The Diplomacy of Atonement
On May 3, 1946, the International Military Tribunals for the Far East were commenced by the Allied powers. Held amidst the rubble of postwar Japan, the Tokyo Trials, as they came to be known, played an instrumental role in the investigation of various war crimes allegedly committed by the Japanese during the Second World War. In the course of two years, the Trials sentenced seven high-ranking members of the Empire’s war cabinet to death—notably Hideki Tojo, responsible for Pearl Harbor and general of the Kwantung Army—and sentenced many more to life of imprisonment. Collectively, the convicted were responsible for the Rape of Nanking, the systematized abuse of Allied POW’s and other acts prohibited by international codes of conduct. The War in the Pacific had claimed 36 million lives; if Japan were to make reparations, and the Allies were to institute justice, those accountable for this death toll had to first be purged.
Despite what seemed like an exhaustive tribunal, one prominent figure was noticeably absent from the spotlight: the Emperor of Japan. Today, the Imperial Throne serves a symbolic function. In prewar Japan, Hirohito had held constitutional power. Moreover, the people had considered him a living god whose image became the central dogma of the Japanese ultranationalist. Emperor Hirohito, having been part of the inner council that set Japan on the warpath, almost certainly bore accountability for his country’s actions.
Yet he was never tried, much less hanged. In a poll conducted a few weeks before the end of the war, 70 percent of Americans believed that the Emperor should be prosecuted, executed, imprisoned or exiled. Clearly there was a widespread Allied sentiment that Japan ought to renounce its imperial past. The reason why this did not happen remains a textbook example of realpolitik. In the weeks following V-J Day, what remained of the Imperial Cabinet took swift measures to prevent the implication of Hirohito in any postwar trial. Military officials were made to swear an oath promising not to involve the Emperor during their investigations. The mindset behind this was quite insightful. The war was over, and Japan needed to be unified if it were to undergo reconstruction. If the Emperor were impeached, and forced to abdicate, it would bring to an end a dynasty that had upheld Japanese society for two millennia. The people and their national identity would not survive. There would be mass suicides and vast domestic turmoil.
Subsequently, the Japanese government strove to dispel any claims against the throne. It worked in conjunction with the American occupation force, which had its own reasons for not prosecuting Hirohito. Instead, the Emperor was to be domesticated and become the figurehead of a new, conservative Japan. Its islands would form a bastion against the Red Scare, the rise of communism and radical leftism in Asia.
And so in this example, we see concrete, political theories dictating the postwar actions of both Japan and the U.S. The modern nation-state does not make apologies. The modern nation-state does not seek justice. What it does, however, is follow the protocols that best serve its political interests, usually eschewing morals and ethics for the utility of public relations. After a time of war, these protocols perform a balancing act, a fine compromise between foreign policy, and national image. They form, if you will, a diplomacy of atonement.
70 years after the Tokyo Tribunal, there continue to be tensions in Asia over atrocities committed by the Imperial Japanese Army. Last week, lower Jiwon Sung wrote a very compelling article about the experiential and ethical dimensions of these issues, specifically the institutionalization of sexual slavery in Korea. Sung takes a very humanistic approach to history, which is understandable given that she is describing the suffering of her very own people, but also because it is extremely dangerous to remove the humanity from our past, and hence render tragedies into mere statistics. On the other hand, the culturally-charged historian can fall prey to nationalist sympathies, and subsequently even revisionism. I empathize with Sung’s outrage, and find it completely reasonable. My contribution to this discussion, however, would be to take a step back, and analyze the issue at the objective level of political theory.
Contrary to Sung’s claim that “the Japanese government had never taken a stance on this historical issue,” Japan has, in fact, repeatedly expressed its profound remorse over its actions during the war. In the past few decades, multiple prime ministers and secretaries have come forward, on behalf of their nation, to extend their sincere regret for the past. The famous Kono Statement, issued in 1993, officially recognized the existence of comfort women, and the need for serious reconsideration of Japan’s postwar attitude. Financially, the Japanese government has paid millions in reparations to Korea, and offered multiple low-interest loans in the hope of monetary cooperation.
Sung would respond that none of these are actual apologies. That is because they are not. Countries rarely operate like children on a playground. Heartfelt apologies are very rare in the sphere of politics, simply because they leave the issuer vulnerable. In the case of war crimes, if Japan were to atone based only on moral impulse, this would unrestrictedly feed the chauvinistic tendencies of its neighbors. This would be convenient for China and Korea, but devastating for Japan and her interests. The diplomacy of atonement is not based on an ethical philosophy, but instead a clearly defined doctrine: appease the greatest number of people while still maintaining a formidable national image. This works at a domestic level as well. Every year, there are controversies over Japanese politicians visiting the Yasukuni shrine, which venerates the fallen soldiers of World War Two, including a number of war criminals. These visits are sanctioned not because these politicians are idiots, but because they are appealing to the unfortunate sympathies of the Japanese far right. Strung between international relations and partisan struggles, these politicians must constantly perform a tightrope act.
The diplomacy of atonement, therefore, is a very careful orchestration of emotions and politics. But are there other ways in which a country can deal with its past? Interestingly enough, Sung brought up Germany in her article, which she praised for “giving an apology.” Indeed, the recovery of the German people has been remarkable. This too, though, can be attributed to good politics, and not solely forthright guilt. In her article titled “The Perils of Apology,” Foreign Affairs writer Jennifer Lind credits what she calls “the Adenauer Method” for the rapid international acceptance of postwar Germany. Under Chancellor Adenauer, the country cleverly navigated the hauntings of war by fully acknowledging and apologizing for its past, while simultaneously emphasizing its postwar achievements. The people were saved from a total uprooting of their history, as well as quickly accepted on the international stage. In the backdrop of growing tensions in Asia, Japan clearly has not achieved the stratospheric successes of Germany, and so has much to learn from the German diplomacy of atonement.