Every once in a while, you’re presented with a situation that you instantly know is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  One of those moments occurred for me last week, and I just knew I couldn’t pass it up, even though it meant coming in to work on a Saturday.  Even though it meant “working” while on leave.  The opportunity to visit a site so revered, and which so few of us have been able to see with our own eyes, was not something a true history addict like me could ever pass up.  And so I was truly honored to be able to attend yesterday’s Reunion of Honor Ceremony, commemorating the 75th Anniversary of the Battle of Iwo Jima, and held right there on the island at a site overlooking the now infamous invasion beach.  What a sobering, incredible day it turned out to be!

While commemorative ceremonies of the type are held around the world for large battles, especially those from World War II, this one is especially interesting in that the United States and Japan, who fought a vicious five-week campaign to control the tiny island, are now strong allies and have been for some time.  This made the wording of the speeches and the deference shown throughout quite an interesting spectacle.  Yet all the speakers, after bowing in respect to the opposite delegation and then again in reverence toward the bilingual cenotaph which marks the site, made reference to the courage of the soldiers—from both sides—who fought and died there.  The juxtaposition of 20th Century nationalism and patriotic devotion to diametrically opposed ideologies on one hand with the need to further cement an ongoing, modern alliance on the other, was fascinating, even though I see it all the time.  But physically being there, on Iwo Jima, it felt different somehow.

That this iteration was the 75th anniversary of the battle made it all the more memorable, but to be honest, its what happened before and just after the official ceremony that will be forever etched into my heart and mind.  Those of us who’d flown in from the Tokyo area went down to see the invasion beach and then moved to the top of Mount Suribachi to look down upon an island that had once been a massive, all-encompassing battlefield, the likes of which has yet to be repeated in the history of modern military conflict.

First, let me tell you, there’s an odd optical illusion at play when you peer down toward the beach from the ridgeline that overlooks the invasion site.  It truly seems the water is “just right over there” a short distance away.  And, if you look at a map, its only 600 meters from the water to the heights where dug-in Imperial Japanese forces waited in camouflaged concrete bunkers and fortified trench lines.  But, as any Marine who crossed the beach on February 19th, 1945 can tell you, that distance is extremely deceptive.  Part of it is a rapid rise in elevation that looks much less daunting than it really is, coupled with a strange corduroy effect as the sand buckles up and down, creating mini-ridges to climb and descend whether moving toward or away from the beach.  Yet the greater part is the nature of the volcanic black sand itself, so remarked upon by veterans of the battle from both sides. 

This “sand” is really tiny pebbles … billions and billions of them … which shift beneath your boots with each step, making the climb out of the surf and up the ridge an exhausting experience.  And this for us yesterday, mostly active duty military members and in good shape, without the burden of water-logged clothing, military pack, weapon, and as much ammunition as could be carried!  It took us 14 minutes—unburdened and NOT under a vicious crossfire from enemy positions to our left and right—to reach the ridgeline.  That’s 14 minutes to progress just 600 meters!  Even at my age I can usually walk a full mile in that amount of time on flat ground. The revelation of the climb—which left us all out of breath and sweating profusely even in October—will forever change my perception of the battle.  And add to my respect for the men who made that movement under much more brutal and life-threatening conditions.

Another thing that jumps out at any military-minded visitor to the invasion beach is the horrible tactical situation any new arrival faced.  The volcano Mt. Suribachi—bearing the strong smell of sulfur that betrays any belief it is truly extinct—which rises almost vertically from the southern tip of the island is by far the highest elevation on Iwo Jima.  Yet one cannot overstate just how much that mass of scarred rock dominates the beaches and highlands beneath it.  Every movement below, no matter how small, could be observed from those steep slopes. And plunging fire from cannons and machine-guns, dug deep into the volcanic rock and connected through a series of maze-like tunnels, wreaked havoc upon Marines on the beach and beyond.  Yet that’s the obvious threat, and the one which dominates movie depictions of the battle.

Just as concerning for me are the cliffs looming above the northern end of the long, black beach.  Those heights, and the caves interspersed therein—both natural and man-made by Japanese soldiers working furiously ahead of the expected American assault—provided a splendid crossfire, exponentially increasing the effect of fires from Suribachi and leaving the beached Marines no cover whatsoever.  As well, while Mt. Suribachi made an easy target for naval gunfire attempting to suppress the Japanese forces entrenched upon the near vertical slopes, the cliffs are much lower, much more difficult to target, and so much harder to knock out or keep suppressed.  Given the maelstrom visited upon them from both flanks, the heights directly above the beach to their front would have appeared to the Marines the only hope of escaping the hell on earth they were enduring.  The reality, upon reaching those heights, must have been both shocking and, frankly, disheartening.

There are essentially two parallel ridgelines looking down upon the eastern beaches at Iwo Jima, but only the first is actually visible from the waterline.  The withering crossfire from the cliffs to the north and Suribachi to the south would have made it seem that reaching the top of the ridge would be the only way to find any cover whatsoever.  Yet the Japanese had constructed most of their “beach defenses” either between the parallel ridgelines or into the second.  These positions generally couldn’t directly engage forces on the beach.  Yet as soon as the assaulting Marines made their way out of the black sand, off that killing ground whereupon inland Japanese artillery had been registered for maximum effect, their reward was to run straight into the teeth of dug in Imperial troops who’d spent months preparing for this very fight.

The pre-invasion bombardment by the Navy and the extended bombing by Navy and Army Air Corps bombers had done little to soften up this initial line of resistance and the camouflaged machine-gun positions turned out to be deadly obstacles to the advancing and already exhausted Marines.  The destruction wrought upon the remaining concrete pillboxes and bunkers can still be seen today, jagged, mute testimony to the ferocity with which the Marines fought to get out of that damn black sand.

Standing there, looking down upon the invasion beach, one is overcome with respect for those Marines who made that incredible assault.  The gumption, the commitment to mission accomplishment, the pure, unadulterated desire to see one’s brothers-in-arms through that terrible day—and the many which followed—is … well … words defy any attempt to do justice to the emotion.  “Awe-inspiring,” perhaps the understatement of the year, comes to mind but really only nicks the surface of what I felt, seeing that battlefield, trudging through that miserable sand, closing my eyes and imagining the terrible drama which played out that day.

The professional soldier in me can appreciate the defensive architect of all that carnage, General Kuribayashi Tadamichi.  Dispatched on what he knew to be a suicide mission at the head of some 22,000 doomed Imperial troops, Kuribayashi quickly grasped the tactical situation.  It was his redesign of the defenses of Iwo Jima and his overall defensive scheme that made this battle the vicious struggle it became.  In the end, it was also his vision that made Iwo Jima one of the only battles in history where U.S. Marines took more casualties than they inflicted.  Kuribayashi himself fell in one of the battle’s last suicidal charges by holdout Imperial forces. Yet the defensive network he created allowed the last two Japanese defenders to survive undetected until finally surrendering in 1949, four years after the end of both the battle and the war. 

Kuribayashi’s body was never recovered, but his tactical acumen and willingness to die in the defense of his country remains an object of almost holy reverence in Japan, standing at odds, to a certain degree, with the modern populace’s decided leaning toward pacifism.  In fact, the sacrifice of those Imperial troops continues to be honored in the Government of Japan’s ongoing search for Japanese remains, less than half of which have thus far been recovered.

Still, looking down upon the island from atop Mt. Suribachi, an American visitor can’t help but feel a deep pride in what those intrepid, highly motivated Marines accomplished over the course of 38 horrifying days in 1945.  These now octogenarians, fast disappearing from our ranks, represent the best of everything our nation has offered the world, and their sacrifice paved the way for the nation’s rise to prominence after the war.  Tough, persistent, and unwilling to accept any obstacle as insurmountable, they remind us today what it means to be an American.  Their determination and willingness to sacrifice for the well-being of others continues to mark them as models to emulate and venerate, and their passing should be celebrated with the triumph they earned 75 years ago.

The words of Admiral Nimitz in 1945 seem especially poignant to me now, having finally visited that hallowed, blood-soaked ground, “Among the Americans who served at Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue.”  Yesterday was indeed an experience I’ll never forget.  But that battle, and the sacrifices made therein, should be something none of us ever forgets.  Not ever. 

M. G. Haynes 

For more pictures and associated commentary from the visit, please stop by my new Iwo Jima page in the photo gallery. For a sense of what it was like for the Imperial Japanese defenders of the island, I urge you to check out “Letters from Iwo Jima”, a phenomenal movie, or the book “A Tomb Called Iwo Jima” by Dan King. Unfortunately, and probably controversially, I’ve yet to find an American film that I think really does justice to what the Marines endured on that hellish island. That said, the books “The Battle for Iwo Jima 1945” by Derrick Wright, and “Uncommon Valor on Iwo Jima: The Stories of the Medal of Honor Recipients in the Marine Corps’ Bloodiest Battle of World War II” by James Hallas are great reads on the subject.*

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