Popular Culture and the Transformation of Japan–Korea Relations

Rumi Sakamoto, Stephen Epstein, Rumi Sakamoto, Stephen Epstein

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2020
• eBook ISBN: 9780429679889
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Ethnic Studies
• Index: Social Sciences

This book presents essays exploring the ways in which popular culture reflects and engenders ongoing changes in Japan–Korea relations.

Through a broad temporal coverage from the colonial period to the contemporary, the book's chapters analyse the often contradictory roles that popular culture has played in either promoting or impeding nationalisms, regional conflict and reconciliations between Japan and Korea. Its contributors link several key areas of interest in East Asian Studies, including conflicts over historical memories and cultural production, grassroots challenges to state ideology, and the consequences of digital technology in Japan and South Korea.

Taking recent discourse on Japan and South Korea as popular cultural superpowers further, this book expands its focus from mainstream entertainment media to the lived experience of daily life, in which sentiments and perceptions of the "popular" are formed. It will be useful to students and scholars of Japanese and Korean studies, as well as film studies, media studies and cultural studies more widely.

Chapter 3 of this book is freely available as a downloadable Open Access PDF at http://www.taylorfrancis.com under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-No Derivatives (CC-BY-NC-ND) 4.0 license.

Part I

Transforming Japan–Korea relations in everyday practice

1 Colonial timekeeping

Bringing Koreans up to speed

Roald Maliangkay

The phrase “ppalli ppalli” (hurry, hurry) is sometimes used by Japanese to refer to the Korean approach to business, in both a positive¹ and negative sense.² As the phrase signifies the pursuit of results, regardless of magnitude or risk, Koreans often apply it critically themselves (see Kang 2010: 60–61; K. Kim 2008: 29). First promoted in the 1960s and 1970s, under Park Chung-hee’s military administration (1963–79), this “quintessentially un-Confucian and nonagrarian military ideal” (Lie 2015: 79) has become a common phrase in South Korean organisational life. It was propelled by another of Park’s mottos, “hamyŏn toenda” (If we try we can do it),³ which in 1983 inspired the SsangYong Motor Company, originally specialised in the assembly of military vehicles, to rebrand its compact SUV range as Korando, a contraction of “Korea can do”. During his years of service in the Japanese imperial army in Manchukuo, Park adopted the principles that became fundamental to the success of his developmental state. Indeed, according to sociologist Han Sŏkchŏng, Park’s approach towards economic and technological development in the 1960s was analogous to that which the Japanese applied in Manchukuo in the 1930s (Kim S. 2016). But in Korea, at least, the notions of punctuality and timeliness, so crucial to its conception, were ushered in earlier, from the late nineteenth century onwards.

It was common among Europeans to find the non-Western Other, including the Japanese, to lag in terms of development (Van Schendel and Schulte Nordholt 2001: 11; Hashimoto 2008: 124).⁴ Although it comprised a range of different standards in the early stages, Europeans saw their system of timekeeping as more practical and more productive than non-Western ones. Colonisers long persisted in bringing attention to cultural differences related to time management, often equating their colonial subjects with backwardness, immorality, and tradition, but the new time order would eventually be adopted around the world along with the Western calendar (see Nanni 2012: xi). In order to support the fast-increasing internationalisation of trade and communication, 26 nations adopted a resolution in October 1884 that established a global time order. Based on time kept by accurate clocks in London, this new standard was named after the astronomical observatory in Greenwich that had long been dedicated to the measurement of time (Goudsblom 2001: 30; Nanni 2012: 2). By improving the logistics of trade and communication, standardisation increased productivity and profit; it was a condition for effective administration and exploitation.

Time discipline existed in Japan well before industrial capitalism made inroads there,⁵ but the actors behind the Meiji Restoration of 1868 sought to place Japan on par with Western powers, militarily, technologically, and industrially. An Imperial Edict in 1872 reset the national calendar, and by 1888 Japan succeeded in making all its railroads and telegraph services follow a standardised time, years before major European nations managed to do so (Uchida 2002: 178–179; Kern 1983: 12). For the newly time-conscious Japanese government, Korea provided a contrast: around when they annexed Korea, Japanese news sources frequently reported on the Koreans’ tardiness. In Korea, the introduction of a new order of time served the empire on political, ideological, and practical levels. The new regimen emphasised that Koreans were now part of a modern empire that was driving innovation and left no place for the inefficiencies of old. Like other colonial powers and the Christian mission, the Japanese justified intervention by portraying natives as lacking a sense of purpose, diligence, and an interest in progress (see Said 1979: 178, 253). The Japanese Government-General reorganised and upgraded the colony’s administration, infrastructure, and corporate sector to improve productivity and maximise profits. While it maintained the system of Japanese era names, it also implemented the recently adopted Gregorian calendar and other Western timekeeping standards considered critical for economic development. The introduction of these standards became a priority for the colonial administration and the public and private institutions that relied on time measurement, punctuality, and the use and consumption of clocks and watches. The lasting impact Western timekeeping standards had on Koreans’ daily lives and aspirations yield crucial perspectives regarding the experience of colonialism and capitalism. By analysing the introduction of new time regimes in colonial Korea, this chapter seeks to answer the following questions: how did the Japanese promote the use of timetables and punctuality among their Korean colonial subjects? Which aspects of these changes did the Koreans resist, and why? And most importantly, in the context of this volume, how did the adoption of these practices transform relations between Japanese and Koreans?

New standards

Despite the pressure to adopt Qing culture and associated styles of administration following the Manchu invasion in 1636, for decades Korean officials rather spitefully persisted in following a system of time measurement adapted from the Datong-li calendar of the earlier Ming dynasty. After the Kanghwa Treaty of 1876, however, the Japanese began to exert pressure on Korea to modernise.⁶ After two decades, the Korean government adopted the Western Gregorian calendar (Shin 2017a: 185). On 1 January 1896, King Kojong had the dating in official documents changed from the lunar calendar to the solar calendar, which effectively erased some 45 days (Yi 2008: 144). Between 1896 and 1908, both the Western calendar and the myŏngshiryŏk, which combined solar-lunar calculations, were officially in use until the latter was abandoned in 1908 (Ch’oe 2008: 15). On the first of April that year, Korea adopted global time, and positioned itself 30 minutes behind Japan, and 30 minutes ahead of China (Oh 2008: 177). Soon after Korea’s annexation in 1910, when the Japanese Government-General distributed the Chosŏn minnyŏk (Korean people’s calendar), annual dates were tied to the reign of a Japanese emperor, Meiji. In order to standardise time systems, in January 1912 the Japanese Government-General set Tokyo’s time zone as the mean standard for Korea and ordered the replacement of Korean holidays with Japanese ones (Ch’oe 2008: 14–15).

As in Japan, the railway system played a significant role in ushering in the nationwide adoption of time zones and the importance of punctuality. Prior to the inclusion of Korea in the Japanese time zone, the latter was applied selectively to Seoul-Pusan and Seoul-Ŭiju train lines (Oh 2008: 177). Beginning in the late 1890s, periodicals included timetables for travellers (Ch’oe 2008: 18). Rail travel was a luxury exclusive to a minority of the population, but for the service to run punctually, passengers needed to board on time. As in the West, in Korea many watch manufacturers aimed at associating themselves with the accuracy that punctual railroad operations required. For example, an ad for Dolmy in 1927 shows a train crossing a bridge, another in 1929 promotes a special train watch, and one for Longines in 1934 shows a conductor with a pocket watch for a head. All these ads demonstrate an ongoing association between trains and punctuality (Chōsen Shimbun, 28 April 1927: 1; Tonga Ilbo, 24 December 1929: 7; Chosŏn Ilbo, 16 August 1934: 2).

Schools and businesses began to insist on punctuality as well,⁷ introducing one-hour classes and shifts, respectively (Lee 1988: 34; Park 1999: 90–93). Because few students and workers had watches, bells, sirens and wall clocks reminded them of the time instead. To boost productivity, factories introduced punch clocks and strict penalties for violations of punctuality (Park 1999: 90–91; Ch’oe 2008: 18–19). To educate people about the new time regimen, in 1888 a clock tower had been erected next to Kwanmun’gak library on the grounds of Kyŏngbok Palace. Clock towers in general public space appeared from the start of the twentieth century with one placed atop the Seoul Electric Company (Hansŏng chŏn’gi hoesa) building across from the Poshin’gak bell pavilion (Chŏn 2008: 233, 235) in 1902.⁸ The increasing prevalence of clocks and timetables in public promoted Western notions of timeliness even among those who did not need to pay attention to the latter for their livelihood or education, or who had already completed their daily tasks. Indeed, in October 1932, a new three-face clock tower was revealed at Seoul Stadium whose nine-metre height was tall enough to allow those watching athletics or baseball games to keep track of match times (Tonga Ilbo, 3 October 1932: 2).

As part of its efforts to promote punctuality, from 1921 onwards, the Government-General mobilised student and wives’ organisations on 10 June to celebrate Time Day (Shi-ŭi kinyŏmil) (Yi 2008: 147). As it brought together these organisations for a range of activities, newspapers reminded citizens of the importance of the event, which celebrated the introduction of a water clock by Emperor Tenji (626–672) on that day in 671. In Japan, some politicians opposed the idea, arguing that since no one was unaware of the importance of time, the efforts ought to be directed towards improving a range of public services instead (see The Japan Times, 14 June 1920: 5) A column in the English-language The Japan Times in 1928 explains that the celebration of the day in Japan recognised that the problem of tardiness continued to exist in Japan proper:

The word “Japanese time”, which is commonly used among some foreign people and those Japanese who have been in foreign countries, means that Japanese people in general do not keep time punctually, which is indeed true. This peculiar habit has been causing a tremendous loss to the nation, especially in these busy days of industrial and commercial activities. In the face of this shameful habit of the nation it is absolutely necessary to place great importance on the movement for observance of “Time” Day.

(The Japan Times, 10 June 1928: 5)⁹

At least from 1924 onwards a range of activities on the Korean peninsula marked Time Day (see Tonga Ilbo, 12 June 1927: 4; Maeil Shinbo, 9 June 1932: 3; 11 June 1932: 3). At first, these activities largely entailed temples and churches sounding their drum or bell at noon. Later, in 1937, the Seoul fire station sounded its alarm at six o’ clock in the morning and afternoon, and at noon, for three minutes each. Presumably because the early hour of this celebration stirred up the wrong sentiment, in 1939 and 1940, when factories and companies took to sounding their sirens on the day, the start of their three-minute alarms was pushed back twice, to respectively seven and then eight o’ clock in the morning (see Tonga Ilbo, 10 June 1924: 3; 9 June 1927: 4; Maeil Shinbo, 10 June 1937: 3; 11 June 1938: 2; Tonga Ilbo, 7 June 1939: 2; 10 June 1940: 4).¹⁰ In addition, the Seoul Radio Station typically broadcast a special programme dedicated to time, free clock service points were set up in the centre of Seoul, and in 1938 a large demountable clock tower was erected in front of the Government-General Building (Tonga Ilbo, 8 June 1932: 2, 10 June 1937: 8, 11 June 1938: 2).¹¹ In promoting the day, the government mouthpiece Maeil Shinbo used slogans such as shigan-ŭn kŭmida (time is gold), shi-wa shigye-rŭl saranghashipshiyo (love time and clocks), shigan-ŭl chik’ija (let’s be punctual), and shigye-rŭl parŭge match’uja (let’s set our watches correctly) (Ch’oe 2008: 16; Oh 2008: 178–179; see also Tonga Ilbo, 6 June 1931: 3, 11 June 1939: 2; Maeil Shinbo, 10 June 1935: 3, 10 June 1937: 3; Pusan Ilbo, 10 June 1936: 3).

The ever-increasing penetration of capitalist practices acted as powerful propaganda for conformity. Due to their strong association with Western culture and a cosmopolitan lifestyle, timetables and timekeeping instruments served as symbols of mode...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• List of figures
• Notes on contributors
• Acknowledgements
• Notes on romanisation and names
• Introduction: popular culture and the transformation of Japan–Korea relations
• PART I: Transforming Japan–Korea relations in everyday practice
• PART II: Reimagining Japan–Korea relations in film
• PART III: Japan–Korea relations and popular culture manipulations
• PART IV: Japan–Korea relations and popular culture engagement
• Index