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Crossing Empire's EdgeForeign Ministry Police and Japanese Expansionism in Northeast Asia$

Erik Esselstrom

Print publication date: 2008

Print ISBN-13: 9780824832315

Published to Hawaii Scholarship Online: November 2016

DOI: 10.21313/hawaii/9780824832315.001.0001

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The Struggle for Security in Occupied China

The Struggle for Security in Occupied China

Chapter:
(p.119) 5 The Struggle for Security in Occupied China
Source:
Crossing Empire's Edge
Author(s):

Erik Esselstrom

Publisher:
University of Hawai'i Press
DOI:10.21313/hawaii/9780824832315.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter examines the further expansion of Gaimushō police facilities and operations in Manzhouguo and China proper during the mid-1930s and throughout the Sino-Japanese War of 1937–1945. More specifically, it considers the consular police's war against communism and anticolonial resistance in occupied China, along with the expanded scope of their surveillance. It also explains how Japan's consular police forces continued to play an active role in prosecuting the war on Korean independence movement in exile even as the campaign against Chinese communism and Soviet intrigue took a more signifiant position at the forefront of consular police goals and strategy. Finally, the chapter discusses the consular police's relations with the Japanese Army, whose invasion of North China led the Gaimushō to craft a role for itself in the pacification of occupied territories.

Keywords:   consular police, Gaimushō, Manzhouguo, China, communism, anticolonial resistance, surveillance, Japan, Korean independence movement, Japanese Army

Without a doubt the Manchurian crisis of 1930–1932 had a powerful effect on the evolution of consular police ideology, activity, and organization. However, as illustrated in Chapter 4, these changes did not necessarily mark a radical shift in direction, but rather brought to fuller fruition trends with roots in the 1920s. This chapter will examine the further expansion of Gaimushō police facilities and operations in Manzhouguo and China proper during the mid-1930s and throughout the Sino-Japanese War of 1937–1945. During these years, Japan’s consular police forces continued to play an active role in prosecuting the war on Korean resistance in exile, but combating Chinese communism and Soviet intrigue took a more significant position at the forefront of consular police goals and strategy. The scope of political police work at home and abroad also changed in important ways during the 1930s as, with communist organizations all but eliminated in Japan proper by 1933, tokkō police forces began to turn their attention as well to right-wing extremists and virtually any social group whose ideology could be viewed as a threat to the state and its interests. In occupied China, too, the consular police not only had to continue their war against communism and anticolonial resistance, but they also broadened the scope of their surveillance in the same manner as did the metropolitan police. As many consular police officers would comment, tokkō work in wartime northeast Asia thus became far more complicated than was “special policing” at home.

The discussion begins with the five-year span between 1932 and 1937 during which the Gaimushō moved to both expand and centralize its police operations in China by establishing new “command and control” facilities in Shanghai and Tianjin. Similarly, the consular police in Manchuria after 1932 fought to maintain their role in the complicated security apparatus of the new Manzhouguo state. The focus then turns to the continued growth of Gaimushō police operations in occupied China during the Sino-Japanese War, again exploring key developments in Shanghai and the Tianjin/Beijing area; and here, too, it will be clear that military security in China was linked to political stability at home, and that the consular police played a vital role in pursuing both. While there (p.120) is little doubt that the Foreign Ministry incrementally “lost control” of China affairs after the Manchurian Incident, relying on this passive explanation for the transformation of the its consular system into an apparatus of wartime colonial control largely absolves the ministry of responsibility.1 The history of the consular police in China and Manchuria reveals a far more proactive struggle on the part of the Gaimushō to shape continental policy, and the ministry used its consular police forces as a tool to that end. To be sure, Japan’s diplomatic corps was ultimately overpowered by the military’s war machine, but not because its policies stood in stark opposition to those of the Imperial Army. Rather, the two sides most often clashed on matters of means, not ends.

Expansion in Shanghai

Since at least as early as 1925, the consular police force in Shanghai had included a small number of officers dedicated solely to the task of political surveillance over individuals and groups committed to resistance against the imperial state, whether it was Korean, Chinese, or Japanese. These activities took on a new urgency, however, after the Shanghai Incident of 1932, when Japanese aerial bombardment of the city only served to harden the Chinese will to resist Japanese aggression. In response to the drastic worsening of Sino-Japanese relations in the city, the Gaimushō took steps to bolster its police facilities there, especially in terms of tokkō police work.2 In June 1932, the Foreign Ministry’s Asia Bureau spelled out its reasons for expanding the size and scope of consular police operations in Shanghai through the establishment of a new police department within the Shanghai Consulate-General. Shanghai was a dangerous place, according to this report, filled with a dizzying variety of criminal plots. To make matters worse, the report continued, the numerous foreign countries with interests and investments in the city had police forces of their own, and because the concerns and priorities of each nation were different, effective cooperation between them was rather difficult to achieve.3 Shanghai was also the center of three destabilizing anti-Japanese movements, in the Asia Bureau’s view. The port, of course, had long been a hotbed of Korean resistance in exile. Furthermore, the Chinese Communist Party was recovering from its decimation in 1927, and Shanghai was once again emerging as a center of their organizational activity and underground agitation.4 Finally, the USSR and the Comintern continued to make Shanghai a focal point of international communist intrigue in East Asia. The combination of these three forces, the report argued, posed a serious threat to Japan’s colonial rule in Korea and its larger strategic position on the mainland.5

The establishment of a new “police headquarters” (keisatsubu) in the Shanghai office, the report concluded, was the immediate answer to these (p.121) problems.6 The early efficacy of the new consular police office, however, was aided by two additional factors. First, cooperation with French concession police had improved greatly since the spring of 1932, as French and Japanese police had found a common threat in Korean “terrorism” around which they could assist each other through intelligence sharing and arrests of suspects on foreign soil. In fact, it seems that closer cooperation with Japanese security forces might have made the French themselves more likely targets of Korean violence. One municipal police report, for example, suggests that a group of Korean “terrorists” were plotting to assassinate the French consul and police chief in order to throw a bit of cold water on French willingness to assist the Japanese.7 The second factor enhancing the efficiency of new police department operations was related to the staffing of the new office. Experienced tokkō police officers from the home islands assumed a large number of the new positions in the police department, and officers from the colonial police bureaus of the Korea and Taiwan Governments-General also filled several new posts in the Shanghai keisatsubu.8 It is also important to remember that this integration of Gaimushō police into other administrative organs of the imperial Japanese state is consistent with earlier patterns. While the Foreign Ministry sometimes resented such movements as infringements upon its jurisdictional prerogatives, circumstances could also dictate a more amenable stance on the matter.

The new Shanghai consular police department was subdivided into three sections: Section One handled business related to the general management of the police department, such as accounting, training, and equipment; Section Three was charged with duties related to everyday concession policing such as drugs, prostitution, traffic, and petty crimes; Section Two, then, was designated as the office of “special police work.” Put briefly, the duties of Section Two included gathering intelligence on movements of “dangerous thought” like socialism, communism, and anarchism, and it also held authority over the surveillance of any activity related to Japanese rule in Korea or Taiwan. Finally, it was charged with responsibility for any other area related to tokkō police work, a broad license to investigate almost anything at will.9 Despite the fact that Section Two was only one of three official sections in the Shanghai keisatsubu, Gaimushō police veteran Kajikawa Masakatsu has noted that, in practice, “the police department was the special high police section (keisatsubu ikōru tokubetsu keisatsuka de atta).”10 The most important duty of Section Two was undoubtedly the surveillance and arrest of Japanese, Korean, and Taiwanese leftists in Shanghai. Much of what Japanese authorities came to know, for example, about the role of Uchiyama Kanzō’s bookstore as a meeting place for Japanese and Chinese communists, as well as the connections that many Japanese socialists in Shanghai had with prominent (p.122) Chinese such as Lu Xun, came as a result of Section Two police investigations of resident Japanese leftists such as Kaji Wataru in 1932.11 By 1933 the work of Section Two had expanded sufficiently that the section itself was divided into several areas of subspecialty. Some officers were assigned to general affairs, research, investigation, foreign contacts, and the like; the rest were designated as specialists in affairs involving Chinese, Russians, Japanese, Koreans, or Taiwanese.12

The priorities of the new Shanghai consular police department were also clearly reflected in a substantial year-end report on tokkō-related work in the city in 1932. The five chapters of the report are titled for the five main targets of police surveillance: conditions of resident Japanese; matters relating to Koreans; matters relating to Taiwanese; conditions of the Chinese Communist Party and the labor movement; conditions of the Russians. The information contained therein about Korean, Taiwanese, and Chinese political movements is to be expected, but the section on Japanese residents is especially revealing. In recalling the history of Shanghai as a center of the Chinese communist movement and a site of interaction between Japanese communists and their Chinese, Korean, and Soviet comrades, the report specifically mentioned the 1929 arrest of Sano Manabu as the point at which the early expansion of Japanese communism was checked, reinforcing the long-standing links between domestic and colonial police work. After 1931, of course, new circumstances had given rise to escalations of both communist resistance and police repression, and the new police department was meant to meet those challenges.13

Indeed, the activities of the new department in Shanghai also strongly reflected not just their local security imperatives but the ideological agenda of metropolitan forces back home. Controlling the Japanese left in Shanghai was of crucial importance, a 1935 Justice Ministry report argued, because Shanghai had been the original furnace in which the JCP was initially forged. As such, ideological movements in domestic society could not be controlled without successful political police work in Shanghai.14 One can see this logic at work, for example, in the attention paid to a letter from a Japanese Communist Party member in Kobe to the Chinese communist youth league in Shanghai in 1934. After beginning the note “My Dear Chinese comrades,” the author went on to expound upon his hopes that Japan’s imperialist invasion of Manchuria would soon be defeated.15 In the eyes of metropolitan and colonial police, maintaining public peace, gathering intelligence on Chinese communists, and suppressing Japanese leftists were all a part of the imperial state’s program to solve the same problem: dissent and resistance. The military campaign raging against the armies of China was a part of the same larger struggle that included the ideological campaign against rebellious Japanese citizens themselves.

(p.123) Japanese leftists committed to resisting the militarism of their own society found in Shanghai an especially important arena for waging their ideological campaign.16 The case of several dozen former and current students of the TōA Dōbun Shoin in March 1933, for example, suggests that one critical target was the Japanese military itself. The story began to unfold when a local restaurateur turned in a case of match-boxes to the Shanghai consular police when he discovered that hidden within several individual boxes were folded antiwar leaflets. Clearly, whoever placed them there knew that Japanese sailors frequented this particular café and thus it was a prime location to surreptitiously distribute their propaganda materials. Municipal police soon arrested a Japanese man named Sakamaki Takashi under authority of a search warrant issued by the Japanese Consulate-General on charges of violating the Peace Preservation Law. A Chinese named Wang Nai-an was with Sakamaki when he was arrested, and Sakamaki later fingered him as his liaison with the Chinese Communist Party. Apparently, Sakamaki was a former student of the academy, and his arrest led to the further arrest of a ring of current students, some twenty or so in number, for their involvement in this plot. The Shanghai consular police later identified Sakamaki as the chief of the Japanese section of the Foreign Soldiers of the Chinese Communist Party, which he had joined in May 1932.17

A quick look at the translations of the leaflets that were discovered reveals the political and ideological strategy employed by these left-wing antiwar activists:

Let us oppose the massacre of Chinese labourers and farmers. The Japanese government of capitalists and landowners which occupied Shanhaikwan [sic] is attempting to make you kill Chinese farmers and labourers in the Shanghai area. The emergency call which started three days ago is nothing but preparation for the massacre. … Do not kill the Chinese brethren. Oppose the war of the capitalists and landowners.

Another stated:

Dear sailors, do not be deceived by such words as “for the sake of our homeland” and “for our nationals.” In our country our aged parents are suffering from cold by being robbed of their supporters. For whose sake are we staying in Shanghai? Do not the landowners and capitalists squeeze our comrades, labourers and tenant-farmers? We still continue to live a life of slavery even in Shanghai. Our work is worse than that of miners. If we make a slight mistake punishment will be freely imposed on us in such a cruel manner as if dealt to animals. … Oppose discriminating treatment between officers and men. Our brethren in (p.124) Japan have already commenced a movement to oppose the capitalists and landowners. We must therefore unite ourselves firmly … in order to oppose officers.18

These activists clearly saw the struggles of the rural poor in Japan as inextricably linked to the hardships faced by Chinese farmers under Japanese military occupation. The war being waged upon the Chinese, in their view, was sponsored by the same elite class of big business bureaucrats and landlords that exploited the Japanese underclass on the home islands.19 Quite naturally, then, Japanese police both at home and in China targeted such voices for suppression. The place of the East Asian Common Culture Academy in this episode is also especially and illustratively ironic. The academy had, of course, once been a site for promoting Pan-Asian unity that the Japanese government itself greatly supported, as evidenced by the reluctance of Japanese officials to cooperate with French police on the matter of Vietnamese revolutionaries. Now, while the government still promoted a rather cynical ideal of Asian unity within its rhetoric of territorial conquest, revolutionary Pan-Asian socialism had become a target of Japanese police suppression.

Escalation in Tianjin

Conditions in North China also changed dramatically after the Manchurian Incident and the urban violence of 1932 in cites such as Shanghai. While the Gaimushō did not take steps in Tianjin as immediate as those taken in Shanghai to bolster its consular police forces, the Tianjin consular police nonetheless continued to evolve in response to local conditions.20 Back on the home islands, domestic tokkō activities expanded dramatically during the early 1930s in response to a perceived threat of social disorder on the part of state authorities, and a report from the Tianjin consular police office in late 1933 suggests that similar concerns were on the mind of Gaimushō police leadership. The report identified two particular “ideological problems” (shisō mondai) that consular police felt could prove destabilizing to the resident Japanese community in Tianjin. First, there had been a general rise in the number of residents placed under surveillance throughout the year, and of special concern among those being watched were the children of local residents who had returned to Japan to study and while there had been exposed to left-wing ideology. In a reversal of usual trends, here it seemed that the police feared dangerous “domestic elements” (naichi bunshi) from the home islands might spread subversive ideas to the Japanese community in China! The second main concern had to do with a striking rise in the number of so-called Shina rōnin, or “China adventurers,” and other right-wing elements in the (p.125) treaty ports since the stabilization of conditions in Manzhouguo.21 The influence of these suspicious characters, too, could have unwanted consequences, consular authorities warned. Of prime significance here is that those targeted by police as dangerous to public security were of both the left and right ideologically, just as was the case in metropolitan Japan.

From 1933 until 1936, the Tianjin consular police maintained a steady level of staffing, but conditions on the ground were also creating a sense of urgency for official expansion of police facilities there. During those four years, the number of Gaimushō police in Tianjin fluctuated between roughly seventy-five and ninety officers. This manpower, however, was bolstered by a large number of Chinese assistant patrolmen, or junho. In fact, in each of these years the number of Chinese junho hovered at around three hundred and fifty. As for local conditions, consular officials cited increases in banditry committed by defeated Chinese soldiers from Manchuria, who began infiltrating the suburbs of Tianjin during 1932. The number and nature of anti-Japanese activities in and around Tianjin were also on the rise, and numerous assassination plots involving both Korean and Chinese suspects were uncovered by the consular police throughout 1932–1933. A potentially more serious threat, by 1934 Tianjin consular police had also come to believe that Kim Wŏn-bong and his infamous Ŭiyŏldan, which had terrorized Shanghai and other Chinese cities with waves of bombings and assassinations during the 1920s, were beginning to regroup in Tianjin in 1934.22 As early as March 1936, then, the Tianjin consulate had begun to request that its police forces be expanded to deal with volatile local conditions. In response, sixty-five Gaimushō police officers from the Manzhouguo Embassy police were transferred to Tianjin in August to bolster the consular police presence there.23

Ultimately, in September 1936, the Gaimushō approved funding for the establishment of a new North China keisatsubu at the Tianjin consulate-general, following the pattern set by the Shanghai office in 1932.24 The general threat of international communism in northeast Asia was an overarching concern, but reports also cited increasing disorder being stirred up by “gangs of adventurers” (rōnin gun) from both Manzhouguo and even the home islands. In short, surveillance of “rebellious” (futei) elements of all kinds needed to be stepped up. As a part of that process, the necessity of providing support to local pro-Japanese ruling associations was also cited as a reason for expanding consular police numbers and activities in and around Tianjin.25 Another significant motivating factor surely was that the army’s Tianjin garrison, too, had ambitious plans for strengthening its position in 1936, something that civilian leadership in Tokyo surely hoped to avoid. In this light, “Tokyo’s attempt in expanding the consular police force in North China at this time was obviously a move towards restraining the newly reinforced Tientsin Garrison.”26 (p.126) The two sides were engaged in a race of sorts to see which institution could first establish its jurisdictional authority in provincial localities within this volatile climate.

A report produced by the new police headquarters itself in December 1936 also provides numerous significant details concerning the reasons behind creating the new facility and the problems associated with carrying out the expansion. According to this report, the need for expanding consular police tokkō capabilities in North China had been clear enough since the Manchurian Incident in September 1931, but several factors continued to complicate the situation even after the Tanggu Truce of May 1933. Not only was the political scene in North China unstable and unpredictable, there had also been a rapid increase in the Japanese civilian population in the region since late 1931. Beyond that, a new vitality in the Chinese Red Army, the report pointed out, coupled with the fact that puppet regimes amenable to Japanese interests in North China were not yet sufficiently strong or stable to be relied upon by the Japanese authorities, made for a doubly dangerous environment.27 It was in the light of all these concerns that tokkō police operations had been boosted in March 1936 by way of personnel increases drawn from metropolitan police in Tokyo and transfers from the Manzhouguo Embassy in Xinjing. In September 1936, the new keisatsubu officially opened and various upgrades to existing substations also carried out, with the three main offices under Tianjin jurisdiction being Shanhaiguan, Beijing, and Zhangjiakou.28

The expansion was not accomplished without some difficulty, however, as opposition from the Chinese continued to be a serious concern. The official report includes, for example, a translation from a local Chinese newspaper editorial in Tianjin describing operations of Japanese police on Chinese soil (beyond mutually recognized settlement areas) as violations of national sovereignty, a claim with a very long history, of course. Furthermore, various phases of incomplete preparations in Japanese police facilities and the as yet unfulfilled pacification of Inner Mongolia both slowed things down, according to this report. Problems were not only to be found in the field, however, as fiscal disputes also erupted between the relevant bureaucracies back home in Tokyo. From the Gaimushō perspective, the need for expansion was clear, but people like Aiba Kiyoshi (by this time working in the Asia Bureau) and others had to fight it out with the Finance Ministry to secure budget funds.29 What these budget fights also reflect, Lincoln Li suggests, is that the consular police network based in Tianjin hoped to take advantage of the strength of the North China Army by “wresting the political functions from it.” This goal was blocked, however, both by the Foreign Ministry’s failure to secure budgetary resources for it and by the army’s expansion of its own political branch, the Special Service.30

(p.127) Perhaps the most revealing security-related concept to emerge from the expansion process in Tianjin was expressed by the new police chief at the Tianjin office in late 1936, Ōe Hikaru. In his inaugural address to the Tianjin staff, Ōe elaborated upon what he termed shisō gaikō (thought diplomacy), by which he meant diplomatic machinery devoted to achieving an all-important ideological victory. Ōe claimed that “thought diplomacy” had to be recognized as a vitally crucial pillar of Japan’s overall continental policy, and this was especially true regarding affairs in China. Japanese authorities needed to revamp their methods of combating communism, Ōe argued, by putting greater focus on winning the hearts and minds of ordinary people, and the new keisatsubu provided the foundation for that mission.31 Such an approach, of course, was not unique to the Foreign Ministry, but rather reflected a widespread attitude among civilian Japanese agencies involved in China affairs.32

In another speech a few days later, Ōe expanded on this vision, speaking at great length about relations between new staff and preexisting officers. The new arrivals, most of whom had been freshly transferred from Manzhouguo, Ōe urged not to assume that the knowledge gained through their experience there could be directly applied to their duties in North China. Circumstances in Manchuria were quite different, Ōe explained, and he then encouraged the North China police veterans to help new arrivals learn about local conditions as quickly as possible.33 Ōe had seen firsthand the militarization of Japanese control in Manchuria and was apparently convinced that a different course should be followed in China. It was not the legitimacy of Japanese authority there that he questioned, but rather the dubious long-term efficacy of relying solely on brute force to pacify the region.

There is one additional dimension to consular police activity in North China during the mid-1930s that merits at least brief attention here. Despite their obsession with political security in occupied China, the consular police were also engaged in the facilitation of Japanese economic interests in the Beijing-Tianjin region. This itself is, of course, nothing new, as the consular police had played a part in advancing the commercial interests of Japanese resident communities since the 1880s in Korea. The commerce they protected in North China, however, was described by contemporary observer Itō Takeo in this way: “Bands of armed ships and trucks of adventuristic merchants, ignoring customs checkpoints of the Nationalist government, unloaded in China large quantities of such items as narcotics, cotton thread, and cloth.”34 In other words, it is quite clear that Japanese Foreign Ministry police facilitated an immense smuggling network during the mid-1930s. Another commentator had this to say about the illegal trade: “The goods left Dairen in fleets of 10 to 30 motor vessels, they sailed across the Gulf of (p.128) Peichihli [Beizhili], which had been cleared of preventative vessels by the Japanese Navy, and were landed on the sandy beaches of East Hopei [Hebei] with the passive assent or active assistance of the Japanese consular police.”35 The actual trade in smuggled goods such as silk and cotton cloth, sugar, and gasoline was carried out in most cases by resident Korean and Japanese civilians, and their aim was to avoid Chinese customs duties, generating profits for Japanese manufacturers. In the course of this illegal trade, Chinese customs officials were often abused and their offices damaged by Korean and Japanese smugglers while the Japanese consular police did nothing to stop it. In fact, at the peak of the smuggling era during the early summer of 1936, the consular police often demanded that Chinese officials return contraband they had rightfully seized. By July 1936, official consular protection of smugglers was withdrawn, but the trade nonetheless continued.36

The Japanese consular police in China just before the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War in 1937 have been described as “bands of armed Japanese scattered inside Chinese territory, performing espionage work, organizing Japanese residents into volunteer corps, and putting political pressure on local authorities to allow the advance of Japanese interests.”37 Undoubtedly, Gaimushō police activity during the mid-1930s does indeed reveal how “the Japanese Foreign Ministry thus saw to it that direct action in China was no longer the monopoly of the military overseas.”38 But this Foreign Ministry activism on the continent was certainly not something new to the post-1931 era of Japanese expansionism. The basic tasks of both protecting and advancing Japanese state and citizen interests while simultaneously controlling the limits of acceptable political discourse had their roots in earlier decades. This continuity in forms of “direct action” by the consular police since at least 1925, if not earlier, should place events after 1937 in a much different light. But, before turning to that matter, the final act in the story of the consular police in Manchuria must be told.

Foreign Ministry Police in Manzhuoguo

By early 1933, the most persistent elements of resistance to the new order in Manchuria had been more or less crushed, at least in some part through the cooperation of provincial Gaimushō police forces and the Kwantung Army. As the army sought to consolidate both its strategic position and its authority over all Japanese continental policy, a desire to unify the numerous police institutions at work in Manchuria also began to take shape.39 The preeminent position of the consular police in this process of integration was significant because it suggests that Gaimushō police in the field and the Kwantung Army were not necessarily driven apart by the colonial conquest of Manchuria in 1931–1932. Rather, in (p.129) many ways that turn of events brought them closer together in terms of overall goals, strategy, and even tactics.

As of March 1933, there were still three main police institutions functioning within the territory of Manzhouguo: police forces of the Kwantung Government-General, the army’s own kenpeitai or military police, and the Gaimushō’s consular police.40 Significantly, the most important rivalry to first take shape was not between army police and Foreign Ministry police, but rather between Kwantung government police and Manchurian consular police. Tension between these two forces was nothing new; since its inception in the wake of the Russo-Japanese War, the Kantō-chō had been a rival to Foreign Ministry authority in Manchuria on both police and other matters of local jurisdiction. A key question therefore is how did these three police institutions become one unified security network by 1937?41

In terms of overall numbers, by March 1933 there were 1,390 Gaimushō police in all three regions of Manzhouguo (North, South, and Jiandao). Among the subsections of a Xinjing embassy report describing consular police operations were the following categories: protection of resident Japanese, protection of Korean farmers, support of army operations, battles with bandits, protection of new railroad construction sites, control of the Communist movement, investigation of political plots and foreigners, cooperating with the Manzhouguo police apparatus, and assisting with research on local Japanese business and industry.42 Clearly, Gaimushō police still had a far-reaching presence in Manchuria that could serve army interests well. The plan for unifying police power within Manzhouguo that ultimately took shape thus placed Gaimushō police on a higher level than their Kwantung regime counterparts. In fact, the plan was to incorporate all Kantō-chō police into the consular police system, which itself would then be subordinate to the Kwantung Army and its military police, a plan the Kantō-chō was sure to resist fiercely.43 To facilitate the construction of a unified command and control network over all Japanese police in Manchuria, the Gaimushō and the army agreed on the establishment of a Manchuria Embassy Police Bureau in Xinjing in the autumn of 1933.44 The new office was responsible for coordinating all consular police activity in Manchuria, and its top official posts were filled by Kenpeitai officers.45 Both the Kantō-chō and the Colonial Ministry (Takumushō) opposed the budget for setting up this new bureau, but their resistance had little practical effect.46

Nonetheless, the protests launched by Kwantung government police leaders during these discussions reveal the logic behind the decision to incorporate those forces into the Gaimushō police system. In an effort to establish public peace and gain recognition of Manzhouguo as a legitimate state, the army needed to provide for the appearance of genuine independence and sovereignty. The Kantō-chō was, of course, a (p.130) formal colonial institution set up to administer the Kwantung Leased Territory. If its police forces were allowed to continue operating, the fiction of Manzhouguo’s independence would be jeopardized. By subsuming Kantō-chō police units into the Gaimushō police system, the level of manpower could be maintained under cover of the entirely legal framework of extraterritoriality that assured the legitimacy of Foreign Ministry police.47 It was an ingenious logic indeed. Furthermore, this reasoning clearly indicates the close affinity between Kwantung Army goals and the long-standing legacy of consular police activities in Manchuria. Significantly, it also reflects a deliberate manipulation of consular “legitimacy” previously put to use on the Korean peninsula as early as 1905.

Once the new police bureau was up and running in Xinjing, the police department (keisatsubu) at Harbin, which had been established not even two years earlier, became obsolete and was thus closed on January 1, 1934. Several weeks later, all police personnel under the command of the Kantō-chō were officially placed under the jurisdiction of the Manchurian Embassy police bureau. In a move meant to appease high-level Kwantung government leaders who remained opposed to the reorganization, the Kantō-chō police bureau chief was appointed as a “police adviser” (keimu komon) in the embassy.48 While the Harbin office was closed, the police department in Jiandao remained in operation. The Jiandao police office, of course, was the oldest, and throughout the 1920s the largest, Gaimushō police facility in all of northeast Asia. Even within Manzhouguo, the Jiandao area still posed a special problem, so the extra police presence there was deemed necessary.

Gaimushō police in Manzhouguo had numerous other concerns in addition to the basic tasks of securing the public peace and integrating themselves into the army-dominated administrative framework of state. Significantly, Chinese Communists and Korean resistance fighters were not the only dangerous elements that became targets of consular police operations in Manzhouguo. Gaimushō police were also committed to combating the problem of controlling Japanese civilians engaged in unlawful (furyō) activities, which could include behavior such as inciting political subversion; violence against “Manchurians”; business fraud; smuggling contraband (weapons, opium, and the like); defaulting on debts; and subverting national policy and Japanese–Manchurian friendship and goodwill.49 Even so, perhaps still highest among consular priorities were the problems related to the control of international socialism.50 At a meeting of thought police leadership convened in April 1935, for example, Embassy Police Bureau Chief Iwasa spoke in his opening remarks of the responsibility that consular police officers carried in promoting correct ideologies. To do this effectively, Iwasa exhorted his officers to study and understand sociology and politics, and he furthermore (p.131) stressed the importance of close cooperation between Gaimushō police in Manzhouguo and the army’s military police.51

Indeed, the relationship between Gaimushō police within Manzhouguo and the Kwantung Army seems to have been more productive than in other regions of occupied China. Statistics culled from the records of the Foreign Ministry’s Asia Bureau are particularly illustrative of the close cooperation between the Kwantung Army and the Jiandao consular police. During the nearly six-year period between the establishment of Manzhouguo in March 1932 and the abolition of extraterritoriality in December 1937, roughly 1,700 joint expeditions between the two forces were carried out against guerrilla resistance and insurgency, involving just over ten thousand men. The peak of activity came in 1933 when there were 586 missions executed by nearly four thousand officers and soldiers.52 Another example of their close links were the activities of “public security enforcement squads” (chian kōsaku han/chian shukusei han). At the request of army officials, these teams of Manchurian consular police would arrive on the scene after the army had completed the military pacification of a particular region and take up the tasks of local intelligence gathering and analysis, public relations with the community, and censorship.53 These public security activities, however, were not merely ad hoc responses to local conditions; there was a much larger process at work. In fact, the embassy police bureau had a complicated and long-range plan for the involvement of consular police units in the pacification of Manzhouguo from April 1936 until March 1939.54 Gaimushō police most certainly saw a future for their institution in the construction of a “New Order in East Asia.”55

The last significant conference of Gaimushō police in Manzhouguo convened in May 1937. By that time, preparations were well under way to abolish extraterritoriality in Manzhouguo. The privilege of extraterritoriality, of course, had served as the pretext for Japanese consular police legitimacy throughout northeast Asia since 1880.56 Once removed, the consular police would be illegal, and thus the tone of this meeting was both reflective concerning the long and distinguished history of the consular police in Manchuria, and forward-thinking on matters of the empire’s future.57 Finally, it was on December 1, 1937, that all Gaimushō police in Manchuria were absorbed into the police bureau of the Manzhouguo government.58 At that time, the total number of Japanese consular police in Manchuria could be placed at roughly 1,900 men.

If cooperation between the two sides was often quite successful, one must wonder why it was that Kwantung Army officials ultimately decided to abolish extraterritoriality. While the army clearly saw the utility of the consular police in fabricating an illusion of sovereignty in Manzhouguo, attempts by the Foreign Ministry to strengthen its police forces in North (p.132) China in 1936 had begun to change that view. Indeed, as Lincoln Li has noted, “The rapid buildup of the consular police alarmed the Kwantung Army and it took steps to forestall any similar development in Manchuria.”59 The abolition of extraterritoriality in 1937, then, in Li’s view was “a measure designed not to strengthen the hands of the puppet government there, but to deprive the Foreign Ministry of a potential instrument in Manchuria.”60 Ironically, however, while the abolition of extraterritoriality in Manzhouguo in 1937 did indeed weaken the Foreign Ministry position there, it also contributed to strengthening consular police forces in North China, since former Manchurian officers could be transferred to Tianjin.61

Contrary to the notion that the creation of Manzhouguo was a decisive blow to the position of the Gaimushō in shaping Japan’s Manchuria policy, the story of the consular police suggests a far more complicated process. The security interests of Gaimushō police in Manchuria melded quite smoothly with those of the Kwantung Army at first. The army gave the consular police the strength they had never before possessed, and the consular police gave the army the cover of legal legitimacy that they desperately needed. Put simply, policemen and soldiers have much more in common than do policemen and diplomats. In spite or perhaps because of that fact, however, both sides consistently jockeyed for position—sometimes over jurisdictional turf and at other times over distinct policy directions—within the official bureaucracy of Japanese expansionism. Though the Gaimushō lost that struggle in Manzhouguo, the contest continued after 1937 within the borders of occupied China.

Wartime Growth in Occupied China

The “China Incident” of July 1937 had an immediate impact on consular police operations in North China. Within one week of the clash between Chinese and Japanese soldiers near the Marco Polo Bridge outside of Beijing, Tianjin consular police chief Ōe instructed the forces under his command on how to respond to the new conditions. He began by pointing out what he saw as the two broadest and most immediate priorities: protection of resident Japanese communities and close cooperation with the army to carry out the “sacred work” of “civilizing East Asia” (Tō-A kaimei no seigyō). He then went on to outline several more specific measures to be taken by the Tianjin consular police force, which included expanding intelligence-gathering networks and transmitting fresh information to the military without delay, disrupting enemy intelligence networks, disseminating propaganda against the CCP and the Nanjing government, keeping a close watch on “bad elements” (furyō bunshi) within the Japanese resident community, and controlling rumor mongering among the people in order to maintain public order.62 In this one speech Chief Ōe conveniently summarized (p.133) all of the characteristic activities of the consular police during the wartime era. A more detailed exploration of those activities, however, must follow a brief survey of the physical expansion of Foreign Ministry police facilities throughout occupied China.

One of the most illuminating documents related to the expansion of Gaimushō police facilities in North China during the early stages of the Sino-Japanese War was produced by the Tianjin police department in December 1937. The introduction explained that Gaimushō police forces in North China were too shorthanded to deal adequately with the rapid pace of change in local conditions after July 1937. Of special importance among those changes were an influx of unlawful (furyō) Japanese and the increasing radicalization of Chinese resistance forces. A greater Gaimushō police presence would thus facilitate the control of these troublesome newcomers to the local Japanese community as well as the intensification of political surveillance concerning Chinese Communists.63 Principally, the dramatic increase in the overall local Japanese civilian population seems to have been at the heart of Gaimushō desires to bolster its local police forces. Among many concerns, the illegal drug trade was a high police priority, with the Japanese community of Tianjin being a locale of special concern. In June 1937, for example, the Tianjin consular police under the direction of Consul Horiuchi Tateki executed a large-scale raid of illicit narcotic dealers in the city, netting over two dozen suspects. To the embarrassment of consular authorities, however, the arrests and interrogations also implicated a number of officers on the Tianjin police force itself.64

By November 1937, discussions were under way regarding the expansion of Gaimushō police operations in North China, centered at that time in the police department of Tianjin Consulate-General. In February 1938, twenty-two new police officers arrived in Tianjin from Gaimushō headquarters in Tokyo, followed by an additional one hundred men in March, and these increases were supplemented by the transfer of one hundred police officers from the colonial Korea police bureau in March and eight more from a special security force in Tianjin. In total, Gaimushō police numbers in the greater Tianjin area thus increased by 329 officers, and with these increases came the official closing of the keisatsubu in Tianjin in favor of a new office, the North China keimubu (department of police affairs).65

Opened in early June 1938, the North China Department of Police Affairs supervised thirty-five facilities in all under its jurisdiction totaling some 773 officers, but that official total does not include the hundreds of Chinese assistant patrolmen who also participated in the execution of Gaimushō police operations. At the time the keimubu was established, these nearly eight hundred Gaimushō police “protected” a (p.134) civilian population of 92,000 Japanese, Korean, and Taiwanese in the North China jurisdiction of the Tianjin police headquarters.66 The office continued to expand throughout the following year, with the number of consular police employed by the North China Department of Police Affairs reaching 957 by December 1938.67 Those numbers grew to 1,032 officers stationed in sixty-three facilities by the end of 1939, and then 1,267 men in sixty-seven stations by the end of 1940.68

Less than one year after operations began at the North China keimubu in Tianjin, Gaimushō police officials in Shanghai initiated discussions regarding the establishment of a similar department in central China.69 In the course of a two-day conference at the Astor House Hotel in Shanghai in mid-June 1939, a plan finally emerged for a Central China Department of Police Affairs. While structurally modeled largely upon the Tianjin bureau, which was later moved to Peking, the Shanghai office had a significantly smaller initial outlay of personnel, including only thirty-four men.70 The regular consular police department in Shanghai was already quite large by the late 1930s, however, with several hundred Japanese officers and numerous additional Chinese assistants, so the overall numbers were not far behind those in Tianjin.

An official Foreign Ministry press release on September 30, 1939, outlined in more detail the motivation for establishing the new police bureau in Shanghai. After noting the glorious accomplishments of the Imperial Army in fighting bravely since 1937, the statement added that Japan’s consular police had played an integral part in fostering local Sino-Japanese cooperation since the outbreak of war. Although numerous new police substations had been established in a piecemeal way to deal with immediate conditions since 1937, now a central office of command and control was deemed necessary, and this was the primary reason behind opening the Central China Department of Police Affairs on October 1.71 In a more dramatic statement, the new department chief, in a speech to mark the opening of the new office, explained that the history of the Foreign Ministry police in northeast Asia was at the dawn of a new age, and the duties of the consular police were now more important than ever before. Together with the Imperial Army and Japan’s other administrative institutions on the continent, Gaimushō police would also take part in the grand project of “constructing the New Order in East Asia.”72

As of October 1939, there were a total of 557 Japanese consular police officers under the jurisdiction of the Central China Department of Police Affairs, and these numbers continued to climb. That number was 590 by the end of 1939, and it reached 730 in 1940, with those officers distributed throughout a network of twenty-six stations, substations, and field offices.73 The new police bureau in Shanghai, however, aimed to increase the quality not just the quantity of its personnel to execute their (p.135) mission more effectively, so police officers received extensive training there. A note on the seminars provided during a training session for twenty-five new recruits in February 1940 reveals the qualifications most valued in a consular police officer. During a total of fifty-two hours of instruction, discussion topics included thirteen hours of Chinese language; thirteen hours of training in martial arts and weapons; two hours on current affairs in China; two hours on international law; three hours on consular jurisdiction regulations; three hours on “higher police” duties; four hours on consular police law; and three hours on public security management.74 Additional training sessions were provided for the all-important business of political intelligence, as a seminar in April 1940 included lectures by senior officers on such topics as “Police Officers under Today’s Conditions”; “The Meaning of the Sino-Japanese War in the Context of Contemporary International Affairs”; “The Concept of Special Higher Police Work”; “Observing and Controlling Social and Intellectual Movements”; “Observing and Controlling Right-Wing Movements”; “Total War and the Duty of the Police Officer”; “Military Intelligence and Security Methods”; “Points on Intelligence Gathering regarding China”; and “Observing and Controlling Foreigners.”75

What were the long-term aims of this new police bureau? At a March 1941 conference of consular tokkō section chiefs, the Shanghai police bureau chief explained that when the military operations ended, the war itself was not over. Echoing the comments of Ōe Hikaru in 1936, he said that the real fight continued in the realms of economy and thought, and in these struggles Gaimushō police would play a critical role. Working day and night to gather intelligence and keep watch over suspicious ideological movements, according to this police chief, was the core of consular police duty.76 At the same meeting, a representative of the Foreign Ministry’s Asia Bureau also talked at great length on the organization, ideology, and activities of the Chinese Communist Party, touching on matters of party structure, relations with the Comintern, political goals of the CCP, and even the role of “disloyal” Japanese (futei Hōjin) in the war of resistance against Japan.77 A researcher from the Asia Development Board (Kō-A in) then tackled the complex issues linked to what he termed “thought problems” (shisō mondai).78 In fact, he took a truly global approach to the topic, viewing it in terms of world historical development. Human civilization was characterized, he argued, by three momentous intellectual revolutions. The rise of Christianity had been the first, and the second took place during the Renaissance; global society was now in the midst of the third revolution: the emergence of socialism and communism. The battle being waged by the consular police against this ideological enemy thus took on enormous significance, in his view, a significance that extended well beyond the immediate objective of pacifying occupied (p.136)

The Struggle for Security in Occupied China

Police staff from a sub-station of Tianjin Consulate-General police force, early 1940s.

(Photo courtesy of the Japan Ministry of Foreign Affairs diplomatic archives, Tokyo)

China. Those who stood in the way of that mission quickly found themselves under the watchful eye of both newly enhanced Foreign Ministry police bureaus.

Targets of Wartime Surveillance

To be sure, Japanese consular police in North China were still very much engaged in the surveillance of resident Koreans during the war. A 1939 report from the North China consular police bureau in Beijing provided a list of over one hundred suspected Korean “subversives” targeted for arrest, which included the suspects’ names, last known addresses, occupational information, and details of their political activities.79 The list was also prefaced by a short description of the three top concerns of consular police in Beijing. First, they were deeply alarmed at the rapid increase in the Korean resident population after 1937, which had grown at a rate even greater than the increase in Japanese residents. The second concern pointed out that recent Korean social movements and Chinese resistance movements were becoming more likely to join forces in all out anti-Japanese war. The final point then suggested that such a war was already under way in the homeland (naichi), Korea, and Manchuria, (p.137) as evidence of which the author specifically cited a bombing incident in Osaka that had been linked to “terror” groups on the continent.80

Significantly, however, the consular police in North China were also deeply involved in the political surveillance of resident Japanese. One department report from Tianjin described the social pressures facing local Japanese communities caused by the recent influx of new residents from Manchuria and colonial Korea. Interaction and tension between new and old residents brought about factionalism within the community and a general mood of disorder and chaos, and such conflict created an environment ripe for the agitation of both left-wing and right-wing extremists, as well as the flourishing of secret societies among residents.81 Interestingly, the policing of resident Japanese also seems to have included policing the police themselves. At a meeting of North China police chiefs, Tianjin section chief Ōe made explicit mention of recent corruption scandals among consular police officers, and he urged his colleagues to work diligently to purge the consular police of illicit activities.82 This problem was apparently a difficult one to solve, however, since almost one year later the Beijing embassy police chief was still discussing at some length the matter of “bad and dishonest police officers (furyō fusei keisatsukan).”83

Turning more specifically to the matter of “dangerous thought” within the Japanese resident community, an especially revealing document is a detailed chart illustrating the networks of right-wing and left-wing associations under surveillance in North China produced by the Beijing Embassy Police Bureau in May 1939.84 The chart identified dozens of socialist groups and ultranationalist societies, and their border-crossing affiliations that connected homeland cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Niigata to northern Chinese cities such as Beijing, Tianjin, and Qingdao. By depicting these relationships, the chart is a dramatic reminder of two critically important issues. First, in the eyes of the imperial Japanese state bureaucracy, right-wing groups were often just as great a security concern by the late 1930s as those of the left. Second, political police work was truly borderless, as the threats to the kokutai were ideological as much as they were national.

Similar to the lists of suspicious Koreans drawn up by the Beijing embassy police staff, the Central China Police Bureau in Shanghai produced a report of its own in October 1939. However, theirs was not a list of “recalcitrant Koreans”; these lists contained the names of Japanese citizens.85 While not as detailed as the other lists of Korean suspects, the information provided is nonetheless sufficient to draw some preliminary conclusions. First of all, the wide variety of occupations identified among the suspects suggests that few residents could escape the watchful police eye. People on the list included several journalists, a cosmetic wholesaler, import/export brokers, a dance-hall manager, bankers, landlords, merchants, (p.138) an auto mechanic, a theater owner, and a handful of local research institute staffers. It is also worth noting that most of those on the list were recent arrivals to the Shanghai area, corroborating statements in other sources about general suspicion surrounding the motives of new Japanese residents after 1937. Perhaps most revealing, however, is the large number of military intelligence operatives on the various lists. Perhaps these military intelligence and local propaganda agents had grown too sympathetic with the Chinese and Korean social movements they were assigned to infiltrate, and thereby became suspects of their own thought police. Of course, the opposite, that these were soldiers connected to right-wing extremism, could also have been the case.

In any event, it is clear that the consular police in central China were also deeply concerned about the troublesome behavior of “unlawful Japanese” (furyō Hōjin).86 As was true in North China, the category of unlawful Japanese could include the police themselves, as the case of a Shanghai resident, Russian native and British subject Elizaveta Mihailovna Newton, suggests. Ms. Newton was the proprietor of the “De Luxe Tea Room,” and on June 1, 1939, two Japanese consular police officers removed from her shop two illegal slot machines. According to Ms. Newton, this seizure came on the heels of a visit by two Japanese (one in plain clothes, one in uniform) a week earlier, at which time the two men, both probably consular police officers, said if she paid them a hundred dollars per week, they would allow her to run Bingo games and operate slot machines in her café. Following her complaints about the seizure of her property, a lone Japanese man in plain clothes came to her café on June 2 and told her to keep her mouth shut or the store would be closed and she might be hurt herself.87 One cannot help but wonder how common this sort of gangster-style extortion was among local consular police officers.88

Most important, however, the surveillance of so-called furyō Japanese in China is inseparable from how Japanese authorities viewed the impact of the new war on political movements back on the home islands. As a Home Ministry police official explained in 1938, for those on the political left, the war was further evidence of the militaristic aggression of the imperial state, and opposing the war, or even working toward a Japanese defeat, would assist in the social revolution they sought at home. For right-wing ultranationalist societies, too, the war represented an opportunity of sorts for the construction of a new society. In delivering a final decisive blow against the expansion of communism, which is how such groups understood the meaning of the war, the imperial state could be revitalized in an even stronger embodiment of the kokutai. State security officials, of course, sought to curb both of these extremes.89 Since both groups were active in the cities of wartime China, the responsibility for their surveillance and suppression fell on the local consular (p.139) police because they were vital extensions of the home government’s “thought police” apparatus.

Still, while the failed military coup of February 26, 1936, in Tokyo had shown that the extreme right had to be kept on a leash, it was quite naturally those on the political left who bore the brunt of greater police pressure during the war. The right wing after all supported the state’s war effort, whereas the left vehemently opposed it. Popular antiwar sentiments during the final stages of the Pacific War have been examined insightfully by John Dower, but such feelings were made public through graffiti and leaflets within months of the war’s outbreak in 1937.90 In taking note of stock such socialist phrases from “Overthrow the bourgeois government” and “Land to the farmers” to more explicitly anticolonial and China-friendly ideas such as “Absolutely oppose imperialist war for the sake of capitalists!” metropolitan police recognized the ideological dissent that threatened to undermine public support for the war effort.91

An especially dramatic example of the clear connection between leftist opposition to the war and, by extension, the Japanese imperial state can be found in the activities and writings of Hasegawa Teru, who was an active member of the Japanese People’s Anti-War League (Nihonjinmin hansen dōmei) in China after 1937.92 In a letter to her comrades back in Tokyo penned shortly after the war broke out, Hasegawa passionately argued that in China’s victory, and Japan’s defeat, one had to see a more hopeful future of all of Asia. She wore the label of “traitor” as a badge of courage and instead lamented her cultural connections to a society that “simply invades the lands of others, and calmly brings down hell upon a completely innocent and powerless people.”93 One of Hasegawa’s best-known compatriots in the league, Kaji Wataru, echoed these sentiments when he expressed his agreement with the wartime logic of Chinese Communist Party leader Mao Zedong, who suggested that only after Japan was defeated in China and then more broadly defeated in the world war could genuine social revolution liberate the Japanese people themselves.94 That Japanese citizens such as Hasegawa and Kaji were advocating these views within occupied China itself is a matter of a crucial importance, as it illuminates their conviction that the front lines of military battle on the Asian continent were also the front lines of an ideological struggle on the home front. It also further reflects the problematic function of Sino-Japanese Pan-Asianism during the 1930s, which could be employed alternatively as a sincere language of resistance by Chinese nationalists and Japanese socialists, or as a cynical language of conquest by the Japanese imperial army.95

Within this wartime environment, Foreign Ministry police obviously played a key role in facilitating the imperial state’s war on internal dissenters, but neither is this something new to the post-1937 era. Sano Manabu had made similar arguments about China’s victory being crucial for the (p.140)

The Struggle for Security in Occupied China

Police staff of the Shanghai Consulate-General, early 1940s.

(Photo courtesy of the Japan Ministry of Foreign Affairs diplomatic archives, Tokyo)

future socialist revolution in Japan during his police interrogation in 1929. And, of course, it was the Shanghai consular police who had played the critical role in facilitating Sano’s arrest. What must be recognized here, then, is the continuity in anticommunist Japanese police actions in China from the 1920s on, as well as the special function of Gaimushō police in that pattern. An equally important dimension of that continuity is the often conflict-prone relationship between the police forces of the army and the Foreign Ministry.

Wartime Relations with the Army

Gaimushō police adjusted to the new conditions created by the army’s invasion of North China by crafting a role for themselves in the pacification of occupied territories. For example, the consular police under the jurisdiction of both Tianjin and Shanghai police departments participated in what was termed senbu operations. Defined at the time as “communicating the will of the government and pacifying the people,” senbu activity came to be an important element of consular police duty in China under wartime conditions.96 Documents from the Shanghai police department in December 1937 give some sense of what those operations included. One objective was to facilitate the return of refugees displaced by battles between (p.141) the Japanese Army and Chinese resistance forces, while also posting army proclamations, orders, and restrictions in public and tearing down anti-Japanese posters, pamphlets, and graffiti. Senbu activity could also refer to such tasks as organizing civilian security militias, reopening hospitals and other public health facilities, and disposing of corpses. Even mundane duties like preparing nationality registers for returning refugees and conducting spot checks of local food-service businesses were often a part of senbu operations.97 Documents from Tianjin in late 1937 reveal similar patterns of consular police participation in senbu activities there.98

As Gaimushō police veteran Kajikawa Masakatsu put it, the primary objective of battle was military victory, but the real fight did not end when the gun barrels cooled. After the smoke cleared, the hearts and minds of the local population had to be won over if the military victory was to hold its ground. The consular police mission through senbu operations was thus also to convince local Chinese that Japanese Army engagements were not designed to take over China, but to restore peace and stability to East Asia as a whole.99 To achieve this goal, Kajikawa explained, Foreign Ministry police would distribute free food and medicine to local communities, facilitate the reopening of local schools and other public service institutions, and generally assist in restoring the everyday exchange of goods and services in the localities. According to Kajikawa, the first and perhaps most important requirement for participation in senbu work was that one possess strong Chinese-language skills. Long experience living in China, along with knowledge of local geography, culture, and customs, were also indispensable. Long-resident Japanese merchants as well employees of the Mantetsu and the Manzhouguo administrative network often met these requirements, but local Japanese consular police, who often prided themselves on their language training and detailed familiarity with local conditions, made especially effective senbu unit participants.100 These pacification programs, however, could be quite dangerous for any local Chinese that cooperated. Assassinations of “Japan-friendly” Chinese informers during the autumn of 1937, for example, became quite common, and Gaimushō police in Shanghai, calling them “antiterrorist” operations, expended considerable time and resources in apprehending the killers and interrogating them for usable intelligence.101

While local consular police regularly participated in these “pacification” programs alongside their military counterparts, conflict between the two groups was equally if not more common during the first few years of the war. Gaimushō police had to compete with their rivals in the military for primacy in directing the policy that would facilitate both the practical and ideological goals of the military occupation. Even in the heat of full-scale war with China after 1937, Gaimushō police continued to defend (p.142) their position and authority in the face of the army’s militarization of Japan’s presence in North China. A consular report on the proposed expansion of police facilities in Tianjin argued, for example, that intensified Kenpeitai activity in the region created the appearance that Japan was trying to turn North China into another Manzhouguo. By strengthening Gaimushō police forces instead, according to the Tianjin consular police, Japan’s ultimate security aims could be achieved eliciting the least possible Chinese resentment and resistance.102 The irony in this logic is difficult to miss. The legal illegitimacy of Foreign Ministry police in China had been the source of decades of Chinese hostility, and here with the Gaimushō officials trying to suggest that their police forces were now the least likely to provoke anger from the Chinese side; although, when one considers the ferocious brutality of the Japanese Army in China, perhaps the reasoning was not so unsound after all.

Regardless, the kusho mondai, as the “jurisdictional dispute” was known at the time, went on to become a heated topic in meetings of senior consular police officials in many parts of occupied China.103 At a police chief’s conference in Shanghai in January 1940, Shanghai chief Miura explained that the problem was really one of improving close cooperation between the consular police and the army’s Kenpeitai, not merely bold attempts by the military police to take over consular police operations.104 Tianjin police chief Ueda then used the experience of his region to offer a suggestion for the Shanghai area, explaining that, in Tianjin, because of Gaimushō police protest, the Kenpeitai stopped making direct jurisdictional demands regarding tokkō affairs and instead began making requests to the local consular police, which they complied with or refused of their own will.105 Despite Chief Ueda’s optimism, however, jurisdictional rivalries with the military were “for the consular police, a serious problem,” as some sources even reveal discussions between police chiefs regarding the proper role of Gaimushō security forces in the management of the army’s prostitution centers, euphemistically referred to as “comfort stations.”106

Surely cooperation between the two groups was difficult because Gaimushō police were far outnumbered by military police, but the turf wars were also attributable to the fact that consular police leadership often advocated fundamentally different approaches to solving local security problems. At a 1940 meeting in Beijing, for example, Section Two police chief Mitsumura pressed for a broad strategy to replace conquest by brute military force with a more comprehensive approach. His argument was that an expansion of the war on economic and ideological fronts would ultimately be more successful in bringing Japanese goals to fruition. But Mitsumura also believed that Gaimushō police needed to move beyond piecemeal responses to security crises and instead develop a more comprehensive and (p.143) thorough program of higher police work that could effectively address the serious threats posed by international communism.107 So, the goal of Mitusmura’s vision was not that different from that of the army; he just envisioned a different path toward reaching it. To some degree, of course, the tension between the two forces was also due simply to the raw personal resentment felt by some local consular police toward the army’s military security forces. Some officers were embittered at being reduced to handmaidens of the military. “If we are to be beard trimmers for those guys, I’ll quit the consular police,” quipped one officer. “The source of the security crisis in occupied areas is the poor methods of the Kenpeitai, and they are to be in charge?” exclaimed another.108 Many consular police officers no doubt believed that they were far more qualified than the military police to manage local security affairs efficiently and effectively.

In an ironic twist, it would also seem that sometimes Japanese consular police could count on more effective collaboration with foreign police in Shanghai than on the military police of their own Imperial Army. On March 15, 1939, for example, the municipal police aided in the arrest of three Chinese suspected of arms trafficking in support of Chinese guerrilla fighters. The suspects were first turned over to the Japanese consular police for three days, “to allow them to continue inquiries” (which likely meant torture), and then five additional days beyond that. Documents seized during the arrest were also provided to the consular police.109 Similarly, on May 30, 1939, the Japanese consular police received an anonymous tip that nine “terrorists” were occupying two rooms at a Shanghai hotel to work out their plans for bombing attacks on several targets, including the Kempeitai headquarters on the “Floating Restaurant” near the Bund. Assistance was provided by the municipal police, but the raid revealed nothing to suggest that the tipster’s letter was authentic.110

It was not always matters of political security that were at the center of these disputes, as numerous disputes between consular police in North China and the Imperial Army’s military police were also related to the “management” of the drug trade there. Control of illegal narcotics had been a duty of Foreign Ministry police since their earliest days on the Korean peninsula. In wartime China, however, the illicit sale of opium, heroin, and morphine was a lucrative trade in which the Japanese military was deeply involved, using the profits to fund its numerous local Chinese puppet political regimes within occupied territories. Army officials regularly gave pharmaceutical licenses to resident Japanese involved in narcotics dealing in exchange for kickback payments and sometimes even kept for themselves narcotic evidence that was to be used in trials, no doubt with an eye to selling it later on.111 Consular police efforts to thwart the drug trade, then, were likely motivated both by their obligations to the local law-abiding Japanese community and by a (p.144) desire to throw a monkey wrench into the machinery of army domination in North China after 1937.

Postscript

Regrettably, the evolution of Gaimushō police after 1942 is difficult to trace.112 One can perhaps begin with the establishment of the Asia Development Board in 1938, which was a key step in the process by which Gaimushō institutional autonomy was undermined by more militaristic bureaucracies at home. That process was completed in 1942 with the creation of the Greater East Asia Ministry, or Dai Tō-A shō, which replaced the numerous departments of diplomatic affairs with one centralized bureau.113 Despite the change in nomenclature, however, the organization and activities of the consular police on the ground in China seem to have remained largely unaltered.114 At the time of the Greater East Asia Ministry’s founding, there were roughly two thousand consular police in China, and according to Gaimushō police veteran Kajikawa Masakatsu, when the Foreign Ministry police became the Greater East Asia Ministry police, the everyday lives of those officers did not change at all. In fact, it meant little more to them, Kajikawa claims, than changing the titles on the police department stationery.115

The postwar recollections of a Shanghai consul named Nakagawa Yū illustrate well that continuity. Thinking back upon the summer of 1942, Nakagawa reminisced:

This was after the Pacific War had begun, so things in Shanghai were already pretty bad. Every morning when I got to work, on my desk I’d find a report from the Shanghai consular police department about all the incidents that had occurred in the Shanghai area. In one day we’d have all sorts of problems, from dance-hall fights involving Japanese residents, terrorist elements from Chengde destroying a movie theater with bombs, to the movements of Communist party members from the homeland (naichi) who had infiltrated the area. The consular police were the important eyes, ears, and hands above the regular work of the consulate-general.116

Nakagawa’s description sounds remarkably familiar indeed. In fact, his observations could aptly portray consular police work in any part of occupied China.

There are, however, at least a few important dimensions of consular police activity specific to the remaining years of the war after 1941. Numbers of personnel, for example, experienced another great increase linked to a rapid influx of new residents from the Japanese home islands. In terms (p.145) of police operations, it also seems clear that westerners in China, especially British and Americans, came to be viewed as subjects of “enemy countries,” making them more likely to fall under suspicion and surveillance. Finally, some research suggests that consular police actually worked as guards in prison camps housing detained civilians of the Allied nations in Shanghai and other coastal cities.117 While surviving documentary evidence is scarce, one source indicates that, upon Japan’s defeat in August 1945, the Greater East Asia Ministry was disbanded and the Foreign Ministry reinstated as the primary office of Japanese diplomatic business. Consular police in China at that time numbered roughly 3,470 officers.118 Furthermore, even in defeat it appears that these forces continued on with their duties of protecting Japanese civilians overseas by facilitating the repatriation of residents in China back to Japan.119

Conclusions

Although the final few years of Foreign Ministry police history may be hazy, the overall story of consular police evolution during the decade from the establishment of Manzhouguo and the Shanghai Incident of 1932 until the end of the Second World War in 1945 makes the resiliency of three long-established patterns abundantly clear. First, the Foreign Ministry continued to use its consular police forces to protect the physical security and advance the economic interests of the Japanese civilian community in China. Second, the consular police also continued to play a key role in crushing subversive political movements seen as threats to both imperial control and domestic stability. Third, the Gaimushō continued to employ its consular police resources as a means of competing with other Japanese governmental and military institutions in a proactive way over who would exert more influence on the course of Japan’s China policy. In particular, local Foreign Ministry police prerogatives on the ground in China and Manchuria were not necessarily undermined by a more aggressive and unilateral Japanese Army during the 1930s and early 1940s. On the contrary, the two forces had largely identical aims; they simply disagreed on how best to execute them.

A final reflection upon the matter of consular police ideology and “culture” can help to explain how and why this was the case. The official Foreign Ministry police song adopted in 1933, for example, is a mixture of themes and imagery familiar to anyone who has studied the rhetoric of Japanese imperialism. “We serve in Manchuria. … In an intense cold of 34 degrees below zero,” it begins, and “Our countrymen are troubled by bandits such as. … The duty of protection is heavy.” What provided their inspiration in the face of such challenges? “Look up and see the flag of imperial might shine brilliantly,” the first stanza closes, and “protect the (p.146) first wave of our countrymen.” Later verses then continue: “In the universe of East Asia’s common culture and common race. … Our obligation is a mission of peace. … Look up and see the light of Amida’s purple clouds shine brilliantly. … Protect East Asia’s way to peace.”120 A second wartime song composed in 1939 offers even more clues to the character of what is obviously an increasingly militarized Foreign Ministry police corps. It begins: “The ideals of the one hundred million of the Yamato race. … Will rise up and spread out…,” and then continues: “Supporting strength in all eight corners of the world. … One must protect fellow countrymen. … One must rise to the duty of higher police work,” and finishes, like the 1933 version, with a call for sacrifice: “Offer yourself to die as a martyr for justice. … Protect Asia’s way to peace.”121

Comparing these expressions to the ideological zealotry of the Japanese Army during the 1930s confirms that police often went to extremes of violence and intimidation during the wartime era, because, “like the military, the police represented the imperial mandate, and they justified each action accordingly.”122 Gaimushō police certainly viewed their role in the suppression of radical political resistance as inspired by imperial prerogatives. Indeed, the police operations of the Japanese Foreign Ministry in treaty port China and throughout Manchuria during the late 1920s and early 1930s solidly place that institution within the circle of responsibility for the violent conquest of China during the early 1940s that was inspired by those prerogatives.

Notes:

(1.) Barbara J. Brooks makes this “loss of control” argument in Japan’s Imperial Diplomacy: Consuls, Treaty Ports, and War in China, 1895–1938 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2000).

(2.) Ogino Fujio, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron: Tokkō keisatsu to shite no kinō,” Rekishigaku kenkyū 665 (November 1994): 17–19.

(3.) “Zai Shanhai sōryōjikan Tokkō keisatsu kikan kakujū ni kansuru ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–18.1, vol. 42, pp. 272–275.

(4.) See Patricia Stranahan, Underground: The Shanghai Communist Party and the Politics of Survival, 1927–1937 (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Little-field, 1998).

(6.) Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” in Senji Shanhai 1937–45 nen, ed. Takatsuna Hirofumi (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 2005), 138–144.

(10.) Kajikawa Masakatsu, Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, (Nagoya: Gaikeika yūkai, 1988) 113.

(11.) Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” 147. A brief but highly informative account of Uchiyama’s bookstore is in Takatsuna Hirofumi, “Shanhai Uchiyama shoten shoshi,” in Shanhai hitoesō suru nettowaaku, ed. Nihon Shanhaishi kenkyūkai (Tokyo: Kyuko shoin, 2000), 361–400. The bookstore as a site of interaction between communists in Shanghai is also described by Chalmers Johnson in his An Instance of Treason: Ozaki Hotsumi and the Sorge Spy Ring (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990).

(12.) “Zai Shanhai Nihon sōryōjikan keisatsubu shomu saisoku,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–18.1, vol. 42, pp. 289–293.

(13.) Zai Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsubu, “Tokkō keisatsu ni kan suru jikō” (1932), in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, vol. 38, sec. 9–71, pp. 3–44.

(14.) Shihōshō keijikyoku, “Shanhai zairyū Hōjin (Sen, Tai zai sekinin wo nozoku) no shisō jōkyō,” Shisō geppō (October 1935): 203–204.

(15.) Zai Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsubu, “Tokkō keisatsu ni kan suru jikō” (1934), in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, vol. 38, sec. 9–73, pp. 186–187.

(16.) For more on Japanese leftists in Shanghai, see Joshua Fogel, “The Other Japanese Community: Left-wing Japanese Activities in Wartime Shanghai,” in Wartime Shanghai, ed. Wen-hsin Yeh (London: Routledge, 1998), 42–61.

(p.192) (18.) Ibid.

(19.) A similar collection of Communist handbills in Japanese discovered in the Chinese ward on January 4, 1934, and turned into the Japanese Consular Police can be found in file no. D5638, Shanghai Municipal Police Files, microfilm reel 19.

(20.) Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron: tokkō keisatsu to shite no kinō,” 20–21. An excellent analysis of Tianjin during the 1930s is Kobayashi Motohiro, “Tenshin jiken saikō: Tenshin sōryōjikan, Shina chūtongun, Nihonjin kyoryūmin,” Nihon shokuminchi kenkyū 8 (July 1996): 1–17.

(21.) “Showa 8 nen zai Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsu jimu jōkyō,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2, vol. 34, p. 293. There had also been concerns about the influx of Russian and Chinese criminals from Manzhouguo into Shanghai and other port cities for several years. See, for example, file no. D6338, Shanghai Municipal Police Files, microfilm reel 22.

(22.) General observations based on various documents from Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2.

(23.) “Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsubu no enkaku,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, pp. 3–11.

(24.) Additional source documents can be found in JFMA file no. M.1.3.0–2–1–2, Zai Shi teikoku kōkan kankei zakken: Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsubu. For additional discussion and documentation, see Ogino Fujio, Gaimushō keisatsushi: zairyūmin hogo torishimari to tokkō keisatsu kinō, (Tokyo: Azekura shobō, 2005), 719–736.

(25.) “Hoku-Shi ryōjikan keisatsu jūjitsu yobikin seikyū riyū,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–2 vol. 29, pp. 23–25.

(26.) Lincoln Li, The Japanese Army in North China, 1937–1941 (Tokyo: Oxford University Press, 1975), 36.

(27.) Zai Tenshin Nihon sōryōjikan keisatsubu, Zai Tenshin Nihon sōryōjikan keisatsubu kaisetsu jōkyō (Tianjin, 1936), 4. An excellent discussion of the complexities at work in relations between the army and local Chinese political leadership is Marjorie Dryburgh, North China and Japanese Expansion, 1933–1937: Regional Power and the National Interest (Richmond, Surrey, UK: Curzon Press, 2000).

(28.) “1. Gaikyō,” in Zai Tenshin Nihon sōryōjikan keisatsubu kaisetsu jōkyō, 4–5.

(29.) “2. Kaisetsu junbi,” in ibid., 6–12.

(31.) “Ōe keisatsubuchō chakunin aisatsu yōshi” (appendix 1), Zai Ten-shin Nihon sōryōjikan keisatsubu kaisetsu jōkyō. Ogino Fujio uses the term shisō gaikō in his 1996 article, he but does not attribute it to Chief Ōe or any other consular police official. It may, however, just be a coincidental turn of phrase. See Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron,” 20.

(32.) See, for example, Lo, “Chapter Six, Borders of Medicine: The (p.193) Dōjinkai Project in China,” in Doctors within Borders: Profession, Ethnicity, and Modernity in Colonial Taiwan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 151–180; Akira Iriye, “Toward a New Cultural Order: The Hsinmin Hui,” in The Chinese and the Japanese: Essays in Political and Cultural Interaction, ed. Akira Iriye (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), 254–274.

(33.) Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–2, vol. 29, pp. 42–45. Additional information concerning the numbers of consular police officers deployed in various cities in 1936 can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku: Tō-A kyoku, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Kuresu shuppan, 1993), 227–279.

(34.) Itō Takeo (Joshua Fogel, trans.), Life along the South Manchurian Railway: The Memoirs of Itō Takeo (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1988), 165–166.

(35.) Haldore Hanson, “Smuggler, Soldier and Diplomat,” Pacific Affairs 9, no. 4 (December 1936): 544.

(36.) Ibid., passim. Also see Burke Inlow, “Japan’s ‘Special Trade’ in North China, 1935–1937,” The Far Eastern Quarterly 6, no. 2 (February 1947): 139–167. For discussion of consular police involvement in the illegal narcotics trade, see Kobayashi Motohiro, “Drug Operations by Resident Japanese in Tianjin,” in Opium Regimes, ed. Brook and Wakabayshi, 152–166. Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi also makes some insightful observations regarding the reticence of left-wing Japanese historians in the postwar era to deal objectively with the participation of Korean and Taiwanese imperial subjects in the North China drug trade in his “‘Imperial Japanese’ Drug Trafficking in China: Historiographic Perspectives,” Sino-Japanese Studies 13, no. 1 (October 2000): 3–19.

(39.) Although he does not deal specifically with the consular police, Iijima Mitsuru discusses the problems that came along with army–police integration within Manzhouguo in “Manshūkoku ni okeru ‘gunkei tōgō’ no seiritsu to hōkai,” Shundai shigaku 108 (December 1999): 45–69.

(40.) Tanaka Ryūichi, “‘Manshūkoku’ shoki no ryōjikan keisatsu to chigai hōken teppai,” Nihon shokuminchi kenkyū 12 (July 2000): 1–13. See also Soejima Shōichi, “‘Manshūkoku’ tōchi to chigai hōken teppai,” in ‘Manshūkoku’ no kenkyū, ed. Yamamoto Yūzō (Tokyo: Ryokuin shobō, 1995), 131–155. Useful discussions in English are in Suk-jung Han, “The Problem of Sovereignty: Manzhouguo, 1932–1937,” Positions 12, no. 2 (2004): 457–478, and Peter Oblas, “Naturalist Law and Japan’s Legitimization of Empire in Manchuria: Thomas Baty and Japan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” Diplomacy and Statecraft 15 (2004): 35–55.

(41.) Related documents are available in JFMA file no. D.2.1.2 -4–1, Manshūkoku keisatsu kikan kankei: Gaimushō keisatsukan Manshūkoku e tenkan kankei.

(42.) “Zai Man Gaimushō keisatsukan no ninmu suikō jōkyō narabi ni shōrai no jūjitsu keikaku,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.1, vol. 8, pp. 345–358.

(p.194) (43.) “Zai Man Nihon keisatsu seido tōgō kaizen ni kansuru ikenshin,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.1, vol. 8, pp. 375–376.

(44.) See JFMA file no. M.1.3.0–5–1, Zai Man teikoku keisatsu kikan tōsei kankei zakken: zai Man taishikan keimubu setchi kankei.

(45.) “Showa 8 nen zai Man ryōjikan keisatsu kikan no kakuchō,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.1, vol. 8, pp. 391–393.

(46.) Ibid., and Tanaka Ryūichi, “‘Manshūkoku’ shoki no ryōjikan keisatsu to chigai hōken teppai,” Nihon shokuminchi kenkyū 12 (July 2000): 3–4.

(47.) “Showa 8 nen zai Man taishikan keimubu kōsei no keii,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.1, vol. 8, pp. 393–405.

(48.) “Showa 9 nen taishikan keimubu no kōsei, tsuki Hoku Man keimubu no haishi,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.2, vol. 9, 5–14.

(49.) “Hōjin furyō kōi ni kansuru ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4, vol. 9, p. 14.

(50.) This is made clear in an embassy police bureau report from late 1934. See “Showa 9 nen Manshū ni okeru Kyōsantō undō oyobi kore ni taisuru Gaimushō keisatsukan no katsudō,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.2, vol. 9, pp. 73–97.

(51.) “Kōtō keisatsu shunin kaigi kaisai no ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.2, vol. 9, pp. 114–131.

(52.) Showa 12 nendo shitsumu hōkoku (December 1, 1937), in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku: Tō-A kyoku, vol. 4 (Tokyo: Kuresu shuppan, 1993), 138–139.

(53.) “Showa 10 nen tokubetsu chian kōsaku han ni zai Man Gaimushō keisatsu sanka,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.2, vol. 9, 145–149.

(54.) “Showa 11 nen Manshūkoku chian jōkyō oyobi shukusei,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.3, vol. 9, pp. 244–253.

(55.) Sources from these years constantly refer to the role of the consular police in “building the New East Asian Order” (shin tō-A chitsujō kensetsu). Additional details related to overall consular police numbers by December 1937 can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku: Tō-A kyoku, 4: 109–196.

(56.) Excellent examinations of the complex logic of consequences related to the 1937 abolition of extraterritoriality in Manzhouguo include Soejima Shōichi, “‘Manshūkoku’ tōchi to chigai hōken teppai,” in ‘Manshūkoku’ no kenkyū, ed. Yamamoto Yūzō (Tokyo: Ryokuin shobō, 1995), 131–155; Tanaka Ryūichi, “Tairistu to tōgō no ‘Sen-Man’ kankei: ‘naisen ittai,’ ‘gozoku kyōwa,’ Sen-Man ichinyo no shosō,” Historia 152 (September 1996): 106–132, and “[Manshūkoku] to Nihon no teikoku shihai: sono hōronteki tankyū,” Rekishi kagaku 173 (June 2003): 13–22; Shin Kyu-seop, “Zai Man Chōsenjin no ‘Manshūkoku’ kan oyobi ‘Nihon teikoku,’” Chōsenshi kenkyūkai ronbunshū 38 (October 2000): 93–121.

(p.195) (57.) “Zen Man Gaimushō shochō kaigi jōkyō no ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.3, vol. 9, pp. 282–306.

(58.) “Showa 12 nen Manshūkoku ni okeru chigai hōken teppai ni tomonau keisatsukan ijō,” ibid., 352–374.

(61.) The motivations for abolishing extraterritoriality in Manzhouguo are also discussed by Hyun Ok Park in Two Dreams in One Bed: Empire, Social Life, and the Origins of the North Korean Revolution in Manchuria (Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press, 2005), 137–138, although the author consistently gives the incorrect date of 1935 for the year in which it took place.

(62.) “Shina jihen ni kanshi Ōe keibuchō no kuntatsu,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2, vol. 34, p. 437.

(63.) “Hoku Shi keisatsu kakujū ni kansuru setsumeisho,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, pp. 74–92.

(64.) Kobayashi Motohiro, “Tenshin no naka no Nihon shakai,” in Tenshinshi: saisei suru toshi no toporojii, ed. Tenshin chiikishi kenkyūkai (Tokyo: Tōhō shoten, 1999), 200.

(65.) “Showa 13 nen 6 gatsu hoku-Shi keimubu no setsubi oyobi dō kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1 vol. 28, pp. 11–19. See also Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron,” 23–25, as well as Ogino, Gaimushō keisatsushi, 746–755.

(67.) Ibid., 21–63.

(68.) “Showa 14 nen hoku-Shi keimubu no kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, 108–110; “Showa 15 nen hoku-Shi keimubu no kiji,” ibid., pp. 221–223.

(69.) See Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” 148–152, as well as Ogino, Gaimushō keisatsushi, 797–807. The evolution of Chinese police forces and the Shanghai Municipal Police in occupied Shanghai is described well in Frederic Wakeman, “Urban Controls in Wartime Shanghai,” in Wen-hsin Yeh, ed., Wartime Shanghai, (London, Routledge, 1998), 133–156.

(70.) “Keimubu setsubi hō ni kansuru kyōgikai kaisai hō ni kansuru ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 140–145. Also see Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron,” 23–25.

(71.) “Chū-Shi keimubu no setchi ni tsuite,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 152–153.

(72.) “Showa 14 nen 10 gatsu yori dō 12 gatsu itaru made no kiji (keimubuin ni tai suru keimubuchō kunju),” ibid., 153–154.

(73.) “Kanka keisatsu shokuin haichi tōkeihyō,” ibid., 253.

(74.) “Showa 15 nen chu no kiji,” ibid., 196.

(75.) Ibid., 203–204. Additional details concerning the establishment of (p.196) the Central China Police Bureau as well as other issues in 1938 can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku, 6:84–176.

(76.) “Dai ikkai chū-Shi keimubu kanka kōtō shunin kaig roku,” in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, 26:318–319. For an overview of consular police activities in Shanghai after 1940, see Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” 155–156.

(77.) Ibid., 346–352.

(78.) Ibid., 352–357.

(79.) “Hoku-Shi chihō ni okeru yōshisatsu (yōgisha o fukumu) Chōsenjin no jōkyō” (June 1939), in Shōwa shisō tōsei shi shiryō, vol. 22: Chūgoku jōsei hen, ed. Okudaira Yasuhiro (Tokyo: Seikatsusha, 1981), 160–291. The lists themselves are fascinating for what they reveal about just which Korean residents fell under the surveillance of the consular police in occupied China. The suspects identified by name included people labeled as nationalists, Communists, independence activists, revolutionaries, anarchists, and the like. They were also identified by occupation, which included doctors, clergymen, journalists, shopkeepers, students, printers, restaurateurs, teachers, innkeepers, and pharmacists.

(80.) Ibid., 163–164. For the perspective of the metropolitan police on the problem of Korean independence activists in occupied China, especially Kim Ku and Kim Wŏnbong, see Shihōshō keijikyoku, “Chūka minkoku ni okeru Chōsen dokuritsu undō no shin tenkai,” Shisō geppō (October 1939), 379–389; “Zai Shi Chōsenjin no han-Nichi undō ni kan suru chōsa,” Shisō geppō (November 1940), 1–22; “Ka-hoku ni okeru Chōsenjin mondai,” Shisō geppō (November–December 1942), 189–222.

(81.) “Showa 14 nenjū zai Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsushō keisatsu jimu hōkoku,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, p. 183.

(82.) “Hoku-Shi keisatsushōchō kaigi ni okeru kunju,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, p. 98.

(83.) “Nentō no kotoba,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, pp. 214–217.

(84.) “Zai hoku-Shi sayūyokukei dantai shinshutsu jōkyō oyobi shidō renraku keitō zuhyō” (May 1939), in Okudaira, ed., Shōwa shisō tōseishi shiryō, 22:158–159.

(85.) “Shisō torishimari narabini yōshisatsubito chōsahyō,” part of a larger report entitled “Man-Shi ni okeru yōshisatsu, yōchūijin chōsahyō,” in Okudaira, ed., Shōwa shisō tōseishi shiryō, 22:295–373.

(86.) “Shōwa 15 nenchū no kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 209–211.

(88.) Ching-chih Chen points out that formal colonial authorities went to great lengths to discipline officers engaged in unlawful behavior; see his “Police and Community Control Systems in the Empire,” 238. As for the consular (p.197) police, a year-end report filed by the Tianjin consular police department in December 1930 claimed that consular police officers needed to better their “moral” training in order to help them resist the temptation of accepting bribes from local Japanese residents engaged in illicit activities such as smuggling drugs and other contraband. See “Showa 5 nen Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsu jimu jōkyō,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.1, vol. 34, pp. 207–209.

(89.) Shimizu Shigeo, “Jihen ka ni okeru kokunai shisō undō sono hoka” (October 1938), in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, vol. 19, sec. 9–5, pp. 165–175. Shimizu was a public security section chief in the Home Ministry Police Bureau. He produced this report as a representative member of a larger policy study group called the Nihon gaikō kyōkai.

(90.) John Dower, “Sensational Rumors, Seditious Graffiti and the Nightmares of the Thought Police,” in Japan in War and Peace, ed. John Dower (New York: The New Press, 1995), 101–154.

(91.) Shihōshō keijikyoku, “Shina jihen boppatsugo no kokunai ni okeru hansen nado bunsho ni kan suru chōsa,” Shisō geppō (September 1938), 1–23.

(92.) For a brief description of Hasegawa’s wartime activities, see Barak Kushner, The Thought War: Japanese Imperial Propaganda (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 144–146.

(93.) My familiarity with this remarkable letter entitled “Chūgoku no shōri wa zen Ajia no ashita e no kagi de aru” is based on versions of it found in four sources: Hasegawa Teru, (Takasugi Ichirō, trans.), Arashi no naka no sasayaki (Tokyo: Shinhyōron, 1980), 153–158; Miyamoto Masao, ed., Hasegawa Teru sakuhinshū: hansen esuperanchisuto (Tokyo: Akishobō, 1979), 127–130; Takasugi Ichirō, Chūgoku no midori no hoshi (Tokyo: Asahi shinbunsha, 1980), 80–85; and Tone Kōichi, Teru no shōgai (Tokyo: Yōbunsha, 1969), 30–36.

(94.) Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, “zai Han Hōjin kyōsanshugi Kaji Wataru no ensetsu ‘Nihonjinmin no hansen undō no igi’ ni kan suru ken,” Shisō geppō (October 1938), 195–207. Similarly, Japanese representative to the Comintern Nosaka Sanzō elaborated on like-minded themes in an essay entitled “The China War and the Japanese People” printed in a Moscow-based communist newspaper in October 1938. See Keishi sōkan, “‘Shina no sensō to Nihonjinmin’ to dai shi cominterun Nihon taihyō Okano no kikō seru cominterun kikanshi kiji ni kan suru ken,” Shisō geppō (January 1939), 191–212. A number of fascinating works on the antiwar activities of Japanese citizens and POWs in China have appeared in recent years. See, for example, Fuji-wara Akira and Himeta Mitsuyoshi, eds., Nit-Chū sensō ka Chūgoku ni okeru Nihonjin no hansen katsudō (Tokyo: Aoki shoten, 1999), and Kikuchi Kazutaka, Nihonjin hansen heishi to Nit-Chū sensō: Jūkei kokumin seifu chiki no horyo shūyōjo to kanren sasete (Tokyo: Ochanomizu shobō, 2003). On Hasegawa Teru in particular, see Hasegawa Teru henshū iinkai, eds., Hasegawa Teru: Nit-Chū sensō ka de hansen hōsō shita Nihon josei (Osaka: Seseragi shuppan, 2007).

(p.198) (95.) An excellent collection of essays on the complex dynamics of Pan-Asian thought and activism is Sven Saaler and J. Victor Koschmann, eds., Pan-Asianism in Modern Japanese History (New York: Routledge, 2007).

(96.) This is the definition provided by Kajikawa in Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 140.

(97.) “Showa 12 nen senbu kōsaku sanka,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–18.2, vol. 43, p. 83.

(98.) “Showa 12 nen senbu kōsaku sanka,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2, vol. 34, pp. 478–479. An excellent collection of documents describing Imperial Army “pacification operations” (senbu kōsaku) is Inoue Hisashi, ed., Kachū senbu kōsaku shiryō, vol. 13 of Jū-go nen sensō gokuhi shiryōshū (Tokyo: Fuji shuppan, 1989). In his wonderful book Collaboration: Japanese Agents and Local Elites in Wartime China, Timothy Brook describes the senbu operations of the Army’s Special Services Department (SSD), or Tokumubu. Brook draws heavily from the above-cited volume edited by Inoue.

(99.) Kajikawa, Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 140. Additional details on the nature of “senbu” activities and other issues related to consular police actions during the months following the China Incident can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku, 4:609–635.

(100.) Kajikawa, Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 141. Ironically, “reformed” Japanese leftists with China experience also made effective senbu agents. Nishizato Tatsuo, for example, who returned to Shanghai after the military conquest of the city in 1937 to write for the Yomiuri shinbun, was actually asked by a local military intelligence chief to assist in senbu operations in the area, as the military was in dire need of Japanese with adequate Chinese-language ability. “Are you aware that I was once convicted for thought crimes?” Nishizato asked when approached to take part in the task. “We know that. But, you’re a convert (tenkō), right?” the officer replied. “Yes, since some time ago,” Nishizato responded. “Right, so won’t you help us out here?” the officer quipped. See Nishizato Tatsuo, Kakumei no Shanhai de: Aru Nihonjin Chūgoku kyōsantōin no kiroku, (Tokyo: Nit-Chū shuppan, 1977), 210.

(101.) “Shanhai ni okeru kō-Nichi tero bunshi no katsudō jōkyō” (October 1940), in Shihōshō keijikyoku, Shisō jōsei shisatsu hōkokushū, reprinted in Shakai mondai shiryō sōsho (Kyoto: Tōyō bunkasha, 1977), 19–44.

(p.195) (57.) “Zen Man Gaimushō shochō kaigi jōkyō no ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 3–4.3, vol. 9, pp. 282–306.

(58.) “Showa 12 nen Manshūkoku ni okeru chigai hōken teppai ni tomonau keisatsukan ijō,” ibid., 352–374.

(61.) The motivations for abolishing extraterritoriality in Manzhouguo are also discussed by Hyun Ok Park in Two Dreams in One Bed: Empire, Social Life, and the Origins of the North Korean Revolution in Manchuria (Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press, 2005), 137–138, although the author consistently gives the incorrect date of 1935 for the year in which it took place.

(62.) “Shina jihen ni kanshi Ōe keibuchō no kuntatsu,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2, vol. 34, p. 437.

(63.) “Hoku Shi keisatsu kakujū ni kansuru setsumeisho,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, pp. 74–92.

(64.) Kobayashi Motohiro, “Tenshin no naka no Nihon shakai,” in Tenshinshi: saisei suru toshi no toporojii, ed. Tenshin chiikishi kenkyūkai (Tokyo: Tōhō shoten, 1999), 200.

(65.) “Showa 13 nen 6 gatsu hoku-Shi keimubu no setsubi oyobi dō kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1 vol. 28, pp. 11–19. See also Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron,” 23–25, as well as Ogino, Gaimushō keisatsushi, 746–755.

(67.) Ibid., 21–63.

(68.) “Showa 14 nen hoku-Shi keimubu no kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, 108–110; “Showa 15 nen hoku-Shi keimubu no kiji,” ibid., pp. 221–223.

(69.) See Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” 148–152, as well as Ogino, Gaimushō keisatsushi, 797–807. The evolution of Chinese police forces and the Shanghai Municipal Police in occupied Shanghai is described well in Frederic Wakeman, “Urban Controls in Wartime Shanghai,” in Wen-hsin Yeh, ed., Wartime Shanghai, (London, Routledge, 1998), 133–156.

(70.) “Keimubu setsubi hō ni kansuru kyōgikai kaisai hō ni kansuru ken,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 140–145. Also see Ogino, “Gaimushō keisatsu ron,” 23–25.

(71.) “Chū-Shi keimubu no setchi ni tsuite,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 152–153.

(72.) “Showa 14 nen 10 gatsu yori dō 12 gatsu itaru made no kiji (keimubuin ni tai suru keimubuchō kunju),” ibid., 153–154.

(73.) “Kanka keisatsu shokuin haichi tōkeihyō,” ibid., 253.

(74.) “Showa 15 nen chu no kiji,” ibid., 196.

(75.) Ibid., 203–204. Additional details concerning the establishment of (p.196) the Central China Police Bureau as well as other issues in 1938 can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku, 6:84–176.

(76.) “Dai ikkai chū-Shi keimubu kanka kōtō shunin kaig roku,” in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, 26:318–319. For an overview of consular police activities in Shanghai after 1940, see Son Ansok, “Nit-Chū sensōki ni okeru Shanhai sōryōjikan keisatsu,” 155–156.

(77.) Ibid., 346–352.

(78.) Ibid., 352–357.

(79.) “Hoku-Shi chihō ni okeru yōshisatsu (yōgisha o fukumu) Chōsenjin no jōkyō” (June 1939), in Shōwa shisō tōsei shi shiryō, vol. 22: Chūgoku jōsei hen, ed. Okudaira Yasuhiro (Tokyo: Seikatsusha, 1981), 160–291. The lists themselves are fascinating for what they reveal about just which Korean residents fell under the surveillance of the consular police in occupied China. The suspects identified by name included people labeled as nationalists, Communists, independence activists, revolutionaries, anarchists, and the like. They were also identified by occupation, which included doctors, clergymen, journalists, shopkeepers, students, printers, restaurateurs, teachers, innkeepers, and pharmacists.

(80.) Ibid., 163–164. For the perspective of the metropolitan police on the problem of Korean independence activists in occupied China, especially Kim Ku and Kim Wŏnbong, see Shihōshō keijikyoku, “Chūka minkoku ni okeru Chōsen dokuritsu undō no shin tenkai,” Shisō geppō (October 1939), 379–389; “Zai Shi Chōsenjin no han-Nichi undō ni kan suru chōsa,” Shisō geppō (November 1940), 1–22; “Ka-hoku ni okeru Chōsenjin mondai,” Shisō geppō (November–December 1942), 189–222.

(81.) “Showa 14 nenjū zai Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsushō keisatsu jimu hōkoku,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, p. 183.

(82.) “Hoku-Shi keisatsushōchō kaigi ni okeru kunju,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, p. 98.

(83.) “Nentō no kotoba,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.3, vol. 35, pp. 214–217.

(84.) “Zai hoku-Shi sayūyokukei dantai shinshutsu jōkyō oyobi shidō renraku keitō zuhyō” (May 1939), in Okudaira, ed., Shōwa shisō tōseishi shiryō, 22:158–159.

(85.) “Shisō torishimari narabini yōshisatsubito chōsahyō,” part of a larger report entitled “Man-Shi ni okeru yōshisatsu, yōchūijin chōsahyō,” in Okudaira, ed., Shōwa shisō tōseishi shiryō, 22:295–373.

(86.) “Shōwa 15 nenchū no kiji,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–17, vol. 41, pp. 209–211.

(88.) Ching-chih Chen points out that formal colonial authorities went to great lengths to discipline officers engaged in unlawful behavior; see his “Police and Community Control Systems in the Empire,” 238. As for the consular (p.197) police, a year-end report filed by the Tianjin consular police department in December 1930 claimed that consular police officers needed to better their “moral” training in order to help them resist the temptation of accepting bribes from local Japanese residents engaged in illicit activities such as smuggling drugs and other contraband. See “Showa 5 nen Tenshin sōryōjikan keisatsu jimu jōkyō,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.1, vol. 34, pp. 207–209.

(89.) Shimizu Shigeo, “Jihen ka ni okeru kokunai shisō undō sono hoka” (October 1938), in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, vol. 19, sec. 9–5, pp. 165–175. Shimizu was a public security section chief in the Home Ministry Police Bureau. He produced this report as a representative member of a larger policy study group called the Nihon gaikō kyōkai.

(90.) John Dower, “Sensational Rumors, Seditious Graffiti and the Nightmares of the Thought Police,” in Japan in War and Peace, ed. John Dower (New York: The New Press, 1995), 101–154.

(91.) Shihōshō keijikyoku, “Shina jihen boppatsugo no kokunai ni okeru hansen nado bunsho ni kan suru chōsa,” Shisō geppō (September 1938), 1–23.

(92.) For a brief description of Hasegawa’s wartime activities, see Barak Kushner, The Thought War: Japanese Imperial Propaganda (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), 144–146.

(93.) My familiarity with this remarkable letter entitled “Chūgoku no shōri wa zen Ajia no ashita e no kagi de aru” is based on versions of it found in four sources: Hasegawa Teru, (Takasugi Ichirō, trans.), Arashi no naka no sasayaki (Tokyo: Shinhyōron, 1980), 153–158; Miyamoto Masao, ed., Hasegawa Teru sakuhinshū: hansen esuperanchisuto (Tokyo: Akishobō, 1979), 127–130; Takasugi Ichirō, Chūgoku no midori no hoshi (Tokyo: Asahi shinbunsha, 1980), 80–85; and Tone Kōichi, Teru no shōgai (Tokyo: Yōbunsha, 1969), 30–36.

(94.) Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, “zai Han Hōjin kyōsanshugi Kaji Wataru no ensetsu ‘Nihonjinmin no hansen undō no igi’ ni kan suru ken,” Shisō geppō (October 1938), 195–207. Similarly, Japanese representative to the Comintern Nosaka Sanzō elaborated on like-minded themes in an essay entitled “The China War and the Japanese People” printed in a Moscow-based communist newspaper in October 1938. See Keishi sōkan, “‘Shina no sensō to Nihonjinmin’ to dai shi cominterun Nihon taihyō Okano no kikō seru cominterun kikanshi kiji ni kan suru ken,” Shisō geppō (January 1939), 191–212. A number of fascinating works on the antiwar activities of Japanese citizens and POWs in China have appeared in recent years. See, for example, Fuji-wara Akira and Himeta Mitsuyoshi, eds., Nit-Chū sensō ka Chūgoku ni okeru Nihonjin no hansen katsudō (Tokyo: Aoki shoten, 1999), and Kikuchi Kazutaka, Nihonjin hansen heishi to Nit-Chū sensō: Jūkei kokumin seifu chiki no horyo shūyōjo to kanren sasete (Tokyo: Ochanomizu shobō, 2003). On Hasegawa Teru in particular, see Hasegawa Teru henshū iinkai, eds., Hasegawa Teru: Nit-Chū sensō ka de hansen hōsō shita Nihon josei (Osaka: Seseragi shuppan, 2007).

(p.198) (95.) An excellent collection of essays on the complex dynamics of Pan-Asian thought and activism is Sven Saaler and J. Victor Koschmann, eds., Pan-Asianism in Modern Japanese History (New York: Routledge, 2007).

(96.) This is the definition provided by Kajikawa in Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 140.

(97.) “Showa 12 nen senbu kōsaku sanka,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–18.2, vol. 43, p. 83.

(98.) “Showa 12 nen senbu kōsaku sanka,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–9.2, vol. 34, pp. 478–479. An excellent collection of documents describing Imperial Army “pacification operations” (senbu kōsaku) is Inoue Hisashi, ed., Kachū senbu kōsaku shiryō, vol. 13 of Jū-go nen sensō gokuhi shiryōshū (Tokyo: Fuji shuppan, 1989). In his wonderful book Collaboration: Japanese Agents and Local Elites in Wartime China, Timothy Brook describes the senbu operations of the Army’s Special Services Department (SSD), or Tokumubu. Brook draws heavily from the above-cited volume edited by Inoue.

(99.) Kajikawa, Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 140. Additional details on the nature of “senbu” activities and other issues related to consular police actions during the months following the China Incident can be found in Gaimushō Tō-A kyoku, Gaimushō shitsumu hōkoku, 4:609–635.

(100.) Kajikawa, Gaimushō keisatsu ryakushi, 141. Ironically, “reformed” Japanese leftists with China experience also made effective senbu agents. Nishizato Tatsuo, for example, who returned to Shanghai after the military conquest of the city in 1937 to write for the Yomiuri shinbun, was actually asked by a local military intelligence chief to assist in senbu operations in the area, as the military was in dire need of Japanese with adequate Chinese-language ability. “Are you aware that I was once convicted for thought crimes?” Nishizato asked when approached to take part in the task. “We know that. But, you’re a convert (tenkō), right?” the officer replied. “Yes, since some time ago,” Nishizato responded. “Right, so won’t you help us out here?” the officer quipped. See Nishizato Tatsuo, Kakumei no Shanhai de: Aru Nihonjin Chūgoku kyōsantōin no kiroku, (Tokyo: Nit-Chū shuppan, 1977), 210.

(101.) “Shanhai ni okeru kō-Nichi tero bunshi no katsudō jōkyō” (October 1940), in Shihōshō keijikyoku, Shisō jōsei shisatsu hōkokushū, reprinted in Shakai mondai shiryō sōsho (Kyoto: Tōyō bunkasha, 1977), 19–44.

(102.) “Hoku Shi keisatsu kakujū ni kansuru setsumeisho,” Gaimushō keisatsushi, sec. 5–1, vol. 28, pp. 78–79.

(105.) Ibid., 182–184.

(106.) Zai-Shanhai Nihon taishikan chū-Shi keimubu, “Chū-Shi ryōjikan keisatsushōchō kaigiroku” (January 1940), in Foreign Affairs’ Documents, (p.199) 1914–1945, ed. Gaimushō (Washington, DC: Library of Congress Photoduplication Service, 1970), 170–184. There is also a short collection of reports from the Shanghai Consulate-General regarding consular police involvement with “comfort stations” in Josei no tame no Ajia heiwa kokumin kikin, ed., Seifu chōsa ‘jūgun ianfu’ kankei shiryō shūsei (Tokyo: Ryūkei shosha, 1997), 1:431–486. George Hicks also claims, for example, that in 1938 Japanese consular police in Nanjing managed prostitution centers serving civilians, but he does not cite a specific document as evidence. See George Hicks, The Comfort Women: Japan’s Brutal Regime of Enforced Prostitution in the Second World War (New York: Norton, 1994), 226.

(107.) “Hoku-Shi kōtō shunin kaigiroku,” in Ogino, ed., Tokkō keisatsu kankei shiryō shūsei, 26:259–260. A large portion of the minutes from this conference include summarized reports on conditions in the localities. The details are categorized under several headings: operational conditions, espionage activities and spies, relations with other local institutions, miscellaneous matters. In addition to the local reports, another section of the conference notes deal with general investigations into several large problem areas: Japanese and Koreans under surveillance, political goals and local handiwork of Chinese Communists, international communist collaboration, banditry and local popular sentiments (see 260–285, passim). For another reproduction of meeting notes from a North China police chief conference, see Hoku-Shi ryōjikan keisatsushochō kaigiroku, in Awaya Kentarō and Chadani Seiichi, eds., Nit-Chu sensō tai Chūgoku jōhō sen shiryō (Tokyo: Gendai shiryō shuppan, 2000), 3–349.

(111.) Kobayashi Motohiro, “Drug Operations by Resident Japanese in Tianjin,” 163–164. For an overview of narcotics in the Japanese empire, see John Jennings, The Opium Empire: Japanese Imperialism and Drug Trafficking in Asia, 1895–1945 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997).

(112.) One major weakness of the Gaimushō keisatsushi as a body of historical source materials is the paucity of extant documentation related to the transformation of Foreign Ministry police into Greater East Asia Ministry police in 1942 and the record of their subsequent activities until the end of the war.

(113.) For discussion of these changes, see Brooks, Japan’s Imperial Diplomacy, 195–206.

(116.) Nakagawa Yū, “Gaimushō keisatsu to watashi,” in Wada Izumi, ed., Gaimushō keisatsu, (Ueda, 1981), 1.

(117.) On the matter of consular police as prison guards, see Greg Leck, Captives of Empire: The Japanese Internment of Allied Civilians in China, 1941–1945. Mr. Leck contacted me by E-mail during the summer of 2005 to (p.200) ask about my research on the consular police. In his own studies, he had come across evidence of consular police working in Japanese prison camps holding Allied civilians in China. I do not know what Leck’s academic credentials are, and I have not read his book. It is being privately marketed, however, so I assume it has not been subjected to any kind of peer review.

(120.) Gaimushō keisatsushi (microfilm version), section SP 205–3, frame 3477. Kajikawa Masakatsu included this song in his work, but he curiously left out one of the verses. The original as it appears in the Gaimushō keisatsushi is therefore the source for this translation.

(121.) Kajikawa, Gaimushō keisatsu rykaushi, 271, 274–275. This final song is not included in the Gaimushō keisatsushi, but it is a part of Kajikawa’s history. He explains that this “phantom version” of the original “Gaimushō keisatsu ka” was written in 1939 by an army general, but it never completely replaced the original version composed by Consul Iwasaki six years earlier. All of these themes, such as the phrase “one hundred million of the Yamato race” (yamato minzoku ichioku), have been explored by John Dower and Louise Young in their respective works on wartime culture. See John Dower, War without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986), 208–215; Louise Young, Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 88–95.

(122.) Richard H. Mitchell, Janus-Faced Justice: Political Criminals in Imperial Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1992), 161.