Tokyo's Yasukuni Shrine

       

       In the centre of Tokyo, close to Kudanshita Station, a shrine commemorates Japan's war dead, among whose number are convicted war criminals like General Hideki Tojo, Japan's World War Two prime minister. The setting is both imposing and attractive. You pass beneath a massive gate, the tallest in Japan, and walk down an avenue lined with beautiful and very tall trees until you reach the shrine. A group of very old people play the national anthem on traditional instruments, and you can buy some tako-yaki (fried octopus balls) from a stall if you so desire. 

         The shrine is very controversial, with the leaders of countries like South Korea and China routinely kicking up a storm when the Japanese prime minister visits. I used to think they were overreacting or just being cynical (they are politicians, after all). Having now made the journey myself, I'm inclined to believe they might have a point. 

      The shrine's precincts house a war museum. The tone is set on the ground floor, where visitors debating whether to cough up the 800 yen entrance fee are teased with some of the trappings of Japanese militarism: a Zero fighter plane, whose brilliant performance in a battle over the Chinese city of Chongqing is lauded, and a howitzer employed in the calamitous defence of Okinawa in 1945. This gun, we read, was donated "to comfort the noble souls of the war dead". 

         

            By chance, one of the first displays I happened upon was that dealing with what the museum refers to as "The China Incident" (read: the invasion and occupation of huge swathes of China in the 1930s). Reading the English information panels, one is left with the impression that somehow Japan was the victim in this conflict, despite the fact that it occurred across the Sea of Japan, in another country. As for the notorious assault on Nanking in December 1937, this is described as another "Incident".  No mention of atrocities is made, instead we read that the general in charge told his soldiers "to maintain strict military disciplines [sic] and that anyone committing unlawful acts would be severly punished". 

         I lost my enthusiasm for the exhibits after that. In truth, I felt quite out of place, and not just because very few foreigners were present. It was as if I was intruding on something that was not meant for me; the intended audience was domestic, and the aim was not to illuminate, but rather to conceal and propagandise. It was a depressing experience.