The Expendable Premier

"We won! We won!" chanted the student rioters as, with locked arms, they snake danced crazily before Premier Nobusuke Kishi's suburban home. Behind drawn curtains, protected by a cordon of police, barbed wire and a high wall, the aging Premier could hear the voices crying, "Kill Kishi! Kill Kishi!" Deserted by most of his Cabinet, his chief of police and the weak-kneed leaders of his Liberal Democratic Party, Kishi had finally asked President Dwight Eisenhower to cancel his visit to Japan.

Reddened Windows. The showdown began on Wednesday night, when Kishi summoned a Cabinet meeting in his official residence across from the white granite Diet building. As the 17 ministers assembled shortly after midnight, the windows were reddened by the glare of flames from police trucks set ablaze by 14,000 rioters outside. They could hear the howl of the mob as it acclaimed the martyrdom of a 22-year-old coed named Michiko Kamba, who had been trampled as the stone-throwing mob reeled backward under the charge of 4,000 nightstick-swinging policemen.

Speaking in level tones, Kishi explained that the U.S. Government had advised Japan that "postponement" of Eisenhower's visit could be requested right up to the time Ike left Manila. But after that, it would be very awkward. Kishi said the "anti-Ike" demonstrations were clearly the work of international Communism, whose basic aim was to disrupt friendly relations between the U.S. and Japan.

Drumming Thud. Tough-minded Ha-yato Ikeda, the Minister of Trade, agreed with Kishi, said that "to postpone the visit would be to bow to Communist pressure." But Minister of State Akagi strongly advised cancellation. Kishi turned to National Police Director Ishiwara and asked his opinion. Japan's top cop replied cautiously, "There is a limit to the guarantees the police can give about protecting the President," and urged Kishi to "reconsider" the invitation to Ike. Two other Cabinet members said they thought the police chief's advice should be accepted. None of the others had anything to say. Promising to think the matter over, Kishi adjourned the meeting. From outside came the popping explosion of tear-gas grenades and the drumming thud of feet as the weeping rioters fled.

The next morning, at his private home in Shibuya suburb, Kishi was visited by a prominent member of the Imperial household. In what amounted to a command from the Emperor himself, Kishi was told that the Imperial chamberlains had decided that Emperor Hirohito, who was scheduled to ride with Eisenhower from the Tokyo airport, could "not be put in a position where he might be involved in politics." Obviously, the chamberlains feared that any attack on the bulletproof, chrysanthemum-paneled imperial limousine would not only wreck U.S.-Japanese relations, but also possibly destroy the already fragile myth that the Emperor is still revered and respected.

Fighting for time, Kishi summoned two Liberal Democratic chieftains, and got no comfort from them. At 4 o'clock, Kishi told the assembled Cabinet he had decided to ask Eisenhower to postpone his visit to Japan. In obvious relief, the Cabinet endorsed his decision, and it was forwarded to U.S. Ambassador Douglas Mac-Arthur II.

Lost Scalp. In the eyes of even his closest supporters, Kishi was finished. Against him were ranged the Socialists, the Communists, the hot-eyed Zengaku-ren students. Every Tokyo newspaper, except the English-language Japan Times, called for his scalp. In his own faction-ridden Liberal Democratic Party, knives were being sharpened as the politicos dreamed of artfully seizing the premiership--just as Kishi himself had captured the post three years before.

Where had Kishi miscalculated? Events had been set in train in mid-May when the Premier told his Liberal Democrats, "We are going to go all out to get the Security Treaty through the Diet." The Socialists went all out to stop him: they blockaded the 76-year-old Speaker of the House in his office; when he was freed by police and entered the chamber, Socialist Deputies nearly strangled him. With only Liberal Democratic Deputies voting, the Security Treaty was approved by a standing vote.

But Kishi's maneuver won violent condemnation in the press. Ignoring the fact that the Socialists were the first to employ violence, newspapers blamed the Premier for "trampling democracy underfoot." Some of Kishi's own Liberal Democrats seemed to agree. The Communist Party happily stoked the flames. "We must block Eisenhower's visit in order to make clear that the campaign is against U.S. imperialism," said Communist Kaoru Yasui.

What Unrest? At a news conference announcing the cancellation of Ike's visit, Kishi angrily blamed the situation on a "minority mob." With their peculiar obtuseness, Japanese reporters murmured something about widespread "social unrest." Snapped Kishi: "There are baseball games being played right now to capacity crowds. Movie theaters have packed houses. Here in Tokyo, the Ginza is full of happy-looking pedestrians." Kishi spoke the truth. The Wednesday night riot that frightened his Cabinet was confined to a small area around the Diet. At the height of the uproar, there was a brisk and continuous flow of taxis and private cars scarcely a block away. All week long, Kishi himself drove around Tokyo in a small sedan, followed by a single car with plainclothesmen. Because he always stopped obediently at traffic lights, no one noticed him.

But Kishi was still determined to sweat out final ratification of the treaty. The Socialists mustered their forces to demand a Diet recess, which would stall off ratification. Demonstrators seethed around the Diet building. Thousands of students attended the funeral of their "Joan of Arc," Michiko Kamba, and a flower-bedecked altar was set up at the spot where she had been trampled to death. In the Diet courtyard, where he was collecting signatures against the treaty, a Socialist bigwig was stabbed in the shoulder by a mechanic who said he was fed up with Socialist violence. Socialist Deputies cornered Kishi in a corridor of the Diet building and shoved him about, grabbing his coat and yanking his necktie. "You're responsible for all this!" they shouted. "It wouldn't happen if you'd resign!"

Dragons v. Giants. At week's end the Socialists massed 100,000 demonstrators around the Diet to shout futilely against the midnight ratification of the treaty. They carried signs reading "Kishi, Kill Yourself!" Across the street, in his official residence, Kishi passed the early hours of the evening watching a televised baseball game in which the Chunichi Dragons edged the Tokyo Giants, 3-1. Close to midnight, Kishi posed for news photographers and glanced at his watch. "Seven minutes more," he said, smiling. As the clock struck 12 and the Security Treaty was automatically ratified, he nibbled a sandwich but proposed no toasts.

In the street outside, a Socialist cried: "The struggle has not ended! It will end only when all U.S. bases are out of the country!" A coed complained that it was "undemocratic" for police to prevent the students from entering the Diet building. Asked what they would do if they were admitted, she replied: "Burn it."

Morning After. Next day, the Japanese newspapers continued their amazing mental acrobatics (see PRESS). The Tokyo Asahi, which had been violently denouncing the Security Treaty, blandly admitted that "there is a great improvement in the new treaty as compared with the old one." Nagoya's Chubu Nippon declared: "Kishi's resignation precedes all other conceivable measures as a way out of chaos, no matter how justifiable his stand may seem. Among other things he is responsible for, Kishi has to render an account of how he came to postpone the Eisenhower visit."

Three leading newspapers had shown evidence of remorse by issuing a joint statement warning: "We believe any social trend that approves of violence will lead to destruction of democracy." One leading Socialist, Mrs. Shizue Kato, spoke up in belated alarm: "The battle of the Diet was planned by a small group run by a subversive ideology. As a Socialist, I wish to apologize deeply to the nation for having been too cowardly these past weeks to say what I knew was right."

End of Mission. This week the Socialists were still boycotting the Diet, threatening to use force against any further legislation they disapprove of. Sohyo planned to pull out the railwaymen in a big protest strike. No one, probably not even they themselves, knows what the Zenga-kuren students will do next.

For the moment, Japan seemed pleasantly exhausted, like a child who has had a tantrum and now wants to be friends.

In the mild June weather, people strolled around the Diet building: the young men in white shirts without jackets, the girls in their summer dresses. One solitary uniformed guard stood at the Diet gate where thousands fought last week, but no attempt was made to keep people out.

But Kishi's dedicated mission is nearly at an end. Once the U.S. Congress ratifies the Security Treaty and the documents are exchanged in Tokyo (possible date: June 27), he is expected to step down as Premier. His resignation will be followed by national elections, which even the Socialists concede will be won by Kishi's party, the Liberal Democrats. The likely new Premier: Trade Minister Hayato Ikeda, 61, who was one of the very few to support Kishi to the end. A Liberal Democratic spokesman said, "Kishi has become a scapegoat. He has taken on his own shoulders the hate against conservatives, the hate against America, the hate against everything." Then with cheerful and almost mindless optimism, he added: "When Kishi leaves, our party will have a new leader, and with that a lot of the hate will go away."

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