It could be said that this represents a precise recalibration by the United States toward Japan.

On September 18, the U.S. Embassy in Japan posted on X, referring to the B-29 — the aircraft that bombed Tokyo and dropped two atomic bombs — as the "air bridge between the U.S. and Japan," commemorating the 1945 record-breaking long-distance flight when three B-29s flew nonstop from Hokkaido to the United States.

What does the B-29 symbolize for the Japanese? On March 10, 1945, 334 B-29s conducted a firebombing raid on Tokyo, killing more than 80,000 people in a single night. On August 6 and 9, the same aircraft delivered atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. For the Japanese, these three letters evoke ash, ruin, and death.

The United States, however, frames it as a "bridge." Americans remember the day the B-29s returned to the U.S.; the Japanese recall the days they flew toward Japan. The same symbol carries two diametrically opposed historical memories.

The embassy’s post may appear innocuous, but it has reopened deep-seated wounds in Japan, striking a nerve and provoking widespread backlash online. Comments flooded in with expressions of "lack of sensitivity" and demands for the post to be removed. Even longtime pro-American voices expressed discomfort: "I have no anti-American sentiment and have always held a favorable view of the U.S., but this post has triggered genuine revulsion."

Ironically, just two weeks earlier—on September 2—the U.S. Embassy shared a historical image marking Japan’s unconditional surrender. The post ignited immediate outrage among right-wing circles in Japan, with some commenters openly declaring, "Next time, we must win."

The underlying intent appears to be a gradual reconfiguration of Japan’s historical consciousness—transforming the B-29 from a symbol of defeat into the origin point of the U.S.-Japan alliance. Once this narrative permeates public discourse, the presence of U.S. forces in Japan would shift from being perceived as remnants of occupation to symbols of security partnership. Over time, public resistance to the military presence would diminish, solidifying America’s strategic posture in the Asia-Pacific region.

In essence, the question is whether Japan accepts this narrative. Acceptance amounts to tacit endorsement of America’s authority over historical interpretation. In the future, any push for increased troop deployments, weapon installations, or greater burden-sharing on defense costs would face diminished domestic resistance. Refusal, meanwhile, risks being interpreted as disloyalty to the alliance, potentially undermining future security assurances.

Perhaps most revealing is the behavior of Japan’s right-wing factions, who tirelessly seek to revise history related to Japan’s wartime aggression—reframing invasion as liberation, venerating war criminals as national heroes. Yet when it comes to their own wartime experience at the hands of the United States, they remain silent. They are unafraid to distort others’ histories, yet recoil at any attempt to reinterpret their own. At root, this reflects a fundamental lack of autonomy—an awareness that their sovereignty remains contingent upon external validation.

A seemingly minor social media post conceals intricate calculations in geopolitical strategy. The so-called equal alliance between the U.S. and Japan has always been rhetorical. One party controls the narrative of history and the direction of security policy; the other adjusts its posture according to the other’s rhythm. Even dissent is reduced to scattered remarks in online comment sections.

Original source: toutiao.com/article/1876790126098499/

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the author alone.