This past week, I decided to continue to intersperse tourist outings between my classes and daily errands, and started sifting through the vast amounts of brochures and guidebooks I gathered together when I first arrived here. Previously, in almost every trip I’ve had the pleasure of taking, planning when and where to go has been a group effort, or something left to teachers and tour guides. Class trips afforded no flexibility, and family outings meant compromising so that everyone could get at least some of what they wanted. So when it comes to setting forth, the whole Tokyo metropolitan and surrounding area spread out before me like an overindulgent buffet, I have to admit I can get a little antsy. Where should I go, and how should I plan it? Should I go with time periods or general themes? Perhaps I should swear off the touristy areas all together and attempt to forge a path before unseen by any blond-haired people?
I decided to start small (or at least attempted to), and so headed to Central Tokyo on a mild, sunny Autumn afternoon to wander around the gardens to the north of the Imperial Palace and visit Yasukuni Shrine. The former was more thanks to my getting lost and going completely the opposite way I needed to go, but it was a lucky mistake as I greatly enjoyed exploring a vast wooded area (when in the past months I can count the number of trees in a 10-mile-radius on my dorm on one hand). The true purpose of my visit was to see Yasukuni Shrine, a much-disputed place of worship.
For those of you who don’t dedicate yourselves to Japanese History like yours truly, Yasukuni Shrine was built to honor those who died fighting for the Emperor. Its name actually translates to “the shrine of pacifying the nation.” The shrine itself was built in 1869, right after the Meiji Revolution (wikipedia it if you’re interested; I don’t like referring people to internet references, but wikipedia’s Japanese History section is strangely accurate and detailed). The main reason Yasukuni was built is because a bunch of nobles overthrew the old bakufu government – you know, the one with samurai, daimyo and shogun running the show. Why, you ask? In order to get the populace behind them, the nobles in charge of the revolution pulled the Emperor into all of the political turmoil, a guy who had been chilling in Kyoto, doing absolutely nothing since the Heian Era (again, for you non-Japanese History buffs, that would mean since the 13th Century). They claimed to be returning the Emperor to his true place, when really, they were using him as a symbol of power in order to get their own way. (He was okay with it though – he’d pretty much been the class outcast for 600 years and was just happy to be hanging with the cool kids again.) So whereas before shrines were made for warriors dedicated to truth, bravery and justice, now they needed to make one for people who were loyal not to ideals, but the Emperor. Unless it’s the ideal of the Emperor, but that’s a whole other discussion.
So what’s the problem? Getting to it. Shinto dictates that people enshrined in shrines like Yasukuni become kami; the loose translation of this is “gods,” but really think closer to “saints” or “Buddhas.” After 1869, Yasukuni eventually became a state shrine, and honored all of Japan’s war dead. Now you’re starting to see the problem? Yup. The elephant in the room. Or should we say, the Fat Man?
In 1978, there were 1,068 convicted war criminals secretly enshrined in Yasukuni. Most famously are the 14 so-called Class-A war criminals, including Tojo Hideaki, who served as General of the Imperial Army. Understandably, there have been numerous calls to un-enshrine the war criminals, or even build a separate monument because Yasukuni has been “tarnished” by the enshrinement of the war criminals. Here’s why it’s not that easy.
About 2.5 million people, both men and women, are enshrined at Yasukuni, most killed in wartime, since 1869. According to Shinto belief, enshrined kami are combined upon being put in the shrine; in short, they become this magical kami-conglomerate. So, you can’t merely pull those 1,068 guys out of the 2.5 million others. And you also can’t build a new monument, since it would be taking away the enshrinement of those 2 million odd other people. As Hiro from Heroes would say: Pinch.
So, here’s what I think, which, since it’s my blog, is what it really comes down to I guess. When I saw Yasukuni, I was really not that impressed. It was a lot smaller than I was expecting, the Yushukan (attached museum) was just as inflammatory as I’ve been told but I was expecting it, and there were American businessmen smiling and taking pictures in front of it. I was kind of expecting a swirling pit of evil and darkness, where the sun can’t shine and crows caw at your from every tree. No, wait, scratch that last part – it’s Japan, and there are giant crows everywhere plotting against me and my dry-clean only shirt. What I really think is going on is this: Yasukuni is being used as a solid, material thing on which the frustration and hurt of what happened before, during and after WWII is being placed.
There is not question that Japan’s actions during the 1930s and early 1940s were wrong. But I think what really get people is how Japan acted after in regard to its attitude towards the war. Japan has always been too slow in its acknowledgment of the atrocities that went on during the war; the reasons for this are numerous and varied, and yet another discussion that’s way too long to go into here. But the fact that the Japanese are unable to see what’s wrong with this inability to apologize and repent is what really pisses us off in the end. How could they enshrine Tojo Hideaki, supporter of the Nazi alliance and Pearl Harbor, as a god? How could they write about their actions in Nanking as liberating Asia from the grip of the West?
Here’s something I’ve come to understand about a lot of Japanese people – not every one of them, but a lot – and something that helps come to terms with this anger. The Japanese for the most part have a much different way of thinking, one that is more detached. For them, it’s alright to practice Shinto, Buddhism, and Christianity all at the same time; religions are not exclusive. What they did during the war was what they were told was for the betterment of not only their own nation, but all of East Asia, and for the most part the Japanese geniunely believed they were saving China, Korea and ever other nation they conquered.
Tradition rules here, what has been done in the past is done now, what was said in the past said now. They were told over and over again what they were doing was right, and it’s difficult to throw that off. This is one reason why WWII remains such a wedge between Japan and the rest of the world. For them, it was just another war, and they feel the need to honor their dead and sugar-coat the horrors of it like pretty much every war of the past, while at the same time attempting to conform to the West’s ideas of repentance and guilt. They can’t understand that for the West, for the nations they invaded, they are acting like they’re perpetuating the victimization through denying it ever happened.
And here ends my theorizing. Which is all it is, by the way. This is by no means an established thesis, but my attempt to reconcile, yet again, converging views on a subject – a very, very common thing here. Like I said, for the most part, the Japanese just do a lot of things differently. Yet another reason why I don’t recommend light-hearted, half-assed tourism here. You can’t get by just knowing “arigatou” and “samurai,” so plan your trip accordingly.
Enjoy the pictures – especially the one of the priestess. She was going to the storeroom to get more charms, and every time you pass in front of the shrine as a member of the Shinto clergy, you have to bow – and I caught her right as she did it! You can always identify the Shinto shrine workers by their white tops, and bright red or pale blue wide pants.
