The time, 1946, post war Japan:
“Sgt. Julian B. Ely, Pacific Stars and Stripes photographer, peers through the bombardier’s bay window of a B-17 bomber to capture an erupting volcano south of Japan, 1946. Once a Lockheed cinematographer and volunteer soldier, Ely’s lens turned from war to renewal — from the fury of nature to the fragile peace of a nation reborn.”
Julian B. Ely: Through the Lens of Renewal — Japan, 1946
In the months following Japan’s surrender, Pacific Stars and Stripes photographer Sgt. Julian B. Ely traveled across a nation emerging from ruin. Once a Lockheed cinematographer and volunteer soldier, Ely’s camera turned from documenting destruction to capturing rebirth — from the smoldering Pacific to the quiet courtyards of Kamakura and the family gardens of Emperor Hirohito. His photographs reveal a rare bridge between victor and vanquished: scenes of humanity, humility, and hope. Whether through the Emperor’s first public appearances as a mortal man, or the serene gaze of the Great Buddha, Ely’s postwar images speak of a people rediscovering their spirit — and of one photographer’s profound faith in renewal.
Julian B. Ely — The Eye That Bridged War and Peace
Pacific Stars and Stripes, Japan, 1946
Before the name Julian B. Ely appeared beneath the byline of Pacific Stars and Stripes, he was just another soldier with mud on his boots and a camera in his dreams. A former Lockheed cinematographer, he voluntered for induction into the U.S. Army. Inducted as an infantryman, expecting to fight, not knowing that he would be instrumental in a story that would change history.
It was a censoring officer, glancing over one of Ely’s early letters home, while stationed in the Philippines, who paused long enough to change Ely’s destiny.
“Did you write this, Corporal?” the officer asked.
When Ely nodded, the man smiled. “You’ve got a good pen. Ever think of writing for the battalion paper?”
That small act of generosity opened the path from soldier to storyteller.
The Turning Point
Weeks later, as the war neared its end, Ely was reassigned from amphibious engineering duty to the Stars and Stripesnews staff in Tokyo. The devastation he encountered was beyond imagination — entire cities leveled, a population stunned and starving.
But where others saw only defeat, Ely saw a fragile chance for rebirth.
In a war-torn nation poised between vengeance and reconstruction, he dared to believe that understanding — not punishment — might keep the peace.
It was this conviction that led him to propose one of the most audacious ideas of the postwar era: that Emperor Hirohito should publicly renounce his divinity and appear before his people as a human being. Acting entirely on his own initiative, Ely secretly presented his “humanizing plan” to Viscount Matsudaira of the Imperial Household Ministry.
The plan worked. Within weeks, Hirohito made his New Year’s broadcast of January 1, 1946, announcing to the nation:
“I have never considered myself a god.”
The declaration became a cornerstone of Japan’s peaceful reconstruction — and spared the Emperor from the war-crimes trials that many Allied leaders had demanded.
The Photograph Above
In the months that followed, Technical Sergeant Julian B. Ely continued his assignments across Japan and the Pacific, recording not only history’s aftermath but also nature’s renewal.
The photograph above captures him in 1946, crouched inside the bombardier’s bay window of a B-17, camera poised toward a volcanic eruption south of Japan.
The image is both literal and symbolic: a man who once prepared for invasion now documenting creation’s own fury — the earth reshaping itself just as nations were beginning to heal.
From photographing Emperor Hirohito and his family at their summer villa in Hayama, to chronicling the eruption below a warplane’s glass nose, Ely’s lens marked the moment when conflict gave way to conscience.
Legacy
Julian B. Ely’s photographs and writings form one of the most unusual personal records of postwar Japan. Through empathy, courage, and instinct for history, he helped transform an occupation into a reconciliation.
His story stands as proof that sometimes, the power to change the world begins not with a general’s order — but with a letter, a camera, and the quiet decision to look deeper.
American servicemen and Japanese civilians gather before the Great Buddha (Dai Butsu) of Kamakura, Japan, 1946. Captured by Sgt. Julian B. Ely for Pacific Stars and Stripes, the image reflects the quiet intersection of two worlds—occupation forces and a recovering nation—beneath one of Japan’s most enduring symbols of peace and contemplation.
If Hirohito Goes to Trial
By Julian B. Ely with Allen Deever
Originally published in World War II, November 1995
Prelude: A Soldier’s Camera and a Nation’s Fate
“If Hirohito goes to trial, I will need another million troops to keep the peace,” warned General Douglas MacArthur.
When Japan surrendered unconditionally on September 2, 1945, Emperor Hirohito’s life hung in a delicate balance. Eleven Allied nations demanded punishment for war crimes, while MacArthur feared such retribution would plunge Japan into chaos and bloodshed. Yet no one knew how to resolve this dilemma: how could Hirohito be punished and still remain Japan’s leader? The world waited in uncertainty.
Into this tense vacuum stepped an unlikely figure — Technical Sergeant Julian B. Ely, a U.S. Army foot soldier and former Lockheed cinematographer whose curiosity and courage would change the course of history.
From Soldier to Storyteller
Ely’s path to destiny began with a casual conversation. While stationed in Batangas, Philippines, in August 1945, a censoring officer reviewing his mail noticed Ely’s articulate writing style.
“Did you write this letter, corporal?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir,” Ely replied nervously, fearing he had said something censorable.
“Have you done any professional writing?”
“No, sir—except for my high school newspaper.”
“Well, you should,” the officer said. “How would you like a transfer to the battalion newspaper?”
That small act of kindness set in motion events that would bridge nations.
Arrival in Japan
Weeks later, Ely was reassigned—not as a journalist, but as an amphibious engineer with the 2nd Engineer Special Battalion. His mission: to deliver troops during the expected invasion of Japan.
On September 2, 1945, he landed in Tokyo Bay aboard a landing craft as the surrender ceremonies unfolded aboard the USS Missouri. The destruction he witnessed was staggering: Tokyo, Yokohama, and Yokosuka lay in ruins, their citizens dazed, starving, and homeless.
Ely began visiting the Pacific Stars and Stripes office in Tokyo on his days off. He longed to document the rebirth of Japan rather than its ruin. “My ever-waking dream,” he wrote, “was to be a part of that team.”
A Chance Encounter on the Ginza
One Sunday in late October 1945, while photographing rubble along the Ginza, Ely was approached by two polite Japanese men who spoke fluent English. One was Professor Ryu, an English instructor; the other, Coosaku Fujitsuka, an architect.
Their warmth disarmed Ely’s caution. During their talks, Ryu spoke candidly:
“War is hell. If I am blind enough to blame you for what I knew nothing about, and you blame me for atrocities you did not commit, we will never find the values we share. We must rise above that level if we are ever to build a secure and better world.”
That exchange transformed Ely’s outlook. Determined to heal wounds rather than deepen them, he conceived an idea: what if Emperor Hirohito himself became the instrument of Japan’s renewal?
A Heretical Proposal
At the time, Allied occupation leaders were deeply divided. Many demanded Hirohito’s trial and execution. MacArthur, however, privately believed the Emperor’s survival was crucial to stabilizing Japan. Still, no one had proposed a way to reconcile justice with mercy.
Ely’s idea was radical yet simple: have the Emperor renounce his divinity and appear before his people as a human being. By doing so, he could both atone and inspire national reconstruction.
Encouraged by his Japanese friends, Ely wrote his proposal and—risking court-martial—agreed to let Fujitsuka arrange a meeting with Viscount Matsudaira, head of the Imperial Household Ministry.
On December 6, 1945, Ely met the Viscount in secret. To the Japanese, he appeared to be a special envoy from MacArthur himself. In reality, he was a lone sergeant acting on faith and conscience.
The Meeting that Changed History
Matsudaira received Ely with respect and gravity. Ely spoke passionately:
“Your people are lost and broken. Only Hirohito can lead them. But to do that, he must speak to them not as a god—but as a man.”
Matsudaira listened in thoughtful silence, then replied: “You are right.” He promised to bring the matter before the Emperor’s cabinet immediately.
What Ely did not know was that others within Japan’s government were already debating how to “de-mythicize” the Emperor. His concrete plan provided the missing catalyst — a clear method for implementation through photographs and public appearances showing Hirohito as a family man among his people.
The Humanization of the Emperor
Following Ely’s meeting, events moved swiftly. Within days, the Japanese cabinet met in secret. Historian William P. Woodward later noted that “the idea of disavowing divinity developed both inside and outside official circles,” but that Ely’s proposal acted as the spark that brought it to life.
Ely’s photographs soon documented this transformation. He was invited to the imperial villa at Hayama, where he captured the first informal portraits of the Emperor and his family. He later accompanied Hirohito on countryside tours, where the Emperor lowered the window of his train so Ely could photograph him naturally.
Hirohito personally autographed one of Ely’s photos — which Ely kept for life — and even conversed with him in English. Prince Katsura offered Ely a job as photographic editor of a new magazine. The architect Fujitsuka offered to build him a home in Tokyo.
Two weeks after Ely’s meeting, on December 19, 1945, the Japanese government voted unanimously to adopt the plan.
The Emperor’s Broadcast
On January 1, 1946, Emperor Hirohito addressed his nation by radio:
“I have never considered myself a god. Nor have I ever attempted to arrogate to myself the powers of a divine being.
We stand by the people and wish always to share with them in their moments of joy and sorrow. The ties between us and our people have always stood upon mutual trust and affection... They are not predicated on the false conception that the Emperor is divine.”
MacArthur later commented:
“The Emperor’s New Year’s message pleases me very much... His action reflects the irresistible influence of a sound idea. A sound idea cannot be stopped.”
That “sound idea” — Ely’s — changed history. With the Emperor’s renunciation of divinity, Japan found a path to peace, and MacArthur no longer needed another million troops to keep order. The move also paved the way for Hirohito’s exemption from war-crimes prosecution.
Emperor Hirohito and his family at their summer villa in Hayama, 1946. Photographed by Sgt. Julian B. Ely for Pacific Stars and Stripes, this image marked a turning point in postwar Japan — showing the Emperor not as a distant deity, but as a father and man among his family. The relaxed setting, with fishing boats and ropes in the foreground, symbolized Japan’s return to ordinary life after years of war.
Epilogue
Years later, historians debated whether MacArthur himself conceived the idea. MacArthur wrote in his Reminiscences, “On New Year’s Day, 1946, the Emperor, without any suggestion or discussion with me, issued a rescript in which he publicly renounced his divinity.”
Biographer Leonard Mosley disagreed, citing Imperial sources confirming it was done “at the direct request of SCAP.” Yet the truth lies between — in the actions of one courageous American sergeant who dared to think beyond orders.
Julian B. Ely never sought fame or reward. He returned home quietly to California, continuing his work as a writer and photographer. But his legacy endures: a soldier with a camera who saw humanity where others saw only enemies — and whose belief in reconciliation helped a nation rise from ashes.
Julian B. Ely (1919–2003) was a technical sergeant and war correspondent for Pacific Stars and Stripes following Japan’s surrender. He later became known for his iconic photographs of the Emperor Hirohito and his family.
Allen Deever served as co-writer and editor.
For further reading:
Hirohito: Emperor of Japan by Leonard Mosley
The Allied Occupation of Japan, 1945–1952 by William P. Woodward