March 20, 1946, Wednesday
It was a fine day today. When I pushed the window open on the tenth floor of Cathay Mansion, there was a red shining sun in the azure sky, a scene that I had not seen for three weeks now. It has been five weeks since I left Chungking for Shanghai. In the first two weeks, the sun shone warmly every day as if it were mid-spring. However, the following three weeks were full of raindrops lingering without stop, almost making me forget how the sun ever shed its light.
To avoid the discomfort of walking in the rain in early morning, I applied to the headquarters of US army for a room in Cathay Mansion, one of Shanghaiâs skyscrapers located in the old French Concession, a Western-styled structure called âthe 13-storied buildingâ by locals. The Mansion was used as Japanâs military command when Shanghai was under the Japanese control. After Japanâs surrender, the US army took it over and set it as a dormitory for the US military officers and a guest house. The Air Transport Command (A.T.C.) is located on the first floor. Any passenger who is to fly to Japan or the US by a military airplane must arrive here by 7:00 a.m., go through some procedures, and then take the Commandâs bus for the Jiangwan Airfield.
Though a skyscraper in Shanghai, Cathy Mansion had become a water dungeon due to the 20ish-day raining. Only through the long boards laid in front of its gate and in the back hall could people walk in and out of the Mansion. When I moved in last night, this mess caused me a big trouble.
Strange enough, the rain stopped overnight and the water surrounding the Mansion receded. Looking outside of the window, the sun rose from the east against the blue sky, almost a mid-spring day and totally different from yesterdayâs dismaying cloud and fog. This change, though made by the hand of Mother Nature, did delight and excite me quite a lot.
Last night, I talked for a long time with some friends, especially with Xiang Mingsi [Xiang Zhejun, or as Hsiang Che-chun] who came back from Japan recently. Thinking that the process of my flying would start right from this hotel and there should be no worry for being late, I went to bed too late, and it was already 7 oâclock when I woke up.
After a hasty washing, I had no time for breakfast and immediately rushed to find a porter to carry my luggage downstairs, when it was no earlier than 7:30. Quickly going through the procedures, all the passengers were invited upstairs to watch a film clip entitled Passenger Notice which showed us how to wear a life jacket, and how to protect and save ourselves in case of a plane accident. This clip went on for about fifteen minutes with thorough and intelligible details. The Americansâ respect for life and their serious and scientific approaches were manifest in these arrangements.
Afterwards, we walked downstairs, and the staff took a roll-call for us to get on the bus one by one. Since my name was titled with âJudge,â he called me first, which aroused the interest of those American officers. In the eyes of Westerners, especially in the UK and the US, judges are of the most respectable profession. In a country where the rule of law is strictly observed and laws have supremacy, judges are naturally honored and dignified.
However, they were curious about this Chinese judge: where did he come from and why was he heading for Tokyo?
Silence prevailed. The bus was fast, driving through the crowded streets one after another. An officer saw a piece of luggage with my name card hanging on it. He tried to look calm, but meanwhile revealed an expression of pride like a detective having found a clue. I knew he wanted to read that card, so I turned my head toward the window while catching a glimpse of his move. When I turned back, his face changed, as if he was telling his companions that he had found a secret. He then showed more respect to me, because, in his mind, a judge to be sitting in an international military tribunal set up by the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP for short, or the General HeadquartersâGHQ) was a most honorable person. We exchanged a few words of courtesy and, when getting off the bus at Jiangwan, he helped me with my luggage and accompanied me to embark the airplane, showing great friendliness to me.
The plane took off at 9:30 a.m. With my stomach empty and without even a sip of tea, I felt a little uncomfortable but there was no choice for me. Before the take-off, a crew member asked us to put on our life jackets; then fifteen minutes after we were off the ground, he told us to take them off, saying that the danger was over. We were all somewhat confused.
The plane was a medium transport aircraft which could take forty or fifty passengers. But in this plane, there were only about a dozen, less than one-third of its load. Apart from two Japanese and me, the rest were US military officers, some going to Tokyo and others to the US via Tokyo.
That young officer was sitting next to me. We had become acquaintances by now and chatted quite a lot on various topics. Meanwhile, I was no longer thirsty as he served me a cup of tea every thirty minutes. His name was McLeod. He told me that he had studied law for one year after graduating from college, which he would like to continue after his military service was completed. In the army, he started as an ordinary soldier and was promoted to a lieutenant after several years in the battlefield. From this one example, we can see how fair the US military system is and what a high level of education the American servicemen have.
Speaking of the two Japanese passengers, I wondered what kind of people they were, but I never asked them any question, although they were humble and polite and looked like trying to talk with me. This was for two reasons. First, the US military officers seemed to disgust or ignore them, or at least acted coldly toward them, which made me feel inconvenient to contact them despite my curiosity. Secondly, even if I asked them, they might not be able to answer me in Chinese or English while I had no knowledge of Japanese. But I was boggled by the idea that they were likely to be peaceniks or communists, like Kazuo Aoyama and Wataru Kaji, otherwise they would not be entitled to travel in a US military airplane without any form of supervision (if they were prisoners, they would be escorted by armed soldiers). This riddle about who they are still lingers in my mind.
Amid chatting with McLeod, I sometimes looked out of the window, at the vast and endless sea or the crystal blue sky. Time passed by quickly. Soon we came over Japan and would land at Atsugi Airport in fifteen minutes. The crew member instructed us to put on our life jackets and then take them off again, and the plane landed in two minutes. This flight was very smooth and comfortable, and the weather was pleasant, too. It was 4:00 p.m. when we arrived. I felt luckyâlucky for a man who had been suffering from the rain for three weeks in Shanghai.
Upon landing, when I was about to shake hands with McLeod and say goodbye, suddenly an officer in a colonel uniform rushed in and asked loudly for âJudge Wei.â I guessed he was the guy sent to pick me up and I told him that I was Judge Mei, not Wei. He said yes, he was here to pick me up but had confused Mei with Wei. He added that the US headquarters in Shanghai sent a telegram to the GHQ, which assigned him to meet me at the airport. The rank of colonel is pretty high in the US army, and his words further surprised the passengersâWhat kind of judge is he? Why does he come to Tokyo? And why is he welcomed so greatly?
The officer was Colonel Huff, a director of protocol or director of hospitality under Douglas MacArthur. He has followed General MacArthur for many years. Having gone through numerous tough battles as a veteran, he has nevertheless been given such a menial job as receiving and sending off guests now.
With Huffâs care, everything seemed fine. I followed him to get off the plane, and set my foot on Japanâs soil. His guard and driver carried my luggage, with all the procedures exempted. It took no more than several minutes for us to drive out of the airport and head for Tokyo, which is 42 miles away from Atsugi. The ride of over one hour also took me through the outskirts of Yokohama, thus enabling me to see the ruins of both Yokohama and Tokyo left by the aerial bombings.
A curiosity seized me. Looking at the scenes along the road and the men and women passing by, I poured out questions to Colonel Huff, like The Analects says: âWhen Confucius entered the Ancestral Temple, he asked about everything.â
Huff has a gift of the gab and is familiar with the situation, so he answered my questions to my satisfaction.
I cannot write down everything I saw during the drive, neither do I remember all the questions I asked Huff. My general impression was that all the factories in Yokohama and Tokyo were bombarded and burned. Only then, I came to realize what was meant by âscorching a city.â
Huffâs family lived in Manila and his house was burned by the Japanese. He pointed to a square with piles of debris and rubble, saying that he was pleased to see it. I told him that my home was also burned down when the Japanese army occupied Nanking, so I could definitely share his feelings.
The men and women that I saw on the road had different facial expressions. Most men walked slowly with their heads down, and looked like having heavy thoughts in their mind; most women, by contrast, walked briskly with a smiling face and an air of indifference. However, whether men or women, they are no longer what I saw in Japan twenty-two years ago. Who have brought about such changes? The war criminals that we are about to try must be held responsible for it. They disrupted the world order, caused great damage to China, and also ruined the future of their own nation. How dangerous it was for a country to be run, not by statesmen but by a bunch of unscrupulous military men with neither political mind nor global vision! An ever promising nation has been doomed, as the saying goes, âYou reap what you have sown.â It is a tragedy in human history, and also an important lesson.
My thoughts and feelings are bountiful as today is my first day to step on the soil of Japan, home of the enemies whom we fought against for eight years. But my observations are prone to be superficial, so I will stop here. Since I will stay here for at least four or five months, I will have time to observe more, and then make more solid conclusions.
At about 5 oâclock (it was already 6 oâclock in Tokyo, one hour ahead of Shanghai), we arrived at the Imperial Hotel, a world-renowned guesthouse.
The Imperial Hotel used to be where the GHQ was located, and Douglas MacArthur stayed here for some time. In my imagination, this hotel should be a towering mansion, prominent with its Western features, at least comparable with the Park Hotel or the Cathay Mansion in Shanghai. However, the fact contravenes my imagination. The Imperial Hotel is an antique two-story âhouse,â with no magnificent appearance. For all the modern equipment one may need, it does not look fashionable or majestic. It is said that this hotelâs biggest advantage is its earthquake-resistant structure. In 1923, the Great KantĆ Earthquake hit Tokyo and shook almost everything down, but this hotel still stood firm. Before the recent War, it was used by the Japanese government to accommodate foreign guests, and now all the important GHQ officials of or above the rank of brigadier general reportedly live here.
Upon arrival, Colonel Huff called Lt. Morris, manager of the hotel, to accompany us to Room 288, which had been designated for me. âThis room has been waiting for you for nearly a month,â said Morris with a smile. âIt has been reserved for you since we were informed of your arrival in Shanghai.â
The room is located in the very east end of the second floor. It is quite spacious, with three separate parts: a living room, a bedroom and a bathroom, as well as a big balcony (which can hold two traditional Chinese banquet tables) and a small balcony. The ventilation is good. From the balconies, I can see the streets and a square below. Inside the rooms, all the utensils I may need have been provided. After two monthsâ hustle and bustle, I am very pleased to settle down in such a quiet environment.
I chatted with Huff and Morris for about ten minutes, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had to meet our Chinese delegates and the judges from other countries who had arrived earlier.
Morris went to make telephone calls for me. To my disappointment, Gen. Wang Danru [Wang Zhi], Chinaâs general liaison officer, and Dr. Gu Yiqiao [Gu Yuxiu, or as Ku Yu-hsiu], who is visiting Japan, have gone to Nagasaki to see the atomic bombing ruins; Sir William Webb, the Australian judge, has returned home for business, while the judges from the UK, the US, Canada, the Netherlands, and New Zealand are touring together around Kyoto since they have been in Tokyo for quite some time with nothing to do right now. All of them may come back in two or three days.
I remembered Mr. Liu Zenghua from Chinaâs Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Mr. Tang, our deputy liaison officer in Tokyo. Morris instantly connected me with them over the telephone, and I invited them for a chat in the evening.
Being tired after the journey, I asked the hotel attendant to serve dinner in my room. Then Messrs. Liu and Tang along with a Mr. Dai came. We chatted for about an hour, when they asked me what was happening in China, and I asked them about Tokyo, until it was 9:00 p.m. before we realized it.
After they left, I unpacked my luggage in haste and took a hot bath before going to bed.
March 21, 1946, Thursday
It was already 8 oâclock when I woke up. Being too tired and sleepy last night, I forgot to turn off the light and adjust the gas stove, but still slept tight for about ten hours, which I cannot do in ordinary days.
I felt it unnecessary to go out, considering that the other judges went to Kyoto, that my old schoolmates Gen. Wang and Dr. Gu were also away, and that I already met with Messrs. Liu and Tang last night. I should take a good rest in the hotel today.
I had breakfast, lunch and supper all in my room. The food here is in American cuisine, supplied by the GHQ, and the ingredients are said to be shipped from the US. All the related costs are considered part of the occupation fee, which is to be paid by the Japanese government.
While the quality was not bad, the dishes were somewhat monotonous, with all the officials stationed in Tokyo taking the same meals without any choice. I read the two newspapers provided by the GHQ for free: Stars and Stripes and Nippon Times, published by the GHQ and the Japanese respectively.
After breakfast, I put my luggage in order and looked around from my balconies. Soon Morris came. We greeted each other, then he asked me if I wanted to have my room rearranged. He also told me that the GHQ had designated a sedan car for my use, with a military driver named Wallace. I told him that I did not need the car today but he should come tomorrow morning.
Todayâs weather was as good as yesterdayâs, but I did not walk out of my room. All the things were completed with the help of the hotel attendants.
Speaking of the Japanese attendants, whether male or female, they are all polite and deferential, showing their courtesy in an extreme manner. Whatever they are asked to do, they will take all the orders, say yes in a low voice, and bow to recede with a smile. However, what their true feelings are, what they think of Japanâs fiasco and of the Chinese people, these are behind their smiles, of which I have no idea.
After supper, I recalled that I had to write home. But who can help me take the letters to China? Anger and shame filled my heart when I realized that, after more than six months of the occupation of Japan, there is still no official correspondence channel with China. Even the Chinese officials stationed here cannot send letters to their families in China. What a pity!
I have kept the habit of playing Tai-Chi every day for two years, but I did not do it in the past three days. Recalling this at night, I practiced one set. Then I took a hot bath and went to bed at 10 oâclock.
March 22, 1946, Friday
The weather was even better than that of yesterday. Pushing the windows open upon waking up, I saw no cloud in the sky. The sun shed its light all over the balcony, extending its warmth to the carpet inside. The spring may have really arrived at last.
But the people I wanted to meet with are not yet back. To go out touring the city? I do not have a guide, and my secretary Luo Jiyi, a âJapan hand,â failed to come along with me as he is still stranded in Hong Kong. It seemed that I would miss out such a delightful day again. Determined, since there was not much choice for me, I dismissed the driver at 9 oâclock. I spent the whole day in the hotel and had only room-served meals.
I dragged a chair near the balcony, and spent several hours reading a book, which was given to me as a gift by Mr. Chen Tingrui who had just returned to Shanghai from the US. The book, War Criminals: Their Prosecution and Punishment by Sheldon Glueck, a Harvard professor of criminal law and criminology, is a masterpiece and has come at a much opportune time for me, for which I should thank Mr. Chen. Back in Shanghai, my restless mind and too many social activities had prevented me from making a serious study, where I read only a few dozens of pages. But today, in the peaceful surroundings and with a tranquil mind, I of course seized this good opportunity to read as much as possible.
While reading in the sunshine, I from time to time took a look from the balcony at the Japanese men and women and the American soldiers passing by on the streets down there. It seemed to me that there was little contact between American soldiers and Japanese people, and they seldom walked side by side with each other. There was neither hostility nor friendliness and amicability between the two groups, but rather, they were indifferent as if they had not seen each other. These observations were made merely on the surface, subject to possible changes later.
What I found peculiar today was that the Japanese people, both men and women, looked physically strong, especially the young women who were stout with glowing faces. Such a finding seems somewhat contrary to the foreign newspaper reports that the Japanese people are leading a hard life, suffering from scarcity in food supply, insufficient rationing, and strict restrictions on cash withdrawal from the bank (it is said that each Japanese can only withdraw 100 yen per day, equaling US$ 6.6 at the official exchange rate of 15 yen per dollar, which becomes 30 to 80 yen per dollar in...