Introduction
Two decades ago, Tessa Morris-Suzuki, an eminent scholar of Japanese cultural history, urged historians and others to consider the variety of new media through which “historical knowledge,” often under the guise of national history, is being produced, circulated, and consumed by the public beyond the authority of conventional top-down and linear history (2005). Morris-Suzuki also cautioned against the postmodern declaration of the “end of history” or the relativization of history as if all historical representations were equally relevant. Instead, she proposes the notion of “historical truthfulness” as a method and as a reflection of how the past is experienced in our present and how we can develop a relationship to historical truthfulness through research, assessment, self-reflection, collaboration, and other means of scholarly and general endeavor.
Manga and Contested Histories
Although manga has gained global popularity in recent years, elevating its aesthetic form and justifying its approach to serious content through scholarly research, this wasn’t always the case, especially outside of Japan. Art Spiegelman’s Maus: A Survivor’s Tale (1986), Joe Sacco’s Palestine (1993), and, more recently, Thi Bui’s The Best We Could Do: An Illustrated Memoir (2018) are prominent examples of graphic novels that have gained a reputation for combining the art of comics and the seriousness of politics and history. Cultural historical and socioeconomic approaches to manga still differ on the origins of manga. The former traces a long particularistic history of cultural development, while the latter parallels manga’s development with Japan’s phenomenal economic growth in the postwar years (Ingulsrud and Allen 2009). It would be beyond the scope of the present essay to discuss or arbitrate between the two different propositions. Suffice it to say that despite their differences over the periodization of manga (12th-century Buddhist drawings versus 1950s graphic texts, for example), both approaches emphasize the manga form’s distinctively “Japanese” origins, despite the various influences of “Asian” and “Western” graphic representations, especially since the Meiji period for the latter. However, beyond its seemingly simplistic form, it is fair to generalize that manga has often treated official discourse and ideology with irreverence, mockery, deviancy, even decadence. The so-called gekiga, or dramatic pictures, variously pioneered in the late 1960s by Tatsumi Yoshihiro, Mizuki Shigeru, Tsuge Yoshiharu and others, criticized Japanese amnesia and complicity with regard to Japanese imperialism, as well as the increased alienation caused by postwar economic developmentalism. The emergence of shōjo manga, or young women’s manga, in the 1970s, spearheaded by artists like Hagio Moto, Takemiya Keiko, and Ōshima Yumiko, not only challenged the conventions of boys’ manga, such as square frames, but also explored subjects such as sexuality and feminism. Of course, the manga form itself, a combination of linguistic and graphic registers, can be utilized to reinforce dominant ideology as well. For example, Shōnen Kurabu, a manga magazine for teenage boys established in 1914, was enlisted in the war effort to support militarism and Japanese imperialism: cases in point include the well-known Norakuro, a dog soldier who bravely defeats the Chinese, who are depicted as cowardly pigs (1931), and Bōken Dankichi, in which a young hero wins the hearts and minds of the natives on a Pacific island and defeats the white invaders (1933–39). Other ultranationalist and right-wing cartoonists include the prolific Kobayashi Yoshinori, who, in his various “gōmanizumu” manifestos and revisionist views, subverts both official and leftist interpretations of Japanese history, especially its colonial and postwar history. In Taiwan-ron (On Taiwan, 2000) for example, he justifies Japanese colonial rule as “developmentalist,” as opposed to the European “exploitative” and “extractionist” models. By proxy, he also refutes the existence of so-called “comfort women,” arguing instead that they were “volunteers” serving the Japanese soldiers.
Before moving on to the discussion of manga as a viable form of cultural production, it might be useful to cursorily consider the influence of Japanese manga on its East Asian neighbors, such as mainland China. To say that Japanese and Western empires have had a significant impact on cultural development in the region is an understatement. From philosophy to literature, from arts to architecture, colonialism and imperialism have induced a radical repositioning of the past to the present and ushered in a new era, or what we might call “modernity.” The Chinese manhua, for instance, a loan word formed from the Japanese manga in the 1920s, is a Chinese cognate of manga referring mostly to the lyrical monochrome paintings by the artist and writer Feng Zikai. Feng’s style was influenced by contemporary Japanese art, to which Feng was exposed during a sojourn in Tokyo. Feng also drew inspiration from Chinese artists, and his style reflected his dissatisfaction with the Western-style mimetic realism that had been introduced in Japan and China (Crepsi 4). More importantly, the artistic practice of manhua was rapidly incorporated into Shanghai’s vibrant cosmopolitan entertainment press through the emulation and reinvention of foreign models, both Japanese and Western. Although Japanese influence was palpable in the Chinese manhua, the influence was never unidirectional and, more often than not, entangled with and conditioned by China or, in the case of Feng, Shanghai’s particular history of semi-colonialism and cosmopolitanism.
Manga and Its Visual Language
What is special about the form of manga that allows it to communicate with readers with relative ease and allows for the proliferation of sub-genres and diverse subject matter? Simply put, like all media representations, manga has its own, albeit highly diverse, visual language that differentiates it from similar forms such as graphic novels and gives rise to a reading community between manga artists and their readership. Some characteristics of this visual language are readily apparent, especially the depiction of characters with big eyes, small mouths, and pointed chins. This visual template is commonly attributed to Tezuka Osamu, who was heavily influenced by Disney and the cinematic form (Cohn 189). There are also non-iconic representations, including stylized conventions, visual symbols, and metaphors, sometimes in the background, to convey symbolic or emotional meaning, such as giant sweat drops to convey embarrassment or nervousness or simple changes in the shapes of eyes and mouth to express various emotions. This iconography, like any language or dialect, can be learned and appropriated outside of the geographic boundaries of Japan (Cohn 193). Japanese visual language is conspicuously and increasingly influencing artists around the world today. Just as one must learn to read manga, its visual language allows artists to convey their points of view with consistency and to gain a wide readership. Manga’s visual language is capable of forming a “persuasive” rhetoric in developing arguments and making expressive statements about the world around us (Bogost 2007).
While the popularity of manga in the West is relatively recent, its influence in Asia has a longer and contentious history due to Japanese colonialism and imperialism in the region. Antagonism towards Japanese rule continued in the postwar years: former colonies such as Taiwan and Korea, and regions previously invaded by the Japanese such as mainland China and Hong Kong, continued to ban Japanese cultural products, albeit using different measures and producing varying results. Despite official restrictions, what made the circulation of Japanese manga, pop music, and anime possible in the former Japanese empire was the practice of piracy. In the late 1960s, pirated copies of manga translated and reprinted in Taiwan spread to Hong Kong, and local artists began to adopt manga’s penchant for longer stories, camera angles, and specific human features such as girls with big eyes and long legs (Lent 299). Although Japanese anime for children were broadcast on local television in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and South Korea, visual elements associated with Japan, such as geta sandals, were erased in South Korea, for example, to minimize the Japanese provenance of shows like the popular Doraemon. It is the “non-nation-ness” of manga and anime – or what Iwabuchi Kōichi (2002) called its “culturally odorless” nature – that facilitated the influx of Japanese popular culture into the region and beyond. However, it was not until the mid-1990s, when Japan’s economic bubble burst and its industry feverishly sought to tap foreign markets, that popular culture emerged as a signature export of Japanese soft power, or what was known as “cool Japan.” When China joined the WTO and formal licensing replaced informal piracy, Japanese manga, and other cultural products became dominant forms of popular consumption in the region. Since the 1990s, the region has arguably developed “literacy” and proficiency not only in reading, but also in drawing, Japanese visual language, and manga have come to be widely used there for entertainment, information, and artistic purposes.
In recent years, manga has emerged as a legitimate field of academic inquiry and has increasingly been utilized for pedagogical purposes. From biology to history, from language learning to social studies, manga’s unique characteristics have provided an effective alternative to mostly text-based education (Toda and Oh 2021; Iida and Takeyama 2018). Manga’s visual format can make reading more appealing and engaging to reluctant readers and those with learning difficulties, such as dyslexia. Manga can also break complex ideas down into understandable visuals and narratives, making it easier for students to grasp difficult subject matter. As mentioned above, manga’s depiction of history, culture, and social issues can provide readers with insights into these areas. It is important to bear in mind the “contested” nature of manga’s ability to inform, shape, distort, and deflect the discussion, and even deny the historical basis, of such controversial issues as the use of the atomic bomb and Japan’s exploitation of comfort women. The exploration of complex subjects and moral dilemmas in some manga encourages readers to think critically and develop empathy.
Manga, Disinformation and Conspiracy Theories
With its accessibility, clear-cut visual language and sequential storytelling method, manga is an ideal medium with which to educate people about the danger of disinformation and to combat it. Educational efforts are needed to protect elderly and vulnerable people against scams, blackmail, misinformation, and other forms of exploitation and manipulation. But crowdsourcing and other approaches involving human knowledge and expertise are labor- and time-intensive and ineffective in preventing the rapid spread of fake content. It is equally if not more important for everyone to acquire literacy in traditional and new media and critical thinking in order to develop the skillsets needed to navigate increasingly diverse sources of news and information.
Some of the more complex forms of disinformation, however, such as conspiracy theories, are more difficult to contend with than efforts to exploit credulous consumers. Unlike consumer fraud, conspiracy narratives don’t necessarily seek monetary profit but sow discord in society and distrust of established institutions with the ultimate goal of creating political instability. What makes conspiracy theories difficult to refute outright, to paraphrase the Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek, is the method of “lying by way of truth.” While not based on empirical or scientific evidence, conspiracy narratives like those used by anti-vax movements may not be entirely wrong in their criticism of the government, given how states have historically deceived and harmed their own citizens, especially Black and Aboriginal communities, under the guise of medical experimentation. Conspiracy theorists are not concerned with such atrocities, however, but with portraying themselves as victims of government overreach. Recognizing that conspiracy theories may carry a modicum of truth does not mean endorsing the political agenda of a certain party or movement. Rather, it reminds us to heed Morris-Suzuki’s warning against the facile embrace of historical “truth” and universalism, to constantly seek “truthfulness” in our approach to political events, and to consider the historical circumstances that have made conspiracy theories and other “fake news” possible in the first place. Without addressing the fundamental causes of disinformation, which are clearly multiple and dependent on specific historical contexts, no amount of pedagogy or protection will save us from the onslaught of disinformation all around us.
