table of contents
■Accusation from the Battlefield - The True Image of the "Empire of Japan"
The Taisho Emperor Telescope Incident - Hollowing out of authority
■Ito Hirobumi and Apparent Constitutionalism
■ Comparing 19th-century Japan and Germany: Differences in the foundations of constitutionalism
The absence of bronze statues speaks to the makeup and bone structure
■The Paradox of Taisho Democracy
■The Rise of the Popular Movement and the State's Reaction
■The Baden-Baden Secret Conference and the Stirrings of Showa Militarism
■The failure of prewar democratization and the incompleteness of postwar democracy
■The remaining "backbone" of postwar Japan as seen in Minamata
Chapter Summary - 150 Years of Makeup and Spine
The Meiji state, while clad in the appearance of constitutionalism, had a backbone in the form of a military bureaucracy established by Yamagata Aritomo. Ito Hirobumi's institutional design was merely cosmetic; the substance of the state was based on the supreme power of the Emperor and the dictatorial rule of the military.
Taisho democracy was the first to show cracks in this facade, but the people's initiative was pushed back by a backlash from the military and bureaucratic system, and the country eventually collapsed into the total mobilization system of the Showa era.
Postwar democracy was also reformed as an institution, but the "backbone" that remained deep within the state was not replaced, and those who stood on the side of the people were often excluded.
This chapter sheds light on the dual structure of "modern appearance and pre-modern reality" that has permeated modern Japan since the Meiji era, tracing the process by which this structure gave rise to a wartime state and cast a shadow over the postwar period. By focusing on the accusations of returning soldiers asking " What was the Empire of Japan?" , the Imperial Constitution, the origins of the wartime state, and Taisho democracy, this chapter attempts to strip away the "mask of Japan 's modernization ."
■Accusation from the brutal battlefield: What was the Empire of Japan?
Shortly after the war, the voices I heard from soldiers returning from the Sino-Japanese War and the war against the United States had a sound that was completely different from the words "holy war" and "peace in the East" that the nation had proclaimed.
Their stories revealed the raw reality hidden in the shadows of ideals and causes. Just before the battleship Musashi sank off the coast of Leyte in the Philippines, the interior of the ship was filled with shattered flesh and blood from artillery fire, staining the floor and walls so dark red that they were indistinguishable. The surviving soldiers remembered the scene as a living hell. In the end, the massive warship that symbolized the nation's prestige mercilessly swallowed up the human bodies and sank.
My father also said he witnessed similar scenes on the Chinese front.
"When the battle ended, artillery units rushed to the front-line infantry units," he said. "In a pool of blood, every soldier who died muttered, 'Mother...' before they took their last breath. I'd never heard anyone say, 'Long live the Emperor.'"
"We entered the enemy camp. We found a young soldier from Chiang Kai-shek's army with his legs chained, his organs exposed, and gasping for breath. We had him euthanized."
"All Chinese prisoners were killed as if international law did not exist."
"Comfort women were directly conscripted by the military. There's no way private contractors could come to a war zone."
"War is so pointless and foolish"
The words he spoke while holding back his sobs transcended the cruelty of the battlefield and asked the question, "What is the 'Empire of Japan'? "
The testimonies of returning soldiers quietly expose how the war was waged in a place that had nothing to do with the ``national cause.''
"The companies that built these giant warships made huge profits, but their managers never got involved."
"Military tactics that emphasized spiritualism and hand-to-hand combat and disregarded the lives of soldiers failed to learn the lessons of World War I and drove countless young men to their deaths."
"They beheaded the prisoners one after another as if toying with international law."
These testimonies show that the violence and deception exposed on the battlefield were not accidental, but structural problems embedded in the very institutions of the state.
■The significance of the Taisho Emperor Telescope Incident
The root of the state's violence and deception lay in the emperor system itself, which was placed at the center of the state. While the appearance of a constitutional monarchy was maintained, the monarch at its center was unable to shoulder the actual political responsibility, and no one was held accountable - this structural contradiction lay deep within the state from the very beginning of the system's establishment.
I once heard a story from a veteran who served in China in the 1930s about Emperor Taisho rolling up an imperial edict and using it as a telescope to look into the seats of the Diet members at the opening ceremony of the Imperial Diet. This is the so-called "telescope incident."
There is little historical evidence to support this anecdote. However, what is important is the fact that it was spoken within troops on the front lines of the war. While many military personnel at the time respected the emperor in principle, there were also many who harbored resentment and cynicism toward the system, thinking, "We will not be easily killed for the emperor." The cynicism toward Emperor Taisho expressed by this individual suggests what was happening deep within the imperial state.
In other words, regardless of the truth of this anecdote, the appearance of a constitutional state centered on a monarch and the hollowing out of authority that was occurring within it were already imprinted on the sensibilities of people at the time. The telescope incident should be understood as a part of the mental landscape of the times that symbolically brings this contradiction into sharp focus.
The Imperial Constitution was a true example of Western clothing. Japan attempted to outwardly present itself as a constitutional state. However, in reality, the pre-modern principle of autocratic rule, based on the supreme power of the Emperor, continued to dominate. As evidenced by the persistence of the custom of "removing shoes," a different logic, far removed from modern constitutionalism, remained deeply rooted in politics.
The Imperial Constitution was introduced as an outward-facing device to demonstrate to Western powers that "Japan was Asia's first modern nation." The constitutional provisions appeared to be in order, a parliament was established, and the rights of the people were enumerated. Naturally, however, all of this was placed within the framework of the Emperor's supreme prerogative. The core of constitutionalism, the right of the people to "limit and bind the exercise of state power," was ignored, and there was a decisive disconnect between the appearance of the system and the substance of politics.
When and how was the "mask of a modern nation" that fell off on the battlefield created? To find its origins, we must return to the institutional design of the Meiji state, in particular to the origins of Ito Hirobumi's "constitutional studies" when he is said to have studied constitutional law in Europe.
Ito Hirobumi and Apparent Constitutionalism
Ito Hirobumi's "Constitutional Studies" (1882-1883) have often been romanticized in later accounts. Historiography, particularly from the former imperial universities, has tended to portray Ito as having mastered the "secrets of constitutionalism" in Europe, creating a narrative that supported the authority of the Meiji state. However, in reality, Ito had no intention from the start of understanding or embracing the core elements of constitutionalism he encountered in Europe—the idea of citizens' rights, the power of parliament, and the institutional reconciliation of social conflicts (class struggles). Rather, it was a journey in search of an institutional appearance that would allow him to present the appearance of a "civilized nation" to the Western powers while suppressing the Freedom and People's Rights Movement.
Ito received lectures from Rudolf von Gneist in Berlin and Lorenz von Stein in Vienna . However, the German intellectual world to which they belonged had a fundamentally different historical experience from Japan's. Following the March Revolution of 1848, the Frankfurt National Congress adopted a "Draft Civil Constitution" that clearly defined the fundamental rights of its citizens. Although the revolution failed, the constitutions of each state continued to include human rights provisions such as the abolition of censorship, freedom of religion, property rights, and equality under the law, firmly establishing a sense of civil society independence and political participation. Germany is a country where the tradition of civil revolution and top-down national unification are intricately intertwined, and the foundations of constitutionalism were incomparably deeper than in Japan.
■ Japan and Germany in the 19th century were like "oil and water"
Stein was the author of "Socialism and Communism in France Today," which introduced French socialism and communism to the German-speaking world, and was a pioneer of the "social state" theory, which advocated the state's mediation of social conflicts (class struggles). For him, a constitution was premised on the independence of civil society and the institutionalization of social conflicts, and the state should be positioned within society, not reign over it. This made him like oil and water when compared with Ito, who sought to build a nation centered on the sovereign power of the Emperor.
Ito attended Stein's lectures, but did not adopt the core of his teachings - constitutionalism based on the rights of citizens. What he sought was a system that would preserve the supreme power of the Emperor to the maximum extent possible while suppressing the civil rights movement, and a theoretical justification for importing only the outer appearance of constitutionalism.
Ito ultimately relied not on Gneist or Stein, but on Albert Mosse, who advocated the supremacy of the monarchy and the centrality of the bureaucracy. Mosse was an expert on the Prussian bureaucracy and was skilled at designing systems that strengthened administrative power and limited the power of parliament. Ito invited him to Japan and had him deeply involved in the development of the government system, local government system, and administrative law system.
As a result, the Meiji Constitution incorporated only the "national framework" of the Imperial German Constitution, completely cutting out the human rights provisions that existed in the individual state constitutions and the tradition of civic constitutionalism that the 1848 Revolution had created. This is a typical example of superficial constitutionalism. The fact that Bismarck's Constitution lacked a bill of rights was actually convenient for Ito, as it allowed him to create the appearance of a constitutional state without placing citizens' rights at the heart of the constitution.
Thus, Ito's visit to Europe ended not as a "journey to learn about constitutionalism," but as a "journey to import only the appearance of constitutionalism while avoiding its core." This was the starting point of the dual structure that runs through modern Japan: modernity in appearance and pre-modernity in substance.
■ The origins of a war-torn nation: Ito, the makeup artist, and Yamagata, the backbone
When walking through the outer gardens of the Imperial Palace, the first thing that catches your eye is the equestrian statue of Kusunoki Masashige.
This warrior, remembered as a loyal retainer of the Southern Court, still stands guard over the Imperial Palace. A little further on, on the approach to Yasukuni Shrine, you will be greeted by a statue of Omura Masujiro, the man who was responsible for the military reforms of the Meiji Restoration.
However, there is no sign of the two men who actually designed the country's modern state and embedded the "backbone" of military bureaucracy deep within it -- Ito Hirobumi and Yamagata Aritomo.
There are no statues of them at the Imperial Palace, at Yasukuni Shrine, or anywhere in central Tokyo.
Yamagata's enormous equestrian statue once stood on the grounds of the Ministry of Army in Tokyo. It was erected in the early Showa period, shortly after his death, as a symbol of militaristic Japan. However, after Japan's defeat in the war, the occupying forces adopted a policy of "removing militaristic monuments," and one after another, memorials to war dead and statues of soldiers disappeared from public spaces. Yamagata's statue was also among these targets, and after being removed, it was moved around to various storage locations before finally being moved to his hometown of Hagi City, Yamaguchi Prefecture.
On the other hand, there was never a bronze statue of Ito Hirobumi in Tokyo from the beginning. Although he was a "man of the system" who was involved in the drafting of the constitution and the establishment of the cabinet system, he was not placed at the center of the national mythology. The only place where a statue of him stands is in Yamaguchi, his birthplace.
This "absence" quietly speaks to the true nature of the Meiji state.
The constitution, the parliament, the cabinet system—these were merely the “exterior makeup” that Ito had painstakingly painted on. The internal structure of the state was determined by the military bureaucracy established by Yamagata, and the military dictatorship under the pretext of the Emperor’s supreme power.
Where do the statues stand and where do they not? Their placement clearly shows .
To reiterate, as we saw in the previous section, Ito Hirobumi is spoken of as the architect of modern Japanese institutions. He drafted the constitution, introduced the cabinet system, and established the framework for parliamentary politics. Textbooks refer to him as the "father of constitutionalism."
The constitutional system introduced by Ito was based on the supreme power of the Emperor and placed the military outside parliamentary control.
Ito created the "face" of the modern nation.
However, it was Yamagata Aritomo, who embedded the backbone of the military bureaucracy into the nation , who was the true architect of the Meiji state.
What he created was a structure that placed the military bureaucracy at the center of the state: an independent General Staff, an active military officer system for military ministers, the secrecy of national defense policy, the political inviolability of the military backed by the Emperor's prerogative, the military budget as a prerogative, and the sole authority of the military in personnel matters .
These were not simply a collection of systems. Yamagata solidified the backbone of the nation with a military bureaucracy, consistently creating a structure that placed the military above politics.
Ito created the "makeup," while Yamagata created the "framework."
Japan would later act in accordance with this framework, eventually moving towards a system of national mobilization.
The Paradox of Taisho Democracy: The Stirrings of a Total Mobilization System
In 1921, a group of young army officers met in secret in the German resort town of Baden-Baden. They discussed plans for national reform with an eye toward the coming war, and the very beginnings of Showa militarism, which was premised on military power and a system of national mobilization.
The young officers vowed to "overthrow the Choshu faction (Yamagata faction)," but in reality this was an act of rebooting the military ideology that Yamagata had embedded as an institution.
The significance of this meeting lies in the fact that the next generation was beginning to flesh out the "backbone" of the military bureaucracy that Yamagata had planted. In other words, the origins of the national total mobilization system did not lie in the Showa era, but rather in the Taisho era military. Its roots lay in the institutional structure of the Meiji state itself.
The 1910s and 1920s were the era of Taisho Democracy. Japanese cities were filled with a new light. Modern girls roamed Ginza, jazz music played in cafes, magazines spoke of love and freedom, and young people were intoxicated by the scent of a new era. In the political world, party cabinets were born, universal suffrage was enacted, and parliamentary government seemed to have finally taken on the appearance of a modern nation. This period, when urban culture and political reform flourished simultaneously, is often spoken of in later generations as the time when, along with Yoshino Sakuzo's democracy, "the seeds of democracy were in Japan."
However, behind the lights, a completely different landscape unfolded. In the eyes of soldiers, the freedom and glamour of the city was seen as a sign of "national relaxation." At the Army War College, they were taught that "urban culture is the enemy of national defense," and modern girls were deemed "the polar opposite of women of national defense." Young officers viewed parliamentary politics as a "weak system that would destroy the country," and military magazines repeatedly expressed "anger toward weak culture." In the military mentality, the romance and freedom of the city was understood as a "corruption of the national spirit."
Meanwhile, a different passion was burning beneath the cities. Amid the recession and rising prices that followed World War I, workers went on strike one after another, and the proletarian movement spread rapidly. Anarchists like Osugi Sakae, known as the successor to Kotoku Shusui, who was executed for High Treason , fundamentally questioned the rule of the state and capital, and called for independence and freedom for workers. His words resonated strongly with young people and workers in the cities, and the rise of socialism, which had its origins in the Russian Revolution, had a definite presence as "another democracy" of the Taisho period.
However, the state never tolerated these developments. The rice riots of 1918, the surge in labor disputes in 1921, and the founding of the Japanese Communist Party in 1922—these developments were seen by those in power as harbingers of a "collapse of social order." The massacre of Osugi Sakae and others by Army Captain Amakasu Masahiko in the chaos following the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 symbolized the state's determination to eradicate the "dangerous ideology " of socialism. The Peace Preservation Law was introduced at the same time as the Universal Suffrage Law , and increased surveillance and repression thwarted the growth of public opinion. A dark shadow always lurked behind Taisho democracy.
Military personnel perceived this social unrest as a "national crisis." The freedom of urban culture, the rise of the labor movement, and socialist speech all seemed to them to be dangerous trends that would weaken the foundations of a nation that could withstand the coming war. This is why military personnel called for "national reform" and sought to change the direction of the nation from outside politics.
Military personnel perceived the supreme command authority of the military, or the Emperor's prerogative, as a "magic word." This authority, independent of the government and the Diet, was treated at the Army War College as a spell to silence politicians. Young officers believed that by invoking the supreme command authority, they could neutralize both the cabinet and the Diet. This "magic of words" eventually spread outside the system as the theory of supreme command interference, giving military personnel more power and dominating politics.
Thus, behind the scenes of Taisho democracy, the pre-modern governing principle of Yamagata's military ideology continued to quietly but surely dominate the nation's inner workings. The lights of the city and the sound of military boots. The laughter of modern girls and the anger of young officers. Labor strikes and the surveillance of the Special Higher Police. Parliamentary speeches and the mantra of supreme command. All of these things coexisted in Taisho-era Japan, and the contradictions that led to the catastrophe of the Showa era.
■ The peeling makeup of the Meiji era
To the eyes of young officers, the "atmosphere of freedom" of the Taisho period was an unbearable sight.
Disarmament had closed off their future, salaries were low, marriage was difficult, and coming from rural areas, the pleasures of the city seemed like a different world to them.
To make matters worse, the corruption of party politics was a major blow.
Both the Seiyukai and Minseito parties depended on political funds from the zaibatsu, elections were driven by money, and factional conflicts were fought over vested interests. The film portrayed
a scene in which politicians sold out the country to flock to vested interests, and the zaibatsu privatized the nation.
The Blood Brotherhood Incident was a symbol of the final explosion of that rage. It was Kita Ikki who gave this rage an "ideology." In his "Outline of the Japan Reform Bill," Kita labeled party politics as "traitors to the nation," called the zaibatsu "parasites," and advocated for national reform under the name of direct imperial rule.
The Manchurian Incident of 1931 began not by government order, but by the arbitrary decision of local Kwantung Army officers. This arbitrary decision was no accident. Kita Ikki's ideas and the "impulse to reform the nation" that had existed since Baden-Baden were condensed into the atmosphere at the scene. Liutiaohu, on the outskirts of Mukden. A small explosion occurred in the darkness of the night, slightly distorting a section of the railroad tracks.
This was enough for the Kwantung Army to spring into action, using the pretext of "blowing up the South Manchuria Railway." The officers on the scene were obsessed with the conviction that "Japan would perish if we didn't act now." At the same time, the enthusiasm of the people transformed this into the "will of the nation."
The successful experience of the Manchurian Incident left an unforgettable memory for the young officers.
- "I succeeded despite ignoring the orders of my superiors."
- "The government gave its approval later."
- "The people were excited"
- "The newspapers praised it."
The “formula for success” was deeply engraved in their hearts.
On February 26, 1936, in the snowy streets of Tokyo, the young officers finally took up their guns. Embracing the ideology of Kita Ikki and the success of the Manchurian Incident, they hated the corruption of party politics, viewed urban leisure as decadence, and sought to reform the nation under the direct rule of the emperor.
The gunshot was the moment when the Meiji nation's "makeup" was completely torn off.
From the failure of Taisho democracy to the incompleteness of postwar democracy
Taisho democracy was the first period in modern Japanese history in which the common people emerged as political and social actors. Universal suffrage, labor, women's liberation, buraku liberation, university autonomy, freedom of thought—in all these movements, people who had been marginalized by the state began to speak out in defense of their lives and dignity. These movements were the first to blow a hole from within the system that had existed since the Meiji era, which had only pretended to be a modern nation.
The vast sky in front of the Imperial Palace was always silent. Students and office workers traversed the cobblestone streets, and the city of Tokyo, clad in the appearance of a modern nation, appeared at first glance to be the epitome of tranquility. However, like the white clouds reflected on the surface of a moat, this modern appearance was thin, and would quickly lose its shape if touched. Every time the people raised their voices, the gaze of the authorities, like an invisible net, fell upon the city, violently nipping at the buds of freedom.
Around 1920, labor disputes rapidly increased across the country. In 1921, a dispute involving several thousand workers broke out at the Kawasaki Shipyard in Kobe, with workers standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the factory gates. "Raise wages" and "Let us work like human beings" - their husky voices were absorbed into the winter air. On the other side of the gates, police officers lined up in silence, and only the sound of their footsteps echoed on the cold ground. The cries of everyday life were seen by the state as "disorder."
Women also spoke out. On Ginza Street in the early 1920s, Hiratsuka Raicho stood on a small wooden box and shouted, "Women were the sun." Passing women stopped in their tracks, feeling something stir deep in their hearts. However, across the street, a police officer, arms crossed, watched her every move. As a young Ichikawa Fusae called for "women's voting rights," a police officer at the back of the crowd opened his notebook and silently recorded who clapped and who nodded. The ray of hope and the shadow of authority stood side by side on the same street.
The military and bureaucratic system, headed by Yamagata Aritomo, saw this rise of the people as an "extremely dangerous sign" that would shake up the national order. At the core of Yamagata's military ideology was the belief that the military should be outside of public opinion and should retain absolute authority as the center of the state. For them, the idea of the people becoming the main players in politics was nothing less than "the destruction of the national polity." Therefore, the more the popular movement spread, the stronger the state's opposition became, and repression became institutionalized.
Even after Yamagata's death in 1922, his ideas remained deeply rooted in the military, police, and bureaucracy. Police intervention in labor disputes, surveillance of women's and student movements, the dispatch of spies to the Buraku liberation movement, and the suppression of anti-war movements—all of these were extensions of the idea that popular subjectivity represented a "national crisis." Taisho democracy was unable to repel the backlash from the state, in part because the people had not yet developed the power to institutionalize it. Thus, the expansion of people's freedom was pushed back before it was completed, and the Showa era's support system was established as a backlash. The completion of the Meiji system, the Great Expelling of Foreigners, and a great catastrophe awaited.
The land of Manchuria was also a site of this backlash. In winter, Manchuria was covered in endless white, and the pioneers swung their hoes in the freezing wind, telling themselves, "It's for the sake of the country." Behind them lay the cold, ruthless power that forced the people into the "ideal territory" drawn up by the state.
After Japan's defeat in the war, the Allied Powers' Civil Affairs Bureau (GHQ) reconstructed the ideals of Taisho democracy into systems. Universal suffrage, the three labor rights, gender equality, the elimination of discrimination against burakumin, university autonomy, and freedom of thought and expression—these were an extension of the Taisho-era popular movements. However, when the New Dealers who had promoted democratization were expelled, the driving force behind the reforms was lost, and the systems remained in name only, with their substance gradually shrinking.
The bureaucracy, judiciary, and police, who inherited the prewar mentality, continued to prioritize "maintaining national order" even after the war, and a culture of standing on the side of the people did not develop. Rapid economic growth reinforced the logic that corporate profits equal national interests, and the voices of labor movements and pollution victims were suppressed as "endangering the country." The words "You are endangering the country," hurled at victims during a pollution report by conservative Minamata city council members, were a remnant of the prewar national ideology and reflected the deep psychological state of the nation, which feared the people becoming independent.
Dr. Harada Masazumi, who dedicated his life to standing with Minamata disease victims, was kept in his permanent position as an assistant professor at a national university. The president of Kumamoto University, where Harada worked, called the laboratory of a prominent professor. I happened to be there and overheard the president harshly insulting Harada. The professor tried to intervene by saying, "President, he's not an extremist," but the professor wouldn't listen.
When Harada passed away in 2012, his wife whispered to him in front of his coffin, "They never made me a professor." Her voice expressed her distress at the "state's retaliation against those who stand on the side of the people," which was the complete opposite of her desire for personal and professional success.
Harada once told me the following:
"The damage and the expansion of the harm are due to the inaction of the companies involved, and the legislative, administrative, and judicial branches. Therefore, taking the victim's position means pushing this inaction back to the center. This is not what neutrality means."
The Meiji-era finish cracked during the Taisho era and peeled off during the Showa era, and after the war, only the finish was repainted. However, the spine was never replaced.
So why did Japan, while still preserving this backbone, transform into a nation that completely follows the United States after the war?
What did America see in Japan, what did it use, and what did it leave behind? And to what extent was postwar Japanese democracy the result of its own efforts, and to what extent was it designed by the United States?
The next chapter will explore the nature of the United States, a nation that shaped Japan's postwar course for a long time, and the purpose of its involvement.
The shape of postwar Japan lies at the point where the "backbone" that has existed since the Meiji era intersects with American strategy.
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