The Unexpected Allies: Japanese Soldiers in the Eighth Route Army

The bitter enmity between China’s Eighth Route Army and Japanese invaders during World War II is well-documented in history books and popular media. Yet few know that within the ranks of the Communist-led resistance force, there existed a remarkable group—Japanese soldiers who defected to fight alongside their former enemies. Their story begins on January 2, 1939, at a New Year’s gathering of the Eighth Route Army’s forward headquarters in Shanxi province, where three Japanese men took the stage.

One of them, Maeda Mitsushige (later known as Shanben Yifu), delivered a speech that stunned the audience. He declared the Eighth Route Army had given him “a new life,” condemned Japan’s fascist aggression, and requested enlistment. When Commander-in-Chief Zhu De welcomed them with a handshake, he prophetically stated: “Today there are three; tomorrow there will be dozens, then hundreds.” These men—Maeda, Kobayashi Takeo, and Okada Yoshio—became the first Japanese members of the Eighth Route Army, saluting their new comrades with perfect military precision.

From Reluctant Invaders to Willing Defectors

Capturing Japanese prisoners had been extraordinarily difficult for both Nationalist and Communist forces. The 1938 Taierzhuang victory netted only 700 captives, while the 1937 Pingxingguan ambush yielded none—to General Lin Biao’s astonishment. So why did some Japanese soldiers not only surrender but join their former foes?

The reasons were multifaceted. Not all Japanese in China were combatants; many like Maeda were civilian employees of the South Manchuria Railway Company, captured while working at a Hebei train station in 1938. Even among military personnel, brutal hazing shattered illusions of glorious service. Kobayashi Kancho, a Buddhist monk conscripted into the Imperial Army, recalled being beaten on his first day simply for wearing glasses—a common initiation where superiors brutalized recruits.

More fundamentally, many grew disillusioned witnessing atrocities. Kobayashi described being ordered to bayonet an unarmed Chinese villager—an act his sergeant completed when he hesitated. Such experiences, combined with homesickness as the war dragged on, eroded morale. By the stalemate phase, doubts about the war’s purpose festered among frontline troops.

The Eighth Route Army’s Unconventional Weapon: Compassion

Initially, captured Japanese expected execution, believing their own army’s propaganda about Chinese brutality. Instead, they encountered what Maeda called “an inconceivable army.” The Eighth Route Army’s 1937 prisoner policy mandated:

1. No killing of captives, who were to be well-treated
2. No confiscation of personal belongings (only military equipment)
3. Medical care for wounded enemies
4. Voluntary repatriation when possible
5. Employment opportunities for those wishing to serve
6. Respect for religious beliefs

This approach created profound psychological impacts. Yamada Ichiro, a captured medical officer who plotted escape for eighteen months, described his turning point: Waking from a fever to see 129th Division commander Liu Bocheng at his bedside with precious pickled vegetables. Through broken window paper, he glimpsed Taihang Mountain’s snow-capped peaks—a vision that sparked his “rebirth.”

The Battle for Hearts and Minds

These Japanese converts became invaluable assets. Technicians like Kobayashi Kiyoshi taught captured weapons like grenade launchers—then unfamiliar to Chinese forces. Others like Maeda later helped establish the Northeast Democratic United Army Aviation School, training China’s first generation of pilots using former Japanese instructors.

Their most crucial role, however, was psychological warfare. In November 1939, Maeda co-founded the Awakening Alliance—the first Japanese anti-war group in Communist territory. Its members designed culturally resonant propaganda: care packages containing cherry blossoms (to trigger homesickness), sketches of kimono-clad women, and melancholic folk songs broadcast to enemy trenches.

One operative, Akiyama Ryoshō, became so effective that the Japanese Army placed a bounty on him. His poignant letters reportedly moved entire garrisons, with soldiers inquiring after his wellbeing during truce negotiations.

The Ultimate Sacrifice

Some Japanese八路军 paid the highest price. Miyagawa Hideo, vice-chairman of an anti-war committee, committed suicide during a 1945 ambush rather than be recaptured. He is the only Japanese listed among China’s 300 official “Martyr Heroes.” Others like Konno Hiroshi endured torture without betraying underground networks, his last words being: “If I live, I’ll return to the Eighth Route Army.”

Archives show Communist forces captured 6,213 Japanese soldiers during the war, with 746 defections. At least 36 Japanese八路军 died in service.

An Ambivalent Homecoming

Postwar repatriation brought new challenges. Some like Kobayashi Kancho received enough severance pay to buy a Tokyo house, but most faced discrimination as “traitors,” relegated to menial jobs under police surveillance. Undeterred, veterans formed the “Yashi Society”—phonetically hinting at their Eighth and New Fourth Army roots—to promote peace education.

China never forgot them. When former political officer Fu Hao became ambassador to Japan in the 1970s, aging comrades sought him out—requesting just one thing: homemade dumplings. In 2015, 96-year-old Kobayashi Kancho attended Beijing’s WWII victory parade as an honored guest. His 2019 passing marked the end of an era—the last Japanese veteran of China’s liberation struggle.

These men’s journeys—from imperial soldiers to anti-fascist fighters—epitomize war’s complex humanity. Their legacy challenges nationalist narratives, reminding us that conscience can transcend borders, and that even amidst history’s bloodiest conflicts, redemption remains possible.