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Bernard Bettelheim is one of those historical figures you just love to hate. Or, well, hate might be too strong of a word. But, he was certainly a colorful character. Today, Mike Williams of the UPenn Libraries shares with us some glimpses into the “Loochooan” (Ryukyuan) Bibles that Bettelheim had compiled and published in 1855.

Right: Title page of Bettelheim’s Gospel of Luke (1855). UPenn Libraries.

Born into a Jewish family in Pressburg, Hungary, and raised up towards someday becoming a rabbi, he came to Okinawa in 1846 as a Protestant missionary, along with his wife and two children. Since Christianity was banned in Ryukyu, and contacts with foreigners were extremely restricted, he was denied permission to come ashore, but forced or tricked his way onshore anyway. Granted permission to stay the night at the Buddhist temple Gokoku-ji, with the plan that the Ryukyuan authorities could send him away in the morning, Bettelheim instead stayed at the temple for seven years, throwing out the monks, idols, anything he thought sacrilegious, and defending his position at the temple in part by accusing anyone who came to kick him out of violating his wife’s privacy, of trying to see her unclothed.

For the next seven years, he tried continuously to proselytize in the port city of Naha and the royal capital of Shuri, though he was opposed by the authorities at every turn. As merchants were forbidden from engaging in interactions with foreigners (and specifically with Bettelheim), he took to, essentially, stealing, taking whatever he wanted in the markets, and leaving whatever he thought a fair price. He distributed missionizing leaflets, which were always collected up by the authorities and returned to him, and even sometimes broke into private homes to sermon at people who likely could not have understood him. Bettelheim had reading/writing fluency in English, French, German, and Hebrew before coming to Okinawa, and so it is feasible that as a person with a skill for languages, he might have picked up some of the Ryukyuan language. But, as Williams points out in the link I’m sharing today, “it is difficult to determine exactly what language Bettelheim spoke while on Okinawa, and to what degree he recognized the [distinction] between native Ryukyuan, mainland Japanese, Okinawan dialect Japanese, and the heavily Chinese-influenced “officialese” used by the local government.” Nevertheless, he managed with the help of his Classical Chinese tutor to compile six volumes of books of the New Testament in “translation” into “Loochooan.” These were later printed & published in Hong Kong, after Bettelheim was finally taken away from Okinawa by the American Commodore Matthew Perry, much to the relief of the beleaguered Ryukyuan Court.

As Williams’ beautiful blog post shows, the volumes were written entirely in katakana (with the exception of the title pages), rendering them extremely difficult to parse, even if they were in a standard Okinawan or Japanese language, which Williams tells us they surely are not. I had wondered about these volumes, wondered what they looked like, what the language looked like in them. It’s really interesting to get to see some openings, and to get some sense of it.

For further details and discussion of Bettelheim’s life in Ryukyu, and about these volumes, including some beautiful pictures, see Michael William’s blog post “A “Loochooan” New Testament,” on the UPenn Libraries’ official blog site, “Unique at Penn.”

My thanks to Molly Des Jardin, Japanese Studies Librarian at the UPenn Libraries, for bringing this post to my attention.

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Click to embiggen.

Last Friday, the Ryūkyū Shimpō published an article by Aragaki Tsuyoshi on the 160th anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Amity between the United States and the Kingdom of Ryūkyū. Much thanks to Fija Byron for sharing it on his blog; ippee nifee deebiru, Fija shinshii. Here is my rough translation; my apologies for any mistakes or imprecise translations. Links are my own.

——————

Today, 160 years since the signing of the US-Ryūkyū Treaty of Amity

The Overthrow of Ryūkyū was Illegal under International Law

Still Today, Investigation into a Return to Sovereignty is Possible

Regarding the forced annexation of the Ryūkyū Kingdom by the Japanese government in 1879, an event known as the “Ryūkyū shobun,” scholars of international law have expressed an opinion that, as Ryūkyū had treaties of amity with the United States and two other countries, this annexation clearly was illegal under international law. Based on the fact of the treaties, the researchers point out that “Ryūkyū was independent under international law, and was not a part of Japan.” That soldiers and police surrounded Shuri Castle and captured the king, Shō Tai, as part of the “establishment of Okinawa prefecture,” constituted the act of “coercion of the representative of [another] State,” which was prohibited under the conventions of international law of the time. Taking the 51st article of the Treaty of Vienna, which codifed customary law, as a basis, they expressed the perspective that a demand could be made to retroactively acknowledge that sovereignty equals the guarantee of rights of self-determination.

[According to the wording provided on the Organization of American States’ website, article 51 of the 1969 Treaty of Vienna states, “The expression of a State's consent to be bound by a treaty which has been procured by the coercion of its representative through acts or threats directed against him shall be without any legal effect.”]

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs does not Deny

In response to the opinion offered by these researchers touching upon international law, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs stated “regarding the meaning of the ‘Ryūkyū shobun,’ there are many opinions. There is not recognition of an established definition. As the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, it is difficult to say anything definite,” not denying the researchers’ assertions. They answered the Ryūkyū Shimpō’s question in writing.
This July 11 marks 160 years since the signing of the US-Ryūkyū Treaty of Amity in July 1854. Ryūkyū signed similar treaties with France in 1854, and with Holland in 1859. The opinion that, touching upon these three treaties, the Ryūkyū Shobun was clearly in violation of international law, could become something used to support a re-energized debate over self-determination in Okinawa.

The researchers who expressed this opinion were Prof. Uemura Hideaki of Keisen University, and Prof. Abe Kōki of Kanagawa University, chair of the International Human Rights Law Association. They responded for this article.
Prof. Uemura points out “the Ryūkyū Shobun was in violation of article 51 of the Treaty of Vienna.” He emphasized that after depriving Okinawa of its sovereignty, the colonialist rule over Okinawa, the land war between Japan and the United States that the local people got caught up in, the annexation by the United States, the problem of US military bases even after the reversion to Japanese control, as well as responsibility for many other various infringements or violations of rights, the Japanese and American governments can be pressed, questioned, based on Article 51.

Furthermore, considering the meaning of the word “amity” [friendship] in the US-Ryūkyū Treaty of Amity, “we can also question the responsibility of the United States for silently permitting the Japanese government’s illegal annexation of Ryūkyū, demand an apology, and demand the establishment of a US-Ryūkyū committee aimed at resolving the military bases issue,” he said.

In fact, an official apology was already issued in 1993 by President Clinton and the US Congress at that time, acknowledging the illegality under international law of the US takeover of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi one hundred years earlier, in 1893, after Native Hawaiians pursued that issue based on the fact that the Hawaiian Kingdom had signed treaties with the United States and several European powers.

Abe pointed out that “there is a possibility that Japan annexed Ryūkyū unjustly, without a basis in legality under international law.”
———

In truth, I have no idea whether this is the first time that someone has made such an argument; that is to say, I have no idea how significant this news is. To be sure, I am doubtful that anything much will come of it, especially since the argument, in my humble opinion, seems quite weak. I am in no way an expert in law, let alone international law, but for what it’s worth, it seems to me that a 1969 Treaty claiming to codify customary law of the vague recent (or not quite so recent) past is really nothing like pointing to treaties or laws of the time, as explicitly codified at the time. For example, in the case of the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, it is my understanding, though this may be incorrect, that very explicitly at that time, it was already established in US law that the US could not annex foreign territory unilaterally by an act of Congress, but required a treaty or some other arrangement in which the foreign territory, in this case Hawaiʻi, formally surrendered its sovereignty. And furthermore, that there might be something in the US Constitution (though I don’t know which Article or section specifically) which might explicitly render what was done to Hawaiʻi illegal. In any case, the point is, pointing to a 1969 Treaty makes for a weaker argument than pointing to the letter of the law as it explicitly stood in 1879.

Besides, given the numerable complex and very real obstacles to a return to sovereignty, just on a very practical level, not to mention that polls continue to show that the majority of people living in Okinawa support remaining part of Japan, I imagine it quite unlikely this really marks the beginning of any real significant change. Even so, I’m excited to see this published simply because it adds to the visibility of the issue, and might possibly stimulate revived or expanded discussion. Or, at the very least, if absolutely nothing else, it gets people thinking for a moment about history that goes further back than just a few decades ago.

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Even as a historian and avid museumgoer, I have a difficult time with history exhibits.

HOW DO WE DO A HISTORY EXHIBITION THAT ISN’T BORING?

How do we do one that’s as interesting and dynamic as an art exhibit?

One of the main wall displays in “Common Ground,” the main permanent exhibit at the Japanese-American National Museum.

The great number of photos, labels of text, and objects all gathered together in the Japanese-American National Museum’s permanent exhibit, like a scrapbook, overwhelms and exhausts. One grows tired and bored of the black-and-white, and of the text, very quickly, finding the experience decidedly un-dynamic. Some of these images, objects, or the events/phenomena described in the text, may be actually quite interesting, or powerful, but they fail to catch or keep the eye, as they fail to pop out, to stand out, and are instead glanced over as part of a confusing whole – rather than as an individual, compelling/captivating, item.

In order for history to be interesting, engaging, captivating, and not boring, tiring, or overwhelming, it must (perhaps?) rely upon individual captivating, eye-catching objects or images of particular historical significance or visual interest. An object must be memorable, and able to represent, suggest, or embody the broader historical themes you want your audience to understand.

Ironically, or counter-intuitively, I do think that a single image can actually be more powerful, more compelling, than a whole array of images. I think of the exhibit at JANM, and I feel bored, tired, just thinking of trying to “read” all those many images, all jumbled together, trying to digest the whole complex narrative. But then I think of just a single image – an image of Japanese-Americans being rounded up, or an image of them standing loyally ready to serve in the US army; a single image of just a house with a sign on it saying “this is a white neighborhood – no Japs welcome”; or a single image of a smoking battleship at Pearl Harbor; and that one image stands in for the whole rest of the mythos. Not that I’m saying we should necessarily encourage mythos, or avoid telling a fuller, more nuanced, more complex, story. It’s good for people to think about, and know about, a more complex, more nuanced, and thus more “true” or “accurate” understanding of history, rather than a mythologized notion of it. But… the more objects you have, the more each of them fades into the collective whole of the display, and ceases to command attention or to speak for itself. Even just looking at the wall over my desk, where I’ve placed a few tens of postcards and the like, they create together a single visual form, such that when I look up I see not any one image, but rather a collection of images, such that I have not in quite some time considered any one of them in isolation in the way that I would if they were framed and displayed, let’s just say, as if in an art museum, as individual objects/images unto themselves, each with an accompanying label, each with a separate story to tell.

Above: Sadly, not the greatest photo of the exhibit, but hopefully it gives some sense. You won’t get label fatigue in this exhibit. Right: The table on which the Treaty of Cahuenga was signed.

I wonder if the “Becoming LA” exhibit at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles suggests a start towards one possible solution – by making the space as open and airy as possible, with interesting and exciting artifacts that catch the eye, a dynamic and varied direction/path of movement, and lots of transparent cases, rather than ones that block vision. And, through a simple and sleek aesthetic, very much uncluttered.

Objects are presented prominently, alone or in small numbers, allowing them to attract attention, and to stand as representative of broader themes. Years are placed in giant numerals on the walls, framing the experience as one moves chronologically through the space. Titles are placed on cases often on the glass itself, in varied positions which create a sense of dynamism (some on the front of the glass, some on the back of the case, and some even on the top, being read in the shadow it throws), and textual labels, while certainly present and descriptive, are not overwhelmingly or exhaustingly lengthy or numerous.

I’ve never curated a show myself before, and so who knows what can actually be done, how much one can experiment with various display methods and still feel that one is conveying the narrative one wishes to – and with sufficient detail and nuance. But, it’s definitely something to think about.

This is all terribly tentative, and is just based on immediate thoughts and reactions upon visiting these two museums last weekend. … But it really did strike me. Is there a problem with history exhibits? And how can we approach them differently, in order to address and possibly solve this problem?

All photos my own, May 2014.

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A star map from Dunhuang, c. 700 CE, today in the collection of the British Library. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

In my research on early modern East Asian diplomacy, though it may sound purely “secular” (if that’s even the right term) and political, I found myself falling down a rabbit hole of cosmological conceptions of the Emperor’s position between Heaven and Earth, his spiritual identity and ritual role, and the relationship of all of this to conceptions of a regional or world order, with the Emperor at the center, emanating virtue so virtuous as to be seen or sensed or felt even in the most distant lands; the barbarians of those faraway lands, recognizing the Emperor’s virtue, would then naturally, as a matter of the natural proper cosmic order, would journey to the Imperial capital to pay tribute, and the beneficent Emperor, in return, would magnanimously provide these envoys with gifts. Such is foreign relations under the traditional Chinese model – tribute, and gifts, and maybe some other trade on the side.

I’m not quite sure when or how actual political policy negotiations ever took place in the Chinese case, but, at least in the meetings I am researching, between envoys of the King of Ryûkyû and the Tokugawa shogun (the shogunate having adopted & adapted certain aspects of the Chinese discourses of Imperial power & legitimacy), no such discussions of actual mundane matters took place – it was all pure ceremony – ritual obeisances, etc. Perhaps most importantly in all of this, which I think those questioning political or economic motives miss, is the belief that all of this was necessary towards maintaining the proper cosmic order; the emperor was responsible for keeping the entire cosmos spinning correctly, and if foreigners didn’t come to give tribute, and if the emperor did not reciprocate with gifts, all would fall into disorder and chaos. Perhaps the crops would stop growing; such was the importance of maintaining proper Confucian relationships.

If you’re interested in learning more about this, I would strongly recommend John King Fairbank’s edited volume The Chinese World Order (Harvard University Press, 1968). Of course, plenty of newer works draw upon this, but none have really superseded it as the seminal volume on the subject. Other things I’ve read which may be of interest include the chapters on Han Dynasty foreign relations in the Cambridge History of China, and James Hevia’s book Cherishing Men from Afar, which addresses court rituals and conflicting attitudes about foreign relations in the Macartney Embassy of 1793.

A reconstruction of the Imperial throne at the reconstructed Heijô Imperial Palace in Nara. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

But, getting to the point of this post, anyone who has studied Chinese or Japanese history and has learned anything about the arrangement of classical Chinese capitals – such as Chang’an, and the Japanese capitals of Heijô (Nara) and Heian (Kyoto) based upon it – knows that the Imperial Palace is located in the north of the city, and faces south. The main gates of the palace, and indeed of the whole city, face south, the Audience Hall faces south, and within it, the Imperial throne faces south. Why is this? Most textbooks, if they offer an explanation at all, say something hand-wavey about geomantic beliefs and feng shui and pretty much leave it at that. And I don’t blame them. To be honest, it’s not necessarily an area of things I ever thought I’d be particularly interested in pursuing further.

But, then, as I read something on the origins of the terms huáng dì (皇帝, J: kôtei) and tiān huáng (天皇, J: tennô), the most common, standard terms today for Chinese and Japanese emperors respectively, I came across something about the association in China of the term tiān huáng with the Taoist worship of the North Star. This same essay, “Restoration, Emperor, Diet, Prefecture, or: How Japanese Concepts were Mistranslated into Western Languages” by Ben-Ami Shillony, explained that the term tiān huáng was in fact only used in China very briefly, from around 675 CE until around 705 CE. So, I dismissed the whole North Star thing as interesting but ultimately just sort of obscure and particular only to ancient Taoism. Of course, there are shrines in Japan dedicated to the kami and/or bodhisattva of the North Star, known as Myôken 妙見. But, then, this too could be easily dismissed as being just another obscure corner of Shinto belief; after all, there are kami for just about anything, and it’s not all that shocking that a strain of ancient Chinese Taoism should survive in some form somewhere in Japan.

But then, today, a discovery. The Analects of Confucius, 2:1*:

One who governs through virtue may be compared to the polestar, which occupies its place while the host of other stars pay homage to it.

I hope that I am not reading too deeply into this one passage, or jumping to conclusions too quickly, but as I read this, a concept sort of clicked into place for me. The Emperor is like the Polestar. He stands fixed, and Heaven and Earth revolve around him. This is what is meant by the Emperor being the “axis” between Heaven and Earth, a word choice I never quite understood. And, if the Emperor is associated with the North Star, then, standing at cosmic North, it makes perfect sense that everything he surveys, in all directions, would be to his South.

Now, granted, when it comes to other aspects of traditional Chinese beliefs about the cardinal directions, the Emperor is traditionally associated with Center, and yellow, and not with North, and black. But, I shall continue to keep my eyes out for further pieces to this puzzle.

*Sources of Chinese Tradition, p46.

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Caroline Kennedy, the new ambassador of the United States to Japan, traveled to the Imperial Palace this past Tuesday to formally present her credentials to the Emperor.

What I find incredibly interesting is the manner in which she traveled to the palace. In a horse-drawn carriage that looks like it could be straight out of the Meiji period, complete with horsemen and footmen in gloriously anachronistic dress. Is this typical? Is this standard? Have all US ambassadors, or all ambassadors from any country, to Japan, traveled to offer their credentials in this same manner?

It’s an Imperial carriage, as indicated by the gold chrysanthemum crest on the sides; Kennedy, like Ulysses S. Grant more than 130 years ago, is being received and welcomed like royalty. So, that’s certainly interesting, and I’m sure there’s something to be said for Japanese attitudes towards JFK and the Kennedy family. I’d love to see that something said, explained out, by someone more thoroughly familiar with the subject. Maybe comparisons to Grant’s visit in 1879, or descriptions of the history & tradition of the ceremony surrounding previous ambassadors’ presentations of their credentials. Instead, I am somewhat surprised, and disappointed, to see that, of the admittedly few news articles I have read on the event, none make even the vaguest attempt to address the history of this practice, or its symbolism or significance. What political/diplomatic symbolic message is Japan sending to its citizens, to the world, to Ms. Kennedy, by having her ride in this sort of carriage? What does it mean, what does it signify, indicate, or represent, that this is done in this style, in this manner, rather than any other form? What message does it send that this ritual is draped so extensive in the aesthetics and forms not of any other period, but specifically of the Meiji (or perhaps Taishô) period?

I love ritual and performance, tradition and culture, and I love that they’re not doing this in an utterly post-war late 20th century sort of way. Black Towncar, everyone in suits, whatever. Boring. And, I absolutely understand why they wouldn’t have Ms. Kennedy ride in, for example, a more traditional Japanese palanquin. Not only does that send totally the wrong message about Japan’s modernity, but, there is no way that a palanquin ride is comfortable. Not to mention that any kind of palanquin, sedan chair, or rickshaw would be just asking for accusations of Orientalism on Ms. Kennedy’s part, and rightfully so, as it would so easily resemble and be compared to images of Western women (and men) riding around 19th century Japan, China, Southeast Asia, South Asia, Africa, etc., in such conveyances. Thankfully, those involved seem to recognize the discursive dangers inherent in such an option and have avoided them.

Image from the Daily Mail. (c) AFP / Getty Images.

However, Meiji was a period when Japan was doing its best to emulate the Western powers, in a wide variety of ways, in order to prove itself modern, including the adoption of European diplomatic/political protocols and elite/aristocratic material culture. “Look at us, we’ve got horse-drawn carriages! And floofy hats! And these cool waistcoats! Look at us, being modern! Just like you!” Except that today, these protocols appear a full 100 years out of date. Or at least they do to an American eye; I guess I can’t really speak to what a Brit might think, given the period style of much of the ritual & ceremony that goes on over there. Are we still not past that feeling of a need to prove ourselves “modern”?

Furthermore, by recalling Meiji, this recalls a period which, for all its many positive and laudable attributes, was also a period characterized by political structures and culture which directly laid the groundwork for the ultra-nationalist, imperialist, militarist, and expansionist politics & culture of the 1930s-1945.

Of course, such associations are only one possible interpretation. I am merely playing around with some of the possible connections that might be drawn. … I have no doubt that all in all this was simply meant in order to add an additional layer of pomp and circumstance, of aristocratic tradition, and, for all the potential suggestions of absurdity, or of negative connotations, there are some wonderful resonances with, again, for example, the visit of Gen. Grant, drawing a wonderful link to the past, and recalling a time when the material culture of politics & diplomacy was considerably less blah.

Image from NBC News. (c) Imperial Household Agency of Japan via AFP – Getty Images

I eagerly look forward to a more scholarly in-depth analysis, perhaps from an art historian. Japan Focus?

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*I posted a few weeks ago about a dispute between the Russian government and Chabad, over a collection of documents which Chabad claims Russia is refusing to return to them. A not-so-different situation has emerged in Japan regarding a number of Buddhist sculptures stolen by Koreans, who claim they were simply stealing them back, and who now refuse to return the objects to Japan.

Two Buddhist sculptures recently stolen from Tsushima and now in the hands of S. Korean authorities. Images from Japan Daily Press.

One such sculpture, the New York Times reports, was seemingly stolen right out of a Buddhist temple on the Japanese island of Tsushima. The statue, originally held in a Korean temple in the early 14th century, has been on Tsushima for centuries, and has been designated an Important Cultural Property by Nagasaki Prefecture. As the article relates, the statue was soon afterwards discovered by South Korean police, but then a Korean court judged that the object did not need to be repatriated to Japan, as its arrival in Japan may have originally been at the hands of pirates who stole it from Korea.

A model of a red seal ship, or shuinsen, on display at the National Museum of Japanese History (Rekihaku). Though the model is not explicitly, specifically, labeled as or intended to be a pirate vessel, but rather, by definition an authorized, legal, merchant vessel (the “red seal” being the official mark of authorization), this is representative of a typical seagoing Japanese ship of that time.

People sure are obsessed over these pirates. I of course know nothing about this specific case, and cannot say whether the object was, indeed, brought to Japan by pirates who stole it from Korea, or not. But, I can say that contrary to popular belief, the so-called wakô (C: Wōkòu, K: waegu, lit. “Japanese bandits”) were not exclusively or even primarily of Japanese origin. A great many of them were from China, Korea, or Southeast Asia. Even if the object had been stolen by pirates in the 15th or 16th centuries, does that really mean that it ought to be returned to Korea? Is it still an outstanding case, an ongoing “wrong” that needs to be righted? Or is it just history? Where do we draw the line? Interestingly, the Japan Daily Press reports that the Chosun Ilbo, one of S. Korea’s most major newspapers, has published pieces by Korean scholars arguing both in support of the piracy theory, and against it, with the latter scholar suggesting the statue may have made its way to Japan as a gift, as part of diplomatic exchanges between Joseon Dynasty Korea and Tokugawa Japan.

Last year’s (2012) Tsushima Arirang Festival Korean Missions Procession, as recorded & uploaded by YouTube user syokichi0102.

Tokugawa Japan & Joseon Korea had rather peaceful and friendly relations for roughly 250 years, from the early 1600s until the 1850s or so, via Tsushima. A great many objects were given as gifts, in both directions, though the Korean authorities today (and in particular, representatives of the temple which originally owned the statue back in the early 14th century) seem dead-set on rejecting the idea that the sculpture could have possibly been gifted or sold willingly. The Korean diplomatic missions which passed through Tsushima in the 17th-19th centuries are celebrated and reenacted every year by the people of the island along with visitors from South Korea. Or, at least, they are normally. The festival has been canceled this year, in response to the Korean court’s decision, and the broader controversy/incident surrounding the theft of this sculpture.

Roughly half the residents of Tsushima have now signed a petition to be submitted to the Cultural Heritage Administration of Korea, asking that the statue be returned. We shall see what happens. The Japan Times (in English) and J-Cast News (in Japanese) also have articles on this subject.

The Korean peninsula as depicted in Hayashi Shihei’s 1785 Sangoku tsûran zusetsu.

*Meanwhile, on a related note, while I fully admit that I do not know much at all about the actual content of Korean scholarship, I have always gotten the impression that it is rather nationalistic, and in particular, emphasizing a Korean cultural superiority & individuality, downplaying Chinese influence on Korea, and up-playing Japan’s cultural/historical debt to Korean cultural influence, while also emphasizing Japanese violence and militarism throughout history. To what extent, or in what precise ways, any of that is or isn’t true, in all honesty, I do not really know for myself.

But, given those rumors I’ve heard, given those impressions I’d been given, it is wonderfully refreshing to hear about best-selling S. Korean art historian You Hong-june, whose newest book not only goes against my impressions of what is typical in Korean scholarship, but also appears to provide radically new and interesting – genuinely valuable – perspectives on the history of Korean-Japanese interactions.

To give an example, during Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasions of Korea in the 1590s, in addition to the extensive violence inherent in any such war, a great many potters and craftsmen were also kidnapped from Korea, essentially taken as prisoners of war, and forced to teach their techniques to Japanese potters. Any art history textbook will tell you that many of the most famous Japanese pottery styles owe their origins in Japan to these Korean potters. Most English-language scholarship that I’ve seen has emphasized the kidnapping, the terrible wrongs inherent in those actions, and rightly so. I get the impression that most Korean scholarship emphasizes this violence even further, and while I don’t really know, I somehow get the impression that much Japanese scholarship might not take too different a position, acknowledging this as kidnapping, as a violent act. But, getting to the point, interestingly, You Hong-june is quoted as pointing out an additional, interesting, and important side of all this: “In a description of the area in Kyushu that produced the Arita and Imari styles of pottery, You writes that the potters brought to Japan by troops sent to invade the Korean Peninsula by the warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi in the late 16th century were ‘of lowly status in Korea, but in Japan treated as skilled artisans.’”

Speaking of the origins of the Japanese state, and of “Japanese” culture in the 6th-8th centuries, You also writes that “foreigners [i.e. Koreans] who came to settle in ancient Japan exerted an influence, but what grew there should be regarded as Japan’s own culture.” Again, as I don’t read Korean, I can’t say what truly is said in most Korean scholarship, but I get the impression this is a relatively radical notion against claims of Japan’s origins being entirely a borrowing, or a stealing, of superior Korean culture, or something to that effect.

Stereotypes and misconceptions abound in any and every culture. That’s unavoidable. But, You seems to be encouraging Korean readers to take a fresh, new, open-minded look at Japan. “Knowing about Japan as it really is will further broaden readers’ understanding of Korean history,” he writes, encouraging a less nationalistically-centered view of Korean history and Korean identity, and instead one more engaged with regional exchanges and interconnectedness. Having only these quotes from today’s Asahi article, I can’t say what the content of his book is like through-and-through, but if it’s anything like what I suspect, it could be wonderful to see it translated and published in Japanese and English, providing a new, different, additional perspective on Korean attitudes about Japan.

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A colophon by Dong Qichang (d. 1636), on a handscroll painting formerly attri. Dong Yuan (d. 962). Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

*Stanford has placed online what appears at first glance to be a very nice guide to Classical Chinese. It starts off by going over the basics – that a given character can have many meanings, and play the role of multiple different forms of speech (noun, verb, adjective, adverb) depending on where it is in the sentence, and the incredible importance of paying attention to character order (i.e. “word” order). The guide then goes into further detail, explaining individual particles as it leads the reader through selections from famous classical texts, including the Analects of Confucius and the writings of Mencius.

Now that I’m beginning to look through it, I’m not sure how effective self-studying from this guide, alone, might be. But, as a reference, it could be quite nice. And, especially since what little I know of Classical Chinese I learned by way of Japanese, seeing it explained, in English, without that Japanese intermediary, could also be helpful (though, weird as it might sound at first to say that I’ve studied how to read Chinese in Japanese, actually, since Japanese uses the same characters, I think it’s actually more understandable, at least for me, than going straight from Chinese to English).

*Meanwhile, on a completely different subject, as I mentioned briefly in my previous post, there was a massive spill, or leak, of hundreds of thousands of gallons of molasses into Honolulu Harbor, on Sept 9.

Right: Not a picture of the spill, but just a photo I took, some years ago, of the city.

Though molasses is, essentially, just sugar, and though one might therefore assume that it shouldn’t be such a problem, an NPR report explains that the molasses somehow pulls the oxygen out of the water, suffocating the marine life. And, since it sinks to the bottom rather than floating on the surface as an oil spill would, it is far more difficult to clean up. Plus, this particular part of the harbor is relatively shielded from ocean currents, meaning that the natural flow and exchange of water between the harbor and the ocean will not, on its own, clean up the spill for years. One report I read, though I can’t quite remember where, said it could be decades before the ecosystem revives back to the levels it was at before this spill, a spill which some are calling the worst environmental disaster in the history of the State of Hawaii. A Hawaii Public Radio report by my friend Molly Solomon tells us that Matson – the company running the molasses pipeline – knew about the leak a year ago, but did not take proper action to see it fixed; the report discusses briefly the possibilities for liabilities, lawsuits, or fines that Matson may face.

*Much thanks to BoredPanda, for sharing with us a series of photos of Costumes of Still-Practiced Pagan Rituals of Europe. I quite enjoy traditional costume, especially festival performance costume, from many different cultures, but, while we may enjoy “privilege” in a great many other aspects of our lives, one place where those of us of European descent get shafted is in having a national costume, or traditional dress, to dress up in when occasion allows. It’s beautiful and wonderful to see these examples of a deeper, older, cultural tradition still practiced in Europe which goes beyond the multitude of things that, beautiful, interesting, traditional, cultural though they may be, are unavoidably seen as utterly typical, normal, today.

*Switching gears yet again, The Justice, the student newspaper at Brandeis University, reports on the myth & history of Usen Castle. Now, I know this may be of little interest to anyone who didn’t go to Brandeis, but, here’s the story in a nutshell: we have a castle on campus. It is of course not a “real” castle, and, I think, looks it, when you consider the conical fairy-tale turret-toppers and such. But, it’s still really cool, and I’m still sad I never got to live there (it’s a sophomores-only dorm, and I didn’t make it into the Castle in the housing lottery that year).

Getting to the point, as at any college campus, a number of rumors and stories swirl around Brandeis campus about the true origins and history of the castle, some of them perpetrated and perpetuated by admissions tour guides and other official sources. In most accounts, the castle is said to have been based on a specific castle in Scotland (never named, or specified, in the story), which the campus architect saw and liked, but to which he was denied entry, and as a result, the castle looks like a castle on the outside, but follows a less than standard plan on the inside. I’ve also heard stories about it being formerly used as an animal hospital, and about Eleanor Roosevelt having lived there at some point. This week’s Justice article banishes these myths and gives the real story.

*The BBC reports on a recent large-scale public art project in which the silhouettes of 9000 bodies were created on a Normandy beach, a simple but powerful visual reminder of what took place there in June 1944, and just how many people lost their lives on that beach. As one of the organizers/artists is quoted as saying, “”All around us there are relics of the Second World War, but the one thing that is missing are the people that actually died.”

The silhouettes were created simply by disturbing the sand within roughly body-shaped stencils – the disturbing of the sand itself, I realize as I write this, gives a sort of symbolism of the project disturbing the beach, disturbing the peace the beach sees today, disturbing its current modern-day identity, and disturbing our own, what’s the word, our glazing over in our awareness of the battle. Of course, everyone knows of the storming of the beaches of Normandy, but how many of us have ever really given thought to the level of the violence, the number of the bodies, right there on that beach?

We are forced – powerfully, violently – to remember. And then, the tide came in, and washed away the entire artwork.

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The handwritten siddur (prayer book) of the Baal Shem Tov (founder of Hasidism, 1698-1760) with his students’ names in the margins to help him remember them in his prayers. The siddur is in the collection of Agudas Chabad Library, in Brooklyn. The book is open to the Amidah or Shemone Esreh prayer. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

So, apparently, Russia is not lending any artworks to American museums right now. Why? Because they are afraid that anything they send over here might be held for ransom until Russia turns over the 15,000 or so books & other documents they hold formerly belonging to Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, aka the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the late leader of Chabad, a very prominent Brooklyn-based ultra-Orthodox Jewish movement. A recent article in the magazine Tablet explains out the situation in some nice detail – I myself knew extremely little about it, and am glad for the information. But I would wager that the vast majority of curators & other museum professionals in the US know next to nothing about this collection, or about the controversy. It may be a huge big deal within Chabad circles, and who knows just how prominent it is within the Russian government, or the Russian museum world, but, for museums all across the United States to be denied loans of Matisses and Monets, across the board, because of a dispute between the Russian government and a Jewish sect over a collection of books (and these 15,000 volumes are not even the entirety of the Rebbe’s collection; Chabad has another 250,000 volumes in Brooklyn), seems, well, silly.

But, then, that’s just how the museum world works sometimes. Reality can be stranger than fiction, and as in any set of politics, in the museum world or in any other field, all sorts of things can get twisted up together that really shouldn’t be connected…

The collection was obtained by the Russians when they took it from the Nazis who had taken it from where the Rebbe stored it in Warsaw after successfully escaping from Soviet Russia (in order to protect both himself and the collection). After that, nothing was heard or known about the collection for many years, until around the time of Gorbachev, and then the fall of the Soviet Union, information began to come out. But still the Russian government would not let go of the objects. They allowed Chabad rabbis to come to Moscow, believing they were going to be allowed to at least see the collection, but in the end denied the rabbis even that, allowing them to see only a catalog of the collection. Then there was some kind of legal decision, in which Chabad won the decision and the Russians were obliged to, or agreed to, return the collection. But, that too didn’t end up happening.

Now, Russian officials are asserting that The Schneersohn collection is a “national treasure of the Russian people.” As representatives of Chabad have appropriately responded, “There is no justification for Russia’s retention of Jewish texts that were stolen by the Nazis in Poland and then looted by the Red Army during the Holocaust.” And that’s the least of the justifications, it would seem, for why Russia’s claims are, well, on less than solid ground. This is coming from a country that for nearly the entire 20th century suppressed all religion; a country where anti-Jewish pogroms were so bad in the pre-Soviet era that these pogroms are among the most famous, most prominently known & cited causes of Russian Jewish emigration to the United States. A country where anti-Jewish policies were so severe, the State of Israel worked to “rescue” over 160,000 Jews from Soviet Russia in the 1960s-70s alone. So how could such a thing be a “National Treasure” of such a state?

The new Jewish Museum and Tolerance Center in Moscow. Opened 2012, according to Wikipedia it may be the largest Jewish museum in the world.

Of course, towards the middle of the article, we see a somewhat more sympathetic and nuanced side. Rabbi Gorin, a spokesperson for Chabad in Russia (Chabad is active in Russia? I’m surprised.) claims that the Russian government, which is now moving the collection to a new Museum of Jewish Tolerance, has Hebraists on staff who are working to more properly & accurately catalog the collection, and who intend to digitize the entire thing and make it all accessible to the public. Wow. Sounds nice. So I guess the books aren’t locked away in some basement, hated and forgotten about. And, he explains, all the talk about the books being a “national treasure” is just posturing, and what it’s really about is that, as part of a sort of umbrella stance/attitude, the removal or return of anything from any of the national libraries is essentially out of the question. The British Museum has spoken similarly as to the inability of the Elgin Marbles, or objects of potential Nazi provenance, being removed from their collection and given over to previous or allegedly “rightful” owners. Further, Gorin says “that the Schneersohn library is typical of great eastern European rabbis’ personal collections,” and that furthermore, since so many such libraries were destroyed, that makes this one all the more valuable as a source for research, and as something to proudly hold – and keep – in one’s collection. This is an argument I’ve seen before in numerous other cases, and with which, I must say, I can sympathize. There are countless cases of museums in the US, UK, and elsewhere that don’t want to give up a given object or collection because it is such a valuable example of X, Y, or Z, and indeed I sympathize with that and in many cases would side with the museum. This makes it a lot harder to feel definitively one way or the other on this issue.

And, in the end, as the article concludes, in truth, contrary to what was represented earlier in the article, it would seem that many/most Russian officials are not in fact concerned about anything relating to the objects themselves, e.g. bitterness against Chabad for the virulence of the conflict, but, rather, are afraid of setting a precedent. They’re afraid that by letting anything go, it sets a dangerous precedent for other groups to start making claims of their own. I wish we could file this one away under the Russians being crazy, obnoxious, stubborn, or anti-Semitic, or refusing (or failing) to change from their Soviet ways of doing things, but, unfortunately, these arguments sound all too familiar. I can imagine American institutions making very similar arguments, and I can imagine siding with them in such circumstances. So… while I sympathize with the Chabadniks to a great extent, in the end I’m really not sure which side to believe, or to side with. Hopefully this plan to digitize the collection and make it publicly available actually manifests. It’s not as much as the Lubavitchers may want, but it’s certainly something.

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Sometimes you write a post thinking you’re really sort of contributing something to a conversation… and then afterwards, you read it over and the whole thing seems so atari-mae, so obvious, like it really goes without saying. Hm… But, given how many articles I see every week emphasizing career prospects and monetary earning, maybe there is some value in stating what I think should be a rather common sense idea.

An article in TIME magazine from this week asks “What Colleges Will Teach in 2025.”

This is just the latest in a slew of articles on the subject of what colleges should be teaching, what the purpose of college is, what the end goal of attending college is, and how we should be evaluating academic quality or success.

In addressing these questions, countless commentators focus on professional training, and monetary success following graduation. Another major thread focuses on creative thinking skills. I cannot fault either of these, and of course agree that both of these are of great importance. However, recently, increasingly, I have come to believe that college needs to pick up the slack and take up the role once associated chiefly with high school – namely, turning out informed citizens.

I don’t know how much high school curricula have changed in the last (nearly) 15 years since I completed high school, but in my personal experience, there is so much I have learned in college and in graduate school about identity politics, race, (post)colonialism, and feminism and gender relations, and indeed about law, politics, and economics (in short, “civics”) that I never learned in high school.

There is a logic, an underlying reasoning, behind public education in general, and behind the teaching of civics, of US history, world religions, etc. at the high school level in particular, that speaks to the great importance of having our neighbors, our countrymen, ourselves, be informed members of society. Critical thinking skills are a big part of this, but so too are historical/cultural knowledge, among other subjects. I can certainly appreciate why World Religions, for example, might be seen by students, and by many commentators, as somewhat frivolous, as somewhat extra, as not essential for someone’s professional training into being a scientist, lawyer, doctor, or whathaveyou. The classic argument of “when am I going to use this?” The answer: every day.

I could write an entire post on just the value of being able to question your own religious beliefs in order to have a more meaningful relationship with your own upbringing, identity, tradition, and values. But, even putting that aside, if the type of education students receive in a World Religions class were more privileged, more emphasized – that is, if more college graduates, more members of our society, knew more about Islam, Hinduism, and Sikhism, than fewer people on our streets would get attacked for some perceived association with “terrorism.” Imagine where race relations could be today if more people in our society had taken more classes in Black Studies, Chicano Studies, Asian-American Studies, Indigenous Studies. And if students took more courses in History (or certain other fields, certain other departments), especially non-Western history, then, in their everyday lives, in speaking with one another, in writing opinion pieces, in voting for politicians or voting for policies, they could speak and act in a more informed, less misguided, manner, on a myriad of topics, from the war in Syria to atrocities in Africa to the perceived economic threat of China.

The potential topics are nearly endless. Stereotypes and misbeliefs abound in our society, as they do in all societies. Mistaken beliefs about what the Constitution says and what it means. Mistaken beliefs about the history and impact today of colonialism/imperialism. Mistaken beliefs about whites, blacks, Asians, Indians, Arabs, and Hispanics. Mistaken beliefs about Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists. Mistaken beliefs about gender and sex. Mistaken beliefs about the place of America in the world. The list goes on and on.

Of course, I want students to be financially successful, and to be successful in pursuing their career ambitions. And, of course, I want students to be able to think for themselves. And, I suppose that the idea of doing research, taking the initiative to learn about something, to analyze it critically, to choose to want to become informed, and then to do so, could all be included under the rubric of a curriculum that emphasizes critical thinking. But, that research, and the informed opinions that result, are essential; they are absolutely crucial, I believe, beyond the mere condition of being open-minded, and asking questions.

There are a multitude of things I do not understand, the fine intricacies of contemporary American politics, economics, law, health insurance policies, etc. certainly being among them. But, learning what I have in the last ten or so years about East Asian history, about Asian-American history, about Hawaiian/Pacific history, about colonialism/imperialism, about race/ethnicity/identity discourses, about media discourse, and about gender performance, has absolutely opened my eyes to all kinds of things in the world that are profoundly important to my being a more informed member of society – in how I see myself, and how I interact with other people, as well as in how I view political issues and how I act upon those views – and I have come to believe, more and more, that these kinds of things are truly crucial, essential, in the education of our next generation.

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The Memorial to Japanese American Patriotism in World War II in DC, which I visited a few years ago. Not precisely related to this exhibit in NYC, but…

*Up through October 11, an exhibit of works relating to the Japanese-American internment, entitled “The Japanese American Internment Project, If They Came for Me Today: East Coast Stories, is showing at The Interchurch Center, 475 Riverside Dr, in New York City. The show was supposed to open on Sept 9, and I went on Sept 10, but it wasn’t yet open, unfortunately. So, I have not seen the show myself, and can’t really say much at all about what it contains. Still, it sounds like an important and powerful event – growing up white & Jewish on the East Coast, the Japanese-American internment was something I barely learned or heard anything about. Since moving to Hawaii, and then to the West Coast, I’ve seen how it has so much more of a presence here, and rightfully so.

*While in Okinawa last month, to my surprise, I came across the Battle of Okinawa / Holocaust Photo Exhibition Hall, in Naha’s Nishi neighborhood. Sadly, they were closed by the time I got there (around 6pm, though still plenty of hours of daylight left), so I didn’t get to visit inside. I wish I might have made sure to go back later in the week. But their website is quite extensive (though, mostly in Japanese), so one of these days I might read through some more of it.

I won’t pretend like I really know, deeply, about the full depth of Okinawan(-American) identity; I’m not an anthropologist or sociologist, or expert in contemporary Asian-American diaspora studies or anything like that. But, as the grandson of Holocaust survivors, based on my own upbringing and identity, and having heard and seen what I have of Okinawan & Okinawan-American identity, I feel that there are some powerful similarities, in terms of the role of past tragedies, past atrocities, in our cultural memory, that are quite central to our contemporary identity. The incredible losses of the 1940s for both our peoples, not only in terms of the number of human lives so tragically, so horrifically, terminated, but also in terms of the great losses of culture, and land, at that time, I think we share a lot in terms of our struggles, today, as a Jewish community, and as Okinawan and Okinawan-American communities, to retain or revive cultural traditions and identity. Since I began studying Okinawan history, I’ve begun to see parallels, and to feel a connection; to see this idea, this connection, validated by the existence of this institution is quite encouraging.

*Moving on to the world of contemporary art, I’ve come across a site recently called ART PAPERS. It features, as you might expect, various essays on contemporary art. To be honest, I can’t quite make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, haha. But, I eagerly look forward to other posts in the future, to see what insights or ideas they might present.

*One of two contemporary Japanese artists I’ve learned about recently, Morita Rieko produces stunning, brightly boldly colorful images of birds & flowers, and of beautiful women (bijinga), in a neo-traditional, Nihonga style. Sadly, I don’t see anything on her website explicitly describing what media she uses – whether it’s ink & mineral colors in the truly traditional manner, or whether it’s oils or acrylics or digital or something – but, in any case, the works are truly beautiful.

*Gajin Fujita is a rather different kind of neo-traditional artist, not recreating or maintaining the tradition, but remixing it into graffiti / hip-hop / street art styles. I don’t normally go for the graffiti/hip-hop aesthetics, but the way he incorporates ukiyo-e figures, kabuki characters, in the style of ukiyo-e imagery, into these contexts, is really wonderful. You can see more about Fujita at LA Louver gallery’s website.

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