The war was a happy experience for Kunichika, so his story goes.
Yet it is not difficult, if you bother to read old newspaper reports and books on the Occupation, to piece together what Kunichika did when he got to the Valley. It is not difficult to know why his other nickname, the one given to him by the ordinary people of the Valley, was the Demon of Kampar.
Kunichika did not think like a soldier. He had other ways to fight a war, ways more dangerous than bayonets and bullets. The very first thing he did was to send his agents across the Valley with bundles of cash. They used it to pay for information: who was a Communist, who was in touch with British officers still in the jungle, who was planning a movement against the Japanese. Above all, Kunichika wanted to find out who was the most influential man in the Valley. He knew such a man could be of immense help to him. It took just two days for his men to return with an answer.
Johnny had been waiting for this moment for many months. He wanted to be found; he wanted to be taken to the head of the dreaded Kempeitai. Just as Kunichika had decided, long before he reached these new shores, what he would do if ever he was in this position, Johnny knew too what his own course of action would be. The two men were destined to find each other. Their first meeting had already taken place in their minds, many times over. When Johnny walked into the room and saw Kunichika, he felt comfortable, as if he had known the other man for many years. Kunichika smiled and Johnny bowed slightly. Kunichika knew that he had found the man who could help him achieve everything he wanted. An offer was made and accepted. There was never any doubt as to this outcome. There was no bargaining, no hesitation, no need even to shake hands. For Johnny the price had never been so right.
Johnny called a meeting of the most important men in the Valley. He told them that they had a duty to protect the interests of the people, and that it was up to them to ensure that the Valley survived the Occupation with minimum damage. He had thought about it long and hard, and had come to a difficult conclusion. There were no easy options in war. They had to get on the right side of the Japanese. They had to flatter, placate, and please in order to deceive and survive. They had to accept that the British were gone and the Japanese were their new masters.
The room fell silent.
It is not easy to explain the turmoil that must have ravaged these men’s minds; it is not easy to explain the history of the Chinese and the Japanese. Even I, a man who, as a child, sat on the laps of Japanese generals who fed me boiled rice porridge spoonful by spoonful — even I am aware of the centuries of enmity. Most of these men never thought the day would come when they would have to make such decisions. Some of them refused to believe the state their country was in. The British, they thought, would be back in a few weeks and restore order. But the British did not come back. With every passing day the memory of the country they once knew receded further into the past, and they began to doubt whether they would ever see it again. In this whirlpool of despair and confusion they had no choice but to acquiesce, to defer to the one man who seemed to know exactly what to do.
Johnny instructed these men to collect taxes from the people in their respective parts of the Valley. They were to tax whatever they could: tin, rubber, palm oil, rice, barley, whisky, salt fish, chilli sauce, fermented anchovies — anything. Authority to do so came directly from the Imperial Japanese Army. In the first year of the Occupation alone, the people of the Valley paid $70 million in taxes. This was used by the Japanese to build new fighter planes. If I were a better mathematician I could tell you how much this would be worth today, or how many jumbo jets it would buy. Very many, I am sure.
