discuss his true agenda with his closest allies. Friends of the emperor whispered to him of Abe’s ambitions, because they were deeply troubled. Abe’s proclamations, they said, were more than rhetoric. He fully intended to make Japan a world power, to do “whatever was required.”
Naruhito, always conscious of the fact that the post-World War II constitution limited the throne to strictly ceremonial duties, held his tongue. Still, the burden of history weighed oppressively upon him. A personal letter from the president of the United States shattered Naruhito’s private impasse. “I am deeply concerned,” the President said, “that the Japanese government is considering a military solution to aggravating regional and economic problems, a solution that will rupture the peace of the region and may well trigger worldwide conflagration. Such a calamity would have enormous, tragic implications for every human on this planet. As heads of state, we owe our countrymen and our fellow citizens of the planet our best efforts to ensure such an event never occurs.”
There was more. Naruhito read the letter with a sense of foreboding. The president of the United States knew more about the political situation in Japan than he, the emperor, did. Obviously, the president got better information. Near the end of the letter, the president said, “We believe the Abe administration plans an invasion of Siberia to secure a permanent, stable oil supply. The recent appeals of the indigenous Siberian people for Japanese aid in their revolt against the Russians are a mere pretext orchestrated by the Abe government. I fear such an invasion might trigger a world war, the like of which this planet has never seen. A third world war, one more horrible than any conflict yet waged by man, may bring civilization to a tragic end, throwing the world into a new dark age, one from which our species may never recover.”
Here, in writing, were the words that expressed the horror the emperor felt as he observed the domestic political situation. Even though he lacked the specific information that the president of the United States had, Naruhito also felt that he was watching the world he knew slide slowly and inexorably toward a horrible doom.
“I am writing you personally,” the president concluded, “to ask for your help. We owe it to mankind to preserve the rule of law for future generations. Our worldwide civilization is not perfect; it is a work in progress, made better by every person who obeys the laws and works for his daily bread, thereby contributing to the common good. Civilization is the human heritage, the birthright of all who will come after us.” Naruhito asked the prime minister to call.
Although the emperor had met Atsuko Abe on several occasions since he had become prime minister, he had never before had the opportunity to speak privately with him. Always, there were aides around, functionaries, security people. This time, it was just the two of them, in the emperor’s private study.
After the polite preliminaries, the emperor mentioned the letter and gave Abe a copy to read.
Atsuko Abe was unsure how to proceed or just what to say. A private audience with the emperor was an extraordinary honor, one that left him somewhat at a loss for words. Yet this letter … He knew the Americans had spies — spies and political enemies were everywhere.
“Your Highness, we are at a critical juncture in our nation’s history,” Atsuko Abe said, feeling his way. “The disruption of our oil supply was the final straw. It wrecked the economy. Japan is in ruins; millions are out of work. We must repair the damage and ensure it never happens again.”
“Is it true?” the emperor asked, waving the letter. “Is your government planning an invasion of Siberia?”
“Your Excellency, we have received a humanitarian appeal from the native Siberian people, who are seeking to throw off the Russian yoke. Surely you have been briefed on this development. The justice of their situation is undeniable. Their appeal is quite compelling.”
“You are evasive, sir. Now is the time for speaking the blunt truth, not polite evasion.”
Abe was astounded. Never had he seen the emperor like this, nor imagined he could be like this.
“The time has come for Japan to assume its rightful place in the world,” the prime minister said.
“Which is?”
“A superpower,” Abe said confidently. He stared boldly at the emperor, who averted his eyes from the challenge on Abe’s face.
Then, ashamed, he forced himself to look the prime minister in the eye. “Is it true?” the emperor asked obstinately. “Does Japan plan to invade Siberia?”
“Our hour has come,” Abe replied firmly. “We are a small island nation, placed by the gods beside a growing Chinese giant. We must have oil.”
“But you have signed an agreement with the Russians! They will sell us oil.”
“That, Your Excellency, is precisely the problem. As long as we are buying Russian oil, we are at their mercy. Japan must have its own resources.”
The son of an industrialist, Atsuko Abe had spent the first two decades of his adult life in the Japanese Self- Defense Force, the military. Although he was selected for flag rank, he left at an early age and obtained a post in the defense ministry. There Abe made friends with politicians across the spectrum, rose in influence, won promotion after promotion. Finally, he left the bureaucracy and ran for a seat in the Diet, which he won handily. He had been there for almost ten years, surfing the political riptides that surged through the capital.
He was ready now, at sixty-two years of age. This was his moment. The emperor refused to look away. “Our hour? How dare you? This nation has never been in a shadow. Our way of life is honorable; we have kept faith with our ancestors. Our nation has made mistakes in the past, for which our people have paid dearly, but our honor is unstained. We need no hour of conquest, no triumph of violence, no blood on our hands.”
“You are born to your position,” Abe said bitterly. “What do you know of struggle, of triumph?”
The emperor fought to maintain his composure. “Russia has nuclear weapons, which the Russians might use to defend themselves. Have you the right to risk the very life of this nation?”
“We are in a grave crisis, Your Excellency.”
“Don’t patronize me, Prime Minister.”
Abe bowed. When he straightened, he said, “Forgive me, Excellency. The fact you do not know is that Japan also is a nuclear power. I am convinced that Russia will not risk nuclear war to retain a wasteland that has never earned her a single yen of profit.”
The emperor sat stunned. “Japan has nuclear weapons?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“How? How were these weapons developed and manufactured?”
“With the greatest secrecy. Obviously.” The manufacture of these weapons was Abe’s greatest triumph, a program reluctantly agreed to by politicians watching their world collapse, then accomplished under a security blanket worthy of Joseph Stalin. “The government did this without the consent of the Diet? Without the knowledge and consent of the Japanese people- In violation of the constitution and the laws?”
Abe merely bowed his head. “What if you are wrong about Russia?” the emperor demanded. “Answer me that. What if Russia retaliates with nuclear weapons?”
“The risk is as great for Russia as it is for Japan, and Russia has less at stake.”
“They may not see the equation as you do, Prime Minister.” Abe said nothing. The emperor was too astonished to go further. The man is mad, he thought. The prime minister has gone completely mad. After a bit, the emperor recovered his voice sufficiently to ask, “What do you suggest I tell the president of the United States in answer to his letter?”
Abe made an irritated gesture. “Ignore it. No answer is necessary, Your Excellency. The president does not know his place.”
Naruhito shook his head ponderously from side to side. “My grandfather, Hirohito, received a letter from President Roosevelt on the eve of World War Two, pleading for peace. Hirohito did not answer that letter. He refused to intervene with the government. All my life, I have wondered how history might have been different had my grandfather spoken up for what he believed.”
“Emperor Hirohito believed that the government was acting in the nation’s best interests.”
“Perhaps he did. I am not convinced that your government is now.”
Abe shook himself. He had come too far, endured too much. He faced the emperor like a sumo wrestler. “The government must speak for you, and the nation, which are the same. That is the law.”
“Do not speak to me of law. Not after what you have told me.” Abe pounded his chest. “You reign, I rule. That is the Japanese way.”
Abe took several deep breaths to compose himself. “If you will give me a copy of the letter, I will have the foreign minister prepare a reply.”
