Azmi Mahamad
Google
On 1 August 2025, we decided to explore one of the city’s most fascinating and often debated cultural landmarks — the Yūshūkan Museum.
As two visitors from Malaysia, stepping into this museum meant stepping into a world where history, remembrance and national pride all converge.
The museum first opened its doors in 1882, making it Japan’s oldest military museum. Over the years it has been rebuilt and expanded, most notably after World War II and again in 2002, when it underwent significant modernization. Its stated mission is to honor those who fought for Japan from the Meiji Restoration through World War II.
Yet what makes Yūshūkan unique is not just its impressive collection of artifacts, but also its perspective. Exhibits highlight the courage and sacrifice of Japanese soldiers while often avoiding detailed discussion of the war’s darker consequences.
The ground floor immediately sets the tone with a dramatic centerpiece: the Mitsubishi Zero fighter aircraft. To see this legendary plane up close was extraordinary. Its sleek frame, once the pride of the Imperial Japanese Navy, reminded us why it was both feared and admired during the Pacific War.
Moving further in, we encountered the C56 steam locomotive that once ran on the infamous Thai–Burma Railway. For us Malaysians, this exhibit had a powerful resonance. Known as the “Death Railway,” the line was built through forced labor and claimed thousands of lives. The museum presents the locomotive as part of engineering history, but standing before it, we could not help but reflect on the immense suffering that lay behind its operation.
Outside in the covered portico, the focus shifts to artillery. The Model 89 15cm cannon and the Model 96 howitzer stood as imposing examples of Japan’s wartime firepower. These weapons were used in the defense of Okinawa and other late-war battles.
The Grand Exhibition Hall on the same floor expanded the scope further. Tanks, naval guns, torpedoes and experimental weapons such as the Ohka suicide aircraft and the Shin’yō motor boat filled the space.
Upstairs, the emphasis shifted from machines to people. The second floor opened with galleries tracing Japan’s rise as a modern power through the Meiji and Russo-Japanese Wars. Photographs, medals, and campaign maps charted how Japan emerged onto the global stage. The transition into the Pacific War exhibits introduced glass cases filled with rifles, swords, uniforms and regimental flags. Among these, the swords stood out most vividly, beautifully crafted and symbolic of how samurai traditions carried into modern military life.
The most poignant section, however, was the gallery of farewell letters and portraits. Many young soldiers wrote final notes to their families before leaving for battle. Even without fully understanding the Japanese language, the emotion was unmistakable. These letters humanized the war in a way that the tanks and planes downstairs could not.
As Malaysians, our reflections were layered. We admired the craftsmanship, the engineering brilliance, and the preservation of history on display. Yet we also remembered how these same weapons and soldiers once marched through Southeast Asia, leaving a legacy that is still remembered in our part of the world. Yūshūkan’s narrative emphasizes heroism and sacrifice, often minimizing the costs of war, but this contrast actually made our visit richer. It reminded us how history is never one story, but many, depending on where you stand.
Tickets cost JPY1,000 for adults.
From the grandeur of the Zero fighter in the lobby to the intimate poignancy of soldiers’ letters upstairs, the museum offered a powerful journey through Japan’s modern military history.
It was not just about weapons or battles; it was about memory, identity, and how a nation chooses to honor its past. For us, it was an enriching experience — one that deepened our understanding of Japan, while reminding us of the shared and often painful history of our region.