The Cannery Boat/The Misleader Goes Abroad

by Sanji Kishi

The Misleader Goes Abroad
by
Sanji Kishi

The Misleader Goes Abroad

(A rough sketch for a motion picture story)

 

I

The black silhouette of a large frame fills up the whole screen. It has on a top hat and holds a gavel in its left hand. Judging by the silk hat, we may suppose it wears a swallow-tail, with maybe a gold watch-chain dangling from the waistcoat.

“My name is Akaji Akai, the president of the Imperial Japanese Federation of Labour,” it announces, flourishing the gavel in the air.

“Some people call me the Babe Ruth of traitors. Why can’t people say straight out what they mean? To begin at the beginning—as to why twenty years ago I put all my weight into the labour movement—it was through His Excellency, Viscount Shibugaki, from whom I have received untold favours. The Viscount is, as befits one who built up our banking system and laid the economic foundations of our nation, a great man with extraordinary foresight with regard to the trend of the times.”

The figure assumes the pose of an orator.

“This gentleman, twenty years ago, what does he say to me, then a promising young fellow? ‘Akai, my lad,’ he says, ‘with the Russian Japanese war our country enters a new phase. I expect to see our national industries race ahead from now. But this thriving of industry, as we see in Europe and America, gives birth to antagonism between capitalists and workers. This antagonism must be eliminated; therefore we capitalists must from now on take the initiative, and direct this growing labour movement, and lead it into such channels that the workers do not become poisoned with radical ideas, nor become hostile to the capitalist class. That is a great public duty, and it’s waiting for you. You must make that your object, and set to it with your whole heart … ’ ”

The figure at this point thumps on the table.

“I followed the lead of Viscount Shibugaki and for the sake of this land of our Emperor, for the sake of the capitalist class, I organized the labour movement. Never did I work for the workers, but for our Empire and for my own personal success and advancement I have worn myself to the bone. … Had I become infected with Communism, and sought the good of the workers, then would I be neglecting my mission, then would I be guilty of treachery, and I could not protest were I called a misleader. But what are the facts? Never during all these twenty years have I done a single thing that could possibly be interpreted as betraying the capitalist class.”

The figure adopts an heroic pose.

“As a reward for these services the International Labour Bureau has been pleased to forward me this lucky hammer. Now my cherished ambition is to be a Cabinet Minister.”

At this point a second silhouette, as thin as a rake, appears, and bowing and scraping before the first, says something to it.

“Oh, is that so? Certainly, certainly. I’ll go there immediately,” and the first figure puts its hammer away somewhere.

“Well, gentlemen, I am extremely busy. The gentleman who came just now is a Doctor of Law, and Professor at the Imperial University, Dr. Yorizo Hijukake. He came with the request that I give an address on the labour movement to the students of the Economic Department, but, to confess the truth, I don’t care for these students. You can’t fool them as easily as you can the workers. However, I’ll have to think of something to say.”

[Exit.

 

II

About 1,000 students are crammed into a big lecture hall. Akaji Akai, with his great hog’s body, is escorted into the hall by Dr. Hijukake.

After being introduced by the doctor, Akai takes the platform. “Ahem, Ahem. To-day I wish to address you on the subject of ‘The Class Struggle, or Harmony between Labour and Capital.’ ”

With this, by way of preface, he sticks out his great paunch and, fingering his gold watch-chain, beams on his audience.

“Let us first consider the world class struggle. In Germany they call it Klassenkampf. This word was coined by Marx, and the argument is that there is no other method than a struggle between the two classes to solve the problem of Capital and Labour. And in that struggle you are urged to sacrifice everything. Communism, which seems at first sight to protect the interests of the workers, really only sacrifices them, and its principles urge you to concentrate wholly and solely on the class struggle.”

“Shallow, shallow.”

“Who says ‘shallow’? The heckler who says that is himself shallow. But, on the other hand, what is the harmony between Capital and Labour? It is made up of two elements which bring about the growth of industry, that is to say, it works to bring about a rapprochement between workers and capitalists, and it takes as its chief aim the increasing welfare of both.”

“I have a question.” One student stands up and starts to speak. “In regard to the recent 30 per cent. wage-cut for 3000 workers belonging to your union in the Kanto Muslin Company, there is a rumour that you received 200,000 yen from the company to make the strike end, as it did, in disaster for the workers. I’d like to ask, is that true or not? If it is true, then isn’t it at variance with what you said just now?”

“Now, please be quiet. Questions will be taken all together at the end. Sit down, please. Any of the Left-Wing element among you who attempt to interrupt my lecture will be chucked out, so I give you fair warning.”

Akai glares at the questioner and does not go on until he has seen him safely seated again.

“As an analogy we have this,” and from his right pocket he produces a cream puff. “This is a cream puff we had in the reception room. It illustrates well the principle of harmony between capital and labour. It is chockful of cream; it’s good to taste, and it’s satisfying.”

The students guffaw.

Akai proceeds to take a banana skin from his left pocket.

“The class struggle is just like this, a banana skin, useless. You can’t eat it; it contains no nourishment; it’s good for nothing.”

He throws it on the floor. By this time the students are beginning to leave. Five or six of them, rising, shout at him, “We can’t stick any rot about cream puff or banana skin!”

The hall is filled with roars of laughter. One student shouts out, “Give us something more scientific!”

Akai flares up. “I’ll give you more than you bargain for. You prodigals! Sponging on your parents! You don’t know anything about society, real society, except lodging-houses and cafes, and then as soon as someone starts to address you, you chip in with ‘scientific’ or something. I’m no scholar; I’m a man of action.”

“You’re a labour fakir,” shouts someone.

“Fool! If you’re so keen on something scientific, and won’t bother to listen to me, you can read a little book here that’ll just suit you, crammed full of learning. I’ll leave it here and you can read it afterwards. This one book will tell you everything under the sun.”

He takes a little book from his pocket, slams it down on the table and starts to make an angry exit. But as he steps down from the platform, his heel slips on the banana skin he has just thrown away and his big fat porky body goes down with a flop.

The students all close in on him. In the middle the lean Dr. Hijukake is wildly trying to control them and pull up Akai by the arm at the same time. But he can’t move him. Akai at last gets up by himself and beats a hasty retreat through the door. The doctor follows.

One wag has somehow managed to rescue the fateful banana skin and, holding it up between his fingers, ascends the platform and begins to address the students surging round him.

“Gentlemen, the class struggle is a banana skin. Useless, you can’t eat it, it contains no nourishment, it’s good for nothing. But, gentlemen, this one thing, this skin, this class struggle has shown its great potentiality: it can trip up fakirs!”

“Hear, hear,” the students clap and shout. But the student who has just spoken picks up the red book left by Akai, looks at it, and with a dumbfounded expression holds it up for them all to see. On the cover are printed the following words:

“Revised Railway Time Table. Price 50 sen.”

 

III

Akaji Akai arrives at the city of Hakata in the Fukuoka district. At the station entrance the district governor and the chief of police, in full regalia, have turned out to receive him. Besides them there is a fairly large gathering, made up of the local members of parliament, business men and society ladies, while in the background stand some forty or fifty police. About a dozen workers, come to welcome their leader, only to be shoved back by the police for their pains.

“Now stand back there, you, stand back!”

Akai, radiant and charming, shakes hands with everybody, beginning with the governor and chief of police and ending with the lesser lights. Then, accompanied by the first two, he rides in the official automobile and amidst scenes of rejoicing arrives at the district office.

A dark-skinned man comes and bows before the impressive figure of Akai, now settled comfortably in the governor’s secretariat. The governor introduces him.

“This is the head of the political police of this district, Kurozo Kuroi.”

“I’m glad to meet you.”

“Mr. Akai has come to study the conditions of the miners in this district. I hope you will help him.”

“I shall you my best, your lordship.”

He makes a grave bow.

 

IV

Three figures enter the pit-head and go as far as the entrance to the shaft. The first and the last wear straw sandals. These are detectives attached to the mining area. Akai, in the middle, is betrayed by his girth. As if descending a well the detective in front catches hold of the ladder and begins to go down. Next, slowly and fearfully, Akai follows. When he has gone down two or three rungs, he cranes up and shouts to the second detective, “Look here, is this ladder safe?”

“Yes, sir, it’s perfectly safe. Please hurry up.”

Akai lumbers down, but, somehow or other, about half-way his great body gets stuck and he can’t move an inch either way. As the first detective, who carries the lamp, has already reached the bottom, it is quite dark and the second detective unwittingly kicks Akai on the head.

“Ow! You’ve kicked me.”

“Oh, are you there?”

“I can’t go any further.”

“Why?”

“Because of my corpulence. I’m stuck in this hole.”

“Lor, that’s a nice how-d’ye-do. Hey there, Slick, the Professor’s got stuck. Climb up and give a haul at his legs.”

Akai groans and wriggles.

“Can’t you move at all. Professor?” asks the voice above.

“Not an inch. What shall I do?”

“I’ll give a little pull,” says Detective Slick, who has climbed up again, as he pulls at Akai’s feet. But his efforts are fruitless, so he shouts up at his companion, “Hey there, Slim, give him a push.”

“That ain’t no use. I can only push with my boot and I couldn’t go jamming that down on the Professor’s cranium.”

“But what else in the hell can we do if he won’t budge? I’ll pull him by the legs while you tramp on his head.”

This suggestion upsets Akai.

“Here, there, cut out the rough stuff.” And he wriggles more desperately than ever.

“Rough stuff be damned. If you’re going to stay on dangling there, the thousands of miners working down below wont’t be able to get to the surface and will be starved to death. But what’s worrying me more than them is, how I’m going to get out myself?”

“Ow. Don’t pull my legs like that. It’s dangerous. And now you’re tramping on my head with your great clodhoppers.”

“I can’t help that. It’s your own fault for having such a great fat carcase that gets stuck in holes. You’re a blasted nuisance, that’s what you are.”

“What! Do you dare to insult my person? All right. Just wait until I get out and I’ll report you straight to your superior and you’ll be dismissed.”

“Oh you, you damned old impostor. You’re growing fat on the workers, getting yourself made an M.P. and taking bribes from everybody. Buying land and putting up houses, and I guess you’ve got a nice little pile of stocks and shares hoarded up somewhere. I know all about you, you bloody rogue!”

“That hurts, that hurts, I tell you. Stop kicking my head like that.”

“A little bit of booting won’t do any harm to your head. It’s got nothing inside, anyhow.”

“Your rudeness is insufferable. I am Akaji Akai, who people have marked as the coming Premier in the Labour Government. Me, a national figure chosen as the workers’ representative to go to Geneva. You dare tramp on my head!”

“Oh, now he’s started blubbing. That’s enough of that. Either move up or move down, will ye?” and the bottom detective stretches up his arm and grabs Akai.

“Ow, wow, wow, wow! What are you doing, you——?” His body begins to move. Down, down they slither, faster and faster; this time Akai pressing on the head of the detective below, and at last they reach the bottom with a bump.

 

V

Having arrived there the two come to grips.

“Now, look here, you’re supposed to be one of us, aren’t you? Then what the hell do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I only wanted to rescue you, Professor. You’d have died if you’d stayed jammed in there much longer. It was the most painful duty that has ever fallen to me to lay hands on——”

“Professor, I meant no harm, believe me. I only tramped on your head in order to save your life,” interrupts the second detective, who has arrived by now.

“I don’t want to hear any more. It has become perilous for me to continue any further down into the depths of the mine with dangerous, unreliable fellows like you for guides. It only needs the miners to get on to me now and shove me into that black abyss for me to be a dead man. No, thank you, I’m going back to where I came from.”

With this he begins climbing up the ladder again.

“Oh, Professor.”

“Oh, Professor, don’t get so angry,” cry the two detectives as they follow him up the ladder.

 

VI

Akaji Akai, having returned to Tokyo, is standing on the platform at the Industrial Club, resplendent in swallow-tail and gold chain, delivering an eloquent address before a meeting of the Association for the Harmony between Capital and Labour, held to discuss the labour problem.

The audience includes Viscount Shibugaki, members of the House of Peers, directors, business men, priests, doctors and professors, one and all members of the bourgeois class.

“—— guided by two detectives I descended I can’t tell you how many hundreds of feet into the mine and then literally crawled along in the pitch blackness until I approached the workings. There I found men and women miners stripped to the skin, holding their lamps in one hand and silently digging away at the coal. I was moved to the depths of my heart.”

He paused to take a glass of water.

The audience listen to his words with great interest.

 

VII

An hour after the lecture a banquet is given by the association, with the lecturer as the guest of honour.

One member of the House of Peers arises and, amidst applause, begins to speak.

“Ahem. The purpose of our gathering here this evening on this auspicious occasion is two-fold. First, we wish to bid farewell to our good friend, Mr. Akai, who soon will set out on a long journey to Geneva, where he is to attend the Labour Conference. At this present juncture when we can find no other way out of this period of panic except rationalization, and when it becomes necessary for us to bring firm pressure to bear even on our workers, Mr. Akai has come forward to help us. Our second purpose is to listen to an extremely instructive address from Mr. Akai himself on the labour question, which we may take as a kind of farewell message. A first-hand account of how, of his own desire, he descended into the black coal mine and observed minutely the conditions and hardships of the miners is of compelling interest. His courage in doing so speaks of the extraordinary enthusiasm with which he attempts to solve the labour problem. I hope that Mr. Akai will display a like enthusiasm at Geneva.”

This is greeted by gentle hand-clapping. Then Akai arises. Swelling out his great badger’s belly, he smiles.

“Never before has such a great honour fallen to my unworthy self as to have all you illustrious gentlemen assemble to bid me farewell on the eve of my departure to Geneva, where I go as the employees’ representative.

“Twenty years ago I joined the labour movement, not so much with a view to my personal advancement as in the hope of being able to make at least some little contribution to our country, to our country’s industries. But in the early days of the movement there were some capitalists who failed to appreciate my true motives, and I met with all kinds of rebuffs. Then, thinking of my country’s industrial future, I would at times turn my face to heaven and fight back my tears.

“When I reach Geneva I am determined to fight all attempts to handicap the development of our national industries, and to emphasize the peculiar position those industries hold.

“I have friends at Geneva. We will arrange things. With a little tact we can settle a victory for the workers. At the same time the question of the Eight-Hour Day, or the Minimum Wage or the Right of Collective Bargaining—all can be arranged so as to give you no cause for alarm. You must trust me.

“Now I would Like to propose a toast.”

He raises his glass and all stand up and give ringing cheers.

“Viscount Shibugaki, Banzai!”

“The Imperial Industrial Club, Banzai!”

“Mr. Akaji Akai, Banzai!”

 

VIII

The wharf at Yokohama.

The scene is the departure of a big European liner. Akai, dressed up as usual and accompanied by his suite, comes to the railing of the first-class deck and, wreathed in smiles, grabs the coloured streamers that are thrown up from the wharf. His left arm embraces two bouquets of flowers.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A steward beating a gong runs past Akai and, glancing at his fat behind, gives a snigger.

As the gong sounds the people seeing off friends begin to leave the ship.

On the wharf are dotted small groups of workers belonging to the Japan Federation of Labour, with their leaders. They are all waving little Rising Sun flags, bidding farewell to their President. Near by swarm dozens of policemen.

At the far end a couple of sailors are leaning against the railing of the second-class deck, talking.

“Hell, can you beat that? Take a look at all these guys wavin’ their little flags and sayin’ bye-bye to their President. It’s enough to give you the belly-ache when you think they’re all workers like us.”

“I’ll say it is. They’re a lot of saps, aren’t they? If they just knew how their precious representative and his party live when they’re on this ship they’d soon get fed up with him.”

“It just shows you how backward the labour movement is in Japan.”

“Yes, but things are moving. I reckon the time’s coming mighty soon when their eyes will be opened.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not right. F’rinstance——”

He puts his mouth close to the other’s ear and whispers something. The other’s eyes widen with surprise. “Honest?” he asks.

“Honest.” The two stop talking as some passengers pass behind them.

Above their heads flies an aeroplane, firing a salute.

“What, d’ye mean to tell me the impostor’s even got an aeroplane to see him off?”

The two look up.

 

IX

“Phew, phew,” a short deep whistle blows.

“Banzai!”

“Banzai for our leader!”

“Banzai for the Imperial Federation of Labour!”

All the workers on shore wave their flags.

The steamer, towed by a little tug, starts gradually to move away from the stone pier. Coloured streamers flutter in the breeze.

Akaji Akai, still leaning over the railings, surveys the surging crowd of workers and the police cordon. When the whistle blows for the third time he takes off his silk hat and waves it aloft.

“Banzai for the Japanese Empire!”

The liner, now a tiny speck, can be seen leaving a trail of smoke behind it. Night is approaching, bringing with it a lonely, deserted feeling.

The scene begins to fade into darkness and then, like a phantom, the following words appear:

Thus the Misleader went to Geneva.
Geneva, the Home of
The Misleaders of all Nations.

These in turn disappear, to be followed by a huge waving in the breeze.

In the centre of the flag can be seen a sickle and hammer intertwined.

The flag gradually rends, and behind it a moving throng of people, numerous as the stars, small as peas, are revealed. From here and there among them arise white puffs of smoke.

At this, from somewhere, must come the strains of the “International.”

Then, as the crowd fades out, two black brawny hands stretch right across the screen and meet in in a firm handclasp.

There is music to celebrate this union and then appear the words, “The End.”