Kung Ja-Oak, Through the Fire and Flames: The Birth of Modern Korea, (Gimm-Young, 1979)
….Japan entered the global conflict with four objectives: combat Russian influence; fold Korea under its suzerainty (and thereby enable annexation); obtain Sakhalin; and carve its own exclusive sphere of influence over China.
Only one went ahead as planned.
Besides granting a golden opportunity to kick out Russian meddling in China and Korea, many Japanese ultra-nationalists saw the Great War as a chance to finally place the nation as an equal to the established Powers, and as such, saw a Russian beating and Korean takeover as paramount issues. Several divisions and battleships were quickly sent to capture the northern territory of Sakhalin (now Karafuto), but while the northern campaign was speedily accomplished with relatively few lives lost, the Korean version turned out the exact opposite.
Though Japan’s coveted neighbour was a long way from reaching equal strength, the Korean Empire was far from being idle. The reforms of Empress Myeongseong saw a growing influence of American and European foreigners which has made itself felt across local society, especially from those of Russian origin. The palace nobility employed Russian educators and advisors to instruct them on modernization while military attachés from St. Petersburg became a common sight at Seoul as they trained the newly formed Korean Imperial Army.
So perhaps it shouldn't be too surprising that Japan’s request for Korea’s Russians to return back home was met with outright refusal. While many peasants and townsfolk distrusted the Great Bear for their (correctly) assumed machinations over the peninsula, they still viewed them more highly than the Japanese, whom were instead seen as cantankerous neighbours seeking to dominate the region. This was deepened with the Ok-Gyun murder of 1904, where a Korean court official was publicly assassinated by Japanese agents for his pro-Russian leanings, infuriating both Seoul and St. Petersburg.
Still, when Tokyo fielded nearly 100,000 men to ‘pacify’ the peninsula in the name of ridding “
heinous influence that has destabilized Korean order”, many thought the outcome was all but written. Landing at Busan, the troops won battle after battle against inexperienced Korean regiments while their naval counterparts locked down the Korea Strait to prevent Russian naval incursions; despite all the investment and time poured by the Russians, the Korean army was simply outmatched to the battle-hardened Japanese troops and their commanders. By the end of the month, Seoul fell, and the new occupiers immediately placed a puppet government in charge as the imperial court decamped to Pyongyang. To the ultra-nationalists, victory seemed all too easy.
But as the Japanese advanced northwards, they found themselves facing the fury of the peasantry. Seeing the invasion as a repeat of the Imjin War, anti-Japanese resistance groups began waylaying the troops and their supply lines, hampering their advances and forcing them to pacify the countryside. However, the heavy-handed response to the guerrilla fighters did nothing to endear the locals and by mid-September, the peninsula was aflame with opposition against the invading force. The court at Pyongyang declared for all Koreans to oppose the Japanese while several Russian advisors found themselves heading brushfire rebellions or commanding guerrilla cells.
Chief among these were the Righteous Armies, irregular groups of militias formed from local troops, Confucian scholars, village leaders, and peasant farmers. Filling in where established forces retreated, these militias swelled in numbers and strength as they hampered the Japanese in the mountains and fields. Soon, dissent Buddhist monks and even the radical Donghak movement joined in the fight, forming a massive force that began aiding the regular army to defend what was left. The failed Japanese attack on Pyongyang on September 25th proved a triumph of Korean perseverance as much as the seriousness of surrounding guerrilla forces whittling down Japanese operations, and the stall was noted by the imperial court of China whom debated whether to aid their close neighbour.
Realizing that superior strength would not win local hearts and minds, the puppet government at Seoul scrambled at enacting half-hearted reforms. While Japanese nationalists today claim of expediting Korean modernization through legal improvements, land redistribution, economic liberalization, and the insistence of using the
hangul script, it was unquestionable that these reforms were originally meant to obtain local support, as well as wresting control from the ancient Korean imperial system and divorce the peasantry from centuries of Chinese influence. That there was
some approval from the city folk and peasantry over the reforms was a sign of how incredibly outdated the old government was. That many more still opposed the Japanese showed just how much these laws were seen widely as an imposition.
By early October, the situation was turning desperate. Japan only controlled the southern half of Korea and the Tokyo Diet was becoming anxious over the stalemate. Similarly, the Korean government found itself with insufficient resources to push an offensive. Worse still, winter was approaching. In desperation, Pyongyang requested help from Qing China, placing the court of Emperor Zhangchen in a position of extraordinary importance.
For the Qing, the war arrived at a time when local discord was seemingly in retreat. Just a few years prior, parts of the empire were in open revolt as regional commanders rebelled over the government’s policies of creating a new, unified modern army, which shunted aside the former officers of the formerly semi-independent regional armies. But by 1905, the process was almost complete and almost all those who rebelled were a head shorter. Russian, Prussian, and American advisors were well-underway in shaping up a new imperial force while local factories began to manufacture modern rifles and artillery for the local market. On paper at least, the Chinese seemed firm.
But Japan knew that such facades can be broken. They themselves broke it in 1895, though the conflict inflicted more grinding pain than initially thought. Beneath the surface, tensions were mounting, both from secular and (to the surprise of all) religious forces…
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Dato’ Mustapha Shamsuddin, The flower of Pan-Asianism? Japan’s role in Asian Nationalism, (Surakarta University Press: 1991)
Though the ultra-nationalists in Tokyo knew they were playing with fire, it didn’t stop several of them to house, fund, and arm reformist and revolutionary groups across East and Southeast Asia. By the Great War, the country’s major cities concealed Philippine
illustrados, Annamese and Tonkinese
lycée graduates, and secular Chinese nationalists, all of which were prime potential to be used to further Japanese ambitions under the guise of liberating fellow Asian nations.
This movement, which would be later known as Pan-Asianism, would be an influential force in the decades to come. But until the Great War, the ultra-nationalists were content to let them build connections amongst themselves and their protectors while surreptitiously promising them with aid to overthrow their governments and help their new nations. With the world now in turmoil, it seemed as if the time has come for them all…
For the Chinese nationalists, their connections and gatherings formed a disparate web of cells, societies, and even triad groups that were scattered all across China and Japan. But in the Final Fifteen Years, this web spread further to encompass much of Southeast Asia and across the Pacific to Hawaii and the American coast. Missionaries, university graduates, rich merchants, and secret societies formed the backbone of this nationalist web, with many threads converging on the port cities of south China. As it was opened to the world much earlier than the north, the cities of Canton, Shanghai, and especially Hong Kong received more of the outside world, and thus, absorbed more of its ideals. Coupled with the Qing court’s watchful eye on the surrounding provinces near Peking, southern China formed a – though dangerous – base and refuge for those wishing to see Qing rule reformed, or overthrown.
And it was this inclusion of reformists and revolutionaries that was the Achilles Heel of the movement. With the Qing court moving to a reformist gear, there were many who espoused for gradual change instead of a radical uprising, and there were many debates in which these groups came to shots and fistfights. Most notably, the republican-based Revive China Society was antagonistic to the reform-royalist Chinese National Movement, with their separate quarters across Southeast Asia becoming the hubs of armed factions which engaged each other in violent incidents.
So when a plot was hatched to provoke an insurrection in the south in October, backed by Japanese funds and weaponry, not everyone was enthusiastic. But as Japan’s advance over Korea stalled into a stalemate, a new force began spin its own webs over China. Only, it was a mystical one…
Stephanie Wong, Hogwash or Religion? The Crimson Swords under Scrutiny, (The Straits: 2002)
While most worshippers of the Society of Crimson Swords call their sacred text ‘The Edicts of Righteous Living’, most of us call it by its more common name: The Little Red Book.
Whether or not the words are divinely ordained, there is no question that they were a rallying call for a populace reeling from a changing world. Originally penned by the prefectural archivist Li Hong of Shandong Province, the contents therein is a microcosm of the millennialism and mass-anxiety that gripped the Qing Empire during the last fifteen years prior to the Great War. With food insecurity, geopolitical trouncing, internal discord, and foreign influence all awash on the land, it is no surprise that most of the texts espoused a return to a glorious age and an afterlife free of reincarnation if the faithful subscribe to certain acts and prayers.
But it is also these messages that aroused the most controversy among both worshippers and non-believers, as well as religious scholars. While folk beliefs and syncretism are common amongst the mass peasantry, several Crimson Sword edicts are uncannily similar to passages and practices derived from ‘Western faiths’.
This isn’t to say that eastern thought is relegated to the wayside; indeed, the aspect of Confucianism that stresses humaneness and authority is paramount in the Little Red Book – with the caveat that a worshipper’s true obligation is to China itself (
Zhungguo) than to the emperor (
Huangdi). Unsurprisingly, this tweak is seen by several people – and especially amongst Japanese nationalists – as a corruption of the beliefs of
Bakumatsu-era Japanese samurai who saw their nation as sacred, though this is uncertain.
More radical are some of the cosmological and theological groundworks of the Edicts. While the heavenly bureaucracy of mythical China is continued, special authority is given to the Jade Emperor who was re-conceived into that of a great celestial mentor, periodically ordaining select sages and holy men throughout history to improve the character of humanity. Their acceptance – or rejection – by the world is the reason for much of the rise and fall of China’s dynasties itself, with the Mandate of Heaven being applied accordingly. Furthermore, the Edicts profess that each new sage reveals part of the ultimate Truth of Heaven, with the contemporary era being a creation of all their teachings being used – and abused – by the empire and the wider world.
But the most eye-popping texts were those related to war and change. In the eyes of the Crimson Swords, internal and external discord are seen as part of a struggle (
Douzhung) by evil forces to alter the state of balance throughout the physical and spiritual world. To combat this on an individual scale, worshippers must conduct daily rituals of purification and prayer for three times a day. Every dawn, noon, and dusk, worshippers must cleanse parts of themselves with water before performing their prayers, which brings some uncanny comparisons with Japanese Shinto rituals and the Islamic
Salat.
On a societal level,
Douzhung should be faced with peace and firmness, within the letter of the law whenever possible. However, should the discordant forces be too strong for peace, then it is righteous to arm and defend the faithful to preserve harmony and the well-being of not just the people, or the emperor, but also to
Zhungguo and the world. Indeed, it is through armed defence that the Crimson Swords are named as they were. Whomsoever does this shall not only be seen as virtuous by the Jade Emperor, but also gain the possibility to be free from the trials of purgatory and be reincarnated into a better life. The most good-hearted, sacrificial, and meritous might even ascend beyond the cycle of death and rebirth, casting off their earthly chains and become, as Li Hong wrote it, “…transcendent beyond life on earth, beyond physicality, and achieve harmony with nature and the universe.”
Unsurprisingly, the Edicts of Righteous Living is seen by a fair number of religious and atheist scholars to be an admixture of sorts; a cross-syncretic soup of traditional beliefs combined with strains of Shintoism, Taoism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and the Abrahamic faiths. However, such explanations dismiss exactly why the Crimson Swords exploded in popularity in the lead-up to the Great War; in a changing world where nothing is certain, the faith offered answers to a populace whom felt that their old beliefs, and their gods, had failed them in their time of need. The Edicts’ syncretic nature maintained a partial continuity of traditional folk beliefs while its radical message offered a push to the unwelcome intrusions into daily life.
And given that northern China was exposed to more recent wars and Manchurian exploitation, it is no surprise to see the faith gaining popularity in the provinces surrounding the Yellow Sea and around the capital, Peking. When Japan decided to attack for the emperor’s answer to the Korean conflict, many Sword worshippers decided that their time had come…
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Fu Wei Han, The Imperial Sunset: Twilight of the Qing Empire, (Penang Nanyang: 2013)
…Japan’s invasion of Korea sparked nothing more than a roaring debate in the Forbidden City. Many nobles support a military intervention to help the Koreans combat the Japanese. Equally as many argued that the empire’s military isn’t reformed enough to take Japan head-on. Even the court conservatives were split over what to do.
The arguments dragged on until early October, when the plight given by the Korean ambassadors finally swayed the emperor to send military supplies and aid to Pyongyang, which infuriated Japan enough to demand a 72-hour ultimatum: expel all foreigners and halt any aid to the peninsula, or face war. With that, the Second Sino-Japanese War was all but inevitable.
But Japan’s first moves were a surprising one. While another 100,000 troops sailed from the Japan to take the cities of Tientsin and Port Arthur – in the hopes of striking a knockout blow and further occupy resource-rich Manchuria, supplies and aid were also sent to Canton where a sudden anti-Qing uprising erupted amongst local troops and triad gangs. The convenient timeliness of the event is now confirmed to be a result of Japanese machinations to divert Qing attention, and it nearly worked; the provinces of Kwangtung and Kwangxi were overrun and the local viceroy had to flee for his very life.
But in this, the Japanese overestimated their chances. Nearby loyal garrisons quickly moved to contain the revolt while another 120,000 northern troops were sent to meet the Japanese at the main battlefronts up north. In addition, the supposed Russian advisors whom Japan claimed “
were destabilizing the region”, found a surprising common cause with the Chinese as both sides sought to halt Japan’s advance. While no alliance treaty was ever signed, Qing-Russian cooperation became an unspoken policy from here on out, and in effect, the arriving Japanese troops suddenly found themselves facing a much more united force than initially anticipated.
And with that, the subsequent battles of Tientsin and Port Arthur became an incredibly violent affair. Japanese cruisers bombarded coastal forts while German and Russian-bought shore batteries pummelled whomever came too close to land. Any landings at nearby un-gunned coasts saw pitched battles arising from the experienced Japanese soldiers and the newly-reformed imperial battalions. Out at sea, minesweepers and mine-lacers engaged in cat-and-mouse hunts while Qing and Russian battleships tried to defend themselves from enemy attacks, though the language barrier often hindered the fleets from committing any united offensives. For 6 days, battle raged, until news came out that the Japanese had surrounded Port Arthur and had neutralized the naval operations there.
The response throughout the Yellow Sea was nothing but fury. Farmers donated massive amounts of rice to imperial battalions while army recruitment centres found themselves swamped with youngsters willing to fight. As in Korea, the local peasantry formed resistance groups and cells to ambush unsuspecting soldiers. And like Korea, several of these groups were founded by members of heterodox sects and syncretic orders, and most notably, the Crimson Sword Society. Devoted and fanatical, the Crimson brethren were quickly noticed for the brilliant and brutal ambushes on the Japanese, especially in the biting chill of November and December. As such, the syncretic faith exploded in popularity as tens of thousands joined in the hope of both spiritual salvation and martial victory.
In Manchuria, too, the arrival of the Japanese changed things. A place of refuge for over 100,000 Chinese Christians and their families, the landing of Japanese troops also saw the formation of martial brotherhoods across dozens of mines and market towns, especially in the Liaodong Peninsula. To the converts, whom have suffered harshly by the wider empire for their faith, the imperial army was seen as an untrustworthy protector, and thus felt strongly towards self-defense. For the Russian mining concerns operating therein, the Japanese arrival also signalled a possible end to their very existence in the region, and so didn't disallow nor hinder such groups from forming amongst their workers.
As December rolled and the Sinosphere became engulfed in snow and ice, fighting slowed to a crawl. The front lines in Korea barely moved, the southern uprising was contained, and Tientsin remained an impenetrable fortress supplied by a devoted army and a fanatic peasantry. However, the Qing and Russian navies were beginning to feel exhausted over the Yellow Sea and Port Arthur was on the verge of collapsing. Even in the snow, Japanese companies began to move into Lower Manchuria, where they faced an assortment of government troops, peasant groups, and religious brotherhoods of all stripes…
A rare photograph of a Righteous Army militia, taken at the Korean border with Qing Manchuria.
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Notes:
First off, to any
Cao Dai worshippers, I apologize.
Building an alternate faith that’s based in syncretism was a part of my plans regarding China, but I didn’t expect the result to be similar to Caodaism. Perhaps it was inevitable for there to be similarities, but I want to make this clear the Society of Crimson Swords and their Edicts of Righteous Living are
not this world’s version of Cao Dai. In fact, the pacifism of the latter would be revolting to TTL’s Sword brethren, and the Edicts’ stance on reincarnation and
Zhungguo-ness would be seen as imperialist and patronizing to any professing Caodaist (universalism is a key trait in the latter faith).
Also, full credit to the images in the Pan-Asian segment belongs to
Extra Credits. Despite their errors and glossing of certain historical parts, these people deserve a lot of thanks for trying to explain the less known and more esoteric parts of world history.
And in a first, just about everything in the above installment can be referenced back to
post #1141, just in case you’re all curious.