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Chapter 1 Legacies of

The world’s “seven billion human beings are all equal,” asserted the Dalai Lama on his March 2014 visit to the Tahirpur Leprosy Complex in the megacity of New Delhi. He continued, “People should not look down on others. is totally wrong. Discrimination is a sin” (“Condemning Discrimination” 2014). And yet, as a longtime resident of the Tahirpur complex declared, echoing the senti- ments of people living with Hansen’s in many parts of the world, “We face a thousand indignities every day” (“Stigma Hinders” 2014).1 Four thousand miles away, on a remote island in Japan’s Inland Sea, Tomita Mikio, a healthy, middle-aged resident of the Ōshima National Sanitarium (国立療養所大島 青松園, Kokuritsu Ryōyōjo Ōshima Seishōen), lamented that he had attempt- ed many times to live outside the sanitarium but was unable to do so. He had not even been able to obtain a driver’s license, having been dismissed from driving school when the staff learned he was from Ōshima and therefore had been treated for leprosy. And so, he says, “I was lucky that I had a place to come back to [i.e., Ōshima] … a place where I felt at home and normal” (Sims 2001).2 Caused by the bacterium leprae, leprosy, also known as Han- sen’s disease, is a chronic infectious condition that often first manifests with spots on the skin or numbness in a finger or toe.3 Although greatly feared be- cause of how drastically it can alter physical appearance and cause physical impairment, Hansen’s disease is one of the least contagious of the contagious , since the vast majority of the world’s population has natural immu- nity. Hansen’s disease has been readily treatable since the 1940s, in the last few decades with multidrug therapy, but if left unaddressed it can permanently

1 imposes severe penalties on individuals with leprosy, including forbidding them from working and traveling in public. The nation is home to about 700 leprosaria (Mandavilli 2019). 2 Ōshima was home for seven decades to acclaimed Japanese poet Tō Kazuko (塔和子, 1929– 2014). Tō was diagnosed with Hansen’s disease as a young teenager. Fearing for their reputa- tion, her siblings moved away from their hometown of Seiyo (on Shikoku) and did not inform their spouses about her. But after her death, one of her brothers insisted that her ashes be buried in the family grave, which remains unusual for people with leprosy, whose pseud- onyms, which they are forced to take when entering leprosaria, frequently remain intact (Takaki 2014). 3 Some individuals with this condition prefer the term Hansen’s disease while others prefer the term leprosy (Eunjung Kim 2017: 167–168). I use the terms interchangeably, except when re- flecting historical or contemporary usage.

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44 Chapter 1 damage the skin, nerves, limbs, and eyes, causing blindness, crippling, and de- formity (Covey 1998: 89–90).4 As recently as the 1980s, millions of people lived with Hansen’s disease. The World Health Organization achieved its stated goal of “eliminating” the disease at the global level in 2000 (i.e., disease reached <1 case per 10,000 people), and by 2005, with a few exceptions, all the world’s countries had reached the goal of elimination at the national level. But elimination is not eradication, and in several regions leprosy still exists as a problem. New cases continue to be diagnosed, with more than 155,000 in Asia, 33,000 in the Americas, and 20,000 in Africa in 2013 (World Health Organization 2014: 389–395).5 These figures stem partly from the con- siderable stigmas that continue to surround leprosy, despite the disease having long been curable. People so fear social ostracism that they delay seeking med- ical care and thereby increase the risk of infecting others. In many communi- ties, even those people who have been cured continue to be stigmatized, their healing impeded and wellbeing imperiled. And even when external stigmas are ameliorated, self-stigma can remain powerful, people having internalized the negative attitudes and behaviors to which they were subjected.6 In fact, no health condition has a longer continuous history of stigmatiza- tion and social and physical segregation than leprosy. For millennia, those with this disease and similar skin conditions have been shunned on all the world’s

4 See also World Health Organization (2019d) and American Leprosy Missions (2019). Lepro- matous Hansen’s Disease takes the form of numerous nodules and on the skin, while neural leprosy can result in facial paralysis. Multidrug therapy includes , , and . 5 India alone accounts for nearly 60 percent of global Hansen’s disease cases; India, , and are the most highly endemic countries for the disease (World Health Organization 2014: 391, 400). Although India declared in 2005 that leprosy had ceased to be a problem in the country, according to the who, more than 100,000 new diagnoses are made each year. To be sure, by 2005, symptomatic cases of had dropped to fewer than 1 case per 10,000 people, which meets who standards of the disease being “eliminated as a public health problem.” But resources then were redirected to aids and , public aware- ness of leprosy fell rapidly, stigmas proliferated, and numbers of Indians infected by the dis- ease rose quickly (Mandavilli 2019). In 2014, new cases of leprosy were reported in 121 countries, including the United States. See American Leprosy Missions (2019). In some parts of the world animals carry leprosy, in- cluding in the United Kingdom, where red squirrels have been found to be infected with Mycobacterium lepra (McNeil 2016a). 6 Internalized stigma is common among persons with leprosy, impacting their quality of life in ways similar to stigma experienced as discrimination (Van Brakel 2014: 146). See also Nicholls et al. (2005), Rensen et al. (2011), and Stevelink (2012).

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Legacies of Leprosy 45 inhabited continents.7 The severe stereotypes and stigmas, and especially the considerable fears surrounding leprosy that these attitudes have stoked, have long shaped public policy (Covey 1998: 91). Most notable has been the tenden- cy across the globe to people living with Hansen’s disease in lepro- saria, permanently separating affected individuals from their families and home communities.8 As Mr. Tomita’s comments above suggest, leprosaria have provided welcome retreats from social hostility. They also have been sites of unfathomable abuse.9 This chapter first outlines the and social responses to the disease in early Christian societies and then in and the United States; the kingdom (1795–1893), republic (1894–1898), and territory of Hawai‘i (1898– 1959); and Nigeria, Japan, and Korea. I follow with several examples of how literature from around the world has been used to amplify stigmas toward the disease, before turning to select writings from Hawai‘i, Japan, Korea, Nigeria and other sites that condemn these stigmas, depicting social attitudes and be- haviors surrounding leprosy as causing greater anguish than the physical symptoms of the disease itself and in so doing, advocating for meaningful change. Special attention is paid to the impact of Western and Japanese impe- rialism on attitudes toward leprosy and to how those with this disease are treated in both imperial and colonial societies.

1 Leprosy, Christianity, Europe

Christians for many centuries tended to regard leprosy and similar skin condi- tions more as divine retribution than as diseases, outward manifestations of an individual’s aberrant character, moral corruption, and frequently depraved sexual desire (Covey 1998: 91–94).10 The Bible refers to those with disfiguring

7 As Leung points out, the problem of identifying leprosy in early is similar to that in much of the ancient world. Leprosy was long associated with the disease şāra‘at, from the famous passage in Leviticus discussed below. Yet recent research suggests that the biblical term actually refers to a variety of skin diseases (2009: 4). See also York (2012: 115). 8 Quarantine sites for leprosy patients have gone by a variety of names; in English alone they have been called leper/leprosy colonies, leper/leprosy hospitals, leper/leprosy hous- es, leper/leprosy settlements, leprosaria, and lazar houses among other names. 9 Most extant leprosaria are in Asia and Africa. One exception is Tichileşti, in a remote corner of Romania, which houses Europe’s last leprosy colony. The fewer than two dozen residents are free to leave, but they do not, given that “in the past too many lepers have been stoned, burnt, and beaten by panicked peasants shouting, ‘Unclean, unclean!’” (Boy- es 2003). 10 See also Brody (2005).

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46 Chapter 1 skin conditions as dirty, unclean, and impure, and many took seriously the mandate set forth in the Old Testament that “the leper who has the disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head hang loose, and he shall cover his upper lip and cry, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease; he is unclean; he shall dwell alone in a habitation outside the camp” (Leviticus 13: 45–46) (May and Metzger 1962: 138). But in the Christ is depicted as readily healing a man “full of leprosy” (Luke 5: 12), while the desperate beggar Lazarus, who in life is “full of sores,” in death is seated beside Abraham at the “feast in heaven” (Luke 16: 19–31). Arch- bishop of Constantinople Gregory of Nazianzos (329–390) went so far as to refer to leprosy as the “Holy Disease,” declaring it a condition that marked those who had been blessed by .11 Similarly, many early Christian leaders, including Archbishop of Constantinople John Chrysostom (ca. 349–407) and Patriarch Cyril of Alexandria (ca. 376–444), argued that people with leprosy and their families should be treated with mercy, not banished from society. By strongly condemning how society forced those with the disease into lives of exile and isolation, these individuals fundamentally changed popular respons- es to leprosy (Miller and Nesbitt 2014: 40–43). Nevertheless, the Byzantine Em- pire opened leprosaria beginning in the fourth century, and these served large- ly as a “refuge” for those disfigured by the disease, who continued to be shunned by their communities (ibid.: 75). Many Christian leaders in the Latin West, faced with societies that likewise believed leprosy to represent sin and punishment, continued advocating strongly for the “sacred leper.” Yet in contrast with their Byzantine counter- parts, Latin medical writers stoked popular fears by emphasizing the allegedly contagious of the disease (ibid.: 114). In the words of Susan Sontag, “Leprosy in its heyday aroused a … disproportionate sense of horror. In the Middle Ages, the leper was a social text in which corruption was made visible; an exemplum, an emblem of decay” (1989: 58). Leprosaria in the Latin West date to the fifth century and became common during the High Middle Ages, with the number increasing rapidly after 1100 everywhere from Italy to Belgium and (Miller and Nesbitt 2014: 118, 121, 125). It is true that no small num- ber of these leprosaria were founded by the church and wealthy benefactors as charitable institutions, and that they were governed by the residents them- selves (ibid.: 132, 159). But as Michel Foucault’s description of these sites ­suggests – “From the High Middle Ages, until the end of the Crusades, leprosaria­

11 Religion factors into narratives of illness often less as a means of finding succor than as a system that punishes and rewards, with disease and good health, respectively.

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Legacies of Leprosy 47 had multiplied their cities of the damned over the entire face of Europe” (1963: 13) – leprosy patients were for the most part condemned by society. Leprosy rates decreased dramatically between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries in many parts of Europe, even as the disease lingered on, especially in and Spain. But by the nineteenth century it reemerged as a concern, first in Norway and Britain and then in the United States, and ultimately across Europe and the U.S. and European empires, where it was not only sexualized, as it had been in early Christian societies, but also racialized (Edmond 2006: 7–9; Obregón 2003: 131).12 As Rod Edmond notes, “Long expelled from Europe, [leprosy] now threatened to return with the spread of western . It was feared that the world-wide movement of trade and labour of the late nine- teenth century would create a ‘free trade in disease,’ and that leprosy would find its way home to Europe to avenge the colonized in a kind of bacteriologi- cal writing-back … The disease had rich metaphoric possibilities not only as a way of expressing the innate corruption of indigenous cultures, but also for describing the damaging effects of imperialism itself” (1997: 197).13 Medical and popular debates about leprosy continued throughout the later nineteenth century, complicated by Norwegian physician Gerhard Henrik Ar- mauer Hansen’s (1841–1912) discovery of in 1873, which added to fears of contagion, as did reports of increasing incidents of the dis- ease throughout Western empires and in Europe and the United States. Ulti- mately, by the turn of the twentieth century, segregation had become the dom- inant policy in the United States,14 as well as in island colonies in the Caribbean, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, and in coastal colonies including the Cape Colony and Australia (Edmond 2006: 80–81, 86, 143).15

12 See Obregón (2003) for more on leprosy in Latin America, especially Colombia. 13 Scholarship on disease and colonial expansion is vast. See, for instance, Alan Bewell’s Romanticism and Colonial Disease (1999), which focuses on the British response to colo- nial disease by medical and literary writers. 14 Isolation of leprosy patients was accepted practice in the United States beginning in the 1840s, and from the 1890s to the 1960s, patients diagnosed with leprosy in the continental United States were quarantined at the leprosarium in Carville, , which did not close its doors until 1999. Leprosy was endemic in Louisiana in the 1800s (Gaudet 2004: 3–4). Leprosaria in North America date to the early 1500s; Hernán Cortés (1485–1547) es- tablished the first one in Tlaxplana on his estate near Mexico City in 1526–28 (Byrne 2013: 216). Leprosy similarly was introduced into South America in the sixteenth century. Paolo Zappa’s (1899–1957) Fra i lebbrosi (lit. Among the Lepers; trans. Unclean! Unclean!, 1945) describes conditions for leprosy patients in Brazil and elsewhere in the first half of the twentieth century. 15 By the end of the nineteenth century, incidents of leprosy had become particularly no- ticeable in India, Southeast Asia, and parts of Africa, Latin America, and Norway. See, for instance, Edmond’s reproduction of an 1891 map titled “Map Showing Approximately the

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48 Chapter 1

2 Imperialism, Segregation, Hawai‘i, Nigeria

Mandatory segregation of leprosy patients came earlier to Hawai‘i than to most other colonial sites, given its reputation as the imperial world’s “leprosy laboratory” (Edmond 2006: 91). Leprosy generally is believed to have been among the many diseases brought to the Hawaiian islands in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, either by foreign visitors or by Hawaiian chiefs who went on tours abroad (Tayman 2006: 20). By the mid-nineteenth century, when leprosy began causing significant concern in Hawai‘i, diseases from abroad (Haole diseases) such as and , cholera, tuberculosis, and mumps already had reduced the Native Hawaiian population from about 700,000 in 1778 (the arrival of British explorer Captain James Cook) to un- der 100,000.16 The 1865 “Act to Prevent the Spread of Leprosy,” encouraged by American and European advisers to the Hawaiian king Kamehameha v

Present Distribution of Leprosy in the World” (2006: 104–106). Hansen campaigned inter- nationally for segregating leprosy patients (Eunjung Kim 2017: 171). Compulsory segregation was not as prevalent in Africa, where colonial authorities generally lacked the resources to enforce such policies, or in India, where the scale of the problem rendered such policies meaningless (ibid.: 143). People with leprosy appear in such Indian fiction as Mulk Raj Anand’s (1905–2004) Untouchable (1935), where the pro- tagonist Bakha encounters a “black leper” who “sat swathed in tattered garments, expos- ing his raw wounds to the sun and the flies by the wayside, his crumpled hand lifted in beggary, and on his lips the prayer ‘Baba pesa de’ [Oh, man, give me a pice].” Rather than feel sympathy for this man, whose circumstances are even more dire than his own, Bakha instead is repulsed, and feels “a queer sadistic delight staring at the beggars moaning for alms, but not receiving any. They seemed to him despicable” (1940: 134). A second example from India is Dhanpat Rai Srivastava’s “Premchand” (प्रेमचंद / , 1881–1936) Hindi-language Godān (गोदान, Gift of a Cow, 1936), where Punni, furious at Hira, declares “May they carry away your corpse! May you get cholera! May Kali devour you with ! May you suffer from the flu! May God strike you with leprosy! May your hands and feet rot and fall off!” Hira is not too concerned with cholera and plague, reason- ing that the fever strikes and you quickly pass away. Leprosy is another matter entirely: “But leprosy! That horrible death and that even more horrible life! Blood boiling, he jumped up, gnashing his teeth, and pounced on Puniya” (1968: 46). For Hira, death is far preferable to a life with leprosy. See also Edmond for a comparison of leprosy and empire in Hawai‘i, Robben Island (South Africa), Australia, and New Zealand (2006: 143–177). Anderson discusses the Cu- lion (Philippines) “leper colony,” which he describes as “an exemplary combination of army camp, laboratory, and small American town and a site for the biological and civic transformation of those considered most unclean and least socialized” (2006: 9). Signifi- cantly, “exile to Culion was represented not as the deprivation of liberty but as its cre- ation” (178). 16 Native Hawaiians had no resistance to these diseases.

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Legacies of Leprosy 49

(­1830–1872; Lot Kapuāiwa) and repealed only in 1969, gave the Hawai‘i Board of Health the authority to isolate and confine anyone diagnosed with the disease. And it took advantage of this authority, banishing people with leprosy to Kala- wao and then Kalaupapa, on the Kalaupapa peninsula of the remote northern shore of Moloka‘i. Until the 1940s, all people in Hawai‘i diagnosed with leprosy were sent to leprosaria on Kalaupapa (Mueggler 2011: 27). Conditions were bru- tal there, with many living in extreme poverty and starvation not unknown. Residents were also subjected to medical experiments (ibid.). Ninety percent of Hawai‘i’s leprosy patients were Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians, descen- dants of the Polynesians), but Chinese also were quarantined, as were citizens of the United States, Japan, and multiple European countries. In the words of John Tayman, this was “the longest and deadliest instance of medical segrega- tion in American history, and perhaps the most misguided” (2006: 1–2).17 Records show that for the most part, unlike many societies, the Kānaka Maoli did not particularly fear the disease of leprosy itself. They had much greater fear of the public health officials who determined their fate and the non-Hawaiian community that influenced the Board of Health and the Hawai- ian monarchs (Inglis 2013). European and American outsiders believed the dis- ease a “just punishment for a corrupt and diseased society” and transformed the “normal colonized” into “dehumanized leper[s],” doubly colonizing them. Indeed, added to conventional Western leprosy stigmas were foreign percep- tions that Hawaiians were immoral, lascivious, and uncivilized (ibid.: 35, 41–42, 81). The prevalence of the disease in Hawai‘i was also blamed in part on China, which had a long history of leprosy and, because of the thousands of inden- tured laborers streaming out of the country in the mid-nineteenth century, was branded the world’s principal exporter of the disease, especially to Austra- lia, Hawai‘i, and the continental United States.18 Both at home and abroad the

17 Hawai‘i was not annexed by the United States until 1898 and did not become a state until 1959. 18 In China stigmatization of leprosy was, as Leung has described, “a mixture of religious, popular, legal, and medical interpretations formulated during a very long historical peri- od. The negative image of the sufferer of a fatal, contagious, and polluting disease was further enforced and stereotyped in the late imperial and modern periods.” Ancient and medieval Chinese, like their Japanese and Western counterparts, associated leprosy with retribution and the violation of taboos. Chinese began constructing asylums to accom- modate (segregate) those with the disease as early as the sixteenth century; leprosy was the only chronic disease in post-1700 China that necessitated institutional isolation. By the late nineteenth century, many Chinese elites imagined a system where “all lepers would be interned and disciplined systematically, treated medically, and allowed to live and die inside, leaving public space free of their loathsome sight, and above all, of further contamination.” Chinese supported the efforts of the Protestant international organiza- tion Mission to Lepers (est. 1874), which called for “a growing world movement for the

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50 Chapter 1

Chinese leprosy patient came to personify the “lack of hygiene, morality, pub- lic tidiness, and … the inferiority of the Chinese race and nation” (Leung 2009: 6–7).19 Although Hawai‘i’s best known leprosy advocate and most celebrated pa- tient was the Belgian Roman Catholic de Veuster (1840–1889), in fact European played a much larger role in leprosy

segregation and care of the approximately three million lepers scattered throughout the world” and worked with governments “to secure ultimate world-wide segregation of lep- ers.” Yet Chinese activists soon became frustrated, believing there was too much emphasis on Christianity and too little attention to the strict segregation of leprosy patients. Not surprisingly, as Leung describes, “Compulsory segregation remained at the foundation of the national policy of the much stronger central government after 1949” (2009: 5–6, 12, 38, 85, 160–164, 176). About 1600 Chinese, primarily from rural areas in the nation’s southwest, are diagnosed with leprosy every year. Moreover, most of the twenty thousand people who live in one of China’s more than six hundred leprosaria have little interest in reinte- grating into society, knowing that they would be shunned if they returned home (Stone 2010: 939). 19 In late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Hawai‘i, leprosy was referred to as ma‘i pake (Chinese disease). It was also known on the islands as ma‘i ali‘i (royal disease), ma‘i lepera (leprosy), and ma‘i ho‘oka‘awale ‘ohana (the sickness that tears families apart), among other names (Inglis 2013: xiii). One story about its origins in Hawai‘i posits that a cook for a member of the royal family who had come to Hawai‘i from China during the sandalwood trade era (1812–30) fell ill with leprosy and infected the royal family. Chinese were also blamed for spreading leprosy to Australia and New Zealand, where they were subjected to even greater discrimination and control. See Heinrich for more on under- standings of China as the “Sick Man of Asia” and the “Cradle of Smallpox.” Heinrich also draws attention to the legions of characters in Chinese Republican period literature who “spit blood, develop sores, hallucinate, hobble, go mad, and succumb to general weakness and malaise,” literary diseases that “take on more-than-subtle allegoric functions as repre- sentations of the larger metaphorical ills of China and Chinese nationhood in a tumultu- ous time” (2008: 6). More recent Chinese writers also speak of disease allegorically, in- cluding Bi Shumin (毕淑敏, 1952–) in Zhengjiu rufang (拯救乳房, Save the Breast, 2003), which at the same time that it analyzes the effectiveness of individual and group therapy, indeed narrative therapy to alleviate suffering (Choy 2016: 151), also uses breast cancer as a metaphor for the sickness of a nation undergoing rapid economic and social change (Knight 2009). Shelley Chan discusses Chinese writer Yan Lianke’s (阎连科, 1958–) Riguang liunian (日光流年, Streams of Light and Time, 1998) as an allegory of modern China, “a sick man who is fated to die if no right is found for him” (184); this novel features a village where residents fight a disease believed to be esophageal can- cer (Tsai 2011: 91). See also Tan Guanghui (2007) for more on disease as metaphor in mod- ern Chinese literature. Esophageal cancer is the explicit focus of such works as Japanese writer Yamauchi Reinan’s (山内令南, 1958–2011) prize-winning novella “Gan damashii” (癌だましい, Cancer Spirit, 2011), published in Bungakukai the same year she died from the disease.

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Legacies of Leprosy 51 amelioration in parts of Africa, including Nigeria.20 Leprosy has a long history in Nigeria, and among the Igbo and other peoples it was regarded as the “most deadly of all diseases,” a condition that some believed was divine punishment for a “grave act or omission committed by the patient either in his present life or in an earlier” life (Ubah 1992: 52). Those diagnosed with the disease were regarded as “unclean” and shunned by their communities in life, when they were banned from the family compound, and even in death, where they were denied a proper burial out of fear that the disease would seek its next victims among the mourners.21 Today’s Nigeria was for decades the region in Africa most coveted by Euro- pean powers, with trade in palm oil and palm kernels long established and re- sources in peanuts and cocoa offering tremendous potential (Falola 2009: 1). The British annexed Lagos (Nigeria) in 1851. Following their military offensive against the Aro (1901–2), colonial authorities unveiled the “Lepers Proclama- tion” (1904), later replaced by the 1923 Leprosy Ordinance, which prohibited those with leprosy from working or using public facilities. Moreover, the high commissioner was empowered to establish asylums, and leprosy settlements were opened throughout the country, including at Uzuakoli, Owerri Province, in southeastern Nigeria (Ubah 1992: 54).22 Guided by the ideals of the British Empire Leprosy Relief Association (belra), established in 1924, and the Meth- odist Mission, both of which were concerned with the rapid spread of leprosy in the province, and spurred by the “Lepers’ Rebellion” (1928–32), the Uzuakoli settlement opened in 1932.23 Given the persistent stigma of leprosy, over the years residents worked to make their settlement as independent as possible

20 Father Damien moved to Hawai‘i in 1863, and in 1873 he volunteered to serve at Kalawao, where he worked indefatigably until his death from leprosy in 1889. Although greatly hon- ored in Hawai‘i/the United States (including by President Barack Obama), Europe, and India (by Mahatma Gandhi, 1869–1948) as well as by the (which canon- ized him), he also has been the source of considerable controversy. Moblo (1997), for in- stance, calls attention to Hawaiian complaints of Damien as “overbearing” and abusing power. 21 As Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe’s (1930–2013) narrator writes in Things Fall Apart (1958), “Every clan and village had its ‘evil forest.’ In it were buried all those who died of the really evil diseases, like leprosy and smallpox…. An ‘evil forest’ was, therefore, alive with sinister forces and powers of darkness” (1994: 148). It is a piece of this “evil forest” that the villagers give the missionaries, as “a real battlefield in which to show their victory” (149). 22 The first leprosarium in Nigeria was founded by the Presbyterian Church in 1928, in to- day’s Akwa Ibom state. Others established during the colonial period include Okegbala in Kwara state, Osiomo in Edo state, and Yadakunya in Kano state (Udo 2013: 230). 23 Worboys discusses the work of belra and medical missionaries in Britain’s tropical Afri- can and Asian colonies, noting how they increased understanding of leprosy as “a tropical

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52 Chapter 1 from the wider Igbo society (ibid.: 60–61). On the other hand, research con- ducted by Methodist missionary T.F. (Frank) Davey, the most prominent epide- miologist of leprosy in colonial Nigeria and formerly clinical leprologist at Di- chpalli Leprosy Hospital, India, reveals a wide range of reactions to leprosy among local peoples. He notes of the Igbos of Owerri Province, “There is a widespread belief in a supernatural origin to leprosy. The disease is believed to be a curse from the spirit world, and in some villages the curse is believed to be of so dreadful a nature that the leper is denied that right of resurrection into the spirit world which other mortals share.” In contrast, in Calabar Province in southeastern Nigeria, close to Cameroon, Davey noted that “the attitude of the people to leprosy is one of apathy” (Manton 2011: 130). Over the decades, and some forty years after decolonization in 1960, Nigeria achieved the elimination target of <1 case per 10,000 population in 2000, but even today leprosy remains a disease of public health importance, with 4,000 people diagnosed annually. Physical and social rehabilitation of those with leprosy-related disabilities con- tinues to be a challenge, as do the persistent stigmas and discrimination (Udo et al. 2013: 229–230, 235–236).

3 Leprosy and East Asia

In Japan, as in much of the world, leprosy was for the most part highly stigma- tized from early times. Chapter 22 of the Nihon Shoki (日本書紀, Chronicles of Japan, 720), one of Japan’s oldest extant written works, includes a story about the Empress Suiko (推古天皇, Suiko Tennō, 554–628) caring for a patient with leprosy or a similar disease (Yamamoto 1993: 1).24 Legend has other empresses similarly looking after such patients. But Japan’s oldest extant medical text, the thirty-volume Ishinpō (医心方, 984), fingers “evil ways” (悪風, akufū) as a cause of leprosy (Tanaka 2012: 12). Likewise, the early-Heian (794–1185) Nihon Ryōiki (日本霊異記, 822), Japan’s earliest collection of Buddhist tales, cites the Lotus Sutra as declaring that anyone who slanders an individual who

disease linked to race and backwardness,” but also one whose individual patients “de- served compassion and care” (2000: 218). 24 Burns (2019) and Yamamoto provide comprehensive histories of leprosy in Japan, as have many others. Burns exposes a state “shaped by contesting interests, multiple and compet- ing agendas, and lacunae of power” (1993: 18); she criticizes the “denunciatory narrative” that has guided much discourse on Hansen’s disease in Japan, providing a more nuanced perspective on leprosy policy as unfolding “as part of the larger citizenship project of modern Japan” (260).

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Legacies of Leprosy 53

­upholds this sutra will be struck with “white leprosy” (白癩病).25 And the late- Heian Konjaku monogatarishū (今昔物語集, Tales of Times Past) features the monk Shinkai, who is punished with leprosy for obstructing a “solemn Dharma assembly” and for being jealous of a monk of much higher rank (20:35; Tanaka 2012: 13). The narrator notes that after he became ill with leprosy, Shinkai had to take refuge among the beggars of Kiyomizu and Sakamoto because every- one, even his former nurse, believed him “unclean.” But, “even there, among the crippled and deformed, he was held in abomination, and after three months he died” (Ury 1979: 129).26 Similarly, thirteenth-century Japanese Bud- dhist documents speak of leprosy as a karmic disease (業病, gōbyō). The Bud- dhist monk Eison (叡尊, 1201–1290), founder of what was later known as the Shingon Ritsu school (真言律, Shingon-Vinaya), declared: “Don’t they [people with leprosy] realize that because of the grave sin of slandering the Mahayana, they incur the torment of the ten directions’ Avīci Hell? And that, because of the gravest, incessant residual karma, they catch the serious disease of human leprosy? If they do not repent in this life, the future will surely be the same” (Quinter 2007: 450).27 In general, before its medicalization in Japan in the late eighteenth century, leprosy was understood as tenkeibyō (天刑病, heavenly punishment) or gōbyō (業病) (Burns 2012: 301). Those with the condition were often cast out from their communities; in the 1600s, Dutch merchants de- scribed people with leprosy in Japan as condemned to a life of mendicancy (Veith 1947). Japanese established leprosy hospitals in Japan as early as the 700s (by Em- press Kōmyō [701–760], wife of Emperor Shōmu [701–756]); Western mission- aries followed, first in the Tokugawa era (1600–1868) and then in earnest in the late nineteenth century (Veith 1947: 911).28 Late nineteenth- and early twenti- eth-century Japanese believed the prevalence of leprosy in their nation to be a sign of its backwardness, and beginning in 1907, the Japanese government en- acted increasingly stronger measures modeled after the policies of European imperial powers. These regulations culminated in the 1931 “Leprosy Prevention Law” (rai yobōhō, 癩予防法), which forcibly isolated Japanese afflicted with

25 Japan’s National Hansen’s Disease Museum displays this and other passages from early Japanese texts that articulate the stigmas associated with leprosy. For more on this mu- seum, see below. 26 See also Konjaku monogatari shū (1970: 201). 27 Cited in Goble (2011: 16). The term rai (癩) referred to a range of skin diseases, including true leprosy (Burns 2012: 301). 28 For more on early Western leprosy relief efforts in Japan, see Tanaka (2012: 18–20).

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54 Chapter 1 this disease in leprosaria, compounds that more closely resembled prisons than hospitals (Burns 2012).29 Indeed, in the era of high imperialism, leprosy was depicted as a threat to “civilized” countries (i.e., Western Europe and North America), a threat ema- nating from “backward” Africa and Asia. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the Japanese state, as well as civic activists such as journalists, private physicians, and patent drug producers, sacrificed Japanese leprosy patients so Japan could establish itself as one of the world’s advanced nations (Burns 2012: 297–299). Yet, by the turn of the twentieth century, Japanese engagement with Western ideologies of empire and medicine led to Japan’s opening Hansen’s disease fa- cilities in Korea (1916), Taiwan (1930), and Manchuria (1939) (Tanaka 2016: 133).30 It was not until 1996, forty years after effective drug therapies had become available for leprosy, that laws enforcing confinement of leprosy patients were repealed in Japan (Burns 2004: 191–192; Burns 2012; Leung 2009: 13). And only in 2001 did the Japanese government, after losing a lawsuit aimed at restoring the human rights brutally taken from individuals with Hansen’s disease, formally apologize and provide initial compensation (Vanderbilt 2018). Lawsuits con- tinue to the present, with more than five hundred relatives of Hansen’s disease patients suing the Japanese government in 2016 over the segregation to which they and their family members have been subjected. It was not until March 2017 that the Saikō Kensatsuchō (最高検察庁, Supreme Public Prosecutors Office) for the first time accepted responsibility for prosecuting leprosy pa- tients in so-called special courts (“Top Prosecutors” 2017).31 And it was only in 2019 that the Japanese courts ordered the government to pay damages to fam- ily members of individuals with Hansen’s disease, noting that “they [too] faced discrimination due to the stigma of their relatives having been isolated in

29 To give one example, the Kyushu Leprosarium (est. 1909) was surrounded by concrete walls and deep moats guarded by police; patients were dressed in striped uniforms. Lep- rosaria established by British missionaries were not as brutal (Hirokawa 2005). 30 Japan colonized Taiwan in 1895 and Korea in 1910. It never formally colonized China, but it subjected the mainland to severe cultural, economic, political, and military pressure from the end of the nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth and has been understood as a semicolonial power. Japan seized Manchuria (northeast China) in 1931 and in 1932 pro- claimed it the nominally independent state of Manchukuo, but it was in many ways an informal colony of Japan. 31 The Supreme Public Prosecutors Office admitted to being involved in more than two dozen “special court” trials even after leprosy became a curable condition. The Japanese continue to reject requests for compensation from Korean and Taiwanese leprosy pa- tients whom the Japanese confined at Sorokdo and other leprosaria.

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Legacies of Leprosy 55

­sanatoriums under the government’s decades-long segregation policy” (“Japan Court” 2019).32 There have been many attempts to educate the Japanese population about leprosy, including special instruction in elementary schools and the establish- ment in 2007 in Tokyo of the National Hansen’s Disease Museum (国立ハンセ ン病資料館, Kokuritsu Hansenbyō Shiryōkan). Even so, grave misperceptions persist (Burns 2012; Okamoto 2018).33 In one particularly unfortunate incident,

32 In its June 2019 ruling, the Kumamoto District Court noted that “many of the relatives were rejected by schools, ostracized in their hometowns, discriminated against in mar- riage, turned down for jobs and had ‘their choices in life restricted,’ such as their personal relationships or career path” (“The Damage Done” 2019). Japanese Prime Minister Abé Shinzō (安倍晋三, 1954–) announced in July 2019 that the government would not file an appeal against this ruling, stating, “We must not prolong the hardship of family members who have gone through something indescribable” (“In ‘Rare’ Move” 2019). 33 Japan’s National Hansen’s Disease Museum is located just outside of Kiyose, Tokyo, which is home to numerous hospitals. Its ideals (理念), as advertised in the information pam- phlet provided to visitors, are to do as much as possible to disseminate information and promote understanding of Hansen’s disease; to do as much as possible to eradicate the prejudices, discrimination, and segregation that accompany the disease; to learn from the prejudice and discrimination that began early in Japan’s recorded history and have spanned many years; to learn from the history of mistaken segregation policies; to make apparent the experiences of those who have been subject to suffering and injury and of those who fought against the disease; to do as much as possible to restore the respect of those who have been subjected to the suffering and injury accompanying Hansen’s dis- ease and to nurture the spirit of respect for human rights; and to do as much as possible to actualize the social integration of those who have been subjected to the suffering and injury accompanying Hansen’s disease. In this spirit, the museum provides ample printed materials for visitors, including special materials for schoolchildren of all ages; the plac- ards accompanying the exhibits speak explicitly of the discrimination (差別) and preju- dice (偏見) faced by persons with this disease since ancient times. Japan’s National Han- sen’s Disease Museum carefully traces the history of Hansen’s disease in Japan from earliest times to the present. It features large exhibits on everything from kabuki, litera- ture, and other arts and cultural endeavors, and baseball teams and other sporting events in which Japanese individuals with Hansen’s disease have participated, to the complex and painful history of segregation of persons with Hansen’s disease (including in Japan’s early twentieth-century colonies of Korea and Taiwan) and the Japanese physicians who combatted this disease, including Dr. Yuasa Yō (湯浅洋, 1926–2016) (Author’s personal visit March 2019). Dr. Yuasa was renowned not only for his advocacy on behalf of leprosy patients but also as a doctor who strived to understand the feelings of patients and “how severe pa- tients’ agony was.” He also believed firmly that “leprosy issues were caused not only by medical but also social problems” and worked avidly to combat stigma (“Tribute” 2016: 1–2). See the Sasakawa Foundation’s A Life Fighting Leprosy (2015) for more on Dr. Yuasa. The precursor to today’s National Hansen’s Disease Museum was the Prince Takamatsu Memorial Hansen’s Disease Museum (高松宮記念ハンセン病資料館,

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56 Chapter 1 following a lesson on leprosy in the context of human rights, sixth graders in Fukuoka (Kyushu) wrote offensive letters to residents of National Sanatori- um Kikuchi Keifūen (国立療養所菊池恵楓園, Kokuritsu Ryōyōjo Kikuchi Keifūen), one of Japan’s largest leprosaria. Their homeroom teacher, who proofread the letters before they were sent out, apologized, claiming, “I myself did not have enough understanding of Hansen’s disease, so I didn’t notice the problems with what the children wrote” (“Elementary Kids” 2014).34 Historically, Korean attitudes toward leprosy have matched those elsewhere in the world, with the disease – or at least similar skin conditions – long be- lieved to be a form of divine punishment (Kim 2012: 21–22). Beginning in the early eighteenth century, the term mundungbyŏng (문둥병) was used to refer to leprosy and mundungi (문둥이) to people with this condition. These terms come from the derogatory mundong (문동, 文東, lit. lettered of the East), coined to refer to the Yŏngnam School of yangban (Confucian elites), located in southeastern Korea, who lost their government positions after a series of power struggles. These yangban were also dubbed “The Barley Lepers of Kyŏngsang Province” (경상도 보리 문둥이, Kyŏngsangdo pori mundungi), their impoverished status forcing them to eat barley, depriving them of rice, the typical food enjoyed by Korean elites (ibid.: 13).35 On the other hand, al- though Korean manuscripts are replete with discussion of isolation measures following disease outbreaks, there appears to be no mention of isolating those with leprosy nor of local leaders housing the afflicted (ibid.: 27–28). Segregation of leprosy patients and the medical treatment of leprosy in Ko- rea were instigated by Western missionaries, who established and managed leprosaria in Kwangju (1910–26, moved to Sunch’ŏn in 1926), Pusan (1909–40), and Taegu (1913–45) (Jung 2013: 235). The American Presbyterian evangelist William Edward Biederwolf (1867–1939) reported that as part of his 1920 tour of the mission field, he visited the “leper colony” in Kwangju, which then housed 328 patients. Biederwolf’s experiences suggest that leprosaria were

T­akamatsunomiya Kinen Hansenbyō Shiryōkan, est. 1993), which in 1998 exhibited the work of Cho Kun-je (Cho Geun-Jae), a North Korean resident of Japan who began taking pictures of Hansen’s disease patients in the 1960s and had compiled more than twenty- thousand by the time of his death in 1997 (“Late Korean Photographer” 2014). In 2014–15, the National Hansen’s Disease Museum held another exhibit of works by Cho Kun-je. 34 The students wrote to the residents of the leprosarium such things as leprosy is “a disease that melts the bones and body, so if one of my friends got it I would stay away from them” (“Elementary Kids” 2014). 35 During the colonial period (1910–45), Japanese authorities referred to leprosy as nabyŏng (나병) and those with leprosy as nabyŏngja (나병자). Korean public health documents continued this usage until the turn of the twenty-first century.

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Legacies of Leprosy 57 welcome alternatives to life in the streets. Upon leaving the facility, he “found forty-two lepers sitting in the dust along the roadside, begging to be taken into the home,” and after a return visit in 1924, he proceeded to raise the funds nec- essary for a new, expanded facility at Sunch’ŏn, which soon housed more than eight hundred patients. In 1932, Biederwolf claimed, “Soonchun [Sunch’ŏn] is one of the very best equipped leper colonies in the world and we expect to make it the largest colony and the very best equipped in time, as we have a good deal of money in sight for this purpose … The lepers are each taught some trade. They make fine brick and concrete work. They raise their own rice and all produce and catch an abundance of fish” (Class of 1892, 1932: 15). But in fact, stigmatization continued to enact a heavy toll. Indeed, as Keunsik Jung de- scribes, “After the establishment of the leprosaria, the bodies of patients were objectified as mere things that must be segregated from society, while patients’ souls could be cured and relieved only by God. From the Christian point of view, leprosy was both the price paid for sin and a demonstration of the glory of God” (2013: 238). Moreover, as the Japanese colonial regime became increas- ingly authoritarian, leprophobia spread “in the name of maintaining social or- der.” Even the murder of Hansen’s disease patients was not considered illegal (ibid.: 239). Beginning in 1923, Japanese colonial authorities helped fund missionary leprosaria in Korea, which Westerners continued to administer until 1941. But the Japanese added to these facilities in 1916, establishing their own state-run asylum on Sorokdo (소록도, Small Deer Island), a small island off the south- west coast of Korea. Beginning in the 1930s, the Japanese forcibly segregated Korean leprosy patients from society, proclaiming this to be a successful ex- ample of their colonial policy (ibid.: 235).36 The colonial state asylum func- tioned as a prison: patients could not leave, and work was compulsory (ibid.: 244–245). In the thirty-five years they controlled Korea (1910–45), the Japanese exiled more than six thousand Koreans with leprosy to Sorokdo, where the Japanese subjected those with leprosy to forced labor and experimented and operated on them without their consent and often without (Jeffreys 2007).37

36 Jung discusses the differences between the Western and colonial state-run leprosaria. See especially p. 246. Jung also describes the Korean Leprosy Prevention Act (261). For more on Japanese and disease in Korea, especially mental illness, see Yoo (2016). 37 The most common operation was forced sterilization, but the Japanese were also known to operate on the corpses of those with Hansen’s disease. Japanese treatment of Koreans with Hansen’s disease mirrored the subjugation of Japanese afflicted with this disease. The case of Cambodia under French colonial rule provides an important comparison with that of Korea. Au discusses the differences between Khmer and French perceptions

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58 Chapter 1

Immediately after Japan’s defeat in World War Two and the evacuation of Japanese police from the Sorokdo National Leprosarium on August 20, 1945, many Korean leprosy patients fled to the northern part of the country, where it was understood that leprosy rates had long been low (Kim 2012: 9). But in 1947, concerned with the influx of people with leprosy, North Korean authorities established a leprosarium at Taedo Island, off the coast of Wŏnsan (ibid.: 8). American forces bombed this port shortly after the outbreak of the Korean War (1950–1953) and evacuated (i.e., returned) the leprosy patients to the So- rokdo leprosarium. Without a doubt, life for Koreans with leprosy did not im- prove with Japanese withdrawal from the peninsula; Koreans treated individu- als with Hansen’s disease as cruelly as the Japanese had. To give one example, in 1948, hospital workers and security officers on Sorokdo killed eighty-four patients over a management dispute. Former residents have described Sorokdo as “hell on earth”; conditions on the island were brutal, with patients sterilized, forced into hard labor, and per- mitted only minimal contact (never physical) with their children, among other abuses (Kim 2013). The Korean government quarantined Hansen’s disease pa- tients on the island until 1963 and until recent years did not permit them to leave without permission from a physician.38 As Norimitsu Onishi (2007) has rightly noted, Sorokdo has been a “place of lifetime banishment and silent deaths for generations of people with leprosy.” But with discrimination against those with Hansen’s disease long rampant in Korea, conditions off the island have not been much better. To be sure, in 2000 South Korea amended its Contagious Disease Prevention Law, changing the designation of this disease from leprosy to Hansen’s disease (한센병, Hansenbyŏng) and those afflicted by it as Hansenin (한센인, lit., people with Hansen’s disease). And in Korea today, leprosy is one of the most “morally compelling and publicly appealing diseases to champion” (Kim 2012: 65). Korean and even international celebrities, everyone from politicians to en- tertainers, regularly visit Sorokdo, as well as other Korean leprosaria.39 But broader social attitudes have not changed significantly; residents of Sorokdo still tend to be shunned by their compatriots. Some were encouraged by the

of leprosy, noting that Cambodians were far more tolerant of leprosy patients than were French colonists. Au also points out that leprosy incarceration remained a policy of the postcolonial government until the 1960s (2011: 157–179). 38 The Japanese presence on Sorok remains strong even now, nearly seventy-five years after the fall of the Japanese empire. The majority of the island’s colonial-era buildings still stand, and one of Sorok’s major intersections features a Shinto shrine. 39 These include Sŏngsimwŏn (Kyŏngsang Province) and the Lazarus Village in Ŭiwang (Kyŏnggi Province) (Jane Kim 2012: 67).

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Legacies of Leprosy 59 construction of a bridge, completed in September 2007, that connects this is- land to the Korean peninsula, but many others continue to believe that Korean prejudice against them remains too powerful for them ever to have successful lives off the island (Jeffreys 2007).40 In fact, in recent years, dozens of former patients have been returning to Sorokdo, where conditions have become more favorable, unable to tolerate the discrimination they have confronted in Kore- an society (Kim 2013). Popular prejudices against individuals with Hansen’s disease remain powerful in Korea, as in many parts of the world, even though most people are naturally immune, the disease is not hereditary, and it has been curable for decades.

4 Propagating Prejudices

For centuries, literary works in many parts of the world tended to enforce pop- ular prejudices against leprosy, associating it with spiritual defilement and ste- reotyping those with the disease as sinful and frequently lecherous, if not sub- human (Brody 1974: 189). In the Western literary tradition, characters with leprosy are often less fully developed individuals than examples of moral op- probrium attached to physical disease (Leavy 1992: 3). As Kerri A. Inglis ex- plains, “Cultural representations perpetuate a horror of the disease and a nega- tive stigma of those with the disease…. From the late 1800s to the present, popular culture (especially literature, and later film) has represented leprosy in a way that has perpetuated the horrors and stigma attached to it, reinforcing colonial perceptions and misrepresentations” (2013: 108). Remarkably, this re- mained the case long after the disease etiology was understood and a cure dis- covered. As Rod Edmond argues, “Leprosy retains its traditional power of sig- nification regardless of the state of medical knowledge … It would be difficult to find another time-lag so great than in the capacity of literature and related forms of cultural representation to retain and exploit forms of ignorance and superstition that would be scorned in other fields” (2006: 247).41 Versions of the popular European legend of Tristan and Isolde depict a “lep- rous duke” asking the king to turn over to him the adulterous Isolde so the duke

40 Fears of prejudice are justified. A 2005 Korean government survey revealed that 86 per- cent of Koreans would not be comfortable with their children marrying the children of an individual with Hansen’s disease and that 55 percent of Koreans support the forced segre- gation of these individuals (Jeffreys 2007). 41 Indeed, many studies of stigma and disease comment on the tempering if not elimina- tion of stigma as disease prevalence wanes or as medical interventions become more effective.

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60 Chapter 1 can have his “lepers” ravage her. The twelfth-century poet Eilhart von Oberge’s Middle-High German romance Tristrant (ca. 1170–89) reads, “Dô sprach der herzoge, ich wil sie/ mînen sîchen bringen:/ die suln sie alle minnen/ sô stirbet sie lesterlîchen” (The [leprous] duke spoke: “I will bring her to my sick ones: they shall all love her, so that she will die dishonorably”) (Brody 1974: 179–180). For its part, the twelfth-century Norman poet Béroul’s Norman-language Tristan (ca. 1160–1170) cites a person with leprosy declaring, “Veez, j’ai ci con- paignons cent;/ Yseut nos done, s’ert commune;/ Paior fin dame n’ot mais une” (See, I have here one-hundred companions; give Isolde to us, and she will be held in common. Never will a woman have a worse end) (ibid.: 180). References to leprosy appear frequently in the works of William Shakespeare (1564–1616), whose Hamlet is “haunted” by the disease. As Jacqueline Vanhoutte has ar- gued, “Rotting, foulness, poison, contagion, corruption, melancholy, judgment, embodiment, inwardness, usurpation, alienation, and impersonation – the themes of Hamlet are the themes of leprosy” (2012: 394). By ultimately coming to terms with the “legacy of leprosy” this play “clears the way for the new exem- plary diseases of Western culture – not just syphilis, but cancer” (ibid.: 409).42 But even as other diseases rose to the forefront of the cultural imagination, leprosy hardly disappeared from Western literature. To give one example, in the English playwright and poet John Ford’s (1586– ca. 1639) drama ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore (1633), Friar Bonaventura responds to Giovanni’s confession that he seeks an incestuous relationship with his sister with “Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust /That rots thy soul” (Ford 1869b: 1.1.74, 116). And in Ford’s The Fancies, Chaste and Noble (1637), a play on Platonic love, Livio reproaches his sister Castamela: “A whorish itch infects thy blood, a leprosy/ Of raging lust” (Ford 1869a: 4.1.68–69, 287). English poet Lord Byron (1788–1824) borrows the phrase “the leprosy of lust” in the blank verse tragedy Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice (1821), declaring, “Nor was this my age/ Infected with that leprosy of lust/ Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men” (ibid.: 262).43 And several generations later, inspired by intensifying of Western impe- rial expansion, the leprosy settlements on Moloka‘i drew particular attention

42 Although some have argued that numerous medieval cases of leprosy were actually syphi- lis, many scholars believe that syphilis was unknown before the global voyages of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. As Piechocki notes, it was during this era that “physicians and poets alike captured, for the first time, the bonds among poetic, philologi- cal, and medical discoveries as an unprecedented inquiry into the emerging discipline of immunology” (2016: 2). Piechocki’s focus is the Italian physician and poet Girolamo Fra- castoro (ca. 1476–1553), including his Syphilis sive morbus gallicus (Syphilis or the French Disease, 1530). 43 See Wetherall-Dickson (2013) for more on Byron’s relationship with Ford.

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Legacies of Leprosy 61 from writers and other artists, including Jack London (1876–1916) and Charles Warren Stoddard (1843–1909) from the United States and Robert Louis Steven- son (1850–1894) from Scotland (Edmond 2006: 220–244). In “Koolau the Leper,” included in the short story collection House of Pride (1908) and an adaptation of the Kaluaiko‘olau narrative, discussed below, Jack London debunks some of the stereotypes surrounding leprosy, but he ulti- mately dehumanizes Hawaiians with the disease.44 The story begins with a na- tive Hawaiian boldly criticizing both Western imperialism and the criminaliza- tion of leprosy: “Because we are sick they take away our liberty. We have obeyed the law. We have done no wrong. And yet they would put us in prison. Molokai is a prison…. It is the will of the white men who rule the land” (2002b: 47). But the narrator soon demeans people living with leprosy, declaring, “They were men and women no longer. They were monsters – in face and form grotesque caricatures of everything human. They were hideously maimed and distorted, and had the seeming of creatures that had been bruised by some mad god at play in the machinery of life” (50). Similarly, in the earlier essay “The Lepers of Molokai” (1909), London dis- credits some of the common stigmas surrounding leprosy, advising readers that the disease is only “feebly contagious” and urging philanthropists to fund medical research for a cure. London denounces how those with the disease have been treated throughout history. Yet he demands that these individuals continue to be isolated from society and declares their lives on Moloka‘i joyous:

That a leper is unclean, however, should be insisted upon; and the segre- gation of lepers, from what little is known of the disease, should be rigidly maintained. On the other hand, the awful horror with which the leper has been regarded in the past, and the frightful treatment he has received, have been unnecessary and cruel…. [But] the segregation of the lepers on Molokai is not the horrible nightmare that has been so often exploited by yellow writers…. I would prefer one year of life in Molokai to five years of life in the above-mentioned cesspools of human degradation and misery [the East End of London, East Side of New York, Stockyards of Chicago]…. In Molokai, people are happy.” (1909: 290–291, 294)

44 For more on London, leprosy, and Hawai‘i in his Pacific stories, see Edmond (1997: 194– 222) and Reesman (2009: 107–176). I discuss the Kaluaiko‘olao narrative later in this chap- ter. London visited the Moloka’i leprosarium in 1907 and 1915.

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62 Chapter 1

London’s story “Good-bye, Jack,” also included in House of Pride, contrasts defenders of the Moloka‘i leprosaria, who claim “the horrors of Molokai are all poppycock…. They have a much finer climate than Honolulu, and the scenery is magnificent” (2002a: 104–105) with the terror of the “living dead” who have been banished there. Jeanne Campbell Reesman rightly notes that from his very first Hawaiian story, “The House of Pride” (1907), London “directly attacks racism and colonialism and he offers scathing portraits of white masters” (2009: 109). Through numerous anecdotes of life on Moloka‘i, and particularly through telling the personal stories of individuals with leprosy, London ­humanizes its residents. But he tends to disregard the trauma of forced quarantine. Western literature is not alone in propagating stereotypes and enhancing stigmas regarding leprosy. In China, the seventeenth-century novel Xingshi yinyuan zhuan (醒世姻緣傳, Marital Destinies to Awaken the World), pub- lished under the penname Xizhou Sheng (西周生, lit. Scholar of the Western Zhou), cites a Ming dynasty (1368–1644) law that those with eji (恶疾, malig- nant diseases) will be divorced and that tian paochuang (天疱疮, disfiguring skin sores) were the most serious type of eji (Leung 2009: 63).45 The novel Mari- tal Destinies to Awaken the World is known largely for its depiction of “the tor- ment of a weak-willed man by his shrewish wife as an instrument of karmic retribution for sins committed in a previous incarnation” (Plaks 1985: 545). Also noteworthy is the Confucian scholar Song Xiangfeng’s (宋翔鳳, 1776– 1860) poem “Mafengyuan” (麻風院, Mafeng Hospices), where the poet de- clares, “I hear that there are mafeng hospices / that have forever been caring for patients./ But I fear the disease cannot be stopped, / that it will swiftly spread” (1960: 869).46 And finally there is “Chen Duoshou shengsi fuqi” (陳多壽生死夫妻, Chen Duoshou and His Wife Bound in Life and Death, The Predestined Marriage of Chen Duoshou), included in Feng Menglong’s (馮夢龍, 1574–1646) collection Xingshi hengyan (醒世恆言, Stories to Awaken the World, 1627).47 This tale

45 Tian paochuang was a common Ming-Qing period term for disfiguring sores on the skin (Leung 2009: 256 n. 15). Leung attributes Marital Destinies to Pu Songling (蒲松齡, 1640– 1715), but most scholars agree that the author remains anonymous (Berg 2001: 660). Thank you to Miya Xie for proofreading my Chinese and Korean translations and ro- manizations in this book. 46 The term mafeng (麻風, lit., numb wind, numbing wind) is the modern Chinese term for Hansen’s disease; it has been used since at least the fifteenth century (Leung 2009: 4). See also Hanson (2011: 74–76) and Schonebaum (2019: 126–137). 47 Stories to Awaken the World is the third of the Sanyan (三言, Three Words), three cele- brated Ming dynasty (1368–1644) collections of forty stories each.

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Legacies of Leprosy 63 depicts two friends – Chen Qing and Zhu Shiyuan – who arrange a marriage between their children, Chen Duoshou and Zhu Duofu. But six years later, shortly after Duoshou turned fifteen, the narrator reports that he “suddenly fell ill with the vile disease of leprosy” and his appearance changed “beyond recog- nition.” The story then switches from prose to verse:

His flesh withered, his skin chapped; The toxins in his body broke out in . He itched all over in misery, day and night. It was far worse than and the same as leprosy. The handsome boy now looked like a toad; His skin was like that of an old turtle. The scratching fingers smelled of pus; The sordid body gave off a foul stench. (2009: 189)

Zhu Shiyuan’s wife is no more sympathetic, calling Duoshou a “toad” and de- manding that the wedding be called off. The couple insist on marrying, then several years later attempt to commit double suicide by , only to be re- vived by their panicked parents, who rapidly secure an antidote to the poison. Paradoxically, the arsenic cures Duoshou of his leprosy; his lesions heal, and it is as though “he had shed his skin, changed the bones, and found another in- carnation” (203). Feng Menglong’s “Chen Duoshou and His Wife” stands in con- trast with Buddhist and Daoist tales of healing, which focus on righteous monks and religious bodily techniques, respectively. Instead, it echoes Confu- cian stories that center on virtuous acts, in this case suicide (Leung 2009: 68, 70).48 Nevertheless, “Chen Duoshou and His Wife” reinforces the idea of lep- rosy as utterly disfiguring and incompatible with “normal” life.49

48 Any number of early Chinese tales feature virtuous wives who stay with their diseased husbands. 49 Also noteworthy in this context is Nobel Prize-winning Chinese writer Mo Yan’s (莫言, Guan Moye, 管謨業, 1955–) celebrated Hong Gaoliang Jiazu (紅高粱家族, Red Sor- ghum Family), first published as a “family saga” in 1987, adapted into a film that same year, and published in more complete form in Taiwan in 1988. In this novel, which spans the 1920s to the 1970s, the protagonist’s grandmother (Dai Fenglian/Nine) is forced into mar- riage with a wealthy older man who has leprosy (Shan Bianlang). To be sure, the narrator initially notes that many families had dreamed of marrying into the Shan family, given the success of their distillery (2012: 35). But Dai Fenglian, the person actually getting married, has a very different reaction. She is horrified to hear that he has the disease and deter- mines that it would be better to die rather than marry a “leper” (如其那样,还不如一 死之, 38). She is warned by one of the men carrying her bridal sedan that if she lets Shan Bianlang touch her, her skin will rot away (39). As it turns out, she is “rescued” by Yu

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In early Korea, dance from Kyŏngsang Province included the mundungi (lep- rosy) mask dance (탈춤, t’alch’um). These performances featured an individu- al posing as a person with leprosy who shook “his bent arms and limping legs, seemingly drunk to the beat of the music,” and then, touring the stage, made gestures “typical of diseased body” (病身, pyŏngshin). The primary objec- tive of such performances, the so-called diseased body dance (病身춤, pyŏngshinch’um) was to channel anger against the local, exploitative yangban (Jane Kim 2012: 16–17), but the dances also ridiculed those with leprosy.50 Simi- larly, a number of nineteenth-century vernacular novels, including Yosŏntamjŏn (요선담전, Tale of the Origin of the Yo Family), followed a pattern somewhat similar to that of the Chinese story “Chen Duoshou and His Wife”: in the Kore- an version, an elite yangban woman with leprosy who has been cast out from her own family and taken in by a kind-hearted man is magically cured after a mysterious near-death experience, and the man who has stayed with her de- spite her disease is elevated to yangban status. The Korean tales, however, say very little about leprosy itself. They expect the audience to assume that the disease was the result of divine punishment, or even that it stood in for a divine curse (ibid.: 19, 21, 23). Early twentieth-century Korean literature also reinforces stereotypes, including an early work by the preeminent poet Sŏ Chŏngju’s (서정주, 徐廷柱 1915–2000) entitled “Mundungi” (문둥이, The Leper, 1941), which depicts a man with leprosy as a cannibal, drawing from the early super- stition in some parts of the world that consuming the flesh of a child could heal leprosy: “A leper grieved/ The sun and blue sky.// As the moon rose over the barley field,/ He ate a child,// And like a flower he wept crimson tears all night.”51

5 Countering Violence

As the above examples make clear, literature has frequently both exposed and promulgated the stigmas to which persons with leprosy are subjected. But a

Zhan’ao, another bearer of her bridal sedan, with whom she falls in love. Yu Zhan’ao not only rescues Dai Fenglian from a bandit, but he kills her new husband and his father, leav- ing her a wealthy woman and free to marry Yu, which she does. As is true of the literary works discussed in the following section, Red Sorghum depicts Shan Bianlang as suffering not from the disease of leprosy but instead from the reactions of others to the disease. 50 Other contemporary plays focused more on portraying the marginalized lives of people with leprosy, including T’ongyŏng ogwangdae (T’ongyŏng Five Jesters) and Kasan og- wangdae (Kasan Five Jesters) (Eunjung Kim 2017: 261). 51 Eunjung Kim discusses the association of leprosy with cannibalism (2017: 175). See also Stedman (1899: 578).

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Legacies of Leprosy 65 significant subset of twentieth- and twenty-first-century writings on leprosy – often, though by no means exclusively, writings by people with the disease – exposes and counters stereotypes, asserting the humanity and human dignity of people with leprosy and demanding more humane treatment (Tanaka 2013: 101).52 In so doing, much of this literature – including the texts discussed below by twentieth-century American, Hawaiian, Japanese, Korean, and Nigerian writers, set in the kingdom, republic, and territory of Hawai‘i, imperial and postwar Japan, colonial and postwar Korea, and colonial Nigeria – reveals so- cial attitudes and behaviors toward people with leprosy as causing even more anguish than the disease itself, despite leprosy’s often devastating toll on the human body, and, in the case of later works, despite leprosy’s being a com- pletely curable condition.53 These works reinforce the necessity, and urgency, of transforming social responses to leprosy, and indeed diseases more gener- ally, arguing that in many cases even the most horrendous disease pales in comparison to the ruthlessness of human imagination and behavior.

5.1 Leprosy Narratives and Hawai‘i One of the most prominent early twentieth-century examples of this phenom- enon is the famed Hawaiian-language memoir Ka Mo‘olelo Oiaio o Kaluaiko‘olau

52 As is true of many critics, Tanaka distinguishes between Hansen’s disease literature that asserts human dignity in the midst of oppression and literature that “expresses content- ment or describes the happiness found in the hospital,” literature that often has been dismissed as writing coerced from patients (2012: 101). Yet expressing happiness is itself a form of asserting human dignity. Tanaka’s focus is Japanese “leprosy literature” (癩文學, rai bungaku, defined in Japan as literature written by patients before the disease was cur- able), but many of her observations are true more broadly. In Japan, leprosy literature became “Hansen’s disease literature” (ハンセン病文学, Hansenbyō bungaku) in 1946, with the introduction of the sulfone drug to Japanese hospitals. Tanaka notes that the shift from a disease that was incurable to one that was curable resulted in a notable change in patient writings (2012: 4–5). 53 Also worthy of note is American literature on Carville, including Stanley Stein’s (1899– 1967) autobiography Alone No Longer: The Story of a Man Who Refused to Be One of the Living Dead (1963). Stein, born Sidney Maurice Levyson, was a pharmacist in Texas when at age thirty-two he contracted leprosy and was exiled to Carville, where he spent the re- mainder of his life fighting on behalf of Hansen’s disease patients to be treated as human beings. He notes in his autobiography that “we were … still being treated very much like inmates of a penal institution … although our malady was a thousand times less conta- gious than the common cold and many hundreds of times harder to transmit than tuber- culosis … We could not ride on trains or buses. Marriages were forbidden…. Medically we had come a long way. Sociologically we were not very far removed from the days of the hand bell” (1963: 231). Notably, when Stein is first diagnosed, both he and his parents are “not greatly concerned with the medical aspects of the disease … but [instead] mostly with its social consequences” (23).

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(The True Story of Kaluaiko‘olau as Told by His Wife Pi‘ilani, 1906). Narrated by a Hawaiian woman known simply as Pi‘ilani, The True Story underscores the terror of being deported to Kalawao: it refers to leprosy as the disease that sep- arated families and to Kalawao as a grave where people are buried alive (Kala- wao, kahi hoi i kapaia e kekahi poe o ka luakupapau kanu ola, 78).54 Early in the narrative Pi‘ilani describes how one day she noticed a small on her husband Kaluaiko‘olau’s cheeks. When the couple finally speaks about it, Pi‘ilani hears a voice within her husband declaring, “You are branded” (ua kuni ia oe!, 76), a voice that is “fended off by hope” by another voice announcing, “You will be saved” – saved, but not without great sacrifice. Kaluaiko‘olau ulti- mately flees with his wife and son, who also has leprosy, deep into a remote valley that has become a refuge for Hawaiians afflicted with the disease. In 1893 Kaluaiko‘olau kills a sheriff and two soldiers who have come to arrest him; he hides with his family until his death. Leprosy eventually takes the lives of Pi‘ilani’s husband and son, but little is said in The True Story about the disease itself. The narrative makes very clear that it is not the disease that frightens, but instead the social ostracizing and condemning of those “branded” with the disease.55 The major difference between Pi‘ilani’s story and Jack London’s adaptation “Koolau the Leper” is Pi‘ilani’s emphasis on the trauma of separation. At no point in The True Story does Pi‘ilani express fear at contracting leprosy. Nor do any members of the mountain community who are harboring her family ex- hibit anxiety toward the physical symptoms of the disease (Edmond 1997: 204– 205). As Kerri A. Inglis summarizes, “For many Native Hawaiians, segregation was worse than the disease itself” (2013: 86).56 This was especially true after Hawaiian authorities prohibited kōkua (helpers) from accompanying those banished to the leprosy settlements (Frazier 2001: ix).57

54 Piilani’s story was transcribed by journalist John G.M. Sheldon (Kahikina Kelekona), who published it in book form in 1906 as Kaluaikoolau! Frazier (2001) reprints this story in Hawaiian and provides an English translation. 55 See also Inglis (2013: 71–73). Inglis speaks of this story as one that addresses both the crim- inalization of leprosy and adaptation and resistance to the segregation law. 56 This sentiment is confirmed not only in The True Story but in patient writings, including Ambrose Kanoeali‘i Hutchison’s unpublished manuscript on Father Damien, where he writes, “to mention the name ‘Kalawao’ was to arouse terror in the hearts of the stricken victims of the dread scourge and their opposition of being sent there” (Inglis 2013: 97). 57 Pi‘ilani’s story inspired a number of writers in addition to Jack London, including Ameri- can W.S. Merwin’s (1927–2019) The Folding Cliffs: A Narrative (1998). Critics have pointed to the “epic” nature of this narrative poem. Says Michael Thurston, “We recognize, from the beginning, that we are in epic territory…. The Folding Cliffs is a sort of anti-Aeneid for Hawai‘i, an epic that treats not the founding of a city but the conquering, division, and

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American writer James Michener’s (1907–1997) 937-page novel Hawaii (1959) speaks of the devastating physical symptoms of leprosy, while arguing – as does Pi‘ilani’s narrative –that social stigmas against this disease caused far greater suffering than the disease itself. Hawaii tells the story of the Hawaiian Islands beginning with their geological creation millions of years ago, narrat- ing the experiences of the diverse human communities who populated the is- lands from the early Polynesians to Christian missionaries, Asians (especially Chinese and Japanese), Americans, and Europeans. The book recounts the im- pact of foreign contact on the Kānaka Maoli, including the introduction of in- fectious diseases, which decimated the population. Particularly noteworthy is Michener’s focus on the treatment of immigrant Chinese who have leprosy. Hawaii features Kee Mun Ki and his wife Char Nyuk Tsin, a Chinese couple who emigrate to the islands in the mid-1800s. While in Hawai‘i Mun Ki con- tracts leprosy and is deported to the Kalawao leprosarium on Moloka‘i, while Nyuk Tsin accompanies him as his kōkua. Shortly after Mun Ki is diagnosed, he thinks to himself:

Mun Ki was a leper, and the law said sternly that he must give himself up, and be exiled for the rest of his life to a dismal lepers’ island. He was dif- ferent from all men, for he was irretrievably doomed to die of the most horrible disease known to man: His toes would fall away and his fingers. His body would grow foul, and from long distances it would be possible to smell him, as if he were an animal. His face would grow big and thick and scaly and hairy, like a lion’s; and his eyes would glass over like an owl’s in daylight; and then his nose would waste away, and his lips fall off, and the suppurating sores would creep across his cheeks and eat away his chin until at last, faceless, formless, without hands or feet, he would die in ag- ony. He was a leper. (1959: 475)

At this early stage of the disease, Mun Ki knows that exile is imminent, but he also is far more fearful of what the disease will do to his body, that he first will become an animal and then disintegrate altogether. In contrast, Nyuk Tsin thinks not of Mun Ki’s impending but instead of the social consequences of the disease: “Nyuk Tsin had to keep her diseased husband … away from public view, for that year there had been a ­general roundup of lepers, and some one hundred and sixty had been shipped off to the leper island to perpetual banishment and slow death; suspicious

dispersal of a people and its culture” (2000: 181). In this text, those with leprosy suffer much more from social responses to the disease than from the disease itself.

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­watchers had perfected tricks whereby to trap unsuspected lepers” (475). Soon thereafter the narrator declares, “These were evil years, indeed, in Hawaii” and explains the history of leprosy on the islands, how the disease swept through them at about the same time as the first Chinese arrived, so even though lep- rosy “had never been a conspicuously Chinese disease,” it was widely called the “mai Pake” (the Chinese sickness). This virtually guaranteed that Chinese with leprosy were treated even more appallingly than the Hawaiian natives, who far outnumbered them.58 The narrator reveals, “These were the years when an otherwise decent man would study his enemy’s face, and when he saw a pim- ple or or eczema he would denounce his enemy, and the man would be hunted down, arrested and thrown into the cage. There was no appeal, no hope, never an escape” (476). Mun Ki and Nyuk Tsin flee to the mountains, where a Hawaiian couple shel- ters them from the police, believing that “no leper ever came to Jesus without receiving aid, and no leper will come to [our] house … to be turned away” (485). But they soon are discovered, and Mun Ki is banished to Kalawao. Con- ditions there are horrific. The narrator declares, “In the previous history of the world no such hellish spot had ever stood in such heavenly surroundings…. The lepers had been thrown ashore with nothing except the sentence of cer- tain death, and what they did until they died, no man cared” (491, 493). There are no facilities on Kalawao, and when the authorities in Honolulu forget to send replenishments of food, the settlement “degenerated into absolute ter- ror,” with the death rate soaring (494). Michener’s novel repeats stereotypes of the “lecherous leper,” depicting women on Kalawao as subjected to rampant sexual assault by fellow patients. But Hawaii also explicitly condemns the out- side authorities, declaring, “Rarely in human history had this calloused apo- thegm [‘Out of sight, out of mind’] been more concisely illustrated than at the Kalawao lazaretto. The government had decreed: ‘The lepers shall be banished,’ as if saying the words and imprisoning the leprous bodies somehow solved the problem” (496). The Moloka‘i leprosaria have continued to capture the imagination of American writers. Alan Brennert’s (1954–) novel Moloka‘i (2003) opens in 1891 and features Rachel Kalama, then a young Hawaiian girl who lives with her family in Honolulu. While at the harbor one day, Rachel spots a “small, decrepit

58 Some pages later, the narrator repeats that the term mai Pake is ironic, given that “the scourge neither came from China nor did it especially affect the Chinese” (491). The dis- ease was also called ma‘i ali‘i (the royal sickness), since a royal was believed to have been the first afflicted, and ma‘i ho‘oka‘awale ‘ohana (the separating sickness), given the en- forced segregation of leprosy patients (Frazier 2001: ix).

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Legacies of Leprosy 69 interisland steamer, the Mokoli‘i” with Hawaiians and Chinese being “herded” aboard. Her family explains that these people are “Ma‘i páké,” lepers who are “very sick.” But Rachel observes that “they didn’t look much different than any- one on the other side of the barricade,” and she asks her family, “If they’re sick … why isn’t someone taking care of them?” (16). No one responds. The fol- lowing year, Rachel’s Uncle Pono is “arrested as a leprosy suspect,” the first step to exile on Moloka‘i, and Rachel’s mother warns her children not to speak of this to anyone, not even to each other. Soon thereafter, Rachel develops symp- toms of the disease, and one day she returns home from school to find the health inspector waiting for her. The doctors “poked at her body with metal instruments, seeming to see her not as a six-year-old girl but as a teeming cul- ture of bacillus laprae in the shape of a six-year-old girl” (40). A sign is posted on the fence outside the family’s home: “This house has a communicable dis- ease,/ leprosy,/ and is subject to Fumigation” (45). And the family is immedi- ately shunned. Brennert’s novel makes no secret of the devastating effects of leprosy on the human body, describing in some detail, for instance, the dress- ing of the sores of women and girls with the disease (78–82), and revealing that Rachel has weeks and months during which “joints ached and nerve sheaths became raw and inflamed” (139). Decades later, Rachel finds her resistance to the bacillus being worn down; her limbs become so swollen with edema that she can barely walk, and she loses the will to live (316).59 But as in Pi‘ilani’s and Michener’s narratives there is far greater focus in Brennert’s Moloka‘i on the damage inflicted by the stigmas attached to the dis- ease. Rachel is depicted as suffering not primarily from leprosy but instead from being abandoned, initially by her community and then by her family. At first her mother no longer responds to her daughter’s letters; subsequently, the letters themselves are returned to Rachel stamped “Moved, No Forwarding Ad- dress” (124). As her father explains to her on his next visit, “She [Rachel’s moth- er] couldn’t stand the shame…. The way people looked at her…. She loves you, baby, but she loves your sister and brothers, too…. In a new place, she thinks, where nobody knows about Kalaupapa, maybe they’ll be better off” (128). Moloka‘i follows Rachel for the next decades, through her marriage to Kenji, a fellow resident of Kalaupapa of Japanese heritage; her ; and her ask- ing “whether it was fair to bring a child into the world only to see it immedi- ately orphaned” (245), since leprosy patients are prohibited from raising chil- dren. Rachel and Kenji are permitted to visit their daughter, Ruth, in the leprosaria’s nursery only twice a week, and since neither of their families is

59 The novel also depicts a male leprosy patient whose testicles shrink dramatically and who develops breasts, but this, tellingly, is something he has always wanted (220).

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70 Chapter 1 willing to adopt the girl, the couple has no choice but to put her up for adop- tion. As Ruth is taken away from the island, Rachel “knew the loss and longing that would nest forever in her heart; and knew that without question this was the worst, the most unbearable kapu of all” (251). Many years later, in the 1940s, residents of Kalaupapa are for the first time permitted to leave the leprosarium, and so Brennert’s Moloka‘i follows Rachel to Honolulu, where her attempts to rent an apartment are thwarted by land- lords who call her a “dirty leper” and want nothing to do with her (331). She finds her Aunt Florence but is quickly sent away; Florence tells Rachel about the discrimination that has been inflicted on her family from having a relative on Moloka‘i. In contrast, Rachel’s sister and brother are much happier to see her, as is her daughter Ruth, whom she locates in California. But Rachel is dis- traught to learn that Ruth, who had been adopted by a Japanese American issei (first-generation) couple, had been interned during the war, that Ruth had not escaped the discrimination and incarceration that had so defined Rachel’s own life.

5.2 Japanese and Korean Stories of Leprosy Narratives such as Pi‘ilani’s The True Story, Michener’s Hawaii, and Brennert’s Moloka‘i attest to the sustained commitment of twentieth- and twenty-first- century writers not only to exposing the contemporary and historical abuse inflicted on people in Hawai‘i with Hansen’s disease but also to depicting them as suffering even more from this abuse than from the physical symptoms of the disease. Literature on leprosy from other parts of the globe similarly has called for changes in public attitudes and behaviors toward people with Hansen’s dis- ease, including in Japan, home to the world’s largest corpus of writing on this condition.60 Most notable is Kaga Otohiko’s ten-volume Hansenbyō bungaku zenshū (ハンセン病文学全集, Complete Collection of Hansen’s Disease Lit- erature), which includes fiction, poetry (free verse, haiku, and tanka), essays, and children’s writing, much of which was produced by patients confined within Japanese leprosaria and that first appeared in the in-house journals of

60 For more on Japanese literature and Hansen’s disease see Tanaka 2012, 2013, 2016. See also Burns (2019: 187–198) and the list of “Memoirs and Other Books and Poetry by Individuals Who Have Personally Faced the Challenges of Leprosy/Hansen’s Disease,” Oral History Project of the International Leprosy Association, Global Project on the History of Leprosy, www.idealeprosydignity.org. This inventory contains texts published from 1906 to the 2000s from Australia, Brazil, China, England, Hawai‘i, Japan, Paraguay, South Korea, and the United States.

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Legacies of Leprosy 71 these institutions.61 But in addition to the selections in the Complete Collection, there are scores of other Japanese writings on Hansen’s disease, with more vol- umes coming out every year, by (former) patients, their families, and their phy- sicians/professional caregivers, as well as by concerned others.62 The best known of Japan’s many Hansen’s disease writers is Hōjō Tamio (北條民雄, 1914–1937), who was diagnosed with leprosy in the early 1930s and entered Tokyo’s Zensei Byōin (Hospital) in 1934.63 Hōjō often is credited with

61 The editors of this anthology make a point of labeling these works “Hansen’s disease lit- erature” (ハンセン病文学, Hansenbyō bungaku), regardless of year of publication (cf. Tanaka 2012). In Japan, leprosy/Hansen’s disease literature generally is understood as lit- erature on leprosy by those with this disease. 62 Japanese interest in Hansen’s disease remains strong, leading to the publication not only of volumes of literature focused or at the very least touching on the disease, but also of a number of scholarly and popular works including Fukunishi Yukiko’s Hansenbyō ryōyōjo ni ikita onnatachi, a 2016 compilation of the stories of five women who have spent most of their lives as residents of the Kokuritsu Ryōyōjo Matsuoka Hoyōen, and Fujino Yutaka’s Kokō no Hansenbyō ishi – Ogasawara Noboru “Nikki” o yomu, on the physician Ogasawara Noboru (1888–1970), who protested the segregation of people with leprosy. Also worth noting is the Korean essay writer/documentary photographer Gon Choru (Kwon Choul), who moved to Japan in 1994 and in 1999 began working with persons affected by Hansen’s disease. See, for instance, his photobook on the Japanese Hansen’s disease poet Sakurai Tetsuo (桜井哲夫, 1924–2011). Japanese filmmakers have similarly engaged with Hansen’s disease. One primary ex- ample is Kawase Naomi’s (河瀨直美, 1969–) 2015 film An (あん, Sweet Bean, lit. Sweet Red Bean Paste), which showcases an elderly woman with leprosy. Although the woman, Tokue, creates peerless bean paste, she is forced out of her making this treat when customers recognize that it was leprosy that deformed her hands. Kawase explains, “I want to convey things that everyone feels and events that everyone experiences, be they Americans, Koreans, or Japanese…. For example, people with leprosy have lived with the same conditions around the world for more than 1,000 years, in places like India and Ko- rea, so it’s something that everyone can understand” (Schilling 2015). Kawase is definitely simplifying matters, but her larger point is apt. The film An is based on Japanese writer Sukegawa Dorian’s (助川ドリアン, 1962–) novel of the same title (2013), which is set in the 1990s, around the time the Leprosy Prevention Law was abolished (“Author of Novel on Leprosy,” 2018). Even more noteworthy is Miyazaki Hayao’s (宮崎駿, 1941–) blockbuster anime Mono- nokehime (もののけ姫, Princess Mononoke, 1997). Set in the fourteenth century, Prin- cess Mononoke features a woman, Lady Eboshi, as having created a refuge for social out- casts, including people with leprosy. As one individual with leprosy declares, “She is the only person who ever treated us as human. She did not fear our disease. She washed and bandaged our flesh.” Miyazaki, inspired by the suffering he witnessed during his visits to a Tokyo leprosy sanitarium, has spoken out on behalf of people with the disease. 63 Another prominent early twentieth-century Japanese writer with leprosy featured at the National Hansen’s Disease Museum is Akashi Kaijin (明石海人, 1901–1939). Burns dis- cusses how some Japanese writers have used leprosy metaphorically (2019: 196–198).

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72 Chapter 1 inaugurating the genre of “leprosy literature.” Unlike most patient-writers, however, he published his work in some of Japan’s most prestigious literary journals and had the support of many in Japan’s literary establishment, includ- ing Kawabata Yasunari (川端康成, 1899–1972), recipient of the 1968 Nobel Prize in Literature. “Inochi no shoya” (いのちの初夜, Life’s First Night, 1936) is the most famous of Hōjō’s works and has been translated into several languag- es. This short story describes the young man Oda Takao’s traumatic arrival at Zensei Hospital. Overcome with despair at the condition of his fellow patients and regretting that he had not committed suicide when he had the opportu- nity, he is advised by Saeki, a fellow patient, to give himself over completely to leprosy. Oda asks Saeki whether he believes the people in the leprosarium are still human beings (あの人様は、もう人間ぢゃあないんですよ; 1938: 42), al- though even while questioning whether the patients are human (人間), Oda indicates his own proclivity by referring to them as people and with the honor- ific sama (人様).64 Saeki seems to have no such doubts; he responds that those with leprosy are not human beings, that they in fact are absolutely not human beings (決して人間ぢゃありません), and again that

生命 生命 They are not human beings.、 、 、 They are life [ ]. They are life itself [ そのもの], life itself [いのちそのものなんです]…. Those people’s “hu- manness” has already died, perished. Only life [生命] lives timidly. Firmly rooted it is. The moment a person contracts leprosy, that person’s human- ness perishes. It dies…. [Only] when we [lepers] have new ideas and new vision, when we possess completely the life of a leper [全然癩者の生活 を獲得する時], then we can again live as human beings…. Mr. Oda, you’re now dead. You’re dead, you’re not a human being. Please think about the origins of your suffering and despair. Don’t they stem from the fact that you’re searching for a humanness that has already died? (43)

Oda does not quite know what to make of all this, and he suspects that Saeki, who is becoming increasingly agitated, must be a little unstable. Nevertheless, echoing Oda in the above passage, Saeki several times refers to those afflicted with leprosy as people, even while denying their humanness and declaring that they are reduced to life at its most elemental. At the same time, Saeki insists that though loss of humanness is an inevitable consequence

64 This distinction is not included in the English translation, where “honored people” (人様, hitosama) is translated as “patients” (68). In contrast, the Korean version preserves the nuances of the Japanese, translating “people” as saram (사람) and “human beings” as ingan (인간, 68).

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Legacies of Leprosy 73 of contracting leprosy, humanity can be revived. Paradoxically, to become hu- man once again, at least according to Saeki, Oda needs to accept completely not his disease but instead the “life of a leper.” Suffering and despair are de- picted as coming in large part from failing to resign oneself not only to the disease but also to its inevitable social consequences. “Life’s First Night” makes no secret of the devastating effects of leprosy on the human body. The narrator includes lengthy and graphic descriptions of people with acute cases of the disease and describes Oda as repulsed to his core by many of the patients he encounters. But Hōjō’s story also makes clear the active dehumanization of leprosy patients within the hospital, the impact of hospital policies on the mo- rale of even patients with minimal symptoms. This story reveals the gross in- justices imposed on people with leprosy in prewar Japan. That it casts an indi- vidual with leprosy as the one to declare those with the disease dead, or at least as having lost their humanness, that Saeki goes so far as to urge Oda to “com- pletely assume his identity as a leper [癩者に成り切って]” in order to survive (46), reveals the pervasiveness and the horrifying consequences of social ex- clusion. In the end, the story offers hope, the curtain descending on Oda watching the rising sun and resolving to live. But “Life’s First Night” reveals the exorbitantly high price of so doing. Whereas Hōjō’s short story opens with Oda walking silently from the train station to the leprosarium, already abandoned by his community, narratives such as the Japanese writer Ishimure Michiko’s (石牟礼道子, 1927–2018) Tsubaki no umi no ki (椿の海の記, Story of the Sea of Camellias, 1976) spotlight the initial agony of separation. Ishimure is known primarily as one of Japan’s premier environmental writers and activists, in large part for her trilogy on Minamata Disease – Kugai jōdo: Waga Minamatabyō (苦海浄土: わが水俣病, Sea of Suffering and the Pure Land: Our Minamata Disease, 1969). For its part, Story of the Sea, narrated from a child’s perspective, is usually discussed as an autobiographical novel, the story of Ishimure’s early childhood (1929–32). The narrative expounds on the tranquil beauty of the town of Minamata while at the same time exposing the severity of rural poverty and the prevalence of disease. Early on, the young narrator speaks of her visit to the local crematori- um, abhorred by the villagers because of its association with the plague and other that continue to claim countless lives. So many people are dying that the crematorium cannot handle them all, and many bodies are sim- ply cremated on the banks of the river. The young narrator of Story of the Sea then introduces “Tokumatsu the lep- er” whose “nose and fingers had broken off” and whose disfigured hands and legs prevent him from farming (2004: 50). To be sure, Tokumatsu and his family live alone on a remote hillside and are described as living in extreme poverty.

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And nearby villagers believe his leprosy a curse from a former life. Yet they treat Tokumatsu kindly and invite him to their banquets, even providing him with ample leftovers to take home.65 When Tokumatsu and his family sudden- ly disappear, the villagers worry that the authorities have forcibly removed them to Honmyōji (本妙寺), a temple in Kumamoto the narrator describes as the gathering place for people with leprosy.66 In fact, Tokumatsu has been tak- en not to Honmyōji but instead to a leprosarium in Kumamoto established by the English missionary Hannah Riddell (1855–1932). The narrator makes clear the deep inflicted on Tokumatsu as he is being dragged away, and he de- mands to know why he is being treated so ruthlessly. Some of the villagers wist- fully ponder whether the family is better off in their new location than they were before, given the dilapidated hut they called home, but then they recog- nize they are likely mistaken. Story of the Sea contrasts the villagers, who al- though they hardly treat Tokumatsu as an equal do not banish him completely from the community, with the authorities, who bring about undue anguish. Also noteworthy is Tokumatsu’s frequently echoed suggestion that he believes he is being punished, albeit for precisely what he does not know. Stigmas against people with leprosy – in Japan and throughout much of the world – have been so strong that these individuals often believed they were themselves to blame, both for their disease and for how they have been treated by society because of their disease. Inhumane treatment of people with leprosy is a hallmark of Korean writ- ings on the disease, a literature that dates back centuries but grew substan- tially beginning in the early 1900s. Kim Tongni’s (김동리, 金東里, 1913–1995) “Pawi” (바위, The Rock, 1936) is the best known colonial-period Korean narra- tive on leprosy. As is true of much writing on the disease, this short story high- lights the betrayal of people with leprosy at the hands of their community.67

65 This is not to suggest that the villagers are not afraid of Tokumatsu, but they wait until he has returned home to burn the chopsticks and thoroughly the bowl and plate he uses. 66 The narrator neglects to mention that about a decade later, in 1940, as part of the Murai- ken Undō (無癩県運動, No Leprosy Patients in Our Prefecture Movement, est. 1930), people with leprosy living at Honmyōji were forcibly hospitalized. 67 Two other key short stories on leprosy from the colonial period are Korean writer Kim Chŏnghan’s (김정한, 金廷漢, 1908–1996) “Oksimi” (옥심이, 1936), originally titled “Paedŏngnyŏ” (배덕녀, lit. immoral woman, in reference to the protagonist Oksimi’s af- fair after her husband contracts leprosy), and Sim Sung’s (심숭, 沈崧, Yi Ŭnsang, 이은 상, 1911–1960) “Hyŏllurok” (혈루록, The Record of Blood Chamber, 1934). “Oksimi” fo- cuses on a family torn apart by the husband and patriarch Ch’ŏnsu’s leprosy; a violent, brutal man, Ch’ŏnsu first is banished to a hut not far from the family home and then to Sorokdo. Unlike Kim Chŏnghan and Kim Tongni, who did not have leprosy, Yi Ŭnsang did have the disease. He is said to be Korea’s only “[professional] leprosy fiction writer”

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“The Rock” features a wife and mother with leprosy (an individual identified only as “woman,” 여인) whose disease and medical expenses threaten to ruin her family. Her husband brings her rice cakes laced with arsenic and even tells her bluntly that she should drop dead. The woman does not die, despite the arsenic, and instead runs away and finds temporary solace in a primitive hill- side hut. She is abused wherever she goes, and nearby villagers set her new home on fire. Observing the flames from a distance, she collapses and dies. The community is distressed not at her death but because she died with her arms around their precious “Rock of Blessings,” one person exclaiming, “Why did that dirty thing have to die here” (더러운 게 하필예서 죽었노) (2010: 84). Kim Tongni’s story points to the horrific treatment of Koreans with leprosy at the hands of the Japanese. Early in “The Rock” a group of homeless outcasts is concerned by rumors that the Japanese are planning to kill off everyone suffer- ing from paralysis, including those who have been paralyzed by leprosy.68 Yet it ultimately is Korean villagers, not Japanese occupying forces, who torment the protagonist of Kim Tongni’s tale.

5.3 Paradise Reconsidered in Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s Your Paradise It is similarly Koreans who torment the Sorokdo leprosarium internees depict- ed in Korean writer Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s (이청준, 1939–2008) Tangsindŭl ŭi ch’ŏnguk (당신 들의 천국, Your Paradise, 1976). This novel, on the tenure of leprosari- um director Cho Paekhŏn, is often read as an allegory of life under the Park Chung Hee (Pak Chŏnghŭi, 박정희, 1917–1979) military dictatorship.69 South Korea’s third president, Park seized control in a 1961 coup d’état, declared mar- tial law in 1972, and governed with an iron hand until his assassination in 1979. His reign was marked by rapid industrialization, known as the Miracle on the Han River (한강의 기적, 漢江의 奇蹟), when individual voices and visions for Korea’s future often were suppressed for the greater economic glory of the

(i.e., person with leprosy who publishes professional [나문학, na munhak] leprosy lit- erature) who published both during and after the Japanese colonial period; Yi was in- terned at Yŏsu Aeyangwŏn (여수 애양원, Yŏsu Sanatorium), advocated for reform, was expelled, and ultimately became homeless and died penniless (Jane Kim 2012: 182–183). Another of Yi’s works on leprosy is the postwar Aesaenggŭm (애생금, The Tale of Love and Life, 1947). Han Ha-un (한하운, 韓何雲, 1920–1975) stands out among Korean poets with leprosy. 68 Eunjung Kim points out the difference between Kim Tongni’s 1936 original and his 1947 revision: the former speaks more explicitly about the rumored Japanese policy (2017: 181). 69 The character Cho Paekhŏn is modeled after Cho Ch’angwŏn (조창원), the fourteenth and twentieth director of the Sorokdo leprosarium (Jane Kim 2012: 78).

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76 Chapter 1 nation.70 Certainly Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel can be read allegorically, but just as significant are the insights it offers into the suffering both Japanese and Kore- ans have inflicted on Koreans with Hansen’s disease. Your Paradise centers on the extreme marginalization, indeed near total so- cial exclusion of Koreans afflicted with Hansen’s disease, as well as on the abuse to which these individuals were subjected in the name of creating “para- dise” during and after Japanese imperial rule. The novel focuses on the contin- ued social ramifications of leprosy while minimizing somewhat the disease’s physical manifestations, particularly in so potentially disfiguring a condition. The book reveals the relative irrelevance of cure: Your Paradise depicts many living on Sorokdo as free from active disease and quite strong physically, yet condemned to a place controlled by an individual who creates a living hell even while he speaks repeatedly of creating “paradise.” Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s narrative takes place well into the postwar years, opening with the arrival on Sorokdo of the new director, Cho Paekhŏn. At the same time, Your Paradise is replete with flashbacks, the narrative making no secret of the anguish to which residents of Sorokdo were subjected under Dr. Shū, a ruthless Japanese physician who was the fourth director of the leprosarium.71 Director Cho learns from his guide Sanguk, head of Sorokdo’s Hygiene Division

70 Park Chung Hee was born in 1917, served in the Japanese army during World War Two, held leadership roles in the South Korean army during the Korean War, and continued his rise through the ranks following the Korean Armistice Agreement of 1953. See Eckert’s two-volume history on Park Chung Hee for background (2016). The phrase “Miracle on the Han River” has been controversial, in part because it does not acknowledge the countless sacrifices of millions of Koreans; many have argued that South Korea’s ascension to a global economic power was not at all “miraculous” and is entirely explicable. 71 The Korean version of Your Paradise identifies this Japanese colonial-era director as Chu Chŏngsu (주정수), as does the Spanish translation, which refers to him as Chongsu Chu. The Japanese translation refers to him as Shū Masahide (周正秀), as do the English and Urdu translations, while the French translation speaks of him as Masahide Aka (Aka is very unusual for a Japanese surname). For clarity, I identify this individual as Dr. Shū. Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s character Dr. Shū is in fact modeled after the Japanese physician Suō Masasue (周防正季, 1885–1942), who worked in Korea starting in 1921 and served as di- rector of Sorokdo from 1933 until his assassination at the hands of a patient nearly a de- cade later. It was under Dr. Suō’s leadership that the Sorokdo leprosarium grew from a facility housing several hundred to one confining several thousand people with leprosy. Dr. Suō was known for his utter ruthlessness and abuse of those under his charge. In a striking change that is most likely accidental, the Urdu translation of Your Paradise, ana- lyzed in greater depth later in this chapter, renders the English sentence “The year the outer road was completed, Shū went to Japan at the request of the Imperial family” (2005: 197) as “The year that the outer road was completed, the year that Shū was killed at the invitation of the royal family” (n.d.: 110). Dr. Suō was in fact celebrated by the royal family.

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(보건과), that in his inaugural address some thirty years ago, Dr. Shū had promised he would transform Sorokdo into “a paradise for patients” (원생들 의 낙원), by which he said he meant “Asia’s best, no the world’s best lepro- sarium, a new hometown [saeroun kohyang, 새로운 고향] for those who have been discarded and expelled from society” (2012: 105). Dr. Shū had then encouraged everyone to join him in building a hometown (고향, kohyang) where all who were being persecuted by their neighbors and families could live in harmony. First a “new hometown” and then simply an (established) “home- town,” the term kohyang is used to indicate just how serious he was about mak- ing Sorokdo a true home, albeit one where, unlike a true hometown, people were not permitted to leave. But this particular irony was lost on the residents. Sanguk remembers how Dr. Shū then cultivated relationships with those living on Sorokdo, emphasizing all the while the need to create a “new paradise” (새 낙토, sae nakt’o). Excited by these plans, people leapt at the opportunity to participate. Bricks were needed, so a brick factory was built, followed by con- struction of new residential buildings. People were pleased to be compensated at last for their work, however minimally, and they were proud to be creating “their own paradise” (자신의 낙원, chasin ŭi nagwŏn). The idea was Dr. Shū’s, but the paradise was theirs. Or so it seemed at first. Construction continued for three years, with amenities added to existing facilities and two new villages built, increasing capacity on the island to four thousand. No one paused to consider the significance of this growth, namely that more people on the island meant more people being exiled from their (actual) hometowns. Instead, everyone apparently delighted in Dr. Shū and celebrated his and their own accomplishments. But the honeymoon eventu- ally came to an end. Emboldened by his success, and somewhat dissatisfied with the new “paradise,” Dr. Shū launched phase two of construction. Sanguk thinks back to how this time, rather than being compensated as before, work- ers were urged to volunteer their labor, and when they gradually began refus- ing to do so, increasingly severe measures were enacted so that conditions re- sembled those of a forced labor camp. Undaunted even after rebellions broke out, Dr. Shū forged on, allowing nothing to stand in the way of “the paradise he had worked out in his head” (그의 마음속에 설계된 낙토, 127). Workers were treated with increasing cruelty, beaten into submission physi- cally and psychologically by Dr. Shū’s brutal deputy Satō, patients now little more than slaves. A particularly sobering emblem of his despotism was the is- land’s new park. Dr. Shū believed that patients needed a comfortable place to enjoy their remaining days, and since the park was for the people, he reasoned, the people should be responsible for its construction. Thus he put even the weak and infirm to work leveling hills, reclaiming muddy ground, and cutting

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78 Chapter 1 and transporting trees from the mountains. Workers escaped and committed suicide en masse, but construction continued unabated, Dr. Shū and Satō con- cerned only with making their park comparable to those in the urban areas of the Japanese empire, including by importing tropical plants from Taiwan. It soon became clear that this park was not for the islanders at all, but instead for Dr. Shū and his guests; residents of Sorokdo were not allowed to enter without special permission. Far from paradise, life on the island became a living hell. Sanguk remarks,

The paradise [낙원] that had been constructed was not for the resi- dents…. There was no paradise [낙원] for the patients on Sorokdo. As long as the paradise [낙원] was not for the patients, Sorokdo had no paradise [낙원]…. What is paradise [천국 (ch’ŏn’guk ) 이 무엇이가]? Paradise [천국] wasn’t the result. It has to be secured in the process by the heart. A true paradise [진짜 천국] could be secured only when people searched for it on their own and happily volunteered their ser- vices and had no regrets about volunteering their services for this para- dise [그 천국]. (160)

Paradise, in other words, cannot be imposed; it must be created autonomously, nurtured from the inside. The switch from nagwŏn (낙원) to ch’ŏn’guk (천국) here is important; both terms signify paradise, but the former more in the sense of Eden or Elysium (楽園) and the latter in the sense of the Kingdom of Heaven or the blessed land (天國), the former less sublime than the latter. By replacing nagwŏn with ch’ŏn’guk, the narrator subtly points to the greater worth of those afflicted with Hansen’s disease. Next the egomaniacal Dr. Shū ordered a magnificent statue built in his honor. And the betrayals only contin- ued, with the twentieth of each month designated a “Day of Thanks,” the is- landers forced to gather in the park and pay tribute to both Dr. Shū and his statue.72 Determined not to repeat the mistakes of his predecessors, particularly Dr. Shū, Director Cho begins making reforms in earnest from his first days on So- rokdo. He replaces the slogans hanging on the center wall of the clinic and in the main office with signboards calling for harmony and solidarity, openness and honesty, and mutual cooperation. He also drapes large signs all over the island that declare, “Leprosy can be cured – leprosy is not hereditary” (90),

72 Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel speaks frequently of the islanders as being “betrayed” by the director and society, and the director and society as being “betrayed” by the islanders. The Urdu translation deletes or reconfigures many of these references, as discussed below.

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­reflecting new understandings of the disease. Notably, the intended audience for these banners is patients, not professional caregivers. But the latter are not let off the hook. Aiming to improve patients’ lives, Director Cho abolishes poli- cies that separate patients from hospital staff; no longer are physicians, nurses, and pharmacists to wear surgical masks and hygienic gloves or to dispense with tweezers, and no longer are those with leprosy expected to keep their distance from everyone else, turning their heads and covering their mouths with their hands. Director Cho likewise orders a factory chimney torn down that for many is a painful reminder of the “forced labor and cruel treat- ment of the Shū era” (91). He removes the fence between the personnel zone and the patients’ zone, makes visits between children and their parents more convenient, and takes the first steps in integrating the schools. And he declares that, unlike Dr. Shū, he has absolutely no interest in having a statue of himself erected on the island; his focus is not himself but instead those afflicted with leprosy. Yet Cho Paekhŏn’s failure to understand the needs of the residents of So- rokdo and his misperceptions about their lives and aspirations are evident from the opening pages of Your Paradise. He does not share Dr. Shū’s sadism, but it quickly becomes clear that differences between the two directors are not as great as Director Cho would like to believe. Touring the island with Sanguk not long after his arrival, Director Cho peppers his subordinate with questions; unlike his predecessors, he tells Sanguk that he is eager to learn everything he can about “these peoples’ [the patients’] circumstances” (21). But he succumbs to illusions almost immediately. Mesmerized by the beautiful scenery, he de- clares that the island resembles a huge park; hearing this, and noting that Di- rector Cho is paying little attention to the background information Sanguk is providing about the island’s various villages, Sanguk realizes that the new di- rector has grossly misperceived Sorokdo’s real nature.73 This becomes even clearer when the pair stop to speak with several islanders. Director Cho de- mands to know why so many are escaping, and he becomes increasingly angry when no straight answer is forthcoming. Sanguk eventually explains that peo- ple on the island live dual lives, lives as patients and lives as human beings, and that they have had enough of being patients. Director Cho gradually begins to understand that the island is anything but a paradise for its residents, rhetori- cally asking Sanguk, “If they escape from the island in that way because they want truly to act as human beings [사람 노릇을 하다], doesn’t this mean that on this island they can’t act as human beings? Is this island truly such a

73 As the narrator later points out, Sanguk knows that the landscape the new director so admires is not the scenery of the real island itself (31).

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80 Chapter 1 place? Is it such a heinous hell [흉악한 지옥] that anyone who wants to act as a human being has to flee?” (40). But Director Cho does not act on this knowledge. Instead, as he reveals in his inaugural address, on just his third day on Sorokdo his understanding is already going astray in preposterous directions.74 To be sure, unlike his Japanese predecessor, the Korean director has no de- sire to see himself immortalized as a statue. But there are underlying similari- ties between the two men. Director Cho’s failure to understand island residents is brought into relief almost immediately after his speech with the suicide of Han Min, a writer who had lived on Sorokdo for six years and had been cured but had never been able to face leaving, fearing what awaited him on the ­outside.75 The director believes Min’s suicide is an escape both from the island and from the dream of creating a paradise, whereas Sanguk knows that far from an escape, it is instead an inevitable return to the destiny of a person with leprosy:

For him [Min] paradise [낙토] created especially for a group of people with special circumstances could not be paradise…. The director couldn’t possibly have understood [이해하할 리 없었다] those things. He was precisely the person who had tried to make for Han Min a paradise…. He couldn’t perceive [알아치리지 못하다] when and where the be- trayal had begun. He only understood that the island could not yet be regarded as a paradise. So that’s why he promised them a new paradise [새로운 낙토] … [Sanguk mumbled to himself] ‘······When will the di- rector be able to understand the words of the dead······.’ (87–88)

At once repeating the word paradise (here nakt’o [낙토, 樂土], lit., pleasure land) and emphasizing Director Cho’s inability to understand those with whose lives he is charged, the narrator draws attention to the paradox of para- dise: for the residents of Sorokdo, no matter how splendid, a space cannot be a paradise if it is imposed. But again, Director Cho does not try to understand better the needs and desires of the island’s residents. Instead, concerned that too many healthy in- dividuals are stumbling around as though they were the living dead, he decides that those who have been cured should play soccer. Sanguk claims it is cruel to force people without fingers or toes – a common side effect of leprosy – to play

74 The Korean reads, “엉뚱한 방향으로 빗나가고 있다” (62). 75 Unlike those who mythologize the island, Han Min has no audience on the mainland for his writing; every piece he submits for publication is rejected.

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Legacies of Leprosy 81 soccer, to which Director Cho counters, not unreasonably: “What’s wrong with those people [그 사람들]? Those people are not the lepers [문둥이] known by the people of the world. Why are those people lepers? Those people are people whose disease has been cured. There’s nothing that separates them from other people” (120–121). Repeating the word people (사람들, saramdŭl), Director Cho underlines the humanity of those whom the world has discarded. On the other hand, his use of the modifier kŭ (그, those) when he speaks of the islanders indicates continuing distance. More important, although it is hardly malicious to give people the opportunity to play soccer no matter their physi- cal condition, it is cruel simply to impose this game on a population one barely knows, to be so certain that this is what will bring joy to a group of people with whom one is unfamiliar. At first it appears as though Sanguk need not have been so concerned. Al- though Director Cho has great passion for soccer, and although he provides the villagers with the necessary equipment and organizes teams and tournaments, people on the island gradually develop genuine interest in the game, and be- fore long Sorokdo is gripped by soccer fever. Although residents initially watched and played soccer because they were grudgingly obeying orders, they soon cannot wait to become more involved in the game. Winning matches against “normal,” “healthy” teams boosts the confidence of athletes and specta- tors alike, and after a particularly stirring victory, the entire island celebrates together. Yet Director Cho has something else in mind. Telling Sanguk that the island’s soccer days have come to an end, he reveals the next item on his agenda – recovering land from the sea for island residents to cultivate and in so doing help create new hometowns (새로운 고향) for those who have lost their former hometowns (고향) (156). Not surprisingly, Sanguk is astounded by these plans. At the same time, he recognizes that technically there is noth- ing to criticize. After all, he ponders, how could Director Cho be faulted for wanting those who have lost their hometowns to be provided with new ones?76 Director Cho’s intentions are admirable. But so too, thinks Sanguk, were those of the Japanese director Dr. Shū, and Sanguk remembers the scandal of the park. Juxtaposing the colonial and postcolonial periods exposes the uncomfort- able similarities between the two. Even more significant, comparing the well- meaning Director Cho with his notorious predecessor underlines the fact that without understanding those over whose lives one has been given control, even people with the best of intentions can cause undue harm. As with

76 Repeating the word “hometown” (고향, kohyang) on these pages emphasizes all that has been lost and points to the near impossibility of its recovery.

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Dr. Shū’s expansion program, Director Cho’s land reclamation begins auspi- ciously. But before long both morale and efficiency tumble, and progress ­occurs only in fits and starts. The embankment eventually is completed, yet before long it is destroyed by a storm. Although the weather is the immediate culprit, everyone blames Director Cho, and it is only because mainlanders are threatening to take charge of the reclamation that the island residents go back to work. Yet their efforts again are swamped by the ocean. Conditions on the island become brutal, with Director Cho increasingly resembling Dr. Shū in his mania to finish the project despite the human costs. The parallels are not lost on the residents, who again evoke Sorokdo’s troubled history. Eventually, Di- rector Cho’s own turbulent tenure comes to an end, and he leaves the island.77 Your Paradise exposes the indignities not only of explicit prejudices and dis- crimination against individuals with leprosy but also of the more implicit in- justices inflicted on them that together impede healing and attaining wellbe- ing. Residents of Sorokdo have been all but left for dead by Korean society and treated as though they were (nearly) dead by a succession of administrators who speak of creating a “paradise” for them but do not talk with these indi- viduals directly about their needs, desires, and hopes. Instead, the administra- tors plunge most of them into a living hell that in some cases is worse than they would find on the outside. Director Cho is never quite as brutal as his colonial predecessors, but at certain points he comes close. Your Paradise reveals the fuel of abuse to be not necessarily outright misanthropy, which tends to be fairly obvious, but instead imposing on others one’s own vision of who they are and how they should live, without seeing them as fully human and working with them to create spaces hospitable to all.

5.4 Betrayal and the Urdu Translation of Your Paradise Translations of literature regularly transfigure texts as they posit new direc- tions for understanding individual and cultural discourses. Similarly, they ­contribute to the representation of stigmatized groups and play important roles in the performance and performativity of identity (Bermann and Porter

77 Director Cho returns to the island near the end of Your Paradise as a civilian and encour- ages the wedding between a former patient (Haewŏn) and a woman believed to be with- out the disease (Miyŏn) but whose parents, unknown to her, were in fact patients. When asked whether he considered depicting Miyŏn as a “purely healthy person,” Yi Ch’ŏngjun replied that, as a novelist, this “would have been too naïve, too romantic, or too fantastic a conclusion,” given that such relationships were unthinkable, but had he been a politi- cian, he would have done so (Eunjung Kim 2017: 190).

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2014: 9).78 This is true of the English, French, Japanese, Spanish, and particu- larly Urdu versions of Your Paradise, which market themselves as doing every- thing from reinforcing an allegorical reading of the novel (French and Span- ish), to painting a more sympathetic portrait of Director Cho (English), to accentuating the abuse to which the residents of Sorokdo have been subjected (Japanese and Urdu).79 Especially noteworthy is the Urdu translation, a re- translation of the English translation.

78 Bermann and Porter’s remarks concerning “other” cultures, gendered and “queer” identi- ties, and the relation of migration and sexuality studies to translation studies apply as well to narratives on disease and illness experiences (2014). 79 The blurb on the Spanish translation’s inside flap opens, “La presente novela, Paraíso cer- cado, expone la idea de que ninguna dictadura está justificada” (This novel, Enclosed Paradise, exposes the idea that no dictatorship is justifiable). The publishers continue by explaining some of the background of the text, how Director Cho arrives on Sorokdo with the illusion of turning it into a paradise through a variety of reforms, but that the island- ers resent having been expelled from the mainland, that for them Director Cho is a dicta- tor because his philanthropy is not undergirded by love. The blurb concludes, “La isla de Sorokdo es un trasunto de Corea del Sur bajo la dictadura que privara de libertad a in- telectuales y jóvenes durante las décadas de 1960 y 1970” (The island of Sorokdo is an al- legory of South Korea under the dictatorship that in the 1960s and 1970s deprived intel- lectuals and the young of freedom). Paratexts thus establish Paraíso cercado as a novel concerned with despotism and its various guises, particularly as they affected South Ko- rea in the decades following the Korean War. In their blurb, the publishers of the French translation – Ce paradis qui est le vôtre (This Paradise Is Yours) – comment that for the residents of the “island of the dead,” the new director has prescribed an exhausting task (une tâche harassante). They also remark that in the present text, Yi Ch’ŏngjun “revient ici avec un grand roman qui éclaire les démocraties comme les dictatures d’une lumière singulièrment indiscrete, habile à dévoiler et confondre ces figures éternelles de l’histoire: le tyran, l’esclave, et l’humaniste” (returns here with a great novel that illuminates democracies as dictatorships with a re- markably indiscreet light, skillful at revealing and conflating the eternal figures of history: the tyrant, the slave, and the humanist). In contrast, the English paratexts depict Your Paradise not primarily as an allegory but instead as a novel about an actual leprosarium. The cover of the English translation fea- tures the photograph of an elderly Asian woman turned forty-five degrees from the cam- era and covering her mouth, as those on Sorokdo were expected to do before Director Cho changed the policy. The blurb on the back of the English version announces Your Paradise as telling “the story of a leper-colony, where the lepers are outwardly treated with the greatest of kindness,” and that the new director attempts to reintegrate the leprosy com- munity with the world outside the leprosarium but that he encounters great resistance from the patients themselves, who “prefer the protection and organization of the island. The lepers want nothing to do with modern-day Korea and its numerous problems.” The English blurb of Your Paradise thus sets up a sharp dichotomy between the island and the mainland, erroneously painting Director Cho as attempting to reintegrate the two. Fur- thermore, with the exception of its front cover, the jacket’s summary of the novel gives no

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Of these five translations of Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel, the Urdu version – ­published by Lahore’s Mashal Books and titled Āp kī jannat ( , Your Paradise, n.d.) – presents itself as the most engaged with how society treats people with leprosy.80 Duplicating Mashal’s online advertisement of Āp kī ­jannat, the book’s back blurb opens by asking readers: “Should the physical- ly or mentally ill live apart from the society of healthy humans or not? Should they live and interact with other humans?” This content thus immedi- ately divides people into categories: “physically or mentally ill humans” ( , zehenī yā jismānī t̤aur par bīmār insān) on the one hand and “healthy humans” ( , ṣiḥat mand insān) on the oth- er.81 The blurb notes that Your Paradise “attempts an answer to this question” and states that people with leprosy have been contained on Sorokdo and not permitted to leave, even after they have completed their medical treatment. The statement baits readers by going on to ask, “What is the final result of this struggle?” It then proclaims, “This novel is considered to be a masterpiece of Korean literature.” So not only will readers be given the opportunity to con- sider how best society should treat those who have been afflicted by disease, not an uncontroversial question in Pakistan by any measure, but they also will have access to one of Korea’s greatest literary creations.82

indication of the brutality of life on Sorokdo. On the contrary, it suggests that the island is at the very least a nascent paradise. The Japanese version of Your Paradise advertises itself on its obi as taking place on Sorokdo and as based on a true story. On the back cover, the editors provide background information on the history of the leprosarium, including that it was established by the Japanese during the colonial period. 80 See Thornber (2018) for more on Mashal’s fiction list and how its numerous Urdu transla- tions of non-Western literatures have contributed to regulating power relations and rene- gotiating hierarchies among various communities across Asia. 81 Thank you to Daniel Majchrowicz for outlining the differences between the Urdu and English translations for this and other Urdu-language texts discussed in this book, includ- ing the varied translations of “betrayal” (discussed below); for providing many of the Urdu translations in this book; and for entering most of the Urdu script in this book. Thank you too to Nicolas Roth for Urdu translations, romanizations, and script entry throughout this book. 82 Elsewhere, the Urdu version similarly advertises Your Paradise as “Korea’s masterpiece novel” ( , Kōriyā kā shāhkār naval). Leprosy in Pakistan has a troubled history, and the disease was not brought under control until 1996. For more on the work of missionaries and leprosy in Pakistan, see Syed Rafique Ahmed (1986), Mutaher (2004), Pfau (2010), Pflughaupt (2004). Most notable is the figure of Dr. Ruth Katherina Martha Pfau (1929–2017), a German nun who beginning

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More important are the changes the Urdu translation makes to the narrative of Your Paradise itself, changes that draw attention to the suffering inflicted by social ostracism. Given the length of Your Paradise, it is not at all surprising that differences abound between its Urdu and English versions, not to mention its English and Korean iterations.83 But the Urdu translation goes out of its way to accentuate the betrayal of persons with leprosy. References to betrayal – paeban (배반) – reverberate through Your Para- dise; the fourth and fifth sections of the novel are titled “Betrayal 1” and “Be- trayal 2,” respectively. Residents of Sorokdo, whether they have been cured completely or are in dire need of healthcare, frequently are described as having been betrayed by island administrators and by society more generally. Like- wise, residents themselves are said to have betrayed those entrusted with their care, including Director Cho, who regularly claims he has been betrayed by the islanders and particularly by those who have escaped the island. Additionally, on various occasions, the islanders, island administrators, and society all are

in 1960 devoted her life to the care of leprosy patients in Pakistan and who was pivotal in mitigating the stigma attached to leprosy there. 83 Some of the smaller changes appear to result simply from translator error, with individual words changed, seemingly random words or sentences omitted here and there, and the modifications insignificant. To give several examples, the Urdu renders six years as six months (the time it took Han Min to be cured), seven villages as twelve villages (the num- ber of communities on the island), and three bacteriological exams as a single bacterio- logical test (the number of tests Han Min has taken to determine whether his leprosy has been cured). As with many Urdu translations of East Asian literary works, Āp kī jannat is also more hesitant than Your Paradise to speak about intimate relations between the sexes. On many occasions Āp kī jannat flattens the language of its English source, providing a synopsis rather than a translation. Beginning with chapter 25, nearly every other para- graph is reduced to half its former size. Unlike the Spanish and French translations, which condense considerably their Korean source throughout, the Urdu translation passes over very little of its English source until the final hundred pages. In fact, on its copyright page, the French version asserts that this text differs in several respects from the original; changes were made, it declares, by the translators in conjunction with the author Yi Ch’ǒngjun. One exception to the Urdu’s greater resemblance to the Korean, at least in its earlier sections, occurs in the fifth chapter, where the translator deletes the three para- graphs leading up to Director Cho’s inaugural address, in other words, the narrator’s de- scription of the utter silence with which the island’s new leader is greeted and how the director in turn is so intimidated that he feels suffocated by the thousands of quiet eyes that are boring into him. Similarly, the Urdu translation omits a sentence in the seventh chapter where the narrator describes the islanders’ silence as more threatening than any opposition (Eng. 2005: 112; Ur. n.d.: 64). Also noteworthy is the Urdu translation’s omission in the sixth chapter of a paragraph on the story Han Min allegedly was writing.

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86 Chapter 1 said to betray themselves. The term betrayal appears so frequently in the Ko- rean and English Your Paradise that the word at times becomes an evasion, a means of dodging the intricacies of the relationships between islanders and island administrators, between islanders and outsiders. As used in the Korean and English versions of the novel, the word most often points toward rather than actually penetrating the pervasive misunderstandings between and among individuals and groups. Āp kī jannat, in contrast, passes over a number of references to betrayal, ei- ther simply deleting sentences that speak of betrayal (most often references to leprosy patients betraying others) or, just as significant, replacing betrayal with one of several other concepts, including fikrmandī ( , concern, worry), dhokā ( , deception, trickery), vada khilāfī ( , promise-breaking), fareb ( , fraud, deceit), daghābāzī ( , betrayal, double-crossing), and ghalat kām ( , evil work, wrongdoing). In so doing, the Urdu translation at times probes more deeply the human relationships so central to the text, ex- plaining what its source narrative actually means by “betrayal.” It is true that the Urdu language does not have a single precise equivalent for the English term betrayal.84 But it is nevertheless noteworthy that – given the prevalence of the single word “betrayal” in its source text – the Urdu translation employs such a range of terms. Āp kī jannat is less eager than Your Paradise, not to mention the Korean text, Tangsindŭl ŭi ch’ŏn’guk, to claim that the islanders themselves are doing any betraying. In cases where a single sentence in the English and Korean versions implicates both islanders and island administrators, the Urdu tends to retain the reference to administrators betraying islanders but deletes that to islanders betraying administrators. For instance, the English reads, “Unable to endure the constant betrayals and oppression of the island life, escapees plotted and then carried out their own betrayals on the beach” (2005: 133). The narrator here has himself adopted Director Cho’s narcissistic belief that escape is be- trayal. The Urdu, in contrast, states simply, “Becoming fed up with repeated betrayals and torments, those who would flee made plans to run away by this route,” replacing “betrayals” with “plans to run away” (n.d.: 76). The Urdu Āp kī jannat emphasizes that it is the islanders, not the adminis- trators, who are being abused. In discussing, for instance, how Dr. Shū has

84 The term daghābāzī ( , betrayal, double-crossing) comes closest to the English word “betrayal,” yet it appears only very infrequently in Āp kī jannat.

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Legacies of Leprosy 87 forced islanders to construct a park that only he and his guests can enjoy, the narrator of the English version declares, “It was one betrayal after another. From the patients who jumped into the ocean … to those who tried to main- tain the park in its pristine condition” (2005: 201). The Urdu changes this to, “This was one deception to the patients after another deception. From the pa- tients who climbed the sacrificial altar of the sea … to those patients who ­labored in the park despite their illness, this was a deception” (n.d.: 112). Whereas Your Paradise suggests that patients are betraying Dr. Shū by escaping into the ocean and their compatriots by laboring on the park, the narrator of Āp kī jannat declares – three times repeating the word deception ( ) – that it is (actually) the patients who are subjected to deception. Even more dramatic is how the Urdu version of Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel deletes a lengthy section in the English and Korean versions on Elder Hwang and a large group of islanders surrounding Director Cho’s home. The English has Di- rector Cho “feeling as betrayed as the patients. [And thinking] perhaps it was Elder Hwang and the rest of the patients who needed to pay for their betrayal” before declaring, “But what Elder Hwang said was exactly the opposite. God was only on their side and the director was the only person who ought to be punished for betraying them” (2005: 344–346). In contrast, the Urdu translates only the final two sentences cited above, removing reference to the islanders as betraying their director. Moreover, the Urdu renders the following English sen- tence: “It was clear from the beginning who had betrayed whom. It was him, non-leper, versus all the islanders” (2005: 346) as “Now it was a battle of that solitary healthy human against the lepers” (n.d.: 187). The latter Urdu phrase moves the focus from the islanders’ betrayal of the director to the director’s vulnerability. Furthermore, the Urdu translation often replaces the word betrayal with terms that make more explicit the harm island administrators inflict on the islanders. To give an early example, after Director Cho asks Sanguk about the barbed wire and why parents and children are standing so far apart, the narra- tor of Your Paradise notes, “Sanguk understood what the director wanted to say. The director was quite direct and frank. At the same time, Sanguk knew well that this kind of person [i.e., the director] could easily betray one [i.e., a resident] in a frightening way” (2005: 57). In contrast, the narrator of Āp kī jan- nat writes, “Sanguk understood what the director wanted to say. People like that are especially dangerous and can easily do damage” (n.d.: 34). The general meaning is the same, but the nuance has changed. The Urdu version replaces the relatively vague concept of “betrayal” with the nature of its consequences (i.e., dangerous, damaging). Likewise, the narrator observes that, thinking

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88 Chapter 1 about Han Min’s suicide, Director Cho, “couldn’t understand when and where this betrayal [배반] had begun” (2005: 105). This is changed in the Urdu trans- lation to “He couldn’t understand when and where this badness/defect [ ] began” (n.d.: 61). Here the scope of wrongs is increased beyond betrayal. At times, the Urdu translation of Your Paradise replaces the word betrayal with terms/phrases that not only indicate more precisely how islanders have been harmed but also make their feelings more explicit, accentuating their ­suffering. For instance, early in the novel the narrator describes Sanguk’s inves- tigating Han Min’s suicide, indicating that Sanguk wanted to see for himself how much Min had wanted to leave the island and “how his wish had been ­mercilessly ruined by betrayal” (2005: 99). The Urdu changes this to “how broken-hearted he was from constant broken promises” (n.d.: 58). By adding ­“broken-hearted” ( , dil shikastah), Āp kī jannat reveals Han Min’s reac- tion to how he has been treated, and by replacing “betrayal” with “constant broken promises,” the Urdu translation indicates the extent to which he has been betrayed. Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel makes clear that the residents of Sorokdo have been mistreated for decades and that they suffer more from social responses to lep- rosy than from the disease itself. By refusing to use a single or even a small handful of words to translate “betrayal,” the Urdu Āp kī jannat probes more deeply than its English and ultimately Korean source the complex relation- ships between and among groups and what it means to have subjectivity de- nied and rejected. A telling contrast to Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s Your Paradise is Mexican writer Ignacio Padilla’s (1968–2016) “Desagravio en Halak Proot” (Amends in Halak-Proot, 2001), which depicts medical “paradise” as enabling rather than denying sub- jectivity, but doing so in such a way as to make paradise inaccessible to all but the administrator who directed its creation.85 Padilla’s short story features a British physician, E.A. Talbot, who, having failed the examination for appoint- ment as a surgeon in the British army, is hired by the Dutch government to administer the Halak-Proot Hospital, a factory turned psychiatric facility in Java housing Dutch colonial military officers who have “lost their minds” (­perdido la razón) in battles from Indochina to Tasmania. Talbot discovers a hospital suffering from neglect, where a parade of previous administrators has

85 Padilla was best known as a member of the Crack Generation (Generación del Crack), a group of young Mexican novelists objecting to the bestsellerismo (or Oprah-ism) of the publishing industry as well as the attempt to ghettoize Mexican and Latin American lit- erature (Ehrenreich 2010). “Amends in Halak-Proot” appears in Padilla’s 2001 collection Las Antípodas y el siglo (Antipodes and the Century).

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Legacies of Leprosy 89 done little to improve conditions and where “all vestiges of civilization and the civilized dissolved into an indistinct mass of drooling ghosts who were con- fined to walking in circles in the halls” (2001: 82). Halak-Proot is seriously over- crowded, having admitted everyone who comes to its doors, even those with- out serious mental problems who are hoping simply to find refuge from the horrors of the battlefields. Conditions in the hospital are such that once admit- ted, these individuals quickly succumb to madness. Although believing himself to have arrived in the “hell of the vanquished” (al infierno de los vencidos), Talbot sets out to reform the hospital, working so assiduously with each patient that he too begins to slide into madness. But a mere six months after his arrival in Java, his father dies of dysentery and be- queaths Talbot a country house. Talbot orders that the property be sold, and with his inheritance he rapidly transforms Halak-Proot into a paradise (un lugar paradisíaco). The narrator describes how the padded cells and trepan- ning rooms are demolished, replaced by “dreamlike gardens with the finest English lawns, pinewood walks, and pools of warm water” (86), where young men and women from Hong Kong attend to the residents. Likewise, the hospi- tal’s five inhospitable halls are swapped for Turkish baths with affable massage therapists, a small hippodrome, and a casino, whose liveried attendants have replaced guards (86–87). So far so good. Unlike Director Cho’s paradise in Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s novel, the paradise Talbot creates is not built on the backs of the hospital’s residents, all of whom are there at least somewhat voluntarily.86 Moreover, Talbot’s paradise heals. To be sure, after reporting that “no sooner had the image of this new European paradise [paraíso europeo] in the middle of an oceanic inferno spread throughout the region, than the cases of dementia surprisingly began to decrease,” the narrator denies that this is because of the “more humane treat- ment that Dr. Talbot’s hospital now provided.” Instead, the narrator claims, it soon became clear that “the real treatment consisted of not accepting anyone who was not frankly and hopelessly insane” (87). This is true, but as is soon revealed, the “real treatment” is also providing conditions so luxurious that mental illness can no longer be feigned: “And it was precisely this fiction, this desperate search for a safe passage to paradise [un salvoconducto al paraíso] that led them [patients and potential patients] to strengthen their minds and build on them a most exasperating sanity” (88). Yet Talbot takes things to the

86 Individuals are not confined at Halak-Proot against their will, but for many the alternative – rejoining military campaigns in the Dutch East Indies – is even more unacceptable.

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90 Chapter 1 extreme. Those feigning mental illness are released or never admitted in the first place, making the hospital a closed paradise (de paraíso clausurado), “as deserted as surely were the hell or the soul of the one who had conceived it” (88). Soon all that remains are the doctor, a custodian, and a guard, Talbot star- ing at the faces who look over the wall into the lavish gardens until they vanish and spending his days circling the paths lined with elms where the halls of Halek-Proot once stood, not unlike the earlier residents of the hospital, who had spent their days circling the decrepit halls. Halek-Proot no longer confines, however voluntarily, those without mental illness, but neither does it offer ­succor to anyone truly suffering from psychiatric disorders, except Talbot him- self.87 As in Your Paradise, the paradise in “Amends in Halak-Proot” provides refuge solely for the administrator.

5.5 Leprosaria as Refuge – Ola Rotimi’s Hopes of the Living Dead Most of the narratives discussed in this chapter implicate leprosaria, depicting them as the ultimate sites of betrayal of people who are at once society’s most feared and most vulnerable. Providing a radically different perspective on these spaces is the leading Nigerian playwright Ola Rotimi’s (1938–2000) Hopes of the Living Dead: A Drama of Struggle (1985). Whereas much twentieth and twenty-first-century writing on leprosaria focuses on the abuse that takes place within these spaces, the characters in Rotimi’s multilingual drama argue that a new leprosarium is their only chance for survival, and they fight for the con- struction of such a facility. Rotimi’s play, based on the struggles surrounding the Uzuakoli, Nigeria settlement, underscores the devastation of social stigmas against those with leprosy. Hopes of the Living Dead features leprosy patients housed in a special ward of Port Harcourt General Hospital who are being forced out by that hospital’s “normal” patients and who are so distraught at the thought of being exiled back to their natal homes – an exile they believe to be a certain death sentence – they implore the authorities to establish a separate settlement for them.88 Hopes of the Living Dead tells the story of the Nigeria “Lepers’ Rebellion” and prominently features its leader, Ikoli Harcourt Whyte (1905–1977), who went on to become an acclaimed composer. Of Kalabari par- entage, Harcourt Whyte was orphaned in 1919, the same year he was diagnosed with leprosy.89 His siblings sent him to the Port Harcourt General Hospital,

87 The narrator refers several times to Talbot’s mental instability. 88 Rotimi was born of Yoruba and Ijo parentage and was educated in Nigeria and the United States. His most famous plays “adapt traditional African theater techniques within a mod- ern context” (Okafor 1990: 29). In addition to writing plays, Rotimi also acted, choreo- graphed, designed, and directed. 89 The Kalabari are a tribe of Ijaw people located in Nigeria’s Niger Delta region.

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Legacies of Leprosy 91 where he was one of forty people with leprosy hospitalized for an experimen- tal cure undertaken by a visiting Scottish physician. The public was outraged that this type of medical research was being conducted in such close proximity to “normal” patients, and after the foreign physician returned home, the public demanded of the British Colonial Administration the “instant flushing of all lepers into the bushes” (Davey 1988: iv).90 Led by Harcourt Whyte, the small leprosy community mobilized, insisting that the government provide a facility where they could continue to live together. Hopes of the Living Dead says very little about the physical symptoms of lep- rosy.91 Instead, it calls attention to how patients have been isolated and dehu- manized. In the first scene, the hospital’s senior medical officer chastises the leprosy patients for disturbing the “regular patients” with their dancing and singing. In responding, one of the patients with leprosy makes clear just how differently the two groups are treated: “Those ‘regular patients,’ as you call them, sir – they receive regular visitors. Daily. Wives visit them, bringing food; husbands stop by, bringing fruits. Friends cheer them; children hug them. [In contrast] We are, well, you know …” (1988: 11). Soon thereafter, Harcourt Whyte reveals to the group that he dreams of “the day when the world will start treat- ing us like people. Real people. A time when we too shall have proved that we are people deserving of respect” (17). But that day is nowhere near. The outside world is so hostile, in fact, that the group is terrified of what will happen to them when they are driven out of the hospital. As one of the patients declares, “The blooming authorities will kick our blooming buttocks out of this bloom- ing place, anyhow. Thereafter, it will be everyman to himself and Death for us all! That’s the cruncher!” (29). This sentiment is echoed repeatedly: “Food! This is no food matter – brother. You hear? Blown up, as Editor says: The blooming authorities will kick every blooming one out of this blooming place to die in the blooming bush” (32). As predicted, soon thereafter, the Department of Health orders all the leprosy patients to vacate the hospital premises, as well as the city of Port Harcourt, and return to their natal villages.

90 Davey was based at the Uzuakoli leprosy settlement between 1937 and 1958. As Manton describes, “In his 21 years in Nigeria, he witnessed, and was in part responsible for, the development of an extensive missionary- and government-funded leprosy control ­programme across Eastern Nigeria” (2011: 129). Davey was also responsible for renaming leprosy “colonies” as leprosy “settlements” (Orji 2013). 91 The one exception is missing fingers, which Hopes of the Living Dead depicts as hamper- ing attempts to shoot the authorities as well as to build the settlement. In one skirmish, a leprosy patient wails out, “Aondo! Doo u or nana lu a a ve manahor, avec. [! A man needs hands with fingers on them!]” (61–62).

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But not only are these villages scattered across the countryside; they are openly hostile to people with leprosy. The patients know that being forced to return “home” is equivalent to being sentenced to death. So Harcourt Whyte asks the government to provide them with a place they can call their own, “where we can keep ourselves to ourselves, feed ourselves, work for ourselves” (45). He demands that the authorities “give us a chance to live like human be- ings” (47), which for him is a new hospital at Uzuakoli (100). The struggle, Har- court Whyte argues, has implications far beyond the leprosy community: “We all are part of this land. We are not fighting the people. We are fighting for the people. We are fighting for the simple things which everybody wants. The strong or the sick; Fulani or Ijo; man or woman; Yoruba or Ibibio; old and young; Hausa or Urhobo; rich or poor; Kanuri or Ibo; everybody wants one thing in life,” namely to be able to sleep at night in peace and to wake up to sufficient food, a comfortable home, and a fulfilling job (56). And even when, after considerable effort and a temporary stay at the Infectious Diseases Hospi- tal in Port Harcourt, the leprosy patients are finally promised that, as request- ed, they will be transferred to the new leprosy hospital at Uzuakoli and receive training to become attendants and nurses in this hospital, Harcourt Whyte cautions, “Now we’ve won our freedom. But this is only the beginning of a new struggle, my people … Together, then, we move. If not for our own gains, then for the gains of our saplings to come” (111). Referencing eight African ethnic groups in the passage cited above, and ­incorporating passages in numerous African languages throughout the play ­itself – from Hausa to Ibibio, Isan, Igbo, Kalabari, Okrika, Tiv, and Yoruba – Rotimi’s Hopes of the Living Dead underscores not only the diversity of peoples stricken with leprosy but also the ease with which communities can be formed across borders.92 In fact, immediately before listing the cast, Rotimi inserts a heading “Use of Different Languages,” under which he states that although spe- cific languages are given to the characters in the play, the producer/director is not bound by these allocations and that “any character may be assigned any language … What is important is for the languages spoken to reflect the cultural spread and linguistic diversity of the nation where it is being produced” (Davey 1988: vi). Here the barriers traversed are cultural and linguistic. In the future, they might also become the barriers of health, those between the “strong” and the “sick,” as Harcourt Whyte describes above and as the narrator of Yi Ch’ŏngjun’s Your Paradise depicts at the end of his novel. Like Your Paradise,

92 The primary language of Hopes of the Living Dead is English, with English translations provided, sometimes just for the audience and sometimes also for the characters, for most of the text in non-English languages.

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Legacies of Leprosy 93

Rotimi’s Hopes of the Living Dead is a sober reminder of the destructive power of stigmas against disease, stigmas that are fueled by and serve as fuel for struc- tural violence. The patients in Rotimi’s Hopes of the Living Dead risk dying not of leprosy or its many possible complications but instead of the abuse triggered by stigma, of being cast out into what they call the “blooming bush.”93 Literature that engages with leprosy makes clear the devastation that social stigmas against the disease have wreaked around the world for centuries, and such writings frequently portray the social abuse of people with the disease as having been more brutal, as taking an even greater toll, than the physical dam- age created by the Mycobacterium leprae bacillus itself. Hansen’s disease has been completely curable for more than half a century. And yet fears of the “liv- ing dead” persist around the world – popular culture globally is increasingly overrun with the figure of the zombie, a “reanimated corpse intent on eating human flesh” (Drezner 2014: 8), also understood as “a relentlessly aggressive, reanimated human corpse driven by a biological ” (Mogk 2011: 6).94 Particularly disturbing is that the zombie’s features eerily reverberate with the most disfiguring physical manifestations of leprosy and with the most damag- ing stigmas against people with the disease, especially their cannibalistic ten- dencies. Zombies are generally not direct metaphors for people with leprosy, as they have been for more widespread contemporary diseases, including Al- zheimer’s disease, as discussed in the entr’acte.95 But the fact that popular

93 Other creative works on leprosy depict the combination of degenerative disease and per- sistent stigma against this disease as especially lethal. One example is Portuguese ­physician-writer Miguel Torga’s (Adolfo Correia da Rocha, 1907–1995) tale “O leproso” (The Leper), included in Novos contos da montanha (New Tales of the Mountain, 1944), a collection of short stories set in Torga’s homeland of Trás-os-Montes, in northeastern Por- tugal. “Leper” centers on a man named Julião, who after being called “leper” by a waitress because of the still undiagnosed red nodules on his face, is increasingly tormented by the villagers in his hometown of Loivos. Even as he goes out of his way to humanize Julião, the narrator spares little in describing both the physical devastation caused by leprosy, devas- tation that progressively worsens despite Julião’s repeated attempts to find a cure, and the social consequences of having leprosy, including the devastating stigma (labéu infaman- te, lit. infamous label, 68) of the disease. Ultimately, the people of Loivos – believing that Julião has attempted to infect them with leprosy by reselling olive oil in which he had bathed – set fire to the hillside over which he is attempting to escape and burn him to death, until all that is left of him is “um grande e negro carvão, tal e qual como o tronco de um sobreiro que tivesse ardido” (a large, black piece of coal akin to the trunk of a scorched cork tree, 74). 94 Drezner (2014) recaps the increasing presence of the zombie figure in popular culture globally. 95 Similarly, in her study of plague legacies, Jennifer Cooke examines how the zombie genre engages with human fears of contagion and death (2009: 163–184).

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94 Chapter 1

­culture for the most part does not allow for coexistence of humans and zombies – most zombie stories wrap up either with the elimination/subjuga- tion of the entire zombie population or with the eradication of the human population (Drezner 2014: 8) – reinforces what the examples of global litera- ture discussed in this chapter reveal: the desperate need to replace current structures of stigma and fear with interventions and initiatives that will create communities of care to allow for healing and enable wellbeing. Global literature on other highly stigmatized conditions, including / aids, is just as insistent in this regard, depicting stigmas and fears of stigmas as deterring advocacy, activism, and education; deferring responsibility; ­blocking testing and access to healthcare; and ultimately destroying land- scapes both human and nonhuman. By exposing the devastating impact preju- dicial attitudes and abusive behaviors have had on people with stigmatized conditions, global literature argues that reducing if not eliminating stigma must become more of a healthcare and priority.

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