Quotes of the Day
Chiran is a hike. Located on the southernmost tip of Japan, the tiny town lies hours from any major city and deep in a valley surrounded by a fortress of mountains. Yet on a mid-August national holiday, visitors throng its sleepy streets and pack its inns. They've come not for Chiran's green tea and purple yams, nor for its exquisitely preserved samurai estates—but to honor its kamikaze pilots.
Fifty-seven years after World War II ended, Japan is finally embracing its kamikaze past. Named after the "winds of god" that saved Japan from Kubla Khan's invading ships in the 13th century, these pilots used to be viewed with pained embarrassment by Japanese as symbols of the horror and insanity of the war. Humiliated by defeat and desperate to move on, Japan buried the memory of these men whose chillingly simple mission was to fly into American battleships.
But over the past few years, books, television specials, movies and plays about kamikazes have drawn ever-bigger audiences. Last year, nearly a million people visited Chiran to pay tribute at what was once the nation's biggest kamikaze base. Locals speculate that demoralized Japanese come here in search of heroes. Or because Sept. 11 sparked increasing curiosity about Japan's own suicide bombers. But most know they come because of a Chiran woman named Tome Torihama whom the kamikazes called Mom.
Tome told their stories "hundreds, no, thousands of times to anyone who'd listen," says Akihisa. There was Katsuo Katsumata, a 22-year-old with a mischievous grin who told Tome to stop crying over his departure or else "you'll go bald." There was handsome Ryoji Uehara, also 22, who sent his intended a parting message by circling letters in a book. ("Kyoko-chan, goodbye," it read. "I love you.") There was Saburo Miyakawa, 20, who on the eve of his mission told Tome he would see her at the eatery the next night. He smiled at her bafflement and explained, "I'll come back as a firefly." When a firefly bobbed into the eatery the next night, Tome cried, "Look, everyone, it's Sabu-chan!"
After the war, the public turned against the kamikazes. "The world thought they were crazy fanatics who died shouting banzai for the Emperor," says Hatsuyo Torihama, who is married to another of Tome's grandchildren. Tome waged a one-woman battle to untaint their memory, showing the soldiers' photos to customers and collecting donations for the town to put up a statue of the goddess of mercy in 1955. "But no one came," says Hatsuyo. "Not a soul."
Eventually, they did come. A museum dedicated to the pilots was erected next to the statue in 1975 using federal, town and donated funds. Then came 1,036 stone lanterns, one for each pilot who died. But it was after Tome's death in 1992 at age 89 that she won her lifelong struggle. Thanks to Japanese media reports, she became known nationwide as the "Kamikaze Mom," and even skeptics repulsed by the deadly missions warmed to the granny's tale. Ken Takakura, the John Wayne of Japan, conceived of a motion picture after visiting Chiran, in which he starred as a former kamikaze pilot who survived. Among the top-grossing domestic films of 2001, it was called Hotaru (Firefly). Hatsuyo now runs the Tomiya Inn in the building that once housed the eatery. Last fall, Akihisa, her brother-in-law, opened a near-exact replica of the eatery next door to display the soldiers' letters and photographs. It is called the Hotaru-kan, or the Firefly House.
Right-wing nationalists have made Chiran a shrine: every Aug. 15, which the Japanese mark as the date of the war's end, trucks roll through the streets blaring nationalist messages and songs. But in Tome's eyes, the kamikazes were kids, not political symbols, and she relentlessly preached peace. "She always said, 'No one wins in war,'" recalls Hatsuyo. "To her, these boys were victims." Many of the families visiting Chiran this Aug. 15 heed her message, and express pity and sorrow rather than jingoistic pride. "I came because I wanted to know the truth," says Kazunori Matsuo, 38, who rode from Nagasaki on his motorbike. Another visitor, Kazuo Nakajima, 47, says his late father had hidden his military history. "I learned just yesterday," he says, "that my father had trained as a kamikaze pilot." An aunt and uncle broke the news; the following day, Nakajima decided to come to Chiran with his three kids. "My children need to know the importance of peace." This would surely have pleased Tome. "(Before she died,) she was writing to then President George Bush, asking him to end the Gulf War," says her grandson Akihisa. "If people can relate to a woman like Tome Torihama, then there's hope for Japan—and the world."
- Lisa Takeuchi Cullen/Chiran
- The sacrifices of the country's kamikaze pilots are at last being honored