Authors: Ian Buruma
The China Lover (40 page)
13 
T
HE JAPANESE PRESS
called us “terrorists.” That is not how we were treated in the Arab world. In Beirut, Damascus, Amman, or any other Arab city, we—Okudaira, Yasuda, and myself—became legends. I had the solitary distinction of being a legend in my own lifetime. Everyone knew us as “the Japanese victors of Lydda.” Arab children were given the names of our martyrs, Okudaira and Yasuda. Proud parents asked me to bless the innocent souls of these Okudaira Yussufs or Yasuda Al Afghanis.
I was released in an exchange for an Israeli soldier. Almost straightaway, still weak and more than a little confused by my sudden change of fortune, I was taken on a tour through the Middle East. I remember when the Beatles came to Japan in 1966. That’s what it felt like when I landed in Damascus, or Amman, or Beirut. Total strangers would come up to me in the street and thank me for what we had done. People went home happy to have held my eyes for just a second, or touched my sleeve. I was proud of what we had accomplished, of course. Ours was the first real victory in the armed struggle for Palestinian freedom. But I also felt uncomfortable, even embarrassed by all the adulation. I was treated as though I were a deity. It was as if I was no longer a living human being. Besides, like the first men who landed on the moon, what could I do to top our moment of triumph? I was too famous now to go back to making propaganda films. The PFLP would
support me for life. But what could I possibly do? I wanted to live again.
During my season in the Zionist hell, I had tried not to think too much about Hanako, for it was just too painful. To dwell on the past or think of the future would have driven me mad. I had to take every minute as it came. But of course I did think of her. How could I not have? Only always in terms of the past. I couldn’t afford to have illusions about the future. As a result, perhaps, we drifted apart without wanting to. She became a distant image more than a living presence. When I was with her once more, in Beirut, it was as if an invisible wall had grown between us. Too much had happened. I could not share my experiences with her. She wouldn’t have understood. What was perhaps most painful was that she too treated me as a public figure, a hero. She wanted me to describe what it was like on the front lines, at Lydda. I said that I couldn’t remember exactly what it had been like. It all happened too fast. I tried to convey the sense of power that I felt. This confused her. It was not supposed to be like that. She asked me whether I meant the power of the Palestinian people. I replied that I was Japanese. Yes, she said, but it was the cause that gave me power. I said that it wasn’t quite like that. I didn’t want it to end this way, but it was clear that we couldn’t resume where we had left off, as lovers. And even if we could, it was not possible. She was with Georges Jabara now. He didn’t share his lovers with anyone.
I never saw Yamaguchi-san again. She had come to Beirut twice, while I was still in captivity. The first time was right after the battle of Lydda, when she interviewed Hanako, as the senior Japanese Red Army commander on the spot. To get to see Hanako at all was considered to be a great journalistic coup. For a while, Hanako was number one on the most wanted list of Interpol. Yamaguchi-san was the envy of her colleagues. Her program won the top Japanese television award that year. She came back just once more, this time for an interview
with Chairman Arafat. The PLO people seemed pleased with it. I never saw the program myself.
But I did hear from her, for she was a loyal correspondent, and one of the few friends who kept me informed on Japanese affairs. Not that we were altogether cut off from the news in Beirut. People sometimes spoke of us as if we were living on the other side of the moon. In fact, we led quite normal lives. It’s perfectly true, however, that Japanese news rarely reached the Beirut newspapers or television broadcasts. What happened in Japan didn’t affect us much. But what happened here did affect Japan. When the Japanese government slavishly followed the West in supporting Israel during the 1973 war, provoked by the Zionists, the Arab powers quite rightly punished Japan with an oil embargo. The weak have to use every weapon at their disposal. It was only a few months after the embargo that I received the following letter:
Dear Sato-kun,
Winter in Tokyo has been colder than usual. Heavy snow fell in February. The first plum blossoms are yet to be in bloom.
I hope you are well on your way to recovery from the difficult times you have endured. I think of you often, always with affection and gratitude. Without your talents as a writer and a political analyst, I could never have had so much success. I feel that much of the credit for the prizes I was lucky enough to receive, despite my deep unworthiness, really belongs to you. It was a privilege to work with you, and it would have been such a pleasure to do so again. However, we must move on in life, and do whatever we can to achieve our goals. My main aim has always been to foster peace and international understanding. You have done so much to help me understand the tragedies of the Arab world, especially of the Palestinian people. As for peace . . . well, I’ll never understand why men have
to go on fighting wars. Perhaps it’s in their nature. That is why I believe that we women must take a more active part in public affairs.
As you may have heard already, my days as a journalist have come to an end. I have no regrets about that. Being a journalist was always one of my great ambitions. But, as I said, we must move on, and I know that my next step will give me an even better chance to accomplish the tasks I have set for myself in the short time allotted to me. Life is a fleeting thing, and we must make the most of it.
You would naturally have been very critical of our government’s policies during the Israeli war. I understand your feelings perfectly. Indeed, to a large extent, I share them. But we are a small island nation without natural resources, entirely dependent on oil for our survival. We are also a weak Asian nation, dedicated to peace but living in a dangerous world. That means, alas, that our security has to be guaranteed by the United States. Since Jewish opinion is highly influential in that country, we were forced to support Israel in the last war, whatever our private feelings may be, and are now paying the price for it. It can’t be helped.
If I were still a journalist, without any responsibility for the politics of our country, I would be as critical of our government as you are. Thinking freely is the writer’s prerogative. I have seen myself, in the dark days of my foolish youth, what happens when governments take that freedom away. We should be grateful that Japan is a free country now, and writers must continue to think as they please, even if their thoughts are irresponsible, which of course they often are. That can’t be helped either.
However, now that I am a politician, I have to think more about the consequences of my words. People’s lives may depend on it. As a politician, it is no good just to be critical from the sidelines; we have to deal with real problems in the real world and come up with
solutions. I can no longer afford to be carried away by my heart. As a politician, I have to keep a cool head, weigh different interests, and come up with policies that are practical, as well as beneficial to our country. I believe that I have enough experience to undertake this task. So, when our prime minister asked me to run for the Lower House as a candidate for his party, how could I possibly turn him down? Duty called, and I had to do what is best for our country.
I know you think our party is reactionary, but if you hear me out, you might not think of your old friend too harshly. The first thing our government must do is to make friends with the Arab countries, as well as other parts of the Third World. This is not just a practical matter of natural resources, which we sorely lack, but also a question of making amends for our past mistakes. After more than a century of trying to please the West by imitating its ruthless system of competing for power, we must now take a softer, more spiritual, more Asian approach, and express our solidarity with our friends in the developing world. Power politics led us down the road to catastrophe once. We must make sure that this error will never be repeated. Here, I believe, my credentials are better than those of most of my colleagues. My home was in China. I have lived with my husband in Burma. I have made friends with Kim Il Sung, and other leaders. And I have experienced the plight of the Palestinian people at first hand.
Since you have chosen the path of armed struggle, you may call me naive, but in my view our military weakness should be our greatest virtue. Westerners, whose cultures are not as deep or ancient as ours, cannot help but think in terms of military force and economic expansion. They are rationalists. This makes them more efficient than us Asians, perhaps, but they lack a spiritual dimension which we should use to make friends in the world. Asia has a glorious past. Now Japan must lead the East to an equally glorious
future. The power of culture is so much greater than the power of the gun.
Unfortunately, you were still in prison when I visited Beirut to meet with Chairman Arafat. He left a deep impression on me. What a wonderful person! The modesty of his personal habits. The dedication of his life and soul to the cause of liberating his people. The warmth of his personality. His frankness. And the sincerity of his feelings of friendship for the Japanese people, feelings to which I like to think I contributed a little bit. I truly regard the Chairman as a great man, perhaps one of the greatest men in human history. I feel confident that you share my feelings in this regard.
I have also had the great privilege to meet with Colonel Muammar Gadaffi to celebrate the sixth anniversary of his Green Revolution. Of course you know all about his heroic efforts to help the Palestinians. They call him their “star of hope.” I must confess to feeling a bit nervous when I was introduced to him in Tripoli for the first time. I guess I was expecting a fierce revolutionary type, who would have little time for a simple woman from distant Japan. He comes from such a man’s world, after all. His sharp, hawkish features are intimidating enough. And although I had studied his Green Book, I found much of it very hard to understand. So my poor heart was racing when he cast his piercing gaze upon me.
But my apprehensions couldn’t have been more groundless! He was absolutely charming, with a warm handshake and friendly dark eyes, full of sincerity. First he gave a press conference for journalists from all over the world. They wanted to know when the oil embargo would be lifted. And he answered: “When Israel gives up its occupation of Arab lands.” Then he took me aside and guided me to his personal tent, where we sat on cushions drinking sweet fruit juices. He looked so handsome in his green uniform, and even though I was old enough to be his elder sister, he treated me as
though I were the most important woman in the world. Don’t get me wrong. Despite his revolutionary credentials, Gadaffi is a very religious man, and behaved like a perfect gentleman. He asked me about my religion. This caused me some embarrassment. I suppose I am a Buddhist, but I tried to explain to him that we Japanese are not a very religious people. Unlike the Muslims, our daily lives are not usually linked to one faith. He looked at me with a mixture of severity and genuine concern: “A human being must believe in God. Without faith in our hearts, we are lost.”
I thought about his words all the way back to Tokyo. And in fact I still think of them today. Perhaps he is right. We Japanese are so caught up in the material demands of modern life. We lead such superficial lives. I think that we have lost something of deep value that the Arabs have retained. I believe in my heart that we have much to learn from the simplicity of the Arab mind. Anyway, these were some of the random thoughts that sprang to the mind of this silly woman on her way back from Libya to Japan.
By the way, one of the other guests at Gadaffi’s party was Idi Amin, the president of Uganda. My goodness, he is a big man! Standing beside him, with the top of my head reaching no higher than his mighty chest, I felt like a little Oriental doll. The president was built like a heavyweight boxer, but he was not at all frightening. More like a sweet black bear. I adored him. And he seems to have taken a shine to me too, for he instantly invited me to visit his country. I had always wanted to visit the dark continent and was delighted to accept. Sato-kun, you won’t believe how pretty the capital city of Kampala looks. Blessed with a lovely climate, there are flowers everywhere. The president told me wonderful stories about the culture of his people. “My people love beauty,” he said. “They love beauty too much.” Then he pointed at several young women in the room and roared with laughter. (I believe
they were his wives, but was too shy to ask.) We were served with a whole chicken. I was a little startled by the president’s table manners. He ate everything, even the bones, which made a crunching sound as he sunk his teeth into them. I guess that’s why he had such dazzling white teeth. But despite the differences in our cultures and traditions, our hearts were one. We Japanese should really study African cultures more diligently. They are so much richer than people think.
So now you know what I’ve been up to of late. I think our prime minister was pleased with the results of my travels, and he has made me his special envoy to the Third World. There is even talk of organizing a Japanese-Palestinian Friendship Committee, and I will be the first chairman! This must please you, surely. I know that Prime Minister Tanaka has his critics. They say he uses money too freely in elections, and so on. But I know for a fact that Prime Minister Tanaka is a good man, who sincerely wants to live in peace with our Asian neighbors. His dream—and mine—is to visit China one day and be friends again with the people to whom we owe our civilization. When that day should come, my dearest wish is to go with him, and shake hands with Chairman Mao, the greatest Asian leader of the twentieth century. For me, it would be like going home at last.
Please be safe and take care of your health. I don’t know when we will be seeing one another again, but you will always retain a special corner in my heart.
Yours,
Yamaguchi Yoshiko
