Kamikaze – Two Divine Typhoons of Life, One Grim Wind of Death
"My country calls me to the greatest sacrifice, and I cannot refuse. Yet my heart aches when I think of what might have been. I dreamed of becoming a teacher and having a family. Perhaps in another life, these dreams will come true.”
The term Kamikaze, one of the most recognized words originating from Japanese, carries with it a story that intertwines mythology, nature, and the tragic fates of young people, often mere teenagers. Literally meaning "divine wind" (神風), its origins date back to the 13th century, when two powerful typhoons saved Japan from Mongol invasion. Over time, the term became a symbol not only of divine intervention but also of the unyielding spirit of the Japanese people. During World War II, it was revived in a dramatic context: as the name for young pilots who embarked on desperate missions, sacrificing their lives for the military goals of the Japanese empire. These two worlds—the typhoons of the 13th century and the suicide pilots—are woven into an extraordinary narrative that continues to evoke admiration, controversy, and profound reflection.
During World War II, Japanese military leaders, facing defeats in the Pacific, invoked the symbol of kamikaze to inspire a spirit of sacrifice and determination among the nation. Drawing inspiration from ancient tales of divine typhoons, they created special suicide attack units, where young men—often only 17 to 24 years old—embarked on one-way missions. What was meant to be an act of defense and courage became a tragedy for an entire generation. In the second part of this article, we will learn about them through their final letters written before their deaths.
We will delve into the history of the two divine winds that changed the course of Japan's history in the 13th century and the drama of the third "wind" embodied by kamikaze pilots. We will read their last letters, full of emotions and reflections, shedding light on who they were and what they felt before departing forever. This is a story of courage, myths, propaganda, and the price paid for fanatical ideas. Were they heroes? Perhaps, but they were also children who dreamed of a different life, pushed into suicide by older and supposedly wiser leaders, losing decades of life that lay ahead. All for ideas that no longer matter today.
What Does "Kamikaze" (神風) Mean?
The term kamikaze (神風) translates literally as "divine wind" or "holy wind," or alternatively "divine typhoon." It consists of two kanji characters: 神 (kami), meaning "god" or "divine," and 風 (kaze), meaning "wind." While it is now primarily associated with the suicide pilots of World War II, its history extends much further back, to the 13th century, when it became a symbol of divine intervention protecting Japan from Mongol invasions.
- 神 (kami): In Japanese culture, this character symbolizes the deities (kami) venerated in Shinto, Japan's indigenous religion. Kami does not only refer to gods but also to nature spirits that protect people, such as spirits of mountains, rivers, or wind. In the context of kamikaze, it refers to the divine power attributed to the typhoons that saved Japan in the 13th century.
- 風 (kaze): This word means "wind," one of the fundamental natural phenomena, which in Japanese mythology and literature is often associated with heavenly forces. Wind has long symbolized power, the unpredictability of fate, and protection from danger.
The idea of a divine wind was not new even in the 13th century. In classical Japanese literature, such as the Nihon Shoki (Chronicles of Japan, 8th century) and Man’yōshū (Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves, 8th century), references to wind as an element of divine intervention can be found.
In the Nihon Shoki, Princess Yamato-hime, a priestess of Amaterasu, mentions the "divine wind" blowing over the province of Ise, home to the sacred shrine of the sun goddess. In Man’yōshū, poetry celebrates the wind as a messenger of the gods and an element of chaos, capable of both destruction and protection.
The First Divine Wind (Kamikaze 1274)
13th Century Japan
Japan in the 13th century was a land of samurai, Buddhist temples, and majestic forests. During the Kamakura period, Japan was a provincial yet vibrant archipelago, with its center of power located in Kamakura, a small city filled with wooden palaces and monasteries. Here, the Kamakura shogunate, a military government controlled by the Hōjō clan, held actual power over the country, leaving the emperor in Kyoto as a symbolic figurehead without real authority.
The samurai were the most influential cultural class of the time, warriors trained from childhood to kill and to face death without fear. Their code of honor, later known as bushidō, shaped not only warfare but also daily life. Buddhism, particularly its Zen branches, strengthened the samurai’s spiritual discipline, teaching them calmness in the face of death. Monasteries scattered throughout the mountains and valleys resonated with chants, while the ritual sounds of bells filled the morning air.
Meanwhile, across the sea in the vast Mongol Empire, Kublai Khan, the grandson of the legendary Genghis Khan, sat on the throne of the Yuan dynasty. Having unified China, Kublai turned his ambitions toward Japan, whose wealth tempted him. Trade between Japan and the defeated Song dynasty irritated him as a sign of Japanese independence. The ruler sent envoys to Japan, demanding its submission and acknowledgment of his sovereignty. The shogunate’s response was clear and brief—refusal.
The Mongol Invasion of 1274
In response to this affront, Kublai Khan organized a fleet with the help of Korea, which he had already subdued. In the autumn of 1274, a Mongol army, numbering approximately 30,000 soldiers and supported by a fleet of 500 to 900 ships, set sail for Japan. The sight of this armada must have been awe-inspiring—hundreds of sails spread across the sea like the wings of a giant flock of birds.
The first targets were the islands of Tsushima and Iki. Here, the Mongol might met with small but determined Japanese forces (fans of Ghost of Tsushima will recognize these events). The samurai fought in a way that seemed strange to the Mongols—each warrior sought honor in individual duels. Meanwhile, the Mongols, accustomed to massed attacks and the use of siege engines, relied on organization and discipline, overwhelming the Japanese warriors.
After defeating the defenders of the islands, the Mongol fleet reached Kyushu, landing in Hakata Bay near present-day Fukuoka. There, they encountered larger samurai forces fiercely defending their land. The battle was brutal—Japanese bows, spears (yari), and swords (katana) clashed with Mongol crossbows and gunpowder used to create terrifying explosions.
The Typhoon – The First Kamikaze
Then the typhoon arrived. Fierce wind and rain began to devastate the Mongol fleet anchored in the bay. Accounts of the storm are filled with dread: the wind roared like an enraged dragon, waves struck the ships like the fists of giants, and the sky seemed to crack with lightning. The wooden hulls of the Mongol ships snapped like twigs, sails were torn to shreds, and terrified soldiers were cast into the sea.
Japanese samurai seized the chaos, attacking the weakened invaders on land and finishing off shipwreck survivors along the coast. Those who survived fled on the remnants of the fleet, but most of the ships were either sunk or shattered against the rocks. Of the approximately 30,000 soldiers, only a handful returned to Korea.
Who first called the typhoon a "divine wind"? It is hard to determine, but records from the era indicate that the shogunate authorities, witnessing the storm's destructive power, began speaking of divine intervention. Buddhist monks and Shinto priests emphasized that prayers to Hachiman, the god of war, brought the storm that saved Japan. Thus, the myth of the "divine wind" was born, enduring through the ages as a symbol of divine protection over Japan.
The Second Divine Wind (Kamikaze 1281)
The Second Mongol Invasion
After the first Mongol invasion in 1274, Japan had no illusions—Kublai Khan would not abandon his plans to conquer the islands. Kamakura, the seat of shogunate power, immediately began preparations for another confrontation. At Hakata Bay, the site of the first battle, monumental defensive walls were constructed. The stone fortifications stood about 2.5 meters tall and stretched over 20 kilometers. Local forces were also strengthened, and samurai from various regions of the country were conscripted into service, forming an improvised army ready to fight at the shore.
On the continent, Kublai Khan was not idle. After conquering the Song dynasty in China, he had even greater human and technological resources at his disposal. The second Mongol armada was to be enormous—two great divisions: the Korean Eastern Route Fleet, departing from Masan, and the Chinese Southern Fleet, setting out from ports along the Yangtze River. The combined forces comprised over 140,000 soldiers and sailors aboard 4,400 ships, making it the largest naval invasion in history until the D-Day landings in 1944. The plan was to have the fleets meet off the coast of Kyūshū and strike Hakata Bay together.
The Battle and the Typhoon
The first skirmishes occurred on the islands of Tsushima and Iki, where the Mongols once again demonstrated their brutality. However, the situation was different on Kyūshū. The massive defensive walls of Hakata Bay effectively slowed the Mongol advance. The Korean fleet attempted to breach the coastline but was systematically repelled by the Japanese defenders. The Chinese Southern Fleet, delayed by logistical issues, did not arrive until mid-August, weakening the Mongol strategy of a concentrated attack.
The battles at Shika and Hakata were grueling encounters where the Japanese samurai gained an advantage thanks to the defensive terrain and morale bolstered by prayers to the gods and protective Buddhist rituals. Yet even heroic defense might not have sufficed against the Mongols' numerical superiority if not for the forces of nature.
In mid-August 1281, dark clouds gathered over Kyūshū. It soon became clear that this was no ordinary storm but a powerful typhoon. The Mongol armada, which had anchored its ships in Imari and Hakata bays, became a defenseless victim of the elements. Fierce winds hurled the ships against the shore and one another, while waves engulfed soldiers and crews. Torrential rains reduced visibility to nearly zero. Those who survived the storm fell into Japanese hands.
According to legend, after the typhoon struck, the water in Hakata Bay was so thick with wreckage and bodies that one could walk across to the other side without getting wet. Historical accounts suggest that of the approximately 140,000 soldiers and sailors, fewer than half returned to the continent. The typhoon not only destroyed the army but shattered the Mongols' morale. It was a defeat after which Kublai Khan abandoned further attempts to invade Japan.
The Legacy of the Second Divine Wind
The second divine wind deeply impacted Japanese mentality and national identity. The victory was attributed not only to the strength of the samurai but also to divine intervention. Japan was declared shinkoku—"the land of the gods," protected by divine forces against foreign invaders. This myth solidified in folklore, literature, and art, strengthening the belief in the country's and its people's exceptionalism.
However, the victory had its darker sides. The great war effort exhausted Kamakura’s resources, and dissatisfaction among samurai, who did not receive appropriate rewards for their service, led to internal conflicts. These tensions set in motion the gradual decline of the Kamakura shogunate, which lost power half a century later.
The legacy of the second divine wind remains one of the foundations of Japanese identity. It was an event that forever changed how the Japanese perceived themselves and their place in the world, creating the image of a nation protected by gods and uniting in times of crisis.
The Third Divine Wind – Kamikaze of World War II
Ideology
In the 1930s and 1940s, Japan, veering toward authoritarianism and expansionism, began to draw on its history and mythology to build the foundation of nationalist ideology. The legend of the "divine wind"—the typhoons that saved Japan from Mongol invasions—became one of the central symbols in state propaganda. The militaristic government of Imperial Japan interpreted it as proof that Japan was a unique country, protected by the gods, destined to play a special role on the international stage.
During World War II, as the tides of war turned against Japan, the symbolism of the "divine wind" took on special significance. Japanese authorities, aware of the growing power of Allied forces, began promoting ideas of sacrifice and total devotion to the emperor and homeland. In this context, the idea of Tokubetsu Kōgekitai (特別攻撃隊), or special attack units—later known as kamikaze—was born.
Vice Admiral Takijirō Ōnishi, commander of the Japanese Air Force in the Philippines, is considered the father of the kamikaze concept. In October 1944, following a series of defeats in Pacific battles, he decided to establish the first units of suicide pilots. According to his words, "kamikaze" was to be the last measure that could give Japan a chance to turn the tide of the war. Although Ōnishi believed such sacrifice should be a last resort, it quickly became a symbol of Japan’s desperation and military determination.
Symbolism and Propaganda
The myth of the "divine wind" was fully embraced by Japanese wartime propaganda. Kamikaze pilots were portrayed as modern samurai, ready to sacrifice their lives for a higher cause. Their missions were not only military acts but also symbolic gestures meant to shake the morale of the Allies and inspire the fighting spirit of the Japanese people. Pilots were depicted as heroes whose actions were guided by bushidō—the samurai code of honor—and deep love for their homeland.
The "third divine wind" was meant to be a contemporary response to the legend of the Mongol invasions, a testament that Japan was still protected by divine forces. Propaganda claimed that every kamikaze pilot, by giving his life, contributed to Japan's defense against humiliation and colonization.
In reality, kamikaze pilots were often young, sometimes teenage boys, who on one hand believed in the ideology of sacrifice, but on the other, faced immense social and military pressure. For many, the decision to participate in the missions was not voluntary—although the government promoted the image of volunteers, numerous sources indicate that these young men often had no choice.
Despite the heroic image promoted by propaganda, the introduction of kamikaze units was an act of desperation. Military commanders understood that conventional methods of war could not counter the powerful Allied fleets. Pilots were sent to certain death in planes that were often outdated and plagued by technical issues. Their missions were primarily symbolic—a cry from a dying empire that refused to accept defeat.
Who Were These Young Men?
The kamikaze, members of the special attack units Tokubetsu Kōgekitai, were mostly young men reduced by wartime desperation to tools of propaganda and ultimate warfare. Their average age was around 21, though among them were teenagers as young as 17, freshly out of school. They came from various backgrounds—rural, urban, and sometimes even intellectual. Many attended universities or prestigious military schools before the war robbed them of the chance for a peaceful life. For most, the war was an abstraction—a place they were thrust into by fate and the force of propaganda.
Photographs preserved in museums depict them as ordinary young men: smiling at cameras, petting dogs, standing proudly by their machines with determined but sometimes subdued gazes. Each of these photos tells the story of someone with dreams, ambitions, and fears. The youngest kamikaze, Yasuo Tanaka, was just 16 when he died piloting an Okha—a bomb with wings. He was only a boy who never had the chance to grow up.
***
One well-known pilot was Haruo Araki, a 21-year-old squadron leader who married his beloved Shigeko just a month before his death. In a farewell letter, he wrote to her with a mix of sorrow and hope:
"When I think of your future and the long life you have ahead of you, my heart breaks. Please, live happily. After my death, take care of my father. I, who lived for the eternal principles of justice, will forever protect this country from its enemies."
This letter, filled with love and care, also carries the weight of an inevitable fate that Haruo accepted with humility and pain.
***
Seventeen-year-old Takao Adachi wrote to his grandmother and father in one of his letters:
"Dear Grandmother and Father, the decisive battle is near. I am excited about the prospect of immediately sinking the enemy. I am grateful to die as a member of the Divine Special Corps. Please celebrate the day when I sink the enemy and perish."
Behind these words, one can sense not only determination but also an attempt to convince himself that death has meaning—that it is glorious rather than a tragic and senseless end to a young life.
***
Another letter, from 19-year-old Masanobu Uchida, was addressed to his mother:
"Dear Mother, thank you for everything you have done for me. I am sad to leave you so early, but I know I must do this for our country. If there were another way, I would choose it. But now, I can only pray for your health and happiness. I know you will be proud of my sacrifice. I will always be with you in spirit."
These words reveal the contrast between the official narrative of heroism and the personal sorrow that accompanied many young pilots. Uchida, like many others, seemed not only compelled to complete his mission but also longed for his death to hold meaning that could justify the loss of his life.
***
A final letter from 20-year-old Shunsuke Nomura, written to his younger brother, reads:
"Dear Brother, I want you to remember me not as a warrior, but as your older brother who always wanted to protect you. This is my final mission, but I know you must live on. Please, stay strong and take care of our family. Life is fragile, but yours has great value. Do not waste it."
This letter, full of love and care, shows that even in the face of certain death, familial bonds remained the strongest feelings guiding the young pilots. Nomura wished for his brother not to follow the same path and urged him to preserve the value of life for their family.
***
The social pressure on these young men was immense. Traditional values, such as bushidō—the samurai code—glorified sacrifice for the country and the emperor. In the farewell letters of the kamikaze, expressions of loyalty to the emperor often appear, but traces of doubt can also be found. Some pilots, like 18-year-old Tetsuo Kaneda, tried to subtly express their fears:
"My country calls me to the ultimate sacrifice, and I cannot refuse. Yet my heart aches when I think of what might have been. I dreamed of becoming a teacher and having a family. Perhaps in another life, these dreams will come true."
Kaneda did not hide his youthful dreams, which were brutally cut short by the war. His letter reflects the tragedy of a generation forced to abandon their future for ideals that were often not of their own choosing.
***
Workers at the Chiran base, where many kamikaze spent their last night before their mission, recalled how their beds were wet with tears. These young men, who outwardly seemed resigned to their fate, were internally battling terror. In one of the letters, an anonymous pilot wrote:
"I am afraid. But if I back out, I will lose everything that matters to me. That is why I fly—not for the emperor, not for the gods, but for those who are watching me."
The letters of the kamikaze, their photographs, and the memories of those who knew them paint a picture of ordinary young men placed in a situation that cries out to the heavens. While official propaganda tried to elevate them to the status of heroes, their words reveal the human fear and longing for a life they never had the chance to fully live.
The Reality of War
The largest kamikaze attacks occurred during the Battle of Okinawa, fought from April to June 1945. One of the most tragic incidents was the strike by two planes on the USS Bunker Hill on May 11, 1945. The attack, which killed 393 American sailors and injured 264 others, effectively removed the aircraft carrier from further wartime operations. It was one of the most destructive single attacks in the history of the U.S. Navy.
In total, during the Battle of Okinawa, Japanese kamikaze pilots conducted over 1,900 missions, inflicting significant damage on the American fleet. Yes, 1,900 missions mean exactly 1,900 young boys forced into suicide.
The effectiveness statistics of kamikaze missions are as dramatic as they are varied. It is estimated that of the more than 4,000 pilots who undertook suicide missions, only about 14–19% managed to reach their targets, striking Allied ships. Nevertheless, the losses were significant: kamikaze sank 34 Allied ships and damaged 368 others. The attacks killed over 4,900 Allied sailors and wounded more than 8,000. On the Japanese side, the losses were equally devastating—thousands of young men died, often without achieving their intended goals, raising questions about the actual strategic value of this tactic.
The impact of kamikaze attacks on Allied strategy and morale was mixed. On the one hand, Allied commanders had to adapt their operations—reinforcing anti-aircraft defenses on ships and positioning escort ships closer to main fleets to protect aircraft carriers. On the other hand, while the attacks instilled fear among sailors, they did not halt the American advance. Allied morale remained high, and kamikaze were seen as the enemy's final, desperate measure when no other options remained. For many Allied soldiers and commanders, kamikaze were a symbol of fanaticism but also the tragedy of a young generation caught in a hopeless fight.
Conclusion
The story of the kamikaze, both in the context of the 13th-century typhoons and the suicide pilots of World War II, is a tale of human determination and tragic choices. It is a testament to how mythology and history can be used to shape ideology, which ultimately consumes its own adherents. The divine wind that once protected Japan from destruction became, in the 20th century, a symbol of desperation and manipulation, sacrificing young lives on the altar of wartime propaganda.
The kamikaze pilots, portrayed in propaganda as heroes ready for the ultimate sacrifice, were, in reality, victims of their own culture, which glorified honor over life. Most of them had no choice—social pressure, duty to the emperor, and national rhetoric left little room for dissent. The letters they left behind are filled with a mixture of sorrow, determination, and sadness, revealing the humanity behind the facade of propaganda myth. Were they heroes? Perhaps, but they were also children who dreamed of a different life.
The tragedy of the kamikaze lies in the fact that their deaths were the result of decisions made by older and "wiser" individuals who failed to find a better way. It is a stark reminder that war, regardless of the era, always claims the most innocent victims. The history of the kamikaze is a universal cautionary tale—against fanaticism, against war, and against sacrificing youth for ideals that often prove unworthy of their price.
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未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
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