Seven Old Men

In their brief and bloody day, the seven old men and their fellows had ruled an empire greater than Alexander's or Caesar's or Napoleon's. Last week, at midnight after the winter solstice, the paths of Japan's top war leaders ended without glory, but with a dignity that seemed enhanced a little by the doubt and confusion among the victors.

The U.S. Supreme Court, after voting 5 to 4 to hear argument on whether to review the legality of the eleven-nation Tokyo tribunal, decided 6 to 1 that it had no jurisdiction to review the verdict. The Japanese--and many Americans--were somewhat bewildered by these final hesitations. There were to be no more. The seven understood that; they waited in Tokyo's quiet Sugamo prison for General Douglas MacArthur to fix the date of execution.

The seven were: Hideki Tojo, wartime Premier of Japan; General Kenji Doihara, who had engineered the Mukden Incident in 1931; General Heitaro Kimura, former commander in Manchuria; General Iwane Matsui, responsible for the rape of Nanking; General Akira Muto, former chief of staff in the Philippines; ex-Premier (1936-37) Koki Hirota; ex-War Minister Seishiro Itagaki.

Thirteen Steps. It had been unseasonably warm in Tokyo, but on the last day it turned cold. The seven were notified of the execution time 15 hours beforehand. Tojo said, jokingly, in English: "Okay, okay." He thanked the prison warden for decent treatment, and said he had been afraid that he would be snatched from bed and executed so quickly that he would not have time to express properly his gratitude to the authorities.

Tojo, Matsui, Doihara and Muto were led into the prison courtyard while the other three waited in a Buddhist chapel. Frost was forming on the courtyard ground, and the air was misty. The four old men stood erect in G.I. fatigues. Matsui, shaking with age and cold and palsy, raised a quavering cry: "Tenno heika banzai! (May the Emperor live 10,000 years!)." The other three quaveringly took it up: "Banzai, banzai, banzai!"

In the chapel, Hirota heard the cries. "What is that?" he asked. "Manzai?" (Manzai is the word for "comedy.") "Ah, banzai; I understand. Let us do it, too." The banzais of the three echoed out to the four in the courtyard.

The four turned over their beads to a Buddhist priest in attendance. Tojo also handed the priest his glasses and his false teeth, to give to Mrs. Tojo. (He had already sent his wife a lock of hair and a fingernail clipping as mementos--TIME, NOV. 22.)

In the execution chamber, the four mounted 13 steps to the gallows. All stood unaided while G.I.s adjusted black hoods and arranged the knots upon their necks.

One minute after they entered the chamber, four traps were sprung at once. Then the other three were led up the 13 steps, and hanged until dead.

Over the Mountains. A priest, who was the only Japanese to see them after death, said that their faces were "serene, calm, clear"--a statement which those who have seen hanged men would regard as doubtful.

On their way to work, Tokyo citizens read the news, mostly from billboards slapped up around the city by newspapers. To Westerners, their faces showed nothing. The predominant sentiment expressed was "Hotto shita ne"--which, colloquially, means "I'm glad it's all over."

Many said: "Kinodoku, kinodoku (pity, pity)." That was what many had said during the war when U.S. prisoners had been led through Tokyo's streets. Tojo & friends, through their thought control police, had tried then to stop the expression of kinodoku. It persisted, even for them.

Said one prominent Japanese publisher to an American: "We all went into war together and all suffered, but they died for us. What they did was wrong, but we all did it together. It is finished; we are now in your hands."

On the day after the execution, many Japanese went to shrines to pray. It was hard for a Westerner to learn what they really felt. Some said the Japanese were not praying for the dead war lords, but for peace in the world. It was no less difficult to learn the final attitudes of the condemned. Tojo left a poem:

It is goodbye.

Over the mountains I go today

To the bosom of Buddha.

So, happy am I.

Itagaki was the only one of the seven who publicly expressed contrition. Itagaki's poem:

Humbly do I kneel

In front of our great God

And beg forgiveness

For all my sins.

The attitudes of the victors were also obscure. After the seven were dead, MacArthur granted freedom to all remaining "Class A" war criminals except two who were already on trial. MacArthur asked for a day of prayer throughout Japan.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.