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The last week of July was a critical period for the framing of Japan's postwar Constitution. Ashida Hitoshi appointed 14 Diet members (including Kita Reikichi and Inukai Takeru) to a special subcommittee. It was assigned the delicate task of combing through the text and, where necessary, preparing amendments, based on the preceding weeks’ discussions. Ch. 16 recounts how the subcommittee – under the watchful eye of Charles Kades, deputy director of SCAP's Government Section (GS) – devoted particular attention to the preamble, the correct terms to express popular sovereignty, and Article 9, renouncing war and armed forces. It was during this period that Article 9 was significantly amended. Ch. 16 carefully examines the intentions of the framers of these amendments.

Introduces the book's main argument: that it is too simple, and ultimately misleading, to say that SCAP (that is, General MacArthur and officers of the American Occupation) “imposed” a Constitution on postwar Japan. Rather, in this book, Japan is treated as a case study of democratization. The chapter also introduces the principal players (MacArthur, Whitney, and Kades on the American side; Shidehara, Yoshida, and Kanamori on the Japanese side). It then describes, in terms that invite comparison with other cases of democratization, the main features of the context (cultural, social, economic, and international) in which they worked to lay the foundation for constitutional democracy.

Begins by noting that, early in the Occupation period, General Douglas MacArthur (SCAP) told Japanese leaders that their country could not fulfill the terms of the Potsdam Declaration without revising its Constitution. It analyzes seminal documents from Washington (particularly JCS 1380 and SWNCC 228), emphasizing their warning that Japan should take leadership of this project. It shows that, by the end of January 1946, MacArthur, pressed by Allies on the Far Eastern Commission, had determined that Japan could not accomplish this goal without active American intervention.

This chapter deals with the scope of application ‘ratione personae’ of the doctrine of superior responsibility. In particular, it discusses and analyses the application of that doctrine to military as well as civilian leaders and discusses the practical and evidential distinctions relevant in both contexts. It deals with the application of that doctrine to less formal types of superiors, such as terrorist or rebel leaders and military-private contractors. The chapter is also devoted to the all important question of the distinction between de jure superiors who have been appointed or elected to command and lead, and de facto superiors whose authority to command lays, not on domestic law, but on other factors.

This chapter analyzes the characteristics of Islamic religious leadership in the 90’s. At that time, the early to mid-1990s, what was said in the mosques was of little or no interest in the Dutch public arena. With the import of Islam came the import of imams, community leaders from Muslim countries, most without any significant history of democracy, elections, or a free press. This does not mean that there were never any critical voices from the pulpit, but those voices were ultimately silenced. Imams in Muslim countries are fully aware of the constrained conditions under which they work. Two properties based on their personal qualities or characteristics can be used to classify imams in the religious field. One is religious capital and the other is economic capital. This chapter gives one of the only published, scholarly typologies of the imams.

This chapter examines Pushkin's fascination with Napoleon expressed in poems on Napoleon's escape from Elba and his death. His approach to defining and embodying the heroic was to change again. By 1830 admiration became a question of judgement and who is entitled to make it. Two of Pushkin's greatest poems ponder the question of how such valuation can be made. The final parts of the chapter focus on ‘The Hero’ and ‘The Commander’, paying close attention to the role of portrait painting and historical canvases by David, Gros, and Dawe that Pushkin invokes in articulating an ambivalent message about the heroic ideal.

This chapter examines the role of the medical services in the major offensives that began in the summer of 1916 with the Battle of the Somme. It shows how arrangements for casualty disposal were gradually altered in such a way as to maximize efficiency. It also argues that medical planning was sufficiently flexible to cope with the advent of mobile warfare in 1918. It argues that the success of medical arrangements was due to an unparalleled degree of coordination between different branches of the army and the consistent interest taken in the medical services by senior commanders. In addition to operational planning, the chapter considers the ways in which efficiency was improved through growing specialization of treatment. It does so first by examining various aspects of surgery, including the treatment of abdominal wounds, then medical problems, such as the treatment of gas casualties, and, finally, the management of shell-shock in front-line facilities.

In Gallipoli medical evacuation was hampered by unrealistic casualty estimates, poor planning of sea-borne evacuation, and a general failure of communication between commanders and medical staff. High levels of disease and poor sanitary discipline also meant that sickness rates were far higher than they had been on the Western Front. These medical failures contributed to loss confidence in the management of the campaign and were examined by the Dardanelles Commission appointed in 1916. This chapter explains why medical arrangements were so much worse than on the Western Front, paying particular attention to the exclusion of medical officers from headquarters in the vital planning stages of the operation. It ends by considering the verdict of the Dardanelles Commission and the expectations of witnesses summoned before it.

This chapter looks at the period from the landings of the predominantly Indian force in November 1914 through to the wholesale changes of early 1916, which saw the replacement of commanders and the switch of operational control from Delhi to London. After an encouraging start, with comparatively few British and Indian casualties, high levels of disease began to hinder the expeditionary force and the lightly-equipped and under-staffed medical services were unable to cope. Commanders had not given much thought to medical arrangements or logistics and there were great delays in the disposal of casualties down the line to the base in Basra. The chapter examines the reasons for these failures and their consequences for morale and military operations.

Of all the diseases encountered by the British army during the war, malaria was the most serious in terms of the drain on manpower. In Salonika, East Africa, and the Middle East, the army found itself in areas in which malaria was endemic or epidemic, and suffered heavy casualties among troops, labourers and carriers. The prevention of malaria was complicated by differences of opinion over how best to combat the disease, which were played out in the course of the First World War. However, the very different attitudes of commanders to the problem also affected their ability to prevent malaria casualties. This chapter looks at a hitherto neglected aspect of the malaria problem: the large number of men who returned from the war as psychiatric cases who were temporarily admitted to asylums for the insane.

From 1916 the very dismal medical situation in Mesopotamia began to improve due to a massive injection of manpower and resources and a wholesale change of command. The headquarters staff in Mesopotamia now took medicine seriously and integrated disease prevention and casualty disposal more effectively into operational planning. After years of censorship, there was also greater openness and the theatre was opened to voluntary organizations such as the Red Cross, which played a major role in the evacuation of casualties. Sanitary work was placed on a more systematic footing, too, with much greater attention to hygiene among front line troops. All this had a remarkable effect upon health and morale in the theatre but, at the end of 1916, one serious problem remained: high rates of scurvy among Indian troops. This problem was not resolved until transport and logistics were improved. The chapter concludes by examining the Mesopotamia Commission and its verdict upon the medical aspects of the operation.

This chapter examines Livy's battle scenes, arguing that the reader is invited to focus upon the causal sequence of events within battles, and to see the inadequacy of material explanations for their results. The things that might be expected to make a difference to the battle's outcome do not in fact prove crucial: something else seems to be determining the sequence of events. This is not simply offering patriotic ‘excuses’ for Roman defeats: not merely defeats, but even victories are treated in ways that do not allow them to be explained by normal criteria of historical causation. Similarly commanders, even when apparently effective, are constantly shown to be poor judges of events, winning for reasons that are unconnected with the plans they adopt. Livy systematically shows the failure of rationality, forcing the reader to construct other terms in which these key turning points of history are to be understood.

This book is a collection of twelve essays, each focusing on the marriage of a prominent Civil War commander and his wife. The marriages considered are those of five Confederate generals, the president of the Confederacy, who was a would-be general, five Union generals, and one Union admiral. They include Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, Thomas Jackson, George E. Pickett, Richard Ewell, Josiah Gorgas, Ulysses S. Grant, William T. Sherman, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, George A. Custer, John C. Frémont and Samuel Phillips Lee. The book tells something about their marriages and gives equal footing to the famous husbands and their wives.

This chapter discusses the technophobia that afflicted cavalry and infantry commanders of the early 1880s. The cavalry remained a social bastion and a political symbol of the nobility in an increasingly bourgeois age. In Prussia, for example, the percentage of noblemen who were commanding cavalry regiments remained at 93% to 94% from 1865 to 1885. This undoubtedly strengthened the preference of its officers for attacking in traditional fashion. However, the middle-class share of regimental infantry commands in Prussia rose from 5% in 1865 to 24% by 1885. The result, particularly during the first intense period of mixing and mingling among class elites in the 1870s, was a strong desire on the part of army newcomers to conform to older ways in order to gain acceptance. One historian argues that as the middle class in uniform strove for conformity and acceptability, it turned away from liberalism and technology, opting for conservatism and outmoded military tactics.

This chapter starts by examining the compliance provisions of weapons law treaties. The relative absence of such provisions in early treaties is noted, and the compliance regimes in later treaties are referred to and considered. After referring to the role of legal advice to commanders and of domestic legislation in securing compliance with these rules, the important requirement placed on states to conduct weapons reviews is then discussed in some detail. The treaty obligation in article 36 of AP1 is explained, and the discussion clarifies what should be reviewed, the rules that should be applied when undertaking such reviews, weapons review procedures, the establishment of a reviewing authority, and the procurement stages at which a review should be sought. Throughout, the focus is on giving practical assistance to those tasked with establishing and/or operating a weapons review system. The guidance on the subject issued by the ICRC is critiqued.

This chapter focuses on Commander Dunderdale's Special Liaison. It reveals that Dunderdale was SIS's Controller, Special Liaison SLC. His section had two sub-sections—Atlantic and non-Atlantic—the former dealing with certain types of intelligence relating to the USSR. The latter handled liaisons with, for instance, Donovan's organization (US Office of Strategic Services), Polish intelligence, certain sections of French intelligence, etc. As far as STANLEY could establish, there was no organizational connection between the two sections; it would be very easy to separate them and put each under its own head. The chapter also discusses the Atlantic section that used to get intelligence on the USSR from four main sources: (1) the decrypting of radio telegraphs traffic; (2) radio telegraph messages en clair; (3) radio-telephone intercepts; and (4) sundry overt sources such as the Soviet press.