Shield of the Nation, Shusei Kobayakawa, 1944
The piece you’re looking at, Shield of the Nation by Shusei Kobayakawa, from 1944, offers a haunting glimpse into this kind of existential struggle. In it, a fallen soldier lies, arms folded, cradled not by a mother or the earth, but by the national flag of Japan, which envelops him as though his death is a part of something greater. His body doesn’t just belong to him anymore—it’s absorbed into the collective identity of his country.
By the time this piece was created, Japan was deep into the Pacific War, entrenched in a conflict that demanded every ounce of loyalty and self-sacrifice from its citizens. Kobayakawa’s depiction is striking for its serene stillness. The soldier isn’t depicted in a moment of violent death, nor in agony; instead, there’s a calm reverence to his posture. His equipment, sword, and uniform symbolize the tools of war, while the flag represents the justification for his ultimate fate. There’s no glory here, no victorious celebration. The flag itself, covered in personal messages, appears almost like a shrine, signifying that this soldier’s life has been offered to an eternal cause, his individualism erased in favor of the collective will of the nation.
What makes this piece truly unsettling, though, is how Kobayakawa strips away any romanticism about war. There’s a suffocating silence to the image—no battlefield, no enemy, just the weight of duty. It’s propaganda, yes, but it’s also a reflection of how deeply ingrained the concept of death for the nation had become in the culture. Kobayakawa doesn’t need to show explosions or combat to get across his point: this is a soldier who has fulfilled his role in a larger machinery, a small cog in an immense wheel of destruction and nationalistic fervor.
The minimalistic dark background speaks to the void of individual legacy in wartime—he’s gone, but the nation marches on, his body and soul now part of the “shield” protecting the greater cause. That’s the real power of Shield of the Nation: it’s both a tribute and a terrifying reminder of how wars, particularly total wars, demand more than just the participation of soldiers—they demand everything.
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