the manchurian crisis and japanese society, 1931-33 (routledge eui studies in political economy)

The Manchurian Crisis andJapanese Society, 1931–33

The repercussions of the 1931 ‘Manchurian Incident’ threw Japan into crisis, andthe event has commanded a central place in writing on modern Japanese historyever since. This book re-evaluates notions of its place in the social and politicalhistory of pre-war and wartime Japan.

Sandra Wilson explores the reactions to the Manchurian crisis of differentsections of the state and of a number of different groups in Japanese society,particularly rural groups, women’s organisations and business associations.She seeks to avoid a generalised account of the military and diplomatic events ofthe early 1930s, offering instead a nuanced analysis of the shifts in public andpopular opinion during this crucial period.

This incisive study contributes to major international debates aboutimperialism, nationalism and the chain of events leading to world war, as well asspecifically addressing the nature of Japanese militarism and nationalism. Ofparticular importance to historians of modern Japan, modern China and WorldWar Two, this work will also interest scholars in the fields of imperialism,militarism and the impact of the depression on world history.

Sandra Wilson is Senior Lecturer in the School of Asian Studies, MurdochUniversity. She is co-editor of The Russo–Japanese War in Cultural Perspective,1904–05, and is currently researching Japanese nationalism.

Routledge/Asian Studies Association of Australia (ASAA)East Asia SeriesEdited by Tessa Morris-Suzuki and Morris Low

Editorial Board: Professor Geremie Barmé (Australian National University), ProfessorColin Mackerras (Griffith University), Professor Vera Mackie (Curtin University) andAssociate Professor Sonia Ryang (Johns Hopkins University).

This series represents a showcase for the latest cutting-edge research in the field of EastAsian studies, from both established scholars and rising academics. It will include studiesfrom every part of the East Asian region (including China, Japan, North and SouthKorea and Taiwan) as well as comparative studies dealing with more than one country.Topics covered may be contemporary or historical, and relate to any of the humanitiesor social sciences. The series is an invaluable source of information and challengingperspectives for advanced students and researchers alike.

Routledge is pleased to invite proposals for new books in the series. In the first instance,any interested authors should contact:

Professor Tessa Morris-SuzukiDivision of Pacific and Asian HistoryResearch School of Pacific and Asian StudiesAustralian National UniversityCanberra, ACT 0200 Australia

Dr Morris LowDepartment of Asian Languages and StudiesUniversity of QueenslandBrisbane, Queensland 4072Australia

Routledge/Asian Studies Association of Australia (ASAA) East Asia Series

1 Gender in JapanPower and public policyVera Mackie

2 The Chaebol and Labour in KoreaThe development of management strategy in HyundaiSeung Ho Kwon and Michael O’Donnell

3 Rethinking Identity in Modern JapanNationalism as aestheticsYumiko Iida

4 The Manchurian Crisis and Japanese Society, 1931–33Sandra Wilson

London and New York

The Manchurian Crisis andJapanese Society, 1931–33

Sandra Wilson

First published 2002 by Routledge11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canadaby Routledge29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

© 2002 Sandra Wilson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced orutilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, nowknown or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or inany information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writingfrom the publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataWilson, Sandra, 1957–

The Manchurian crisis and Japanese society, 1931–33 / Sandra Wilson.p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.1. Manchuria (China)–History–1931–1945. 2. Mukden Incident, 1931. 3.

Japanese–China–Manchuria. I. Title.

DS784.W55 2001951�.804�–dc21 2001034966

ISBN 0–415–25056–0 (Print Edition)

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2003.

ISBN 0-203-16479-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-25904-1 (Adobe eReader Format)

To my parents

Contents

Acknowledgements ixNote on names xiAbbreviations used in notes xii

Introduction 1

PART IManaging the crisis: at home and abroad 13

1 The Manchurian crisis, 1931–33 15

2 Managing opinion: censorship and the Manchurian crisis 30

3 Orthodox views: the public face of the crisis 44

PART IINational perspectives 75

4 The view from the inside: establishment perspectives 77

5 Left, right and centre: public intellectuals and political revolutionaries 105

PART IIIInterest groups and local perspectives 123

6 Reactions in the countryside 125

7 Urban workers and organised labour 157

8 Rights and interests: the business community and the crisis 170

9 Serving on the home front: women and Manchuria 196

Conclusion 217

Bibliography 228Index 245

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to many colleagues, mentors and friends for their generousassistance and advice at various stages of this work. I first began researching thistopic for a DPhil thesis at the University of Oxford, and I thank my supervisors,Ann Waswo and Arthur Stockwin, for their guidance. In addition I am deeplyindebted to Professors Ito Takashi and Banno Junji, now retired from the Facultyof Letters and the Institute of Social Science, respectively, at the University ofTokyo. Their knowledge and insights have been crucial to the progress of thiswork. Professors Nishida Yoshiaki and Kase Kazutoshi of the Institute of SocialScience have generously provided advice and encouragement. Stephen Largefrom the University of Cambridge and Sheldon Garon from PrincetonUniversity made very valuable comments at critical stages. A number of peopleread parts of the manuscript, helped with research difficulties or discussedparticular points with me, and I am glad to record my thanks to Tamara Jacka,Radha Krishnan, Naoki Kurita, Stewart Lone, Vera Mackie, Anne-MarieMedcalf, Iwane Shibuya, Kerry Smith and Beatrice Trefalt, as well as to mycolleagues in the School of History at La Trobe University and the School ofAsian Studies at Murdoch University. Financial support was provided at theinitial stage by the UK government through the Commonwealth Scholarshipand Fellowship Plan (UK Award) and the Japanese government through theMonbusho Scholarship scheme.

This book would not have been completed without the support and assistance,both practical and intellectual, of David Wells, who not only did all the usualthings but has also read every word of every incarnation of the work, and solvedall the technical problems as well. My greatest debt, however, is acknowledged inthe dedication.

Note on names

Japanese personal names are given in the Japanese order, with surnames first,except for Japanese authors writing in English who have chosen to use thereverse order. Macrons have been omitted in the case of Tokyo and Osakawhere they appear in the text, in translations of titles and organisations and asplaces of publication. Chinese place-names appear in the form in which they wereknown in English in the 1930s.

Abbreviations used in notes

All citations are given in full form when they first occur. Subsequent citations inthe notes use either the abbreviations listed below, or author and short title.

FS Fujo shinbunGS 40 Uchikawa Yoshimi (ed.), Gendaishi shiryo, Vol. 40: Masumedia tosei,

Misuzu shobo, 1973IH Ie no hikariPRO Public Record Office, LondonSKG Naimusho, Keihokyoku, Showa ––nenju ni okeru shuppan keisatsu gaikanUSNA United States National Archives, Washington DC

Introduction

On the night of 18 September 1931, a minor explosion occurred on a section ofthe Japanese-owned South Manchurian Railway near Mukden (now Shenyang)in the north-east of China. Japanese troops, stationed in Manchuria since 1905 toprotect the railway and its associated operations, moved swiftly and decisively todefend Japan’s interests. Meanwhile their leaders loudly asserted to the worldthat Chinese soldiers were responsible for the explosion, which was branded asonly the latest in a series of anti-Japanese ‘outrages’. Actually, damage to therailway had been slight, and the ‘incident’ had in any case been perpetrated notby Chinese soldiers but by Japanese troops, as part of a wider plan to extendJapanese power in Manchuria. The explosion on the railway did in fact becomea pretext for extensive military action against Chinese troops loyal to Nankingin the south. Fighting quickly spread across southern Manchuria, then to thenorthern region. International opinion was especially shocked by the aerialbombing of Chinchow, a city some distance from the original scene of thefighting, towards Peking, in October 1931. Within a few months of the explosionon the railway, all of Manchuria had fallen under Japanese control.

Further conflict between Japanese and Chinese troops erupted in Shanghai inlate January 1932. The fighting was contained relatively quickly, but not beforeworld opinion had again been shocked, more than five years before Guernicaand well before the bombing of civilians in the Second World War, by the use ofincendiary bombs and artillery in urban areas. Meanwhile, political movesconsolidated military success in Manchuria, and on 1 March 1932 ‘Manchukuo’,in reality a puppet state of the Japanese, ‘spontaneously’ declared its ‘indepen-dence’ from China. By now, however, China had appealed to the League ofNations to intervene on its behalf, eventually prompting the League to send acommission of enquiry to investigate the Sino-Japanese dispute. When thecommission’s report, which included important reservations about the Japaneseversion of events, was accepted by the League Council in February 1933, theJapanese delegation walked out in protest. In May of the same year the Truce ofTangku officially ended hostilities between Japan and China in Manchuria, butonly after the region had been firmly if informally incorporated into Japan’sempire, to join Taiwan, which had been colonised by Japan in 1895, and Korea,annexed in 1910.

2 Introduction

From the beginning, Japanese observers referred to the dramatic series ofevents from September 1931 onwards as the Manchurian ‘incident’ ( jihen), a termapparently denoting an undeclared war,1 which has been used in the literatureever since. The word ‘incident’, in English at least, however, scarcely begins tosuggest the historical significance which has been accorded to the eventsthemselves. While historians differ in their interpretations, they have commonlyseen the Manchurian Incident as a major turning-point or defining moment inmodern Japanese history, very often as the starting point on the ‘road to PearlHarbor’.

For some observers, the primary importance of the Manchurian Incident layin its tragic international consequences. Thus Sara R. Smith singled it out in 1948as ‘the first of the steps leading downward to the abyss of global war’, while forJohn M. Maki in 1961, the Manchurian crisis was ‘a direct cause of the SecondWorld War’ and was responsible for the victory of Communism in China aswell.2 Works on the history of Japan specifically have also accorded theManchurian Incident a very prominent place. The journalist Otto Tolischus,writing in 1943, believed it not only ‘put the military in the driver’s seat’, but

made the country war-minded again, discredited any Diet opposition,created numerous fanatical and Fascist groups of gunmen led by Armyofficers, started the campaign to purge the nation of Western ideas in favourof a return to the ‘Way of the Gods’, set even the proletarian movement offon the way towards a national Socialism, and lifted the country out of thedepression even if it sent the national debt soaring.3

Takehiko Yoshihashi, writing in 1963, held the Manchurian crisis responsiblefor ‘[bringing] the army’s influence to the fore of Japan’s politics’.4 In similar vein,Ogata Sadako concluded in 1964 that the Manchurian Incident arose from the‘defiance’ of the government by the Japanese army in the field, and therebymarked a turning point in civil–military relations.5 For James B. Crowley in1966, it was a major episode in Japan’s unfolding ‘quest for autonomy’ as animperial power, while in 1993 Ian Nish interpreted the Manchurian Incidentas a watershed in Japan’s ‘struggle with internationalism’.6 Most recently,Louise Young has identified Manchuria as the benchmark of Japan’s evolvingvision of ‘total empire’ from 1931 to 1945, indeed, as the very ‘heart’ of Japan’sempire.7

Many other claims have been made for the Manchurian Incident, butundoubtedly the dominant view of recent decades is that the invasion of north-east China marks the beginning of a chain of linked events stretching to finaldefeat in 1945: in short, that September 1931 constitutes the beginning of a‘fifteen-year war’. As Ienaga Saburo wrote, ‘The Pacific War began with theinvasion of China in 1931’, and the events of the period 1931 to 1945 ‘areinseparable, all part of the same war’.8 In such a view, not only did the militaryand diplomatic events of the Manchurian crisis flow almost seamlessly into the‘China Incident’ of 1937 and the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, but the

Introduction 3

domestic history of the whole period tended clearly in the same direction,marked as it apparently was by a new dominance of the military in politics,severe repression of dissent among the people and ready mobilisation of societybehind militarist and nationalist goals.

This book seeks to re-examine the significance for Japanese society and the stateof the crisis over Manchuria, understood as the period beginning in September1931 with the explosion on the railway, and encompassing the fighting inShanghai, the creation of ‘Manchukuo’, Japan’s conflict with and eventualdeparture from the League of Nations and the signing of the truce in May 1933.In reality, how far did the Manchurian Incident actually constitute a turning-point or defining moment in modern Japanese history? To what extent did ittransform Japan’s foreign policies and international position, let alone changeJapanese social and political life? In particular, how far is it valid to see theManchurian Incident as the beginning of a ‘fifteen-year war’? Reactions to theevents of the period 1931–33 of key groups in Japanese society are analysed inorder to address such questions. Ultimately the book aims to gauge moreprecisely what the Manchurian Incident meant to Japanese people at the time,and to reflect on the long-term significance of the crisis over Manchuria, in rela-tion to the ‘fifteen-year war’ interpretation which remains so influential, as well asto the evolution of nationalism and militarism in modern Japan more generally.

If in retrospect 1931 marks a turning-point, as so many works have argued,this study will show that it was not evident to most ordinary Japanese at the time.The lives of the majority were not perceptibly changed by the invasion of far-offManchuria: certainly most people were much less affected by the ManchurianIncident than they were by the global depression. Though ‘war fever’ was verymuch evident in the initial weeks after 18 September,9 thereafter life continuedmore or less as normal for most people. One small but suggestive illustrationis contained in the reminiscences of a country woman looking back on the1930s many years later. Farming and domestic duties had kept her so busyand so isolated from radio, films and newspapers, she said, that she remainedcompletely unaware that Japan was fighting in Manchuria in 1931 at all.10 If thiswoman’s recollection is to be trusted, then the term ‘fifteen-year war’ cannotencompass her experience. No women and a comparatively small number ofJapanese men were actually fighting between 1931 and 1937. As a woman whowas living in Osaka in 1931 remarked, ‘I don’t remember the ManchurianIncident very well. For one thing, no-one from my family or my neighbourhoodwent to Manchuria.’11 What fighting did occur impinged on domestic society forquite short periods only. An emphasis on war for these years particularly, there-fore, is a distortion of the experience of most Japanese. Further, to concentrate onthe initial reaction to the Manchurian Incident, without tracing attitudes into1932 and 1933, is to mistake the significance of the Incident for Japanese society.The war fever on which many accounts focus was in fact short-lived, andManchuria in reality did not assume the dominant place in popular conscious-ness that has been suggested, whatever its importance may have been for somekey figures in the Kwantung Army.

4 Introduction

The political, military and diplomatic crisis provoked by Japan’s invasion ofManchuria had a definite beginning in 1931, with the explosion on the SouthManchurian Railway line on 18 September, and a clear end in the first half of1933, when the Japanese delegation left the League of Nations and, three monthslater, the truce of Tangku was signed, ending that phase of Chiang Kai-shek’sconfrontation with Japan and securing the borders of ‘Manchukuo’. Japaneseambitions on the Asian mainland certainly did not cease, as is revealed byattempts in 1935–36 to bring about an ‘autonomous’ state in North China andthen by the outbreak of full-scale war between Japan and China in July 1937.Nevertheless, neither the war with China nor the Pacific War was inevitable orpredestined, and the 1930s do not represent a steady escalation towards war.The first half of 1933 saw a slackening of the sense of urgency generated bythe incident at Mukden and world reaction to it, and a formal end to the‘Manchurian Incident’. Withdrawal from the League of Nations in 1933 did notlead to international isolation for Japan, contrary to the assertions of manystandard accounts of the period. In fact, Japanese diplomacy turned towards ahighly orthodox policy of co-operation with Great Britain and with the UnitedStates, which, like Japan, was not a League member.12 Even Japan and Chinabegan exploring ways of normalising their relations at the national level. Troopscame home and, until the February mutiny of 1936, the army returned to relativestability, concentrating in Manchukuo on further consolidation of its positionand attempting to find ways of ending Chinese boycotts of Japanese goods andservices. For most ordinary people, too, life had returned to ‘normal’ shortly afterthe initial burst of enthusiasm which greeted the Manchurian Incident, and itwould be very surprising to find that they regarded their country as being ‘at war’at any time between 1933 and 1937.

Yet it is essential to recognise that despite the apparent normalcy of life formany Japanese, and the failure of politics and foreign policy to impinge notice-ably upon their lives for very long, momentous changes were occurring in theearly 1930s. Japan’s successful invasion of Manchuria and subsequent eventsraised the army’s profile, delivered ‘Manchukuo’ into its hands and facilitated anincreased repression of political dissent within Japan. Further, as historians haverecognised in the case of Nazi Germany, the apparent normalcy of everyday lifein itself has political implications and is no ‘innocent’ phenomenon; to put itdifferently, everyday life is itself politicised.13

At the very least, the failure of key groups to reject the military’s policies inManchuria allowed an escalation and extension of Japanese military gains thatwas not to be taken for granted at the beginning of the Manchurian crisis. Lesstangibly, the events of 1931–33 had a critical effect on the shape and strength ofboth nationalism and militarism in Japan. If ‘nationalism’ is understood not as ‘alatent force that manifests itself only under extraordinary conditions’, but ratheras ‘a discourse that constantly shapes our consciousness’,14 then the Manchuriancrisis certainly contributed to Japanese nationalism, not least by generating aflood of rhetoric about the nation. Again, measuring ‘militarism’ by the preva-lence of ‘military-based values and ideals’ in a society,15 the Manchurian crisis

Introduction 5

undeniably strengthened militarism by providing repeated opportunities for thepublic endorsement of such ideals: at gatherings to bid farewell to soldiers atports or railway stations, on group visits to hamlet shrines to pray for the welfareof soldiers, and on many other occasions. This book argues, however, that theconnection between the events of the early 1930s and the development ofincreasingly authoritarian and militarist social and political structures is morecomplex than is commonly imagined; that the situation was more fluid than isoften acknowledged, containing the possibility of outcomes other than thosewhich did in fact occur; and that while the Manchurian Incident can be seen as amilestone in Japanese militarism, this is an interpretation which rests heavily onhindsight.

Analysis of responses to the Manchurian crisis also prompts, on the one hand,significant modifications to standard views of Japanese nationalism, and on theother, a reassessment of the relationship between army and society in Japan in theearly 1930s. Most importantly, the years 1931–33 show that commitment to thenation could take more than one form, and was not automatically linked tomilitary priorities. Later chapters will demonstrate that the crisis provoked byJapan’s invasion of Manchuria challenged articulate groups in society andamong the elites to clarify where they stood in relation not only to the immediatecrisis but to the imperial state itself. Though most groups revealed a deepcommitment to the nation, and a willingness to support the state, however, theydid not necessarily embrace the army’s view of the world. In fact, study of Japanin the early 1930s reveals not the fruits of long-standing army attempts toconsolidate social and political control, but rather a much more volatile andunsettled society than is commonly supposed. The projects of militarism andnational integration, in particular, were far from complete. Though there was aperception virtually everywhere that Japan was in crisis and that renovationwas urgently needed, no consensus existed as to how such renovation was tobe achieved. Even within the Japanese state, significant diversity of opinionremained. The responses of different sections of the elite to the ManchurianIncident certainly show that important parts of the state itself were not yet readyactively to endorse military solutions to Japan’s predicament.

Domestic politics were similarly volatile and ambiguous. The end of partycabinets brought by the attempted right-wing coup of 15 May 1932 has oftenbeen taken as a sign of fundamental change in the political order, the dissolutionof ‘Taisho democracy’ and the basis for the eventual move to a single partywhich would support the objectives of the state. At the time, however, manyobservers expected a return to ‘politics as usual’ sooner rather than later; andthe Saito Makoto Cabinet itself, the ‘national unity’ cabinet which followed thefailed coup, was seen as preserving the flavour of party cabinets rather thandemolishing them. At least in the minds of contemporaries, then, ‘national unity’cabinets did not represent an irreversible development or the expected trend ofthe future, and were not necessarily a sign that military objectives wouldinevitably triumph. Rather, many contemporaries still saw party politics asthe norm.

6 Introduction

Popular support for the Manchurian Incident, which seems in retrospect tohave been overwhelming, is often seen as vital evidence of the dominance ofmilitary values in the early 1930s. The standard scholarly view is largely that ofRichard Smethurst, who sees the countryside at least as solidly behind the armyby the late 1920s, and implies that by that time the agenda for the 1930s wasalready set.16 The publicly-expressed response to the Manchurian Incident wasindeed largely enthusiastic, though critical voices and scepticism did remain:‘Manchuria is now in Japan’s possession, but has your life changed?’, as onevillage writer demanded to know.17 The relationship between military andsociety, however, was much more complex than Smethurst allows. It is rarelyrecognised, for example, that senior army figures were actually surprised andrelieved by the popularity of the military action in Manchuria, and that not all ofthem counted on it continuing. The previous year, in fact, the army hadlaunched a campaign, the kokubo shiso fukyu undo, or campaign to spread theideology of national defence, which was specifically designed to counter whatwere feared to be widespread anti-military attitudes among the people.18 Evenafter the success of the Kwantung Army’s plotting in September 1931, some inthe army clearly lacked confidence in the potential of the Manchurian Incident tounite the nation in support of military priorities, just as others, as revealed by theplanning for a coup in October 1931, feared that the government and the armyhierarchy itself would not adequately support the Manchurian venture. Militarydominance of Japanese society and politics, then, was by no means established bythe end of 1931, even in the eyes of those who sought to do the dominating.

The countryside in fact provides an especially suggestive area for reassessmentof the relations between army and society. Reactions to the Manchurian crisis inrural areas were neither uniform nor clear-cut. Farewell gatherings for departingsoldiers, for instance, were prized occasions for the celebration of nation, butcould also provide the ideal platform for an anti-war speech, as police discoveredin more than one Nagano Prefecture village. As for the military authorities, farfrom simply capitalising on their existing links with the countryside in the early1930s, as Smethurst’s analysis implies, they in fact expended considerable effortin countering perceived rural radicalism and creating positive images of armyactions in Manchuria. The military’s continuing efforts to shore up its position inthe countryside testify not to a static and secure basis of rural support for thearmy, but rather to the persistent ambivalence with which farmers in commonwith others continued to respond to the military. Farmers generally reactedfavourably to the army’s much-touted emphasis on rural concerns, but they didnot necessarily support all the army’s actions. Nor, in reality, did the armynecessarily care deeply about the countryside, rather than finding in rural issuesa convenient political tool.

Many standard and broadly accepted explanations of social reactions to theManchurian Incident centre on ‘a nationalistic people full of naive ardour for thewar effort’, as Ienaga Saburo puts it, or on ‘the simple credulity of the masses’, inthe words of a US army document.19 The fact that the Manchurian Incidentoccurred during the worst of the depression has also led some to an emphasis on

Introduction 7

the Japanese as ‘an apolitical mass – easily manipulated into an escape fromreality by being offered an exciting illusion of participation in a military garrisonstate’.20 It is not the purpose of this book to reveal new evidence of widespreadJapanese resistance to the invasion of Manchuria. Undoubtedly, many peopledid applaud the military action, at least for a while. This does not mean,however, that Japanese reactions to the Manchurian Incident are unworthy offurther attention or can be easily dismissed, as has most often happened in thepast. To simplify reactions to the Manchurian crisis in this way is to pass over avital moment in the history of the 1930s in Japan, even if that moment is notinterpreted as the beginning of a ‘fifteen-year war’ or the sign of the inevitableascendance of the military in politics. In the final analysis, it is not possible toknow with any certainty what the majority of ordinary people thought about theManchurian crisis or any other set of events in Japan in the 1930s, becauserecords of their responses are so inadequate. It is possible, however, to movebeyond elite politics and military discourses to recognise the multiplicity ofgroups and interests which made up the complex society of 1931–33, and touncover many more of the voices addressing ordinary Japanese and theirconcerns. Such voices came not only from high positions but from middle levelsof Japanese society, and often directed themselves specifically to women, tofarmers, to young people or to other groups.

The voices heard in this book, then, range from the political, military andbureaucratic to those of editors, writers, business leaders and youthful villageactivists. A careful examination of the messages they conveyed provides strongevidence of a variety of responses to the invasion of Manchuria and an insistenceon embedding the military events firmly within broader concerns dictated by theconditions of the early 1930s. The crisis over Manchuria thus affords a crucialopportunity to examine the relationship between state and society in Japan at atime of considerable volatility. A study of both elite and more popular responsesto the events of 1931–33 has a solid contribution to make to the growing effort tounderstand how the various social groups behaved in the decade before theSecond World War, and the relations of those groups with each other and withthe state.

So far, there have been comparatively few studies considering the linksbetween state and people in the 1930s, but a number of scholars have venturedinto parts of this difficult ‘dark valley’. The sensitive area of the involvement ofintellectuals in politics and the bureaucracy, particularly from the later 1930sonwards, has been addressed by several writers, and the equally crucial issue ofthe relationship between farmers and the state by others.21 Miles Fletcher hasexamined the relationship between state policy and the business community,while Sheldon Garon has analysed the relationship between the state and labour,and, more recently, has explored state campaigns to mobilise the population forvarious purposes in the pre-war and post-war periods.22 Notable work has alsoappeared on the complex connections between women and the state in the1930s.23 As for the specific issue of popular support for the military in the 1930sand 1940s, a number of writers have pointed to the importance of structural

8 Introduction

factors, particularly the influence of semi-bureaucratic regional organisations likethose for reservists, women and young men. Smethurst emphasises the cohesive-ness of rural society and the support which the army had built for itself by the1920s through village branches of national organisations. Eguchi Keiichi, AwayaKentaro and Yui Masaomi reach similar conclusions about the importance ofsuch organisations in mobilising support for ‘fascism’, while Eguchi on one handand Louise Young on another have also highlighted the role of the press inwillingly promoting uniformity of opinion by encouraging anti-foreign sentimentand militarist fervour.24

The work of these historians has done much to elucidate some of the insti-tutional factors which encouraged ordinary Japanese to support the army in the1930s and 1940s. There is no doubt, for example, that the army did use theexisting social structure of rural Japan to spread its ideals and win popularsupport. Nor is there any doubt that established mechanisms of control andindoctrination were well used by the state in general, or that the mass mediaplayed a vital role in endorsing the Manchurian venture. However, many suchstudies remain essentially overviews, written ultimately as attempts to explainJapan’s wars with China and the United States rather than to understand the1930s more broadly, and often presenting a somewhat static picture of Japanesesociety. They do not always take full cognisance of the specific and complexhistorical circumstances in which people’s attitudes were actually formed, or ofthe degree of diversity and change in both official and popular attitudes.Smethurst is perhaps extreme in his conviction that the stage was already set andthe story already written by the late 1920s. Awaya, on the other hand, identifiessignificant differences in the pattern of popular support for ‘fascism’ during threedistinct periods: the first between about 1930 and early 1936, the second betweenearly 1936 and about the middle of 1942 and the third from mid-1942 to 1945.25

Awaya also distinguishes carefully between support for war and support for thedomestic manifestations of ‘fascism’ such as military-dominated cabinets and theproliferation of right-wing associations.26 Thus his work is a useful reminderthat popular attitudes did not necessarily come as a neat package combiningendorsement of the Manchurian Incident with support for particular domesticpolicies or political movements.

Despite the value of studies such as these, there remains a need to analyse theperiod of the Manchurian crisis in its own terms – in a sense, to detach ittemporarily from subsequent events, in order to re-attach it in a more convincingway. Again as in Germany, much historiography of 1930s Japan has beendominated by ‘the overwhelming impact of the catastrophic end and finalcondition of the regime’, and there is a great temptation to use that catastrophicend as ‘a golden thread to explain a posteriori the motives, methods, and stages’27

of ‘Japanese fascism’. An explanation of attitudes during the Manchurian crisis,however, must rest essentially on a consideration of the period 1931–33, not on ahistorian’s knowledge that full-scale war would soon occur, or that the army hadhad a reasonably strong presence in the villages in the 1920s.28 One wonders howexisting interpretations of the 1930s might have differed if by some diplomatic or

Introduction 9

political manoeuvre war had been averted in 1937 or 1941, as a number ofscholars argue it could have been.

This book begins with an outline of the background and events of theManchurian crisis itself. It then moves on to consider the issues of censorship andpropaganda as they affected reporting of events in Manchuria, Shanghai andthe League of Nations at Geneva. The thorough manipulation of publicopinion by the state during the 1930s is one important element in the popularview of the ‘fifteen-year war’. Chapter 2 considers the extent to which censorshipmechanisms actually did mould opinion during the Manchurian crisis. Chapter3 turns to propaganda about the crisis, investigating the ideas circulated bynewspapers, magazines, radio and film. Part II of the book considers ‘national’perspectives on the Manchurian crisis, beginning in Chapter 4, which analysesviews within the establishment. Chapter 5 considers the responses of moderatepublic intellectuals and political extremists of both the right and the left. In PartIII of the book, responses to the Manchurian crisis of different groups in societyare examined. Chapter 6 considers farmers, while Chapter 7 turns to the townsand cities to analyse the reactions of labour unionists and workers’ politicalparties. Chapter 8 assesses the responses first of organisations representing smalland medium enterprises, then of big business, and Chapter 9 explores thegendered nature of the Manchurian crisis through an analysis of discourse aboutManchuria aimed at women, and an assessment of the responses of women’sorganisations. The Conclusion then returns to a reinterpretation of the signifi-cance of the Manchurian crisis and an assessment of its place in the history ofthe 1930s.

Notes1 Eguchi Keiichi, Jugonen senso shoshi, Tokyo, Aoki shoten, 1986, p. 29. The word

‘incident’ in ‘Manchurian Incident’ might seem to trivialise and limit a set of eventswhich the Chinese certainly regarded as war. As Eguchi Keiichi has pointed out,however, alternative terms like ‘the invasion of Manchuria’ or ‘the invasion of thenorth-east’ would tend to cause confusion with other events from 1904–05 onwards.Furthermore, the Chinese term for ‘Manchurian Incident’ is ‘the 18 SeptemberIncident’ (ibid., p. 5). In this book, the term ‘Manchurian Incident’ is used to meanthe events which occurred near Mukden on 18 September 1931; the period betweenthen and early/mid-1933 is referred to as the ‘Manchurian crisis’.

2 Sara R. Smith, The Manchurian Crisis 1931–1932: A Tragedy in International Relations,New York, Columbia University Press, 1948, p. 3; John M. Maki, Conflict and Tensionin the Far East: Key Documents, 1894–1960, Seattle, Washington, University ofWashington Press, 1961, pp. 62–3.

3 Otto D. Tolischus, Tokyo Record, London, Hamish Hamilton, 1943, p. 59.4 Takehiko Yoshihashi, Conspiracy at Mukden: The Rise of the Japanese Military, New

Haven, Yale University Press, 1963, viii.5 Sadako N. Ogata, Defiance in Manchuria: The Making of Japanese Foreign Policy, 1931–

1932, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1964.6 James B. Crowley, Japan’s Quest for Autonomy: National Security and Foreign Policy 1930–

1938, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1966, Chs 2, 3; Ian Nish, Japan’sStruggle with Internationalism: Japan, China and the League of Nations, 1931–1933,London, Kegan Paul International, 1993.

10 Introduction

7 Louise Young, Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism,Berkeley, University of California Press, 1998.

8 Ienaga Saburo, The Pacific War, 1931–1945: A Critical Perspective on Japan’s Role inWorld War II, trans. Frank Baldwin, New York, Pantheon Books, 1978, pp. xiii, 3.For a critique of the concept of the ‘fifteen-year war’, see Sandra Wilson, ‘Re-thinking the 1930s and the “15-Year War” in Japan’, Japanese Studies, Vol. 21, No. 2,September 2001, pp. 155–64.

9 See Young, Japan’s Total Empire, pp. 55–114.10 Tsurumaru Yukio et al., ‘Sono koro watashi wa – onnatachi no shogen’, Jugoshi noto,

No. 3, January 1983, pp. 41–2.11 Ibid., p. 40.12 Inoue Toshikazu, ‘Kokusai renmei dattaigo no Nihon gaiko’, Hitotsubashi ronso, Vol.

93, No. 2, February 1985, pp. 210–29; see also Ogata Sadako, ‘Gaiko to yoron:Renmei dattai o meguru ichikosatsu’, Kokusai seiji, Vol. 1, 1969, p. 50.

13 See especially Mary Nolan, ‘The Historikerstreit and Social History’, in Peter Baldwin(ed.), Reworking the Past: Hitler, the Holocaust, and the Historians’ Debate, Boston, BeaconPress, 1990, pp. 224–48; Detlev J. K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity,Opposition and Racism in Everyday Life, trans. Richard Deveson, London, Penguin,1989.

14 Umut Özkirimli, Theories of Nationalism: A Critical Introduction, New York, St Martin’sPress, 2000, p. 4.

15 Patrick M. Regan, Organizing Societies for War: The Process and Consequences of SocietalMilitarization, Westport, Connecticut, Praeger, 1994, p. 5.

16 Richard J. Smethurst, A Social Basis for Prewar Japanese Militarism: The Army and theRural Community, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1974.

17 Kaura Hatsumi, ‘Noson no kyodai e’, Kamishina-mura shi kankokai (ed.), Kamishinajiho, Ueda-shi, 1978, May 1932, p. 1.

18 See Young, Japan’s Total Empire, pp. 130–40.19 Ienaga, Pacific War, p. 124; United States Army, Forces in the Pacific, The Brocade

Banner: The Story of Japanese Nationalism, Special Report by Civil Intelligence Section,23 September 1946, p. 7.

20 Kato Shuichi, ‘Taisho Democracy as the Pre-Stage for Japanese Militarism’, inBernard S. Silberman and H. D. Harootunian (eds), Japan in Crisis: Essays on TaishoDemocracy, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1974, p. 231.

21 In English, see especially William Miles Fletcher III, The Search for a New Order:Intellectuals and Fascism in Prewar Japan, Chapel Hill, University of North CarolinaPress, 1982; James B. Crowley, ‘Intellectuals as Visionaries of the New AsianOrder’, in James William Morley (ed.), Dilemmas of Growth in Prewar Japan, Princeton,Princeton University Press, 1971, pp. 319–73; Barrington Moore, Jr, Social Origins ofDictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World,Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1966, p. 308; Smethurst, Social Basis.

22 William Miles Fletcher III, The Japanese Business Community and National Trade Policy,1920–1942, Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 1989; Sheldon Garon,The State and Labor in Modern Japan, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1987;Sheldon Garon, Molding Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life, Princeton,Princeton University Press, 1997.

23 For example, Suzuki Yuko, Feminizumu to senso: fujin undoka no senso kyoryoku, Tokyo,Marjusha, 1986; Fujii Tadatoshi, Kokubo fujinkai: hinomaru to kappogi, Tokyo, Iwanamishoten, 1985; Sharon H. Nolte, ‘Women’s Rights and Society’s Needs: Japan’s 1931Suffrage Bill’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 28, 1986, pp. 690–714;Sheldon Garon, ‘Women’s Groups and the Japanese State: Contending Approachesto Political Integration, 1890–1945’, Journal of Japanese Studies, Vol. 19, No. 1, 1993,pp. 5–41.

24 Eguchi Keiichi, Nihon teikokushugishiron: Manshu jihen zengo, Tokyo, Aoki shoten, 1975,

Introduction 11

esp. Chs 5 and 6; Awaya Kentaro, ‘Fasshoka to minshu ishiki’, in Eguchi Keiichi(ed.), Taikei. Nihon gendaishi, Vol. 1: Nihon fashizumu no keisei, Tokyo, Nihonhyoronsha, 1978, pp. 252–302; Yui Masaomi, ‘Gunbu to kokumin togo’, in Tokyodaigaku shakai kagaku kenkyujo (ed.), Fashizumu no kokka to shakai, Vol. 1: Showakyoko, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1978, pp. 149–95; Young, Japan’s TotalEmpire, pp. 55–114.

25 Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, pp. 262–6.26 Ibid.27 Martin Broszat, ‘A Plea for the Historicization of National Socialism’, in Baldwin

(ed.), Reworking the Past, p. 83.28 See Banno Junji, ‘Showa junen no kiro – rekishi ni okeru hitsuzen to guzen’, Chuo

koron, April 1985, pp. 88–99, for a discussion of this general historiographical point inrelation to 1930s Japan.

Part I

Managing the crisisAt home and abroad

1 The Manchurian crisis, 1931–33

The explosion on the South Manchurian Railway on 18 September 1931 wasundeniably the starting-point for a new stage in relations between Japan andManchuria. Equally, however, it takes its place in the longer history of Sino-Japanese tension in the region. This chapter outlines the context within whichthe Manchurian Incident occurred, before proceeding to an overview of itsconsequences and reactions to it both within Japan and internationally.

Japanese interests in Manchuria

Agreements imposed upon Russia in 1905 and China in 1915 had ceded to Japansubstantial control of Manchuria, or the three north-eastern provinces of China:Liaoning (formerly Fengtien), Kirin and Heilungkiang, which together con-stitute an area roughly equal to that of France and Germany combined.1 Mostimportantly, in 1905, after defeating Russia in war, Japan gained a rail network insouthern Manchuria and the right to station troops to consolidate and protectJapanese interests in the region, including the railway. The military force sentto Manchuria, which came to be known as the Kwantung Army, remainedthere until 1945,2 operating in conjunction with the Kwantung Governmentadministration, which had been set up by the Japanese after the Russo–JapaneseWar to police the railway lines and to take responsibility for the administration ofthe territory in the southern tip of Manchuria, formerly known as Liaotung,which was now to be leased by Japan.

In 1906, the semi-governmental South Manchurian Railway Company wasestablished by Japan with a capitalisation of 200 million yen. Important Japanesepolitical leaders participated in the planning of the company, which becameJapan’s largest firm and ‘the economic spine of Manchuria’.3 While maintainingthe appearance of an independent private corporation, it also acted as aninstrument of Japanese political power.4 Thus the South Manchurian RailwayCompany, like the East India Company before it, represented an unusual fusionof political, military and business interests. The Company controlled not only700 miles of railway, but also the great majority of all Japanese economic activityin Manchuria, including mining, industry, commerce, power supply, foreigntrade and shipping. It claimed almost exclusive authority in the towns and cities

16 Managing the crisis

that grew up along the railways, of which there were more than a hundred in1931. The company also acquired other lands outside these towns, includingsignificant deposits of coal and iron at Fushun and Anshan, and various port andharbour works. Moreover, the railway zone itself traversed the most fertile landin Manchuria.

The agricultural importance of the region for both China and Japan wasenormous. The soya bean, Manchuria’s major crop, was exported to Japan forfertiliser and fodder, and to Europe as raw material for manufacturing vegetablefats and oils, used for lighting as well as food. By 1927 nearly half the world’ssupply of soya was coming from Manchuria, which also accounted for a highproportion of China’s total coal and iron output and of its foreign trade.5 By the1920s the railway and its supporting industries had become the symbol of theJapanese presence in Manchuria, and the South Manchurian Railway Com-pany’s interests were so large that they ‘greatly limit[ed] and condition[ed]successive Chinese administrations’ in the region.6 The company’s assetsexceeded 1 billion yen by 1930.7 The controller and beneficiary of most of thisdevelopment was of course Japan, not China. By the 1920s, it was an establishedcanon throughout decision-making circles in Tokyo that Manchuria was vital toJapan, for strategic as well as economic reasons, and that the Japanese hadinviolable rights in Manchuria which had been legitimately won by treaty. A fewindependent voices warned against this view, as we shall see in later chapters, butthey were a distinct minority.

Some within the Japanese army, on the other hand, had long maintained thatonly direct control of Manchuria was sufficient for Japan’s needs. The idea of an‘independent’ Manchuria recurred regularly within the Japanese army between1911 and 1932, and was also propounded in certain civilian rightist circles.8 Thisargument seemed stronger by the middle and later 1920s, when the growingforce of Chinese nationalism prompted Tokyo elites to speak of a ‘crisis’ inrelation to Japanese interests in Manchuria, especially after 1928, when ChiangKai-shek’s Nationalist troops completed their Northern Expedition, havingestablished a new ‘national’ government in Nanking. The Japanese govern-ment’s nervousness about potential threats to its power in the north-east wasplainly revealed in 1927 and 1928: though Chiang Kai-shek had showed hiswillingness to compromise with Japan, the Seiyukai Cabinet of Tanaka Giichisent Japanese troops to Shantung province in both May 1927 and April 1928 inan attempt to prevent Northern Expedition troops from moving into northChina and eventually Manchuria.9

Moves to establish firmer Japanese control in Manchuria gained momentum.One month after the first incursion of Japanese troops into Shantung, the TanakaCabinet convened an ‘Eastern Conference’ (Toho kaigi) to discuss Japan’s policytowards China. After ten days of deliberation by diplomatic officials, bureau-crats, military officers and others, a new policy was announced which declaredthe right of Japan to intervene positively in the affairs of Manchuria andMongolia. In fact, according to Yoshihashi, the ‘undisguised object’ of the wholeconference was ‘to hammer out a course of action . . . [leading to] Japanese seizure

The Manchurian crisis, 1931–33 17

of Manchuria’.10 Fear that Japan was about to lose control of Manchuria and adesire either to provide a pretext for Japanese occupation or to install a newleader there who would be more sympathetic to Japan led a group of KwantungArmy officers to assassinate the Manchurian warlord Chang Tso-lin in June1928. The plotters’ goals were not achieved, however: orders for the mobil-isation of the Kwantung Army in the aftermath of the assassination were notforthcoming, and Chang Tso-lin’s successor, Chang Hsueh-liang, far frombecoming a Japanese puppet, was flying the Nationalist flag in Manchuria bymid-November 1928. Meanwhile, the political consequences in Japan of Chang’sassassination had forced the resignation of Tanaka Giichi as Prime Minister inJuly 1928.

The perception that Chinese nationalism posed a serious threat to Japanesecontrol of Manchuria was not misplaced. Labour strikes against Japanese firms,disruptions to railway operations and other protests occurred in Manchuria,while a nation-wide anti-Japanese boycott took place in 1928.11 In addition, theChinese were engaged in developing Manchuria outside the South ManchurianRailway zone; Japanese investments in Manchuria were particularly threatenedby the construction of new railway lines, according to claims by the Japanesegovernment and other interests.12

From the late 1920s Manchuria began to appear in the Japanese press moreoften; until then there had been little media interest in the region. Within Japan,the murder of Chang Tso-lin and its political consequences in 1928–29 attracteda great deal of attention. Japanese residents in Manchuria after 1928 were alsoshowing signs of restlessness, and expressing frequent criticism of ‘Shideharadiplomacy’, or the relatively conciliatory China policy implemented by ForeignMinister Shidehara Kijuro.13 Late in 1928, Japanese residents in Manchuriaformed the Manchurian Youth League (Manshu seinen renmei), a pressuregroup dedicated to the defence of Japanese rights and interests in Manchuria.Comprising mostly junior members of the South Manchurian Railway Com-pany and independent Japanese businessmen in Manchuria, the League attracted3,000 members in its first year. In the summer of 1931 it embarked on its firstlecture tour to Japan. Critical of Japanese foreign policy and party politics andadvocating the creation of an autonomous state in Manchuria, the group aimed‘to awaken the brothers at home’ to the plight of their compatriots in Manchuriaand the need to strike against the Chinese government.14 In Japan, meanwhile,popular journals were by now featuring articles on ‘the Manchurian–Mongolianproblem’ (Manmo mondai) with some frequency.15

On the whole, however, it is unlikely that the ‘problem’ as yet impingedgreatly on the consciousness of most Japanese outside of the Kwantung Armyand the South Manchurian Railway Company. Japanese business interests, likethose of Great Britain, the United States and other nations, were on balancemuch more interested in the commercial and trade opportunities in the Shanghaiarea than in Manchuria. For the general public, rural depression, unemploy-ment, elections and allegations of political corruption were more prominentissues than events in Manchuria, which, for many, was little-known and remote.


Even in 1935–36, women in one Kyushu village, albeit a comparatively remoteone, ‘had only the vaguest notion of where and how far away Korea, China andManchuria might be’.16 It is unlikely that they were much better informed a fewyears earlier. Among the decision-making elites in Japan, the threat to Japanesecontrol of Manchuria was recognised from the late 1920s onwards, but outsidethe army, military force was not considered an appropriate way of dealing with itat a time when the ideal of international co-operation still prevailed. When theManchurian Incident did occur, there was initially an almost universal concernamong the elites that the military action should not be allowed to escalate, even ifthat concern did not translate into effective action.

By contrast, certain members of the Kwantung Army still believed a forcefulsolution to the ‘Manchurian problem’ to be an urgent necessity, in view of thetwin threats of Chinese nationalism and growing Soviet power. Despite thefailure of the Chang Tso-lin Incident to escalate in the desired manner, many,perhaps most, in the Kwantung Army continued to believe that such methodswould be necessary. The most ardent exponents of this view includedLieutenant-Colonel Ishiwara Kanji, Lieutenant-Colonel Itagaki Seishiro and themembers of a study group organised by Major Suzuki Teiichi. Ishiwara inparticular believed that the international environment by 1931 was uniquelyfavourable to military action by Japan in Manchuria, as no other country wouldhave both the capacity and the will to intervene against Japan. Furthermore,Ishiwara and Itagaki were both facing possible transfer out of Japan in the nearfuture. For these reasons, the Manchurian Incident was instigated by members ofthe Kwantung Army in September 1931.17 Their action, however, was in accord-ance with the views of most of the Japanese army, and the General Staff voicedno objection in principle to the Kwantung Army’s action.

The summer of 1931

Several events in the middle of 1931 heightened the sense that Japan’s relationswith Manchuria had reached a crisis-point. The most significant were the Wan-paoshan Incident and the killing of Captain Nakamura Shintaro.

The dispute known as the Wanpaoshan Incident highlighted long-standingissues relating to Japan’s right to lease land and engage in commercial activity inManchuria, and as an incidental bonus it also allowed the Japanese authorities topose as protectors of the 800,000 or so Koreans who were resident in Manchuria.In July 1931 conflict broke out between Chinese and Korean farmers overirrigation rights in Wanpaoshan, a village near Changchun in Kirin province,and a group of Chinese attacked the Korean farmers. The Chinese farmers werebacked by Chinese police and the Koreans by Japanese consular police, whofired over the Chinese crowd at one point. The Koreans and Japanese eventuallyprevailed without bloodshed on either side. However, anti-Chinese riotsimmediately broke out in Korea, incited by propaganda by Japanese extremistsseeking to promote a more aggressive Japanese policy in Manchuria. Overone hundred Chinese were killed; in retaliation, the Chinese carried out anti-


Japanese activities in a number of Chinese cities.18 The League of Nationscommission of enquiry later set up to investigate the Manchurian Incidentconsidered the ‘intrinsic importance’ of the Wanpaoshan Incident to have been‘greatly exaggerated’,19 but many Japanese observers saw it as incontrovertibleevidence of Chinese infringements of Japan’s legitimate rights in Manchuria. Onthe other hand, the incident infuriated many Chinese, and an anti-Japaneseboycott was initiated in Shanghai as retaliation.

Relations between China and Japan were still strained as a result of this andother incidents when the case of Captain Nakamura Shintaro came to light.20

Nakamura was a Japanese military officer on active duty, travelling incognitowith interpreters and an assistant in June 1931 through Manchuria. He and hiscompanions were captured and shot by Chinese soldiers who believed, notunreasonably, that they were spies. Many years after the event, one formerJapanese diplomat stated that Nakamura was indeed a spy, and was gatheringinformation - but in preparation for war with the Soviet Union, rather than tofacilitate Sino-Japanese conflict.21 At the time, Japanese authorities insisted thatthe killings were unwarranted and revealed the depth of Chinese contempt forJapanese rights in Manchuria and for the Japanese nation itself. There wasintense press coverage of the story in Japan from mid-August, when theKwantung military authorities first released an account of Nakamura’s death;once again, the case provided an opportunity to demand a stronger China policy.Chinese authorities eventually agreed to investigate the deaths, and according tothe Lytton Report, ‘it would seem that diplomatic negotiations for attaining asolution of the Nakamura case were actually progressing favourably up to thenight of September 18’.22

Nakamura’s death was not made public until mid-August, but despite theefforts at diplomatic resolution it greatly inflamed the treatment of Manchurianissues in Japan. The army was certainly not averse to capitalising on the affair,particularly at a time when some articulate Japanese were airing the view thatJapanese rights in Manchuria were less important than trading relationships withShanghai and other parts of central China.23 As a senior Foreign Ministry officialremarked in August, ‘The army is trying to use the killing of Captain Nakamura,by enlarging the importance of the whole affair, as a lever for the solution ofmatters in Manchuria and Mongolia. I am very worried.’24 The killing of Naka-mura gave the military and ultranationalists in Japan the most persuasiveargument yet in favour of ‘using force to settle once and for all the outstandingissues relating to Manchuria’.25 Ishiwara Kanji, for one, wanted the NakamuraIncident used as a pretext for military action by Japan,26 and on 14 September at adistrict meeting in Tokyo, the Reservists’ Association also passed a resolutiondemanding ‘strong and decisive’ action to protect Japan’s rights and interests inManchuria.27 At a special conference the next day, Army Minister GeneralMinami Jiro and Chief of Staff Kanaya Hanzo expressed the view that the deathof Nakamura was highly significant, and that the opportunity should be seized to‘bring about a fundamental change in the Chinese attitude’. They called forretribution and agreed that ‘the time is ripe . . . to launch a vigorous campaign to


reach a basic solution of the present situation’. Others present at this conferenceincluded Colonel Doihara Kenji, Resident Officer at Mukden; Lieutenant-General Sugiyama Gen, Vice-Minister of the Army; and Lieutenant-GeneralNinomiya Harushige, Assistant Chief of Staff. Meanwhile, Foreign MinisterShidehara Kijuro was still insisting on a diplomatic solution to the dispute,leading some observers to comment that the gap between the Foreign Ministryand the Army Ministry over Manchurian issues was widening, as indeed it was.28

By September 1931 a considerable number of press articles was calling for firmaction in Manchuria. In Daniel R. Ramsdell’s view, the Nakamura case inparticular had made the Japanese public ‘more willing to accept the forciblesolution to all Manchurian problems which the Mukden incident was soon tooffer’.29 The Nakamura and Wanpaoshan incidents were the most specificgrievances, but other issues also rankled, particularly those relating to leaserights, railway rights and taxes. In fact, it became a media cliché that ‘over 300pending issues’ between Japan and China over Manchuria now requireddefinitive action. Failure to resolve these issues was giving China cause to becontemptuous of Japan, according to many observers. One journalist, HosonoShigekatsu of the Kokumin shinbun (People’s Newspaper), declared that Japan andChina were virtually in a state of war, and that Japan should go ahead andactually declare war against China in order to protect its interests in Manchuriaand Mongolia.30 Reports indicated that Yoshizawa Kenkichi, Japan’s delegate tothe League of Nations, would suggest in a speech to the League’s Assembly that‘the protection of special rights and interests should be regarded as a special casenot falling under the purview’ of the Anti-War Pact to which Japan was asignatory, though he would not mention Manchuria and Mongolia specifically.31

In short, a serious state of tension existed between Japan and China overManchurian affairs on the eve of the incident at Mukden, and senior figures inthe army were not loathe to stimulate and increase this tension in order toprovide a pretext for the military action they had long wanted.

Aftermath of the Manchurian Incident

The explosion on the railway outside Mukden on 18 September 1931 provokedvery little public criticism in Japan, especially compared to the wave of publicenthusiasm for the Kwantung Army’s actions. Communists denounced theManchurian Incident, but to little effect: they were an isolated minority and werecontinually repressed by the authorities. Labour unions were at best ambivalentabout the invasion of Manchuria, and neither of the two main proletarian partieswas prepared to take an unequivocal stand against the Kwantung Army’sactions, though both had anti-war declarations in their platforms in 1931. Ahandful of liberals opposed the Manchurian Incident outright, but most Japaneseintellectuals either supported it or remained silent. The great majority of thepress seized on the Incident as an opportunity to increase circulation throughsensationalist reporting of events.

Pacifist feeling was not a significant factor. Indeed, with the exception of those


intellectuals and others who actively espoused a kind of pacifism similar to thatfound in Europe and the United States after the First World War, few Japanesewere opposed to the idea of war as such. The Manchurian crisis itself produced acomparatively small number of casualties: according to official figures, 603members of the armed forces were killed in action up to mid-July 1932, a further100 died from their wounds and 1,492 were injured.32 Japan’s experience of theFirst World War, unlike that of the European nations, had been a positive andprofitable one.33 None of Japan’s modern wars had been fought on Japaneseterritory, and thus the direct effect on the civilian population was very limited.34

Even the Russo-Japanese War, a bloody and a costly war for both sides, was bythe early 1930s less a deterrent to another war than a convenient source ofmilitary propaganda in Japan, particularly in the context of justifying the seizureof Manchuria and as a repository of ‘heroic stories’ which could be used toimpart proper values to new generations.35

The significance of this relative lack of negative attitudes to war in Japan issuggested by a comparison with other countries which had been involved in theFirst World War in particular. For example, memories of the ‘[n]ear starvation,crushing financial burdens, and, above all, appallingly long casualty lists’ of1914–18 still ‘ran deep within the British people’ in the early 1930s, ‘shatter[ing]the belief that war was a legitimate method of furthering national ambitions andreplac[ing] it with a determination to avoid war and a fear of armaments as aprimary cause of war’.36 In Japan, by contrast, despite widespread commitmentamong the elites to an internationalist diplomacy in co-operation with theWestern powers, in the early 1930s there remained broad acceptance of the view,now largely outdated in Europe, that ‘in certain circumstances national interestscould only be served by going to war’.37 It was still possible, too, to glory publiclyin the power of weaponry and the excitement of war, in terms that would be hardto imagine in a mainstream publication in Britain, France or the United States inthe same period. As one Japanese magazine declared early in 1933:

When the interests of nations conflict and diplomatic negotiations end infailure, the final means of telling right from wrong is war. War!! Once warbreaks out, it is necessary to exert all efforts and win.38

Among the decision-making elites in Japan, as noted above, the consensus in1931 was that military action in Manchuria was inappropriate. However, thiswas less a matter of principle and more because of an expectation that overtaggression would lead to alienation from the Western powers, and perhapsbecause of unwillingness to allow a situation likely to benefit military budgetsand military power. Nor, in 1931, were ordinary people averse to war. It hadseemed to work in the past, with little cost or with costs not now clearlyremembered.

In fact, the Manchurian Incident generated excitement among many ordinaryJapanese. In Osaka, maps of Manchuria were completely sold out within four orfive days of the explosion outside Mukden.39 In Tohoku, home of a large number


of the Japanese soldiers in Manchuria, villagers rushed to donate money andgoods for the troops, despite the privations of the depression.40 The BritishAmbassador to Tokyo concluded in his annual report for 1931 that ‘the country,true to its long military tradition, was found to be enthusiastically and solidlybehind the army’,41 while in early December, another foreign observer wrote:

war maps and vivid pictures attract crowds to the show windows where theyare displayed; at night electric ideographs flash across the faces of the greatnewspaper offices telling the day’s happenings in Manchuria to the populaceof Osaka and Tokyo. Young middle-school students, emphasizing theirimportance with pennants and arm bands, patrol the downtown streets,haranguing the crowds for funds to help the ‘heroes’ up in the bitternorthern territory. Girls make appeals for nursing volunteers. Newspaperheadlines clamor about ‘the enemy’, ‘the latest engagement’, the ‘shiftingfront’, ‘our troops’ progress westward’. It is difficult to reconcile all thisactivity, all this deliberate stirring of patriotism, with the solemn officialpronouncements of ‘no war in Manchuria’.42

After September 1931 Manchurian themes began to appear not only innewspapers, magazines, films and books but also in plays, exhibitions, toys,music and speeches throughout Japan. Schools, factories and all manner of otherorganisations held fund-raising drives. Soldiers went to Manchuria with greatfanfare, politicians made patriotic pronouncements. The army encouraged andattempted to stage-manage public enthusiasm for the fighting in Manchuria.Rallies of army reservists passed resolutions demanding firm action at every point;senior military officers supplied suitable information and articles for the press.

The impression of virtually universal enthusiasm, however, disguises the com-plexity of reactions to the invasion of Manchuria and suggests a unity of purposethat was not in fact there. Within elite circles, there was scepticism about oropposition to the army’s actions. The Wakatsuki Cabinet sought to preventescalation of the fighting, as did Army Minister Minami and Chief of StaffKanaya at first. The powerful Home Ministry exhibited little interest in thearmy’s exploits, preferring to concentrate on domestic concerns: clearly, themilitary’s agenda had yet to win full acceptance even at the heart of the stateitself.43 In some quarters there was support for the military action but doubt thatit would be properly followed up. Rightists feared that the fruits of the army’sefforts would be squandered by a weak and vacillating government.44 The factthat even the military itself did not take public support for the Manchurianventure for granted is suggested by the quantity of propaganda that was directedat the Japanese people through a variety of media, stressing the benefits ofacquiring Manchuria and the need for the military to take action against Chineseviolation of Japanese rights in the region. Presumably there would have beenlittle requirement for such efforts if public patriotism had been beyond doubt.The situation in late 1931, then, was more fluid and uncertain than is oftenacknowledged.


The Minseito Cabinet of Wakatsuki Reijiro sought desperately to restrain theKwantung Army in the immediate aftermath of the explosion on the SouthManchurian Railway, but despite early co-operation with its efforts from somesenior army figures, the cabinet’s line was defeated. In December 1931 thecabinet collapsed, thanks to a combination of its discredited approach to theManchurian crisis, the failure of Finance Minister Inoue Junnosuke’s economicpolicies in the context of the depression, and the activities of a dissident wingwithin the Minseito Cabinet led by Home Minister Adachi Kenzo whichfavoured coalition rather than party cabinets.45 The Wakatsuki Cabinet wasreplaced by the Seiyukai Cabinet of Inukai Tsuyoshi, which was more amenableto the idea of military expansion on the Asian mainland.

Then, at the end of January 1932, fighting also broke out in Shanghai, theheartland of foreign investment in China and the site of considerable Sino-Japanese tension since the middle of the previous year. The anti-Japanesemovement which had begun in China around mid-1931 and intensified after theManchurian Incident was strongest in the Shanghai area. By the end of 1931,boycotts of Japanese goods and other anti-Japanese actions had become a seriousthreat to Japanese economic activity there. Several incidents occurred in January1932 to aggravate relations between the Chinese and the Japanese; the incidentwhich actually ignited the fighting was deliberately provoked by a Japanesemilitary aide attached to the Consulate-General. The Japanese government,under pressure from Japanese residents in Shanghai, eventually sent militaryreinforcements. On 29 January, Japanese forces bombed the Chapei district ofShanghai from the air. Hostilities continued for some weeks, producing manycasualties: in fact, more than in the Manchurian campaign. A truce was signedearly in May.

International reaction to the Manchurian andShanghai Incidents

In one sense, it is surprising that the dispute between Japan and China overManchuria ever became a major international issue. 1931 was, above all, a yearin which governments, bureaucracies and ordinary people throughout the worldstruggled to understand and to survive the economic depression into which allhad been plunged. The major powers were committed, publicly at least, to theideal of co-operation among nations and the peaceful solution of internationaldisputes. In reality, however, most governments could ill afford to do more thangrapple with their own domestic and regional problems in an effort to stay inpower at a time of unprecedented unemployment and economic suffering. Thus,the rest of the world had little reason to be interested in a sudden militaryincursion by Japan into the north-eastern provinces of China, or in the ensuingdispute between China and Japan.

For Europe and the United States, East Asia was remote and other problemswere much more pressing. The United States was officially pursuing a policy ofisolationism in international relations, symbolised by its refusal to join the


League of Nations despite its stated support for the League’s ideals. Its economywas in disarray, and the depression required almost all the government’sattention. The administration of President Herbert Hoover already faced con-gressional opposition on domestic issues; it did not want to risk further problemsover foreign policy by taking too firm a stand on Manchuria.46 Consequently,though the United States was the most vociferous critic of Japan, it ultimately wasnot prepared to go beyond moralistic expressions of disapproval. The SovietUnion, geographically the closest of all the major powers to Japan and China,was preoccupied with the collectivisation campaign and the first Five-Year Planwhen Japan invaded Manchuria. It did not challenge the Kwantung Army,choosing to avoid a clash when the Japanese advanced into northern Manchuria,a Soviet sphere of influence.47 Great Britain, one of the mainstays of the Leagueof Nations, was embroiled in a cabinet and financial crisis during 1931. In anycase, it was inclined to sympathise with Japan’s position. The League of Nationsitself, despite its concern with international treaties and with disarmament, waspreoccupied with European problems and the world economy.

In China, of course, there was vehement reaction to the Japanese invasion.Boycotts of Japanese goods and services, demonstrations and even attacks onJapanese citizens occurred throughout the country. A variety of groups, mostnotably student groups, demanded decisive counter-action both from ChangHsueh-liang, who controlled Manchuria after the Japanese murdered his father,Chang Tso-lin, in 1928, and from Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist government inNanking, with which Chang Hsueh-liang was allied.48 Chiang, however, was in adifficult situation, with only limited national authority and facing oppositionfrom both Chinese Communists and rival Nationalists. In order to avoidbecoming embroiled in a military conflict he chose a policy of ‘non-resistance’and opted instead to invoke international intervention by appealing to theLeague of Nations.49 Chang Hseuh-liang, too, instructed his subordinates toavoid encounters with the Japanese after 18 September 1931. The ChineseCommunist Party itself, then concentrated in Kiangsi province, was exhorted byMoscow to rise up against the Japanese, and the government of the KiangsiSoviet did formally declare war on Japan on 15 May 1932. In reality, however,the Communists could do little. Their Kiangsi base was far south of Manchuria,and party members were at that time fully occupied with battling the Nationalistsin any case. On the other hand, resistance against the Japanese was by no meanstotally absent in the early 1930s. Fighting by irregulars, especially by the forces ofGeneral Ma Chan-shan in Heilungchiang, continued for several years inManchuria, and in Shanghai there was notable and popular resistance to theJapanese by the Nineteenth Route Army.

At the end of September 1931, the Council of the League of Nations notedJapan’s statement that troops would be withdrawn as soon as the lives andproperty of Japanese residents could be guaranteed. In October, Japan havingfailed to withdraw from Manchuria, the League Council passed a resolution by avote of thirteen to one ( Japan opposing), calling for Japan to evacuate Manchuriawithin three weeks. In December, it finally decided to appoint a commission of


enquiry into the Sino-Japanese dispute. Japan consented to this move, apparentlyconfident it could present a convincing case to the League in view of China’smany treaty violations.50

On the whole, then, the Manchurian crisis became an issue for the Westernpowers not because China had been invaded, but because the dispute wasbrought before the League of Nations. The exception was the Soviet Union, forwhich Japan’s action raised pressing questions about defence capabilities in theSoviet Far East. During 1932, in fact, substantial new land and sea forces weresent to the region, and attempts were also made to increase its economic self-sufficiency.51 For the League of Nations, the Manchurian crisis seemed tobecome a test case for its new machinery, or for the sanctity of treaties in general.The larger nations were in reality willing to compromise with Japan, but thestructure of the League allowed smaller member nations a relatively strongcollective voice, and the small nations saw the Manchurian crisis as a threat inprinciple: they were anxious that the rights of the ‘weaker’ of the disputantsshould be protected.52

It was a different matter with the Shanghai Incident, given the extent ofWestern commercial interests in Shanghai. Whereas there was little seriousinterest in Manchuria on the part of Europe and the United States, the Japaneseattack on Shanghai in January 1932 was interpreted as ‘a major threat to Westernpossessions, lives and interests’.53 The emotional impact of the fighting in urbanShanghai was also much greater than that in remote Manchuria had been. WithEuropean settlements close at hand there were thousands of foreign eyewitnessesto the carnage. The fighting was also widely photographed and passionatelyreported in the world press.

Again Chiang Kai-shek sought Western intervention as a means of resolvingthe dispute. Though some prominent Chinese sought to link the Shanghaifighting with the Manchurian issue, Chiang’s government rejected this approachand sought a local solution, which was achieved in May 1932.54 Japaneseobservers, too, generally spoke of the two disputes as separate issues, at leastpublicly, and this was also the official government view: Japan’s differenceswith China by 1932, according to one official publication, consisted of ‘twophases, entirely different in nature from each other and to be considered inde-pendently of one another’.55 Despite this lack of an explicit, official linkage, theShanghai Incident undoubtedly worsened Japan’s image in Western countries,and certainly hindered the Japanese attempt to justify the Manchurian Incidentas a result.

The League’s commission of enquiry into the Manchurian dispute, headed byLord Lytton of Great Britain, visited Japan and China during 1932 andpresented its report in October of that year. The report was relatively moderateand indeed sympathetic to Japan in places, conceding Japan’s ‘special position’ inManchuria and acknowledging the complexity of Sino-Japanese relations.However, it rejected the main Japanese justification of the Manchurian Incident,which was that the events of 18 September 1931 had constituted a legitimate andnecessary act of self-defence:


The military operations of the Japanese troops during this night [18September 1931] . . . cannot be regarded as measures of legitimate self-defence. In saying this, the Commission does not exclude the hypothesis thatthe officers on the spot may have thought they were acting in self-defence.

The report also rejected the claim that the formation of Manchukuo had been thedirect result of a spontaneous independence movement among its inhabitants:

the present regime cannot be considered to have been called into existenceby a genuine and spontaneous independence movement . . . [Althoughtitular heads of government departments are Chinese,] the main politicaland administrative power rests in the hands of Japanese officials andadvisers.

Commission members added that ‘there is no general Chinese support for the“Manchukuo Government”, which is regarded by the local Chinese as aninstrument of the Japanese’.56 The commission’s report recommended that a newadministrative arrangement be found for Manchuria that would be consistentwith the principle of Chinese sovereignty, while protecting Japan’s special rightsand interests there. When the assembly of the League unanimously endorsed theproposals of the Lytton Report (Siam abstaining) in February 1933, the Japanesedelegation, led by Matsuoka Yosuke, withdrew in protest. The Japanese govern-ment’s formal notification of its intention to withdraw from the League, dated27 March 1933, maintained that the Lytton Report was guilty of ‘entirelymisapprehending the spirit of Japan’.57

Japanese military forces had not been idle while international negotiationstook their course. Beginning in late 1932, the Kwantung Army had advancedinto Jehol province, south of Manchukuo and bordering on the Great Wall,which constituted the boundary between Manchuria and North China, on thepretext of guaranteeing defences for Manchukuo. By the beginning of 1933, all ofJehol had been captured by Japanese forces. Between March and May 1933,Chiang Kai-shek finally fought the Japanese, his troops suffering heavy casualtiesin the process.58 In May, the Kwantung Army negotiated a truce with localChinese officials, on terms favourable to Japan, resulting in the creation of ademilitarised zone insulating Japan’s gains from the area further south. In effect,the Chinese had recognised Japan’s conquest of Manchuria and Jehol, whichhenceforth was part of ‘Manchukuo’.

At home in Japan, meanwhile, the events described above had been fillingnewspapers, magazines, radio broadcasts and newsreels since September 1931,providing a great deal of new material to be exploited by the burgeoning massmedia. With such a flood of new information and reports came also newchallenges for those whose official task was to prevent disruptions to good orderand public morals. The next chapter will consider the structure and workings ofthe censorship system in order to assess its significance in shaping opinion aboutthe Manchurian crisis.


Notes1 It has been pointed out that the term ‘Manchurian’ itself is a less than impartial label

which is ‘primarily political and imperialistic’ in nature, since it implied that the areawas not part of China and could legitimately be severed from China. The Chinesereferred to the region as ‘the north-east’ or ‘the three eastern provinces’ (GavanMcCormack, Chang Tso-lin in Northeast China, 1911–1928: China, Japan and theManchurian Idea, Folkestone, Kent, Dawson, 1977, p. 4). While this is a valid anduseful observation, it will be argued here that the name ‘Manchuria’ evokedparticular images and meanings in Japan in the early 1930s, and thus is important inany discussion of Japanese responses to military activities in the region. See Chapter3 for further discussion of the implications of the name ‘Manchuria’.

2 See Alvin D. Coox, ‘The Kwantung Army Dimension’, in Peter Duus, Ramon H.Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds), The Japanese Informal Empire in China, 1895–1937,Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1989, pp. 395–428.

3 William Roger Louis, British Strategy in the Far East 1919–1939, Oxford, ClarendonPress, 1971, p. 175.

4 See Ramon H. Myers, ‘Japanese Imperialism in Manchuria: The South ManchurianRailway Company, 1906–1933’, in Duus, Myers and Peattie (eds), Japanese InformalEmpire, pp. 101–32.

5 McCormack, Chang Tso-lin, pp. 1–8; Chong-Sik Lee, Revolutionary Struggle inManchuria: Chinese Communism and Soviet Interest, 1922–1945, Berkeley, University ofCalifornia Press, 1983, pp. 11–15; Herbert P. Bix, ‘Japanese Imperialism and theManchurian Economy, 1900–31’, China Quarterly, No. 51, 1972, pp. 427–30; Myers,‘South Manchurian Railway Company’.

6 McCormack, Chang Tso-lin, p. 6.7 Myers, ‘South Manchurian Railway Company’, p. 115.8 See W. G. Beasley, Japanese Imperialism 1894–1945, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1987,

pp. 105–6; Lee, Revolutionary Struggle, p. 12. For a rightist view see, for example, OgawaHeikichi, ‘Manshu dokuritsu kankei keika (1)’, Ogawa Heikichi monjo kenkyukai(ed.), Ogawa Heikichi kankei monjo, Vol. 1, Tokyo, Misuzu shobo, 1973, p. 641.

9 According to Yoshihashi, the sending of troops in May 1927 is attributable solely topressure from Mori Kaku, Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs; Prime Minister Tanakaand key members of the General Staff were most reluctant: Yoshihashi, Conspiracy,pp. 19–20.

10 Ibid., p. 23.11 Myers, ‘South Manchurian Railway Company’, pp. 127–8; Banno Junji, ‘Japanese

Industrialists and Merchants and the Anti-Japanese Boycotts in China, 1919–1928’,in Duus, Myers and Peattie (eds), Japanese Informal Empire, pp. 323–7.

12 On the railway disputes, see Louis, British Strategy, p. 175.13 Morishima Morito, Consul in Mukden, in Ando Yoshio (ed.), Showashi e no shogen,

Vol. 2, Tokyo, Hara shobo, 1993, pp. 18–19.14 Ogata, Defiance, pp. 18, 38–41, 50. The Manshu seinen renmei, forerunner of the

Kyowakai (Concordia Association), dispatched lecturing teams to Japan severaltimes after the Manchurian Incident as well. One such group lectured on the causesof the Manchurian Incident; another was sent to pressure the Japanese governmentand public opinion in favour of early recognition of Manchukuo. See also ibid., pp.86, 158–9. On the effect of the youth league on Ishiwara Kanji’s thinking, see MarkR. Peattie, Ishiwara Kanji and Japan’s Confrontation with the West, Princeton, PrincetonUniversity Press, pp. 146, 158, 160–1.

15 The compound ‘Manmo’ (Manchuria and Mongolia) was very often used whenspeaking or writing about Manchuria. Beasley notes that Manchuria and InnerMongolia were ‘customarily elided in Japanese drafting’ by 1915 (JapaneseImperialism, p. 112).


16 Robert J. Smith and Ella Lury Wiswell, The Women of Suye Mura, Chicago, Universityof Chicago Press, 1982, xviii.

17 See Peattie, Ishiwara, pp. 110–18; Ogata, Defiance, pp. 49–50.18 Report of the Commission of Enquiry of the League of Nations Signed at Peiping, September 4,

1932, Shanghai, Chung Hwa Book Co., reprinted by Ch’eng Wen PublishingCompany, 1971, pp. 114–18; Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 143–4; Parks M. Coble,Facing Japan: Chinese Politics and Japanese Imperialism, 1931–1937, Cambridge, Mass.,Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1991, pp. 23–4.

19 Report of the Commission of Enquiry, p. 114.20 See ibid., pp. 118–24; Daniel R. Ramsdell, ‘The Nakamura Incident and the

Japanese Foreign Office’, Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 25, 1965, pp. 51–67;Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 144–50; I. H. Nish, ‘Japanese Military Intelligence on theEve of the Manchurian Crisis’, Proceedings of the British Association of Japanese Studies,Vol. 11, 1986, pp. 23–6; Coble, Facing Japan, pp. 25–6.

21 Morishima, in Ando (ed.), Showashi, p. 19.22 Report of the Commission of Enquiry, p. 122. See also Morishima, in Ando (ed.), Showashi,

p. 23.23 Tatsuji Takeuchi, War and Diplomacy in the Japanese Empire, London, George Allen &

Unwin, 1935, p. 347.24 The speaker was Tani Masayuki, Chief of the Asia Bureau. Harada Kumao, Saionjiko

to seikyoku, Vol. 2, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1950, p. 41, 27 August 1931, quoted inRichard Storry, The Double Patriots: A Study of Japanese Nationalism, London, Chatto &Windus, 1957, p. 68, n. 2.

25 Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, p. 144.26 Ramsdell, ‘Nakamura Incident’, p. 59.27 Takeuchi, War and Diplomacy, p. 348, n. 39.28 Trans-Pacific, 24 September 1931, p. 7. See also Takeuchi, War and Diplomacy, pp.

342–6.29 Ramsdell, ‘Nakamura Incident’, p. 59.30 Pamphlet summarised and translated in Japan Weekly Chronicle, 17 September 1931, p.

345, as ‘The Increasing Gravity of the Situation in Manchuria and a Plea for Action’.31 Ibid.32 Fujo shinbun (hereafter FS), 24 July 1932, p. 3.33 On Japan and World War I see Frederick R. Dickinson, War and National Reinvention:

Japan in the Great War, 1914–1919, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University AsiaCenter, 1999.

34 Usui Katsumi, ‘On the Duration of the Pacific War – A New Look at the AcceptedView’, Japan Quarterly, Vol. 28, No. 4, 1981, p. 484.

35 See Sandra Wilson, ‘The Russo-Japanese War and Japan: Politics, Nationalism andHistorical Memory’, in David Wells and Sandra Wilson (eds), The Russo-JapaneseWar in Cultural Perspective, 1904–05, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1999, pp. 182–8;Sandra Wilson, ‘The Past in the Present: War in Narratives of Modernity in the1920s and 1930s’, in Elise K. Tipton and John Clark (eds), Being Modern in Japan:Culture and Society from the 1910s to the 1930s, [Sydney], Australian HumanitiesResearch Foundation, 2000, pp. 170–84.

36 Patrick Kyba, Covenants Without the Sword: Public Opinion and British Defence Policy 1931–1935, Waterloo, Ontario, Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1983, p. 10.

37 Arthur Marwick, War and Social Change in the Twentieth Century: A Comparative Study ofBritain, France, Germany, Russia and the United States, London, Macmillan, 1974, p. 5.

38 ‘Heiki to gunkan’, Ie no hikari (hereafter IH), January 1933, pp. 16–18.39 Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 159.40 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, Ch. 1.41 Sir Francis Lindley, ‘Feeling in Japan’, 1932, Public Record Office, London

(hereafter PRO), Foreign Office Records, FO 371/16247.


42 Elizabeth Green, ‘Progress of the Manchurian Disease: As Viewed from Peiping andTokyo’, Pacific Affairs, Vol. 5, No. 1, January 1932, p. 52.

43 Sandra Wilson, ‘Bureaucrats and Villagers in Japan: Shimin and the Crisis of theEarly 1930s’, Social Science Japan Journal, Vol. 1, No. 1, April 1998, pp. 121–40.

44 Storry, Double Patriots, pp. 87–8.45 On the crisis in late 1931 leading to the fall of the Wakatsuki Cabinet, see Banno

Junji, ‘“Kenseitodo” to “kyoryoku naikaku”’, Kindai Nihon kenkyu, 1984, pp. 183–203.46 Christopher Thorne, The Limits of Foreign Policy: The West, the League and the Far Eastern

Crisis of 1931–33, London, Hamish Hamilton, 1972, p. 81; Armin Rappaport, HenryL. Stimson and Japan, 1931–33, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1963, Ch. 2.

47 See Jonathan Haslam, Soviet Foreign Policy, 1930–33: The Impact of the Depression,London, Macmillan, 1983, pp. 71–82; George Alexander Lensen, The DamnedInheritance: The Soviet Union and the Manchurian Crises 1924–1935, Tallahassee, Florida,Diplomatic Press, 1974, pp. 180–211.

48 John Israel, Student Nationalism in China 1927–1937, Stanford, Stanford UniversityPress, 1966, pp. 47–86; Coble, Facing Japan, pp. 11–18, 32–8.

49 Coble, Facing Japan, pp. 11–31; Youli Sun, China and the Origins of the Pacific War,1931–1941, New York, St Martin’s Press, 1993, pp. 19–21.

50 Reaction by the United States, Britain, the European nations and the League ofNations is covered in detail by Nish, Japan’s Struggle; Thorne, Limits of Foreign Policy;Rappaport, Stimson and Japan; Smith, Manchurian Crisis; Joseph C. Grew, Ten Years inJapan: A Contemporary Record Drawn from the Diaries and Private and Official Papers ofJoseph C. Grew, United States Ambassador to Japan, 1932–1942, London, Hammond,Hammond, 1944, Ch. 2.

51 Haslam, Soviet Foreign Policy, p. 83.52 On the role of the smaller League members during the Manchurian crisis, see David

Lu, ‘Matsuoka Yosuke – Kokusai renmei to no ketsubetsu’, Kokusai seiji, No. 2, 1976,pp. 90–2; Rappaport, Stimson and Japan, p. 191; Thorne, Limits of Foreign Policy, p. 213.

53 Thorne, Limits of Foreign Policy, p. 225. See also Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 159–68;Sandra Wilson, ‘Containing the Crisis: Japan’s Diplomatic Offensive in the West,1931–33', Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 29, No. 2, 1995, pp. 337–72.

54 Sun, China and the Origins of the Pacific War, pp. 26–8.55 Relations of Japan with Manchuria and Mongolia: Document B, revised edn, n.p., July 1932,

p. 1.56 Quoted in Maki, Conflict and Tension, pp. 68–70.57 Telegram quoted ibid., pp. 72–4.58 See Sun, China and the Origins of the Pacific War, p. 35, for estimates.

2 Managing opinionCensorship and the Manchuriancrisis

One strand of the common argument linking the events of 1931–45 in a ‘fifteen-year war’ asserts both a new level of and a definite coherence in official attemptsto control the flow of public information in Japan. The notion of the ‘fifteen-yearwar’ is thus strongly identified with effective and pervasive systems of bothcensorship and propaganda.

The manipulation of information by the Japanese state was singled out veryearly as a critical feature in explaining why the Japanese went to war against theUnited States and its allies. In 1946, for example, General Douglas MacArthurasserted that until the previous year the Japanese, ‘with a few enlightenedexceptions’, had been ‘abject slaves to tradition, legend, mythology, andregimentation’.1 Some Japanese writers took up the same theme, contributing,whether consciously or not, to the formation of the view that the great majority ofthe Japanese people were to be absolved from any meaningful responsibility foror involvement in the events leading to war. For many, the Manchurian Incidentspecifically was identified as the starting point of a new or at least harsher appli-cation of the censorship laws. The result of such repression, according to IenagaSaburo, and the reason for the lack of concentration camps or mass killings ofdissenters in Japan, was that by the late 1930s,

Every aspect of life was so regimented and controlled that no one could plana treacherous act worthy of the death penalty . . . All government authorities,including the judges, did their best to eradicate freedom.2

Propaganda was the other side of the coin. Maruyama Masao, dissecting‘Japanese ultra-nationalism’ in 1946, argued that in addition to ‘the externalsystem of coercion’, ‘the key factor is the all-pervasive psychological coercion,which has forced the behaviour of our people into a particular channel’.3 Nearlythree decades later, historian Kakegawa Tomiko asserted:

During the period of the Manchurian crisis government informationcontrols, aimed at regulating the content of news available to the people,resulted in an abundance of slanted information that was directly, if nottotally, responsible for the rise of fanaticism among the Japanese public.4

Managing opinion: censorship 31

In the West, this sort of argument achieved common currency in the widespreadidea that all Japanese believed their emperor to be divine and were willing andhappy to sacrifice their lives for him.

Among Japanese, such views are clearly, in part, an understandable emotionalresponse to the need to find an external scapegoat on which to blame Japan’s‘slide into militarism’. It is certainly true that a well-developed system of censor-ship existed and was used against many who expressed opinions unacceptable tothe state, and that propaganda was employed in the service of the state.Doubtless, too, some writers, critics and publishers chose silence in fear that thestate would otherwise destroy their livelihoods or even threaten their lives, atleast in the later 1930s and during the Pacific War. However, criticism of thegovernment, if seldom of the war itself, continued to be expressed and reportedthroughout the 1930s and even after Pearl Harbor.5 The Minseito politician SaitoTakao provides one example of a public figure who openly criticised the KonoeFumimaro government’s handling of Japan’s ‘holy war’ in China in 1940.Though Saito’s speech led to his expulsion from the Diet, a substantial part of itwas nevertheless made available to the reading public through reports in thecontemporary press, notwithstanding suppression of that part of the speechwhich directly attacked the ‘holy war’ itself.6

The construction and dissemination of the core set of ideas that would becomethe orthodox view of the Manchurian crisis will be analysed in the next chapter.Here, the nature and scope of the censorship system, and the ways in which itaffected reporting of the Manchurian crisis, will be discussed. While it is crucialto recognise that the state influenced public attitudes to events in Manchuria inpowerful ways, it will be shown that official censors did not play a large part inlimiting public debate of the issues in a direct sense, apart from their continuingefforts to suppress the left and its criticisms of the state. In fact, the censors had tospend more time curbing enthusiasm for the Manchurian venture than dissentfrom it. Explanations for the relative lack of dissent from the policies of theJapanese state, therefore, must be sought elsewhere.

The assertion that censorship, in particular, was responsible for lack ofcriticism of the government in the 1930s is especially untrue of the earlier part ofthe decade. Censorship of ordinary commercial publications was relatively laxuntil the tightening of control which followed the 26 February Incident of 1936and the ‘China Incident’ of July 1937, though such was not the case with extremeleft-wing publications, where the aim was complete suppression. Mainstreampublications also risked a ban if they published articles by Communists: in 1931,for example, the prominent general magazine Chuo koron (Central Review) wasbanned for publishing an article sent from Moscow by the Communist labourmovement activist Katayama Sen. The November 1931 issue of the samemagazine contained an essay by Inomata Tsunao, a Marxist critic and one of thefounders of the original Japan Communist Party. In this article, entitled‘Monopoly Capitalism and the Crisis in Manchuria/Mongolia’, Inomata hadargued that the Mukden incident was ‘designed to secure the survival of somemilitary cliques’ and to ‘secure the life-line [Manchuria] for some capitalists or


military cliques’. Four entire pages of this article were removed, either by thecensor or by the magazine’s editors before publication.7

However, articles by Communists could sometimes be published with the useof fuseji (Xs and Os used to replace potentially offensive words and passages), andliberals continued to express anti-government opinions in the early 1930s. InJanuary 1932, for example, Yoshino Sakuzo attacked the argument that Japanwas fighting in Manchuria in self-defence in the pages of Chuo koron and Kaizo(Reconstruction). Yanaihara Tadao, a critic of Japan’s colonial policy in generaland its activity in Manchuria in particular, also contributed articles to both thosejournals in this period.8 Overall, much blue-pencilling and many fuseji adornedChuo koron and Kaizo. The latter in particular was a staunch opponent of themilitary activity in Manchuria, though it changed its stance dramatically in 1937.9

Censorship, therefore, was far from all-pervasive. However, in both direct andindirect ways it certainly affected the content of printed materials, radiobroadcasts and films during the Manchurian crisis, and an understanding of theworking of the system is thus indispensable to any analysis of opinion in thatperiod.10

The censorship system

Scholars disagree on the links between the censorship system of the Meiji periodand that of the 1930s. Gregory J. Kasza sees Meiji policy as comparatively liberalin practice; for him, ‘the radical controls of the 1930s involved a sharp andconscious rejection of the Meiji legacy’.11 Richard Mitchell, on the other hand,believes that Meiji policy led naturally to the more severe controls of the laterperiod.12

Regardless of this debate, it is clear that the structure, at least, of the system inthe 1930s dates from the Meiji period. Japan had a ‘relatively mature’13 censor-ship system as early as the 1880s. Since 1868 there had been laws empoweringthe authorities to censor newspapers or to close them down. In 1887 existingregulations were expanded to create the Press Regulations (covering newspapersand magazines) and the Publications Regulations (covering books), theprovisions of which remained virtually unchanged until 1945. Public speechesand political meetings were also subject to supervision by police, who coulddisband or cancel political meetings at will. Women (until 1922), men in militaryservice, police officers, teachers, students and agricultural and technical appren-tices were forbidden to attend political meetings at all. Political associations werebarred from advertising and from soliciting membership, and from combining orcommunicating with other political organisations.

In 1875, censorship authority had been transferred from the Ministry ofEducation to the Home Ministry. Legislation in 1909 also empowered Ministersof Foreign Affairs, the Army and the Navy to issue ordinances prohibiting orlimiting the printing of articles concerning their respective spheres. However,most censorship continued to be carried out by the Police Bureau of the HomeMinistry, which had absolute and unlimited power to ban publications. Under


the Publication Law (Shuppanho, 1893) and the Newspaper Law (Shinbunho,1909), successors to the 1887 regulations, the Home Minister had authority tostop the sale and distribution of, and to seize, any publication that might disturbpublic peace and order, or injure public morals. There was no right of appealagainst bans, and no specific standards were ever officially issued to whichpublishers could adhere.

The emphasis on the banning of unacceptable material after publication, withthe heavy financial loss that could entail, led to a considerable amount of self-censorship by the press. Self-censorship might take the form of omission of anarticle or passage from a publication altogether, or the use of fuseji to replacesensitive words or passages. Fuseji were not inserted by censors, but by publish-ers, in order to delete potentially offensive parts while retaining a hint of theoriginal meaning. Editors and publishers liked fuseji, and continued to use themuntil they were banned in 1941, though the extent to which they were usedvaried considerably. Some publishers and editors, if they had been warned by thecensors before, probably deleted more words than necessary. According toHatanaka Shigeo, who joined Chuo koron as a journalist in 1932, serving as itsChief Editor between 1941 and 1947, new editorial staff were often told by theirmore experienced colleagues to delete automatically certain words, including thetwo characters for ‘revolution’ (kakumei). Reference to the Rice Riots of 1918, theHigh Treason trial of 1910–11, and to such taboo subjects as incest would also bedeleted automatically. In some cases, readers familiar with the style of writing inquestion would not have had much difficulty in filling in the blanks. Otherpieces, which were more specialist or had longer passages replaced by fuseji,might be rendered incomprehensible to the reader.14

The concentration on financial threat to publishers also encouraged thedevelopment of extralegal arrangements between publishers and police. Inparticular, a system of ‘pre-publication warnings’ (jizen keikoku) was devisedduring the 1920s. When the Home Minister issued an order that a particularmatter was not to be discussed in the press, the Police Bureau would notify thetokko (Special Higher Police) sections of local police stations accordingly. Localpolice then sent one of three types of notification to publishers, depending on theimportance of the subject matter. ‘Instruction’ (shitatsu) not to publish items on aparticular subject was the most common. Publication of any matter in thiscategory invariably resulted in a ban on sales. A ‘warning’ (keikoku) that publi-cation might, depending on circumstances, incur a prohibition order, could alsobe issued. Thirdly, a publisher could be invited to a ‘consultation’ (kondan) as asign that the censors ‘desired’ that items on a particular subject should notappear, and that they relied on publishers’ ‘integrity’ in the matter. Bans onpublishing items on particular subjects were usually, though not always, liftedafter a certain period of time.15

The method of issuing cautionary notices became so formalised that it wasincluded in Police Bureau statistics. That the police themselves considered theprocedure effective is shown by a remark in the Home Ministry Police Bureau’sannual report for 1932:


when a serious matter arises, the authorities inform the parties concerned ofthe items which are likely to be banned and warn them in advance not toreport on them. These parties can thus avoid unexpected damages, andat the same time, we can expect thorough enforcement of the rules incontrolling newspaper articles. We therefore believe that this is the mosteffective and appropriate control measure.16

If the news were sufficiently sensational, however, editors might consider itworthwhile to publish despite a warning: there were hundreds of violations ofpre-publication warnings associated with the Manchurian Incident, which can beattributed mainly to eagerness to report on the Kwantung Army’s successfulexploits.17

‘Instruction’, ‘warning’ or ‘consultation’ orders were issued sixteen times in1931, sixty-eight times in 1932, and fifty-three times in 1933. This was asignificant increase over the nine orders issued in 1930 and twelve in 1929. Thegreatest number of pre-publication warnings between 1931 and 1933 concernedmilitary subjects, followed by items on arrests of Communists.18 In 1931, 487newspaper articles were banned after publishers had ignored one of thesewarnings, and in 1932 the total was 1,080, of which 696 concerned the conflictbetween Japan and China, and 224 concerned either the attempt on the life of theemperor of 8 January, or the 15 May Incident. Of the other articles, sixty-ninewere about the current ‘financial confusion’, thirty-nine about military secretsand fifty-two about arrests of Communists.19

It was sometimes possible to distribute a publication even if part of it had beenbanned. If the ‘undesirable’ parts were small enough to be removed, publisherscould apply for permission to undertake ‘dismemberment and restitution’.Hatanaka provides a description of this process, participation in which was thefirst of his duties on joining Chuo koron in 1932. Two or three days after aspecimen copy had been sent to the authorities, the publisher or editor would besummoned. He would receive a warning if the offence were minor. For a moreserious offence, he would be instructed to remove the offending parts, and if theoffence were very serious the publication would be banned. In the second case,application could be made to continue distribution after removal of the offendingpart. If approval were received, the entire staff of the publishing company wouldbe enlisted to go around to all the police stations in the city by car, tearing out therelevant part from the confiscated copies of the book or magazine. They wouldthen stamp ‘revised edition’ on the cover, and distribution could be resumed.20

Although specific official standards on what could or could not be publishedwere never issued, the censors did devise their own guidelines. The set written in1926–27 was enforced by the Police Bureau as closely as possible in the earlyShowa period. It was divided into guidelines for establishing violations of publicmorals, and those for establishing violations of public peace and order. In 1931,only 376 publications (10.9 per cent of the total banned) were prohibited fromsale and distribution for violations of public morals, compared to 3,075 (89.1 percent) for violations of public peace and order. These figures contrast with those


for 1925, for example, when over three-quarters of the total number of bannedpublications were said to violate public morals.21

Possible violations of public morals were judged according to whether theydealt with obscenity, immorality, instructions on abortion and other matters, theentertainment districts or brothels, or cruelty. Under violations of public peaceand order, material could be banned for any of the following general reasons:debasing the dignity of the imperial family; denying the validity of the monarch-ical system; support of Communist or proletarian movements or of revolution;emphasising the class nature of the laws, the courts or of state power; advocatingterrorism, direct action or mass violence; advocating independence for thecolonies; criticising the parliamentary system in an illegal manner; underminingthe armed forces; hindering diplomatic relations; publishing secret informationlikely to obstruct the armed forces or diplomatic relations; advocating criminalacts or defending criminals; seriously hindering the search for a major criminal;disturbing the financial world or promoting social anxiety.22

In addition to these, a set of ‘specific guidelines’ was also devised. Thus, thePolice Bureau would take into account the purpose of the publication; scope ofreadership; number of copies sold and probable influence; the ‘social situation’ atthe time of publication (items which would normally be allowed to appear mightbe banned immediately before May Day, for example); area of distribution;proportion of copies already distributed by the time the material was discovered(an item would probably not be banned if most copies were thought to have beenalready distributed); number of offending sections in an article or book. Both thegeneral and the ‘specific’ guidelines were taken into account in the application ofthe Newspaper Law and this was why, the Police Bureau claimed, different publi-cations might receive different treatment for publication of the same article.23 InJanuary 1932, both sets of guidelines were passed on to the press to assist inreporting events in Manchuria.24 The ambiguity of some of the guidelines,however, as well as the latitude allowed in their application, makes it clear that anunderstanding of the rules would not have been enough to avoid censure.Individual police officials were also able to exercise a considerable degree ofdiscretion: so much so that, as Kasza concludes, ‘the press control system was ingreat measure one of rule by men rather than rule by law’.25

Publishers could and did avoid censorship. The Police Bureau’s secret annualreports for 1931–33 note sixteen methods of evasion which, it was claimed, wereparticularly common among left-wing groups. They included changing printingplaces, not submitting or delaying submission of censors’ copies, use of fuseji, anddeletion of offending passages from the censors’ copy only.26 Moreover, theemphasis on post-publication censorship meant that ‘banned’ material could anddid reach its readers before the ban could be imposed; Ben-Ami Shillony gives anexample of a banned article reaching its readers as late as 1943.27 Left-winggroups in particular had well-established distribution routes which allowedmany copies of banned publications to reach readers before police could seize thematerial. This was especially so in the case of periodicals, which were deliveredto the censors as soon as printing was completed, but after distribution had


begun, so that police had to act very quickly if they were to confiscate a highproportion of the material. Books, on the other hand, were more easily controlledas they had to be submitted to the censors after they were printed and bound, butbefore distribution began. However, the pressure of work often made it impos-sible for the censors to issue a ban until several days after the first edition hadbeen sold out at the bookshops. Banning at this point nevertheless preventedpublication of subsequent editions, thus depriving the publisher of some of hisprofit.28

The various methods of evasion meant that in a direct sense, the banning ofpublications was quite ineffective. In 1932, the confiscation rate for a group of236 periodicals submitted at the time of publication and banned by the HomeMinistry under the Newspaper Law amounted to only 25 per cent of their totalcirculation. This figure was also typical of later years. For books and magazinessubmitted under the Publications Law, which required the presentation ofcensors’ copies three days before publication, the rate of confiscation was lessthan 14 per cent in 1932, and about 27 per cent in 1933.29

Censorship during the Manchurian crisis

The Home Ministry censors issued their first ban after the Manchurian Incidenton 22 September 1931, at the request of the army.30 Pre-publication warnings andpost-publication bans thereafter increased greatly. However, this does not to anysignificant degree represent suppression of criticism of the army or the govern-ment during the Manchurian crisis. A large proportion of the warnings and bansconcerned troop movements and other military ‘secrets’. After the ManchurianIncident, it was forbidden to refer in the press to the departure of troops, theirdeployment, numbers or identity. By the end of 1931, not even the details of theproposed or actual armament of the army as a whole could be published withoutrisk of a ban on sale and distribution. Many other bans were connected withdiplomatic matters. Thus prohibitions were issued for reports on initial plansfor the establishment of an ‘independent’ Manchuria (September 1931), theparticipation of Japanese nationals in Manchurian politics and administration(February 1932), the visit by the Lytton Commission to Japanese army officials(April 1932), the adoption of a monarchy by Manchukuo (November 1933) andso on.31 In May 1932 a Secretary to the British Embassy in Tokyo estimated that‘at the moment there are between thirty-five and forty subjects of a topicalcharacter which may not be mentioned’.32

‘Ordinary’ publications – those judged by the censors to be neither left-wingnor right-wing in origin – incurred many more bans than usual in 1931 and 1932because of the prohibition on reporting of military and diplomatic matters.33 Onehundred and sixty of a total of 304 articles banned from ‘ordinary’ newspapers in1931 were about military matters such as troop movements and increases inarmy strength. These articles had titles like ‘Mobilisation Orders for – Division’,and ‘Tientsin Situation Worsens; Military Resolve Increasingly Firm; Orders toMove Out Finally Come’. A further category of articles in ‘ordinary’ newspapers


incurred bans for discussion of the financial and agricultural depression. Thirty-eight of the 304 banned articles in 1931 discussed banking problems or regionalbank closures. Another article, banned in December 1931, was entitled ‘A FrankAnalysis of the Feelings of 90,000 Aomori Prefecture People Faced withFinancial Panic and Depression’. Eleven articles were banned for reasonspertaining to domestic politics, including one entitled ‘The Central GovernmentShowing Signs of Slight Movement; a Cabinet Reshuffle is Expected’, andanother headed ‘Activities of Home Minister Adachi’. A further thirty-two ofthe 304 banned articles called for the creation of an independent country inManchuria.34

The list of banned subjects after the Manchurian Incident placed a consider-able strain on the Home Ministry censors, who complained that their workloadhad increased enormously, though no-one outside the Police Bureau appreciatedhow hard they were working. One report pointed out that the understaffedcensorship section was now having to examine a much wider range of ‘ordinary’publications than usual, because there was hardly a single issue of a newspaper ormagazine which did not refer to troop movements, departures, battles, deaths,injuries, returns home or other matters related to the newsworthy Manchuriancrisis. The burden had been particularly heavy around the time of troopdepartures for Tientsin and Shanghai, when all staff had been forced to work forseveral days and nights without a break, and when banned items had numberedas many as seventy in one night for the country as a whole.35

Thus, where articles were banned from the ‘ordinary’ press, it was seldom forcriticism of foreign policy or military activities. It was much more likely to beoccasioned by publication of details of troop movements, or indicating too earlythat an ‘independent’ Manchuria could be expected. The left-wing press wasanother matter, and it absorbed much of the censors’ attention, as it had donebefore the Manchurian Incident. The censors continued to amass information ingreat detail on alliances and splits among left-wing groups, as well as on theideological tendencies and distribution of their various publications. Thenumber of leftist periodicals banned increased each year from 1929 to 1932. In1931, 241 of the 283 newspaper editions banned for violating standards of publicorder – rather than for disobeying pre-publication warnings – were leftist inorientation.36 In 1932, of a total of 214 books which incurred a ban for violatingstandards of public order, 123 were said to have advocated Communism orCommunist revolution, praised the USSR, publicised left-wing revolutionarystrategy, or promoted class consciousness or class war. A further seventeen werebanned for promoting anarchism.37

Representatives of the major Osaka and Tokyo newspapers and newsagencies were so concerned at the increase in bans following the ManchurianIncident that in January 1932 they requested clarification of matters likely toincur censorship.38 In reply they were given a set of specific guidelines; thoseguidelines provide a revealing indication of what Communists and perhapsothers must have been writing or could be expected to write. The Home Ministryinformed the press that the following were likely to incur bans:


1 Items which present the action of the Imperial Army on 18 September 1931as something other than self-defence.

2 Items which present the defensive military occupation of Manchuria as anact of invasion by the Japanese empire.

3 Items which present the actions of the Imperial Army in Manchuria asactions undertaken by imperialist Japanese capitalism in order to acquiremarkets or to plunder natural resources.

4 Items which present the actions of the Imperial Army in Manchuria not asbased on national consensus but as military action designed to secure thesurvival of certain military cliques endangered by disarmament.

5 Items which present Manchuria as a life-line for certain capitalists or militarycliques only, and not a life-line for workers and peasants.

6 Items which present the new Manchurian state not as based on the spon-taneous initiative of the 30 million Manchurians, but merely as a puppetregime invented by Japanese military cliques and some party politicians, andwhich consider that the new state is actually controlled by the Japaneseempire, and that it is only a matter of time before the new state ofManchukuo meets the same fate as Korea.39

The censors in the early 1930s were also beginning to show a concern with theright wing and its capacity to threaten social stability. As rightist publicationsbegan to increase rapidly in 1932, evidently stimulated by the ManchurianIncident, so too did the number of right-wing items which were banned or whichincurred some kind of warning. Of the 214 books banned in 1932, sixteen hadadvocated rightist terrorism, an ‘imperial flag revolution’ (a revolution in thename of the emperor),40 or other direct mass action. This category includedbooks praising the right-wing terrorist group, the Ketsumeidan (Blood PledgeCorps), responsible for two assassinations early in 1932, and the defendants inthe trials connected with the 15 May Incident.41

Radio and film

Both radio and film were growing rapidly in popularity in the early 1930s; theManchurian Incident is usually seen as one stimulus to the increase in thenumber of radio sets and the size of film audiences. In 1929, there were about650,000 radio sets in Japan; 5.5 per cent of households owned one. By March1932 these figures had increased to 1,056,000 and over 8 per cent, respectively.Distribution, however, was far from even. Most radios were in the cities; veryfew country households owned one in the early 1930s. That the major urbannewspapers were beginning to feel the pressure of competition from radio isreflected in the fact that the Tokyo asahi, Tokyo nichinichi and Jiji shinpo each began aradio page in May 1931. ‘Talkie’ films began to be made in Japan in 1931, andaudiences grew rapidly. ‘Silent’ films – which were accompanied by live perform-ances of narration and music – also continued to be very popular. In 1934, thetotal annual film public reached 250 million.42


The initial development of radio and film in Japan coincided with a periodin which censorship controls were being tightened. Radio broadcasting wascontrolled from the start, with the first regulations appearing in 1923. Film wasalso controlled from a comparatively early period, beginning with regulation bythe Police Bureau of the Home Ministry in 1925. There was a procession of newlaws governing radio and film after the Manchurian Incident; overall govern-ment control of film production was achieved in 1939. In 1934, the PublicationsLaw was revised to include gramophone records, which had previously beenregulated by the Public Peace Police Law (Chian keisatsuho). Thenceforth,censorship of records, as of books, was the responsibility of the Police Bureau ofthe Home Ministry.43

Radio was subject to particularly rigid supervision. Programmes and scriptshad to be approved before broadcasting, whereas the print media were generallynot scrutinised until after publication. Radio stations regularly received instruc-tions on which subjects were forbidden, and there was a categorical ban on allpolitical argument. If anything objectionable were aired, the broadcast could beinterrupted at any time. Radio censorship was the responsibility of the Telegraphand Telephone Bureau of the Communications Ministry (Teishinsho). Inaddition, the Broadcasting Council, a national organisation which includedamong its members the Vice-Ministers of the Communications, Home andEducation Ministries, was created in 1932 to supervise all radio broadcasting.

Thus, there was much less opportunity for the expression of ‘unsuitable’opinions on the radio than in print, and it is unlikely that left-wing and otherminority groups had much independent access to the media of radio and film inany case. It was not impossible, though, for dissent to reach the airwaves. It wasreported, for example, that on 20 March 1932 an unknown station had broadcastfor several minutes in the Osaka area after ten o’clock at night, when all officialradio stations closed. The broadcast consisted of ‘radical propaganda andstatements attacking the policies of the Government in regard to the Manchurianand Shanghai Emergencies’. Despite a thorough search for the unknown station,another broadcast was made on 28 March, when ‘the same station again sent intothe air destructive propaganda against the War Office and the financial magnatesof Japan’. There was speculation that either an amateur radio station had beenestablished in the Osaka area, or that the broadcast was actually coming not fromOsaka, but from Shanghai or Vladivostok.44

Film was controlled by the Home Ministry in the period before major legis-lation was passed in the late 1930s. Home Ministry censors could ban or cutfilms, return them for revision, recommend their withdrawal or restrict theirviewing to certain regions or venues. In practice, they tended to cut films ratherthan ban them outright. The Army and Navy Ministers could ask the HomeMinistry to exercise caution in dealing with certain matters on film, and theHome Ministry sometimes consulted with the Education Ministry as well.45

Films did not become a prominent vehicle for political criticism in the 1930s.Gregory Kasza attributes this to inspection before circulation, the fact that aconsiderable amount of money and expertise was required to make films and the


difficulty of concealing violations of the censors’ requirements. There was nosignificant increase in the percentage of films cut in 1931–32. Newsreels werealmost never cut; of Japanese non-news films (mostly dramatic films) inspected,14 per cent were cut in 1928, 10 per cent in 1930, 10 per cent in 1931 and 10 percent in 1932. A large number of the cuts made in 1931 were of ‘items feared todamage good will in foreign affairs’, but most of these were probably occasionedby invective against China and the West.46

Conclusion

Censorship of the media, then, was not in any overt way suppressing a ground-swell of anti-government opinion. Outspoken individual opponents of theauthorities would be watched by the police and perhaps risked attack by armyor reservist officers. Harassment of known opponents of the government andsuppression of their publications were stepped up. The censors, however, weremainly concerned with extreme leftist publications, which affected a very smallminority of the population; with right-wing publications, to a lesser extent; andwith ensuring that mainstream publications did not divulge military or diplo-matic ‘secrets’. Thus censorship cannot be held responsible for the general lack ofcriticism of the government and army in ‘ordinary’ publications.

To concentrate exclusively on coercion and manipulation in analyses ofopinion in the early 1930s ignores those who did continue to criticise the govern-ment. More importantly, such an approach ignores the extent to which relativeuniformity of opinion was the product not of fear and repression but of a generalconsensus on major political and foreign policy issues. Fear of censorship and arequirement to use government-sponsored propaganda are not the main reasonfor lack of criticism of the government in the mainstream press and in radio andfilm. Such factors do not explain, for example, why the press was prone tomaking frequent and elaborate statements in support of Japanese expansion intoManchuria in the early 1930s. Newspapers did not merely excuse the actions ofthe officers of the Kwantung Army, as they might have done if operatingprimarily under coercion; they made heroes of the army. All the major dailynewspapers supported the Manchurian Incident, and none questioned theofficial version of the events of 18 September. All defended Japan’s actions aslegitimate self-defence against the depredations of the Chinese. Some wentfurther, as will be seen in the following chapter. Radio and film were at least asenthusiastic about the Manchurian Incident as were the newspapers.

It is another question to what extent press opinion was regulated by fear of thesystem; there were probably cases in which even major newspapers modifiedtheir comments in order to avoid the financial losses associated with a ban.In a general sense, too, the system of thought control, together with the massarrests of Communists which took place from 1928 onwards, undoubtedly‘created an environment in which a reasoned deliberation and assessment ofnational issues was difficult’.47 By limiting the interpretations of developments inManchuria, Shanghai and Geneva which were publicly available to ordinary


Japanese, the censorship system played its part in restricting the context withinwhich people responded to the events of the early 1930s, and contributed to theprevailing sense of national crisis. Much more potent, however, was the mix ofintervention from the authorities to ensure that the correct version of eventswas publicised, on the one hand, with the rapid realisation in the mass mediathat the Manchurian crisis could make money if properly marketed, on theother. The next chapter will consider the ways in which the Manchurian crisiswas reported to the Japanese public and analyse the main themes presented inthe media.

Notes1 Douglas MacArthur, ‘Statement First Anniversary of Surrender’, 2 September 1946,

in Report of Government Section, Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers,Political Reorientation of Japan. September 1945 to September 1948, republished byScholarly Press, Grosse Pointe, Michigan, 1968, p. 756.

2 Ienaga, Pacific War, pp. 114–15. Ienaga absolves the general public of guilt on thegrounds of censorship and a militaristic education system, but is quite willing, unlikeMaruyama Masao and Tsurumi Shunsuke, to state that ‘the intellectual communitynot only caved in under pressure but accommodated with alacrity to the new order’(p. 121).

3 Masao Maruyama, ‘Theory and Psychology of Ultra-Nationalism’, in MasaoMaruyama, Thought and Behaviour in Modern Japanese Politics, ed. Ivan Morris, Tokyo,Oxford University Press, 1979, pp. 1–2. Maruyama’s essay was originally publishedin Sekai in March 1946.

4 Kakegawa Tomiko, ‘The Press and Public Opinion in Japan, 1931–1941’, inDorothy Borg and Shumpei Okamoto (eds), Pearl Harbor as History: Japanese–AmericanRelations 1931–1941, New York, Columbia University Press, 1973, p. 542.Curiously, Kakegawa’s work in Japanese differs in tenor on this point. She argues, infact, that external censorship was not crucial until after the China Incident, and thatin the earlier 1930s, the tone of the press would probably not have been substantiallydifferent had external censorship been absent. In other words, the uniformity ofpress opinion in this period was due not to censorship but to factors related to theemergence of a ‘mass society’. See ‘Masumedia tosei to taibei roncho’, in HosoyaChihiro et al. (eds), Nichibei kankeishi 4: Masumedia to chishikijin, Tokyo, Tokyo daigakushuppankai, 1972, pp. 34–5.

5 See Ben-Ami Shillony, Politics and Culture in Wartime Japan, Oxford, Clarendon Press,1981, pp. 97–109; Sharon H. Nolte, Liberalism in Modern Japan: Ishibashi Tanzan and hisTeachers, 1905–1960, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1987, Ch. 7.

6 Earl H. Kinmonth, ‘The Mouse that Roared: Saito Takao, Conservative Critic ofJapan’s “Holy War” in China’, Journal of Japanese Studies, Vol. 25, No. 2, Summer1999, pp. 331–60.

7 See Hatanaka Shigeo, Showa shuppan dan’atsu shoshi, Tokyo, Tosho shinbunsha, 1965,pp. 10–11. Two scholars disagree about the Inomata article in Chuo koron. Accordingto Tsutomu David Yamamoto, the four pages were removed by the censor: ‘TheJapanese Press and Japanese Foreign Policy 1927–1933’, unpublished PhD Thesis,School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 1981, pp. 167–8.According to Gregory J. Kasza, the pages were removed by the editors to avoidsanctions, but the issue was still banned: The State and the Mass Media in Japan, 1918–1945, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1988, p. 48.

8 Ibid., pp. 49–50. On liberal critics of the government and army, including Yoshinoand Yanaihara, see Sandra Wilson, ‘The Manchurian Crisis and Moderate Japanese


Intellectuals: The Japan Council of the Institute of Pacific Relations’, Modern AsianStudies, Vol. 26, No. 3, 1992, pp. 511–18.

9 See Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 110–21; Kasza, State and the Mass Media, pp.48–9.

10 Censorship is a complex subject which has been treated at length elsewhere. InEnglish see especially Richard H. Mitchell, Censorship in Imperial Japan, Princeton,Princeton University Press, 1983; Jay Rubin, Injurious to Public Morals: Writers and theMeiji State, Seattle, University of Washington Press, 1984; Yamamoto, ‘JapanesePress’, Ch. 5; Kasza, State and the Mass Media, Part 1. The major Japanese primarysources for the period of the Manchurian crisis are Naimusho, Keihokyoku, Showarokunenju ni okeru shuppan keisatsu gaikan (hereafter SKG 1931), Showa nananenju ni okerushuppan keisatsu gaikan (hereafter SKG 1932) and Showa hachinenju ni okeru shuppankeisatsu gaikan (hereafter SKG 1933).

11 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 7.12 Mitchell, Censorship, for example, pp. 339–41.13 Rubin, Injurious to Public Morals, p. 15.14 Hatanaka, Shoshi, pp. 177–80. On fuseji, see also Rubin, Injurious to Public Morals, pp.

29ff.15 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, p. 102; Mitchell, Censorship, pp. 267–8; Uchikawa

Yoshimi (ed.), Gendaishi shiryo, Vol. 40: Masumedia tosei, Tokyo, Misuzu shobo, 1973(hereafter GS 40), xlviii–xlix, pp. 223–5. On ‘consultations’ see Kasza, State and theMass Media, pp. 172–5.

16 SKG 1932, p. 69.17 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 173.18 Mitchell, Censorship, p. 267.19 SKG 1932, pp. 70–1.20 Hatanaka, Shoshi, p. 176.21 See Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, p. 303.22 SKG 1931, pp. 10–16.23 Ibid. See also Kasza, State and the Mass Media, pp. 34–5.24 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 105–7.25 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 35. See also Elise K. Tipton, The Japanese Police

State: The Tokko in Interwar Japan, Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1990, pp. 65–6.26 See, for example, SKG 1931, pp. 56, 71–3.27 Shillony, Politics and Culture, p. 132.28 Rubin, Injurious to Public Morals, p. 5.29 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 36.30 Naimusho, Keihokyoku, ‘Manshu jihen irai no ken’etsukei kinmu gaikyo’ (1934), in

Awaya Kentaro (ed.), Dokyumento Showashi, Vol. 2, Manshu jihen to ni. ni roku, Tokyo,Heibonsha, 1975, p. 99.

31 See Wilfrid Fleisher, Volcanic Isle, London, Jonathan Cape, 1942, pp. 204–10;Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, p. 157; Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 34. Fleisherwas the editor of the English-language Japan Advertiser. Banned subjects are listed in,for example, SKG 1932, pp. 74–8.

32 Memorandum of Mr Davies, Japanese Secretary to Embassy, Tokyo, 12 May 1932,PRO, Foreign Office Records, Embassy and Consular Archives, FO 262/1801.

33 See for example SKG 1932, pp. 78–142, for lists of the hundreds of items bannedfrom ‘ordinary’ newspapers for disclosing prohibited military or diplomaticinformation.

34 SKG 1931, pp. 107ff.35 Naimusho, ‘Manshu jihen irai’, pp. 99–102.36 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, pp. 39–40.37 SKG 1932, pp. 160–1.38 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 157–8.


39 Naimusho, ‘Manshu jihen irai’, p. 101.40 The October Incident of 1931 was known as a ‘kinki kakumei’ or imperial flag

revolution. On this term, see Storry, Double Patriots, pp. 57, 86, 93.41 SKG 1932, pp. 160–1. See also Kasza, State and the Mass Media, pp. 139–43.42 Ikei Masaru, ‘1930nendai no masumedia: Manshu jihen e no taio o chushin toshite’,

in Miwa Kimitada (ed.), Saiko. Taiheiyo senso zenya – Nihon no 1930nendairon toshite,Tokyo, Soseiki, 1981, p. 143; GS 40, xiv; Shuichi Kato, ‘The Mass Media: Japan’, inR. E. Ward and D. A. Rustow (eds), Political Modernization in Japan and Turkey,Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1964, p. 240; Kasza, State and the Mass Media,p. 88; Freda Freiberg, ‘The Transition to Sound in Japan’, in Tom O’Regan andBrian Shoesmith (eds), History on/and/in Film: Selected Papers from the 3rd AustralianHistory and Film Conference, Perth, Perth, Western Australia, History and FilmAssociation of Australia (WA), 1987, p. 76.

43 This paragraph and the next are based on GS 40, xiv ff.; Noritsune Takagi,‘Broadcasting’, in Kodansha Encyclopedia of Japan, Vol. 1, Tokyo, Kodansha, 1983, p.71; Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 91. See also Arase Yutaka, ‘Mass Communi-cation between the Two World Wars’, Developing Economies, Vol. 4, December 1967,pp. 762–3.

44 Mainichi Daily News, 16 April 1932, p. 1; 17 April 1932, p. 1.45 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, Ch. 3.46 Ibid., pp. 60, 62, 67, 71.47 Kenneth B. Pyle, ‘State and Society in the Interwar Years’, Journal of Japanese Studies,

Vol. 3, No. 2, Summer 1977, p. 424.

3 Orthodox viewsThe public face of the crisis

The Japanese public was presented with a remarkably consistent view of theManchurian crisis, with the same themes and interpretations appearing againand again in newspapers, magazines, on radio and in film. Censorship is in partresponsible for limiting the points of view that could reach audiences andreaders, as we have seen, but positive efforts by the authorities and by theproducers of newspapers, magazines and films to exploit the crisis were muchmore significant. Fortuitously for media entrepreneurs, the Manchurian crisisoccurred at a time when literacy rates had risen significantly, the technicalcapacity of the media was expanding rapidly and consumer society was wellestablished, at least in the cities. At the same time, fierce commercial rivalryexisted among the large newspapers and film companies, and betweennewspapers and radio, with the result that all competed to produce the mostsensational stories about battles in Manchuria and Shanghai, noble sacrifices onthe home front, and unforgivable insults to Japan at the League of Nations. Inthis chapter we will examine the reporting of the Manchurian crisis in themainstream media, and the major themes to be found in accounts of the crisis.

Reporting the crisis in the printed media

The mainstream press, as we have seen, failed to criticise the invasion ofManchuria, but in fact it went much further than that. Most newspapers andmagazines responded to events in Manchuria, Shanghai and Geneva withpositive enthusiasm and energy, so much so that they were prepared to spendlarge sums of money covering the military action especially. During the first halfof 1932, the Asahi and the Mainichi each spent an estimated 1 million yen inextraordinary expenses, mostly on covering the Manchurian crisis, at a timewhen the Prime Minister’s salary was 800 yen per month. In the same period, thetotal amount spent by Japanese newspapers and news agencies in reportingManchurian events exceeded 10 million yen.1 Smaller newspapers like Hochishinbun, Jiji shinpo and Kokumin shinbun had much less capital than the bigmetropolitan dailies, and could not compete effectively with them. In fact, onlyabout ten newspapers in the whole country were able to continue to operateprofitably throughout the Manchurian crisis and, in the largest cities,

The public face of the crisis 45

competition for readers quickly reduced itself to a contest between the Asahi andthe Mainichi.2

Newspapers spent the extra money on sending special correspondents toManchuria and on exploiting the opportunities for speedy reporting provided bythe latest technology. According to figures published in the Nippon shinbun nenkan(Japan Newspaper Annual) in 1933, the reporting corps covering the Man-churian crisis, in addition to regular correspondents already in place, includedfifty special correspondents and cameramen from the Osaka and Tokyo editionsof the Asahi, together with forty assistants, interpreters and chauffeurs. The Osakamainichi together with its associated paper the Tokyo nichinichi matched thesefigures, while Jiji shinpo, Hochi shinbun and the Nippon denpo and Rengo agenciesmanaged to send between three and five special correspondents each. Bycomparison, the Asahi group dispatched three correspondents to the OlympicGames in Los Angeles in 1932, while the Osaka mainichi/Tokyo nichinichi sent four.3

Aeroplanes were much in demand to facilitate the reporting of the Sino-Japaneseconflict. The Asahi alone used eight aeroplanes in its coverage of the fighting inManchuria: by transporting its camera crew by air, it was able to publish its firstphotographs from Manchuria on 20 September, though the Fukuoka nichinichi wasactually the first to publish photos from the front.4

The lengths to which journalists were prepared to go in order to be first withthe news or to provide the most graphic accounts is suggested by the fact that atleast two incidents resulted in the deaths of Japanese staff covering the conflict. InJune 1932 a special correspondent from the Osaka mainichi, and a journalist and asidecar driver from the Osaka asahi, were all killed on the battlefield at Chinchow.In September of the same year, an Asahi aeroplane carrying a photograph of thesigning of the Japan–Manchukuo protocol, by which Japan officially recognisedManchukuo, crashed into the Japan Sea in dense night fog, killing the pilot andengineer.5 The intrepid cameraman, in fact, became a stock figure in sensation-alist stories about the Manchurian crisis, with some stories spuriously claiming aremarkably high death rate among those who ventured on to the battlefield withtheir cameras.6

In their actual analyses of the Manchurian crisis, however, the major news-papers were less adventurous than the exploits of some of their staff mightsuggest. In the recent past, the large papers had been by no means uncritical ofthe military, failing, for example, to support the Kwantung Army’s attempt toexploit the assassination of Chang Tso-lin in Manchuria in 1928, supporting thegovernment’s desire to sign the London Naval Treaty in 1930, and joining incalls for cuts to military budgets.7 Now, however, despite some initial hesitation,they quickly accepted the official version of the Manchurian Incident, justifyingJapan’s actions as legitimate self-defence, just as decades earlier they hadsupported the government in the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars. TheTokyo nichinichi went so far as to criticise the government’s initial policy of non-escalation of the ‘incident’. Even the supposedly liberal Asahi pressed the govern-ment to submit to the army’s wishes, on the grounds that it would be wrong toreveal to the outside world and to the Japanese people the conflict that existed


between cabinet and army over the Manchurian Incident. Indeed, though theAsahi had begun by expressing hopes for a diplomatic solution to the troubles inManchuria, and had not unequivocally accepted the army’s right to independentaction, its editorials after 18 September became more supportive of the army witheach passing day.8 An Osaka asahi journalist, recruited not long before theManchurian Incident, recalled in his post-war memoirs that he had been aware ofsome opposition to the army’s actions in Kansai business and intellectual circles,but nevertheless he recalled no discussion at his newspaper of whether or not thearmy should be supported.9 The Asahi proceeded to show its colours by initiatinga campaign for relief packages for the troops in its issue of 16 October. By thistime, according to Hando Kazutoshi, the paper was completely in step with themilitary,10 though like the Fukuoka nichinichi, it had in fact displayed considerableconcern about possible international repercussions of the bombing of Chinchowon 8 October 1931.11

Four principles informed Tokyo asahi as well as Osaka mainichi editorials on thecrisis over north-east China, in Ikei Masaru’s analysis. The first two – thatManchuria was historically an area of Japanese rights and interests, and that theJapanese action constituted legitimate self-defence – closely reflected governmentstatements and past policy. A third principle of the newspaper editorials was thatChina should back down (hansei suru), and that the Japanese people favoureddrastic measures if it did not. Fourthly, the intervention of a third party whichresulted from China’s appeal to the League of Nations was wrong.12

The Osaka mainichi and Tokyo nichinichi were particularly active in encouragingpublic patriotism and defending Japan’s cause. The East Asia Research Centre, abody established as part of the Mainichi/Nichinichi group, held an extraordinarymeeting on 25 September 1931 and passed a resolution ‘encouraging’ the govern-ment to protect Japan’s ‘life-line’. The resolution was immediately delivered tothe Prime Minister, the Foreign Minister and the leaders of both houses of theDiet. On 30 October, the Chairman of the Tokyo nichinichi, Motoyama Hikoichi,sent a declaration based on the 25 September resolution to The Times, the NewYork Times and other influential foreign publications, justifying the Japaneseaction in Manchuria as self-defence. Another declaration was sent on 15November, prompting the Asahi to take similar action the next day.13

The major newspapers continued to support the army’s actions throughoutthe Manchurian crisis. Few critics questioned the legality of the new state inManchukuo or advocated the postponement of recognition by Japan, though theinfluential monthly journal Chuo koron was an exception. On the contrary, somecommentators castigated the government for its ‘tardiness’ in recognisingManchukuo. Machida Shiro, head of the Foreign Affairs Section of the Tokyoasahi, for example, wrote in July 1932 in the League of Nations Associationjournal Kokusai chishiki (International Understanding):

If the people are ready [for recognition of Manchukuo] but the governmentis not, that must be because of the latter’s lack of foresight. To hesitate to


recognise Manchukuo at this stage in deference to the anger of the Chinesegovernment or people would do nothing but invite the contempt of theChinese nation. It would certainly not contribute to friendship between thetwo countries.14

Eight days before publication of the Lytton Report, the East Asia ResearchCentre had already passed a resolution calling for rejection of ‘intervention’ bythe League ‘at any cost’. By the time the Lytton Report appeared, all the mainpapers were predicting that Japan would withdraw from the League. In the end,only Jiji shinpo consistently opposed withdrawal; the Asahi had expressedopposition for a time early in 1933 but later changed its stance. The condem-nation of the report and personal attacks on Lytton by the major newspapers inlate 1932 had been sufficiently violent as to anger elder statesman SaionjiKinmochi and the cabinet. Even Kokusai chishiki, mouthpiece of the League ofNations Association, in November 1932 described two of the Lytton Report’sconclusions as ‘large poison fangs pointed at Japan’.15

The uniformity of opinion displayed by the major newspapers during theManchurian crisis can be linked to the fierce sales war among the papers, andbetween the newspapers and radio, which was expanding rapidly in this period,as we have seen. Well before 1931, commercial rivalry had produced a growingemphasis on sensational reporting. The rapid rise in basic literacy contributed toa dramatic increase in the reading public: the circulation of the Osaka mainichi, forexample, grew from 260,000 in 1912 to 670,000 in 1921 and 1.5 million in1930.16 Competition for readers led the newspapers to devise various measuresto increase circulation. Such efforts were then redoubled because of the inroadsmade by radio broadcasting, which had an obvious advantage in terms of speed.The response from newspapers to the challenge from radio was to produce moreand more sensational reports, extra editions, more pictures and larger headlines,and the fighting in Manchuria provided ideal material for this. In fact, accordingto one scholar, the desire to increase circulation prompted the mass media to takean even harder line on Manchuria than the army did.17

A further pressure to move away from the relatively independent editorialposition maintained by the press during the Taisho period, towards conformitywith government opinion, came from the need to avoid costly bans onpublication at a time when only a few papers could operate profitably. Theoverall result was a mainstream press which was extremely supportive ofgovernment and army in the period 1931–33.18

The media’s enthusiasm for the Manchurian venture is nowhere more evidentthan in its recounting and embellishing of the many ‘beautiful stories’ (bidan)idealising military and home-front virtues which were presented to the Japanesepublic throughout the Manchurian crisis, chiefly at the instigation of the military.The archetypical ‘beautiful story’ was that of the ‘three bomb heroes’ (nikudansanyushi), referred to in English publications as the ‘three human bombs’ or ‘threehuman bullets’.


The ‘three human bombs’

In February 1932, three soldiers of an engineering regiment from Kyushu werereported to have died heroic deaths in Shanghai when they charged into apreviously impregnable Chinese position with a large amount of explosivestrapped to their bodies. The true story appears to be that the three soldiers wereaccidentally killed by a short fuse on a charge they set, and that an intelligenceofficer quickly grasped the opportunity to fabricate a more heroic version ofevents.19 Japanese newspapers seized on the official version of the story – and infact it was really the media which created the ‘three bomb heroes’ as a socialphenomenon. Journalists reported on the ‘matchless bravery’ and ‘unswervingloyalty’ of the soldiers, emphasising their display of ‘the culmination of theJapanese spirit’ which was trumpeted as a ‘spirit unparalleled in the world’,surpassing that shown by any brave warriors to be found in ‘the annals of theworld’s great wars’.20 Reporting of the three heroes quickly became anotheroccasion for competition among the major newspapers. On 26 February 1932,two days after the first reports of the deaths in Shanghai, the Mainichi group sent3,000 yen to the soldiers’ families as condolence money; the Asahi group gave thesame amount the next day. The Osaka asahi also announced that it would sendportraits of the three heroes together with reference material on the war to allprimary schools, young men’s associations and reservist associations in theKansai region and westwards.21

Newspaper publicity about the three heroes reached a peak when both theAsahi and the Mainichi groups sponsored competitions to find the best song inpraise of the dead soldiers. Both announced a competition on the same day, eachoffering a first prize of 500 yen. The Mainichi group promised it would arrange for‘inspiring music’ to be composed for the winning song ‘by a famous composer’;the song would then be ‘popularized’ throughout the country.22 The winners ofboth competitions were announced on 15 March, by which time the Asahi hadapparently received 124,561 entries and the Mainichi group 84,177.23 First prize inthe Asahi competition went to a seemingly unknown resident of Nagasaki,Nakano Tsutomu. In the Mainichi competition, on the other hand, the winnerwas Yosano Tekkan, a well-known literary figure and husband of Yosano Akiko,who, ironically, had written a famous anti-war poem during the Russo-JapaneseWar nearly thirty years earlier.

Public response to the story of the three heroes was immediate. On 24February, the first day the deaths were reported, condolence money of 2,472 yenand 20 sen was collected nationally in what was said to be a record since theestablishment of the Japanese army. By the time of the evening news editions of27 February the total had exceeded 15,000 yen.24 The ‘beautiful story’ fromShanghai also inspired many films, plays, books, songs, revues, kabuki dramasand puppet shows. In March 1932 alone, the public was offered three bunrakupuppet plays, a shinpa drama and a rakugo storytelling performance dramatisingthe incident.25 In April at least three plays were still being performed, and inOsaka a puppet joruri ballad-drama appeared. Reports declared that all the plays


were well attended, with audiences becoming very excited regardless of thequality of the performance.26 In one kabuki version, the main roles were playedby the famous actors Kikugoro, Uzaemon and Hikosaburo.27 The urge todramatise the story was evident at humbler levels as well: in June 1932, forexample, two teachers at a Hokkaido primary school were severely injured whenpreparing for a re-enactment of the exploits of the three heroes as part of a schoolathletic meeting. In an ironic parody of the original accident, the gunpowderwhich had been packed into a bamboo tube for the act exploded prematurely.28

The great rise in the number of under-age applicants to the army in 1932 hasbeen attributed partly to the effectiveness of propaganda about the ‘three humanbombs’.29 Certainly, the story appears to have made a deeper impression thanmany other aspects of the Manchurian crisis. Several women who were askedaround the early 1980s about their recollections of the crisis could barelyremember the Manchurian Incident itself, but clearly remembered the story ofthe ‘human bombs’.30 Fifty years after the events, a Japanese man who had beeneight years old in 1931 recalled:

Even at that age, we were greatly interested in what was going on inManchuria. The boys from my street used to play war games, armed withbamboo poles as rifles . . . In particular, I remember, we played at being theThree Bomb Heroes of Shanghai. Three of the boys would get a large log ofwood and tie it to their backs with string, to be the ‘bomb’, and the rest of uswould be enemy guards and so on. We were very impressed by the story ofthe Three Bomb Heroes. We were told that only Japanese soldiers could dosomething like that.31

Newspapers and magazines had played a large part in implanting such a vividstory in the minds of adults and children alike.

Newspaper companies actually did much more than print newspapers. In theearly 1930s they also sponsored public lectures and exhibitions in the large citiesand in provincial centres, often with the co-operation of the Kwantung Army, theArmy Ministry or some other official body. One exhibition in an Osakadepartment store, for example, featured ‘a display of things pertaining to theShanghai Incident’.32 Newspaper firms played a major role in campaigns tocollect relief packages and money for the troops, and sent envoys to take thepackages to Japanese soldiers in Manchuria. They were also major producers offilms, including films about Manchuria, as we shall see below.

Radio and film

Radio and film reacted to the Manchurian crisis with no less energy than theprinted media. In the case of radio, orchestration by the authorities may beregarded as the main reason, in view of the extent of official control noted in theprevious chapter.

Radio response to the outbreak of hostilities in Manchuria was very rapid.


Listeners were first informed of the incident at Mukden in an early morningbroadcast on 19 September 1931, in what was in fact Japan’s first unscheduled‘news special’ (rinji nyusu). There were seventeen such ‘specials’ in September1931, and in the twelve months after the Manchurian Incident, the time devotedto radio news nearly doubled in comparison with the previous twelve months.After 18 September 1931, the four regular daily news broadcasts were increasedto six. Newspapers were so threatened by this vigorous challenge from radio thattheir representatives, at the end of October 1931, asked the Japan BroadcastingCommission (NHK) to cease making special news broadcasts.33

Programmes on political and military topics, feature commentaries, lectureson current events and patriotic programmes all increased in number. In additionto news broadcasts, there were numerous on-the-spot broadcasts covering suchevents as troop departures and returns, patriotic rallies and ceremonies in whichaeroplanes built by public donation were officially handed over to the army.Lectures were given by academics, business leaders and critics, but especially byspeakers associated with the military. Between September 1931 and September1932, approximately 225 such speeches were broadcast, or more than one everytwo days. The subjects covered included the historical connections betweenJapan and Manchuria, the background to the Manchurian Incident, the SouthManchurian Railway Company, recognition of Manchukuo and so on.34 Inaddition to talks for the general public, housewives were specifically targeted byjournalists, heads of girls’ schools, religious leaders, and again, by speakersassociated with the military, while other talks were aimed at children. In the firsttwelve months after the explosion outside Mukden, thirty regular programmesin the Children’s Hour series were devoted to the Manchurian Incident. Achildren’s news show began in June 1932, presenting patriotic stories for younglisteners. Overall, according to one calculation, a total of 410 programmes waspresented to mobilise public support for the Manchurian Incident betweenSeptember 1931 and September 1932, not counting special news bulletins. Directlinks were also promoted through the broadcast of entertainment programmesfrom Manchuria to Japan.35

Film was similarly employed to convey patriotic messages about Manchuria,both by the army as a medium of propaganda, and by film companies, whichquickly recognised that topical material treated in a sensational manner wouldsell well. As in Nazi Germany, film was an important means of transmittingpatriotic messages, because the cinema, much more than newspapers or radio,‘was associated with relaxation and entertainment’ and therefore had anunobtrusive effect.36 Cinema, especially talking pictures, ‘presented the mostvivid pictures yet of what it meant to be Japanese’,37 and the government was wellaware of its potential. A 1934 ‘Rationale for the Proposed Establishment of aNational Policy on Film’ observed:

Film is an important means of public enlightenment as well as entertainment. . . It has a greater influence on the young than the other media and thanformal education . . . [T]herefore it is necessary to guide and control the film


industry, which has up till now been left without positive guidance orcontrol and been guided purely by the profit motive.38

News films, dramatic films and educational films all flourished in this period,with newspaper firms as the most prominent producers of films on the Man-churian Incident and subsequent events. Their films proved very popular,showing not only in cinemas but also in public halls, department stores andschools. Asahi films on Manchuria, for example, were shown in about 1,500venues throughout Japan.39 One of the most popular of the early efforts was theMainichi group’s Mamore Manmo (Defend Manchuria and Mongolia), made atthe instigation of the army and opening at the beginning of 1932. The English-language Mainichi Daily News told its readers that the film

explains in a most concise manner the outstanding situation of the presentpunitive expedition to Manchuria. It is purely an educational film withoutbeing affected by sensationalism, and yet it is full of thrill and excitement.

There is no hero or heroine in this picture. Many names are listed in thecast, but none of them play any principal role – for the main theme itselfrequires none. Japan, as an Empire, is the hero, so to speak, and Manchuriaand Mongolia in one is the heroine.40

Mamore Manmo concentrated on battle scenes and was clearly intended toconvince the public that Manchuria was Japan’s ‘life-line’.41

In early February 1932, the Osaka Mainichi Company also screened films‘showing actual scenes of the Shanghai Incident’, in order to ‘help citizens to seehow hard the Japanese troops in China are struggling against the maraudingChinese soldiers, muftis, and mobs’. Readers were assured that ‘the pictures ofthe Shanghai and Manchurian incidents were all taken by the Osaka Mainichi’scamera men at the risk of their lives, under a rain of shells’. The didactic purposeis unmistakeable: a film screening on 6 February, for example, was preceded byan address from the Assistant Editor-in-Chief of the Osaka mainichi on the subject‘How the Powers Observe the Japan–China Incidents’.42 The official Japaneseview of the founding of Manchukuo was also promoted through films, especially‘Seigi wa tsuyoshi’ (Justice is powerful), released in February 1932.43 Thefollowing month, the Osaka Mainichi Film Unit released newsreel footagerepackaged as ‘an 8-reel affair which depicts how the new era of peace has beenestablished in Manchuria’. The public was reminded once more that Mainichistaff were war heroes just as soldiers were: ‘These pictures have been rushedhome by the fastest means of transportation available, Mainichi airplanes oftentaking risky hops on dark and starless nights as well as in the daytime.’ The filmwas no doubt widely screened, for in February 1932, a contract had been signedbetween the Osaka mainichi and Nikkatsu (Japan Motion Picture Company, basedin Kyoto) allowing for the release of Mainichi newsreels in the 500 or so cinemasof the Nikkatsu national chain.44

The first dramatic film using the Manchurian Incident as a theme was released


as early as 8 October 1931. The film featured the bravery and eventual victory ofa small number of Japanese soldiers fighting against a much more numerousgroup of Chinese, while also focusing on the patriotic mother at home whosevirtues provided the basis of the soldiers’ bravery.45 Women’s sacrifice was againthe theme of the 1931 film Shi no senbutsu Inoue chui fujin (The wife of LieutenantInoue gives her life as a parting gift), which presented one version of a widely-publicised story in which the heroine, after bidding farewell to her husband, killsherself in order to encourage him to fight bravely at the front, undeterred byconcern for her welfare at home. Many other films were also made with thetheme of loyal suicide (junshi).46 Forty films were produced about the ManchurianIncident in 1932 alone.47 The ideal subject for the war film in this period was,above all, the story of the ‘three human bombs’, and in the single month of March1932, five films on the Shanghai heroes appeared. The technical quality of thesefilms provoked much negative comment from reviewers, who tended to regardthem as a waste of celluloid,48 but their popularity was doubtless unaffected bysuch criticism.

State propaganda

Though the media provided willing support for the conquest of Manchuria, itremains true that government and army went to considerable lengths to influencethe content of newspapers, magazines, radio and film, and much material thatcan be understood as officially-inspired propaganda found its way to the press.

The systematic and formal use of propaganda did not begin until July 1936,when the Cabinet Information Committee (Naikaku joho iinkai) was estab-lished, becoming a division (bu) in 1937 and a bureau (kyoku) in 1940, at whichtime it took over ultimate authority for censorship and propaganda from theHome Ministry.49 However, positive efforts to manipulate opinion within andoutside of Japan had begun much earlier, dating back to the period immediatelyfollowing the First World War. Such efforts were not centrally controlled, buttook the form of various activities by different ministries. For example, the PressUnit (Shinbunhan) of the Army Ministry was set up in 1920; the InformationDivision (Johobu) of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was established in 1921; anda similar committee (Gunji fukyu iinkai) was established within the NavyMinistry in 1923. The number of such committees increased rapidly in the earlyShowa period.

The Manchurian Incident greatly stimulated efforts to co-ordinate officialpropaganda. Disagreement between the Foreign Ministry and the army,especially the Kwantung Army, over the initial government policy of non-escalation and later over the creation of Manchukuo, led to calls from variousquarters for the two arms of government to present a united view both internallyand externally. The result was the formation in 1932 of a committee known asthe ‘Jikyoku doshikai’, consisting of representatives from both the ForeignMinistry and the army, joined later by representatives from the Home,Education and Communications Ministries. The committee began to produce


proposals for the unification and strengthening of propaganda, and in August1932, its representative from the army, Suzuki Teiichi, offered a proposal for anew propaganda committee.50

The result of Suzuki’s suggestion was the formation in September 1932 of anunofficial Information Committee (Joho iinkai), comprising representatives fromthe Home Ministry (the head of the Police Bureau) and the Education, Foreign,Army, Navy and Communications Ministries. It was established as a ForeignMinistry committee, with the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs as its head,meeting weekly until it was replaced in July 1936 by the Cabinet InformationCommittee. It undertook a variety of specific tasks, including attempts toinfluence the Lytton Commission and responses to requests for propaganda to bedirected at staff of foreign embassies in Japan, as well as foreign students andjournalists. The committee’s most concrete achievement was the unification ofthe two major Japanese new agencies, Rengo and Dentsu. In September 1932, theInformation Committee, through the Foreign Ministry, asked the two agenciesto combine. Such a proposal had been made before for commercial reasons, butthe Manchurian Incident spurred the committee on to seek its urgent imple-mentation so that Japan could present a united and therefore potentially moreeffective view to the outside world. Because of conflict between the two newsagencies and some of the ministries concerned, the new organisation, Domeitsushinsha, did not actually come into existence until June 1936. When it didappear, it functioned as a government mouthpiece.51 A foreign correspondentremarked of Domei in 1938: ‘It becomes more and more easy to learn fromDomei what may happen next year, and more and more difficult to learn whatdid happen yesterday.’52

In the meantime, different ministries were active in their own spheres. Thearmy in particular expended a great deal of effort in influencing the way theManchurian crisis was reported and dramatised. Army officials providedspeakers for radio programmes and articles for magazines. They lent out horsesand equipment to film-makers for no charge,53 and also commissioned their ownfilms, such as Mamore Manmo, discussed above, and Hijoji Nippon, to be analysedbelow. As will be seen in the next chapter, the Home Ministry evinced littleinterest in the crisis over Manchuria, but on the other hand the Foreign Ministrywas active in disseminating the official Japanese view of the crisis throughout theworld. At home, the arm of government most commonly associated withendorsement of patriotic orthodoxy in the 1930s is the Education Ministry, andwe shall now turn to consider the role of education in forming opinion about theManchurian crisis.

The role of education

It is often asserted that education, as well as the press, was particularly subject tomanipulation by the military in the period before the Second World War, and,undeniably, schools were potentially an important channel for army influence.John Embree writes in his 1935–36 study of a village in Kumamoto Prefecture:


In every classroom is a world-map or map of Asia which shows Japan in redas a very small land indeed, compared to the mainland nations of Asia.Manchukuo is colored pink, but even this pink area is not so large. In aperfectly bland manner some villager, on looking at such a map, will suggesthow nice it would be to appropriate a bit more of China. Charts of variousnations’ military strength, always emphasizing the smallness of Japan incomparison to these others, are hung in various schoolrooms. These mapsand charts illustrate to the farmer and his child how essentially reasonable itis for Japan to enlarge, and how unreasonable are those nations that object.54

Schoolchildren, moreover, learned and regularly recited the Imperial Rescript onEducation of 1890, with its emphasis on the obligation of all Japanese to serve theemperor, and to offer their lives in wartime if necessary.

On the other hand, however, the coherence of educational policy and theextent to which a nationalistic education system was responsible for ordinarypeople’s opinions should not be overemphasised. Not all school textbookssought to explain and justify Japan’s actions in an assertive and nationalisticmanner: some texts used between 1918 and 1933, in particular, advocatedinternationalism, co-operation and conciliation, though others were aggressivelymilitaristic. The first national textbooks, issued in 1903, emphasised the buildingof a great civilisation and association with the West; the next editions, publishedin 1910, stressed the development of ‘Japanese spirit’ and Japan’s role in EastAsia. Harold J. Wray observes that Japanese school textbooks have beenstereotyped as ultranationalistic and militaristic, but argues that such stereotypesapply chiefly to those issued between 1936 and 1945; taken as a whole, thetextbooks of other periods are more ambiguous.55

There were certainly some famous Japanese heroes from the Sino-Japaneseand Russo-Japanese Wars who became very familiar to schoolchildren. From the1890s onwards, for instance, virtue and loyalty to duty (chugi) were preached inschools partly through the example of Kiguchi Kohei, an ordinary private whowas said to have fallen in action in July 1894. He was a bugler who went onbugling even after being struck by a bullet, according to the story, and was founddead with the bugle still pressed to his lips.56 At least one of the heroes of theRusso-Japanese War appeared in textbooks: General Nogi Maresuke, whocommitted suicide on the death of the Meiji Emperor, supposedly to ‘follow hislord’ and to atone for having lost the regimental colours in the Satsuma Rebellionof 1877.57

Stories like these were as much used for their illustration and reinforcement oftraditional ethical values as for their celebration of the military spirit. Theyprobably conveyed the message that the army embodied the best of the nationalcharacter, but this does not automatically mean that they spoke in concrete termsof the need for Japanese expansion abroad. Even if such stories did imply anemphasis on military conquest, they must be considered alongside the evidenceof an overall stress in textbooks in certain periods on international co-operation.Thus, the messages contained in school texts were mixed ones, closely reflecting


the stance of the government at the time of publication. Over 97 per cent of pre-war Japanese youth were exposed to the national elementary textbooks, but theeffect of the texts on the views of any individual Japanese must have depended toa large extent on the dates between which that person attended school. It shouldalso be remembered that school was only one of a number of influences on theviews of the young, and that middle-aged and older people in the early 1930smay have had a quite limited exposure, or no exposure at all, to the educationsystem. Compulsory schooling was raised to six years from four years in 1907;so in 1931, a person aged over about twenty-five was likely to have had fouryears’ schooling or less. Middle-aged and elderly women in particular mighthave had very little schooling, given that in 1890 only about 30 per cent ofeligible girls were actually at school.58 In the early 1930s, then, a nationalisticeducation system can be attributed only limited responsibility for mouldingopinion on the Manchurian crisis.

Major themes relating to Manchuria

Overall, considerable effort was expended between 1931 and 1933 by govern-ment ministries, the army and various other agencies interested in promotingpatriotism and a certain view of events in Manchuria. Though the officialpropaganda effort was not as tightly co-ordinated as in later years, it did producea core of ideas which were emphasised again and again in almost everyconceivable context. These ideas were also taken up with alacrity by a surprisingrange of non-official ideologues, and are found repeated in the writings andspeeches of everyone from former Communists to moderate intellectuals tochamber of commerce committees, each time couched in terms appropriate to theparticular audience but each time containing the same familiar words andphrases. Indeed, one of the striking features of the arguments relating toManchuria is the broad consensus that emerged: when it came to Manchuria, theviews of conservative military figures, moderate journalists and intellectuals,progressive bureaucrats and even socialists had a great deal in common. Amongother things, this phenomenon indicates that commitment to a version of the‘national interest’ ran deep among civilian ideologues as well as establishmentfigures. Mere manipulation by the state could not have produced such broad-ranging, active consensus.

Use of the word ‘propaganda’ in this context is not meant to imply ‘a top-downphenomenon that manipulated a gullible audience into betraying its owninterests’.59 Despite the seductive simplicity of formulations blaming censorshipand the education system for popular compliance with Japanese expansionism,allowance must be made for interaction between audience and message, andpropaganda should neither be automatically equated with public response, norconsidered as all-powerful. Scholars working in other contexts have noted thatthe power of the media to persuade is limited by existing social attitudes, valuesand experiences;60 that propaganda was most effective ‘where it was buildingupon, not countering, already existing values and mentalities’.61 As one study of


propaganda and social control observes, ‘whilst the media may have agenda-setting and reinforcement functions, they are “not omnipotent in terms ofcontrolling the minds and behaviour of members of the mass audience”’.62

Audiences, then, are not merely passive recipients of propaganda, and not allpropaganda is equally effective. Propaganda is most powerful when it reinforcesexisting beliefs and myths; in other words, when it strikes a responsive chord inits audience. It is also more powerful when it does not limit itself to any particularsocial group, but rather offers itself to the whole society. At the same time, it maystress different themes to different groups.

What, then, were the points on which so many commentators agreed duringthe Manchurian crisis?

‘Life-line’

By far the most conspicuous slogan was ‘Manchuria, Japan’s life-line’ (seimeisen).The idea that the region was essential for Japan’s survival was at the core of allofficial and non-official ideology surrounding military attempts to controlManchuria in the early 1930s. In the words of the Japanese government’sSeptember 1932 statement recognising Manchukuo, the region ‘from the point ofview of national defence and the very existence of our people stands in an in-separable relation with Japan’.63 The large newspapers, particularly the Mainichi,played an important role in implanting the concept of the ‘life-line’ at a popularlevel. The Mainichi’s special issue of 27 December 1931, for example, was headed‘Defend Manchuria and Mongolia: Life-line of the Empire’ (Mamore Manmo:teikoku no seimeisen).64 Evidence suggests that the ‘life-line’ idea had indeed sunkinto popular consciousness to an extent. ‘Seimeisen’ is listed as one of five ‘fashion-able expressions’ (ryukogo) for 1931 in the Japan Broadcasting Corporation’sofficial history.65 Of the many songs about Manchuria that were circulating, onewas entitled ‘Life-line Melody’ (‘Seimeisen bushi ’).66 In almost all the journals,speeches, reports and other records used in this study, the word ‘seimeisen’ appearsfrequently.

There was nothing natural, inevitable or even obvious about the slogan. Theexpression ‘seimeisen’ in connection with Manchuria is said to have been coinedby Matsuoka Yosuke when he was Vice-President of the South ManchurianRailway Company in the late 1920s,67 though it may have been used by elderstatesman Yamagata Aritomo much earlier.68 Serious efforts by senior militaryofficers to convince their own soldiers that Manchuria was Japan’s life-lineappear to have begun only in 1929.69 At the end of 1928, one military studygroup, the Thursday Club, which included leading figures such as Colonel TojoHideki, Colonel Nagata Tetsuzan and Major Suzuki Teiichi, was convinced ofthe need to focus the minds of both the public and young army officers on therequirements of Japan’s next war, whoever the opponent might be, and onJapan’s need to control the resources of Manchuria. (Siberia had been brieflyconsidered as an alternative, but, as one member remarked, it was too cold.)Casting around for a slogan, members of the group considered a range of


options, but none of them included the term ‘life-line’. Instead, they chose toemphasise Japan’s poverty and lack of space in unlikely-sounding suggestionssuch as ‘Japan, the poor country’ (hinkoku Nihon), ‘Japan, poor but strong’ (hinkyoNihon), ‘land of the gods, poor but vigorous’ (shinshu hinken) and ‘to the continentbecause we’re too crowded’ (komiaimasukara tairiku e).70 The previous obscurity ofthe ‘life-line’ slogan points to the force of the propaganda effort to popularise it inthe early 1930s.

After September 1931, ‘Manchuria, the life-line of Japan’ rapidly became acatchphrase used by those advocating further aggression. As one observer wrotesomewhat optimistically in April 1932:

Before September 18 last this [the idea that Manchuria is Japan’s life-line]was a faint idea scarcely realised by the people . . . [But it] has now becomecommon sense even to men of the street that without Manchuria Japan,isolated from the world, would be helpless, while with it she cannot onlyendure any emergency but can ward off any conspiracy . . . WithoutManchuria Japan cannot but be restless, but with it she will be about as[economically] secure as the United States of America is today.71

‘Rights and interests’

The principle that Japan was dependent upon access to the resources of Man-churia for survival as a nation was part of an attempt to create a narrativejustifying Japan’s claim to the region, and was closely linked with the assertionthat Manchuria rightfully belonged to the Japanese, despite China’s technicalsovereignty over it. This idea was most commonly expressed in the phrase‘Manmo no ken’eki ’ (rights and interests in Manchuria and Mongolia). Far frombeing a dry diplomatic term, ‘ken’eki’ in the early 1930s was rather, as MurakamiHyoe has pointed out, a vivid word suggesting sacrifice and the shedding ofblood,72 and it relied for its effect upon a certain view of history in which the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars figured prominently. Manchuria wasfrequently referred to as the place where the spirits of 200,000 Japanese warheroes slept. The importance of the South Manchurian Railway, and the largeamount of Japanese public money which had contributed through the railwayto the development of Manchuria, were also evoked as evidence of Japan’s rightfreely to exploit Manchurian resources.

It was common to argue that China’s sovereignty over Manchuria was in anycase tenuous. It was pointed out, particularly by those with any claim toerudition or expertise, that the Han people’s habitation of the region associatedwith the Manchus and other groups was of only recent origin, and that thereforeManchuria was ‘historically distinct from China proper’.73 One detailed expo-sition of this view was given by Akaike Atsushi, Member of the House of Peersand former Home Ministry official. Akaike maintained that Manchuria andMongolia had been since ancient times entirely separate from the Han people; infact, Koreans (now considered to be under the protection of Japan) had more


claim to it than the Chinese. Even in recent times the Chinese had not perma-nently occupied Manchuria, according to Akaike: they had merely appointedtheir officials to posts there as Japan had appointed officials to its protectorates inMicronesia since 1914. Not even the Chinese thought of Manchuria andMongolia as their own territory, as was demonstrated by the fact that they hadbuilt, maintained and protected the Great Wall. Only in the last twenty years hadChinese people moved in large numbers to Manchuria and engaged in a varietyof activities there.74 Many other writers, too, referred to the influx of very largenumbers of Chinese farmers from North China to Manchuria during the 1920s:the ‘peace and order’ created in the region by Japan was always said to be theattraction. Most basically, the notion that Manchuria should properly bedistinguished from the rest of China and indeed, regarded as not part of China,was reflected in the very use of the term ‘Manchuria’, as Gavan McCormack haspointed out:

It was the apparently innocuous convention of referring to the Northeast as‘Manchuria’ that allowed the idea to develop that it was not part of Chinaand that prepared the way for severance from China and the eventualestablishment of the Japanese puppet state of Manchukuo.75

In propaganda, Japan’s ‘right’ to Manchuria was confirmed by the assertionthat no-one else wanted or could properly exploit the region. The Japanese viewof Manchuria often implied that no-one lived there, apart from a few braveexpatriate Japanese and a lot of ‘bandits’. The image was of a Manchuria with noChinese, of an empty land waiting to be claimed by Japan.76 As a writer in Chuokoron, advocating Japanese emigration to Manchuria, proclaimed: ‘Like thecolonial days in American history, a new State is in the making, the vast virginplains, unhampered by tradition, ready to welcome armies of fresh immigrants.’77

One woman who went to Manchuria in 1931 at about the age of twenty-six spokemany years later of her childhood image of Manchuria. She had thought ofManchuria, she said, as a limitless snowy plain containing only huts. There is nosuggestion that in fact, millions of Chinese inhabited and farmed the snowy plain.78

In the diplomatic context, the insistence on Japan’s ‘rights and interests’ inManchuria was not actually an unreasonable one in terms of contemporaryinternational parlance. The concept of ‘rights and interests’ was well establishedamongst the Western powers at the time. Indeed, Western nations hadspecifically acknowledged Japan’s ‘special interests’ in China, and in Manchuriaparticularly. On occasion they, too, expressed the view that Manchuria was notan integral part of China;79 and the term ‘Manchuria’, with its connotations ofseparateness, was used by Westerners as well as Japanese. The Anglo-JapaneseAlliance of 1902 recognised Japanese as well as British interests in China. Franceand Japan later recognised each other’s interests in China, and Russia and Japangranted each other ‘special interests’ in Manchuria. In 1917, the United Statesrecognised the principle of Japanese special interest in Manchuria in an agree-ment between Japanese special envoy Ishii Kikujiro and US Secretary of State


Robert Lansing.80 The Lytton Commission also recognised Japan’s specialposition in Manchuria, noting that ‘the rights and interests of Japan in Manchuriaare facts which cannot be ignored’ and acknowledging that they complicated theSino-Japanese dispute.81

Nor did the Japanese press ever question the doctrine of ‘special interests’,even in the 1920s when it simultaneously advocated non-intervention in theaffairs of other nations, greater sympathy for Chinese national aspirations, andsupport for the ideals of the League of Nations. In the 1920s the press held thedefence of Japanese vested interests to be equally as important as the principles of‘mutual co-prosperity’ and ‘non-intervention’. By the end of 1928, only a handfulof critics and Ishibashi Tanzan’s liberal paper Toyo keizai shinpo (OrientalEconomist) were still reminding their readers of the inherent contradictionbetween acceptance of Japan’s ‘special status’ and the pledge to respect theindependence of China which Japan had made in signing the Nine-Power Pact of1922. Neither was the need to take action to ‘protect the lives and property ofJapanese residents’ in Manchuria ever questioned by the press, which, as a result,readily accepted the Kwantung Army’s justification of its actions in 18 Septemberas ‘self-defence’.82

Sacrifice

Related to the set of ideas embodied in the terms ‘life-line’ and ‘rights and interests’were the notions of sacrifice and of self-defence. It was constantly emphasisedthat Japan had sacrificed a great deal of ‘blood and treasure’ in Manchuria, and inthis context, memories and images of the Russo-Japanese War in particular werefrequently evoked. That war had, after all, ended only twenty-six years pre-viously. In 1931, therefore, there were still many Japanese who remembered it;and through the education system, many more had been exposed to a particularversion of the course and significance of the war.83 School texts used the war as asource of examples of heroism and bravery. Ideologues harked back to itnostalgically as a period of laudable national unity and co-operation. Mostimportantly in terms of the Manchurian Incident, the official version of theRusso-Japanese War was crucial in implanting the image of rights and interestsin Manchuria in the popular imagination. The politician and public speakerTsurumi Yusuke had summed up this view in the late 1920s when he said:

Manchuria is watered by the blood of Japanese patriots; their graves andbattle monuments dot the landscape from Port Arthur to Mukden. The landmay [technically] belong to China, but it is hallowed soil for the Sons ofNippon.84

Japan had fought for and in Manchuria, and in doing so had made enormoussacrifices, according to this argument. In short, Japan had ‘earned’ Manchuria,and had earned it legitimately: through warfare conducted according to the usualinternational ‘rules’, it was implied.


These arguments existed in some form before 1931, as Tsurumi’s assertionshows. They were given explicit expression and were greatly encouraged by themajor newspapers and by radio and film after the Manchurian Incident. Japanesehad made sacrifices not only in the Russo-Japanese War, it was argued, butalso in developing Manchuria since 1905: Manchuria had reached its currentstate thanks to the blood and sweat of Japanese people, invested through theSouth Manchurian Railway Company and Japanese leaseholds in Kwantung.85

Japanese soldiers were also making personal sacrifices on behalf of the nation andfor peace in the region, as was made clear by constant references to the extremecold in northern Manchuria and other hardships. ‘Marching in Pursuit ofBandits’ (‘Tohiko’), a song that spread throughout Japan in the first half of 1932,captured the mood of soldierly sacrifice and hardship:

How long will this muddy trail last?For three days and two nights without foodRain pours down on the helmet.

My horse fell and whines no more;Cutting off his mane as mementoI bid farewell to his remains.

Gone already are cigarettes,The matches I counted on are wet,How cold is the night when hunger stalks.

If it must be, so be it –I am a fighting man of the land of the rising sun:I have little regret to have my corpse decay in the grass.86

Self-defence

Arguments about the national sacrifices Japan had made led naturally to theconcept of ‘self-defence’, the Kwantung Army’s principal justification for itsactions of late 1931. If Manchuria ‘belonged’ to Japan, then the Japanese wereentitled to take action to defend it. In the 1920s, the heyday of Wilsonian ideal-ism and ‘pacifism’, self-defence was recognised by many as the only legitimatemotive for war. This principle was explicitly enshrined in the Kellogg Pact (alsoknown as the Kellogg–Briand Pact, the Pact of Paris and the Anti-War Pact),signed by Japan and sixty-four other nations in 1928. Japanese ideologues of alltypes relied heavily on the argument that Japan’s actions in Manchuria consti-tuted legitimate self-defence against the Chinese, who had for some time been‘trampling’ on Japanese ‘rights and interests’. In the immediate sense, too, it wasalways maintained that Japanese soldiers on the night of 18 September hadmerely acted in self-defence after Chinese soldiers blew up part of the SouthManchurian Railway. The argument about self-defence was crucial not onlywithin Japan, but also whenever Japan tried to exonerate itself in internationalforums, as we shall see in Chapters 4 and 5.87


Chinese instability

The propaganda surrounding the Manchurian Incident included a consistentview not only of Japan and its history, but also of China. The most commontheme was of China as a disorganised and unstable state, to which, indeed, theword ‘state’ could hardly be applied at all. Contemporary China was, for onewriter, just like Japan in the Sengoku or Warring States period (1482–1558)88 –that is, China today was at a stage surpassed by Japan over 350 years earlier.

This argument again was used largely as an appeal to the norms governinginternational conduct. If China was not a ‘modern state’, Japan could not beexpected to extend to it the sort of treatment that would be expected in othercircumstances. Observance of treaties presupposed that a nation was capable ofestablishing a minimum standard of peace, order and safety for foreign nationals.Japan’s case to the world rested partly on the assertion that China had failed toestablish such conditions. China was in total disarray, it was asserted; it had nopolitical unity and it was overrun by bandits and by rival warlords. As oneJapanese intellectual put it, ‘Two nations may claim the same rights. But one maybe weak, poor, untruthful and turbulent – and all it can do may be to claim itsright without fulfilling its duties.’89 A women’s magazine contrasted the chaoticstate of China with the stable government that Japan had allegedly enjoyed for3,000 years, adding that in Japan all the people co-operated together, whereas theChinese people were in a most unfortunate state of disunity.90 They did havecertain individual virtues, including a good physique, a low standard of livingthat encouraged success in business, and skill in diplomacy. The fact that theywere completely unable to achieve national unity, however, meant that thenation was in a parlous state and national prestige remained low.91

The Japanese assertions about China, again, were not without foundation; norwere they out of step with the Western powers. US President Herbert Hoover,for example, seems to have shared Japan’s view of China as disordered andthreatening.92 Ambassador Sir Francis Lindley of Britain agreed that ‘it isimpossible to apply to China in its present condition the same standards as areapplicable to more settled countries’.93 China was undeniably in a state of turmoilafter the 1911 revolution. Rival warlords wreaked much havoc, and banditswere numerous, partly because of widespread poverty among the Chinese people.The actual existence of bandits, in turn, proved to be a great boon to Japanesepropagandists seeking to establish their nation’s right to control Manchuria.

‘Bandits’

‘Bandits’ (bazoku, hizoku) is in fact one of the words recurring most frequently inofficial and non-official discourse on Manchuria between 1931 and 1933, and theneed to suppress ‘bandits’ was used both within Japan and to internationalaudiences to justify military action for years after the Manchurian Incident itself.Evidently, Japanese opinion-leaders considered the suppression of bandits to bean accepted reason for punitive military action, and in this they were undoubtedly


right.94 There was in fact a considerable history of banditry in Manchuria as inother parts of China, of which the Western powers were quite aware. In a poorrural society subjected not infrequently to wars and natural disasters, the raidingof other towns and villages for food and money was a common enough responseto hardship, and Chinese officials themselves had long recognised banditry asa problem.95 Furthermore, as Japanese polemicists often shrilly claimed, thedistinction between bandits and soldiers was not a clear one: there was an‘intimate relationship between the army and bandit worlds’ throughout China,with bandits frequently being recruited into the various armies operating duringthe 1920s and 1930s.96

According to Japanese estimates, there were approximately 60,000 bandits inManchuria on the eve of the incident at Mukden.97 Scholars suggest further thatat the height of the armed anti-Japanese movement, in mid-1932, there wereprobably 300,000–400,000 people actively opposing the Japanese army and pro-Japanese forces in Manchuria.98 The largest group among the resisters compriseddestitute farmers, followed by soldiers and then by former bandits; according tosome interpretations, however, most of the resisters, at least in the initial period,were politically motivated. The various forces offered formidable opposition tothe Japanese for about a year and a half after the Manchurian Incident. By early ormid-1933, punitive action by the Kwantung Army and the Manchukuo Army hadgreatly reduced the number of guerillas. Even so, Japanese soldiers continued forsome time to sustain relatively high casualty rates from conflict with Chineseforces.99

It was easy and convenient for the Japanese army to label all who opposed itafter late 1931 as bandits, thus legitimating the killing of many Chinese withoutresort to the word ‘war’, and generally avoiding the suggestion that there wereany politically-motivated opponents of the Japanese at all. The Kwantung Armywas in fact quite prepared to encourage bandit gangs when it was convenient todo so – to cause disruption to the local Chinese, for example, or to provide anexcuse for Japanese intervention.100 Nevertheless, the Japanese authorities con-tinued publicly to emphasise the need to suppress the ‘bandit problem’ in order tomake more of Manchuria safe for ordinary habitation, and military clashes with‘bandits’ were prominently reported in the Japanese press during 1932 and 1933.That this was a quite deliberate policy is indicated in the memoirs of HaradaKumao, secretary to elder statesman Saionji Kinmochi, who records that inFebruary 1933, the Japanese cabinet decided to take the stance that Japan’s oppo-nents in the Jehol campaign were bandits rather than Chinese regular troops, andto present the Jehol campaign as a case of a localised effort to defeat bandits. Asthis discussion took place at a time of conflict with the League, the implicationwas that such a position would make a better impression internationally.101

‘A time of crisis’

Official and non-official discourse on Manchuria thus created, perpetuated andrelied for its effect upon a particular view of the recent past, especially the Russo-


Japanese War, and of the current world order, especially the condition of China.More immediately, ideologues depended upon a widespread perception ofnational ‘crisis’ or ‘emergency’ (hijoji). In fact, this pervading sense of crisis isarguably the chief factor that marks and gives unity to the early 1930s. Someideologues also worked hard to present 1931 as the beginning of a spiritualrevival of the Japanese people. In that sense, the idea that the ManchurianIncident marked the beginning of a new era, which we have noted in a historio-graphical context, has a long history.

The extremely vague concept of ‘national crisis’ was not new in the 1930s.Carol Gluck observes, for example, that ideologues in the late nineteenth andearly twentieth centuries were ‘impelled almost always by an acute sense ofcrisis’.102 Thus there was a familiar vocabulary to draw upon, but at the sametime the ‘crisis’ of the early 1930s was understood in terms quite specific to thatperiod. As in inter-war Germany, ‘a complex sense of crisis’103 emerged in Japanin the early 1930s, to be reinforced in the press and by the authorities. This senseof crisis was produced above all by a widening consciousness of the depth of thedepression and of rural distress especially, often coupled with a perception thatthe problems were of such magnitude as to defy standard relief measures. It wasstimulated by the increasing publicity given to the threat posed to Japaneseinterests in China by the growing Chinese nationalist movement, and then by theManchurian Incident itself and subsequent dealings with the Western powers.The Shanghai Incident brought further condemnation from the Western powers,while the 15 May Incident of 1932 and the end of party cabinets provided aspecifically domestic and political dimension to the sense of crisis, along with themounting calls for rural relief. The October 1932 report by the League ofNations into the Sino-Japanese dispute, interpreted as unfavourable to Japan,prolonged the ‘diplomatic’ aspect of the crisis, which continued to be givenprominence in the press and elsewhere until Japan’s departure from the Leagueearly in 1933.104

The sense of crisis which is so striking in the early 1930s is summed up in theword ‘hijoji’. The term itself seems to have had a fairly short life, and wasapparently not in use before 1932: ‘kokunan’ (national crisis) was popular beforethen, and ‘judai naru jikyoku’ (grave circumstances) was also used. Even InukaiTsuyoshi’s Seiyukai Cabinet of December 1931–May 1932 apparently did notuse the word ‘hijoji’, referring to the Manchurian Incident of September 1931simply as a ‘judai na jiken’ (grave incident).105 According to Royama Masamichi,politicians began to use the word ‘hijoji’ in connection with the 15 May Incident of1932 and the subsequent abandonment of party cabinets.106 It was commonlyemployed at a more popular level from the second half of 1932, and was oftenthereafter applied retrospectively to the chain of events beginning with theManchurian Incident, or somewhere further back with reference to the growth inthe Chinese nationalist movement. Royama was quite precise: for him, the liftingof the gold embargo in January 1930 and its effects on the financial world; theManchurian Incident; Britain’s reimposition of a gold embargo in the samemonth; Finance Minister Inoue Junnosuke’s speculative dollar-buying; and the


end of Wakatsuki Reijiro’s Minseito Cabinet in December 1931 were notmanifestations of the hijoji, but rather its underlying causes. The true ‘hijoji ’ forRoyama consisted of the 15 May Incident and the ensuing political crisis – whichwere the product of right-wing terrorism, itself the result of the weakness of thepolitical parties.107 Whatever its origins, the term ‘hijoji ’ appears in sogo zasshi(general magazines) from mid-1932 until about 1934,108 with a great manyarticles about the national crisis appearing in this period.

Some writers extended the expression ‘hijoji’ to include the ‘thought problem’(shiso mondai), using it to describe the supposed threat to society from Commu-nism, which, it was claimed, was rife among the nation’s youth. (The educationsystem, therefore, was suffering from ‘hijoji ’.) Less often, the term was used inreference to a perceived threat from fascism. In many cases, the ‘hijoji ’ wasdescribed in very general terms indeed, often in connection with the idea thatsociety or the capitalist economic system had reached a deadlock or yukizumari, anidea which had achieved some currency in the 1920s largely on the basis of thework of the economist Takahashi Kamekichi.109 In the words of respondents to aBungei shunju survey published between December 1932 and May 1933, theworld had entered a period of confusion and instability, not only materially butalso ideologically.110 Ineffectiveness and corruption of the political parties wasone of the factors often blamed for the ‘stalemate’, which was now perceived inmuch more general terms than Takahashi had suggested in the 1920s. In fact, asthe Home Minister, Baron Yamamoto Tatsuo, wrote in October 1932, ‘nationallife (kokumin seikatsu) is deadlocked in every direction’.111

The concept of ‘hijoji ’ was adopted by politicians, bureaucrats and commen-tators of all kinds and used for a variety of purposes: to urge frugality on thepeople, to call for obedience to the state, to advocate reactionary policies ineducation and increased spending on the military, and so on. It was exceptionallysuitable as propaganda in that its meaning was never fixed; hence it could beadapted to almost any purpose. As the feminist leader Ichikawa Fusae remarkeddespairingly in late 1933, the people were constantly being told that there was a‘hijoji ’, but were never told exactly what the term meant. (She criticised thevagueness of the term and worried about the effect of its constant repetition.112)In one sense Ichikawa’s remark is simply not accurate given that in the magazinesof the period appear any number of articles in which the writer sets out to explainthe implications of the term ‘hijoji ’. All, however, emphasise different aspects.

The power of the term ‘hijoji ’, in spite of or because of its vagueness, to impingeon the consciousness even of the very young is suggested by the comment of onewoman who had been a child in Shimonoseki in the early 1930s. She remarkeddecades later that her first awareness of current events ( yo no naka no ugoki)stemmed from an occasion in 1934, when she had been in the fourth grade ofprimary school: ‘The teacher wrote the word “hijoji” in large characters on theblackboard and explained it. A feeling came over me that something seriouswas happening.’113 Meanwhile, the word had become ‘as common as a dailygreeting’,114 and not everyone took it seriously. ‘What’s the time?’, began onejoke. ‘It’s crisis time!’ (‘Ima, nanji?’ ‘Hijoji!’ ). Advertising picked up the term too,


one Tokyo cabaret promising: ‘In this time of crisis, our waitresses will set deathat naught to serve you!’ (‘Hijoji ni saishite, toten de wa jokyu mo shi o mo mono tomoshinai saabisu!’ )115

The ‘crisis’ was of course lamented by most members of the elites, but somesaw in it a valuable opportunity for national renewal. Acceptance that Japan wasin crisis often implied a condemnation of the previous decade or more as a timewhen the Japanese people had ‘lost their way’ by pursuing Western fads amidst anew affluence, or in some other way had become morally or spiritually decadent.Baron Ichiki Kitokuro, for example, former Education Minister and HomeMinister, thought that the origin of Japan’s troubles was an increase in selfishness(rikoshin).116 Some such observers were happy to identify the army as the groupwhich had continued to uphold the Japanese spirit (yamato damashii) when allaround had lost it; now, by its actions in Manchuria, the army was guiding thepeople back to a realisation of their true nature and their true mission.

Among the most eloquent if vague proponents of this viewpoint was GeneralAraki Sadao, Army Minister between 1931 and 1934. One prominent vehicle forhis views was a film made in June 1933 by the Osaka mainichi newspapercompany, entitled Hijoji Nippon (Japan in time of crisis). The film, which used aspeech by Araki as its soundtrack, propounded the need for military and moralrearmament and increased industrial productivity.117 It toured Japan and wassaid to have been well received – Araki’s claim at his trial for war crimes in 1947that ‘I never heard from anyone that the film made any acute impression on thespectators’ should perhaps be discounted in view of his circumstances at thetime.118 The film was clearly intended as an educational tool, both for schools andthe general public: as the producer said when it was shown in evidence at theTokyo War Crimes Tribunal, it was one of a number of films ‘made in lieu oftextbooks’. Senior staff of the Mainichi believed that ‘not only through newspapereditorials but by utilizing the strength and power and influence of the motionpicture . . . [we could] bring order out of the chaos in the thought world as well as. . . educate the people at large in international relationships’.119

In Hijoji Nippon, Araki referred to the ‘great strides’ made by Japan after theMeiji Restoration. He continued, in the words of the translation prepared for theWar Crimes Tribunal:

However, after a short while the glory of the nation began to declinegradually. What brought this sad but undeniable situation? There may beseveral reasons, but the most immediate cause is our self-conceit, negligenceand forgetfulness of our past history.

The Japanese had become spiritually and materially ‘vulgar’, and infatuated withall things European. This point was visually emphasised by shots of a coupledancing in Western style, thereby indicating their frivolity, selfishness andWesternised habits. According to Araki:

Then, fortunately, we had a revelation from Heaven which came to us in the


form of the Manchurian Incident. The true character of Japan was vividlyrevealed in the splendid actions of the Imperial troops fighting in extremecold, or in scorched fields under a burning sun . . . Inside Japan, also, the realspirit manifested itself in nation-wide zeal for the encouragement of thesoldiers, a story that cannot be told without tears. The patriotic zeal wasapparent in the enthusiastic cheers which made soldiers go gladly to thefront, leaving their dear ones behind . . . When the present incident brokeout our people awakened to a realization of the racial spirit. The Japanesepeople, after a long interval, resumed their consciousness of being Japanese. . . The outbreak of the Manchurian Incident was really an alarm-bell tellingus to wake up and to examine ourselves.

Araki’s mystical interpretation of the Manchurian Incident was reinforced byvisual and verbal references to sacrifice and blood, in the context of the Sino-Japanese War, the Russo-Japanese War, the Siberian Expedition and the TsinanIncident. Throughout, the army was presented as an embodiment of the nationalvirtues.120

Other commentators, too, saw in the Manchurian Incident a valuable oppor-tunity to arrest moral decline. The newspaper Jiji shinpo opined that the eventsbeginning in September 1931 had restored the nation’s flagging faith in themilitary. Between the Russo-Japanese War and the Manchurian Incident,according to the paper, there had been unfavourable relations between themilitary and the people, and even antipathy towards the military: ‘No longer wasa husband pleased to announce to his wife that their son had been enrolled intomilitary service.’ The Manchurian Incident, however, had ‘served to restore theformer spirit which had become lax. Japan now has perfect unanimity in nationaldefense.’121 A magazine for rural readers rejoiced that the political consciousnesseven of these who had previously been ‘led astray’ was now ‘corrected’:

The Manchurian Incident has powerfully called forth the nationalistthought of the masses, which had been dormant for a long time. Even withinthe camp of the proletarian parties, which previously hesitated to expressa clear consciousness of kokutai or of national essence (kokka no honshitsu),national socialist thought is rising like a flood tide.122

The widespread adoption of a new expression in 1932 to describe the state ofthe nation may be taken to mean that some sort of change was believed to haveoccurred; or perhaps simply, that things had got significantly worse. By the sametoken, however, the term ‘hijoji ’ as applied to Manchurian issues dropped fromgeneral use in 1933 almost as quickly as it had appeared, clearly indicating aperception that that crisis had lessened or vanished. The term ‘hijoji ’ continued tobe used sporadically until about 1934 or 1935, but its meanings were changing.In August 1933, after Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations, SunadaShigemasa, a politician and former Vice-Minister for Agriculture and Forestry,argued that the real significance of ‘hijoji ’ no longer lay in the areas of national


defence, education or diplomacy; its true function was to warn that Japan nowfaced a turning-point and must set its national goals anew. In order to feed itsgrowing population, Japan had to seek new markets and develop new territory.The Japanese claim to Manchukuo had been clearly established. Now it was timeto move into Outer Mongolia, through Persia and into Central Asia. Step by step,the ‘Far Eastern Japan’ (kyokuto no Nippon) of the present could thereby graduate tobecome ‘Pan-Asian Japan’ (zen-Ajia no Nippon).123

Others began to apply the term hijoji in a completely new way, to emphasisea strategic crisis which was supposedly looming in 1935–36 in the context ofan international conference on naval limitations set for 1936. Inner circles ofgovernment concluded in late 1933 that Japan should abrogate the WashingtonTreaty and the London Naval Treaty in 1936, in order to give its military forcesmore of a free hand in East Asia. It was agreed that a campaign would beimplemented to inform the public about the ‘crisis of 1935–36’ even before theformal decision was taken in July 1934 to abrogate the treaties. General Araki,Army Minister until January 1934, took particular pains in late 1933 to nurturethe idea of the new ‘crisis’, though his successor, General Hayashi Senjuro,reversed Araki’s policy, banning the use of the term in all army publications andspeeches.124 In the meantime, thanks to the efforts of Araki and others, the notionof ‘crisis’, though still current to an extent, had ceased to have much to do withManchuria as far as mainstream newspapers and magazines were concerned.

‘Crisis’, then, proved once again a malleable, useful and transferable concept.By 1936–37, however, the term in general use to describe the nation’s dangerwas not ‘hijoji ’ but ‘kiki’, which also means ‘crisis’, but implied a break from theprevious circumstances through use of a different word.125 Moreover, there wasno suggestion that the ‘crisis’ of 1936–37, which in the event was marked by the26 February Incident and the beginning of war with China as well as the navalissues mentioned above, was a continuation of the ‘crisis’ of 1931–33. Nor was itas complex a phenomenon. At some point, in other words, the original hijoji hadstopped.

Conclusion

In a well-known argument, Maruyama Masao has suggested that while themilitary and the bureaucracy were the ‘driving forces’ of Japanese fascism, it wasthe ‘rulers of the microcosms’ or ‘pseudo-intellectuals’ – that is, the less culturedpart of the middle class – who ‘showed a positive sympathy towards itsdevelopment’. ‘True intellectuals’, on the other hand, who include journalists aswell as professors, students, upper civil servants and others in Maruyama’stypology, displayed an ‘antipathy’ to fascism amounting ‘almost to passiveresistance’.126 An examination of responses to the Manchurian crisis does notsupport this argument. The majority of Maruyama’s ‘true intellectuals’ providedat least as much passive or active support for the conquest of Manchuria as didother sections of the community. In particular, journalists, editors and news-paper proprietors did much to publicise and endorse the official view of Japan’s


actions in the early 1930s. Not only Maruyama, but also those observers whoemphasise government controls as the sole or main reason for conformity ofopinion on Manchuria, overlook the mediating role played by many suchcivilians in negotiating the relationship between state and society in the 1930s.Carol Gluck’s observation about late Meiji ideology could equally be applied todiscourse on Manchuria especially: ‘the strongest views – the hard line – oftencame from outside the government.’127

Though the state was an active agent, the process of disseminating views of theManchurian crisis which conformed to the official line involved much more thanmanipulation by the authorities. Many people not directly connected with thearmy or the bureaucracy willingly promoted the conquest of Manchuria, just ascivilian ideologues had promoted wars and other government projects in earlierperiods. The army, which was very conscious of the need for a supportive publicopinion at this point, certainly made it easier for them to do so – by providingmuch copy on Manchuria, for example. It did not, however, have the power tocoerce so large a proportion of the media to publicise its cause. Nor did it need to.A variety of organs eagerly shared the task with the government and army ofencouraging public support for the Kwantung Army’s project in Manchuria.

Commercial rivalry was a significant factor but is not the sole explanation.Other publications apart from the major newspapers shared the same positiveattitude towards Japanese control of Manchuria. From the big monthly journalsto special-interest publications directed at businessmen, farmers or women, thearmy’s activities were reported everywhere, as we shall see in later chapters.There were exceptions: criticism continued to be expressed in Communistpublications and a few other places, and some publications remained relativelyindifferent to foreign affairs overall, preferring to concentrate on more immediateconcerns. On the whole, however, it was difficult for a regular, mainstreampublication to remain unaffected by the Manchurian crisis and unusual for it notto support the army enthusiastically. In fact, regular publications of all kindsreacted strongly to the actions of the Japanese army between 1931 and 1933. Thenature of their support and the reasons for it differed to some extent according tothe publication, but the great majority approved of the idea of Japanese control ofManchuria. In the case of farmers’, women’s, business and other relativelyspecialist journals, the explanation does not lie to any great extent in the need tocompete for readers. Nor can censorship be held responsible. It is rare for suchmaterials to contain fuseji or sections cut by the censors, or to miss a regularpublication date through banning. Arguably, opinions might occasionally havebeen withheld or modified for fear of the censors, but this seems generallyunlikely in view of the overall tone of most magazines’ support for the govern-ment. In a direct sense at least, we have seen that most ‘ordinary’ publications –that is, in the censors’ terms, those neither explicitly left-wing nor explicitly right-wing in orientation – were not much affected by censorship. The explanation fortheir patriotic stance must be sought elsewhere: in the basic commitment to thenation that was very widely shared by a broad spectrum of articulate opinion inJapan in the early 1930s.


By virtue of constant repetition, a group of general themes became familiarto many Japanese during the Manchurian crisis. Interestingly, the focal pointfrom all quarters was an analysis of regional ‘realities’, rather than the emphasison the emperor or Japan’s ‘unique’ national polity (kokutai ) which is found inpropaganda later in the decade. The concept of ‘odo’ (the kingly way) certainlymade its appearance as a guiding principle for the administration of Manchukuo,and much fuss was made about the installation of Pu Yi as imperial ruler. Athome, however, ideologues concentrated on insisting that Manchuria was vitalto Japan, that Japan had a right to it, and that China was inferior, contemptibleand chaotic. At the same time, there was considerable and emotive emphasis onblood, sacrifice, crisis and self-defence.

Few people were likely to encounter an alternative ideological frameworkwhich might have suggested other views. The journalist and economist IshibashiTanzan argued that Manchuria was of little or no value to Japan, but thecirculation of his business newspaper was comparatively small. In October 1931the critic Yokota Kisaburo expressed doubt that the Manchurian Incident couldbe justified on the grounds of self-defence, but his article appeared only in Teikokudaigaku shinbun ([Tokyo] Imperial University Newspaper).128 Communistsrejected all government propaganda about Manchuria in 1931, but theiradherents were very few and their publications were banned. To some extent,alternative views were available to readers of Chuo koron and Kaizo,129 but thesejournals were very cautious, for fear of the censor, and their readership wasrestricted in any case. Thus, while intellectuals and others moving in informedcircles might well have been aware of views differing from those propounded bythe government and army, the range of opinion available to readers of the majornewspapers and magazines, let alone to those who did not or could not read, wasmuch narrower. The mainstream media – press, radio and film – had a circularrelationship in that they supplied each other with themes and reinforced eachother’s messages. All of them also reinforced, popularised and elaborated onofficial government and army ideology.

It remains an open question, however, to what extent official ideology aboutManchuria or press sensationalism affected ordinary Japanese people, and towhat extent it was accepted or rejected. It is very unlikely that many ordinaryJapanese during the Manchurian crisis ‘consciously confronted the nation whenthey awoke each morning’,130 except perhaps in the initial stages of the fighting.Furthermore, the very fact that there were calls for a more systematic approach topropaganda, resulting in the moves towards greater centralisation from 1936,indicates that the authorities were not wholly satisfied with the effectiveness oftheir propaganda efforts in the first half of the 1930s. Whether their apparentlack of satisfaction was due to any real evidence of the people’s failure to beconvinced, or should be seen more as a ritual obeisance to the goal of totalnational unity or as paranoia, is difficult to assess. Studies of the printed media,radio and films, however, remain in the last analysis examinations of messagesthat were disseminated, not messages that were received, and it should beremembered that the ‘war fever’ often said to characterise the early 1930s is


largely a fever among newspapers and other media. Later chapters of this bookwill suggest that ordinary people in Japan responded to the Manchurian crisiswith a greater degree of ambivalence than is suggested by the notion of ‘warfever’. Certainly, most did not see themselves as part of an on-going project tofurther the aims of empire. First, however, we will examine responses to theManchurian crisis among establishment institutions.

Notes1 Japan Year Book 1933, Foreign Affairs Association of Japan, Tokyo, 1933, p. 987;

Hando Kazutoshi, ‘Asahi shinbun to Manshu jihen’, Shokun!, November 1985, p. 56.2 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 52; Eguchi Keiichi, ‘Manshu jihen to daishinbun’, Shiso,

No. 583, January 1973, pp. 98–113.3 Quoted in Japan Year Book 1933, pp. 987–8.4 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, pp. 52–3; Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, pp. 177–8.5 Japan Year Book 1933, pp. 987–8.6 Peter B. High, Teikoku no ginmaku, Nagoya, Nagoya daigaku shuppankai, 1995, p. 22.7 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, pp. 47–8. On the London Naval Treaty see also Ito

Takashi, Showa shoki seijishi kenkyu: Rondon kaigun gunshuku mondai o meguru shoseijishudan no taiko to teikei, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1969, Ch. 10.

8 Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’, pp. 5–12; Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, p. 179;Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, Ch. 7.

9 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 59, citing Mori Kyozo.10 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 57. On the Asahi, see also Murakami Hyoe, ‘Asahi

shinbun no “senso sekinin” ron’, Shokun!, January 1986, pp. 40–53.11 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 157, 164. In general, if a paper wanted to voice a

slight criticism of the government in this period, it tended to do so by quoting foreignviews: Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’, p. 19.

12 Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, pp. 179–82.13 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 159, 162.14 Machida Shiro, ‘Manshukoku shonin no kigi’, Kokusai chishiki, July 1932, pp. 18–19,

quoted ibid., p. 176.15 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 180, 195; Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’, pp. 21–2.

In October 1932 the Fukuoka nichinichi criticised the unfavourable reaction of themajor newspapers to the Lytton Report: see Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 184–5.

16 Ito, Showa shoki, pp. 435–6.17 Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, p. 191.18 See especially Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’; Eguchi, ‘Manshu jihen to daishinbun’;

Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’.19 For an account of the incident by a soldier from the same regiment as the three

‘heroes’, taken from the records of the Police Bureau of the Home Ministry andconfirming that the soldiers were killed after setting a short fuse, see MinamiHiroshi, Shakai shinrikenkyujo, Showa bunka 1925–1945, Tokyo, Keiso shobo, 1987,pp. 276–7. See also Ienaga, Pacific War, p. 102; Ikei, ‘1930 nendai no masumedia’, p.174.

20 For excerpts from newspaper reports see Minami, Showa bunka, pp. 272–3.21 Ibid., p. 274.22 Mainichi Daily News, 1 March 1932, p. 3. See also, for example, 17 March 1932, p. 1;

18 March 1932, p. 1; 29 March 1932, p. 5.23 Minami, Showa bunka, p. 275.24 Ibid.25 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, p. 23.


26 IH, April 1932, pp. 188–9.27 Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, pp. 175–6.28 ‘Blast Hurts 2 Teachers’, Trans-Pacific, 23 June 1932, p. 16.29 Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, p. 282.30 See Tsurumaru, ‘Sono koro’, pp. 38–42, esp. Nos 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8. See also Sato

Fumiko, ‘“Bakudan sanyushi” o meguru seso’, in the same issue of Jugoshi noto, pp.43–6.

31 Saito Mutsuo, in Tessa Morris-Suzuki, Showa: An Inside Story of Hirohito’s Japan,London, Athlone, 1984, pp. 21–2. See also IH, June 1932, photographs of childrenplaying war games; ‘The Toy Steel Helmets Are Especially Popular With theKiddies’, Mainichi Daily News, 26 March 1932, p. 8.

32 Mainichi Daily News, 19 March 1932, p. 3.33 Comments on radio programmes are based on Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, pp.

146–76; Kasza, State and the Mass Media, pp. 95–6. See also Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’,p. 52.

34 See table in Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, pp. 153–64.35 Kasza, State and the Mass Media, p. 95.36 David Welch, Propaganda and the German Cinema 1933–1945, Oxford, Clarendon

Press, 1983, p. 308.37 Darrell William Davis, Picturing Japaneseness: Monumental Style, National Identity,

Japanese Film, New York, Columbia University Press, 1996, p. 3.38 GS 40, p. 263. Cited in Freiberg, ‘Transition to Sound’, p. 80 (Freiberg’s translation).39 Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 56.40 Mainichi Daily News, 1 January 1932, p. 5.41 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, pp. 31–2.42 Mainichi Daily News, 7 February 1932, p. 2.43 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, p. 22.44 Mainichi Daily News, 12 March 1932, p. 5; 20 February 1932, p. 5.45 Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, p. 176.46 Davis, Picturing Japaneseness, p. 134; High, Teikoku no ginmaku, pp. 30–1.47 Ikei, ‘1930nendai no masumedia’, p. 176. See also p. 175 for box-office figures for

Tokyo, and p. 176 for an example of a ‘home-front’ film.48 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, pp. 24–5.49 This section is based on GS 40, xix–xxi; Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’, pp. 31–2.50 The formation, composition and activities of both the Jikyoku doshikai and Joho

iinkai are outlined in ‘Senzen no joho kiko yoran: Joho iinkai kara Johokyoku made’,March 1964. This unpublished document was produced by former members of staffof the Johokyoku, and is available at the Institute of Social Science, University ofTokyo.

51 See ibid., pp. 6ff.; Kakegawa, ‘Masumedia tosei’, pp. 30–2; GS 40, xx–xxi.52 Quoted in Richard Storry, ‘The English-Language Presentation of Japan’s Case

during the China Emergency of the Late Nineteen-Thirties’, in I. Nish and C. Dunn(eds), European Studies on Japan, Kent, Paul Norbury, 1979, p. 144.

53 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, p. 31.54 John F. Embree, Suye Mura: A Japanese Village, Chicago, University of Chicago Press,

1939, p. 67.55 Harold J. Wray, ‘Changes and Continuity in Japanese Images of the Kokutai and

Attitudes and Roles Toward the Outside World. A Content Analysis of JapaneseTextbooks, 1903–1945’, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Hawaii, 1971,pp. 1, 251, 287ff. See also John Caiger, ‘The Aims and Content of School Courses inJapanese History, 1872–1945’, in Edmund Skrzypczak (ed.), Japan’s Modern Century,Tokyo, Sophia University, 1968, pp. 51–81. Textbooks were issued in 1903, 1910,1918, 1933 and 1941. History and geography texts were revised again in 1942 and1944.


56 Donald Keene, ‘The Sino-Japanese War of 1894–95 and its Cultural Effects inJapan’, in Donald Shively (ed.), Tradition and Modernization in Japanese Culture,Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1971, pp. 145–51; Tan’o Yasunori andKawada Akihisa, Kindai Nihon no bijutsu 1: Imeeji no naka no senso, Tokyo, Iwanamishoten, 1996, pp. 8–10.

57 On the creation of the legend of General Nogi, see Carol Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths:Ideology in the Late Meiji Period, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1985, pp. 221–5.

58 Sharon H. Nolte and Sally Ann Hastings, ‘The Meiji State’s Policy TowardWomen’, in Gail Lee Bernstein (ed.), Recreating Japanese Women, 1600–1945,Berkeley, University of California Press, 1991, p. 157.

59 Maureen Honey, Creating Rosie the Riveter: Class, Gender and Propaganda during WorldWar II, Amherst, Mass., University of Massachusetts Press, 1984, p. 11. Honeyrejects this ‘top-down’ model of propaganda.

60 Ibid., pp. 9–10.61 Ian Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth’: Image and Reality in the Third Reich, Oxford, Oxford

University Press, 1989, p. 4. This section also draws on Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths,and Jeremy Noakes, The Nazi Party in Lower Saxony 1921–1933, London, OxfordUniversity Press, 1971, p. 220.

62 Kevin Robins, Frank Webster and Michael Pickering, ‘Propaganda, Informationand Social Control’, in Jeremy Hawthorn (ed.), Propaganda, Persuasion and Polemic,London, Edward Arnold, 1987, p. 4. The quotation is from Donald F. Roberts, ‘TheNature of Communications Effects’, in Wilbur Schramm and Donald F. Roberts(eds), The Process and Effects of Mass Communication, Urbana, University of Illinois Press,revised edn, 1971.

63 ‘Manshukoku shomin ni kansuru Nihon seifu seimei’ (15 September 1932), inGaimusho (ed.), Nihon gaiko monjo: Manshu jihen, Vol. 2, Part 1, Tokyo, 1979, No. 311,p. 638.

64 See Hando, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 56.65 Nihon hoso kyokai (ed.), Hoso gojunenshi, Vol. 2: Shiryohen, Tokyo, Nihon hoso

shuppan kyokai, 1977, p. 665.66 Oka Tomoshibi, ‘“Tohiko” zengo’, in Mainichi shinbunsha (ed. and publ.),

Ichiokunin no Showashi, Vol. 1: Manshu jihen zengo: koritsu e no michi, Tokyo, 1975, p. 256.In Oka’s view, the songs about Manchuria were less celebrations of militarism thanevocations of the continental expanse and hugeness of the mainland (p. 256).

67 Malcolm Kennedy, The Problem of Japan, London, Nisbet, 1935, p. 4.68 Marius B. Jansen, ‘Japanese Imperialism: Late Meiji Perspectives’, in Ramon H.

Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds), The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895–1945, Princeton,Princeton University Press, 1984, p. 67. See also Kobayashi Koji, Manshu imin nomura: Shinshu Yasuoka mura no Showashi, Tokyo, Chikuma shobo, 1977, p. 60.

69 See Tanaka Ryukichi’s evidence in R. John Pritchard and Sonia Zaide (eds), TheTokyo War Crimes Trial: The Complete Transcripts of the Proceedings of the InternationalMilitary Tribunal for the Far East in Twenty-Two Volumes, New York, Garland, 1981,Vol. 1, pp. 2002–3.

70 Nihon kindaishiryo kenkyukai (eds), Suzuki Teiichishi danwa sokkiroku (ge) (Nihonkindaishiryo sensho B–yon), Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku kyoyogakubu, Shakai kagaku,1974, pp. 377, 381–4. On the Thursday Club, see Seki Hiroharu, ‘The ManchurianIncident, 1931’, trans. Marius Jansen, in James William Morley (ed.), Japan Erupts:The London Naval Conference and the Manchurian Incident, 1928–1932, New York,Columbia University Press, 1984, pp. 146–7.

71 Dr S. Washio, ‘World Criticism Strengthened Japan’s Position in Manchuria’, Trans-Pacific, 7 April 1932, p. 4.

72 Murakami, ‘Asahi shinbun’, p. 49.73 Tsurumi Yusuke, ‘[China, Manchuria]’, untitled and undated paper/speech,

probably 1927–28, in English. Kensei shiryo shitsu, National Diet Library, Tokyo,


Tsurumi Yusuke monjo, File No. 610. See also, for example, Takagi Yasaka, ‘Rela-tions Between Japan and the United States’, in American Studies Center, Universityof Tokyo (ed.), The Collected Works of Yasaka Takagi: Vol. 5. Toward InternationalUnderstanding. Enlarged Edition, Tokyo, University of Tokyo Press, 1971, p. 43.

74 Akaike Atsushi, ‘Waga Manshu jihenkan’, Shimin, December 1931, pp. 1–3.75 McCormack, Chang Tso-lin, p. 4.76 Onnatachi no ima o tou kai, ‘Hajime ni’, Jugoshi noto, No. 3, January 1983, pp. 35–6.77 Hijikata Seiji, in Chuo koron, trans. as ‘New Manchurian State Makes Good

Beginning’, Trans-Pacific, 7 April 1932, p. 17.78 Yanase Yasue, ‘Manshu ni “shintenchi” o motomete’, Jugoshi noto, No. 3, January

1983, p. 80.79 Stanley K. Hornbeck, Chief of the Far Eastern Division of the US Department of

State during the Manchurian crisis, had expressed such an opinion some yearsearlier. See Justus D. Doenecke (comp.), The Diplomacy of Frustration: The ManchurianCrisis of 1931–1933 as Revealed in the Papers of Stanley K. Hornbeck, Stanford University,Hoover Institution Press, 1981, p. 56.

80 See Franz Michael, ‘Japan’s “Special Interests” in China’, Pacific Affairs, Vol. 10, No.4, December 1937, pp. 407–11.

81 Report of the Commission of Enquiry.82 Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, pp. 56–7, 212. The Nine-Power Pact was signed in

February 1922 at the Washington Conference by the United States, Britain, Japan,China, France, Italy, Portugal, Belgium and Holland. Signatories subscribed to the‘open door’ policy, agreeing to respect China’s sovereignty, territorial integrity andadministrative independence. Japan’s China policy from the late 1920s was criticisedby other countries as a violation of the pact.

83 See Wilson, ‘Russo-Japanese War and Japan’, pp. 182–8.84 Tsurumi, ‘[China, Manchuria]’, p. 12.85 For example, IH, January 1932, pp. 166–9.86 Oka, ‘“Tohiko” zengo’, p. 255. Translation from L. H. Gann, ‘Reflections on the

Japanese and German Empires of World War II’, in Peter Duus, Ramon H. Myersand Mark R. Peattie (eds), The Japanese Wartime Empire, 1931–1945, Princeton,Princeton University Press, 1996, p. 345.

87 See Wilson, ‘Manchurian Crisis and Moderate Japanese Intellectuals’; Wilson,‘Containing the Crisis’, pp. 337–52.

88 ‘Doyo tsune nai Shina no seijo’, IH, January 1932, p. 168.89 Nitobe Inazo, ‘We are Not They’, 22 May 1932, in Nitobe Inazo zenshu, Vol. 16,

Editorial Jottings, Tokyo, Kyobunkan, 1969, p. 532. Editorial Jottings is the collectivename for a regular newspaper column written by Nitobe in English during the lastyears of his life.

90 FS, No. 1,634, 4 October 1931, p. 1.91 FS, No. 1,641, 22 November 1931, p. 1.92 See Herbert Hoover, The Memoirs of Herbert Hoover: The Cabinet and the Presidency,

1920–1933, London, Hollis & Carter, 1952, pp. 362–74.93 Lindley to Dawson, 14 November 1931, Bodleian Library, Papers of Geoffrey

Dawson, No. 76, Fols 59–71. On the extent of Western agreement with Japanesearguments about Manchuria, see Wilson, ‘Containing the Crisis’, pp. 353–72.

94 For a description of similar Japanese images of China and the Chinese during theSino-Japanese War of 1894–95, see Keene, ‘Sino-Japanese War’, pp. 121–75.

95 See Phil Billingsley, Bandits in Republican China, Stanford, Stanford University Press,1988, pp. 28–30, 74–5; Elizabeth J. Perry, Rebels and Revolutionaries in North China,1845–1945, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1980, pp. 62–74.

96 Diana Lary, Warlord Soldiers: Chinese Common Soldiers, 1911–1937, Cambridge,Cambridge University Press, 1985, p. 34.

97 Quoted in Bix, ‘Japanese Imperialism’, p. 434.


98 Lee, Revolutionary Struggle (p. 129), gives the figure of ‘nearly 300,000 men’ for June1932. Kobayashi (Manshu imin no mura, p. 67) gives 360,000 for July–August 1932.On the bandits and resisters generally, see Chong-Sik Lee, ‘The ChineseCommunist Party and the Anti-Japanese Movement in Manchuria: The InitialStage’, in Alvin D. Coox and Hilary Conroy (eds), China and Japan: Search for BalanceSince World War I, Santa Barbara, ABC-Clio, 1978, especially pp. 143–55. Majorbattles between the Japanese and opposing forces in Manchuria for 1932–33 arelisted on pp. 150–3. See also Coble, Facing Japan, pp. 70–4; Kobayashi, Manshu iminno mura, pp. 66–9; Ienaga, Pacific War, pp. 89–90.

99 Kobayashi, Manshu imin no mura, p. 67; Lee, ‘Chinese Communist Party’, pp. 148–54.100 Billingsley, Bandits, pp. 220–4.101 Harada Kumao, Saionjiko to seikyoku, Vol. 3: January 1933–July 1934, Tokyo,

Iwanami shoten, 1951, p. 23.102 Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, p. 8.103 Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany, p. 245.104 See also the discussion of the crises of the early 1930s in Kerry Smith, A Time of

Crisis: Japan, the Great Depression, and Rural Revitalization, Cambridge, Mass., HarvardUniversity Asia Center, 2001, esp. pp. 1–6.

105 Royama Masamichi, Nihon seiji dokoron, Tokyo, Koyo shoin, 1933, p. 496.106 Ibid.107 Ibid., pp. 496–7.108 Ito Takashi, ‘Hijoji: “kokunan” ureu “aikoku jin’ei”’, in Arisawa Hiromi (ed.),

Showa keizaishi, Tokyo, Nihon keizai shinbunsha, 1976, p. 81.109 Germaine Hoston, Marxism and the Crisis of Development in Prewar Japan, Princeton,

Princeton University Press, 1986, pp. 10, 82–8, 294.110 Ito, ‘Hijoji’, p. 81.111 Yamamoto Tatsuo, ‘Jikyoku ni kangami no jikaku funki o nozomu’, Shimin,

October 1932, p. 6.112 Ichikawa Fusae, ‘Hijoji to fujin undo’, FS, 12 November 1933, p. 2.113 Tsurumaru et al., ‘Sono koro watashi wa’, pp. 41–2 (No. 8).114 S, ‘Sate kotoshi no mokuhyo wa?’, in Izumide jiho fukkoku iinkai (ed.) Izumida jiho

shukusatsuban, Ueda-shi, 1980 (hereafter Izumida jiho ), April 1933, p. 3.115 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, p. 34.116 Ichiki Kitokuro, ‘Jikyoku kyukyu to hotokushugi’, Shimin, June 1933, p. 4.117 For a description of the visual images used in the film, see Freiberg, ‘Transition to

Sound’, pp. 78–9.118 Pritchard and Zaide (eds), Tokyo War Crimes Trials, Vol. 71, p. 28, 232.119 Ibid., Vol. 8, pp. 18, 619–22 (evidence of Mizuno Yoshiyuki).120 Ibid., Vol. 2, pp. 3, 155–89. See also GS 40, pp. 231–52 (Japanese script of Hijoji

Nippon) and 253–5; ‘General Araki Summons Nation to Adhere to Spirit of Past’,originally published in the Army Club’s monthly journal, Kaikosha, and translatedin Trans-Pacific, 4 August 1932, p. 5.

121 Editorial translated in Trans-Pacific, 8 December 1932, pp. 6, 19.122 ‘Nihon nimo kokusui shakai shugi undo okoru’, IH, March 1932, p. 184.123 Sunada Shigemasa, ‘Hijoji no ninshiki’, Seiyu, No. 396, August 1933, pp. 9–10.124 Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 191–207.125 Ito, ‘Hijoji’, p. 81.126 Masao Maruyama, ‘The Ideology and Dynamics of Japanese Fascism’, in

Maruyama, Thought and Behaviour, pp. 57–8.127 Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, p. 9.128 See Takeuchi, War and Diplomacy, pp. 362–4; Yamamoto, ‘Japanese Press’, p. 161.129 On Chuo koron and Kaizo during the Manchurian crisis, see Yamamoto, ‘Japanese

Press’, Ch. 7.130 Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths, p. 264.

Part II

National perspectives

4 The view from the insideEstablishment perspectives

Reactions to the Manchurian crisis from within the establishment – roughlydefined as the bureaucracy, the cabinet and the two mainstream political parties,the upper echelons of the armed forces and the imperial court – are naturallyamong the best known, and have often been treated as definitive. They areoutlined here partly to establish a norm against which other responses may bemeasured, but also because closer examination reveals that official opinion wasby no means as uniform as it sometimes appears. It might be assumed that ifdifferent interpretations and reactions to the events in Manchuria are to befound, they will be found among farmers, or women workers, or businessgroups, or in some other place outside the national elites. But even at the heart ofthe establishment, where commitment to the Manchurian project could be mostexpected, there was in fact significant diversity of opinion.

Establishment reaction to the Manchurian crisis was sometimes quite positive,and certainly there was little active opposition to the Kwantung Army’s plans.On the other hand, however, establishment figures were very often indecisive,cautious or even indifferent to the Manchurian project, with other prioritiesabsorbing their attention. Furthermore, even the highest echelons of the armyitself were not uniformly confident of the durability of the Manchurian project orof the wisdom of extending it beyond the first days. Especially in late 1931, thesituation was a fluid one, producing a range of reactions which could hardly bedescribed as pro-army.

It is well known that the civilian cabinet in Tokyo was not in sympathy withthe Kwantung Army’s actions in the immediate aftermath of the explosion on theSouth Manchurian Railway, and that elder statesman Saionji Kinmochi was alsodispleased. But the general assumption is that once the army had succeeded inimposing its will on the cabinet, there was no further hindrance to the military’splans. Yet we know from many scholarly studies that the bureaucracy, thepolitical parties and the army itself were highly factionalised in the 1920s and1930s; there is no compelling reason to suggest they would agree about overseasmilitary action any more than on other matters. Conquest of Manchuria some-times seems like a transcendent issue of self-evident importance from thebeginning, but this was not the case. The different parts of the establishment haddifferent priorities and were quite often critical and unsupportive of each other

78 National perspectives

on a variety of issues, with their conflicting views and priorities visible enough tothe reading public through newspaper reports and specialist publications. Soparty politics were criticised in articles written by bureaucrats; politiciansrestricted military budgets, and so on. In the case of the Manchurian crisis, thestate was by no means speaking with one voice.

In September 1931, at any rate, members of Japan’s elites were scarcelysurprised to hear that trouble had erupted in Manchuria. Diplomats on the spotknew what was happening, and communicated as much to Tokyo. On themorning after the explosion outside Mukden, Hayashi Kyujiro, Consul-Generalat Mukden, informed Foreign Minister Shidehara Kijuro by telegram: ‘It isconsidered that the recent incident was deliberately planned by the [Kwantung]Army.’1 Ishii Itaro, Japanese Consul-General in the town of Kirin in Manchuria,acknowledges in his memoirs that the first reports of the Manchurian Incidentdid not surprise him. He immediately concluded that the explosion on therailway must have been the work of the Kwantung Army rather than of Chinesesoldiers, and in a subsequent visit to the Mukden consulate, his suspicions wereconfirmed when he heard stories of the Kwantung Army’s careful preparationfor the Manchurian Incident.2 Morishima Morito of the Mukden Consulate wasalso unsurprised, his suspicions having been aroused by talk among armyofficers’ wives, among other things.3 Some Western diplomats in China werealso distinctly dubious about the Japanese version of events.4 As for Japan’spolitical and military leaders, in the judgment of historian Hata Ikuhiko theyknew the truth from the first, albeit ‘tacitly’. Toru Takemoto points out thatthough Foreign Minister Shidehara did not immediately show his telegram fromMukden to any other Cabinet member or to any imperial adviser, ‘as the army’sintentions had long been rumoured amongst knowledgeable people, any sensibleman in the Cabinet should have suspected the army’s plotting in Manchuria’.5

Responses to the Manchurian crisis of the different parts of the establishmentwill now be considered in turn.

Cabinet, court and army

The Wakatsuki Minseito Cabinet and the imperial court reacted similarly to theinvasion of Manchuria: with dislike, perhaps, but with fatal equivocation, or atleast lack of firm action. The Manchurian Incident represented a reversal of thepolicies each had pursued, yet ultimately, neither took decisive action, and as aresult neither was able to exercise a significant degree of restraint over theKwantung Army. The absence of a firm stance by both cabinet and court thuscontributed to the broader lack of resistance to the military in the early 1930s.

The events of 18 September presented a major problem for Wakatsuki’sgovernment. Since 1929, his party, the Minseito, had been committed to thepreservation of Japanese rights and interests in Manchuria while working withinexisting treaty limits; to non-intervention in China beyond those limits; and to aChina policy which would not cause a clash with the League of Nations. Fearingalso a worsening of relations with the USSR and the United States, the Cabinet

Establishment perspectives 79

sought desperately to restrain the Kwantung Army from conquering moreterritory in Manchuria, initially gaining the co-operation of the Army GeneralStaff in this effort.6 ‘Shidehara diplomacy’, however, had powerful enemies bySeptember 1931, and not only within the army. The opposition Seiyukai hadsettled on a strong anti-Shidehara line on Manchuria, for example, and theHouse of Peers no longer supported the Foreign Minister’s policies. SekiHiroharu concludes that ‘Given the domestic political situation on the eve ofSeptember 18, once military action broke out in Manchuria Shidehara’s efforts tolocalize the outbreak were doomed to failure’, despite the efforts of the moderatePrince Saionji and other representatives of the ‘old political structure’.7 As is wellknown, the Cabinet on 22 September retrospectively endorsed the movement oftroops from Korea into Manchuria, which it had earlier strongly criticised, andreleased funds to pay for the operation, thus giving its tacit approval to theManchurian Incident. The army, having at one time feared that the Cabinetwould not support the Korea Army’s action, was much relieved.8 Efforts toprevent further escalation of military activity nevertheless continued. Withinthree months, however, internal power struggles and the economic depression,on top of the challenges of dealing with the Manchurian Incident and theabortive coup known as the October Incident (to be described below), broughtabout the end of the Wakatsuki Cabinet.

The Inukai Cabinet which followed was much more amenable to the army’splans, though it would be a mistake to see it as a cabinet united behind clearmilitary goals. The Kwantung Army had the support of Mori Kaku, ChiefCabinet Secretary, and Army Minister General Araki Sadao, but other viewswere mixed. Prime Minister Inukai and Foreign Minister Yoshizawa opposedindependence for Manchuria, on the grounds that it would violate the Nine-Power Pact guaranteeing China’s sovereignty, territorial integrity andadministrative independence. Finance Minister Takahashi, for his part, opposedthe advance of military forces into China on financial grounds, and specificallyopposed the sending of troops to Shanghai both for financial reasons and becauseof Japan’s treaty obligations. He also joined Inukai and Yoshizawa in opposingrecognition of Manchukuo’s ‘independence’.9

As for the imperial court, since the 1920s it had been dominated by a group ofliberals and constitutional monarchists sympathising with and in many caseschosen by the elder statesman and close adviser to the emperor, Prince SaionjiKinmochi.10 Thus the court shared the commitment to co-operative diplomacycentred on the Anglo-American powers which was the basis of ‘Shideharadiplomacy’, and which had been strongly affirmed so recently by the signing ofthe London Naval Treaty, in which Japan had eventually accepted an armamentlimitation agreement decreasing the strength of the imperial fleet relative to thatof the United States in the Pacific. In the aftermath of the Manchurian Incident,however, despite his personal commitment to co-operation with the Westernpowers, Saionji refused to sanction the use of the imperial institution in any effortto curb the actions of the Kwantung Army. According to Lesley Connors, thefundamental reason was neither indecision nor an overriding determination to


shield the emperor from involvement in politics, as is often asserted, but ratherSaionji’s reasoned fear that any overt interference by the court in the Man-churian issue would result in the defeat of constitutional monarchy itself. Hisknowledge of the failed coup of March 1931, which had demonstrated thelengths to which some army officers as well as civilians were prepared to go inorder to secure internal reform, was one factor affecting the decisions taken bySaionji and his allies after the incident at Mukden six months later. Saionji’sprimary commitment, in this view, was to the preservation of Japan’s frameworkof constitutional monarchy until such time as liberal forces should be able toreassert themselves.11 Saionji did not actively oppose the recognition of Man-chukuo; ‘he seems rather to have clung to a forlorn hope that Manchukuo wouldreally be an independent state and thus vindicate Japan’s international honor.’Like others, he apparently hoped that the army would now be satisfied andwould not cause further difficulties.12

The attitude of the emperor himself is less clear and more controversial. InStephen S. Large’s analysis, the emperor held the same views of the ManchurianIncident as Saionji. Like his closest advisers, including Lord Keeper of the PrivySeal Count Makino Nobuaki as well as Saionji, he was dismayed if not surprisedat the events of 18 September 1931, and like them, he strongly favoured non-escalation of the Incident and made personal efforts to prevent further Japaneseaggression. His opposition to the army’s actions was in fact sufficiently wellknown as to produce criticism of the emperor within the military, and some ofthe emperor’s advisers were nominated as targets in the planned coup of October1931. To be sure, imperial opposition to the military action stemmed not from awillingness to give up Japan’s rights in Manchuria, but rather from a convictionthat the army should not be allowed to act unilaterally, and a concern for Japan’srelations with the Western powers. Constrained, however, by the conviction thata constitutional monarch should not intervene directly in political affairs, as wellas by the spectre of violent reprisals and by their own fundamentally cautiousnatures, the emperor and his closest advisers shrank from open confrontationwith the military in this view, and consequently exercised little influence over thecourse of events during the Manchurian crisis.13

According to Herbert P. Bix, on the other hand, the emperor displayed anindulgent rather than critical attitude towards Kwantung Army actions, and wascareless in enforcing military discipline in Manchuria.14 Moreover, his attitudechanged during the course of the Manchurian crisis. Though initially not anactive participant in events surrounding the invasion of north-east China, hesoon began to come around to the Kwantung Army point of view, so much sothat by early 1932, he was prepared voluntarily to issue an imperial rescriptpraising the ‘unswerving loyalty’ of the troops in Manchuria:

Earlier, when an incident erupted in Manchuria, the outnumbered officersand men of the Kwantung Army, acting from self-defense, resolutely andspeedily gained supremacy and wiped out large numbers of the enemy.Since then, they have borne difficulties . . . wiped out bandits who have


arisen everywhere . . . fought courageously . . . and enhanced the power andauthority of the Imperial Army at home and abroad.15

Thereafter, according to Bix, the emperor continued to offer public support tothe army’s campaign in Manchuria, for example by bestowing large numbers ofawards and promotions on military and civilian officials for meritorious servicein Manchuria and Shanghai.16

Whether the emperor was fundamentally opposed to the aggression inManchuria or inclined to favour it, both interpretations recognise that he wasmore concerned with Western reaction than anything else, at least in 1931 andearly 1932. As he himself remarked in 1946, ‘Manchuria is a remote area, so if anincident occurred there it was not such an important matter.’ By comparison, heobserved, potential military activity in Tientsin or Peking brought a muchgreater risk of collision with the Western powers.17 Not surprisingly, therefore,the emperor was particularly concerned about the Shanghai Incident, and hopedthat it would not escalate. In his post-war verbal account of his earlier actions, hepaid much more attention to the fighting in Shanghai than in Manchuria,devoting a section of his recollections of the 1930s to the Shanghai Incident butmentioning the Manchurian crisis only in passing, and clearly claiming the creditfor the Shanghai cease-fire.18 The reason, undoubtedly, is again the greaterpotential of conflict in Shanghai to harm Japan’s relations with Western powers.For all the court’s emphasis on co-operation with the Western powers and initialopposition to withdrawal from the League of Nations, however, imperialsanction was given to the break with the world body nearly a year after theconclusion of the fighting in Shanghai: perhaps because by this time, especiallyafter the right-wing terrorism of 1932, the emperor valued good relations withthe army and domestic stability more highly than co-operation with the Westernpowers.19 It was through the mechanism of an imperial rescript that Japan’sdeparture from the League was formally announced on 27 March 1933 – thoughthe emperor later claimed that he would have accepted the Lytton Report as itstood if not for the opposition of Saionji, who believed that the Cabinet wouldrepudiate the report and that the emperor should not be caught in open conflictwith the Cabinet.20

The emperor’s relationship with the army certainly appears to have beenrather ambiguous during much of the Manchurian crisis. Despite the undoubtedstatus of the imperial sanction and of imperial symbols, cynicism about theperson of the emperor was present within the army, which most loudly claimedto represent him and to obey him. Criticism of the emperor’s close advisers hadsurfaced in 1930, during the controversy over the London Naval Treaty, sincefor military bureaucrats as well as active military officers, disarmament repre-sented defeat. Leaders who had supported the treaty in 1930 were scorned bysome as unskilful at political manoeuvring.21 After the Manchurian Incident,however, discontent was sometimes expressed as criticism of the emperorhimself.22 Complaints that the current emperor was ‘mediocre’ (bon’yo) escalateduntil he was branded as unfit to rule on the grounds that he was not only a puppet


of those close to the throne, but was also addicted to mahjong rather than affairsof state. Such complaints were reported to emanate from leading members of theArmy Ministry and General Staff, as well as from officers in lower ranks.23

The desirability of some form of direct Japanese control of Manchuria, mean-while, was widely accepted in army circles in Tokyo as well as Manchuria itself.From at least 1928 onwards, the need to acquire Manchuria outright, rather thanjust to preserve Japanese rights there by other means, had been actively discussedby leading army figures including Nagata Tetsuzan, Tojo Hideki, Ishiwara Kanjiand Suzuki Teiichi. In January of that year Nagata declared Japan’s ‘need to takeManchuria/Mongolia’; two months later, a study group in which he was a partici-pant resolved that ‘for the existence of the empire it is necessary to establishcomplete political control over Manchuria/Mongolia’.24 The theme of ‘field-army defiance’ has often been emphasised in literature on the ManchurianIncident, but by September 1931, as Akira Iriye points out, ‘Basically, the disputebetween Mukden and Tokyo was over the execution of policy, not over thepolicy itself.’25 As time passed, the Supreme Command came more and more toapprove of the Kwantung Army’s plans, despite the attempts of a few armymoderates in Tokyo in November 1931 to restrain the forces in Manchuria fromfurther aggression, and rumours during the previous month that the KwantungArmy was angrily preparing to declare its independence from the rest of themilitary. By early 1932, in fact, there was ‘complete rapport’ between the militarybureaucracies in Tokyo and Mukden.26 At home, parts of the army worked hardduring the Manchurian crisis to encourage chauvinism and support for militaryinvasion. Reservists held rallies to whip up popular support for the army’sproject and put pressure on the authorities to act ‘firmly’ in Manchuria or,eventually, to leave the League of Nations.27 Army leaders and publicistssupplied propaganda to all manner of publications, including many of thoseexamined in this book, spreading their message also through radio and film. Insuch ways the army contributed significantly to the creation of a publicorthodoxy which firmly endorsed Japan’s right to control Manchuria.

The army supreme command, then, was certainly not displeased with theevents of 18 September 1931. On the other hand, in the weeks after the explosionon the railway, army central authorities recognised the uneasiness that prevailedamong such groups as the Cabinet, the Minseito, the navy and the court, fearingthat it might turn into outright opposition if the Kwantung Army moved toexpand its control in Manchuria, as it was obviously planning to do. Key figureswere sensitive to the need to placate public opinion both internally andexternally. Their caution produced a degree of chagrin within the army itself:one motivation provoking certain officers to plan a coup for October 1931 wasthe desire to ensure that their own hierarchy would support the Manchurianventure fully. Army Minister Minami Jiro and Chief of Staff Kanaya Hanzo,especially, were persuaded to support the early policy of the Wakatsuki Cabinet,making genuine efforts to prevent escalation of the Manchurian Incident. Withina few days of the Mukden explosion, however, most of Liaoning and Kirinprovinces had been brought under Japanese control, and on 8 October the


Kwantung Army bombed the southern town of Chinchow, headquarters ofChang Hsueh-liang, from the air. This latter operation did much damage toJapan’s cause in Europe and the United States; and on 24 October a League ofNations resolution called for a withdrawal of Japanese troops by 16 November.28

The supreme command by now was anxious to stop the Kwantung Army frommoving either north to Harbin in Heilungchiang province, where a clash with theSoviet Union was feared, or west to Jehol, which might bring a clash with ChangHsueh-liang.29

Some in the army’s hierarchy specifically distrusted the public support for theKwantung Army’s actions that seemed everywhere evident, clearly perceiving itas potentially fickle. Ninomiya Harushige, the Vice-Chief of Staff, noted in atelegram to the Kwantung Army three days after the incident at Mukden thatthough public opinion at home and abroad had so far approved the KwantungArmy’s action,

If the Kwantung Army departs from its primary functions, goes beyond theobjective of self-defense, expands its occupied territory, seizes railways, andotherwise extends the conflict, the present favorable tone of public opinionwill steadily change. Therefore, unless conditions alter drastically, it will bebest to preserve the status quo and calmly watch the situation.30

Ninomiya continued to worry about the durability of government and publicsupport for the Manchurian venture, and to press for a halt in the militaryoffensive. In November 1931 he sought to dissuade Honjo Shigeru, Commanderof the Kwantung Army, from seizing Tsitsihar in the north of Manchuria andattacking Chinchow in the south, partly on the grounds of the fragility of thepublic’s attitude:

Even though both the government and the people have thus far accepted theinitiative of the military, they may stop supporting the military at any timewhen they find the military’s activities too unjust or too outrageous. Or else,a time of reaction against the military might come. While I endeavor day andnight to guide and encourage the government and the people, I am secretlyworried about these prospects.31

General Ugaki Kazushige, while supporting the military thrust into northernManchuria, shared Ninomiya’s distrust of the public response to the ManchurianIncident:

At the moment, public opinion on foreign affairs appears on the whole to beunited, but I have the strong feeling that it is only a superficial unity. TheForeign Ministry is unable to avoid being dragged along by the army; theelite (haikara ren) pacifists and internationalists are being nervously draggedalong by the nationalists and hard-liners on foreign policy; the organs ofpublic opinion are being dragged along by bands of thugs and by the


sentiments of undiscerning readers . . . and this by a narrow marginmaintains the appearance of a unified public opinion.32

It was, perhaps, only with the trials following the attempted coup of 15 May 1932that army leaders began to feel more confidence in popular support for themilitary. In 1933–34, the public made heroes of the military rebels who hadmurdered the Prime Minister, attacked other public figures and occupied keybuildings; in 1931–32, however, high military officials were wary in theirestimation of public sentiment.

The efforts of the faction working within Japan to prevent escalation of theManchurian Incident bore fruit for a while, showing that victory of the Kwan-tung Army’s viewpoint was not a forgone conclusion. In November Shideharawas making headway in his efforts to win concessions from the League ofNations; War Minister Minami and Chief of Staff Kanaya looked likely tosucceed in thwarting the Kwantung Army’s desire for a permanent occupation ofTsitsihar in the north and a further attack on Chinchow; to some observers, theWakatsuki Cabinet and ‘Shidehara diplomacy’ seemed poised to regain publicconfidence; and elder statesman Saionji Kinmochi thought the cabinet mightsurvive.33 The British Ambassador, Sir Francis Lindley, recorded as early as 2October his view that the government’s position had strengthened, despitecontinuing financial problems. The reasons, he reported to his government, werethe united front presented by the Cabinet on the Manchurian Incident, at leastafter the first few days; approval of the government’s energetic protection ofJapan’s interests in Manchuria and of its ‘polite but firm’ attitude towards theLeague of Nations; and unexpectedly good results for the Minseito in the recentprefectural elections.34

The Kwantung Army, however, did not give up its ambition to penetratenorthern Manchuria and in any case, by mid-November 1931, the attitude ofboth the Cabinet and the General Staff had begun to change. Shidehara’sresistance to the military was weakening and the army central authorities beganto depart from their former veto on an advance on Tsitsihar.35 Historians havesuggested two major reasons for the change in stance: the aborted coup d’étatknown as the ‘October Incident’ and the political impact of comments made bythe US Secretary of State, Henry L. Stimson, at the end of November.

On 17 October 1931 ten General Staff officers were arrested as leaders of acoup d’état planned for 21 October, in which terrorist attacks would wipe out theWakatsuki government and other undesirable elements, a new party cabinetfavouring the army and prepared to consolidate the opportunities presented bythe Manchurian crisis would be established, and political reform would beeffected. The main group involved in the planned coup was the Sakurakai, whichcentred on army officers of field-officer rank and was led by Lieutenant-ColonelHashimoto Kingoro.36 Though the coup was forestalled, it nevertheless pro-duced ‘decisive political effects’: by mid-November, ‘The spectacle of armyterrorism [raised by the October Incident] was reducing the cabinet, and eventhe supreme command, to impotence.’37 For historian Shimada Toshihiko, the


October Incident was not only the crucial factor behind the change in attitudetowards the army’s activities in Manchuria; more broadly, it caused the collapseof ‘Shidehara diplomacy’. Specifically, the civilian government was now lessdetermined in opposing military action, which in turn took some of the pressureoff the supreme command to restrain the Kwantung Army.38

At about the same time, the supreme command’s actual ability to control theKwantung Army was undermined by diplomatic events. Amid rumours of animpending further attack on Chinchow, Shidehara gave what he evidentlyintended as a confidential assurance to the US Secretary of State, through theAmerican Ambassador, that the Kwantung Army had been ordered not toattack. On 27 November, however, believing the Japanese guilty of duplicity,Stimson angrily revealed Shidehara’s assurance to a press conference, confirm-ing and elaborating on the information the following day. It was a sensitivemoment, when the faction working to prevent escalation of the ManchurianIncident was achieving some success, as outlined above. Stimson’s statementscaused a furore in Tokyo, on the grounds that Foreign Minister Shidehara hadcommitted ‘treason’ and ‘betrayed military secrets’ by revealing to Stimson thecontents of an order to the Kwantung Army. In addition, the Kwantung Armyand the Reservists’ Association inferred that the Japanese government and armyhad submitted to US pressure in formulating policy on Manchuria. The result,according to Banno Junji, was that the government and army headquartersforfeited all credibility with the Kwantung Army. Army headquarters lost itshard-won measure of control of the Kwantung Army and Shidehara in turn wasunable to control army headquarters. Thus, Stimson’s statements had anenormous impact on the non-escalation faction in Japan, and on civilian controlof the military more generally.39 On 7 December 1931, army headquartersapproved another attack on Chinchow, which was occupied by Japanese troopson 3 January 1932. In the meantime, on 10 December, the Council of the Leagueof Nations had decided unanimously to appoint a commission ‘to study on thespot and to report to the Council on any circumstances which, affectinginternational relations, threaten to disturb peace between China and Japan’.40

The list of members of the commission was agreed on 14 January 1932.In the last months of 1931 the Kwantung Army also expended considerable

energy on promoting the case for creation of a ‘new state’ in Manchuria. By earlyOctober the Kwantung Army’s determination to create such a state was explicit,and pressure was being exerted on Tokyo leaders by various means, thoughIshiwara Kanji had not yet abandoned his own preference for outright Japaneseoccupation instead. The supreme command at that stage still favoured thealternative of supporting a pro-Japanese government that would be independentof Nanking and would extend Japanese rights and interests in Manchuria.Leading civilians like Saionji and Makino were shocked at the Kwantung Army’smore radical proposal for an officially ‘independent’ state which ‘will outwardlybe under unified Chinese administration but actually under our control’,41 ratherthan simply a pro-Japanese government which, the Kwantung Army feared,could all too easily slip away from Japanese control. Shidehara wanted a


settlement through negotiation with Chiang Kai-shek’s government and, likeArmy Minister Minami and others, was adamantly opposed to the creation of aseparate state on the grounds that such obvious Japanese interference was certainto alienate world opinion. Other prominent figures favoured negotiation withChang Hsueh-liang. However, the sense of crisis generated by the OctoberIncident, the consequent discrediting of ‘Shidehara diplomacy’ and the fear ofindependent action by the Kwantung Army impelled Tokyo leaders by the endof 1931 to accept the proposal for a ‘new state’ rather than any other arrange-ment. By early January 1932, the Kwantung Army had devised final guidelinesfor the projected new government.42 By the end of that month, all attention hadswitched to the fighting in Shanghai. Then, on 1 March 1932, the formation of an‘independent’ Manchukuo was announced.

Party politics

For the mainstream political parties, the issue of Manchuria initially revealedimportant differences in policy. In another sense, however, it was perceived inparty terms as a short-term political weapon, as were any number of other issues,rather than something of especially obvious and transcendent importance.

As we have seen, the Wakatsuki Minseito Cabinet at first attempted to preventescalation of the situation in Manchuria. Prime Minister Wakatsuki, ForeignMinister Shidehara and Finance Minister Inoue in particular favoured a policy ofcontainment and withdrawal, believing the matter could be handled throughnormal diplomatic channels rather than by military measures. By contrast,however, the opposition Seiyukai proclaimed within a month of the ManchurianIncident that withdrawal from the League of Nations should be consideredbefore any sacrifice of Japan’s treaty rights in Manchuria, and blamed theMinseito government and ‘the weak-kneed policy of Baron Shidehara’ as ‘thechief cause of Japan’s loss of position there’.43

The Seiyukai had been hardening its policy on Manchuria for some time. Itwas already publicly committed to the attainment of a foreign policy that wouldbe independent of the attitudes of the Western powers.44 In 1931–32 in theinterests of gaining and retaining power, the mainstream of the party showeditself further prepared to embrace army priorities, forming an alliance with the‘renovationist’ faction of the army immediately after the Manchurian Incident.45

The influential Seiyukai figure Mori Kaku, long a proponent of a tough Chinapolicy, made an extended visit to Manchuria in mid-1931, accompanied by othermembers of the Seiyukai. After his party won power in December 1931, Moripushed for a hard line on Manchuria.46

In the period before the Seiyukai regained power, the Manchurian crisis, likethe economic depression, was useful to the party as a stick with which to beat theMinseito government. ‘Shidehara diplomacy’ was sufficiently discredited as tomake it an easy target. Party officials openly blamed the Manchurian Incidentitself on the Minseito government: in one article, because the ManchurianIncident was ‘caused’ by the Chang Tso-lin Incident of 1928, which, it was said,


had been used as a tool by the Minseito to overthrow the Seiyukai cabinet ofTanaka Giichi;47 more commonly because of the failure of Shidehara’s ‘weak-kneed policy’. On 16 October, the Seiyukai’s Chief Secretary, Kuhara Fusano-suke, attacked Shidehara on the one hand and praised the military on the otherfor its prompt action in Manchuria, thanks to which ‘Japan was saved fromnational humiliation’. Though the government did not know how to handle thenew circumstances, according to Kuhara, the public could be assured that theSeiyukai by contrast ‘has a program to deal with the Manchurian situation’. Thenature of the programme was fairly clear:

There is no cause to fear the League of Nations if we are resolved to act inaccordance with principles of justice. Nothing should deter us from assertingour rights acquired through treaties. If we find our adherence to the Leagueobstructs the exercise of our rights, we might withdraw from it.

It is pathetic to witness the spectacle of the Minseito Government beingembarrassed by the League of Nations at every turn.48

After the fall of the Wakatsuki Cabinet and its replacement with a minoritySeiyukai government in December 1931, the press predicted a ‘more positivediplomatic policy, especially in regard to Manchurian affairs, and a greatermeasure of co-operation with the military authorities’.49 Soon enough, the party’spolicy affairs committee adopted a report by its chairman, Yamamoto Jotaro,stating that

The first thing that the Government should do is to settle finally theManchurian question . . . The Seiyukai stands in favor of settling allquestions pending between Japan and China independently of othercountries, while the Minseito pursued a policy of subordinating the interestsof the country to those of foreign countries.50

When a new Seiyukai government was returned in February 1932 with a recordmajority, the aggressive Mori Kaku became Chief Cabinet Secretary. At a partyconvention in Yokohama several months later, 25,000 people heard him declarethat Japan had been ‘fawning at the League of Nations . . . hesitating before theprestige of a great nation and being startled or dazzled by the name of the sacredcovenant of the League or the Kellogg–Briand Anti-War Pact’. Covenants andtreaties, Mori maintained, ‘are nothing more than expediencies to help a fewinfluential nations maintain the status quo’. Japan should act with dignity andimpartiality but without regard to the attitude of foreign powers.51

Not all Seiyukai voices were as bellicose, however. Former diplomats wereamong the moderates. In Diet speeches in the first months of 1932, ForeignMinister Yoshizawa Kenkichi still placed considerable emphasis on internationalco-operation, without departing from the standard arguments about the conflictsin Manchuria and Shanghai. Yoshizawa believed that the League of Nations andthe United States were gradually coming to an understanding of Japan’s position,


while the Soviet Union had taken a neutral, non-interventionist stance. Thegovernment, according to his address on 22 January 1932, was therefore satis-fied.52 Though he noted that Chinese propaganda and various misunder-standings had produced unfavourable reactions from the Western powers afterthe Shanghai Incident, particularly at the end of March 1932, Yoshizawa con-tinued to express optimism that Japan’s relations with the Western powers wouldgradually improve.53 The diplomat-turned-Seiyukai politician Ashida Hitoshiwarned a budget committee meeting in August 1932 that ‘the Governmentshould not attach so much importance to the Manchuria and Mongolia questionsand should not forget relations with China’. Several months earlier, he had told theDiet that it was not in Japan’s interest to withdraw from the League of Nations.54

At the same time, the Minseito, now the parliamentary opposition, was in itsturn discovering the potential advantage of Manchurian issues as politicalweapons. In March 1932 it attacked the Seiyukai government for an allegedtardiness in recognising the ‘independent state’ of Manchukuo, on the groundsthat ‘The Japanese people have become of one mind that Japan must recognizethe new regime’. The opposition also demanded to know what the government’spolicy was on maintaining peace and order in Shanghai; why the governmentwas allowing the League to interfere in Manchurian and Shanghai affairs, despiteits own repeated declarations that these questions could be settled only by directnegotiations between Japan and China; and what steps were being taken tocounteract Chinese propaganda which had allegedly influenced the League’sattitude.55

Nevertheless, regardless of parliamentary attacks and counter-attacks, therewas by this stage substantial common ground between the parties, at least at theemotional level; or, to put it another way, the demand for public ideologicalconformity on Manchuria was very strong. Politicians were anxious to show thepublic a united front in applauding the army’s actions. At a session of the LowerHouse of the Diet in December 1931 a vote of thanks to Japanese troops inManchuria, who have ‘fulfilled their duty in protecting the rights of Japan’, wasmoved by a member of the Minseito, seconded by a member of the Seiyukai, andpassed without a dissenting vote. A similar vote was passed unanimously in theHouse of Peers. To complete this attractive picture of national unanimity, theArmy Minister and the Navy Minister formally thanked each House for its voteof thanks56 – even though the navy was not concerned in the Manchuriansituation, and the Manchurian Incident itself, since it brought the risk of a majorwar without a significant role for the navy, ‘was something the navy did notlike’.57 The same ritual was performed again at the opening of the Sixty-First Dietin March 1932. To make sure the message was quite clear, the politicianproposing the resolution to thank the armed forces on this occasion took care toemphasise the value of the Manchurian issue in promoting unity across partypolitical divisions and throughout the nation.58 A few days later the Army andNavy Ministers agreed that the Shanghai Incident had brought even the armyand navy together – the level of co-operation between them in fact was ‘virtuallyunprecedented in world history’.59


Very important differences undoubtedly remained between the Minseito andthe Seiyukai, especially on matters relating to social policy and to the army andthe imperial house. On all of these issues the Seiyukai was fundamentallyconservative; it was the Seiyukai which later joined with the Imperial Way (kodo )faction of the army to attack Minobe Tatsukichi’s liberal interpretation of theconstitutional role of the emperor, for example.60 Differences between the partiesover Manchuria had also been significant in the first months after the explosionat Mukden. During 1932 and 1933, however, the two parties were publiclyconverging on Manchuria and related issues.

While both parties concentrated on domestic issues in the election campaign ofJanuary–February 1932, the Minseito produced a set of slogans which included‘participation of the masses in the benefits of the rights and interests possessedby Japan in Manchuria’, and the Seiyukai placed ‘the establishment of anindependent foreign policy’ near the top of its list of policies, though behind itsmajor slogan, which was ‘Better Times or Depression?’.61 As one editorial writerremarked,

At one time, to many thoughtful Japanese electors, the Minseito seemed torecommend itself on account of its moderate and conciliatory foreign policy.Nowadays, however, in foreign policy there is very little to choose betweenthe parties.62

The main public difference between the parties, by this time, was not in the realmof foreign policy but of economics, with ‘the Minseito holding to the goldstandard while the Seiyukai discarded it as its first official act’.63

By January 1933, one press article about the forthcoming parliamentarysession observed that ‘On the Manchurian problem the nation is united and therewill be no criticism in the Diet’. Since the attempted coup of May 1932 and theassassination of Prime Minister Inukai, a ‘national unity’ cabinet under SaitoMakoto had been in power, but contemporary observers clearly expected thereturn of party politics. The only question of any interest in the forthcomingsession, according to the writer of this article, was how long it would be beforethe return of party government, ‘which the Seiyukai is hoping for particularly’, asit held a majority of seats yet did not form the government. In policy terms therewas nothing to choose between the Saito Cabinet and the Seiyukai alternative;and ‘On the Manchurian problem neither will be weaker nor stronger’. Therewould, however, be some attacks on the government in the Diet because of thelarge military expenditure in the new budget.64 The press joined the chorus ofcriticism about large military budgets within a short time.65

Home Ministry bureaucrats

Bureaucrats, along with villagers, have long been identified as crucial players inthe creation of ‘Japanese fascism’. For Maruyama Masao, for example, certainbureaucratic groups between 1931 and 1936 ‘played no small part in preparing


for the dominance of fascism from above in [the period 1936–45]’.66 Robert J.Spaulding attributed much responsibility to bureaucrats for the creation of‘Japanese fascism’,67 and Sheldon Garon has also pointed to ‘the central role ofthe civilian bureaucracy in framing the authoritarian programs that woulddominate Japan’s home front from the early 1930s to 1945’, along with the roleof bureaucrats in the development of Japanese ultranationalism from 1931onwards.68

‘Japanese fascism’ was undoubtedly driven by bureaucrats as well as themilitary, as Maruyama and later writers assert. Closer examination shows,however, that at least in the early 1930s, there was no automatic identification ofbureaucrats with the army’s agenda or with support of overseas expansion.Officials in the large and powerful Home Ministry, in particular, who have oftenbeen associated with the military in standard interpretations of the 1930s, turnout not to have been especially eager to support a venture so closely associatedwith another budget and another ministry. Especially in comparison withpropaganda about the ‘Manchurian paradise’ emanating from the army and themainstream urban press, they communicated a certain coolness about the Man-churian project and an unwillingness to be diverted from other concerns. The‘war fever’ promoted by the press left most of them unmoved as they continuedto battle with the depression at home and to seek solutions to it within their ownfield of operations.

Home Ministry views are readily identifiable through the pages of the journalShimin (The People), a publication targeting local officials and other members ofthe rural elite, produced by the Central Hotokukai, or Society for the Repaymentof Virtue, and dominated by bureaucratic contributors, especially those from theHome Ministry.69 The magazine evidently functioned as a channel by whichthe views of key ministries could be speedily transmitted to the countryside.Enthusiasm for the Manchurian project, however, was rarely communicated toreaders of Shimin in the early 1930s, suggesting that bureaucrats were generallymore interested in other things. The orthodox line on the Manchurian crisis –that Japanese troops had acted in self-defence, that Manchuria was vital to Japanand so on – was not contradicted in the journal’s pages, and was occasionallyendorsed; but on the other hand contributors, who included a number of seniorHome Ministry officials, showed very little positive interest in the subject.

Shimin simply did not discuss Manchuria much, and all the usual themesrelating to Manchuria in this period are notably scarce within its pages.Specifically, the journal did not advocate settlement of Japanese farmers inManchuria in order to secure the territory for Japan, as other publications did; infact, it actively discouraged such emigration, on the grounds that prospects forJapanese farmers there were very dim and that those wanting to emigrate shouldgo to Brazil instead.70 Nor did Shimin discuss the supposed benefits to Japan of theacquisition of Manchuria. The otherwise ubiquitous phrase, ‘Manchuria, Japan’slife-line’, is almost completely absent from the journal’s pages in the early 1930s.The journal did not publish ‘glorious stories’ (bidan) of heroic battlefield exploits.It did not report on the patriotic donation campaign which received so much


coverage in the daily newspapers and elsewhere; nor did it make constantreference to the ‘bandits’ in Manchuria who were the chief justification forcontinued Japanese military action there. It did not advocate Japan’s withdrawalfrom the League of Nations. Even when Japan had in fact announced its with-drawal, Shimin presented articles arguing that Japan should continue to co-operatewith the League on matters other than Manchuria.71 In its virtual silence on somany of the topics of the day, Shimin contrasts markedly with other regularpublications of the period, especially the mainstream urban press and periodicalsinfluenced by the army. Occasionally, on the other hand, Shimin pointed directlyto the cost to Japan of the Manchurian Incident and of the ‘new nation’,Manchukuo.72

Home Ministry bureaucrats certainly had their own enthusiasms, but theywere domestic ones in which their own role would necessarily be very large. Asofficials concerned with running the nation, they were chiefly preoccupied withthe economic depression, and their preferred strategy for tackling the depressionin the early 1930s was not military adventurism. In particular, writers in Shiminregularly held up examples of co-operation and conciliation of conflicting classinterest in villages as representing the possibility of recovery from economicdifficulties. After September 1932 the same theme was subsumed in their ener-getic support of the newly announced keizai kosei undo or economic revitalisationmovement, the plan to rationalise and improve village life by providing financialaid for specific projects in selected villages which from that time was a majorfocus of government strategy for combating the depression, along with moreconcrete measures such as public works projects, price stabilisation and attackson rural indebtedness. Specifically, the revitalisation campaign, which repre-sented an extension of previous national policies as well as of autonomous localand regional efforts to improve standards of living in the villages, aimed toincrease production, expand the agricultural co-operatives and restrict spending,by means of village-level economic and management planning, a heavy moralemphasis on co-operation within the village, and the designation of ‘modelvillages’ on an annual basis to receive financial aid, thus encouraging competitionamong villages.73

The economic revitalisation movement was launched by the Agriculture andForestries Ministry (Norinsho), but epitomised also the central concerns ofofficials in the Home Ministry, which had for some time actively advocated self-help and self-reliance (jiriki). In fact, a movement to encourage the spirit ofself-help in rural areas was launched alongside the economic revitalisationmovement, with responsibility for the self-help campaign shifting to the HomeMinistry.74 Officials of the Home Ministry devoted great energy to publicisingthe revitalisation movement. In it they often saw the same potential for nationalrenewal that others perceived in events in remote Manchuria: it was throughself-reliance and co-operation within the village, rather than through expansioninto foreign territory, that the Japanese spirit would be reinvigorated and thedepression overcome, in this view.75 The economic revitalisation movement,or the more general concept of self-reliance, even supplied Home Ministry


bureaucrats with parallel versions of the army’s ‘glorious stories’. Shimin barelymentioned the ‘three human bullets’, but it had its own ‘beautiful stories’ of hard-working, studious young men committed to improvements in agriculture and ofwhole villages exhibiting successful co-operation between landlords and tenants.Thus a young man in the village of Atago in Iwate Prefecture, Kikuchi Ichiro,‘has a gentle nature, is diligent, eager to study and very innovative in his work’.He ‘is a keen reader of daily newspapers and magazines and is always going toclasses and lectures’. Not only was he particularly committed to improvements inagriculture, to economic revitalisation and the collective good of the village, butin addition, ‘he is registered at the citizenship training school (komin gakko), wherehe has a good record of attendance and is an example to others’.76 Writers inShimin were not sufficiently blatant to use the label ‘bidan’ (glorious story), asother publications freely did. However, the inspirational story or practicalexample was as useful in the cause of economic revitalisation as anywhere else.

Kerry Smith has shown that in due course, revitalisation was energeticallypursued in thousands of Japanese towns and villages, changing the lives of manyfarmers along the way.77 In its initial stages, however, the movement producedlittle concrete result – hardly surprisingly, considering its heavy emphasis onspiritual or ethical virtues and with appropriate funding not yet in place, and inthe face of a disastrous international depression. Just as the army’s vision ofManchuria as the panacea for Japan’s ills fell far short of being realised, thebureaucrats’ vision of a national revival based on the economic revitalisationmovement bore little fruit in the years 1932–36. For the most part, meanwhile,the bureaucrats represented in Shimin appear to have paid minimal attention toJapan’s activities in Manchuria, which after all very clearly belonged to the army.There was little room for Home Ministry involvement in the Manchurian projector for that ministry to take any credit. The fact that Shimin was not a commercialpublication relying on sensationalist war articles for its sales is doubtless anotherreason for its comparative silence on Manchuria. At the same time, it isabundantly clear from the journal’s pages that the army had not yet persuadedleading Home Ministry bureaucrats that the military solution was the best forJapan’s future.

There certainly were bureaucrats who perceived the Manchurian crisis as anideal opportunity to begin restructuring Japanese society, and some factionsplayed an explicit and early role in supporting the army. One hard-line groupwithin the Foreign Ministry, for example, whose prominent members includedShiratori Toshio, actively supported the Kwantung Army’s invasion of Man-churia from the start, even though the Ministry overall was much morecautious;78 and there were influential bureaucrats in the Ministry for OverseasAffairs who supported Manchurian emigration from an early point. Neverthelessit is significant that Shimin on the whole did not endorse the army’s actions inManchuria or Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations.

On one level the journal’s relative silence on these matters can be explained byfactional politics. Shimin was very much influenced by a group of bureaucratswho would later become known as the ‘new bureaucrats’ (shin kanryo) or ‘reform


bureaucrats’ (kakushin kanryo): that is, officials committed to a change in the statusquo through ideological means or state control of the economy or both, with thegoal of increasing the nation’s spiritual and military strength.79 On the otherhand, the future ‘new bureaucrats’ opposed General Araki Sadao, who wasArmy Minister between 1931 and 1934, and thus were likely to be cool towardsarmy activities in this period. The ‘new bureaucrats’ grew closer to the army after1934 when the anti-Araki or tosei (control) faction was dominant, but they hadlittle inclination to applaud military actions in the earlier period. Perhaps, asbureaucrats, they had not much taste for radical action of a disruptive nature inany case: not only did Shimin fail to endorse the Manchurian Incident with anyconviction, it also declined to report on the 15 May 1932 Incident, unlike otherorgans of the press which covered the trials of the offenders sympathetically. Inthe early 1930s, Home Ministry bureaucrats by and large remained faithful totheir traditional emphasis on village self-sufficiency and co-operation, and mostconcerned with solving the rural crisis through such internal, gradualist means.Neither expanding into Manchuria nor violently overthrowing the state was seenas the way to improve the lot of the villages. It was the economic revitalisationmovement which represented the hopes and preferred methods of most bureau-crats concerned with domestic affairs.

With the dominance of the control faction after 1934 and the stabilisation ofthe military situation in Manchuria came a greater emphasis from within thearmy as elsewhere on campaigns of national integration within Japan. At thesame time, the power of the ‘new bureaucrats’ themselves increased when six ofthem were given influential posts in the Okada Cabinet in 1934.80 Campaigns fornational integration and mobilisation were most congenial to the ‘new bureau-crats’ and other officials in that they switched the focus of national effort todomestic life and a restructuring of Japanese society, and were highly compatiblewith older ideals and older campaigns like the economic revitalisation move-ment. Indeed, Shimin paid considerable attention (not all of it uncritical) tocampaigns for national integration in the mid- and late 1930s, particularly theElection Purification Movement of 1935–36 and the National SpiritualMobilisation Movement of 1937 onwards, while at the same time maintaining itsusual focus on local and regional concerns and providing regular reports ofvirtuous villages struggling against the odds. On the other hand, in 1936 itconspicuously failed to comment on the attempted coup perpetrated on 26February by Araki’s kodo (imperial way) faction.

Diplomacy

Some bureaucrats could scarcely avoid dealing with the Manchurian crisis,whether they wanted to or not. Japanese diplomats posted in Western countriestook on the task of disseminating the official view of the Manchurian crisis to avariety of audiences, particularly in the United States, embarking in some areason a seemingly endless round of lectures, radio talks and newspaper interviews toexplain and justify Japan’s position.81 The consul in San Francisco, Wakasugi


Kaname, for example, reported that between January and April 1932 alone,he and his staff had given several hundred lectures in total on the Sino-Japaneseconflict. Wakasugi himself, formerly a section head in the InformationDivision of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, had addressed nineteen clubs andorganisations, and had written two substantial pamphlets, of which thousands ofcopies were distributed.82 Uchiyama Kiyoshi, the Japanese Consul in Seattle,reported in April 1932 that he and his staff would shortly complete a schedulewhich involved lecturing on the Sino-Japanese conflict at all major places inWashington State.83

The dominant theme of such talks was the necessity, justice and desirability ofJapanese control of Manchuria, and considerable efforts were made to explainthese matters in ways which were expected to appeal to Western audiences. Alldiplomats who argued Japan’s case to Westerners stressed the history of Japanese‘rights’ in the region and China’s internal disorder. Some chose to emphasise theCommunist ‘threat’ which China supposedly represented. In addition, businessorganisations were told of the advantages to business of Japanese control of Man-churia, while groups more concerned with workers were told that Manchuriawas necessary for the Japanese worker. When addressing Western diplomatsand politicians, one of the most important arguments was that there was adivision between ‘military’ and ‘civilian’ elements in Japan which correspondedto a division between ‘militarist’ and ‘moderate’ or ‘liberal’ thought. The ‘mili-tary element’ had gained a temporary ascendancy, but would be defeated by themoderates in the natural course of events so long as there was no interference inthe Sino-Japanese dispute by ‘third parties’, meaning the League and the UnitedStates, according to this argument. Another favourite tactic was to compareJapan’s attitude to Manchuria with, for example, the United States attitude tothe Panama Canal and other strategic locations. Consul Uchiyama told theTransportation Club in Seattle on one occasion that Japan was reacting in muchthe same way in Manchuria as the United States would if foreign troops or armedbandits destroyed part of the Panama Canal:

Would the American troops stationed there [Panama Canal] stand asidewith folded arms and wait to see that the case is presented to the worldcourt or the League of Nations? Did not the United States send 6,000 troopsinto Nicaragua to protect only 600 Americans, and also take similarmeasures in Haiti and in Mexico for the same reason as the Japanese are nowacting?84

The message could be radically altered, however, for different audiences.Central and South American readers, for example, were informed in a sub-stantial Spanish-language pamphlet that Japan’s action in Manchuria, beingbased solely on self-defence, was quite different from US action in Central andSouth America, which constituted ‘purely imperialistic expansion’. In thisinterpretation, the motive governing American action in Mexico, Hawaii, Cuba,Panama, Nicaragua and the Philippines


is completely different from Japan’s motive respecting Manchuria, as theformer is conquistatory, while Japan’s has been defense of her veryexistence. The United States can well live without annexed territory, but thedisintegration of Manchuria or its annexation by a foreign country wouldendanger the independence and absolute existence of Japan.85

Evidence suggests that such Japanese claims did not fall entirely on deaf ears,with Western diplomats, politicians and others showing distinct sympathy forJapan’s cause. After all, nations which were themselves imperialist were likely toacknowledge the logic of imperialism, so long as it did not clash with their ownareas of interest. As Lindley, the British Ambassador to Tokyo, candidlyremarked in one of his despatches home,

I have little doubt that there are other countries besides Japan which, if put tothe test of seeing their vital interests involved, would have behaved with aslittle regard for multilateral treaties and pacific ideas as has Japan . . . And itseems to me that the Western world should be thankful that . . . [ Japan’s]explosive energy and teeming life should have found an outlet in the distantplains of Manchuria, where foreign interests hardly exist and where the taskis such as to try the strength even of this remarkable people.86

Though smaller states belonging to the League of Nations were often much morecritical of Japan, very few Americans, Britons or French had any real objectionto the exploitation of Manchuria. The Sino-Japanese clash in Shanghai, on theother hand, and Japan’s recognition of Manchukuo, were issues that the Westernpowers could not ignore. The distinguished American financier Thomas W.Lamont, a friend to Japan who had been prepared to blame the ManchurianIncident entirely on the Chinese and had accused the League of Nations of bias inChina’s favour,87 reacted sharply to the Shanghai Incident. For him, it changedeverything: ‘The good will towards Japan that has been built up over many years[in the United States] disappeared in a few weeks.’88

Japanese diplomats in the field thus publicly supported Japan’s official cause inthe early 1930s, perhaps with some effect. Further, they did so with an energywhich shows that they neither desired nor necessarily expected to be cut off fromthe international community as a result of the Manchurian crisis. On the otherhand, strikingly few attempts were made at the diplomatic level to influenceChinese opinion at this point. Efforts were certainly made by the Japanese armyin Manchuria itself. The ‘new state’ of Manchukuo was supposedly founded onthe principles of ‘racial harmony’ (minzoku kyowa) and the ‘kingly way’ (odo). In thefirst half of 1933 the Kwantung Army was reported to be distributing propa-ganda leaflets among the inhabitants of Manchuria, with titles like ‘The Japanesearmy comes in peace’ and ‘The Japanese army co-operates with the Manchurianarmy’,89 and the people of Manchuria and other parts of China became veryfamiliar with slogans like ‘land of happiness’, ‘co-existence and co-prosperity’and ‘kindly benevolence’.90 Not for some years, however, would concerted


efforts be made by Japanese civilian authorities to convince the majority of theChinese, through the rhetorical apparatus of ‘Greater East Asia’, that Japan’sactions were righteous and benevolent.

For Japanese diplomats in the early 1930s, the crisis over Manchuria had to bedealt with in terms of its impact on Japan’s relations with the West, but it did notinherently constitute a radical break with the past. Neither the political partiesnor the Foreign Ministry considered it necessary or desirable for Japan to leavethe League of Nations, even after the recognition of Manchukuo in September1932 and the publication of the Lytton Report in October. Indeed, the Cabinetdid not make its decision to leave the League until 20 February 1933. Even whenthe Foreign Ministry did begin to favour withdrawal from the League, it waswith the expectation that leaving would enable Japan to continue its pursuit of‘co-operative diplomacy’. According to this argument, withdrawal would satisfythe smaller League members without affecting co-operation between Japan andthe larger powers, which were believed, with some justification, to be quitewilling to reach a compromise with Japan. Withdrawal would also ensure thatManchuria was no longer discussed at the League.91

Thus the Foreign Ministry, even when advocating withdrawal, did not intendthat Japan should depart from co-operative diplomacy or abandon its role ininternational affairs. Matsuoka Yosuke himself, on his way back to Japan afterso dramatically leading the Japanese delegation out of the League at Geneva,gave numerous press conferences and speeches on the Manchurian Incident,US–Japan relations, China and the League of Nations in New York, Boston,Washington, Oregon, Chicago and San Francisco. Though opinions differed onthe effectiveness of his efforts,92 his busy schedule indicates that he had certainlynot given up on international relations. In 1933 and beyond, the JapaneseForeign Ministry continued to operate on the basis of two long-standingprinciples. One was to seek consistently the approval of the great powers, and soto emphasise ‘co-operative diplomacy’; the other was to maintain a distance fromChina – paying little attention to Japan’s image there – while still exploiting itsresources. For several years to come, such ‘moderate’ views remained far fromdefeated within the Foreign Ministry, which thus had not yet departed from thediplomatic framework of the 1920s.

An end to the Manchurian crisis: military, diplomatic andpolitical developments after February 1933

From a diplomatic, political and even military perspective, the Manchurian crisiswound down in 1933. In February the Japanese delegation walked out of theLeague of Nations, ending Japan’s conflict with that body. In May a ceasefire wasnegotiated in north-east China, and the Kwantung Army, satisfied for themoment, remained relatively quiet for some time afterwards, concentrating onconsolidation of its control of Manchukuo and suppression of the anti-Japaneseand Communist movements in China.93 Japan’s relations with the Westernpowers and with China proper were not severed, and for a time the sense of crisis


in foreign affairs abated. Contrary to the established view, the pattern of Japan’sinternational relations did not change to one of steadily increasing isolation.Rather, diplomatic relations continued to muddle along, within the limits set onthe one hand by Japan’s determination to maintain a commitment to Man-chukuo, and on the other, the Western powers’ determination not to recognisethe ‘new nation’. In fact, the Japanese Foreign Ministry by and large did maintainan active pursuit of co-operative diplomacy, as it had expected to do. Even thearmy began to join with the Foreign Ministry to try to alleviate tension with theUnited States particularly, in an effort to win tacit American acceptance ofJapan’s China policy, as well as co-operation from the United States insuppressing the anti-Japanese activities – now presented by the Kwantung Armyas conflicting with the United States principle of the Open Door – that wereharming Japanese interests in China.94 Within Japan, meanwhile, militaryattention was turning away from North China as the army became preoccupiedwith the prospects of war with the Soviet Union.

The mainstream of the Foreign Ministry, as we have seen, never intended thatJapan should depart from co-operative diplomacy or abandon its role ininternational affairs, even when it had finally advocated Japan’s withdrawal fromthe League. In September 1933 the efforts of diplomats to keep Japan within theinternational community received a boost when Uchida Yasuya was replaced asForeign Minister by Hirota Koki. While Uchida had been associated withwithdrawal from the League and earlier had made a famous declaration in theDiet that the Japanese people would not relinquish any of Manchukuo, ‘even ifthe country turned to scorched earth’,95 Hirota initially took a conciliatoryapproach to the Western powers, stressing his desire to see an improvement inrelations with the United States in particular, though his ‘conciliatory’ foreignpolicy had certainly hardened by late 1935. In the event, leaving the League didnot particularly isolate Japan, as some had feared it would, nor did it hinderJapan’s trade relationships. The possibility of economic sanctions against Japan,which had been discussed since October 1931, disappeared. Japan continued toparticipate in the Disarmament Conference of 1932–34 and joined in the WorldEconomic Conference convened by the League in June 1933. It was not requiredto relinquish the Pacific Islands it held under a League mandate.96

Japan’s relations with the large European nations and even with China’snational government in fact improved in 1934–35. In Britain, Chancellor of theExchequer Neville Chamberlain and others sought to establish a closer Anglo-Japanese relationship, in particular through a proposal that the two countriesshould co-operate on reform of the Chinese monetary system. Negotiations onthis issue were not successful, but the British desire to restore good relations withJapan is clear.97 In March 1935 an agreement was reached between Japan and theSoviet Union over the sale to Manchukuo of the Chinese Eastern Railway.98 TheUnited States was less willing to back down from the stance it had taken duringthe Manchurian crisis, and in 1933 it flatly rejected a proposal from Hirota for ajoint Japanese–American statement on a ‘new balance of power in the Pacific’,based on US recognition of Japan’s existing position in Asia. On the other hand,


the United States took no action against Japan, and US–Japan relations at leastdid not worsen.99 In the immediate aftermath of withdrawal from the League, USAmbassador to Japan Joseph Grew later explained, ‘the leaders of Japan took aline that looked almost like appeasement – at any rate as far as the United Stateswas concerned’.100 Nor did withdrawal from the League mean the end of effortsto persuade the people of the major Western countries by direct means of thejustice of Japan’s cause, as is shown by Matsuoka Yosuke’s lecture tour ofthe United States, mentioned above. Other prominent figures also continuedto lecture in Japan and the United States in an effort to improve US–Japanrelations,101 and Japanese diplomats posted in the United States continued toaddress all manner of groups in an attempt to persuade them of the legitimacy ofJapan’s actions in Manchuria.

In China itself, discussion and reporting on conflict with Japan over Man-churia lessened considerably after the Truce of Tangku in May 1933.102 The year1934 saw the resumption of direct rail service between Peking and Mukden,which had been cut at the Great Wall, and in 1935 diplomatic relations betweenJapan and China were formally upgraded – though the Japanese military contin-ued to provoke regional unrest in north China in pursuit of its own expansionistaims. From May 1933 onwards, there were moves towards economic rapproche-ment between China and Japan at the national level, partly because the Nankinggovernment needed to stabilise its financial situation and therefore wanted therestoration of ordinary economic and political relations with Japan. Japan’s shareof total imports into China, even excluding Manchukuo, began to increase againfrom 1934 onwards. In that year, Japanese investment in China, includingManchukuo, outstripped Great Britain’s.103 The journalist and China specialistOzaki Hotsumi, writing in mid-1936, judged that Sino-Japanese relations since1931 had been ‘strained and serious’, and that efforts by Japanese military forcesto increase their control in North China from mid-1935 onwards presented a‘fatal obstacle’ to Sino-Japanese rapprochement. Nevertheless, he foresaw ‘thepromotion of more amicable and closer relations between Japan and China’.104

Within Japan as well, there was a definite sense of an ending of the crisis indomestic politics. Though ‘national unity’ cabinets continued, many contem-porary observers expected a fairly rapid restoration of party cabinets, by nowconsidered to be the norm for Japan. Political crises lessened after the OctoberIncident of 1931 and the 15 May Incident of 1932. Thus, as Banno Junji haspointed out, by 1934–35, the three crises which had precipitated the demise ofparty politics in 1932 – the economic crisis, the international crisis and the crisiscaused by direct action on the part of the military – had all abated.105

In 1933, moreover, conspicuous public criticism of the military againemerged, within both the mainstream political parties and elsewhere, partly inconnection with negotiations over the 1934 budget, in which the army wasallowed big increases at the expense of other ministries. In fact, so public did suchcriticism become that in December 1933, Army Minister General Araki Sadaoissued a strong warning about a movement ‘to alienate the public mind from themilitary’, in the process providing details of what was apparently being said:


[Some] say that the crisis of 1936 is nothing but propaganda put out by themilitary authorities, or that those who died in past wars belonged exclusivelyto the lower ranks, and that no high officers died. Others are saying that thewelfare of the farmers was sacrificed for the sake of the military budget.

Araki’s outburst against all opponents of the forthcoming ‘1935–36 crisis’, whomhe labelled as either Communists or pacifists, infuriated many party politiciansand others, prompting further public criticism of the military from them.106 Aquite strong hostility towards the army was evident again in the Diet after thenational election of February 1936, in which the Minseito won the highestnumber of seats and the social democratic parties were also notably successful;subsequent regional elections reflected the same anti-military tone. The Dietcontinued to provide one forum for occasional public criticism of the military. InMay 1936 the Minseito’s Saito Takao blamed the army for the uprising of 26February of that year, while in January 1937, the Seiyukai’s Hamada Kunimatsupublicly embarrassed the Army Minister, General Terauchi Hisaichi, in a Dietspeech which for military observers constituted not just an individual exhibitionof pique but ‘a display of the anti-military feelings of the parties in general’.107 InFebruary 1940 Saito Takao openly criticised the Konoe government for itshandling of the war with China.108 Saito was expelled from the Diet on the secondoccasion while in January 1937 Hamada was not, testifying to the increase in thearmy’s power between 1937 and 1940. The critical factor was surely theoutbreak of full-scale war with China in July 1937, which effectively ended thebroader confrontation between Diet and army, though obviously it could not puta stop to criticism altogether.

Conclusion

For the elites in the early 1930s, Manchuria was not the transcendent issue itsometimes seems. Significant sections of officialdom were neither convinced fortheir own part that they should follow the army’s agenda, nor prepared toattempt to mobilise the people into support for the military’s plans, nor yetwilling to advocate an autonomous foreign policy at the expense of relations withthe Western powers. Many of those in authority, even some of the ‘new bureau-crats’ who later collaborated with the military, remained unconvinced of theneed to control Manchuria. The different arms of the state were undeniablytrying to mobilise the population in the service of national causes, but beyondcertain typical emphases on such things as self-reliance and co-operation, therewas not always agreement on the goal of that mobilisation. In particular,Manchuria was not necessarily perceived as the issue that would unify thenation. It was not even an issue that was sufficiently compelling to overcomeexisting rivalries within the elites.

If the Manchurian Incident and the attempted coups of 15 May 1932 and even26 February 1936 are interpreted as milestones in Japanese ‘fascism’, then it isstriking that, for example, the majority of bureaucrats represented in Shimin did


not want to associate themselves with any of them. It was rather throughcampaigns like the Election Purification Movement of 1935–36 and the NationalSpiritual Mobilisation Movement of 1937 onwards, in which the army played aprominent role, that Shimin became increasingly implicated in the restructuringof Japanese society in concert with the military. The evidence presented heresuggests that it was not spectacular events like the invasion of Manchuria whichperformed an integrating function among the different institutions and factionsthat made up the Japanese state; indeed, significant sections of officialdomremained unmoved by such external events. Rather, a comparative quieting ofthe external situation after 1933, a heightened emphasis on incorporationistcampaigns requiring gradualist means and significant bureaucratic input from1935 onwards, and changes in the balance of power within the military providedthe environment in which military and bureaucratic interests, at least, becameincreasingly interwoven. For public figures outside the establishment, on theother hand, issues relating to Manchuria, Shanghai and the League of Nations atGeneva often had critical consequences, as we will see in the next chapter.

Notes

1 Quoted in Toru Takemoto, Failure of Liberalism in Japan: Shidehara Kijurol’s Encounterwith Anti-Liberals, Washington, DC, University Press of America, 1978, p. 117.

2 Ishii Itaro, Gaikokan no issho, Tokyo, Chuo koronsha, 1986, pp. 201, 213.3 Ando (ed.), Showashi e no shogen, Vol. 2, p. 22.4 For example, Sir Miles Lampson, British Minister at Peking (Louis, British Strategy,

pp. 179–80); Sir Francis Lindley, British Ambassador to Tokyo (see letter dated 30/9/1931 to Geoffrey Dawson, editor of The Times, Bodleian Library, Oxford, Papersof Geoffrey Dawson, No. 76, fol. 46); M. E. Dening, British Consul at Dairen (seeletter to Lindley, early October 1931, PRO, FO 262/1773).

5 Hata Ikuhiko, ‘1932 nen no Nichibei kiki: kyozo to jitsuzo’, Kokusai seiji, No. 1, 1969,p. 23; Takemoto, Failure of Liberalism, p. 124.

6 Banno Junji, Nihon seijishi: Meiji, Taisho, senzen Showa, Tokyo, Hoso daigaku kyoikushinkokai, revised edn, 1997, pp. 171–2; Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 122–6; Nish,Japan’s Struggle, pp. 34–43.

7 Seki, ‘Manchurian Incident’, pp. 207–8.8 Shimada Toshihiko, ‘The Extension of Hostilities, 1931–1932’, in Morley (ed.),

Japan Erupts, pp. 250–1.9 Masuda Tomoko, ‘Seito naikaku sei no hokai: 1930–1932 nen’, in Tokyo daigaku

shakai kagaku kenkyujo (ed.), Gendai Nihon shakai, Vol. 4: Rekishiteki zentei, Tokyo,Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1991, pp. 205, 210, 219.

10 Lesley Connors, The Emperor’s Adviser: Saionji Kinmochi and Pre-War Japanese Politics,London, Croom Helm, 1987, p. 106.

11 Ibid., pp. 126–34.12 Oka Takashi, ‘Saionji and the Manchurian Crisis’, Papers on China (Harvard

University), 1954, pp. 58, 62.13 Stephen S. Large, Emperor Hirohito and Showa Japan: A Political Biography, London,

Routledge, 1992, pp. 35, 47–55.14 Herbert P. Bix, ‘The Showa Emperor’s “Monologue” and the Problem of War

Responsibility’, Journal of Japanese Studies, Vol. 18, No. 2, Summer 1992, pp. 342–5;Herbert P. Bix, Hirohito and the Making of Modern Japan, New York, HarperCollins,


2000, pp. 240–5. For a similar view see Awaya Kentaro, ‘Emperor Showa’sAccountability for War’, Japan Quarterly, October–December 1991, p. 392.

15 Quoted in Bix, ‘Showa Emperor’s “Monologue”’, p. 344.16 Bix, Hirohito, pp. 247–8.17 Terasaki Hidenari and Mariko Terasaki Miller (eds), Showa tenno dokuhakuroku:

Terasaki Hidenari goyogakari nikki, Tokyo, Bungei shunju, 1991, p. 35.18 Ibid., pp. 28–9.19 Bix, Hirohito, p. 263.20 Terasaki and Miller (eds), Showa tenno dokuhakuroku, p. 25.21 See Ito, Showa shoki; Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 35–81.22 Masuda, ‘Seito naikaku sei no hokai’, pp. 187–8.23 Ibid., pp. 188–9; Ben-Ami Shillony, Revolt in Japan: The Young Officers and the February

26, 1936 Incident, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1973, pp. 102–3.24 Banno, Kindai Nihon no gaiko to seijishi, p. 171.25 Akira Iriye, ‘Introduction’, in James William Morley (ed.), Japan Erupts: The London

Naval Conference and the Manchurian Incident, 1928–1932, New York, ColumbiaUniversity Press, 1984, p. 236.

26 Ibid., pp. 236–7; Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’, pp. 303, 328.27 Yui, ‘Gunbu to kokumin togo’; Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 160; ‘League

Denounced at Meetings Here’, Trans-Pacific, 23 February 1933, p. 9.28 See Nish, Japan’s Struggle, p. 38.29 Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’, pp. 262–6.30 Quoted ibid., p. 257.31 Quoted in Banno Junji, ‘Diplomatic Misunderstanding and the Escalation of the

Manchurian Incident’, Annals of the Institute of Social Science (University of Tokyo), No.27, 1985, p. 121.

32 Ugaki Kazushige, Ugaki Kazushige nikki, Vol. 2, Tokyo, Misuzu shobo, 1970, p. 816.See also Banno Junji, Kindai Nihon no kokka kozo: 1871–1936, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten,1996, p. 213.

33 Banno, ‘Diplomatic Misunderstanding’, p. 114.34 Sir Francis Lindley to Marquess of Reading, 2 October 1931, PRO, FO 371/15518.35 Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’, pp. 266–79.36 Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 194–206; Banno, Kindai Nihon no gaiko to seijishi, pp. 177–9;

Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 131–5. On the October Incident see also TakahashiMasae, Showa no gunbatsu, Tokyo, Chuo koronsha, 1969, pp. 125–44.

37 Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’, pp. 279–80.38 Ibid., pp. 279, 328. See also Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 203–5.39 Banno, ‘Diplomatic Misunderstanding’; Banno, Kindai Nihon no gaiko to seijishi, pp.

173–5.40 Nish, Japan’s Struggle, p. 52.41 ‘Fundamental Policy for a Settlement of the Manchurian Question’, adopted by the

Kwantung Army on 24 October 1931, quoted in Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’,p. 329.

42 Shimada, ‘Extension of Hostilities’, pp. 325–35; Y. Tak Matsusaka, ‘ManagingOccupied Manchuria, 1931–1934’, in Duus, Myers and Peattie (eds), JapaneseWartime Empire, pp. 103–4.

43 ‘Seiyukai Manifesto Condemns Cabinet’ (statement of 16 October), Trans-Pacific, 22October 1931, p. 7.

44 Gordon Mark Berger, Parties Out of Power in Japan, 1931–1941, Princeton, PrincetonUniversity Press, 1977, p. 39.

45 Banno, Nihon seijishi, p. 180.46 Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 147–9.47 Makino Ryozo, ‘Futatsu no judai kokunan’, Seiyu, No. 377, February 1932, p. 56.


48 ‘Seiyukai Manifesto Condemns Cabinet’, Trans-Pacific, 22 October 1931, p. 7.49 ‘Seiyukai Attitude on China Stronger’, Trans-Pacific, 24 December 1931, p. 12.50 ‘Group of Seiyukai Approves Policies’, Trans-Pacific, 31 December 1931, p. 8.51 ‘Futility of Facts Stressed by Mori’, Trans-Pacific, 12 May 1932, p. 8.52 Teikoku gikai shugiin giji sokkiroku, Tokyo, Naikaku insatsukyoku, 22 January 1932,

pp. 17–18.53 Ibid., 61st session, 23 March 1932, pp. 10ff.54 ‘Seiyukai Obstructs Gathering of House’, Trans-Pacific, 1 September 1932, p. 8; Nish,

Japan’s Struggle, p. 138.55 ‘Opposition Attacks Government Policy’, Trans-Pacific, 31 March 1932, p. 9.56 Trans-Pacific, 31 December 1931, p. 9, report on Diet session.57 Vice-Admiral Kobayashi, quoted in Nish, Japan’s Struggle, p. 37.58 Teikoku gikai shugiin giji sokkiroku, 61st session, 20 March 1932, p. 1.59 Ibid., 23 March 1932, p. 12.60 Banno, Kindai Nihon no kokka kozo, pp. 189–91.61 Trans-Pacific, 28 January 1932, pp. 11, 12.62 ‘The Voter’s Choice’, Trans-Pacific, 4 February 1932, p. 1.63 ‘The Election’, Trans-Pacific, 25 February 1932, p. 14.64 Dr S. Washio, ‘War Clouds in China Overshadow Politics’, Trans-Pacific, 26 January

1933, p. 4; see also p. 9.65 ‘Japanese Press Views’, Trans-Pacific, 2 February 1933, p. 6.66 Maruyama, ‘Ideology and Dynamics’, p. 32.67 Robert J. Spaulding Jr, ‘The Bureaucracy as a Political Force, 1920–1945’, in James

William Morley (ed.), Dilemmas of Growth in Prewar Japan, Princeton, PrincetonUniversity Press, 1971, pp. 33–80.

68 Garon, State and Labor, pp. 188, 200.69 On the characteristics of the journal see Sakata Masatoshi, ‘Kaisetsu’, in Naiseishi

kenkyukai and Nihon kindai shiryo kenkyukai (ed. and publ.), Zasshi ‘Shimin’ mokujisoran: 1906–1944, Tokyo, pp. 1–19.

70 See especially Yanai Hisao, ‘Burajiru imin to Manmo imin’, Shimin, June 1932, pp.32–7.

71 See Matsuda Michikazu, ‘Kokusai renmei dattai tsukokugo no Nippon’, Shimin, May1933, pp. 8–12; Aoki Kazuo, ‘Sekai keizai no genjo to Renmei dattaigo ni okeruwagakuni no chii’, ibid., pp. 13–21.

72 For an extended analysis of the attitude of Shimin to the Manchurian crisis, andreferences to specific articles, see Wilson, ‘Bureaucrats and Villagers’.

73 Smith, A Time of Crisis, esp. Ch. 6; Kase Kazutoshi, ‘Ryo-taisenkanki ni okeru nogyoseisaku to nosongawa no taio’, in Rekishigaku kenkyukai (ed.), Higashi Ajia sekai nosaihen to minshu ishiki: 1983nen Rekishigaku kenkyu bessatsu tokushu, Tokyo, Aoki shoten,1983, pp. 154–5.

74 Takahashi Yasutaka, Showa senzenki no noson to Manshu imin, Tokyo, Yoshikawakobunkan, 1997, p. 93. See also Taikakai (ed.), Naimushoshi, Vol. 1, Tokyo, Chihozaimu kyokai, 1971, pp. 409–11. On the Home Ministry and revitalisation seeSmith, A Time of Crisis, pp. 203–6.

75 Wilson, ‘Bureaucrats and Villagers’, pp. 131–4.76 Murata Ikeru, ‘Iwate-ken Atago-mura seinendan no katsuyaku’, Shimin, March

1933, pp. 52–4. The late 1920s and early 1930s were a critical period in thedevelopment of komin kyoiku (civic education), or education in the rights andobligations of citizenship. With the granting of universal manhood suffrage in 1925came new efforts to educate the population in such matters, and at the same time topromote a nationalistic ideology through civic education. Civics was graduallyintroduced as a subject throughout the school system, including vocational trainingschools (jitsugyo gakko) in 1930. The komin gakko said to have been attended byKikuchi Ichiro may in fact have been a vocational training school with such a subject


in the curriculum. See Narita Katsuya, ‘Komin kyoiku’, in Nihon kindai kyoikushijiten henshu iinkai (ed.), Nihon kindai kyoikushi jiten, Tokyo, Heibonsha, 1977, p. 328.

77 Smith, A Time of Crisis.78 See Usui Katsumi, ‘The Role of the Foreign Ministry’, in Borg and Okamoto (eds),

Pearl Harbor as History, pp. 127–48.79 Spaulding, ‘Bureaucracy as a Political Force’, p. 60. For ‘new bureaucrats’ in Shimin,

see Wilson, ‘Bureaucrats and Villagers’, p. 123.80 Spaulding, ‘Bureaucracy as a Political Force’, p. 65.81 See Wilson, ‘Containing the Crisis’.82 Wakasugi Kaname to Foreign Minister, 23 April 1932, Gaiko shiryokan, Tokyo,

Foreign Ministry papers, Manshu jihen: Yoron narabi shinbun roncho: Yoronkeihatsu kankei, Vol. 5, A.1.1.0.21–4–2.

83 Uchiyama Kiyoshi to Foreign Minister, 17 April 1932, ibid.84 Uchiyama Kiyoshi, ‘Japan’s Rights and Interests in Manchuria’, address at

luncheon of Transportation Club, Seattle, 30 November 1931, ibid., Vol. 2.85 [Arai Kinta], ‘La Voz del Pueblo Japones respecto del Manchukuo’, October 1932,

ibid., Vol. 8; also ‘Japanese Attacks Policies of United States in Pamphlets Broadcastin Latin America’, New York Times, 23 November 1932, p. 1. Translation from NewYork Times.

86 Lindley to Simon, 30 August 1932, PRO, FO 410/94.87 Warren I. Cohen, The Chinese Connection: Roger S. Greene, Thomas W. Lamont, George E.

Sokolsky and American–East Asian Relations, New York, Columbia University Press,1978, p. 190.

88 Quoted (in Japanese translation) in Kitaoka Shin’ichi, Kiyosawa Kiyoshi, Tokyo, Chuokoronsha, 1987, p. 96. See also Wilson, ‘Containing the Crisis’, pp. 353–72.

89 Gaiko shiryokan, A.1.1.0.21–4–2, Vol. 10.90 Yuanqie, ‘May Twenty-first in Tangshan’, in Sherman Cochran, Andrew C. K.

Hsieh and Janis Cochran (trans. and ed.), One Day in China: May 21, 1936, NewHaven, Yale University Press, 1983, p. 218.

91 See Inoue Toshikazu, ‘Kokusai renmei dattai to kokusai kyocho gaiko’, Hitotsubashironso, Vol. 94, No. 3, November 1985, pp. 353–72; Ogata, ‘Gaiko’, pp. 49–50.

92 Wilson, ‘Containing the Crisis’, p. 347.93 Inoue Toshikazu, Kiki no naka no kyocho gaiko: Nitchu senso ni itaru taigai seisaku no keisei to

tenkai, Tokyo, Yamakawa shuppansha, 1994, p. 95.94 Ibid., pp. 92–5.95 See Usui, ‘Role of the Foreign Ministry’, pp. 133–4; Ian Nish, Japanese Foreign Policy

1869–1942: Kasumigaseki to Miyakezaka, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1977,pp. 187, 190.

96 Inoue Toshikazu, ‘Kokusai renmei dattaigo no Nihon gaiko’, Hitotsubashi ronso, Vol.93, No. 2, February 1985, pp. 210–29; Ogata, ‘Gaiko’, p. 50.

97 On British overtures, see Gill Bennett, ‘British Policy in the Far East 1933–1936:Treasury and Foreign Office’, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 26, No. 3, July 1992, pp.545–68.

98 See Lensen, Damned Inheritance, pp. 212–334.99 Takafusa Nakamura, A History of Showa Japan, 1926–1989, trans. Edwin When-

mouth, Tokyo, University of Tokyo Press, 1998, pp. 103–4.100 Grew, Ten Years, p. 73.101 See Fujino Tadashi, ‘Showa shoki no “jiyushugisha”: Tsurumi Yusuke o chushin

toshite’, Nihon rekishi, No. 415, December 1982, p. 71.102 Usui Katsumi, Manshukoku to Kokusai renmei, Tokyo, Yoshikawa kobunkan, 1995, p.

193.103 Hotsumi Ozaki, Recent Developments in Sino-Japanese Relations, Tokyo, Japanese

Council, Institute of Pacific Relations, 1936, pp. 6–7, 11–13.104 Ibid., pp. 3, 7–8, 22.


105 Banno Junji, ‘Seito seiji no hokai’, in Banno Junji and Miyaji Masato (eds), Nihonkindaishi ni okeru tenkanki no kenkyu, Tokyo, Yamakawa shuppansha, 1985, pp. 368–9.

106 Crowley, Japan’s Quest, pp. 205–6. See also Banno, Kindai Nihon no kokka kozo, pp.224–6; Smith, A Time of Crisis, pp. 166–7.

107 Quoted in Berger, Parties Out of Power, pp. 106–7.108 Kinmonth, ‘Mouse that Roared’.

5 Left, right and centrePublic intellectuals and politicalrevolutionaries

This chapter will consider the responses to the Manchurian crisis of publicfigures outside the government and Diet – that is, the scholars, journalists andothers who made public statements about events in Manchuria, Shanghai andGeneva – and dissident political activists of both the left and the right. While theopinions of radicals from either end of the political spectrum did not normallyreach wide audiences, both groups had an unusual opportunity to present theirviews in the early 1930s, through major public trials of Communists in 1931–32and of right-wing terrorists in 1933–34. The views of more moderate publicintellectuals, on the other hand, were aired frequently in the newspapers andserious magazines, where they had considerable potential to help shape publicopinion about the Manchurian crisis.

Left-wing and liberal opposition to the Manchurian Incident

Some individuals were publicly critical of Japan’s role in the fighting in Man-churia, though they were greatly outnumbered by those who actively supportedit or remained silent. In terms of organisations, only the Communist Partyresponded to the Manchurian Incident with immediate and unqualified denunci-ation and managed to hold to this position for any length of time. Other socialist,democratic and labour organisations were soon thrown into confusion and crisisby events in Manchuria, often splintering over the issues they raised, as we shallsee in later chapters. By mid-1933 the ramifications of the Manchurian Incidenthad helped provoke a mortal crisis in the Japan Communist Party, too.

In late 1931, though, the Communist attitude to events in Manchuria wasclear. The illegal Communist newspaper Sekki (Akahata, Red Flag) proclaimed:

The bourgeois newspapers and magazines unanimously find the ‘causes’ ofthe present war in the ‘violence’ and ‘scornful attitude toward Japan’ ofChinese soldiers and in the partial destruction of the Manchurian railway.However, this is completely false. The real cause lies in the fact that theJapanese imperialists have been preparing a war of territorial plunder inorder to extricate themselves from the crisis with which they are confrontedat home. The action that the Japanese military clique took under instructionsfrom the financial bourgeoisie did not come about all at once . . . It is an act of


imperialism and the beginning of armed intervention in the Soviet Union . . .We must transform the war of imperialism that will intensify the dictator-ship of the bourgeoisie into a civil war in order to establish the dictatorship ofthe proletariat.1

An even better arena in which to publicise their views was provided by a majortrial of Japanese Communists that had been underway in Tokyo since June 1931.For the first time, the trial was a public one, attended by capacity audiences andreported in the newspapers and elsewhere. Charged with attempting to over-throw the existing form of government, Communist leaders after 18 September1931 seized the many opportunities afforded by daily appearances in court forforthright opposition to the war in Manchuria.2

Lasting over a year, the public trial provided the Communist Party withunprecedented opportunities for propaganda. In the final analysis, however, theparty’s capacity to affect opinions in the wider society was limited. Its influenceon the broader left wing was undoubtedly greater than membership of a fewhundred would suggest, but the fact remains that the Japan Communist Party inthe early 1930s was a minuscule group whose effectiveness was much reduced bypolice harassment. In particular, writings by Communists were always likely tobe banned by the censors, printing presses were seized when possible andspeeches were disrupted.

Further, Japan’s invasion of Manchuria and public reaction to it was a vitalfactor leading to the wave of ‘recantations’ (tenko) that decimated the CommunistParty from the middle of 1933 onwards.3 In June of that year, two very promi-nent Communists, Sano Manabu and Nabeyama Sadachika, issued a statementfrom prison recanting their former beliefs and announcing their conversion tolove of country. Though still identifying themselves as socialists, they rejectedboth the Japan Communist Party and the Communist International. Thestatement came as a huge shock to other party members and marked thebeginning of a tidal wave as a large number of other Communists joined Sanoand Nabeyama in ‘recanting’ from 1933 onwards. For their part, the authoritieswere delighted with the defections and put much effort into encouraging them.By the end of July 1933, just over a month after the joint statement, 548 otheralleged Communists either already convicted or awaiting trial under the PeacePreservation Law had formally renounced Communism. By mid-1936, three-quarters of the 438 Communists serving gaol sentences had ‘recanted’.4

The ‘conversions’ of 1933 had definite antecedents: in the national socialismand apologia for Japanese expansionism developed after the Russian Revolutionby the prominent socialists Takabatake Motoyuki, Akamatsu Katsumaro andTakahashi Kamekichi, and in the departure from the Japan Communist Party asearly as 1929 of a group of junior members, the ‘dissolutionist faction’ (kaitoha),whose dissatisfactions with the party closely prefigured those of Sano andNabeyama four years later.5 The roots of Sano and Nabeyama’s joint statement,however, lie clearly in the events of 1931 and 1932.6 The contradictory attitudeof the Communist International to Japan in this period doubtless played its part.

Intellectuals and political revolutionaries 107

The Comintern’s 1932 Theses on Japan not only labelled Japanese society as‘barbaric’, ‘backward’ and ‘feudalistic’ but also completely overturned its ownDraft Political Theses on Japan of the previous year, which had briefly lentsupport to the view that far from being backward, the country was in factsufficiently advanced as to be ripe for the proletarian revolution.7 The 1932Theses thus came as a considerable shock to Japanese Communists, a number ofwhom were using the previous set of Comintern theses as the basis for vigorouspropaganda during the long-running public trial mentioned above.8

Undoubtedly, however, it was the Manchurian Incident itself that was pivotalin provoking the 1933 recantations. Sano and Nabeyama’s change of mind, andthat of others after them, were greatly encouraged by the jingoistic atmospheresurrounding the army’s exploits, as well as by the increased level of policeharassment of Communists following the incident at Mukden. The new situationbrought about by the invasion of Manchuria helps explain why many moreCommunists followed the lead of Sano and Nabeyama in 1933, whereas the1929 departures from the party had sparked no such large-scale defections.Whatever the complex causes of the ‘recantations’ which wrecked the Commu-nist Party, they certainly ended the party’s capacity to continue any significantpublic opposition to Japan’s actions in Manchuria.

Meanwhile, open opposition to the Manchurian Incident had also beenexpressed by a few other organisations, including the Musan fujin domei (Pro-letarian Women’s League), which was associated with the Nihon ronoto (JapanLabour–Farmer Party). During 1932, however, the League, like other socialistand reformist groups, suffered severe internal dissension over issues relating tothe Manchurian crisis.9 The nervousness made evident by the phenomenon ofCommunist ‘recantation’ spread to other workers’ organisations as well. Severalleft-wing labour and cultural associations, which had previously supported theparty and opposed war, such as the Proletarian Writers’ Union and theProletarian Artists’ Union, disbanded within a year of the joint statement bySano and Nabeyama.

Individual Marxists outside the Communist Party who denounced theKwantung Army’s actions included the veteran socialists Sakai Toshihiko andArahata Kanson. A few days after the explosion at Mukden, Arahata wrote thatregardless of who was responsible for the outbreak of hostilities, their purposewas to enhance Japan’s imperialist rights and interests in Manchuria; thatinherent in the current conflict was the risk of a second world war, whatever theauthorities might say about localising it; that the conflict in Manchuria not onlyrepresented an attempt to defuse workers’ hostility towards the state but wouldalso be used as an opportunity to further the repression of the working class athome; and that the military, which was clearly at odds with the civilian govern-ment, was striving to establish its own dictatorship. Arahata concluded with acall to workers to protect their class interests by opposing imperialist war andfighting against the danger of a second world conflict. His efforts, however, werein this case greatly hampered by the fact that the whole issue of the journal forwhich he was writing was banned on publication.10


A handful of liberal intellectuals also denounced the Manchurian Incidentoutright. One of the most consistent and forthright opponents of the view thatJapan had to defend its ‘rights and interests’ in Manchuria was the liberaljournalist and critic, Kiyosawa Kiyoshi. In the late 1920s Kiyosawa had advo-cated relinquishing Japanese rights in Manchuria for the sake of good relationswith China. In any case, he took the unusual position that Japan’s rights inManchuria were of dubious value and were not adequately based on the existingtreaties. Kiyosawa did not change his view in September 1931. Immediately afterthe Manchurian Incident he expressed doubt about the Japanese version ofevents and further doubt that Japan would gain anything from the ManchurianIncident, also rejecting the ubiquitous propaganda slogan which proclaimedManchuria to be Japan’s ‘life-line’. In fact, he correctly predicted that Japaneseinterests in southern Manchuria would suffer and that there would be a drop inJapanese trade with China.11

The influential liberal economist and journalist Ishibashi Tanzan was if any-thing even more insistent than Kiyosawa on the uselessness of Japan’s interests inManchuria. Curiously, his newspaper, Toyo keizai shinpo (Oriental Economist),acquiesced in the Manchurian Incident itself. Ishibashi as an individual,however, powerfully attacked the notion that Japan could legitimately intervenein Manchuria except in the most limited circumstances, insisting that Manchuriawas unquestionably Chinese territory and thus was not Japan’s to exploit, otherthan through normal trading relations, which in any case were in danger ofserious damage thanks to Japanese actions. For Ishibashi, the idea that Japanesein any numbers could live in Manchuria was an ‘absurd notion’ which if pursuedwould produce many victims on the one hand, and very few benefits on theother. He took issue with all the standard arguments about advantages Japancould gain from the exploitation of Manchuria, adding that any economicprosperity which might eventually result from the development of the regionbelonged to its existing inhabitants, not to an outside power.12 The cogentarguments of Ishibashi, however, reached only a small, select audience incomparison to the much higher readerships of the mainstream newspapers andmagazines: circulation of Toyo keizai shinpo was estimated at just 30,000 in the mid-1930s. By the same token, the journal’s ‘modern, cosmopolitan, corporate’audience put it in a strong position to influence an important section of publicopinion.13

Among the opponents of the military action in Manchuria were also severalspecialists in law and politics, whose criticisms centred on the relevant inter-national treaties and on the argument that Japan was acting in ‘self-defence’.Yokota Kisaburo, professor of law at Tokyo Imperial University, for example,questioned the doctrine of self-defence and declared his support for the measurestaken by the League. In his opinion the Kwantung Army’s actions had violatednot only the League Covenant but also the Kellogg–Briand (Anti-War) Pact,which Japan had signed in 1928, thus renouncing the use of war, and the Nine-Power Pact of 1922, in which Japan and eight other countries had agreed not tointerfere in China. Similarly, the prominent political scientist and legal scholar


Yoshino Sakuzo opposed the Japanese military action, which he labelled asimperialist, rejected the self-defence argument and lamented the willingness ofthe press and left-wing political parties to applaud the dispatch of troops toManchuria. Yanaihara Tadao, professor of colonial policy at Tokyo ImperialUniversity, also attacked Japanese activity in Manchuria, calling for support forChinese nationalists’ attempts to unify the country, and concluding that Japancould not afford to sacrifice its relations with other countries, especially China,because of an exaggerated concern over Manchuria On the other hand, he neverseriously challenged official arguments about Japan’s ‘rights and interests’ in theregion. A few individual Christians – but not Christian organisations – alsoprotested against Japanese militarism in Manchuria.14

Scholars like Yokota, Yoshino and Yanaihara, however, became more andmore isolated, in a milieu where most of their colleagues eventually took theposition that the military action in Manchuria did not violate the existing legalorder. More typical of legal scholars was Tachi Sakutaro, professor of inter-national law at Tokyo Imperial University, who wrote that as ‘war’ in the legalsense had not been declared, Japan had not violated the first article of theKellogg–Briand Pact, which renounced war ‘as an instrument of national policy’.Tachi accepted the self-defence argument and, like most Japanese scholars ofinternational law, particularly emphasised the point that the right of self-defencetook precedence over all other international obligations.15

The Manchurian Incident and moderate opinion

The events of September 1931 onwards produced a painful period of confusionand compromise for many public figures and organisations of moderate views,especially those committed to some form of internationalism. Though they mayhave been shocked and even repelled by the Kwantung Army’s actions, ulti-mately very few of them were prepared publicly to reject Japan’s right to controlManchuria. Some potential critics probably remained silent out of prudence: theeconomist Ueda Teijiro recorded in his diary, for example, that he had beenwarned at a private gathering that it was dangerous to speak against the militaryaction in Manchuria.16 Others took refuge in simply reiterating the officialversion of events without further comment. A significant number, however,cautiously supported the government, persuading themselves that the changedeconomic, political and international circumstances of the early 1930s justifieddrastic action on Japan’s part in order to rescue itself from the dangers whichbeset it. Sometimes they saw themselves as simultaneously trying to restrain thearmy from further excesses or the Cabinet from actions likely to damage Japan’simage in the West, such as withdrawal from the League. Some who had inter-national connections sought to placate Western countries and soften theirreaction to the invasion of Manchuria, using much the same arguments as thediplomats who worked so assiduously on Japan’s behalf. Again, however, veryfew among civilians sought to placate Chinese opinion. Damage to Japan’s imagein China meant little compared to preserving Japan’s reputation in America and


Britain, and few prominent Japanese at this stage saw the advantage of trying towin China over to the official Japanese point of view.

Several case studies, detailed elsewhere, demonstrate that, for most individ-uals, commitment to co-operative diplomacy in the 1920s did not precludeacceptance of the main principles of ‘Japan’s case’ in late 1931.17 The progressivewomen’s magazine Fujo shinbun (Women’s and Girls’ Newspaper) is one exampleof a publication which rationalised its internationalism and self-proclaimed‘pacifism’ to the point where it could support Japan’s actions in Manchuria, justas it had supported the military in the war against Russia nearly three decadesearlier, justified the colonisation of Korea in 1910, and endorsed Japan’sinvolvement in the Great War of 1914–18.18 By 1931 the paper was a long-standing supporter of the League of Nations and identified itself explicitly withthe peace movement, largely on the grounds that women were idealists and‘natural’ pacificists because of their comparative physical weakness and theirstatus either as biological mothers or as the spiritual mothers of the human race.

In November 1931, the socialist Yamakawa Kikue attempted to dismiss such astance as an amusing indulgence possible only in peace-time, in an argumentwhich failed to reach her readers because of drastic cuts made to her article in abid to avoid the attentions of the censor.19 Evidently, she was right in hersuspicion that a ‘pacifism’ based on maternalism was unlikely to last: after 18September 1931, Fujo shinbun switched smoothly to a consistent defence ofJapan’s actions, asserting that events in Manchuria should not be interpreted as‘war’ because fighting was local and limited and did not involve invasion of aweaker country, and that Japan had not contravened the principles of the Leagueof Nations because it had acted in self-defence. The Japanese government had nowish to fight a war with China, it was argued; the escalation of the ‘incident’ hadoccurred because the dishonesty and insincerity of ‘the Manchurian govern-ment’ had driven the patience of peace-loving Japan to its limit after consistentabuse by China of Japan’s legitimate rights and interests in Manchuria.20

Fujo shinbun repeated for its readers the standard arguments about Japan’srights and interests in Manchuria and the region’s importance for Japan; themyth of the spontaneous movement seeking the creation of the independent stateof ‘Manchukuo’; the claim that Manchuria did not really belong to China; thearguments about the disorder and weakness of China. It accepted that Man-churia was Japan’s ‘life-line’ and, by the time the Lytton Report appeared, agreedthat the world was dealing unjustly with Japan.21 Though there was little or noeditorial interest in emigration to Manchuria, other sections of the magazineprinted reports of the campaigns to recruit wives for the settlers, the occasionalarticle exhorting women to go to Manchuria, and reports on a school in Tokyowhich aimed to train colonists. There were also constant reports of delegations ofall kinds travelling to and from Manchuria to bring greetings, deliver petitionsfor further action, hand over donations, see Manchuria at first hand, and so on.

Fujo shinbun, despite its professed pacifism, thus not only failed to challenge thefundamental points of Japan’s official justification of its actions during the Man-churian crisis, but positively endorsed them. It was certainly a willing stance:


neither censorship nor official pressure can explain the amount of space it gave toManchurian issues. The underlying reasons for the magazine’s position wereundoubtedly the deep and long-standing commitment of the journal’s editor,Fukushima Shiro, to establishment policies and values, together with hisdisregard for other Asian countries including China. A journalist who sawhimself as dedicated in the same measure to equality between men and womenand respect for the national essence (kokutai),22 Fukushima was profoundlydevoted to the imperial house and convinced of its importance for the Japanesepeople. Further, he believed that Japan, as the only Asian country which hadbeen able to rise above backwardness and decay, had a mission to lead the regiontowards civilisation; accordingly, ‘Japan, land of the gods, is on the road toexpansion’, and in the end would defeat those countries which contravened thewill of heaven, that is, the advance of Japan.23 Fundamentally, however,Fukushima was uninterested in China or any other Asian country, habituallyturning his eyes to the West, which he characterised as progressive in compari-son to backward Asia. Even before the Manchurian Incident, the journal’sespousal of pacifism and internationalism had been counterbalanced by strongpatriotism and nationalism. Between 1931 and 1933, though Fukushima con-tinued to assert that he opposed war in a general sense, he always ended upconceding that there were some circumstances which made war necessary orinevitable, even while he urged women to uphold the ideal of peace and to resistwar, and maintained that Japan was a peace-loving country which preferred toco-operate with other races and assimilate with them.

A similar pattern of response to the Manchurian crisis was exhibited by theJapanese members of the Institute of Pacific Relations (IPR), an importantinternational non-government organisation dedicated to resolving problemsaffecting the Pacific region. The Japan Council of the IPR was organised in 1926,with Shibusawa Eiichi, the well-known and powerful business leader, as overallchairman; Inoue Junnosuke, then Governor of the Bank of Japan, as chairmanof the board of directors; and scholars and public figures such as Nitobe Inazo,Tsurumi Yusuke, Takagi Yasaka and Takayanagi Kenzo as prominent mem-bers. The Council played a significant role in the 1930s in Japanese–Americanrelations in particular. Its members had a high profile as distinguished but non-official spokesmen for Japan, especially during the international conferences ofthe IPR, which were held approximately every two years and widely reported inthe world’s presses and elsewhere.

Japanese members of the IPR had been committed to Woodrow Wilson’spacifist ideal. They advocated co-operation in international relations, supportedthe League of Nations, and believed in the potential efficacy of treaties inregulating international conduct, and in their own mission to guide the generalpopulace towards the same beliefs.24 Yet by the end of 1931 they supportedJapanese expansion into Manchuria and staunchly defended their country’sactions against criticism from the League of Nations and the United States.

The single most important point that Japanese members of the IPR soughtto convey to non-Japanese, in their lectures, at IPR conferences and through


personal contacts, was that their country’s claims to special rights and interests inManchuria were legitimate. They also emphasised Japan’s need for Manchuria,repeating the cliché that it was Japan’s ‘life-line’ of natural resources, in additionto stressing the region’s strategic importance for Japan: as Nitobe said in a lecturein November 1932, Japan needed Manchuria as a first line of defence against theUSSR and against ‘the propaganda of Communist ideas’ from that country.25

They justified Japan’s military action in Manchuria as having been necessary forself-defence in two senses. First, and in the long term, anti-Japanese activity inChina was said to have provoked the Japanese to an extent that could no longerbe tolerated. Particular reference was made to the issue of economic boycotts,which, according to Nitobe, constituted ‘war in its incipient stage’.26 Second,Japanese members of the IPR publicly subscribed to the official view that on 18September 1931 the Kwantung Army had been forced by Chinese soldiers into adefensive action. It is unlikely that people as well-connected as the Japanese IPRmembers would really have believed this story. However, reiteration of theofficial arguments about self-defence allowed them to maintain that their countryhad not in fact contravened the Kellogg–Briand Pact; they could therefore assertthat Japan had remained within the bounds of 1920s co-operative diplomacy.27

Thus, in defending the Manchurian Incident, members of the Japan Councilof the IPR employed arguments which were very close to the official line. In fact,their public acceptance of the Japanese government line was never in doubt,28

though it did not come without personal cost. Many Japanese members of theIPR had built their careers and their considerable personal prestige at least partlyon the basis of support for and from the United States, Europe and the League.Tsurumi Yusuke believed that in the Japanese public mind he was identified withAmerica; Nitobe was fond of defining his mission as ‘transmitting the ideas of theWest to the East, and of the East to the West’.29 Moreover, through the IPR andby other means, they often had close personal ties with Americans and Euro-peans. The Sino-Japanese conflict, or more precisely the resulting conflict betweenJapan and the Western powers, therefore posed acute problems for individualmembers of the Japan Council of the IPR and represented a serious crisis for thegroup as a whole. As Ogata Sadako notes, they in common with Japanese liberalsof all kinds were very much caught in the middle during the Manchurian crisis,and their position became more and more precarious as domestic and foreignpressures increased.30

It is telling that for Nitobe and his colleagues, firmly oriented as they weretowards Western countries, the Sino-Japanese dispute warranted comparativelylittle attention until it had quite obviously become an issue in US–Japan relations– that is, in 1932 rather than 1931. As far as they were concerned, the ‘squabblenow going on in Manchuria’31 was, initially, no more than a temporary problem,and they did not expect it to damage US–Japan relations, which were their primeconcern. The Shanghai Incident in early 1932, then the issue of Japaneserecognition of Manchukuo, loomed larger for them than had the ManchurianIncident itself. For them, once again, China was simply not the point. With theirWestern contacts and their sensitivity to European and American opinion, they


were well aware that Shanghai was much more important than Mukden inWestern eyes, and that the creation and recognition of Manchukuo were moreoffensive to the United States and the League of Nations than was de factoJapanese control of the region. The fairly powerful argument that Japan neededand had a right to Manchurian resources – an argument which had won somelevel of acceptance among Western observers – did not explain the necessity foran ‘independent state’, considering that Japan could presumably have continuedto extract raw materials cheaply from Manchuria without insisting on theregion’s severance from the rest of China.

During 1932 and 1933, Nitobe, Tsurumi, Takagi and others argued to foreignaudiences that a strong Japanese presence in Manchuria was essential so that thepeople could enjoy as much peace and security as did the residents of Shanghai,Tientsin and other treaty ports; continued to appeal to anti-Communist senti-ment, arguing that without an ‘independent’ Manchukuo, the region would‘fall an easy prey to Bolshevist Russia’;32 and elaborated an ‘Asiatic MonroeDoctrine’ according to which Japanese expansionism in the Showa period couldbe compared with the mid-nineteenth-century concept of ‘Manifest Destiny’ usedby the United States to justify territorial expansion into territories such asFlorida, Texas and California.33 On occasion such moderates also pointed to thehypocrisy of Western calls for a cessation of Japanese hostilities. Over a decadeearlier, Konoe Fumimaro had written that ‘peace’ was advocated only by thosenations which already had territory, labelling Japan and Germany as ‘have-not’nations and criticising the League of Nations as a tool of the ‘haves’.34 TsurumiYusuke had expanded on the idea of ‘have’ and ‘have-not’ nations for English-speaking readers in January 1931,35 and such views surfaced again among articu-late groups after the Manchurian Incident. Fujo shinbun, for instance, remarkedthat ‘the respect for territory which underpins all international ethics needsrethinking’, since national boundaries are ‘not based on logic, economics, socialor historical reasons’, but ‘are either random or are the result of selfish spheres ofinfluence of heroes of the past’.36 In 1932, the democratic socialist politicianKamei Kan’ichiro referred to Japan in a Diet speech as a ‘proletarian country’(musan kokka Nihon) because of its large population and lack of resources,37 whilethe moderate labour leader Nishio Suehiro complained at the InternationalLabour Organisation that the white race ‘has concluded antiwar pacts whichhave guaranteed territorial possessions and permanent peace under conditionsextremely unfavorable to the colored races’.38 Japanese members of the IPR, intheir turn, made the standard comparison of Japan’s position in Manchuria toAmerica’s in Central and South America, or argued that Manchuria, along withKorea, stood in the same relation to Japan strategically as did Belgium and theNetherlands to England.

Japanese members of the IPR usually continued even during the Manchuriancrisis to support the League of Nations, as they had done since its inception. Likemany other moderate and liberal intellectuals, politicians and bureaucrats, theysaw little or no contradiction between this support and their defence of theManchurian Incident, believing that it was possible for Japan to pursue its


‘legitimate interests’ and still remain within the framework of international co-operation, as Western countries had done in the past and continued to do in thepresent. They thought that Western countries would come to accept the Japaneseposition, if only they were prepared to listen impartially to ‘facts’, and they saw itas their role to impart the necessary information. ‘Facts’ considered particularlyrelevant by Japanese members of the IPR included China’s internal disorder andofficial Japan’s version of the history of Japanese involvement in Manchuria.Their own supposedly ‘factual’ or ‘scientific’ approach was often contrasted byJapanese members of the IPR with the methods used by their Chinese counter-parts, which were labelled ‘emotional’ and ‘propagandistic’, and the Japanesewere confident that their ‘factual’ approach would be better received by the Westthan China’s arguments would be.39 Thus, members of the Japan Council of theIPR retained their faith in the League of Nations and, in common with manydiplomats and politicians, were confident, or at least hopeful, that the Leaguewould come to accept their point of view. It was not an especially unrealistichope. As noted in the previous chapter, there was widespread sympathy ininformed circles in the United States and Europe for the Japanese position andfor Japan’s problems of overpopulation and lack of resources; and Britain, theUnited States and France, at least, had no fundamental objection to Japanesecontrol of Manchuria. Even after Japan’s withdrawal from the League ofNations, Nitobe for one retained ‘great hopes’ that the League would change itsmind about Japan, for ‘there are statesmen who can see facts with the naked eyeand recognize realities, however ugly they may sometimes be’.40

Japanese members of the IPR moved to support the government line duringthe Manchurian crisis because they were essentially nationalistic, notwithstand-ing their commitment to internationalism, and had long accepted that Japaneseinterests in Manchuria were sacrosanct. They were basically not interested inany Chinese points of view, sometimes dismissing them quite explicitly asunimportant compared to Japanese and Western perspectives. Nitobe, forexample, referred in January 1932 to China’s new national government as acollection of ‘half-educated youths’. It was only the ‘maturer minds’ of othergovernments that could ‘get together and attend to the rudimentary duties ofkeeping promises to other nations and of maintaining order and security withintheir territory’.41 Feeling so little need to take account of Chinese perspectives,such observers were outspoken on Japan’s rights in China, which they believedto be unreasonably threatened by the nationalist movement. Further, thoughthey prided themselves on their status as non-government figures, they main-tained close connections with Japanese government figures and tended to seethemselves as semi-official representatives of Japan to the West. It was very diffi-cult for them in these circumstances to distance themselves from official views.42

The right wing

Rightist activists are commonly portrayed as fanatical terrorists bent on overseasconquest above all else. More soberly, the right wing has often been included as a


critical part of the picture of a nation moving inexorably towards war fromSeptember 1931 onwards. An examination of the activities and motivations ofrightist radicals in the early 1930s suggests, however, that the coherence of theright wing, and the degree of its association with continental expansion in thisperiod, have both been exaggerated.

Right-wing reactions to the Manchurian Incident remain elusive becauserightist groups left few written records and were themselves small and shadowy,despite the influence they certainly wielded and the sympathy they found amonghighly placed political, military and business leaders. Nevertheless, pressurefrom right-wing nationalism was a crucial element of the political and sociallandscape of the early 1930s, and rightists undoubtedly exercised more realinfluence over the course of events than did the better organised and moreinstitutionalised left-wing activists. In the two years after the signing of theLondon Naval Treaty in 1930, the right-wing nationalist movement expandedrapidly. While acknowledging that some groups ‘functioned for only a short timeor existed in name alone’, the Police Bureau of the Home Ministry countedeighty-seven such groups in 1931 and 196 in 1932, compared to one in 1921,five in 1922 and twenty-five in 1927.43 As in the case of the leftists, moreover,the influence of right-wing activists far outweighed their numbers, as details oftheir plotting to assassinate leading figures and bring about the fall of cabinetsspread deep alarm throughout the ruling class in the early 1930s and beyond,discouraging firm action against the military by moderates who feared furtherright-wing retaliation.

Two points can be made about the responses of the right-wing movement tothe Manchurian crisis. First, the Kwantung Army’s actions in Manchuria canhardly fail to have found favour in principle with at least some rightist groups, asmany of them were committed to Japan’s ‘mission’ in Asia, and well disposed tothe idea of decisive military action. Home Ministry censors certainly believedthe Manchurian Incident stimulated right-wing and reactionary groups in 1931and 1932, leading to a marked increase in rightist publications, as well as thegrowth in numbers noted above.44 Second, however, right-wing interest in andapproval of the events of September 1931 was not automatic: some rightistleaders considered the Manchurian Incident an unwelcome distraction from themore urgent task of internal reconstruction. For them, the Manchurian Incidentdid not constitute an important landmark, and in their eyes, there was noguarantee that Japan would have gained anything by the Kwantung Army’saction unless internal reform could be secured immediately.

Though there was little or no connection between civilian and semi-civilianright-wing groups in Japan and the Kwantung Army conspirators who staged theManchurian Incident, the army’s successful strikes in Manchuria held a certainamount of natural appeal for many rightists, because they represented recoveryof Japan’s ‘legitimate interests in Manchuria’. Indeed, to an extent, the Manchur-ian Incident provided a new focus and direction, and a basis for collective action,for what had been a rather motley collection of rightist groups.45 The events ofSeptember 1931 onwards also appealed to those right-wing extremists who


tended to look to the military as the potential saviours of the nation. Many right-wing groups had links with individual military officers or factions. As a US StateDepartment analysis noted:

Just as the Emperor was to preside over the ‘reconstruction’ of Japan andeventually of the world, the military was to be the instrument of recon-struction in the extreme rightist view. Military men were considered to bethe natural and untainted leaders of Japan, who had the armed strength, themoral fiber, and the devotion to both Emperor and people needed to carryout reformation. Many extreme rightists habitually sought the proclamationof martial law as the first step in the reconstruction process.46

Moreover, societies like the prestigious Kokuhonsha (National FoundationSociety), whose members included leading politicians, soldiers, bureaucrats andzaibatsu leaders, had long emphasised Japan’s supposed mission in Asia. Theinfluential right-wing author and revolutionary Kita Ikki also favoured expan-sion on the Asian mainland, while the Kokuryukai (Amur River Society or BlackDragon Society), founded in 1901, had a particular interest in the extension ofJapanese power in Manchuria. Some rightists actively promoted Japaneseemigration to Manchuria after September 1931.47

The veteran ultranationalist politician Ogawa Heikichi was one prominentrightist who showed a strong commitment to Japanese action in Manchuria, inkeeping with his lifelong interest in China issues.48 Seemingly, he had been bidinghis time for at least two years before exerting pressure for decisive Japanese action,but after September 1931 Ogawa was a persistent exponent of the necessity foran independent Manchuria, doggedly urging members of the government tobring it about, and publishing a small pamphlet on the subject that was widelydistributed within the army and elsewhere. He argued in the pamphlet thatwithout Manchuria, Japan could not carry on its national life in an appropriatemanner, and furthermore, would lack the resources to fight a future war with theWestern powers. It was necessary, he contended, to separate Manchuria fromChina in order to guarantee the continuation of regional peace. In somewhatcontradictory fashion, Ogawa also maintained that Japan should not fear thereaction of the League and the Western powers, as it could fight them now overManchuria if necessary. From an early point he worked to have Pu Yi installed asthe imperial ruler of an ‘independent’ Manchuria. At the end of 1932 Ogawa wasalready looking forward to the extension of Japanese power outwards fromManchukuo into central China. Interestingly, on the other hand, he was by nomeans convinced of the stability of the new regime in Manchukuo, warningJapanese leaders on a number of occasions that the collapse of the new govern-ment was a distinct possibility.49

Like the left, however, the right wing was far from unified, and there certainlywas no consensus as to where revolutionary activities should be first directed.Manchuria was not an automatic priority for rightists; nor was overseas expan-sion generally, and the question of whether to concentrate on domestic or foreign


issues remained a source of tension within rightist circles. Nor did all right-wingnationalists look upon the military with favour.

Questions of internal reform and overseas expansion were undoutedly closelyinterrelated.50 For extreme nationalists within the military, ‘a coup d’état at homewould be the best means of overcoming civilian resistance to military plansabroad, of ensuring that the army, unlike the navy [during the crisis over theLondon Naval Treaty] in 1930, was ultimately independent of cabinet control’.51

Both Lieutenant-Colonel Hashimoto Kingoro of the Sakurakai (Cherry BlossomSociety) and the civilian right-wing activist Okawa Shumei at one point thoughtthere should be precisely simultaneous coups in Manchuria and at home.52

Okawa was certainly committed to both fields of action. Associated with theabortive plot of March 1931, which aimed at political assassinations that wouldbring General Ugaki Kazushige to power as Prime Minister, he was also directorof the South Manchurian Railway East Asia Research Institute, and from 1929onwards was very active in lecturing throughout Japan on his own initiative inorder to bring the alleged need for firm action in Manchuria to the attention ofthe Japanese people. Okawa, however, apparently became reconciled to the viewthat internal reconstruction should come before foreign adventure, as did Hashi-moto, a leader of the next attempt to organise a coup, in October 1931.53 TheGeneral Staff of the Army itself declared in a 1930 report, ‘If a positive solution ofthe Manchurian problems is to be sought, it is inevitable that national reconstruc-tion must precede it. Our thinking has been dominated by this one thought.’54 Infact, one of the reasons for the collapse of the plot to stage a coup d’état in March1931 had been the withdrawal of several army figures, including Suzuki Teiichi,who believed that the settlement of Manchurian problems should have priority.55

Inoue Nissho was one extreme rightist with strong China connections whoapparently decided in 1928 that unless Japan were first reformed, there was noprospect of ‘reform’ of China or the world. The revolution in Japan must comefirst.56 His later memoir shows no interest in the Manchurian Incident, passingover it with almost no comment at all. At the trial resulting from the Ketsumeidan(blood brotherhood) assassinations of 1932, Inoue professed hatred of ‘militarycliques’, whom he regarded as just as selfish as the other elites in power, andexplained that he was not interested in military action in Manchuria, since it wassenseless to kill lots of Chinese people when the real enemies of Japan were itsown ruling elites. Nor did he want military government for Japan.57 Yoshihashiconcludes that in 1930–31 the Manchurian problem had been temporarilyeclipsed in the minds of right-wing revolutionaries.58 By 1932, on the whole, theneed for domestic renovation seemed more urgent to most of them.

Right-wing action in Japan in the very busy year of 1932 was certainly inpractice more centred on domestic renovation than overseas expansion, thoughseveral groups mixed in calls for immediate recognition of Manchukuo, orgovernment support for emigration of farmers to Manchuria, with their coredemands for the alleviation of rural poverty, changes to the system of govern-ment and so on.59 Discontent at political, social and economic conditions in Japanand the desire to establish a new, revolutionary government were the apparent


motivations behind the succession of assassinations plotted by Inoue Nissho’s‘blood brotherhood’, resulting in the deaths of former Finance Minister InoueJunnosuke in February, and executive head of Mitsui, Dan Takuma, in March.The most ambitious plan, to be set in motion through the attempted coup knownas the 15 May Incident, was to construct a political system based on the nationalsocialist principles espoused by Kita Ikki, including state ownership of capitaland land, then to create the kind of ideal agrarianist society envisaged by thecivilian activist Gondo Seikyo.60 The 15 May rebels, comprising a group ofyoung naval officers, a few army cadets and some extremists from outside themilitary, under the leadership of the civilian Tachibana Kosaburo, carried outextensive attacks on officials and on public offices in Tokyo, including the murderof Prime Minister Inukai Tsuyoshi. The 1933–34 trials of the Ketsumeidanassassins and the 15 May rebels, like the trial of the Communists before them,provided many opportunities for publicising their vehement denunciations of thepolitical parties and zaibatsu. In marked contrast to the Communists, however,comprehensive criticism of the status quo in this case produced an outpouring ofpublic sympathy, expressions of admiration for the ‘pure’ and ‘unselfish’ motivesof the defendants and numerous petitions for leniency in sentencing.61

The manifesto distributed by participants in the 15 May Incident makes verylittle mention of foreign issues – apart from the obligatory reference to ‘weak-kneed’ diplomacy – railing instead against the political parties, zaibatsu, bureau-crats and police, and lamenting the ‘indescribable hardships’ of farmers andworkers. The ‘military clique’, too, was branded as ‘worthless’.62 Statementsmade by the defendants in the trials following the 15 May Incident confirm thatthe ‘patriotic’ rebels were preoccupied with internal issues. Again, they hadsupposedly been stung to action by the corruption of the ruling elites, especiallythe political parties and the zaibatsu, and by the suffering of farmers: more thanonce they were styled as ‘the voice of thirty million farmers’. To the extent thatthey had been stimulated by foreign policy matters at all, they nominated theconclusion of the hated London Naval Treaty of 1930, the issue which haddone so much to bring nationalist groups to public prominence, rather thanquestions relating to Manchuria.63 Similarly, the Aikyokai, the Ibaragi-basedfarm co-operative movement founded by Tachibana in 1929, nineteen of whosemembers participated in the attempted coup, was ‘antagonistic to centralauthority, cool toward the military, and suspicious of overseas expansion’.64

Members of the Aikyokai invested their energies instead in work for the renewalof farm villages and in criticism of the social and political order which hadbrought such ruin to the countryside by the early 1930s.

Clearly, not all rightists advocated Japanese expansion into Asia as a priority,or were particularly interested in foreign issues at all; and not all looked to themilitary to rescue Japan from the crises in which it found itself. In some cases,right-wing radicals even fail to conform to the public image of disinterestedpatriots motivated by devotion to the emperor. The diary of one of the leadingfigures among right-wing radicals in the navy, Lieutenant-Commander FujiiHitoshi, for example, reveals the same scepticism evident elsewhere in the


military about the fitness of the current emperor to rule. While Fujii retainedconsiderable awe for the imperial institution, he considered that the presentincumbent was declining just as Japan was declining, and that he needed to bereawakened to his true role.65

Rightist revolutionaries were as confused as other groups in Japanese societyby the circumstances and possibilities of the early 1930s. They did notautomatically support the Manchurian Incident. Those whose principal goal wascontinental expansion, like Ogawa Heikichi, were excited by the KwantungArmy’s actions. Others, however, resolutely kept their eyes on the need forreform at home and, like some more mainstream figures in the bureaucracy,refused to be diverted as yet by military adventurism abroad. For most rightists,the Ketsumeidan assassinations and the attempted coup of 15 May 1932 were offar greater significance than the army’s incursion into north-east China, not onlybecause they promised internal reform but also, perhaps, because such actionsallowed a large role for themselves, whereas they had not initiated theManchurian project. If the early 1930s constituted a landmark from the point ofview of right-wing revolutionaries, it was because of political terrorism at homerather than the Manchurian Incident.

Conclusion

Events in Manchuria and Geneva brought critical consequences for leftist andcentrist groups, forcing them to redefine their positions and indeed, to abandonold commitments. Clearly, there was a substantial area of common groundshared by conservatives, liberals and even some socialists in Japan, commonground that was starkly revealed in the conditions of late 1931. In short,commitment to ‘national interest’ ran deep among civilian public figures as wellas military ideologues and government officials. For people like FukushimaShiro, editor of Fujo shinbun, and Nitobe and Tsurumi of the Japan Council of theInstitute of Pacific Relations, the needs of the state were ultimately more impor-tant than their other, more progressive principles. Such people were notextremists. They rarely, for example, endorsed the more blatant attempts toglorify the military by repeating stories of incredible acts of heroism on thebattlefield; nor did they have much to say about the desirability of securingManchuria through Japanese settlement. In most cases they were reluctant to seeJapan withdraw from the League of Nations. They did, however, accept theessential elements of Japan’s claim to Manchuria that were outlined in Chapter 3,and were prepared vigorously to defend them in the public arena. Such a world-view meant that the potential for both moderates and left-wingers to oppose thearmy or government was severely impaired. In the event, moderate intellectualsfor the most part voluntarily tied themselves to Japan’s official stance onManchuria and the League of Nations, while the left wing was all but destroyedby a combination of official harassment and internal collapse.

For right-wing activists the picture was more complex. Those rightists with aparticular commitment to overseas expansion celebrated Japan’s new gains but,


unsatisfied with what had been achieved, conspired to extend them. The formalrecognition of Manchukuo by Japan in September 1932 and eventual withdrawalfrom the League of Nations placated nationalist opinion to a degree, but at home,agrarian suffering continued and the zaibatsu and political parties were stillpowerful. Those whose major concern was with domestic issues continued tocriticise the status quo and to plot internal insurrection, receiving more and moreguidance and support from military sources. In the meantime, the majority ofpeople with no particular involvement in politics continued to focus much moreon the economic depression than events in Manchuria or the prospects ofrevolution, especially in the countryside, where conditions were extremely harshin the early 1930s.

Notes1 Sekki, 5 October 1931, quoted in George M. Beckmann and Okubo Genji, The

Japanese Communist Party 1922–1945, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1969, p.220.

2 Nabeyama Sadachika, Watashi wa Kyosanto o suteta: jiyu to sokoku o motomete, Tokyo,Daito shuppansha, 1949, pp. 137–40; Beckmann and Okubo, Japanese CommunistParty, p. 219.

3 See Sandra Wilson, ‘The Comintern and the Japanese Communist Party’, in TimRees and Andrew Thorpe (eds), International Communism and the Communist International1919–43, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1998, pp. 300–3.

4 Patricia G. Steinhoff, Tenko: Ideology and Societal Integration in Prewar Japan, New York,Garland, 1991, p. 6.

5 Germaine A. Hoston, The State, Identity, and the National Question in China and Japan,Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994, pp. 32, 177–8.

6 Nabeyama, Watashi wa Kyosanto o suteta, pp. 146, 154.7 Hoston, Marxism and the Crisis of Development, pp. 71–4.8 See Fukumoto Kazuo, Kakumei undo razo, Tokyo, San’ichi shobo, 1962, pp. 142–4;

Takabatake Michitoshi, ‘Ikkoku shakaishugisha: Sano Manabu, NabeyamaSadachika’, in Shiso no kagaku kenkyukai (ed.), Tenko, Vol. 1, Tokyo, Heibonsha,1959, p. 173.

9 FS, 27 December 1931, p. 2; 1 May 1932, p. 2; 15 May 1932, p. 2; Ishizuki Shizue,‘1930nendai no musan fujin undo’, in Joseishi sogo kenkyukai (ed.), Nihon joseishi 5:gendai, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1982, p. 209. See also Chapter 9 of thisbook.

10 [Arahata Kanson], ‘Daini [sekai senso] no kiki to tatakae!’, Rono, October 1931, pp.2–3. The author’s name is not given in the original and the characters in squarebrackets in the title had been replaced by fuseji. Arahata summarises the article inArahata Kanson, Kanson jiden, Tokyo, Ronsosha, 1960, p. 493. See pp. 494–5 onSakai’s opposition to the Manchurian Incident.

11 Kitaoka, Kiyosawa, pp. 52–63, 91–5.12 Ishibashi Tanzan, ‘Shina ni taisuru tadashiki ninshiki to seisaku’ (6 February 1932),

in Kamo Takehiko (ed.), Dai Nippon shugi to no toso (Ishibashi Tanzan chosakushu 3: seijigaiko ron), Tokyo, Toyo keizai shinposha, 1996, pp. 193–201; Nolte, Liberalism, pp.161–3, 248, 270–2. On Toyo keizai shinpo during the Manchurian crisis, see alsoEguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, Ch. 7.

13 Nolte, Liberalism, pp. 26, 241.14 Taiichiro Mitani, ‘Changes in Japan’s International Position and the Response of

Japanese Intellectuals: Trends in Japanese Studies of Japan’s Foreign Relations,


1931–1941’, in Borg and Okamoto (eds), Pearl Harbor as History, pp. 577–84; SadakoOgata, ‘The Role of Liberal Nongovernmental Organizations in Japan’, ibid., pp.471, 476. On Yanaihara see Susan C. Townsend, Yanaihara Tadao and JapaneseColonial Policy: Redeeming Empire, London, Curzon Press, 2000, esp. Ch. 6.

15 Mitani, ‘Changes’, pp. 576–7.16 Ueda Teijiro, Ueda Teijiro nikki, Vol. 3, Tokyo, Ueda Teijiro nikki kankokai, 1963, p.

166 (November 1931).17 See especially Sandra Wilson, ‘Women, the State and the Media in the Early 1930s:

Fujo shinbun and the Manchurian Crisis’, Japan Forum, Vol. 7, No. 1, April 1995, pp.87–106; Wilson, ‘Manchurian Crisis and Moderate Japanese Intellectuals’.

18 On the magazine’s attitude to earlier conflicts see Orii Miyako, ‘Fukushima Shiro nosensokan’, in Fujo shinbun o yomu kai (ed.), ‘Fujo shinbun’ to josei no kindai, Tokyo, Fujishuppan, 1997, pp. 257–82; Nagahara Kazuko, ‘Fujo shinbun ni miru Ajia kan’, ibid.,pp. 121–2.

19 Yamakawa Kikue, ‘Manshu no jusei’, Fujin koron, November 1931, reprinted inYamakawa Kikue, Josei goju ko, Tokyo, Kaizosha, 1933 and Suzuki Yuko (ed.), Josei:hangyaku to kakumei to teiko (Shiso no umi e: kaiho to henkaku 2), 1990, pp. 206–10.

20 FS, 27 September 1931, p. 1.21 ‘Fujin no kokuminteki jikaku’, FS, 9 October 1932, p. 1.22 Orii, ‘Fukushima Shiro no sensokan’, p. 280.23 ‘Hakai to kensetsu: tomo ni ten’i no hatsugen’, FS, 28 February 1932, p. 1. See also

Wilson, ‘Women, the State and the Media’, pp. 95–101; Nagahara,‘Fujo shinbun nimiru Ajia kan’, p. 121; Orii, ‘Fukushima Shiro no sensokan’, p. 269.

24 Nakami Mari, ‘Taiheiyo mondai chosakai to Nihon no chishikijin’, Shiso, No. 728,February 1985, pp. 106–7; Wilson, ‘Manchurian Crisis and Moderate JapaneseIntellectuals’, pp. 518–20.

25 Nitobe Inazo, ‘The Manchurian Question and Sino-Japanese Relations’, in NitobeInazo zenshu, Vol. 15: Lectures on Japan, Tokyo, Kyobunkan, 1969, pp. 221–33.

26 Nitobe Inazo, ‘Japan, the League of Nations, and the Peace Pact’ (texts of two radiobroadcasts in the United States, 8 May 1932 and 20 August 1932), in Nitobe Inazozenshu, Vol. 15, p. 243. See also Takayanagi Kenzo, ‘On the Legality of the ChineseBoycott’, Pacific Affairs, Vol. 5, No. 10, October 1932, pp. 855–62.

27 See, for example, Nitobe, ‘Japan, the League of Nations, and the Peace Pact’. For adiscussion of whether Nitobe is likely to have believed the official version of theevents of 18 September 1931 see Ota Yuzo, ‘“Taiheiyo no hashi” toshite no NitobeInazo’, Part 4, Misuzu, No. 294, April 1985, pp. 55–6.

28 See Wilson, ‘Manchurian Crisis and Moderate Japanese Intellectuals’, pp. 518–44.29 Ota, ‘“Taiheiyo no hashi”’, Part 1, Misuzu, No. 286, August 1984, p. 5.30 Ogata, ‘Role of Liberal Nongovernmental Organizations’, p. 469.31 Nitobe Inazo, ‘Sino-Japanese Friendship’, 31 July 1932, in Editorial Jottings, p. 382.32 Nitobe, ‘Japan, the League of Nations, and the Peace Pact’, pp. 249–52.33 Takagi Yasaka, ‘World Peace Machinery and the Asia Monroe Doctrine’, in

American Studies Center, University of Tokyo (ed.), The Collected Works of YasakaTakagi, Vol 5: Toward International Understanding. Enlarged Edition, Tokyo, Universityof Tokyo Press, 1971, pp. 9, 14–16. This article was also published under the sametitle in Pacific Affairs, Vol. 5, No. 11, November 1932, pp. 941–53.

34 Konoe Fumimaro, ‘Ei-Bei hon’i no heiwashugi o haisu’, Nippon oyobi Nipponjin, No.146, 15 December 1918. See also Ogata, ‘Gaiko’, pp. 43–4.

35 Tsurumi Yusuke, ‘Japan in the Modern World’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 9, No. 2,January 1931, pp. 264–5.

36 FS, 6 December 1931, p. 1.37 Teikoku gikai shugiin giji sokkiroku, 61st session, 25 March 1932, p. 67.38 Quoted in George Oakley Totten III, The Social Democratic Movement in Prewar Japan,

New Haven, Yale University Press, 1966, p. 259.


39 Nakami, ‘Taiheiyo’, pp. 106–8, 111.40 Nitobe, ‘Great Hopes for the League’, 6 June 1933, in Editorial Jottings, p. 479.41 Nitobe, ‘China’s New Government’, 7 January 1932, ibid., pp. 295–6.42 For more detailed discussion of these points see Wilson, ‘Manchurian Crisis and

Moderate Japanese Intellectuals’, pp. 522–31, 537–40.43 Quoted in Ito Takashi,‘The Role of Right-Wing Organizations in Japan’, in Borg

and Okamoto (eds), Pearl Harbor as History, p. 492.44 SKG 1931, p. 70; SKG 1932, p. 152.45 See Okamoto Seiichi, Funaguchi Manju den, Tokyo, 1942, quoted in Ito, ‘Role of

Right-Wing Organizations’, p. 493, n. 10 (p. 718).46 ‘The Extreme Right in Japan’, 2 November 1953, p. 7, United States National

Archives, Washington, DC (hereafter USNA), Records of the Department of State,Record Group 59, Research and Analysis Reports, Division of Research for FarEast, Office of Intelligence Research, OIR Report No. 6432.

47 See, for example, Nakamura, History of Showa Japan, pp. 111–12.48 On Ogawa, see Wilson, ‘Russo-Japanese War and Japan’, p. 176.49 Ogawa, ‘Manshu dokuritsu kankei keika (1)’; Ogawa Heikichi, ‘Manshu dokuritsu

kankei keika (2)’, Ogawa Heikichi kankei monjo, Vol. 1, pp. 644–51; Ito Takashi,‘Ogawa Heikichi shoden narabi ni shuyo monjo kaidai’, ibid., pp. 96–8.

50 See Takahashi, Showa no gunbatsu, pp. 127–8, 131.51 Storry, Double Patriots, p. 56.52 Inoue Nissho, Ichinin issatsu, Tokyo, Shinjinbutsu oraisha, 1972, pp. 185–6.53 Seki, ‘Manchurian Incident’, pp. 71–2; Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 100–2.54 Report by intelligence section of General Staff, quoted in Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, p.

101.55 See Seki, ‘Manchurian Incident’, p. 164.56 Inoue, Ichinin issatsu, pp. 176–7.57 Stephen S. Large, ‘Substantiating the Nation: Terrorist Trials as Nationalist Theatre

in Early Showa Japan’, in Sandra Wilson (ed.), Nation and Nationalism in Japan,London, Curzon Press, forthcoming 2002. See also Stephen S. Large, ‘NationalistExtremism in Early Showa Japan: Inoue Nissho and the “Blood-Pledge CorpsIncident”, 1932’, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 35, Part 3, July 2001, p. 550.

58 Yoshihashi, Conspiracy, pp. 95, 100–2.59 See Ito, ‘Role of Right-Wing Organizations’, pp. 497–9.60 See Banno, Nihon seijishi, p. 186.61 See David A. Sneider, ‘Action and Oratory: the Trials of the May 15th Incident of

1932’, Law in Japan, Vol. 23, 1990, pp. 1–66; Large, ‘Substantiating the Nation’.62 Quoted in Mainichi Daily News Staff, Fifty Years of Light and Dark: The Hirohito Era,

Tokyo, 1975, p. 56.63 Sneider, ‘Action and Oratory’, pp. 28–9, 42.64 Stephen Vlastos, ‘Agrarianism without Tradition: The Radical Critique of Prewar

Japanese Modernity’, in Stephen Vlastos (ed.), Mirror of Modernity: Invented Traditionsof Modern Japan, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1998, p. 93.

65 Fujii Hitoshi, ‘Ko Fujii kaigun shosa no nikki utsushi (sho)’, in Hara Hideo, SawachiHisae and Sakisaka Tetsuro (eds), Kensatsu hiroku: Go ichi go jiken III, Tokyo, Kado-kawa shoten, 1990, pp. 658, 677. On Fujii, see Large, ‘Nationalist Extremism’, pp.546–7.

Part III

Interest groups and localperspectives

6 Reactions in the countryside

Many stereotypes about Japanese responses to the Manchurian crisis are basedon evidence from urban areas. Where rural society is taken into account, it isoften said to have provided unqualified and virtually automatic support for thearmy. In fact about half of Japan’s population lived in rural areas in the early1930s, making rural responses to the Manchurian crisis a vital part of the picture.What actually emerges from a close study of publications produced in and for thecountryside is the clear message that for villagers, the overwhelming issue at thetime of the invasion of Manchuria was not foreign policy but the depression. Tointerpret villagers’ experience of the early 1930s chiefly in terms of the ‘fifteen-year war’, or to dismiss rural reactions to the Manchurian Incident as blindobedience to the army or as a straightforward manifestation of ‘war fever’, is toignore this central fact.

An appreciation of conditions in the countryside, therefore, is an essentialpart of the context in which the Manchurian Incident and subsequent eventsoccurred. This chapter begins with an outline of the rural impact of thedepression, then goes on to examine the question of the army’s relationship withthe countryside before analysing rural responses to the Manchurian crisis itself.

Conditions in the countryside

The sharp decline in prices for agricultural goods from 1929 onwards causedgreat suffering among villagers, particularly in the north and north-east of Japan.The income and welfare of the rural population had already fallen in the 1920s,owing to an absolute decline in prices for agricultural goods in Japan caused bycompetition from rice imports from Korea and Taiwan; the government’s effortthroughout the decade to deflate the economy sufficiently to allow a return to thegold standard, abandoned in 1917, at pre-war parity; and a fall in world prices foragricultural goods.1 Exports, however, had increased by 133 per cent between1913 and 1929. Silk and cotton were the principal products, with silk threadaccounting for about 40 per cent of Japan’s exports by the end of the 1920s. TheUnited States was Japan’s most important market, taking more than 90 per centof silk thread and 43 per cent of total Japanese exports by 1929.2

Dependence on a relatively small group of export commodities and on the

126 Interest groups and local perspectives

United States as a market left Japan particularly vulnerable to the sharp, world-wide decline in export prices for agricultural goods which occurred from 1929onwards; and the fact that the world depression began in the United States wasespecially unfortunate for Japanese producers. Japan’s agricultural depressionbegan with the fall in the silk-thread price in May 1930, which led immediately toa drop in prices for cocoons. In 1930, spring cocoon prices fell to about half thoseof the previous year. During 1931, the price for silk thread also declined by morethan half compared to January 1930. The amount of silk exported to the UnitedStates, affected not only by the depression in that country but also by continuingcompetition from rayon, fell by 44.6 per cent between 1929 and 1930. Japan’sAsian markets for cotton goods, principally China and India, also contractedmarkedly, with both countries raising tariffs to protect their home industries.3

The drop in silk prices in particular had a drastic effect on agricultural areas inJapan. At the beginning of the depression, about 40 per cent of all farm house-holds raised silk, which provided one of very few sources of cash income apartfrom wage labour by young rural women in the textile mills of the towns andcities.4 In certain areas, dependence on silk was much higher. In NaganoPrefecture, a major silk region, 80 per cent of farm households raised silk-wormsin 1930. However, a middle-level farm household producing 100 kan or 375 kg ofcocoons per year would have earned only 200 yen in 1930, compared to 1,000yen in 1925.5 In some areas, particularly in mountain villages with a shortage ofarable land, there were households which depended entirely on silk. For them thedepression was disastrous. Then, in October 1930, prices also plummeted for rice,the other staple of Japanese agricultural production. In 1925 rice had sold for 41yen per bushel (koku). In August 1930 the price had fallen to 30 yen and 50 sen perbushel, in September to 28 yen and 70 sen, and in October to 19 yen.6 A bumperrice crop was partly responsible for the sudden, catastrophic drop during 1930.

The following year, the average price for rice was 18 yen and 46 sen perbushel, but the cost of production was 20–23 yen.7 The result, unavoidably, wasan increase in farm household debt, which rose in 1932 to an average of 846 yenper household. At the time, the average annual income for tenant farmers,including earnings from both agricultural and non-agricultural sources, was 552yen; so average debt was more than 1.5 times higher than the average annualincome for tenant farmers.8 In 1930, 59 per cent of owner-farmers and 76 percent of tenants were in debt. Opportunities to increase the household incomethrough wage labour decreased as textile mills closed or suspended operations inthe depression, and as wages for agricultural labour fell. According to figuresproduced by the Imperial Agricultural Association (Teikoku nokai), the cost ofagricultural production fell by 24.1 per cent between 1930 and 1931, and 35.2per cent of this decrease was attributable to wage reduction.9 Opportunities tosupplement income through cocoon production were threatened not only by lowprices for silk, but by the very cost of keeping silk-worms at all, given that the gapbetween prices for agricultural products and prices for manufactured goods hadgreatly reduced farmers’ purchasing power. As one village writer complainedsarcastically,

Reactions in the countryside 127

The silk-worms of the old days ate only mulberry leaves, but the silk-wormsof today have strong teeth and eat houses and land as well. If they build youa house, that’s fine, but they eat and then leave without paying the bill.10

The bumper rice crop of 1930 was followed by abnormally poor crops inHokkaido and Tohoku in 1931, and again in 1934. Food shortages werewidespread in northern Japan in 1932, combining with unemployment and theburden of debt to cause great suffering in many rural areas. In one village inIwate Prefecture, the infant mortality rate in 1934 rose to 50 per cent, at a timewhen the national average was 13 per cent. A village head in Yamagata Prefec-ture reported in 1931 that 110 of the village’s 467 girls aged between fifteen andtwenty-four had been sold as prostitutes,11 while a 1932 newspaper report informedreaders that in Niigata, a girl in the third grade, aged about eleven, would bring100 yen, while a girl of fifteen, a graduate of a primary school, would bring 400yen.12 Other young women left the villages to work as entertainers, waitresses,maids and nursemaids, with fewer now finding employment in textile mills.

Newspapers frequently reported suicides and murder–suicides in both cityand country which were attributed to inability to find work or feed families:according to Home Ministry statistics, more than 25 per cent of the 389 officialcases of ‘family suicide’ in the three years from 1928 to 1930 were already causedby ‘the difficulty of getting a livelihood’.13 Children, especially in northern areas,were often absent from school because they had to help with farm work or carefor younger children, or because they did not have suitable wet-weather clothes.Hungry children attracted nation-wide publicity. It was reported that over200,000 primary-school pupils throughout the country took no food to eatduring the day at school, while in one village in Iwate Prefecture, 400 of the 900children of primary-school age in early 1932 were said to be undernourished.14 Afurther consequence of the depression in rural areas was an increase in disputesbetween tenants and landlords, especially in Tohoku, where economic distressprompted many small landlords to attempt to evict tenants in order to cultivatemore land themselves.15 In 1928, the number of officially-registered tenantdisputes throughout Japan was 1,866. In 1930 the total rose to 2,478, in 1931 to3,419 and in 1935 to a pre-war peak of 6,824. Thus the situation in the villagesbecame a political as well as a social problem.16 The political dimension of therural crisis only increased in 1932 when thousands of farmers petitioned the Dietfor rural relief. In that year, too, rural suffering achieved further politicalprominence as numerous groups and individuals, from politicians to right-wingterrorists, cited the need to rescue suffering farmers as the justification for avariety of policies and actions. Not least, the army took up the cause of thecountryside, confirming many later observers in the view that there was somesort of special relationship between the two.

The army and the countrysideA fairly straightforward relationship between rural areas and the army has oftenbeen posited for pre-war Japan. Some writers have argued that high tenancy rates


and oppression by landlords produced a potent discontent which led farmers tosupport militarist solutions; some that landlord dominance and a collectivistethic at least discouraged opposition to militarism; some that the army’s institu-tional links with the countryside were so strong that farmers almost automaticallyobeyed the military. It has often been assumed, more generally, that because alarge number of soldiers came from the countryside, it was ‘natural’ for villagersto support the army. In reality, the relationship between rural areas and themilitary was more complicated than these interpretations suggest.

Richard Smethurst and others have shown that by the time of the Manchuriancrisis, the army and its reservist associations were able to build on an institutionalbase in the countryside which was already strong. Smethurst goes much further,however, characterising the villages as an ‘obedient rural following’ for the army,which by the late 1920s had been able to create in the countryside ‘a support thatnever faltered’,17 chiefly by manipulating village youth, reservist and women’sorganisations so as to provide ready channels of army influence. He implies thatthe stage was set by the late 1920s, and that the momentous events of the 1930swere all but irrelevant to the attitudes of farmers towards the army: ‘militaryleaders would probably have increased their influence in the 1930s even if thedepression, the Manchurian Incident, and the assassinations of party primeministers had never taken place’.18 Smethurst’s argument is unconvincing andunsatisfying for at least two reasons. First, it oversimplifies the complex period of‘Taisho democracy’, in which a variety of left-wing, conservative and centristmovements sprang up in the countryside as much as in the towns and cities. Thepolitical stance and demands of such movements varied, but taken together, theyreveal a range of activity in rural areas which was relatively independent ofbureaucratic control, contradicting Smethurst’s image of passive and obedientfarmers. Some movements specifically opposed army initiatives.19 Second,Smethurst fails to allow for the fluidity of political attitudes in the countryside inthe early 1930s and beyond; in particular, he makes little or no allowance for theimpact of the depression.

Undeniably, however, at the beginning of the 1930s a proportion of villageopinion must have been well disposed towards the army, with which farmershad had diverse links for at least the previous decade.20 The impression that thearmy to some extent represented rural interests was enhanced by a belief amongthe Japanese public, not least in rural areas, that other elite groups had beenthoroughly discredited. Just as in Germany the Nazi Party took advantage ofa long-standing ‘aversion to politics, not to this or that policy, this or that party,but to politics as such’,21 the Japanese army skilfully exploited similar feelings inJapan. In many people’s minds the political parties and the zaibatsu wereinseparable and were as bad as each other. Together they were held responsiblefor the economic depression and the political corruption that was believed to bewidespread.

The belief that the zaibatsu and political parties were to blame for economic andpolitical problems was in fact well entrenched. The business and political eliteswere said to be selfish, dishonest and corrupt, and to be in league with each other


against the true interests of the nation and the people. In the common view fromthe villages, party politicians were uncaring about the plight of farmers andothers, completely failing to represent farmers’ interests: Diet members repre-senting rural Japan, according to one local publication, were ‘feudal lords’ (shoko)who made fancy speeches full of empty promises about revival of the villages butin the end delivered nothing.22 Rather, they protected the zaibatsu and passed lawsfavourable to businessmen. Some rural publications disparagingly referred tocabinets as the ‘Iwasaki [i.e. Mitsubishi] clique’ or ‘the government of financecapital’ (kin’yu shihon seifu).23 In addition, party politicians were often accused inthe early 1930s of failing to represent Japan adequately in world affairs. ForeignMinister Shidehara Kijuro’s ‘weak-kneed diplomacy’ in relation to China was theusual scapegoat in this argument.

The zaibatsu were regarded as enemies by almost everyone. As A. E.Tiedemann has observed,

To radical young army officers and other right-wing groups, the zaibatsuwere corrupt and self-seeking exploiters of the masses, always willing tosacrifice the national interest in the pursuit of private gain. To the small- andmiddle-sized businessmen going through the throes of the Great Depression,they were unfair competitors mercilessly strangling the little man. To theconsumer, especially to the farmer, they were monopolists squeezing the lastbit of profit out of every sale.24

Hostility towards the zaibatsu deepened as a result of the ‘dollar-buying incident’of 1930, when certain Japanese businessmen had profited considerably byexporting a large amount of gold to buy dollars just before Japan returned to thegold standard.25 This episode aroused great public comment, and Mitsui inparticular was universally attacked as evil and traitorous. In addition to otherreasons for hostility towards the political parties and zaibatsu, farmers associatedboth of them with the city. Indeed, both could be regarded as direct manifest-ations of the evil of the city, which was contrasted with the wholesomeness,patriotism and respect for tradition supposedly manifested by farmers – and bythe army. In such a context, the army could present itself implicitly as analternative force which had the interests of the nation, and particularly offarmers, at heart; was free from discredited special interests; and offered hope fora solution to the hardships of the depression. One of those solutions involvedJapanese control of Manchuria, which supposedly would allow successfulsettlement of Japan’s ‘surplus’ population, the growing of more foodstuffs forthose at home, opportunities for small and medium-sized Japanese businesses tothrive, and other benefits.

More generally, the army posed as protector and spokesman of rural areas.Thus Army Minister General Araki Sadao called in late 1933 for unemploymentrelief in fishing villages, crop diversification, rural industrialisation, debt reduc-tion and an increase in by-employment to boost cash income;26 and the militaryofficers who participated in the terrorist incidents of 1932 cited rural suffering as


one of their major motivations. Rural distress and the need to relieve it, in fact,became a very powerful theme and a prime means of legitimating a variety ofpolicies and actions. One soldier who participated in the 15 May Incident saidlater in court:

The impoverishment of the farming villages is a cause of grave concern to allthoughtful people. It is the same with the fishing villages and the smallmerchants and industrialists. Among the troops the farmer conscripts makea good showing, and the farmers of the north-eastern provinces provide theArmy with model soldiers. It is extremely dangerous that such soldiersshould be worried about their starving families when they are at the frontexposing themselves to death. In utter disregard of poverty-stricken farmersthe enormously rich zaibatsu pursue their private profit. Meanwhile theyoung children of the impoverished farmers of the north-eastern provincesattend school without breakfast, and their families subsist on rotten potatoes.I thought that to let a day go by without doing anything was to endanger theArmy for one day longer.27

It is difficult to judge how sincere were any of the various people who spokeout on behalf of the countryside in the early 1930s. Even the right-wingrevolutionaries, within and outside of the military, evidently were not always asdevoted to the welfare of farmers as they claimed. The diary of the leadingrightist naval officer, Lieutenant-Commander Fujii Hitoshi, reveals a surprisingvariation to the perceived motives of such activists. Fujii wrote early in 1931 thata coup to overthrow the bourgeoisie would be essential in the near future. He wasclearly prepared to subordinate everything to a strategy to bring about such acoup, in which he believed the emperor could be persuaded to participate. Thesuffering of Japanese people in rural areas, however, rather than an inspiration orspur to action, was for Fujii an instrument to be used: poverty among farmers, hebelieved, had great possibilities in encouraging the solidarity of his organisation.For him, the coup came first, and suffering farmers provided a useful justifi-cation, especially now that conditions in the countryside were so convenientlybad. Fujii hoped and believed that 1932 would be the year of revolution in Japan,actively plotting with others towards that end, and exercising considerableinfluence over the ‘blood brotherhood’ assassinations and the 15 May Incident.He himself did not live, however, to see the failed coup of May: he was killed inthe Shanghai Incident in February.28

As for those mainstream army figures who spoke out publicly about thecountryside in the early 1930s, it is unlikely that the relief of rural poverty wastheir main motivation either, except inasmuch as poverty produced weak andsickly recruits or, as the defendant quoted above claimed, took the soldiers’minds off their job. Ronald Dore, Awaya Kentaro and Thomas Havens allconvincingly reject the thesis that the army was motivated by humanitarianconcern for the farmers, and Havens also refutes the common assertion that thearmy paid attention to the countryside because of an overrepresentation of rural


men within the army.29 In the view of these scholars, the army’s attitude towardsrural areas during the depression was more significantly affected by a desire toincrease Japan’s self-sufficiency in foodstuffs in case of war, and by a fear ofradicalisation of rural areas. As Awaya points out, if the eradication of povertyhad truly been the army’s goal, then more of the military budget would havebeen spent on relief. In fact, financial support from the army to conscripts’families was very low, especially in view of the rapid increases in the militarybudget in the first half of the 1930s. Awaya concludes that the army’s real motivein wooing the countryside was anti-revolutionary: it sought to forestall thedanger that people might identify the increase in military budgets as the basiccause of continuing poverty.30 Such a fear was not without foundation, in view ofthe fact that rural organisations had not always seen eye-to-eye with the army inthe recent past. During the 1920s, rural young men’s associations had advocatedreductions in military spending, and some had also opposed the creation ofspecial training schools (seinen kunrenjo) by the army to prepare young men forlater military service. Complaints about the financial burden on villages thatthese schools would impose had in fact led to a substantial reduction in villagecontributions to their support.31 Havens concludes, in similar fashion to Awaya,that ‘only insofar as rural decay threatened the country . . . did most of them[young army officers] remain upset about the farm dilemma’.32 Most recently,Kerry Smith has placed Araki’s sudden concern for the countryside late in 1933firmly within the context of heated political battles over the government’s 1934budget, in which the army received large increases, while rural relief was cut.Smith comments: ‘It is hard to resist the conclusion that Araki’s leap to thedefense of the farms came when it did as part of a strategy to blunt publiccriticism that the villages had been sacrificed to pay for the military’s budget’.33

Whatever its motives, the army did direct as much or more attention thananyone else towards rural areas in the early 1930s, and farmers naturallyresponded to this. For many, support of the army’s exploits was doubtless astraightforward expression of patriotism, as well as a sort of protest vote throughwhich dissatisfaction with and contempt for the existing system could beregistered. The army, in turn, not being accountable to an electorate, was able tomake extravagant and even contradictory promises to the public without theresponsibility to deliver. After September 1931, the success of the ManchurianIncident, together with the removal of critics through the increase in officialrepression of left-wing activity in the same period, combined to increase theappeal of the army. Thus enrolments in the seinen kunrenjo rose even in thosevillages where opposition to them had been greatest;34 and one NaganoPrefecture publication noted that at a time when party politics had lost allauthority, the ‘present situation’, especially the Manchurian issue, had causedpeople to be strongly attracted to the military instead.35

Nonetheless, it is clear that the military itself did not take rural support forgranted. In the first half of the 1930s the army was actively seeking to build ruralsupport, indicating that its leaders were far from convinced they had the loyaltyof all villagers. The Army Minister toured distressed areas in 1934, promising


relief money. The army investigated and publicised village health standards anddetails of diet, and started its own public works schemes to provide rural employ-ment. In a well-known pamphlet published in 1934, it emphasised rural distressas Japan’s greatest weakness.36 Allowing for the probability that it was partlymotivated by a genuine concern about the consequences of the poor health ofrecruits, these efforts still leave the definite impression that the army was notcompletely confident of rural support in this period, an impression that is onlystrengthened by the amount of positive propaganda the military authorities felt itnecessary to transmit to the countryside during the Manchurian crisis, as weshall see later.

Rural responses to the Manchurian crisis

Initial public reactions to the Manchurian Incident came as a relief to certainmilitary leaders who had been by no means confident that the public wouldendorse the Kwantung Army’s actions. Certainly, the response from at leastsome rural areas was both immediate and spontaneous – markedly more so thanin the cities. Particularly in Tohoku, which had sent a comparatively largenumber of soldiers to Manchuria, the opening of hostilities in September 1931brought an instant response. Visits to shrines increased greatly; regular prayersfor the soldiers were held in some areas; and a large number of relief parcels (imonbukuro), containing food, letters and other items, were packed and dispatched byyouth groups, schoolchildren, reservist and women’s associations, among othergroups. A Kofu City geisha organisation sent 1,000 relief packages to the front,starting in October.37 Some groups sent members to Manchuria to deliver the‘comforts’ to the troops in person, and to pass on the good wishes of those athome. Throughout rural Japan, letters and parcels were collected and sent tolocal men in Manchuria, and villagers and townspeople turned out to see thesoldiers off and welcome them home.

Fujii Tadatoshi interprets this early public response in rural areas as aspontaneous and largely practical reaction in support of individual soldiers inManchuria, rather than as part of a generalised enthusiasm for the army or formilitarism. The rush to donate money and goods for the troops was not uniformthroughout Japan; the immediate donations from Tohoku people and others ofprotective charms, warm clothing and food can be seen as straightforward acts ofconcern about relatives and village members. Similarly, there was a quickresponse to newspaper photographs suggesting that only about half the soldiersat the front wore steel helmets which, doctors said, would prevent 90 per cent ofhead injuries. When it was reported that the military budget did not allow forhelmets for all, people in the soldiers’ home regions rushed to donate money.38

Manchuria’s cold weather was a further cause of much anxiety, with ‘oursoldiers fighting in temperatures below minus thirty degrees [centigrade]’becoming a media cliché. One collection of reminiscences about the ManchurianIncident stresses that many women donated money simply out of sympathy forthe soldiers fighting in such cold weather.39


Thus there were strong personal bonds between the troops in Manchuria andfarmers at home, and the initial rural response to the Manchurian Incident can beinterpreted in this light. At the same time, ironically, soldiers from Tohoku whohad been sent to Manchuria were worrying about their relatives at home. Manysent money back from the front to their families to help tide them over the badharvest of 1931. In fact, so much money was being sent back that, according tothe Japanese consul in Kirin, which was occupied by the Second Division inSeptember 1931, the soldiers could not afford the services of the Korean womenbrought in as prostitutes for them.40

In late 1931, the involvement of the Japanese public in the war effort began totake a new direction. By now the large newspapers, starting with the Asahi, wereorganising the collection of relief packages in the cities, in the process generatinga national campaign to send ‘comfort kits, sake, solace funds, tobacco, andletters’ to the troops.41 Sending of relief parcels continued to be popular through-out Japan, but at the same time, new and different campaigns were also initiated,through newspaper companies and other organisations, which aimed to raisemoney for the army itself. Donations of money were now increasingly earmarkedfor aeroplanes and military weapons, for use both at home and in Manchuria,and later Shanghai. In the countryside, appeals to raise money for militaryaeroplanes were prominent, and by early 1932, two aeroplanes, called ‘Aikokuichigo’ (Patriotism One) and ‘Aikoku nigo’ (Patriotism Two), had been builtusing money from the public. The two planes were sent to Manchuria for a shorttime, then brought back to be displayed in Osaka. Presumably, their potential tostimulate patriotism through the act of donating money and through publicdisplay was at least as important as their actual combat role. By the middle of1933, most prefectures had formed associations through which money was to beraised to build an aeroplane bearing the name of the prefecture. ‘AikokuGunmakenmingo’, donated by the people of Gunma Prefecture, was the first ofthese, while other aeroplanes were donated by specific groups and by wealthyindividuals. In the major cities, by contrast, fund-raising efforts centred not so muchon aeroplanes as on weapons to defend the cities from possible aerial attack.42

As time went on, it became harder to collect money from villagers for thetroops at the front, especially once the campaigns shifted from the collection ofmore or less spontaneous donations to raising money for aeroplanes andweapons. Local communities could not afford to donate the large amountsnecessary for these items, particularly at a time of depression and bad harvests.Fund-raising accordingly became more highly orchestrated, with the initiativemoving to prefectural authorities, which divided the total sum to be donatedamong the towns and villages and collected the money more or less compul-sorily, often through such local organisations as reservist and youth associations.A woman who lived on the outskirts of Kurume in Kyushu in 1931 said manyyears later:

I often made donations [after the Manchurian Incident]. But I never once didit of my own accord. Sometimes I donated because the town officials (yakuba)


said, ‘your household is to donate this much’, and sometimes I would givemoney at the Aikoku fujinkai (Patriotic Women’s Association).43

Local leaders as well as ordinary villagers sometimes resisted the efforts ofprefectural authorities to raise more money. For example, at a meeting inDecember 1931 of town and village leaders in Shida-gun, Miyagi Prefecture,fund-raising plans were shelved because it was obvious that local people couldnot afford to donate towards aeroplanes. In Kofu City, Yamanashi, there werereports of people being beaten by the police because they would not donate to theaeroplane fund.44 In fact, officials in Yamanashi Prefecture experienced consider-able difficulty in collecting enough money for an aeroplane, even though localorganisations and individuals had initially responded to the opening of hostilitiesas enthusiastically as their counterparts elsewhere. The Kofu City branch of theReservist Association resolved on 24 December 1931 to donate an aeroplane tothe army, and a big campaign to raise money began shortly afterwards, with atarget of about 20 sen per household for Yamanashi and Kanagawa Prefectures,the area covered by Kofu District Reservist Association. However, barely anyprogress was made towards the target, which had been set at a total of 28,488yen. By the first anniversary of the Manchurian Incident, the military hadcollected only 1,500 yen from Yamanashi, of a national total of 5.6 million yen.Along with Miyazaki and Yamagata, Yamanashi was amongst the last prefec-tures to donate an aeroplane: Yamanashi’s plane was ‘christened’ in early April1933, thirteen months after Gunma’s plane and behind thirty-one other prefec-tures. It was not that Yamanashi residents were unmindful of the absent soldiers.When local soldiers died in Manchuria, for example, unprecedentedly largefunerals were held. As a major silk-producing area, however, Yamanashi wassuffering particularly badly from the depression, and local farmers did not havemoney to spare to contribute to aeroplane funds.45

Evidence suggests that farmers in other areas, too, were essentially pre-occupied with their own concerns rather than overseas aggression in the early1930s, or were ambivalent about the issues raised by the Manchurian crisis. Thediary of one Niigata Prefecture farmer reveals an awareness of the Manchurianissue and a certain amount of interest in it. Nishiyama Koichi went to a lectureand a film about the Manchurian Incident, and was moved by the sight ofsoldiers departing from the port of Niigata in March 1932. However, referencesin his diary to the Manchurian Incident are few; he is much more concerned withborrowing money, settling debts and generally managing the family finances.46

Nishiyama’s concerns were shared by many throughout Japan. In rural areas,1932 was above all a year of economic depression, and in terms of activism, itwas above all the year of the movement to petition the Diet for rural relief.Between June and August, about 700 petitions were presented to the Diet bygroups of farmers and rural activists, in an unprecedented appeal for assistance.According to some estimates, the total number of signatures exceeded 74,000.47

Though the authorities tried to stem the tide of rural delegates arriving in Tokyowith petitions, rural relief became one of the most prominent political issues of


1932. The high level of activism directed at securing relief measures far exceedsany rural response to the Manchurian crisis, and clearly indicates that survivingthe depression was dominating village thinking.

Where direct evidence exists of rural responses to the Manchurian crisis, itsuggests an early and positive reaction in those areas with personal links tosoldiers at the front, as noted above, but much more fractured attitudes there-after. For the silk-producing region of Nagano Prefecture, rich source material onthe political, economic and social concerns of farmers in the 1920s and 1930ssurvives in the form of regular newspapers produced by local young men’sassociations (seinendan).48 An examination of this material exposes ambivalenceabout the Manchurian crisis, and tension among different village viewpoints, butno evidence that the newspapers were functioning as mouthpieces for the armyin the early 1930s.

Newspapers produced by several villages in Chiisagata-gun, now part of UedaCity, reveal a lively diversity of opinion in their articles, but on the other handlittle patriotic fervour and a generally low level of interest in Manchuria com-pared to other publications. The term ‘life-line’, for instance, is almost absentfrom their pages. Rather, they are preoccupied with the depression and possiblesolutions to the hardships it brought. At the same time, however, the newspapersof the young men’s associations present stark evidence of the critical strains andtensions produced in the villages by the depression and the invasion of Man-churia, with the same publications sometimes offering dramatically opposingperspectives on the situation facing Japanese villages. Some articles presentedtrenchant criticism of the military’s actions in Manchuria, often within a Marxistframework which insisted on interpreting the rural crisis in terms of class con-flict: they are among the few major sources used in this book which occasionallyemployed fuseji to avoid the attentions of the censor, or had issues banned. Otherarticles could not possibly have offended the authorities, consisting as they did ofstandard expressions of agrarianism (nohonshugi), with its emphasis on co-operation and refusal to acknowledge class tensions in the village. Such adiversity of opinion shows that though the young people who wrote for thesepapers might have been uncertain and might have clashed with each other, theywere definitely not docile and apolitical villagers blindly following wherever theauthorities chose to lead.49

The young men’s association papers in Chiisagata-gun published a great dealless about Manchuria than did the mainstream urban press. The newspaperproduced in Kamishina village, for example, which was delivered free to everyhousehold and was also sent to serving soldiers and other village members awayfrom home,50 made almost no reference to Manchuria in the first three monthsafter the Kwantung Army’s action of September 1931. There were no ‘gloriousstories’ from the front in these rural newspapers, nor reports of patriotic fund-raising campaigns. The papers rarely advocated or even discussed emigration toManchuria in the early 1930s. Doubtless, villagers throughout Japan would havefelt the impact of the fighting much more acutely had its scale been greater.Taking one of the Chiisagata-gun villages as an example, however, from a


population of 2,680 people in 547 households in Izumida according to the 1930census, only eight young men were serving in either Manchuria or Korea inSeptember 1932, while by November of the following year, only five wereserving in the army anywhere, including Japan.51 In sharp contrast, in one villagein Toyama, less than half the size of Izumida, thirteen red call-up papers arrivedon the single day of 25 August 1937. At the end of war in 1945, that Toyamavillage’s 246 households were contributing 388 serving soldiers and had lost afurther fifty-three war dead.52

By the end of 1931, it is clear that members of the young men’s associationswere seriously divided in opinion over the significance of the ManchurianIncident. A study group linked to the association’s branch in Izumida village, forinstance, included some members arguing that Japan had nowhere to seekresources other than Manchuria and Mongolia; that even if Japan movedfrom capitalism to socialism it would still need resources; that Manchuria wasindeed the empire’s life-line. Problems of overpopulation, discrimination againstJapanese rights and interests in China and the threat of an economic boycott byWestern nations had seemed insoluble, according to one speaker, ‘but fortunatelythere is at least Manchuria. At this point we must offer the only life we have toHis Majesty the Emperor and join the struggle’. Others, however, argued that thepeople should seek happiness within Japan, without going to Manchuria; orthat the propertyless masses would derive no benefit at all from Manchuria,which would bring profit only to the big capitalists.53 Similarly, one article inKamishina’s newspaper declared that Manchuria would not produce onesen of profit to Japan,54 while a writer in Izumida village declared thatManchuria would be no paradise for ordinary Japanese people, but merelyprovided new opportunities for competition among greedy capitalists: ‘The onlyrole allotted to us over there is to spend our blood and sweat in toil. Dreams ofsuccess without that hardship should be left to people like party politicians andthe zaibatsu.’55

There remained a layer of vehement opposition in the countryside to the warin Manchuria, evident in young men’s associations and elsewhere. Farewellgatherings for soldiers leaving for Manchuria could become platforms for anti-war speeches: arrests on such occasions were made at Soehi and Urasato villagesin Nagano Prefecture, for example.56 Members of tenant unions as well as youngmen’s associations tended to be active in such protests.57 In the village of Ochiaiin Nakakoma-gun, Yamanashi Prefecture, the local young men’s associationcaused trouble by denouncing the patriotic donation movement.58 In January1933, young men in Aoki village in Chiisagata-gun similarly denounced attemptsby the authorities to raise money to send emigrants from Nagano Prefecture to anew settlement in Manchukuo. They argued not only that villagers could notafford to raise the 201 yen required as the contribution from Aoki, but also thatthe campaign to ‘protect Japan’s rights and interests’ in Manchuria was no morethan a disguised attack on Soviet and Chinese Communism and should thereforenot be supported in any case.59

Despite such outbursts, it cannot be denied that the capacity of organisations


such as the young men’s associations to preserve an independent voice wasgreatly weakened during the early 1930s. The Nagano evidence shows, how-ever, that it is not a matter of organisations of young people already committed tothe priorities of the army redoubling their efforts to support the military, asSmethurst’s analysis implies. Rather, the events of the early 1930s themselveshad a profound effect on organisations which had previously shown consider-able independence and spirit. Left-wing movements and publications, whether inthe countryside or not, had of course long attracted the attention of theauthorities, and after the Manchurian Incident, pressure on radical activists fromboth central and prefectural sources only increased. In December 1931, forexample, prefectural authorities in Nagano wrote to town and village youngpeople warning them against the ‘red’ leaders of the prefectural federation ofyoung men’s associations. Amongst the charges against the leaders was that theyhad declared their opposition to imperialist war. At the same time, the authoritieswithdrew their subsidy of the federation.60 By March 1933, the federation wasfacing dissolution, in part because of harassment by the authorities.61 Mostpolitical groups representing farmers in fact came to support the military actionin Manchuria, even if they retained other seemingly ‘left-wing’ demands, such asstate ownership of the land.62

National authorities continued to use arrests and the censorship system tothwart radical activity throughout Japan, as they had done in the past. In NaganoPrefecture, government repression of progressive movements culminated in the‘Red Teachers’ Incident’ of February 1933, in which 138 of the prefecture’steachers were arrested, along with many tenant union activists. Investigationscontinued until mid-June, by which time over 600 people had been arrested. Theintention was apparently to eradicate the whole of the organised left wing inNagano Prefecture, and in this the authorities came close to success. In onevillage, Urasato, thirteen people were arrested and the local farmers’ uniondisbanded as a result.63 After the arrests, the district-level and prefectural-levelyoung men’s associations, having earlier proclaimed their opposition to theinvasion of Manchuria, went into retreat.

More subtle forces were also serving to defuse radicalism, including theexperience of the depression itself. Severe economic difficulties appeared to placeeveryone in the same quandary: thus it became harder to argue that class interestwas paramount. Moreover, the depression produced the petition movement, atactic which again emphasised the common plight of whole villages, prefecturesand regions. Indeed, the petition movement was consciously promoted by theprefectural-level Heads of Towns and Villages’ Association as a means offorestalling class struggle.64 Individual contributors to the young men’s associ-ation newspapers might argue that the petition movement was a tool by whichthe bourgeoisie took care of its own class interest, that it was a reactionarymovement which did nothing to liberate the proletariat;65 but the villagesparticipated all the same. Fourteen representatives from Chiisagata-gun inNagano Prefecture went to Tokyo to present various petitions for rural relief,including villagers from Izumida, Bessho and Kawabe,66 which all had active


young men’s associations producing newspapers that included anti-governmentand anti-military opinions amongst other views.

Like the depression, the Manchurian crisis, too, had the effect of increasingpeople’s consciousness of state or nation at the expense of class or generation, thistime often in a positive way. The general sense that Japan as a whole was undersiege by the Western powers and the League of Nations doubtless encouragedsuch ‘national’ consciousness. More than that, however, the Manchurian venturealso presented a succession of practical occasions on which the village, in wholeor in part, joined in an activity which might loosely be termed nationalist.Associations of young men, women and reservists organised the sending ofletters and parcels to local men in Manchuria. Senior army figures back from thefront gave lectures in villages, and relatives of soldiers fighting in Manchuriawere honoured with banquets on such occasions. Members of women’s groupsvisited local shrines to pray for their hamlet’s soldiers at the front. Villagers wentto bid farewell to departing soldiers, and returning soldiers were met at thestation and formally welcomed home.67 Contemporary observers were certainlyconscious of the value of such occasions. Seeing soldiers off, according to onevery patriotic writer, constituted an act transcending selfish interest, exhibitingvillage unity most satisfactorily.68 An official from Miyagi Prefecture also acknow-ledged the usefulness of such occasions in a speech at a military memorial servicein December 1931. Every time soldiers depart to replace those killed in battle orwounded or sick, he said, the spirits of the people who see them off are elevated –the second time more than the first, the third time more than the second.69

In addition, however, the government developed more deliberate strategies towin the allegiance of the nation’s farmers and to disguise or eradicate class ten-sions in the countryside. The most important were the launching in September1932 of the rural revitalisation movement (keizai kosei undo), the government’smajor policy for countering the depression in the countryside; and, as part of themovement, the encouragement of the agricultural co-operatives, including theirnew youth leagues, which were deliberately designed to provide conservativealternatives to potentially radical tenant farmers’ unions and young men’sassociations, as well as to contribute to the economic advancement of rural areas.Both initiatives drew heavily on agrarianist notions of community, harmony andco-operation and thus were hostile to any leftist activity or philosophy. Arguably,too, it was through the rural revitalisation movement that the very people or classof people who had formerly been anti-government activists were drawn intodeep involvement with state projects during the 1930s and through the warperiod.70 Thus Japanese historians have interpreted the economic revitalisationmovement along with other incorporationist campaigns of the first half of the1930s as the groundwork for ‘control by Japanese fascism of the population’, aswell as an attempt at reorganising the rural economy.71

The rhetoric of the rural revitalisation movement, which relied heavily onsuch slogans as ‘mutual co-operation’, ‘self-help’ and ‘unity of the village’, revealsclearly the aim to defuse class conflict and strengthen existing agrarianisttendencies. Similarly, the youth leagues which had been recently launched by the


agricultural co-operatives, in direct competition with the young men’s associa-tions, sought to present themselves as comprehensive organisations promotingharmony among all classes of the village, even if in reality they best representedthe interests of middle-class or upper-class farmers.72 Thus they appealed to the‘agrarianist’ strand which certainly already existed within the young men’sassociations, while at the same time their very existence was inimical to thecontinuation of radical activity within those organisations. In reality, the newleagues did grow at the expense of the older associations, operating as they nowwere within an even more repressive environment than before.

Messages from the centre

Another strategy to counter radicalism in the countryside was to encourage thepublication of ‘sound’ material in places where farmers would read it. The armyand the bureaucracy made good use of the mainstream press which, as we haveseen, was generally eager to publish sensational war articles. It is difficult,however, to assess to what extent the views expressed in the daily newspapersreached the countryside.73 Rural readership statistics for the major newspapersare not available, but there were clearly a great many households which did notreceive a daily paper. In the Kyushu village studied by John Embree, about onein ten households subscribed to a newspaper. Embree noted:

[Their] influence is not great, but some people read [newspapers] and gain awider outlook. Sometimes they discuss the news with one another, althoughthere is remarkably little of this as yet.74

As for radio, there were more than a million sets in Japan in 1932, but few were incountry areas, as noted in Chapter 3. In Embree’s village, the first radio appearedaround 1930 or 1931. In 1935 there were three, one at the school, and the othertwo owned by prominent villagers. Embree commented:

The radio owned by the broker [debt-collector and speculator in rice andproperty] is always turned on but rarely listened to. The one at school is usedchiefly for radio exercises. When the 1936 Olympic games were broadcast,less than five young men bothered to go to the school to listen at 9.00 p.m.75

At about the same period, a resident of a Yamagata Prefecture village reportedthat sixteen of the 566 households – less than 3 per cent – owned a radio.76

Few mainstream publications were directed towards the needs and interests ofthe non-urban population: the women’s magazines, general entertainmentmagazines and other publications which had become such a conspicuous featureof contemporary Japanese culture were mainly aimed at urban markets. As onewriter addressing rural readers complained, the mainstream women’s maga-zines, for example, were far removed from the lives of rural women (as theydoubtless were from the lives of most urban women too, in reality), publishing


recipes requiring both ingredients and cooking facilities that were unavailable,and presenting solely images of a glamorised urban life. On the other hand, it wasclaimed, country women were more faithful readers of the publications they didreceive, because few other sources of information were available to them,whereas a city woman had only to leave the house in order to learn what was newin the world.77

The penetration of the mainstream urban media into the countryside, thoughundoubtedly growing, was thus patchy at best in the early 1930s. On the otherhand, at least two regular publications functioned specifically as channelsbetween rural areas and the central authorities: Shimin, the organ of the CentralHotokukai discussed in Chapter 4, and the agricultural co-operative movement’sregular journal, Ie no hikari (Light of the Home), which had been founded in 1925,and was substantially controlled by the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry(Norinsho). Ie no hikari was heavily influenced by both the army and the navy inthe early 1930s. Throughout the Manchurian crisis, in contrast to Shimin, itpresented rural readers with views of Manchuria which either emanated directlyfrom, or were sympathetic to, the military.

The 1930s were a time of rapid growth for Ie no hikari, partly because ofdeliberate campaigns to increase readership, stemming from the belief that widedistribution of the magazine would lead to expansion of the agricultural co-operatives’ youth leagues, which were intended, as noted above, to counter-balance the radicalism of the young men’s associations. In the second half of1931, monthly circulation reached 150,000 copies, and by December 1933,exceeded 500,000. The goal of a million readers per month was achieved during1935 and maintained until 1944. Ie no hikari was thus a national best-seller,reaching one in three farm households at the peak of its pre-war circulation. Onlythe urban magazines Kingu (King) and Shufu no tomo (Housewife’s Friend)exceeded Ie no hikari’s circulation in this period.78 In Embree’s village of sixtyhouseholds, very few people subscribed to women’s magazines like Shufu no tomo,while Ie no hikari was apparently the most widely-read periodical.79 It is probablytrue, as one of the official histories of Ie no hikari claims, that the magazinesucceeded because it suited country people more than did any other publication,and because it was cheap. Distributed through the network of agricultural co-operatives, it sold for 20 sen, remaining at that price until 1945, compared to 50sen or so for magazines like Kingu and Shufu no tomo. Official histories emphasisethat it was not distributed free of charge because it was believed that peoplewould take the trouble to read a magazine for which they had paid, whereas afree magazine would be taken less seriously.80

Ie no hikari was a general magazine for rural readers, containing articles onagriculture, the home, home economics and daily life; stories and a children’ssection; news reports and analyses; advertisements and articles encouragingmembership of the co-operatives; and a rather dull readers’ column. The maga-zine was firmly based on the philosophy of agrarianism. Thus village farmingwas seen as the basis of an ideal political and social order, and stood in oppositionto industrialisation, urbanisation and centralised rule. Ie no hikari conveyed an


underlying message that farmers were victims of the onslaught of capitalism andthe cities, which were portrayed as places of crime and corruption. The villages, onthe other hand, were supposedly the embodiment of harmony and co-operation:there was tacit support here, and certainly no criticism, of the landlord–tenantsystem and no acknowledgment of class differences within the village.

Contributors to Ie no hikari were deeply anxious about the economic state ofrural Japan in the early 1930s, and there were many articles on the depression, oninflation and on the cost of living, seeking reasons for the economic crisis andforecasting future trends. All articles on the depression, however, advocatedremedies based on self-help, in accordance with the magazine’s general agrarianistphilosophy as well as the self-help movement (jiriki kosei undo) endorsed by PrimeMinister Saito Makoto on 6 July 1932, of which the agricultural co-operativeswere to be central instruments.81 Economic problems would apparently besolved by individual thrift and sacrifice, and by community co-operation, despiteoccasional recognition in Ie no hikari that some problems – such as the fall in therice price – could not be solved by individual effort. Typical articles in the maga-zine showed country women how to make clothes cheaply, cook economicallyand make their own cosmetics; condemned unnecessarily extravagant weddings;discussed new and more efficient farming methods and so on. In the early 1930s,many articles also sought to transmit the official view of the Manchurian crisis insimple form.

One aspect of agrarianism which was prominently displayed in Ie no hikari wasthe ideal of the farmer-soldier. Through the magazine’s pages, rural readers wereregularly presented with the contrasting images of the urban capitalist or poli-tician, and the rural farmer, whose values were increasingly made synonymouswith those of the idealised soldier. Concrete evidence of the links between themilitary and the villages, and of military attempts to influence farmers, were notlacking, and jobs in the armed forces were often recommended in the magazine.Recruiting advertisements also appeared, as well as articles about life in the armyor navy. Naturally, all presented military life in attractive terms. General articleson jobs for boys would emphasise not patriotic motives but rather the financialsecurity and career opportunities associated with joining the army or navy,providing details of entrance requirements, recruitment procedures and careerprospects.

A career in the military was especially recommended for farm boys at a time ofeconomic depression. It was pointed out, for example, that any male of twentyyears of age was liable for conscription to the army, but that one could volunteerat an earlier age, or stay on after the period of compulsory service; and the navyalso needed volunteers.82 Readers were reminded in May 1932 that new recruitsto the army and navy started at 6 yen per month, and that non-commissionedofficers earned about 50 yen per month. In addition, the family of each recruitreceived 18 yen per year.83 The children’s section of the magazine sometimescontained illustrated articles such as ‘A Typical Day on a Warship’. Theconsiderable emphasis in this article on the amount, variety and tastiness of foodallegedly eaten by naval recruits clearly indicates that it was aimed at poor


children and their parents. Bread, butter, sugar, coffee and other exotic items arespecifically mentioned, as well as more traditional Japanese foods. It was, in fact,a duty for recruits to get used to eating bread and other ‘foreign’ foods becausethe navy, it was said, could at any time be sent to a foreign country where ricewas not available and bread would have to be eaten instead. Lest this romanticand patriotic existence should seem too daunting to young rural boys, militaryroutine was also portrayed as reassuringly similar to an idealised family andvillage life. In a typical rendition of a familiar cliché, the prospective navalrecruits were informed: ‘A warship is a large family. The captain is the father, thesecond-in-charge is the mother, and the sailors are the children’.84 On anotheroccasion, the senior officer on a warship was likened to a chief priest who inolden times would discuss and help to solve all village problems.85

High-ranking military officers contributed articles and stories to Ie no hikari andparticipated in round-table discussions of current issues. News of senior militaryappointments, transfers and occasionally deaths at the front appeared, andphotographs of military aeroplanes, weapons and training exercises werepublished. ‘Glorious military stories’ for adults and children often appeared,including stories about brave military horses and dogs. War in general andspecific wars, notably the Russo-Japanese War and of course the military actionin Manchuria and Shanghai, were made to seem highly romantic and exciting.86

‘Glorious stories’ of the Russo-Japanese War, portrayed as the forerunner to theManchurian Incident, appeared frequently both in the children’s section andelsewhere. They were always accounts of bravery, loyalty, intelligence, and veryoften heroic deaths.87 Occasionally there were ‘glorious stories’ from the homefront, as in a June 1932 report about the Kimuras from Aichi Prefecture, who hadbeen among a number of families honoured by the Army Minister for contri-buting nine or more members to the military.88

This type of article reached a peak in Ie no hikari’s contribution to the ‘threehuman bombs’ phenomenon. The magazine’s main story on the ‘heroic’ deathsin Shanghai appeared in April 1932. It was four pages long – longer than many Ieno hikari articles – and entitled ‘The Death of the Three Brave Warriors thatShook the World’, with the subtitle ‘The flower of yamato damashii [Japanesespirit] planted in the hearts of 80,000,000 citizens’. The bravery of the ‘threehuman bombs’ was said to be unparalleled in the history of warfare, and was notonly a credit to the three soldiers’ home villages and towns, but was also anexpression of Japanese spirit of which Japan could boast to the whole world.Indeed, the article noted, it was fortuitous that the deaths had occurred in theShanghai area, where people from all nations were sure to hear about it. The‘three human bombs’ thus not only would greatly encourage the Imperial Army,but deserved the admiration and gratitude of the entire nation.89

‘Japanese spirit’ was in fact a popular topic in Ie no hikari. Some contributorsechoed the view found elsewhere that the ‘Japanese spirit’ represented by theShanghai heroes had reappeared after being somehow lost or buried in the yearssince the Russo-Japanese War. Others applauded the spirit of early Japanesesettlers in Manchuria, Korea and Mongolia. All agreed that Japanese spirit was


much in evidence in the Manchurian and Shanghai Incidents, not only in theactions of soldiers at the front, but also in the patriotic efforts of those who battledcrises at home.90 There was a ready identification between the ‘military spirit’and the ‘spirit of the Japanese people’. Though it was soldiers who had inheritedyamato damashii in its purest form, the spirit of sincerity, bravery, good manners,loyalty, frugality and above all devotion to the emperor added up to ‘Japanesespirit’ and were present in all Japanese, according to one round-table discussion.Nevertheless, ‘good manners’ were far less evident among civilians, at least in thecities, than in the military: most people failed to bow when passing YasukuniShrine, for example. ‘The West’ did not possess this spirit, which was the key toovercoming all the internal and external crises with which Japan was currentlyfaced. This article contained numerous stories of soldiers dying ‘beautiful’ deathswhile shouting ‘Long live the emperor!’.91

Western countries may have lacked ‘Japanese spirit’, but it was Chinese peopleand particularly Chinese soldiers who were especially scorned. If Japanesesoldiers represented the pinnacle of glorious military achievement, Chinesesoldiers, lacking yamato damashii, represented just the opposite. A number ofarticles purporting to expose ‘the true character of the Chinese army’ emphasisedthat the soldiers and the much-discussed ‘bandits’ were indistinguishable inChina, which allegedly suffered almost equally from both. Chinese joined thearmy for the money, it was said, not through any devotion to the nationalinterest. The implied contrast here is striking in view of the tone of the articles inIe no hikari recommending military careers for young boys, which certainlyappealed to the same instincts in the Japanese population. According tocontributors to Ie no hikari, all Chinese soldiers were lazy, cowardly, ignorant andinept at fighting. If they lost a battle they ran away, and if they couldn’t run awaythey surrendered. They were also effete: when it rained, it was said, they foughtfrom under umbrellas so as not to get their uniforms wet.92

The Manchurian Incident was credited not only with re-establishing Japanesespirit among the general populace, but also with ‘correcting’ the politicalconsciousness of individuals or groups who had been ‘led astray’. One writerapprovingly noted the adoption of new policies by the Social Masses Party at itsSixth Conference in January 1932, including a resolution ‘to clarify the spirit ofrespect for the Japanese kokutai’.93 Other articles continued in the same vein afterthe wave of recantations by Communists that began in earnest in mid-1933: the‘recent national situation’, together with enough leisure in gaol to reflect on it,were correctly seen as major factors in helping Communists come to a realisationof their ‘mistakes’ and adopt more suitable views.94

Not surprisingly, Ie no hikari ’s analysis of the actual military and political eventsof the years 1931–33 did not differ from the army and government line. TheSino-Japanese conflict, it was explained, was the outcome of worsening relationsbetween the two countries, which in turn were blamed on the ‘arrogance’ of theChinese in Manchuria. Japan had naturally acted to defend itself in September1931, because China had been trampling on Japanese ‘rights and interests’ inManchuria for some years, and was obviously anti-Japanese. All responsibility


for the situation was China’s. Nevertheless, the Chinese did not want to solve thevarious problems outstanding in Sino-Japanese relations; rather, they wanted toprolong the crisis in order to wear Japan down. The Shanghai Incident was alsointerpreted as the result of anti-Japanese feelings and activities in China.95 Worldcensure of the Kwantung Army’s actions was said to be based on a misunder-standing of Japan, together with excessive and unwarranted sympathy forChina. In any case, the League was no more than an instrument to serve the self-interest of the large nations – despite the fact that it proved to be the smallermember nations which put the most pressure on Japan – and had no trueunderstanding of Far Eastern affairs. The League’s ‘betrayal’ was all the morebitter in view of the fact that Japan had worked hard as one of its foundingmembers and one of five members of the Permanent Council, in contrast toChina’s minor role.96

Some writers suspected ulterior motives for the world’s censure of Japan: therest of the world, especially Britain, feared the Japanese economy because Japanwas able to produce good-quality articles cheaply; the United States, which wassaid to view Japan as a bitter enemy, was motivated by a desire to take control ofChina, ‘the world’s treasure-house’. Some thought war to be inevitable or likely.According to one writer in November 1932, ‘in the natural course of events’ aclash with the United States would be hard to avoid, and it was merely a matterof time before it occurred. Another, in December the following year, advocated ahigh level of expenditure on national defence and the maintenance of militarystrength, despite the depression – not in order to fight, but ‘in order not to fight,and in order to protect ourselves against the unthinkable’.97

One interpretation of Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations wentmuch further than the standard line, clearly foreshadowing the ideology of‘Greater East Asia’ which became prominent later in the 1930s. Withdrawalfrom the League would do Japan no harm at all, according to journalist ItoKameo; Japan would be no more isolated than the United States or the SovietUnion, which were not League members. Rather, the League would suffer fromthe loss of Japan while Japan on the contrary had become free:

There is no reason at all for Japan to feel pessimistic . . . The League’s anti-Japanese attitude was consistent from beginning to end. This is only to beexpected of the League, which is controlled by whites. But by ourdetermination we rejected their pressure. We have crossed the Rubicon.There is nothing to stop us. If there is any obstruction, we will decisivelydrive it out and advance directly to our objective. There is absolutely noneed to be pessimistic.

Ito further insisted that Japanese actions constituted an attempt to liberate Asiafrom colonial domination. Thus the present struggle was not just between Japanand the League, but also between Asia and the West. White people, with theirAsian colonies, were a sort of ‘absentee landlord’ of Asia; but a movement wasbeginning of all Asian peoples against the absentee landlord, in which Japan had


a leading role to play. In fact, ‘Japan’s courageous behaviour in its battle with theLeague over the Manchurian issue is a permanent declaration of war againsttyrannous whites’. According to Ito, the Western nations believed that if theycould suppress Japan, the peoples of Asia would give in to Western domination.So they had combined to bring pressure on Japan, only to be thwarted byJapanese counter-action. Ito concluded that in the future the large nations in theLeague would begin to lose their authority over the smaller nations; that some ofthe larger nations would try to restore their relations with Japan because it wasagainst their interests not to do so; and that Japan and the United States wouldeventually clash ‘unless the US relinquish[ed] its ambition to rule the world’.98

In Ie no hikari, Manchuria represented primarily a solution to Japan’s economicproblems and secondarily a possession necessary for national security. In 1932particularly, the magazine promoted the idea of Manchuria as an ‘earthlyparadise’ (rakuen , rakudo). It was a paradise mainly because of its abundantnatural resources, but later because of the wonderful new nation which wasbeing created in Manchukuo: a stable and peaceful nation in which all races weresaid to enjoy equal rights. This ideal situation was contrasted with thecircumstances in Manchuria before the creation of the new nation, using thestandard arguments about China as a dangerous and unstable place, ruled bycompeting warlords and overrun by bandits. Thanks to the protection of theJapanese army, residents of Manchukuo, at least, would henceforth live andwork in peace. Education, culture and foreign goods would all come toManchuria. To a lesser extent, Manchuria was portrayed in Ie no hikari as apossession necessary to protect Japan against the supposed threat from the SovietUnion: Manchuria would act both as a ‘buffer’ and as a source of strategic rawmaterials such as coal.99

The familiar phrase, ‘Manchuria, the life-line of Japan’, appeared constantly inIe no hikari, which also industriously promoted the idea of ‘protection of ourlegitimate rights and interests’. The two phrases reinforced almost every newsitem, feature article and report about Manchuria in the magazine’s pages betweenmid-1931 and the end of 1933. Arguments were usually based on theconventional version of the history of Japanese activity in the region: thus Japanhad the right to exploit the resources of Manchuria because of its sacrifices in twowars and through the efforts of pioneer Japanese settlers. In other words, Japanhad ‘earned’ Manchuria ‘by the blood and sweat of the Japanese people’. Inreturn, the Chinese in Manchuria had failed to recognise Japanese rights andinterests. They had treated Japanese residents badly, and had taught theirchildren to hate the Japanese.100 It may be that references to the sacrifices made inwars and pioneering settlement were thought likely to be particularly appealingin rural areas, which had produced most of the soldiers and settlers who hadgone to Manchuria in the past.

As we have seen, the bureaucratic writers appearing in Shimin took quite adifferent attitude to the Manchurian crisis, remaining for the most partunenthusiastic about the prospects offered to Japan by exploitation of Manchuriaand implicitly communicating to their readership of village leaders and others


that the army’s approach to Japan’s problems was not the only available strategy.Though the audience of Shimin was very much smaller than that of Ie no hikari,and its influence undoubtedly less, it does show that not all messages reachingthe countryside in the early 1930s pointed in the same direction. While Ie no hikariembraced Manchuria enthusiastically, some villagers, at least, were being told tolook to the civil authorities and within their own communities in order to findsolutions to the multi-faceted crisis facing Japan and, either explicitly or byimplication, were invited to view the Manchurian project with scepticism.

The fact that more than one kind of message about the Manchurian crisis wasbeing directed at the countryside in the early 1930s is well illustrated by thediffering attitudes of Ie no hikari and Shimin to the question of emigration offarmers to Manchuria. The agricultural co-operatives’ journal, with its heavymilitary influence, endorsed the Kwantung Army’s attempts to encourageJapanese farm settlements in Manchuria. The scepticism of Shimin and its bureau-cratic contributors towards the army’s project in Manchuria, on the other hand,was partly expressed as a rejection of the idea of emigration from rural Japan.

Emigration to Manchuria

Government policy had for some time encouraged emigration to Brazil as onesolution to the perceived problem of overpopulation of the homeland. AfterSeptember 1931, however, at least in Kwantung Army propaganda, the newpromised land was suddenly to be Manchuria, which was declared to be a land ofhuge resources of all kinds, with Japanese farmers as the people who could realiseits limitless potential – while simultaneously securing and extending the militarygains of the Kwantung Army. ‘Trial emigration’ began in 1932. Four years later,the Kwantung Army formulated a plan to send a million households of farmer-settlers, and in the same year, emigration to Manchuria was adopted as an impor-tant national policy by the Hirota Koki Cabinet, remaining part of governmentpolicy right up until Japan’s defeat in 1945. Actual numbers of emigrants,however, fell far short of the desired targets at every stage of recruitment. By thesame token, nearly 78,000 households did emigrate from Japan to Manchuriabetween 1932 and 1945, including about 3,000 in the ‘trial period’ between 1932and 1936.101

The movement to settle Japanese farmers in Manchuria has been seen by somehistorians as a sign of the successful mobilisation of the people in the service ofimperialist goals, and as crucial evidence of popular participation in the ‘fifteen-year war’, with thousands of Japanese rushing to join their nation’s colonialistproject in north-east China. Others who have focused on the undeniable fact thatnumbers of emigrants never reached the desired levels have branded the emigra-tion project a failure. Wherever the overall emphasis in historical interpretion isplaced, however, the early period of emigration after the Kwantung Army’stakeover of Manchuria needs to be seen in its immediate context, distinct fromthe years after 1936 when formal structures were put in place to facilitaterecruitment of settlers. Between 1931 and 1933, emigration to Manchuria was


presented primarily as one solution to the depression in rural Japan and,accordingly, it had to compete with other, rival solutions which insisted on thepossibility of renewal from within the village and the nation.

During 1932, at least, Ie no hikari was a strong advocate of Japanese settlementin Manchuria. It was quite a new stance: before 1931, the magazine had barelymentioned Manchuria in any context. A 1927 article on emigration as a solutionto the problems of overpopulation and food scarcity mentions settlement inHokkaido, Korea, South America and the South Pacific, but not Manchuria. InMay 1929, the ‘ideal’ place for settlement was not Manchuria but Brazil. Lessthan three years later, however, Ie no hikari was promoting Manchuria as an‘earthly paradise’.102 The magazine now very actively published details of Man-churian agriculture and prospects for emigrants, and provided constant reports,at first approvingly, of the flood of people said to be applying to emigrate.103

The appeal to individual prospective emigrants was based largely on theprospect of owning land in Manchuria, said to have vacant land in limitlessquantities. For farmers, the emphasis on ‘empty plains’ was an important aspectof the Manchurian ‘paradise’ at a time when land was scarce in Japan in relationto population, class relations in the village were often strained, and the ruraleconomy was depressed. Propaganda about emigration often promised 10 or 20chobu (24.5 or 49 acres) of land per household, whereas in 1933, 68 per cent offarm households in Japan, including Hokkaido, owned 1 chobu (2.45 acres) ofland or less.104 There was a cheerful air in Japanese villages, claimed Ie no hikari inSeptember 1932, because there was so much land available in Manchuria, andfarmers were simply awaiting their chance to go.105 Thus the young men ofIzumida, in Nagano Prefecture, for instance, were urged to ‘build Izumida villagein the limitless expanses of the Manchurian plains’.106 Absent was any recog-nition that in fact, millions of Chinese and others inhabited the supposedlyendless and empty Manchurian plains, and that what actually happened in manycases was that Japanese settlers forcibly drove Chinese farmers off their land, andsettled on land already long cultivated. Readers of Ie no hikari were also to viewemigration as a patriotic undertaking. Thus a representative from the Agricul-tural Co-operative Association told readers that Manchuria was the supremesolution to Japan’s population problem,107 while Nasu Hiroshi, Professor ofAgriculture at Tokyo Imperial University, argued strongly that it was essentialfor very large numbers of settlers to go to Manchuria so that Japan couldmaintain its hard-won rights and interests there.108

Before long, however, adverse accounts of settlers’ experiences started to filterback to Japan, and Ie no hikari began to warn prospective emigrants againstexcessive eagerness. In fact, a number of the early settler groups had encounteredsevere setbacks, ranging from ‘bandit’ attacks to labour shortages to outbreaks ofdysentery. Many would-be settlers gave up and returned to Japan in the firstyears after the Manchurian Incident, while some of those groups which stayedfound themselves unable to begin actual farming for two or three years after theirarrival.109 Accordingly, articles in Ie no hikari began to point out that Manchuriawas not actually a paradise now, but would become one after untiring efforts by


settlers for ten years, or thirty years, or two or three generations, depending onthe writer. An article in March 1933 admitted that ‘emigration to Manchuria in1932 ended in failure’, mainly, it was said, because settlers lacked knowledge ofManchurian agriculture and conditions.110 During 1932 the Ministry of Over-seas Affairs and the South Manchurian Railway Company’s office in Tokyowere reported to be concerned at the flood of enquiries from prospectiveemigrants, including many unemployed people and ‘ardent young men andwomen’ who ‘dream of easy money’ and of ‘making their fortune in one scoop’,seemingly expecting ‘to find money trees in Manchuria’. Many had neither jobnor friends in Manchuria and lacked the money to come back to Japan. It wasnow emphasised that emigrants would have to be carefully selected, thatgovernment assistance was essential, that Japanese settlement in Manchuria andMongolia would encounter many difficulties, and that the people needed weremainly technical specialists.111 By the end of 1932, the agricultural co-operativeassociations had lost interest in emigration to Manchuria, remaining quite criticalof the venture until it was established as national policy in 1936.112

The bureaucratic journal Shimin was sceptical about emigration right from thestart. As noted in Chapter 4, its contributors were much more interested in theeconomic revitalisation movement as a solution to the depression. According toone writer, a bureau head in the Ministry of Overseas Affairs, Manchuria as adestination for Japanese farmers was an ‘unfinished article’ (miseihin), especiallycompared with Brazil, where Japanese emigrants could draw on the experienceof the 120,000 who had gone before them.113 Similarly, Yanai Hisao, JapaneseConsul in Mukden and formerly stationed in Brazil, pointed out that while theJapanese had had considerable experience of settlement in Brazil, they had nousable experience of settlement in Manchuria at all, since previous immigrantshad always lived under the protection of Japanese administration, either in theKwantung Leased Territory or the South Manchurian Railway zone, where lawand order and cultural facilities existed at virtually the same level as in Japan.Those who emigrated from now on to other parts of Manchuria would facedanger from ‘bandits’, and in some cases would find a complete lack of culturalfacilities. By contrast, Yanai wrote, difficult as life was in Brazil, settlers therehardly ever faced threats to life and property.114 Another contributor to Shiminechoed a well-established bureaucratic and scholarly consensus when heexpressed doubts that Japanese settlers could compete with the existing inhabi-tants of Manchuria, who had a low standard of living and provided an abundantlabour supply. The best thing would be to send Japanese settlers who had plentyof capital and would establish large farms employing Koreans or ‘Manchurians’,he argued. If it were considered desirable to send ordinary farmers and workersas emigrants for the sake of Manchurian development, he proposed sendingKoreans as the ideal solution. They could compete with the ‘Manchurians’, hebelieved, with every prospect of success, meaning that their standard of livingwas sufficiently low.115

Ultimately, Japanese emigration to Manchuria can be judged either a successor a failure, as noted above, but either way, it should certainly not be interpreted


as the major rural response to the Manchurian crisis. In terms of rhetoric, plansfor Japanese settlement in the early 1930s were tied much more closely to theneed to find solutions for economic difficulties than to the beginning of war or theextension of empire. Military planners undeniably wanted to use Japanesesettlers to secure their territorial gains, but even this aim was implemented in asomewhat ad hoc manner, rather than as a coherent part of an overall plan and, aswe have seen, a number of the early settlement projects failed badly. Recruitingof prospective emigrants, on the other hand, while not lacking an appeal topatriotism, was based on the promise of large amounts of land at a time of greatpoverty in villages in the homeland. Emigration in this period, then, for theemigrants constituted primarily a response to the depression, not participation inthe first stage of a long war. And the fact remains that in the early 1930sespecially, the vast majority of poor farmers, even in very depressed regions likeNagano Prefecture, preferred their chances in Japan to the risks of settlement in aforeign land. Among reactions to the Manchurian crisis in the countryside, adecision to emigrate to Manchuria was one of the least common of all.

Conclusion

Any assessment of reactions to the Manchurian crisis in the countryside is limitedby the sources available. It is impossible to gauge with any precision how muchinfluence the views presented in a journal like Ie no hikari had, and to what extentthey reflected the opinions of those in country areas. Ultimately we cannot knowhow many people actually read any particular article, or how many people in ahousehold read the magazine at all, or to what extent people accepted theopinions they did read. Were the writers and speakers appearing in Ie no hikariand other forums preaching to the converted, or does the consistency of theirpresentation of standard points of view indicate a sustained effort to persuade ahostile or apathetic audience? Such questions cannot be answered conclusively.This analysis has suggested, however, that attitudes in the countryside weremore fluid than is often supposed, and that however much effort was directed attransmitting a sense of urgency about Manchurian issues to the countryside,farmers had their own priorities in the early 1930s and were not easily persuadedto give sustained attention to the army’s agenda.

The sources of information available to those in rural areas were undoubtedlyless diverse than those in the cities. Even allowing for the fact that country peoplecirculated newspapers and magazines within their neighbourhoods, and listenedto each other’s radios, familiarity with the content of major newspapers, radiobroadcasts and most periodicals was probably not great in rural Japan in theearly 1930s. Those who did read or listen to them, moreover, would not haveencountered a wide variety of political views. As has been discussed in Chapter3, the mass media, including radio and film, generally conformed with the armyversion of events in Manchuria, and critical voices were not often heard by themajority of people. Aside from radio, newspapers and magazines, there was onefurther major channel of information from the centre to the countryside: the


political or patriotic speech by a local or visiting authority, including many armyofficers, or representative of one of the national political parties. It goes withoutsaying that it was official views which were promoted through such speeches,which were sponsored by reservist, youth and women’s associations, oftenjointly, and were given in large numbers in villages and towns in the 1920s and1930s. According to Smethurst they always drew large audiences, partly througha dearth of other ‘entertainment’ – ‘a patriotic lecture was more than nothing’ –though evidence gathered by Ella and John Embree on low attendance atwomen’s meetings in ‘Suye’ contradicts the suggestion that country peoplewould attend any function at all.116

With the exception of the sceptical or critical voices to be found in publicationslike Shimin and some of the young men’s associations’ newspapers, rural Japanwas thus receiving a relatively consistent diet of army and government viewsabout political and military events in the early 1930s. Comparatively few sourcesexplicitly contradicted the line espoused by Ie no hikari, and not many rural peoplewould have had independent sources of information on such matters. If fewvillagers in Shinohata, the village near Tokyo studied by Ronald Dore, had anyinkling of the end of the war in 1945, it is very unlikely that villagers anywhere inJapan would have known, for example, the truth about the events of 18September 1931.117 For most people, there would be no reason to disbelieve theclaim that the Kwantung Army had acted in self-defence in its conflict with theChinese in Manchuria. The same is doubtless true of other issues relating to thefighting in Manchuria, the establishment of Manchukuo, and Japan’s withdrawalfrom the League of Nations. Family members working in urban factories, andreturning soldiers, could have been alternative sources of information, but theirviews would naturally have been restricted by their particular circumstances,and by the level of information available to them. Embree notes, for example,that soldiers returning from Manchuria to ‘Suye’ village really believed that theirChinese opponents had been ‘bandits’,118 when a large number of them musthave been anti-Japanese guerillas.

It is very likely, indeed, that the fighting in Manchuria, let alone events at theLeague of Nations, seemed vague and distant to most villagers. Events in Tokyowere probably remote enough. The assassinations of 26 February 1936 occurredwhile John and Ella Embree were working in ‘Suye’, apparently ‘rocking theedifice of government to its foundations’.119 John Embree notes that in ‘Suye’,however, ‘many people did not even know what had happened’ – thoughWilliam Chamberlin, it is true, observed the same lack of interest among Tokyopeople.120 Ella Embree similarly remarked of ‘Suye’, ‘Most of these people do notknow where foreign countries are located, nor will they ever know why a waroccurred if one does’.121

The countryside does provide some evidence of opposition to the invasion ofManchuria, but not a great deal. A comparative lack of overt criticism of thegovernment and army, however, does not indicate that rural Japanese were asblindly patriotic and devoted to army and nation as is suggested by a numberof writers. Smethurst allows for the ‘few areas of the nation’ in which radical


activity ‘prevented the army and the reservist association from dominatingcertain branches’ of the young men’s association,122 but rural response to theManchurian crisis is a much more complex matter than is implied in this pictureof unquestioning obedience to the military combined with isolated patches ofoutright opposition. If farmers were ‘naturally’ supporters of the army, why didIe no hikari, with its specifically rural targets, feature so many ‘beautiful stories’ ofheroism, sacrifice and ‘Japanese spirit’ and, more broadly, why was it necessaryfor military propagandists to invent and widely publicise the story of the ‘threehuman bombs’? The possibility must be acknowledged that it was because publicpatriotism and loyalty did not exist to an extent satisfactory to the authorities. Ifobedience to the military could be taken for granted, moreover, it should not havebeen necessary to publish articles reminding potential rural recruits, especiallyduring the depression when other jobs were scarce, that good pay, good food andjob security were to be had by joining the army or navy. The anxious attentionpaid to the countryside in other ways by the army also serves as a reminder thatrural support for the military was by no means taken for granted by those mostconcerned to cultivate it. For that matter, the fact that bureaucrats also perceiveda need to reinforce, by means of Shimin, information that had already been sent tolocal government authorities through official channels perhaps indicates theirown consciousness that the integration of villagers, even village leaders, intonational structures had not yet reached the desired level. The countryside, then,remained at least potentially unruly from the point of view of national elites.

In her analysis of the Japanese response to the Manchurian Incident between1931 and 1933, Louise Young chiefly emphasises ‘war fever’.123 If ‘war fever’ didbreak out in the countryside, however, it was short-lived. Certainly, rural areas,notably in Tohoku, were quick to show their concern and support for thesoldiers who went to Manchuria. The scale of the fighting, however, was notlarge enough to have a significant impact on most villages. In the two yearsfollowing the Manchurian Incident, the army recorded 2,566 Japanese deaths inaction in Manchuria and Shanghai.124 Spread throughout Japan, the number ofdeaths was hardly enough to have a noticeable impact beyond the families andimmediate neighbourhoods of those killed. Not until the late 1930s would themajority of villagers be forced by loss of labour and repeated funerals to face thereality of war. In the early 1930s, most farmers must have been aware of thefighting in Manchuria and many supported it in a general way, perhaps rejoicingat the expansion of Japanese influence overseas. The harsh circumstances in thecountryside, however, make it scarcely surprising that reaction to the Man-churian Incident was often muted. Economic survival was a far more pressingissue, and political action in the countryside was geared much more towardssecuring rural relief than to any other objective in the early 1930s. There is nodoubt that the official version of the Manchurian crisis was reaching thecountryside through a variety of means. Some farmers, however, heard othermessages too: that prospects in Manchuria were not to be overrated, that only thewealthy would profit, or simply, by implication, that problems nearer at handwere more important.


On the other hand, the early 1930s undoubtedly were critical years in thenegotiation of the relationship between state and rural society. Far from being astatic environment in which ‘traditional’ institutions and attitudes held un-questioning sway, the countryside was the site of contest and of dynamic changein these years. For the rural left in particular it was a crucial period: left-wingactivism specifically and independent political expression in general were fatallydamaged by the depression, the Manchurian Incident, increased governmentrepression and the emergence and encouragement of rival, conservative perspec-tives on the local and national situation. The depression and the ManchurianIncident both served to discourage political dissent throughout Japan, and in thecountryside to strengthen the existing emphases on notions compatible withofficial versions of agrarianism. Simultaneously, increased government repres-sion removed a number of activists from the villages, and government strategiesto defuse discontent were put into place. By 1933, much had changed in theJapanese countryside compared to even three years earlier. By the same token,however, the consciousness of a crisis had slackened by the middle of that year.Many soldiers had already come home. In 1934, Ie no hikari no longer promotedemigration to Manchuria. Depression continued in the countryside, but by 1936,prices of both silk cocoons and rice had risen significantly.

In the cities, too, meanwhile, the Manchurian crisis was making itself felt, aslabour organisations and progressive political parties grappled with the ideo-logical problems it brought, and business organisations faced the fact that theChinese nationalist movement could inflict serious damage on Japanese profits.

Notes1 Hugh T. Patrick, ‘The Economic Muddle of the 1920s’, in Morley (ed.), Dilemmas of

Growth, pp. 218–19.2 Nakamura, Showa no kyoko, Tokyo, Shogakkan, 1988, p. 274; G. C. Allen, A Short

Economic History of Modern Japan, London, Macmillan, 4th edn, 1981, p. 114.3 Nakamura, Showa no kyoko, pp. 274–5, 306–7.4 Ibid., p. 307.5 Kobayashi, Manshu imin no mura, p. 20.6 Nakamura, Showa no kyoko, p. 307; Mori Takemaro, Senji Nihon noson shakai no kenkyu,

Tokyo,Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1999, p. 16.7 Hashimoto Juro, Dai kyokoki no Nihon shihonshugi, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai,

1984, pp. 193–4.8 Nakamura Masanori, Showa kyoko (Iwanami bukkuretto, shiriizu Showashi, No. 1),

Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1989, pp. 42–3.9 Hashimoto, Dai kyokoki, p. 194.

10 S, ‘Sate kotoshi no mokuhyo wa?’, Izumida jiho , April 1933, p. 3.11 Mikiso Hane, Peasants, Rebels and Outcastes: The Underside of Modern Japan, London,

Scolar Press, 1982, p. 115; Japan Weekly Chronicle, 19 November 1931, p. 650;Mainichi Daily News Staff, Fifty Years of Light and Dark, p. 57.

12 ‘Starving Farmers Selling Daughters into Brothels’, Trans-Pacific, 9 June 1932,p. 8.

13 Japan Weekly Chronicle, 5 February 1931, p. 117. See also ‘Woman Kills Her FiveChildren’, ibid., 23 April 1931, p. 459.

14 Nakamura, Showa kyoko, pp. 42–3; Nakamura, Showa no kyoko, p. 308.


15 Ann Waswo, ‘The Origins of Tenant Unrest’, in Silberman and Harootunian (eds),Japan in Crisis, p. 382. Richard Smethurst offers a quite different view of tenancydisputes during the depression in his Agricultural Development and Tenancy Disputes inJapan, 1870–1940, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1986.

16 Nakamura, Showa kyoko, p. 43.17 Smethurst, Social Basis, xiv, p. 184.18 Ibid., p. 181. For a discussion of these points see Sandra Wilson, ‘Angry Young Men

and the Japanese State: Nagano Prefecture, 1930–33’, in Elise K. Tipton (ed.), Societyand the State in Interwar Japan, London, Routledge, 1997, pp. 100–25.

19 See Nishida Yoshiaki, Showa kyoko no noson shakai undo: yosanchi ni okeru tenkai to kiketsu,Tokyo, Ochanomizu shobo, 1978, Ch. 5.

20 On this point see also Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron; Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’; Yui,‘Gunbu to kokumin togo’; Ronald P. Dore, Land Reform in Japan, Oxford, OxfordUniversity Press, 1959, pp. 94–5; Thomas R. H. Havens, Farm and Nation in ModernJapan: Agrarian Nationalism, 1870–1940, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1974,pp. 310–13.

21 Peter Gay, Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider, London, Secker & Warburg, 1969,p. 71.

22 Kishi Yoshitami, ‘Tsuchi o nigire’, Izumida jiho, May 1930, p. 1.23 For two among many examples, see MT, ‘Shisen o aegi chi ni naku nomin no sakebi:

noson o sukuu ni wa mazu kaikyu no ninshiki kara’, Izumida jiho, September 1930, p.2; ‘Puro no me ni’, in Bessho jiho fukkan kankokai (ed.), Bessho jiho shukusatsuban,1980 (hereafter Bessho jiho ), June 1930, p. 1.

24 A. E. Tiedemann, ‘Big Business and Politics in Prewar Japan’, in Morley (ed.),Dilemmas of Growth, p. 286.

25 See Nakamura, Showa no kyoko, pp. 317–20; Miwa Ryoichi, ‘Doru kai: kin yushutsusaikinshi o osoreru’, in Arisawa Hiromi (ed.), Showa keizaishi, Tokyo, Nihon keizaishinbunsha, 1976, pp. 78–80.

26 Smith, A Time of Crisis, pp. 166–70; p. 413, n. 97.27 Quoted in Maruyama, ‘Ideology and Dynamics’, p. 45.28 Fujii, ‘Ko Fujii kaigun shosa no nikki utsushi (sho)’, pp. 655, 658, 677, 719.29 Dore, Land Reform, p. 94; Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, pp. 286–7; Havens, Farm and Nation,

pp. 308–13.30 Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, pp. 286–7.31 Nishida, Showa kyoko, pp. 11, 439–42.32 Havens, Farm and Nation, pp. 310–13. See also Dore, Land Reform, pp. 94–5.33 Smith, A Time of Crisis, p. 168.34 Nishida, Showa kyoko, p. 443.35 ‘Utsuriyuku jidai no so: takanaru fassho koshinkyoku’, Izumida jiho, September 1932,

p. 4.36 Dore, Land Reform, p. 95.37 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 7–15, 20.38 Ibid., pp. 2–16.39 Onnatachi no ima o tou kai, ‘Hajime ni’, Jugoshi noto, No. 3, January 1983, p. 34.40 Ishii, Gaikokan no issho, p. 209.41 Mainichi Daily News, 6 January 1932, p. 3.42 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 16–24, 29–34. See Chapter 7 of this book on fund-raising

campaigns in the cities.43 Tsurumaru, ‘Sono koro’, p. 41 (No. 7).44 Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, p. 266; Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 16–17, 22–3.45 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 20–3.46 Nishida Yoshiaki and Kubo Yasuo (eds), Nishiyama Koichi nikki 1925–1950nen:

Niigata-ken ichi kosakuno no kiroku, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1991, esp. pp.255–79.


47 Smith, A Time of Crisis, pp. 102, 104, 110; p. 401, n. 75. See also ‘Farmers’ DemandsReveal Discontent’, Trans-Pacific, 1 September 1932, p. 14.

48 On the seinendan newspapers in the 1920s, see Kano Masanao, Taisho demokurashii noteiryu, Tokyo, NHK Books, 1973.

49 See Wilson, ‘Angry Young Men’.50 ‘Kanko no kotoba’, in Kamishina-mura shi kankokai (ed. and publ.), Kamishina jiho

shukusatsuban, Ueda-shi, 1978.51 Izumida jiho, November 1930, p. 1; September 1932, p. 2; November 1933, p. 1.52 Debun Shigenobu, ‘Maker of Soldiers’, in Haruko Taya Cook and Theodore F.

Cook (eds), Japan at War: An Oral History, New York, New Press, 1992, pp. 124, 127.53 ‘Kakushu no mondai ni taishi seinen wa sotchoku ni sakebu’, Izumida jiho, December

1931, p. 1.54 Kaura Hatsumi, ‘Noson no kyodai e’, Kamishina jiho, May 1932, p. 1.55 ‘Utsuriyuku jidai no so: takanaru fassho koshinkyoku’, Izumida jiho, September 1932,

p. 4.56 Nishida, Showa kyoko, p. 443; Kobayashi, Manshu imin no mura, p. 37.57 On the radicalism of the pre-war tenant farmers’ movement, see Nishida Yoshiaki,

‘Senzen Nihon ni okeru rodo undo, nomin undo no seishitsu’, in Tokyo daigakushakai kagaku kenkyujo (ed.), Gendai Nihon shakai, Vol. 4, pp. 263–313.

58 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 22.59 Quoted in Ide Magoroku, Owarinaki tabi, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1991, pp. 43–5.60 Nishida, Showa kyoko, pp. 449–50.61 See Akabane, ‘Naze seinendan wa yukizumatta ka? Soshite kongo no seinen

no mokuhyo wa: Kenrensei kenkyu taikai ni shusseki shite’, Izumida jiho, April 1933,p. 3.

62 On reactions to the Manchurian Incident of groups representing farmers, see SeiyeiWakukawa, ‘The Japanese Farm-Tenancy System’, in Douglas G. Haring (ed.),Japan’s Prospect, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1946, pp. 153–6;Andrew Roth, Dilemma in Japan, London, Victor Gollancz, 1946, pp. 127–8.

63 Komatsu Mitsuo (ed.), Nippon seishin no hatsuyoshi, Tokyo, Nippon shinbunsha, 1934,pp. 141–2; Nishida, Showa kyoko, p. 452; Kobayashi, Manshu imin no mura, p. 37.

64 Nishida, Showa kyoko, p. 747.65 Yamada Morio, ‘Musan nomin wa doko e yuku’, Izumida jiho, September 1932, p. 3.66 Izumida jiho, July 1932, p. 3.67 For examples of such activities in Nagano Prefecture see Wilson, ‘Angry Young

Men’, pp. 116–17.68 Matsui Masao, ‘Iju netsu o aoru’, Izumida jiho, May 1932, p. 4.69 Kimura Tadashi, ‘Dai nikai ireisai ni okeru saibun’, 18 December 1931, in Kimura

Tadashi sensei koenshu Soncho junen kankokai (ed. and publ.), Kimura Tadashi senseikoenshu Soncho junen, Sendai, 1937, pp. 166–8.

70 See, for example, Kobayashi, Manshu imin no mura, pp. 36–8; Nishida, Showa kyoko, pp.460–1.

71 Mori, Senji Nihon noson shakai, p. 13.72 Nishida, Showa kyoko, p. 455; Dore, Land Reform, p. 104.73 See Yamamoto Taketoshi, Kindai Nihon no shinbun dokushaso, Tokyo, Hosei daigaku

shuppankyoku, 1981, pp. 238–40.74 Embree, Suye Mura, p. 309.75 Ibid., pp. 46, 48, 111. By 1936 there were five radios in Suye village. Films came to

Suye two or three times per summer; they were also shown three times per week intwo nearby towns.

76 Hane, Peasants, Rebels and Outcastes, p. 43.77 Niizuma Itoko, ‘Noson seikatsu to fujin zasshi’, Noson fujin, Vol. 1, No. 3, May 1932,

pp. 10–11. See also Chiba Kameo, ‘Fujin jihyo’, Noson fujin, Vol. 1, No. 9, November1932, p. 13.


78 Adachi Ikutsune, ‘Jiriki kosei undoka no Ie no hikari ’, Shikan gendaishi, No. 2, May1973, pp. 105, 108–9. See also Itagaki Kuniko, ‘Ie no hikari ni miru noson seikatsu nokaizen’, Ochanomizu shigaku, No. 21, 1977, pp. 1–19; Ie no hikari kyokai, Ie no hikari noshijunen, Tokyo, 1968; Itagaki Kuniko, Showa senzen, senchuki no noson seikatsu: zasshi Ieno hikari ni miru, Tokyo, Mitsumine shobo, 1992. For 1925 circulation figures onKingu and seven other Kodansha magazines, see Kato Ken’ichi, Shonen kurabu jidai,1968, pp. 38–9. On Kingu see also Kakegawa Tomiko, ‘Kingu’, in Hidaka Rokuro(ed.), Masumedia no senkusha, Tokyo, Kodansha, 1963.

79 Embree, Suye Mura, p. 64.80 Ie no hikari kyokai, Ie no hikari no shijunen, pp. 53–4, 61–3.81 Mori, Senji Nihon noson shakai, p. 20; Smith, A Time of Crisis, p. 135.82 ‘Shokugyo shido: rikukaigun no kashikan’, IH, May 1931, pp. 104–7.83 ‘Noka shitei no shokugyo annai’, IH, March 1932, pp. 130–1. In the May 1931

article cited above, pay rates for new recruits are given as nine yen (army) and sixyen (navy). See also ‘Kaigun shonen kokuhei no seikatsu’, September 1933, pp. 212–14; and two advertisements in the issues for January 1933 and July 1933.

84 ‘Gunkan no seikatsu no ichinichi’, IH, May 1932, pp. 193–200. See also ‘Shinpei noichinichi’ (photographs), March 1933 and ‘Shin kaigun daijin no kodomo no koro’,March 1933, Children’s Section, pp. 208–9.

85 Vice-Admiral Viscount Ogasawara Naganari, ‘Gunji bidan: ko ni keireisuru oya’,IH, March 1932, pp. 22–3.

86 See Wilson, ‘Russo-Japanese War and Japan’, pp. 182–8; Wilson, ‘Past in thePresent’.

87 For example, ‘Manshu gunji bidan’, illustrated, IH, February 1932, Children’sSection, pp. 172–8.

88 ‘Kunin no heishi o kuni ni sasageta’, IH, June 1932, pp. 188–9.89 ‘Sekai o shingai seshimeta bakudan san’yushi no shi: hachiman no kokumin no

mune ni uetsuketa yamato damashii no seika’, IH, April 1932, pp. 66–9.90 For example, IH, February 1932, pp. 12–13; March 1932, pp. 22–3, 184; June 1932,

pp. 197–204; October 1932, pp. 20–1; December 1932, pp. 12–13. See also June1931, pp. 12–13, 18; report of General Araki Sadao’s address to the emperor on‘What Japan has Gained from the Manchurian Incident’, October 1933, pp. 176–7.

91 ‘Nippon no gunjin seishin o kataru kai’, IH, October 1933, pp. 64–76. On soldiers’last words, see Ienaga, Pacific War, p. 102.

92 ‘Shanhai de Nihon hei to tatakau Shina no heitaisan no hanashi’, IH, April 1932, pp.188–9; ‘Manshu wa Nihon no seimeisen’, January 1932, pp. 166–7. According toBillingsley, ex-bandit troops did in fact usually flee if subjected to enemy fire on thebattlefield: Billingsley, Bandits, p. 195.

93 ‘Nihon nimo kokusui shakai shugi undo okoru’, IH, March 1932, p. 184.94 For example, ‘Tenko ryuko jidai no umarekita tokoro’, IH, December 1933, pp.

174–5.95 ‘Manshu jihen wa naze okotta ka’, IH, November 1931, pp. 34–7; ‘Manshu wa

Nihon no seimeisen’, January 1932, pp. 166–9; ‘Shanhai jihen naze okotta ka’,March 1932, p. 183.

96 Ito Kameo, ‘Sekai no ugoki’, IH, December 1931, pp. 30–1; ‘Jiji manga shu’, May1932, pp. 186–7; ‘Nihon wa naniyue ni Renmei o dattai shita ka’, April 1933, pp.176–7 and cartoons pp. 174–5.

97 ‘Manshukoku shonin ni taisuru kakkoku no iko’, IH, November 1932, pp. 56–7;‘Hijoji dai niki no Nihon’, December 1933, pp. 30–4. See also ‘Seppaku shitekitaManshukoku no shonin’, August 1932, pp. 182–3.

98 Ito Kameo, ‘Renmei o dattaishita Nihon wa do naru ka’, IH, April 1933, pp. 174–5.See also ‘Nihon kara nagameta sekai no juyo mondai no kaisetsu: Dai Ajia shugi nojidai’, September 1933, pp. 42ff. on Japan as the leader of Asia; ‘Gunjihi wa nazebocho suru ka’, November 1933, pp. 176–7.


99 See, for example, IH, January 1932, pp. 167, 168; March 1932, pp. 182–7; April1932, pp. 48, 182–3; January 1933, pp. 182–3; March 1933, pp. 184–5.

100 For example, IH, January 1932, p. 166; March 1932, pp. 6–7; May 1932, p. 46.101 See Sandra Wilson, ‘The “New Paradise”: Japanese Emigration to Manchuria in the

1930s and 1940s’, International History Review, Vol. 17, No. 2, May 1995, pp. 249–86.102 ‘Kaigai iju kumiai ni tsuite’, IH, July 1927, pp. 11–13; May 1929, pp. 43–7; for

example, April 1932, pp. 48, 182–3. See August 1926, pp. 29–32, for emigration toHokkaido.

103 For example, ‘Manshu de wa donna fujin o motomuru?’, IH, May 1932, pp. 184–5;‘Zento yubona Manshu nogyo’, June 1932, pp. 38–41.

104 Nihon gakujutsu shinkokai, Manshu imin mondai to jisseki chosa, Tokyo, 1937, p. 99.105 ‘Mada mehana no tsukanu Manshu imin: saikin senkushita imin no hanashi’, IH,

September 1932, pp. 188–9.106 Matsui Masao, ‘Akeyuku Manmo’, Izumida jiho, March 1932, p. 1.107 ‘Moshi Nihon ga keizai fusa o saretara?’, IH, March 1932, p. 38.108 Nasu Hiroshi, ‘Shudan nogyo imin o seikosaseyo’, IH, May 1932, pp. 47–51.109 Wilson, ‘“New Paradise”’, pp. 268–73.110 ‘Manshu, Burajiru tokosha no tame ni mono o tazuneru kai’, IH, March 1933, pp.

110–19.111 ‘Shin Manshukoku no medetaku tanjo’, IH, April 1932, pp. 182–3; ‘Manmo

kaitaku no nogyo imin zadankai’, May 1932, pp. 46, 55–7; Hirota Shiro, ‘Minshuno chikara de Manmo o kaitaku shiyo’, June 1932, p. 36; ‘Manmo iju o kokorozasuhitobito ni: Mantetsu Tokyo shisha de wa kaku kataru’, June 1932, pp. 186–7;‘Mada mehana no tsukanu Manshu imin’, September 1932, pp. 188–9.

112 Takahashi, Showa senzenki no noson, p. 115.113 Koriyama Satoru, ‘Noson kyusaisaku toshite no kaigai imin’, Shimin, March 1932,

pp. 8–13.114 Yanai Hisao, ‘Burajiru imin to Manmo imin’, Shimin, June 1932, pp. 32–7.115 Hiraga Makoto, ‘Shin Manshukoku no reimei’, Shimin, February 1933, pp. 55–8.116 Smethurst, Social Basis, p. 170; Smith and Wiswell, Women of Suye Mura, p. 31.117 Ronald P. Dore, Shinohata: A Portrait of a Japanese Village, New York, Pantheon

Books, 1978, p. 54.118 Embree, Suye Mura, p. 201.119 William Henry Chamberlin, Japan over Asia, London, Duckworth, 1938, p. 216.120 Embree, Suye Mura, p. 309; Chamberlin, Japan over Asia, pp. 216–17.121 Smith and Wiswell, Women of Suye Mura, p. 18.122 Smethurst, Social Basis, p. 36.123 Young, Japan’s Total Empire, pp. 55–114.124 Rikugunsho, ‘Manshu jihen boppatsu man ni nen’ (18 September 1933), in

Fujiwara Akira and Kunugi Toshihiro (eds), Shiryo: Nihon gendaishi, Vol. 8, Tokyo,Otsuki shoten, 1983, Document 85, p. 290. A similar pamphlet gave a total of 2,891deaths in action and from wounds in Manchuria only, between 18 September 1931and July 1936: see Rikugunsho, ‘Manshu jihen boppatsu man go nen’ (18September 1936), ibid., Document 89, pp. 333–4.

7 Urban workers andorganised labour

No matter how much attention governments paid to the countryside in the1930s, the towns and cities could not be ignored, in terms either of demographicsor of politics. In 1930, nearly a third of the Japanese population lived in cities of30,000 people or more, and by 1935, thirty-four cities had populations of over100,000.1 Manufacturing, commerce and transportation together were begin-ning to challenge agriculture as employers, accounting for 40 per cent of the totalworkforce, including a large number of women, who made up almost half theemployees in the manufacturing sector in 1930, largely thanks to their pre-dominance in textile production. Politically, the importance of business as awhole was growing. Big business, of course, had long exerted crucial influenceon Japanese governments and the making of policy, a point which was constantlyreiterated by those seeking radical reform of the status quo during the early1930s, while ‘the problem of small and medium enterprises’ (chusho shokogyomondai, chusho sangyosha mondai) was placed firmly on the political agenda in thisperiod.2 Urban business and urban workers, therefore, were significant and oftenvocal groups in the economic, political and social landscape of the early 1930s.

The operators of smaller-scale enterprises in fact dominated the commercialand industrial scene in numerical terms, with large enterprises the exception.About 86 per cent of the total number of factories in 1931 employed between fiveand thirty workers; only 2 per cent employed more than 200 people. Very small‘factories’ with less than five employees and virtually no capital formed the broadbase of industry. Seventy-nine per cent of the industrial labour force in 1930worked in factories with fewer than a hundred employees; over half worked inestablishments with four or fewer employees. The finances of small businesses,however, were often precarious. In 1931, two-thirds of all firms and factories hadless than 50,000 yen in capital. On the other hand, 407 large firms and factories,or less than 1 per cent of the total number, held 57 per cent of total capital. Thesame pattern is found in commerce. Of the 5 million people who were involvedin businesses of some kind in 1930, two-thirds were in the retail sector, andthe majority of these people worked in extremely small establishments. Theoperators and employees of smaller enterprises became the chief urban victimsof the depression. Though not as central a symbol of the depression aswere suffering farmers, they attracted some of the same kind of attention


from the press and politicians and in political rhetoric were often mentioned inthe same breath.

In 1931–32, Japanese army and government policy in Manchuria enjoyed thebacking of all groups representing business, as we shall see in the next chapter.The organisations supported by labour, on the other hand, achieved no suchbroad consensus. Both political parties and trade unions representing theworking class were seriously split by the challenge of the Manchurian crisis, invery much the same way as were other progressive organisations. After consider-ing the evidence about attitudes to the Manchurian crisis of urban workers ingeneral, this chapter analyses the responses of the proletarian political parties andthe mainstream trade union movement, whose members were chiefly theemployees of the small and medium-sized enterprises referred to above.

Urban workers

Though conditions were not as bad as in the countryside, inhabitants of townsand cities were also preoccupied with the economic depression in the early 1930s.Reliable unemployment figures are elusive, but the overall rate was reported as6.94 per cent in January 1931, and 7.2 per cent in July 1932. Factory employmentdropped by 13 per cent between 1928 and 1931. According to the Social Bureauof the Municipality of Tokyo, as at 31 December 1932 there were 478,636 peoplewith no work in the city of Tokyo alone. Relief measures for the unemployedwere acknowledged to be inadequate. In 1931, over a third of universitygraduates were reported to be unemployed.3 For those who were employed,especially for the mass of unskilled labour, wages were falling. A union sourceestimated that in May 1931, wages had fallen about 20 per cent compared to May1930; or in real terms, 30–40 per cent. The effects were most evident in firms ofsmall and medium scale. In many such factories, especially weaving factories andsilk mills, payment of wages had stopped altogether: ‘to all intents and purposes,the wages system has completely collapsed’. Labour disputes had increasedmarkedly as a result.4

Urban workers, like others in Japanese society, were exposed to the standardarguments about Japan’s rights in Manchuria and the benefits to be gained byexploiting the region. Evidence about their responses is extremely fragmentary;like those of farmers, their political attitudes went largely unrecorded. Someindication is provided in the statements made by political parties and tradeunions representing workers, but such evidence is unfortunately limited.Membership of workers’ political parties was small, and statements by suchparties inevitably reflect the opinions of leaders disproportionately. The Shakaitaishuto (Social Masses Party), the leading workers’ party of the 1930s, had70,000 members in 1932, the year of its foundation through the merger of twoexisting parties. One of its constituent groups, the Zenkoku rono taishuto(National Labour-Farmer Masses Party), reported about 100,000 members on30 October 1931.5 Similarly, the organised union movement, at its pre-war peakin 1931, represented less than 8 per cent of industrial workers.6 Nevertheless,

Urban workers and organised labour 159

such evidence as is offered by the records of these organisations, partial andunsatisfying though it is, constitutes much of what can be known at present aboutthe political attitudes of urban workers in the early 1930s.

One aspect of the Manchurian crisis in which urban workers in general weresaid to be conspicuous was the movement to donate money for soldiers at thefront. In the latter part of November 1931, ‘donation fever’ swept Tokyo, with18,000 yen presented to the Army Ministry on the single day of the 18th, 34,000yen on the 27th and 35,000 yen on the 28th.7 Newspapers often claimed that theworking class was prominent amongst contributors to the patriotic donationmovement, after students, children and women. The Tokyo nichinichi declared inlate 1931, for example, that the majority of Tokyo donations were coming fromthe poorer districts, including Honjo, Fukagawa, Senju, Mikawashima andEharacho; fewest donations, it was said, came from the wealthy Kojimachi area.8

Newspaper companies themselves played a leading role in organising andpublicising fund-raising campaigns, undoubtedly using such campaigns topresent themselves as patriotic supporters of the army and to generate readerinterest, in the ceaseless quest for a competitive edge over their rivals. It was theAsahi which took the initiative among the newspapers, announcing on 16October 1931 that it would spend 10,000 yen on 20,000 comfort kits, and wouldaccept public donations of 50 sen or more to pay for them. After that, thenewspapers competed in running campaigns to raise money for the troops. By 16December the Asahi had collected 231,500 yen, and by June 1932 the total,including donations for soldiers in Shanghai, had reached 453,746 yen. A largenumber of contributions did indeed come from factories and shops as well asschools and street collections, with notations indicating that they represented ‘allworkers’ at a particular plant or shop. In some cases, workers were forced bytheir employers or others to donate to the fund for Manchuria and Shanghai, butmany donations were undoubtedly spontaneous.9

‘Donation fever’, however, is difficult to interpret. The military attempted topresent it as a simple outpouring of support from ordinary people for the army’splans, but in reality the situation was more complex. Though propaganda storiesconcentrated on the pittances alleged to have been contributed despite the hard-ships of the depression by poor children and women at great personal sacrifice,many donations were in fact quite large, and the total amounts collected werecertainly inflated by generous and well-publicised contributions from wealthyindividuals and from large companies anxious to be associated with a patrioticcause. In late November alone, Mitsui and Mitsubishi each donated 50,000 yen,while Mitsui bussan gave a further 20,000 yen, and a few wealthy individualslike the prominent businessman Yasuda Zenjiro and Ginza cabaret managerOkamoto Shojiro donated 10,000 yen each.10 At a time when criticism of bigbusiness was heard almost everywhere, support of the army’s goals was notnecessarily the primary motivation of these large donors: big business wantedgood publicity as much as the newspapers did.

The contribution of wealthy companies and individuals was perhaps evenmore obvious in the campaigns of 1932. In the countryside, as we have seen, the


movement to donate money for the welfare of soldiers later developed intoorchestrated campaigns to raise money for military aeroplanes. In the cities,appeals for money for aeroplanes were not notably successful, but from 1932,successful campaigns were launched in Osaka, Kyoto, Kobe and Yokohama toraise money for air defence of the cities themselves. The Osaka campaign ranunder the slogan ‘Protect the skies over Osaka – heart of Japan’. Six sets of air-defence equipment were to be purchased, at a cost of 165,000 yen each. Again,the appeals were sponsored by the Osaka asahi and Osaka mainichi newspapergroups, as well as the governor, the mayor, the head of the chamber of commerceand two divisions of the army. Once again, wealthy individuals and large busi-nesses were prominent. One individual donated enough money for a completeset of equipment before the campaign even opened officially. Sumitomo, leaderof the Osaka business world, donated 300,000 yen in early 1932. Mitsui andMitsubishi, at this time contributing to a variety of organisations and causes in anattempt to improve their public image and so forestall terrorist attacks, gaveanother 50,000 yen each to the Osaka campaign, though public resentment overtheir wealth at a time of great economic suffering undoubtedly continued. OsakaCommercial Shipping gave 30,000 yen and Meiji Insurance and four othercompanies contributed 20,000 yen each. In fact, the top thirteen contributors,including those mentioned above, were responsible for 70 per cent of the totalcollected in the Osaka air-defence campaign, and large donations from indi-vidual businessmen and companies were prominent enough for some patrioticgroups to worry that ordinary people were not making sufficient sacrifices. Thusone group of young people from the Kokubo shiso fukyu kyokai (Association forthe Propagation of National Defence Philosophy) marched in Osaka withbanners reading ‘Don’t just entrust air-defence facilities to the bourgeoisie’,‘Take your coin [directly] to the [army] division’ and ‘Citizens of Osaka! Protectyour own city!’.11

Fundamentally, then, the donation movements were as much a part ofnewspaper campaigns to increase sales as they were a means of supporting thearmy. It may well be true, moreover, as Fujii Tadatoshi suggests, that ordinarypeople who donated money did so not as an expression of support for militarygoals, but primarily as an emotional reaction to the plight of Japanese soldiers ‘inManchuria, where even the sweat freezes’, to use a cliché from the magazines. Acomparison with parallel fund-raising efforts supports this point. The campaignsto raise money for the soldiers in fact competed with other newspaper appeals forworthy causes in the early 1930s, and though the Manchurian Incident producedan unusual degree of excitement and a high level of donations, some campaignswith different purposes raised even greater sums. The Asahi, for example,collected 453,746 yen for comforts for the troops in Manchuria and Shanghai in1931–32, compared to 640,344 yen for the victims of crop failures in Tohoku in1934–35 and 1,385,247 yen for victims of storm and flood damage in the Kansaiarea, again in 1934–35. As Fujii argues, the common element is the desire todonate money to alleviate the plight of compatriots in distant parts: in this sense,the motives of people who donated money to help soldiers in Manchuria and


Shanghai were essentially the same as those of contributors to flood relief in otherparts of Japan.12

In terms of ultimate significance, however, the campaigns to contribute moneyfor soldiers in Manchuria and Shanghai must undoubtedly be considered in adifferent context from the campaigns to raise money for disaster relief. It is likelythat many who gave money to the patriotic appeals did in fact support Japaneseintervention in Manchuria. In any case, whatever the motivation of individualdonors, the success of the campaign to raise money for soldiers clearly had a farbroader significance than the equally successful campaigns for disaster relief.The much-publicised donations for soldiers gave support to the army at a crucialtime, reinforcing official propaganda about Manchuria and apparently awardingthe public’s seal of approval to the Kwantung Army’s project. There may also bea link between the donation campaign, seemingly so active in urban workplaces,and the continuing shift to the right by the labour movement in the early 1930s.Certainly, participation in the campaign to raise funds to aid Japan’s soldiersencouraged a national consciousness in some degree, and may have discouragedany focus on narrower class interests. Fujii reminds us, however, that such feel-ings were often very fleeting: the donation of money was usually a one-off action,perhaps best interpreted as satisfying a transitory emotional impulse.13

More generally, the atmosphere of heightened national consciousness createdby Japan’s invasion of Manchuria and subsequent events at the League ofNations had a decided effect on unions and workers’ political parties. A case inpoint was provided by women workers at one of the Toyo Muslin factories atKameido, in Tokyo, who were reported to be enthusiastically collecting moneyfor soldiers in Manchuria in November 1931. In all, 1,006 workers, comprising90 per cent of the factory’s workforce, donated a total of 132 yen and 45 sen, aconsiderable sacrifice when a worker’s daily wage in that factory was 80 sen.14

Up till then, the Kameido workers had had a reputation as the most radicalwomen factory workers in Tokyo: a deserved reputation, considering the bitterstrike they had waged, with maximum publicity, just a year before.15 Theirapparent turn to patriotism was duly publicised, presumably affording consider-able satisfaction to the authorities. Over the next few years, the authorities wouldhave more and more reason to be satisfied with the stance taken on nationalissues by organisations representing workers.

Workers’ political parties

Union activity and workplace disputes had been intense in 1930–31 as the effectsof the economic depression became evident, often polarising labour and capital.16

Disputes continued in 1932, but great changes in the character of unionism andof leftist politics were on the way. The major effect of the Manchurian crisis onthe Japanese labour movement was significantly to exacerbate existing splitsbetween those who favoured overseas expansion and some form of nationalsocialism at home, and those who were cautious about expansion anddetermined to adhere to democratic socialism in Japan.17 As it was for other


progressives, then, the Manchurian Incident proved to be a decisive event forsocial democrats in the labour movement.

The two main proletarian parties, the Shakai minshuto (Social DemocraticParty) and the Zenkoku rono taishuto (National Labour-Farmer Masses Party,formed in July 1931 from an amalgamation of parties to the left of the SocialDemocratic Party), both had anti-war declarations in their platforms in 1931, as,in fact, did virtually all proletarian parties and unions up to September 1931.18

The policies of the new National Labour-Farmer Masses Party, for example,included absolute opposition to aggression and imperialism and a drasticreduction in armaments. In the event, however, neither of the two main workers’parties was prepared to take an unequivocal stand against the invasion ofManchuria. More broadly, both the labour unions and the workers’ parties alsomoved further towards embrace of the state’s agenda and away from anemphasis on class interest in this period.

At best, working-class organisations, with the exception of Communist groupsat first, took an ambivalent stance on the invasion of Manchuria. For many socialdemocrats, failure to follow the logic of their party’s anti-war pronouncements nodoubt stemmed from a sincere conviction of the justice of Japan’s cause, sharedwith their counterparts in such places as the Institute of Pacific Relations,discussed in Chapter 5. Some were certainly preoccupied instead with the over-whelming issue of the early 1930s: the depression and its effect on workers andfarmers. The two issues were not inseparable, however, and concern about thedepression sometimes in itself encouraged or permitted a favourable attitude tothe conquest of Manchuria. One of the propaganda themes highlighted by manylabour leaders was the idea of Manchuria as a place from which the zaibatsuwould be barred, an idea with obvious appeal at a time when workers and thoseinvolved in smaller urban enterprises believed themselves to be suffering becauseof the greed of the large combines. The Social Democratic Party supported theManchurian venture partly on the basis of the anti-capitalist theme; andopposition to capitalism was also one of the fundamental positions of AsoHisashi, a leader of the Social Masses Party, which sought to promote a ‘socialist’Manchuria free from zaibatsu control.19 In fact, the anti-zaibatsu theme, in somecases at least, was probably a convenient rationalisation of a position that hadbeen taken for much more basic reasons.

The lack of opposition to the Manchurian Incident from most workers’organisations can doubtless be attributed in part to the adoption of ‘tacticalnationalism’, as Sheldon Garon and others suggest.20 Thus the mainstreamunion movement’s acceptance of the state as an ally rather than an enemy,despite the intense disputes that had characterised relations between labour andcapital since the onset of the depression and the close relationship perceived toexist between state and capital, was no accidental process, nor an admission ofdefeat. Rather, it constituted a posture deliberately adopted in the interests ofwinning advantages for workers in a changed industrial and bureaucraticcontext. Mainstream union leaders recognised that the Manchurian crisis hadproduced an environment in which class struggle was even less likely to succeed


than before, given the new emphasis by the authorities on national emergency,and resorted to a ‘realistic and essentially protective’ stance characterised bymoderation and passivity.21 Accordingly, the mainstream union movement notonly began to avoid strikes, but launched an ‘industrial co-operation’ (sangyokyoryoku) campaign and began to seek collective agreements with employers.

More fundamentally, however, the Manchurian crisis presented a majorchallenge to the convictions of social democrats, as it did to many Communistsand a number of more moderate public intellectuals. Pressure was heavy forthem to give priority to nation rather than class, to abandon divisive rhetoricwhile the nation was apparently besieged from outside, and to close ranks withother Japanese rather than seeking allies abroad. As a result the events of 1931–33 very often exposed the limits of social democrats’ ideological commitment topeace, internationalism and the promotion of class interest, revealing a deeper,underlying commitment to the apparent interests of the nation as a whole and awillingness to subscribe to state orthodoxy in circumstances where the nationseemed threatened. In short, the proletarian parties were under pressure to ‘takea more definitely national position’.22

Critical tensions within the working-class movement were thus laid bareduring the Manchurian crisis, and the result was soon evident in the defection ofsome prominent leaders from social democratic ranks, which paralleled the morefamous defections among the Communists. The leader of the nationalist factionof the Social Democratic Party, Akamatsu Katsumaro, like the centrist leaderAso, had already shown his commitment to radical change and his attraction torightist methods by choosing to be involved in the abortive March Incident of1931. Soon after the explosion on the South Manchurian Railway in September,Akamatsu conducted a group of leaders of his party on a tour of Manchuria,returning to condemn the class struggle in Japan and announce his support forthe military’s programme in Manchuria.23 Thereafter he made repeated state-ments in favour of overseas expansion, arguing that a country as poor in rawmaterials as Japan was ‘not at all obliged, for the sake of peace, to carry on a semi-starvation existence for all eternity, for fear of being called aggressive’.24

Akamatsu continued to place importance on opposing capitalism in one sense,however, joining those who called for ‘an end to bourgeois control over Man-churia’, so that workers and farmers could be the chief beneficiaries of Japanesecontrol of the region.25 When the party’s executive refused in April 1932 toendorse the new stance of Akamatsu’s group, the faction split off, eventually toform the Nihon kokka shakaito (Japan State Socialist Party). That party’splatform, among other things, promised that efforts would be made to achieve a‘liberation of the Asian peoples in accordance with the principle of equal humanrights and the principle of the equal distribution of natural resources’.26

In fact, neither of the main factions in Akamatsu’s Social Democratic Partywas prepared publicly to question the justice of Japan’s actions in Manchuria.In ‘A Decision Concerning the Problem of Manchuria and Mongolia’, the partyas a whole blamed Chinese warlords and selfish Japanese capitalists for thedifficulties in Manchuria and Mongolia, praised the army’s high ideals and


advocated the creation of a socialist system in Manchuria which would benefitboth Chinese and Japanese residents. Through such a system, apparently,Japan’s special rights in Manchuria would contribute to the development ofsocialism within Japan.27

The rival National Labour-Farmer Masses Party, for its part, did appear totake a firm stand at its convention in December 1931, opposing the ManchurianIncident as likely to lead to world war, and demanding the withdrawal of allJapanese troops from China. Delegates also complained that because of the‘Manchurian–Mongolian war’, factories producing goods for export to Chinahad been forced to close; and that the business slump in general had forced manyunemployed workers to the brink of starvation. A party committee was set upunder the leadership of Oyama Ikuo to continue opposition to the dispatch oftroops to China. After it unanimously adopted a resolution opposing thegovernment’s ‘imperialist invasion’ of Manchuria, the convention was closed bythe police.28

Views on Manchuria within the party, however, were less united than theresolutions of December 1931 might suggest. Matsutani Yojiro, for example,soon to be one of the party’s two successful candidates at the Diet elections ofFebruary 1932, was in the process of a drastic change of mind on Manchuria, andconsequently rejected the campaign slogan ‘oppose imperialist wars’. LikeAkamatsu of the other party, Matsutani too had apparently changed his viewsafter a trip to Manchuria, in company with a delegation from the Diet, in October1931. He returned to support Japan’s actions unequivocally, issuing a statementmaintaining that it was not ‘imperialistic’ to dispatch troops to protect Japaneseinterests, while also arguing that peasants and workers rather than capitalistsshould benefit from those interests. From August 1932 onwards, having beenejected from his party (now the newly formed Social Masses Party), Matsutanibecame the leader of a series of national socialist parties, but finished poorly inthe Diet election of 1936.29

The proletarian parties performed badly in the February 1932 elections,receiving altogether only about half the vote won by workers’ parties in 1930 andless than two-thirds that of 1928.30 Soon afterwards, the nationalist factions ofboth the Social Democratic Party and the National Labour-Farmer Masses Partyseceded and established new groups in alliance with the national socialistmovement. In fact, after the Manchurian Incident, in one estimate, the two majorproletarian parties together lost a third of their membership to the nationalsocialist movement.31 In July 1932 the majority social democratic factions of thetwo parties merged to form the Shakai taishuto (Social Masses Party), withAbe Isoo as chairman of the executive committee and Aso Hisashi as secretary-general. Party slogans at the time of the merger included expressions ofopposition to fascism, capitalism and ‘imperialistic wars’ and a call for areduction in armaments.32 Nevertheless there was still considerable difference ofopinion within the new party over Manchuria. In 1933, for example, partymembers disagreed over the propriety of the actions of veteran labour leaderSuzuki Bunji who, as Japan’s representative at a conference of the International


Labour Organisation, was seeking to promote understanding of Japan’s caseover Manchuria among European working-class associations. The majorityof the members of the Central Executive Committee apparently supportedSuzuki’s efforts.33 On the other hand, according to one observer, Suzuki wasgreeted on his return to Japan by ‘a storm of criticism from Social Mass Partymembers’.34

In general, the new Social Masses Party in this period concentrated on tryingto improve the lot of workers and farmers and refrained from direct attack on themilitary or on foreign policy, though it did on occasion speak in favour of areduction in defence expenditure. At the same time, however, the party wasquietly moving away from any remaining possibility of outright opposition to theinvasion of Manchuria, to oppose ‘capitalist domination’ of Manchuria instead,progressively abandoning as well the language of class struggle in favour of theprinciple of national unity.35 The workers’ parties in general no longeremphasised a narrow class base, but sought a more inclusive rhetoric. When theNational Labour-Farmer Masses Party at its December 1931 convention spokeof the oppression of the propertyless classes, it included farmers and small andmedium enterprise, as well as soldiers, government officials and those on armypensions.36 By December 1933, the Social Masses Party had formally decided toaim at the broad middle stratum of society. Thenceforth the party was to try toextend its appeal to those in small and medium firms, who were seen to besuffering both from the depression and from oppression by the zaibatsu.37 Partyofficial Aso Hisashi, meanwhile, was advocating closer relations between workersand the military, eventually becoming a supporter of the war against China.By the late 1930s, many of his party’s activists were participating willinglyin organisations such as the Taisei yokusankai (Imperial Rule AssistanceAssociation) and the Sangyo hokokukai (Industrial Patriotic Society).38 TheManchurian crisis had played a vital role in this trajectory from promotion ofworkers’ interests to support of the state.

Trade unions

Within the trade unions there was the same ambivalence over the Manchurianissue. Similar splits emerged, together with a similar movement towards therhetoric of ‘national unity’. At its national convention in November 1931, theNihon rodo sodomei (Sodomei, or Japan Federation of Labour), which repre-sented the mainstream of the legal labour movement and styled itself ‘right-wing’in comparison to other groups, took no official stand on the Sino-Japaneseconflict: in fact, it did not discuss the fighting in Manchuria at all. According toStephen Large, neither the Sodomei nor the Nihon rodo kurabu, an umbrellagroup representing fourteen labour organisations, ever did make an officialstatement on the Manchurian Incident. Privately, most Sodomei members wereeither equivocal about or sympathetic to Japan’s actions in Manchuria. Just as ithad affected workers’ political parties, meanwhile, the challenge from nationalsocialism began to affect the Sodomei as well as the centrist Nihon rodo kumiai


sorengo (General Alliance of Japanese Labour Unions) and Nihon rodo kumiaidomei (Japan Labour Union Alliance), all of which saw the departure of splintergroups from their ranks. In December 1931, the General Alliance of JapaneseLabour Unions announced its commitment to the new national socialistmovement.39

The Sodomei’s journal, Rodo (Labour), provides compelling evidence of thechanges going on within the labour movement, partly because of what is missingfrom its pages. Though the magazine championed the interests of workers whohad been sent to the front as soldiers, and advocated welfare measures for theirfamilies at home, it contained little comment on the Manchurian Incident itself.One crucial reason is doubtless a preoccupation with the economic depressionwhich was affecting all workers, but the journal’s relative silence on Manchuriaalso powerfully suggests the divisiveness of the issue for union members, andprobably their leaders’ fear of schism, in addition to a large measure of tacitacceptance of Japan’s right to control Manchuria. Even campaigns to raisemoney for soldiers at the front received little or no publicity in Rodo, though fund-raising activities for suffering farmers were publicised. On the other hand, Rodoremained committed to internationalism, in much the same way as diplomats,members of the Institute of Pacific Relations and others retained their faith inJapan’s role as contributor to the community of nations. One writer expressedregret at Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations, asserting that Japancould have convinced League members of the justice of its case over Manchukuoif it had stayed a League member, and should continue to co-operate withinternational organisations apart from the League, especially the InternationalLabour Organisation.40 It is a view that could equally have come from theForeign Ministry, the Home Ministry or the Japan Council of the Institute ofPacific Relations.

Meanwhile, the journal’s rhetoric was drawing ever nearer to that of thestate. Already in October 1931, in an article addressing the effects of theworld economic depression, one writer was preaching that Japan must notonly reform its capitalism but ‘construct a foundation of national unity’ in orderto recover.41 The similarity with the language and concepts used by Japan’sruling authorities is striking. By 1934–35, unionists were reported to be singingthe national anthem at the beginning of a meeting,42 worshipping at the localshrine and then cleaning the grounds as a voluntary group activity,43 or joiningin collective workplace physical exercise ‘inspired by the spirit of industrialco-operation’, even though they had previously criticised this sort of practicein the knowledge that employers used it as a means of reinforcing control overtheir workers:

every morning with the eight o’clock siren, workers get together in thesquare in the factory. To the accompaniment of the national anthem playedthrough the factory’s loudspeaker, three flags – our nation’s, the company’sand the labour union’s – are raised fifty feet into the sky. Then the workersdo the first, followed by the second set of radio exercises.44


The depression and the crisis over Manchuria not only caused splits in themainstream union movement, but also stimulated the growth of another group ofunions, the ‘Japanist’ or right-wing nationalist unions, which had first appearedin the late 1920s and eventually merged to form the Nihon sangyo rodo kurabu(Japan Industrial Labour Club) in 1933. Reflecting the ideas of other civilianright-wing groups and of dissatisfied military officers, the deeply anti-Communist ‘Japanist’ unions rejected the idea of class struggle, refusing toacknowledge the existence of conflict between labour and capital at all. Insteadthey called for sacrifice and loyalty to the nation and a strong foreign policy, inaddition to co-operation between labour and capital, in the meantime criticisingthe mainstream union movement as greedy and selfish. Though they remainedsmall, their impact during the early 1930s was critical, for example in working infactories to destroy and replace other unions, usually those affiliated with themainstream Sodomei, sometimes through violent confrontation. Some main-stream union leaders converted to the programmes espoused by these unions,throwing the social democratic union movement into further disarray; somesuch unions also received support from both managers and bureaucrats. Thustheir growth struck a serious blow at the mainstream union movement at aparticularly delicate time.45

The circumstances of the early 1930s, then, exercised a crucial influence onthe trade union movement and on political parties representing workers. Theeconomic depression and the Manchurian crisis combined to create an atmos-phere which encouraged labour and political activists to break with previousmodes of thought and action and to work towards new positions – positionswhich foreshadowed their responses to the crises brought by full-scalemobilisation and war from 1937 onwards. Labour unions did experienceanother period of growth in the mid-1930s, with disputes again increasing, andthe Social Masses Party was unexpectedly successful in local and nationalelections between 1935 and 1937, while maintaining ‘a generally consistent set ofsocialist positions on major domestic and foreign affairs problems’, includingcriticism of the growing influence of the military in politics.46 The outbreak ofwar with China in July 1937, however, once again brought forth public expres-sions of patriotism and endorsement of the need for national unity. In 1938, theparty showed its support for statist projects by agreeing to back the government’snew order for labour, represented by the launching of Sanpo, the IndustrialPatriotic Movement. Though Sodomei leaders fought to maintain an autono-mous identity for their organisation, labour unions, too, rushed to support thenew body.47

In the meantime, the emphasis in the workers’ journal, Rodo, had begun tochange from late 1932, not only in terms of the stress on national unity, but alsobecause economic recovery had begun. A focus on inflation was starting toreplace the earlier preoccupation with the depression. By 1934, new concernspredominated altogether. Now, when the journal expressed concern about‘boycotts’, it referred not to the Chinese boycott of Japanese goods which hadpreviously generated much anxiety in the context of the Manchurian crisis, but


rather, a worldwide boycott of Japanese goods because of unfair competitionresulting from low wages in Japan.48 For organised workers as for other groups,the Manchurian crisis was clearly over.

If the mainstream trade union movement represented the workers in small andmedium enterprises, there were also very active organisations working on behalfof the business operators. We will now turn to consider their responses to theManchurian crisis.

Notes1 Information on population, occupational distribution and size of firms in this section

is based on E. B. Schumpeter, ‘The Population of the Japanese Empire’, in E. B.Schumpeter (ed.), The Industrialization of Japan and Manchukuo 1930–1940, New York,Macmillan, 1940, pp. 64, 77; Gary R. Saxonhouse, ‘Country Girls and Communi-cation among Competitors in the Japanese Cotton-Spinning Industry’, in HughPatrick (ed.), Japanese Industrialization and its Social Consequences, Berkeley, Universityof California Press, 1976, pp. 99–100; Robert E. Cole and Ken’ichi Tominaga,‘Japan’s Changing Occupational Structure and its Significance’, in Patrick (ed.),Japanese Industrialization, pp. 60–1; Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 140; Cho Yukio,‘From the Showa Economic Crisis to Military Economy: With Special Reference tothe Inoue and Takahashi Financial Policies’, Developing Economies, Vol. 4, December1964, pp. 590–2; Johannes Hirschmeier and Tsunehiko Yui, The Development ofJapanese Business, 1600–1980, London, Allen & Unwin, 2nd edn, 1981, pp. 156–8;Smith, A Time of Crisis, p. 43. See also Nishinarita Yutaka,‘Manshu jihenki no roshikankei’, Keizaigaku kenkyu, No. 26, January 1985, Part I.

2 Maeda Yasuyuki, ‘“Chusho kogyo wa ikinokoreruka”: kin’yu kyoko de mondaihyomenka’, in Arisawa (ed.), Showa keizaishi, p. 61.

3 Japan Year Book 1933, pp. 921–5; Stephen S. Large, Organized Workers and SocialistPolitics in Interwar Japan, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1981, pp. 132–3.

4 ‘Dai nijukkai taikai o mukaeru: sara ni aratanaru jinchi e’, Rodo, No. 245, November1931, p. 3.

5 Yamamuro Kentoku, ‘Shakai taishuto shoron’, in Kindai Nihon kenkyukai (ed.),Vol. 5: Showaki no shakai undo, Tokyo, Yamakawa shuppansha, 1983, p. 78; RobertA. Scalapino, The Early Japanese Labor Movement: Labor and Politics in a Developing Society,Berkeley, University of California Press, 1983, pp. 202–3.

6 Large, Organized Workers, p. 79.7 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 25; Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 162.8 Quoted in Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 163.9 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 29; Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, pp. 164–5.

10 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 24–6.11 Ibid., pp. 30–1, 34.12 Ibid., pp. 26–9.13 Ibid., pp. 26, 29.14 Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 170.15 For details see Andrew Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan,

Berkeley, University of California Press, 1991, pp. 243–5.16 See Large, Organized Workers, pp. 132–4.17 This section is based on: ‘Left-Wing Groups in Japanese Politics 1918–1946’, 1

January 1947, USNA, Records of the Department of State, Record Group 59:General Records of the Department of State, Division of Research for Far East,Office of Intelligence Research, Research and Analysis Report No. 2530; Totten,Social Democratic Movement, pp. 69–79, 259–66; William D. Wray, ‘Aso Hisashi and


the Search for Renovation in the 1930s’, Papers on Japan, Vol. 5 (East Asia ResearchCenter, Harvard University), 1970, pp. 55–98; Aso Hisashi denki keiko iinkai (ed.),Aso Hisashi den, Tokyo, 1958, Ch. 3. See also Kanda Fuhito, ‘Showa kyokoki noshakai undo’, in Tokyo daigaku shakai kagaku kenkyujo (ed.), Fasshizumuki no kokkato shakai, Vol. 1: Showa kyoko, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1978, pp. 284–8.

18 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy, p. 275.19 See Wray, ‘Aso Hisashi’; Totten, Social Democratic Movement, pp. 263–4. This theme is

discussed at greater length below.20 Garon, State and Labor, p. 193.21 Ernest James Notar, ‘Labor Unions and the Sangyo Hokoku Movement, 1930–1945: A

Japanese Model for Industrial Relations’, unpublished PhD dissertation, Universityof California, 1979, p. 71.

22 Delmer M. Brown, Nationalism in Japan: An Introductory Historical Analysis, Berkeley,University of California Press, 1955, p. 191.

23 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy, p. 283.24 Quoted in ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, p. 40.25 Totten, Social Democratic Movement, pp. 70–1; Wray, ‘Aso Hisashi’.26 Quoted in Brown, Nationalism in Japan, p. 192. See also Notar, ‘Labor Unions’, pp.

73–5.27 Crowley, Japan’s Quest, p. 138.28 Aso Hisashi den, pp. 416, 418.29 Totten, Social Democratic Movement, pp. 261–2; Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy,

pp. 284–5.30 ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, p. 41.31 Honda Takeo, Nihon shakai undoshi gaisetsu, Tokyo, Tatebana shobo, 1952, quoted in

Brown, Nationalism in Japan, p. 191.32 Aso Hisashi den, p. 449; ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, pp. 41–2; Totten, Social

Democratic Movement, pp. 89–90.33 ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, pp. 42–3.34 Roth, Dilemma in Japan, p. 149. On Suzuki’s tour of Europe, see Wilson, ‘Containing

the Crisis’, pp. 347–8.35 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy, pp. 285–6.36 Aso Hisashi den, pp. 418, 421–2.37 Wray, ‘Aso Hisashi’, pp. 61–2.38 ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, pp. 44–5; Wray, ‘Aso Hisashi’, pp. 62–3; Yamamuro,

‘Shakai taishuto shoron’, pp. 75, 88; Totten, Social Democratic Movement, pp. 91–3, 185.For the Social Masses Party statement on withdrawal from the League of Nations,see ‘Left-Wing Groups’, USNA, p. 44; Totten, Social Democratic Movement, p. 274.

39 Large, Organized Workers, pp. 153–6. See also Scalapino, Early Japanese LaborMovement, pp. 196–7, 203. On the trade unions, see also Nishinarita, ‘Manshu jihenkino roshi kankei’, esp. pp. 296–309.

40 ‘Wazawai o tenjite fuku to nase: hijoji no motto’, Rodo, No. 260, March 1933, pp.52–3.

41 ‘Fuken gisen no kyokun’, Rodo, No. 244, October 1931, p. 3.42 Niwa Shichiro, ‘Masa ni sangyo hokoku no gutaika’, Rodo, No. 272, March 1934, p.

18.43 Rodo, No. 293, December 1935, photographs preceding p. 2.44 ‘Kojo taiso o jikko su’, Rodo, No. 279, October 1934, p. 21.45 Garon, State and Labor, pp. 192–3; Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy, pp. 257–61,

276–7.46 Large, Organized Workers, p. 192.47 See ibid., pp. 211–18.48 ‘Nihon shohin no boikotto: rodosha no tachiba wa do naru?’, Rodo, No. 272, March

1934, p. 10.

8 Rights and interestsThe business community andthe crisis

Japanese businesses which dealt with China, many of which were located inOsaka, were directly affected by the crisis in Manchuria, and the associationsrepresenting them devoted a great deal of energy to studying and commenting onthe events of 1931–33. In the past, episodes of Sino-Japanese tension had con-spicuously failed to produce a united response from Japanese business interests,and government strategies for dealing with economic friction with China had notalways found approval in business circles.1 Now, however, all groups represent-ing business publicly supported government and army policy on Manchuria.

This chapter concentrates on reactions from small and medium enterprises,given the preponderance of smaller-scale business and industry in the economicstructure that was noted at the beginning of the last chapter. Responses fromthe biggest concerns, the zaibatsu, are also a crucial part of the picture, and willbe considered at the end of the chapter. First, however, we will outline thegeneral conditions under which smaller enterprises were operating in theearly 1930s.

Small and medium enterprises

Conditions in the early 1930s undoubtedly favoured large firms. The greatmajority of enterprises remained at the smaller end of the scale, however, andfared badly. Nearly half of Japan’s total production in 1932 came from smallworkshops. These tiny enterprises were highly susceptible to exploitation bythe zaibatsu, which often specified the product to be made, supplied raw materialsand monopolised the marketing of the product. As John G. Roberts commentedof Mitsui:

[Mitsui] Bussan was said to be the biggest patron of these ‘midget capitalists’,who in most cases were no better off than their workers. In good times theirprofits were held to a minimum by high prices for materials and low sellingprices; and in bad times their credit with [Mitsui] Bussan was likely to be cutoff, forcing them into bankruptcy.2

Smaller enterprises were already suffering in the late 1920s. The ‘financial

The business community 171

panic’ of 1927 had forced the closure of forty-four banks of small and mediumsize, with capital of less than 2 million yen and in some cases only 1 million. Avariety of smaller businesses that had traded directly with these banks wasadversely affected by the closures. Again, when the gold embargo was lifted in1930, export industries like raw silk, silk goods and cotton goods were hit hard,and there were many further bankruptcies among small and medium banks andother businesses.3

According to some writers, small urban business proprietors were worse offduring the depression than the working class. A survey in June 1931 establishedthat the average daily net profit of small retailers in Tokyo was 57 sen, at a timewhen the average daily wage of a factory worker was 1 yen and 86 sen; even thewomen workers at the Toyo Muslin factory in Kameido who were donatingmoney for soldiers at the front in November 1931 earned 80 sen per day.Between January and June 1931, a total of about 30 per cent of the members ofone Tokyo business organisation, the Tokyo jitsugyo kumiai rengo (Federationof Tokyo Business Associations), closed down or sold their businesses, or fledtheir creditors.4

The difficulties experienced during the depression by small and mediumenterprises received considerable publicity. In fact, though the term ‘small andmedium industry’ (chusho kogyo) had existed since about the end of the Meijiperiod, it was in the early 1930s that the specific problems of enterprises of thisscale achieved political prominence.5 Movements relating to issues of concern tosmall and medium enterprises – opposing the growth of department stores oragitating for lower electricity and gas charges, for example – sprang up in thisperiod, though it cannot be claimed they achieved lasting influence. In Tokyo,Osaka, Nagoya and other large cities, a succession of political parties was formedwith small retailers as their driving force. All had anti-monopolist demands, aswell as a variety of other demands, often of a democratic nature: women’ssuffrage, for instance, or reduction in military spending.6 Others of this broadlower middle class joined the labour movement or perhaps the radical right. Allsuch activity, however, was the exception rather than the rule. The majority maywell have held views that were critical of the zaibatsu and the political parties, butdid not translate them into political action.

Despite the evidence of widespread suffering among smaller-scale enterprises,government policy during the depression on the whole gave priority to largeconcerns. The Important Industries Control Law (Juyo sangyo tosei ho), passedon 1 April 1931, was both a symbol and a major instrument of this policy. Thenew law encouraged the formation of cartels among large enterprises in desig-nated industries such as cotton-spinning, iron and steel, and chemicals. Controlwas to be exercised within an industry, by the enterprises themselves; there wereto be agreements among enterprises to fix levels of production, establish prices,limit new entrants to an industry and control marketing. The law worked to theadvantage of the zaibatsu, as all of the industries selected were in areas in whichthey predominated.7 It did nothing to lessen the feeling among those in smaller-scale enterprises that the zaibatsu and political parties were working against them.


The world depression also had a major impact on Japanese enterprises inManchuria, where, again, smaller firms predominated. There were a few largeplants, such as the Showa Steel Works’ machine tool factory, which employedover 2,000 workers, the South Manchurian Railway Company’s machine toolfactory at Dairen, with nearly 4,000 employees, and some munitions plants inMukden with about a thousand employees. On the whole, however, the scale ofoperation was small: the average Japanese factory in Manchuria employedbetween ten and thirty workers. Over half of 165 private Japanese companiessurveyed in 1927 were capitalised at less than 50,000 yen.8 In 1931, such smallenterprises were extremely vulnerable both to the depression and to thenationalist anti-Japanese movement in China.

The chambers of commerce and industry were the voice of small and mediumenterprises, regularly expressing concern about the plight of smaller Japanesefirms, whether in Japan, Manchuria or Shanghai. Chambers of commerce andindustry had existed in the largest Japanese cities since the late 1870s, at first witha mix of large and small firms as members. Considerable friction developed,however, between big business and small and medium enterprises, and in 1917 aseparate organisation, the Japan Industrial Club (Nihon kogyo kurabu), wasfounded to represent big business. At its inception it had 185 member firms, eachholding at least 200,000 yen in capital. The new organisation rapidly gainedinfluence and took over the role of making proposals on matters of generalpolicy. By 1928 it had 1,000 members, and other organisations had also emerged,especially the Nihon keizai renmeikai (Japan Economic Federation), which hadsurpassed the Japan Industrial Club to become the dominant associationrepresenting big business by the early 1930s, and the Zenkoku sangyo dantairengokai (National Federation of Industrial Organisations), a group formedspecifically to oppose new labour laws. In the meantime, the chambers ofcommerce and industry had become the representatives of small and mediumenterprises and of provincial interests, though their leaders tended to be well-known figures from large industry.9

In 1931, the President of the Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry wasthe leading industrialist and businessman Go Seinosuke; Inabata Katsutaro wasPresident of the Osaka Chamber. The interests of the two chambers ranged fromproposed new labour laws to unemployment and the world depression, tax cutsand the export promotion policies of foreign countries. Each chamber publisheda monthly journal giving regular reports of the stock market, the domesticeconomy, changes to commercial laws and regulations, overseas trade and othermatters of interest to members, in addition to reports from the chambers’ variouscommittees. As well as a major focus on the state of the world and nationaleconomies, from at least the late 1920s onwards, both journals dealt regularlywith the question of trade with China, which was Japan’s second biggest tradingpartner after the United States. Though 25 per cent of Japan’s exports went toChina in 1929, including Kwantung, Manchuria and Hong Kong,10 Sino-Japanese trade was hardly proceeding smoothly. By the time the KwantungArmy invaded Manchuria in September 1931, chamber of commerce journals


were concerned most of all about the capacity of Chinese nationalists to harmJapanese business and industry through the weapon of the economic boycott.

The Chinese boycott

Anti-Japanese sentiment had been growing in China since the ‘Twenty-OneDemands’ of 1915, increasing when the Versailles Conference gave Japancontrol of the former German special interests on the Shantung Peninsula. In1919 a boycott of Japanese goods formed part of a Chinese nationalist movementaimed at recovery of these interests. Further anti-Japanese boycotts took placeduring the 1920s, but until 1928, the campaigns were temporary and the criseswere weathered through concessions by the Japanese or because Great Britain,with traditionally the largest interest in China, was the more important target. Inany case, the Chinese side did not have the capacity to effect a complete boycottof Japanese or other foreign goods as threatened.11

A turning-point came around 1928, however, when the Kuomintang(Nationalist Party) took over leadership of anti-Japanese activity in order toconsolidate its own support among the Chinese people, increasing the move-ment’s efficiency by removing its opponents and providing government finance.The longest and most serious campaign of the 1920s began when theKuomintang organised a nation-wide boycott after the military clash betweenJapanese and Chinese forces at Tsinan in April–May 1928. Japan became ‘theleading target of a vigorous anti-imperialism’;12 from about the end of 1930, theanti-Japanese movement began to inflict real damage on Japanese economicinterests through the boycott, non-renewal of contracts, non-delivery of goodsand other measures. Small Japanese firms in China, together with smallerenterprises involved with the China trade from Japan, suffered the most heavilyfrom these actions.

A new boycott, China’s ninth against Japan, began in Shanghai in July 1931 inthe wake of the Wanpaoshan Incident, entering a second phase after the events of18 September, with the expectation on the part of its Chinese leaders that damageto Japanese interests would be sufficient to force Japan to surrender Manchuriaand more broadly to drop its aggressive posture towards China. While in themedium term the campaign may not have inflicted the anticipated degree ofdamage on Japanese exporters, who were able to find markets elsewhere, andwhile Japanese firms based in China also found ways around the boycott,13 thereis no doubt that the immediate impact of the movement was a matter of greatconcern to Japanese commerce and industry both at home and in China.

Japanese exports to China proper dropped by two-thirds after 18 September1931.14 The total value of Japanese exports to China in November 1931 was onlyabout 22 per cent of that for November 1930, and about 26 per cent of that forAugust 1931.15 It is difficult to separate the effect on economic activity of theManchurian Incident from the general decline in world trade caused by thedepression, and from the effect of Britain’s departure from the gold standard inthe same week as the Manchurian Incident. Japan experienced a drop in trade


not only with China but also with its other big trading partners, the USA andIndia; and the fall in price of British goods on the Chinese market after Britain’sabandonment of the gold standard would have affected Japan’s exports to Chinaregardless of the boycott. However, the fact that Japan’s exports to China,excluding Hong Kong and the Kwantung Territory, declined by 40 per cent forthe whole of 1931, compared to a decline of only 22 per cent in total exports,cannot be explained solely by the drop in price of British goods.16 Japanesebusinessmen and other observers certainly believed that the boycott was animportant factor in the decline in exports to China and in the fortunes of Japaneseenterprises in China. It is also clear that there was a marked reaction among theChinese immediately after the Manchurian Incident.

Partly because of the Kwantung Army’s increasing control over Manchuria,but largely because of the concentration of Japanese interest elsewhere, the areasworst hit by the anti-Japanese boycott after 18 September 1931 were not inManchuria itself. An American report of March 1932 noted that the boycott hadbeen most effective in South China, followed by Central China, Hong Kong andNorth China in that order, whereas the effect on Manchuria itself was not great.17

In Shanghai the anti-Japanese movement now sought not only to boycottJapanese goods, but to bring about the cessation of all economic relations withJapan. Immediately after the Manchurian Incident, new transactions and thedelivery of Japanese goods were suspended, and notice was given that contractswould be broken. Many Japanese factories, banks and shops were forced toclose.18 According to the American report, Japanese trading firms in China ‘havefound it almost impossible to conduct business’ since the Manchurian Incident.Furthermore, ‘Japanese banks have been widely boycotted, and small Japaneseindustrial and business units in China completely snuffed out’. In late October1931, Funatsu Shin’ichiro, director of the Japan Spinners’ Association in China,reported to Tokyo that ‘small concerns are especially hard hit and declare thateven if the movement subsides, they haven’t enough money left to do businessafterward’. A month later it was reported that most of the small Japanesemerchants in China were faced with bankruptcy. Of forty Japanese factoriesemploying more than thirty people in the Shanghai area, thirty-three had alreadyclosed in late November 1931, the remaining seven being able to remain openthrough sales to the local Japanese population. Japanese spinning mills, whichwere concentrated in Shanghai, were seriously affected by the boycott, ‘causingdrastic curtailment of production and eliminating sales except to Hongkong andBritish India’. Late in January 1932, after the beginning of the Shanghai Incident,Japanese mills in the Shanghai area completely suspended their operations. InTientsin, one of the two large Japanese mill-owning companies suspendedoperation of its mills in November 1931; it was reported early in December thatthe other controlling company would also shortly be forced to close its mills.19

Shipping along the coast and inland waterways, of which Japan had controllednearly a third in 1929, was also seriously affected by the boycott of 1931–32. Oneimportant Japanese company operating on the Yangtze was forced to lay up itsships, and other Japanese shipping firms sustained heavy losses. Chinese dock


workers refused to unload freight from Japanese ships in some places. The USCommercial Attaché in Shanghai reported that during the last three monthsof 1931:

Importers bringing in cargo on indent for Chinese, requested their repre-sentatives in foreign countries not to ship by Japanese ships owing to the factthat the Chinese would refuse to take delivery. In the same way, exportcargo in those cases where Chinese middle-men had any connection there-with was shipped through other lines.20

Despite all the evidence of damage caused by China’s economic boycott ofJapan, the campaign did not succeed in turning Japan away from aggression asChinese leaders had hoped. Even business associations hardened their attitudes,both in Manchuria and in Japan, rather than considering other approaches.Support for the Manchurian Incident even as it threatened the livelihood of thosein smaller enterprises was demonstrated at public meetings and conferences,where representatives from small and medium enterprises passed resolutionscalling for firm action to protect Japan’s rights and interests in Manchuria andMongolia, despite the potential for further disastrous damage to trade withChina. Documents and resolutions produced by the chambers of commerce andindustry show the same combination of deep concern at the effects of the boycottwith calls for firm action by Japan to suppress the Chinese.

The chambers of commerce and the Manchurian Incident

Initial reactions from the Japanese chambers of commerce and industry to theManchurian Incident were unified and close to the official line. Before September1931, influential Osaka business organisations had been highly critical of thearmy, and had favoured a reduction in military spending as a way of battling thedepression. Towards China specifically they had adopted a ‘negative’ attitude, inthe terms used by one secret report from the military police. However, all thischanged with the Manchurian Incident.21

Certainly, the chambers of commerce joined in the general public enthusiasmfor the army’s brave exploits after 18 September. By April 1932 chambers ofcommerce in Osaka Prefecture had collected more than 84,000 yen, to be givento soldiers and to bereaved and indigent families of soldiers in Osaka.22 Apartfrom collecting relief money, both the Tokyo and Osaka chambers heldreceptions for soldiers, invited military officers to speak at their meetings, visitedwounded officers in hospital, held discussions with army officials on businessand industrial issues affecting Japan and Manchuria and despatched missionsto study conditions in Manchuria. Their journals repeated the clichés aboutManchuria as a ‘new paradise’, a ‘life-line’, a symbol of racial harmony and aplace of limitless resources. Exhibitions were held and trade fairs promotingManchurian goods in Japan and Japanese goods in Manchuria were sponsored.In November 1931, for instance, the Osaka chamber agreed to sponsor an


exhibition on the anti-Japanese movement in China, using materials supplied bythe Osaka Asahi newspaper. In another campaign, the Tokyo and Osakachambers each contributed 400 yen through the Japan Chamber of Commerce toa nation-wide soldiers’ relief fund, then supplied a representative to a delegationof four which took the money, totalling 10,000 yen, to Manchuria and paid itsrespects to the troops, to General Honjo Shigeru, Commander of the KwantungArmy, to the South Manchurian Railway Company and to Japanese chambers ofcommerce and industry in Manchuria. There were several other visits to Man-churia: ten members of the Osaka chamber and eight from the Tokyo chamberparticipated in another visit around September 1933, for example.23

The Osaka Chamber of Commerce and Industry, which represented thoseinterests most closely involved with China, generally took a hard line on theManchurian dispute, in keeping with the outspoken statements on the preser-vation of Japanese prerogatives in China it had been making since the late1920s.24 On 23 September 1931 it decided to send a telegram to AmbassadorYoshizawa Kenkichi at the League of Nations, encouraging him to work for theprotection of Japanese rights and interests in Manchuria. Three days later itpassed a unanimous resolution deploring the Manchurian Incident and blamingit entirely on the Chinese, claiming that the Chinese people had been consistentlyignoring Japan’s legitimate interests, complaining of the anti-Japanese boycott asa violation of the basic principles of international peace, and accusing theChinese government of encouraging the anti-Japanese movement instead ofputting its own house in order. The resolution ended by calling for the settlementof all ‘outstanding disputes’ between China and Japan and an end to the anti-Japanese boycotts in order to establish permanent peace in the Far East. Copies ofthe resolution were to be sent to all cabinet ministers, the leaders of both housesof the Diet, all political parties and to other relevant people, urging them to workfor the objectives outlined in the manifesto.25

On 28 September, a hundred people were reported to have attended anothermeeting at the Osaka Chamber of Commerce, representing thirteen groups apartfrom the chamber itself, including the Japan Spinners’ Association, the Associ-ation of Japanese Spinners in China, the Japan–China Economic Association andthe Osaka Trade Association. The meeting decided to form a permanentassociation to deal with the ‘China problem’. A unanimous resolution was passedcalling for settlement of the Sino-Japanese dispute, the maintenance of Japaneserights and interests, and Chinese government action to end the anti-Japaneseboycott and to guard against future outbreaks of similar activity. This time thedemand for action was prefaced by assertions that Japanese troops had acted inself-defence, that the anti-Japanese boycott violated international ethics, and thatthe boycott threatened the life and property of Japanese residents in China. Theresolution was to be sent not only to cabinet ministers and politicians, but toleading figures in the army both in Tokyo and Manchuria, and to Japanesechambers of commerce and industry in Shanghai and Manchuria.26

Additional messages were to be sent to the Japanese government linking theboycott with the ongoing issue of the abolition of extraterritorial privileges for


Japanese resident in China, which had been under discussion for some time, aspart of the new Chinese Nationalist government’s policy of ‘revolutionarydiplomacy’, which was designed to free China from long-standing foreigndomination. Japanese business leaders were adamant that the Chinese were notto be permitted to use the boycott as a weapon to achieve their other aims.Accordingly, the Japanese government was urged not to participate in negoti-ations to abolish extraterritoriality unless the boycott ended, anti-Japanesestatements were removed from Chinese school textbooks and guarantees for thefuture were given.27 In this and other ways, the latest in the series of Chineseboycotts of Japanese goods and services was presented not primarily as aresponse to Japanese military action, but as part of a continuing history ofChinese xenophobia, directed against Japan in this case.28 Further objections tothe Chinese boycott were registered by the Osaka Chamber on the grounds thatit contravened international law, was inhumane and obstructed trade. Officials atthe League of Nations and the International Chamber of Commerce were now tobe amongst those furnished with the chamber’s view of the anti-Japanese boycottin China.29

The Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry was less directly concernedabout the Manchurian Incident than its counterpart in Osaka, but published thesame sort of comment on the disruptive effects of the boycott. Its journal alsorevealed significant contact with the Japanese chambers of commerce in Man-churia and Shanghai which, like other Japanese business associations and civiliansin China, had been vocal in requesting support in fighting the Chinese boycottsince before the Manchurian Incident, and continued to exert such pressure,both by telegram and by sending representatives to Japan, as we shall see.30

Despite initial enthusiasm for the army’s action in Manchuria, by October,some business leaders were becoming anxious about the negative effect ofprolonged Sino-Japanese conflict on trade, and worried that the army’s insistenceon a ‘fundamental solution’ to the ‘Manchurian/Mongolian problem’ could leadultimately to a world war and cessation of world trade. Moreover, some Japanesebusinessmen clearly believed that Japan’s interests in Manchuria were scarcelyworth all the fuss. There were complaints in business circles that the army waspreoccupied with protection of rights and interests in Manchuria which, thoughimportant in principle, had little concrete effect on real Japanese interests. Onthe other hand, Japan’s trade with and investment in the rest of China wereextremely significant, and the boycott in China proper affected Japanese business-men directly. The army, it was felt, was not paying enough attention to Japan’scommercial interests in China proper.31

Such doubts both reflected the reality of Japanese commercial interests inChina and echoed the opinions of certain long-term Japanese observers of Sino-Japanese relations. Manchuria was definitely not the main focus of Japanesebusiness interest in China. Trade with China and economic activity withinChina had long been important to Japan, but it was the Shanghai area rather thanremote Manchuria which was of greatest value to Japanese investors as well as toother foreign powers, leaving aside the South Manchurian Railway Company,


Japan’s greatest single overseas investment. Since before the First World War,Shanghai port had handled 40 per cent of China’s total trade. Throughout the1920s, it handled 35–40 per cent of all Japanese exports to China. Only a quarterof Japanese capital in China was invested in Manchuria; Japanese and otherforeign investment in modern industry was quite obviously concentrated in theShanghai area.32 The diplomat Ishii Itaro counted nine Japanese spinning com-panies in Shanghai in 1932, as well as branches of other large Japanese firms andbanks and a variety of small firms.33 Thus it was in central and southern Chinathat Japanese interests were concentrated and where the effects of the boycottwere felt most acutely. For Japanese capitalists, the long-standing focus ofJapanese interest was Shanghai; it was the Kwantung Army which changed theagenda to Manchuria.

This point had been made before, as we have seen in Chapter 5. IshibashiTanzan, well before the Manchurian Incident, argued that China proper was farmore important for the Japanese economy than was Manchuria, which in hisopinion was of little value to Japan. He believed that by its activities in Man-churia, Japan was only antagonising the Chinese and jeopardising its moreimportant interests elsewhere in China.34 A leading member of the OsakaChamber made a similar point. Kurimoto Yunosuke, the head of an OsakaChamber of Commerce mission to China in mid-1931, stressed the importanceof Shanghai in Sino-Japanese relations, showing a positive attitude to theKuomintang government and sympathy for its attempts to eliminate unequaltreaties, and emphasising the need for new economic development throughpeaceful economic activity by Japan.35

In late 1931, however, such doubts as existed in business circles about thearmy’s actions did not produce any official call for moderation on Japan’s part, orfor a conciliatory attitude towards China. It is also striking that, as was the casewith the majority of diplomats and other prominent internationalists during theManchurian crisis, business and industrial leaders on the whole did not seek topersuade their Chinese counterparts of the justice of Japan’s cause. Rather, theassociations representing business and industry worried only about their imagein Western countries, in some cases taking considerable care to mollify theirWestern clients and friends, while simultaneously calling for even stronger actionby the Japanese government. There would be no end to the boycott in mainlandChina – which amounted to ‘an act of war without weapons’ – and trade would notrecover, in their usual estimation, until the Manchurian question was resolved.Therefore, the Japanese government was urged not to negotiate, but rather toembark on ever more resolute military action in suppressing the Chinese inManchuria.36 As noted earlier, the Japanese government was also to be informedthat Osaka interests implacably opposed the abolition of Japanese extraterritorialprivileges in China. Japanese business and industrial leaders further resolved thatJapan should seek to enlighten the League of Nations and Western countriesabout the justice of Japan’s cause and the history of illegal depredations by theChinese.37 Presumably they felt that, if international opinion were won over toJapan’s side, it would put pressure on China to negotiate directly with Japan.


The chambers of commerce did recognise quite clearly in their journals thatthe Chinese boycott of Japanese goods had actually worsened as a result of theManchurian Incident. With the decline of trade after 18 September 1931, notedone report, production had stagnated, prices had dropped, unemployment hadrisen and the business depression had worsened.38 Despite all this, the chambersof commerce continued to stand firm in their attitude to Manchuria. InabataKatsutaro, President of the Osaka Chamber, in an address before the Ministerfor Commerce on 8 January 1932, urged the government to use this opportunityto solve ‘fundamentally’ the Manchurian ‘problem’, while also working for ‘truefriendship’ between Japan and China for the sake of peace in the Far East. He toldhis audience of 350 that though Osaka, as the area with most direct contact withChina, was feeling the effects of the boycott most directly, the people of Osakawere nevertheless prepared to make sacrifices in order to ensure a lasting solutionto the ‘problem’, and that Osaka economic organisations, too, supported thegovernment’s China policy.39

Attempts to influence Western opinion

In addition to activities on the home front, the chambers of commerce andindustry also joined in the effort to win over Western opinion, with the OsakaChamber again taking the lead. Its greatest opportunity came with the visit toJapan of the Lytton Commission, but the process of attempting to influenceforeign opinion had begun well before then, with some in the business world, asnoted above, apparently deciding that a pro-Japanese stance by the Westernpowers would put pressure on the Chinese to halt the boycott and negotiate withJapan. As early as 23 September 1931, the Osaka Chamber resolved to producepamphlets on political and economic issues relevant to Sino-Japanese relationsand the Manchurian Incident, to be sent to various foreign countries. They wereto include sections on extraterritoriality, tariff autonomy, the anti-Japanese move-ment, railway issues, trade, industry and the economies of China, Manchuriaand the Kwantung Province. In late November the resulting two pamphlets weretranslated into English; a French version was completed by March 1932. Aninitial print-run of 10,000 copies of the two pamphlets was distributed topoliticians in Japan, then abroad, and a further 20,000 produced. The Osakamainichi, with the permission of the Osaka Chamber, printed and sold furthercopies and the navy produced still more. Copies of the pamphlets were alsorequested by the Foreign Ministry and the army.40

Other publications by the Osaka Chamber of Commerce included ‘TheOrigins of the Anti-Japanese Movement’, widely distributed in Japan and abroad;‘China Under Pressure’, ‘The Manchurian Problem from an International Pointof View’ and ‘The Truth about Manchuria/Mongolia’; and materials in Japaneseand English on the Chinese boycott, which were among the literature given tothe Lytton Commission. Inabata wrote ‘The Key to Sino-Japanese Friendship’for the Japan Times, giving a historical outline of Sino-Japanese relations andappealing for a halt to the boycott. The Osaka Chamber presented opinions on


the Lytton Report to the Foreign Ministry, furnishing Matsuoka Yosuke withmaterials before his departure for Geneva, for example, in the belief, as Inabataexplained, that the unfavourable attitude of the League of Nations towards Japanwas due to a lack of publicity from the Japanese side.41

For the Lytton Commission a special effort was made. On 10 March 1932 aconference was held with representatives from various Osaka economic associ-ations and the members of the commission. Three members of the OsakaChamber delivered a paper in English and French entitled ‘The Opinions ofOsaka Businessmen on Sino-Japanese Relations’, covering the usual issues of theanti-Japanese movement, the boycott, the disorganisation of China and so forth.The Commission was expected to return to Osaka later, and the chamber ofcommerce made preparations for another thorough presentation of Japan’s caseat that time. However, the visitors did not in the event reappear in Osaka, andInabata and his delegation had to be content with bidding them farewell at Kobeon 17 July.42

The reaction of the Osaka Chamber of Commerce and Industry to the LyttonReport when it eventually appeared was predictable. In December 1932 thechamber passed a resolution stating that though the Commission had shownsome understanding of the confused state of China, it generally lacked infor-mation, had not observed conditions in China sufficiently thoroughly, contra-dicted itself in its own report and made arbitrary judgements based on prejudice.The resolution confirmed the chamber’s belief that China did not have thecapacity to fulfil its international obligations, that the treaties between Japan andChina were legitimate treaties and so on.43 Thus the Osaka Chamber closelysupported the official government line on the Lytton Report, as well as the viewof the mainstream press.

Rejection of the Lytton Report, however, did not automatically lead to agita-tion for Japan to leave the League of Nations. In the textile industry in particular,some business leaders were cautious about the question of withdrawal, andoverall, business opinion on the issue was split. Some were prepared to risk all intheir confidence in the righteousness of Japan’s cause, while others wanted tomanipulate the League through diplomatic means, allowing Japan to maintain itsposition as a League member. Once again, the motivation behind such cautionwas anxiety about the risk of alienating the Western powers. In the meantime,now that Japanese control of Manchuria had been established and the regiongiven a new status through the creation of ‘Manchukuo’, the focus of Japanesebusiness interest in the region had shifted to the economic development of the‘new nation’.44

The question remains as to why the chambers of commerce so readilysupported the Manchurian Incident and subsequent events. Miles Fletcherpoints to the general outlook of the Japanese business world, suggesting that theambitions of business leaders were strictly limited, encompassing neither a broadvision for Chinese national development nor dreams of a ‘grand empire’. Rather,‘buffeted by events apparently beyond control, the business community focusedon maintaining as much of the status quo as possible’, while clinging to its faith in


‘the virtues of peaceful foreign trade’.45 Another factor influencing the Japanesechambers of commerce in favour of the Kwantung Army action was the attitudeof Japanese business and industrial interests in China itself.

Pressure from Japanese business in China

Small and medium Japanese enterprises in Manchuria and Shanghai sidedstrongly with the Kwantung Army in the Manchurian crisis,46 and the reports ofthe Tokyo and Osaka chambers of commerce reveal a steady level of contactbetween those chambers and Japanese economic associations in China. Japanesebusinessmen from China were clearly putting pressure on their counterparts inJapan to demand firm action in Manchuria. Smaller Japanese firms in Manchuriaapparently saw at least a partial solution to their economic difficulties in directJapanese control of Manchuria, and may have been strongly attracted by thepromise that zaibatsu power would be eliminated under the new order.

Japanese business and industrial interests in Shanghai, on the other hand,supported firm action in Manchuria as a threat to the anti-Japanese movement intheir own region. By December 1931, Japanese businessmen in Shanghai werebeginning to worry that business circles at home were losing interest in Shanghai,which was still beset with the problems of the boycott, and even that Osakaexporters were now looking to Manchuria rather than Shanghai. In a pamphletpublished on 28 January 1932, the day that the Municipal Council of theShanghai international settlement proclaimed a state of emergency, and the daybefore Japanese forces bombed the Chapei district, a group representing Japanesecommercial and industrial interests in Shanghai, as well as the Foreign Ministryand the army, urged that the Manchurian Incident be expanded to suppress theanti-Japanese movement in Shanghai. For this group, the Manchurian Incidentwould be meaningless and an opportunity lost if Japanese military actionremained restricted to Manchuria. On the other hand, in October 1931 theMukden Japanese Chamber of Commerce revealed its own desire to emulate thesuccess of Shanghai as a site for Japanese business activity. The chamberexpressed satisfaction at the fact that the Manchurian Incident had aroused someeconomic organisations in Japan which in the past had been indifferent to ‘theManchurian/Mongolian problem’ and had paid more attention to Shanghai.Seeing the ‘success’ of the Manchurian Incident, these organisations, theMukden chamber believed, would now be prepared to take a hard line overManchuria, even at the risk of inflaming the anti-Japanese movement in theShanghai region.47

It was not the first time that Japanese economic associations in China hadpressed for intervention from home to repress the boycott movement. Japanesechambers of commerce in China, which included large spinning companiesamong their members, had consistently opposed the boycotts of the first half ofthe 1920s and had sought intervention from the Japanese government andsupport from business circles in Japan. They were successful in 1923 in unitingchambers of commerce and exporters at home in support of their cause, but


efforts to influence the government proved unsuccessful. Not until the later1920s, especially after the Tsinan Incident of 1928, did Japanese merchants andindustrialists find themselves supported strongly both by exporters at homeand by the government. By this time, small dealers and large industrialists inShanghai were united in their calls for a tougher Japanese policy in China.48

Thus, when the Manchurian crisis began, it was already an established practicefor Japanese economic organisations in China to seek to influence governmentand business at home.

Yonesato Monkichi, head of the Shanghai Japanese Chamber of Commerce,travelled to Japan after the Manchurian Incident in order to arouse opinion athome over the ‘China problem’, addressing the Osaka Chamber’s committee onChina at some length in December 1931. Yonesato called for a solution not onlyto the problems in Manchuria but for the whole of China; decisive action wasnecessary in order to prevent further outbreaks of anti-Japanese activity in Chinaproper, and it was vital to find a ‘fundamental solution’ now, even if it meant thatsacrifices were necessary in the short term.49 For Yonesato, as for other Shanghai-based Japanese businessmen, the primary significance of the ManchurianIncident clearly lay outside of Manchuria. Other representatives arrived fromManchuria, and the chambers of commerce at home also heard reports fromdelegations which had gone from Japan to study the situation there. Telegramsarrived often from Manchuria seeking support from Japanese business andindustry.

Opinion in Shanghai and other parts of China was less united on the subject ofthe Shanghai Incident. Ishii Itaro, Consul-General in Shanghai from September1932, observed a difference in opinion between the Japanese company staff inspinning mills, banks and large firms, and the ‘indigenous Japanese’ of Shanghai.The former, he wrote, were mostly ‘intellectuals’ with experience of the West,who had direct business dealings with Chinese and Westerners. They favouredpeace in 1932, whether for idealistic reasons or because it was better for business.The ‘indigenous Japanese’, on the other hand, were much more right-wing.50

Commercial and industrial interests in Japan did not welcome the ShanghaiIncident, and prominent Japanese businessmen in Shanghai probably reactedsimilarly. By January 1932 world opinion had tacitly accepted the ManchurianIncident, the Japanese business world was recovering from its initial impact, andthe new Inukai Cabinet had boosted the prospects of trade by abandoning thegold standard. Merchants and industrialists may also have felt that there shouldbe no trouble in Shanghai where Western interests were concentrated.51 Thusbusiness and industrial leaders were wary of the Shanghai Incident. Meanwhile,delegations from Manchukuo continued to arrive in Japan, and were offeredhospitality by the chambers of commerce. They included a group of twenty-onebusiness and cultural delegates in December 1932, the Manchukuo Ambassadorto Japan in August 1933, the Governor of the Manchurian Central Bank and atrade delegation of fifteen people in December 1933.52

Whether in speeches from business delegates visiting from China, in reportsfrom their own members returning from tours of Manchuria, in telegrams asking


for support or in resolutions from their own committees, members of thechambers of commerce and industry were given the same central message: thatJapanese rights and interests in China were to be protected. The message wassometimes clothed in the idealistic terms of brotherhood and economic co-operation between the two nations, but this did not obscure the crucial point thatthe anti-Japanese boycott in China was not to be tolerated. The idea that militaryaction in Manchuria could be a portent of things to come elsewhere in Chinawas not lost on the Osaka Chamber of Commerce and Industry, in particular.Many of the Osaka Chamber’s members were engaged in the China trade, andconsequently had suffered heavy losses from reduced exports due both to thedepression and to the boycotts. With or without the visiting Japanese business-men from China, most of them were likely to have supported any measure whichmight lessen the impact of the anti-Japanese movement. Except in the 1923boycott, Japanese exporters had in the past remained relatively unmoved byappeals from Japanese chambers of commerce to join them in supporting thesuppression of Chinese nationalism.53 In 1931, however, the economy at homecould not be relied upon. China was now all the more important, and all the morealluring if certain obstacles could be removed.

Other factors also served to attract the proprietors of small and mediumenterprises to the idea of direct Japanese control of Manchuria. Business oper-ators, like others, were regularly exposed to government and army propagandaabout rights and interests, self-defence and Manchuria as Japan’s life-line. Likethe leaders of the labour movement, they were perhaps particularly susceptible toKwantung Army propaganda promising that Manchuria would henceforth beclosed to the zaibatsu.

‘No zaibatsu in Manchuria’

Historians have stressed the importance of anti-capitalist statements by the armyin exploiting popular dissatisfaction with the zaibatsu and political parties toproduce a wave of public xenophobia after the Manchurian Incident. The army’smanipulation of the middle classes was obvious in its assurance that Manchuriawas a paradise that would remain unavailable to the zaibatsu. In reality, keepinglarge capitalists out of Manchuria was neither possible nor desirable from theKwantung Army’s point of view. However, the slogan was a powerful propa-ganda tool at the depth of the depression, especially when combined with thethemes of Manchuria as a land of limitless resources, Japan’s need to defend its‘rights and interests’ and the sacrifices by which Manchuria had been ‘won’during the Russo-Japanese War. Early statements by the Kwantung Army onManchurian economic policy stressed the need for a planned economy: ‘learninga lesson from the evil of the unfettered capitalist economy’, the policy was ‘toapply appropriate controls’. The fruits of business and the opportunity to exploitnatural resources were not to be monopolised by one social class. Eguchi andAwaya suggest that these slogans, along with the ubiquitous term ‘life-line’,ensured middle-class support for the military’s actions and produced a


‘Manchuria boom’ at the popular level. Those involved in smaller enterpriseswere particularly susceptible to the anti-capitalist, anti-monopoly rhetoric, andthey responded eagerly to the promise that big business would be suppressed.54

One book published in March 1932 assured its readers that small firms wouldthrive in Manchuria. Manmo shoshihon kaihatsu annai (A Guide to the Developmentof Manchuria and Mongolia by Small Capital) provided a detailed guide for theJapanese middle classes on how to start a business in Manchuria with, incrediblyenough, less than a thousand yen in capital. Shops, roadside stalls and itineranttrading were recommended. To allow Japanese rights and interests in Manchuriaand Mongolia to be monopolised by a few wealthy families could never bedefended before the thousands of noble spirits whose bleached bones lay in theManchurian wilderness, the author declared, and the ideal form of investmentwas through joint-stock companies created by the middle classes. Indeed, it wasallegedly the army’s intention to encourage involvement by the Japanese people.The rewards would be great, both for the individual and for the nation:

The large fertile field of Manchuria is now born again to become a paradiseof peace; it welcomes hundreds and millions of the Yamato race . . . In viewof this wonderful opportunity which should not be neglected, advance intothis ideal land is not simply a matter for individuals, but is also a pressingissue for the national economy.

In fact, it was the task of the middle classes to open up the unlimited treasure-house of Manchuria for the sake of the toiling masses who were unable to jointheir compatriots in their Manchurian endeavours. To the author, this was allmost desirable ‘from the point of view of social policy and of the thoughtproblem’, at a time when ‘overpopulation has caused a stalemate and the nationis suffering from lack of food’.55

Some in the Kwantung Army, including Ishiwara Kanji, genuinely did holdanti-capitalist views.56 Moreover, for the first few years after the establishmentof Manchukuo, the Kwantung Army and the South Manchurian RailwayCompany did attempt to implement a plan of development which was state-controlled. At first, it was the policy of the Kwantung Army and of Japanesecapitalists that there should be no independent industrial development inManchukuo. The region was to be a source of raw materials and a market forsurplus Japanese goods, and in particular, no industries were to be encouragedwhich might compete with industries at home. Virtually from the start, however,leading figures in the Kwantung Army sought private investment, in spite of anydislike of capitalists they may have felt. In reality, the promise to keep the zaibatsuout of Manchuria was little more than useful rhetoric. From 1933 onwards, theestablishment in Manchuria of certain industries which were not likely tothreaten enterprises in Japan was encouraged. Munitions industries, mining andindustries which depended on Manchurian raw materials were to be promoted.For other things, the region was to be made to depend on Japanese imports.57 TheManchurian economy, in other words, was always to be subordinate to Japan’s


needs, in the classic relationship between metropolis and sphere of influence.The chambers of commerce must have been aware of the Kwantung Army’sattempts to attract large capitalists into Manchuria, and anti-zaibatsu rhetoric isnot prominent in their journals. The ideal, according to one article, was forsmaller Japanese enterprises in Manchuria and large capital to work together co-operatively; not only should the entry of capital to Manchuria be allowed, thereshould be equal opportunity for foreign companies as well.58

On 1 March 1933 the basic economic policies of Manchukuo were announced.The new policies were apparently designed ‘to avoid the baneful effects ofunbridled capitalism through the application of a certain measure of nationalcontrol so that a sound development in all branches of the people’s economy maybe realised’.59 The government emphasised again that no specific classes ofpeople were to be allowed to monopolise the benefits of economic development.Nevertheless, the Kwantung Army sought to enlist private capital, particularlyfrom Japanese sources, which would be allowed to operate, under governmentsupervision: in many cases, by means of ‘special companies’, through which thegovernment extended certain privileges to private investors while retaining theright to control their operations to a considerable degree. In the Diet, early in1933, the Army Minister stated baldly that:

he wished clearly to point out that while there are many who still possess theidea that the Army intends to handle everything in Manchuria, andconsequently refrain from investing capital in that territory, the Army doesnot intend to shoulder the entire burden of leading Manchuria to peace andprosperity.60

The slogan ‘no zaibatsu in Manchuria’ does not appear to have been used after1934 or 1935.61 In the event, however, it required some time and effort to attractlarge private capital to Manchuria.

Big business and Manchuria

At least until 1936, Japanese businesses and industries were reluctant to becomeinvolved in Manchuria, and the biggest of the zaibatsu remained cautious eventhen,62 though they were heavily involved in the region by the time of the PacificWar. Lieutenant-General Koiso Kuniaki, made Chief of Staff of the KwantungArmy in 1932, was one of those who advocated mobilisation of capital fromwithin Japan to create new joint-stock companies in Manchuria. In December1932, Koiso ended a visit to Japan during which he had taken the opportunity tosee ‘as many financial leaders as possible’. He complained in a press interview attheir apparent reluctance to invest in Manchuria:

Frankly, . . . I was disappointed in their attitude, as they appeared to placemoney above life.

Manchuria has vast natural resources and in order to develop them an


immense amount of capital is needed. As pacification of the country isprogressing, why the Japanese capitalists hesitate to invest in Manchuria is amystery to me.

If the Japanese, whether capitalists or proletarians, realize the importanceof Manchuria as the ‘life-line’ of Japan, they will abandon their presentattitude. Nothing is a matter of greater regret from a patriotic point of viewthan the hesitation shown by the Japanese capitalists to take part in thedevelopment of Manchukuo.63

By this time, some business and industrial leaders had returned to their pre-1931 advocacy of limits to military spending. The President of the YokohamaChamber of Commerce, Isaka Takashi, with other business leaders, praisedFinance Minister Takahashi Korekiyo in November 1932 for ‘having forced themilitary ministries to take much less than they demanded’ in the 1933–34budget.64 Two weeks later, Go Seinosuke, in a speech in the presence of ArmyMinister General Araki Sadao and other high officials which attracted consider-able publicity, criticised the large issue of government bonds planned under thenew budget. Go irritated Araki by adding the following remark:

An increase in military expenditures is inevitable on account of the Man-churia and Shanghai incidents, but from a purely economic standpoint,military expenses are fundamentally unproductive in nature.

Araki was reportedly angry and sarcastic when he replied that the recent growthof an anti-capitalist movement was a far greater danger to the nation than theprojected issue of loans. Go’s speech, commented US Ambassador Joseph Grew,was indicative of a wider public concern with the large budget and the amount ofmilitary expenditure contained in it.65

The scepticism of big business concerning investment in Manchuria was infact noted by a number of diplomatic observers. As early as February 1932, anAmerican official had written of ‘reports that capitalists are somewhat appre-hensive about Manchurian investments’. By April concerns were said to beemanating from Nagasaki about ‘the prospects of facing competition withManchuria in many of the commodities, such as coal, which have hitherto beenmainstays of local prosperity’, though critics were believed to be keeping quietfor fear of being accused of lack of patriotism or of Communism; and anAmerican memorandum noted in June that the ‘reluctance of Japanese manu-facturers and producers to establish competing mines and factories on the[Chinese] mainland is an important obstacle to the plans of the army and fascistleaders’. An Osaka businessman visiting Washington told diplomats that ‘Osakabusinessmen are asking where are the profits that were supposed to come as aresult of the Manchuria affair’.66

The fact that some Japanese capitalists were unenthusiastic from the startabout investment in Manchuria, or became disenchanted after a while, however,did not mean that they opposed the idea of military intervention as such. It may


well have meant that big business had no need to seize on the idea of Manchuriaas other groups did: the elite of the zaibatsu, at least, gained rather than lostground during the depression.67 Nevertheless, though some large firms wereundoubtedly sensitive to the damage which could be done to their imageoverseas by the Kwantung Army’s actions,68 initial big business reactions to theManchurian Incident were similar in tone to those of the chambers of commerceand industry. The Japan Industrial Club held an emergency meeting on 29September 1931, subsequently issuing a statement declaring that the action takenby the Japanese military to protect Japanese interests and the lives and propertyof Japanese residents in Manchuria had been necessary and natural, and urgingthe Japanese government to take a firm stand in demanding that the Chinese‘seriously reflect’ (mosei ) on the situation. The statement called for the resolutionof all outstanding problems between the two countries and expressed an earnestdesire for the removal of all obstacles to mutual friendship. On 10 October a jointdeclaration was issued by several economic associations, including the JapanIndustrial Club and the Japan Chamber of Commerce and Industry, calling forthe elimination of anti-Japanese activity in China and a ‘fundamental solution’for all outstanding issues between the two countries.69

Reactions from big business groups to the Lytton Report also resembled thoseof the chambers of commerce. The Japan Industrial Club and other groups hadgone to some lengths to provide the Lytton Commission with hospitality andwith what they considered to be relevant literature and the correct opinions onthe Manchurian issue, holding a reception for the visitors, for example, in orderto give their view of the conflict and answer questions. They were disappointedwith the Commission’s eventual report. A joint statement was issued on 11November 1932 by the Japan Industrial Club, the Japan Economic Federation,the Nikka jitsugyo kyokai ( Japan–China Business Association), which repre-sented large Japanese spinning companies with factories in China, and the JapanChamber of Commerce and Industry. The statement condemned the report astoo legalistic, claiming it revealed an inadequate understanding of the currentsituation of China, which could not be treated as a modern, organised state inview of its anti-foreign movement and indifference to international treaties. Itconcluded that recognition of Manchukuo by the world was vital for the sake ofpeace in the Far East, since failure to recognise Manchukuo would bring about thesame disorder and confusion in Manchukuo as prevailed in the rest of China.70

Prominent businessmen did not, at least publicly, voice doubt over Japanesemilitary intervention in China. Some clearly approved of the ManchurianIncident. Just as commercial and industrial leaders had given ‘hearty andsometimes effusive support’ when Japan had gone to war in 1894 and 1904, attimes helping to raise large sums of money at short notice to help cover warcosts,71 so now they threw their weight once again behind Japan’s war and thearmy in general, whether out of genuine conviction or a desire to be publiclyassociated with a patriotic cause at a time when the common perception ofbusiness was unfavourable. Under army pressure, Mitsui and Mitsubishi jointlylent 20 million yen to Manchukuo even before it was recognised by Japan. They


also set up a munitions manufacturing firm and expanded their investment inManchukuo and China proper. Between 1932 and 1936, Mitsui contributedanother 2,680,000 yen to various projects connected with national defence andthe military.72 The third, fourth and fifth of the ‘patriotic’ aeroplanes donated tothe army were paid for by a wealthy Tokyo stockbroker and manufacturer,while the sixth was donated by Nihon keori, a woollen goods firm.73 As we haveseen, big business was prominent in the ‘donation fever’ sponsored by newspaperfirms and other organisations in late 1931, and in the appeals for air-defenceequipment for the cities.

Some individual businessmen and industrialists were very close to the army orwere keen supporters of the Manchurian Incident in principle. An extremeexample was Fujiwara Ginjiro, of Oji Paper Company, a great admirer of thearmy’s activities in the 1930s who opined: ‘We have a splendid opportunity toexpand abroad; it is the manifest destiny of the Japanese nation’.74 AikawaGisuke of Nissan was also well known for his military connections. AsakuraTsuneto, another industrialist involved in spinning, electric power and auto-mobile manufacture, had a strong interest in Manchuria, which for him wasassuredly a ‘new paradise’. Asakura was very interested in the industrial develop-ment of Manchuria and in the possibilities for economic co-operation betweenJapan and Manchukuo. He took a positive attitude towards the ManchurianIncident, and in August 1931 had in fact written to the then Army Minister,General Minami Jiro, urging him to find a solution to the Manchurian ‘problem’.Asakura and Minami met often after this. In August 1932, Asakura and a groupof like-minded businessmen and others, all of whom had been urging thegovernment to firm action in Manchuria since the previous August, held aceremony to express their gratitude to Minami for his efforts in the ManchurianIncident, which Asakura personally believed to have been decisive.75

Not all Japanese industrialists were as close to the army or as interested inManchuria, as is shown by the remarks of Go Seinosuke and others in criticisingmilitary expenditure in late 1932, and by Araki’s and Koiso’s complaints aboutlack of investment in Manchuria. However, big business as a whole did notoppose the military action in north-east China. There is little evidence forBoulding and Gleason’s conclusion that the zaibatsu ‘actively opposed theextremists in a struggle for both economic and political power’, co-operating withthe military only reluctantly ‘when it was obvious popular opinion was againstthem and there was little more than a shotgun choice’.76 There were in fact closeties between the older combines and the military. Eleanor Hadley is moreconvincing when she writes that there was ‘no split at all between the oldercombines and the majority of the senior officers of the army and navy’, whileSakamoto Masako concludes that the Kwantung Army’s economic policy inManchuria in the first half of the 1930s closely reflected the wishes of theJapanese zaibatsu.77

The issue of relations between business and the military in the 1930s is acomplex one, but in general, the same conclusion can be drawn as for the period1895–1910: large-scale Japanese capitalists saw military expansion as compatible


with, or at least not destructive of, their long-term interests and, for the most part,‘the rhetoric and interests of the business community meshed with those of thegovernment’.78 Initial unwillingness to invest in Manchuria was not incompatiblewith support for the military action which began in September 1931. Reluctanceto invest in Manchuria was due neither to objection in principle, nor to the anti-capitalist slogans of the Kwantung Army. Rather, it can be attributed to businessreasons: the prospects of unstable profits and limited dividends, unfavourableconditions imposed by the Manchukuo government, unstable rates of exchange,‘general insecurity’ and, for some, doubts about the viability of the SouthManchurian Railway Company. According to Sakamoto, the zaibatsu also recog-nised the necessity to preserve the fiction that Manchuria was closed to them: itwas considered important to avoid giving the impression that Japanese militaryaction was undertaken only for the benefit of capitalist interests.79 Many of thevery firms which hesitated to commit capital to Manchuria in 1932 or 1933 werehappy to do so a few years later, when conditions had changed. Mitsui and Mitsu-bishi were amongst those firms which made substantial profits in Manchuriaduring the Pacific War.80

Conclusion

A striking feature of responses from business and industry to the ManchurianIncident is that all groups supported it, though not necessarily for exactly thesame reasons. In earlier periods of Sino-Japanese tension – during the 1919 anti-Japanese boycott, for example – there had been marked differences in responsebetween the large Japanese spinning companies and smaller Japanese dealers inChina, and between Japanese exporters at home and merchants and industrial-ists in China. Even when Japanese chambers of commerce in China, togetherwith chambers of commerce and exporters at home, were able to agree on thenecessity to combat the Chinese nationalists, as in the 1923 boycott, they foundthemselves at odds with their own government’s policies.81 In 1931–32,however, a broad consensus supported Japanese army and government policy inManchuria. Two main factors were responsible: the greatly increased severity ofthe anti-Japanese movement in China after 1928, and the world depression.

The prevailing view among business and industrial leaders was that the mostpromising opportunities for profit in East Asia lay in China – but it would havebeen rare to include Manchuria in this assessment. China proper was a powerfullure for Japanese businessmen, and some had an exaggerated belief in thebenefits it could offer. However, before September 1931 there were a number oflegal and practical obstructions to further expansion in China, and even tomaintenance of the status quo. Large Japanese merchants and industrialiststrading with or operating in the Shanghai and Tientsin regions were sustainingheavy losses from the boycotts, as well as from the depression. The success of theManchurian Incident suggested the possibility that firm measures could also betaken elsewhere in China. To the commercial lure of China was thus added thetemptation to exercise greater political influence over Japan’s unruly neighbour.


Japanese capitalists were not necessarily convinced of the economic value ofManchuria itself, and may also have been cautious about exerting Japanesepower in Shanghai, a much more sensitive area than Manchuria in Western eyes.Nevertheless, some industrialists and merchants in Japan as well as China,especially those involved in the textile industry, were very tempted to regard theManchurian Incident as a welcome start to a ‘fundamental solution’ to problemsin the rest of China. At the least, Japanese action could be seen as a useful threatto the Chinese of the Shanghai and Tientsin regions, though some members ofthe Japanese Chamber of Commerce and Industry in Shanghai went further,favouring an actual extension of Japanese military power from Manchuria toother areas of China. Other business and industrial leaders in Japan probablysupported the Manchurian Incident because there was no reason to oppose it, orbecause they were drawing closer to the army, at a time when increasingly strongconnections were developing between the military and economic worlds. Thedepression itself also played its part. Japanese businessmen, especially those whodid not already have significant connections with China, might have been lessinterested in what was going on in Manchuria and the rest of China in 1931 and1932 if profits had not been falling drastically at home. In this sense at least, evenprominent businessmen and industrialists were perhaps susceptible to the propa-ganda about Manchuria as the panacea for all ills.

Smaller traders had their own priorities. Japanese involved in small andmedium enterprises in Manchuria itself were suffering not so much from theboycott as from the depression. They were very militant, anti-Chinese and pro-army, perhaps because their standard of living was often very low and because inthe early 1930s the Kwantung Army seemed able to fulfil the role of saviour andprotector. The Kwantung Army’s promise that the zaibatsu would be kept out ofManchuria may have exercised a strong appeal in principle for the poorerJapanese business proprietors. However, records of the visits to Japan ofrepresentatives of Japanese business organisations in Manchuria suggest thatthey did not actually oppose zaibatsu involvement; essentially, they were askingfor Japanese capital and assistance to develop Manchuria. In contrast, repre-sentatives from Shanghai were asking for support for the suppression of Chinesenationalism.

The smaller traders based in Japan and reliant on trade with China, principallyfrom Osaka, were also suffering badly from the depression and the boycott, andthey were likely to support any measure which seemed able to lessen anti-Japanese activity. Such people, who were well represented in the OsakaChamber of Commerce and Industry, may again have been tempted to see theManchurian Incident in terms of a ‘fundamental solution’ to years of difficultyand frustration with the China trade. Trade with Manchuria, at least in theory,offered the prospect of operating in an area protected and partly financed by theJapanese state, in which Chinese nationalism would be suppressed by the stateand from which – if the Kwantung Army were believed – the zaibatsu would bebarred. Moreover, Japanese exporters were also well aware that the Chinesewere working to recover full tariff autonomy, which would mean an eventual


increase in customs duties outside of Manchukuo. Manchuria, at least for a timein the depths of the depression, must have seemed like a new field which wouldbe safe from all these hazards.

Even those involved in small and medium enterprises not significantlyconnected with the China trade were susceptible to the ‘business’ version of armyrhetoric about Manchuria. Influenced by the pleas and arguments of Japanesevisitors from Shanghai or Manchuria or Tientsin, exposed to propaganda aboutJapan’s ‘rights and interests’ and Manchuria as the ‘life-line’ and sufferingthrough the worst years of the depression, business proprietors like those in thechambers of commerce and those who attended large public meetings in supportof the Kwantung Army in late 1931 were caught up in the Manchurian dream.All of these factors perhaps produced an expectation that enterprises which weretoo small to profit in Japan during the depression would be able to profit inManchuria, or that smaller firms whose profits were suffering might be able tobegin trading with Manchukuo. These expectations may not have beenparticularly rational, but they were real for a time. In 1931–32, few other oppor-tunities for economic improvement presented themselves to the proprietors ofsmaller-scale enterprises. Some members of the urban lower middle class, likesome farmers, may have felt that expansion into Manchuria was the onlyremaining path to take. As in the case of agricultural emigration, however, fewactually embraced the apparent new opportunities in north-east China.

By the middle of 1933, such interest in Manchuria had clearly waned. Thechamber of commerce journals carried very few substantial articles on Chinafrom then on, though notices continued of exhibitions of goods from or in China,visitors from Manchuria, meetings of committees dealing with Sino-Japaneseeconomic co-operation and other signs of the ongoing business relationship. Inmid-1933 there were still indications of some level of concern about the anti-Japanese movement in China in both the Osaka and the Tokyo chambers. Onthe other hand, however, at a general meeting of the Osaka Chamber in June1933 there was a long discussion on whether or not a certain committee dealingwith Manchuria and the rest of China should be established, with some speakersarguing that it was now no more necessary to focus on China than on anywhereelse.82 By early 1934, the Osaka Chamber of Commerce had shifted its focusquite firmly back to Europe and the United States, especially the worseningcompetition with Britain in the cotton trade, and to the chamber’s usual domesticconcerns. For some members, to be sure, Japanese business was still in crisis. Itwas still economic rather than strategic, though far removed from the months ofanxiety about world depression and Chinese boycotts. Now, the crisis related tothe struggle with Lancashire for the cotton market, and the exclusion of Japanesegoods from overseas markets. Problems had arisen, according to the chamber’sdirector, Inabata Katsutaro, because members of the chamber of commerce hadbeen striving just as had the brave soldiers in Manchuria, with the result thatJapanese cotton goods and other products were now recognised as of a highstandard, arousing hostile reactions from other producers.83

Other estimations of Japan’s economic situation were much brighter in early


1934. After a very difficult period, wrote one of the directors of the OsakaChamber of Commerce, Japan had increased its exports four times over betweenJanuary and October 1933, and its imports by three and a half times, thanksmainly to the cheap exchange rate, but also to low wages, technological improve-ments and rationalisation of production. By contrast, Britain, the United States,Germany and Italy had all experienced a significant drop in trade in the sameperiod. Japan’s success might possibly have increased anti-Japanese feelingaround the world, or exacerbated the anti-Japanese feeling already produced bythe Manchurian Incident, admitted the writer, but that was held to be of smallconsequence. There was no need for pessimism in Japan, despite some potentialdifficulties in overseas trade, including the prohibition of Japanese imports.Though it would be difficult to repeat the success of 1933, the outlook for 1934was quite favourable in this estimation.84 Good prospects were expected again atthe beginning of 1935, this time primarily because of continuing militaryspending, though it was acknowledged that rural poverty continued, and thatrecovery had not yet come for the owners of small and medium businesses either.Problems also remained with overseas trade.85 By this time, Manchukuo appearsin the chamber of commerce journal as just another country with which Japan haseconomic relations, receiving no more attention than any other trading partner.

The organisations represented in chambers of commerce and industry, andthe big businesses which belonged to other associations, relied heavily on thelabour of women. The records we have examined here, however, contain noreflection of this reality. In the next chapter, the specifically gendered dimensionof the crisis over Manchuria will be explored.

Notes1 Banno, ‘Japanese Industrialists’.2 John G. Roberts, Mitsui: Three Centuries of Japanese Business, New York, Weatherhill,

1973, p. 287.3 Maeda, ‘Chusho kogyo’, p. 61.4 Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 141.5 Maeda,‘Chusho kogyo’, p. 61.6 Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, pp. 142–3.7 Chalmers Johnson, MITI and the Japanese Miracle: The Growth of Industrial Policy, 1925–

1975, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1982, pp. 109–10, 195, 310; Awaya,‘Fasshoka’, pp. 254–5.

8 Ramon H. Myers, Japanese Economic Development of Manchuria, 1932–1945, New York,Garland, 1982, pp. 126–8; Bix, ‘Japanese Imperialism’, pp. 437–8.

9 Hara Akira, ‘Zaikai’, in Nakamura Takafusa and Ito Takashi (eds), Kindai Nihonkenkyu nyumon, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1977, pp. 174–8; Hirschmeierand Yui, Development of Japanese Business, pp. 184–6.

10 Allen, Short Economic History, p. 162.11 Murai Sachie, ‘Shanhai jihen to Nihonjin shokogyosha’, Kindai Nihon kenkyu, 1984,

pp. 205–31; Banno, ‘Japanese Industrialists’.12 Donald A. Jordan, Chinese Boycotts versus Japanese Bombs: The Failure of China’s ‘Revolu-

tionary Diplomacy’, 1931–32, Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 1991, p. 331.13 Ibid., pp. 333–6. See also Harumi Goto-Shibata, Japan and Britain in Shanghai, 1925–

31, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1995, pp. 116–21.


14 Hara Akira, ‘“Odo rakudo, gozoku kyowa”: “Manshu” shokuminchika susumu’,in Arisawa (ed.), Showa keizaishi, p. 114. On the boycott movement after theManchurian Incident, see also Jordan, Chinese Boycotts, Chs 7–10; TakamuraNaosuke, Kindai Nihon mengyo to Chugoku, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1982,esp. pp. 196–200.

15 Tokyo shoko kaigisho, Shoko geppo (hereafter Tokyo Geppo), December 1931, pp.75ff.; January 1932, pp. 21–3.

16 ‘Memorandum of the Chinese Boycott of Japanese Goods’, 30 March 1932, p. 1,Amerika kenkyu shiryo sentaa, University of Tokyo, Takagi Yasaka monjo, File63–2, American Council, Institute of Pacific Relations, Memoranda [Vol. 1?], No. 4.

17 Ibid., p. 2.18 See Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, p. 222; Tokyo Geppo, October 1931, p. 130; February

1932, pp. 133–5; March 1932, pp. 143–5.19 ‘Memorandum of the Chinese Boycott’, p. 3, Takagi monjo. On Funatsu see Jordan,

Chinese Boycotts, pp. 142–3.20 ‘Memorandum of the Chinese Boycott’, p. 3, Takagi monjo.21 ‘Manshu jihen ni taisuru Osaka zaikai homen no hankyo ni kansuru ken hokoku

(tsucho)’, Report from Toyama Bunzo, Commander of the Military Police, toGeneral Ninomiya Harushige, Vice-Chief of the General Staff, 30 September 1931,in Fujiwara and Kunugi (eds), Shiryo, Vol. 8, Document 43, p. 136.

22 Osaka shoko kaigisho, Geppo (hereafter Osaka Geppo), April 1932, p. 77.23 Ibid., November 1931, p. 73; December 1931, pp. 1–4, 79; March 1932, p. 65.

Tokyo Geppo, December 1931, pp. 147–50, 153; April 1932, pp. 1–10; September1933, pp. 167–9.

24 Fletcher, Japanese Business Community, p. 73.25 Osaka Geppo, October 1931, pp. 63–5.26 Ibid., pp. 69–70.27 Ibid., pp. 70–2.28 Jordan, Chinese Boycotts, p. 190.29 Osaka Geppo, October 1931, pp. 70–2.30 Tokyo Geppo, September 1931, p. 155; October 1931, pp. 96, 128–30, 169–71.31 ‘Manshu jihen ni taisuru Osaka zaikai homen no hankyo ni kansuru ken hokoku

(tsucho)’, Report from Toyama to Ninomiya, 7 October 1931, in Fujiwara andKunugi (eds), Shiryo, Vol. 8, Document 48, pp. 145–7; ‘Manshu jihen ni kanshi zai-Osaka boseki gyosha nado kaigo ni kansuru ken hokoku (tsucho)’, Report fromToyama to Ninomiya, 9 October 1931, ibid., Document 49, pp. 147–9;‘Manshujihen ni taisuru zai-Osaka jitsugyoka no josei sono ta ni kansuru ken hokoku(tsucho)’, Report from Toyama to Ninomiya, 10 October 1931, ibid., Document 52,pp. 155–7.

32 See Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, p. 206.33 Ishii, Gaikokan, p. 228.34 Kitaoka Shin’ichi, ‘Taibei gaiko no joken: Kiyosawa Kiyoshi kankeikan’, Chuo koron,

March 1986, p. 131; Nolte, Liberalism, p. 148.35 Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, pp. 218–19. See also Osaka Geppo, June 1931, pp. 4–14.36 Toyama to Ninomiya, 7 October 1931, in Fujiwara and Kunugi (eds), Shiryo, Vol. 8,

Document 48; ‘Manshu jihen no hankyo sono ta ni kansuru ken hokoku (tsucho)’,Report from Toyama to Kanaya Hanzo, Chief of General Staff, 10 October 1931,ibid., Document 51, pp. 152–5.

37 Toyama to Kanaya, ibid., Document 51; Toyama to Ninomiya, Document 52.38 Tokyo Geppo, January 1932, p. 6.39 Osaka Geppo, January 1932, pp. 6–8.40 Ibid., October 1931, pp. 64, 73; December 1931, pp. 80–1; March 1932, p. 64; July

1933, p. 13 of sokai minutes.41 Ibid., January 1932, p. 7; April 1932, p. 79; June 1932, pp. 1–3, 98; July 1932, p. 96;


August 1932, p. 72; October 1932, p. 78; December 1932, p. 95; July 1933, p. 13 ofsokai minutes.

42 Ibid., March 1932, pp. 1–11, 68–9; April 1932, pp. 11–17; June 1932, p. 97; July1932, p. 99.

43 Ibid., January 1933, p. 17 of sokai minutes; see also November 1932, pp. 73–4.44 Fletcher, Japanese Business Community, pp. 74, 77.45 Ibid., p. 79.46 Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, p. 205; Yanagisawa Yu, ‘“Manshu jihen” o meguru shakai

keizaishi kenkyu no doko’, Rekishi hyoron, No. 377, September 1981, p. 50.47 Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, pp. 212, 224–5.48 Banno, ‘Japanese Industrialists’, pp. 317–27. See also Akira Iriye, ‘The Failure of

Economic Expansionism: 1918–1931’, in Silberman and Harootunian (eds), Japan inCrisis, p. 248.

49 Osaka Geppo, December 1931, pp. 7–22; see also Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, pp. 223–4.50 Ishii, Gaikokan, p. 235.51 Murai, ‘Shanhai jihen’, p. 225.52 Tokyo Geppo, July 1932, p. 169; November 1932, pp. 184–5, 189; September 1933,

pp. 162, 181; December 1933, pp. 135–6; Osaka Geppo, December 1932, p. 95.53 Banno, ‘Japanese Industrialists’, pp. 315–17.54 Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, p. 144; Awaya, ‘Fasshoka’, pp. 259–60.55 Aoyama Shiro, quoted in Eguchi, Nihon teikokushugishiron, pp. 144–5.56 Peattie, Ishiwara, p. 179.57 Sakamoto Masako, ‘Senso to zaibatsu’, in Nakamura Masanori (ed.), Taikei. Nihon

gendaishi 4: Senso to kokka dokusen shihonshugi, Tokyo, Nihon hyoronsha, 1979, pp.53–4.

58 Tokyo Geppo, May 1932, pp. 109–12.59 Quoted in E. B. Schumpeter, ‘Japan, Korea and Manchukuo, 1936–1940’, in

Schumpeter (ed.), Industrialization, pp. 390–1. This paragraph is also based on ibid.,pp. 376–8; Kungtu C. Sun, assisted by Ralph W. Huenemann, The EconomicDevelopment of Manchuria in the First Half of the Twentieth Century, East Asia ResearchCenter, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, pp. 75–8; NakamuraTakafusa, ‘Japan’s Economic Thrust into North China, 1933–1938: Formation ofthe North China Development Corporation’, in Akira Iriye (ed.), The Chinese and theJapanese: Essays in Political and Cultural Interaction, Princeton, Princeton UniversityPress, 1980, pp. 222–47; Myers, Japanese Economic Development, Chs 3, 5; Johnson,MITI, pp. 130–1; Sakamoto, ‘Senso to zaibatsu’, p. 55.

60 Japan Times and Mail, 25 January 1933, cited by US Ambassador Joseph Grew in‘Opposition to the Military in Japan’, Grew to Secretary of State, 27 January 1933, p.3, USNA, Records of the Department of State, Record Group 59, M/F: LM058, Roll1, 894.00/465.

61 Hara Akira, quoted in Nakamura, ‘Japan’s Economic Thrust’, p. 240.62 Nakamura, ‘Japan’s Economic Thrust’, p. 240.63 Trans-Pacific, 8 December 1932, p. 15. See also Myers, Japanese Economic Development,

p. 42.64 Trans-Pacific, 17 November 1932, p. 22.65 Ibid., 1 December 1932, p. 16; Grew to Secretary of State, No. 227, 16 December

1932, USNA, Records of the Department of State, Record Group 84, Post Records:Tokyo. See also Diaries of Captain Malcolm Duncan Kennedy, Vol. 26, 25 November1932, Sheffield University Library.

66 Neville to Secretary of State, No. 512, 27 February 1932, USNA, Records of theDepartment of State, Record Group 84, Post Records: Tokyo; Consul Henry B.Hitchcock, ‘Current Thought in Japan’, 7 April 1932, p. 2, Post Records, Nagasaki:1932, Vol. 5; L. E. Salisbury, ‘Japanese Dubiety of Success in Manchuria’, 6September 1932, p. 2, USNA, Record Group 59, Records of the Division of Far


Eastern Affairs (Box 1), Lot File 244. ‘Memorandum on Japan’s Foreign FinancialProblems’, 17 June 1932, Takagi monjo, File 63–2, American Council, Institute ofPacific Relations, Memoranda, Vol. 1, No. 11.

67 Imuta Toshimitsu, ‘Mitsui to Mitsubishi: gekido no naka de jitsuryoku nobasu’, inArisawa (ed.), Showa keizaishi, pp. 69–71.

68 See, for example, the letter quoted in Roberts, Mitsui, pp. 269–70.69 Nihon kogyo kurabu gojunenshi hensan iinkai (ed.), Nihon kogyo kurabu gojunenshi,

Tokyo, Nihon kogyo kurabu, 1972, pp. 290–1.70 Ibid., pp. 293–6. See also Trans-Pacific, 17 November 1932, p. 16.71 Peter Duus, ‘Economic Dimensions of Meiji Imperialism: The Case of Korea, 1895–

1910’, in Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds), The Japanese Colonial Empire,1895–1945, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984, pp. 142–6.

72 Imuta Toshimitsu, ‘Zaibatsu no “tenko”: tero . . . keiei seisaku o tenkan’, in Arisawa(ed.), Showa keizaishi, p. 98; Tiedemann, ‘Big Business and Politics’, p. 298.

73 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 30.74 Quoted in Roberts, Mitsui, p. 264, n. 3. See also Tiedemann, ‘Big Business and

Politics’, pp. 288–9.75 Abe Takashi et al. (eds), Asakura Tsuneto nikki: Taisho jugonen-Showa hachinen, Tokyo,

Yamakawa shuppansha, 1983, Introduction to Vol. 2, pp. 11–14; Vol. 1, pp. 343–4(3 August 1932).

76 Kenneth E. Boulding and Alan H. Gleason, ‘War as an Investment: The StrangeCase of Japan’, in Kenneth E. Boulding and Tapan Mukerjee (eds), EconomicImperialism: A Book of Readings, Ann Arbor, Michigan, University of Michigan Press,1972, p. 255.

77 Eleanor H. Hadley, Antitrust in Japan, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1970,p. 40; Sakamoto, ‘Senso to zaibatsu’, pp. 59, 85. See also Jon Halliday, A PoliticalHistory of Japanese Capitalism, New York, Monthly Review Press, 1975, pp. 354–5.

78 Duus, ‘Economic Dimensions’, pp. 142–3.79 Sakamoto, ‘Senso to zaibatsu’, pp. 55–9; Nakamura, ‘Japan’s Economic Thrust’, p.

223.80 Halliday, Political History, p. 354; Hadley, Antitrust, pp. 40–2.81 Banno, ‘Japanese Industrialists’, pp. 314–21.82 Eventually, a motion to establish the committee was carried unanimously: Osaka

Geppo, July 1933, sokai minutes. See also ibid., June 1933, pp. 119–24; Tokyo Geppo,July 1933, pp. 107–8.

83 Inabata Katsutaro, ‘Nento shokan’, Osaka Geppo, January 1934, pp. 1–3.84 Takayanagi Matsuichiro, ‘Zaikai no tenbo (hikan no yo nashi)’, Osaka Geppo,

January 1934, pp. 3–6.85 Mori Heibei, ‘Nento ni saishite’, Osaka Geppo, January 1935, pp. 1–2; Takayanagi

Matsuichiro, ‘Zaikai no tenbo (hikan no yo nashi)’, ibid., pp. 3–5.

9 Serving on the home frontWomen and Manchuria

In economic and political terms, women, of course, did not occupy a distinctcategory of the Japanese population in the early 1930s. As many women as menwere engaged in agriculture and fishing; a third of the workers in factories, minesand the transport industry were women; and thousands of women worked inwhite-collar occupations.1 Broadly speaking, women’s attitudes to the politicaland military events of the early 1930s had much in common with men’s.Undeniably, however, responses to the Manchurian crisis were to an extentgendered responses, and some of the messages directed at the Japanese peopleabout the crisis were certainly aimed specifically at women. Ideologues of allkinds in practice treated women as a separate category worthy of particularefforts at persuasion. Little or no propaganda, by contrast, was consciouslyaimed at civilian men. In addition, women had a prominent place in thehortatory discourse of the Manchurian crisis. The ‘glorious stories’ of the homefront propagated throughout the media almost invariably featured women orchildren, in an obvious effort to take advantage of the ideals of purity andsacrifice associated with ‘good wives and wise mothers’ as well as with children,and in order to suggest social unity and widespread approval of the militaryaction in Manchuria.

Organisations and publications representing women, for their part, alsoimplicitly or explicitly accepted that the crisis in which the nation found itself hadparticular ramifications for women, and required distinctive responses fromthem. In part, this perception of women’s special roles represents an extension ofthe heightened consciousness, noted by Sheldon Garon, of women as consumersand household managers, which had made them particular targets of govern-ment campaigns aiming at frugality and hard work throughout the 1920s.2During the Great Depression, too, women were often told that the solution toJapan’s economic problems lay in their hands, and they were a specific focus inthe economic revitalisation movement in the countryside. Thus the key toovercoming national difficulties lay in harnessing the determination of women,in a cliché of the women’s magazines. In the new conditions of the Manchuriancrisis, however, the perception that women had special roles to play wasextended to the sphere of the highest national goals, and especially to support ofthe military in a broad sense.

Women and Manchuria 197

The notion that women were especially suited to military relief work was notin itself new. In particular, the state-sponsored Aikoku fujinkai (PatrioticWomen’s Association) had been founded in 1901 to assist wounded soldiers andbereaved families; but by the early 1930s, this association had a firm reputationas an organisation for upper-class wives. The circumstances of the early 1930sapparently required an appeal to a much broader stratum of women. In a varietyof publications women of all classes were kept informed of the official version ofevents in Manchuria and urged in imprecise but nevertheless insistent terms toprotect the home front and display their womanly virtues through frugality,patriotism and self-sacrifice.

Exactly how women reacted to the stream of information and exhortationsdirected at them during the early 1930s is very difficult to judge. Appeals torespond to the new national crisis evidently struck a chord with some women atleast. Housewives and female students were prominent in campaigns to raisemoney for the army and in packing ‘comfort kits’ for the front, perhaps partly asthe result of deliberate targeting of women for these activities by the authorities.3

Further, the Manchurian crisis produced an important new women’s organisa-tion, the Kokubo fujinkai, or Women’s Association for National Defence, agroup that was tiny at its inception in March 1932 but by 1934 would boast amillion members and by 1936 would become the dominant women’s organisa-tion in Japan. The new association was established specifically to give support tosoldiers leaving for the front and specialised in such activities as greeting andsending off soldiers, making tea for departing soldiers, visiting the sick andcomforting the bereaved. For progressive women’s groups, on the other hand,the Manchurian Incident clearly provoked the same sort of crisis that wasexperienced by labour associations and other groups committed to progressivepolitical activity. Though a few organisations expressed early opposition to thewar in Manchuria, they either declined to co-operate with like-minded groups inorder to produce effective joint action, or rapidly fell prey to internal dissension,often splitting in the process.

To attempt to establish a more detailed picture of women’s responses to theManchurian crisis is to confront the same difficulties that impede efforts toreconstruct women’s experiences and ideas in other places. Ordinary women areoften ‘invisible’ in historical sources, as are most ordinary men. They wrotethings down comparatively rarely, and even more rarely preserved any personalrecords. A proportion, indeed, were functionally illiterate or scarcely literate,despite the great increases in women’s literacy over previous decades. It wasusually only women exceptional in some way who attracted attention: those ofoutstanding achievement or articulateness, or those who publicly espousedcertain causes or ideas. What follows is an analysis of the material that isavailable, together with an attempt to read ‘between the lines’ in order to reachsome conclusions about women and the Manchurian crisis. The chapter willexamine, first, the discourses on the Manchurian crisis that were aimed directlyat women through women’s magazines; and second, the responses of women’sorganisations to the crisis. Both of these sections necessarily deal mostly with


urban women, who were the principal targets of the magazines and made upmuch of the membership of the progressive women’s organisations at least. Thethird section of the chapter accordingly centres on rural women.

Women’s magazines

By the early 1930s, advances in literacy and in the technology of communica-tions, as well as the increasing identification of women as consumers, had createdconditions in which a wide range of magazines for women readers flourished. Infact, one journal for women – Shufu no tomo or ‘Housewife’s Friend’ – was thelargest-selling magazine of the pre-war period, with sales of over 8 million in1931.4 Most women’s magazines were aimed squarely at urban readers, whowere more likely to have the leisure to read them and the disposable incomeand opportunity to purchase the products many of them endorsed. Very fewconsciously tailored their material to the perceived needs and interests of ruralwomen, though the mainstream women’s magazines did boast a number ofrural readers all the same.

Such publications provided the main routes through which women, specific-ally, were supplied with information about the basic issues relating to theManchurian crisis. Many articles conveyed the standard version of events andsuggested what women’s responses should be.5 In Shufu no tomo, for example, thewell-known critic and journalist Tokutomi Soho, via a regular column in the firsthalf of 1932 entitled ‘Women and Current Events’, covered such topics as ‘TheManchurian Problem from a Historical Point of View’, ‘Manchurian Indepen-dence and the Shanghai Incident’ and ‘The League of Nations and Japan’.6 Fujinkurabu (Women’s Club), the main rival of Shufu no tomo, published an ‘illustrateddiary of the Manchurian Incident’, ‘true stories’ of Manchuria and guides torelevant ‘current events’.7 In country areas, women were a particular focus of themagazine Ie no hikari, which, as discussed in Chapter 6, was very sympathetic tothe army. Through Ie no hikari, rural women as well as men were exposed to aconstant barrage of reporting and comment on the Manchurian crisis.

Even magazines which had previously espoused a comparatively liberal,democratic viewpoint usually ended up supporting the government stance. Theprogressive magazine Fujo shinbun (Women’s and Girls’ Newspaper), discussed inChapter 5, is a prime case in point. Dedicated to advocacy of women’s educationand women’s suffrage, a strong supporter of the League of Nations and ‘pacifist’according to its own definition, the magazine nevertheless found ways torationalise its support of Japan’s actions in Manchuria. Its chief justification of theManchurian Incident rested on perception of a clash between the ‘ideal’ of worldpeace and the ‘reality’ of Japan having to deal with China’s supposed failure toact as a civilised nation and inability to achieve national stability. Overall, themagazine’s treatment of issues relating to Japan’s invasion of Manchuria was anextremely orthodox one. It provided a steady stream of more or less officialinformation on the situation in Manchuria, in Shanghai and at the League;organised a campaign for relief packages for Japanese residents in Shanghai; and


published an emotive and alarmist series of ‘diary extracts’ and reports from oneJapanese resident of Shanghai, under titles like ‘From War-Torn Shanghai’.8 Itthus provides a clear example of the complicity of moderate and liberal organisa-tions and individuals in the state’s imperialist project in the early 1930s, though itwas by no means the only such example among the women’s magazines. Therelatively progressive Fujin koron, for instance, was another which supported thegovernment line.9 Ultimately, in fact, all the women’s magazines were part of abroader process by which many progressive, liberal or socialist figures, not tomention conservatives, came to accept that urgent and decisive action by Japanwas necessary in the new circumstances of the early 1930s.

In most women’s magazines, readers were offered a steady discourse concern-ing the national crisis, emphasising their special role as mothers and nurturers.Women were reminded that they had a duty to economise on food and clothing,to create sound homes and to display womanly virtues. For them, the spirit ofpatriotism apparently lay in protection of the home front: thus the activities of thenew Women’s Association for National Defence – which were essentially thoseof the private realm though performed in public – showed the true spirit of Japan,according to Fujin kurabu.10 It was common to represent women as the essence ofJapanese spirit, whether they revealed it through some kind of sacrifice for thesoldiers at the front or through their ordinary domestic duties. Maternalistanalogies were also frequently used in political rhetoric, especially in discussionsduring 1932 of the sensitive issue of Japan’s relationship to Manchukuo. Asmothers, it was argued on one occasion, women had the greatest understandingof the need for formal recognition of the new baby.11 Family analogies were notstable, however, and Manchukuo could just as easily be cast as a ‘wife’. In thepast, according to one version, Japan and Manchuria had been de facto husbandand wife; once Japan had recognised the ‘new nation’, they were formallymarried, despite the jealousy of some observers. The new husband and wife nowhad to resolve to share the same fate, without fear of those who were jealous anddistrustful of them.12 Alternatively, Japan and Manchukuo were siblings, com-prising a ‘main’ family and a ‘branch’ family, respectively.13 In yet anotherversion, Japan was the ‘midwife’ in the birth of Manchukuo. This commonanalogy avoided the political implications of asserting that Japan had actually‘given birth’ to the new nation, in accordance with the official stance thatManchukuo was not created by Japan but had been established spontaneously bythe will of the existing inhabitants, yet allowed a strong role for Japan in aidingthe ‘healthy development’ of the infant. Indeed, if the baby were left alone, itmight not survive.14

Only occasionally were there suggestions of a specific role for women in thedevelopment of Manchukuo or in the conflict with the Western powers. Fujoshinbun, always prepared to assert that women were ‘naturally’ peace-loving,proposed in March 1932 that women from the League of Nations Association orfrom influential women’s groups should be sent as envoys to the United Statesand Great Britain to correct the mistaken view, allegedly held by British andAmerican women, that Japan was a warlike nation.15 The same magazine urged


women in the most general of terms to overcome their habitual ‘apathy’ and‘ignorance’ of the world outside the home in order to participate in the healthydevelopment of Manchukuo. The only concrete roles allotted to them, however,remained firmly within traditional bounds. ‘Young, healthy and sturdy’ womenwere called upon to join the male settlers in Manchuria, since ‘in this new age’ itwas not fair that women should be passive onlookers while men developed the‘new paradise’.16 At the same time, however, only certain sorts of women wererequired: those who would make suitable wives for the male Japanese settlers.They should mostly be country women who were prepared to work alongsidetheir men to develop Manchukuo, and to encourage the farm women already inManchuria by the example of their own hard work. Women like typists, teachersand office workers would not be needed from Japan until later on.17 Thus Fujoshinbun together with other women’s magazines tacitly supported the farmer-settler programmes by then underway, and discouraged urban working womenin particular from ‘rushing’ to Manchuria during a period of depression andunemployment at home. Despite much initial rhetoric about emigration for all,the message was now being sent that actually, anyone other than farmers wouldbe a liability in Manchuria rather than an asset. The authorities were certainlydoing their best at this time to discourage Japanese geisha and prostitutes, whosenumbers in the ‘new nation’ were reported to have increased sharply sinceSeptember 1931, from going to Manchuria.18 As for the ‘brides’, it was not infact until 1938 that a concerted effort was made to find wives for the Japanesesettlers, though small groups of ‘brides’ began to arrive in Manchuria from 1934onwards.19

Magazines aimed at women in the early 1930s contain not only directcomment on the Manchurian crisis, but also many examples of a more subtleemphasis on military values. Articles consisting essentially of moral instruction –on the proper modes of conduct for mothers, daughters and wives as well as onhome management – were already an established staple in the magazines. Sucharticles made up two-thirds of the table of contents of Fujin kurabu in the first halfof 1930, for example.20 These moral exhortations usually emanated from peopleof high status in such fields as education; but from 1932 onwards, the authorityfigures in women’s magazines, just as in Ie no hikari, were much more likely to behigh-ranking military officers or their wives. The clear implication was that suchpeople were to be regarded as role models or ideal types. Stories of militaryheroics also abounded in magazines like Shufu no tomo and Fujin kurabu from 1932onwards, conveying similarly patriotic and military ideals.21 Even the previouslyself-consciously pacifist Fujo shinbun ran a series for young readers on the power ofmodern weaponry, waxing lyrical about everything from the automatic rifle tothe anti-aircraft gun to the armoured train.22 Radio lectures aimed at housewiveswere also now given by military officers, as well as by the more familiar religiousleaders, journalists and heads of girls’ schools.23

Women themselves, in suitably idealised form, were further offered as rolemodels to the population at large, through a stream of propaganda storiesdesigned to encourage the development of proper attitudes towards the


Manchurian crisis. Thus, in one of the most- repeated stories, the beloved youngwife of Lieutenant Inoue kills herself so that he can go to the battlefieldunhindered by worry on her behalf; in others, a new bride ‘follows her husbandin death’ by killing herself after his death at the front, while a mother ‘celebratesthe death of her son’ or assures him cheerfully that she does not expect him toreturn from the front.24 The wife of General Nogi Maresuke, who killed herself in1912 immediately after her husband had himself ‘followed’ the Meiji emperor indeath by committing ritual suicide, was promoted anew as the prototype ofmilitaristic female virtue.25 In propaganda stories, mothers were always strong,young wives were always virtuous as well as beautiful, and women alwaysovercame pressing difficulties. Whether such stories were believed or not, theyassociated women with a particularly pure form of the ‘Japanese spirit’, andconveyed the message that women had their own, vital part to play in thenational mission. Even women with no prospect of emulating famous rolemodels could serve the nation through efficient management of the household:this would apparently prevent illness through good diet, reduce the costs of foodand clothing, and increase production, thus ensuring the prosperity of householddependants and, ultimately, the resurrection of the nation.26

Meanwhile, organised groups of women from across the political and socialspectrum were responding to the challenge of the Manchurian crisis in their ownways, sometimes through intellectual argument but often through practicalactivity.

Organised women’s groups

A variety of women’s groups existed in Japan in 1931, including several of longstanding and some founded in the comparatively liberal atmosphere of 1920s‘Taisho democracy’. Some had broad political objectives such as women’s rights,socialism or pacifism; some were committed to social service and social reform;and some were professional or religious bodies. Overall, few women’s groupstook a stand against the military action by the Kwantung Army, either becausethey approved of events or because they had more pressing concerns. As mightbe expected, the Manchurian Incident was positively welcomed by the moreconservative groups, including the Dai Nihon rengo fujinkai (Greater JapanFederation of Women’s Organisations), which had a mass base through itsconstituent town and village women’s groups, and the Patriotic Women’s Asso-ciation. With army encouragement, the Greater Japan Federation participated inthe campaign beginning in late 1931 to donate money for the front. The PatrioticWomen’s Association also reacted quickly to the Manchurian Incident, collect-ing donations, making up relief packages and dispatching them with envoys toManchuria, and providing relief for soldiers’ families. Its role in these activitiesdeclined, however, with the emergence of the broad-based patriotic donationmovement, and with the serious competition soon presented by the Women’sAssociation for National Defence.

In the second half of the 1920s a number of women’s suffrage, labour and


socialist organisations had sprung up, often as auxiliaries to the legal socialistparties which were formed in this period. The membership of such progressivegroups represented a tiny minority of Japanese women: the largest of the suffrageand socialist women’s associations, Ichikawa Fusae’s Fusen kakutoku domei(Women’s Suffrage League), had only 1,500 members in 1930, mostly in Tokyo,in contrast to the 3 million or so members of the Zen-Kansai fujin rengokai(Federation of Women’s Associations of Western Japan).27 Nonetheless, like thelabour unions and parties discussed in Chapter 7, such socialist and feministwomen’s organisations were part of the broad group of socialists who ‘togetheroffered the most vigorous advocacy of progressive alternatives to the existingorder that Japan had yet witnessed’.28 As such they had considerable potential tochallenge Japan’s actions in Manchuria, especially in view of their past record ofopposition to imperialism. What actually happened, however, was far from this.As with other progressive organisations, the Manchurian Incident often pro-voked a painful crisis for such groups of women. The events of 1931–33 were infact the first to make clear the limits of commitment by progressive women’sgroups to a consistent critique of the Japanese state.

Some relatively progressive groups and publications actually took a clear-cutstance in favour of Japan’s actions in Manchuria. For instance, the Federation ofWomen’s Associations of Western Japan, previously a supporter of the Leagueof Nations, declared in November 1931 that Japan’s actions were based on justiceand the philosophy of world peace, and did not contravene the Anti-War(Kellogg–Briand) Pact, which Japan had signed in 1928. The Federation alsoparticipated in fund-raising activities for the soldiers.29 The journal Rodo fujin(Labour Women) was declaring by April 1932 that the Manchurian Incident hadbeen ‘unavoidable in view of the need to protect Japan’s existing rights, whichwere being threatened’.30 Later the same year, around the time that the LyttonCommission delivered its report, a newspaper dedicated to women’s suffrageasserted that women ‘must insist upon the justice of Japan’s position’.31

The Shakai minshu fujin domei (Social Democratic Women’s League),women’s auxiliary of the Social Democratic Party, issued a more ambivalentdeclaration in December 1931, stating that Japanese capitalists, having reached astalemate domestically, were seeking to exploit the fertile land of Manchuria,while also engaging in corrupt financial speculation. Politicians were using thepatriotic fervour of the people to hide misgovernment; the people must be onguard against their tricks. It was mostly the working class fighting in Manchuria,and moreover, soldiers’ families at home were suffering because of crop failures.Stagnation of trade with China was causing a drop in industrial production,and again it was the workers who suffered. The working class, in other words,was bearing the brunt of the Manchurian Incident. Nevertheless, the SocialDemocratic Women’s League dissociated itself from the Japan CommunistParty’s renunciation of Japanese rights and interests in Manchuria. ‘We whobelieve in the gradual realisation of socialism in Japan’ recognised the ‘necessity’of protecting those rights and interests. At the same time, the group madethe familiar demand that Manchurian resources should be controlled by the


government, not the bourgeoisie, adding that a tax should be imposed on the richfor the benefit of soldiers’ families.32 Within a very short time, this associationwas actively supporting the dispatch of Japanese troops to Manchuria.

Open opposition to the Manchurian Incident was initially expressed by one ortwo women’s organisations, including the Musan fujin domei (ProletarianWomen’s League), which was associated with the Nihon ronoto (Japan Labour-Farmer Party) and had publicly opposed ‘imperialist war’ before September 1931as well. For the sake of the masses, declared the League, it would absolutelyoppose war, no matter what the other women’s groups did; indeed, it went so faras to call for the abolition of ‘reactionary women’s groups’ like the Greater JapanFederation of Women’s Organisations. If opposition to war were regarded as anabsolute principle, the League said, then the circumstances leading to the warwere irrelevant. Thus the whole basis of Japan’s justification for the ManchurianIncident was rejected. Furthermore, war was unequivocally an issue of class:‘War is not a mattter of individual likes and dislikes. It is something that a strongruling force does to us.’ The League urged the people to demand that the rulingclass stop killing the proletariat in order to achieve its own ends. It was stillactively opposing war in March 1932, but very soon proved as susceptible tointernal disarray as were other progressive groups during the Manchurian crisis.Reports in the first months of 1932 indicated that the Proletarian Women’sLeague, the Social Democratic Women’s League and the Kyofukai (Women’sChristian Temperance Union of Japan) were all suffering internal dissensionover the Sino-Japanese conflict and the issue of ‘fascism’. The Social DemocraticWomen’s League did in fact split, producing a splinter group, the Kokkashakai-shugi fujin domei (National Socialist Women’s League), in a process thatmirrored the fracturing in the men’s Social Democratic Party provoked byAkamatsu Katsumaro.33

Different groups and publications which did oppose the Manchurian Incidentproved ultimately unable to form a united front, tending to operate alone andthus with reduced impact even where they could maintain a consistent line. Thenewspaper Hataraku fujin (Working Woman), organ of the Japan ProletarianCulture League (Nihon puroretaria bunka renmei, or Koppu), took a strongstance against the fighting in Manchuria, declaring that women were the primevictims of war and should oppose it. The announcement of an ‘independent’Manchukuo, according to Hataraku fujin, was predicated on the suppression ofChinese workers and peasants, direct preparation for war against the SovietUnion and the permanent suppression of Korean and Japanese workers andpeasants. The producers of Hataraku fujin, however, showed no inclination to joinwith other groups in opposing the military action, criticising the ProletarianWomen’s League in spite of the opposition to war that group was then espousing,and showing no interest in an anti-fascist resolution passed by the Women’sSuffrage Conference in May 1932.34 Joint action among the various women’sgroups continued to prove very difficult. One combined meeting to protestagainst the fighting in China and to demand a peaceful solution was planned forDecember 1931. Before the date of the meeting, however, it was discovered that


the Social Democratic Women’s League, one of the seven groups due toparticipate, had begun active support of the dispatch of troops to Manchuria andtherefore now opposed the meeting. Another group also withdrew and two morewere considered likely to do the same. The Proletarian Women’s League, whichhad instigated the meeting, later complained that it had been the only groupprepared to go through with it.35 The volatility of the Manchurian issue forprogressive women’s groups, and the sympathy with which many of themregarded the Manchurian Incident, are doubtless the underlying reasons for thefailure of the meeting to occur, and, more broadly, for the failure of women’sgroups to take united action to oppose the fighting in Manchuria.

The Women’s Suffrage League was one of the groups which withdrew fromthe anti-war rally planned for December 1931. Nevertheless, it was in fact one ofthe few organisations which spoke out against the military during the Man-churian crisis. Though it became increasingly pro-government after 1935, in theearlier period it neither collected donations nor joined the rush to make up reliefpackages for the front. At the Third All-Japan Women’s Suffrage Conference inMay 1932, as mentioned above, a resolution was passed opposing ‘the fascismwhich is currently gaining ground’. There was, however, no resolution directlydemanding peace despite calls for peace by some delegates; doubtless, the issuewas again a divisive one.36 At the 1933 suffrage conference, activist IwauchiTomie managed to make the following statement before being stopped by police:‘War does not bring benefit to a people. We are fed the empty propaganda thatManchuria is Japan’s life-line, but so far it hasn’t produced one sen of profit.’ Theconference passed a resolution opposing any increase in the military budget, andalso issued a declaration to the effect that the current national difficulties could besolved by granting full rights to women. Around this time Ichikawa Fusae,Japan’s best-known suffragist, commented in the organ of the Women’s SuffrageLeague: ‘the military think they are the only patriots, and that the nation cannotbe saved except by them.’ The newspaper received two or three police warningsabout Ichikawa’s column around this time. Suffragists continued to criticise therise of fascism at annual conferences, but the group’s members were graduallyco-opted to serve the government. Ichikawa committed herself to the military’sagenda around 1937, the year in which full-scale war with China broke out. Thelast suffrage conference was also held in that year, and the Women’s SuffrageLeague was dissolved in 1940.37 Little or no progress was made during and afterthe Manchurian crisis towards long-standing objectives of the women’s move-ment, like suffrage and the abolition of licensed prostitution. In Ichikawa’swords, such issues were ‘cast aside by the wave’ of the economic, political, socialand diplomatic crisis into which Japan was widely perceived to have fallen.38

In the meantime, however, a new player had burst upon the scene: theWomen’s Association for National Defence.39 This organisation began spon-taneously rather than as a creature of the army, as a local Osaka support groupfor departing soldiers, many of whom travelled far from their rural homes beforeleaving Japan through Osaka or other ports for Manchuria or Shanghai. TheOsaka branch was established by two local residents, Yasuda Sei and Mitani


Eiko, as a group of forty or so women who took their kettles to the harbour andmade tea for the departing soldiers. Later, they also took over the Osaka railwaystation. In contrast, the Patriotic Women’s Association, a group which wasperceived to do little more than collect money from rich women, was much lessvisible, at this stage merely sending representatives with formal messages for thedeparting troops. Soon after its formation, the new association also becameinvolved in meeting troop ships returning to Osaka, sending home the remains ofdead soldiers, assisting the injured, and meeting and sending off various peopleconnected with the army who were passing through Osaka. Arrivals anddepartures spread to other locations and in fact became great events that weresometimes very boisterous: in January 1934, for example, seventy-six peoplewere killed and sixty-three seriously injured at Kyoto Railway Station when acrowd of several thousand surged into the station to bid farewell to 715 youngmen. A week later, in Mie Prefecture, a boat containing people seeing off newrecruits sank, and a hundred people narrowly escaped drowning.40

During 1932, the founders of the new association made contact with the ArmyMinistry, having decided with encouragement from male supporters in Osaka,including the local police chief and two journalists, to work towards the creationof a Tokyo office and establishment as a national organisation in a quest for morefunds and more members. Like their counterparts in Nazi Germany, the nationalauthorities quickly realised that commonplace activities by women could help toput a ‘healthy gloss’ on the process of sending soldiers to war,41 and by the end ofits first year, the administration of the new association was controlled by thearmy, with most senior positions held by the wives of high-ranking militaryofficers. One reason for army interest was doubtless that the new organisation’srival, the Patriotic Women’s Association, was not only considered inflexible andponderous, but was primarily influenced by the Home Ministry rather than thearmy. Bureaucratic rivalries were intense in the 1930s, and the army grasped theopportunity to be associated with an active women’s organisation over which itexpected to have direct control. At the first meeting of the Kanto (Tokyo region)headquarters of the association in October 1932, Army Minister General ArakiSadao’s wife was made president. In 1933, now under the supervision of thearmy, the Women’s Association for National Defence began systematically toform new branches made up of occupational groups or workplaces, with adramatic effect on membership figures. By 1934 the association had expanded tobecome a national organisation with 1 million members. Two years later, it hadovertaken its rival, the Patriotic Women’s Association, to become the dominantwomen’s group. It grew to over 8 million members in 1939 and 10 million in1942,42 thus far outstripping the more famous Nazi women’s organisations, theFrauenschaft and Frauenwerk, which together numbered about 3.3 million in1939, with roughly comparable populations in Japan and Germany.43

Women undoubtedly joined the Women’s Association for National Defencefor a variety of reasons, especially in the beginning before pressure from thearmy, enrolment of workplace groups en masse, and even forcible soliciting byexisting members brought about very rapid increases in membership. In its first


years, there was clearly something about the organisation which appealed toordinary women. It was probably not principle or ideology; this was a groupbased more on action than on theory. The organisation did make formalstatements of ideology, but such declarations primarily reflected the army’sinterpretation of the association’s significance rather than the views of members.In effect, the army produced the ideology and the women did the work.44 Therewas a clear division between the group’s ideological and practical aspects. Thearmy saw the organisation as an expression of ‘womanly virtues’ (futoku),especially ‘chastity’ (teiso): the virtue of women on the home front was said to beessential to men’s success in battle. An official declaration of the organisation’saims issued in October 1932 echoed many of the statements to be found inwomen’s magazines in this period, both in its recitation of conventional senti-ments and in its characteristic level of abstraction: ‘In this grave situation facingthe Empire, the mission of Japanese women is to sacrifice themselves for theprosperity of the Empire by demonstrating the womanly virtues of traditionalJapan, overcoming national difficulties, and securing our national defence’.45

Most ordinary members, on the other hand, were probably not very interestedin the ideology which the army tried to press upon them. It was above all anorganisation of active public service, whose ‘ideology’ was best represented bythe very conspicuous white apron worn by members as a kind of uniform. Theapron clearly signalled members’ devotion to service and domestic values. Inother organisations, especially the Patriotic Women’s Association, the quality ofkimono, a significant indicator of class background, was an important consider-ation for members going to meetings. The large white apron of the new organisa-tion, on the other hand, covered both the upper and the lower body, disguisingthe kimono worn underneath. Even the wealthy women who eventually servedon the association’s executive wore the apron, probably for the first time in somecases. Conveying a spirit of service, reinforcing the ‘feminine’ role played byassociation members, and ensuring public visibility, the apron arguably summedup the movement for the public and for members, if not for the army. The extentto which any further philosophy was known or understood is doubtful.46

The image of the new association as an organisation of ordinary rather thanelite women was strengthened by the low cost of membership, which againcontrasted sharply with the high membership dues of the Patriotic Women’sAssociation. Henceforth, as one magazine observed, military welfare work wasno longer to be the preserve of the upper class.47 Unlike the Nazi women’sorganisations, whose target was the middle class,48 the Women’s Association forNational Defence did indeed recruit among the working class, as well as amongfarming women in later years. Geisha, who had already been among the first tosend packages to the front and to contribute to a campaign for donations for airdefence, were successfully mobilised in Osaka in 1932. Café waitresses, depart-ment store employees and factory workers also joined on a group basis. Withintwo years of its founding, the Women’s Association for National Defence hadbranches in forty-five factories.49 The willingness of the association to accept andeven actively recruit women of low social status such as geisha, prostitutes, shop


assistants and factory workers may in fact have been an important reason for theorganisation’s rapid growth. In an obvious contrast with the elite PatrioticWomen’s Association, the new organisation offered low-status women an idealof equality and an opportunity to work alongside others in a socially approved,officially sponsored, patriotic organisation.50

If ideological conviction, beyond an implicit willingness to affirm the‘feminine’ roles of nurturing and sacrifice, was not a motivating force for mostmembers of the Women’s Association for National Defence, the opportunity tofind activity and companionship outside the home almost certainly was. SharonNolte has commented that women’s groups of the 1920s were popular because‘their members shared community interests and experiences as wives andmothers; they relished the companionship of other women, and escape from thedemands of mothers-in-law, children, and men in the family’.51 The same couldbe said of the Women’s Association for National Defence, and many womenwere undoubtedly attracted to the association by the opportunity to enjoy them-selves. For some, it must have been the first opportunity to meet men other thantheir husbands or other relatives.52 The simplicity and popularity of the associ-ation’s activities in the beginning were not easily matched by the more sedate andestablished organisations. Except in occasional emergencies such as naturaldisasters, the new association did not become involved in general social work asdid its older counterparts, but remained purely a military support group whoseactivities continued to centre on sending off and welcoming soldiers and givingaid and comfort to soldiers’ families. The Kobe branch of the association, forexample, welcomed or sent off soldiers as many as forty-two times during 1933,in events attended by an estimated total of over 5,000 people. In the same year italso met sick and injured soldiers seventeen times, and attended the arrival ofremains of the war dead on twenty-one occasions. Over 55,000 people werereported to have participated in the events commemorating the return of the wardead.53 Being located in a port city, the Kobe branch was doubtless unusuallybusy; but all the same, a tally of these occasions suggests that on average, theassociation turned out an impressive six times or more each month during 1933.

The Women’s Association for National Defence was thus more active thanother groups, and more inclined to go on an outing than hold a meeting. Evenafter the association had entered a more bureaucratic phase, the opportunity toget out of the house apparently remained important. The feminist leaderIchikawa Fusae, visiting her home village in Aichi Prefecture in 1937, happenedto witness the inauguration ceremony of the local branch of the association.Observing the ‘shy, but happy demeanour’ of the new members, she later wrote:‘There are many things to be said about the Women’s Association for NationalDefence, but even the fact that ordinary village women who previously havenever had time they can call their own have been liberated from the home for halfa day to listen to lectures – this is women’s liberation’.54

From 1935 onwards, there was a change of emphasis in the association’s idealsand activities, reflecting increasing dominance of the army interpretation of thegroup’s role over that of the association’s founders. More priority was given to


the cultivation of ‘womanly virtues’, and less to practical activity. Projectsundertaken by members began to lose their distinctive character and to resemblethose of other groups, including the Patriotic Women’s Association. At the sametime, the latter group was attempting to broaden its own base by adopting someof the early methods of the Women’s Association for National Defence, resultingin a degree of convergence between the activities and even the memberships ofthe two groups.55 By now, the Women’s Association for National Defence hadlost the spontaneity which marked its response to the Manchurian Incident.Undoubtedly, however, it had become a vital means of mobilising women tosupport the military role of men in a very public way. In 1942, along with allother women’s groups, it was absorbed into the Dai Nihon fujinkai (GreaterJapan Women’s Association), an integral part of the war-time political structure.

Rural women

Many rural women and men had limited access to information about events inManchuria, and little time or energy to consume it. Literacy levels raise one set ofissues. In the Kyushu village studied by the American ethnographers John andElla Embree in 1935–36, most old men had some knowledge of the phoneticsyllabaries, but all the women over fifty were functionally illiterate. Youngerwomen were often barely literate. Many could not read Chinese characters at all,and were reliant on the syllabaries. Though this lack of functional literacy wouldnot have greatly impeded a village woman’s normal daily activities, it wouldcertainly affect her understanding of the more complex issues raised in news-papers and magazines. The women of the village, for example, in Ella Embree’sjudgement had a ‘rather inconclusive understanding of the emperor cult being soassiduously promoted by the central government’. This applied even to oneparticular woman who was singled out as literate and ‘much given to relaxingwith a magazine in the afternoons’.56

Rural women probably had little interest in national or international events inany case, and sophisticated arguments about the causes or progress of the Sino-Japanese dispute would have had negligible impact on them or their menfolk. It isvery unlikely that many villagers took particular notice of the news from Tokyoor Manchuria, unless it affected their relatives or neighbours at the front, and, aswe have seen, the scale of the fighting was not great enough to ensure that theydid know a soldier serving in Manchuria or Shanghai. Most villages sent veryfew soldiers to the front during the Manchurian crisis, and events in such distantplaces were remote from the day-to-day concerns of village life. In the Embrees’village in 1935–36, few women read newspapers, though they took some interestin magazines, and were always interested in the films that occasionally came theirway. In terms of personal experience, some women had barely travelled out ofthe village since their marriages, and most had little idea where Manchuria mightbe, with several suggesting that it was ‘probably as distant as America’. EllaEmbree commented: ‘They knew little of the national scene and even less abouttheir country’s involvement in international affairs. Their interest in both was


largely limited to concern for their conscripted sons.’ China, Korea and Man-churia were discussed when young men came back to the village from the army,though it is doubtful whether even the soldiers were much interested in orknowledgeable about the broader implications of their military service.57

The Embrees’ village was remote and hence possibly unrepresentative in somerespects. It is clear, however, that farm women everywhere lacked the surplustime and energy necessary for reading. One woman, from the outskirts ofKurume in Kyushu, reminisced decades later:

If I had read newspapers or anything [at the time], I’d probably nowremember a bit more about the past, but in any case, if I had the time to reada newspaper my mother-in-law would usually get angry and tell me to dosome work, so I couldn’t read much. I suppose I probably heard about thingslike the Manchurian Incident from granddad [her husband] and the others.

Another, from Toyama in western Japan, commented:

We had no newspapers and no books, magazines or radio, and of course Ihad never once seen a film. The reason was that I simply stuck to the ricepaddies and the fields. I honestly knew nothing at all about the ManchurianIncident or the three bomb heroes.58

Nearby towns and cities constituted a potential alternative source of informationfor those with limited literacy and limited knowledge of the outside world. By theearly 1930s, many women born in rural areas had experienced life outside theirown relatively small communities, by leaving to work in the textile mills or insome other occupation in a town or city. In 1930, for example, 80 per cent of thecotton textile labour-force was made up of women, the great majority from ruralareas.59 Unfortunately, however, evidence about how their experiences in urbanareas may have affected their views of the outside world is scarce. In the case ofthe textile mills, it seems unlikely that women workers had much opportunity tolearn of politics or current events: work was arduous, the workers’ freedom ofmovement outside the mill and dormitory area was often very restricted, and, inthe larger mills at least, outsiders could not easily reach them.60

Apart from personal contacts, it was probably the catchphrases and slogansabout Manchuria repeated most often in newspapers, magazines and film whichhad greatest impact in the villages as elsewhere. At the most basic level, reports ofthe Manchurian situation could be reduced to notions of crisis and sacrifice, ofManchuria as Japan’s ‘life-line’ and as Japan’s rightful sphere of activity. Even ifthe more complex justifications of Japan’s actions were ignored or not under-stood, the import of these ideas was unmistakeable. Nonetheless, it is clear thatthe Manchurian crisis did not form a dominant part of rural women’s conscious-ness. Other issues were far more pressing in the early 1930s, and like men,women were primarily concerned with surviving the economic crisis.

The depression, in its turn, had a particular impact on women. Female factory


workers, to begin with, were greatly affected by the economic downturn. Withthe drastic fall in prices for silk, the silk industry came to a virtual halt at the endof 1929; 80 per cent of factories ceased to pay wages to their predominantlyfemale workforces. During 1930, an additional 46,000 women employed incotton-spinning lost their jobs permanently or were temporarily discharged.Many of these women had to seek alternative work as prostitutes, waitresses or inother low-status occupations. In Tohoku, where economic deprivation wassevere, the selling of daughters became a media issue from October 1931onwards. According to figures from the Social Bureau of the Home Ministry,2,420 girls were sold from Aomori Prefecture as prostitutes, geisha, maids orwaitresses during 1931.61 In the first four months alone of 1932, according toanother report, 819 women had left to take up the same sorts of jobs, in additionto 694 other women who left for different reasons.62 In Yamagata Prefecture, thepre-payment to the girl’s relatives in such cases ranged from 450 yen to 1,800yen, and the usual length of contract was six years. In Fukushima Prefecture, onthe other hand, girls could be sold for as little as 50 or 60 yen. Even so, it wasreported that only about a third of the promised money reached the girls’relatives. Many of the young women thus sold had lost earlier jobs in the textileindustry. Others were only of primary-school age.63

In 1932 a new magazine began publication, with the announced aim ofeducating and enlightening rural women. Tellingly, Noson fujin (Village Woman),founded in a year of rural crisis by the Fumin kyokai, an organisation associatedwith the Osaka mainichi newspaper and lacking any obvious official connection,displayed little interest in Manchuria or in any events that were not tied to theimmediate wellbeing of the village. The magazine’s staple was a broad rhetoricabout the superiority of rural life, couched in the familiar terms of nohonshugi(agrarianism), a sharp consciousness of the distinction between conditions inurban and in rural areas, and a belief in the purity and power of women,especially rural women. In terms of specific issues, the most pressing concern wasthe steady departure of young rural women to seek employment in the cities.Frequent warnings were sounded of the dangers awaiting such women and themisleading nature of reports drifting back from the cities of abundantopportunities and an easy life. Events in Manchuria were of little relevance in theface of such immediate anxieties.

Nor did rural women rush to join patriotic associations. For several years, thenew Women’s Association for National Defence remained predominantly urbanand best represented in its original Osaka base. In country areas in 1932 and1933, it was not this organisation which saw rapid increases in membership, butrather the various women’s groups which sprang up in association with the ruralco-operative movement, a movement with the potential directly to address theproblems of the economic crisis, like farm household debt. When the Women’sAssociation for National Defence was eventually established in country areas, itoften grew up through existing women’s organisations rather than separately,and was usually established at the instigation of regimental commanders ratherthan spontaneously, with membership of one woman per household virtually


compulsory. In many cases there was little or no difference between countrywomen’s activities as members of the Women’s Association for NationalDefence and their previous activities as members of other groups or simply aspart of the local community. In fact, it was not uncommon for country womenmerely to place a second sign reading ‘Kokubo fujinkai’ (Women’s Associationfor National Defence) outside the office of an existing women’s organisation. Insome cases there was open resentment at the constant demands on women’s timeand money from the different organisations.64

John Embree remarked of the village he studied that, though all the villagewomen nominally belonged to their branch of the women’s patriotic association,‘They never meet on their own initiative, but only when told to do so by theschool or the village office’.65 The Embrees describe one formal meeting of thewomen’s association, which was attended by only about thirty women, from atotal of 1,663 people or 285 households. The meeting was called by men andaddressed exclusively by men; indeed, the association itself was headed by aman, the school principal. The women who did attend the meeting appeared toshow no interest at all in the manifestos read to them on rational home andeconomic management, frugality and patriotism. There was no discussion of theresolutions ‘passed’ at the meeting, which were read to the women and thendistributed afterwards in written form: according to Embree, the usual proce-dure at such meetings was that ‘After a lecture . . . [one of the male school-teachers] says “we resolve” and lo, the whole program is resolved without amurmur’. The women in the audience on this particular occasion had to have thecharacters for ‘economic revitalisation’ (keizai kosei) explained to them, as well asthe general concept. Many could not read the resolutions distributed later. Onthe other hand, the village women participated eagerly in the preparation of reliefpackages for the soldiers overseas, which were collected from each hamlet andsent from the village office. They even included pictures of beautiful women, andperfumed soap to make the soldiers attractive to women while they were awayat the front.66

Smethurst concurs with John Embree’s judgement that the Women’s Associ-ation for National Defence ‘made informal village women’s organizations intoofficial branches of a national association’ – in other words, that village womenwere already doing the things the new association asked of them, as part of theirnormal activities.67 From this he concludes that the army had successfullyindoctrinated rural women, in contrast to urban women who were less easilymobilised because they were less subject to social pressure. Long-standingloyalty to the army may indeed have played a part in increasing rural member-ship of the Women’s Association for National Defence from 1935 onwards,when particular efforts were made to recruit in country areas. Smethurst’sargument, however, though properly acknowledging the way in which the armysucceeded in appropriating and putting its own stamp on conventional socialactivities, leaves no room for the city women who joined the association in itsearlier years more or less spontaneously, and not necessarily with any regard forthe army’s version of the significance of their activities. At the same time, it


ignores the first years of the association’s existence, when rural women werepreoccupied with economic survival and had little reason to pay attention to thearmy’s agenda.

Conclusion

The Manchurian Incident was irrelevant to many women, but critical for a few.Undoubtedly, it struck at the roots of the progressive women’s groups, much as itaffected men involved in the social democratic and radical movements andmoderate and liberal male intellectuals. Ichikawa Fusae, for example, wrote thatthe Manchurian Incident came as a great shock to her.68 Individual women whowrestled with ideology often became confused over the Manchurian Incident:they, too, were subject to society’s expectations of women as patriotic and self-sacrificing. In the majority of cases, state-produced ideology ultimately tookprecedence over pacifist, internationalist, or anti-capitalist ideology, and manyprominent figures as well as more ordinary women were drawn into thegovernment’s work in various ways. Progressive women’s groups passed up anopportunity to encourage women to be sceptical about the military action inManchuria at a time when the nature of the public response was by no means aforgone conclusion. Part of the reason was their seeming inability to form aunited front despite their common interests; part of it, too, was the attractionmany of their members felt to the decisive action Japan had taken at a time ofeconomic and social disaster. In any case, they were tiny organisations whichhad always had very limited connection with the daily lives of ordinary women.

In practice, the majority of women were likely either to be indifferent to theManchurian crisis or to accept some version of the government line, because fewof them were exposed to any other version of events. Within this context, thosewar-related activities which drew the most spontaneous response from womenwere immediate and personal, appealed to deep-seated notions of service,sacrifice and family, and provided opportunities for activity and companionshipoutside the home. It was because the Women’s Association for National Defenceencapsulated all these qualities, and appealed to a broad spectrum of the popula-tion in class terms, that it far outstripped the membership of the other women’sorganisations. By the time the Manchurian crisis had passed, the army hadmanaged to appropriate and modify this version of women’s ideal role in societyin times of national crisis and imperialist aggression. In doing so it was using thenotions of service and nurturing embodied in the association to promote nationalintegration and acceptance of an expansionist ideology. Thus did the homebecome the home front, in a manner reminiscent of Claudia Koonz’s commenton the role of women in Nazi Germany: ‘Nazi women mended while Nazi menmarched’.69 As in Germany, the linking of the ‘personal’ concerns of women with‘national’ goals in Japan in the 1930s produced a chilling degree of commitmentto the state, or acceptance of its actions, or failure to oppose them.

In rhetoric directed at women, notions of service and sacrifice were certainlythe most prominent elements. The fact that motherhood, sacrifice and service


loom so large in discourse aimed at women in the early 1930s indicates that ifthere were to be efforts to harness the potential of women, as was frequentlyclaimed, they would be based more on women’s supposed consciousness ofthemselves as nurturers than on any sense of themselves as independentindividuals. It is surely no accident that the most successful of the patrioticwomen’s organisations, the Women’s Association for National Defence, wasbased on an explicitly domestic ideal. Nevertheless, notions of women’s idealrole during a national crisis were employed very vaguely. Women as a group,unlike other social groups, were not presented with a vision of Manchuria as asolution to their problems: rather, they were offered an amorphous vision ofthemselves as saviours of the nation and guardians of its spirit. The efforts ofwomen were always said to be essential to the success of ‘Manchukuo’, but therewas rarely any concrete explanation of what women should do. Farmers could beencouraged to emigrate, both to solve their own problems and to serve the nation,but women, especially urban women, were for the most part only showered withexhortations to frugality, patriotism and self-sacrifice. On the whole, womenwere to be the guardians of the home front rather than active participants inexpansion abroad; they were to nurture rather than to do.

In fact, most women could ill afford to pay much attention to events inManchuria during the worst years of the depression, and once conditions beganto ease, at least in urban areas, mainstream women’s magazines lost interest innorth-east China in any case. During 1934 both Fujin koron and Fujo shinbunreported on the establishment of an imperial system in Manchukuo, and otherminor articles about Manchuria appeared occasionally. For the most part,however, the magazines returned to their usual concerns, with Fujo shinbun, forexample, concentrating as before on education and the women’s movement,assertions of the essential equality of men and women, articles about marriageand so on. The notion of ‘crisis’ remained, but as in other publications, the crisisof the moment related not to Manchuria but to the impending end in 1936 of thenaval treaties to which Japan was a signatory.70

Notes1 Japan Times, The Japanese Empire (Year Book of Japan), 1932, Tokyo, 1931, p. 31;

Japan Year Book 1933, p. 901.2 Sheldon Garon, ‘Fashioning a Culture of Diligence and Thrift: Savings and

Frugality Campaigns in Japan, 1900–1931’, in Sharon A. Minichiello (ed.), Japan’sCompeting Modernities: Issues in Culture and Democracy 1900–1930, Honolulu, Universityof Hawai’i Press, 1998, pp. 325–6, 330.

3 Nagahara Kazuko and Yoneda Sayoko, Onna no Showashi (zohoban), Tokyo,Yuhikaku, 1996, pp. 36–7.

4 Shida Aiko and Yuda Yoriko, ‘Shufu no tomo’, in Watashitachi no rekishi o tsuzurukai (ed.), Fujin zasshi kara mita 1930nendai, Tokyo, Dojidaisha, 1987 (hereafter Fujinzasshi), p. 48. On women’s magazines see also Barbara Hamill Sato, ‘An AlternateInformant: Middle-Class Women and Mass Magazines in 1920s Japan’, in Tiptonand Clark (eds), Being Modern in Japan, pp. 137–53.

5 See Sandra Wilson, ‘Rationalising Imperialism: Women’s Magazines in the Early


1930s’, in Vera Mackie (ed.), Feminism and the State in Modern Japan, Melbourne,Japanese Studies Centre, 1995, pp. 49–58; Wilson, ‘Women, the State and theMedia’.

6 Shida and Yuda, ‘Shufu no tomo’, pp. 93–4.7 Ibid., pp. 131–5.8 Wilson, ‘Women, the State and the Media’, pp. 93–100.9 Hara Terue, ‘Fujin koron’, in Fujin zasshi, pp. 15–46; Shida and Yuda, ‘Shufu no

tomo’; Uemura Akiko and Shimizu Fumie, ‘Fujin kurabu’, in Fujin zasshi, pp. 124–226.

10 Uemura and Shimizu, ‘Fujin kurabu’, pp. 149–50.11 ‘Manshukoku shonin mondai’, FS, No. 1,671, 19 June 1932, p. 1.12 ‘NichiMan ryogoku wa fufu’, FS, No. 1,684, 18 September 1932, p. 1.13 Ibid.14 For example, ‘Manshukoku shonin mondai’, FS, No. 1,671, 19 June 1932, p. 1;

‘Tsukitarazu no eiji Manshukoku’, FS, No. 1,675, 17 July 1932, p. 5.15 ‘Fujin shisetsu o haken seyo’, FS, No. 1,656, 6 March 1932, p. 1.16 ‘Manshukoku to josei’, FS, No. 1,658, 20 March 1932, p. 13; also ‘Manshu

shintenchi de wa noson fujin o motomu’, Noson fujin, Vol. 1, No. 3, May 1932, pp.22–3.

17 ‘Manshukoku to josei’, FS, No. 1,658, 20 March 1932, p. 13.18 ‘Fujinkai jokyokai’, FS, No. 1,749, 17 December 1933, p. 23.19 Jinno Morimasa, Manshu ni okurareta onnatachi – tairiku no hanayome, Tokyo, Nashi no

kisha, 1992, pp. 13, 232–3.20 Uemura and Shimizu, ‘Fujin kurabu’, p. 160. See also Sato, ‘An Alternate

Informant’, pp. 144–6.21 Shida and Yuda, ‘Shufu no tomo’, p. 54; Uemura and Shimizu, ‘Fujin kurabu’, p.

140.22 FS, No. 1,647, 1 January 1932, p. 1 of Girls’ Section; No. 1,649, 17 January 1932, p. 1

of Girls’ Section; No. 1,656, 6 March 1932, p. 1 of Girls’ Section; No. 1,657, 13March 1932, p. 1 of Girls’ Section; No. 1,658, 20 March 1932, p. 1 of Girls’ Section;No. 1,654, 28 February 1932, p. 4 of Girls’ Section.

23 Ikei, ‘1930nendai’, pp. 164–5.24 These stories appear in a variety of publications. For a collection of standard stories

translated into English, see Kenzo Kai, Sakura no Kaori: The Fragrance of Cherry Blossoms,Tokyo, Foreign Affairs Association of Japan, 1933. See also Nagahara and Yoneda,Onna no Showashi, pp. 36–7.

25 High, Teikoku no ginmaku, p. 30.26 Yamada Seiichi, ‘Mazu onna kara’, Noson fujin, Vol. 1, No. 5, July 1932, pp. 10–11.27 Garon, ‘Women’s Groups and the Japanese State’, p. 8.28 Large, Organized Workers, p. 118. On socialist women, see also Vera Mackie, Creating

Socialist Women in Japan: Gender, Labour and Activism, 1900–1937, Cambridge,Cambridge University Press, 1997.

29 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 120–1; Ishizuki Shizue, ‘Zen-Kansai fujin rengokai noseiritsu to tenkai’, Historia, No. 70, 1976, pp. 38–54.

30 Quoted in Ishizuki, ‘1930nendai no musan fujin undo’, p. 212.31 Fujin sansei domeikai ho, October 1932, quoted ibid.32 FS, No. 1,645, 20 December 1931, p. 2.33 FS, No. 1,646, 27 December 1931, p. 2; No. 1,658, 20 March 1932, p. 2; No. 1,659,

27 March 1932, p. 2; No. 1,662, 17 April 1932, p. 2; No. 1,664, 1 May 1932, p. 2; No.1,666, 15 May 1932, p. 2. Ishizuki, ‘Musan fujin undo’, pp. 209, 212. Fordeclarations on the Manchurian Incident by the Proletarian Women’s League, seeSuzuki Yuko, Kindai joseishi kenkyukai, ‘Manshu jihen to musan fujin undo –Musan fujin domei, Shakai minshu fujin domei o chushin ni’, Jugoshi noto, No. 3,1983, pp. 58–62.


34 Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Showashi, pp. 33–4; Ishizuki, ‘1930nendai no musanfujin undo’, pp. 210–12.

35 FS, No. 1,644, 13 December 1931, p. 2; No. 1,646, 27 December 1931, p. 2.36 Comments on the Women’s Suffrage League and Ichikawa Fusae are based on

Ichikawa Fusae, Ichikawa Fusae jiden: senzenhen, Tokyo, Shinjuku shobo, 1974, pp.268–333; Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 125–38.

37 See Vera Mackie, ‘Motherhood and Pacifism in Japan 1900–1937’, Hecate, Vol. 14,No. 2, 1988, p. 42.

38 FS, No. 1,744, 12 November 1933, p. 2. See also No. 1,750, 24 December 1933, p. 1.39 See Sandra Wilson, ‘Mobilizing Women in Inter-War Japan: The National Defence

Women’s Association and the Manchurian Crisis’, Gender and History, Vol. 7, No. 2,August 1995, pp. 295–314.

40 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 91.41 The phrase is used by Claudia Koonz, Mothers in the Fatherland: Women, the Family, and

Nazi Politics, New York, St Martin’s Press, 1987, p. 419.42 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 50–4; Kano Mikiyo, Onnatachi no ‘jugo’, Chikuma shobo,

1987, pp. 55, 80; Wilson, ‘Mobilizing Women’, pp. 303, 305.43 Ute Frevert, Women in German History: From Bourgeois Emancipation to Sexual Liberation,

trans. Stuart McKinnon-Evans, Oxford, Berg, 1989, p. 242. The population of Japanproper was 69.25 million in 1935, while that of Germany including Waldeck and theSaarland was just over 66 million in 1933. It should be noted that millions of Germanwomen belonged to the women’s division of the Nazi Labour Front, and that millionsalso attended home-making courses run by the Frauenwerk. See Jill Stephenson, TheNazi Organisation of Women, London, Croom Helm, 1981, esp. pp. 148–55, 165;Frevert, Women in German History, pp. 233–4; Koonz, Mothers in the Fatherland, p. 183.

44 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 70–8.45 Quoted in Jane Mitchell, ‘Women, the State, and National Mobilization in Prewar

Japan’, unpublished Honours thesis, University of Adelaide, 1986, p. 22.46 Kano, Onnatachi no ‘jugo’, p. 80; Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 79–84.47 FS, 2 October 1932, p. 2; 27 November 1932, p. 2.48 See Stephenson, Nazi Organisation of Women, pp. 17–18; Koonz, Mothers in the

Fatherland, pp. 187–8, 392.49 Kano, Onnatachi no ‘jugo’, p. 80.50 Ibid., pp. 61, 80, 83.51 Nolte, ‘Women’s Rights and Society’s Needs’, p. 712.52 Kano, Onnatachi no ‘jugo’, p. 71.53 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, p. 88.54 Ichikawa, Jiden, quoted in Kano, Onnatachi no ‘jugo’, p. 71.55 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 134–42. See also Wilson, ‘Mobilizing Women’, pp. 308–9.56 Smith and Wiswell, Women of Suye Mura, pp. 10–12.57 Ibid., xviii, pp. 1, 15, 20.58 Tsurumaru, ‘Sono koro’, pp. 41–2.59 Saxonhouse, ‘Country Girls’, p. 100.60 Helen Mears, Year of the Wild Boar: An American Woman in Japan, Philadelphia, J. B.

Lippincott Company, 1942, pp. 272–90.61 Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Showashi, pp. 12, 16–17.62 ‘Fujin no tame no nyusu’, Noson fujin, Vol. 1, No. 9, November 1932, p. 25.63 Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Showashi, pp. 17–18.64 Fujii, Kokubo fujinkai, pp. 63, 128–9; Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Showashi, pp. 44–

5; Embree, Suye Mura, p. 167.65 Embree, Suye Mura, p. 168. Underlining the point that village associations over-

lapped, it is unclear from Embree’s account whether he is referring to the PatrioticWomen’s Association (Aikoku fujinkai) or the Women’s Association for NationalDefence (Kokubo fujinkai), though the activities he describes suggest the latter.


66 Smith and Wiswell, Women of Suye Mura, xxv, pp. 24–6, 30–1; Embree, Suye Mura, pp.167–8, 171.

67 Smethurst, Social Basis, p. 80.68 Quoted in Kano Masanao, ‘Fusen kakutoku domei no seiritsu to tenkai: “Manshu

jihen” boppatsu made’, Rekishi hyoron, No. 319, 1974, p. 85.69 Koonz, Mothers in the Fatherland, xxxiii.70 See, for example, Saito Atsumori, ‘Hijoji no igi to sokoku Nihon no kikensen – kiki

wa 1935nen ka 1936nen ka’, Fujin koron, January 1934, pp. 319–23; MizunoHironori, ‘Nichiro, Nichibei senso wa hatashite okoru ka’, FS, No. 1,755, January1934, p. 7.

Conclusion

At first sight, the picture of responses from within Japan to the Manchurian crisisis a confusing and contradictory one, and any attempt retrospectively to place theearly 1930s in their wider context is fraught with difficulty. Reactions in Japan tothe invasion of Manchuria at the time ranged from total indifference to wildenthusiasm. As for the retrospective view, this book argues that the Manchuriancrisis clearly constitutes a discrete episode. Yet it was implicated in complex waysin the great themes of the 1930s and beyond, especially the ongoing history ofboth nationalism and militarism in Japan. If confusion results, it stems, in myview, on the one hand from a mistaken impulse to view state and society in Japanin the 1930s as some kind of monolithic whole, and on the other from a desire tolink the political, social and military events of the decade into an overly-smooth‘fifteen-year war’ stretching from 1931 to 1945. In reality, the diverse reactions tothe invasion of Manchuria reflect the plurality of Japanese society in the early1930s. At the same time, the complex significance of the Manchurian crisis inretrospect reflects the fact that Japanese militarism and nationalism evolved notin a relatively simple linear progression, but rather through a series of fitful andunstable processes.

Reactions in Japan to the invasion of Manchuria were certainly more variedthan has commonly been recognised. Effective opposition did not emerge, andwas perhaps unlikely to do so, given that the left was weak and demoralised, andintellectual leaders often had strong links to the government or at least acceptedgovernment objectives. Furthermore, while the public image of the army was notuniformly positive, the army was much more popular than was civiliangovernment, about which negative images were widespread. By the same token,however, it is clear that ‘war fever’ does not encompass the range of reactions tothe Manchurian crisis in Japanese society. No matter how strident the massmedia’s reporting of the crisis became, ambivalence about and even indifferenceto the Manchurian venture is evident at every level of society and politics, evenwithin elite circles where commitment to the project could be most expected.Mobilisation of society behind the army in the cause of overseas conquest wasvery incomplete at this point, to say the least; some military leaders had evendoubted at first that ordinary Japanese would support their aims at all. In theevent, many people certainly were enthusiastic about the Japanese conquest of

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Manchuria. A few opposed it outright. Many others were initially enthusiasticand later indifferent. A large number were preoccupied with other concerns,notably the economic depression from which all were suffering, especially in thecountryside. Though Manchukuo was dramatically added to Japan’s informalempire in 1931–32, the territory did not become a dominant part of Japaneseconsciousness, except perhaps in Kwantung Army circles, where it had after allbeen central since the end of the Russo-Japanese War in 1905.

Responses to the crisis

The Manchurian crisis of 1931–33 did not constitute a turning-point for all ormost Japanese, though it did for certain groups. For the ruling elites, it did notnecessarily produce a commitment to the army or to military points of view.Different parts of the establishment continued to be chiefly concerned with theirown areas of responsibility, and in most cases these did not include north-eastChina. The Manchurian issue in a sense was simply not big enough to require apositive response from diplomats, bureaucrats, party politicians and most otherelites. For diplomats, the overriding concern was their relationship with theWestern powers, and in the mainstream view in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,the crisis over Manchuria had not produced an irrevocable split with thosepowers, no matter how much damage it might have done to Sino-Japaneserelations. Diplomats continued, therefore, to pursue co-operative diplomacy asbefore, albeit outside the League of Nations. At home, the Manchurian crisis didnot require the kind of comprehensive domestic mobilisation that wouldnecessarily have drawn in the Home Ministry or persuaded party politicians that‘national unity’ cabinets should remain. Party politics did not in fact resume untilafter defeat in 1945, but in the mid-1930s, politicians and others clearly expectedthat they would, for ‘national unity’ cabinets were supposed to be a temporaryexpedient, and in Japan, party politics were now considered normal. The elites,in short, expected business as usual to resume.

For the groups dedicated to progressive political ideals which had emergedfrom ‘Taisho democracy’, by contrast, the Manchurian crisis must be interpretedas a defining moment. Undoubtedly, events in Manchuria, Shanghai and Genevawere more cataclysmic for public figures than for ordinary Japanese. Manyconservatives welcomed the army’s actions as a matter of course. For progressiveintellectuals and political activists, on the other hand, the crisis over Manchuriaprompted a break from previous patterns of thought and behaviour, precipita-ting painful dilemmas for a number of groups and individuals. The ‘conversions’of members of the Japan Communist Party from mid-1933 onwards provide onlythe most dramatic case in point.

The changes of mind occurring everywhere in moderate and progressivecircles starkly revealed a substantial extent of common ground that was widelyshared among public figures, even by erstwhile opponents. Conservatives,liberals, even socialists, including many who had previously styled themselves asinternationalists in the labour movement, in progressive publications and in

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international associations, all showed themselves to be committed at a profoundlevel to the ‘national interest’. Speeches by Japanese members of the Institute ofPacific Relations, articles in progressive magazines and writings by reformistbureaucrats illustrate the ease with which advocacy of co-operative diplomacycould slide into public support of Japan’s right to exploit Manchuria. With theexception of the Communists, progressive and moderate groups for the mostpart did not suddenly contradict their own previous positions in any explicitway. A willingness to co-operate with the state, or not openly to go against it, hadoften been implied in their earlier behaviour. Events of the period 1931–33,however, forced them to define their position much more clearly than before. Inthis sense the Manchurian crisis is a crucial landmark, for it provided the firstclear indication of the limits of the challenge to the establishment posed by thedissenting social and political groups that had been so prominent in the 1920s,and suggests the power of the idea of nation even for such activist groups.

The Manchurian crisis did not, however, turn most ordinary people intofervent nationalists, as has often been claimed. For the majority, life returned tonormal in 1933 at the latest, though rural suffering certainly continued. Manysoldiers had already come home by early 1933. The ‘crisis’ was all but over, andthe nation was not ‘at war’ again until 1937. Improvement in the overall econo-mic situation was undoubtedly one crucial factor allowing the extreme anxietythat had pervaded Japanese society to dissipate. The economic crisis continuedfor many individual Japanese, regardless of favourable statistics, but in fact theeconomy was acknowledged to be showing signs of recovery by the end of 1932.The case of Germany, by contrast, suggests that without economic recovery, theconsciousness of crisis would have continued: in Germany, there was a swing toboth the Communists and the Nazis in 1932 because of the despair produced byextreme unemployment and economic hardship in that year, while on the otherhand both Britain and Japan were beginning to experience some level of recoveryfrom the depression.1 Though there was little improvement in rural areas in 1933or 1934, the period 1932–36 saw a ‘spectacular transformation’2 of Japaneseindustry as exports increased dramatically thanks to the depreciated yen, anddomestic demand was stimulated by capital investment, military spending andthe government’s rural relief programme. By 1936, unemployment had fallenfrom a 1932 peak of 6.88 per cent to 4.35 per cent; the price of rice had risen from16.52 yen per koku in 1931 to 27.7 yen; cocoon prices had risen from 283.9 yenper 100 kan to 466.4 yen; exports were nearly 2.4 times higher than in 1931 andimports 2.2 times higher. The labour movement by 1936 had moved awayfrom defensive protest against the dismissal of workers towards demands forwage rises.3

For no group in Japanese society or within the establishment, with the exceptionof some Kwantung Army plotters, did the year 1931 constitute the beginning ofa ‘fifteen-year war’. For the Foreign Ministry, for Japanese intellectuals andpolitical activists, for ordinary Japanese and even for the army at home, theManchurian crisis had an end just as it had had a beginning. Only for theKwantung Army and presumably the people of North China did war continue. It

220 Conclusion

was the period 1937–45, not 1931–33, that ‘turned war and peace into thedominant cultural motifs of modern Japanese society’.4 Even after full-scale warwith China began in 1937, as a matter of fact, life for many Japanese continuedmuch as normal, the government’s exhortations to spiritual readiness for warnotwithstanding. Only in 1939–40 did the realities of the conflict with Chinabegin to impinge on daily life in tangible ways that could not be ignored, as wagesand prices were frozen; rice became scarce, cotton goods, matches and sugarwere rationed; rural areas began to suffer from labour shortages thanks both tomilitary service and the increasing demands of heavy industry; and in the citiesnew administrative arrangements were put in place through neighbourhoodassociations and other organisations.5 Such changes had not occurred in themuch smaller-scale fighting of the early 1930s. While the Japanese conquest ofManchukuo is certainly linked to later full-scale war through the series ofmilitary attempts to increase Japan’s control in North China from mid-1935onwards, for Japan itself, in contrast, war stopped in 1933.

Contemporary observers noted a slackening of the consciousness of a crisis atvarious times from mid-1933 onwards, or even earlier in some cases. Back inMay 1932, one writer in Fujo shinbun had already sounded the end of theinternational dimension: problems associated with Manchuria, Shanghai andGeneva had reached a hiatus, and the public interest had apparently turned todomestic matters once again, according to this writer.6 For US AmbassadorJoseph Grew, in retrospect the period between February 1933 and February1936 constituted ‘Three Years of Calm before the Storm’.7 A British member ofparliament visiting Japan judged in November 1935 that parliamentary controlwas reasserting itself: ‘militarism’ was waning , the Okada Keisuke Cabinet wasresolved to bring ‘the more turbulent elements in the army’ to a ‘proper disci-pline’, and the army itself had ‘undergone a conversion towards moderation’.8Public discussion of the issues surrounding the Kwantung Army’s action hadbegun to die away early in 1933. When the Japanese delegation walked out of theLeague on 24 February, few were surprised. Newspapers and journals returnedto their usual concerns.

The idea of crisis itself was less easily relinquished, undoubtedly because itsuited the authorities, and in particular the military, to maintain such a usefulrhetorical framework. More crises were accordingly manufactured. In the mid-1930s, the most prominent of them focused attention on the notion that in 1936,Japan would apparently fall into some kind of dangerous strategic limbo onabrogation of both the Washington Treaty and the London Naval Treaty. Theforthcoming ‘crisis of 1935–36’ was discussed everywhere from late 1933 on-wards, though the army abandoned the topic quite quickly. In January 1935, theSeiyukai politician and Deputy Speaker of the Lower House, Uehara Etsujiro,declared that though the term ‘hijoji’ (crisis) was still in use, the nature of this crisishad changed in the past two years. Previously, Japan had been faced externallywith the Manchurian question and the possibility of withdrawal from theLeague, and internally with economic difficulties. However, Manchurian issueshad reached a hiatus and the question of Japan’s relationship with the League

Conclusion 221

had been peaceably settled. ‘Hijoji’, Uehara pointed out, now referred to the1935–36 crisis.9 Uehara was one of those who were critical of the constant talk ofthe forthcoming crisis, branding it as an unwarranted exaggeration of Japan’ssituation, but others took it more seriously. A writer in a women’s magazinewarned in dire tones early in 1934 that only the blind could argue that resolutionof the Manchurian Incident and withdrawal from the League had brought theend of Japan’s crisis, for the nation was still surrounded by dangers, which ifignored might have disastrous consequences. Again, the crisis now faced by allJapanese was the one approaching in 1935–36.10 For Ie no hikari, too, the ‘crisis’still existed, but ‘hijoji’ now meant the forthcoming naval crisis. Would Japan winif it fought Russia or America, the magazine calmly wondered?11 When full-scalewar with China eventually did begin, Ie no hikari reverted to a familiar role,publishing ‘ballads from the North China warfront’, declaring that ‘we are thelight of Asia’ and strenuously advocating ‘national unity’.12

An examination of the ways in which events in Manchuria, Shanghai andGeneva were constructed and apprehended at the time they were taking placethus reveals that they should not, in the social and political sense, be regarded asthe start of a chain of events leading directly to Pearl Harbor and Japan’s finaldefeat in war. Rather, they constituted a more or less self-contained episode thatended in 1933, either with Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations orwith the Truce of Tangku a few months later. In analytical terms as well, theearly 1930s remain qualititively different from the period after 1937, when Japanwas engaged in outright war. Critical features associated with the post-1937years are missing in the early 1930s. New social, political and ideologicalstructures considered integral to the war-time regime are not evident duringthe Manchurian crisis. Even in 1942, censorship did not eliminate publisheddissent; in 1932 it was much less comprehensive. Official propaganda was widelydisseminated during the Manchurian crisis, and the army was willing enough totake advantage of civilian initiatives, as can be seen in the case of the rapidmilitary co-optation of the Women’s Association for National Defence, whichhad begun on a very small scale as the initiative of a few women in Osaka. Gooduse was also made of an existing army campaign, the Kokubo shiso fukyu undo, orcampaign to spread the ideology of national defence, which had been underwaysince 1930. Beyond such opportunistic action, however, neither government norarmy initiated any new structure or campaign in order systematically to mobilisesupport for the war effort in Manchuria. It required outright war with China toproduce something on the scale of the National Spiritual Mobilisation Movementof 1937–40. In the early 1930s, by contrast, the major campaign for nationalintegration and mobilisation was the economic revitalisation movement, whichaimed not at inculcating support for overseas aggression but rather at over-coming the disastrous effects of the depression at home. In the early 1930s,furthermore, there was little attempt outside the Kwantung Army to persuadeinfluential elements in China of the justice of Japan’s cause. Though diplomatsand intellectuals spent vast amounts of time and energy on efforts to persuade theWestern powers that Japan had the right to exploit Manchuria, it was not until

222 Conclusion

some years later that civilian minds turned to the task of convincing the Chinesethemselves, through the rhetorical apparatus of ‘Greater East Asia’, that Japan’sactions were righteous and benevolent.

The Manchurian crisis in historical perspective

The fact that reactions to the Manchurian crisis within Japan were ambivalentand contradictory does not mean that the early 1930s were irrelevant to thebuilding of Japanese nationalism, to the spread of military values throughoutsociety, or indeed to the chain of events leading to full-scale war. It is essential torecognise, in fact, that the early 1930s were a crucial period in the relations betweenstate and society. Everyday normalcy, though important to acknowledge, cannotexplain what happened in the 1930s as a whole; without an understanding of thenexus between high politics and everyday reality, the singularity of the decadecannot be fathomed. The events of the years 1931–33 did not lead inexorably toJapan’s involvement in the Second World War, and Japanese society was notirrevocably captured by ‘war fever’ between 1931 and 1933. Nevertheless thoseyears mattered greatly in the overall scheme of things.

In social terms, the Manchurian crisis neither produced nor revealed IenagaSaburo’s ‘nationalistic people full of naive ardour for the war effort’.13 Mindlesspopular nationalism cannot be blamed for Japan’s war against Asian and Westernenemies, and historians must continue to look very carefully at specific events,decisions and ideas in seeking to explain why Japan went to war in 1937 and1941. On the other hand, the Manchurian crisis had the effect of greatly reducingthe range of debate and opinion occurring within the public sphere in Japan – notprimarily through the efforts of the censors, but rather because of the criticalchanges that occurred in the thought and behaviour of groups and individualswho might have offered alternative viewpoints. Specifically, the Manchuriancrisis was a major factor in the collapse of the Communists as an organised forcein Japan, and thus in removing the most consistently dissenting voice from thepublic arena or, at least, from those parts of the public arena accessible to such atiny, illegal and harassed group. On a broader scale, the events of the early 1930salso forced more moderate and much more visible groups and individuals toclarify their relationship with the state. The willingness of labour, feminist andother groups to co-operate with the state’s projects in the early 1930s did notnecessarily mean they would always support military solutions to Japan’sproblems. Doubtless, however, those who sought to fashion a more integratedsociety were heartened by the ‘more definitely national’ outlook of such groups,to use Delmer Brown’s phrase.14 In addition, the pro-state positions adopted bymoderate intellectuals and various interest groups between 1931 and 1933 madeit extremely difficult for them to separate themselves from state priorities fromthen on, and it became correspondingly less likely that they would retain inde-pendent voices in any later tests of their loyalties. Thus, their reaction in the early1930s paved the way for the state’s acquisition of much greater power over thepopulation later in the decade by significantly narrowing the range of opinion

Conclusion 223

publicly available to other Japanese, and by providing the precedent for wide-ranging endorsement or at least tolerance of official priorities in later years.

The Manchurian crisis also shows clearly that the mainstream press and anumber of important organisations were prepared specifically to support militaryaction as an instrument of foreign policy in the early 1930s, and that at the least,few groups or individuals were willing publicly to criticise the army. Japan hadnot had the experience of armed conflict which produced widespread revulsionagainst war in Europe after 1914–18, and the history of the wars Japan had foughthad by now been fashioned into a triumphal narrative of power and success.Further, the army itself enjoyed a comparatively secure status by virtue of itsconstitutional privilege of direct access to the emperor and other factors and, aswe have noted, seldom came under sustained or effective criticism from the leftor from moderate intellectuals. At the same time, it had had its ups and downs inthe recent past and continued to have them throughout the 1930s, with notablepublic criticism of the military re-emerging by the end of 1933 and again in 1936.

Viewed from this perspective, the Manchurian Incident clearly does not markthe military’s definitive rise to power in domestic politics, as has often beenclaimed. As before, the army and navy continued to operate politically as twoamong several institutions competing for power and resources. Certainly, in theyear of the Manchurian Incident itself, army leaders had no reason to be com-placent, given the economic depression and the criticism of military expenditurethat had surfaced throughout the 1920s. But the Manchurian crisis was good forthe military. The success of the Kwantung Army’s action in particularstrengthened it both materially and in terms of its public image. Undeniably, thecrisis of 1931–33 was an important landmark for the army, providing it with anopportunity to show what it could do and, once Japan had recognised thecreation of ‘Manchukuo’, arming it with a powerful new argument for anincrease in funding, given Japan’s commitment to protect and develop its weaker‘ally’. Though political battles over budgets continued, the stark fact is that in1937, the military succeeded in claiming 70 per cent of national expenditure,compared to less than 30 per cent in 1931.15

The longer-term significance of the Manchurian Incident extends beyondmilitary considerations into the very processes by which Japanese people in the1930s constructed a sense of themselves as a nation and as a society. The eventsof 1931–33 undoubtedly contributed to Japanese militarism, if ‘militarism’ refersto the ongoing project of creating a society in which military values aredominant, and which exhibits a readiness to resort to military solutions to foreignand domestic problems. In fact the Manchurian crisis boosted militarism inseveral ways. First, it provided a context in which military ideals were glorifiedin a variety of media, after a period in which, as noted earlier, the military hadnot enjoyed unequivocal public support. Second, the crisis over Manchuriafurnished a series of public opportunities for the celebration of ‘nation’ in apractical way – opportunities ranging from village-level gatherings to pack‘comfort kits’ for soldiers at the front, to large urban rallies in support of armyaction in north-east China or calling for Japan’s withdrawal from the League of

224 Conclusion

Nations. Third, as we have seen, the effect of the Manchurian crisis was ulti-mately to narrow the range of alternative viewpoints that were commonly heardin Japanese society. The production of militarism, presumably, is never com-plete, since other social and political ideals compete with military-based values inall or most societies. In this sense the Manchurian crisis starkly highlightedmilitary values by downgrading any others that might have competed with them.

Historians have long recognised that the Manchurian Incident also streng-thened Japanese nationalism. Scholarly perceptions of nationalism in this periodhave typically been narrow ones, however, and this study suggests that pre-vailing notions are too simplistic. Even within officialdom, let alone outside it, animportant diversity of opinion existed in the early 1930s in relation to theManchurian project. At the same time, the different arms of the establishmentand the factions within them certainly shared substantial common ground – mostbasically and most significantly, a common commitment to ‘the nation’. In atestament to the success of the project from Meiji onwards to develop awidespread ‘sense of nation’, by the early 1930s, all the elites, as well as manyoutside their ranks, wanted to claim the terrain of ‘national unity’ and ‘nationalinterest’. By this time, the rhetorical concept of the nation was well established,and political leaders, bureaucrats and military figures were long accustomed tomake appeals to it. Policies were frequently justified in the name of the nation, inan attempt to claim the moral high ground and place the projects of particulargroups beyond criticism.

Yet the terrain of the nation was evidently a shifting one. The army justified itssubjugation of Manchuria as an act essential for the whole Japanese nation,because of the importance of Manchuria for Japanese survival and prosperity.Civilian bureaucrats on the other hand often asserted that it was economicrevitalisation that would solve the nation’s ills and party politicians justified theirown particular policies as best serving the nation. By now there was no necessaryagreement about who represented the nation, or about how the nation could bestbe served in any given situation, especially in a crisis. Thus the army competedwith bureaucrats and with the majority party in the Diet to speak for the peopleand to propose solutions for ‘national’ crises. The concept of a ‘national essence’– the distillation of Japaneseness – was quite generally accepted, but there was noconsistent view as to what actually constituted that essence. Was it the spirit ofthe army as exhibited in glorious deeds on the battlefield? Was it village auto-nomy and the spirit of self-help as displayed through the economic revitalisationmovement? Or was it revolutionary action to establish a new and purer govern-ment to replace the apparent corruption and decadence of the existing one?

The events of the early 1930s undoubtedly stimulated the ‘desire to preserveor enhance [Japan’s] national or cultural identity’ at a time when that identitywas considered to be threatened by both external and internal forces.16 Likemilitarism, however, nationalism is never completely achieved. As we have seen,ordinary Japanese cannot be considered as unequivocally nationalistic in theaftermath of the Manchurian crisis. The nation had receded markedly in theirconsciousness by the second half of 1933, let alone 1935 or 1936. More signifi-

Conclusion 225

cantly, however, an analysis of the Manchurian crisis shows that there were infact competing nationalisms in Japan in the early 1930s, with some emphasisingdomestic renovation and Japan-centred solutions to the crisis of the early 1930s,and as such remaining cool to the more aggressive and outward-looking expres-sions of nationalism identified with the Kwantung Army. During the Manchuriancrisis, many officials as well as civilian ideologues proved themselves to be patrioticand nationalistic without any necessary commitment to overseas expansion or tothe army’s solutions to Japan’s difficulties. Not even the right-wing revolution-aries, on the whole, were especially keen to support the Manchurian venture.The early 1930s were characterised by great fluidity, with rival visions of nationcontending in the public domain. While an emphasis on nationalism, its powerand its consequences in the 1930s and beyond is entirely justified, we need amore complex understanding of the various elements that jostled for prominencewhenever words like nation, national unity and national interest were brandished.Nationalism in this period was clearly not the preserve of the military. Nor, at thisstage, did it necessarily imply acceptance of the army’s agenda.

More broadly still, the Manchurian crisis was critical in the shifting process ofdefining Japanese identity. Thus the events of 1931–33 and the actual acquisitionof Manchuria as Japanese-controlled territory added to the stock of nationalistrhetoric, as previous episodes had also done, most recently the controversy in1930 over the London Naval Treaty. The military invasion of Manchuria, forexample, together with the beginnings of the movement to send rural emigrantsto the region, reinforced constructions of Japan as small and crowded butnevertheless vigorous and economically and culturally advanced. The disputewith the League of Nations further defined Japan as alone, embattled andrighteous. Encounters with the various inhabitants of Manchuria, principally theChinese, provided Japan with new material to reinforce existing images of thealien ‘other’. Though the issue was complicated by the idea of common Confu-cian heritage, Japanese ideologues were able to present their nation’s soldiers andsettlers at the very least as ‘elder brothers’ who would guide and lead theinhabitants of Manchuria to civilisation and prosperity. Less gentle portrayalsincluded presentations of Japan as a nation of brave and disciplined fighters incomparison to the cowardly, disorganised Chinese.

In such ways the Manchurian crisis both reinforced and extended someexclusivist types of Japanese nationalism, ultimately helping to define Japan forand to its people. In fact, orthodox propaganda about the Manchurian crisisreinvigorated and extended an older and dangerously simplistic narrative aboutJapan’s place in the world: the perceived history of Japan as victim. Standardinterpretations of the events of 1931–33 emphasised China’s scorn for Japan andits unreasonable anti-Japanese behaviour, as well as unfavourable and unfairWestern reactions to the Kwantung Army’s actions and Western ignorance ofthe ‘true situation’ in Asia. Such interpretations linked backwards in time to theTriple Intervention of 1895, when diplomatic pressure by three Europeancountries had forced Japan to give up territory it had won by ‘legitimate’ meansin the 1894–95 war with China; the failure to achieve a racial equality clause at

226 Conclusion

Versailles in 1919; and the passage of the US Immigration Act of 1924, whichmade further Japanese emigration to the United States virtually impossible. Atthe same time, the narrative of Japan-as-victim skipped over the more positiveand inclusive self-image that had been cultivated during 1920s ‘co-operativediplomacy’. Ironically, while the substance of ‘co-operative diplomacy’ by andlarge continued for some time after 1933, despite Japan’s departure from theLeague of Nations, the rhetoric of isolation reached new levels.

Events of mid-decade added their contribution. In 1934 the Okada Cabinetformally decided that in two years Japan would abrogate the international navaltreaties to which it was signatory. Though many perceptive observers, includingthe politician Uehara mentioned earlier, criticised the fuss over the supposed‘crisis of 1935–36’ as a transparent means by which the military sought merely toincrease its share of the national budget, the fact remains that it would have beenunthinkable in Japan in the 1920s for a government to opt out of such inter-national agreements completely, though haggling over their provisions wouldhave been quite possible. International tensions surrounding the creation ofManchukuo had no doubt played their part in persuading Japanese leaders torefashion their strategic plans. In the meantime, public discussion of the potentialconsequences of abrogating the naval treaties only reinforced the image andthe vocabulary of an isolated Japan. On the trade front, moreover, Japaneseexports soared in the mid-1930s, but so also did Western accusations of unfaircompetition through the payment of low wages. Once again, the impression wasreinforced that Japan would always be maligned no matter how justified itsactions or how merited its success.

Japanese society and politics, then, were significantly changed by the Man-churian crisis of 1931–33. Yet the nation had by no means embarked irreversiblyon any road to further war. Many other events and decisions would be requiredbefore Japan was committed to that path. In terms of the experience of mostJapanese, life had returned to normal by mid-1933 at latest. The state itself wasnot functioning as a monolithic whole, and had not capitulated to the military.Still less had it fashioned the various interests and groups in Japanese society intoany coherent whole by the end of the Manchurian crisis. Politics and societywere still marked by pluralism, despite the disasters of the early 1930s. Nouniform sense of nation or culture permeated Japanese society as it movedforward to meet the new conditions of the middle of the decade and beyond, andoutside the army, there was no sense of engagement in a continuous war.Pluralism survived to such an extent, in fact, that in 1937 the government stillperceived a need for ideological standardisation to reshape society so as tosupport war with China. ‘National unity’, ‘loyalty and patriotism’ and ‘untiringperseverance’ were apparently still lacking among the population, prompting thelaunch of three years of ‘national spiritual mobilisation’.17 Until the creation inOctober 1940 of the Imperial Rule Assistance Association with the aim ofinstituting a new ruling structure, even the establishment itself was consideredtoo unruly and too ‘political’ for the demands of a nation which was by nowunequivocally at war.

Conclusion 227

Notes1 On Germany see Detlev J. K. Peukert, The Weimar Republic: The Crisis of Classical

Modernity, trans. Richard Deveson, London, Penguin, 1991, p. 257. On Britain seeAndrew Thorpe, Britain in the 1930s: The Deceptive Decade, Oxford, Blackwell, 1992,p. 28.

2 Nakamura, History of Showa Japan, p. 106.3 Banno, Nihon seijishi, p. 219.4 Thomas R. H. Havens, Valley of Darkness: The Japanese People and World War Two,

New York, W. W. Norton and Co., 1978, p. 11.5 Ibid., pp. 33–52.6 ‘Fasshizumi doko: wagakuni no fassho undo no genjo’, FS, 22 May 1932, p. 4.7 Grew, Ten Years, pp. 73–165.8 Ernest H. Pickering, Japan’s Place in the Modern World, London, George G. Harrap,

1936, pp. 223–4.9 Quoted in Banno, Kindai Nihon no kokka kozo, pp. 220–1; see also p. 226.

10 Saito Atsuhiro, ‘Hijoji no igi to sokoku Nihon no kiken sen – kiki wa 1935nen ka1936nen ka’, Fujin koron, January 1934, pp. 319–23.

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Index

Abe Isoo 164Adachi Kenzo 23aeroplanes, built from public donations

133, 160, 188; see also fund-raisingagrarianism (nohonshugi ) 135, 140, 210Agricultural Co-operative Association 147agriculture, Japan 125–7Agriculture and Forestries Ministry 91Aikawa Gisuke 188Aikoku fujinkai see Patriotic Women’s

AssociationAikyokai 118Akaike Atsushi 57–8Akamatsu Katsumaro 106, 163, 164, 203Arahata Kanson 107Araki Sadao, General 65–6, 67, 79, 93,

98–9, 129, 186army see Japanese armyAsahi (newspaper): and anti-Japanese

movement in China 175–6; collectionof relief packages 133; fund-raisingcampaigns 159, 160; reporting ofManchurian crisis 44, 45–6, 47

Asakura Tsuneto 188Ashida Hitoshi 88Aso Hisashi 162, 163, 164, 165Association for the Propagation of

National Defence Philosophy(Kokubo shiso fukyu kyokai) 160

Association of Japanese Spinners in China176

Awaya Kentaro 8, 130, 131, 183

bandits, suppression of in Manchuria61–2

Banno Junji 85, 98‘beautiful stories’ (bidan) 47, 90, 142, 151,

196Bix, Herbert P. 80–1

Boulding, Kenneth E. 188Broadcasting Council 39Brown, Delmer 222business: fund-raising 159–60;

importance of 157–8; in Manchuria185–9; reaction to Manchurian crisis181–3, 187–9; small and mediumenterprises 170–3; see also chambers ofcommerce and industry

Cabinet Information Committee(Naikaku joho iinkai) 52, 53

censorship: in Japan 30–6; of theManchurian crisis 36–8, 40–1; of radioand film 38–40

Central Hotokukai 90, 140Chamberlain, Neville 97Chamberlin, William 150chambers of commerce and industry 172;

attempts to influence Western opinion179–81; reaction to Manchurian crisis175–9

Chang Hsueh-liang 17, 24, 83, 86Chang Tso-lin 17, 18, 24, 45, 86Changchun 18Chian keisatsuho see Public Peace Police

LawChiang Kai-shek: fights against Japan 26;

Northern Expedition (1928) 16;reaction to Manchurian Incident 24

Chiisagata-gun, Nagano Prefecture:petition movement 137–8; reaction toManchurian crisis 135–6; see alsoseinendan

China: boycotts of Japanese goods 173–5,177, 179; nationalist movement 63;reaction to Manchurian Incident 24;relations with Japan 18–19, 98; seen asunstable by Japan 61

246 Index

China Incident (1937) 2, 31Chinchow: bombing of (October 1931) 1,

83; death of Japanese journalists at 45Chinese Eastern Railway 97Chuo koron (Central Review) 31, 32, 33,

34, 46, 58, 69chusho kogyo (small and medium industry)

170–3; see also chambers of commerceand industry

Communists: censorship in Japan 31–2;reaction to Manchurian crisis 105–7,218–19; trial of in Tokyo 105, 106

Connors, Lesley 79–80countryside: army and 6, 127–32;

conditions in 125–7, 129–30;newspaper circulation 139–40;propaganda directed at 139–46, 198;reaction to Manchurian crisis 132–9;‘war fever’ and 151; women 208–12

crisis of 1935–36 67, 99, 213, 220–1, 226Crowley, James B. 2

Dai Nihon fujinkai see Greater JapanWomen’s Association

Dai Nihon rengo fujinkai see GreaterJapan Federation of Women’sOrganisations

Dan Takuma 118Dentsu (news agency) 53diplomats see Foreign MinistryDoihara Kenji, Colonel 20‘dollar-buying incident’ (1930) 129Domei tsushinsha 53donations see fund-raisingDore, Ronald 130, 150

East Asia Research Centre 46, 47Eastern Conference (Toho kaigi) 16education: propaganda and 53–5Eguchi Keiichi 8, 183Election Purification Movement 93, 100Embree, Ella 150, 208–9, 211Embree, John 53–4, 139, 140, 150, 208–9,

211

fascism, in Japan 8, 89–90, 99February 26 Incident (1936) 4, 93, 99,

150Federation of Tokyo Business

Associations (Tokyo jitsugyo kumiairengo) 171

Federation of Women’s Associations ofWestern Japan (Zen-Kensai fujinrengokai) 202

Fifteenth May Incident see May 15Incident (1932)

films: censorship of in Japan 39–40;depiction of Manchurian crisis 50–2;popularity of in Japan 38

Fletcher, Miles 7, 180Foreign Ministry 4, 19, 32, 78, 93–6,

96–8, 218, 219, 221–2Fujii Hitoshi 118–19, 130Fujii Tadatoshi 132, 160, 161Fujin koron (Women’s Review) 199, 213Fujin kurabu (Women’s Club) 198, 199,

200Fujiwara Ginjiro 188Fujo shinbun (Women’s and Girls’

Newspaper) 110–11, 113, 119, 198–9,199–200, 213, 220

Fukuoka nichinichi (newspaper), reportingof Manchurian crisis 45, 46

Fukushima Shiro 111, 119Fumin kyokai 210Funatsu Shin’ichiro 174fund-raising, to support Japanese soldiers

133–4, 159–61, 171, 175, 201, 202; seealso aeroplanes

fuseji (in censorship) 32, 33, 35, 135Fusen kakutoku domei see Women’s

Suffrage League

Garon, Sheldon 7, 90, 162, 196General Alliance of Japanese Labour

Unions (Nihon rodo kumiai sorengo)165–6

Gleason, Alan H. 188Gluck, Carol 63, 68Go Seinosuke 172, 186, 188Gondo Seikyo 118Greater Japan Federation of Women’s

Organisations (Dai Nihon rengofujinkai) 201, 203

Greater Japan Women’s Association (DaiNihon fujinkai) 208

Grew, Joseph 98, 186, 220

Hadley, Eleanor 188Hamada Kunimatsu 99Hando Kazutoshi 46Harada Kumao 62Hashimoto Kingoro, Lieutenant-Colonel

84, 117Hata Ikuhiko 78Hatanaka Shigeo 33, 34Hataraku fujin (Working Woman) 203Havens, Thomas 130–1

Index 247

Hayashi Kyujiro 78Hayashi Senjuro, General 67Heads of Towns and Villages Association

137Heilungkiang province 15hijoji (crisis) 62–7, 220–1Hijoji Nippon (film) 53, 65Hirota Koki 97Hochi shinbun (newspaper), reporting of

Manchurian crisis 44, 45Home Ministry, reaction to Manchurian

crisis 90–3, 218; see also Shimin,censorship

Honjo Shigeru 83, 176Hoover, Herbert 61Hosono Shigekatsu 20

Ichikawa Fusae 64, 202, 204, 207, 212Ichiki Kitokuro 65Ie no hikari (Light of the Home): on

emigration to Manchuria 146, 147–8,152; endorsement of military service141–2; and hijoji 221; and ‘Japanesespirit’ 142–3; on League of Nations144–5; low opinion of Chinese soldiers143; reporting of Manchurian crisis143–4, 145, 146, 149, 151, 198;support for agricultural co-operatives140–1

Ienaga Saburo 2, 6, 30, 222Ikei Masaru 46Imperial Agricultural Association

(Teikoku nokai) 126Imperial Rescript on Education 54Imperial Rule Assistance Association

(Taisei yokusankai) 165, 226Important Industries Control Law ( Juyo

sangyo tosei ho) 171Inabata Katsutaro 172, 179, 191Industrial Patriotic Society (Sangyo

hokukukai) 165Information Committee (Joho iinkai) 53Inomata Tsunao 31–2Inoue Junnosuke 23, 63, 86, 111, 118Inoue Nissho 117, 118Institute of Pacific Relations (IPR)

111–14, 119, 162, 166International Labour Organisation (ILO)

164–5Inukai Tsuyoshi 23, 63, 79, 89, 118Iriye, Akira 82Isaka Takashi 186Ishibashi Tanzan 59, 69, 108, 178Ishii Itaro 78, 178, 182

Ishii Kikujiro 58Ishiwara Kanji, Lieutenant-Colonel 18,

19, 82, 85, 184Itagaki Seishiro, Lieutenant-Colonel 18Ito Kameo 144–5‘Iwasaki clique’ 129Iwauchi Tomie 204Izumida (village), percentage of

population in army 136

Japan: agriculture 125–7; censorship30–41; Chinese boycotts of goods173–5, 177, 179; fascism 8, 89–90, 99;foreign relations after ceasefire (May1933) 96–9; interests in Manchuria15–18; militarism 4–5, 6, 220, 223–4;nationalism 4–5, 224–6; propaganda30, 55–6; relations with China 18–19,98; relationship between state andpeople 7–8; rice production 126,127; rural conditions 125–7; silkproduction 125–6; unemployment158, 219

Japan Broadcasting Commission (NHK)50

Japan–China Business Association (Nikkajitsugyo kyokai) 187

Japan–China Economic Association 176Japan Communist Party: ‘recantations’

106–7, 218–19; trial of members 106Japan Economic Federation (Nihon keizai

renmeikai) 172, 187Japan Federation of Labour (Nihon rodo

sodomei) 165Japan Industrial Club (Nihon kogyo

kurabu) 172, 187Japan Industrial Labour Club (Nihon

sangyo rodo kurabu) 167Japan Labour–Farmer Party (Nihon

ronoto) 107, 203Japan Labour Union Alliance (Nihon

rodo kumiai domei) 166Japan Proletarian Culture League (Nihon

puroretaria bunka renmei) 203Japan Spinners’ Association 174, 176Japan State Socialist Party (Nihon kokka

shakaito) 163Japan Times 179Japanese army: after Manchurian crisis

96–7, 220; attempted coups 84, 117;and emperor 81–2; and Manchuria56–7, 82–4, 224; and propaganda 53;and public 98–9, 223, 224; relationshipwith countryside 6, 127–32; see also

248 Index

Araki Sadao; Kwantung Army;militarism; nationalism

Japanese navy: attitude to ManchurianIncident 88; propaganda story; see alsocrisis of 1935–36; Fujii Hitoshi;London Naval Treaty; militarism

Jehol province, Kwantung Armyadvances into (1932) 26

Jiji shinpo (newspaper), reporting ofManchurian crisis 44, 45, 47, 66

Jikyoku doshikai (committee forpropaganda) 52–3

jiriki (self-help) 91, 141jizen keikoku (pre-publication warnings)

33–4Joho iinkai see Information Committeejunshi (loyal suicide) 52Juyo sangyo tosei ho see Important

Industries Control Law

kabuki: and ‘three human bombs’ 49Kaizo (Reconstruction) 32, 69Kakegawa Tomiko 30kakushin kanryo (reform bureaucrats) 93Kamei Kan’ichiro 113Kanagawa Prefecture, fund-raising

activities 134Kanaya Hanzo 19, 22, 82, 84Kasza, Gregory J. 32, 35, 39Katayama Sen 31keizai kosei undo (economic revitalisation

movement) 91–2, 138, 211Kellogg–Briand Pact (Pact of Paris,

Anti-War Pact) (1928) 60, 108, 109,112, 202

ken’eki (rights and interests), as sloganduring Manchurian crisis 57–9

Ketsumeidan (Blood Pledge Corps) 38;assassinations (1932) 117, 118, 119

Kiguchi Kohei 54Kingu (King) 140Kirin province 15, 82Kita Ikki 116, 118Kiyosawa Kiyoshi 108kodo (Imperial Way) 89, 93Kofu City: dispatch of relief parcels from

132; fund-raising activities 134Koiso Kuniaki, Lieutenant-General

185–6Kokkashakai-shugi fujin domei see

National Socialist Women’sLeague

Kokubo fujinkai see Women’s Associationfor National Defence

Kokubo shiso fukyu kyokai seeAssociation for the Propagation ofNational Defence Philosophy

Kokubo shiso fukyu undo 6, 221Kokuhonsha (National Foundation

Society) 116Kokumin shinbun (People’s Newspaper) 20;

reporting of Manchurian crisis 44Kokuryukai (Amur River Society, or

Black Dragon Society) 116Kokusai chishiki (International

Understanding) 46; reporting ofManchurian crisis 47

Konoe Fumimaro 113Koonz, Claudia 212Koppu see Japan Proletarian Culture

LeagueKuhara Fusanosuke 87Kuomintang (Nationalist Party) 173Kurimoto Yunosuke 178Kwantung Army 6, 15, 18: advances into

Jehol province (1932) 26; afterManchurian crisis 96, 219, 223;bombing of Chinchow 1, 83; cabinetand 78–9; creation of Manchukuo and85–6; emperor and 80–1; Manchuriaand 82–5; propaganda in Manchukuo95; suppression of bandits 62; see alsoIshiwara Kanji; Japanese army;Manchurian Incident

Kyofukai see Women’s ChristianTemperance Union of Japan

Lamont, Thomas W. 95Lansing, Robert 59Large, Stephen 80, 165League of Nations: and imperial court 81;

investigates Sino-Japanese dispute 1,24–6, 85, 95; and Japanese moderates91, 110, 111, 112, 113–14, 119, 198;Japanese withdrawal from (1933) 4,26, 82, 96, 144–5, 220, 221, 225, 226;and Foreign Ministry 96, 97, 218; seealso Lytton Report

Liaoning province 15, 82Lindley, Sir Francis 61, 84, 95London Naval Treaty (1930) 45, 67, 79,

81, 115, 117, 118, 220, 225Lytton Report 19, 25–6, 47, 63, 81, 180,

187

Ma Chan-shan, General 24MacArthur, General Douglas 30McCormack, Gavan 58

Index 249

Machida Shiro 46–7Mainichi (newspaper group) 44, 45, 46, 47,

48, 51, 56, 65, 160, 210Mainichi Daily News 51Maki, John M. 2Makino Nobuaki, Count 80, 85Mamore Manmo (film) 51, 53Manchuria: big business and 185–9;

emigration to 146–9, 200; Japanesebusinesses in 172; Japanese interestsin 15–18, 181, 183–5; Japanese‘rights’ to 57–9; Japanese ‘sacrifices’in 59–60; Sino-Japanese tensions in(1931) 18–20; small businessopportunities in 184; suppression ofbandits 61–2; zaibatsu and 183–5; seealso Kwantung Army; ManchurianIncident

Manchurian Incident (18 September1931) 1; army reaction to 82–6;bureaucrats’ reaction to 89–93;business reaction to 181–3, 187–9;Cabinet reaction to 78–9; ceasefire(May 1933) 96; censorship and 30–2,36–8; chambers of commerce reactionto 175–9; Communist Party reactionto 105–7; Court reaction to 79–80;diplomats’ explanation of 93–6; effectson Japan 3–9, 222–7; emperor’sreaction to 80–2; historicalperspectives 222–7; intellectualreaction to 108–9; internationalreaction to 23–6, 95; Japanesejustification of 60; left-wing reaction to107; liberal reaction to 108; militarismand 4–5, 6, 223–4; moderate reactionto 109–14; nationalism and 4–5,224–6; navy reaction to 88; numberof Japanese deaths in 151; origins of 1,18; political party reaction to 86–9;reaction to in Japan 20–3, 31–2,218–22; reporting of in Japan 44–70;right-wing reaction to 114–19; ruralreaction to 132–9, 208–12;significance of 2–3, 222–7; tradeunions’ reaction to 165–8; women’sreaction to 196–213; workers’ politicalparties’ reaction to 162–5

Manchurian Youth League 17Manchukuo: creation of 85–6; declares

independence (1 March 1932) 1;economic policies 185; Japanesepropaganda in 95; Lytton Report on26; recognition of 46–7

Manmo shoshihon kaihatsu annai (A Guide tothe Development of Manchuria andMongolia by Small Capital) 184

March Incident (1931) 117, 163Maruyama Masao 67, 89, 90Matsuoka Yosuke 26, 56, 96, 98, 180Matsutani Yojiro 164May 15 Incident (1932) 118, 119, 130Meiji Insurance 160Meiji period, censorship system 32militarism: in Japan 4–5, 6, 223–4Minami Jiro, General 19, 22, 82, 84, 86,

188Ministry of Overseas Affairs 148Minobe Tatsukichi 89Minseito Party: criticisms of army 99;

reaction to Manchurian crisis 78–9,86, 88, 89; see also Wakatsuki Reijiro

minzoku kyowa (racial harmony) 95Mitani Eiko 205Mitchell, Richard 32Mitsubishi 159, 160, 187Mitsui 159, 160, 170, 187–8Mori Kaku 79, 86, 87Morishima Morito 78Motoyama Hikoichi 46Mukden Japanese Chamber of

Commerce 181Murakami Hyoe 57Musan fujin domei see Proletarian

Women’s League

Nabeyama Sadachika 106, 107Nagano Prefecture, opposition to war in

Manchuria 136–7Nagata Tetsuzan, Colonel 56, 82Naikaku joho iinkai see Cabinet

Information CommitteeNakamura Shintaro, Captain, murder of

( June 1931) 19Nakano Tsutomu 48Nasu Hiroshi 147National Federation of Industrial

Organisations (Zenkoku sangyodantai rengokai) 172

National Labour–Farmer Masses Party(Zenkoku rono taishuto) 158, 162,164, 165

National Socialist Women’s League(Kokkashakai-shugi fujin domei) 203

National Spiritual MobilisationMovement 93, 100, 221

nationalism: in Japan 4–5, 224–6navy see Japanese navy

250 Index

Newspaper Law (Shinbunho, 1909) 33,35, 36

newspapers: circulation in thecountryside 139–40; fund-raisingcampaigns 159, 160; reportingof Manchurian crisis 44–9,110–11

Nihon keizai renmeikai see JapanEconomic Federation

Nihon kogyo kurabu see Japan IndustrialClub

Nihon kokka shakaito see Japan StateSocialist Party

Nihon puroretaria bunka renmei see JapanProletarian Culture League

Nihon rodo kumiai domei see JapanLabour Union Alliance

Nihon rodo kumiai sorengo see GeneralAlliance of Japanese Labour Unions

Nihon rodo kurabu 165Nihon rodo sodomei see Japan Federation

of LabourNihon ronoto see Japan Labour–Farmer

PartyNihon sangyo rodo kurabu see Japan

Industrial Labour ClubNikka jitsugyo kyokai see Japan–China

Business AssociationNikkatsu ( Japan Motion Picture

Company) 51Nine-Power Pact (1922) 59, 79, 108Nineteenth Route Army 24Ninomiya Harushige, Lieutenant-General

20, 83Nippon shinbun nenkan ( Japan Newspaper

Annual) 45Nish, Ian 2Nishio Suehiro 113Nishiyama Koichi 134Nissan 188Nitobe Inazo 111, 112, 113, 114, 119Nogi Maresuke, General 54, 201Nolte, Sharon 207Noson fujin (Village Woman) 210

October Incident (1931) 79, 82, 84–5, 86,98, 117

odo (the kingly way) 69, 95Ogata, Sadako 2, 112Ogawa Heikichi 116, 119Oji Paper Company 188Okamoto Shojiro 159Okawa Shumei 117Osaka asahi (newspaper): fund-raising

campaign 160; reporting ofManchurian crisis 45, 46

Osaka Chamber of Commerce andIndustry 175, 176, 177, 178, 179–80,190, 191

Osaka Commercial Shipping 160Osaka mainichi (newspaper): circulation 47;

films 51; Fumin kyokai and 210; fund-raising campaign 160; reporting ofManchurian crisis 45, 46

Osaka Trade Association 176Oyama Ikuo 164Ozaki Hotsumi 98

Patriotic Women’s Association (Aikokufujinkai) 134, 197, 201, 205, 206, 207,208

Pearl Harbor 2petition movement 137–8Police Bureau 32, 33, 34, 35, 39Press Regulations (1887) 32Proletarian Artists’ Union 107Proletarian Women’s League (Musan

fujin domei) 107, 203, 204Proletarian Writers’ Union 107propaganda: directed at women 200–1;

during Manchurian crisis 49–50; inJapan 30, 55–6; in schools 53–5; bythe state 52–3

Pu Yi 116Public Peace Police Law (Chian

keisatsuho) 39Publications Law (Shuppanho, 1893) 33,

36, 39Publications Regulations (1887) 32

radio: censorship of in Japan 39;ownership in the countryside 139;popularity of in Japan 38; reporting ofManchurian crisis 49–50

Ramsdell, Daniel R. 20‘recantations’ (tenko ) 106–7‘Red Teachers’ Incident’ (February 1933)

137relief parcels (imon bukuro) 132, 133Rengo (news agency) 53rice production, Japan 126, 127Roberts, John G. 170Rodo (Labour), reporting of Manchurian

crisis 166, 167–8Rodo fujin (Labour Women) 202Royama Masamichi 63–4Russo–Japanese War (1904–05) 15, 54,

57, 59, 62, 66, 218

Index 251

Saionji Kinmochi, Prince 47, 77, 79, 80,84, 85

Saito Makoto 5, 89, 141Saito Takao 31, 99Sakai Toshihiko 107Sakamoto Masako 188, 189Sakurakai (Cherry Blossom Society) 84,

117Sangyo hokukukai see Industrial Patriotic

Societysangyo kyoryoku (industrial co-operation)

campaign 163Sano Manabu 106, 107Satsuma Rebellion (1877) 54schools, propaganda in 53–5Seigi wa tsuyoshi (film) 51seimeisen (life-line), as slogan during

Manchurian crisis 56–7seinen kunrenjo (military training schools)

131seinendan (young men’s associations)

135–9, 150–1Seiyukai Party: criticisms of army 99;

reaction to Manchurian crisis 79,86–9

Seki Hiroharu 79Sekki (Communist newspaper), reaction

to Manchurian crisis 105–6Shakai minshuto see Social Democratic

PartyShakai minshu fujin domei see Social

Democratic Women’s LeagueShakai taishuto see Social Masses PartyShanghai: Shanghai Incident ( January

1932) 1, 23, 25, 65; Japanese emperorand 81; Japanese trade through 177–8;‘three human bombs’ story 48–9

Shanghai Japanese Chamber ofCommerce 182

Shantung province, Japanese incursionsinto (1927 and 1928) 16

Shi no senbutsu Inoue chui fujin (film) 52Shibusawa Eiichi 111Shidehara Kijuro 17, 20, 78, 79, 84, 85, 86Shillony, Ben-Ami 35Shimada Toshihiko 84–5Shimin (The People) 90; circulation in the

countryside 140; on emigration toManchuria 148; reaction toManchurian crisis 90–1, 92–3,99–100, 145–6

shin kanryo (new bureaucrats) 92–3Shinbunho see Newspaper LawShiratori Toshio 92

Showa Steel Works’ machine tool factory172

Shufu no tomo (Housewife’s Friend) 140,198, 200

Shuppanho see Publications LawSiberian Expedition 66silk production, Japan 125–6Sino-Japanese War (1894–95) 54, 57, 66small and medium industry see chusho kogyoSmethurst, Richard 6, 8, 128, 137, 150,

211Smith, Kerry 92, 131Smith, Sara R. 2Social Democratic Party (Shakai

minshuto) 162, 163, 164Social Democratic Women’s League

(Shakai minshu fujin domei) 202–3,204

Social Masses Party (Shakai taishuto) 143,158, 164, 165, 167

Sodomei see Japan Federation of LabourSouth Manchurian Railway: explosion on

(18 September 1931) 1, 15; importanceof 57

South Manchurian Railway Company 56,177–8; doubts about viability of 189;establishment of 15; influence of 15–16; machine tool factory 172

soya beans, export from Manchuria 16Spaulding, Robert J. 90Special Higher Police (tokko ) 33Stimson, Henry L. 84, 85suffrage movements 202, 203, 204Sugiyama Gen, General 20Sumitomo 160Sunada Shigemasa 66–7Suzuki Bunji 164–5Suzuki Teiichi, Major 18, 53, 56, 82, 117

Tachi Sakutaro 109Tachibana Kosaburo 118Taisei yokusankai see Imperial Rule

Assistance Association‘Taisho democracy’ 5, 128, 201, 218Takabatake Motoyuki 106Takagi Yasaka 111, 113Takahashi Kamekichi 64, 79, 106Takahashi Korekiyo 186Takayanagi Kenzo 111Takemoto, Toru 78Tanaka Giichi 16, 17, 87Tangku, Truce of (May 1933) 1, 98, 221Teikoku daigaku shinbun (Tokyo Imperial

University Newspaper) 69

252 Index

Teikoku nokai see Imperial AgriculturalAssociation

Telegraph and Telephone Bureau 39Terauchi Hisaichi 99Third All-Japan Women’s Suffrage

Conference (1932) 203, 204‘three human bombs’ story 48–9, 52, 142Thursday Club 56Tiedemann, A. E. 129Tohoku: conflict between landlords and

tenants 127; support for soldiers inManchuria 132, 133

Tojo Hideki, Colonel 56, 82Tokutomi Soho 198Tokyo asahi (newspaper), reporting of

Manchurian crisis 46Tokyo Chamber of Commerce 175, 177,

191Tokyo jitsugyo kumiai rengo see

Federation of Tokyo BusinessAssociations

Tokyo nichinichi (newspaper): fund-raisingand 159; reporting of Manchuriancrisis 45, 46

Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal 65Tolischus, Otto 2Toyo keizai shinpo (Oriental Economist) 59,

108Toyo Muslin factories 161, 171trade unions: industrial co-operation

campaign 163; membership 158–9;reaction to Manchurian crisis 165–8

Tsinan Incident (1928) 66, 182Tsitsihar 83, 84Tsurumi Yusuke 59, 111, 112, 113, 119‘Twenty-One Demands’ (1915) 173Twenty-sixth February Incident (1936)

see February 26 Incident (1936)

Uchida Yasuya 97Uchiyama Kiyoshi 94Ueda Teijiro 109Uehara Etsujiro 220Ugaki Kazushige, General 83–4, 117unemployment, Japan 158, 219

Wakasugi Kaname 93–4Wakatsuki Reijiro 23, 64, 78, 86Wanpaoshan Incident (July 1931) 18–19,

173

Washington Treaty 220Wilson, Woodrow 111women: countryside 208–12; magazines

198–201; organised groups 201–8;propaganda stories 200–1; reaction toManchurian crisis 196–213

Women’s Association for NationalDefence (Kokubo fujinkai) 197,199, 201, 204–8, 210–11, 212, 213,221

Women’s Christian Temperance Unionof Japan (Kyofukai) 203

Women’s Suffrage League (Fusenkakutoku domei) 202, 204

workers: fund-raising and 159; politicalparties 161–5; see also trade unions

Wray, Harold J. 54

Yamagata Aritomo 56Yamakawa Kikue 110Yamamoto Jotaro 87Yamamoto Tatsuo 64Yamanashi Prefecture, fund-raising

activities 134yamato damashii ( Japanese spirit) 142–3Yanai Hisao 148Yanaihara Tadao 32, 109Yasuda Sei 204Yasuda Zenjiro 159Yokohama Chamber of Commerce 186Yokota Kisaburo 69, 108Yonesato Monkichi 182Yosano Akiko 48Yosano Tekkan 48Yoshihashi, Takehiko 2, 16–17, 117Yoshino Sakuzo 32, 109Yoshizawa Kenkichi 20, 79, 87–8, 176Young, Louise 2, 8, 151Yui Masaomi 8

zaibatsu 116, 118, 120, 128–9, 162, 165,170, 171, 183–5, 188, 189, 190

Zen-Kensai fujin rengokai see Federationof Women’s Associations of WesternJapan

Zenkoku rono taishuto see NationalLabour–Farmer Masses Party

Zenkoku sangyo dantai rengokai seeNational Federation of IndustrialOrganisations