My energy has been diverted elsewhere, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention, before the date expired around the globe, that yesterday was the
60th anniversary of the fire-bombing of Tokyo that killed 100,000 people during World War II. Atsushi and I watched the hour-long NHK special over the weekend. Information about the sequence of events is, to my knowledge, covered well
here. I believe war is essentially a fact of human nature, and I'm thankful daily that I've spent my entire life in powerful, dynamic societies with bad-ass armed forces staffed by volunteers. I also, naturally, am glad we did what we needed to do to win World War II.
But winning a war against a ruthless opponent requires ruthless tactics:
The Superforts returned in force at the end of the month, flying at altitudes that insured immunity from attacks by Japanese defenders. Although their high altitude provided a shield for the bombers, it also decreased the accuracy and impact of their bomb runs. To correct this deficiency, Major-General Curtis Lemay (newly appointed commander of the American Bomber Command) ordered a dramatic change in tactics. The bomber runs would be made at night, at low altitude and deliver a mixture of high explosive and incendiary bombs. The objective was to turn the closely-packed, wooden homes and buildings prevalent in the Japanese cities into raging infernos and ultimately into the most destructive of all weapons - the firestorm.
The Allies had first encountered the phenomenon of the firestorm when the British bombed the German city of Hamburg in August of 1943. The night raid ignited numerous fires that soon united into one uncontrollable mass of flame, so hot it generated its own self-sustaining, gale-force winds and literally sucked the oxygen out of the air, suffocating its victims. Lemay hoped to use this force to level the cities of Japan. Tokyo would be the first test.
A successful incendiary raid required ideal weather that included dry air and significant wind. Weather reports predicted these conditions over Tokyo on the night of March 9-10, 1945. A force of 334 B-29s was unleashed - each plane stripped of ammunition for its machine guns to allow it to carry more fire-bombs. The lead attackers arrived over the city just after dark and were followed by a procession of death that lasted until dawn. The fires started by the initial raiders could be seen from 150 miles away. The results were devastating: almost 17 square miles of the city were reduced to ashes. Estimates of the number killed range between 80,000 and 200,000, a higher death toll than that produced by the dropping of the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima or Nagasaki six months later.
Those who've studied the reconstruction of Japan after the war will recognize Lemay as a key figure--it's worth noting that, while he was willing to go to extreme lengths to fight the Japanese, he was also there to get their country going again--by structuring the SDF!--after they surrendered. That doesn't necessarily make him a nice person, but, unfortunately, you don't win wars by being nice.
Journalist David McNeill ran a
piece yesterday asking why the Japanese don't pay much attention to the anniversary of the Tokyo firebombing. In it, he raises and then glides over that issue. He finishes with a quotation from one of the survivors:
Youngsters do not understand the horror of war, agrees Mrs. Suzuki Ikuko. When the Iraq War started I couldnt watch it on TV. It was too painful. But my grandson said he though it was cool. He said it was like a videogame.
I agree that Mrs. Suzuki is entirely justified, having lived through an incendiary raid that leveled part of her city, in shying away from war footage. But ending the discussion here implies that her example is generalizable--that the only possible reactions to the carnage of war are raw sensitivity or complete
insensitivity. Both postures are sometimes necessary: we don't want soldiers flying off the handle and murdering civilians out of revenge or frustration, and we do want them shoving aside their finer feelings to go after enemy combatants however they must.
But most situations are murkier. The calculations that led to the bombing of Tokyo 60 years ago included the fact that one of the city's primary industrial sectors was located next to a residential district. Perhaps if the Japanese had put all their factories in isolated, easy-to-target rural areas and bussed their workers in from a safe distance, the US would have had the choice of taking out the facilities without hurting women and children. But for obvious reasons, the Japanese didn't build that way, and we didn't bomb that way. Furthermore, it's an exaggeration to say that every last Japanese citizen worshipped the emperor as a god, but it's not an exaggeration to say that Japan was working as one big machine to maintain the war effort. Fears about what would happen if we had to invade the Japanese mainland were well-grounded. We'll never know whether incinerating 100,000 civilians saved, in some direct way, more from dying in combat; but we do know that breaking Japan's will required that we demonstrate as unpleasantly as possible that we could hurt them
bad. It was a war. May all who died rest in peace, and may we continue to look for non-deadly ways to address conflict without flinching from the deadly ones when we need them.
Which brings me to one last thing: I'm sure McNeill was overjoyed to have a link between the Tokyo fire-bombing and the Iraq invasion provided for him so he didn't have to force it himself. (Usually, I try to avoid reading the feelings of writers, but the slant in his article is not exactly hidden.) But it doesn't work the way I'm guessing he thinks it does. America has put lots and lots and lots of energy into making its bombs work more precisely and efficiently. Much of that comes of non-humanitarian considerations--we don't want to waste personnel, material, and materiel. But we also don't like wrecking people's lives for the hell of it and will avoid doing so where we can. And pre-invasion Iraq was not a racially homogeneous nation that mostly supported its half-divinized leader.
And we haven't wiped out a 100,000-person section of a city.
I don't think it's exploitative to use yesterday's anniversary to raise questions about whether we could have won with fewer civilian casualties. Self-criticism is good.* But the implication that goes "Tokyo fire-bombing barbaric" = "Subsequent wars barbaric" = "Iraq invasion barbaric" is cheap.
Added on 12 March: Joel at Far Outliers did something I elected not to do here: he
posted parallel (so to speak) information about Dresden, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. He's right--you can't really see the significance of the bombing of Tokyo without having a handle on the way the war was going in general. By the way, I hope I made it clear above that I think the fire-bombing of Tokyo was justified. While I don't believe it's wussy to ask whether an air raid that killed 100,000 people was really necessary, investigating the question requires more than just saying, "Women and children died? A barbarism!" And even if you do accept it as iffy, it says nothing about the Iraq invasion.
* McNeill may not be American, but I'm assuming he's from a country that's part of the coalition in Iraq.