From late December 1944 to early March 1974, Hiroo Onoda, a Japanese lieutenant, hid in the jungle on Lubang Island in the Philippines, waging a lonely, one-sided guerrilla warfare against the US-led Allied forces. Not knowing—or rather, not believing—World War II was over, he remained resolute in carrying out his mission.
Initially, he commanded three soldiers. Akatsu surrendered in 1949, while Shimada and Kozuka were killed in 1954 and 1972, respectively.
Akatsu’s desertion came as no surprise to the trio because he’d long been considered a weakling in both mental and physical capacities. In contrast, Shimada and Kozuka had been on the same wavelength as Onoda from the very beginning. The support system they had built was so formidable and extensive that not once did they permit doubts to creep in and undermine their mission.
On May 7, 1954, a mountain unit of the Philippine Army was conducting a training exercise on Lubang Island and accidentally encountered the three Japanese soldiers. Shimada was hit and killed in the shootout. Eighteen years later, on October 19, 1972, while raiding farmers for the harvested rice, they lingered too long and were ambushed by local police. Onoda escaped, but Kozuka did not.
Living in the jungle while fighting a guerrilla war was no easy task. Setting up camps, foraging for food, mending their clothes, and patrolling the territory—these were just a few of the challenges Onoda, Shimada, and Kozuka faced regularly. Their ability to survive for so long with extremely meager resources was a testament to how strong and effective they worked as a team. With both Shimada and Kozuka gone, the jungle that had once echoed with the sounds of camaraderie now became unbearably silent. Though there’s no direct evidence, I believe Kozuka’s death marked a turning point for Onoda, who decided to re-engage with the outside world.
In February 1974, Onoda spotted Norio Suzuki, whose adventurous spirit had led him to Lubang Island with a singular goal: to find and persuade the elusive lieutenant to come out of hiding. This unplanned meeting could only have occurred if the “lone wolf” was willing to reveal himself—and he did. During their encounter, Onoda allowed his photos to be taken and declared that he would only stop fighting if ordered to do so by his commanding officer.
Suzuki, duly noting Onoda’s request, returned to Japan and tracked down Major Taniguchi, long retired from military service. Together, they flew to Lubang Island on March 9, 1974, setting up camp on the same beach where Onoda had met Suzuki. They didn’t have to wait long for Onoda to appear. After spending nearly twenty-nine years in the jungle, Onoda stood in attention and received his final command from the retired Major: surrender.
World War II ended on September 2, 1945. From the start, the locals knew that Japanese soldiers were still hiding in the jungle. Allied forces and the Japanese government were aware of this, too. They airdropped leaflets, newspaper articles, and letters from loved ones—all of which failed to convince Onoda and his men that the war was truly over. Incredibly, by 1965, the group had even acquired a stolen radio, so they were not completely ignorant of the world beyond the jungle. Yet, they twisted every piece of information to fit their narrative, unable to fathom the possibility of Japan losing the war, dismissing everything as an elaborate ruse designed to weaken their resolve.
They marveled at the effort the Allied forces invested in trying to lure them out. From a safe distance, they listened as their relatives made heartfelt pleas over loudspeakers. They laughed at the audacity—and the ingenuity—of these tactics. Finding actors who looked and sounded just like their relatives wouldn’t be easy, but their enemies had seemingly pulled it off. Kudos to them!
Fully engrossed in their guerrilla mission, Onoda, Shimada, and Kozuka were suspicious of everything the search parties left behind. They scrutinized each evidence, looking for signs of deceits. Due to their deep-seated distrust, they always detected something out of place.
For example, Kozuka once found a leaflet with a photo of his family standing in front of a house. But it wasn’t the one he remembered. Unaware that his childhood home had been destroyed in the war, as many buildings in Tokyo had been, Kozuka angrily declared, “How do they expect me to believe this? Why would my family be standing in front of a house that isn’t ours?”
The perils of Groupthink couldn’t be clearer!
Onoda was fortunate enough to emerge from the jungle to reunite with his family. Sadly, the same cannot be said about Shimada and Kozuka. Both died believing the war was still ongoing, remaining vigilant to the end, convinced that the glorious day of victory was just around the corner.
Onoda held out for 10,416 days—28 years, 6 months, and 8 days—after Japan’s surrender in 1945. All for what? Nothing! On March 9, 1974, in the presence of Suzuki and Major Taniguchi, a storm raged inside Onoda, stirring all sorts of emotions: foolishness, bitterness, anger, and profound sadness. Yet, he also found closure. At 52, he put down his weapon and stepped out of the jungle, ready to start anew in a world that was foreign and strange. Stubborn, practical, and courageous—the same qualities that had helped him survive in the jungle—came to his aid once again. Onoda rebuilt his life and lived to the age of 91.
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For anyone not in their shoes, it’s easy to scoff at how foolhardy Onoda, Shimada, and Kozuka were. Their carefully constructed worldview was riddled with holes, wishful thinking, and conspiracy theories. Looking back, Onoda himself acknowledged the absurdity of it all. Yet, while in the thick of it, the group’s determination to see their mission through was the driving force that kept them going. They had convinced themselves that staying on Lubang Island to fight was a worthy cause.
Before rushing to judgment, let’s be honest: many of us are just as susceptible to being hypnotized by our own flawed reasoning, no matter how misguided it might be. In our pursuit, we might put blinders on to stay hyper-focused, push through exhaustion despite doubts, or lack the courage to pivot. Soon, a year goes by, then five, ten, twenty, and thirty…
While our experiences may not match the drama of the three Japanese soldiers, each of us can find ourselves stuck in our own version of Lubang Island for various reasons.
In my case, my career path consumed me. For twenty-seven years, I spun and hopped from one corporate hamster wheel to another. My last one, despite its enticing bells and whistles, proved to be my undoing.
“Letting the great work speak for itself” is a firm belief of mine. While I have always known that this notion is beyond gullible—no workplace, or anywhere else for that matter, operates on that principle—it still annoys me when things don’t pan out as anticipated.
For instance, when there were resource shortages—a frequent issue at my last workplace because the leadership team made “do it faster, better but with lower cost” their mantra—I willingly took on more responsibilities as vacated positions were left unfilled. “Surely,” I thought, “the leadership team will finally recognize my value, stop paying me lip service, and promote me.” Time and time again, I was disappointed. Despite feeling upset and frustrated, I suppressed those emotions and continued to prioritize work above all else, consoling myself with, “Maybe next time.”
For a long time, I was obsessed with being successful and made this my lifetime mission. I pigeonholed success strictly within the confines of performance ratings, pay raises, and promotions. Then M.A. came along and shattered that view.
Around March 2019, M.A. who was the chief of staff for an executive, was parachuted in to manage the team responsible for credit and collections strategies. She became my direct supervisor and the bane of my existence.
Presumably trying to hide her insecurity, she constantly told anyone within earshot that she was implored, entreated, and begged to lead the team, claiming there was no one else in the company more qualified. She frequently reminded us of her close relationship with the executive of our business unit—the same person who created this role and put her in it. She made it clear that her views were always right, and questioning them was considered total insubordination. In meetings, she was combative and condescending, even towards people in higher positions.
Never in my life had I met someone so bigheaded, divisive, and mean-spirited. After enduring so much browbeating and belittling, I felt miserable and began doubting my self-worth. It was a bleak period, and I rarely allowed myself to reflect on it.
Almost a year to the day, M.A. was sacked. When the news broke, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Her oppressive and tyrannical management style had prompted me to reevaluate what truly mattered in life. I’d had a good run in my career, but this relentless chase for promotions had lost its appeal. I no longer felt the need to seek validation from others. “Enough!” I told myself. It was time to pivot.
I thought back to nearly twenty years ago, when I took a brief break from the corporate grind. During that time, my brother-in-law asked if I would contribute to his educational website. My first series was a collection of fun, informative short stories about animals. Later, I wrote separate installments covering famous historical figures and ancient civilizations. Sadly, despite my determination to continue freelancing after returning to full-time office work, I eventually stopped writing altogether, pouring all my energy into the never-ending corporate rat race.
Looking back, that short stint as a writer remains, hands down, one of the happiest periods of my adulthood. Before then, I hadn’t even realized I had a knack for writing. With many years still ahead of me, I’m determined to live authentically and joyfully for myself—this is my new mission. While I don’t have all the details mapped out yet, I know my first move is to reignite my passion for writing and immerse myself fully in it, one story at a time.
March 29, 2024, was my last day at work. I went to the office to return my badge and laptop. As I rode down the escalator, I uninstalled all the work apps from my phone. Seeing them vanish made my heart skip a beat. I stepped outside, grinning from ear to ear. I turned around and gave the building one last long look, feeling both grateful for the experience and content with walking away from it.
Just as Onoda stepped out of the jungle and embraced a new chapter of life, I too have emerged from the thickets of my career, ready to embark on a journey that truly nourishes my soul. I’m sure there will be uncertain or trying times ahead. To that, I say, “Bring it on!”
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If interested to learn more about Hiroo Onoda and his time on Lubang Island, check out his first-hand account: No Surrender: My Thirty-Year War