H199 Reflections of Novel and Film, The Harp of Burma
An important question is whether we feel that the critique of prewar Japan that occurs in the novel and film, Harp of Burma, as it operates at the level of human attitudes and beliefs, is sufficient? Does it go far enough or deep enough?
One point in its favor, I think, is that the author of the novel, Takeyama Michio, has his characters reflecting on the war and how/why Japan may have chosen to go down that road. This is significant, I think, because we don't KNOW to what extent this kind of conversation or reflection may or may not have it occurred; but here it is, clearly present in the novel.
The author has characters express their feelings that while Japan may have possessed "the tools for civilization," all it did with these tools was "wage a gigantic war, and even come all the way here to invade Burma and cause terrible suffering to its people." So, this does articulate exactly what he believes Japan did. The Burmese might seem under-educated or "uncivilized" compared with Japan, perhaps not very advanced technologically; but, at least, "the Burmese never seem to have committed our stupid blunder of attacking others." (48)
Two points are being made clearly here that critics seem to want Japan to acknowledge:
1. Japan waged a (senseless) war and invaded other Asian countries like Burma, and caused "terrible suffering to its people."
2. This was, in the narrator's eyes, a "stupid blunder of attacking others." "If you want a more peaceful, civilized world it'd be a lot better for us to imitate the Burmese, instead of the Burmese imitating us." (49)
These two points seem to address WHAT Japan did and also to specifically label it a "stupid blunder." He characterizes the problem as the Japanese being guilty not only of stupidity, but of arrogance. Now, it is embarassing for the narrator to recall departing Japan as soldiers going off to war, "how stirred and excited we had been when we left Japan with the cheers ringing in our ears...but our words were hollow. We were like drunken bullies." (33) One immediately gets a clear image of the ceremonies sending young soldiers off to war, with flags waving and voices cheering. The film and the novel suggest that not only was Japan wrong; it was also arrogant, reckless and a bully.
In place of this arrogance and this bullying attitude, Cpl. Mizushima opts for the polar opposite: Burmese Buddhism, which he finds to be "an extraordinarily profound meditation on human life and the world in which it exists...their courage is as great as any soldier's; theirs is a battle to capture an invisible fortress." In contrast, "We Japanese have not cared to make strenuous spiritual efforts. We have not even recognized their value. What we stressed was merely a man's abilities, the things he could do--not what kind of man he was, how he lived, or the depth of his understanding." (129)
So, is this not a critique of how Japan went wrong? Somehow, in the rush to become modern and to become ecnomically and militarily strong, Japan lost sight of what it means to be human, what it means to relfect on the meaning of life. Instead, they acted recklessly and dangerously, like "drunken bullies." That is why Mizushima can point to exactly what Japan was failing to grasp:
Of perfection as a human being, of humility, stoicism, holiness, the capacity to gain salvation and to help others toward it--of all these virtues we were left ignorant. I hope to spend the rest of my life seeking them as a monk in this foreign land. (129)
How important are virtues like humility, holiness, helping others? How important is it for him to remain in this foreign land studying the human soul and the human spirit as a monk? Mizushima goes on:
As I climbed mountains and forded rivers, and buried the bodies I found lying smothered in weeds or soaked in water, I was harassed by tormenting questions. Why does so much misery exist in the world? Why is there so much inexplicable suffering? What are we to think? But I have learned that these questions can never be solved by human thought. We must work to bring what little relief we can to this pain-ridden world. We must be brave. No matter what suffering, what unreasonableness, what absurdity we face, we must remain undaunted and show strength of character by meeting it with tranquility. It is my hope to realize this conviction by devoting myself to a religious life.
Our country has waged a war and lost it and is now suffering. That is because we were greedy, because we were so arrogant that we forgot human values because we had only a superficial ideal of civilization (bunmei, 文明). Of course, we cannot be as languid as the people of this country, and dream our lives away as they often do. But can we not remain energetic and yet be less avaricious? Is that not essential for the Japanese and for all humanity? How can we truly be saved? And how can we help to save others? I want to think this through carefully. I want to learn. That is why I want to live in this country, to work and serve in it. (129-30)
Mizushima is willing to give up his homeland, forsake his family and countrymen, in order to probe the deepest questions pertaining to human life, and to do something for humanity, to help others. He responds to a higher calling: he wants to learn about life, about human nature, by living in another country, and by studying their language and culture. Joan Mellen notes in her comments that there are are three cultures represented in The Harp of Burma, and three languages are presented to us: Japanese, Burmese, and English. So, clearly the film is delivering a message about getting along with others, and about the value of studying other languages and learning from other cultures. From the beginning, Mizushima was the one member of his troupe that seemed to adapt to Burmese life easily: he can speak some of the language, and he even adopts some of their dress, their mannerisms, their culture and their lifestyle. Mizushima also transforms himself even more deeply by adopting the philosophy of Thervada Buddhism. He wants to understand more than just other cultures and other languages: he wants to grasp the Buddha's most profound teaching: why is their misery and suffering in the world? He knows that Japan has just added to this suffering and misery by engaging in a destructive senseless war. What could be more contrary to the Buddha's teaching? The very first time I saw this film was prior to my engagement with Japanese Studies. It was part of a PBS series on Japanese Film and Harvard Professor and former Ambassador to Japan, Edwin Reischauer suggested that the part that tugged at the hearts of Japanese viewers was that this former soldier was willing to separate himself from the group--his comrades in arms, his family, his country, and his identity as a Japanese--in order to do what he tought he had to do. But many felt that this was just another way of turning Japanese into victims, portraying them as having to suffer for what they had done, without ever fully acknowledging all the damage and pain they inflicted on others. James Orr refers to to the film's stance as a form of "sentimental humanism." (See Orr PDF if interested) I understand this point but I also think it is worthwhile asking, how much reflection is enough? Many critics question whether almost all Japanese don't play the "victim consciousness" card to some degree: we were deceived by our leaders, tricked by the military to support their plan for imperialistic expansion. Therefore, we ordinary "individuals" were powerless; we were not responsible for what happend--it was our deeply flawed leaders. But doesn't it seem that in the language of both the novel and film, The Harp of Burma does not take refuge in the comfort of "victim consciouness," but rather faces Japan's actions head on?
What is Mizushima's solution?
Most of all, Mizushima wants to learn about two things: human life itself and the world in which he lives. You really need to grasp both halves of this equation in order to correctly understand the human experience and the potential embedded in it. In the end, he wants to learn by serving others, and making himself into a better person. Is there anything more that a single individual can do? Perhaps, in the end, this is part of the message: it is really about what each individual does; racing around in groups, getting whipped into a frenzy with nationalist and patriotic rhetoric, is not the answer.
Does this constitute a sufficiently serious reflection on the war? Is it a critique of sufficient depth? Do you find it penetrating and convincing?
It is fair game to point out there is no specific mention of Manchuria, nor the horrors of the invasion of China in this novel/film; instead, it is a narrative about Burma, a smaller, less developed Southeast Asian nation. Although it is somewhat non-specific, on p. 66 of the novel, at the opening of Chapter 7, we find mention of the Japanese army building a railroad in the mountains to link Burma and Thailand, putting British prisoners of war into horrific and inhumane working conditions. This is a clear reference to the infamous Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) story that was originally a novel writen in French (1952)--well after Takeyama's novel appeared--and then made into a major Hollywood motion picture the year following the film version of Harp of Burma was made. Interestingly, two of the American scriptwriters had to work on The Bridge on the River Kwai in secret because they were still on the "blacklist," a hangover from the McCarthy era when writers with progressive or alledged leftist leanings were not allowed to work as professionals because their loyalty was suspect. One of the most celebrated films of all time, The Bridge on the River Kwai won 7 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor (Alec Guiness) and Sessue Hayakawa, who played the Japanese Colonel Saito, was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. It also won Best Adapted Screenplay, but the author of the original French novel, Pierre Boulle, was the one listed in the credits as having adapted his own novel for the screen though it was really two other writers, Carl Foreman and Michael Wilson, who actually did the work. They were eventually recognized and given Academy Awards posthumously.
Anyway, in 1946, when Takeyama was writing his novel, probably not that much information about the River Kwai incident was known to him; but yet, he does make a significant, if only passing reference to it. But, to get back to the point about Japan in Asia, by setting the novel and film in Burma, this aspect is brought clearly home to readers and film viewers. After all, the film opens with a shot of the Burmese landscape and, following the credits, writing on the screen informs us that "The Soil of Burma is Red. And So Are its Rocks." Burma isn't just a part of the narrative: it is at its core, its essence. Then, the narrator, speaking from the narrative present, intones that
"The War ended long ago, but it left indelibly sad stories in our hearts. What follows is one such story that happened to our company. It is a story we shall never forget. By July of 1945, the tides of war had turned against Japan even in Burma."
This is how bad things were; even in as distant and remote theater as Burma, Japanese troops were fleeing British pursuers, just trying to survive with no more support coming from the homeland. They are on their own and they know it.
But in that far off land, the land of the Buddha, we are told, music winds up playing a crucial role, keeping the humanity of a small group of Japanese soldiers alive even in the most desparqate of circumstances. Also, can't the case can be made that Harp DOES offer a critical perspective on what Japan did wrong? The novel spells out clearly that Japan was greedy, arrogant, insensitive to other cultures and to other people's aspirations; they reeled around Asia like drunken bullies. They mistreated British POWs. This, it seems to me, is saying something pretty substantial about Japan's conduct. It speaks to who they were, what they stood for, and how they were perceived by other Asians.
After all, what does it mean that in the end, the main character abandons his identity as a Japanese Imperial Army soldier, he leaves his beloved comrades--becoming a deserter of all things!--and devotes himself to a religious life? Can this be construed in any other way than as a rejection of prewar policies, attitudes and values?
Do I wish that the novel had directly taken on things like the language of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere (大東亜共栄圏 Dai-tō-a Kyōeiken), the New Order in East Asia (東亜新秩序 Tōa Shin Chitsujo), Kokutai no hongi (国体の本義) and The Way of Subjects (Shinmin no Michi) 臣民の道, and had mentioned sthem pecifically and perhaps probed the issues of who bought into these ideas and why? Sure, that might have been compelling and powerful if it could be worked into the script appropriately. Should the novel or the film have included scenes of Japanese soldiers lording over other Asians, berating or even beating them instead of just saying that Japanese caused "terrible suffering to [the] people of Burma and elsewhere? Maybe. But I am not a Japanese person, nor am I the author of a 1946 novel, nor the director of a 1956 film. These kinds of things may belong in non-fiction accounts but they may not be the path that a creative writer must follow. These individuals--Mr. Takeyama, Mr. Ichikawa and his scriptwriter spouse, Ms. Natto Wada--all made their own creative and aesthetic decisions about how to best get their message across and I have to respect that and deal with what I see and read in the narratives that they created. While it is easy to complain about what a work of art did not do, or did not attempt to do, I would rather focus on that which it does shine its light upon.
And what did they shine their light upon in the end? What kind of novelistic and filmic narrative did they produce? For me, they generate a memorable character, Mizushima, who sees Burmese people as "cheerful, modest, and happy....Free from greed, they are at peace with themselves. While living among them, I have come to believe that these are precious human qualities." These are people from he can learn something. In contrast to these qualities of Burmese people, he comes to see his own as "greedy....so arrogant that we forgot human values, because we only had a superficial ideal of civilization (bunmei, 文明)." (130) That is why he chooses to remain in Burma and do something noble: "to work and serve." [Sounds a bit like "Not unto ourselves alone are we born."] "And later," he writes in his letter, "after I became a real Burmese monk, the man known as Corporal Mizushima no longer existed." (125)
His original identity, one shaped by the demands of the political and military ideology of the time, has been discarded, abandoned in favor of something higher, something that is greater, deeper, and more universal. He wants to live a life driven by compassion for all human souls, he wants to care for all of humanity. The nation-state is no longer what Mizushima needs in order to come to know himself. He transcends his time and his place; he is even willing to transcend the nation-state and become a kind of global citizen because he has discovered all he needs to accomplish his aims in the red soil and rocks of Burma.
For Mizushima, perhaps returning to Japan and resuming an "ordinary" life among his fellow Japanese would have been the path of least resistance. But it was also "just a hard way to go" to borrow songwriter John Prine's phrase. Instead, he wants to make it own his own choice that he walks that hard road of repentance, of sacrifice, of giving something up but also giving something back... perhaps to the universe, or tu humanity as a whole. Maybe that choice by a single individual does not balance the karmic scales...but one has to start somewhere. Taking individual responsbility is still not only a noble and admirable thing, but something that is necessary, a fact which Professor Yagihara stated so clearly to his daughter in No Regrets for our Youth.