Finding Empire in the 1922 Malaya Borneo Exhibition and British Malaya in the 1924 British Empire Exhibition

by 波山

The Western exhibition of the Cairene, according to Mitchell, was defined by an “objectness of the Orient, as a picture-reality containing no sign of the increasingly pervasive European presence required that the presence itself.”1 While a key plank to Mitchell’s heuristic for explaining the particularity of the Western “exhibition” was the reflexive nature of Arabic sources, I ask if an exhibition’s location matters at all. By comparing the 1922 Malaya Borneo Exhibition in Singapore and the 1924 British Empire Exhibition at Wembley, I argue the importance of colonial power relations that undergirded both exhibitions about “British Malaya”. Indeed, both led to ironic results: the former in terms of Singapore’s spatial realities and the latter in terms of the attempt to artificially engender the “kampung.” I conclude by demonstrating the lasting consequences of spatial representation in post-colonial societies.

The 1922 Exhibition was the brainchild of colonial administrators’ attempt to stimulate local trade. Held in Singapore from 31 March to 17 April 1922, it did so by portraying a singular, Malayan unity, especially under the eyes of the visiting Prince of Wales.2 Unlike previous exhibitions where Malay states were represented individually,3 the plurality of groups on display necessitated coordination with a gamut of organisers for the sprawl of “Sulu and Dyak dances, mak yong and menora dance forms from Kelantan, boria theatre from Penang, mek mulung theatre and wayang kulit shadow play from Kedah, regimental band music and even a Tamil fire dance.”2 Furthermore, the fair contained a “small model village” full of “real” Dayak and Murat representations “dressed in leopard-skin and full headdress.” Ironically, while undermining a “single Malaya”, the Exhibition was a success for private commerce built on the essentialisation of the “reality” of tribes from the Malay Archipelago. That the sight surprised visitors (urban Singaporeans) offered the most ironic demonstration of the simultaneous premises of “authenticity” and “distinctiveness” of the Dayak vis-a-vis urban Singaporean. Yet, under a colonial structure, they were hierarchically the same under the imperial gaze toward “Malaya Borneo.”

Two years later, the British Empire Exhibition in 1924-5 at Wembley articulated this vision more clearly by parading British Malaya (comprising Malaya Borneo, but decidedly not named as such) along other “trophies of empire.”4 Curiously, this naming discrepancy was rendered even more ironic since the British Rajah of Sarawak declined a collective showing under the Malayan banner to the chagrin of Andrew Caldecott.5 Of course, the actuality of “British Malaya” was a collection of Brunei, the Federated Malay States, the Unfederated Malay States and the Straits Settlements – each of which constituted a plethora of political and ethnic entities. Almost as a refraction of the metropole’s view of Malaya, The Times’ supplement on 23 April 1924 celebrated its “wonderful natural resources of a rich tropical country,” as spatialised by “adapted Musulman architecture.” The Times’ details of the Malayan Pavilion at Wembley were reproduced in Singapore via The Straits Times, emphasising to its readers the recreation of Malaya’s “tropical locale.”6 For the British visitor, “twenty Malayan artisans and attendants” that comprised “weavers, silversmiths, geological assistants… and carpenter to attend to the different sections” were housed in a “fenced kampong” at the rear of the building. The Pavilion eminently contained characteristics of the textbook “Exhibition” insofar as onlookers consumed “picture-as-reality,” unaware of its artificiality. Finally, it was morbidly replete with the irony of an alleged death of Halimah bte Abdullah due to the “kampung” conditions she was subject to.7

Both exhibitions, characterised by different ironies, yielded appalling evidence of Malaya’s imperial worth: its tin and its islands. Yet, both exhibitions were spatialised in radically different ways. In 1924, British visitors at Wembley went away with an identification of British Malaya in terms of “Moorish-Arabesque” (Figure 1) architecture. Yet, one surviving picture of the 1922 Singapore exhibition (Figure 2) shows no such instance of such architecture in precisely a constituent location of British Malaya, rendering the irony of exhibition as “reality” even more jarring. The second irony for this is the historical transmission of Indo-Islamic architecture. Indo-Islamic, or Indo-Saracenic, was a style brought out of British India and across empire by British architects after they had worked in or visited India.8

Figure 1 – the Indo-Islamic Style, associated with Malaysia, was brought out of British India by colonial architects

Figure 2 – https://biblioasia.nlb.gov.sg/vol-17/issue-3/oct-dec-2021/prewarphotography/

The historical, spatial irony of the Indo-Islamic remain spatially poignant today. On one level, tourist-facing resources slap this designation of “modern Arab” or “Moorish” architecture onto Masjid Sultan in Singapore. While the Mosque was originally built by Sultan Hussein Shah himself in 1823 like early mosques in the Malay Archipelago, the colonial architect Denis Santry in 1924 spearheaded an Indo-Islamic rejuvenation of the Mosque, in spite of the “presence of Arab, Indian, Tamil, Bugis, local Malay and Javanese representatives in the mosque committee.”9 Beyond the visitor’s gaze, the Mosque’s iconic architecture10 today has been cast as a foremost symbol of ethnic and racial pluralism in Singapore by the state and by Singaporeans. Near the Mosque is the Sultan’s previous residence, which had been acquired by the government in 1999 for the construction of the Malay Heritage Centre.11 Finally, this symbolism has been refracted outward into foreign relations. The street on which the mosque is situated – Muscat Street – hosts 8 metre-high granite arches displaying ornate Omani carvings, murals that were painted by Omani artists and tiles that were specially selected and imported from Oman.12 Plaques underneath the arches memorialise, in Arabic and English, the street’s redevelopment as a collaborative project between Singapore’s Urban Redevelopment Authority and Oman’s Muscat Municipality in 2012.

Having first demonstrated the ease with which one can problematise two colonial representations of reality, this post has then focused on the far-reaching implications of spatial representation. As the history of Indo-Islamic architecture indicates, what is far more deserving of academic attention is the ease with which memory and spatial representations travel. Embedded within these transmissions is the often ironic role of colonialist and imperialist power structures.

  1. Timothy Mitchell, “The World as Exhibition”. Comparative Studies in Society and History 31, no. 2 (1989): p. 228. [↩]
  2. https://biblioasia.nlb.gov.sg/vol-17/issue-3/oct-dec-2021/prewarphotography/ [↩] [↩]
  3. Jesse O’Neill. ‘Reorienting Identities at the Imperial Fairground: British Malaya and North Borneo’, Design History Society Conference 2019: The Cost of Design, 5–7 September 2019, Northumbria University, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, UK. [↩]
  4. Chee Kien Lai, “Concrete/Concentric Nationalism: The Architecture of Independence in Malaysia, 1945-1969” (PhD Thesis, University of California, Berkeley, 2005), pp. 124, 129-145 [↩]
  5. Assisting Secretary to the Federation government, and chief of the Malayan and Bornean exhibits. O’Neill, ‘Reorienting Identities at the Imperial Fairground’, p. 5 [↩]
  6. Lai, pp. 143-45. [↩]
  7. Ibid. [↩]
  8. Lai, p. 109. [↩]
  9. Lai, p. 110. [↩]
  10. https://www.sg101.gov.sg/resources/connexionsg/sultanmosque/ [↩]
  11. https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/politics/budget-debate-istana-to-be-restored-malay-heritage-centre-redeveloped [↩]
  12. See: https://www.mfa.gov.sg/Newsroom/Announcements-and-Highlights/2017/12/Muscat-Street [↩]

Human rights, a symbol for a new Taiwan

by Chim Lạc

Taiwan, officially known as the Republic of China (ROC) is a semi-recognised sovereign state with an independent government but limited recognition state in East Asia with only 11 UN member states recognising it by the time of writing.1 Even though the name China appears on the name of Taiwan, the Taiwanese residents today, especially the younger generation see themselves as ‘Taiwanese’ rather than ‘Chinese’ despite the ROC being a remnant of the Chinese Civil War from 1945 to 1949 where the ruling Nationalist party (KMT) lost and established a rival government to the Communists (CCP).2 To understand this phenomenon of Taiwanese identity shift, this blog will explore the two sites managed by the National Human Rights Museum established in 2018. This blog argues that the construction of human rights-themed museums builds onto the Taiwanese identity to showcase to the outside world that they are different from authoritarian Mainland China as an indirect form of protest against the ‘Chinese’ identity being forced upon Taiwanese residents. The blog will start by contextualising the argument through a brief account of the recent history of Taiwan. Next, the Green Island Memorial managed by the National Human Rights Museum will be analysed. Finally,  a concise comparison of the museum with the Japan-British exhibition will be used as a discussion of the theme of museums and exhibits.

Taiwan or Formosa is an island located off the coast of Fujian, China separated by the Taiwan Strait. From 1895 to 1945, as a result of the Qing defeat in the First Sino-Japanese War, Taiwan became a colony of the Japanese Empire, seeing industrialisation and exploitation of Taiwanese resources for the Japanese war effort.3 In 1945 at the onset of the surrender of the Japanese, Taiwan was to become under the administration of the ROC, which at the time controlled Mainland China as well. However, with the onslaught of the Chinese Civil War and the defeat of the KMT under Chaing Kai-shek at the hands of the CCP led by Mao Zedong, the KMT established their government in Taipei, with the goal of eventually reconquering the Mainland.4 Under KMT rule until 1989, forms of opposition or suspicion of being communist spies were a target for arrests and execution, and any form of Taiwanese separatism, speaking Taiwanese Hokkien or praising the Japanese were seen as treason and a breach of national security reinforced by Martial Law.5 This policy was in line with the KMT policy to instil a sense of Chinese identity in the Taiwanese population to eventually retake the Mainland, and to promote itself as the ‘true China’. Fast forward to 1987, Taiwan lifted Martial Law and free elections were held, causing Taiwan to flourish as a young democracy.6 This has allowed for a broader room of discussion for topics that used to be banned such as Taiwanese identity, democracy, human rights, and free speech. This democratising environment eventually culminated in the 2000 presidential election of Chen-Shui-bian of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), which promote a Taiwanese identity distinct from the Chinese-centric KMT, hence marking a shift in Taiwan’s history.7 Since 2000, Taiwan has become an established democracy with the KMT and DPP constantly vying for power with some notable cases of brawling in the Legislative Yuan (Taiwan’s parliament). 

Under DPP administrations, the government has pushed for the introduction of liberal values that distanced itself from China. The promotion of human rights is a major policy for the Taiwanese government. The DPP administrations under Chen-Shui-bian (2000-2008) and Tsai Ing-wen (2016-2023) have pushed for a Taiwanese-centered identity which aimed to promote a Taiwan-centered society and de-Sinicise the education system.8 The establishment of the National Human Rights Museum in 2017 was a milestone in Taiwan’s quest to distance itself from an ever-aggressive China. According to the museum’s official website, it took over 15 years of donations from organisations and countless legislative obstacles to establish the museum managing two former sites used to imprison KMT political opponents to educate the public about the importance of freedom and reflecting on past mistakes. ( (https://www.nhrm.gov.tw/w/nhrm/Introduction )) This demonstrates how the Taiwanese government under the DPP tried to establish former spaces of oppression to promote new Taiwanese values. I believe this was done to counter the growing assertiveness of the Chinese government in claiming Taiwan for itself.

The Green Island Human Rights Park was a former prison used to imprison political opponents during the Martial Law era and is now a museum site under the administration of the National Human Rights Museum. Located in Taitung prefecture on the east coast of the island, this 32 acre site used to be a former prison that housed activists who challenged the government.9 By turning the site into a museum that commemorated the victims of the KMT regime, it demonstrates a power shift. Under the DPP administration, the KMT past, especially the era under Martial Law was seen as a period where innocent Taiwanese were imprisoned because of promoting free speech created a new discourse that the KMT and China were foreign invaders of Taiwan and were not native to the land. This shows how the DPP is attempting to construct a discourse of Taiwanese identity that aims to distance itself from China in light of the heightened tensions across the Taiwan Strait. As China is increasing its crackdown on human rights and individual freedoms, Taiwan sees itself as the bastion of freedom against the communist regime across the Straits. By coming to terms with the past human rights abuses and promoting a sense of Taiwanese identity, this museum exhibit aims to educate the public that human rights is an important aspect of post-Martial Law Taiwan. By directly turning a former site of political oppression into a site that educates the public on values of democracy, it demonstrates that the government under the DPP is attempting to create a discourse that the past KMT-centered government is responsible for numerous atrocities and that the Taiwanese identity is central to a new discourse. This showcases how the DPP aims to construct that the new Taiwan was born under the abandonment of the China-centric approach by the KMT, solidifying the political narrative. With museums, it is an effective measure to promote to the public as it uses summarised and condensed narratives on how particular political progress is achieved.

In comparison to the Japan-British Exhibition of 1910, the transformation of the Green Island Museum draws parallels. The Japan-British Exhibition of 1910 aimed to promote Japan’s imperialism and justify having an empire over territories like Taiwan and Korea whereas the Taiwan one aimed to promote human rights as part of national identity construction.10 Similar to how the Japanese wanted to project their empire to the West, the Taiwanese aimed to use the human rights museums to promote that they are in line with the West in democracy against the authoritarian China much like how the Japanese did 100 years ago. In short, although there is a 100 year gap between my elective reading and the example used in this elective reading, fitting in with Western values often signify a sign of civilisation, in which colonised populations hope to achieve and become a part of it.

 

  1. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-67978185 [↩]
  2. https://tw.news.yahoo.com/%E6%B0%91%E8%AA%BF-76-7-%E8%87%AA%E8%AA%8D%E6%98%AF%E5%8F%B0%E7%81%A3%E4%BA%BA-%E4%B8%AD%E5%9C%8B%E8%AA%8D%E5%90%8C%E5%B7%B2%E7%B6%93%E5%80%8B%E4%BD%8D%E6%95%B8-044006112.html?guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAMa3tYOVvzOCVYWYQfcdY3JVR-V-tDwjxGpcmLNCusfFh3acFRPJnKI5hcA0YdS4FewkhElwHzleI0hXC2-GpoAqhJot16047_x8OV8yv60InDnCCx9klHRCio-zR7lo2ARrRFLe1ectntl9KfRXnPIDxrR2mlNEwNAhxYR8jAVQ [↩]
  3. Dawley, Evan Becoming Taiwanese: Ethnogenesis in a Colonial City 1880s-1950s  [↩]
  4. Manthorpe, Jonathan, Taiwan: Forbidden nation  [↩]
  5. TIEN, HUNG-MAO, and CHYUAN-JENG SHIAU. “Taiwan’s Democratization: A Summary.” World Affairs, vol. 155, no. 2, 1992, pp. 58–61. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20672340. Accessed 4 Feb. 2024. [↩]
  6. TIEN, H.-M., & SHIAU, C.-J. (1992). Taiwan’s Democratization: A Summary. World Affairs, 155(2), 58–61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20672340 [↩]
  7. CHANG, BI-YU. “From Taiwanisation to De-Sinification: Culture Construction in Taiwan since the 1990s.” China Perspectives, no. 56, 2004, pp. 34–44. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24051939. Accessed 4 Feb. 2024. [↩]
  8. https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2023/12/29/taiwan-questions-the-role-of-chinese-literature-and-history-in-education_6384023_4.html [↩]
  9. https://www.nhrm.gov.tw/w/nhrm/GI_History [↩]
  10. Hotta-Lister, A. The Japan-British Exhibition of 1910: Gateway to the Island Empire of the East. 1 edition. Richmond: Routledge, 1999. [↩]

Victoria Park: A caricature of Hong Kong’s difficult history and conflicting values

by Chim Lạc

Hong Kong has been known to many as the financial hub and gateway to the East with its vibrant culture and food scene earning the nickname ‘Pearl of the Orient’. Under this guise, however, few in the West are unaware of the complex history of this place which Western values come into play with traditional Chinese family values and how 156 years of British rule created a sense of identity that comes into conflict with that of its behemoth sovereign China.1 Instead of focusing on the political aspect of Hong Kong which newspapers and scholars do a much better job at, I will take a look at Victoria Park, the second largest public park and green space in Hong Kong by land area and how its existence captures the conflicting values of Hong Kong discretely. I argue that the statue and this large space is representative of how Hong Kong’s complex interactions with China and the West created and destroyed certain values like free speech and it also acts as a ground of cultural representation for its secondary function. The park will be compared to the Sanam Luang (Royal Field) in Bangkok at the end.

The park was built on reclaimed land from the Causeway Bay typhoon shelter and was so named Victoria Park because of a statue of Queen Victoria. The bronze statue of Queen Victoria was originally built to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee in 1897 and was located in Statue Square in Central, a 7-minute metro ride away. During the Second World War, the statue was stolen by the Japanese to make way for arms production. It was not until the 50s that the statue was recovered and coincidentally, the area around the old Causeway Bay typhoon shelter has been reclaimed and it was decided that a park was to be built on the reclaimed land measuring 19 acres. The park was to be named Victoria Park because of the statue.2

 

Figure 1: Aerial overview of Victoria Park

The statue of Queen Victoria, symbolising British control over Hong Kong was smeared with red paint and the nose was broken one year prior to Hong Kong’s handover in 1996 by an artist who criticised Hong Kong’s colonial art culture.3 The colour red is significant because in colonial Hong Kong discourse, the colour red is associated with communism or the mainland’s government in general, with it being especially sensitive in the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre. Coincidentally, since 1989 until the enactment of the National Security Law in 2020, every year on June 4th, hundreds of thousands of individuals will gather to commemorate the victims slaughtered by the Chinese government through candlelight vigils as in China it is a banned topic.4 The gathering of the masses in a park with the name of the British monarch showcases an act of resistance by local Hong Kong activists to demonstrate that they cherish the values of democracy and freedom which does not sit well with the Chinese government.

With the Chinese government wanting to increase its grip on Hong Kong, it chose to assault what Hong Kongers cherished the most, open expression of a sense of identity. The park signified resistance in the form of an annual tradition, being featured on international outlets like the BBC and CNN. By using the pandemic as a pretext, the six football pitches where individuals used to gather have been cordoned off by the police in 2021 and 2022 showcasing how the Chinese authorities have been increasingly clamping down on Hong Kong in recent years.5 In June 2023, a patriotic fair that sold Chinese goods and promoted Chinese peace and values was set up in the place of the vigil according to a report from Radio Free Asia.6 This clearly shows a power shift and an overarching power of the Chinese authorities over the former established institutions as the Queen’s statue has faded into the background. In other words, the value of spaces changes over time and is synonymous with power dynamics and in the case of Victoria Park, it signifies the value of authoritarianism crushing civil liberties. It further aligns with the Chinese government’s vision of making Hong Kong ‘Chinese’.

For its secondary function, the park is a place for recreation and symbolises the livelihood of Hong Kong, an escape from the hustle and bustle of the city. Having six football pitches, six basketball courts, an Olympic-standard indoor swimming pool, a tennis stadium, a jogging track and a picnic ground, it has abundant space for individuals to stay healthy and enjoy socialising.2 I remember going to swimming classes with my secondary school during the summer term for Physical Education (PE) classes and the park seems so tranquil whenever I go there, a great escape from the city.

Sanam Luang in Bangkok plays a symbolic role like Victoria Park. As Sanam Luang is a large open field located near the Royal Palace and a major Buddhist temple, the use of the space by groups like monarchists and protesters signifies the vibrant nature of different voices in Thailand.7 By hosting royal funerals and being near the palace, it demonstrates a power line that the monarch remains the most important figure within Thai society and the lese majeste laws that forbid slandering the monarch compliments the ‘peace’ of Sanam Luang. This draws parallels to how the Security Law creates a sense of ‘peace’ as opposed to the protests towards the Chinese government prior to the law.

In conclusion, the use of parks and open spaces alongside legislation showcases how certain authorities try to use space as an expression of power or enforce new values upon the population.

  1. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/hong-kong-history-explain-relationship-china [↩]
  2. https://www.discoverhongkong.com/tc/explore/great-outdoor/urban-retreat-at-city-parks.html [↩] [↩]
  3. https://web.archive.org/web/20150924101554/http://www.scmp.com/article/180291/queen-victoria-has-successful-nose-job [↩]
  4. https://www.bbc.com/zhongwen/trad/chinese-news-48511746 [↩]
  5. https://edition.cnn.com/2022/06/03/asia/hong-kong-june-4-tiananmen-nsl-intl-mic-hnk/index.htmlOutside of its political functions, the park captures the livelihood of Hong Kong. [↩]
  6. https://www.rfa.org/cantonese/news/htm/hk-fair-06042023104236.html [↩]
  7. Chalana, Manish, ed. Messy Urbanism: Understanding the “Other” Cities of Asia. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017. Ch 5 The Royal Field (Sanam Luang): Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest [↩]

The Garden of Ten Thousand Animals: Beijing’s First Public Park

by 三足烏

In 1906, a delegation of court officials returned to Beijing from Germany with a host of exotic animals. The lions, tigers, zebras, and elephants they brought back were placed on imperial land, and thus the Garden of Ten Thousand Animals, or Wanshangyuen, was born. Two years later, it would open to the public, charging sixteen coppers for adults and eight for children.1 While this was an unprecedented space in China, similar zoological parks had been present in Asia since the mid-nineteenth century. The first was established in Batavia in 1864 and another followed soon after in Singapore in 1875.2 However, though they were superficially similar spaces to the Wanshengyuen, Beijing’s zoological park took on extra cultural meaning due to the historical context it arose in. While the Singapore and Batavia zoos existed within a colonial framework and thus served to perpetuate the existing colonial regime, the Wanshengyuan was used as a tool to herald a new urban age for Beijing.

Figure 1: Map of Beijing 19033

The Wanshengyuan was located just outside the walls to the Inner City, built on land which had previously held two imperial temples and their gardens. This space is visible in Figure 1 in the top left corner, labelled “Garten der Wohltätigkeit”. Since the fourteenth century, the city of Beijing had followed strict spatial delineations, with concentric walled segments dividing people by class and status.  The Forbidden City was the home of the emperors: the centre of Beijing and, metaphorically, the universe. Here, open spaces were prevalent, in the gardens and courtyards of temples and palaces. As one moved outwards into the Imperial City, which housed high ranking imperial officers, the Inner City, occupied by bannermen and other officials, and finally the Outer city, the availability of open space gradually decreased.4 Open space thus was a marker of status and inextricably linked to the imperial house. The foundation of the Wanshengyuan and the creation of a public space on formerly imperial and temple grounds, was radical. Much like the Singapore zoo, it attracted non-elite members of society to marvel at its animals.5 However, in Beijing this held extra weight, due to the pre-existing norms and connotations of open space. Though most visitors were of the middle class, it was still a significant reshuffling of the status quo.6

Figure 2: The Experimental Agricultural Complex7

As Mingzheng Shi suggests, the Wanshangyuen was a spatial representation of the growth of the public sphere in early republican China.8 Prior to the nineteenth century menageries had been the sole purview of rulers and the wealthy. They were private celebrations of the control exercised by the privileged over the natural world. Animals in Beijing’s menageries were often used in imperial rituals such as the Royal Ploughing Ceremony or the Spring and and Autumn Royal Hunting Ceremonies.9 A zoological park open to the public, however, had different connotations. It was a message that a government could provide for its citizens, an image the early republican Chinese government wished to pursue.10 Much like the zoo in Batavia and Singapore, the Wanshengyuen was attached to a Botanical Garden and various research facilities. In Figure 2 we can see the complex in which the Wanshengyuen (A) was housed, as well as various experimental agriculture beds, a museum (D), and sericulture hall (C). However, unlike the colonial institutions, the Wanshengyuen inherently appealed to the common citizen given its novel place in Beijing’s spatial culture. Thus, the Wanshengyuen could be connected to a wider project of research intended to improve the lives of all citizens, unlike the zoos in Batavia and Singapore which were seen more as colonial tools.

The Wanshengyuan is an interesting case study into the ways parks could be used by governments in different Asian contexts. While the zoological gardens of Singapore were certainly seen by the public as a symbol of modernity, as they bemoaned the absence of such a symbol in their city once it had been closed, that was never its purpose for the colonial government.11 Rather it was an extension of the botanical gardens projection of colonial control and power, self-aggrandizing rather than communally uplifting. The Wanshengyuen, on the other hand, was used by the early republican government to show that they were abandoning the exclusionist policies of the past and emphasising public welfare.10 As such, though the Wanshengyuen was perhaps spatially similar to previous zoological parks in Asia, it was in fact a culturally distinct entity.

  1. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 229. [↩]
  2. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 85. [↩]
  3. Peking – Contagion – CURIOSity Digital Collections (harvard.edu) [↩]
  4. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 220. [↩]
  5. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 96. [↩]
  6. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 250. [↩]
  7. Xin Shixue, “From Imperial Menageries to Public Zoological Garden: Captive Wild Animals at the Qing Court”, New History 29:1 (2018), p. 24. [↩]
  8. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998). [↩]
  9. Xin Shixue, “From Imperial Menageries to Public Zoological Garden: Captive Wild Animals at the Qing Court”, New History 29:1 (2018). [↩]
  10. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 233. [↩] [↩]
  11. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 111. [↩]

Five pavilions in Jingshan Park, Beijing: The absence of special items forges the national sentiment and shapes collective historical memory

by Cenderawasih

Jingshan Park in Beijing is located next to the Forbidden city. (Figure 1) For many years, this park has been imperial and not opened to the public until 1928. Like many other imperial places, the park was invaded and destroyed when foreign troops entered Beijing in the late imperial period. This blog will refer to a tour guide article published in 2012 on a local Chinese tourism website, to discuss the impact of historical traumas on the park’s architecture, asserting that despite the foreign invasion caused severe architectural destruction, a deliberate decision by the government for not restoring some Buddha statues within the traditional pavilions in Jingshan Park can further cultivate national sentiment. By selectively choosing which historical aspects to restore, the government intends to shape collective memory and crafting a shared narrative that resonates with the broader populace.

Figure 1. Map of Jingshan Park and the Forbidden city

According to the website’s article, Jingshan Park has five traditional pavilions, each housing a copper Buddha statue representing one of the five tastes: sour, bitter, sweet, acrid, and salt.1 Regrettably, during the siege of the international legations in 1900, foreign soldiers removed four of these statues,2 directly compromising the integrity of the five tastes. There was only one statue in Wanchun Pavilion (Figure 2.) being preserved.

Figure 2. Wanchun Pavillion

Although this statue was preserved during the 1900 event, it was completely destroyed during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s when fervent individuals destroyed all Buddhist-related objects within the park.3 The removal of the first four statues symbolises the traumatic loss of Chinese traditional treasures due to Western powers, while the destruction of the second one mirrors the upheaval within Chinese society during the Cultural Revolution. Notably, the government’s response to these losses diverges. The Buddha statue, destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, was restored in 1998, signifying a commitment to reclaiming historical heritage. However, a proposal by Li Yuling in 2006 to restore the remaining four statues was rejected during the conference.4 This discrepancy in handling restoration projects reflects the government’s selective emphasis on historical narratives. Likely, the website does not mention the destruction of the statue in Wanchun Pavilion during the Cultural Revolution, underscoring the nuanced ways historical narratives are presented.

The historical narratives surrounding Jingshan Park reveal a discernible selectivity on the website, omitting certain facts and focusing on specific aspects. The absence of the four statues connected to the foreign invasion serves as a poignant reminder of a national tragedy inflicted by the West. Their non-restoration perpetuates a historical memory of loss, casting a shadow that lingers with visitors. The enduring pain of losing these traditional artifacts persists, leaving an impact on those who visit the remaining four pavilions. In contrast, the statue in Wanchun Pavilion, tied to internal chaos, underwent restoration in 1998. This act of restoration seeks to efface the traces of its destruction and erase the memory of violent actions carried out by the Chinese themselves. These selective restoration projects reflect the government’s effort to reshape historical narratives selectively. It brings to mind Zheng Wang’s book, Never Forget National Humiliation, where he introduces a concept of the Choseness-Myths-Trauma complex. He suggests that the government strategically select certain historical events to construct a chosen historical memory, invoking national sentiment.5 The revived statue in Wanchun Pavilion, distinct from the four forever-lost statues from the foreign occupation, symbolises the enduring Chinese tradition and spirit despite the challenges posed by Western invasion. It stands as a carefully chosen memorial object, contributing to the construction of a resilient national identity.

In this week’s elective reading on Taiwan park, the author highlights the replacement of Kodama Gentaro and Goto Shinpei’s statues with those of Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek, claiming it demonstrates another type of ‘colonial’ occupation and changing political landscapes.6 This blog asserts that beyond the visual impact of statues, the absence of traditional objects in specific spaces can significantly contribute to shaping national sentiment and moulding selective historical memory. It posits that not only do specific historical events construct national sentiment, but the simultaneous presence and absence of exhibit items in historical spaces can also influence historical interpretations, directing the emphasis on sentiment and memory.

Figure 3. The restored Buddha statue in Wanchun Pavilion

Figure 4. Russian Occupation of Jingshan Park, 1900

 

Bibliography

Primary Sources

‘Jingshan Park’, Travel China Guide, March 2012, < https://www.travelchinaguide.com/attraction/beijing/jingshan.htm> [accessed 29 January 2024].

Secondary Sources

Allen, Joseph R, ‘Taipei Park: Signs of Occupation’, The Journal of Asian Studies 66: 1 (2007), pp. 159–199, <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0021911807000010> [accessed 29 January 2024].

“Jingshan Gongyuan de Wuzuo Tingzi” 景山公园的五座亭子, Beijingshi Renming Zhengfu 北京市人民政府(2017), https://www.beijing.gov.cn/renwen/jrbj/sjc/201703/t20170309_1874497.html.

“Luoshi Huifu Jingshan Wuting Lishiyuanmao Zhengxietian Jiaoliuhui Zaijingjuxing” 落实恢复景山五亭历史原貌政协提案交流会在京举行, Fojiao Zaxian (2006), https://web.archive.org/web/20140106033017/http://news.fjnet.com/jjdt/jjdtnr/200605/t20060524_26414.htm.

Wang, Zheng, Never forget national humiliation: Historical memory in Chinese politics and foreign relations (New York, 2014).

  1. ‘Jingshan Park’, Travel China Guide, March 2012, <https://www.travelchinaguide.com/attraction/beijing/jingshan.htm> [accessed 29 January 2024]. [↩]
  2. ‘Jingshan Park’. [↩]
  3. “Jingshan Gongyuan de Wuzuotingzi” 景山公园的五座亭子, Beijingshi Reming Zhengfu 北京市人民政府(2017), https://www.beijing.gov.cn/renwen/jrbj/sjc/201703/t20170309_1874497.html. [↩]
  4. “Luoshi Huifu Jingshan Wuting Lishiyuanmao Zhengxietian Jiaoliuhui Zaijingjuxing” 落实恢复景山五亭历史原貌政协提案交流会在京举行, Fojiao Zaxian (2006), https://web.archive.org/web/20140106033017/http://news.fjnet.com/jjdt/jjdtnr/200605/t20060524_26414.htm. [↩]
  5. Zheng Wang, Never Forget National Humiliation: Historical Memory in Chinese Politics and Foreign Relations (New York, 2014), p. 39. [↩]
  6. Joseph R. Allen, ‘Taipei Park: Signs of Occupation’, The Journal of Asian Studies 66: 1 (2007), p. 177, <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0021911807000010> [accessed 29 January 2024]. [↩]

The Padang: A Living Chronicle – Unveiling Layers of History Through Urban Palimpsest

by 인면조

Koompong Noobanjong’s chapter ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang): Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ offers a compelling lens through which one can unravel the historical layers of a specific space. This exploration of Sanam Luang as a polysemic urban palimpsest serves as a valuable framework that can be applied to unravel and comprehend the historical tapestry of another iconic space – Singapore’s Padang. From functioning as a cricket ground to becoming the location of pivotal moments in wartime history and national independence, the Padang stands as a silent witness to the evolution of Singapore’s social fabric since its establishment in 1822.1

The Padang, a lush expanse nestled in the heart of Singapore, transcends its physical limits because it is an iconic feature, which now belongs to the Singapore Cricket Club (SCC) which was founded in 1852. This site has metamorphosed from a cricket field – a relic of British colonial influence – to become a multifunctional space, encapsulating the essence of Singapore’s societal shifts. Noobanjong’s spatial analysis theory invites us to delve into the layers beneath the greenery to uncover moments of historical significance.

Noobanjong’s unfurls a captivating tapestry where coexistence, convergence, contradiction and contestation seamlessly interweave.2 This is more than just a physical space. Noobanjong showcases how Sanam Luang became a manifestation of royal authority, an expression of military ambitions, and a symbol of the people’s struggle for civil empowerment, liberty, equality, national unity and modern polity.3 Translating this lens onto the Padang, one can witness a similar narrative unfolding – a narrative brought to life by figure 1. This painting serves not just as a visual representation but as a tool for theorising, thematising and contextualising the ‘messiness’ of Singapore’s Padang.4

Figure 1. The Esplanade from Scandal Point (1851). A painting by John Turnbull Thompson, the first Governor Surveyor of Singapore.5

Figure 1, The Esplanade from Scandal Point (1851) is a painting by John Turnbull Thompson which records what the Padang would have looked like during British colonial rule. While the commissioner and the purpose behind the painting remains unknown, the essence of the Padang is vividly portrayed. The artwork underscores the Padang’s ability to adapt and accommodate diverse recreational activities, serving as a communal space for various ethnic groups. This suggests that the Padang stood at the heart of social life in the 19th century, embodying an idyllic vision of multicultural harmony in Singapore. It functioned as a space where different ethnic groups could promenade or exercise. The image captures the versatility of the Padang highlighting the space’s role as a dynamic and inclusive space.

Moreover, the image conveys the imposition of European culture. This is evident in the portrayal of Europeans positioned on an elevated plane, either on horseback or in horse-drawn carriages. In contrast, Asians are predominantly depicted standing or seated on the field. The viewer’s eye is drawn to the two figures adorned in white clothing, symbolising a stark juxtaposition between the dominant European presence and the Asian subjects in the scene.

A curious and inexplicable aspect of the painting lies in the ghost-like figures in the background. The absence of contextual information leaves room for speculation on how these figures were intended to be viewed. Metaphorically, these figures serve as a poignant reminder of the Padang’s status as a palimpsest. The faded figures evoke the idea that the Padang carries echoes of countless historical moments, akin to the layers of paint on canvas. This serves as a poignant reminder of the Padang’s enduring significance, weaving itself into the fabric of Singapore’s narrative across time.

Indeed, the Padang has played a pivotal role in manifesting and legitimising ruling authority. Its origins as a cricket ground during British imperial rule cemented its place as a colonial playground. Over the years, the Padang’s emergence as Singapore’s most important colonial civic space was organic as it also functioned as a location for many state ceremonies, military parades and national events. One of the earliest ceremonies to take place was the firing of the salute by the artillery in 1824 to commemorates King George IV’s birthday.6

The theory of urban palimpsest helps to articulate the Padang as a contested space. Although figure 1 is an idyllic representation, the Padang has also been witnessed to the imprint of various political happenings. Indeed, it became the site for the display of Japanese imperial power when the Padang became an assembly ground to hold and interrogate the European population (civilians and prisoners of war) before marching them off to internment camps in Changi and Katong.7 Moreover from colonial demonstrations – such as the Maria Hertogh riots in 1950 – to post-independence rallies, the Padang has absorbed the imprints of diverse identities and struggles, making it a canvas where historical narratives overlap, contradict and coexist.8

More recently, the Padang has had an important historic function since it was the site where Prime Minister Lee unilaterally declared Singapore’s independence in 1963.  Clearly. it has been the centre of key historic milestones and has now become a symbol of national pride and unity.

Together, this narrative suggests that places are prodigious historical recorders. The Padang, with its amalgamation of forms and meanings across historical epochs, serves as a narrator of Singapore’s human legacies. Viewing the Padang through the lens of an urban palimpsest reveals a nuanced and comprehensive understanding of space in Singapore. Much like Bangkok’s Sanam Luang, the Padang encapsulates the totality of Singaporean society, embodying continuity and change, political struggles, diverse cultural expressions and ultimately unity. It stands as a resilient urban palimpsest, inviting us to decode its multifaceted meanings and appreciate the dynamic interplay of Singapore’s past and present.

Overall, Noobanjong’s spatial anaylsis acts as a guiding tool, inviting the readership to appreciate how urban spaces encapsulate the ebb and flow of societal narratives. As one traverse the Padang, it becomes apparent that you are not merely treading on grass, but beneath lies strata of history, culture and identity. Therefore, it is clear that understanding space is not just about the present; it is about peeling back the layers of time.

 

  1. Yoke-Sum Wong, ‘The Chaos of Dainties: Singapore and the Confections of Empire, 1819-1930,’ (Thesis, University of Alberta, 2003), p. 9. [↩]
  2. Koompong Noobanjong, ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang: Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ in Manish D. Chalana (ed), Messy Urbanism: Understanding the ‘Other’ Cities of Asia, (Hong Kong, 2017), p. 81 [↩]
  3. Koompong Noobanjong, ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang: Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ p. 88 [↩]
  4. Ibid., p. 84 [↩]
  5. John Turnbull Thompson, ‘The Esplanade from Scandal Point,’ oil painting, 1851, Singapore <https://www.roots.gov.sg/Collection-Landing/listing/1052004> [accessed 30th January 2024]. [↩]
  6. Kevin Tan, ‘A History of the Padang,’ Biblioasia: National Library Singapore, April/June 2022 <https://github.com/isomerpages/nlb-biblioasia/blob/staging/_apr-to-jun-2022/A%20History%20of%20The%20Padang.md> [accessed 30th January 2024] [↩]
  7. Kevin Tan, ‘A History of the Padang,’ Biblioasia [↩]
  8.  Ibid.  [↩]

Accessing the ‘Other’: Brooklyn’s Botanical Gardens as an access point to the ‘Land of the rising sun’

by 鳳凰

By examining the constriction of access to and behavior within the Japanese garden, situated in the Brooklyn Botanic gardens, I argue that the Garden’s commissioners aimed to maintain Japanese ‘otherness’.  By using an additional behavioral standard’s and enforcing a code of conduct deemed unnecessary across the rest of Brooklyn Botanic Gardens. By controlling how the Japanese garden was perceived and restricting how it was used by the public, the gardens’ commissioners established their authority over writing Japanese culture in an American context. 1 This article uses images, maps, manuals and entrance signs of Japanese parks in western foreign countries to illustrate that despite the absence of an enclosure garden as a consistent tradition in Japanese culture, in the west, Japanese gardens are enclosed and purposefully detached from the larger garden. The separation and containment of Japanese gardens in the West highlights the containment and fetishization of these spaces and also the use of isolation as a form of exerting power over the the translation of Japanese culture in Western public discourse.2

Figure 1: Image of the Flowing Crab in Japanese Garden from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden Record, 19343

Rather than being immersed in the surrounding context of a public park, the Japanese garden is frequently isolated and this practice is justified by marketing the Japanese garden as a superior garden and yet it perpetuates a hierarchical binary between ‘the west and the rest’.4 For the Japanese garden in Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, established in 1915 and designed by Takeo Shiota, restrictions over behavior and use of space have constrained it to become a disciplinarian space.  the Boston Botanic Gardens enclose the Japanese garden with a wooden fence which is justified as an element of tradition, however, there a plethora of cases in Japan where this does not apply, and this wall was erected fifteen years after the Japanese garden was officially opened.5 The physicality of the separation between conceptions of Japanese horticulture in the eyes of American observers comparatively to its ‘authentic’ purpose within Japanese culture. Frequent financial support provided by  the Japanese government to support the establishment of Japanese gardens in western cities highlights that whilst the Japanese government intended to enforce soft power through diplomatic advances like financial support to establish Japan within the vision of the American Garden-observer, commissioners who controlled public parks made significant spatial choices which limited the assimilation of Japanese tastes into American gardens by consistently organizing Japanese gardens as a traditional, formalized novelty.

Specific, traditional behavioral codes were enforced on entrance to the Brooklyn’s Japanese Garden which operated to restrict creativity and freedom of movement in the space.  Signs around the garden advised visitors to ‘stroll’, there are no benches and it is stipulated that walking on the grass is prohibited.6 Similarly, children were to be accompanied at all times in fear that they would disrupt the tranquil atmosphere and case noise and disrupt the reflective atmosphere.7 The active performance of enjoyment due to the limited interaction allowed with the garden restricts it from becoming a “lived space” where people are able to create memorable interactions and explore freely. By exoticizing the Japanese Garden the gardens commissioners removed its capacity to integrate into Brooklyn’s spatial politics and local culture because it was associated with the foreign and unfamiliar behaviors and sensations enforced by the park itself.

The mystification of the components of the Japanese Garden and their contribution to its cultural significance in turn establish the authority of curating the general knowledge accessible to the American public regarding these spaces to the commissioner of the Botanic gardens. In the Brooklyn Botanic Garden Handbook on Japanese gardens from 1968, the Japanese garden sis described as illustrating, “the peculiar attitude of the Japanese towards life, in which they join nature with everyday living’.8 By presenting the Japanese ‘mentality’ as separate and therefore distant, foreign, exoticized and ultimately for consumption the language used in this handbook highlights how a powerful construction of knowledge through the containment of the Japanese garden as a phenomenon purposefully separated from the holistic botanic garden structure served to establish a binary in the American mind between western, familiar conceptions of the use and behavior within a park or garden and the ‘otherness’ of the Japanese garden.  Indeed, the language used also served to describe ‘western’ and ‘eastern’ understandings of garden composition in opposition to each other, ‘the symmetry, uniformity and rectilinearity of Western gardens is disregarded in the Japanese garden’ .9 Resultantly, the western authorities prevailed in establishing control over the ‘otherness’ of the Japanese garden within the context of the public park. By dispensing mystified, vague and shifting details on the significance of the stones, lanterns and bridges present in the Japanese garden, the casual romantic exoticism of the ‘orient’ in American spatial politics prevailed.

To conclude, information and behaviors inscribed onto the Japanese garden by commissioners and local councils in an American context have served to fundamentally alter the conception of the Japanese garden and thus the curated image of Japan ‘mentality’ within the American observer. The interests of local authorities to present the Japanese garden as a concentrated impression of the ‘core qualities’ of an exoticized Japan conflicted with the assimilation of Japanese culture into the American observer that was desired by the Japanese government.

  1. Christian Tagsold, Spaces in Translation: Japanese Gardens and the West (Philadelphia, 2017), p.137. [↩]
  2. Tagsold, Spaces in Translation, p.138. [↩]
  3. Brooklyn Botanic Garden Record, (Brooklyn, 1934), p. 10 [↩]
  4. Tagsold, Spaces in Translation, p.137. [↩]
  5. Tagsold, Spaces in Translation, p.127. [↩]
  6. Brooklyn Botanic Garden and Kan Yashiroda,  Handbook on Japanese Gardens and miniature Landscapes (Brooklyn, 1968), p.6. [↩]
  7. Tagsold, Spaces in Translation, p.130. [↩]
  8. Brooklyn Botanic Garden and Kan Yashiroda,  Handbook on Japanese Gardens and miniature Landscapes (Brooklyn, 1968), p.6. [↩]
  9. Brooklyn Botanic Garden and Kan Yashiroda,  Handbook on Japanese Gardens, p.9. [↩]

Cambodia, a land of gentleness? A comparison between an old and modern tourist perceptions

by Chim Lạc

Cambodia, a country located on the Indochinese peninsula in Southeast Asia is often referred to as a hidden gem for international tourists. With bordering countries Thailand to its west, Vietnam to the east and Laos to the north, Cambodia is constantly overshadowed by both its western and eastern neighbours as Thailand has been known to international tourists for decades and Vietnam has been known for its long war with America and a rapidly growing economy in recent times.1 As democracy is restored to Cambodia, its rich history, especially the globally renowned UNESCO world heritage site of Angkor Wat has attracted millions of tourists every year and has even featured on the current national flag of Cambodia despite the fact that it was discovered when Cambodia was under French rule.2 This blog post will compare how an old foreign travel account from The Geographical Journal written by Lord Curzon in the 19th century and a 2023 Chinese travel agency’s article views Cambodia and what sites they feature prominently. After doing a brief comparison with Bali, the article will conclude that the images of tourism in Cambodia are shaped by power dominance given how it remains a poor state and that the nationality of the individual writing about it plays a key role in shaping narratives about the country.

The first account from The Hon. Lord Curzon, a prominent British politician published in The Geographical Journal published in 1893, it details his travels across French Indochina in what is now Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. In his account, he generalises the lives of Cambodians as native and exotic as he notes how swift they are at building wooden huts on top of the Tonle Sap Lake. First, following the French colonial administration, he reinforces the account of the ‘Indochinese’ people by dividing them into categories. He describes the ‘natives’ as more effeminate and shorter in stature the deeper south you go and that the landscape is abundant with crops and crops.3 Subsequently, he describes their eating habits as ‘barbaric’. This demonstrates that at that time when not much technology was around, tourism was limited to the upper class and that generalised accounts, especially by the privileged like Lord Curzon were seen as authoritative and acceptable to be published in magazines like The Geographical Journal. Next, he offers a description of a travel itinerary from Phnom Penh to Angkor Wat. The journey he undertook involved riding on a French steamship and then embarking by land on oxen carts and sampans operated by native Cambodians. Following up, he offers a brief description of the ruins on how they illustrate a once-glorious empire now being controlled by the French and under constant threat from invasion by the Siamese (present-day Thailand).4 This indirectly justifies imperialism and showcases the weakness of Cambodian culture as by showing the ruins of an extinct great empire, it shows how the power is now rested in the French, that is controlling Indochina and the Siamese, who resisted colonialism and constantly putting pressure on French interests in the region. As a result, it can be seen that in the heyday of imperialism, travel was limited to the colonial elite and native cultures of the people under European control were subject to exoticisation and generalisation. 

Fast forward to the 2020s, Cambodia, although managing to free itself from colonialism and the horrors of the Khmer Rogue with its strong economic growth, its development standards lagged behind global standards. In place of the French, the Chinese now have a strong presence in the region as part of its Belt and Road Initiative to provide infrastructure aid to developing nations across the world to achieve its status as a great power.5 Although it was claimed that the investments were to benefit Cambodia’s growing economy, it has raised concerns among experts that Cambodia is becoming too dependent on China and that China is attempting to use its economic might to chip away at Cambodia’s sovereignty.6 By looking at tourist numbers by nationality, China ranks third after Vietnam and Thailand as the largest source of tourists outside of Southeast Asia.7 In the travel guide published by China International Travel Service Guilin Co. Ltd, it lists out the top sites for travel in Cambodia, which not suprisingly Angkor Wat appearing on the top, then it advertises certain Buddhist temples, the royal palace in Phnom Penh and numerous beaches along the southern coast with a short paragraph stating Cambodians as pure and nice.8 Unlike Lord Curzon’s account which describes Angkor Wat and the people of Cambodia in detail, the Chinese account simply just lists out sites that are culturally ‘Cambodian’ in nature and a complete guide to Cambodian cuisine. Furthermore, the account states that the friendliness of Cambodians and the affordability nature of the country is definitely a reason to visit the country. This demonstrates how with changing geopolitics and modes of travel, the nature of tourism also changes, and in the case of the Chinese, they are the main power influencing Cambodia.

What is interesting to me is that the Chinese site leaves out the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh. I believe that the reason is because in order to court Chinese investments, the current Cambodian government, filled with members from the brutal Khmer Rogue regime (1977-1979) is making an effort to downplay anything that will contribute to angering China hence showcasing how bilateral relations often shape the style of tourism.

Linking to the compulsory readings, I see parallels with the case of Cambodia with Bali not too far away. Similar to Cambodia, Bali was under Dutch colonial rule and subject to international accounts exoticising its culture.9 Bali was also subject to having its narratives controlled by external forces as while the Dutch conquered it, it was seen as savage, but after pacifying it, the Dutch played a key part in creating images of ‘Peaceful Bali’ by demonstrating its unique mystical characteristics and ornate temples. Even after independence, the multi-cultural state of Indonesia actively promoted Bali as a peaceful paradise for foreigners to attract economic activity while the natives barely got a voice in the construction of their identity. This elucidates how the Dutch colonial government and the Indonesian government all played a part in exoticising Balinese culture similar to what the European travellers and Chinese government did to Cambodia. In short, power plays a part in shaping tourist narratives.

  1. https://www.theguardian.com/travel/2014/oct/28/-sp-cambodia-tour-two-weeks-holiday-itinerary [↩]
  2. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/668/ [↩]
  3. Curzon, George N. “Journeys in French Indo-China (Tongking, Annam, Cochin China, Cambodia) (Conclusion).” The Geographical Journal 2, no. 3 (1893): 193–210. https://doi.org/10.2307/1773660. [↩]
  4. Curzon, George N. “Journeys in French Indo-China (Tongking, Annam, Cochin China, Cambodia) (Conclusion).” The Geographical Journal, vol. 2, no. 3, 1893, pp. 193–210. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/1773660. Accessed 26 Jan. 2024. [↩]
  5. https://china.usc.edu/what-chinas-belt-and-road-initiative-means-cambodia [↩]
  6. https://www.rfa.org/english/news/cambodia/substitute-07232020153513.html [↩]
  7. https://www.thestar.com.my/aseanplus/aseanplus-news/2023/11/30/foreign-tourist-numbers-skyrocket-in-cambodia#:~:text=This%20marked%20an%20increase%20of,%25)%2C%20expanding%20by%20497.5%25. [↩]
  8. https://www.citsguilin.com/article/gonglue/jianpuzhailvyougonglue.htm [↩]
  9. Vickers, Adrian Bali: A Paradise Created (2012 [1996]) [↩]

Korea through Terry’s (through the Imperial Japanese) Looking Glass

by 波山

To borrow from Edward Said, whose writings occupy an almost exhaustive historiography on his own, “contrapuntal reading” in literature invites the reader to ponder writing actively says and does not say about one’s disposition and blind spots. Insofar as scholars agree that tourism both reflected and reinforced efforts to build and maintain overseas empires,1 officially-affiliated travel guidebooks are clear opportunities for discursive analysis of the “self” and “other.” The historiography of Japanese colonialism in Korea is no different.2 The concerted Japanese attempt to market the Korean peninsula for foreign revenue, I argue, is best evinced by Terry’s Japanese Empire.3 However, by examining the presentation of Korea within a Western-facing guidebook of Imperial Japan, I argue that the tenuousness of “Othering” in an “Occidental”-facing book evinces Hom’s clarification of imperialism as “textured by uneven gradations of sovereignty and sliding scales of differentiation that bind colonial past and imperial presence.”4

Firstly, Terry argues that Japan is as geographically and culturally specific as it is “typical” for an Oriental entity. This discourse is presented both in terms of climate and geography. On page lxi (of a 283-page long preliminary information section) Terry argues that it is ‘quite those of our dreams’ to see Japan and ‘learn its charm is equivalent to drinking the waters of Guadalupe.’ Contemporaneously, the Korean landscape is both littered with ‘limp and enervated Europeans from the torrid south’ while devoid of a ‘good gov’t to make it one of the most opulent countries of the gorgeous East.’ (698-99) In terms of culture, the text assumes fixed profiles of the tourist and those viewed by tourists. For Terry, there is a single, tourist profile of a traveller who has embarked on a long journey from Western Europe, Australia, or America, and the essentialism of the other even does not spare countries from the Mediterranean. Conversely, the object of the rigidly defined “Korean” man is impenetrable and physiognomically fixed. “[Like] the Chinaman, he has, in his fathomless conceit and besotted ignorance, a sturdy and unshakable faith in his own impeccability,” among other pejorative judgements. (719) This essentialist discourse appears indistinguishable from the liberal comparisons drawn to men from Spain and specifically South Italy insofar as poor cultural traits are concerned. In contrast, the Japanese man is “non-controversial and dignified” and Japan is made of ten different “native races [that] dwell within the Japanese Empire.” (clv-clvi)

Yet, what Terry says about Korean history becomes problematised beyond the level of the “Occidental” perspective. On one hand, the hierarchy of civilisations is clear when Terry presents an entity characterised by corruption and ineptitude. Terry particularly describes the Three Kingdoms period as replete with each kingdom having (apparently) ‘episodes of national triumph and reverse,’ (bold is mine) and that the source of civilisation in Korea eventually derived from Japan. Yet, even this hierarchy was ‘only replaced in the latter half of the 19th cent. By the higher civilisation of Europe.’ (709) Finally, the Japanese ‘introduction of civilisation and enlightenment’ is a tangible process that can be tracked if one requests the Government General of Chosen’s ‘Annual Report on Reforms and Progress in Korea’.

On another level, Terry’s unabashed, liberal reference to Joseph H. Longford’s The Story of Korea reflects the ways in which imperial tourism refracts Japanese imperial knowledge about Korea. According to a publicly available copy of Longford’s 1911 text, Longford relied on the goodwill of the Japanese Ambassador, the Consul-General in London, as well as the Secretaries of the Embassy and Consulate-General “in elucidating obscure points in ancient history.”5 Longford’s preface sums up the confluence of two imperial interests: Japan converted “potentialities into realities of industrial and commercial wealth” as Britain invests in “the future status of our ally and in the political balance of the Far East.” The section on Korean history as a Japanese Protectorate reiterated the narrative of imperial salvation and modernity amidst Korean corruption and dysfunction.6

This analysis of a simple and almost uncritical presentation of the history of Korea in Terry’s guidebook shows how imperial texts have aligned to reinforce the Japanese imperial image of Korea, even as Japan was still subject to Terry’s Orientalist writing. Even in a colonial model of “Occidental” tourist-centric writing, this confluence of editorialising and knowledge transmission reinforces how Japan moderated and negotiated Orientalist treatment, leaving Korea twice removed from the mental hierarchy of Terry’s archetypal Western tourist.

  1. Shelley Baranowski et al., “Tourism and Empire,” Journal of Tourism History 7, no. 1–2 (May 4, 2015): 100–130. [↩]
  2. Hyung Pai, “Travel Guides to the Empire. The Production of Tourist Images in Colonial Korea” in Laurel Kendall (ed.) Consuming Korean Tradition in Early and Late Modernity: Commodification, Tourism, and Performance (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2010), 65-87. [↩]
  3. Philip Terry, Terry’s Japanese Empire: A Guidebook for Travellers (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1914). [↩]
  4. Shelley Baranowski et al., “Tourism and Empire,” 126. [↩]
  5. Joseph H. Longford, The Story of Korea (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1911), v-vii). [↩]
  6. Longford, The Story of Korea, 351-365. [↩]

The Chinese Tourism Service Limited reinforced Chineseness of the Chinese international students by forming exclusive spatial identity

by Cenderawasih

Excerpt 1. the exclusivity of passengers1

Excerpt 2. The instruction of the dress code2

Yajun Mo, in his chapters, posits that the Chinese Tourism Service Limited (CTS) assumed the responsibility of managing and transporting Chinese international students to the United States in response to the demands of the nationalist government. CTS was tasked with various responsibilities, including finding accommodations, helping international students register for school, managing education funds, and sending report cards to their parents, all aimed at maintaining their ties with ethnic roots in China.3. This played a role in cultivating a nationalist sentiment among international students. However, according to the primary source discussed in this blog, it argues that CTS not only contributed to the construction of nationalist sentiment but also actively promoted the concept of Chineseness by establishing an exclusive spatial identity for Chinese international students. In creating this distinct identity, CTS differentiated Chinese students from foreigners during their journey to the US. Also, CTS provided instructions to international students on how to dress appropriately in the US.

The primary source for this blog is an article published by CTS in 1927 in the magazine 旅行雜誌. The blog presents select critical excerpts from this article to illustrate the key argument.

To promote the idea of Chineseness, CTS set Chinese international students apart from foreigners during their sea journey to the United States. As mentioned in Excerpt 1, CTS arranged an exclusive ship solely for the travel of Chinese international students, avoiding their mingling with other foreign passengers. That is, “本社特與美國輪船公司商定 … 巨輪一艘。完全載中國留美學生東行。… 而船公司即稱此船為“中國留學生船”蓋除中國學生外。幾無他客也。”4 Despite the international nature of the journey, operated by foreign entities, these international students acquired an exclusive spatial identity within the confines of the ship. On the one hand, they engaged with the global community by adopting Western transportation and benefited from international business to facilitate their travels abroad. On the other hand, their activities were restricted to their original social circle. While they could leverage foreign technologies, their interaction with the authentic foreign community was limited, given their exclusive status within the ship. What began as an international journey evolved into a trip without immediate contact with foreigners and with limited participation in foreign cultures.

Concerning lifestyle instructions, CTS played a pivotal role in guiding the dress code for international students. In Excerpt 2, CTS emphasised the importance of bringing traditional Chinese-style clothing that could authentically showcase the Chinese identity within the foreign community, thereby creating exclusivity around the clothes of Chinese students. The authors note, “日常所著之衣物三襲。灰色或深色呢絨者。凡二襲。黑或深藍陽啜者一襲,”5 wherein CTS recommended specific colours for everyday wear, elevating these colours to symbols of Chinese-exclusive clothing. In this foreign space, the chosen colours became distinctive representations of exoticism. Notably, CTS highly recommended the inclusion of clothing made from Chinese silk, intended to “以揚東方名貴之文藝,”5 solidifying the Chinese identity through the choice of materials. In this case, materials became symbolic representations of identity, establishing a standardised image of a Chinese in a foreign environment. From the prescribed colours to the emphasis on Chinese-produced materials, CTS reinforced the Chineseness of these students by instituting a set of lifestyle norms for Chinese international students in American society. While these students studied abroad, immersing themselves in foreign cultures and visiting iconic American sites such as Yellowstone National Park as noted by Mo in his chapter,6 they were simultaneously restrained by the directives of their home country’s agency—CTS. CTS constructed an ideal image of being Chinese in a foreign space, blending the students’ spatial identity with foreign influences and a distinctly Chinese traditional foundation.

In essence, the foreign journey for Chinese international students was not merely an educational pursuit but also a reinforcement of Chineseness. CTS, through its involvement in their study abroad experience, not only provided students with benefits but also underscored their Chinese identity by establishing an exclusive space on the ship. Individually, CTS instructed the students’ lifestyle in the United States, promoting a traditional Chinese dress code in style and material. While these international students benefitted from a foreign education, the journey fortified their identity within the community. Consequently, the tourism experience for Chinese international students carries profound implications for constructing Chineseness within overseas Chinese communities.

 

Primary Sources

Zhuang Jiuzhu 庄九铸, Xu Zhaofeng 许兆丰, “Zengbie Youmei Xuesheng” 赠别游美学生, 旅行雜誌 (1927): 86–96.

Secondary Sources

Mo, Yajun, Touring china: A history of travel culture, 1912-1949 (Ithaca, 2022).

  1. Zhuang Jiuzhu 庄九铸, Xu Zhaofeng许兆丰 “Zenbie Youmei Xuesheng” 赠别游美学生, Luxing Zazhi 旅行雜誌 (1927): 87. [↩]
  2. Zhuang Jiuzhu and Xu Zhaofeng, ‘Zenbie Youmei Xuesheng’, p. 88. [↩]
  3. Yajun Mo, Touring China: A History of Travel Culture, 1912-1949 (Ithaca, 2022), p. 36. [↩]
  4. Zhuang Jiuzhu and Xu Zhaofeng, ‘Zenbie Youmei Xuesheng’, p. 87. [↩]
  5. Ibid. [↩] [↩]
  6. Mo, Touring China, p. 36. [↩]