Through Kim Philby, Yoshikichi Sugimoto, Yoshiko Okada, and modern corporate dependence on China, this essay sharply depicts the ruin of those who were captivated by communist regimes and the retaliatory nature of China.
It stands as a grave warning, confronting readers with historical truths and present realities that Japanese people must face.

2019-06-08
The employees may appear to have become victims of it, but that is not so.
Those employees who gladly join such companies and eagerly study Chinese are also sufficiently at fault.

Why did they admire such a country?
She too must have repeated the same question to herself as Kim Philby did.
But Kim did not beg his homeland to send him sauce.
This is a chapter I published on 2019-02-23 under that title.
The following is from Shukan Shincho, which was released the day before yesterday.
Everyone who read the following must surely have exclaimed in admiration, “Masayuki Takayama truly is extraordinary!”
And they must also have silently nodded at my assessment that he is the one and only journalist in the postwar world.
To Die in China.
Kim Philby, a well-born young man who went from public school to Cambridge, for whatever dissatisfaction he may have had, became enamored with communism and volunteered to become a Soviet spy.
After graduating from university, he plunged into the Spanish Civil War under the title of a Times correspondent and submitted to Moscow a plan to assassinate General Franco.
Although this plot came to nothing, at that time he also had a reporter from another company, who had seen through him as a spy, killed under the guise of having been caught up in combat.
After returning home, he joined British intelligence, MI6, and of all things took charge of the anti-Soviet intelligence network.
He was an extraordinarily valuable spy for the Soviets, and thanks to Kim’s reports they were able to wipe out both the Polish spy network and the Albanian anti-communist organization.
A Soviet spy seated right in the center of British intelligence.
His disguise was finally stripped away only thirty years later, in 1963.
After being interrogated, he defected to the Soviet Union that very night, and Khrushchev gave him a position as a KGB adviser.
But the Soviet Union that Kim had admired so much was poor and desolate.
At the GUM department store there was not a single item comparable to those lined up at Harrods.
This must have struck a man raised in Britain’s upper class very hard, and his dying words were said to have been, “More Worcestershire sauce.”
Around the time when he committed his first killing in Spain, director Yoshikichi Sugimoto and actress Yoshiko Okada, who had similarly admired the Soviet Union, crossed the border into northern Sakhalin.
But it was a communist state utterly devoid of even a fragment of common sense.
The two were arrested on suspicion of espionage.
Okada was known for her exotic beauty, one-eighth Dutch by blood, but like her obstinate socialist father, her character and conduct were both bad.
She also hated pain, and when tortured, confessed, “Yes, I am a spy,” and admitted that her companion Sugimoto was also a spy.
She was even made to say that the Russian director Meyerhold, whom she had never met even once, was a spy as well.
Because of her confession, Sugimoto and Meyerhold were shot to death after torture.
She too was sentenced to ten years and was sent around to various prisons short of women.
Why did she admire such a country?
She too must have repeated the same question to herself as Kim Philby did.
But Kim did not beg his homeland to send him sauce.
Nor did Okada say, “Rescue me and bring me back home.”
Both of them quietly felt ashamed of their own blindness.
Okada later returned to Japan, but perhaps feeling that she had no right to live comfortably here, she went back to the Soviet Union, where she had nothing but bitter memories.
That was admirable.
Chinese are cunning.
They lied that the chemical weapons left over by Mao Zedong had been “abandoned by the Japanese military” and made the Japanese government pay one trillion yen for disposal costs.
Even such filthy money attracted Fujita.
When four employees went to China, they were detained on suspicion of espionage.
Just before that, at the Senkaku Islands, a Chinese fishing boat had rammed a patrol vessel and its captain had been arrested.
Fujita’s employees were seized in retaliation.
The proof is that the captain was detained for nineteen days, and Fujita’s employees were also released exactly nineteen days later.
When Huawei vice chair Meng Wanzhou was arrested in Canada, China immediately detained thirteen Canadians in China.
On top of that, another Canadian who had been serving a fifteen-year sentence for bringing in stimulants was retried and sentenced to death.
China is the sort of country that carries out this kind of retaliation almost like a patellar reflex.
At the time, Japan’s ambassador was Niwa Uichirō, chairman of Itochu, a man infatuated with China.
Rather than that, he went so far as to denounce Japan, which refused to yield the Senkaku Islands, as “a brat running around with his penis hanging out.”
In that same spirit, Itochu invested 600 billion yen in the declining CITIC Group of China, only to incur unprecedented losses.
The moment that happened, China detained a male employee of the company.
If Itochu were to pull back its investment, they would probably be ready even to sentence him to death.
How utterly worthless a communist state is was proven with their very lives by Kim and Yoshiko Okada.
Yet without learning even that, there are still companies that entrust their dreams to China.
The employees may appear to have become victims of it, but that is not so.
Those employees who gladly join such companies and eagerly study Chinese are also sufficiently at fault.