Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Ninagawa Arata

I. Education and Spirit of Childhood

I was born in Meiji 6 (1873).
And then seven days later, I lost my father.
I am a person who never knew my father.

I was born in Sodeshi on the coast of Suruga Province (Shizuoka Prefecture).
It was the neighboring village of Okitsu.
Shortly after I was born, I was carried in my mother’s arms and moved to Tokyo.
My mother’s family home had been located in the Kanda Myojin Shrine area since the Tokugawa period.
My mother’s biological father—that is, my grandfather—had been the former feudal lord of Hayashida in Banshu (Hyogo Prefecture), but he was still alive at the time.
My mother moved to Tokyo by relying on her birth family, the Tatebe house.

I was born in Suruga, where my family had migrated without official registration; from the moment of my birth, I was an unfortunate individual placed in adversity.

At that time, Tokyo had just become occupied territory by the arrogant Satsuma-Chōshū people and other victors who had gathered from various domains.
In other words, it was a society in chaos following the revolution.

My mother soon moved into the residence of her biological younger brother in Kōjimachi Sanbanchō—the Tsubouchi house.
It was there that I lived with my mother until I was fifteen.

From the age of seven onward, I studied at Bancho Elementary School, which was already renowned at the time. In academics, thought, and conduct, I was praised by my teachers as a model student. However, among the townspeople between Ichigaya Mitsuke and Kudan, while I was not hated, I was nevertheless known as a troublemaker.

During that period, I studied Chinese classics under Professor Kiyota Koku, learned English from an unnamed instructor, and particularly studied algebra and arithmetic with a mathematics teacher. My mother raised me with kindness. “Become a great figure,” she would always encourage me. She often recounted our family’s long-standing history to me, and frequently spoke about the circumstances of the Restoration era.

When I was five years old, a terrifying comet appeared in the sky. Late at night, my mother took me out to the garden, pointed at that dreadful large star, and told me, “People say that is Saigō’s vengeful spirit.”
I was just five years old at the time, but I experienced such an intense feeling then—one that could not be erased for many years.
Even today, after seventy-four years have passed, that large, shining comet and that scene remain imprinted in my eyes, never fading.

One day, I was taken by my mother to the Koishikawa University Botanical Garden.
I must have been around ten years old at the time.

My mother said to me:
“This was the Ninagawa family’s secondary residence.
From March to October of Meiji 1 (1868), our family lived in this residence with two former retainers and several male and female servants.
In May of that year，several defeated Shōgitai soldiers fled into this residence.
The family worried that night they would finally fall under the blades of the Imperial forces and be slaughtered，but we steeled our resolve.
However，the defeated soldiers had gone off somewhere，and our family remained unharmed.
Afterward，one evening when my father and mother were having dinner together on the mezzanine，a bullet suddenly came flying from the mountain.
The bullet struck the door lintel of the tatami room.
My parents stopped their meal，went downstairs，and quietly observed the situation on the mountain，but seeing no signs of disturbance，it ended just like that.”
Even as a child，I could not help but feel anger upon hearing that.
The figure and countenance of my mother at that time still remain etched in my mind’s eye，never fading.

During my childhood, I attended daily the cram school of a Confucian scholar named Kiyota Koku who lived in Sanbanchō. Professor Kiyota had been a yoriki—a police official—during the Tokugawa period and was deeply versed in Chinese classics. He had authored several works on Chinese classics. Many students attended his school. Professor Kiyota would always recount to me the actual conditions of Edo during the Restoration, including detailed accounts of how Saigō had unleashed five hundred robbers to plunder Edo’s streets. As Tokugawa law enforcement officers, the yoriki would immediately form squads and rush into action to apprehend culprits whenever reports of robberies arrived. He repeatedly explained to me that Saigō and his men’s sole purpose had been to seize civilian property—neither attacking the shogunate nor inciting rebellion in the city. With conviction, he stressed that they had possessed not an ounce of moral principle. Burning with youthful righteousness, I found myself unable from childhood onward to suppress my loathing for those political schemers’ cruelty and inhumanity.

I had already been instilled with a spirit of resistance from that era. I had learned through Chinese classics the ancient tale of Zhang Liang’s daring assassination attempt on Qin Shi Huang, and I deeply admired Zhang Liang’s strong and righteous spirit. Even in later years, I have enjoyed hanging that painting in the tokonoma and appreciating it.

II My Higher School and University Years

I determined my own path and advanced on my own initiative.
I initially thought of devoting myself to the navy, devoting myself to the maritime nation, and dedicating my entire life to the maritime nation of Japan.
However, when I once took the physical examination for the naval academy, they rejected me outright from the start, saying, “You have one too many cavities.”
At that point, I gave up on the navy.
And so I changed my course of study to the University of Tokyo.

I entered First Higher School in Meiji 22 (1889).
I joined the French literature department and resolved to become a diplomat in the future.
I immersed myself in reading biographies of heroes.
I went on drinking binges with friends too.
I frequently rebelled against my teachers as well.
In classrooms, I would sometimes openly mock the Bachelor of Letters instructor who lectured on Shinto.
To the Bachelor of Letters professor teaching court literature, I would publicly denounce the lack of vitality in Japanese prose.
The teacher would tell me, “You are hopeless,” and there were times when I received no consideration.
That was the renowned Professor Ochiai Naofumi.
I studied French extensively.
I also associated with interpreters from the French Embassy.
During school’s long vacations, I traveled to various regions.
Among those travel companions were several friends who later rendered great service to Japan.
Watanabe Chifuyu who entered the cabinet; Suzuki Umetarou, an agricultural doctorate who became a world-class scholar; and Shinoda Jisaku, a law doctorate who became president of Keijō University and Director-General of the Yi Royal Household Agency—these were among them.
On those higher school festival days, I would become swept up in excitement.
There were times when I spent mornings drinking until my body became completely immobile by four in the afternoon—collapsing on Yayoi Hill’s vast athletic field before being carried back to the dormitory by friends.

Regarding my conduct, my mother must have been deeply troubled in her heart. However, without saying anything, she left me to my own devices. In later years, her kindness struck my heart profoundly and ceaselessly filled me with remorse for having been truly inconsiderate. I loved freedom by nature. I spent my student days freely. I loved poetry recitation.

III Enlistment as a One-Year Volunteer Soldier

I thought that once I graduated from university, I would immediately become a diplomat and fly around the world.
Therefore, upon graduating from higher school, I resolved to enter the military, gain a basic understanding of military affairs, and use it as a reference for my future activities as a diplomat.
My friend laughed at me as an eccentric.
I determined my path alone.
I enlisted in the Konoe Fourth Regiment as a one-year volunteer soldier.
It was December Meiji 29 (1896).
That was in the immediate aftermath of the First Sino-Japanese War.

In the military, I was thoroughly detested by arrogant and lowly non-commissioned officers and senior privates.
On one occasion, I was taken to a distant barracks in Shimoshizu-hara and brought to the brink of being beaten in the dark.
However, overwhelmed by my valid arguments, I skillfully extricated myself from the situation.
Fortunately, I managed to escape harm and was able to return to my barracks.
I was held in great trust by the regimental commanders and battalion commanders.

On one occasion, an inspection was conducted by Division Commander Kuroki of the Konoe Division.
I was taken out alone to Aoyama Drill Ground.
The division commander and staff officers were lined up.
A captain stood before me and commanded, “State the principle of obedience.”
I answered quietly according to form.
Then, the captain proceeded to ask, “Will you obey any and all orders?”
I stated, “I believe the Emperor’s orders are just.
“Therefore, I obey.”
“To unjust orders, I absolutely will not obey,” I answered sternly.
The captain scolded me and demanded, as if reproaching me, “Doesn’t that violate the principle of obedience?”
I stubbornly insisted, “That is not a correct interpretation.”
And so the examination directed at me concluded, but that evening, the captain said, “You! Truthfully, after we all deliberated, posing those questions to you was a staged performance—meant to unfold an entertaining scene for the Division Commander.”

I gained valuable experience in the regiment.
And so, my physique became remarkably sturdy.
I spent one year and three months in the regiment.
And so I became a second lieutenant, once again became a free student, and resumed my studies at university.
My mother had become quite elderly, but she was overjoyed.

IV: Enrollment at the University of Tokyo and Thereafter

I enrolled in the law department at the University of Tokyo.
And so I studied primarily French and international law.
During my student days I translated and published Renault’s renowned work on international law.
It was to build up French proficiency.
I created a speech workshop with several classmates and practiced speeches in the university’s large lecture hall.
Among those companions were people who later became famous.
Nagashima Ryūji, Ogawa Gōtarō, Watanabe Chifuyu, Nakagawa Kenzō—these were among them.
The Swiss teacher Burder placed great trust in me.
I attended lectures on civil law and became able to transcribe both the French language and lecture content without major errors.
I also served as an interpreter guiding foreign visitors around Nikko.
Understanding foreigners was my purpose.
Through this I gained much.

I graduated from the Faculty of Law in Meiji 34 (1901).
First, I went to the Ministry of Finance myself and sought employment.
A section clerk compared the university graduates' transcripts prepared on his desk with me, had a brief conversation with me, and then promised me employment.
I was assigned to the Customs Section.
That section chief was the renowned Mr. Megata Tanetarou.
Facing me, he said, “It has been decided that overseas financial officers will soon be established.”
“We plan to assign you to that position.”
I recognized Mr. Megata’s exceptional qualities as a person and unquestioningly obeyed his orders.
At times, I was severely scolded by him.

I secretly took the diplomatic service exam.
The examiner was Secretary Ishii Kikujirou, who handed me a sheet of paper with French text written on it.
I was told to read it.
I read it fluently.
Mr. Ishii asked me, “What does this mean?”
I answered, “I don’t know.”
“Why?” he asked.
“There are two characters in the French text that I don’t understand.
And that’s why I can’t grasp the meaning,” I answered.
Mr. Ishii said, “I’ll teach you.”
“If I come to the examination hall only to be taught characters I don’t know,” I stated flatly, “that would bring dishonor upon me.”
Mr. Ishii replied with a touch of anger, “In that case, that will suffice.”
Because of that, it was decided I had failed the exam.
I thought that, too, was fate.
I considered that civil service was not suited to me.
Therefore, I resigned from the Ministry of Finance as well.
Mr. Megata invited me to his residence and said, “Please reconsider,” but I firmly refused.
It was the year Meiji 35 (1902).

I went to the Yomiuri Shimbun myself and was hired as a temporary reporter.
I vigorously debated politics.
I wrote under the pen name Gakunan, but it was free and extremely enjoyable.
Before long, Viscount Watanabe Kunimaru resigned as Finance Minister of the Ito Cabinet and decided to publish a new newspaper.
I had long known Viscount Watanabe.
Therefore, I transferred to that newspaper.
It was called *Denpo Shimbun*.

I lodged at the company and threw myself into the newspaper business.
At that time, I was enrolled as a graduate student and aspired to become an independent scholar in the future.
It was the year Meiji 36 (1903).

At that time, signs of unrest emerged between Japan and Russia, and the renowned Seven Doctors took the lead in clamoring for war.
I too became a supporter of that faction.
I argued vigorously for opening hostilities.
In February of Meiji 37 (1904), the formal declaration of war was issued.
Simultaneously came the assault on Port Arthur.
As a reserve army second lieutenant, I received immediate conscription orders and joined the military ranks.
Appointed international law advisor to the First Army Headquarters, I departed from Ujina alongside Commander Kuroki and his staff, ascended the Taedong River, and reached Pyongyang.
Thereafter, to prevent violations of international law, I persistently voiced stringent opinions to headquarters staff officers while spending an entire year on Manchuria's battlefields.

In March Meiji 38 (1905), by order of the Ministry of War, I was transferred to the Nagoya prisoner-of-war camp.
The renowned officers who had fought valiantly at Port Arthur were in Nagoya.
I was assigned to oversee them.
I was respected and loved by the prisoners of war.
I had been there for three months when the prisoners of war expressed their profound gratitude to me.
The diary from that time is preserved in my possession.
It was the practice of humanitarian compassion.
That I was very popular in social circles is another story altogether.

In July of the same year, I was appointed international law advisor to the newly established Karafuto Army.
Concerning Karafuto's occupation, I labored extensively for humanity's sake.
Though this enterprise held great significance, I omit its details here.
When the Portsmouth Peace Treaty took effect and most of the Karafuto Army returned to Japan, I remained behind with a single regiment.
My assignment became overseeing Karafuto's transfer.
I conducted all negotiations alone.
This too constituted diplomatic work of profound importance.
I preserve records from that period.
Japan's handover of occupied Northern Karafuto reached completion.
The Army Minister and his subordinates greatly rejoiced at its safe conclusion.

I returned to Japan in November, but the Army Minister ordered me to go to Port Arthur and become a "commissioner for the disposal of foreigners' remaining property."
I accepted this assignment and went to Port Arthur.
This task involved organizing all movable and immovable property left behind by foreigners throughout Manchuria, where I remained for one year and three months.
Within this undertaking emerged a petition incident demanding that the Fushun Coal Mine be returned to the Russians and Chinese.
This developed into a major dispute stemming from favorable provisions for Russia that had been inserted into the Treaty of Portsmouth.
I negotiated this matter daily with Russian representatives.
Though I ultimately resolved it advantageously for Japan—
From my perspective, this constituted significant work.

I completed that task and returned to Japan.

It was March of Meiji 40 (1907).
After that, I became an official of the Korean government.
My assignment was to conduct financial administration under Advisor Megata.
Before long, Korea became a Japanese protectorate with British support.
Thereafter, I joined the Korean Imperial Household Agency and was charged with implementing sweeping reforms in the royal court.
I boldly executed a major purge of court officials.
During this period, I initially clashed fiercely with Madame Zontak—a Frenchwoman who had long served as King Gojong’s confidante and advisor while single-handedly manipulating Korean diplomacy—thereby restraining her autocratic influence.
However, under orders from Resident-General Ito, I reconciled with this Madame.
Thus did I steer Japan’s diplomatic efforts to success.

I had been in Korea for six years when the imperial court—once called a den of demons—was completely purged.
King Gojong was a man of considerable stature, yet he held me in high regard.
I achieved my objective and resigned from my post without hesitation, but King Gojong dispatched an envoy to Governor Terauchi and proposed, "I wish to retain Ninagawa for just two more years."
I firmly refused, but it was thought to be King Gojong's stratagem.

I was conferred a degree by the Minister of Education in Gyeongseong in October Taishō 1 (1912).
I took this opportunity to make a complete transition from an administrative professional to an academic.
And so I departed for Vladivostok in March Taishō 2 (1913).
From there, I headed to Moscow.
And so I went to Paris and devoted myself to specialized scholarship.
Incidentally, I traveled all over Europe.
I returned to Japan in September Taishō 3 (1914).

I dedicated myself to working for the self-preservation of the Japanese nation in the Far East during the over ten years from February Meiji 37 (1904) until March Taishō 2 (1913). I had no regard for status or income whatsoever. I worked as a reserve first lieutenant, as a contract officer, or as a minor official in Korea, but I recognized no superiors and strove for the glory and freedom of the Japanese people as an independent individual. My fundamental principle was international law. It was the welfare of humanity. I saved a considerable number of Russian lives. I protected the lives and property of Chinese and Koreans as well. Though involved in aspects of Japan’s foreign policy during and after the Russo-Japanese War, my actions constituted no aggression. They were resistance against aggression. All foreigners who dealt with me acknowledged my sincerity and offered gratitude. I labored first and foremost for the freedom and equality of nations.

5. Entry into Academia and Return to Europe

Upon returning from Europe in September Taishō 3 (1914), I took up a position as professor at Doshisha University, which was being founded in Kyoto at the time. I believed that developing private universities was necessary for Japanese civilization.

At Doshisha University, I had been responsible for lectures on international law and diplomatic history for three full years.
There were no small number of motivated students.
To this day, some who hold positions of considerable standing in society still maintain connections with me.
I temporarily compromised my health and was told by a physician it resembled the early stages of lung disease.
I found being confined to Kyoto disagreeable.
Thus having completed three years of service, I resolved to resign and retire to Oiso.
I spent some time amusing myself with nature as my companion.

In the spring of Taishō 7 (1918), the Japanese Red Cross Society dispatched Mr. Ishiguro Tadaatsu as President Ishiguro’s proxy to my private residence in Oiso.
Thereupon, I was formally requested by the Japanese Red Cross Society to travel to Europe as an advisory envoy.
I consented to this proposal two days later.
Thus it was decided that I would proceed to the European battlefront.
Our party comprised Duke Tokugawa Yoshihisa, Red Cross physicians, and numbered eight in total.

Our party first crossed over to America.
And so we crossed the Atlantic and reached Britain.
It was the final stage of World War I, yet no one in any country yet presumed Germany’s defeat.
We were in danger on the ocean.
A fleet was organized; escorted by warships, we sailed under rigorous vigilance.
Fortunately, after about ten days of voyage without suffering enemy attacks, we landed in Britain.
From there, we crossed over to France, advanced to the front lines in France, Belgium, and Italy, and visited both military forces and Red Cross units to offer comfort.
We had brought three doctors with us under a policy of having them remain at local hospitals if requested.
However, as every country already had sufficient medical staff prepared, we merely conducted inspections before the Japanese doctors returned home.
This approach proved futile in practice.
Nevertheless, studying politics, economics, and humanitarian affairs in Europe—where an unprecedented war raged—yielded immense benefits.

I came into contact with kings, politicians, scholars, military personnel, and ordinary people from various countries and studied various matters.
I frequently reported the results of that research to Minister of War Tanaka Giichi, as previously agreed.
Also, my observations and impressions were reported to the world through my book.
(A book titled *From Paris Reborn* has been published.) Before my departure, I had been requested by my acquaintance Minister of War Tanaka Giichi to conduct a detailed investigation of the German military’s “occupation zone administration.”
I made a request to the French Ministry of War and, accompanied by a French Army lieutenant, conducted a detailed investigation of all German-occupied territories over the course of a week.
The French Army knew me well.

I witnessed the horrors of the Great War and studied measures for perpetual world peace.
After the First World War ended, I emphatically argued to influential figures in various nations that Red Cross activities should continue to be conducted worldwide during peacetime and that a new treaty should be established among the nations.
That became Article 25 of the League of Nations Covenant.
Moreover, this led to the conclusion of the Red Cross Society League Covenant, and thus a new “Red Cross world” was established across the globe.
I believe it is an undertaking for humanitarianism and peace.

At the time of the 1919 Versailles Conference, I contributed articles to major French newspapers such as “Le Temps” and “Le Matin,” as well as several other magazines, discussing global issues, and fortunately attracted the attention of the world’s intellectuals gathered in Paris.
At this time, many officials from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had also come to Paris.
Matsuoka Yōsuke, Yoshida Shigeru, and Ashida Hitoshi had also come as secretaries.
They were still unknown and of little influence.
The disposition of Qingdao had temporarily been decided to go to China, plunging the Japanese delegation into utter disappointment; however, through a paper grounded in my scholarly theory, the matter was resolved and transferred to Japan.
However, the Japanese delegation falsified this matter and reported it to Prime Minister Hara.

I succeeded in formally establishing the Red Cross Society League in Paris on May 5, 1919 (Taishō 8), was ordered to return home for the time being, and returned to Japan in September.
However, in November of that year, I was once again entrusted with the task of attending a Red Cross conference and departed for Geneva.
And so, in September of the following year, 1920, I returned to Japan.
The people of various countries were my close friends.
Voyages on the Indian Ocean were one of my pleasures.
It was remarked to me so frequently by Japanese and foreign travelers encountered during my journeys—"Have you come again?"—that it became a refrain.

6. Travel to China and Siam

I returned to Japan and was soon invited by President Ishizuka of the Oriental Development Company to travel with him to Manchuria and North China.
I met with Zhang Zuolin and President Xu.
This concerned matters of colonial development.
Having completed the forty-day journey and returned to Japan, it was decided that an Oriental Red Cross Conference would be held in Bangkok, Siam, and I was to attend.

I met with the King of Siam, members of the royal family, ministers, and military personnel—all of whom showed deep respect toward us Japanese.
Among the royalty were those I had come to know in Paris.
At a large gathering over two days—invited by a group of Indian expatriates—when asked to “give a speech,” I stood and shouted: “Independence for India!”
The assembly hall erupted in commotion.
This disorder sprang from timidity—from fear of the British.
Yet twenty years later, India did indeed achieve independence from Britain.
The world had changed.

7. The Washington Conference and I

In the autumn of Taishō 11 (1922), commissioned by the Army, Foreign Ministry, and Oriental Development Company, I met with Prime Minister Hara and set out to study the Washington Disarmament Conference.
I boarded the same ship as the delegation party.
Concealing my name, I submitted essays nearly daily to the American newspaper *The Washington Post*, criticizing the injustice of the U.S. government’s policies toward Japan and attacking them while grounding myself in academic theory.
The Washington Post earnestly engaged with my essays, publishing lengthy articles almost every day, but ultimately had no choice but to surrender before me.
Then, just before surrendering, they began writing in their pages that “there is power in Japan.”
A reporter from *The Washington Post* visited Plenipotentiary Tokugawa’s office and inquired, “Whose opinions are these contributions to *The Post*?”
The duke knew nothing.

“I don’t know whose opinion this is.”
“In any case, it does not represent the delegation’s views,” replied the duke with feudal lord-like diplomatic fluency.
With that, everything concluded.
The duke had been incompetent.
I mourned that aristocrats were nothing but useless burdens.

I went from Washington to Europe once again.
That was to attend the Red Cross conference in Geneva.
The ship at that time was a luxurious 50,000-ton French vessel.
There were beautiful women and talented individuals—an exceedingly lively affair.
There is an amusing story, but I will omit it.
One day during that voyage, we encountered a severe storm and I witnessed a terrifying sight.
After staying in Paris for a while, I headed to Geneva.
And so I attended the conference.

8. Domestic Lectures Spanning Several Years

Around Taishō 11 (1922), the Japanese people remained ignorant of Western trends, turning their backs on global developments while Marxist internationalism flourished wildly.
Since Taishō 2 (1913), through my direct engagement with worldwide currents, I had come to recognize the urgent need to reveal their true nature to students and youths across the nation.
Baron Yamakawa Kenjiro and Viscount Kiyoura Keigo formally requested that I deliver these lectures.
I consented at personal cost.

I traveled throughout the country expounding the global trend of nationalism.
At that time, high schools in Fukuoka and Kagoshima vehemently opposed me.
However, I always brushed it off lightly through scholarship and stated my convictions.
I continued this until the beginning of the Shōwa era.
I emphasized “national,” but there were instances where they arbitrarily changed it to “state nationalism” and posted flyers.
The Japanese people of that time were ignorant of the true state of the world.

9. Japanese People Who Withdrew from the League of Nations

At that time, Japan’s military personnel and politicians were exceedingly cowardly.
During the heyday of Marxist-style internationalism, they had shrunk back and retreated.
However, when the Japanese people awakened nationally, military personnel fanned the flames and exploited it for their own benefit.
And thus they steered toward emperorism, advocated doctrines like Hakko Ichiu, and rendered people’s minds mystical and superstitious.
And thus they condemned the League of Nations, boasted things like “Even if the nation is reduced to scorched earth, so be it,” and incited the citizenry toward withdrawal.
That was a dangerous policy that threatened world peace.
I deeply grieved the insincere attitudes shown by those rash individuals.

I opposed that withdrawal with every ounce of my strength.
I risked my life appealing to acquaintances in the Cabinet and Privy Council.
Prime Minister Saitō had agreed with me.
Mr. Hara Yoshimichi of the Privy Council gave me a courteous reply.
I was fiercely attacked by right-wing elements.
"There is a threat to your life," the police reported to me.
However, the Japanese government ultimately withdrew.
I lamented Japan's imperiled future.
After that, I refrained from political discourse, withdrew into my home, and devoted myself solely to scholarship.
Japan's crushing defeat and decline, I judge, began at this time.
That was in Shōwa 8 (1933).

10. Subsequent Course After Withdrawal from the League of Nations

After Japan withdrew from the League of Nations in an exceedingly inappropriate manner, military personnel and politicians set their course toward autocratic rule.
On the grounds that he was a relative of the Emperor, military personnel installed Konoe Fumimaro as Prime Minister.
Furthermore, military personnel established the Imperial Rule Assistance Association and imitated Nazi politics.
They formed the Tripartite Pact and turned Britain, America, France, and others into enemies.
Finally issuing the Greater East Asia Declaration, they became disciples of Europe’s Hitler.

The public at large was in high spirits, but I was pessimistic.
I publicly declared that the Imperial Rule Assistance Association was unconstitutional.
I expounded on Germany’s inevitable defeat.
I pointed out the flaws in the Tripartite Pact.
I expounded that the Greater East Asia Declaration was unconstitutional.
Even so, no one persecuted me.
I was not even arrested by the authorities.
As for me, after the war’s end, I was purged from public office under the Prime Minister’s authority.

In Shōwa 12 (1937), when the "China Incident" occurred, Western powers vehemently attacked Japan, denouncing it as a nation violating the "Nine-Power Treaty Concerning China."
In response to this, the government explained: "The Nine-Power Treaty does indeed remain valid, but as international circumstances have changed since the treaty's formation, the Japanese government cannot uphold it."
This was no different from Germany's actions - arbitrarily declaring that "treaties are mere scrap paper" and trampling them underfoot - making it inevitable that Japan would incur abhorrence from other nations.

In response to this, I published a view based on the academic principles of international law.
Titled "Invalidation of the Nine-Power Treaty" and written in both Japanese and English: "Japan and China are in a state of war.
The war between the two nations automatically invalidated the bilateral treaty.
Japan is no longer bound by the said treaty.
Japan has no obligation to uphold it.
Even if one were to attempt to uphold it, doing so would be impossible."
This is the academic principle of international law.
This single work criticized the military and government’s unlawful diplomacy and politics; it was certainly not something that advised or supported them.
However, my book based on the aforementioned academic principles was investigated by the Purge Investigation Committee after the war.
And thus, with the judgment that it “justified Japan’s actions toward China and provided an ideological foundation for the China Incident,” I was purged.
I was indignant at the aforementioned review as frivolous.
"I submitted a rebuttal stating 'without grounds,' but it was disregarded."
I had completely withdrawn from society and was barely living in Oiso, with the scenery and books as my companions.

August 20, 1952

Ninagawa Arata