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| REVIEWS | BY ANDREW JOHNSON |
 Above: seasoned pilot Hichiro Naemura (left) with friends beside his assault plane outside Tokyo, Japan, November 1944. Below: suicide pilots drink a final cup of rice wine before take-off  |
Kamikaze – Japan’s Suicide Gods by Albert Axell and Hideaki Kase Pearson Education, £19.99 We forget that suicide bombers are nothing new. For most in the West, where our secular ways have lead us too an acute awareness of the preciousness of life, the willingness of young people to blow themselves up can seem baffling. So we explain away their desire to murder by self-destruction as a misguided belief in martyrdom or a result of indoctrination by evil elders. Some of this is no doubt true. It was certainly the case with Kamikaze pilots in Japan during World War II, as this timely book explains. But the book also reveals that there was much more going on in the mind of a young man prepared to sacrifice his life for his country. It is the higher cause, that which is bigger than the individual, the noble idea of giving up one’s life to preserve the ways and freedoms of a culture against a mighty enemy. This book, co-written by Albert Axell, who lives in Swiss Cottage, and Hideaki Kasi, gives us an indication of the thinking of the Kamikaze pilot, and so by extension those who follow in their footsteps today, whether with planes or bombs. It is meticulously researched and the authors have gained access to numerous files and documents that have lain undisturbed since Japan was shattered by the atom bomb. It is true that Japan then, as now, had a culture of obedience and respect for elders. It is true also that the young Kamikaze pilots were told they would be deified in the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, preserved for the worship of those who sacrificed themselves for their country. It is also true that there was dissent. Questions were raised by the pilots and their seniors in the armed forces as to the wisdom of wasting their skills on a single mission when they could be used again and again. There were pilots who did not want die in futility, who ditched their planes or returned to base with some spurious technical problem. Many pilots when called up had misgivings, but felt they had no choice but to obey. But the desire of young people to wrap themselves in military glory is as ancient as war and civilisation. The Kamikaze operation drew thousands of willing volunteers who flocked to the airbases. Some planes took off with five or six men on board – only one was needed – such was the shortage of aircraft but need to be involved in an operation that electrified Japan. The pilots, to the ordinary Japanese, were heroes just as for many in the Middle East today, suicide bombers are heroes. The parallels with today go on. The To Go (Kamikaze) operation was instigated because Japan never expected to beat the United States. It was hoped the declaration of war would end quickly in a settlement with better trading rights. But when this did not happen, faced with a technically superior enemy, it was hoped the desperate measure of the suicide attack would delay or stalemate the Americans. Kamikaze means divine wind – in the 13th century Japan was saved twice from the invasion fleets of Kublai Khan’s Mongol warriors by timely storms. The tempests, or divine interventions, have mythical status in Japan’s popular history. Hichiro Naemura, who volunteered as a Kamikaze pilot but was instead assigned as a fighter pilot, wrote: “The Japanese way for us was being ready to die for our loved ones and our country. It came spontaneously. As the months passed I did not believe that we could win the war against the overwhelmingly powerful enemy, but we also believed we were fighting a desperate war of self-preservation. Our special Kamikaze tactics could inflict severe damage on the enemy.” Also familiar are the handbooks given to the pilots, including what to do in the last few seconds of the attack. They were encouraged to shout at the top of their voices “Hissatsu” or sink without fail, and told they would see the faces of their mothers. But the most striking image in the book is that of take-off. Cockpits would be strewn with cherry blossom, symbolising the flower of youth which was about to be “scattered”. Schoolgirls would line the runway, as would wives and parents, some of whom had walked for days to see their children for the last time. One pilot released a red ribbon from his cockpit after take-off so his parents would recognise him. The pilots would then circle the airfield once in salute, before disappearing over the mountains. |
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