Behind the battle line, around the world in 1918

Front matter

BEHIND THE BATTLE LINE

MADELEINE Z. DOTY

D

Preface

THERE is a great fascination about warring Europe. Across the seas a world drama is being enacted. One cannot keep away. Each year the scene changes. Having seen the first act one must see the next. The call came to me. I had been to Europe twice since the war. This was the third trip. This time I was to go around the world.

I knew that parallel with the physical battle that engulfs us, runs a great spiritual struggle. That was the drama I was watching. I tried to discover the dreams and plans of the women of the future, what the folks at home strove for, where the spiritual drama led. In each country I sought the heart of things. I made no attempt to acquire facts and figures. In superficial details this book undoubtedly has inaccuracies. It is merely a bird's-eye view of a mixed up world, with a glimpse of the new spiritual order which arises out of the muddle.

A very important factor in the consideration of world affairs is the different stage of development of the different nations. To treat of matters internationally when one nation is in the Middle Ages and another in the Twenty-first Century is almost impossible. In Japan, for instance, women are openly sold into industry and prostitution, and a God sent emperor sits upon the throne. In that land to be a member of the Y. W. C. A. was to be a rebel and a revolutionist. Japan socially is in the Middle Ages. When I reached Russia on the other hand I found viii PREFACE

that the working people had seized the government and that Maxim Gorky was in danger of imprisonment as a conservative. I had leaped forward into the Twenty-first Century. Then I journeyed on to Sweden and found a king tottering on his throne. Beneath the skirts of a gorgeous palace lay the hovels of the poor, and a mass of restless, hungry people crying out for bread. I had dropped back to the Eighteenth Century.

When I landed in England it was to step forward again to the Twentieth Century. For in spite of a king as a figure head, in England the people are slowly taking possession of their own. Not as in Russia by the force of the bayonet, but through universal education and the intellectual intelligence of the masses.

But this uneven state of world development will not long continue. In every country exists a group of people spiritually awake. They are fighting the fight for the new freedom. In a generation the backward nations will achieve the struggles of centuries and be brought up to a Twentieth Century standard of democracy. Travel, moving picture shows, the mingling of races, the exchange of literature will bring new light everywhere. Fifty years from to-day kings will have vanished and Parliaments and Congresses be the governing force in each nation. With the dawn of such a day wars will cease and a true internationalism be established. And in this new order which arises women are destined to play a large part. For in those countries which are most advanced women are most active. Above all in new democratic England women are standing forth. The position of women the world over was a fascinating line of investigation. In autocratic Japan the woman was still a slave. She had no rights, she

PREFACE ix

was hardly more than an upper servant. In awakening China she was still bound, held by the laws and traditions of the past ages, but beneath her bondage she began to stir, and here and there to break through her chains. In Russia woman was man's comrade and mate. Her womanhood had been cast from her for the sake of revolution. She did not seek to express herself but instead adopted man's methods in the fight for freedom. It is as revolutionists that Russian women are famous. In Sweden women have taken a wholly different line. The Swedish man has refused to let woman be his comrade, has made her instead, as in Germany, his house-frau. The women thrown back on themselves concentrated on each other and on the sex problem and built up a " Miittershutz " program. This concentration on woman's needs, made the women self-expressive and produced the woman genius, Ellen Key and Selma Lagerlof. In France on the other hand it is neither as comrade or genius that the modern woman stands forth, but as a lover. Through all the ages the French woman has been past master in the art of love. Her work has been achieved through some man. She has made no attempt to speak for herself. All she possessed was given to her lover. Her influence on history has been through her amours. It is when we come to England that we find woman more nearly the complete human being. Here she combines the striking characteristics of the other countries. She is a comrade, mate and lover, self-expressive, and free. She stands forth as the Warrior of the Spirit. It was in England where the Labor Party and the women are coming into their own that I heard in its full strength the glad new song of freedom and brotherhood which I have heard faintly everywhere. I knew then that

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whatever the outcome on the field of battle the cause of democracy had been won. And particularly I saw the flowering of the new spiritual beautyxamong the women, until before my eyes grew a dazzling vision of an army of mothers joining hands the world around, battling for the rights of the world's children, creating a new and better race of men and women, bringing to fruition the kingdom of God upon earth.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Preface vii

I Autocratic Japan i

Chapter I

THE big Steamer swung out from the dock at Vancouver. A drizzly rain concealed the beauty of the harbor. My eyes clung to the shore. It was my last glimpse of America. Ahead lay a big adventure.

The ship was crowded. There were three persons in every cabin. People for Russia, India, China, and Japan were streaming across the Pacific. It was the only safe way. Yet even the Pacific has reminders of war. A coat of gray war-paint covers the steamer, making it look like a monster cruiser. But gay music floats from the saloon. A Filipino band is playing a two-step. The passengers are chatting gayly. As we steam down the harbor we take stock of one another. For ten days we must live together.

I find as roommates a Norwegian missionary and the wife of a member of the British Legation in Peking. The missionaries are numerous ; they number seventy-two. The steamship people have used them as Bibles, and put one in every cabin. The other passengers are buyers, bankers, merchants, and government officials. It isn't a mixable company. Upstairs in the saloon the missionaries gather about the piano and sing hymns. On the deck below fox-trots and bunny-hugs are in progress. But the ocean is a great leveler. During the first night we encounter a mountainous sea. In the morning, missionary and merchant lean over the deck-rail in mutual agony. Souls may differ, but stomachs are of one brotherhood.

But the Pacific is not long angry. Unlike the Atlantic, a few hours transform it. The turbulent surface becomes as smooth as a mill-pond. There are days of glowing sunshine. As we steam north the air nips and bites. We scurry from the sunny spots on deck to the tea-room. In the long uneventful hours acquaintance ripens into friendship.

In the cabin across the way is a little Japanese girl. For five years she has been in England and America, and speaks English perfectly. When she came on the ship she was clad in modern European clothes, but as the days slip by and the soft air of Asia greets us, the slant in her eyes grows more prominent, her hair goes up into Japanese puffs, and she appears in kimono and obi.

The journey nears its end — twenty-four hours more and it will be over. But even as we sigh with content, little black clouds appear in the sky. The wireless tells of two typhoons raging off the China coast. Spurts of rain and gusts of wind beat against the ship. Again we toss and moan. We have caught the edge of a storm. But in the evening the clouds break. Far off on the horizon, in a golden sunset, we see the dark blue hills of Japan. The Japanese hurry to the deck. A light breaks through their stolid faces.

That night it is hard to sleep. To-morrow we enter the Land of the Rising Sun.

When I awake in the morning we are already entering the harbor of Yokohama. I climb onto the berth and poke my head out of the port-hole. Drops of rain fall on my face. I see long, low, wooden docks, and European buildings old and dilapidated. We might be arriving in Hoboken or some equally ugly American port.

I - fight down my disappointment. Fortunately there is no time for thought — all is hurry and bustle of departure.

My cabin-mate, the wife of the member of the British Legation, and I decide to travel together. She has lived much in the East and was born in China. To her the strange customs of the Orient are familiar. We collect our luggage and engage two rickshaws. Then I experience my first taste of Japan. I climb into the miniature, two-wheeled buggy, and my little human horse lifts the shafts. It is raining, the cover is up, and a rubber blanket is buttoned securely across the front opening. I feel myself drifting back through the ages. I might be some lady emerging from her harem in her sedan chair, carefully screened from public gaze.

The small man pulling me is full of wiry strength. He wears short, white knee-pants, and a short blue coat. His bare brown legs are shapely. On his feet are straw sandals.

My friend is in a rickshaw somewhere in the rear. As I gaze from the tiny peep-holes in my rubber covering, again I have pangs of disappointment. I see only a narrow street lined with ugly two-story European houses. It is the architecture of America in its beginning — crude, slipshod, and dingy.

The hotel is the same. As I step in I feel myself back in America, in one of the out-of-date hotels of the past generation. The hall is lined with rockingchairs. The wall is covered with gold-framed mirrors and maps. There is red upholstered furniture and much tawdry glitter. It is the hotel of the commercial traveler. And this is one of Japan's best. The Japanese are renowned as imitators, but they often produce a third-rate imitation of the real thing. Modern art they do not understand. The things they take from Europe they make ugly.

The next day we leave the hotel to explore. A few days before a typhoon had swept over Japan — the worst in fifty years. There are bits of wreckage everywhere; tiles from house-roofs, smashed windows, and fallen trees. It is not raining, and the rubber cover of the rickshaw is down. It is like riding in an arm-chair on wheels. The whole city is spread out before us. As we turn down a street I realize I'm in a new world. We have reached the real Japan. Crowds of kimono-clad men and women stream past. It is wet, and the men have tucked up their skirts. Bare brown legs are everywhere in evidence among old and young. The bare feet are thrust into wooden sandals that clumpclump with every step. The dominant note in Japan is the clatter, clatter of the wooden sandal, and the thud, thud of the rickshaw man's softly-clad feet. There is no loud talk and rarely any laughter. The Japanese are reserved, steady and charming. Sometimes one longs to ruffle up their stolidity and get beneath the cool, silent, gracious manner.

But the surface life possesses endless attraction. The Japanese streets are lined with one-story shops with sliding latticed windows. By day the entire shop-front is open. Inside sits the shopkeeper on his mat on the floor, while around him are spread his goods. The room is hardly high enough for a European, but if you enter you must remove your shoes and sit on the floor.

Nothing in this district is modern. I say " nothing," but there I err. Coming down the street in gaudy kimono is a tiny child, and on its head is an American red felt hat. Men and children run riot in European hats, but the women still go with uncovered heads.

As we move down the street there is one other bit of modernity — a moving-picture show. Gaudy posters that would do credit to Coney Island wave over the door. We leave our rickshaw and step in. We do not remove our shoes, but instead encase our feet in cloth slippers.

At first we can see nothing, but we hear the steady drone of a voice. A Japanese movie, acted by Japanese actors, and depicting Japanese life Is being flashed upon the screen. But a Japanese movie usually has little action, for the Japanese seek to hide their emotions. They sit for hours, merely nodding, frowning or smiling, throughout the most momentous events. To make up for the inactivity, the Japanese have actors and actresses who speak the lines of the silent screen figures. It was this we had heard as we entered.

We find a small bench and sit down. But most of the audience sits on the floor — only foreigners and domestics use benches. At our feet is a family party consisting of father, mother, small son, and maid. The child is bubbling over with fun. He seems devoted to his nurse. He clutches her lovingly. When her foot is nearer than her hand. It is the big toe he grasps. In Japan, feet are as clean and as exposed as hands. The touch of one seems as satisfactory as the other.

Presently Mother grows restless. Then the little maid lights a cigarette, takes a few puffs, and hands it to her mistress. Now it Is Father's turn. He is evidently too hot. He loosens his divided, pleated skirt and removes it. Men in Japan take off their skirts, not their coats, when warm.

Soon Father has had enough. He arises, rearranges all his garments, and, his toilet completed, moves. out. His family meekly follows in the rear without question.

When we leave the theater it is dark. Over every shop flashes an electric light, and the street is gay with the many-colored lanterns of the rickshaw men.

We do not linger in Yokohama, but travel the following day to Tokio, the capital city. Here we determine not to endure the agony of an out-of-date European hotel.

With the aid of the Japanese Tourist Bureau we secure the name of a Japanese inn. Down an obscure street we find an unpretentious Japanese building. When the big, latticed front door is rolled back we see our host. He is surrounded by his servants. They all kneel, and with hands upon the ground bow low. Our little kimono-clad maid takes us to our room. It is bright and airy, and spotless. The lattice-screen windows are rolled back. The whole room is exposed to sun and air. Below is a tiny garden. Our room has little in it — a low table which is the right height when we are seated upon the floor, a tiny table writing-desk of the same height, two silk mats to sit upon, and a dressing-table that looks like a doll's bureau.

In one corner is a small alcove. Here stands a vase of flowers, and over it hangs a Japanese scroll. It is the room's one bit of decoration. The simplicity and sweet cleanliness are infinitely restful. We sit down upon our cushions in content.

Our small maid serves our meals in our room. A lacquered tray set with dainty dishes is put before us on the table. The food is appetizing — my friend eats it all. I confine myself to the cooked fish, roast chestnuts, rice, and delicious tea. We soon become experts with the chop sticks.

At night sliding wall-screens are rolled back, revealing a cupboard. Here our bedding is tucked away. Two wadded quilts are spread upon the floor, and over these a sheet. Then comes the covering — a red silk eider-down puff.

We soon get adjusted to sleeping on the floor. The only real trial at the inn are the toilet facilities. There is a common wash-room, with brass basins all in a row. Here men and women wash at the same time. But our little maid, knowing our weakness, shoos off intruders while we make our toilet. Next the wash-room is the bath. It has a stone floor with a large sink. This sink has a fire under it, and the water sizzles with heat. But you do not step immediately into this tub. You wash yourself thoroughly first at a small wooden bucket. When you have removed every trace of dirt and soap, you take a hasty plunge. You must be careful to be spotless, for the water in this tank is emptied only once a day, and if you leave traces behind, the next one who takes a bath will be indignant.

We return to our room invigorated by the intense heat of the bath, and find our breakfast waiting for us. Our bedding has been tucked away, and the room put in order. The Japanese live in a small space. Life's necessities are hidden behind screens. One room without furniture serves as bedroom, sitting-room, and dining-room. The rooms of the poor as well as the rich are kept spotless. The wooden floors of the halls shine from constant polishing, but beneath the immaculate neatness of the surface lies the refuse. This dirt and the ugly European innovations are the two blights of Japan.

There is an electric light in our room covered with a cheap white shade. Everywhere is the incongruous mixture of ancient charm and modern ugliness. The two streams run side by side in parallel columns, never merging. In school the children sit on ugly uncomfortable benches. At home they use charming floor-mats. In the office men wear ill-fitting European clothes, and when they reach home change to the attractive silk kimono. The Japanese have adopted modern inventions but failed to grasp the civihzation and beauty of spirit of the West. They are lacking in democracy. This is seen in their treatment of women. The women are still living the life of the Middle Ages.

In my ignorance I talked of woman suffrage. But suffrage is reserved for a favored few. Only a tenth of the male population has the vote. Japan is an autocracy. It has just emerged from feudalism. Its whole life is built on loyalty to the emperor.

The women are voiceless. They can not attend political meetings. They are the women of Jane Austen's novels — meek and submissive. They obey their husbands as lord and master. It is their duty to serve. In their homes they occupy the position of upper servants. Socially they have no life. When they appear in public they stand, not by the side of their husbands, but to one side. They wear tight kimonos and walk with mincing steps. They can not run away. Woman is frankly considered man's inferior. The girl's education is not the same as the boy's. To-day girls' schools are increasing. There are several exceptionally fine ones — among the best and earliest that of Miss Suda. But the portion educated is small. Few girls go beyond the grammar school and the typical high school for girls limits the edr ^ on to sewing and etiquette. The husband does not wish a companion. He desires a housekeeper.

When the husband enters the house, the wife, kneeling, places three fingers of her hands upon the floor and bows low. The serving-maid, when she waits upon you, must also kneel and bow. Foreign men who travel in Japan, seem to delight in this custom. As a young American facetiously remarked: " This is the place to bring a wife on a honeymoon. Here she learns how to behave."

The marriage customs are degrading. The marriage is arranged by parents or a go-between. Frequently the young couple do not see each other until man and wife. To love one another before marriage is considered immoral. It is a duty to wed. Love and romance must not enter in. Divorce, on the other hand, is obtainable by either party in case of mutual consent, but in practice the wife never gets a divorce. It would be unseemly. But when the husband wearies he always wrings consent from the wife. Then he registers the divorce and is free.

So completely is the wife, man's possession, that queer customs arise. In certain districts women blacken their teeth when married. This makes them unattractive to men. That it may also make them unattractive to their husband is of small moment. Widows often shave the head when the husband dies. Formerly unmarried women had to arrange their hair in one fashion, and married women in another. At a glance you could distinguish their state. This was convenient for men. But industrialism is driving out this custom. Probably employers object to the labeling of their employees. Embarrassing questions might arise. For in spite of woman's low social status she is everywhere working. The pay she receives is a trifle. In one pp "king-house the lo Behind the Battle Lines

wage for women was $3.50 a month. For man the same labor brought $15. And even the woman's meager earnings are not her own. Before she marries, the wages go to her parents. After marriage, unless she has registered her claim, which she rarely does, the husband receives the wages.

Japan's industrial development has brought increasing trials for women. In certain cases young daughters are literally sold to an employer for a term of three years. They become prisoners. They eat and sleep in the factory, and may never leave it. Physically and morally, conditions are intolerable. So bad are they that it is said that a district can not be recruited for girl-workers more than once. The wrecks who return to their parents are so pitiable that even the most avaricious parents will not consent to the slaughter. Tuberculosis and prostitution claim fifty- per cent. Woman's degradation has spread immorahty in Japan. In every large city there is a segregated district. Young girls are sold by their parents for a three- or five-year period of bondage. It is contended that many girls enter this profession willingly; that they tire of home life and its restrictions, and think anything else preferable. But these houses of shame have bars. A girl can not get away. A wall surrounds the district, and a soldier stands at the gate. Once inside, there is no escape.

Nor is the fate of the geisha girl much better. She, it is true, is free. She may wander forth. But she enters the tea-house in her 'teens. One night three girls danced for us, gay children dressed in gaudy kimonos with painted faces. They ranged in age from thirteen to sixteen. When the dance was over they went to play with their dolls. These children are the playthings of man. Their life is given to his entertainment, and if he fancies one of these babies she is his.

Under such conditions women can not prosper. Their welfare is not considered. The mothers of Japan grow old young. They know little about child-hygiene. Often they nurse their young until they are four or five years of age. This ignorance of the mothers results in national disaster. Infant mortality is enormous. Japan will never be a nation of the first rank with such a handicap. She may possess military strength, but internally she is weak. In a prolonged war against a civilized country she could not survive. At home she would crack, crumble, and collapse. Her women could not take the place of men. They have not the will-power or the initiative. They can not stand alone. They have been made a race of obedient servants and children.

But there are women in Japan who are awake. To them conditions are intolerable. They bleed for their sisters. These women are few in number, but their voice grows loud. As yet they are not organized, but here and there one arises to fling out her protest.

The nearest approach to united action is carried on under the auspices of the Y. W. C. A. Here Japanese women who have become Christians meet and work together. I was present at a business meeting. The chairman, secretary, and treasurer were all Japanese. They conducted the meeting well. These women are rebels. They long to change their country's customs. Their demands are humble. There is no talk of suffrage. That is an impossible dream when male suffrage does not even exist. They clamor for social and political equaUty, by which they mean the right to attend political meetings, to appear in public with their husbands, and to be treated as equals, to be given the same education as men, and, most cherished of all desires, to possess the privilege of choosing their own husbands.

The twenty-five graduates from American colleges find life hard in Japan, but with infinite wisdom the majority devote themselves to the fight for universal education. Occasionally some rebel is not content with such sane methods. She gathers friends about her and founds a society. One such group, comprising fifty or sixty members, is called the " Blue Stockings." Their object is to defy man and refuse matrimony. To remain unmarried in Japan is to be an outcast. Such behavior brings disgrace. There is, however, to-day one old woman who boasts proudly that she is the first " old maid " of Japan. But nature is strong. The " Blue Stockings " do not increase in number. As fast as members join, others are graphically described as " throwing down their pens to become good wives and wise mothers."

But even Japan can not kill the spirit of genius. It will always arise triumphant. That accounts for Asa Hirooka. The strength of her personality broke the bonds of suppression. As a girl she studied and read. The only English books translated into Japanese she could find were on banking. These she devoured. At twenty-four she married. Her family's fortune was then failing. Bankruptcy lay ahead. Then this young woman stepped in, and grappled with the worn-out methods of the old bank. She applied the methods of her books on English banking. To-day the Mitsui Banks, scattered throughout the land, are far-famed.

A woman who can make a fortune is not to be scorned. She was given her freedom, but called a crank.

Nor did her work cease with the bank. She de-

ASA HIROOKA veloped as well the mining interests of her family. Clad in bloomers and with a pistol in her belt, she went into the mines and ordered the men about. Here was a woman the Japanese man could not defy or tame. Through an interpreter she told me her story. " Japanese women," she said, " need to be awakened. They need to develop strong wills. They are weak. They have no rights — no property rights — no rights even over their own children. But little by little a change is coming. The Japanese man begins to realize that a nation can not be great without the support of its women. Even its military strength will fail. Men laughed at me at first and said that I was crazy, but now they listen. There can be no true Internationalism until women are free. Only when men and women stand shoulder to shoulder can the nations of the world unite."

As I listened to this fine old woman I forgot where I was. Asa HIrooka is 67. Her face is stamped with lines, and her hair is gray, but the slant in her eyes has lost its prominence. There is no meekness in her manner. Clad in European clothes, she might have sprung from any land. Vital energy and a burning spirit are her dominant characteristics.

When I left, we walked toward the door together — she with a free stride and her hands pushed into her coat pockets. I glanced down and found my own hands buried deep in my pockets. The habits and manners of East and West had become the same. We were from no country and of no sex — merely human beings talking together. I looked up at her and smiled. She caught my meaning. Our hands sought each other in a long clasp. A few more such women and Japan will be a new country. I went away with a lighter heart. Such a spirit is bound to bear fruit.

But the day had come for our departure. For two days we journeyed through the land. Our train slid past the Inland Sea — that stretch of vivid blue water, whose shore-line is studded with shapely mountains possessing a beauty almost unnatural. It is an idealized version of beautiful Lake Geneva for mile after mile, until the eye grows weary with such continuous exquisite loveliness. It is just the spot for romance, and one was blossoming in our car before our very eyes. A Japanese train is a miniature affair. It runs on a narrow-gauge track. It fits a European hardly better than a toy train. The cars in form are like those of America — open the entire length, but the seats run lengthwise. When a Japanese enters, he slips off his shoes and curls up on his feet on the seat. Men and women present much the appearance of children kneeling on the car seat to look out the windows. Opposite us was a newly married couple. They were curled up on the seat gazing out of the window. Occasionally they stole shy glances at each other. Their faces at the window grew closer together. Then his face rested against the. window-sill. Audaciously she leaned over and dropped a kiss on the back of his neck. Then the guard entered, and they flew apart, to become absorbed in the problem of the window-shade. It was my one glimpse into the heart of Japan. For the Japanese are intensely reserved. However volcanic beneath, the life on the surface is unruffled. Their emotions, like their scenery, are perfectly ordered and planned.