Coffee With Hideki Tojo’s Grave Keeper

Situated atop Mt. Sangane, in a remote cemetery deep in Aichi, is one of three locations where the ashes of former wartime Prime Minister Hideki Tojo are interred, along with those of seven other so-called war criminals.

I visited the site yesterday to have coffee with a friend of mine who has served as its caretaker for nearly forty years. He and his lovely wife greeted me, and together we chatted over a cup of coffee after arranging white flowers on each of the epitaphs and tombstones.

When everything was finished, I took a few photographs.

Tojo’s ashes were divided among three locations: Yasukuni Shrine, Zoshigaya Cemetery, and Hazu in Aichi Prefecture.

Hazu, a small town of roughly 12,000 people, does not publicly list the exact location of the grave site — and that discretion feels intentional.

According to General Douglas MacArthur’s postwar directives, Tojo’s remains were to be scattered and placed in unmarked graves. That order was only partially carried out.

The episode raises a larger question.

What happens to mandates imposed by an occupying authority once the occupation ends?

At what point does a society reassess externally imposed decisions — not out of defiance, but as a matter of sovereignty and institutional maturity?

Postwar constitutions, legal frameworks, and historical settlements often begin under extraordinary conditions.

Over time, the question becomes whether they remain instruments of external design — or evolve into expressions of internal consent.

The management of memory is rarely just about the past.

It is also about who ultimately decides the terms of continuity.

                 



                    ( the picture on the wall is a photo he took of Tojo and his family)





(pictured below on the phone he was expecting 8 guest from somewhere to discuss business related to Tojo. At this point it was time for me to  head back to Nagoya).

There was a light overcast and thick fog the day I drove up the mountain. The long, winding road felt eerie that afternoon, with no visible signs or landmarks in sight.

I was alone on the trip. I had left my girlfriend back in Nagoya.

After reaching the top of the mountain, my car’s navigation system stopped transmitting data. A “No Data” message flashed repeatedly before the screen went completely blank.

There were no signs and no one around for miles, it seemed.

Eventually, I managed to flag down what appeared to be a construction worker for assistance. He pointed me in the right direction and warned me to be careful — there are no signs leading to Tojo’s memorial.

After reaching my turn, I drove down a very steep hill. At that point, as I continued driving, all I could see were faint outlines of trees and a narrow concrete road in poor condition.

Suddenly, a small van came into view as I approached the entrance. I parked beside it, got out, and looked around for a moment.

The first thing I noticed was a large monument inscribed with the names of men whose lives were said to have been sacrificed for the nation. I knew then that I was in the right place.

I turned my head and saw a long flight of stairs leading up to a large gravestone. As I approached, I noticed a man standing nearby, watering the flowers.

I climbed the stairs and drew closer. He greeted me in English with a warm smile and asked where I was from.

“America,” I replied.

His gaze dropped to the ground. It was as if something in him had shifted at the sound of the word. Without saying anything further, he resumed tending to the flowers, as though I were no longer there.

Sensing the abrupt change in tone, I quietly made my way around the other parts of the small cemetery..





There were so many generals who had to accept their fate upon the altar of sacrifice for so little in return from such an ungrateful people and white worshippers.




One thing that stood out amongst the many monumental tombstones was an airplane engine far off in a patch of grass out of plain view.    As I stood there trying to figure out how it had got there that same guy approached me - the caretaker.  He had explained to me that the engine was from an American B-29 bomber that was shot down somewhere around Shizuoka during the war.   Now, I have a faint recollection of a story about a bomber that was shot down around that area sixty ago. If my memory services me correctly those pilots were summarily executed by beheading - not sure if there were any survivors.





In my opinion, the pilots got what they had deserved for even attempting a strike of this magnitude on a civilian population. These bomber pilots were/are still criminals in my book and they were tried accordingly.    Too bad Paul Tibbets, or little tidbits,  was spared the heavy hand of judgement for the crime of loosing the atomic bomb on civilian targets.     Never intermingle the crimes of a white nation with negroes duty to country.     Negro soldiers had no business over in the Pacific fighting Tojo when they had no rights back home.





Afterwards, this gentleman invited me to his house for coffee. I accepted his invitation and we drove together to his place where I met his lovely wife. She brought out some coffee and some sweets for us to enjoy while overlooking the panoramic scenes from his balcony of the Hacho plains and hilly areas.  The war debt of this nation is immense, yet, hardly any Japanese know about the existence of such a place.   In August the few millions will throng to Yasukuni to pay respects to their fallen and they will reflect on the meaning of war and sacrifice.    There were many honorable mentions on the tombstones that were translated, but I chose to leave them resting in peace.   I suppose some of them would rather be forgotten so that they can rest in peace.





The surrounding areas around Sangane Mountains are all so very quiet and peaceful. There is so much lush greenery and flora all over the place. Most of the mountainous area is unspoiled and peaceful, so maybe it's a good thing that this area is not listed. For awhile I thought I should write down specific instructions on how to get here, but in order to keep this place sacred, some things are better left kept as they are. There's no need to advertise this place. I like it this way best. I hope I am the last foreigner to visit here.





A couple more pics. .