In 1942–almost 70 years before I joined the unit–my old infantry battalion was a part of the group of American forces that surrendered to the Japanese in the Philippines just six months into World War II and then participated in the Bataan Death March. Numbering 76,000 Americans and Filipinos, there has been no greater United States military surrender in history. During the battle preceding the surrender, my battalion’s former regiment–the 4th Marine Regiment–was responsible for the beach defenses at Corregidor–a small island situated in the entrance to Manila Bay. As the Japanese onslaught reached Corregidor, the malnourished, ill-supplied Americans fought despite facing no incoming American reinforcements. Still the Marines fought. In the face of certain defeat, the Army general in control of the American forces ordered a wholesale surrender. The Marines gathered together and burned their regimental colors to avoid its capture. After falling into Japanese hands, the 4th Marine Regiment’s Marines embarked on the so-called Bataan Death March. By the end of the war–whether from combat action, the Death March, or the following horrors in the prison camps–two-thirds of the 4th Marine Regiment’s officers and the majority of its enlisted Marines were killed.
The tale in my unit was that since the 4th Marine Regiment surrendered and scuttled its regimental colors to avoid them being captured, the regiment could no longer have its regimental headquarters in the United States. The headquarters, the story goes, were relegated to Japan after World War II, and the regiment’s battalions were attached to other regiments. And while the headquarters are indeed in Japan and the regiment’s battalions are attached to other regiments–1/4 to 1st Marine Regiment, 2/4 to 5th, and 3/4 to 7th–I’ve found no evidence substantiating these claims. Whether or not its true, the story makes for good lore, and I’ve repeated the tale often. But a few month ago, I realized I lacked a good grasp on the Bataan Death March. Sure, it was a long hike and the Japanese fighters killed you if you fell out of the march, but was it widespread? How long was the march? Forced marches aren’t that bad, so how many guys actually fell out if they knew they were going to die? Were they just weak?
Michael and Elizabeth Norman’s book Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and Its Aftermath disabused me of my ignorance. Three things from this book stood out to me: One, at approximately 66 miles, the Bataan Death March was not as long as I assumed. It’s tempting for the infantry Marine in me to think, 66 miles over the course of a few days is not too bad. A lot of work, sure, but that’s only about 15 miles per day. But I’d assumed the Americans were well-fed, healthy 18-25 year-olds.
The Normans explain that, contrary to my naiveté, the Americans surrendered in large part because they were already dehydrated and starving. A 66-mile forced march where the men have been starving for many months and lack water is, indeed, a death march–not to mention that many of the men were older, non-infantry types unaccustomed to long forced marches. I also cannot help but remember that these men in the Bataan Death March were almost all prewar, peacetime enlistees. In fact, the men of the March were the very same men from James Jones’ From Here to Eternity–a book I recently read and will review this year. How could these rag-tag, hard-drinking, unprofessional group of prewar enlistees survive this crucible?
The second big takeaway is that the Bataan Death March was not an isolated trauma endured by a battalion or regiment. No, the sheer size and scope of the March far surpassed anything I imagined. The Japanese torture an murder of American and Filipino soldiers and Marines was widespread and indicative of Japan’s wholesale hate and disregard for “the other.”
Third, I was surprised to learn that the captives’ suffering did not end after the Death March. I guess I never asked myself what happened after the March. In fact, the book explains, the marchers’ lives only barely improved when they reached their prison camps after the grueling march.
Tears in the Darkness is a history book, but the authors teach by telling the story of the Death March as they would in a novel. There are main characters, protagonists, plenty of character development, a plot and storyline, struggle, and climax. The book traces the life, capture, and imprisonment of Ben Steele, a cowboy-cum-soldier from Montana. Hard-luck Ben Steele seems to get the worst treatment of all the POWs short of execution. I found myself thinking, again-and-again, “surely Ben Steele dies at this part.” And while I won’t spoil Ben Steele’s story, know that many other “Ben Steeles” die in the book. This book can be gruesome at parts, so for those who only undertake war reading glorifying war, skip this book. The Normans have not bleached this story, and the result is a book leading you to the ultimate question you ask yourself whenever one race tries to wipe out another: how did it get to that?
Once again, the Japanese capacity for cruelty, at this time in history, never ceases to amaze me. And this book reinforces that astonishment. There are horrible stories of beheadings, wholesale murder by machinegun fire, and the terrible realities of starvation’s effects on the human body’s ability to ward off disease and infection.
On the other hand, I’ve often said that the human capacity to survive and persevere far surpasses what modern, urban minds can understand. This may be the bright lining to the Japanese’s cruelty; the Americans’ ability to survive. Tears in the Darkness is, ultimately, a testament to the human desire and capacity to survive.
Tears in the Darkness is, ultimately, a testament to the human desire and capacity to survive.
I recommend this book, but I think a historical context will be important for any reader. The reader should consider Japanese cultural norms at this time in history. The Normans do a fine job of showing us this, but I think I would benefit from a better understanding of Japanese culture generally as well as militarily-speaking. I know the Japanese-Chinese wars before World War II were particulary harsh, but I wonder how they affected the mind of the average Japanese soldier.
Another thing I noticed is that, perhaps more frequently than in a normal battlefield, the POWs were faced with many moral conundrums. War forced these men–boys really–to choose between the group and the individual. Men wondered, do I share the four ounces of water I scrounged or keep them to myself? Others had to determine the fate of the sick and wounded; how does one conduct triage? Do we ration a small amound of medicine to maximize efficiency? Or do we spread it out so everyone gets some? If we decide to ration it, do we prioritize the sickest? Or those most likely to survive? What about the men not yet sick who will be before long?
Ben Steele alternatively helps others and refuses to share. Sometimes he gives up his “extra” food, water, or medicine to a dying man. Days later he requires others’ food, water, and medicine to survive. This book is real and raw. Brave Americans help and save other men in moments of courage. Other times, “selfishness” (can we really call one’s desire to survive selfishness?) leads directly to the death of another American.
Also, the Normans seem to give General MacArthur rather one-sided treatment. MacArthur is a frustrating historical figure to try to boil down to a binary good-or-bad judgment. The Normans seem to place MacArthur in the “bad” camp. And while I do not claim to know everything about General MacArthur, I think he may have deserved some more in-depth analysis than the “Dougout Joe” story they tell–and that’s coming from me, a 4th Marine Regiment Marine, so it means something. I’d encourage anyone reading this book to next read American Caesar, William Manchester exhaustive Douglas MacArthur biography. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Learning about MacArthur can be challenging, so approach it with an open mind.
Another final tidbit I noted was that the men in the book never seemed to blame their leaders unless the leaders were not “in it” with the men too. The men followed and admired officers who attempted to lead by making tough decisions–unless he was hoarding food, water, or medicine. At many times during the book I wanted to yell out “lead” to the surely-present sergeants, lieutenants, and captains. The book shows the danger of leadership vacuums. And the reader feels that a brave man–as all good leaders must be–held all the power in this story. At times a brave man surface and “fixed” a situation. Other times no man “stepped-up” and the whole of the men suffered. Just wait until you hear the story troops recount of Catholic priest Father Willaim T. Cummings towards the end of the story. Small acts of leadership change the whole narrative.
Small acts of leadership change history.
I learned a lot from this book, and I recommend it to all those who can deal with a tough, brutal story given the will-to-live theme throughout.
