Kamikaze reunion.
It sounds like the beginning of a joke. But it was a real thing and somehow I got to see it.
I was out taking pictures and ended up at the Kochi airport. Saw a group of older men, one holding a Japanese battle flag, and asked if I could photograph. Surprisingly, to me anyway, they were OK with it. The flag was to help other men flying into the airport find the group for their reunion. Between their patience and my fractured Japanese, I was able to suss out that in the waning days of World War 2, they had all trained to ram boats filled with explosives into American ships. Kamikaze, but boats instead of planes.
And they had been ready. Waiting for their deployments. Having made peace with their violent deaths as the inevitable conclusion to their lives, a fulfillment of their fundamental purpose as soldiers and as men.
But then the war ended.
And suddenly they had lives to fill.
As a middle age (plus) American, this seems like a reprieve.
But, for a 19-year old, ready to die for their country, young, beautiful and idealistic…. high on amphetamines and Bushido… and to then get your life handed back to you, 50 years to fill in a defeated country that would rather forget you… waiting for a lifetime for what you’d already accepted. I’d imagine some of these men killed themselves rather than be a living punchline.
But these men didn’t. And here they were.
06/14/2023