What Happens When We Look Away from “That War”?

Chapter 1: My Wife’s Visit to Yasukuni and Her “Terrible War” Comment

This just came to mind—last summer, my wife and I passed by Yasukuni Shrine. She clasped her hands and said, “We must be grateful to the fallen.” But later that night, watching TV, she sighed, “Japan did terrible things during the war…”

That contradiction’s been stuck with me ever since. Gratitude and remorse—some call it hypocrisy, but maybe it’s just duality. And maybe that’s exactly how many Japanese relate to history today.

Chapter 2: Facing Both the Harm Done and the Harm Suffered

Japan was both an aggressor and a victim of war. Which one is true? Well, both.

An old friend of mine from Okinawa once told me, “I lost my whole family to the war.” Yet he also said, “Don’t pretend we had no part in it.” He knew full well—they were victims, but also participants.

But today, look around. People shout, “Stop focusing on Japan’s wrongs!” or “Stop acting like only we suffered!”—loud voices from both sides. It’s like we’re trying to face history with one eye closed.

Chapter 3: Fading Memories and the Responsibility of Education

A neighbor’s kid once asked, “What was the war?” My wife replied, “Well… a lot of stuff happened back then.” A lot of stuff, huh? That’s not exactly informative.

It’s been almost 80 years. The living witnesses are vanishing. Experience has become mere information. So now more than ever, education has a role to play. What kids learn, and what they believe—it starts with how we teach.

Everyone argues about textbooks and lesson plans. But to me, before handing down “answers,” we should be teaching “questions.” Why did the war start? Why did it end like that? Could it have been avoided?

That’s real education—giving students the tools to think, not just the facts to repeat.

Chapter 4: Reflecting on the Past Means Reflecting on the Present

My wife once said, watching a wartime Korean drama, “That scene really breaks my heart.” But the next day, she beamed, “Isn’t Japan amazing? We’ve got Shohei Ohtani!”

And there it is again—pride and regret, side by side.

But I don’t think pride and reflection are opposites. A country that can reflect deeply is one that can be proud with honesty. Yet too often, we flaunt our pride when it suits us and wave off reflection with “that’s ancient history.”

With that mindset, what are we teaching our children?

Looking back at the past is also a way of looking inward at the present. It’s no good to judge the past only by modern values—or to excuse the present with outdated norms. What matters is building a bridge between the two.

Chapter 5: Grumbling Through, Passing Memory On

History isn’t decided by one person. It’s shaped by many voices, many memories. That’s why all perspectives deserve a place. But if those voices drown each other out, then we’re left with silence.

We often say, “We mustn’t forget that war.” But we need to go further. What must we remember? Why must we remember it?

It’s not just a summer ritual. These questions should live in our daily lives.

When my wife says, “War is so sad,” I quietly fold my hands. And I hope that sadness never turns into indifference—and that this feeling reaches the next generation.