Supreme Commander (8 page)

It was now time to let the Japanese—especially the emperor—know he had arrived. He assembled a huge motorcade of trucks and jeeps for the ten-minute drive from the embassy past the Imperial Palace to the Dai Ichi Insurance Building, where he would have his office. Under cover of fighters and bombers he proceeded in a thundering display of strength to his office. Observed one of the American officers: “I'll never forget the experience till the day I die. Even today, it sets the hairs rising on my back thinking about it. You see, there wasn't a single person in the streets to see all this—but we knew they were all watching.”

While in Tokyo, Admiral Halsey had a mission to perform. Having heard weeks earlier that the emperor owned a magnificent white horse, Halsey made it known to several reporters that he wanted to borrow it and take it for a ride. One of his aides went to MacArthur and told him Halsey wanted the horse—the emperor's white horse.

“No!” shouted MacArthur. He couldn't believe it. Not even he, the king of vanity, the ultimate narcissist, would dream of asking for such a thing. “Never underestimate a man just because he overestimates himself,”
Time
magazine once said of MacArthur. He, Douglas MacArthur, who had won more medals than any other general or admiral,
*
never wore his medals in public. The only indication when a visitor met him was a small circle of five stars on his shirt collar. Such modesty, he mused with delight, would surely befuddle his enemies (of which he had many).

Halsey's aides came to the rescue. One of the perks of being a fleet admiral is having a lot of aides eager to accommodate the boss' whims. The aides scurried around Tokyo to find a substitute, and got their hands on an old gray mare that had obviously seen better days. They fed the animal a lot of hay and oats, then informed the admiral they had a “white” horse. Fine, said the admiral; he'd take whatever they had. At the appointed hour Halsey came out for a formal inspection of the troops, then eagerly mounted the horse while a bevy of American reporters clicked their cameras. The horse looked very white indeed, a perfect photo-op, white enough to fool some of the reporters. What happened? “Oh,” said one of the naval aides, “we washed her up with G.I. soap and water and then covered her with white foot powder from the hospital.”

Halsey was a man who liked to have a good time. What greater fun than pretending he was emperor? One night he and his men had a huge celebratory meal at their Tokyo hotel, and when the check came, Halsey signed it, “Hirohito.”

MacArthur and Halsey started talking about the Japanese soldiers. The supreme commander had just issued an order forbidding confiscation of Japanese officers' ceremonial swords. Halsey considered this a mistake. He told MacArthur: Look at Germany, where people proudly kept in their home a bust of some general, with a sword reverently hung above it. Such displays kept the Prussian militarist sprit alive.

“But I was thinking of Appomattox, when Grant allowed Lee's troops to keep their side arms,” replied MacArthur.

“Grant was dealing with an honorable foe. We are not.”

The supreme commander mulled that one over for a moment, then nodded, told Halsey he was absolutely right, and countermanded the samurai directive. Coming right after his meeting with Shigemitsu, this was the second time in several days he had shown a flexibility unusual for a man widely reputed to be arrogant and cocksure.

The following week, in the private upstairs dining room of the American Embassy, MacArthur had dinner with his two intelligence advisors, General Fellers and Colonel Mashbir. He told them, referring to the former ambassador to Japan: “Grew sat in this identical chair for ten years living in regal splendor. What did he or the whole diplomatic corps do in those ten years to prevent this war?”

And what had Grew done to prevent the use of the atom bomb? Like MacArthur, Grew had felt FDR's “unconditional surrender” to be shortsighted: It stiffened Japanese resolve not to surrender and lengthened the war unnecessarily—requiring the use of the atom bomb. At a meeting of the so-called Committee of Three (Secretary of War Stimson and Secretary of the Navy James Forrestal, and Grew as acting secretary of state), he had suggested that a provision be inserted stating, “We do not exclude a constitutional monarchy under her present dynasty.” Doing so, he said, would “substantially add to the chances of acceptance.” When President Truman subsequently removed this sentence, the Japanese government had no assurance as to the emperor's fate and dismissed the Potsdam Declaration as just a hollow promise.

The State Department had wanted to bring Grew back to Japan, but he couldn't come back as ambassador because MacArthur as supreme commander already held that rank. Might he come back as an advisor? Grew, who had served for one week as U.S. secretary of state back in June-July and then retired, indignantly refused to consider such a status, and went on to complain that MacArthur “would not want much advice.” That's right, thought MacArthur, he most definitely would not. Unlike the diplomats in their fancy striped trousers and cutaways, MacArthur was a general, confident he knew what he was doing and determined to do it, not just talk about it.

The commonly accepted way to run an occupation is to impose a strict regime. MacArthur had other ideas. In March, while in Manila, he had received a visit from the renowned playwright Robert Sherwood, President Roosevelt's emissary, to discuss his ideas for Japan. If the United States treated the Japanese fairly and liberally, and weren't overly restrictive, he told Sherwood, “We shall have the friendship and cooperation of the Asian people far off into the future.”

Having Colonel Mashbir at the table made MacArthur grateful to have a loyal subordinate who kept him abreast of enemies in Washington. Back in 1942 after MacArthur had arrived in Australia, Mashbir had informed him about the Baldwin incident. Apparently a U.S. intelligence officer and military attaché in Australia, Col. Karl Baldwin, had received a directive from Washington “to report at once what decorations are being worn by General MacArthur.” Baldwin was trapped, because any telegram would have to be sent through General MacArthur's headquarters. Baldwin also knew that people in Washington would be after him if he failed to deliver. Yet MacArthur was his boss. What to do? Looking for a way to protect MacArthur without appearing to do so, Baldwin cabled back: “Those authorized by Army Regulations.”

MacArthur must never forget, he had enemies, people watching his every move, ready to pounce at the slightest misstep. To heck with people like Grew who claimed, “The best we can hope for in Japan is the development of a constitutional monarchy, experience having shown that democracy would never work.” That was the problem with people who had lots of experience: They could always come up with a dozen reasons why something wouldn't work. Sometimes it takes someone who doesn't know what he doesn't know, to make things happen.

MacArthur hadn't risked his life and fought a war to preserve the old Japan; his job was to change it. He had plans—big plans—full of surprises for the folks back in Washington. They saw the devastation of Japan and the need to play it safe, he saw potential and opportunity. He would seek nothing less than remaking the entire political, social, cultural, and economic fabric of a defeated nation.

At his age, what did he have to lose?

6

Harry Truman Throws a Fit

W
AIT A MINUTE,
w-a-i-t a minute.”

So said President Harry Truman about firing MacArthur after just three weeks on the job in Japan. Truman, despite the drama that was to end their relationship five and a half years later,
*
was not a man given to impulsively losing his temper or firing people. In fact, despite his fondness for barroom language, he was actually quite temperate when he was angry.

So it was on September 18, 1945. He had always imagined he might have a problem with this bunco man too brilliant for his own good, but never that it would happen so soon. Eighteen days! That must set some kind of a record. It really would have been laughable had it not been so serious. Nonetheless, he could manage. In the meantime Undersecretary of State Dean Acheson was fuming. The day before, MacArthur—10,000 miles away in Tokyo—had announced that the smooth progress of the occupation in Japan enabled a drastic cut in the number of troops from 500,000 to 200,000 in six months. For a man on the job for such a short time to be able to make such a pronouncement was remarkable. Did he have a crystal ball? More amazing was for a mere general to utter a statement out of the clear blue that would have major repercussions on the eight cosigning nations of the
Missouri
surrender pact, let alone the major signatory, the United States. Already the cable lines were sizzling with urgent messages of consternation from the governments of the United Kingdom and New Zealand seeking clarification. Editorial writers were in a frenzy trying to read the tea leaves of American Far Eastern foreign policy. Some writers went so far as to predict that MacArthur was secretly laying the groundwork for a 1948 presidential run at a time when “bring the boys home” would be a sure vote getter.

Acheson issued a statement—a shot across MacArthur's bow—saying that nobody could foresee the number of troops needed in Japan and that “the occupation forces are the instruments of policy and not the determinants of policy.” Such a public rebuke would surely put MacArthur in his place. As for the man whose opinion counted—the president—budget director Harold Smith spoke with Truman and found that he viewed MacArthur's issuance as “a political statement.” The White House press secretary reported the president as vowing “to do something about that fellow.”

At a press conference on the eighteenth President Truman kept his cool and passed off MacArthur's statement as no big deal. “I'm glad the general won't need as many as he thought. He said first 500,000, later 400,000, and now 200,000. It helps to get as many more men out of the Army as possible.” The president was absolutely right: Everyone in America wanted the boys home. The following day Truman announced that more than two million men would be discharged by Christmas, and several days later he released to the press the government's planning document titled
United
States Initial Post-Surrender Policy for Japan
(an advance copy of which had been cabled to MacArthur before he arrived at Atsugi).

Originally drafted by the State Department in the spring of 1944 and submitted to the Subcommittee for the Far East (SFE) under the State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee (SWNCC), this document after review by various agencies had gone through seven versions before finally being signed by the president as document SWNCC150/4/A. To be expected of a document emanating from many fathers, it was bureaucratese to the core, so vague and poorly organized as to be virtually useless to the man entrusted with implementing it, Douglas MacArthur. To summarize the document, the objectives of the occupation were to ensure that Japan did not become a menace to the world, and to impose a democratic self-government consistent with the freely imposed will of the people. The occupation would accomplish this by disarming and demilitarizing the country, promoting democratic and representative organizations, and strengthening the economy. Should there be differences among the Allied Powers, “the policies of the United States will govern.” The supreme commander (appointed by the United States) would exercise sole executive power, and would work with the existing Japanese government to whatever extent he deemed feasible in reforming its “feudal and authoritarian tendencies.” Militarists would be removed from office and war criminals put on trial. War production factories would be dismantled and large economic monopolies broken up. Democratic parties and groups would be encouraged, and citizens' individual rights would be protected.

Thus ended what was essentially a wish list. How it was to be achieved was up to MacArthur. It was his job to clarify the policy, develop the strategy, set priorities and deadlines, and manage the operation. The most important line in the document was the one that defined his role: “The authority of the Emperor and the Japanese Government will be subject to the Supreme Commander, who will possess all powers necessary to effectuate the surrender terms and to carry out the policies established for the conduct of the occupation and the control of Japan.”

“All powers necessary. . . . ” The next sentence is interesting: It talks about “the desire of the United States to attain its objectives with a minimum commitment of its forces and resources.” That is exactly what MacArthur was doing when he talked about how he hoped to reduce American troops from 500,000 to 200,000: He was exercising his powers in trying to fulfill a major “desire of the United States”—demobilization. President Truman may not have been happy about MacArthur stating U.S. policy so forcefully and revealing specific dates and troop numbers, but it was a lot better than if MacArthur had said he needed a million men.

To use examples from the Civil War, generals can be divided into those like the infamous George McClellan, who need twice as many men as the enemy before they dare attack, and others like Grant, who don't complain and make do with whatever they've got. MacArthur was the latter. At a time when Americans were weary of war, and mothers, wives, and girlfriends wanted their boys back home, the size of forces available for MacArthur would have to be lean. One month later, in October, the issue of how many troops MacArthur needed came up again. He received a wire from the army chief of staff, General Marshall, saying Truman wanted to know whether MacArthur could
reduce
the minimum of 200,000 which he had contemplated. MacArthur chuckled over that one. In a conversation with General Eichelberger he said: “It seems funny that they should now be asking me to reduce below 200,000 when you think of all the fuss they made when I advanced the idea that 200,000 would be enough.”

But MacArthur still wasn't out of the doghouse with the president. He had been invited by Truman to make a trip back to the United States for a meeting and “to receive the plaudits of a grateful nation.” To Truman's surprise, MacArthur passed, claiming it would be “unwise” to leave Japan because of “the delicate and difficult situation which prevails here.” In October, Truman issued a second invitation for MacArthur “to make a trip home at such time [as] you feel you can safely leave your duties.” The president even offered an enticement: Would the general like to address a joint session of Congress? Again MacArthur passed, citing “the extraordinarily dangerous and inherently inflammable situation which exists here.”

From the president's point of view, only a man of MacArthur's oversize ego could dare such effrontery—a slight the president would not forget. Truman could only wonder how MacArthur would have reacted if one of his subordinates had said he was too busy to see him.

Except that Truman totally missed the point. Japan was conquered, but was it really? MacArthur was the commander of a hostile nation known for kamikazes. At any moment a bomb could go off or someone prominent be assassinated, and the war on Japan would resume in a second. Guerrilla bands of terrorists could strike anytime. To suggest (“order”) your general in Japan to come home for a week of celebration was pipe-dreaming, in MacArthur's view. He had no choice: He must stay on duty. He had a job to do, and he could not afford to leave, much though he might have relished returning home to a hero's welcome. In Japan, MacArthur was beginning the role of a lifetime, an opportunity few people ever get, one that must be seized and savored in its fleeting fullest. For Douglas MacArthur, the key operating words out of the numerous instructions he got from Washington came from the president himself: “Your authority is supreme.”

Supreme
.

Now, when a word like that is attached to a man, especially a general, it can quickly go to his head (one thinks of Mussolini in this regard). For someone who had spent his entire life cloistered in the bowels of the military, his every expense and personal whim paid for by the government, MacArthur—most curiously—had a fervently negative view of socialism and big government. Consider an argument he once had in the Philippines with his chief of staff, Lt. Col. Richard Sutherland. They were at a dinner party, and Sutherland was espousing strong views about the advantages a dictatorship had in waging war. According to one of the other officers present:

General MacArthur told Sutherland he was wrong; that democracy works and will always work, because the people are allowed to think, to talk, and to keep their minds free, open, and supple. He said that while the dictator state may plan a war, get everything worked out down to the last detail, launch the attack, and do pretty well at the beginning, eventually something goes wrong with the plan. Something interrupts the schedule. Now, the regimented minds of the dictator command are not flexible enough to handle quickly the changed situation. They have tried to make war a science when it is actually an art.

In a democracy, MacArthur was saying, there will be hundreds of free-thinking people to spot a dictator's errors and devise better methods. A democracy may be at a disadvantage at first when war comes, but eventually it will win. It may be inefficient and wasteful, but in the end it always will perform best.

By “democracy” he did not mean a chorus of voices having equal weight regardless of their merits. Leadership in a democracy meant being first among equals, and if he didn't consider the people he had to deal with to be equals, he could be ruthless in cutting them off. To appease the feelings of other nations, and fearful of what it regarded as MacArthur's dangerous appetite for power, the State Department had created two advisory organizations. However, if President Truman thought these organizations would rein in MacArthur, he was mistaken.

The first was the Far Eastern Commission (FEC), consisting of the United States and the eight other signatories to the surrender document, plus China and the Philippines (with Burma and Pakistan added later, in 1948). Formed in the gallant spirit of the United Nations, its purpose was to give those countries that had suffered from Japan's aggression a chance to influence the rehabilitation of their former enemy. In late November 1945 MacArthur invited the commission to visit Japan to see actual conditions firsthand and to provide him the “greatest possible aid.” The delegates arrived the day after Christmas and got treated to a tour of eight Japanese cities in addition to extensive briefings by SCAP officials, plus extensive time with the supreme commander himself. His charm could be overwhelming. Back in Washington, the commission chairman wrote a letter to Secretary of State James Byrnes that sounded as if it could have been written by MacArthur himself:

The most satisfactory result of the Commission's visit, from the point of view of the United States, was the feeling of confidence in the Supreme Commander engendered in the minds of the foreign representatives. Regardless of their views concerning the policies established by the United States for the control of Japan, all delegates are convinced that these policies are being carried out effectively and with the utmost wisdom by the Supreme Commander and his staff. They were all impressed by General MacArthur's grasp of the problems which face him and by the statesmanship he has shown in performing his difficult task.

Because it was based in Washington the commission could really do nothing but send memos, which more often than not were read quickly and promptly filed away in some basement storage room. When significant issues came up MacArthur could be fearless in using his power. He got into a major row with Australia and China when he allowed Japan to conduct deep-sea whaling off the coasts of China and the Philippines; even the British got aroused when he permitted Japanese whalers to go as far south as the Antarctic. The protesting nations lodged formal complaints with the State Department, only to be told nothing could be done to counteract whatever MacArthur decreed, his authority being inherent in his position as supreme commander.

The other advisory organization was the Allied Council for Japan (ACJ), based in Tokyo and consisting of the United States, the USSR, China, and the United Kingdom (representing itself, Australia, New Zealand, and India). Whereas the FEC was to set the general policy of the occupation, the ACJ was to advise on its execution. The council would meet once a week to “consult and advise” MacArthur. The idea was that if any members had disagreements of a fundamental nature with the supreme commander, he would seek their agreement before issuing his orders. Here MacArthur proved himself to be a master of the hidden dagger. In his April 5, 1946, address to the ACJ, he put the members—especially the Soviets—in their place:

I welcome you with utmost cordiality in the earnest anticipation that . . . your deliberations throughout shall be governed by goodwill, mutual understanding and broad tolerance. As the functions of the Council will be advisory and consultative, it will not divide the heavy administrative responsibility of the Supreme Commander as the sole executive authority for the Allied Powers in Japan, but it will make available to him the several viewpoints of its members on questions of policy and action. I hope it will prove to be a valuable factor in the future solution of many problems.