'Our Man in Tokyo': An ambassador's view of a decade of turbulence

Joseph Grew was not a man easily rattled. A patient, hardworking and open-minded foreign service officer, he believed that “rational, well-intentioned individuals” would always prefer compromise over conflict. He was a glass half-full optimist with an ironclad belief in the power of diplomacy.

These qualities served him well during his 10-year tenure as United States ambassador to Japan in the 1930s. This was a difficult time, writes biographer Steve Kemper in his engaging new book, “Our Man in Tokyo,” when growing mistrust between Washington and Tokyo was pushing the relationship into a downward spiral of accusations and recriminations.

Tension was already building when Grew landed in Yokohama in June 1932. The previous fall, the Kwantung Army had seized the vast and resource-rich hinterland of Manchuria in northeast China. Beijing howled with outrage, but other governments were incensed, too. The following year, the League of Nations condemned the invasion, 42 votes against one. Rather than compromise, Tokyo withdrew from the organization in a huff.

At home, political violence was a growing problem. Throughout the 1930s, nationalist elements, often in cahoots with the military, plotted repeated attacks against political and business leaders in what can only be described as a series of terrorist acts. One of the best-known of these, the Feb. 26 incident of 1936, was an attempted coup that involved up to 1,500 soldiers and led to the assassination of the minister of finance, a former prime minister and several other officials. A strong Diet might have been able to act as a counterweight to Japan’s miscreant military, but it was weak and divided; governments fell with worrying regularity. During his decade as ambassador, Grew worked with 12 different prime ministers and a whopping 17 foreign ministers.

Nevertheless, Grew was determined to make a fist of his assignment, and he tried to maintain a dispassionate perspective — “An ambassador who starts prejudiced against the country to which he is accredited,” he wrote in his diary, “might just as well pack up and go home.” He traveled the land to access a broad range of views. He also spoke at public events, attended commercial fairs and hosted countless events at his residence. And unlike most other ambassadors at the time, Kemper notes, Grew always strove to invite Japanese guests — 50% was a normal ratio.

This flurry of activity allowed Grew to develop unparalleled access — it was not unusual for him to see the foreign minister several times a month. Some of his interlocutors, such as Koki Hirota, who guided Japanese diplomacy twice and briefly served as prime minister in 1936-37, spoke fluent English, and this allowed Grew, who never learned Japanese, to meet alone without a translator. Before long, he had the reputation of being the best-informed diplomat in town. He even acquired the mystique of an oracle in some circles after he correctly predicted in 1934 that Okada Keisuke, an unlikely candidate, would become the next prime minister.

And yet, Grew struggled to keep the trust of the State Department. Some amount of dissent between an embassy and headquarters is not uncommon. The former invariably has a more nuanced understanding of developments on the ground while the latter is more attuned to shifts in domestic politics or in the mood of elected leaders. In the 1930s, however, when communications were slow and unreliable — Grew sometimes had to wait two months for documents to arrive from Washington — a minor divergence in perspective could easily snowball into serious policy differences.

Grew’s nemesis at the State Department was Stanley Hornbeck, the chief of the division of Far Eastern affairs and a close advisor to Secretary of State Cordell Hull. Hornbeck had spent some time in China, but he knew little about Japan, and, Kemper writes, he often let biases get in the way of his analysis. Early on, Grew tried to win his trust by sharing extracts of his private diary, but this backfired, as it fed Hornbeck’s belief that Grew had gone native. As the 1930s wore on, Hornbeck’s influence on U.S. policy waxed while that of Grew waned.

This was unfortunate. Grew was always clear-eyed about the nefarious goals and influence of the Japanese military, but he believed it could be checked by supporting the policies of leaders with more moderate views. He sensed an opportunity in August 1941, only a few months before Pearl Harbor, when Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro offered to make significant concessions if a secret meeting with President Roosevelt could be arranged.

Alas, Washington was not interested. True, there were obstacles galore and the chances of a breakthrough were slim. But poor odds had never constrained Grew. Pessimists see a difficulty in every opportunity, he liked to say, while optimists see an opportunity in every difficulty. Until the end of his life, he lamented that this one had been passed over.