Tomiichi Murayama, the former Japanese prime minister who delivered his nation’s most direct and lasting apology for the World War II atrocities committed by its troops, passed away on Friday in Oita, Kyushu province, at the age of 101.
His passing, which occurred in a hospital, was confirmed by the Social Democratic Party of Oita.
On August 15, 1995, exactly five decades after Japan’s surrender to the United States, Mr. Murayama made history by delivering a televised national apology. This concise yet carefully crafted address concluded in less than five minutes.
In his powerful speech, he declared, “I acknowledge, with profound humility, these undeniable historical truths, and I express once more my deepest remorse and extend my heartfelt apology.”
He further emphasized, “It is our duty to impart the horrors of war to future generations, ensuring that the mistakes of our past are never repeated.”
This historic apology stands as the hallmark achievement of Mr. Murayama’s brief 18-month tenure. He surpassed his predecessors in acknowledging the profound suffering caused by the killing, torture, and rape of millions of civilians, among other horrific acts. However, his efforts were significantly limited by conservative elements within his ruling coalition, meaning the apology, while impactful, did not fully alleviate the deep-seated resentment in countries like China and South Korea, and it also provoked strong reactions from Japanese nationalists.
The extent of Japan’s wartime atrocities across Asia frequently overshadowed the immense civilian suffering and devastation within Japan itself. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians perished in the firebombing of cities and from the devastating impact of the world’s first — and only — atomic bombs. Additionally, two million Japanese soldiers either returned home in coffins or never returned at all.
During Mr. Murayama’s leadership, Japan had already transformed its devastated cities into gleaming metropolises, emerging as a formidable global economic power. National pride was soaring, and there was minimal appetite among its political leaders for a backward glance, let alone a public demonstration of remorse.
Nevertheless, Mr. Murayama courageously laid down a significant benchmark. For years afterward, subsequent prime ministers echoed his poignant phrases, “deep remorse” and “heartfelt apologies,” in their annual commemorations of the war’s end.
His ascent to the premiership on June 30, 1994, was entirely unexpected. At 70 years old, Mr. Murayama was a relatively unknown figure, having served discreetly in the House of Representatives for over two decades without ever holding a cabinet position or engaging in international diplomacy. He was characterized by his tall, slender build, an approachable, grandfatherly demeanor, and distinctive wild, shaggy eyebrows.
“He lacked charisma,” noted Koichi Nakano, a political science professor at Sophia University in Tokyo. “He wasn’t particularly inspiring and didn’t possess national recognition. He was an ordinary, down-to-earth individual, far from a typical politician.”
Ultimately, Mr. Murayama was appointed prime minister as a resolution to a pressing political crisis.
For decades, his pacifist Japan Socialist Party had been a minor opposition force against the powerful, nationalistic, and conservative Liberal Democratic Party. By June 1994, both parties faced significant challenges amidst a recession and political unrest. In a desperate move, the conservatives extended an invitation to the socialists and a smaller third party to form a coalition government.
Initially, the socialists hesitated, but the conservatives presented an undeniable offer: the prime minister’s position would be theirs. A year prior, through political maneuvering, Mr. Murayama had become the socialist party’s chairman. Now, in a dramatic turn, he was thrust into Japan’s highest political office.
This coalition proved to be an uneasy and unbalanced arrangement, leaving Mr. Murayama largely beholden to the Liberal Democrats, who far outnumbered the socialists and secured most of the key cabinet positions—roles typically reserved for a prime minister’s trusted allies.
While Mr. Murayama conceded on many of his party’s objectives, his dominant partners allowed him to pursue the socialists’ enduring ambition for national reconciliation.
Every step of his initiative required arduous negotiation. He managed to secure a diluted version of his apology from the House of Representatives only after threatening to resign. Prior to his televised address, the coalition cabinet offered only lukewarm approval for his speech. Mr. Murayama had envisioned a grander, more ceremonial presentation, but his coalition allies thwarted these plans.
Soon after his pivotal speech, several members of the coalition cabinet publicly defied him by ostentatiously offering prayers at Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo—a site that symbolizes Japanese nationalism and honors both war criminals and other military war dead, effectively undermining the spirit of his apology.
John W. Dower, a Japanese history professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Pulitzer Prize winner for his 1999 book, “Embracing Defeat: Japan in the Wake of World War II,” described it as “a symbolic repudiation of the tenor and purpose of the speech.”
The apology, officially recognized by Japan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs as the Murayama Statement, marked the culmination of a year-long effort towards reconciliation, a goal Mr. Murayama highlighted in his inaugural policy address.
A crucial aspect of his reconciliation efforts centered on the deeply painful issue of “comfort women” — an estimated 200,000 women, predominantly Korean, who were forcibly conscripted into government-run brothels to serve Japanese soldiers, often on the front lines.
Survivors bravely recounted harrowing tales of cruelty and abuse. These women served as poignant, living testaments to Japan’s wartime atrocities, helping both Japan and the international community grasp the profound necessity of a sincere apology.
In 1995, Mr. Murayama successfully advocated for the establishment of the Asian Women’s Fund, a collaborative governmental and charitable initiative that provided medical care and some compensation to the women for over a decade. While it significantly amplified awareness of their suffering, only a few hundred of the approximately 1,000 surviving women received aid. Historians suggest that many were too ashamed to come forward, while others felt offended by the government’s decision to channel compensation through a charity rather than directly acknowledging its debt.
After retiring from Parliament in 2000, Mr. Murayama assumed the presidency of the fund, serving until its closure in 2007. The cause gained international momentum: in 2006, both the United Nations Commission on Human Rights and the U.S. Congress issued statements in solidarity with the women. A decade later, U.N. Secretary General Ban Ki-moon personally brought a survivor to the UN headquarters in New York to underscore their harrowing experience.
Born on March 3, 1924, in Oita, a fishing and mining city in southern Japan, Tomiichi Murayama was the seventh of eleven children. His father, a fisherman, passed away when Tomiichi was in junior high, leaving his mother to support the large family through various manual labor jobs.
He gained admission to the esteemed Meiji University in Tokyo, but his education was halted by the war. He was initially assigned to work in a shipyard, then drafted into the army, and was attending officer candidate’s school when the war concluded. He returned to Meiji, graduating in 1946, just one year after Japan’s surrender.
Mr. Murayama subsequently joined the Japan Socialist Party, spending nine years as an organizer for a fishermen’s union in Oita before being elected to the Oita City Council. His political career progressed through the Oita prefecture government, culminating in his election to the House of Representatives in 1972.
He is survived by two daughters and two grandchildren. His wife, Yoshie, preceded him in death last year.
After retiring from Parliament, Mr. Murayama resided in Oita but frequently traveled to Tokyo and other nations. He continued to give interviews and deliver speeches, advocating for respect among Japan’s neighbors and issuing strong warnings against the barbarity of war.
Notably, Mr. Murayama was among Japan’s longest-living prime ministers. He attributed his longevity and good health to regular walking and cycling, as he once shared with China Daily Asia.
Beyond politics, Mr. Murayama was an accomplished calligrapher. During the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, he generously donated three of his calligraphic pieces to the municipal archive in Shanghai, hoping his art would bring solace to the Chinese people, who were then at the epicenter of the outbreak.
His calligraphy, surprisingly spirited, resembled the motivational messages of a young sports coach. One piece read “Go China,” another “Go Wu Han,” and a third, “Go Shanghai.”
A few years prior, Mr. Murayama had gifted China another calligraphic work, which proclaimed, “Japan-Chinese friendship. Credibility comes from being true to one’s words.”