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Tsumoru Fujii had been at Ulan Ude near Lake Baikal. His story was typical. This P.W. camp was run by a seven-man "antifascist committee" made up of captives who had gone through a two-month political school at Nakhodka, near Vladivostok. Five nights a week, Fujii and his fellow prisoners would trudge off to hear a two-hour lecture. Last November, prisoners were told how Henry Wallace had been defrauded of the U.S. presidency by vote-buying and illegal balloting organized by Democrats and Republicans. Recently they were told that MacArthur was forcibly taking rice from Japanese farmers for shipment to America; in return the U.S. shipped low-grade corn meal to Japan. They discussed the Atlantic pact as "The Prelude to World War III."
When he refused to attend propaganda movies, Fujii was brought before a "People's Court." As punishment, he was thrown into the middle of a ring of prisoners, then kicked and beaten from one side to the other.
"They Never Told Us." Soviet indoctrination, however, did not shield all the 2,000 from the impact of home. Private Masaatsu Okada stammered: "My heart is full." Some wept. Recalling the bare grass mountains of Siberia, Toshiji Sugimoto choked: "When we first saw the bamboo forests this morning . . ." He broke off. "I just can't put it in words."
For three days the repatriates were processed through a reorientation center. There were many surprises in U.S.-occupied Japan. "I didn't think Japan had any clothing left," said one man as he wriggled his feet into a pair of heavy new shoes. Gradually, as the repatriates talked to friendly representatives from home prefectures, looked at Japanese newspapers and books, attended reorientation lectures on the new government and the social structure, the crust of fear and suspicion softened; tight, drawn faces began to relax. Smiling repatriates in new grey clothes crowded around local exhibits in the prefectural exhibition building. One happy man saw his child's drawing on display. Another found his family's picture in a large album and burst into tears. Said one wide-eyed, thin-faced soldier: "They never told us it would be like this."
Red Flags & Cold Tea. Then the re-indoctrination for the U.S.-brand of democracy went awry. Some 500 of the repatriates were shuttled on to their native Kyoto. To the old city's railway station trooped a crowd of official greeters. All was carefully planned, including the serving of tea by the local women's club. But Kyoto's Communists moved into the party and made it their own show.
Somehow, perhaps in collusion with Red railway workers, they managed to filter through a police cordon. They cleverly planted Red flags in the hands of the official greeters. When the repatriates' train pulled in, the welcome was transformed into a frenzied Red rally. Bewildered clubwomen stood disconsolately amid unnoticed cups of cold tea as the demonstration swept around them.