Nippon at Home

Japanese postal and press censorship ranks with the world's tightest; outsiders usually hear only what Nippon wants them to hear. But to the U.S. last week, through secret channels, came a rare, uncensored letter from Japan:

"Life here is becoming more and more difficult. There is talk of evacuation of all foreigners from Tokyo, partly because of the impending bombardments, but chiefly for fear of an anti-foreign movement.

"The economic situation is as you possibly imagine--corruption in every department of life, the black market has become a national institution. . . . Tokyo has become a city of troglodytes: holes everyhere. The hospitals are full of broken limbs, as during the nights zealous patriots dig holes into which other zealous patriots fall at dawn. It is excellent first-aid practice but bandages are scarce (doctors have the right to own five).

"Trains are considerably reduced and all rolling stock is in a bad way. . . . The local population is getting per month: one slice of meat; one cake of soap and a little oil; a minute quantity of fish and one egg. Only children have the right to milk. The people keep body and soul together with a little rice and vegetables. . . . "Brides can no longer include a tansu [wooden chest of drawers] and a mosquito net in their trousseau, but must be happy with two boxes of senko [incense] and a basket [bassinet]."

This letter made it clear that: 1) the ordinary people of Japan have gained nothing from Japan's conquest; 2) Japan is short of domestic manpower and gasoline--else fish, a staple of Japanese diet, would not be short; 3) whatever else is rationed, Japanese women are still encouraged to produce sons for Japan's future armies.

No Time for Play. A doubly censored look at Japan came from thin, nervous Lilly Abegg, a German newswoman in Tokyo. The Berliner Boersenzeitung recently printed her account of wartime Japan:

"Traces of war are noticeable everywhere." Japanese women, including geisha girls, have discarded their traditional wide-sleeved, broad-belted kimonos, now wear mompeis (long trousers bound tightly at the ankles). They are more practical for running, jumping, climbing and fire fighting "in the event of air raids." Many Japanese women are "compelled to work ten or more hours in a factory; even those who are not directly drafted for war work have their specific duties."

Neighborhood associations sweep the city streets, and school authorities, business firms, even Government ministries, do their own house cleaning. Thousands of small Tokyo shops have been closed; remaining stores have "rather modest" displays of goods.

But, according to Lilly Abegg, the Japanese are not downhearted. On Pearl Harbor Day, Japanese schoolboys tied pieces of white cloth around their heads, imitated samurai warriors going into battle; students paraded, sang in the streets. Wrote Lilly Abegg, perhaps with the Tokyo censor in mind: "One must have seen with his own eyes how Tokyo celebrated ... to realize how strong the war enthusiasm is."

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