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Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies English Selection

4 | 2015 and Colonization

Édition électronique URL : https://journals.openedition.org/cjs/949 DOI : 10.4000/cjs.949 ISSN : 2268-1744

Éditeur INALCO

Référence électronique Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies, 4 | 2015, « Japan and Colonization » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 01 janvier 2015, consulté le 08 juillet 2021. URL : https://journals.openedition.org/cjs/949 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/cjs.949

Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 8 juillet 2021.

Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. 1

SOMMAIRE

Introduction Arnaud Nanta and Laurent Nespoulous

Manchuria and the “Far Eastern Question”, 1880‑1910 Michel Vié

The Beginnings of Japan’s Economic Hold over Colonial , 1900-1919 Alexandre Roy

Criticising Colonialism in pre‑1945 Japan Pierre‑François Souyri

The Textbook Controversy in Japan and Samuel Guex

Imperialist vs Rogue. Japan, North Korea and the Colonial Issue since 1945 Adrien Carbonnet

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Introduction

Arnaud Nanta and Laurent Nespoulous

1 Over one hundred years have now passed since the Kingdom of Korea was annexed by Japan in 1910. It was inevitable, then, that 2010 would be an important year for scholarship on the Japanese colonisation of Korea. In response to this momentous anniversary, Cipango – Cahiers d’études japonaises launched a call for papers on the subject of Japan’s colonial past in the spring of 2009.

2 Why colonisation in general and not specifically relating to Korea? Because it seemed logical to the journal’s editors that Korea would be the focus of increased attention from specialists of East Asia, at the risk of potentially forgetting the longer—and more obscure—timeline of the colonisation process. Indeed, the annexation of Korea was preceded not only by that of , but also by a growing Japanese presence in as of 1904. This is in addition to Japan having established a position of dominance in Korea as of 1876. Moreover, while the fall of Japan’s coincided with the defeat of 1945—for Japan, decolonisation went hand in hand with military defeat—current events are a reminder that to this day, and perhaps more than ever, the country’s colonial past continues to poison relations between modern-day nations. Focusing solely on Korea under colonial rule thus seemed overly restrictive and it was decided to widen the call to include papers treating Japan’s colonial past in its entirety.

3 Admittedly, the term “colonial past” (in French, fait colonial) is vague. Nevertheless, we felt it more effective at encompassing a range of disparate phenomena linked to the effects (direct or indirect) of colonisation, both in the context of the time and in that of the postcolonial period. Accordingly, the title of this issue of Cipango should be understood as being thematically and chronologically open, reflecting our desire to attract contributions from a diverse range of disciplines. The aim was to avoid a purely historian perspective and enable scholars from other disciplines to express their views, not only on the colonial period itself, but on anything potentially connected to it, even outside of the time frame in question.

4 The response exceeded our wildest expectations, amounting to almost nine hundred pages of text written on an extremely wide variety of subjects. Only half of these submissions were eventually published due to space constraints and the need to ensure

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a coherent whole. Of the two issues published in French—Cipango 18 on the colonial period (1880s-1920s) and Cipango 19 on the postcolonial period (1950 to the present day) —, five papers (in other words half of the original publications) appear in this English- language version of Cipango and will be presented in more detail below.

5 The papers chosen for publication faithfully reflect our original desire to illustrate the variety of subjects relating to Japan’s colonial past. Accordingly, readers will find articles focusing on the colonial societies themselves, on the colonial memory, on cultural and , and even on diplomatic and military history. Our challenge was to provide an overall coherence to these texts. This of course proved impossible beyond the chronological boundaries of the period.

Japan during the Age of Empire

6 The present issue of Cipango focuses on the colonisation that took place during the late modern period, as carried out by the nation-states born during the long nineteenth century defined by Eric Hobsbawm and more recently adopted by Christopher Alan Bayly. And yet, much could also be written about other examples of colonisation, such as those carried out by the Old Regimes (during the early modern period), those relying on tributary relationships, or those that took place during ancient times. Indeed, the ancient world served as an argument in colonial and postcolonial discourses, as was the case for many European colonial powers. Just as Great Britain claimed to be the heir to the Roman Empire, Imperial Japan used protohistory and early antiquity as a historical justification of its desire to control the Korean peninsula. In a kind of mirror effect, formerly colonised peoples, who often choose to adopt this discourse to some extent, draw on this revisited past when constructing their modern ethnicity. However, this process cannot be attributed solely to colonisation and the nation-building efforts seen during the postcolonial era: archaeology is well known to have shown itself historically to be an “eminently national science”. This is eloquently illustrated by Pai Hyung II’s work on Korea. Similarly, Penny Edwards has demonstrated the extent to which French archaeology at Angkor has served to forge a particular history of Kampuchea and the Khmers.1 Accordingly, modern-day nations often owe much to these tools for constructing—and reformulating—the past in the present. In this respect, the postcolonial nation-states reflect the same processes that underpinned the formation of nation-states like and Germany.

7 This formidably complex interweaving of immemorial past, history, colonial rule and nation building could not possibly be covered here. Instead we will restrict our ambitions to exploring the colonisation carried out during what French historians call the époque contemporaine (running from 1789 and the creation of the nation-state through to the present day, whereas Japanese historians use the term kindai 近代, literally the “near period”, usually deemed to run from the Restoration to the end of the . This is understood in Anglo-American as the “modern era”).

8 The Sepoy Rebellion of 1857 marked a watershed in modern colonisation, when mercantile colonisation—based on trading posts and port enclaves—began to venture into territorial and fiscal colonisation. The “modern” form of colonial domination via trading posts gave way to the more “contemporary” form of the protectorate, and most of all the colony, involving the territorial and fiscal exploitation of regions in order to

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“develop their productive value” for the benefit of the metropole. This transformation —which was described by Lenin in 1917 in , the Highest Stage of Capitalism—, occurred roughly between 1857 and 1874. It then accelerated during the final third of the nineteenth century through to the 1920s, during a phase referred to in English- language historiography as or High Imperialism. Japan also joined in the “Great Game” played by the colonial powers by establishing its own empire during this same period: a foothold was gained in the Korean peninsula in 1876 thanks to the signing of an (one of the famous treaties of amity and commerce) with the Kingdom of ; Japan’s colonial possessions—whatever their official titles might have been—subsequently grew until 1914. At this point the country’s colonial empire consisted of the island of Taiwan, a former frontier of the Qing Empire won by Japan in 1895, the Korean peninsula (made a protectorate in 1905 and annexed in 1910), the southern half of Island (captured in 1905), the , located in southern Manchuria (1905), and the islands of Micronesia (1914). In 1931-32, Japan secured the entire South Manchuria after having extended its presence in the region as of 1905.

After Decolonisation

9 Let us now move on to the subject of decolonisation. The date of , 1945 is highly complex and multi-layered in meaning, marking on the one hand Japan’s military defeat in the Asia-Pacific War (1937-45), and on the other, the loss of its colonial empire, as decided at the Cairo Conference in November 1943. For Korea, August 15, 1945 marks the anniversary of the end of colonial rule, as signalled by the Korean term kwangbok 광복, meaning “the return of light”. This expression, which is little used elsewhere in the sinicised world—and not at all in Japan—, is also employed in Taiwan, where it is given the Chinese reading guangfu 光復. Yet in the case of Taiwan, there is no reference to “independence” since the island was restored to the Republic of (with which Japan resumed dialogue in 1956) before being separated from the mainland once again in 1949. Obviously, this does not signify the absence in Taiwan of a debate on the issue of colonisation. On the contrary, it constitutes a highly complex web of subjects that are tied up with the memory of the war led by the Chinese “mainlanders” who had recently arrived on the island. Furthermore, the other former Japanese colonies also received new masters: Sakhalin and the were incorporated into Russia, Manchuria passed to China, or more precisely, to the People’s Republic of China after 1949, before eventually being culturally sinicised. Finally, the islands of Micronesia became “associated states” of the of America.

10 Among these different territories, the two thus stand apart as the only cases in which dialogue has truly taken place between the former metropole and sovereign states composed clearly of the formerly colonised peoples. Indeed, the Korean peninsula was the only Japanese colony to regain its independence after 1945. Compare this situation with the dialogue seen, for example, between France and Algeria or France and . Note incidentally that when “Korea” is mentioned by scholars and the media they are almost always referring solely to South Korea (with which Japan normalised diplomatic relations in 1965). Despite having equal importance in the history of the peninsula in general, and the colonial period in particular, North Korea is all too often overlooked.

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11 The post-decolonisation period in East Asia was neither a time of peace nor of restored national unity. The Japanese presence in or occupation of French, British and Dutch colonies was one of the major causes of the colonial wars that ensued as part of an effort to “repacify” territories that were in reality already lost, as illustrated by the (1946-54). In this instance too, the former Japanese colonies are in no way counterexamples. Firstly, because independence was not restored to these territories, with the exception of Korea, whose independence had been guaranteed in Cairo in 1943. Secondly, because of the violence that engulfed all of these regions: the brutal repression of Taiwan beginning in February 1947 (February 28 Incident), followed by the south of Korea, where it culminated in Jeju (incidents known collectively as the Jeju Uprising, beginning on April 3, 1948); continuation of the Chinese , and finally, the fratricidal Korean War (1950-53), said to have claimed the lives of at least one million people. World War II may have been over, East Asia continued to fight a series of “postwar wars” before entering a long period of discord that has yet to come to an end.

12 This general context in which colonial past and postwar situation—meaning the Cold War—intertwine, added to the existence of “heated” conflicts, has made settling the past extremely complicated. This issue of settling the past constituted one of the main themes in the French-language edition of Cipango, which included two translated contributions focusing on North and South Korea. Although Japan, and for that matter the international community, long accepted the existence of dictatorial (described as “nationalist”) regimes in South and East Asia (Taiwan, South Korea, or even South Vietnam) as part of the “war against communism” (People’s Republic of China, North Korea, USSR), the democratisation of Taiwan after 1988, and South Korea after 1993, revived the debate on colonial issues. This debate had previously been stifled in these two countries during the time of military rule. Moreover, Japanese politicians, in particular leading figures from the Liberal Democratic Party, were long in denial regarding the question of Japan’s colonial responsibility (a stance that has changed little).

Historiographical Advances

13 Ever since decolonisation and the fall of the European and Japanese empires, which occurred largely between 1945 and the 1960s, the history of colonial societies has become a major area of study for university historians, as much in the former colonial powers as in the former colonies. Such scholarship often explores the tensions that may arise between these two camps, for example between Japan and South Korea (North Korea being frequently overlooked). Nevertheless, more than the tensions and opposition triggered by the asymmetrical colonial system, an examination of the various suggests differences in the themes studies and the way they are approached rather than disagreements in principle. Conversely, greater similarities can be seen in the questions asked by historians from the former metropoles and a global view of colonisation is beginning to emerge. In this way, through its current issue, Cipango, a French journal focusing on Japan, is participating in a wider historiographical movement which since the era of independence has tackled the subject of colonisation in all its diversity.

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14 France has shown a “passion” for the history of the colonial period, particularly since the 2000s and the great debate on the “Colonial Republic”.2 And yet the study of French colonisation dates back much further than this. The field emerged at universities in the 1970s, with a notable focus on Indochina, and made significant advances during the 1980s thanks to the likes of Charles-Robert Ageron, Mohammed Harbi, Claude Liauzu and Pierre Brocheux. The last decade saw a considerable increase in publications, with 2007 being a particularly prosperous year thanks to the publication of two dictionaries on French colonisation.3 The “colonial societies”—from the French empire and the other former powers—reached another milestone in 2013 and 2014 when they were selected for the CAPES and agrégation (two French teaching qualifications) exam syllabi in history for those years.

15 This led to the publication of several exam preparation guides in 2012, notably by the companies Ellipse and Sédès, prepared with the help of scholars specialising in Japan’s colonial possessions. East Asia also featured prominently in the Atlas des empires coloniaux, XIXe-XXe siècles (Atlas of Colonial Empires: Nineteenth and twentieth centuries), published by Autrement in 2012.4 This book was the first in the world to provide a comprehensive survey of contemporary colonisation, presenting not only the Indochinese peninsula and the Dutch East Indies but also Taiwan and Korea under Japanese rule.

16 Issues 18 and 19 of the French Cipango, from which the papers in this English-language edition were chosen, thus sought to be part of a wider dynamic. The reason is that, in France, the study and understanding of East Asian history, aside from the Indian subcontinent and China, remains limited. French historiography on Japanese colonisation—Japan being the only East Asian nation to have undertaken a colonial- type expansion during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries—is split between Korean Studies (the work of Alain Delissen), Japanese Studies and Chinese Studies. The two original issues of Cipango thus constituted a kind of inventory of French-language research on the .

17 A brief look at the Japanese historiography is necessary at this point. Indeed, the sheer volume of work written in Japanese on Japan’s colonial possessions makes it impossible to ignore, whether it be the general studies on colonisation published in the 1960s and 70s, or the more “specialist” studies that have appeared since. Clearly it would be impossible to provide an exhaustive description of these works here. Allow us to simply stress that the volume of Japanese scholarship on Korean history is one of the highest in the world—outside of South Korea—, on a par with the United States. Approximately one hundred books (all periods combined) and almost one thousand academic articles are published annually in Japanese. The subject of colonisation has always featured prominently in such publications, ever since the founding in 1959 of the Japanese Society for the Study of Korean History (Chōsen Shi Kenkyūkai 朝鮮史研究会).5 Moreover, far from “discovering” a new area of inquiry, these studies carry on from those conducted during the colonial era itself, adopting a critical stance to the issue.6 Although a similar observation can be made concerning Japanese sinology on Taiwan, in reality, it is Korea and the former Manchuria that represent the lion’s share of subjects most frequently covered by Japanese historians.

18 The first historical scholarship on Japanese colonisation appeared in the 1960s.7 This included the research by historian Yamabe Kentarō (1905-77), author of methodical studies such as A Short History of the Annexation of Korea by Japan, published in 1965,8 or

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the work of Hatada Takashi 旗田巍 (1908-94), who made a critical contribution to later scholarship exploring the Japanese perception of Korea.9 The study of Japan’s colonial past also owes much to the work of economic historians—not necessarily Marxist—, who in the 1960s believed that a systematic and comprehensive examination of Japan’s economic development during the early twentieth century was impossible without carefully considering the close relations linking the metropole to its colonies. At the same time, corpora of documents aimed at scholars began to be compiled in the 1970s and two decades later were particularly abundant.10 Colonial history featured in the reference work Nihon rekishi 日本歴史 (Japanese history), published by Iwanami in 1962, right from its first edition. In 1992 it also found a place in an eight- volume series devoted to the subject and entitled Contemporary Japan and its Colonies (Kindai Nihon to shokuminchi 近代日本と植民地). Together such publications played a crucial role in the debates on Japan’s responsibility towards Asia in the early 1980s, at a time when the question of popularising academic knowledge through education arose. Henceforth, a more specialised historiography developed, examining for example the circulation between the different colonial territories, the cohabitation between coloniser and colonised, the industrial development of specific regions of Korea, or even the building of ports on Sakhalin. It was around this same time, in 1988, that the Japanese Society for Colonial Studies (Nihon Shokuminchi Kenkyūkai 日本植民地研究 会) was founded.

19 Similar questions emerged in historical works published in the United States during the 1980s. A selection of titles can be found in the bibliography presented at the end of this editorial. These studies also illustrate the collaboration between American, Japanese, Korean and Taiwanese scholars, as seen in The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895-1945, published in 1984. Although Ramon Myers and Mark Peattie underlined the lack of English-language research in their introduction to this book, twenty-five years later the historian Andre Schmid criticised their work, stressing the need to take into account the historiographies of the former colonies, in particular Korea. He also attacked Carol Gluck and her famous work Japan’s Modern Myths (1985), highlighting the impossibility of studying the history of contemporary Japan while ignoring its colonial empire.11 In our opinion, this debate demonstrated above all the acceleration in research. And we can only stress in turn the crucial importance of being familiar with historiographies written in the local languages, and on the need for a systematic regional history.

Contents of this Edition

20 What general perspective can we apply to this collection of papers on Japan’s colonial past published by Cipango? As we stressed earlier, it would be impossible to recreate a kind of grand general mechanism characterising all that was cause and consequence of Japanese colonisation. This observation also applies to other instances of colonial rule. Firstly, from the final third of the nineteenth century through to the mid-twentieth century, a range of contradictory factors played as much of a role as careful planning. Moreover, any such planning could merely be an illusion created intentionally, and after the fact, by the colonial authorities in order to give meaning to their actions. Japanese colonisation was not a monolithic block but rather a dynamic and protean phenomenon that developed both in a manner consistent with its chosen territory (as

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illustrated by the existence of several different development policies), and in contradiction with its own interests in the medium or long term (something that was quickly understood by certain critics and commentators in Japan). Quite logically, the same can also be said of the postcolonial period: each colonisation corresponded to a particular postcolonial destiny, ranging from a simple change of “tutelage” to situations in which genuinely sovereign states were created. Another subject that clearly illustrates the disparities in the way the formerly colonised territories were “reformulated” (a subject covered in Cipango 19 with regards Taiwan after 1945) is that of the composition of modern ethnicities. All formerly colonised peoples forge a new identity that bears little resemblance to its previous incarnation, one that is the twisted result of a colonial history, a history of war and, often, a history of fratricidal conflict.

21 The configuration of East Asia is thus unusual in that, whereas the former European colonial powers interact or wage war on one another as equals so to speak, Japan is the only colonial power (in the modern sense) in its region. Consequently, it is surrounded exclusively by modern nations with whom it has previously maintained unequal relations, whether through war or through colonial rule. This complicates the nature of any dialogue.

22 Let us now turn our attention to the selection of articles presented in this English- language edition of Cipango, which covers both the colonial and postcolonial periods.

23 Michel Vié looks back at Manchuria during the time of the Qing. Still poorly defined at the end of the nineteenth century, this territory was subsequently fought over by Russia, China and Japan at the heart of what Pierre Renouvin called the “Far Eastern Question”. Vié puts forward arguments that challenge an approach which, in the analysis of colonial rule and its motivations, frequently consists in viewing the issue in terms of the economic exploitation of the acquired territories. This paper highlights the imperialist game played by nation-states, all the while emphasising the vital importance of military history if we are to understand the obsession with self-defence shown by predatory nations during the decade spanning the First Sino-Japanese War (1894-95) to the Russo-Japanese War (1904-05).12 In this way, Vié highlights the longstanding nature of the hesitations and uncertainties that still characterise this region of Northeast Asia today. The author remains faithful to the main ideas he presented in his 1995 book Le Japon et le monde au XXe siècle (Japan and the World during the Twentieth Century). Note incidentally that throughout its chapters this book systematically addressed the issue of colonisation.

24 Alexandre Roy adopts an economic historical approach to examine Japan’s domination of Korea during the early part of the colonial period, from the establishment of the protectorate in 1905 to the events of 1 March 1919 and the recession that followed . The coloniser’s industrial and economic efforts in the peninsula are often analysed from a perspective of economic exploitation (which it was), or else through the prism of Japan’s determined (but belated) efforts to develop Korean industry during the 1930s. Roy attempts to understand the economic reality of the peninsula by analysing the initial phase in Japan’s economic hold over Korea. He shows how the inflow of capital was above all linked to a “Korean bubble” that enabled rapid yet highly superficial development, the impact of which must therefore be assessed with caution.

25 Pierre-François Souyri presents a little-known chapter in Japanese history, namely the country’s anti-colonialist discourse. He focuses in particular on the 1920s and analyses

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some of the main texts written by economic thinkers, theorists of colonial administration, art specialists with an interest in Korea, and liberals from the interwar period. Although, as the author notes, anti-colonialism was never a powerful voice during the colonial period itself, whether in Western Europe or Japan, a few intellectuals did take up their pens to criticise colonial rule, which they saw as either wrong or inefficient. There was no radical criticism of Japanese rule, then, but rather biting remarks regarding the policy implemented in Taiwan and Korea.

26 Samuel Guex focuses on the debate in Japan and Korea over secondary school history textbooks. The author leaves behind the Japanese situation, which he has written about previously, to turn his attention to South Korean textbooks. He analyses a series of historiographical points and the manner in which these are presented in South Korea, highlighting the continued dominance of the state textbook despite the liberalisation that took place at the end of the 1990s. In our opinion, this paper provides a clearer understanding of the complexity of the “textbook war”, which cannot be reduced to a simple conflict between two nations.

27 Finally, Adrien Carbonnet looks at how the colonial issue has influenced the negotiations undertaken by Japan and North Korea since 1991. Whereas the bombastic rhetoric of North Korea frequently mentions “Japanese imperialism”, Japan, a member of the U.S.-Japan alliance, views the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea as a “rogue state”, to borrow the words of George W. Bush. The first negotiations, which took place in the 1990s, were intended to normalise relations between the two countries. They were broken off due to the events of September 11 and the issue of Japanese citizens being abducted by North Korea, as the author explains.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Selected Bibliography

ATKINS, E.T., Primitive Selves - Korea in the Japanese Gaze, Berkeley, University of California Press, 2010.

BABICZ, L., Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji (Attitudes to Korea in Meiji-Era Japan), Paris, Maisonneuve et Larose, 2002.

BRANDT, K., Kingdom of Beauty: Mingei and the Politics of Folk Art in Imperial Japan, Duke University Press, 2007.

CAPRIO, M., Japanese Assimilation Policies in Korea 1910-1945, Seattle, University of Washington Press, 2009.

CHING, L.T.S., Becoming Japanese: the Politics of Identity Formation in Colonial Taiwan, Berkeley, UCP, 2001.

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DELISSEN, A., “La Corée” (Korea), in A. DELISSEN et al., Histoire de l’Asie orientale et méridionale au XIXe et au XXe siècles (The History of East and South Asia during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries), Paris, PUF, 1999.

DELISSEN, A., “La Corée, perle de l’empire” (Korea, Pearl of the Empire), L’Histoire, no. 333, July- August 2008, pp. 70-73.

DELISSEN, A. and A. NANTA, “Sociétés et possessions coloniales japonaises (fin XIXe à mi- XXe siècle)” (Japanese Colonial Societies and Possessions [late nineteenth to mid- twentieth century]), in D. BARJOT and J. FRÉMEAUX (eds.), Les sociétés coloniales à l’âge des empires des années 1850 aux années 1950 (Colonial Societies in the Age of Empire: 1850s-1950s), Paris, Sedes, 2012, pp. 173-182.

DUUS, P., The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea (1895-1910), Berkeley, University of California Press, 1995.

FUJITANI, T., Race for Empire: Koreans as Japanese and Japanese as Americans during World War II, Berkeley, University of California Press, 2011.

KATZ, P., When Valleys Turned Blood Red: The Ta-pa-ni Incident in colonial Taiwan, Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, 2005.

KLEIN, J-F., P. SINGARAVÉLOU, M-A. DE SUREMAIN, Atlas des empires coloniaux, XIXe-XXe siècles (Atlas of Colonial Empires: Nineteenth and twentieth centuries), Paris, Éditions Autrement, 2012.

KIM, E., P-H. LIAO & D.D-W. WANG (eds.), Taiwan under Japanese Colonial Rule, 1895-1945, , Columbia, 2006.

MYERS, R.H. & M.R. PEATTIE (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1894-1945, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984.

MATSUSAKA, Y.T., The Making of Japanese Manchuria, 1904-1932, Cambridge (MA), Harvard University Press, 2003.

NANTA, A., “Le Japon face à son passé colonial” (Japan and its Colonial Past), in O. DARD and D. LEFEUVRE (eds.), L’Europe face à son passé colonial (Europe and its Colonial Past), Paris, Riveneuve, 2008, pp. 129-146.

NANTA, A., “L’effondrement de l’empire colonial japonais” (The Fall of the Japanese Colonial Empire), in P. BROCHEUX (ed.), Les décolonisations au XXe siècle. La fin des empires européens et japonais (Decolonisation during the Twentieth Century: The end of the European and Japanese empires), Paris, Armand Colin, 2012, pp. 23-32.

NESPOULOUS, L., “Panorama du fait colonial moderne au Japon” (A Survey of Modern Colonisation in Japan), in C. LAUX and J-F. KLEIN (eds.), Les sociétés coloniales à l’âge des empires. Afrique, Antilles, Asie (années 1850-années 1950) (Colonial Societies during the Age of Empire: Africa, West Indies, Asia [1850s-1950s]), Paris, Ellipse, 2012, pp. 86-94.

PEATTIE, M., Nan’yō: the Rise and Fall of the Japanese in Micronesia, 1885-1945, Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, (1988) 1992.

SCHMID, A., Korea Between Empires, 1895-1919, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002.

SHIN, G-W. & M. ROBINSON (eds.), Colonial Modernity in Korea, Cambridge (MA), Harvard University Press, 1999.

SOUYRI, P-F., “La colonisation japonaise” (Japanese Colonisation), in M. FERRO (ed.), Le livre noir du colonialisme (The Black Book of Colonialism), Paris, Hachette, (2003) 2005, pp. 543-574.

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UCHIDA, J., Brokers of Empire: Japanese Settler Colonialism in Korea, 1876-1945, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2011.

VIÉ, M., Le Japon et le monde au XXe siècle (Japan and the World during the Twentieth Century), Paris, Masson, 1995.

YOO, T.J., The Politics of Gender in Colonial Korea: Education, Labor, and Health, 1910-1945, Berkeley, University of California Press, 2008.

NOTES

1. P.H. II, Constructing “Korean” Origins: A Critical Review of Archaeology, Historiography, and Racial Myth in Korean State Formation Theories, Cambridge (MA), Harvard University Asia Center, 2000; P. EDWARDS, Cambodge, The Cultivation of a Nation, Honolulu, Hawaii University Press, 2008. 2. J-F. BAYART, Les études postcoloniales. Un carnaval académique (Postcolonial Studies: An academic carnival), Paris, Karthala, 2010. 3. C. LIAUZU (ed.), Dictionnaire de la colonisation française (Dictionary of French Colonisation), Paris, Larousse, 2007; J-P. RIOUX (ed..), Dictionnaire de la France coloniale, Paris, Flammarion, 2007. See also S. DULUCQ, J-F. KLEIN and B. STORA (eds.), Les mots de la colonisation (The Language of Colonisation), Toulouse, PUM, 2007. Similar books have also since been published. 4. See the selected bibliography for this Atlas and for the articles published in 2012 by A. DELISSEN, A. NANTA and L. NESPOULOUS in connection with the CAPES and agrégation syllabi on colonial societies. 5. See the society’s annual report for the figures quoted here. 6. A. NANTA, “The Japanese Colonial Historiography in Korea (1905-1945)”, in R. CAROLI & P- F. SOUYRI (eds.), History at Stake in East Asia, Venezia, Lib. Ed. Cafoscarina, 2012, pp. 83-105. 7. In contrast, the Second World War began to be studied in the 1950s. See T. BRUNET, “Le débat sur l’Histoire de Shōwa et le Japon de 1955” (The Debate on Shōwa History and 1955 Japan), Cipango, no 17 (2010): pp. 81-258. 8. K. YAMABE 山辺健太郎, Nikkan heigō shōshi 日韓併合小史, , Iwanami, 1965. He also published Nihon tōchi-ka no Chōsen 日本統治下の朝鮮 (Korea under Japanese Rule), Tokyo, Iwanami, 1971. 9. Studies on this specific theme include those by S. TANAKA, P.H. II and L. BABICZ. 10. The best illustration of this is no doubt the two hundred or so volumes of facsimiles focusing solely on colonial Korea ( and documents), published by Ryūkei SHOSHA 龍渓書舎 since the 1990s. 11. A. SCHMID, The Journal of Asian Studies 59, no. 4 (2000): pp. 951-976; response by Mark PEATTIE and Ramon MYERS, then by Andre SCHMID, The Journal of Asian Studies 60, no. 3 (2001): pp. 813-816. 12. For a French perspective on these conflicts, see Olivier COSSON’S work Préparer la Grande Guerre. L’armée française et la guerre russo-japonaise (1904-1905) (Preparing for the Great War: The French Army and the Russo-Japanese War, 1904-05), Paris, Les Indes Savantes, 2013.

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Manchuria and the “Far Eastern Question”, 1880‑1910 La Mandchourie et la « Question d’Extrême Orient », 1880‑1910

Michel Vié

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Michel VIÉ, « La Mandchorie et la “Question d’Extrême‑Orient”, 1880‑1910 », Cipango, 18, 2011, 19‑78. Mis en ligne le 16 juin 2013, URL : http:// cipango.revues.org/1515 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1515

Eastern Question or Far Eastern Question? Construction of the Concepts

1 In 1985 François Joyaux, a history professor at the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales, published a book entitled La Nouvelle Question d’Extrême‑Orient.1 It took up the baton from Pierre Renouvin’s celebrated and unparalleled French‑language work La Question d’Extrême‑Orient,2 published in 1946.

2 A genuine continuity bound these two books, in particular their shared focus on political and military relations between the various countries. Their object of study was not the same history retold forty years apart. Each author took a separate look at a specific period in time. Renouvin concluded his presentation in 1940, at the dawn of the Second World War, while Joyaux described the consequences of the war from 1945 onwards. His intentional borrowing of Renouvin’s title and its keywords “Question” and “Far East” underlines the recurrent nature of the same fundamental international problems, despite the change in conditions brought about by the end of World War II. Joyaux’s use of the adjective “new” applies only to a chronological period of historical time.3

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3 In fact, Renouvin himself intentionally employed an almost provocative process of imitation by modelling the title of his study on the expression “The Eastern Question”, a nineteenth‑century concept used in diplomatic circles in relation to the Eastern Mediterranean. This choice of terminology is not innocent. It suggests both methodological implications in terms of the analysis and, to a certain extent, potential similarities between the Eastern Mediterranean and the Pacific Far East.

4 However, this form of localisation does not stem from any scientifically recognised vocabulary of geographical terms. The spaces referred to are vast, impossible to delimit exactly and inevitably heterogeneous.

5 The word “Orient” encompasses an undeniably homogeneous set of physical conditions. The Eastern Mediterranean creates a binding link between its three continental borders: European (the Balkans), Asian (Asia Minor, Syria and Palestine) and African (Egypt, Cyrenaica). Also included are two international shipping lanes: the “straits” (the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles) and, beginning in 1870, the Suez Canal and the Red Sea. Throughout the region the climate brings hot summers and an intense aridness that in places stretches to desert conditions. On the other hand, it must not be forgotten that the “Eastern Question” has on occasions encompassed the Northern Balkans, the Black Sea, Mesopotamia and, more astonishingly, the Maghreb to the west.

6 In Renouvin’s “Far East” the predominance of history is apparent from the outset. He mentions the monsoon climate, on which a wealth of publications already existed. However, among the territories described by the geographer Jules Sion in 1928, in his two volumes on “Monsoon Asia”, Renouvin excluded (Southern Asia) and of retained only the Indochinese Peninsula.

7 At the opposite end of the spectrum, the Far East had to include the cold regions of the north‑eastern part of the continent as well as the island chains of the Pacific.

8 Nonetheless, this distortion is not as great as it seems. Renouvin was not mistaken in his choice. In the nineteenth century, and particularly in the latter half, East and Far East existed in global politics through their confrontation with the West. In this connection, military inferiority or superiority took precedence over geographical positions. Any analysis must thus involve an examination of the different forms of colonisation, seen in the context of the West’s attempt at world domination during this period.

9 It would seem advisable to begin by examining what was known as the West. Far from encompassing the states lying to the west of an imaginary line, the term referred merely to colonialist Europe, or more precisely, the six great powers that coexisted in the region more or less uneasily, namely Great Britain, France, and Russia, then more recently Germany (strengthened by its Prussian heritage) and Italy. Russia is the odd one out in this list: western on the grounds of its formidable military strength, eastern by dint of its location or incongruity. With the exception of Austria, these powers were, or rather saw themselves as, nation‑states. In a bid to guarantee their security, each was heavily armed given what remained a highly uneven level of industrialisation. Their policies were generally at once defensive and geared towards expansion.

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10 American countries were excluded from this category, even the United States until their victory over Spain (1898): they had little involvement in international politics apart from when their continental interests were at stake.

11 The expansion of this dominating Europe was multiform and adapted itself to a variety of territories. Among these, the East and Far East, along with their defining characteristics, must be described, without forgetting that it is through their European roots that we can distinguish the different phases in the history of international relations: 1815‑1848, then 1850‑1870 and finally, 1871‑1914.

12 I propose to separate the word colonisation—irrespective of economic and political motivations—into the act of settlement, which presupposes a massive displacement of people, and the act of conquering, which aims to control a territory through military action.4 Colonisation is only complete when one state successfully carries out both policies.

13 In fact, during the nineteenth century it was rare for Western expansion to combine both settlement and conquest. According to experts, fifty‑five million Europeans left their continent between 1820 and 1920, the vast majority of them choosing America as their final destination,5 often to occupy spaces that were still free, yet always under the sovereignty of new states without colonial ties to Europe.

14 On the African continent, land of colonisation par excellence, it was military action that dominated. However, such action was often limited to small units, for exploratory purposes as much as for war, stretching out from coastal bases that dated back to earlier periods in European intervention (Portuguese, British and French). The result was a dividing up of the African continent within just a few decades, aided by the absence of stable political structures. The Ethiopian resistance to colonisation by Italy (1896) was an exception. Borders were easily determined and disputes between colonial powers remained limited. The Fashoda Incident of 1898 was another exception, one that can be explained by the Nile basin being bound up in the “Eastern Question”.

15 In comparison, the East and Far East could not have appeared open either to mass immigration or to easy military penetration. Their dominant trait was being organised around a deeply entrenched and long‑standing presence of the state, sometimes to the extent of building vast empires: such as the Ottoman Empire close to the West, and far away, China itself. Both of these heterogeneous empires declined in the nineteenth century, mostly due to centrifugal forces at their peripheries where they succumbed to the actions of the Western powers, who were both cause and effect. It was owing to this almost permanent geopolitical fact that the word “Question” (which in diplomatic language signifies a crisis with no plausible solution) was spontaneously employed in the East and, by imitation, in the Far East, in the singular, despite the fact that the problems at hand were numerous and diverse.

A Crucial Subsystem: Manchuria–Wars and Military Colonisations

16 Manchuria, the focus of this paper, rose from obscurity in the nineteenth century to sudden notoriety in the twentieth as the scene of an intentional and successful industrialisation, a rarity among colonies.6 It thus came to the attention of Joseph Schumpeter.7 It is said that after the war Mao Zedong congratulated

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Ayukawa Yoshisuke 鮎川義介 (1880‑1967), the founder of Nissan, who in 1937 had contributed to this economic success.

17 However, when Manchuria “entered international history” at around the turn of the twentieth century, it was not economic modernity that was the driving force but rather military modernity, as illustrated by the events of the two great wars, the Sino‑Japanese War (1894‑95) and the Russo‑Japanese War (1904‑1905).

18 Admittedly, since the Opium Wars—and particularly since Anglo‑French forces entered in 18608—China had been considered a military power. More recently, at the end of the Sino‑French War in 1885, the local defeat at Lang Son had succeeded in causing fear in Paris. Nonetheless, none of these conflicts was sufficiently devoid of colonial exoticism to justify a comparison with the memory of the Austro‑Prussian (1866) and Franco‑Prussian (1870) wars.

19 The Far Eastern wars mentioned here were of an entirely different nature. The battles fought in those faraway lands were considerably more modern technologically speaking than those raging concurrently in Cuba, the (the Spanish‑American War), the Transvaal or even in the Balkans. Port Arthur, a Russian fortress besieged for four months (in 1904), became as famous as Sevastopol in the Crimea. However, it was the naval fleets that best illustrated the level of military technology. The battle of “the Yalu River” in 1894, which pitted Chinese and Japanese squadrons against each other, is considered to be the largest since that of Lissa (fought between Austria and Italy in 1866 in the Adriatic). On 27 May 1905, following the complete destruction of the Russian Baltic Fleet near the island of Tsushima (Sea of Japan), the Japanese victory was compared to Nelson’s at Trafalgar (1805).9

20 Such “full‑scale” experiences of battle attracted the attention of Western experts. In London, in the months following the Battle of Tsushima, “First Sea Lord” Admiral John Fisher (1841‑1920) invented two types of ship: the slow but powerful “dreadnoughts” (named after the first battleship in this class), which replaced existing battleships; and the powerful battlecruiser, whose reduced armour gave it speed and which replaced armoured cruisers. Both types of vessel were employed at the Battle of Jutland on 31 May 1916.

21 As we shall see, Manchuria (and in particular the Liaodong Peninsula at whose tip Port Arthur is located) first entered history through wars that were not of a colonial nature but rather prefigured Europe’s immediate future.

I. Manchuria and the Three Empires

22 The area covered by the wars—the Kingdom of Korea and Manchuria in particular—can be included in several geopolitical frameworks: 1) the northern edge of the China‑centric world; 2) Central Asia, neither Chinese nor Russian but under Chinese or Russian authority during the nineteenth century; 3) Northeast Asia, a concept defined by Yves Lacoste, pertinent for its inclusion of Japan.10 Whatever the term chosen, the intermediary area was surrounded by three empires at the turn of the twentieth century, when it was thrust to the forefront of world history by modern wars. Today, one hundred years later, the borders have been altered slightly. However, although under different regimes, the three main states are still in place—China, Russia and Japan—, as is the area in‑between, though it has been reduced to the two Koreas and Taiwan. Western colonisation exists only in the form of American bases established

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sixty years ago in Japan and Korea. Defining the area affected by the non‑colonial Sino‑Japanese and Russo‑Japanese wars is already to describe constants, which nonetheless can only be understood as a sum of historical situations.

At the Far Edge of the “Chinese Continent”

23 As far as the chancelleries were concerned, China and Manchuria were indistinguishable according to international law: their official borders with foreign powers did not allow it. To give an example, let us examine the consequences of a treaty signed by China and Russia in Beijing in October 1860. Having recognised the Tsar’s sovereignty over the region lying between the Sea of Japan to the east and a tributary of the Amur River, the Ussuri River, to the west, the Ussuri became a border between the two states. Although located in Manchuria, it marked the boundary between China and the Russian Maritime Province.

24 Nevertheless, Manchuria could not be reduced to the status of a Chinese province. In the first place, symbolically speaking the link between Manchuria and China resulted from a dynastic union. The concept of “dual monarchy” existed in nineteenth‑century Europe. However, rather than a union based on equality, it resembled the relationship between Ireland and Great Britain. In Beijing the sovereign, a Manchu descendant since 1644, was present and governed as . In Mukden, the Manchurian capital considered the ancestral home of the Manchu dynasty, his presence as emperor was a fiction. Nevertheless, the two lands’ nominal duality was enough to underline their separation. The existence of the Manchu language “Tartar”, a written and diplomatic language, taught by Édouard Chavanne at the Collège de France in around 1900, can be considered symbolic.

25 Secondly, the separation of the two territories was functional. In the seventeenth century the Manchus, who were a tiny minority, had succeeded in conquering China, their mastery in war having met only with the Chinese indifference for military action. This behavioural difference subsequently became a key factor in China’s political stability. In Beijing, the sovereigns of the Manchu dynasty were constantly faced with the problem of protecting their homeland from the immigration of Chinese peasants who could have destroyed the Manchu people. Despite this obstacle, by the time the Sino‑Japanese War broke out the majority of the population in southern Manchuria was already Chinese, although land occupation density was much lower than in China.

26 Accordingly, judging by its inhabitants, Manchuria in 1880‑1890 was not yet a Chinese land. It was merely in the early stages of becoming one. The transformation underway was due to a settler colonisation that had recently become possible. After a slow start — and only in places where travel was possible— this colonisation took the form of a mass movement of people after the end of the Russo‑Japanese War. It was this, twenty‑five years later when the Japanese of was created, that gave the impression of a coexistence between diverse peoples. Ishiwara 石原莞爾 (1899‑1949), who planned the invasion of Manchuria, described the region at that time as “the land of the Manchu, Mongols and Koreans, [later] colonised by the Chinese”.

27 Only China was capable of achieving this type of colonisation. She alone had the necessary demographic “surplus” reinforced by close proximity. Russia and Japan would have liked to achieve such a result but never had the means.

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Manchuria, a Central Asian Region to be taken in Account…

28 Clearly distinct from China “proper”, Manchuria also occupied a special place in Central Asia towards the end of the nineteenth century. This long and wide expanse of territories, both massively continental and sparsely populated, stretched from Turkestan in the west to the epicontinental seas of the northern Pacific in the east, the Sea of Japan and the Yellow Sea. If we add the Korean Peninsula to this immensity, Central Asia extends into the East China Sea. Nevertheless, its originality and unity were above all geopolitical in nature. As Renouvin wrote in 1946, within this region, during the long nineteenth century, “Russia bordered the Chinese Empire over thousands of kilometres through Siberia and the Maritime Province”. However, he added, “almost everywhere contact was established in regions where the population was not Chinese and was not controlled to any significant extent by Beijing government officials.11 The border’s continuity should not mask the dissymmetry between its northern and southern sides. On the Russian side the ability and desire to establish a military border and complete sovereignty were hindered by the difficulty in occupying the land sufficiently. On the Chinese side the fragility of its sovereignty (its indirect nature: various vassalages, use of cultural links and prestige) was potentially compensated for by the ability to densely populate any area where the topography, aridity and restrictions on travel allowed it.

…in the Construction of Northeast Asia

29 In the huge land mass known as Central Asia, the originality of Manchuria stemmed from its consisting of a vast plain at its centre and a wide coastline along the Yellow Sea to the south. Accordingly, it is here that we find the focal point of the Far East’s modern wars: the Liaodong Peninsula and Port Arthur.

30 The conjunction of an empty space and a coastline narrows the distance between Manchuria and the two territories adjoining it: on one side the Russian Maritime Province, defined by the powerful naval base of Vladivostok, hardly older than Port Arthur (1866), and on the other the Kingdom of Korea, declared independent in 1876. The political and military weaknesses of Korea could create an impression of emptiness comparable to a population shortage. On the other hand, it enjoyed extensive and well located port facilities in relation to the straits separating it from Japan. All of these lands were bordered by a string of small seas that were not enclosed but distinct, notably the Gulf of Chihli (Bohai). Surrounded by China, Russia and Japan, together the area formed a Northeast Asia that was extremely open to navigation. Although smaller geographically than the region defined by Lacoste, the latter was drawn into rapid geopolitical transformations between 1880 and 1890.

31 Nonetheless, such descriptions are only useful if they help to explain the wars fought between the three neighbouring powers between 1894 and 1905. These disputes, recognised as inter‑state conflicts, represented the sudden emergence of advanced military technology in areas that were little or under‑developed. Accordingly, it does not seem acceptable to consider the Sino‑Japanese and Russo‑Japanese wars as variants of the economic rivalries that make up the “Far Eastern Question”, as seen in the French historical‑geographical tradition.

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Empire‑Building issues and Strategies in the Face of Manchuria

32 Despite undeniable interactions, it would seem pertinent to make two distinctions. The first is geopolitical in nature and involves separating China “proper” and Northeast Asia. The Chinese state is present in both, but while it was colonised by Western countries, it in turn imposed colonisation on Manchuria and Korea. The second distinction concerns the causes of the wars. Could it be that we are influenced by the current domination of free market economy paradigms and the aspirations these bring (a taste for profit, consumerism, etc.)? It often seems that when looking back at past conflicts we have difficulty in perceiving other causalities and realities than those related purely to economics. In fact China, Russia and Japan had long‑term, indeed resolutely permanent, plans that related above all to their security.

33 Russia’s main concern was to acquire a new naval base capable of correcting the imperfections of Vladivostok. In 1884 an attempt was made in the form of a leasehold at Port Lazareff,12 on the Korean coast of the Sea of Japan. Earlier still, in 1861, towards the end of the , a Russian warship, the Posadnik, had stationed itself at Tsushima on the pretext that it required repair work and had attempted to create a base there.13 In both cases Russia withdrew without a fight following the intervention of the British fleet. Japan was satisfied with this help. There was no economic interest at stake in these incidents; everything was strategic.

34 For China, ensuring the security of the imperial capital was fundamental. Success was possible if the Chinese Northern Seas Fleet (Beiyang) could block the passage of warships and the transport of foreign troops coming from the Yellow Sea. The entrance to the Bohai was controlled by two recently built naval bases. The main one, Port Arthur, was deemed by German experts prior to the Sino‑Japanese War to be equal to Hong Kong. The second, Weihaiwei, lay at the tip of the Peninsula. However, the policy developed by Li Hongzhang 李鴻章 (1823‑1901), viceroy of the province of Chihli, also aimed to maintain political control over Korea, a former tributary state of Beijing. The Liaodong Peninsula and Port Arthur reinforced this control via the sea.

35 Japan’s ultimate aim at the end of the shogunate was to be on truly equal footing—in both military and legal terms—with the great powers. A constant objective was to see the unequal treaties, concluded before 1868, revised. However, the main thrust of Japan’s foreign policy was to secure its national territory by obtaining a dominant political position in Korea, its closest neighbour among foreign powers. Its commercial interests must also be considered. Since 1876 Japanese immigration had been on its way to controlling foreign trade. Yet this commercial success in no way provided the military tranquillity Japan’s leaders in Tokyo desired. Escaping colonisation meant nothing if Japan had to endure the proximity of the Russian and Chinese empires. The problem could only be resolved by turning Korea into a buffer state, or more simply a “defensive wall”, in order to keep these two great continental empires at bay.

36 The security policies of these countries were all designed to obtain permanent advantages. Unlike commercial rivalries, they did not lend themselves easily to arbitration. Between China, Russia and Japan the idea was not to share the colonisable territories but rather to use them for the purpose of strategic reinforcement. Nonetheless, it would be appropriate at this point to explain what conjunction of

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historical situations and geographical facts led the probability of war to become a constant only in 1880‑1890.

37 The year 1880 marked the beginning of a new phase in the expansion of the European states beyond their continent, which Jean‑Baptiste Duroselle termed “the great colonial expansion”.14 Tunisia, Egypt, Sub‑Saharan Africa (almost in its entirety) and Southeast Asia were all affected. Great Britain, France, Germany and Italy—the new powers—played central roles. The United States joined the movement later. The former colonial empires with their weakened metropoles (Spain and Portugal) found themselves called into question (the Spanish‑American War in 1898, the Transvaal War in 1899).

38 At the same time, these successes depended on technological advances that encouraged not only international trade but also military action away from home: railways and shipbuilding were both involved in the revival of colonisation. The production of warships demanded technology (turbines, armour‑plating and ) that was only possible for the great industrial nations, particularly since ships were quickly rendered obsolete. There was thus a conspicuous international trade in warships in which British shipyards led the field.15

39 From a chronological point of view, relations between China, Russia and Japan in Northeast Asia were part of these global changes, but to what extent? Very little from a political perspective; very much so from a technological point of view, with a time lag however between the use of navigation (transportation and battle fleets) as of 1880, and the construction of railways as of 1896. It thus seems impossible to explain the genesis and events of the Sino‑Japanese and Russo‑Japanese wars as part of “the great colonisation”. However, although a time lag in the march of history can be observed, does this reflect the weight of archaisms in Asia or a foreshadowing of World War I in Europe? First of all, beginning in 1850, Russia in Crimea (1855), as well as China and Japan during the process of “opening up”, had suffered the same consequences of their inferiority, particular at sea. Their recently suffered defeats did not lead them into colonial expansion but rather into a process of remilitarisation aimed at achieving rapid efficiency and asserting their power.

40 Secondly, the extremely difficult nature of land travel inevitably led the three empires to assign a decisive role—both in attack and defence—to the navy, by planning to associate transportation and combat. Although it is impossible to say for sure in the case of Russia and China, it is known that the first book by Alfred Thayer Mahan (1840‑1914), The Influence of Sea Power upon History (1890),16 was carefully read in Japan.

41 No doubt this was a necessary consequence of insularity. Even where land routes existed, sea travel was preferable by far. In order to travel from Beijing to Seoul, for example, the best route involved travelling through Dagu 大沽 (Taku) and the Gulf of Bohai, via Port Arthur and the Yellow Sea. It was here that on 25 July 1894 the Japanese Navy inspected, and then sank, a troop carrier loaned from the British and carrying 1,000 Chinese soldiers to Korea.17

42 Beginning in 1880 it became increasingly clear that geographical conditions were leading the three neighbouring powers not to defend their coasts but rather to master the seas, hence the creation of three modern fleets composed of European ships built to international technological standards. Sino‑Japanese and Russo‑Japanese rivalries reached an intensity akin to that observed on the eve of 1914 in the North Sea between

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the British and Germans. In order to shed light on these events they must be situated in the general evolution of the Far Eastern question up until 1904.

II. Coexistence or Incompatibility between (1890‑1901)

43 The Far Eastern question is generally presented as having evolved after the mid‑nineteenth century under the joint influence of two guiding forces: on the one hand the widely held view in industrialised countries that China, with its massive population, was “a commercial Eldorado”; and on the other the later fear that Japan, as the only Asian nation to have overcome the handicap of the unequal treaties, might succeed in preventing Westerners from exploiting the Chinese market.18

44 While there is an element of reality to such views, they focus too heavily on economic interests and overly generalise because they seek a monistic explanation in China’s demographics.

45 The Trans‑Siberian Railway was not built to serve as a tool for commerce.19 During the Russo‑Japanese War some 500,000 troops were transported to Manchuria at a rate of fourteen trains per day. For its part, Japan ascended to the rank of military power in 1905, well before it became an industrial power. Instead of the monistic explanation, I propose to recognise that a variety of colonial (or national) policies existed in the Far East and observe how they were applied to geographically distinct colonial territories: China proper and the area of friction (or cohabitation) between China, Russia and Japan in Manchuria and, possibly, in Korea. The next step is to place their interactions within a chronological timeframe.

Before the Sino‑Japanese War (24 July 1894)

46 The separation between the two geopolitical spheres was maintained without difficulty. The colonisation imposed on China was stable, exceptionally so for the period, due to it being founded on the prevention of military risks in order to serve an of commercial exploitation. It rested on two legal bases which only merged locally: on the one hand, the unequal treaties concluded in each case between China and a colonising state and based on a limited imperialism; and on the other the Most Favoured Nation clause, which featured in each of these treaties and allowed Western traders to enjoy the same privileges and guarantees in all of the ports open to them. This system was born of the intuition that a limited imperialism should also be (or made it possible to also be) a collective imperialism. This gave rise to two types of collaboration: on the one hand between China, its administrative officers and foreigners; and on the other between Western authorities and businesses, despite their rivalry. In fact, this situation reflected a meeting between the traditional attitude of the Chinese empire towards the barbarians and Britain’s supremacy both in trade and at sea.

47 This naval supremacy at times led to a kind of right to police in the “Chinese commercial Eldorado”. In 1884, when the Russians set their sights on Port Lazareff, a squadron was dispatched from Hong Kong to Port Hamilton in the Korea Strait to prevent them from entering Chinese waters. In the autumn of 1884, as the Sino‑French War continued to rage, Jules Ferry abandoned his order to blockade ports in order to avoid damaging the interests of “foreign powers”.20 Finally, shortly before engaging in

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operations against China in July 1894, Japan promised not to attack the Shanghai region.21

48 On the whole, the sphere of collective imperialism was voluntarily kept out of the conflicts, as was the Beijing region owing to the resident Manchu dynasty which guaranteed the legitimacy of the treaties. In the other geopolitical sphere to the north, between the empires, no conflicts broke out. Yet the ground was clearly being laid for the coming wars: on the Russian side through the construction of railways, and on the Chinese and Japanese sides through a parallel increase in naval power.

49 The Siberian railway or Trans‑Siberian Railway, stretching 7,416 kilometres from Chelyabinsk to Vladivostok, had been planned since 1850. However, it was only in the post‑Bismarckian Europe, after the Franco‑Russian Alliance had been concluded, that French banks were able to secure the financing. It was decided that Russia’s far eastern provinces should be opened up via an overland route. The railway was to follow the Amur River along the left bank and, after a section on riverboat, re‑join at Khabarovsk a line under construction in the Maritime Province running from Vladivostok.22

50 The Russian army only had around 15,000 men stationed in the Far East. Reinforcing them and providing fresh supplies was difficult. The Trans‑Siberian Railway provided a radical solution. However, solving the isolation problem via a railway in no way resolved the port situation; in fact it aggravated it, particularly since contact between the territories via sea remained essential.

51 Although unproven,23 it is likely that as construction neared the Transbaikal the question of which port should serve as the Trans‑Siberian’s terminus was discussed, since the inadequacy of Vladivostok, where the line officially ended, had long been recognised. Far beyond the technical victories, it was inevitable to think that such a project would result in a military colonisation combining railways, an ice‑free port and a powerful fleet.

52 At least, this was how Russia’s actions were perceived in China and Japan. The space needed for this military construction could only be found in Manchuria and/or Korea. This signalled the reappearance in the north of a high‑priority threat which Japan had thought largely erased by the signing in , on 7 May 1875, of the Treaty of Saint Petersburg exchanging Sakhalin Island with the Kuril Islands (Karafuto‑Chishima kōkan jōyaku 樺太千島交換条約).

53 However, this represented a future threat. Decidedly more worrying was China’s reappearance in Korea in 1885. Japanese statesmen saw this—far beyond the return of the status of “tributary state” in a sinicised Asia24—as an example of modern colonialism,25 the same kind instituted by France in Tunisia (1881) and, more particularly, by Britain in Egypt (1882).26 A “modern” colonisation of Korea by China would have seen Japan’s dreams of security crumble. In Tokyo, however, far from challenging the validity of the idea of a buffer state, these failures were explained away by the weakness of the Japanese navy. The Korean problem became one of controlling the Yellow Sea.

54 The Chinese and Japanese fleets were equal in number at the Battle of the Yalu River on 17 September 1894, with each side possessing ten vessels. However, they had different qualities reflecting different policies.

55 In China, the “Northern Seas Fleet” was the work of Li Hongzhang, who in 1882 had commissioned two 7,335‑ton27 battleships from the Vulcan shipyard in Stettin,

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Germany: the Dingyuan 定遠号 (or Ting Yuen) and the Zhenyuan 鎮遠号 (or Chen Yuen). Armed with four 305mm guns, the largest calibre of naval artillery at the time, and fitted with thick armour plating, they were capable of reaching fourteen knots. In Europe they would have been powerful ships; in the Far East, where they arrived in 1885, they were unrivalled. The Chinese fleet achieved absolute superiority. When on 5 July 1891 the two battleships made a trip to Japan, this was seen as a show of their invulnerability.28 Strengthening the navy continued to be imperative for each of the successive dominant personalities in Tokyo: 岩倉具視 (1825‑1883), following the “Imo Mutiny” (Jingo gunran 壬午軍乱) in Seoul in 1882, and 山縣有朋 (1838‑1922) in 1890 expressed the same opinions.29

56 Between 1883 and 1894 twenty‑four ships went into service.30 Up until 1888 the majority were the work of Japanese shipyards. They were small vessels approximately termed gunboats, corvettes or cruisers. Finances could hardly stretch to commissioning ships in Europe. In Japan itself a lack of either facilities or materials meant that it was impossible to build vessels over 2,000 tons. However, three large cruisers of over 3,600 tons were purchased: two in England (from Armstrong) and one in France (from the shipyards of Le Havre). Delivered in 1886, they were equipped with 260mm guns. This represented a first Japanese tradition of rapid ships (reaching eighteen or nineteen knots) that were well‑or even excessively armed in relation to their tonnage. However, the absence of battleships was notable and fear of the two Chinese vessels grew. It thus appeared necessary to make increasing use of foreign shipbuilders.

57 The most immediate solution was to commission battleships in Europe, something Japan would only make up its mind to do quite late, in 1892: it was not until 1897 that two 12,500‑ton ships, the Fuji and the Yashima, were completed. In the meantime, Japan sought to counter‑attack using massively armed mid‑sized ships. In 1888 the Yokosuka Naval Arsenal was headed by the French engineer Émile Bertin.31 He designed three 4,278‑ton coastal warships (kaibōkan 海防艦) each equipped with a massive 320mm gun supposedly capable of destroying the Chinese battleships while maintaining a top speed of sixteen knots. However, the rate of fire on these guns was slow: only one shell every five minutes. Japan thus turned its eye to cruisers, in which the ship’s speed and rate of fire were more in harmony. The Yoshino, a 4,216‑ton vessel built by Armstrong, was the world’s fastest cruiser with a top speed of twenty‑two knots.

58 The Japanese army was confident in its ability to fight the Chinese on land, but its command of the sea remained uncertain. The result was a certain prudence in Japan’s policy in Korea, even on the eve of war. And yet, Japan did opt to engage in war. The most important issue seems to have been Japan’s perception of the dangers at hand and prioritising of them in a relatively short period of time. There may be a risk involved in going to war and another in the reduced security potentially resulting from not going to war. In order to clarify the reasoning behind the decision taken in July 1894, it would seem essential to make a comparison with the one that drove Japan to attack Russia in February 1904, almost ten years later.

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The (17 April 1895) and the Intervention of the Three Powers (23 April 1895)

59 The question at hand is simple: to what extent did these events alter the juxtaposition of the two types of imperialism?

60 The peace treaty imposed on China contained four categories of demands: 1) To recognise Korea’s “independence” by ceasing all intervention there; 2) To pay war reparations just like all defeated nations at the time; 3) Following the abolition of the trade treaty of 1871 (Nisshin shūkō jōki 日清修好条 規), to conclude a new agreement granting Japan most-favoured-nation status, the use of several ports formerly closed to foreigners and the right to set up factories there. These provisions saw Japan enter the collective colonial system, providing it with numerous additional benefits and supposedly promoting its maintenance, hence Great Britain’s decision to support the Shimonoseki peace treaty; 4) The cession of three territorial dependencies that had previously been Chinese: Taiwan, the small neighbouring archipelago of the Penghu Islands and, in Manchuria, the entire Liaodong Peninsula (from the Yalu River in the east to the Liao River on which junks sailed). Each of the above areas was occupied by the Japanese army.

61 Although none of these annexations officially concerned “China proper”, such changes in sovereignty had not been imposed in the Far East since the creation of the British colony of Hong Kong. In fact, if the Shimonoseki Treaty resulted in a serious international crisis in the space of a few days, it was because this return to a colonisation that the great powers feigned to have forgotten concerned Port Arthur. The rapid succession of events proves the gravity of the crisis, which, as was quickly understood, had the potential to lead to a new war. The treaty was signed in Shimonoseki on 17 April 1895. On 23 April in Tokyo the diplomatic representatives of Russia, Germany and France each presented the Japanese Government with an identical note inviting it to return Liaodong to China. On 1 May Japan offered to retain only the southern tip, in other words Port Arthur. This solution was rejected. On 5 May Japan submitted to the demands of this “” (sangoku kanshō 三国干渉). The crisis had lasted just twenty days. It was agreed that an increased war indemnity would be paid and that until this was settled by China, Japan would retain control (as previously agreed) of Weihaiwei.

62 The arguments exchanged during these decisive moments are of no real value. What is important is the power struggle that led Japan to a kind of capitulation, as well as the novelty and scale of the diplomatic combinations, in other words, of the pressure exerted on the Far East.

63 Even before Japan was hit by this order, Russia had already concentrated its naval forces. Some of the Black Sea Fleet’s modern ships had been transferred to Vladivostok via the Suez Canal. Although it had conquered the Chinese navy at the Battle of the Yalu River, then at the Battle of Weihaiwei, the Japanese fleet was no match for the Russian navy. The Chinese battleships had been captured because the crews had made a series of disastrous errors and were not equal to the technical capacities of their ships. Such failings could not be hoped for from the Russians. The Russian plan was to organise a blockade of Japan’s ports and, using its command of the seas, suffocate the Japanese troops spread throughout the continent. Japan found itself facing the risk of all‑out defeat. The inadequacy of its naval forces was decisive.

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64 Japan and Russia were reacting to immediate problems, whereas the other powers were influenced more by ulterior motives essentially unrelated to their interests in the Far East. France and Germany sought to please Russia: France with a view to strengthening the military alliance concluded in 1892; Germany in a bid to draw Russian forces to Asia in order to weaken the military resources of this same alliance. The coalition was thus chasing two contradictory objectives in Europe, since the driving force behind this paradoxical grouping was none other than the French‑German enmity. It is true that neither France nor Germany committed themselves long‑term to supporting the Russian expansion. Against Japan their coalition was limited. Great Britain, on the other hand, took a clearly neutral stance by refusing to come to Russia’s assistance, even camouflaged as aid to China. However, it also refused to support Japan, which had hoped to organise a counter‑intervention in its favour, involving the United States and Italy, in order to retain Port Arthur. Britain’s proclaimed neutrality may have had the underlying aim of avoiding war in the Far East, which the obstinacy of both Japan and Russia made almost inevitable. This neutrality had the effect of putting pressure on Japan, not in favour of Russia but of the peace that was indispensable to the collective imperialism in the Far East.

65 While neither the governments nor public opinion underestimated the importance of the Sino‑Japanese War, they drew what were often hasty conclusions, claiming that China was no longer a or that Japan had failed to join these ranks. On the whole, the Far East’s two great nations were left weakened by this series of events which prefigured, or were a necessary condition of, a new upsurge in colonialism. In fact, of the three security policies developed between 1880 and 1890 with regards Manchuria‑Korea, two disappeared: the Chinese policy through the country’s defeats, and the Japanese policy through effacement. This left the Russian expansion, which it seemed plausible to reincorporate into the realm of simple colonisation, thus eliminating its Northeast Asian specificity. But to what extent are these new interpretations grounded in reality?

66 In the case of Japan, this intellectual reconstruction overly ignores the facts. Firstly, in July 1894, following negotiations with Britain and the United States, Japan obtained the eventual abolition (after a period of five years) of the right to extraterritoriality (chigai hōken 治外法権) for consular jurisdictions (ryōji saiban seido 領事裁判制度). These had been instituted in Japan at the end of the . For over twenty years, ever since the (1871‑72), Japan had vainly sought their revision. Obtained in 1894 and made effective in 1899, this represented a decisive victory on a symbolic rather than a practical level.

67 Secondly, the year 1895 saw Japan’s foreign policy grow increasingly complex owing to its occupation of Taiwan and new interest in economic expansion in Southern China. Two geopolitical options featured henceforth: the North (Korea and Manchuria) and the South (continental edge of the East China Sea), with Japan entrusting the task of deciding their importance to opportunism and without military action being assumed from the outset. In reality, the expression hokushin nanshin 北進南進 (northern advance, southern advance) was more concerned with determining a geographical framework than actual intentions.

68 Thirdly, if Japan took a back seat politically speaking it was because its principal concern of military security could be achieved outside of international politics. In 1896 Japan began a complete upgrading of its naval fleet, throwing its entire financial

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resources behind the project. The war indemnity paid by China, in addition to the vote granted to parliament by liberal deputies in favour of the country’s military budgets, enabled the biggest new ships to be constructed overseas.

69 During the Battle of the Yalu River none of the ships on the Japanese side had exceeded 5,000 tons. The two British‑built battleships were delivered in 1897. They each weighed 12,320 tons. The new programme required the commissioning of four 15,000‑ton battleships and six cruisers weighing 10,000 tons each. In all, these twelve great ships, totalling 145,000 tons of world‑class technology, entered the Japanese fleet between 1897 and 1902. Ten of them came from British shipyards.

70 The year 1902 was thus decisive in terms of Japan’s diplomatic presence in the Far East, representing the year it completed its massive naval build‑up programme. According to Satow,32 the British ambassador to Tokyo, Inoue Kaoru 井上馨 (1836‑1915)33 is said to have declared in 1898 that his country should avoid any involvement in international issues until 1902.

71 Japan’s resulting naval strength can be defined quite objectively by comparing it to the great international fleets. In Europe, Great Britain continued to far outclass Japan (which had to handle British interests with care). However, the gap with French, Russian and German superiority was narrower and Japan was on equal footing with Italy. One might venture to conclude that Japan’s governments were well aware that, barring a conflict with the British, they could only lose their desired security in two circumstances: a war against a European coalition or the transfer by one of those faraway nations of its entire fleet to the colonial lands of Asia. This eventuality could only have appeared conceivable for Russia, given its unique geographical location.

72 Other considerations, either positive or negative in nature, cannot be overlooked. On the one hand, the Japanese navy was not designed for faraway combat. If it stayed close to its ports there was no need to be overly concerned about coal storage aboard ship. The tonnage reserved for armour‑plating could thus be increased without risk. Conversely, the fact that Japan had purchased all of its large modern ships overseas, unlike the Western powers, presented a considerable risk in the event of war, for a belligerent state cannot purchase more ships until peace has been restored. All of these factors underline the fact that Japan’s effacement was not destined to last for long.

73 What of China’s weakness then and its ability to withstand a new period of colonialism? Following a series of defeats, it would not be helpful to judge its military strength. On the other hand, data of an almost natural (land mass and demographics) or cultural nature (the power of its written language to integrate) are clearly more stable. However, China’s survival as a state depended above all on the rivalry between foreign interests.

The Territorial Dismemberment of China by Western Colonisation (1896‑1899)

74 It is well known that between 1896 and 1899 Russia, France, Germany and Great Britain were all granted sovereign rights by China. Italy and Japan soon went down this same path. With annexation having essentially been morally forbidden, these sovereign rights were awarded for a more or less limited period of time for areas designated as “leased territories”, or for the construction of railways. Unlike the ports already open to foreigners, these new acquisitions—which did not fall within the scope of the most‑favoured nation clause—depended in each instance only on the beneficiary

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nation: in other words, the one that had signed the treaty with China. This resulted in an attack not only on China and its territorial unity (the dismemberment leading to the so‑called “Break‑up of China”) but also on “commercial equality” (known as the Open Door principle) for the foreign traders officially recognised by the treaties. This new policy represented a subversion of the order based on collective imperialism which was championed by Great Britain and the most beneficial to its interests.

75 In addition to the transfer of sovereign rights with immediate effect, promises of “non‑alienation” began to appear in 1898. In the provinces controlled by colonial powers, whose privileges were locally preponderant, China guaranteed the future monopoly of any new concessions it may grant. The term “sphere of influence” thus referred to the combination within a specific area of an established superiority and its potential confirmation in the future. In fact, Great Britain, Germany, France and Japan (in Fujian) all made separate requests for a “sphere of influence”. The chancelleries saw this as the beginning of a breaking up of the Chinese Empire into protectorates.

76 Taking advantage of China’s military collapse and Japan’s diplomatic effacement, a short but extensive wave of colonial expansion hit the Far East in 1896‑1900. It consisted in adapting to the Chinese “commercial Eldorado”, until then ruled by a collective colonialism, the more conflicting ideas formed in Southeast Asia (Indochina and Burma) or Northeast Asia concerning the Manchurian and Korean “empty spaces”. Western statesmen and diplomats expected the Chinese state to disappear as an inevitable consequence of colonisation, just as they anticipated the end of the historical and multi‑ethnic Ottoman state. The territorial and multinational colonisations in China played the same destructive role as national minorities did in the Balkans and the Eastern Mediterranean. The same expression of “sick man” was employed. But whereas the Ottoman Empire disappeared, China survived.

77 All of these predictions were proved wrong in the Far East in a short space of time. Militarisation occurred only on and after the (1900). In 1899, following three years of decline, the consensual model of colonisation, as seen in China “proper”, once again became dominant along with its two corollary institutions: commercial freedom (as opposed to privilege) and the pre‑eminent sovereignty of Beijing, guardian of the treaties. The unresolved issue was how these could be extended to Manchuria. This paradoxical conclusion to the expected “break‑up” of China came about before the Boxer Rebellion and was the product of an internal dynamic. The key role was played by the relationships between the great colonial powers.

78 But how can we understand such a complete and rapid reversal of the situation? In fact, a simple explanation suffices. The majority of the colonial powers interested in obtaining political and military rights ceased to see a contradiction in accepting commercial freedom. However, it must also be pointed out that the process that was heading towards a dismembering of China took place in separate phases: in 1896, 1898 and finally in 1899. Furthermore, Great Britain was never able to go as far as making an armed threat. Ultimately, all possible disputes between states were settled through bilateral negotiations rather than clashes between groups, thus eliminating the risk of a classification into winners and losers. The feeling of an existential threat never materialised.34

79 In 1896, first of all, two expansions targeted Chinese territory, though only at its periphery: the French expansion from Tonkin and the Russian expansion into northern Manchuria. Russia had acquired permission to build the Trans‑Manchurian Railway,

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the cornerstone of the Trans‑Siberian, thereby shortening the journey by 900 kilometres without changing the final destination of Vladivostok. Li Hongzhang, who was present in Moscow for the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II, signed a secret treaty of alliance (mitsuyaku 密約)35 against Japan with the Russian minister Alexey Lobanov,36 who obtained the right to create the northern Manchurian line under the name (Tōshin tetsudō 東清鉄道). In 1896 nothing threatened British interests and there was thus no diplomatic storm.

80 On the contrary, a violent storm broke out late in 1897 when within weeks of each other, Germany occupied Jiaozhou Bay 膠州湾 and Russia seized Port Arthur. Agreements were signed in 1898 and set out the rights granted by China. The British reaction was immediate but ruled out military force. “Port Arthur isn’t worth a war,” declared the deputy prime minister Lord Balfour in London. With 1898 also being the year of the Fashoda Incident37 and the situation in the Transvaal worsening, Britain needed to conserve its strength. It merely requested that in the ports now controlled by Germany and Russia that these nations not reserve economic rights for their own nationals. It then obtained a promise from China to not alienate the Yangtze Valley, and as territorial compensation occupied the “new territories” of Hong Kong, along with the former base of Weihaiwei vacated by the Japanese.

81 The principle of equal commercial opportunities among the colonisers of various nations could not be applied to the railways. This would have resulted in an excess of parallel lines. An amicable distribution seemed preferable. This no longer took the form of monopolies granted by China but of a direct agreement between two colonial powers. British policy headed in this direction in late 1898 with the signing of an agreement with Germany recognising the latter’s railway rights in Shandong. It was followed on 22 April 1899 by an agreement with Russia for the Chinese territories north of the Great Wall (and thus in Manchuria). Great Britain also saw its rights to the Yangtze Valley confirmed.

82 The next development, coming in addition to the diversity of colonial treaties, was the Open Door note sent by American Secretary of State John Hay to the great European powers, but not to Japan. Less than two years after the naval strikes in Jiaozhou Bay and Port Arthur, which were followed by commercial promises, territorial compensations and the exchanging of regional monopolies, this text made free commercial competition an ideal of political coexistence, seen as a specific feature of the Chinese territory. All of the powers consulted gave their assent, except for Russia, which refused.

83 Could this peaceful commercial coexistence be said to represent a kind of “end of the road” for the Far Eastern question with regards China? It seems that a harmonisation of colonial policies based on British practices could have been achieved had there not already been signs in various places of Russia’s desire for power.

84 In March, Russia requested permission from the Korean government to set up a coaling station in Masampo, at the tip of the Korean Peninsula opposite Tsushima.38 Officially the Russian plan was to organise a maritime transport service between Port Arthur and Vladivostok. Japan immediately read the plan as Russia’s intention to create a third naval base that would enable it to control the straits. Nothing concrete was decided, but Japan was alarmed: Masampo would be an even more fearful prospect than Port Arthur.

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85 The Russian navy was a source of concern for the British and Japanese admiralties.39 All of the European powers undertook a modernisation of their fleet of battleships at the end of the nineteenth century. For Russia, however, its recently built battleships were stationed at Port Arthur. This provided them with greater mobility, being neither subject to winter ice nor to the constraints of the controlled routes (such as the Dardanelles, the Suez Canal and the Danish straits). No sooner had they entered service than they were sent to the Far East. Consequently, it was possible to predict the composition of Russia’s Pacific fleet by taking into account the number and characteristics of its ships under construction. For the British admiralty, this accumulation of Russian and Japanese battleships created the need to send new ships of the line to Hong Kong.

86 Further proof of expansion was Russia’s refusal to mention Manchuria in its reply to John Hay, all the while agreeing to apply the Open Door principle to the commercial port of Dalny.40 Through the force of its silence, Russia succeeded in isolating the Manchurian territory from China proper without ever contesting the Beijing government’s sovereignty in the region. It is probable that Russia wished to signal to the other powers that Manchuria was an exception among Chinese provinces and as such, was available exceptionally for colonisation. These terms are vague but we must examine the nature of the fear Russia elicited, either as a result of its show of strength or, precisely, through the obscurity surrounding its intentions.41 The danger emanating from Russia was thus perceived differently according to the circumstances of the powers: it was rarely direct but instead was generally seen through the prism of its potential effects on the Far East. Japan alone was under threat. Indeed, Russia threatened Japan’s two sources of security: superiority at sea in the waters around the archipelago and the neutralisation of Korea. Few in the military high commands thought that war was likely: Russian colonisation was still only being built and Japan was not yet considered a major military force.

87 The most feared outcome was the collapse of the Chinese state, the keystone of commercial colonialism. A weak sovereign China was a satisfactory state of affairs for all: Great Britain, Germany, France, the United States and Japan. The system remained fragile but who would want to deal it a deathblow?

88 Suspicion fell on Russia, though without any certainty on which to base such a judgement. It is this that Renouvin expressed in his hypothetical comment: “if the initiative of one of the powers—Russia—were to bring about the collapse of the Chinese Empire…”.42

89 The way the sentence is arranged, even graphically, shows that singling out Russia was neither a reasoned decision by the historian nor a fact imposed by the reading of diplomatic documents. It reflects an opinion, widely held in 1900, that merits an explanation. Renouvin, however, did not undertake such an investigation, no doubt because this would have entailed discussing the political or economic origins of colonialism.

90 In 1900, when the Boxer Rebellion broke out in protest against Western colonisation, serious questions remained unanswered: “Was there a future for China as a state?” “How far would Russian go?” “What was Manchuria’s true international status in the Far East?”

91 The uprising provided the answers to these questions in the space of a few months.

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The Boxer Episode (1900‑1901)

92 The Boxer Rebellion was a brief but decisive episode that confirmed China’s role as a “commercial Eldorado” and made the Russo‑Japanese War almost inevitable due to its effects on Manchuria. The separation of the two geopolitical regions of China proper and Northeast Asia was re‑established.

93 The Boxer movement was fundamentally a hostile expression of Chinese “popular nationalism”43 towards foreigners and Christians. However, when it began to pose a threat to colonial interests, British Prime Minister Salisbury wrote that “Russia, not China, seems to me the greatest danger of the moment”. 44 Right from the beginning, then, there were two power struggles at work: on the one hand a few colonial‑type battles between the Boxers and foreign forces (June‑August 1900), and on the other a diplomatic clash involving, in various ways, Russia, Japan or even Great Britain and Germany, with long‑lasting consequences.

94 The military aspect of the Boxer Rebellion sheds light on diplomatic history via the battle locations, the numbers of soldiers involved and the losses sustained. The Boxers only became active in places where they did not come up against the Chinese administration, such as in part of Manchuria where they attacked the South Manchurian Railway. At this point the Russian army took complete control of the territory, without consulting the Western powers. The military issue became a diplomatic one because it came on top of what had already been perceived of the Russian expansion. On the other hand, when the siege and attack on the Beijing Legation Quarter began (20 June to 14 August 1900 in particular), after rail and telegraph communications between Dagu Fort, and the capital were cut, the problem once again became a military and diplomatic one. Troops had to be found, and with the Chinese state now involved, a peace treaty needed to be considered. The counter‑attack had to involve not only the colonial powers but also those—the United States and Japan—represented in Beijing.

95 Only two significant battles were fought during the march on Beijing. On 11 June a force of 2,000 men led by British Admiral Seymour, in accordance with traditional military norms, was driven back. On 14 July a multinational army ten times the size (8,000 Japanese, 5,000 Russians, 3,000 British and 2,500 Americans) took control of Tianjin. Its losses numbered 750 killed and wounded compared to 15,000 Boxers, representing a ratio of 1 to 20. Although the number of soldiers had risen considerably, the battles themselves were still of a colonial nature. Beijing was occupied without difficulty on 14 August and restoring peace became a priority. In the meantime, in July that year American Secretary Of State Hay sent a second note in support of the Open Door principle and demanding that China’s territorial integrity be respected.

96 The peace treaty (Boxer Protocol, 7 September 1901) represented the triumph of financial and commercial colonialism. The Chinese state was both confirmed and rendered completely dependent on the Western banks from which it borrowed money to pay the indemnities due to the colonising powers. The military guarantees included in the treaty were collective: guards in Beijing around the embassies and contingents sent by the eight great powers (United States, Japan and the six European nations) to protect the railway and telegraph lines around Tianjin. The “Japanese garrison”

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(Chūgoku chūtongun 中国駐屯軍 renamed Shina chūtongun 支那駐屯軍in 1913) was destined to be the largest, given the proximity of Japan.

97 The coalition’s inability to either mention or resolve the issue of Russia’s massive military presence in Manchuria was the Boxer Protocol’s main (negative) trait. It was the Russian (and not the Chinese) side of the Boxer episode that turned the Far Eastern question on its head, and this in three areas: 1) the role of land armies in addition to that of the navy; 2) Manchuria’s entry into the conflicts; 3) the unresolvable dispute between Russia and Japan.

The New Essential Element in Territorial Control: Ground Troops

98 A decisive change in the balance of power came about when on 23 June, followed by 3 and 5 July, the British government asked Japan to intervene against the Boxers. Japan and Russia were the only powers to possess massive, efficient armies in the area. Britain chose cooperation with Japan. In most cases colonisation in the nineteenth century had been carried out with minimal military means, with arms and professionalism making up for numbers.45 The colonial powers’ fear of the Boxer movement was not surprising. However, only “low‑military‑cost” colonialism was thwarted. Yet the help requested from Japan (one, then three divisions) seems disproportionate. Great Britain needed to take other threats into consideration: the Boer War in South Africa and the Russian expansion in the Far East. In China, the Japanese army was asked to occupy the province of Beijing in order to prevent the Russians from deploying troops there. The lesson learned from the Boxer Rebellion was clear: it was impossible to colonise a territory without also incorporating it into strategically coherent empires.

Towards a Crystallisation of the Divergences between Empires

99 The situation in Manchuria became inextricably complex. The occupation by the Russian army had no definite bounds set to its territorial expansion, duration and sovereign claims. Russia was intent on discussing these issues with China alone and disassociating its negotiations from those initiated by the colonial powers in Beijing. As if to better highlight this distinction, the Russian contingent broke away from the coalition army and fell back to Manchurian territory (25 August). Believing that this policy could lead to the establishment of a protectorate—a rumour was going around on this very subject—, the British government attempted to secure support from Germany (16 October) and the United States, then Japan. Nothing concrete resulted from these diplomatic arrangements in which commercial freedom in Manchuria was judged according to the political risks and advantages.

100 Japan was beginning to be recognised as a great military power. In London it was considered a key partner in stopping not the Chinese uprising but rather Russian expansion.

101 Contrary to what is generally believed,46 Japan responded only hesitantly to Britain’s requests, either due to financial constraints, to protect its relationship with the Chinese imperial court, or to avoid a confrontation with the Russians. When inordinately high numbers of reinforcements were requested (three divisions), General 寺内正毅 (1852‑1919)47 was sent from Tokyo to Tianjin to examine the situation. Japan refused, arguing that one single —the fifth—would

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suffice. However, the independence of Japan’s policy stemmed from its original perception of Manchuria. For Great Britain, the Manchurian issue could only be examined in relation to China: uniformly applied, the Open Door principle would apply a political brake on the Russian advance. For Japan, Manchuria was indissociable from the situation in Korea. Russian power and Japanese security were both military in nature. This ran contrary to the wishes of the British, who desired peace without militarisation. The Anglo‑Japanese Alliance (1902) was not born of a desire for power.

III. Russian Military Colonisation (1896‑1904)

102 The expression “military colonisation” could be a simple pleonasm, since any colonial conquest at its beginnings presupposes military superiority. It is subsequently only maintained if this superiority continues. Nevertheless, a particular type of military colony existed, of which Gibraltar, Malta and later were examples in the British Empire. Turned towards the future, instruments of battles to come, war remained their reason for being. Fortifications, port facilities, communications security and the stationing of substantial combat resources were all permanent features.

103 Russia’s military colonisation in the Far East was distinctive for being almost exclusively confined to Manchuria. Conversely, it was through the Russian presence that Manchuria developed an identity for the first time. Remember that this colonisation took place in three distinct phases, each bought about in short succession by specific circumstances: 1896 (Trans‑Manchurian Railway); 1898 (Port Arthur, Dalny and the South‑Manchurian Railway); 1900 (diffuse occupation against the Boxers).

104 A) For ease of presentation the rights granted by China will be distinguished from the infrastructure put in place by the Russians. Although the Trans‑Manchurian served as a model for several foreign railway lines in China from 1896, the privileges obtained by Russia remained unparalleled. From a technical point of view—track gauge and thus the particularities of the rolling stock, locomotives and wagons—the network created in Manchuria was initially simply a continuation of the Russian national rail network on Chinese territory. The same specificities were then applied to the South Manchurian Railway. Together the various lines (with the exception of the narrow‑gauge lines connecting to the coalmines) made it possible for trains to run continuously—without transferring—from the Transbaikal. Obviously the close proximity of the Russian and Chinese empires made such a unification possible. However, without political commitment, this fact alone would not have been enough. Another distinctive privilege was that the trains running on this network were authorised to transport Russian troops. This was the result of the “secret” alliance concluded against Japan by Li Hongzhang and Lobanov in Moscow.

105 Guarded by Russians—often from Siberia—and used without legal limits by the Russian army, the Chinese Eastern Railway was a fully integrated strategic instrument, despite the differing nationalities of the territories through which it passed. The speed with which the railways were built, particularly after obtaining the leased territory of Liaodong, and thus Port Arthur, highlights the high priority nature of military liaisons. The aim, from the west, was to reach via the Trans‑Manchurian Railway then to temporarily abandon the advance towards Vladivostok and quickly build the South Manchurian Railway. In this sense, Port Arthur became the terminal of the Trans‑Siberian. The Harbin‑Maritime Province section became an annex in 1903.48

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106 In the exercise of their port rights the Russians in principle had no special privileges other than the use of Port Arthur, which was designated a naval base devoid of any commercial function. On the other hand, the Liaodong territory was only granted for a period of twenty‑five years, from 1899 to 1923. Of the two treaty ports declared open in Manchuria before the Russians arrived, Dalny was included in the lease, while the other, , the larger of the two, located close to the estuary of the Liao River, had been occupied since the Boxer Rebellion.

107 Construction work focused on strengthening Port Arthur. Three great forts were erected on the landfront (Dongjiguan 東鶏冠, Erlong 二龍 and Songshu 松樹) and surrounded by batteries. It was against these defences that General Nogi would battle for several months in 1904. Their strength had remained unknown until then.

108 B) What overall judgement can be passed on this military colonisation? This question cannot be answered without taking into account the war experience. Yet if we move up to a certain level of generality we encounter predictions that drew on a number of constants. Fundamentally, Russia’s military colonisation aimed to create an infrastructure destined to receive combat resources (men, arms and ships) hailing from European Russia. With Russia recognised as a major military power, this image was projected onto its presence in Asia. Yet this strength could also be attenuated or even annihilated by the sheer enormity of the distance separating the two territories. The estimation of the military value attributed to Russia’s colonisation of the Far East depended largely on the transport capacity of the Trans‑Siberian—a single‑track railway over thousands of kilometres, not to mention the difficulty of bypassing Lake Baikal.49 It also depended on maritime navigation facilities, often overlooking the fact that the was entirely continental and had coal stations neither in Africa nor Southeast Asia. On the whole, when the Japanese attacked Port Arthur on 8 February 1904, Russia appeared to be stronger at sea than on land. Yet the war proved exactly the opposite. My aim here is not to provide an account of the various military operations but simply to point out the underestimation of the Trans‑Siberian and the overestimation of Port Arthur as a naval base. Following the construction of a second track at some of the major stations, the number of trains reaching the Far East rose from eight to fourteen per day. The Russian army swelled and became increasingly well‑equipped during the first year of fighting. Conversely, by late May 1905, after the Battle of Tsushima, the Russian navy had ceased to exist.

109 Among the causes of this disaster were the poorly understood shortcomings of Port Arthur. A distinction must be made between the strength of the fortress (seafront and landfront) and the fragile nature of the shelter it was supposed to provide Russia’s main Pacific squadron (seven battleships and one armoured cruiser). In this case, figures describe the situation most eloquently. Paralysed by a lack of resolve, as well as the extremely narrow passage that led out to the Yellow Sea, five of the seven battleships remained stuck at the base from 11 August 1904. In late December, all were sunk in shallow water by Japanese land artillery. Port Arthur had been chosen over Vladivostok in order to avoid the winter ice. In fact it became the graveyard of the Russian fleet.

110 C) The railways and ports were created or reinforced for military purposes. However, once in place this infrastructure could also be used for economic development. Nevertheless, given Manchuria’s dispersed population it only offered transport facilities for a small number of Chinese immigrants, either seasonal or permanent, and

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modest quantities of agricultural production. The relationship between military preparations and economic action was very different from what it became in 1931 when Japanese colonisation transformed Manchuria into Manchukuo, an industrial base for the army stationed there (Kantō gun 関東軍, the ).

111 The fact that between 1902 and 1904, the existing means for transporting men and merchandise could only be used by Chinese society did not deter the Russian colonial administration from adopting a voluntarist plan to organise a new trade geography. This was to be refocused on the port of Dalny and the South Manchurian Railway as far as Mukden and then Harbin. The aim was to marginalise the main port at Yingkou— subject to winter ice—and inland navigation on the Liao River.

112 The Russo‑Japanese War prevented this project from achieving any tangible results. However, no sooner had the been signed (September 1905) than the project was resumed by Gotō Shinpei 後藤新平 (1857‑1929) in 1906,50 in a Manchuria that was militarily neutralised but economically a source of conflict.

IV. Japan’s Security Policy Dilemmas (1894‑1905)

113 Of the three empires that made up Northeast Asia at the turn of the twentieth century —China and Russia for a small section of their vast territories, and Japan for the entirety of the archipelago—only the latter, the least powerful of the three, initiated a war with both of its great neighbours in turn. The Japanese central government was not blind to the dangers of such endeavours (the Sino‑Japanese War in 1894‑95 and the Russo‑Japanese War in 1904‑1905). However, it confronted these risks precisely in the name of security, seeing the wars as linked to its survival. The problem here stemmed from the way Japan viewed the context.

Security through War

114 Since the beginning of the Meiji era, when preparing their plans, Japan’s military leaders had been in the habit of citing their potential enemies in descending order using the term “hypothetical enemies” (sōtei tekikoku 想定敵国). Russia featured permanently on the list, most often alone. It was followed, then overtaken, by China, which subsequently disappeared from the list after the Treaty of Shimonoseki. Even during the decades of intense colonisation, from 1880 to 1900, there was never mention of any Western powers. Japan’s fears were not based on passing feelings but rather on two objective facts: predictable power on the one hand and geographic proximity on the other. Only Russia and China combined both of these features. Japan appears to have quickly acquired the ability to distinguish between temporary neighbours (for the example the English at Port Hamilton in 1885) and territorial acquisitions that from the outset aimed to be permanent. Lying in close proximity to one another, and devising their policies according to their neighbours, the three powers were nonetheless obliged to adapt to local particularities: in Manchuria for China and Russia, in Korea for Japan. Korea introduced a difference, hence the appearance of a contrast. In the case of China between 1880 and 1894, and Russia between 1896 and 1904, military colonisation does not seem to have inspired a desire for war. For Japan, on the contrary, the wars were not preceded by military colonisation. Could this be because the political instability of

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Korea did not allow it? Or because the Japanese perception of danger in the face of nations as vast as China and Russia led to a different type of reaction?

Korea as “Defensive Wall”

115 In Manchuria, the two continental powers took advantage of extended periods of peace to set up their defence systems. They found it hard to believe that Japan might one day attack them, hence a certain dose of cynicism, a lack of judgement and chaotic military preparations.

116 Japan’s policy in Korea was constantly guided by a sense of legitimate defence, not against the Koreans but rather the Russians or the Chinese. According to a famous memorandum51 written in 1890 by Yamagata Aritomo, 52 Japan’s survival depended on being surrounded by two lines of defence: one, known as the “line of sovereignty” (shuken sen 主権線), was in accordance with international law; the other, translated as the “line of advantage” (rieki sen 利益線), represented an “outer” security perimeter. While translating rieki as “interest” or “advantage” is correct, it nonetheless alters the expression’s meaning. Yamagata himself stipulated that it referred to “the area where the armed forces of adjacent countries could threaten the safety of the line of sovereignty”, in other words the existence of Japan. This outer perimeter was placed at Korea’s borders with the continental powers. The question remained of what status should be given to the kingdom of Korea. This view of Korea did not lead in principle to its colonisation but to it being used as a means of defence. It nonetheless had major geopolitical consequences.

117 This argument was based on the following premise: that the defensive value of Japan’s insularity was insufficient around and thus ruled out a purely maritime defence. Two solutions presented themselves: one involved war and the sending of an army to the continent; the other drew on peaceful means involving the neutralisation of Korea based on the idealised Swiss model.

118 In order to form an efficient wall, the Japanese expeditionary corps needed to be deployed beyond Seoul, in the faraway Northeast, which was accessible mainly by sea. The fragility of communication lines once again underlined the insular nature of Japan. In the Korea Strait the Japanese fleet appeared insufficient; in the Yellow Sea it became essential. It first needed to prove its superiority, but how was this to be done if not through acts of war? Building a “wall” in Korea meant initiating conflict. With both land and sea communications at their disposal, China and Russia could base their colonisation on static investments in ports and railways. Japan was forced to seek security in operational plans in which war was virtually inescapable. Note that the conflicts in both 1894 and 1904 began with naval attacks.

V. The Russo‑Japanese War (1901)—1904‑1905

119 Wars are not indistinguishable interludes in history. Each one can be seen as containing a variety of aspects, even though the Russo‑Japanese War is considered to have had one single decisive cause.

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Original Features of the Russo‑Japanese Conflict

120 In addition to its clear technological modernity resulting as much from the number of soldiers involved as from the fire power produced, three aspects set this war apart: moderation in terms of the alliances, international financing, and strategic precision. Together these factors created a conflict that, while local, was both closely controlled and carefully prepared by the Japanese.

The Alliances

121 Although each of the belligerents had allies, the war itself remained isolated. In this it differed categorically from the First World War, where the number of participating countries grew constantly, almost mechanically, according to or independently of pre‑existing alliances.

122 On the contrary, the Russo‑Japanese War was limited to a duel behind closed doors and requires a concrete understanding of the role played by the Anglo‑Japanese Alliance of January 1902. This war fascinated the world, yet did not significantly change it. Two months after the attack on Port Arthur the Entente Cordiale was signed, in Europe and in their respective colonial empires, by England, which was allied to Japan, and France, which was allied to Russia (8 April 1904). The Anglo‑Japanese Alliance was neither offensive nor defensive, but simply conditional. It applied only if the allied state came into conflict with at least two belligerent powers. Otherwise it merely obliged its signatories to remain neutral. The main issue was not the instigation of war but rather its potential spreading, which was to be prevented by diplomatic means.53 No sooner had the alliance been concluded than the British admiralty withdrew part of its forces from the East China Sea and dispensed with constructing new port facilities, relying instead on Japanese bases.

123 From the British point of view the alliance was thus oriented towards a policy of peace. The reason the British government committed itself to a military obligation in Asia alone, despite its traditional stance, was that it believed that the legally binding situation to which it was exposed would never come to pass. The fact that the Anglo‑Japanese Alliance had been officially announced was intended to nip any potential extension of war in the bud. Given that the Franco‑Russian Alliance applied only to relations with Germany, France’s neutrality in the Far East was predictable. Britain’s neutrality provided extra legitimacy.

124 On the other hand, although Japan was obliged to face Russia alone, this isolation was not without its advantages.54 It spared Japan from having to share the spoils of war— control of Korea being the main one—with its allies. Japan’s leaders quickly understood that the only way they could rule Korea was to negotiate an agreement with Russia—a rival, admittedly, but also a military power—either before or after a war.55

125 The “neutralities” surrounding the two warring states covered all of “colonially useful” China. Yet, the Franco‑Russian and Anglo‑Japanese alliances did not disappear. They remained, excluding all armed intervention.

126 When the probability of war increased rapidly at the end of 1903, the British position consisted in making its neutrality clear and providing Japan with services of a non‑compromising nature.56 This was made possible by the international market in warships. Two small battleships commissioned from English shipyards by Chile and

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two armoured cruisers built for the Argentine government in Genoa, Italy were up for sale. The British admiralty purchased the battleships to prevent them from falling into Russian hands but refused to sell them on to Japan. On the other hand, Japan obtained the two cruisers through British brokers. They left for Asia in January 1904 with an Italian crew commanded by British officers.

127 With a state of war having been in place for several months, France was obliged to provide shelter to the Russian Baltic Fleet in the ports of its colonial empire (Africa, , Indochina). Moreover, it would have been impossible for the Russian fleet to make the voyage without refuelling with coal, something which the German commercial fleet agreed to provide.

International Financing

128 The economic dimension of the Russo‑Japanese War appears neither in its causes nor in its objectives. It was decisive for its means, providing yet further proof of the modern nature of this war. It prefigured the dependence of France and Britain—the Entente—on American banks, which as of 1914 were authorised to “make funds available to foreign governments to settle their commercial debts”.57

129 Infinitely poorer in terms of industrial production and capital, Japan found itself confronted, just like these other great economic powers, with military overconsumption. The Japanese navy controlled communications; it had no difficulty, other than financial, in importing the necessary goods. It was vital that it borrow money in order to avoid stifling the armies.

130 Victories were achieved and Japan increasingly inspired confidence. However, the number of agreements concluded with banking groups flourished and the sums requested soared as needs grew considerably: –ten million pounds sterling in May 1904; –twelve million in November 1904, the tenth month of war; –thirty million in April 1905, the fourteenth month of war; –thirty million in July 1905, one month from peace.58

131 Admittedly the interest rate granted to Japan dropped during this period from 6% to 4.5%. All of the negotiations, held in London and New York, were entrusted to one single expert, 高橋是清 (1854‑1936).59

132 The technical aspect of these financial arrangements is to their history what in the art of war, tactics are to strategy. What merits examination here is the connection with , hence the following question: who lent money to Japan and why?

133 Recognising that without these loans Japan could neither have continued the war nor even started it is to state the obvious. But this does not really answer the question.

134 The banks were mainly British, as were half of the funds lent.60 However, given that the capital market is free and international, and that banks can be neutral, the financial and political motivations are impossible to guess.

135 On this subject American banks are more explicit. In the United States in 1900, the ethnic groups of European origin remained intact beyond the period of immigration. This particularity occasionally coloured their perception of international events.61 The support provided to Japan by KUHN, LOEB & CA is said to have stemmed from this bank’s hostility to Russian nationalism. Founded by German immigrants, it had been presided

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over by Jacob Schiff (1847‑1920) since 1885. During a trip to Japan in 1906, Schiff was invited to an audience with where he was thanked and decorated.62

The Strategies: Plans and Realities

136 The risk in this war was greater for Japan than for Russia because it was inversely proportional to the distance separating the powers from the central triangle of fighting: Port Arthur, Mukden and Tsushima. Japan’s military leaders gave intense thought to their future operations, well before the central government had definitively chosen to go to war. The experience gained in 1894 served the Japanese well, for it revealed certain geostrategic constants: at sea, a need to control communications from the start; on land, a need to face a battle of movement due to the overabundance of space in Manchuria.

137 Japan’s armies consisted of small expeditionary corps grouped together on national territory and then transported by sea.63 They landed at a given point on the Korean or Manchurian coasts in order to reach the theatre of operations as quickly as possible and avoid a potential encounter with the Russian fleet. These operations lasted several months. The four armies sent to battle landed in Korea Bay. One of them, the , gathered east of the Yalu River. The three others were left on the eastern coast of the Liaodong Peninsula between April and June. The occupied the Russian commercial port of Dalny on 30 May. It was here that General 乃木希典 (1849‑1912), heading the Third Army, landed on 8 June 1904 to begin the siege of Port Arthur. These actions supposed a “command” of the sea.

138 Against the Chinese fleet in 1894, the Japanese admiralty feared the two battleships purchased in Germany. In 1904, the quality of Japan’s ships equalled or outclassed that of its enemies. But the question remained of their quantity. In the domain of naval forces a kind of forecast accounting existed—in Northeast Asia, Europe (the North Sea and the Mediterranean) and in South America—which influenced if not the decision to go to war, at the very least the moment chosen to do so and the strategy adopted. With its 6‑6 formation (battleships and armoured cruisers), turned 6‑8 with the last‑minute purchase of the Kasuga and the Nisshin in Italy, Japan possessed a static force. The official state of war prevented it from making further acquisitions and its own shipyards could provide no new constructions of higher category ships. Yet Japan had to face the Russian squadrons from Port Arthur and Vladivostok, and above all the ships built in Saint Petersburg, a potential total of thirteen modern battleships.

139 Just as it was vital for the Russians to bring together their squadrons, it was imperative that the Japanese fleet fight them separately. In principle this did not seem impossible given the enormous distances separating the Russian forces from one another. On the other hand the Japanese fleet, never far from its bases, was able to divide and reassemble at will according to the action undertaken.

140 Right from the beginning of the war Japan’s military leaders knew that at sea the battle would have to involve several phases. Firstly, contradictory requirements needed to be accommodated: protecting the expeditionary forces as they landed; destroying the Russian squadron at Port Arthur; avoiding high risk battles; keeping the fleet intact for a later stage, all the while asking it to destroy the enemy. Japanese strategists believed that such a result could be achieved simply by transforming the harbour at Port Arthur into a closed lake, by laying mines and scuttling old cargo ships in the narrows. Next,

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the seven Russian battleships trapped inside could be damaged through repeated bombing using indirect fire (kansetsu shageki 間接射撃). This strategy of attrition warfare was based on known facts: the narrowness of the entrance for large ships and the vulnerability of the harbour despite the coastal batteries. The first months of the war seemed to confirm the strategy’s validity, partly due to Russia’s passive naval command which gave up trying to prevent the Japanese landings, and partly due to the failure of the only sortie made by an enemy battleship. Captained by Admiral Makaroff (1848‑1904), the ship in question sank on 13 April 1904 after hitting a mine.

141 The limits of this war of attrition, which was not without risk, subsequently became apparent. On 15 May two of Japan’s six battleships sank after striking mines laid by a Russian ship. The Japanese fleet deemed it wise to relax their bombings of the harbour where six Russian battleships lay damaged. If they were to leave, Japan would still wish to drive them back, but at the least possible cost. The aim was to destroy them, particularly given the upcoming departure of Russia’s Baltic squadron.

142 The annihilation of the Chinese fleet at Weihaiwei in Shandong on 12 February 1895 could serve as a model. At Port Arthur it was thus decided to entrust General Nogi with the task of conquering the fortress and attacking the ships in the harbour. However, the operations were not given a clear order of priority. These two tasks could be carried out in a different order according to the tactic chosen. Having decided to seize the fortress, Nogi carried out frontal assaults against the line of great forts. In retrospect, experts believe this would have been the right decision had success been achieved rapidly. In fact it was a repeated failure from August to November 1904.

143 A complete change of tactic then came about. By abandoning the base itself and concentrating on a less‑fortified sector, Japan simply needed to seize control of “203‑Metre Hill”, which dominated the harbour and made it possible to sink the ships within it.64 By 6 December the Japanese artillery was in place. Russia’s Far‑Eastern fleet was destroyed just as reinforcements sent from the Baltic neared Madagascar. The cost of the siege on the Japanese side was 60,000 dead and wounded.

The Decision to go to War

144 The Russo‑Japanese War can be explained by a growing imbalance (beginning in 1901) between Russia’s military presence in Manchuria and Japan’s recognised political position in Korea. These were de facto situations resulting from a variety of events. On the other hand, it had been tacitly accepted since the 1898 Far Eastern crisis that a certain balance must be respected, in the area formed by Manchuria and Korea, between the influence of Japan and Russia, two “rising” powers.

145 Inoue Kaoru and Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文 (1841‑1909) had invented the expression Mankan kōkan 満韓交換, “the exchange of Manchuria for Korea”, suggesting a process of peaceful coexistence. The Nishi‑Rosen Agreement,65 concluded on 25 April 1898, was to be based on a mutual renunciation. However, Russia only recognised Japan’s priority in economic matters in Korea, a politically neutral country, whereas in Liaodong Russia benefitted from the transfer of sovereign rights. Three years later, Japan requested that the balance of this “exchange” be re‑adjusted.

146 In 1901 Japan began to submit proposals to the Russian government for examination. To begin with this took the form of semi‑official action during a visit by Itō Hirobumi to Saint Petersburg on 2 and 4 December. Later came increasingly insistent notes whose

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tone became threatening. Sent on 12 August, 30 October and 21 December 1903 (the latter was verbal), they received slow responses from the Tsar’s government (31 October and 11 December 1903, and 6 January 1904). A final proposal was submitted by Japan on 13 January 1904, accompanied by a demand for a quick reply. When this was not forthcoming, Japanese decision‑makers unanimously considered war inevitable. This decision was made official on 4 February during an “Imperial Conference” (gozen kaigi 御前会議). Japan moved into the attack during the night of 8 February at Port Arthur.

147 Japan suggested two policies to restore the balance of power: the withdrawal of Russian troops from Manchuria or, more in‑line with the principle of exchange, recognition by Russia of Japan’s military hold on Korea.

148 The former, which depended on a reduction in Russia’s military colonisation, fit in better with British conceptions. It initially seemed to yield results when in April 1902 Russia promised to evacuate Manchuria completely, enabling Chinese rule to be restored in three stages (September 1902, then April and September 1903). For Japan, this policy removed the extremely high risk of going to war with Russia. However, it was not an ideal solution: it left the question of Korea unresolved and made Japanese security dependent on Russian good will. Russia’s refusal to carry out the second phase of the evacuation only confirmed the doubts of those in Japan who had no faith in Russia (April 1903).

149 Having been suspended for one year, direct negotiations resumed between Tokyo and Saint Petersburg. This time around the question of war or peace figured implicitly, although cloaked in diplomatic language. Furthermore, although the call to respect “China’s territorial integrity” (in other words Manchuria) was renewed, the evacuation of the Russian army was no longer the main issue. Japan’s military position in Korea made all the difference between potential peace and inevitable war. But can we identify the reason for Russia’s refusal to exchange Manchuria for Korea?

150 The subject was broached in December 1901 during a series of meetings between Itō Hirobumi (speaking in English) and the Tsar’s minister of foreign affairs, Vladimir Lamsdorf.66 Lamsdorf is reported to have made the following statements: If we delegated Korean affairs exclusively to Japan and accepted even her right to send troops there, we should naturally require some guarantee that Japan did not turn Korea to her strategic advantage… […] If Japan were to construct bases on the Korean littoral, this would threaten communications between Vladivostok and Port Arthur and, for reasons of self‑defence, Russia could not look on disinterested67.

151 This issue resurfaced on 30 October 1903 when Komura Jutarō 小村壽太郎 (1855‑1911), in his request that Japan be given a free hand in Korea, promised Russia that no coastal fortification would threaten its fleet between the Yellow Sea and the Sea of Japan.

152 Given that Korea could not serve simultaneously as a rampart for Japan and a neutralised guardian of the straits for Russia, it found itself embroiled in two contradictory security policies. Henceforth, in order to guess what Russia’s territorial demands would be, Japanese leaders considered only the internal geographical coherence of military colonisations. That of Russia in the Far East depended on railway lines to the west, and to the east, on the coastal periphery of the Korean Peninsula, on an indispensable sea line of communication. In such circumstances, with compromise seemingly impossible, only war could decide how the space be utilised.

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153 However, the question remained of when to attack. Dependent on the navy (and thus Admiral Yamamoto Gonnohyōe 山本権兵衛) due to the nature of the operations planned, the date chosen had to be late enough for the two armoured cruisers purchased in Italy (the Kasuga and the Nisshin) to reach Japanese waters,68 and soon enough to dispose of at least six months before the Russian battleships under construction entered service.69

The End of the War (1 June–5 September 1905)

154 During the first four months of 1905, Japan seemed to conclude the war through a series of spectacular victories.

155 Port Arthur fell on 1 January. The besieging troops were sent to join the other Japanese armies on the Manchurian front, south of Mukden. The combined force (totalling 250,000 men against 376,000)70 tried in vain to surround the Russian army corps.71 This battle (from 19 February to 10 March) was the last to be waged on land during the Russo‑Japanese War. It was the only battle of this scale to be fought in Manchuria. On 27 and 28 May the Russian fleet, which had arrived from the Baltic, was sunk or forced to surrender. There were no further major operations apart from the complete occupation of Sakhalin.

156 Immediately after Tsushima the President of the United States offered to act as mediator and initiate negotiations.

157 In fact, this initiative secretly emanated from the Japanese side. The request was relayed by the ambassador in Washington on 1 June. In Tokyo, the American offer was officially accepted on 10 June. In Saint Petersburg the Tsar gave his consent on 12 June. Public opinion in Japan, left in the dark as to the actual turn of events, was convinced it was the Russians who had sued for peace.

158 Victorious and keen to put an end to the conflict, the attitude of Japan’s leaders can only be explained by their reflection on the evolution of the war.

The Military Situation

159 Neither of the two powers could rationally hope for a complete victory. Russia’s sheer size gave it certain invulnerability. This particularity was known to Japanese leaders before they entered into war. But after destroying the Russian squadrons, Japan enjoyed an equivalent invulnerability. The Japanese navy had come to rule the surrounding seas. The only perspective left in this war was thus territorial conquest (or in Russia’s case, recapture). Japan’s greatest victory was to have succeeded in making itself invulnerable. After the Battle of Tsushima a kind of mutual sense of security surrounded all subsequent battles, which could then only be fought on land, and in principle in Manchuria.

160 Could new campaigns in Manchuria be imagined? The answer to this question must be considered separately from the Japanese and Russian sides.

161 For Japan, the “war map”, in other words the result of the initial conquests, was satisfactory. Korea and South Manchuria were both under Japanese control. The most important thing for military leaders now was to build railways for military use; those left by the Russians were unusable due to a lack of suitable rolling stock.

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162 If fighting recommenced, the future might be significantly gloomier. The Manchurian army would have to choose between a static war and a war of movement, with the objective being to capture Harbin and sever the Trans‑Manchurian Railway. The necessity of making this tactical decision prefigured France’s military situation from 1914 to 1918.

163 Japan’s generals rejected this future and wanted to begin peace negotiations immediately. This decision stemmed from concrete observations. Japan did not possess the industrial and financial means necessary for a protracted war. The Japanese army had suffered a shortage of munitions during several battles and had never managed to achieve a decisive victory. Russia’s power continued to grow: new reinforcements had been sent from Europe. In both cases time worked against Japan in Manchuria. It was wise to put an end to the war. It is not surprising that Russia’s generals were of the opposite opinion. Immediately after losing Mukden, Linievitch (1838‑1909), who had recently been made commander‑in‑chief, suggested launching a counter‑offensive.

164 His predecessor Kuropatkin (1848‑1925) believed that never before had Russia succeeded in creating armies as “strong as those in Manchuria”. These generals attempted to dissuade the Tsar from negotiating. Yet the order to take up arms again never came. Russia adopted a middle road. Through the declaration of its representative (1849‑1915) during negotiations for the Treaty of Portsmouth (, United States), Russia set down the principle that in this war “there was no winner and thus no loser”.72 Japan may have won battles but it had not won the war. Russia in turn may have been capable of scoring victories on land, but after Tsushima it could no longer win the war. Returning to peace was easier when it was a question of dividing up territories and rights. However, negotiations were complex in that land and rights can also symbolise victory.

Negotiations

165 Strictly speaking, these were limited to a period of less than one month (from 10 August to 5 September 1905). The process was extremely simple. The Japanese delegates, led by the minister of foreign affairs Komura Jutarō, presented the Russians with their demands. The Russians in turn either accepted or rejected them, until they were presented with other, more limited, demands. The same process was repeated several times. Japan took the attitude of a victor, but it had no means of forcing Russia’s hand. The Japanese delegation still had the option of breaking off negotiations, but this could not have led to renewed fighting, which the government and military authorities in Japan rejected. Breaking off the negotiations would not have removed the obligation to keep troops mobilised.

166 A comparison of Japan’s demands and Russia’s rejections provides insight into the key points of their respective security policies. The demands were drawn up by various Japanese departments, right from the beginning of hostilities. They can be grouped into three categories:

167 a) The least disputed category related to Korea and the southern part of Manchuria. With its army already occupying these areas, Russian recognition merely gave Japan extra legitimacy. The Treaty of Portsmouth took away neither Korean independence nor China’s territorial integrity. Even after Russian troops had withdrawn, Japanese action could only take place within the context of agreements concluded with neutral

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colonial powers in the region, such as Britain and the United States. This was clearly illustrated by the Taft‑Katsura Agreement (kyōtei 協定), concluded on 29 July 1905, which involved Korea and the Philippines in the form of an exchange.

168 b) The most debatable category pertained to the payment of a “war indemnity” to Japan and the awarding of Sakhalin Island. It was known that Nicholas II refused to make any concessions on these two subjects. Although they were secondary on the list of demands, their symbolic value meant that they were a stumbling block in the negotiations.

169 c) A third category consisted of various articles. The aim was less to award Japan further rights than to reduce those retained by Russia. There was a military objective: to restrict Vladivostok and the Trans‑Manchurian to a commercial activity and place a limit on Russia’s naval forces.

170 Just as peace negotiations were on the brink of collapse, Nicholas II agreed to cede the south of Sakhalin (south of the 50th parallel). The anxious Japanese government saw this as a miracle and immediately ordered Komura to accept. The peace deal was signed. Japan’s military had helped achieve a rapid peace.

171 Japan obtained a dominant position in Korea but had to coexist in Manchuria along with Russia, China and American finance.

Appeasement and Cohabitation, the New Colonial Manchuria

172 More than the end of a major modern war, the peace signed on 5 September 1905 signalled a change of era in the history of East Asia. China “proper” remained faithful to its system of colonisation, which managed to absorb the impact, without great change, of the 1898 crises (Jiaozhou and Port Arthur) and the Boxer Rebellion of 1900. The Open Door principle served as the dominant ideology. With the Russo‑Japanese War forgotten, the United States and Great Britain hoped to see Manchuria and Korea readily integrated into an area uniformly subject to the practices of commercial imperialism. Their hopes were bound to be dashed.

173 In fact, although the return to peace was followed in 1906‑1907 by gradual signs of a coexistence between Japanese, Russians and Chinese, this had a strong political and diplomatic foundation with clearly defined reserved domains: the driving force behind this situation was a cohabitation between states and not a modus vivendi between colonists. Colonial policies remained the exclusive domain of the government and did not amount to a sum of private interests. In the empires in question, this stabilisation then subsequent decline in military colonisations did not loosen the stranglehold of the state. It was this convergence between pacification and state control that set this new era in Northeast Asia apart.

174 Following a decade of war and conflict, the views of the three neighbouring empires presented similarities. Without exception—military, economic or demographic—, all consisted of long‑term projects which appeared to depend on lasting peace. And this outcome was truly possible, although still in an armed form. By rejecting the idealisation of the Open Door principle and making the strengthening of their sovereignty in Manchuria a priority, the Northeast Asian powers were simultaneously driven to reconcile political rivalries with cooperation. Manchuria became an exercise in cohabitation.

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175 In order to be effective, this change in policy could only be envisaged after (or simultaneously with) the withdrawal of the Japanese and Russian armies. The period immediately following the Treaty of Portsmouth must therefore be examined.

The Immediate Post‑War Period (September 1905‑summer 1906)

176 This took the form of an unarmed confrontation between the two former belligerents, leaving the prospect of a return to arms—either feared or desired—hanging in the balance for several months. In the short‑term these created strategic concerns for military chiefs, and in Japan’s case related to its status in Korea.

Strategy

177 According to military leaders on both sides, the most important issue was not to increase the number of soldiers but to rapidly and safely move those already mobilised. More than ever before, the railways were decisive. Existing lines needed to be repaired and extended. Others were awaiting completion. For the Russians, it appeared wise to continue building the Trans‑Siberian alongside the Amur River, as initially planned. For the Japanese it appeared vital to link the rail networks of Korea and Manchuria so as to create an unbroken line, with a normal volume of traffic, from Pusan to Mukden (via Andong, Seoul then Ŭiju 義州 on the Yalu River/Amnokkang), known in Japanese as the “Hō‑Fu route”.73

178 The importance attached to the Andong‑Mukden line74 generated two conflicts: one overseas, with China, which saw the line as an attack on its sovereignty; and another between Japanese military and civil authorities, because the latter wanted to make the South Manchurian Railway from Dairen to the main thrust of their colonial policy. Japanese generals did not desire war. However, it could be in their interest to prolong preparations for one in order to retain control of the occupied territories.

In Korea

179 As in 1894, the Japanese army occupied Korea in February 1904 in order to use it as an operational base. However, unlike on the previous occasion,75 the Japanese government now had a precise plan for the future status of Korea. Its aim was to impose a protectorate, recognised by international law, rather than to make Korea a rampart or buffer state as originally planned. As proven in the West by the Moroccan Crisis of 1905, a state, whether archaic or modern in appearance, only becomes a protectorate with the consent of the great powers and the withdrawal of their embassies from the capital of the “protected” country. On 17 November 1905, the Korean monarch signed, or is said to have signed, a treaty agreeing to make Korea a protectorate under Japanese control. Peter Duus writes that it is unclear exactly what transpired that day at the Imperial Palace in Seoul (coercion, confinements, cheating?).76 However, the success of the protectorate resulted above all from the agreements concluded on 12 August 1905, during the renewal of the Anglo‑Japanese Alliance, and on 27 July, following a conversation between William H. Taft (1857‑1930), the American Governor of the Philippines, and Katsura Tarō 桂太郎 (1848‑1913), the Japanese Prime Minister (the “secret agreement” or “memorandum”, himitsu no oboegaki 秘密の覚え書き).77 Japan

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had no means to force Great Britain and the United States to close their respective embassies in Seoul, yet these closures were promised. In exchange for what?

180 For very little in the case of Great Britain. The British admiralty wanted above all to repatriate its squadrons to European waters. London agreed to abandon Korea without difficulty.78

181 With the United States the issue had the potential to be much more complex.79 In fact, what Taft offered Japan was merely a mutual agreement of military non‑intervention, of America in Korea and Japan in the Philippines, where a violent colonial conquest had been underway since the end of the Spanish‑American War80 (December 1898, Treaty of Paris). The clash between the American army (whose numbers had reached 126,000 men)81 and the independence movement of Emiliano Aguinaldo was extreme. The contrast between the number of victims on both sides—4200 Americans and 230,000 Filipinos, a ratio of 1 to 50—is characteristic of a colonial conflict. Pierre Chaunu explains the American combat methods by their previous experiments on home ground against Indian tribes and, among others, as “techniques for exterminating the pioneer fringe”.82

182 This situation was known in Japan, in particular among “Asianist” activists (Asia shugi アジア主義 in Japanese). In 1899 they had attempted to send a ship, the Nunobikimaru 布引丸,83 to the Philippines loaded with weapons and ammunition and carrying a few Japanese. It sank during a storm in the East China Sea after leaving . No further action of any kind was taken. In order to preserve the balance of power in the Far East this intervention was voluntarily forgotten, since the Japanese government had sided with the United States. Five years later, it was based on converging military interests that the Taft‑Katsura Agreement was concluded. In the western Pacific Ocean the Philippines continued to represent the terminal point of American military colonisation.

In Manchuria

183 In the southern part of Manchuria captured from the Russians and in which it continued to control and administer the Chinese population, Japan was far from achieving as decisive a political consolidation as that in Korea.

184 First it had to reckon with the pressure of private colonial interests, aside from any state action.

185 From February to April 1906, demands hailing from advocates of the Open Door principle multiplied. As early as October 1905 the Japanese had received an offer from the American rail magnate Harriman,84 who wished to purchase the Japanese part of the South Manchurian in order to incorporate it, using private capital, into a global transportation network (Europe, Russia and Siberia).

186 Then China, which had been particularly hostile to Russia for several years, became critical once again. With its sovereignty in Manchuria recognised, the Treaty of Portsmouth stipulated that the planned transfer of Russian rights would be conditioned by China’s consent. Hence the need for a supplementary Sino‑Japanese treaty (Manshū ni kansuru nisshin jōyaku 満洲ニ關スル日清条約). However, the differing conceptions of this Chinese sovereignty created a problem: seen as merely nominal by the Japanese negotiator Komura Jutarō, for the Beijing government it was a source of real power. The planned reconstruction of the

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Andong‑Mukden line aggravated the dispute. The treaty, signed on 22 December 1905, was seen as an offensive move by the Japanese.

187 On the whole, Japan’s diplomatic situation was deteriorating. Haunted by the memory of 1895, Japan feared isolation, if not a coalition between Russia, China and the United States. It seemed preferable to invent a new type of colonisation, neither overly military nor overly trade‑oriented, and, in association with Russia, to withdraw the great armies deployed in time of war.

Manchuria, an Active Participant in History

188 Japan was not in danger of financial ruin in 1906. It could easily find loans in Europe. Technological information circulated freely at the time. With the funds raised, Japan could purchase the necessary material to re‑equip Manchuria’s railways. There was no economic threat on the horizon. However, diplomatic isolation could present a real danger, or even herald a coalition. With the international problem seen as a power struggle, Japan needed to safeguard its rights. This led the Japanese to seek a style of government during a period of prolonged peace that involved neither international liberalism nor simple military colonisation, which had become politically counterproductive. Itō Hirobumi in Tokyo, as the first of the genrō, and Gotō Shinpei in Manchuria, bolstered by his knowledge of colonial issues, were the architects of Japan’s change of policy in the spring of 1906.

189 Following their temporary occupation of Manchuria, the evacuation by the Russian and Japanese armies, decided in the spring of 1906, only took place in the summer of that year, almost one year after the peace treaty of Portsmouth. For the first time, China saw the entire Manchuria issue as holding potential. Its central government had perfectly understood that in order to resist Russian and Japanese colonisations —which were rivals but could potentially be combined— it was vital that China intensify both the immigration of farmers from Shandong or Chihli and the construction of an autonomous rail network. The Tianjin 天津 —Shanhai‑guan 山海関— Ximintun 西民屯 line could provide the starting point. The desired goal was a sinicization of Manchuria recognised by international authorities and founded on social and material factors (population settlement, infrastructure, economic growth) capable of making the result irreversible. All of the reforms undertaken in the northeast were done so with this struggle in mind.

190 The reform most influenced by this state voluntarism was the dividing of Manchuria into three provinces in April 1907: Fengtian 奉天省 (i.e. Mukden) in the south, Jilin 吉 林省 in the centre and Heilongjiang 黒龍江省 (the Amur River) in the north. Political unity under a governor‑general was maintained. The boundaries were official and disregarded those—unofficial but real—separating the Russian and Japanese interests. Throughout the region the right to own and commercialise land, in addition to the creation of schools, encouraged the settling of Chinese immigrants, on whom Manchuria’s dynamism depended.

191 With birth and death rates relatively unchanged, it is more meaningful to use orders of magnitude to measure this settler colonisation rather than precise figures, which vary too much according to the source. In the decade following the opening up of Manchuria, the population of the central and northern provinces doubled: from three to six million, and from one to two million respectively. In Fengtian, on the other

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hand, the increase was limited to 20 per cent at most (from ten to twelve million approximately). According to Ishiwara Kanji, Manchuria was colonised by Chinese settlers who lacked ancestral roots in the region. The same could be said for Hokkaidō in Japan and the entire American West. Without the Russo‑Japanese conflict and the absence of an outright victor, China’s sovereignty over an almost unpopulated region could not have been maintained and this belated mass immigration would have been impossible.

192 China’s desire for a future in Manchuria was matched by a similarly forward‑looking policy developed by the Japanese and based on the same desire to remain in Manchuria. The main characteristics of this policy are easy to present because it was essentially the brainchild of innovative colonial administrator Gotō Shinpei, and because it was embodied by one single institution: the Company (Minami Manshū tetsudō kabushiki gaisha 南満州鉄道株式会社), better known by the abbreviation “Mantetsu”. Tightly controlled by the state and having achieved an impressive level of success within one year (instead of the planned three), it was officially created in February 1907 and Gotō85 appointed president. Modelled on the East India Company (dissolved in 1858), it combined state capitalism (Japan as sole owner of the infrastructure and rolling stock) and an openness to the market. Half of the financing was obtained through the sale of shares, from which the Chinese were excluded. All of Japan’s major banks were called upon. Profits were expected from the commercial running of the railway. The president and vice‑president were appointed by the government and accountable to it alone.

193 The other original feature of Mantetsu was its responsibility for running and overseeing all aspects of Japan’s colonisation of Manchuria, with the exception of military activities. These were entrusted to the commander‑in‑chief of the army, which remained stationed in the leased territory and along the length of the railway. As a rail company, Mantetsu built and managed all of Japan’s existing and future railways in the region. As a colonial company, it was charged with attracting and helping those Japanese companies wishing to set up business in Manchuria. It was responsible for managing the Japanese settlers whose numbers Gotō hoped to see rise to 500,000. Schools, hospitals and the training of doctors (Japanese or Chinese) all fell within its remit.

194 The heart of Mantetsu as an all‑encompassing Japanese institution was located in Dairen. As far as possible its diverse activities were located in lands adjacent (fuzokuchi 附属地) to the main railway line, in other words, the South Manchurian Railway proper. Everything was geographically concentrated.

195 Between two such expanding colonial forces as China and Japan, competition was inevitable. However, the sheer size of Manchuria and the newness of its immigrant society meant that complementarity was also possible. This was particularly apparent in the realm of economics. Despite being poor, farmers were encouraged to abandon subsistence farming in favour of commercial and industrial goods. Processed in Manchuria (as oil and oil cake) and widely exported, almost immediately became the mainspring of local development and also explained the success of Mantetsu and its trading port, Dairen.

196 Competition centred on the Chinese plan to build a railway line starting in Ximintun, running south to north in parallel to the South Manchurian’s route (Mantetsu heikōsen mondai 満鉄平行線問題). The conflict was political in nature because it took on an

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international dimension: the need to borrow money from New York and London; the intervention of Straight, the first American consul‑general in Mukden; the reappearance of the financier Harriman; negotiations in Washington for the Root‑Takahira Agreement, concluded in 1908. This represented the sudden appearance of an entirely new “Manchurian question”, while in Saint Petersburg the minister of foreign affairs Iswolsky and the Japanese ambassador Motono Ichirō 本野一郎 (1862‑1918) strove to erase the memory of the Russo‑Japanese War.

197 The pacification of Northeast Asia was a recognised reality in the region by 1907. It did not stem from an idealisation of peace. The practical adjustments made allowed rivalries to linger on. However, these rivalries were influenced by either voluntary restraint or interaction, both of which were creative forces and led to the birth of colonial Manchuria. Nonetheless, this pacification was also part of diplomatic or military changes that centred either on the Pacific region or on Europe. Together they contributed to a political neutralisation of the Far East, despite the distinct processes at work.86

198 Japan and the United States came face‑to‑face in the Pacific, but material obstacles prevented a showdown.

199 American imperialism adapted to geographic conditions. In the Pacific this meant military colonialism in an ocean environment, composed of islands and naval bases acquired by coup (Hawaii), wars and forced purchases (Philippines). In parallel to the Russian colonisation and Japan’s creation of a “defensive wall” to the west of Korea, the United States drew their security line thousands of kilometres from their homeland. Beyond this barrier they had no military resources. They therefore limited themselves to economic forms of colonialism such as the Open Door principle in 1899‑1900, and in 1905 the beginning of “dollar diplomacy”, which culminated in 1909 under the presidency of Taft. The progression from one to the other has been explained as a passage from theory to practice. Yet only the second of these policies was directed against Japan, and while both were a failure in Manchuria, the attack continued in the form of moral aggression.87

200 The weaknesses of America’s military colonisation are clear: a fleet incapable of imposing itself simultaneously in two oceans, and the absence of a trans‑oceanic canal (which was planned in Nicaragua or Panama).

201 However, Japan also had a decisive weakness. A page of history overlooked by historians is that the Japanese fleet was in a phase of depression that began in 1906 with the Royal Navy’s launching of the new dreadnought‑class of battleship. Japan had strength in numbers, but all of its ships were rendered de facto obsolete, including those under construction. In order to avoid relying on overseas purchases, in 1905 it had undertaken the construction of 13,000‑ton armoured cruisers, as well as two 19,000‑ton battleships, the Satsuma and the Aki. But while it won the battle of tonnage, it lost the battle of modernity. And this for one reason: the British dreadnought‑class battleships were armed with ten 305mm guns, while the Japanese battleships of the same size had only four. Japan’s dockyards were incapable of forging large‑calibre guns in sufficient quantity. “Considering the Japanese industry, the creation of the Dreadnought was a disaster for Japan”. 88 Japan’s Pacific policy was obliged to remain modest for ten years.

202 Unlike that of the Pacific, Europe’s contribution to the peace in the Far East did not stem from the neutralisation of a latent hostility. It was the result of integrating the

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protagonists of the Russo‑Japanese War into a new diplomatic system. The Franco‑Russian and Anglo‑Japanese alliances, virtually countervailing forces, were maintained, as was the Entente Cordiale of 8 April 1904, which could have placed the two contracting powers in a difficult situation. However, in three months, from June to August 1907, three international agreements made these diplomatic legacies fully compatible: 10 June between France and Japan; 30 July between Japan and Russia; and 31 August between Great Britain and Russia. The consequences were as follows: in Europe, for three of the signatory powers, the start of the Triple Entente (hailed at the time as a counterweight to the Triple Alliance); in the Far East, for Russia and Japan, a reassuring co‑habitation as well as increased security for French and British colonial privileges. There was no collective treaty. Each of the four powers mentioned here achieved a peaceful relationship with the other three via a series of agreements. Together they made a coherent whole, though this did not result in Japan’s absorption into the Entente. It was Iswolsky in Saint Petersburg who took the initiative to organise peace talks with the pro‑Russian ambassador Motono Ichirō89.

203 Without the civil war in China beginning in 1911 and the Balkan crisis of 1914, nothing made it impossible to imagine that the peace and order established in the continental Far East would endure permanently. It was in this context that Manchuria, ceasing to be a mere physical space, started to become, for society and the world economy, a tangible reality in History.

NOTES

1. François JOYAUX, La Nouvelle question d’Extrême‑Orient (The New Far Eastern Question), Paris, Payot, 1985. 2. Pierre RENOUVIN, La Question d’Extrême‑Orient 1840‑1940 (The Far Eastern Question, 1840‑1940), Paris, Hachette, 1946. 3. For further information on international relations in the Far East see: George M. BECKMANN, The Modernization of China and Japan, New York, Harper & Row, 1962; Jean‑Baptiste DUROSELLE, L’Europe de 1815 à nos jours (Europe from 1815 Onwards), Nouvelle Clio, Paris, PUF, 1964; Ian NISH, The Anglo‑Japanese Alliance: The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires 1894‑1907, London, University of London Historical Studies, 1966; Nihon gaikōshi jiten 日本外交史辞典 (A Dictionary of Japanese Diplomatic History), Tokyo, YAMAKAWA Shuppansha 山川出版社, 1992; Nora WANG, L’Asie orientale du milieu du XIXe siècle à nos jours (East Asia from the Mid‑19th Century to Today), Paris, Armand Colin, 1993; Michel VIÉ, Le Japon et le monde au XXe siècle (Japan and the World in the 20th Century), Paris, Masson, 1995; Peter DUUS, The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea 1895‑1910, Oakland, University of California Press, 1998; Jean‑Louis VAN REGEMORTER, La Russie et le monde au XXe siècle (Russia and the World in the 20th Century), Paris, Masson/Armand Colin, 1999; Alain DELISSEN et al., L’Asie Orientale et Méridionale aux XIXe et XXe siècles (East and South Asia in the 19th and 20th Centuries), Paris, PUF, 1999; Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji (Japan‑Korea Relations during the Meiji Era), Paris, Maisonneuve et Larose, 2002. 4. On military issues in the Far East see: HATA Ikuhiko 秦郁彦, Taiheiyō kokusai kankeishi 太平洋国 際関係史 (The History of International Relations in the Pacific), Tokyo, Fukumura Shuppan 福村

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出版, 1972; J. C. BALET, Le Japon militaire en 1910‑1911 (Military Japan in 1910‑1911), Paris, E. Le Roux, 1910; Ikeda Kiyoshi 池田清, Nihon no kaigun Jōkan 日本の海軍 上巻 (The Japanese Navy, Vol. 1), Tokyo, Shiseidō 至誠堂, 1966; Eric MURAISE, Introduction à l’Histoire militaire (Introduction to Military History, presented by the Institut des Hautes Etudes de Défense Nationale, Paris), 1964; OKAMOTO Shunpei, The Japanese Oligarchy and the Russo‑Japanese War, New York, Columbia University Press, 1970; KITAOKA Shin’ichi 北岡伸一, Nihon rikugun to tairiku seisaku 1906‑1918 日本 陸軍と大陸政策1906‑1918 (The Japanese Army and Continental Policy), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai 東京大学出版会, 1972; TOYAMA Saburō 外山三郎, Nihon kaigunshi 日本 海軍史 (History of the Japanese Navy), Tokyo, Kyōikusha Rekishi Shinsho 教育者歴史新書, 1980; Conway’s All The World’s Fighting Ships, 1906‑1921, London, Conway Maritime Press Ltd., 1993; Sarah C. M. PAINE, The Sino‑Japanese War of 1894‑1895, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2002, pp. 75‑76. 5. Philippe RYGIEl, “Quand l’Europe était une terre d’émigration” (When Europe Was a Land of Emigration), Collections de l’Histoire – Les grandes migrations, no. 46, 2010, p. 65. 6. On the “Manchurian Question” see: KITAOKA Shin’ichi, Gotō Shinpei 後藤新平 (Gotō Shinpei), Tokyo, Chūōkōronsha, 1988; Yoshihisa Tak MATSUKATA, The Making of Japanese Manchuria: 1904‑1932, Cambridge (MA), Harvard East Asian Monographs, 2001; YAMAMURO Shin’ichi 山室信一, Kimera: Manshūkoku no shōzō キメラ 満州国の肖像 (Chimera: A portrait of Manchukuo ), Tokyo, Chūōkōronsha, 2004; YAMAMURO Shin’ichi, Nichiro sensō no seiki 日露戦争の世紀 (The Century of the Russo‑Japanese War), Tokyo, Iwanami Shoten, 2005; 小林英夫, “Manshūkoku” no rekishi ＜満 州国＞の歴史 (The History of Manchuria), Tokyo, Kōdansha, 2008. 7. An Austrian economist and former minister who became a professor at Harvard University in 1932. 8. Known in France through the Battle of Palikao (Baliqiao 八里橋 in Chinese), which earned General Cousin‑Montauban (1796‑1878) the title of of Palikao. 9. OKAMOTO Shunpei, The Japanese Oligarchy and the Russo‑Japanese War, op. cit., p. 149. “Even the Battle of Trafalgar could not match this,” Theodore Roosevelt is said to have written. 10. Yves LACOSTE, Hérodote, issue entitled “Asie du Nord‑est”, no. 97, Paris, 2000. 11. Pierre RENOUVIN, La Question d’Extrême‑Orient 1840‑1940, op. cit. 12. Sarah C. M. PAINE, The Sino‑Japanese War of 1894‑1895, op. cit., pp. 75‑76. Port Lazareff was located not far from Wŏnsan. 13. Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji, op. cit., p. 34; Nihon gaikōshi jiten, op. cit., “posadonikku‑gō jiken” entry (The Posadnik Incident). 14. Jean‑Baptiste DUROSELLE, L’Europe de 1815 à nos jours, op. cit., pp. 127‑131. 15. In Feydeau’s comedy Un fil à la patte (1894, known as Cat Among the Pigeons in English) a Peruvian is sent to Paris to buy “two battleships, three cruisers and five torpedo boats”. 16. Alfred Thayer MAHAN, The Influence of Sea Power upon History: 1660‑1783, Boston, Little, Brown & Company, 1890. 17. Sarah C. M. PAINE, The Sino‑Japanese War of 1894‑1895, op. cit., pp. 132‑134, on the Kowshing “incident”. 18. Pierre RENOUVIN, La Question d’Extrême‑Orient, 1840‑1940, op. cit., pp. 4‑7. 19. Apart from in western Siberia. See Roger PORTAL, Cours de la Sorbonne, La Russie industrielle de 1890 à 1927 (Industrial Russia from 1890 to 1927), Paris, Centre de documentation universitaire, (1956) 1976; YAMAMURO Shin’ichi, Nichiro sensō no seiki, op. cit., p. 44. 20. Pierre RENOUVIN, ibid., p. 126. 21. George M. BECKMANN, The Modernization of China and Japan, op. cit., p. 171. 22. Roger PORTAL, Cours de la Sorbonne, La Russie industrielle de 1890 à 1927, op. cit., pp. 89‑91. Yamamuro Shin’ichi, Nichiro sensō no seiki, op. cit.

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23. Pierre RENOUVIN, ibid., p. 134. 24. Abolished in 1876. 25. Yuan Shikai 袁世凱 (1859‑1916), ambassador to Seoul, embodied this system in the manner of Lord Cromer (1841‑1917) in Egypt. 26. The economic and political success of Britain’s colonisation of Egypt was known in Japan and no doubt in China too. Peter DUUS, The Abacus and the Sword, op. cit., pp. 134‑135 and on Chinese policy in particular, p. 58. 27. Tonnage calculations can vary, hence the slight differences between sources. 28. IKEDA Kiyoshi, Nihon no kaigun Jōkan, op. cit., p. 100. 29. Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji, op. cit., pp. 202‑208. 30. TOYAMA Saburō, Nihon kaigunshi, op. cit., pp. 52‑53. 31. One of the cruisers in the French Navy was given the name Émile Bertin in 1934. 32. Ian NISH, The Anglo‑Japanese Alliance: The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires 1894‑1907, op. cit., p. 53 and footnote3. 33. Often minister and a future genrō along with six other key figures form the Chōshū and Satsuma domains, civilians and soldiers combined. 34. On this subject see by contrast the remarkable study by DUROSELLE on the genesis of World War I, L’Europe de 1815 à nos jours, op. cit., p. 101. 35. The treaty was signed in Moscow, where the coronation of Russian emperors took place, and not in Saint Petersburg. 36. Aleksei Borisovich Lobanov‑Rostovskii (1824‑1896) 37. Jean‑Baptiste DUROSELLE, ibid., p. 136: “Great Britain was determined to eliminate the French from the Nile Valley at all costs, even if it meant war”. 38. On the subject of Masampo see Ian NISH, The Anglo‑Japanese Alliance: The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires 1894‑1907, op. cit., pp. 72‑73. 39. Ibid., pp. 93‑94. 40. A Chinese port () which became a Russian commercial port (Dalny) and finally, in 1906, an important Japanese commercial port (Dairen 大連). 41. J.‑L. VAN REGEMORTER (La Russie et le monde au XXe siècle, op. cit.) believes that the ministers of Nicholas II felt instinctively that in order to exist Russia had to incite fear. 42. Pierre RENOUVIN, La Question d’Extrême‑Orient 1840‑1940, op. cit., p. 173. 43. Nora WANG, L’Asie orientale du milieu du XIXe siècle à nos jours, op. cit., p. 78. 44. Ian NISH, op. cit., p. 81. 45. Remember that the Marchand mission, designed to give France control over the Middle Nile Valley, had only a few hundred soldiers. 46. Pierre RENOUVIN, op. cit., p. 197. Ill‑informed on this point, the author wrote that “Russia and Japan were the first to propose vigorous intervention”. 47. War minister from 1902 to 1911 (rikugun daijin 陸軍大臣, literally minister of the army) and governor‑general of Korea from 1910 to 1916. 48. KITAOKA Shin’ichi, Gotō Shinpei, op. cit., p. 80. 49. YAMAMURO Shin’ichi, Nichiro sensō no seiki, op. cit. 50. KITAOKA Shin’ichi, Gotō Shinpei, op. cit., pp. 90‑94. 51. See Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji, op. cit., p. 205. Translation and commentary on the memorandum. 52. Yamagata, creator of the modern Japanese army and Japan’s then prime minister. 53. These ideas are inspired by the discussion by Ian NISH, op. cit., p. 240. 54. Japan had also considered allying itself with China against Russia. 55. For more information on the subject see Ian NISHI, ibid, pp. 229‑244. 56. Ibid., pp. 270‑273.

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57. Pierre RENOUVIN, La Question d’Extrême‑Orient 1840‑1940, op.cit., p. 70. 58. Ian NISH, ibid., p. 288, footnote 2. 59. Future prime minister, governor of the Bank of Japan, and minister of finance. Assassinated on 26 February 1936. Cf. Nihon gaikōshi jiten, op. cit., p. 512. 60. Ian NISH, ibid., pp. 288‑289. 61. Pierre RENOUVIN, ibid., pp. 11‑17. Ian Nish does not discuss this issue. 62. Nihon gaikōshi jiten, op. cit., entry on Jacob Henry Schiff, p. 355. 63. In fact these were large army corps; however, army corps had no institutional existence in the Japanese army. Balet, le Japon militaire…, op. cit., p. 105. 64. The hill was immortalised in 1980 in the film 20 kōchi 二百三高地 (203‑Metre Hill), by Masuda Toshio 舛田利雄, starring Nakadai Tatsuya 仲代達矢 as General Nogi (and Mifune Toshirō 三船敏郎 as Meiji). 65. Nishi Tokujirō 西徳二郎 (1847‑1912) was the minister of foreign affairs in the third administration of Itō Hirobumi (12 January–5 June 1898). Roman Rosen (1847‑1921) was the Russian ambassador to Tokyo. 66. Vladimir Nikolaevich Lamsdorf (1845‑1907), speaking in German. 67. Ian NISH, ibid., p. 197. 68. The two ships left Genoa on 9 January 1904 and reached Yokosuka on 16 February. 69. The Borodino‑class battleships (Suvorof, Alexandre III, Borodino and Orel). The final ship, the Slava, escaped the disaster at Tsushima. Its construction was not advanced enough for it to be included in the Second Pacific Squadron on 9 September 1904. 70. These are the figures quoted by OKAMOTO Shunpei, The Japanese Oligarchy and the Russo‑Japanese War, op. cit., p. 108. 71. Eric MURAISE, Introduction à l’Histoire militaire, op. cit., pp. 305‑307. 72. OKAMOTO Shunpei, ibid., p. 150. 73. KITAOKA Shin’ichi, Nihon rikugun to tairiku seisaku 1906‑1918, op. cit., pp. 35‑36. 74. Stretching over 200 kilometres, this line terminates south of Mukden. 75. Peter DUUS, op. cit. p. 80, pp. 184‑186. 76. Ibid., pp. 193‑194. 77. Alain DELISSEN et al., L’Asie Orientale et Méridionale…, op. cit., p. 173. 78. Ian NISH, op.cit. p. 318. 79. IRIE Akira, Across the Pacific: An Inner History of American‑East Asian Relations, New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, 1967, pp. 74‑78. 80. Yves‑Henri NOUHAIHAT, Les États‑Unis : l’avènement d’une puissance mondiale 1898‑1933 (The United States: the Advent of a World Power, 1898‑1933), Paris, Éditions Richelieu, 1973, pp. 20‑31, « une Entrée fracassante sur la scène mondiale » (“A dramatic entrance on the international stage”). 81. P. DEVILLIERS, Encyclopédie Universalis, 1992, volume 18, p. 54. 82. Pierre CHAUNU, L’Amérique et les Amériques, Paris, Armand Colin, 1964, p. 289. “The Treaty of Paris governed relations between the United States and Latin America. It showed just how profitable brute force was”. 83. Nihon gaikōshi jiten, op. cit., p. 761, article “Nunobikimaru jiken” 布引丸事件 (The Nunobikimaru Affair). 84. Edward Henry Harriman (1848‑1909), considered, along with Taft and the Secretary of State Philander Knox, to be a proponent of dollar diplomacy (known in Japanese as doru gaikō ドル外 交). 85. KITAOKA Shin’ichi, Gotō Shinpei, op. cit., pp. 75‑105. 86. Michel VIÉ, Le Japon et le monde au XXe siècle, op. cit., p. 71. 87. IRIE Akira, op. cit., pp. 122‑123.

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88. Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, 1906‑1921, op. cit., p. 223. 89. HATA Ikuhiko, op. cit., p. 44.

ABSTRACTS

Manchuria came into the modern world history during the last third of the nineteenth century. It was an epoch of great colonial expansion. Before then, the aim in expansion had been commercial. With a superior technology in firearms, the United Kingdom, the United States and France had imposed on both China and Japan unequal treaties and open ports. However, limited in power, this superiority did not allow for large scale, conquest type of war. Hong Kong and Shanghai symbolized the success and limitations of this politic. Associated with China, neighbouring with Korea, cut off the Japanese sea by the Russian projection, Manchuria that has no decisive economic attraction, stay out of the pivot. However, in less than a decade, the combination of the new conditions would drag it in the middle of hard conflicts. The irruption of war would be explained by the of railways and steam navigation, to which the natural environment of Manchuria was favourable, because of the central plain and the ports open to the south. But the decisive factor for the march to war is revealed in the choice of same and therefore concurrent policies, taken by China, Japan, and Russia, based on the desire to catch up with western military, responsible for a kind of globalization in which survival depended on strength. Hence a colonization for the sake of securitarism, and a peace regime through balance of power and well equipped armies, small reproductions of European militaries from 1871 to 1914. The symbols of this new colonization in Asia are then the Transmanchurian railroad and Port Arthur. Between these two colonialisms, trade or securitarism, interaction is inevitable, given their geographical juxtaposition. But the difference persisted. It is in the two Eastern Asia wars of 1894 and 1904 that we could see the prefiguration of what would be Europe battles of 1914 on.

La Mandchourie entre dans l’histoire mondiale au moment de la grande phase d’expansion coloniale du dernier tiers du XIXe siècle. Antérieurement, le but visé était commercial. Une meilleure technique dans l’emploi des armes à feu avait permis à l’Angleterre, aux États‑Unis et à la France, d’imposer à la Chine et au Japon des traités inégaux et l’ouverture des ports. En revanche, des effectifs militaires limités ne favorisaient pas les guerres de conquête. Hong Kong et Shanghai symbolisaient le succès et les limites de cette politique. Associée à la Chine, voisine de la Corée dans le monde sinisé, coupée de la mer du Japon par l’avancée russe, la Mandchourie, sans attrait économique décisif, restait excentrée. Or en moins d’une décennie, une conjonction de données nouvelles la projette au centre des conflits les plus vifs. L’irruption de la guerre s’explique par le progrès des chemins de fer et de la navigation à vapeur, auquel le milieu naturel de la Mandchourie était favorable : plaine au centre, facilités portuaires au sud. Mais l’essentiel est ailleurs : dans le choix, par la Chine, le Japon, la Russie, d’une même politique fondée sur la volonté de combler leur retard militaire dans une mondialisation occidentale où la survie dépendait de la force. De là une colonisation visant la sécurité et un régime de paix armée, reproduction en petit de celui de l’Europe de 1871 à 1914. Les symboles de cette nouvelle colonisation en Asie sont alors le Transmandchourien et Port‑Arthur. Entre ces deux colonialismes, commercial et sécuritaire, l’interaction est inévitable, vu leur juxtaposition

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géographique. Mais la différence persiste. C’est dans les deux guerres extrêmes‑orientales (1894 et 1904) que l’on put voir la préfiguration de ce que devaient être en Europe les batailles de 1914.

INDEX

Mots-clés: Transsibérien, guerres navales, question d’Extrême‑Orient, Gotō Shinpei (1857‑1929) Subjects: history Geographical index: Port Arthur, Russia, Korea Chronological index: Meiji Period (1868-1912) Keywords: Transsiberian, naval warfare, problems of the Far East, Gotō Shinpei (1857‑1929)

AUTHOR

MICHEL VIÉ Professor emeritus, INALCO

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The Beginnings of Japan’s Economic Hold over Colonial Korea, 1900-1919 Les débuts de l’empire économique japonaise en Corée coloniale, 1900-1919

Alexandre Roy

1 Few observers at the dawn of the twentieth century, such as Kōtoku Shūsui 幸徳秋水 (1871-1911),1 believed that Japanese capitalism was capable of maintaining a colonial empire for any length of time. Despite Japan’s recent victory over the Chinese (Sino‑Japanese War 1894‑95) and acquiring of Taiwan,2 the loss of face inflicted by the immediate retrocession of the Liaodong Peninsula 遼東3 as imposed by the Triple Intervention (sankoku kanshō 三国干渉, led by Russia, Germany and France), the initial struggle to “pacify” the island of Taiwan and the penetration of China by the West during that same period, all put Japan’s presence in the region starkly into perspective. Japan’s victory over the Tsarist army (1904-05) enabled it to turn the tables and assert itself, namely by recovering its rights to the Liaodong Peninsula (the Kwantung 関東 Leased Territory), obtaining the southern half of Karafuto and establishing Korea as a protectorate with a Resident‑General (tōkan 統監) from 1905 to 1910 before finally “annexing” (heigō 併合) the country in 1910 (the Government‑General regime or sōtokufu 総督府).4 In ten years Japan had built a peripheral colonial empire in East Asia to the north of the French and British colonial territories. Although Japan’s colonial empire was completed after World War I, at the beginning of the twentieth century Korea represented its linchpin: spanning 220,000 square kilometres (81% of Japan’s colonial territory), it was the largest and most heavily populated colony with approximately fourteen to fifteen million inhabitants in 19105 (almost a third of the metropolitan population and more than three quarters of Japan’s colonial population).

2 This article proposes to examine the economy of colonial Korea during an initial phase spanning the early twentieth century to the period immediately following World War I and the bursting of the “war bubble”. The sweeping historical panoramas describing the peninsula’s colonial economy tend to offer a review of the entire colonial period from 1905 to 1945, or else focus solely on the period of intense industrialisation that

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characterised the end of the colonial era. And yet, it is this author’s opinion that the period preceding World War I stands apart. Because colonisation was in its early stages and still finding its way; because Japan’s economic power was not yet assured even in the homeland; and finally, because Japan’s economic expansion during this period is inseparable from the 1914‑1918 “bubble”.

3 In this article I propose to draw on statistical reports drawn up by the Government‑General of Korea itself. These documents present primary data that describe the peninsula’s economic activity and generally underline Japan’s efforts.

4 During the building of its colonial empire Japan was unable to sustain both its overseas expansion and its economic growth. However, the outbreak of war in Europe (1914-1918) brought a new turn of events. With the colonial powers focusing their economic strength on Europe, Oriental and American markets became accessible to Japanese products, rapidly generating a large trade surplus (with exports outstripping imports by 35%).6 Japan’s previous difficulties were swept away, forgotten; this was the “boom of the Great War” (taisen būmu 大戦ブーム) which represented the second acceleration in Japan’s economic expansion after the “boom in entrepreneurship” (kigyō bokkō 企業勃興) of 1885-1890. This situation was exacerbated by the suspension of the gold standard (introduced in October 1897) and the thirst for investments to produce difficult-to-import goods, resulting in a gigantic bubble that considerably drove up living costs. The problem culminated at the end of the war in the Rice Riots (kome sōdō 米騒動) of the summer of 1918. The government that came to power in September that same year implemented a policy of supporting the bubble, encouraging a fresh outbreak of speculative fever in 1919 against a backdrop of economic recovery in the United States. This bubble was short‑lived: the dominos began to fall once and for all on 15 March 1920, as the annual results of the Tokyo stock exchange were due to be announced, and delinquent loans caused the closure of many banks and industrial firms. A major crisis broke out; a harsh selection by capital took place, wreaking havoc on the Japanese economy in general and its colonial economy in particular. The influence of this crisis on the colonial economy in Korea thus dictated my decision to focus on the period chosen.

5 Additionally, the historiography shows that most research on the Japanese colonial economy has adopted a perspective encompassing all of Japan’s colonial empire, either chronologically (up until 1945) or spatially (encompassing Taiwan and Manchuria).7 This method has been encouraged by a debate focusing on the opposition of “positive” and “negative” views of the problem. The “positive”8 view generally claims that the colonial economy benefitted the colonial population while ignoring, downplaying or glossing over its damaging aspects; or suggests more generally a positive relationship between the colonial economy and subsequent economic growth (in Taiwan and South Korea). Such studies often take pains to state briefly in the foreword that their aim is not to glorify colonisation, even if it means contradicting themselves in their content.9 On the contrary, the “negative” viewpoint considers the colonial economy in terms of the exploitation and alienation of the native population, with a tendency to focus on the 1930s and 1940s. This viewpoint includes studies from the school of (primarily Japanese, such as the work of Asada Kyōji 浅田喬二 10 and Kaneko Fumio 金子文夫11)12 and studies by South Korean nationalists (in the sense that their objective is to depict a wounded but resistant national economy).13 While colonial studies, in Japan and elsewhere, are generally characterised by radical

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opposition, the economic growth seen in South Korea and Taiwan from the 1980s onwards has encouraged the development of a “colonial industrialisation” paradigm that has provided some common ground.14 Since then, some South Korean authors have even come to consider that the era of binary opposition is over,15 but is such a change possible without a change of method?16 Surely exploring “colonial industrialisation” necessarily entails considering the early years of colonisation in relation to the 1930s and 1940s17? Hence the importance, once again, of understanding the economic history of the early years of colonisation, giving due consideration to the specific context spanning the end of the Russo-Japanese War to the end of World War I.

6 This article comprises three main sections examining the evolution of Korea’s infrastructure, production and trade, from the first infrastructure developed by Japan in Korea in 1900 to the March First Movement of 1919.18

INFRASTRUCTURE: RAILWAYS AND BANKS

THE COLONIAL RAILWAY

7 The first step towards developing a modern infrastructure in Korea was achieved in 1900 when the Japanese government completed work on a first railway line. Given the tense geopolitical context surrounding Korea, the Japanese continued to pursue this endeavour until 1910 in order to equip the peninsula with a network for rapidly transporting troops. Construction slowed in the 1910s and the development of this network designed primarily with military considerations in mind encountered some financial difficulties. The first line linked the capital Seoul (Hansŏng) with its port at Chemulp’o (also known as Inch’ŏn), involving some thirty kilometres of track decided on in June 1894 as the threat of hostilities with Chinese troops in Korea was imminent. This line was strategic as it provided the Japanese with rapid access to the Korean capital after landing at Chemulp’o (taking up position around the capital was a key element in military-diplomatic pressure tactics at the time). Although the Korean government initially succeeded in resisting Japanese pressure to grant the concession to an American businessman (in 1896), financial difficulties caused the entrepreneur to sell it on to Japan in 1898 (something facilitated by an agreement passed that year between Tokyo and Saint Petersburg concerning the peninsula). Nevertheless, the Japanese government went to great lengths to secure the necessary funds (the concession was purchased by the government for the sum of 1.8 million yen) and industrialists (led by the financier Shibusawa Eiichi 渋沢 栄一)19 and have them finish construction by July 1900.20 Such difficulties encountered in building the short line between Seoul and Inch’ŏn did not bode well for the construction of the Seoul‑Busan 釜 山 line, which was fifteen times longer and of major strategic importance.

8 Busan was the border port with Japan, lying 200 kilometres from the great port cities of western Japan (Moji, Shimonoseki, Nagasaki and Hakata). The existence of a railway connecting it to the rest of the peninsula made it an ideal bridgehead for the disembarkation of troops and material. As with the first railway line, geopolitical conditions pushed the Japanese government to take the initiative, firstly by obtaining the concession (July 1989), then, since by 1900 no headway had been made due to “indecisiveness and delaying tactics”,21 by founding a company to oversee it in (the Seoul‑Busan Railway Corporation, Keipu Tetsudō Kabushiki Gaisha 京釜鉄

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道株式会社). Finally, seeing how slowly construction of the line was progressing, the Japanese government was forced to directly oversee the works itself as of late 1903.22

9 The railway company was given a capital of twenty-five million yen, eighty percent of which was borrowed from Europe due to the lack of available capital in Japan. On a domestic level a campaign was necessary to convince Japanese investors to stump up the remaining approximately five million yen (despite the generous guarantees provided by the government and an initial payment limited to just a tenth of the sum committed).23 Despite these incentives, the financial crisis afflicting Japan at that time created new obstacles to obtaining the first payments: in autumn 1903, just 115 of the 400 kilometres of track had been laid, and this on the flattest section of the route. Alarmed by the situation, the Japanese government once again took charge. In November the railway’s managing company was merged with that of the Seoul‑Inch’ŏn line, and in December the newly created firm received large subsidies and senior bureaucrats were put in charge. Three months later, the Japanese Navy commenced hostilities with Russia and the entire line went into service for the final battles one year later (January 1905).24

10 Concession rights for the 500‑kilometre‑long northern section of the Trans‑Korean line, from Seoul to Sinŭiju (on the Chinese border) via P’yŏngyang, were also initially granted to the French, but once again financial difficulties ultimately derailed the project.25 The concession was briefly granted to a group of Koreans (1899) before immediately being taken back by the Korean government (1900) and construction of the line entrusted once again to a Frenchman. Despite construction work beginning in October 1901, things struggled to progress under pressure from the Russians and the Japanese (both camps being racked by internal disputes over the policy adopted). The outbreak of war in early 1904 enabled the Japanese to regain control of the rail concession for military purposes. The line was completed in 1906 and the transport of freight and passengers began in 1908.26 Between 1909 and 1910 a short 55‑kilometre‑long line linking P’yŏngyang to the port of Chinnamp’o completed a network spanning a total of 1,221 kilometres.

11 When the railways were nationalised in Japan in 1906 the Korean lines were repurchased and placed under the direct control of the army.27 Fear of a “revanchist” war initiated by Russia28 drove Japan to link the South Manchurian and Korean railways to create a Japanese continental network running from Busan to Changchun. Accordingly, in 1910 Tokyo obtained permission from the Chinese government to take the military line established during the war against Russia between the port of Andong (now , on the Korean border) and Mukden (Chinese provincial capital located midway between Dalian and Changchun, the largest city in the region, now called ) and transform it into a railroad (covering 275km) linking the South Manchurian and Trans‑Korean railways. A railway bridge almost one kilometre long over the Yalu River linked the two frontier posts of Andong and Sinŭiju in 1911. In 1912, followed by 1914, the lines leading to Mokp’o and Wŏsan were completed. Measuring 1,220km in 1918,29 the railway network built by Japan met essentially military objectives with a route focused on the Northern front (Manchuria and Russia).

12 Let us now examine the accounting results for the Korean colonial rail network as presented by the Government-General.

13 Although the balance sheets for the Korean railway always showed a profit, it does not follow that the company was truly profitable, as end-of-year profits were mostly used

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to pay back the loans taken out to finance construction works.30 Furthermore, the railway’s military route was not necessarily compatible with encouraging the network’s economic development31, limited as it was to a main line running north-south onto which any auxiliary lines had to be linked, making saturation of the network ultimately inevitable. When loan repayments are taken into account, the only truly profitable year seems to have been 1917, when the volume of freight traffic and revenues generated increased by thirty percent and thirty-eight percent respectively.32 The demand for rail transport had been greatly stimulated by the lack of merchant ships caused by the war in Europe (in 1916 the deficit had already been reduced to virtually nothing).33

14 As shown in graph I (see the appendices), the Korean railway’s freight activity was highly diversified, in contrast to a traditional colonial railway oriented towards one single resource. This diversity was such that the category “various others” exceeded even that of agricultural products between 1918 and 1922. Between them agricultural products and ore represented the majority of freight traffic (53%) between 1910 and 1920. The most important item was coal, accounting for a quarter of the volume alone (23%). Since this fuel was vital for the running of the railway itself, it had to be imported from Japan and Manchuria (three quarters of the volume consumed in Korea in 1918-1920).34 If we add forest and sea products to agricultural products, the primary sector accounts for an overwhelming proportion of the categories listed (90%). The finished products sector (kōsan‑hin 工産品) accounted for the remaining 10%. Rice did not achieve any significant growth; on the contrary, we can see that the volume transported plateaued during the war while other foodstuffs (soybean, wheat, corn, etc.) continued to rise.

15 In terms of volume (in tonnes), growth was constant but inconsistent: the significant increases seen in 1910, 1912 and 1914-17 (+22% on average) were all followed by growth rates close to zero (+3% on average in 1911, 1913 and 1918). This instability only heightened towards the end of the period: after the record highs of 1917 (+30%) and 1919 (+40%) came a correspondingly sharp slump in 1920 (-13%). The growth in question was highly unstable, linked as it was to an economic bubble. This instability ate into profits (see graph II), which plummeted between 1918 and 1920 after having shown strong growth up until 1917. The entire period was marked by an increase in freight traffic but this reached a clear peak between 1917 and 1919 (+25%, compared to +11% between 1914 and 1916) before the fallout of 1920 (-13%). Passenger traffic provides an even more forceful illustration of the change that came about in 1917, when passenger numbers rose from 240,000 to 350,000.

16 The profits published (graph II) do not take into account investment costs (which were met by the colonial administration), for otherwise they would quite simply not have existed. Graph II provides a clear picture of the trends at play: intensive growth followed by an even sharper decline, despite the fact that the volumes being transported (freight, and in particular passengers) were continually rising. In fact, the colonised society could not afford the Japanese colonial railway.

17 This section gave a brief overview of land-based transport networks; now let us move on to the question of the colony’s financial movements.

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COLONIAL FINANCES

18 As we have already seen, Japanese capitalism at the beginning of the twentieth century lacked the necessary power to have motivated Japan to establish colonies. Indeed, the literature produced by the Government-General of Korea after 1910 indicates that under the protectorate regime in Korea, the administrative costs borne by Tokyo, in addition to rail construction costs, were high: 104 million yen between 1907 and 1910 alone.35 Although the colony’s true economic activity cannot be measured in this way, it should be noted that the switch to direct rule in 1910 allowed Japan to overhaul the colonial authorities’ budget and restructure it entirely around the development of colonial domination, as can be seen in table I.

19 Although in Kwantung (South Manchuria) and Korea dependence on subventions undeniably waned significantly, the amounts received remained considerable. Table I shows an upturn in Korea’s finances such that one might be tempted to believe the country had achieved—albeit after a long and difficult road—financial autonomy towards the end of the period, at the very moment that railway profits plummeted. Yet as the actual ordinary budget balance (B) indicates, instability and deficit were structural, meaning that the suspension of subsidies in 1919 owing to substantial ordinary tax revenue was as symbolic as it was temporary. The increase in ordinary income relied to the extent of eighty‑five percent on soaring tax revenue:36 customs revenue was up twenty‑eight percent (thanks to soaring imports, +75%) and this despite the abolition of the duty on exports to the metropole (ishutsu-zei 移出税)37 and the tax on products for mass consumption (sugar, opium, tobacco, alcohol and printed fabric) yielded a significant profit (+3.7 million yen). Various other public revenues also added their contribution, such as those from logging and the contribution of the South Manchurian Railway Company as part of its management of the Korean railways, or even prison labour (+3 million yen). Tax gains for the year 1919 thus came “from the bottom up”, through the taxing of products for mass consumption (imported or otherwise), thereby exacerbating inflationary pressure on the buying power of the native population and nourishing the growing unrest in the colony

20 One of the reasons why subsidies from the metropole disappeared in 1919 is that in reality Tokyo no longer gave but rather sold its money to the colonial government. The latter took out increasingly large loans, thus guaranteeing a permanent income to Japanese investors, something that must be investigated in more detail in order to analyse the extent of colonial expropriation. In concrete terms, in 1910 the amount of money sent to the Korean colony—before subsequently returning to investors—had already grown to more than twenty-one million yen under the weight of financing the construction of transport and communication infrastructure (primarily the railway). The ordinary budget being unable to cover such expenditure, the ceiling on these loans was quadrupled between 1915 and 1920 (from 56 million to 206.5 million yen),38 representing 161 percent of the colonial administration’s own income (excluding metropolitan subsidies) in 1918. This share subsequently dropped slightly in 1919 (159%), then more significantly in 1920 (119%), which was primarily due to the runaway inflation of the time and measures as exceptional as they were artificial (increase in tax receipts, return of subsidies from the metropole, launch of new public loans) designed above all to pay off the interest and, according to the Government‑General of Korea, to temporarily reduce the total “debt”. 39 Refilling the leaky coffers of Korea’s colonial

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finances was a lucrative endeavour for the metropole; most of all, it was yet another means of dominating the peninsula.

21 To conclude this section on Korea’s public finances, a word must be said about the cost of maintaining the military garrisons (almost 18 million yen over the two‑year period 1916‑17 alone, financed directly by the metropole).40 This considerable sum could be interpreted as an injection of money into Korea, but given that the soldiers were metropolitan Japanese and that army expenditure stemmed in the main from metropolitan endeavours, taking this figure into account in calculating gains and losses in the relationship between coloniser and colonised seems rather irrelevant. Ultimately, administrative subsidies and military expenditure represented a significant and fixed proportion of colonial expenses (a quarter, or 25%, between 1913 and 1920). It is clearly impossible, then, to talk of financial “autonomy” in the colony during the period in question, Korea being, as we can see, subject to the economic might of the metropole. It is thus from this angle that the issue of foreign trade in the peninsula must be analysed.

22 Throughout the entire period Korea’s foreign trade was largely in deficit (graph III), on average to the tune of thirty million yen per year (or 19%).41 More specifically, the trade deficit with the metropole was very high, (averaging sixty‑nine million yen over the period from 1912 to 1917), while subsidies flowing in the opposite direction stood at just fifty‑one million yen. This deficit represented almost all of the Korean colonial government’s “commercial debt” in 1910‑12, but it would nonetheless diminish thanks to the sudden increase in Japanese imports of Korean rice at the end of World War I and the drop in Korean imports, since the peninsula was unable to keep up with rising prices in Japan. These factors were nonetheless negative phenomena for the Korean people and exacerbated the economic difficulties.

23 In this context, the metropole granted less and less subsidies as its trade surplus with Korea shrank, being careful not to “give” more than it received. The colony’s overall trade deficit was thus an extra burden for the Korean economy.

24 Let us now move on to the peninsula’s financial institutions during this period.

FROM DAI‑ICHI BANK TO THE BANK OF CHŌSEN

25 Aside from the country’s rail infrastructure and administrative bodies, the only Japanese institution of significance established in Korea from the beginning of colonisation was Dai‑Ichi Bank (Dai‑ichi ginkō 第一銀行, or the First National Bank) created by Shibusawa Eiichi. In fact, it was the longest-standing modern company to be created in the country, having been established in Korea in 1878 at the behest of Tokyo in order to develop trade with Japan and strengthen Japan’s presence in the peninsula. 42 The Kanghwa Island Incident (1875) had ended with a win for Japan, allowing it to force the peninsula to officially open up to bilateral trade (Treaty of Kanghwa, 1876). The activity of Dai‑Ichi Bank was initially limited to financing trade operations (with the bank even managing Korean Customs from 1883)43 before helping to supply Japanese troops during the Sino‑Japanese War.

26 During the war, military expenditure caused an influx of yen onto the peninsula at a time when Korea was already struggling with its system of multiple and more or less ancient currencies (it was engaged in a policy of blindly forging ahead by increasing the amount of currency created, notably with the creation of nickel coins, truly a kind of

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“monkey’s money”).44 The imbroglio caused by pressure from the Japanese and Russians exacerbated the situation: despite the Japanese adopting the gold standard in 1897, Japan succeeded in keeping its silver yen in circulation in Korea (the gold yen would impose itself come what may in bilateral trade). However, under pressure from Russia, Seoul did an about-turn in 1901 and banned the silver yen, establishing instead its own gold currency (beginning in 1902).45 Yet at that very same moment Dai‑Ichi Bank was authorised by the Korean government, after granting it a loan,46 to issue its own gold-backed banknotes,47 in other words guaranteeing the circulation of this currency over the all‑new national gold money. These Dai‑Ichi Bank banknotes became the official currency48 under the protectorate regime until the yen was officially adopted in 1910. Korea’s gold and silver currencies were gradually taken out of circulation in the years running up to 1920 (in a campaign riddled with deception over the various exchange rates, notably on behalf of money‑lenders).49 In fact, these silver and (above all) gold currencies were reserved for transactions of consequence; whereas the masses generally used small denomination copper coins. The popularity of these coins and their scant exchange value in gold convinced the Japanese authorities to limit their legal use to sums under one yen rather than force their withdrawal.50

27 With the establishment of a colonial administration came the need for a central bank based in Korea, leading to the creation in 1909 of the Bank of Korea (kankoku ginkō 韓国 銀行). It took onboard the Korean employees of Dai‑Ichi Bank (to which it was obliged to refund almost eight million yen over twenty years interest free)51 and in 1910 became the Bank of Chōsen (chōsen ginkō 朝鮮銀行, henceforth BoC).52 As the central bank, the BoC was far from limiting itself to the role of money issuer: it took over the Dai‑Ichi Bank’s commercial business and this dual role saw it handle vast sums of money. The continued existence of earlier currencies coupled with the existence of traditional credit institutions had already led the BoC to advance significant funds to absorb them, and with the external trade imposed on the peninsula heavily in deficit, in theory it must also have been necessary to support exports and the country’s nascent industrial production. This left room for a certain number of commercial banks which had developed during the 1910s, constituting a network of 58 branches in 1919.53 They seem to have been of considerable assistance in domestic trade, but internationally only the BoC had the means to carry any real weight. In fact, the only new BoC branches to open were located outside the peninsula.

28 The BoC’s favourite area for expansion was Manchuria and by 1918 it owned even more branches there than in Korea (16 compared to 12).54 This network was supplemented with two branches elsewhere in China (Shanghai and ) and three in Japan (Tokyo, Kobe and Osaka), bringing the total number of BoC branches across Northeast Asia to thirty‑three. This “Manchurian shift” was implemented over a short period of time beginning in 1916: between 1910 and 1914 the BoC’s Manchurian branches held just six percent of the bank’s deposits, compared to four times this amount (21%) between 1916 and 1919, and five percent of loans between 1910 and 1915 compared to twenty‑eight percent between 1916 and 1919. At the same time, deposits and loans in the metropole soared: from four percent of deposits in 1915 to sixty‑one percent between 1917 and 1919; from seven percent of loans between 1910 and 1914 to forty- four percent between 1917 and 1919.55 Accordingly, the share of the bank’s business handled by its Korean branches no longer exceeded that of their Manchurian counterparts between 1918 and 1919.

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29 By the end of our period the BoC’s activities on the peninsula had come to represent a minority of its operations, despite it being the central bank of Korea. The BoC itself was fleeing the moribund colonial economy, the very one it was supposed to stimulate. This “evasion” became obvious in 1915 but it should be noted that the BoC’s first place of refuge was the metropole, where capital was needed to respond to the economic “boom” of the Great War. The BoC only became a conduit channelling Japanese capital into Manchuria after this date, in 1916, after Terauchi Masatake 寺内正毅, the first Governor‑General of Korea (1910-1916), rose to power in Tokyo as prime minister. The BoC’s history thus offers fertile ground for further study and exploration.

30 Whether in terms of the surplus of capital to be invested or the importance of these investments for Japanese industry, it is important to note that this situation stemmed from the runaway economy in the metropole. It can thus never be over emphasised how important it is to understand the financial bubble created by the Great War in order to analyse the history of Korea’s economic and industrial development, as well as the concurrent shift in the focus of Japan’s foreign policy towards Manchuria.

31 I shall now move on to another key element in Japan’s economic policies in Korea: the productive sectors of the economy.

THE ORGANS OF PRODUCTION: COMPANIES AND “INDUSTRY”

32 As shown in graph VI, created using data published by the Government-General and which generally tally with the historiography, agriculture accounted for almost all (85%) of Korea’s material economic production throughout the entire period. This share dropped to eighty percent between 1918 and 1920, which can be explained by the increase in industrial production. According to the estimation made by Kim Nak Nyeon and his colleagues, agriculture accounted for sixty‑eight percent of the gross national product between 1911 and 1913, and sixty‑five percent in 1920, with services accounting for twenty‑five percent of the total in 1911 and twenty‑seven percent in 1919.56 Beyond these figures, the period saw considerable changes in terms of economic production; in order to understand the exact nature of these changes I will first analyse the capital of colonial businesses followed by the various business sectors concerned.

COLONIAL BuSINESSES BY CApITAL

33 In order to understand the reality and dynamics of the network of colonial businesses, I shall present and analyse a series of statistical data on the ownership and location of capital between 1910 and 1920, then on its distribution by business sector between 1914 and 1920, keeping in mind that official data are imperfect and that the approach adopted here does not necessarily provide an understanding of all colonial businesses, particularly the smallest ones in Korea’s economic fabric. Furthermore, given my focus on the colonial phenomenon, foreign businesses will not be taken into account. The reason for this is that these businesses were highly distinct structures which, despite being few in number (10 in 1910), exceeded their Korean counterparts in terms of capital. This is notably because they included representations for companies such as the Standard Oil Company founded by the multi‑billionaire John D. Rockefeller. They

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were involved in trade and mining, in particular gold mining, where they controlled almost all of production (notably the American firm Oriental Consolidated Mining Company). Gold was the main ore extracted in Korea between 1905 and 1915 (69% of mining) but was rapidly overtaken by iron and coal (14.5% of mining production in 1919-1920).57 The gold mining sector’s foreign ownership and fairly rapid relative decline explain the lack of attention paid to this issue in the historiography and the fact that it will not be examined in further detail here. Let us begin by looking at the general evolution of companies between 1910 and 1920 according to whether their headquarters were located in Korea (Korean-headquartered companies) or the homeland (metropolitan companies).

34 Graphs VII and VIII show the change in the composition of Korea-headquartered companies according to their owners’ nationality, by number (see graph VII) and by the amount of paid‑in capital they possessed (see graph VIII). Generally speaking, we can see a discrepancy between the multipolarity of companies when viewing them by number and a hegemonic structure in the distribution of capital. The structural multipolarity of companies nonetheless became less marked with the rise of Japanese stock companies beginning in 1917 (a third of Korea-headquartered companies between 1911 and 1916; half in 1919 and 1920). Stock companies, including Korean and Nippo‑Korean businesses (gōdō 合同), thus rose ten points and came to account for two thirds of the total in 1918‑20 (compared to 57% between 1911 and 1916). Moreover, limited partnerships represented a third of the total between 1911 and 1913 and only lost two points during the war (31% between 1914 and 1917) but subsequently fell to twenty percent in 1920. Finally, the share of general partnerships remained stable at eleven percent. In terms of nationality, the fall in Nippo-Korean companies is striking: after climbing three points between 1911 and 1916, the share of these companies fell by over half in 1917 alone (from 14% to 6%). They were replaced by Japanese companies, the share of which rose from sixty‑nine percent to seventy-seven percent between 1911‑16 and 1917‑20. Sandwiched between these two, the share of Korean companies remained stable at eighteen percent. It remains to be seen if this squeeze on Nippo‑Korean companies as of 1916, caused by the growth of Japanese stock companies, is mirrored in the distribution of capital.

35 In terms of capital (graph VIII), and once again based on official data (no doubt intended more specifically to evaluate metropolitan businesses), not only is this trend confirmed, it is also more starkly evident: the stock market capital financing Nippo- Korean companies shrunk drastically as of 1916, falling suddenly in 1917 by more than a third (36%). The amount lost (nine million yen) was mirrored by an identical rise that same year in the capital of Japanese stock companies (which tripled in volume). This “siphoning off” continued in 1917: while Nippo‑Korean stock companies lost eleven million yen (leading to a massacre, with 12 out of 25 companies liquidated), their Japanese counterparts yet again doubled their capital and saw their numbers rise from seventy-six to ninety-four. As we can see on graph IX, their share of capital on the peninsula jumped from sixteen percent to seventy‑two percent in two years. As part of this trend, the share of capital held by Korean stock companies dropped from seventeen percent in 1911 to eleven percent in 1920.

36 Among the companies headquartered in Korea, Nippo-Korean businesses had on average five to ten times more capital than the others until 1915. The least well‑endowed in terms of capital were Japanese companies, which possessed even less

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than Korean businesses, indicating that early colonisation was carried out by small businessmen. This situation was turned on its head as of 1916 by the large-scale penetration of Japanese stock market capital and the dwindling funds of Korean businesses. Yet the capital invested in companies on the peninsula came overwhelmingly from the stock market over the entire period (on average 90%, though it should be borne in mind that this figure is perhaps the best measured), in other words, the general trend was marked by a concentrating of stock market capital in Japanese businesses (which received 99.6% of this new capital between 1915 and 1920). What was the situation for metropolitan companies?

37 The capital invested in the latter was quite unlike that of Korean-headquartered businesses, being fifty times greater in amount despite the fact that there were five times less of these companies. They possessed on average twelve times more capital (between 1911 and 1917). According to the data, they were always overwhelmingly stock companies (on average 98%, with a variation rate of just 3.4%; cf. table II); unless such companies were merely better identified. While growth in invested capital remained sluggish until 1916, it soared between 1917 and 1920 (increasing fivefold). Taking into account inflation, metropolitan business capital in Korea doubled between 1917 and 1920. Once again, the force driving this situation was Japanese stock market capital, leading the Japanese share of the total capital to increase from seventy‑eight percent in 1915 to ninety‑five percent between 1917 and 1920.

38 Beyond these colonial data, the variations recorded raise the question of what drove the dramatic growth in Japanese capital. It resulted more from market speculation in the metropole58 than from a genuine development in Korea’s productive forces. On the one hand, there is once again the watershed of 1916-17, mentioned in my discussion of colonial finances; on the other hand, we can see that this watershed was caused by a massive influx of Japanese capital into Korea in the context of Japan’s booming economy, as mentioned in the introduction.

39 In order to better understand this change we must further explore the sectors in which the above capital was concentrated.

THE BuSINESS SECTORS AND THEIR EVOLuTION

40 Table III shows the distribution of capital by sector according to whether the company was headquartered in Korea or in Japan.

41 The first observation to be made echoes my preceding analysis: metropolitan companies in colonial Korea had more than twice as much capital as locally headquartered businesses. Also striking is the overwhelming preponderance of the banking (30%), commerce (25%) and transport (16%) sectors, together representing almost three quarters (71%) of the invested capital. They were the driving force behind a colonial penetration centred on commerce, in other words banks to finance trade, transport firms to move merchandise and merchant companies to handle transactions. 59

42 The commerce and transport sectors were almost exclusively metropolitan (83%), a sign of Japan’s hold over colonial Korea, while the capitalisation of Korean and metropolitan banks appears to be equal (48% compared to 52%). However, the equity of Korean banks was also primarily Japanese, which amounts to the same thing. The

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preferred sphere of activity of these banks was the peninsula’s domestic economic life: lending to farmers, merchants and landowners, and collecting funds. In a country experiencing a demographic boom (a 24% increase in inhabitants over 10 years between 1910 and 1920)60, these were promising activities.

43 Outside of the top three, the agricultural sector is notable for its size, occupying eleven percent of the total when added together with the Tōtaku Company. This sector was overwhelmingly headquartered in Korea (78%), which is unsurprising given that in this sector decision-makers were more or less obliged to be present locally. Gas and electricity suppliers were undeniably important in terms of the capital mobilised and the innovations introduced but not in terms of the physical scope of their activity, limited as it was to the largest cities. The fishing industry was dominated by the Japanese fishermen overrunning Korean waters, to which they now had full access; however, accounting for just 0.4 percent of the capital invested, its economic impact was virtually imperceptible. The industrial production sectors were at the cutting edge of technology, but being great demanders of capital they were insignificant at the beginning of colonisation. How did this situation change? A look at table IV reveals the state of affairs in 1920.

44 Commerce had made clear progress and now far outstripped the competition (with a share of more than 37% it exceeded the combined total of the sectors in second and third position). The banking sector had lost more than half of its share (dropping from 25% to 10%) and transport was also on the decline (although to a much lesser extent, dropping from 19% to 15%). Similarly, the agricultural sector had seen a reduction in its share of capital from fourteen percent to nine percent. This can be explained by the development of the manufacturing sector, which while admittedly weak (15%), was highly dynamic (up from just 3% in 1914) and now stood in second position (held jointly with the transport sector). The rapid expansion seen in the late 1910s thus rested on the development of commerce and industry. In other words, as we can see, the statistics compiled by the Government‑General of Korea quite clearly show a “successful” economic colonisation whose beginnings were marked by political initiative, the importance of public and semi-public businesses (banks and the railway) and growth that was fairly rapidly marked by the importance of the private sector, industry and commerce.

45 Let us now take a more detailed look at the reality of the most dynamic sector during the 1910s, that of manufacturing and industry.

THE MANuFACTuRINg AND INDuSTRIAL SECTOR

46 Colonial statistics used the term kōjō 工場 (traditionally translated as factory) to refer to any production unit relying on mechanical means or employing more than five workers (shokkō 職工), and whose output value exceeded five thousand yen per year. Accordingly, medium-sized workshops could also be classed as “factories”. Yet while the number of industrial and manufacturing production units showed strong and continuous growth between 1911 and 1917 (cf. table V), the average amount of capital invested slumped, a sign that small structures were on the rise. This trend saw a widening gulf appear between Korean and Japanese units: while in 1911 the former had on average over five times less capital than the latter, by 1919 this gap had tripled. It now took sixteen Korean units to attain the average capital invested in a Japanese unit.

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This development is far worse than the one outlined in my analysis of the general distribution of capital: six times worse to be exact (between 1911 and 1920 the discrepancy between the average capital invested in Korean and Japanese businesses merely grew by half, whereas the difference between the capital invested in Korean and Japanese factories tripled). Accordingly, the development of Korea’s industrial output led to the creation of many small —and mainly Korean—enterprises, which we might speculate were in the service of older and larger firms that were overwhelmingly Japanese.61

47 Japanese units were capitalistically crushing their less-well-endowed Korean counterparts, with the former evidently snapping up high‑tech activities that required capital and the latter remaining limited to the least sophisticated activities. Accordingly, output also evolved in favour of Japanese businesses, with that of Japanese firms more than doubling (+126%) while the average output of their Korean competitors stagnated. In reality, if we take into account inflation, the true average value of Korean output had been halved, while that of Japanese factories remained stable. However, if we look at how the capital-output ratio evolved, we can see that the gap between Korean and Japanese industries, after widening between 1911 and 1915 (the Japanese sector up 16% and the Korean sector up 7%), subsequently shrunk in favour of Korean industry in 1917 (+24% compared to +35%) before the post‑war crisis struck the final blow (the Korean sector’s ratio shrunk by just 10% between 1917 and 1919, while that of the Japanese sector lost a third of its value). It would appear that while the war “bubble” had encouraged the development and growth of Japanese output, the end of the war brought this rapid expansion to a close. The Japanese side was thus the first and hardest hit by the crisis, although this did not reduce the huge gap that had opened up between colony and metropole. Although the Korean sector did lose less than its Japanese counterpart, the fact that it had much less capital to begin with means that the social consequences of this “small” loss must have been considerable (and further studies on this subject would be useful). The bubble in the metropole had weakened Korea’s socio-economic fabric and this situation only worsened after the bubble burst. For Japanese companies, the post-war crisis primarily meant a concentration of capital (trebling of the average capital per company between 1917 and 1919) for those businesses concerned.

48 In terms of activities, despite using the term “industrial”, in reality production remained that of a primarily agrarian economy. According to annual colonial statistical reports more than half of so‑called “industrial” production (57%)62 came from rice refineries, a sector that had even greater importance for Koreans (representing 72% of their output) than for the Japanese (55%). The domination of rice lessened somewhat during the period in question, dropping from sixty-three percent in 1911 to forty‑nine percent in 1916, before immediately rising back up to fifty‑six percent in 1918-19. This rise was mainly due to the strong growth in rice exports to the metropole during these years (see the discussion below), something which also explains why Korean “industry” was better able to resist (in terms of dynamics) the crisis than its Japanese counterpart.

49 Outside of this key sector, metalworking and tobacco‑making were tied in second position (13% over the period). While the tobacco sector remained stable despite going through a bad patch between 1916 and 1917 (dropping to 7%), the metalworking industry had a much more chaotic trajectory: after expanding from a tiny four percent in 1911 to twenty-seven percent in 1917, it returned to an insignificant level (6%)

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in 1919 (more of this crisis later). Spinning mills, tanneries, breweries, pottery workshops and so on made up the remaining twenty percent of production. An official report published in 1922 on the “progress” made in Korea between 1918 and 1921 was unable to hide the reality of the crisis in non‑agricultural sectors. Although the subject was not explored in detail, it was nonetheless alluded to on several occasions and the report insisted tactically, to explain the crisis, on the “abnormal” conditions surrounding industrial development caused by the fallout of the war in Europe.63 This assessment contrasts with the praise heaped on the agricultural sector, henceforth destined to systematically provide large quantities of cheap rice to the metropole.

50 Finally, in order to understand the true scale of this “industrial development” we must examine its mechanical power and the number of employees: 48,705 workers across 1,900 production sites in 1920, but only 828 machines driven by 37,501 horsepower.64 The fact that there were more workers than horsepower neatly summarises the limit of Korea’s “industrial” development. Japan’s role in this trend was important, with the country employing 22,747 people in 1916 of which 18,279 were Korean.65 This was nonetheless an insignificant number for a country with fifteen to sixteen million inhabitants; just like infrastructure and agricultural colonisation, industrial production experienced limited development and significant difficulties towards the end of the period.

51 Let us now examine the commercial sector, theoretically the largest of all, using two specific case studies: rice and iron.

THE COMMERCIAL CAPTURE OF RICE AND IRON

52 As we have already seen, Korean “trade” was in reality to a great extent a captive of its relationship with Japan; we must thus proceed cautiously when discussing the “balance of trade” figures provided by the Government‑General. (In fact, any analysis of these figures would require a careful examination of the “prices” applied during these “transactions”.) In this context of economic domination, rice, the most highly exported item to the metropole (representing 38% of the total value of exports to Japan), was of particular importance. Another commodity had great importance in Korea’s economic ties with the metropole, despite representing just one percent of the value of Korean exports to Japan throughout the period: iron ore, which was vital to Japan’s industrial development.

THE RICE ISSuE

53 Beginning in the late 1900s, as the first stage in establishing a colonial empire came to a close, “the rice issue” gradually yet clearly emerged as a crisis in Japan. Rice production in the metropole had stalled at less than fifty million koku66 while the population was booming (up 11% per year on average between 1900 and 1920, from 43.8 million to 56 million inhabitants). Over the ten-year period from 1900‑1910 there was annual shortfall of four million koku.67 This was exacerbated by a particularity of the international rice market in Japan, where merchants exported the best Japanese rice— renowned around the world for its high quality—and imported cheap foreign rice of inferior quality,68 thus profiting from both ends of the market. This state of affairs drove up ceiling prices on the most expensive rice and lowered the minimum quality of

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the cheapest rice consumed by the poorest inhabitants. This situation emerged in the 1890s and had intermittently caused a certain amount of local unrest. The rise in rice prices (+30% between 1890 and 1910)69 satisfied landowners but caused growing popular discontent, encouraging social conflicts and threatening to lead to a forced rise in industrial wages. At the crux of the problem was the industrial development in the metropole: more workers called upon to work in the industrial sector meant an equivalent number of workers taken away from agricultural production. The low wages of these ever‑increasing workers had to be maintained and importing more cheap Korean rice was one solution to the problem.

54 Initially this approach encouraged imports of cheap foreign rice (see graph IX): in the late 1900s Japan was still importing over half a million koku of Indochinese rice. 70 During the 1900s and 1910s this situation gradually increased in scale to become a long- running issue, though confined to the lower echelons of society. Far from the government, the problem grew intermittently, as in 1911, and became pressing. That same year, a bad harvest in Japan caused rice imports to double (from just over a million to more than two million koku).71 The masses stayed silent in the face of the vagaries of the weather, still largely unaware of the slow and disastrous evolution underway, but the economic powers, including French colonisers in Indochina, took a keen interest in this “rice issue”.72 In Indochina, a lowering in Japan’s tariffs was eagerly awaited in order to penetrate the market on a massive scale (at the time rice accounted for almost two thirds of Indochinese exports). It was to no avail, the Japanese government remained under the powerful influence of the landowners.73 It was only at the end of the period examined here, faced with the riots of 1918, that Tokyo temporarily abolished the duty on imports (between 1 November 1918 and 31 October 1919). Until then, rather than paying for imports in gold money, the metropole had found a solution in the purchasing of colonial rice that allowed them to kill two birds with one stone: developing the colonial economic system and feeding Japan’s ever‑growing working classes at a low cost, thereby avoiding a rise in wages.

55 As Japan’s first colony, Taiwan was also the first to be called on to contribute: less populated and blessed with a subtropical climate well suited to growing rice, the island provided almost a quarter (23%) of Japan’s overseas supply until 1918,74 exporting almost a fifth (18%) of its production.75 This contribution, which was substantial considering Taiwan’s small size and population, was as much as it could provide. Its production capacity was limited to a surplus of a little under one million koku per year between 1905 and 1920.76 Most importantly, rice‑growing could not be allowed to threaten sugarcane cultivation. This so‑called “rice and sugarcane rivalry” (beitō sōkoku 米糖相剋) would become critical in the 1920s but was already a sensitive issue in the period under examination here. Given this context, purchases of Korean rice by Japan continued to rise (graph IX).

56 Initially it was difficult to import Korean rice: local production did not yield a surplus, the Korean population itself was booming (from 13.3 million inhabitants in 1910 to 17.3 million in 1920) and rice‑growing had not been developed to the extent desired. Furthermore, the Japanese government had only been able to remove the duty on imports after annexing the country, in April 1912, despite having promised the foreign powers that it would not modify Korea’s customs system before 1916.77 This measure clearly shows how pressing the problem had become. Despite this, Korean rice came to predominate over Indochinese, Burmese and Chinese rice on a Japanese import market

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that showed no notable peaks between 1913 and 1918 (graph X). This situation was made possible by the war:78 the European colonies could no longer find merchant ships available to sail to Japan since they were being used in European waters. Consequently, between 1914 and 1917 Japanese colonial rice represented eighty percent of rice imports, with the metropole thereby increasing its already considerable share of Korean rice exports (from 81% between 1912 and 1916 to 90% between 1917 and 1921).79 In 1918, this mass‑purchasing from the metropole created a trade surplus in favour of Korea’s colonial landowners for the first time.

57 If we compare data from the period 1898‑1911 with 1912‑19 (graph IX) we can see the extent of Korea’s contribution, which covered sixty-two percent of the growth in imports, thereby reducing the use of foreign rice to thirty-seven percent of this growth. Although this graph shows the war years as a slack period, it was during this period in particular that the Japanese drain on Korean rice began to be felt: the value of the Korean rice exported to the metropole represented just four percent of output between 1910 and 1913 but had already doubled by 1914 and subsequently grew to eighteen percent and twenty‑one percent in 1915 and 1919 (giving an average of 13% between 1914‑1919). The conditions surrounding Korean production mattered little; despite unpredictable harvests and a burgeoning population, Japanese demand for rice took precedence and became increasingly burdensome. Was it not to escape Japan’s hijacking of rice production that the Korean production of wheat, soybean and Italian millet almost doubled between 1910 and 1920?80 Graph II shows the intensity of this change in the shrinking share of rice in the total volume of agricultural products being transported. The population boom during this period explains why Korean farmers sought first to produce crops for themselves and the local market rather than grow rice for the metropole on flooded parcels of land. Rice‑growing required not only a greater investment but was also subject to unpredictable pressure from a faraway market with numerous and powerful middlemen. Faced with the unstable nature of faraway trade and the particularly unequal conditions of the colonial market, local production took refuge in domestic niches found in a local economy that had remained primarily food‑producing.81 It was only in the 1920s that the Korean rice-growing sector was modernised through a fifteen-year programme implemented by the Government‑General, while the duty on imports to the metropole was abolished in 1919. As previously mentioned, metropolitan Japan was reeling from the “rice riots” of the summer of 1918 and the failure of the trade policy implemented in Korea over the previous decade, leading it to further tighten its grip on Korean agriculture.

58 I have mentioned that the Korean “rice issue” went hand in hand with the industrial issue, namely that providing cheap rice in order to keep the salaries of the Japanese proletariat—in other words production costs—low was vital to Japanese industry and its development. Colonial Korea also played an important role in this industrial issue by supplying iron ore.

Korean iron ore

59 The growth of the steel industry in Japan was concurrent with the establishment of the colonial empire: between 1897 and 1901 the first modern steelworks was built and inaugurated in Yahata82 in Northern Kyūshū, close to the Chikuhō coal field and not far from Korean and Chinese iron mines.83 What interests us here is the question of how

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these steelworks were supplied with ore and how Korean iron ore figured in this configuration.

60 The reason for this is that Japan remained dependent on its imports of foreign steel and cast iron, and in order to offset these purchases and produce itself, it had to import massive amounts of the iron ore and special coal needed for steel‑making. In this context, Japan’s colonisation of Korea provided precious resources.

61 In terms of both quantity and quality Japanese iron ore was unable to satisfy the national demand for steel. The closest external source of supply was Korea, with colonisation giving Japan total control of the peninsula. In 1917 the main mines (at Unryul and Chaeyŏng) were managed by Tokyo but the Japanese were also active: at Kaechon, Mitsubishi at Hwangju and Chaeyŏng, as well as the mining capital of Chikuhō (Yasukawa and Asō families).84 However, Korean output was insufficient and the Chinese deposits at Daye (in central China, the current region of Wuhan) were called on (cf. graph X). The quality of these deposits made them the best available and Japanese capital ensured a regular supply via loans granted to the consortium running the mine as of 1903.85 Graph X shows that while imports from Korea were always considerable (26% of the total between 1912 and 1920), they were consistently outstripped by Chinese imports (46% of the total). We can also see the immediate post-war “bubble” through the rise in imports (from 1918 to 1920) and its subsequent deflation in 1921‑22 (serious financial crisis in 1922). This downturn was particularly severe for Korean iron ore, which was replaced by ore from the “Straits Settlements” (British settlements in the Strait of Malacca), specifically from Johor.86 This bubble and its subsequent bursting directly concerned the entire Japanese steel industry at the time.

THE JApANESE STEEL INDuSTRY IN NORTHEAST ASIA

62 After having thought that the war would be short-lived, the “iron famine” (tetsu no kikin 鉄の飢饉)87 and virtual doubling of the price of cast iron in 1915 alone saw Japanese capital turn to the construction of steelworks in 1916 to overcome the scarcity of iron for import. This “famine” was particularly serious, as without sufficient quantities of either iron or steel, Japan was unable to fully exploit the opportunity provided by the Great War since it needed to arm its ships in order to support its commercial expansion and ensure the development of a heavy industry capable of making the machines and equipment necessary for its light industry. Deprived of its European sources, Japan found itself dependent on a low‑cost American supply as of 1916 (cf. graph XII). With the United States joining the war in April 1917, the prospect of a total embargo on steel appeared and the problem developed into an acute crisis. The embargo became a reality in October that year but in the meantime orders had multiplied and prices had already soared.88 After October, Tokyo only received deliveries on the condition that the steel was used to arm ships destined to serve the war effort in the Atlantic Ocean.89 Doing so meant that imports were maintained, but at extremely high prices.90

63 In Japan this crisis gave rise to a “rise in steel-making fever” (seitetsu-netsu no bokkō 製 鉄熱の勃興)91 between 1917 and 1918. The largest planned steelworks were concentrated around the iron deposits in Korea and southern Manchuria, such as the Ōkura conglomerate in Benxihu 本溪湖 (1915) and the South Manchurian Railway

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Company in 安山 (1918). Mitsubishi built a complex around its Korean iron mine in Kyumip’o (between P’yŏngyang and Chinnamp’o), producing ammonium sulphate as of 1917, cast iron as of 1918 and steel as of 1919.92 Its output was destined to meet the needs of the shipbuilding industry in which the Mitsubishi Group excelled and the first orders were recorded in August 1917.93 Most of these planned Japanese steelworks became a reality in 1918, the year the war in Europe ended and the exact moment at which world steel prices plummeted. Korean cast iron production thus lost almost half of its value between 1918 and 1920 (from 15.37 to 8.27 million yen),94 a disastrous start.

64 The investments made by Japanese capital at the height of the bubble had to endure the return of Western competition, and not only in the steel industry but in all of the commercial sectors the Western economies had abandoned during the war. Just two years after talking of “boom” and “fever”, the Japanese national press was running headlines on the “collapse of the steel industry” (seitetsu-jigyō no botsuraku 製鉄事業の 没落).95 Speculators immediately turned their backs on the industry to feed off of the stock exchange and traditional commercial sectors such as rice. The bubble began to spread.96

The Korean colonial economy at the end of World War I: from speculation to impasse

65 The rising prices of industrial products had already had a knock-on effect on those of foodstuffs (graph XII), but when the former collapsed in 1919 as the latter continued to rise, the industrial bubble became a serious social problem, particularly in Korea where Japan’s mass purchasing was exporting the rise in prices. Graph XII shows the extent to which the colony was subjected to trends in the metropole: Korean prices for agricultural products had to be lower and those for industrial products higher than metropolitan prices, until the system overheated in 1918 and exploded in 1919. The situation in Korea was paradoxical in that industrial products became cheaper only when Korean production itself collapsed, just as the price of foodstuffs was climbing.

66 The rising cost of living was a crucial issue for the colonial government: it was identified in police surveys as one of the population’s main grievances with the new government as early as in 1911‑1914,97 even before price trends became critical. On 28 February 1919 the Keijō Nippō, a local newspaper read mainly by Japanese residents, finished publishing a series of five articles denouncing the situation with petroleum, which had become “more expensive than rice wine”, and charcoal, which was “even more expensive than any food item”.98

67 The policy pursued in Korea between 1905 and 1918‑1919 was an economic and social impasse. Shortly after this period, two days before the burial of Korea’s former king Kojong, just over a year after the American president Wilson made his speech proclaiming the “right of nations to self‑determination”, and in the context of a Europe itself marked by socialist revolution and social instability (Russia, Germany), a group of militant Korean intellectuals gathered in the Korean capital to publicly declare Korea independent and call for an uprising. It was like putting a match to tinder: the whole of Korean society reacted, the March First Movement was born, weakening Japan’s colonial rule.

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68 Whether in terms of infrastructure, production units or trade, the first period in Japan’s colonial rule examined in this article did not enable a stable economy to develop in Korea.

69 Investment remained insufficient until 1916 and when it did become significant after this date, it was in the context of the speculative bubble caused by the Great War or in connection with Manchuria. Furthermore, despite the annual statistical reports of the Government-General heavily stressing the “cost of colonisation”, as we have seen, Korea’s economy was and would continue to be overburdened by the metropole’s permanent drain on its natural resources and by an introduction of capital that entirely favoured Japanese ownership. The Japanese authorities depicted Korea as receiving generous investments from the metropole, but the colonial economic system acted like a bottomless barrel being permanently drained by chronic public and trade deficits which acted in favour of the metropole.

70 This raises the question of the perspective and discourse adopted in the documentation used in this article. We can see that the Government‑General liked to present itself as if Korea was an independent state with real commercial prerogatives and as if there still existed in post‑1910 Korea a “state” whose public deficit and trade balance could be analysed. But are these concepts meaningful in a colonial context? Indeed, what do the “loans” granted by the metropole to the Government‑General of Korea represent, given that in reality they were secured against Korea’s natural resources and served to strengthen Japan’s colonial apparatus? The colonial government obviously never “repaid” the metropole, other than investors: at work was a well understood mechanism in which cash and financial stocks flowed in one single direction. Similarly, any attempt at analysing colonial Korea’s financial sector raises the question of the role of the Bank of Chōsen, which like the Bank of Indochina in the case of France served above all as a regional springboard for metropolitan investors.

71 Ultimately, official information on the Korean economy produced by the colonial government merely shows the development of the Japanese apparatus in colonial Korea, without providing a clear understanding of Korea’s true economic fabric (other than in its links with Japanese economic networks, which were more or less evident depending on the sector).

72 With the end of the war in 1918, the failure of early projects in the field of heavy industry and the sharp rise in living costs in Korea between 1916 and 1919 all left their mark. It was in this context that critical Japanese writers such as Yoshino Sakuzō 吉野 作造 (1878-1933) and Ishibashi Tanzan 石橋湛山 (1884‑1973) denounced the growing and unnecessary burden imposed by the colonial empire.99 Ishibashi Tanzan in particular explained that Japan would gain from concentrating its growth on its own shores, far from the “illusions” of an armed presence in East Asia.100 This notwithstanding, the effort made in the 1920s to modernise Korean agriculture and in heavy industry beginning in the 1930s would give further weight to Korea’s colonial economy, all the while strengthening its position with regards Japan and Northeast Asia. In this specific sense, the failure of Japan’s development policy in the 1910s, followed by the March First Movement in 1919, led a different economic policy to be implemented in the colony which would render the structure of colonial Korea and the relations between colonised and coloniser even more complex.

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Tables and Graphs

Table I: The financial situation of Japan’s colonial governments (1907-1918) (unit: thousand yen)

(B): actual balance of the ordinary civil budget (ordinary receipts–metropolitan subsidies–ordinary expenditure) (E): total civil expenditure (ordinary and extraordinary) (S): metropolitan subsidies (including in the case of Kwantung the “grants” hokyū-kin 補給金received by the South Manchurian Railway Company for the management of lands bordering its tracks (mantetsu fuzoku-chi 満鉄附属地). (A): army expenditure (metropole) (SA): metropolitan expenditure (subsidies + army); E-S: Korean expenditure (expenditure–subsidies); EA: total costs (expenditure + army). * Kwantung: lands adjacent to the railway managed by the SMRC included, and only these in 1908. Sources: For Korea: Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms and Progress in Chosen, Keijō, 1922, p. 37; 1910: Mizoguchi Toshiyuki 溝口敏行, Taiwan Chōsen no keizai seichō 台湾・ 朝鮮経済の成長 (Economic Growth in Taiwan and Korea), Tokyo, Iwanami Shoten, 1975, p. 129. Subsidies, 1907‑1910: see Government-General of Chosen, Results of Three Years’ Administration of Chosen since Annexation, p. 17. Under the Resident-General regime between 1907 and 1910 the metropole covered the expenses of the colonial administration entirely. With the creation of a Government-General in 1910, metropolitan subsidies for that year totalled just 5,291,000 yen according to Kimura (see below). The Government‑General itself put the amount (see previous source) at twenty-five million yen including military expenses. Perhaps the five million yen mentioned by Kimura can be explained as the colonial administration’s local financing (funding during this first year was evidently temporary and was just half of subsequent years). Subsidies, 1911: Kimura Mitsuhiko, “Public Finance in Korea under Japanese Colonial Rule: Deficit in the Colonial Account and Colonial Taxation”, Explorations in Economic History, vol. 26, no. 3, 1989, pp. 285-310, p. 288. For Kwantung: South Manchurian Railway, Report on Progress in Manchuria, Dairen, 1929, 6 volumes, vol. 1, p. 57; Manmō Kyōkai 満蒙文化協会 (The Manchuria and Mongolia Cultural Association), Manmō nenkan 満蒙年鑑 (Annual [Statistical] Report of Manchuria and Mongolia), Dairen, year 1924, pp. 206-207, pp. 216-217. For Taiwan: Mizoguchi T., Taiwan Chōsen…, op. cit., p. 129. For military expenditure (“Army”) in Korea: Hojin Ch’oe, Essays on Korean Economy, Seoul, Sekyungsa, 1995, p. 185.

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Table II: Metropolitan companies (1911-1920)

* The Anju coal mine opened in 1914 with a capital of five million yen under a special regime, the limited partnership stock company (kabushiki gōshi gaisha 株式合資会社); it is included in the totals from this point forward. GP: general partnership LP: limited partnership SC: stock company Source: CSTN, years 1914 and 1920 (volume 3).

Table III: The capitalisation of companies active in Korea in 1914

* elec: electricity CPTL: CAPITAL (THOUSAND YEN) NUM: NUMBER OF COMPANIES NB: there is a small amount left over which has nonetheless been included in the totals. Source: CSTN, op. cit., year 1914.

Table IV: The business sectors invested in by metropolitan capital in Korea in 1920

NB: the figures for 1914 consist of the “headquartered in Japan” column from table III along with the Tōtaku Company. Source: CSTN, year 1920, volume 3.

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Table V: Manufacturing and industrial production in colonial Korea (1911-1919)

K: Korean sector; J: Japanese sector. Mach.: number of machines; HP: number of horsepower (mechanical power). Emp.: number of workers in thousands of people. NB: strong inflation in Japan between 1917 and 1919. Source: CSTN for each year.

Graph I: Freight traffic on the Korean railway in yen (1910-1922)

Source: Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō yonjū-nen ryakushi (Forty-Year History of the Korean Railway), Keijō, 1940, p. 568.

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Graph II: Freight traffic on the Korean railway in tons (1910-1920)

Source: Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō ronsan, op. cit., p. 163.

Graph III: Transport activities and profits index for the Korean railway

NB: The source data for “passengers” are in number of people transported, “freight” in tonnes and “profits” in yen (less running costs and without deducting debt servicing). Source: Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō ronsan, op. cit., pp. 375-375, p. 171.

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Graph IV: Korean trade balance (1910-1920) (unit: thousand yen)

Source: Yamamoto Yūzō, Shokuminchi keizai-shi kenkyū, op. cit., p. 167.

Graph V: Geography of Bank of Chōsen deposits (1910-1919)

Source: Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., p. 179.

Graph VI: Geography of Bank of Chōsen loans (1910-1919)

Source: Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., p. 179.

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Graph VII: Value of Korean material economic production by sector (1910-1920) (thousand yen)

Source: Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō ronsan, op. cit., p. 143.

Graph VIII: Number of Korean-headquartered companies (1910-1920)

NB: foreign companies headquartered in Korea included (1 for the period 1912-19 and 2 in 1920). Source: CSTN, year 1920, vol. 3.

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Graph IX: Capital of Korean-headquartered companies

Source: CSTN, year 1920, vol. 3.

Graph X: Japanese rice imports (1911-1919) (unit: koku)

Source: Nōshōmu-shō Nōmu-kyoku, Kome no tōkei tekiyō, op. cit., 1920.

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Graph XI: Iron ore demand and imports in Japan (1912-1922) (unit: tonnes)

NB: here demand corresponds to production added to imports, minus exports. Source: Shōkō-shō Kōzan-kyoku 商工省鉱山局 (Mines Bureau at the Ministry of Commerce and Industry), Seitetsugyō sankō shiryō 製鉄業参考資料 (Documentation on the Iron and Steel Industry), June survey 1926, p. 6.

Graph XII: Steel production and imports in Japan (1912-1925) (unit: tonnes)

Source: Shōkō-shō Kōzan-kyoku, Seitetsu-gyō sankō shiryō, op. cit.

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Graph XIII: Price index for industrial and food-based products and commodities in Japan and Korea (1914-1919)

Source: For Japan, industrial products (imported steel, cast iron, coal, petroleum and cotton) and agricultural products (rice, soybean, wheat): United States Tariff Commission, The Foreign Trade of Japan. A Study of the Trade of Japan with Special Reference to That with the United States, Washington, Government Printing Office, 1922, p. 22; except for imported steel: Shōkō-shō Kōzan-kyoku, Seitetsu- gyō sankō shiryō, op. cit. For Korea, agricultural products: CSTN, each year (average of the prices of both refined and husked rice, and soybean); industrial products (mining, metals and textiles): Kim Nak Nyeon, Nihon-teikokushugi-ka no chōsen keizai, op. cit., p. 181.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Original release: Alexandre Roy, « Les débuts de l’emprise économique japonaise en Corée coloniale, 1900-1919 », Cipango, 18, 2011, 135-187, mis en ligne le 17 juin 2013, URL: http:// cipango.revues.org/1524 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1524

NOTES

1. In 1901, in L’Impérialisme, spectre du vingtième siècle (Imperialism: The Specter of the Twentieth Century), Kōtoku declared: “Although the building of empires can only hasten the road to downfall and ruin, the Western powers can pride themselves on keeping their flags aloft a few years. Japan, on the other hand, would be incapable of maintaining any empire it might build for even one day.” Translated from French, Christine Lévy, Paris, CNRS Éditions, 2008, p. 177. For more information on Kōtoku, see the detailed introduction by Christine LÉVY in her translation of the aforementioned book (pp. 1-79). 2. At that time the island was known in the West as Formosa, Taiwan being the reading (in both Chinese and Japanese) of the characters 台湾. 3. A 55,000km2 peninsula that constituted the majority of the southern Manchurian coast. 4. On the subject of attitudes towards precolonial Korea in Japan, see Lionel Babicz, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’ère Meiji (Attitudes to Korea in Meiji-Era Japan), Paris, Maisonneuve et Larose, 2002. And more generally on colonial Korea (up to 1945), see Alain Delissen, “La péninsule

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coréenne aux XIXe et XXe siècles” (The Korean Peninsula in the 19th and 20 th Centuries), in Hartmund Rotermund et alii, L'Asie orientale et méridionale aux XIXe et XXe siècles (East and South Asia in the 19th and 20th Centuries), Paris, PUF, “Nouvelle Clio”, 1999, pp. 177-195. 5. Thirteen million according to colonial statistics, but just over sixteen million according to the work of Myung Soo Cha 車明洙, “Keizai seichō shotoku bunpai kōzō henka” 経済成・長所得分・ 配構造変化 (Economic Growth, Income Distribution and Structural Change), in Kim Nak Nyeon (ed.), Shokuminchi-ki chōsen no kokumin keizai keisan 植民地期朝鮮の国民経済計算 (A Quantification of Korea’s National Economy during the Colonial Period), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppan 東京大学出版, 2008, pp. 322-329. 6. 540 million yen in exports compared to 399 million in imports between 1915 and 1918. 7. This trend is generally visible in studies on the colonies (, policies, etc.). See Nihon Shokuminchi Kenkyūkai 日本植民地研究会 (ed.), Nihon Shokuminchi Kenkyū no genjō to kadai 日本植民地研究の現状と課題 (Present Situation and Issues in Japanese Colonial Studies), Tokyo, Atena-sha アテナ社, 2008, in particular chapter 3 on Korea (Mitsui Takashi 三ツ井崇, “Chōsen” (Korea), pp. 92-119). For a contemporary review (although Western-language research is not taken into account), see Matsumoto Takenori 松本武祝, “Keizai-shi” 経済史 (Economic History), in Chōsen-shi Kenkyūkai 朝鮮史研究会 (ed.), Chōsen-shi kenkyū nyūmon 朝鮮史研究入門 (An Introduction to Research on Korean History), Nagoya Daigaku Shuppan 名古屋大学出版 2011, pp. 256-266. 8. This is particularly visible in studies from the econometric school (Mizoguchi Toshiyuki 溝口 敏行, Yamamoto Yūzō 山本有造 and Kimura Mitsuhiko 木村光彦to cite those whose works I refer to here). American studies generally fall into this category (though not all, as the Bix-Myers controversy illustrated: Ramon H. Myers and Herbert Bix, “Economic Development in Manchuria under Japanese Imperialism: A Dissenting View”, The China Quarterly, no. 55, July-Sept. 1973, pp. 547-559). 9. Like Samuel Ho in “Colonialism and Development: Korea, Taiwan, and Kwantung” (in Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire. 1895-1945, Princeton University Press, 1984.) who states in the introduction that “colonial development improved the economic conditions of the native populations” (p. 347) and repeats in his conclusion that the benefits of colonisation were “widely shared” with the natives before admitting immediately after that Japan, with its colonial power, “did capture a large share of the gains” (p. 386). 10. Author of a seminal work on colonial land issues but focused on the 1920s and 1930s, with the 1910s receiving no particular attention (the analysis of the Chōsen Kōgyō Kaisha, on pages 146-166, draws on data that also covers the entire decade of the 1910s but the text itself does not dwell on this). Asada Kyōji 浅田喬二, Nihon teikokushugi to kyū-shokuminchi jinushi-sei 日本帝国主 義と旧植民地地主制 (Japanese Imperialism and Land Ownership in the Former Colonies), Tokyo, Ryūkei Shosha 龍渓書舎, 1989 (an expanded version of the first edition from 1968), pp. 67-166 (chapter 3). 11. Kaneko published a series of studies on Japanese investments in Manchuria in scientific journals. Kaneko Fumio 金子文夫, Kindai nihon ni okeru tai-manshū tōshi no kenkyū 近代日本におけ る対満州投資の研究 (A Study of Japanese Investments in Manchuria), Tokyo, Kondō Shuppan- sha 近藤出版社, 1990. 12. To quote a criticism of this group by the “positive” school of thought: Ramon Myers declared it “paradoxical that while Japanese scholars [focused on the theme of exploitation] have admitted that an agricultural revolution took place in colonies like Korea, they deny that this revolution provided any favourable benefits for the colonial peoples.” (R. H. Myers, “Post-World War II Japanese ’s Formal Colonial Empire”, in Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire. 1895-1945, op. cit., p. 469). Myers does not back this

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statement up with any reference to Japanese Marxist historians who have recognised the existence of an “agricultural revolution” in the colonies. 13. South Korean historiography initially established itself against the “Stagnation Theory” (teitai-ron 停滞論 in Japanese) of the pre-colonial economy, which is common to all colonialisms. See Alain Delissen, op. cit., pp. 143 and 156, and the article by Iwamoto Takunari quoted in footnote 15. 14. To such an extent that the “Iwanami Lectures” series on the history of colonialism entitles its economics volume “Industrialisation and Colonisation” (Ōe Shinobu 大江志乃夫 et alii (eds.), Kindai nihon to shokuminchi 近代日本と植民地 (Modern Japan and the Colonies), vol. 3, “Shokuminchika to sangyōka” 植民地化と産業化 (Colonisation and Industrialisation), Tokyo, Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 1993). See for example the introduction to the entry by Kaneko Fumio (“Shokuminchi-tōshi to kōgyōka” 植民地と工業化 (Investments in the Colonies and Industrialisation), in ibid., pp. 27-28). It is also discernible, albeit in a nuanced form, in Pierre- François Souyri, “Le colonialisme japonais” (Japanese Colonialism), in Marc Ferro (ed.), Le livre noir du colonialisme (The Black Book of Colonialism), Paris, Hachette, 2004 (first edition: Paris, Laffont, 2003), pp. 561-62. 15. See for example Kim Nak Nyeon 金洛年, Nihon-teikokushugi-ka no chōsen keizai 日本帝国主義下 の朝鮮経済 (The Korean Economy under Japanese Imperialism), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppan, 2002; and the review of this text by Iwamoto Takunari 岩本卓也 in Ajia Kenkyū アジア研究 (Asian Studies), vol. 50, no. 4 (Oct. 2004), pp. 98-102. 16. Which seems doubtful after reading a South Korean (econometric) study from this school of thought which takes a radically different stance to “nationalist” scholars by claiming in its introduction that the colonial state was “efficient, if not democratic”. Cha Myung Soo and Kim Nak Nyeon, “Korea’s First Industrial Revolution, 1911-40”, Explorations in Economic History, no. 49, 2012, pp. 60-74, p. 60. 17. A recently published article, whose title lacks any chronological delimitation despite the article discussing the 1920s and 1930s, indicates how commonplace this focus has become: Takeuchi Yūsuke 竹内祐介, “Kokumotsu-jukyū wo meguru nihon-teikoku-nai-bungyō no saihensei to shokuminchi chosen” 穀物需給をめぐる日本帝国内分業の再編成と植民地朝鮮 (The Restructuring of the Grain Market within the Japanese Empire and Colonial Korea), Shakai keizai-shigaku 社会経済史学 (Studies in Socio-Economic History), vol. 74, no. 5 (Jan. 2009), pp. 447-467. 18. On the subject of agricultural colonisation, see Alexandre Roy, “L’implantation des colons agricoles en Corée entre 1905 et 1919 : l’histoire d’un échec” (The Settlement of Agricultural Colonists in Korea between 1905 and 1919: History of a Failure), in Jean-Michel Butel and Makiko Ueda (eds.), Japon Pluriel, no. 9, Arles, Picquier, 2014. 19. On the subject of Shibusawa’s role in this matter, see Claude Hamon, Shibusawa Eiichi (1840- 1931). Bâtisseur du capitalisme japonais (Shibusawa Eiichi (1840-1931): the Builder of Japanese Capitalism), Paris, Maisonneuve & Larose, 2007, pp. 264-266. 20. Takahashi Yasutaka 高橋泰隆, “Shokuminchi tetsudō to kaiun” 植民地鉄道と海運 (Railways and Sea Transport in the Colonies), in Ōe Shinobu (ed.), Kindai Nihon to shokuminchi, op. cit., p. 271. 21. Words spoken by Shibusawa in 1908 and quoted in Claude Hamon, Shibusawa…, op. cit., p. 267. 22. Takahashi Yasutaka, “Shokuminchi tetsudō to kaiun”, op. cit., p. 272. 23. Ibid., pp. 269-271. 24. Claude Hamon, Shibusawa…, op. cit., pp. 272-73. 25. This paragraph summaries information taken from Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword. The Japanese Penetration of Korea, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1995, pp. 155-157. 26. Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku 朝鮮総督府鉄道局 (Railways Bureau of the Government- General of Korea), Chōsen tetsudō-shi 朝鮮鉄道史 (History of Korea’s Railways), Keijō, 1929, p. 302.

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27. Chōsen sōtokufu, Chōsen sōtokufu shisei nenpō 朝鮮総督府施政年報 (Annual Statistical Report from the Government-General of Korea), years 1918-1920, vol. 8, p. 237. 28. Yoshihisa T. Matsusaka, The Making of Japanese Manchuria, 1904-1932, Harvard University Asia Center, 2001, pp. 41-49. 29. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, Keijō, 1920, p. 102. 30. Hirai Kōichi 平井廣一, “Nihon shokuminchi-ka ni okeru chōsen tetsudō zaisei no tenkai ” 日本植民地下における朝鮮鉄道財政の展開過程 (Financial Evolution of the Korean Railways under Japanese Colonisation), Keizai-gaku Kenkyū 経済学 研究, vol. 34, no. 4, March 1985, pp. 12-32, p. 16. 31. Something also noted in the Korean Railway Compendium published by the colonial authorities in 1930 (Chōsen sōtokufu tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō ronsan 朝鮮鉄道論纂, Keijō, 1930, p. 168). 32. Chōsen ginkō 朝鮮銀行 (Bank of Chōsen), Senman keizai jūnen-shi 鮮満経済十年史 (Economic History of Korea and Manchuria Over the Past Ten Years), Keijō, 1919, p. 59. 33. Hirai Kōichi, “Nihon shokuminchi-ka…”, op. cit., p. 17. 34. From an average demand of 930,000 tonnes between 1918 and 1920. Chōsen Sōtokufu Tetsudō-kyoku, Chōsen tetsudō ronsan, op. cit., p. 201. 35. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., pp. 180-181. 36. The following figures are taken from the government-general’s annual statistical report (1918-19). 37. Colonial terminology distinguished between colonial commercial exports and imports (ishutsu 移出 and inyū 移入) and external commercial movements (yushutsu 輸出 and yunyū 輸 入). The abolition of this duty was intended to boost rice exports to Japan; see the final part of this article. 38. Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms and Progress in Chosen, Keijō, 1922 volume, pp. 59-60. 39. For the exact figures see ibid., pp. 37-39. 40. 7.7 million yen in 1916; 9.9 in 1917. Bank of Chōsen, Economic Outlines of Chosen and Manchuria, Keijō, 1918, p. 11. 41. Korean trade figures are available in Yamamoto Yūzō, Shokuminchi keizai-shi kenkyū 植民地経 済研究 (Research on the Economic History of the Colonies), Nagoya Daigaku Shuppan-kai, 1992, p. 228. 42. For more information about Dai-Ichi Bank in Korea, see Claude Hamon, Shibusawa…, op. cit., pp. 251-55, 258-62 and 276. 43. Ibid., p. 254. 44. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., p. 48. 45. Ibid., p. 50. 46. Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword, op. cit., p. 167. 47. Claude Hamon, Shibusawa…, op. cit., p. 262. 48. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., p. 55. 49. Ibid., p. 53. See also Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms…, op. cit., p. 63. 50. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., pp. 49, 54-55. 51. Bank of Chosen, Economic Outlines of Chosen and Manchuria, op. cit., pp. 31-32. 52. Chōsen being the official name given to colonial Korea by Japan (in an attempt to deny the existence of “Korea” as a national state—kankoku 韓国—and limit it to its geographical area, which is what chōsen refers to, as in chōsen hantō 朝鮮半島 or the “Korean peninsula”). 53. Bank of Chosen, Economic History of Chosen, op. cit., p. 189. 54. Ibid., p. 70. 55. Ibid., pp. 183-184.

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56. Kim Nak Nyeon (ed.), op. cit., p. 386. 57. Government-general’s annual statistical reports (CSTN), for each year. 58. “On the Stock Exchange, people have been snapping up shares in companies displaying the word ‘Korea’ without even finding out their line of business”, Tōkyō Keizai Zasshi 東京経済雑誌 (The Tokyo Economist), no. 302 (13 Dec. 1919), quoted in Kaneko Fumio, “Dai-ichi taisen-go no tai-shokuminchi tōshi” 第一大戦後の対植民地投資 (Post-World War I Investments in Colonies), Shakai-Keizai Shigaku, vol. 51, no. 6 (March 1986), reprinted in Okabe Makio 岡部牧夫 (ed.), Teikokushugi to shokuminchi 帝国主義と植民地 (Imperialism and Colonies), Tōkyō-dō Shuppan 東 京堂出版, 2001, p. 138. 59. Three quarters of the loans granted by Korean banks between 1910 and 1920 were destined for the trade sector. Kimura Mitsuhiko, “Financial Aspects of Korea's Economic Growth under Japanese Rule”, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 20, no 4, 1986, pp. 793-820, p. 808. 60. For the population in 1920 I chose a figure of 18 million inhabitants, the average of Cha Myung Soo’s estimation (18.6 million inhabitants) and the amount given in official statistics (17.3 million inhabitants). 61. This hypothesis could be confirmed or disproved through a microanalytical examination of these businesses. 62. All of the data in this paragraph were calculated using figures available in the government- general’s annual statistical reports (CSTN) for each year (1911-1919). 63. Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms…, op. cit., in particular pp. 118-123. 64. “Chōsen no minkan-kōjō” 朝鮮の民間工場 (Private Factories in Korea), Keijō Nippō 京城日報, 9 February 1921. 65. “Chōsen no kōgyō” 朝鮮の工業 (Korean Industry), Fukuoka Nichinichi Shinbun 福岡日日新聞, 10 March 1918. 66. The koku 石 is a unit of volume equal to 180.39 litres, generally accepted in Japan to weigh 140kg. However, according to an Indochinese expert, one koku of husked rice weighed approximately 108kg while one koku of unhusked rice weighed 130kg. See “L’importation et l’exportation du riz au Japon en 1912” (The Importing and Exporting of Rice in Japan in 1912), BEI, vol. 16, no. 101, March-April 1913, p. 255. I prefer to avoid the kilogram conversion in order to retain the principle that one koku of rice corresponds to the quantity needed to feed one adult for a year (at a rate of half a litre of uncooked rice per day). 67. “La crise du riz au Japon” (The Rice Crisis in Japan), Bulletin économique de l’Indochine (hereafter abbreviated as BEI), vol. 15, no. 99, Nov.-Dec. 1912, pp. 907-908. 68. Idem. 69. Hayami Yujirō, V. W. Ruttan, “Korean Rice, Taiwan Rice, and Japanese Agricultural Stagnation: An Economic Consequence of Colonialism”, The Quarterly Journal of Economics, vol. 84, no 4, Nov. 1970, pp. 562-589, p. 566. 70. “Importations et exportations de riz au Japon en 1908, 1909 et 1910” (Imports and Exports of Rice in Japan in 1908, 1909 and 1910), BEI, no. 91, July-August 1911, vol. 14, p. 91. 71. Ōkura-shō Sozei-kyoku 大蔵省租税局 (Tax Bureau at the Ministry of Finance), Gaikoku bōeki gairan 外国貿易外覧 (General Overview of Foreign Trade) for the year 1911, p. 436. 72. See the following articles published in the BEI: “La question du riz au Japon” (The Rice Issue in Japan), vol. 13, no. 87, Nov.-Dec. 1910; “La récolte du riz au Japon” (Japan’s Rice Harvest), vol. 14, no. 88, Jan.-Feb. 1911, p. 96; “Importations et exportations de riz au Japon en 1908, 1909 et 1910” (Imports and Exports of Rice in Japan in 1908, 1909 and 1910), op. cit., p. 758; “La crise du riz au Japon” (The Rice Crisis in Japan), op. cit., pp. 907-910; “L’importation et l’exportation du riz au Japon en 1912” (Japan’s Rice Imports and Exports in 1912), vol. 16, no. 101, Mar-April 1913, pp. 254-255; “Le riz et la question du riz au Japon” (Rice and the Rice Issue in Japan), vol. 16,

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no. 102, May-June 1913, pp. 271-278; “Le riz au Japon” (Rice in Japan), vol. 17, no. 108, June- July 1914, pp. 302-303. 73. “La crise du riz au Japon” (The Rice Crisis in Japan), BEI, op. cit., pp. 907-908. 74. Nōshōmu-shō Nōmu-kyoku 農商務省農務局 (Agriculture Bureau at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce), Kome no tōkei tekiyō 米ノ統計摘要 (A Practical Summary of Rice Statistics), vol. 2, 1920. For a more textual account, see Liu Zhaoyan 劉照彦, Nihon teikokushugi-ka no taiwan 日本帝国主義下の台湾 (Taiwan Under Japanese Imperialism), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppan, 1975, p. 77. 75. Kazama Hideto 風間秀人, “Shokuminchi jinushi to nōgyō” 植民地地主制と農業 (Landowners and Agriculture in the Colonies), in Asada Kyōji 浅田喬二 (ed.), Kindai Nihon no kidō 近代日本の軌 道 (The Trajectory of Modern Japan), Tokyo, Yamakawa Shuppan 山川出版, 1994, vol. 10, pp. 108-130, p. 120. 76. Liu Zhaoyan, Nihon teikokushugi-ka no taiwan, op. cit., p. 87. 77. “Le riz et la question du riz au Japon”, BEI, op. cit., p. 272. 78. More than one million koku of Indochinese rice imported in 1913, but fifty percent less in 1914, then less than one hundred thousand. 79. Chōsen Sotokufu Nōrinkyoku 朝鮮総督府農林局 (Agriculture, Wood and Forests Bureau of the Government-General of Korea), Chōsen no nōgyō 朝鮮の農業 (Korean Agriculture), volume for the year 1941, pp. 189-191. 80. Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms…, op. cit., p. 103. 81. Between the periods 1912-1916 and 1917-1921, the share of the growth in Korean rice production exported was almost two thirds (63 %) but was less than a fifth (17 %) of the growth in grain production. Korean grain imports tripled in volume while rice imports dropped by an equivalent amount, a sign that Korean consumption was falling back on the cheapest foodstuffs, those that were the least sought-after by the metropole. These figures are available in Chōsen Sotokufu Nōrinkyoku, Chōsen no nōgyō…, op. cit., pp. 189-191. 82. Yahata 八幡. The often-seen transcription “Yawata” is an erroneous reading of this city name. 83. Kitakyūshū 北九州市史 (History of the City of Kitakyūshū), “Sangyō keizai” 産業経済I (Economy and Industry I), Kitakyūshū-shi, 1991, p. 332. 84. SEE “CHŌSEN NO TEKKŌ” 朝鮮の鉄鉱 (KOREAN IRON ORE), ŌSAKA MAINICHI SHINBUN, 3 FEBRUARY 1917. ASŌ TARŌ 麻生太郎, WHO SERVED AS JAPANESE PRIME MINISTER FROM SEPTEMBER 2008 TO SEPTEMBER 2009, IS DESCENDED FROM THE ASŌ FAMILY IN QUESTION. 85. FROM THE INDUSTRIAL BANK OF JAPAN ( NIHON KŌGYŌ GINKŌ 日本興行銀行), THE INTEREST BEING PAID THROUGH THE EXPORTATION OF IRON ORE TO JAPAN (A MINIMUM OF 70,000 TONNES PER YEAR BEGINNING IN 1904, OVER 15 YEARS; CHANGED IN 1913 TO 10.5 MILLION TONNES AND 8 MILLION TONNES OF CAST IRON OVER FORTY YEARS). “SEITETSUJO SHISATSU” 製鉄所視察 (A VISIT TO THE STEELWORKS [OF YAHATA]), CHŪGAI SHŌGYŌ SHINPŌ 中外商業新報 (TRADE NEWS FROM HOME AND ABROAD), SERIES OF 10 ARTICLES, 26 JULY-4 AUGUST 1915. 86. IRON ORE WAS EXTRACTED FROM A DEPOSIT DISCOVERED BY A JAPANESE NATIONAL WHO HAD OBTAINED THE CONCESSION FOR IT AND SOLD THE ENTIRE OUTPUT TO THE YAHATA STEELWORKS. NAGURA 奈倉文二, NIHON TEKKŌ-GYŌ TO NANYŌ TEKKŌ SHIGEN 日本鉄鋼業と「南洋」鉄鋼資源 (THE JAPANESE STEEL INDUSTRY AND IRON- PRODUCING RESOURCES OF THE SOUTH SEAS), TOKYO, KOKUSAI RENGŌ DAIGAKU (UNITED NATIONS UNIVERSITY), 1981 (NINGEN TO SHAKAI NO PUROGURAMU KENKYŪ HŌKOKU-SHO 33 – PROJECT ON JAPANESE EXPERIENCE IN THE TRANSFER, TRANSFORMATION AND DEVELOPMENT OF TECHNOLOGY: RESEARCH REPORT NO. 33).

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87. “Kōzai kyōkyū-mondai, tetsu no kikin” 鋼材供給問題 鉄の饑饉 (The Iron Famine: the Iron Supply Problem), Jiji Shinpō 時事新報, series of three articles, 17-19 July 1916. 88. An average import price of 99 yen per tonne over the period 1912-15, 174 yen in 1916, and 281 yen in 1917. Shōkō-shō Kōzan-kyoku, Seitetsu-gyō sankō shiryō, op. cit. 89. On the embargo, see Jeffrey J. Safford, “Experiment in Containment: The United States Steel Embargo and Japan, 1917-1918”, The Pacific Historical Review, vol. 39, no. 4, Nov. 1970, pp. 439-451. 90. 377 yen per tonne in 1918. Shōkō-shō Kōzan-kyoku, Seitetsu-gyō sankō shiryō, op. cit. 91. “Seitetsu-netsu no bokkō” 製鉄熱の勃興 (The Boom in Steel–making Fever), Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun, 24 August 1918. The subject was also mentioned in the Indochinese press: “Steel Market Fluctuations in Japan in 1917”, BEI, vol. 21, no. 131, July-August 1918, p. 725. 92. Mitsubishi Shōji Kabushiki-gaisha 三菱商事株式会社 (The Mitsubishi Corporation), Mitsubishi shōjisha-shi 三菱商事社史 (History of the Mitsubishi Corporation), book 1, 1986, p. 103; and ibid., “Shiryō” 資料volume (Documents), 1987, p. 186 and p. 188. 93. Ibid., pp. 103 and 147. 94. Government-General of Chosen, Annual Report on Reforms…, op. cit., p. 120. 95. “Seitetsu jigyō no botsuraku” 製鉄事業の没落 (The Collapse of the Steel Industry), Ōsaka Asahi Shinbun, 23 November 1919. 96. “There is no doubt that with the entrepreneurial fever, [speculation] came to exhaust business in the metropole and eventually reached the colonies”, Tōkyō Keizai Zasshi, no. 302 (13 December 1919), quoted in Kaneko Fumio, “Dai-ichi-taisen-go…”, op. cit., p. 138. 97. This was revealed in “Tavern Stories” (shumaku dansō 酒幕談叢; “shumaku”, chumak in Korean being drinking establishments for the masses in Korea), compiled in secret by the Japanese police (kempeitai 憲兵隊). Matsuda Toshihiko, Governance and Policing of Colonial Korea: 1904-1919, Nichibunken 日文研, 2011, pp. 132-149. 98. “[Senman] kakuchi no bukka” [鮮満]各地の物価 (The Cost of Living [in Korea and Manchuria]), Keijō Nippō, 28 February 1919 (last in a series of five articles published beginning on 15 February). 99. See Pierre François Souyri, “Critiquer le colonialisme dans le Japon d’avant 1945” (Criticising Colonialism in Pre-1945 Japan), Cipango, no.18, 2011, pp. 189-236. 100. Title of his article published in the Tōyō Keizai Shinpō 東洋経済新報 (Oriental Economic News), 30 July 1921, cited in Narita Ryūichi 成田龍一, Taishō demokurashî 大正デモクラシー (The Taishō Democracy), Tokyo, Iwanami Shoten, 2008, p. 162.

ABSTRACTS

For this first study in French language on the economics of the Japanese colonial empire, we have chosen to focus on the Korean case, from the establishment of the first railways on the peninsula in 1900 until the crisis of the colonial system in 1919 (March 1st Movement). The colonization of Korean was promising: an extensive land with a large population located very close to Japan. But rapidly, it was hampered by several grave difficulties. The colonial main infrastructures, as railways and banking system, suffered from, alternatively, the lack of investment and the “Manchuria policy” promoted by Terauchi Masatake. The industrial production remained marginal, despite its vigorous growth. This sector has been stimulated greatly by a stock- exchange fever starting in 1916, but suddenly collapsed as the bubble burst in 1919. The exterior

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trade of Korea (including with Japan) continued to increase its deficit. Japan used the colony just to obtain rice an iron ore, but the lack of investments in these sectors did not enable Korean production to compete successfully with other Asian producers (, Taiwan, China etc.). This economic failure made the Japanese domination particularly unbearable to the Korean people: the bursting of the economic bubble in Japan just after the end of the War in Europe meant the end of any hope for a better life in the colony. The fast and high inflation, coupled with the absence of any economic policy, contributed greatly to the sparkling of the March First Movement.

Pour cette première étude en français de l’économie coloniale japonaise, nous avons choisi de l’analyser à partir du cas de la Corée depuis l’aménagement des premiers rails japonais sur place en 1900 jusqu’à l’éclatement de la crise globale du joug colonial au lendemain de la Première Guerre mondiale (1919). La colonisation économique de la Corée promettait un développement important sur une terre étendue, peuplée et proche de la métropole. Elle a pourtant rapidement buté sur un certain nombre d’obstacles. Les infrastructures coloniales fondamentales, les finances et le chemin de fer, ont souffert tantôt d’un manque d’investissements, tantôt de la politique mandchourienne promue par Terauchi Masatake. La production industrielle et manufacturière resta marginale, malgré son développement relativement précoce et important : stimulé par une fièvre boursière à partir de 1916, le secteur s’effondra avec l’éclatement de la bulle en 1919. Commercialement, la colonie fut déficitaire en permanence et de manière exponentielle. La métropole n’y voyait qu’une source d’approvisionnements en riz et minerai de fer, alors même que la production coréenne ne pouvait concurrencer l’offre environnante (Indochine et Taiwan pour le riz, Chine pour le fer)… du fait du manque d’investissements. Cette faiblesse de la métropole en Corée rendit la domination japonaise particulièrement insupportable : l’effondrement de la bulle métropolitaine suivant la fin de la guerre mondiale fut aussi celui de tout espoir socio-économique en Corée. L’inflation galopante et l’absence de véritable politique de développement favorisèrent et précipitèrent l’avènement du Mouvement du 1er Mars 1919.

INDEX

Keywords: Korea, history, colony, economy, industry, colnial policy Subjects: Corée, histoire, colonie, économie, industrie, politique coloniale Chronological index: Meiji Period, Taishō Period

AUTHOR

ALEXANDRE ROY CEJ-INALCO / Toulouse-Le-Mirail University

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Criticising Colonialism in pre‑1945 Japan Critiquer le colonialisme dans le Japon d’avant 1945

Pierre‑François Souyri

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Pierre‑François SOUYRI, « Critiquer le colonialisme dans le Japon d’avant 1945 », Cipango 18, 2011, 189‑236, mis en ligne le 18 juin 2013. URL : http:// cipango.revues.org/1525 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1525 On the map, I paint Korea with dark black ink and listen to the autumn winds. 地図の上 朝鮮国にくろぐろと 墨をぬりつつ 秋風をきく Ishikawa Takuboku, 1910, at the time of Korea’s annexation by Japan. (Translation from IWAKI, Y., 1989. Takuboku and Korea, Comparative Literature Studies. vol. 26, no. 3, East‑West Issue, p 242. Available at [Accessed 09 July 2013])

1 From the moment Japan began to implement its colonial policies, critical voices emerged within the country over this new means of dominating overseas populations. This little‑known yet clearly expressed criticism of colonialism became increasingly audible during the so‑called Taishō democracy (1912‑1926) before gradually being stifled once more at the end of the 1930s. Unlike the views expressed in favour of political freedom, which were enthusiastically received by Japanese society, criticism of imperialism and colonialism garnered little support. Following in the tradition of the Freedom and Popular Rights Movement of the 1880s, the middle classes identified with the calls for greater freedom and democracy, and partly concurred with working‑class aspirations to better living conditions. However, the vast majority of the population

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believed that there was something to be gained—in addition to national pride—from the country’s expansionist adventures that culminated in the creation of a colonial empire.

2 The Korean independence movement, Chinese boycott of Japanese products or failure of Japan’s military campaign in Siberia might have encouraged Japan to take a more cautious approach to foreign policy and critically examine its own colonial practices. Indeed, there was hesitation among Japan’s ruling circles as to how to govern the colonies. In 1919, the debate that had lain dormant since Japan’s first experiments in colonisation, in Taiwan at the end of the nineteenth century, finally burst into the public arena. Should colonial governments be left to the army or placed under civil administration? Was the aim of colonisation strategic (keeping Westerners at a distance), economic (increasing Japan’s wealth by exploiting the colonies) or rather civilising, by expanding Japan’s borders and culturally assimilating the conquered populations? And was it even possible for these populations to be assimilated, for that matter? Debate raged as to the how or even why to colonise but no one, at least not within the ruling circles, questioned colonisation itself.

3 In Taiwan, Japanese efforts to take control of the island as of 1895 had met with a resistance that it would take time to eradicate. The government of the new colony had thus naturally been placed in the hands of the army, something which did not prevent high ranking civil servants such as Gotō Shinpei 後藤新平 (1857‑1929) and Nitobe Inazō 新渡戸稲造 (1862‑1933) from enjoying a certain amount of leeway in subsequent years, with Nitobe notably being tasked by Gotō with developing an agricultural policy for subtropical regions. Similarly, the annexation of Korea came about in a context of extreme tension following the assassination of the previous Japanese Resident‑General of Korea and guerrilla activities against Japan. The military therefore had control of the colonial administrative system. Prime Minister 原敬 (1918‑21), when appointing his new cabinet, was for his part opposed to the army controlling the colonies and in favour of snatching back power by imposing a civil administration.

4 In the aftermath of the anti‑Japanese protests that raged across Korea in the spring of 1919, criticism of the army, which controlled the country and had chosen the path of brutal repression, even reached within government ranks in Tokyo. The Korean reaction was interpreted as a show of discontent with the Japanese military government in Korea rather than a genuine national demand for independence. Following a period of violent repression, the colonial regime made concessions by abandoning (budan shugi 武断主義) and henceforth advocating a more tolerant policy aimed at replacing army personnel with senior civil servants, who were theoretically less violent and more conciliating (bunchi shugi 文治主義). Welcomed by the Koreans with some relief, this new and less repressive colonial government showed a willingness to allow a Korean cultural discourse (bunka seiji 文化政治) to develop. While throughout Japan there was talk of Japan and Korea sharing the same political destiny (nissen dōchi 日鮮同治), over on the peninsula this policy was quickly suspected of being nothing more than an attempt to crush the fledgling Korean national identity. It chiefly succeeded in dividing the Korean nationalist movement into moderate “cultural” nationalism on the one hand and pro‑independence radicalism on the other. A “desperate instability” hailing from the inmost depths of Korean society was visible in the face of Japan’s thirst for assimilation.1

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5 Doubts quickly surfaced in Japan itself as to whether it was possible to assimilate colonial populations. Remember that one of the characteristics of Japanese colonialism is to have constantly wavered between a policy of assimilation, dōka seisaku 同化政策 (Taiwanese and Koreans would one day become fully‑fledged Japanese), and one of non‑assimilation, dōka seisaku hantai ron 同化政策反対論, based on the idea of an immutable and uniquely Japanese character and thus the impossibility of turning colonial peoples into Japanese subjects in their own right.

6 Advocates of assimilation were driven by a kind of ideal in which the Japanese nation was assigned a civilising role. Colonial peoples were Japanese citizens who were simply unaware of it. In fact, it was in their interest to become Japanese in order to enjoy the benefits of modernisation as part of Greater Japan. Encouraged by this ideal, in the late 1930s they began to accelerate the process of remoulding colonial peoples into sovereign subjects (kōminka 皇民化), a process otherwise known as “imperialisation”. Pseudo‑scientific theories on the shared ancestry of the Japanese and Koreans were often used to give weight to their aspirations.2 Some even went as far as suggesting, at the end of the 1930s, that the two populations intermarry (Japanese men with Korean women) in order to encourage the assimilation of the peninsula into Japan (naisen ittai 内鮮一体). The purported advantage of this policy was to guarantee a lasting peace between Japan and Korea by creating a mixed nation (kongō minzoku ron 混合民族論).

7 Proponents of non‑assimilation, who were often close to the ruling circles of the army, were colonialists for economic and strategic reasons and their national pride meant that they were hardly likely to imagine that colonial populations could be assimilated, much less that they could intermarry with metropolitan Japanese. However, their fears over the possibility of a colonial uprising that would weaken positions outside of Japan’s zone of control made them inclined to advocate leaving the colonial populations to determine their own affairs, a policy known as minzoku jiketsu seisaku 民 族自決政策. This explains why the assimilationists at times adopted harsher political stands with regards the colonial populations than those who believed in the uniqueness of the Japanese “race” and were quick to develop—as in the case of Tōgō Minoru 東郷実 —a theorisation of “racial differentiation” akin to apartheid (bunka seisaku 分化政策).3 Local elites within the colonies occasionally took advantage of this contradiction by supporting alternately one camp or the other.

8 Furthermore, remember that from the mid‑1880s Japanese advocates of freedom and popular rights nurtured the idea that because Japan was changing and looking ahead to the future it had an obligation to help its neighbours, and in particular Korea, bring an end to immobilism. In 1884, Liberal Party (Jiyūtō 自由党) leaders Gotō Shōjirō 後藤象二 郎 (1838‑1897) and 板垣退助 (1837‑1919) made plans for a military coup in Korea designed to rid the peninsula of the traditionalism of the ruling monarchy which was an impediment to civilisation.4 Gotō even entertained dreams of becoming prime minister of a liberated Korea! The following year, Ōi Kentarō 大井憲太郎 (1843‑1922), leader of the Liberal Party’s most radical wing, in turn considered using armed force to prise Korea from the hands of conservatives and overthrow the government via military means.5 The intellectual Tsurumi Shunsuke (1922‑2015) points out that at the end of the nineteenth century political factions on both sides of the divide agreed that civilisation must be imposed, if necessary by force.6 In 1905, the journalist and historian Takekoshi Yosaburō 竹越与三郎 (1865‑1950) wrote the following in an essay on the colonial government in Taiwan ten years after annexation:

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Western nations have long believed that on their shoulders alone rested the responsibility of colonizing the yet‑unopened portions of the globe and extending to the inhabitants the benefits of civilization; but now we Japanese, rising from the ocean in the extreme Orient, wish as a nation to take part in this great and glorious work. Could we also, unknowingly, carry on our shoulders the yellow man’s burden? The answer will depend on our success or failure in Taiwan.7

9 For his part, the socialist (and future anarchist) Kōtoku Shūsui 幸徳秋水 (1871‑1911) began to voice criticism of imperialism in 1901, deeming it a warmongering activity that encouraged militaristic and despotic tendencies. He paid little attention, however, to the subject of colonialism and drew no parallels between imperialism and colonial exploitation as such.8 Consequently, it was only gradually, at the beginning of the 1910s, that the first critics emerged. Later, the influence of the Russian Revolution, the right to self‑determination, the social unrest that swept the country and the spread of democratic ideals led some to launch a direct attack on imperialism and its immediate and tangible consequence: colonialism. The socialists, communists and anarchists showed an unwavering and instinctive distrust of colonialism, considering it to be linked to imperialism and warmongering just as Kōtoku had argued. Nevertheless, solidarity with colonial peoples appeared to be secondary in their struggle and rare were those who made anti‑colonialism a priority. For their part, certain liberals drew on an economic analysis to show that the financial cost of running the colonies exceeded any profits generated. Considered immoral, brutal and irresponsible by some, for others Japan’s colonial policies were above all costly and ineffective. Lying between these two positions championed, as we shall see, by some eminent individuals, was a whole spectrum of intermediate positions in which indignation at times coloured the economic debate. Others took offense at the colonial governments’ ignorance of local cultures and criticised their desire to deny or destroy these in the name of what was presented as a modern and civilised colonial policy.

10 Anti‑colonial thought in Japan fell into three main categories.

11 Firstly, there was a “moral” criticism that emerged essentially as an indictment of the repressive methods employed by the police and military in the colonies, particularly in the wake of the protest movements of 1919. The majority of critics in this camp took issue with a policy they believed only made sense if it were to do “good”, whereas in fact it was doing “harm”. They fought on behalf of “others”, “thought of the Korean people”, but were not necessarily opposed to the colonial enterprise itself, which they saw as inherently positive but in need of reform and improvement. Ultimately, the idea as they saw it was to “civilise”, “modernise” and even “democratise” the colonial societies. Most of those in this camp were virulent critics of assimilation and grew increasingly critical of the brutality inherent in the colonial system. They underlined the originality and importance of colonial or semi‑colonial peoples’ cultures and were overtly hostile to the steamroller approach adopted by colonial Japan in its “cultural policy”. This moral criticism—which remained marginal prior to 1919—became increasingly vocal in the 1920s and 30s.

12 In addition to this there was an “economic” criticism, a product of Western liberal thought. This criticism—which was ultimately fairly radical in nature—was anything but altruistic. It emerged at the beginning of the Taishō period to condemn Japan’s colonial, and more broadly imperialist, policies as unprofitable, pointless and dangerous because they ultimately led to war. These policies entailed an increase in what was seen as Japan’s uneconomical military budgets. Colonialism and imperialism

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conflicted with the well‑known interests of the country, the state and the nation, as well as being morally questionable. Critics in this camp were anti‑colonial on principle but took little interest in the protest movements of colonial peoples, other than to declare that they would inevitably lead to independence and thus to Japan’s predictable failure.

13 Finally, criticism of the colonial system emerged within Japan’s academic community itself, precisely from certain university professors responsible for teaching colonial affairs. From this point of view, Yanaihara Tadao 矢内原忠雄 (1893‑1961), who began teaching in 1923, was emblematic. In some ways he attempted to combine the two currents of thought described here, blending economic criticism, moral criticism and a consideration for the aspirations of colonial peoples. In the 1930s he began to foresee the independence of the colonies as the ultimate aim of the process underway.

14 Each of the three types of anti‑colonial thought briefly defined here was embodied at one point or other by certain “figures” whose background and political ideas will be described in this paper. Of course, these thinkers may have influenced one another, and some critics of colonialism may, depending on the period or their own political background, have focused their criticism in turn on one or other of the following aspects: colonialism is morally unacceptable because fundamentally brutal and oppressive; culturally stupid because destructive and ignorant of local realities; costly in financial terms because not profitable for the nation.

Denouncing Repression and Promoting Indigenous Cultures

15 The pro‑independence or nationalist movements that broke out in Korea and China in the spring of 1919 were portrayed in Japan’s mainstream media as essentially anti‑Japanese in nature and consequently garnered little sympathy in the home islands. Some even suggested that the Koreans had been manipulated by Western Christian missionaries hostile to Japan’s presence on the peninsula.

16 One of the first people to denounce this simplistic analysis of the movements sweeping the continent was Yoshino Sakuzō 吉野作造 (1878‑1933), a professor of political science at Tokyo Imperial University. Beginning in 1905, Yoshino advocated the “constitutionalism at home, imperialism abroad” doctrine (uchi ni rikkenshugi, soto ni teikokushugi 内に立憲 主義、外に帝国主義); however, his stays in China and Korea in addition to his own political reflection gradually led him to distance himself from the positions he had defended in his youth. This political U‑turn took place between 1916 and 1918 and was rooted in a certain confidence in the rise of democratic forces within Japan, as well as in China and Korea. Yoshino argued for a democracy that would be compatible with the Constitution of 1889 and could be developed within the framework of the imperial system. He called it minpon shugi 民本主義, or imperial democracy.9 Henceforth, his proclaimed ideal was to “achieve democracy at home and establish racial equality abroad (uchi ni minpon shugi no tettei, soto ni kokusai byōdōshugi no kakuritsu 内に民本主義の徹底、外に国際平等主義の確立) and he argued in favour of the right of colonial peoples to self‑determination (minzoku jiketsu 民族自決).10

17 Like many Japanese political observers, Yoshino Sakuzō had been highly impressed with the Chinese nationalist revolution of 1911 in which the country was proclaimed a

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republic. He felt a connection to the Chinese revolutionaries11 and even wrote a history of the Chinese revolution which he published in 1917.12 In articles published over subsequent years he began to criticise the Japanese government’s heavy‑handed approach on the continent and advocated a rapprochement between Japan and the young Chinese nationalists who “held the country’s future in their hands”.13 Moreover, he became increasingly critical of the methods used by the 憲兵隊, Japan’s famous for its operations in overseas territories.14 He regretfully expressed serious doubts as to the ultimate possibility of assimilating the Korean people into the Japanese nation, arguing that the Korean peninsula had long possessed its own civilisation quite distinct from that of Japan.

18 Yoshino warmly welcomed Chinese and Korean students to his classes and seminars, and invited them into his home for open discussion, something which in the context was not always simple. He travelled to China and Korea once again in 1916 and it was with this trip that the first doubts began to surface: I have met many Koreans this year and listening to what they have to say, it is clear that, contrary to expectation, many speak of the current injustice of the Japanese political authorities in their country. Whether this injustice is real or not matters little, but we would be wrong to ignore what they say.15

19 The nationalist and social upsurge in China and Korea at the end of the First World War led Yoshino to distance himself more clearly from Japan’s policy. In October 1918 he wrote a short article in which he quoted comments made by the professor of colonial studies at imperial University, Yamamoto Miono 山本美越乃 (1874‑1941), who in the daily newspaper Osaka Mainichi Shinbun 大阪毎日新聞 explained that the Koreans “had always possessed their own culture” and that it was “futile to ignore their customs, institutions and mores when governing them”. Yoshino then took on a prophetic air, concluding that: The Korean issue will shortly become Japan’s main political concern: we must realise that thanks to the war, Korea’s nationalist factions have grown significantly. 16

20 Following the Korean nationalist movement of March 1919, which saw a rash of anti‑Japanese protests,17 Yoshino Sakuzō decided to invite his Korean students to Reimeikai18 meetings and gave them the opportunity to argue for the independence of their country, to the applause of the listening audience. He explained that Japan must also learn to see things from a Korean perspective if it was to understand the events taking place. He was backed by a small but significant section of public opinion. At one of these meetings, university professor Fukuda Tokuzō 福田徳三 (1874‑1930) declared outright that “Korea did not belong to the militarist cliques” and that it “was high time constitutional law was applied there”.19 However, Yoshino’s writings also attracted a growing hostility from nationalist quarters.

21 A few weeks later, during the Chinese May Fourth movement of 1919, Yoshino Sakuzō was one of the rare intellectuals to speak out in the Japanese press in favour of the Chinese nationalists boycotting Japanese products. He explained that these movements “that had made the Japanese somewhat nervous” targeted the Tokyo bureaucracy and the military and financial cliques rather than the itself: For many years I have fought to free my beloved country from the hands of the bureaucratic and military cliques. I do not get the impression that the Peking students are at this moment doing anything different. I can only wish such a movement success.20

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22 Following on from this, Yoshino succeeded in inviting a delegation of teachers and students from Beijing University to Tokyo “to help foster a better understanding between the young of both countries”. It was also around this time that a large number of pro‑democracy journalists and professors travelled to Manchuria, Beijing and Shanghai in an attempt to understand the events taking place on the continent. In May 1920 the Chinese visitors spoke in public to explain the substance of the May Fourth movement to Reimeikai members and the Shinjinkai .21 The students welcomed them with interest and questioned them at length. Much the same can be said of the interest of these societies in reflecting on colonial problems, in particular Korea. They pronounced themselves in favour of an “improvement” (kaizen 改善) in Japan’s policy on the peninsula.22 Note that any issues of the Shinjinkai’s journal that dealt with Korea were censured and banned from publication. Yoshino condemned the repressive tactics used by the colonial government in Korea in 1919 (leading to 8,000 deaths and 45,000 arrests),23 describing them as “inadmissible” and “immoral”, 24 in particular the massacres committed by Japanese police at Suwŏn in 1919 and the district of Jiandao 間島 (in an area of Manchuria heavily populated by Koreans)25 in October 1920. These incidents were passed over in silence by both the government and the press.26 In articles supporting the demands of the Korean movement, Yoshino argued for the protesters to receive in response the abolition of the colonial government’s discrimination against Koreans, an end to military rule, freedom of expression, and the abandonment of Japan’s assimilation policy.

23 Despite his bold stances and sympathy for the Chinese and Korean nationalist movements, which he considered to be democratic in aspiration, Yoshino Sakuzō never lapsed into anti‑colonialism. While he argued for a utopian liberal colonialism that did not repress independence movements and granted the colonial populations greater freedom and democracy, he never challenged the principle behind the colony: No one doubts that from a legal standpoint Koreans are Japanese subjects. However, in reality Koreans are not of the Yamato race. In the currently being built by the Yamato people, Koreans are like a distant offspring and in truth that is difficult to hide. We would like to be able to hope enthusiastically that Koreans might feel the same sense of loyalty to Japan as inhabitants of the home islands, but it stands to reason that we cannot impose such a feeling by force, and though it is difficult to admit, this is not currently the case.27

24 In response to the Korean nationalist movement of March 1919 and its repression by the Japanese colonial authorities, Yanagi Sōetsu (1889‑1961) joined others in objecting strenuously to the government’s attitude and took up the Koreans’ defence. “Seeing that no one was publicly defending the unfortunate Koreans, I wrote in haste,”28 he said on the subject of “Sympathy for the Koreans”, a hard‑hitting text he published in the Yomiuri Shinbun (20‑22 May 1919). “Who really believes that people can be bound together by a military government and repression? […] Lovers of peace can but smile bitterly at the thought,”29 he wrote, adding that: If we seek eternal peace with our neighbours we must purify our hearts with love and immerse ourselves in compassion. Unfortunately, Japan has instead brandished the sword and offered abuse. Is this the way to mutual understanding, cooperation and collaboration? It is not. What is felt by the Koreans is limitless animosity, a desire to resist, hatred and a longing for separation. Consequently, they have but one ideal: independence. It is quite natural that they would feel no love for Japan, and only a handful of people hold our country in esteem.30

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25 Known today as the founding father of the Folk Art Movement, an art critic and a philosopher of religion, Yanagi Sōetsu31 went against the dominant thinking of his time, embodied in the 1880s by Fukuzawa Yukichi 福沢諭吉 (1835‑1901) in his essay “Leaving Asia” (Datsu A ron 脱亜論), as well as the opinions articulated in the 1890s by advocates of pro‑ (kokusuishugi 国粋主義). Yanagi believed that this manner of thinking led the Japanese to develop an inferiority complex towards Westerners and a feeling of superiority over other Asians. Unlike many of his contemporaries, Yanagi did not believe that the Japanese were “superior” to Koreans, something that was quite rare at the time.32 In any case, Yanagi Sōetsu felt neither inferior to Westerners nor saw their existence as a pressure. His thinking took shape during the Taishō democracy, in what can only be described as favourable conditions. Many people during this period believed that with Japan having finally achieved equal status with the great powers it would be treated as an equal by the West and thus rid itself of the unpleasant inferiority complex developed by certain Japanese towards “Whites”, a feeling known as gaison naihi 外尊内卑 (idolising foreigners, disparaging oneself), described back in the 1890s by the nationalist Miyake Setsurei 三宅雪嶺 (1860‑1945).

26 A graduate of Gakushūin 学習院—the school of Japan’s aristocracy—and one of the most influential members of the literary group Shirakaba 白樺, Yanagi Sōetsu early on developed ties with Westerners living in Japan. He notably struck up a friendship with Bernard Leach, the great connoisseur of Far Eastern artistic culture, future author of A Potter’s Book and introducer of Japanese raku33 pottery to Europe. Yanagi travelled to Korea with Leach on several occasions and it was Leach who introduced Yanagi to the beauty of Korean pottery. Leach’s fascination with Far Eastern art was equal only to that of Yanagi for Japanese, Korean and even Chinese folk art. Yanagi was particularly struck in 1914 by the beauty of Chosŏn white porcelain, which was generally considered “plain” and had previously attracted little admiration. He was one of the first in Japan to take an unprejudiced look at Korean culture and admire its aesthetic—which he described as “a bitter beauty”—,34 paying tribute in the process to those who had created these works. He saw himself as a kind of Lafcadio Hearn, who had done so much to increase understanding of Japanese culture in the West.35 To the Japanese who had previously considered Korea to be nothing but a wretched and impoverished country, Yanagi’s views were revolutionary. He introduced those who listened to him to “a different Korea”. Beauty transcends borders, explained Yanagi, who made numerous trips to Korea and began to establish a collection of local crafts.

27 However, Yanagi was not merely a political commentator and did not content himself with adopting a purely aesthetical standpoint. His stance cannot merely be described as an indictment of violent repression. It was also a plea for the protection of Korean culture and a criticism of Japanese tactics and reasoning: We employ methods designed to make it impossible for Koreans to achieve full independence. We also refuse to recognise that they might have their own ways of thinking and offer them nothing but an education and morals geared towards Japan. In short, whether in material or spiritual matters we have robbed them of their freedom and independence. Some argue that we are sowing the seeds that will enable them to think like the Japanese, but we make no attempt to reach their hearts. When we approach them it is always with the sword, never the heart.36

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28 To this he added: “such a policy will never give rise to peace in the colonies”.37 After demonstrating all that Japan’s ancient art owed to Korean influences, Yanagi then wrote: Instead of Japan being grateful [to Korea for having passed down its art], it is destroying this unique Korean art. Enthusiasts collect ancient artefacts but have no intention of reviving the very thing that enabled this art to exist. If this is what is known as the way of “assimilation”, it is terrifying. I believe that Japan’s true mission is to preserve for Korea its merit of occupying a prominent place in international art. Education should be designed to nurture this art, not destroy it.38

29 The following year, in his “Letter to My Korean Friends” published in the journal Kaizō in June 1920, he criticised the colonial policies that had robbed Korea of its independence and destroyed its unique culture: The Koreans are full of sorrow and suffering. Their flag no longer flies high in the sky and despite it being spring, the sueka flowers seem to have closed their buds forever. Their own culture grows more distant by the day and is disappearing from their villages. The vestiges of their civilisation, so remarkable in many respects, now belong as if to the pages of an old book. People come and go with heads bowed, their shoulders hunched over in pain and resentment. Even when they speak it is in hushed tones. Common people turn their backs on the sun and gather only in darkness. What force drives you to hide yourselves so? I can well imagine how your minds and bodies are gripped by a sombre mood. Are your tears really of blood? Man can endure suffering with ease but cannot live where there is neither love nor freedom.39

30 Yanagi repeatedly spoke of the closeness and affinity he felt towards Koreans and their civilisation. “Korea and Japan are historically, geographically, ethnically and linguistically as close as brothers. The current situation is absolutely wrong. Korea is like a brother to Japan and yet is treated as a slave”.40 By addressing Koreans directly and speaking of his many Korean friends, well‑known or otherwise, Yanagi employed an effective rhetorical device that enabled Japanese readers to put themselves in colonial peoples’ shoes. In a text from 1920 he wrote that to Koreans, Japan was doubtless nothing but a violent and merciless country.41 He presented the unvarnished viewpoint of the other, using empathy as a means of denouncing the system. At times he asked Japanese readers to put themselves in the Koreans’ position: “Oh, if only the Japanese could put themselves in the Koreans’ shoes,” he wrote on several occasions.42 He also criticised the stupidity of the education system developed in Korea by the colonial authorities and which was designed to instil Japanese values while denying the history of Korean culture. Vehemently opposed to the Japanese policy of assimilation, Yanagi questioned, in the voice of a Korean: “Japan is providing us with an education; is it for us or for them? Young Koreans are asked to idolise as heroes those who are nothing but thieves”.43

31 Yanagi believed that the Japanese should take a critical look at themselves with regards these questions. “I would like Koreans to know that amongst us other Japanese there are those who believe that in this affair Japan is trampling morality underfoot”.44 In the text addressed to his Korean friends he criticised “the domineering Japan”, to which he would prefer a more compassionate Japan, and wished for “humane Japanese”. He deemed the situation in Korea at the time to be “abnormal” and “unnatural”. Part of his text was censored by the authorities and its translation in a Korean‑language journal suspended.45

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32 When the colonial government indicated its intention of destroying the Kwanghwa Gate at Kyŏngbok Palace in Seoul in order to erect an enormous modern building designed to house the new headquarters of the Government‑General, Yanagi was scandalised. What the colonisers saw as the symbolic victory of Japanese modernity over Korea’s past (the original gate had been built in 1395), Koreans saw as an attack on a symbol of their national history. Yanagi felt that the Japanese authorities were committing yet another blunder, one caused by uneducated and blind bureaucrats who knew nothing of Korea’s history and the peninsula’s nascent nationalism. In September 1922 he published an article in Kaizō on the Korean architectural treasures about to be destroyed by the Japanese. It took the form of a letter to the Kwanghwa Gate: “Kwanghwa Gate, Kwanghwa Gate, your days are now numbered. All memory of your existence in this world is soon to disappear into cold oblivion”.46 He extoled the building’s virtues, writing: “Oh, Kwanghwa Gate, so magnificent in appearance”47 and possessing “tranquil beauty and dignity”. In this way, Yanagi expressed his sympathy for the Korean people who were to be deprived of a part of themselves, defended art in general and challenged the ridiculous idea of constructing a modern building “totally devoid of creative beauty” on such a historic site. He deplored the fact that no one was really able to come to the monument’s defence, and even worse, that those who opposed its destruction were accused of being conspirators.48 He did not hesitate to take his Japanese readership to task, writing “Readers, do not look down on this gate by declaring it nothing but a piece from the late Chosŏn period”. 49 He also criticised a policy that showed no restraint with regards art. “Oh, Kwanghwa Gate, what sorrow you must feel!” His vehemence and irony tinged with despair touched a certain number of Japanese decision‑makers, who decided to go ahead with their building but without destroying the gate, which was dismantled and rebuilt on another location.50 Yanagi was subsequently listed by the Japanese authorities as a “dangerous person”.51

33 His “discovery” of a “folk art” created by traditional craftsmen in Korea, at a time when Japan was repressing the local population, led Yanagi Sōetsu to express views that bordered on anti‑colonialism. As far as Yanagi was concerned, the fact that independence had become an ideal for Koreans was merely the inevitable consequence of the resentment they felt towards their oppressors. However, he was demoralised by his powerlessness to influence political decision‑making in Tokyo or Seoul. Along with some of his Japanese friends in Seoul who supported the Korean cause (a few did exist, such as the Asakawa brothers Noritaka and Takumi,52 who had decided to settle in Korea at the beginning of the 1910s due to their love of Korean art and crafts and who helped Yanagi to understand Korean art), he struck up friendships with Korean artists and intellectuals such as Yom Sangso and Nam Kyŏngbok, reformist nationalists who were instrumental in establishing a history of Korean literature and Korea’s popular movements. In 1924 Yanagi founded a small Museum of Korean Folk Art in Seoul, stating his ambition as being to help Koreans better understand and appreciate their own culture.

34 Yanagi is considered by some Korean nationalists today as having promoted a kind of colonial legitimacy. They accuse him of helping to strengthen the Japanese regime in Korea by promoting Korean culture and becoming a kind of front for Japan’s “cultural policy”. Appointed by Prime Minister Hara Takashi in 1919, the new Governor‑General Saitō Makoto 斎藤実 (1858‑1936) was generally regarded as a liberal. In fact, Saitō had previously worked under Yanagi’s father and assisted Yanagi in his projects. This might

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go some way to explaining the assistance granted to Yanagi by certain representatives of the colonial authorities when he was attempting to set up his museum.53 Yanagi’s questionable view of the “sorrowful” aesthetics of Korean art undoubtedly has a knack for ruffling certain sensibilities in Korea today. However, his views must be considered in context and while he had his faults, he nonetheless helped promote a widely underestimated pottery. After all, where are the French aesthetes capable of founding a museum of Algerian folk art in 1920s’ Algeria?

35 A spate of pogroms erupted in September 1923 following the Great Kantō Earthquake. They mainly targeted Korean immigrants, who were killed in their thousands as the police stood by and did nothing. Yoshino Sakuzō immediately took up his pen to denounce the massacres, even going as far as showing that the police often supplied arms to the killers. His articles succeeded in touching a segment of public opinion and even some cabinet members, who demanded an end to the massacres.54 The Shinjinkai published a special issue of their journal one month after the earthquake entitled “Tanemaku hito no tachiba” 種蒔く人の立場 (The Seed Sower’s Position). They spoke of the violence “with repugnance”, writing “Try as we may, we cannot erase what happened”.55

36 Hysteria gripped the Japanese media the following year when the American House of Representatives prepared to pass a new law on immigration (the Immigration Act of 1924) that contained overtly racist and anti‑Japanese clauses. In May 1924, Yamakawa Kikue 山川菊栄 (1890‑1980), a feminist with communist leanings, denounced the anti‑Japanese movement in the United States and criticised in the name of racial equality the egoism of the Americans; however, she continued: During the great earthquake and fires of San Francisco [in 1907], did the American police and army use the disaster as an excuse to openly display their anti‑Japanese sentiments and racial prejudices? Did they attempt to slaughter a large number of Japanese? Did the Japanese in America meet the same fate as the Koreans and some workers during the great earthquake last autumn [September 1923]? Do Koreans, Taiwanese and other foreign peoples living in Japan really receive the same treatment as metropolitan Japanese on a political, social and economic level? And among native Japanese, do women and workers really enjoy the same rights as everyone else, despite having–and quite rightly–the same duties? And even for the Japanese, there are far too many areas given sacred status, in which according to one’s gender, level of education or wealth, certain places are off‑limits, as if a sign at the entrance read: “no entry to those belonging to inferior groups or peoples”.56

37 This text, motivated by what was deemed the unacceptable attitude of the American authorities, was one of the first not only to denounce the status and condition of colonial peoples within the home islands of Japan, but also to broach the need to eradicate the widespread discrimination suffered by certain social groups. Yamakawa Kikue recognised the need to link the struggle of colonial peoples with the labour and feminist movements.57

Great or Small Japan?

38 Among the democratic intellectuals, Ishibashi Tanzan 石橋湛山 (1884‑1973) was known for his indictment of imperialism. An advocate of “Small Japanism” (shō nippon shugi 小 日本主義), Ishibashi believed, based on what he presented as rational arguments, that imperialism and colonialism cost more in the long run than they contributed to Japan,

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and that they encouraged the intrusive and inadvisable presence of military cliques in the main organs of state. Ishibashi Tanzan was one of the first to hold the view that expansionism was counter to democracy. In this sense, he stood in stark contrast to someone like Yoshino Sakuzō, who for many years supported the “democracy at home, imperialism abroad” doctrine. Given his post‑war career (he served as finance minister from 1946 to 1947, then as prime minister for a few weeks in 1956‑1957), Ishibashi Tanzan’s opinions clearly carried a certain weight.58

39 Ishibashi Tanzan was a graduate of the Tokyo Vocational School (Tokyo Senmon Gakkō 東京専門学校, later renamed Waseda University). Having studied philosophy, he was influenced by the pragmatism of John Dewey (and in fact invented a Japanese translation of the word pragmatism: sayōshugi 作用主義). He joined the agency Tōyō, which published several newspapers, and began by writing in Tōyō Jiron 東洋時論, a magazine founded in 1910 which opposed the old moral code in the name of individualism, supported the recently formed feminist movement and criticised the imperial government’s repression of socialism. During the High Treason Incident of 1911, Tōyō Jiron, which was incensed by the death sentences handed down to the anarchists, was banned by the censors on several occasions. Soon after, Ishibashi joined the journal Tōyō Keizai Shinpō 東洋経済新報 (The Far Eastern Economic Review), despite having no real training in economics. In addition to economic and financial news, the journal also addressed political, diplomatic and social issues from a liberal standpoint. It was particularly hostile to the constant inflation of Japan’s military budgets. The preserve of Waseda graduates, Tōyō Keizai Shinpō was considered at the time to be one of the bastions of radical liberalism (kyūshinteki jiyūshugi 急進的自由主義) and in subsequent years quickly became a reference journal for its often clear‑sighted and nonconformist views. The group was headed by Miura Tetsutarō 三浦鉄太郎, Ishibashi’s mentor. Ishibashi enjoyed a glittering career with the journal, becoming one of its most outstanding journalists and finally its editor‑in‑chief. A self‑taught economist, Ishibashi Tanzan went on to become a true liberal, a follower of the thinking of Adam Smith, and also argued in favour of establishing free‑trade agreements between Japan and Korea.59 Despite being an unwavering liberal at a time of rampant state interventionism, Ishibashi was often consulted by Japanese leaders in the 1930s for his economic expertise.60

40 In the mid‑1910s, Ishibashi Tanzan focused his criticism on Tokyo’s foreign policy and the doctrine known as “Great Japanism” (Dai Nipponshugi 大日本主義), which resulted in a desire to produce ever more arms. He advocated a different approach, that of “Small Japanism”. The idea was given to him by Miura Tetsutarō, who in 1918 wrote an article entitled “Great Japanism or Small Japanism?” in which he showed that in Great Britain, the imperial party, which championed the idea of a Greater Britain, clashed with the liberals, who favoured non‑interventionism and free trade and were opposed to colonial protectionism. Miura lamented that Japan had no political parties advocating a “Small Japan”61 and only those in favour of a Great Japan. Proponents of Great Japanism suggested that it would be impossible to increase Japan’s wealth and develop the country without overseas expansion.62 However, pointed out Miura, if this was the case, why had Japan seen no improvement in its well‑being? Why on the contrary was its standard of living falling? The truth was that expanding Japan’s territories overseas required considerable sums of money to defend, manage and develop them; a “Small Japan”, on the other hand, would allow those in power to

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concentrate on improving living conditions and developing popular liberties. He contrasted Great Japanism, which through overseas expansion promised increased militarism and state despotism, with Small Japanism, which through expansion conceived as a domestic phenomenon promised industrialisation, liberalism and individualism.63 However, at no point did he mention the fate of the colonial populations. Miura used statistical evidence to demonstrate the financial burden inflicted on Japan by the colonies and ultimately denounced the illusion of Great Japanism, an expression that Ishibashi would later adopt himself.

41 In 1914, Ishibashi was one of the rare individuals to clearly oppose Japan entering the war alongside the Allies and state his hostility to using the war to obtain territorial advantages or financial gain in China. Carving up China would only lead to increased conflict between the great powers, he wrote.64 His predictions became a reality the following year when Japan issued the Chinese government with its Twenty‑One Demands. He condemned the aggressive tactics of the “military cliques”, explaining that any economic and military advantages the Chinese government might be forced to concede in the short term would be wiped out in the medium term by deteriorating relations between the two countries and an inevitable increase in anti‑Japanese sentiment which, in the long run, would cost more to Japan than any advantages obtained. Unlike Kōtoku Shūsui in the 1900s or Yoshino Sakuzō, his contemporary, Ishibashi was not driven by questions of morality nor a desire to denounce the excessive aspects of a policy. He based his analysis on a purely economic calculation and an almost obsessively objective reasoning. He turned the prevailing logic at that time on its head. His argument was not that Japan should relinquish Manchuria or Qingdao in order to maintain good international relations or to please the Chinese people, but rather for the good of the Japanese nation. Eschewing mystical, imperial talk of the “national body”, or kokutai 国体, Ishibashi advocated running the state like a business, in other words, showing at least a modicum of rationality with regards Japan’s interests and paying no heed to absurd ideology. For Ishibashi, imperialism meant the easy way, mediocrity, short term and the absence of real ambition. Japan lacked a true vision of the future.

42 Japan’s policy in China was based, he added, on an incredible superiority complex displayed by the Japanese towards the Chinese:65 The vocabulary speaks only of Sino‑Japanese friendship, China and Japan form one same people, their relationship is fraternal, like an elder brother with a younger sibling […], but in reality the Japanese have only one thing in mind: engulfing China. Friendly relations cannot be built on such a basis […]; if we truly want to establish friendly Sino‑Japanese relations, the only solution is to abandon our imperialist policy.66

43 In the aftermath of the anti‑Japanese protests that swept across Korea in 1919, and in complete contradiction with public opinion as expressed in the mainstream media at the time, Ishibashi explained why Korean independence was inevitable: The Koreans are one people [ichi‑minzoku一民族]. They have their own language. They have a long independent history. Some no doubt find it regrettable, but there is not one single Korean who is glad that his country has been annexed by Japan. Until they finally regain their independence, the Koreans will naturally and repeatedly resist Japanese rule. What is more, as their knowledge and awareness increases, so their opposition to Japan will become increasingly radical.67

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44 At the beginning of the 1920s Ishibashi Tanzan once again condemned the Japanese expansion on the Chinese continent which sought only economic advantages and displayed a predator‑like aggressiveness. He suggested abandoning a policy that merely generated further tension with neighbouring countries and the great powers (in particular the United States) and reiterated his support for “Small Japanism”. During the Washington Naval Conference of July 1922, he published a slew of editorials in his journal denouncing imperialism: What if we were to relinquish Manchuria and Shandong, stop putting pressure on China, and give Korea and Taiwan back their freedom, what then would be the consequences? Britain and America would find themselves in an impossible position, unable to maintain a moral stance in the world while allowing Japan to adopt such a liberal policy alone. China and the small countries of the world would then turn to Japan and place their trust in it. India, Egypt, Persia, Haiti and the other countries dominated by the great powers would demand the same freedom that Japan had granted to Korea and Taiwan. Our country would be exalted the world over and neither Britain and America nor the other countries could do anything about it.68

45 A few days later, he wrote an article entitled Dai Nihonshugi no gensō 大日本主義の幻想 (The Illusion of Great Japanism) in which he denounced the mediocrity of Japan’s policies and criticised all the nebulous theories proclaiming the need to constantly expand the country’s territories and permanently stoke the arms race. He ridiculed the idiotic craze for “Great Japanism” seen as a constantly expanding empire69 and extolled the economic and even political advantages of abandoning these costly dreams of grandeur. “Let us resolve to release Korea, Taiwan and Sakhalin, and of course relinquish China and Siberia,” he proclaimed in the introduction to this provocative text in which he argued in favour of economic logic and the right to self‑determination. 70

46 After underlining the futility of the advantages implied in overseas expansionism, Ishibashi argued that the determination of colonial or subjugated populations to resist would eventually lead to the downfall of the colonial empire, just as Ireland had finally freed itself from England after a bitter struggle. Ishibashi added that it was unlikely that India would not go down this same route: Why then should our country be alone in perpetually continuing its domination of Korea and Taiwan and preventing the Chinese and Russians from exercising their sovereignty? The Korean movement for independence, Taiwanese movement for the creation of a parliament and anti‑Japanese movements in China and Siberia, are they not already a sign of this process? I tell you that these movements will never be contained simply through police repression or army intervention. It is like believing we could use the police and army to prevent the trade union movement of workers against capitalists.71

47 Ishibashi quickly realised that independence movements were inevitable and that nothing could prevent them. “Even if Great Japanism were to provide us with some advantages, it could not be maintained for very long,” he added. Moreover, it was not even a source of revenue: Instead of constructing barracks, let us build schools; instead of constructing warships, let us build factories. The army and navy have a budget of 800 billion yen. If we could invest just half of this amount each year in peaceful endeavours, in just a few years the face of Japan’s industry would be transformed completely.72

48 He continued further on:

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Far from weakening us, abandoning Great Japanism would allow us to achieve substantial gains. If we were to relinquish territories like Korea, Taiwan, Sakhalin and Manchuria, and make vast China our friend, the entire Far East and all the small and weak countries of the world would voluntarily give us their moral support. […] The essence of this strategy is harmony. Who cares what arms are developed by one or two arrogant nations? Our country—leader of a free world and supported by the hearts of Asians and the entire world— could never again be vanquished through war.73

49 Ishibashi urged Japan to strive “to morally support the small and weak countries of the world”, by which he meant all those that were not “great powers”. One senses in Ishibashi some Asianist and pacifistic impatience. An alliance between “peoples of colour”, based on real friendships and relationships of trust, was the only way to resist growing pressure from Anglo‑Saxon countries following the of 1922. Achieving this meant breaking with traditional diplomacy.

50 In fact, in the 1920s Japan’s ruling circles felt unease at China’s growing nationalism which aspired to unify a country divided since the establishment of a republic in 1912 and which had fallen partly into the hands of warlords. The victories of the nationalist made them fear the emergence of a powerful state. For Japan’s imperialist circles, China’s progress towards unification was a nightmare and Ishibashi Tanzan condemned this attitude which sought to ignite a war in order to guarantee north‑eastern China’s permanent separation from the rest of the country. Ishibashi directly opposed the military operations that began in Manchuria in September 1931. A few days after the “incident” of 18 September 1931, he published a vitriolic article: There is endless talk of the “Manchurian issue”. There is indeed a way to settle this famous issue at once, and that is to restore normal friendly relations between China and Japan. It would be an excellent idea both for the two countries and for world peace.74

51 Instead of pacifying the Kuomintang leaders, Japan’s military operations would merely stoke Chinese national pride and anti‑Japanese resentment, believed Ishibashi. Whether Japan liked it or not, it would be drawn into a conflict of even graver proportions. Just as the Japanese nation could not accept being subjected to foreign rule, so the Chinese nation cannot accept such a situation. Those in favour of Japan advancing into Manchuria are refusing the Chinese the right to think as they do. Does this not merit some self‑criticism? […] The first condition for our nation to settle the Manchurian problem is for us to simply accept China’s demand for a unified state.75

52 Recognising Chinese sovereignty would challenge the idea that only the pursuit of Japan’s national interests was justified, an idea that underpinned nationalist discourse in Japan. Ishibashi added that Japan risked finding itself seriously isolated in this affair, since offending Chinese nationalist sentiment would enable them to attract the sympathy of international opinion. And Ishibashi continued in May 1932 by denouncing “the misinformation and narrow‑minded myopia causing incalculable damage to Japanese society”, in a country where “it is no longer possible to speak freely about foreign relations, the military, or anything of real importance”.76

53 By taking into account the Chinese point of view in his approach to the Manchurian issue, Ishibashi provided food for thought for many young intellectuals, in particular the young sinologists of the time such as Takeuchi Yoshimi 竹内好, who spoke of their “Ishibashian discovery” upon reading the politician’s writings. In fact,

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Takeuchi Yoshimi questioned whether any Japanese at that time was capable of understanding .77

54 Faced with the acts of violence committed by the military during the 1930s, Japanese parliamentarians adopted an attitude that was ambiguous to say the least, covering up the “patriotic crimes” committed in Manchuria. Ishibashi wrote in no uncertain terms that “they were making themselves complicit in murder” and that “it was as if the government was run by gangsters (bōryokudan 暴力団)”.78 For Ishibashi, the Manchurian affair was the work of ideologists driven by irrational motivations.

55 Ishibashi continually advocated the long term over short‑term thinking. The difficulties he foresaw for Japan on the continent have since proven him right. Having failed to correctly assess the scale of the Chinese nationalist reaction, Japan soon found itself bogged down in the country. Needless to say, the warnings issued by Ishibashi from the mid‑1910s to the early 1930s were ignored by Japanese leaders, who even at the height of the war, and despite his anti‑government leanings, consulted him regularly. In 1937 he joined the Shōwa kenkyūkai 昭和研究会, a kind of think tank for Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro 近衛文麿 (1891‑1945)79 where he met well‑known individuals from the liberal opposition such as the philosopher Miki Kiyoshi 三木清 (1897‑1945). However, it was clearly Ishibashi who was right about the fundamental issue: “Great Japanism” had no historical future. He spoke out against military rule and in favour of a return to a parliamentary system. In the wake of Pearl Harbor he wrote, “I am a liberal but not a traitor to the state” and criticised the constantly expanding ’s military operations.80 One senses his despair at seeing his country embark on a course he predicted would end in failure.

56 Japan’s phenomenal growth in the 1950s and 1960s proved Ishibashi right in hindsight to advocate a “Small Japan” with its development refocused on domestic growth, a far cry from the country’s imperialist dreams. The post‑war Prime Minister Yoshida Shigeru 吉田茂 (1878‑1967) entrusted Ishibashi Tanzan with the task of rebuilding the Japanese economy by appointing him finance minister (from May 1946 to May 1947). Opposed to the economic reform advocated by the occupation authorities, in particular the dissolution of the zaibatsu, he clashed with the American authorities over his desire to reduce the costs linked to the presence of the Allied forces. Despite his muted opposition to the wartime militaristic regime, Ishibashi fell victim to the purge imposed by the Americans, who had not forgiven him for having defied them, and was forced to leave the political arena for a time. He nonetheless went on to become one of the leaders of the Liberal Democratic Party, served as minister for international trade and industry from 1954 to 1956, pushed for relations to be restored with the USSR and communist China,81 and was finally appointed prime minister (from December 1956 to February 1957) despite staunch American opposition.82 Ill health forced him to abandon his position just two months after his nomination.

57 Ishibashi Tanzan was a pioneering and visionary spirit. In economic terms he was a liberal (but was also responsible for introducing Keynes in Japan), politically speaking he was a rather moderate democrat opposed to communism (but resolutely against military expansionism and fascism), while in the diplomatic arena he advocated “Small Japanism” (but wavered between desiring isolationism for his country or a moral role as a “global leader”). His brand of anti‑colonialism was not one of solidarity with colonial populations but rather a principled stance. When reading him today one cannot help but be struck by his invariably lucid reasoning. He never succumbed to the

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dominant ideas of his time. His firm belief that warmongering was never profitable for long caused him to clash with the imperialist and colonialist circles of the pre‑1945 era, which he also saw as anti‑democratic elements. His views were so lucid that some essayists have had fun imagining what Ishibashi would say about Japan today and how he would have criticised Japan’s leaders, a completely futile exercise, admittedly, but one based on a great admiration for an atypical individual.83 It is striking to note the extent to which his views in the 1920s and 1930s prefigured the Japan of the post‑war economic miracle, “an economic giant but a political dwarf”, a peaceable country whose standard of living increased steadily without intervening in the affairs of the rest of Asia.

Academic Doubts as to the Validity of Colonialism

58 Ishibashi was not the only person to develop critical economic analyses of imperialism and colonialism. In truth, the question of Japan’s colonial policy had become the subject of a debate with scientific pretensions. Beginning in 1895, the issue came under scrutiny as the first “enlightened” administrators of Taiwan believed that the solution to their problems lay in a “scientific approach” and Gotō Shinpei was keen for the new colony to serve as a “laboratory”.84 Japan’s 1905 victory over the Russians changed the country’s international status and saw it emerge as a new “great power”. Remember that this event led Japan to obtain the southern part of Sakhalin as well as leased territories on the Liaodong peninsula, establish its protectorate in Korea and exert a powerful influence in Manchuria. Consequently, in the wake of the Russo‑Japanese War the academic study of colonial policies emerged as a research topic at university and a practical and theoretical body of knowledge. As early as 1903, Nitobe Inazō, the well‑known author of Bushido, Soul of Japan, had been appointed lecturer at Kyoto Imperial University after gaining experience of colonial administration in Taiwan.85 The first university to create a chair in colonial studies was Tōhoku Imperial University in Sendai in 1907.86 Then in 1909, Nitobe was given the newly created chair at Tokyo Imperial University. Yanaihara Tadao took over the position in 1922.87 He was not yet thirty.

59 Yanaihara belonged to the Japanese Christian pacifist movement known as the Non‑Church Movement, which was closely linked to Uchimura Kanzō 内村鑑三 (1861‑1930), the great Christian intellectual of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century who in turn was influenced by the uncompromising pacifism of Leo Tolstoy. Yanaihara Tadao professed himself impressed by Uchimura Kanzō’s uncompromising and independent nature. He was also close to leading Christian figures who had joined the moderate branch of the socialist movement, the most eminent representatives of which were Kinoshita Naoe 木下尚江 (1869‑1937) and Abe Isoo. At university he was fascinated by leading personalities Nitobe Inazō and Yoshino Sakuzō.

60 In addition to the moral pacifism from which he took inspiration, Yanaihara Tadao added a brand of anti‑colonialism that was fairly radical for his time and was based on a well‑researched economic and political analysis which, as in the case of Ishibashi Tanzan, professed to be rational. He wrote for the journal Chūō Kōron and published critical writings on Taiwan, Korea and Manchuria. In 1935 he produced a study on the southern islands under Japanese rule and in 1937 a work on India under British rule. As early as 1937 his radical opposition to the new war against China earned

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Yanaihara a professional ban that saw him dismissed from Tokyo Imperial University. He was reinstated as professor at Tokyo University after the war, in November 1945, and subsequently served as its president from 1951 to 1957. The historian of Western economics Ōtsuka Hisao 大塚久男 (1907‑1996), the post‑war leader—along with Maruyama Masao 丸山眞男 (1914‑1996)—of the “modernist” school of thought, declared himself a disciple of Yanaihara, who emerged as a kind of intellectual and moral figure.88

61 In around 1920, Yanaihara adopted stances that were overtly hostile to the repression carried out by the government and army in Korea. A humanist and democrat, he condemned Japan’s colonial policy which impoverished Korean farmers and left them destitute, advocating instead autonomy for the colonies within the framework of the empire. In 1926, in a text published in Chūō Kōron, he demonstrated that while repression had certainly crushed the protesters of 1919, they—in other words the Korean people as a whole—had been victorious.89 Despite a desire for change, he added, the Korean people were the victims of a crippling tax policy while their lands were gradually being confiscated by Japanese settlers. This process robbed producers of their means of production and proletarianised the country, leaving the Koreans with barely enough to survive and forcing many to emigrate to Siberia, Manchuria or even, more recently, Japan itself.90 The Japanese policy of exporting rice from the peninsula to Japan forced Korean farmers to work themselves into the ground producing for the metropole while contenting themselves with meagre meals.91 A “desperate instability” was visible deep within Korean society, he wrote on several occasions.92 At this stage Yanaihara considered it natural for Koreans to be given the right to participate in the administrative and political life of their country. Specifically, this meant giving them the right to vote (the Japanese themselves had only achieved universal suffrage—for men—the previous year) by allowing them to participate in the political life of the metropole, but above all by creating a parliament in Seoul.93 “Just as the working class is able to defend its own interests sufficiently by sending its representatives to parliament, so the colonial peoples will be able to defend their interests by participating in political decision‑making”.94

62 Yanaihara described Japan’s colonial policy as a “despotic” regime (sensei seiji 専制政 治) that did not recognise the rights of the colonised, who were treated like “uncivilised black people” (mikai kokujin 未開黒人),95 and which practised a policy of assimilation through an autonomous colonial government. And yet, he said, this regime was the product of an era: the imperialist violence and democratic demands pervading Japanese and Korean society were reflected in colonial policy orientations. He urged the Japanese parliament to exempt the colonial populations from paying further taxes and advocated liberating “those being tortured and stifled”. Japan must have the courage to face facts, he wrote.96 As for assimilation—if such a thing were even possible —, it was impracticable if it were to be carried out by a colonial administration, which in itself was an obstacle to assimilation. If Japan were to reply on such an administration, collaboration with the Koreans would quickly become impossible since their social practices resulted from a different history to that of Japan.97

63 At this stage Korean independence was not yet one of the options envisaged by Yanaihara. He advocated political autonomy for the inhabitants of the peninsula and democratic guarantees for Koreans, but little else. In this sense, his position remained similar to that of his Kyoto colleague Yamamoto Miono, who during World War I had

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actively supported the transformation of German possessions in the Pacific into Japanese colonies but who was opposed to assimilation and advocated self‑governance for the colonised (jichi shugi 自治主義).98 Yanaihara believed that Japan must surmount Korean resistance without alienating its population but rather by convincing them of the need for an alliance between the two peoples within the framework of the empire. Indeed, he believed that home rule was the best defence mechanism for avoiding Korean emancipation and its complete separation from Japan.99 He went even further by explaining that if as part of such a policy the Koreans were to break free and become independent, it would be a great success for Japan’s colonial policy and “the honour of the empire”.100

64 In a critique of Japanese colonialism in Taiwan entitled Taiwan under Imperialism, first published in 1929 and then in paperback form in 1937, Yanaihara produced what was no doubt the first serious Japanese‑language study of Taiwan written from a critical perspective.101 The fact that the author was a professor in colonial studies at Tokyo Imperial University only heightened its impact. In fact, this study of Taiwan was often seen post‑1945 as representing the starting point of Japanese area studies (chiiki kenkyu 地域研究). Kuwabara Takeo considered it a classic in Japanese social sciences and described it as “a book with great scientific rigour of which we Japanese can be proud”102. The book was banned from exportation to Taiwan upon its publication but became a bible for Taiwanese students studying in Japan, where it continued to be available in libraries and was first translated into Chinese on the continent in 1930.103 Yanaihara explained that large Japanese capitalist companies like Mitsui and Mitsubishi had monopolised the island’s industries (in particular the food‑processing and sugar‑producing industries) and that Taiwanese farmers and workers were the victims of oppression and fierce social and economic exploitation. His arguments drew on a kind of economism (similar to to be specific). Above all, and this is perhaps the main point, Yanaihara clearly specified the need to take into account the demands of the Taiwanese nationalist movement.

65 Yanaihara began by recounting the history of Formosa—the Beautiful Island—which was fought over by the Portuguese, Dutch and Chinese during the seventeenth century. The Chinese were victorious but in the nineteenth century the island once again became an object of desire for the Prussians, Americans and French before the Japanese finally seized Taiwan after it was ceded to Tokyo by Beijing at the end of the Sino‑Japanese War.104 Yanaihara took the opportunity to re‑examine the Sino‑Japanese War of 1894‑1895, which he presented not as “a national war”, as official propaganda would have it, but as “an imperialist war”.105

66 In Japan circa 1895, where industrial capitalism was still in its infancy, imperialism as an ideology had already firmly taken root.106 In fact, the occupation of Taiwan had cost more to Japan than any profits generated, and Yanaihara deemed this a “luxury expenditure” that the Japanese state had permitted itself in pursuit of a questionable strategic vision.107 By seizing Taiwan in order to avoid it falling into the hands of the other great powers, Japan had for the first time adopted a clearly imperialist attitude. Yet this outcome had been in no way unavoidable. Yanaihara’s criticism, however, just like that of Ishibashi, focused on the consequences: namely (public) expenditure higher than (private) profits, and a deterioration in Japan’s symbolic image in the region. Ultimately, Yanaihara questioned what price Japan would have obtained for Taiwan had it sold the island off and invested the money into the national economy.108 Though

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he did not employ the expression “Small Japan”, Yanaihara’s stance here resembled the views put forward by Ishibashi Tanzan.

67 Yanaihara also criticised “the exacerbated level of colonial despotism that has rarely been equalled in other colonial experiments around the world,”109 he wrote, not without exaggeration but no doubt a little too quickly.110 However, the brutality of the colonial endeavour, combined incidentally with significant public investments, did eventually produce undeniable results, particularly in the field of sanitation, infrastructure and transport. Moreover, these successes made political reforms unavoidable, since without these opposition to the island’s Japanisation would continue to grow. He concluded that the development of colonial imperialism was contradictory, that it was racing towards its own downfall as it were.111

68 Yanaihara was generally opposed to assimilationist policies, believing that with the weak democracy and authoritarian practices of the metropole, the Japanese lot was not so enviable. However, beyond the two colonies’ historical differences, the problems of Taiwan and Korea were identical. Political rights enabling self‑governance should be extended to the colonial populations. And if they were to demand their independence, it should be granted, thought Yanaihara, for they would then necessarily maintain friendly, peaceful relations with the former metropole. Thus, there was ultimately nothing to be lost in the colonies achieving independence, as long as the process took place peacefully. Yanaihara’s views on traditional Japanese policies were thus extremely critical. He displayed a fairly radical reformism but never went as far as suggesting the severing of relations between metropole and colonies.

69 Incidentally, these views earned him criticism from followers of Marxism. In Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (1921), Lenin was one of the first to explicitly establish a link between imperialism and colonialism, but his analysis was little known in Japan prior to the early 1920s. Yanaihara is known to have discussed Lenin’s work in his lectures.112 One of his former colleagues at the Faculty of Economics, Hosokawa 細川嘉六 (1888‑1962), who worked at the Ōhara Institute for Social Research (Ōhara Shakai Mondai Kenkyūjo 大原社会問題研究所), openly questioned the contradiction inherent in Yanaihara’s position, in which “one could not help but defend the interests of the capitalist class” and be the spokesperson for a system, and he voiced doubts as to the scientific nature of such teachings.113 Later, in 1932‑1933, followers of the Kōza school of Marxism developed a radical criticism of colonialism, seen as inextricably linked to capitalism and imperialism, in their “Lectures on the Development of Japanese Capitalism” (Nihon shihonshugi hattatsushi kōza 日本資本主義 発達史講座). However, their view of colonialism as being an epiphenomenon of imperialism meant that they failed to propose a specific critical analysis of a system they believed would collapse by itself with Japan’s revolution to come.114 The only person to have attempted a Marxist analysis of the situation in Taiwan, including a radical criticism of colonialism, is Yamakawa Hitoshi山川均 (1880‑1958), one of the founding members of the .115 According to him, the colony became profitable in 1908 following a difficult start. It was thus a success, but for whom? Not for the colonial populations subjected to economic exploitation coupled with harsh political rule. He pointed to the confiscation of land by the sugar and paper industries, which were controlled entirely by mainland capital and benefitted from the political support of the colonial administration, as well as pay discrimination between colonists and colonised. He also explained how the issuing of a special law, known as

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Title 63, allowed the governor‑general to behave like a “despotic sovereign” and how the transition to a civil administration as of 1920 had not really changed anything since the repressive public order laws remained in force. He came down in favour of a growing democratic movement in Taiwan and called for equal rights between colonial peoples and metropolitan Japanese, but ultimately voiced concerns about the fundamental indifference of working‑class Japanese vis‑à‑vis the situation in the colonies.116

70 Though Yanaihara adopted several aspects of Yamakawa Hitoshi’s Marxist economic analysis in his study, he never adhered to communist values. Rather than simply providing a critical review of colonial policies, Yanaihara proposed undertaking research in the form of concrete fieldwork on colonial societies. In fact, with its combination of history, politics, sociology, education and economic analysis, there was an undeniably multidisciplinary dimension to his work. Indeed, it is in this sense that he may be considered a pioneer in the study of culture areas.

71 A few months after the military intervention in Manchuria in September 1931, Yanaihara wrote an article which he later reprised in The Manchurian Problem.117 In an effort to understand the situation in Manchuria, Yanaihara traced the imperialist rivalries that had existed in the region since the early twentieth century and described the causes of the anti‑Japanese protests in China, which he presented on the one hand as “a historical necessity”, given the economic and political development of China and Manchuria, and on the other hand as a “nationalist movement”. In his eyes, this anti‑Japanese nationalist movement was deeply rooted and probably impossible to contain. The idea of protecting Japan’s special interests and privileges in China would only lead to a clash with Chinese nationalism, a movement he considered to be in the ascendant. Given these circumstances, Japan’s policy in Manchuria could only lead to a worsening of the situation. This conviction led him to refute the colonialist discourses justifying Japan’s presence in the region which drew on three economic arguments: emigration, profits from trade and the idea of a Japanese‑Manchurian trade bloc.

72 Japanese farmers emigrating to Manchuria would not solve the problem of overpopulation in the metropole, explained Yanaihara. Driven out by the poverty in Japan, the colonists he likened to emigrants found themselves in a difficult situation with significant set‑up costs and, for the government, running costs to maintain public order and supply a market that cost more than it made. The Japanese invasion severed traditional trade links between China and Manchuria and disrupted economic channels. These channels were rebuilt with Japan, but the structural weakness of Manchuria’s domestic market carried very little weight in Japan’s foreign trade, barely more than 5 to 10%, which was nothing compared to the costs incurred in controlling the area and maintaining order. Added to this was the rapid deterioration in relations with China due to Japan having taken control of Manchuria. As early as 1932, Yanaihara forecast a second Sino‑Japanese War, which indeed broke out in 1937. Lastly, was it feasible to create a self‑sufficient Japan‑Manchuria economic bloc, as advocated in certain circles, and would it really be effective? The idea was to tap into Manchuria’s vast reserves of raw materials, but as Yanaihara explained, despite their abundance these resources were insufficient for an economy like that of Japan. Furthermore, they were often of inferior quality or unprofitable to extract. Yanaihara concluded that when considered solely from the perspective of its overall profitability, Japan’s occupation of Manchuria was a grave and costly economic error. It would provide only short term gains, he

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explained, and only to the capitalists who had invested in the region. Graver yet, it implied a difficult war with China that would cost Japan much more than the occupation of Manchuria would ever yield and whose outcome was uncertain.

73 Under the guise of a political analysis, Yanaihara proceeded to criticise the imperialist arguments that abounded in the press at that time. Economically speaking, colonisation was futile. Worse still, wanting to politically engineer the prosperity of the Japanese nation through the oppression of the Chinese nation, itself under construction, indicated a complete lack of understanding of the political and social movements sweeping Asia since the beginning of the century. Japan’s designs were virtually guaranteed to fail, he wrote. “Conversely, if Japan were to acknowledge China’s desire to create a unified state and help it achieve this goal, it would be helping itself as well as contributing to peace in Asia”.118

74 Linking on from this, the question of morality was also raised. Was the invasion right? The answer was no, and this for reasons of principle: It is right to oppose the invasion [of Manchuria by Japan]. It is right to not provoke a war for that. Justice demands, by means other than war, that the invasion be stopped. The aim of justice is to prevent war and punish those who began the invasion. And the path taken by justice can only lead towards peace.119

75 Ishibashi Tanzan and Yanaihara Tadao were both respected personalities and opinion leaders in their time. But they were not alone. In fact, incidentally, it is interesting to note that the majority of teachers at the imperial universities in charge of analysing colonial societies were opposed to the brutal colonialist policies developed by the various Japanese governments. In an article published in Taiyō in May 1920, Yamamoto Miono, who taught colonial policy at Kyoto University, argued for a local administration run by the Koreans themselves and for deputies representing the colonial minorities in the Japanese Diet. Others, on the contrary, supported an assimilationist policy in the name of democracy. This was notably the case of Uehara Etsujirō 上原悦二郎 (1877‑1962), who dreamed of a Japan in which the democratic revolution had been achieved and which would be capable of assimilating a democratised Korea in order to build a common nation free of discrimination.120

76 The anti‑repressive and reformist colonialism of Japanese democrats from the 1920s and 1930s may seem outdated today. But make no mistake about it: rare were those at the time in Great Britain and France, for example, who expressed such clear condemnation of colonial injustice. From this point of view, the Japanese critics of Japanese colonialism were quite remarkable. Moreover, radical advocates of independence were a minority in the Japanese colonies at that time. Indeed, a certain section of Korean and Taiwanese nationalists sincerely believed—just like the Japanese democrats—that the colonial system could be reformed. So it was that Tagawa Daikichirō, a deputy and advocate of “imperial democracy” as conceived by Yoshino Sakuzō, came to present to the Japanese Diet a Taiwanese petition for the creation of a parliament in Taipei. It was signed by Taiwanese who presented themselves as “Japanese nationals who also aspire to democracy”. Similar petitions were presented in Tokyo on numerous occasions. Similarly, as early as 1920, petitions of this type calling for a law to make Koreans eligible for election circulated in Korea. The right to participate in public life was a fundamental aspiration for local Taiwanese and Korean elites. Taking Japanese assimilationists literally, they declared themselves

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to be “Japanese” or “nationals” and as such called on the Japanese authorities in the colonies or the home islands to grant them representation in the capital.121

77 In some ways it could be said that Taiwanese and Korean nationalists were themselves caught up in the wave of democracy that swept through Japan as of 1918, that they played an active role in it and that they demanded greater democracy and autonomy in their own countries as well as in the metropole. A convergence began to emerge between Japanese liberals and democrats and local elites in the colonial societies in order to fight the brutal and repressive systems established by the colonial government.

78 In a Japan where expansionists were in the majority, those voicing criticism of colonialism ultimately remained limited in number. Despite hailing from the intellectual elite, these voices received little attention from the upper echelons of the government where militarist and imperialist influences were too strong. The more influential these factions were, the more difficult or even impossible it became to voice criticism. But let us not imagine that anti‑colonial movements wielded much influence in Western colonial metropoles before the Second World War either. More often than not, it was the proportions anti‑colonial movements took on in the colonies themselves after the war that in turn brought home the reality of colonialism to metropolitan populations. Japan’s anti‑colonial movements were never able to gain momentum because decolonisation came about suddenly, as it were, with Japan’s military defeat in August‑September 1945. After all, France did not lose its colonial empire upon its defeat in 1940. Yet after 1945, Japan found itself if not colonised, at the very least defeated and subjected to the presence of the on its own soil. This is the paradox of a country forced to deprive anti‑colonial discourse of all pertinence after 1945. As pointed out by Nishikawa Nagao, the post‑war Japanese saw themselves both as former colonisers with regards their former territories and as a colonised or semi‑colonised people by the United States. He describes the mind‑sets that emerged at the time, turning the Japanese into a people “colonised from the inside”.122

79 Incisive criticism of the colonial regime was voiced prior to decolonisation, albeit by a minority. From this point of view, the movement within Japanese society was not out of step with Western countries. Indeed, those clearly expressing anti‑colonialist views in Western colonial metropoles prior to the 1930s were few in number. Claude Liauzu speaks of the “marginality of anti‑colonialism” in pre‑war France.123 This ability of certain Japanese critics to rise above the fray and warn of the looming disaster shows, if it needed repeating, the discernment and lucidity of one section of “civil society” in Japan. It also suggests certain continuities—beyond the period of militarism and war— between liberal and democratic policies before and after the war.

NOTES

1. To borrow the expression used by the economist and specialist in colonial policies Yanaihara Tadao 矢内原忠雄 (1893‑1961). For an ’s colonial policy see Alain DELISSEN, “La

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Corée” (Korea), in Hartmut O. ROTERMUND et al., L’Asie Orientale et Méridionale aux XIXe et XXe siècles (South and East Asia in the 19th and 20th Centuries), Paris, PUF, Nouvelle Clio, 1999, pp. 135‑232, in particular chapter 3, “Le premier XXe siècle : les ambivalences de la colonisation japonaise” (The First 20thCentury: The Ambivalences of Japanese Colonisation), pp. 177‑195; see also Pierre‑François SOUYRI, “La Colonisation japonaise : un colonialisme moderne mais non occidental” (Japanese Colonisation: A Modern but not Western Colonialism), in Marc FERRO (ed.), Le Livre noir du colonialisme, XVIIe‑XXIe siècle : de l’extermination à la repentance (The Black Book of Colonialism, 17th‑21st Century: From Extermination to Repentance), Robert Laffont, Paris, 2003, pp. 407‑430. For English works, see in particular Ramon H.MYERS and Mark R. PEATTIE, The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895‑1945, Princeton University Press, 1984, which remains an authority. 2. “Theory on Japanese‑Korean Common Ancestry” (Nissen dōsoron 日鮮同祖論). These issues are elaborated upon in Oguma 小熊英二, Tan’itsu minzoku shinwa no kigen 単一民族神話の起 源 (Origins of the Myth of Ethnic Homogeneity) Shin’yōsha 新曜社, 1995, in particular chapters 5 and 13. See also Arnaud NANTA, Débats sur les origines du peuplement de l’archipel japonais dans l’anthropologie et l’archéologie (décennie 1870 – décennie 1990) (Anthropological and Archaeological Debates on the Origins of the Settlement of Japan [1870s‑1990s]), université Paris 7 (unpublished doctoral thesis), 2004. 3. OGUMA Eiji, op. cit., p. 239. 4. In 1914, ITAGAKI Taisuke, a believer in “racial harmony”, instigated an abortive movement to extend equal rights with the Japanese to the inhabitants of Taiwan. Cf. Mark R. PEATTIE, “Japanese Attitudes Toward Colonialism”, in MYERS and PEATTIE (ed.), The Japanese Colonial Empire, op. cit., p. 103. 5. On this affair, known as the “Ōsaka Incident”, see Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’époque Meiji (Attitudes to Korea in Meiji‑Era Japan), Maisonneuve & Larose, 2002, pp. 148‑154. 6. TSURUMI Shunsuke 鶴見俊輔, Senjiki Nihon no seishinshi 1931‑1945 戦時期日本の精神史, Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 1982, revised edition, 2001, p. 121 (English title: The Intellectual History of Wartime Japan: 1931‑1945, Routledge, 1986). Note, however, that shortly after the Ryūkyū Islands were annexed, Ueki Emori 植木枝盛 (1857‑1892), future leader of the Freedom and Popular Rights Movement, published an article entitled: “Why the Ryūkyū Islands Should be Given their Independence” (Ryūkyū no dokuritsu seshimubeki ronzu 琉球の独立せしむべき論ず), in Aikokushirin 愛国志林, Osaka, March 1880, text published in ITŌ Teruo 伊東昭雄, Ajia to Kindai Nihon, Hanshinryaku no shisō to undō アジアと近代日本—反侵略の思想と運動 (Asia and Modern Japan. Anti‑invasion Thought and Movements), SHAKAI Hyōronsha 社会評論社, 1990, pp. 16‑19. 7. Quoted by YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, seidoku 帝国主義下の台湾精読 (Taiwan under Imperialism: Exegesis), edition put together by WAKABAYASHI Masahiro 若林正丈, IWANAMI Bunko 岩波文庫, 2001, p. 35. English translation from Mark R. PEATTIE, op. cit. p. 83. In around 1890, Takekoshi Yosaburō was one of the most active members of Minyūsha 民友社, the People’s Friend Society, a new movement that was both nationalist and democratic. In 1905 he served as a deputy in the political party Seiyūkai 政友会 and was close to future prime minister 西園寺公望 (1849‑1940). 8. KŌTOKU Shūsui, L’Impérialisme, le spectre du XXe siècle (Imperialism, the Ghost of the 20th century), translated, presented and annotated by Christine Lévy, CNRS, 2008. The vulgate of research on Kōtoku Shūsui has clearly shown his fascination for European and American socialist and anarchist movements. This point of view was partly challenged by the historian Ishimoda Shō 石母田正 (1912‑1986), Kōtoku Shūsui to Chūgoku, minzoku to aikokushin no mondai ni tsuite 幸徳 秋水と中国—民族と愛国心の問題について (Kōtoku Shūsui and China: The Issue of Ethnicity and Patriotism), 1952 text, reproduced in TAKEUCHI Yoshimi (ed.), Ajia shugi アジア主義 (Asianism), volume 9 from Gendai Nihon shisō taikei 現代日本思想体系 (Anthology of Contemporary Japanese Thought), Chikuma Shobō 筑摩書房, 1963, pp. 384‑410. Ishimoda

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attempted to demonstrate in this text the solidarity he claimed Kōtoku felt with the colonial populations’ struggle for independence. 9. To use the term employed by Andrew GORDON in his book Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan, University of California Press, 1991. 10. MATSUO Takayoshi 松尾尊 (texts established and annotated by), Yoshino Sakuzō shū 吉野作造 集 (The Collected Writings of Yoshino Sakuzō), volume 17 of Kindai Nihon shisō taikei 近代日本思 想体系 (Anthology of Modern Japanese Thought), Chikuma Shobō, 1976, postscript by MATSUO Takayoshi, p. 474. Self‑determination should be understood here as a certain freedom given to colonial populations to manage their own affairs according to their own customs. 11. And this despite the fact that between 1904 and 1906 he had been the private tutor of the son of Yuan Shikai 袁世凱, the future conservative rival of Sun Yat Sen (Sun Zhongshan 孫中山) at the head of the newly republican China. 12. Published in Yoshino Sakuzō senshū 吉野作造選集 (The Selected Writings of Yoshino Sakuzō), volume 7, Iwanami Shoten, 1995. 13. “Taishigaikō konponsaku no kettei ni kansuru Nihon seiryaku no konmei” 対支外交根本策の 決定に関する日本政略の混迷 (Japan’s Strategic Disarray in the Decision‑making over its Fundamental Policy Orientations for China), published in 1916 in the journal Chūō Kōron 中央公 論. See the revised edition in Yoshino Sakuzō shū, op. cit. pp. 134‑135. 14. Japan’s kenpeitai has often been compared to the German Gestapo during the Second World War. 15. YOSHINO Sakuzō, “Mankan o shisatsu shite” 満韓を視察して (Observations from Manchuria and Korea), Chūō Kōron, June 1916, in Yoshino Sakuzō shū, op. cit., p. 145, quoted by NARITA Ryūichi 成田龍一, Taishō demokurashii 大正デモクラシー (The Taishō Democracy), Iwanami Shinsho, 2007, introduction, p. iv. 16. “Chōsen tōchisaku” 朝鮮統治策 (The Domination of Korea), October 1918, published in Chūō Kōron, reproduced in Yoshino Sakuzō senshū, op. cit., volume 9, pp. 50‑51. For further information on YAMAMOTO Miono see infra. 17. Known as the March 1st Movement of 1919. Following the death of the Korean Emperor who had been deposed by the Japanese, the Koreans protested in masse shouting “Long live Korean independence!” (Tongnip manse 獨立萬歲). 18. The Reimeikai 黎明会 (Dawn Society) was run between 1918 and 1920 by a group of academics, liberals and moderate socialists. It aimed to fight the intransigence and intolerance of government circles. Using pamphlets and public lectures, Reimeikai fought for universal suffrage and opposed Japan’s repressive laws and brutal colonial policy. 19. Taishō shisō shū 大正思想集 (Taishō Period Thought: Collected Writings), Book II, edition put together by KANO Masanao 鹿野政直, volume 34 of the Kindai Nihon shisō taikei series, op. cit., 1978, postscript by KANO Masanao, p. 444. Fukuda Tokuzō was a professor of economic history. His firmly liberal stances resembled those of moderate socialists. 20. YOSHINO Sakuzō, “Pekin gakuseidan no kōdō o manba suru nakare” 北京学生団の行動を漫罵 する勿れ (Do Not Disparage the Peking Student Movement), June 1919, in Yoshino Sakuzō shū, op. cit., p. 322. 21. In 1918, a group of students and disciples of Yoshino founded an association called the Shinjinkai 新人会 (New Man Society), which over the next ten years played an instrumental role in the student democratic movement at Tokyo University. A similar association was created at Waseda University, while another was already in place at Kyoto University, where students met for discussions on labour issues to which workers were invited. The statutes of the Shinjinkai speak of “liberating humanity” and “reforming Japan”. These associations were forerunners to the “student movements” that were influential from this period through to the mid‑1970s (with the exception of the wartime period).

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22. Taishō shisō shū II, ibid., p. 444. 23. As Michel Vié points out, this is less than the repression carried out by the French in Sétif and Guelma in 1945 (between 8,000 and 45,000 people massacred). The repression of the Malagasy Uprising by French troops in March 1947 is said to have caused 80,000 deaths, a figure we can only hope has been exaggerated. Others put the figure at between five and ten thousand deaths. Contrary to common belief, Japanese colonialism was no more brutal than any other. See in particular Michel VIÉ, Le Japon et le monde au XXe siècle (Japan and the World during the Twentieth Century), Masson, 1995. 24. “Suigen gyakusatsu jiken” 水原虐殺事件 (The Suwŏn Massacre), Chūō Kōron, July 1919, in Yoshino Sakuzō senshū, volume 9, op. cit. , p. 67. The Japanese military police are accused of massacring over thirty villagers at Chemuri in the district of Suwŏn. 25. Paull Hobom SHIN, The Korean Colony in Chientao, A Study of Japanese Imperialism and Militant , 1905‑1932, PhD thesis, University of Washington, 1980. 26. See in particular Yoshino’s article published in the February 1921 issue of Chūō Kōron, in Yoshino Sakuzōsenshū, volume 9, op. cit., p. 171. 27. “Chōsen seinenkai mondai–Chōsen tōjisaku no kakusei o unagasu” 朝鮮青年会問題—朝鮮統 治策の覚醒を促す (The Korean Youth Association Problem–Opening Our Eyes to the Policy Implemented in Korea), Shinjin, 1920, 2‑3, in Yoshino Sakuzō shū, op. cit., p. 298. 28. “Chōsenjin ni omou”, Yanagi Sōetsu shū 柳宗悦集 (The Selected Writings of Yanagi Sōetsu), TSURUMI Shunsuke (ed.), Kindai Nihon shisō taikei, op. cit., vol. 24, 1975, p. 183. 29. Ibid., p. 178. 30. Ibid., pp. 182‑183. 31. For more information on YANAGI Muneyoshi, alias Sōetsu, see the special feature in issue 16 of Cipango – Cahiers d’études japonaises, 2009 (English version, 2012, available at http://cjs.revues.org/ 75). See also Sōetsu YANAGI, The Unknown Craftsman: A Japanese Insight into Beauty, adapted by Bernard Leach, Kodansha USA, 1990. 32. On the Japanese superiority complex towards Koreans, see Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’époque Meiji. op. cit. 33. Bernard LEACH, A Potter’s Book, Faber and Faber, 3rd edition, 1988. 34. In “Chōsen no bijutsu” (Korean Art), YANAGI wrote of a “bitter beauty” (hishū no bi 悲愁の美). See Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 223. Then on page 226 he describes a “beauty of sorrow” (hiai no bi 悲哀の美). 35. “Chōsenjin ni omou”, op. cit., p. 177. 36. Ibid., pp. 180‑181. 37. Ibid., p. 183. 38. Ibid., pp. 181‑182. 39. “Chōsen no tomo ni okuru sho” 朝鮮の友に贈る書 (Letter to My Korean Friends), published in Kaizō 改造 in June 1920, reproduced in Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 185. 40. Ibid., p. 188. 41. “Kare no chōsenyuki” 彼の朝鮮行 (He Who Travels to Korea), in Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 198. 42. “Chōsenjin ni omou”, Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 179 and p. 186. 43. Ibid., p. 181. 44. Ibid., p. 183. 45. TSURUMI Shunsuke, postscript, in Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 434. 46. “Ushinaharentosuru Chōsen kenchiku no tame ni” 失はれんとする朝鮮建築のために (For a Korean Architecture About to be Lost), in Yanagi Sōetsu shū , op. cit., p. 234. 47. Ibid., p. 236. 48. Ibid., p. 235.

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49. Ibid., p. 236. The gate was destroyed during the Japanese invasions of the late 16th century and subsequently rebuilt in the 1860s. 50. The gate was restored to its original location in 1968, while the modern‑style Japanese building was destroyed in 1995 as part of commemorations for the 50th anniversary of Korean independence. 51. TSURUMI Shunsuke, postscript, in Yanagi Sōetsu shū, op. cit., p. 434. 52. Asakawa Noritaka 浅川伯教 (1884‑1964) was a primary school teacher in Seoul while his younger brother Takumi 浅川巧 (1891‑1931), who had followed him to Korea, worked as a local government officer in the colonial forestry service. Takumi had studied Korean and spoke the language fluently. Yanagi Sōetsu made ten trips to Korea between 1914 and 1924. See Asahi hyakka Nihon no rekishi 朝日百科日本の歴史 (Asahi Encyclopaedia–The ), 1987, fascicule no. 115, p. 147. 53. Kim BRANDT, “Objects of Desire: Japanese Collectors and Colonial Korea”, Positions, 8‑3, Winter 2000, Duke University Press, pp. 711‑746, p. 730. 54. See YOSHINO Sakuzō, “L’affaire du massacre des Coréens” (The Korean Massacre), Ebisu, special issue, Le Japon des séismes (Japan and its Earthquakes), no. 21, 1999. Text from Chūō Kōron, Nov. 1923, published in Yoshino Sakuzō senshū, op. cit., volume 9, pp. 199‑204. Tome 2,613 Koreans are said to have been murdered (231 according to the police) in addition to approximately 170 Chinese (3 according to the police). According to the historian Imai Seiichi (1924‑), the truth no doubt exceeds even these considerable figures. See IMAI Seiichi 今井清一, Taishō demokurashii 大正デモクラシー (The Taishō Democracy), volume 23 of Nihon no rekishi 日本の歴史 (Japanese History), Chūkō Bunko 中公文庫, 1966, 1971, p. 218. 55. Taishō shisō shū, book II, op. cit., p. 290. 56. YAMAKAWA Kikue 山川菊栄, Jinshu teki henken, seiteki henken, kaikyū teki henken 人種的偏見、性 的偏見、階級的偏見 (Racial Prejudice, Sexual Prejudice, Class Prejudice), June 1924, reproduced in Yamakawa Kikue josei kaihō ronshū 山川菊栄女性解放論集 (Collected Essays on Women’s Liberation by Yamakawa Kikue) Iwanami Shoten, 1994, pp. 74‑75. Remember that in September 1923, in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the anarchist Itō Noe 伊藤野枝, who co‑founded the Sekirankai 赤欄会 (The Red Wave Society, 1921‑1923) with Yamakawa Kikue, was strangled at a Tokyo police station along with her partner, the famous anarchist Ōsugi Sakae 大杉栄 (1885‑1923), and his young nephew. 57. Vera MACKIE, Feminism in Modern Japan, Cambridge University Press, New York, 2003, points out on page 88 that Yamakawa Kikue made a distinction between Japanese society, which was portrayed in her writings as a “gendered” society”, and colonial societies, which she saw as a single, featureless block without class or gender. A slip of the pen by an activist born into a colonial power? 58. ISHIBASHI Tanzan is the only Japanese prime minister whose complete works span fifteen volumes! (published between 1970 and 1972 by Tōyō Keizai Shinpōsha 東洋経済新報社). 59. As pointed out by KARATANI Kōjin 柄谷行人 in Richard F. CALICHMAN (ed.), Overcoming Modernity, Columbia University Press, New York, 2008, p. 108. 60. See the postscript by MATSUO Takayoshi 松尾尊兌 (ed.), Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū 石橋湛山評 論集 (The Critical Works of Ishibashi Tanzan), Iwanami Bunko, 1984, 2008, pp. 293‑295. 61. Beginning in the late 19th and early 20th century, individuals such as Nakae Chōmin 中江兆 民 (1847‑1901), Ueki Emori, Abe Isoo 安部磯雄 (1865‑1949) or the Japanist nationalist Miyake Setsurei each in their own way advocated a Small Japan but were not able to create very structured political networks. 62. MIURA Tetsutarō, “Dai Nipponshugi ka Shō Nipponshugi ka” 大日本主義乎小日本主義乎 (Big Japanism or Small Japanism?), 15 April 1913, reproduced in Taishō shisōshū, volume I, edition overseen by Imai Seiichi, volume 33 in the Kindai Nihon shisō taikei series, 1978, p. 66.

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63. Ibid., p. 67. 64. “Shintō wa danjite ryōyū su bekarazu” 青島は断じて領有すべからず (Qingdao Must Not Be Seized), editorial from 15 November 1914, in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., p. 52. 65. “Kakon o nokosu gaikō seisaku” 禍根を残す外交政策 (A Foreign Policy that the Misses the Root of the Problem), editorial from 5 May 1915, in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., pp. 56‑57. 66. Quoted by KANO Masanao, Kindai kokka o kōsōshita shisōkatachi 近代国家を構想した思想家た ち (The Thinkers Who Devised the Modern State), Iwanami Junia Shinsho 岩波ジュニア新書, p. 133. 67. “Senjin bōdō ni taisuru rikai” 鮮人暴動に対する理解 (Understanding the Korean Uprising), editorial from 15 May 1919, in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., pp. 87‑88. 68. “Issai o sutsuruno kakugo. Taiheiyōkaigi ni taisuru waga taido”一切を棄つるの覚悟太平洋 会議に対する我が態度 (Prepare to Abandon Everything. Our Position on the Pacific Conference), editorial from 22 July 1922, reproduced in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., pp. 98‑99. 69. Since 1889 the official name of Japan had been the “Empire of Great Japan” (Dai Nippon Teikoku). The Korean kingdom, which had become an “empire” in 1897, followed suit by calling itself the “Greater ” (Tae Han Cheguk). At around the same time, some were using the term “Greater France”. 70. “Dai Nihonshugi no gensō” 大日本主義の幻想 (The Illusion of Great Japanism), editorial from 30 July 1922, reproduced in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., p. 101. 71. Ibid., p. 113. 72. Ibid., p. 120. 73. Ibid., p. 121. 74. “Manmō mondai kaiketsu no konpon hōshin ikan” 満蒙問題解決の根本方針如何 (What Fundamental Policies would Resolve the Manchurian and Mongolian Problem? 26 September 1931, Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., p. 178. 75. Ibid., p. 180. 76. See SABURŌ Ienaga, The Pacific War, 1931‑1945, Pantheon Books, New York, 1978, p. 120. 77. KANO Masanao, Kindai Nihon shisō annai 近代日本思想案内 (Guide to Modern Japanese Thought), Iwanami Bunko, 1999, pp. 290‑291. On Takeuchi Yoshimi and his ambiguous role in China during the war, see Samuel GUEX, Entre nonchalance et désespoir, les Intellectuels japonais sinologues face à la guerre (1930‑1950) (Between Nonchalance and Despair: The Response of Japanese Intellectuals and Sinologists to the War), Berne, Peter Lang, 2006. 78. ISHIBASHI Tanzan, “Kinrai no sesō tada kotonarazu” 近来の世相ただことならず (The Political Practices of Recent Times will not be without Repercussions), editorial from 18 April 1931, Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., pp. 173‑174. 79. See Kurt W. RADTKE, “Nationalism and Internationalism in Japan’s Economic Liberalism, The Case of Ishibashi Tanzan”, in Dick STEGEWERNS (ed.), Nationalism and Internationalism in Imperial Japan, Routledge, London, 2003, p. 177. 80. Quoted by MATSUO Takayoshi in Ishibashi Tanzan hyōronshū, op. cit., p. 308. 81. This was logical for him because he had been one of the first to demand that Tokyo recognise the “extremist” (Bolshevik) regime in 1918. “Kagekiha seifu o shōnin seyo” 過激派政府を承認せ よ (Let us Recognise the Extremist Government), 25 July 1918, in Taishō shisōshū, volume I, op. cit., p. 386. 82. In 1957, a minority faction within the Liberal Democratic Party, led by Ishibashi Tanzan, opposed the planned security treaty between Japan and the United States. Ishibashi believed that Japan should adopt a strictly neutral stance in the clash between blocs. He feared that Japan’s alliance with the United States would once again lead Japan into a military venture.

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83. TANAKA Shūsei 田中秀征, Nihon Riberaru to Ishibashi Tanzan, ima seiji ga hitsuyō toshite iru koto 日 本リベラルと石橋湛山 いま政治が必要としていること (Liberal Japan and Ishibashi Tanzan: What is Needed in Politics Today), Kōdansha 講談社, 2004. 84. Mark R. PEATTIE, “Japanese Attitudes Toward Colonialism”, in MYERS and PEATTIE (eds.), The Japanese Colonial Empire, op. cit., p. 84. 85. These were doubtless the first lectures given in Japan on “colonial policy” but no chair had as yet been created. Yamamoto Miono taught colonial policy at the Faculty of Law in 1912 before a professorial chair was officially established with the creation of the Faculty of Economics in 1919, a chair that he was given. 86. Chair in “colonial studies” (shokumingaku kōza 植民学講座) created at the Faculty of Agronomy. In 1910, Nagai Ryūtarō 永井柳太郎 (1881‑1944) was appointed to a similar position at Waseda. 87. Chair in “colonial policy” (shokumin seisaku kōza 植民政策講座) established within the Faculty of Law then transferred, in 1919, to the Faculty of Economics. 88. Andrew E. BARSHAY, “Postwar Social and Political Thought, 1945‑90”, in Bob Tadashi WAKABAYASHI (ed.), Modern Japanese Thought, Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 298. 89. “Chōsen tōchi no hōshin” 朝鮮統治の方針 (Policy Orientations on Korea), Chūō Kōron, June 1926, reproduced in Taishō shisō shū, vol II, op. cit., p. 383. 90. Ibid., p. 384. 91. Ibid., p. 390. 92. Ibid., p. 385. 93. Ibid., p. 392. The right to vote during this period followed a territorial rather than ethnic discrimination. Remember that Japanese living in Korea did not vote but that Koreans in Japan did. A Korean deputy was elected to the imperial parliament twice during the 1930s. Be that as it may, no colonial empire has ever granted indigenous peoples the right to vote. 94. Ibid., p. 391. 95. Ibid., p. 392. 96. “Chōsen tōchi no hōshin” in Taishō shisō shū, vol. II, op. cit., p. 394. 97. Quoted by MYERS and PEATTIE, The Japanese Colonial Empire, op. cit., p. 117. 98. ASADA Kyōji 浅田橋二, “Yamamoto Miono no shokuminron” 山本美越乃の植民 論 (Yamamoto Miono’s Theory of Colonisation), in Keizaigaku ronshū 経済学論集, Komazawa daigaku 駒沢大学, vol. 18, parts 1 and 2, November‑December 1986, p. 18 et seqq. of part 1. 99. “Chōsen tōchi no hōshin”, in Taishō shisō shū II, op. cit., p. 393. 100. Ibid. p. 394. 101. YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, op. cit. In addition to the usual simplification of Chinese characters, WAKABAYASHI Masahiro added some extremely useful explanatory notes to his edition. This study of Taiwan was not the first of its kind, as YAMAMOTO Miono had already published a lengthy study: “Taiwan gikai setchi seigan undō to kako no sōtokuseiji” 台湾議会設 置請願運動と過去の総督政治 (The Movement for the Establishment of a Taiwanese Parliament and Former Government‑General System) in Gaikō jihō 外交時報 (The Diplomatic Review), no. 488, April 1925, quoted by ASADA Kyōji, op. cit. YAMAKAWA Hitoshi also produced a study of Taiwan in 1925. YAMAKAWA Hitoshi, Shokumin seisakuka no Taiwan 植民政策下の台湾 (Taiwan under Colonial Policy), 1925, reproduced in Yamakawa Hitoshi zenshū 山川均全集 (Complete Works of YAMAKAWA Hitoshi), volume 7, Keisō Shobō 勁草書房, 1966. 102. KUWABARA Takeo 桑原武夫, Nihon no meicho, Kindai no shisō 日本の名著・近代の思想 (Japanese Masterpieces: Modern Thought) Chūkō Shinsho 中公新書, 1962, p. 250. 103. YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, op. cit., postscript by WAKABASHI Masahiro, p. 339. This book is now regularly republished in Taiwan.

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104. Prior to the arrival of the Japanese, the population of Taiwan had consisted partly of local populations ethnically related to the ancient peoples of Malaysia and speaking Austronesian languages, and partly of Chinese settlers who had arrived since the seventeenth century, mostly from the neighbouring continental province of Fujian. In fact, during the these populations were known as Fan 番 (Ban in Japanese) and were themselves divided into the “civilised” Fan (shufan/jukuban 熟番) of the plains and the “wild” Fan (shengfan/seiban 生番) of the mountains. The “civilised” Fan were in fact often of mixed race since immigration from Fujian essentially involved men. The Japanese maintained the term Fan/Ban while transforming the Chinese character into蕃 (used in Chinese to refer to barbarians) and adopted the habit of referring to the island’s most ancient populations using expressions with pejorative connotations: doban (tufan) 土蕃, doi (tuyi) 土夷 or dohi (tufei) 土匪 (wild natives). In 1935, on the occasion of the Taiwan Expo, they exchanged these terms for Heiho‑zoku (pingbu‑zu) 平埔族 (ancient pacified populations of mixed race) and Takasago‑zoku (Gaosha‑zu) 高砂族 (peoples who had been pacified with great difficulty but were used as volunteers in the Japanese Army after 1942). The latter, which today make up about 2% of the island’s population, are usually known these days as the Gaoshan‑zu 高山族minority. See the note by WAKABAYASHI Masahiro in YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, op. cit., p. 28. Yanaihara demonstrated how beginning in the Qing Dynasty, the Fan (Ban), who had been transformed into a minority, were despoiled of their land by Chinese immigrants. In other words, he demonstrated that Taiwan had been under colonial rule since the seventeenth system (ibid., pp. 37‑40). 105. YANAIHARA Tadao, ibid., p. 26. 106. Ibid., p. 25. 107. Ibid., p. 23. 108. Ibid., p. 245. 109. Ibid., p. 316. 110. KUWABARA Takeo, Nihon no meicho, Kindai no shisō, op. cit., writes on p. 246 that in around 1929, while he was a schoolboy in the provinces, a Taiwanese “native” visited his school. Colourfully dressed and dark skinned, he gave some kind of artistic performance to the students. The young Kuwabara was struck at the time, he said, by the visit’s resemblance to a “fairground show”—or “human zoo” as we might say today —, by the disenchanted and weary air of the native in question and what he ultimately saw as the cruel performance demanded of this man transformed into a “billboard” for Japan’s colonial policy in Taiwan. On a related note, it is worth pointing out that the recent criticisms of colonial exhibitions are apparently long‑standing in the case of Japan. See Nicolas BANCEL, Pascal BLANCHARD, Gilles BOËTSCH, Eric DEROO, Sandrine LEMAIRE, Zoos humains, Au temps des exhibitions humaines, Paris, La Découverte, 2004 (published in English as Human Zoos: Science and Spectacle in the Age of Colonial Empires, Liverpool University Press, 2008). 111. Ibid., p. 304, and p. 317 in particular. 112. YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, op. cit., postscript by WAKABASHI Masahiro, p. 347. 113. YANAIHARA Tadao, Teikokushugi ka no Taiwan, op. cit., postscript by WAKABASHI Masahiro, p. 351. Despite the outrageousness of his comments, Hosokawa was not entirely wrong if we consider that the chair in colonial policy was abolished in 1945 with the fall of the empire. It was renamed after the war and became the chair in “international economics” (kokusai keizai ron kōza 国際経済 論講座). Regardless of this, Yanaihara and Hosokawa were both imprisoned during the war. HOSOKAWA wrote a history of colonisation, Shokumin shi 植民史, reproduced in Hosokawa Karoku chosaku shū 細川嘉六著作集 (The Selected Writings of HOSOKAWA Karoku), book II, Rironsha 理論 社, 1972. 114. The first issue of Akahata 赤旗 (Red Flag), the underground newspaper of the Japanese Communist Party, in April 1923, carries a short article entitled “Chōsen kaihō mondai to musan

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kaikyū 朝鮮解放問題と無産階級 (Korean Liberation and the Proletariat), Cf. Taishō shisō shū, book II, op. cit., p. 444. 115. YAMAKAWA Hitoshi, Shokumin seisakuka no Taiwan, op. cit. 116. ITŌ Teruo, Ajia to Kindai Nihon, Hanshinryaku no shisō to undō, op. cit., p. 142‑148. 117. “Manshū mondai” 満州問題 (The Manchurian Problem), in Yanaihara Tadao zenshū 矢内原忠 雄全集 (The Complete Works of YANAIHARA Tadao), volume 2, Iwanami Shoten, 1965. 118. “Teikoku shugi kenkyū” 帝国主義研究 (A Study of Imperialism), in Yanaihara Tadao zenshū, op. cit., volume 4, Iwanami Shoten, 1965, p. 340. 119. YANAIHARA Tadao, “Kirisuto kyō ni okeru heiwa no risō” (The Peace Ideal in Christianity), in Kirisutosha no shinkō 5 Minzoku to heiwa キリスト者の信仰〈5〉民族と平和 (Christian Faith – vol. 5 – Peoples and Peace), Iwanami Shoten, 1982, p. 117. 120. NARITA Ryūichi, Taishō demokurashii, op. cit., p. 151. 121. Ibid., p. 152. 122. NISHIKAWA Nagao 西川長夫, Shin Shokuminchishugiron Gurobaruka jidai no shokuminchishugi o tou 〈新〉植民地主義論 グローバル化時代の植民地主義を問う (Essay on Neo‑colonialism. Questioning Colonialism in the Age of Globalisation), Heibonsha 平凡社, 2006. Nishikawa describes an internalised colonialism (naimenka sareta shokuminchishugi 内面化された植民地主 義), p. 25 et seqq. 123. Claude LIAUZU, Histoire de l’anticolonialisme en France (The History of Anti‑colonialism in France), Paris, Armand Colin, 2007.

ABSTRACTS

From the beginning of Japanese colonial rule, some people began to raise their voices to criticize this new domination on overseas people. During the Taishō democracy period, these voices began to be heard, prior to be smothered during the 1930’s. There were many people who doubted the capacity of the Japanese State to assimilate colonialized populations. We can separate these contestators of the colonial system in three major trends of ideas. 1) A moral movement, which emerges basically as a fierce criticism of repressive police and army’s methods against colonial populations (especially after the 1919 independence movements in Korea). 2) An economical criticism, inherited from the western liberal philosophy, stating that colonization cost more than it can bring in profits. This trend does not really care about the colonial situation in itself, but consider that the colonial programme is short-termed enterprise as colonial people will obviously struggle against the colonial ruler and defeat it sooner or later. 3) Criticisms of the colonial system appearing inside the Japanese academic world itself, among professors in charge of studying and teaching colonial policies: their analysis of the colonial domination leads them to admit the ineluctability of the “home rule” in colonial countries, or even their independence.

Dès les débuts de la mise en place de politiques coloniales, certaines voix se sont élevées au Japon pour critiquer cette nouvelle forme de domination sur des populations d’outre-mer, puis avec les années dites de la démocratie Taishō (1912-1926), cette critique peu connue mais pourtant explicite du colonialisme est devenue plus audible, avant d’être de nouveau progressivement

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étouffée à la fin des années 1930. Très vite, des doutes naissent, au Japon même, sur la possibilité d’assimiler les peuples coloniaux. On peut distinguer trois courants principaux qui s’en prennent aux politiques coloniales du Japon. D’abord un courant « moral » qui émerge essentiellement comme critique des méthodes répressives policières et militaires dans les colonies, surtout au lendemain des mouvements de 1919 en Corée. Il existe par ailleurs un courant « économiste » produit de la pensée libérale occidentale. Ce courant est anticolonial par principe parce qu’il pense que les colonies coûtent plus chères qu’elles ne rapportent et se préoccupe peu de la situation des peuples colonisés, sinon pour proclamer que les mouvements politiques qui y naissent conduisent inéluctablement à l’indépendance et donc à la défaite programmée du Japon. Enfin, il apparaît une critique plus originale du système au sein même de l’université japonaise parmi certains professeurs chargés d’enseigner précisément les politiques coloniales, qui aboutissent à l’idée que le home rule ou l’indépendance des colonies est inéluctable.

INDEX

Keywords: Korea, Ishibashi Tanzan (1884-1973), Colonial Policy, Preservation of Local Cultures, Colonial Knowledge, Yamakawa Kikue (1890-1980), Yanaihara Tadao (1893-1961), Yanagi Sōetsu (1889-1961), Yoshino Sakuzō (1878-1933), Colonialism Mots-clés: Corée, Ishibashi Tanzan (1884-1973), politique coloniale, préservation des cultures locales, savoir colonial, Yamakawa Kikue (1890-1980), Yanaihara Tadao (1893-1961), Yanagi Sōetsu (1889-1961), Yoshino Sakuzō (1878-1933), colonialisme Chronological index: Taishō Period (1912-1926) Subjects: History, Economy

AUTHOR

PIERRE‑FRANÇOIS SOUYRI University of Geneva

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The History Textbook Controversy in Japan and South Korea La controverse nippo‑coréenne au sujet des manuels d’histoire

Samuel Guex

1 Since the 1980s, relations within East Asia have been hit on several occasions by controversies surrounding Japanese history textbooks.1 The first crisis arose in 1982 during the screening process for new history textbooks. The Ministry of Education’s attempts to whitewash the reality of Japan’s actions in China, by requesting for example that authors replace the term “invasion” (shinryaku 侵略) by “advancement” (shinshutsu 進出), unleashed a flurry of protests within Asia. This outcry prompted the Suzuki Zenkō 鈴木善幸 administration to offer an apology and add a so‑called Neighbouring Country Clause (kinrin shokoku jōkō 近隣諸国条項) to the textbook authorisation system stipulating the need to show understanding and seek international harmony when dealing with Asia’s modern and contemporary history.

2 After two decades of relative calm, a new crisis broke out in 2001 following the publication of a nationalist textbook by the Japanese Society for History Textbook Reform (Atarashii Rekishi Kyōkasho o Tsukuru‑kai, or Tsukuru‑kai for short). Although it was only adopted by a tiny minority of junior high schools,2 this textbook provoked a virulent reaction among Japan’s neighbouring countries, in particular the People’s Republic of China and South Korea. In Korea it is seen as the tip of an iceberg concealing a wider problem of an “erroneous” view of history that in reality affects all Japanese textbooks to varying degrees. Accordingly, when the textbook was approved in April 2001, South Korea was not content to simply follow China’s lead by criticising the way this particular book dealt with modern and contemporary history; its grievances concerned all historical periods and even extended to Japan’s seven other history textbooks.3

3 The Korean government justified its actions by stating the need for a “correct” (olbarŭn 올바른) view of history if friendly relations between the two countries were to be maintained. Instead, the Japanese textbooks authorised in 2001 were deemed guilty of “disparaging” (p’yŏm 貶) Korean history with a view to “embellishing” (mihwa 美化)

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Japan’s own history and placing the blame for colonisation on others, in this case Korea.4 In doing so they were violating the Neighbouring Country Clause and going against the spirit of the statements made by prime ministers Murayama Tomiichi 村山 富市 (1995)5 and Obuchi Keizō 小渕恵三 (1998).6

4 The Korean government’s displeasure is largely shared by the Korean population, as evidenced, for example, by the creation in recent years of dozens of citizens associations protesting against Japanese textbook revisionism.7 It is true that the content of the Tsukuru‑kai textbook faithfully reflects the most conservative right‑wing view of history by presenting contemporary Japanese wars as defensive or by emphasising the generally positive effects of these wars, the colonisation of Taiwan and the annexation of Korea.8

5 While Japanese textbooks are now the subject of international attention and are examined from a variety of angles, whether it be the scale and filiation of Japanese revisionism9 or the political use of textbooks in Japan’s nationalist discourse, 10 few studies have focused on Korean textbooks and how they are perceived by the Japanese. And yet, as Nohira Shunsui has pointed out, the legitimacy of Korea’s criticisms over the shortcomings of Japanese textbooks does not mean that the historical consciousness of the Koreans is above reproach.11

6 While the Japanese government has never officially criticised Korean textbooks, voices close to the Tsukuru‑kai have not failed to identify certain problematic aspects, including an overly nationalistic perspective12 and a simplistic portrayal of Japan, which is described essentially as an aggressor or a diligent student that absorbed Korea’s “advanced” culture over hundreds of years.13

7 These polemical books no doubt serve as a reminder that in this controversy the criticisms are not unilateral: often accused of fanning the flames of “anti‑Japanese” sentiment,14 history education in Korea is also a source of legitimate concern in Japan. However, the motives of some authors can be questioned when they seek to use their criticisms of Korean textbooks to present the Tsukuru‑kai text as a model textbook.15

8 The aim of this paper is to consider the “history textbook issue” from both the Japanese and Korean perspectives. I will examine some of the most sensitive historical issues with a view to assessing the validity of the reciprocal criticisms voiced by the Korean government in 2001 and those close to the Tsukuru‑kai. A comparison of the main textbooks currently in use in the two countries will enable me to determine the extent to which their content has changed since the 2001 crisis. Finally, presenting where necessary the views of specialists in both countries will provide a more nuanced assessment of the true scale of the divergences separating Koreans and Japanese in their view of the past.

Japanese and Korean textbooks

9 The Japanese government has not produced its own textbooks since the School Education Law (Gakkō Kyōiku‑hō 学校教育法) was adopted in 1948. Authors are nonetheless required to submit their drafts to the Textbook Authorisation and Research Council (Kyōka‑yō Tosho Kentei Chōsa Shingi‑kai 教科用図書検定調査審議 会) at the Ministry of Education. Based on a report written by “examiners” (kyōkasho chōsakan 教科書調査官) responsible for examining the content of

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, the council may make authorisation dependent on certain modifications being made. This system thus gives the Ministry of Education considerable control over the content of textbooks prior to publication.

10 One of the problems with this procedure lies in the appointment of examiners, whose report is often a key element in the decision made by the Authorisation Council. University professors or lecturers, these examiners are hired on the recommendation of previous examiners or members of the Authorisation Council according to criteria that remain vague and place a question mark over the examiners’ impartiality.16

11 The actual selection of junior high school textbooks varies according to the type of school. Private schools (shiritsu gakkō 私立学校) or those under state supervision (kokuritsu gakkō 国立学校)17 are free to choose any authorised text. On the other hand, responsibility for choosing textbooks at public schools (kōritsu gakkō 公立学校), which are grouped according to selection areas (saitaku chiku 採択地区), lies with the Municipal Boards of Education (Shichōson Kyōiku Iinkai 市町村教育委員会). However, the decision is largely determined by the recommendations of the Prefectural Boards of Education (Todōfuken Kyōiku Iinkai 都道府県教育 委員会) which appoint school principals, teachers or education board members as examiners responsible for evaluating the authorised textbooks. Their conclusions are then sent to the education boards of the various municipalities, which take them into account when making their final decision. In instances where the selection area consists of several municipalities, districts or villages, a deliberation council (kyōgikai 協議会) in reality selects the textbooks, with the various municipal education boards merely ratifying their decision. 18

12 Teachers have no decision‑making power in this system. At most they can communicate their wishes (kibō‑hyō 希望票) to the education boards or deliberation councils, with no guarantee that they will be taken into consideration.

13 Korean specialists make no bones about denouncing the constraints imposed upon Japanese textbook authors, who are forced to accept the state‑ordained ideology, with some of them likening the Japanese system to “censorship” (kŏmyŏl 檢閲).19 These very real problems, which are also the subject of debate in Japan itself, nonetheless remain minor compared to the situation in Korea, where the government has virtually total control over textbooks.

14 The first Korean‑language secondary school history textbook was published in May 1946 following the country’s liberation. It was the first in a series of materials published under the supervision of the United States. In 1954, after the Korean War and the division of the country, South Korea adopted a hybrid system combining state‑authorised textbooks (kukchŏng 國定) –notably for studying the national language– and approved textbooks (kŏminjŏng 檢認定) for the teaching of history and geography.

15 In 1974, Pak Chŏnghŭi, instigator of the 1961 military coup and South Korea’s president from 1963 to 1979, decided to tighten the state’s control of education. The authorisation system was abandoned in order to standardise history education, leaving one single national history textbook.20 Despite opposition from within the academic world, this state stranglehold on history education continues to this day.

16 However, the reintroduction in 2002 of an authorisation system to select textbooks for teaching modern and contemporary Korean history (Han’guk kŭn‑hyŏndae kyogwasŏ

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韓國近現代教科書) perhaps marks the beginning of a gradual relaxation in South Korea’s education policy. To date, six textbooks by independent publishing houses have obtained this authorisation.21 Progress remains tentative, however, since the textbooks in question are aimed at senior high school students for use in optional classes, unlike the classes in national history (Kuksa 國史), which are compulsory. Consequently, there are currently only two textbooks for the compulsory teaching of Korean history: one for junior high and one for senior high.22

17 Given these circumstances, it is easy for Japanese revisionists to discredit South Korea’s criticisms by presenting them as illustrating the country’s desire to impose its vision of history upon the Japanese.23 However pertinent its demands may be, South Korea undeniably suffers from this comparison to Japan with regards its textbook selection system, a problem of which many Korean historians are also aware.24

The controversial issues

18 Accounting for twenty‑five of the thirty‑five criticisms formulated by the Korean government during the 2001 crisis, the Tsukuru‑kai textbook was at the heart of the controversy. Aside from factual errors that were corrected in the following edition,25 Korea’s complaints essentially focused on statements that were “technically correct” but potentially misleading.26 An illustrative example of this tendency of the Tsukuru‑kai textbook is its description of the 1910 annexation of Korea: The Japanese government saw the annexation of Korea as vital to protect Japanese security and defend its interests in Manchuria. Great Britain, the United States and Russia, who were mutually suspicious of the increase in each other’s influence, made no objection. […] Within Korea there were also voices in favour of annexation, but there was bitter resistance to the loss of Korea’s independence and movements to regain it continued resolutely. After the annexation and colonisation of Korea, Japan developed railway and irrigation infrastructure and undertook a cadastral land survey. However, many peasants were driven from their land in the course of this survey. Furthermore, the teaching of Japanese and the assimilation policy [dōka seisaku 同化政策] exacerbated Korean hostility against Japan.27

19 While it is true that a certain number of Koreans were in favour of annexation, the textbook attaches too much importance to this fact. Moreover, the portrait it paints places excessive emphasis on the “need” for Japan to annexe Korea, as well as on the positive aspects of colonisation, all the while playing down the negative effects on the Korean people.

20 However, the biased view presented by the Tsuruku‑kai textbook is rarely shared by other Japanese texts.28 In the case of this particular example, the Tōkyō Shoseki and Ōsaka Shoseki textbooks describe in no uncertain terms the coercive nature of the annexation process and refrain from mentioning the Korean minority in favour of annexation, as well as Japan’s contribution to the “development” of Korea.29

21 Contrary to what one might think, the annexation of Korea is thus not a particularly problematic subject as far as history textbooks are concerned30. In fact, among the seven other Japanese textbooks, only the Nihon Bunkyō Shuppan was criticised in this regard for having suggested that the annexation was brought about by the assassination of Itō Hirobumi.31

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22 In actual fact, the majority of the thirty‑five points identified by the Korean government in 2001 concerned only a minority of the eight Japanese junior high school textbooks. Accordingly, I have retained only those subjects posing a problem not merely in the Tsukuru‑kai textbook, but also in Japan’s representative texts —in particular the Tōkyō Shoseki textbook— and which thus denote genuine differences in the two countries’ perception of events.

Wakō

23 One of the controversial subjects to concern the majority of Japanese textbooks pertains to the composition of pirate bands known as Wakō, which the Tsukuru‑kai textbook describes as follows: Wakō were bands of pirates who raided the coastlines of Korea and China during this period. In addition to Japanese members, there were many Koreans. […] After the death of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, when the tally trade [kangō bōeki 勘合貿易] with the Ming was suspended [chūdan 中断], the Wakō resumed their activities with renewed vigour but their members were mostly Chinese.32

24 The Korean government’s complaints focused essentially on the claim that Koreans and Chinese could be found among Wakō pirates. Such comments were seen as indicative of the Tsukuru‑kai’s desire to dispel the notion that Wakō = Japanese, something which Korea considered an “established” fact (kijon 既存).33

25 On this issue, the current editions of Japan’s major textbooks deviate little from the Tsukuru‑kai. While the Tōkyō Shoseki remains slighter vaguer by noting that “the Wakō included many non‑Japanese”34, the Ōsaka Shoseki textbook is more precise: In Japan, beginning in the Northern and Southern Courts period, warriors and merchants on the islands of Northern Kyūshū and the Seto Inland Sea traded with Korea and China. Because they sometimes became pirates and attacked the coastlines of the continent, they were feared and referred to as Wakō. (Note: in addition to Japanese, Wakō also included many Koreans).35

26 In reality, contrary to the Korean government’s claims, the question of the composition of Wakō is far from being an “established” fact and in fact divides Japanese and Korean specialists. The former believe that late‑fourteenth‑century Wakō consisted partly, or even mainly, of Koreans, and insist on the need to consider the term Wakō in a perspective that goes beyond the concepts of border and nation, and to not associate it systematically with the concept of “Japanese”.36

27 Korean scholars refute this theory. They demonstrate that on the contrary, late‑fourteenth‑century Wakō originated predominantly from Japan, and in particular Shikoku and Kyūshū.37 While it is possible that some Koreans may have indulged in piracy by masquerading as Wakō, they were in a minority; these exceptions do not challenge the fact that the Wakō were perceived by the Koryŏ and Chosŏn dynasties as being “Japanese”.38 This viewpoint is clearly expressed in the Korean secondary school textbook, which presents Wakō as “Japanese pirates based out of Tsushima Island”, 39 it also seems to be tacitly shared by the main books on Korean history published in Korea, the West or Japan, since they make no mention of the presence of Koreans among Wakō pirates.40

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The invasions by Hideyoshi

28 In the chapter on the invasions launched by Hideyoshi, which the Tsukuru‑kai textbook titles “The Korean Expedition” (Chōsen e no shuppei 朝鮮への出兵),41 the main bone of contention dividing scholars concerns Hideyoshi’s motives: Hideyoshi, consumed by an excessive desire to conquer Ming China with the intent of moving there with the Japanese emperor and ruling over East Asia as far as India, sent a vast army of 150,000 men to Korea in 1592 ( 1) […] The two military expeditions laid waste [ichijirushiku arehateta 著しく荒れ果てた] to both the land and lives of Koreans.42

29 The Korean government’s main criticism was that Hideyoshi’s thirst for power and his desire to conquer China were the only reasons given to explain these invasions. Moreover, summarising the effects of these invasions with the expression “laid to waste” was deemed overly simplistic and not reflective of the extent of the destruction inflicted on Korea.

30 With a section titled “The Invasion of Korea” (Chōsen shinryaku 朝鮮侵略),43 the current edition of the Tōkyō Shoseki textbook leaves no doubt as to the aggressive nature of the expeditions: Not satisfied with the unification of Japan, Hideyoshi sent missives to Korea, India, Luzon (Philippines) and Takasankoku (Taiwan) demanding their submission. In 1592 (Bunroku 1), he sent a vast army to Korea with the intent of conquering the (China). […] Following seven years of war in Korea, many men were killed or taken to Japan.44

31 Although Japan’s main textbooks provide supplementary information concerning the damage inflicted on Korea (many victims, prisoners taken to Japan),45 they echo the Tsukuru‑kai textbook in their analysis of Hideyoshi’s motives: his main target was not Korea but China. In other words, Korea suffered the collateral damage of a more ambitious operation of which it was not the primary target.

32 Such an explanation, suggesting that Korea was above all a victim of her geographic location rather than a deliberately aggressive act by Japan, does not seem to satisfy the Korean government. While the government has not proposed its own interpretation of the causes of the invasion, the Korean textbook leaves no doubt as to Japan’s designs on Korea: In a bid divert the attention of disgruntled Japanese away from Japan and give free rein to his desire to advance [chinch’ul 進出] across the continent, [Hideyoshi] decided to invade Korea. […] Claiming [kusil 口實] to require passage through Korea in order to conquer the Ming, he sent more than 200,000 soldiers.46

33 Here the conquest of China is presented as nothing more than an excuse to justify an invasion that in reality targeted Korea. Moreover, while was not devoid of territorial ambitions regarding the “continent”, including China, his overriding motive was to channel the discontent of all the Japanese left out of the country’s unification and reorganisation process, most of all the warriors.47

34 Many Koreans see Hideyoshi’s attitude as illustrating one of the characteristics of relations between the two countries: Japan’s use of Korea to settle its political problems at home48. In other words, in return for having introduced Sino‑Korean culture to Japan over the centuries, Korea received nothing but condescension and military aggression.

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Korean embassies to Japan

35 The purpose and objectives behind the Yi Dynasty’s sending of these famous missions are interpreted in a radically different light by Japanese and Korean textbooks.49 Below is the version presented by the Tsukuru‑kai: During Ieyasu’s rule, the bakufu, through the Sō clan in Tsushima, re‑established diplomatic relations with Korea, which had been cut off since the military expeditions of Hideyoshi. The two countries maintained egalitarian relations and whenever a new shōgun was appointed, Korea sent embassies to Edo known as “Communication Envoys” (Tsūshinshi 通信使), which were warmly received wherever they went. Furthermore, a “Japanese embassy” [Wakan 和館] belonging to the Sō clan was established in Pusan, Korea, housing between 400 and 500 Japanese engaged in trade or intelligence gathering.50

36 Three points were raised by the Korean government. Firstly, the lack of explanation concerning Ieyasu’s reasons for establishing diplomatic relations with Korea. Secondly, the textbook’s silence as to the two countries’ objectives and the suggestion that these missions were sent merely to pay respect to the new shōguns. Thirdly, by omitting to point out that it was Korea that had established a “Japanese embassy” in Pusan, the authors were deceiving readers into believing that Japan had set up an administrative organ overseas on its own initiative.51

37 These three aspects can also be found in Japan’s other main textbooks, which paint a relatively similar picture to that of the Tsukuru‑kai: Peace was re‑established with Korea during Ieyasu’s reign and it became usual to see an embassy (Tsūshinshi) of four or five hundred people dispatched to Japan each time a new shogun was appointed. In addition to managing diplomatic relations, the Tsushima domain obtained permission to trade [with Korea]. In the Japanese embassy set up in Pusan, Korea, silver and bronze were exported while cotton, Korean ginseng and raw silk were imported.52

38 Concerning the first two points, namely the resumption of diplomatic relations and sending of Korean embassies, the Korean government merely criticised the imprecision of Japanese textbooks but refrained from providing its own interpretation of the reasons behind this rapprochement. A comparison with the Korean textbook nonetheless provides a partial answer. According to this book, the “communication envoys” were invited to Edo by Japan where they “carried out intense diplomatic activities, notably by meeting with the shōgun”. But above all, “they helped to develop Japanese culture, to the extent that even after their departure, Korean culture and customs spread throughout Japan”.53

39 Curiously, just like its Japanese counterparts, the Korean textbook devotes little space to explaining why diplomatic relations between the two countries were resumed. On the other hand, the previous edition, used between 1997 and 2001, specified that it was the Tokugawa bakufu that had insisted on re‑establishing contact, keen as it was to “import Korea’s advanced culture”.54 In other words, the envoys’ objective was not to pay tribute to the shōgun but to satisfy Japan’s thirst for Korea’s more “advanced” culture.

40 Historians in the two countries provide a more nuanced account. For Korean specialists the Tokugawa clan wanted to distance itself from Hideyoshi and ensure the stability of its regime by re‑establishing friendly relations with Korea; as for Korea’s objective, it was to ensure the return of Korean prisoners taken during Hideyoshi’s campaigns and

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re‑establish good neighbourly relations (kyorin 交隣) in the hope of avoiding further Japanese aggression55. Japanese specialists also emphasise the egalitarian nature of the context in which these embassies were sent,56 all the while pointing out that once peaceful relations had resumed, political and military preoccupations gradually gave way to a cultural dimension in which each party sought to express its sense of superiority.57

Debate over the Korean expedition

41 Although the controversy specifically concerned the factors behind the Seikan‑ron, it also more generally pertained to the portrayal of Korea as a “hermit kingdom”. Below is the version proposed by the Tsukuru‑kai: In 1873 (Meiji 6) a “debate on the Korean expedition” [Seikan‑ron 征韓論] broke out among the . They considered Korea’s refusal of Japan’s requests to open its doors insulting [burei 無礼] and suggested forcing Korea’s hand through the use of military force.58

42 The Korean government accused the Tsukuru‑kai textbook of bias for presenting the Japanese position without indicating the reasons for the Korean stance, particularly the fact that Japan was threatening to unilaterally break off the friendly relations (kyorin ch’eje 交隣體制) that had existed between the two nations for several centuries.59

43 The Tsukuru‑kai textbook is not the only Japanese textbook to link the emergence of the Seikan‑ron controversy to Korea’s refusal to “open up”: In 1871 a treaty (Nisshin shūkō jōki 日清修好条規) was signed with the Qing on an equal footing but Korea, which was a tributary state of China, remained closed to Westerners and refused to establish diplomatic relations with the Meiji government. Amongst Japan’s leaders voices called for Korea to be opened up by force (Seikan‑ron).60 […] In an effort to deflect the attention of the disgruntled samurai away from Japan, Saigō Takamori and others proposed to forcibly establish diplomatic relations with Korea, which was pursuing its [policy of] isolation [ 鎖国] (Seikan‑ron).61

44 The wording of the Tōkyō Shoseki textbook could be construed as suggesting that Korea was only closed to Westerners and not to the Japanese, an image that more closely resembles the Korean stance. On the other hand, the lack of explanation concerning Korea’s refusal “to establish diplomatic relations with the Meiji government” is partly responsible for making this refusal the main cause of the “calls to open Korea by force”.

45 From the Korean point of view, the Ōsaka Shoseki textbook no doubt has the virtue of acknowledging that the Seikan‑ron was designed to use Korea as a diversion to solve a domestic problem within Japan,62 however, it nonetheless continues the trend of describing a closed Korea refusing all diplomatic relations.63

46 Although in its criticism the Korean government placed responsibility for Korea’s refusal to “open up” with the Meiji leaders’ decision to unilaterally break off the historically friendly relations between the two countries, it did not specify in what way the Japanese request to establish new diplomatic ties undermined Japanese‑Korean relations. For its part, the Korean history textbook offers the following explanation: Japan, which since the had a new political regime in place, demanded that diplomatic and trade relations be established. However, the Korean government refused this request because the diplomatic letter contained an

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expression reflecting the Japanese king’s [kugwang 國王] sense of superiority towards the Korean king, as well as elements that went against conventional diplomatic practice.64

47 Japan’s error was thus to have broken off friendly relations by seeking to impose unequal relations on Korea. This explanation is often repeated by Korean historians, who mention the “insolence” (oman 傲慢) of the Japanese letter65. In other words, the reason for Korea’s refusal to establish new diplomatic relations was not the obtuse attitude of King Kojong, but rather the wording of the Japanese missive, which departed from the common practice of the day. Rarer are those, on the other hand, that specify in what way Japan’s diplomatic letter was “insolent”, namely its use of the character “hwang” 皇 to refer to the Japanese emperor, which officially placed him above the Korean “wang” 王.66

48 Some Korean historians are more radical and reject any causal link between Korea’s refusal to “open up” and the Seikan‑ron’s appearance in Japan. They consider the claim that Korea was closed to Japan, or that diplomatic relations between the two countries did not exist until the signing of the Treaty of Kanghwa in 1876, to be erroneous. Admittedly, no Korean embassy had been sent to Japan since 1811; however, this is no way signified that the two countries had broken off relations. They see this as best evidenced by the existence of the “Japanese Embassy” in Pusan.67

49 Thus, Korea had not refused to “open up” but merely to change the nature of the friendly relations it had maintained since the beginning of the Edo period. Advocates of the Seikan‑ron were then quick to use this refusal to justify an operation that in reality aimed to deflect the ’ dissatisfaction away from Japan, just as during Hideyoshi’s invasions.68

50 Japanese scholars provide a relatively similar analysis. Firstly, they underline Korea’s refusal to modify the traditional context of neighbourly relations between the two countries rather than its refusal to “open up”.69 They claim that Meiji leaders purposely used terms that disparaged the Korean monarch’s status in order to provoke a refusal from Korea. Having taken diplomatic power back from the bakufu, the emperor had a duty to assert his superiority over the shōgun and his Korean counterpart.70 As for the Seikan‑ron itself, some specialists rightly point out that if the idea of a military expedition to Korea came about so easily, and this independently of the objectives of its advocates (deflecting samurai dissatisfaction, etc.), this was also due to the negative image —of a weak country inferior to Japan— associated with Korea during this period.71

“”

51 While colonisation is the main cause of Korea’s resentment towards Japan, this period drew few criticisms from the Korean government. The sole reproach made of a majority of Japanese textbooks concerned the absence of any mention of “comfort women”.72

52 This sensitive issue is now one of the main symbols of Japanese aggression in Korea. This no doubt explains why along with the Nanking Massacre it is the central focus of Japanese revisionists, who have made it one of their key concerns.

53 Although the research of Yoshimi Yoshiaki and other scholars has clearly demonstrated the Imperial Army’s role in setting up “comfort stations” and recruiting “comfort women”,73 Japanese historians do not seem to have succeeded in imposing

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these views in the realm of education. While all junior high school textbooks mentioned the term “comfort women” in 1996, only three did so in 2001 and just one in 2006. As an example, below is the Tōkyō Shoseki textbook’s presentation in its 1997 and 2006 editions: To compensate for the lack of Japanese workers, many Koreans and Chinese were forcibly taken to Japan where they were made to undertake arduous work in factories. Many young women were also sent to the battlefields against their will to work as comfort women.74 In the regions of East and South‑East Asia that were invaded [shinryaku 侵略] by Japan, there were also many civilian victims –including women and children–, whether killed on the battlefield or taken away for forced labour. Additionally, some Koreans and Chinese were forcibly taken to Japan where they lived extremely difficult lives with particularly harsh [kakoku 過酷] working conditions and meagre salaries.75

54 Korean historians are particularly concerned by this regression compared to the 1990s, seeing it as the result of a “domino effect” set in motion by the Tsukuru‑kai and now affecting almost all junior high school textbooks.76

55 In South Korea the opposite trend can be observed. As in Japan, it was in the mid‑1990s (1994 for senior high school textbooks and 1996 for junior high school) that the term “comfort women for the Japanese Army” (Ilbon‑gun wianbu 日本軍慰安婦) made an appearance in Korean textbooks77. Since then, the subject has been the focus of increasing attention: The Japanese Empire did not content itself with plundering raw materials. It forcibly recruited Koreans to work in harsh conditions in mines and factories, and set up a system for conscripting and mobilising students as voluntary soldiers [chiwŏnbyŏng 志願兵]. Consequently, many Koreans, both the young and men in the prime of their lives, perished on various fronts. During this period even women were drafted into so‑called female volunteer battalions [chŏngsindae 挺身隊] and sacrificed at comfort stations for the Japanese Army.78

56 In the subsequent edition (2006) this passage was modified as follows: The Japanese Empire also took women, who were exploited in so‑called battalions of workers for the homeland [kŭllo pogugtae 勤労報国隊] or battalions of female volunteers. Furthermore, it forcibly mobilised a large number of women who were sent to the four corners of Asia where the Japanese Army was stationed. They were forced to live an inhumane life as comfort women. Note: the term comfort women refers to women from the colonies or countries occupied by Japan, such as Korea, China or the Philippines, who were sent to the battlefields and forced to work as sex slaves. This barbaric practice began in the early 1930s and continued until the defeat of the Japanese Empire in 1945.79

57 Despite the gradual disappearance of any mention of “comfort women” in Japanese textbooks, it should be pointed out that this event is hardly the subject of debate among Japanese and Korean historians, with most specialists largely in agreement with the views of Yoshimi Yoshiaki. Certainly, voices in Japan continue to question whether or not these women were forcibly enlisted, but they have not challenged the Japanese government’s official position as represented by the “Kōno Statement” (Kōno danwa 河 野談話), which recognised the direct or indirect role of the army in setting up comfort stations and drafting “comfort women”.80

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Lessons learned from the 2001 crisis

58 Although the Japanese government officially rejected the majority of Korea’s demands, Japanese textbook writers, including those of the Tsukuru‑kai text, have nonetheless visibly made a number of modifications in line with Korea’s remarks. The removal of all allusions to the fact that voices within Korea accepted the annexation is one striking example.

59 This is also the case for another sensitive issue, namely relations between Yamato and the Kaya (Kara) Confederacy in the south of the Korean peninsula, particularly the alleged establishment in the second half of the fourth century of a “Japanese colony” at Mimana (Mimana nihon‑fu setsu 任那日本府説).81

60 In 2001, Japan’s two main textbooks, Tōkyō Shoseki and Ōsaka Shoseki, were among six textbooks (out of eight) that claimed, according to the Korean government, that Yamato had ruled Kaya and the south of the peninsula82. Five years later, writers of the Tōkyō Shoseki textbook seemed to have taken Korea’s comments on board (2006, p. 26): On numerous occasions during the fifth century, the Yamato kings […] sent envoys to the Southern Court of China (Five Kings of Wa) in order to gain the Chinese Emperor’s recognition of their title as king of the Wa, as well as the right to militarily command (shiki 指揮) the south of the Korean peninsula.

61 Note that no clear mention is made of the establishment of a base or “Japanese colony” in Korea, the textbook now contenting itself with an allusion to the Yamato king’s claims to power in southern Korea.83

62 As for the Ōsaka Shoseki textbook, it merely points out the links (tsunagari) between the Yamato court and the states making up the Kaya region, which were used by the latter to resist neighbouring Paekche and Silla.84 Such remarks suggest close, yet egalitarian, relations between Yamato and Kaya characterised by exchange rather than the domination of Kaya by Yamato. This view more closely reflects the findings of current research, which suggests the existence during this period of a kind of continuum of closely linked peoples and cultures rather than distinct Korean and Japanese peoples.85

63 This evolution is not restricted to Japanese textbooks. A certain number of modifications can also been seen in their Korean counterpart, of which the description of Korea’s role in disseminating Sino‑Korean culture in Japan is just one example. The previous edition (2001) of the Korean history textbook presented the three kingdoms’ foreign relations as follows: Paekche enjoyed close relations with Japan. Consequently, of the three kingdoms this was the one to have the greatest influence on Japanese culture. During the time of King Kŭnch’ogo, Ajikki and Wangin travelled to Japan and introduced the Chinese script (hanmun), the Analects of Confucius and the Qianziwen. During the time of King Muryŏng, Tan Yangi and Ko Anmu, among others, introduced the study of Han Dynasty texts (hanhak) and . They also disseminated political thinking and the concepts of loyalty and filial devotion. Later, during the time of King Sŏng, in addition to Buddhism they introduced scientific techniques such as astronomy, geography and the calendar. Koguryŏ also introduced many cultural elements to Japan. The monk Hyeja from Koguryŏ became tutor to Shōtoku Taishi; Tamjing taught the Japanese the art of making paper, ink and inkwells; the mural Kumtang at Hōryūji is known to be his handiwork. The wall paintings of the Takamatsu Kofun were highly influenced by Koguryŏ.

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Silla introduced shipbuilding techniques to Japan as well as techniques for constructing dykes and castles (sŏngkwak). As for Kaya, it introduced pottery‑making. In this way, the three kingdoms introduced an advanced culture to Japan, which greatly contributed to the development of ancient Japanese culture during the .86

64 This succession of terms such as “teach” and “introduce” did not fail to rile the Japanese far right, which condemned Korea’s propensity to emphasise the cultural superiority of the Three Kingdoms over Japan during this period (6th century).87 From its opening pages the Korean textbook painted a picture of Japan‑Korea relations which basically consisted of two images: on the one hand a Korea that generously introduced its advanced culture to Japan, and on the other, a Japan that repaid Korea with aggression.88

65 However, this section entitled “Cultural Transmission and Trade Relations” was left out of the current edition of the Korean textbook (2006). Only two references remain to this aspect of Korea’s relations with Japan: Part of Kaya’s political forces emigrated to Japan and contributed to the cultural development of ancient Japan. [Paekche] encouraged Buddhism and set up cultural exchanges with China; friendly relations were also enjoyed with the Wa, and [Paekche] introduced many cultural elements, in particular Buddhism.89

66 These changes illustrate an encouraging evolution in Korea. While the approval of the Tsukuru‑kai textbook certainly revealed Korea’s extreme sensitivity to historical issues, it has also encouraged a re‑evaluation of Korean history textbooks.90

67 Some Korean scholars have accompanied this re‑evaluation with a more balanced examination of the way history is taught in Japan. Their approach is not limited solely to analysing the “distortions” but also strives to identify the positive aspects, from which Korean textbooks could take inspiration. This is the case, for example, of the importance attached by Japanese textbooks to world history, thus placing Japanese history in a context that is not solely national and which puts the different points of view into perspective.91 Incidentally, note that, unlike Japanese textbooks, and despite calls by some South Korean historians to “deconstruct” the national history framework,92 Korean history textbooks for junior and senior high schools are still entitled “Kuksa” 國史, literally “National History”.

68 In this context, governments should show restraint and leave the task of solving the textbook problem to history and education specialists. The Korean government seems to have understood this, as illustrated by the events of 2002, when the screening process for senior high school history textbooks led the Korean media to denounce new “distortions”, notably the Saishin Nishon‑shi 最新日本史textbook’s claim that the island of Takeshima/Tokto was part of Japan. Despite vigorous protests from citizen groups, who saw Japan’s claims on Takeshima as a resurgence of , the Korean government, no doubt keen to avoid poisoning relations between the two countries just a few months ahead of the jointly organised Japan‑Korea World Cup, announced via its Minister for Foreign Affairs that it would defer to the judgement of the “Joint Research Committee on Japanese‑Korean History” (Nikkan Rekishi Kyōdō Kenkyū Iinkai 日韓歴史共同研究委員会).93

69 The government maintained this policy three years later by refraining from reiterating its demands for changes to be made to the Japanese textbooks approved in 2005,

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including the Tsukuru‑kai text. Demanding that a neighbour modify its textbooks while failing to address the problems of one’s own historical consciousness can be counter‑productive. This is illustrated by the Tsukuru‑kai’s reaction to the crisis of 2001, but also the survey carried out by the television channel Asahi in May 2001, revealing that over 50% of those questioned saw the Chinese and Korean demands for modifications as interference in Japanese domestic affairs.94

70 In addition to this relative restraint, efforts have also been made in recent years to address the problem of differing historical perceptions prior to the textbook writing process, notably through joint studies carried out by a certain number of civil and official organisations. Examples of this are the joint research conducted since 1997 by the Research Society for History Textbooks (Yŏksa Kyogwasŏ Yŏnguhoe 역사교과서연 구회) and the Research Society for History Education (Rekishi Kyōiku Kenkyū‑kai 歴史 教育研究会),95 as well as the publishing in 2005 of a book edited by Chinese, Japanese and Korean specialists, published96 in all three languages and intended to be a concrete example of what a history textbook used jointly in all three countries might resemble.

Conclusion

71 In China, where the historical dispute with Japan also has deep roots, Sino‑Japanese relations are generally considered to have been good, or even excellent, for the majority of history and that it was only with the Meiji Restoration and the emergence of a militarist Japan that this friendship gave way to animosity on the one side and contempt on the other. In other words, the Japanese aggression that began in the late nineteenth century is a trauma whose consequences remain visible today, but which is fundamentally seen as an anomaly. Admittedly, the textbook controversy has convinced many Chinese that Japan has still not managed to rid itself of its militarist demons and that this anomaly is liable to recur. Yet this fear has in no way cast doubt on the friendly relations that existed between the two countries in ancient and early‑modern times.

72 Perceptions in Korea are markedly different. For many, the 1910 annexation marks the culmination of a process that began long before the Meiji Restoration and joins a long list of aggressions by Japan against the Korean peninsula, beginning during the Three Kingdoms period with Yamato’s claims on Mimana. This process continued with the invasions by Hideyoshi and simply intensified in the late nineteenth century with the “debate on the Korean expedition”.97

73 This perception of Japan‑Korea relations is coupled with a “national frustration” with the former coloniser. While the Chinese can pride themselves on having triumphed militarily over their Japanese invaders —a victory that was no doubt partly responsible for Mao Zedong’s magnanimous attitude in waiving his demands for a war indemnity—, the Koreans owe their liberation to the military intervention of the Allies. Deprived of the satisfaction of having recovered their independence by their own means, the Koreans found themselves victors of the Second World War without the benefits.

74 These factors explain the deep‑seated resentment and distrust shown by Koreans towards a Japan that has never truly shown signs of repentance and is still seen as a threat. Whether real or imagined, this fear is fuelled by incidents such as the approval

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of the Tsukuru‑kai textbook or the prime ministerial visits to , which are seen as warning signs of a possible remilitarisation of Japan.98

75 Despite the joint endeavours aiming to reduce the differences of opinion, voices in both countries question the pertinence of efforts aimed at building a shared historical consciousness. While a parallel is often drawn with the progress achieved by European nations, some scholars have pointed out that France was never colonised by Germany and that the case of Japan and Korea would be better compared to that of Great Britain and India, in which the absence of a shared view of history does not appear to have presented a stumbling block in the development of friendly relations between former colony and former metropole.99

76 When faced with irreconcilable differences, emphasising common ground rather than divergences is a less ambitious strategy that should not be overlooked. While the quest for a shared view of history is laudable, it should not be seen as an absolute condition for building relations that are, if not friendly, at least sufficiently peaceful to not hinder exchanges between the two countries.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Original release: Samuel GUEX, « La controverse nippo‑coréenne au sujet des manuels d’histoire », Cipango, 19, 2012, 111‑148.

Samuel GUEX, « La controverse nippo coréenne au sujet des manuels d’histoire », Cipango [En ligne], 19, 2012, mis en ligne le 27 mars 2014, URL : http://cipango.revues.org/1688 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1688

NOTES

1. Japan’s history textbooks had already been the subject of controversy during the lawsuits filed by Ienaga, but these controversies were confined to Japan. It was following the Ministry of Education’s refusal to authorise a textbook he had written that the historian Ienaga Saburō 家永 三郎filed several suits against the Japanese government between 1965 and 1993. His central claim concerning the unconstitutional nature of the textbook authorisation system was rejected. However, several of the court rulings, notably that of 1970 (Sugimoto hanketsu 杉本判決), judged the ban on Ienaga’s textbook to be illegal and unconstitutional. This led the Ministry of Education to gradually relax its criteria for authorisation throughout the 1970s. 2. Although use of the second edition Tsukuru‑kai textbook (2005) increased significantly compared to the firstedition (2001), it remains below 0.5%. “ 17 nendo rekishi kōmin kyōkasho no saitaku ni tsuite no ‘Tsukuru‑kai’ seimei” 平成１７年度歴史・公民教科書の採択 結果についての「つくる会」声明 (Statement by the Japanese Society for History Textbook Reform on the adoption of history and civics textbooks for 2005): http://www.tsukurukai.com/ 02_about_us/05_adopt.html (23 October 2008).

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3. Officially entitled “Ilbon chunghakkyo kyogwasŏ Han’guk kwallyŏn naeyong sujŏng yogu charyo” 일본 중학교 교과서 한국 관련 내용 수정 요구 자료 (Document demanding the modification of Korea‑related content in junior high school history textbooks), the South Korean government’s request, made to the Japanese ambassador in Seoul on 8 May 2001, concerned 25 passages in the Tsukuru‑kai textbook in addition to 10 passages from seven other textbooks. China, for its part, merely demanded the modification of eight passages from the Tsukuru‑kai text. 4. YI Wŏnsun 이원순 and CHŎNG Chaejŏng 정재정 (eds.), Ilbon yŏksa kyogwasŏ muŏt i munje inga 일 본역사교과서 무엇이 문제인가 (The Problems with Japanese History Textbooks), Seoul, Tongbang Midiŏ 동방미디어, 2002, pp. 332‑333. 5. Statement made on 15 August 1995 to mark the 50th anniversary of the end of the Second World War, in which Murayama Tomiichi apologised (“o wabi no kimochi o hyōmei suru” お わびの気持ちを表明する) for the damage and suffering inflicted on Asian countries subjected to Japanese colonial rule and aggression. 6. Joint Korean and Japanese statement (Nikkan kyōdō seimei 日韓共同声明) from 8 October 1998 in which the South Korean President Kim Taejung, who was visiting Japan, and the Japanese Prime Minister Obuchi Keizō expressed their shared belief in the “importance of deepening the historical consciousness of the two peoples, particularly that of the younger generations”. 7. See Ilbon kyogwasŏ paro chapki undong ponbu 일본 교과서 바로 잡기 운동 본부 (ed.), Mundap ŭro ingnŭn Ilbon kyogwasŏ yŏksa waegok 문답으로 읽는 일본 교과서 역사왜곡 (Questions and Answers on the Distortion of History by Japanese Textbooks), Seoul, Yŏksa Pip’yŏngsa 역사 비평 사, 2001, p. 123. 8. Pierre LAVELLE, « la Société pour la rédaction de nouveaux manuels d’histoire : Renouveau ou déclin du nationalisme ? » (The Japanese Society for History Textbook Reform: Revival or Decline of Nationalism?), Cipango no. 10, 2003, p. 14. 9. Arnaud NANTA, « l’Actualité du révisionnisme historique au Japon » ( in Japan Today), Ebisu no. 26 (pp. 127‑153), no. 27 (pp. 129‑138), no. 28 (pp. 185‑195), from 2001 to 2002. From the same author, see also « Le débat sur l’enseignement de l’histoire au Japon » (The Debate on History Education in Japan), Matériaux pour l’histoire de notre temps, BDIC, no. 88, 2007, pp. 13‑19. 10. Sven SAALER, Politics, Memory and Public Opinion: The History Textbook Controversy and Japanese Society, , Iudicium, 2005. 11. NOHIRA Shunsui 野平俊水, Kankokujin no nihon gishi 韓国人の日本偽史 (Japanese History Falsified by the Koreans), Tokyo, Shōgakukan 小学館, 2002, p. 6. 12. TORIUMI Yasushi 鳥海靖, Nichūkanror Rekishi kyōkasho wa konna ni chigau 日中韓露歴史教科書 はこんなに違う (The Huge Divergences between Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Russian History Textbooks), Tokyo, Fusōsha 扶桑社, 2005, p. 83. 13. YOKOTA Yasuji 横田安治, “Kankoku no rekishi kyōkasho ni waikyoku wa nai to iwaretara” 韓 国の歴史教科書に歪曲はないと言われたら (To Those Who Claim There Are No Distortions in Korean History Textbooks), in Chŏng Taegyun 鄭大均 and Furuta Hiroshi 古田博司 (eds.), Kankoku, Kita chōsen no uso o miyaburu: kingendai‑shi no sōten 30 韓国・北朝鮮の嘘を見破る―近現 代史の争点３０ (The Lies of South and North Korea Revealed: Thirty Contentious Issues in Modern and Contemporary History), Tokyo, Bungei Shunjū 文藝春秋, 2006, p. 292. 14. Chŏng Taegyun 鄭大均, Kankoku no nashonarizumu 韓国のナショナリズム (Korean Nationalism), Tokyo, Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2003, p. 192. See also Takazaki Sōji 高崎宗司, Han‑Nichi kanjō: Kankoku‑Chōsenjin to nihonjin 反日感情―韓国・朝鮮人と日本人 (Anti‑Japanese Sentiment: Koreans and Japanese), Tokyo, Kōdansha 講談社, 1993, p. 14.

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15. KATSUOKA Kanji 勝岡寛次, Kankoku, chūgoku “rekishi kyōkasho” o tettei hihan suru: waikyoku sareta tai‑nichi kankei‑shi 韓国・中国「歴史教科書」を徹底批判する―歪曲された対日関係史 (Radical Criticism of Chinese and Korean “History Textbooks”: A Distorted History of Relations with Japan), Tokyo Shōgakukan 小学館, 2001. 16. For example, of the four examiners responsible for Japanese history textbooks, two are former students of ITŌ Takashi 伊藤隆, a professor emeritus at the University of Tokyo and writer and editor‑in‑chief for the Tsukuru‑kai textbook. See Asahi Shinbun (17 January 2008). I would like to thank Lionel Babicz for bringing this issue to my attention. 17. These establishments account for less than 10% of Japanese junior high school students. LIU Jie 劉傑, MITANI Hiroshi 三谷博, YANG Daqing 楊大慶 (eds.), Kokkyō o koeru rekishi ninshiki: nitchū taiwa no kokoromi 国境を越える歴史認識 日中対話の試み (Cross‑Border Historical Consciousness: An Attempt at Sino‑Japanese Dialogue), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppan 東京大学出版, 2006, p. 210. 18. These selection areas, which numbered 591 in 2008, generally consist of two cities (shi 市) or districts (gun 郡). See “Kyōkasho seido no gaiyō” 教科書制度の概要 (Overview of the School Textbook System), http://www.mext.go.jp/a_menu/ shotou/kyoukasho/gaiyou/ 04060901/006.htm (25 May 2008). 19. CHANG Sin 장신, “Ilbon ŭi kyogwasŏ chedo wa munjechŏm” 일본의 교과서 제도와 문제점 (The Problem with Japan’s Textbook System), in Mundap ŭro ingnŭn Ilbon kyogwasŏ yŏksa waegok, op. cit., p. 33. 20. KIM Hanjong 김한종, Yŏksa kyoyuk kwajŏng kwa kyogwasŏ yŏngu 역사교육과정과 교과서연구 (Textbook Research and the Process of Teaching History), Seoul, Sŏn’in 선인, 2005, pp. 42‑43. 21. The six publishers are: Kŭmsŏng Ch’ulp’ansa 金星出版社, Taehan Kyogwasŏ 大韓教科書, Pŏmmunsa 法文社, Ch’ŏnjae Kyoyuk 天才教育, Chung’ang Kyoyuk Chin’ŭng Yŏnguso 中央教育 振興研究所, and Tusan Kyogwasŏ斗山教科書. 22. Chunghakkyo Kuksa 중학교 국사 (National History, Junior High), Seoul, Kyohaksa 교학사, 2006. Kodŭnghakkyo Kuksa 고등학교 국사 (National History, Senior High), Seoul, Kyohaksa 교학 사, 2006. 23. Katsuoka Kanji, op. cit., p. 43. 24. SONG Kiho 송기호, Tongasia ŭi yŏksa punjaeng 동아시아의 역사 분쟁 (Historical Disputes in East Asia), Seoul, Sol 솔, 2007, p. 41. 25. For example, the Tsukuru‑kai textbook claimed that “the Yamato army came to the aid of Paekche and Silla and waged violent battles against Koguryŏ” (p. 38), whereas in reality the Koguryŏ army drove back the Japanese at the request of Silla. Consequently, this passage was modified in the following edition (2006) to read: “the Yamato army came to Paekche’s aid and waged violent battles against Koguryŏ” (p. 32). 26. Robert A. FISH, “A Call for Outrage? A Victory for Freedom? The Annexation of Korea and Japanese Participation in World War I as Portrayed in the Atarashii Rekishi Kyokasho and Competing Japanese Junior High School History Textbooks”, Studies on Asia, series III, vol. 1, no. 1, 2004, p. 32. 27. Atarashii rekishi kyōkasho, op. cit., 2001, p. 240. The underlined passage was removed from the second edition (2006). The passage in italics was modified as follows: “the Western powers recognised Japan’s annexation of Korea in exchange for Japanese recognition of their colonial hold over India for Great Britain, Indochina for France, the Philippines for the United States and Outer Mongolia for Russia” (p. 170). For a discussion of the issues surrounding this passage, see the article by A. NANTA, “Les débats au XXe siècle sur la légalité de l'annexion de la Corée par le Japon : histoire et légitimité” (20th‑Century Debates on the Legality of Japan’s Annexation of Korea: History and Legitimacy), Cipango, no. 19, 2012, pp. 75‑110.

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28. In 2002 the usage rates for these junior high school textbooks were as follows: Tōkyō Shoseki 東京書籍 (51.2%), Ōsaka Shoseki 大阪書籍 (14%), Kyōiku Shuppan 教育出版 (13%), Teikoku Shoin 帝国書院 (10.9%), Nihon Shoseki Shinsha 日本書籍新社 (5.9%), Shimizu Shoin 清 水書院 (2.5%), Nihon Bunkyō Shuppan 日本文教出版 (2.3%). 29. Atarashii shakai, Rekishi 新しい社会 歴史 (New Society, History), Tōkyō Shoseki, 2006, p. 160; Rekishiteki bun’ya 歴史的分野 (The Historical Domain), Ōsaka Shoseki, 2006, p. 160. 30. This does not mean that this episode in the two countries’ shared history is not a controversial subject. The question of the legality of the annexation treaties is, as Arnaud Nanta has pointed out, a divisive subject for Japanese and Korean historians. 31. YI Wŏnsun and CHŎNG Chaejŏng (eds.), op. cit., p. 367. 32. Atarashii rekishi kyōkasho, op. cit., 2001, p. 97 and 106. This passage was modified in the second edition (2006) to read: “Around the middle of the sixteenth century, when the tally trade was suspended [teishi 停止]…” (p. 79). 33. KIM Urim 김우림, Tŏrŏun yŏksa kyogwasŏ 더러운 역사 교과서 (A Vile History Textbook), Seoul, Lux Media 럭스미디어, 2001, p. 251. 34. Atarashii shakai rekishi, op. cit., p. 65. 35. Rekishiteki bun’ya, op. cit., p. 62. 36. Saeki Kōji 佐伯弘次, “Kaizoku‑ron” 海賊論 (On Piracy), in Arano Yasunori 荒野泰典, Ishii Masatoshi 石井正敏 and Murai Shōsuke 村井章介, Ajia no naka no nihon‑shi III アジアのなかの日 本史III (The History of Japan in Asia, vol. 3), Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppan‑kai 東京大学出版会, 1992, p. 45. 37. YI Yŏng 이영, “Waegu ŭi chuch’e” 왜구의 주체 (The Main Constituent of Wakō), in Waegu wisa munje wa Han‑Il kwan’gye 왜구・위사 문제와 한일관계 (Japan‑Korea Relations and the Issue of Wakō and the Pseudo‑Embassies), Seoul, Kyŏng’in Munwhasa 景仁文化社, 2005, p. 192. 38. NAM Kihak 남기학, “Chungse Koryŏ Ilbon kwan’gye ŭi chaengchŏm: Monggol ŭi Ilbon ch’imnyak kwa Waegu” 중세 고려・일본 관계의 쟁점 : 몽골의 일본 침략과 왜구, in YI Kyehwang 이계황 et al., Kiŏk ŭi chŏnjaeng : Hyŏndae Ilbon ŭi yŏksa insik kwa Han‑Il kwan’gye 기억의 전쟁 현대 일본의 역사인식과 한일관계, Seoul, Ihwa Yŏja Taehakkyo Ch’ulp’anbu 이화여자대학교출판부, 2003, p. 163; CHANG Tŭkjin 장득진, “Waegu nŭn Ilbonin in’ga Hangugin in’ga” 왜구는 일본인인가 한국인인가 (Were Wakō Korean or Japanese?), in Han‑Il kuangye sahakhoe 한일관계사학회, Hanguk kwa Ilbon: waegok kwa k’omp’ŭlleksŭ ŭi yŏksa 한국과 일본, 왜곡과 콤플렉스의 역사 (Korea and Japan: A History of Distortions and Complexes), vol. 1, Seoul, Chajangnamu 자작나무, 1999, pp. 77 and 80. 39. Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 130. 40. HAN Yŏng’u 한영우, Tasi ch’annŭn Uri yŏksa 다시 찾는 우리역사, vol. 2, Seoul, Kyŏngsewŏn 경 세원, 2005, p. 72.; HAN Ugŭn 한우근, Kaejŏngp’an Hanguk t’ongsa 改訂版 韓國通史, Seoul, Ŭryu Munhwasa 乙酉文化社, 2001, p. 282 (this author mentions however the presence of Chinese among 16th‑century Wakō); Carter J. ECKERT et al., Korea Old and New, A History, Harvard UP, 1990, p. 100; Michael J. SETH, op. cit., pp. 138‑139; TAKEDA Yukio 武田幸男 (ed.), Chōsen‑shi 朝鮮史, YAMAKAWA Shuppan 山川出版, 1993, pp. 141‑146; Chōsen‑shi Kenkyū‑kai 朝鮮史研究会 (ed.), Chōsen no rekishi 朝鮮の歴史, Sansei‑dō 三省堂, 1995, pp. 150‑151. Western specialists researching the issue believe that while the majority of fourteenth‑century Wakō were Japanese from Kyūshū, the phenomenon took on an international dimension in the mid‑fifteenth century, notably through the arrival of pirates originating from Cheju, and that in the sixteenth century Wakō pirates were as “Chinese” as they were “Japanese”. See, for example, Roderich PTAK, Die maritime Seidenstrasse: Küstenräume, Seefahrt und Handel in vorkolonialer Zeit, Munich, Beck, 2007, pp. 213, 278. 41. The Korean government sees the word “shuppei” as an attempt to conceal the fact that this was a unilateral act of aggression by Japan. Kim Urim, op. cit., p. 251.

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42. Atarashii rekishi kyōkasho, op. cit., 2001, p. 121. In the second edition the term “consumed” was replaced by the following phrase: “Hideyoshi came to nurture an excessive desire to…” [motsu ni itatta 持つにいたった] (p. 97). 43. The term “shinryaku” is also used by the Ōsaka Shoseki (p. 91) and Kyōiku Shuppan (p. 79) textbooks. 44. Atarashii shakai rekishi, op. cit., p. 87. 45. The Korean textbook provides a more detailed list of the damage: two thirds of arable land destroyed, tens of thousands of prisoners taken to Japan, temples and archives burnt, cultural objects (books, pottery, scroll paintings, etc.) pillaged. See Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 149. 46. Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 147. 47. KIM Munja 김문자, “Chŏnjaeng kwa p’yŏnghwa ŭi kŭnse Han‑Il kwan’gye: Imjin Waeran kwa t’ongsinsa” 전쟁과 평화의 근세 한일 관계: 임진돼란과 통신사 (War and Peace in Early‑modern Relations Between Japan and Korea: Hideyoshi’s Invasions and the Communication Envoys) in YI Kyehwang 이계황 et al., op. cit., p. 182. This idea is echoed by many Korean historians: HAN Yŏng’u, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 154; YI Kibaek 이기백, Hanguksa sillon 한국사신론 (New History of Korea), Ilchogak 일조각, 1990, p. 232). On the other hand, HAN Ugŭn (op. cit., p. 283) is far more factual than the Korean textbook and devotes little space to Hideyoshi’s unknown motives. He simply points out that Hideyoshi requested permission from the Yi Dynasty to transit through Korea in order to invade China. Korea refused and for some time feared a retaliatory attack from the Japanese. 48. According to Korean specialists, another example of this idea is the “Debate over an Expedition to Korea” (Seikanron 征韓論) during the early Meiji era. See Han‑Il kwan’gye sahakhoe 한일관계사학회, Hanguk kwa Ilbon: waegok kwa k’omp’ŭlleksŭ ŭi yŏksa 한국과 일본, 왜곡 과 콤플렉스의 역사 (Korea and Japan: A History of Distortions and Complexes), Seoul, Chajangnamu 자작나무, 1999, p. 165. 49. On this subject see the article and translation by Vincent GRÉPINET, Cipango no. 17. 50. Atarashii rekishi kyōkasho, op. cit., 2001, p. 131. Two details were modified in the second edition (2006): “maintained relations” was replaced by “established relations”; “between 400 and” was removed (p. 106). 51. Kim Urim, op. cit., p. 252. 52. Atarashii shakai rekishi, op. cit., p. 97, Rekishiteki bun’ya, op. cit., p. 99. 53. Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 150. 54. Chunghakkyo Kuksa (ha), 2001, p. 192. 55. See KIM Munja, op. cit., pp. 193‑194; CHANG Sunsun 장순순, “Chosŏn sidae t’ongsinsa yŏngu ŭi hyŏnguang kwa kwaje” 朝鮮時代 通信使 研究의 現況과 課題 (Research Themes and Current State of Research on the Chosŏn‑Period Communication Envoys) in T’ongsinsa, Waegwan kwa Han‑Il kwan’gye 통신사・왜관과 한일관계 (Communication Envoys, Japanese Embassy and Japan‑Korea Relations), Seoul, Kyŏng’in Munhwasa 景仁文化社, 2005, p. 8. 56. NAKAO Hiroshi 仲尾宏, Chōsen tsūshinshi 朝鮮通信使 (The Korean Embassies), Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2007, p. iii. 57. MIYAKE Hidetoshi 三宅英利, Kinsei nihon to Chōsen 近世日本と朝鮮 (Japan and Korea in the Early Modern Era), Kōdansha 講談社, 2006, p. 162. 58. Atarashii rekishi kyōkasho, op. cit., 2001, pp. 202‑203. 59. KIM Urim, op. cit., p. 253. 60. Atarashii shakai rekishi, op. cit., p. 148. 61. Rekishiteki bun’ya, op. cit., p. 144. 62. See earlier on in this article. 63. On the Seikan‑ron and its treatment in Japanese textbooks, see Noriko Berlinguez‑Kōno, “l’Asiatisme au prisme de la mémoire et de l’histoire : le cas de Saigō Takamori entre bellicisme et

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pacifisme” (Asianism Through the Prism of Memory and History: the Case of Saigō Takamori, from Warmongering to Pacifism), in Japon Pluriel 7, Actes du septième colloque de la Société française des études japonaises (Proceedings from the Seventh SFEJ Symposium), Arles, Picquier, 2007. 64. Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 194. Note that a different explanation was given in the previous edition (Chunghakkyo Kuksa (ha), 2001, p. 66): “Since the Meiji Restoration, Japan had put in place a new political regime and in order to increase its influence had requested that Korea enter into negotiations. This was refused by the Korean government, which believed that establishing diplomatic relations with Japan would automatically lead to Western interference.” 65. HAN Ugŭn, op. cit., p. 391. 66. KIM Kihyŏk 김기혁, Kŭndae Han‑Chung‑Il kwan’gyesa 근대 한중일관계사 (History of Modern Relations: Korea, China and Japan), Seoul, Yŏnse Taehakkyo Ch’ulp’anbu 연세대학교 출판부, 2007 (1955), p. 79. 67. Han‑Il kwan’gyesa hakhwoe 한일관계사학회 (ed.), Han‑Il kwan’gye 2 ch’ŏn nyŏn (kŭn hyŏndae) 한일관계 2천년 (근현대) (Two Thousand Years of Japan‑Korea Relations: Modern and Contemporary Eras), Seoul, Kyŏng’in Munhwasa 景仁文化社, 2006, p. 13. 68. Hyŏn Myŏngch’ŏl 현명철, “Chŏnghannon ŭn wae saenggyŏnna” 정한론은 왜 생겨났나 (Why the Debate over the Korean Expedition?), in Hanguk kwa Ilbon: waegok kwa…, vol. 1, op. cit., p. 165. It should be noted, however, that some Korean researchers, while still in the minority, suggest placing the Seikan‑ron in a wider context and seeing it as the result of the Meiji government’s policy aimed at reorganising the Asian order by establishing unequal relations with China and Korea, as evidenced by the treaties signed with these two countries; Ch’oe Sŏgwan 최석완, Pip’aengch’ang juŭiron ŭi hwaksan kwa munjechŏm: Chŏnghannon kwa Ch’ŏng‑Il chŏnjaeng ŭl parabonŭn sigak 비팽창주의론의 확산과 문제점 : 정한론과 청일전쟁을 바라보는 시각 (The Dissemination of Anti‑Expansionist Discourses and Problems: Opinions on the Seikanron and the Sino‑Japanese War) in YI Kyehwang et al., op. cit., p. 213. 69. See AWAYA Ken’ichi 粟谷憲一, “Kindai gaikō taisei no sōshutsu: Chōsen no baai o chūshin ni” 近代外交体制の創出―朝鮮の場合を中心に (Creation of the Modern Diplomatic System: the Case of Korea), in Arano Yasunori, Ishii Masatoshi and Murai Shōsuke (eds.), Ajia no naka no nihon‑shi, op. cit., II, 1992, p. 233. 70. YOSHINO Makoto 吉野誠, Higashi ajia‑shi no naka no nihon to chōsen 東アジア史のなかの日本と 朝鮮 (Japan and Korea in East Asian History), Akashi Shoten 明石書店, 2004, p. 212. 71. OKAMOTO Kōji 岡本幸治, Kindai nihon no ajia‑kan 近代日本のアジア観 (Perceptions of Asia in Modern Japan), Minerva Shobō ミネルヴァ書房, 1998, pp. 107‑108. 72. KIM Urim, op. cit., p. 256. Although the term comfort women has practically disappeared from junior high school textbooks, it still appears in the majority of senior high school books: Nihon‑shi B 日本史B (Japanese History, Level B), Tōkyō Shoseki, 2006, p. 348; Nihon‑shi B, Sanseidō, 2006, p. 330; Nihon‑shi B, Jikkyō Shuppan, 2006, p. 209; Shin Nihon‑shi B 新日本史B (New Japanese History, Level B), Yamakawa Shuppan, 2006, p. 356; Nihon‑shi B, Shimizu Shoin, 2006. 73. YOSHIMI Yoshiaki 吉見義明, Jūgun ianfu 従軍慰安婦 (Army Comfort Women), Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 1995, p. 43. 74. Atarashii shakai, Rekishi, 2002, p. 263. 75. Atarashii shakai, Rekishi, op. cit., pp. 192‑193. 76. Ch’oe Pyŏnghŏn 崔柄憲, “Nihon no rekishi kyōkasho no waikyoku to rekishi ninshiki no mondai‑ten” 日本の歴史教科書の歪曲と歴史認識の問題点 (The Distortions of Japanese History Textbooks and Problems of Historical Consciousness), Rekishigaku kenkyū 歴史学研究, no. 767, October 2002, p. 23. 77. See Kang Chŏngsuk 姜貞淑, “Ilbon‑gun ‘wianbu’ munje ŭi ponjil kwa Hangugin ŭi insik” 일본 군 ‘위안부’ 문제의 본질과 한국인의 인식 (The Nature of the Japanese Army “Comfort Women” Issue and Korean Consciousness), in Hanguk Yŏksa Kyogwasŏ Yŏnguhoe 한국역사교과서연구회

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and Ilbon Yŏksa Kyoyuk Yŏnguhoe 일본역사교육연구회 (eds.), Yŏksa kyogwasŏ sok ŭi Hanguk kwa Ilbon 역사교과서 속의 한국과 일본 (Korea and Japan in the History Textbooks), Seoul, Hyean 혜 안, 2000, p. 386. 78. Chunghakkyo Kuksa (ha), op. cit., p. 151. 79. Chunghakkyo Kuksa, op. cit., p. 262. 80. This statement was made in August 1993 by Kōno Yōhei, the Miyazaki administration’s Chief Cabinet Secretary, concerning the result of an investigation undertaken by the Japanese government on this issue; “Ianfu kankei chōsa kekka happyō ni kan suru Kōnō naikaku kanbō‑chōkan danwa” 慰安婦関係調査結果発表に関する河野内閣官房長官談話 (Statement by Chief Cabinet Secretary Kōnō Regarding the Announced Results of the Comfort Women Investigation), http://www.mofa.go.jp/MOFAJ/area/taisen/kono.html (25 October 2008). 81. While Japanese specialists now seem to agree that the Nihon‑fu was not an instrument for Yamato’s colonial domination of Kaya, opinions differ as to the nature of this organ: diplomatic delegation, trading post, embassies, etc. The same variety of opinions can be found in Korea, in addition to a few more original theories: these include Kim Sŏkhyŏng, who in the 1960s claimed that the Nihon‑fu was located in Japan and not on the Korean peninsula, or Ch’ŏn Kwanu and Kim Hyŏngu, for whom this organ was a sort of headquarters of the Paekche army stationed in Kaya. Nonetheless, all Korean scholars, both past and present, categorically refute the idea that Yamato in any way ruled Kaya. See NA Haengju 나행주, “6 segi Han‑Il kwangwe ŭi yŏngu‑sajŏk kŏmt’o” 6세기 한일관계의 연구사적 검토 (An Examination of the History of Research into Japan‑Korea Relations in the 6th Century), in Imna munje wa Han‑Il kwan’gye 임나 문제와 한일관 계 (Imna and Japan‑Korea Relations), Seoul, Kyŏng’in Munwhasa 景仁文化社, 2005, pp. 30‑44. 82. The Korean government sees the use of phrases such as “Yamato lost its influence over the Korean peninsula” (Tōkyō Shoseki) or “subsequently, the influence [of Yamato] over the Korean peninsula waned” (Ōsaka Shoseki) to describe relations between Japan and Korea during the 6th century as unacceptable, for they are based on the “erroneous” idea that Yamato ruled Kaya as of the 4th century. See Yi Wŏnsun and Chŏng Chaejŏng (eds.), op. cit., p. 358. 83. In 451, Sei of the Wa is said to have obtained Chinese recognition of his role as protector of the Mimana region. Francine HÉRAIL, Histoire du Japon des origines à Meiji (History of Japan, from its Origins to the Meiji Era), POF, 1986, p. 47. 84. Chūgaku shakai, Rekishiteki bun’ya, Ōsaka Shoseki, 2006, p. 25. 85. Michael J. SETH, A Concise History of Korea, Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2006, p. 32. 86. Chunghakkyo Kuksa (sang) 중학교 국사 (상), Seoul, Kyohaksa 교학사, 2001, pp. 62‑63. 87. KATSUOKA Kanji, op. cit., p. 53. 88. Tei and Furuta (eds.), op. cit., p. 292. 89. Chunghakkyo Kuksa 중학교 국사, Seoul, Kyohaksa 교학사, 2006, pp. 42, 51. 90. YANG Migang 양미강, “Hanguk ŭi kyogwasŏ undong kŭ sŏngkwa wa kwaje” 한국의 교과서운 동 그 성과와 과제 (The Textbook Movement in Korea: Results and Objectives), in Ilbon kyogwasŏ paro chapki undong ponbu 일본교과서바로잡기운동본부 (ed.), Han‑Chung‑Il yŏksa insik kwa Ilbon kyokwasŏ 한중일 역사인식과 일본교과서 (Korean, Chinese and Japanese Conceptions of History and Japanese Textbooks), Seoul, Yŏksa Pip’yŏngsa역사 비평사, 2002, p. 209. 91. KIM Hanjong 김한종, Yŏksa kyoyuk kwajŏng kwa kyokwasŏ yŏngu 역사교육과정과 교과서연구 (The History Teaching Process and Research on Textbooks), Seoul, Sŏn’in 선인, 2005, p. 877. 92. Im Chihyŏn 임지현, “Kuksa ŭi an kwa pakk: hegemoni wa kuksa ŭi taeyŏnsoae” 국사의 안과 밖‑ 헤게모니와 국사의 대연쇄 (National History Inside and Out: Hegemony and the Great Chain of National History), in Im Chihyŏn 임지현and Yi Sŏngsi 이성시 (eds.), Kuksa ŭi sinhwa rŭl nŏmŏsŏ 국사의 신화를 넘어서 (Going Beyond the Myth of National History), Hyumŏnisŭtŭ 휴머니스트, Seoul, 2004, p. 29.

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93. Chosŏn ilbo, 10 April 2002. 94. Only 10% considered these demands justified. http://www.tv‑asahi.co.jp/asanama/video/ 0105/mail/index.html#goiken (10 November 2009). 95. These two research groups have jointly published a certain number of works in both languages, in particular a book designed to be a history textbook: Han‑Il yŏksa kongt’ong kyoje Han‑Il kyoryu ŭi yŏksa: sŏnsa but’ŏ hyŏndae kkaji 한일공통교재 한일 교류의 역사: 선사부터 현대까 지 (Shared Japanese‑Korean Teaching Materials: the History of Japan‑Korea Relations from their Origins to Modern Times), Seoul, Hyean 혜안, 2007; Nikkan rekishi kyōtsū kyōzai. Nikkan kōryū no rekishi: senshi kara gendai made 日韓歴史共通教材 日韓交流の歴史―先史から現代まで, Akashi Shoten 明石書店, 2007. 96. This book was the fruit of a joint effort between Chinese, Japanese and Korean scholars and teachers who met in Nanking in 2002 at the first Forum for Historical Consciousness and Peace in East Asia, in response to the Tsukuru‑kai textbook’s approval in 2001. Unlike the joint history textbook used by French and German senior high school students since 2006, none of the three countries has adopted this book as a textbook. Nevertheless, this project is a tangible sign of the efforts undertaken in the three countries to move beyond the overly simplistic framework of “national ”. For a detailed examination of the joint initiatives designed to defuse the history‑related controversies in East Asia, see L. BABICZ, “Japon, Chine, Corée : vers une conscience historique commune ?” (Japan, China, Korea: Towards a Shared Historical Consciousness?), Ebisu, no. 37, Spring‑Summer 2007, pp. 19‑43. 97. CHŎNG Chaejŏng 鄭在貞, “Chaengchŏm kwa kwaje: Hanguk kwa Ilbon ŭi yŏksa kyoyuk” 쟁점 과 과제 : 한국과 일본의 역사 교육 (Points of Contention and Objectives: History Education in Korea and Japan), in Yŏksa kyogwasŏ sok ŭi Hanguk kwa Ilbon, op. cit., p. 43. 98. SOH CHUNGHEE Sarah, “Politics of the Victim/Victor Complex: Interpreting South Korea’s National Furor over Japanese History Textbooks”, American Asian Review, 21‑4, Winter 2003, p. 176. 99. KIMURA Kan 木村幹, Chōsen hantō o dō miru ka 朝鮮半島をどう見るか (How Should We View the Korean Peninsula?), Shūei‑sha 集英社, 2004, p. 130.

ABSTRACTS

This paper deals with the history textbook crisis of 2001 following the authorization of the revisionist textbook from the Society for History Textbook Reform. Our purpose is not to delve into that textbook but to examine both the reactions it sparked in South Korea, where it was deemed to be the tip of the iceberg of a wider problem affecting all Japanese history textbooks, and the response that supporters of the revisionist textbook gave to South Korean criticisms. Beyond the mutual charges of “distorting” history, the comparative analysis of the controversial issues reveals far less discrepancies than the diplomatic row triggered by that crisis may have suggested. Comparison with succeeding editions of the textbooks indicates that both sides have drawn the conclusions to avoid a similar crisis.

Cet article se penche sur la crise de 2001 au sujet des manuels d’histoire suite à l’homologation du manuel révisionniste de la Société pour la rédaction de nouveaux manuels d’histoire (« Tsukuru‑kai »). Notre propos n’est pas de revenir sur le contenu de ce manuel, mais d’examiner les réactions qu’il suscita en Corée du Sud, où il était considéré comme la pointe de

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l’iceberg d’un problème touchant tous les manuels d’histoire japonais, ainsi que la riposte que ces critiques coréennes provoquèrent dans les milieux proches du manuel révisionniste. Au‑delà des accusations réciproques de « déformer » l’histoire, l’analyse comparative des sujets de controverse dans les principaux manuels des deux pays révèle que les divergences sont bien moindres que les frictions diplomatiques engendrées par cette crise ne le suggéraient. La comparaison avec les éditions suivantes des manuels montre en outre que de part et d’autre, certaines leçons ont été tirées afin d’éviter qu’une crise de l’ampleur de 2001 ne se reproduise.

INDEX

Mots-clés: Corée, relations nippo‑coréennes, ambassades coréennes, femmes de réconfort, Hideyoshi, manuels d’histoire, révisionnisme, seikan‑ron, wakō Keywords: Korea, Japan‑Korea relations, Korean embassies, comfort women, Hideyoshi, history textbooks, revisionism, seikan‑ron, wakō

AUTHOR

SAMUEL GUEX University of Geneva

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Imperialist vs Rogue. Japan, North Korea and the Colonial Issue since 1945 Impérialiste contre voyou. Le Japon, la Corée du Nord et la question coloniale depuis 1945

Adrien Carbonnet

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Adrien CARBONET, « Impérialiste contre voyou », Cipango, 19, 2012, 149‑171. [En ligne], 19|2012, mise en ligne le 15 mai 2014, URL : http:// cipango.revues.org/1709 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1709

1 As the first country forced by Japan to sign an unequal treaty,1 an object of rivalry during the Sino‑Japanese (1894‑1895) and Russo‑Japanese (1904‑1905) wars, made a protectorate in 1905 then annexed five years later, Korea occupied a central place in the foreign policy of Meiji Japan (1868‑1912). Having remained under Japanese domination for over forty years, the peninsula only regained independence following Japan’s surrender in 1945 and subsequently become a theatre in the conflict between East and West. On 8 September 1951, as the Korean War (1950‑1953) raged, Japan signed a security treaty with the United States that further consolidated its place in the Western Bloc. Accordingly, of the two Korean republics it was almost naturally with the South—which had swung over to the West—that Tokyo chose to establish diplomatic relations. This took place following long and arduous negotiations that ended on 22 June 1965 with the conclusion of a Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and the Republic of Korea (Nihonkoku to daikanminkoku to no aida no kihon kankei no jōyaku 日本国と大韓民国との間の基本関係の条約).

2 Henceforth in a voluntarily exclusive relationship in a context of cold war, its cautious stance validated by the delinquent behaviour of P’yŏngyang,2 Tokyo did not normalise

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—and in fact never has—its diplomatic relations with the state lying north of the 38th parallel. This institutional void was nonetheless partially filled by the establishment of economic, political and intellectual contact between the two countries. On the Japanese political scene it was the Communist Party (JCP)—whose first programme in 1922 condemned imperialist Japan’s annexation of Korea and called on the party to do everything in its power to free the peninsula—that was the first to enter into talks with P’yŏngyang at the end of World War II. This role subsequently fell to the Japan Socialist Party (JSP), then to certain influential figures within the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). The North Korean authorities believed they had found in the party ruling Japan since 1955 political heavyweights capable of drumming up support in the metropole for Japan’s former overseas colony.

3 The colonial issue on which this paper focuses is multifaceted: by turn an object of study for historians, a past to be recognised, denied or even exploited by politicians, and a real‑life experience for the peoples involved. It implies a variety of stances depending on who is adopting them, from a quest for the truth or the pursuit of national interest to a desire for acknowledgement and justice. These different levels of analysis, which are driven by their own logic but often intertwine, make a general approach to the issue difficult. Consequently, this paper will limit itself to two areas of reflection: the colonial issue as a focus of negotiations between Japan and North Korea; and the prominence of the colonial issue in the Japanese public sphere over the past ten years.

A Past to be negotiated

“Settling the Past”

4 Whether in Japan or Korea, one particular expression is frequently encountered when examining the issue of colonialism: “settling the past” or “clearing the past” (kako no seisan 過去の清算 / kwagŏ ch’ŏngsan 과거청산). For two of the three groups mentioned above—historians and peoples—this expression appears to be meaningless. Can historians truly consider the past to be “settled” once a consensus has been reached as to the realities of colonisation? Any balance achieved would necessarily be precarious, thrown into doubt by new historical research and challenged by new debates. Is the issue settled once relations between the two countries have been re‑established? Once the majority of a previously colonised population ceases to feel animosity towards its former coloniser? The criteria for evaluating the question seem to slip even further from our grasp when the focus of reflection shifts to the peoples concerned. In reality, “settling the past” only appears meaningful at a diplomatic level and in this case usually comprises two different elements: oral and/or written apologies made by a politician—usually a head of state or government—and the paying of reparations.

5 The notion of apology is in turn not devoid of ambiguity. What constitutes a state apology?3 Does it mean kneeling down, as Willy Brandt did in 1970 before the memorial of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, an act that today appears highly symbolic but which attracted criticism at the time?4 Does it mean declaring that the state “was mistaken in its national policy” and recognising the “irrefutable facts of history”, as Prime Minister Murayama Tomi’ichi 村山富市 did in a statement commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II on 15 August 1995?

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During a certain period in the not‑too‑distant past, Japan, following a mistaken national policy, advanced along the road to war, only to ensnare the Japanese people in a fateful crisis, and, through its colonial rule and aggression, caused tremendous damage and suffering to the people of many countries, particularly to those of Asian nations. In the hope that no such mistake be made in the future, I regard, in a spirit of humility, these irrefutable facts of history, and express here once again my feelings of deep remorse and state my heartfelt apology. わが国は、遠くない過去の一時期、国策を誤り、戦争への道を歩んで国民を 存亡の危機に陥れ、植民地支配と侵略によって、多くの国々、とりわけアジア 諸国の人々に対して多大の損害と苦痛を与えました。私は、未来に誤ち無から しめんとするが故に、疑うべくもないこの歴史の事実を謙虚に受け止め、ここ にあらためて痛切な反省の意を表し、心からのお詫びの気持ちを表明いたしま す5。

6 This excerpt shows the fundamentally “open” nature of the apology, whether in terms of the addressee (the people of many countries), that which triggered it (aggression and colonial rule) or the consequences (tremendous damage and suffering). The aim is to arrive at a consensus, find a common denominator that might provide protection from historical controversies and political quarrels. Who today would dispute that Japan, “through its colonial rule and aggression, caused tremendous damage and suffering to the people of many countries, particularly to those of Asian nations”? In a way, this is a “common sense” apology, and if anything were to spark debate it would be the fact the apology was made rather than its contents. Note also that unlike the traditional view of apologies and forgiveness as going hand in hand (an apology is offered in the hope that it will be accepted), the gesture of the guilty state is almost never followed by the forgiveness of the injured party. And it matters little, in fact, since such apologies are not so much addressed to the victims as to international society and are intended to help the state regain its honour and show that it is responsible and capable of facing History.

Parliamentarian Diplomacy versus State Diplomacy

7 In the case of North Korea, a Japanese apology came on 30 March 1989. Questioned before the budget committee of the House of Councillors by the socialist Murayama Tomi’ichi, Takeshita Noboru 竹下登, the then prime minister, declared himself conscious of the “significant suffering and wrongs” (tadai no kutsū to songai 多大 の苦痛と損害) inflicted by Japan and the Japanese people on its neighbours. He expressed his “deepest regrets and remorse” (fukai hansei to ikan 深い反省と遺憾) to “all the inhabitants of the Korean peninsula”—in other words, including those living to the north of the 38th parallel— before calling for dialogue between the two governments. This was a highly symbolic act for it was the first time a Japanese head of government had used the official name the Democratic People's Republic of Korea rather than North Korea, indicating its recognition of the state lying north of the 38th parallel.6

8 Following this statement, a delegation of parliamentarians led by the former vice prime minister Kanemaru Shin 金丸信, an influential member of the LDP, and Tanabe Makoto 田邊誠, then vice secretary‑general of the JSP—two important figures in Japanese politics who, despite their differing political affiliations, maintained close ties with North Korea—visited P’yŏngyang from 24 to 28 September 1990. This visit resulted in the signing of the Three‑Party Joint Declaration7 (Santō kyōdōsengen 三党共

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同宣言) which held that the three parties should “urge [their respective governments] to begin intergovernmental negotiations during the month of November [1990] with a view to establishing diplomatic relations and resolving outstanding issues”. Although the visit was generally well received by the press, the section of the declaration shown below provoked a general outcry, even within the LDP. The three parties recognise the need for Japan to present a formal apology and provide suitable compensation to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea for the suffering and damage imposed on the Korean people for thirty‑six years, as well as for the losses inflicted by Japan during the forty‑five years since the end of the war. 三党は、過去に日本が３６年間朝鮮人民に与えた大きな不幸と災難、戦後４ ５年間朝鮮人民が受けた損失について、朝鮮民主主義人民共和国に対し、公式 的に謝罪を行い十分に償うべきであると認める。

9 The problem stems from the final part of the sentence, “as well as for the losses inflicted by Japan during the forty‑five years since the end of the war”. With Japan’s rule of Korea having ended with Japan’s surrender; it was deemed unacceptable for the minister of foreign affairs and the Japanese government to accept responsibility for the years since 1945. The political expert Ōtake Hideo attributes this blunder to Kanemaru Shin who, “in addition to being a novice in matters of diplomacy, with no experience of international negotiation, was easily taken in by emotions”.8 Consequently, “touched by the flattery and eloquence of Kim Il‑sŏng 김일성 金日成, the sumptuous welcome he had been given and his host’s promise to release [two Japanese sailors imprisoned in North Korea], he signed the joint declaration, which was an exact replica of the North Korean stance” (ibid.).

10 Diplomats took back the reins on 30 January 1991 and eight rounds of talks were subsequently held in the period leading up to November 1992. The colonial issue, which accounted for three of the four discussion topics identified during the preliminary meetings,9 proved to be particularly thorny. The reason for this is that North Korea considered itself to have been at war with Japan and to have been victorious in 1945, hence its demand for “reparations” from the vanquished Japanese. P’yŏngyang also took advantage of the breach made by Kanemaru and Tanabe to demand compensation for the forty‑five years since 1945. The Japanese, for their part, argued that Japan and Korea had never been at war and that consequently there was no question of Japan paying reparations or compensation, much less so for the years since its surrender. North Korea put an end to this first series of talks in 1992 and three other meetings held between April and October 2000 saw no resolution of the issues relating to the past. It was not until a meeting between Koizumi Jun’ichirō and Kim Chŏng‑il 김정일 金 正日 at a summit held on 17 September 2002 that the deadlock was broken. This visit, the first by a Japanese prime minister to North Korea—organised in secret and announced to the Americans at the last minute—ended with the Koreans acknowledging the kidnap of Japanese citizens (see infra) and the signing of the Japan‑DPRK P’yŏngyang Declaration (nitchō pyonyan sengen 日朝平壌宣言). This text, which provided for negotiations to normalise relations between the two countries (point 1), committed North Korea on issues of security (point 4) and the security of Japanese nationals (point 3). As for the colonial issue, point 2 stipulated that: The Japanese side, recognising in a spirit of humility the facts of history by which Japan caused tremendous damage and suffering to the people of Korea through its past colonial rule, expressed deep remorse and a heartfelt apology.10

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日本側は、過去の植民地支配によって、朝鮮の人々に多大の損害と苦痛を与 えたという歴史の事実を謙虚に受け止め、痛切な反省と心からのお詫びの気持 ちを表明した。

11 The text also provided for the establishment of “economic cooperation” (keizai kyōryoku 経済協力) consisting of donations, long‑term and reduced‑interest loans, and humanitarian aid. This approach was not dissimilar to the solution adopted for South Korea.11 In fact, the Japanese diplomat who organised the meeting justified this decision by saying that it would have been impossible for him to adopt a different settlement method to the one used for the South just a few decades earlier.12 Although the talks entered into in the wake of this declaration ran aground over the abduction of Japanese citizens and the issue of nuclear technology, the signing of it seems to have well and truly “settled” the colonial issue. And the fact that North Korea began to demand “compensation” once again, notably during the thirteenth session of talks in February 2006—seemingly placing a question mark over the “economic cooperation” stipulated in the P’yŏngyang Declaration—, should be interpreted as an attempt to destabilise the Japanese rather than a real challenge to the agreement’s terms. In fact, it is highly unlikely that Japan would ever reconsider the form of compensation originally chosen.

Colonial Past and Public Sphere

Limited Interest

12 Whatever the “Great Leader’s” exact role in the resistance—and it was certainly less important than the one attributed to him in the official hagiographies—,13 the fight against the Japanese, inscribed in the statutes of the Workers’ Party of Korea since its creation, legitimated Kim Il‑sŏng’s position at the head of both state and party until his death in 1994. This anti‑Japanese struggle, a central part of the personality cult surrounding Kim Il‑sŏng, monopolises the North Korean public space in its glorified version: it features in plays and literature, is projected onto vast explanatory boards in museums; it even shapes the capital’s architecture, at the centre of which, on Mansu Hill, stands a huge bronze statue of Kim Il‑sŏng flanked by a monument dedicated to the struggle against the occupier.

13 This sacred struggle resembles a keystone underpinning the whole. Just like Emmanuel Goldstein in 1984, the man whose face appears on Oceania screens every day during the Two Minutes Hate, “the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party’s purity. All subsequent crimes against the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching”,14 the North Korean government is obliged to keep the figure of imperialist Japan alive to ensure its own survival. These factors may in part explain North Korea’s persistence in demanding reparation and compensation for its colonial past. Renouncing its claim would mean yielding to the enemy once again, at the risk of shaking the regime’s foundations and weakening the entire edifice. With the worsening of its economic situation in the 1990s, P’yŏngyang was nonetheless forced to relax its stance: the money Japan might pay to settle its past—even in the edulcorated and ultimately somewhat shameful form of “economic cooperation”—would provide a welcome inflow of foreign currency and keep up appearances.15

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14 The necessary omnipresence in North Korea of issues relating to its past colonisation contrasts with the relatively limited interest shown in Japan. The table below presents the results of a series of opinion polls on diplomacy (gaikō ni kansuru yoron chōsa 外交に 関する世論調査) conducted by the cabinet office (naikakufu 内閣府) in 2000, then every year between 2002 and 2011. Japanese respondents were asked which subjects relating to North Korea interested them (kanshin o motsu 関心を持つ). The first five items cited by those polled were taken into account.

15 Opinion polls must be handled with care since the answers of a researcher who has spent his or her life studying colonialism carry the same weight as someone who, prior to taking part in the survey, was unaware that Korea had once been a Japanese colony. Consequently, stating that the Japanese have no interest in their colonial past based on the findings of a survey would be to deny the thousands of pages written on the subject by Japanese academics.16 Opinion polls nonetheless provide an initial snapshot— admittedly only fully decipherable if placed in context—, and may indicate trends when conducted over a sustained period of time. The surveys compiled and presented below reveal first of all that the colonial issue features in the possible responses only through the prism of “settling the past”17 and not in phrasing such as “colony” (shokuminchi 植 民地), “colonial rule” (shokuminchi shihai 植民地支配) or even the “history of Japan‑Korea relations (nitchō kankei‑shi 日朝関係史). They also demonstrate that the proportion of Japanese declaring themselves to have an interest in the “settlement of the past” has never exceeded a quarter of the population questioned and fluctuated between 24.6% (2000) and 16.9% (2004). This thematic trails far behind the abduction of Japanese citizens (more than 80% since 2002 with a peak of more than 90% in 2003) and security issues (whether nuclear arms, missiles, suspicious boats operating clandestinely, or illegal trafficking), and even behind “inter‑Korean relations” (between 20% and 30% since 2002).

16 These surveys also reveal a correlation between those subjects receiving wide media coverage and the interest shown in these subjects by respondents. Thus, in 2000—year of the meeting between the South Korean president and the North Korean leader (which was covered by the Japanese media)—47.9% of Japanese declared themselves interested in inter‑Korean relations, compared to 27.7% two years later. The same applies for Japanese interest in North Korean nuclear arms which, after the first test in October 2006 and the second in May 2009, reached particularly high levels: respectively 79.5% and 76.8%.

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Japanese Subjects of Interest in North Korea*

(A) This concerns the return to Japan of Japanese women who went to live in North Korea with their Korean husbands or partners during the 1959-1984 mass repatriations to the peninsula. (B) Negotiations held with the aim of normalising diplomatic relations between Japan and the DPRK. * Surveys carried out in October every year on a population of 3,000 people (with the number of valid responses varying between 1,700 and 2,100 depending on the year) aged 20 or over and from all around Japan. Source: Cabinet Office, (Unit: %).

17 The same observation can be made concerning interest in the North Korean government, which rose with the transfer of power from Kim Chŏng‑il to his son Kim Chŏng‑ǔn 김정은 金正恩 from 42.2% in 2009 to 50.7% in 2010. As for the abduction of Japanese citizens by North Korean agents, the intense interest constantly shown in this issue is the result of massive media coverage since 2002 and the wide‑ranging efforts of associations working for the return of abductees (petitions, campaigns to boycott North Korean products, participation in television programmes, publications, symposiums, etc.) which over time have gained real influence within the Japanese public sphere.18

18 What are the reasons for such vastly differing levels of interest in these issues? Three avenues of reflection suggest themselves immediately; however, given that they would require a separate study, I will content myself with describing them briefly. The first relates to the state of knowledge on the period in question and its dissemination; it stems from the importance attached to the issue of colonisation in academic research and teaching. The second concerns the notion of collective responsibility (responsibility felt by the entire nation for the acts committed) and transgenerational responsibility (feeling responsible today for acts committed in the past by another generation). It can be summed up by the following question: do the Japanese today feel responsible for the colonial rule imposed in a past they did not live through themselves? The third element—perhaps the most difficult to grasp—concerns the existence (or absence) of a taboo surrounding Japan’s colonial past. In addition to these three topics, two further hypotheses— which I will attempt to describe here—may explain why interest in the past is limited. They concern on the one hand the appearance of competing topics within the public space, and on the other the existence of a discourse portraying North Korea as abnormal.

The Emergence of Competing Issues

19 Beginning in the 1990s, relations between Japan and North Korea came to revolve around two sources of friction. The first stems from the development of nuclear weapons (an initial crisis occurred in 1993‑1994 followed by a second beginning

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in 2002) and a ballistic weapons programme (launching of short‑range missiles towards the Sea of Japan and, above all, the launching of a Taepodong‑1 missile in August 1998 which flew over Japanese territory). The second source of tension is worth lingering over briefly, so preponderant is the place it holds in Japanese society today. It concerns the abduction of Japanese nationals in the 1970s and 1980s by North Korean agents, mainly with a view to assuming their identity and procuring individuals capable of teaching the and customs.

20 The first to broach the issue was the conservative newspaper Sankei in an article dated 7 January 1980. The journalist questioned whether the disappearance of three young couples in different prefectures during the summer of 1978, as well as an aborted attempt to abduct a fourth couple during the same period, could be the work of special forces belonging to a foreign power. Neither this article, nor those published in the Asahi or Mainichi on 28 June 1985, following the announcement by South Korea’s secret service that a North Korean spy had been arrested and had admitted to kidnapping a Japanese citizen, created much of a stir. In May 1991, at a time when Japan and North Korea were in negotiation to normalise diplomatic relations, police in announced that Yi Ŭn‑hye 이은혜 李恩惠—the person who had taught Japanese to Kim Hyŏn‑hǔi19 김현희 金賢姫—was in fact Taguchi Yaeko 田口八重 子 20, a Japanese woman who had gone missing in 1978. Japan broached the subject at the third session of Japan‑North Korea talks, which opened on 20 May the following year in Beijing, sparking anger and indignation among the North Korean delegation who denied such practices existed.

21 The abduction issue reached an important turning point in 1997 when the head of the Modern Korea Institute, Satō Katsumi佐藤勝巳, published an article in the journal Gendai Koria (Modern Korea 現代コリア) in which he claimed that Yokota Megumi 横田 めぐみ, a young girl who had disappeared in Niigata in 1977, had well and truly been abducted by North Korean agents. This was the first time that the real name of an abductee had been mentioned. The information was relayed by the Sankei and the journal Aera on 2 February and the following day a Japanese journalist met with an agent who had defected to the South and claimed to have seen the young girl in P’yŏngyang. This story, which was broadcast on television, unleashed a wave of emotion within the Japanese population. Events subsequently gathered pace: 25 March saw the creation of the Association of the Families of Victims Kidnapped by North Korea,21 headed by Yokota Megumi’s father. One month later, the Parliamentary League to Rescue Japanese Citizens Suspected of Being Abducted by North Korea (Kitachōsen rachi giwaku nihonjin kyūen giin renmei 北朝鮮拉致疑惑日本人 救援議員連盟) was formed. An official list of eight kidnapping incidents concerning eleven individuals was drawn up in March 2002.22

22 Once little covered by the press, the kidnappings received unprecedented media attention following the Koizumi‑Kim summit meeting of 17 September 2002, during which the North Korean leader admitted North Korea’s involvement in the abductions. An analysis of the editorials of four major Japanese newspapers—the Yomiuri Shinbun, Asahi Shinbun, Mainichi Shinbun and the Sankei Shinbun—from 18 September 2002, in other words the day after the summit meeting, shows that despite the undeniable differences between these four papers,23 each had marginalised the issue of Japan’s colonisation of Korea. Three topics dominated the summit meeting: the abductions, security issues and Japan’s colonial past. Yet despite this, in the Asahi editorial alone

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the words “colonial rule” (shokuminchi shihai 植民地支配) appeared just once, whereas the word “abduction” (rachi 拉致) appeared fourteen times and “nuclear” (kaku 核) three. The same trend can be observed in similar proportions in the three other newspapers. Furthermore, the Asahi, Mainichi and Sankei contented themselves with providing a factual account (“Japan offered an apology”, “an agreement was reached on economic cooperation”) without offering further analysis or putting the events into perspective. The editorials failed to fulfil their traditional role of expressing the newspaper’s point of view. Only the Yomiuri deemed it appropriate to re‑examine the form adopted to settle the colonial issue, seeing “economic cooperation”—as opposed to the “compensation” demanded by P’yŏngyang—as a diplomatic victory for Japan.

23 Does the past not merit a more in‑depth analysis? Admittedly the very nature of the editorial format demands concision (particularly in Japan, where traditionally two separate events are covered in one editorial). Without going as far as talking of “sensational news diverting attention” (“faits divers faisant diversion”, Pierre Bourdieu), one cannot help but notice an imbalance—in the editorials but also in the other pages of the daily newspapers, an imbalance that is even more noticeable in the weekly papers—between on the one hand the abundant coverage of abductions using expressions designed to elicit the reader’s compassion,24 and on the other the cursory treatment of Japan’s colonial past.

An “Abnormal” Country

24 Both before and during its colonisation, Korea was the subject of a certain number of discourses. While it is impossible to explore these in any detail, it is worth mentioning the work of Lionel Babicz, who has shown that “views on Korea” developed during the Meiji era (1868‑1912), and that despite “the abundance and complexity of thought on Korea, [it is possible to outline] a few main themes”.25 He identifies three: strategic, civilisational and racial.26 The first or “strategic” myth, which appeared at the end of the Edo period (1603‑1868) and acquired the status of “virtual official dogma” through the writings of Prime Minister Yamagata Aritomo 山縣有朋, portrayed North Korea as the first line of defence against Russia and China. The second or “civilisational” myth contrasted a barbarian and backward Korea with a civilised and advanced Japan. It took two conflicting forms: firstly, a civilising mission which Japan had a duty to see through to a successful conclusion, and secondly, the need for Japan to “leave Asia” (datsua 脱 亜) and in doing so abandon Korea to its fate. Finally, the third, so‑called “racial”, myth underlined the similarities between the Korean and Japanese peoples and served as an argument to justify the annexation of Korea in 1910.

25 Following on from these discourses is one which, since the 1990s, has portrayed North Korea as an abnormal country. My aim here is not to discuss its validity but rather to examine its outward expression, which reached its height in September 2002 after Kim Chŏng‑il acknowledged the kidnapping of Japanese nationals. This led the press to devote its energy to describing North Korea as an entity outside the limits of normality.27 It was variously portrayed in the editorials of the main newspapers as an “inhuman country” (hiningenteki na kokka 非人間的な国家) by the Sankei, and “nothing other than a terrorist state” (tero kokka sono mono テロ国家そのもの) by the Yomiuri. The Asahi, criticised at one point for what were judged its overly favourable stances on North Korea, was equally reproached for referring to a “dangerous country” (kiken na

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kuni 危険な国), an “abnormal country” (ijō na kuni 異常な国), or even “a country of outlaws” (muhōsha no kuni 無法者の国). The Mainichi, for its part, spoke of a “scheming country” (bōryaku kokka 謀略国家). In an article dated 18 September 2002 the Mainichi’s political editor wrote that “it [was] Japan’s responsibility as North Korea’s neighbour to guide the country towards normality”. The same observation can be made in the editorial of the Asahi on 20 September: “the Japanese Government must take into account the fact that North Korea is an abnormal country and take measures, by beginning negotiations, to help it evolve towards normality.” This description was not limited to the written press. Takasaki Sōji, historian and specialist in Japan‑North Korea relations, describes the media atmosphere post‑17 September: As of December [2002] the anti‑North Korea campaign reached unprecedented levels in the weekly newspapers, publications and on the television […]. Popular television programmes broadcast a constant stream of facile accounts gathered from North Korean defectors, sometimes as much as four times a day—morning, midday, early and late afternoon. They described the difficulties they had faced, including hunger, children begging, and wretched conditions in concentration camps. For viewers’ entertainment a compilation of North Korean programmes was also broadcast, showing military parades, buxom female dancers and children with forced smiles, all accompanied by the commentary of a pompously voiced North Korean presenter.28

26 A brief review of the books published at that time reveals a similar trend, with North Korea presented at times as a cruel and debauched regime, at times as a cabinet of curiosities.29 This view, expressed through various media—from scathing articles and to internet websites—makes dispassionate discussion or reflection on the country difficult. And as for the past, would it not seem out of place to rake over historical events when there was a monster threatening the present?

27 The personal relationships linking certain high profile Japanese politicians to P’yŏngyang, the North‑South rapprochement and the collapse of the socialist bloc all led Japan and North Korea to hold talks in the early 1990s. These negotiations to normalise diplomatic relations between the two countries included a bitter debate as to how Japan should “settle its colonial past” before a consensus was finally found with the signing of the P’yŏngyang Declaration on 17 September 2002. This declaration carried an apology for Japan’s colonial reign and stipulated the implementation of “economic cooperation”, a euphemism for what was in fact financial compensation and resembled the solution adopted for South Korea over thirty‑five years earlier. Yet this agreement did not lead to the normalisation of relations between Japan and North Korea. The reason for this stems from the existence of security problems that have become particularly acute over the past decade: the development of ballistic and nuclear weapons, but also—and perhaps above all—the unresolved issue of the abduction of Japanese subjects, which North Korea admitted, through its leader, during the summit meeting of 17 September 2002. The persistence of these security issues (abundantly covered in the media), along with the resulting idea of a “rogue state” dominating the debate on the North, has caused Japan to forget its colonial history (despite it being abundantly studied), a history which P’yŏngyang has exploited from the start in order to legitimise the place of Kim II‑sŏng and his descendants at the head of the country.

28 Beyond the debate, the discourse portraying North Korea as abnormal brings with it a risk of amalgams and abuses. Was it not this discourse that led acts of violence to be committed against Japan’s Korean community, a relic of the country’s colonial past

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split in two by the Cold War?30 The journalist Yamaguchi Masanori suggests the figure of 291 cases of persecution or threats against North Korean schools31 or their pupils during the period from 17 to 24 September 2002, just after Koizumi Jun'ichirō’s visit to P’yŏngyang.32 On 17 September, for example, someone telephoned the Korean primary school in Osaka and threatened to “kill the students”. The following day, the words “I will kidnap you” could be seen on the website of a school in Tōhoku. That same day, a man kicked a young girl on a bus as she travelled to her school in Yokohama. This same school received a call ordering all Koreans to “go back to Korea”. It was as if there was no longer any distinction between the tyrant and the people he oppresses. As if stigmatising Japan’s Korean population would make it possible to rectify this abnormality or combat this faraway evil. Indeed, could the sins of the past not be absolved through this struggle?

NOTES

1. The Japan‑Korea Treaty of Amity (nitchō shūkō jōki 日朝修好条規), also known as the Treaty of Ganghwa (kōkatō jōyaku 江華島条約), concluded in 1876. 2. Notable examples are the assassination attempts made by North Korean agents on the South Korean president at the presidential palace in January 1968, and the National Theatre in August 1974. In terms of events directly relating to Japan there was North Korea’s welcoming of Japanese Red Army (Nihon sekigun 日本赤軍) members after they hijacked a Japan Airlines plane in March 1970. In October 1983, a bomb attack targeted the South Korean President Chŏn Tu‑hwan while he was on an official visit to Burma. He survived the assassination attempt but his minister of foreign affairs and other officials were killed. This act of terrorism led to the severing of diplomatic relations between P’yŏngyang and Rangoon until 2007. Finally, in November 1987, just a few months before the opening of the Seoul Olympics, there was the explosion in mid‑air of a Korean Air flight en route to Seoul from Baghdad. The entire crew and passengers perished. Two North Korean agents who disembarked during a stopover in Abu Dhabi were arrested; one of the two managed to poison himself while the other, a woman named Kim Hyŏn‑hǔi, was transferred to South Korea and admitted her role in the bombing. 3. For a study of state apologies see, for example, Jean‑Cassien BILLIER, “Le paradoxe des excuses” (The Apology Paradox), in Raison publique, no. 10, 2009, pp. 139‑156. 4. Der Spiegel, which printed a front‑page photograph of the kneeling chancellor, accompanied by the words “Should Brandt have knelt?” (Durfte Brandt knien?), published a survey in which 48% of respondents thought the gesture “excessive” (übertrieben), compared to 41% who considered it “appropriate” (angemessen). 5. The official title of this text, which took the form of a cabinet decision (kakugi kettei 閣議決定) and as such was backed by all cabinet members, is: “Murayama naikaku sōridaijin danwa ‘Sengo gojisshūnen no shūsen kinenbi ni atatte’” 村山内閣総理大臣談話「戦後５０周年の終戦記念日 にあたって」(Statement by Premier Minister Murayama “On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the war’s end”). The official texts and international agreements mentioned in this paper were taken from the “Sekai to Nihon” 世界と日本 (Japan and the World) database on the website of Tokyo University’s Institute of Oriental Culture (Tōyō bunka kenkyūjo 東洋文化研

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究所) http://www.ioc.u‑tokyo.ac.jp/~worldjpn/. Full English translation available at: http:// www.mofa.go.jp/announce/press/pm/murayama/9508.html [Accessed on 29 October 2013] 6. The “domestic” impact of this gesture must not be overlooked. At a time when the Soviet world was in its dying days, relations between Japan and North Korea remained, along with the “Northern Territories” (hoppō ryōdo 北方領土)—claimed by both Tokyo and Moscow—and a handful of other territorial disputes, the last source of tension preoccupying Japanese politicians and diplomats. Consequently, if successful, the normalisation of relations between Japan and the DPRK would have seen Takeshita’s name go down in history—as Tanaka Kakuei’s did before him with China—, and maybe even enabled him to seek a new term of office. 7. The Liberal Democratic Party, the Japan Socialist Party and the Workers’ Party of Korea. 8. See the study by ŌTAKE Hideo 大嶽秀夫, Koizumi Jun’ichirō popyurizumu no kenkyū 小泉純一郎ポ ピュリズムの研究 (A Study on Koizumi Jun’ichirō’s Populism), Tokyo, Tōyōkeizai 東洋経済, 2006, p. 204. 9. The four topics were as follows: “fundamental issues” (in particular apologising for colonial rule), “economic issues” (in particular reparations and the right to make a claim), “international issues” (in particular nuclear technology), and finally “miscellaneous issues” (in particular the legal status of Japan’s Korean residents and the fate of Japanese women who had settled in the DPRK with their Korean husbands). 10. It should be noted that the Japanese text uses owabi お詫び, a vernacular term, whilst the Korean text uses sajoe 사죄, which has a semantic and written equivalent in Japanese in the word shazai 謝罪. 11. Both parties agreed at the time to a lump sum settlement, aware that it would be difficult to prove each despoilment and estimate the value of each item despoiled. Signed in 1965 along with the Treaty on Basic Relations, the agreement concerning the settlement of problems relating to property, claims and economic cooperation provided that Japan should pay the Republic of Korea a fixed sum of 300 million American dollars and grant the country long‑term soft loans equalling 200 million dollars. Additionally, a note exchanged between the two governments stipulated that Japan must grant private trade credits to the Republic of Korea and/or its citizens amounting to more than 300 million dollars. For a French‑language commentary on the Japan‑South Korea treaty see Lazar FOCSANEANU, “Les Relations nippo‑coréennes et les traités de Tokio du 22 juin 1965” (Japan‑Korea Relations and the Tokyo Treaties of 22 June 1965), in Politique étrangère, vol. 30, no. 4, 1965, pp. 369‑409. 12. TANAKA Hitoshi 田中均 & TAHARA Sōichirō 田原総一郎, Kokka to gaikō 国家と外交 (Diplomacy and the State), Tokyo, Kōdansha 講談社, 2005, p. 49. 13. See, for example, in French, Histoire abrégée de l’activité révolutionnaire du camarade Kim II Sung (A Concise History of the Revolutionary Activity of Comrade Kim II Sung), published by the Party History Institute of the Central Committee of the Workers’ Party of Korea, Éditions en Langues Étrangères, 1969. 14. George ORWELL, 1984, Penguin Classics, 2013, p. 12. 15. Some authors, such as Narushige MICHISHITA in North Korea’s Military‑Diplomatic Campaigns 1966‑2008, London, Routledge, 2009, consider regime survival and the acquisition of economic assistance (in reality the two are linked) as the DPRK’s main objectives since 1990, thus explaining P’yŏngyang’s desire to normalise diplomatic relations with Tokyo. 16. See for example ŌE Shinobu 大江志乃部夫 et. al., Kindai nihon to shokuminchi 近代日本と植民 地 (Modern Japan and its Colonies), Iwanami SHOTEN 岩波書店, eight volumes published between 1992 and 1993. 17. This response no longer featured as a possible answer in the 2008 and 2010 surveys. Although questions remain as to the reason for this absence, the fact that it was proposed as a possible answer until 2007 seems to prove that, for the survey designers, the expression “settling the

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past” was not merely something to be considered in the framework of interstate relations. Otherwise, with Japan and North Korea having reached a consensus on the issue in the P’yŏngyang Declaration of September 2002, it would have been illogical to continue offering this response thereafter. 18. Take just one such recent example. After the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won the general elections in August 2009—putting an end to the Liberal Democratic Party’s (LDP) virtually uninterrupted reign since 1955—, a rumour went around that Tanaka Hitoshi, architect of the Koizumi‑Kim Chŏng‑il meeting of 17 September 2002 who had left the ministry of foreign affairs in 2005, was in the running to take up a position in the new government. The National Association for the Rescue of Japanese Kidnapped by North Korea (Sukuu‑kai 救う会) and the Association of the Families of Victims Kidnapped by North Korea (‑kai 家族会), the two main associations working to return the abductees, reacted on 4 September 2009 by publishing a joint communiqué in which they declared themselves to be “firmly opposed to any participation, in whatever form, by Mr Tanaka in the new government and the decision‑making process”. These associations hold Tanaka in poor regard for having promised his North Korean contact that the five Japanese abductees who had returned to Japan “temporarily” after the September 2002 meeting would go back to North Korea. Whether or not the rumour was true, Tanaka Hitoshi did not join the government. On the other hand, new prime minister Hatoyama Yukio 鳩山由紀夫 did not fail to make a clear reference to the abductions in his speech to the United Nations General Assembly on 24 September 2009. 19. See note 2 in this paper. 20. The police gave only the initials “T. Y.” at the time and published an identikit. 21. Kitachōsen ni yoru rachi higaisha kazoku renraku‑kai 北朝鮮による拉致被害者家族連絡会, often abbreviated as the “Families Association” (kazoku‑kai 家族会). 22. In March 1988 the head of the National Public Safety Commission, Kajiyama Seiroku 梶山静 六, confirmed North Korea’s role in the abductions before the budget committee of the senate. The number of kidnappings officially recognised by the Japanese Government has evolved over time. May 1997: seven abduction cases involving 10 victims; May 2002: eight cases with eleven victims; October 2002: ten cases with fifteen abductees; April 2005: eleven cases with sixteen abductees; November 2006: twelve cases concerning seventeen abductees. 23. The Asahi, for example, adopted a relatively flexible position regarding P’yŏngyang, calling on the Japanese Government to continue dialogue and not impose economic sanctions on the regime. The Mainichi was the only paper to point out—quite correctly—that Kim Chŏng‑il’s acknowledgement of the abductions and his apology do not appear on any of the official documents revealed to the public. The Sankei for its part underlined the contradiction between the all‑powerful status of the General Secretary of the Workers’ Party of Korea and the fact that, according to him, he knew nothing of the events in question. 24. The Asahi titled its editorial “A Sad Conclusion. Accelerating Change [in North Korea] by Negotiating for Normalisation” (Kanashisugiru ketsumatsu. Henka o unagasu seijōka kōshō o 悲しすぎ る結末 変化を促す正常化交渉を) and opened its piece by announcing to readers a “painful conclusion” (itamashii ketsumatsu 痛ましい結末). It continued by describing acts deemed “unbearable […] when one thinks of the bitterness of the [victims’] families” (sono kazoku no munensa o omou to itatamarenai その家族の無念さを思うと、いたたまれない), before putting itself in the families’ position to declare that “one simply cannot imagine what they have endured” (sōzō o zessuru taegatasa ni chigai nai 想像を絶する耐え難さに違いない). The Mainichi spoke of “unbelievably cruel” acts (amari ni mo mugoi あまりにもむごい) and suggested it would be “difficult [for the Japanese] to get over [their] shock and anger” (kono shōgeki to ikari wa yōi ni norikoerarenai この衝撃と怒りは、容易に乗り越えられない). It then put itself in the victims’ position by stating, “how they would have loved to come home to their families” (donna ni kazoku no moto he kaeritakatta darō どんなに家族のもとへ帰りたかっただろう). The Sankei for its part

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began its editorial with the following sentence: “17 September 2002 will no doubt be remembered as the day Japan cried bitter tears over a cruel outcome” (amari ni mo hidoi ketsumatsu ni nihon ga dōkoku shita hi toshite heisei jūyonen kugatsu jūshichinichi wa kioku sareru dearō あまりにも酷い結末 に日本が慟哭した日として、平成十四年九月十七日は記憶されるであろう). A few lines later in the same editorial, one reads that the Japanese people “shared anger and sadness” (ikari to kanashimi o kyōyū suru 怒りと悲しみを共有する) over this “state crime”. 25. Lionel BABICZ, Le Japon face à la Corée à l’époque Meiji (Attitudes to Korea in Meiji‑Era Japan), Maisonneuve & Larose, 2002, pp. 220‑221. 26. In reality, considering these three “myths” as separate elements is a somewhat artificial distinction since, as L. BABICZ points out, “the three forces work together simultaneously, forming a whole, distorting reality, explaining the present, helping to stir up feelings and generating so many conceptions of Korea”, ibid., p. 221. 27. For a detailed analysis see the second part of the book compiled by the Jinken to hōdō renrakukai 人権と報道連絡会 (Liaison Committee on Human Rights and Mass Media Conduct) Kenshō ‘‘rachikikokusha’’ masukomihōdō 検証・「拉致帰 国者」マスコミ報道 (A Study of Media Coverage on the Return of Japanese Abductees), Shakai Hyōronsha 社会評論者, 2003. It carries an in‑depth analysis of articles published on the subject of North Korea in Japan’s daily and weekly press between 17 September and 12 December 2002. 28. TAKASAKI Sōji 高崎宗司, Kenshō nitchō kōshō 検証 日朝交渉 (Japan‑North Korea Negotiations under Examination), Tokyo, Heibonsha, “Heibonsha Shinsho” collection 平凡社新書, 2004, pp. 189‑190. 29. On this aspect of the issue I can cite, among others, Kitachōsen no kurashi 北朝鮮の暮らし (Daily Life in North Korea) by MIYATSUKA Toshio 宮塚利雄 (Shōgakukan, December 2002.), which is an annotated catalogue of everyday objects used in North Korea (soap, car number plates, condoms, etc.); Kitachōsen toribia 北朝鮮トリビア (North Korean Trivia) by KATŌ Masaki 加藤将 輝 and NAKAMORI Akio 中森明夫 (Asuka Shinsha, 2004); Kitachōsen no fushigi na jinmin seikatsu 北朝 鮮の不思議な人民生活 (The Strange Everyday Life of North Koreans, Takarajimasha, October 2006), whose covers promise a description of the life of North Koreans using “lots of exclusive and important photos”. 30. The Korean community that remained in Japan post‑1945 is organised, just like the division of the Korean peninsula, around two entities: the Korean Residents Union in Japan (Zainihon daikanminkoku mindan 在日本大韓民国民団, known as Mindan for short), which is pro‑South, and the General Association of Korean Residents in Japan (Zainihon chōsenjin sōrengō‑kai 在日本朝鮮人 総連合会, known as sōren), which is pro‑North. 31. There are several North Korean schools in Japan. They are attended almost exclusively by Korean residents in Japan “affiliated” to North Korea. Known collectively as “Korean schools” (Chōsen gakkō 朝鮮学校), these establishments provide an education from primary school to the end of secondary. There is also a university affiliated to North Korea. 32. YAMAGUCHI Masanori 山口正紀, “Rachi isshoku hōdō ga kakusu ‘miseisan no kako’” 拉致一色 報道が隠す〈未清算の過去〉 (A Undigested Past: What Is Concealed by the News Focusing Solely on the Abductions) in Jinken to hōdō renrakukai, op. cit., p. 58. Yamaguchi draws on the figures provided in issue 1124 of the journal Hantennōsei undō Panchi! 反天皇制運動パンチ!, from 15 October 2002, published by the Liaison Committee of the Movement Against the Imperial System (Han tennōsei undō renraku‑kai 反天皇制運動連絡会).

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ABSTRACTS

The present paper is an attempt on grasping with the Japanese colonization in Korea through two main issues: the colonial past as an important stake in the Japan-North Korea negotiations since 1945, and the status of the Japanese colonization among the Japanese public debate. In 1991, during the negotiations aiming at the normalization between Japan and North Korea, « settling the past » constituted a main issue before reaching to the consensus of the P’yŏngyang Declaration, the 17th of September 2002. The Declaration mentions apologies for the colonial domination and preconizes a strong « economical cooperation », meaning actually the payment of indemnities to North Korea, and re-enacting the same type of resolution decided toward South Korea some 35 five years ago. In Japan, the persistence of regional security issues with North Korea (the threat of ballistic and nuclear missiles, repeated abductions of Japanese citizens) and the well mediatized idea of North Korea as a « rogue state » tends to obliterate, in the public Japanese mind, the colonial past and the former Japanese domination in Korea. Although very well documented et studied in Japan among scholars, the colonial domination, thus, constituted a weapon of choice in the self- legitimization rhetoric of the P’yŏngyang regime and Kim Il-sŭng, since its very foundation.

Le présent travail a trait à la colonisation de la Corée par le Japon à travers deux axes de réflexion : la question coloniale en tant qu’enjeu des négociations nippo-nord-coréennes après 1945, puis la place occupée depuis ces dix dernières années par cette même question au sein de la sphère publique au Japon. Lors des négociations entamées en 1991 et qui visaient à normaliser les relations diplomatiques entre les deux États, les modalités du « règlement du passé » colonial furent âprement débattues jusqu’à ce qu’un consensus soit trouvé, avec la signature de la Déclaration de P’yŏngyang le 17 septembre 2002. Cette Déclaration fait mention d’excuses pour la domination coloniale et prévoit la mise en œuvre d’une « coopération économique », dénomination pudique de ce qui constitue de facto le versement d’indemnités pécuniaires, ce qui rappelle la manière adoptée pour la Corée du Sud plus de trente-cinq années auparavant. La persistance de problèmes sécuritaires abondamment médiatisés – développement d’armes balistiques et nucléaires, mais aussi la non résolution de la question des enlèvements de Japonais par la Corée du Nord – et l’idée corollaire d’un « État voyou » dominant les discours sur le Nord, produit un oubli japonais de la domination coloniale (pourtant largement étudiée), domination coloniale que le régime de P’yŏngyang instrumentalise depuis sa fondation pour légitimer la place de Kim Il-sŭng et de sa descendance au sommet du pouvoir.

INDEX

Geographical index: Korea Subjects: history Mots-clés: colonisation, diplomatie, règlement du passé, enlèvements, Koizumi Jun.ichirō, Kim II-sŭng Chronological index: Heisei (1989-), Shōwa (1945-1989) Keywords: colonization, diplomacy, « settling the past », abductions, Koizumi Jun.ichirō, Kim II- sŭng

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AUTHOR

ADRIEN CARBONNET

CEJ‑Inalco

Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies, 4 | 2015