I CALL ON THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS, JUNE 1953

by Eleanor Roosevelt

I have had a good many experiences in my life but I could not help feeling a twinge of anxiety as I prepared for my interview with Emperor Hirohito, the 124th of his line, and Empress Nagako. I had originally asked to call on the Empress because there was a question I had long wanted to ask her. Knowing that old habits and customs were changing, especially for the women of Japan, I felt it would be interesting to know whether she was able or desired to give some leadership in these changes. I mentioned this to many Japanese and all of them said that, of course, I must ask the Empress about it, but they added that I really did not understand the position of the Japanese Imperial family.
During my five weeks in Japan I had begun to learn. I came to see that in the past the advisers around the Emperor had on many occasions used his power—almost that of a god—to influence the people. But in the past there had been no possibility for the Imperial family actually to make contact with the people and take part in their activities. Since Japan's defeat in World War II, however, the Emperor had declared that he was not a god and had gone about the country in an effort to see things with his own eyes in a way that was unthinkable in the past. But, I wondered, had the Empress made a similar change?
The more I talked with groups of women in Japan the more I was convinced that, while the women were a force in their homes behind the scenes, they had not gained direct equality with men as provided in their new constitution, despite the fact that there were thirty women members of the Diet or parliament. The constitution of which, of course, General MacArthur was the chief architect, not only gives labor organizations full recognition for the first time and establishes a social security system, but it specifies that women shall have full rights as citizens. But how, I kept wondering, were the women going to develop their power under this constitution, and I did not find any very satisfactory answers.
I met many charming and beautiful ladies of high station, including several princesses, but observed that these women did not attend the meetings of women's organizations that were actively trying to change the pattern of Japanese society. There were certainly some intellectuals among the prominent women in the field of labor, in farm organizations and in social work, but they could not be called the most influential in Japan from the standpoint of social prestige. The society leaders were still merely gracing a charity here and there by their honorary presidencies or by appearing at some fund-raising affair. They were not—if I except Princess Chichibu—finding out how the girls in the factories lived or how the farm women worked in their fields and their homes. So, I wanted more than ever to ask the Empress for her views on the problem of leadership among women.
When I finally received word that my request for an interview had been granted I was told that both the Emperor and Empress would see me on the day of my departure from Japan. I discovered that they often did this, presumably because they wanted to get the visitor's last impressions of the country. I was also informed that I must wear a long-sleeved dress or, if I did not have one, I could wear a dress with three-quarter-length sleeves providing I donned long gloves which would meet the sleeves. As it happened, I had only one dress and one pair of gloves that met these specifications—a little flowered print dress—so I planned to wear that. Two members of the staff of the Exchange Committee met me the morning of the interview and remarked that they liked my other dress better.
"But there is a rule that one must wear long sleeves or gloves that reach the sleeves," I replied. "And my other dress doesn't meet that requirement."
"In that case," they said with a laugh, "you must abide by the regulations."
So I wore the little flowered print.
Our ambassador, John M. Allison, in frock coat and striped pants, called for me at the Imperial Hotel at exactly fifteen minutes after ten on the morning of June 24 and we drove to the Imperial Palace. It is surrounded by a moat and a high stone wall and we could only wonder how these walls had been built so solidly without cement in the distant past. We crossed a bridge spanning the moat and in a moment came to the steps of the Palace. To my amazement, there was one of the omnipresent Japanese photographers waiting to snap our picture as we stepped out of the car. One just couldn't get away from them.
A gentleman in frock coat met us and conducted us to the elevator, and when we stepped out on the upper floor another frock-coated gentleman bowed low and led us into a room with gilt furniture in the French style and with pink damask hangings. The paintings on the walls were Japanese, however, and there were priceless carved objects in a cabinet. Here we waited a few moments and then a young man entered and introduced himself, saying he would translate for the Emperor. He led us through two other rooms furnished in much the same fashion and into a third room where we were seated according to rigid protocol. We were told that we should stand when the Emperor and Empress arrived, sit when they sat, speak only when spoken to. I was seated on a sofa. Mr. Allison was seated in a chair. There was room on the sofa for the Empress to sit beside me and there was a chair nearby for her lady-in-waiting, Mrs. Takagi, who acted as interpreter for her.
We had waited only a few minutes when their Imperial Majesties entered, accompanied by Mrs. Takagi, another lady-in-waiting and two gentlemen. The Emperor and the gentlemen wore frock coats and striped trousers. We all bowed to each other and then the Emperor shook hands with me, followed by the Empress and Mrs. Takagi, whom I had already met. The Empress sat with me on the sofa and the Emperor sat in an armchair almost facing me but looking more directly at Mr. Allison. His interpreter sat on my left.
The Empress, as well as the other ladies, wore a kimono. The one worn by the Empress was light in color and flowered. The others wore dark kimonos. (Perhaps I should explain that the color of Japanese kimonos is significant. I had been told that only a bride wears red and she wears white with it to indicate that she has died to her own family but is reborn in the family of her husband. White kimonos are never worn except in death, and women attending funerals wear all black kimonos. Gray is the usual color for older women.) On her feet the Empress wore the usual white cotton slippers with a slit at the big toe for the sandal thong and, of course, she wore sandals. Her hair was done almost in Western fashion and her make-up was hardly noticeable, which is customary with Japanese women of high social status.
I was particularly interested in her obi because I had been in Kyoto where the finest obis are woven by hand. The work is so intricate that women who do it for long periods invariably develop eye trouble as they grow older. I remembered one old woman who worked with her nose practically touching the cloth she was weaving, but strangely enough she had spectacles which she put on when she stopped work on the obi.
An expensive obi usually has much gold thread in it and the designs are lovely. Japanese women often wear a woolen band under the obi or perhaps a stiff piece of cardboard to keep it straight as it is wound around the waist and formed into a large bow at the back. A cord goes from the bow and ties in front to keep the obi in place. This cord can be simply tied or fastened with a pin and, in the case of the Empress, a very beautiful pin clasped her obi cord in front. As I looked at her sitting calmly with her hands in her lap, with her face unlined and impassive, I could not help wondering what lay behind that placid surface. She must be, I thought, a woman of extensive education. Her husband is a student of the sciences and has written several books. The Empress had always taken an interest, I had been told, in child education. An Oriental woman in the position of royalty, I thought, must have a kind of severe discipline and must suppress many of the natural emotions. For instance, I was told that the children of the Imperial family each had a separate palace and visited their parents only a few times each week. What a strange family life! Perhaps it leads to the look of calm that was on the face of the Empress, but I wondered, too, if that calm could be attained without missing something of life.
Once we were seated, the Emperor began a conversation, saying he feared I was very tired since I had gone to so many places and seen so much in a comparatively short time. "But," he said, "I am very grateful for your visit." The Empress added that I must be worn out.
"Oh, I am not a bit tired," I assured them. "I have found my visit most interesting. The Exchange Committee had everything very well planned and I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know something of Japan."
We talked about conditions generally and at one point the Emperor said he had always regretted that we had gone to war in spite of his vigorous efforts to prevent it. Now, he said, he hoped we were embarked on an era of friendship and peace.
I had been studying the Emperor and had thought at first that he did not have a strong or impressive personality; yet, as he spoke about the war and the future, he showed both strength and courage. He has the appearance of a student and it occurred to me that perhaps this was inevitable for a man in his position. As a godlike Emperor before the war, he was permitted very little outside activity in which he might express himself. But he could study the sciences. The sciences strive to prove the truth and the Emperor must always speak the truth. His word was law. If he were to say anything about his work, if he were to express himself at all it would be necessary for his words to be provable as truth. So it was perhaps natural that he became a student of the sciences.
Under the new constitution, of course, his position is somewhat changed but the Emperor can be an important figure. I think he was sincere in saying that he had tried to prevent the war and I decided that, if we behaved with tact and caution, we could count on him to help us build friendly relations with the Asian world. Even at that time he was hoping that Japan would become a member of the United Nations, as it later did, and that we could all work together for harmonious international relations.
It was not possible in the years after the war for the Japanese really to like us. Under all of their politeness there must have been many resentments. Most thoughtful foreigners in Japan told me that the Japanese people suffered from an inferiority complex. They had felt sure they could win whatever military adventure they undertook, and when they were defeated they not only lost the war but they lost much of the psychological attitude that gave them strength, or seemed to. So, if we desire to make friends with them, we must understand that we are facing a difficult psychological problem along with everything else. No one can visit the Far East and not realize that fundamentally the Asians want to feel their own importance and to be independent of the West. They are ready to work with us when it is to their advantage and when it adds to their importance, but it is natural—after all of the humiliations of the past—that they intend to act as the equals of the white people who once exploited their countries. They want white people to know it and to treat them with the proper respect. I thought that perhaps the Asian peoples would find a way to work together in order to achieve this overriding desire for equality among the nations and races of the world. I wondered whether the Emperor had something of the same feeling, but he did not indicate any definite opinions other than that the Japanese want peace and will work for it.
I am afraid that during this interview I did not observe the rule that one should speak only when spoken to. I asked a few questions myself, or rather I made some remarks intended to draw out the ideas of the Empress.
"When I visited Pakistan and India," I said, "many changes were taking place, particularly in the status and activities of women. It seemed to me that women of all classes were drawing closer together and gaining in strength because of their greater knowledge of each other."
I paused and looked at the calm face of the Empress, waiting for her to comment. She said nothing for a few moments and then replied: "We need more education." The Emperor broke in with some comment and I thought perhaps that would be all the response I would get from the Empress, but she seemed to be thinking over my remarks for a few minutes and then said to me:
"There are great changes coming about in the life of our women. We have always been trained in the past to a life of service and I am afraid that as these new changes come about there may be a loss of real values. What is your impression, Mrs. Roosevelt?"
"In all eras of change," I said, "there is a real danger that the old values will be lost. But it seems to me much less dangerous when the intelligent and broad-minded women who have had an opportunity to become educated take the lead to bring about the necessary changes."
I mentioned Begum Liaquat Ali Khan of Pakistan, and the important social work she had done with her husband's support and which she continued after his death. For a moment, the Empress did not seem to know of her work but when I explained she at once remembered. But she shook her head doubtfully.
"Our customs are different, Mrs. Roosevelt," the Emperor broke in. "We have government bureaus to lead in our reforms. We serve as an example to our people in the way we live and it is our lives that have influence over them."
And that seemed to be the final word on how far the Imperial family, or at least the distaff side of it, might go in assuming leadership in the new era in Japan. But I cannot help believing that, since the elder women have been such an important influence in the home in the past, the future may see greater leadership exerted by the women of high social status, including members of the entourage of the Imperial family.
The Emperor talked of other matters and I inquired about the Crown Prince, whom I had entertained at Hyde Park when he was touring the United States. I said I feared the young man had found his visit to America tiresome because there was so much formality and he was expected to pay so many official calls, but that I felt he had done his duty well. The Emperor replied that he was pleased with his son's conduct and that it had been an important trip for him.
After about an hour, their Imperial Majesties arose, wished me a very happy and safe journey and, after saying good-by to Mr. Allison, left us, bowing again as they went out. We, of course, returned their bows. I never hope to be able to bow as gracefully as do Japanese women—but by this time I had learned much about the art and the shades of feeling that the Japanese can express merely by the way they bow.
After the Emperor and Empress had departed, I talked briefly with Mrs. Takagi and thanked the gentleman who had interpreted for the Emperor. We bowed to each other and then the two gentlemen who had met us when we arrived accompanied us to the door, bowing as we departed. As usual, the news photographers were waiting outside the door and I had to stand there long enough to be photographed. Then I bowed again to the last of the protocol officers and got into the automobile with Mr. Allison.
We drove to my hotel, where the Ambassador said in characteristic American fashion: "I will meet you for luncheon in about an hour after I go home and get out of these formal clothes!" We did not bow as he departed.
As I looked back on my visit to Japan, many incidents stood out as illustrative of the problems of establishing a democratic form of government in the Far East, and especially of educating women to take an active part in public affairs. One day in Tokyo I attended a round-table conference at the national Young Women's Christian Association with perhaps the most representative women leaders in the country. They were gravely concerned about progress in the new era of freedom, although they had long fought for woman's suffrage and should have been particularly pleased by the changes taking place. They made me see more clearly the difficulties created by an army of occupation or even by the presence of many American boys stationed at military bases in Japan. Unfortunately, we do not train our youngsters carefully enough before sending them throughout the world. They do not always remember that they are not merely soldiers but ambassadors, representing all that their own country stands for and all that democracy means to the rest of the world. The women were particularly concerned about the growth of prostitution and believed that it could be controlled only by the closest co-operation between Japan and the United States.
The Japanese have an active organization working in co-operation with the Children's Fund of the UN in an effort to provide more food and better conditions for young people. They expressed gratitude for the work that had been done by the Children's Fund but pointed out that after the war the health of the children generally was greatly impaired. In one Tokyo school, I was told, the children were found to be a whole year behind normal in weight and general development.
The education of Japanese in democratic ways also was made more difficult at times by news from the United States telling of racial discrimination, of instances in Los Angeles and Texas where the work of UNESCO was attacked as communistic, and of the methods employed by the late Senator Joseph McCarthy in his congressional investigations. Again and again, Japanese told me they were confused and bewildered by these news dispatches, which were displayed prominently in the newspapers. "Will you please explain these attitudes?" one leading Japanese businessman asked me. "Japan hopes one day to be a member of the United Nations and to work loyally with that organization. But we are unable to understand why these things happen in a great democratic nation like the United States."
On another occasion a young man showed me a news dispatch from the United States saying that the Japanese Government's victory in a recent election was due to the fact that the majority of Japanese were accepting the policy of gradual rearmament which had been urged on the Tokyo government by our State Department.
"Do people in the United States really believe that?" he demanded. "Everybody knows that the government in Japan has been very careful to say practically nothing on the subject of rearmament. Don't you realize that there is deep resentment here because many Japanese feel the United States used economic pressure at the time of the election in order to put into office people who favor the U.S. State Department's policies? For that reason, many feel that the United States is trying to make Japan economically a slave."
These are some of the suspicions and some of the grave problems that must be overcome—and, I feel sure, will be overcome—if our relations with the Far East are to be secure. Progress has been made toward this goal, but there are constantly arising new causes of misunderstanding, so that the road is a long and rough one. Perhaps our best hope is that the Japanese as well as ourselves want peace above all. This was impressed upon me strongly at the tragic city of Hiroshima.
To arrive in Hiroshima is an emotional experience. Here is where the first atom bomb ever to be dropped on human beings was actually used. The people of the United States believe that our leaders thought long and carefully before they used this dreaded weapon. We know that they thought first of the welfare of our own people, that they believed the bomb might end the war quickly with less loss of life everywhere than if it had not been dropped.
In spite of this conviction, one still cannot see a city and be shown the area that was destroyed by blast and fire and be told of the people who died or were injured, one cannot see the photographs of some of the victims, without a deep sadness. To see the home where orphans were being cared for was to wish with one's whole heart that men could learn from this that we know too well how to destroy and that we must learn instead how to prevent such destruction. It is useless to say that Germany started the war and even started the research that led to the atomic bomb. It is useless to remember, as I did, the feelings of my husband and of the people of the United States when we heard the shocking news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor was only the climax of years of mounting misunderstandings and antipathies throughout the world. And out of all this came Hiroshima.
But it was not just here in this sad Japanese city that men and women and children suffered. All the world suffered. So, it seems to me the only helpful thing we can do as we contemplate man's adventure into the realm of outer space is to pledge ourselves to work to eliminate the causes of war through action that is possible only by using the machinery of the United Nations. If we do, then the peoples may understand each other a little better; they may have a better chance to be heard.
Contemplating the fate of Hiroshima, one can only say: "God grant to men greater wisdom in the future."



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Reference

Roosevelt, Eleanor. On My Own. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1958.