Book Review of "Our Messages: From Japanese Citizens to the People of the World"
Edited and Written By The National Association of the War Bereaved
Families for Peace, Supervised by Saito Tadatoshi, "Our Messages: From
Japanese Citizens to the People of the World." Preface, 181 bilingual
pages, (1999: Nashinoki-sha).
Lovers of peace have long said that the pen is mightier than the sword.
This book, in which ordinary Japanese implore the world to hear their
anguished words about war and peace, encourages one to think that maybe
the human voice can be louder than the canon. The book is published by
the National Association of the War Bereaved Families for Peace.
Thirteen of its members wrote short essays that incorporate four major
themes: their family's personal loss during the war, belated recognition
of their nation's crimes, the need for atonement, and the importance of
spreading the message of peace. While a few of the contributors are
eloquent, most write conversationally, and in the first person singular;
therefore, the essays sound as if the writers are standing in front of
us, confessing, regretting, imploring.
Takemitsu Ogawa states near the start that, ". . .only the bereaved who
know the depth of grudge [sic], lamentation and loneliness, can
sympathize with the greater pain of the wounded hearts of the bereaved
of the maltreated [nations] and . . . bring about the solidarity with
Asia and the world." Japanese who lost loved ones in the war often
retreat into the shell of self-pity, a small space that leaves no room
for non-Japanese. In contrast, Ogawa remarkably insists that a pained
heart can derive from its very suffering the nobleness and courage to
understand the pain of the Other. Ogawa does not say where he is from.
Gripping imagery enlivens the essay by Ishizaki Kiki of Zushi City,
Kanagawa when she addresses the theme of loss. Her husband Kazuhiko
drowned, aged twenty-eight, after a submarine torpedoed his ship. "With
the ship heeling over more and more, only death cries echoed in the
pitch darkness, and the passengers vanished into the ocean in anguish .
.. . I feel forsaken and my mind stops working. And my wish that he were
here now in the hand of God brings me back to the serene reality."
Unfortunately, she will be wishing forever, since he lies at the bottom
of the Taiwan Strait forever.
Asato Kanae of Kitanakagushuku Village, Okinawa, is poignant both for
what she does and does not say about loss. She recollects how she and
her terrified family fled enemy shelling; while in a cemetery, a
poisonous snake bit her. Eventually, they took refuge in a cave. The
carbon monoxide was so overwhelming that candles would not burn. A
lunatic spoke nonsense while someone blabbed on endlessly about food.
Her baby died quietly in her arms in the cold and dark. Her
sister-in-law told her to bury it in the dirt quickly because they might
die soon as well.
Then Asato adds, "I lost my [nine] family members one after another. I
will omit to write down the tragedy I experienced in the cave as I would
not be able to describe it here." When she insists that she wants to be
a witness for peace, one can fault her for not being thorough. Better
yet, one can insist that sometimes, a painful silence is loquacious.
Motomura Harumi of Hamamatsu, Shizuoka, addresses the theme of
confession and atonement not with Japanese-style ambiguities, but
bluntly. First, he provides a picture of his older brother Mototoshi
reclining under a tree before he was killed at Guadalcanal in 1942, aged
thirty. Harumi then states that "unless I turned the axis of my action
as a victim of the war to the sense of having been an assailant, I would
have no right to join the movement of bereaved families who sincerely
wish for peace." These candid words are not heard often enough in Japan,
where too many "pacifists" loudly accuse others and quietly exonerate
themselves.
Mizoguchi Tadashi, also of Hamamatsu, carries the theme of
self-accusation and atonement to a startling conclusion. His older
brother Shigesaku, pictured smiling while holding a horse, died aged
thirty-two at sea off Taiwan. Tadashi also fought. But he judges that,
"It is inexcusable to say that [we were] manipulated. I am guilty. My
crime deserves death." How ironic that while the Japanese right wing
insists that Tojo and other war criminals deserved life, Tadashi
condemns himself. Whether one agrees with his penalty or not, clearly he
is a man with a strong conscience and sense of justice.
The theme of inspiration is best handled by Oshiro Isao of Tomigusuku
Village, Okinawa. While in a cave in 1961, he heard a dull thud under
his feet that sounded like an old tree; in truth, Oshiro had stepped
into the hardened ashes of the dead. Again, the scene is described
movingly: "At first sight, I recognized them as a family. While I was
looking closely there, a small cup tumbled in front of the ashes. The
family must have taken poison as they determined to die all together
when they were driven into a corner." He adds the tear-inducing line
that that the only happiness they had left was the knowledge that "the
family could all die together.
Small ashes were on big ones. Children were held by their parents." He
concludes that "The war dead cannot explain their agony, rage, sorrow,
wretchedness and hope", but the living can understand their wishes. Isao
swore to the ashes that he would work for peace. This evocative
communicator then wrote a poem which concludes, "The Rising Sun Flag
made of flowers on the altar/Smell bloody."
Their commitment to peace led the above to write this educational and
inspiring book; one hopes others will follow. However, one regrets that
many of the contributors conflate peace with a selfish one-country
pacifism. For instance, Ishizaki notes Japan's increasingly large
international profile and worries that she hears "the sound of soldiers'
boots marching toward invasion." She and the others spurned both the
Cold War defense pact with America, and now involvement in U.N.
peacekeeping operations.
In truth, the pact reassured Asia about Japan while also helping the
West to contain the U.S.S.R. As for the U.N., is it aggressive? If Japan
merely writes checks and rolls bandages for its allies, it will
hypocritically benefit from the hard and dirty work of others while
lecturing them about morality. Surely, the essayists are all too good as
people to idealize such parisitism?
The book is further marred by spells of unclear writing. It needs a
circumspect editor who can strengthen the ambiguous or awkward sentences
without the over-editing that would homogenize the different styles.
Nonetheless, the book is worth reading so one can learn from the
gripping, true tales in words "spoken" by those left behind, the
survivors who must sometimes look sadly at the front door, hoping that
their lost loved one will open it looking the way he did when he left
for ever. These tales are made more intimate and tragic by photographs
of the brothers, fathers and husbands who are now sorrowfully regarded
as both war victims and war criminals by their families. It is
refreshing and reassuring to see that some Japanese know they must first
repent before they preach.
One is also comforted that within Japan, humanists like Ogawa speak
about the power of the heart in a way that requires a translator for the
words, but not for the spirit.
Reviewed by Victor Fic, Tokyo