'War trauma' transformed caring father into a complete stranger
Many veterans, haunted by horrific battlefield experiences, developed post-traumatic stress disorder and related conditions that continue to affect their lives and families.
Such war-induced conditions, often referred to as "war trauma," can profoundly alter a person's behavior and emotional state.
In one case, a father who was once devoted and loving became distant, described by a family member as being merely an "empty shell" of his former self.
A growing number of family members of former Japanese servicemen are coming forward to share their experiences, prompting the government to launch its first-ever survey on the realities faced by these families. The results are expected to be released within the current fiscal year ending March.
Akio Kuroi, 76, from Musashimurayama, Tokyo, recalls the enduring impact military service had on his father, Keijiro, a former soldier who passed away in 1990 at the age of 77.
"He was lethargic, and I couldn't even tell if he was really there. He was like an empty shell," Kuroi says.
Kuroi's father was conscripted at the age of 20 and served as a leader of subordinates in areas such as former Manchuria, now northeastern China. After returning to Japan, he struggled to adjust to civilian life and never held a regular job, leaving his family in financial difficulty.
Even at home, he remained distant. He would not respond when his grandchildren called out to him.
"I thought to myself, 'I will never become a man like my father,'" Kuroi says.
A quarter of a century after his father's death, Kuroi happened to watch footage of a former U.S. Marine struggling with the trauma of the Vietnam War. The video made him realize the depth of the emotional scars his own father had carried.
"The pained face of the Marine overlapped with the image of my father," he recounts.
Motivated by the understanding that war had transformed his father, Kuroi founded an organization in 2018 to support the families of former servicemen. The group has collected testimonies from family members, including accounts such as former servicemen getting drunk and becoming violent toward family members and those shouting loudly in the middle of the night.
Yasuko Kurokawa, a 74-year-old Tokyo resident, regularly attends testimonial meetings organized by Kuroi. Reflecting on her late father, Yuzo Sato, she says, "He seemed to have no interest in others, including his own family."
Sato passed away in 1993 at the age of 76. Drafted into the military just before Japan's defeat in World War II, Sato was later interned in Siberia. Upon his return to Japan, he was devastated to learn that his eldest son had died of illness at the age of 3 and that his 1-year-old daughter had starved to death during his absence. The trauma and grief weighed heavily on him, and he never spoke of his wartime experiences.
Kurokawa's mother had described Sato as a devoted father who would carry his children on his back to the fields and bathe them with care.
However, Kurokawa herself never saw that side of him.
"Perhaps his experiences on the battlefield, combined with the sorrow of losing his children, broke his heart," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "If only he had talked to me, I could have understood him better."
In response to ongoing efforts to collect testimonies, the welfare ministry launched a survey in fiscal 2024 to better understand the experiences of former servicemen suffering from PTSD and other conditions, as well as the impact on their families.
After analyzing patients' medical records, the ministry aims to present its findings in a permanent exhibition at Shokei-kan, a Tokyo museum dedicated to sharing the stories of sick and wounded former servicemen, starting around February 2026.
Ahead of the permanent display, the ministry is also organizing a panel exhibition on the history of former servicemen who suffered emotional wounds, which has been on view since July.
"We hope the exhibition will provide many people with an opportunity to learn about the challenges faced by former servicemen with mental illnesses and their families," a ministry official said.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
2 minutes ago
80 Years On: Woman Who Escaped Death on Tinian Island Pleads for Peace
Nakagusuku, Okinawa Pref., Aug. 15 (Jiji Press)--In 1944, at the height of the fighting on Tinian Island during World War II, schoolgirl Mitsuko Arakaki and her family resolved to die rather than be killed. At the last moment, fear drove her to flee--an impulse that ultimately saved her family. Having watched B-29 bombers take to the sky from Tinian, the same island from which the aircraft used in the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki departed, Arakaki, now 91, continues to emphasize the precious nature of peace. Arakaki, a resident of the village of Nakagusuku, Okinawa Prefecture, southern Japan, was born on Tinian in 1934. The island prospered on sugarcane, and her grandfather operated a large farm. Living with her grandparents, parents and a younger brother, she recalls, she "lived a life without any inconveniences." Part of the Mariana Islands about 2,500 kilometers south of Japan's main island, Tinian was then a Japanese mandate territory and a key base for the Imperial Japanese military. By the time the war reached the island, some 13,000 Japanese civilians were living there, many of them from Okinawa. [Copyright The Jiji Press, Ltd.]
Japan Times
6 hours ago
- Japan Times
Reading the Japanese clock: Are times a-changin'?
First, the good news: Clocks in Japan tick just the same as they do everywhere else in the world, so there's no need to know the Japanese language to know the time. That being said, it's certainly helpful to know how to tell the time in Japanese, and understand all the nuances compared to English. The time is given in 時 (ji, hours), 分 (fun, minutes) and, depending on the degree of precision, 秒 (byō, seconds). The number that contains the hour normally gets the Sino-Japanese reading, aka the 音読み (onyomi), except for 4 o'clock, which is 4yoji rather than shiji. For 7 o'clock, shichiji is more common than nanaji — though the latter is also possible. And 9 o'clock reads kuji, not kyūji. Also note that, unlike in English, Japan has a 'zero o'clock,' or 零時 (reiji), which can mean both midnight and high noon. Like in English, a 12- rather than 24-hour system is common, specified only where necessary by 午前 (gozen, a.m.) and 午後 (gogo, p.m.). Since Japanese does almost everything the other way round, these two terms precede the time stamp, as in 午前9 時 (gozen kuji, 9 a.m.) or 午後5時 (gogo goji, 5 p.m.). Places with very late service hours, like nightclubs or ramen shops, may sometimes list times beyond 24, such as 27時 (nijūshichiji, 27 o'clock), meaning 3 a.m. In Japan, some days really do seem to last longer than 24 hours. As mentioned above, the counter for minutes is 'fun,' but it often contracts into '-pun' — just compare 5分 (gofun) and 10分 (juppun). As to the latter, purists like to point out that it should actually be pronounced 'jippun' rather than 'juppun,' which is in fact the more traditional reading. That's because the numeral 10 originally read じふ (jifu) and only later collapsed into today's じゅう (jū). Accordingly, ji- rather than ju- used to be the base form for contractions with subsequent words like 分. However, in a 2005 survey by the Agency of Cultural Affairs, 75% of respondents said they preferred the ju- reading, and the form was officially added to the list of possible '10' readings in 2010. So both juppun and jippun are fine for 10分, and the same obviously holds for 20分, 30分, 40分 and 50分. There is no common word for 'quarter,' so 'quarter past' is just 15分 (jūgofun, 15 minutes). There is a word for 'half' though, whose reading by mere coincidence closely resembles the English word: 半 (han). So 'half past three' would be 3時半 (sanjihan). Like in English, times past the 30-minute mark are commonly expressed with reference to the approaching hour. So when it's coming up to 12:00, you'd say 12時15分前 (jūniji jūgofun-mae, 11:45), 12時10分前 (jūniji juppun-mae, 11:50) and so on. We'll come back to this reading in a second. Both hours and minutes are obligatory in Japanese clock time. That means, unlike in English, you can't shorten an expression to 'ten fifteen' when you mean to say 10:15. In Japanese you'll have to say 10時15分 (jūji jūgofun). Abbreviating it to jū jūgo will make it largely unintelligible even to most benevolent listeners. Another key difference lies in word order. In English, we say things like '10 past five' or 'quarter to eight,' with the minute part coming before the hour. In Japanese, the hour always comes first. So '10 minutes past five' is 5時10分 (goji juppun), literally '5 o'clock 10 minutes.' A lively discussion recently emerged about the meaning of the phrase 10分前 (juppun-mae). Take a term like 8時10分前 (hachiji juppun-mae), which, in word-by-word rendition, is '8-o'clock-10-minutes-before.' While most older folks, this one included, agree that this is supposed to mean 7:50, younger people often understand it to refer to the time slot just prior to 8:10. At the heart of this generational time gap — of no less than almost 20 minutes, to be sure — is a different syntactic analysis of the term with respect to 前 (mae, before/front). In the traditional reading, the suffix tells us to subtract 10 minutes from 8 o'clock, thus 7:50. In the new reading, by contrast, the scope of 前 covers the whole time stamp. That makes it 8:10 minus a few minutes, like say 8:08 or so. A syntactic representation of the two terms — in case you needed one — would be [[8時] 10分前] for the 7:50 reading, and [[8時10分]前] for the 8:08 reading. Perhaps more intuitively, the difference can also be understood if we put in the nominal connector の (no). In the 7:50 reading, it goes in after the hour — 8時の10分前 (hachiji no juppun-mae) — whereas for the 8:08 reading it occurs only after the minutes — 8時10分の前 (hachiji juppun no mae). From a pragmatic point of view, the newer interpretation may actually seem more truthful. If it's still only 7:50, first putting it into the '8 o'clock' range, only to make it short of 10 minutes right afterward does feel a bit like overbidding. The Gen Z reading of 'a little before 8:10' avoids such unkept promises. The new reading may also indicate changing social practices. In the old days, an 8:08 reading just wouldn't seem likely because there was neither need nor technical equipment for such geeky precision. In fact, if back in the 1980s a friend had told me to meet up at 8:08, that might have spelled the end of that friendship. But with smartphones and navigation now omnipresent, it doesn't appear that strange at all if someone on their way texts you they'll be there by 'a little prior to 8:10.' Time may be universal, but how we talk about it is not. Whether you say jippun or juppun, whether you're an 'old-school' 7:50 type or part of the new 8:08 wave, it all goes to show that, yes — times they are a-changin'.
11 hours ago
Documentary Recounts Postwar Sexual Abuse of Japanese Women
In the final days of World War II, Japan suffered a serious blow when the Soviet Union entered the war against it, in violation of the 1941 Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact, invading Japanese-held territory in Northeast China in the early hours of August 9, 1945. At the time, the area was a Japanese puppet state, known as Manchukuo or the 'Empire of Great Manchuria.' The Japanese government had sponsored over 900 groups of 'pioneers' to colonize the region, who numbered 270,000 by the war's end. They were predominantly younger sons of farm families in Japan struggling with poverty in the aftermath of the Great Depression, together with the relatives they took along. The term 'pioneers' is something of a misnomer, because these colonists actually seized land from the original inhabitants. Japan's hidden agenda in this colonization was to create a military outpost in readiness for a Soviet invasion. The Kurokawa Settler Community, whose members moved to what is now China's Songyuan, Jilin Province, in 1941. (© TV Asahi) But when Soviet forces actually invaded, the Kwantung Army (the division of the Imperial Japanese Army operating in Manchukuo) took flight, and the colonists were left to fend for themselves, falling victim to looting and violence. They were not only attacked by the Soviet troops, but also by the local people whose homes and land they had taken. Some colonist villages chose to commit suicide en masse rather than to face the possible alternatives. Some 80,000 colonists died during the invasion, including many who perished from famine or infectious disease. Among the colonists was a group of around 600 who came from the village of Kurokawa (now Shirakawa) in Gifu Prefecture. Amidst the chaos, the Kurokawa settlers chose to surrender their young women in return for food and safe convoy. For two months, 15 unmarried women, aged over 18, were forced to provide 'sexual entertainment' for the Soviet troops. Location of the former entertainment quarters. (© TV Asahi) A year after the war's end, the surviving 451 Kurokawa pioneers were repatriated to Japan. After returning, the women who had been forced to provide 'sexual entertainment' were subjected to slander and could no longer face living in the village. Some moved away, concealed their past, and married, while others remained single for their entire lives. After the war, those who were aware of this shameful episode kept silent. It was not until almost 70 years later that some of the victims began to speak out. Breaking the Silence The first women who broke their silence were Yasue Yoshiko and Satō Harue. In November 2013, they first spoke publicly about their ordeals at regular talks held at the Manchukuo Settler Peace Memorial Hall in the village of Achi, Nagano Prefecture. Yasue Yoshiko, who recounted the reality of 'sexual entertainment' at the Manchukuo Settler Peace Memorial Hall (Achi, Nagano). (© TV Asahi) Yasue, the eldest of the women, passed away in 2016. Satō told her story in a documentary that aired on NHK in 2017, causing shockwaves. Thereafter, she was often interviewed by reporters, particularly from regional newspapers. In August 2018, she spoke at a testimonial meeting held at Gifu's municipal hall, which received high-profile coverage in the daily Asahi Shimbun . Satō Harue in 2019. (© TV Asahi) Matsubara Fumie, director of the documentary film Kurokawa no onnatachi (The Women of Kurokawa), says she was deeply moved when she read the article and saw a photo of Satō, then aged 93: 'She drew her lips into a thin line. I sensed strong determination and conviction in her expression. I grew curious about what kind of person she was and wanted to speak to her myself.' Matsubara Fumie, director of the documentary film Kurokawa no onnatachi . (© ) Three months later, Matsubara had the opportunity to interview Harue. In November 2018, a ceremony was staged to unveil an epitaph for the women erected in the grounds of a shrine in Kurokawa to record the truth about the victims. Prior to this, there was only a statue of Jizō (a Buddhist bodhisattva held to be a protector of children), simply labeled as a 'Monument to the Maidens,' alongside a cenotaph and other memorials. Paid for through donations, it was installed in 1982 to remember the victims, but without any accompanying explanation, out of 'respect' for their past suffering. Thirty-six years later, the silence was broken, and an explanation was finally placed alongside. An epitaph (right) installed alongside the 'Monument to the Maidens' in November 2018. (© TV Asahi) Accurately Conveying Historical Fact The unveiling of the epitaph was covered briefly on national network news. Matsubara, who directed the story, continued to gather information after this episode, interviewing other former Kurokawa Settler Community members to learn more about the background and circumstances of the 'sexual entertainment.' The interviews became the basis for a television documentary, broadcast in November 2019, and of Matsubara's new film. 'Above all, I wanted to depict the bravery of these women,' she recalls. 'Satō Harue faced up to her past experiences and spoke on camera, using her real name. Her courage, determination and very way of being deeply moved me. I wanted to share what she had achieved and the story she has left us with as many people as possible.' Another key purpose was to convey historical fact. Satō was a victim of cruel sexual violence, and although she had sacrificed greatly to protect the village, for decades, people acted as if nothing had happened. Fujii Hiroyuki, thefourth chairperson of the Settler Community Survivors Society, felt heavily burdened by this, and went to great efforts to prepare the epitaph. His father had been employed to call in the women when they were required to entertain the troops. Fujii Hiroyuki, chair of the Settler Community Survivors Society, spent many months preparing the text of the epitaph. (© TV Asahi) According to Fujii, 'The younger generation make atonement for the sins of their parents' generation. We must look closely at the mistakes they made and record this history, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. I feel solace in having achieved this.' Reclaiming Their Dignity The COVID-19 pandemic took hold shortly after the television documentary was aired, making it difficult to stay in touch with the people of Kurokawa. But after restrictions were eased, Fujii received surprising news. In October 2023, Yasue Reiko, one of the three surviving victims, contacted him to say she would meet with him. Matsubara had managed to arrange an interview with Yasue in 2019, but at the time it was under the condition of maintaining her anonymity. But she had refused to return to Kurokawa and did not attend the epitaph unveiling. Yasue Reiko, who was interviewed in 2019 on the condition of anonymity. (© TV Asahi) Fujii had long wanted to apologize to Yasue in person, but when he reached out to her, she had previously cited health issues and other justifications for being unable to meet. Things changed eventually, though, recalls Matsubara. 'I accompanied Fujii when he went to meet Reiko and I was surprised at how different it was from four years earlier—her manner of speaking had totally changed. She smiled and had a much gentler facial expression—she even joked with us.' Yasue Reiko appeared relaxed when she met with Fujii. (© TV Asahi) Her transformation was spurred by a letter she received from a grandchild who had learned of her grandfather's past in a book. Matsubara says: 'Reiko had never spoken of her experience with her family, and had suffered in silence. But after learning that her granddaughter understood her pain and was proud of her, she found herself able to smile again. It is easy to speak of the return of dignity, but it can be difficult to actually realize this in society. For me, it was a valuable opportunity to witness this myself.' A lecture at the Manchukuo Settler Peace Memorial Hall in 2013. Yasue Yoshiko, seated, is second from left. (© TV Asahi) The Culmination of a Magnificent Life There is no doubt that Yasue Reiko found the strength to speak with dignity thanks to Yasue Yoshiko and Satō Harue. In January 2024, Satō passed away, aged 99. Her final moments are captured in the film. As Harue draws her final breaths, Yasue Kikumi, who had been close to her since their time in Manchuria, spoke to her. The younger Kikumi was fortunately spared the sexual violence suffered by the other women, having been tasked with preparing the bathing area of the entertainment quarters. More than anybody, she was conscious of the sacrifice made by the older girls. She always held a deep sense of respect and appreciation for them. The camera caught Harue's final moments as she was soothed by these words. There has never been such a touching moment captured on film. Yasue Kikumi's affection for Satō Harue, at right, is touching. (© TV Asahi) The women's courage, transmission of historical truth, and recovery of dignity—Matsubara hoped to capture these aspects for posterity through her film. She stresses the strong responsibility she felt. For her, the biggest motivation was her encounter with Harue and being with her in her final moments. 'Harue prevented the women's terrible experience simply being buried in the shadows of history. It was not a matter of feeling resentment, criticizing, and opening up disputes, but of having regard for one other's stories. This has enabled the next generation to apologize. This allowed Harue to live for almost a century. It was more than enough for one human to bear. The issues of history and gender are certainly crucial, but respect for an individual and their life is also important.' Satō Harue with film director Matsubara. (© TV Asahi) Film Information Official website: Trailer (Japanese) (Originally published in Japanese. Banner photo: A scene from the film Kurokawa no onnatachi . Satō Harue [front row, far right] among the 15 young women forced to provide 'sexual entertainment' to Soviet troops. © TV Asahi.)
