Eclipse Rising - Zainichi Koreans in the United States
Eclipse Rising is a US-based Zainichi Korean group founded in the winter of 2008, by a diverse group of Zainichi Koreans who came together to recognize and celebrate the rich and unique history of Koreans in Japan, promote Zainichi community development, peace and reunification, and work for social justice for all minorities in Japan.
As you may know, as cofounders of Comfort Women Justice Coalition (CWJC) in San Francisco, our member has been working hard to organize this very rare and special opportunity.
As Prime Minister Abe and the government of Japan has been employing various strategies to undermine the volumes of backbreaking research and documentation to support the undeniable facts of the Japanese Military Sexual Slavery as part of its militaristic past during WWII (for which we Zainichi Koreans in Japan continue to suffer its legacies of colonial racism in postwar Japan), we believe that it is of utmost importance to help reveal more new studies coming out to render the hidden voices of hudnreds of thousands of victims of this horrific system of colonial sexist violence visible, and validated, once and for all. Only then, will justice be won, to pave the way for a future where the fundamental human rights of all girls and women are protected in the world.
Thanks for your interest, and we hope you can join us!
Please join us for the CWJC 2017 Summer Lecture Series "Justice for Comfort Women" on July 7th (at SFSU) and July 19th (at Cathay House Restaurant, SF).
We are delighted to sponsor two lectures by Prof Peipei Qiu (co-sponsored by SFSU Asian American Studies Department) and Prof Su Zhiliang (co-sponsored by Global Alliances), the esteemed authors of the critically acclaimed book, Chinese Comfort Women: Testimonies from Imperial Japan's Sex Slaves(Oxford University Press, 2014). The book has been named Best Book of the Year by the Chinese American Librarians Association and received numerous raving reviews. Publishers Weekly, for example, stated that "This vital work, combining exemplary scholarship and humanitarian activism, should prove valuable to a wide audience and indispensable to specialists."
Professor Qiu's topic is "Comfort Women"-Imperial Japan's Sex Slaves During the Asian Pacific War. Profesor Su's topic is Road to UNESCO Recognition of Nanjing Massacre and the "Comfort Women" in the Memory of World Register.
This is a rare opportunity that allows us to learn directly from those scholars on their decades of scholarship that has significantly expanded and revised our understanding of the so-called Japanese Military "Comfort Women" system.
Professor Peipei Qiu's talk
Fri, July 7, 2017
1:30pm - 3:00pm
San Francisco State University, Library 121
1600 Holloway Avenue, San Francisco
Professor Su Zhiliang's talk
Wed, July 19, 2017
4:30pm - 5:30pm
Cathay House Restaurant
718 California Street, San Francisco
Banquet with Professor Su Zhilian
at Cathay House Restaurant (after the public lecture)
*Language: Japanese and Korean, with English subtitles
6:00pm Reception with the Director
6:30pm Film Screening
8:00pm Q&A, Discussion with the Director
Join us!! See you there!!
Sponsored by: Eclipse Rising, Zainichi Corean Social Justice Organization
EclipseRising [at] gmail.com
About Yeong-I Park, DIRECTOR, CINEMATOGRAPHER/DP, EDITOR Born in Japan in 1975, as a third generation Korean in Japan. Graduated from Kanagawa Korean Middle and High School, and from Korea University in Japan (majored in philosophy). Studied film and movie at the Vantan Academy. His short film “Wearing,” made for the graduation work was shown at film festivals in Japan, North and South Korea. He has participated in motion picture production of many genres since. “Sky Blue Symphony” is a master compilation of his diligent efforts capturing the Korean schools, their students and activities all over Japan for the past decade.
The Korean Schools in Japan, where Koreans born and raised in Japan attend, have a long history of discrimination and persecution. They have been exposed to violence because they have a relationship with North Korea. However, nobody has dealt with the relationship in detail. Though their roots are in South Korea, why do they call North Korea their homeland? Why do they look full of hope and tell their dreams with confidence in spite of so much hardship? I made this film to seek the answer to these questions.
This documentary mainly filmed the 2 week-long trip of the Zainichi Korean students who attend one of Japan's 60 Korean schools to North Korea (DPRK). As third and fourth generation Koreans born and raised in Japan, students' visit to their ancestral home country is profound, as captured in film through their talks, singings, and other interactions with their Korean brethren there. At Panmunjom, which is a symbolic place of the tragic division of our one Korea, looking over to the South, the land of their ancestors’ birthplaces, they are overcome by the realization of the tragedy of the war -- and the deep, indelible mark left upon their own lives and struggle with identity and belonging. What does "homeland" mean to these students, born as "alien" in the former colonial metropole, in a country that refuses to accept them as members of the only society they know to be home, and seek to reclaim their cultural and ancestral heritage through a most vilified country in the world?
We have an urgent, time-sensitive request, to endorse the Association for Asian American Studies (AAAS) resolution proposal, “Supporting Remembrance of ‘Comfort Women’ and their Endangered History” before the Feb 10 deadline.
Step 1, Sign up for 2017 membership: Sponsors must be current, 2017 AAAS members or lifetime members. Anyone can become a paid member! If you haven't already renewed your membership, see link below, as we push together to get this resolution approved by the board at the 2017 AAAS conference in Portland! Membership ($40-130): https://aaas.press.jhu.edu/membership/join
In order for the resolution to qualify for a board vote in Portland this year, we need a total of 10 co-sponsors and 100 endorsers, all of whom must be AAAS members for 2017 by the time of the submission (Feb 10).
So please endorse today, and please help us spread the word by forwarding this message widely to fellow AAAS members (and would-be members)! For your information, an updated letter and resolution proposal to the board are below.
Thank you and we’ll be in touch again soon. In the meantime, please contact us at: email@example.com.
“Comfort Women” Section Chairs, Grace J. Yoo, San Francisco State University Kay Fischer, Chabot College And “Comfort Women” Section Members
Note to readers: We apologize that this post is only available in the original language (Japanese) of the author at the moment. The life of Mr. Tegu Kim, to whom the tribute below, offers a glimpse into other faceless, nameless Zainichi victims of Japan's legacy of forced permanent quarantine/isolation (akin to lifelong imprisonment without parole) of those affected by Hansen's Disease since early 1900s through as recently as the '90s (inspired by the Eugenics ideology that prevailed even following WWII and defeat of Imperial Japan). If you are interested to learn more, we are happy to share our resources on this matter or the life of Mr. Tegu Kim.
Happy Pride!! Eclipse Rising member Haruki Eda reflects on his experience as a Queer Korean navigating boundaries of race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and nationality as he relocated from Japan to the U.S. in search of knowledge and community. June 25, 2016 Oakland When I arrived in the United States from Japan 10 years ago with a student visa, in San Francisco, on August 18, 2006, I was a 19-year-old gay Japanese. Or at least that’s who I thought I was at that time. Filled with hope and anxiety, I started my college at San Francisco State University, where I was determined to study the politics, history, and culture of LGBT social movements. I had no concrete plans but vaguely thought I’d go back to Japan after learning as much as I could, so that I could start contributing to the LGBT movements in Japan. By the time I graduated, however, I’d realized I had so much more to learn, about myself and my own history as a descendant of Korean postcolonial exiles in Japan, commonly known as Zainichi Koreans. It was the knowledge shared by radical queer and trans people of color (QTPoC) that inspired and challenged me to cultivate a sense of authentic self, however fleeting it may be, by uncovering hidden stories and building meaningful relationships. I always knew I was “half” Korean because my parents would tell me occasionally that my father is a zainichi kankoku-jin (South Korean resident of Japan). I remember telling my 1st-grade classmates that my dad is a kankoku-jin (South Korean) and bragging how I can say annyonhaseyo and kamusasamunida. My classmates in this half-rural, half-suburban town didn’t even know what Korea meant until much later. I didn’t really know either. You can’t reject or accept something you don’t understand, and young kids always know that. So my Korean heritage was neither rejected nor accepted by my peers or myself, though it was vaguely acknowledged. We just didn’t know why and how it was supposed to matter. Inheriting from my mother all the privileges that come with a Japanese name and citizenship, however, I never really thought of myself as Zainichi; I was just “half” kankoku-jin and full Japanese. I would enjoy my grandmother’s Korean food at the family reunion on every New Year’s Day, and I would enjoy not having to even think about what it meant to be in this family for the rest of the year. It was just a family I was born into, a network that existed, and somehow I hesitated to inquire too much because I felt like I was supposed to know all about it already. It wasn’t community to me. My father uses his Korean name, so I didn’t have to think about how to hide, and because I only have a Japanese name, I didn’t have to think about how to disclose. My Koreanness was just a fact, a piece of information, with no real meanings or stories behind it. It wasn’t knowledge to me. Meanwhile, though, I had much bigger concerns as I realized I was sexually attracted to boys. The realization was timely, sudden, and swift, when I found a gay porn magazine at a local bookstore when I was eleven. I already knew the concept of homosexuality, but I didn’t know the word gei as a non-derogatory term to refer to it. It was fortunate that I encountered this magazine, this word, almost as soon as it became clear that I liked dicks better than boobs. I realized there’s a community out there, and I realized there’s knowledge out there. And I must get there. And there was San Francisco, the United States of America, the Western world, the real modernity, beyond the horizon of small gay enclaves of global Osaka or cosmopolitan Tokyo. At least I knew I was “half” Korean and fully gay, and I was not going to live like a normal straight Japanese people all around me. I might as well try something different. So I studied English and applied to SF State because it seemed like the best place for studying queer theory. (My favorite bad Third Eye Blind was from the Bay Area, so that alone would have convinced me to move there.) With my freshly and so smoothly issued F-1 visa on my Japanese passport, with my parents’ full financial support, and with little trace of my Koreanness on any of my documents, I landed at SFO as a gay Japanese international student. I assumed I would fly out from the same airport four years later as a gay Japanese college graduate. That never happened. It never happened because I went to SF State, the home of Ethnic Studies and other legacies of the longest student strike in U.S. history. I met so many committed activists and dedicated scholars creating knowledge and community together, on and off campus, as students and as teachers to each other. I jumped right in as soon as I felt confident enough in my English: I founded an organization for Queer Asian students on campus; I volunteered at a local HIV service organization for Asian and Pacific Islander communities, and I worked as an RA in university housing to be in charge of the International Learning Community. I learned that a community is something I build. During these years, I made sense of my gender and sexuality through my connection to the local Queer Asian communities. I learned how my gender and sexuality impact the experiences I have in this world, in this country, always already mediated by my race, ethnicity, nationality, and citizenship. And much of it is actually that I am heavily protected by my male, cisgender, and able-bodied privileges. I tried to interrogate and challenge myself in order to learn what I am here to do. I came to recognize my queerness, rather than my “homosexuality,” as I navigate and negotiate various boundaries constructed around gender and race, within the bigger narrative of modernity and coloniality. Trying to understand how history and social structure intersect with desire, I conducted research and wrote papers on racial representation in gay porn. I learned that knowledge begins with a question. I was no longer a gay Japanese, but I was a proud Queer Asian, a radical queer of color. I graduated from college with this knowledge and community. But I had more work to do. Even though I was starting to make sense of my racialized queerness, I didn’t really know what to make of my Koreanness, especially in relation to my queerness. Each time I met another Korean person from Korea, I would tell them that my father is Korean, “but I don’t really speak Korean.” I felt the need to clarify how inauthentic I am before they did so by asking me if I spoke Korean. It might have been a habit I developed as an openly queer person, since I usually made sure to somehow indicate my queerness when I met someone new. I didn’t want people making assumptions about me or asking me rude questions, so I would put everything out on the table first. In retrospect, though, while I was never ashamed of my Koreanness or queerness, I was unconsciously ashamed of my inability to explain what they mean for myself. It was my escape to let other people decide what those things mean to them on my behalf, rather than articulating my own sense of existence through my body. I never had Zainichi Korean friends while growing up in Japan, and my Korean friends from Korea didn’t have any answer to my inauthenticity. Only when I started meeting Korean Americans, many of whom queer or trans, I finally had a space to let out my confusions and questions and anxieties about my Koreanness. I was able to ask real questions about what Korea means and what it means to be Korean. And soon enough, through multiple personal connections, I was invited to a report-back event of a Korean American delegation to North Korea. The event was put together by Eclipse Rising, a Bay Area-based Zainichi Korean community organization, and two Zainichi women who went on this delegation were explaining why North Korea behaves the way it does, because of the historical and geopolitical contexts of U.S. imperialist involvement in East Asia since the World War II. They mapped out so clearly how Japanese colonialism, the national division, and the ongoing Korean War have everything to do with the stories of discrimination my father used to tell me about. My journey became deeper than ever on that day when I had my first Zainichi Korean friends, my first Zainichi Korean knowledge and community. Koreans in Japan are subject to legal discrimination based on their nationality, whether South Korean nationality or now defunct Chosen nationality of pre-division Korea. Until 2000, all special permanent residents in Japan, most of whom are Korean, were required by the law to be fingerprinted when they turned 16: all the fingers, not only the tips but the entirety of the fingers, as if their criminality is a given. They are still required to carry the alien registration card with them at all times, and if they were unable to produce the document upon inspection by the police, they could be prosecuted under the Criminal Law. According to Japan’s immigration policy, one must have a Japanese parent to obtain citizenship at birth. Being born in Japan does not result in full legal rights, although taxation is the same as for citizens. Many Zainichi Koreans reject the option of naturalization, because nationality and ethnicity are very closely conceptualized together by Zainichi Koreans, and the legal process is just slow and long and uncertain enough to discourage them from applying. Without citizenship, they face enormous difficulties obtaining employment or legal protection, or getting approved for marriage by their Japanese partners’ families. Meanwhile, they are policed and punished for practicing or exhibiting any hint of Koreanness through language, culture, name usage, or political expression. The attacks on Korean schools in Japan are emblematic of these oppressive systems. Immediately after the end of colonization, Koreans who decided to remain in Japan, at least temporarily because of the political uncertainties in the Peninsula, grasped the opportunity to educate their younger generation about their history and culture in their own language, with their own Korean names--all denied under the colonial rule. The schools they built, however, became a target of repression by the Japanese police, which was desperate to regain their authority after Japan’s loss in the war. The Allied Forces, led by the U.S. military, viewed the Korean schools as a breeding ground for communist insurgencies, so it authorized violent raids of some schools as well as the community organization that established them. Korean schools have survived and thrived despite such heavy repression since then, but their curriculum is still not considered to be an equivalent to the standard Japanese education, and graduating from a Korean school does not lead to a legally meaningful diploma. When I started learning about Zainichi Korean history, I immediately saw the similarities between Zainichi Koreans and people of color in the U.S., particularly how both communities have valued culturally relevant education and defiantly challenged the reproduction of mainstream knowledge that only maintains the system of oppression. There is a reason why I was kept from my own history and why I did not fully identify as Korean, and it wasn’t me. Thus I came to a definition of Zainichi Korean identity that is not based on legal documents or even a set of certain cultural experiences that supposedly make someone an authentic Zainichi Korean. It is an incoherent, indeterminate identity category that is articulated most clearly when we mumble that we don’t speak Korean, that we don’t know what Koreanness means, that we’re not so sure if we’re really Korean, but we’re questioning it, we’re trying to understand it, and we’re creating knowledge about it through our bodies. Zainichi Koreans are connected to people of color in more ways. The U.S. military is an institution that violently exploits us all, by constructing a scapegoat figure of the Muslim terrorist, by recruiting working-class youths of color, by stealing, occupying, polluting, and radiating the land and water all across the world but especially displacing Indigenous peoples of North America and the Pacific, by raping and sexually exploiting women and children around the bases, by propagating oppressive and mediocre views of racialized masculinity and femininity among young Americans, and by murdering us, over and over again. In fact, all the violence and oppression that the Japanese nation-state has inflicted on Zainichi Koreans were encouraged by the U.S. empire in its attempt to establish economic and military control over the Asia-Pacific region. The division that Zainichi Koreans have internalized, between the pro-North Chongryun and the pro-South Mindan, wasn’t entirely their fault but deeply embedded within the competitions and collusions among Japan, the United States, North and South Koreas, China, and Russia over the past hundred years. Yet the mainstream discourse of the Korean division does not have a solid grasp of the workings of gender and sexuality in the geopolitics of the Trans-Pacific. Radical QTPoC community organizers have taught me how geopolitics operates on multiple scales. They have challenged me to interrogate how our everyday experiences of power and violence at the hands of the nation-state directly reflect what's going on at the planetary level of border-making, displacement, capitalist exploitation, military-police-prison-medical industrial complex, and neoliberal education. They have inspired me to think and imagine beyond what I see, and to reach deeper into myself and farther out to distant shores of history waiting to be remembered. They have taught me my duty to uncover connections I wasn’t meant to recognize I have. And this is why I care about the dignity and rights of the former Comfort Women, whose unspeakable trauma remains under the threat of collective amnesia. This is why I care about the lives and deaths of my Black brothers and trans sisters and Muslim friends and refugee families, who continue to be targets of state terrorism. This is why I care about La Mission as not just a figure of nostalgia but as a real community that's crumbling apart precisely because of gentrification triggered and trivialized by wealthy IT companies and their uneducated employees. This is why I care about Ferguson as much as Fukushima, Oakland as much as Okinawa, and Hawai’i as much as Hiroshima. This is what it means for me to be a Queer Zainichi Korean, to tell our stories and create community and knowledge, to care for one another and heal together, to commit to the highest standards of critical thinking and solidarity and love.
A Community Roundtable, featuring Special Presenter: Kwangmin Kim Executive Director, Korea NGO Center, Osaka; Founder, Award-winning 'Minami Children's Classroom’ Program for Minority Kids Wednesday, March 02, 2016 6-7:30pm Chinatown Meeting Rm, SF Public Library Chinatown Branch 1135 Powell St, San Francisco, CA 15 min. walk from Powell Street BART, OR Bus Line #30 & 45 (Stop: Stockton & Pacific Ave)
perspective from the often-hidden part of Japan will surely enliven our
conversation to understand what's going on now and what’s at stake for
genuine peace and security in Japan and the region.” – Miho Kim Lee, Comfort Women Justice Coalition, Japan Multicultural Relief Fund
Japan is long known as a
"homogeneous" country, but in reality, it's always been ethnically
diverse. Osaka is home to the largest convergence of various ethnic minorities,
including the Ainu, Ryukyuans, Buraku-min (Japan's ‘Untouchable Caste’
people) and Zainichi Korean, Chinese, and Taiwanese residents.
In recent years, Prime
Minister Abe's ultraconservative, nationalist ideologies have fueled
large-scale intensification of, and moral support for xenophobia, racial
profiling and hate crimes against Koreans and Chinese in particular. The
Abe Administration has also been re-militarizing Japan while denying Japan's
atrocities during WWII, and actively demonizing North Korea and China -- the
same 'enemy' against which the U.S. is creating a bulwark, with Japan
and South Korea, against China's rising influence.
In the context of this harsh reality,
Kwangmin and other community advocates are employing innovative intervention
approaches through public education, among other venues. Kwangmin will share
the stories of the growing population of Asian migrants of Japan, and their
families and particularly children, as they adapt and embark on their journey
to find their rightful place in the community and society at large.
Cosponsored by: Asian Americans for Peace & Justice | Comfort Women Justice Coalition | Eclipse Rising | Japan Multicultural Relief Fund | Japan Pacific Resource Network | SF Nabi Fund | NoNukes Action | SeSaMo | Veterans for Peace, SF Chapter | Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom/SF
Film director Oh Deok-soo passed away from lung cancer on
Sunday. He was 74. Oh is known for his feature-length documentary films on
Zainichi Koreans (Resident Koreans in Japan) including Against Fingerprinting (1984) and The Story of Koreans in Postwar Japan: Zainichi (1997).
I met Oh late in his life. In 2010, when I first interviewed
him for my doctoral project, I was surprised to learn that he had as many
questions for me as I did for him. In the years following, it became my habit
to pay him a visit when I was back in Japan not only to seek advice on my
dissertation, but to report on my life in the U.S., for he was always
interested in hearing about the different and diverse ways in which Zainichi
Koreans live today. While I cannot write a personal tribute informed by
intimate familiarity, I want to offer a brief summary of his resume in the way
I believe he would have liked to see it told.
Born in 1941 in Kazuno City, Akita Prefecture, Oh first
entered the film world as an assistant to Nagisa Oshima, working on Violence at Noon (1966) and Sing a Song of Sex (1967), before
working for Daiei and Toei in their film divisions through the late 1960s and
the 1970s. Some of the better known television productions he worked on include
The Guardsman (starring Ken Utsui,
Daiei/TBS, 1965-1971), A Lone Wolf (starring
Shigeru Amachi, Toei/NTV, 1967-1968), and Key
Hunter (starring Tetsuro Tamba and Sonny Chiba, Toei/TBS, 1968-1973).
Oh was a familiar presence in local film festivals and
public symposia, particularly since completing his lifework, The Story of Koreans in Postwar Japan,
in 1997 which involved working closely with grassroots groups across Japan that
co-sponsored its production and realized a nation-wide tour of the film. In
addition to making his own films, he was active in organizing screenings of
others’ works that highlighted the historical presence of Koreans within
Japanese cinema. In the screenings he organized for the History Museum of
J-Koreans in Azabu, for example, he showcased the works of Zainichi Korean
directors such as Sai Yoichi, Lee Sang-il, and Kim Su-gil alongside films made
by Japanese directors that depicted Zainichi Koreans in interesting ways. Each screening
was accompanied by a guest speaker who might be the director, a staff member,
or a viewer with a special attachment to the title, and a post-screening
discussion followed by a party gave the event a unique communal character.
In recent years, he had branched out into exhibiting his own
photographs and probing the possibility of curating a museum exhibition of
picture books and school textbooks written for Korean children in Occupied
Japan. His multifaceted activity as a filmmaker, collector, curator, and
cultural organizer stemmed from his work on the monumental documentary, The Story of Koreans in Postwar Japan, for
which he had to condense a vast archive of music, photographs, home movies,
newsreels, and material artifacts into its running time of four-and-a-half
The unique ways in which Oh’s professional and artistic
career developed around rather than
fully within cinema were also a
product of circumstances. In an interview with film scholar Takashi Monma in
2005, Oh recounts that most studios had stopped hiring assistant directors when
he graduated from Waseda’s Theater Department in 1965. Even in Toei’s TV
division (Toei Tokyo Production) where he received most of the training and
rose to the rank of Chief Assistant Director, he was still on an irregular
contract with limited benefits or job security. The second half of his time at
Toei was thus spent on a prolonged strike that demanded improved labor
conditions for contract employees. It was only by taking up freelance
assignments to write screenplays for film, television, and manga, while
collectively running a franchised noodle shop that Oh and his fellow strikers
of Toei Production Company Labor Union were able to live through the 1970s.
It was paradoxically during the prolonged strike that Oh
found the key to direct his own films. Through befriending the editors of the
Zainichi Korean magazine Madan and
later cofounding its informal successor Jansori,
Oh became involved in the burgeoning movement of young Japan-born Zainichi
Koreans that sought to build a public sphere that overcame the Cold War
division. When the anti-fingerprinting protest broke out in 1980 and developed
into a major social movement by 1985, he found himself ideally situated to
document the movement from within, thanks to the significant overlap between
the target audience of Jansori and
the main actors of the protest movement. He founded his independent production
company Oh Kikaku for the project which was completed and screened within a
year while the protest was still ongoing.
On a number of occasions, Oh raised objection to the label
“Zainichi Korean film director” which he found constricting. But no other
director has so consistently explored the interrelation between Zainichi and
film, or to rephrase in his preferred expression: what it means to be Zainichi
Koreans living at a time when we have access to historical film documents. If
it is apt to call him a representative Zainichi Korean film director, it is not
because his interest was limited to Zainichi Korean issues, but because he took
up the challenge of weaving Zainichi Koreans’ social concerns into the fabric
of cinema. It is in this spirit that we can appreciate the opening scene of his
maiden film, Against Fingerprinting, that
shows an alien registration card set on fire. This was, he told the audience at
a screening, a visual homage paid to Kei Kumai’s Nihon retto (1965) that featured a visually striking shot of ants engulfed
in flame against the backdrop of the map of Japan. With Oh’s documentaries, we
can learn about Chesa (a Korean ceremony of ancestor worship) to a-ha’s “Take
On Me,” or make unexpected connections between Zainichi Korean history and
Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters or with
Yoshio Tabata’s postwar hit, Kaeribune (Repatriation
Boat). He made Zainichi Korean history cinematic.
At a time when Directors Guild of Japan is chaired by Sai
Yoichi and Eiren (Motion Picture Producer Association of Japan) have nominated
works by Sai, Lee Sang-il, and Yang Yong-hi to compete for the Foreign Language
Oscar in the Academy Awards, it appears all but certain that Zainichi Koreans
have gained citizenship in the world of cinema. Oh’s legacy might be understood
in the reverse term. Instead of making it in the film business, he made cinema relevant
to as many Zainichi Koreans as he could.
Shota T. Ogawa is Assistant Professor of Japanese at University of North Carolina at Charlotte who is writing a book manuscript tentatively titled Visualizing Zainichi: A Cinematic Counter-History of Koreans in postwar Japan.
US-Based Zainichi Coreans for Decolonization,
Reunification and Zainichi Community Development
On December 28, 2015, the Republic of Korea (South Korea)
and Japan jointly announced that they had reached a “final and irreversible”
settlement agreement on the long-standing issue of the Korean “Comfort Women.”
The “Comfort Women” system (1932-1945), or Japanese military sexual slavery,
was a widespread and systematic racist, colonial violence against women. Its
central feature was the rationalized procurement, imprisonment, rape, abuse,
torture, and brutalization of an estimated 200,000 women and girls. One of the
largest organized systems of exploiting and trafficking of women in the 20th
century, the violence resulted in mutilation, death, or eventual suicide
This latest so-called agreement is nothing more than
Japan’s attempt at permanent erasure of an extraordinary human rights atrocity
that continued for over a decade with impunity. As such, it amounts to an
unjust silencing of the victims and their principled demands for apology and
atonement, and turns its back on the fundamental understanding of women’s
rights as human rights.
Eclipse Rising stands in solidarity with the victims in
rejecting the “agreement” for its failure to restore their dignity and human
rights. While this “agreement” was ostensibly hailed as settling the “Comfort
Women” issue, none of the victims were consulted. In fact, it leaves out other
“Comfort Women” from other parts of Asia: 11 countries in all. It also
prohibits South Korea from ever raising the issue in any other international
body, including the United Nations, leaving Korean victims without a
Despite the gravity of the offenses, no actual written
agreement was ever produced; rather, the two governments issued separate
national statements summarizing the negotiations. Furthermore, in this
“agreement,” Japan refused to accept the term “coercion” to describe the
“Comfort Women” system, constituting a dubious regression from the 1993 Kono
Statement (made by then-Chief Cabinet Secretary Yohei Kono that acknowledged
Japan’s role in the coercion of girls in the “Comfort Women” system).
Despite the fact that the Allied Forces had full knowledge
about the existence of this heinous institution, the United States, Japan, and
South Korea colluded to silence and erase this history for over forty years
since World War II. Under escalating militarization and wars in post-WWII Asia,
US military presence and bases grew. Doubly victimized, many former “Comfort
Women” continued to suffer sexual exploitation in camp town prostitution long
after they were “freed” from Japanese sexual slavery.
Indeed, survivors had been
forgotten and abandoned by local, national, and international communities for
too long. This is the backdrop to the impassioned indignation displayed by a
former “Comfort Woman” Lee Yongsoo halmoni, as she learned of the news
and confronted the Korean Vice Foreign Minister: “Why are you trying to kill
We deny the assertion by the governments of the United
States, South Korea, and Japan that this so-called agreement is a step in the
“right direction.” To the contrary, we assert that it takes us several steps
backwards. The settlement cannot be said to be official government action, as
it lacks either cabinet approval or parliamentary endorsement in either the
Korean or Japanese legislatures.
We note, also, that to date, the Japanese legislature has
never passed a resolution of acknowledging state responsibility for the
“Comfort Women” system or other atrocities committed by the Japanese military
during WWII. Thus, this and all prior statements remain subject to
Japan’s payment of $8.3 million into a settlement fund is
widely recognized as compensation to the victims. Is it not then peculiar that
Foreign Minister Kishida has repeatedly claimed this payment does not at all
constitute “reparation,” but rather, a part of “a Korea-Japan joint venture”?
Thus, he rejects any suggestion that Japan admits culpability. Billed as
“humanitarian support,” this payment constitutes mere charity and hush money
from the Japanese government.
The “final and irrevocable” nature of this settlement also
leaves out any requirement on the part of Japan for ongoing documentation and
education of Japan’s responsibility for the “Comfort Women” system. In fact,
Prime Minister Abe has led the way towards denial and erasure of not only the
victims but the facts of history inconvenient for its PR objective to “improve
In 2015, Japan tripled its public relations budget to $500
million, part of which is dedicated to an elaborate global campaign to deny or
dilute its role in WWII, most aggressively with regard to the “Comfort Women”
system, and other atrocities, such as the Nanjing Massacre. In fact, the latest
history textbook omits such facts, while glorifying its militaristic past. Such
history education renders a whole post-WWII generation of Japanese citizens vulnerable
to national amnesia, if not denial, about Japan’s own history. The Japanese
government’s demand to remove the “Comfort Women” memorial erected near the
Japanese Embassy in Seoul undermines any belief that Japan has engaged
earnestly and in good faith, as is expected in diplomatic negotiations.
Furthermore, this “agreement” runs counter to the 2014
Recommendations to the United Nations Human Rights Bodies on the Issue of
Japan’s Military Sexual Slavery (Comfort Women). Various UN treaty bodies,
including the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women
(CEDAW), as well as the UN’s High Commissioner for Human Rights, have
repeatedly urged Japan to make reparations to the victims, officially
acknowledge legal liability, conduct investigations and prosecutions of those
responsible, and educate the public about the atrocities — so that it is not
repeated again. And yet, this “final and irrevocable” settlement does absolutely
none of these things. Rather, it permanently banishes the very existence of the
victims and their principled demands into an irrelevant past where they are
forgotten and abandoned — again.
The UN Special Rapporteur on Systematic Rape, Sexual
Slavery and Slavery-like Practices During Armed Conflict has established that
in totality, the “Comfort Women” system constitutes crime against humanity, to
which statutory limitations do not apply, and that Japan does indeed bear legal
liability. Navi Pillay, former High Commissioner for Human Rights at the United
Nations has stated that this “is a current issue, as human rights violations
against these women continue to occur as long as their rights to justice and
reparation are not realized.”
Thus, we must urgently take collective action to resist
and condemn this historical erasure and denialism masquerading as a just,
permanent, solution. As the first city in the country to ratify CEDAW, and as
people of conscience, we call upon all San Franciscans to stand with the
grandmothers, and build upon the unanimously passed Comfort Women Memorial
Resolution here in San Francisco — and urgently support the building of the
Comfort Women Memorial.
Eclipse Rising will not relent in seeking justice for all
“Comfort Women” through education and memorialization so that we can one day
create a world in which the fundamental rights of all girls and women take
primacy over political expediency, national interests and regional “security”
—and eliminate the use of rape and
violence against women as a central strategy of war.
We honor the grandmothers for galvanizing a global
movement against military sexual violence, and making a tremendous contribution
to the establishment of this violence as a crime against humanity. Their
efforts have helped overturn one of the most widely-accepted, unjust “norms” of
humankind, and leave all women and girls a legacy of hope.
April 1955, Jiichiro Matsumoto (1887-1966), a leader of Buraku liberation
movement, a politician, and a proponent of “Suihei-undo (Horizontal movement,
i.e., Buraku liberation movement) of the world,” participated in Bandung
Conference in Indonesia, where leaders from thirty newly post-colonial states,
along with observers from national liberation movements throughout the colonial
world, gathered. The photo is a reminder of the central role played by this
Buraku liberation leader in the Third World Internationalism in the 1950s,
which brought together Third-World radical grassroots activists and political
leaders from all over the world.
to AAPA (Asian American Political Alliance) Newspaper (vol. 1, no.4, 1969),
“the Bandung Conference was one of the major impetus in the development of the
Third World consciousness among the nations of Asia, Latin America and Africa.”
The AAPA Newspaper went on to quote from Chou Enlai’s speech at the conference.
He maintained, despite their ancient civilizations and contributions to the
since modern times, most of the countries of Asia and Africa in varying degrees
have been subjected to colonial plunder and oppression, and have been thus
forced to remain in a stagnant state of poverty and backwardness … we Asian and
African countries, which are more or less under similar circumstances, should
be the first to cooperate with one another in a friendly manner and put
peaceful coexistence into practice. The discord and estrangement created among
the Asian and African countries by colonial rule in the past should no longer
be there. We Asian and African countries should respect one another and
eliminate any suspicion and fear which may exist between us.”
was a friend to Chou Enlai and a regular participant of many international conferences.
Matsumoto’s principle of fukashin fukahishin (Do not invade, Do
not allow getting invaded) was reflected in the Ten Principles for Peace
declared at the Bandung Conference.
1952, prior to Bandung Conference, Matsumoto had also played a leadership role
in founding the Asian Ethnic Friendship Association. The Association
originated in a deep regret of Japan’s invasion of Asian countries. The
founding statement of the Association maintained: “If Japan desires to become a
truly independent and democratic country and to contribute to world peace,
Japan must establish friendly relationships with all ethnic groups in Asia.”
The statement continued: “Asian people, who reside in Japan, would take the
central role in this Association. The Association would promote mutual
understanding and friendship among all Asian ethnic groups, based on the
principle of fushin fukashin,
equality, and mutual support.” According to Kazuaki Honda at the library of the
Human Rights Research Center, the Association reached out to Koreans, Chinese,
Indians, Mongols, Vietnamese, Filipinos, Thai, and Indonesians, who were
residing in Japan, to become co-founders of the Association. (It would be
interesting to find out how leaders of each group responded to the invitation.)
was also befriended by American civil rights activist and renowned performance
artist Josephine Baker. In an interview, Matsumoto recalled his encounter with
Ms Josephine Baker visited Japan, I had an opportunity to meet with her and
witnessed her suffering as a member of an oppressed race, which was engraved
into her brown skin. I deeply empathized with her determination to devote
herself, even to the last drop of her blood, to eliminating unjust
discriminations from the world. [It was because of my encounter with Baker] I
started to participate in [the International League against Racism and
Anti-Semitism]. Baker’s suffering and determination reminded me of my own lived
experience of suffering as an oppressed person in Japan, my determination to
end discrimination, and my struggles over thirty years. That is why I was
delighted to promise her to work with her.”