Cold Open

It’s the night of March 9th, 1945, in Tokyo, Japan, five and a half years into World War II.

Inside his home, 12-year-old Saotome Katsumoto stirs in bed. His father’s hands, rough and urgent, shake him from sleep. Saotome begins to groan in protest, but he stops short as the sinister sound of warplanes cuts through the night.

The noise is familiar. In the last month, several American air raids have ravaged Tokyo, targeting the city’s industry and morale. But tonight, the drone overhead is different — it’s much stronger.

Saotome and his father move swiftly, piling a few of their most prized possessions onto a cart. Then, quickly, they step out into the night.

All around them, Tokyo is burning. Saotome and his father join a stream of residents scrambling for the safety of a nearby riverbank. And as they push their way through the streets, Saotome looks upward. The smoke in the sky clears for a moment, and he can see the American bombers flying lower than he’s ever seen them before. Screams ring out around him as the aircraft bellies open and a torrent of bombs plunges toward the ground.

As explosions tear the neighborhood apart, Saotome feels the hands of his father on his back, pushing him forward – past burning rooftops and screaming neighbors, past entire city blocks disappearing into flame.

The next morning, Saotome Katsumoto and his father will return home to find their house badly charred but still standing. Many others will not be so lucky. The previous night's attack will be the single most destructive bombing raid in history. 100,000 civilians will be left dead, a million more will be homeless, and 16 square miles of Tokyo will be reduced to ruins.

Among the losses will be the famous cherry trees that have bloomed in the city every spring for centuries. But a decade later, the blossoms will start to return, revived courtesy of an old gift from the Japanese to the very country responsible for the bombing raid, a show of friendship made long before World War II, on March 27th, 1912.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is March 27th, 1912: Friendship Blooms Between Japan and America.

Act One: Rifts

It’s March 27th, 1912, in a park in Washington, DC.

First Lady of the United States Helen Taft and Japanese Viscountess Iwa Chinda kneel beside a small hole in the ground and gently lower a cherry tree sapling into the soil. A round of applause ripples through the crowd of officials and dignitaries as the two women pack the dirt firmly around the tree’s roots.

This tiny sapling may not look like much, but it’s the result of years of delicate diplomacy. Relations between the United States and Japan have been strained for decades. After the US government halted Chinese immigration in 1882, American companies turned to Japan to fill their labor shortages. Pushed by economic stagnation at home and lured by rumors of opportunity abroad, the Japanese crossed the Pacific in their thousands to build new lives in America.

But these Japanese workers soon became targets of resentment. Some white Americans saw them as a threat to jobs and way of life. And in 1907, those tensions erupted into violence. White workers in San Francisco rioted for days, attacking and destroying Japanese businesses. This unrest made headlines back in Tokyo, where public outrage threatened to rupture diplomatic ties with America—and even risk armed conflict.

Recognizing the growing crisis, U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt intervened. Through a quiet, unofficial negotiation, he brokered the Gentlemen’s Agreement of 1907. Roosevelt persuaded Japan to limit the flow of migrants across the Pacific. And in return, San Francisco abandoned its plan to segregate Japanese students in public schools. And then the following year, America and Japan reaffirmed their joint commitment to peace and stability in the Pacific by resolving a long-running territorial dispute.

To mark these diplomatic successes, Japan has just sent the U.S. a very special gift: thousands of precious cherry tree saplings. Cherry trees are an important part of Japanese culture, with their annual bloom symbolizing renewal and the fleeting beauty of life.

Within a few years, the saplings planted beside the Tidal Basin in Washington are thriving. Each spring, their blossoms draw visitors from across the country. And as the trees take root, the relationship between the U.S. and Japan also deepens. When America joins the fighting in World War I in 1917, the two countries even become allies in combat. Yet beneath the surface, tensions remain.

Anti-Asian sentiment is still deeply entrenched in America. On the West Coast, laws restrict Japanese immigrants from owning property, while segregationist policies keep them on the fringes of society. But for many, even these harsh measures don’t go far enough. The Gentlemen’s Agreement of 1907 may have cut Japanese immigration, but it’s failed to satisfy those Americans demanding a total ban.

And amid growing political pressure, the U.S. Congress drafts a new law. The Immigration Act of 1924 moves swiftly through the House and Senate, setting strict quotas on immigration from Europe, and a total ban on Asians. Japanese immigration is cut off entirely.

In Japan, the response is immediate—and furious. Crowds gather in Tokyo to demonstrate against what they see as a national humiliation, and both the Japanese ambassador to the United States and the American ambassador to Japan resign their posts in protest.

Still, the United States refuses to reverse its policy. And in the years that follow, the rift between the U.S. and Japan only widens. During the 1930s, the Japanese government becomes increasingly dominated by its military, and the country’s overseas territorial ambitions begin to alarm U.S. officials.

Yet while the relations between the two nations fray, in Washington, the Japanese cherry trees continue to bloom.

By 1937, the trees are so cherished that plans to remove some of them to make way for the Jefferson Memorial spark outrage. Locals try to sabotage construction, with some even chaining themselves to the trees in protest. The standoff ends only when President Franklin D. Roosevelt himself assures the public that the cherry trees will be transplanted rather than destroyed.

With their future secured, the beauty of the cherry trees continues to offer American citizens a small oasis of calm in the nation’s capital. The rest of the world may be sliding into authoritarianism and war, but under the blossoming branches, it’s possible to forget all that for a moment or two. But even this beacon of tranquility will not last. Soon, the United States and Japan will find themselves on opposite sides of a global conflict, and the cherry trees that once symbolized friendship will become a provocative reminder of a new adversary.

Act Two: Reconciliation

It’s the morning of December 10th, 1941, in Washington DC, two years into World War II.

Joy Cummings rides her horse along the Tidal Basin, the cold morning air sharp against her face. It’s too early for the crowds, so for now, it’s just Joy, her horse, and the cherry trees. Joy appreciates this moment of calm in what’s been a tense week.

For the last two years, war has been raging overseas. On one side are the Allies: Great Britain, France, and the Soviet Union. And on the other are the Axis powers, led by Nazi Germany, Italy, and Japan. Though the United States has been sending increasing amounts of aid to the Allies, it has officially remained neutral in the conflict – until earlier this week.

Three days ago, Japan bombed the U.S. naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. Over the course of two hours, waves of Japanese bombers and fighter planes struck battleships, airfields, and military installations. More than 2,400 Americans were killed, and another 1,000 were wounded.

This surprise attack sent shockwaves of fear and outrage across the nation, and the following day, US President Franklin D. Roosevelt formally declared war on Japan.

So Joy has no idea what the future may hold, but as she rounds a bend, she sees that some Americans have wasted no time in taking revenge on what they consider a symbol of their new enemy.

Cherry tree ranches lie scattered across the ground, and the trunks of several have been hacked in half.

Joy swings down from her saddle and steps forward, gently reaching out to the nearest tree. Large chunks have been gouged out of it and a message has been etched into its bark, reading “To Hell With the Japanese.”

Those behind this vandalism are never identified, but in the eyes of many Americans, their act is hardly a crime. While park officials decry the damage, there are public calls for all of the Japanese cherry trees to be torn up and replaced with a more patriotic, American variety. Though these cherry trees have stood for nearly three decades and brought joy to thousands, some argue they no longer belong in the heart of the nation’s capital if the peace between nations they once symbolized is gone. But these calls go unanswered, but officials do agree to a change in name. For the remainder of the war, the trees are formally referred to as “Oriental” Cherry Trees, instead of Japanese ones.

But the attack on the trees in Washington is just part of a far larger wave of anti-Japanese sentiment that sweeps across America in the wake of Pearl Harbor. As tensions rise, in February of 1942, President Roosevelt signs Executive Order 9066. It mandates that, regardless of citizenship status or length of residence, all Americans with Japanese ancestry are to be rounded up and sent to internment camps. The Japanese are the only nationality targeted in this way—neither German nor Italian Americans face similar restrictions, even though the United States is locked in bitter conflict with both countries.

So Japanese Americans languish behind barbed wire, watched by armed guards, until late in the war. It’s only in December 1944 that the Presidential order is rescinded, and the camps begin to be close. By then, the Allies are on the verge of victory in Europe, and the Japanese Empire is crumbling too. World War II finally comes to an end in September 1945, after the United States drops atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

In the aftermath of the war, the U.S. Army occupies Japan to oversee the country’s demilitarization and transition to democracy. Japan regains its sovereignty in 1952, and most U.S. soldiers then leave the country, but one gift from America stays behind.

Tokyo’s cherry trees suffered devastating damage during the war. But thanks to the healthy trees that still bloom each spring in Washington, DC, America has the perfect stock to help revive them. In 1952, America’s National Park Service sends cuttings from Washington’s trees back to Tokyo. There, they help revitalize the very grove that served as the parent stock of the saplings donated to Washington in 1912.

After decades of tumultuous relations, the United States and Japan will begin rebuilding their friendship. And as the Cold War takes hold, the former enemies will become firm allies. And to solidify their renewed bond, Japan will continue the cycle of gifts between the two countries with another enduring emblem of peace.

Act Three: Remembrance

It’s March 30th, 1954, in the parkland around Washington DC’s Tidal Basin.

Hundreds of American officials and Japanese dignitaries sit on folding chairs beneath the branches of the blooming cherry trees. Facing the crowd is Sadao Iguchi, the Japanese ambassador to the United States. Ambassador Iguchi adjusts his glasses and smiles for a photograph beside a large object cloaked in white fabric.

Then, Ambassador Iguchi grips a rope holding the cloth in place, and with a gentle pull, the sheet slips off, revealing the weathered stone of a three-century-old temple lantern — Japan’s latest gift to the United States.

It’s been nine years since World War II, and despite atrocities endured and inflicted by both sides, the U.S. and Japan have found peace with each other. To celebrate, the Governor of Tokyo has sent this lantern to Washington DC, where it’s been installed beside the first two cherry trees planted in 1912. An ocean away, its twin lantern stands in a public park in Tokyo— and together, the two are symbols of the renewed ties of friendship between America and Japan.

As the white fabric flitters to the ground, the crowd of observers claps the lantern's revealing. Ambassador Iguchi waits for quiet, then he signals for his 24-year-old daughter, Tatsuko, to rise from her seat and join him. One more part of the ceremony needs to be completed.

Tatsuko lights a match, and the ambassador then holds his daughter’s hand as she scales a small wooden stepladder propped against the lantern. Once at the top, Tatsuko leans over, match in hand, and lights a candle sitting inside the stone.

From then on, the lighting of the Japanese lantern will become an annual tradition in Washington, one marking the beginning of the National Cherry Blossom Festival. The allure of the trees and their fleeting springtime beauty will never fade. Over the decades that follow, millions of visitors will flock to see them. And as the years pass, the landscape around the trees will shift. Changes in sea level will require the removal of some, but the vast majority of the cherry trees will remain, standing as they always have, through war and peace, hardship and renewal — their roots reaching back to the day they first arrived as a gift from Japan on March 27th, 1912.

Outro

Next on History Daily. March 28th, 1979. A partial meltdown at Pennsylvania's Three Mile Island power plant unleashes the worst nuclear accident in American history.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mollie Baack.

Supervising Sound Designer is Matthew Filler.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Alexandra Currie-Buckner.

Edited by William Simpson.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.