Letters from the Front

Visiting the Chiran Peace Museum for Kamikaze Pilots in Chiran, Kagoshima, Japan, inspired me to write "The Sun Will Rise Again."

The airbase at Chiran, with its two runways, served as the main base for the kamikaze pilots. Out of the 1,036 army aviators who tragically lost their lives in these attacks, 439 hailed from Chiran. Of these, 335 were categorized as Shonen Hikohei (young boy pilots). In the final months of World War II, the airbase at Chiran was the departure point for hundreds of special attack or kamikaze sorties. The site now houses the Chiran Peace Museum for Kamikaze Pilots (Chiran Tokko-Heiwa-Kaikan), a peace museum that is dedicated to the pilots. The museum, which was constructed in 1975, features a collection of artifacts, essays, testaments, poems, and letters, as well as photographs of the 1,036 pilots, arranged in the order in which they passed away. There is also the grand piano on which two of the pilots performed the Moonlight Sonata the night before their final mission.

“We tried to live with 120 percent intensity, rather than waiting for death. We read and read, trying to understand why we had to die in our early twenties. We felt the clock ticking away towards our death, every sound of the clock shortening our lives,” wrote Daikichi Irokawa, one of the many kamikaze pilots, or tokkotai, who faced almost certain death in the futile military operations conducted by Japan at the end of World War II.

Outside of Japan, these kamikaze pilots were regarded as unbridled fanatics and chauvinists who voluntarily gave their lives in service to the emperor. However, the writings unequivocally and persuasively argue against this. A substantial number of the kamikaze were university students who were compelled to volunteer for this desperate military operation after being conscripted.

I recently encountered an article regarding another Japanese serviceman who perished prematurely during the conflict. His name was Rokuzo Sano. 

Rokuzo was employed as a truck driver responsible for gathering discarded newspapers. Chiyo, his future wife, was employed at a partner company that he would frequently visit, and she happened to be the niece of the company's president. Rokuzo was captivated by her friendly smile. On a hot summer day, Chiyo brought popsicles to the office and gave one to Rokuzo. From that point on, they engaged in conversation whenever the opportunity arose, and fell in love. The couple got married and began their life together in a bustling downtown area of Tokyo in March 1941, during a time when love marriages were not commonly seen. Rokuzo and Chiyo were both in their early twenties.

Chiyo and Rokuzo discovered through a radio program that a conflict had erupted between the United States and Britain in the early hours of Dec. 8, subsequent to the Japanese assault on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. Rokuzo received his call-up order, or "akagami" (red paper) for the Imperial Japanese Army soon thereafter. Rokuzo discovered he had fathered a daughter two months after being inducted into the army.

Rokuzo was a diligent writer and the couple began exchanging letters. His letters and postcards reached Chiyo two or three times per month. A passage from one of Rokuzo’s letters states: "The soldiers rest peacefully, their bodies weary from the demanding tasks they have undertaken throughout the day. It seems that each of them is dreaming of their loved ones back home.”

Letters were given to a group dedicated to providing entertainment for the troops, seemingly in an effort to bypass military censorship. Some passages, such as "the war is truly merciless for young people like ourselves," managed to make it past the censors.

Rokuzo wrote that he was leaving for "an island in the northern sea" a year after joining the army. His letters started to arrive less frequently. A few months later, a story on the front page of a newspaper revealed Rokuzo's fate. It stated that “the spirit of the Imperial Japanese Army was fully demonstrated on Attu Island” and that “Cmdr. Yamazaki and all other officers resorted to a courageous night raid for honorable deaths.” Attu is one of the Aleutian Islands in the north Pacific.

Following Japan's defeat in the Battle of Midway in 1942, around 2,600 Japanese soldiers were stranded on the little island. They were outnumbered four to one by United States forces. The unit continued to fight until barely 20 men remained alive. It was praised in Japan as a "Military Gods Unit." Three months later, Chiyo got a short casualty letter informing her that Rokuzo was among the victims. “All of them died heroic deaths on a solitary island in distant waters, and it is impossible to recover their remains under the current conditions,” the notification said.

The couple had selected the name Hatsue for their newborn daughter. She is currently in her eighties. She resides in a residential complex situated on the outskirts of Chiba, in close proximity to Tokyo. Her mother passed away at age 96. The remains of her father, who tragically lost his life at the age of 26, still rest somewhere in Attu.

Hatsue remembered how her mother would lovingly hold onto her husband's letters as she went to bed. The letters exhibit the marks of being carefully handled and read countless times throughout the years.

We discuss war as a privilege, diminishing its casualties to mere "enemies." Indeed, the enemy consisted of individuals who shared the same qualities as you and I – they had families, loved ones, hopes, and ambitions.

In conclusion, I echo William Tecumseh Sherman's statement, “I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell.”