Japan bids farewell to a pivotal figure, Tomiichi Murayama, who, as prime minister in 1995, delivered the nation’s most direct and lasting apology for the horrific atrocities committed by Japanese forces during World War II. He passed away on Friday in Oita, Kyushu province, at the remarkable age of 101.
The Social Democratic Party of Oita announced his peaceful passing at a hospital.
Mr. Murayama’s historic apology resonated across the nation, broadcast on television on August 15, 1995 – precisely 50 years after Japan declared its surrender to the United States. His words, though concise and carefully chosen, spanned less than five minutes but carried immense weight.
“With profound humility, I acknowledge these undeniable historical truths,” he declared, “and once more express my deep remorse and sincere apologies.”
He continued, emphasizing the critical mission: “Our responsibility is to ensure that younger generations grasp the true horrors of war, so that we may never again repeat the mistakes of our past.”
This apology marked the defining achievement of Mr. Murayama’s 18-month tenure. He courageously pushed boundaries, going further than any preceding Japanese leader in expressing regret for the widespread killing, torture, and sexual violence inflicted upon millions of civilians. However, his efforts were significantly tempered by conservative factions within his ruling coalition, resulting in an apology that, while significant, didn’t fully quell the deep-seated resentment in countries like China and South Korea, and simultaneously provoked anger among Japanese nationalists.
The narrative of Japan’s wartime atrocities across Asia often overshadowed the immense suffering its own civilian population endured. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese citizens perished in the firebombing of their cities, and the nation was scarred by the first and only use of atomic bombs in warfare. The war also claimed the lives of two million Japanese soldiers.
By the time of Mr. Murayama’s leadership, Japan had remarkably risen from the ashes, transforming its devastated cities into gleaming metropolises and solidifying its status as a global economic powerhouse. A renewed sense of national pride permeated the country, and there was little desire among its leaders to dwell on the past, much less to publicly acknowledge past wrongs.
Yet, Mr. Murayama bravely set a precedent. For many years following, successive prime ministers echoed his resonant phrases of “deep remorse” and “heartfelt apologies” in their annual addresses commemorating the end of the war.
His ascent to the prime ministership on June 30, 1994, was entirely unexpected. At 70 years old, he had served quietly in the House of Representatives for over two decades, largely unknown on the national stage. He held no prior cabinet positions and had minimal international experience. Tall, slender, and possessing a gentle, grandfatherly demeanor with distinctively bushy eyebrows, he seemed an unlikely choice.
Koichi Nakano, a political science professor at Sophia University in Tokyo, remarked in an interview, “He wasn’t charismatic. He wasn’t particularly inspiring. He didn’t have name recognition. He was a down-to-earth, ordinary sort of guy, not a typical politician.”
Mr. Murayama’s unexpected leadership emerged as a resolution to a brewing political crisis. For decades, his pacifist Japan Socialist Party had been a modest counterpart to the dominant, often nationalistic and conservative, Liberal Democratic Party. In June 1994, amidst economic recession and political chaos, both parties found themselves fighting for political relevance. In a desperate move, the conservatives extended an unprecedented invitation to the socialists, proposing a coalition government that included a smaller third party.
Initially hesitant, the socialists ultimately joined the coalition after an irresistible offer: the prime minister’s post would be theirs. Just a year prior, through a series of political maneuvers, Mr. Murayama had become chairman of the socialist party. Now, that position propelled him into Japan’s highest political office.
This coalition was an uneasy and imbalanced alliance, leaving Mr. Murayama largely at the mercy of the Liberal Democrats. Their considerable numerical superiority meant they secured most cabinet positions – crucial roles typically filled by a prime minister’s loyalists.
Despite this, Mr. Murayama managed to steer away from most of the socialist party’s core objectives, with his influential partners allowing him to pursue his party’s long-cherished goal of national reconciliation.
Every step of this process required intense negotiation. He only secured the House of Representatives’ endorsement for a diluted version of his apology by threatening to resign. Even before his televised address, the coalition cabinet only half-heartedly approved his speech. Mr. Murayama had envisioned a more grand and ceremonial presentation, but his coalition allies vetoed this.
Soon after Mr. Murayama’s seminal address, a significant gesture of defiance came from half of the coalition cabinet members. They conspicuously offered prayers at the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, a nationalistic symbol that honors Japan’s war criminals alongside other military dead.
John W. Dower, a Pulitzer Prize-winning historian who taught Japanese history at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, described this act as “a symbolic repudiation of the tenor and purpose of the speech.”
The apology, now officially recognized by Japan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs as the Murayama Statement, culminated a year-long quest for conciliation. Mr. Murayama had introduced the idea in his very first policy address.
A central tenet of his reconciliation efforts revolved around the plight of the “comfort women” – an estimated 200,000 women, many from Korea, who were forcibly compelled to work in government-run brothels for Japanese soldiers, often near the front lines.
Survivors recounted harrowing tales of unimaginable cruelty and abuse. Their existence served as stark, living proof of Japan’s wartime atrocities, compelling both Japan and the international community to understand the urgent need for an official apology.
In 1995, Mr. Murayama successfully advocated for the establishment of the Asian Women’s Fund, a collaborative governmental and charitable initiative. For over a decade, this fund provided medical assistance and some financial compensation to these women, effectively drawing global attention to their suffering. However, only a few hundred of the approximately 1,000 surviving women ultimately benefited. Historians note that many were too ashamed to come forward, while others felt offended that the government, instead of directly acknowledging its debt, had deferred the responsibility of compensation to a charitable organization.
After retiring from Parliament in 2000, Mr. Murayama served as president of the fund until its closure in 2007. His advocacy continued: in 2006, both the United Nations Commission on Human Rights and the U.S. Congress issued statements of support for the women. A decade later, Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon personally brought one of the survivors to the UN headquarters in New York to publicly underscore their ordeal.
Tomiichi Murayama was born on March 3, 1924, in Oita, a fishing and mining town in southern Japan. He was the seventh of 11 children. His father, a fisherman, passed away when Tomiichi was in junior high school, leaving his mother to support the large family through various menial jobs.
He gained acceptance to the prestigious Meiji University in Tokyo, but his academic pursuits were cut short by the war. He was assigned to work in a shipyard, later drafted into the army, and was attending officer candidate’s school when the war finally concluded. He returned to Meiji University, graduating in 1946, a year after Japan’s surrender.
Mr. Murayama joined the Japan Socialist Party, dedicating nine years to organizing a fishermen’s union in Oita before being elected to the Oita City Council. He steadily advanced through local government, eventually securing a seat in the House of Representatives in 1972.
He is survived by two daughters and two grandchildren. His wife, Yoshie, passed away last year.
Even after retiring from Parliament, Mr. Murayama remained in Oita but frequently traveled to Tokyo and other countries. He gave numerous interviews and delivered speeches, consistently promoting respect for Japan’s neighbors and issuing strong warnings against the brutal nature of war.
He was among Japan’s longest-living prime ministers, attributing his robust health, he once told China Daily Asia, to regular walking and cycling.
Mr. Murayama was also an accomplished calligrapher. During the challenging Covid-19 pandemic, he donated three of his calligraphic works to the municipal archive in Shanghai, hoping his art would bring solace and encouragement to the people of China, who were at the epicenter of the outbreak.
His calligraphy pieces were imbued with a spirited, almost coaching-like tone: “Go China,” read one. Another declared, “Go Wu Han.” And a third, “Go Shanghai.”
A few years prior, Mr. Murayama had crafted another piece for China, proclaiming, “Japan-Chinese friendship. Credibility comes from being true to one’s words.”