World Battlefronts: BATTLE OF THE PACIFIC: Hara-Kiri

Of Japan’s stormy petrels, Seigo Nakano was the stormiest. In his heart raged venomous hate for the U.S., Britain, Russia. On his tongue were words of violence and panacea which attracted the hungry and the malcontent.

Colossal ambitions consumed this small, wiry man with coal-black, cruel eyes and thin mustache. The prewar Government, he said, was corrupt and weak-stomached (“Always doddering … it has no roots in the soil and is … like a cut flower in a vase”), and it was up to Nakano to return Japan to the path of greatness. In the sword he saw the surest physician for Japan’s ailments; in Hitler and Mussolini he saw proof that his prescription was right.

Nakano studied in Europe and the U.S., spoke precise English, edited the rich and influential Tokyo Asahi, wrote pamphlets. Like many another of Japan’s soured intellectuals, he applied his knowledge and talents to the advocacy of aggression. In 1936 he formed the Tohokai (Society of the East), a fascist party on a modified European pattern.

As Tohokai’s chief, Nakano forged tight bonds with the Army, outshouted all other jingoists in demands for aggression, became known as “Father of Japan’s Fascism.” Vain and headstrong, he refused offers of high Government posts (except for a spell as a vice minister); his goal was to rule the Government through his party, through threats, through the clamor of the rabble. Though Cabinets feared and hated him, he never dominated any of them. But as Japan’s best-known fascist, he helped to mold the public mind, supplied the Army with totalitarian catchwords, had much to do with plunging Japan into war.

With time, Nakano’s fanatic ardor grew. Eighty-six days before the attack on Pearl Harbor, he hinted that Japan would seize Singapore, urged the U.S. to divide the Pacific into two zones and let Japan “establish an ideal new order in Greater East Asia.” Seventy days before the attack, he demanded immediate occupation of the Dutch East Indies, threatened that he would overthrow the Cabinet if it came to terms with the U.S. Six days before the attack, he demanded the sinking of U.S. ships if Washington rejected Tokyo’s demands.

War came, and with it the intoxication of initial victory. But soon the hangover followed. Last week, in the Diet, Nakano heard the Emperor’s message: The situation is “truly grave.” Later, he heard Premier Hideki Tojo admit that the U.S., defeated at the beginning, was now “overcoming many difficulties and dangers, and the war is growing in intensity.” Nakano also knew what most men-in-the-street could barely guess: Japan had suffered reverses in the South Pacific (see col. 2); Mussolini had become a shabby puppet; Hitler was on the run.

Somberly, the little man with venom in his heart went home. At midnight, his mind was made up. In the way prescribed by the rigid samurai code, Nakano purified himself with cold water, donned a new kimono, knelt on a pillow before a small shrine. With a sure hand, he plunged a dagger into his belly, drew it across, then turned it upwards.