamikaze by M. G. Sheftall Page A
Authors: M. G. Sheftall
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Army, and finally the entire nation would have to accept – then become – tokkō if there was to be any hope at all of the Americans being stopped.
This was a time for heroes – proud Japanese heroes – and before it all was over, there might very well be one hundred million of them.
To be honored posthumously, of course.
7 An Old Man’s Dream
M arch 2002 – I am walking past the northern moat of the Imperial Palace grounds in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo, headed for the headquarters of the Association of Former Imperial Army Officers – otherwise known in these parts by its traditional Japanese name, Kaikōsha. The Kaikōsha was originally established as an army officers’ association in 1877. The year was auspicious for the new Imperial Japanese Army, seeing the service eliminate the last domestic armed challenge to Emperor Meiji’s consolidation of national authority by neutralizing Takamori Saigō’s Kyūshū-based Seinan samurai rebellion. However, the army’s success was significant not only for its obvious benefits to the new regime in Tokyo. More crucially – and ominously – the victory also had the effect of propelling the army into a position of coddled favor and political prominence in the Imperial government that it would maintain for the next sixty-eight years and relinquish only after the accrued consequences of its actions and policies had resulted in Tokyo and most of Japan’s other cities being turned to ash.
The year also saw the Imperial Military Academy produce its first graduates, laying the foundation of the nation’s officer corps. As the Emperor’s army grew in status and influence, so did the s tatus and influence of the Kaikōsha. Membership in the organization soon became de rigeur for career army officers of all ranks, and by the early twentieth century, it had branches in every major city and army installation in Japan, as well as in Korea, Taiwan, and other exotic locales in the Empire’s rapidly expanding portfolio of colonial possessions.
In addition to serving as a kind of hybrid USO/Officer’s Club/Veterans of Foreign Wars/IMA Alumni Association, the Kaikōsha also functioned as a powerful l obby group for army interests, patriotic educational policies in the nations’ schools and improvements in government benefits for military personnel, dependents and pensioners, among other issues. Given this tradition of political clout and the threat it posed as a potential après guerre rallying point for ancien regime militarists, the Kaikōsha – along with its naval counterpart, the Suikōsha – was one of the first zaidan h ō jin [55] abolished y GHQ at the beginning of the Allied Occupation. However, the association (and the Suikōsha) was not vanquished forever, but merely relegated to temporary dormancy. In 1954, with Douglas MacArthur’s democracy babysitters already two years gone and the nation’s sovereignty safely restored, the Kaikōsha resumed activities. Fifty years later, the association remains active and, just as it was in “the good old days,” almost exclusively the domain of old IMA grads.
In both its prewar and postwar incarnations, the Kaikōsha’s Tokyo branch has always served as the organization’s national headquarters, and despite several moves, it has never been farther than a good outfielder’s toss from Yasukuni Shrine. The physical proximity is fitting, as many of the modern day functions of the two institutions are intertwined, and in the case of the archiving of military records, actually shared. Like Yasukuni, the Kaikōsha’s e nergies are devoted to: memorial services honoring army war dead; documenting and interpreting the nation’s military past in a manner that will restore Japanese patriotic pride; facilitating the social activities of the rapidly dwindling ranks of war veterans; and maintaining its ongoing tradition of lobbying for right-wing interests in political issues. At present, the most critical of these ideological
This was a time for heroes – proud Japanese heroes – and before it all was over, there might very well be one hundred million of them.
To be honored posthumously, of course.
7 An Old Man’s Dream
M arch 2002 – I am walking past the northern moat of the Imperial Palace grounds in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo, headed for the headquarters of the Association of Former Imperial Army Officers – otherwise known in these parts by its traditional Japanese name, Kaikōsha. The Kaikōsha was originally established as an army officers’ association in 1877. The year was auspicious for the new Imperial Japanese Army, seeing the service eliminate the last domestic armed challenge to Emperor Meiji’s consolidation of national authority by neutralizing Takamori Saigō’s Kyūshū-based Seinan samurai rebellion. However, the army’s success was significant not only for its obvious benefits to the new regime in Tokyo. More crucially – and ominously – the victory also had the effect of propelling the army into a position of coddled favor and political prominence in the Imperial government that it would maintain for the next sixty-eight years and relinquish only after the accrued consequences of its actions and policies had resulted in Tokyo and most of Japan’s other cities being turned to ash.
The year also saw the Imperial Military Academy produce its first graduates, laying the foundation of the nation’s officer corps. As the Emperor’s army grew in status and influence, so did the s tatus and influence of the Kaikōsha. Membership in the organization soon became de rigeur for career army officers of all ranks, and by the early twentieth century, it had branches in every major city and army installation in Japan, as well as in Korea, Taiwan, and other exotic locales in the Empire’s rapidly expanding portfolio of colonial possessions.
In addition to serving as a kind of hybrid USO/Officer’s Club/Veterans of Foreign Wars/IMA Alumni Association, the Kaikōsha also functioned as a powerful l obby group for army interests, patriotic educational policies in the nations’ schools and improvements in government benefits for military personnel, dependents and pensioners, among other issues. Given this tradition of political clout and the threat it posed as a potential après guerre rallying point for ancien regime militarists, the Kaikōsha – along with its naval counterpart, the Suikōsha – was one of the first zaidan h ō jin [55] abolished y GHQ at the beginning of the Allied Occupation. However, the association (and the Suikōsha) was not vanquished forever, but merely relegated to temporary dormancy. In 1954, with Douglas MacArthur’s democracy babysitters already two years gone and the nation’s sovereignty safely restored, the Kaikōsha resumed activities. Fifty years later, the association remains active and, just as it was in “the good old days,” almost exclusively the domain of old IMA grads.
In both its prewar and postwar incarnations, the Kaikōsha’s Tokyo branch has always served as the organization’s national headquarters, and despite several moves, it has never been farther than a good outfielder’s toss from Yasukuni Shrine. The physical proximity is fitting, as many of the modern day functions of the two institutions are intertwined, and in the case of the archiving of military records, actually shared. Like Yasukuni, the Kaikōsha’s e nergies are devoted to: memorial services honoring army war dead; documenting and interpreting the nation’s military past in a manner that will restore Japanese patriotic pride; facilitating the social activities of the rapidly dwindling ranks of war veterans; and maintaining its ongoing tradition of lobbying for right-wing interests in political issues. At present, the most critical of these ideological
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