The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Prose - 108. A small survey of same-sex love in Japanese wartime accounts

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A small survey of same-sex love in Japanese wartime accounts --

World War II

Japanese propaganda films made for home consumption, and for distribution to combatants overseas, elevated wartime male love sen-yūai (comrade-love) to near-cult status. Isolde Standish writes, “Military institutions were represented as offering a sense of masculine fellowship and community, symbolized in spectacular shots of massed gym exercises and marching formations.” These films existed with the nefarious intentions of luring healthy Japanese young men into armed service, and then into being shipped offshore in furtherance of Japanese imperialism. This scenario – a recruit in a foreign land – appears as a regular feature of postwar accounts of same-sex love matches. But even these were fictionalized by the pro-war film industry.

For example, the first pro-Japanese occupation propaganda film shot in the Philippines – Ano Hata wo Lite (“Dawn of Freedom”) – was released in Japan in 1943. One affecting, climatical scene of parting involves a Japanese-appointed occupation officer of Philippines origin bidding farewell to his Japanese-rank-and-file partner before the man is shipped back to the motherland as ‘victorious.’ The encounter is presented as a love scene, for while neither comprehends the other’s language very well, they stare expectantly into one another’s eyes, saying the ‘I love you’ without needing to voice it. (A real-life separation, transpiring along remarkably similar lines, will be quoted in a soldier’s own words later on.)

The subject of comrade cohesion has been written about for thousands of years, and the soldiers of the Second World War were no different. In the June 1952 issue of the popular Japanese magazine Kitan Kurabu, an essay ran, titled “Same-Sex Love on the Battlefront.” It had been penned by an ex-officer of the Japanese Army named Asakura. The piece begins:

Male love (dōsei-ai) [literally, “gentlemanly love”] on the battlefield, derived from the love between comrades (sen-yūai), quickly becomes the foundation of a strong esprit de corps. In a life played out against a bleak backdrop, it frequently has a revitalizing effect. The special effects of this pure male love between comrades is manifested in frequent demonstrations of self-sacrifice, a spirit of gritty resolve, and acts of conspicuous bravery. Such loving disposition among soldiers can be said to be great.

Apart from any pure, spiritual union, there is also a warm physicality that works for some as a substitute for women, or an outlet for sexual frustration (seiyoku no hakeguchi).

In other cases, same-sex love can be initiated by the presence of perfectly feminine young men. This category of relationship often begins between officers and low-ranking personnel, as well as older soldiers looking out for younger uniformed men – the kinds of human relationships half-counterpart (han shizenna) [literally, “half-natural”] to those usually seen in public – are well shown against the backdrop of war, and are unstoppable.

As far as possible, veteran officers choose soldiers for their orderlies who are beautiful people (bishō-nen), and soldiers standing on sentry duty, want to choose intimate friends from among themselves. In the midst of a male-only group, how is it that ‘ladylike’ young men (joseika-shita danshi) come to be so esteemed? This is a poorly kept secret known to all who have experienced military life even once.

Despite Asakura’s high-minded examples – returning male love to the sure footing of the bushidō traditions of pre-Western influenced Japan – more complex situations of power over others for selfish gratification were also documented by returned, postwar military men. One piece submitted and run by the hentaii magazine Kitan Kurabu in 1953 documents a power-lopsided, but consensual BDSM relationship. “Recollections of my time in the army”, penned by Former Army Officer Morihara, has much to reveal about erotic play in militaries everywhere and in every generation.

Mark McLelland summarized the true-life narrative like this:

This particular article is interesting since it is accompanied by a photograph. The author describes how he enjoys looking at the many photographs of women in sadomasochistic poses published in the magazine, but notes that photographs of men are rarely included. He goes on to explain that he happens to have in his possession a large collection of sadomasochistic male photographs and relates how he came by them.

The author, an ex-army officer who at the end of the war was stationed in Japan, explains that a naked and bound youth photographed outside in a field is his orderly who first entered his service in the summer of 1944. Reminding readers that “at that time there was no such thing as human rights in the Japanese military, and horrible things (hidoii koto) took place on impulse,” Morihara confesses “I discovered a sadistic (sadisuchikku) place in my heart.” The object of his sadistic attentions was a young soldier who had been drafted while in the midst of his studies of literature at an imperial university. Unsure quite why he chose this soldier among others to be his orderly, the author puts it down to the fact that his sadistic instincts were aroused by the young man’s privileged background and “aristocratic” face.

Officers and their orderlies lived in very close quarters, as it was important that the young men be at their seniors’ beck and call at all times. This provided the author with many opportunities for his young servant to “be adored” (kawaii-gatte yarimasu), by allowing him into the officers’ accommodation (which was heated in winter), and by giving him better food rations than the other soldiers. He goes on to relate how “given this relationship, I think it was a natural development for us to enter into Gay love (dōsei-ai) [literally, “gentlemanly love”].” However, the relationship described in the article was mediated not so much through physical contact as through the camera lens. The officer would use his orderly as a model for his photographic hobby, most shots being taken outdoors and with the young man naked. The orderly would be ordered to strip and would then be bound in a variety of poses (the one photograph included shows him standing, back to the camera, bound to a tree with his arms above his head). The couple would then later look at the photographs together, the younger man apparently narcissistically enjoying the attention of the older man. However, these photo sessions became increasingly brutal, with the orderly forced to remain naked for long periods in freezing winter weather; at one stage the officer whipped the young man’s behind with his pistol. These photo sessions apparently resulted in numerous prints; the author’s stated purpose in writing the article was to seek opportunities to publish them, mainly in the hope that his ex-orderly would see them and make contact with him again. The author says he has been unable to forget the young man and thinks of him “as a son.” He says “l would like us to meet again as equals, democratically (minshuteki), and continue our relationship.”

But lest one be misled into believing all same-sex partnerships were along imbalanced lines, another account raises a telling window on how such relationships both sprang up naturally in Japanese army settings, due to the sincerity of shared feelings, and how such unions were viewed as no big deal by their fellow soldiers.

Ex-rank and file soldier Kondō wrote to the magazine Fūzoku Kurabu in 1954 with his general sexual history, relaying that he had been initiated into same-sex love at age nine by fooling around with schoolmates. This was later intensified by several serious encounters while he was a college student in Tokyo. But he states that his first long-lasting Gay relationship was in the army with a corporal named Suda. The account of Kondō and his Gay lover (homo no aite) is summarized thus by McLelland:

Despite the fact that Suda had a fearsome reputation within the squadron, the author found himself “adored” (kawaii gatte) by the corporal, who never asked him to participate in the harsh labor, as was the usual lot of new recruits. One evening, after a banquet, when most of the soldiers in the barracks had left to rape the army’s enforced female sex slaves [the so-called ‘comfort women’], the author found himself pulled into an empty room by Suda, who confessed his love for him and pleaded for his love in return. The two then spent the night together in the same bed, with the result that “given the narrowness of our quarters, the relationship between me and Corporal Suda immediately began to be talked about throughout the squadron.” This seems not to have been a cause of concern for Suda, however, since from that point on “every night he would get into bed beside me and hold me to him and not let me go.” The author goes on to state that no one was especially surprised by this development, since same-sex love (nanshoku) was ‘popular’ (hayarii) throughout the squadron; and the barracks had the atmosphere of a Gay bar (nanshoku kurabu). After Suda was transferred to another unit, the author had two more long-term relationships with other soldiers before returning to Tokyo at the end of the war to marry a woman chosen for him by his mother.

Mr. Kondō’s frank narrative may not have much that straight people would consider romantic in it because they seldom consider man-woman relationships as things needing to be protected and shielded from outside violence; however, Gay men will instantly relate to how Suda and Kondō perused an open closeness that required bravery and deep, abiding love.

Another true-life same-sex partnership – that even non-queer people must acknowledge as “romantic” – comes from an ex-soldier named Namiki. He wrote of his wartime experience for the magazine Fūzoku Kagaku in 1954.

Again, we turn to McLelland for a summary of the work.

Miniya Karapa (“Coconut Oil”) describes a relationship between a young invalided Japanese soldier and an even younger Indonesian servant. The account is written in an elegiac, even rapturous manner; the love between the soldier and the servant boy has eclipsed all other details about the war in the writer’s memory. The account opens with the words, “A beautiful native boy came toward me bearing a clay pot full of thick, amber liquid. Oh, how the feel of the liquid – coconut oil – transfixes me even now.” It continues in this vein, tinged with regret and nostalgia.

The author describes how, in 1944, after having graduated from an agricultural college at the age of nineteen, he was sent to Sumatra as an apprentice in a Japanese firm responsible for increasing agricultural production in the region. However, after only a short time as an office worker, he was drafted into the army, where he underwent training in the jungle. The poor conditions, rough work and unfamiliar climate proved very debilitating, and the author came down with malaria. He was hospitalized for several months. During this time, his fever was often so high that he was unable to rise even to visit the toilet; he lost a great deal of weight, leading to further debilitation. Throughout his illness, he was attended by a sixteen-year-old Javanese boy named Tora, with whom he initially developed a friendship.

It seems to have been Tora who was romantically attracted to the soldier first, explaining to the author in his broken Japanese that “older brother, you are different from other Japanese.” The reason Tora gave for this observation was that unlike his fellow soldiers, the author did not speak to him in a loud, threatening manner, and that his demeanor was polite. The author confesses that it was not his intention to behave in such a manner; his apparent meekness was due to his weak condition. Nevertheless, Tora seems to have taken a special interest in the young soldier, and gone out of his way to care for him.

Given the long period that he had been an invalid, the author’s muscles had wasted, and he experienced cramps and pains. At the army doctor’s suggestion, Tora began to give the author a daily massage; it was at this point that the author began to notice something special in the way Tora related to him. The author recounts the first massage session in this way:

Soon after, Tora came along smiling, carrying a clay pot full of a sticky amber liquid.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s coconut oil,” he replied . . . .

Tora told me to get naked and lie with my face down, then he began to pour the coconut oil on my back, buttocks and thighs. When I told him that the doctor had said he was an excellent masseur, he said “That’s right” in a happy voice . . . . Then, after turning over, Tora mounted my chest with his back to my face and began massaging downwards from my chest. I realized he was massaging with extra care and I thought this a little odd. I was about to tell him to stop, but remembering the way he had looked after me, I just bit my tongue and watched Tora’s round buttocks moving up and down in front of my face. Up until that point, despite the fact that Tora had been caring for me even to the extent of carrying away my urine in an old beer bottle, I hadn’t felt anything special for him, but now under his soft touch, I found myself escaping into a dream world.

Despite the fact that the author’s pain soon began to subside, the daily massage sessions continued, but “half of it was play” (hanbun wa asobi). Indeed, the author eagerly anticipated the massage sessions, in which he would “experience such pleasure that I forgot everything else.” The “play” gradually became more overtly arousing, and Tora would come to join the soldier on his bed during the day and “entwine my body like a snake.” It is at this point in the narrative that the author reminisces, “Actually, I have once had a woman.” He goes on to describe how before leaving Tokyo, he had been dragged, against his will, to visit a harborside prostitute by his drunken coworkers. He remembered the seedy room and the witch-like face of the prostitute caked in makeup, regretting that he had come to know women in this manner. His interaction with Tora was “totally different”; unlike the ugly, dry body of the woman, the soft, youthful Javanese boy seems “like a leopardess,” and he cherishes their time spent together. Indeed, he begins to think that it would be bearable for him to die in Sumatra without the knowledge of his family in Japan, since Tora had become “the only family and lover for me.”

However, with the sudden end of the war, locally impressed servants like Tora were immediately freed. Much to the author’s regret, Tora disappeared overnight without saying goodbye, leaving the soldier feeling lonely and abandoned. Yet, just before the author was to be shipped back to Japan, Tora suddenly reappeared, and they were able to make a hurried farewell; but largely a silent one, since neither was able to speak much for fear of bursting into tears. After Tora made a final salute, they parted, with the author musing that “our separation seemed somehow untrue given the extent to which we had given our bodies and souls to each other.”

Now writing nine years after these events took place, the author is led to wonder,

Hadn’t this all been just a dream, the result of the malarial fever? The rubber plantation, the hospital ward made from reeds, the sound of the breeze in the trees, the cries of unfamiliar birds; when I think of these things now, they feel far off and child-like. Even Tora’s figure, which by rights I should not forget, seems vague to me now. But there is one thing that I remember clearly – coconut oil – with its distinct feel and aroma.

Mr. Namiki’s ending note of sadness must have resonated to many veterans at the time in Japan, part and parcel with it is knowledge that wartime crimes were high, led by a corrupt fascist regime that cared not a jot for the people they killed in foreign lands, nor the cog-like young men from the homeland abandoned and sacrificed in total apathy. The Japan of 1954 had many social problems to work out, but because of the loss of the war, democracy had been reestablished, equal rights resorted, and the future made bearable.

These elements live as unstated nuances in all the postwar accounts we’ve reviewed, but we’ll end our survey looking at the way a novelist reached for a more immediate metaphor, and employed currents of same-sex love to make it breathe.

Hino Ashihei’s Seishun to Deinei (“Youth and Mud”) came out in 1948. Defeated, the central character’s squadron of troops are attempting to flee Myanmar via a grueling mountain pass, hoping to make it to the sea where they can get a boat back to Japan. Greatly weakened by the humidity and high heat, the men are ordered to conserve electrolytes by licking as much sweat from their own skin as they can. During a morning rest, with small groups of men bathing by a stream, the seriousness of the life and death situation overcomes the protagonist. Alone with someone he’s secretly fancied this whole time, he slowly approaches.

Tamaru pressed his face against his comrade’s back. His tongue ran over the rough undulation of ribs. Then he felt some new salty substance on his lips pressed against Komiyama’s back. It was his own tears, but he did not realize it, and thought confusedly that he had sucked too hard, and this new bitter liquid had come from inside his comrade’s body. In ecstasy, he sipped the bitter liquid, wailing and collapsed on top of his friend. (David Rosenfeld)

The Japanese soldier survivors of the war had to process collective moments of remorse for what had transpired before, but they also did so with a gripping hope that connection can still save hungry souls.

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