July 1966, Japan and The Philippines
They flew into Japan and headfirst into controversy. Such was their popularity, their promoter had been forced to book them into the Budokan Theater, a spacious venue viewed as a highly spiritual place. The traditionalists were outraged that The Beatles were even being allowed into the building, let alone performing there. In response, they had started a vicious campaign against the band. One of their stunts was to send George a letter while he was touring in Germany with the message, “You won’t live past next month.”
When they landed in Tokyo, armed police surrounded them from the moment they left the plane and did not leave their sides. The band was hurried into expectant limousines. The cars moved off. As thousands of fans screamed as the band rushed by, others held up banners saying “Beatles Go Home.” They arrived at the Tokyo Hilton, which was now guarded by more armed police. There, the chief of police informed them they were not to leave the hotel under any circumstances except to go to the gig.
At the press conference, John and Paul addressed the subject, and their attitudes neatly summed up the men’s differences. A journalist asked, “Some Japanese say that your performances will violate the Budokan, which is devoted to traditional Japanese martial arts, and that you set a bad example for Japanese youth by leading them astray from traditional Japanese values. What do you think of all that?”
Paul replied, “The thing is that if somebody from Japan, if a dancing troupe from Japan goes to Britain, nobody tries to say in Britain that they are violating the traditional laws, you know, or that they’re trying to spoil anything. All we’re doing is coming here and singing because we’ve been asked.”
John’s view was far more succinct. He sourly responded, “It’s better to watch singing than wrestling, anyway.” Once again, Paul had to intervene, to cut off any potential trouble the gang leader’s loose tongue might drop them in. “We’re not trying to violate anything, you know … We’re just as traditional, anyway.”
The shows passed without incident and the relieved band flew on to the Philippines, to the country whose behavior toward them would be so provocative that it would herald the end of their touring days. From the moment they arrived the band was treated with hostility. Normal procedure was that the band’s plane would land at the furthest end of the airfield. The band would disembark, dive into waiting cars and be driven to their hotel. Epstein would then deal with passport control and immigration. This procedure allowed the band not only to avoid screaming fans but also to carry their precious marijuana.
Only, in Manila, the arrangements proved different. A number of armed men surrounded the band as they left the plane, told them to leave their bags on the ground and then ushered them all into a car, which sped off at high speed.
Neil Aspinall hastily grabbed their bags, flung them in the back of another limo and ordered the driver to take him to where The Beatles were. Meanwhile the band was at Manila harbor being herded onto a boat. “For the first time ever,” George recalled, “we were cut off from Neil, Mal and Brian Epstein. There was not one of them around, and not only that, but we had a whole row of cops with guns lining the deck …” Aspinall and then Epstein arrived after about an hour, the band was taken back to shore, handed their luggage and taken to their hotel where they fell into a fitful sleep.
In the morning, some of The Beatles’ entourage were awoken by loud banging on the door. The band was expected to go to the Malacañan Palace for a party hosted by Imelda Marcos, wife of the Philippine President, Ferdinand Marcos. Quite a few children had been invited for what was obviously a PR stunt. Ever since the incident at the Washington Embassy in 1964, Epstein’s policy had been never to accept invitations to government soirees. An invitation from Imelda Marcos had been received, and a telegram had been sent politely declining it. The Marcos regime had simply ignored this.
Although he had been made aware of the situation, Epstein refused to wake his band. They were tired and needed rest. When the band did awake they were shocked to see on their televisions, pictures from the Palace relaying their nonappearance. To calm the situation, Epstein appeared on national television to explain the band’s side of events. As he spoke, interference suddenly hit the nation’s screens and his words were drowned out. Many think the TV editors scrambled Epstein on instructions from a higher authority. Still, that afternoon and evening, the band played two shows to 80,000 excited people.
The next day they woke up to newspapers condemning them, hotel staff who would not serve them and a general atmosphere of hostility. The band headed for the airport. There they found several hundred angry citizens waiting for them. No police escort had been provided so the band had to run a gauntlet of hate, several people aiming kicks and punches at them. Inside the terminal, all the escalators and elevators had been turned off. So had the message boards. The group desperately tried to find their gate without suffering further punches. Soldiers appeared and began roughly herding them toward passport control. Mal tried to put himself between the soldiers and the band and took several clouts from sticks and fists.
Brian and Ringo were also assaulted while Paul, John and George spotted some nuns and used them as a shield. As officials slowly examined each passport, locals appeared behind a huge glass screen and began banging on it, screaming insults. Finally, the band was allowed on to the plane. As they waited to lift off, the pilot came on the intercom and asked Tony Barrow, Mal Evans and Brian Epstein to leave the plane. Eventually, they returned—having been relieved of much of the money made at the gigs.
The plane was now heading to India where the band was looking forward to a four-day break. They were furious with Epstein, and the normally urbane manager now worked himself up into such a state of nerves that in India he was hospitalized for four days. India had been chosen as the perfect place to recuperate, as it was assumed this country was unaffected by Beatlemania. Not so. On landing, hundreds of Indians greeted the band and it became apparent that they would not be able to venture out at all. As George Martin had said, it was a hell of a life really.