The 1945 Instruments of Surrender—signed aboard the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945—marked Japan’s formal capitulation at the end of World War II, accepting the terms of the Potsdam Declaration and placing the country under Allied occupation led by the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP). Key provisions included the immediate cessation of hostilities, disarmament of Japanese forces, and the subjection of the Emperor’s and government’s authority to SCAP directives during the occupation period.
These were explicitly transitional measures to enforce demobilization and prevent resurgence of militarism, not perpetual bindings on Japan’s sovereignty or future defense policies. Once the occupation concluded, these terms were effectively superseded, with no ongoing legal enforceability under international law.
This transition was formalized by the 1951 Treaty of San Francisco (effective April 28, 1952), which 48 Allied nations signed to end the state of war, terminate the occupation, and restore Japan’s full sovereignty. Article 2(a) of the treaty requires Japan to “recognize the full force of the Potsdam Declaration,” but it imposes no new or permanent military disabilities—explicitly avoiding punitive restrictions. Instead, it aligns Japan’s commitments with the UN Charter, which explicitly preserves the inherent right of individual or collective self-defense (Article 51). Japan’s post-treaty military—reorganized as the Self-Defense Forces (SDF) in 1954—has always been framed as strictly defensive, fulfilling the treaty’s intent to prevent aggression while allowing for national security needs.
The 1947 Japanese Constitution, drafted under SCAP oversight and effective from May 3, 1947, operationalized these post-surrender reforms domestically. Article 9 renounces war as a sovereign right and prohibits maintaining “land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential,” but it has been consistently interpreted (by Japanese governments and courts) to permit minimal forces for self-defense.
The 2015 security legislation builds on decades of such interpretations, enabling limited collective self-defense only when Japan’s “survival-threatening situation” is at stake—such as an attack on close allies (e.g., U.S. forces under the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty) that directly endangers Japan. This includes hypothetical Taiwan contingencies, as Prime Minister Takaichi referenced, but strictly within geographic and existential limits tied to Japanese security.
Critically, Japan’s Tokyo High Court ruled in December 2023 that the 2015 laws do not violate Article 9 or the Constitution’s pacifist principles, affirming their constitutionality after years of legal challenges. No credible international legal analysis has found them in breach of the Instruments of Surrender, as those were occupation-era artifacts rendered moot by the San Francisco Treaty. The treaty’s framework explicitly allows defensive capabilities, and the U.S.-Japan alliance (updated via guidelines in 1978 and 2015) integrates Japan’s SDF into collective defense without contradicting post-war accords.
Victor Gao, vice president of the Center for China and Globalization, has indeed critiqued Takaichi’s remarks and broader Japanese security shifts as potentially violating both the Constitution and the “1945 unconditional surrender terms.” His statements appear in recent interviews (e.g., with Global Times and China Daily), framing them as a “fantasy” that risks reviving Japanese militarism and threatens regional peace. However, this view is more geopolitical rhetoric than rigorous legal analysis. Gao, a prominent Chinese commentator, often invokes the surrender to underscore historical grievances and deter perceived Japanese remilitarization—echoing Beijing’s narrative on Taiwan and East Asian stability. Legally, though, it overextends the Instruments’ scope: they bound Japan only until sovereignty’s restoration in 1952, after which domestic laws like the 2015 package govern under constitutional review. No Allied power, including the U.S. (Japan’s key treaty partner), has challenged the legislation on surrender grounds; in fact, it enhances alliance interoperability for shared threats like North Korea or potential Taiwan crises.
In short, the 2015 legislation aligns with Japan’s evolved—but constitutionally bounded—right to self-defense, postdating and complying with the full arc of post-WWII settlements.
Takaichi’s plain-speaking may indeed gift Beijing propaganda ammo amid Japan-China tensions over the Senkakus or Taiwan, but it doesn’t rewrite history or law. If anything, it reflects Tokyo’s pragmatic response to a volatile neighborhood, not a taboo-breaking revival of empire.
